#so just opening ur doc and letting yourself think for a few minutes is good too

[figthefruitfaeth]

[owlmylove]

Just had the very distressing thought that if I ever want to have a girlfriend I'm gonna have to TALK to a girl?!?!??!?!?!?

I'd have to talk to a girl that I LIKE and HAVE A CRUSH ON?!?!? Impossible! Please help a distressed lesbian if you have any advice

okay so: in my personal experience 90% of all lesbian flirting is eyeing up fellow women to discreetly try to determine if they, too, are wlw. then you compliment each others button downs and never speak to each other again

BUT if you would like to painstakingly attempt to challenge the starfish fallacy then read on for my comprehensive guide on flirting w/ women! (credentials: i have accidentally flirted with So Many Women oh my god)

first up: start with the art of compliments! if you're too shy to tell a girl they're gorg out of nowhere, then focus on their clothing, their haircuts, their cool shoes, the patches on their denim jackets, etc. opening a convo with a compliment is one of the easiest shortcuts, as it neatly prevents you from having to come up w/ a witty rejoinder right off the bat (save those for later)

physical proximity makes it easy to do this to someone standing or sitting next to you. if, however, they're on the other side of the room/otherwise engaged, it gets trickier. if ur confident enough to walk up to a girl in a coffeeshop + compliment her, GO FOR IT. but if you're too anxious to just coldcall her, approach with a question.

you can warp the compliment to fit the question, i.e. "Hey! Sorry to interrupt [your reading], but your book looks super interesting/I've seen it around & am debating whether to buy it. Would you recommend it?" or, re: outfits/haircuts "Hey! Your ____ is super cute, can I ask where you got it [done]?" if they're a classmate/coworker, you can make it even less direct: "Hey! Do you know when we're scheduled to do ____?" (<- this one comes w/ the perk of, pending her response, immediately asking for her # to swap shifts or trade notes, which can quickly allow for inviting her to a study group/after work drinks with coworkers. speedrun!!)

once Conversation is Initiated, maintain eye contact, listen attentively to their replies, and keep smiling/smizing. if they're reticent, follow up with more questions unless you're getting fuck off vibes ("I'm trying to get more into reading lately, would you have any other reccs?" or, "I haven't found a hairstylist yet since I moved here from _____, are there any other local spots you'd recommend?")

BUT if they're returning eye contact, smiling, and keeping open body language towards you, make it a full-on convo! offer some personal details in return, don't be afraid to make (non-risky!!!!) jokes, and (if you can control when & where you're moving, i.e. not during a job or class) have a built-in exit.

even if convos are going good, it's polite (+ leaves them wanting more via scarcity principle, etc. etc.) to end a brief first-time convo after a few minutes, ideally before the energy winds down & you're left feeling awkward. "it's been so lovely meeting you! [insert name here], right? I've got to get going, but thanks for the ___!" if you wanna play the long game/are in a coffeeshop/aren't confident enough yet (no shame!) ask if she comes here regularly and say you hope to see her around sometime soon.

if you've managed to get a good enough energy going: ask if she has an insta/social media you could get for _____ purpose, i.e. letting her know if you like the book/music/media she recc'd or asking for more local spots. IF, however, you don't wanna put yourself at the whim of her generosity: give yourself a cheat code during the initial conversation.

namely; reference something you'd recommend, think she'd find funny, or can't believe she hasn't seen yet, etc. etc. then, at the end of the convo, you can naturally offer "Oh! Lemme send you that X I mentioned--do you have an insta/social?" et voila. asking for social is always less awk/direct than asking for phone numbers, AND it lets the flirtee decide whether she wants to offer that level of trust just yet

if you're not coldcall flirting a girl in public, but rather have an object of your affections at work or school: this formula works p. much the same, but on a slower scale (if you don't use my speedrun ofc) start building a rapport via compliments/questions, progress to chatting briefly whenever you see each other, and third step: say "I saw something yesterday that totally reminded me of you/I just have to send to you!! Here-do I have your insta yet?"

once you have someone's insta: continue chatting when you see them irl/replying to their stories over social, and see if you can pay close enough attention to what she likes to do. judging by the number of accidental lesbian dates i've been on, it's probably

art museum

botanical gardens, or

burlesque shows

however, hikes, used bookstores, underground shows, and grocery shopping together for a subsequent picnic also feature prominently. invite her to do whatever activity you think you'd both enjoy most (over social or irl, whichever you're comfortable with [tho irl gives you a better judge of facial expressions/body language]) and boom. if she says yes, shoot back "it's a date!" after setting the day/time, bc if she's anywhere near as clueless as i am (i'm so sorry wlw) they may honestly think you're still just friends.

if, over the course of your irl convos or DMs, you have the chance to casually mention your sexuality (patches, pride is coming up, mention "my teenage crush/my ex-girlfriend") and ask for hers, go for it. if you can be direct: ask directly. it will save you time, trouble, and mild heartbreak. but if you suffer from the conflict avoidance that plagues lo so many of us: just lean into the subtext.

offer your celebrity crushes and ask what hers are. mention an ex (BRIEFLY, in connection to another topic entirely [she recc'd this cool band to me!] and always in a positive context). wear birkenstocks or docs and say Portrait of a Lady on Fire is the best film of all time, say you listen to girl in red or w/e those charming youths do. just lay the foundation in barely-subtext and keep an eye on her responses, while accepting the risk of wooing what may or may not be a fellow wlw

once you are, in point of fact, ON the date: standard rules and rates apply. relax! be urself!! enjoy spending time with a cool person, regardless of what may or may not come of it!!!! if she seems into it lean into physical proximity, do the whole Tarzan hand-comparison wlw are addicted to, offer to feed her bites of food or swap sips of each other's drinks, and casually set intentions for future plans ("I've never heard of X cafe--we'll have to do that next time!" or, the infamous buy-her-smth-secretly and then offer "You can get mine next time c:")

again, the most important thing is to be sincere. it's good not to place too many expectations on the other person, but don't force yourself to be overly "chill" if you are not, in point of fact, a chill person. dating is always a process of getting to know one another, and it's important to be polite but pls don't feel like you have to follow a script or be someone you're not. just be you babe: you're already plenty lovable. godspeed + good luck!!<33

[chil2de]

Hey don’t apologise for clearing your inbox. You did it for your own mental wellbeing and you can’t be apologising for taking care of yourself. I’m happy for you for finally doing it, it must’ve been daunting to try to get through so many asks. This must feel so refreshing and I love that for you. Take care of yourself (that’s a threat, if you don’t I will force you to) - 🥰

aaaaaa anonnnnie please you’re so sweet TwT iknowiknow but that’s just being an infj for you, you know? i’ll bump into a chair and apologise to an object that isn’t sentient in any way shape or form, i’m sure it doesn’t care that i just bumped into it

thank you for the supportttt thankyouthank you it seriously means a lot <3 more than you’ll ever know tbh hdhbfhshdhf it feels really refreshing now, really strange in all honestly but i like it (: feels like i just cleaned my room after a while lmao

o i’ll also reply to your previous ask below!!!

im so!!! excited for when u do read it! i can’t wait to see your reactions towards certain scenes KDNGJFBFHS

hunny if i saw toji and/or naoya in the street i’m not sure what i would do???? i might faint LMFAO naoya would probably spit on me i won’t lie i don’t know how i feel about that😳 maybe if i manifest internally by screaming at them to approach me they will cause lord knows i’m not going up to them, mfs look so damn intimidating... toji with his 6 foot something self and naoya with the cocky smirk, yeah no thanks

ariana always has really nice vocals, but i have to admit that i probably don’t enjoy all of her new songs preferred to the older ones. it’s just preference but i can’t vibe with them as much

as for wicked games aaaaaa i’m glad you liked it! the weeknd is one of my favourite artists ahah and i always thought it would suit toji. but yeah... his backstory isn’t pretty. at all. i think compared to the grand scale of things and all of the character’s backstories you’ve heard so far in the anime, his is probably one of the most depressing by a landslide. oh god, and yuuta? absolutely tragic... they might even be on par, though perhaps that’s me acting on a bias towards two of my favourites

i have an inkling that when the movie gets released yuuta will be extremely popular :/ i mean, like, i don’t care? don’t mean to go on a tangent but i dislike when ig lesser known characters only gain popularity by conventional means, not because people actually enjoy them or their character. they’ll see him animated and be all “wow! this guy is really cool!” then all the ogs are just sat there like “yes, honey, we told you so” (obviously this excludes anime only fans he was briefly mentioned in the first few episodes— how megumi states that he’s the only other second year he can openly respect, and how he won the kyoto school event by far etc etc, later that one scene of him in the second opening)

trust me u will love baby boy yuuta <3 i don’t share, if ever!! but hell i’ll make an exception for you :)

but in all honesty sometimes i wish i just stuck writing for one fandom because no matter how hard i try there will always be a time where i favour one fandom over the other, e.g i was writing gintama for the longest time, and that’s how my blog started growing, but then i got into haikyuu again and i started writing for them. therefore now because i’m into jjk it’s mainly what i write for and i always feel so terrible for the other fandoms fhsbfhghs

but i don’t hold any regret towards it, i’m glad that i switched to multifandom. i wouldn’t be happy writing for gintama forever, i’d feel so trapped and suffocated in terms of the free reign and variety so it’s all good (: besides i think it’s good to take breaks and to write for characters with vastly different personalities, i always find that my writing becomes a little bit more sharper and accurate when i’m trying to clean up and polish someone else’s dialogue or antics. needless to say, no shade to people who do write for only one fandom, because that takes major dedication so that’s a kudos!

anyways, didn’t mean to ramble on babe LMAO i do have a horde of google docs😭😭 i debated screen recording but there’s so many that after a while of scrolling it has to wait for the next batch to load, so you’ll just have to take my word for it (genuinely wish i could see somewhere that tells me how many overall docs i have, i’m pretty interested to see considering i have around ~500 posts, then again, not all of them are fics)

hfbshghd i hate how this was all about me please— ur giving a sister out here heart problems, i beg u pls tell me something interesting

OH OH OK i got a question, how about, who was your first fictional crush? can be anime or from a book series, etc

and is there any favourite anime characters you have from other fandoms?

(ily thank you once again I WAS LAUGHING SO HARD WHEN U SAID USING UP UNLIMITED MINUTES— the rest of the ask got cut off imsosorry we’ll just improvise from here on out, bUT hey dude let’s go to shibuya together!!! i’m so sure that they put a life size statue of gojo there everyone keeps talking about it LMFAO i’ll be whizzing around w my phone taking some very cool pictures :) then we can go grab some food or a few drinks, also ill stock u up on merch ok ily take care)

[the-reverse-mermaid]

Feel Again: a whump fic

Hey buddies! I’m working on my WIPs currently and i am so grateful for ur patience but i’ve also had this thing sitting in my docs for several months and I wanted to share it at last, but just a clip because..well...in whole, it’s kinda darker than my usual stuff so the whole thing may or may not be posted in the future. This is a gift for the wondrous @parkrstark​ who had a birthday recently and who is a beautiful person and talented writer <3 Enjoy, my love~

FIC INFO: around 5k words, IronDad and SpiderSon, hurt/comfort, warnings for nightmares, panic/anxiety attacks, past dehumanization; also it’s implied that Tony is Peter’s guardian bc May died...sry, i was too coward to write her ^^;

...

It’s been seven days, ten hours and fifteen minutes. 

Peter watches, blank-faced and empty-eyed, as bowl and spoon are placed in his hands. It makes Tony feel like he’s dealing with a robot, but even his robots are more lively than this. Taking Peter’s spoon, the man presses the Cheerios under the milk so that every piece of cereal will be soggy, just the way Peter likes. In times past Tony had made fun of him for the preference, and Peter had ardently defended it as the only right way to eat cereal. 

Now the memory of Old Peter echoes in the back of his mind like a glimpse of an alternate reality.

“Think you can finish all of that, buddy?” Tony asks, leaning down so he’s in Peter’s line of sight. Dulled brown eyes trail up to him, then back to the bowl and he nods, picking up the spoon. Tony breathes a sigh of relief as the kid starts to eat, chewing slowly.

He checks his phone and feels a nervous thrill at the notification there: I’m about to come down. Still want to do this? He glances at Peter before typing and sending a quick, Yes, ty.

“Hey, bud, remember that time you, me and Pep spent Saturday morning watching dumb cartoons and eating breakfast food til noon?” he begins, picking at his own cereal to seem casual about it. “I thought we could do that today, since she’s got no meetings til this afternoon. Whaddaya say?”

Peter pauses. He lifts one shoulder indifferently, but Tony can see anxiety hidden in the movement. Apathy and fear; whatever happened in the last four months stripped Peter-- lively, expressive Peter-- of all but these two emotions. They might as well have stolen Tony’s entire fortune; that loss would’ve hurt less.

Before Tony can think how to reassure him or possibly backtrack, there are footsteps in the hall and Pepper is rounding the corner with a bright smile on her face.

“Hey, guys!” she greets, pausing in the entrance of the kitchen to look them over. She’s comfortably dressed in pajama bottoms and her ‘I lost an electron’ shirt that she and Peter both own, her hair down and feet socked. It’s 10 times less intimidating than her usual business suits and high heels but still Peter squirms closer to Tony’s side and eyes her warily, choosing to look at her feet rather than her face. Pepper wilts a bit at the reception.

“Morning, hon,” Tony calls. He pushes a pleading ‘we can do this, just act normal’ into his gaze, and Pepper, bless her, seems to get the message. “We’ve got cereal over here, help yourself.”

Pepper grabs a bowl off the counter and crosses the room, her movements deliberate and nonthreatening. There’s no change from Peter, whose own bowl is sitting in his lap like something hardly worth his interest.

“Hmm,” she hums. “Cheerios are good, but mind if I add to the spread? I think we’ve got some frozen quiches around here somewhere, that sounds good to me.”

Tony smiles. “Go for it.” As soon as she walks away he nudges Peter and says quietly, “You’re okay, Pete. Nothing to be stressed about, yeah? Pep is just like me: she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

For what it’s worth, the kid does relax minutely. In the interim of Pepper opening packages and using the microwave, Tony picks up the remote and turns on the TV, browsing around for something safe and feel-good before settling on Nickelodeon, which is showing some animated movie. Peter’s eyes flick up to the screen.

“Alright, I got mini-quiches and even some blueberry muffins, ” Pepper announces upon her return, both hands holding trays of said items. “Totally gourmet... And by gourmet, I mean Costco brand.”

“The best,” Tony agrees, snatching one of each as soon as she sets them down. “Which would you rather have, bud?” He turns to Peter, who is done with his cereal and is now looking at the new food. At Tony’s invitation he hesitates but points at a muffin and Tony tries not to get too excited about it as he hands one over and watches the kid begin nibbling the top. So far things seem to be going well.

Now he’s just gotta go through with the next step.

Around ten minutes in, the movie cuts to a commercial break. Tony shifts in preparation to stand up and Peter immediately follows suit, not even questioning, but carefully Tony takes the boy’s hands and holds them at arm’s length. Peter looks at him questioningly, a rare moment of eye contact.

“I’m just gonna take a bathroom break, okay, bud?” he explains. “You stay here with Pep.” He tucks Peter’s hands to his lap and stands.

Peter keens and sits up straighter, wide eyes kindling anew with anxiety. Tony feels like the worst human being on the planet, but he knows he needs to do this. He needs to help Peter do this.

“It’s just a few minutes apart,” he promises. “I’ll go straight there and back.”

“And I’ll be here with you the whole time,” Pepper chimes in. She scoots closer from the other side of the couch and puts a soothing hand on Peter’s back, easing him back into the cushions as Tony leaves the room. The man tries not to look back as he hears her quieting and comforting the boy’s whimpers. Pepper is a better people person than Tony will ever be and he knows she’ll take good care of him, but Tony’s fingers still itch with the urge to turn right back around.

As soon as he gets to the bathroom, Tony pulls up a feed of the living room on his phone via FRIDAY’s cams to watch the room he just left. On the couch, Peter is decidedly not coping as well with Pepper as he does Tony, but he isn’t having a meltdown; in fact, he’s allowing her to sit close and keep an arm wrapped around his shoulders, though his forehead remains creased in apprehension. The poor kid looks like he’s fighting with himself to be patient; his gaze is torn between watching the TV and checking the doorway for Tony’s return.

Biting his lip, Tony puts his screen away and sighs. He paces the small space, checking his watch impatiently until at last five minutes have passed.

On his way back he hears it.

The yelling.

“Peter? Peter, honey, you’re okay! Please calm down, you’re home, you’re safe-” Pepper.

His walk turns into a sprint as he rounds the corner, heart in his throat, and takes in the worrying scene before him.

Peter is curled up in a fetal position on the couch, Pepper kneeling in front of him with helplessness on her face as she tries to get his attention. Peter’s hands are pressed over his ears, his eyes clenched shut, his whole body shuddering as he rocks and cries inconsolably.

“What happened?” Tony demands.

Pepper hurries backwards so Tony can take her spot. “I don’t know what- what agitated him,” she says in a rush. There are tears in her eyes. “He just suddenly started panicking and hyperventilating and- and he won’t let me touch him, he screams if I try-”

“Don’t scream!” Peter says suddenly. Both adults’ attention snaps to him. His eyes have opened but they’re unseeing as he croaks, “Don’t scream, they- they’ll hear! Be good, be good, be good, I- I’m good- please, I’m--”

“Peter, hey,” Tony tries, carefully putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

At the touch, Peter flinches, his head smacking against the couch. His whispering gets more frantic. “I’ll be better! I will! I-”

“Peter, please, stop!” The man takes Peter’s face between his hands. “You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Can you hear me, buddy? It’s your- it’s Tony.”

Peter goes still.

“Tony,” he repeats. His face crumples slowly, lip trembling. “I miss Tony...”

The man of iron feels his heart splinter. I miss you, too, Pete. Come back to me.

“You’ve got him,” he says. “Tony’s here now. He’s got you. He’s gonna keep you safe.”

In the stillness that follows, all is quiet save the sound of Peter’s rapid breathing, but even that is slowing and evening out. His blinks several times as the storm clouds in his eyes dissipate, light returning gradually as the seconds pass. Tony’s thumb strokes away a tear still rolling down the boy’s cheek, and at last Peter focuses and looks at rather than through him.

They stare at one another for a long moment. The teen swallows and opens his mouth with a shaky inhale, a fresh sheen of tears filling his eyes.

“S-sorry… my bad,” he rasps.

Tony’s brain short-circuits for a moment, and all he can think is how unbelievable it is that the most of Peter he’s seen in so long could come as the result of such an episode. He doesn’t know whether it makes him want to laugh or cry.

He pulls himself onto the couch and gathers his kid into his arms, one hand bracing Peter’s back, the other nestling in his still-overgrown curls. Peter responds by clinging around his middle and pressing his ear to Tony’s chest, no doubt timing his breaths by the heartbeats there.

It’s only after Pepper leaves to find them a blanket that Tony sees the TV screen and the image it’s paused on. It’s an infomercial… an infomercial for obedience training. The closed captioning advertises “Don Sullivan’s Secrets To Training The Perfect Dog: order the DVD set now and get a complimentary Command Collar”.

Tony had never had strong feelings about infomercials in general but at that moment he wants nothing more than to buy every single TV station and destroy them all. Screw Don Sullivan.

He’s surprised when Peter suddenly huffs a humorless sound. “I’m pretty broken, aren’t I,” he states quietly, voice wrecked.

Tony pushes his fingers through the scruff on the back of Peter’s neck, wishing so hard that he could turn back time. “No,” he refutes. “No, you’re not.”

Peter is quiet for a long time, so long that Tony wonders if he’s given in to the pull of post-panic-attack exhaustion and fallen asleep. But in a tired voice weighted by more sadness than any man, woman or child should ever know comes a tiny reply:

“Yes, I am.”

...

Peter has scars. A lot of them.

It’s been fifteen days since and he’s barely improved, still clinging and hesitant to speak or make eye contact with anyone other than Tony. He lets himself talk in small bursts but it’s nothing like he used to be; he can also manage up to fifteen minutes alone without having a panic attack if Tony has to shower or use the restroom. He does the same so long as Tony waits for him outside the door (within range of hearing his heartbeat).

After the disastrous separation experiment, Tony isn’t eager to push much more than that.

(Peter has scars.)

Some are thicker than others, especially on his wrists and his back; the white lines criss crossing over his form tell tale of screams long since silenced. Just seeing the marks makes Tony’s knees weak with a concoction of feelings he can’t describe-- prominently there’s horror, because he remembers how every injury was discovered and treated on that first night back and it was like Tony himself was taking a beating… and then there’s regret-guilt-anger-helplessness, because the cuts are healed now-- Peter’s healing capabilities took over soon after he got the proper nutrition and medical attention-- but poison memories are sealed inside.

If he hugs the kid a little longer than necessary after watching him get his boot cast removed and seeing the scar tissue that mars him there too, Peter doesn’t seem to mind. The kid leans into his touch more now than he ever did before.

“Alright, little shadow,” Tony says brightly as he pulls away, using the nickname that had never been more appropriate in their relationship; having a kid clinging closer than a literal shadow at all times did that to you. He glances one more time at the newly-healed foot and gets an idea. “What do you say we celebrate this cast coming off? Wanna take a walk around the compound, get some fresh air?”

Peter looks up at him through his ragged, unstyled hair, doe eyes wide but empty. Tony smooths his bangs back and the kid blinks once as if to focus. Tony can see him trying to be there, trying to care. Trying and trying and trying.

“...’kay,” he whispers, fragile. He lets Tony take his hands and help him stand.

Once he’s got them bundled up in jackets to withstand cold winds that roll off the water, Tony hiding a wrist gauntlet on the hand in his pocket (because yes, he’s that paranoid), the two of them (as one figure) step outside for the first time in-- in a while. Definitely a while.

A cool breeze follows them on their walk and Tony allows a deep breath of actual fresh air to clean out his lungs and settle in his veins. It’s not very often he gets to enjoy the benefits of living outside the city.

They end up walking along a trail that follows the Hudson and Tony decides that this actually was a good idea: the nature-y sights and sounds seem to help bring Peter to life. There’s a glimmer of contentedness in his face as he looks out over the trees and water and sky. He loosens his grip on Tony’s arm and settles for a gentle handhold. Tony looks at him sideways, feeling a swell of hope rise in his chest, right behind where his arc reactor used to be.

“It’s nice to get out, huh,” he says softly. The edges of Peter’s eyes crinkle in what might be the world’s tiniest beginning of a smile.

Other than occasionally checking that Peter’s leg isn’t hurting, Tony shuts his mouth and lets the white noise around them do its thing. He’s been talking too much lately anyway, trying to overcompensate.

They’ve been walking for almost an hour and stopped to admire a small waterfall when Peter suddenly bristles and presses himself close to Tony’s side. In paranoia, the man pulls his gauntlet hand out of his pocket and is all but ready to activate it, when all that comes around the path toward them is a wobbling toddler in a puffy coat.

They stare at him. He stares back, a gap-tooth grin on his face. “‘Ah-dy!” he says in greeting.

No, nope, I’ve definitely got my hands full being just ONE kid’s Daddy, Tony thinks worriedly, when behind the toddler appears a man who moves to scoop the boy up in his arms. The man holds the boy, who’s probably about 18-24 months old, by his feet and the kid shrieks in delight, wiggling around upside-down.

“Leaving me behind, guys?” a woman’s voice calls before a third person appears, putting her arm on her husband’s shoulder and glancing curiously at Tony and Peter. Peter hides himself behind Tony, eyes on the dirt, and Tony manages to cast them a weak smile to be polite whilst squeezing his kid’s arm reassuringly.

The man sets their kid down and he immediately spins around, looking at the waterfall. “Wa-er!” As he tottles away, Tony catches sight of the symbol on the back of his coat and does a double-take.

“Nice jacket,” he says without thinking.

He glances down at Peter. The kid has noticed too-- his eyes are locked on the symbol, expression unreadable.

The man turns around from where he and his wife are watching their toddler. He follows their gaze and laughs. It’s a tiny Spider-Man themed coat.

“Thanks! Spidey’s our family’s favorite. He saved Shannon’s life when she was pregnant with this dude,” he says, indicating his family members respectively. “The guy may not be around lately, or moved, or- whatever, there’s lot’s of theories- but... he isn’t forgotten, not for us.”

“-ah-DEE!” the little guy calls from where he and the woman have wandered, and this time he seems to be referring to his actual daddy so the man gives them an awkward little wave before walking off to catch up.

The strangers gone, Peter sags into Tony’s side. His face is still unreadable. Tony can’t think of anything to do other than wordlessly steer them down the path toward home, wondering at the heavy thought bubbles building over his kid’s head.

…

Sixteen-and-a-half days.

A strangled-sounding scream cuts through the dark and into Tony’s heart like a knife.

Tony’s startled but he isn’t surprised; startled because of the rude awakening from being asleep at the kid’s side, and the ever-terrifying possibility that something might be wrong, but not surprised in the conventional way because he’s aware that this has happened every night since the kid came off the heavy meds.

Peter is whimpering strings of ‘please’ and ‘no’, and Tony turns on the bedside lamp to see him huddled in a ball, eyes closed and budding with tears, one fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the noise. He winces when Tony puts a hand on the side of his head.

“Peter,” Tony whispers, so tired. “Peter, bud, you’re okay. It’s just a bad dream. Open those eyes for me?”

Peter whines, but his eyes do crack open to anguished slits. He’s shaking beneath Tony’s palm, and biting down so hard on his hand that the man sees a trail of blood running down his knuckles. Tony’s other hand gently pries the fist out away from his mouth. Peter lets him.

“Hey bud,” the man greets softly, catching the kid’s gaze. Peter stills as his surrogate father rubs a thumb along his temple soothingly.

Tony smiles sadly. “What did I tell those nightmares last night, huh? My kid is off-limits; only good dreams allowed. Iron Man decrees it.”

Peter stares at him, breathing erratic as his awareness returns. He inhales sharply, an attempt to calm down, but his breath catches on a sob on the exhale. He covers his face with both hands and dissolves into fresh cries, leaning into Tony as the man takes the back of his head and pulls him close.

“Shhh,” Tony murmurs, fingers carding through the curls at Peter’s nape. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry, I’m here.”

It takes some time for Peter to cry himself out. Tony doesn’t stop whispering reassurances the whole time. He can tell by the pace of the breaths beneath him that Peter’s still awake.

“You can tell me anything, Pete,” he offers gently, as he has every night. “I’m here for you.”

Peter has yet to tell Tony about what happened to him, or about the nightmares that haunt him so badly. As he comforts, Tony traces his thumb across the hollow under Peter’s eye, wiping away wetness there and remembering how the straps of a muzzle had traced the same spot in a perverse fashion not so long ago, before Iron Man had removed and destroyed the thing in disgust.

Some scars can’t be bandaged as easily as others, but for the first time in all such nights, Peter does respond.

“Mr. Stark,” he says so softly that Tony holds his breath so as to not miss anything, “Mr. Stark, I- I don’t- I just don’t understand.”

It’s in these moments, somehow, that Peter is most himself. The storms drag Peter out of his hiding place. “What don’t you understand,” the man prompts. He pulls back to see the teen’s face. His young brow is furrowed in- confusion? concentration?

Peter chews his lip for a moment before going on. “It’s like, when I was there… all I could- all I dreamed about was home. But now I’m here and I, I can’t- I’m st-still there, you know?” He meets Tony’s eyes. “What if I can’t ever really come home?” he concludes hopelessly.

Tony does unfortunately, painfully know what he’s asking about, because he has a similar trauma and it’s called Afghanistan.

“You just need time, buddy,” he says. “I know what you mean, trust me, I do. It just gets better with time.”

“Is it worth it?” Peter presses suddenly. “Am I-” His eyes trail sideways to the sheets and he swallows. “Am I even worth it?”

Tony’s jaw hardens. “That’s not even a question.”

“I-I did bad things… And, and I’m not the same.”

“You didn’t have a choice, kid. And being different? That’s not as bad as you think.”

“I’m ruining your life.”

“Peter, you are not-”

“I’m inhuman and I’m a waste of space.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s a known fact, something he’s been drilled with and long since accepted, that really gets under Tony’s skin. He’s been pretty good at holding himself together so far, all things considered, but can’t help that he feels his own eyes stinging with tears at the sound of his kid reiterating the garbage he’s been brainwashed with.

He sits up so suddenly that Peter startles.

“I’m not really tired anymore,” he says briskly, throwing the covers off himself and trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

Peter pushes himself up too, eyes wide and concerned. “Mr. Stark?”

“I’m feeling like a trip to the lab, maybe a snack on the way. How ‘bout you, kid? Wanna join your old man for some late night wandering?”

Peter presses his lips together in confusion, but he nods. Tony pushes the covers back more so that the kid can get his feet on the ground before stepping out himself, the both of them slipping into their usual bracing of one another.

Apparently speaking, and now getting up, is too much deviation from the routine for Peter because in his eyes he’s slipping back into himself, expression closing off. Tony hopes he doesn’t feel embarrassed; Before-Peter would’ve been, but Now-Peter is hard to read.

FRIDAY turns on lights as they pad down the hall, already long since attuned to Tony’s nocturnal habits. A quick stop at the kitchen supplies them with a bowl of Chex mix, and then the lab doors are whooshing open and Tony’s realizing he doesn’t actually feel like tinkering. He just needed a reprieve to collect his thoughts but now he’s got Peter out of bed for no reason and it’s not healthy, he’s gonna ruin his kid, he’s a terrible guardian-

He shakes his head. One thing at a time.

“Come sit with me,” he says unnecessarily, leading a compliant Peter to the couch and settling him down with the bowl of Chex in his lap. Neither of them move to eat any of it. Tony takes a seat beside him and drums his fingers on the knee of his worn sweatpants for a long moment, looking around for something to do now that he’s brought them here.

His eyes fall on a forgotten Target bag sitting stuffed in one corner and the metaphorical light bulb goes on.

As quickly as he sat, Tony’s back on his feet. Peter’s gaze follows him as he crosses to a nearby screen, booting it on and then retrieving the items he needs from the shopping bag. He shields his activities from Peter and whispers instructions to FRIDAY before finally whirling around to look at his kid with a crazy grin. It probably seems like he’s gone crazy at this point.

“Buddy, I have one question for ya,” he states, hands raising and pausing for dramatic effect. “Have you ever played… Just Dance?”

Peter stares at him the way one might stare at a fascinating tornado. He slowly shakes his head.

Tony laughs nervously. “Uhh... me neither. But listen, after you moved in, I kind of-” ...panicked... “-sent Happy to the store to find things you might like to have around the house? Like video games? I don’t know what kids like. Happy doesn’t either. He must’ve checked the internet or something because he came home with this, and kid, can you imagine Harold Hogan in the store buying a dancing game? Now that’s an image I treasure. On behalf of his efforts, I think we should give it a go, right here, right now.”

By the time the rambling stops, Dum-E, U and Butterfingers have made their way to this corner of the lab like curious cats trying to interpret their boss’ strange behavior. Noticing their presence, Tony throws his arm out to point at Dum-E. The other two bots startle comically.

“You,” Tony declares. “You can hold a wii remote, right? You and me. Let’s dance. Pete, you’re on the tambourine. I don’t actually have a tambourine. Just keep time by knocking, like this.”

The man leans forward and raps his knuckles twice against the side of the chex mix bowl. It’s not like it’s loud, or even necessary, but it’s something to get the kid involved. Peter looks a little lost, but not in the dissociative way- more like he’s trying to figure out if he’s actually awake or if this is a weird dream he’s having. Still, Tony’s on a roll and he feels dangerously confident. Not quite confident enough to ask Peter to dance, but enough to make a fool of himself in the hopes of bringing comic relief to one of their awful nights.

Within a few minutes, FRIDAY has configured the game on Tony’s screen and the main menu music is playing through the speakers. One newly-unwrapped wii-remote is clutched in Dum-E’s claw, safety strap secured, and Tony’s using the other to flip through the menu and create player profiles.

“Okay, so…” he mutters, finally arriving at the song selection screen. “What do we have here... Gotta make sure we choose an easy one. Not for me, of course; I’m worried about dum-dum over there.”

His eye catches on a song title, and he pauses to let the sample play. At first it was just because the song is marked “Beginner Level”, but he recognizes the clip as a tune he’d once caught Peter humming as he worked on some homework. Being the privacy-respecting parental figure he is, Tony had proceeded to tease him relentlessly because One Direction? Wow, Pete, gotta say I didn’t peg you as a pre-teen girl from 2012.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter perk just slightly, the little dork-- and it’s enough that Tony’s pressing the ‘play’ button without further mental argument.

The screen changes to four dancers, two of which are labeled for his and Dum-E’s remotes. As the opening measures of guitar riff begin, Tony mimics the pose of the avatar on screen and peeks over his shoulder.

“I need my tambourine player,” he reminds, and though Peter’s face is twisted in an expression of intrigue, he quickly readies his knuckle against the side of the Chex bowl and starts tapping it in time with the music.

And Tony dances.

“You’re insecure… Don’t know what for. You’re turnin’ heads as you walk through the do-o-or.”

“How the crap?” Tony mutters, watching Dum-E hit every move perfectly whilst his own avatar misses several points. “How-“

“Don’t need make-up… to cover up. Bein’ the way that you are in en-uh-uh-ough.”

The graphics go crazy for the beginning of the chorus and Tony cringes, though that changes when behind him he hears a small laugh that makes his heart stutter. He doesn’t look just yet, just tries harder to wave his remote hand in time with the song with exaggerated movements.

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else. The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed-“

This is definitely written for preteen girls, he sighs internally. Still... it’s undeniably catchy. To add to the show, he starts mumble-singing out the words aloud as they scroll on-screen:

“The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow, you don’t know you’re beautiful-”

That’s when the ‘tambourine’ beats stop. When Tony looks behind him he sees the kid shaking with silent laughter, an open-mouthed smile on his face.

He meets Tony’s eyes and for once there’s no weight of the world there. He’s just-- Peter.

It’s a sight too beautiful to describe.

“Oooh, keep trying!” the game prompts when Tony forgets to keep up. Their eyes flicker to the screen and Tony huffs.

“I’m not cut out for this follow-along stuff,” he says airily, giving up on it completely. “Tony Stark follows no one’s rules but his own.”

And with that, he slings his remote strap around U’s claw and breaks into his own freestyle moves, the ones he usually reserves for dancing in private, when he’s sleep-deprived and a little loopy. Be that as it may, Tony Stark knows he is a good dancer; he never imagined it would come in handy for a moment such as this, but heck, there’s not much he wouldn’t do if it got Peter doubling over in peels of giggles like he is right now.

When the song hits the chorus a second time, Tony grabs a screwdriver off the shelf, turning it upside-down as an impromptu microphone, and he sings the next words directly to his beaming kid:

“Peter, you light up my world like no-bo-dy else. The way that you- have- hair? Na-na-nanana-- The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow--”

Peter goes still, a lingering smile on his face as he listens to Tony’s altered lyrics.

“-If only you saw what I can see, you'd understand why I LOVE you so PERFECTLY-- Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe you don't know, oh oh- You don't know you're beautiful! Oh, oh-oh, Pe-ter you’re so beau-ti-ful!”

Tony breathes out, surprisingly choked up. He repeats the message as emphatically as he can, for however many times the song repeats it, his movements getting more silly and more sloppy until the music finally ends, bots trilling excitedly in the background about Dum-E’s somehow-perfect score.

He lowers himself to the ground in front of Peter, panting from exertion. The hum of menu music plays behind them but the game is forgotten.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony breathes. “You are worth… everything. The whole world. You were, you are, and you always will be.”

Peter’s eyes shine like stars. He melts into Tony’s hold when the man leans forward.

…

Peter has scars, but Peter is not his scars.

[amaloaf]

Forget (Remember): another CARS fanfic

two fanfics?? In one day?? Surreal 

Description: Sarge wants to help Fillmore but can't do it without context. An extremely drawn out quest of Sarge finding out Fillmore’s past. ((Takes place way in the past Sarge, Fillmore, Flo, and Ramone are in their 20s))

Ships: Sargemore, Flomone, Sheriff/OC (background) 

Warnings: if ur sensitive to cult-like organizations, nsfw situations, or just fucked up shit please don't read 

Prolongs

The past was something rarely mentioned in the house. Sarge had noticed that almost immediately. He and Fillmore never lived together in the traditional sense, often migrating between his bunker and Fillmore’s dome, but no matter what home they were in one rule remained the same; don't ask about the past. Even when they were only just friends, a young Sarge fresh out of the marines and Fillmore only a few years new to Radiator Springs, the young hippy’s past was shrouded by mystery.

That wasn't to say that Sarge allowed sleeping dogs to lie, no sir. Sergeant corporal George Khiem Henry Milton was many things, but a quitter wasn't one of them. From context he knew two things about his significant other’s past: 1. That Fillmore had grown up spending a great deal of time with the town’s body artist, Ramone. The second was that Fillmore had a sister and two nephews living on a Navajo reserve somewhere upstate, he had seen her number, address, and a picture on the side of Fillmore’s fridge the first night they'd spent together. While the latter information intrigued him far more, it was apparent he could get more information by asking Ramone.

Sarge rolled over in bed and looked at Fillmore’s sleeping form. His large arms were folded close to his chest with his head pulled over them. It was the closest thing someone could make to a fetal position without using their legs. The lighting from the fairy strings he had around the room made his soft, curly hair glow and it fell around both of their pillows in gentle rings. He looked like a painting, beautiful, and soft around the edges. Sarge sighed and rolled on his back. “It's gonna break his heart when he finds out what I'm doing.. but I can't let him ignore his needs either,” he thought, his own heart cracking at the thought of Fillmore’s face when he found out. He glanced back at the huddled at his side. “I have to though, I've seen men go insane over nothing because they ignored blatant symptoms, because they thought they could handle it. Hell, had it not’ve been for Doc I might've been one of them.” Sarge let his eyes wander the ceiling where small flowers of all colors had been painted, and fell asleep thinking of his mission for tomorrow.

Chap 1

The brass bell on the door of Ramone’s shop made a heavy “clang” sound when Sarge opened the door the following morning. The shop was empty, save for the owner and his wife. Flo was most definitely out of place with her silky, short bathrobe and when she turned to look at the door, taking her hands out of Ramone’s back pockets, it was apparent she had nothing but a pair of boxer shorts under it. Sarge stuffed his hands in his coat pockets ur kept his eyes on the couple for another minute.

“I can, uh.. come back later if this isn't a good time.” He said gruffly, trying not to show his embarrassment at walking in on a lazy couple’s Sunday morning.

Ramone didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Without taking his arm from around Flo’s waist he motioned Sarge in with a quick, “Don't even worry about it, man! ‘S out own damn faults, forgot the sign said open for a minute, yknow?” Sarge came at the beckoning, standing as straight as he possibly could, pretending his face wasn't as hot as it felt. “So what can I do you for, man?”

“If you don't mind Ramone, I have a rather.. personal flavor to ask you.”

Ramone, seeing as how Sarge wasn't leaving anytime soon, removed himself from his wife's side and began cleaning his tools next to one of the reclining chairs. “That's a very vague answer, general. Care to elaborate on that ‘favor’?” He put down one tool and picked up a tattooing needle, examining the points and motor. Flo sat gently in the accompanying chair, crossing her ankles and reclining slightly. Sarge locked eyes with Ramone before quickly glancing to Flo and back. Ramone stood confused for a moment before realizing what Sarge wanted. Fortunately, before her husband could say a word, Flo had seen the quick looks and stood.

“Sarge, honey, you coulda just asked“ she laughed, not seeming offended in the slightest to be kicked out. “You boys come by the diner when you're all set and I'll fix y’all up a good ol’ coffee, alright?” She pressed her lips to Ramone’s, flushing her round body against his. “And you make sure to stop by home, I'm not giving these back” she stage whispered, trailing her fingers up Ramone’s jacket. He grinned through heavy lidded eyes and nodded, keeping his hands on her a few beats longer than necessary. Sarge chose to pretend she was talking about anything other than the flame print boxers stretched over her large hips.

“Newly weds..” he muttered as she walked out of the shop, the bell clanking to signify her departure. “You got yourself a real price of work there, Ramirez.”

Ramone laughed, continuing to look dazed. Sarge swore he could see the stars in his eyes and the cartoon hearts above his head. “She's worth every minute, man. But you'd know a thing or two about that wouldn't you?”

Sarge flushed red. “Shut your whore mouth. You don't know anything.” Even as he said it he knew it wasn't true. To be completely honest, Ramone probably knew more about him and Fillmore’s relationship than Sarge himself did.

“Alright, alright. Calm it general-”

“I was a Sergeant Corporal.”

“You came here for a favor?”

“Right, yeah, fuck.” Sarge leaned against a counter, thinking the best way to phrase the question now. He watched Ramone’s backs the artist set back to cleaning his instruments of the medium. “So, you and Fillmore grew up together, right?”

Ramone’s back tensed through his tank top, the question freezing him for a split second. He recovered quickly, however, and went back to work. “Yes, we spent a good majority of our younger years together.”

“When did you meet him?”

“He was about eleven, I would've been about eight… so around eh…” Ramone began counting something in spanish. “About thirteen years ago? Seems like a lifetime ago, haha so much has changed.” He didn't look up from his tools and offered no more information.

“Ramone I was wondering if you could tell me something about Fillmore.”

“Dios maldita sea! Jesus follando un pez y gustándolo!” Ramone cursed out before composing himself. “Are you not with him? Can you not ask him yourself?”

Sarge tensed. “Now hang on a second! Who in the good lords name told you I was ‘with’ anybody?” He shouted, annoyance with the situation bubbling in his chest.

Ramone stood ground. “Are you telling me you're going to stand here, in *my* shop, and tell me there is nothing going on between you to? You’re honestly going to tell me when you push his wheelchair to the dome every night, every god given night, and you just go in you separate doors and golpea tu carne-” He made an all too familiar hand gesture with his cloth and the cylinder in his hand, “on your own, every night, at the exact same time?”

Sarge chose to ignore the main point and focus on the last part of the question. “Whaddyou mean, the same time..?”

“You know damn well. Flo and I work late not even fully down the street.” He stepped closer. “Fillmore lives in a hut.” Another step. “And god knows you're a begging lil puta in the sheets, general.” One more step and they were at a confrontationally uncomfortable distance. Ramone's usually bent knees and hunched posture were straightened to their full potential, and quickly Sarge forgets that Ramone is well over a foot taller than him. He held the artist’s stare for a few moments before turning away. Ramone sighed and visibly deflated. “It hurts him every time you deny it, Sargent. He’s lost a lot, and he's worried he'll lose you too.” He turned to look at the smaller man. “I think that's gonna break him for good, man.”

Sarge didn't look at Ramone. He turned away from him and faced the opposite wall, looking at his reflection in the salon mirror. He was only twenty-six, and already he looked like a man more than double his age. His yellowish, naturally pale skin was darkened by the unholy amounts of time he'd spent in the sun, it was more brown than anything now and it was peeling off around his nose. His hair was beginning to grow out again from not being developed, it's grayish brown locks were thin and sticking out in odd places. His shoulders and hips jutted out strangely underneath his military jacket and jeans, never quite filling out the way they were supposed too. He took in his eyes last. Almond shaped and just slightly slanted, light brown. Sarge had always hated his eyes, his disgusting wrong eyes that he got from his mother. He hated that he'd never be the All American Boy his family had wanted him to be. The military hadn't done a damned thing to make him anymore wanted, if anything the side effects of having nineteen confirmed kills under your belt just made him easier to push away. He turned his eyes too Ramone, whose big, blue puppy-dog eyes were watching him expectantly.

“He's getting worse, Ramirez. Every day I see him falling apart and it kills me to see him like that. I know he needs help.”

“Then send him in the right direction. You found help back when you were a twitchy little trigger switch, I'm sure someone can help him.” He sighed. “I just don't get why you have to be the one to help him.”

Sarge ran his hands through his too long hair. “I don't have to be the only one, but I want to be there. You haven't seen what I've seen. I had to sit a man go insane in a recovery ward because he lied about his condition. He wanted to do it on his own. Offed himself three days before his twenty-first birthday. You said it'd do Fillmore in to lose me? Imagine if I had to see that yet again, but this time with someone I lo- care about.”

Ramone shot him a look, the slip up didn't get past him but he chose not to push it. “So what is it you need from me to help him?”

“I think Fillmore’s suffering from some pretty serious ptsd.” Sarge said, relieved they were getting somewhere. “It's probably what's contributing to his anxiety and causing deep psychological scarring.”

“Not to be a bitch, but why again do you need me for this?”

“Because, surprise surprise, our lovely little Fillmore won't talk to me about last year, much less his tragic backstory. I know you've been around long enough to give us some semblance of what I'm dealing with here.”

“I-” Ramone was cut of by a familiar clank and a squeak of a wheelchair against the wood.

“Hey, dudes. Whatcha all talkin’ ‘bout?”

[sjwmothman]

 tagged by @keybladedetweiler​ !! Thanks !! I’m doing it late bc I’m always on mobile................

1. Are you named after someone? 

I dk  ?? hrc was big in the year I was born and my conservative mom like............... zagged profoundly. 

2. When was the last time you cried? 

I almost cried a bunch today but I Have Not so like......... can’t rememb er.

3. Do you like your handwriting? My handwriting isn’t great but I think it’s mutant freak part cursive part printing charm is undeniable. 

4. What is your favorite lunch meat? 

Can I say pepperoni?

5. Do you have kids? 

No :v and I don’t plan on it either 

6. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? 

I think so but I’d probably secretly think I was Annoying.....................

7. Do you use sarcasm? 

not as much as I used to but I gotta clear this bile from my soul somehow 

8. Do you still have your tonsils? ye.

9. Would you bungee jump? 

i’m super not great at heights and once refused a four foot trust fall in the woods so .................... I guess not ?

10. What is your favorite kind of cereal? 

some kinda almond special k i had once.... cookie crisp............

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? 

NEVER unless they are very tight goth shoes 

12. Do you think you’re a strong person? 

nah. 

13. What is your favorite ice cream? 

a local kind with candy corn in it called witches brew. or any kind of fudgy cookie dough sort of hunting quest of a pint.

14. What is the first thing you notice about people?  

honestly? if they laugh a lot or tell jokes.

15. What is the least favorite physical thing you like about yourself? 

if my teeth could just .................... stop. my face from most angles. one time I looked down at my own body and thought “kinda looks like the monsters from crow cillers” 

16. What color pants and shoes are you wearing now? 

black pinstripe pants and not wearing shoes now but I was wearing black boots earlier

17. What are you listening to right now? 

the silence by bastille 

just switched to hymn to breaking strain 

18. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? 

as a rule I don’t like this question but.......... blue or yellow I guess 

19. Favorite smell? 

The sort of fresh smell of a summer evening??? or like a woodstove smell on a cold fall or winter day ???/ lots of airy stuff I guess ............ also the yankee candle factory outlet on route...........................

20. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? 

probably the person from the program who called to congratulate me! and see how I was doing. before that me mum and be fore that the DND CREW !!! 

21. Favorite sport to watch? 

fencing probably but I don’t really watch sports. as a rule my brain sort of glazes in response to action......

22. Hair color? brown yo.

23. Eye color? a blue so blue people mention it frequently ???????

24. Do you wear contacts? 

I would have no personality without my enormous glasses so. Never. 

25. Favorite food to eat? 

lemon pies and bars, tangerine chicken from this one place I used to go with my college friends (TT.TT i miss you guys........and the delicious chicken), candy corn, apple anything, muffins!

26. Scary movies or comedy? 

.why is this a question when edgar wright exists???? all scares either bores or freaks me out and The genre of funny movies that goes out of its way to be labelled comedy tends to be so misogynist or just embarrassing it hurts to watch....

27. Last movie you watched? 

I can’t remember?? oh go d. wait uh! probably treasure planet. .. 

28. What color of shirt are you wearing? 

just a black and grey striped sweater. 

@keybladedetweiler ur frodo shirt sounds rad.

29. Summer or winter? 

summer totally. but autumn is KING of this heart

30. Hugs or kisses? 

i’m so uh bad at physical contact. can I say like a radical high five ? I mean definitely hugs though. I could be hugged by like one of 6 diff people rn and I’d be really happy :v 

31. What book are you currently reading? devil in the white city, also crow cillers if comics count, and this rad as hell beatles fic called strings or the big pink job 

32. Who do you miss right now? 

hi it’s time to be candid and sappy.... I miss my friend group from school and scifi so much :( you guys are my best dudes ............ and i’m already getting sad thinking about how I’m gonna miss my best friend milk when I leave :( 

(hi so the one question about crying should be updated to now.... bc I’m crying right........... now................. ) 

33. What is on your mouse pad? 

I don’t have one :( I don’t think we’ve ever had one...

34. What is the last TV program you watched? 

I probably in passing sort of saw a few minutes of gf or star vs or something today bc my mom always has a disney channel going. 

35. What is the best sound? 

that weird watery sound in old kinda badly recorded acoustic music from like 60s/70s 

36. Rolling Stones or The Beatles? 

Beatles. but only bc I keep finding weird old fanfiction about them that’s a blast to read. 

37. What is the furthest you have ever traveled? 

Florida I guess... I’ll be going further for The Job though! 

38. Do you have a special talent? 

a lot of strangers have complimented my singing! I’ve never been vocally trained and sing possibly as a stim thing?? I’ve never researched it, I just know I feel a lot better singing! 

I’ve started having a lot of doubt in my writing, but I have been complimented on it possibly even more consistently than singing?? I’m so sad that I don’t write enough anymore and I know it’s easy to open a word doc and just Fucking try but it feels like I can’t do it anymore?? I’m worried that I’m letting myself be blocked by that dumb fear of not being good enough though I guess......... lmao cry #2 i’m the least tough person on this earth...............

39. Where were you born? 

In the sweet blessed autumny bosom of New England 

who needs to tag ppl lma ooooooooooooooooooooo