A friend and I have been talking incessantly about how awesome movieverse girl!Tony fic would be. When my other friend bookmarked this, the first thing I did was link it to her, because clearly the universe is spying on our conversations and giving us everything we want. And I almost said, I almost said, "Read this and tell me if it's sad, yeah?". But I didn't, because girl!Tony, and if the universe really was doing this for me and her, then it'd be pissed that I shunned its gift and probably make it so my car breaks down tomorrow and I get hit by a renegade moose in the middle of downtown Boston.
I don't even know why I still read your fics. In the end, I'm always terrible depressed, the kind of unease that will stick with me for days. It always feels like there's not enough room in my rib cage for all the bits and pieces that have to go there, and something's gonna give. It's the kind of fic I avoid and shun and hate because if I wanted to sit here crying, I'd call my aunt or ask my mum about Grampa (or my uncles about The War) or read another article about villages of civilians getting blown to pieces in Afghanistan/McCain covering up POWs/families standing around the body of the daughter they told the police hadn't run away.
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A friend and I have been talking incessantly about how awesome movieverse girl!Tony fic would be. When my other friend bookmarked this, the first thing I did was link it to her, because clearly the universe is spying on our conversations and giving us everything we want. And I almost said, I almost said, "Read this and tell me if it's sad, yeah?". But I didn't, because girl!Tony, and if the universe really was doing this for me and her, then it'd be pissed that I shunned its gift and probably make it so my car breaks down tomorrow and I get hit by a renegade moose in the middle of downtown Boston.
I don't even know why I still read your fics. In the end, I'm always terrible depressed, the kind of unease that will stick with me for days. It always feels like there's not enough room in my rib cage for all the bits and pieces that have to go there, and something's gonna give. It's the kind of fic I avoid and shun and hate because if I wanted to sit here crying, I'd call my aunt or ask my mum about Grampa (or my uncles about The War) or read another article about villages of civilians getting blown to pieces in Afghanistan/McCain covering up POWs/families standing around the body of the daughter they told the police hadn't run away.
So, in the end, what I'm saying is, good job.