#libraries are inherently interesting because they have books and shelves

[hopeheartfilia]

i believe libraries are important and good. i do not emotionally care for them

Ive been having trouble thinking today, or rather expressing sentiments in accordance with an essay structure

At some point i gave up and watched a sj the x video. that helped imensly s in i can now make logical atatements again. however i am not really thinking and making connections im just sitting here like hello yes i have thoughts

And like i can see how i could write an essay on themes of estetics and the subjective and objective merits of art in relation to my theme, Should we close public libraries, but it wont change the fact that my answer is no deeper then a simple "no, are you an idiot"

and i have reasons ans back up but its just a liat of articles i could point someone towards, like hello this is research i found on the positive impacts of libraries on communities. please think of how someone would apply to a job in the current landscape of online applications if they dont have acess to a home or the internet. the answer may be libraries.

also librarians exist and libraries have other communal funtions. like reading to children. supporting local charities in various ways. serving as a social environment.

I have all the building blogs of yes one could make an essay out of theese parts

but i do t have the connective tissue. im missing the fucks given to explain. it probably wouldve helped if ive ever argued with someone over this but frankly im having a hard time actually making genuine contraaruments about Yes we should close public libraries, without making a pseudo strawman, like hello if you genuenly think we should close public libraries you eirher have no clue what youre talking about or your intentions are like. evil. whcih isnt. its not accurate. it doesnt make for a good essay

Id rather write several essays about me trying to write this essay then the actual essay

the theme decided i dont wanna fuck with it and now im here. wishing i spent the last 5 hours doing a little gouache painting instead of trying to turn my beain on and off aga-

maybe sleep would help. didnt help the last 2 times i tried to fic this "i dont wanna start this essay" problem, but at this point ive done that and moved to I dont actually wanna write it

.. i should probably talk this out with someone. as in ask them what reasons do you think someone could have for closing a library?

Also look up essay structures again. i hate doing that i prefer just reading and listening to essays and seeing where what i consider a logical train of thought goes, but im very stuck and if you cant make something you like, make something very technical

[unpopularfanopinion]

It’s so much fun watching these people try to rail about Ao3, either about the content host there. Or complaining that a site that has millions of users and visitors everyday manages to raise 250k in less than a day(Seriously you idiots, think about it for two seconds, if every Ao3 user donated just 1 dollar they would likely get 10 times their goal amount)

And as for content, there’s really nothing on Ao3 that you can’t also find in public libraries or book stores.  Do these people go and demand that these places pull books from their shelves.

I can just see each and every Ao3 hater at a school board meeting, holding up a copy of Heartstopper or Gender Queer screaming and crying about the vile “child porn” being so readily available to teenagers. Because heaven knows we can’t let <i>teenagers</i> know about sex or sexuality before they hit the magical age of 18 when everyone knows the switch for sexual interest just flips on.  And any exposure to sex/sexuality before that age is inherently harmful to teens and proof of evil and sin (this is all sarcasm if you can’t tell)

Still is rather fun watching all of their impotent rage as they tilt against the windmill, knowing that they must live miserable, hate filled lives if they feel the need to spend so much energy on a website centered around people having fun, and sharing things that make them happy.

[semper-legens]

80. The Good Luck Girls, by Charlotte Nicole Davis

Owned: No, library Page count: 372 My summary: Aster and Clementine are Good Luck Girls, dustblood women sold as children to a welcome house, which serves an exclusive clientele of rich men. It’s Clementine’s debut, her first night with a man...which goes wrong when, after the man tries to choke her, she panics and kills him. Forced to flee for their lives, the girls and three friends try and make their way to freedom. But with a price on their head and the world against them, can they ever be truly free? My rating: 3/5 My commentary:

This was yet another one I pulled from the shelves because it looked interesting. A vaguely fantasy world, where harsh and oppressive lines are drawn between groups of people, featuring a cast of girls attempting to escape their poor circumstances, and perhaps take on the world that has hurt them in so doing. This book attempts to tackle a lot of serious issues, including racism, sexual assault, discrimination, and the rights of women. I'm not sure it overly succeeds - some of its narrative is a little too simplistic for my tastes, even with the caveat that it's YA fiction and therefore will be inherently a little simpler than adult fiction. It's still an engaging enough read, but it didn't really do it for me on the whole.

Our characters are fivefold - Aster, the cynic; Clementine, the innocent; Violet, the bitchy girl; Mallow, the fighter; and Tansy, the healer. Added to that number is Zee, the rangeman helping them in their attempt to get to freedom. This was a lot of characters, and I'm not sure that all of them were needed. Mallow and Tansy hardly added anything to the plot, and honestly I kind of get them mixed up. Most didn't have a lot of development outside of Aster, our point of view character, and Violet, who has the standard 'terrible girl is actually hurting and becomes a jerk with a heart of gold' type narrative. It's not bad, per se, there just wasn't a lot about it to distinguish it from other YA novels of its type. For what it's worth, I did really like Aster and her protective tendencies, but I struggled at times to remember what everyone's Deals were.

So what about the setting? There were some neat ideas going on. All our cast except Violet are 'dustbloods', people without shadows discriminated against by the elite. In a desperate attempt to gain the money to live, girls are sold to 'welcome houses' (brothels) to be 'good luck girls' (sex worker) and marked with a magical tattoo that will instantly identify them if they try and escape. They're given drugs to make their jobs easier, but essentially cast out onto the streets to die when they age out of the profession. The inciting incident is when, on Clementine's first night as a good luck girl, she kills the man she's with in a fit of panic and the girls must escape or face the punishment. The oppressiveness of the environment these girls are in comes across really well, Davis really conveys the sense of hopelessness and the knowledge that they are not safe anywhere they go. The girls are following, essentially, a bedtime story in the vain hope that a figure called 'Lady Ghost' is real and can get rid of their marks, something that becomes increasingly less likely and more desperate as time wears on. This is a brutal, ugly world, but the girls' loyalty to each other and determination to escape and to survive is really sweet to read.

I found the writing to be somewhat plain and simplistic here, however. There just wasn't that much depth or nuance to the characters, even when we are supposed to be learning a little more about them. Clementine and Aster in particular don't really develop - Clementine remains a naive innocent, while Aster's arc is meant to be going from cynical and downtrodden to determined to save people and make a difference, but she wants to do that from the start. Mallow and Tansy don't really develop, and Violet's thing is just the standard arc for her archetype, learning that the bitchy preppy girl is actually hurting and not so bad after all. I wonder if, with fewer characters, the remainder would have gotten a bit more focus? I don't think anything in this book is bad in and of itself, but I do think it's too simplistic and doesn't have enough nuance. It could have been better and more interesting. I think that's the ultimate takeaway from this one.

Next, a teenager sentenced to death learns there's worse things than imprisonment.

[wellpresseddaisy]

With all the ao3 discourse going around, one thing I've noticed is the notion that brick and mortar libraries 'vet' books before they go on the shelves. This isn't precisely true, depending on the library and its policies. In general, though, the only vetting that goes on is (this is based off of experience in Children's Departments):

Is it in the appropriate age range for my department? (Sometimes bloops happen, but you just walk that book back to the Cataloging department and let them know, politely, that it needs to be recataloged. We used to get Cirque du Freak miscataloged pretty frequently.)

Is it part of a series we have on standing order?

Was it reasonably well-reviewed in Library Journal, School Library Journal, or the Horn Book? Awesome. For adult books there's Library Journal, the best seller lists, and various well-regarded book review pubs.

Do you have patrons asking about these subjects/titles/authors or does it fill a gap in your collection?

Once those books come in, you likely flip through them...maybe you read one or two if you're especially interested. That's it. Any real vetting of content is to be done by the adults in that child's life, not the librarian. Or the young adult or adult checking items out for themselves.

If a child comes in and wants, for example, books from the adult department on knights because they read at a higher level, you trot right on down and find them those books. Or you walk them down to the adult fiction section and help them find the fantasy books.

It's not your place, as a librarian, to gatekeep access. Nor is it your business what kids are reading/watching/listening to unless they want to tell you about it. My response to a kid asking about appropriateness was always 'That's something you need to talk over with your parents.' On occasion I'd let a parent know if there was a swear or something (one of the Enola Holmes books) because they were reading it to an older child and their younger sibling and I knew it was there.

Sidenote: If any patron tried to remove any piece of media (book, magazine, etc.) from a child patron because the adult felt it 'inappropriate', then they would be told to leave the library at minimum. If they put hands on the child, then I'd be calling the cops and reporting the adult patron.

You do make choices based on what you think will best serve your patrons. Hopefully, if you're a multi-person department, any inherent bias you may have is balanced out by others going through the reviews as well. But you don't make choices based on whether or not you personally think a book has 'problematic' content. That would be a dereliction of your duty to your patrons.

[fruitylibrarian]

quest of the spear live rewatch!

i already spewed my pre call to adventure flynn thoughts all over a text post but I would like to repeat: pre-canon flynn my beloved <3

yes he is a bit of a bastard but he just loves his books and he’s so genuinely just like. passionate and like…. Big? does that make sense? like i mean inside. not literally. bright

flynn’s mom is so fucking funny

and she’s Trying Her Best

you know one thing I don’t understand, I assume that flynn could afford to keep going to college because of like grants and scholarships since he’s all smart and like, even if his mom is well off, no one below the morally bankrupt millionaire line can pay for 22 degrees and not die of no-money-itis otherwise known as Starving

but like. why not become a professor or some other academia position?

you’d be incredibly overqualified and you’re a white dude, so while academia isn’t exactly bursting with new spaces to fill I’m sure you could find something???? and like. a professor in particular, while baby flynn might not be great at the connection part, seems like a natural progression to at least try for considering it keeps you in that comfort zone and familiar space just in a different albeit familiar role, and allows you to go on long lectures people can’t interrupt. and like, professors literally like, part of their job is research and to continue learning, so like. it seems like the natural choice for him to go for?

don’t get me wrong, baby flynn in particular might not be extremely well suited considering his lack of people skills, but plenty of professors are brilliant slightly odd smarties who give long, super engaging theatrical lectures (sounds like him!) but suck at one on one meetings and talking to people or may be accidentally insulting, but like, their class is genuinely interesting and they grade decently so like, I think he could get past that hurdle is what I’m saying

obviously he’d have to work at it and get the skills necessary but you know what that means? MORE SCHOOL, BABY! just in a different direction! like just? it seems like the obvious choice for his situation

ah yes!!! magic letter!!! it’s kind of funny they do this, it’s a great hook and way to make applicants go Uh Excuse Me and want to know more but also like, there’s no proof magic happened either?

although you’d think some people would get obsessive like let me tell you if i encountered real ass magic like that i wouldn’t stop until i had an answer

ah the Incredibly Long Interview Line. it’s kinda how funny how like. Not Special he is but at the same time he is?

“never been treated so badly in my entire life!” what did you say to him charlene

i’m sure he deserved it i just want to know

wait oh no i just realized

all these people are dead

every single one of them got murdered in the first episode of the series

jesus that’s dark

not gonna be able to stop thinking about that one huh

also love how it’s pretty evenly men and women

although it’s still mostly white

fuck that lady just left crying I know they’re doing this to turn up the drama but DAMN, charlene

god he almost gave up. remember the timeline episode where he never became the librarian? weird.

Gkjlfkgjhfglh Where Do You Think You’re Going? (weak gesture like “me?”) Yes You. Get In Here amazing how can she even see him she’s around the CORNER. camera? magical surveillance? why? just to freak people out? amazing.

i do so love charlene, it’s a shame she wasn’t in the show more

also she literally never explains shit. What Makes You Think You Can Be The Librarian he doesn’t even know what that means, charlene

He Doesn’t Even Have A Library Science Degree

oh wow he does actually have librarian qualifications lmao

why did i not remember that

DLKFGJDFG I did remember him sherlocking her tho

wait her MARRIAGE? to WHO?

i thought her and judson were a thing despite jenkins being into her or something?

huh

also why does this qualify him to be The Librarian™ like oh he can sherlock? ok?

maybe it’s just bc he had the balls to do it

well, the sherlock thing is also not completely unhelpful it just doesn’t seem central to his skills, or at least, not the way he uses it (do we see him use it like this again? he usually applies more obscure knowledge then ye classic deduction sherlockian skills if I remember correctly which I may not because my brain is smooth)

judson is such a fucking drama queen

LKDJFGLKDJFGLDKFJG I FUCKING FORGOT HE LITERALLY JUST FUCKING REPEATED HIS MOM’S LITTLE PHRASE AMAZING

also why did he seem to think her sending everyone home meant he didn’t get it why would she stop all interviews because you fucked up

he just fucking walked out of a wall judson you are so dramatic

also warehouse 13 vibes huh. welcome to a world of endless wonder

I could do a whole fucking thesis on warehouse 13 and the librarians or—well that’s a whole other tangent

anYWYA

this interview was remarkably easy tho, it’s not like he wasn’t impressive but it wasn’t mindblowing either????? this coming from a big fan of flynn

the big shiny wonderous eyes as the library lights up……flynn my beloved

also his floofy hair ldkfgjdlkfgj

he’s like this is too good am I being prank’d

why the mona lisa?????iIs the mona lisa magic??? It only became famous because it got stolen why would it be magic??? Is this one of those we make it magic by believing it or some shit things???

Flynn Do Not Open The Random Box In The Library Of Incredibly Dangerous Artifacts

oh hello excalibur !!

oh rip flynn immediately being like “oh im not worthy, trust me” with 100 percent certainty im hurt oof

KSJFLGKDJGLKDJG THE APPLE “the apple from the garden of eden…….” *judson takes a bite* “actually I just left this here”

excalibur hello properly!!!!

judson is such a fucking DRAMA QUEEN he’s so casual!! and cal you too you slippery bitch!  

ah the jetpack.

DLFKGJDLKFGJ “it usually takes a new librarian four hours to find the jetpack. you did it in three! congratulations” love the implication that every librarian (at least since it was added to the library) has done this no matter how serious like the bad guy of this movie… *checks notes* edware wilde? jetpack. darrington dare, probably? jetpack. i like to think jenkins did it too (not technically a librarian, but you know)

flynn thinking of himself as embarrassing… ☹

HIS MOM IS SO PROUD OF HIM

part sweet, part funny, part rip

I don’t know what she was expecting when he said librarian tho like. originally he literally looked at shit for FRY COOk degrees don’t always mean shit you know

and librarian is up there with professor in Perfect Jobs For Flynn like what did you expect??? Like even if he’d become an archaeologist (a “cool” job) it’s not like that pays super well either as far as I know??

he was never going to be Traditionally Successful

he’s still the same person he still has the same strengths and passions of course he would go into academia and do something like librarian like????? her reaction saddens me.

just be happy for him!! look at him!!!

ok first of all even normal non magic librarians don’t just put books on shelves and that’s a condescending reduction of the job, and second of all, he is so happy!! he has a job, he’s taking responsibility, he’s meeting people, isn’t that enough??? isn’t that literally what you wanted??? even if it WERE what you think it is why couldn’t it just be a good first step??? like??? fuck??? you did been know that he was doing all those fancy degrees because he loved them not because they’d get him some super fancy job??? I mean egyptology is not the most profitable field you know this isn’t med school or whatever

god.

flynn’s mom, visibly not proud and very upset: of course im proud of you!

ok im being a little unfair, she’s trying and clearly she’s been supportive of him, if not straight up enabling of him, but like this is clearly being presented as like. normal person who is normal forced to take care of freakish strange son who is so nerdy and strange and a loser and she is so tired of his shenanigans and all that WORK she put in and he’s NOT FANCY AND CHANGING TO CONFORM TO HER IDEALS OF A GOOD SUCCESSFUL SON/MAN?

and that’s just all very. sigh.

the snake brotherhood are such obnoxiously cheesy villainous villains they’re even called the snake brotherhood

also I think we’re supposed to recognize him as the previous librarian from the painting but if I didn’t already know that I for sure would not know that

smartass flynn is a smartass

I never got people bringing someone coffee to impress them unless they knew their order like there’s no way you know who she likes her coffee so you could so easily get it wrong—like even if you don’t know exactly how much sugar she wants, you could also just get it entirely wrong like assume she likes black coffee but she likes it super sweet, or vice versa, or whatever. it can go wrong so easily!

or she could go “I Hate A Kiss Ass”

she did take it anyway tho so.

ah i did forget (or just not actively think about) how much like… christian mythology there is in this show :/ I mean we did been knew (excalibur and arthurian legend are pretty important to the mythology)

not that christian mythology is inherently bad it just gets a) annoying, b) boring, and c) y’know, very western centric and all

but then trying to reconcile di—you know what that’s a tangent for another time

then again I do assume no one is going to read this

the library really does just throw new librarians into death and go “hope this is fine!” huh

did they just imply god is canon in the “the librarian” universe

you were so cryptic with the no one thing!! just say NOONE

he’s scribbling in his notebook and mumbling out loud what a mood and I love him. what a nerd

ldfkgjdlkjg god sexy jazz music and a breeze this is so dumb

I do hate the forced love interests in all these movies it’s always like Some Hot Girl Is There And They Get It On!

like he really had chemistry with eve and banter but here it kinda feels like that wish fulfilment and then the nerd gets the hot chick the end and im saying that as the nerd

it doesn’t help that each movie has a different one who immediately is dropped as if she never existed afterwards

maybe it’s not as bad as I remember but. sigh

my instant impression of her is to not like her sorry nicole :/

she’s just so rude? she’s like. hot (derogatory)

i get there’s gender politics here with like. she’s used to being treated like a piece of meat and generally like, why not reap the benefits when you are going to get the creeps too, but like, also she’s just so unnecessarily rude—I mean rejecting his clumsy flirting is one thing but you know—ok I won’t even get into that the point is I just don’t really like her that much even tho I don’t think she’s necessarily a bad person or anything you know

but to be fair I think she got better and I remember her being compelling in her return to the show

and like. I do like how the trend in this franchise is “smart little nerd librarian and badass lady guardian kicks ass” but I do wish that it turned around occasionally. we do get cassandra but like. more lady librarians

wow an air marshal? aren’t they rarely even on flights?

sorry im being nitpicky there for sure lmao. please delete the cinamasins ding my words probably summoned from your brain

I get why shoving him out was necessary but also Wow

Gjklhkjfgh imagine sitting next to some mumbling nerd the whole flight and then you see him fly past the windows

LFKGJDLKJDFG he brilliantly lowers our expectations then jumps without a chute! remarkable!

hilarious or commentary on men getting credit for womens’ competency? why not both

i really thought that she was going to be a lying liar the first time I watched this

ah naïve boy. “uh that’s against the law”

flynn’s greatest strength isn’t just his knowledge but his like. breadth of different topics, just like, passion for learning of any time, and like. the ability to not just know a lot of different things but cross-reference and apply them to each other and use them in tandem to understand a greater whole

and we love that for him!

ah flynn therapizing himself lmao

why would she take him going “this bridge is rotting and physically cant support our weight” as a challenge

or him being cowardly like THE STRUCTURAL SUPPORTS ARE ROTTING

YEAH WHAT DID YOU EXPECT OF COURSE HE FUCKING FELL

ok i lied i like nicole i just don’t love their dynamic

i get what they’re going for i just. not my thing

like with eve there was still a clear mutual respect? i guess? idk

maybe it’s just because i’m more sensitive to mean banter? i don’t like mean banter, even when it’s like, def 100 percent well meaning and not mean spirited and no one is actually offended or hurt

although despite not liking their Thing I do a) think it’s very cute how he looks at her, b) their vibe as they start to get to know each other is Better, c) the end of the movie scene where she rides in for maximum drama? now that was good shit.

oh he’s sherlocking her in a shy attempt to impress her but it’s only going to piss her off, right?

oh she’s just sherlocking him back

KSGFJLDKFGJ LMAO “nerd” and that’s it. fair

Cutting Off His Head damn that’s hardcore

hmmmm cringe,

and more cringe

and cringe.

her waking up to him gone right after telling that story about waking up to her librarian gone and then killed—oof

love the serpent brotherhood lady being like wow!! he’s SO COMPETENT!! (cuts to him screaming)

do these ancient traps just have infinite arrows?

also I do love the whole waltzing across trope what can I say im a sucker

DFLKGLDKFGJLDKJG fucking CHUCKS SOMETHING AT IT and immediately where he would be standing is crushed by a huge rock amazing

he literally just chucked a rock at it and it fell over

ah the classic “let the hero get it for us” move

oh there he is! rip

why does he look like macpherson

not really but kind of

also contrast between the lady always being like “omg the librarian is so smart” and him assuming nicole is the one who did the smart thing

“your tears were perfect” how much more of an asshole can you get

They really could have played him as more sympathetic—“oh, we’re always around these powerful artifacts but we never use them for good! I had to do it, I was sick of sitting back and doing nothing” or like “all those years of danger and guarding powerful things and what good did it ever do me? what do I get for my service?” or anything but nah hes just like “mm power good babes. anyway I love sex and being mean”

to be fair flynn he was the librarian too—a real librarian? I mean yeah edward was corrupted and ultimately failed his duties but he had to have been qualified and actually got the job for a reason

flynn I know you think you sound badass but you really don’t

god not shangri-la again. everything the show did with that was. Bad. yikes

why is—god, I should really learn her name [checks notes] lana fangirling so much?

also following the lamia tradition of “serpent brotherhood second in command who is more interesting than the main evil white guy and also a pretty woc” huh

never got like “this is literally impossible” “well do it or I [generic bad guy threat]” like usually that means nothing lmao

LDFKGJLDKFJLDKFGJ ok first of all god is me? bitch?

second of all. me in english? on this fucking ancient very much not english thing? I mean I guess a) it might not be literal, even though he did say “m, e” by letters, b) it is a christian myth so maybe planted later??? but like?????

dude. giving the super powerful artifact to your prisoner? bad idea. if you’re worried about booby traps have a minion do it.

oh yes your gun is so scary in the face of a temple collapsing

why do heroes always think the whatever is safer with them than the temple that’s guarded it for a thousand years

I get it’s been discovered but like. fuck. still

You Are Going To Crash This Helicopter

SLKGJ HORRIBLE HIGH VELOCITY PIE OF DEATH

flynn and judson…..wholesome

oh here comes more forced romance

just let them be friends who grow to mutually respect each other blease

it is very fucking funny that the mom is like ….. oh my god…. oh my god,,, a WOMAN AJUST ANSEWREDM Y SDONGS PHONE?????????OH MY GOFD?????

he is bisexual. but it’s good he’s getting out

ah floofy hair

cahooting,

Yes You Do Need Clothes

that’s a teleporter sir

god eddie wild is such a boring fucking villain and person

and his plan SUCKS

also the serpent brotherhood (why BROTHERhood?) sucks and hates the library why would they just let this guy, a librarian, literally be their new leader

wow he just stabbed a guy on his OWN TEAM for no reason

great going asshole

love how lana is just like…. O-O

we stan lana. she hasn’t done much and she’s technically a bad guy i just love her

“at last we can be one” what does that even mean

why would lana or any of them want to help him he just killed one of their own for no reason hes clearly tripping on power and leaving yall to die

lfkgjdlkfgj flynn dodging so hard while the others is fight and then PUNCHING A GUY

dfglkjdflgkj wait it’s the professor dude why is that so funny

is he WITH THEM??? I think I just missed something

hold on a sec

yeah I think he just appears??? And flynn just fucking broke his nose iconic

wait so was he with them or is he just here going WHY ARE THERE RANDOM PEOPLE IN MY PYRAMID????????????

oh right he built the—ok I got it

Wait what

I mean I did think lana was neat and she seemed impressed with flynn but what shes just like, in love with him now? that makes zero fucking sense why would she want them to Be Together

Is it just so there can be a catfight between the two hot chicks?

seriously tho? morally pure blonde blue eyed girl versus Evil Asian Chick? really?

for the record NOT THAT IT MATTERS but lana is way cuter im just saying

ah badass judson

THE COMEDY OF THE CAPSTONE CRUSHING HIM DLFKGJDLKFGJ

oh………….pulling out excalibur…. predicable but so good

oh the painting….the very Parenty way of revealing it…… wholesome

oh did NOT like that transition

oh here comes the badass fucking entrance with his gf busting in on his mom trying to set him up with girls

HER ENTRANCE IS SO UNNECESSARAILY DRAMATIC I LOVE THEM

I just love the mom’s face ldfkgjldfkgjdlkfgjdlkfjgd shes like WHAT THEGUFVCJK

again I don’t love the vibes of “oh my weird loser son is finally normal!” but to be fair im exaggerating a bit from just facial expressions it’s just. sigh

but ngl the vindication of him being able to be like. yeah that’s right im a badass now and my gf is cool as fuck is still good

him and nicole do have not terrible vibes at the end but if I remember correctly that mission (time travelling ninjas and hg wells’s time machine) is the one that separated them so rip I guess

overall: good movie! as cringe as I remember but I still love flynn so much

[whitehotharlots]

So we’re just gonna straight up embrace conservatism?

A few months ago I came across the story of a group of young trans activists who wrecked up the opening of a feminist library in British Columbia. To avoid accusations of taking sides or whatever, here’s what the feminists had to say about it, and here’s what the trans activist kids had to say about it. (Direct link: https://www.facebook.com/notes/gag-gays-against-gentrification/response-to-vancouver-womens-library/379623995740078 )

Both sides agreed that the activists physically disrupted the opening of what was purported to be a feminist space, caused several hundred dollars worth of property damage, threatened physical violence against the library’s proprietors, and demanded that a dozen or so books be removed from the shelves.

I decided not to write about this. Firstly, because engaging with trans discourse in any way other than nodding politely guarantees you will be accused of Literal Murder, and I just don’t want to mess with that. More importantly, I felt I couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t amount to a simple, maybe even pedantic observation: namely, it’s kinda weird how we’ve begun to fear subjectively perceived, metaphorical ��violence” so intensely that we’re willing to accept literal, physical violence as a response to it. It’s easy to make fun of people who say that using gendered pronouns is a direct cause of murder or whatever, but these people aren’t just obscure cranks anymore--they control the discourse; we’re living in the world they’ve built. 

Here’s a sample of what I tried to write:

Here, in the interest of objectivity, it’s traditional for a writer to point out the tremendous amount of danger faced by those trans people who committed violent acts against the cis feminists and have demanded that the cis feminists radically alter their own space. A writer should re-cite the oft-cited statistic that over twenty trans people were murdered in 2015--and that, no doubt, at least half of them were beaten to death with a copy of Andrea Dworkin’s Pornography. And I don’t mean to be facetious: should a trans activist suggest that these books were being wielded as literal, physical weapons, there might at least be a smidgen of logic behind their demands. But such a connection, however tenuous, is never proffered. We are left instead with a vague implication by association: the trans activists understandably don’t like trans people being murdered and they also don’t like books they assume question the essentialist foundation of their self-understanding, therefore a responsible author will make sure to establish a sense that the former is indeed caused by the latter. Or, if it’s not a case of actual causation--since obviously it’s not and no one would ever be so daft as to suggest that it is--at the very least we should respect the trans activists’ sensitivities toward literature they find upsetting, seeing as they’re acting out of a sense of extreme fear that they at least believe to be justified. Criticizing them at lashing out would be like getting mad a cornered raccoon for showing its teeth.

Just… can you believe this? Honestly? Here, very real violence and property damage is excused simply by putting in the context of the emotional state of those who committed it. Can you imagine any parallel situation taking place in contemporary America? A black man would have a much more solid case in going down to his local police station and wrecking up the place. Police violence against black people is an actual, direct, and literal thing--no flimsy metaphors are required to explain it. If such a thing were to happen, however, the black guy would be killed or imprisoned and his actions would be condemned in all but the most radical of spaces (try to find a mainstream publication that supported Chris Dorner. You can’t). Or more on point: let’s say a group of radical zionists entered a store the specializes in classical music, so at to disrupt a talk about Wagner. They post threats on social media. They wreck merchandise. They tear down posters, shove some elderly classical enthusiasts, cause several hundred dollars worth of damage, and leave a manifesto demanding that certain naughty works be banned. Again: they’d most likely be arrested. They would find no defense within the mainstream press. Their sense of victimhood would certainly not be used as justification for their actions, and no serious person would yield to their demands that certain works of music be banned from stores.

So… yeah. I was having trouble not sounding dismissive. But since then other shit has gone down, and it’s dawned on me that this tendency to prize the metaphorical over the literal isn’t new. It’s very old. It is, simply put, the general grounding of the American conservative worldview. It just happens to be coming from woke people now. 

For an example, take a look at a piece about trans activists vandalizing a rape crisis center with death threats. The vandalism was, of course, denounced on all sides. But check out the phrasing here: 

Trans people face employment and housing barriers, Jenkins said, and the graffiti could be a product of a trans person’s pent up frustration. Vancouver Rape Relief, she said, is a visible organization at which to point a finger.

“A lot of the actions of Vancouver Rape Relief through exclusion of trans women I think are symbolic of society’s disdain for trans people generally,” she said.

“So I can understand that for someone who is having a really hard time generally, this is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the world that is treating me terribly — which is no excuse, but I can see how someone could get to that point.”

Just… fucking seriously? Again, can you imagine this kind of even handedness being afforded to any other marginalized group? The only time you see violence regarded in such an apologetic or celebratory manner is when cops and soldiers do it. 

But, oh, it gets even weirder and stupider:

More graffiti adorns the sidewalks of Commercial Dr., further east from the Vancouver Rape Relief location. In support of trans people, the message “Trans women are women” appeared on sidewalks near Grandview Park earlier this summer.

Another message reads “Lesbians unite,” coupled with a double Venus symbol. Claire Ens, president of the Vancouver Dyke March and Festival Society, said the two Venus symbols are a coded threat to trans people.

“The two Venus symbols, that may seem innocent and to some even a call for lesbian rights and women-power, but in fact it is the opposite,” she said.

Two Venus symbols, side-by-side, is a larger symbol for “biological essentialism,” she said, a belief that peoples’ identities are determined by their genitals or chromosomes, which is inherently discriminatory to trans people who may have genitals that don’t match outdated ideas of what it means to be a man or a woman.

“The Venus symbols are meant as a warning sign to trans women, to state that trans women are not included nor welcomed, and is a perfect example of ... ‘dog whistling’ (because it is) innocent to those who aren’t in the know about it (but) harmful and hateful specifically to trans women,” she said.

Oh... oh dear. 

I’m reminded of the time when I was in 8th grade and my best friend did some weird art project where he put an arrow through a George Jetson doll he won at the carnival and painted the wound with a red marker. His mom found the doll. She spoke with her evangelical busybody cunt friends at work, who informed her that the “ritualistic sacrifice” of stuffed animals was a surefire sign that the boy had been brainwashed by Satanists. She then had him involuntarily committed. A state official determined him to to be depressed but not under any demonic influence, and so he was released under the condition that he start going to cut-rate therapy, where yet another evangelical busybody cunt informed him that the doll was, in fact, a sign that at least one satan lived within him (possibly several) and advised his mother to throw out all of his cds and videogames and keep him under constant watch. Oddly, this did not help with my friends’ depression. Made it a lot worse, in fact. Kicked off about a decade of severe substance abuse. But that’s neither here nor there--the point is, he did something objectively harmless that a bunch of hateful conservatives found offensive, and demonizing and bullying him was a small price to pay to get him to stop doing said harmless-but-offensive things. He might not have meant the plush art project to be a sign of aggression. A dispassionate observer would most likely not regard it as such. But the subjective, spiritual harm suffered by his mother engendered a violent reaction, and the cruelly conservative social structures of our community prized her perceived victimhood over any actual harms, and so they therefore encouraged her to damage the boy so as to make herself feel more safe. Nobody wins. Everyone was worse off. But the woman got some momentary catharsis, and that’s what was important.

Uhh… shit. I was gonna try to connect this to something else, but I think maybe I made my point. If you don’t agree with me yet, you’re never going to. But just remember, pedantic as this argument may be, there’s a reason censorship has historically resided in the conservative purview. There’s also a reason why it used to be considered virtuous, in liberal spaces, to not regard your own tastes and pet peeves as moral issues that warranted vicious remediation. Conservatives are conservatives, regardless of their color of their skin, the people they like to fuck, or whether or not they regard themselves to embody the gender they were asigned at birth. Cruelty is likewise always cruel. A cunt is a cunt. And there’s nothing to be gained by denying these basic truths.

[not-my-facebook-status]

Even 20-30 years ago, it was a different world. I grew up in a small town in the bible belt. You know the sort - a church on every street corner; the only non-white kid at your elementary school is the son of the janitor; some history classes will teach you that the War of Northern Agression was about states rights and that whole slavery argument was Union propoganda; you might hear in middle school health class that the spicing in curry is used to cover up the taste of rotten meat.

The only time gay people were ever officially mention in school was in sex ed, where they spend 20 minutes of class time focusing on the 'fact' that non-straight relationships were inherently abusive and unhealthy. This was a place where the school library had 3 shelves full of bibles and not a single book on LGBT topics.

When I was in 6th grade, I wanted to go to a Harry Potter convention in the nearest large city. It sounded so *magical* to get to socialize with people who shared my interests! My parents took one look at the fact that it was run by 2 unmarried women in their 30s and immediately concluded that it was a lesbian scam to rape and murder children, because obviously no well adjusted adult would be interested in juvenile things like fantasy novels. When you grow up properly, you get married and have kids and put aside childish interests in things like hobbies and close female friendships.

When I was in 8th grade, we read several bildungsromans - coming of age stories - and for several months, it was not unusual to hear the Christian young men of the class (and they were all ostensibly Christian) openly discussing how much better their lives and transitions into adulthood would be if they had the opportunity to have a similar experience to the ones we were reading about - but instead of hunting down lions or tigers or leopards, they wanted to talk about hunting down gay people and killing us - with long, involved conversations over what would be the most satisfying, using a gun, bow and arrow, sword, or simply one's bare hands. This was actively encouraged by the teacher who thought it was just *swell* that his students were really engaging with the class material! It hurt something deep down to hear your classmates talk about murdering you and knowing that there's absolutely nothing you can say or do to make it stop. After all, this was shortly after 9/11, other popular middle school conversation topics involved shipping all of the Muslims or even all of the non-Christians to a deserted island and then nuke-ing it. (And some of the teachers seemed to agree with them)

When I was in 10th grade and wrote a love poem that didn't use enough pronouns for my mother's delicate sensibilities, she cornered me and threatened to commit suicide if I grew up to 'decide' to be a lesbian. After all, if I 'decided' to like girls, she would have completely failed as a mother to teach me right from wrong. And certainly the shame I would bring on her wouldn't be worth living with if I were to tell anyone else, particularly in the extended family, about any consideration of such disgusting, satanic thoughts. After that, I never tried to discuss the topic with my dad. But he made sure I got to hear all about the time when he was 12 and went to the movies by himself and a homosexual man tried to corner him in the bathroom with sexually malicious intent. Because, don't you know, my dear, that all gay people prey on children?

If things are better for students today, that's brilliant! Truly, wonderfully brilliant! But that doesn't mean that it's always been that way. There are those of us who have had to fight to be as at peace with ourselves as we are. Don't disregard that - appreciate that you didn't have to go through it yourself!

[writeanapocalae]

Split

Invited In | The Change of Eras | Those in Hiding | Amerix | Magic in the System | Party Killer | Woken Alone | Trading Queries | Partners in Crime | House in the Woods

“Hidden doors,” he repeated.

“How did you find that?” Amerix pushed past him to look into the room that had been revealed. It was a library, all of the walls shelves, filled with books. The floor was hardwood, and there were sconces on all of the walls. Coryss pulled out his flashlight and looked deeper. There was nothing inherently creepy about the room, for once.

“Warm spot. I just pressed on it,” he explained.

“Awesome. I think we should split up.”

He hadn’t been scared yet. Creeped out, a little too chilly, but not scared. The moment she said that though, a shiver went up his spine, followed by the hollow sensation of dread.

“You’re joking, right?”

“One, it’s obvious this guy wants us to treat this like a haunted house, and two we’ll cover more space.”

“That doesn’t mean we should do it!”

“It’s the modern era! We’ve got each other’s phone numbers! We’ll be fine.”

He glared at her. She gave him a soft expression in turn, like she was a cat, blinking slowly.

“Fine,” he gave in. “But we’re meeting up at the front door in half an hour, okay? Set an alarm because if you’re not there, I’m leaving without you.”

She shrugged, “That’s fair.” She pat him on the shoulder and spun away, her hair whipping him in the neck as her crystals spun and then corrected themselves until they were back in their proper places. “See you in half an hour.”

She left him, alone, in the closest rendition of a horror movie he was sure was possible without having actual corpses as decorations. There were laws against that, at least, but that knowledge didn’t help. As highly policed as vampires were, there was a lot of stuff they could get away with at the same time.

He took a few steps in and, predictably, the metal door slid shut behind him. He didn’t know why he hadn’t anticipated that. It just made the dread in his chest grow.

The library, while musty and mildewy in smell, was well decorated. There were plush chairs, high backed with red velvet, next to the sconces. He almost expected the sconces to light on their own but, for once, they didn’t. The books were from all different times and they were on a myriad of subjects. They were organized by the author’s last name and nothing else. If Coryss had the time he would have loved just seeing what all of the books were. He knew that Nico would have loved reading them all.

There was a black door along one wall, the only place aside from the direction that Coryss had come in and the windows that was without books. It had a porthole for a window. It was odd, the kind of odd that made Coryss uncomfortable. Nothing really was making him comfortable though.

This door didn’t have a mechanism to it either. It was easy. It was nothing. It led to a hallway, again with dark oak floors, and the walls had extravagant but peeling flocked wallpaper. There was a mirror at the end, which didn’t show Coryss’ reflection correctly, though he could hardly see what was wrong with it due to the brightness of his flashlight, but it may have shown a vampire alright. On both sides were doors. This time there were no windows to give him a hint as to what was on the other side.

He checked both doors. They were both unlocked. One of them was colder than the other. He checked that one first. He opened it, flicked his flashlight in, and then slammed the door and threw a hand over his mouth. Bile was burning his throat, his own time in the bathroom, his blood covering his and his sister and his friend’s bodies. The smell of blood was so present in his nose, even with the door closed he could smell it. It was heavy. It was dragging him down.

He didn’t give himself much time to see the room, but what he saw was a bar, the kind that could be at any old timey bar, but there was a chair, a dental chair, in the middle of it. There were grooves in the floor, leading to a drain, but they looked like they’d failed at catching the diluge of blood that had spilled out, staining the floor and spreading out everywhere. It was a draining room. He’d heard of private sessions with thralls like that, but he didn’t think they had so much going for them. This looked like it was set up for a party, for a bleeding, to kill someone.

He remembered the feeling of the knife cutting him, of the tongues licking his flesh, of the suction trying to drain him dry. He’d had to moan and shiver, act as if he were in a sexual frenzy, as if he adored the sensation. It had made him want to vomit. It still did. He never wanted to be drunk from again. But that was why he was here. He had to get Julian’s address, he had to give himself over to them. He would be a thrall or a corpse, and he was doing it all willingly. He’d promised.

His legs were shakey and he slid to the floor. His face was wet. He was shivering. The dread was almost consuming him. He wanted to run, to bolt to the door and go back. He wanted to flee. He wanted to ignore his duties. Julian could find him though, much more easily than he could find them, and if that happened he would be punished for not following through with the deal. He would die either way, but he had to hope that giving himself up to Julian would be the better way to go.

Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet. He trudged over to the other door, opened it, and sighed. This wasn’t as bad. This was almost alright. This was a sitting room. The chairs were leather and there was an old china tea set on the victorian table. There were a few portraits on the walls, all done in a dark macabre style, but they weren’t the worst things he’d ever seen. There wasn’t anything especially demonic about them. They were actually subtly disturbing instead of over the top. He recognized them too, after a moment. Lord Byron, Oscar Wilde, David Bowie, and Mary Shelley. He didn’t know why those were the chosen few on the walls or what connected them to one another, but they were interesting at least.

And there was another door. Again, it was unlocked, and when he opened it he sighed, finally finding something along the lines of what he was looking for. It was an office of a sort, or at least some sort of workshop. There was a modern desk with a glass top, engraved along the edges. There was a red metal tool case in the corner, with wheels, and a coat rack that held greasy, oil slicked gloves and an apron. The work desk next to it had parts that Coryss recognized easily too. Motorcycle parts. There was a window, but it was painted over with black paint and there were oil lanterns on the surfaces. It was a hodgepodge of times and styles, of interests and experiences. There was a fridge along one wall, which looked like it was from the 50’s and, in the very center of the room there was a hyper realistic dress form, wearing a black and sleek gown.

@soul-write @nachtvlam

[worseandworser]

What doesn’t kill you

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

This is a weird mix of ABO, chimera!Ed, and the werewolf!Ed, I guess.

Ship: RoyEd

Summary: “You were on a mission,” Ed turns to Alphonse, who carries on with the explanation, “There was this alchemist messing with chimeras, Brigadier general Mustang sent you there to check, and apparently you got caught up in a transmutation.”

Oh. That would explain why Edward can’t remember the basement.

Rating: Mature (chances of turning n/s/f/w)

Warnings/tags: AU, Post fmab, Pining, Scenting, Taller!Ed jhagdcfjh, werewold-chimera!Ed

read on ao3

The first two weeks, Edward stays inside voluntarily, which is a surprise. Winry brought with her a provisory prosthetic that makes him ache in disgraceful places, so he refuses to ear it — and hopping around the streets is not exactly comfortable. Alphonse is, as always, the best brother ever and brings him books from the Central’s library. Someone from the team calls him from time to time. Not much else happens.

The rest of the month, however, with a new and fitting automail leg, is a constant struggle to adapt. Not that he’s resigned to his current transmuted form — a few extra centimeters don’t hurt, right? — but outside of his and Al’s flat exist many challenges. The overwhelming mix of scents is one, and his newly found hearing sensibility proves to be another. He can hear Alphonse’s breathing from the other side of the room and car horns make him flinch like a frightened animal.

Of course, there are a few other noteworthy changes. His reflexes are sharper — he’s become a master of picking falling things up before they hit the floor — and acquired a weird taste for undercooked meat. Sleeping is a mystery; either he sleeps too much or stays wide awake for days in a row without much trouble. Even the new height isn’t perfect after all, since he’s still not used to the new balance point and fuck spending money on new clothes.

And his discomfort isn’t taken seriously apparently, because no one lets him see the goddamned array.

It takes Mustang a bit to give Alphonse any information. One morning Hawkeye shows up at their doorstep and drags the younger Elric out. Since then, the two arseholes have been working on the alchemy alone, not even bothering to share any of their research. That obviously angers Ed to no end, that he is being kept in the dark even though he’s the only one who was affected by the transmutation. It’s not really safe for him to be around the General, yes, and he will not get into much details about that, but it’s not justifiable. Alphonse could at least give him an update. Or Mustang could stop being such a controlling freak and just pass the whole thing onto Edward — he could surely work it out way faster.

Instead, they leave Ed to his own devices — which are, basically, trying to not get angry at people for how they smell. He begins to catalogue scents to try to avoid that precisely. He’s mostly looking for a pattern: what he likes and what makes him uncomfortable, those that calm him and those that leave him on the edge of a rage outburst.

Winry’s is a bit like dark chocolate — bitter, but sugary. Edward would never admit to her that he enjoys it very much, or that it brings a protective feeling to his chest as it does. It’s pleasant, not as calming as Alphonse, though it never fails to remind him that, yes, he does have a place to call home.

Hawkeye, the only member of the team he’s seen besides Mustang, smells like apple pie. Shocking, too shocking, so shocking Edward lock himself up in his room to laugh for a good half-an-hour. He expected so many things for her, but the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods was not one of them.

Most of the neighbors have what Ed started calling background scents — like street noise, perhaps; it’s there but not enough for you to care. One day, while collecting the correspondence, he bumps into the lady that lives next door: he sniffs at her, notices the perfume that is inherently hers, and forgets it as soon as he gets home. Background scent. Not that they even meet enough for Ed to remember her name, for god’s sake.

But he must thank her because it’s that fateful encounter that helps him gather the courage to leave the building.

For the first attempt, he begs for Alphonse to accompany him. There’s no way to know how far the heightened olfaction fucked up his already fucked up social behavior, and Al has to help him with that since he refuses to explain him the transmutation. It’s only fair. They go at night — fewer people, less noise, fewer chances of sending Ed spiraling down into an anxiety attack.

And everything goes well.

Edward can barely contain his relief. Yes, he can smell drunkards almost a whole block away and can partially comprehend conversations taking place across the street, but so what? It’s a beautiful, breezy summer night and Ed is not even bothered in the slightest. From time to time, Alphonse frowns at the sky, but Edward brushes it off as the usual worrying.

The following morning Ed feels bold, so he goes alone and only a few hours before lunchtime. There are cars everywhere now and he flinches a couple of times, and by the third block, the scents start mix curiously. He no longer detects each specific smell, but rather a mix of many things, which he probably won’t ever be able to explain to Alphonse. Street scent, perhaps, as if city and inhabitants are an entity in and of itself, — and Ed feels it all at once.

Like a machine or a body, he muses, a bunch of pieces that can’t be separated ‘cause they’ll just stop working.

He goes back home an hour later and by the doorstep he is certain of what they’re having for lunch.

“You shouldn’t go out today.”

Edward glares at the only other person in the room, “And why the fuck you’re—“

“I mean it, Brother,” Alphonse lowers his notebook to properly look at the older Elric, “maybe you should keep it low this week.”

“‘M not tired.”

“I can see that but that doesn’t mean you’re fine,” Al snorts, “it’s pretty clear that you’re not fine.”

Which is true. All Ed has been doing since yesterday is walk around the flat, fidgety and hyperaware. He didn’t sleep a minute, instead going for a long, mindless walks — during one of those he almost attacked a cab driver; the guy was asking for it when he mistook Ed for a woman and catcalled him. He wants to go out again, his whole body is itching for it, he can’t stand being inside anymore, he’s been inside all day already

“I am fine,” he smiles, trying to reassure the other, “I’m great, actually. I feel like I could run a marathon.”

“Thank you for proving my point, it’s almost night, please, don’t leave the apartment.”

And Ed does agree with him, partially. He shouldn’t leave, not when he’s feeling this skittish — who knows what reactions a busier environment could bring. But the prospect of staying in makes him feel like a caged animal, and he can’t have that. So he brushes Al off with a half-assed promise that he’ll be back soon, and exists their home a bit too eagerly.

Lacking a destination, Ed is once again a wandering man. Not that this is a bad thing, no: Edward is more at home when he’s wandering. Be it a short circuit around the block or a trip across the country, his home has always been the path and not the destiny. There’s no better feeling than shoving your hands inside the pants’ pockets and looking for a thing that you don’t really know you need until you bump into it.

He buys an apple from a street vendor and eats in large, fast bites, cleaning his hands on his shirt afterwards. His feet take him far away from the flat, and Edward is a mere spectator who watches as streets pass by and are left behind. At Av. Marston Court, he takes a left, and that’s when the idea of checking a bookshop pops up in his mind. With surer steps, he makes his way to the one on the crossing, which sells used books for a very interesting price — ideal for when Ed plans to stock up reading material.

The place is filled with dusty boxes and dustier shelves, and Edward breathes in the delicious smell of mold and old books. In this specific store it’s stronger, and not because Ed’s newly found olfactory prowess, but rather because it is. Naturally, inherently. He leisurely strolls through the stacks, his eyes falling on covers and titles and author’s names but not searching for anything in particular.

And then his nose picks up—

—that.

It’s not as strong as the first time, but it still makes him freeze up mid-way through reaching for a book. The hairs of his nape stand on end, his back instantly goes straight, and every muscle of his body tighten. He can almost hear the loud thud of his heart, beating heard and fast as if trying carve a way out of Ed’s chest.

Roy, his brain provides uselessly, Roy Roy Roy—

He sniffs, trying to pinpoint the man’s location; in the store, yes, but where. Stumbling through the aisles, he has to refrain from running towards the alluring smell — but he does follow it, like an eager puppy, looking into each corridor aisle hopefully every turn he makes.

As Edward gets used to the scent, the intensity of his reaction decreases significantly. He halts, scolding himself for his behavior; what gives him the right to stalk Mustang like this, especially when his feelings are... platonic? Feeling his face burning, he lowers his head and slumps against a shelf, shame building up and insisting for him to leave as soon as—

“Fullmetal?”

“Not an alchemist anymore...”

Roy is over there, and then right by Ed’s side because of course he would have to get closer. The blue military jacket hangs from his forearm and he is holding a book with a grey paper cover — a novel, probably, and, although Ed has never been one to read fiction, he still wants to ask about it. And he looks good — even if he’s in those clothes Edward always sees — since there’s probably not a single moment in the man’s life he doesn’t.

“Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

”It’s been years now,” he snorts, “I know your old man memory makes it all harder, but it’s time for you to catch up already.”

The raven-haired man opens his mouth, and rapidly closes it again — instead of words, what comes out is laughter. A small huffed sound that Edward takes a moment to admire.

“What’s so funny, Mustang?”

“Nothing, it’s just— I was going to make a joke about your diminutive height, but I’m not entitled to that anymore.”

Ed’s grin is larger than the Drachman border, “Fucking finally.”

They’re eye to eye now. In fact, Edward is even a bit taller, but that might just be the angle — or biased by Ed’s strong desire to one-up Mustang in something. The blond breathes in deeply, letting that overwhelming scent warm him up deliciously; his knees go a bit weak and he blinks at Roy in an attempt to regain his focus.

“Do you feel well enough to go back to work now?” Roy asks, with worry furrowing his brows.

“...”

“It’s been almost four weeks now.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, it’s just things have been kinda… complicated.” Ed has no idea if the slow nod Mustang gives him means more days off or simply acknowledgement, so he adds: “but I can go back whenever.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m feeling good and all that.”

Roy bites the corner of his bottom lip, “Yes, but I mean are you sure?”

Oh, Ed shivers, he’s talking about that.

To say Roy knows a thing about that, would be a blatant lie — Ed had been very quick to shout for Mustang to get out that day. Still, the thought doesn’t stop the spike of fear, and neither the annoyance burning its way through his throat. He has to remind himself to stay calm, that Mustang probably thinks Ed just gets uncomfortable with his scent, that Alphonse would never expose him in such way.

Ed sighs, and this time the warmth that comes with inhaling settles in his chest, cocooning itself like a small animal underneath his ribcage.

“It’s alright, I’m getting used to the whole hypersensitivity thing, it doesn’t bother me so much.”

For the smallest second, Ed is sure he sees—

—that flash of disappointment.

Yeah, that’s pretty stupid, isn’t it?

Their following exchanges’ themes orbit around work, as they always do. Mustang tells him about Havoc, who was in charge of all paperwork involving the infamous Major Elric and couldn’t wait for said Major’s return to get rid of it. Edward chimes in when he supposes necessary, which is almost never — and his answers are mostly monosyllabic. As they exit the shop, Roy offers him a ride home in one of the military cars and Ed refuses, leaving the man baffled when he says he’ll walk back home.

He hangs around him until the car arrives, and he tells himself it is to keep Mustang company, but…

No one would really blame him for being selfish just this once, right?

[historyhermann]

A Lack of Imagination: Fictional Acceptance of Dewey Decimal System Without Question [part 2]

Broken up into various parts because Tumblr was being funky. Reprinted from Pop Culture Library Review and Wayback Machine.

Mind map style of DDC classification. Reposted from "The library, and step on it"

This fealty in fiction is not limited to animation series. Fan fictions about Marvel, Supernatural, Person of Interest, Royal White & Royal Blue, Simon Snow, Carry On Series, The 100, Brothers & Sisters, The Flash, Wheel of Times, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Music Man, and Stargate Atlantis characters have parts about the DDC which is stated as a fact and not questioned. The same is for fics about characters from the Schitt's Creek, The Avengers, BTS, Game of Thrones, Final Fantasy XIV, Genshin Impact, Teen Wolf, Haikyuu!, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Sherlock Holmes, and Batman fandoms. [1]

It makes sense that the DDC is used and referenced in fiction, including by those writing stories who are librarians. It can cement a story in something that people deal with day to day. Even so, there are some stories which buck this trend. For instance, there is a Good Omens fic with character saying "I go by category...Dewey’s system might have worked well for public libraries, but it’s laughable for my collection." There's even an explicit Schitt's Creek fic describing the DDC as "a needlessly complicated system designed by a misogynist and a racist" and a Criminal Minds fic which calls the system "sadistic." Another fic has Levi Ackerman of the Attack on Titan describes it as an "an important system that has organized the world’s knowledge for centuries" and then explains why specific books are categorized in certain sections, stating to a stranger:

...books on domestic skills like cleaning and dinner etiquette used to always be grouped together with topics on women. As if domestic spaces are inherently gendered. Of course, that’s no surprise, seeing as how Melvil Dewey was a well-known sexual harasser of women. The groupings were changed once people realized this bias, but if you think about what that says in terms of who is pushed towards certain knowledge…the system has an effect on -- or at least is representative of -- how we bias our knowledge...Another example is the categorization of LGBTQ topics. Did you know queer discussions were originally labelled under the numbers 132 and 159.9?...They were categorized under mental derangements and abnormal psychology...Yeah, well. It switched around to the 300’s -- sociology -- and skipped around from social problems to social deviations. A lot of libraries still use those labels today. But the most current one is 306.7, sexual relations.

I don't believe the author of that fic is a librarian, but they do say in the author notes that they spent two hours learning about the DDC, and shared a link about homophobia in the DDC, which is an article by Doreen Sullivan entitled "A brief history of homophobia in Dewey decimal classification." I wish there were more fics like that, [2] as too many seem to accept the DDC on face value.

© 2022 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

Notes

[1] See "Dewey Decimal System" (Nov. 12, 2020) by nepenthe_writer, "The Dewey Decimal System" (Feb. 16, 2018) by justanotherbusyfangirl, "The Dewey Decimal System of Love" (Aug. 10, 2018) by orphan_account, "The Dewey Decimal System Will Always Save You" (Jul. 25, 2016) by strawberriesandtophats, "The Dewey Decimal System, and Other Love Languages" (Sept. 28, 2019) by HMS Chill, "Lessons on Love and the Dewey Decimal System" (Dec. 25, 2020) by effing-numpties (avenging_cap), "The Dewey Decimal System is Not That Hard" (Nov. 4, 2016) by Musiclurv, "Shelving" (Apr. 13, 2013) by romanticalgirl, "the beauty of a thousand variations" (Aug. 14, 2015) by super-gingerholly, "Universal Knowledge: A series of Dewey Drabbles" (Jan. 24, 2010) by whenrabbitsattack (Maya), "Card Catalog" (May 1, 2020) by primeideal, "Four Letter Words in Purple Prose" (Dec. 19, 2020) by CelticxPanda, "The Proper Classification of Lovemaking" (Dec. 10, 2019) by MarianneGreenleaf, "Take My Hand" (Aug. 5, 2018) by BeccabooO1O, "MarianSue: An SG-15 Sex Fantasy" (Aug. 29, 2011) by delphia2000, "The Contractual Obligations of Loving Patrick Brewer" (Jan. 17, 2020) by paleredheadinascifi, "Hayalci" (Feb. 4, 2013) by purpleshrub (Viola25), "840" (June 19, 2012) by pollyrepeat, "check me out" (May 29, 2019) by constellatte, "The Stapler Thief" (July 21, 2017) by WauryD, "Sumire" (March 7, 2021) by CelticxPanda, "And Now I Know My ABCs" (Aug. 11, 2019) by semantics, "Electric Love" (Oct. 25, 2020) by winstonsfolly, "Operation: Stileswatch" [Chapter 2] (Mar. 1, 2014) by antpower, "the dragon, the witch, and the mistakes we made along the way" (Nov. 2, 2018) by crocustongues, "That Notable Librarian" (Mar. 1, 2021) by LizzieMack, "And so beguile thy sorrow" (May 26, 2021) by hapax (hapaxnym), "Quiet in the Library" (Sept. 30, 2018) by sharkinterviewee, "In The Library" (Aug. 1, 2016) by Quesarasara, "How To Make A Photopoetry" (Mar. 18, 2021) by pilongski, "when he sees me" (June 3, 2021) by asteriasera. This includes the main fics I found when searching for the DDC here and with the tag (which includes 10 fics).

[2] One fic talks about an equivalent to the DDC and another even set a fic at a place that Dewey founded, criticized how the system is portrayed, or used as background information. Even Hermoine, in one fic, says that the library should be organized using DDC! In another, it is stated that a shelving system is "not based on the Dewey Decimal system or any other human invention."

[alizardgirlinamsterdam]

Whatever you do, don’t call it “History”

July 5, 2022

Today we spoke to a children’s librarian, Ava, at DOK in Delft. There were so many things about her approach to working with children and working in libraries that reflect my own values. Something we talked about in our debrief of the visit is that so many of her measures to improve the accessibility of and engagement with the children’s collections seemed so obvious once we heard them—things like a custom classification system designed with input from actual children, adaptable shelves and spaces, utilitarian gender-neutral bathrooms, clear but non-isolating approaches to content warnings and text accessibility, etc. Though the specifics of these practices are inspiring in themselves, I find it especially heartening to see so many examples in one place of what it means to reject the standards/traditions/values of the library field at a really in-house, community-directed level. The lesson that I’m taking away from Ava’s expertise and the evolution of DOK is that one of the strongest forces holding us back from making the changes we imagine is our own maybe unarticulated, definitely under-examined loyalty to legacy practices in libraries.

Take the custom classification system they’ve created for the children’s departments, for example. The new system is based on theme, dividing all titles, nonfiction and fiction alike, by similarities in content subject. Ava talked about the process they followed to develop this system: consulting with an expert who knows how to conduct research with children, facilitating feedback sessions (“Pizza Chats”), and following the guidance of youth patrons even when it explicitly contradicts customary practices. First off, this new system is obviously a huge triumph when it comes to participatory design in a working library setting. But even beyond this aspect, I’m really interested in the way the system is intended to mimic the way kid brains actually work and encourage discovery over search. I personally don’t think spontaneous discovery and search are actually mutually exclusive given the sophisticated database capacity most contemporary libraries have—not to mention the even more increased capacity for search DOK’s RFID technology allows for. But, throwing out existing classification schemes and creating something new in their place does seem to trigger something primal in a lot of academic and professional library spaces. I think we really want to believe, even subconsciously, that it’s possible to create a classification system that has the capacity to accurately categorize all information texts and is truly free of the bias that plagues the options we currently have. This mentality harkens back to the way we think of it as being theoretically possible for libraries to be completely equal and neutral, if only logistical and political concerns weren’t a factor. 

To me, it’s obvious that these ideals aren’t possible. No library that exists in a colonial society and is directed by primarily white, non-Indigenous people (or forces) can be truy decolonial all the way down. In this same way, no classification system can be entirely free of the biases held by its designers. Acknowledging these realities doesn’t create complacency or nihilism: it’s what prepares us to meaningfully deconstruct them. DOK’s classification isn’t perfect. It isn’t perfectly representative of a complex collection, it isn’t perfectly accessible, and it isn’t perfectly decolonial. But, it does center user needs and feedback (and users from a traditionally dismissed group, at that) over professionalized expertise, and in doing so, challenges the idea that there’s one best way to categorize books in a library. In this fluid imperfection and in its inherent rejection of legacy alternatives, DOK engages meaningfully with colonialism and other connected systems of oppression. Seeing this example makes me so hopeful because it seems so much more possible and likely to me that a library that has already made these kinds of moves can keep working towards bigger and more complex decolonial and equity goals.

[semper-legens]

7. Black Spartacus: The Epic Life of Toussaint Louverture, by Sudhir Hazareesingh

Owned: No, library Page count: 370 My summary: A biography of Toussaint Louverture, one of the central figures of the Haitian revolution in the late 1700s. My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

Time for something completely different - a hefty nonfiction book about Toussaint Louverture, key figure in the Haitian revolution and hero in Haiti to this day. Though I knew the bare bones of the Haitian revolution, I didn't know all that much about the specifics, hence why this book was immediately so interesting to me when I saw it on the shelves. Toussaint Louverture seems like such an interesting person. The Haitian revolution was one of the few successful revolutions of enslaved peoples in the Caribbean (though not for lack of trying) and Toussaint Louverture is widely credited with its success. This book is more about him than about the revolution as a whole, but I still found it to be really interesting.

A couple of nitpicks first, though. Obviously Louverture spoke and wrote in French and Kreyol primarily, so any key quotes of his are translated into English in this English text. Except only some of them are. Others are left in French or Kreyol, and the translation is contained in a footnote at the back of the book, which is annoying when the text just carries on assuming you know what the quote means, forcing you to flip through a couple hundred pages to find the answer. Another thing is that, for at least half of the book, the author doesn't expound on any of Louverture's flaws. Now, like I say, I know not much about the subject matter, but inherently I tend to distrust any biographical work that is giving a wholly negative or wholly positive account of any person without any of the other view to balance it out. Later in the book a more balanced view of Louverture is given, but at first it was hard not to distrust this book's view just because literally everything Louverture was described as doing was an amazing work of genius. Guy probably had some off-days! Like I said, I can't exactly give the most nuanced criticism of this particular aspect, but it is often a red flag in biographical nonfiction for me.

All that said, this was still an engaging read. Louverture's life is legitimately fascinating, and reading about the struggles he went through before, during, and after the Haitian revolution was interesting. I knew that conditions on Haiti were absolutely abhorrent, but seeing the abuse that black people faced even from abolitionists post-revolution was certainly an eye-opener, as well as the harshly drawn lines between white people, black people, and people of colour. (This using the old definition of mixed race people, rather than the more modern usage of the phrase.) Louverture seems to have been a voice for peace in these times, offering amnesty to some white people while not trusting those who had proven themselves untrustworthy, and attempting to see the path against slaughter and towards justice. Admirable enough, especially for a man in his position who had faced all of the trials he had come up against. This was an interesting, if long read, and I'm glad I finally got around to it!

Next up, Death Cast is calling…

[beckettsthoughts]

i wanna know as much about your oc as possible!! answer all the questions that really interest you

Thank you so much for asking! I don’t talk about it a lot, but I really do love the opportunity to gush about my OCs. Beware though, this is longer than my last university essay so you’d better strap in for a long ride. I’ve been working on this periodically since I woke up this morning and now I’ve just finished it before I settle down for the night. I’m sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless:

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

Renard actually does have a title, he holds the Duchy of Saint Félix! Being the Duc, Renard has a certain amount of power over the region’s land and also holds the deeds to the manor house which is situated at the peak of the hill that houses the town of Saint Félix. Renard got the title of Duc from the old Duc de Saint Félix, who was a close family friend and mentor of Renard’s. He had no children to pass the title on to, so it went to Renard instead since he had been a live-in student at the manor for several years by the time the old Duc passed away.

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory? 

Renard had a good childhood, it was not the most exciting life but he enjoyed learning and the little exploring he was allowed to do. It involved travelling, which he loved, as his parents were fond of visiting all sorts of towns and cities. Each one involved museums, restaurants, beautiful architecture and cultural sites that lent a great deal of nuance to Renard’s education. At home, he enjoyed the formal gardens in any season and often went back and forth between his own home and that of his aunt’s for lessons and lectures. The only truly bad memory he can recall from his childhood is the time when his parents forbid him from seeing one of his best friends when they found out that she wasn’t fae. Though he understands that decision as an adult and how beneficial it was to his safety, twelve-year-old Renard was not quite so forgiving.

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents? 

Renard maintains a pleasant but distant relationship with his parents. He sees them every few years but otherwise writes them fortnightly letters about his travels, his learning and his friends. He is grateful for their support, as they were enthusiastic and accomodating of his desire to leave home and travel, to pick up new skills and occupations as he went. They do not provide with anything except the occasional gift and he sends them souvenirs and books in return. Renard’s mother is the type to visit every so often if Renard needs support or comfort, but those sorts of visits are increasingly rare.

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

Renard does not have any siblings but instead was raised closely alongside his cousins. The two family homes were close-by, separated only by arable farmland and agricultural fields that lined the road between them. Renard took his lessons in his aunt and cousins’ household and they would often spend the weekends at his. He sees his cousins a lot more often than he sees the rest of his family and offers them a place in his home when they are travelling through Saint Félix. His relationship to them has changed a little, but remains vastly the same. The only real change is how they relate to other through shared experiences and interests that they’ve developed since childhood, and this change is more exciting than it is daunting, to Renard. He is often pleased to hear about his cousins’ new interests and whether or not he shares them, or what he can learn from them and about them.

7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood? 

Renard did not have many childhood friends outside of his family, as his family lived in an area fairly isolated from other fae. He did befriend humans on numerous occasions when he was very young but from the age of twelve this habit was promptly squashed. Throughout his adolescence he befriended many of the guests who stayed in his family’s home, however, and many of these friends he still has contact with and will invite for dinner if they happen to be nearby.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals? 

Renard has actually never kept any pets himself. His family used to keep hounds but he rarely saw them and didn’t get along very well with them, and if he was going to keep any pets as an adult he’d want to keep fish. He’s not often staying in one place, though, so care for animals such as fish would be difficult without palming the responsibility off on Perro whenever he left on his travels. Shapeshifters, he has found, have a strange relationship with animals and it’s not one he’s had a great chance to explore. 

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals? 

Animals do like Renard, for the most part, except for the fact that dogs can often sense his distaste for their kind. 

10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect?

Children, like dogs, have a one-sided relationship with Renard. They do not have an inherent dislike of him, but they would like him much more if he showed any affinity for them.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

Renard has a fair talent for cooking, and makes it an objective to learn at least a couple of new techniques from wherever it is he’s living or travelling. He also has an incredible talent for convincing people he is better than he actually is, by preparing simple but foreign meals with a complex presentation. Perro is the only person who has learned to see through this, and often makes passing comments about it at dinner parties.

16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it? 

Renard collects souvenirs, artwork and also feathers. The souvenirs are kept throughout his various properties, with his favourites lining the shelves in his Saint Félix flat and the larger pieces and artwork residing in the manor house. The feathers are kept in old coloured-glass wine bottles and several are displayed in the library of the manor house.

20. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes?

Renard is a fan of music and often finds himself drawn to places of music. Concert halls, theatres, pubs and cobbled town squares. Because of the style of music Renard most enjoys, his reaction is often just to let himself be, listen reverantly and with nothing else occupying his mind. It’s calming and cathartic. If it’s folk that he’s listening to, however, he will join in with the dancing with an unmatched enthusiasm. He is indeed a fan of musical theatre, too, and will buy tickets to whatever travelling show is making it’s way through town.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

Oh, Renard definitely has a temper. He has a pretty wicked temper, actually, but it’s not always obvious when he loses it because he doesn’t get violent or aggressive but rather he gets quiet and sharp. He fights with words, primarily, and he doesn’t fight with nasty words either. Instead, Renard’s wars are waged with snide comments and backhanded compliments. He has a lot of patience where certain people are concerned, though (‘certain people’, when talking of Renard, usually means Perro)

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces?

Renard has a good memory, and he is impeccable with faces and names. He credits this to a childhood of being introduced to powerful and upper-class guests and having to know each of them and how to address them. He finds it quite funny when he remembers exactly who people are and they only look at him with an expression of faint recognition. 

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Losing people, I think. Renard knows a lot of people but has few very close friends and partners, and he is terrified of losing them (in any sense that might mean). He also has a primal fear of the deep ocean, which he has mostly learnt to keep in check because he spends a lot of time out at sea. As long as he’s well above it in a substantial boat, he’s usually fine.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective? 

Renard, with the fears of other, will usually respond with lighthearted joking. He does this mostly to gauge how they want him to respond, whether or not they joke back determines Renard’s long-term plan. If they don’t want to talk about it, he’ll leave it alone and simple avoid the topic and steer them away from things that might trigger them. If they joke about it, he’ll joke with them and often poke fun at his own fears so he doesn’t seem condescending. If they’re clearly serious phobias, he will get protective over them. He does his best to shelter Perro and Jolie from their worst fears whenever he can, and when he can’t he’s always happy to listen and comfort them as best he can.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?

Renard does not often drink, but he will on occasion. Never enough to make a fool of himself. He’s only been properly drunk on one or two occasions when he was younger and he didn’t find them enjoyable, nor does he like the taste enough to justify the experience. The main reason Renard will drink at events is because he’s expected to, because he’d look strange not drinking.

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

Renard loves clothing both soft and fancy, so expect any tweed suits of his to be complimented by faux-fur scarves and gloves. He loves jewellery and accessories, with a particular fondness for gloves, rings and brooches, and he spends the majority of his income on looking nice. His hair is a bright auburn colour, lies almost dead straight and is usually cut into a bob, but he has worn it both longer and shorter in the past. His face, if he is out in public, is hidden behind an intricately-painted wooden fox mask, held in place using magic but occasionally decorated with ribbons and beads. He does wear makeup, usually patterns of eyeliner or face jewels, even though he knows people will rarely see it.

34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body?

Tall, lean, and his movements are somewhat catlike. Or rather, foxlike, but that doesn’t evoke quite such clear imagery. He grew up slightly gangly and awkward but soon learnt how to command his body in a fluid and graceful manner. People are often drawn to him, for this.

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure? 

Renard’s totally unguilty pleasure is anything expensive. He loves spending money, on expensive clothing and jewellery especially, as well as books and naval equipment. He has an intricate compass, a gold-plated pocketwatch and various jewels, not to mention the price of good instruments. His guilty pleasure is probably tacky souvenirs. He will unguiltily buy sophisticated ones, but he can’t resist buying a cheap, objectively awful snow-globe every once in a while.

36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing?

Renard’s two primary hobbies are playing music and sailing. Renard plays violin, accordion, piano, harp and melodeon but his favourite is the violin. He loves learning new instruments, and was given a lute by Perro that he vows to learn before too long. 

Sailing, his second hobby, is the one he doesn’t talk about as much. It’s hard to talk about sailing to people who don’t sail, so he finds friends in the yacht club to talk to when he needs to have a discussion about routes and tidal markers. Renard’s boat is called the Sharp Wit and needs three or four crew members to properly sail. This crew is usually patched together from whoever happens to be around and knows at least a little about what they’re doing, and Renard sometimes brings guests along as well. He’ll often trade good from place to place on his travels and brings back products if people ask him to do so, but his primary use of the boat is for leisure travel.

37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction?

Renard’s library hosts a mix of fiction and non-fiction, both of which he enjoys. He has a wide range of classic literature, both fae and human, and he enjoys historical fiction and romances in particular. He also has several expensive illustrated fairytale books in his collection which he enjoys.  Where non-fiction is concerned, Renard owns scores of books about art and artists, music and musicians, playwrights and theatre. He owns a vast collection of books on nautical navigation and the history of exploration, and he loves reading accounts of travel. He also owns multiple books on specific crafts that serve almost as intruction manuals to his own creations, and he owns at least two shelves of sheet music and music manuscript.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

Renard very much admires those with a natural approachability and charisma. While Renard is incredibly charismatic in some ways, he lacks that look of friendliness and the softness of voice that a lot of the nicest of fae seem to have. People tend to assume that Renard is a smooth-talker, something of a charlatan, and people perceive his accent and idiolect as cavalier and supercilious. He also admires those with a talent for mathematics and sciences, which he never excelled at but always loved in concept.

39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging? 

Renard spends almost every evening writing letters. To his parents, his cousins, and to Perro if he’s away from home. He’s not involved with technology enough to use either email or messaging, but he’s considering buying an old-style phone one of these days.

40. Do they like energy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert?

Renard has a definite sweet tooth, usually appeased with expensive yet unsatisfying small desserts, and he enjoys hot drinks as well. He doesn’t need them for energy, but he does enjoy the taste and he loves trying different types of tea.

41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship?

Now this is the fun question, because Renard doesn’t really like to follow rules in this regard. The best definition of Ren’s sexuality would be pansexual, I think. He also has significant relationships that aren’t sexual or romantic, and that’s something he’s perfectly comfortable with. Renard learnt as he grew up that fae are a varied and diverse group with no real boundaries or binaries, Renard himself doesn’t like set labels if he can avoid them, so he grew up with an open mind and desire to figure things out for himself when it comes to relationships. 

What Renard needs in relationships, most importantly, is a balance between company and space. Renard is often away from home, or moving between his apartment and the manor house, and it’s well known that he likes to have his own spaces at least part of the time. However, he is willing to share these with others if he really likes them. Few people have ever stayed in Renard’s cabin on the Sharp Wit aside from Perro and Renard, for example, and the same applies to Renard’s apartment and workspace. Renard loves being dramatic and affectionate when he can get away with it, but he does need solitude a lot of the time and one thing he values in a relationship is a mutual understanding of each others’ needs for space.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

Renard’s main goal in life is to learn as much as he can about as much of the world, both fae world and human world, as possible.

43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people?

Renard is not religious, but he has a great respect for religion and an interest in philosophy. He does believe in certain superstitions, but in the fae world it’s wise to believe in some of the fantastical warnings you were given as a child. 

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most? 

Renard loves the heat, and when it’s warm outside he will sit on pavements, walls and balconies to soak in the sun. Perro and Jolie will sometimes mock him for this, as it can become a rather coquettish display of arching his back and smiling at them over his shoulder, elegantly crossing his legs where they fall at the edge of the wall. He will, in the heat, switch his outfits from three-piece suits to flowing cotton shirts or simply waistcoats, when at home trading his heavy mask for a wide-brimmed summer hat. The cold, though it appears to suit Renard just as well to those who don’t know him, puts him in a bristled mood. He’ll complain about the cold, wear his warmest gloves and coat and scarf and hat and then he’ll use the mask to shield his face from the wind. If it’s raining, however, he may well refuse to leave the house at all.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves? 

People tend to view Renard from a distance, and from that perspective he often seems imposing, vain and superior. His smile is sharp-edged and his tongue is acerbic with wit, while his smooth tone of voice leads many to believe he is out to con them. He is a respected musician and, amongst the communities in which he lives, usually a respected citizen. He has a strained relationship with the residents of Saint Félix because many of them don’t think he deserves to hold the Duchy as he wasn’t born there, but many have accepted him regardless as he actually has little power and lets the residents make most of the decisions.

46. Do they make a good first impression? Does their first impression reflect them accurately? How do they introduce themselves?

Usually, he makes a good impression. He’s well-spoken, polite and generally friendly. He introduces himself with his full name but not his title. Aside from the fact that people often assume him to be a conman, he is generally perceived well and at least is known to be polite.

47. How do they act in a formal occasion? What do they think of black tie wear? Do they enjoy fancy parties and love to chit chat or loathe the whole event?

Renard, in formal occasions, tends to take control. It is clear at most formal events that he is the most comfortable person there, having been raised at formals and balls and soirees and promenades. He has no trouble asking people to dance, or opening up polite but distant smalltalk. He loves the chance to dress up, and he loves the chance to make others dress up, especially his friends and partners. 

48. Do they enjoy any parties? If so what kind? Do they organise the party or just turn up? How do they act? What if they didn’t want to go but were dragged along by a friend? 

Renard is usually the one organising the parties, actually, as he is the person who owns the deeds to a perfectly-suited manor house. He prefers attending as a guest to being the host, but unless he’s heading to family occasions he rarely has that luxury. What he does like is making the decisions, though. He likes having control over the food and the music and flowers and the bunting. He likes making sure that everyone will have a good time and he loves getting to greet everyone as they walk in. He rarely goes to parties he doesn’t like the sound of, but if it were to happen then he would drag Perro or Jolie along with him for emotional support.

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

Renard’s most valued objects are mostly sentimental items. There is a peacock feather from one of his first times travelling, a compass with a beautifully ornate rose that was passed on to him by his grandfather, and a brooch that he was given as gift of love from Perro. While he values his various jewels and many of them do hold sentimental value as well as material, those specific objects are his most precious. 

50. If they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? What do they consider their essentials?

When Renard travels, he tries his best to pack light. He will take comfortable pyjamas, appropriate wear for working the boat and some particular personal mementos. He will always wear the ring that Perro bought for him, a pair of gloves he was given by Jolie, a locket with a family photograph inside. Renard’s intention is almost always to buy everything else he needs once he reaches his destination, buying local products to better immerse himself in new cultures. Jolie argues that it’s just an excuse to spend money and Renard would be defensive if she suggested it to his face, but nonetheless he always returns with heavier bags than he left with.

[booklust]

If the rumors are true that print is dying, then we’re in a zombie apocalypse. Booklr and the self-designated online community of book lovers, as well as publishing professionals and the more dismal-minded of authors, have been predicting the death of print culture for years. Yet it persists, with physical books still outselling e-books by a hugely significant margin. Zine fairs, DIY publishing, and small publishers creating beautiful physical copies are popping up everywhere in my feeds and in the culture, and I’m excited about it. If anything, the intensification of the digital realm has increased the demand--and need--for print publications. They complement each other in ways that no one (or at least, of other non-tech-native generations....no shade dad) could have predicted.

It’s appropriate that the first interview in the series is with the Road Virus, a horror-genre-and-queer-focused mobile bookstore currently traveling the United States. I came across the Road Virus in the digital realm, where we followed each others’ writing. We hit it off right away, because we both have telephone anxiety and have a passion for the non-hierarchical, accessible future of literary culture. Sade and I had a conversation on G-Chat about what it’s like to run a mobile bookstore, Stephen King, accessibility in book culture, how libraries can save lives, and the future of lit. Check it out below:

So first off--thanks so much for your time/agreeing to this interview! I'm super stoked about the Road Virus and everything it's about. Absolutely, and again––thanks so much for doing this interview project in the first place. I definitely feel like now, more than ever, the world needs a good strong focus on things with a literary bent. The best part is that we're the ones writing, in realtime, the history of our own culture. 

Give me your elevator pitch for the Road Virus--except the elevator is broken, so you have more time than you thought.

The Road Virus is a time-tested dream come true. Born out of displeasure with the stasis of ordinary living, my best friend Em and I decided that we wanted to open a bookstore. Books and literature have been in our bloodstreams since before anything else really mattered, so we decided to make that a tangible reality.

Unfortunately, since things in life are so uncertain, opening a brick-and-mortar store just didn't seem feasible. So, we decided on the next best thing––we bought a bus and converted it into a half-RV home, half-mobile bookstore. Lucking out with an ex bookmobile, we decided to focus on fringe genres such as horror, sci-fi, subversive graphic novels and comics, erotica, fantasy, and so on––both due to our limited space and our own inherent interests.

We plan to visit even the most remote parts of the US––and someday beyond––with the concept in mind that a lot of places don't have access to the kind of wares we're totting.

Now, I imagine the elevator creaking, hitching––giving us a fleeting hope––and then plummeting down the shaft. We're probably fine. ------------------------------   keep reading below  -------------------------------

How did you and Em meet to form this dynamic duo of traveling booksellers?

We met by the grace of a mutual friend. A night out drinking in one of the darkest and dingiest bars in the world led to a weirdly cohesive and whirlwind friendship. After discovering our shared love and obsession with books and bookstores, we came around to discussing the idea of opening and running our own. We ended up taking a pretty much spur-of-the-moment trip to Tokyo; something about that trip set reality in motion and things ended up happening so fast that I still look back on it and wonder if it wasn't all just a dream.

Is the name the Road Virus inspired by the Stephen King short story?

It certainly is. With our main focus being on horror and all things related, we felt like we needed a name which not only reflected the contents of our shelves, but also our goal.

In the story, the Road Virus is a car owned by an interdimensional killer; it travels across the US, leaving a swath of death and destruction in its wake. Less on the murder-y side for us, we see it as a way of spreading knowledge––which, of course, can be one of the deadliest and most destructive tools of all. The story, which first appeared in the anthology 999––edited by Al Sarrantonio, this book has been one of my most prized possessions since childhood––has always stood out to me; when we were kicking around ideas for names, The Road Virus was one of the first I jotted down. It came back, and it stuck. 

Also, when I saw that your name was the Road Virus, I couldn't help but connect the resilience of the killer painting in the story with what you both are doing for print literature---in a positive, not at all murderous way--that bookstores are closing down, and people proclaim that print lit is dying, but the Road Virus is an active example of print literature's resilience against all odds. With that in mind---what would you say to people who claim that print lit is dying? and what pushed you to start the Road Virus at this moment in time?

I really enjoy the emphasis we're both putting on this totally not being a murder thing at all, whatsoever.

To those who say that print lit is dying, that books are obsolete, that the internet is the only way to acquire new information and fiction, I say: barring the physical process of a body shutting down and decomposing, something can only truly die if you allow it to.  As long as there is at least one person publishing a book or zine and one person reading it, the concepts and idealism and spirit of print lit will survive and thrive.

Yes! It's so important to me that you connect physical, print lit with physical bodies. The power of print literature is that it creates physical community in a way that digital can't do alone. And physically showing up for something you care about can, and will, keep it alive.

Absolutely. Something that people need to remember now more than ever is that we have the ability to influence anything and everything. There is always a light in the dark, and we always have the choice to make something of ourselves and our surroundings. We are not powerless. For people like us, books have always been an escape, but they're also so much more: calling cards, symbols of power, beacons of hope tying groups together and ripping old systems apart.

Literacy is an extremely important thing to both of us––Em, as you said, is a former librarian, and I myself basically learned all I know from books. Libraries and bookstores were like second homes to us as kids––and sometimes, more so a first home to me personally. I dropped out of school at a very early age and attribute the majority of my ability to comprehend the world around me to the free, open-access presence of libraries. I come from a non-academic background, and Em comes from one of thorough education-oriented leanings; this combination suits us to a t.

The idea that they're dying out and being defunded saddens us greatly, and we feel the need to bring back those concepts to the forefront.

Mutually, we wanted this to be a bookselling venture so that we can sustain ourselves through the trade itself; however, we definitely felt the need to interweave the free and open-source aspect of libraries. We're still working out the avenues of providing reading lessons, and have quite a few ideas in mind for things like free movie nights and author readings.   What's being on the road like? Where have you been, and do you have any weird stories/interesting encounters?

Living in San Francisco, we've been very fortunate to have some amazing haunts. I think we owe a lot of our inspiration for The Road Virus to our favorite daily stop, Aardvark Books on the historic Church St.

Actually, we've been drydocked, so to speak. Our goodly vessel has been parked at a friend's about an hour northeast of SF for over a month now; we've been living on the bus full time while we've been renovating and preparing for permanent life on the road. We also unfortunately ran into some issues with the electrical system, which is being taken care of this week.

Regardless, we're both pretty nomadic people, and we can't wait to officially take off. I can say that driving the bus back to the buildsite was a hell of a trip.

Before we got her, Jolene––our name for the bus––lived a quiet life in Kansas City, MO. We flew in and were planning on driving her back in 2-3 days. This, as it turned out, was absolutely impossible. It ended up taking a week, and was rife with complications; we broke down numerous times, ended up sleeping in the uninsulated bus in -20 degree weather, and had endless scares on the road. Driving through the midwest was like traveling through a different world. I don't think I've been stared at that much in my entire life, except maybe in Tokyo (I'm covered in tattoos, piercings, etc.).  

The drive back over the CA state line was like something out of a dream––more a nightmare, maybe. We drove into one of the worst rainstorms I think I've ever seen, to the point where cars were sliding all over the road, trucks were going 20mph on the highway, and vehicles our size were actually barred from driving any farther at a certain point, so we were all lined up on the side of the highway for hours. This was on about 36 hours of no sleep. As far as fun stories on the road, in my experience they are many and not-so-far in between; we'll have plenty to share once we really get going, I'm sure. Driving through the snow-covered Rockies in a 32' bus when neither of us had driven anything larger than a UHAUL truck was certainly one for the books. 

Lastly, in a quick semi-tweet-length: How do envision the future of literature?

Futurelit, the Tweetening: Though ink may run, pages may yellow, & screens may flicker–the world of lit will forever reinvent itself, thriving in the face of adversity. xxxxxxxxx Follow the Road Virus everywhere:

(Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat) @roadvirusbus Communicables: http://theroadvirus.com/blog 

Reading Is Infectious (book subscription service) (http://shop.theroadvirus.com). A book in the genre of your choice delivered to your door every month.

[lovingzombiechaos]

The Price We Pay-Chapter 6

Summary: In which Eugene and Nayna make plans. Word Count: 4350 NAYNA

Had it only been a week since she’d stood in the kitchen, washing dishes with Negan? She crouched in the shade, laying the bale of hay at her feet and sneezing as the dust rose high into the air. The past week had felt like both an eternity and a blur.

When Rick found out that Negan had held Judith, and that Nayna had let him, they’d had the biggest argument yet. Nayna had finally left in tears, frustrated at being stuck between a rock and a hard place. She’d sat out in the rain, staring at nothing until Michonne fetched her home.

The next day Rick had apologized, and Nayna simply nodded her assent. She was too tired, too weary, too worn out to fight anymore. Plus, she had the sneaking suspicion that Michonne put him up to it, rather than it coming from a sincere place.

For the rest of the week she’d avoided Rick and Michonne and even Carl. Most days, like today, she spent feeding and caring for her rabbits. Keeping her mind occupied with them helped her ignore the flirty overtones she’d given Negan.

I don’t play well with others. Like she would ever consider sleeping with him.

She pushed herself up and began to drag the bale across the backyard. She stopped as the wind picked up, carrying with it two arguing voices.

Bending down to inspect the rabbits, Nayna pretended to stuff the hay in their cage. Instead she had her head cocked to the side, listening to the voices on the other side of the fence. She squinted as she strained to make sense of what they were saying, but it was lost in the wind. Rosita’s voice grew sharper and Eugene’s lowered and warbled. She had the distinct feeling they did not want to be overheard.

Nayna edged around the fence, peering at Eugene and Rosita from between the slats. She’d heard her name and muttering, followed by Rick’s. Wiping a streak of sweat from her face, she leaned on the fence, picking at the splintering wood.

Rosita’s back was half turned to her and she stood with her hip swung out to the side, arms crossed over her chest. Nayna could see the glimmer of sweat pooling at the nape of her neck.

Eugene faced both Rosita and Nayna. His shoulders were hunched and he stared at the ground, looking like a kicked dog. Despite the long sleeved shirt on his back he showed no signs of being overheated. Bastard. Here she was with a thin, nearly sheer tank top on, sweating her balls off.

“I don’t know what Rick’s playing at,” Rosita said.

Eugene stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Whatever it is that Rick is doing, I believe we should do our due diligence and keep our heads down and mouths in the closed position.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Are you serious right now? We’re giving half our shit to some cabrón, and why? Because he came and told us so?”

He peered into Rosita’s face. “Do you have any recollection of the conversation that took place between Nayna and said cabrón? If we do not do our share, Nayna’s head will be reduced to a pile of hemoglobin and gore. I have no desire to make that a reality, thank you.”

Rosita shook her head. “And you believed him?”

He shrugged. “I believe it is in our best interest, and Nayna’s, if we keep our heads down and our profiles nearly non-existent.”

She scoffed at him and picked up the pack at her feet. “Exactly what I’d expect from a coward like you. Go do your repairs or whatever you think makes you useful.”

Throwing it over her shoulder, she walked away, leaving Eugene staring at the grass. Even from her position behind the fence, Nayna could see his jaw twitching. The hurt covering his face made her want to go to him. She knew exactly how he felt. She sighed and pressed her face into the wood. She didn’t want to admit she’d been eavesdropping, but she couldn’t let Eugene feel worthless.

“Hey,” she said, stepping from behind the fence, slightly surprised at the tiniest of warbles in her voice. She cleared her throat.

Eugene didn’t bother to look up at her. “Greetings and salutations.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “What are you up to? I could use your help or at the very least I could use you to bounce ideas off of.”

“Use me,” he echoed her, still fixated on a piece of grass.

She grinded her teeth. “That’s not—”

“—I don’t need to be used and I certainly don’t need any pity.”

She closed her eyes, pulling at the threads of the fraying top. Several deep breaths and reminders to be nice later, she blew out a gust of air making her forelocks jump and then stick to her sweaty forehead.  Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her ability to sweet talk people. Something she used to be quite good at. There wasn’t time to sugarcoat things when the dead were eating the living. Which was probably why she didn’t get along with many of the Alexandrians. Sometimes she was too blunt and couldn’t hold her tongue. This was one of those times.

She stepped forward and poked him in the chest. “Look, Eugene, I don’t feel sorry for you. Not one iota. Honestly, you piss me off.”

He pushed her hand away. “Yeah, I know. I’m a coward.” He began to retreat, but Nayna grabbed a fist full of his dark, gray shirt.

“No! You piss me off because you let Rosita and Abraham run all over you and make you think you’re a waste of space. And you’re not. You piss me off because you have so much potential, so much to add to the group and yet here you are, fixing music players and pining over someone who doesn’t have enough respect for you not to curb her fucking tongue.”

He looked up at her with red rimmed eyes and shook his head. “She’s right. I am a coward.”

“You were a coward,” Nayna corrected him, dropping his shirt and stepping back. “The man I see in front of me today is not the man I met on the road. You are valuable to us. You have the know how to keep the electricity going and the water running. What you don’t fucking know, you learn. I like that. I respect that.”

He stared at her with that same dumb, blank expression he gave Rosita and then he grumbled. “What is it that you needed?”

She released a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. Thank God, because she didn’t know how much longer she could tolerate his pity party. She betokened him along the road. “I was thinking. Aside from chickens and rabbits and gardens, we need more food sources. What about fishing? There is a river not too far away…How do you think we’d fare with the fish here?”

He followed, a few paces behind her. “I’m not overly familiar with the area but, if you find me a book, I can be.”

Nayna chuckled and ticked her fingers. “So that’s two books on fish, one on curbing wildlife and taming them…”

“At the going rate we should have the start of a fine, redneck library.”

She stopped in her tracks and turned to stare at him open mouthed. “Eugene. That’s fucking genius. Why the fuck did we not think of it before? We need a fucking library.”

“A library would enhance the quality of life here in Alexandria,” Eugene said, picking up on her excitement, a slight smile spreading across his moony face.

She grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him up the road. “Come on, we should go see Olivia.”

He stumbled, but allowed Nayna to pull him along. “Why?”

“Doesn’t she have a map and list of all the occupied houses?”

“I am unaware if such a thing exists.”

Nayna scraped a hand down her face. “I love Rick, but this sort of shit is just not his forte.”

Not only did Rick drop the ball on that one, but she felt momentarily pissed that she hadn’t thought of it before, either. They’d been so busy settling in, then dealing with the horde, and then the Saviors and now Negan AND the Saviors.

As she came back to the present she caught Eugene’s raised brow and flushed. “That’s n-n-not what I meant.”

For once, he took the hint and nodded. “He has a knack for planning, there is no questioning that, but you are correct when you say this is not his thing.”

She smiled weakly and dropped his wrist as they approached the supply house. They stepped inside the dark garage and she called out, “Olivia?”

“In here,” came the reply from the former armory.

When they found Olivia, she was sitting at a utilitarian desk, legs crossed at the ankles, feet swinging in time with her humming. She crossed something out and scribbled along the messy piece of paper.

“Hello, Olivia.”

She pushed her glasses up her face and smiled at Eugene. “Hello.” As her gaze fell on Nayna, she frowned. “What do you need?”

Nayna nudged Eugene, who cleared his throat. “Do you have a list of the occupied and empty houses?”

Olivia pursed her lips and shrugged. “It’s very outdated. Let me see if I can find it.”

Eugene watched her walk up the stairs. “Frosty.”

Nayna ran her fingers over the dusty shelves, half imagining them piled with books. “Hmm?”

“Olivia’s reception to you. Frosty.”

“Oh, well,” she tossed her head to the side. “Can’t be liked by everyone.”

“I never got the impression that she disliked you until now.”

Not that Nayna could blame Olivia. She’d nearly gotten Olivia killed. “It’s nothing.”

“I just had a thought.”

Her heart dropped, wondering if he’d put two and two together. “Go on.”

“Negan.”

Suddenly the light, airy house felt small and crushing. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you in distress?”

“No, just tell me what you mean,” she snapped.

He took a step away. “I was merely going to speak about the library and the issue that would come up once Negan comes back to Alexandria.”

He wasn’t talking about guns. She swallowed and nodded as she realized what Eugene was getting at. They could build a library, but it would all be for nothing.

She half smiled at him. “Aside from the big bad himself, are we sure his goonies can even read?”

That made Eugene chuckle. “Anything is achievable. If one has the inherent desire to do the work, that is.”

She laughed outright. “That would be some kind of achievement. Worthy of a medal.”

Relieved that she managed to turn the subject away, she wiped her hands on her pants. Upstairs, Olivia’s footsteps creaked along the floorboards.

“Here’s the census,” Olivia said in a breathless voice as she came down the stairs.

Nayna reached for the clipboard, but Olivia handed it over to Eugene, who skimmed over it, oblivious to the looming tension between the two women. “How old is this?”

Olivia pushed her hair from her face. “Probably from the very beginning or before you guys arrived. If there are any more records, Spencer would have them.”

Nayna peered over Eugene’s shoulder and rubbed her nose. “Which means we have as much of a chance of getting to them as we do of fucking Negan in the ass with a rusty poker.”

“I think the rusty poker is more likely,” Eugene said.

Olivia didn’t smile, but looked awkwardly between the two of them. Nayna pretended to ignore her as she scanned the list. Half the people on the list were dead, some were missing. And their group was not on it. When she glanced up she found Olivia staring pointedly at her. She sighed. Of all the people to piss off, she managed to piss off probably the nicest and sweetest person in Alexandria. Finally, Nayna turned to Eugene. “I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

“Message received. Will be outside at your disposal, boss lady.”

After the door had slammed behind him Nayna faced Olivia, whose arms were crossed over her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Nayna said. And she meant it. “I never dreamed I would put you in that position. I should have apologized earlier and for that I am sorry as well.”

Olivia sat back down at the desk and looked meekly up at Nayna. “And where are they?”

Nayna coughed and smoothed her hands down her khaki’s. “I don’t know what you’re speaking about, but if you’re implying I know where the missing…things are…the more you know the worse off you are.”

She looked away from Nayna, her chin trembling. “Oh, and I suppose being threatened with death isn’t a reason to know?”

Nayna stepped forward and hesitatingly patted Olivia’s shoulder. “I would never have let that happen to you, Olivia, I promise.”

Olivia wiped her eyes, knocking her glasses askew. “How do you know you would have been able to convince him any different? You don’t.”

Again, Nayna hesitated before touching Olivia lightly on the arm. “I would have thought of something. Anyway, you did great under all that pressure.”

She nodded at Nayna, but said nothing.

After a few moments of heavily awkward silence Nayna finally blurted out, “Would you like to come to dinner tonight?”

That earned her a small smile from Olivia. “Are you cooking?”

Nayna grinned. “Do you really think I’d torture you more? I think Carol is making a casserole.”

“Okay.”

“Dinner’s at five,” Nayna said over her shoulder as she made her way out of the house. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Eugene looked up from the clipboard. “This list is supremely outdated. I believe half the people on this list are dead.”

“I saw that as well. Looks like we have work to do. Rick called a meeting at the church this afternoon,” she said as they made their way up the road. “I think we should get a brief census there.”

Suddenly, the heavy burden she carried seemed lighter, easier. She could see the end. She could see the beginning of everything.

“Good idea. Anything else?”

Nayna ran her fingertips over her lips. “You know, I think we need something like a security team. Help keep an eye on the walkers, scouting things, taking information for people. After this whole debacle is over with Negan, I can imagine we’ll need something to tide us over.”

He flipped through the paperwork, touching his pen to the page at random intervals. “After it’s over?”

She raised a brow at him. “I thought you said you had faith in me and Rick. You think we’re going to let you people die?”

“I think the fuckery is soon to be kicked up a notch.”

Nayna motioned him down the pathway and they walked side-by-side. She stuffed her hands in her pockets. “You think?”

“Men like Negan are unpredictable.”

She smiled wryly. “And men like Rick are wholly predictable.”

“Exactly. And that is something that Negan is betting his racing horses on, guarantee it.”

“So, that means we have to find a way to surprise Negan before he surprises us.”

“Your theory would be correct.”

Daryl’s words continued to ring in her brain: I dunno. Fuck him?

The thought made her squirm uncomfortably as a heat, having nothing to do with the weather, rose between her thighs. Oh, she wanted to fuck him. There was no doubt. It’d been so long since she had sex, she practically had forgotten the mechanics. The idea of being fucked by someone with that level of self-assurance turned her on even more. It was something she’d never had before.

But if she fucked him, then what? Negan was not the commitment type, that much she could tell by his over-confidence and bolstering swagger. He was more of the nail and bail type. She wouldn’t put it past him to fuck her and then beat the shit out of her.

She just had to make it impossible for him to kill her. At least before they took him down. She tried not to laugh at herself. Negan, in love? Bullshit. Even more bullshit that it would be with her of all people. Though, he had said she’d intrigued him.

“Oh good, we’re not tardy,” Eugene said, breaking into her thoughts.

Blinking, she shook her head, feeling blinded by the dazzling sun. How the hell had she not noticed it shining right in her eye? Probably because she was too busy thinking about Negan. He seemed to occupy most of her mind lately. If only it was the same with him…She’d have to ponder this more when she was alone.

The church loomed in view, looking rundown and dowdy in the bright, cloudless sky. Her stomach twisted as she noticed all the familiar faces milling about. As silly as it sounded, she felt like they were staring at her, accusing her of…something. Or maybe it was all in her head. Surprised, she found her fingers plucking the threads again. This was why she hadn’t wanted to go to the meeting. Too much anxiety, too much wondering what people were thinking. And too much Rick.

Eugene had edged ahead of her. “Nayna?”

Her head snapped up as he came back into focus. “Sorry, just got lost in thought.”

He nodded. “Understandable.”

She reached for the clipboard, just outside the church, ignoring what felt like a thousand stares. “Is there a map here?”

“A map?”

“Of Alexandria.”

“Negative.”

“Well, fuck me and call me Sally,” she muttered.

“Pardon?”

She froze. Wasn’t that one of Negan’s sayings? She couldn’t remember. “Oh, just—I’m shit at making maps.”

He turned on the spot, eyes scanning the horizon. “I may not be a cartographer, but I believe a map for the size of the safe-zone should not be an issue on my part. As long as we don’t have to deal with topography, everything will be peachy keen.”

She lowered the clipboard and nodded. “Perfect. When we’re doing the census, we should get everyone’s address and then compare them with the empty houses. Then we can start turning the empty houses into stuff like a library or a school or whatever.”

“There’s Rick. Think we should tell him?”

She started to say that they wouldn’t need permission, but the last time she’d done something without Rick’s permission she’d pretty much offered herself on a silver platter to Negan. “I’ll talk to him. See you in there, Eugene.”

“Nayna, wait,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Thank you.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“Making me feel useful instead of telling me.”

She patted his hairy wrist and gently removed it. “You don’t need to thank me because I already wanted to speak with you about this shit anyway.”

He smiled and turned to walk into the church. She found herself dismayed when he sat next to Rosita. But she couldn’t talk because there she was, in the same situation with Rick.

Those piercing blue eyes met hers and he weaved through the crowd. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

She gave him a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I wasn’t until I ran into Eugene,” she said as she wriggled the clipboard in the air. “I have an idea I’d like to discuss with you.”

Rick nodded. “Go on.”

She glanced around. “Can we talk in private? Just in case you’re not fond of the idea.”

His eyes followed hers and he nodded, placing his hand on the small of her back, just like Negan liked to do. The thought made her skin crawl and she stepped out of his reach and into the sweltering church. She caught Glenn’s eye and smiled as he nodded to her.

So many people stared at her as she walked between the pews. She kept her eyes on Father Gabriel, trying to shut everyone out.

It was the first town meeting she’d been to since Negan rolled through.

“Father?”

He looked up from the pulpit. “Yes, Nayna?”

“Mind if we use your office?”

“Please,” he said with a small smile and gestured to the open door.

They stepped into the office and Nayna fanned herself with the clipboard. The church had already felt hot, but Father Gabriel’s office felt like an oven. Once the door was closed, it would feel stuffy and suffocating. She wiped her sweaty face with her arm, wishing she had a cool bottle of water to roll across her slick skin. Glancing behind her, she saw Rick fared no better with dribbles of sweat sliding down his brow and into his beard. The curls on his neck were damp and stuck to his skin. Even his t-shirt was saturated. Father Gabriel on the other hand, wore his normal dark jacket and collar and looked cool as a cucumber.

She shuffled behind the desk as Rick closed the door behind them, shutting out the low din of the others. Nayna wanted to put as much space between them as possible. But it was Rick and he came to stand before her at the desk, his tired face lined with worry. “Are you alright?”

She tossed the clipboard on the desk, making papers fly every which way. “I’m as fine as I ever was. Why?”

Rick shook his head, eyes staring at the crucifixion behind her.  “You’re not acting like yourself. You haven’t been acting like yourself since Negan came through.”

She picked up a pen from the desk and began to twirl it between her fingers. “I don’t think any of us have been acting normal since Negan came through.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” he said, stepping forward and stilling the pen. “You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You’re withdrawn. You’re not yourself.”

“I sleep just fine,” she said as she wrested the pen from his grip and leaned back in the sticky, leather chair.

“Why are you so unhappy?”

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she could feel her face draining of color. Keeping her attention on the desk, she tapped the pen rapidly against the clipboard. After a few deep breaths she managed to look a concerned Rick in the face. “But I am happy.”

His heavy brow furrowed, forehead wrinkling. “Are you, Nayna? Are you really happy?”

No. Not even a little. But she put on her shaky smile. “Of course I’m happy. Everyone I love is safe. We have food, water, shelter. What more could I ask for?”

The look in Rick’s eyes told her that he thought she was full of shit. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her smile up, so instead she lowered her eyes to the messy desk. After a few beats of uncomfortable silence she cleared her throat. “Can we get back to the topic at hand?”

He watched her for a moment, considering her. Finally, he nodded and Nayna shifted herself in Father Gabriel’s sticky leather chair. She rubbed the spots where her arm had been stuck to the leather. “I think we should take a census.”

A frown creased between his eyes. “Doesn’t Olivia already have one?”

“Not a complete one,” she said, picking up the clipboard and flipping to the page. She held it out and Rick took it. She watched his eyes scan the page.

He tapped the papers. “How old is this?”

She lifted one shoulder and let it fall again. “From the beginning? I don’t know. Anyway, Eugene and I discussed this on the way up.”

Nayna carefully outlined her plan and her reasoning, occasionally pointing to something on the clipboard. She tried to keep as animated as possible. He stared intently at her, nodding at several different points, but ultimately he remained silent as she spoke about the housing and the library and schooling.

“And I think it’s really important. Education is key,” she finished lamely, toying with the threads hanging loose on her shirt.

“This is a great idea Nayna. It really is. But we have to focus our efforts on getting stuff for Negan.”

She rubbed her jaw. “And after?”

He glanced up from the clipboard, staring intently at her face. “After what?”

She leaned back, just a little from the force of his gaze. “After all this is over, then what? We’re not just surviving here anymore, Rick. We’re trying to build something.”

“What’s the point of building something if it’s just going to come crashing down?”

Her brows furrowed. “What happened to the Rick that wouldn’t back down? Do you remember Terminus? Michonne is right. Everything we’ve got, we’ve got from fighting. You remember her saying that? Come on, we can’t just roll over and take this.”

Rick moved  in close, his breath in her hair, making her shudder and inch closer to him. “This is not the place.”

They were nearly nose to nose. If she came forward, their lips would meet. What would his lips feel like on hers? Soft and feather like? Or maybe hard and demanding? What would his beard feel like on her skin? She looked into those eyes she loved so much and for a fleeting moment, she had the feeling he was thinking the same things.

But he pulled back and the moment was lost. She was suddenly thankful for the heat inside the church, for her sweaty face would mask the blush on her cheeks.

When she looked up at him, his eyes were fixated on the stained glass window. His knuckles were white from gripping the sill. He glanced back at her and nodded. “You can take census on one condition.”

“What?”

He smiled. “Today is meant to be an open forum. I want you to stand up there and help me answer questions.”

She must have made a face, because he held out his hand. “Come on, Nayna. I need you.”

She could never say no to him.

[tintededges]

Self-help book about how to declutter your home

I first heard about this author a couple of years ago after there was some controversy in the bookish world about applying her methods to books. I had meant to read her book for some time but, like tackling decluttering generally, there always seemed to be something else to do instead. When she landed her own Netflix TV series, again, I thought I should have a go at reading her book, but again, I didn’t get around to it. Then, she found herself in the middle of another controversy. As with the previous controversy, I felt that again people were not properly taking the time to understand the author or her method. During self-isolating, I had been doing a significant amount of decluttering anyway, so although I tend not to go for self-help books as a general rule, I decided to finally buy a copy of her book (an eBook, of course) and see for myself.

“The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying: A Simple, Effective Way to Banish Clutter Forever” by Marie Kondo and translated by Cathy Hirano (though, she is not credited in the eBook edition) is a self-help book about how to correctly declutter your home in a way that is effective, achievable and lasting. Through the KonMari method, Kondo explains that decluttering should happen in a particular order:

clothing,

books,

papers,

komono (miscellaneous things), and

things of sentimental value.

Kondo also explains that we must first discard all our things that don’t spark joy – everything – before next contemplating where to store the things that we have kept.

This is an interesting (and, very happily, a brief) book with a very simple goal: to assist people to feel better about their lives by helping them tidy their homes. There were quite a few things in this book that really stuck with me. First was Kondo’s message that one of the biggest reasons that people struggle to keep things tidy is not that they are inherently lazy, but rather that they have never been taught to tidy properly. Kondo explains that tidying is a skill, and it is one that she has spent basically her own life fine-tuning. This really resonated with me, because there are so many things that people are expected to be able to do as adults like manage money and write job applications, but that we don’t receive any kind of formal training for. Thinking about tidying as a skill to develop rather than an action that you either do or not do was really helpful for me.

I don’t have a before image

but trust me, this is MUCH tidier

Another thing that I’ve found really helpful is Kondo’s insistence that belongings must be sorted by category and then stored by category. She encourages the reader to find all things of a particular type (e.g. clothing) from around the entire house, sort it all at once, then store it all in one place. She applies this principle to other things like cleaning products, coins, pens that certainly I tend to have scattered around the house with no one clear home. This has also been really useful for getting a realistic idea of exactly how much stuff you really have. I certainly don’t need a pack of ibuprofen and a cache of coins in every single room!

I do want to make a quick point on books. One of the things Kondo has been criticised most about is that she tells people to throw away all their books and suggests that we only keep 30 books in total. Of course, if you take the time to read her book (which I now have) Kondo never says either of these things. In fact, what she says about books is far more interesting. She asks the reader, “[d]o you feel joy when surrounded by piles of unread books that don’t touch your heart?” She then asks the reader to “[i]magine what it would be like to have a bookshelf filled only with books that you really love. Isn’t that image spellbinding? For someone who loves books, what greater happiness could there be?” She is certainly pragmatic enough to acknowledge that her book, too, is an object and encourages the reader to keep “only those books that will make you happy just to see them on your shelves, the ones you really love. That includes this book too. If you don’t feel joy when you hold it in your hand, I would rather you threw it away”.

I’m still on the clothing part (which includes scarves, hats, bags and jewellery), but books are next on my list. I already give a lot of books away to either the Lifeline Book Fair or my street library, but I collect a lot of books and receive a lot of review copies, and my to-read piles are numerous. If anything, hopefully at least by tidying up the rest of my stuff, I’ll have more space for books!

Now, I do want to mention a few things that I wasn’t completely sold on in this book. First of all, Kondo is quite a quirky person anyway, but a few of her ideas (such as drying her dishes outside in the sun and standing carrots upright in her fridge) I don’t intend to implement. I think thanking each object for the contribution it has made to your life is a nice idea, but is honestly a little too labour-intensive for me.

The other thing I wanted to mention is that although the first edition of this book was only published about 9 years ago, Kondo does have a bit of an essentialist view of gender with men and women each having particular traits (though I’ve even heard Margaret Atwood make comments about why men can’t find socks). However, Kondo does gently encourage women to aspire towards elegance and femininity, and her target audience in this book appears to be mothers and housewives. This is not to say that I don’t think that her method could be applied to anyone, but she does seem to view these tasks – organising and tidying – as women’s tasks. I will say that in her TV show, she very happily sets both men and women to decluttering spaces without any concern whatsoever for gender.

Finally, I do think that there is one thing that Kondo doesn’t turn her mind to in this book which is one of my biggest obstacles when it comes to decluttering: how you throw things away. Although in my city we now have green waste as well as recycle, although I have two types of compost bins, although you can drop quality clothing and items off at op shops, although some places accept plastic bags, fabric and even batteries for recycling, there are still a lot of items that simply cannot be donated and are likely going to just find their way to landfill if you throw them in the bin. Things like old teddy bears and out of date or damaged electronics have hung around the house simply because I feel guilty just throwing them in the bin. I think that while reducing the number of belongings you have is a great way to think more sustainably about your life, the act of reducing itself is important and I think that part of the reason why we accumulate so many things is because things are so disposable.

If you want to declutter your house and you’re not really sure where to start, this book is as good a place as any. Although not definitive, especially with regards to disposing things, this book has some unique ideas and helpful tips about how to tackle the task of tidying.

The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying: A Simple, Effective Way to Banish Clutter Forever Self-help book about how to declutter your home I first heard about this author a couple of years ago after there was some…