depth of book

Random Thoughts Of An Angst Writer:

Is it too brutal to kill off a child, like not in depth but in the book it would build character and everyone is a sucker for children….

Realistically I would get an emotional response which is the point but how would I amend for it and make it seem as if it was an accident….

Falling out a window it is–


“As diligently as Tony labored over the next few days, his thoughts kept returning to Pepper as she held up the first model of the chest plate.

There was no way to explain to her what was really going through his head. That every time he looked at it, it brought back memories of Yinsen that were becoming increasingly painful. He couldn’t look back. He had to focus entirely on moving forward because the past was too difficult for him to cope with.

Since when is that anything new? Tony asked himself with morbid amusement…”
[-Iron Man Novelization]

Sir Terry Pratchett awakens. A skeleton stands at his bedside, wearing a long black robe. He sits up. “Well, hang on, let me get my hat,” he tells it.

The skeleton reaches into its robe. From abyssal depths it produces a heavy book bound in sheets of lead and night. It is the kind of book that gets stolen by a rugged adventurer from a temple with more spike-traps than the average house of worship contains. It is the kind of book to which the word “tome” might properly be applied. Frost forms on its pages from the lingering chill of the void. 

The skeleton coughs once and holds the book out to the man sitting on the bed.


To the last girl who tried to love her,

To the girl who was her first love and her first everything. The girl who took a beautiful flower and stuck it in some journal that she threw in the back of her closet and expected it to be there when she returned. The thing you never took the time to understand is that you can’t exterminate something so beautiful, you cannot simply just snuff out the light of someone so radiant, something that bright and beautiful will grow even in the darkest of places. So for all the times you used the words, ‘I love you,’ to keep her around while you added flowers to your collection and she hopelessly waited until you turned back to her page, and the times you made her think she’d be your favorite bookmark you’d place in every book you read but you left her behind?

Thank You.

She’s stronger now and she’s learning that she is her own source of light, she brings oxygen to the people who felt like there was no air left. 
I’ve never been a fan until now, I’ve always loved the color blue.. they were never JUST blue. But her brown eyes shine so bright, it’s as if someone was holding a light behind them making them radiate in the form of a caramel sunset that never ends. I am going to encourage her to be everything she aspires to be even if that means I cannot be a part of it. I guess that’s the difference between you and me. I will not let my own selfish needs hold someone who has so much potential back. I’d take sleepy facetimes with failed attempts of watching GoT, as she sneaks smiles and glances of me as I fall asleep, over all day communication if it means knowing she’s making personal gains.

Thank you for fucking up, so that I have a chance to get it right ,

But I think you’re catching on now, you are trying to throw out all your flowers in an attempt to get this one back.

But sweetheart didn’t they teach you flowers were meant to bloom not be hidden in the depths of a book you forgot was even there until you’re bored and have nothing left but it to read?

—  She may have been your favorite flower, but someday she will be my favorite book… the one I will never get tired of reading. 

The old man replied: “I saw how you lectured. You
seemed to be anxious at the judgment of your listeners.
You wove witty jokes into the lecture to please your listeners.
You heaped up learned expressions to impress them. You
were restless and hasty, as if still compelled to snatch up all
knowledge. You are not in yourself.”

Illustrations from The Red Book or else Liber Novus by Carl Gustav Jung. No matter his artistic fluency, Jung never saw himself as an artist, his images are representative of a religious, of a spiritual experience in which Jung confronted his own unconscious, a source both personal and collective. In his risky and  ambivalent quest Jung meets his Guardian Angel, a wise spirit named Philemon, his ‘alter ego’, a prophet coming from the past to help Jung know himself better.  That’s what The Red Book is all about after all, Jung’s transcedence of his own ‘ego’ echoing gnostic beliefs, awakening ghosts of the past that are also about to emerge from the future, where a symbolic language is more important than the language of everyday mundane affairs and a secret esoteric life can re-inforce one’s connection to personal authenticity, what would Jung call “personal myth”.
Vera Bousiou


Obviously not, but if the big reveal in the trailer for the city is… a bunch of tiny indistinguishable dots in the distance. It’s not really impressive

The Netflix original Troll Hunters did the shot better. Buildings are close by and gradually go off into the distance giving it better depth

I Like My Men Like I Like My Books

If every man was a piece of literature,  a Novel guy would be a guy who is loaded with intriguing and compelling features, information, flexibility, inspiration, and all the wonders of a good book where every new chapter keeps you on your toes. These are the guys I like. Because they’re deep thinkers, grounded, with a strong sense of self and a humble sense of adventure. I can reread then over and over again, and never get tired of the familiarity.

Some guys are like Newspapers. They can tell you all sorts of things many of which will shock and intrigue you,  but most of the things you learn from them you will find are not relevant to you and therefore, you will find them disposable and boring.

Some guys are like magazines. They have all the makings of an idealistic partner. They are flashy and attention grabbing just like ads. The facades that they put up are either superficial, and you find out that what their selling is far from anything you’d actually be proud to call your own, or the product is exactly as it describes and there is nothing deeper to read about these guys. So you stack them neatly on the shelf or the coffee table and let em collect dust until a guest brings them up for the sake of conversation: the hot topic.

  • Book!Daenerys: Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.
  • Show!Daenerys: You get a Dracarys, and you get a Dracarys and everybody gets a Dracarys!

anonymous asked:

Why do you ship cersei/jaime?

Because it’s so TRAGIC. I mean, once you get past the fact that they’re twins, you see how complex their relationship is. And it’s fascinating in a I-can’t-look-away-from-this-trainwreck sort of way. 

So much of Cersei’s love for Jaime comes from a very angry, very insecure place. As a woman in Westeros, her life and what she can do with it is so incredibly limited. She sees Jamie as a…vessel almost? He is her best self, the external reflection of who she wishes she could be, and also a constant reminder of her limitations as a woman. That enrages her, but also makes her cling to that relationship. And because of this, I don’t think she sees a very clear distinction between the two of them. Whenever she talks about Jaime, it’s almost always in relation to her own identity. Meanwhile, Jaime is your typical knight character turned on it’s head. He loves Cersei and wants to save her (from Robert, from herself), and he does seem to see her as her own person. Of course, as the books go on, their relationship crumbles: Jaime loses his hand, which Cersei feels as her own loss. Jaime realizes how toxic their relationship is and does not save her from the Walk of Atonement. Jaime will (I think) be the one to kill Cersei (which I hope will be an act of mercy, but who knows). Etc. etc.  

All of this to say that Cersei and Jaime are gloriously fucked up and tragic, and I tend to like things that are fucked up and tragic.

(I wrote this meta post a couple years ago that expands on some of these ideas.) 


Voltron: Legendary Defender Season 2 
Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

I made small pieces of art for each episode! (Like if Voltron were a book these would definitely be the pictures I’d put with every new chapter ahahah what am I saying ) I’ll be posting in sets, more coming soon. 

UPDATE 30/1/2017 0029 - Added link to part 2!
UPDATE 1 / 2/2017 1557 - Added link to part 3!
UPDATE 3/2/2017 2306 - Added link to Part 4!

“It could use a space ship,” said the angel.
Crowley subsided a bit. “Yeah,” he said. “If you like. Anyway, this bird-”
“Only it is the end of the universe we’re talking about,” said Aziraphale. “So it’d have to be one of those space ships where your descendants are the ones who get out at the other end. You have to tell your descendants, you say, When you get to the Mountain, you’ve got to-” He hesitated. “What have they got to do?”
“Sharpen its beak on the mountain,” said Crowley. “And then it flies back-”
“-in the space ship-”
And after a thousand years it goes and does it all again,“ said Crowley quickly.

I can’t believe I spent all these years without picking up on the implication that Aziraphale is enough of a sci fi nerd to be at least moderately familiar with the genre’s tropes. I understand why some people reread the book religiously like every year or so. You really DO find something new every time you look inside.

Read to me

(A/N): I was just feeling a bit salty when I wrote this so I needed to get my frustrations out so :)

Summary: Bucky loves it when (Y/N) reads to him

Warnings: none?

Tags: @mcuimxgine, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x, @saradi1018, @holland-toms, @superwholockian309, @fly-f0rever, @capbuckthor

Originally posted by vapidkoala

    (All excerpts are from Ray Bradbury’s The illustrated man. Any words from his story are italicized.)

    (Y/N) lay curled up on their bed, their eyes scanning over the words in front of them as they drank in every word, an almost high coming over them as they did. The story painted such a vivid picture for them that it was hard not to read the entire book in one sitting, something they had done quite frequently but they had promised themself that they’d savor this book, take in every word and sentence until their head ached but nearly 120 pages in and that promise was flying out the window. (Y/N) was so in depth in the book that they could barely here the door creak open when it did, the soft sound of feet on their shabby carpet. In fact it wasn’t until a certain supersoldier laid beside the reading body that (Y/N) snapped out of their book trance, gasping softly. 

   “Bucky!” (Y/N) exclaimed, “You scared me!” Bucky gave them a sleepy little smile as he closed his eyes, humming to himself. 

   “Sorry doll,” He whispered, nuzzling his face against the pillow beside them. “What’re you still doing up? I thought you’d gone to bed ages ago,” (Y/N) smiles at their lover sweetly as they reach out, gently brushing some of his hair away from his eyes. 

   “I’m actually reading,” 

   “Hm…What book?” 

   “It’s called the illustrated man, it’s really good,” 

   “Really?” Bucky cracks an eye open to look at (Y/N), his eyes glazed over with exhaustion. (Y/N) nods, cracking a smile as they glanced at the words a few paragraphs ahead. 

   “It’s really good,” 

   “What’s it about?” Bucky asks as he shifts a little closer to (Y/N), draping an arm over their leg as he pressed a gentle kiss to their hip. 

   “It’s about a illustrated man, he’s covered in tattoos but every night the tattoos will shift and change. These tattoos essentially predict the future-” 

   “Will you-” Bucky yawns a bit, licking his lips afterwards. “Will you read some to me?” (Y/N) smiles as they nod, one hand reaching down to play with Bucky’s hair while the other kept the book upright. 

   “They moved away. Suddenly the floor plates were laced with bone and white skulls that screamed,” Bucky curls against (Y/N) more, resting their head on their warm thigh as they recite the words to him. 

   “The captain did not dare look down, and over the screaming he said ‘Is this where Perse is?’ turning in at a hatch.” Bucky shifts once again, wrapping more of himself around (Y/N). (Y/N) halts in their reading, looking down at Bucky fondly. He looked so sweet like this, all sorts of sleepy and affectionate, his face pressed against (Y/N)’s thigh to the point that it was squishing his cheeks. (Y/N) smiles a bit as they sigh, running their fingers through Bucky’s rather long hair. 

   “Why’d you stop?” He asks, lifting his head up just enough to look at (Y/N) sleepily. 

   “Sorry…you just look really cute like this,” Bucky smiles sleepily, his eyes closing once again. He hums, resting his head back against (Y/N)’s legs. 

   “Well thank you,” (Y/N) gives him a look over, noting the way half his body was curled against them and the other half was not. With a sly little smirk (Y/N) parts their legs, allowing Bucky’s head to fall off their lap. 

   “(Y/N), what are you-” 

   “I want you between my thighs,” Bucky looks up at (Y/N), smirking just a bit. 

   “Doll, I’d love to but I am way too tired to even-” 

   “Not like that you dork,” (Y/N) smiles, shaking their head lightly. “Like when I sit on your lap, I want you to sit on mine,” Bucky eyes them warily, his sleep deprived eyes looking them over a few times. 

   “So you want me to sit in between your legs?” (Y/N) smiles a bit more, nodding. 

   “You’re already half curled up on me, why not just sit here instead?” Bucky looks between (Y/N)’s legs only for a moment before crawling between them, resting his larger body against their chest. His back presses against (Y/N)’s chest and he curls up against them a bit, pulling their sheets over their legs to keep them warm. “You ready?” (Y/N) asks, scratching at Bucky’s head again. The man nods, yawning a bit as he does. (Y/N) smiles as they wrap their arms around his waist, holding the book out in front of them as they attempt to find where they had left off. Finding their spot,  (Y/N) gives the top of his head a quick peck before continuing on with their story. 

   “The captain walked to a port. He smelled of menthol and iodine and green soap on his polished and manicured hands. His white teeth were dentrificed, and his ears scoured to a pinkness, as were his cheeks,” Bucky shifts a bit, turning his head to rub his nose against (Y/N)’s neck, his body nearly going slack against theirs. He inhales deeply and exhales too, his warm breath hitting (Y/N)’s neck softly.

    (Y/N) could tell he was on his way out, he never did last long when (Y/N) would read to him and they were sure their warmth and arms around him wasn’t helping. With a tender smile (Y/N) continues on, resting their chin atop the brunette’s head.

    “His uniform was the color of new salt, and his boots were black mirrors, shining below him. His crisp crew-cut hair smelled of sharp alcohol. Even his breath was sharp and new and clean.” Suddenly Bucky’s breath evens out, a steady in and out against (Y/N)’s neck, his nose bumped right up against (Y/N)’s pulse point; he’d fallen asleep. 

   (Y/N) gingerly sets their book down, settling it down on their bed as they reach over and flicks off their bedside lamp, only shifting enough to get comfortable against their headboard. With a little huff of air (Y/N) reaches down and grabs their sheets, pulling it up to Bucky’s chin to keep him warm. 

   “Goodnight my sweet angel,” (Y/N) whispers, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s head as they close their eyes, allowing their own exhaustion to take over. Bucky shifts once more in his sleep, this time the movement much more subtle, a simple quirk of his lip was all, a simple, sleepy, and all too adorable smile.