Writer and photographer who enjoys shiny things and the way books smell. Mostly Dragon Age fandom related.
Guys, oh my god. I got onto the stage management course at the Bristol Old Vic. There were only four places and 116 applicants, and it is so well known that completing the course guarantees employment at the end. I am all kinds of excited and scared and so, so happy because I honestly though the option of working in theatre had all but slipped through my hands. I AM SO SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE CONGRATS!
This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin
Tried to reach deep but you couldn’t get in
Now you’re outside me
You see all the beauty
Repent all your sin
It’s nothing but time and a face that you lose
I chose to feel it and you couldn’t choose
I’ll write you a postcard
I’ll send you the news
From a house down the road from real love…
Live through this, and you won’t look back…—Stars, “Your Ex Lover Is Dead”
For some reason, this is a Bela song for me. (Actually, a Bela and Z song.) This cover in particular.
In our AU, Jowan is an elf, and he and Kathil (whose birth name is Katje) dated for a bit in high school. She ended up pregnant and in a home for inconveniently pregnant minors, and Jowan ended up in “reform school”. You can read more about that here.
More details have come out recently in RP, and this story grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go.
#
Half-Painted Pewter
Katje bounced out of the dance studio, dressed in a big sweatshirt and high tops over her ballet tights. She caught sight of Jowan and grinned. “Hey! You made it! Milkshake. Now.” She carried a pair of ballet shoes in her hands, ribbons trailing. Pointe shoes, she called them, and Jowan always thought they were funny with the flat fronts of the toes.
Jowan laughed and pushed himself away from the wall where he’d been slouching. “Okay.” He picked up his backpack and turned towards the street. Katje fell in beside him. The wind whipped around them, picking up dead leaves and dust in little vortices.
Read more
- oghren - drunk nightblogger
- alistair - food blog. posts a great deal of mac n cheese. emphasis on the cheese. occasional romantic posts with roses nestled between gouda photosets.
- leliana - music and shoes.
- shale - snarky reblogs of everything.
- arl eamon - reblogs everything alistair posts with links. like this post? follow one true king of ferelden!
- morrigan - empty blog. occasionally cryptically likes random post.
- zevran - nsfw blog. tags: #leather, #naughty, #beautiful things, #handsome things
- anders - social justice blogger. well-intentioned beginnings, but lacks intersectionality. also cat gifs.
- hawke - inappropriately reblogs friends’ serious personal posts with jokes. plenty of selfies. constant duck lips.
- merrill - kittens, puppies, flowers, pretty things, candy photosets, summer landscapes, seasonal art, myths, legends, historically significant info posts, and how to fix broken mirror tips.
- varric - really long text posts with strategically placed read mores.
- meredith and orsino involved in relentless internet feud. constantly sending one another anon hate.
- isabela - naughty limerick of the day; hats; boats; mermaids; reblogs varric’s posts with edits/sex scenes added in.
- fenris - runs justexslavethings.tumblr.com; only updates when drunk
- carver - pictures of muscles, mabari tattoo, passive aggressive posts about how many notes hawke gets
zevran XD
- Bethany- pictures of scenery, positive quotes, poetry, talks a lot to her friends
- Anora- social justice and political blogger, is always getting into fights with people online. Very popular but always gets rude anons
- Sten- rarely posts, but when he does, it’s only pictures of weapons (two handed swords in particular) Never changes default tumblr theme and never likes things, only reblogs them
- Loghain- follows only Anora after Maric and Rowan deactivate their accounts; writes long ranty posts that recieve one like
- Arl Rendon Howe- creates a blog just to get into arguments with people and never types coherently
- Sigrun: Trees, clouds, beautiful scenery photos strategically interspersed with creepypasta.
- Velanna: Reblogs customerssuck and notalwaysright posts, writes long journal-like entries and posts fanfic about the ancient Elvhen gods… with no readmore link.
- Aveline: Updates rarely, usually with serious reminders about public safety issues, occasional snarky reblogs of other people’s posts, especially Isabela.
- Wynne: Long, thoughtful, occasionally patronizing commentary on reblogs, which almost everyone ignores.
- Finn: Instagram snaps of artifacts and manuscript pages from whatever exciting new tome he’s reading this week. Constantly getting into arguments with people he barely knows.
- Sebastian - a lot of religious hipstergrams…with the occasional kinky nsfw post, tagged extensively. Any archery post that crosses his dash gets liked and reblogged. Sends anon love. Follows and unfollows a small rotating handful of people.
- Mhairi - Grey Warden fan. Has disappeared off the face of the Internet. Last we know she was excited about her new job.
- Ketojan - reblogs things with keysmash in the tags.
- Arishok - Vents. A lot. Doesn’t do followbacks.
- Genitivi - runs/mods a bazillion history sideblogs.
(via lifeofkj)
*merrily throws in an undead army into the pre-climax of her novel*
sleepyhollowjacks asks: I was reading your chain of tweets about Paxil and had a question. One of the conditions that medicine is reported to treat is OCD (I have that). But isn’t OCD a productive tool for the highly creative types? Weren’t you afraid it might hinder your writing process?
I struggled with mild OCD and not-so mild paranoid ideation for decades; it was especially bad in the year or two around the publication of HORNS, a paranoid book written by a paranoid and unhappy man.
For a long time I was determined not to get help, because I was very afraid that if I took a pill, or saw a therapist, it would destroy me creatively. Then one day I realized I didn’t give a shit about whether or not I could go on as a writer… it was far more important to find a way to go on as a person, so I could be the best possible father to my kids, and not a miserable man who couldn’t make his appointments because he had to keep driving home to see if the oven was on. A person who looked behind pictures in hotel rooms to see if there was a fiber optic video camera hidden back there. And so on.
It turned out that my paranoid idea that treatment would destroy my creativity was like all my other paranoid ideas: bullshit. My compulsions and shrill fantasies weren’t empowering me creatively; they were fucking me over. If I wrote five pages and hit save and Microsoft Word told me I had ended on an odd-number of characters, instead of an even-number of characters, I assumed the day was a failure. This is not a joke. Logic didn’t enter into it.
After Heart-Shaped Box, I wrote parts of three different novels that didn’t work, because I was scared to write anything - scared of being hated, being sued by phantom persecutors, being criticized, letting people down, looking like a fool, and on, and on. Completing HORNS, and getting it right, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done as a creative person, because I did it with an interior voice constantly screaming in my ear that it was all wrong, that publication of the book would destroy all the good will I had created with Heart-Shaped Box. I got the novel written - and it came out good, Goddamn it - even though I usually began my day by searching my office for listening devices.
Can a little bit of OCD be adaptive for a creative person? Maybe, to a degree, when it leads to rigorous habits and good discipline (I remain a very habit-driven person, a guy who works through a series of checklists each day). But it’s very hard to be successful as an artist when you’re flinching from imaginary terrors and on the run from imaginary enemies. It’s also difficult to get anything written if you wind up in an institution; try and type when you’re in a straight-jacket, it isn’t easy.
As an afterword to all this, I’d note I wrote most of NOS4A2 after getting on Paxil and getting into therapy and dealing with my problems. It was hard-going at first, but in the end I wrote the novel with joy and excitement. I owed it to my kids to get my shit together. If getting right emotionally has helped me to do some of my best work, that’s just a fringe benefit.
(via soiscrewedmycompanions)
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Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
You can all blame aithne for putting me in a thoroughly mushy mood.
awwwwwwwwwwwww!
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How uncomfortably humans deal with silence.
I smell a fucking challenge
Lets do it Jesse
fffffff no I have tinnitus this would probably kill me.
My ex B used to use an anechoic chamber like this to do audio testing for the devices he was working on on occasion. He says they are really, really freaky. Humans are apparently not biologically wired for actual silence.
