book page prints


I printed these scribbles off of a phone book page and the text printed without me doing anything other than running it through the press

kuroda42  asked:

Is Template watching zombietale? (The AU where the flower goes crazy)

Yup, you got that right! ;D

I really wanna see how it continues xD

anonymous asked:

Have u read long exposure? It is a well written comic I highly reccomend

ill read pretty much any comic personally recommended to me; is it a webcomic or a print? gimme links or smth 0^:



like and/or reblog to enter! three winners will be selected by random number generator on 18 May– grand prize is a signed copy of the DWP fanzine; second and third places will each get an Art by one of the lovely DWP mods!

(see rules and other info under the cut! giveaway is not affiliated with tumblr)

Keep reading

When You Cosplay Too Hard

And make a bound book from scratch.

Epic printed pages purchased from:

All other shniz by me for @geekgirlcon!

Maybe I could get a share, @kiki-kit, @mudkipful, @moringmark, & @cherryviolets? 😄 💜

It’s a Kind of Magic - Part 1

A/N: Something a little different…
Warnings: None!

It’s hard to find a good book these days. a real book, with pages and print and hardback covers. Everywhere we look we are pushed toward reading digitally and the old ways of doing things will soon be forgotten. This is a mantra of Spencer’s, rather than avoidance of progress, his lack of will toward words printed in LCD was a conservation of the art of reading. That and it was much easier for him to read at his true pace when the words are right in front of you. Having said that, you would think that in all his reading and all his knowledge and will for the printed page to go on, he would appreciate the will for other ‘old ways’.

The air was getting colder, much to the liking of many people. This had been an extremely hot, extremely dry summer and the changing of the seasons was overdue. Spencer walked slowly through the park, looking along a treeline as he walked. The leaves crunched under his sneakers, step after step after relentless step. The search for knowledge is a never ending one, and Spencer was exhausting his current resources and literature, as he usually did from time to time. So his search had led him to venture to the one place he knew he could always find more.

Some way across town from his apartment, on the other side of this park, there stood a bookstore. This bookstore was unlike many he’d frequented, and he had frequented many. Frequently. Upon opening the door alone, your would be aroused in all manner of ways, as he had come to appreciate. First, there was the jingle of the small bell that chimed every time someone opened and closed the door. This was followed by the intense aroma of history and musty paper, infused with hot coffee. Looking around, Spencer took in the sight of an amassed collection of old hardback books which filled every shelf on every wall.Scattered around him as he crossed the threshold, were places to sit still and get lost in whatever pages you happened to procure from the shelves that day. To the corner, by the window, was a small counter with and old style cash register from which the aged owner would look on over his kingdom of pages.

There were only four people in the store, including Spencer. The owner stood by his register, reading from a particularly old looking book as he leant forwards on his elbows. In the corner sat a man with semicircle glasses and long dark hair, who seemed to be completely unaware of anything else around him as he reached for something on the table beside him that was clearly no longer there.

Finally, there was a woman, a little younger than himself, searching through a particular shelf for some hidden and rare book. As Spencer passed her to head towards a less populated shelf, the young woman grabbed a book excitedly, starting to turn to head for the register. The pair collided in an awkward thud, causing the woman to drop her book and the two others she’d been carrying. Her face turned a bright pink as she apologised and dropped down to collect her books.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t… I should’ve paid attention to where I was going,” she stammered in complete and utter embarrassment as she collected up the first of the books. Spencer dropped down to help her, feeling partly at fault for passing so close behind her.

“Not at all, I should’ve been paying attention too…” he said, collecting an open book from the ground and examining the cover. “’The Elements’, doing a little research?” The young woman smiled politely at his question as she accepted the book from him.

“I suppose you could say that, yes.” She picked up the third book and rose to her feet, mimicked by Spencer as he did the same. His eyes flicked to the book she’d picked up last.

“And ‘The Theory and Practice of Horticulture’, maybe you’re a triple threat science major?” He smiled broadly with his almost goofy, lighthearted smile. “Might I wager that the third book is about physics and the universe?”

“More like… alternative science.” She smiled at him. Most people would have told her to watch where she’d been going but he’d taken the time to show an interest in a fellow human being. Spencer looked puzzled, intrigued by the thought of ‘alternative science’ to the point he wanted to know more but felt like it’d be prying if he asked.

“Well, I hope you find the knowledge you seek,” he said, finally stepping aside so that she could pay for her new literature.

“Here’s hoping,” she responded cheerfully as she passed him and walked toward the counter. Spencer watched her for a moment, considering several times if he should ask her if she’d like to go for coffee or something but the words didn’t come and he eventually turned to peruse the shelves. As he did, the young woman turned back to look at him, wondering if there might be more conversation or if this was just another crossing of two souls on their eternal journey. When he hadn’t looked back, she decided it must have been the latter and moved off to tend to her new books.

The morning was getting late, and even the pages themselves seemed dry and thirsty as his eyes travelled across them at an ungodly rate. The wind was picking up and the clouds were rolling in, making the pages fight back and the light dim on his reading. Perhaps it was time to give up on the outdoors and venture somewhere warmer and lighter, possibly with refreshments.

Spencer stood up from the park bench, placing the book into his satchel, and looked along both directions of the path for the ideal place to venture. One direction led homeward, the other led to the row of stores where there were at least two coffee shops. Tucking his hair behind his ear he started off in one direction, having made the decision that a large, warm latte sounded like heaven in this weather.

The further he walked, the colder it seemed to get as the north wind grew stronger, pulling darker and darker clouds toward him. If he didn’t reach the coffee shop soon, he feared he may become rather damp. The moisture in the air was already playing havoc with the curl of hair that now refused to stay behind his ear. Looking at himself in the window of the shop, he tried hard to adjust it and flatten the fugitive fringe but still, it disobeyed. After one last attempt and a hefty sigh, he gave up, moving to the door modern looking glass door, pulling the cold, brushed steel handle and stepping across the threshold, through the warm blast of air from the door heater.

The sights and sounds and smells of the coffee shop were much like most as the baristas shuffled around each other, quickly trying to satisfy the expectantly waiting customers who’d queue patiently. Every so often, the sound of the steamed milk jetting from the coffee machine drowned out the low sound of chatter and light clinking of spoons and mugs. Just by the door was a promotional sign offering this season’s latest fad coffee, the ‘Pumpkin Spice Latte’. It must have been popular because the smell of the pumpkin spice hung heavily yet temptingly in the air. And why not? It was almost Halloween, after all.

After a flurry of movement and piping hot water and milk and coffee and spice powder, there it was. A tall, white mug topped with white and brown foam which had been expertly and artistically formed to look like a pumpkin. He had to hand it to them, it smelled wonderful and it looked great. Nodding with an appreciation for the skill as he turned to find a seat it quickly became apparent that there weren’t any free tables for him to read in peace. In fact, there were very few free seats as the turn in the weather had driven people indoors, just like him.

Having been there since the pleasant weather of the earlier morning, the young woman sat with her nose in her book, stirring her third spiced latte without looking. On the table in front of her was a small white candle that, with permission of the staff, she’d lit and it was now creating a warm ambience by the window as the world outside began to darken and the rain began to fall. It wasn’t till the flame flickered audibly that she looked up from her book, looking around to see if the door had opened or not but it had not. Instead, what she saw, was an obviously put out Spencer Reid as he glanced left to right in a hopeless attempt to spot someone leaving their seat. People were moving past him in all directions and he looked as if he were lost at sea without a single person to help him in the ocean of humanity that surrounded him. Her mind wandered back to the kindness of simple interaction that he’d paid her and she couldn’t help but smile as she raised her hand and waved him over. Spencer still looked bewildered as he wandered across to the table.

“You don’t mind?” he asked politely as she smiled.

“Of course not. We’re both looking for somewhere warm and peaceful to read, so why not do it in another’s company?” He nodded, trying once more to tuck the hair behind his ear but feeling it spring immediately back out.

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” he replied, sinking into the seat opposite her. He glanced down at the candle and frowned “This the only table with a candle?” That made her chuckle.

“The candle is my own. ‘Better to light a candle than curse the darkness’.” She looked around at the dullness that had come of the day. Spencer’s eyes light up as she quoted the proverb to match the situation. “I like the white candle, it’s a symbol of peace. Which is something I need when I’m reading.” Her attention had moved back to Spencer, who was looking at the book she had been reading.

“’The Elements’ not a harmonious enough book?”

“Oh, very much so. All of the elements work in harmony.”

“Tell that to oxidants.” Spencer smiled broadly at his joke but her expression was one of deep thought. Tipping her head she considered the next turn of the conversation and decided that it was the universe telling her to approach Spencer, seeing as this was the second time they’d come together in such a small space of time.

“I bet you work with some form of science. You look like you might have spent a long time looking at very precise words.” Spencer was taken a little aback by the abruptness of the statement.

“I… I er… I study behaviour but er… I have several degrees and PhDs in sciences, engineering and mathematics but er… also philosophy.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to tell her but he felt it was going somewhere. “But wait, didn’t you say you were reading a science book?” She’d pre-empted the question and was already reaching into her bag, pulling out the third book, which Spencer hadn’t actually seen.

“The Wiccan Bible,” she said, placing the book on the table. “It’s a science if you really look into it. Just not one that’s taken very seriously anymore.” He blinked a few times, his eyes glued to the red leather cover of the book in front of him. Was she serious?

“Well, I… we know that…”

“You know what? That science is slowly killing spirit and earth?” She chuckled “I don’t practice this to be Harry Potter, I practice it for my spirituality and for nature.” She leant forward and blew out the candle, letting the smoke rise slowly toward him in the intoxicating aroma as she slid from her seat. It took him a moment to realise that she was leaving.

“Wait, I don’t even know your name,” Spencer interjected.

“Hmmm? Me? My name is Anwyn. And you? Well, I think I’ll just call you ‘Doctor’ for now.” And with that she slid her bag onto her shoulder and walked away, holding her latte in her hand. Watching her leave he tried to let it sink in that she was being serious, it took so long that she’d already left by the time he’d noticed the candle was still sat before him and that he was cupping it in his hands while his latte cooled slowly by his side.

she is the kind of shaken
that makes me feel perfect—
pale and empty like the frames of barns
about to be torn down.

the girl isn’t old.
she bleeds green sapling branches,
ignorant to how cold the winter will be.
lonely in silence, she makes
every blinking eyelash
a collision.

the first day we met,
she kissed me
drunk on wine and gasoline
I couldn’t taste it then,
but her chest is a hallway.

don’t give her matches;
she will kiss them.
don’t give her sweat;
she will drink it.

left alone, she will shatter your teacups
and ash on your love seats,
sit shotgun as you drive on her guilt.
she will hang up, stare dirty, laugh crazy.

she will wake you,
steal you away from dreams of leaves,
holding her forearm like a paintbrush as the blood
splatters solar systems on our kitchen tile.
she will laugh like the bottom of vodka bottles.
apologize for overshooting 11 stitches,

I wish I was the one with the needle and thread.
I would hem her hands over themselves
so she would know how it felt to be helpless.

—  Sierra DeMulder, “One A.M.” from The Bones Below

There is something I never shared on Tumblr, but I’m kinda proud of it. I have a little, just 100 pages printed book with my original stories and my friend’s illustrations. I started to write it in 2013, and this spring my friend said “let’s print it, I have money and art.” So we printed 20 copies. Not really for selling. I’m not a popular writer, but I have some people who really like my stories. We still have ~10-9 copies and we are still at a loss (that was expensive and risky, but we decided “why not”).

It’s called “Not magical miracles”. Stories about friends, about people who left, and stories about Princesses and Assassins.  

The thing is that I’m proud of it, and every time I remember my parents words “your hobby is nothing, you are wasting your time”, I look at the book we made and I’m like “Fuck my life, no, there are people who wanted to buy it. I’m not so bad at writing. I can write more.” 

All this stories are free in the Internet (in case someone can read Russian). 

I dream that one day I will be able to find my book in the real bookshop x) 


hi tumblr pals!!! this is so strange to say but i wrote my very first book! i’ve spent 9 months working on writing it and am making all of the books myself (printing the pages and covers, cutting them, binding them) which takes roughly 3 hours to do for each individual book :o the process is tedious but i love it because it’s very personal and raw :) anyway, if you’d like to grab a copy you can on etsy here! it’s $10 + s&h and helps me out a lot as a young artist :) if you can’t/won’t pick one up that’s cool, but a reblog would really be appreciated (it helps get my name, *cough* brynn sanders *cough*, out there)! <3


I got my sketchbook signed by Adam Brown, Mark Hadlow, Jed Brophy and Graham McTavish :D 

They are SUCH lovely people who get genuinely happy when they see artwork of their characters, and they were enthusiastic about talking with me about their character designs. I am so happy I got to meet them.