#screaming into the void that is dating apps

[witchescollection]

literally why is dating so hard... where are the polyamorous pagans??? i know they exist!!

[swordsonnet]

.

[judasofsuburbia]

when renee rapp said "i just want some recognition for having good tits and a big heart"...... yeah</3

[nintendc64]

why is trying to form human connections as an adult just an impossible task. both reaching out to old friends and trying to make new ones. am I doing something wrong

[branches-in-a-flood]

Has anyone used the Her app recently?

Does it still suck?

Please gods help me I am dying here

[mybonesaremadeofstone]

Why my brain gotta be difficult? I wanna partner but I dont wanna go through dating/having a partner process. I just wanna be known and loved and know and love in return but like fuck dating.

[outerspacious]

It’s as if … these men don’t even want to talk to me

[seeveekat]

Why are people still weird about asexuals in the year 2023???

[endofthelinegang]

void where prohibited

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  bob reynolds x fem!reader, the void x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ dating Bob Reynolds was never supposed to be this complicated — or this good. Between inside jokes, forehead kisses, and late-night takeout picnics in your apartment, life with the quiet, awkward man is weirdly perfect. That is, until a cosmic horror wearing his face appears in your living room, monologues about your “foolish warmth,” and threatens to consume you. Turns out, dating a man who moonlights as The Void comes with some very weird side effects.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i have too much fun on this app. 

You weren’t entirely sure you were supposed to fall for him. He was weird, you were also a little strange, but was very backward. In that endearingly awkward,“sometimes I stare at the moon for an hour without blinking while I listen to you talk” type of weird.  A little too tall for your furniture, a little too quiet when something was heavy on his mind, which — spoiler alert — was all the time.

But then there’d be nights like this. When he showed up at your door with a bag of takeout in one hand and a stack of your favorite candy in the other, grinning like he’d just committed a small crime.

“You said you had a bad day,” he shrugged, like that explained the outrageous number of peanut butter cups.

And it did.

That’s the kind of boyfriend he was.

Not flowers or poetry, well sometimes, but normally it was forehead kisses, Netflix documentaries, stupid shit sent back and forth more than texts, and a log of phone calls that lasted anywhere from two minutes of him telling you he was coming over to hours where he just wanted to talk. Most of what the two of you did was just between the two of you, especially your jokes, like how you called him “Moon Man” when he spaced out too hard, or how he teased you about your inability to pronounce “gyro” no matter how many times he corrected you. It was good. Weird, but good.

And neither of you talked much about what he did when he wasn’t here. There was no reason to pry; he was always safe and always came back in one clean and uninjured piece. That was all that mattered to you. 

You liked it that way, you liked tonight. 

It started perfectly. You and Bob. Chinese takeout. Netflix is playing something aggressively bad but ironically good after mutually choosing just to let Netflix pick. He was half-asleep against your shoulder, his hair sticking up in a hundred directions like he’d wrestled with a pillow and lost. He was just as cuddly as he always was. 

Then the headache hit him. He mumbled something about pressure and the room spinning. You promised him that going to bed was an excellent idea and that you would clean up. He kissed your temple and trudged to the bedroom like a man with rocks in his head. You figured: nap. Maybe ibuprofen. No big deal.

You stayed behind, cleaning up the living room picnic, humming along to a Hozier song that was finally getting to the bridge and swiping dumpling containers into a bag, grabbing rogue fortune cookies off the floor.  And then… the air changed. Not colder. Heavier. Like the walls sucked in as the light itself pulled away. It felt like how people describe feeling a presence, a ghost. To be suddenly nervous and feel sick, and not be able to think or focus on what was going on or what you were doing. And then the voice.

“You… are not one of them.” You froze and stopped singing. Slowly turned. And there, standing in the middle of your goddamn living room, was The Void. Not Bob. Bob-shaped, sure. Same height. Same broad shoulders. But everything else was gone. No color, no texture — a moving silhouette, blacker than black with those unholy glowing eyes staring straight into you.

You screamed. Loud, primal, half-choked. And grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine off the table. You threw it. It passed through him like mist. Like he wasn’t there at all.

“WHAT THE HELL,” you gasped jumping up onto the couch, grabbing a couch pillow and hurling it at the thing. It passed straight through him like mist. 

“You do not belong here,” The Void said, tilting his head like some cosmic crow considering roadkill.

“YOU DON’T BELONG HERE, SHADOW MAN. I LIVE HERE. YOU DON’T.” You ran around on the couch and tripped over the armrest before landing back on the floor. He didn’t move his lower body, just his head, as he observed your behavior. 

“This space is… vulnerable. Fragile. Why… does he keep you?” He was rubbing his hands along the furniture that was nearest him. 

You grabbed a candle, a nice cinnamon vanilla in a glass container next to the small table that sat right in front of the couch,  “BECAUSE I’M CHARMING AND I KNOW HOW TO MAKE MOZZARELLA STICKS IN THE AIR FRYER.” You were yelling at him like you had never yelled at anyone before. As a child, you were warned about strangers and possible break-ins, but by humans, not this. 

The Void glided a step closer to where you were scrambling up off the floor, chucking the candle at him, again went right threw him into the wall behind him, making a hole and shattering the glass.  

“You… are soft. Loud. Reckless. And yet…”  You were crawling backward at this point, not being able to keep your balance, and now, if you ran past him successfully, there was a glass hazard. He seemed to almost be sucking the light from the room the closer he was getting. 

“AND YET NOTHING, BITCH. BACK. IT. UP.” You swung your arms at him until you hit a wall that kept the living room and the kitchen separate. You were breathing so hard you felt like you had gone on a real run, and somehow you were not shaking, but you were feeling hot. Not a good type of hot, more like you are going to throw up. No point if you puked on him, it would go through onto your floor and you would have to clean it. 

He ignored you, “He feels… safer with you.”

You stared, no longer capable of blinking or doing any real bodily function, before puffing out words quickly. “DID YOU JUST… wait, what… did you just call me Bob’s emotional support person?”

Another step, you look to your left and your right. Nothing to defend yourself with, not even a shoe. Bob had so politely taken his off at the door, and yours were slung everywhere else. 

“You carry light. Hope. A foolish warmth.” The Void’s voice lowered, like static stretching inside your skull. “It is… unsettling.”

“Good, I hope YOU get a migraine.” You started using your hands to feel the back of the wall to get yourself standing again. Your legs felt like water slipping and sliding everywhere, and the paint on the wall felt bumpy against your fingertips.

The Void leaned in, his hand grazing your wrist and taking your hand off the wall. He was suddenly solid but cold likeconcrete covered in a thick ice, what you would only imagine being buried at the bottom of the ocean felt like. His skin didn’t even feel like skin, it felt almost like a statue. 

“Oh god gross,” you yelped, closing your eyes and hitting the wall with your other hand. You gagged a bit thinking about how somehow his hands were solid matter but not the middle of him. 

“You are… interesting.” His fingers coasted up into your palm, feeling all of the ridges before he moved onto your fingers; they felt so pleasant against his. 

You gawked. “Who says that to a stranger? I don’t know if this is considered a home invasion, but it sure seems like one.” He let go of your hand but took another step forward. He smelled of nothing, and his lack of body heat did not even come off of him. He was nothing. 

“He loves you.” You froze and now fully faced him, it was hard to tell if he or it was lying, but then again, why would he? 

“…Okay. Now you’re just making shit up.” You tried calling his bluff as he looked down at you with his arms now behind his back, his head was tipped again. 

“It is not my place to lie.” You took steps to the left and got away from your proximity, or at least you thought, but he followed you. 

“That’s convenient, because it’s MY place to freak the hell out, so—” you pointed dramatically at the hallway. “GET. OUT.” You ran into the kitchen, barely avoiding the wall, and he ran right behind you, just much more gracefully. He watched as you started moving things around as if to mimic busy work.  

“I would consume you if I could.” He was standing right next to you now, both of you in front of the sink that was empty of all dishes thanks to the takeout. 

“WHAT THE HELL?” You pulled the hose from the sink and sprayed in his direction just to see it land right past him onto the bar. This is what giving up must feel like. You fixed it back like you had not just done that embarrassing thing.  The Void sighed. A soft, cosmic kind of sigh,

“You fear me.”

“Oh? What gives you that impression?” You leaned your back against the sink blinking quickly at him hoping that pretending to not be so scared would get you anywhere but here. 

He regarded you in silence, those terrible eyes narrowing slightly, “That… is wise.”

Then, without a sound, the suffocating black peeled away not before blinding you, and the pressure lifted like a switch being thrown. You opened your eyes taking in a huge deep breath, and standing there, rubbing his face, hair a mess, looking painfully human and confused, was Bob.

“Babe?” he croaked, bleary-eyed. “Why is this wet?” He had stumbled back and put his hand on the bar where there had been water sprayed there by you. 

You blinked and then blinked again. Then you resorted to rubbing your eyes, and when Bob didn’t react other than just looking at you like you were worrying him you stepped forward. You touched his face and his hair and just whispered, 

“Warm.”

Bob nodded, “Yeah that uh big comforter you got from the department store that opened a few weeks ago is warm. I mean. It keeps you warm.” He smiled and furrowed his eyebrows as you continued to run your hands pretty much everywhere with exposed skin. 

“Did I ever come to bed?” You genuinely were no longer sure what had happened or what was real and what wasn’t. A nightmare maybe? One that was real but not real. You were now having what can only be described as shakes. 

Bob held onto your arms and let you keep your hands on him, “What did you say? I didn’t understand that.” You had spoken so quietly and so shaken that it didn’t even sound like words. 

“My pupils are the same.” Stroke you thought, maybe it was your brain's fault. He shook his head yes as he leaned downreally looking just to be sure. 

“Okay… so, pancakes in the morning?” You coughed out quickly choosing to not share your delusions with Bob and just slip into bed with him and spend the night together. Just finish the good night you had been having and pretend none of this happened. 

“Yeah sure, we can tag team breakfast if you want.” You just smiled and nodded before walking and switching sides with him so he wouldn’t see the huge mess the living room was in all the while you had three thoughts: 

I am going to have to fake a break-in or clean tomorrow morning and schedule a psychiatric appointment…

[brookghaib-blog]

Almost Loved - IV

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Four months of dates, gave Y/N hope that she found the one after hopeless years, Bob looks in love, treats beautiful. There's one step that looks like it's coming. Until Bob breaks it off with her. Encountering each other a year and an half later. What happened ?

Word count: 7,3k

--

Bob hadn’t stopped searching.

Not after seeing her in that grocery store aisle. Not after watching her run from him like he was something cruel. Something venomous. Not after Serena’s glare—sharp enough to slice open his chest—and definitely not after the sleepless nights that followed, where he lay in his cot at the Watchtower with her name echoing through his thoughts like a ghost he couldn’t exorcize.

He’d ruined everything.

But even if she never wanted to see him again, even if she screamed in his face and told him she hated him, he just wanted—needed—to see her one more time. Just one more time. He told himself it was just to apologize. Just to explain. Just to say goodbye properly, even if she didn’t owe him the time of day.

It started with him walking blocks around the neighborhood where the market was. He kept hoping maybe she lived nearby. Maybe she was just walking home, or grabbing coffee, or picking up dry cleaning—anything that would bring her into his line of sight again.

Days passed. Nothing.

He sat in cafes longer than any sane person would. Tried bookstores. Rooftop bars. Vintage markets on the weekends. Coffee spots with house plants and sad jazz playing on vinyl—places he remembered she liked in Florida. Places that felt like her. Warm and soft and kind.

Nothing.

Bob would return to the Watchtower most nights with sore feet and raw hope. And each night, he’d open his notes app, just in case he got lucky. Just in case he could jot down what he’d say if he saw her.

It always started the same.

"Hi. I'm sorry."

But after that, the words collapsed into dust. What could he say? That he had been so deep in addiction, he didn’t even trust himself around her anymore? That every time she held him, he felt both loved and unworthy? That he’d convinced himself that walking away would protect her—even when it tore him to pieces?

He thought about texting Serena. Or even Yelena again—maybe she’d found something, anything. But after Serena’s reaction, after the way her eyes had narrowed with so much fury, like he wasn’t even worth speaking to, he didn’t dare.

Instead, he’d started writing. Tiny pieces of her etched into scraps of paper, coffee receipts, his palm sometimes. He wrote down the way she used to hum while pouring her coffee. The way her head tilted when she was reading and completely immersed. The smell of her shampoo on his pillow. The sound of her laughter when he told the dumbest joke and it still landed.

All those tiny things that made a person real—and now felt impossibly far away.

He kept searching.

One day, while walking past a library tucked into a quiet street, he paused. It had vines curling up the stone and a wooden sign that swayed in the breeze. It looked like the kind of place Y/N would fall in love with.

He stepped inside, scanning the aisles like a ghost searching for a memory.

She wasn’t there.

But he stood still for a long time anyway, hand resting on the spine of a book she would’ve picked. Something poetic. Something sad. Maybe she wasn’t in New York for books or coffee or parties or exploration at all. Maybe she was here for work. School. Something he never asked about. Because back then, he was too busy hiding everything about himself.

He never asked what she wanted to be.

And that thought hit him like a truck.

How much he never got to know.

The last time they spoke, really spoke, was the night she’d kissed his forehead and told him she believed in him.

And he repaid her with silence. With a block. With a void.

She had looked at him like he was the sun.

And he had convinced himself he was the eclipse.

He ran from her. And now he didn’t even know where to look anymore.

Still, he kept walking. Past bakeries and bookstores and the kinds of flower shops she would’ve dragged him into just to smell the peonies. Every time he saw a scarf that looked like hers, or a shape of her in a crowd, his heart would thud painfully against his ribs.

Every woman with soft eyes and tired shoulders felt like her. And none of them were.

And yet…

He kept hoping.

Because he needed to see her one more time. Just once.

Even if she only gave him a single second. Even if she looked through him like he was a ghost.

He would take it.

He would take anything.

--

They had been walking for hours.

Another Sunday slipping through the cracks of Bob’s tired fingers—another day swallowed whole by the noise and endless streets of New York City. It had rained that morning, and the sidewalks were still damp, reflecting the sky like mirrors. The weight of failure clung to Bob’s shoulders like a soaked coat.

Yelena walked a few steps ahead of him, scanning every face they passed. She was still hopeful, still talking, still asking questions. But Bob’s pace had slowed. He kept looking at the ground, like maybe she'd appear there in a reflection or footprint.

"Come on," Yelena said gently, tossing him a look over her shoulder. “We’ll try the upper side next.”

Bob sighed, stuffing his cold hands into his coat pockets. “She’s not up there, either.”

“You don’t know that,” she replied, nudging him. “We haven’t even tried half the neighborhoods yet.”

Bob shook his head, jaw tightening. “Yelena… she’s gone. She left Florida. Left me. She probably found someone else. Someone who isn’t a disaster.”

Yelena stopped walking, standing in front of him. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Quit when it’s hard.” Her voice dropped lower. “She didn’t quit on you, Bob. You left her. You walked away.”

He winced. She wasn’t wrong.

“I just…” Bob swallowed, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t want her to watch me kill myself slowly. And I was. Back then, I didn’t care if I woke up the next morning.”

Yelena’s face softened.

“She looked at me like I was something good. And every time I used, it felt like I was spitting on that. I didn’t want her to see me fall apart.”

He leaned against the edge of a brick wall near a deli, staring across the street without really seeing it.

“I thought if I could just look at her one more time—just once—I could explain. Or apologize. Or I don’t know… get closure. But now? Now I think I just wanted to see if she was okay. If she was happier without me. Because part of me…” He hesitated. “Part of me thinks she moved here to be with someone else. That maybe she found what she deserved.”

Yelena folded her arms. “Do you think she would’ve run from you at the store if she was so happy?”

That shut him up.

“She looked at you like she’d seen a ghost, Bob,” Yelena continued, gentler now. “Not like someone who’s over you.”

He glanced away.

Yelena kept pressing, thoughtful. “You said she liked books. Art. Thai food. That little bakery with the painted walls. You said she used to paint when she was anxious.”

“Yeah,” Bob said quietly, a smile flickering and dying on his face. “She used to come home with paint under her nails. She’d say she blacked out for hours doing landscapes or trying to recreate old family photos. She had this thing for recreating old photos in color…”

“And places?” Yelena asked. “What kind of places did she love? Where did she go when she wanted to be alone?”

Bob blinked. “That could be anywhere.”

Yelena frowned. “Come on. Something that made her happy. Something that was hers.”

Bob thought for a moment, raking a hand through his hair.

“Well, she loved skating.”

Yelena looked up. “Like ice skating?”

“Yeah. She was good. Like… really good. She used to dream about going pro. But money was always tight growing up, and she didn’t have the connections, so it never happened. She gave it up… but every winter, every time there was an open rink, she’d go. Even alone. She said the cold air made her feel weightless. Free. She loved the way it made time stop.”

Yelena’s eyes lit up.

Bob noticed. “What?”

“Why the hell haven’t we been looking at skating rinks?”

He blinked. “I don’t—”

“She’s someone who holds onto things. Old dreams. Old love. She’s sentimental.” Yelena snapped her fingers. “It’s winter. It’s Sunday. She’s not at home. And she’s sad. Where would you go if you were trying to find a piece of yourself again?”

Bob’s stomach tightened.

The rink.

Maybe she would be there, just skating in circles, trying to outrun the noise in her head.

“Let’s go,” Yelena said, already walking again. “There are at least four rinks within twenty blocks. We’ll start with the biggest one.”

Bob hesitated.

His heart was pounding now. Hope was dangerous.

But he started moving anyway.

At the first rink, she wasn’t there. Just kids with red noses and giggling parents trying to balance on skates.

The second was a smaller indoor one. Couples. Teenagers. No one with soft hair and lonely eyes.

The third was closed.

Yelena cursed in Russian under her breath.

They walked quietly to the fourth.

The sun was setting. The air colder. Bob’s stomach ached, nerves twisting through him like barbed wire.

“What if we don’t find her?” he asked softly.

Yelena looked at him.

“Then we try again next weekend.”

--

The rink was nearly empty.

It was late—past the hour when families came to laugh and fall together, past the time when teenagers came to flirt and skate clumsily under string lights. Now, it was just a scattering of people: a couple holding hands near the center, two friends taking selfies by the sideboards, a father showing his little girl how to glide.

And her.

Bob stopped walking the moment he saw her.

She was alone in the center, weaving through slow, careful turns, arms curved in practiced precision. Her body moved like muscle memory—graceful, sharp, elegant. She wore all black: a tight-fitting jumpsuit that hugged her frame, hair pulled back into a bun, face glowing with the heat of focus. Headphones covered her ears, and whatever music she was listening to seemed to be pulling her into another world entirely.

A world he wasn’t part of.

Yelena, beside him, stopped too. She looked at Bob and saw the way his face changed—how something in his chest cracked, right there in front of her. Without a word, she nudged him gently toward the stands.

He obeyed.

Bob took a seat on the second row, cold metal under him. He didn’t notice. His eyes were glued to the ice.

To her.

She skated in circles, sometimes faster, sometimes slow—spinning once, catching herself, correcting. She didn’t notice them at all. She was deep in it—whatever rhythm, whatever pain, whatever escape she’d come here to find, it had swallowed her whole.

Bob watched her with the ache of someone who used to know that body. Who used to trace the line of her back as she curled into sleep. Who used to kiss the spot on her shoulder where the freckles started. Who used to come home to her, used to make her laugh, used to believe he had all the time in the world.

Now she was just… skating.

Free. Untouchable. Like a memory too beautiful to hold.

His throat tightened. His eyes burned.

“I used to watch her do this,” he whispered to Yelena, not taking his eyes off the rink. “Back in Florida, whenever it got cold enough for the seasonal rink, she’d go. Alone. She said the ice was the only place her body didn’t feel heavy. Like she didn’t have to carry anything.”

Yelena was quiet beside him.

Bob let out a breath.

“She told me once she felt like she was made for it. That if life had been fair, if she hadn’t been through everything she had, she would’ve been a skater. A real one. Olympic-level. But… she never had the chance. So she skated alone. In empty rinks. Like this.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek.

He pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to pull himself back together. Trying not to fall apart.

Yelena placed a silent hand on his arm.

Bob looked up again, and she was still there—gliding, spinning. Completely unaware.

“She looks okay,” he murmured.

“She looks alone,” Yelena corrected.

Bob’s stomach twisted. “Do you think she’s happy?”

“I think she’s trying to be,” she said softly. “Just like you.”

He nodded, lips pressed tight.

Then—almost like it was part of the music only she could hear—Y/N slowed. Her body eased into a graceful stop. She exhaled, pushing a hand through the top of her bun to wipe sweat from her temple. She turned, breathing heavily, taking in the now mostly empty rink with a kind of detachment. The kind of glance people give a room when they aren’t really expecting to find anything in it.

But then her eyes met his.

Bob froze.

Everything else in the rink—the lights, the cold, the chatter of skates on ice—disappeared.

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted just slightly.

She ripped her headphones off.

She didn’t move at first. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, skates rooted, like the ice had locked her in place.

He stood up slowly, not knowing what to do with his hands. They trembled at his sides.

Her expression was unreadable—shock, disbelief, maybe even fear. Her chest rose and fell fast from the exertion of skating, or maybe from the way her heart was racing.

Bob tried to breathe.

He had rehearsed this in his head a thousand times.

But now? Now there were no words.

Only her.

The girl he left behind. The girl he loved.

The girl who looked at him now like a ghost had walked into her sanctuary and shattered the quiet peace she had fought tooth and nail to build.

Her hand flew to her chest.

And then she turned.

She skated off the ice as fast as she could.

Bob panicked. “Y/N—!”

She grabbed her coat, not bothering to untie her skates, slipping off into the locker area.

Bob moved instinctively. But Yelena grabbed his arm.

“Give her a second,” she said gently. “Just a second.”

He stood there, heart thudding, hands shaking.

Was this it? Had he just ruined the one place she had left that felt like hers?

“I just needed to see her,” Bob whispered.

--

Y/N staggered into the locker room, the skates clattering awkwardly on the rubber floor beneath her feet. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as she collapsed against the wall, back pressed hard to the cool tile.

Her heart was racing.

Her fingers clawed at the zipper of her jacket, pulling it halfway down before she stopped. Her eyes were burning. Her throat was tight.

She had seen him.

Bob.

After everything—after nights spent crying on the kitchen floor, after burning every picture, after the endless therapy sessions and bitter silences and “I’m fine” lies—he just showed up. Just like that.

Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, arms locked around them. Her forehead rested there, her breath still ragged, like she’d just skated for her life and lost.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to run back out there and hit him. Or kiss him. Or beg him to explain why he left. All of it. But she stayed where she was, paralyzed between rage and longing, spiraling like the blade of her skate.

She didn’t hear him at first—not until his quiet footsteps echoed through the tiled room.

She looked up.

And there he was.

Bob stood in the doorway of the women's locker room, tall, nervous, small in a way he never looked before. The kind of small that came from shame, not size. He wasn’t wearing a suit or his usual jacket—just a hoodie, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. He looked older, somehow. Softer. A little broken around the edges.

“I know I shouldn’t be in here,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “But I… I couldn’t leave.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. Her throat clenched.

“I saw you out there, and—I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” he continued, stepping further in, cautious like he might scare her off.

She stayed curled up on the floor, eyes locked on him with a look that could melt concrete. He didn’t flinch. He deserved that.

“I didn’t plan this,” he said. “I didn’t even know you were in New York. But when I saw you in that grocery store a few weeks ago, I—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

He swallowed, hands trembling at his sides.

“I messed up, Y/N. I messed up everything.”

She finally spoke, her voice sharp and raw. “No shit.”

Bob nodded, absorbing the venom like he expected it. Maybe even needed it.

“I owe you more than an apology,” he said. “But that’s all I have right now. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You left me, Bob. No explanation. No warning. You just… disappeared.”

He took a shaky step closer, hands out like he was trying not to startle her. “I know.”

“You broke me,” she hissed, the tears finally spilling over. “You made me believe I was finally safe. That someone could love me without taking something from me. And then you took everything.”

Bob’s lip trembled. “I was using. Heavily. I was spiraling and lying and hiding it from you because I didn’t want you to see me like that. I couldn’t hold a job. I was stealing. I was close to doing things I can’t even speak aloud. And you… you were clean. You were trying. You were building something. I felt like a stain on your life.”

“You were my life,” she whispered.

Bob’s breath caught.

Y/N wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “I thought I did something wrong. I stayed on that couch for hours, waiting for a call or a message—anything. I thought maybe you got hurt, maybe something happened. But no. You just blocked me. Like I was nothing.”

“You were never nothing,” he said immediately. “You were the only good thing I ever had. But I didn’t think I deserved you. I didn’t think I ever would.”

Y/N stood up slowly, arms still wrapped around herself, skates making her posture unsteady. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to take me from me.”

He didn’t speak. He just nodded again, eyes brimming with pain.

“I spent months trying to rebuild myself,” she said. “And you know what made it worse? I didn’t even get to hate you properly. I missed you. I still miss you. Even after all of it.”

“I missed you too,” Bob whispered. “Every second. Every day. I kept telling myself I was doing the right thing. That you were better off. But I was lying.”

He took another step closer.

“I got clean,” he said. “I’ve been clean for a while now. I’m not who I was. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even know why I’m here, other than… I couldn’t go one more day not telling you how sorry I am. Not telling you I never stopped loving you.”

Y/N’s voice cracked. “Do you think that makes it better?”

“No,” he said. “But I hope it means something.”

She looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time in years. He was different. Older. Sober. Tired. But the eyes were the same. The mouth that had kissed every inch of her skin. The hands that used to hold her like a lifeline.

And she was still angry. Still shattered.

But she was also still in love.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she just asked, softly: “Why now?”

Bob stepped closer, now just feet away.

“Because you were the only thing in my life I ever got right. And I couldn’t let you be the one thing I also gave up on.”

She closed her eyes, tears spilling again.

And then, slowly, she leaned forward and let her forehead rest against his chest.

He didn’t move. Just breathed her in, one hand hovering near her back like he was scared to touch her, like he was scared she’d disappear if he held too tight.

“I don’t know what this means,” she whispered.

“Me neither,” he whispered back. “But I’m here. I’m really here.”

She let herself cry there—silent, trembling, wrapped in the scent of the man she had loved and lost.

They stayed there in silence for a long time—Y/N pressed against Bob’s chest, his heartbeat thudding softly beneath her ear like it was trying to speak the words he hadn’t yet said. She wasn’t sure how long she let herself rest there, taking in the familiarity of him, the warmth she hadn’t felt in so long. But then the silence grew heavy. And the questions, the ones that had lived rent-free in her chest for over a year, started clawing their way out.

She stepped back.

He looked at her—worried, gentle, waiting.

Y/N’s voice cracked, her words hushed but sharp: “Why didn’t you tell me, Bob?”

His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came. She pressed on.

“You were using. Fine. I didn’t know. I get that. But why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to find out from someone else?”

He looked down at the ground, swallowing hard.

“Because I was ashamed,” he said. “Because I thought if you knew, you’d see me differently. You’d look at me like I was broken. Like everyone else always had.”

“I never saw you like that,” she snapped. “You were the one good thing in my life too. And you didn’t trust me enough to let me in?”

“It wasn’t about trust,” he said, eyes rising to meet hers, pleading. “It was about me. I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t face what I was becoming. I was spiraling, Y/N. Lying, stealing, taking pills just to function. I looked in the mirror and didn’t see someone you could love. I saw someone who was going to ruin you.”

Her jaw clenched. “But you did ruin me, Bob. Just in a different way.”

He looked shattered, like her words had physically knocked the wind out of him.

“I was fighting so hard to stay sober,” she said. “For you. For us. I thought we were building something—something real. You could’ve told me the truth. I wouldn’t have run.”

Bob’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “I know. I know that now. But I didn’t back then. I wasn’t sober. I wasn’t rational. I was drowning. And I thought if I held onto you any longer, I’d drag you down with me.”

“And now?” Her voice was quieter now, rawer. “Why are you here now, after all this time? Why didn’t you call before? Why not when you got clean? Why not when you moved to New York—”

Bob flinched.

She stared at him. “You moved to New York, and you never once tried to find me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “After what I did. I figured… you were better off. And then I saw you again, and—God, Y/N, I panicked. I wasn’t ready.”

“And you’re ready now?” she asked, her arms folding tightly around herself. “Now that I’ve spent a year trying to glue myself back together without you? Now that I’m almost okay?”

Bob’s eyes were red now. His breathing uneven. “I don’t know if I’m ready. But I know I can’t keep pretending like you don’t exist. Like I didn’t leave the best thing that ever happened to me because I was a coward.”

Y/N turned away from him, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

“I needed you,” she whispered. “Back then, I needed you. And you left. Without even giving me the chance to fight for you.”

Bob stepped forward, slowly, like every inch hurt. “I know. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

She stayed facing the wall, still trembling. “You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened.”

“I’m not asking to.”

“Then why are you here, Bob?”

His voice cracked. “Because I still love you.”

She closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“I still love you,” he repeated. “And maybe I don’t deserve to say that. Maybe I never will. But I had to try. I had to see you again. I had to look in your eyes one more time and tell you what I should’ve said a year ago.”

She turned around, slow and shaky, her eyes red and wet and tired.

“You should’ve said, ‘I need help.’ Not, ‘Goodbye.’”

Bob’s shoulders sank like a weight had been dropped on him. “I know.”

They stood there, staring at each other across the space that still separated them—close enough to touch, but far enough that everything unsaid echoed in the air between them.

“I don’t know what happens now,” she whispered.

“Me neither,” he said. “But I’ll wait. However long it takes. If all I can be is someone who reminds you that you were loved, I’ll take that.”

She didn’t answer.

--

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, blanket over her legs, a mug of untouched tea in her hands. The late evening sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden lines across her face — but her eyes were glassy, far away. She’d told Serena everything. Every word Bob said. Every tear. Every tremble in his voice. Every I still love you that shattered her to her core.

And now, silence.

Serena sat beside her, one leg tucked under the other, still trying to process it all.

“So,” Serena finally said, her voice gentle, “he really said all that?”

Y/N nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the tea she hadn’t sipped.

Serena let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I know.”

“I mean… I didn’t even know the man could be that honest.”

Y/N gave a weak, humorless smile. “Me neither.”

Serena sat back against the cushion, arms crossed loosely, eyes on her best friend. “So. What now?”

Y/N blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want him back?”

“I don’t know.”

Serena tilted her head. “Y/N…”

“I don’t know,” she said, louder this time. Her hands trembled around the mug. “Part of me wants to scream at him until my throat goes raw. For leaving. For lying. For making me think I did something wrong. But then—” she swallowed thickly, “then there’s this other part that… that wants to forgive him. That wants to believe he meant it. That he’s really changed.”

Serena stayed quiet, giving her space.

“I mean, he’s sober now,” Y/N murmured. “He looked better. He sounded like himself. The version of him I fell in love with. But I don’t know if that’s real. Or if I’m just projecting the version I want to see again.”

Serena’s voice was soft. “Y/N, you don’t owe him anything.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to set yourself on fire just because he found his match again.”

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, and the tears finally spilled.

“It’s not that simple,” she whispered. “I loved him. God, I loved him. I still do. And yeah, I didn’t know what he was going through, but how could I have? He didn’t let me in. He made that choice for both of us. He walked away and took the closure with him.”

Serena’s eyes softened. “And now he’s handing it back to you?”

Y/N shook her head. “Now he’s giving me more questions. Now I’m stuck between forgiving him or protecting myself. Do I trust that this new version of him is going to stay? Or do I walk away and spend the rest of my life wondering what might’ve happened if I’d just said yes?”

Serena placed a hand over hers. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“But it feels like I do,” Y/N whispered. “Because I know Bob. I know how much shame he carries. If I don’t reach out soon, he’ll think I’m done. And maybe I should be done. But then I think of him standing there, crying, saying he still loved me and—God, Serena—it’s like my heart is screaming.”

Her voice broke. “But I’m tired of breaking first. I’m tired of loving people who leave. And if I let him back in and he walks away again… I don’t think I could survive that.”

Serena squeezed her hand, her eyes damp too. “Then don’t do it for him. Do it for you. Whatever choice brings you peace.”

Y/N stared ahead, jaw tight, heart thudding.

“I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.”

“It’ll come,” Serena whispered. “Maybe not tonight. But soon.”

Y/N closed her eyes and leaned her head against Serena’s shoulder, tears still slipping quietly down her cheeks.

The silence lingered between them for a few minutes, broken only by the soft ticking of the kitchen clock and the occasional clink of Y/N’s spoon against her mug. Serena kept watching her, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of the throw blanket covering their legs.

Then, with a slow grin tugging at the corner of her lips, she said, “Hey… do you remember that night out in Florida? When we all went to that shitty karaoke bar on the beach?”

Y/N blinked and looked up, her brows furrowed.

Serena smirked. “You were wearing that red sundress, the one that made Bob forget how to function. I swear, the man looked like he had just been tasered.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, lips twitching. “Oh my God, yes. He walked into a pole.”

Serena snorted. “Deadass. We were all watching that bachelorette party doing shots, and Bob just… bam. Forehead to metal. And then pretended he meant to lean on it.”

Y/N giggled despite herself, eyes gleaming with the shimmer of past joy and fresh sadness. “And then he tried to sing that Elton John song, remember? Your Song. His voice cracked halfway through, but he kept going, looking right at me.”

“Yeah,” Serena said softly, “and you were crying. Right there. Happy tears. I remember because I had to pretend I had sand in my eye just so I wouldn’t ruin the moment.”

Y/N smiled, but it was tinted with grief. “It was the first time I thought, ‘Maybe I’m going to marry this man.’”

Serena’s expression sobered too. She reached over, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s face gently. “Look… I hated seeing you like that after he left. I hated that he broke your heart so completely. I won’t pretend I don’t still kind of want to punch him for it.”

Y/N gave her a weak smile. “Fair.”

“But,” Serena went on, her voice low and sincere, “that night, that version of Bob—the one who looked at you like the rest of the world disappeared? The one who memorized your coffee order and stood outside with your keys when you locked yourself out in the rain?” She paused. “That Bob was real too.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

Serena sighed. “And I don’t know what he went through. Addiction is dark. Ugly. But if what he told you is true… if he’s really better now… if he meant all that? Then maybe… just maybe… you and him still have something real.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a long time, staring down at her hands in her lap.

“It’s just,” she whispered, “how do I know he won’t break me again?”

“You don’t,” Serena admitted gently. “But the fact that you still care so much? That means something. And I’d rather you be honest about still loving him than spend your whole life pretending you’re over it.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice breaking. “I hate that he still makes my heart feel like this. That no matter how much it hurt… it never really stopped loving him.”

Serena pulled her into a side hug. “I know. But maybe that’s not weakness. Maybe that’s just… love. The real kind. The messy, painful, beautiful kind.”

“And if he is the love of my life?” Y/N asked, eyes glossy. “How fair is it to be too scared to find out?”

--

The night air was cold but not harsh, a breeze skimming off the bay and lifting strands of Y/N’s hair as she stood near the railing, watching the water move under the moonlight. Her hands were in the pockets of her coat, and her heart was thudding harder than she thought it would. It had been almost two hours since she texted him.

Just five words.

“Can we talk? By the bay.”

She hadn’t expected a reply. Maybe he wouldn’t come. Maybe she’d stand here alone all night long, foolish and aching, blaming herself for even hoping again. But something inside her had shifted — maybe it was Serena’s voice echoing in her ear, or maybe it was her own heart, whispering that there were still things left unsaid. Still threads uncut.

A shuffle of footsteps behind her made her body freeze.

Then, slowly, she turned.

And there he was.

Bob.

Standing just a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, beanie pulled over his curls, blue eyes heavy and uncertain but unmistakably emotional. As soon as their eyes met, something passed between them — something old and broken and tender and still breathing.

“…Hey,” he said, voice low and rough.

Y/N nodded. “Hey.”

He took a step closer, not touching her, just looking. Studying her like she might disappear if he blinked. “I didn’t know if you’d ever… want to see me again.”

“I didn’t know either,” she admitted quietly, her voice trembling. “But I do.”

He swallowed hard. “I’ve thought about this. A thousand times. What I’d say. What you’d say. I played it over and over in my head like it would make it hurt less.”

“Did it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

There was a long pause between them, broken only by the sound of the water and a distant ship horn. Bob looked at her, eyes glossy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For leaving. For not saying goodbye. For making you think it was your fault.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought I wasn’t enough.”

“You were everything,” he said, voice cracking. “That was the problem. You were everything I wanted and didn’t think I deserved. I was ashamed. And scared. And instead of being honest with you, I just… I ran.”

Y/N stepped closer now, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve. You could’ve told me. You should have trusted me.”

“I know,” he whispered, guilt rolling off him like a wave.

Her eyes searched his. “I had to pick up all the pieces alone, Bob. I cried on the floor for weeks. I screamed into pillows. I hated you. I still…” She paused. “Some days, I don’t know if I hate you or miss you more.”

Bob’s face twisted in pain. “I miss you every day. I wanted to get clean for you… but I had to want it for me too. And I do now. I’m not perfect, but I’m clean. I go to meetings. I work. I try. Every day.”

Y/N looked at him, something softer in her gaze now. “Why’d you come tonight?”

He took a shaky breath. “Because I’d rather stand here and have you scream at me, throw something at me, anything—than keep wondering if you’ll ever forgive me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she said honestly, voice cracking.

“I understand,” he whispered.

She looked away, at the water, at the skyline in the distance.

And then, after a long moment, she asked, “Do you still love me?”

Bob stepped closer, almost afraid to breathe. “Yes. I never stopped.”

Y/N turned to him again, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Then… show me. Show me you’ve changed. Show me you’re not going to disappear again.”

Bob nodded slowly, his hand reaching for hers — tentative, almost reverent. When their fingers touched, it felt like a live wire connecting them again, years of distance melting in a single spark.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N looked at their joined hands, then up at him.

“…Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s see what’s left of us.”

They were quiet for a long while after Bob’s hand found hers. Neither of them dared to move much, afraid the moment might collapse if they shifted too quickly. There was something sacred about it — the silence, the air between them, the rawness of just being there, together again.

Y/N let out a breath that had been caught in her chest for what felt like a year and a half.

“I’ve thought about this too, you know,” she said, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. “Not just the apology, or the reasons why… but what would happen if we ever saw each other again.”

Bob’s thumb moved gently across her hand. “And what did you think?”

She gave a breathy, ironic laugh. “That I’d scream at you. Throw a drink in your face. That I’d feel powerful… or indifferent. But I don’t.”

“What do you feel?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Everything,” she admitted. “Grief. Anger. Love. All jumbled up. I feel like I never got to mourn us properly, because you just vanished.”

Bob’s head dropped slightly, eyes filled with guilt. “I deserve that.”

“But,” she continued gently, tugging his hand just a bit, “I also feel like maybe… maybe we get a do-over.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprised. Hope flickered in his eyes, so raw it almost hurt to see.

“You mean…?”

“I mean,” Y/N said carefully, “not pretending the past didn’t happen. But also not rushing into it like we’re picking up where we left off. Because we’re not the same people anymore. I’m not the same girl who waited for you at that coffee shop in Florida. And you’re not the same man who ran away.”

Bob blinked, heart in his throat. “So what do we do?”

“We start over,” she said softly, firmly. “We take it slow. We talk. We really talk. We ask the dumb questions we never asked. We go for coffee, or walks, or movies, or whatever normal people do when they’re figuring each other out.”

He nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. His chest was tight, but not from fear — from the fragile, growing weight of hope.

“And if we fall in love again,” she said, her voice trembling now, “we do it right this time. With boundaries. With honesty. With all the parts of us exposed. No secrets. No hiding.”

Bob’s eyes were wet again. “You’d want to fall in love with me again?”

She gave him a tiny, wistful smile. “I never really stopped. I just… packed it away somewhere dark so it wouldn’t hurt.”

He laughed — a broken, breathy sound. “God, I was so stupid. I lost everything because I was too afraid to let you see me when I was at my worst.”

“You were sick,” she reminded him gently. “You didn’t know how to let yourself be loved. But maybe now you can learn.”

Bob looked at her like she was the sun rising again after the longest, blackest night. He leaned forward, forehead against hers, just breathing her in.

“I’ll learn,” he whispered. “I promise I’ll learn.”

--

They sat on the stone edge of the bay, the city lights flickering off the water like a secret neither of them wanted to say out loud. It was late. Quiet. The kind of quiet that makes everything feel like it might be okay, just for a moment.

Y/N had her arms wrapped around her knees, chin resting on them as she looked out at the slow, rhythmic waves. Bob was next to her, a bit hunched, nervously peeling back the foil on a burrito he’d grabbed from a food truck behind them.

They weren’t saying much. But they were there. Together. Breathing the same air again.

“This is nice,” Y/N said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Feels like something from before.”

Bob nodded, then took a bite of the burrito. A messy, overfilled mess of something-too-hot with way too much sauce.

She glanced over at him, and for a second, she smiled. Not the full, glowing kind she used to give him — but a small one. Careful.

“Still ordering food that’s way too big for your mouth, I see.”

He looked at her, mouth full, eyes wide with guilt. “I panicked,” he said after a swallow. “I asked the guy for whatever he liked best and now I’m holding a food truck’s entire inventory.”

Y/N snorted. “You’re gonna drop it.”

“No I won’t.”

“You always drop food when you try to eat and talk at the same time.”

“I do not—”

And just as he lifted the burrito for another bite… a seagull screeched.

Y/N saw it first.

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “Bob.”

“What?”

She pointed. “Behind you.”

Bob turned — too late.

The bird descended like a demon on wings, smacking straight into him and snatching the burrito right out of his hands in a blur of feathers, foil, and absolute chaos.

“WHAT THE—HEY!!” Bob shouted, stumbling back as salsa dripped down his shirt. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Y/N broke into full-blown laughter. Not polite laughter. Not restrained laughter.

It was ugly, wheezing, nearly-crying laughter.

Bob just stood there in stunned silence, staring after the bird like it had just ruined his entire career. “That thing was huge! That’s not a seagull. That’s a government drone! That’s a federal bird!”

“Bob—!” she gasped between fits, holding her stomach.

He turned to her, dead serious. “You saw that, right? That was attempted manslaughter. That was aggravated burrito theft.”

She laughed even harder, wiping her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

He grumbled, looking down at his sauce-covered shirt. “Great. Amazing. I haven’t even seen you in a year and a half and this is what I bring to the table. Literal bird bait.”

Y/N, still giggling, looked at him — really looked at him. Disheveled, embarrassed, and covered in sour cream.

And something tugged deep in her chest.

Because despite everything — despite the heartache, the silence, the questions — this was him. Still the same man who once fell off a park bench while trying to kiss her goodnight. The same one who used to eat ice cream with his eyes closed like it was a religious experience. The one who called her just to hear her talk about her day.

“I missed this,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter now. Sincere.

He looked at her, startled.

“This part of you,” she added. “The part that’s… weird. And funny. And honest. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until just now.”

Bob was silent for a moment, like he didn’t know where to store her words inside him.

Then: “I’ve missed everything about you.”

She looked back out at the water, her smile fading a little. “So why did you leave me like that?”

His throat tightened. “Because I was a dumbass and I couldn't possibly deserve even a hair from you.”

“I would have restart my whole life to make you alive again.”

A pause.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

She reached into the bag beside them and pulled out the second burrito.

Without a word, she held it out to him.

He blinked.

“…This one doesn’t have shrimp, does it?”

She smirked. “You’ll have to take your chances, bird boy.”

[chdarling]

Friends, we are there. We are at that point. ICE is abducting people off the streets and sending them to concentration camps in El Salvador. That is happening. Trump has said that he’d “love” to send the “homegrowns” to these prisons and told the president of El Salvador to build 5 more. Kilmar Abrego Garcia was kidnapped due to an "administrative error" and the Republican regime is refusing to bring him home, even though the Supreme Court ruled 9-0 that they must. A US citizen from Georgia was arrested in Florida for being an "unauthorized alien" and they refused to release him, even as his mother waved his birth certificate in their faces. (I just learned while making this post that he has now been released and reunited with his family, thank fucking god.) A hundred other horrors have happened that we don't even know about.

No one is coming to save us. We have to save us.

Please, please, please find a (peaceful!) protest this Saturday and attend if you are able. There are also protests planned for May 1. And, frankly, there should be protests every single day, but we have to build momentum and community for that. So let's start.

If you can’t attend a protest, please consider taking another form of action. I was depressed on the train this morning and brainstormed a very incomplete and unofficial list of Things You Can Do:

Print posters advertising the protests and put them up around your neighborhood, your school, your apartment mail room, public restrooms, anywhere.

Spread the word on social media, yes, but also text your family and friends and ask if they know about the 4/19 and 5/1 protests. This date is not getting the same publicity as 4/5 and people are reporting social media posts being suppressed. Direct communication is the most effective.

Call your representatives. The 5 Calls app makes it extremely easy, even if you have phone anxiety. If your reps, like mine, mostly have their voicemails shut down, email them instead. Resistbot makes it super simple. I know it feels like screaming into the void, but it does have an impact. And even if it turns out it doesn’t, it takes 2 minutes. Do it out of spite. Just do it.

Stop buying anything that’s not absolutely essential and start preparing yourself for a general strike. I don’t know that we will get enough of the population on board to do this, but it is our best hope, and each person that is prepared for it makes the reality of it happening a little more likely. If you can, aim to have food and supplies stocked for a few weeks. If you have the means, be extra prepared to help your neighbors. Talk to your friends about this. Start strategizing.

(Also, a note on that general strike website: I'm sharing it for info, but I know a lot of people don't want to sign their name to a strike card. I get it. You don't have to sign up for anything to get prepared for a strike. You don't have to sign up for anything to stop giving your money to this economy. You don't have to sign up for anything to strike, when the day comes. You don't even have to tell anyone. You can just do it.)

If you are financially able, donate to your local food pantry or mutual aid network. The Republican Regime is cutting funding to the food banks in advance of an economic crisis. We are only as strong as the most vulnerable among us. Help your neighbors! A general strike cannot happen without community solidarity. Start building that solidarity now.

Cancel any subscription you can. Especially Amazon. Fuck Amazon. And Target, and Walmart.

If you have to buy something, buy local. Support your community as much as possible. And hey, it's almost farmers market season, hell yeah!

Mask up!!! Do not throw disabled people under the bus in this movement. Wear a mask. It protects the most vulnerable among us, and it protects you. Not just from disease, but also facial recognition technology. And, you know, RFK Jr.

Stay alive. I am sure I’m not the only one who has plunged to new depths of despair over the past few months. Find something to cling to, even if it’s only spite (some days, that’s all I have). Please stay alive. We need you.

DO NOT GIVE INTO THE FEAR OF BEING CRINGE. Taking action in the face of fascism is cool as fuck and anyone who tells you otherwise is trapped in a prison of their own making and they will bring us all down. Do not get distracted by moral purity tests. Do not be afraid, do not be embarrassed. BE CRINGE, BE FREE.

And finally, most importantly, do not let perfect be the enemy of good. We can all only do the best we can under this oppressive capitalist hellscape we’re forced to endure. We're all struggling, we're all tired, we're all scared. Do not guilt yourself into despair and apathy if you have to buy groceries at a big box store or if you can't take off work for a protest because you'll lose your job/house/healthcare. This is the system. This is how it's designed. The important thing is to try. If you can't do one thing, find something else you can do. Little acts add up, and we are all in this together.* As my dad likes to remind me, no one can do everything, but everyone can do something.

Let's do something. <3

*yes I did start humming high school musical here

[cureazure]

Winx club video game headcanons because I thought about them in the shower and now I must share them with Tumblr

Bloom: absolutely plays games like HSR & Genshin and mains the dragon guys (dan heng, neuvi, etc.)

Stella: OBSESSED with Infinity Nikki, will pull all nighters playing it and then show to class extremely tired. She also 100%-ed Fashion Dreamer within one night and then went on a tyrade for a week due to how underwhelming it was

Flora: has dated every single npc in Stardew Valley, even the non-romancable ones (she probably got Tecna to hack the game for her...or maybe she just has that much rizz idk)

Tecna: downloaded the pokemon trading card game app not knowing anything about pokemon, got a really dogshit bidoof card, then proceeded to fall in love with bidoof and crush any mortals foolish enough to challenge them and their mighty bidoof (they would find a way to destroy everyone using one of the shittiest cards in the game)

Musa & Aisha: play extremely difficult rhythm games and proceed to trip over each other and end up in a big pile on the floor (before making out)

Roxy: has hacked Animal Crossing: New Horizons so that she not only has multiple islands but also raised the villager limit so that she can obtain every single villager in the game (except the ugly ones she absolutely hits the ugly ones with flynets as Flora begs for her to stop [she doesn't]) (she did not need tecnas help to do this, she could probably hack elon musk's bank account and use his money to buy million dollar commissions of her fursona)

Darcy: plays dating sims to fill the void left by riven (will furiously deny this)

Stormy: plays GTA and breaks literally every law just because she can. Also if the other trix ever somehow convince her to play a horror game she would absolutely scream as loud as she can at the first, teeny-tiniest jumpscare.

Icy: also plays GTA, recreates 9/11, and then proceeds to stop at a red light whilst being gunned down by the military. Has also played every single horror game you can think of and hasn't flinched even once.

Darkar: has no idea what video games are, decides to entertain the idea of them and decides on a tamagotchi. He then neglects the shit out of it and laughs gleefully as they die.

Valtor: has zero interest in video games, only plays genshin impact so that he can join Bloom's world, steal all her resources and hit her with the Kaveh glitch / ruin & break her world before peacing out

Sky: plays Fortnite...enough said

Brandon: Has a million tamagotchi's, pou's, and everything in between, and does a very good job at taking care of them. When they inevitably die, he spirals into a one-day depression, skips class for said day, and plans a highly detailed military funeral for them before solemnly burying them in a shoebox he keeps under his bed (He gets Stella to sing at every funeral, and he does this everytime one of them dies)

Timmy: also plays the pokemon trading card game app but has the most horseshit powerful cards in the game. If there was ever a duo's option (idk if there is I don't play the pokemon tcg app), everyone would just immediately forfeit because they know their weak mortal asses cannot defeat the most powerful legendary cards in the game...and Bidoof.

Riven: plays animal crossing and fashion dreamer at 1am, and everytime he hears movement within the dorms he starts sweating bullets. If he's ever caught he will vehemently deny it.

Helia: Plays Yazuka or some other extremelt violent game. idk I just like the complete whiplash/dissonance of the sweet, gentle poet boyfriend playing the most violent games known to magix.

Nabu: iPad baby but in the Gen X Wordscapes-block blast way

[bee--28]

I need to scream into the void because I've already ranted to all my friends about this.

So, basically, I have a crush on this guy at my school, he's the quarterback for our football team, and he's the catcher and relief pitcher for our baseball team. He's also in a few of my classes, I peer tutor for his math class, he sits by me in our Spanish class, he used to be in my English and history class as well but he withdrew from them.

The reason for this crush is kinda 2 fold, 1. He plays baseball, I'm inherently drawn toward baseball players, especially catchers. It's my favorite sport, I grew up watching it, my first word was the name of my team (SF Giants). Buster Posey (retired Giants catcher) was my favorite player as a kid, you can connect some dots from there. And 2. This guy is overall a pretty nice and chill guy. I dunno if its just cause I've only ever really seen him in classroom settings but he has a solid sense of humor, he is pretty fucking smart (something I value a lot), and I haven't ever really heard him say anything douche-y (a LOT of guys at my school are total douchebags so this is rare).

Also, a moment for his looks. According to his MaxPreps (its a sports app thingy, most schools use it to track player stats, games, schedules, etc), he is 6'1", he has a fantastic ass (as most baseball catchers do, it's all the squatting), he has dark brown hair. I mean, this guy is FINE. 100% out of my league and I do not believe myself to be ugly by any means.

Now, here's some issues with this crush;

1. I hate having crushes on people, especially baseball players, I am almost never not at a baseball field, I umpire for my local little league, I play softball, and I live fairly close to where the Giants play. During the spring and summer, at 1 day a weekend, I am on a field in some fashion or another. How am I supposed to exist normally when my daily activities remind me of some fucking guy!?!? It's annoying

2. This guy would never go out with me. I am asexual, I have very loud political opinions, and I don't really enjoy football (his main sport). Like, never, in a million years would he want to go out with me and I honestly don't even really want to go out with him. I have never had a full conversation with him. The most we've interacted was when I was telling a friend in my English class who I voted for for this award thing my school does and one of the categories is best male athlete and I voted for this guy because he carried our football team to the finals in playoffs and for some reason he was in my class and he over heard and said thank you. That's it. That is not enough to actually want to date someone and I know it. I swear to god, its just cause when I was watching our baseball team at the end of their playoff game on Friday, he was up to bat and I'm just drawn towards baseball players

3. My best friend is in the same Spanish class as me and this guy so they are going to emotionally torment me in class now. We sit in the same row as him. The rows have four seats in them and from left to right we sit: me, my best friend, and then either this guy or his friend, they switch who's on the inside and who's on the outside. When I told my best friend about the crush they made an offer for me to sit inside seat so I could "sit next to him" I would rather not -_-

Moral of the story, I hate having a crush, this is dumb, and stupid, and the worst, I hate this (also, this guy is stupid hot)

[reverenddykething]

Alright it is time for a pinned post and I guess a reminder of basic decorum.

If you are a minor, this space is not for you. If you are a cishet person, this space is probably not for you.

If you are a weird queer person, this blog might very well be for you!

I am a very loud, unapologetically leather queer and trans person. I am mostly on the dyke side of being a dyke/fag thing. I am also an anarchist with Marxist influence and leanings.

This blog exists so I can be horny as hell, share shit i find cool or important, and scream into the void when I need to. This blog is not: a dating app profile, an invitation to argue or prosletize me, or anything else other than what I've listed.

If you're here, you will see lots of shit about the kinks I am into, which include pup play, leather kink, heavy sadomasochism, knife play, blood, bruises, some CNC and intox kink, dronification, hypnotism, and whatever other weird kink or BDSM thing catches me attention.

This blog and my life in general is an openly hostile space when it comes to bigotry, abuse, or fascism. And that includes most forms of Christianity!

All this to say: this blog and my DMs are not a place to start with flirting. They are not there for you to convert me. I'm down to make friends and talk to cool people and engage with dope individuals.

If you cannot abide by the shit in this post, I will be openly hostile and angry. I have zero issue being a raging cunt if I need to be.

Have fun, be safe, do weird shit, fight all forms of oppression.

[anjuschiffer]

The Void You Left Behind

For @official-timari-server event: Shutterbug Station 2024

Prompt: Dwelling

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Tags: @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha

-

A03

When was the last time I was here? Luka found himself asking himself as he turned the key to their apartment. 

Was it after the funeral? 

Or a few days after? 

Was it when he let Alya clean the apartment?

He couldn’t quite remember, but even so, he stepped in.

Why was it so dark in here? And cold? Wasn’t it always nice and warm?

Maybe it was because he hadn’t been here in a while. Yeah, that had to be it.

He probably remembered it wrong.

Luka kicked his shoes at the entrance, stumbling over one as he stepped further into their apartment. He cursed it as he let his bag drop to the floor, listening as the thud echoed out into the kitchen.

It was only then that he realized that he was probably going to have to order take out. After all, he wasn’t greeted by the usual aroma of freshly baked bread he would often smell upon opening the apartment. He stared at the barren counter and unused stove.

“Luka! Welcome back!”

For once, Luka saw the kitchen tidy and sparkling clean. Something he rarely saw in their five years of residing in their apartment.

Usually, he’d see the occasional pot or pan on the counter or on the stove. Some days it was a pastry on the counter cooling off or a plate of food waiting for him. There were days where he saw a timer and scattered recipes on the counter followed by a yell telling him to check the stove or oven.

“Luka! Can you taste the soup?”

His stomach growled, signaling him to hurry up with the ordering. So he made his way to their couch to be able to think about his possible decisions for dinner.

As he made his way over, he could hear each and every step he took with clarity, hating that his socks didn’t muffle it one bit. 

He plopped himself onto the couch, quickly opening up his phone and scrolling through apps to see what he wanted to order. He felt the couch dip next to him, a smile curling on his lips as he felt something warm lean into him.

“Hey Mari, want any-” Luka stopped himself when he realized no one actually sat next to him, feeling his throat close up at the realization.

With his hunger long gone, he decided to just watch something on the tv when he realized that the remote wasn’t on the coffee table where it usually rested…on top of the coaster Mari made when they first moved into the apartment.

Luka picked up the crocheted coaster, chuckling at the uneven stitching and obvious mistakes she did while trying to make the round edges of the flower.

“Must you keep reminding me of your absence?” He whispered to himself, laying the coaster back onto the table as he got up, barely registering the answering machine that went off in the kitchen.

“-it’s Tim…just wanted to let you know…if you can’t stay the night, you know you can always stay with us again, okay? Just…call me when you can…okay? ”

He walked past barren walls that were once covered with their wedding photos and photos of their many dates. Photos of their friends and miscellaneous trinkets they would buy while they traveled the world. Photos that were now stored in their guest room that was probably thickly coated in dust.

Getting closer to their room, he swore he heard a voice coming from it, only to find no one there.

Instead, something shiny caught his attention thanks to the small crack of light that made its way through the curtains, causing a reflection to bounce off the metallic item laying on their bed.

He approached it, his throat completely closing up as he picked it up.

Her wedding ring.

The same ring she wore the day she died in the car accident.

The ring that matched his own.

A ring that was the pair to the one he never took off ever since they got married seven years ago. 

A ring that once symbolized their promise to each other.

“Til death do us part.” Luka croaked out, feeling his knees give out. 

He screamed into the bed sheets, gripping at them as he finally let out everything he had been bottling up all this time.

He didn’t know how long he had screamed and cried for, but he knew it was for a while.

His eyes felt heavy as he stared at the ring in front of his feet, laughing back at him as he pulled the comforter closer to his skin.

Despite its looks, the comforter felt cold against his skin. It did not comfort him in any way; it felt nothing like Marinette’s warm embraces. 

Something he had to learn to live without…

A life without Mari…

He slowly closed his eyes, the quietness of the apartment lulling him to sleep.

He hoped he would never wake up…

[my-heart-is-made-of-glass]

I fucking hate dating apps

Doesnt matter what I do, literally zero matches likes etc from anything or anyone except prn bots and like fine if thats something people like but for once in my life id like to have a connection with a person and maybe be able to talk to people past screaming into the tumblr void