#get it on papercover

[yarapara]

Since it's still pride month I decided to share more SneeuwRoosje art! Sleeping beauty's outfit is based from how she looks in the Efteling fairytale forest I wanted to give Snowwhite a different outfit based on a certain book ;)

[lokisasylum]

2nd Strange Findings of 2023

So i saw this new editorial (ALMA Editorials or so), its from Spain, and they’re sort of bringing out all these classic books/novels like Bram Stoker’s “Dracula”, Jekyll & Hide, The Brothers Grimm, Arsene Lupine, Alice in Wonderland, Edgard Allan Poe.

All of them with illustrations

^This is to show how thick the book is.

Here’s the Jekyll & Hyde book in papercover as oppose to the Bran Stoker’s book which is hardcover. As you can see this edition of J&H is also “pocket edition”.

Third and final strange finding (for now):

This lovely valentine themed “ghost” mug by Johanna Parker. I had originally wanted the Halloween set of 4 ghouls, but when I finally found them at Marshalls they were bigger than I expected, so I didn’t get them but this lil guy is the right size for me. o3o ♥

[rviner]

There's too many people in this store, Blair concludes thoughtfully. Herself included in the count of just her and Sasha. Her mind already drifting to being shut away in her room to write, but the thoughts quickly pulling back to Sasha's...question? "It's not my storage." some of it is, and her statement doesn't provide much context for the other witch to go on. Blair's aware of her closed nature and huffs because it often only leads to more questions. "I like first editions. And hardcovers. And this fucking world has turned into reading papercovers. So, I just-" she waves a hand, gesturing to the dusty shelves piled high with hardcovers. "It's a collection." she then states, still not quite answering Sasha's inquiry. Pale eyes squint at the other witch's line of thoughts, the name Stephen King in particular sending a shiver down Blair's spine. "He's a sell out. And-" she points to a chalkboard hanging sadly on the wall beside Sasha. Most of it has been smudged and now impossible to read but right at the bottom, squeezed in with frantic writing. "No Stephen King." and Blair nods in sharp agreement once Sasha reads it. "I couldn't fit in no talking about him but that's what it means. And I for sure don't fucking sell him." she doesn't sell anything.

However, Sasha's advice is rather useful. It seems Blair succumbed to the societal norm of opening hours, just. And she thoughtfully nods with a slight grin. "You're right. But even four hours is too long. Who the fuck goes into a book store without knowing what they're going to get? One hour. More than enough." she moves from her chair then to head to the board, scouring for any sign of the worn down chalk so she can change the opening hours. Right above "No talking, no Questions." Sasha's empathy for the stranger beyond the store makes Blair scoff, she doesn't even need to look at him again having already decided he won't be coming in. "Yeah? There's a coffee shop and bookstore down the street. He'll be fine." she concludes with a wry grin, finally finding the nub of chalk to haphazardly scrawl the new opening hour. And with that, it's placed back behind a book where she found it and her hands clap together. "We're in serious overtime hours now, Sash. So...come on." she waves a hand to urge the witch to the doors. "Not getting paid for this."

the best word sasha would ever use to describe blair dempsey is ghost. and the sentiment holds no judgement. in many ways, she's been a ghost herself. her brother, too. fleeting between cities, towns, states. even long before they lost everything. maybe that's why the dempsey hell-house seems like home. the perfect place for ghosts. 'wait...hold on. i'm...well, i'm not a stupid bitch, i read. but all of this is your...storage?' she squints up to the ceiling, stacks and stacks of books every which way she looks. 'i wasn't aware writing paid so good? like stephen king, i get it, even if he dresses like a homeless schmuck but wow. who knew?' she looks to blair then, eyes sweeping over the other ghost's attire. 'is it an author thing? to not...nevermind.' she ignores the urge to ask about blair's fashion sense. half expecting a story that the dempsey only wears dead people's clothes. laughter follows at the keen urge to leave the store, sasha helping herself to a cigarette because she's seen blair light up while at work plenty of times. 'well it's your storage-store. but it says open from 9am until 4pm so...maybe you should change that? 10am until 2pm? that gives people four whole hours to buy shit.' she offers helpfully, plodding then to the window so she can wave at the gentleman. 'year!? blair.' she huffs, turning to the ghost again. 'come on, he looks sweet. like he just wants to buy a book to remember his dead wife or something. have a heart.'

[thelostboylonelyworld]

Caim had arrived sooner at the library, getting his old copy of Saramago's Blindness and locked himself on the little cabinet behind the balcony. The grumpy lady he called boss let her superficial niece taking "care of things", like her fish like brain could care of something of greater content than vain magazines hidden between papercover classics . Three old men arrived in the start of the night, mainly to drool over Jenny's niece short skirt, while pretending to work.

Just a pretty uneventful night.

And then something strange happened. Someone was educated enough to actually ring the bell, stirring his curiosity. He closed his book, not without some regret, he was already on the climax of the story.

Now days he didn't bothered to wear uniforms, sadly the old Jenny was too bitter to not drag the library to her decrepit miserable state of mind.

Still half focused in the history he opened the door and walked to the counter, raising his eyes to met green ones.

He opened his lips to greet the newcomer, but no sound was made.

His eyes went wide, the librarian felt the familiar sensation stuck him in place and the fear mixed with euphoria rose up.

Another blood drinker.

Older than him, although younger in apparence. He did not truly knew how to handle with this. Obviously he knew others existed, he already sensed them, but thankfully they never bothered to approch him. Untill now.

Caim drunk each detail of the other's face. How perfect it looked and how deceitful could it be. Naturally sunkissed skin, dark bulky curls,looking so soft he felt the urge to touch it. Eyes so bright that he had the impression it was piercing deep into his own soul.

He couldn't help but let out the unecessary breath he held.

His recent feeding burning his cheeks.

"H-hi. Uh.." His voice sounded hoarse and his honeyed timbre low. He swallowed. Caim cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

"Sure. " His hand held the tension practically glued at the tabletop, knuckles white. Should he guide the vampire to the right corridor? It was safe?

He opened a charismatic smile marking the dimples against his cheeks.

" Third corridor to the left, is the art collection, Cezanné will be at the second shelf to the right corner above."

Although fear consumed his heart Caim kept the charming smile, in hope it was a disguising enough. Yet he wasn't able to broke the connection of the other's immortal gaze.

@obediencess

for @thelostboylonelyworld​​​

Not since the old days had Riccardo found a library open at midnight. It was a simple thing for him to acquire entre into some of the oldest libraries in Europe, a hundred years ago, but not the simplest public libraries in America were ever open after dark, unless they were attached to a prestigious research institution, and these required strange little mechanical cards for entry. Santa Carla, however, was one of those strange cities that, like Armand’s Night Island, never seemed to sleep. All summer the city was teeming all night, and so why should the library not be open? It was largely empty, save for a few old men gathered around a computer in the corner, and one woman with lipstick on her teeth flicking through some paper back classic novel in the corner. Riccardo so loved the smell of books, the dusty, aged scent of them that rose on all sides, bound up in leather. As he ambled toward the counter, he raised a hand to trail his fingers across the book spines, luxuriating in the simple pleasure of being in a modern library, all fluorescent lights and simple paper-covered novellas stacked precariously on return trollies. It was to the desk, then, that the boy’s attention turned. He was not particularly tall, though he had been tall for his age, and for the time from which he came, he had to rock slightly up on his toes to rest his elbows on the counter. 

There was a bell, there, and so he reached over to gently tap it. The resounding chime made someone in the little office behind the counter stir, and as Riccardo planted a hand on his chin, expectant, the figure emerged. He was not who Riccardo had been expecting. This man was not the typical librarian. There was no glasses chain about his neck, no cardigan. Riccardo had anticipated a woman, perhaps a grey-haired woman, in her tweeds and woolen skirt suit. This man, in his denim and leather and loose-fitting sweater, was none of these, and for a moment Riccardo was startled by his handsomeness, the intensity of his blue eyes – it struck him then, that this was no man. He was not human. Riccardo’s petal mouth slackened, lips trembling a moment around a word that never came, before at last he overcome his excitement to speak. “Good evening, please, can you help me locate a book on Cézanne? I have a painting in my mind, and I must see it to put the thought to rest.”