#antique moon lamp

[nereidprinc3ss]

lava lamp

in which spencer reid comforts gn!reader when you find yourself contending with a sudden bout of depression

fluff

warnings/tags: established relationship, reader has depression, task paralysis, spencer reid can't cure your depression but he sure can't make it worse

a/n: this is most definitely not inspired by the pink lava lamp in my room. it has nothing to do with that. extremely short and sweet, WC <800

The room is awash in hot pink. 

It’s interrupted only by dark shadows cutting lines across the floor and the furniture. The blinds are down over the window so moonlight can’t seep in—assuming the moon is in fact out now. You’re not actually sure. You don’t know how long you’ve been lying here like this, studying the soft glow of the lava lamp where it sits on the bedside table, watching the blobs of orange separate and conjoin and float around each other like they’re dancing in the suspending liquid. 

The sound of keys in the front door, of it scuffing against the floor as it opens and squeaking shut and the lock clicking back into place, inspire the tiniest spark of joy inside you. For a few moments you remain in solitude—listening to the sounds of the kitchen sink running as Spencer washes his hands, a glass being set down on the counter, the soft rustle of fabric on fabric as he takes his coat off. Maybe you have really excellent hearing. Maybe you’re just imagining the sounds because you’re so familiar with his post-work rituals. 

Finally the bedroom door opens, catching your legs in a triangle of yellow light, and sounds cease—Spencer is surely standing in the doorway, surely surprised to find you sprawled on the bed, staring vacantly at the lamp you’d purchased last winter from an antique shop. 

The door closes again, encasing you in an amnion of pink warmth once more. 

“Hi,” he says, quietly enough. 

You don’t respond. Not for a lack of affection. Just for a lack of energy, really. Spencer is used to you, and he doesn’t let your heavy mood stop him from moving to sit on the mattress behind you. The heat of his hand is a comforting weight as it finds your back, slowly rubbing up and down. There is always so much love in the way he touches you. 

“How’re you feeling, honey?”

A quiet moment passes in which you’re gathering the energy to speak for the first time in hours. Spencer doesn’t rush you. 

“Tired.”

More quiet. 

“What kind of tired?”

But he knows what kind of tired. 

“I tried to fold laundry,” you mumble, lacking even the gumption to move your mouth much as you speak. You tap the laundry basket with your toe where it sits on the foot of the bed. The laundry inside remains very much unfolded. 

“I can handle it.”

If you had any more vitality you’d say, you shouldn’t have to, you just got home from a full day’s work, I’ll take care of it—but the truth is, you can’t handle it and you can’t take care of anything—not even yourself. All you can do is watch orange bubbles float in radioactive pink liquid. 

“I don’t know what happened,” you whisper. A few tears take you by surprise as they roll down over the bridge of your nose, though your face remains stony. “I’ve been here for hours.”

Spencer’s hand remains steadfast on your back and you wish you could express how grateful you are for it and for him and for his gentle voice, always. 

“Maybe nothing happened. Maybe some days are just hard.”

You sniffle. The answer is unsatisfying, but so is life, sometimes. And you know he’s right. 

“Yeah.”

Time passes. A few minutes, maybe, of listening to your own ears ring, to the haunting frequency of the old building, of the upstairs neighbors walking around and snatches of music coming from cars on the streets below. 

“You know, I sometimes have days where I just want to lie down and stare at the lava lamp too. I think a lot of people feel that way.”

You turn your head just slightly and finally see him, cast in the soft lambent glow, smiling down at you in that unconscious, serene way, that is little more than a curve of his lip. Just seeing his face makes something in your chest unclench.  

“Really?”

The soft arch of his smile flickers momentarily wider. 

“Metaphorically speaking.”

He’s perfect. 

You reach over your own waist to grab his hand, and he interlocks your fingers, running his thumb over yours. 

Spencer knows it, but you tell him anyway. “I love you.”

He leans down and kisses you, so softly it’s like medicine. 

You know it, but Spencer says it back anyway, sweetly against your lips, heads pressed together. “I love you.”

And you much prefer this view to the lava lamp. 

[stardust-swan]

The Kind of Girl I Want To Be

Buys herself pink peonies and roses

Wears scents like Parfums De Marly Delina and Oriana, Miss Dior, YSL Paris, Prada Candy, Mon Guerlain and Chanel Chance Eau Tendre (she sprays it in the morning, after showers, and before going to bed)

Bakes heart shaped sugar cookies and macarons

Spends rainy days sipping rose tea from floral china while reading beautifully bound classic novels

Has a bookshelf filled with first edition poetry books, gilded editions of fairytale books, volumes of the Little Books of Fashion series, leatherbound classics, and Harlequin romance novels

Drinks peppermint tea in the morning and camomile tea at night

Sleeps on pink silk sheets and has a satin kimono robe

Plays Brigitte Bardot, classical music, and soft jazz in the background

Takes ballates or yogalates classes

Plays the violin or cello

Watches Audrey Hepburn and Anna Karina films

Adds sweet almond oil and rose bath tea to her vanilla bubble bath

Has a seasonal pass to the ballet and regularly visits the theatre, old bookshops, botanical gardens, and art galleries

Keeps things like French Girl lip tints/Glossier lip balms/Too Faced lip glosses, a hand mirror, a comb, some bonbons, a book, a rollerball of perfume, hand cream, a piece of rose quartz, a scrunchie, a nail file, spray on SPF and bubblegum in her bag at all times

Is always up to date with Fashion Week

Writes in her diary daily in swirly writing using coloured gel pens, pressing flowers between the pages and spraying perfume samples on it

Lights Yankee Candle Fresh Cut Roses or Rainbow Cookie, keeps soap and lavender in her wardrobe, and has vanilla diffusers around the house

Lives in a cosy home filled with beautiful things, like paintings by local artists, lots of cushions and throws, soft lighting from salt lamps and fairy lights, potted herbs and succulents, vintage vases filled with floral arrangements, DIY macramé and embroidery projects, a bowl of different crystals, signature Barbies on a shelf, rattan furniture, fluffy towels in white, pink, baby blue, and lavender, pink Dove or rose Roger et Gallet soap and Jurlique rose hand cream on the bathroom sink, pictures of her loved ones in antique frames, floral patterns everywhere, antique mirrors, and beautiful porcelain teasets

Goes to French cafés to enjoy a vanilla oat latte with a millefeuille or almond croissant

Always wears diamond or pearl earrings (often paired with a charm bracelet or gold heart locket)

Enjoys rosé wine, champagne, and strawberry daiquiris at lunchtime occasionally

Snacks on strawberries, sugared almonds, dried fruit and nuts, and Turkish Delight

Applies powder, rosy blush, lipgloss, and puts ribbons in her hair at her vanity table, which is decorated with a ballerina music box, vintage perfume bottles, and trinkets shaped like swans, angels and shepherdesses

Has her morning and evening routines down pat: waking up to melodic music, opening the windows, making the bed, doing gentle yoga, simple skincare, getting dressed, applying makeup, and eating a simple but delicious breakfast in the morning, and having a warm shower, doing more decadent skincare, putting on comfy cotton or satin pyjamas, journalling, enjoying a calming cup of herbal tea, reading, looking out the window at the moon, and falling asleep to relaxing sounds like ocean waves, gentle rainfall, and white noise at night. Her life runs like clockwork.

Is gentle, sweet, romantic, and full of love to give

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Heyy! Could I request Jason x Child of Nyx! Reader, i'd figure it'd be a cool thing since you know Zeus and Nyx don't really like each other that and then their children fall in love.

You don't have to do it, if you don't want to and ps. I love all of your works! <3

okay so these have been sitting in my inbox since eons ago, so I decided I was gonna set myself a minimum of 0.4k words because I figured people would rather read a lil bit of their request rather then non of it, but I just churned out 1.2k words of this and I know more then the gods do about nocturnal animals.

enjoy <3

he was raised by wolves - Jason G x child of Nyx reader/animal lover

»»————-　★　————-««

Jason dumped his teddy bear jacket on the back of the spinning chair, after he checked there were no hedgehogs eating plum offcuts on it. He’d made that mistake one too many times. There were a lot of miniscule holes in the sleeves of his jacket. 

The medical kit he was looking for was most likely in one of the crates stacked beneath the snake table. The table with the snake tanks on it, obviously. 

Your cabin was dark a lot of the time, when you weren’t there, courtesy of the kingdom of nocturnal animals lurking between books and in pillowcases, so Jason had to turn on a few of the antique lamps you’d found [on the side of the road, of course] so that other people could see.

He got to his knees, wincing at the crack he heard. 

He could also hear a faint hissing. He looked into one of the tanks, and waved at Benjamin. Benjamin was a northern desert night snake. Meaning he looked like if a leopard wearing a choker was turned into a slithery little serpent. Jason was glad you’d passed that pet leopard you used to have onto Pollux and Castor. It got fur all over his clothes.

Benjamin just stuck his tongue out at him, and Jason crawled underneath the desk, looking for the first aid kit every cabin was supposed to have.

There was a pretty high chance you had chucked it out to make room for that little collection of shrinking green frogs you had found in a river by the Hecate cabin, deep in the woods so that when they accidentally cursed bloodlines and the like, no one was in imminent danger. Lou Ellen owed her first born to three different beings, but that was irrelevant. 

He dug past a few boxes of sugar glider pellets, and found the first aid kit. 

“JASON GRACE, SON OF A BITCH, CHILD OF ROME, CONSUL OF DEMIGODS, PRAETOR OF THE FIRST LEGION!”

Jason sat straight up. A thud echoed through the low lit little cabin, and his head began to pound. He’d hit it on the bottom of the snake table. He sniffed, “I said that once.” 

He heard you trot over as he tried to extract himself, the back of his head throbbing painfully. 

“Babe, we talked about this,” you fussed, and yanked him out into the open with the force of someone who took chocolate out of coyotes mouths on the daily. “You gotta stop banging your head! You’re getting that chronic pain from it that Will told you about!”

Jason grumbled about nothing, and squinted as he looked around. Your face was just a blob. 

“You dropped your glasses babe, hear, lemme… wait, hold this,” you said, dumping your wrapped up hoodie into his arms, the one with the moon cycle phases on the back, and then crawling back underneath the snake table. “I’ve got em!”

He watched you slide them back onto his eyes, your hands actually very gentle compared to the yanking from before. He tried not to grin stupidly. The hoodie in his arms wriggled. Jason looked down, and a small spiky red face looked up at him with big shiny eyes.

“Uh…” he said.

You stood up with a huff, “I knew it, you’ve got a concussion. Now you’re slurring your speech!”

“...No, I just wasn’t expecting a fox,” Jason managed to squeak out, staring at the little animal. It was pretty cute. It reminded him of a wolf, but not the wolves he knew, more of a spindly wolf dipped in ketchup. 

You paused, the first aid kit in your hands. “You weren’t? What did you think I was doing in the forest?” 

“I don’t know,” Jason said, standing back up and moving to the squishy blanketed bed behind the humongous crystal ball and stack of telescopes. There were also a few cat playgrounds to weave around, but he managed to sink into your pile of bat shaped teddies and pillows. “Fighting monsters, near death experiences, something regular?”

You rolled your eyes, and sat cross legged on the bed, reaching for his head with those gentle hands that made him understand how you could pick up the deadliest of spiders and feralist of wolverines without even a scratch. 

Jason wasn’t even nocturnal, but he did sink into your hold. 

Then you let go to crack the unfrozen ice pack and let the chemicals take over until it would make the tips of your fingers freezing. Jason knew to expect your cold hands under his shirt, trying to freeze him out. 

He was sort of used to it, though.  

He looked around your cabin while you savagely whacked the poor icepack against one of the many thick framed mirrors lining your walls. A few bats flapped out of their hiding places in the rafters and settled back down. A baby puma hissed from its place by the umbrella stand that was actually just full of swords. 

From the outside, your cabin looked like a tiny portion of a haunted mansion plonked between the Asteria cabin and the Hestia cabin, which was really just a cozy little room for anyone. Jason pet the soft head of the fox napping in his arms. On the inside, though, it was just old lamps and chew toys and even older mirrors. And a lot of poo bags. And record players. And Jason’s hoodies.

You were already wearing his teddy bear jacket, but he didn’t argue when you pressed the ice pack to his head.

“So, what were you really lookin for in there, babe?” you asked, taking back the fox. You held your hand out, and it disappeared into a shadow. 

“Bandages.”

On the other side of the room, out of a shadow, you grabbed a ziploc bag of raspberries. You pulled it back and began feeding the little fox, red staining your cold fingertips. 

“You know you can’t beat Beth, right?” you teased, looking up for a moment with those gorgeous eyes that made Jason’s head feel a little floaty. Or maybe it was just the injury. 

You smirked, “I mean, not that it’s totally not hot when you beat the shit out of people or anything.”

Yep. Definitely just the head injury. Totally.

Jason ate a slightly squashed raspberry. “I know, but I wanted to practise. I was gonna find Will. Can’t remember how to wrap my wrists.”

You passed over the fox, who wiggled out of the hoodie and curled around a fruit bat Squishmellow with a yawn, fangs stained with red that may or may not be berries or blood. 

Jason shuffled forwards on the bed, ice pack falling from his white blonde hair. “My turn?”

“I thought you were going to get the shit beaten out of you by Annabeth?” You said with a smirk. You had that shark tooth necklace on. Jason gave you a half hearted evil eye, and you opened your arms.

He flopped into the hug, pushing you both back onto the bed. A Tasmanian devil [how? You were in America!] and a grumpy looking white tailed deer and about seven different types of bush mice stared at you. 

Jason didn’t care. He snuggled into your hug, chin on your chest. Your fingers ran through his hair.  

He was your favorite feral animal. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

I'm Your Man

banner by @/cafekitsune

Pairing: John Price x fem!oc (3rd person pov)

Word count: 3.5 K

Warnings/tags: mask and glove kink, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, p in v sex, established relationship

A/N: this skin awoke something in me. Written with only slight description of the oc, but better safe than sorry to not mark it as an x reader fic. Title based on the Leonard Cohen song.

Step by step she moves through the house, checking that each light is switched off, windows are closed and locked, doors too. It's a ritual she's used to now, one that keeps her safe. Secure. Of course she knows if someone did try to break in, some thug in a ski mask, she could easily take care of the fucker. Pressure points, weak spots, faster reflexes – she was no weak link. However, it was always better to be safe than sorry. 

In the bedroom, she peels off the restraints that bind her to society. In the safe haven of her home, in its heart, she no longer needs to keep up appearances. Stripping herself down to the woman underneath and not the elegant mask of a lady. The cool sheen of the silk robe she slips on gently grazes over her flesh. A soft rose-petal pink that makes her glow in the warm golden light of the bedside lamps that cast shadows in the room. 

There's a serene comfort to this room, one she feels more than in any other in the house. It's the place where she is most firmly protected. The confines of her bed are a kind reprieve from the stressors of the day and the madness of the world outside. The sheets are freshly washed, the comforter is thick and warm, it's an embrace she looks forward to as the moon rises higher in the night sky. 

Padding into the en suite to wash off her makeup, truly baring herself before bed, she turns on the faucet. The water runs, the constant stream blocking out the noises of the city streets below. Another step in the process as she massages the cleanser on her face, starting with her cheeks as a froth collects. The splash of water that comes next rejuvenates her tired eyes for a fleeting moment. Each drip down the contours of her face taking with it the remains of the day. Skincare, like everything else in her life, had an order. Something that gave her a sense of control in a world that often proved that was a concept that rarely ever truly existed.

The silence of the house seemed to follow her as she went about her business. A quieting blanket like the hush from fresh fallen snow. Her bedroom left exactly as it was when she returned. The curtains at the balcony doors fluttered. Thin, phantom-like sheers drifting and dancing in the breeze. Shutting the doors, locking the latch, the antique brass chilled from the night air sends a shiver through her starting with her fingertips. 

Taking a moment, she gazes at the world outside steeped in silhouette, the lights in the windows mirroring the stars in the sky. She's lost in thought. A hundred plans and expectations spinning through her mind at once. Grocery lists, dinner plans, the odd chores she needs to take care of before she has to go back to work. Her hand drifts through her hair, pushing back the silken strands as she sighs wearily. Even when she's given time off she still finds ways to fill every ounce of her time. It's easier that way, it keeps the memories at bay. 

When she turns back around, she doesn't notice the dark shape in the corner of the room at first, there's just enough shadow to obscure and enough on her plate to dull her senses. That is, until she's grabbed, tugged into the imprisoning grip of two strong arms that clamp around her like an iron vice.

Her heart races, she yelps out a choked squeal, her eyes wide like captured prey as she chastises herself for being caught off guard. Until she recognizes the all too familiar scent of smoke, heady and thick. The pungent aroma of tobacco seeping from every fiber of clothing. Whiskers rasp against her cheek leaving a prickling trail before plush lips purr into her ear. 

“Did I scare you, love?”

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed by the antics. Her heart rate steadying, flattening out to its usual beat and she relaxes with a huffed laugh. “Bloody prat.”

Elbowing him in the stomach, she finds herself colliding with padding, pockets and straps. Hard ridges and stiff plates. He's in his gear? 

The low, rumbling chuckle that graces the tight space between them fans warm breath over her face tinted with a hint of whiskey and she glances upwards. Her brow lifts in surprise and, to be honest, mild bewilderment. 

He's not just wearing his gear, tac vest, leather gloves, and all. He's wearing a mask – half his face is covered in black, something near resembling a skull, but not quite. A hood covering his head like he's the bloody grim reaper. 

“What the hell’s all this?” A quiet little giggle bubbles out of her at the sight. John’s arms loosen just enough to allow her to turn and face him. “Are you dressed like a comic book villain's henchman for a reason?”

A heavy hand swats the round rump of her making her jump once more as she continues to laugh, dimples carving into her cheeks. 

“Bloody cheeky,” he rasps, gripping her arse and squeezing. “For an op,” he adds as if it was perfectly normal for military men to dress like that on any given day.

“And who decided on the outfits?” Her eyes roam over his figure with a playful gleam. “Riley?” she snickers. “Almost happy I'm on another assignment.”

His piercing eyes narrow from behind his mask, a mischievous glint in them she knew all too well. The only parts of his face revealed are his mouth and jaw which quickly stretch into a wry smirk. 

“Can't tell me it doesn't do a little somethin’ for ya, darlin’,” he drawls.

She sighs and tuts her tongue, shaking her head. “Not even in my top ten fantasies, love.”

Leaning down towards her, the shade of his hood blanking out the light of the room, his smirk transforms into something damn near wolfish. Cold, blue eyes as hungry as a predator. “Is that right?” His voice, husky and deep, is a taunting whisper that leaves her mouth going dry and a heat beginning to bloom in her core.

“Perhaps you’d like to change my mind,” she murmured softly, breathless with the arousal gathering inside her. 

A growl builds in his chest, as thunderous as the ocean in a hurricane. His eyes becoming just as stormy, the grey flecks seeming to flare with his own desires. 

“Tha's my good girl.” 

She swallows thickly as he stalks towards her, guiding her back to the bed with a hand gripping her hip tightly. His calloused fingers toying with the silk material under his touch, the only barrier between him and his prize, kneading at the flesh below. 

“Is the gear staying on too?” she asks with a lift of her brow.

“You bet your arse.”

His smirk damn near makes her melt once more. Her chest rising and falling with short, sharp pants. The flush rising up her skin from her chest to the tips of her ears, floods her with warmth that radiates outwards. Her doe eyes half-lidded as her lips part and she wets them before biting down on the full lower pout. 

“D'you have any idea how much I've been wantin’ you, sweetheart? All soft and sweet and laid out f’me. Draped all pretty across the bed. Been thinkin’ about that gorgeous little cunt o'yours all day.”

She moans softly, a quiet whimper slipping past her lips. The little twist in her gut is the only warning before she knows her thighs will be slick with her need. 

“Get on the bed, darlin’.” He directs her with another gentle tap to her arse. “Want you nice and comfortable.”

Settling onto the mattress, her head resting against the pillows, she focuses on him. Watching as he climbs up and the bed creaks with his weight, concaving under the strength of his hands and knees. He moves with practiced measure, slow, unbothered. It's clear this effort isn't for him, so much as it is for her. There's no need to rush what's about to come. 

His hands slide under the silky garment, climbing up her thighs and increasing the anticipation that flutters in her core, the rough leather leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as he spreads her legs wide for him. 

“So goddamn gorgeous, you know that? Absolutely perfect,” he purrs, lunging forward as if to pounce but instead meeting her mouth in slow, deep kisses. Encouraging her lips to open with a sweep of his tongue along their seam. 

His mustache tickles her lip. The stubble on his chin burns her soft skin each time it rubs against her. It's the stark difference of sensations that leaves her breathless, head spinning as she moans into his mouth. Tongue sliding against his, it curls with each pass. The spice of whiskey and the richness of his cigars spreading over her taste buds and filling her with his essence. 

Her hands, so used to roaming over his body in moments like this, grazing over scars, muscles, and freckles, don’t know what to do with themselves met by armor and tactical clothing. She can’t feel him the way she wants to. The cold carbon of the mask pressing against her forehead throwing her for a loop. 

“John,” she mewls against his mouth, her hips starting to roll and grind against him. The opening of her robe having split open, her bare cunt rubs over rough material and the hard press of the zipper that strains against his stiffened bulge. 

He shushes her, his words a low, throaty whisper as his mouth finds its way to her ear and nibbles on her lobe sending a thrill down her spine, “Lemme take care o’you, darlin’. You know I know best. Just sit there and be your pretty self f’me, love.”

Facial hair pricks her sensitive skin as he scours a trail down the column of her neck, taking the time to suck her salty-sweet flesh and lavish her in open-mouthed kisses leaving red marks from his attention behind. He groans against her, nuzzling into the crook of her neck as much as his gear and mask will allow as his hands begin their ascent along her waist. 

Deft fingers pull the neckline of her robe open and reveal the swells of her breasts. Her nipples pebbling with the growing heat between them, hardening into stiff buds as leather clad digits pinch and twist at them with just the right amount of friction and force. 

Back arching in reaction, whining, growing desperate and needy as he draws out her sweet torture, getting her ready to surrender, she grips at the straps of his vest, holding on for dear life as he begins to dry hump against the wet folds of her mound.

“Christ,” he mumbles, “Love those bloody sounds you make, sweetheart.” His tongue drags against her pulse point before he nips her gently with his teeth, grazing them along her skin to make her shiver.

Slowly working his way down, he nibbles on her collarbone, pressing kisses to the hollow of her throat. The vibrations of the deep purrs that emanate from him travel through her skin right down into the marrow of her bones. 

Lost to him, completely his.

He leans down, glancing up at her from under his hood, eyes glinting. Something primal stirs within him as she lays there at his mercy. His hot breath warming her flesh as he calms himself, regains control. His tongue teases her nipple, circling the areola, before wrapping his lips around it and suckling. Alternating between gentle and rougher tugs on her stiffened bud, biting down gently to make her squeal and grip him harder.

The dark chuckle from his lips makes her eyes flutter shut, she'd think he was being cruel and teasing her if she wasn't so sure of what he was building up to. 

Undoing the waist tie of her robe, it fell away from her like the petals spreading on a newly sprouted flower, opening her to him. All smooth, soft skin for his eyes to feast upon, dragging over her like he was a starving man as ragged breaths crawled up from his lungs.

“Never gonna get tired of that sight. Bloody perfect.”

She didn't think she could feel any more flushed. However, even with the simple compliment, her ears began to burn and her cheeks grew warm. A bashful grin curling her lips.

“Oh, darlin’. Now if that ain't the prettiest sight.” His grin was downright smug, barrel chest puffed up and proud at the way he could still get her to blush like a schoolgirl.

“Shut up,” she giggled, covering her sheepish face with her arm.

His gleeful smirk, darkened by the mask and hood, revealed pearly whites. The hunger in his eyes is all the more prominent as he settles between her thighs, gloved paws wrapping around them, maintaining their distance, keeping them spread wide as he maneuvers each leg over his shoulders. John licks his lips, pink tongue darting out, tasting her in the air like a serpent. 

Breath hitching, she bites her lip, waiting for the inevitable. Time slows to a halt, lingering in that moment like staring down the barrel of a gun. 

Sharp eyes snap to her heaving chest and the shuddering breaths that make her breasts lift and fall, staring at the soft peaks with the attention of a sniper waiting for the perfect shot.

And then the moment strikes –

His tongue travels over her inner thigh, his saliva mixing with the glint of her arousal that has spread over the skin. The small offering imparted to him, gifted to stoke the pangs that have burrowed deep inside. He groans once more as he kisses her slick flesh, the bristles of his beard burning her as he tests her folds with his tongue, licking a long stripe through them before pursing his lips together and blowing softly against her mound. 

She mewls, gripping the sheets on either side of her, sparks shooting through her nerves. Fire and ice tickling every synapse in her brain. 

Flinching, her legs shift as her hips buck and he coils his arms under her thighs, gripping her hips and pulling her back into position. “Stay right there, darlin’,” he orders, a strictness to his command that shoots through her and causes her cunt to clench in response and her body to freeze.

“Tha’s better,” he purrs. “Always such a good girl f’me.” His focus shifts back to the glistening cunt before him and he delves in once more with an unforgiving hold on her thighs, suffocating himself between them. Tongue teasing her clit before wrapping his lips around it, sucking, making her grind against his mouth, moaning and whimpering. He growls against her, and once piercing eyes turn glazed, the lids growing heavy with lust as his tongue drifts through her folds. Pulling every little whine and mewl from her that he can as he sinks deeper into his drunken state on the taste of her. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles, words slurred and almost incoherent with how far he’s drifted, letting his control fall away before returning to his duty. Her hands reach out, pushing back the hood he wears and burying her fingers into his hair. Nails drag over his scalp, massaging at his crown as she finds herself slipping and falling into the pleasure he delivers her.

The room fills with obscenely wet noises as his mouth works her cunt, his tongue slithering, lips sucking. Building her up to the very edge, and bringing her over it, again and again. A man on a mission, aching to make her as much of a begging, weak mess as he feels burying his face in her delicious core. Stomach fluttering in conjunction with her breathless pants, she writhes under his constant touch. Fisting his short hair and trying to pull him away so she can have just a moment to get a hold of herself. She’s losing the ability to think, to speak. Words won’t form, just nonsensical moans as she stumbles into an ecstatic delirium. Her cunt clenches around nothing, walls fluttering as heat pools in her core and at the base of her spine. Clutching her tighter in response, he’s a dog with a bone and he’ll never let it go. Lost in his own moment of peace. A man whose whole life has been defined by his loyalty to his work, his persistence to defeat every obstacle in his way, and here – in this bedroom, between her thighs – he only has to worry about one thing: giving her every ounce of perfect pleasure he can reward her with. 

John ruts against the bed, the friction against his clothed bulge enough to make his eyes roll back in his head as his tongue sinks into the tight entrance of her cunt. This is the only home he needs, doesn’t matter where he is as long as she’s there too. And as she starts screaming, crying out, her voice damn near hoarse with how many times he’s brought her to completion, that coiling knot in his gut makes itself known, tightening like a noose. Their eyes meet, vision hazy, blurred by satisfaction and drunk on the high. The entire lower half of his face is soaked. His beard slick with her juices, mustache glistening in the warm light as he lifts his head and pleads, desperate to relieve the ache in his groin. 

“Please, darlin’...” Blue eyes beg her for release. His ragged breaths are the only evidence of the way he’s worked himself up. The sweat, the reddened face, hidden by his mask. “Please,” he mumbles, flicking his tongue against her swollen, pulsing clit. Her puffy cunt is sensitive, overstimulated. Her thighs covered in her arousal, and the bed covers below her are wet with her slick and his spit. As his tongue grazes her, barely touching the skin, she gasps and moans once more, too weak to make a louder noise. She nods her head, catching her breath, her chest straining to collect enough air as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his fly, his throbbing cock springing free, drooling with precum. 

It’s a sight that always brings her back up to the heights of desire. Even when her mind is a foggy mess she can still recall just how good it feels when he stretches open her velvet walls. While his tongue can work wonders, and his fingers know exactly where to stroke, it’s his cock that she dreams about when they’re apart: the way it fills her with each demanding thrust, the heavy drag of it. 

She collects his chin in her hand and pulls him up towards her. The smirk on his face is intoxicating, his dimples driving her crazy as she cradles his jaw and kisses him, tasting herself on his lips. 

“You’re bloody amazing, love,” he rumbles against her mouth, his hand curling under her, holding her tight to him as she wraps her legs around his waist. 

His cock slips into her easily, she’s so wet there’s barely any resistance at all. Grunting with each pistoning of his hips, John has to close his eyes as he presses his forehead to hers. He’s so close already, it’s easy to tell with each stuttered drive into her depths. There’s no rhythm – as much as he tries – the heavy gear he’s wearing is a burden, slowing him down, adding to his work load. It doesn’t take long however, before he can’t hold out and his eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing. 

“It’s okay, love,” she moans softly, her voice a breathy whisper as she strokes her thumb through the drenched bristles of his facial hair.

He groans, panting heavily, and he can’t stop himself as his come escapes him in hot ropes. His thrusts grow shallower, riding out his orgasm before slipping out of her, leaving a trail of their mixed fluids behind, collapsing beside her on the bed.  

“Fucking hell,” he drawls, pulling off the mask he was wearing and putting it on the bedside table. Puffing out heavy breaths as he rubs a hand down his sweat-drenched face. “That was… something else,” she breathes. Rolling over, she curls up beside him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping an arm over his stomach. “What in the hell gave you the idea to do all that,” she asks, gazing up at him with her large doe-eyed stare, as pretty and sweet as can be.

“You know how I feel about you, sweetheart.” He nuzzled against the top of her head, brushing his nose through her hair as his big hand cupped the back of her head, fingers carding through the soft strands. “I’d do anythin’ for you.”

[wisteriagoesvroom]

LOL I can imagine for vampire au Lando starting to third wheel Carcar and so even though turning Franco is a complete accident he can’t feel too guilty bc he uses it as an excuse to hang around someone else, and somehow he learns more about vampirism lore through a human grad student than he’s learned in his whole life (he’s lived a long time, lots of info to absorb). Then also, if you don’t mind my ask, what do they all do for jobs/how do they get money and would Franco keep studying ?

HELP this is so cute. ok. norpinto-frando vampire au for those who aren't up to speed...

Lando starting to third wheel Carcar and so even though turning Franco is a complete accident, [Lando] can’t feel too guilty bc he uses it as an excuse to hang around someone else -> screaming cus, absolutely. random associated headcanons for this... i'll rewind a bit:

carlos is the oldest vampire, like, moorish/medieval era. he met lando while they were both at a masquerade ball in the early 1600s and smelled each other right away (carlos like wood and ink, lando like gas lamps and wet stone).

lando is an tudor era vampire. like he actually knew shakespeare and said he was one of the best viral marketers of the era

oscar was turned in the early days of the australian penal colony, he's like first or second generation white australian but he refuses to be called british. he moved in to the house because the rent was cheap and he doesn't feel the need to live extravagantly -- even though he, too, is $$ loaded $$

oscar didn't move in until about two decades ago - very short by vampire standards, to them it feels like yesterday - but carlos and oscar are basically They Were Roommates atp even though they squabble con-stant-ly

their neighbours think they are a new age-y polyam group but because the people who live opposite them are students, nobody ever hangs around longer than a year to remember them or dig deeper

so franco definitely brings a fun funky fresh dynamic

he learns more about vampirism lore through a human grad student than he’s learned in his whole life (he’s lived a long time, lots of info to absorb) -> things that baby vamp!franco teaches lando include

tiktok trends, like how to make ur teeth comically large in photos. lando finds this hilarious

how to use venmo

creating a roster on google docs for who needs to do what house chores

jailbreaking an apple watch so it doesn't read their pulses (they don't have any), but it will remind them of the moon phases and when they might be extra hungry to feed

at one point franco actually puts his academic skills to use and helps lando hunt down some of his family tree, because since lando was turned and it's been so long, he doesn't remember much about them : ( so one of franco's little gifts to lando is helping him trace his heritage

what do they all do for jobs/how do they get money and would Franco keep studying ? -> i love how practical-minded you are. um well let's say this fictional supernatural creatures' market mostly runs on barter trades and goodwill agreements. the entire house sometimes just gets lazy tbh so lando or carlos will just dig into one of the old chests of random shit and pull out an antique and go: "do we think this is worth anything?" then they take it to an antiques dealer who is also a mage (alex albon) and there is a 1 in 25 chance that the antique is actually is worth something, so that bankrolls them for another half a year or whatever.

carlos makes a lot of noise about being "an art dealer" just because he sold a goya painting to a museum once.

oscar is a man of industry, of the "newer" world (australia) etc etc so he spent the 80s and 90s learning C++ and Java and Python so he legit just codes for a living. or when he feels like it. oscar has helped launch at least a dozen startups under various pseudonyms and one of them is even a blue chip company by now. he doesn't do it for money tho. he just does it cus he likes a challenge, and otherwise fights with carlos too much. when he isn't coding he likes to tinker and fix things just for fun. like, he legit knows how to fix a boiler and stuff. his familiar is definitely a grumpy orange neighbourhood cat.

franco keeps studying!! he is such a nerd that he's like "i can totally learn everything about anything now, and i could in theory do like 20 masters degrees, and nobody can stop me"!! then lando is like, "well you might get bored of it after a while or burn out". but franco insists he will not. in fact with his enhanced neurological abilities he goes on an academic bender trying to fast forward through an entire harvard's undergrad degree's worth of material in a week, and he ends up faceplanting on his desk. and then poor lando has to go and find a fresh chicken or something to kill and revive franco 'cus franco wore himself out too fast being a bb vampire with accelerated mind powers.

franco promises never to do that again (but of course he will continue to do it once in a while, and everyone still looks after him in his lil study hangovers because he is so very nice. also he taught them how to use venmo.)

and. one time. franco is like. "i can't find this rare sonnet do you know what library i could maybe locate it in" and lando is like "wait i know that one" and pulls out an honest to god original copy that he at some point got laminated in the early 80s. and franco is like. "um i think this should be in a museum??" and lando is like "yeah but i gave them a copy of this, cus i spilled ink on the corner of this in 1603 after a really good night out" and franco is like "???? ok ????"

then lando swans off to moodily stare at the moon or some shit.

[kaleidoscopexsighs]

yeah alright this is cute as hell (tysm @lynxindisguise @spindrifters @kaaaaaaarf & @greengrug for the tags ✨)

np tags: @moon-seas @divinerapturee @fate-myfriend @angelfruittree @fxreflyes

@wanderingdonut @imsiriuslyreading @pain-in-the-riri @vajazzly

[literally-just-there]

⭒˚.⋆✨️ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖊𝖊𝖐𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖑𝖊𝖘

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 ɪ : 𝕬𝖓 𝕬𝖙𝖞𝖕𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑 𝕬𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖑

Word count : 1,686

Content warnings : none

βeta read : yes (many thanks to Mrs G. !!)

Masterlist || Read on AO3

Author's note : the very first chapter of my main fanfic, already posted on AO3 but anyways, have it here too since the second chapter will (finally) come out soon !!

She opens her eyes.

Her small, clammy hands grip the leather of the armchair. It lets out a wailing creak as she slowly turns around in her seat, trying to make out her surroundings. 

It is dark.

The moonlight shines in through the large windows, illuminating the cluttered insides of the room.

She tries to get up, but quickly sits back down as the ground seems to sway under her feet, pressing her warm palm to her head in a futile attempt at stopping the sudden pain. It comes in short waves, steady as her own heartbeat, but nothing accompanies it. No images come to her mind that could possibly tell her how she ended up here.

Only darkness.

She catches her breath as she absentmindedly rubs her forehead. The pain soon fades away. She manages to get up, and makes her way to a window, where she is greeted by the sight of an empty, misty street.

Where am I ? 

She leans in, pressing her hand to the window, trying to make out anything helpful. Just then, a figure appears in a corner of the street, floating, yes, floating, she realizes, towards the window. It has no feet, and only the faint outline of a skeletal body can be seen under the black, swirling clouds coating it. Its eyes blaze red from under a worn-out hat. 

She jumps back with a shaky gasp, her dry throat refusing to let any scream escape. 

A click echoes in the shop, making her heart jump again as she frantically looks around the room, trying to locate the source of the noise.

What's going on ?

A pull.

Without thinking, she turns her head, sharply, towards a globe. It is in no way special, unlike the golden glow gleaming through the half opened trunk hidden behind it.

Was it open the whole time ?

The light is soft, and gently beckons the young woman forward. She pulls her cloak tighter around her, as a nervous shiver courses through her small body. It is suddenly warmer in the shop. The girl pushes the globe aside, her gaze never wavering as she stares at the trunk, the golden light reflected in her eyes.

She kneels down, and the lid squeaks as she pushes it open; the back of her hands brush an ancient helmet and a sculpted candle holder aside, as the light glows brighter with every movement that brings her freckled hands closer to the mysterious light source. Underneath books bound with fragile covers which faded gilt faintly glints, lies the artifact aglow.

Her hand does not hesitate before grasping the rolled parchment. As soon as her fingers make contact with the soft paper, its light fades off. She turns the parchment in her hand, observing the clasp holding it closed, and brings it closer to her face, to better see the elegant symbol of a tree and the arabesques forming a bas-relief on the clasp. As she approaches her other hand to open it, the mural lamp above her flickers on, making her gasp in surprise, as she looks up at the eclectic lamps hanging at the back of the room, which are now lit up as well. She momentarily forgets the strange parchment in her hand, when at the corner of her eye, she notices the street, outside.

The mist is moving.

She approaches the large window again, her hand resting on the lifeless shoulder of an old mannequin, lowering her head into her shoulders to see under the large letters reading 'ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLES' backwards. The bluish mist swirls and rushes off the street, and disappears. The young woman cocks her head to the right and to the left, trying to see any sign of the shadow-like creature she saw earlier, but the street remains peaceful and unperturbed, as if nothing had happened at all. The full moon shines brightly in the cloudless sky, its large, all-seeing eye sneering at the clueless girl.

She is pulled out of her reverie by a man's voice, the words soft and unrushed, as if he were speaking to a frightened child.

"Don't be scared ! It's safe to come out now."

She could have sworn the purple clad gentleman was not standing out there a second ago. Yet, there is no hesitation in the way her hand brushes the lace curtain off the door handle, and pushes the door open. The man greets her with a smile, his cane clinking on the wet and irregular cobblestones as he takes gentle, slow steps towards her, the light of the streetlamps shining on his short red hair and sideburns. From under the brim of his top hat, his bright blue eyes twinkle with unknown knowledge.

"Welcome to Darkwood. I know who you are, and why you're here."

He stands still in the middle of the street, his hands resting on the pommel of his cane.

Darkwood ? What do you mean ? I… Who… am I ?

She steps forward, willing to inquire about her situation. However, he speaks again before she does, gesturing to the rolled parchment she is still holding firmly in her hand.

"The Map has chosen you, and it is your destiny to save this town from its Curse."

Her hand tightens around the parchment. 

So this is a map ? What do you mean it chose me ? Why was it glowing ? A Curse ? Why me specifically ?

"Take care of it, and it will help you in return. Good luck, Seeker…"

The man tips his hat as a goodbye. The young woman opens her mouth, to take a chance and ask him the thousands of questions she has before he leaves, but a barn owl's hooting resounds, and she looks up as the bird flies straight towards her, its black round eyes reflecting the full moon. Startled, she raises her arm in an attempt to protect her face, however the owl's wings only graze her forehead, letting her feel a small gust of wind created by the sharp feathers, before it flies away in the night sky.

While attempting to calm her heartbeat, she turns back towards the mysterious man, hoping for some answers; however, she is met with nothing. She turns confused eyes towards the street to her right, but it is utterly devoid of people. The man has vanished, seemingly into thin air.

Was that a dream ? Am I asleep ? I must be…

She is alone again now, with this strange… Map. She holds it in her hands, and her thumbs move on their own, pressing the buttons of the clasp with one swift movement, as if she had done this countless times before. The clasp falls open, and she unrolls the parchment. 

A city is represented with a great attention to detail, from the sharp coastlines to lonely letterboxes in street corners. 

This must be Darkwood…

Her eyes follow the countless tiny threads of golden light which seem to be woven into the very fibers of the parchment. The lights move in a shimmering, lazy waltz, before uniting in a bright and focused ballet, leading towards a single point. She squints, trying to decipher the small, curvy letters.

Grand Stage

A pull.

The young woman closes the Map, and starts moving. The silence of the streets is only disturbed by the echo of her sharp steps on the wet cobblestones. A stray cat stirs and runs away into a dark alley, hissing at the one responsible for interrupting its slumber. But the young woman does not stop, or even make a sign of acknowledgment. Her feet move on their own, their pace fast, steady, mechanical, leading her further into a city she does not know. Her hand is wrapped firmly around the rolled parchment, its tendrils of light crawling lazily towards her fingers.

꒰ 🧭 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

A little further away, an old man is walking down the street. His calloused fingers move gently and deftly as they knot two loose threads together, to prevent a piece of his worn-out jacket from falling off. A few coins tinkle in his pocket. Maybe, had he earned more today, he would have been able to buy a ticket for tonight's magic show; it has been so long since he saw a performance… He needs not even sit with others in red velvet seats, only catch a glimpse of the colourful stage lighting up from a dark corner, his vision obstructed by flowery hats and newer frock coats…

He looks up. The stars are especially bright. His eyes narrow as he spots the small silhouette ahead. It stops for a second, before taking a sharp turn, and stopping again under a street light, in front of a wall. Intrigued by the individual's unusual pace, he takes a few steps closer, and notices long red curls strewn with flowers, cascading down the cloaked back of a petite woman.

"Hey, miss ? You alright here ?"

No answer. She has her back turned to him, and seems to be staring at the street sign in front of her.

"Erm… Are you lost ? You shouldn't be out alone so late, I've seen some—"

He lets out a strangled cry, stepping back, not daring to turn away from the bright light. Like two golden full moons, her eyes stare at him. He frowns, his wide eyes scrutinising her face, looking for any sign of hostility, but her expression remains implacably impassive. Not a single muscle twitches on her young, sun-kissed face. 

She takes a step forward, and he steps back again. Another step forward. And one backwards. And again. She steps out of the small circle of light around the street lamp post, her unblinking eyes boring into his as they illumine her features, still as an ancient statue's. 

A gust of humid wind rushes through the street, and his hand shoots up to keep his frayed hat from being blown away. Her long red hair flutters around her face like a bloody halo. 

She takes another step forward.

He runs, his nervous hand holding his hat down on his head. He mutters to himself, his jaw quivering, his eyes widening.

"That ain't human !"

[kalira]

Trinket Poll Game

Tag game: pick stuff from your living/sleeping space and have people vote on what they want to take home

Taking a free tag from @oblivionsdream, because it looks quite fun, thanks!

Tagging: @dawen, @navigatorsghost, @kitsunekage88, and anyone who sees this who would like! Would love to virtually peek~ *eyes*

(I might reblog this with pictures of my own trinkets added. . .)

[natalieina]

Moon princess

She is the princess of moonlight, the daughter of cold winds and frozen dreams. Her winter abode is an abandoned greenhouse filled with the light of antique lamps, fir branches and fragments of childhood dreams hidden in the depths of mirrors... But winter is coming to an end, the line between the ice and the lake surface is blurred. Instead of frosty patterns, tears of rain appear on the glass... And soon she will leave her abode again until next Winter. But now she is dancing in the uneven light of the evening, surrounded by a lace of mist, evoking sleep and touching the silence of this greenhouse of dreams.

Model - Asya.

Crown - Cotee.za.

Costume - Narnia Dress.

Location greenhouse - Projeckt_X.

Natalie Ina Photography.

February 2024.

Instagram

Facebook

Boosty

Behance

VK

[holeinthehedgerow]

Joanies Café

Joanies Café

Burned down the other day,

Only it’s a bike shop now,

An antique store before that,

But before then it was Joanies Café.

Where in the twilight of my youth I used to play,

On the first of my Friday nights away.

Where at a dimly lit cobweb-laden counter

I used to eat and drink for free,

No wonder the place went out of business,

Never saw anyone that came pay.

Even the cats got free room and board,

Joanie had a love for any stray,

And if it weren’t for their paw prints in the dust,

You would get lost in that labyrinth

Of antique oddities covered in must and rust,

And mannequins with their clothes half stitched,

And old portraits with their eyes bewitched.

In the attic that was said to be haunted we’d meet,

Lit by ethereal rays of moonlight through cracks,

And by the flickering of an old whale oil lamp,

Matt would sing,

I’d play the guitar,

Karen would be on the cello,

Evelyn would write poems,

While Aiden just read anything,

And everyone had a thing they’d do,

And the ghosts and shadows were our audience.

Joanies Café burned down a long time ago,

When all the strays found new homes,

Leaving behind tracks you could see from the moon.

Then the spiders’ homes were all swept up,

And the paw prints got all dusted away,

And then this bike shop on South Street,

Burned down the other day.

https://holeinthehedgerow.com/2024/03/31/joanies-cafe/

[666candies]

antique moon lamp

[violetsiren90]

Stolen Tides

(A What the Moon Saw Drabble)

Pairing: Yoongi x f!Reader (What the Moon Saw universe)

Genre: Drabble; non-idol AU; friends to lovers; childhood friends; old flames rekindled, angst and fluff

Summary: Time is the great force - it changes everything. The ebb and flow of the tide. The fullness of the moon. It carves mountains, and quiets storms...but it stands powerless in the face of love.

Content Warnings: PG-13, but ALL my content is off-limits to minors; nudity, implied sex, cooking and eating food, mention of minor character death, kissing, cuddling, working through feelings, tears are shed (it's them, so, of course, lol)

Author's note: I literally just posted a poll asking which drabble I should write first, and their first meeting won (which I was stoked about), but then this popped into my head and I just wrote it. I wrote it while I was supposed to be submitting a project with a deadline, because, in the words of MYG, I'm bad boi. But...I had to. I gave them their ending because they deserved it. 💕 (If you've never read the one-shot this universe takes place in, I recommend starting there!)

And as always, if no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

*Stolen tide: Occurs when weather and wind conditions suppress the ebb of a flood tide and then the next high tide washes in bringing even higher levels.

    Your lids raised and dipped and raised again, like linens in a summer breeze, as your eyes came into focus. Soft late-morning light spilled through the window onto the golden-brown planks of the oaken floor. The western-facing window was open, and the thin curtains billowed inward with each puff of salty air cresting over the hill off the distant waves. Your eyes tracked a spider plant swaying from where its macrame harness was secured to a hook in the spackled ceiling. You shifted in the white sheets of the queen-size bed to glance around you. The room was small and minimally furnished, but everything within it seemed significant to its tenant. There was a little bookshelf propping up a guitar, and a roll-top desk bearing an open journal and coffee mug. On the other side was a nightstand with an antique lamp perched beside a book splayed open on its face and a pair of black-rimmed glasses. On the far end was a dresser with pretty little mother-of-pearl knobs topped with two potted succulents and an abstract of an albatross in flight, and the accordion door of a closet cracked open to reveal neatly stored clothes and shoes.

    You tossed yourself back against the pillows with a sigh, a smile spreading slowly across your face as images from the previous night developed in the morning light like Polaroid pictures. You reached out to brush a hand over the sheets where he had slept beside you, as naked as you were now. You'd awakened in the middle of the night to find that you'd taken all the covers and to see him, laying there on his stomach - his sweet little ass pale and perfectly bare in the moonlight. You chuckled and bit your lip, slipping out of bed to pull on panties and snatch a flannel from the closet and drape it over your body, pushing up the sleeves to bunch around your elbows. He had always worn his shirts too big, and it dipped down to your mid thighs as your legs carried you toward the scents of garlic and gochujang wafting down the hall. 

    The kitchen was as simple in its loveliness as the rest of the little house, pale yellow light pouring through the large windows over a vase of poppies on a table flanked by two chairs. And a man who used to be a boy was standing at the other end of the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes in a way that made you question if a single day had passed. Yoongi stood at the little stove in a white tee and grey sweats, his dark hair sticking up every which way and his face puffy from sleep. You had to press a hand to your lips to keep from giggling at his appearance, and when he glanced up you found yourself unable to conceal an amused and extremely endeared grin.

    “What?” he asked in sleepy suspicion, his brows up and knitted together as his lips dropped into a pout.

Thirty-two and as cute as he had ever been. You chuckled as you circled around his left, where you turned towards him and slipped your body between his and the stove. Wrapping your arms around his back as he looked down, you regarded him. The same. He looked just the same. His features were a bit more defined, the soft cheeks having sharpened at his cheekbones and jawline, and he was broader and thicker with longer hair that curled at the base of his neck. But his eyes with the dark lashes, his petal pink lips...the way they felt on you...he was the same. You lifted your face to place the gentlest kisses on every feature - the ones that had changed and the ones that hadn't. 

He let out a soft hum, his left arm slipping around your waist as he shifted you slightly to the side, prodding at the contents of the pan with the wooden spoon in his right hand.

“The food will burn,” he chided lightly.

But his eyes creased at the corners and his mouth seemed to hover on the verge of a smile. You twisted to glance at the pork belly fried rice before nestling yourself back into him, your head on his chest.

“Smells good,” you murmured into his shirt.

“Mm. It’s just leftovers,” he replied, in the warm, even tone that pierced your heart like a forgotten melody. 

You pressed back the tears that threatened to come. The moon had seen enough of those last night.

"You were always good at cooking, like your mom,” you sighed into his tee. 

He didn't reply, but he tucked his cheek against your head, his thumb dragging his shirt up and down your back in tiny tender motions. You held him and he held you, and the pork fat sizzled on the stove, and a wind chime tinkled outside the kitchen window, and far off and down the ocean broke against the rocks.

And then he slowly drew you away from his chest so that he could see your face, his eyes meeting yours with the soft wet glimmer of joy and sadness at once, like the soil after a rainfall - that damp warmth from which beautiful things grow - and you buried yourself there, like a seed dropped from the sky by a bird. Dropped on the side of a cliff by the sea.

    Between mouthfuls of fried rice and kimchi eggs, you told him about college. About your passion for your chosen career. About meeting a boy who wasn't him, who had asked you to be his wife. About how you had chosen a dress and sent out invitations and then said no. Yoongi nodded quietly, but didn't ask why. Then he told you about how his father had succumbed to pneumonia a few years ago, and his mother had moved back to Korea and remarried. You nodded and asked him why he stayed. He shrugged as he pushed his rice around his plate.

    "Want to see something?" he asked with a shy smile, as he dried his hands from washing a final dish.

You nodded, smiling when he took your hand to lead you out of the kitchen door and into the yard at the side of the little house. Ice plant and poppies sprang up among the rocks and sandy dirt, disrupted by a cobbled path leading to a periwinkle blue shed only half as large as the house behind you. Yoongi opened the door.

Inside was warm and the air aglow with little floating specks that caught the light, which you quickly realized, as you glanced around, were flecks of saw dust. It was a workshop. In reverent awe you took in the beautiful pieces crafted from oak, walnut, pine, and redwood. There was a bench, a coffee table, a mirror frame, cutting boards, a spice rack. In and amongst the tools and work surfaces, there were handmade treasures against the walls and stacked on shelves. You took a seat in a sanded-down rocking chair.

    "You made all this?" You asked in disbelief.

Yoongi shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats, casting proud but bashful eyes over the room.

    "I make them to order. Although, you did find the one thing in here that I started for myself."

You felt warmth fill your chest because you thought he looked a little proud. You swayed in the chair, tucking your legs up under you.

    "It's beautiful, Yoongi. All of it. You're incredibly talented."

    "You started it, you know," he said with a smile, still not meeting your eyes. You cocked your head to the side in question. "You gave me that whittling kit for my birthday."

He shuffled over to a workbench and took a small object in his hand. He approached you, holding it out, and you took it. You turned the little curved knife over in your hands, brushing your thumb over the faded little heart inscribed in pink paint. 

    "You wanted me to have something to do with my hands, so I would stop biting my nails," he replied, taking the knife back from you and regarding it with warm eyes as he set it aside.

    "You remember that?" You let out a laugh.

    "I remember everything," he said.

He said it like an oath...one you had once sworn. He was looking down at you, and suddenly you were on a little ledge under the stars, and he was pulling you into a kiss, and making love to you, and telling you to run and not look back. Yoongi, your Yoongi. You breathed his name, and he reached for your hands, pulling you up and against him as his lips found yours. He kissed you tenderly and fiercely. He kissed you all the way back to his bedroom where he laid you down in the soft white cotton and made up for lost time. 

    The sun made its way over hill and down into the western waters, and all the while you stayed wrapped in the sanctuary of each others' bodies, only leaving his bed twice - once to shower together and another time to share a bowl of bibim guksu and some tangerines from the tree in the yard. Now the moon's waning crescent peeped through the curtains to see you laying tangled in Yoongi's arms, his forehead pressed to yours, as he asked a question to which he didn't want the answer.

    "When are you leaving?" His voice was low and soft and deep, so resonant...but you could hear what it lacked, what he was holding back.

    "Why do I have to leave?" You murmured, tracing a place over his chest where your lips had once left a bruise.

The skin had healed long since, but not what laid beneath. Yoongi sighed through his nose, his breath tickling your chin and chest.

    "What does this place hold for you?" he asked, his voice strained, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw as his thumb brushed over your chin. "Just pain and sadness. You got out of here, you're free."

A tear slipped over the bridge of your nose and onto the pillow.

    "I might have left, but my heart never did," you whispered, your voice shaking as years of never forgetting filled the expanse of your chest. "And it never will," you murmured through a little sob.

You pushed yourself back so that you could see his beautiful watery brown eyes and wet cheeks as you asked him a question to which you already knew the answer.

    "Why didn't you leave?" Another tear slipped down his face as he looked at you. "Why, Yoongi? Why didn't you leave? Tell me, Yoongi. Say it. Why didn't you l-"

    His mouth was on yours, and he kissed you back into the sheets as your tears mingled. He kissed you and he kissed you and when his lips finally left yours by a centimeter he whispered his answer against them.

    The moon had seen him find you, and lose you. Now it saw you tell him you would never leave his side. 

    Some weeks later it sent you both off in a packed-up car (with a rocking chair strapped to the top), as it faded in the light of the rising sun, to start a new part - the best part - of the story of the boy and the girl on the cliffside...

...The part where they lived together, and in happiness, until the end of their days.

-Fin-

[animalcrossingshowdown]

Furniture items and sets round 1 results:

Items:

Froggy chair 90.6% / Leo sculpture 9.4%

Mush lamp 83.9% / Cancer table 16.1%

Mom's homemade cake 77.9% / Skull rug 22.1%

Afternoon-tea set 76.4% / My Melody clock 23.6%

Star clock 75.2% / Anatomical model 24.8%

Lily record player 74.7% / Scattered papers 25.3%

Dried-flower garland 72.6% / Rose bed 27.4%

Virgo harp 70.2% / Rescue mannequin 29.8%

Wooden music box 70.1% / Bathtub with yuzu 29.9%

Snail clock 69.1% / Imperial dining table 30.9%

Spooky cookies 67.8% / ACNH Nintendo Switch 32.2%

Plain party-lights arch 67% / Cinnamoroll sofa 33%

Moon 67% / Hyacinth lamp 33%

Greenhouse box 66.4% / Soft-serve lamp 33.6%

Dreamy rabbit toy 66% / Elephant slide 34%

Crescent-moon chair 65.2% / Retro stereo 34.8%

Toy duck 65% / Lovely phone 35%

Dreamy wall rack 61.7% / Throwback skull radio 38.3%

Lucky cat 59.2% / Decayed tree 40.8%

Tiny library 59.2% / Kerokerokeroppi bridge 40.8%

Fortune-telling set 59.2% / Cucumber horse 40.8%

Resetti model 58.5% / Titan arum 41.5%

Wheat field 55.1% / Zodiac dragon figurine

Paper tiger 54.5% / Colorful juice 45.5%

Cherry-blossom pond stone 54.4% / Rocket lamp 45.6%

Hamster cage 53.5% / Monster statue 46.5%

Starry garland 53.3% / Bonsai shelf 46.7%

Balloon-dog lamp 52.2% / Eggplant cow 47.8%

Creepy skeleton 52.2% / Elaborate kimono stand 47.8%

Mom's plushie 52% / Pergola 48%

Peach chair 51.1% / Dessert case 48.9%

Rattan towel basket 50.9% / Cherry-blossom branches 49.1%

1 ) I can't believe you guys voted out lovely phone, the entire reason I'm adding functions to these posts, in round 1

2 ) I can't believe you guys voted out cherry-blossom branches, the item that was positioned as second most likely to win based on number of submissions, in round 1

Sets:

Spooky 89.1% / Throwback 10.9%

Motherly 84.9% / Kiddie 15.1%

Shell 83.1% / Chess 16.9%

Sloppy (classic) 83.1% / Sloppy (ACNH) 16.9%

Rococo 81.6% / Elegant 18.4%

Insect 81.4% / Mario 18.6%

Glowing moss 78.2% / Ruined 21.8%

Mermaid 77.6% / Harvest 22.4%

Cute 76.3% / Lovely 23.7%

Modern 71.9% / Construction 28.1%

Ironwood 71.5% / Hello Kitty 28.5%

Fish 71.5% / Plaza 28.5%

Sweets 70.6% / My Melody 29.4%

Alpine 70.2% / Nordic 29.8%

Stars 69.6% / Gorgeous 30.4%

Cherry blossoms 68.5% / Blue 31.5%

Rattan 67.1% / Astro 32.9%

Flower 66.7% / Diner 33.3%

Fruit (ACNH) 66.7% / Fruit (classic) 33.3%

Antique 65.6% / Classic 34.4%

Modern wood 62.7% / Green 37.3%

Log 62.6% / Cabin 37.4%

Princess 62.6% / Card 37.4%

House plants 61.5% / Kerokerokeroppi 38.5%

Ranch (ACNH) 60.7% / Ranch (classic) 39.3%

Dreamy 58.3% / Wedding 41.7%

Mush (classic) 55.1% / Mush (ACNH) 44.9%

Patchwork (classic) 54.6% / Patchwork (ACNH) 45.4%

Kiki & Lala 53.9% / Moroccan 46.1%

Regal 51.2% / Cinnamoroll 48.8%

Robo 51% / Cardboard 49%

Gracie 50.6% / Imperial 49.4%

As you can see I've colour coded the sets by game. NL is pink, NH is blue, and sets that didn't really change between games are purple.

For the redesign matches, it was an even split between NH and NL. out of 10 redesign matches, they each won 5.

It's easier for me if all the new polls post in a row with no gaps between, so round 2 will start in a few days to give the hourly tournament a chance to catch up! This should be the only round where I have to do that.

[telekinetictrait]

and when our smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country’s phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be. - moby dick, chapter 10, paragraph 7

today, i bring you me and @killjoyjuice's ocs! meet julius "jules" salisbury and isaak vasile (and their dog, horatio). struck by a case of love at first sight in a bar off the streets of weimar berlin, their friendship blossomed from the night they met. despite familial, financial, and spiritual troubles – on top, of course, of isaak being a vampire – the love these two share for each other is near impossible to tear apart.

cc used under cut!!

see my resource page

cc used for jules and isaak : okruee's sylvester hair / lemonicedtease's summer lovin' freckles / rheallsims's proper hairline / liliili-sims' glasses n.2 / divinecap's homebody glasses / simulationcowboy's copacetic sideburns / cloudcat's savo loafers / twentiethcenturysims' tommy knicker suit / twentiethcenturysims' swan suit / fuckyeahunbichobolita's 20's male outfit + moon-simmer's lepera recolor / happylifesims' 1930's male sportswear set / vroshii's vintage vest and pants + moon-simmer's sinatra recolor / waxesnostalgic's androgynous swimsuits / nucrest's etheral cardigan / vroshii's 30's shirt and shorts / thesimsblues' ring-a-ding duds / lollaleeloosstuff's hercules sport coat / dudleystrailer's declan outfit / happylifesims' layered coat n.1 / plumbjam's wool leggings / quiddity-jones' euclid socks / mmoutfitters' fancy feet deux / jius-sims leather derby shoes / rheallsims' whispy hairline / marsosims' hari hair

cc used for horatio : viiavi's salvia eyes for pets / sforzinda's fetching handkerchief for large dogs

poses : nell-le's male model poses n.1 / nell-le's male model poses n.3 / memoriesplasticine's family stories poses / marshmallow-sims' the right partner poses / moonieflower's me and my book poses

bb cc used in screenshots : xsavannahx987's antique radio / fernw00d's thistle wallpaper / nocturne-vi's granny's phonograph / joyceisfox's summer garden floor tassel lamp

thank you to @okruee @lemonicedtease @rheallsims4 @divinecap @simulationcowboy @cloudcat @twentiethcenturysims @fuckyeahunbichobolita @moon-simmers @happylifesims @vroshii @waxesnostalgic @nucrests @thesimsblues @dudleystrailer @quiddity-jones @mmoutfitters @jius-sims @marsosims @viiavi @sforzcc @nell-le @memoriesplasticine @marshmallow-sims @xsavannahx987 @fernw00d @nocturne-vi @joyceisfox and anyone i missed!!

[wearehea]

STAR-CROSSED READERS, pt.1

Synopsis: What you thought would be an ordinary shift at the university library turns out to be much more interesting when a student named Han Jisung shows up to return a book.

Fic contents: han jisung x afab reader, college/library AU, reader is slightly older than Han, fluff, mentions of agoraphobia, smut coming in the next parts, English is writer's second language.

Please be indulgent if you review, I haven't tried to write fics since I've been bullied because my writing was "horrendous" haha

.......................................................................................................................

When you open the door to the library, the moon is still out in the sky, shining brightly like a lone sequin on a velvet dress. As much as you are not a morning person, you can appreciate such a pretty sight. In this light, the place looks like a church—huge glass windows, a high ceiling, and rows upon rows of books. And at the very center of it all, perched on a wooden estrade, is your desk. Looking at it now, you feel content. Sure, the hours are long, but it's quiet enough, and there aren't many jobs that allow you to read on the clock. You always work opening or closing shifts, as per your own request. It's the only way you don't feel too bothered by your agoraphobia.

You turn on your computer, practically an antique, and smile at the comforting buzzing sound. Then, you pick out your favorite mug from the top drawer of your desk and pour yourself steaming hot coffee from a thermos. Nobody's here yet. Just you, coffee, and books. Heaven.

Or at least, it was heaven for the first few hours of your shift. Right now, it's past 11 a.m., and the public library is jam-packed—exam season is to blame. It's mostly quiet, but you can feel the stress of every student radiating, their anguish seeping into you as if you're one of them. On top of the uneasy atmosphere, a line has formed at your desk with no sign of discontinuing. It seems every student chose this particular day to ask for your help on some matter. You're barely a few years older than these university students and sometimes feel lacking in experience. Adding your sensitivity on top of that makes this shift proper hell.

"This book's cover is practically rotting," you sigh.

The student in front of you looks at you sheepishly.

"Let me guess... Your thermos leaked into your bookbag, and you didn't notice?"

He nods slowly.

"I'm sorry, miss."

You feel anger rise within your body. Doesn't he know how precious a book is? Not to mention that you'll have to ask your boss to buy a new copy. What if somebody else really needed that book to prep for their exams?

You take a look at the lad in front of you. He looks exhausted, his eyebags practically reaching the floor.

"Look... I should freeze your account for a month, but I can tell it's probably the last thing you need right now. Why don't you just pay the $3 fine, and we'll say that'll suffice?"

The sleep-deprived young man lets out a relieved sigh.

"Yeah... thank you, miss!" He smiles, giving you the fine in small copper coins.

"Next, please," you sigh again, counting each little coin and taking the next person's book without looking up.

You finish putting away the money and scan the barcode in one swift move. Only then do you look up, and your breath gets caught in your throat.

In front of you is the cutest guy you've ever laid eyes upon. Dressed in full winter gear with a padded jacket and a beanie, he still looks like he's freezing, a cold-induced blush spreading across his cheeks and ears. His big round eyes are looking straight into your soul, the dark pupils almost sparkling in the yellow light of your desk lamp. A beep from the computer brings a stop to your staring, reminding you at the same time that you just rudely ogled a perfect stranger. Your turn to blush—but not from the cold.

The computer flashes bright red. Here we go again...

"-This book is more than two months overdue," you state desperately. It's really not your day.

The cute guy breaks out into an embarrassed rant.

"I-I know, I'm really sorry. It's just... I've been really busy and forgot about it and..."

Gosh, he's so cute. There's something hauntingly special about him. He's not the first student to blurt out a lame excuse to you this morning, but you sense a genuineness emanating from him that hits your soft spot.

You quickly scan the surroundings. Calm has returned to the library for the last few minutes, and most of the staff has gone out for lunch. Taking a book from the top of your personal pile of borrowed novels, you place it in front of him. It's a collector's edition of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials, with a blue and gold hardcover. It's one of your favorites, a book you've read a dozen times.

"Alright... I won't say anything. You don't have to pay the tardiness fee."

Apollo continues apologizing profusely, his eyes widening even further.

"Wait, no, I don't want you to be in trouble."

You start smiling at his flustered speech, and then, accidentally or not, his hand brushes yours, which still lies on the book cover.

Time stops. An electrical current rushes through your body, wrapping you in a delightful sensation of...Warmth, comfort... Desire? You cant seem to find the words. Your jaw drops. Tentatively, you look up at him—does he feel it too?

He looks like he has no intention of moving his hand from where it is, even though it's positively burning. His breath quickens slightly. Maybe you're going crazy, but he's looking at you like you're a snack. Suddenly, he removes his hand, breaking the moment.

"Like I said... I don't want you to be in trouble. I can pay the fine," he says, his gaze fixed on his shoes.

You start breathing again, as if you'd been underwater for the past few seconds. Glancing at your fingers, you wonder how they're not in flames right now.

"Look."

Your words come out as a whisper. Swallowing, you gather yourself and speak again.

"Look, this is my favorite book. Instead of fining you, I want you to take it and read it. We'll consider it even, okay?"

You're surprised by the assurance in your voice. You can't even explain the words that are coming out of your mouth right now. What you just proposed is absolutely not allowed, but you can't help it. You need a way to see him again. He looks surprised too, a smile spreading across his face, almost turning his eyes into crescent moons. He lets out a laugh.

"I just tried to return a book that was two months late, and you trust me with your favorite one?"

You blush. Is he making fun of you right now?

"That or the fine," you pout.

He becomes flustered again.

"A-alright, alright. I'll take it. Don't be mad?"

His puppy eyes melt your heart. He takes the book before you can add anything, reading the title to himself before holding it against his chest, arms crossed.

"One week. I promise I'll read it in one week and return it to you safe and sound. Okay?"

With extreme effort, you tear your gaze away from his beautiful eyes and accept his library card. A smaller version of him greets you, printed on glossy paper next to his name: Han Jisung, Music major.

"Okay, Han Jisung," you say, unable to contain your smile. "See you in a week."

[dayscapism]

Read this instead of Harry Potter - part 2/ 3:

Middle grade/children's books recommendations under the cut:

Part 1 - Adult books

Part 3 - Young Adult (YA) books

★ Greenglass House by Kate Milford: Mystery set in a cosy inn on a mountain only accessible by a cable car. The innkeeper's adopted son, Milo, wants nothing but to relax during the winter holiday, but guests start arriving earlier than expected. Each guest comes with a strange story connected to the house, and when objects start going missing, Milo must decipher clues and untangle the web of deepening secrets and ghosts the old house and the guests hide.

When You Trap A Tiger by Tae Keller (middle grade, standalone, magical realism): When a girl named Lily moves in with her sick grandmother, a magical tiger out of Korean folktales suddenly arrives and Lily unravels a secret family history. Full of magical artefacts, magical deals, and courage.

Aru Shah and the End of Time by Roshani Chokshi (series): Aru Shah is the daughter of an archaeologist and lives in the Museum of Ancient Indian Art. She is dared by her classmates one day to light a lamp that is said to be cursed, and she gets herself tangled in an adventure of ancient demons, antiquities, gods and time. Mythology, adventure, Riordan's #OwnVoices line.

Paola Santiago and the River of Tears by Tehlor Kay Mejia (trilogy): Paola's mother is constantly warning her about La Llorona, the wailing ghost woman who wanders the river banks at night, looking for people to drag into the waters. She and her friends know to avoid the river, but one night they set a meeting in the river to watch the stars, and a paranormal adventure ensues. Full of Mexican folktales, science, and magic. Part of Riordan's #OwnVoices line.

Amari and The Night Brothers by B.B. Alston (trilogy): Amari can't understand why his brother's disappearance isn't all over the news, why no one seems to care, why is this being so easily dismissed? Then one day she discovers a briefcase in her brother's closet, through which she discovers a secretive magic organization. She enters a competition to join the organization, so she can find out what really happened to her brother, but every department hides another secret. For this, she must learn about all sorts of magical creatures like mermaids, dwarves, magicians, yetis and weredragons, even though she only just learned about their existence. Meanwhile, an evil magician threatens the entire world. Mystery, secret agency, black author & black representation, middle-grade version of Men in Black. A ton of people recommend this one.

The Girl Who Drank The Moon by Kelly Barnhill (standalone): Every year, the people a baby for the witch of the forest as a sacrifice, an act that will keep her from terrorizing them. The witch, however, is actually kind and gentle, and confused about these babies. She rescues them and delivers them to families on the other side of the forest. But one year, she accidentally feeds a baby moonlight, filling the child with extraordinary magic. So she raises her instead as her own. The years pass and the people of the town are set on killing the witch, and the now 13-year-old magic girl must protect those who protected her. There's a swamp monster, a tiny dragon, and lots of magic.

The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly (duology): A 12-yo mourns the death of his mother, high in his attic bedroom, surrounded only by his books. But the books have begun to whisper to him, and he listens. Taking refuge in his imagination, fantasy and reality begin to melt together, and soon he finds himself in a world of monsters and heroes, ruled by a king who keeps secrets in a mysterious book. Autumnal, horror, fairy tales, coming-of-age & loss of childhood innocence. Often recommended for fans of Over The Garden Wall.

Hedgewitch by Skye McKenna (quintet, British): Cassie Morgan hasn't seen her mother in seven years. Cassie is left trapped in a dreary boarding school, she spends her time hiding from the school bully and reading forbidden story books about the faerie world. She is determined to find her mother though, so one day she runs away from school. She is chased by a pack of goblins, and with the help of a flying broom, she escapes and finds herself in a cosy, magical village full of witches, who protect the country from the dangerous faeries and where she discovers the real history of her family.

Every Heart a Doorway (The Wayward Children Series) by Seanan McGuire (novellas, mystery, urban fantasy, LGBTQ+ rep): A school for children who have at one time slipped into magical worlds found in the back of wardrobes or under the bed, through rabbit holes and wells, but who have returned to the magic-less world and now seek a way back to that fantasy land. But it's not so easy when there's darkness lurking around each corner...

Shady Hollow Water by Juneau Black (children's, series, mystery, cosy): In this village, woodland creatures live together in harmony, until a curmudgeonly toad turns up dead and the local reporter has to solve the case.

Nightbooks by J.A. White (duology): A boy is imprisoned by a witch in a library, and must tell her a new scary story each night to stay alive.

The Frost Fair by Natasha Hastings (historical fiction): This is about a girl who makes a dangerous wish at the Frost Fair in order to bring her brother back from the dead. But the fair is not what it seems... Set in the 1680s in London, with Christmas vibes, and adventure. It's a heartwarming story. For fans of the Hogwarts founders era.

Seraphina and The Black Cloak by Robert Beatty (series, historical fiction, mystery): Serafina is part of the downstairs people of a grand estate. She must always be careful to not be seen by the rich folks upstairs. But then children at the estate begin disappearing, and only she sees the culprit. She will have to forge an alliance with one of the rich kids to uncover the identity of the culprit before it's too late. Dark forest setting and magic legacy.

There's a Ghost in This House (children's, picture book, short). "Hello, come in. Maybe you can help me?" Ghosts, Halloween, humour.

The Enchanted Castle, Five Children and It by E. Nesbit, illustrated by H.R. Millar (children's, middle grade, classics, British): Tales about magical adventures in the everyday world. In the first tale, children dig in a sandpit and find a bad-tempered fairy who grants one wish per day. In the second tale, three children stumble over a mysterious house and discover an invisible princess and a magic ring.

If you want something really nostalgic, here are books that came out before or are contemporary to the Harry Potter books:

★ The Earthsea Cycle by Ursula K. Le Guin (YA, series): Yeah, I know this obvious recommendation as this series was a direct inspiration for HP. It has a wizard school setting, a coming-of-age narrative, discussions of how gender plays into access to wizard education, ancient artefacts, shadow monsters, good triumphs over evil, and much more. Plus Le Guin was a raging feminist and anti-capitalist, a powerhouse of her time, and she is a wonderful example of someone who had internalized biases and even wrote them into her books but eventually grew as a person and became an advocate.

★ Percy Jackson by Rick Riordan (middle grade/YA, series). Another obvious recommendation. Anything by Rick Riordan has that very classic middle-grade adventurous vibe. His characters are really well done too, particularly the protagonists; great ADHD/neurodivergent representation and you'll learn a lot about mythology (Riordan is a teacher, after all). The first books can have some dated stuff in them (like having the obligatory coming out storyline for the gay character, plus some problematic racial and ethnic stereotyping with characters in the Heros of Olympus series), but he has grown as a person and writer since. I'm told his later books (Magnus Chase, Trials of Apollo) are much better written. Most of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians hold up pretty well though, and the series is literally about a marginalized group of kids battling to dismantle the system that oppresses them. There's also a magical school/camp these kids go to, lots of mythological creatures, riddles, prophecy, epic battles and more. Riordan launched an #OwnVoices initiative to highlight middle-grade books written by authors of diverse cultures. Great for fans of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them too.

★ Howl's Moving Castle (YA, trilogy) & Chrestomanci (children, series) by Diana Wynne Jones. Howl's Moving Castle is wizards but makes it banter and is so cosy and quirky, you will not miss Hogwarts or the four Houses' common rooms at all with this one. And the Chrestomanci series is literally about wizard bureaucracy.

Kiki's Delivery Service, written by Eiko Kadono and illustrated by Akiko Hayashi (childrens/middle grade): You've watched or heard of the excellent Ghibli film, right? Well, this is the book it's based on. It's a coming-of-age story about a little witch who ventures into the world and opens a delivery little business in a small town. It's cosy and cute and a little bittersweet. It's about growing up, about work, about mundane things with a touch of magic.

★ Coraline, Neverwhere, The Graveyard Book, Good Omens, The Ocean at the End of The Lane, and anything by Neil Gaiman. One of the great writers of our time. With this author we often get themes of death and mortality, found family, discussions about growing up, literature, good vs evil and so much more. (Highly recommend the TV show adaptations of his works too.)

★ Anne of Green Gables by M.L. Montgomery (childrens/middle grade): A traumatized, orphan redhead girl accidentally gets adopted by a family of two old siblings who live on a farm on Prince Edward Island in Canada. It doesn't have magic or a magic school but it is very cosy and atmospheric and we do spend time at a day school. The protagonist is some type of neurodivergent, is feisty and a little feral, and obsessed with stories and magic. This book is mostly about growing up, childhood and love. (Also, highly recommend the Anne with an E adaptation.)

★ Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket and Brett Helquist (childrens, series, illustrated): Three recently orphaned kids, the Baudelaire, have the unluckiest stream of adoptions when his greedy uncle gets rid of each of the possible adopters. Full of trauma discussion, children's resilience and resourcefulness, and a nastily evil but fun antagonist.

★ The Spiderwick Chronicles by Tony DiTerlizzi and Holly Black (childrens/YA, series, illustrated): Plot: three siblings find a mysterious field guide in the attic of an old mansion they've just moved into. Through this discovery, they find a magical and dangerous parallel world of faeries. If you love the herbology and care for magic creatures classes of Harry Potter, or the dark forest of Hogwarts, this is great for you. Great for fans of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them too.

★ Bridge to Terabithya by Katherine Paterson (childrens/YA, standalone): Childhood whimsy, magic, castles, monsters, etc. Discussions of grief & death, friendship & family. Warning: this is a sad book that will probably breaknyour heart. Best to go in without knowing much about it.

The Golden Compass (His Dark Materials trilogy) by Phillip Pullman: Ok, this author has been accused of sending mixed messages to the trans community on Twitter. He basically said that he supports trans rights but he's also against people coming after Rowling on Twitter. There's not much news about his current stance and support, but he has since shown support for banning conversion therapy for gender and not just sexual orientation (which the UK has been trying to do). So I think we're good with him? If you know more, please share! With that out of the way, these books are about Lyra, a little liar feral girl who lives in a parallel world to ours where your soul takes the physical shape of an animal. She embarks on a journey to the cold far North, to save one of her friends and gets tangled in a religious war. The world-building in this series is excellent. It's set partially in Oxford and our world too, and although it's not a perfect series, it has some interesting ideas and magical artefacts. I can't judge if the representation of Romani people in these books is problematic or not (there's an analogous fictional ethnic group in the books), but it's also something to consider.

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer (middle grade/YA, series): If you like Draco and wish his character was done justice by the author and the narrative, this could be your new favourite protagonist. A brilliant criminal mastermind, Artemis Fowl kidnaps a fairy, a dangerous magical creature, which thrusts him into a riveting adventure of a hidden faerie world. Great for fans of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

Eragon by Christopher Paolini (YA, series): For fans of Charley Weasley or Newt Scamander, this book is about a chosen-one farmer boy who finds a dragon egg in the forest and is thrust into a plot of destiny, magic, legendary swords, power, and dragon-riding.

Larklight by Phillip Reeve (middle grade/YA, trilogy, sci-fi, steampunk): In a magic house orbiting beyond the Moon, a mysterious guest arrives and adventure ensues.

★Inkheart by Cornelia Funke (YA/middle grade, quartet, illustrated): What if the characters could literally walk out of the book you're reading? The adventure! Well, that's exactly what happens to the protagonist of this book when her father reads her a book. This is about the magic of books, imagination & stories. The antagonist is the same archetype as Voldemort.

Magyk by Angie Sage (YA/middle grade, series, illustrated, British): Orphan kid, quirky characters, clever charms, potions and spells, and uncovering a mystery.

Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce (YA, series): Daine's knack with horses gets her a job helping the royal horsemistress. But Daine's talent is downright magical; horses and other animals not only obey but listen to her words. Adventure, high fantasy, great for fans of Hagrid & Newt Scamander.

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle (YA/childrens, quintet series): A strange visitor comes to Murry House and beckons three kids into the most dangerous and extraordinary adventure.

Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy by Douglas Adams (middle grade/YA, series, sci-fi): A dynamic pair begin a journey through space in a galaxy full of eccentric fellow travellers aided only by a sarcastic field guide. Full of British humour.

Happy reading!

★ Books I've read and personally recommend.

Supporting Sources:

https://www.aspiraldance.com/middle-grade-and-young-adult-books-to-read-instead-of-harry-potter/

https://missprint.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/back-to-magic-school-harry-potter-alternatives-booklist/

Goodreads for synopsis.