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solxamber · 1 month ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want a Refund || Trey Clover

When the universe dunks you into a dumpster fire of a novel as the villainess, survival is key. Except your husband, Trey Clover, turns out to be such a green flag that it gets a little harder to function.

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You prided yourself on being a normal, decent person. Maybe even a good person, depending on who you asked. Sure, you weren’t out here saving kittens from trees or solving world hunger, but you did your part.

You recycled when you remembered, held the door open for strangers (if they were close enough, you weren’t that kind of hero), and even tossed bread crumbs to the pigeons outside your apartment every now and then. It wasn’t much, but it was honest work.

So, really, what you didn’t expect was to be completely betrayed by the universe. The betrayal began small, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear: the newest novel you’d been anticipating for months was sold out.

“Are you serious?” you grumbled, glaring at the empty display like it had just insulted your mother. A handwritten sign on the shelf read: ‘SOLD OUT! More in stock soon!’ in cheerful cursive, as if mocking you.

What were you supposed to do now? Go home empty-handed? Waste your perfectly good afternoon plans of curling up with a book? Absolutely not. Refusing to admit defeat, you scanned the bookstore until your gaze fell on the “New and Best-Selling” rack.

One book immediately caught your eye. The cover was... well, something. It looked like someone had raided a middle schooler’s stash of Barbie stickers, splattered glitter over the whole thing, and slapped on an aggressively curly gold font that screamed, I’M A ROMANCE NOVEL!

You sighed. “Fine. How bad could it be?”

It could be very, very bad.

The first red flag was the synopsis. It introduced Trey Clover, the Grand Duke, who loved his spouse, the villainess, with a devotion so pure it made you want to gag. But then came the second male lead, the Prince, who confessed his love to Trey and the villainess, because monogamy was too boring for this book.

And then there was the heroine. The synopsis just called her “the Saintess,” because why bother giving her a name when her only personality trait was being the worst human being imaginable? She appeared out of nowhere, became the Saintess overnight (because logic?), and made it her life’s mission to ruin the villainess’s life while somehow convincing everyone she was an angel.

Oh, and the Prince? The book had him slip on a rock and die halfway through the plot, like the author had a word count limit and didn’t know what else to do with him. The villainess ends up dying too, right aftetr asking Trey for a divorce to "protect him." The ending involved Trey marrying the heroine, despite spending the entire book side-eyeing her like she owed him rent.

You closed the book slowly, your soul drained of all joy. “What in the fresh hell did I just read?”

But no, you couldn’t let this stand. You were a taxpayer, a contributing member of society. You did not deserve this literary slap in the face.

With righteous indignation burning in your chest, you marched back to the bookstore. You slapped the book onto the counter with a dramatic flair that deserved a standing ovation.

“Refund,” you declared, glaring at the cashier.

“Uh... we don’t usually do refunds on books you’ve already read...” they began hesitantly.

“I don’t care,” you snapped, pointing at the glittering monstrosity. “This isn’t a book. It’s a hate crime against literature. A refund, please, before I start sobbing in public.”

After a long pause—and possibly fearing a customer service meltdown—they handed you store credit. Satisfied but still simmering with rage, you stomped out of the store, muttering to yourself about bad authors, worse editors, and the existential crisis of knowing someone got paid to write that garbage.

And that’s when karma struck.

A segway—a SEGWAY—came hurtling toward you at Mach speed, piloted by a man dressed in full medieval knight armor.

“MAKE WAY FOR SIR SCOOTINGTON!” he screamed, his voice muffled by his helmet.

You froze. Your brain could not process this level of absurdity in such a short amount of time. Was this a prank? A hallucination? Had the book actually been cursed and now you were living out its bad writing?

The segway didn’t stop. It hit you with a solid THUNK, sending you flying backward into a suspiciously well-placed pile of garbage bags.

As you lay there, buried under the remains of someone’s takeout and a very old banana peel, as your vision started to blur, you stared at the sky and thought:

Dawg, why me??

You woke up to the faint chirping of birds and the kind of silence that only rich people seem to afford. Something felt... off. The sheets were too soft, like they’d been spun from angel whispers and a mid-tier deity’s hair. Your pillow was the perfect combination of fluffy and firm, a far cry from the lumpy second-hand abomination you’d bought on sale three years ago.

Your eyes cracked open, squinting against the sunlight filtering through an elaborate, gold-encrusted chandelier. A chandelier. In a bedroom. You lived in a shoebox apartment; your idea of luxury was a lamp that wasn’t from a clearance bin.

You turned your head slightly, and your soul froze mid-exit.

There was someone next to you.

Your brain screeched to a halt, flashing every warning signal it had. Stranger. Bed. You. No.

The only living thing that should’ve been in your apartment was the stray cat you’d nicknamed Gremlin, and he sure as hell didn’t have human proportions or a steady breathing rhythm.

Slowly—painstakingly—you tilted your head to look at your unwanted companion.

It was a man. A very attractive man, sleeping peacefully on his side, glasses perched askew on the nightstand. His hair was a soft mess, his breathing even, and his entire aura screamed gentle husband vibes.

Then recognition sucker-punched you in the gut.

No.

It couldn’t be.

You blinked. Looked again. Replayed every horrible memory of that atrocious novel you had read, and then read again because you hated yourself.

It was Trey Clover.

Male lead. Gentleman. Human embodiment of a warm cup of tea. The guy who was in love with his villainess spouse (you remembered her being dramatic but competent) before the world went full dumpster fire.

Your breathing hitched. You stared down at your hands, and they stared back—perfectly manicured, dainty, soft hands that had never touched a single dirty dish or over-scrubbed countertop.

The reality hit you like a segway knight at full speed.

You’d been isekai’d.

You fought the urge to scream into the pillow. Was this some karmic punishment for returning that book? Was your snarky review in the Reddit thread too harsh? Because this? This was an unholy level of irony.

Trey stirred beside you, his brow furrowing slightly as his hand lazily reached for his glasses. He slid them on, blinking sleepily as his gaze landed on you.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, groggy, and just a little raspy—the kind of voice you’d pay extra to have someone read you bedtime stories with. “You’re staring.”

For a moment, your brain blue-screened. Trey Clover—novel character and now your husband, apparently—was looking at you with concern, and all you could think was: At least he’s hot.

“…Nothing,” you croaked, swallowing down the rising tide of panic. “Just… processing.”

“Processing what?” he asked, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes, his entire demeanor radiating "adoring husband" energy.

You clenched the sheets in your fists, trying to will yourself to wake up from this insane fever dream. Unfortunately, the chandelier wasn’t disappearing, Trey wasn’t fading into mist, and your perfectly moisturized skin wasn’t breaking into your usual crusty dryness.

This was real.

And somehow, you were the villainess in a novel you’d once described as "a literary abomination designed to kill brain cells."

The sound of a soft knock at the bedroom door made you jump, nearly upsetting the tower of books you’d been flipping through in your attempt to figure out where in the dumpster fire of this timeline you were.

“Come in?” you called hesitantly, trying to shove the incriminating evidence of your non-villainess-like behavior—a half-written list titled HOW TO NOT DIE TRAGICALLY—under a pillow.

Trey stepped in, balancing a tray of food like he was auditioning for Husband of the Year. His hair was slightly mussed, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up just enough to show forearms that could inspire sonnets. The man was a walking Pinterest board, and it was unfair.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said with a small smile, setting the tray on the table. “You’ve been skipping meals, and that’s not like you.”

You laughed nervously, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Oh, um, yeah. Upset stomach. You know how it is.”

Trey raised an eyebrow, his smile unwavering but his eyes far too knowing. “Sure. And I’ll be here while you eat, just to make sure you’re feeling better.”

Oh, no.

You stared at the tray like it had betrayed you. Soup, bread, and some suspiciously perfect desserts that looked like they had been made by the hands of an angel. You couldn’t say no without sounding even sketchier.

“Right,” you muttered, picking up the spoon with the grace of someone about to face a firing squad. As you sipped, Trey watched silently, his chin resting on one hand, his soft gaze pinned on you. The air felt so heavy you could’ve cut it with a butter knife.

“Are you going to go through with it?” he asked suddenly.

You froze mid-bite, the words hitting you like a frying pan to the face. “Go through with… what?”

“The divorce,” he said simply.

You choked on your soup. The spoon clattered back into the bowl as you grabbed a napkin, trying to avoid literally dying of shock. Divorce? Divorce?! That wasn’t in the plan! You knew what happened after the divorce—the villainess died, and you weren’t about to let fate steamroll you into an early grave, again.

“What? No! Of course not!” you sputtered, waving your hands in frantic denial. “Why would I want a divorce? You’re, uh, great! Fantastic! A literal dream husband!”

Trey blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion before his expression softened into something warmer, almost relieved. “You… want to work things out?”

“Yes!” you blurted, nodding with enough enthusiasm to give yourself whiplash. “Absolutely! Let’s work this out. Together. Like a team.”

His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile that nearly melted you on the spot. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead that left your brain doing cartwheels. “Alright. I’ll hold you to that. I’ll be back for dinner, so rest up until then.”

He left the room, and the moment the door clicked shut, you flopped back onto the bed like a deflated balloon. The pillow muffled your scream of embarrassment as you kicked your feet, equal parts flustered and mortified. What was that? Why did he have to be so sweet? How were you supposed to survive this level of tenderness without combusting?

The door creaked open again.

You froze mid-giggle, legs tangled in the sheets like a caught fish. Trey stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised and looking like he was about two seconds away from bursting into laughter. “Forgot my pen,” he said casually, strolling over to grab the item from the bedside table.

You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. “Oh. Uh. Right.”

He paused on his way out, leaning down to kiss your cheek with infuriating gentleness. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you red-faced, flustered, and questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.

It had been such a nice meal. The kind where the food was good, the company better, and the wine just strong enough to make you feel warm and floaty but not stupid. Trey was smiling faintly at you over his plate, his rare but deeply satisfying I’m enjoying myself face in full effect, and you dared to think, Hey, maybe I can survive this isekai nonsense after all.

And then the restaurant door swung open, and your fragile peace shattered like a dropped wine glass.

The prince had arrived.

Trey’s face immediately darkened like a thunderstorm on the horizon, and you felt yourself lose a year of your life just from sheer dread. The prince was a walking disaster in human form, and you’d been hoping to avoid him like the plague. But the universe clearly hated you because here he was, sashaying through the restaurant like he owned the place.

“Oh no,” you whispered, gripping your fork like it could somehow protect you.

Trey’s jaw tightened as the prince spotted you both, his grin wide enough to make you wish the floor would open up and swallow you.

“Darlings!” the prince cried, crossing the room with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever off its leash. “Fancy seeing you here!”

You didn’t even get a chance to object before he grabbed a chair from a nearby table, spun it around dramatically, and wedged himself between you and Trey, plopping down like he’d been invited. Spoiler alert: he hadn’t.

“Your Highness,” Trey said through clenched teeth, managing to sound both polite and like he was ready to stab someone with a salad fork.

“Oh, come now, Trey,” the prince laughed, waving off the formality. “No need to be so stiff. After all, we’re practically family!”

You didn’t get the chance to ask how that made sense before he grabbed your hand—and Trey’s—planting a wet, sloppy kiss on each. The sound it made was unholy, like a boot pulling free from a swamp. You and Trey simultaneously stiffened, the same thought clearly running through your minds: Don’t cringe, don’t cringe, don’t cringe…

“I simply had to come over when I saw you two!” the prince gushed, oblivious to your visible discomfort. “The saintess—bless her kind, radiant heart—has been dying to see you both!”

You glanced at Trey, who was visibly restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“She’s throwing a ball this weekend,” the prince continued, clasping his hands together like he was sharing the world’s most exciting news. “And you must come. Truly, it’d be… well, treasonous not to, considering we’re both inviting you!”

Ah, there it was. The veiled threat disguised as politeness. You hated that this guy was smart enough to wield his royal status as a weapon, even if he made everything sound like it came with a complimentary gift basket.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “We’d be honored, Your Highness.”

Trey shot you a subtle look, one that very clearly said Traitor, but you knew he agreed. Anything to avoid another round of Wet Hand Kisses.

“Wonderful!” the prince declared, clapping his hands together. “I knew you two would understand. You always were the reasonable ones.”

He finally stood up, ruffling Trey’s hair in a way that made his eye twitch before striding off like he hadn’t just hijacked your peaceful dinner.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, you slumped back in your chair, utterly drained. “I feel like I need to bathe in holy water.”

Trey pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I should’ve poisoned his dessert last time.”

You stared at him. “You what?”

“Nothing,” he said, picking up his fork like nothing had happened. “Let’s finish eating.”

You could still feel the ghost of the prince’s wet kiss on your hand, and you shuddered. “Do you think we can fake our deaths before Saturday?”

Trey actually looked like he was considering it.

The ball was, against all odds, actually enjoyable. The lights glittered like fairy dust, the music was just the right level of lively, and the wine was strong enough to turn your earlier dread into a warm, floaty haze. Trey was by your side, charming in his tailored suit, and for once, the prince and saintess were blissfully absent.

"Maybe they got lost," you whispered to Trey, leaning in conspiratorially. "Or better yet, maybe they found a better party and decided to leave us alone."

Trey smirked, sipping his wine. "If only we were that lucky."

Your hopes were dashed, naturally, when the prince appeared out of nowhere like some unholy summon. One second you were lifting a glass to your lips, and the next, your arm was being yanked so hard you almost spilled your drink.

“Come now, my dear!” the prince declared, grinning in a way that felt more like a threat than an invitation. “Dance with me!”

Before you could even process what was happening, you were being twirled onto the dance floor. Across the room, you caught a glimpse of Trey being snatched by the saintess, who looked like she had all the coordination of a baby deer on ice.

The prince pulled you in too close, his breath an unholy concoction of garlic and what might’ve been sour milk. You tried to politely lean back, but he just leaned closer, grinning obliviously.

“You’re stiff, my dear,” he said, his voice low and entirely too sultry for someone who smelled like a kitchen accident. “Loosen up!”

Meanwhile, Trey was enduring his own nightmare. The saintess stepped on his foot with her stiletto for the fourth time, and you could swear you saw him wince in actual pain. She was chattering nonstop about something—maybe puppies, maybe world peace—you couldn’t hear over the sound of her heels clobbering the floor.

When the ordeal finally ended, you staggered back to Trey, feeling like you’d aged ten years. He looked equally frazzled, rubbing his shoulder like it had been yanked out of its socket.

“I’d say that was horrible,” he said under his breath, “but I think ‘horrible’ is too kind.”

Before you could respond, the saintess suddenly tripped. She wasn’t even near you—she was all the way across the room—but she hit the ground with a dramatic thud, and her dress promptly ripped down the side.

You blinked. “Wait, what just—”

“I knew it!” she screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at you from the floor. “You sabotaged me!”

The prince, for once, looked baffled. He glanced between her and you like he was trying to solve a complicated riddle. “But… she wasn’t even near you?”

“SABOTAGE!” the saintess shrieked again, her voice cracking.

The original villainess would’ve taken the high road, maybe pretended to be insulted or outraged. You, however, were just drunk enough to find the entire thing hilarious.

You laughed. Loudly.

And to your absolute delight, the crowd followed suit. Quiet snickers turned into outright guffaws as everyone around you dissolved into laughter.

The saintess gawked, looking like a wet cat as she scrambled to her feet. “You’re all… MONSTERS!” she shrieked, before fleeing the room with a level of dramatics that would make even a soap opera jealous.

The prince hesitated, torn between chasing after her or staying to glower at you and Trey. Finally, with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like “I hate my life,” he ran after her, disappearing into the night.

“Well,” Trey said, offering his hand with a faint smirk, “that was… something. Care to salvage the evening with a proper dance?”

You took his hand, letting him spin you onto the floor. The music softened, the crowd fading into the background as Trey pulled you close.

“You look stunning tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as you danced.

The compliment hit you like a sucker punch, leaving you so dazed that, in your flustered state, you impulsively dipped him instead of the other way around.

Trey laughed, eyes crinkling with genuine delight. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, cheeks burning as you held the pose.

But to your surprise, he didn’t protest. He let you dip him, even laughing as you pulled him back up. And when the dance ended, he kissed your cheek, sending your heart into a full-on meltdown.

“That,” he said, his voice filled with amusement, “was the most fun I’ve had at a ball in years.”

The tea party was a picturesque affair, all pastel tablecloths, delicate porcelain cups, and the kind of floral arrangements that screamed wealth and good taste. You were seated with Riddle, Cater, and Che’nya at a table tucked under a wisteria-laden gazebo, trying your best to survive the endless parade of gossip and sweets.

The conversation drifted naturally, like it always did, until someone—probably Cater—brought up the topic of Trey.

“Y’know,” Cater began, swirling his tea with exaggerated nonchalance, “Trey’s been looking at you like you personally hung the moon and stars lately. It’s kinda adorable.”

Che’nya leaned over, grinning like the Cheshire Cat he was. “So deep in love, it’s practically a romantic trench. What’s your secret, huh? Love potion? A really good pie?”

You chuckled, brushing off the comment, but then you glanced across the garden—and froze.

There he was, Trey Clover, the ridiculously perfect husband material that fate had handed you in this bizarre isekai life. He was standing a little ways off, chatting with a few nobles, but his gaze was unmistakably fixed on you.

When your eyes met, he smiled. Not just any smile—a warm, genuine, I-would-die-for-you-and-bake-you-cookies-afterwards kind of smile. It hit you like a runaway carriage.

Your chest tightened, your stomach flipped, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to pause.

Oh no.

You were in so deep.

Like, Titanic-hitting-the-iceberg-and-sinking-to-the-ocean-floor deep.

“Uh oh,” Cater sang, leaning closer with a smirk that could only mean trouble. “I know that look. Someone just had their Hallmark movie epiphany.”

You snapped out of it, cheeks burning. “What look? I don’t have a look!”

“Oh, you totally do,” Che’nya chimed in, his grin somehow wider. “It’s all dreamy and starry-eyed, like you’re in a fairy tale. Which, I guess you kinda are?”

Riddle, ever the straight man in these situations, regarded you with a mix of pity and exasperation. “Please tell me you’re not about to let these two meddle in your relationship.”

But before you could defend yourself, Cater was already leaning forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Cay-Cay’s got you covered! Wanna confess? I can totally set the mood—candles, roses, soft music…”

“I—what?” you stammered, still too dazed by your revelation to form a coherent response.

“That’s a yes!” Che’nya declared, clapping his hands together. “Alright, let’s brainstorm. Hot air balloon confession? Dramatic rain scene? Ooh, what about—”

“Absolutely not,” Riddle interrupted, his tone sharp as ever. He turned to you, expression weary. “I’ll make sure they don’t do anything absurd, but honestly, why not just tell Trey yourself? He’s your husband.”

You groaned, sinking into your chair as Cater and Che’nya continued to scheme with increasingly outlandish ideas. Meanwhile, Riddle looked at you like you’d just wired your entire fortune to a scammer and promised to fix it for you later.

Across the garden, Trey caught your gaze again, his brows furrowing slightly in concern at your flustered state. He started to make his way over, and your heart leapt into your throat.

Oh no.

Whatever happened next, you were absolutely not ready.

Riddle had been firm, as always. “A pie,” he said with the kind of authority you’d expect from someone sentencing a man to death. “It’s simple, heartfelt, and Trey would appreciate the effort. Not that I have time to indulge in frivolities like this, but… you’re lucky I know the basics.”

Turns out, Riddle did not know the basics. And neither did you.

What followed could only be described as a culinary catastrophe.

The kitchen looked like it had been struck by a flour tornado, with you and Riddle at its chaotic epicenter. Your attempt at pie dough was a war crime in the making—half stuck to the counter, half to your hands, and none of it remotely edible.

“Why is it stretching?” Riddle hissed, his face as red as his hair, holding one end of the dough while you gripped the other. The elastic monstrosity between you refused to snap, stretching longer and longer like some unholy noodle.

“I don’t know!” you shrieked back, your voice an octave higher than usual. “I followed the instructions! Mostly! Kind of!”

“‘Kind of’ isn’t good enough! Put some force into it!”

Riddle tugged one end of the dough like he was in a tug-of-war with a particularly stubborn ghost. You yanked back, and the dough elongated even further, wobbling ominously in the air.

That’s when Trey walked in.

He stopped in the doorway, taking in the absolute chaos: the flour-streaked counter, the rolling pin embedded in what used to be a bag of sugar, and you and Riddle holding opposite ends of the world’s saddest dough.

“What… exactly is happening here?” Trey asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You froze, still clutching the dough. Riddle looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“We’re baking,” you managed to squeak out.

Trey blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound warm and rich like honey. “Is that what you’re calling this?”

His laughter didn’t help your embarrassment, but the way he stepped forward, gently taking the dough from you and Riddle like a benevolent baking god, did. “Alright, let’s see if we can salvage this. Flour, water… and patience. You two watch and learn.”

You stood back, flustered and hopelessly smitten as Trey worked his magic. In minutes, he turned your disaster into a perfectly respectable pie crust. He even smiled at you both as if to say nice try, kids, and it made you feel oddly warm inside.

Still too mortified to admit the pie was meant for him, you let him finish it while Riddle quietly excused himself, muttering about overdue paperwork.

You did feel for Riddle, poor guy was stuck babysitting the Prince after all. Maybe the dough was sad because of his stress.

Later, Cater and Che’nya were far too pleased with themselves when they found you.

“So,” Cater said, grinning, “how’s Operation Swoon going?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you grumbled, remembering the dough debacle.

Che’nya’s grin widened. “Lucky for you, we’ve got Plan B: flowers! Romantic, classic, and impossible to mess up.”

You weren’t sure about that last part, but their enthusiasm was infectious. You ended up at a florist with Cater coaching you through every step, from picking out the blooms to tying a ribbon. By the time you were done, the bouquet looked gorgeous.

When you handed the flowers to Trey later, he looked… stunned. His eyes widened, his cheeks turned faintly pink, and his smile was so soft and genuine that you nearly dropped dead on the spot.

“For me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You nodded, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. Just, uh, wanted to thank you. For everything. You know.”

Trey cradled the bouquet like it was something precious. “Thank you. Really. This means a lot.”

And when he smiled at you again, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Cater and Che’nya’s meddling wasn’t so bad after all.

You were practically vibrating with excitement as you entered the restaurant, rare flower in hand. You’d spent far too much money on it, but it was worth it. Trey deserved nothing less. The merchant had waxed poetic about how the flower symbolized eternal devotion, and you figured it was the perfect way to set the stage for your long-overdue confession.

Trey was already seated at the table, his calm demeanor somehow both comforting and devastatingly attractive. When he saw you approach, his eyes softened, and that sweet smile of his—the one that made your knees weak—spread across his face.

You handed him the flower, and his expression lit up as though you’d just handed him the moon.

“For me?” he asked, his voice full of surprise and warmth.

“Of course,” you said, a little shy but mostly proud of yourself. “I thought it suited you.”

His fingers brushed yours as he took the flower, and before you knew it, you were holding hands across the table. The atmosphere felt perfect—soft candlelight, his warm gaze locked on yours, and your heart pounding like it had just discovered cardio.

This was it. The moment to confess that you loved him.

You opened your mouth, ready to pour your heart out—

And then she appeared.

The saintess, an uninvited hurricane in the form of a woman, swept into the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. You barely had time to process her arrival before she snatched the flower from Trey’s hand like a seagull stealing a french fry.

“Oh, Trey, you shouldn’t have!” she gushed, clutching the flower to her chest like a deranged soap opera villain. “How thoughtful of you to get this for me!”

Trey’s face froze in what could only be described as polite murder. His jaw tightened, his grip on the table visibly white-knuckled.

You, however, were already halfway to a breakdown. “Excuse me?” you sputtered.

The saintess ignored you entirely.

Enter the prince, the human equivalent of a golden retriever who’d been hit on the head one too many times. He trailed behind her, clearly regretting his existence. For once, he seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation and awkwardly tried to mediate.

“Ah, maybe I should—uh—just give this back,” he mumbled, reaching for the flower.

The saintess responded by shoving him.

The prince, unprepared for even the gentlest resistance, stumbled directly into Trey’s arms.

Trey, now holding a grown man like a bridal bouquet, froze. His eyes darted to you, silently screaming what do I do with this?

Before he could decide, the prince looked up at him, smiled coyly, and winked.

You might’ve laughed if the saintess hadn’t chosen that exact moment to drape herself across you.

“Oh, my dear friend,” she simpered, batting her lashes, “surely you understand Trey’s affection for me. You’ll support us, won’t you?”

You were too stunned to respond, stuck holding the saintess like an overly affectionate sloth. Across the table, Trey looked like he was begging whatever gods existed for an escape route.

Finally, something in Trey snapped. Gently—yet firmly—he set the prince in his seat like a toddler being put in timeout. Then, without a word, he reached across, grabbed the saintess by the arm, and unceremoniously deposited her in her own chair.

“You’ll have to excuse us,” Trey said, his voice smooth but his expression pure I’m done with this nonsense. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the restaurant, not even sparing a glance back.

Oh, and he definitely took the flower back.

In the carriage, Trey was silent, his expression unreadable. You hesitated before asking, “Are you okay?”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just… tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of not having moments with you for myself,” he said, his voice soft but full of frustration. “Every time I try to enjoy being with you, someone interrupts. I just… I want you. Just you.”

Your heart practically melted on the spot. Overwhelmed by his honesty, you leaned forward and kissed him—a gentle, tentative gesture that said everything you’d been too nervous to put into words.

Trey froze for a moment, then pulled you closer, kissing you again, this time deeper and with so much emotion that you thought your brain might short-circuit. His hands cradled your face, and the world outside the carriage ceased to exist.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his smile so radiant it made your heart skip. “I guess this means you’re mine?”

You nodded, breathless.

“And I’m yours,” he murmured, sealing the confession with another kiss that left you thoroughly, blissfully dazed.

It was supposed to be a simple stroll through the common garden—just you and Trey enjoying a rare moment of peace. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were basking in the warmth of Trey's smile when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

The prince.

And worse, the pebble.

You recognized it instantly—the cursed rock from the original novel, the one destined to send the prince spiraling into a tragic, fatal end. It glittered ominously on the path, as if taunting fate.

The prince, blissfully unaware, strutted forward like he owned the place. He stepped right onto the pebble, his foot slipping out from under him with comical precision.

In that split second, you knew what you had to do. Annoying as he was, no one deserved to die because of a glorified piece of gravel.

You lunged forward, grabbing the prince by the arm and yanking him upright just before disaster struck.

He looked at you, wide-eyed, for all of two seconds before breaking into a toothy grin. “Ah, so this is love,” he declared, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Fear not, my dear! Your feelings for me are obvious, and I, in my infinite generosity, shall grant you the honor of becoming my bride!”

Trey, who had been watching this unfold with his usual calm, suddenly stiffened. His hand slipped into yours, his grip firm but not unkind as he gently pulled you closer.

“Your Highness,” Trey began, his voice polite but laced with steel, “I think you may have misunderstood something.”

“Oh?” The prince arched a brow, clearly oblivious to the warning signs.

“She's already married,” Trey said, his tone so calm and measured it was borderline terrifying. “To me.”

The prince’s eyes lit up with excitement, not deterred in the slightest. “A rivalry for their love, then? Excellent! Let the best man win!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Riddle—ever the voice of reason (or exhaustion)—strode into the fray like a man who had been dealing with this nonsense for far too long.

“Your Highness,” Riddle snapped, looking entirely done with life. “What in the sevens are you doing?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the prince by the collar and dragged him away like a scolding parent hauling a toddler out of the candy aisle.

“You can’t just propose to married people!” Riddle hissed as they disappeared down the path.

Left in their wake, you spotted Cater and Che’nya lounging under a tree, shamelessly munching on popcorn. Cater caught your eye and waved, looking far too entertained by the whole ordeal.

“Did you see Trey’s face?” Che’nya whispered loudly. “I’d give it a solid nine out of ten on the jealousy scale.”

“Totally,” Cater agreed. “Hey, Alfred!” he called to the butler nearby. “Get me a glass of wine; this show’s getting good!”

Before you could decide whether to laugh or cringe, Trey’s hand gently tilted your chin, drawing your attention back to him.

“Focus on me,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours.

And oh, jealous Trey was adorable. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with a possessiveness that made your heart skip several beats.

Caught up in the moment, you leaned forward and kissed him, a quick but sweet gesture that left him blinking in surprise before a soft smile spread across his face.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Cater almost spill his wine in excitement, while Che’nya clapped like a seal.

“Now that’s spicy!” Che’nya crowed.

“I need another glass,” Cater sighed dramatically, as if the sheer romance was too much for his delicate heart.

But you didn’t care. Trey’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for once, the rest of the world faded away.

The war room was dead silent, the kind of silence so heavy you could hear the shuffle of maps and the scratch of quills on parchment. Every important figure of the empire was present—Trey and you, the Emperor and Empress, military generals whose scowls could crack stone, the Pope looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, and, shockingly, even the Prince, for once not actively trying to ruin someone’s day.

Strategies were discussed in grim tones. Supply lines, terrain advantages, possible reinforcement numbers—you and Trey were fully immersed in weighing the support your duchy could offer. For once, even the Prince managed to look engaged, though he was suspiciously chewing on the end of his quill like a kid stuck in detention.

Then, like an uninvited storm, the doors slammed open.

“Hellooooooo!”

Every head in the room turned as the Saintess waltzed in, an hour late, as if this were a garden party and not a high-stakes war council. She was dressed in what could only be described as a fever dream of bad taste: a dress so garish and bedazzled it could probably be seen from orbit, complete with absurd feathered accessories sticking out at odd angles like a startled peacock.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she sang, twirling unnecessarily as if this was a runway. “I couldn’t decide which dress to wear. Do you think this one looks good?”

The silence was palpable, charged with a collective secondhand embarrassment that could power an entire city.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering if you could claim an "upset stomach" for the fifth time this month. Then, unable to stop yourself, you deadpanned, “Yes. It’d make a great enemy flag.”

Trey choked on a laugh, quickly covering it with a cough. The Pope crossed himself, possibly praying for patience. One of the military generals muttered something under his breath, hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword. The Prince just buried his face in his hands.

The Saintess, predictably, burst into tears. “You’re so mean! I’m just trying to brighten up this dreary meeting!”

The Emperor looked deeply, soul-crushingly confused, glancing at the generals as if to ask, Does this happen often? Meanwhile, the Empress, seated beside him, was gripping the armrest of her chair so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

Trey sighed and leaned closer to you. “I’ll handle it,” he murmured, giving you a quick nod before standing.

He approached her like one might approach a wild animal, hands raised in surrender. “Saintess, perhaps we could discuss this outside—”

But no sooner had he stepped within arm’s reach did she trip. On purpose.

In what could only be described as an Olympian-level act of self-preservation, Trey sidestepped so swiftly she ended up flailing through the air like a failed acrobat.

She landed directly on top of the Emperor.

The entire room froze.

The Emperor looked down at the Saintess sprawled across his lap with the bewilderment of someone who just found a raccoon in their bed. The generals were wide-eyed, clearly waiting for his reaction before deciding if they needed to draw their swords. The Pope had started sweating through his robes, clutching his staff like it was his last lifeline.

And then, like an avenging goddess, the Empress rose from her seat.

Without a single word, she grabbed the Saintess by her feathered hairpiece and hauled her up like a disobedient child. The Saintess shrieked, limbs flailing, but the Empress dragged her toward the door with a grim determination.

“OUT.”

The doors slammed shut behind them, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Trey cleared his throat, brushing off his sleeves as if nothing had happened. “Well,” he said, returning to his seat beside you. “That was… eventful.”

“Eventful?” you hissed, elbowing him. “She just dive-bombed the Emperor!”

Trey shrugged, lips twitching. “And yet here we are, still alive. I’d call that a win.”

Across the table, the Emperor straightened his robes, trying to reclaim what little dignity he had left. “Shall we… continue?” he asked, though his tone suggested he wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and a nap.

You nodded, biting your lip to suppress a laugh as the meeting resumed. Somehow, against all odds, you managed to get back to planning strategy. But you knew this story was one for the history books. Or at least for drunken retellings later.

The negotiation room was a grand affair, with gilded walls, an impossibly long table, and an air of tension so thick you could slice it with a butter knife.

The opposing kingdom’s crown princess sat across from your delegation, radiating intelligence and poise. Her every word was measured, her presence commanding, and she somehow managed to make a simple quill look like a weapon of mass destruction.

Meanwhile, your prince was... spinning in his chair.

“Wheeeee!”

You felt your soul leave your body.

“Your Highness,” Riddle hissed, his voice laced with the kind of fury only a man on the verge of a migraine could muster. “Compose yourself!”

The prince paused mid-spin, blinking like he’d just remembered where he was. “Right, right. Negotiations. Totally got this.” He picked up a quill and twirled it between his fingers like a toddler pretending to be an adult.

You buried your face in your hands, quietly mourning the future of your kingdom.

Across the table, their saint was the picture of grace, clasping their hands as though ready to bestow divine blessings upon the room. They exuded an aura of peace and righteousness that made you think, Ah, yes, this is what a saint should look like.

And then there was your saintess.

She was currently leaning against the wall, dramatically fanning herself with a peacock-feathered fan that you were pretty sure wasn’t hers. She’d arrived late, claiming she’d been “blessed by the spirits of fashion,” and was wearing a gown so covered in rhinestones that it could probably be seen from space.

You caught Trey’s eye from across the table. He looked entirely too amused, like he was moments away from bursting into laughter. You glared at him, silently begging him to take this seriously.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward as if to say, I’m trying.

Thankfully, the Empress had come along for damage control. She sat at the head of the table, calm and unflappable, effortlessly steering the conversation back on track whenever your prince derailed it with comments like, “So, how do you guys feel about dragons?”

When the opposing kingdom’s crown princess suggested an ambassador exchange as part of the peace treaty, the Empress visibly perked up.

“That’s an excellent idea,” she said smoothly. “In fact, we have the perfect candidate.”

You felt a sliver of hope. Maybe she’d suggest Riddle—he was intelligent, responsible, and would undoubtedly represent your kingdom well. Or Trey, whose calm demeanor and charm could win over anyone. Or—dare you dream—maybe even you, since you were clearly the only one in this circus who had a shred of common sense. And the two of you could move away from this hellhole.

“We’ll send the saintess,” the Empress announced, her voice dripping with what could only be described as malicious glee.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The crown princess on the other side of the table looked mildly alarmed. “Um,” she began, clearly searching for a polite way to decline.

“She’ll be an excellent cultural ambassador,” the Empress continued, her smile widening. “She’s... unforgettable.”

Riddle’s eye twitched, but he said nothing. Trey looked down at the table, probably to hide his grin.

The saintess, oblivious to the underlying implications, squealed in delight. “Oh my gosh, finally! I’ve always wanted to travel!”

The opposing kingdom reluctantly agreed—probably under the assumption that taking her would somehow count as reparations.

When you all finally returned home, the atmosphere was noticeably lighter, as though a glittery, rhinestone-encrusted weight had been lifted off your collective shoulders.

Trey leaned over in the carriage, his voice low and amused. “Well, I’d call that a success.”

“Success?” you laughed. “We basically tricked another kingdom into taking her off our hands.”

Trey’s smile was soft as he reached for your hand. “And we averted a war in the process.”

You sighed, but your heart skipped a beat when his thumb brushed against your knuckles. Maybe you could live with this version of “success.”

Without the saintess egging him on, the prince had downgraded from menace to society to mildly annoying NPC. He still popped up every now and then, offering unsolicited advice on topics he clearly didn’t understand, but Riddle—bless his overworked soul—had finally had enough. As royal advisor, he slapped the prince with permanent probation, effectively keeping him confined to paperwork and far, far away from you and Trey.

Life, for once, was peaceful.

So peaceful, in fact, that you and Trey found yourselves back at that restaurant—the same one that had become the backdrop for two very traumatic encounters. It felt like tempting fate, but Trey, ever the optimist, assured you that lightning wouldn’t strike thrice.

And for once, he was right.

The food was good, the atmosphere was cozy, and not a single insufferable royal barged in to ruin the evening. You both laughed, reminisced, and indulged in desserts that Trey—being the baking connoisseur he was—had plenty of opinions about.

By the time you left the restaurant, the streets were quiet, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The air was crisp but not cold, and everything felt oddly serene, like the universe was apologizing for all the nonsense it had previously thrown your way.

As you walked side by side, Trey suddenly stopped.

You turned to face him, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he knelt down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Trey—”

“Before you say anything,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with emotion, “I just want you to know that despite how things started between us... I’ve never regretted a single moment with you.” He looked up at you, his green eyes warm and sincere. “You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life making you just as happy.”

He opened the box, revealing a ring—simple, elegant, and undeniably perfect. “So... will you marry me? Again?”

You stared at him, your chest tight with emotions you couldn’t even begin to untangle. And then you laughed—because how else were you supposed to process the sheer ridiculousness of everything that had led to this moment?

“Yes,” you said, your voice trembling with joy. “Of course, yes.”

He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger with a smile that could have melted glaciers.

And then he kissed you—soft, slow, and so full of love that it felt like the world around you ceased to exist.

Somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard a cat knock over a trash can, but nothing could ruin this moment.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #trey clover x reader #trey x reader #twst trey #twst trey x reader #trey clover #trash novel chronicles

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eclecticopposition · 2 years ago

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the great news is that our self-therapy books and tools are nothing to the tools of people who have been doing this for years. this isn't going to be personality disorder specific, because fuck the clinical model, but as a rule: personality disorders should be treated as expressions of CPTSD, and treated accordingly

anyone who is interested in a Choose Your Own Adventure guide to getting better should check out the Integral Guide To Well-Being. if you click one single link on this post, make it this one

the second link you should click (especially if you have or suspect you have a personality disorder, but also just generally if you are suffering or have suffered. anguish is covert for a reason) is everything Pete Walker has ever written, starting with this

systems and dissociative folk may not know about kinhost.org or their podcast Many Minds On The Issue, both worth checking out; people with any degree of trauma and/or structural dissociation, from CPTSD to BPD to DID, may find Dis-SOS useful. the United Front Boot Camp is a very helpful way to start working together internally.

also for CPTSD and friends: if you can get your hands on the workbook "Finding Solid Ground", do that. we don't have it in our library and we can't give you our firsthand account, but to our knowledge, it's the single most comprehensive treatment plan for complex trauma and especially dissociative disorders out there. many very dedicated people (both practitioners and the people in their care) have worked hard to make it; you should be able to make use of it with a therapist or alone. most trauma books do not account for the amount of titration you need to do to safely absorb the information in the first place. it's a labor of years and the first of its kind

here's a shitload of books. (EDIT: google drive has obliterated it.) it has so many books. we don't know if it has all of the ones we like (we didn't see Waking The Tiger at first glance, which is our top recommendation) so feel free to check out our much much smaller messy little library too. not in any way exhaustive; this is literally just the stuff we found on our phone. we've starred some of the ones we found helpful

our favorite library of meditations for self-compassion, attachment repair, schema therapy, and more is here; if it affects you way more than you expected, or if you get a weirdly strong resistance to doing it again, we recommend proceeding slowly, firmly and gently

Tapping/EFT sounds like it should be pseudoscience. It's not, but some of the people selling it are definitely predatory. Brad Yates on Youtube has a ton of free videos on what may well be every emotional issue under the sun, and we've decided we like the guy

Codependents Anonymous

not everything can be done with an electronic device. seriously: please consider going outside for several hours while leaving your phone at home, and having a serious emotional conversation with another person without trying to shield yourself or laugh it off. you can't replace time with nature and mutual vulnerability with anything and you need both.

(the lack of mutual vulnerability, by the way, is one of the reasons why we have so many issues with how therapy currently works. there is structurally a power dynamic inherent to being The Helper and The One Who Is Helped. you aren't going to get the same release and sense of belonging if therapy, or surface level relationships, are all you have.)

if you want to pursue self-treatment, we have a few books on Internal Family Systems (IFS) and Acceptance & Commitment Therapy (ACT) in the messy library linked above. looking into DBT is also worth your while. IFS is (in our opinion) the easiest therapy to self-guide through, and is a major feature in the Integral Guide at the top. however, important disclaimer: connection with someone else is a vital part of recovery. your nervous system will struggle to stabilize itself alone, and benefits enormously from having another nervous system to mirror that isn't hooked up to all your stress chemicals. talk to friends regularly, find someone to connect to. therapy is very useful when you have a person who is stable enough to take whatever you can throw at them. face to face contact is ideal, but do whatever you need to. direct yourself, and own your recovery, but don't do it alone.

More general resources:

The Anarchist Library

This classic self-care flowchart, You Feel Like Shit

what'sokay.org, a sexual health resource that is a good reference for if you're okay, if how you treat others is okay, and if how others treat you is okay. good for everything from checking "am I anxious/obsessive-compulsive/self loathing/etc, or is something actually wrong?" to if you are being abused or being abusive, and what to do about it

The DARE Response (best anxiety treatment we've found). It also has an app.

this isn't everything that's out there and we might have forgotten some of the things we've used, but we can confirm that we have used all of these recommendations personally (with the exception of Finding Solid Ground and the mental health book library). distribute pirated goods freely and with discretion; we don't want to lose libraries by getting caught. let us know if any of the links don't work.

anyways. don't listen to anyone online, don't tell people what to do online, get the fuck out of your parents' house as soon as possible if you haven't already, own up to your shit, and learn how to steal so you can do it for your friends

seeing personality disorder discussion on the dashboard. the impulse to share all the self-therapy books and tools we have has never been stronger

#giving someone books has reminded us that other people have been doing this both longer and better than we have #if you want recs then read Waking The Tiger and ask us if you want more #depending on your taste people may enjoy the podcasts “heal the hurt”; “CPTSD Recovery: We Are Traumatized Motherfuckers”; and “Tara Brach”#and for the love of god stop using your phone and computer in bed #we also have the entirety of animorphs and the bionicle books if you want to read those. hit us up. we're down for whatever #self care #self advocacy #resources #CPTSD #we despise things that feel like they're trying to sell us things or ideas. we despise people trying to commodify being human.#self-improvement isn't supposed to be like diet culture. recovery shouldn't fucking come with ads.#give us things that are made by individuals on webpages that are at least ten years old #fuck the assumption that people need to be fixed in the first place.#fuck the eager shallow overcategorization of the mind and the pathologization of the human stress response.#fuck the “wellness industry”. fuck being sold something that you need but can't bottle.#fuck the medical model that shields practitioners from the discomfort of empathizing with the people in their care.#fuck the online culture of using mental illness to dodge responsibility.#own your shit. don't let anyone else own your shit. don't pretend that you can't own your shit.#take charge of your own therapy and ask more of the professionals you employ.#fire the medical professionals who are wasting your time. give them homework. set your own goals and tell them to help you meet them.#protect yourself and listen to yourself and get over yourself with ferocity.#give yourself enough credit to refuse to infantilize yourself. give yourself enough credit to refuse to own more than what's yours.#and give yourself some grace. it's a lot to ask of anyone to be alive.#own your shit. you'll feel so much better #I promise

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ahqkas · 9 months ago

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♯ DEALER ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!ravenclaw!reader

SYNOPSIS! smoking had never interested you before but when the local dealer catches your eye, you might get the experience of a professional

WORD COUNT! 2.9k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! smoking, theo is hogwarts’ dealer, reader is inexperienced in the area of smoking, theo teaches reader how to smoke, kissing

NOTES! i do NOT promote smoking / dealing in this, it’s simply a work of fiction!

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

CIGARETTES, SLENDER CYLINDERS OF FINELY CUT TOBACCO WRAPPED IN PAPER, HAVE LONG HELD A FASCINATION FOR MANY. Each drag brings a mix of sensations: the initial spark and crackle as the flame meets the tip, the first inhalation that fills the lungs with a warm, almost soothing burn, and the exhalation that releases a plume of smoke, curling and dissipating into the air like whispers. The nicotine within offers a swift release, a rush that calms the nerves and sharpens the focus, although temporarily.

In the heart of Hogwarts, where the whispers of ancient stories mingled with the soft rustle of parchment, existed a sacred place of knowledge known to all as the library. To the ordinary eye, it was just a place of shelves filled with dusty books and boring atmosphere. But to those who knew where to look, was a hidden secret only some had the privilege of knowing. It was here, that Theodore Nott found his sweet spot.

Theodore Nott moved with a smooth, practiced ease. He blended in perfectly, among the towering shelves and the scent of old books. To most, he was just another student, perhaps a bit more mysterious than others. But to those who sought him out, he was a source of comfort, someone who could give them relief from the intense pressures of their magical education. A dealer.

Theo's operations were known to be like a well-choreographed dance. A subtle nod here, a quiet exchange there, all under the watchful yet unsuspecting eyes of Madam Pince. The library was the perfect place for his discreet business. It offered the privacy and anonymity that his clients needed - students from various houses looking for a way to escape their stresses.

Cigarettes, slender and neatly wrapped, were his main product to sell. Easily accessible and easily sold. Each one was more than just a tobacco roll; it was an object of escape. Theo understood the draw of that first spark, the way the flame flickered before lighting a moment of calm. He saw it in their eyes - the relief as the smoke filled their lungs and the world's worries seemed to disappear, even if just for a moment. He wasn't just selling cigarettes; he was providing a brief moment of peace.

But the Slytherin's trade wasn't limited to tobacco. For those in deeper need, he offered small vials of potions, each carefully brewed and discreetly hidden. These elixirs could calm stressed nerves or boost a tired mind, depending on what was needed. Theo got everything you could dream of.

His reputation spread quietly through whispers in common rooms and soft murmurs in the Great Hall. To some, he was a lifeline; to others, a tempting distraction. And through it all, Theodore Nott remained a mystery, a figure covered in secrecy, walking the fine line between the pursuit of knowledge and the lure of the forbidden.

He was intelligent, cunning, and unbelievably handsome. No one would suspect him for a dealer.

That boy got your interest.

You stood hidden behind a tall shelf in the back corner of the library, your heart pounding loudly in your chest as you peered through the gap between two dusty volumes of Hogwarts: History. The library was quiet, the usual hum of activity reduced to a soft whisper. You were careful to keep yourself concealed, not wanting anyone to notice your presence, least of all the Slytherin boy.

Your eyes were fixed on Theo, who was standing in a quiet corner of the library, partially hidden by the towering bookshelves. His movements were smooth and calculated as he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial filled with a bright blue potion. The vial shimmered under the soft light, casting an ethereal glow that caught the eye of the Hufflepuff girl standing nervously before him.

Theo handed the potion over with a calm, practiced ease, his expression unreadable. The Hufflepuff quickly slipped a handful of coins into Theo's hand, their fingers brushing briefly before the girl tucked the potion into her robes and hurried away nervously. You watched as Theo carefully counted the money,

Good to know you won't be first to approach him with those feelings.

You stepped out from the safety of your hidden place, your heart racing as you made your way towards Theo. The decision had been made in your mind - you needed those cigarettes, even though you had never smoked a single one in your entire life. The Slytherin interested you, and what was better than the idea of approaching him with a business offer?

Theo's eyes flickered up as you approached and a flicker of surprise appeared on his face before he quickly masked it by his usual calm demeanor. He had noticed you before, the pretty Ravenclaw with the fierce personality, always absorbed in your studies. You were the exact opposite of his usual clientele, and that piqued his interest. What was the Ravenclaw's good girl doing here, with him?

He watched you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, noting the determined set of your jaw and the way your fingers clenched around the strap of your bag that clung to your shoulder. You were nervous, that much was clear, but there was also a resolve in your eyes that he couldn't ignore.

As you came to a stop before him, the faint scent of old books and parchment lingering in the air between the two of you, Theo tilted his head slightly. "[Last name]," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. This would be interesting. "What brings you here?"

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "I need some cigarettes," you said, the tome of your voice firm despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Theo's eyes narrowed slightly, appraising you. He had seen many students come to him for relief, but your request was something he wasn't expecting in the slightest. Still, he had watched you from afar, intrigued by your quiet determination and the air of mystery that surrounded you. Could you blame him though? You were pretty, smart, and had a flicker of fire in you.

Just Theo's type.

Your request hung in the air, tension crackling between you like static electricity. Theo's gaze softened, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding as he considered your plea. Sure, he was a dealer, but he wasn't heartless.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he began cautiously, his silver eyes flickering over your determined expression. "You've never smoked before, have you?"

Well, that was surprising. How did he know that? You shook your head. "No, but I need something, anything."

Theo paused, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He knew the risks of smoking, the addictive grip it could have on a person's life. Merlin, he smoked almost every single day, of course he knew. Yet, as he studied you, he couldn't not notice the desperation in your eyes - the same desperation that had driven countless others to seek him out.

But you wanted him for something entirely different.

Finally, with a sigh, he relented, his hand reaching out to offer you the pack of cigarettes in his hold. "I'll give them to you, but only if I can share one with you," he proposed, his voice soft yet firm, insisting on it. He wouldn't take a no for an answer in this. "And I'll teach you properly how to smoke. It's not something to take lightly."

Your eyes widened in surprise, gratitude flooding your features. Your plan worked. “Thank you, Theo," you breathed out a sigh of relief. "That means a lot."

The Slytherin nodded and a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Consider it a lesson in the art of stress relief," he said with a hint of amusement in his tone. "And the pack of cigarettes? It's on the house."

Decisions are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives, guiding us along paths both familiar and unknown. Good decisions illuminate our journey of life, leading us towards fulfillment and growth. They are born from careful consideration, informed by wisdom and experience, and guided by values and aspirations. In contrast, bad decisions cast shadows upon our path, obscuring our vision and stirring doubt and regret within us. They arise from impulsivity, fear, or ignorance, leading us astray and causing pain and disappointment. Yet even in the bad decisions, there lies the potential for growth and resilience, as we learn from our mistakes and strive to make wiser choices in the future.

You wondered if asking Theo for the cigarettes was a good idea.

You stepped into the cool night air of the Astronomy Tower, the darkness enveloped you like a familiar shadow. Above, the sky stretched out, filled with millions of flicker kisses stars. The moon, a delicate crescent hanging low on the horizon, cast a gentle glow over the landscape.

You tilted your head back, your gaze drawn upward to the constellations that adorned the heavens. To your left, the recognizable figure of Orion stood out, its three bright stars forming the distinct shape of the Hunter's Belt. Nearby, the sprawling form of the Great Bear dominated the northern sky, its outline marked by the gleaming North Star. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you identified the graceful curves of Cassiopeia, the Queen of Ethiopia, her celestial throne outlined by a delicate arrangement of stars. Nearby, the Pleiades cluster sparkled like a cluster of diamonds, its seven luminous stars casting a soft glow against the night sky.

The sinuous shape of Draco, the Dragon, snaked its way across the firmament, its serpentine form twisting and turning amidst the sea of stars. You through of the person whose name matched, and hung out around Theodore Nott every day since the beginning of your years at Hogwarts.

Theodore Nott. Of course your mind would run to him.

You found yourself leaning against the worn wooden railing of the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, the cool metal digging into your forearms as you stared down at the pack of cigarettes you had received from Theodore nestled in your hand. With a heavy sigh, you traced the embossed design on the pack with your fingertips, your thoughts drifting like wisps of smoke on the night breeze again.

You had never imagined yourself in this position, a cigarette pack in hand, contemplating the choices that had brought you to this moment. Funny how decisions were full of consequences.

Theo - the quiet boy from Slytherin who had caught your eye despite the whispers that surrounded him. He was the one who seemed to exist on the fringes of Hogwarts' social circles, yet commanded a silent respect from those who sought him out for his promised offerings.

You couldn't deny the curiosity he stirred within you, the way his piercing silver eyes seemed to hold secrets untold, and his cold presence beckoned you like a moth to a flame. Despite the stark differences between the two of you - you, the respected Ravenclaw, he, the mysterious dealer from Slytherin - there was an undeniable pull between you, a magnetic force that defied logic and reason of the question: why?

Opposites attract, they say, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was truth to the saying.

Before you could react any further, Theodore Nott appeared beside you, his presence as silent and mysterious as ever. The faint scent of tobacco and earthy cologne trailed behind him. He smelled nice.

Without a word, he materialized a slender cigarette from his pocket, the tip ready to glow with a soft ember by the time he placed it in the corner of his mouth. He held the cigarette between his fingers and without breaking eye contact, he spoke in a low, calm voice, guiding you through the new experience with a patience you hadn't expected.

"First, hold it like this," Theo instructed, gently placing the cigarette between your fingers, positioning it just right. His touch was light, almost fleeting, but enough to send a spark of fire through you. You mimicked his hold, feeling the slightly rough texture of the cigarette paper against your skin. Theo's fingers lingered briefly over yours, adjusting your grip until he was satisfied.

"Now, bring it to your lips."

You felt a nervous tremor in your chest as you positioned the cigarette between your lips, its unfamiliar weight resting delicately. The cool night air brushed against your skin, but all you could focus on was Theo, standing close enough that you could see the slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, never left yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. How could a man be this beautiful?

Theo raised his wand, the tip glowing softly. "Hold still," he murmured, his voice low and steady. You complied, your breath hitching in the back of your throat as the wand's flame drew nearer.

He leaned in, his fingers brushing your cheek as he steadied the cigarette. The moment stretched out, and with a flick of his wand, the tip of the cigarette ignited, the flame casting a warm, flickering light over your face. It felt oddly comforting.

"Now, take a slow, deep inhale," Theo instructed, his eyes never wavering from yours. The flame's glow highlighted the depths of his gaze, making the moment feel both surreal and intimate.

You did as he said, drawing the smoke into your mouth. The initial harshness made your eyes water, but Theo's unwavering gaze kept you grounded.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice a soothing sound to your nerves. "You're doing fine."

As you exhaled, your shoulders relaxed as well, the initial discomfort easing into something more manageable. Theo's proximity made the experience less daunting.

"Again," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "Slow and steady."

You gave him a nod, your eyes still locked onto his as you took another drag, this time more controlled, more assured. The smoke filled your lungs, and as you exhaled, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Theo's lips curved into a small, approving smile, a silent acknowledgment of your progress and your heart skipped a beat.

Just as you started to feel more confident in your actions, Theo reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the cigarette from your hand.

With a deft movement, he placed it between his own lips, a smirk playing on his face. Your breath hitched as you watched him, your eyes drawn to the way his lips curved around the cigarette. The pink lipgloss you had carefully applied earlier left a delicate mark on the paper, and now Theo's lips were tasting the gloss.

His eyes glinted with amusement as he took a slow, deliberate drag, inhaling deeply. The ember flared briefly, casting a warm glow over his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, making him look like an angel. As he exhaled, the smoke curled and twisted in the air between the two of you, dissipating into the night.

He removed the cigarette and examined it, his thumb tracing the faint outline of your lipgloss. The smirk on his lips grew more pronounced, a blend of amusement and something deeper, something almost appreciative. He turned his gaze back to you, the intensity of his stare making your pulse quicken.

"Interesting choice," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the words punctuated by a cloud of smoke. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to the cigarette, the smirk never leaving his face. "Pink suits you."

Without fully understanding what compelled you in the moment, you felt yourself drawn towards Theo, the world around you fading into a blur. You leaned in, the distance between you closing in a heartbeat. The night air seemed to hold its breath as you moved, your focus entirely on Theo's face, his smirk fading into a look of surprise.

Your lips met his with a gentle urgency, capturing the soft, teasing smile that had been playing on his mouth like it was nothing. The cigarette fell from his fingers, forgotten as his hands moved to cup your face, the coolness of his skin contrasting with the warmth of your own.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the soft flutter of his eyelashes at the apples of your cheeks.

When the two of you finally broke apart, breathless and wide-eyed, the night air seemed to rush back in, filling the space between you. Your heart raced, your mind reeling from what you had just done. You searched Theo's eyes for a reaction, finding a mix of surprise and something that looked remarkably like admiration.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence stretching out, filled with unasked questions and unspoken answers. Theo's smirk returned, softer this time, as he ran a thumb over your cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair.

"Well, that was unexpected."

You nodded, your own lips curving into a shy smile. "I don't know what came over me," admitting, your voice barely held the tone of a whisper.

Theo's gaze softened, his fingers lingering on your soft lips. "I'm glad you did it," he said quietly, the words hanging in the air between you.

Tonight had changed everything, and you couldn't wait to see where this path would lead. After all, the consequences of your actions didn't disappoint and you would be a fool to let the aftermath of it go.

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creature-wizard · 5 months ago

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Scams, Hoaxes, Conspiracy Theories, & Cults Everyone Should Know About

Jilly Juice: Jillian Mai Thi Epperly claimed drinking sixteen cups of her super salty cabbage concoction each day could regrow missing limbs and cure everything from cancer to homosexuality. In reality, overdosing on so much salt caused followers a host of health issues that Epperley dismissed as "healing symptoms."

Nonhuman Body Hoax: Jaime Maussan attempted to pass off mummified human remains as nonhuman beings to the Mexican government. (This isn't even Maussan's first hoax, by the way. He has a history.)

Love Has Won: Amy Carlson, a woman who'd walked out on her own children, started a New Age cult in which she presented herself as "Mother God," the creator of the universe. She claimed to be in contact with dead celebrities and alien beings, and taught a conspiratorial worldview. As her health declined, she attempted to treat herself with colloidal silver and alcohol, and her behavior became increasingly abusive. When she finally died, her followers sincerely believed she would return to life and kept her body in a sleeping bag. (She did not return to life.)

Seed Faith Offerings: Reverend Gene Ewing came up with the perfect get-rich-quick scheme to prey on desperate Christian believers: tell believers that if they "sowed seed" by giving money to him, God would bless them with even more money in the future. He made millions of dollars from these donations, while most of his followers never saw the miraculous returns they were promised.

William Walker Atkinson: In the early 20th century, William Walker Atkinson wrote around one hundred books, many of which he wrote under various pseudonyms. Some of these pseudonyms included alleged Hindu mystics. That's right - this guy was practicing literary brownface to sell his mystical ideas.

The LDS Church: In the 19th century, a man named Joseph Smith claimed that an angel had told him where to dig up a set of golden plates that were supposedly written by ancient Hebrews who'd come to North America. Smith even had eleven close associates who vouched for the plates' existence. Yet the script they were allegedly written in bore no relation to actual ancient scripts of the Near East, and the the names the locations in the books he "translated" were very obviously derived from placenames he would have been familiar with. (For example, Oneida/Onidah.) Oh, and actual archaeology and DNA studies have discredited pretty much everything from this guy's weird racist narrative.

Fake Cancer, Fake Cure: Wellness entrepreneur Belle Gibson claimed that she'd cured her brain cancer with natural remedies. Gibson never actually had cancer in the first place.

Medbeds: Back in 2020, QAnons and QAnon-adjacent people started circulating claims that a new form of healing technology was about to become available to the public within the next several months or so. Depending on who you asked, Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and even the Galactic Federation of Light were involved. The time of their supposed unveiling came and went, and what do you know, there are still no functioning medbeds used in actual medicine.

COVID Vaccine Zombies: Conspiracy theorists have been claiming the government practices high-tech mind control for ages now. One recent iteration of this is a conspiracy theory claiming that people who'd received COVID vaccinations would have malicious DNA code activated by 5G on October 4, 2023, turn into zombies, and riot. The time came and went, and no zombie outbreak happened.

Ms.Scribe: In the early 2000s, a Harry Potter fan known as "msscribe" or "Ms.Scribe" faked her own harassment through a number of sockpuppets, with the apparent goal of becoming friends with some Harry Potter fandom bigwigs. She manipulated the fandom for a few years until the deception was finally uncovered.

#scams #hoaxes #cults #conspiracy theories #pseudoscience #quackery #history

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natalieriess · 3 months ago

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Sara and I are auctioning off 4 iconic original Warriors: The Prophecies Begin Vol 1 inked pages for charity!

We've never sold originals online before, but are excited to get these pages out of our closet for some good causes. Check out Sara's thread here on Bluesky (or here on twitter) for more information and updates!

FAQ and links to listings under the cut:

"Fire Alone" Prophecy (Page 4)

ThunderClan Camp (Page 26)

ThunderClan Life (Page 65)

Fireheart and Graystripe (Page 260)

FAQ:

“I want to buy one, but I missed out on the auction/want a different page!”

Situation permitting, we will be selling more of these later down the line. We want them out of our closet and into paws that will appreciate them! Further sales will not be auctions and will be priced in the $100-300 range depending on complexity. We’re thinking ko-fi but haven’t settled on a storefront yet.

“Will you be doing more auctions for different charities?”

I would like to, but let’s see how this one goes first!

“I don’t see a page I really want-- will you be selling X page?”

Once we start selling more originals, you’re free to ask us to list a specific page, but we can’t promise it.

“Pages look a little different than they do in the printed book– what’s up with that?”

The lineart gets edited a bit once they’re scanned before color. You (might) get to own versions of these drawings no one else has ever seen before!

“What are the blue marks on the page?”

Sara uses a blue pencil to transfer rough drawings to the bristol board for inks, which are edited out for the final page.

“Do these come pre-framed/matted?”

No, but they will be bagged.

“When is the auction running from?”

Monday, November 11, 2024 - Monday, November 18th, 2024

“Do you ship internationally?”

Yes! The buyer will have to pay for the shipping, same as domestic.

“Will you ever be selling originals from other books (Dungeon Critters, Bawk-Ness Monster, Dibbit and Boo 2, etc.)?”

Let us know if you’re interested in these, actually! We still have most of the original pages for EVERYTHING Sara’s inked in the past several years, and would love them to go to good homes.

#warriors graphic novel

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 5 months ago

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Is it possible that the ttou books will have another printing?

You can currently still get them through normal retailers, but if you mean the cheaper ones through ko-fi, then yes. I limited sales for this first run to iron out any bugs (I've not done this before and I'd rather the teething problems affect as few people as possible); once people from this run get their books safe and sound I'll sell some more. Probably in 2-3 weeks, depending on how fast the printers and mail system are.

The ebooks, which don't require postage, are up permanently on the site at below retail price. For people who like ebooks.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month ago

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Writing Notes: Book Cover

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover!” We’ve all heard the phrase and we all know that’s impossible. Because the cover of a book is the first thing a potential reader sees—it should stop them in their tracks. It’s a very powerful marketing tool; having a well-designed book cover is crucial.

Tips for Making a Great Book Cover Design

Using more than two to three typefaces on a cover is discouraged, as it can look really messy.

Keep things simple. Your cover will be in a sea of other covers so try to keep your design from getting muddy and make sure it stands out.

Show your designs to people who have a design eye and/or you trust. It’s great to get feedback.

If you hire a professional designer, write a brief and send them info. Be really clear on what you want. Designers usually do a certain number of design rounds included in the agreed upon fee and any extra rounds of design will be extra.

If you hire a professional designer, they will likely have ideas about printing and may have connections to printers. They are a resource so don’t forget to ask questions.

Don’t forget: a book cover is an important part of selling any book. Whether you decide to do it yourself or collaborate with a professional, pay special attention to this part of the process, as a great cover goes a long way.

6-Step Guide: Professional Book Cover

STEP ONE Generate Ideas. Look around at book covers you like. Go to a bookshop and peruse what’s currently happening in book cover design. Take notes of what elements you like on the cover image. A certain typeface? Color? Do you prefer an image or an illustration or something purely typographic on the cover? Another option is to create a mood board. You can use a platform like Pinterest or Evernote, or create a folder on your desktop, and pull book cover inspiration from the web. While you’re gathering inspiration, keep in mind what genre your book is and what kind of book design feels appropriate.

STEP TWO Find a Designer (Who Could Be You!). Do you have design skills? If so, your next step is to begin layouts and mock-ups of the covers. You should use whatever software program you are comfortable with. Most professional book cover designers use a program from the Adobe Creative Suite:

InDesign. InDesign is a multi-page design platform but can also be used for single page design.

Photoshop. Used to manipulate and experiment with photography.

Illustrator. Illustrator is a vector-based program, which means you can create graphic art that can be scaled up or down without loss of quality.

Photoshop and Illustrator. These can also be used together as you can bring your Photoshop file into Illustrator to set the type after you have worked with your cover image.

If you don’t have design skills, now is a great time to hire a book cover designer. The first step is to figure out what kind of budget you have for this. A designer’s fee will range depending on their expertise. Get a figure in mind and then write a design brief which should include the book specs:

Size

Print-run

Intended audience

Where and how the book will be published

Anticipated publish date

You should also include a summary of what the book is about and what you are looking for in a cover. Also share the inspiration you’ve gathered with the designer.

If you don’t have design skills but want to create the cover without the help of a professional, there are a few software programs you can use, such as Canva or 100 Covers, design tools that allow you to DIY the cover (for free or a fee).

STEP THREE Decide on the Dimensions. If you’re self-publishing and printing with a local printer you can work with them to make sure your book dimensions will fit on their printer (remember a book prints front, back, and spine in one sheet of paper). It’s also a good idea to find examples of books whose size you like and feels good to hold. Use that as a jumping off point for your book.

Book Cover Dimensions List. If you are printing for a specific market, from print to ebook, here is a handy list:

Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing File Format: JPEG or TIFF Cover Size (Recommended): 2560x1600 pixels Cover Size Requirements: between 1000x625 pixels and 10,000x10,000 pixels (one side must be at least 1000)

Apple iBooks File Format: JPEG or PNG Cover Size (Recommended): 1400x1873 or 1600x2400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: at least 1400 pixels wide

Barnes & Noble File Format: JPEG or PNG Cover Size (Recommended): Rectangle height and width, at least 1400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: Min. 750 pixels height and width

Kobo Books File Format: JPEG or PNG Cover Size (Recommended): 1600x2400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: Min. 1400 pixels width

Smashwords File Format: JPEG or PNG Cover Size (Recommended): 1600x2400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: Min. 1400 pixels width Draft2Digital

File Format: JPEG Cover Size (Recommended): 1600x2400 pixels Cover Size Requirements: Tall rectangle

STEP FOUR Choose Your Style

Photo-based cover. If you’re creating an photo-based book cover, you’ll need to source stock imagery. There are lots of great resources online to find stock imagery including ShutterStock, Getty Images, and Adobe Stock. (Keep in mind: most photography archives require payment to use their images. Always investigate the copyright of images you’re interested in using.) Look for images that convey or allude to your book’s genre. You can use programs like Photoshop to manipulate your image, making it black and white instead of color or cropping it in a certain way.

Illustration-based cover. If you’re considering a more graphic approach to your cover, Illustrator is the tool to use. You can bring hand-drawn drawings into it and outline them to create scale-able, high-res illustrations which you can manipulate within the program. You can also create shapes, patterns, experiment with typography within illustrator and play with color, transparency, size and much more.

Typography-based cover. Finally, many successful book covers use typography as the main graphic device. This takes some skill and knowledge of typefaces, the historical context of a typeface, and how to manipulate it thoughtfully. That said, using type as a graphic can be very impactful.

STEP FIVE Pick a Typeface (Font). No matter what kind of cover you are designing, you are going to need the title of the book and the author’s name on the cover. As mentioned above, picking an appropriate typeface is very important. You want to pick something that feels right for your book—is it a sans serif or serif? A heavy weight or lighter weight? You want to make sure it’s not something with a lot of baggage, like Comic Sans or Papyrus. It is a good idea to actually do a little research on when, where, and who your typeface was designed by to give you context and feel out if it will be right for your book. You might also consider using up to two different typefaces, one for the title and one for your name. A serif and sans-serif mix can give a bit of contrast and visual interest. There are some typefaces that pair really well together. Check out the website TypeWolf to get ideas of what fonts pair well together.

STEP SIX Test, Tweak, and Repeat. Once you have a few versions of your cover, print them out on your home printer and take a look with a critical eye. Does the type size feel chunky? Too bold? Too small? How does your image look? Is it cropped right? Are the lines of your illustrations too thin and not showing up? Go back and refine your design and then repeat! Don’t forget to look at your book cover as a small thumbnail as well. People are on their mobile phones and you want to make sure your cover still stands out and is impactful.

Book Cover - serves as your first impression with potential readers—and though book covers don’t always look the same, they do tend to contain the same essential elements.

Design standards may be different in the world of traditional publishing than they are in self publishing, and book cover templates for physical paper books may differ from those of ebooks—but they all serve the same purpose.

Some Functions of a Book Cover

A book’s cover provides essential information. At its most elemental, a good cover includes a book’s title, the author’s name, the publisher, and the price.

A good cover offers clues about your book’s content and tone. Your cover design indicates whether your book is a work of high-minded literary fiction, a pulpy page turner, or a compelling work of non-fiction.

A front cover reveals a book’s genre. You can usually tell if you’re holding a thriller, a memoir, a sci-fi epic, or a nineteenth century classic just by looking at a book’s cover art and typography.

A back cover offers broader context. It may feature quotes from reviewers and fellow authors. Softcover books may contain a plot summary or author biography on the back; those summaries and bios are typically moved to the inner flaps of a hardcover book.

How to Hire a Professional Book Cover Designer

Book covers are marketing materials, and a well-designed professional cover can make your book stand out among the competition. If you want someone with expertise in the realm of cover design to work on your book, you may want to hire a professional book cover designer. Here are some steps to consider when hiring creatives to design your book cover:

Hire a cover artist. A cover artist produces the cover art and imagery that will appear on your book cover, either on their own or with heavy input from an author or publisher.

Hire a graphic designer. Certain graphic designers specialize in layout; they incorporate cover art that you provide them—whether that’s an original illustration, photograph, or even a stock image—into the overall design of the cover.

Find a cover designer online. Reedsy is one of a number of online resources for independent authors, self-publishers, and anyone connected to the world of books. Many professional book designers list their services on Reedsy.

Use your personal network. Seek out writers’ groups, either locally or on Facebook. In these groups, people share professional referrals and help support one another when a member has a new book in the works. A group of like-minded individuals can be an invaluable resource when creating your own book cover for the first time.

When to Call a Pro:

You have a budget (a designer’s fee will vary depending on experience and location).

You have enough time to work with the designer.

You have a clear idea of what you want or at least what you don’t want.

You don’t have any design skills.

You don’t want to invest in the design software.

Your book isn’t selling.

How to Design a Book Cover Yourself

If you don’t have the budget for a pro designer or just have a DIY itch you want to scratch, it is easier than ever to design your own book cover. While it may not be quite as rudimentary as when you covered your textbooks in a brown paper bag back in fifth grade, modern technology has made cover image design accessible to anyone with a computer. Here are some tips:

Use a template. There are numerous websites that offer book cover templates and step-by-step tutorials covering basic cover design skills. Some even have a free book cover creator tool, along with cover ideas, design tips, pre-made design templates, and digital cover image tools.

Use standard design software. Book covers can also be made using standard home computing software including Photoshop, Microsoft Word, and even (with a little sweat equity) Google Docs. This is particularly easy if you are importing a pre-made cover image from another source.

Make a prototype. The process for assembling a book is straightforward and satisfying. If you want to test out how your book will appear in print, you can learn to bind a copy yourself.

When to DIY:

You don’t have any budget for design.

You have design skills to do it yourself.

You have the design software.

You have a template and know exactly what you want.

You have people with an eye for design that can guide you.

How to Make a Hardcover Book

So you’re ready to bind your own book. Here’s what you’ll need:

Content, of course.

Uncoated printer paper for book pages

Decorative paper for endpapers, such as wrapping paper or cardstock

Davey board (aka bookbinder’s board), thin chipboard, or cardboard for the book covers

Craft knife

Polyvinyl acetate (PVA) glue such as Elmer’s glue

Hot glue gun and glue sticks

Ruler or straight edge

A long stapler

Thin fabric or book cloth for cover

Binder clips

Thick decorative paper (optional, for dust jacket)

Paper trimmer (optional, for trimming book pages)

Paintbrush (optional, for spreading glue)

There’s more than one way to bind a book, and you’ll find tons of great tutorials online for making homemade books, including Japanese bookbinding and perfect bound softcover books. The most popular style of hardcover book binding is called case binding, which is traditionally done by stitching pages together with thread. Here is how to make a hardcover book step-by-step—no sewing or special materials required:

Assemble the content. The number of pages and the type of paper you work with depends on whether you’re binding a novel, a full-color photo book, or a sketchbook. Familiarize yourself with the format by taking some hardcover books down from your bookshelf and observing how they were made.

Format your pages. If you’re creating a blank book, you can skip this step. If you’re printing a book with text, you'll need to format the text so that you can print it into a book. You can get help with this at a copy shop, or you can download book design software and print at home. Eventually, you’ll end up with a PDF with a page count. This page count has to be divisible by four so that your book can be bound as folios made up of eight sheets of paper (32 pages) each. You may need to add some blank pages at the end of the book to keep your page count correct for the folios.

Print and fold. Once all of your pages are printed, fold pages in half and stack eight within each other, making sure the pages are in the correct order. Staple the folios together in the folds, alternating the location of the staples so that you don’t end up with a bulge in the spine.

Bind your folios together. Arrange all of the folios in the correct order and flatten them between heavy books. Once your folios are flat, it’s time to glue them together. Hold the folios together with binder clips and use a glue gun to glue the folios together along the stapled edge. This will become your book’s spine. Be careful not to overdo it on the glue: Use just enough to keep the folios together. Before the glue cools, use a thin piece of fabric to cover the spine only.

Even out the pages. Carefully trim the edges of the pages with a paper trimmer or craft knife, if needed.

Make the hardcovers. Cut two pieces of cardboard for the front and back covers of your book. For the spine, cut a piece of cardboard that is the same height as the front and back covers, with a width equal to the thickness of the spine plus the front and back covers.

Attach the hardcovers. Paint the cardboard (both covers and the spine piece) with a thin layer of PVA glue and attach to the cloth you’ll use to cover your book, leaving a space between the covers and the spine equal to one and a half times the thickness of the cardboard. Let dry.

Assemble the book. Use PVA glue to attach the fabric-lined spine of your bound folios to the cardboard spine. Keep the book propped up between other books while you wait for it to dry.

Attach the endpapers. Trim the paper lining so that it’s twice the size of the first page and fold it in half. Paint glue onto the inside of the front cover and the front page, and attach paper lining. Repeat with the back cover.

Make the dust jacket. If you’d like to cover your book with a dust jacket, measure a piece of thick decorative paper as tall as your book and as wide as the entire book, plus a few extra inches to fold over the edge of the cover. Fold the dust jacket over the bound book. Lay another heavy book on top of it to help the dust jacket keep its shape. This is the place to add a cover design, if you’d like.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#books #book cover #writing tips #writeblr #booklr #literature #writers on tumblr #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #bookblr #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writing advice #on writing #light academia #writing resources

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fuji-sen · 5 months ago

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the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 2: Sweet Flowers

[ part 1 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 3 ]

divider is made by @saradika-graphics

Walking around you'd slowly realize you were in Mondstadt, based from the bundle of regional specialties you held in your arms. The orange makeshift bouquet of windwheel asters spun around like a regular pinwheel. Seeing that sight brought a small smile on your face, your walk around Mondstadt was peaceful, you hadn't run into unnecessary troubles so maybe your worries were for nothing.

Yeah, nvm — [Name]

You felt your stomach grumble, famished you were. But the city seemed to be nearing in the distance. Perhaps you can wait till then, but then you remember how broke you were and sighed, staring at the orange flowers in your arms. You wonder if you can sell it.

Money was definitely going to be an issue, as well as acquiring a roof over your head. Depending on the timeline, the only place left, may already be booked by the Fatui Delegates.

Food could be remedied by foraging sunsettias and wild crops.

"Oh a waypoint!" excitedly you run up to the red, unactivated waypoint and quickly you did the first thing that came to mind, slapping it with your hand.

The monument gave a hum of life before it turned blue and activated. "So that works at least" you hummed, inspecting it curiously. Up close and in real life, you could see the intricate design chiseled into the material.

Crouching down you wondered, could you use a waypoint? could you use one to go back home. . ?

"Well if I don't get to go back home, at least I don't have any more student debt" you chuckled hopelessly as you rubbed the water that pricked your eyes.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

By the time you arrived at Mondstadt, the sun was almost setting. The skies were starting to get painted with an orange and pink hue.

Perhaps you shouldn't have gotten distracted or drowned in your sentiments and emotions. .

You sniffed, hugging yourself at the cold unforgiving winds while the windwheel asters and sweet flowers (a new addition to your wildflower bouquet) were luckily still fresh despite the trials they had gone through with your short travel to the city.

The sweet flowers had a sweet fragrance, once that made you crave for some sweet snacks. You debated on whether you can eat the flower raw, it looked more like a daisy too. . you decided against it. It would be far more wiser to use it for cooking or sell it for money.

The gates to the city was weirdly enough unguarded, so you stood by it awkwardly wondering when the guards would come. Would it be okay to enter without informing the knights? After waiting a couple of minutes, you decided to walk inside the city, time was running out, it would be getting dark soon and if you couldn't afford a place by selling these asters, you decided to at least buy some essentials. A polearm maybe or a coat, and maybe join the adventurers guild and see if there are any freebies or a free uniform you could get, cause your pajamas and fluffy Cinnamoroll designed slippers aren't going to cut it with the outdoor lifestyle you'd no doubt put them through.

You frown as you stared down on your cinnamoroll slippers. . it was no longer a pristine white due to the mud you had stepped into. .

Walking into the city of Mondstadt you found the city strangely. . void of life. You wonder if the prologue had yet to start and Stormterror or rather Dvalin was bothering the region.

Morale would mean a whole time low, and probably meant that prices on essentials would have risen, or maybe hopefully they were giving donations and relief goods.

"Hello," A voice greeted you and you turned to the woman or rather doll that operated the desk of the adventurer's guild "Would you like to join the Adventurer's guild?"

The smile on the puppet's face sent shivers down your spine but you pushed those feelings aside as you nodded politely. "Alright then, would you please present me with your information," she handed you a clipboard and pen "And I'll get the standard uniform for you." and then the receptionist left for a moment.

You blinked, wasn't she going to ask you for your size? or did Katheryne came with special eyes that could measure a person's body to decide the perfect clothes?

You began writing some information down. Your name, your age and your birthday but you left your address and place of origin empty since you couldn't just put in [country] and [city name] could you??

Turning to look behind you, you met eyes with a couple of residents of the city, and politely you waved at them as a greeting. . only for them to gape at you and run away from your gaze.

Okay. . rude much? was it because you were an outlander or a foreigner??

"Here you go. Everything seems to be in order." You snap back to the desk to find the receptionist had returned and had long since taken the clipboard and was reading through your information. 'When did she—?'

Katheryne then placed a set of uniform and fortunately, boots, right in front of you and you sighed in relief. "Thank you" and just as your finger grazed the fabric the clothes disappeared in a warm yellow light.

“. . .”

“can I uh. . get another set of the uniform. ." your voice cracked in shame. But before you could say anything more—

"Halt! Who dares to trespass into the City!" She flinched, turning to the approaching Guards, the knights of Favonius based on their uniforms, they stared at you wide eyes and mouth agape "What the—"

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

For whatever reason you ended up in Jean's office, tied down and on the floor. The windwheel asters were left on the streets, possibly wilting, alone. . the sweet flowers were trampled when they were trying to restrain her. It's sweet scent long gone, replaced with something bitter.

Jean wasn't here, oh wait no, she was coming in. You could hear muffled voices from the door, strange, when had your hearing been this good?

"do they really have the face of our divine?" that was Jean right? "well we won't know if we don't enter and see for ourselves" that suggestive yet sweet and soft voice was definitely Lisa's.

Were they talking about you?

What the hell did they mean by 'face of their divine?'

for some reason it was like a cold bucket of water was poured onto you, it was cold and terrifying and you started to shiver.

The door opened and Jean and Lisa did enter, as you craned your neck to look behind you, past the door you could see groups of knights who looked at each other with emotions you could vaguely pinpoint, horrified, worried, anger. .

"My my, you really do have the face of our esteemed creator." Lisa, the ever beautiful librarian grabbed you by the chin, making you look at her as she studied your face with scrutinizing Green eyes. Your breath hitched.

"What do you think?"

"I don't sense anything special from them, maybe they truly are an imposter."

You gaped at the terms that were hurled at you, imposter?? nothing special?? okay those were unnecessary!

Jean and Lisa conversed with each other, as your brows furrowed at the growing uncertainty in your stomach. Something was wrong, when were the Steadfast Jean and the carefree Lisa this. . cold and heartless.

"Where are Kaeya and the others?" Jean asked. "They are still visiting the temples with the traveller. I left after finishing the temple I was assigned to." Lisa informed the blond who nodded at the information.

The acting grandmaster hummed "I suppose we should deal with the imposter before they return."

The sound of a blade being unsheathed made you pale, the color disappearing from your skin as you watched Jean approached you, sword in hand without hesitation. .

Was she really going to kill you?

"Wait— wait a second? Why the hell are you going to kill me? What did I even do? Sure I entered the city carelessly but that was because your knights were slacking—hic!"

You could feel cold metal on the skin around your neck, sweat started to gather as you froze under Jean's stare.

"You committed the most grave blasphemy, heresy against the most divine creator! To imitate her beloved's face is a crime punishable by death."

You backtracked "What did you mean by creator! Also also how is being born with my face a crime?! do you hear how stupid that shit sounds?! You're a knight isn't there a due process?!"

Before she could reply the windows rattled and rattled, the winds were strong, the sun had long set and it was dark yet you could see the dust and objects flying about dangerous due to the storm. .

Storm terror was here.

Quickly you stood up, gaining Jean's and Lisa's attention once more as you quickly ran towards the window, knocking Jean to the ground and grabbing her sword due to your pettiness. You stopped for a moment to cut the restraints off your wrists with the sword.

"Why don't you settle down" Lisa said with a sickening sweet voice as powerful electro manifested in her hands and—

you screamed.

For now the earlier chapters will be titled with ingredients rather than food or recipe names.

#fuji-sen works #fuji sen everything #sagau #genshin impact #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x you #reader insert #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact x you #genshin impact lisa #genshin impact jean #mondstadt #katheryne #adventurer's guild #genshin impact katheryne

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technically-a-kiwi · 5 months ago

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The cosmic cast in color ! ✨

Finaly ! They're all here !

First we have

Peppino Spaghetti THE CHEF

From his pizza oven, he cooks and gives shape to all the multiverse, a very unstable being, destoying things aroud him on a MASSIVE scale when angered. Even if his work is worthy of a god, he claims he's nothing more then a little pizza chef making simple pizzas.

The Noise THE HOST

(yes, I didn't do another art for cosmic Noise c'cause he doesn't need one FOR HE WAS PERFECT FROM DAY ONE ! and because I'm... tired 😵)

If you see a mysterious program playing on your TV, one that you've never seen before, it might be because of this gremlin ! TV host and little chaos bringer, this being of pure mischef will make you wish you were never born as soon as you interact with him. Better pray he get's disinterested from you 'cause once your his target, he will NEVER give you a break, unless he decides to cut his program for a smoke...

Noisette THE MESSENGER

What appears to be a shooting star up high in the sky has a very little chance to actually be this being, from her magic umbrella she travels around the multiverse to briefly open a little café and sell her cosmic pastries. The reason she’s referred as the messenger is because she’s the one who serves as a messenger when cosmic entities don’t want to talk to each other.

The constellations CHILDREN OF THE STARS

Libra, Orion, Cassiopea, Cancer and Gemini, those are the five constellations names, they sometimes visit universes but are not allowed to go alone. They enjoy learning about new places and conceps, even scary ones .

Pepperman THE ARTIST

In a far away dimension, this entity paints and sculps the many art pieces you can find in his galery. He's the master of his atelier, sometimes allowing his students to work on tiny parts of his work. After completing a collection, he sets off to some universes and opens his museum. Are you curious enough to witness those otherworldly works of art ?

The Vigilante VIGIL OF REALITY

When the laws of physics are broken, he'll be there and make those outlaws pay the price... he also is a little farmer who lives in the middle of nowhere, growing cropes and other veggies, he's quite a nice guy.

The Ticket stand ...

in the darkest of corners of an abandoned street, your might meet with this entity. You can buy a ticket, what happens after that solely depends on you.

Pizzahead THE WANDERER ( feat. Pizzaface [design made by @chaotichyperfixations])

A very jolly and silly entity, wandering across the multiverse sharing his performences to whoever wants to see, alongside him is a conscious universe, who wants to get to the rank of cosmic entity, he's not the friendliest of companions but seeing his attemps fall flate is very funny.

Mr Stick THE BANKER

A very nasty entity, he sees high value in money, specificaly money that isn't his. He goes to people in instable economical state, writting their names in his book and claims he has the ability as a cosmic entity to fix their problems, only this is a trick to slowly get every dollar out of their pocket. He sees himself as the boss of every cosmic entity, only nobody ever gave him that title or the respect that comes with it.

Here's how they look like withous the light:

I forgot the sparkles for almost all of them... Maybe I should have given a little more time into this...

#pizza tower #cosmic au #peppino spaghetti #the noise #noisette #toppings #pepperman #the vigilante #fake peppino #pizzahead #pizzaface #mr stick

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vaampiired · 6 days ago

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No Time To Die

One Piece!Various x F!Gojo!Reader - 3,300 words

Synopsis: In a world dominated by warring marines and pirates, a young girl, you, is born with extraordinary abilities causing the power balance of the world to tip and for unlikely friends to be made.

I have this book posted on another site and much longer, this is only the first chapter. Book is linked at the end. Please don’t steal!! ^^

From the moment you were born, everything was handed to you on a silver platter. Your food, your homework, even your powers. Yes, it’s no secret that you were born with immense strength. Constantly being showered in praise about how you were the honored one.

The only known bearer of Six eyed Haki, also known as Limitless Haki. On the same par, if not above Divine Haki. Limitless Haki allows the user to manipulate and distort space, along with various other abilities including ‘infinity’. The ability to slow down anything entering a certain radius of you. Essentially stopping anything from touching you at all.

You we’re told you were untouchable. The Honored One. And you hadn’t even reached your teen years yet. You truly were a miracle to the world..

Maybe this would be a dream come true for some, not for you. You were isolated, unpunished, and miserable. Every day was honing your powers, studying, and manners. Though, they couldn’t exactly stop you when you wanted to go out. The first time you ever ventured outside the walls of your mansion was when you were ten years old.

“[Name]-Sama!” One of your attendants called as you walked through the gates. “You must’ve leave, I beg of you! You-“

A sharp glare from you was all it took to make her shut up. Everyone in the estate respected you.. or would fear be a better word? After all, such a powerful ability was currently in the hands of a child. A child who hated her life.

“Try and stop me.” You challenged, your gaze unwavering. A chill ran down her spine, she felt as if you could see into the very depths of her soul. In her mind, anyone could crumble under your glare.

She reluctantly backed off. You knew she would. No one in this house ever challenged you. That’s what made it so boring, everything was just given to you. You’d never felt a sense of accomplishment because your grades were what was expected and you never truly earned anything on your own. You were sick of it.

”..Please be back soon, [Name]-Sama.. your studies are important-“

“I’ll be back tonight. Don’t come looking for me.”

You turned around and continued walking out of the gate, completely disregarding her words. No one in town seemed to even know who you were.. people kept walking on by, going about their daily lives. Children your age were playing around, chasing each other and laughing. Small shops were set up on the street selling various items from food to souvenirs to clothes.

To you, everything was dark. All you picked up on was everyone’s Haki signature, no matter how small. Everyone had Haki, just very little and unable to use. Courtesy of the Six eyed Haki.

You turned away from the sight of happy families going about their lives. Children being free to be children with only the weight of what candy they would like resting on their shoulders. Something deep within you yearned for that same life. The life of a normal kid. But, life is far from fair. Dealing you a joker card that could be seen as a blessing or a curse depending on who you asked.

You stood at the edge of town, looking down at the harbor below. Merchant ships were docked at every point they could be with men loading and offloading cargo.

The sounds of idle chatter filled your ears and the smell of salt invaded your nose. The cool breeze blowing off the ocean pushed your hair around. It felt freeing. You looked out over the ocean, as far as your eyes could see. For once, it wasn’t all dark. The view actually was bright and lively, refreshing.

“[Name]-Sama. Please pay attention.” Your mentor gently chided. Practically begging for you to give his lesson an ounce of your care.

”This is boring.” You grumbled with a small scowl. Despite how you felt about everything, you knew you had to do it. It was your responsibility. The world was thrown out of balance the moment you were born and it was up to you to keep it in check..

So, begrudgingly, you stayed put and payed attention to the lesson. Everything he taught was about how Haki worked. Obviously, he couldn’t teach about your own Haki since only you possessed it. There were no textbooks to aid him in teaching about your Haki. He could only do his best in teaching the basics and hope you were clever enough to figure the rest out on your own.. much to his dismay.

“That’s excellent, [Name]-Sama!” Another mentor of yours clapped as you displayed your abilities in physical training.

”No one could possibly stand up to you!” She continued clapping and drowning you in compliments.

You stared her down. Your six eyes in full effect as you analyzed the small changes in her. The temperature in her face changed slightly, signaling a changing emotion. You Tsk’d. She hated you. That little change was detest. Scorn. Still, you didn’t say a word, going back to your training.

What she personally thought of you didn’t matter.

“[Name]-Sama.. please, you must eat dinner.” An attendant urged you. You simply scowled at the unappetizing meal on your plate.

It was no secret you were a very picky eater, all the chefs and attendants knew this. Despite that, they continued trying to convince you to eat things you didn’t find appetizing. Sure, this may not be a big deal in the big picture, but what 10 year old wants to eat ratatouille and caviar?

You pushed the plate away from you and stood up, leaving. No one tried to stop you. No one said a word as you exited the room with a displeased look plastered on your face..

You took a deep breath of the salty air. Seagulls called from above as they flew around the ships, stealing scraps of food from unsuspecting workers.

You made your way down the stairs that led to the harbor. Each step was a slightly different height, it didn’t surprise you much since it was carved in stone. You reached the docks and looked up in awe of the massive ships. The view from your previous position didn’t do Justice to just how massive the boats were. Why is this the first time you’ve ever seen this..?

You looked down as you sensed something approach. A black cat. It walked between your legs and rubbed on you with a small purr. You kneeled down and pet it, causing the small animal to purr louder. After a minute of this, the cat wandered off, it just came and went. How weird, were all cats like that?

You watched as the cat walked up a ramp into one of the ships and disappeared. Having nothing else you wanted to check out, you followed the cat up the ramp and into the ship. It wandered up to the main deck and jumped up on some cargo, you followed in its footsteps. It felt weird for you to not have to be proper.. but good at the same time.

It meowed and jumped up on top of the cabin, you jumped up after it. It was a game! You had to catch the cat. Eventually, the cat took off running, prompting you to do the same. It jumped off the railing and back into the dock and continuing to run. You followed close behind, jumping off the railing and landing on the dock before giving chase to the small feline.

The cat jumped onto a box a man was carrying, causing him to lose balance for a moment. Then you also used the box as a stepping stone and the poor man fell over.

“Stupid kids—“ He growled as he hit the ground, glaring at your back.

The cat was running all the way to the end of the harbor with no intentions of stopping. Believe it or not, this was your first experience with a cat. Within your family’s estate there were no pets. The most you saw were birds and squirrels. You silently chased after the cat as it reached the end of the dock. It stopped and rubbed on your legs again as if it was fully aware you weren’t going to hurt it.

It walks between your legs and hops onto a small boat.. what an odd design. The actual hull, if you could call it that, resembled a black coffin. It had a single mast that looked like a massive sword with black sails attached.

The cat sat down on the chair right in the center of the boat and curled up. Something about this ship said not to touch it. So obviously, you touched it. Hopping onto the boat to pet the cat as it slept.

Your attention was drawn when you picked up on the strongest Haki you’d ever felt coming up behind you. Whoever was approaching made it very clear that they were on another level. Sure, you had Haki that no one else in the world had but you were still just a kid. Anyone with more experience would obviously have an advantage and at the moment… the gap in skill was obvious, even to you who was raised being told she was the strongest.

You whipped your head around to pinpoint where the Haki was coming from and zoned in on a man. Sharp golden eyes sharp as a blade, a long black coat, and a large sword on his back much like the mast on this boat. What were the chances that this was his boat? The closer he got the more that probably solidified. Who was this man?

He stopped on the dock next to his boat, looking from you to the cat you were petting. You felt.. small.. under his gaze. Like you weren’t anything more than an insect to him. That wasn’t something you were used to. For a moment that seemed to drag on for ages he didn’t say a word.

”Child, what are you doing?” He broke the silence with a simple question.

”..Petting a cat.” You pushed down your nervousness to answer as you stepped out of the boat. Shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“I left for the day.” You kicked a rock. It wasn’t a lie, and you didn’t wanna say you ran away because you would be going back.

”And you decided to follow a cat on a strangers boat?” He asked with an ever so slight undertone of judgment.

You nodded. Your pride prevented you from apologizing to him for jumping on his boat just to pet a cat. You never tore your eyes away from his as you spoke, trying to look unfazed by his presence. You had yet to learn who he was, so..

”Who are you?”

He took a moment to answer. Looking down at this odd little girl who looked like she held the universe in her eyes. An odd sense of kinship with the small little being in front of him arose. Why? He doesn’t quite know himself. But he knows you’re not an ordinary child.

”Dracule Mihawk.” He paused. “You?”

”[Name] [Lastname].”

[Lastname].. he’s heard that somewhere before. Between the hushed whispers of marines and fearful talk among pirates. The name most assumed was nothing more than an old wives tale made up to scare people. He couldn’t resist asking.

”Does the phrase ‘Six Eyes’ mean anything to you?”

Your brow creased by a hair and that was all he needed. The rumors were true, the legend and the mystery. The [Lastname] clan wasn’t just some old tale from the grand line, they were real. And it seemed you were a daughter of it. Fascinating.

“Why do you want to know?” You asked a bit defensively. Admittedly, you had little to no experience with people outside of those within your estate, so a situation like this was foreign territory for you.

“Your surname has quite a reputation.” He stated as he sat down on the chair the cat formerly sat on. It had ran off when he arrived. “I’m actually quite curious about the six eyes, would you care to indulge me?”

You found yourself wanting to talk about your ability. Wanting for some form of validation from him. Why though?? You get plenty of praise from the attendants and mentors at home. The reason why was because he was strong. You could tell from the moment you sensed him that he was on a whole other level. No one back home was strong in your eyes. This craving to be acknowledged by someone stronger than yourself grew and grew, causing you to eventually take a seat in front of him and start telling of what the six eyes are.

He listened intently as you explained how it worked. So much power at such a young age. No wonder your family was legendary. His face remained stoic throughout your explanation with subtle changes every now and then when you told him something particularly interesting.

“And that’s how the six eyes work.” You finish, excitedly waiting for what his reply would be. Was he impressed? Did he think you were cool? Why were you all of a sudden so desperate… maybe the lack of parental figures played a part..

“Enthralling. You can do so much with Haki at such a young age. How old are you, child?”

”Ten!” You answered immediately.

Ten years old.. was he even near that level at that age? He couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that the child in front of him was extraordinary.

”And how have you learned to use these abilities?” He assumed you must have a very skilled teacher in order to develop this much.

“I have a few mentors. They just taught me the basics, that’s all.”

That genuinely shocked the man, though he didn’t show it. This much power and only having been taught the basics? You were truly a gifted child. Something in him was inclined to… help..? To train you. To make you even better than you were. An out of place emotion for the older man.

So, he took you under his wing.

Over the next few days he stayed docked on your island to train you. Your attendants noticed they you often disappeared before sunrise and came back after sunset. Your new training was much more exhilarating. More on your level! You’d already long since mastered the basics and to finally be trained by someone you viewed as strong was the best training you could ask for.

Just in those few short days, your power increased. You could keep infinity up for longer, your stamina increased, and your power output more than doubled. All because your mentor had real experience and talent. What a difference that made. He’d even gotten you a pair of darkened sunglasses when you complained about your eyes making your head hurt. Admittedly, it helped.

You’d learned that Mihawk was something called a Warlord, meaning he had to leave soon. He never stayed in one place for too long. Your makeshift training camp was coming to a close and strangely, you didn’t want it to end. You’d finally met someone you could actually learn from. On your end, the farewell was sad. It was sad on his end too only he kept his stoic facade up.

He patted your head as he boarded his ship during the early morning hours.

”Keep growing, [Name]. I’ve no doubts you’ll become even stronger. Impress me.” He encouraged as he pushed his boat away from the dock. With your pride on the line, you tried so hard not to be emotional. To be strong like he taught you to be. It’s strange how affected you’d become after only a few days. Were your daddy issues that bad??

After a few minutes of watching his ship get smaller and smaller, you broke.

”Please, stay safe!” You yelled at the top of your lungs.

He was too far for even your six eyes to see his face clearly, but he smiled. You’d grown on him quite a lot over the past through days, and he silently prayed for your safety as well.

His ship got smaller and smaller, until you could no longer sense his presence on the horizon. You stood there for a long while after he departed, staring at where the sky meets the sea. That became your motivation. To grow even stronger and surpass him, then to meet again and show him how much you’ve grown.

You couldn’t wait for that day to come. For the day you could finally say with certainty that you’re the strongest.

Years past, you trained harder and harder. Your mentors finally let you venture beyond the island, namely, to the marine headquarters. Such a powerful woman should obviously be working on the side of good!

The higher ups in the marines always had their eyes on the [Lastname] clan. Only the children directly descended from the main branch of it could inherit the Six Eyed Haki. They wanted to make you an admiral.. after proper navy training of course. Sengoku himself expressed his desire to be on good terms with you. You were treated as an adult despite only being 17.

Unbeknownst to them, you had no desire to become an admiral or a marine at all. Mihawk was never an admiral. Speaking of, you obviously asked about the man when you met Sengoku. Along with the little lie that you were just curious about the strongest swordsman in the world and nothing more. You still had your sunglasses gifted by Mihawk. An item precious to you now, serving as a reminder of your goal.

“I do hope you’ll give due consideration to our proposal.” Sengoku remarked as you walked side by side down the halls of the Marineford building.

“I will. After all, with just the admirals you have now it must be hard keeping pirates in check.” You smirked. Oh, and did you mention you’d gotten a heck of a lot more cocky?

Sengoku had to bite back a scowl. Cocky brat.

“You can.. put it that way.” He gritted. With great power comes great arrogance. And you were a perfect example of that fact.

”I hope you enjoyed your time here. As I said, please consider our offer carefully.” He offered his hand to shake to which you begrudgingly took.

”Yeah, sure.” You promptly pulled your hand away and shoved it into your pocket. “Cya.”

Exiting the building and heading down to the ship your clan owned with a small scowl on your face, you thought about how you would even go about your plan. You couldn’t exactly continue to get stronger while staying on your island all by your lonesome.. and your attendants but they weren’t important.

You walked up the ramp and stepped onto the main deck of the ship, turning and heading to your cabin. Ignoring the various workers looking your way as you shut the door.

The ship rocked slowly as it departed from the dock and back out into The Tarai Current. You were temporarily granted special permission to use this current despite not being a navy vessel due to your, Ahem, power status. And because there was really no other way to reach Marineford.

You plopped down on your couch next to the window and looked out it absentmindedly. Your mind going back to formulating a plan on how to get stronger. You didn’t want to join the marines, that was too boring. And you didn’t exactly care for the thought of being ordered around all the time..

As your eyes drifted across the horizon you spotted something that made a light go off in your head. A pirate ship. You smirked. What about a pirate? What was his name? Gold Roger? The stories made him out to be crazy strong. And all the Warlords were pirates hired by the government. And so, your plan was made. You were gonna be a pirate.

—

Link to Story

#one piece #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #☆ ~ vaampiired stories

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neil-gaiman · 2 years ago

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Hello Neil, I have a question that I never have gotten a satisfactory answer to from anyone that is book sphere related.

In a lot of older books, and some newer ones, one of the first pages will have a little warning that says "If you purchased this book without a front cover it may be stolen. Please contact (phone number, email, or mailing address depending on age of the book) if you believe this may be the case."

Most people I asked did not know why but one librarian told me it was for special editions of books that had been stolen or something like that, which was still weird to me because if it is printed on every book how will you know? and also a lot of books lose their cover page when they are loved because it is the part that is opened the most, even more than any of the pages, so it has always seemed like a very good way to get a lot of false positives and not find very many stolen books.

do you know why this was and in some books still is done?

You'll find it in paperback books, not hardbacks. It's because it isn't financially viable for a publisher to have a bookshop post back unsold copies of books, so a publisher would require a bookshop to tear the covers off unsold paperbacks and post back the covers for credit. The publisher trusted that the bookshop would throw away or otherwise dispose of the coverless books, and put the bit in the front of the book to warn people not to buy a book without a cover, and to let bookshops know that selling the coverless books (they had already been given credit for) cheaply was risky.

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nofomogirl · 9 months ago

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We need to talk about body snatching

I'm not a massive fan of the 1827 minisode - if you're curious why it bothers me, I've explained it in my post about two GO canons - but there's no denying it does an amazing job at exploring the complexity of morality and moral choices. It starts with a very black-and-white two-dimensional image and gradually adds shading and perspective, making it harder and harder to judge as we go along.

I think it's worth digging into (pun not intended but I'll take it).

Layer 1: body snatching bad

We learn someone did something

It's those first few seconds where we see a person robbing a grave, and since we know that robbing graves is a crime and generally not a good thing to do, we can quickly form a tentative conclusion that this is wrong.

Okay, in this exact instance, we immediately get enough context clues to see that this kind of judgment would be oversimplistic and superficial. Only Aziraphale, who for some reason acts as if it was his first day on Earth after a thorough memory wipe, is ready to condemn Elspeth based on just that.

Nevertheless, this is the first layer - the deed itself with no context.

Layer 2: body snatching acceptable

We learn about the person who did the thing

That's the whole journey with the first dug-up body where we get to know Elspeth and become privy to her circumstances - she's desperately poor, she has another person depending on her, she robs graves to survive. Aziraphale's suggestions that she might earn her living by selling books, weaving or farming just serve to prove how inaccessible more honest and dignified professions are to her. In turn, her comment about how she's not hurting anybody who isn't already dead hints that from the realistically available options, Elspeth could have chosen something much worse.

Technically this layer is a significant step up from layer 1 but it still isn't really challenging. Things are spelt out really loud for us, and most importantly everything we learn about Elspeth is just attenuating circumstances. To top it off both she and Wee Morag are immediately endearing. The takeaway is that sometimes things that in theory are bad can be excused which is important but the verdict still comes without any second thoughts.

Layer 3: body snatching complicated

We learn the larger context around the thing

This mostly happens when Aziraphale and Crowley discuss body snatching with Mr Dalrymple. We learn that the stolen corpses are used for a medical study that can advance human knowledge and make it possible to save living people and that surgeons have no legal means to obtain enough of them for their research - hence their need to buy them from body snatchers.

At first glance it's just more of what we got in layer 2 - more agruments in favour of body snatching that aren't all that nuanced and don't really give us any pause - just from a larger perspective, beyond Elspeth's individual experience. But if you glance more than once you'll notice this is when things stop being straightforward and easy to judge.

The moment we enter a proper grey area is when Aziraphale asks why Mr Dalrymple doesn't acquire the bodies himself. This is a very valid question - while we might easily agree that studying the human body to further medical knowledge is a good thing, and with just the slightest hesitation admit that it's acceptable to resort to using stolen bodies if that is the only way the research may continue, it's not as easy to excuse taking advantage of the poor and the desperate to do the actual stealing that we know is very dangerous.

The moment we know without a doubt we are in a proper grey area is when Mr Dalrymple laughs at Aziraphale's concern.

Objectively, the surgeon is right that it's more effective if he doesn't risk his own life in the graveyard and uses his time on actual research, teaching students and saving lives. But it's also clear he doesn't exactly see people like Elspeth as actual human beings and feels he has every right to use them. On the one hand, he is paying, on the other, he happily benefits from the cruel class system and is not even one bit remorseful about it. On the one hand, he takes risks too, on the other he has a chance of rewards Elspeth will not benefit from. It's not the poorest whose lives will get bettered by the progress of medicine, even though they're the ones who pay with their lives for that progress. And if Mr Dalrymple gets lucky and is knighted for his work (we know he wasn't in the end but it was a possibility), the poor still won't be pardoned for stealing for him. Nevertheless, he has no issue with that.

As I said, things get nuanced.

Layer 4: it's different when it's someone you know

The thing actually happens in your life

I think you'll all agree that the turning point of the minisode is when Elspeth decides to sell Wee Morag's still warm body. This is what finally leaves us speechless.

That's because up until now we've been approaching the issue intellectually. It's not that we didn't care about the characters, but we were allowed to keep a safe distance. The whole thing was like a problem to be solved - "Is body snatching right or wrong? Discuss in 500-1000 words" - and everything we've learned so far was data for this assignment. I believe that one of the reasons why this detachment came naturally was that there was a very thick line between people involved in body snatching and the bodies that were being snatched. The former were, well, people, obviously. The latter were inanimate objects.

It isn't until Wee Morag is to be sold that we are forced to see a person in a dead body. This is also when real emotions enter the equation.

This shift forces us to question our judgment for the first time. It was easy to justify Elspeth when she was selling a nameless corpse. But the fact that she decided to sell her closest companion - and most likely lover - shocks us. Something inside us strongly objects to how quickly she makes the decision.

And then there's the transaction, and it is also different when it's someone we know. The fact that we knew Wee Morag fully exposes Mr Dalrymple for the heartless jerk that he is. The way he treats Elspeth is the absolute worst and if you haven't realized he was a hypocrite earlier, you should be disillusioned by now.

But at least Elspeth is not a hypocrite, right? It may seem cold that she sold Wee Morag but it just proves she simply believed it's all right to sell a dead body, doesn't it?

Well, about that...

Layer 5: it's different when it's you

You are forced to face the thing happening to you

This layer is reached when Elspeth plans her suicide and asks Aziraphale and Crowley to bury her "somewhere where no ghouls will ever dig her back up again".

It turns out Elspeth McKinnon really was a filthy liar.

Not long ago she was insisting that body snatching doesn't hurt anyone who isn't already dead, and asking why she should let Wee Morag rot in the ground when she starves. But she wants to make sure it doesn't happen to her own body. The idea that someone might dig her up terrifies her and she calls people who do it ghouls. So why was digging up other people okay again? Why should she rot in the ground while other people suffer? There were other people living in the street where she and Wee Morag hid. Why not ask Aziraphale to give the money to them? Or just anybody in need? Why not ask to sell her body as well and use the earnings the same way?

Also, if you look at it from a certain perspective, Elspeth betrayed Wee Morag in the worst possible way. Wee Morag believed that if someone's body gets cut, that person's soul cannot enter Heaven. Yet Elspeth sold her to Mr Dalrymple, claiming that Wee Morag would have wanted her to have the means to survive. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Wee Morag would have made that sacrifice. But then Elspeth decided to kill herself and use the money she got for Wee Morag's body for her own funeral.

But does it make Elspeth wicked? Certainly not. She's simply torn by grief. I seriously doubt she's been planning to commit suicide when she was taking Wee Morag to Mr Dalrymple. She might have genuinely tried to carry on but the reality of what happened caught up to her. Mr Dalrymple's cruel words certainly didn't help her cope with a personal tragedy. I even suspect one of the reasons she sold her friend was that she had no idea what else to do with a dead body.

Does this excuse her actions? Kind of, but not really.

Elspeth was a tragic character, not an innocent lamb with a heart of gold.

The point is - can any of us really judge her?

Which, coincidentally, is a question that the original Good Omens book toyed with quite a lot.

If you've reached this far, thank you for reading!

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #season 2 episode 3 #the ressurectionists #elspeth #wee morag #body snatching

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

Pluralistic: Leaving Twitter had no effect on NPR's traffic

I'm coming to Minneapolis! This Sunday (Oct 15): Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Monday (Oct 16): Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

Enshittification is the process by which a platform lures in and then captures end users (stage one), who serve as bait for business customers, who are also captured (stage two), whereupon the platform rug-pulls both groups and allocates all the value they generate and exchange to itself (stage three):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Enshittification isn't merely a form of rent-seeking – it is a uniquely digital phenomenon, because it relies on the inherent flexibility of digital systems. There are lots of intermediaries that want to extract surpluses from customers and suppliers – everyone from grocers to oil companies – but these can't be reconfigured in an eyeblink the that that purely digital services can.

A sleazy boss can hide their wage-theft with a bunch of confusing deductions to your paycheck. But when your boss is an app, it can engage in algorithmic wage discrimination, where your pay declines minutely every time you accept a job, but if you start to decline jobs, the app can raise the offer:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

I call this process "twiddling": tech platforms are equipped with a million knobs on their back-ends, and platform operators can endlessly twiddle those knobs, altering the business logic from moment to moment, turning the system into an endlessly shifting quagmire where neither users nor business customers can ever be sure whether they're getting a fair deal:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Social media platforms are compulsive twiddlers. They use endless variation to lure in – and then lock in – publishers, with the goal of converting these standalone businesses into commodity suppliers who are dependent on the platform, who can then be charged rent to reach the users who asked to hear from them.

Facebook designed this playbook. First, it lured in end-users by promising them a good deal: "Unlike Myspace, which spies on you from asshole to appetite, Facebook is a privacy-respecting site that will never, ever spy on you. Simply sign up, tell us everyone who matters to you, and we'll populate a feed with everything they post for public consumption":

https://lawcat.berkeley.edu/record/1128876

The users came, and locked themselves in: when people gather in social spaces, they inadvertently take one another hostage. You joined Facebook because you liked the people who were there, then others joined because they liked you. Facebook can now make life worse for all of you without losing your business. You might hate Facebook, but you like each other, and the collective action problem of deciding when and whether to go, and where you should go next, is so difficult to overcome, that you all stay in a place that's getting progressively worse.

Once its users were locked in, Facebook turned to advertisers and said, "Remember when we told these rubes we'd never spy on them? It was a lie. We spy on them with every hour that God sends, and we'll sell you access to that data in the form of dirt-cheap targeted ads."

Then Facebook went to the publishers and said, "Remember when we told these suckers that we'd only show them the things they asked to see? Total lie. Post short excerpts from your content and links back to your websites and we'll nonconsensually cram them into the eyeballs of people who never asked to see them. It's a free, high-value traffic funnel for your own site, bringing monetizable users right to your door."

Now, Facebook had to find a way to lock in those publishers. To do this, it had to twiddle. By tiny increments, Facebook deprioritized publishers' content, forcing them to make their excerpts grew progressively longer. As with gig workers, the digital flexibility of Facebook gave it lots of leeway here. Some publishers sensed the excerpts they were being asked to post were a substitute for visiting their sites – and not an enticement – and drew down their posting to Facebook.

When that happened, Facebook could twiddle in the publisher's favor, giving them broader distribution for shorter excerpts, then, once the publisher returned to the platform, Facebook drew down their traffic unless they started posting longer pieces. Twiddling lets platforms play users and business-customers like a fish on a line, giving them slack when they fight, then reeling them in when they tire.

Once Facebook converted a publisher to a commodity supplier to the platform, it reeled the publishers in. First, it deprioritized publishers' posts when they had links back to the publisher's site (under the pretext of policing "clickbait" and "malicious links"). Then, it stopped showing publishers' content to their own subscribers, extorting them to pay to "boost" their posts in order to reach people who had explicitly asked to hear from them.

For users, this meant that their feeds were increasingly populated with payola-boosted content from advertisers and pay-to-play publishers who paid Facebook's Danegeld to reach them. A user will only spend so much time on Facebook, and every post that Facebook feeds that user from someone they want to hear from is a missed opportunity to show them a post from someone who'll pay to reach them.

Here, too, twiddling lets Facebook fine-tune its approach. If a user starts to wean themself off Facebook, the algorithm (TM) can put more content the user has asked to see in the feed. When the user's participation returns to higher levels, Facebook can draw down the share of desirable content again, replacing it with monetizable content. This is done minutely, behind the scenes, automatically, and quickly. In any shell game, the quickness of the hand deceives the eye.

This is the final stage of enshittification: withdrawing surpluses from end-users and business customers, leaving behind the minimum homeopathic quantum of value for each needed to keep them locked to the platform, generating value that can be extracted and diverted to platform shareholders.

But this is a brittle equilibrium to maintain. The difference between "God, I hate this place but I just can't leave it" and "Holy shit, this sucks, I'm outta here" is razor-thin. All it takes is one privacy scandal, one livestreamed mass-shooting, one whistleblower dump, and people bolt for the exits. This kicks off a death-spiral: as users and business customers leave, the platform's shareholders demand that they squeeze the remaining population harder to make up for the loss.

One reason this gambit worked so well is that it was a long con. Platform operators and their investors have been willing to throw away billions convincing end-users and business customers to lock themselves in until it was time for the pig-butchering to begin. They financed expensive forays into additional features and complementary products meant to increase user lock-in, raising the switching costs for users who were tempted to leave.

For example, Facebook's product manager for its "photos" product wrote to Mark Zuckerberg to lay out a strategy of enticing users into uploading valuable family photos to the platform in order to "make switching costs very high for users," who would have to throw away their precious memories as the price for leaving Facebook:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

The platforms' patience paid off. Their slow ratchets operated so subtly that we barely noticed the squeeze, and when we did, they relaxed the pressure until we were lulled back into complacency. Long cons require a lot of prefrontal cortex, the executive function to exercise patience and restraint.

Which brings me to Elon Musk, a man who seems to have been born without a prefrontal cortex, who has repeatedly and publicly demonstrated that he lacks any restraint, patience or planning. Elon Musk's prefrontal cortical deficit resulted in his being forced to buy Twitter, and his every action since has betrayed an even graver inability to stop tripping over his own dick.

Where Zuckerberg played enshittification as a long game, Musk is bent on speedrunning it. He doesn't slice his users up with a subtle scalpel, he hacks away at them with a hatchet.

Musk inaugurated his reign by nonconsensually flipping every user to an algorithmic feed which was crammed with ads and posts from "verified" users whose blue ticks verified solely that they had $8 ($11 for iOS users). Where Facebook deployed substantial effort to enticing users who tired of eyeball-cramming feed decay by temporarily improving their feeds, Musk's Twitter actually overrode users' choice to switch back to a chronological feed by repeatedly flipping them back to more monetizable, algorithmic feeds.

Then came the squeeze on publishers. Musk's Twitter rolled out a bewildering array of "verification" ticks, each priced higher than the last, and publishers who refused to pay found their subscribers taken hostage, with Twitter downranking or shadowbanning their content unless they paid.

(Musk also squeezed advertisers, keeping the same high prices but reducing the quality of the offer by killing programs that kept advertisers' content from being published along Holocaust denial and open calls for genocide.)

Today, Musk continues to squeeze advertisers, publishers and users, and his hamfisted enticements to make up for these depredations are spectacularly bad, and even illegal, like offering advertisers a new kind of ad that isn't associated with any Twitter account, can't be blocked, and is not labeled as an ad:

https://www.wired.com/story/xs-sneaky-new-ads-might-be-illegal/

Of course, Musk has a compulsive bullshitter's contempt for the press, so he has far fewer enticements for them to stay. Quite the reverse: first, Musk removed headlines from link previews, rendering posts by publishers that went to their own sites into stock-art enigmas that generated no traffic:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/oct/05/x-twitter-strips-headlines-new-links-why-elon-musk

Then he jumped straight to the end-stage of enshittification by announcing that he would shadowban any newsmedia posts with links to sites other than Twitter, "because there is less time spent if people click away." Publishers were advised to "post content in long form on this platform":

https://mamot.fr/@pluralistic/111183068362793821

Where a canny enshittifier would have gestured at a gaslighting explanation ("we're shadowbanning posts with links because they might be malicious"), Musk busts out the motto of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal, pray I don't alter it any further."

All this has the effect of highlighting just how little residual value there is on the platform for publishers, and tempts them to bolt for the exits. Six months ago, NPR lost all patience with Musk's shenanigans, and quit the service. Half a year later, they've revealed how low the switching cost for a major news outlet that leaves Twitter really are: NPR's traffic, post-Twitter, has declined by less than a single percentage point:

https://niemanreports.org/articles/npr-twitter-musk/

NPR's Twitter accounts had 8.7 million followers, but even six months ago, Musk's enshittification speedrun had drawn down NPR's ability to reach those users to a negligible level. The 8.7 million number was an illusion, a shell game Musk played on publishers like NPR in a bid to get them to buy a five-figure iridium checkmark or even a six-figure titanium one.

On Twitter, the true number of followers you have is effectively zero – not because Twitter users haven't explicitly instructed the service to show them your posts, but because every post in their feeds that they want to see is a post that no one can be charged to show them.

I've experienced this myself. Three and a half years ago, I left Boing Boing and started pluralistic.net, my cross-platform, open access, surveillance-free, daily newsletter and blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

Boing Boing had the good fortune to have attracted a sizable audience before the advent of siloed platforms, and a large portion of that audience came to the site directly, rather than following us on social media. I knew that, starting a new platform from scratch, I wouldn't have that luxury. My audience would come from social media, and it would be up to me to convert readers into people who followed me on platforms I controlled – where neither they nor I could be held to ransom.

I embraced a strategy called POSSE: Post Own Site, Syndicate Everywhere. With POSSE, the permalink and native habitat for your material is a site you control (in my case, a WordPress blog with all the telemetry, logging and surveillance disabled). Then you repost that content to other platforms – mostly social media – with links back to your own site:

https://indieweb.org/POSSE

There are a lot of automated tools to help you with this, but the platforms have gone to great lengths to break or neuter them. Musk's attack on Twitter's legendarily flexible and powerful API killed every automation tool that might help with this. I was lucky enough to have a reader – Loren Kohnfelder – who coded me some python scripts that automate much of the process, but POSSE remains a very labor-intensive and error-prone methodology:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/13/two-decades/#hfbd

And of all the feeds I produce – email, RSS, Discourse, Medium, Tumblr, Mastodon – none is as labor-intensive as Twitter's. It is an unforgiving medium to begin with, and Musk's drawdown of engineering support has made it wildly unreliable. Many's the time I've set up 20+ posts in a thread, only to have the browser tab reload itself and wipe out all my work.

But I stuck with Twitter, because I have a half-million followers, and to the extent that I reach them there, I can hope that they will follow the permalinks to Pluralistic proper and switch over to RSS, or email, or a daily visit to the blog.

But with each day, the case for using Twitter grows weaker. I get ten times as many replies and reposts on Mastodon, though my Mastodon follower count is a tenth the size of my (increasingly hypothetical) Twitter audience.

All this raises the question of what can or should be done about Twitter. One possible regulatory response would be to impose an "End-To-End" rule on the service, requiring that Twitter deliver posts from willing senders to willing receivers without interfering in them. End-To-end is the bedrock of the internet (one of its incarnations is Net Neutrality) and it's a proven counterenshittificatory force:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-need-end-end-web

Despite what you may have heard, "freedom of reach" is freedom of speech: when a platform interposes itself between willing speakers and their willing audiences, it arrogates to itself the power to control what we're allowed to say and who is allowed to hear us:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

We have a wide variety of tools to make a rule like this stick. For one thing, Musk's Twitter has violated innumerable laws and consent decrees in the US, Canada and the EU, which creates a space for regulators to impose "conduct remedies" on the company.

But there's also existing regulatory authorities, like the FTC's Section Five powers, which enable the agency to act against companies that engage in "unfair and deceptive" acts. When Twitter asks you who you want to hear from, then refuses to deliver their posts to you unless they pay a bribe, that's both "unfair and deceptive":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

But that's only a stopgap. The problem with Twitter isn't that this important service is run by the wrong mercurial, mediocre billionaire: it's that hundreds of millions of people are at the mercy of any foolish corporate leader. While there's a short-term case for improving the platforms, our long-term strategy should be evacuating them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/18/urban-wildlife-interface/#combustible-walled-gardens

To make that a reality, we could also impose a "Right To Exit" on the platforms. This would be an interoperability rule that would require Twitter to adopt Mastodon's approach to server-hopping: click a link to export the list of everyone who follows you on one server, click another link to upload that file to another server, and all your followers and followees are relocated to your new digs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/23/semipermeable-membranes/#free-as-in-puppies

A Twitter with the Right To Exit would exert a powerful discipline even on the stunted self-regulatory centers of Elon Musk's brain. If he banned a reporter for publishing truthful coverage that cast him in a bad light, that reporter would have the legal right to move to another platform, and continue to reach the people who follow them on Twitter. Publishers aghast at having the headlines removed from their Twitter posts could go somewhere less slipshod and still reach the people who want to hear from them on Twitter.

And both Right To Exit and End-To-End satisfy the two prime tests for sound internet regulation: first, they are easy to administer. If you want to know whether Musk is permitting harassment on his platform, you have to agree on a definition of harassment, determine whether a given act meets that definition, and then investigate whether Twitter took reasonable steps to prevent it.

By contrast, administering End-To-End merely requires that you post something and see if your followers receive it. Administering Right To Exit is as simple as saying, "OK, Twitter, I know you say you gave Cory his follower and followee file, but he says he never got it. Just send him another copy, and this time, CC the regulator so we can verify that it arrived."

Beyond administration, there's the cost of compliance. Requiring Twitter to police its users' conduct also requires it to hire an army of moderators – something that Elon Musk might be able to afford, but community-supported, small federated servers couldn't. A tech regulation can easily become a barrier to entry, blocking better competitors who might replace the company whose conduct spurred the regulation in the first place.

End-to-End does not present this kind of barrier. The default state for a social media platform is to deliver posts from accounts to their followers. Interfering with End-To-End costs more than delivering the messages users want to have. Likewise, a Right To Exit is a solved problem, built into the open Mastodon protocol, itself built atop the open ActivityPub standard.

It's not just Twitter. Every platform is consuming itself in an orgy of enshittification. This is the Great Enshittening, a moment of universal, end-stage platform decay. As the platforms burn, calls to address the fires grow louder and harder for policymakers to resist. But not all solutions to platform decay are created equal. Some solutions will perversely enshrine the dominance of platforms, help make them both too big to fail and too big to jail.

Musk has flagrantly violated so many rules, laws and consent decrees that he has accidentally turned Twitter into the perfect starting point for a program of platform reform and platform evacuation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/14/freedom-of-reach/#ex

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

Image: JD Lasica (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Elon_Musk_%283018710552%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #twitter #posse #elon musk #x #social media #graceful failure modes #end-to-end principle #administratable remedies #good regulation #ads #privacy #benevolent dictatorships #freedom of reach #journalism #enshittification #switching costs

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