Dragon acid is nasty stuff. Black and thick and stinking. It slurps down the back of your coat and coats your hands and covers your boots until they slip against scales as you try to climb. You’ll never get it out of your hair. The stick will follow you like a haze for a week, wash after wash, even after your skin is rubbed raw, until you realize the smell is inside your nose and down your throat.Superheroes vs. dragonsShe locks her caribeaner in place, piercing through a spiney fin. She holds onto the stiff cartilage for a second, the wind ripping at her clothes, cold scraping at her skin, squinting at the next fin, further up the spine. She braces, then launches, her boots smacking one two three before the spine drops out from under her with a heave and she is airborne, free falling, arms wide, aiming as best she can for the next spine.She lands with an Ompff, the air knocked from her lungs and pain blooming in her knee. She rolls, snags the fin, and latches on.
1. What I write and how I spend my time is my decision and not yours. And I’m having trouble understanding why it would matter to you anyway.
2. I was not thinking about this AT ALL until I got these. Now I am thinking about it. Boo Ya.
Ha! Do it! I don’t normally read fanfic stuff, but I’d love to read your take on Supernatural.
I have been shying away from highly controversial topics on this blog recently because I just couldn’t take the drama that naturally associates with it. But I keep hearing the story of Ryland, a c…
I wrote this about my first day at Dashcon and the resulting ridiculousness. Again, feel free to ask questions.I was going to write a quick review of my experience at the first Dashcon… well apparently, things took kind of a weird turn when Welcome to Night Vale, the ‘keystone event’ of the convention had to cancel.
— Jodi Meadows (via tristinawright)
— Announcer for the Brazil/Netherlands game of the World Cup 2014
"We were twenty-five and twenty-eight, but we acted like fifteen year olds. Fighting over little things, storming off, breaking up for a week and then getting back together. But developmentally, we were fifteen year olds. We’d been in the closet our whole lives, so we didn’t have any practice with relationships. He still hadn’t come out to his family and a lot of his friends. We were on one of our ‘little breaks’ when he died suddenly from a seizure. And nobody in his family or circle knew I existed. It took me four months to find out that he died. I thought he’d just decided never to talk to me again. His family never found out about me. Or him, for that matter."
Anthony Perkins in Psycho (Alfred Hitchcock, 1960)
don’t say you’re a writer if you just write fanfiction for your entertainment. you’re only a writer if you kill a bear with a...