Book Junkie @bookjunkieforlife - Tumblr Blog

can 100% confirm that Neil chooses his pizza toppings based not off of what he himself feels like eating, but off of what Andrew most likes to reach over and pick off in order to snack on. Neil is notorious for sliding his plate within the other boy’s reach just so that Andrew always has easy access to his slices, and sometimes if it’s a day when Andrew is eating extra slow, Neil will start plucking the bits of ham and black olives off of his pizza & he’ll leave them on the edge of the plate for Andrew to have whenever he gets around to it. Andrew knows that he does this on purpose, too, and he usually reacts like a cat looking at someone that they silently adore aka Andrew slow blinks at Neil before he reaches out and starts taking the offered food. He always brings the first bite to Neil’s lips, who accepts it, but from there it’s all Andrew’s.

camillarekt

i love how out of the three locked tomb books the most reliable narrator is nona because she can read what everyone actually means from their body language and states her thoughts plainly. the only thing is she has no fucking clue what’s going on

writing-prompt-s

You’ve been sentenced to 400 years for multiple murders. It’s been 399 years and your jailers are starting to get nervous.

elidyce

I was twenty… twenty-five, I think?… when I was sentenced. Four hundred years was a length of time I couldn’t even imagine. It was a length of time I don’t think anyone could imagine, even the judge. It was just a big showy number that let everyone know I’d never see the light of day again. The mages who cast the spells were dramatic about it, practically shouting the part about ‘until death claims you, or four hundred years hath passed, forsooth, thou shalt be imprisoned here’. They don’t waste that kind of magic on most prisoners, but I was special.

The Slayer, they called me then. The Monster of Sentan. I’d killed nineteen people… I remember that number because I was so furious that they stopped me so close to my goal of twenty-one. And I didn’t just kill ordinary people, no, but the Chosen of the Gods. The Great and Good. They were terrified of me. So they locked me away, to die forgotten.

It had been a little less than a hundred years when the king died without heir, and a civil war tore the country apart. When the fighting was all over, the losers were dragged down to the deepest cells under the castle, and the new king and his soldiers stopped and stared at me. “Who… who is this?” he asked, frowning. “Some victim of the usurper?”

People like cooks and jailers and scrubbers don’t change as easily as kings. The same man who’d been bringing me my meals since there was still brown in his hair and beard shuffled forward, hunched and grey now. “No, yer majesty,” he said humbly. “That be a special prisoner, from before the old king died.”

“Special? Special how?” He frowned, moving closer to my cell. “The old king died more than ten years ago. This woman must have been a child then. What could she have done to - “

“Don’t get too close, yer majesty,” the old man said sharply. “That’s the Monster of Sentan… an’ she bites.”

That was true. I do bite.

Keep reading

bobbinalong

when the babysitter (her mom) cancels at the last minute (gets called into the hospital), so you fall asleep on the sofa instead of going out and punching criminals

guerrillatech

saccharinescorpion

i really can’t stress enough how much i recommend regularly engaging with older art– movies, books, whatever. like, “Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it” and all that, but also, there’s just something really fascinating and kind of beautiful about reading something written by someone who lived so long ago and really connecting with it, recognizing the humanity of people who once seemed like abstract concepts to you

silvormoon

I started reading The Tale of Genji during the pandemic, figuring I might as well improve my mind during lockdown. It’s considered the oldest novel on record, possibly the first one ever written. Early in the book, there’s an incident where the main character has a crush on a girl, so he tries to sneak into her family’s property to get close to her, and along the way he runs into this ancient old grandma who can’t half see and who mistakes him for one of her grandkids. So she’s standing there going on and on about her digestive difficulties and whatever, and he can’t speak up because if she hears his voice she’ll know he’s not who she thinks he is, so he’s just having to stand there and nod and hope she’ll go away soon. And I’m reading all this and thinking that with a couple of adjustments this could be a modern day sitcom, and it made me happy to think that a thousand years ago someone was laughing at the same sort of stuff we laugh at today.

roach-works

i read dickens’ great expectations in little fifteen minute installments on my breaks at work, sitting there dirty and tired and sweaty in a hot factory, and it made me think about how a hundred and sixty years ago there were probably tired guys in hot factories reading the story the exact same way, bit by bit, at their stupid jobs they couldn’t afford to quit and were damn lucky even to have, and they too were glad to read the next chapter of mr dicken’s latest weird little story about weird little people

kaen-ace-of-diamonds

in reading War and Peace I’ve discovered that “doing math homework at the dining room table with your angry dad” has been a common terror since the 1800s

fipindustries

i remember reading tom sawyer, specially the part where he gets chastized erroneusly for dropping the sugar and he just spends minutes sitting in silence sulking and fantasizing about how sad everyone would be if he died and reveling in the self pity of how lonely and misunderstood he is and as a teenager who did exactly that with my 14 years of age i was shocked that an adult in the 1800’s had managed to capture that so well

violets-etc

So so funny to me that when Nona was all "I'm not into redheads" Cam and Pal were immediately like "this is the clearest evidence we have yet that this person is not Harrow." It gives 100% credibility to those posts that are like "everyone from the other houses were convinced that Harrow and Gideon were fucking and Harrow just brought her hunk of a girltoy to the Lyctor Trials instead of a trained cavalier and no one said anything." Harrow was so obviously into Gideon that the concept of her not being into redheads is unfathomable even after lobotomizing herself and potentially losing all her memories and necromantic abilities.

despazito

I think it's so important to have a "nature" calendar in your head, like a way of tracking time that's completely separate from anything work or obligation related, not holidays or anything stressful. For instance I look forward to august because at 8pm every night house finches hang around my window for a few weeks. In spring I love waiting for the magnolias to blossom. Just ways of tracking the time with zero stakes that's completely removed from life's zeitgeist and that you really look forward to