#can't believe i'm owning up to writing a fic about lnd. the musical has no sense of place i literally thought

[potatoesandsunshine]

16 & 17 for the fanfic writer ask game, please.

16. where is your favorite place to write?: when i was in college it was my habit to go to the panera bread a few times a week to study/get as many iced tea refills as i could stand/hog a booth for a while. i really enjoy writing somewhere that isn’t home - since covid & everything that’s kind of fallen by the wayside, i’m still not comfortable doing it. so there’s probably a coffee shop somewhere out there that would feel perfect, but i’m not looking for it right now.

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?: hooooooooo this is a toughie. this is hard. i’m a big rereader of my own stories - i couldn’t even tell you what my favorite published fic is, it changes any given day. and i'm greedy. here's five of my current favorites.

“Vaudeville trash, Mother says for the dozenth time, and Meg is exhausted coming off the fourth show, wishes she were sharing a cigarette with Diedre backstage before the fifth; it’s nearly enough for her to let the smile drop and say, Of course it is, we have a vaudeville act.” from The Most Self-Indulgent Fic Ever Written, looking lovely (burning bright) which was written in honor of my thirteen year old self who spent months obsessed with love never dies, a musical that 1) isn’t good and 2) hates women. what if the women in that kissed.

“And it is draped in green: her color, poison and rot and sick smoke, the lovely gleam of her scales in the dark.” from you are coming down with me, where raishan is one part cat playing with a wounded bird and one part possessive deity laying claim to an acolyte and a third, other part that’s just labeled ‘kinda horny about it all.’

“It’s a kind of luxury, Cass knows, that they can each eat two bowls of soup and have enough left for the morning meal. And the mattress is surprisingly soft, enough so that both she and the Courier roll to the dip in the middle of the bed.” from one more song about moving along the highway, which i wrote in a fit of spring sadness and love more and more as time goes on.

"Pike doesn’t love him the way he loves her. It’s impossible—because Pike is sure and real and true, and Scanlan is flashpaper and illusion. He thinks sometimes about the drive out of Westruun, watching her disappear in the rearview mirror. Three exits down the highway he pulled to the side of the road and sobbed until his throat was raw. And he didn’t call, because he knew it would hurt." from my current favorite wip which is just called WakingUpInVegas.mp3 right now. what if they woke up married. why not. modern au pikelan is built for angst

“You know I love you. It would take worse than this to make me stop—a fact which shames me to my very core. I, who cling so tightly to oaths and promises, abandon them at the first scrap of affection returned. I cannot call it anything but disgusting. How fickle I am, to turn my back on all of it for you.” which was part of an in-character letter from my old paladin to her knight boyfriend. Beatrice Pyre you will always be my girl.