#interesting find of the week

[popculturelib]

Do you prefer your books horizontal or vertical?

Armed Services Editions (ASEs) were softcover paperbacks distributed to American soldiers during World War II. After campaigns to collect donated books for soldiers fell through -- in part due to books' large size and hardback covers -- the Council on Books in Wartime (CBW) developed a plan to print pocket-sized softcovers of hundreds of books and deliver them to overseas soldiers.

Many ASEs were printed on presses normally used for magazines, which were too large for soldiers' pockets, so publishers printed two copies per magazine page and cut them in half, resulting in the horizontal format. Seen here are two paperback copies of Rafael Sabatini's Captain Blood (printed in 1945 and 1940, respectively) for comparison.

The books chosen for ASEs were a wide range of subjects and genres, including fiction and non-fiction, and were hugely popular among soldiers -- many authors received large quantities of fan mail from soldiers who credit them with keeping up morale during the war. The success of ASEs encouraged publishers to print more softcover books after the end of the war, leading to the mass-market paperback industry still seen today.

For more information about Armed Services Editions, or these specific editions of Captain Blood, check out the books below:

Books In Action: The Armed Services Editions (1984) ed. by John Y. Cole

When Books Went to War: The Stories that Helped Us Win World War II (2014) by Molly Guptill Manning

Captain Blood: His Odyssey (1940), published by Pocket Books

Captain Blood (1945), published by Editions for the Armed Services

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The squad of all time has arrived on scene.

[novelconcepts]

Obviously next week could prove this all dead-wrong, but I don’t think the trial’s quite over. I don’t believe the end of that episode actually took place, because I’m pretty sure we’re still firmly in the “punish Agatha” phase. Rio’s suddenly gone. Alice seems to be dead by Agatha’s hand, and no one—including Teen, who has always been on her side—seems primed to believe she was out of control. The others have been sucked beneath the power of the surrogate son who not only just told Agatha to fuck off, but went full-Wanda to do it. It just all seems too tailored to cut up any of the character progress Agatha’s made on the Road thus far. Getting harassed by her ghost mother and hearing her son’s voice don’t feel like a complete tear-down. This does. It feels like more trial.

[almondcroissantsandink]

im on the highway to the danger zone

[yandere-daydreams]

apologies to all of you who know me personally and congratulations to all of you who do not. i am quickly spiraling back into degrees of lewdity hell and i fear this time it may be terminal.

[worstloki]

AU where Loki doesn’t interfere with Thor’s banishment at all and it takes Thor years to prove himself worthy and when he returns to Asgard everything is just. The same. Nothing seems to have changed at all and everyone greets him like his absence was a minor obstacle that didn’t fundamentally change Thor and the worst part is Loki stepped down from the place as regent without any delay and Thor can’t help but feel there’s something underlaying the way his brother looks at him now and won’t let him touch him and Thor doesn’t know what he could have missed because he doesn’t think he would have found anything wrong with the things around him and how everyone behaves if he hadn’t spent time on Earth reflecting.

[steveharrington]

listening to students tell me “yeah i can’t figure this out i’m just a girl 🤣” listening to my coworkers tell me “honestly i just can’t wait to become a stay at home girlfriend so i never have to work again!!” looking at my online feeds which have all become like pictures of cigarettes with a pink bow on them captioned “girlhood” i’m ACTUALLY going to start freaking the fuck out

[dont-offend-the-bees]

If the Shoe Fits, Then I Won’t Try It On

Omg I made it! Threw this one together today, so might not be my best! But thanks to my pal @every-moment-a-different-sound making these gorgeous gifs for my fic Outside Looking In, and also @wordsinhaled writing this lovely little fic inspired by it, I felt compelled to pop back in and give the disguise altar egos a little love! So this one is set pre-canon, about seven years into the boys' friendship/detective agency, and it's the first outing of the disguises (in their very early and imperfect forms! I like to think Charles has been experimenting over the years and the ones we've seen in show are just like, the latest versions!). It can really only be called case fic by the barest technicality but it's the best I got xD There's some nebulous Edwin gender-feelings, I'll leave it up to your personal preferences/interpretation whether it's a bit of transfem/nonbinary/genderqueer joy or just a boy's formative experience with drag, this baby can fit so much gender!! And references to fictionalised alcohol abuse, gambling and infidelity, but it's all just banter and tall tales, really. 2k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Perhaps we ought to rethink this strategy," Edwin muttered, fussing with his skirts.

"Relax, it'll be fine," said Charles. "No one's gonna suspect anything."

"They may suspect something," said Edwin. His voice sounded different, but the tone was one Charles had heard a thousand times before — pessimistic and haughty. Edwin seemed to pick up extra helpings of poshness when he was rattled. "They needn’t ascertain the exact nature of our ruse to know we're playing one."

"What? You think they're gonna be expecting someone to go in for fake marriage counselling?" Charles laughed.

"Stranger things have happened, Charles." Edwin spread his hand and swept it, gesturing between them and their magical disguises. "Q.E.D."

Charles looked at him blankly.

"Quod erat demonstrandum."

"Mate. They haven't taught Latin in that school for donkey's years."

Edwin made a noise of frustration — it had a bit of a high pitched, trilling quality with his fancy new vocal chords. "What I mean to say is that you and I are — figuratively speaking — living proof that real life is stranger than fiction."

"Well, yeah. But only to people who know ghosts exist," Charles reasoned. "And if this lady knew that, our client wouldn't've needed to come to us, would she? She'd've haunted the information out of her already."

Edwin exhaled, a quick, nasal huff like a bull, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His fingers bumped the chunky plastic frames of his enchanted glasses. "Pity. If she could see us, there'd be no need of these ridiculous costumes."

"I think we look brills," Charles beamed, proudly straightening out his big red rain mac. Sure, the disguises weren't perfect — he was still getting the hang of tweaking the enchantment. And yeah, he'd ballsed up his own bald spot at first, made it too big and just a little bit sort of... Australia-shaped. But all in all, he thought they looked mint! No one was gonna suspect them of anything, couple of old geezers. Who'd think they were a crack detective team?

Edwin was obviously having a harder time settling into character. He kept on faffing about with his unfamiliar layers of flowy clothing. Kept tugging on his little blue cashmere scarf, changing his mind on the drape of it — getting thrown whenever a tug of the fabric dislodged the waves of hair on his shoulders. Charles really hadn't got the hang of hair, just yet. He'd been aiming for something a bit classic and classy for Edwin, something honey-blonde and neatly coiffed. Instead he'd ended up with straw-like, brittle strands of peroxide white with... maybe just a hint of green. Charles would have to get that sorted out sharpish before they brought these disguises out again. Edwin would never let himself walk around looking less than his best if he had any say in it!

Charles turned to him, properly, grabbing Edwin's restless hands away from his scarf. "Eds. You look fine. Nice, even! Leave it."

Edwin glared at him, brow wrinkled. If Charles was being honest, the weirdest thing about seeing Edwin like this wasn't the fact that he looked blonder or older or, well. Like a woman. No, weirdest thing by far was how much thinner his eyebrows were. Charles had probably made them a bit too thin, he'd have to fix that, too. They were decent eyebrows! Visible, at least. But they were skinny and pale and neatly plucked, no little dusty dark hairs in between. Charles sort of missed them. He'd gotten used to those thick, dark brows scrunching up at him like grumpy caterpillars when Edwin was ticked off about something.

"It hardly matters if I look nice, Charles," he said, with a little belligerent flick of his hair that sent it flying. Charles probably should've made him a hairband or something — all long and loose, Edwin couldn't seem to get his hair off his mind. "But I do need to look convincing."

"You do! It's a good disguise, mate — made it special, didn't I?"

"I never said it wasn't." Edwin sighed, eyes fluttering closed a moment. Charles winced — maybe he'd overdone it a bit with the eyeshadow. There was a bit of colour-clashing going on, but hey-ho. Sort that in the next edit, too. "I am not concerned with the quality of the work, Charles."

"What is it, then?" asked Charles, dropping Edwin's hands to squeeze his shoulders instead. "What's got you all het up?"

Edwin shifted on his feet. His high heels clicked on the concrete porch. "I am merely concerned that I'm not... wearing it well," he said, a little bit through his teeth. "I don't want to compromise the entire investigation because I'm unable to act in a... befitting manner."

"Well, you're not gonna. Mate, you're doing brills." Charles smoothed down the big, floppy collar on Edwin's trenchcoat — he tried to do a Casablanca thing, but he might've gone a bit overboard — and grinned at him. "You're a natural. The way you stand all straight and that. Christ, you could've been walking in them heels for years! You're smashing it. For reals."

Edwin ducked his head, with the smallest smile. It was so Edwin that Charles could almost see the shape of him through the disguise; high, sharp bones under those rouged apple cheeks. Could almost spy that little spot on his chin. Actually, the chin wasn't a million miles off Edwin's own, with that barely noticeable little dimple in the middle. Maybe Charles had been taking some inspiration, subconsciously.

"I don't come across... peculiar?" asked Edwin.

"No. 'Course not." Charles sighed and patted his shoulders. "But look. If it's too weird for you, I can be the girl."

Edwin's brow twitched.

Alright. So maybe Charles could've worded that better. He coughed and took a step back, shoving hands in his pockets. "I mean, y'know. Bet I can manage it. How hard can it be? Probably won't be as like, chic as you, but I could give it a go."

Edwin pursed his lips, looking off to the side. He was fiddling with the rings on his fingers — maybe Charles had overdone them too, a bit.

"It... doesn't feel strange," said Edwin, quiet as a mouse. He couldn't seem to look Charles in the eyes. "It doesn't feel strange at all."

Charles smiled, all warm in the chest. Edwin had been a closed-off, buttoned-up sort of chap as long as Charles had known him — seven years and counting. Every time he offered up something of himself, Charles wanted to cup it in his hands.

"Oi," he said, gently, waiting for Edwin to look at him. "Suits you, mate."

Edwin smiled again, a barely-there twitch of his tinted lips. But he gathered himself quickly, clearing his throat and adjusting his scarf. "Well. We'd best be be getting on. We're due for our 'appointment' any minute now."

"Right."

"Shall we walk through the plan once more?"

"Go in, introduce ourselves, spin a backstory for a bit, make her think we're legit," said Charles. "Angle for a bit of one-on-one time. I keep talking, see if I can get her to slip up, drop us a hint — while you sneak off, search the office."

"Spot on," said Edwin, with a brisk nod. "According to our client, this woman writes down everything. No doubt she stores her more sensitive journals somewhere apart from the rest, somewhere discreet. Find the journals..."

"Find the body," Charles agreed, tilting his head side to side to crack his neck. "She'll have written down what she did with it for sure."

"Precisely. Right. That's the aim." Edwin steepled his fingers. "And we are...?"

"Edie and Colin Cromley," Charles replied, automatic. He should bloody well hope he knew that one — he'd had to put up with Edwin calling him Colin all night, trying to get him into character.

"Correct. And we are here because of discord in our marriage, resulting in my alcohol dependence and your extramarital affair."

Charles frowned. "Right..."

Edwin cocked his head a little. "Is there a problem?"

"You, uh. You ever actually been drunk before, mate?"

"Not as such, no," said Edwin, primly. "But, as we've quite thoroughly ascertained, I've never been a woman before, either."

Charles snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Fair point."

Edwin's manicured finger hovered over the doorbell. "Right. Are we quite ready?"

"Yeah," Charles mumbled, fidgeting on his feet. "Yeah, s'pose."

Slowly, Edwin lowered his hand. "Charles. We must be on the same page if we're to go inside and sell a convincing fiction."

"Just... feels a bit weird, is all."

"Why? You've always enjoyed undercover work in the past."

Charles shrugged. "Just... feels off. I wouldn't do that to you, y'know? Cheat, I mean. If we were married."

Edwin stared at him. "But we're... not married."

"Yeah, obviously." Charles felt all hot in the face, embarrassed. He should've just kept his big mouth shut. "Just saying, like — I wouldn't mess around on you like that. Or anyone," he added, quickly, because he was making things weird again, fuck's sake —

"Charles," said Edwin, amused. "Are you having ethical qualms about the character you're playing in this scenario?"

And alright, yeah. It sounded bloody ridiculous when you put it like that. Charles huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just — it's hard, yeah? Dunno how I'd even pretend I'd screw you around like that."

Edwin hummed, toying thoughtfully with the dangly end of his scarf. "Perhaps... I could play the unfaithful partner?"

"You want to?"

"... No. No, not particularly." He pressed his fists together. "Hm. Perhaps infidelity is the wrong narrative for Mr. and Mrs. Cromley."

"Not believable, is it?"

Edwin chuckled. "No. No, I suppose not. Hm. Back to the drawing board..."

Charles mulled it over, tugging on his earlobe. "How about... right, okay, how about, yeah, if I have a secret gambling problem?"

"That does feel more authentic — we've had plenty of words about your impulsive decision-making," Edwin teased. He nodded, eyes sharp as he formulated the new story in that big brain of his. "Very well, a gambling problem is it. You've been losing money at the races —"

"Reckon I'm more of a footie bloke. Big bets on the big games."

"You've been losing money at various sporting events," Edwin corrected, rolling his eyes. "And the extent of your debt has recently come to my attention."

"You should see how much I lost on the cricket world cup," said Charles, seriously.

"Oh, believe you me, I did. Hence, marriage counselling."

"And boozing."

"Indeed. I knew the problem needed addressing a month ago," said Edwin, fingers gesticulating as he spun his little yarn. "When I visited our local public house for a consolatory tipple and became positively sozzled on sherry."

Charles chuckled. "Sure you wanna go with sherry?"

"Is it not appropriate?"

"I mean. It's fine," said Charles, raising his hands. "Nothing wrong with it! Just doesn't sound like your usual sort of, uh, blackout drunk sort of booze. Never heard of anyone going on a sherry bender."

"Well, what would be your suggestion?" Edwin challenged.

Charles wasn't actually sure, come to think of it. What did middle-aged classy ladies drink to get sloshed? "Um... well. Me and the lads used to get pissed on White Lightning after school."

"Very well, then. I overindulged on White Lightning. Happy?"

"Aces."

"Right. Well, now that's all straightened out..." Edwin lifted his finger to the bell again. "Shall we?"

"Go for it."

Edwin rang the bell — and when he dropped his hand, Charles picked it up. Edwin looked at him, quizzical.

"What?" said Charles. "Meant to be a couple, in't we?"

"One in the throes of marital strife," said Edwin, a little smile on his lips. "I doubt we'll be expected to be affectionate."

"Right. 'Course not," Charles agreed — but he didn't let go.

Edwin chuckled, and stayed put. His hand felt small, smaller than it ever had the few times Charles had held it — usually when he was hauling Edwin out of harm's way. Small and bony, lined with soft wrinkles, dotted in sun spots. Couldn't be much further from Edwin's long, lean, smooth hands if it tried.

But it fit in Charles' hand just the same.

~~

Hope you liked it! Probs won't be one tomorrow unless I can whip up something suuuuper short/quick or I find an existing WIP to polish off, but there'll defo be fic on Sunday! Thank you so much for all your love and comments I seriously appreciate them beyond words 💛💛💛💛💛💛

[batsplat]

Casey Stoner, Pushing the Limits

GP11:

GP12:

x

[a-magical-artist]

We all know the Beast Pilgrim 人◕ ‿‿ ◕人＼

[cloudinal]

Day 1 - Fated Meeting

[popculturelib]

Interesting Find of the Week: Hobo Camp Fire Tales (1911) and Mother Delcassee of the Hobos: And Other Stories (1918) by A-No. 1

Hobos are a kind of migrant worker who travel around the country looking for work. They particularly make use of freight trains to move between cities and towns, an act known as "trainhopping" or "freighthopping." The peak hobo years in the United States were between the American Civil War and World War II, when trains were easier to board and itinerant labor more in demand.

Leon Ray Livingston (1872-1944), also known by his moniker "A-No. 1," was a hobo author who wrote around a dozen books about hobos and hobo life. As "America's Most Celebrated Tramp" -- as he called himself in the title of his first book -- A-No. 1 created an important record, albeit an embellished one, of a people and culture that was often excluded from written histories.

Here, we show the covers of the 2nd and 9th books in A-No. 1's writings on hobos, as well as the back cover and back endpaper of book 9. Note how the endpaper claims that hobo life is a "horrible existence;" towards the end of his life, A-No. 1 spoke against going on "the Road" after his negative experiences. This is perhaps why the back of Mother Delcassee features William Tyler Page's "The American Creed." Transcripts are below the read more.

If you're interested in reading more about hobos and hobo life, check out these other books in our collection:

Around the Jungle Fire I: A Collection of Original Hobo Poetry (1994) by Oats

Beggars of Life (1924) by Jim Tully

Boxcar Bertha: An Autobiography (1988) as told to Ben L. Reitman

Hard Travellin': The Hobo and His History (1967) by Kenneth Allsop

The Hobo: The Sociology of the Homeless Man: A Study Prepared for the Chicago Council of Social Agencies (1961) by Nels Anderson

Tales of an American Hobo (1989) by Charles Elmer Fox

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

Transcript to the back page of Mother Delcassee:

The American Creed "I believe in the United States of America as a government of the people, by the people, for the people; whose just powers are derived from the consent of the governed; a democracy in a republic; a sovereign nation of many sovereign states; a perfect union, one and inseparable, established upon those principles of freedom, equality, justice and humanity for which American patriots sacrificed their lives and fortunes. I therefore believe it is my duty to my country to love it, to support its constitution, to obey its laws, to respect its flag and to defend it against all enemies." -- William Tyler Page

Transcript of the endpaper of Mother Delcassee:

A List of the Books On Tramp Life Written by ->A-No 1<- The Tramp Author The First Book Life and Adventures of A-No. 1 The Second Book Hobo-Camp-Fire-Tales The Third Book The Curse of Tramp Life The Fourth Book The Trail of the Tramp The Fifth Book The Adventures of a Female Tramp The Sixth Book The Ways of the Hobo The Seventh Book The Snare of the Road The Eighth Book From Coast to Coast with Jack London The Ninth Book Mother Delcassee of the Hoboes Each title deals with a different phase of the horrible existence that is nowadays voluntarily led by more than three hundred thousand chronic hoboes, so that everybody, especially restless youths will find the contents of each volume an everlasting warning against the road. The Author has carefully avoided the least mention of anything that would be unfit reading for ladies or children. A complete set of these moral and entertaining Books should be in every home.

[introspectivememories]

"evan, i find you adorable". adorable as in able to be adored. as in capable of being adored. as in i find you worthy of adoration. adorable, from the latin adorare (to worship) to adorabilis (in the sense 'worthy of divine worship') to the current day adorable. as in maybe if we had made it to the movies or if eddie didn't show up, i could've showed you just how much i want to worship you. as in i look at you and there is a font of adoration in my heart for you. adorable as in i flew into a hurricane with you and yet this date is a thousand times more thrilling than that. adorable as in there is a person in your building who saw me jump up and down like a little kid in the lobby after i had kissed you for the first time. adorable as in i kissed you and immediately thought fuck i could do this forever if he lets me. adorable as in i want to press kisses to your birthmark. adorable as in i spent the entirety of the days leading up to our date wondering about you, if you liked your coffee with two sugars or one. if you liked storms or if the lightning strike had put you off on them all together. if you liked cats or dogs or if you were the kind of weirdo who liked goats instead. if you thought about the kiss as often as i did. if your stomach tangled into twisted knots as saturday drew closer. if you would be agreeable to sitting in my lap. if you would blush as prettily as you did the day i kissed you. if your world also realigned when our lips met. if our orbits had matched up now that we flew into a hurricane together. if the gravitational pull between us had finally been too strong for either of us to resist that night in your loft. or maybe, more simply, adorable as in, "evan, i find you adorable."

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[kangals]

thinking a lot about that one post that’s like “the most unrealistic part of House MD/medical dramas is doctors that actually give a shit about finding diagnosis for mystery ailments.”

it’s so disheartening to be able to say “hey dr I have this chronic problem that most recently caused me acute and intense pain, what should I do” and being told “idk your tests are all normal so you just have to live with it.”

cool thanks. I’ll just continue having spontaneous, debilitating joint effusion that requires me to drop everything and go to an emergency specialist. but, you know, my Lyme test came back negative, so there’s nothing else that can possibly be done.

[lithping]

hey gamers what translation you y'all recommend for the epic of Gilgamesh

AND

do you recommend reading it blind with historical context/analysis later

or context first with an informed reading

thank u 🥺