<b>Bethesda:</b> lets make a fun and interesting game, but make the player sit and wait hours during gameplay<p/><b>Valve:</b> lets make a fun and interesting game, but make the player sit and wait decades after gameplay<p/><b>Rockstar:</b> lets see how far we can push an M rating<p/><b>Red Barrels:</b> LETS SEE HOW FAR WE CAN PUSH AN M RATING<p/></p>
I need to stop fangirling about my OTPs and start doing something productive with my life for my own sake.
All my otps:
*stand next to eachother* *share a scene* *look at eachother for more than 5 seconds* *do something adorable* *are slow-burn or are broken up in the process of getting back together or one of them is dead and that makes watching them more interesting* *breath* *exist*
I’m in love with you,“ he said quietly."Augustus,” I said.“I am,” he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.
Did I ever tell you peeps about the Mystery of the Handbags? I don’t think I did.
Last December, someone left a plastic grocery bags of small gothy handbags hanging from my doorknob. No note, no one sent me a text or email, just a bag of gothy handbags. I asked my friends, and none of them had any idea who the mystery purse elf was.
(A few of them suggested that my Goth Force Field was so strong at this point, gothy accessories just materialized out of thin air for me. If that’s the case, mysterious bags of Fluevogs can start appearing on my porch ANY DAY NOW.)
Why did I remember this story now? Because I went upstairs to the Storage Room o’ Doom to check the size of a different handbag, in the hopes that it would fit my absolute essentials, but be small enough that I wouldn’t be tempted to pack in extra things Just In Case. And there, sitting on the Anne Rice shelf of the upstairs bookcase, one of the Mystery Handbags. Which I had forgotten about, and certainly hadn’t left on the Anne Rice shelf. It turns out that Mystery Handbag is the sort of size I was looking for.
My life is weird, and frequently runs on Serendipity Overdrive.