Arden Finch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
afraid_of_marshmallows) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomhigh2025-02-12 01:18 pm
afraid_of_marshmallows) wrote in fandomhigh2025-02-12 01:18 pm
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Fandom Library, Wednesday, February 12th
Arden had been dreading heading into the library today, unsure what she was in for. Would the gremlins be having a speeddating event like 3MD? Would there be safer sex displays holding lectures? Would the safer sex book displays be lecturing speeddating gremlins? She didn't know. All she knew was that the library would absolutely, positively refuse to be normal about this week.
And she was right.
Not about the book displays or the speeddating gremlins. Instead, there were just a thousand different romance genres everywhere. Shifter romances were flirting with erotic myth retellings. Historical romances were fluttering their pages invitingly at post-apocalyptic ones. Romantacies were insisting to their friends that they could 'fix' graphic celebrity tell-alls. Glossy art books featuring nudes canoodling with cheaply-printed translations of BL light novels. Everywhere she looked, there were piles of books an the susurration of paper brushing against paper, the scent of ink heavy in the air. Worse was when she'd accidentally glance somewhere and catch the books delicately sliding their pages together in an intimate--
"N-no thank you! Absolutely not!" she snapped, knocking two books (an overly-sexualized murder mystery and a copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover) apart with a yardstick she was keeping handy for just this purpose. "If you wanna do any of that, there are any number of private bookshelves available. Go on now, shoo."
She needed to talk to Constantine about hazard pay for this week.
And she was right.
Not about the book displays or the speeddating gremlins. Instead, there were just a thousand different romance genres everywhere. Shifter romances were flirting with erotic myth retellings. Historical romances were fluttering their pages invitingly at post-apocalyptic ones. Romantacies were insisting to their friends that they could 'fix' graphic celebrity tell-alls. Glossy art books featuring nudes canoodling with cheaply-printed translations of BL light novels. Everywhere she looked, there were piles of books an the susurration of paper brushing against paper, the scent of ink heavy in the air. Worse was when she'd accidentally glance somewhere and catch the books delicately sliding their pages together in an intimate--
"N-no thank you! Absolutely not!" she snapped, knocking two books (an overly-sexualized murder mystery and a copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover) apart with a yardstick she was keeping handy for just this purpose. "If you wanna do any of that, there are any number of private bookshelves available. Go on now, shoo."
She needed to talk to Constantine about hazard pay for this week.
Re: Talk to the Aide
Re: Talk to the Aide