literary anonymous

anonymous asked:

Hi! do you think literary starbucks could extend to the marvel universe? (captain america, iron man...) LOVE YOU

Captain America orders an americano, Tony Stark orders off his own secret menu that he designed himself. They’re all really complicated frappuccinos with tons of different flavors but like 5 shots of expresso in each. Cap is appalled at Tony’s inability to just order off the regular menu. Tony buys out Starbucks and tells the baristas not to serve anything to Bucky Barnes. Boom. Civil War.

Also the baristas* have cut Clint Barton off from any more caffeine because he was coming in three times each morning.

*it was Kate Bishop and she paid them off

anonymous asked:

What's the best way to get an agent?

Getting a literary agent

In order to get a publisher, you need to find an agent. A few publishers will consider writers with no agents, but the typical submission route sees an agent pitching your work to publishers.

Who are agents?

Agents are experts in the book business. They consider hundreds of books a day, choose a few promising clients a year and try to pitch their work to publishers. If you did get an agent he/she is your best bookish friend! Agents are experts who believe in your book. Treat them fairly and don’t expect them to be you biatch. Their job is pitching to publishers, not advertise your book (nor edit or listen to you whine). Know what to expect.

Originally posted by tingeofgiiinge

What do agents do?

They select authors as clients and try to get them good deals with publishers. They are paid when the writer is paid. Never give money to anyone to read your work! A serious agent would never ask for money.What don’t agents do? They don’t advertise your book, they don’t edit, they don’t cook for you, nor look after your children.

How do I get an agent?

To get an agent you have to write a query letter. In fact, on average, you have to write about 100 queries to find an agent, and that is only if your book is prime stuff. An alternative is to take part in “pitching competitions” like PitMad on twitter or attending a writers’ pitch conference.

How do I select which agent is right for me?

Don’t flood all the literary agents of the world at once. Choose two or three who published books you liked and are similar to yours. If you can’t think of any, you should probably be spending more time reading before you consider publishing.  Check AgentQuery to find agents open to submissions in your genre. Do some research on them, make sure they are a good fit and be ready for rejection.

How do I deal with rejection?

Dismiss it. It’s part of the job and it’s good for big egos. Finding an agent is like finding a soulmate, all you need is one. BUT, if after ten queries nobody asked for a partial of your manuscript, you might want to question if there is something wrong with your query or if you’re pitching for the wrong genres. Alternatively, it could be that your project is “high risk” or not “mainstream” enough, in which case most agents will not take a chance. I personally think that high risk projects are awesome: go indie and publish yourself!

Originally posted by coralineseye

So, how do I write a query?

This is a quick guide on what is a query letter and how to write one to successfully pitch your novel to a literary agent or, less commonly, to a publisher.

Before I say anything about query letters let me disclaim that most of what I learnt comes from the infinite wisdom of Her Holiness the Query Shark, a successful agent dedicated to help hapless, unexperienced writers. Study her website and see plenty examples of failure and success, rejoicing at her snarky sense of humor.

What is a query letter?

A query letter is a short missive (typically an e-mail) that pitches your book in 200-300 words. Don’t go over 400 words, it should fit in one page. A query letter will be likely the hardest thing you will ever write.

What elements should be in a query letter?

A query should answer the following questions:

1-Why did you select this agent?

Successful agents receive about 100 queries a day. Never write “Dear Agent” (guaranteed click-delete response). Agents want to know why you think they are a good fit for you. If you are thinking this is not your job but theirs, you’re better off indie publishing. Ask yourself how many agents are banging on your door right now and how many writers are banging at any one agent’s door. Got the picture? Good. Now do research on your agent. Good lines would be: “you represent this other book (pertinent book similar in style or genre to yours) so I thought…” or “You are seeking books in this genre so…” To find information about your agent of choice, start with AgentQuery, then check the specific agent’s website and any interviews online. Sometimes you might want to go as far as to check their twitter feed or search for videos. Yes, it is a lot of work and a time drain.

2- What is your book about?

You are a writer. SHOW, DON’T TELL! Never say “this is a great story” or “this is the best book you will ever read”, “this is the next bestseller” etc… SHOW THEM!  Start with the conflict. Don’t tell them everything, just enough for them to want to read more, possibly getting a feel for your voice.

3- Why are YOU qualified to tell this story?

Are you writing a book about the Vietnam war and you’re a fifteen-year-old Italian? Well, good luck pitching that. You will have to explain why you think you are qualified, and why you are in a unique, privileged position to tell that story.

In general: You only have 200-300 words, choose them well.

1. Avoid clichés; you are a word crafter. Still, don’t overdo it! Verbose queries are not good. Use your style.

2. No typos, you hear me? None.

3. Be professional. It’s really difficult to get the tone of an e-mail or letter sometimes. Avoid jokes and confusing double meanings.

4. Be respectful. Start with Dear Miss Amman (just an example, by golly, I’m not an agent!) Most agents don’t care if you call them by their first names, but some really hate it. They are professionals and they don’t know you. Play it safe.

5. Don’t beg. If you don’t think your book is awesome, nobody will. (Avoid things like “I have been sick” “I have fifteen children” “I barely sleep” “Forgive the typos”).

6. Don’t boast. Be confident, but professional. If you have some facts that can help you list them clearly.

7. Don’t state the obvious. “I would be glad to provide a full manuscript upon request.” Of course you would be. Finish with “Thank you for your time” or similar.Essential info to include: the title of your manuscript ALL CAPITALS, the word count (approximate to the closest 5,000), the genre, your signature with your full REAL name, address and phone number.


-Check for specific guidelines on each agent’s webpage! Some will go as far as to tell you what type to use. All will specify if they want a partial with the query (typically the first three chapters pasted in the body of the e-mail).

-Send no attachments unless specifically asked. It’s the fastest way to the garbage bin. They fear viruses and will never open an e-mail with unsolicited attachments (signatures, files, anything).-Separate your paragraphs, so that your e-mail is not a scary block of text. Happy querying :D


I compiled this and more advice on a free writer guide you can get from my blog. Click here to check it out. No, it’s not a scam. Yes, I’m a real published author.

anonymous asked:

What do you think of the "notice me senpai" syndrome?

//I’m gonna assume this is for mun, so! My thoughts. I apologize if they’re all over the place, I’ve only had one cup of coffee and my brain is still dead. 

//While it’s an important aspect to Akutagawa’s character (I mean… his desire to have Dazai acknowledge him is a huge motivating factor for a lot of what he does) I think the fandom focuses on the wrong angle of it more often than not. Namely: interpreting Akutagawa as someone incapable of thinking and acting with any sort of intelligence in favor of ‘being bat shit for the sake of proving himself’ and generally pushing this sort of… one dimensionally obsessive bitch boy persona as who Akutagawa is. 

//Basically: Canon Akutagawa doesn’t have notice me senpai syndrome; fanon Akutagawa does. 

//And while I get why people joke about it (I mean, I’ve done so and continue to do so sometimes and I slip that into some of the more light-hearted interactions and writings; it’s fandom) I really wish the substance to it that’s in the source material carried over a little more heavily into fanon interpretations of Akutagawa’s character. 

//I think given Akutagawa’s background, his ideals, the interactions and experiences that he had with Dazai when he was in the Port Mafia and the way Dazai treats him after they come across each other again, it’s not? Surprising? That Akutagawa holds Dazai’s opinion of him so highly and he’s so intensely driven to seek and prove himself to Dazai. 

//I feel it’s less the core of his personality/existence, however, and more a symptom of his overall ‘survival of the fittest, if you’re not strong enough to survive you don’t deserve to live’ Darwinist, black/white way of thinking. Akutagawa has always sought to prove himself to be on top of the food chain. I think Dazai is something that focuses that need - and I’m about 99% sure this is something Dazai picked up, ran with, and exploited because he could. I don’t think it’s very fair to boil the intricacies of Dazai and Akutagawa’s relationship to…. uwu senpai notice me. 

anonymous asked:

Favourite works of literary theory?

I am blue as blue can get
but I know how to shoot a shotgun full of buckshot bullets,
I know how ‘no’s turn boys into beasts. 
I’m not scared. 

This is a truth and an untruth.
I am a wrecker
Not of homes,
Of people
(Including myself)
Im an equal opportunity wrecker!
Does that make me a feminist?
Or am I a meninist?
I mansplain all day to these boys,
They should really know by now
that I am a curator who knows better,
they taught me well.
They sharpened my skills.

I’m not a notorious serial killer,
I’m a petty criminal who took all the credit.
The only way I can explain is through shitty analogies.
I am a metaphor that the reader thinks he understands.
I’m Lady Macbeth, and my hands are just dirty as fuck!

It doesn’t makes much sense to me.
I’m a shitty texter,
I’m not cool,
I’m loud
I think I’m smarter than you
(I’m not)
And I know I’m prettier than your ex girlfriend
(And your current girlfriend)
I light all my bridges on fire
I drink boy tears mixed with champagne,
(try it sometime)
and I sit at the head of the table.
I am a mob boss with a monopoly
over whiny boys who don’t get what they want,
I’m a girl made of alpha male,
and I protect my own.
If you fuck with the people I love,
you’re in for some twisted shit.
I am a multitude,
my blood is sarcasm and self-pity,
cinema and endless analysis,
I am a pain in the ass!
I will keep you up all night
And make you late for everything,
In the morning, I’ll oversleep soundly
And you’ll curse me from your work desk,
Only to come home the very same evening
and say you love me,
And say that I’m the most everything out of everyone that you’ve ever met,
and that you’ll wake up everyday excited
to do it all over again
Eventually, you’ll say I’m “too much” too often,
and when I decide not to come home anymore,
You’ll start knocking down MY door
and you tell I’m the most everything out of everyone you’ve ever meet
and this time,
You mean it!
I’ve rolled my eyes so much,
I’ve detached retinas.
(and you bore me).

Sometimes I think about my conquests and feel full,
Full of laughter and indifference and numbness
Not the bad numbness,
(I know that mother too)
But the kind of numbness you get in your face
When you’re drunk and it’s warm
and you’re swimming with you’re best friends,
And you’ll live forever.
But most of the time I am very sober.
It’s my duty to slap me awake,
to remind me of the truth.
I’m not a dictator,
I can be glamorous
but THIS isn’t glamorous,
I know the difference.
(caution: this isn’t an apology).

Those boys,
the ones I ate,
they were beautiful and hand made
of tiny shipwrecks.
I sailed them until they sank.
The seas we sailed were the only ones left that weren’t melting–
we weren’t the first to hit icebergs,
we weren’t the first ones to get lost.
I loved them,
But I don’t miss them anymore–
Not those boys, and not myself.
I’m not trying to bring us back to life;
An autopsy must be performed.
We all need a cause of death.

It’s still strange to me that
My body count is so high.
I’ve led many little lives
I’ve played the protagonist and the antihero,
The villain and the victim.
I’ve never chosen the roles,
They’ve chosen me,
(I’m a method actor).
I thought it was clear who I was when went we went to sleep, but
we were all wrong about me.

To those boys
I’m the small-town star quarterback,
The one you adore and resent at the same time,
The one who’s tragic and a little sick
But endearing because they’re beautiful and hard.
To them
I’m a rare catch,
And they can’t decide
If they should catch and stuff and hang me on the mantlepiece,
Or catch and release me back into the wild
Just so they can watch.

I don’t always know what to do with me either,
but I am not mythological.
I can’t tell you what I am
But I am not a suicide to be romanticized.
I am a championship
and a game lost by 1.
I am decorated
But I am NOT undefeated.
I’m not an Olympian
I am a soldier,
one who is valiant and strong
not because they’ve won it all,
But because they survived it all.
I am many
and I am few.
I am a fighter
And I don’t mean that in a story book sense,
I mean it very literally.
I have survived myself,
I have saved myself,
and I still don’t know
whether the blood on my hands
Is mine or theirs.

Those boys thought I was a war zone
(I did not feed them this lie).
They were shocked and horrified
when they realized
I was not propaganda.
They forgot
that all fire is enemy fire,
that there aren’t any “good guys” or “bad guys”,
just people trying to survive.
I didn’t mean to hurt them by living this truth,
but I can only be so remorseful over rain.
I am not your local weather man.
Everyone is made of bones and flowers.
I never wanted to teach those boys
that people are graveyards and gardens,
But I did, anyway.
I’m unqualified to articulate the ways in which one learns
how to love graves just as much as greenhouses,
I’m a cruel catalyst at best.

Still, I wonder,
can lightning strike 4 times?
when does electricity become an electrical fire?
when does negligence become indulgence?
when does survival become murder?
and when does coincidence become confluence?
Have I forged my own death certificate?
because part of me is angry.
It was pure luck that they walked in and watched my performance art.
It was curiosity that compelled them join me here
It was my contradiction that captivated them,
but it was their own set of addictions that made them stay.
They made up their minds about me,
and never asked what I meant.
No one has the decency to pray for fallen angels.
horns and halos aren’t all that different,
(the devil is a highway that we get on and off).

Long before I left those boys
I begged for them.
I loved them,
I loved them,
I loved them.
They may not have heard me
But I happened,
I still made sound in the forest.
I might not have been what they (thought) they ordered
But they ate the fruit anyway
and they loved it,
And they lost it.
My bags made plenty of noise when I packed up before the bell rang.

Come on, boys,
We all did this,
We all do this.
We’re all just fucking 4th graders anxious to go home,
We are unapologetic
We are all geniuses,
no one buys our art
we’re still masterpieces.
Just because you didn’t see me leave
doesn’t mean I’ll stick around after class to explain.
I can’t,
I won’t make it fair just to soothe you,
I won’t remain here for the sake of sticking.
I left early,
But I am a four day weekend,
And I can’t be so sorry anymore
(I’m not really sorry anymore).

The only solace I can offer is a thorough investigation.
I can only remember
what our autopsies smelled like.
I tried to respect them as I opened me up
but birth and death are messy!
I examined my insides and found my rot
then dug it out with my own two hands.
When there was nothing more to report,
I said hello and goodbye to myself.
I kissed my lives and loves one last time
before I had to leave.
I shut off the lights and showed myself the door.

Oh, my bittersweet tooth throbs.
I am on my way!
I have more wars to survive
And lives to live.
I have my own wrecks to discover
and helm to steer.
I am grateful for having shed my skins,
and I hope they feel the same,
but my chest bumps nonetheless.
It taps me, and it whispers:
You are on your way!
You are on your way!

anonymous asked:

Hey,@ashesforfoxes! I love your Star Wars meta, they are very insightful and thought-provoking. I am consciously trying to read more books as a post-college person. So, I was wondering what are some of your favorite books? And, do you have any book recommendations if I want to learn more about literary tropes and mythology?

Hi, and thank you!

I have too many favorite books but in terms of re-readability I will go back to the same few over and over again:

For literary tropes and mythology the most rewarding finds have been from trawling the folklore, mythology, and psychology sections of the library and taking chances–so my apologies if I don’t have much on my shelf to list off. Joseph Campbell’s work, James George Frazer’s The Golden Bough, and Jung’s everything are touchstones but I’m biased towards the divine feminine and mythopoeticism:

I’ve also found going down rabbit holes of the internet into topics with lateral/overlapping interests can be just as rewarding/informative. Art history, film criticism, graphic novels/comic books, annotated poetry/song lyrics, philosophy, tarot, occultism, alchemy, true crime, etc. have informed my rather amateur understanding of things just as much as books on the subject. I have lost many a night to Wikipedia and YouTube rabbit-trails. Though not books I’d also recommend Adam Curtis’s documentaries as they will make you question the very nature of reality re: symbols and subtext. 

Hopefully this helps and enjoy your freedom from academia!

anonymous asked:

??????? wait what the fuck i remember reading this gtop fanfic a while ago where there was this chapter of jiyong randomly meeting harry in like a club without knowing it was him (im pretty sure it wasnt japan tho idk maybe) but they didnt hook up or anything but?? bitch wAS THAT YOU THAT WROTE THAT FANFIC???? this cannot be a coincidence i swear i havent lost my mind ive read something like that before. this is some mandela effect bullshit. if this aint you im sorry


anonymous asked:

More👏oda👏and👏gide👏please👏 (if you wanna.)

For @hplovecraftsuggestions and @andregidesuggestions. Set in the same world as this fic. 

Continued credit to @fyodorsuggestions for the reincarnation idea~

Gide/Odasaku | Reincarnation | Death & Murder Mentions | Potentially disturbing imagery. 

They meet again at a cafe just outside of Yokohama. It’s small, almost cozy. Mostly, it’s quiet. The business it gets isn’t enough to make it crowded, keeps it comfortably empty, lets them have the space to themselves aside from the stoop-backed woman that pours their tea into porcelain-and-gold-cracked cups. 

He’s silent. So is Gide. Rarely do they ever have to fill their time with words; what have they to say that they already haven’t, a life ago or two or three ago? What answers could they give they haven’t already spat out or bit back?

It’s good to see you? No it isn’t.

How have you been? Wading through agony. 

Did you miss me? Like one misses a cancer gnawing on bone. 

Yet there’s a peace. It’s strange. They sit across from each other like they haven’t put swords through each others’ bellies and bullets through each others’ skulls, like they haven’t had their fingers wrapped around each others’ throats as the pulse beats out a dying cadence, like they haven’t always and forever been the reason they leave the world in a current of blood and salted tears. 

Yet there’s a peace. Odasaku turns the parchment papers of the book he brought with him, eyes training over elegantly inked kanji, and Gide sips his Darjeeling methodically - silently. Index and middle finger slip through the handle, the other hand cradles the bottom of cup as he brings it to his lips - sighs and sips as the heat slides down his throat and the bitter-sweet coats his tongue.  

Odasaku watches, from his peripheral, the way red eyes slide listlessly closed and Gide savors. He wonders when was the last time Gide had ability to drink his tea without the world burning around him, though to be fair, he thinks to himself a little bitterly, the world is always burning wherever Gide steps. 

He can almost feel the embers beginning to crackle beneath his feet. Every second of peace is just one second closer to the flame. 

He turns another page. Gide takes another sip. The cafe is quiet. 

anonymous asked:



anonymous asked:

What are some of your favorite pieces of classic literature?

OH BOY. Nonny, I love to babble on aimlessly about books so I was excited to get this message and here are a lot of words!! about books!!

  • Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
    It’s so cliche of an answer, I know, but I love P&P. It’s a little difficult to get into in the beginning, but once you start to understand the pace and style it’s hilarious and wonderful. I wish I was witty and clever Lizzie, but let’s face it, I’m totally socially awkward Darcy. Jane Austen invented romance, guys.
  • Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
    I LOVE CATCHER IN THE RYE. Also, it seems like, on tumblr, people either love Catcher or absolutely hate it. I attribute my liking it partially to the fact that I read it at the right time. It’s a bit of a teen angst novel and I read it in the throws of my teenage angst. 
    Salinger is sort of the anti-Hemingway, in the way that they both served in war (for Salinger it was WWII, and for Hemingway it was WWI) but instead of being like “ahhh war, booze, women, ~manliness~” in his novels, like Hemingway was, Salinger wrote Catcher in the Rye which is just about the fucked up teenager, Holden, and all the crappy things that happen to him. (Also my veryyyyy hot english teach and and I bonded over our mutual love of Salinger and mutual hatred of Hemingway) (oh and if anyone wants to fight about Hemingway…. I don’t want to. I just hate his books. You’re not going to change my mind.)
    Holden is the epitome of the “stale cinnamon roll, been in this world too long, too cynical” meme. He’s kind of a jerk?? but I love him. 
  • 1984 by George Orwell
    Still terrifyingly relevant, 1984 imagines the dystopian future of the year… 1984. I’ve only read it once but should probably read it again. AND! FUN FACT! 1984 was banned in the USSR for being anticommunist, and in the USA for being procommunist. 
  • Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
    I cry every time I try to verbally explain Les Miz. The book is long as fuck but soooooo good. But like. I read the whole book and I’m telling you that, while it’s very good, the movie-musical is a great and accurate adaptation that doesn’t loose any content but also adds musical number so just watch the movie-musical if you do’t want to read the 1400 page book.
  • Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare
    I lied earlier in this reply, Shakespeare invented romance. Much Ado is my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE of all of his plays. Much Ado About Nothing is about these two people, Benedict and Beatrice, who hate each other (they have a “merry war of wits” and if that’s not my otp type, idk what is) but then their friends decide to trick them into falling in love because their perfect for each other. Then!! Beatrice’s cousin, Hero, is engaged to this other guy (Claudio?) but then is accused of something she didn’t do so Benedict is like “hey Beatrice, what should we do?” and Beatrice is like “KILL YOUR FRIEND CLAUDIO.” and Benedict is like *jake peralta voice* “sure sure sure cool cool okay.” because he now totally trusts her judgment on this. (actually jake/amy from b99 are kinda like benedict/beatrice- HOW AM I JUST NOTICING THIS??) ANYWAY. A lot of other stuff happens and it’s amazing and everything works itself out in the end.
    If you have a heard time reading Shakespeare, I suggest listening to a dramatize version of it or watching Joss Whedon’s movie version, because, for all his faults Joss did an amazing rendition of Much Ado. Very aesthetic but still keeping with the original dialog. 
  • Emily Dickinson’s Poetry
    Because I too like unconventional punctuation but hate leaving my room. “A soul selects her own society”(303) is my favorite of her poems. 

I’m planning on reading Bleak House later this year (after I finish the fellowship of the ring) and I’ll probably have a lot of opinions about that book as well. Also Dancing Shoes by Noel Streatfeild isn’t technically a classic but it’s a classic in my heart. 

anonymous asked:

hello, it's the bungoustrayshots anon from February~! i feel honored haha oh god,, don't feel obligated to update it so often just because i use it. thank you so much for your continued efforts to update the website!

Hello again dear!! <3
Your support is SUPER appreciated omg… Means all my hard work isn’t going to waste and I am VERY happy about that!
Thanks for the message :’D I’ll try not to stress out about it, but I’ll also try to work on it more! Should go upload episode sixteen right now while I’m at it >:0

anonymous asked:

Pre relationship supercat : Cat's mother is trying to set her up and Kara doesn't like it.

Kara had broken another stapler. That made three in one day. She looked down at the crumpled plastic in her hands, and felt like an idiot. She had no right to get so angry. But knowing that didn’t make the feeling go away. Cat called her in again, and she rushed to hand her an aspirin. Cat swallowed it down with the water Kara hurriedly provided, and winced.

“Make sure you have an appointment with my therapist locked-in for the morning. It better not be after eight.”

“Yes, Miss Grant.”

“And I am leaving no later than five today,” she sighed, looking irritated. “If you must reach me, I’ll be at Julianna’s. And no, not my idea. So don’t get any crazy notions into your head of booking me reservations there in the future.”

Kara smiled before she could stop herself, trying to imagine Cat at that simple downtown Italian restaurant. But Cat shot her a withering glare.

“I want a car booked to pick me up at five-forty-five,” she said. “I will not tolerate any incompetence in that task.”

“Of course…” Kara took a breath, but stopped herself from continuing. Cat seemed to pick up on it easily.

“Oh what, Kiera?”

“It’s just…your mother…”

“Is not a topic a wish to discuss with you.”

“I know…but.”

“Why are you still standing there?”

Kara jumped to attention and darted back to her desk. She hated how much Cat was able to get to her. Was frustrated at how flustered she still got, how easily that woman could get under her skin. Months ago, when she finally met Cat’s mother and was subjected to the cruel barrage of comments, she started to wonder if what she had with Cat was somehow a warped mother-daughter relationship. Thought maybe that was the only way Cat could relate to a subordinate who was female. Or perhaps all women. But then Cat had changed clothes during a work-day, returned to the office dressed for some benefit. Her back exposed. Kara had trailed her eyes all the way down, hungry all of a sudden. Thinking of the skin with a lick of her lips, idly imagining running her hands over it. Until she realised she had been caught staring, and she gawped up at Cat in horror, stumbling backwards and muttering something incoherent about forgetting to send an email.

Cat didn’t date, not seriously. She had men on her arm at events, but rolled her eyes at the idea of them when barking out instructions to Kara. It didn’t make it easier. And Kara knew she had no right. Not then, and not tonight. She shouldn’t be pushing down rising fury that Cat would willingly submit to a blind date set up by her awful mother.

Kara supposed it would have to be enough that Cat was only going for forty five minutes Half an hour, really, considering how long it would take her driver to deliver her to the restaurant. Fifteen if there was bad traffic. But she was still going.

“Oh get that look off your face, Kiera.”

Kara blinked up. Cat was standing over her desk, arms crossed.

“Do I need to call you again, or are you going to daydream away the afternoon? Chop-chop.”

Kara scrambled to follow her back into the office. Cat made a beeline for her drinks, and turned around to face her. Drinking leisurely. It was only a few minutes to five.

“Miss Grant…”

“Go on,” Cat sighed, looking put-upon. “Say it.”

Kara stared at her.

“You want me to…”

“Say whatever it is that will stop you looking like a wounded puppy,” Cat gestured with her drink, walking to her couch and perching on it daintily. She kicked off her heels, and Kara found her staring getting worse as she ran her eyes up the length of Cat’s leg.


Kara’s eyes widened, she shook her head at the sound of her name. Pronounced correctly. She might just start to hyperventilate.

“Sit,’ Cat said. “Do I look like I bite?’

“Miss Grant, I—”


Kara did as she was told. But she felt awkward. She rested her hands on her legs, trying not to do something, say something that would surely get her fired.

“I’m not completely blind, you know,” Cat mused. “I can recognize a crush when I see one.”


She looked at Cat in horror, and Cat smirked, like she was enjoying the attention.

“There’s no need to feel embarrassed. You’re only human, after all.”

“I…yes…” Kara stuttered, dreading where this was going. It was like rolling downhill with no breaks.

“But I hope that now I have addressed it, you can quietly get over…whatever it is…” she smiled. “I can’t have you mooning over me just because I happen to be indulging my mother’s ridiculous fantasy that she knows me. That it is anything but inappropriate for her to have any say in who I date.”

Kara knew she should be reeling at the fact that Cat was talking, actually giving a detailed explanation of her mother, of that man she was about to go meet. But she was stuck on her word choice, and found the anger boiling over before she could stop it.

“I am not mooning…” she glared at Cat. “You don’t get to sit there, telling me what it is I feel, and then mock me for it.”

“I’m not mocking you, darling,” Cat said. “It’s sweet, really. Do I sound anything but flattered?”

Kara was gripping her hands into fists.

“You….you…” she glared, and stood, starting to pace. “It isn’t sweet.”

Cat smiled, seemingly amused by this outburst, she sat forward, ice tinkling in her glass.

“Oh?” she eyed Kara up and down then, like she was taking in every detail of her body. Kara felt like she was on fire. And then Cat licked her lips, and Kara couldn’t look away. She wondered if Cat was even aware, if it was a purely unconscious action. “Not sweet. What is it then? Are you about to surprise me?”

Kara had stopped thinking clearly. That was the only explanation. She moved quickly, pulling Cat up by her free hand. Cat let out a gasp, her eyes widening. She dropped her drink, but even that didn’t seem to register for the both of them. Kara was kissing her, their bodies flush. Cat yanked Kara back with her, until they were both on the couch. Kara pressed against her.

“Oh,” Cat gasped.

And that sound seemed to break the spell. Kara stumbled away, her eyes wide.

“I’m so sorry….Miss Grant, I…”

They were both gasping, eyes locked. If the phone hadn’t started persistently trilling, they might have stayed there forever. Kara vaguely got the sense that it had been ringing awhile, but for some reason all her senses had been blunted, narrowed in focus until that moment. It all came back to her and she rushed to answer it. The driver. He had been waiting for some time. It was five-twenty. Wait, how had that happened? She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten. She thanked him and hung up.

“Miss Grant,” she said. “You’re going to be late for your dinner. The driver is just downstairs, so if you…”


“I can change the pick-up time to after six….”

Kara,” Cat snapped.

Kara looked at her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, stop apologizing. I liked it better when you were mad.”

“Your date.”

“Jesus,” Cat snapped. “Forget the date.”

Kara narrowed her eyes.

“What happend to it is just a crush, Oh, I’m flattered…”

“If you’re going to throw every cruel and pointless thing I’ve said in my face we’ll be here all night.”

Kara smiled, but she crossed her arms, feeling too vulnerable with Cat looking at her like that.

“I’m still sorry, someone could have seen—”

“Oh, please,” Cat smirked. “It’s after five, there’s hardly anybody left. And nobody really looks in here. I think they’re afraid they’ll meet my eyes and turn to stone.”

“I look,” Kara said.

“Yes,” Cat smiled. “You do.”


This was getting too bloody long, so I just had to end it. This, people, is why I take so long to respond to prompts. I think I missed the ‘ficlet’ memo. also I hate writing stuff that comes off abrupt because it’s rushed. 

anonymous asked:

Hi! Could you recommend me books which are similar to 1984?

Animal Farm by George Orwell - A book written as animals taking over a human form in an attempt to establish better treatment and equality, but things don’t end well. Metaphor for the Soviet Union.

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley - Far in the future exists the perfect society. World Controllers have made a perfect society through genetic engineer, and recreational sex and drugs. Bernard Marx, however, doesn’t feel that this is the perfect society and longs to be free.

The Giver by Lois Lowry - Everyone is controlled by the very authoritarian government. No one can see in colour and everything from education and career to marriage and children are assigned. One day a boy sees a flash of colour and is later chose to work as the receiver of memory where he will train and receive information of the past world. As he learns about the past he finds that maybe living under this government isn’t good and that maybe outside the city walls isn’t as dangerous as they say.

Hope that helps!

anonymous asked:

Harold! We haven't heard from you in a while--How are you you little sunshine cinnamon roll

I’m great!! I’m back home so I get to go to a lot of Broadway musicals and I get to eat at lots small and cozy restaurants! It’s also just really nice to be back to mom’s food and my own room. I have most my books here and the garden is beautiful so one of my favorite things is to just lay in the sun and read

Originally posted by sparkleyesjk

anonymous asked:

Do you have any recommendations for books about pirates?

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson - Can’t go wrong here (one of my personal favourites). Young Jim Hawkins finds himself with a map to Treasure Island where there is said to be bountiful treasure hidden by a ruthless pirate. As he sets sail with a crew willing to help him everything seems fine, however the one-legged cook, Long John Silver, may not be as nice as everyone says and may have others plans

Pirate Latitudes by Michael Crichton - From the writer of Jurassic Park is this wonderful Pirate story. Charles Hunter, a pirate captain, has plans to rain El Trinidad, a Spanish galleon filled with treasure. Set in 1665 in Jamaica, this story is full of action and adventure.

On Strangers Tide by Tim Powers - The book that inspired the Pirates of the Carribean movie. John Chandagnac is on a mission for vengeance, but is soon forced to join a pirate crew. He takes on a new identity of Jack Shandy as he attempts to stop a mad Oxford professor

anonymous asked:

You rank the Korra books as 3 > 4 > 2 > 1, correct? You may have written on this, but I'm just curious as to why you think book 2 is better than 1. I know the ending is unsatisfying, but it seems to be a much more consistent season.

Book 1 is 100% the more consistent season. And it might be a better viewing experience? Book 2 has a ton of pacing and narrative flaws. Before I began thinking about like, arcs and themes and stuff (basically before my rewatch), I ranked them 3>4>1>2. So like, the “pure enjoyment” factor is not nothing.

I do think “Endgame” (1x12) is absolutely atrocious, however. It’s probably my least favorite, though writing my Book 2 definitive ranking metas (just did one yesterday that I think is actually kind of insightful) really made a few turds stand out. “Night of 1000 Stars” has very few redeeming qualities, but at least unlike “Endgame,” it only casually dismissed some of the tensions.

I think I’ve used this before (because I’m so mature), but “Endgame” is the narrative equivalent of a beer fart. I mean, even ignoring that significant moments had to happen off-screen for it even to make sense, such as the Air Family being captured (which lessened the impact of Lin’s heroic sacrifice…an oddly fitting meta result for her character), we’re talking Idiot Balls, more plot holes than a Game of Thrones episode (and that’s saying something), and the entire Equalist revolution just fizzling out.

Why did Amon stand and let Korra and Mako shout at him for no reason? Why did Korra and Mako think anyone would listen to them given that these are the people who cheered after all of Republic City got bombed. Where did Hiroshi go to for the 5 minutes in which Bolin, Iroh, and Asami escaped, because he literally just pops up in a mecha suit so he clearly wasn’t doing anything involving the planes. How did Iroh know how to fly the newly-invented airplane when he can apparently fly himself (so why would he have bothered learning), and we only ever see him commanding a navy? Why did Amon even bother with a fake “I was burned by a firebender” story? It’s not like people needed more reasons to want to change things. Why was everyone involved with the revolution totally cool with the brutalization of pacifistic airbender children? Frankly, why was Amon? Post 1x09 he seemed to just be kicking puppies. Why did seeing Amon waterbend suddenly make everyone stop caring about the Equalist cause. Like, yeah, he was lying, but these were people who were cheering when Hiroshi declared bending to be illegal, so…they just decided that without a charismatic leader, there was no point?

This was just to tie up the main plot, mind you. There’s also the issue with Unfortunate Implications. Like… “hey, superpowers fixed my depression!” implications. Or the fact that Mako gets rewarded for not respecting Korra’s boundaries, when that is a very, very dangerous attitude to have if you’re dealing with someone in Korra’s mental state. And then, of course, this implication:

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anonymous asked:

Can you explain Deconstruction? I'm interested but confused.

Who isn’t. Hah. When I was “beginning” (and the more you read of Derrida, the more you will see that one is simultaneously never beginning and always beginning) I compiled a list of every cogent definition/explanation of the term that I could find; I’ll link it here. Keep in mind, however, that by its nature deconstruction resists defining. Nevertheless, my personal favourite on that list: “[Deconstruction is] to be deeply concerned with the other of language.”

My own explanation, in so many words, would be to say that deconstruction is not synonymous with “destruction” but with, quite literally, de-constructing: “to undo the construction of, to take to pieces.” This undoing, this taking into pieces, is really a form of restructuring, rebuilding, re-figuring, not demolishing. To read and write deconstructively is to bring a text to life in a way it had not yet been alive or imagined, in a way it had been yet been “ordered” or “constructed,” still, by the sum of its parts, alive in its own difference.

This more practically involves a politcal praxis, an empathy toward the unforeseeable other, a focus on anti-essentialist discourse, and a recognition of the impossibility / the spectre of a transcendent or transparent language. Etc. Etc. Ad infinitum. Deconstruction is not a mode of reading but a mode of living–one which haunts.