There’s always California! :D (Problem being that you get here and then never leave…nine years now and I’ve only left the state once. Whoops.)Yeah, because it’s so expensive to live there you don’t have any leftover money to travel! :)
do not go to the gulf coast. You will meet the worst of humanity there.:/ And the best. Odd how that works, how there’s awful people wherever you go, but also awesome people too.
Same. There’s snow and ice and really cold wind and I hate it. I hate it so much. Why do any of us live in these frozen wastelands. Why. WhhhhyyyyyyyI think we all should buy up some land somewhere cheap and sunny, maybe on the Gulf Coast, and build a Tumblr Bunkr.
After the 50 degree weather we had yesterday, now it is blizzarding again.
I am so fucking done with Northeast winters.
Scene that made you cry: On Fiction and Letting Go
I don’t cry often. I’ve got a pretty tight hold on that particular physical response to an emotion. (Despite the three years I spent in therapy, I never cried in front of my therapist—not once.) Real life stuff has a tendency to leave me rigidly in control of my tear ducts—a response to growing up with my mother, I think. Tears were blood in the water for her.
With fiction, though, I’ve always been able to let loose—not because it’s so real, but because it’s not real. It’s a nice, safe space for my emotions to get some ventilation. I’ve noticed that an actual physical reaction to this is more likely when it’s fiction from my childhood—a large percentage of things that Tamora Pierce has written, for example—but it can sideswipe me unexpectedly, too, like my epic hour-long sob fest during Catching Fire last weekend. It’s very freeing, this type of crying.
Dragon Age is no different. Some crying rags have been worse than others, but there have been a lot of them.
The worst days are those that leave me wondering if I’ll ever stop hating you. We lit candles for you, I read everything I was taught to read until my eyes crossed, and I still didn’t understand. I hate your silence. I hate that you’re bigger than anything else I’ll ever know and you’ll always cast a shadow, even where it’s already dark enough. I hate that you weren’t there the moment I finally knew who I wanted to be. If you’ve got to be gone, instead of here where we need you, where I need you, please watch over us. Your loving daughter, Bethany.
Dragon Age drabble, Hawke/Anders, sleeping arrangement nostalgia (I don’t know how else to describe it haha)
Getting a good night’s sleep in the Hawke household (or campsite) had always been a battle Garrett had lost. For a long time he didn’t even have a real bed—only thin bedrolls, straw, cave floors, burlap sacks, floorboards, trees. To escape Ferelden’s cold nights, the family often had to sleep close for warmth, and those were epic battles all on their own.
The twins always wanted to sleep next to Mother — usually in the same spot, and they fought each other for that coveted place until Father had to separate them. Garrett just wanted to sleep as far away as he could from Caver, but no matter what, his brother always ended up next to him. There was no rest to be had after the family fell asleep either: Carver kicked, Bethany mumbled, Father snored, Mother twisted and turned. Garrett had to endure it though—it was usually too cold to sleep elsewhere—but he couldn’t count the nights he had lain awake, trying to avoid Carver’s kicks, or tune out Father’s snores.
Those were the nights he dreamt about the future, about a bed that would be his and his alone. Garrett imagined having a real mattress, real blankets, real pillows and, best of all, no one else to share it with. It would be his, his, his—and when the time came that he got that bed, it was his. He had spared no expense for his bed at the estate, setting it up with a whole assortment of pillows and blankets. He had greedily hoarded them too, ordering Dog off the bed at night and taking up as much space as he could whenever he slept. It had been glorious, and there were days he never wanted to leave his bed.
So it was strange when insomnia returned, but it took Garrett ages to realize the reason why. It took Anders moving in —and Dog’s jealousy that the mage got to have the bed, but he didn’t. They fought each other for who got to sleep next to Garrett—Garrett eventually got them to compromise and slept in the middle. They both kicked, they both snored; Anders twisted and turned and mumbled like it was his job; Dog farted.
Surprisingly, Garrett had never slept better.
“What are you smiling about?” Anders grumpily asked him one night after he finished fighting with Dog on who got to sleep on the left side of Garrett for the night. (Dog won the argument, mostly by not budging from the left side.) It was clear Anders didn’t expect Garrett to lean over and kiss him, and he squinted at him when Garrett pulled him down to his side.
“Nothing,” Garrett reassured, patting Dog’s back and curling his arm about Anders’ shoulder. “Nothing.”
absolutely love this *happy sigh*
restarting a fic you’ve stalled out on is like giving yourself a root canal using only a pair of butter knives
Ok, so I’ve finally gone through all the prompts I received. I’ve either written something for them or replied to the prompters directly. So I guess I’ll take a few more? Let’s say I’ll do the first seven.
As usual, no incest and no Supernatural. Everything else? Go nuts.