Books I’ve Read by Genre

Supernatural, Paranormal

Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake

  • Anna Dressed in Blood
  • Girl of Nightmares

Beautiful Creatures by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl

  • Beautiful Creatures
  • Beautiful Darkness
  • Beautiful Chaos
  • Beautiful Redemption

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater

  • Shiver
  • Linger
  • Forever

Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare

  • City of Bones
  • City of Ashes
  • City of Glass
  • City of Fallen Angels
  • City of Lost Souls
  • City of Heavenly Fire

Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare

  • Clockwork Angel
  • Clockwork Prince
  • Clockwork Princess

Iron Fey by Julie Kagawa

  • Iron King
  • Summer’s Crossing (novella)
  • Iron Daughter
  • Iron Queen
  • Winter’s Passing (novella)
  • Iron Knight
  • Iron Prophecy

Forgotten by Julie Kagawa

  • Lost Prince
  • Iron Traitor

Shadow Falls by C.C. Hunter

  • Born at Midnight
  • Awake at Dawn
  • Taken at Dusk
  • Whispers at Moonrise
  • Chosen at Nightfall

Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs

  • Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children
  • Hollow City

Dorothy Must Die by Danielle Page

Assassin’s Blade Series by Sarah J. Maas

  • Assassin’s Blade  5 Novellas
  • Throne of Glass
  • Crown of Midnight
  • Heir of Fire (will read)

Trylle by Amanda Hocking

  • Switched
  • Torn
  • Ascend

Twenties Girl by Sophie Kinsella

Science Fiction

Divergent Trilogy by Veronica Roth

  • Divergent
  • Insurgent
  • Allegiant

Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer

  • Cinder
  • Scarlet
  • Cress
  • Winter (will read)

I am Number Four by Pittacus Lore

  • I am Number Four
  • The Power of Six
  • Rise of Nine
  • Fall of Five
  • Revenge of Seven

Starters by Lissa Price

  • Starters
  • Enders

Maze Runner by James Dashner

  • Maze Runner
  • Scorch Trials
  • Death Cure

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card

Matched by Allie Condie

  • Matched
  • Crossed
  • Reached

Dystopian

Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi

  • Shatter Me
  • Destroy Me (novella)
  • Unravel Me
  • Fracture Me (novella)
  • Ignite Me

Delirium by Lauren Oliver

  • Delirium
  • Annabel (novella)
  • Hana (novella)
  • Pandemonium
  • Raven (novella)
  • Requiem
  • Alex (novella)

Under the Never Sky by Veronica Rossi

  • Under the Never Sky
  • Roar and Liv (novella)
  • Through the Evernight
  • Brooke (novella)
  • Into the Still Blue

Mystery

Mara Dyer by Michelle Hodkin

  • Unbecoming of Mara Dyer
  • Evolution of Mara Dyer
  • Retribution of Mara Dyer (will read)

Romance

The Selection Series by Kierra Cass

  • The Selection
  • The Elite
  • The Prince (novella)
  • The Guard (novella)
  • The One

Books by Rainbow Rowell

  • Fangirl
  • Eleanor and Park

Books by John Green

  • The Fault in Our Stars
  • Paper Towns
  • An Abundance of Catherines

A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks

Alexandra Potter Books

  • Who’s That Girl
  • Me and Mr. Darcy
  • Be Careful What You Wish For
  • What’s New, Pussycat?
  • You’re the One That I Don’t Want

Remember Me by Sophie Kinsella

Spiritual/Inspirational

Paulo Coelho Books

  • The Pilgrimage
  • The Valkyries
  • Aleph
  • Veronica Decides to Die
  • The Devil and Miss Prym
  • Fifth Mountain
  • The Alchemist
  • The Witch of Portobello
  • The Winner Stands Alone
  • The Zahir

Mitch Albom Books

  • Tuesdays with Morrie
  • For One More Day
  • Five People You Meet in Heaven
  • First Phone Call from Heaven

Contemporary

Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie

Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

Looking for Alaska by John Green

Why call it cheating death
When it’s another chance at life

Why call it dying
I’m calling it moving onward

Whether it is to the next astral plane
Or to faith’s paradise
Even if we all end up in oblivion
Time is proof
That we even existed

Just know that you will be
remembered,
commemorated,
appreciated

You may have moved on from the living
But a part of you still lives on
In the hearts of those who really matter

Sad to see amazing writers deactivate or leave tumblr. On second thoughts, I hope they have found better places to vent their emotions in words.

morningsuns:

it’s honestly so ….. weird when celebrities die. because we look at them as being invincible and we just expect them to always be there. but they’re real people too and i think we all forget that. he was suffering with depression and yet made all of us laugh…. it’s just crazy how much we don’t know about celebrities. 

(via buhaybabae)

Just so you know, I am the type of girl who cries over books and reads until she realizes too late that it’s 3am. I also imagine myself as the main character. I get attached to tons of characters and mourn their death. I even curse the brutality of the author. I also fall in love over several fictional boyfriends and my list still goes a long way.

I may drift off during conversations and feel the pangs of book hangovers.  And my currently personality is largely affected by the most recent book I have read. I also tend to use the book’s expressions in casual conversation whether I meant to do so or not.

Certain words would strike me and would remind me of a certain plot in a certain book. I fall in love of how world play is aesthetically crafted into dialogue.

Most of my friends don’t understand. But it feels awesome that I have a few who do. My mind is not a single world but a universe of several dimensions. Weird is overrated. Eccentric is pretentious. Define me either-ways that is simply how I am. But that is okay. This is just me with a book fetish.

I’ve been writing beginnings without endings. My words are hanging on a cliff. My words are in between birth and death. Scratch that. Why should words cease to exist? My words are in between birth and immortality. And immortality is something they are yet to achieve.y

Sometimes I wish I could stop daydreaming and start writing some sense. I wish I could just start that essay that is due and that novel I’ve wanted to write since I was thirteen. But no, I’m not doing it. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy or maybe I don’t feel like I am cut out for it. I wish I was braver to write something and not care what people say about what I write. I wish I was brave like that. I guess I’m a little afraid. And that fear makes me close my eyes and step out blindly on my path. And that must be why I succeed so little.

I don’t want to be written; I want to be loved.

I don’t want you to hand me a bouquet of words on Valentine’s Day. I don’t want you to write poems about how my eyes sparkle brighter than the pearl on the shore when illuminated by sunset or how my fiery touch brings summer to your December nights. I don’t want you to name a character of your novel after me. I don’t want you to write a letter longer than my hair just so you could express your love for me. No baby, don’t turn me into a metaphor.

Instead, look at me in such intensity that I would be convinced you’re willing to name a constellation after my smile. Touch me like I am the lightning that you wouldn’t mind being electrified with. Kiss me like your lips were made to be locked with mine for as long as we want them to be. Listen to everything that I am about to say as if my voice is the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard. Want me as if you have never wanted anyone else before me.

Because, you see, baby, words are cheap. So tell me you love me by caging me inside your arms when I am crying while telling you how much of a mess I think I am. Tell me you will stay by being beside me during those times that my world is crumbling apart and during those moments when I feel like I am the most victorious person alive. Tell me you will hold on to me by entwining your fingers to mine whenever there’s a raging storm inside me. Tell me you miss me by pulling me so close to you, I’d feel like my ribs are going to crush in a good way.

I don’t want your words. I don’t want your promises of forever because I know that they are only meant to be broken. I don’t want to hold on only to the messages you sent or poems you wrote whenever we are facing a hurricane. I don’t want our love to be just a tale because tales are fantasies that are meant to be forgotten.

I want your heavy sighs, your melodious laughter, your gentle whispers at 3am, your coffee-stained breath and your butterfly kisses. I want your devouring thoughts, glowing dreams, childish laughter, clandestine sobs and infamous opinions. I want your heart— every broken piece of it. I want your darkness, your quiet, your light, your noise and everything in between. I want you. I want you. I want you.

So baby, you don’t have to write about me. Just love me as I am and I would be the one to write everything for us.

And if ever I look at you and I begin to tell you that there are galaxies trapped in your irises, just kiss me. Kiss me long and hard until I forget about all the words that are floating inside my head.

n.a., this is how I want to be loved (via drizzlelullaby)

Teddy

artreture:

"Son, you will be a fine young man one day." Mr. Bennett dusted off the shoulders of his little boy’s new tweed jacket. He tossed the empty Harvey Nichols shopping bag on the sofa and placed his hands on his hips. A pale young face looked up at him and a smile emerged in between flushed cheeks. "Do you like it, Theodore? You look just like daddy now." His son nodded. Theo looked at himself in the mirror. He leaned a little to the right and noticed he had the same jaw as his father’s. But Mr. Bennett was handsomer. With a stubble that still made him look fresh and the light wrinkles on his forehead telling tales of the life he has lived, Theo knew his father was all he wanted to become. He knew his dad worked at a factory because he often came home with soot on his hands. But he said this year was going to be better - he was going to be promoted. Mr. Bennet gifted himself and his son a new pair of tweed jackets, while presenting a fancy box of chocolates to Mrs. Bennet. She wore a smirk as if expecting a pashmina instead, but Mr. Bennet held her close anyway and planted a kiss on her cheek.

He took a step back to look at his son again. Mr. Bennet ruffed Theo’s hair, but it still remained in its place. He broke into laughter as he held his palm out in the open. "Again, Theo? You silly boy." Theo had developed a liking towards gel after seeing those commercials on the television. Mrs. Bennet often reprimanded Mr. Bennet for having kept the gel within his reach. He almost always seem to find where they were. He once slept with gel on his hair and woke to a stiff pillow the next day. Mrs. Bennet was not pleased.

It was a fine Sunday in Consett, County Durham. The wind was cold but the trees remained sturdy. Lone newspaper pages wobbled on the curbs and the distant sound of dogs being walked reached the open windows of Theo’s room. He rested his head on his folded arms. When he didn’t play with his toys, he often stayed by the windowsill and observed people. He knew the postman came at 3pm every afternoon to slip in thin parcels onto a big red box, excepting Sundays. He knew the ambulance passed by their street at least twice a week. He knew the milkman came at 11 in the morning to hand Mrs. Bennet bottles of milk and would leave by 2 pm. He knew his father always left for work before the sun rose and would be back as the sun is setting.

Theo heard arguments from the living room. Mr. Bennet just reached home, but he didn’t visit Theo’s room with a small present like he always did. He pressed his ear against the door and heard both his parents in a heated conversation. Turning the knob of his door slowly, he tiptoed to the beginning of the stairs and listened closely.

"I can’t believe you did this, Mary. Right under my nose. Right under Theodore’s nose. Our son! Has he seen any of this? Has he seen any of it! My poor boy! Our son! My son!" Mrs. Bennet sobbed amidst the raging voice of Mr. Bennet. He heard a screech as his father pulled a chair and sat heavily on it. Mrs. Bennet was whimpering. "What? What are you trying to say, Mary? What on Heaven’s name can you possible tell me?"

"I’m sorry, Thomas! I didn’t mean any of it!" Mrs. Bennet continued crying and Mr. Bennet’s voice took over again. Theo held the handrails of the staircase tightly until his palms went white. He heard more than he should. He quietly crept back to his room and took his pillow. He held it tightly as how his eyes remained shut. Theo opened them again, now slightly red. He walked over to his bed side table. He grabbed his unfinished milk bottle and placed it in the garbage.

… . .

It was Sunday. Consett seemed gloomier when Theo last remembered it. The streets were wet and the lamp posts reflected on them. He listened closely to the way the rain pitter-pattered on his window and onto the roads. He saw people running with bags over their heads. He heard vehicles honking from a distance. The mailman didn’t arrive today. The ambulance passed by every two days. The milkman hasn’t come by in years. His father hasn’t left for work about the same time.

Theo visited his father’s room. A pale, thin man raised his head as he saw his son enter the room. "Theo.." He wheezed. Theo sat beside his father and stroked his forehead. His skin felt cold and ill. He looked around the room and was no longer surprised of the clear absence of Mrs. Bennet’s things. The coat rack that used to overflow with her coats were bare. Her mirror usually stained with lipstick was dusty and unclean. Her slippers remained untouched by the door. Theo’s eyes landed on her picture that remained by Mr. Bennet’s bedside table. Mr. Bennet coughed heavily for several minutes. Theo reached over to pass his medicine onto his shaky palm. He tossed it in his mouth and wore a displeased look. Theo held the frame that had Mrs. Bennet’s picture in it. He looked up at Mr. Bennet, expressionless. "Son. I know it’s been a long time. But we wait for the people we love. She will come back, Theo." Theo placed the frame back on his bedside table. He didn’t know what to feel about Mrs. Bennet. Or Mr. Bennet.

"I have a gift for you, son." Mr. Bennet coughed. Theo hasn’t received a present from him in the longest time. Mr. Bennet pointed under the bed. He retrieved a box beneath the thick bed sheet and told him to open the lid. In it rested an expressionless maroon teddy bear, wrapped in thin white paper. "Your mother and I used to call you Teddy when you were a baby. You used to loved teddy bears." Theo attempted a smile but placed the lid back on the box. He no longer played with toys. He kept them all away.

Theo held the box in between his arm and hip as he stood up to leave the room. But Mr. Bennet suddenly held his hand. “Son, isn’t it time for that show? Switch on the television for me, will you?”

Theo couldn’t hide his smile. He ran towards the television and clicked it open. Hopping onto Mr. Bennet’s bed, the reflection of Charlie Chaplin reflected on their identical black-pearl eyes. Theo laughed as Mr. Bennet imitated several of Chaplin’s comical movement. It has been a long while since they both watched their favourite show. The same goes for Theo’s smile. Remembering his present, he took the teddy bear out and held it close to him. Theo rested his head on Mr. Bennet’s pillow and both continued laughing. After several minutes, Mr. Bennet started to breathe uncomfortably. "Son…" he said, "I will rest for a bit. Father feels a bit unwell." Theo nodded. He held Mr. Bennet’s hand. It was cold, but it still clung tightly around his fingers. Theo continued watching with his teddy bear.

Charlie Chaplin went on for another 15 minutes. Theo laughed, almost having to turn away to catch his breath. He knew he was fidgeting a lot and it must have bothered Mr. Bennet. The show came to an end. He wondered why Mr. Bennet didn’t reprimand him for laughing too loud and for being too fidgety. He normally told Theo to keep it down.

Theo noticed Mr. Bennet’s hands were colder and limp. He looked over and saw his eyes were closed but almost open. He shook his father’s wrist first, and then his arms. With tears in his eyes, he leaned closer to hold his face. Theo knew that something always moved below his chin, a sign of life and warmth. It was gone.

… . .

Everyone wore black that Sunday. People familiar to him and strangers gathered around the casket. There were distant sobs and frequent small talk from people around him. Theo responded with a nod. Someone arrived in a white dress and a small book. They said a prayer for an hour until the people paid their respects to Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet approached Theo with someone he hasn’t seen in years. "Theodore… Honey." She held her arms open to embrace Theo. He stepped away and went closer to Mr. Bennet’s casket. Her eyes were red from crying, the collar of her coat damp with her tears. The milkman grew weight from the last time he saw him. Theo winced as he held Mrs. Bennet’s hand. He watched them turn away. He felt a surge of anger rest between his chest.

A man in a loose suit approached Theo. "Theodore. Your father has left you several things in his will." Intrigued, Theo ignored everyone and sat down with Mr. Townsend. This was the only time since Mr. Bennet’s passing that anyone had anything worth knowing to tell Theo. Mr. Townsend handed a Charlie Chaplin poster, a watch, several books, an envelope with several bills and a teddy bear. Mr. Townsend said other things. They seemed important because they included the words "legal", "law", "stay elsewhere", "come of age" and "sorry". But Theo wasn’t listening. As he held the remnants of Mr. Bennet close to his body, he shut his eyes tight and waited for Mr. Townsend to move away.

Everyone wore black that Sunday except for Theo. He wore the the tweed jacket that still fit him perfectly, along with the red tie Mr. Bennet always went to work in. Everyone parted from the funeral. Theo went closer to the casket. After hours of keeping everything, he placed his head and hands on the surface and cried a silent one.

Theo felt his heart break from his chest, his entire body giving up on him. He wanted to scream. He wanted everything to end. But a kind whisper cooed at him. It came from the ground. Teddy looked up at him with a gentle smile on his face. Theo picked him up and they both kept Mr. Bennet company for a little while longer.

Teddy (Mr Bean’s backstory)

Lunar Chronicles

Currently reading the Lunar Chronicles, a futuristic story with subtle reference to the story Cinderella.

I’ve started with the book Cinder, a few days ago and to be honest I wasn’t hooked and enchanted by first impression. But please do take note that once you get a gist of the plot, you will want to read more.

I am certainly a lover of science fiction and this adds up to my personal list of lovable sci-fi books.

* unnecessary segway *

I don’t know about you but I’m starting to get the hang of reading fairy tale twists like Dorothy Must Die (Witch of Oz twist) and now Lunar Chronicles (Cinderella twist). I guess my reading tastes has got one shelf bigger.

* end of segway *