#letting it brew in my brain without an outlet is doing weird things to me

[coelpts]

i have got to talk about my gender with more people.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Kaz Brekker x fem! Reader - Crows

A/n: I just thought about this one and I was like yasssss... (I know I'm weird I'm sorry) There's really no plot. Anyways... ya so just to clear this up this one is after crooked kingdom! Also I have part 2 to Captains? Coming up and! (Yes there's an and) I have another Kaz one going up soon here so that's that!

Warnings: (Kaz should be his own warning), language, trauma, blood, gore I think that's it? You have been warned!

Summary: Kaz goes on a mission and gets hurt

All rights go to Leigh Bardugo and you, I just own the plot!

I walk into Kaz's room without knocking because from what I gathered or thought we were way past formalities.

I guess not.

I walk in to see Kaz packing up some stuff into a small bag - always packing light but I never see clothes go into the (very) tiny sack. I sigh in annoyance and clutch my jaw.

"I thought you said you would tell me if you have a job?" I raise my eyebrow at him. He freeze's for a fraction of a second but then resumes back to packing like nothing happened, not even looking at me.

"I'm leaving for a job. I'll be gone for four days, in Shu territory." My eyes widen a bit.

"You hate boats." I whisper, but he just shrugs his shoulders like I'm just another one of his pawns. I dig my finger nails into my palms of my hands forming them into fists.

"Your going alone?"

He turns to face me swiftly not meeting my eyes.

"I'll be taking the crows."

I feel anger brew inside of me begging for an outlet, begging to be released. I stomp down on it.

"Didn't you guys said I was one of you?" I question calmly hoping that he doesn't say what I thinks he's going to say, to tell me I'm a child for believing that.

His dark brown eyes that look almost black snap to mine finally meeting my eyes.

And he says something worse.

"Your no use anymore." He simply replies calmly.

To hell with being calm, to hell with being patient. He can go fuck himself if he thinks he can just use me at his leisure. I want to scream, yell at him, but I know if I want to achieve anything here, that's not how this go's.

My eyes darken and I take a step forward.

"When you need me most I will be gone." I say deadly calm and turning on my heel I stalk out the door.

"Oh and if you were done with me, you could have just said so." I hiss.

With that I walk out his door.

____________TIME SKIP A WEEK LATER_______________________

I sigh as I go to enter the slat. The fuck why am I already here? I grumble to myself. Inej better have a good reason for calling me over here. Or at least some good kruge. Saints knows I could use some.

Anything to help... What?

Help with the pain that I made? I did leave Kaz and knowing him he'll probably never talk to me humanly again like he used to. I ball my hands up in fists. But the only reason why I did that is because he was acting like a jackass, and if he's going to act like that he lose's me.

His loss.

By the saints I'm even lying to myself.

I get up the stairs and I walk into inej's room (because that's where she told me she would be) and I open the door and ALL the crows (expect for Kaz) were there.

"Where's the body." I say in a monotone voice and put my hands on my hips and I let my annoyance seep through into my body language.

"It's - what no there's no body?!" Wylan says a bit traumatized though I do imagine this isn't the worse he's heard.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever it is get on with it."

Aren't you going to ask where Kaz is? A voice whispers evilly inside my head. I grit my teeth against each other. Don't think about him he's not important to you anymore.

"Well?" I raise my eyebrows.

They all glance at each unsure as to tell me whatever info they have. They seem to all fight silently till Jesper just gives in and says and turns to me.

"Kaz got injured."

My eyes widen and and just like that I'm flying out of the room sprinting towards Kaz's office I get there out of breath and I don't even bother knocking. I fling the door open and I close it quickly just in case and I step inside.

Kaz is on the bed looking pale his eyes are shut and he's not moving. It doesn't even look like he's breathing.

I place a head over my mouth in shock and I move closer to the raven haired boy on the bed. I kneel on the floor next to him and I feel tears well up into my eyes and I gently shake him awake.

"Kaz?" I whispered afraid of what the answer or the lack of answer really.

I hear a groan resonate from the boy and he slowly opens his eyes as he goes to sit up but I fling my arms around him and it takes everything in me not to sob into his chest. My brain tells me we're technically not on speaking terms but I could really care less in this moment. (Although I'll probably regret it later.)

Surprise fills Kaz's eyes and it probably also woke him up all the way now, because he looks like he's actually taking in his surroundings now.

He looks tried and black shadows lay under his eyes, I see little cuts along his neck and I am frighten to think what else happened while they were gone. He just looks so...

Defeated.

I unravel my arms from around him and fury boils beneath my skin into my very soul. Whoever did this to him is going to pay.

"Who did this." I say flatly and I let anger fill my voice.

Kaz sighs and puts a gloved hand through his hair.

"It doesn't matter." He murmurs.

"For saints sake Kaz! Of course it does! Damn it!" More tears well up in my eyes but I mentally push them away. Not now.

"No not really." Kaz grumbles.

"Not when most of the pain doesn't come from someone from Shu Han, it comes from you."

I freeze. The. fuck. Did. He. Just. Say.

"What-what?!" I whisper yell but he just smiles a bit and jesters towards the bed and I go to sit down on it across from him but he rolls his eyes.

"Don't make me come over there." Kaz says flatly and rolls his eyes at my seating position.

I half-crawl over to Kaz and I and I sit beside him awkwardly not wanting to trigger anything but he just sighs and puts an arm around me and tries to bring me closer. I wiggle away from him not wanting Kaz to see how distressed I am.

"Where's your wound." I whisper barley audible for anyone to hear but he just sighs and sits up all the way and dangles his legs on the edge of his bed. He takes off his shirt and throws it across the room and turns to face me.

I try not to let my eyes roam his bare chest but it's kinda useless. I sigh in my head now is not the time to be a horny teenager Y/n!

As a compromise I start from the top and try and find the wound as I try to commit everything to memory. I see his wound on right side of his stomach and I reach my hand out. I trance the outlines of it, but never touching it not wanting to cause Kaz more pain.

I look into his eyes dark eyes that melt into golden rays when the sunlight from the widow hits them, it's all the sunsets I could ever need.

"Do you need anything to warp it up." I say and I turn my head away not standing the silence.

"A healer came and did most of it."

I sigh, that coming from Kaz means yes but he isn't going to die without it just be in a lot of pain. With him not moving too much and when he does he tries to hide a wince he'll probably at least need it warped.

I get up from the bed and I go to his window sill. I open the window and Kaz looks at me and confusion fly's across his face and I just beckon him over. I turn back and I grin at all the crows that are around here.

Perfect.

I whistle out towards the open window:

Fweet.

Fweet.

Fweet.

Two crows land on the window sill and I smile internally.

Don't let him see what you did for the past week, not yet. Let him figure it out. A voice whispers in my head and for once in a life time I listen to it.

"Bring me, gauze." I point to the crow on the right.

"And bring me my pain reliever." I point to the crow on the left.

"You get ten minutes tops." I nod at the crows and (creepily) they nod back.

Kaz looks at me like I'm crazy, so to add to the flare I give him a crazed grin. He just rolls his eyes.

"What was that?" He raises his eyebrows and limps closer to me so out shoulders are touching.

I shrug my shoulders and I turn towards him.

"I got bored so I made some new friends. And then..." I pause for dramatic effect and I let a small secret smile jump onto my face.

"So I taught them some things."

He looks at me in disbelief, I giggle at him and I warp my arms around his middle.

The fuck am I doing! He has trauma!

I quickly go to remove my arms but he places his ungolved hands on them.

"It's okay." He breaths out. So I leave them there and I carefully place my head onto his chest. My hands go up, feeling his lean but very muscular back, till I warp my hands around his shoulders. I tilt my head to the side the tiniest bit but he gets the notion and nods his head. I go to lean in...

I'm frozen. I don't know what to do. What should I do?

Caw! Caw!

Two raven haired crows land on Kaz's office's window sill with gauze and pain reliever cream in it's beaks. I smile at them.

"Good job." I say as I toss them both some seeds and they go off and fly away.

I turn to Kaz with both the gauze and pain reliever cream and my hands and his face is just priceless.

"How the fuck did that work?!" Kaz whispers as I go to sit him down on his bed. I hesitantly put the pain reliever cream on his side and I quickly warp it up with some gauze.

"They can also talk some words so they can spy for me." I smile. "I thought it would be good, because then it means the dregs are every where and I just thought that maybe you would..." I trail off I remembering our fight.

"Your no use anymore."

Turning away from him and getting up, I cross my arms over my chest and I face away from him.

"I'm going to go." I say as I place my hand on the door handle.

"I'm sorry." Kaz blurts out. Slowly I take my hand off the door handle but not yet being able to face him.

"And what are you sorry for Kaz?"

I hear the bed and the floor broads creak and I hear his footsteps getting closer to me although they are labored.

"I'm sorry for pushing you away. I'm sorry for being there and then seemingly not caring anymore."

He takes another step forward, I can feel his breath fan out across my neck and it makes my knees feel weak.

"I'm sorry for saying you were useless." He takes another step forward and he places a hand on my shoulder. Tears well up in front of my eyes and my hands along with the rest of my body starts to shake. He slowly turn's me around so I'm facing him.

I lift my eyes up from the ground all the way up to meet his and I get lost in them.

I fall.

I fall into the deep never-ending abyss of his eyes. It's dark all around me, but it has a certain warmth to it and safety that I know I will never find anywhere else. As I fall I know I will never stop.

I don't want to stop.

I never want to stop falling in love with Kaz, I realize.

Kaz Brekker.

Are faces get closer and he brings a hand to my cheek and one to my waist.

"And I am sorry for making you feel, alone. Worthless. Because you mean so much to me." His voice cracks at the end of his sentence.

I place a hand on his arm and one goes up to his hair.

"Thank you." I whisper and the tears that I have been holding in finally release into silent sobs of joy and pain all in one.

Then our lips meet.

It's chaotic. It's messy. It's far from perfect.

But it's ours.

His love, I can feel it come through the kiss. All the things words could never say, never perform, are in this kiss.

It engulfs us both into an abyss of madness, and I know it's sounds crazy but if this is wrong, if this will only lead me onto a dark path, as long as Kaz is here then I don't care.

We finally separate when the need of air becomes too prominent. I giggle when a crow comes to land on Kaz's shoulder. I pet it and I look to Kaz knowing this is it.

This is what I want.

So holy crap? Kaz was a bit... but whatever it's fine! I think I might do a part 2 with the crows finding out their in a relationship or that's just going to be it's separate imagine idk. Also I might try writing for the darkling soon... 😈

Words 2279

-Thedelusionreaderbitch

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 6 [18+/NSFW]

<- Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 ->

Summary: Morning cuddles, smut, and kissing an insecure bastard man on his cute spooky face

2,373 words

The first thing you were aware of was a cold prickling of pins and needles rushing down your right arm like ice water. That made you stir. The next thing you remembered was that you were thirsty.

You flopped over to find that your glass of water on the nightstand was not on the nightstand you expected to see (your home one within arm’s reach), and was in fact, a million miles away, making it, to your just-woken-up brain, completely inaccessible. A buzz of excitement trembled your stomach like you had swallowed an electric outlet, and that outlet was filled with heart emojis.

Rubbing and flexing the pinpricks out of your arm first, you rolled back over, and there he was: Frederick Chilton lying next to you.

The faint upbeat trills and chirps of birdsong outside the bedroom window were the perfect accompaniment to the content you felt, an ode to winter melting into spring. You had missed this—you had missed him.

In the morning, he wasn’t the Dr. Frederick Chilton who was carefully put together for the rest of the world: his hair was a mess with soft tufts of brown sticking up in every which direction; his cheek was mushed into the pillow making him look a bit like a chipmunk, and there would be little red crease lines stamped into his skin from the pillowcase when he finally got up; unkempt stubble grew long in areas he would trim tidily; and he snored. He was yours, and only yours this way.

His scars were currently hidden from view, pressed into the pillow or draped with a sheet (except for his left eyelid which didn’t close properly, leaving a crescent of blue-white eye visible), but you still basked in the joy that he trusted you with his secret—that this twitchy man allowed you to see him vulnerable.

Dappled light streamed into the bedroom through a gap in the curtains. It was spacious, clean, and white, like most rooms in the palatial building, and still as impersonal as when he moved in, more like real estate staging than a home.

In fact, you were fairly sure he had kept the real estate staging to avoid having to decorate himself. There was a framed family picture in the foyer that you recognized as a stock photo. Everything was tidy and beautiful, but very little was his. Even Dr. Chilton couldn't hide the fact that a human being lived here, however, and a few personal touches bore witness to his guarded personality—a reading room stuffed with books on psychiatry, criminology, and books he had written (tucked away on an inconspicuous bottom shelf you discovered his stash of romance novels and homoerotic art)—but in the bedroom the only signs of his presence were the closet full of suits and gaudy ties, the bathroom full of prescriptions and cosmetics, and an ornate umbrella stand for his cane.

His eyelids twitched, and slowly opened to you staring at him. A soft, sleepy, adoring smile pulled the corner of his mouth up from the pillow, as if he awoke from a pleasant dream to find he was still in one.

Then the haze of sleep cleared and he realized you were staring at him. At his face. His blood went cold. He stopped breathing.

You saw his nostrils flare and knew that panic was overtaking him, and behind his eyes there brewed the question of pushing you away again. Before he could reach that point, you smiled and whispered, “Thanks for letting me stay.” You ducked under his surprisingly muscular arm and buried yourself in his chest, so you weren’t looking at anything he was uneasy about you seeing. His body relaxed. Tucking his chin over your head possessively, he began to rub lazy circles over your back. Your legs intertwined with his until you were a warm tangle of limbs and blankets.

“I have never been with a cuddler,” he murmured. “You’re cuddly. You cuddle.”

You almost didn’t understand what he was saying, you were so lost in the baritone reverberations of his chest against your ear. When it clicked, you almost laughed in confusion. “What?”

“What?” he snapped.

“What do you mean, like… you’ve been with people who didn’t cuddle you? There are people who don’t like to cuddle?”

“Yes,” he said as if this were kindergarten-level stuff.

“Seriously?”

“It is what I said, is it not? Forget I spoke!”

You quickly worked to pacify his easily-bruised ego, massaging your fingers through his soft swathe of chest hair. After a few gentle circles, he calmed down again, reclining his head on the pillow with a lazy yawn.

“Sorry, it’s just bizarre to me,” you said, still nestled on his chest. “How do you live without snuggling?”

He chewed the inside of his lip and gave it thought for the first time. “Poorly,” he concluded.

“Is it weird how much I cuddle?”

“Irrefutably, my dear.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course.” Proving his point, he wrapped his arms around you harder and kissed the top of your head, down your temple, and across your eyes until finding your lips, then buried himself in the crook of your neck for a long while, just holding you.

As you lay comfortably half awake, you became aware little by little of his cock rubbing against your thigh every time one of you shifted. A dull ache awakened between your legs. You felt him growing harder, and started rocking your hips with more purpose, your breath more erratic.

His hand slipped between your legs under the covers feeling your arousal, and a kaleidoscope of sensation burst to life under your skin, making you drunk with need. You slipped off your underwear and he hastily rid himself of his, his heart beating like a snare drum.

His lips met yours, eager and hot, searching, as he rubbed his cock against your entrance.

He pulled back, remembering something missing.

“One moment. I shall go put my face back on,” he blushed, pushing off from the bed, then joked with a worried grin, “Stay aroused.”

You caught his wrist. “Leave them out. I want your real face.”

Shoulders deflating, he stared back at you stone faced—or what was meant to be stone faced but for the trembling in his lip and an involuntary twitch of first one cheek, then the other. He turned away and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Your heart sank, but then he opened the bedside stand, pulled out the lube, and returned.

It started slow and sweet, an extension of your cuddling with lots of kissing and reassuring caresses. He was uncertain of himself like this, but he trusted you—he wanted to trust you. He wanted to give you whatever it was you desired, and this was what you asked for. You were so strange, to want him without any masks on, even when the truth beneath them was ugly. Part of him was jumpy, waiting for you to gag and tell him to cover his ruined eye. It was going to sting dreadfully when you did, he was so vulnerable. Yet, another part was curious what it would mean if you accepted him completely. The idea of it was dizzying.

He lay on his side facing you, but keeping you pressed too close along the length of his body to easily find his face. Exploring hands roved over you, encouraging you to nuzzle into him more, ghosting breathy kisses over his skin in your warm little cave between the pillow and his neck. Your leg was thrown over his hip, and he began to glide his glistening cock over your entrance, spreading the lube and a growing heat, rocking back and forth until you were twitching.

He made sure you were slick and ready to take him before easing inside slowly, just the head working you open. You adjusted the angle of your torso, pulling your face out from under him to gain better leverage as you rolled your hips slowly against his, feeling the stretch as your body took more of his girth. You ran your fingers up the back of his neck and embedded them in his messy hair, ruffling it more. Nibbling his lower lip, you whispered, “you feel so good,” and felt the shiver run up his spine. He was a slut for praise.

Once you had adjusted to being filled, and the thin thread of pain interwoven with the pleasure faded into a comfortable, tantalizing pressure, you pushed him back onto the mattress and straddled him. Riding his cock, you took him deeper, and deeper, setting a steady, but unhurried pace. You wanted to savor it. His hands cupped the curve of your ass, squeezing as he bucked his hips up into you, hitting a point so deep you gasped his name. “Frederick,” you repeated with more heat, “your cock feels so fucking good.” You wanted him to know how much you worshiped him, but every time you gazed down at his face, your eyelids heavy with lust, his nostrils flared.

“Do not stare.”

You tried to comply. To make him comfortable. You wanted to admire your wounded man, but he was still getting used to you knowing at all, so you closed your eyes for him and focused on the feeling of your bodies joining, and the sounds of his exertion. But when his breathing grew ragged and you could imagine the lewd, needy expression he was making, you couldn’t help peeking.

His eyes were locked on your face, so he noticed. Immediately.

“I told you…” He gave an annoyed scowl, “Not to…” flipped you onto your stomach, “look!” and took you again, burying his full length in a single rough thrust.

You moaned loudly at the sudden pressure. “Oh, doctor, I’ve been so bad,” you goaded him on. He growled in your ear at the bait, nipping your neck punitively. Sliding a hand under you to work your aching heat, he pounded you hard from behind, driving you into the mattress. He was losing all control, falling apart, and it drove you wild. The warm ache quickly grew into an urgent burn. Every muscle in your body tightened in anticipation as you arched your back, angling your hips to meet his, searching for sweet release. Your moans grew louder with each merciless thrust stretching and filling you until you came hard with a scream, biting a pillow so the entire neighborhood wouldn’t hear. He fucked you through your climax before snapping his hips against your ass bruisingly hard, and pulling you toward him at the same time to fuck you deeper than you thought possible. Hot semen flooded your insides. Load after load kept coming as his pelvic muscles twitched and spasmed against your ass until there was not enough room to contain all of it, the extra dripping out around his cock and pooling on the expensive sheets.

You panted, letting out a breathy, shaking moan of relief. He sank on top of you, and you could feel his body trembling, hear him taking deep breaths through the nose to calm himself.

“God, that was amazing,” you sighed blissfully.

He was silent, and you wondered if everything had been too much for him, too soon. Then he answered, “I am great. I do not know if I would say God, but… very well. I accept the title.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed at the worst joke ever, rolling yourself out from under him.

“Yes?” he responded with mock impatience, propping himself on his elbow. “It is I, what prayers do you need answered?”

You groaned loudly and smooshed his big dumb face in your hands. You had never pegged him as the type for dad jokes, and actually… you loved it.

Suddenly you wondered what he’d be like as a father. Images of kids running his mansion’s hallways, scrawling crayon drawings all over the pristine white walls, and him saying, “Hi, hungry, I’m dad!” flashed through your mind. Fuck. If you had kids, you’d have to move into a normal home and pretend not to be rich so they wouldn’t grow up to be snobs like their father…

...And you were getting way ahead of yourself.

“What is it?” He asked softly but with a tinge of color at his cheeks from being stared at so dreamily as you seemed to drift off into your own world. Nobody had ever looked at him like that.

“Nothing,” you said. “I love you.”

He kissed you on the forehead warmly, and you could feel his lips smiling against you. He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to hearing those beautiful, heady words. They set him reeling every time. You were so odd, so impossible to explain within his worldview, the way you loved him. Perfection, status, money, appearances—all of the currency that ruled his life you shrugged off like it was nothing, and then you saw his grotesque disfigurement and you loved him.

Drawing back, his mouth tightened into a skeptical line, and he studied your face clinically. “Dysmorphophilia,” he said.

“What?” you blinked.

“A paraphilia. Sexual arousal derived from a physically deformed partner.” He began his dry explanation in a doctor-like monotone, but then a slyness crept into his voice and he shook his head with a tsk-tsk. “I always knew you were... peculiar.”

“Do you have to diagnose my feelings for you?”

“Of course not. Normally I would charge for my services. This, you may consider a favor.”

“You are the worst.”

He gave a short, satisfied hum. The corner of his mouth twitched up, and one sassy shoulder shrugged. “You love me,” he boasted.

With an annoyed groan, you pulled him on top of you so his lips were inches from yours, and his green eyes watched you with trepidation (rather, one watched, and the ghostly eye followed the green’s lead). Your heart hammered in your chest, even though you were still sticky with sex and there should have been nothing left to be shy or flustered about. “I do, you know. I really do.”

[bookenders]

11/11/11 Tag Game: Rounds 24, 25, 26, and 27

Tagged by the wonderful @corsairesque, the lovely @azawrites, the stellar @sunlight-and-starskies, and the incomparable @inexorableblob - thanks!

And @inexorableblob, thank you for letting me rewrite the end of The Great Gatsby. It was very cathartic.

Rules: Answer 11 questions, write 11 questions, tag 11 people!

Bilbo Taggins: @aurumni-writes @quilloftheclouds @aslanwrites @starlitesymphony @writingonesdreams @waterfallwritings @cataclysmic-writer @ren-c-leyn @timefirewrites @minusfractions @ink-flavored - and if you like the questions and aren’t tagged, feel free to answer them! And tag me so I can see! 

My Questions:

How many licks would it take for your OCs to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

What are your favorite smells?

What’s the book you’ve read most recently? What did you think of it? What impressed you? What would you have done differently?

What are your thoughts on mugs?

If your OCs had a comic book series/graphic novel about them, what would it be called? What would be on the cover? What would the art style be?

Can you draw a bear?

Do you do any other kinds of art? Are you ever influenced by other kinds of art? What about other areas like science or mathematics/other disciplines?

Have you read any craft books or writing advice books? If yes, how have the helped or hindered you? Which would you recommend? If no, would you ever consider reading them?

What are your favorite kinds of narratives? What narrative structures do you prefer to write and what do you prefer to read?

What’s your favorite recipe?

What are some signs that make you consider setting a project aside vs continuing with it?

As always, answers under the cut!

@corsairesque‘s Questions:

1. Do you create playlists for your stories or characters?

I do! 

Here’s a detailed post about how I make them.

This is Mel’s from H2H.

This is Gemma’s from H2H.

This is one for the story I recently posted.

And I have one for each WIP on my WIP page! (Mostly, I’m still working on Fish Food’s.)

I actually have folders in Spotify for my characters and stories. Each one gets a playlist.

2. What is your stance on endings that don’t end with some hope?

Sometimes a story needs to have a certain ending to have an emotionally satisfying conclusion. I don’t think hope is absolutely required for an ending. I’ve ended stories without hope because that’s how the story ends. If I wrote it to conclude with an upturn, it would’ve been disloyal to the narrative. Like life, not everything ends happily, or with a positive outlook.

If you want it from a more technical perspective, there are three sorts of endings: positive, negative, and neutral. They can mix and match, but these are the three base ones. I tend toward neutral or positive-neutral endings. The best story I’ve written so far has a negative-leaning neutral ending because it concludes with a loss that does not promise hope. Positive endings are not necessary for a narrative, or for a conclusion. 

Sometimes you need to write a hopeful ending. Sometimes you need to read a hopeful ending. And sometimes you need to read or write something that ends on a down-note. I know I have. 

So, TL;DR, there is no ending hierarchy. It all depends on the reader and the writer, what they need, and what the story demands.

3. What author would you love to hear feedback from on your WIP?

Of literally anyone? Dead or alive? I mean. I’d love to hear what Flannery O’Connor would have to say about my short stories. I try to do a remix-version of her moments of grace in each of them.

4. What is the genre of your WIP(s)?

I mention these on my WIP page!

Most of my short stories are literary and contemporary fiction. My longer projects tend toward low fantasy.

5. How do you come up with new ideas for your WIP(s)?

I don’t have a method or anything for idea generation. My brain works in the background while I’m doing other things, so I’ll be washing dishes, or brushing my teeth, or writing something else, and an idea goes HI HELLO WHAT ABOUT THIS HUH? and I scramble to write it down.

Most of the time, my story ideas come from cool sentences I think of while observing. That sounds super weird and nerdy, but it’s true! When I’m bored or need to occupy my brain or just sorta feel like creating something spontaneous, I’ll look around and figure out how I’d write about a certain thing in the vicinity. 

Some examples of this from my phone notes:

“Laughter echoing through a cave, bouncing off the walls, the gift of hearing it over and over until it fades like gentle waking”

“Cheeks baked pink from the flush of her modesty”

“The last remnants of home, the dirt hidden beneath their fingernails”

“Headlights flicker between the gaps in the barrier like a slipstream of stars”

Ya know, stuff like that.

Sometimes, if I’m stuck while writing and need a thought, I look at the plot and think up complications for my characters to face. That’s how I figured out how to make Lithium 100% more plot relevant. I thought, okay, so she has this role right now, what can I add to make her stand in the way of X plan while also being an asset to Y? And boom, idea generated and problem solved.

6. What do you use to keep all your writing on? (Scrivener, Google Docs, good old pen and paper…)

I use Scrivener for all my main writing. I have a ton of phone memo notes for ideas on the go. I have a notebook full of random stuff for when I’m blocked and need to hand write something.

I also answered this further down!

7. What gave you initial inspiration for your WIP(s)?

H2H: There was a publisher who had a call for shapeshifter stories, and then I missed the deadline so I decided to try for a zine instead, then I got rejected, so I made it into my own thing.

AOPC: I needed to flesh out a piece of my homebrew DnD world, so I started worldbuilding, then it was my turn to turn in a story to be workshopped in my writing class, so I wrote a thing set in the village about the tribe and it all spiraled out from there.

FF: I had an errant thought about the script that hero and villain stories follow and wrote a thing about what would happen if one of them decided to deviate from it and BOOM the plot hit me like a semi truck.

Almost all of my short stories start with a sentence I think sounds really cool, a tone I want to try to capture (ex. the feeling of standing inside an old cathedral), or the ending moment of a character arc (I tend to work backwards).

8. How long have you been working on your WIP(s)?

I’ve been working with Heart to Heart since November 2018. I started thinking about Fish Food like 3 months ago I think? And I got the idea for All Our Painted Colors 3ish years ago, but it started as a short story that I thought about expanding about 8 months ago.

My writing process starts with a long period of thought percolation before I write anything definitive down.

9. What was the first thing you came up with for your WIP(s)?

H2H: The fact that the main character is an apothecary who uses recipes from historical documents to brew things and lives in a small town, and that their love interest changes shapes in some way.

AOPC: That the tribe is a society based around body paint, art, preserving their personal history, and stories. But mostly paint. 

FF: The hero danging over a pit of hungry piranhas and asking the villain a question that throws off the whole “death threat” vibe.

10. Have you considered Hogwarts houses for your characters? If so, what are they?

Answered this for the H2H cast here.

As for the Fish Food cast:

Iron Will - Hufflepuff

Overseer - Ravenclaw

Nightmare - A Hufflepuff who asked to be in Slytherin and the hat said “yeah okay”

Lithium - Gryffindor

Babylon - Slytherin

Sparkplug - Gryffindor

11. What do you find easiest to write? (Description, dialogue, etc.)

Interiority! Free indirect discourse! Unvoiced character brain thoughts! Which I guess means description? 

Writing dialogue sucks old car tires!

@azawrites‘ Questions:

what’s the best part about your writing style? I like how I build up to emotional punches. It’s like walking up a ramp, but in a literary way. And at the top of the ramp you either get a gut punch of feels or an ice cream cone.

do you write on the computer or on paper? I do most of my writing on my laptop because my hands can’t write fast enough to keep up with my brain. My typing is way faster. If I’m having trouble getting an idea down, or the tone of the writing lends itself to being handwritten (idk how to describe this, but sometimes words just gotta be scribbled, ya know?), I’ll hand write it in pen. I don’t use pencils anymore because I wasn’t allowed to in college and it kinda stuck.

what are your favourite books and why? Oh, no, there are too many. So I’ll just say my top book: The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien because of how it deals with stories and grief and remembering, the fact that it’s a story cycle (which is very cool), and the way he writes - it’s beautiful and sad and messed up and poignant. I love it.

why did you start writing? I’ve answered this before, but there was never really starting point for me. It’s just something I’ve always done. 

why did you continue writing? Because I had too much fun to stop! I also get creatively constipated, I guess is how I would phrase it, and need to have some sort of narrative outlet or my brain gets really mad at me.

where do you usually write? Pretty much anywhere, but most often at my desk. I think I need a taller chair, though...

can you describe your favourite piece (written by you) in one sentence? Let’s get authory with this one: The teacher hands out the tests, multiple choice this time, but when the stapled packet slides across your desk, there’s something odd about it, something that brings the war to life inside your head, a long-forgotten voice that speaks the souls of the soldiers and tells their stories from the annals of history. Or: A multiple choice test about WWII that tells the story of 4 men from Company B from enlistment to the end of their campaign.

what’s one cliche/trope you overuse, but still like anyway? It’s a trope when it comes to my own writing, actually. Person Sits Alone in the Dark and Contemplates. I love it, I abuse the hell out of it, and I will never stop.

what music do you listen to when working on a WIP? Depends. I have a go-to Writing Flow State song, playlists to help me get in the right head space when writing certain characters, and playlists that help guide the tone of a story. I can never listen to movie or video game scores because the association of song and cinematic moment is too strong for me.

have you ever dreamed of a fictional character? Uh, I have the occasional nightmare about Kokopelli? Does that count? 

what’s one thing that makes you automatically dislike a book? Overly pretentious first person POV prose (and I don’t mean purple. I mean a character who - honestly and without a hint of satire - thinks like a writer from the 1920s who just discovered what “paid by the word” means and believes they’re the wisest human being in the universe and everyone who doesn’t agree with them is the basest of idiots - barf). Gratuitous female violence. The use of the word “loins” outside of an animal context. Everything about The Beginners by Rebecca Wolff. 

@inexorableblob‘s Questions:

Which of your characters could you write as twice their current age? Oh, man, I think writing Iron Will in his forties or fifties would be really cool. It’d certainly give the story a new commentary twist.

Which of your characters could you write as half their current age? (I’m not gonna cheat and say Mel, I promise.) I think writing a 30yo Treena would be very cool. However, writing a 13 or 14yo Lithium who is just learning how to use her super powers would be WILD. 

What big city would your characters do best in?  London?  New York? Tokyo?  Mexico City?  Rio? The Fish Food characters would all do best in New York or London, since they’re very close to Conover. Lithium would prefer Rio, though, and Babylon would lobby for everyone to move to Tokyo.  The H2H characters would do best in Mexico City or London, depending on who decides to take charge and teach everyone the local customs. 

What would your characters do if they were in a small rural community that was attacked by underground worms? This is giving me too many ideas for H2H. Gemma would be a little bit furious, since she hates having to get rid of animals, especially when they’re invasive. If the worms just minded their own gosh dang business then everyone could live in peace.  If we’re talkin’ normal sized worms, like worm-sized worms, then Gemma would develop a pesticide that wouldn’t kill them, but force them to the surface where they would then be stunned by whatever weird solution Mel comes up with. Then the town would have a Worm-Off, where the person who collects the most worms wins free pie for a year, courtesy of Harry’s.  If we’re talkin’ DnD-style Purple Worms, like Beetlejuice worms, then Mel would take over. She’d help organize an evacuation and steal Oz’s gun, just in case. Then she’d do some spoilery things with Gemma assisting.

What is the worst place where you’ve ever wanted to write? Probably while I was taking the math section of the SATs. Kinda inconvenient, brain, thanks for that. Other terrible places: mid job interview, in the middle of an empty street at midnight, anywhere I’m sitting where I have terrible posture, watching a slam poetry event in a very crowded bar, etc.

What’s the most uncomfortable subject you’ve ever written about? I’ve written a little bit about hate crimes and loathed every second. I’ve written a character actively contemplating suicide (he was a WWII soldier) and that was not fun at all. I mean, I also wrote a paper about sexy (somewhat graphic) wlw poetry for my Sexuality class, which a lot of people would be uncomfortable with, but I thought it was a very good collection. Go read Marilyn Hacker’s stuff, it’s good.

If you had to change the ending of any famous novel, which would you pick? The Great Gatsby. We don’t end with the green light, screw the green light.  Gatsby wills all of his possessions and wealth to Nick and Nick becomes the next James Gatz. But this time around, he pines for the man who was killed in the pool just below his balcony while pretending to love Jordan, who finds out and amicably marries him because 1920s. She then uses Nick/Gatsby’s money to purchase an automobile manufacturing company and makes cars in every color but yellow. (Gotta maintain that color symbolism for F. Scott, I guess.) Nick discovers Gatz’ old bootlegging and illegal activities buddies and starts up a criminal empire. He and Jordan become the biggest, queerest, most spiteful and angsty crime bosses in New York. Nick makes it his life’s mission to take down false accusers, vigilante style. The car manufacturing company is what they use to launder money. Daisy divorces Tom because they’re both terrible people. Daisy takes her daughter and moves to California. Jordan sends Daisy’s daughter money secretly, about a hundred dollars a month. The last line is something about how Gatz was always reaching out and chasing green, but because of him, Nick is steeped in dark, bloody red. I would then write a sequel about Nick and Jordan and their crime empire that spans the East Coast. God, I hate this book.

If you had to change your life, what would you change without regret? Start therapy way earlier, 100%. That would have saved me a lot of nonsense.

If the end of the world where scheduled a week from tomorrow, what would you do?  Would you tell anybody? Everybody?  Keep it a secret? Assuming this was legit and the end of the world was actually happening, I’d probably try to tell some big-shot geologist or something, hoping they spread the word. Other than that, since debt won’t be a thing, I’d take the people I love on a killer trip around the world.

What would you do if a wizard offered to cast one spell for you, but your worst enemy got the same spell? Hmmm. I’d ask them to cast the Self-Realization spell, so they would instantly become aware of the effect their actions have on others and know exactly how terrible they’ve been to other people their whole life. Maybe then they can be a better person. My anxiety makes this spell ineffective on me, since it’s already there! Thanks, brain! 

Which would you choose, never eating in the same place, always eating the same meal, always eating with the same people, or never eating with the same people? I’d choose always eating with the same people. I like frequenting restaurants I like and eating different things. I don’t think I could deal with only eating the same thing/off the same menu forever. And I have bad social anxiety, so constantly eating with new people would probably short-circuit my brain eventually.  A good meal in good company is pretty great, though. 

@sunlight-and-starskies‘ Questions:

What is your favorite genre of music? I’ll always be a rock fan at heart. Right now, I really like folk rock and any kind of music that sounds like it has history behind it.

What are your favorite words? Illustrious, shimmer, soliloquy, incarnate, bound, and many more. Also most Yiddish curses.

Describe your ideal vacation. Somewhere cozy where I can explore and chill at my leisure. A week of artsy events in the city. Exploring landscapes in the country.

If you could have any fictional creature for a pet, what would it be? Why? Pegasus! I can ride and they can fly. We’d make an excellent team, and where we’d go, we wouldn’t need roads.

Which fictional universe would you live in if you had to live there for the rest of your life? Logic dictates the Star Trek universe, since I’d probably be an average civilian. Post-scarcity society? Sign me the hell up. My heart, however, is screaming ROHAN.

Favorite childhood toy? Uh... I honestly can’t remember. 

What is your aesthetic? Good smelling old books with doodles and notes in the margins, a pile of unfolded clean clothes on a chair, a stack of handwritten papers perched on the corner of a desk, the smell of breakfast cooking when you wake up, the immediate “woops” shock the moment you trip over something you should’ve moved earlier.

Tell me a random fact about your current project or you. About me: I have a birthmark that kinda sorta looks like an elephant. About Fish Food: The Coalition knows what happened to Hydrophase. So does Sparkplug.

Are you an early bird or a night owl? Night owl, all the way. I like the idea of being a morning person, though. 

What is your favorite food? Pasta! Or any kind of Asian food. 

What is your happiest memory? Oh, geez. Ummm. When I was little, I would curl up in my grandpa’s armchair and eat Burger King breakfast sandwiches on Saturday mornings. 

[well-good-luck-with-that]

Do you think you could do a Clony fic, that's where ever since Hannah died, Clay sinks back into old childhood habits (such as sleeping with a teddy or being scared of the dark, etc.) but one night he has a really bad nightmare and calls Tony and Tony comes over and finds about everything and thinks it's absolutely adorable. Sorry if it's a little weird or something... Clay's just this smol bean that needs to be protected for the love of god. Thanks! XD :)

Read it on AO3

 It all started about a week after he’d finished Hannah’s tapes. Hannah’stapes. Her final message unto the world, and Clay had been both privilegedenough and horrified to have been witness to it. Clay isn’t too sure when hefirst started to become dependent on these behaviours, but he knew that it wassteadily starting to spiral out of his own control. He tried all he could atfirst to get Hannah’s voice from his mind; he wanted rid of her sweet laughter,the soft lilting narrative that he’d been accustomed to hearing had swiftlyinfected his brain to point of hallucinations so vivid that he had to remindhimself daily that Hannah was well and truly gone. Clearly, somewhere along theline his mind had been kept out of the loop, and he often found himself placingher physically in situations where she no longer belonged. It drove him absolutelycrazy; constantly trying to piece reality with his scrambled thoughts. Socrazy, in fact, that he needed to seek comfort in something… anything.

His first thought had been Tony, but on top of allthe other shit he’d dealt with in the past month it appeared that the slightlyolder boy had been avoiding hanging out with him one to one, so it wasdifficult to express what he was feeling. Besides, Tony had been with Brad whenit started, and not wanting to be a burden, Clay thought it best to just leavethe Latino to himself and his relationship. He was probably sick of him anyway,God knows Clay was sick of himself.

Before long, Clay knew that he needed to dosomething to stop him from turning full wackjob, and if that meant helping hisparents clean out the basement then that’s what he would do. It was only whenhe got his hands on his old childhood toys that he realised what a gold mine ofdistraction was hidden away in those stale, old boxes, collecting dust as theysat untouched. It all started with his old wool-stuffed dog toy; that was oneof the first things he pulled from the cardboard containers, his face lightingup as he remembered the great memories he’d had with this tiny, beaten-up doll.When Clay was 6, he remembers that he was absolutely terrified of dogs afterstaying up to watch a documentary about how dangerous wild ones could be. Hismom tried everything to get him to sleep at night, but the reoccurring dream ofa dark beast invading his bedroom to tear him limb from limb was enough to makelittle 6 year-old Clay fairly adverse to joining the land of the unconsciouswhen nightfall hit. The soft toy was his dad’s idea, having read in an oldparenting manual that it could help, Clay’s parents told him the toy dog wouldwatch over him in the night, protecting him from danger. Clay remembers the joyon his parents’ faces in the morning when he came downstairs having slept afull night without nightmares. It was a good memory, he thinks.

It is this memory, clear in his mind, that causedClay to take the toy to bed with him that night. If it could help him sleepback then, the teen saw no reason why it couldn’t work again, and he really waswilling to try anything at this point. For the first time since Hannah Baker’sdeath, Clay slept a solid 7 hours – not perfect by any means, but a definitestep forwards. It didn’t stop with his old dog though. As Clay progressed withhis cleaning out, he came across many of his childhood treasures includingcomics, colouring books and his old night-light. In the space of a month, Clayhad fully regressed to using his childhood as an escape; spending hoursre-reading stories and using blunt pencils to colour freely, not even botheringto stay within the lines, before getting into bed with his old teddy andswitching the night-light on. Clay could acknowledge that this behaviour wasn’tparticularly normal, but he was so happy to finally stop thinking about Hannahthat he just didn’t care anymore.

This night, however, is different. This night, aheavy storm that’s been brewing all day like a tropical storm building upenergy for destruction, has unleashed its wrath onto the small town of San Luis,and is currently pelting Clay’s window with heavy rain and hail. The wind isunrelenting as it whips through the air and causes the panels on the roof toshake and rattle and it… it is exactly like the night in Jessica’s bedroom.Clay tries his hardest to forget. He grips his toy so hard and squeezes hiseyes shut so tight and he tries so damn hard to think of his comic books or hisfriends but all he can hear is her.

“Get out, Clay.” Hannah isshouting at him to leave. He’s gone too far… he’s hurt her and she wants him toleave.

“I don’t want you here, get out.” Clay is so confused. His hands cover his ears as he tries toblock her out but she’s inside his head. She’s shouting at him.

“Get away from me.” She wants himto leave but if he leaves then Bryce will rape Jessica and Hannah will hear itand then Sheri will knock over the stop sign and Jeff will die and it’ll all behis fault again and he just can’ttake it anymore and he’s close to the edge of the cliff but then… Tony. Tony thinkshe needs to stand away from the edge. Tony will make it better. Just like hedid that night on the cliff. Just like he’s done every time Clay has needed himand God, Clay needs that guy right now.

Clay doesn’t even think about the fact it’s 2:00am,and the storm is hurtling through their small town like a hurricane and Tony isprobably sleeping, he just knows he needs Tony to be there. He grabs his phoneand hits speed dial. “Tony.” He sobs, only feeling pure relief that the otherboy has answered; that he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

“…Clay?” Tony asks, his voice laced with sleep butimmediate concern for his friend. “Clay, what is it? What’s happened?”

“Tony.” Clay just sobs again. “I need… I don’t know…it needs to stop… I can’t… she wants me to leave again, Tony but I can’t.”

“Okay, listen dude, you’re gonna stay right whereyou are yeah? I’m coming round now but I need you to promise me you are notgoing to hurt yourself, okay?” Tony tells him sternly, as he hops around hisroom juggling his jeans and phone all at once.

“I won’t, Tony. I promise. Please just come.” Claybegs, tears still pouring down his cheeks, as he sits huddled in his mess of a kid’sbedroom, clutching the soft dog.

“Always, Clay. I’ll always be there for you, nomatter what.” Tony promises, echoing their past conversation. “Give me 15minutes, tops.”

-

Once Tony has managed to pull himself up andthrough Clay’s window, a task proving much more difficult due to the heavystorm surrounding him, he takes one look at Clay on the floor and his heartbreaks. He’s down next to him in seconds, cradling the sobbing boy in his armsas he runs soothing hands up his back. “Clay, come on man, you’re okay, right?Everything is okay.” He tries to reassure.

“How are things okay, Tony? Hannah is dead and it’smy fault!” Clay sobs into his t-shirt whilst gripping fistfuls of it in hishands.

“We’ve been through this. We all could have donemore for Hannah, Clay. We all failed her in some way, but this isn’t yourfault! You made her happy, Clay. You. You need to remember that.” Clay justcontinues to cry into Tony’s jacket, but the Latino is feeling a lot better nowhe’s here to comfort the boy whilst he lets out his sadness. It is whilst Clayis buried in his chest, that Tony finally notices the child-like memorabilia thatlitters his best friends room. “Now you’re a bit calmer, do you wanna talk tome about all of this… stuff?” He asks gently, gesturing to the mess around Clay’sroom once his crying has started to soften into hiccups.

The younger boy finally looks up. “I know. I’mpathetic, right? I actually thought all of this would help me forget.” Helaughs bitterly, picking up the toy dog before throwing it down in disgust.

“Clay that’s not…” Tony starts. “That’s notpathetic, dude. We all need an outlet and you shouldn’t feel ashamed for doingit.”

“I like that… that me as a child doesn’t… didn’t know Hannah. It means I canforget. I just want to forget.” Clay tells him honestly, eyes brimming withfresh tears and successfully breaking Tony’s heart once again with his sadness.

“Oh, Clay.” Tony sighs. “We can’t ever forget. And y’know,we shouldn’t. We need to learn from it and heal from it, and make sure it cannever happen again.” The older boy says wisely.

It is silent for a few seconds before Clay sniffs. “UnhelpfulYoda.” He mutters, smiling a little when Tony let’s out a laugh.

“We’ll get you sorted okay? I’ll get you one ofthose adult colouring books. You don’t need all of this stuff to feel normalagain, Clay, it’s just going to take time.”

“Tony, will you… will you stay with me tonight? Idon’t want to be by myself.” Clay asks shyly, still tangled in the Latino’sarms that are securely wrapped around him.

“Sure. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” He responds,standing to bring them both to Clay’s bed. “And as long as you want me to.”

“Looks like you’re moving in then.” Clay jokestiredly, waiting for Tony to take his jacket and jeans off before crawling intobed and back into his arms.

Tony laughs, before switching the light off, andpressing a brief kiss to Clay’s forehead. “We’ll get through this, Clay. Ipromise you.” He whispers, as the boy in his arms slowly drifts to sleep.

[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