reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

Rune lazuli

Donna Tartt

first step to everything is to get terrified and scared

Fog in the Firs (Blue Ridge Parkway, Transylvania County, NC) by oldoinyo

We drink the poison our minds pour for us and then wonder why we are so sick.

Atticus

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vanessa Bell written c. August 1908

by Vyacheslav Bobin

Excerpt from Timeless

“And there was a girl with red hair. She was beautiful, but she was crying. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she couldn’t hear me. I thought it was sad. Why would a girl so pretty cry?” Alex shook his head, knowing from the quiet that she wanted an answer. “I don’t know Lizzie,” he said.  He could feel his sisters eyes on him, the gears in her small, developing mind turning slowly but with a keen precision that seemed to run in their family. She shook her head, dark curls brushing her ivory cheeks. “She told me not to tell anyone but you.” Alex stopped stirring the milk. “The girl with the red hair?” He asked. Another shake of her head. “No, momma did. She was there too.” Her eyes dimmed then, a sad expression overtaking her face. Alex took the pan off the burner and moved towards her, wrapping his arms around her small shoulders and hugging her close to his chest. He felt her wind herself around him, heard the sniffle as she started to cry. He smoothed down the hair at the back of her head slowly, offering as much comfort as he could. He was grateful he could do this for her when no one ever had for him. She didn’t deserve to go through all the horrible things he had. He would never let their father do that to her. Not him, not anyone. 

I simply cannot help but adore her.

It is definitely a future goal to use Eddie Redmayne's aesthetic for a fictional novel character. I mean, look at him. Goals.

✧˖°.🎧⋆ ˚｡⋆☕₊˚.🍂

"I write about love like I know it so well, but to be honest, love and I have never officially met."

- Pieces of me, 8, "Someday we'll meet"

The solar eclipse on Wednesday, April 17th, 1912, in Amsterdam, Netherlands.

“Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that’s why we’re so anxious to lose them, don’t you think?”

– The Secret History