#book personal ads in newspaper

[newspaper-advertisement]

releaseMyAd is here to help you book your personal advertisement in any Indian newspapers of your choice.

[dandelionsresilience]

whether the internet becomes an intolerable surveillance state, ubiquitous subscription model, or unusably ad- or AI-ridden shithole, I think we need to remember

how to do things offline

either on your personal hard drive (just because it’s an app doesn’t mean the information is stored in your device) or on paper. I’m not saying the collapse of the internet is imminent, and I’m not suggesting we do everything completely without technology, or even stop using it until we have to. (to be clear, I also don’t think the internet will just blink out of existence, suddenly stop being a thing at all; rather I think it might continue to lose its usefulness to the point where it’s impossible to get anything done. anyway) but some people may have forgotten how we got by before the internet (I almost have!), and the younger generation might not have experienced it at all.

I figure most people probably use the internet mainly for communication with friends and family, entertainment and creation (eg. writing), and looking up how to do things, so here’s how to do those things offline:

First and most importantly, download everything important to you onto at least one hard drive and at least one flashdrive! files can get corrupted and hardware can get damaged or lost, but as long as you keep backup copies, you have much-closer-to-guaranteed access versus hoping a business doesn’t decide to paywall, purge, or otherwise revoke your access. I would recommend getting irreplaceable photos printed as well

download and/or print/write down:

anything important to you - photos/videos, journals, certificates, college transcripts

contact info - phone numbers and/or addresses of friends/family (know how to contact them if you can’t use your favourite messaging app), doctors (open hours would be good too), veterinarians if you have pets, and work

how-to’s - recipes (one, two), emergency preparedness (what do I do if… eg. I smell gas)

other things you might google: cleaning chemicals to NOT mix, what laundry tag symbols mean, people food dogs and cats can and can’t eat, plant toxicity to pets

and know offline ways to find things out - local radio station, newspaper, a nearby highway rest area might have a region map, public libraries usually have a bunch of resources

also, those of you who get periods should strongly consider not using period tracking apps! here’s how to track your period manually

free printable period tracker templates (no printer? public libraries usually charge a few cents per page, or you can recreate it by hand)

moving on to entertainment, you can still get most media for free! it’s completely legal to download your favourite movies to your own personal hard drive, you just can’t sell or distribute copies (not legal advice)

movies: wcostream.tv (right click the player) - the url changes every once in a while but usually redirects; I recently noticed that it’s hiding a lot of movies behind “premium,” so it may or may not work anymore | download youtube videos

music: how to get music without streaming it | legal free downloads

games: steamunlocked.net - doesn’t have every game and can be slow to update, but very reliable

books: free online libraries | legal free downloads

otherwise passing time:

active outdoor games

for road trips (social verbal games)

for when power’s out

for sheltering in place (not all offline, but good ideas)

board games (often found at thrift stores)

ad-free customisable games collection (mobile)

read, write, draw, or whatever your craft is, sing, dance, clean, reorganise, take a bath

go outside - excuses include napping (if safe), eating, reading, finding cool plants/animals/rocks, playing with the dog

places to go include:

zoos and museums can be surprisingly cheap

parks and nature preserves

library, mall, or game shop

and a few miscellaneous things for good measure:

time budgeting | household management

how to use a planner | I’ve had success with visually blocked-out schedules like these

please add on if you have any other offline alternatives to common uses of the internet!

[placedupon]

I think a lot of people don't realize that when they are reblogging or making posts about how "evil" China is, they are helping to manufacture consent for the US to go to war with China.

many people already have sinophobic beliefs that they didn't have 5-10 years ago, because here in the US (and the west in general) we are constantly inundated with propaganda about how china is aggressing the US and other countries, how they're spying on us, how oppressive the Chinese gov is. Every single western newspaper, news channel, many of our books and movies are sinophobic. And it's not just conservatives that believe this, it is also leftists and liberals.

I notice many so called leftists on this website reblogging the most ridiculously sinophobic posts with no sources. I think they justify it because many of these posts are made by diaspora asians-- but that doesn't actually make individual people reliable or neutral sources. It is well known in the Asian american community that many of us are very conservative, hold anti-communist and anti-Black beliefs because we too are surrounded by white supremacy. Many diaspora Asians in america came here because their families were wealthy or collaborated with Japanese, American or British colonizers. I'm not saying that every asian person who posts negative things about China is like this-- but obviously, this is a very complicated issue, and the "answers" isn't as simple as finding one asian person or asian organization to explain these issues to you. It's unlearning decades of anti-communist and racist propaganda.

Remember, this pattern has happened before. The US has flooded it's people with propaganda about how evil Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, Yemen, Somalia, and many other countries are. As US americans, it truly doesn't matter your individual purposes-- when you post negative things about China, you are adding to the thousands of sources telling the west that it is ok to hate an entire country. And the consequences for this are incredibly dire-- just talk to Chinese people who remember the civil war, who remember the west pumping opium into our communities and selling bombs to the ROC to kill its own people. Read books like Assata Shakurs auto-biography, Mobo Gao, Han Suyin, and Frantz Fanon. The US wants you to hate China and Chinese people to justify it's own imperialist project.

[not-the-cheese]

one sentence(ish) summaries of every magnus archive episode PART 2

(eps 61-110) thank u for the funny comments and tags on the last part i love u guys

the rest of these may take a while as i've caught up to where i am currently in the podcast but i will finish them like in a month i promise

----

61. the thrilling sequel to man does not open coffin: man DOES open coffin.

62. surely this doctor can find an easier way to scam people out of money than putting them in a little book.

63. THE DARK ATE MY BROTHER IN LAW.

64. this is possibly the plot of laura croft tomb raider

65. mmm crumchy

66. what's the opposite of an unboxing video

67. as close to a coffeeshop au as you're going to get from this podcast

68. Doctors hate him! Man REFUSES to die from tuberculosis!

69. your college's psych department has the worst idea ever.

70. reverse death note

71. not even death will stop this woman from taking the british subway

72. man doesn't want to be low key racist in his last moments before getting eaten

73. police versus the second coming of dark jesus

74. lady is haunted by an ad for coffee

75. mike crew says "uh fuck it let's just put this guy on a skyscraper forever"

76. ryan from buzzfeed unsolved breaks into a train yard and suffers consequences

77. you're not a enough of a bitch to be my real mom

78. man gets harassed by his cousin and then exorcises him

79. you know that chase scene in scooby doo with the doors

80. stupid idiot motherfucking jurgen leitner

81. i have been personally victimized by the sequel to the hungry hungry caterpillar

82. pov: elias threatens to cancel you

83. mannequin takes matters into its own hands after people don't like its pitch for a new window display

84. a hoarder put newspaper on my friend's face :(

85. hey there's maybe a little man upon these stairs?

86. man gets got by a squiggly thing in the dark.

87. plumber is so oblivious to spooky happenings around him that it possibly saves his life.

88. guys i think this guy likes to dig

89. lesbian investment banker finds a new, less evil job: arson!

90. guy who turns people's bones starts a gym where he promises not to turn your bones! (he is lying)

91. i was stalked by lightning for 10 years and i all i got were these stupid scars

92. jonah magnus is a bad friend // another day another elias slay

93. ocd is no match for purple fuzz

94. let the bodies drop gently to the floor let the bodies drop gently to the floor

95. im so sorry my brain refuses to remember what the war ones were about but i think one guy got gently kissed on the forehead so that's pretty nice.

96. diversity wins! the not-quite-human delivery men who stole your identity and business are maybe gay?

97. man gets gaslighted by an entire town about a hole

98. 🎶mister sandman bring me a dream, actually don't, please stay far from me 🎶

99. another one bites the dust

100. archival assistants face off against the general public (they lose)

101. jon finally levels up high enough to unlock an eldritch horror's tragic backstory

102. LOCAL MAN MARRIES BUG

103. peppa eats a clown and they cover her in concrete instead of congratulating her.

104. pennywise stole my brother's skin

105. it's world war z baby

106. Something Big Is In Space.

107. man is interrogated about the time he saw thomas the train roasts people alive and also sans is there

108. actor is stalked by mask who liked his monologue so much that it tells its mask friends to come watch.

109. sometimes a family is just a serial killer's daughter and that guy who maybe killed some vampires

110. yeah man those spiders be eating

Part 1 |

[siriwesen]

Maybe this is a weird take, but I ask all of you: Write into your books. Add bookmarks, add doodles, add notes, add whatever you want. They are yours. I'm going through the books I inherited from my Grandfather and not only is it interesting to look at books that are 40+ years old, especially history books, it's also always... a surprise, a memento and memory, an added value whenever i stumble upon a note he left on a text, a bookmark or even newspaper articles he clipped out and added to the books because the articles relate to the book's contents.

Preservation of books is great and all, but don't be afraid to add to the physical books you own. There is something incredibly intimate and charming and also very honest to discover a persons notes. Something they deemed noteworthy, bookmark worthy, necessary to leave a note of and for themselves in a published book. It feels a lot more valuable.

[miscling]

This is for my butt! (again!)

like to paddle this butt 5 times

reblog to paddle this butt 10 times (spam rbs count!)

leave a comment and name something to hit this butt with 10 times!

Hits delivered: 1960!

(Edit 6 at 19co, 111rbs, 130likes: 1815 assorted, 20 cane, 10 wooden paddle, 10 whisk, 20 a nice book, 20 hairbrush, 10 barehanded, 20 leather belt, 10 ruler, 10 flyswatter, 10 spatula, 10 rolled up newspaper!)

1705-1960. nestie went hard on this thing, got some nice redness going, made this thing cry. we had a lot of fun! can't believe we're nearly at 2000 hits! it is much redder in person. one day it'll figure out the camera settings to get the perfect shot.

previous pictures from previous sessions under the cut!

no pictures this time (1540-1705), but there is a video that if you've seen full nudes of this thing you can ask for! added another 165 hits to the total, this time while gagged and wearing a cloth bag over its head...

From 1205-1540! this thing put on a great show for its Mistress and friends over discord! this thing is a very entertaining toy! its nestie put a lot of effort in to making this thing make the best noises for everyone, and their efforts were very appreciated too!

pictures from from 985 to 1205! i was hit hard this time around... even a little bit of purple in there...

the first 505!

from 505 to 985! (it was redder in person)

[marzipanandminutiae]

thinking about Life Before Widespread Internet Access, as part of the last generation to experience that, is so weird

because like. one, it wasn't really; I was just a small child in a lightly Luddite household. there was indisputably Internet in the late 1990s

and two...I don't really remember what it felt like?

I can say "things came from stores or from catalogues, and if the latter, they took what felt like months to arrive [probably actually 2-3 weeks, I'm guessing]. if you wanted to see a new movie, you checked the newspaper for times at the three nearest local theatres. if you wanted to see an older movie, you went to Blockbuster for a VHS or bought it from the bookstore. music came on CDs, also sold at the bookstore or a specific Music Store (which usually sold merch, too, and sometimes nerd things like action figures). if the physical bookstore didn't have a book you wanted in stock, you ordered it from them and it took like three weeks to arrive. you made new friends exclusively in person, through friends you already had, or maybe through penpal ads in magazines- though kids weren't usually allowed to do that for Safety Reasons"

I remember doing those things

but what it actually felt like to not just be able to look things up if you had questions, look up directions (even on MapQuest), shop online, have the constant hum of awareness in the back of your mind that you could at any time access this vast knowledge base/community/commerce arena-

I don't remember

isn't that strange?

[sonic-adventure-3]

need a fic told entirely through in-universe publicly available media. like academic dissertations tails wrote and got published, excerpts of eggman’s self-help books, tabloid paparazzi shots and gossip about sonic’s latest adventure, leaked heavily redacted government documents dated 50 years back, personal posts on amy’s aesthetic blog with 2 notes, craigslist listings for shit the babylon rogues are trying to pawn, the front page of a newspaper reporting that the huge gem set to be unveiled at the museum was stolen, an ad for a detective agency on the back, shaky phone footage of a car being picked up and thrown by seemingly nothing. i love alternative storytelling and i think it could work so cool with sonic

[reixtsu]

He's aware of your hobbyist writing, noting your detailed schedule for posting fanfictions. However, he couldn't help but observe your recent lack of writing.

Uncertain about why you stopped, he considered the possibility of your busy schedule or personal challenges, wondering if you were resolving issues before resuming your hobbies.

One day, while together, he asked, "Why did you stop writing as often?" Your response, a simple smile, conveyed the absence of the inspirational spark you once had.

Reasonable, he respected your decision, acknowledging it as a mere hobby. Yet, he relished the weird creations you crafted. The ability to turn imaginative clouds into tangible realities through your writings fascinated him—a heavenly talent he couldn't bear to see dormant, even temporarily.

In an effort to reignite your inspiration, he started collecting eye-catching items—books, pictures, newspapers, gossip, movies from your favorite genre, food ads—hoping to see that spark return to your eyes.

After a while, his efforts paid off, and you felt the spark your writing self had been craving. With a smile, a mind filled with ideas, and your partner by your side, you faced the blank paper with confidence.

Just then however, reality once again settled in as you remembered the challenge of starting such amazing writings.

THOMA, KAVEH, NEUVILLETTE, Gorou, Tighnari, Aether, Albedo, Kazuha, Lyney, XINGQIU, ATSUSHI, POE, Sigma, Itadori, Yūta, your faves ❦

[doomsayersunited]

A Decade Of Doom!

I started this blog ten years ago to compile the growing evidence that our planet would not longer be able to sustain human life by 2050, thanks to our continued, capitalist-fueled efforts to destroy all the systems we rely upon to sustain life. The first thing I put up here was this essay, on February 20, 2014. Now, a decade later, I thought it might be "fun" to look at what's changed: 1) Earth Overshoot Day

In 2014, "Earth Overshoot Day" (the day that humanity collectively consumes more resources from nature than it can regenerate over a year) was August 19th. Now, in 2024, Earth Overshoot Day is August 1st, 2.5 weeks earlier. At this rate and assuming things don't accelerate (even though they are likely to), Earth Overshoot Day will be around June 17th by 2050. 2) Biocapacity Biocapacity is the amount of resources contained on the planet required available to sustain life, measured by area. In 2014, I calculated that the planet had a biocapacity of 1.7 hectares per person. By dividing the total available biocapacity today in 2024 with the current global population as I did then, it now appears that there are just 1.5 hectares of planetary resources left per person to extract all the materials needed to sustain life, as well as all the area available to dispose of waste. That's a 12% loss over ten years. At that rate, we can expect to lose another 30% of biocapacity by 2050, going down to just 1.05 hectares per person by then, and that's assuming that the rate of biocapacity loss does not accelerate further and that the global population suddenly stops increasing after a run of non-stop increases spanning five centuries. Oh, also a reminder that the average human requires 2.7 hectares of land to sustain its current consumption habits/levels. So. 3) Individual Conservation To illustrate the futility of individual conservation at this point in the apocalypse, let me give you an example: If you were: a fully-vegan localvore living in a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and using 100% renewably-generated electricity; who did not ever use motorized transportation of any kind or buy new clothing, furnishings, electronics, books, magazines, or newspapers and recycled all the waste you generated that was recyclable, you'd only require 1.4 hectares of biocapacity to sustain yourself. That is close to the kind of lifestyle extremism it would take to live sustainably. Deviate from that level of stoicism even slightly (say by living in a two-bedroom apartment with three other people instead of a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and taking a single, four-hour roundtrip flight, once a year) and you're now consuming 1.6 hectares of biocapacity, which means you're using more resources than the world has available for you if everything was divided evenly among everybody. Of course, biocapacity, like all resources, are not divvied up evenly among everybody, which is why there are currently 114 different armed conflicts happening worldwide - the highest number of armed conflicts since 1946. 2023 was the most violent year in the last three decades. 4) Other Signs Of The End Times In my 2014 essay, I referenced the work of geologist Dr. Evan Fraser, who studies civilization collapse. In his book Empires of Food, Dr. Fraser noted common signs of a civilization about to collapse, which began to appear about two decades before it all goes completely to hell. Those signs were: -a rapidly-increasing and rapidly-urbanizing population We've added 700 million people to the planet since I began this blog in 2014. And where is everyone moving to?

-farmers increasingly specializing in just a small number of crops " "As farm ecosystems have been simplified, so too are the organisms that populate the farm.  A farm that specializes in a limited number of crops in short rotations does not, for example, look for plant varieties that do well in more complex rotations with intercropping.  A beef feedlot operation wants breeds that gain weight quickly on grain diets and does not want cattle breeds that digest well pasture grasses and thrive in all year outdoor environments on the range." The result? Recent estimates put the loss of global food diversity over the last 100 years at 75%. Over the 300,000 species of edible plants that exist, humans only consume about 200 of them in notable quantities, with 90% of crop plants not being grown commercially. -endemic soil erosion Climate change and the need to raise more crops have combined to increase the rate of agricultural soil erosion globally. Back in 2014, when I started blogging about the end of everything, the UN had already determined that there was only enough fertile soil left to plant 60 more annual crops. So, by 2074, we won't be able to grow food, full stop. This of course comes at a time when the global population continues to increase, and with it the need to grow more food. If projections are accurate, we will need to increase food production by 50% over the next three decades to feed everyone. -a dramatic increase in the cost of food and raw materials When I started this blog in 2014, I noted that 2011-2013 had seen the highest food prices on record. So what's happened since then?

It's important to point out here that the current food price spike started in 2020, so if Dr. Fraser's calculations are correct, the food system will collapse sometime around 2034, taking civilization with it. I closed my debut essay on this blog with a quote from the (now deceased) climate scientist Dr. James Lovelock, who advised a Guardian journalist to "enjoy life while you can. Because if you're lucky it's going to be 20 years before it hits the fan." That interview was published in 2008. We have four years left to enjoy.

[dewffin]

soo... I think I accidentally began to make a Silmarillion Fangame...

For some unknown reason i was like "I wanna make textures :D" but i didn't want to model shit, so i just used VROID studio as a painting book... but then i was like "ummm, i never tried to draw a character an then tried to make it 3D in vroid" so uh-

yeah...

and then i was like "let´s drop this bad boy in Unreal to see how he looks" and because, well, i don't know why i decided to try to make him look a bit 2D? like he was drawn? like doing the complete opposite of what i just did?

so this is what he looked when i began to play with post process stuff

and because i wanted to look around and stuff i added a little guy i had, and it turns out that he was really little and i had to make him a box to take pics of Fëanor's face

Then i did more stuff and i ended up with these cute flowers :D

And then I said fuck it, i think I'm making a game...

So the thing is that doing a game doing a game while being a one person studio is a biiiiiit difficult.

By that i mean i had to try to keep my head leveled in what i could do, so I ended up with this...

Tecilwë's Adventures in Arda

(yeah, i don't have a name for this)

So, you play as Tecilwë, a noldorin journalist that travels around trying to document the best stories of Arda. You can find out what is happening around by talking with people, sneaking around or finding clues. Then, you can write your take on what happens, and depending on what you say, how you say it and what secrets do you keep your reputation as a journalist and your relationship with the different character you find can change for better or worse.

A little bit about Tecilwë...

Q Tecilwë Autanna -  S Tegilu

Tecilwë - The one who writes [tecil “pen”, wë “person”] or as i like to call them "El pibe birome"

Autanna - the lost sign, the fool sign [au “away, lost”, aut “fool”, tanna “sign, token”]

A young lore master from Tirion. Studied under Rumil, and is excited to document all that happens in the course of the story. 

Curious and eager to learn. More often than not ends up in trouble for documenting what was not supposed to be seen.

Tecilwë believes in the power of the word, and on how truth is composed by those who write it.

Not often remembered, wants to be remembered as one of the great lore masters. But the curse of the Noldor runs deep…

Basically a player insert

Y alto chismoso

What i have for now in gameplay is that you can run around a location (and you'll be able to travel to different places, but time passes so, for example, if you leave Aman you cannot go back, or if Gondolin fell then you cant go there). There as i wrote you can talk to people and find out stuff, and all what you find you write in your journal, which you can check to remember what you have seen. With all of that you can unlock new dialogues, and when you get enough information you can end the day and write like a newspaper or magazine. If, for example, you found that gasp Maedhros and Fingon are being two love birds behind a tree, you can write about that in different ways. A- You just say thing as they are. B- You say that is great to see the unity in the House of Finwë. C- Accuse Fingon of corrupting the innocent eldest of Fëanor. D- say nothing about this. With A you get lower relationship points with Russingon for exposing them. B gets you a good realtionship with them, but lower with Fëanor. C gets you a good amount of points with Fëanor, but the other two will hate your guts. And with D, nothing changes, but you can confront them about their relationship and tell them to be more careful if they want to keep it a secret.

Also if you write a lot about gossip stuff you will lose credibility and that is kinda a way to not being remember as the great Lore Master you want to be...

Also i love how FIngon's hair is coming out. This is like a first draft but it was fun to make.

Also this motherfucker is so fucking tall

And this is one of my favourite screenshots from when i had Fëanor as the playable character

(also here is really noticeable that i added lights to their eyes, and it switches form golden to silver light)

In short, a gossip simulator

Also i cannot wait to make the "Who is Gil-Galad's dad" level

Version 0.1.0

Other updates

[dont-offend-the-bees]

The Scenic Route

More dead boys! Post-canon, Payneland, pre-slash/getting together-ish, bestieism, bickering, sex talk/innuendo and soppiness. 2k. Enjoy!

Also on Ao3 (need to be signed in to read)

~

"Cheer up, Edwin," said Charles, brightly. "Might never happen."

Edwin gave Charles a look so haughty it had its own title. "It very much has happened, Charles." He sniffed and straightened out his newspaper with attitude, the rustle of it loud and sharp as a whip crack. "I don't see why we couldn't have simply hopped through the mirror and met Crystal there."

"At this point, Edwin, I'm in total fucking agreement," said Crystal, not opening her eyes. She was burrowed under her coat like a blanket, doing her best to make the uncomfortable upright seat look like a cosy bed. Fortunately this train car was basically empty, so she had space to stretch across two seats – and no one close by to comment on the floating newspaper across the table and the fact she was having a barney with it. "You're like, the worst person to travel with."

"He's just not used to taking the scenic route," Charles joked, nudging Edwin's shoulder. "Whole world out there if you look up from the crossword, mate."

"I've already finished the crossword," said Edwin.

"With my help," Crystal pointed out.

"I died in nineteen sixteen. How am I supposed to know which songstress recorded 'Strike Me Once More'?"

"’Hit Me Baby One More Time’," said Charles.

"Atrocious name for a song," Edwin muttered. "I was given to believe violence against women was frowned upon in this day and age. And yet here you are, making popular songs about it."

"It's a metaphor, innit?" said Charles. His brow furrowed. "I think. Haven't heard it."

"We get it. You're both old ," Crystal groaned. "Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep. Some of us still need to do that."

"You would've had more luck in my day," said Edwin, wrinkling his nose in distaste at their surroundings. "Decent benches, private compartments. Of course, travelling without a chaperone might’ve raised issues. I hardly think Charles and I count, given that no one but you can see us."

"And we're lads." Charles winked at her. "Fit, single lads."

Edwin gave him a withering look over his paper. "Yes, that as well." He flipped through to the personal ads, voice dry as a bone. "Lord only knows what tomfoolery we could be getting up to without supervision."

"No offense, Edwin," said Crystal. "But I don't see you and me getting up to 'tomfoolery' no matter what century we're in."

"Hm. Something else we can agree on."

"Well, I'm game," Charles grinned, folding his arms on the table and waggling his eyebrows. "Never done tomfoolery on a train before."

Crystal snorted. "Don't. Not fun. And don't ask me how I know that,” she said, cutting Charles off sharpish before he could quiz her. “Anyway, without Edwin's fancy private compartments your options are the bathroom or risk a sneaky handjob in your seat."

Edwin perked up. "There's that word again. Charles, you never did tell me what it means."

Charles winced. "Didn't I? Um. Right. Basically, yeah, it's when you..." 

"If you're gonna sit here giving grandpa a sex ed class, I am definitely getting up for coffee," Crystal muttered, throwing her coat aside and levering out of her seat. 

"Sure you don't wanna weigh in?" Charles called after her. He fully expected the middle finger she flipped him before stomping off down the aisle.

"So," said Edwin primly, newspaper set down in exhange for his notebook. He was poised and at the ready with his pen in two seconds flat. "Handjobs."

Charles squirmed. "It's not exactly arcane knowledge, mate," he said, struggling to look Edwin in the eye. "It's when you..." he made a strangled noise, and a descriptive hand gesture. "Y'know. For another bloke."

Edwin watched his hand, and realisation dawned. "Ah,"  he said, slowly tucking his book and pen away. "Indeed." He sniffed. "Crude name."

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Well. I haven't an equivalent term for the act as... bequeathed to another, so to speak.”

Charles bit his lip, holding back a grin. Who the fuck else in his life would use bequeathed in normal conversation? In a sex conversation? He crossed his arms before he could do something stupidly soppy and fond, like drop his head onto Edwin's shoulder and ask him to list his favourite words.

Edwin carried right on, oblivious to Charles' little moment. “But my father would've referred to the solo variation as ‘self-abuse’."

Charles snorted. "'Course he would."

"Yes, it was... a different time." He picked up his newspaper with an air of rigid discomfort. "People are certainly much more liberal in that regard nowadays."

"Yeah. Nowadays." Charles watched him closely. He'd always been a buttoned-up sort of chap, but. Since all that stuff in Port Townsend, with Monty and that bloody Cat King he'd... opened up, sort of. Wasn't going out snogging people or reading dirty mags in the office or anything, 'least not as far as Charles knew. But there was a curiosity in him, now. Something in those keen eyes that sparked up, latched onto certain things. All still wrapped up in good old fashioned Edwardian manners, of course, but Charles knew Edwin like the back of his hand – and he knew what his face did when he was interested in something. Just so happened what he'd been interested in lately was, well. Blokes. Some more than others. "You never try it then?" Charles teased. "The old, uh. Self-abuse?"

Edwin couldn't exactly, literally blush on account of being dead, but Charles could spot the signs. "Privacy was hard to come by," he said, carefully measured.

Charles raised his eyebrow. "But not impossible?"

"...No. No, not impossible." He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should change the subject. Crystal will be returning shortly. Impolite to discuss it in mixed company."

Charles chuckled and sank back in his seat, casting his eyes out the window. The countryside rolled by, arid and golden. "Never been to France before."

"I suppose we haven't had any cases lead us here," said Edwin. "Nor have we had the need to travel through it," he added, voice clipped and curt. "Up until recently , that is."

"Got a right bee in your bonnet about the bloody travelling, haven't you?" said Charles. "C'mon, mate. Not like you and me are short of time, innit? Got all eternity to sit on bloody trains if we want to."

"I can think of better things to do with our time."

"Well – think of Crystal, yeah?" Charles reasoned. "I mean, she's alive. She's got what, eighty years or something left to be alive. How d’you think she feels 'bout having to spend half of it on public fucking transport?"

Edwin sighed. "Being alive was rather inefficient, in retrospect."

"I'm just saying... don't hurt to keep her company, eh?" He offered his best winning smile – and he had a good winning smile. “She's one of us, in't she?

Edwin rolled his eyes, but for once he didn't argue – Charles had him, and he knew it. "I'll... endeavour to be lenient," he offered.

"That's right big of you,” said Charles. He let their knees knock under the table. "Don't worry, not saying you have to be nice or anything. Just give the grumbling a rest for a bit, yeah?"

Edwin smirked. "Very wise of you to manage your expectations. 'Nice' is not a particular specialty of mine."

"I know." Charles grinned. "That's alright. I like it when you're a rude prick."

Edwin looked at him, and the hard lines of his face softened some. "Yes, you do seem to," he said; light, fond . "An ailment for which I fear there's no cure."

Charles ducked his head, smiling something daft. "We should do France properly sometime,” he said. “Go to Paris. Bet there's a load of old bookshops and that in Paris.”

Edwin brightened, with a little happy hum. "Capital idea, Charles. I haven't had reason to practice my French in some years." Then he sighed, proper dramatic. "Though I suppose we'll be taking the train again."

"Depends on if Crystal wants to come."

"Why wouldn't she?" Some of the stiffness had returned to Edwin's shoulders, but he was doing an alright job of hiding it. Anyone who wasn't Charles might not've noticed at all. "I daresay you two will want to take in the romantic sights while I peruse the booksellers."

Charles chuckled. 

Edwin flashed him an annoyed look. "It's a fair assumption."

"Yeah, well, we're not exactly like that."

"Is that so?"

Charles shrugged. "Had a bit of fun, but. She's still figuring some stuff out. Not looking for anything serious."

Edwin hummed, tightly, eyes fixed on the newspaper. 

Charles swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat, and flicked the corner of the paper to get his attention. "Besides: had some stuff to figure out myself, too, haven't I?"

Edwin froze, the paper rustling in his hands as his fingers tightened on it. "Oh." He glanced furtively to Charles, while obviously trying not to look furtive. For a detective, he was a right crap actor, sometimes. "Yes. How is that... progressing?"

Charles rolled his neck, tilting his face in Edwin's direction. Edwin looked right strange, perched all prim and proper on the polyester train seat with its bowling alley fabric pattern. Charles could almost squint and see through time, to how he would've looked on a train in the nineteen hundreds; surrounded by wood panels and velvet, by family who wouldn't touch him unless it was to fix his hair, straighten his bowtie. He looked out of place here – but he was right next to Charles, so actually, he was exactly where he ought to be. And the afternoon sun on the yellow fields looked dead pretty scattered across his cheekbones and his nose and that neat, handsome sweep of dark hair from his temple.

Yeah. Charles was figuring a thing or two out, alright.

He looked away and fidgeted, trying to shut his eyes and settle back in his seat in a way that looked relaxed, unbothered – and not like he was trying to avoid looking too closely at his best mate's lips or his eyes or his long, clever fingers. "Let's make it just a you and me thing," he said. "Paris, I mean."

There was a moment of quiet, then the sound of Edwin's newspaper coming to rest on the plastic table. "...Yes. Yes, I'd like that."

Charles smiled, and let the rhythmic motion of the train roll over him – if he had a heart, it'd be thumping in time to the clickety-clack on the tracks. He couldn't sleep, not even in the dark behind his eyelids, but he could daydream. Imagine that he could feel the sun on his face, the vibration at his back.

And while he was at it, he could reach out, just a little, and hook his pinky finger through Edwin's. Just 'cause.

A very, very small laugh escaped Edwin – almost like a runaway gasp. "I suppose," he said, mildly. "The scenic route has its charms."

 ~

Soon, the thud of Crystal's boots rejoined them, along with Crystal herself. Charles didn't even need to open his eyes, so he didn't bother.

“Charles,” Crystal greeted – and then, curtly: “Edwin.”

“Crystal.” Edwin replied, with matching coolness. But the ice soon broke on an audible, weary sigh. “Truce?” he offered.

She took a loud, long, deliberate swig of coffee before answering. Her and Edwin were peas in a dramatic, petty little pod, much as neither of them wanted to admit it. “...Truce.”

Edwin cleared his throat. “Yes. Very good.” Then, after a moment: “Thank you for your patience.”

The sounds of Crystal getting resettled stopped abruptly. Charles opened his eyes and found her half in her seat, hand and coffee cup on the table, staring at Edwin like he'd grown an extra head.

"So you're in, like… a good mood, now?” she said. “That was almost an apology. What'd I miss?”

Charles glanced sideways. Edwin had his face angled to the window – and a small, soft smile barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh," said Edwin lightly. His finger twitched around Charles’, just a little. Almost a squeeze. "Nothing of import."

Charles fought – and failed – to suppress a grin.

Crystal looked between them. "Charles. You didn't like..." She made the same crude handjob gesture he'd done earlier. "Give him a demonstration ...?"

Edwin squawked in indignation, Charles burst into surprised, sheepish laughter; and the golden fields outside the window gave way to row upon endless row of lavender and grapevine as Provence rolled alongside them, painting the plodding hours in green and purple.

And Edwin only complained about it ten, maybe eleven more times. New record, that!

~

Hope you liked it! Consider dropping us a comment or a reblog if you did 😊

Wrote this in part to distract myself from a horrifically busy train ride, in part as wish fulfilment while daydreaming about a world where the British public transit system isn't in shambles and I can get on a cross country train that isn't cancelled and sit in my pre-reserved seat as planned. Written and posted on my phone so apologies if that's reflected in the form and formatting!

Til next time!

[lulublack90]

Prompt 22 - Roommate AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 22, word count 938

CW - Pandora jokes about Remus getting murdered and dismembered.

Moving countries was scary. Moving to the capital city seemed scarier. Remus left his childhood home in the Welsh countryside and clambered onto the bus that would take him to London. 

He’d wanted to move for years but had always been too scared. His parents had instilled in him how dangerous it would be for him not to know anyone for hundreds of miles.

One morning, while he was munching on his cornflakes, he noticed an ad in his father’s newspaper. 

‘Roommate Wanted!

All bills are paid. Just pay for your own food. 

Sexy, well-bred male looking for a friend/companion to share a house in a highly sought-after area of London.

Please use the number below to apply. Please, serious enquiries only. No, this is not a joke.

P.S. Must love Bowie, or we’re not going to get along.’

Remus quickly put his breakfast things away and, grabbing his phone, fled outside, typing the number into his phone as he went. 

He settled under his favourite tree and pressed call.

“Hello,” A husky voice answered. 

“Oi, hi. My name is Remus Lupin, and I—” He started to explain. 

“Look, mate. I don’t know what you’re selling, but calling me at this ungodly hour is unacceptable. Goodbye.”

“Wait- wait. I’m not selling anything. I’m phoning about your ad!” Remus hurriedly spoke before the man could hang up. 

“Oh, in that case. Hello, I’m Sirius.” Sirius suddenly sounded a lot more cheerful. “So why do you want to be my roommate?”

“Well, erm. I’ve always wanted to move to London, but I’ve been a bit worried about living there on my own.” He told Sirius, deciding the truth would be best. 

“Uhuh, uhuh. Anything else?” Sirius sounded a bit bored. Remus knew he was screwing this up.

“I’m clean and tidy and don’t make much noise. I have enough money saved to pay my way—” Sirius cut him off again. 

“All the bills are paid for. You only need to get yourself food.” Remus nodded even though Sirius couldn’t see him.

“Oh, right. I wasn’t sure if that bit was true. Erm, I don’t have a job yet, but I’ll start looking straight away.”

“Remus, I’m gonna stop you there. I don’t think we’re going to be a good fit. I can already tell you are the complete opposite of me. No offence, but you sound like you go to bed early and like nothing more than to sit by the fire drinking hot chocolate and reading a good book.” Sirius said honestly. He wasn’t wrong. What Sirius had just described was his usual evening routine. He had to think of something compelling to change Sirius’s mind. 

“I have every David Bowie vinyl.” He blurted out. 

“Really?” Sirius sounded excited now. 

“Yeah, yeah, and I don’t know how you feel about T. Rex, but I have all there’s as well, and Led Zeppelin and loads of others.” All he could hear was the slight buzzing from the phones as the line went silent. 

“Alright, Remus Lupin, you’ve twisted my leg. You’re the only person who’s called so far that I’ve actually managed to tolerate for more than ten seconds. So, let’s give it a go. When can you move in?” Remus sat there in shock. 

“Really? You want me?” 

“Sure, why not? The room’s all set up just need to bring some clothes and whatnot. I’ll text you the address, and you can let me know when you want to come. If you find it’s not for you, you can move out whenever you like. That sound okay?” Sirius spoke quickly, but Remus managed to make out all the words. 

“Sounds brilliant. I’ll make arrangements and then give you a date.”

“Grand. Oh, and Remus, I really hope it works out.” With that, Sirius hung up, and Remus was left reeling.

“Oh, you’re totally getting murdered.” Pandora, his best friend, snorted when he told her he was moving to London and what the ad had said. 

“No, I’m not. Sirius seems really nice.”

“Oh, sweet baby, you are so getting chopped into little bits and placed around London to look like a smiley face or something.” She’d clapped her hands together and jumped up and down on the spot. 

“Gee, thanks, Pan. Love the confidence there.” He rolled his eyes and pushed down the panic that her words could actually turn out to be very true. 

The bus was packed with holidayers, commuters and everything in between. Remus was glad of his noise-cancelling headphones and his favourite book. In a couple of hours, he’d be starting his new life. Everything he owned was in the compartment under the bus and was surprisingly little. 

London was busier than he had ever imagined, coming from a tiny village. The noise and smells were overpowering. He got the tube from Victoria next to the coach station and rode it up to Islington. 

He followed Sirius’s directions through a beautiful, tidy neighbourhood. Remus walked past a picturesque park and found the house. Number 12 Grimmauld Place loomed above him. It was far grander than he’d imagined. He walked up the front steps and used the heavy serpentine brass knocker. It thudded loudly against the wooden door. He heard scrabbling on the other side before a heavy lock clunked, and the door swung open to reveal the most beautiful man Remus had ever seen, flipping his long black hair out of his face.

“Remus?!” Sirius exclaimed joyfully. Oh boy, Remus was in trouble. He reached his hand out and shook Sirius’s before following him into the house, closing the heavy door behind him.  

[gargoyleandgremlinpress]

Sudden Nature by everbrighter

This MDZS fic/series is a modern AU that's mostly without magic... except there's a heavenly bureaucracy. And every once in a while, it makes a mistake, and sends someone who's died back to earth. This is rare, but frequent enough that hospitals have resurrection wards just in case.

If you're at all familiar with canon, I think we can all see where this is going.

Wei Ying is a a whistleblower on the Wen Corporation in this one, who's adopted baby A-Yuan. When he's killed in an accident, Lan Zhan raises Lan Yuan and lives with his grief... and then Wei Ying comes back. This is a story that's emotional and heartfelt, and very funny in bits, about grief and loss and family, and getting something back you never thought you would, much like canon.

The series is a bunch of interconnected short fic with two long segments. The first one is from one from Lan Sizhui's point of view: "Lan Yuan has lived most of his sixteen years not knowing the man who raised him as a toddler. So when Wei Ying suddenly comes back to life, both Lan Yuan and his dad, Lan Zhan, work to make room in their lives for him. Too bad he has a science project due this week..."

The second one is from Wei Ying's: "Wei Ying comes back from the dead, all of a sudden. Over the course of a week, he remembers what it is to be alive, and what it is to be in love." (Not gonna lie, I kind of love the parts where Wei Ying is adjusting to no longer having the body of a twenty year old, in terms of sleeping for a week on the couch now has CONSEQUENCES.)

But it was the very first part of the series that hooked me, where Lan Zhan falls in love. And it's not who you think.

"Aren’t there classes for this? Aren’t there books a person is supposed to read for this? Should he have done research? Shouldn’t he have prepared? But ah, it’s too late now, and there’s a baby in his arms, face to the shoulder of Lan Zhan’s cable-knit sweater."

I finished the typeset for this fic back in the fall of 2022, and it was in my pile of text blocks to finish binding for Binderary, an annual fanbinding challenge, in February, 2023. It was the last one left. I looked at the text block. I looked at my bookcloth and paper options for the cover. I pulled out two options... and couldn't decide. It turns out, I just didn't have the right combination of colours.

In the interim, I obtained some Duo book cloth, a particular line that has a two-tone colour shift to it, gorgeous in person, but really hard to photograph. The company that makes it, sadly, has gone out of business, and the final group orders for it obtained near epic status among @renegadeguild circles. (It has its own lore. And fic.)

Which is to say, the spine of this book is Duo Dragonfly, and the cover is chiyogami paper. The endbands were my first time trying a double core, in sewing thread, and are a little bit shaky as a result, though I'm pretty happy with the colour combo. Lettering stencilled in gold acrylic paint.

I was going for an ethereal, heavenly feel with the title page, and a shout out to the Toronto setting with the spread on the table of contents. (Hello, fellow Canadians!)

A few interior shots here, and a vaguely Lan cloud used for the section breaks. I did a bit of formatting to mimic a newspaper column for the article that starts off "Thirty-Seven," the long section from Wei Ying's point of view.

I am pretty happy with how it turned out, and glad I held off to get the match that felt right for the cover materials!

And behind the cut for spoilers... the last sentence in the short chapter right before Wei Ying's death gets me RIGHT IN THE FEELS every single time I read it.

Lan Zhan held onto A-Yuan! He held him for fifteen minutes, and then for the next sixteen years it took for Wei Ying to come back from getting milk at the 7-11! Oh my heart. Nnngh.

(Also, I slid in a fan art illustration for the fic from GreenTeaPikachu, so enjoy the drunk!LanZhan Does Parkour as an added bonus for clicking through!)

[girl-next-door-writes]

Hi! :) was wondering I'd you could have someone get flirty...inappropriatly so with Mycroft then shows up to find him

@theweepingvulcan91 Thank you so much for this gift of a gif. It might have got away from me a little - Em.

The soft glow of the reading lamps illuminated the high ceilings and grand bookshelves of the Diogenes Club, casting long shadows that danced upon the richly decorated walls. Mycroft Holmes, his posture upright yet relaxed, was nestled in a plush armchair near the fireplace. The subtle crackling of the fire added a comforting backdrop to the scene, a stark contrast to the day's relentless demands.

The other members of the club, equally committed to the sanctity of silence, moved about with deliberate quietness, their footfalls muffled by thick carpets. Some were engrossed in their newspapers, others in their books, all sharing an unspoken agreement to preserve the tranquillity of the space.

Mycroft's evening reading was a well-worn ritual, a necessary retreat from the cacophony of his responsibilities. His sharp eyes scanned the pages methodically, each piece of information absorbed and catalogued with precision. The club's unique environment allowed him to process the day's events, each new fact or observation finding its rightful place in the intricate tapestry of his mind.

The atmosphere was one of serene detachment, a haven where even the most burdened of minds could find respite. As the fire continued its gentle murmur, Mycroft turned another page, the rhythm of his routine restoring the equilibrium that had been disturbed by the day's incessant challenges. Here, within the hallowed halls of the Diogenes Club, he found peace. That was until his phone vibrated, drawing his hawkish attention.

Mycroft's eyebrow arched as he glanced at the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noted the sender. Shuffling through his mental rolodex, he realised this was that strange woman from acquisitions who always smiled at him. He barely said a word to her, and yet she always seemed to go out of her way to say hello to him.

He wondered how she had managed to acquire his private number. Mycroft prided himself on his meticulous control over his personal information, a necessity in his line of work. That she had pierced this veil of privacy irked him greatly. This imposition was an irritation, a security breach.

With a silent sigh, he leaned back in his chair, allowing the shadows of the flickering fire to play across his face. The club’s atmosphere, usually a fortress of calm, now seemed to buzz with a faint undercurrent of urgency. Perhaps this message was a necessity, something which required his immediate attention.

He opened the message, his expression becoming one of confusion.

"Did you miss me today, Mycroft?" read the message, followed by a winking emoji.

Mycroft's fingers tightened around his phone as he read the message again, disbelief warring with irritation. His mind raced, analyzing every interaction he had ever had with the woman from acquisitions. Each encounter had been brief, polite, and decidedly unremarkable—at least from his perspective. What had he missed? How had he overlooked someone slipping through his carefully constructed barriers?

He set the phone down on the mahogany table beside his chair, the flickering firelight reflecting off its screen. The message stared back at him, its casual tone completely at odds with the seriousness of his current predicament. Mycroft was not accustomed to being caught off guard, and the sensation was deeply unsettling.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. It would not do to let this minor breach unsettle him. He needed to address the situation methodically. His first step would be to ascertain exactly how she had obtained his private number. That would require some discreet inquiries—he had no doubt that the answer would reveal a lapse in his own protocols, and that was unacceptable.

For now, he had to respond. Ignoring the message was not an option; it would only embolden her to further intrusions. Mycroft picked up his phone again, considering his reply carefully. He needed to convey his displeasure without revealing too much, to reassert his boundaries firmly but without provocation.

After a moment of contemplation, he typed out a response:

"I believe you may have mistaken this number for a more public line. Please refrain from using it in the future. – M.H."

He sent the message and set the phone down once more, feeling a measure of control return. The fire crackled quietly beside him, and he let the warmth and the familiar surroundings of the club soothe his irritation. This would be dealt with swiftly, just like any other anomaly in his meticulously ordered world.

Unfortunately for Mycroft, the matter was far from settled. It appeared that once she knew this was indeed his number, it only encouraged her to send further messages. Each one was more flirty and suggestive than the last, making him feel increasingly uncomfortable. Despite his best efforts to ignore the texts and hope they would stop, they persisted, leaving him in a state of constant unease. Mycroft realized that he would need to take more definitive action to address the situation, but he wasn't quite sure what steps to take next.

Sherlock had asked you to stop by the Diogenes Club on your way home to drop off a file for his brother. As you entered the room, ignoring the glares that quite obviously not being a member earned you, your attention fell on the look of total frustration on Mycroft's face. His entire being practically vibrated with it. It was clear that something was deeply troubling him, and it wasn't just the breach of the club's strict non-communication policy by your presence. Mycroft, usually the epitome of calm and control, seemed to be battling an internal storm. His fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest of his chair, and his eyes, though focused on his phone, were filled with a mix of anger and discomfort. It was a rare sight to see the elder Holmes so unsettled, and you couldn't help but wonder what had pushed him to this edge.

As you approached, his phone vibrated. He looked at the screen and rolled his eyes, frustration rolling off him in waves.

"Trouble at work?" you queried, taking a seat opposite him. Your voice pierced through the silence, earning you more than a couple of black looks from other club members.

"Nothing I cannot handle," Mycroft huffed, his jaw clenching as his phone vibrated once again. The urge to throw the damned thing into the fire grew stronger with each low hum emanating from the blasted machine.

You glanced at his phone, then back at him. "It doesn't look like nothing," you remarked, your tone gentle but probing.

Mycroft's eyes flicked to yours, a mixture of annoyance and resignation in them. "Persistent... nuisance," he admitted, the words forced through gritted teeth.

You raised an eyebrow. "Anything I can help with?"

For a moment, he seemed to consider the offer, then shook his head. "No, but I appreciate the gesture. It's a personal matter that requires a delicate approach."

"I doubt a 'delicate approach' from a Holmes is possible," you said, raising an eyebrow and trying to suppress a grin.

The phone buzzed once more, breaking the moment. He reached out and grabbed it with such force that his knuckles turned white.

Without a word, you extended your hand, eyes locked on his. He hesitated but eventually handed over the phone, his gaze never leaving your face. As you scrolled through the messages, your eyebrows shot up and a smile tugged at your lips; the messages were becoming increasingly bold.

He watched, his curiosity piqued, as you typed a reply and hit send. Then, with a smirk, you handed the phone back to him.

He held it in his palm, expecting another buzz, another daring message in response to whatever you had sent. But the phone remained silent. Intrigued, he opened the message thread. A look of amusement spread across his features as he read what you had sent to his rather persistent admirer:

"Consider your approach noted. Best of luck, but persistence doesn't always equate to success. - someone with a much better approach to courting Mycroft Holmes."

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 2

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, check out the story tag for more chapters) Word count: 1.9k Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but the story will eventually be NSFW - hopefully in the next chapter. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader. A/N: Little more plot-building before we get to the spice. Hope yall enjoy!! Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You read and re-read the bonus words written into your book until they flowed through your head like a real conversation. An unknown voice whispered in your ear, adding commentary, a few snide remarks and snarky responses, poignant questions, and narrative asides that you couldn’t get enough of. 

The mystery of your anonymous reading buddy sat with you. It was calm and inviting. You weren’t consumed with a desire to dig inside and pull out the truth, but to let the mystery be. To let it exist like this. Yes, you did want to know whose thoughts and memories you were reading, but it wasn’t a dire need. And more than that, you wanted to keep this secret. A shared secret.

Staring at the next chapter you needed to read, the novelty plummeted as you raised a pen. It felt heavy in your hand, weighed by an awkward feeling. The back of your neck prickled, as if someone was already reading your thoughts. You felt stifled by the odd sense of visibility. Unable to connect your desire to give the story your full attention with wanting to share the book with another reader, you tried to flip those feelings and see if they would fit another way.

It was like a game of leapfrog. You read the annotations added after yours, then jumped into the next chapter you hadn’t read yet and filled in the gaps left in the margins, and, finally, you landed in a new chapter. The puzzle pieces connected as you fell entirely into the story.

Traveling with the cloaked figure, Grey, on his journey, your musings were scribed each step of the way. Phrases and words circled, emotive faces drawn near touching moments, and your own personal tidbits littered the pages. The chapter ended with Grey winning over the sullen rock golem who had been living alone as an outcast. The golem accepted Grey’s invitation to join him on a journey to save the royal family.

A few days later, Buggy was surprised to see the book peeking out of its protective hidey-hole like a mollusk. He noted its disappearance and didn’t expect such a rapid reappearance. Although it wasn’t a long novel, completing the entire journey would have taken a sleepless night or two. A small voice questioned whether the owner was upset at the additional vandalism (even if they started it) and decided to abandon the book entirely. 

Filled with unease, Buggy ignored the book and went about his duties. The poisonous voice stayed quiet as the captain threw himself into work, wondering if he might avoid confronting the question and the book. A lifetime of rejection created a wide boundary of protection that the little voice hid behind, hissing unfounded fears.

The sour feelings were chased away with a mouthful of liquor later that night. While heading back to his quarters, Buggy retrieved the book and walked fast to outpace his own negativity. Although it was only the second time he had the novel, reading was easily incorporated into his evening routine. It felt familiar to him. 

Growing up, Buggy was a voracious reader. Sometimes, he wondered if that’s why he needed glasses now. Maybe his eyes were rebelling against all the words he forced them to absorb - short stories, long epics, newspapers, essays, letters, tiny print, large fonts, hand-written, transcribed. Anything he could get his hands on was devoured in his spare time. Sentences were crammed into the few seconds between duties, chapters read by dim moonlight, and pages became speckled with food as he pored over the books while eating.

Over time, Buggy read less and less. People poked fun at the bookworm. They said he should be careful always having his nose in a book, it might get caught in the pages. Even lighthearted remarks about how much he read began to sting. And as he grew up, Buggy had other things to occupy his time with.

Eventually, guilt took hold in his chest. Roots grew whenever he had time that could be filled by a book, his empty hands missed the feel of pages threading through the fingers, or when he looked at the forlorn stories waiting on his bookshelf. He tried to push through the ache by buying new books that remain untouched. He even bought glasses to try and turn a chore back into a hobby, but nothing relit the spark. It all turned into dirt and manure for his remorse to grow. 

The pirate never expected the pain of turning his back on something that brought comfort would be eased by a silly fantasy novel. Despite being a grown man with hair on his chest and alcohol on his breath, Buggy felt like a kid again as he sank under the covers with a good book. Instead of waiting for a tension headache, Buggy pulled out his glasses, swiped the lenses with a small cloth, and put them on. The first thing he read was a note tucked alongside his bookmark.

“Good notes! Although I disagree that the writer is a ‘self-indulgent asshat who sees the world through rose-colored glasses.’ I read ahead through the next chapter and left space for you. Please do the same and put this back in the ‘secret’ spot. I want to see if you change your mind.”

Buggy chuckled to himself. Of course you wouldn’t agree with him, you picked the book in the first place. Maybe if he pointed out more of the author’s blatant self-insert characters used to tout their poorly thought out ideals, you’d reconsider. He took a sip of alcohol and twirled a pen in his fingers. 

Towards the end of the newest chapter, two things caught Buggy’s attention. First, the fucking corner of the page was folded again. Second, was a comment about the golem and “found family.” You wrote about how nice it is to find a place you belong and people you feel at home with. You felt like the golem character when you joined this pirate crew. The rock golem, named Daisy Lee, had sprouted a flower when Grey extended his hand and companionship. The little heart next to that sentence was a punch to the gut.

Buggy the Clown knew first-hand how it felt to find someplace you belonged. In fact, he’s heard that from his crew countless times. After fights, successful raids, parties brimming with alcohol, any situation full of emotions were bound to be followed with freaks professing appreciation for their captain. But this was different. You didn’t know who was reading these words. You didn’t intend to share them with the captain himself. These weren’t words of performative devotion, honeyed sentiments, or feelings brought forth by adrenaline, but inner-thoughts shared during your own personal time.

It was late and his body was tired, which meant his emotions were delicate. That’s why tears collected in the corners of his eyes before slipping down his heated cheeks. Exhaustion and alcohol. Fingers attempted to fit under his glasses to wipe away the saltwater, but the legs tugged on his ears and the frames dug into his forehead. Buggy dabbed away what he could in the confined space and rubbed the back of his hands on his wet cheeks to dry them. With a face redder than it was moments ago, he swallowed the rest of the sober emotion with the alcohol in his glass.

---

The next time you found the book, there was another note for you. A short sentiment and a gift.

“Stop folding the goddamn pages. I don’t care if this is your book, I won’t give it back. Use the bookmark.”

The bookmark guarding the edge of your reading area wasn’t anything special. It was just a bit of paper that could have come from anywhere, but the edges were carefully torn into a long rectangle. The scrap used to mark the other reader’s progress was ripped haphazardly and shaped like a squashed kidney. Rolling your eyes, you folded the corner of your new gift. You’d use it, but on your terms.

You followed the same pattern as last time, reading the new notes, the next chapter, then a new chapter. And your reading partner followed suit. Bookmarks jumped over each other, like checkers. Stories were swapped, emotions unlocked, betrayals occurred (the first of which was you creasing the bookmark, which was acknowledged with a little angry face), foes defeated, heroes injured, feelings exposed, and so much more. You wrote about leaving your family and village behind, like some of the adventurers. The other person wrote about not really knowing their family. Not in a story, but as a passing comment to what you scribbled. Unsure how to respond, you simply wrote that you were glad their journey brought them here.

Weeks passed as the book exchanged hands. One night found you hunched over in bed, following your reading buddy as you raced through the final chapter. The sea was as restless as your beating heart, each wave and thump growing erratic through the climax.

Worn down and weary, Grey and his companions approached the castle. Moss and vines decorated the worn stone structure. An abnormal breeze carried the sweet stench of decay. The rustle of leathery wings and tell-tale stomping emitted from the courtyard ahead. Grey turned to Daisy Lee and Jack, readying himself to go ahead on his own. To his surprise, Jack clapped a hand on the man’s cloaked shoulder and nodded to their stone friend, who marched forwards, toward the dragon.

You silently cheered with each blow the heroes dealt and gasped with every set-back they sustained. The fight raged on in your white-knuckled grip, with Daisy Lee crumbling into a smaller version of themself, and Jack throwing himself in front of Grey, only to be knocked out.

Grey shouted in anguish and charged forwards. Landing a mighty blow on the dragon, the fierce beast collapsed with a pitiful roar. Smoke poured from it’s mouth and nostrils, filling the courtyard. Through the fog, Grey could just barely see the large shadow shrink. As the smoke cleared, a naked figure lay on the ground - the victim of a curse. It was Prince Shaia. Grey’s brother.

The rest of the story was wrapped up in two pages. There was a whirlwind of activity when Grey rescued the rest of the royal family, revealed his lineage to his companions who readily accepted the information, Grey’s rapid ascension to the throne, and the multitude of changes he immediately put into place across the kingdom to end every single plight, hardship, and minor inconvenience he encountered. The story ended with the sun setting on a utopia, with no mention of issues implementing new rules and systems or discourse about the kingdom changing hands to a previously unknown individual.

You sat silently for a moment, mulling over the ending. It was an enjoyable story full of adventure and whimsy, but the conclusion was rushed. Very rushed. The last paragraph had a bracket drawn on the side and an arrow pointing to a little face sticking it's tongue out and a note:

“I haven't changed my mind. This wouldn’t happen so easily, it’s so unbelievable-”

Frowning, you scribbled a retort before finishing the rest of the note. “It’s a fantasy book. Of course it’s not believable.”

“-I have a book we can read next. I guarantee it’ll be better than this.”

A buzzing filled your head and reverberated down to your chest. You kept reading the message, studying each individual letter constructing the words that warmed your body. The beating of your heart stopped using adrenaline as fuel and channeled the rushing endorphins instead. You hoped that this secret relationship would continue, and to see that feeling reciprocated filled you with so many fluttery feelings that you couldn’t tease them apart.

“Okay, I’m trusting you.”