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ronaldofandom · 2 years ago

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A Love Eternal / Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna

Chapter 9 is here!!

Entirely dedicated to RamSita. Deep conversations about their relationship and about what all they have gone through together. Covers the wholeness and incompleteness of their dynamic. Can be read as a one-shot.

No warnings.

I haven't found much content dedicated to them, hope that changes soon :)

Chapter 9

(Links to Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 10 , Ch 11)

Ram spent the next hour pacing along the outskirts of the village. Trying to find the right words to express the multitude of emotions raging through him. He couldn’t recollect the last time they had an honest conversation about their relationship. He had put it off for so long that the burden of unsaid feelings was hanging heavy between them. To the point that Ram was convinced it was all lost. But he would try to take Bheem’s advice and not assume anything. There was no point in putting this off any longer. Tonight, was as good (or as ominous) as any to speak to Sita. Maybe he won’t have to say much. Maybe she will just understand, like she understood everything else about him.

When he walked in, Sita was wrapping up her chores for the day.

‘How was the meeting? Did you learn anything useful from the informants?’

She asked, while handing him a bowl of herbal soup. To Ram, it smelt like petrol and tasted much worse. But he had learnt it the hard way that there was no scope for negotiation. Sita was in charge of Ram’s diet. It had been less than three weeks since his escape. He was yet to recover fully and to regain his strength. Sita had taken it upon herself to nurse him back to health. She prepared all his meals with special nutritional ingredients. Even when he was tied up somewhere else and couldn’t come to her to eat, she would send the food via someone.

Ram made a face while drinking the soup, which she pointedly ignored. And repeated her question.

‘Yes, the meeting was very fruitful. But…our village is under heavy surveillance. They are circling it to find any sign of me.’

She nodded silently, understanding the implication. They will have to stay here longer, away from their home. It wasn’t safe to return, not yet.

‘Hmmm. It’s fine. We will make do. Has Babai reached safely?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm. I can see the bowl is not empty, Ram. Pick it back up and finish it. We will not have the same conversation again.

He did so grudgingly. And she smiled at him fondly.

‘We are progressing well in teaching basic English to the informants. Jenny and I are taking extra classes. People have picked up really fast. We should be able to complete their training well before we had originally anticipated.’

Her eyes shone with silent determination and resolve, drawing Ram in.

‘Which reminds me, did they bring the medicinal herbs I had asked for? I need that to try some of the new techniques I learnt from the books you got for me.’

Her voice broke Ram out of his reverie.

‘Ummm yes. I think they got a few from your list. And some ready made potions from the bazaar as well. You will have it in the morning.’

‘Good. Lots of work to do.’

She cleaned Ram’s bowl, as he changed for the night. Unable to broach the subject yet.

‘When do you have to go for the supply run? Tell me in advance. I need to pack some healthy food for you.’

‘Day after tomorrow. Bheem and I will leave early morning, along with a few other men.’

‘Fine. I will get it ready by tomorrow night then.’

She got back to her work then, already thinking about the things she had to get done tomorrow.

Ram stood still, just looking at her. In some ways, she was the female version of him. It struck Ram how she never complained about their situation. Never asked him why he was late or why he had to go away for long. What needed to be done had to be done. She understood it as clearly as he did.

She had the same will, same resolve, same sense of duty, same fortitude of silent strength. She loved the land, the people as much as he did.

Yet, she was vastly different from him, in so many ways.

In their years of struggle, she hadn’t lost her humanity. Her empathy. Her morals. Her perceptiveness. Her kindness. She had managed to preserve a part of herself that wasn’t lost in pain & vengeance. She had retained a sense of hope. Of better times. For their motherland. For him and her. She hadn’t turned into an emotional wreck, a robot, a dysfunctional sociopath.

The revolution had not destroyed her true nature. Rather, it had enhanced it. In that way, she was a lot like Bheem.

Ram wished he could be like the two of them. Strong. Loving. Good.

His hands fisted and opened and fisted again in silent frustration.

‘Don’t you ever get tired? Does it not get too much sometimes?’

She turned around and looked at him in confusion.

‘Tired of what?’

‘Of being so….righteous all the time. Of taking care of everyone. Of giving all of yourself for everyone else, and not thinking about your own wishes at all. Of being this beacon of hope for everyone around you. Don’t you want to scream into a pillow sometimes? Or run away, without ever looking back?’

Sita looked at him for a few seconds, then moved closer to stand right in front of him.

She knew this was going to be a long, deep conversation. And she was glad - he was finally talking to her about stuff that was eating away at him.

‘I am no saint. I am a human, I get tired too. Frustration gets to me as well. There have been many moments where I have asked god why he did this to us. Why such cruelty was destined for us. Why we couldn’t have a normal childhood, a normal life, like anyone else. But then, I am reminded of what your Amma used to say - that our purpose in life is bigger than our own selves. God hasn’t singled us out for this pain. Rather, we are the chosen ones, to change the course of history forever. To create a better future for our country, our children, their children. To bring back the pride, the glory, the honour of our motherland. We are all soldiers for this cause, men and women alike. With a single goal that unites us all - to live in the Bharat of our dreams. So, how can I think of running away, Ram? When this runs in my blood. And where will I run to? Why will I abandon my people? Who am I without them?’

Ram shook his head in wonder, coupling it with a dry laugh.

While his father’s vows and words had hung like a dead weight on Ram’s shoulders, crippling him inside and out, her mother’s words had instead become a mantra of Sita’s life. She had embraced them fully - heart and soul. To the point where she was almost a reflection of his mother - a woman willing to sacrifice her husband and both sons for the larger cause of her country.

He felt the same warmth, same hope, same comfort and same care in Sita’s presence. Like he could put his face in her lap and all his troubles would go away. Her pallu a blanket of security around him.

He reached out tentatively, his fingers curling into hers.

‘Is it enough for you, then? Living for your country? Or, do you….do you want more from life?’

His voice turned small, but she heard what he said. And what he didn’t say.

She gently clasped his hands and squeezed them lightly.

‘I will take what I get, Ram. What comes my way. I will make my peace with it.’

His eyes shut in pain. In guilt. Was this her way of saying she would make do with whatever morsels of affection he throws her way, if at all?

‘I know that. I know you can take anything in your stride and deal with it. But my question is, DO YOU WANT MORE?’

Sita thought long and hard about her response.

‘Yes. Like I said, I am only human.’

Ram knew this was coming. He had seen the unspoken dreams in her eyes. And he had dreaded this situation. Because he didn’t know if he was capable of more. In fact, he was pretty certain that he wasn’t. The part of him, that knew how to love another human being so deeply, had died that day along with his family. Since that day, he had been too closed off, not letting anyone else get too close to his heart, not even Sita. Another loss of love would be too much for him to bear, so he had figured it would be best to not let anyone in. Over the years, that sentiment had cemented itself. This was now second nature to him.

He was too toxic, too heartless, too cold, too hopeless for someone as pure as Sita.

He truly wanted her to be happy. To get the ‘more’ she had been seeking all these years. For that to happen, he needed to disappear from her life.

He said all this out loud. Now that he had kept his promise to his father, he could go away somewhere else and participate in the movement there. She could be with another then, someone who would love her like she deserved. She could be free from this half-maiden, half-widow like life she had with him. Everyone would be better off with him gone, but most of all her.

He blurted all this out quickly, lest he ran out of courage. He looked up and saw the pools of tears in her eyes, which he had expected.

But he hadn’t expected what came next. Not even in his wildest dreams.

Sita slapped him. Hard. Across the face.

Normally, he wouldn’t have moved an inch from the force of it. But the shock of it almost made him tumble. It stung deeply and he covered his cheek with his hand, still processing what had happened.

‘If that’s what you think of me, if that’s how little you know me, then maybe you are right. Maybe we shouldn’t be together.’

Her tone and her words cut him deeply. She had recovered from her distraught state - fury was the prevailing emotion in her eyes now.

She came closer and fisted her hands in his shirt, shaking him with all her might.

‘When I said I wanted more, I meant I wanted more WITH YOU. Only and only with you.’

She shook him some more.

‘If my choices are status quo with you vs not having you at all, I will pick you every single day. No matter if someone else can offer me the sun. I don’t want it. DO YOU HEAR ME, RAM? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’

He nodded at her, and she let go of his shirt. Taking two steps back.

‘Why?’

His voice was nearly a whisper now. He couldn’t fathom why she was so devoted to him. And he wanted to make sure it wasn’t due to a false sense of duty she might feel towards him.

‘Oh, you stupid fool, you can go to hell….’

He cut her off.

‘Please? I really need to know this. I want to understand. Why Sita, why me? Why still me? Even after everything that I have done? You may not even know the full details - let me tell you those. Let me tell you what I have stooped to, who I have become. You have a right to know everything.’

‘You don’t need to tell me anything. I know it all.’

‘You can’t possibly know…’

It was her turn to cut him off.

‘I know what you did to Bheem, both at the party and at the punishment site. Jenny told me. I know what you did to Lachchu when you held him for information. He told me himself. Rather, I coaxed it out of him when he was keeping his distance from me. The sweet boy was hesitating to tell me, lest I start thinking less of you. And, I know what you had to do in Delhi all those years, to rise up the ranks of British forces. Babai told me. Is there anything I am missing?’

Ram opened and closed his mouth, like a fish. She knew all this, yet she loved him. How? For what wapt reason? Could she not see that her childhood best friend had turned into a monster?

‘If you want me to say you made all the right decisions and I stand by you 100%, then you are grossly mistaken. Hurting Bheem, Lachchu, your own countrymen wasn’t right, wasn’t justified. You should spend your whole life to make up for it, if that’s what it takes. But, I also know that not everything is so black and white. Remember what your baba used to say - there is collateral damage in a war. The Pandavas had to fight and kill many friends on the opposite side - they had no choice. They didn’t know any other way’.

He listened with rapt attention, hanging on to every word she said.

‘Ram - I know you didn’t hurt your own countrymen out of spite. I know you didn’t take any pleasure from it. I know it’s eating away at you. I know you thought it was the only way, to not let your baba down. I know you are not this monster that you tout yourself to be. A monster does not carry the burden of remorse, like you do every second. I am not saying you are blameless. You should have tried harder to find another way instead of the path you chose, no matter how long it took. You came to that realisation later but it shouldn’t have come after you did what you did. But tell me - who should have told you otherwise? Who was there to guide you? You have been making every important decision of the village since you were 12 years old - you had no one to look to for support. You didn’t know any better. So, I can’t bring myself to hate you. I can’t bring myself to love you any lesser.’

Overwhelmed with emotion, Ram reached out to her and rested his head on her shoulder, seeking comfort in her embrace. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and patted his head gently. Suddenly, he felt like his 10 year old self, seeking her out when he got too overwhelmed. She was the only one who could soothe him then, and it seemed to be the case even now.

Knowing that she knew everything made him feel lighter. Knowing that she still loved him despite all this made him feel utterly unworthy of her love.

He wanted to do right by her. To do justice to her. She knew that. But she had some questions of her own too.

‘Ram - is there someone else?’

He looked up from her shoulder, straight into her eyes.

‘What?’

‘Well, we have been away for a very long time. Completely out of touch for the last four years. You have been alone all this while. It’s possible someone else may have caught your eye during this period. Someone who was a companion first, then a confidante and then maybe….more. You don’t have to feel duty bound to stay with me if that’s the case. You don’t have to worry about what might happen to me, what the villagers might think about me. I can handle that. But I don’t want to come in the way of your happiness. And I definitely don’t want to force this on you - three hearts will be broken and no one will be happy.’

She continued her rant. Ram was too shocked to intervene. But when she finished and asked him again whether he had anything to say, he started with that dry, cynical laugh again.

‘You think….you think I had any mind space to fall in love with someone else while I was in a living hell? You think I would…cheat on you?’

‘No…no I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I didn’t want you to…’

‘Shhhh….it’s fine. There is no one else Sita. There could never be anyone else, if not you.’

He hugged her. And she buried her face in the crook of his neck as his hands stroked her back.

‘Ram?’

‘Hmmm.’

‘What do you feel about me?’

Neither had the strength to look at the other while he responded to it, so they stayed in the embrace.

‘You are my biggest strength. All these years, I wanted to succeed for my family but also for you. I knew they wouldn’t be around when I go back, but you would be there, waiting for me with pride. I wanted to come home to you after fulfilling my promise. You are also my moral compass. Every time I did something heinous in Delhi, I confessed it to you in a letter which I never posted. I had fallen in my eyes long back, but I was afraid to fall in yours. Your disdain, your contempt, your indifference, your disgust would break me. I won’t know what to do with myself. I would lose my centre of gravity, my only constant in life, if I lose you. I can not imagine a world or my life without you in it.’

Her tears threatened to spill over, but she willed them away, not wanting to disturb his flow.

‘You are my oldest friend. The one person who really knows me for me. Who knows what has shaped the person I am today. Who wouldn’t hesitate to show me the mirror. Who would do everything to help me course correct if I stray from my path. You give me peace. You give me hope. You make me feel safe. You make me feel so…loved. In my book, you could do no wrong. You could never be not good. You are the best person I know. You and Bheem make me believe in goodness again. You are also the…most beautiful woman I know.’

She giggled in the middle of her sobs.

‘Really - what about all the city girls? Or the English women - I am sure many would have batted their eyelashes at you?’

He stroked her upper arms gently, as she continued to snuggle against him.

‘No one holds a candle to you. No one.’

She looked at him then, and wiped the lone tear that had escaped his eye.

‘Ram - I didn’t know you feel this way.’

‘How would you? I never said it before. Never showed it to you with my actions either.’

‘But I do know now, and you know what? I don’t need more. This is enough for me. Truly.’

She didn’t know whether what he said was synonymous with love. It felt close to it. Their bond was so deep, so familiar that if not in this life, he must have certainly loved her in another life.

Ram wasn’t buying it though.

‘You maybe saying it now, but will it suffice forever?’

‘Yes it will. I know it will.’

‘You are being stubborn, not really thinking it through. Are you sure you would never want your spouse to be as lovesick as say Bheem? Don’t you want what they have?’

Truth be told, while Ram knew that Bheem was a sensitive romantic at heart, he had never anticipated him to turn into such a lovesick puppy. At times, he almost wanted to whack him for all his fluffiness.

Sita was deep in thought. She had seen their bond up close and was privy to most of his thoughtful gestures. She had seen the giddiness on Jenny’s face every time she spoke about him or about something he had done for her. She had seen the way Bheem sought her out in any gathering, his eyes always searching for her. The way his face lit up when he spotted her. The stolen glances, the brushing of hands, the little whispers - the excitement of new love. The joy of discovering new things about your partner. And Ofcourse, …….the intimacy of their bond.

Ram was thinking the exact same things when she spoke again.

‘I will be lying if I say I haven’t thought about all that. It is exciting, it makes my heart ache a little and I do admit that. But would I take that over what we have? The answer is a resounding no.’

He was about to interrupt but she signalled him to stop.

‘I don’t need you to make flower garlands or shell necklaces for me - I know that’s not you. I don’t need you to follow me around like I am the centre of your universe. I don’t need you to drop everything and stay by my side. I don’t expect you to sing for me or cook for me or carry me around in your arms. I don’t need you to be him. I love you for you.’

‘I love how you always bring me the most interesting books, since I couldn’t be in the city & books are the only way for me to get exposure to the new world. I love how I am an equal partner in your revolution - it’s always been the two of us, together. I love how you always encourage me to grow my skills. I love how you always share everything about the revolution with me and take my opinion on key matters. I love how you want to bring me along for some of your upcoming missions, to be able to spread the knowledge among other women. I love how proud you are of me.’

‘I love that you think of me as your home because….you are the only home I have ever known. Since I remember anything, I remember you. We were bound together by life, by destiny. Why should I want the giddiness of new love, when I have the certainty & comfort of years of togetherness. Why should I want the thrill of discovering new things, when I am the one who knows you inside out? Why should I wonder what future holds for us, when I already know we would spend the rest of our lives together, however long we may have. Ram - what they have is great and I am very happy for them. But trust me, what we have is even better. It works for us.’

Ram was speechless after her passionate submission. She reached out for his hands again, holding them close to her cheeks.

‘I wish we could have both. I wish I could give you everything. It’s not fair to you. But hey, when has life ever been fair to us?

She smiled, despite her emotional state.

‘What if…what if we are never able to be…together like that? I know you love children. And don’t tell me you don’t want your own kids.’

Sita was anticipating this, the final piece of the puzzle.

‘We don’t know what the future holds for us. If we are meant to have our own kids, we will. If not, we can always adopt right? We will figure something out.’

‘Hmmmm.’

Ram had no other argument left. She had won, convincingly. And he was secretly glad about it. The chasm between them all this while had been too painful for both. He swore to never have that emotional distance from her again.

‘Its late - should we get some sleep?’

He nodded and took out the mat, while Sita laid on the cot. This was their routine. A few minutes passed and both were on the brink of sleep.

‘Sita?’

He called out from below.

‘Hmm.’

‘I can’t believe you slapped me.’

She laughed. Out loud. For the first time that night. It sounded beautiful to him. He wished she did that more often.

‘Well, someone had to do it to tell you how idiotic you can be. Bheem and I were the most likely candidates. But he would never do this to his Anna so it had to be me.’

Ram could see the logic in that, but he didn’t intend to let it go anytime soon.

‘It hurt. A lot. I think a bruise is forming.’

‘Awww. And I thought you didn’t blink an eye for 2 months when they beat you up. Yet a tiny bruise from a girl’s bare hand is hurting a lot?’

Well played, he thought. She giggled again at his concession of defeat.

He was silent for another two minutes. She was half asleep by then.

‘Sita?’

‘What now?’

‘Will you marry me?’

She suddenly became fully alert.

‘But..we were anyway supposed to…’

‘I know. Everyone just assumed that we will get married one day. Like both of us did too. But….but I never really asked you, did I? So I want to ask now, right now. Will you marry me? Not because we were always supposed to get married but because we WANT to spend whatever life we have left together?’

‘Is this your way of proposing to me? When both of us are half asleep? And after the draining talk we just had?’

‘Yes.’

‘I expected nothing different. Yes - I will marry you, Ram. In my heart, we have been married for years. But let’s do a proper ceremony for everyone, and for us, whenever we can make our way back home.’

‘Okay.’

‘Good night. Try to get some sleep now.’

He smiled. His first heartfelt smile tonight.

‘Good night, fiance.’

Two minutes more. Her soft snores started to fill the room. Sleep never came easy to Ram but he liked to watch her sleep - it gave him peace and some sense of relaxation.

But something was bothering him still. He knew he won’t get even a few hours of rest if his mind is not eased.

‘Ummm, Sita are you asleep?’

‘No. I snore while being awake. OFCOURSE I was asleep.’

‘Sorry.’

She heard the pain and restlessness in his voice.

‘What is it? The nightmares are back, are they?’

‘No, not that.’

‘What is it then? What’s bothering you?’

He spoke after a few seconds of silence.

‘Do you think I will ever be able to earn the forgiveness of my countrymen? The several who I have wronged?’

From the cot, Sita extended her arm towards him and he held her hand.

‘You have to keep trying. You have to keep fighting for our country. And one day, maybe, they will forgive you. It’s a long journey, Ram, and I will be with you every step of the way.’

He squeezed her hand in response. Thanking the universe for her.

‘Every time I see Bheem, I am reminded of the way he looked at me that night. First in disbelief, then in pain, and then broken with betrayal. But, on the day of the….punishment, he refused to look at me at all. Like I wasn’t worthy of any emotion from him, not even disgust. And yet, he….he risked his life to come back for me. How will I ever make it right with him? He refuses to even talk about it. He refuses to let me apologise.’

She knew how much this pained him. Hurting Bheem had broken him the most.

‘First of all, you need to apologise to everyone who was there and is scarred by that memory. Not just Bheem. But his friends who accompanied him to Delhi and also, Jenny.’

‘I have spoken to her. Somewhat. But yeah, don’t think I have apologised explicitly. And Lachchu - I tried many times but he just tolerates my presence somehow. That will take time. I will speak to the others.’

‘Good. And about Bheem - ask him to show you his scars.’

‘His what?’

‘The scars that he got from the lashing. And from being beaten up while in captivity. Ask him to show them to you.’

‘Aren’t they…aren’t they healed by now?’

‘No. They are better but far from being healed. Jenny is still applying the salve twice a day.’

He felt sick to the core. Bheem hadn’t told him this, of course he didn’t. And he hadn’t asked, the coward that he was. Then and now.

‘But…what…what good would that do?’

‘It’s the only way both of you will face the reality of what happened. You are both brushing it under the carpet, thinking it will just go away. The physical scars will go away, Ram, but the emotional scars will fester the longer they are unaddressed. He says he is fine but subconsciously, he is hurting too. Ask him what he felt, what he had to go through. Ask him how he spent the two months in hiding, struggling to make ends meet. Living with the worst betrayal of his life. Have a real conversation with him about this. Not the superficial one you both do, where you guys just say how much you love each other and it’s all fine. No, it’s not fine. You have to work on it to make it fine, to be able to move on.’

Ram stayed still as her words echoed in the quiet of the night.

‘When did you become so wise?’

‘When you became this stupid. Needed to restore the balance.’

They stayed like that - her on the cot and him on the mat, arms outstretched, holding hands. The sound of her calm breathing lulling him to a few hours of sleep, without any nightmares.

.......................................................................

Phew! I hope I did them justice. As always, would love to hear your thoughts :)

Shout out to @fangirlshrewt97 for brainstorming some of the scenes with me.

@irisesforyoureyes @rambheem-is-real @thewinchestergirl1208 @eremin0109 @eenadu-varthalu @rorapostsbl @yehsahihai @budugu @maraudersbitchesassemble @juhiiiiii @justmeand-myinsight @rambheemisgoated @rosayounan @jrntrtitties @obsessedtoafault @rambheemlove @jjwolfesworld @alikokinav @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @bromance-minus-the-b @dumdaradumdaradum @lovingperfectionwonderland @annieginny @chaanv @ssabriel @sally-for-sally @milla984 @doodlesofthelastpage @boochhaan @mesimpleone @filesbeorganized @ladydarkey @teddybat24 @stanleykubricks @stuckyandlarrystuff @burningsheepcrown @veteran-fanperson @voidsteffy @ronika-writes-stuff @beingmes-blog @yonderghostshistories @nisreenart @chaidrivenwhore @bheemaxrama @carminavulcana @umbrulla @mizutaama @rosefulmadness @gifseafins

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wirewitchviolet · 1 year ago

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Just a Reminder - You Don’t Win a Prize if Nazis Hate You the Most.

When I run down my tumblr feed, about once every day or two I see a chain of posts being shared by people I like which are kinda just a big back and forth shouting match starting from a post saying either “as a Jew, I hate seeing trans people talking about being Holocaust victims too” or “trans women aren’t threatened by transphobes as much as trans men!” and... these are just the absolute worst fights to try and pick. Stop doing this.

Presumably there’s other variations on this going on and I’ll condemn all those too, it’s just these two, specifically, are the ones I just keep seeing crop up, so they’re what I’m gonna highlight for now.

So, the holocaust. Pretty sure we all agree that the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft public book burning is one of the more powerful images to demonstrate why Nazis need to be completely eradicated that does not feature a pile of corpses. I also don’t think anyone is in disagreement that Magnus Hirschfield, who ran said institute was a Jew, nor that the bulk of his staff and the subject matter of these original research journals were Pretty Darn Trans.

I DO see people though making really damn stupid arguments though like, “right, they burned his books because he was a Jew, it had nothing to do with their contents,” and that’s just factually untrue. There is a truckload of solid documentation about Nazis having stupid conspiracy theories and pseudoscience to justify genocide against, in no particular order, Jewish, Romani, Black, queer, and disabled people. Also Jehovah’s Witnesses. Lot of wild crap explicitly connecting these too, case in point, they claim trans people in particular and queer people broadly are monsters created by Jewish doctors to infiltrate society and throw a wrench into the ability of physically and mentally perfect white men to have white women barefoot and perpetually pregnant in the kitchen popping out enough babies to maintain a huge majority and not be overtaken by all those subhuman other races. It’s all a bundle deal. Any of these type of people the hate have the height justified with their role in this grand sinister conspiracy.

And even if that WEREN’T true, and it really was that Nazis hate Jews and only Jews and all these other people they keep trying to completely exterminate are collateral damage from plans to take out specific Jews that had some really bad scope creep and splash damage, they’ve still got the body count. That’s still part of the Holocaust and denying those deaths is messed up for the same reasons as every other weird claim bigots make (and to be clear, there is no non-bigoted reason to be doing this) to minimize the Holocaust, but also, rather crucially, please note that I keep speaking in the first person. We still have Nazis, they’re still hell bent on killing all these same groups of people, they’ve been doing a pretty good job lately of getting the sort of power needed to act on it, and they’ve been acting on it. If you’re in one of these groups, you should really be focused on getting rid of the Nazis and not whatever the hell this historical revisionist dick measuring crap is.

Meanwhile on the trans infighting front, the way society at large hyperfixates on weird stereotypes and propaganda vaguely trans-woman-shaped far right boogiemen is Pretty Damn Bad. It’s terrible for trans women because there’s this significant portion of the population trying to identify, locate, and murder us. It’s terrible for trans men because the messed up discriminatory crap targeting them specifically gets basically zero public attention except in those weird cases where it gets bafflingly twisted into something about trans women (I’ve seriously seen like... anti-abortion and transphobic pregnancy-related-legal-language stuff pushed with weird scaremongering about trans women “wanting changes in language to not say mothers” so that we can waste doctors time LARPing abortion procedures or some weird crap like that). It’s terrible for nonbinary people because all the weird polarization messes with basic scientific understanding and some transition care gets screwed by people trying to make really ironclad policies. Heck it sucks for cis women who fit whatever weird profile the people trying to murder us apply, and men whose commitment to masculine presentation is insufficient to avoid suspicient of being Infected.

There’s something of a problem with those conversations also getting bogged down in weird unproductive nonsense where someone points out how they deal with some form of transphobic discrimination like it isn’t something everyone involved isn’t also dealing with too of course, but the real big problem I have with these has nothing to do with all the arguing in the comments it’s the fact that the comments keep ending up attached to overt anti-trans propaganda pieces where someone missed big ol’ dog whistles and misinterpret people’s efforts to point them out. Like, this is how this big long post I have all over my feed tonight starts off:

“can we stop the belief that terfs hate transfems exclusively or like more than they hate cisgender men or transmascs...”

There is of course more to that sentence and another six paragraphs and all, but there are zero reasons I can think of to type the above that aren’t “I would like to obfuscate the motivations of fascists and minimize the hell out of the whole actual freaking extermination effort targeting trans women right now,” so from where I sit, there’s no value in reading any further. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. I’m assuming everyone I see sharing this missed that or they’re doing that weird tumblr thing where you quote the whole real bad take/conversation because you want to share your agreement with like the 10th reblog-nest point but like, you’re still spreading this “trans women are men” dog whistle without so much as calling it out. Gotta be careful about that. Fascists on this site do a way better job of Trojan Horse-ing that sort of crap. Not necessarily saying that’s the case here, but... for real what other reason is there to type something like that?

Anyway, again, even if the whole thing is in good faith, the framing is decidedly framed in this antagonistic transmasc vs. transfem sort of way and like, that is not a fight that is actually happening anywhere. There’s just Nazis trying to kill all of us, let’s focus on that in a productive and broad coalition building sort of way?

#fascist divide and conquer crap #nazis

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roobylavender · 2 years ago

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I saw your post on your dislike for the Sirens concept, could you expand on why you think comics Selina would not be interested in working with Pamela and Harley? Genuine curiosity.

on a very personal petty level it is kind of hard for me to get over the fact that selina and harley’s first meeting in comics involved harley slitting selina’s throat and drugging her to incite her towards violence 😭 i feel like selina at least at her post-crisis origins was very protective of her personal agency and control and abhorred anyone who would dare override it (and that interaction even ended in her saying as much, as did the book as a whole a few issues later) so while i’m sure you could argue the instability of harley’s mental state played a part in that interaction i’m not sure that selina would so easily overcome her suspicion and distrust

on a more general level though i don’t think selina’s scope of crime really matches up with pamela and harley’s at all. volume two’s a tricky book for me bc there are parts of it i like and parts of it i hate and something that definitely falls into the latter category is this idea that selina is so power hungry as to go to delusional lengths to acquire it and wreak havoc thereby. i imagine writers were trying to maintain her golden/silver age motivation about being the queen of the underworld but i do think more considerations needed to be made in light of her post-crisis revamp and more narrowed focus on survival (and even then selina’s golden/silver age crimes weren’t awful, mostly only cartoonish and silly; her silver age rendition made her murderous for some reason but i would ignore that personally bc her creators argued her mercy distinguished her villainy). it’s true there was a stick-it-to-the-man element that was a part of that revamp and that i’m sure was also partly used to draw the overlap between these three characters, but even then, i think what pamela and harley are willing to engage in is well beyond what selina is

modern selina’s very internally focused. she’s reactive more than she is proactive. ig you could argue she’s as loath to the system as pamela and harley are, but i don’t think she’s intent to waste her time or resources doing more than she needs to to live a comfortable life (so no investment in some impassioned mission statement like pamela, and no investment in over the top, excessive chaos like harley). even beyond that, she’s generally opposed to senseless murder. so overall i kind of fail to see why she would have an interest let alone the energy to engage with both of them. to me she’s very much a one woman show whose walls only occasionally come down bc she meets children who remind her of herself and whom she takes it upon herself to protect. maybe i could be open to her interacting with pamela and harley in a purely civilian context where she faux begrudgingly looks out for them, as she always does with her strays, but i don’t think she’d be interested in committing crimes with them

#selina kyle #dc #outbox #i hope that makes sense! selina is interesting to me in that i think #she’s more capable of befriending people younger than her bc she can form relationships with them without necessarily baring herself #that role of protector establishes a sort of boundary that doesn’t necessitate her spilling all of her secrets #with people her age it’s different bc not only is there an issue of people overriding her own desires #there’s also the issue of being on even ground and risking some exposure thereby. and i think she really hates that #but mostly like i already said i just don’t think the scope of her crimes overlaps #idk how to word it but to me selina is lazy in a way like. that has a poor connotation but ig i mean #she has a narrow focus on what she wants to accomplish and she doesn’t want things to have to get more complicated than that #when they do it’s exhausting and uncontrollable and sometimes even devastating #so i don’t think she likes unpredictable elements being present in her life. irony here being she’s an unpredictable element herself #but i think she’s comfortable having control over her own unpredictability more than she is with having to regulate or worry about others’

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malicedafirenze · 1 year ago

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The Sharing Knife by Lois McMaster Bujold - Recommendation and Discussion

I'm backing up all my book reviews from reddit. This was originally posted on /r/Fantasy on 2018/03/18

I already made a post about the first book in the series a few weeks, but I want to elaborate now that I've read the whole series.

I'll try to make this post work as a recommendation for people who haven't read it, so spoilers will be tagged.

The Basics:

The Sharing Knife is a story about a young farmer girl who meets an older lakewalker, a kind of soldier-sorcerer. They fall in love and eventually realize that magical and non-magical people need to work together against the malices (life-stealing magic entities) or both will be doomed.

The sub-genre would be best described as romance/adventure, I suppose, with a lot of the plot focusing on relatively "mundane" events, but with bits of action here and there.

Themes and Scope: I liked that Sharing Knife is pretty "slice of life", even though the later books lead on that some fairly world-changing events are happening, or at least being set into motion. The overall focus on the relationship between the cultures of lakewalkers and farmers makes for pretty interesting worldbuilding I think.

Not a Standalone: It's obviously a series, but I thought it more extreme for this one than for other series that the first book cannot and should not really stand on its own. As I explained in my other post, I was somewhat underwhelmed by the plot of the first book because basically all the action happens right at the start and I'm not a big fan of plots solely about weddings. The balance works a lot better if you look at the whole series as two big volumes (one/two and three/four) or even one big story.

Family Issues: Both protagonist have a number of issues with their families on a very relatable scale. Fawn's issues in the first book particularly resonated with me, where she is starting to become more confident once away from her family, but slips back into old insecure habits once she is back in those surroundings. I've been there both with some members of my family and with certain groups of friends, and found it incredibly relatable to read: this feeling that you don't particularly like yourself around a certain group of people or that you just lose all confidence if you're around people who have a tendency to pick on you, even if it's for minor things.

Ground Sense: I loved the workings and descriptions of Ground Sense (the lakewalkers' magic, their underlying sense of the 'spirit' of everything around them, but especially living things). Some of the concepts, like changing the Ground / essence of something in the 'spiritual world' seemed really familiar to me, but I'm not sure where to place it. I guess Shadesmar and Soulcasting from the Stormlight Archive have similarities, but I'm not sure if it doesn't also remind me of something else. What other books have a 'magic system' where everything has an 'essence' or 'spirit' and the physical of it can be changed by modifying that spirit, if you have the skill/magic powers to do so?

Romance: I always find myself pining for more romance in most of the fantasy that I read, and I quite liked it in Sharing Knife, after getting over the characters' age gap. Because the later books' "drama" is much more focused on the world around the characters rather than any conflict between them, the romance got much less prominent. Which is nice, I guess. I wouldn't have wanted there to be any artificial drama between them, but it's not really romance anymore if it's just a story about a couple? Idk, I like more turbulent relationships I guess, but it was also nice for a change to just have an established couple with no pointless issues between them.

'Women's Health': I liked that pregnancy and miscarriage are both fairly big themes/plot points at some point in the series, since that is something so often left out of fantasy/adventure books. Sharing Knife is pretty 'open' about such things and I thought that was a fresh change. very minor complaint

Gender Roles: Sharing Knife does a pretty amazing job of having female characters who fit into traditional gender roles and expectations (Fawn, for example) while still letting them be interesting and relatable characters. There's no 'not like the other girls' and no 'strong independent woman ^^tm syndrome, but there are women who patrol and fight etc. and both that and being a traditional housewife are presented without any sort of judgement for the other, which I think is really nice since a lot of fiction still tends to look down on traditional femininity.

Book 4 Action: All the books have their action sequences with a real sense of danger, but hot damn I didn't expect shit to get that real in book four. book 4 spoiler

Sequels: I thought the events set into motion towards the end of the series, meaning book 4 spoilers, would make for a super interesting sequel, perhaps set a few decades later.

I really enjoyed Sharing Knife in a... special kind of way. It was all really warming, somehow. There's conflict and danger sometimes, but all in all it's a really comfortable-feeling story, it's got a certain kind of coziness to it.

I'd definitely recommend it to anyone who likes romance and slice-of-life types of stories.

So yeah thank you /r/fantasy, as usual, for recommending good books to me and I hope to pass on the favor :D

Edit: forgot to mention: I listened to the whole series as audiobook read by Bernadette Dunne. Very good audiobook and pleasant narrator :)

#book review #the sharing knife #lois mcmaster bujold #fantasy books

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pensivegladiola · 5 months ago

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My short story won first place in a penana reversed tropes competition! ☺️ The tropes I chose were ‘friends to enemies’ and ‘needing space.’ 🎉🎉🎉

———

About:

Once as close as brothers, Brodie and Nathaniel are stuck in a cell together in punishment for a crime gone wrong. What choices would you make to secure your freedom?

———

Confinement

Brodie had to give it to the government official. This punishment was certainly a unique one, although he wasn’t sure that it was packing the punch they intended.

He and Nathaniel had built that bomb together, yes, and they had hidden it in the undercarriage of the governor’s car, and they had detonated it from afar. But the target was intended to be the governor himself, not the man’s twelve year old daughter. A small change of plans, a school cancellation due to weather, and a little girl with fatal shrapnel injuries had derailed all of their plans. They had been so sure that the public would welcome them as heroes after killing the man who had revoked so many civic rights after taking power. But even in the face of so many disappeared journalists, students, and intellectuals, the murder of a child did not win them public favor.

Brodie had expected execution by firing squad. But it turned out that the governor had been reading Satre when his daughter died and here they were.

Hell is other people.

Now he and Nathaniel were housed in a single room together. No amenities except a lamp, the most basic of facilities, and the occasional food delivery. No company except one another. No books, no beds, no sunlight. No distractions. They had taken the man’s beloved child from his life forever and in return, he had doomed them to a lifetime of never escaping one another.

Frankly, Brodie believed that the man had made a mistake. He and Nathaniel were like brothers. They had met in the revolutionary fervor of an underground student organization and connected right away. Their minds were of one and with time, their plans had grown far beyond the scope of the secret pamphlets and newspapers and protests on which the other students dedicated their time. No, they would make real change.

It hadn’t gone so well. But if Brodie was to be stuck with anyone, it should be Nathaniel, with whom this entire journey had begun. They had done nothing wrong and they could both rest with that knowledge.

Nathaniel had made a horrifying mistake. Caught up in all the rhetoric and enthusiasm, he had taken the life of a child. How was he any better than the soldiers who beat people in the streets? What had he become?

At the beginning of this crusade, he had been so sure of himself. Of course, they were on the right path. Of course, blood should be spilt in return for blood. But now, with nothing but the room and Brodie to remind him of his errors, this no longer rang true. Even if that little girl had not been the one in the car, Nathaniel would still have been responsible for the death of a human being. Even if that man were abominable, he was still a person. Nathaniel had lost sight of that. How many days had he agonized over the disappearance of his older sister? Wondered how the soldiers who had reportedly dragged her away in the night had failed to look her humanity in the face? And now, he had become what he so despised.

But what he despised more was Brodie.

“Why are you weeping, huh? I hope it’s for yourself and not that girl. She would have only grown up to be like her father. We did the country a favor even if we missed our original target. Maybe it will inspire others to action.”

“She was a child, Brodie! Don’t you recognize what we’ve done?”

“I know exactly what we’ve done and I defend it.”

Every waking moment, Nathaniel was forced to stare his sins in the face. And that face belonged to Brodie. Hatred grew like a creeping vine.

Brodie paced the room while Nathaniel stared at the wall in silence. After hours of arguing until their voices had gone hoarse, Nathaniel had stopped answering Brodie’s provocations.

How could Nathaniel betray him like this? Brodie had thought that they were ideological equals. Brothers. And now, Nathaniel thought him a murderer? Blamed him for everything that went wrong as though the other man had no agency of his own. Pathetic.

Brodie strode up to the lamp and turned it off, yanking hard on the cord. It swayed from the force, making a ringing sound against the floor. They were immersed in darkness.

“Turn the light on!” Nathaniel shouted.

“Why should I? I don’t want to see you, moping in that corner!”

Nathaniel stood up and returned the light to the room. They stared at each other. Nathaniel’s eyes were bloodshot.

“Of all the people to be stuck with! I would rather have faced the firing squad!” Nathaniel shrieked, face turning puce with rage, “Every time I look at you, it makes me want to claw my eyes out!”

Brodie laughed bitterly.

“Well, you haven’t a knife to do it with! You ensured that by failing to follow the car’s driver like I told you to!”

“I was only a pawn to you, wasn’t I? Just an impressionable little lackey!”

Brodie had never so desperately wished for solitude. Nathaniel returned to the white wall on his half of the room and began to scratch at the surface. The count of days on the wall continued to increase.

After three weeks of spats, the occasional fist fight, and an aching, desperation-inducing need to rid themselves of the other, an unusual food delivery arrived. Nathaniel glanced back at Brodie who was eating as usual. He discreetly opened the note that had been hidden in his tray.

‘Dear comrade,

During the trial, I could see that you felt genuine remorse for what happened to my little girl. As such, I would like to offer you a pardon. If you remain the only man living in the room, I will open the door and return your freedom.

Signed,

This mourning father and dedicated governor’

Nathaniel slipped the note into his mouth and ate it. Was it really possible? Escape from this place? From Brodie? But what if he wasn’t the only one who had received the note? If that was the case, time was ticking. His self-serving former friend would surely act sooner rather than later.

Could he really kill Brodie? He had spent weeks agonizing over his choices, convinced that taking any life was wrong. But it was Brodie who had led him to that choice in the first place. Maybe this act would finally balance the scales.

Brodie was positive that Nathaniel had received a similar note in his meal. The man was acting too suspicious to believe otherwise.

‘Dear comrade,

Due to occupancy limits, we will be downsizing to solitary cells. Since we cannot fit both of you, please decide as you see fit who should receive such a cell. The other will be sent as a dissection specimen to the nearby medical school in service to the country’s students as a gesture of my benevolence.

Signed,

This mourning father and dedicated governor’

Could he really kill Nathaniel? They had been like brothers once. But now his presence made Brodie’s skin crawl. He wanted nothing more than that solitary cell to himself. Nathaniel wanted atonement, yes? Maybe death was the answer that Brodie could provide.

The governor had lied. No one ever came to retrieve Nathaniel. Nor had they come to retrieve Brodie’s body. Now he was finally alone. And he would never be free of Brodie, stuck in the same room, forever...

———

Read on Penana:

#short story #short stories #suspense #horror #dystopian fiction #dystopia #original fiction #writing #writeblr #writing competition #fiction #friends to enemies #reversed tropes

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thecloudstan · 8 months ago

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What did you think about the Sephiroth and Rufus situation? I personally LOVED it. I had a feeling from the start that Glenn was actually Sephiroth, and when it was confirmed at the end it just made the Glenn scenes even better. Sephiroth has a huge grudge against Rufus that wasn’t in the original and I think it’s glorious, both because it was immensely entertaining and because it fleshed out their characters. Rufus was the only one this entire time who managed to get some kind of emotion out of Sephiroth and actually got under his skin, while Sephiroth read him like a freaking book (the infamous “pig headed, pathetic, daddy hating child” line. Side note: it would’ve been even funnier if it was said in Sephiroth’s voice and not Glenn’s. The idea of him saying “daddy” just tickles my funny bone.)

I think their dynamic is more interesting than Sephiroth and Cloud’s simply because they’re almost on equal footing- at least mentally- and while Sephiroth has the physical strength Rufus has his money and influence, and I was freaking out the entire time they showed up together.

Sorry for the long ask/rant, but hey, you did say to feel free to vent about our emotions 😅

I was kinda at a loss when Glenn first showed up, my husband and I were wayyy on the wrong track. I'm actually glad we were, I'm much happier that it was Sephiroth trying to keep Rufus out of his way, especially since Rufus catches on pretty quickly in the original. At least, he understands pretty promptly that Sephiroth is a more pressing problem than everything else.

The thing I can't quite figure out is whether this Glenn visual is being perpetrated by the Sephiroth we know or the Sephiroth who exists outside of time (I keep referring to him as Advent Children Sephiroth and original as Alpha Sephiroth). I think it MUST be AC Seph because he seems to be using every possible tack to buy himself (Alpha Seph) time. He even goes so far as to try and kill Tifa in the Lifestream, which was fucking SHOCKING...he's really doing his best to keep Aerith alive, Cloud in thrall, Rufus off his (and Avalanche's) back, and Tifa from being in a position to remind Cloud who he really is much later in Mideel.

And beneath this cut is wild theorizing that goes way beyond the scope of your message, omg. I blathered so much I decided it needed a cut!!

Sorry, this might all sound nutso since there are so many things happening at once. I think anytime you see Seph in-storyline it's a Reunion clone (iow, a fully thralled SOLDIER, etc). So far I think AC Seph is in Cloud's head and anytime you're between realities (Edge of Creation). Like, the fucked up Whispers are that indication that you're dealing with AC Seph and not Alpha Seph. A good example would be the Citadel (bear with me).

Aerith knows she has to pray for Holy and return to the Planet (die). But when the heroes arrive, they don't know her intent, so the white Whispers (deployed by the Planet in cooperation with Aerith), are already there beating back AC Seph's black Whispers, while also trying to keep Cloud & Co. from breaking through and rescuing her. The Sephiroth that falls from the sky and does the deed doesn't really matter...he's just a Reunion clone. Right? This is what I think, at least.

I have to go back and play through and pay closer attention to each of his individual arrivals to be sure, but it's what I've cooked up in my brain so far. AC Seph just talks to Cloud differently. It's an attempt to lead by filling him with rage that will make him act, instead of his previous tack of essentially ignoring him because he was too squid-brained-Jenova-pilled to pay any attention to little blonde boy what stabbed him to death, except to use him to gain the black materia (and hurt him as much as he could along the way). In the original game, Sephiroth was more interested in striking fear into Cloud, using him to do horrific things to his friends, calling him a puppet, etc. This backfires because Cloud is so terrified of what's inside him that he just...does not act. It's quite literally why Aerith is not saved, and why Cloud blames himself for her loss.

On the other hand, shiny new AC Seph is all, "don't you want to protect this beautiful Planet with me??" Whereas Alpha Seph is still more along the lines of, "I will ascend and devour this world like my Mother." AC Seph understands who he's talking to. And yet still doesn't understand the strength that person possesses...

ANYWAY, all of this hinges on the belief that AC Sephiroth is not interfering with the actions of Alpha Seph, or really that he can't, so he's thralling Cloud and pushing him to do his bidding, just like the original...except AC Seph already knows that he fucked up and has to fix what he broke. In his own words...he underestimated Cloud and company (for a second, or really THIRD time). I think Reunion is going to combine not just the wayward Jenova cells, but the timelines. Jenova isn't being replicated with each new world, but her genetic material still is. I think AC Seph ultimately wants to successfully summon Meteor, but he has to create a universe in which Aerith never returns to the Planet after praying, which would cripple Holy. He has to make sure Cloud stays in thrall, because he simply can't overpower him in any reality (this is why Tifa has go to go, in his mind). And lastly, he has to off himself at the Northern Crater. When Sephiroth says to Cloud "you have my blessing," obviously it was him urging Cloud to protect Aerith this time-to interject and stop him. I think it extends further, though. I think he wants Cloud to destroy him (original game Sephiroth, that is) so that only he (that new Seph) remains when Reunion is complete. Jury's out on whether he plans to permanently use Cloud as his vessel. I'm not sure about that one. We'll see.

Also, I'd say it was Cloud who gagged Sephiroth the most when he returned from a fractured timeline with the white materia and we got that miffed Sephiorth line, "Bad form..." 😂 Absolutely loved seeing that man rattled for a moment.

Thanks for the long message, actually. I should apologize for the long response!! In all honesty, I'm rusty on Ever Crisis and Before Crisis and First Soldier Stuff. I only ever read synopses of those things to keep up and so details often slip my mind. If I misspoke or overlooked something that somehow has background in those titles, I apologize.

COME. WILDLY THEORIZE WITH ME!!

#stanswers #dogsovercats504 #ff7 #ff7r #ff7 rebirth #ff7 rebirth spoilers #ff7r spoilers #final fantasy 7 rebirth #final fantasy 7 rebirth spoilers #final fantasy vii rebirth spoilers

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historyhermann · 2 years ago

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Challenges of archival digitization, Robert Caro, and digital archives

Recently, when going through LinkedIn, I came upon a post by Margot Note, whom wears many hats simultaneously as a records manager, archivist, author, and consultant, about the shifting concepts of preservation in the digital world, which had been written last fall. She argues that information professionals, like archivists, have questioned existing assumptions about preservation, with the creation of new principles to born-digital materials (like tweets, Instagram and Facebook posts) and those materials which are digitized. This change is happening while physical records deemed to have "enduring value" are still acquired, stored, and made accessible. She goes on to state that the ever-changing digital landscape has added complexities to archival practice, altering existing procedures, especially in the realm of preservation, since those methods used to preserve physical paper materials no longer translate to digital resources, requiring new methods. For example, she notes that you can't reverse preservation treatments for digital records, unlike with paper records, such as migrating digital files to new formats when old ones are not usable anymore. These are transformations that, hopefully, do not constrain the original functionality of records.

Reprinted from my History Hermann WordPress blog and also the Wayback Machine. This post was originally published on April 25, 2019.

She also adds that for digital materials, the content is what important, not the carrier for such content and that unlike physical paper materials, which may not deteriorate rapidly if they are ignored, digital files are stored on media that "deteriorates, and rely on hardware and software that may no longer be available" which means that neglect is not an option. This means that despite differences in preserving digital and paper materials (often called "analog" or "legacy" materials), some practices can apply to both, like appraisal and addressing information as a collection rather than on an individual level, while recognizing that all materials have "the tendency to decay." She ends by saying that digital and paper preservation considers needs of patrons, with action needed, ultimately, to preserve materials in the immediate future, "ensure the survival of research materials for our users," and ultimately sustain "cultural heritage for the next generation."

While this is a good start, there is a lot more to talk about. I could bring in some of her other publications, like a book on family archives [1], but I'd like to broaden the scope. This article will talk about the challenge of digitization in archives (with connection to Robert Caro's recent comments) and challenges of digital archives. There will also be a connection to sister institutions of archives, libraries, which are distinct in and of themselves [2], as I have noted on this blog in the past, even as you get a MLIS/MLS (Master of Library and Information Science or the rapidly dwindling Master of Library Science) to study...archives. As the SAA notes on their "So You Want to Be an Archivist" page, the "number and content of archival education offerings, especially multi-course programs, has continued to expand in recent years, and a few institutions now offer master's degrees in archival studies." I've recently wondered why degrees like archival science (or perhaps archival studies) are not more widely offered, but perhaps that is a discussion which can branch out from this post.

Robert Caro's faulty argument and archival digitization

From the NARA Strategic Plan (2014-2018).

In order to begin this discussion, I am reminded of some dialogue in the 1971 science fiction movie, The Andromeda Strain. One character, Mr. Mark Hall (played by James Olson) asks "where is the library?" to which his colleague, Dr. Charles Dutton (played by David Wayne) responds: "No need for books. Everything's in the computer." And the movie goes on, as there is no more discussion. Later on, the computer does have an error and overload when too much information is inputted by the scientists, the "heroes" of this film in this top-secret facility in the Nevada desert called "Wildfire." The fact that everything is stored on the computer is not mentioned in any reviews of the movie I have found, and as such, perhaps people should revisit this movie for just this reason, as it is still relatively enjoyable. We have gotten to the point that everything is "in the computer" like in this film, not only with libraries and other public institutions, but more and more with archival institutions in recent days.

That brings us to the recent debate of what Robert Caro, a presidential scholar of the Johnson Administration said about digitization, whom was criticized by fellow archivists on the Twittersphere (and likely elsewhere), of archival records. He tried to describe how people are differently interacting with the records now than they had in the past, in the "pre-internet" days, those before the internet was publicly available, the days in which it was available only to universities and the government which Joe McMillian tried to exploit in a few episodes (starting with the Yerba Buena episode) of the third season of the short-lived series, Halt and Catch Fire, but not having much success as the show is all about failure.

Caro's words come from a recent interview by Eleanor Hildebrandt of Popular Mechanics because of the publication of his new book, Working, about his research process, apparently a #1 best-seller on Amazon. He told the interviewer that he still does much of his writing on a typewriter although he has a laptop on his desk (apparently a Lenovo ThinkPad). This is because he was told by those at the Johnson Presidential Library that his "typewriter was so noisy, it was disturbing the other researchers" which is telling. He also tells the interviewer that he took notes on his computer but still uses his typewriter and writes in longhand (who does that anymore?). While some would argue that this is fine, what he stated next is what was criticized by archivists on Twitter:

It [writing on a typewriter] makes me think more. Today everybody believes fast is good. Sometimes slow is good. Almost two years ago, Ina [Caro’s wife] and I went down [to the archives], and I’m sitting there, in the reading room, writing my notes. Everybody else is standing there taking photographs of their documents. They do it with cell phones now. If you saw me there, you’d see one person who’s not in the modern age.

Now, while each researcher can choose their own way to use documents, it seems like he is glaring down on those whom use their phones, or other electronic devices, to take pictures of documents. How can you even argue that those individuals are not taking their own notes or that they can think the same amount when using digital devices? As Jan Murphy, a family historian whom is a big fan of encouraging people to take notes, added on Twitter, it wouldn't be right to "insist on all handwritten notes all the time," the latter of which is "just nuts." Adding to this is the fact that digital photos can be transcribed at home, even comparing information from different archives. Additionally, sometimes people like Caro, whom could be considered to be part of the traditionalist/silent generation since he was born in 1935, may not even be able to read their own handwriting! This is the case with other people, especially those whom have dysgraphia, with the extent this learning disability affects the general population not currently known. With this, we should also consider that not everyone has the leisure/ability to transcribe material needed from an archive in longhand. Some, as Murphy noted in another tweet, would rather "spend the time in the archive, having taken my photo, making notes about the record's condition & taking notes for my source citation etc." The question is simple, as Murphy, who sometimes wishes she had a small manual typewriter when electricity is off, asks, posing a question which Caro never really answers: "But what's wrong with taking digital photos of records in archives?" I could concur with that. I don't see anything wrong with it. In fact, I would argue that institutions like the Maryland State Archives are examples of institutions which allow electronic devices such as phones to take photos of documents.

After this, he goes into the use of paper records:

I feel there’s something very important, to be able to turn the pages yourself. I don’t want anything standing in between me and the paper. People compliment me on finding out how [Johnson] rose to power so fast in Congress by using money. That happened down there, and it was a vague, amorphous thing. I was sitting there with all these boxes, taking all these notes. And you saw letters, his very subservient letters—“Can I have five minutes of your time?”—and then you see the same letters coming back to him. And I said, Something happened here. What’s the explanation? Why is a committee chairman writing to Lyndon Johnson, asking for a few minutes of his time? So I sat there and put my notes into chronological order. And then it became absolutely clear. Would the same thing have happened if I’d stood there taking photographs and went back? Possibly. But I don’t believe it. To me, being in the papers is really important.

While I understand what he is saying here, more and more records are online than ever before, meaning that the records of the Obama Administration and future presidencies will undoubtedly be different from those of the Johnson Administration. Caro is almost stuck back in time, part of the old guard of presidential scholars whom inhabited presidential libraries (which can more accurately be called presidential archives). I won't touch on the plans for the Obama Library only because I have written on that topic for one of my classes at UMD and it may be published in an academic journal in the future (fingers crossed), so I don't want to tread on the same topics in this post. I would add that using paper records is not the only way to interact with records, as users can easily interact with them online using new and exciting methods.

From here, Caro becomes a bit ridiculous:

Well, there’s no reason why that [a deep dive through thousands of digital pages of emails] has to be a different kind of research. Someone else could come along who was nuts like me and say, I’m going to look at every email. What’s more worrisome to me is that, when you talk about digitization, somebody has to decide what’s digitized. I don’t want anyone deciding what I can see. It’s very hard to destroy a complete paper trail of something. Lyndon Johnson was very secretive, and he wanted a lot of stuff destroyed. But the fact is, they were cross-referencing these pages into ten or twenty or thirty different files. There’s always something. But the whole idea of emails—I don’t use emails, I may be wrong—I’m not sure there’s a trail like that. It’s too easy to delete.

While he makes a good point that there can be the same kind of research, that doesn't mean he is right overall. It is laughable for him to claim that "when you talk about digitization, somebody has to decide what’s digitized" and to then declare "I don’t want anyone deciding what I can see." Clearly, he does not, understand the fundamental archival principle of appraisal, which has been debated from the time of those like British archivist Hilary Jenkinson in 1922 and U.S. archivist T.R. Schellenberg in 1956, the selection and description within archives. The records he is looking at, while researching at the Johnson Library, are chosen by professional archivists, specifically those from NARA, so people are deciding what he can see. As such, deciding what records are digitized is also a responsibility of archivists, which will be explained later in this post.

He further claims that it is "very hard to destroy a complete paper trail of something." I'm not actually completely sure about that. Taking from NARA's official history of presidential libraries, they write that before these libraries came about, with impetus from FDR in 1939 when he donated his personal papers to the federal government, presidential papers were often dispersed by former presidents and their heirs after their time in office. They further note that while many collections of records exist of presidents before Hoover at the Library of Congress, others are divided between historical societies, libraries, and private collectors. Even worse, as they acknowledge, "many materials have been lost or deliberately destroyed." So, a "complete paper trail," as he described it, CAN be destroyed.

Considering that "Lyndon Johnson was very secretive, and he wanted a lot of stuff destroyed" as he notes, this contradicts his point that it is "very hard to destroy a complete paper trail of something." I mention this because it would mean that if Johnson wanted, he could have worked to destroy a complete paper trail, especially since it was after Watergate that presidential records were considered property of the federal government rather than "private property" of the former Presidents, a view also widely held in the archival profession at the time. Furthermore, when he talks about cross-referencing of the pages, he seems to not understand how emails work. This is no surprise from someone who doesn't "use emails," as he admits! He claims that he is not "sure there’s a trail like that" and that "it’s too easy to delete" emails. While it is true is easy to "delete" them, think about "deleted" files on a computer. They are not really deleted but rather the directory to them is eliminated. The same is also true of any file, whether a PDF, a photograph, or something else you upload online: the file is never truly deleted, but only the directory to it is deleted. Just like when you throw something away in a garbage can, it is not simply eliminated, but it is sent somewhere else, like a horrid waste-to-energy plant or an overflowing landfill. There was actually a whole Futurama episode about an overly wasteful society back in May 1999, titled "A Big Piece of Garbage."

As Curl Hopkins wrote in The Daily Dot six years ago, when a user "deletes" an email normally it becomes "invisible to that user and is immediately a candidate to be overwritten" but until then it exists and it may even "persist longer on company servers." He further notes that even if a computer is "taken off your computer, it may still be available on the host’s server," adding that you must "presume that any email you compose will be available remain accessible forever," although secure email services are available. There may still be "elements that indicate the prior presence of the email" and logins that are often retained, to say the least. Even one article recommending how to delete emails forever warns that "some online email services maintain an offline backup of email accounts," adding that "your permanently deleted email may still reside in these inaccessible backups...There is no way to force immediate deletion of emails in these backups." Also, there are specific data retention rules on the federal level and likely within various organizations, which require retention of such emails. I am also reminded here of "Testimony" (S4, ep9) of Veep. I mention this because, at one point during the episode, Mike McLintock (played by Matt Walsh), the incompetent press secretary, is brought before a congressional committee. He thinks he deleted the voice memos of then-president, Selina Meyer (played by Julia Louis-Dreyfus). In fact, as the committee reminds him, these memos exist in the cloud and they plan to listen to them for any further evidence in their investigation! [3]

With that, it leads to the next part of this post, which goes to a question that the public, taken in by stereotypes about archivists, often asks of archivists and archival institutions.

Why can't everything be digitized?

In May 2017, Samantha Thompson, an archivist at the Peel Art Gallery Museum and Archives, wrote a post which aimed to answer the question of why archivists don't digitize everything since it is a common question. As such, it is clearly important to remind people who not everything is digitized and that, in fact, "only a tiny fraction of the world’s primary resources are available digitally," coupled with the fact that archivists and librarians themselves are "behind the abundance of primary sources already available on the internet" while organizations like the Internet Archive, or Ancestry.com have raised "public expectations about access to historical resources." [4] She goes onto argue that digitization, the "production of an electronic image of these record," saves information from a paper record, but it does not produce "a clone of the record" but rather results in an "approximation...of a dimension of the record," often called a surrogate. She further notes that while archivists commonly digitize records in order to increase access (which some cataloguers do as well), they also argue (rightly) that mass digitization is costly in time and money, which sometimes people are skeptical of, not realizing that "large-scale digitization in an institutional setting is not your average home scanning operation." There a few reasons for this, including archives holding vast amounts of material, with digitizing of even small archival collections as a big-time commitment since many groups of archival records are not easy to scan in quickly.

For instance, while you could use an automatic feeder to quickly scan a stack of pages, the benefits of such speed must be "weighed against the risk of a one-of-a-kind document being mangled by a paper jam" which is always a concern! This means you must engage in manually scanning which includes tasks such as removing staples (and paper clips), positioning the item, processing the images, and entering the appropriate metadata, all of which is a lot of work. As such, "scanning a single archival box of records can take days" as she puts it. This is even more the case if records within the file are various shapes and sizes, or if they are large enough that they must be scanned in sections and "digitally stitched together." While sometimes taking a photograph is the best option, you need a "high-quality photographic set-up including lighting, document holders, and a camera with an appropriate lens" which obviously is expensive enough that not all institutions can afford such a set-up. This means that scanning produces not an exact copy of the record "but only an impression of certain aspects of it" and it may be hard to convey annotations (like sticky notes) on the paper record itself in a digital form, or physical characteristics of the paper records. This brings us to one of the most important parts: linking the digitized record to crucial information, which is often called metadata, some of which is technical and other parts that describe the record itself. The latter is information like a date or time the record was created. But some elements are more complex like determining the "story of the person or organization that created it." As she puts it rightly, an individual record "within an archival collection does not tell us its whole story." This means that without vital descriptive work of paper records in the first place, those electronic records which are produced through digitization would be an unusable and undifferentiated mass.

She goes onto note that since digitization involves investment of resources and time, archivists need to be clear that the electronic files produced adequately represent the originals, meaning there need to be quality control checks in place. This involves factors such as scanning resolutions, typing accuracy and photographic skill, since archivists are responsible for ensuring that "people are getting a reliable and authentic view of records." There is another conundrum with digitization itself: archivists are required to not only retain the paper originals but the digital files as well. These are files that are subject to disorder and decay just like paper records, with a tiny shift causing a set of errors, with even unused data subject to random degradation and loss, often called "bit rot." Coupled with this is the question of future readability of the data, since digitization of files is not worthwhile if no one can open the files as software and the accompanying "hardware inevitably becomes obsolete." Luckily for all of us, especially those in the archival field, archivists are at the forefront of pushing boundaries of digital longevity as technologies and file format standards are improving. However,as she notes, the "average lifespan of a hard or flash drive is still a fraction of that of a piece of paper stored in optimal conditions" with digital data needing to be stored in specific temperature conditions as well. All of this means that when anything is digitized, archivists commit to maintaining the digital file and the original on which that file is based.

This connects to the resources required for digitization and post-digitization duties. For one, cameras and scanners which are high-resolution which can accurately capture the data are relatively expensive, with the same being the case for software to process images and attain digital storage which is secure. In order for digitization to "make a dent" in an average archival collection, a scanner, or several scanners, need to be constantly working, with some large archivists maintaining specific digitization units while smaller institutions fit it in when and where they can among their other duties. As a result, digitization of specific records is often part of projects which are funded by partnerships or grants, as she notes. In terms of the post-digitization duties, it is needed to make sure that the records are responsibly shared on the web, after checking with donor(s) to make sure the records can be freely shared in the first place with some not wanting this to happen for various reasons or due to copyright restrictions. Such sharing is important as it allows archivists to make the full meaning of records available to those accessing them online.

As such, digitization itself, as she argues, is a process that is approached by archivists methodically. This requires, of course, assessing archival collections beforehand in order to determine whether the records are worth being shared and digitized. Such a process takes time, even if an "inexpensive pool" of labor can be mobilized, along with a big investment of resources and time. As a result, as she puts it, we may never, in fact, have everything digitized, with trials and triumphs of digitization being a "constantly unfolding process" while new models are coming about. With that, access is still important, as is digitization, with archivists continuing to "grapple with this immensely powerful way to broadcast the knowledge we steward." Her article ends by stating that everyone can help support digitization through sharing information that goes with a photograph from an institutional collection, and to, most important of all: "be curious about what archivists, information professionals, and cultural workers do." The latter requires, of course, asking questions and spreading answers, since the more people who understand the value of archivists, the more support they will get, and the more support archivists can provide to the public at-large.

It is worth recalling here a paper I wrote last semester (which will likely never be published anywhere academically) where I asked different archival institutions about their approach to digitization, using different forms of interaction, like Twitter, email, web-form submissions, and web-chat (AskUsNow!), the latter which is relatively horrible/annoying from my experience, although others may have had different experiences. [5] One of the best responses I got was from Corey Lewis of the Maryland State Archives (MSA) whom told me that I could personally contact him if I was interested in their digitization efforts. It was a response of high quality I wouldn't have gotten if I had just looked on their website. To this day, they still don't have their digitization strategy on their website from what I can tell (perhaps its hidden somewhere). I also got responses back from the Council of State Archives (CoSA) on digitization and even from the Oregon State Archives, the latter of which I hadn't even tweeted to, which was impressive. In a similar manner to the person from the MSA, I got a message from Joanne Archer, the head of Access and Outreach Services at Special Collections and University Archives at the University of Maryland Libraries, which said I could send her any further questions. Interestingly, when it comes to digitization they do not "directly solicit campus input."

With that, we can move into the final part of this post which focuses on challenges of digital archives and the digital world.

Challenges of digital archives and the current digital landscape

In the "Mars University" episode of Futurama, which first aired on October 3rd, 1999, the Planet Express crew go to Mars, which has, in the universe of this wondrous animated sitcom, been terraformed and has a typical college campus called Mars University. Before the episode becomes an homage/parody to Animal House, there is a scene where Professor Farnsworth tells Leela, Fry, and Bender about the Wong Library, adding that it has "the largest collection of literature in the Western universe." After that, Fry looks in and sees these two disks:

That's obviously the joke, and is more than a "bookish moment." It's basically saying that all the knowledge can be stored on two disks. It's still kinda funny, although the joke is dated, as these are supposed to be something like CDs (which first came about in 1982). In a future post I'll definitely bring in the Futurama episode ("Lethal Inspection") that fellow archivist Samantha Cross of POP Archives reviewed, when I get to that season, as I'm currently only on Season 2 of the show as I plan to re-watch all the show's episodes, over time.

This brings us to digital archives, specifically, which goes beyond the digitization of paper files. This applies to files which are born-digital. It requires, of course, a digital preservation policy as Margot Note, who was cited at the beginning of this article, writes about, which would need to be integrated into the program of an archives itself. It would also necessitate collaboration with other institutions and individuals in preserving digital records, and making sure that digital preservation is specifically tailored to your institution. Beyond this, there are two elements that apply to digital archives: choosing what will be preserved and file formats that are sustainable.

For the first element, I turn to an article, again, by Margot Note. She writes that selection and appraisal of digital records is similar to physical records,but that long-term preservation of digital records relies on "understanding of how file formats work." It also requires, as she notes, access to the appropriate hardware and software, with the appropriate skills, with the unavailability of these factors in an archival institution meaning that preservation of the digital files will not be successful. As such, technical appraisal of the digital files, themselves, considers whether they can be read, then subsequently documented, processed and finally preserved. Helping choose what digital archives preserve depends on whether the content itself is relevant to the mission of the archival institution, the historical value of the records, specifically if they have enduring value or are significant socially or culturally. For the digital records themselves, archivists also need to consider the integrity of the files, if they are usable or reliable. This means answering whether the materials themselves are in "preservation-friendly file formats" and if there are limits on the records, in terms of privacy or intellectual property, which makes them "inaccessible for research." Another important factor, as she describes is funding since the preservation and management of such digital records is by no means cheap. Finally, she notes that one must consider whether the digital records are unique or whether they are fully documented. She adds that keeping everything, when it comes to digital files, is not wise, since there are limited resources and mechanisms to search (and access) collections of a large-scale are often not adequate, and that selection curates collections which will ultimately have "high research value." She ends with her point that no matter how complicated the systems for managing digital records become, people need to be involved in choosing what is preserved as digital archival records. Even with the possible automation of some decisions in days to come, archivists would need to balance benefits of saving certain digital records over other digital records, at a time that archivists continue to rise to the challenge of selecting and maintenance of "digital artifacts in a changing technological landscape" as she puts it.

In a related article, she writes about archivists choosing the right and sustainable file formats. This relates to digital archives because the sustainability of digital records in and of themselves depends on file formats that will last for long times, with the Library of Congress putting in place "some criteria for predicting sustainable file formats in digital archives" as she puts it. It further requires considering whether a format is widely used, the files can be identified, specifications of file formats are publicly available and documented, the files can function on a variety of services (be interoperable), and they have an open format since issues with licensing, patents, digital rights, and property rights complicate preservation efforts. She points to efforts by the Digital Preservation Coalition to analyze file formats which are commonly used. She also writes that over time some file formats have become preferred over others, like TIFF files used as master images for preservation during digitization and PDF/A as a standard file format. Even so, some standards for file formats are still in flux, with no consensus among archivists, as she puts it, as to what "file format or codecs should be used for preservation purposes for digital video"! At the closing of her article, she argues that regardless of the preservation actions you take, having file formats that are sustainable is crucial, since having file formats which are lasting influences the "feasibility of protecting content" in the face of a changing environment in the technological world where repositories and users co-exist at the present.

Speaking of all of this, I am reminded of an ongoing study by S.C. Healy, a PhD candidate in digital humanities at a university based in Ireland (Maynooth University), trying to find how "wider research and cultural heritage communities’ can progress from creating web archives to establishing paradigms to use web archives for study and research." I plan to sign up for this study as I've talked about web archiving in several classes. This is relevant since, as Genealogy Jude, as she calls herself on Twitter, noted, "the Internet...has shifted the demographic profile of genealogists." This matters to archives and archivists because many of those genealogists are some of the most common users of libraries. [6] In fact, one of the articles I found during my research for my paper on the Obama Library, a scholar in the 1990s (I don't remember the exact date), National History Day, where I am being a judge again this year on the state and national levels, and connecting with genealogists as a way to bring in more users to archival institutions.

Perhaps we can even bring in one of the SAA words of the week, specifically level of description. Simply it is defined as the "level of arrangement of the unit being described" and the "completeness or exhaustiveness of the description." It connects to recent discussions like one at Hornbake Library recently which focuses on impact of digital repositories, which is in the same realm as digital archives. Perhaps discussions like this will make it easier to define what archivists do and what archives are, as some have tried to do through teaching.

I also think about, apart from creation of some digital archives portals, of what Lilly Carrel, archivist at the Menil Archives in Houston said about digital preservation: "I think digital preservation offers creative ways to enhance the post-custodial approach and ensure important records are preserved" whom was recently interviewed by Vince Lee of the SAA's Committee of Public Awareness, also known as COPA. That is even more the case when there are digital archives, whether completely digital or part of traditional archival institutions like those at universities or serving specific states. There is also a job at the Library of Congress about web archiving, with applications that close on May 1.

With all of this, there is, not surprisingly, a debate among scholars, especially in the field of archives and libraries, over a possible difference between a digital library and a digital archives. Some within the field say there is a difference, while others dismiss that, arguing that there is not. Currently, I don't want to go down that road, or talk about some continuing tension between historians and archivists, despite past efforts by the SAA to make connections with the AHA, the American Historians Association. I also could talk more about the challenges when it comes to archiving born-digital material, but perhaps I will revisit that in a future post on here.

I'll end with what one archivist, blogging on the New Archivist WordPress over five years ago, put it, "please keep up the discussions, and contribute in ways that you think have value," adding that the "seeming lack of support in public" doesn't mean that archivists are not doing anything. [7] That is what I am trying to do with post and this blog, as a whole, changing from a focus on historical explorations about the Maryland Extra Regiment, the Maryland Loyalist Regiment, reprinting past posts and biographies I wrote when I worked at the MSA on the First Maryland Regiment, which is often called the Maryland 400, and other topics, as readers of this blog from the beginning will know. This all connects to my newfangled newsletter on SubStack, which I recommend readers of this blog subscribe to, which I hope expands in the days to come.

Until next time! I look forward to all of your comments.

Notes

[1] She has written so much that I recommended that she could even write a few e-books. She has actually written a number of books already, like Creating Family Archives: How to Preserve Your Papers and Photographs, a paperback book, and two other books more specifically for information professionals: Project Management for Information Professionals (seems like a textbook, although she calls it a "handbook") and Managing Image Collections: A Practical Guide (Chandos Information Professional Series) (a guide for those at institutional archives, perhaps?).

[2] If you want to know more about the distinction between the two, there is a new book published by the SAA (Society of American Archivists), titled Archives in Libraries: What Librarians and Archivists Need to Know to Work Together, which seems to make these distinctions and could be a good read. I can't give a firmer assessment as I have not read the book.

[3] Interestingly, in the review of this episode by Kate Kulzick of A.V. Club, this part of the episode is not mentioned. In fact, Mike's role in the episode is not mentioned at all!

[4] If you are interested, I'd also recommend reading "How do archivists organize collections?", "How Do Archivists Describe Collections? (or, How to Read a Finding Aid)", and most importantly "What do archivists do all day?", two of which are also by Samantha Thompson.

[5] Perhaps at a later time I'll bring in my other papers I have currently uploaded to academia.edu like "The concept of a Baltimorean Homeless Library (BHL)," "Uggles and the University of Illinois: a very furry situation indeed!," and "Strategic Plan Analysis--Maryland State Library Resource Center (SLRC)," the latter of which is relatively technical. All of these are mainly in the realm of libraries rather than archives, however.

[6] She also stated, in a tweet following, that it is good that genealogy has found new people with "energy and new ideas, otherwise it would be a dying hobby" which I will agree with, as a millennial genealogist myself, beyond what someone like fellow genealogist Amy Johnson Crow will describe. Others whom responded to her said that its a time-consuming hobby, while others said that retired people still have some advantages over young people, and her responding to a concern that the internet has isolated people (not an invalid concern), that "the Internet has enabled people to contact relatives and share research much more easily than before" which also is a valid point! This also includes, as Carolynn, another genealogist, argued: "challenging racist, misogynistic and xenophobic genealogists" even if that can be hard. At the same time, I see those, in the wake of the racist ancestry.com ad (for Ancestry Canada) to grumble about how much they "hate" them, for justified reasons, although I don't necessarily feel the same as a person whom runs two genealogy blogs and is a family historian for both my mom and dad's side of the family. I seem to sympathize more with those whom say that there are reasons "why you can't rely on search engines like @Ancestry" with misspellings and mistaken listings.

[7] They also said that the lack of supportive views on Twitter or lists "does not mean that the vast majority of people are not appalled by the few rude ones" but rather that the latter are shown indifference by the many.

#digitization #archives #robert caro #preservation #veep #substack #maryland state archives #ancestry #genealogy

0 notes

olderthannetfic · 3 years ago

Note

I think people that believe HP fans are distancing themselves from JKR need to realise the scope of HP reach is well outside of fandom. All the people i know irl that define themselves as Potter enthusiastic loved the movies or the books but have never spent a minute of their life interacting with it outside of consumption of the original material. Most of these people don't know about the controversies, don't care, and are just as happy to buy WB sanctioned merch as they always have been. The core public - or consumer? -of HP might be very well outside of fandom, and it has been for some time.

I don't like to gatekeep what a fan is, but to a lot of those people it meant buying the official scarf and wand and visiting the park etc. Certainly not writing metas or fanfictions, engaging with other fans online or keeping up with HP discourses and JKR controversies. For all the annoying things about fandom, it does teach you to think critically about the original material. Most of those people never did that - I've seen them struggle to understand book and movies as separate entities, even. And when I tried to discuss it with them problematic aspects they would dismiss it as reaching over "a fantasy book".

I think HP larger "fan base" is not the tumblr-dwelling one. It's the occasional fan, who does not overthink, is reminded every time a new spinoff cames out that they like HP and is happy as ever to reach in their pocket.

I want to be hopeful about JKR decline, because she has revealed herself to be a very disappointing human being. But I think if you look outside of fandom she is doing more than fine.

Yup

115 notes · View notes

chasingpj · 4 years ago

Text

𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐳𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬

"I might spread a rumor about you and Percy rendezvousing at midnight. The Aphrodite cabin will have a hoot with that one."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 4,931

warnings: none

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here

a/n: hi hi! this is part one of a self-insert series I'm working on. in this story, y/n is a child of hecate, and this storyline follows the books. the current timeline here is post sea of monsters and will continue through the Heroes of Olympus books. though it follows the original plot, y/n has her own storyline and quests. i tried to make y/n gender-neutral but as I continued to work on the timeline for this project, i had decided that this fic is for a fem reader. guys, this is really just me projecting my fantasy into fanfiction lol. i feel like this is a slow start?? and there is a lot of info dumped in this so bear with me. it'll get better and I'll be working to improve my writing as the series continues. I was on a writing hiatus for a really long time and I'm out of practice so this is my way to get back and hopefully, exceed the skills I had when I was a consistent writer. anyways, if you have any feedback, let me know! I'd love to hear what you think. as i get deeper into the series, i might ask for some suggestions on what to do with the fic. anyways, i'll stop rambling and i hope you like it!

Part One Part Two

You ignore the aching in your neck as your focus is fixed on the herbology book in front of you. You’ve been seated at your desk for Zeus knows how long reading and taking notes in your Book of Shadows, determined to finish reading it as fast as possible. Your half-brother, Alabaster, insisted that you need to memorize all the herbs and their properties before he can properly teach you how to use them in potions. Even though you understand its importance, you hated introductory work. You are itching to get to the real stuff, resulting in you glued to your chair, studying through the night as your cabin mates were fast asleep in their beds. But as determined as you are, Ambrose, your familiar, wasn��t much help. Ambrose whines as he rubs his head against your legs like a needy kitten, making it difficult to ignore him.

“What is it, Ambrose?” You whisper, sitting back in your chair in defeat. You take a second to massage the back of your sore neck before turning to face the translucent hound sitting attentively at your side. His tail sweeps the floor as it wags excitedly, and a short huff leaves his snout as if he was proud to have finally gotten your attention.

Your eyes meet his, racking your mind to figure out what Ambrose needs to tell you. At first, you thought he wanted to play, but you didn’t have time for that, so you decided to ignore him. Usually, after being ignored for a while, Ambrose will give up, finding something else to occupy him. But tonight, he was particularly persistent, and he’s only like this when he needs to tell you something.

Before you can ask what he wanted again, Ambrose gets up from his seated position, running over to the small table that stands beside your bed. You furrow your eyebrows, the first thing you notice when you walk over are your crystals neatly placed in front of your spell books as usual. Seeing them made you suddenly remember what you had planned to do.

You had told Ambrose to remind you to charge your crystals and collect water from the lake since there is a full moon tonight and of course, Ambrose being your loyal companion, did exactly that. Before looking down at the hound, who now is breathing heavily, his tail somehow wagging faster than before, you smile to yourself.

“I told you to remind me earlier, didn’t I?” Ambrose snorts and runs around your feet enthusiastically. You couldn’t help but giggle at his excitement as you reached down to pat his head. “Good boy. What would I do without you?” You continue to praise him, grabbing a black pouch and carefully placing the crystals in it. You put your index finger to your lips, signaling Ambrose to be a little quieter despite his excitement. If he accidentally wakes anyone up, then you definitely weren’t going to be able to fulfill your plans.

You bite your bottom lip as you tiptoe out of the aisle between the bunks. You look around the notoriously cramped Hermes Cabin to make sure your assumption that everyone was asleep by now was correct. It wasn’t hard to make out the faces of your cabin mates since seeing clearly in the dark was one of your many gifts, so you carefully walked along the bunks, being as quiet as you could. You are especially cautious as you approach the front where your cabin leaders, the Stoll brothers, slept. You study them for a second, knowing for sure Travis was asleep since he was snoring and loudly at that. Before you can check if Connor is asleep, you hear him shifting in his bed. You stand frozen in your spot, hesitantly looking over and you were expecting to be met with the usual mischievous grin. Instead, his back was towards you now. You have a feeling in your gut that he wasn't asleep, the timing of his moving was much too convenient. You really didn't want to wait any longer though so you decide that you might as well leave before he could stop you.

You turn on your heels, walking over to the window before you push it open. You cringe softly as the hinges creak, and you look back at the cabin to double-check if anyone has woken up from the sound. You sigh in relief when you see no one has moved, and you turn back to the window, carefully crawling out of it. This wasn’t unusual for you. You’ve done this so many times that using windows as a mode of exiting and entering a room was as natural to you as walking in and out of a door, and soon you were hopping down onto the grass. Your back is pressed against the cabin as you walk the side of it. You look up at the trees and the sky, eyes scoping around for any harpies hanging around. After deeming that you were alone, you begin making your way to the lake, Ambrose walking by your side attentively and cautiously to make sure you are safe.

The night was clear; the stars and especially the moon shone brightly in the sky. You sigh softly, taking in the stillness of the night, admiring the glistening lake reflecting the full moon placed above it. You’ve always enjoyed how quiet and cool the nights were, preferring it more than the daytime.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t avoid it as much as you wish to. Most of your siblings can agree with you that they’d prefer to sleep in most days so that they can study and practice their magic at night. However, that wasn’t the schedule of the Hermes Cabin. It was pretty impossible to sleep in since the mornings were always hectic. In fact, the cabin was just hectic, period. There was always something going on, whether it was an elaborate prank or the guys arguing over who gets to shower first after coming back from training which usually resulted in an intense game of rock, paper, scissors. You can’t say that you didn’t like it; at least you were entertained.

You also always had someone to talk to, and because there were often new campers coming in and out of there, you have easily familiarized yourself with a lot of the kids at camp. However, like your mother, you did enjoy and yearn for the occasional periods of solitude. As fun as living with the Hermes kids was, you and your siblings did find yourselves getting a little irritable at their shenanigans. It was at those times, you did wish that your mother, Hecate, had a designated cabin.

You and your siblings had always said if they ever got a cabin of their own, they would make sure everyone had separate rooms and would have designated spaces to socialize and practice their magic so that it was quiet for the most part. Alabaster, especially, was really passionate about this topic. He complained how it didn’t make sense that your mother wasn't recognized since you and your siblings were a powerful little bunch. You all needed a space to practice your magic and practice preferably at night since you were the most powerful at that time of day; you were also less prone to making mistakes in your spell casting at night. You agreed with him and would get upset about it sometimes, but the Hermes Cabin was a place you considered to be a second home. The communal feel of the space was something you enjoyed, it was one of the few places where you felt fully accepted which was rare to find being a demi-god with abilities like yours. In return to the Hermes Cabin welcoming you with open arms, you accept the inconveniently loud environment as an admirable quirk and went on with your days.

Then to compensate for the lack of silence and solitude, you would often stay up late, taking advantage of the quiet to focus on your studies. Even if you had to sacrifice the amount of sleep you got, you felt like it was worth it.

It doesn’t take you long to arrive at the dock, sitting down close to the end with your legs folded under you. You first collect lake water in a jar before carefully taking out the pouch's crystals. Assuming you had only a few left in the pouch after laying most of them on the dock, you tilt it with your hand under it, only for the crystals to come out all at once. You fumble, hands trying to bring them to your chest, but with your luck, one of your crystals falls right into the water with a plop.

“Dammit!” You peer over the edge and groan, Ambrose whining at your misfortune as he stands beside you. You look down at the water, noticing Ambrose’s and your dim reflection in it. There was no way you could get that crystal now because you didn't know how to swim, and you consider that maybe tomorrow you can convince your twin brother, Atticus, to look for it or Alabaster if Atticus refused, which you were expecting him to.

Your breath hitches at the back of your throat, jumping back as a head of dark hair abruptly pops up from right where you were staring. Ambrose barks loudly next to you, equally as startled, and your eyes widen. You stand up hastily at the realization that Ambrose's loud barks in the dead of night will catch the attention of the harpies, and right now, that was more important to you than the mysterious person that just sprouted up in the water like a zombie coming out of a grave.

“Shush! Ambrose, quiet!” Your frantic command was enough to make him stop with a whine, and you sigh shakily, turning towards the camp to check if there were any harpies.

“I think you dropped something.” Ambrose moves in front of you protectively, a low growl coming from his chest as he cautiously studies the person. You look back where the voice came from and to your surprise and your relief, you find that the mysterious person in the lake was no other than Percy Jackson. You never had a conversation with him before, but you definitely knew about him. It was kind of hard not to know who he is since he’s been the talk of the camp since he’s arrived. Your thoughts about him weren’t any different from most of the camp. You’ve seen him fight and use his powers during capture the flag, and you were just as impressed as everyone else. You did have to admit that you found him to be pretty cute too. His eyes were gorgeous, clear, and bright like a shallow, cyanic sea. You also found it adorable how his hair always looked a little disheveled.

Your (e/c) eyes met Percy’s green ones before looking at your rose quartz in his hand. You smile sheepishly, noticing the amused look on his face.

“Ah, yeah, that’s mine.” You walk over to him, but as you get closer, so does Ambrose, and his growls get louder. "Ambrose, heel. It's okay," you say softly, and he stops in his place, but his stance is still at alert, his eyes watching Percy cautiously. You pat Ambrose's head before walking past him and over to Percy. "Thanks," you smile, taking your rose quartz from his hand.

"No problem… I don't think your ghost dog likes me," Percy jokes, moving to look past your legs at Ambrose, who’s standing tall on your left side.

"Yeah, well, you kinda scared the crap out of us," you point out, amused. You take in Percy's goofy smile as he pulls himself up from the water, and you notice that he’s completely dry as he settles on the edge before turning his body to look at you.

“It’s y/n, right?” He asks, and you nod, figuring he’s probably heard about you in passing from Connor and Travis since he was friends with them too. “What are you doing out here so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you retort playfully, making him smile. You move to sit down where you were standing. You spread the crystals neatly on the wood, making a mental note to get them before you go to bed.

"I couldn't sleep, so I came out here to hang out, but then a hippocampus swam up. One of its friends got stuck in a fisher's net not too far from here, so I went to help," he explains, and you nod. "I told you my excuse, so what's yours?"

You hum, "It's a full moon out tonight, so I thought I should take my crystals out. I also needed moon water for a potion, so I collected some for that," you point over at the big mason jar full of lake water. "It’s not as cool as your excuse,” you say playfully.

A short laugh comes from Percy, and when you look up from your crystals, you notice he was looking at Ambrose again, who was still in his tense stance. Ambrose was especially protective of you and Atticus, and it wasn’t unusual for him to be cautious of the new people you come across. You assumed that Ambrose was particularly tense with Percy since he had successfully caught you both by surprise.

"Ambrose, relax.” You pat the top of his head to soothe him. "Lay down." Ambrose whines, licking your hand affectionately for a little, and you can tell he was still uneasy about the other. He was hesitant, but he follows your command anyway, laying down with his head on your lap.

"You can touch him?" Percy asks, his eyes wide and curious as he watches you pet Ambrose.

"Yeah, I can touch ghosts in general. My mother is Hecate, goddess of necromancy, along with magic, the night and the moon," you tell him. "This is Ambrose. My mother gifted him to me to be my familiar, kinda like a guardian." You look down at the hound, smiling softly as you scratch behind his ear softly.

Ambrose is a burly Molossian Hound who lived in the time of Alexander The Great. From what your father told you, his breed was well valued in Ancient Greek and Roman times and was often used in war. It is easy to understand why the breed was used in war. Ambrose is huge and muscular, about 6 feet tall when he stands on his hind legs, and he weighs around 200 pounds. At first, Ambrose can come off as a little intimidating. You remember how your siblings had avoided him when you first arrived at camp before they realized that he was the clearest definition of a gentle giant. Even though he was trained to fight when he was alive, he was still as gentle as a well-trained house dog unless he was given a reason not to be.

"When did you get him?" Percy asks, his eyes focusing on Ambrose’s translucent body that looked like it is made up of this gray swirling vapor. He couldn’t exactly wrap his head around how Ambrose’s head was comfortably propped up on your thigh.

"We met on the night I was on my way to Camp so about 2 years ago. Without him, my brother and I probably would have never made it to the borders.” You look up at Percy, meeting his eyes again; you watch as his face softens as he shifts to lean back on his hand.

"Really?" You hum and nod, ready to drop the conversation there, thinking you shouldn’t bore him with the details. You didn’t really like talking about it much, but the way he was looking at you made you feel like he was inviting you to continue talking.

"We got separated from our father at the gas station a couple of miles away from here. He went inside the convenience store to get us snacks, and while he was in there, a cyclops had found us, tried to grab us out of his car. We jumped out and ran into the woods nearby," you explain as you look out at the dark horizon.

You remember the sound of your father yelling after you and Atticus and how it broke your heart hearing, for the first time, such despair in his voice. You knew your dad didn’t want to bring you guys to camp, but he knew it was in Atticus’s and your best interest to come here and be with other people like you guys.

When you and Atticus started developing your powers, your father had simply told you guys that you were special and to refrain from using your telekinesis anywhere else but home. He didn’t say anything more until one night, you and Atticus had gotten in a screaming match about a reason you don’t even remember. However, in your screaming match, the both of you were so angry that a green aura had formed around you both, and books, magazines, even cutlery were being flown across the room because of the sheer energy you were admitting as a unit. It was then your father had decided to take you and Atticus to the camp to control and learn about your powers before you guys destroyed the house over a dumb argument like who’s turn is it to have the TV remote.

"We were more concerned about the monster hurting our dad, so we decided on a whim to run in the forest. My brother and I have telekinesis powers, and I aimed well enough to send a rock right at the cyclops eye. We lost him a little after that, but we didn't know where we were. We made too many twists and turns; we had no idea what direction we came from. And then, this buddy appeared out of nowhere from a distance. I saw him glowing from far away and couldn’t make out what he was, but I felt that I had to follow him. So we did, and he got us to camp with no detours for any other monsters. He's been with me ever since," you say, and a low whine comes from Ambrose’s mouth as he nuzzles the side of his face on your thigh contentedly.

Percy nods, and he huffs softly, "You guys got lucky. How old were you and your brother when you got to camp?"

"12, we're twins. We actually got here a couple of weeks after you did,” you mention. You watch Percy’s mouth curve into a half-smirk.

“Wow," he says, amused, and shakes his head. “So you have a twin and a dead dog, no fair," he jokes. You giggle, rolling your eyes playfully,

"Oh please, and you have crazy water powers. You’re completely dry after swimming! I think that's pretty envy-worthy."

"Hey-,” he shrugs, taking a second as if to form a protest. “I guess you're right,” he admits and laughs. You laugh with him, opening your mouth to say something else but unfortunately, you were interrupted by a screech echoing in the distance.

Both you and Percy stand up quickly, trying to figure out which direction it came from. “The harpies,” you both mutter in unison. You bend down to grab your things, and you look at Ambrose.

"Go distract them, bud," you tell him, and Ambrose jumps up to his feet, and you watch as he runs away, barking to get their attention. Just then, you see the wings of the Harpies coming up from the trees of the forest. You turn to Percy, grabbing his hand quick,

“Incantare: Transpectus!" You exclaim confidently, closing your eyes to envision you and Percy becoming transparent on the dock. You've never tried doing this spell before, but you've gotten better at visualizing and setting intentions, so you had some hope in yourself. You open your eyes, not feeling any different, and you hoped that you just didn't make a fool of yourself in front of Percy. But when you look down at your hand hesitantly and notice it was hard to make out since you were see-through like glass, you sigh in relief. You smile to yourself, more than satisfied that you were able to pull that off.

"Woah, are we invisible?" You look over at Percy, able to see him just fine since he was under the spell with you. Percy looks down at himself, eyes widened as he processes he can’t see his body anymore. You observe him for a second, finding it cute how he looked surprised and obviously entertained at the fact that he was completely see-through. You feel yourself growing a little flustered, trying not to focus too much on the fact that you were holding hands with him.

"Something like that. C'mon, it won’t last too long," you whisper, and your grip around his hand tightens as you guys begin running to his cabin. You hear the harpies screeching in frustration as they swoop down to try and grab Ambrose, only for their claws to go right through him. While the harpies were growing more annoyed, Ambrose, on the other hand, was having way too much fun, running in circles and barking at them as if he’s teasing.

"Man, I wish I had a ghost dog," you hear Percy mutter behind you as you arrive at the steps of his cabin.

"Yeah, Ambrose is pretty great," you admit, watching him play with the harpies before shifting your gaze over to Percy. "Thanks for getting the crystal for me." As much as you wanted to stay talking to him, you knew you couldn't stay too long. You were still eager to finish studying, and Ambrose can only hold off the harpies for so long.

"It was no problem. It was on my way up anyways," he shrugs, and you smile, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You look down, the two of you still holding hands even though the spell wore off already. You awkwardly let go of his hand, shifting on your feet.

"Well, I'll see you around," you say sheepishly, fiddling with your fingers.

"Yeah, I'll see you.” His hand comes up in an awkward wave. You nod, returning the wave. Your eyes meet Percy’s green ones one more time before turning on your heels and walking down the steps of his cabin. You notice that Ambrose is now long gone into the forest, taking the harpies with him to give you time to rush to the other side where your cabin is.

As you hurry back to your cabin, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you replayed the interaction you just had with Percy, and you couldn't help but wonder when would be the next time you could talk to him.

You carefully hoist yourself up, climb back into the cabin through the window, sighing softly once you get in. You slowly close the window, your face scrunching at the creaking sound, but you successfully get it closed before turning around, only to be faced with Connor Stoll standing a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest. You gasp loudly, almost dropping the mason jar in your hand, being startled for the second time tonight.

“Oh, look who’s back,” he says, his lips pulled in his usual mischievous smirk, his right eyebrow raised as if he's suspicious of you. You shift, giggling nervously under his graze,

"Hey, Con.” Shit. You knew he wasn’t asleep, and a part of you wasn’t surprised that he had caught you sneaking out again. You weren’t too worried since Connor wasn’t one to be strict or easily angered, neither was Travis, but you can understand if he did get a little upset with you since the cabin could also get in trouble, and he worried about you getting hurt.

"You leave so often, I'm starting to think you're seeing someone," he teases, and you furrow your eyebrows, not really sure what he was trying to get at.

"I'm not seeing anyone. You know what I do when I sneak out," you tell him, putting your hand out to show him the jar full of water. After being caught the first couple of times, you had explained to Connor why you occasionally needed to head out at night. He was understanding of your reasons, telling you to try and not sneak out as often. When he did catch you, he always kept your outings secret. It came with a price, though. You were sometimes stuck doing extra chores, especially anything that had to do with cleaning, since he hated doing anything that had to do with mopping or sweeping.

"So that wasn't you and Percy on the dock?" Your eyes widen, and you feel your face get hot again. You shake your head, stumbling over your words for a second.

"Uh… n- that was a coincidence!" You hear him snort, laughing quietly as if he didn't believe you. Even though he couldn't see your facial expression very well in this lighting, he can still tell how flustered you were at his sudden question.

"Yeah, sure," he says sarcastically, and he hums, "Anyways, what are you going to do for me so that I don't tell on you?" He asks, and your mouth drops open. Usually, he wasn't so forward, and he never threatened to tell on you. "I might spread a rumor about you and Percy rendezvousing at midnight. The Aphrodite cabin will have a hoot with that one."

You gasp, "Connor, are you blackmailing me right now?" You narrow your eyes at him, and he shrugs,

"I guess you can say I am." You shake your head, walking over to your desk to put down your moon water before turning toward him and crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"... what do you want?" You ask, expecting him to make you take up one of his chores. But from the way he was smiling at you, you can tell that there was something more he wanted, and you were beginning to worry.

"Help me turn the Ares Cabin into bunnies," he says, and you shake your head frantically,

"No way! Clarisse will kill me," you whisper. Connor smiles,

"No, she won't. She can't kill you if she's a bunny," he points out, and your face falls flat,

"They're not gonna stay bunnies forever," you say, and you fiddle with your fingers nervously at the idea of the outrage you'd get from the Ares Cabin after shifting back from being bunnies. "I don't know, Con. I don't even know if I can turn all of them into bunnies at once."

Connor waves his hand at you, dismissing your concern. "I don't care for the logistics now. We can work on that later, but you have to agree to at least help me," he says. "Or I'm telling everyone I saw you smooching Percy on the dock."

"What!? We didn't even kiss. We talked for like 5 minutes!" You whisper-yell, your reactions much too entertaining for him, and he was having a hard time holding in his laugh.

"Your decision, y/n."

You sigh, throwing your head back. You look at the ceiling for a second as you consider your two choices. And you decide that getting your head potentially put on a stick by Clarisse was better than the burning embarrassment of Percy thinking you're spreading rumors about kissing him. "Fine, whatever. I'll help you do the bunny thing," you mumble, your shoulders slouched.

Connor nods with a proud smile on his face for trapping you into helping him. "Good choice. I will be going back to sleep now. Good night… again," he announces, turning on his heels and walking over to his bed. You frown a little as you walk back to your desk to study. Plopping down onto your chair, you decide that you’ll worry about Connor’s little plan later so you can focus on your studying. After a while, Ambrose comes trotting in, joining you by the desk as usual. You smile at him, praising the other for distracting the harpies for you before he lays down, his head laying on your foot.

As you study, you find that you couldn’t help your mind drifting back to Percy once and a while. You deem that there was no way that you could have a crush on him since you guys have only spoken once. In the midst of your internal debate to decide what you felt for him, you suddenly remember the crystal that was retrieved for you. You remember how Percy presented it to you, holding it out for you with his fingertips. It was your rose quartz. What a coincidence. You smile, rolling your eyes as you tell yourself that you’re thinking too much into it. You look over, noticing the dim illuminating light of the beginning sunrise shining through the curtains. You sigh, deciding that you should probably get to sleep and take advantage of the maybe, four hours of sleep you’ll get tonight. You close your herbology book before making your way to your bed, and with a soft sigh, you retreat under the covers, and finally, you surrender to your drowsiness.

masterlist

#percy jackson x reader #percy x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #connor stoll #pjo x reader #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson fic #slow burn #friends to lovers #connor stoll x reader #percy jackson oneshot #pjo #my writing

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disablededucator · 3 years ago

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I just had a conversation with a popular teaching Instagram influencer about her new thing that she read about in some book. It was this novel idea of not repeating instructions after saying them, because it teaches your students to disrespect you.

I can sort of see where they are coming from in that repeatedly reminding them might make them anticipate the reminders and not listen as well to the first set of instructions. I can see an argument for presuming competence as well.

However.

It rubbed me wrong because not offering a reminder is an accessibility issue.

I brought this up with her because like most educators, she's not informed about disability and she doesn't know much about accessibility and I don't expect her to think about disabled students as the default.

I told her that while I see where she's coming from, she's unintentionally hurting disabled students in her classroom.

She pointed out that her original post briefly mentioned that you have to use your judgment as a teacher to determine whether this was appropriate for your student's needs.

But she didn't understand the actual issue. The issue is the judgment.

Teachers, with no training on disability, neurodivergence, mental health, Deafness, or anything within that scope, who have minimal comprehension of accessibility, and who rarely even have full time disabled students in their classrooms (and let's be honest, they wouldn't accommodate those kids unless the IEP or 504 said they had to...) do not have the skillset necessary to make judgments about what accommodations their students need.

It is objectively out of their tailored job description.

And while teachers get a very brief lesson on when to refer a kid for certain evaluations, they still miss most of the disabled kids that come their way.

When I worked as an assistant preschool teacher I had to step up regularly to inquire about learning disabilities and developmental disabilities in my students that the actual teacher didn't suspect. My nephew made it two years of formal education without glasses, literally unable to read because of it. My partner didn't know trees had leaves until adulthood, but nobody evaluated his eyesight. I grew up ADHD and with APD, and no teacher caught it. My own kid's kindergarten teacher told me point blank that they couldn't be ADHD, when they are.

Those are anecdotes, yes, but teachers are simply not trained to judge whether a child is disabled nor how to accommodate that disability.

Preschool and elementary age children are unable to articulate and understand their disabilities, much less advocate for themselves, so I wouldn't expect an undiagnosed disabled child to self advocate about their need for directions to be repeated.

But also, do you really think if a child asked her to repeat them, she'd just do it? Especially with her new policy of explicitly not doing that?

Deaf, HoH, and ADHD kids in particular are being left behind by ableist policies like this one. You can never assume that the only disabled child in the room is the one with the paperwork and the IEP/504. Inaccessibility to care and systemic barriers like racism, classism, and ableism are everywhere.

And so what's the worst outcome of the children in your class and learning to expect that you will repeat the directions so they don't necessarily have to listen the first time around? They don't listen as well the first time but then they listen the second time? They feel able and allowed to ask questions when they have them? They feel confident that they can get clarity about the instructions?

What's the worst outcome, on the other hand, for the disabled children in the class learning to expect that you will repeat the directions? Accessibility. The knowledge that they can always ask and be reminded of the task or have it repeated to them. The confidence that you care that they hear and understand the task.

Accessibility should be the default.

#teaching #education #kids educatio #elementary #elementary education #preschool #pre k #actually disabled #disabled #disability #invisible disability #toddlers #school #neurodivergent #adhd #Deaf

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something-tofightfor · 3 years ago

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Christmas in July #1: Aurora

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader (Ink AU)

Word Count: 2,727

Rating: M? There’s some talk of the original trip into the park with William from Ransom, but no detail.

The first request for Christmas in July v3.0 goes out to you, @valkblue! I missed Logan - specifically this Logan, and you made it simple for me. You can read this as a standalone and just sort of be aware of the past trauma mentioned, but if you want to get the full effect - and the full scope of these two and their relationship, start here with Ink. This takes place well after the end of “Not Enough” (which I WILL finish I swear). Thank you for requesting this, Angie! <3

“Where are we going?” You were sitting next to him in the back of the car, but Logan wasn’t paying attention to you, instead typing something on his phone. “Logan, w-” “Do you trust me?” He darkened the screen and then turned his head to look at you, eyes focused on your face. “I mean, I know you do, but… do you trust me with this?” You didn’t even have to think about it. You trusted Logan implicitly - words and actions, public and private, especially after the events of the aftermath of your trip into the park’s depths with William.

“Of course.” You moved closer, laying your head against his shoulder. “You know I do, Logan, with everything. But we’re missing the Delos party, and … I didn’t know if …” You trailed off when you head him chuckle, the man’s arm winding around your shoulders. He didn’t speak until his palm was settled against the front of your body, placement deliberate. He always does that. Always over the tattoo.

It was a way to ground himself, reminding him that even before you’d had a real reason to, you’d trusted him with your health and safety - with your future. “Then lemme take care of this, alright? I’m doing something nice for you, so stop asking questions and just let me.” Before you, Logan had spent the majority of his time and effort - and money - making himself happy, doing anything and everything in his power to keep from settling too deep into his memories. But now? It’s all about me. “I know how much you look forward to that party every year, Logan. It’s the beginning of your extended vacation, and -” “I’m starting a little early this year.” You heard him clearly but felt his lips moving over the top of your head as he spoke. “We both are.” What does that mean? But instead of asking, you focused on the window and what you could see through it. “It’s a surprise.” He finally spoke again, voice low as you spied a sign for LAX through the far window. “A good one, I hope.” “All of your surprises are good, Logan.” Tilting your head up slowly, you kissed the bottom of his bearded jaw, the hair soft against your lips. “I won’t ask anymore questions.” ---

And you didn’t. You let him lead you onto one of the Delos jets, let the flight attendants explain the menu and drink options, let them bring you a blanket… and you even let Logan convince you to take Unisom an hour or two into the flight once he’d told you that you’d be in the air for a while. You woke feeling only slightly groggy, a fresh, cold glass of juice and a light breakfast on the table next to your reclined seat. Is it morning? It must be.

By the time you finished eating, you felt better, and were happy to see Logan emerging from the bathroom. The man was dressed in different clothes than he’d been when you took off, the black shift he had on making his eyes look much darker than usual. Casual, but … but still Logan. “There’s clothes waiting for you in there, too.” He pointed. “What you’re wearing now is great for LA, but not … not for where we’re going.

Rolling your eyes, you finally stood, taking the last swig of juice and walking into the bathroom, the promised clothes hanging on a small rack. Sweaters. So we’re going somewhere cold. Thumbing through them, you chose one in a dark green with a ribbed pattern, the material comfortingly soft as it slid over your undershirt and skin. Pairing it with dark jeans and boots, you washed your face and then returned to the cabin, sinking down into your chair in time to see Logan tossing back the remains of his own drink - orange juice. “I won’t ask big questions, Logan. But I have a couple of statements.”

He was amused - you could tell by the lift of one brow, the slight smirk on his lips. “Go on.”

“We’re going somewhere cold, based on what both of us are wearing right now.” He nodded. “And we’ve been flying for a long time, you wouldn’t have suggested sleeping pills otherwise.” He was holding back a grin, but you could see it in the way his eyes were glittering - and knew, without a doubt that Logan wanted to tell you where you were going. But he won’t. “So I’m guessing… Europe, somewhere?” He nodded. “How long are we staying?”

“It depends.” He tilted his head to one side, narrowing his eyes briefly. “But at least ‘til Christmas.” Before he could say anything else, the flight attendants came back into the cabin, letting you know that the descent would be starting soon, and that they needed to secure things. So we’re here for at least a week and a half? It’s got to be … London? Somewhere in France? Spain, maybe?

But you were wrong, and as soon as you stepped out onto the tarmac, both of you bundled up in coats and gloves, Logan’s hand pressed to your lower back as he rushed you to the waiting car, you knew it. There’s so much snow. It had nearly blinded you; the thick, white cover on the ground reflecting the muted rays of sunlight, but nothing had looked familiar to you. There were no tall buildings in the distance, no landmarks - nothing to tell you where Logan had whisked you off to. “It’s cold, Logan!” But you were laughing, teeth digging into the corner of your lower lip. “I hope I have the right -” “You do.” He was excited, arm going back around your shoulders to pull you to him. “I promise. The people that packed your bag knew where we were coming, so they packed the right shit.” You laughed at that, your excitement growing as you heard the trunk close, followed by a double knock on the side of the car. As it began to move, you bit back every question you had for Logan and focused instead on the fact that you had him all to yourself for weeks, something that hadn’t been true even as you’d recovered. “You excited?” “I am.” ---

It was a short drive to your destination, but as soon as the car came to a stop, you were out of it, feet planted in the snow and one hand over your mouth. He didn’t. He… but of course he did. “Logan, you… are you serious?”

He came to your side of the car and stopped next to you, following your line of sight to the front of the building and the sign above the door, the words Northern Lights Village telling you everything you needed to know about where you were. “I… is this OK?” Your heart pounding beneath the down jacket you wore, you turned toward Logan, eyes shining with tears. It’s more than OK.

“Yes. Yes, Logan, this is … I’ve never even…” Europe, you’d imagined, because you could picture Logan among all of the people in cities like Paris or London - even Amsterdam or Milan. But this? This is … there’s no one here. “I can’t believe…” “C’mon. Let’s get checked in and to the cabin, an’ then we can talk.” Yeah, that… You let him lead you inside of the building, answering questions from the friendly concierge, and within fifteen minutes, the two of you - and your bags - were safely inside your small cabin, the space cozy. There was a fire lit, along with instructions about proper use of the fixture, a small refrigerator and kitchen area, but the most striking feature of the entire cabin were the large panes of glass in the bedroom, giving you a slightly snow-covered view of the other cabins, the trees and a portion of the property, which was bathed in a gentle twilight that the concierge had explained was about as bright as it would get that day. “This is beautiful, Logan.” He agreed with you, eyes moving over the small space, and then stepped forward, his hands moving slowly up and down your arms. “There’s a book of stuff on the desk. There are a bunch of activities we can do while we’re here. Town’s only a few minutes away, we can go sledding, or use snowmobiles, or -” “Can we just stay in for a little while, Logan?” You shrugged, smiling up at him. “You said we were going to be here for a while, so why not just… relax. You haven’t, really, not since …” “That’s one of the reasons we’re here.” He squeezed your bicep and then stepped away, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his boots while you did the same, standing with one hand against the wall. “I know this is our first official Christmas together, and I wanted to … not be in LA.” You understood - despite the fact that it had died down slightly once the trial ended, you and Logan were still higher profile than he would have liked. “The holidays haven’t ever really been a big thing for me before, not since my mom died.” He looked up. “Come, sit.”

You did, and Logan eased the two of you onto your backs and then urged you to roll toward him, on your side. “It’s cozy, Logan.” He agreed, meeting your eyes before he tilted his head to kiss you, the gesture not urgent or frenzied - just one full of affection. “There’s no tree - yet - but I’m workin’ on that, and like I said, there’s a town a few minutes away, so…” “I don’t need a tree, Logan.” You lifted your hand from his chest and spread your fingers against the side of his head, running them through his hair. “This cabin? The fireplace, the bed, the window? You? It’s perfect.” You gestured upward, still smiling. “Like we’re in a snowglobe.” “I think that’s the point.” He sighed, the warmth in his eyes bleeding into his other features and relaxing him next to you. “You’re supposed to forget everything while you’re here, and I hope you can. Hope we can, at least as much as … possible.” Every day was easier, but you knew that you’d never be fully over your ordeal in the park or the aftermath. “There’s no paparazzi here. No news. No reason to worry.”

“Just us.” He seemed surprised when you said it, but his head moved in agreement. “Then it’s perfect, Logan.” Even though you’d slept on the plane, you felt yourself growing tired again, the feeling of Logan’s arms around you just as comforting in the cabin’s small bed as they were in his large one, or in the Mesa beds, and you knew that unless you moved, you’d fall back asleep. But I don’t want to move, you realized as you closed your eyes, nestling your face between his chin and chest. I just want to stay here with him.

---

It was late when you woke up, but you didn’t know how late - only that your stomach was rumbling and the sun had fully set, the sky beyond the snowy window dark. The lack of sunrise and sunset is going to be difficult to get used to. You realized that Logan was still sleeping, and so you spent a few minutes watching him, the flickering firelight softening his features more than usual. It’s because he’s relaxed. You used the tip of one finger to trace over his cheek and then down, following the line of his jaw. “What’re you doing?”

His cheek went round beneath your hand and you groaned. “Caught me.” He laughed at that, rolling onto his back and groping for something behind him, but after only a few seconds he was back to facing you, gaze weighty, even in the darkness. “What?”

“Is this really alright?” He gestured with one hand, frowning. “Nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to spend the holiday with?” He sighed. “It’s freezing, and there’s a sauna, but it’s not like the Mesa, not like the parks, not what I’m sure you figured a Christmas with me would be like.” “Logan, honestly?” You slid your hand under the hem of his shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath it. “This is perfect. Now we won’t have to worry about the headlines and people asking what I’m doing for my first Christmas post W-” “Don’t say his name.” His tone was clipped, and you stopped immediately. “Not here. This is supposed to be time away from all that, and I don’t want you to think about him for a single second.” He paused and you watched as his eyes darted away and up and then came back to you. “He doesn’t get to have a place in our Christmas.” You’d never forget what had happened to you, nor would you ever forget the way Logan had done exactly what you’d known he would - finding you, getting to you in time, staying with you while you healed and well after, letting himself love you and admit it even though it went against everything in him. This trip is just more of that. More of him. “Close your eyes.”

Confused, you did as he asked, your train of thought interrupted. You stated to whisper his name but were cut off by Logan’s lips pressed to yours, more insistent this time, one of his hands curled around the back of your head between it and the pillow. Oh, Logan. He wasn’t shy about telling you that he loves you; he’d done so countless times since the first time he admitted it out loud in the hospital wing of the Mesa, but Logan preferred to show you - in both lasting actions and physical displays, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was one of them.

The trip, the holiday, all of the time spent together; it’s all so opposite of the Logan that everyone else aside from Juliet and Emily know, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. “Keep your eyes closed til I tell you.” He murmured the words with one final, quick kiss to your lips and then you felt him pull away, settling back down next to you. Alright, but … why? There was a long pause, and then Logan said your name, his fingers tangling with yours between the two of you. “Open ‘em.” The first thing you saw was that the snow and ice were gone from the panes of glass that made up the window. The second was a bright green glow beyond them, flickering and swirling through the sky in bands of varied thickness. “It’s beautiful, Logan… I’ve never seen… never thought I …” You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, mouth dropping open. “How did you … it…” You were speechless and it was rare for you, but as you watched the color pulsing through the sky, your eyes caught deep purple and pink at some of the edges. It’s incredible. “You can see the stars through it, Logan, look…” “I’m looking.” His voice was lower than it had been, and as you tore your eyes away from the window to glance at him, you saw that his eyes were locked on you, a serious expression on his face. “Believe me, I’m -” “Not at me, Logan. Look at that.” You reached for his chin with one hand, turning his head upward. “You can’t replicate that with any machine or computer. You can’t create that, Logan.” He relaxed next to you, and the two of you stared up in silence for a few minutes, fingers still entwined. “And you sure as hell can’t see that in LA… or anywhere in the United States.” He laughed, tightening his hold on your hand, but Logan agreed with you, his voice still quiet in the darkness. “Thank you… for letting me do this for you. For Christmas.” He needed the getaway just as much as you did - not just because he needed a break, but because he needed to know that the two of you could be together in an unfamiliar - and uncertain - environment. We can. We definitely can. “No, Logan. This isn’t just for me.” You turned your head, waiting until he was looking at you. “You did this for us.”

---

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semper-legens · 2 years ago

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123. The Dreamers, by Karen Thompson Walker

Owned?: No, library Page count: 299 My summary: In a small college town, students are starting to fall asleep, and not wake up. Soon the sleeping sickness has spread through town, and people are starting to realise something is wrong. From the two young children of a disaster prepper, to a young family with a small child, to the original girl’s roommate, to a professor whose husband is in a nursing home - everyone has their ways of coping with the mysterious illness, even as the doctors and psychologists cannot explain it. Then some of the sleepers start to wake... My rating: 4.5/5 My commentary:

This book is so interesting. I absolutely loved its lyrical, appropriately dreamlike prose, the strange and drifting approach it takes to its world and characters. While I don’t think everything in this book by necessity hits its mark, by God I appreciated the effort. The ensemble cast! The wide scope! The aura of unease and uncertainty that flows throughout every page! This is a haunting book, and I am really, really glad that I read it.

So this book was so obviously a response to the Covid-19 pandemic that it genuinely surprised me when I checked when it was published and found out it was in 2019. I can’t help but evaluate how this book presents the reaction both of the authorities and the public during a pandemic to, you know, our real experiences with living through that exact situation - but even knowing the author had no idea a massive pandemic would happen within a year of this book’s publication, it holds up pretty well under that lens. Even some of the specific details, like a nurse’s wedding becoming a superspreader event or people choosing between their own needs and keeping up quarantine procedures, doctors and nurses working around the clock with few resources while the authorities aren’t stepping in. It was both kind of eerie, and a very good reminder that the events of the pandemic were entirely predictable to anyone with an understanding of how these things spread.

What else can I talk about? I liked the ensemble cast, which flitted between a few key characters while also giving an overview of the whole town’s reaction to the sickness. It really gave a great sense of how everyone is acting within this situation while still maintaining the personal approach of having specific characters, which I really liked.

I’ve mentioned the lyrical prose above - the downside to it is that sometimes the barrier between reality and dream was blurred, which didn’t aid comprehension, though of course I appreciate that this was probably deliberate. The reference to not everything hitting its mark was this; later, it is established that those who slept experienced time in a strange way, having premonitions of what was to come as well as living for years inside their dreams, with the second victim of the sickness living an entire parallel life in her dreams in the space of a few weeks. This idea wasn’t really utilised to its best, it was introduced too late to really be fleshed out, but overall I think it worked. And certainly, it didn’t dampen my enjoyment of this lovely book.

Next up, back into Horrible Horrible Things, as a young woman escapes a cult.

#The Dreamers #Karen Thompson Walker #bookblr #book blog #book blogger #4.5

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years ago

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Point of View - Original Statement Fic

Point of View (5004 words) by LadyNikita Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Statement Giver(s) (The Magnus Archives) Additional Tags: Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), this was intended as the eye but evolved into the vast as well, happens, cosmic horror, attempt at Eldritch Madness, unreality, Discussions of pointlessness and meaninglessness, Canon-Typical The Vast Content (The Magnus Archives), from the eps about space, Mentions of Death, Compulsion, discussions of free will (kind of), Dissociation, Panic, Mentions of addiction, Leitner Book (The Magnus Archives), except it was not possessed by Leitner, Pretty Colours <3, Neurodivergent Protagonist, Queer Protagonist, because I can project a bit as a treat, Can Be Read Without Prior Knowledge of the Podcast (I think)

Summary: "Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?" --- Statement of Lyria Ellison regarding a different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

Notes: Hiiiiii <3 I've been reading Lovecraft recently and as much as I hate the dude, The Colour Out of Space gave me so much inspiration that I immediately sat down and produced this in one sitting. I've been meaning to play with the concept of eldritch madness for a while; something about this trope is really appealing to me and I'm really enjoying my attempts at shaping it with words. Lyria is a preexisting OC of mine, I will give some background on her in the end notes because I love her very much. This is a form of practice for me; I'm playing with horror themes and I'd like to get acquainted with them to better incorporate them into my overall writing. Therefore I will accept constructive criticism if anyone wants to give it, but only in the form of DMs, either on Tumblr (your-queer-vampire-dm) or on Discord, if we know each other through a server. All of the warnings I think should be mentioned are in the tags, but if you think something should be added then please tell me!

Date: May 10th , 2018

Name: Lyria Ellison

Subject of experience: A different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

—

How do you start telling a story that changed your heart, your mind, and your soul so profoundly that you can barely still function in a society? How do you say all that without sounding borderline insane? Nobody knows what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. I know they would all say I’ve hallucinated it all and should seek treatment. But I know it won’t help. I know… I know so much now. Too much and not enough. Never enough. I know what happened was real . I don’t have proof so I’m guessing you won’t believe me either, but I need to tell someone about it. So I might as well tell you.

My name is Lyria Ellison and I’m a neuropsychology major. Ex-major, I should say. I dropped out after… Yeah. I dropped out; there’s not much point in continuing studying things about the feeble, insignificant human brain. Utterly pointless venture.

Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?

Just a year ago, I was convinced I was going to finish my degree. I was so passionate about it too, eager to learn more and more, to research and seek knowledge. Curious and fascinated by the world around us. What a foolish thing it was to give into that drive. My mind was open to the supernatural, although I always approached it scientifically; I never said the supernatural existed, but I also never said it didn’t. It was plausible; all in all, every scientist must accept that there is still a vast amount of knowledge we don’t have about the world.

The ignorance was a blessing. But I shall not get ahead of myself.

It started around December last year; my dad had died, and my girlfriend, Shawala, and I were clearing out his house. There wasn’t really anyone else to do it; my mother had passed a couple years prior, I had no siblings, and extended family was out of the picture as well; and my dad had gathered a lot of things in his adventurous life; he was a traveller, and he loved the world, loved learning about it, just like me. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with it all; my dad meant a lot to me back then, and Shawala proved an excellent support at that first shock. She promised to do some first view assessments of the ground floor, while I went to scope out how things looked in the attic.

It’s always either basements or attics, isn’t it? I used to read horror, Lovecraftian was my favourite – how ironic, isn’t it? How stupid . How utterly ignorant. The hubris of the human race at its finest.

Anyways, the attic was half-lit from the small windows in the roof, and dust was swirling in the faint light of the afternoon sun. It was cold here, but I didn’t pay much mind; the house was old, and it wasn’t surprising that there was draft. To say the space was cluttered would be an understatement; I could barely walk around the numerous boxes, old furniture, crates, and overflowing bookshelves; all of which made something in my chest curl tight, bringing tears to my eyes. I steered my steps towards the nearest bookshelf; I’ve always been a bookworm, fascinated by nearly any tome I came across; I’ve been reading popular science books since I was eight. So naturally, I was drawn to the books, taking huge steps above the cardboard boxes and careful not to hit anything else.

The books were old, of course, and dusty. Some of them had loose pages, and I treated them very gently, almost reverently. I have a little bit of a bookbinder streak, and I decided I would take them home and try to put them back together. As I rifled through them, I saw they pertained to a vast variety of subjects, from poetry, drama, and history, to science, metaphysics, and maths. The deeper I looked into this stunning collection, the more reverence rose in my heart; at my fingertips I had the oldest and the biggest accumulation of knowledge I had ever seen. I saw some books dated back even two hundred years ago.

At that point Shawala called me to check if I was alright. I put the book I had in my hands back and my knuckles brushed against the black leather cover of the next one on the shelf. I felt pleasant tingling in my palm at the touch and my heart leaped at the prospect; I didn’t know why – the book seemed ordinary enough on the shelf and there was no title on its spine.

I sometimes wonder if I could have just left it there and gone downstairs; chosen to come back later and then maybe, it wouldn’t have enticed me as it did. If, by that point, I had had any choice left on the matter.

Alas, intrigued by the book, I placed my palm on the spine and took it out. The leather was soft and smooth, probably sheep, with familiar subtle grains all over the texture. I remember it striked me as odd that it was warmer than the rest of the books in the drafty attic, but I shrugged it off. The front cover had a title, small but visible in the centre, etched in gold – Punctum Visus .

I, by all means, cannot read or speak Latin, but I figured it was something to do with vision. I opened the book, an unknown anticipation buzzing in my stomach. The pages were worn and old, their texture was slightly rough but pleasant under my fingertips; as I opened the front page, I saw the title again, this time in thick but still elegant, black letters, and the smell came up to my nostrils.

I tried to describe it in my head countless times after. I always loved the smell of old books, and I knew it very well, so it came to me as a surprise to realize it wasn’t the only smell I could feel from the book. It was… cold, somehow, distant but prickling at my nose, a little bit the way peppermint tastes. It reminded me of the night sky and distant stars somehow. The smell awakened an unease within me, as I couldn’t quite place what it was and why it seemed so weird , but it wasn’t by any means unpleasant. It was… enticing. Like a promise of a mystery.

I breathed it in again through my nose, closing my eyes, and for a moment I lost all feeling in my body. I was untethered and immaterial, somewhere in deep darkness that seemed to envelop me whole. It felt cold on my mind, stretching it thoughtlessly in the empty vastness, and I saw distant flickering lights of stars. Before I could form a coherent thought, I was back in myself, panting and shaking, staring at the front page of the Punctum Visus . I looked around with shaky breaths; the attic looked the same, and Shawala’s steps on the stairs reached my ears, with her voice calling my name. A shiver passed down my spine, causing goosebumps to bloom on my skin; was it the draft, the dread, or the excitement I couldn’t tell.

I knew I had to read this book, no matter what it took for me to do so.

I took it home, almost forgetting about the rest of the books upstairs. It had spent the next month laying in my room, as I dealt with the formalities and moving the rest of things that weren’t sold from the house either to my place or to charity. After the day we left the house for the last time, I collapsed in my bed, exhausted, but instead of closing, my eyes fell on the book unassumingly waiting on my nightstand.

A surge of excitement passed through me, waking me right up. I sat up and reached for the book. It was still warm; I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but warm it was. I think it made me subconsciously assign it more… being? Like, even before I knew anything, I somehow subconsciously accepted that it was more than just an object; that it was, in a sense, alive on its own. I brushed my fingers on the cover, feeling the texture of the leather and the etching of the letters. In the meantime during this month I had checked the meaning of the title – Point of Sight; a position from which a thing is or is supposed to be viewed. It makes so much sense now.

But then I didn’t know what dangers it held; or I didn’t want to think about them. I do remember feeling anxious, my hands trembling every time I opened the cover, but it was so mingled with exhilaration of the certainty I was discovering something important that I must have disregarded it. As I turned the pages, I wasn’t surprised to find the text in Latin; though I still felt a pang of frustration that it meant I couldn’t read it for now. I rifled through the pages, looking curiously at the letters that formed words yet unattainable to me. There was a hunger inside of me; a hunger to Know. As I turned the pages past various symbols, illustrations of the constellations, and of Earth, I determined it must be some sort of a metaphysical work. The point of view on the world around us.

Normally I just skim through works like this and leave them. While they are an interesting read sometimes, they’re not my favourite genre and, looking objectively, putting in the effort of learning a whole language just for the sake of reading a treatise on the meaning of cosmos by an unknown author seems strange at best. But somehow it seemed obvious to me that I had to read it. It called to me, sang into a part of my being that begged to be filled, promising knowledge that would finally leave me satisfied. I know now that it’s impossible. Once you’ve tasted the hunger for knowing, you will never find satisfaction; it’s like an addiction. You just crave more and more, and the knowledge never ends. After a certain point you know too much and when it all connects, when it starts to make sense… you slip. I didn’t know that, even though maybe I should have. I didn’t know what those things I was feeling meant then and I didn’t stop to question them; I gave into it as soon as it touched me. I was stupid.

What followed were a busy couple of months. Every waking moment that wasn’t spent keeping up the pretence of being interested in my major (back then I only thought it a brief hyperfixation, of course, and wouldn’t have called it a pretence at all), I was learning Latin online or staring into the incomprehensible words on the pages. This period of my life is a blur; I remember my friends checking up on me if I was alright, since I wasn’t particularly social anymore. Shawala got progressively more worried, but it fully escaped my mind to care. I know that staring thoughtlessly at the book took up more and more of my time; once, I remember, I returned from my classes at three PM and took the book out; when I came back to myself it was well past midnight. That’s when I started to feel truly uneasy about it. It was the second half of April; I looked back on what I’ve been doing these past months and this cold dread started creeping up to my throat. I realized I didn’t know why I wanted to read the book so much and I remembered the “vision” or the hallucination I had that first time in my dad’s attic. I had set it aside completely as unimportant, and I couldn’t wrap my head around why. I started shaking and theorizing in my head about the book being able to influence my mind somehow, to control it. Had my actions not been my own? How much of it was my own will and how much was the book? Was it even possible for it to influence me like that; could it be that it was supernatural in some way?

The house became cold, unnaturally so. It was dark and all the windows were closed, but a chill draft managed to find its way into the corridor I was in anyway. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees, trembling in panic. I was all alone in the flat, everyone I knew was surely already asleep in their homes, and I was small and weak in the face of something that maybe could have controlled my mind. I suddenly became aware of the leatherbound book in my hand, and I threw it along the corridor at the front door with a whimper, as far away from me as possible. The book thumped against the door, then the floor, and opened on a random page.

I’ve read enough horrors. I knew that the page would be significant, and that knowledge made me sob and hug my knees tighter. I didn’t know what was happening; I felt like I’d just woken up from a months-long dream… and perhaps I was right. The recent past felt alien.

I felt tears sting my eyes and that’s when the smell reached me. Again that mixture of old paper and peppermint cold, distantly sweet but freezing the blood in my veins. My breath came in ragged and shallow, and tears streamed down my face as I stared at the open book that was calling me in an inaudible whisper. The logical side of my mind was trying desperately to make sense of it, to assign the dissociative feeling to my father’s death and yeah, it was plausible, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. The whispers sounded again, swirling around my head, the golden sound almost touching the back of my neck, making me wince. It was enticing and promising, but this time, I felt terror instead of excitement. Disregarding how my mind was trying to rationalize the situation, I knew the book was cursed somehow. I knew that I was its victim. And I knew that I would not be strong enough to resist it.

I don’t know how much time I sat there, trembling, and sobbing into my knees, before I calmed down from the panic and decided I had to do something. I had to find out what this book was and how it found itself into my dad’s library. I couldn’t remember seeing anything in his diaries that would mention it at all, but then again, I didn’t read them all cover to cover. On wobbly legs I carefully made my way back to my room and searched the Internet until the sun started peeking out of the window; I found nothing about any book titled Punctum Visus . I tried all the libraries that I’d known of, that had their assortment online, all the research databases; nothing.

So, at the crack of dawn, with a fast-beating heart, I stood in the door of my room, staring out into the corridor, where the book still lay by the front door, unmoving. The golden strings of a wordless melody made it to my ears; it promised an explanation; that this time if I looked close enough, I would find what I was looking for.

What was I looking for?

Where else could I find the answers if not in the book itself?

I could feel its cold fingers slowly wrap around my mind, steering me to come closer. It called me with a hypnotising voice that awakened all the red signals in my brain, telling me to run and hide, but I didn’t. The voice meant danger, but I knew it also meant knowledge.

Dangerous knowledge. The pull dragged me through the corridor step by step; I hadn’t been fighting it as strongly as I could have had and I was about to start, since I was getting closer to the book, but suddenly I felt the chill of the influence let go, hovering close but out of reach. It was still compelling me to come, to Look, but I could move my own limbs. I had a choice to make.

Knowledge of danger. Did I believe my own warning thoughts that I would regret looking into the book? Did I take my own logical, rational side seriously? Was I ever good at resisting my own impulses?

I’ve never been addicted to anything, but then again, I never really had the opportunity, as it were; my friends were more of a no-alcohol types and I really ever smoked cigarettes once. I’ve never seen drugs in real life. So who’s to say if I’m not an addictive personality? And this, this was addictive. The thrill of mystery, the exhilarating process of learning, the anticipation of the answers.

Was it ever really my choice?

No supernatural force guided my steps that night; no cold fingers made me kneel next to the book and carefully cradle it in my arms, looking at the page with a shaky breath and tears in my eyes, as if I was coming back home like the prodigal son. But I’m sure it was by some paranormal means that this time I could understand the text on the pages.

I honestly don’t remember what it said. As I read the unfamiliar words, the meaning presented itself in my mind, not entirely unlike that first “vision” I had in the attic; as soon as I started reading I knew that I had made the choice and there was no turning back. That cold draft enveloped me, sat on my skin, and started to bite; I felt that smell again, stronger than ever before, something intangible but unmistakably inhuman . It was then that I realized that’s what had felt wrong to me about the smell since the beginning. It was inferior and alien. My hands started shaking as my eyes, glued to the text, moved now on their own down the page, drinking the words in. I was terrified out of my mind, but the pleasant tingling along my nerves was back, the anticipation of the promised understanding.

My mind was drowned with the tide of knowledge. This was just a prologue; a true discovery would require preparation, but I was almost ready. The voice said I was chosen, that I was a perfect candidate to bring It what It needs and that I would be rewarded. I cried tears of amazement and horror at the sheer scope of the voice – it seemed to encompass the entire world. I couldn’t comprehend it, but I didn’t know then that it was a blessing. I wanted to know, I craved to know what It was and how I could be of use to something so powerful, so huge. Divine. That was a word that crossed my mind, as much as I don’t like that. I don’t like many things, but I can’t change any of them.

The voice said I’m on the right path. I would Know and Understand. First, I needed to do something. As It told me what that was, doubt started to creep up to my mind. What was I doing? What was happening? How could this be real?

I came to on the floor by my front door, the cursed book in hand, with a tear-stained face and a bloody nose.

I knew what I had to do to get ready and, as I calmed down and went over everything in my head, I was surprised by how trivial it was. Honestly, by this point I was kind of afraid It would tell me to hurt someone, so I was glad this was just about reading a bunch of words in a specific location at a specific time. I was aware of the fact that this was most probably a ritual, and I was quite apprehensive. I kept arguing with myself in my head, over and over whether I should follow through, but deep down I knew that I would, no matter what I told myself. This part, I think, scared me the most; how compelling the promise of knowledge was, how reverently I’d found myself thinking of the book and its owner (which I assumed was the voice), how fanatical some of my thoughts sounded. I’ve never been religious, never really felt idealistic either. I was always focused on facts, on the here and now. Can knowledge be an ideal? Can you be a fanatic of Seeing and Knowing?

How much had I changed since I’d found Punctum Visus in that old attic.

I found a good, quiet spot, on the north-west side of the New Forest National Park near Southampton. I told no one about this, deeming it unimportant. I would come back after my big discovery, I would explain everything. I laugh at myself now; at my naivety.

The night of April 28 th was clear, and the starry sky looked back at me as I parked my car on the road in the forest and locked it. I tied a piece of a long red string to the wheel, not to lose my way in the forest, and started to walk forward. I held the book close to my chest, as if it could protect me from the dark, eerie outlines of the trees, swaying gently on the wind and whatever the darkness around me held. I didn’t light the torch; the moon was nearly full, bathing everything in its gentle light, and besides, for some reason it seemed that the crude yellow light would somehow break the sanctity of what I was about to do. I could see the ground in front of me and managed to lose sight of my car and everything else besides trees pretty fast.

I stopped when I found a small clearing. The moon was high in the sky, shining down on me like a big eye; I didn’t know why this comparison seemed the most fitting, but it did. I took a deep breath, feeling a chill plant little dots all over my skin, making my hairs stand on end. The wind died down and the trees froze, as if in anticipation. I felt something watching me closely; I was not alone here anymore.

The realization made my breath catch in my throat and the last streaks of sanity broke through my thick skull. Run! Drop the book and run! I didn’t. My hands trembled, my muscles tensed, and I stood there, frozen with fear as something stared at me, seemingly for eternity. Something bigger than me, bigger than anything I have ever seen was watching me, waiting. My eyes dropped to the book in my arms. The black leather was warm, as always, but this time I felt a pulsating sensation from it. A heartbeat.

I screamed. The book landed discarded on the ground, and I stumbled backwards and tripped, landing in the grass as well. It was cold and wet, and it glistened with something in the faint moonlight. At first I took it for water, but upon closer inspection I saw it was the grass itself that glittered – a shy rainbow, glowing iridescently in an impossible way. I froze, stunned, for I have never seen such colours before. It seemed utterly alien, something unfitting for the human eye to see; simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

As I looked around, I noticed that everything alive in the forest – the trees, the grass, the bushes, the plants – had taken on that iridescent mixture of faint light that prickled my eyes and sent a shiver of terror down my spine. It was beautiful, utterly gorgeous in a way that nothing a human eye can perceive could be. It was horrifying in how different, alien, and other it was. My senses could tell this is not of the Earth; not of this reality, not of this world; everything in me that still had common sense tried to recoil from the inferiority of this magnificence and the danger it brought, but I had abandoned common sense a while back. Maybe even when I touched the book for the first time. I stared then, breathless and trembling, at this scenery as if from a fairy tale and decided to lock away my rational thoughts. I wanted to See, to Know; I wanted to experience and if this was the death of me then hell, it was a pretty good way to go. To behold such a sight, I thought, was a reward in and of itself.

Of course, I had no idea what any of it meant. I slowly rose to my knees and patted the ground down until I felt the book. It still pulsated with this heartbeat and the letters etched in the leather glowed with golden light. My hands were sweaty, and I didn’t know whether I was shivering from fear or the cold. I opened the book on the first page.

What I saw was not what I had expected. I remembered that the first page, after the titular one, was the beginning of the introduction, that much I had understood, but now it was a big picture in black and white; a night sky, with an almost full moon and strewn with stars. It was a shot from the ground and treetops could be seen at the edges of the picture. As the book swayed in my hands, the stars glittered, and the perspective shifted ever so slightly, as if it was in 3D. Stricken by a surge of dread and cold certainty, I looked up. My suspicion was right – the picture in the book depicted the exact image that was now above me. I gasped quietly and looked down at the book—

And this is where things started to really go horribly, horribly wrong.

The book was gone. What’s more, the ground was gone too and suddenly everything was not where it should have been. I blinked but it did nothing to ease the dizziness; and when I composed myself enough to register what I was seeing I froze, the most intense horror I have ever experienced crushing my body from all sides and inside out.

I realized that I was Seeing. I was finally Seeing, and I Understood it all.

I don’t know how to convey in words what I saw. I don’t believe it’s possible; humans were never made to see and understand such things. I should have never touched the book, I should have never asked for knowledge. All my life I believed that knowledge was the point; it was a tool, and it was power. I don’t know what I think anymore. I think some knowledge should always be hidden because we were not made to know everything. We can’t , it’s physically impossible for us to comprehend.

For one moment in my life. For one moment I became something else, and I saw the world in the way It sees the world. For one moment I shared a mind with an eldritch being, a thing that is Fear itself, and I saw the Earth through Its Eye. I can’t… I can’t tell you just how horrible it is. How… How meaningless; we’re all intertwined things, guided by strings of web that lead us through life, and we’re all connected in this maze of fear . We’re not individuals; we’re not special. We don’t have souls and none of our experiences matter. We’re just fear. These… These entities are a part of all of us. They’re our fear and they live inside of us, inside of every living creature that can feel fear. Can you comprehend that? How can you be sure you are yourself when there’s a cosmic entity, a power as old as life itself, living you ? And no one has any idea. Nobody knows and if I tell someone they’ll think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think I’m crazy. But deep down I know what I saw. I know it was real. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified because I know that this Being of eyes that I became a part of watches everything I do. I feel Its presence here very strongly, and I guess it makes sense. It will never leave me. It’s a part of me, just like the rest of them; just like they’re all a part of every one of you, yet you have no idea. But I know. And I know I’m all alone with that knowledge, the knowledge that I can’t comprehend, but I know I could in that one moment. It’s a very lonely place to be and I’m scared.

I’m scared as I have never been before; this fear doesn’t leave me anymore. Every second of every day I’m aware I’m watched by something as great as cosmos. I’m aware I shared my mind with that being and it makes my skin crawl.

I don’t know what to do now, but I don’t expect any advice from you. I’m leaving the book with you, as proof. Its heart doesn’t beat anymore, and I’ve seen what I was supposed to.

Don’t read it.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a comment!! For people interested in a little bit of background: Lyria is a D&D character I have created that still awaits her chance to play in a campaign. She's an arcane scholar that has a dark little secret of actually being a warlock of a being she doesn't know a lot about. She's in love with knowledge and she seeks to learn about her powers as well as the world around her. I'm currently DMing a Ravenloft campaign and I just couldn't miss the fact how much potential for a corruption arc she has. Then I listened to TMA and I was like, she would definitely become the Avatar of the Beholding.

#i discovered you can copy tags straight from ao3 #ive been using that site for how many. 5 years now #:|#anyways #tma #the magnus archives #tma original statement #cosmic horror #niki.writes #lyria elerieth #goes in my oc tag because thats technically an au #im really happy with this one guys!

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