#chapter books for children

[survivingmexico]

The Secret Door by Minda Gomez

[autismdogg]

Magic Tree House #1-10 (1992-97)

[kats-chaotic-wonderland]

*Slams book on desk*

You!

*Pointing at everyone in the Warhammer fandom*

I've got a bone to pick with all of y'all! How come the fandom representation of Fulgrim is so damn empty compared to his actual novel depiction!? Why did no one tell me about all the people on his damn ship pre heresy?!?!?

All anyone ever talks about with Fulgrim is the hee hoo slaanesh primearch, or the smug artist boy. But no one has mentioned that the first description of his eyes is that they're friendly. Or that he's introduced in his horus heresy novel by walking in and gently asking a wonderful musician to continue her concert after a noble disrespected her. I know about all the creepy and horrible shit. But why did none of you ever mention he's absolutely sweet?!?!?

*takes a deep breath*

Anywho, I'm reading Fulgrim visions of treachery, it's pretty good.

....

....

How dare none of you mention Ostian, Serena, or Bequa! Those three goobers are exactly what I wanted in a Warhammer novel and they deserve more attention!

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

Man-bat is one of Scarecrow's favorite rogues. This is canon now.

5 Scarier Stories for a Dark Night || Scanned at 300dpi

[thatsbelievable]

Art by Robb Mommaerts!

[prismelit]

you ever think about lila realising her father threw her out of a window...you ever think about how the years progressed and her mind evolved from childhood to adolescence to adulthood and coming to terms with her father doing that to her...you ever think about lila holding tina in her arms and thinking about what kind of evil it would take to throw a child out a window...

[super-paper]

afotaro is the elephant's foot of toxic old man yaoi but that's not gonna stop me from memeing on it, y'know, as a coping mechanism.

[stromuprisahat]

“But you know Djel.” “The wellspring.” Matthias nodded. “The Fjerdans believe all the world is connected through its waters—the seas, the ice, the rivers and streams, the rain and storms. All feed Djel and are fed by him. When we die, we call it felöt-objer, taking root. We become as roots of the ash tree, drinking from Djel wherever we are laid.” “Is that why you burn Grisha instead of burying them?” He paused, then gave a brief nod.

Six of Crows- Chapter 20 (Leigh Bardugo)

I have questions.

How is there not a sect worshipping Djel as the first Tidemaker? At least Fjerdan Grisha should do that.

Alternatively (or simultaneously) Grisha should be at least in some places considered something like holy, closer to the essence of the world. Especially since Ravka- their neighbour they share a long history with- has "the explanation" of them being closer to the Making and ideas spread over borders rather quickly. The concept of Grisha being "the blessed" makes more sense in Fjerda, than Novyi Zem, about which we know nothing more.

Do Grisha get fire not to "taint" the waters?

Why do Ravkan Grisha burn their dead, when this is wide-spread belief just behind their borders?

How do you erase hatred so great its target's not even allowed to be laid to rest? And no, it shouldn't take only screaming "Saint!" in the right moment.

[babsvibes]

But what if instead of finishing an existing project I started a novel? What then?

[yasmeensh]

Paleolithic Media Catalogue

Hello everyone :) Short story first: When I began brainstorming for my prehistoric story, I started wondering what other prehistoric fiction there is out there. I was not familiar with it and have not seen much. That's when I started my grand literature review and began a search for what fiction exist out there. I wanted to know what kinds of stories are being made with this time period. What are the common themes or recurring ideas (I found lots of humans and dinosaurs works. And time travel). Since I've had a growing collection on my computer, I decided I should keep on enlarging it and put it online. It's nowhere near complete. I'll slowly keep accumulating the collection as I find more. I only have fiction books and comics right now. I still need to work on the film section.

You can access the blog here!

***

As for where I am in my reading, the one's I've finished reading are Earth's Children series (book 1-4. Dropped it afterwards lol. I made a post on with fanart) Dance of the Tiger and it's sequel Singletusk (They were good! I'll upload my review on the blog), and Sisters of the Wolf (It was ok!). I got my hands on The Inheritors and excited to start reading it. I REALLY want to read the Shiva trilogy, but I found no PDF online... and it's out of print :( There is certainly old copies on ebay. And I want to read Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. There seem to be lots of good books out there.

[puddingcatbeans]

tim drops a glass and spirals.

Tim is just trying to drink some water. Hydrate or die-drate, as Steph has taken to reminding him. But he must have moved too fast, or his lack of sleep must have caught up to him, because the next thing he knew, the glass had slipped out of his hands and smashed into pieces on the kitchen tiles.

Tim hears the sound as if there was an audio delay. A ringing had started in his ears, but nothing is louder than the sudden pounding of his heartbeat. He keeps hearing the echo of the glass smashing, and something in him is screaming useless apologies. It takes him a moment to realize he's having trouble breathing.

Oh, he thinks. I'm having a panic attack.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees Kon rush into the kitchen. He was choosing a movie, Tim recalls absently. He always takes too long flipping through the categories, only to make Tim choose in the end.

"Rob? Hey," Kon is saying. He has his hands outstretched, but he stops an arm's length away.

Tim's fingers are clenched tight around the edge of the counter. He unlatches one, reaching out. When Kon steps forwards again, Tim clutches at Kon's shirt, right over his heart. He tries to copy Kon's breathing. Kon, the lovely specimen that he is, takes exaggerated breaths and counts aloud for him. They're doing one of the grounding exercises from training -- because PTSD is practically a requirement for capes by this point.

It's not working.

Tim gasps, head low and tears in his eyes. "B," he says. "I can't--"

"Okay, okay," Kon says. "Hold on."

When he makes to step away, Tim grasps his shirt tighter. He knows it's not rational, Kon's probably just trying to get his phone, but he can't make himself let go. He squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to get his breathing under control.

Distantly, he hears Kon's voice. "Mr. Wayne," Kon says, in the voice he uses when he's nervous but trying to hide it. "Sorry to bother you, but uh. How fast can you make it to Tim's apartment? Or I can fly him to you, if it's faster."

Tim stares at the glass pieces by his foot. They're kind of pretty. Like ruined things are, something you can never take back, only sit alone in a too-big mansion wondering where you went wrong.

"He's here, he's fine--um, physically fine. He's having a panic attack, I think, and uh--I think he'd like to see you--Oh, fifteen minutes, okay..."

He doesn't know how long he stands there, Kon's TTK holding him up. Then Bruce is there, and Kon is easing his fingers off his shirt.

Bruce is dressed in an immaculate suit, the kind he wears for the office. His face, though, was all Batman. Tim can't stop the flinch when he meets those stern eyes. They soften immediately.

"Tim," Bruce says, and Tim sucks in a breath. Bruce doesn't have a nickname for him, but like chum for Dick, or Jaylad, or how he calls Damian son. But Bruce will call his name like this sometimes, quiet, warm. Something that Tim holds carefully in the corner of his mind.

"B," Tim manages. He rips his hand off the counter. It hurts his nails. His legs are shaking.

"I'm right here," Bruce says, and it's not fair how easily he projects calm and commands all of Tim's attention. He holds out a hand, keeping eye contact. "I'm not going anywhere. Conner's in the other room. You're safe."

"I know," Tim says. He gulps in more air. Forces himself to hold it, breathe out. Without meaning to, his hand finds Bruce's. He holds it in a deathgrip. Bruce doesn't complain. "I just. I dropped the glass."

Bruce nods. He barely casts a glance over to the wreckage. "It's okay. We can clean it up later. No one is hurt."

"I didn't mean to," whispers Tim.

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"Okay."

Bruce squeezes Tim's hand. "Would you like Conner to sit with you while I clean up the glass, or would you like me to sit with you?"

Tim reaches up to wipe at his eyes. "I can... I should clean it up. It's my mess."

"That's not one of the options, Tim."

"... You."

"Okay," says Bruce. He leads them both into the living room. Kon takes one look at them and disappears back into the kitchen.

They sit on the couch. Feeling exhausted and wrung-dry, Tim leans into Bruce's shoulder. His solidness is familiar. Safe. There's a part of Tim that is still cowering on the kitchen floor, bleeding and shivering at the memory of sharp nails and sharper reprimands. But he's miles away from the lonely ten year old who thought love was something to be earned. He's better now.

By the time Conner returns, perching awkwardly in the armchair, Bruce has put on a documentary. It's about the desert. Tim sinks further into the couch. He breathes.

[picturebookshelf]

Magic Tree House: Blizzard of the Blue Moon (2006)

Story: Mary Pope Osborne -- Art: Sal Murdocca

[gtbutterfly]

Update on the really old GT book I've been reading,

For some reason, it keeps implying that a tiny being in a giants hands is "silly" and "babyish" and "humiliating" and I don't know if I should be offended or feel called out.

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

Yes, that is a sock-puppet.

5 Scarier Stories for a Dark Knight || Scanned at 300dpi

[thatsbelievable]

[muffinlance]

My mom just started reading Fox’s Tongue and Kirin’s Bone after I raved to her about it lol.

She’s four pages in and she wants to know if the way people sometimes use the phrase “met death” had anything to do with sparking the idea for this story? (As in, “he met his death walking down king street” or “she met her death in November”)

That is EXACTLY where the initial premise came from. I overthought the phrase one day, and here we are. <3