#book : ghost map

[gothictravelguide]

I always end up buying too many books when I travel.

Purchased from Barnes & Noble, Wonder Book (Gaithersburg, MD) and The Vintage Lady (Harper's Ferry, WV)

[wizardlyghost]

[dgdraws]

mARTch Days 13, 14, 16 and 17: Pastel, Neon, Warm & Cool

All of these variations came out so cool! The top left & bottom right are mapped over the complementary colors rendering and the others on the monochrome. I like how the different brushes effect the gradient map, flat marker vs round mixing brush respectively. The alt versions are also cool, but I made myself pick my favorites!

[bangbangwhoa]

books I’ve read in 2025 📖 no. 007

The Ghost Map: A Street, an Epidemic, and the Hidden Power of Urban Networks by Steven Johnson

“How could so many intelligent people be so grievously wrong for such an extended period of time? How could they ignore so much overwhelming evidence that contradicted their basic theories? These questions, too, deserve their own discipline: the sociology of error.”

[lookslikethatsallthetimewehave]

In your opinion, what's the darkest thing in Poptropica?

Oh... wow. You know, some people might be surprised at some of the dark stuff that's happened/implied throughout the franchise. And from such an innocent looking world too :)

I guess I'll make a list of some stuff that stands out to me:

24 Carrot Island 

The 4 children were kidnapped and brainwashed by Dr. Hare probably for months.

Astro-Knights Island 

Mordred almost died in a crash, and had to replace half of his body with robotics. 

Mordred kidnapped the princess because he wanted to marry her. And her parents most likely thought they were never going to see her again, since they had no way of going after her.

Counterfeit Island 

It's implied that Black Widow was gonna torture the player in order to get answers. 

Reality TV Island/Wild Safari Island 

Villains allowed to be on reality tv… and being treated as celebrities... WHAT.

Skullduggery Island 

Captain Crawfish probably killed a lot of people. Cause… pirate.

Steamworks Island 

The entire backstory of this island: the people were doing experiments on plants, when the plants mutated and tried to kill them. The only way they could survive is by freezing themselves.

Captain Ziggs sacrificed himself to hold off the Plant Monsters. Mayor Crumb must be feeling pretty depressed now that she's free and forced to live without him.

Red Dragon Island  

The Shogun being a pretty terrifying tyrant. 

Shrink Ray Island  

POV: you're an elementary school student and your teacher's star pupil. You trust him, because he's a nice teacher. And then he goes crazy and kidnaps you.

Mr. Silva threatens to shrink CJ and the player to the point where they can't be seen by anyone, which is kinda dark honestly. 

Blimp Adventure 

Dr. Cumulo Nimbus sets fire to the rain to all the islands. 

Game Show Island  

Robots take over and enslave humanity. 

Ghost Story Island  

A really depressing murder mystery/ weird love triangle story that involves several character's deaths.

S.O.S Island  

The ship sinks and everyone inside almost dies. Also a child.

Vampire's Curse Island  

Count Bram outlives his wife, and goes crazy. And he kidnaps a child due to insanity. 

Cactus von Garlic has killed many vampires. But not all vampires in Poptropica are evil (if Haunted House is any indication). 

Twisted Thicket Island  

The forest creatures turning into stone. I'm not 100% sure if they're still alive in there or not...

Poptropolis Games Island

The island sinks back into the ocean, with people still on it. Some of the ancient islanders are waterlogged (but still alive, for some reason).

Lunar Colony Island (Book)

The PASE workers are oddly sociopathic to Glen John's situation, only caring about Glen helping them. Glen is 13 btw.

Super Villain Island  

Zeus almost winning. He blew up the world for no reason. Also, there's something really scary about the way he blew up his own island.

Zomberry Island  

Zombie apocalypse. 

Virus Hunter Island  

A pandemic almost happened. 

Monster Carnival Island 

Ringmaster Raven's backstory: Pretty messed up. 

Edgar is an orphan who ran away and joined the carnival. He put a lot of trust in the Ringmaster and seemed pretty happy… and then the Ringmaster hypnotizes him and uses him for his scheme. Pretty messed up. 

Survival Island 

Myron Van Buren. Enough said.

Mission Atlantis Island 

The alien was trapped underwater for years and died.

PoptropiCon Island  

Omegon taking over the convention center, and turning the people into Hench-Bots.

Arabian Nights Island 

Scheherazade attempted to steal the player's soul… what the heck.

Graphic Novels

The kids almost died… several times. (A Saber tooth tiger and polar bear almost maul them, they almost fall to their deaths, they almost freeze to death, they are almost stabbed to death by Lieutenant Rogers, they almost got erased from history on the Ancient Egypt Island, they almost burned alive in a volcano eruption, etc)

The ancient Egyptians are erased from one timeline, and a bunch of people on earth died... and it's unknown if they were brought back, or what.

When Spencer Albright is murdered, Jonas is so overcome with grief that he completely loses it and becomes murderous like Octavian. Jonas is 18-20 btw.

The backstories for the main characters (Octavian is forced to let Paulla die, Mya's mom abruptly dies and she goes through depression, Oliver’s dad walks out on the family).

Octavian's fate at the end is this: he accidentally jumped through the portal before the universe he wanted to go to fully formed. Because of this, he jumped into the in-between point of universes, and was split into an infinite amount of versions of himself. Sounds complicated, but is incredibly messed up.

Mya was seriously considering leaving her own timeline, even though she would be leaving her family and friends behind. Whether or not she knew this is unknown, but if she did... kinda messed up.

And… that's it. No more dark things that stick out to me after that. Probably because after this, they fired the writer who was responsible for most of the dark undertones in the franchise. OOPS!!! >:(

I think the darkest stuff comes from Monster Carnival, Survival, and the graphic novels.

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Multiamory Month, Day Twenty-Eight: Magic (Valicer In The Dark AU)

The end of Multiamory March (as made by @polyamships) creeps ever closer, and today's prompt is a simple but fun one: "magic!" I have a number of AUs where magical things happen, so filling this one? Not a problem. :p Now, one might have expected that I'd do something for the All The Fairy Tales AU for this one, or perhaps the Medieval Fantasy AU, or maybe even the Valicer Forgotten Vows AU --

But when it came time to figure out something for this prompt, the first thing that actually came to mind was my beloved Valicer In The Dark AU. Which does indeed have magic in it -- just, uh, magic you don't want to mess with too much. Which led to me thinking about what the trio would have learned about magic, growing up in Duskwall -- and what Alice and Smiler might think about Victor getting into it once he embraces being a Whisper. And so the story below was born! I hope you enjoy. :)

--

Magic was dangerous.

That was a fact of life one learned early on, living in Duskwall. Magic, and anything related to it, was dangerous. The old tongue of sorcery was the domain of demons now, who used it to torment all who opposed them – from freezing them in storms of ice, to drowning them in massive waves, to burning them with whips of fire. And rituals? Well, you never knew what mysterious, otherworldly force would consent to lend you a bit of its power – or for what purpose. The city was full of stories featuring those who had dabbled in what they didn’t understand, and ended up paying a terrible price. Who had discovered that the power they so eagerly sought was also their inevitable downfall. Magic was dangerous, and thus best avoided.

Alice and Smiler had known that too – they’d grown up hearing all the stories, all the warnings, after all. And for the most part, they’d followed said warnings – Alice had confined her interest in the fantastical to her imagination, where magic could run wild without hurting anyone, while Smiler had channeled their desire to accomplish incredible things into alchemy, which often ran up against the side of magic, but never quite crossed over. Even after Alice suffered the death of her family and ten years in Rutledge Asylum, and Smiler finally ran away from home and was cheerfully swallowed up by the Advocates, neither of them were tempted much by the mystical.

And then they met Victor. Who – after some initial reluctance – wholeheartedly embraced life as a Whisper. Who poured through ancient volumes of spellcraft and sorcery, studying distressingly complex diagrams and practicing words no human tongue should be able to form. Who asked his ghostly mentor what rituals he knew, and how best to perform them. Who eventually came up with his own spells, designed to translate any language or ward them against spectral attacks or even drag them all temporarily into the ghost field. All the sort of terrifying, dangerous activities that any sensible person would want to avoid.

But – well. One could accuse Alice and Smiler of being a lot of things, but “sensible” was not usually one of them. And things Victor did – first, they were genuinely incredible feats of arcane power. Second, he always tried to be as safe as possible, and only use them for the whole crew’s benefit. And third – whenever he spoke a word that brought lightning arcing down from the sky, or drew a symbol that lit up a ghostly map of the city, Alice and Smiler would see the joy on his face –

And think, how could they deny the man they loved such pleasure?

[carriagelamp]

I read some really excellent books this month! Some interesting nonfiction that I was able to listen to on my commute or while working, and a few I’ve been highly anticipating. It was honestly an ideal sort of reading month for me, the weather and my general energy levels just made it very indulgent. Also my library’s Summer Reading Club has juuuuuust started, so I figured I would post June’s books a bit early and really sink my teeth into what I want to read for that!

Audrey (cow)

This book was completely charming. I’ve read a different duology by Dan Bar-el (The Very, Very Far North) and they were such sweet, relaxing books that I’ve really wanted to read more by him. I actually think Audrey (cow) is my favourite so far. This book reads like a slightly younger Charlotte’s Web.

This book is about the titular Audrey who learns that she and her mother are both meat cows. Her mother gets taken away (to the abattoir, aka “Abbot’s War”) and it sets Audrey and her friends on a mission to figure out how she can escape before she experiences the same fate. The whole thing is very enchanting; a very neat feature of the book is that it’s told in an “interview style”. So Audrey (cow) will describe an incident, but then it might jump to Eddie (dog) or even Humphrey (human) as you slowly piece together what happened in the build up and aftermath of Audrey’s escape attempt. The art was also very cute. An all around winner, makes for a great bedtime story.

Big Bad Wool

I was so excited for this book to come out! I had read the first book, Three Bags Full, a couple months earlier, and was completely enthralled. (Sometimes it is just very refreshing to read books coming from other countries/languages, it can really help shake you out of a rut.) It’s a cosy mystery as told by a flock of sheep. The primary detective is a ewe called Miss Maple who may be the smartest sheep in Europe and maybe even the world, along with a colourful cast that makes up the rest of the flock, some other animals, and a handful of humans. The author does a great job of capturing a sheep's way of thinking about the world, to great comedic effect. The first book is about the sheep trying to solve the murder of their shepherd, and this sequel is about them travelling Europe and coming across an alleged werewolf in France. Lots of thrills and intrigue as the sheep try to figure out how to contend with the supposedly supernatural threat!

The Ghost Map

A really compelling look into the 1854 Broad Street cholera outbreak in London and how it marked a significant turning point in how people understood cholera. The central story details Dr John Snow’s meticulous research and how he realised that cholera was being transmitted through the water rather than the air, as the staunch miasma-ist believed. Beyond that though, Steven Johnson does a fantastic job of going from the big scale, to the small scale, and then back out again. You get to look at how London as a city was structured, what the social, political, and scientific beliefs at the time were, how the poorest people were living, how bacteria like cholera evolve alongside human society, and the far reaching consequences this had on everything from daily life to infrastructure. It was very gripping the whole way through and I appreciate how far he pushed to topic and his readers' thinking.

Hi Honey, I’m Homo!: Sitcoms, Specials, and the Queering of American Culture

One of my favourite reads this month. This book looks at the presence of queer representation in American sitcoms from the 1960s onward, and how that representation changed over the years. Besides for going into details about many familiar (and some unfamiliar!) sitcoms in a way that was a lot of fun, this book did a great job of showing how society opinions affected what was being shown on TV… and also how what was being shown on TV affected societal opinions! The author's narrative voice is inviting, humorous, and quite insightful into his topic. (Plus I was listening to this audiobook at work, so I had the pleasure of hearing about the great homos of television in my ear while chatting with one of my homophobic coworkers... it was a very unique pleasure 😏)

Hidden on the High Wire

An enjoyable little middle grade novel. The story is set in Germany during the Holocaust, about a family of Jewish circus performers. It follows the story of the daughter, a tightrope walker, through the eventual closure of her family’s circus, her father being drafted into the German army, and the terror she, her mother, and her grandmother go through while they try to eke out a living without being captured as Jews. It stays fairly surface level for younger readers, but the circus setting is an enjoyable backdrop, and it was a pleasant enough read.

The Hundred and One Dalmatian

I haven’t read this novel since I was a child, so this was fun to revisit. I’m sure everyone is familiar with the story of The Hundred and One Dalmatians thanks to the Disney film, and the book is very similar in terms of story and beats, but the book does include details that are lost in the movie. Significantly more female characters for one (for some reason Disney decided either remove the extra female characters or turn them male?), more depth of character, and a more involved adventure that requires more allies along the way. Over all, it’s a fun adventure, with a dastardly villain, and it was a pleasure to reread again — considering the wintery setting, it would be a really nice one to read around December.

Monkey King: Journey to the West (as translated/abridged by Julia Lovell)

I’ve been meaning to read Journey to the West for years, since it’s such an iconic piece of classical literature that I really knew nothing about. (Seriously, I knew it featured Sun Wukong the Monkey King, and that Dragon Ball was, theoretically, loosely based off it, and that was about it.) My library had an abridged audiobook so I figured it was about time I finally read it. And boy am I glad I did! It was fantastic!

Monkey King is about the monk Tang Sanzang / Tripitaka who is sent on a pilgrimage to the west to India to retrieve Buddhist sutras. To aid him in this journey, he gets for several disciples to protect him — the mischievous, immortal Monkey King Sun Wukong, the pig demon Zhu Bajie (Pigsy), the river demon Sha Wujing (Sandy), and the dragon prince Bai Longma (aka their horse). The entire thing is a series of episodic misadventures -- inevitably trouble comes their way either because yet another horror is attempting to eat the hapless Tripitaka, or because Sun Wukong's mischief goes to far and gets them all into a mess, or because Pigsy’s laziness or greed leads to some sort of disaster. It’s a hilarious story of hijinks, crazy superpowers, and horrible peril! Really, it couldn’t be more fun! I desperately want to read the unabridged version now to fill in the missing adventures.

My Happy Marriage v3

This was… fine. I really liked the first book of this series, which felt like a Meiji era Cinderella story. I loved the character of Miyo and how the hardships and trauma she went through had a genuine impact on her. She can't possibly just brush off what she lived through with her step-mother and step-sister, and it informs much of her character arc in really compelling ways. I really liked seeing her slowly begin to heal once she was in a safer place, with people who cared about her. Unfortunately I find the supernatural / magic subplot largely uninteresting. Book 2 I really had no patience with, and Book 3 was moderately better because I really liked the plotline between Miyo and her mother-in-law… but I just didn’t care about Kudou’s plotline at all. I wish there had been less magical mafia stuff, and of more him with Miyo while dealing with his family. Still, it was a fine read, especially considering how short it was -- a silly cottoncandy sort of book.

Stitch and the Samurai: The Complete Collection

I bought this because I saw it and it looked weird. And yeah, it was weird. A story where, rather than landing on modern day Hawaii, Stitch winds up in Japan during the Sengoku (Warring States) era and is found by a ruthless warlord… who is immediately enamored with Stitch. It becomes a silly little story about the fearsome warlord wanting to put off all his responsibilities to play with Stitch. It was theoretically cute, but I can’t say I loved it. The characterization was all over the place, and the plotlines were wild and mostly inexplicable. Worth reading only if you really love Stitch and want something rather kooky and light-hearted.

(And yet it was still an adaptation that still understood the original themes of the movie better than the new live action remake >:/)

To This Day // Inconvenient Skin

These picture books were created by the spoken word poet Shake Koyczan whom I really like. To This Day has long been a poem that I admire, so I was surprised and delighted to see that it had been made into a picture book. Very worth flipping through, especially if you read along with Koyczan's recitation of the poem. It’s a heartfelt look at school bullying and the impact it can have on people as they grow up. Inconvenient Skin was a poem I had never heard before but which is about Indigenous Truth and Reconciliation. The topic was well done and the different art used throughout the book was beautifully chosen, but I think I would have enjoyed it more if i could have found a recording on Koyczan reciting the poem, since spoken word poems are really meant to be read with very specific cadences to get the full oomph of them which I felt I was missing while reading it on my own.

Triangle: The Fire That Changed America

Another fascinating non-fiction book that I couldn't put down. I had never heard of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire before, but I wanted a book similar to The Radium Girls or Poison Squad, something that delved into the history of labour movements and how governmental regulations came into place, and this one got recommended to me. And it was right on the money! This is a well-researched and very narrative look at the events that lead to a tragic fire in 1911 New York that claimed the lives of over 100 workers at the Triangle Factory. It does a good job of laying out what the political and social climate of the city at the time was, and the sort of abuses that these poor, often immigrant workers experienced in factories like this. Only after thoroughly laying the groundwork (which was fascinating in its own right, especially when it delved into the strike action at the time) did it actually tell the story of the fire itself, pieced together from the various accounts of survivors to create the most accurate account possible. It's heartbreaking and thrilling to read about these sorts of tragedies and how they can sometimes actually motivate real change.

A Wolf Called Fire

The sequel to the middle grade novel A Wolf Called Wander that I’ve been looking forward to! It can technically be read independently as it does function as a standalone, but I think you get the most out of it if you read A Wolf Called Wander first. That being said, I do think I enjoyed this book and its themes more than the first, which is saying something because I thought the first was quite well done. This one follows the smaller, meeker wolf Warm, brother to Swift who was the main character of the first book. Like the first book, it recounts their childhood growing up, this time from Warm’s perspective, through to the attack of the pale wolf pack that split up their family and drive them from their home mountains. In the first book Swift ends up wandering far from home, alone and believing that his entire family had been slaughtered. In this book, you find out that Warm survived and managed to escape with the new pups of the pack; this book follows him not attempting to survive as a lone wolf, like Swift, but him trying to step up and be a pack leader who can keep the young pups in his charge alive. It’s very heart-warming, and I liked the general themes of “big isn’t the only good thing for a wolf to be”. Warm has a very different perspective of pack life than Swift did, and it’s an enjoyable shift to the narrative. The ending was an excellent climax.

[quotesfrommyreading]

There can be many causes behind extreme population density – whether the population is made up of angelfish or spider monkeys or humans – but without efficient forms of waste recycling, those dense concentrations of life can't survive for long. Most of that recycling work, in both remote tropical rain forests and urban centers, takes place at the microbial level. Without the bacteria-driven processes of decomposition, the earth would have been overrun by offal and carcasses eons ago, and the life-sustaining envelope of the earth's envelope would be closer to the uninhabitable, acidic surface of Venus. If some rogue virus wiped out every single mammal on the planet, life on earth would proceed, largely unaffected by the loss. But if the bacteria disappeared overnight, all life on the planet would be extinguished within a matter of years.

  —  The Ghost Map: The Story of London's Most Terrifying Epidemic - and How it Changed Science, Cities and the Modern World (Steven Johnson)

[spacenoirdetective]

Dean Morrissey, exceptionally vivid illustration work for "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens, part 3

[mmikmmik]

After everything we’ve learned about COVID and the importance of indoor air quality, I think a lot of historical figures who believed in miasma theory have been judged too harshly. It’s frustrating to look back on all the missed opportunities to save people with wastewater treatment and proper sanitation, but it seems clear to me now that many doctors and researchers quite probably were seeing stunning improvements from improving ventilation and getting people away from the smells of disease, i.e., away from all the coughing sick people

[blind-puppy-ayla]

*Slides Ayla a box of pictures.*

*let's just say Ayla can sense what they are? Also they're connected to music.*

“Coow!” Ayla was staring at the back of a photo

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧩 How to Outline Without Feeling Like You’re Dying

(a non-suffering writer’s guide to structure, sanity, and staying mildly hydrated)

Hey besties. Let’s talk outlines. Specifically: how to do them without crawling into the floorboards and screaming like a Victorian ghost.

If just hearing the word “outline” sends your brain into chaos-mode, welcome. You’re not broken, you’re just a writer whose process has been hijacked by Very Serious Advice™ that doesn’t fit you. You don’t need to build a military-grade beat sheet. You don’t need a sixteen-tab spreadsheet. You don’t need to suffer to be legitimate. You just need a structure that feels like it’s helping you, not haunting you.

So. Here’s how to outline your book without losing your soul (or all your serotonin).

—

🍓 1. Stop thinking of it as “outlining.” That word is cursed. Try “story sketch.” “Narrative roadmap.” “Planning soup.” Whatever gets your brain to chill out. The goal here is to understand your story, not architect it to death.

Outlining isn’t predicting everything. It’s just building a scaffold so your plot doesn't fall over mid-draft.

—

🧠 2. Find your plot skeleton. There are lots of plot structures floating around: 3-Act. Save the Cat. Hero’s Journey. Take what helps, ignore the rest.

If all else fails, try this dirt-simple one I use when my brain is mush:

Act I: What’s the problem?

Act II: Why can’t we fix it?

Act III: What finally makes us change?

Ending: What does that change cost?

You don’t need to fill in every detail. You just need to know what’s driving your character, what’s blocking them, and what choices will change them.

—

🛒 3. Make a “scene bucket list.” Before you start plotting in order, write down a list of scenes you know you want: key vibes, emotional beats, dramatic reveals, whatever.

These are your anchors. Even if you don’t know where they go yet, they’re proof your story already exists, it just needs connecting tissue.

Bonus: when you inevitably get stuck later, one of these might be the scene that pulls you back in.

—

🧩 4. Start with 5 key scenes. That’s it. Here’s a minimalist approach that won’t kill your momentum:

Opening (what sucks about their world?)

Catalyst (what throws them off course?)

Midpoint (what makes them confront themselves?)

Climax (what breaks or remakes them?)

Ending (what’s changed?)

Plot the spaces between those after you’ve nailed these. Think of it like nailing down corners of a poster before smoothing the rest.

You’re not “doing it wrong” if you start messy. A messy start is a start.

—

🔧 5. Use the outline to ask questions, not just answer them. Every section of your outline should provoke a question that the scene must answer.

Instead of: — “Chapter 5: Sarah finds a journal.”

Try: — “Chapter 5: What truth does Sarah find that complicates her next move?”

This makes your story active, not just a list of stuff that happens. Outlines aren’t just there to record, they’re tools for curiosity.

—

🪤 6. Beware of the Perfectionist Trap™. You will not get the entire plot perfect before you write. Don’t stall your momentum waiting for a divine lightning bolt of Clarity. You get clarity by writing.

Think of your outline as a map drawn in pencil, not ink. It’s allowed to evolve. It should evolve.

You’re not building a museum exhibit. You’re making a prototype.

—

🧼 7. Clean up after you start drafting. Here’s the secret: the first draft will teach you what the story’s actually about. You can go back and revise the outline to fit that. It’s not wasted work, it’s evolving scaffolding.

You don’t have to build the house before you live in it. You can live in the mess while you figure out where the kitchen goes.

—

🛟 8. If you’re a discovery writer, hybrid it. A lot of “pantsers” aren’t anti-outline, they’re just anti-stiff-outline. That’s fair.

Try using “signposts,” not full scenes:

Here’s a secret someone’s hiding.

Here’s the emotional breakdown scene.

Here’s a betrayal. Maybe not sure by who yet.

Let the plot breathe. Let the characters argue with your outline. That tension is where the fun happens.

—

🪴 TL;DR but emotionally: You don’t need a flawless outline to write a good book. You just need a loose net of ideas, a couple of emotional anchors, and the willingness to pivot when your story teaches you something new.

Outlines should support you, not suffocate you.

Let yourself try. Let it be imperfect. That’s where the good stuff lives.

Go forth and outline like a gently chaotic legend 🧃

— written with snacks in hand by Rin T. @ thewriteadviceforwriters 🍓🧠✍️

Sometimes the problem isn’t your plot. It’s your first 5 pages. Fix it here → 🖤 Free eBook: 5 Opening Pages Mistakes to Stop Making:

[writerthreads]

Every light fantasy story needs

a talking teacup that gives terrible advice

a forest that hums lullabies

a bakery that bakes memories into tea cakes

a prince who turns into a frog on purpose

a moonbeam that you can fold into origami

a pond that reflects your happiest memories

a rainbow that you can climb into the clouds

a scarf that changes colour based on nearby magic

a rocking chair that tells stories from your childhood

a bookshop where book characters sometimes step out for a cuppa

a sleepy coastal town where the sea leaves gifts on your doorstep

Every dark fantasy story needs

a cloak that hides your emotions, not your body

a library where the books whisper secrets and the bookshelves reassemble themselves into a maze the more you want to seek a book

a map that leads you to a different foe every time

a lantern that only lights when someone tells the truth

a door that only opens if you promise never to return

a throne that turns its user into what the kingdom truly deserves

a river that flows with memories instead of water

a sword that hungers, not for blood, but for guilt

a child’s lullaby that summons something watching from the woods

Every academia story needs

all nighters fuelled by caffeine

a rumour about a professor who disappeared halfway through a semester

fighting for the last copy of a textbook

racing each other to find the best supervisor

verbal sparring on question sets

whispered debates in libraries

a mentor who’s either wildly inspiring or borderline unhinged

one student who always sits in the same spot until one day, they don’t

a group project that goes horrifically wrong

philosophising at 3 a.m. in corridors and staircases

the sudden realisation you’ve been working in the library for 12 hours straight and haven’t eaten

a changing quote written daily on the whiteboard that no one claims

Every romance story needs

a lapse of judgement, then an apology

a pet that goes astray--they go find it together

a shared umbrella in the rain

an fight in a kitchen that turns into dancing

a letter never meant to be opened--but it is

a late-night walk where neither wants to say goodbye

a borrowed sweater that still smells like them

a plant they raise together

a reunion at a train station or airport terminal

Every horror story needs

the ghost of your enemy

bloody footprints that lead into a desolate building

a voice that mimics your own, but whispers from another room

a knock at the door when no one should know you’re there

a journal that ends mid-sentence

a smell of rot with no source

a shadow that lingers long after the person is gone

a warning scrawled on the ceiling in your own handwriting

a room that’s colder than the rest of the house, no matter the season

Every historical story needs

a letter that never reached its destination, until now

a secret stitched into the lining of a coat

a forbidden romance

a family heirloom with a history only the family knows about

a moment where history happens in the background while the characters live their quiet lives

an encounter with a real historical figure

an ordinary object that survives through generations

a meal shared between enemies during a truce

[lookslikethatsallthetimewehave]

Hmm...

That could actually be his sister or daughter tho

[goofygubegubler]

‘𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝑰'𝒎 𝒂 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓.

Spencer eating you for your dear life, ‘cause baby, he’s a giver.

wc: 2.4k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, fingering, vibrator use, overstimulation, sleepy sex?, mild power dynamics, teasing, implied age gap

A/N: Spencer is absolutely a giver in my mind, and I hope you all enjoy this! This is my first one-shot and my first time writing smut, so please feel free to share any feedback—I’d really appreciate it! My asks are always open.

Spencer is a giver—there's no doubt about it. He has studied you with a scholar's precision, but his devotion is deeper, almost reverent. He knows where to touch, how to kiss—his mouth slow and consuming, savoring every second, unraveling you with the deliberate slide of his tongue against yours. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip, a teasing sting that he soothes with a lingering press, a soft contrast to the hunger simmering beneath his touch.

And his hands—God, his hands. They move over you like he’s composing something exquisite, mapping each curve, each tremor, each stuttered breath with an intimacy that feels instinctual. He knows how to dismantle you, how to wind you so tightly in pleasure that you shatter in his grasp. His words pour into your ear, dark and teasing, igniting a heat that pools low and aching, leaving you breathless beneath him.

Sleep clings to you in slow waves, pulling you under, weaving you into something intoxicating, something inevitable. His hands find you first—fingertips gliding over your skin like a whisper of possession, tracing your curves, teasing, promising. The heat of his breath spills against your neck, the hushed murmur of your name curling like smoke in the thick air.

Then, his mouth—God, his mouth—claims yours, slow and insistent. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before his teeth catch, a bite of sharp, deliberate hunger.

You’re not in bed anymore. You’re pressed against the bookshelf, trembling under his touch, the rough wood biting into your spine, grounding you in the feverish haze. A book slips from your hands, forgotten the moment his lips trail lower, marking their path with slow, open-mouthed kisses.

He hums against your skin, his voice dark, indulgent. "Keep reading for me."

The command slithers down your spine, igniting something helplessly wanton inside you. You try—God, you try—to obey, lips parting, voice trembling, but the second his fingers sink deep, curling just right, the words unravel, lost in a gasp as he drags you under.

A sharp inhale rips you from the dream, the ghost of his touch still imprinted on your skin, heat curling deep and insatiable. Your thighs clench in a feeble attempt at relief, but it isn’t enough. It’s never enough—not when you wake up to find him lying beside you, lips parted, his breathing slow and steady, a cruel reminder that the hands you crave are just beyond reach.

Biting your lip, you slip a hand toward the nightstand, fingers grazing the smooth edge before you pull the drawer open just enough to reach inside. Your fingers find the well-worn spine of your favorite spicy book first—the one Spencer pretends to roll his eyes at but listens to whenever you read aloud in bed.

Beneath it, tucked away like a secret, is the small vibrator you keep for nights just like this—when Spencer is working late, when the ache refuses to fade, when his absence leaves you restless and wanting. You know better. You should just use your fingers—quieter, safer—but this? This is too good to resist. The way it hums against you, the way it sends pleasure curling through your veins in thick, decadent waves.

It’s never been a replacement for Spencer, not really, but God, it’s close enough to take the edge off when you need it most. Your pulse quickens as you wrap your fingers around it, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat pooling low in your belly. You hesitate, casting a glance at him—his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, lips parted slightly in sleep—before exhaling softly, determination settling in your bones.

You start slow, pressing the toy against your clit through your panties, barely turning it on, letting the low hum tease you like the ghost of his touch. A quiet gasp escapes, your hips tilting into the sensation, but even this—God, even this—isn’t him.

Frustration coils tighter in your belly, the need for more gnawing at you, demanding. With a shaky exhale, you lift your hips, sliding your panties down, the cool air a stark contrast against the heat between your thighs. The vibrator follows, gliding against slick, sensitive skin, sending pleasure rolling through you in slow, deliberate waves.

Your breath stutters, fingers tightening around the toy as you sink into the feeling, chasing the edge, knowing it won’t ever feel as good as Spencer but unable to stop yourself from trying. The quiet hum of the vibrator is nearly drowned out by your own heavy breaths, the way your body trembles beneath the weight of your own need. Maybe if you just keep quiet, if you move slow—

But then—a shift. The bed dips. A sharp inhale from beside you.

Before panic can settle, warmth floods your senses—a heavy hand pressing against your stomach, grounding you in the moment. His touch is slow, deliberate, fingers splayed, sliding lower until they brush against yours, still gripping the toy. He hums low in his throat, voice thick with sleep yet unmistakably amused.

"Couldn't wait for me, could you?"

Spencer’s fingers curl over yours, his grip firm as he slowly pries the vibrator from your grasp. The moment it’s in his control, the pressure changes—subtly, precise, his touch calculated in a way that makes your breath catch. The sudden shift sends a sharp jolt of pleasure spiraling through you, tearing a gasp from your lips.

"Spencer—" It’s barely a whimper, swallowed by the way his body shifts closer, his breath hot against your neck.

"Shh," he soothes, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to your jaw, soft and teasing. "Let me help."

His focus is singular. Unwavering.

"Besides," he murmured, pressing another kiss higher, teeth grazing sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver, "it’s only 5:17 a.m." Another pause, another deliberate press of his mouth. "I don’t have to get ready until six." His breath is warm, teasing, wicked. "Plenty of time to enjoy myself."

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers weakly carding through his hair. "You are such a giver, Spence."

His lips curve against your skin, and without missing a beat, he hums, "I do pride myself on my generosity."

Before you can reply, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still making your thighs tremble, he licks a slow, teasing stripe up your center. A full-body shudder ripples through you, your nerves still alight with oversensitivity. His hands tighten around your thighs, thumbs pressing into your skin, keeping you spread open, fully at his mercy. His mouth is warm and relentless, his tongue flicking, circling, pressing just right—like he’s savoring every tiny whimper and every shuddered breath.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spike of pleasure through your overstimulated body. "Still shaking," he muses, voice muffled against your slick skin. "So sensitive, but I think you can take just a little more, don’t you?"

He shifts, sealing his lips around your clit, sucking with slow, deliberate pressure, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you from squirming away. Your breath stutters, hips twitching involuntarily as pleasure coils hot and sharp in your stomach, overwhelming, dizzying. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough.

"Fuck—Spencer—"

He groans against you, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves. "Mmm. Say my name like that again."

His tongue presses deeper, his pace unrelenting, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you from squirming away. He’s thorough and determined, making sure every flick and swirl sends you hurtling toward that inevitable edge. And just when you think you might catch a break, his fingers join in—sliding inside you, curling just right, stroking in rhythm with his mouth.

You gasp, arching into him, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. "Spencer, oh my—"

"That’s it," he coaxed between teasing licks. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, keeping you in place. His mouth never wavers, his fingers never falter, dragging another sharp cry from your throat as another orgasm crashes over you, leaving you breathless and shivering. You’re still gasping for air when he pulls back just enough to murmur, "Still with me?"

You manage a weak, trembling nod, half-lost in the afterglow, and for a second, you think he might give you a reprieve.

But then he moves again—this time, slower, more deliberate. His fingers stroke along your inner thigh, coaxing, teasing. His breath is warm as he presses a kiss just above your knee, then another, trailing higher, the anticipation making your skin prickle.

"Spence—" you whimper, voice barely above a breath. "Sensitive."

He hums, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. "I know. That’s what makes it fun."

Then, without warning, his mouth is on you again, softer this time, but no less devastating. His tongue moves with careful precision, his fingers pressing deeper, curving just right. You writhe beneath him, overwhelmed, and when your hand weakly pushes at his head, he merely chuckles against you.

"That’s not our safeword, sweetheart."

You whimper, unable to do anything but surrender as he drags you to the edge again, slow and thorough, relentless in his devotion. The pressure builds again, unbearable, and when you finally shatter beneath him for the third time, he groans, swallowing every broken sound that spills from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before you feel him again—his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, "One more. Just one more."

You shake your head weakly, though your body betrays you, already arching into his touch. Your mind is hazy, barely clinging to the waking world, but Spencer? He’s focused, singular in his intent.

His mouth is on you again, lazy and indulgent, his tongue dragging slow, torturous circles that make your stomach tighten. His fingers press inside, stretching, teasing, working you open with practiced ease. You whimper, toes curling, every nerve alight.

"Almost there," he murmurs, voice frayed, breathless. "Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me."

Your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, pulling you under with no hope of resurfacing. Your body trembles, shuddering apart beneath him, and this time—even Spencer groans, his breath hitching as if he’s feeling it just as intensely as you are. His hands flex against your hips, tightening like he’s holding himself back, resisting the urge to take even more.

He presses one last, lingering kiss to your thigh before letting his head drop against you, exhaling a shaking breath.

Your vision wavers, the edges smudging into deep, inky black as the pleasure crests and breaks. The last thing you register is the warmth of Spencer’s mouth, the reverberation of his voice against your skin—low, coaxing, reverent.

Then, everything fades.

You resurface gradually—like wading through molasses, every inch of you weighted, sore in the most indulgent, well-earned way. The sheets are a tangled wreck around you, clinging to your overheated skin, undeniable evidence of everything Spencer just did to you. Your limbs are useless, your thoughts thick and sluggish, your body still humming with the aftershocks of him.

And yet.

Spencer is already awake.

“It’s 6:37 AM,” he announces smugly, from somewhere near the foot of the bed. “In case you were wondering.”

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. “Oh my God.”

“No, just Spencer,” he corrects, voice warm and teasing. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

When you manage to blink your eyes open, the sight that greets you almost makes you laugh—if you had the energy. Spencer stands there, utterly unbothered, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers covered in tiny owls. His curls are a disaster, sticking up wildly, and his lips are still pink from pressing them against every inch of your body.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“Are you—” You swallow, voice hoarse. “Are you gloating?”

Spencer tilts his head, considering. “I’d say it’s more of a… reasonable acknowledgment of my achievements.”

You make a weak sound of protest. He grins.

The mattress shifts as he crawls back toward you, his hands finding your waist with practiced ease. He presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your shoulder—sweet, affectionate, in direct contrast to the way he ruined you not even thirty minutes ago.

Then, with an absolutely insufferable level of satisfaction, he murmurs, “Four times.”

You let out a wheezy breath, still not recovered enough to fight him on this. “I know, Spencer.”

He hums, trailing his lips up the side of your neck. “Just making sure it’s fully processed.”

You blindly shove at his shoulder, but it’s weak. He barely moves.

Instead, he settles beside you, tucking you against his chest, fingers idly stroking along your spine. He’s quiet for a moment—until he glances at the clock. And then, you see it. The exact moment he realizes his mistake.

His smirk flickers.

A pause. Then, lightly:

“I may have miscalculated.”

You snort. “You think?”

Spencer lets out a thoughtful hum, completely unrepentant as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your forehead. “In my defense, I failed to account for… the lingering effects.” He shifts, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. “Or my own overwhelming enthusiasm.”

You lift your arm just enough to glare at him. “You have work in an hour.”

He nods solemnly. “I’m aware.”

“I have work in two.”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“You owe me.”

Something flickers in his expression—thoughtful, determined. Then, without a word, he slips out of bed.

You frown. “Spencer?”

“Fixing it,” he calls, already halfway to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he returns with a steaming cup of your favorite coffee and a plate with a perfectly toasted bagel. He sets them on the nightstand with the precision of a man delivering an official peace offering before climbing back into bed and wrapping himself around you again.

You eye him suspiciously. “This is your plan?”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your hair. “It’s called positive reinforcement.”

You sigh, taking a sip. It’s perfect. Of course, it is.

“You’re still in trouble,” you mumble, though the warmth of his body and the way he’s lazily stroking your back suggest otherwise.

Spencer just grins against your skin, utterly unbothered. “That’s fair.” A beat of silence. Then, far too pleased with himself, he murmurs, “But just so you’re aware… I already have a plan for making it up to you.”

You groan. Spencer just tucks you closer, and you don’t even have the energy to argue.

Then, after a moment of quiet, his voice comes soft and smug against your ear:

“You know, I am a giver.”

You huff a laugh, exhausted and hopelessly fond. “Shut up, Spencer.”

But all he does is press another kiss to your temple, grinning against your skin.

[quotesfrommyreading]

By the nineteenth century, the night-soil men had evolved a precise choreography for their labors. They worked the graveyard shift, between midnight and five a.m., in teams of four: a “ropeman,” a “holeman,” and two “tubmen.” The team would affix lanterns at the edge of the cesspit, then remove the floorboards or stone covering it, sometimes with a pickax. If the waste had accumulated high enough, the ropeman and holeman would begin by scooping it out with the tub. Eventually, as more night soil was removed, the men would lower a ladder down and the holeman would descend into the pit and scoop waste into his tub. The ropeman would help pull up each full tub, and pass it along to the tubmen who emptied the waste into their carts. It was standard practice for the night-soil men to be offered a bottle of gin for their labors. As one reported to Mayhew: “I should say that there's been a bottle of gin drunk at the clearing of every two, ay, and more than every two, out of three cesspools emptied in London; and now that I come to think on it, I should say that's been the case with three out of every four.”

  —  The Ghost Map: The Story of London's Most Terrifying Epidemic - and How it Changed Science, Cities and the Modern World (Steven Johnson)