May you never again get attached to anybody that is not for you. May you find a love that makes you laugh, never lets the honeymoon phase end & gives you unquestionable loyalty. Someone who adores your childlike playfulness AND your old soul â a love you never have to heal from.
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A book I couldn't put down; Percy Jackson and the Tiger at Midnight books
A book I read twice or more: PERCY JACKSON
A book on my tbr: I have 133 on my tbr đ«Ł. I have no clue anymore.
A book I've put down: the Kingdom of Copper - Daevabad trilogy. Loved the first book. Stopped because of finishing my studies (3 years ago, oops) and because I couldnt quite like the remaining characters. I thought oh I'll read fanfic, those are short one shot stories which won't distract me đ (oops again)
A book on my wishlist: uhmm.......đ€·đ»ââïž
A favourite book from childhood: PERCY JACKSON
A book I'd gift a friend: depends who. I really recomment any of the bove. Unfortunately not many people I know like the same books (except my mom)
Poetry or lyrics book I own: Blue Horses - Mary Oliver (yes because Pedro posted something ones and got me interested and curious. Still have to read)
A non-fiction book that I own: The Outsider - Vir Das
What I'm currently reading: the Sun and the Star: Court of the Dead - Rick Riordan (yes still. Y'all keep distracting me with your amazing fics)
My next read: The Outsider - Vir Das. After that Project Hail Mary.
After, I don't know yet, depends on what I'm in the mood for
A thought slid into your head thenâsmall, almost polite.
"What if Iâm the only one who canât read minds?"
You laughed at yourself, a sound tucked so low it almost didnât exist. Absurd. Just a passing spark, like wondering whether birds ever get tired of flying. You sipped your coffee, let the bitterness press against your tongue.
You froze mid-sip. The cup lingered by your mouth, steam curling against your lip. People didnât just glanceâthey fixed. Staring as though youâd spoken, as though youâd performed some trick without knowing it.
Your instinct reached for excuses. Maybe youâd shifted in your chair too loudly, maybe your laugh had slipped out sharper than you realized. Maybe the silence was coincidence, a collective inhale that just happened to land on you.
Stillâthe weight of their attention pressed down, steady, searching.
You tried on a smile, brittle and brief. No one returned it.
You thought about waving, about making some joke to puncture the strangeness, but the moment stretched too thin for it. You set your cup down carefully, as if any sudden motion might tip the balance further.
The hum of the espresso machine started again, faint, like a throat clearing in a crowded room. A chair scraped somewhere in the back. And just like that, the spell broke. Conversations resumedânot quite naturally, but enough to mimic normalcy. The air carried on with its thousand invisible threads, though you couldnât shake the feeling that several of them were still wound tight around you.
You let your gaze drift down to the broken porcelain on the floor. The pieces glinted in the uneven light, scattered like signs you werenât meant to read.
You leaned forward, straining, heart stuttering, waiting for the faint syllables to resolve. But there was nothing. Silence, perfect and deliberate.
And thenâhis gaze sharpened. Not curious, not uncertain. Sharp. Knives sliding in slow motion. His eyes flicked over your face, your hands, the scattered porcelain at your feet, and lingered as though he had finally found the one thing in the room that mattered.
A thought, half-formed, scraped against your mind: I can hear you.
It wasnât a voice. Not yet. Just certainty. The certainty of being hunted, observed. The certainty that someoneâor somethingâhad turned the entire room into a lens trained on you. The barista froze mid-sweep, a pen rolled across a table and stopped, conversations clipped like broken music. Every motion seemed paused, taut as a string.
Your pulse slammed against your ribs. The manâs eyes followed each flick of your fingers, each slight shift in your posture, and in them burned a patience that was infinite and awful. You wanted to speak, to move, to tear your gaze awayâbut your body refused.
And thenâhe smiled. Just the faintest tilt of the lips, a whisper of a curve that promised understanding, and something darker beneath. The kind of understanding that doesnât forgive.
âNot yetâŠâ
âPatienceâŠâ
âDo you know why?â
Your stomach clenched. The fragments of porcelain under your fingers felt impossibly sharp, their edges biting into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the certainty that had settled in the pit of your chest: he wasnât just watching. He was waiting.
And as your fingers brushed a shard, a soft, deliberate whisper tickled your earâthough the room had remained silent:
âFinally⊠Iâve found youâthe moment you notice⊠it decides, and even if you leave, it will follow, waiting.â
Genre: Fantasy, Time-travel, adventure, slice of life(kinda), post-apocalyptic, slight sci-fi and rpg elements.
Premise/summary:
When Beatrice finally manages to track down one of the rebels' bases, much to her horror, she discovers theyâre building a timeâ
Living as an undead is about as fun as it sounds. Between trying to balance her own existence and keeping Mary alive, itâs more hassle than itâs worth. To make matters worse, strange visions keep popping into her headâonly to vanish before she can make sense of them, or even remember what they were.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
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pick a colour and write a sensory piece about it. so, for example,Â
yellow is the daffodils on a sunny May day, planted in Grandmaâs garden.Â
I encourage you to use all the senses, so sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. its also fun to use colour and take its aesthetic to paint a scene, like how lavender could be a picnic in April. Â
bonus: considering how emotions are things that exist, you can use them tooâeither as the subject of the poem, or as one of the âsensesâ. write away!
"The Spirit Bares its Teeth" by Andrew Joseph White
Silas Bell, a young autistic transgender man living in the 1880s in England, wants to be a surgeon. Not a wife and mother. After a botched escape from a future devoted to a husband, he is diagnosed with âveil sickness,â a disease that causes violet eyed women to open the veil and communicate with the dead, an act that is illegal for women to do.Â
        He is sent to Braxton's Finishing School and Sanatorium and engaged to a wealthy lord's son. But Braxton might not be what it seems. And Silas is the only one who can save the life of his new friends by uncovering the secrets of the school, all while fighting the voice in his head telling him to just do as he is told. For Silas, doing as he is told is not an option.
        Andrew Joseph White has crafted an incredible story. All of the characters are complex and every character has so much depth. White is able to balance the main character, Silas, with all aspects of his identity. They are all woven throughout the story in an authentic way that gives him personality outside of those defining traits while still acknowledging how important they are. It is one of the best representations of autism I have ever read.
       The setting and accuracy to historical detail makes the stakes seem real and send you to the time period. He uses the time period to bring light to the story he wants to tell. His use of imagery is terrific.Â
        White is able to discuss so many important topics throughout the book, all of which apply in some way to our society today. He somehow is able to highlight and tackle each complex theme in one book while giving them each the space to be recognized for their individual importance. Â
        Gory and dense while also romantic, The Spirit Bares its Teeth is an amazing novel with an incredible message to fight for your life and happiness, even if the whole world is against you.  Â