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First off, Edgar Allen Poe is made of win. So too are most demons. I liked the detail about the horribly English accent; lets us know s...


My name is Evaline, and I work in the library on 12th Street in Nine Pines.  Well, kind of.

See, the thing is, one day I managed to annoy a wizard.  It wasn’t even my fault really.  See the thing is, the library’s been around for ages—before I was even born—and we switched over from paper records to computers about a decade before I started working here.  And for that matter, before this little incident, I didn’t even know that wizards were an actual thing.

Yes, of course I read Harry Potter.  But everyone knows that it’s not a real place, don’t they?  Hogwarts isn’t real, as much as I might want it to be.  And neither are dragons, as awesome as it would be for one to descend on Congress and scorch them all to cinders for being such prats.  So when this guy walked in in stereotypical wizard robes, a long beard, and a staff near as tall as him capped with a crystal, I figured he was a cosplayer and that there must be a convention in town.

It was the end of my shift, and I was exhausted, but I plastered on my very best work-smile—you know the kind—and asked if I could help him.

“I’m here to pick up a book I reserved.”

Well, first I need to know what his name is.

“Why should you need to know that!” and he muttered something about me being impertinent.

Well, if I’m going to find the book he reserved, I at least need to know the name he reserved it under.

This triggers a rant about computers and how they’re ruining the memory of the recent generation.

I wait for him to pause for breath and then tell him that I would have needed to know his name back when we used paper and cards and so forth.

He looks like he bit into something nasty, but he gives the name of Milford the Magnificent.

I give him this look.  I mean, seriously now?  But I don’t say anything.  I mean come on, if someone came up to you and introduced themselves as “Milford the Magnificent”, what kind of look would you give them?  That’s the kind of look I gave him.  But I dutifully typed the name into the computer, and nothing turned up.  He did have an account at the library, but he had—so far as the computers knew—never checked out or reserved a book.

So I tell him this, and then I tell him that I was going to go check the old filing cabinets in the back office.  This would of course take a while, so he would please need to wait patiently.

He was actually all right with this, and indicated that I could go, which I did.

And while I was on the way to the back office, I stopped by my manager’s desk and told her the whole story.  And you know the look I gave the wizard guy when he told me his name?  That’s the look she gave me.  General disbelief, like “is this really going on right now?” kind of a thing.  It was.  She peeped out of her office and there he was.  Right there.  Mr. Cosplayer or alternatively Gandalf before his hair went gray.

And seriously, Milford?  For real?

But whatever, we went into the back and my boss made her usual comment about how they really needed to move all these file cabinets over to the computers.  Which was a job and we were working on it.  It was just a punishment assignment.  So it was going very slowly.  We managed to find the “M” file, and in there we did indeed manage to find Milford’s file.  He had apparently reserved a book entitled “Fantastical Beasts of the Americas” about fifteen years before I’d been born and about twenty before the library had switched over to computers.

I’d never heard of the book.  My boss had never heard of the book.  So we went to ask Stephanie, one of our shelvers, who knew practically every book in the library.  And she’d never heard of the book.  So we checked the computers—somewhere out of Milford’s deeply vexed line of sight—and they registered that the book did indeed exist and that it was categorized under non-fiction.

Stephanie muttered something about how on earth it could be non-fiction, but she went to check the shelves.  Wouldn’t you know, but it wasn’t there.  We told her it had apparently been held on reserve for thirty years, and Stephanie gets That Look, because who the hell reserves a book and then doesn’t pick it up for three goddamn decades?

So Stephanie went to the reserved book area and looks for it there.  Not there.  Who would have guessed!  Certainly not Milford.

Because hoo boy, when I got back to tell him that we couldn’t find the book, he was pissed.  I did my best to be as polite as possible when I suggested that perhaps he should pick it up before three decades passed the next time he reserved a book, and when I told him that reserving books for so long was in fact against library policy though we would forgive him this time, and when I told him that he should probably give us his contact information so that we could let him know when we’d tracked the book down.

He banged his staff against the floor.  The gem glowed.  I felt a searing pain in my legs.  And then I passed out.

I woke up in the hospital with a snake tail and the entire town of Nine Pines knowing exactly what had happened.
Naga librarian
wait what you mean you're posting again?



Or, if you must, do so by creating more aht for me to enjoy.

This prerecorded message has been brought to you by myself. Thank you for reading.
features:  :iconanakhasilver::iconlucifers-uke::iconkcimaginary:
and the best short story ever written:…


And now I have apparently gotten into the Diablo III Beta.  I'm not sure how this happened, but I am not complaining.  Like, at all.


Homophobia means:
* I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.
* I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.
* I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.
* We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.
* I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.
* I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.
* I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.
* I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.
* We are the couple who had the Realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.
* I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.
* I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.
* I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.
* I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.
* I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.
* I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.
* I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transgendered.
* I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I did not have to always deal with society hating me.
* I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.
* I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.
* I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents he loves another male.
* My daughter cannot go on her 3rd mission trip because someone from church saw her holding another girl's hand at the mall.

Re-post this if you believe homophobia is wrong. Please do your part to end it. Now really, go! Truly I tell you, an institution that protects and supports hatred on any level can never be one of love.


31 Writing Prompts:

:mangapunksai:01. letter:…
:mangapunksai:02. sticks and stones:…
:mangapunksai:03. birthday:…
:mangapunksai:04. immortal:…
:mangapunksai:05. circus:…
:mangapunksai:06. abandoned:…
:mangapunksai:07. nosebleed:…
:mangapunksai:08. mother [or father, or both]:…
:mangapunksai:09. sunrise:…
:mangapunksai:10. distraction:…
:mangapunksai:11. habit:…
:mangapunksai:12. fuck:…
:mangapunksai:13. love:…
:mangapunksai:14. waste:…
15. skinny
:mangapunksai:16. eyes:…
17. white noise
18. impulse
19. addiction
:mangapunksai:20. desecrate:…
:mangapunksai:21. death:…
22. low
:mangapunksai:23. heartbeat:…
:mangapunksai:24. first kiss:…
:mangapunksai:25. tomorrow:…
26. sweet
:mangapunksai:27. fog [or mist]:…
:mangapunksai:28. can't:…
29. village
:mangapunksai:30. time:…
:mangapunksai:31. forget:…

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