#i used to delet the app for about three months at a time and try and be normal but it didn't work and then covid happened and so i was runin

[alienfailboy]

do you all realize how insane i felt deleting tumblr just as thorbruce was losing traction only to come back and see it had regressed back a to rare pair

i thought yall were gonna hold down the fort while i started highschool 😓

[indefiniteavatar]

So basically, in a case about him shoving money at someone so they shut up about him. . .he can’t shut the fuck up himself. I would say something clever and funny here, except the sad part is that this is just so normal in current politics that it’s just. . .not hilariously absurd behavior anymore? Not to say that it’s not absurd - it is beyond such, but it is just. . . predictable, I suppose.

I guess this is how I feel about politics lately? Either I get mad at everything or I try to laugh at everything and normally that works because politicians usually aren’t so tragically stupid so very often, but now I just kinda have to chuckle at the particularly eyeroll worthy things like this, and try to ignore everything else or my brain will explode.

[goyardgoyangi]

fwb! oliver aiku who just wants to be yours

It’s a Wednesday night, and you’re sitting on the edge of his bed, your back against the headboard, scrolling through your phone. Oliver’s in the bathroom, the sound of water running as he gets ready to join you.

You hear the bathroom door creak open, and you force yourself not to look up. You already know what he’ll look like—after all, hooking up has become more than just a weekly occurrence. Wet hair, half his shirt off, that mischievous smile playing at his lips.

You’re halfway through tugging your hoodie over your head when he says it.

“You ever think about not seeing other people?”

You stop, fabric caught around your elbows, heart stuttering like a missed step on the stairs.

“What?” you ask, laughing, because that’s the only thing you know how to do around him when things get too real. “Since when do you care about stuff like that?”

Oliver leans back against the pillows, arms folded behind his head like this conversation isn’t threatening to blow everything up. Like he’s just thinking out loud. Like he doesn’t know what this sounds like.

“Dunno,” he says lazily, heterochrome eyes flicking over to you. “Guess it’s just been a while since I hooked up with anyone else.”

You force his hoodie down over your hips, turning to face him. “That’s not what this was supposed to be.”

“I know.”

“And you’re the one who made it clear—no strings. No drama.”

“I know,” he repeats, quieter.

There’s a long pause. You busy yourself with finding your socks on the floor, because looking at him feels dangerous right now. You’re already too comfortable in his bed, too used to the smell of his body wash lingering on your skin. Too used to waking up tangled in sheets that aren’t yours.

Oliver Aiku—confident, a heartbreaker, and reckless—is exactly the type of guy you don’t fall for.

You met at a party, not a meet-cute. You slept together before you even exchanged last names. And somehow, that turned into “you up?” texts, shared post-practice smoothies, him memorizing how you take your coffee. All under the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t anything more than convenient. Comfortable. Fun.

“Look, I’m not trying to ruin anything,” he says after a beat, voice a little more cautious now. “Just thought I’d be honest.”

Honest. Funny. Honesty from a guy who’s rumored to have ghosted at least three girls on campus in the last semester alone. You’d heard the stories. You weren’t blind.

And you never let yourself forget: you were just the next one in line.

“I don’t want to do this with you,” you say quietly, not looking at him.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like this could be something more than hooking up. That’s not who you are, Aiku.”

He sits up a little straighter at the sound of his last name. You only call him that when you’re annoyed. Or scared. Usually both.

He moves toward you slowly, carefully, like you might bolt. He stops just in front of you, hands at his sides, not touching. Not yet.

“Do you really think I’d spend this much time with someone I didn’t care about?” he asks. “You think I’d go to your research showcase, or memorize your exam schedule so I don’t bug you the night before, or delete my apps months ago—just for a hookup?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You want to pull away. You want to tell him that this is supposed to be nothing more than a distraction. That this—whatever this is—was never supposed to go beyond the physical.

But you don’t. Instead, you pull your leg back, creating space between the two of you. You want to say something—anything—to make it stop. To push him back into the safe, familiar routine you’ve built.

You turn. “Oliver. You’re you. You flirt with waitresses in front of me.”

“Not lately.”

“You smile at every girl like you already know what she sounds like moaning.”

He winces, like your words sting. Maybe they do. He hides it fast.

“I don’t do that with you.”

Exactly.

That’s the problem.

Because somehow, somewhere along the line, he stopped treating you like a hookup. You didn’t notice it at first. Not when he lingered after sex. Not when he asked about your classes. Not even when he started showing up at your study spots, silently keeping you company until 2 a.m.

You only noticed when it felt harder to leave.

“You’re just bored,” you mutter. “You like the chase.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He goes quiet. For a moment, you think he’ll shrug it off—go back to playing it cool. That’s what you’ve both been good at.

But instead, he says, “I think about you. A lot.”

You blink.

“When you’re not around,” he continues, quieter now, “I catch myself looking for you. Like, wondering if you're gonna show up to the quad in my stupidly oversized hoodie, or if you’re gonna skip your 10 a.m. like you always do when it rains.”

You bite your lip, guilt already starting to crawl up your spine. But you can’t let him see it. You can’t let him know how much it hurts to even think about letting someone get close to you again.

You shake your head. “But this is what you’ve always done, right? Hook up, move on. That’s how it works,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, like it’s no big deal.

He laughs, but it’s not his usual carefree laugh. It’s bitter. “You think that’s how I want it? That’s what I used to do, yeah. But you—” He stops himself, exhaling slowly. “You’re different.”

You shake your head, trying to mask the tightening in your chest. “I’m not. I’m really not. I’m just a girl you happen to sleep with.”

Oliver’s face falls, and for a moment, you almost feel guilty for pushing him away. But then you remember the countless times you’ve been burned by guys just like him—guys who seem perfect until they don’t care enough to stick around.

You can’t let that happen again.

[tikitakatia]

Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"The Taste of Champagne"

WC: 4.3k

Summary: Your wife keeps sending you pieces of the past like they’ll make the silence feel whole again. But the present has its own anchor now, even if you still don’t know what to call it.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 , Pt. 3

You told yourself you weren’t going to check.

That you were fine.

That people got busy, that not every night had to be a lifeline. That silence didn’t always mean abandonment.

But the silence still sat wrong.

You curled into the corner of the couch, Tofu at your side like an emotional support loaf, and opened the app anyway.

Nothing. No message.

No “you up?”

No metaphors. No poetic confessions. No “dream soft.”

Just the last thing you’d said, still waiting at the bottom of the screen for a reply.

You set your phone down. Picked it up again less than a minute later. Scrolled back through the thread like you hadn’t memorized half of it already.

The dumb jokes. The movie arguments. The softness you hadn’t let yourself feel in months. The feeling of being held without hands and being seen without effort.

You laughed once. Quietly. At a typo from three days ago. Then immediately hated yourself for it.

Because Alexia had texted too.

Ale: I dreamt about you today. You, me, and our little gremlin child. I miss you.

And you hadn’t replied.

Not because you didn’t want to.

Because you didn’t know what version of yourself to send back.

Because every word felt dishonest now.

You kept your phone in your hand. Let it warm your palm while you stare at the app icon like it might blink on its own.

You thought about texting first.

“Hey. You there?”

“I'm sorry if I was too much.”

“Or not enough.”

You typed them all. Deleted them all.

Tofu let out a groan and rolled into your thigh. He didn't care that your heart was unraveling. He was just happy to be touching you. And god, that was the thing. That soft little weight. That simple nearness. It made you realize how long it had been since anyone had made you feel like this without asking you to earn it first.

It used to be Alexia. And now it was a stranger who didn’t even show up tonight. You stared at the blank chat window like it had betrayed you. Or maybe like you’d betrayed yourself by needing it this badly.

You closed the app. Opened it again.

Still nothing.

You poured another glass of wine. Let it sit untouched.

You didn’t cry. You just… folded. Quietly. Like a house without lights. Like something was still standing, but barely.

You fell asleep with the phone still in your hand.

Screen dimmed. No messages.  No dreams.

Just you, and a dog who loved you without knowing what you’d done.

The silence stretched for most of the day.

You didn’t check the app first thing this time. You made yourself wait. Poured coffee. Fed Tofu. Stared at the fridge like it might open a portal out of your body.

The couch felt colder without a new message waiting. You didn’t say that out loud. You answered Alexia’s latest text about Tofu’s vet appointment. One word. Then muted the thread.

By 4PM, you were fully spiraling again. Quietly. Calmly. With the intensity of someone trying very hard to not care.

And then..

Buzz.

[go4goald2]: I AM SO SORRY. I didn´t mean to disappear. Work exploded, I didn't even breathe properly for like 36 hours.

You didn’t realize you’d exhaled until you saw the message and your body unclenched.

[go4goald2]: I missed you. Stupidly. Even though it’s just a screen. Is that pathetic?

You smiled.

[lostinthecrowd]: Only if I'm pathetic too.

Pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: Deal! We’ll be pathetic together.

The laugh that slipped out felt like relief. Like letting yourself come up for air after holding it too long.

[lostinthecrowd]: I know it’s dumb but… I was worried. I thought maybe I pushed too far.

[go4goald2]: NO. Not at all. Ugh, never. I wanted to be here. I just couldn’t be.

There was something about that phrasing, “wanted to be���, that sat warm and bittersweet in your chest.

You typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: I’m glad you’re back.

[go4goald2]: Me too.

And just like that, the air in the apartment shifted. Tofu hopped up beside you and flopped onto his back like the drama queen he was, one paw flung dramatically over his chest. You scratched his belly absently, phone still warm in your hand.

You weren’t stupid. You knew this was complicated.

But right now? It was simple.

They were back. And you weren’t alone.

It was late morning, Tofu chewing the corner of a throw pillow when your phone buzzed.

[go4goald2]: Quick: Favorite smell in the world. Go.

You grinned.

[lostinthecrowd]: Clean laundry. Toasted bread. Alexia’s shampoo

You froze. Backspaced.

[lostinthecrowd]: Uh laundry. Bread. Books. Not necessarily in that order.

[go4goald2]: Weak answer, mine’s rain hitting hot pavement. Also, movie theater popcorn. Cleaning products too.

[lostinthecrowd]: You’re such a freak. I respect it.

[go4goald2]: Thank you. Your turn. Favorite feeling?

You thought for a second.

[lostinthecrowd]: When someone reaches for me first.

You didn’t expect to send that. It just came out.

The reply took longer this time.

[go4goald2]: That’s a good one. That’s a really, really good one.

You looked down at Tofu, who had abandoned his pillow and was now curled against your shin. You reached down and scratched behind his ears.

Your phone buzzed again, but this time, not Chattr.

Alexia.

You almost ignored it. Almost.

But the preview caught your eye.

Ale: Check the front door.

You frowned, got up and opened it.

And there it was.

A small box, neatly wrapped in butcher paper. No card. Just your name scrawled on the top in handwriting you knew by muscle memory. You went back to the couch and opened it.

Inside?

An old photo.

The two of you at the beach years ago, sunburned and beaming, your face scrunched mid-laugh, her hand on your back, sunglasses crooked on her nose. One of your favorites. One you thought was lost.

And behind it, folded carefully was a note.

I know I can’t undo the space between us. But I remember this day like it just happened. And I still want to be the person who made you smile like that.

– A.

You stared at it for a long time.

Then your chest cracked open.

You didn’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the photo. Maybe the memory. Maybe the way her handwriting still looked like a promise you weren’t sure you could believe.

Whatever it was, when you started crying, you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even breathe properly. The kind of crying that feels ancient. Like grief that finally got tired of being patient. Tofu lay down beside you, warm and solid, his chin on your knee like he knew there was nothing to fix, just something to witness.

At some point, the tears stopped. Or maybe you just ran out of them. You must’ve fallen asleep, curled on the couch, the photo still in your lap, the blanket wrapped too tightly around your shoulders.

When you woke, the light had shifted and your phone screen was glowing softly beside you.

Chattr.

Three unread messages.

[go4goald2]: Hey.

[go4goald2]: Everything okay?

[go4goald2]: Kinda worried, you disappeared.

You started typing quickly.

[lostinthecrowd]: Sorry I was gone. Got distracted by a very needy puppy.

[lostinthecrowd]: Also, someone reminded me of a version of myself I forgot. It kinda hurts.

[go4goald2]: Maybe that means it still matters.

You didn’t answer because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure who you were supposed to open your heart to.

Later that evening, after the sun dipped low and the apartment turned lavender and quiet, you sent a text to Alexia. Just one.

“Thanks for the photo. I didn’t know you still had it.”

You expected a delay. A simple “you’re welcome” or a heart emoji. 

Instead:

Ale: I almost deleted it once. Felt too far away from who we are now. But I couldn’t. I think I always hoped it would still mean something to you.

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Not really. So instead, you opened the fridge, fed the dog, and sat on the kitchen floor like it was the only place that didn’t feel too full of ghosts.

Later, when your fingers weren’t shaking quite so much, you sent another.

“It does. I don’t know what to do with that. But it does.”

Alexia didn’t reply right away. But she didn’t ghost either. She sent a picture of her hotel dinner tray: dry chicken, too much parsley.

Ale: Can I still be someone who knows how you like your food?

It was the softest thing she’d said in weeks. Maybe months.

You let your forehead rest against the cabinet door behind you, Tofu already half-asleep against your thigh.

And then, because you were already mid-collapse, you opened Chattr.

The screen lit up like it had missed you.

[go4goald2]: How’s your night?

You hesitated. For the first time in a while, you hesitated.

But then:

[lostinthecrowd]: Complicated. But less lonely than it used to be.

You didn't mention Alexia. You didn’t have to.

The guilt was already pulling at your ribcage like an anchor.

But god, it felt easy with them. Still.

[go4goald2]: Tofu still chewing everything you love?

[lostinthecrowd]: Yes, including my will to live.

[go4goald2]: What an icon.

You smiled. You couldn't help it.

Then, half on a whim, half because your chest felt too full:

[lostinthecrowd]: Do you like piña coladas?

A beat.

[go4goald2]: …Getting caught in the rain?

You snorted.

[lostinthecrowd]: God, those two idiots could’ve just talked to each other instead of writing anonymous ads in the newspaper.

[go4goald2]: Maybe it’s easier to be honest when no one’s looking at you.

That one stung a little more than it should have.

But you didn’t say that. You just typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah. Maybe that’s the point of strangers. You get to tell the truth without the weight of history.

There was a pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: But what happens when the stranger starts to feel like the only place that feels like home?

You stared at the screen. You didn’t answer right away.

Not because you didn’t know what to say.

But because you felt it hit bone.

What happens when the stranger starts to feel like home?

You locked your phone. Set it face down on the couch. And suddenly, it was too quiet.

You got up. Washed a cup that didn’t need washing. Fed Tofu again even though his bowl was still half full. You moved like someone trying not to be found guilty of something that hadn’t quite happened yet.

And then, because your heart was beating too loud and your head was full of words that didn’t feel like yours, you opened the other thread.

Alexia’s.

There was a message waiting. Not a follow-up, not a guilt trip. Just a photo. She was crouched on the curb outside a café, still in her training kit, flushed and tired, her hair half-pulled back and falling out at the sides. She held a coffee in one hand, giving the camera a crooked, almost shy grin. Not the kind she gave to the press. Just the one you remembered. The text below reads “I found the only place here that serves oat milk and didn’t judge me for asking for extra cinnamon. Thought you’d be proud.”

You stared at it longer than you meant to. That version of her, the soft one, the real one, was hard to look at. Because that was the one you’d loved before everything got hard.

Somewhere down the hall, Tofu barked. One sharp, accusatory yelp. You went to check, and there he was on the bed, standing on your pillow like it was a podium, chewing on the strap of your favorite canvas tote bag with the determination of someone proving a point. You sighed and snapped a photo before pulling the bag out of his mouth. Then, without thinking too hard, you sent it to Alexia with the caption: “He’s got your energy, swear to god.”

Her response came almost instantly. 

Ale: So you’re saying he’s our tiny, unhinged child? Because I accept that.

And you laughed. Out loud. Small and surprised.

“He’s feral,” you wrote back. 

“Completely untrainable. He bites my slippers and stares me down like he’s the main character.”

Ale: So me? 

She said, just two words, soft and certain.

You paused. Then typed: Basically.

Tofu returned to the couch like a conquering hero and flopped into your lap, warm and heavy and unbothered. You rested your hand lightly on his back. He sighed like he owned the apartment.

Another ping.

Ale: I don’t want to push you..

Ale: I just miss laughing with you. Like this. Like… us.

You didn’t reply right away. But you didn’t leave either. You sat there with your hand on the back of the stupid, soft dog she gave you, and let yourself imagine what it might feel like to try again.

Not all at once. Not completely.

Just… maybe.

The next morning, the apartment was still. Not quite like emptiness, just calm. Like the kind of silence that comes after the crying is done and the air is finally still enough to breathe.

You didn’t open Chattr right away.

It wasn’t on purpose.

You just… didn’t.

Instead, you made coffee. Not in a rush, not distracted. Real coffee. You even took the time to add a little sprinkle of cinnamon. You pretended like you weren’t sure why.

Tofu padded across the tile, sleepy and dragging his favorite destroyed sock behind him like a war trophy. You let him curl up at your feet while you answered a few emails. Sent a few messages, one of them to Alexia.

She’d texted something small. A picture of a storefront, hand-painted signs and soft yellow curtains in the window. 

Ale: Saw this and thought of you. You used to say you wanted a bookshop with plants in the windows and a dog under the desk.

You didn’t overthink it. Just typed: 

“Still do.”

Her reply came back fast. 

Ale: Maybe one day. I’ll be the one getting distracted and forgetting to charge the register.

You smiled gently, and let the moment stretch. It wasn’t intense. It wasn’t a grand gesture. But it felt… safe. Familiar. Like brushing fingers across something that used to be yours.

Around late morning, your phone buzzed again. Another message from her.

Ale: Please witness this.

Attached was a photo of a small white dog in a violently pink sweater. Hooded and with pom-poms dangling from the ends and a sparkly “PRINCESS” across the back in rhinestones. The dog looked vaguely furious. Possibly plotting something.

You choked on your coffee.

“Tofu’s cousin from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Ale: Tofu’s cousin from the drama school.

“That dog has a diary and writes about the betrayal.”

Ale: They have a publicist and a spray tan appointment.

The laugh that came out of you was too loud and sudden. Tofu startled and made an offended noise, then immediately climbed into your lap like how dare you forget I’m the star here. You scratched his head without thinking and smiled into your mug.

It was easy, that exchange. Stupid and good. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were holding your breath talking to her.

It wasn’t until almost noon that you finally checked Chattr.

The message had come in last night. A quiet ping, nothing dramatic.

[go4goald2]: Sleep well?

You stared at it for a few seconds too long. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Eventually.

There was no follow-up right away. You didn’t mind.

Later, when Tofu knocked over your water bottle trying to dive headfirst into your laundry basket, you laughed. Not as hard as yesterday. But still.

You picked up your phone without thinking and opened the last thread, not Chattr.

“He’s trying to sleep in the dryer now. This is your fault.”

Ale: He takes after his mother.

You didn’t know which one of you she meant. You didn’t ask.

The day passed gently. Not in a blur, just soft. Tofu snored on your lap during a bad movie. And somewhere in your other inbox, the typing bubble came and went.

You didn’t check it until much later. And when you did, your chest tugged. Not a lot. Just enough to remind you it still mattered. That it still made you feel something.

But today, you weren’t looking for complicated.

Because for the first time in a awhile, Alexia wasn’t making things worse.

It was only hours later that you opened Chattr again.

No wine. No candles. No desperate breath held in your throat. Just Tofu snoring on your feet and the last half of a very mediocre rom-com on TV.

Still, the message was already waiting.

[go4goald2]: What’s your take on fruit in salad. Violently opposed or live laugh love?

You smiled. Automatically.

[lostinthecrowd]: Depends on the fruit. Mango is elite. Strawberries are okay. Grapes are war crimes.

[go4goald2]: I feel like that last one came from personal trauma. Did someone hurt you with a grape once?

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe someone I loved trusted a raisin salad once and now I have trust issues.

There was a pause. Not long. Just enough to feel like breathing space.

[go4goald2]: I like it when you joke. makes me feel like you’re here with me.

Your fingers hovered over the keys. Usually, you'd have said something dumb in return. Or maybe something soft.

But tonight, your chest stayed quiet.

[lostinthecrowd]: Long day. Sorry if I’m quiet.

[go4goald2]: Don’t apologize. I just miss you a little, that’s all.

You stared at that one.

Because you knew what it meant.

Not big love, not declarations. Just… absence. Noticing.

[lostinthecrowd]: I'm still here.

You meant it. Even if it didn’t feel as loud as before.

Tofu shuffled in his sleep. You looked down at him: messy, needy, entirely your responsibility now, and thought, briefly, about how you´re starting to let Alexia back in.

Not fully.

Not all the way.

But enough that you noticed the difference when it came time to talk to someone else.

The next message blinked through.

[go4goald2]: Tell me something good about today, even if it’s small.

You hesitated. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: A dog in a sweater made me laugh.

You didn’t mention it came from your wife. You didn’t have a reason to.

[go4goald2]: That’s good. I hope it was a ridiculous sweater.

[lostinthecrowd]: It was, had pompoms.

You let the conversation fade after that because something in your chest felt tangled. And you weren’t ready to unravel it yet.

The next day started with a video. A short one, blurry and too zoomed-in, but unmistakably Alexia’s voice narrating the sky. “You always said this was the best part of the day,” she said quietly. “I never used to get it. But I do now.” You watched it twice. Then three times. Her voice was still low and sleepy in the background, not performing, not polished. Just real, it even cracked a little when she said your name.

Then came the photo of the market: a fruit stand draped in fabric, oranges piled high, a dog curled under a chair in the sun. “You’d love it here,” she wrote. “They sell those weird dried apricots you always made me carry in my bag.” You smiled at your phone and hated yourself for it.

Tofu barked at the wall like he’d seen a ghost and then flopped over like he’d solved the mystery of grief. You rubbed the spot between his ears and stared at the screen. Didn’t reply. Not yet.

Alexia followed up an hour later. A selfie. Hair tied back, sunglasses on her head, a little smudge of something across her cheek like she hadn’t noticed it yet. The caption read: Bought a keychain with Tofu’s face on it. I’m either losing it or trying really hard to make up for being the worst. Probably both.

You laughed, quiet and unexpected.

Your thumb hovered. Then tapped out:

“Let me see the keychain.”

She sent it immediately. Tofu’s dumb little gremlin face stretched across a tiny acrylic oval. His eyes looked wild. His ears crooked.

Ale: He looks like he’s about to ask for financial compensation.

You grinned. You actually grinned.

And then immediately felt sick about it.

Because it felt good. Because she felt familiar.

Because it was easy again.

And that terrified you.

You responded slower this time:

“He’s a menace. I caught him dragging a towel into the shower today. He stared me down the entire time.”

Ale: Ha, asserting his dominance. I support it.

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to. God, you did. But because suddenly, your phone felt heavy. Like two versions of yourself were fighting for the same spot inside your chest.

You opened Chattr.

The last unread message sat there waiting.

[go4goald2]: You good today? Haven’t heard from you.

The timestamp was hours ago.

You locked your phone and set it on the coffee table. Then turned your attention to Tofu, who was currently attempting to scale the couch arm like a mountain goat. You reached out and caught him mid-fall. He blinked up at you like you were the center of the universe.

You wished the decision was that simple.

The message came mid-morning. You weren’t expecting it, not because she didn’t text anymore, she's gotten a little bit better at it, but because this one was different. Thoughtful. Preemptive. The kind of message Alexia would’ve sent years ago, before the silences, before the one-word replies.

Ale: Things are about to get a little busy over here cariño, travel, press, media stuff. I might go quiet for a few days. Didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.

You sat with it. The softness. The effort.

Then another message blinked through.

Ale: There’s a package on the way. Nothing huge. Just… some things I thought might make your week easier.

You blinked. Stared. Didn’t respond right away. Then:

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Her reply came fast.

Ale: I know. That’s kind of the point.

Later that afternoon, the package arrived. Small and neatly packed.

Inside: A blanket she knew you always stole from her side of the bed that smelled like her. A bag of your favorite snacks, the obscure brand that’s only sold in like, two stores. A new chew toy for Tofu shaped like a dinosaur. A handwritten note.

Just in case the couch gets lonely. And so Tofu stops trying to eat your socks. I love you.

— A. 

Your throat went tight.

You didn’t text her right away. Couldn’t.

Not because it wasn’t kind. But because it was.

Tofu immediately attacked the toy as you sat on the edge of the couch, blanket over your lap, pretending you weren’t unraveling.

You didn’t mean to open Chattr. You really didn’t.

The apartment was quiet again and Alexia’s absence had left behind that weird echo of effort. Her blanket still folded neatly on the couch after you spent hours cuddled in it, the new toy Tofu had already half-destroyed. The note from the package had been tucked away in a drawer like a secret you weren’t ready to let go of, but also couldn’t look at too long.

You told yourself you were just going to scroll. Just going to peek.

But the message was already waiting.

[go4goald2]: Okay, critical question. If you could only keep one: garlic bread or fresh-out-the-dryer hoodies?

You smiled before you even realized it. Your fingers moved without thinking.

[lostinthecrowd]: Wow, cruel and unusual punishment.

[go4goald2]: I never said this game was fair. Pick one, coward.

[lostinthecrowd]: Hoodies, because I can survive emotional starvation but not physical cold.

[go4goald2]: Okay poet, calm down.

You laughed. Quiet and genuine.

Tofu yawned loudly, then climbed into your lap like he belonged there. You reached for your wine and settled in, heart beating a little softer than it had all day.

[go4goald2]: What’s something that always makes you feel better during your tough days?

You thought about it. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Dumb sitcom bloopers. You?

[go4goald2]: Videos of raccoons stealing food and running away like they know they’ve committed a crime.

That made you snort into your glass.

There was a pause after that. A few minutes where neither of you said anything. Then you typed, slower now.

[lostinthecrowd]: My wife’s trying. Like… actually trying. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Silence.

You wished you hadn’t sent it. You wished you could take it back.

Then the typing bubble appeared.

[go4goald2]: That’s a lot. Do you want to talk about it?

You hesitated.

Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: She sent me a blanket. Some snacks. A toy for the dog. Told me she’d be busy, but didn’t want me to feel alone. And it’s like… All the things I used to need from her. And now they’re here. and I'm just…

You stopped typing. Started again.

[lostinthecrowd]: I'm scared to trust it. I want to. I just don’t know if it’s real this time. And if it is, I don't know what that says about me because maybe I've changed too much to go back.

The response didn’t come right away.

When it did, it was simple.

[go4goald2]: You don’t have to go back. Maybe the person you are now deserves something forward.

You froze.

Because god. That felt like the truth.

[go4goald2]: And whatever happens, the version of you right now? She’s enough. Even if you’re scared. Even if you’re unsure. You’re still someone worth showing up for.

Your eyes burned before you could stop them. You didn’t even know what you were crying for. The effort? The loss? The fact that it felt so good to be seen, and so awful not to know where you belonged anymore?

Tofu snuffled in his sleep beside you. You wiped your cheek and typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Thanks. I think I needed to hear that.

[go4goald2]: Then I’m glad I said it. I mean it.

You stared at the screen long after the message stopped glowing.

You didn’t know who this person was.

But they made you feel like maybe you weren’t breaking everything by trying to hold both things at once.

Pt. 5

[writingunderneathawillow]

nowhere for you to stay (bucky barnes x reader)

content warnings: angst, allusions to depression (bucky, not reader), sad bucky, mental health, lack of self-care, female reader, this is basically just me venting about the terrible ending that they gave steve (he didn’t deserve this and neither did bucky nor me)  word count: 1.5k a/n: so, i promise, i really am trying to finish my wips, but this came to me today while listening to renegade, also sorry for being m.i.a. for like three weeks but I spent easter with my family and had to recharge lol and then uni started again, so that kinda kicked my ass a little also, i watched thunderbolts* yesterday and it was great!!! (dw, this is spoiler-free)

You knocked on his door – three sharp, distinct sounds – and waited.  For a few seconds you entertained the thought that Bucky wasn’t home. That he was out and about, doing something with his life. Maybe he had picked himself up and gone to the gym, or maybe he had finally deleted the various food delivery apps and instead had gone grocery shopping. But there was a faint whirring, locked behind the old wooden door to his apartment, a sound that belonged to a light turned on. The complex in which Bucky resided was old – not as old as the man himself but certainly bordering on it. Windows creaked when the wind was strong, the lighting flickered, and pipes groaned during the coldest months.   He had moved here after returning from Wakanda and you had helped him set up his living space. You had begged and pleaded with him to rent a place closer to you, or to maybe even move in with you. But he had just shook his head and had looked at you with those heartbroken, empty eyes that seemed a little less blue and a little more grey since Steve was gone. So, you had helped carry the sparse amount of furniture and décor he had up to the fourth-floor apartment, had sorted spice containers of which you were sure that he hadn’t used them yet and had presented Bucky with a plant as a housewarming gift. He had smiled sadly and thanked you and you had known that the plant was not going to make it more than a week. Every day you called, every day he answered – for a limited time. Sometimes, the exchange was as short as thirty seconds, just enough for you to hear that he was still alive and not planning on changing that.  Once a week, on Saturdays, you took the subway to visit him, to stay with him for a few hours. You never managed to convince him to get out of the apartment with you but at least you saw him.  The last week had been different. He hadn’t answered your calls, only sent short messages (“I’m fine – can’t talk right now” or “let me call you back later”) and your heart ached every time the busy signal had echoed from your speaker. Of course, you hoped that it meant that he was actually busy, distracted, doing something.  But the faint buzz of a burning lamp in his apartment told you that he was home. No matter what, Bucky always made sure to turn off all lights and close all windows before he left his place, so he must have been ignoring the knocking.  To his credit, you were a day earlier than usual. It was Friday instead of Saturday, and you hadn’t announced yourself either, so he wasn’t expecting you. The silence, the unanswered calls had given you anxiety induced stomach pains, so you had taken the day off from work and had gotten an Uber to his place.

You knocked again and lightly cleared your throat – a chance for Bucky’s enhanced hearing to place you and for him to open the door. Still, the knob didn’t twist, the many locks he had put on additionally didn’t rattle and you could have sworn that the whirring of the lamp you had heard earlier died down. “Bucky,” you called out, “It’s me. Can you please open the door?” You waited. Seconds that felt like minutes ticked by and your hands got clammy as you shifted on your feet. “Bucky, you gave me a key. But I don’t wanna use it, so, please just let me in. Bu-,” before you could finish his name, you heard a series of noises. A pair of feet shuffling over creaky old floorboards, and what sounded like dishes being set down in the sink. Then you heard a window being ripped open – the frame squeaked terribly – and then the footsteps came closer.  One lock was unlocked, then the second one. A metallic clank sounded and then the doorknob turned.  The door opened with a squeak that made your teeth hurt.  The apartment was dark, and despite the cold breeze that the recently opened window let in, it smelled dusty and faintly like old takeout food.  “Hey.” One thing about Bucky is that he just could not lose his charm. He stood before you, eyebags darker than ever, brown curls unkempt and knotted, and his scruff on his cheeks a little longer than usual and asymmetrical – as if he had laid on one side for too long. 

Despite his appearance, he leaned against the doorframe with a trace of his characteristic smile turning up his mouth corners.  “Hi,” you replied, slightly perplexed.  “I didn’t realise it was already Saturday,” he said after a few seconds of silence and attempted to swipe his hair from his forehead until he realised that it was too unbrushed to run his fingers through it.  He awkwardly dropped his hand but gave you another smile. “It’s not,” you answered and peered past him. Before you could properly glance into his apartment, he moved into your eyeline, a determined look in his eyes.  “Oh. Then what are you doing here?” He asked, shifting again when you tried to steal another glimpse into his living space. You took a few seconds before you replied during which you struggled not to be offended by his question.  “You never called me back,” you explained then, and locked eyes with him. Heat rose on his face as you bluntly called him out and his hands again found their way into his hair, and again, he had to drop them back to his sides as he couldn’t nervously run them through.  “Yeah, no, I meant to, but I… I was busy,” he stammered, blocking your third attempt to look past him.  “Okay,” you murmured slowly, “Can you… would you mind letting me in?” Bucky chewed on his lip for a few seconds, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to find a way to let you down gently. “Uh, now’s not a good time.”

Your heart sank even further as you tried to come up with reasonings with his behaviour. “Are you-,” you began, and stared at your feet instead of meeting his eyes, “Is someone in there with you?” His eyes went round with surprise before he composed himself.  “What? No, no, I’m… I’m alone in here, but it’s just not, uh, a good time, like I said.” A little bit of the tightness in your chest loosened as he genuinely looked shocked at your implication. But you still couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t let you in. “Are you leaving? Like, are you going somewhere?” You inquired then, trying to find a reason that would satisfy you. Bucky stayed quiet before he shook his head.  “No, nothing like that. Listen, doll, I just… I haven’t really prepared for visitors, or anything like that, so it’d be great if… um –,“ before he finished speaking, you could tell that he was having a hard time sending you back home. He knew how long the ride here was and that you usually worked on Fridays. “it’s just not a good time,” he concluded.

There was a faint line, so thin that it was barely visible, that you were threatening to cross right now. A line between what Bucky allowed you to see on the Saturdays when you visited him, and the rest of his life.  “Just let me in,” you whispered. “Let me… help you.” The conflict in his eyes played out like a storm. Vulnerability and stubbornness raged against each other, as he seemingly weighed his options: allowing you in or pushing you away. Both seemed to frighten him as you heard how his metal arm whirred while he clenched and unclenched his fists. “Alright,” he mumbled and slowly stepped back. His apartment was in a terrible state. For someone who had very little furnishings, a tiny amount of clothes and basically no personal belongings it should have been easy to basically produce a clinically clean space. Instead, you saw instant food packaging, empty beer cans and ripped paper shreds sprawled across his couch table. You recognised the paper as an article about Steve – honouring his legacy and paying tribute to his sacrifice. You had read the same one a few days ago and had cried until your head hurt. The sofa cushions were crumbled up and uneven. A thin blanket laid on the floor as if it had fallen off or been pushed off in a hurry. He must have slept there instead of in his bed.  The kitchen door was half closed, and through the gap you saw dishes towering dangerously, a towel haphazardly slung over them in an attempt to hide them. You turned to face Bucky, who refused to meet your eye. Instead, he clenched his jaw so tight that it must have hurt and stared out the opened window. “Bucky,” you whispered.  “Like I said, I didn’t know you were coming.” His tone was defensive and sharp, but his eyes glistened as the shame burned in him. “Bucky, look at me,” you pleaded and took a few steps towards him. “This place is a mess,” he croaked, his voice heavy with unshed tears, “There’s nowhere for you to stay.” “But I’ll stay anyway,” you murmured and rested your hand on his cheek. “I’ll stay and help you.”

[storiesforallfandoms]

icdiwabh ~ joseph quinn

word count: 3688

request?: no

description: after finding out that her recently broken up with ex is already in a new relationship, she puts on a happy face for the public. but she can't do the same with him

pairing: joseph quinn x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angsty angst, rpf, use of y/n

based on this song

masterlist (one, two, three)

To give her credit, my best friend and guitarist, Chloe, tried her best to keep me from looking at my phone before our show. And it was working. I didn't even think anything of it, just that we were goofing off before a show as usual.

And then my phone chimed with a text from my mom. She always sent me a good luck text before a show. I unlocked my phone to respond, then saw that my social media notifications were blowing up more than usual.

I shouldn't have looked, but you know what they say about curiosity and the cat.

I opened Twitter to see I was being mentioned a lot. Mainly in replies to other tweets, and most of the tweets were along the lines of, "What happened to @(Y/U/N)?" I clicked on one to see what that context was, and was brought to a tweet from Pop Crave.

"Joseph Quinn photographed on a date with Doja Cat," followed by various photos of my ex-boyfriend getting cozy with another woman.

I felt my heart drop and break into millions of pieces.

I know what you're thinking: why would seeing my ex moving on hurt so much? It's not like we were together. We were both free to see whoever we wanted now. But there were a few reasons this news was upsetting; for one, we had only broken up three months ago, which apparently is around the time when these pictures were taken. Second, Joseph had broken up with me due to the fact that I was a singer, which meant we didn't get to spend as much time together as either of us would've wanted. I understood at the time. I mean, of course the break up still hurt, but I kind of knew it was coming when things between us had felt different the last month or so of our relationship.

Then there was the biggest reason: Doja was the woman he told me not to worry about.

I am not joking.

Joseph and I were together when the whole Doja versus Noah stuff happened online. We both laughed about it at the time, and i had jokingly asked Joseph, "Should I worry about you getting stolen away by Doja Cat?" He had wrapped me in his arms, kissed me, and said of course not.

Obviously, that had changed.

Chloe found me just as the tears started to fall. She was quick to hug me and whisper comforting words.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," she said. "But we have to get to the stage."

Performing was the last thing on my mind, but I had thousands of fans waiting for me. I couldn't let them down just because I was heartbroken.

I followed Chloe to take my place. I wiped the tears from my eyes, hoping my face wasn't too red or puffy. Our backstage crew passed me my microphone as the countdown for the show to start started in my earpiece. I took a deep, calming breath, pushing everything out of my mind. As the blinding stage lights hit me, I put on my best show smile.

~~~~~~

The next few weeks were tough. I had to go on a full social media hiatus, meaning I deleted all social media apps from my phone to keep myself from seeing any more updates on Joseph and Doja. Chloe took up posting on my accounts so no one suspected anything. We had already decided the best course of action was to ignore the questions and comments, and to pretend like the news didn't even hurt me.

But it did. It hurt me more than any words could ever describe. Having to go on stage two to three nights a week and sing the love songs I wrote about him made it even harder. I struggled to keep it together on stage sometimes. I saved the emotions for when I'd get back to the hotel or the tour bus. Then I'd be able to cry until my eyes hurt and were too heavy to stay awake.

Some nights were sleepless, though. On those nights, I'd usually just lay awake or try to use one of the streaming services on my phone to distract myself. One night, I found myself too hungry to be distracted. My stomach was rumbling enough that I could hardly hear the show I was watching. After some quick Googling, I found a 24 hour diner that seemed like it would be slow enough for me to go without being recgonized.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy hoodie with the hood up to cover my face. I put my phone and my hotel room key in my pocket, and left to make my way to the diner.

As I expected, there weren't many people there. Maybe one table with two young ladies sat there, plus the workers. I kept my hood up anyways as I ordered, just in case. The host who took my order did look at me like he may have known who I was, but he didn't say anything.

My plan was to get my food and take it back to the hotel to eat it. But that plan was quickly changed when a familiar British voice said, "(Y/N)?"

I froze. There was no way he was actually here. It had to be a figment of my imagination. A hallucination made up by my misery over the breakup and his quick moving on.

But when I looked up, there he was. He was also in a hoodie and sweatpants, but was doing less to hide his identity. Actually, nothing to hide his identity. I couldn't help but glance around to make sure no one was looking at us or there was no paparazzi that had followed him and started snapping photos.

"How did you know it was me?" I asked, then realized it was a stupid question and winced at myself.

"That's...um...my hoodie."

I looked down and realized that he was right. I hadn't even noticed that I had it, even when I packed it for the tour.

"I was wondering where it went," he said with a little smile.

"Here it is," I said, lamely flourishing my hands. "I'd offer to give it back, but I'm not wearing anything underneath."

I saw him swallow at my comment. I thought I saw a tinge of pink creeping onto his cheeks, but I figured it must've been the lighting or something. There was no way I could still make him blush when he obviously had no feelings for me anymore.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I'm in town shooting the Fantastic Four movie," he explained. "I just finished a late shoot, so I stopped in for something to eat. What are you doing here?"

"I had a show tonight. I couldn't sleep, and I'm hungry. So..." I did my lame flourish again.

"Oh yes. The post-show adrenaline."

I ground my teeth to keep from saying anything. The weeks of sadness and misery suddenly vanished and became anger. I was angry at him for reminding me that he knew me so well. That we had shared memories on sleepless nights like this. I was also angry that he didn't think our breakup and his quick moving on would be the cause of my sleeplessness. Did he think I didn't know? Or just that I'd be okay with him and his new girlfriend mere weeks after our two year long relationship ended?

I just shrugged in response.

My order was called and I quickly grabbed it. I turned to give Joseph a wave as a goodbye. I needed to get out of there and get back to my hotel room to wallow in my dispair.

But it seemed Joseph had other plans, as he stopped me before I could leave. "Do you want to sit? Maybe...catch up?"

"Is that a good idea?" I asked.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be."

"You don't want your new girlfriend to see paparazzi photos of you with your ex."

There, it was finally out. No more tiptoeing around the topic.

It seemed to have its desired effect as Joseph was now awkwardly shuffling. He rubbed the back of his neck, which was now undoubtably turning pink. "So, you've heard."

"Of course I heard!" I snapped. I glanced around again, realizing I was raising my voice. "Your pictures are everywhere, and I'm being tagged in them cause we never told everyone we had broken up."

"I'm sorry you had to find out that way."

I scoffed. "How else was I going to find out? Were you going to call me and tell me you were dating the girl you said wasn't a threat to our relationship?"

He sighed. Before he could say anything else, they called that another order was ready, and evidently it was his. It was also packed in a to go bag, so he clearly had no intentions of staying either. With any luck, he'd drop this stupid idea of sitting down for a "catch up" and let me leave to deal with all the emptions I was feeling.

But of course, luck was not on my side.

Joseph grabbed his food and turned back to me. "Just...sit with me for 15 minutes at least. Let me explain."

Even though I very much wanted an explanation, I said, "You don't have to explain anything."

"Just...please, (Y/N)."

And that's how I found myself sat in a booth that was tucked away, in the middle of the night with my ex-boyfriend.

It was a bad idea, and I knew that. Besides the fact that I definitely should not be sitting down with the ex that I had been in shambles over for weeks, it was also a bad idea publicity wise. Joseph wasn't trying to hide himself. Anyone could see us and snap a picture, or call paparazzi to make a quick buck. Even with me trying to hide myself, someone would eventually put the pieces together to realize it was me. Then we'd have a whole new shit show on our hands.

I opened my food and started to eat. There was no point in letting it go cold and completely ruin my night. Joseph wasn't as quick to do the same. He was watching me. When I realized he wasn't eating, I made a gesture for him to start talking.

"Is there anything specific you want to know?" he asked.

Well, that was a stupid question. There was a lot I wanted to know. So much so that I knew we'd be here way longer than 15 minutes if I asked it all.

I decided to ask him the most prominent question on my mind: "Did you leave me for her?"

He seemed stunned by my question. "No! No, of course I didn't. Why would you think that?"

I gave him a look. "Come on, Joseph. We both know why I'd think that."

He shuffled in his seat. "It's not like that."

"Then explain it. That's the whole reason I'm sat here."

So he did. He told me he met Doja (he used her real name, which made my stomach churn) at her concert. He had gone with a few friends, and when she found out he was there she brought them backstage to meet her. He swore it was all casual at first, that they were just friendly and were making light of the situation between her and Noah. When things started changing, he swore it was just a rebound thing.

"I never meant for it to become anything more," he insisted. "I was still so hurt. I just wanted something that would take my mind off of the pain."

I couldn't hold back the scoff that escaped my lips. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," I said. "I'm just so sorry to hear that you were hurting."

"What, you don't think our breakup was hard for me?"

"Weirdly enough, no, I didn't think you took things hard when you dumped me."

Joseph sighed. "It wasn't - "

"And you know what else?" I cut him off. "You told me you found it hard for us to be together because of our professions. And, honestly, I understood! If you weren't away filming, I was away touring. If you weren't doing press for a movie or show, I was doing press for an album. It wasn't easy, and while I was willing to go through those strifes for us, I did understand how it could be too difficult for you. But then you turned around, not even a month after you dumped me, and started dating another singer."

He was quiet. He couldn't even meet my eye.

I felt a lump forming in my throat, and my voice cracked as I said, "If you didn't love me anymore, you could've just said that."

He looked up at me quickly. "That's not - "

He was cut off again. Not by me this time, but by his phone. Someone was calling him. When I looked at the screen, I saw her name. It felt like a knife directly through my heart.

I packed my food and stood. Joseph looked like he was going to say something, but I put a hand up to stop him. "Answer your girlfriend, Joseph."

He didn't try to stop me when I left this time.

~~~~~~

As I expected, photos of Joseph and I got out. I didn't know to what extent as I still wasn't back on social media. My manager confronted me about it and I explained what had happened. She wasn't upset as I wasn't the one who hadn't been concealing my identity, and she agreed that the best course of action was just to ignore everything until it blew over.

Another two months passed and the tour finally ended. It became easier to perform as the time went on. Not completely easy, and I did have a night or two where I slipped up and got emotional on stage, but eventually I was able to put the meanings of my songs aside and just performed them for my fans. I knew some nights weren't as great as others, but I got through it, and finally I was going to have a break.

Chloe reluctantly agreed to let me have my social media back. I was still hurting a little, but I told her I couldn't isolate myself forever. It just wasn't healthy. Besides, I would need something to keep me occupied while I was home, besides just watching mind numbing reality TV. She finally relented when I told her she could watch me block the words "Joseph Quinn" and "Doja Cat" on all social media so that I wouldn't have to see any posts about them.

I was honestly surprised to find that I didn't want to look up anything to do with them. For a long time, the desire to know about their relationship was eating away at me. There were so many specifics I felt like I needed to know, but I eventually realized that I was just going to hurt myself further if I looked into them. Of course, I didn't completely stop thinking about Joseph. I didn't expect to. We had been together for two years, almost moved in with one another. I thought we were going to get married. You don't just let that go easily. But at least it was getting a little easier to live in a world where he was no longer mine.

On one particularly nice day, I decided to go out on the balcony to read. It was one of those fall days where the sun was out and there was a little heat coming from it, but not enough that it was unbearable. A slight breeze would blow through every so often, just cool enough to keep it tolerable outside. I was laid back in one of my deck chairs, engrossed in my book to a point that I hadn't heard someone approaching.

"Must be an interesting novel."

I jumped at the sound of a voice coming from my driveway below. I bookmarked my page and sat up to see the last person I wanted to be around. "What are you doing here, Joseph?"

"I just got back from filming."

"Good for you."

"I...I was hoping you were home."

"Well, you see that I am. Don't let the gate hit you on the way out."

"(Y/N), can we just talk?"

I stood from my seat and leaned over the balcony railing to look at him. "We said all there was to say in that diner months ago. There's nothing else to be talked about. Besides, do you want more pictures of us to come out? I'm sure Doja wouldn't be happy to see her man making a personal visit to his ex's place."

"We broke up!"

I stopped. "What?"

"Last month. It was all over social media, or so Lupita tells me." He tilted his head. "You didn't hear?"

"I-I blocked yours and Doja's names on social media so I wouldn't have to see any tweets or posts about you."

Joseph looked at me for a moment before barking out a laugh. I couldn't help but put a hand over my face as I laughed as well. Of course, by trying to block him out completely, I had totally missed the one thing I would've wanted to see.

I was a bit reluctant, but eventually I invited Joseph to come up. He knew his way through my place, he had been there enough times. I sat back down on my deck chair and pulled another one closer to me, as he appeared in the glass doorway. He sat down next to me and memories of all the times we had been out here flooded back to me.

"I wasn't done talking that night in the diner," he said. "I still had so much to say, and I have even more to say now."

"I didn't want to hear it," I admitted. "In my mind, after hearing how you and Doja got together, it just made more sense if you had broken up with me because you didn't love me anymore."

He shook his head. "It wasn't that at all. I never stopped loving you."

I was itching to ask him if that meant he still loved me now, but instead I said, "Then why?"

"I broke up with you because I loved you so much," he said. "Because loving you but not getting to spend time with you hurt so much, and I knew there was no way around that. When I started getting more job offers I knew things were just going to get so much busier for me, and that our already very short time together was going to dwindle down more and more, and I hated the thought of that."

"I would've taken a break," I told him.

"I couldn't ask you to do that. You love making music and performing. I could never ask you to stop doing that, or to change that. I thought the best thing for you would be if you could find someone who wasn't as busy, and who'd be able to go on tour with you and be at all your shows. Someone who wouldn't be in a different time zone basically 11 months out of a year and only be able to call you for an hour max every night."

"But what if that's not what I want?" I asked. "Yes, it was hard not to get to see you all the time, but I never would've traded that for anything else. I was so proud of you for all those roles you were getting, and even if I only got to talk to you for a few minutes, I loved getting to hear what you were doing. Because you were achieving your dream, and I got to be there to experience it. I don't want someone who can be with me all the time, I want you."

I hadn't noticed that we were both sat on the edge of our chairs. We were so close we were almost touching. I could smell the familiar scent of his cologne and it was making my heart skip a few beats.

"I should've talked to you instead of deciding just to end things," he said, his voice soft and quiet.

"You should've," I agreed. "And then if you were going to rebound, you shouldn't have done it with the girl you told me not to worry about."

He awkwardly chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, not my finest moment."

I sat back in my chair, although I didn't want to. I wanted to keep being this close to him, or maybe to get closer. "So why did you two breakup anyways?"

"She was nice and all, but she wasn't you."

We sat in silence, letting his words sink in. He was looking at me, almost like he was waiting. Maybe I was waiting, too, to see where that confession was supposed to go. After a few moments, my body moved before my mind could comprehend what was happening. I quickly leaned forward, nearly putting myself on Joseph's lap, and started kissing him. He kissed me back immediately, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me the rest of the way onto his lap.

"I missed you," he mumbled against my lips.

"I missed you too," I admitted. I pulled away to add, "But don't think you're completely off the hook. You did still hurt me, you know."

"I know I did. I'll spend the rest of my life making up for it if I have to."

I smiled. "I think I like the sound of that."

He smiled back at me and pulled me back in for another kiss. Eventually, my book was abandoned on the balcony, and the large blinds were closed to keep from anyone being able to see the reunion happening inside.

[ririright]

“Hayden vs. Technology: PeePaw Mode Activated”

Husband! Hayden x Wife Reader (Headcannons)

Part. 1 — Part. 2 — Part. 3

✦ He screen-records instead of saving.

When you send him a funny video, he’ll record it instead of downloading it.

“That way I know it’s saved.”

His phone gallery is full of shaky, cropped screen recordings.

✦ He refuses to use dark mode.

Even at night, his screen is a blazing white light.

“Dark mode looks so gloomy.”

He doesn’t care that it drains his battery faster.

✦ He’s obsessed with weather apps.

Has at least three and checks them all to see which one is “most accurate.”

“It says it’ll rain, but this one says it’ll be sunny. I don’t know who to trust.”

✦ He refuses to watch Reels with the sound off.

Even in public, he’ll turn the volume up.

“How can I understand the joke if I can’t hear it?”

You’ve started carrying earphones for him just in case.

✦ He loves the flashlight feature a little too much.

You ask him to look for something?

“Hold on.” Flashlight on.

Even if it’s broad daylight.

“Just making sure I don’t miss anything.”

✦ He texts with perfect punctuation, even for the simplest things.

“I’m on my way. Be there in 10 minutes.”

Even his jokes come with commas and proper grammar.

When he’s in a rush, his texts still look like they’ve been edited twice.

“Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

✦ He has a secret sock blog.

It’s called “Solely Socks.”

He reviews new socks, writes about his collection, and has a “Sock of the Month” post.

“Today’s feature is a merino wool blend with moisture-wicking technology. A solid 9/10.”

He’s got a small but loyal following of fellow sock enthusiasts who leave passionate comments.

Most of his followers are retired grandpas.

He refuses to tell his friends about it because “they wouldn’t understand.”

✦ He proudly uses Yahoo instead of Gmail.

“I’ve had this email forever. Why would I switch?”

When you try to send him a Google Doc, he’s confused. “Can’t you just email it to me?”

He doesn’t trust Gmail because “it’s too popular. Everyone’s on it.”

✦ His inbox is pristine.

He has folders for everything: “Family,” “Farm Stuff,” “Receipts,” and “Important Socks.”

If he gets spam, he manually moves it to a “Junk” folder—never just deletes.

His signature is always “Best regards, Hayden” even if it’s a quick reply.

✦ He texts like he’s writing a letter.

“Hello, how’s your day going? I hope everything is well.”

Full punctuation, proper capitalization, and never a single typo.

If he ever uses a smiley face, it’s always the classic: :) or :-) — never emojis.

✦ His phone is a game console.

He’s obsessed with Candy Crush, but only plays in moderation.

“I don’t want to burn through my lives too quickly.”

Solitaire is his go-to for “quiet thinking time.”

He loves Word Cross because he says it “keeps the mind sharp.”

Sudoku is his “serious game.” He won’t be interrupted if he’s on a difficult puzzle.

You once watched him play Sudoku in a waiting room, and he barely blinked.

✦ He’s a master at Candy Crush.

He knows all the best strategies, saves his power-ups for tough levels.

“The trick is to create as many striped candies as possible.”

He’s at a ridiculously high level, but you’ll never catch him bragging.

[wedgiestoriescollective]

The Senior: Years Later

Hello all! Before I start the next story in my “The Senior” series, I wanted to share that since I began writing, uploading, and reuploading these stories on here some things have changed. While I have been sharing my experiences with wedgies on here, these stories thus far have been about my experiences with them as a child and teenager. This didn’t initially bother me because I was sharing and, in a way, reliving these memories through my writing. But it bothers me now. 

Had my experiences with Chase concluded while we were both underage, I would have just stopped writing these stories all together. Yet this is not the case. So, this next part (and the final part following that) will take place four years after the previous story. When we were both consenting adults. I hope you enjoy,

                 

I was sitting at home alone. Well, I was sitting alone in the house where I grew up. I was visiting my parents during a short summer break from the musical theater conservatory I was attending. I hadn’t been home in over ten months. The conservatory went by a unique school schedule, so the week I was home didn’t coincide well with my parent’s work. As both are teachers, they still had school. It was nice being away from my classes, rehearsals, and at my part-time work in Times Square retail. So, things were busy. I was on the couch, a bag of pretzels in my lap as I watched some current popular TV show. My phone vibrated.

“Hey”, the text read.

I immediately recognized the phone number. I had deleted his contact multiple times. I even blocked the number once. Yet, those numbers were as familiar as his name.

“Hey”, I text back.

I pause the TV, redirecting my attention to my phone. I pushed the bag of pretzels aside. The text bubbles (a new IOS feature at the time) visualized three dots, Chase writing a response.

“I saw you were in town. How have you been? Chase texted.

At this time, it had been years since we had communicated with each other. And even longer since we’d last seen each other. Last time I had seen him, I was a Junior, and he was in town on Spring Break from his college in Colorado. We’d met up at my place and almost gotten caught by my parents. We quickly averted detection by sneaking out through the garage, but the stress of the moment gave me pause. Had me so scared of being discovered as anything other than “appropriate” or “normal” that I had (again) cut Chase out of my life.

“I am in town, I’ve been pretty good” I type on my phone, before deleting it.  

“Yeah, it’s been chill”.

I send the text and quickly place my phone face down as far away on the couch from me as I can reach. The phone immediately vibrates, but I force myself to remain still. The similar pattern presenting itself. He texts, I reply, he texts, I reply. Then minutes go by with nothing. Those minutes used to torture me, even when sometimes those minutes turned to hours, or the rest of the night. I promised myself I wouldn’t obsess over this again. That I was better than this. I remained still for just over five minutes before gently reaching over to my phone.

“Give any wedgies in the big apple yet?” Chase texted.

He skipped passed the unnecessary formalities. I hadn’t wedgied any guys in NYC at that point. There wasn’t any time, and I had my own revelations I was working through. Within a month of living in NYC, I had come to understand and accept that I was so far in the closet that I found Christmas presents. I had started trying things on in my new “out” life. Mostly through chats on dating apps or…. well, that’s all I did. I was out to my classmates at school, but back home I slipped back into the guy I was before I moved to NYC. Chase had been out for years by this point.

“I haven’t, too busy! Lol =(“ I reply.

“I have been thinking about the one’s you’d give me.” Chase texts.

“Really?” I reply.

“Yeah, it was hot”. Chase replies.

I politely ignored the fact that I was sporting blushed cheeks. Also, my hard on. I was ignoring that too. My phone vibrated.

“Wanna come over? I can pick you up.”

I looked at the phone in disbelief. After all that we’d been through. The shame that I felt and sometimes still have. The times that we’d avoid each other at all costs. Here he was again, offering to pick me up. To spend time with him. To wedgie him. It’s as if the closeted, hidden high school version of myself peeled away. I stood up and hopped in the shower, but not before typing and sending my response.

“Sure, you know where I live.”

When I opened Chase’s front car door, he looks at me and it was simultaneously as if time hadn’t past while there were also apparent timely differences. Both of us now sported stubble, mine being closer to a beard. Yet, he still had that stupid plush dice dangling from his windshield. We chatted. I don’t remember about what. It was small talk, but I do remember there was a moment when he said something along the lines of “maybe you can’t do that, but you can give a good wedgie”. I remember how my hard on never subsided while sitting in his car. It’s funny what remains of your memories over time.

Chase pulls into the garage of his house. I had never been here before. He gets out of the car and nonchalantly enters his home, knowing I’d follow. There was a black lab that excitedly greeted me. I followed Chase into his room, and he closed the door behind him.

Chase’s room was the standard expected room of a teenager. Sports posters on the wall. His bass on a stand in the corner. A pile of clothes scattered on the floor. Chase noticed me looking at the pile.

“Find any underwear in there?” Chase asked.

“A couple” I reply.

Chase walks up to the front of his bed, taking off his grey zip-up and then tossing it on the ground. He stares at me a for a second as I stare back at him. He’s wearing a slim fitted light grey t-shirt and jeans. Chase then turns around, his back now facing me. I remember feeling awkward standing in that silence. Like I didn’t know how to fill it. We used to have so much to talk about. There were still things that should be said. Yet, I remained silent, lost in where to start.

“Do it” Chase said quietly. Almost as if through an exhale of breath.

His words snapped me out of my haze as if we were in high school flirting in our distant way. Our words and jokes that were just between us. Because no one, not even each other could ever know our true desire for the other. Except, we weren’t in high school anymore, and both of us since then had come out to our close friends, but more importantly to ourselves. That layer of shame was no longer relevant nor present. Nothing was stopping me.

“Do what?” I teasingly ask, taking a couple steps closer to him.

“Give me a wedgie. Please” and then he said my name. I don’t know why, but I found that hot. I was now directly behind him. It was again as if time hadn’t passed. Like I’d done plenty of times before, I lifted his shirt and fingered my way through the waistband of his jeans which also donned a brown leather belt. Once my fingers obstructively found the underwear, I made the waistband of them visible with a gentle tug. The underwear’s black waistband donned the word Hanes stitched multiple times in skinny white letters. The fabric underneath the waistband was dark grey.

I looked forward and clocked my own eyes in the reflection of the full body mirror to the right of Chase’s nightstand. I then locked eyes with Chase who was also staring at me through the mirror. It was like old times. I sharply tugged on the Hanes waistband and Chase arched his head and groaned as simultaneously the leg holes of the underwear came in full display above his jean’s waistband. That was new.

“I was curious” Chase said smirking slightly at me as I had him up on toes as held his underwear up in my grasp. Then I lift upward on my toes almost lifting Chase off the ground by his light grey briefs. My cock is at full attention now, obviously visible through the front of my black joggers. As I continue tugging at Chase’s underwear, on the occasion tug the bulge would briefly drag or rest on Chase’s ass. He knew where I was at.

I continue tugging, alternating between slow gradual pulls and quick pulsating tugs. On each pull, Chase varied his sound responses. Some were groans, quick exhales, and my personal favorite the occasional “ooh” or “ahh”. I got the grey briefs all the way up to his neck at the highest but I would then mess around with this wedgie by snapping the briefs against his back multiple times. I would also tug while pushing him forward only then to pull him back towards me, inching the underwear further in his butt. I at this point have never wedgied Chase in briefs. This made it exciting and new in a way I couldn’t begin to explain at the time, but thinking back on it I was likely excited by the arousal of it all.

The grey briefs were bunched, leg holes and all were above his jeans. I reach my hands in front of Chase, gently moving my hands towards his belt buckle. I slowly start navigating the belt buckle loose and I unbutton his jeans. I then abruptly pants Chase, leaving his wedgied ass full on display. Chase turns his head back towards me, smirking.

“Having fun?” He asks as he slowly pulls his briefs out of his ass and back into place.

I then lifted Chase toward me by his hips, so that his neck was right up against my face. I kiss his neck. Chase moans. I kiss his neck again, but this time as Chase moans I kiss him on the lips. Our first kiss. This right here was all I had ever wanted. His lips on mine.  He didn’t pull away. He turned around wrapping his arms around my shoulder as we continued kissing. His tongue quickly made its way into my mouth, and mine in his. I don’t remember gripping his waistband as we continued kissing, but when I opened my eyes for the first time as Chase was kissing my neck, I saw myself through Chase’s mirror, with his grey briefs lodged up his ass so hard that besides the fabric in my grasp there was no indication Chase was even wearing underwear. It was lodged that far up his perfect round ass. I tugged again sharply with my right hand while my left hand pulled Chase’s head back by his hair.

For a moment, we both simply stared at each other. No longer seeing the scared kids we were years before, but instead seeing ourselves as the men that we are. Men that are kind, yet long for another man’s attention, lust, maybe even love. Yet, in that moment we just remained present. In our own kinky way.

The kissing and the wedgies continued. I even let him briefly tug my blue Jockey boxer briefs softly up my butt, but he remained eager for his flossing. The only thing keeping me from ripping his briefs clean off him was the continued kissing, it was proving to be a weakness of mine. Over the next couple of minutes, Chase kissed his way down my body. From my lips to my neck, to my nipples, and further down my stomach. Chase was on his knees now, alternating between looking at my throbbing bulge and up at me. He looked so beautiful looking up at me, as if I could solve all his life’s problems. Chase slowly then lowered my black joggers off me while still looking at me. Pre cum was already staining the front of my blue boxer briefs as Chase lowered those too. This wasn’t his first time seeing my cock. Back in our high school days we dared each other to hold the others cock in the car for a minute. But this was certainly different. Especially because this time Chase was licking the pre cum off the tip of my cock before putting the rest of it in his mouth.

I audibly moaned as my cock was blown for the first time, overwhelmed by the sensation of it. The newness of it. The excitement of it. All of it felt like a lock was finally clicking open. My whole body recoiled when Chase took a moment to merely tickle my cock with small kisses. He’d told me he was hooking up quite a lot in college in the text exchanges we shared when we chatted briefly after he came out. Back when I was still so scared to accept that part of myself. Before I ghosted him.

“I always thought that you had a hot cock” Chase said looking at me.

I looked down at him, feeling aristocratic as I noticed his grey briefs still lodged up his ass. Chase went back at my cock again; except this time, I cupped the back of his head with my left hand, gently pushing his head inward so my entire cock could face fuck its way down his throat. My other hand between thrusts reached down Chase’s back to grip the grey briefs. As I alternated between thrusting my body forward and pulling on the underwear, I felt closer to myself. As if I was about to descend on the first drop on a roller coaster. I felt drops of sweat trickle off my chin. I looked down then, only seeing Chase’s brown hair and his briefs gripped in my hand halfway up his back, lodged up his ass.

It was then when I remembered the time he yelled at me after we got caught by a police officer. We were rubbing each other’s cocks in an empty parking lot with sunshades over the window of Chase’s car. How scared we both were. How we reacted differently. And then, how when I was a Junior in high school when I saw he had posted a picture on Instagram with a guy. A boyfriend. How betrayed I felt. How exposed that post made me feel. But also, how lonely it made him feel as well.

I gently let go of Chase’s briefs and removed myself from his mouth, pretending like I heard my phone vibrate. I made up something about my mom wondering where I was and that she needed me home. Chase understood, we dressed, and he drove me home. When we got back to my house, there were no other cars in the driveway.

“She wanted me to be ready to go by 4”. I said, trying to talk my way out of the lie.

Chase seemed like he understood, but I must give him more credit. It’s possible that Chase knew I was lying. Still, before I could get out of the car he stopped me. Gently his hand clasped into mine. Again, something new. He leaned in and he kissed me gently. For a moment, I succumbed to it. The desire and lust I still very much had from the past hour’s activities. Tongues touched. He still grasped my hand. And then as if I teleported, I was locking my front door, and he was driving away.

I ran to the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and stepped in the shower where I preceded to go into my usual, comfortable, one-man routine of pleasing myself. I came within minutes recounting it all. Moaning at full volume as I came. My cum, shooting towards the top of the screen door in the shower, before then slowly trickling downward. As the hot water continued running down my hair and body, I felt both euphoric and lonely. Hoping that the phone would vibrate with a text from Chase saying he came or that he wanted to meet up again. Yet, I sat alone under the running water knowing that it wouldn’t.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Delicate - Chapter Two: Maroon

3.7k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

summary: despite some last minute reservations about meeting Joel, you throw yourself into the date, but it doesn't go according to plan.

A/N: Ahhhhh oh my God - @hellishjoel and I are so excited to bring you the second chapter of Delicate! We're having the best time with this little pairing already and we hope they manage to worm their way into your hearts just like they have with us! We're taking turns in posting the chapters of this - so please make sure you're following both of us to keep up to date!

warnings: mentions of being a single parents, rom-com vibes, foul language, a bestie who is nothing but trouble, Joel being terrible at dating in general, a lil smattering of angst, mentions of food & alcohol consumption.

There’s a flow of peace that settles across you when the door to Noah’s room clicks shut. You love him, he’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and he keeps you afloat every day, but these moments, when he’s finally asleep and you can stop thinking for a minute, are the moments you crave each day. 

You settle down on the couch, mug of tea in hand, with the TV playing quietly, just for background noise more than anything, as you pick up your phone for the first time that evening. There’s a few emails, mainly about shopping sales and holidays that you think you should book but never do - those are quickly deleted to stop any temptation of spending money on something that isn’t essential. There are a few messages from your mom, just confirming that she’ll pick Noah up from school tomorrow, what she’s planned for them to do and what she’ll feed him. You shoot a message off in reply that it all sounds good and that he’s excited for some quality time with his grandparents, because it’s true, and then you set your phone down on the coffee table and try to ignore it for a while. 

You finish your tea and queue up a few episodes of a show you’ve been meaning to catch up on - something mindless that people at work always seem to talk about. So mindless that it actually sends you to sleep. You wake with a jolt a few hours later. The house is still quiet, which means Noah hasn’t decided he’s still got too much energy and needs to burn it off by jumping on the bed or pulling some of his toys out. You sigh, checking the time to see it’s almost midnight. 

You gather your stuff, put the mug in the sink to deal with in the morning before trudging up to bed. There’s a moment at the top of the stairs, where you think it would be so easy to flop down on the bed and forgo the rest of your responsibilities, but you’ve got your mother’s voice in the back of your mind, something about wrinkles and pores and how bad it is to sleep in your makeup, so you turn left into the bathroom, cover your skin in serums and creams and then finally, just after midnight, you fall into bed. 

Knowing it’s bad to look at your phone this late at night, once you’ve set your alarm, you click open the godforsaken Hinge app that Dixie had insisted on setting you up on. So far, after six months, you’d been on a fair few first dates, three second dates and had a God awful one night stand, but nothing had been sticking, no-one seemed to be exactly what you were looking for. You’d promised her that you’d try though, so as had become a nightly ritual for you, you set about giving away your daily likes, not really paying a huge amount of attention until he pops up for you. Joel. 45. From his first profile picture, the exact kind of man you’d been searching for. Rugged, handsome, 

Of the few photos he had on his profile, he was often donning a flannel or a simple short-sleeved shirt that curved around his biceps and broad shoulders. He always wore the same tilted smile, with dazzling eyes and dark hair with licks of silver. He was a handsome lumberjack of sorts. 

He looked to be an outdoorsman, at least two of Joel’s pictures were of him hiking a trail accompanied by a young girl, surrounded by greenery and tall rocks with the sunshine peeking through the branches. His face was glowing and tan from the light, his handsomeness so natural. Beautiful, even. 

Joel’s “Typical Sunday” consisted of a black coffee in the morning, followed by making burgers on the grill for him and his family before settling down to watch a Dallas Cowboys football game. That was a typical Sunday for a man, but it showed how he liked to unwind and that he was a family man. 

First, the mention of a family, plus that beautiful young woman in almost all of Joel’s pictures - a daughter, perhaps? Older than your own boy by quite a few years. He must have been on the younger side of having children if any of these assumptions were even correct. But there was something about knowing he also had a baby to be thinking of felt familiar, comforting, as they would always come first. 

 And it turns out that talking to him is pretty easy too. He’s charming, a slight insomniac like you, and from what you can tell from the slight back and forth you managed to have before you go to sleep, able to flirt a little with you too. It’s why when he asks to take you out you say yes without hesitation, it could be fun, he could be the one, who knows? 

Mornings are always chaos. Half-eaten bowls of cereal on the table, a mug of coffee made with the best of intentions but sat to go cold, a rush of getting Noah dressed and in the car with everything he needed for school and then the annoyance of getting stuck in traffic on the way to drop him off, all coalesce to make you stressed as you help Noah out of the backseat. 

“Remember granny is picking you up this afternoon okay?” You ask, bending down to kiss his cheek as he fiddles with the straps of his backpack. 

“I know, mom.” He groans, using the back of his hand to wipe the kiss off his cheek. 

You smile, ruffle his hair a bit, because no matter how much he might protest, he will always be your baby, “Behave for her, okay?” You warn lightly with a smile, “She’ll bring you back home tomorrow.” 

Noah spots some of his friends across the playground and steps around you to make his way into school. You turn, hold your hand up in a wave and shout at him to have a good day. Noah turns, walking backwards to look at you, waving right back. 

“Have a good day, mom!” 

Underneath the way he’s growing up, he’s still the sweet little boy you knew you could raise on your own. You sit back in your car, picking your phone up to make sure you’ve got enough time to go to the store and stock up on some groceries, when you notice a notification from Hinge. It’s Joel. 

Just checking you’re still okay for tonight? 

For some reason, you sit and stare at it for a few minutes, fingers itching to type something, to confirm, but there’s that usual seed of doubt that appears after all this time that makes you want to tell him something’s come up, you’ll have to reschedule. After months and months of trying to find someone, to failed first date after failed first date, you wonder if it really is worth it, no matter how good of a match Joel Miller seems on paper. Is he really going to be worth getting dressed up for? You sigh, type out your usual message of I’m sorry, I think I might have to reschedule, when the screen is filled with the face of your best friend, trying to call you. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello sexy mama!” Dixie’s voice immediately soothes you, “How are you this fine morning?” 

“I’m okay,” You speak softly, plugging the phone into the car so you can speak to her as you drive, “Just dropped Noah off at school.” 

“How is my favourite man?” She asks. 

“Yeah, he’s good, he’s staying with my mom tonight so I think he’s just pleased to be away from me for a while.” 

“It’s like the universe read my mind!” Dixie exclaims on the other end of the phone, “Do you want to go out and get wine drunk tonight?” 

You stutter for a second, because you could, you could cancel with Joel, go out and drink cheap wine and dance with your friend, but before you can say anything, Dixie picks up on your hesitation. 

“OH MY GOD!” She all but screeches, “Do you have a hot date tonight?!” 

You grumble a little, because how is she always so attuned to you like this? 

“Yeah, although I don’t know if I’m gonna go.” 

“Why not?” 

You sigh again, “I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore?” You offer. 

“Girl, get outta here with that attitude!” She chastises, “Is he hot?” 

You grumble a little again, but you can’t deny it, Joel is hot, “Yes.” 

“Well then,” You can hear her clap her hands in the background, clearly having you on speaker so she can go about her business, “If he’s hot, then there’s no harm in it, forget me and my wine, go out, drink wine with your hot mystery stranger and get fucked, girl!” 

“Dixie!” You screech, “I’m not fucking him.” 

“Whatever you say, girl!” She shouts down the phone, “If you cancel, I’m kicking your ass, okay?” You sigh, once again, something you’re getting more and more used to these days, “Have fun and be safe!” 

And then all you can hear is the dial tone from where she’s hung up on you. You think about it all the way around the grocery store, she wouldn’t know if you did cancel, would she? But you’ve known her long enough to know she’d sniff a lie out of you in seconds. So, when you settle down at your desk, you pull out your phone and send Joel a reply to confirm the plans you made last night, and then spend the rest of the work day trying not to work yourself up about the whole thing. 

You don’t think that the anxiety of waiting for a date to show up will ever get easier. Stood just inside the doorway of the restaurant Joel had chosen, you’re chewing at the skin around your thumbnail. Did you dress right? Do you look okay? When he turns up will he look like his pictures or not? Will he lean in for a kiss on the cheek? Do you give him a hug? You’d like to think of yourself as a seasoned pro at this now, but those first few awkward moments always made you anxious - there was no second chance at first impressions. 

You needn’t have worried about Joel though. When the door opens and he stands in front of you, he is exactly the man you’d studied on that app. Taller than you, broad and big. Scruff, peppered with gray across his face, though it’s neatly kept, just like this hair, although more unruly, it’s still peppered with grays and it suits him. He’s wearing dark jeans, and a flannel that you think must be saved for best. You step closer, open your arms. Joel leans down, and does indeed press a kiss to your cheek, one of his wide palms pressed lightly on your lower back as he hugs you back a little. 

“Nice to meet you, Joel.” You smile when he pulls away. 

“You too, ma’am.” He smiles back at you, and you can tell he’s nervous. 

“What have I told you about that?” You tease as you step towards the hostess, Joel giving her his name, you hope the slight teasing will put him at ease, you remember just what it was like when you started dating for the first time, and as much as you want to have a good time, you want to make sure Joel is having a good time too. 

She picks up two menus, leads the two of you to a table at the edge of the restaurant. Joel pulls your chair out for you, pushing it gently under you as you sit down. The light is low, and there’s a thrum of chatter across the whole restaurant as you open the menu, glancing your eyes over the choices. 

“Do you want to share a bottle of wine?” You ask, finger skimming the list of wines available. 

Joel nods, “Sure thing, darlin’.” 

You smile, looking down at the menu, deciding you much prefer darling to ma’am, especially in that sweet southern drawl of his. When the waitress returns, you both order food and a bottle of wine, which is quickly brought to the table, uncorked, with the dark red liquid poured into two glasses. The waitress leaves the bottle on the table as you raise your glass, Joel following suit, clinking them together before you take a sip. 

You’re watching as he does the same, a smaller sip than you, and then watch as his nose crinkles and he coughs a little. It makes you laugh, putting your glass down to cover your mouth a little. 

“Dunno why I said yes,” He shakes his head, “Fuckin’ hate wine.” 

You can’t help but properly laugh now, hoping that it puts him a little at ease. You reach over the table, lay your hand on his wrist just a touch, “What would you prefer to drink?” 

You don’t miss the way he subtly drags his wrist back from your touch, covering it by scratching at the skin on the side of his hand, but you don’t let it bother you. You’re a touchy person, it’s what makes you feel at ease mostly, but that doesn’t mean it works for Joel, so you fold your hands back in your lap. 

“Usually beer,” He mumbles, flagging down the waitress as she walks past to ask for just that, “Or whiskey.” 

“I don’t mind a beer,” You offer, trying to make light conversation, “But whiskey makes my throat burn.” 

He doesn’t offer much of a reply apart from a short hum from his mouth, his attention moving from you to the room around you, letting the table fall into silence. You look down at your lap, trying to think of things to say whilst you wait for your food. 

“So, Sarah, right?” You ask after his daughter, it’s something the two of you have in common at least, “You must be super proud of her, medical school is incredible.” 

“Yeah,” He says simply, “She’s a very smart girl.” 

You expect him to ask after Noah, ask him a little about what he’s like, maybe what his favourite subjects are at school or whether he’s in any sports clubs or anything, but he doesn’t offer anything else to you, doesn’t ask any questions. 

There’s a lull in the conversation, saved by the waitress dropping your meals in front of you, fresh tomato pasta with chicken for you and steak and mashed potatoes with asparagus for Joel. You swirl your fork through the pasta, scooping some into your mouth as Joel cuts into his steak. Your eyes are trained on him, watching how he eats - it’s one of your big tests, table manners, and to be fair to him, he passes with flying colours - sure he eats a bit fast, but it’s nothing off-putting, and he seems to be able to use a knife and fork properly and chew with his mouth closed, which is a far cry from the last person you’d been out with. 

“You look really good tonight,” You offer, setting your fork down for a moment, “The flannel is very Texas.” 

You think in the dim light you can see him flush a little, and you’ve not said anything that isn’t true, he does look good. Fucking great actually. Joel finishes swallowing, takes a swig of his beer. 

“Thank you,” He tips his head towards you, “You look nice too,” He brings his hand up to his face to motion, “Rosy cheeks.” 

You try not to let your disappointment show, it is a compliment after all, so you put all your focus back down into your meal, the two of you finishing your food in a rather awkward silence - you willing Joel to ask you something, to start a conversation, anything really. You watch as Joel pushes the asparagus around his plate after eating two of the spears, finishing off his steak and potatoes but leaving the rest of the greens. 

When the waitress comes back to clear your plates, she asks if you’d like the dessert menu. You look to Joel, who tips his head in a way to say it’s up to you, but this has quite possibly been the most excruciating few hours of your life, so you drain your glass of wine, tip the last of the bottle into the glass and sit to wait for the bill. 

“Listen,” Joel starts, dragging your attention from the bottom of your glass to him, a look of slight regret on his face, “I ain’t too good at all this,” He tries to explain, “It’s been a long time and I’m a little rusty.” 

You kind of want to wring his ass for it a little, but underneath his apparent disinterest, you can still see the nerves of the guy who first walked through the door, and you get it, you think you’d been similar when you first started dating again, but you don’t think you’d completely lost the ability to think of a single question. 

Joel insists on paying the bill and you don’t fight him for the privilege of splitting it - you think it might upset some of that southern chivalry he has and for someone else they’ll love that. It’s a silent affair as you both stand up, gather your things. 

“How are you getting home?” Joel asks, holding the front door open for you. 

“I can just grab a cab,” You smile, “How about you?” 

He points to a truck, “Only had one so I can drive home,” He explains, “Do you mind if I wait with you for your cab?” He asks, “I’d feel better knowing you get in one safe.” 

“Of course,” You smile, “The hostess called one for me, so it shouldn’t be long.” 

There’s another lull in conversation, thankfully your cab arrives quickly, saving the silence from falling into awkwardness again. Joel beats you to the door, opening it for you. 

“I would say it’s been nice meeting you,” He speaks, “But I feel like I made this real difficult, and I’m sorry for that.” 

Going to step into the cab, you stop, leaning down to put your bag in the back seat, pausing a little before you turn back around to him, meeting his eyes. They’re striking, dark brown and beautiful, and trying to tell you just how much he knows he’s messed up. It makes your heart sink because you feel that sadness too, knowing he had so much promise, that he understood you in a way you thought other people didn’t, without even needing to talk to you, he’s a single parent, he gets it, like other people don’t. It frustrates you, makes your breath catch in your throat and your eyes glass over. 

You bring a comforting hand to his shoulder, “It’s okay,” You add a smile at the end, “It takes some time to get used to this all again, I was the same,” You look down at your shoes,  “It’ll get easier each time you do it, I promise.” 

His head dips, regret flashed across his face, like he wishes he could go back and do it all over but better this time. 

“M’sorry, again,” His tone is low, morose even, then he dips, presses a soft kiss to your cheek, “Get home safe.” 

You flop down on your bed, hand running over your face, wondering at what point it had gone wrong. He’d had so much potential, had seemed like he could be so right for you, so what went wrong? 

No sooner have you sent the ‘home safe’ message to Dixie, do you feel the soft vibrating of your phone. You answer, put the phone on loudspeaker and set it by your head. 

“So, how did it go?” 

You groan, “He had so much potential Dix,” You let out a pained noise, “I don’t know where it went wrong?!” 

“Oh honey,” She coos down the phone, aware more than anyone how much you wanted to be done with dating and finally have someone you could spend time with, “What happened?” 

“I don’t even know!” You exclaim, “Like, I could tell he was nervous, and this was his first date in years, but it was like he’d never spoken to a woman in his life, it was so hard!” 

You can hear her sucking on her teeth on the other end of the phone, “Are you being too hard on him?” She asks, “You always say the cocky men are no good because they’re rehearsed, maybe he just needs time to warm up?” 

“Dixie, I’d need a flamethrower to warm him up!��� 

That gets a giggle out of her, “Mama, listen to me,” She goes into serious mode now, “Not everyone is as seasoned as you at this, and if this was his first date in years and he comes face to face with you? Of course he’s going to be nervous, you can’t write him off just for that honey.” 

That’s when your truth really hits out, “But what if I spend all that time warming him up and it’s a waste of time? He could turn out to be no good for me and then I’ve wasted so much time instead of trying to find the right person.” 

“Honey, respectfully, you’re forty, not at the end of your life, I promise that maybe spending some time trying to unravel someone a little instead of writing them off immediately might actually be worth it.” 

“I don’t know, Dix…” You trail off. 

“Just sleep on it, okay?” She offers, “See how you feel when you wake up before you send him the ‘thanks but no thanks’ message.” 

“Okay, I promise.” 

The two of your say goodbye to each other, you stay led on the bed for a while before you push yourself up, plug your phone into the charger, noticing the notification from Hinge when your screen lights up. You can see it’s Joel’s name that sits on the front screen. You sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed, weighing up whether to read it or not. Deciding that if you do read it, you’re likely to make a decision against what Dixie told you, so you leave the notification sitting there, get yourself ready for bed and then will yourself to sleep without going over every second of the date wondering what you could have done differently.

[writingdotcoffee]

Writing Challenge: Fast Drafting

Fast drafting, or vomit drafting, is a pretty self-explanatory approach to writing. You try to get the first draft down as fast as you can. Contrary to what the name suggests, it's not all about speed (or, well, indigestion).

In this post, we'll go over the benefits of fast drafting and why you should try it at least once.

Why Fast Draft?

Although you write faster than usual when fast drafting, speed isn't the point. For most writers, speed isn't a concern at all. Who cares whether it took you three, six or nine months to finish your book?

The problem many writers face is getting bogged down and never finishing at all. You probably heard the stats before. Nine out of ten writers who start working on a book will never finish the first draft.

Often, the issue isn't time or energy. These aspiring authors are paralysed by self doubt, second-guessing everything.

I still remember my first attempt at writing a novel. I spent weeks writing and rewriting the first few paragraphs — about 700 words. And that's it. I never got beyond that.

It starts by going back to edit stuff — rephrasing a few sentences here and there. Any bigger issue you can't fix right away will gnaw on you. Suddenly, you've got this feeling simmering inside of you that the story won't work.

You go back to your outline and start moving things around. Maybe you killed the sidekick too early? Isn't the build-up too predictable? Ugh! The whole thing is a mess, and you don't want to be working on it anymore.

How Fast Drafting Works?

The goal is to keep your mind focused on making progress. You don't want to give it a chance to second-guess anything until you've finished the first draft.

It's surprisingly difficult to do if you haven't done it before.

Your first draft will be a mess. All first drafts are. But you will have to ignore that and keep ploughing ahead. Your inner perfectionist will be in agony.

To stay disciplined, many writers don't allow themselves to fix anything. Mistyped a word? It stays in. No exceptions.

Editing is a slippery slope. You fix a typo here and there. Next, you're fixing the odd structural issue, moving a few paragraphs around. Before you know it, you're outlining again, wondering whether you should rather kill the sidekick in chapter 24.

That said, a messy first draft can be a blessing. Instead of seeing your first draft as this seemingly polished thing, you see it for the mess that it is. No matter how much you edit during the first draft, it will never be perfect.

When you start editing, you'll fix the typos and obvious issues. That will help you get into the flow and be ready to tackle the big things next.

The Editing Lock

Writing Analytics (the app that I built) has a thing called the editing lock. When you enable it, you won't be able to delete anything from your draft.

Every time I use it, I'm surprised just how much I go back to edit stuff. It's so helpful.

It was a suggestion from one of the readers of the blog a while ago (massive thank you 🙏).

If you'd like to try it, the app is free for everyone for the first two weeks.

The Challenge

Spend an hour or more this week fast-drafting a story. Come up with an idea and stick to it until the end — no matter what. Put the editing lock on if you're struggling and crush all the self-doubt that comes up with a steamroller.

I set up a challenge where you can write along with me (and others):

https://app.writinganalytics.co/challenge/646c860be7b6ddfbda016a9c

[coldflasher]

soooo in a STUNNING plot twist, i managed to get another driving test... for june?????

tl;dr under the cut cos im sure everyone is sick of hearing about my driving test debacle

basically the current recommendation for booking a driving test is to book one literally anywhere that has slots available and then try and swap it out for a test you actually want. so this whole time i've been trying to get a test for town A, but town A, as i'm sure you've gathered by now, NEVER has any fucking tests. so until now i've just been purely focusing on trying to book a test in town A, but now i'm desperate, so i looked at town B. town B, incidentally, is a similar distance from town A and is actually where i failed my first 4 tests as a teenager (lol. this ain't my first rodeo, unfortunately).

so town B DID have slots available... in october. with the way the test situation is, having any slot at all puts you at an advantage so i booked it, set all my cancellation apps to autobook me at the centre i want, and left it alone. as usual, very few notifications about tests in town A. BUT because i had booked the test in town B, i was also getting cancellation notifications for town B. and there were quite a lot of them. and i just happened to click on one to see what would happen.

for context, this particular app will notify you when a test is available, and you have to click on it, log in, and then select it. i do NOT have the knack for this. i actually had to delete the app before my last test because it was seriously messing with my mental health because i would estimate that 30+ cancellations slipped through my fingers because people move SO insanely quickly and/or use bots, so that app was functionally useless for getting a test in town A. so imagine my shock when i clicked through on this cancellation and it was STILL AVAILABLE??? i was stunned. i was like "this has NEVER HAPPENED TO ME." and i was like well, it's september, it isn't for the centre i want, so i won't take it. but i wonder how long it'll sit there?

i refreshed two or three times. literal minutes passed. the test was still there. i cannot emphasize enough that this is INSANE. let's recall that it took me SIX MONTHS to find an available test at centre A. i was sat there like??? refreshed again. the test had vanished. BUT there was now an even earlier one available, for a week before that in september, and honestly it was going against the grain to just let an earlier test go, so i grabbed it. moved my test forward by a full month within the space of 3 days. WHAT??

so more time passes. i go about my day. later, i'm sitting in the chemist waiting to pick up my beta blockers when i get ANOTHER flurry of testi notifications. MORE CANCELLATIONS? and one for june? and i clicked on it, and again, it was still there, and i was like "you know what? i'm fucking having it???"

so now i have a test in JUNE??? that's only 2 months away. 2 months is nothing.

i will say, if i can manage to swap to centre A after all, i'd much rather do my test there because i know the test routes and the roads a lot better, and also, i'm not sure if my instructor will be willing to take me to another test centre, but if it comes to it i can take it in my own car. i'd rather not, i really want to make things as easy as possible on myself, but if it's a choice between waiting 6 months or more for another shot or doing it in june in less than perfect circumstances, im gonna risk it. what have i got to lose? and honestly the fact it's been so beautifully EASY to get a new test for this centre is revolutionary, the weight off my shoulders is just unspeakable. it only took me 3 days? i might still be able to move it even closer? and if i fail it i can just get another test at this same centre and take it again??? THAT'S CRAZY!!

[jodilin65]

Yesterday was a horribly rough day. I was not only groggy and hungover from the melatonin, but my lungs were also so tight. Because Tom was a little tight too, we were wondering if the oak tree he was trimming had anything to do with it. I looked up the trees in the area that can trigger asthma, and that was one of them, along with the Brazilian pepper tree by the lanai. I chatted with Toni a bit on Messenger, and she said the pollen has been crazy high. I've noticed that too.

He didn't trim anymore yesterday since he didn't feel all that great, and today is donation day. 

I took a full clonazepam before bed, so I slept better, and I feel better except my lungs are still slightly tight, and I've been coughing up a gallon of congestion. I'm not so sure anymore that the Levo is connected, but I'm going to find out once and for all by making automatic weekly skips, no matter how I feel. If this doesn't happen again, like it seems to every two to three months, then there may not have been a connection. But honestly, it's starting to seem weird that it would mostly be on the med. The only time it made me tight was when it first ramped up to be too much for me, and it didn't cause congestion that I remember or the achiness I had. Tom had some aching in his chest and back as well.

We really need to get out of this state as soon as we can! Florida is simply not asthma and allergy-friendly, and I should have known better. I'd rather complain about the cold than struggle like this. I'll miss having it warm most of the time, and I never minded the humidity itself, but this kind of climate is no good for me. I moved to Arizona for a reason, after all, and it wasn't only about Andy being there.

He's going to not only ask his doctor when he sees him in May about beta blockers for his essential tremor and stay off the road when it's dark, but he's also going to get an eye exam done to find out if it's time for him to have his cataracts removed. If it is, he's going to lose a month of donations. He's got almost 8,000 points accumulated from his donations, and once he gets to 10,000, he gets the express bonus where he doesn't have to wait in line. He's going to wait until he hits 10,000 before he gets the procedure done. Of course, I worry because I couldn't drive him home, but then he reminded me that Medicare gives him 50 free medical rides per year.

I deleted the Too Hot to Handle app. It was too much like a storybook in which you had a little bit of say in how it played out. 

Most of the people visiting the Honker seem to be gone, but Tom said he saw the daughter who just had a baby less than six months ago pushing it in a stroller the other day. Already? I thought she'd want to wait until the kid was older before she traveled. I just figured she would still be exhausted since it can't be sleeping through the night yet, as well as it being a bit traumatizing for one that young to travel. But what do I know?

I dreamed of the Honker looking at me through the window as I watched him gearing up to take off on the motorcycle and somehow being able to see me through the reflective film, but the Honker didn't look anything like the Honker. He had longish hair in the dream, but in reality, he's nearly bald.

He's going to have to go through the hassle of registering every time he comes down here and get fingerprinted, LOL. This applies to anyone who stays longer than a month. And he's oh so pro-US, LOL. The impression I've always gotten from him is that he's a Republican and therefore a serious hater, not happy with his own country because it's liberal. But since the US is getting less and less liberal, he just loves it here. Well, a little over a month and Canada can have him back again for half a year.

I'm excited that they've implemented Co-Pilot into Word and trying that out, only that feature doesn't seem to have been rolled out to me yet. I don't know if he was joking or not, but in his email, Tom said it was creepy to have Co-Pilot call him by his name when he was telling me about this feature. Why is it creepy? It's only using the names we used when we created the accounts. He’s probably joking but anyway, when I first opened Co-Pilot to ask how to add it, I got an Englishman who asked my name, and I just said Rainbow. I switched the voice to an American woman, and when we were done talking, she addressed me by my real name.

I have never had a rat smell this bad. We had multiple rats in a place half this size and it still didn't stink like this, so I think it has something to do with her aging hormones (we’ve mostly had males). It’s not her that smells but her pee. Between that and the fact that she can't get around as well, it's time to move her into the smaller cage so she can get around easier, and it should be less stinky, too. Now that I've had my coffee and my protein shake and woken up as much as I'm going to, I’m ready to get on with that.

[bestworstcase]

Hello! You've mentioned being a NanoWrimo veteran, and I was wondering if you had any advice for planning out your writing for the month? I was going to do an outline beforehand to prepare, but I'm not sure if that's authentic to the NanoWrimo spirit.

i am i’ve been doing nano most years with wildly variable success since i was fourteen. my best advice is:

start writing now.

not your actual nanowrimo project necessarily and not the 1.6k and change daily you’d need to ‘win’ but start writing every day right now. if i’m going into november from a dry spell i like to start with a daily goal of minimum 100-200 words for a week and then at the end of the week, set a new goal of a few hundred more than daily average. rinse repeat until you’re in the habit of writing a decent chunk every day. THE POINT OF THIS is to avoid hitting the “”two week wall“” which is a thing that happens because writing 1.6k+ words in a day is pretty easy but writing 1.6k+ words per day every day for a month is really hard if you don’t, you know. train for it.

you will get the most value out of nanowrimo if you think about it as a writing marathon. it’s difficult because it takes a level of endurance and discipline that you probably do not have unless you’re already a prolific daily writer.

outlining is in the spirit of nanowrimo and has always been part of the culture; some people outline extensively (‘planners’) some don’t (‘pantsers,’ as in writing by the seat of your pants), many fall somewhere in the middle. the only hard rule if you want the, like, pure nanowrimo experience as it was originally conceived is: don’t start writing the actual story until 12:01 AM on november first. you can have anything from zero plan to minutely detailed scene-by-scene notes for the entire novel locked and loaded, but on day one you open a blank document and start writing.

another thing i’d really recommend is trying to write over that 1.6k daily baseline. an extra 340 words per day for five days will net you a free day and those are nice to have in case you hit a day where you can’t write for whatever reason. it’s a lot less stressful to bank up extra words ahead of time than to miss a day or two and have to catch up.

if you don’t already have a process for turning off your inner editor, start trying to figure one out now. the temptation to delete and rewrite a paragraph dozens of times will bite you if you indulge it. try things like hiding your text so you can’t read it (set font and page to the same color, or use wingdings), try sprinting apps like write or die, stuff like that. you are trying to complete a rough draft. it’s okay for it to be rough.

lastly, use the time between now and november to figure out warm ups that work for you. these are quick, simple writing exercises separate from your wip that you do before every writing session. here are some that i like:

set a timer for five minutes and write continuously, stream of conscious, without stopping until the time’s up.

set a timer for five minutes and write a loose synopsis or ramble about the scene you plan to write: what happens, who’s in it, what subplots is it advancing, what pieces of foreshadowing or set up do you need to work in, what’s the emotional tone, etc.

pick an object in the room. spend five minutes describing it in exhaustive but simple detail. think “this cup is a tall red cylinder. it’s made of glass. there’s about a half-inch of clear glass at the bottom. the red is bright and saturated, firetruck red. it’s sitting on my desk with sunlight falling through it, casting a red shadow. there’s water in it with three ice cubes. the cup is about six inches tall.” <- you want a stream-of-conscious list of observations, basically.

use a random [name/setting/plot] generator and write 2-4 paragraphs of something stupid based on the output. just the silliest or most overwrought or edgiest grimdark or saccharine bullshit you can spew out.

take the last five hundred or so words of your last writing session. read them over. open a blank document and transcribe them word-for-word (or nearly, if you can change a word here and there without breaking stride). the idea is not to edit, but to write out a decent chunk of words quickly, without thinking much about what those words are. (i like to do another warmup and then this one and then just keep going when i hit the end of the chunk i’m transcribing.)

the idea is to preempt writer’s block by giving yourself 10-15 minutes of no thoughts head empty rapid-fire word vomit to get your brain on track and ready to go. warming up before your writing sessions will dramatically reduce the frequency of sudden creative paralysis when you sit down to write.

[symphonicsoul]

We're gunna talk about Mental Health right now and I'm going to get a little vulnerable but if helps someone, so be it. It's beneath a cut for screenshots of an app on my phone - so it doesn't get huge.

I know quite a few people on the dash who share in my life of living with either Bipolar 1 or 2. For context, I personally am Bipolar 2 - Rapid Cycling. This means I flip / bounce at least once a month. Sometimes more.

So to help my psych when they ask me how I've been doing I track my mood with an app called Daylio.

I'm not saying this is a be all end all. I'm saying this is what I do to help me and if it helps someone else, cool - then please let me give you the information you otherwise might not have had.

I struggle to remember things when I'm heavily stressed (like I am right now) so when I get asked how things have been having only the ability to see my psychiatrist once a month (I see psychology every other week but she doesn't control my medication.)

It's easier for me to show my psych a literal chart of my moods than it is to try to force myself to try to struggle to remember.

Dayilo looks like this:

and it can even show you up to three months at a time

logging a day looks like this

I also have apps for seizures, and my migraines but we're talking about this one right now. I only use the notes section for med changes / my monthly migraine shot / dr appts / significant things - but you can write as much as you want it and you can insert pictures if you'd like.

It'll give you a month summary when the month is up and it'll give you a full year summary when the year is over. I have it programmed to go off at 8 pm every day to remind me to log the day and I have consistently every day since 2018, so that's why the count is so high. It's changed the way I handle my moods and it also has shown me when I tend to drop in the month and helped me find a pattern in the mess that is my brain processing chemicals.

So if this helps you, please give it a try. The worse you can do is try it, not like it, and then delete it.

I have many things I live with beyond Bipolar 2 and I have spent many years scared that such things would run people away from me. I have high extreme lows and extreme highs. My highs can be manic bounciness or manic aggression and I tend to isolate when I know I'm aggression. I have hit psychosis in both mania and depression. I fight suicidal ideation. I have had to find people and things and hyperfixations to keep myself alive. I fight. Every day.

I'm not asking for your pity, nor do I want it. I'm just saying this so if someone else feels a little less alone out there, to know someone else is fighting too. I'm just saying this so if it can help, you have the information that might help you. I'm just saying this because I'm not ashamed of my fight. I struggle and I want to be open about that.

It's okay if you struggle too.

[paperw0rmz]

Complete guide to Flickr and why you should use it

bc I got some things wrong but it’s still a very good website that we should all use instead of Instagram

1: Flickr isn’t tied to Meta or any of that Facebook bullshit, from my knowledge it doesn’t share your contacts so no one will get a notification that you joined, it’s safer that way and more private than Instagram.

2: It’s built for photos. Instagram kills quality of photos, if you’re an artist, especially a digital one, uploading to Flickr would be way better for people to actually see detail and the color.

Going on with this because it’s built for photos, while it can host video, it doesn’t have TikTok/Reels and lives which is soooo nice. Like I don’t hate that stuff, but I like that Flickr isn’t trying to catch on the latest trends.

3: There isn’t likes. Flickr is mainly for sharing and LOOKING at photos. The most interaction you can get one on one is commenting, following, and favoriting. Favoriting is basically the public saves, no one really faves things on there unless it’s a recipe or for a reference or something.

4: Groups. Flickr does have an option for communities to make groups in where you can share similar interests MOST OF THESE ARE DEAD BUT WE CAN BRING THEM BACK!!! (IM BEGGING)

5: The bios are unlimited ( I think ), I copy and pasted the entire Bee Movie script three times along with my own bio that was already in there. I’m always pissed when I have to trim my bio, so bitches who like to put everything in their bio this website is for YOU

6: It’s in chronological order. Everything. You can even look up when certain posts where made by year, month, even fucking day. The archives of Flickr are so fucking fun.

7: Its not a contest. The main reason as to why I fucking hate Instagram (other than they took away chronological order and being able to see the recents under a tag) is that it focuses too much on “#aesthetic” even on the casual Instagram side people are still posing and trying to make an aesthetic of it. Flickr is just for photos you like, which yes can be aesthetic, but it’s mainly for daily life. You will see older people just posting what they are working on, maybe a cat they saw at the store, nothing planned. Just a quick unprompted click.

8: Organization, Flickr let’s you have Albums which is where you can organize all your photos in much like Pinterest. Most do it by year but others do it by topic too.

9: You can upload photos in bulk. You don’t have to upload them one by one, or at a limit of ten, you can upload a FUCK ton of photos at once.

10: if you don’t like ads and want more storage space, the pro version is extremely cheap compared to Netflix. Netflix without ads is fucking $15.49 and Flickr is $8.25 a month. There are also two other payment plans if that’s still too much for you.

11: It allowed adult content. In like. Every form. Enough said

CONS

1: You can’t DM (this is not a con to me and I hate when people complain about this just fucking use a email it is so fun to email people please for the love of god)

2: You can only upload 1,000 images before you run out of space. (You can always delete images later, I personally like to delete images at new years for a fresh start and archive them somewhere else)

3: it’s dead. No one really uses it.

4: to upload your bio you have to use a desktop version of the app.

THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE SWITCH TO FLICKR AND SHARE THIS SO WE CAN START TO REVIVE OLD PLATFORMS TO SAVE THEM TO REBEL AGAINST META AND THIS NEW AGE OF CREATING SOCIAL MEDIA APPS AND SHIT

[imraespace]

‼️ before reading this i just wanna let you know i yapped so hard during this and i never realized how long this was until i started rereading im so sorry. i hope everything i said makes sense </3 ‼️

ohymogsh thank you for suggesting sae w mala by 6ix9ine bc you just gave me the most brilliant idea ever omg

ALSO OMG U ALSO EDIT/EDITED OMG YAYAYAY i wanna learn how to do like yk those complex transitions w them cubes and all that bc they look so cool but im so scared ill mess them up and its gonna look so bummy 💔

I ANIMATE/TWEEN AS WELL but i use the term animate more bc the term tweening reminds me of gacha life tweening tutorial and my gacha phase was something thats for sure..!

im lowkey considering to like stop editing and start writing stories or create smaus because it takes so long to animate and i cant really do anything else except a simple zoom in/out ☹️

ive been trying to tween this one kaiser fanart and i never realized how bad kaisers hair was until i was erasing each layer of hair for 12 hours AND IM STILL SOMEHOW NOT DONE?? I STARTED THIS ABOUT A MONTH AGO TOO. i have beef w ness now cuz he couldve just gave this guy a bob cut and my life would have been so much easier >:(

i apologize that i never stop talking bc once i start talking about something im interested in i just somehow never stop BUT IM GLAD WE HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON OTHER THAN OUR LOVE OF BLUELOCK !!

- 🐙

LMAO ITS OKAY once i start yapping i cant stop as well

ALSO YIPPEE IM GLAD YOU LIKED IT!!

ABT THE COMPLEX TRANSITIONS I REALLY WANNA LEARN THOSE AS WELL i went looking at my old edits and realized i didnt even have a certain style it was all over the place LMAO i mostly edit during my genshin phase and i swear one day it was a cute yoimiya edit then next it was a depressing albedo edit that looks wayy different..

i say you should do what you want to rn like i had fun editing for while until i got bored then randomly i made a book on wattpad and it was fun to do so now im here writing for fun! ive gotten the feeling to edit a few times before but i realized how TIME CONSUMING IT IS LIKE WITH WHAT YOU SAID WITH KAISER IT TOOK ME A WHOLE MONTH TO MAKE A WHOLE EDIT WITH JUST TWEENING.

and DONT GET ME STARTED ON WHEN YOU FINISHED CROPPING THE INDIVIDUAL PARTS AND PLACE IT IN THE EDITING APP you realized you missed something out or theres a noticeable spot you forgot to hide(esp for the hair) it makes me wanna just delete everything

i think ness was feeling a bit goofy when he did kaiser haircut bc his rat tails in the back of his head is kinda funny.. i wouldve just made kaiser bald and do the edit just like that for funsies

ALSO SAMEE i cant stop talking if its something im interested in AND YIPEPE WE GOT TWO(hehehe three if you count our non stop blabbering) IN COMMON

whatever you choose to do with the editing or writing just have fun with it and you can always go back to the other one if you want!

WAIT I FORGOT TO SAY THIS HELP I HAD A GACHA PHASE AS WELL I HAD A YT CHANNEL AND SADLY I DELETED EVERYTHING BC I WANTED TO WATCH MY CRINGE VIDEOS BUT ITS ALL GONE. but ya!