the price of freedom
{NOT A SPOILER FREE ZONE} Velcome to my evil lair, a personal blog dedicated to fangirling, feels, and foaming cups of tea. I'm stuck in a perpetual state of existential writing crises and you'll frequently find me here, mourning the tragedies of beautiful people that don't exist. If you're in the same boat then, this is definitely the blog for you! You can't have it though; it's mine.

(Source: mak0-chan)

At the northern portal of the Union St Tunnel the line curves towards its final emergence point before it reached the former Prince’s Pier Station. Due to the containers and other objects scattered about outside the portal the walls lit up with this red tint to them. It was easily noticeable with the naked eye however proved much harder to caapture on photo.

Colours of the Greenock Tunnels by Bora Horza

Being a good writer is 3% talent and 97% not being distracted by the internet.

(via worldinink)

— the writer reblogs, being distracted by the internet

(via cameralinz)


This looks cozy

(Source: lazulia)



(Source: irisplayground)

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader - not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.

E. L. Doctorow (via maxkirin)

He loved her in a subtle kind of way. It wasn’t the kind of love you see in movies, with swelling music and giant gestures and running through the streets to catch a departing train. It wasn’t the kind of love that Byron or Shakespeare wrote about, with flowery language and hyperbole and iambic pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or everyone else on the world disappeared. It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true.

(Source: alexbenedetto)