Dat me -_- ( omg bro thank)

vermivorous replied to your photo:

awwwww thank you so much 7oby you are the raddest

dachindae replied to your photo:

AAAAHHHH THANK YOU ;3;

eleven02 replied to your photo:

Thanks, 7oby! <3

from The Making of Doom 3: "I recognized that these outbursts were signs of my sanity slipping away, but what would you expect" 

"You should see the other guy"

12: Who is your favorite author?

That is a seriously difficult question, and changes regularly depending on my mood and my concentration level and my available time. 

I think my longest standing favourite author is Diana Wynne Jones, who wrote the best family dynamics of any YA I have ever read, and had a thousand incredible worlds in her head. I was absolutely devastated when she died as I have never been with a celebrity before. 

My favourite author still writing is Frances Hardinge, who again writes beautifully complex YA with the best personification of any writing I've come across. Her plots are incredible, her characters are diverse and fascinating, and the worlds she builds are unbelievable. 

35: What’s your favorite time of day for writing?

Morning, if only because it's more difficult to persuade myself out of it in the morning. If I get to evening and I've not written it's very likely that I won't, because I'll have had an entire day to forget the intricacies of my dreams and persuade myself that I'm truly terrible and shouldn't even bother trying. 

50: If you could live in any fictional world, which would it be?

This is such a tough one! I was mentally flipping through the fantasy worlds of my favourite books and it's important to note that I would survive approximately five minutes in a lot of them; they're incredible involving stories but built on conflict, so they wouldn't be great places to live. 

That's fantastic.

As far as I can recall it’s been eight months since I’ve seen the ocean, in the distance and from a car window, and some days it feels like I’ve counted every second.

I didn’t like living in London because in London it’s impossible to see a way out. Sheffield has mountains reclining by the side of it, offering an escape route with casual hunched shoulders and a friendly cocked head. Sheffield has miles of bounded green bisected with crumbling dry stone walls, and if you need a reminder that you can leave at any moment you can take a lift to the fifth floor, or the second, or stand up a hill on your tiptoes, and watch individual cloud shadows drift across the acres of grass.

I love Sheffield.

But I miss the endless and the infinite. I miss the glitter of every captured beam of sunlight, caught and flung back. I miss the sea’s moods and colours and the way it entrances me like nothing else. I watch David Attenborough as a cheap fix, sometimes, but it can’t even pretend to the way that salt spray tightens your skin and you can feel every grin.