argustar replied to your post “argustar replied to your post “That feeling where the two men most...”
I'm trying but the latest poll numbers have me terrified.
I was telling Sean today that I’m really trying to get into the “accept the things I cannot change” headspace, because worrying myself sick over it will change absolutely nothing.
But, that’s so much easier said than done. I wish I could sleep until next Wednesday.
argustar replied to your post “That feeling where the two men most closely related to you utterly...”
I'm sorry that you have to deal with this. My stepdad whom I love dearly is also voting for Trump and no matter how hard I try to make him see how badly a Trump presidency would hurt his own daughter, he still refuses to see. :( /hugs if wanted
Ugh, I’m sorry you have to deal with that, too. This election has just been THE WORST. I’m grateful it is almost over, and I’m trying to be optimistic. Hang in there!
How about Drink Me with Sebastian Vael. Surely he doesn't sit out ALL the nights at The Hanged Man? :D
“Just one,” Hawke offered a tankard for Sebastian, who gave him an expression not unlike an unamused mother unimpressed with her child’s lie.
“Just none, Hawke,” Sebastian leaned back from the offering. “I’m not interested. I wish you’d all respect that.”
Varric scoffed as he reached over and stole the offered tankard. More for him, he supposed. “You’re no fun, Choir Boy.” He griped.
Sebastian didn’t reply. Instead he folded his hands together and stared intently at Varric for a moment. Then he moved his head to the side, eyes narrowed; he moved it again, looking around Varric. At the top of his head, at his ears, leaning far out behind him with a curious expression. Varric tried to ignore it at first but it was annoying, and the motions too sudden. “What? That the hell are you doing.”
“Just searching,” Sebastian replied.
“For what.”
“Where I asked for your opinion.”
Varric’s eyes narrowed in mock hurt as the table burst into laughter. Varric sputtered into his pilfered drink, struggled for a retort and settled for, “Shut up.”
“I can’t hear you, Varric. I’m not sure if it’s the beer muffling you, or you’re just too far away.”
“Oh, now that’s just cruel. Hit a man when he’s down.”
“Varric, you’re always down.”
“And you’re always kneecap height,” Varric swung his leg up and missed. “If I were sober, I’d have gotten you.”