Hi, I Love Dynamics That R Like “we Make Each Other Worse” On The Surface But When U Look Deeper

i    have    had    a    busy    two    weeks    .    .    so    i    do    apologize    for    slow    and    lack    of    replies    to    the    things    i    owe    ,    but    plan    on    making    a    full    return    next    week    &    hopefully    get    even    more    threads    going    !!

okay  friends  ,  i  am  finally  trying  to  get  started  here  on  indie  after  quite  a  few  years  of  being  off  the  indie  scene.  but  i  am  honestly  thrilled  to  get  back  into  the  swing  of  things.  as  said  ,  it's  taken  me  quite  some  time  to  get  started  and  these  days  i  barely  know  how  to  get  started  again  ——  that  being  said  …  consider  this  a  PLOTTING  CALL  !  !  !  !  !  !

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   sooooo  ,  if  you  would  possibly  be  interested  in  writing  together  —  like  this  and  i  will  contact  to  potentially  write  together.  ♥

geraldine viswanathan via instagram

"  yeah  ,  what  are  you  saying  ?  cause  last  time  i  checked  ,  i  just  turned  29 . . right ?  .  .  .  but  look  ,  at  this  point  i'm  starting  to  think  you  might  be  the  only  one  would  who  would  put  up  with  my  nonsense.  guess  i  better  start  working  on  my  proposal  skills  .  .  .  you  know  ,  just  in  case.  "

˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ . ↪ closed for @velvetysage ˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

"remember that dumb pact we made when we were little stating that we'd marry each other if we're single by like thirty?"

everything is loud. too loud. the sound of drew’s voice rising, the screech of the kettle, the slam of cabinets — it all starts to blur together into a cacophony that pounds against penny’s temples like a war drum. she sits frozen on the couch, arms still wrapped tight around her legs, like they’re the only thing keeping her from flying apart at the seams. she wants to respond. she wants to scream, to cry, to match the chaos that’s suddenly unraveled between them. but instead, her brain short-circuits. everything inside her is pulling in different directions — heart, logic, rage, love, grief — until it feels like her whole body is ringing. a bomb, seconds from detonation. her eyes flutter shut, tight. she forces herself to breathe — in, out, again — but it doesn’t help. it only reminds her of the weight in her chest, the ache that hasn’t left her since drew walked out two weeks ago, since she vanished without explanation and left penny piecing herself back together in silence. and now she’s here, tearing through the flat like a storm, knocking things loose with every breath. the kettle screams. not yet boiling over, but close. it’s the only sound she can actually hear now. she opens her eyes, slowly, and for a moment, she doesn’t look in the direction of drew — she can’t. instead, she stares at the floor. at the space between them. at everything unsaid that’s managed to grow roots in the middle of the room. then, her voice. barely above a whisper at first. "right." she lifts her gaze, finally meeting drew’s, standing in the kitchen and something in her expression has gone terrifyingly still — not cold, but stripped. bare. tired in a way that doesn't sleep off. "so what are we doing here, then?" her voice wavers slightly, but the words are clear. a quiet tremor beneath the strength. "what is this? what are we still doing if all we ever do is circle back to the wreckage?" she stands slowly, her movements deliberate, but her body betrays the storm inside — a tremble in her hands, a twitch at her jaw. "i keep telling myself we’re fighting for something. that there’s still something good buried underneath the damage, underneath everything. that the mere thought of me forgiving you .. letting you back in .. trying to trust you again .. that it can all be worth it." her throat tightens. “but if all we have left is guilt and love and pain, if that’s all we know how to hand each other — if every room we enter together ends up on fire — then i need to know…” her voice catches, but she pushes forward, fierce and fragile all at once. "what the hell are we doing here?" silence answers first. the kettle whines behind her like it's in mourning. "because if this is just habit," she whispers, "if this is just grief and ghosts and some sick pattern we’re too afraid to break — then maybe we should admit it. maybe we should finally say that love... just isn't enough." she doesn’t cry this time. maybe she’s cried it all out. maybe she’s holding her breath too tight to let it fall. all she knows is that she’s standing in the eye of the storm, asking the one question that might finally undo them both.

"i don't know how many times i can say it." drew finally snaps. after penny's heartfelt confession, she can hardly keep it in. a thread within her severs. the last sliver of rope pulling taut and creaking until it unravels entirely. she's chewed on penny's words, tasted their bitterness and digested them. but as tensions rise, the bile comes up right along with it. all she can do is expel her boldest, innermost thoughts. "i'll be here, okay? i'll stay. i know i've fucked up. do you just like -- do you get off hearing me admit it?" drew circles the counter to create considerable space between herself and penny. the physical divide is certainly representative of the one that is blurring the line between them. the greatest point of contention between the two of them. penny's anxieties and drew's tendencies to toe the line between wanting to fix things and wanting to be free. it's not fair for either of them to be on this see-saw of opposition. then why can neither of them get off the ride? it may seem like drew is completely disregarding all of penny's concerns, that each and every syllable goes in one ear and right out the other. but they hadn't. instead every word ricochets off the walls of drew's mind like an idle dvd screen. and when one thought hits the corner of her brain, a new thought pops off. "obviously this all still matters to me, i wouldn't come back here with my tail between my legs every time if it didn't. we're both fucking battered and burdened. you're upset over what i did and what i continue to do. and i'm upset over what i've done and continue to do, it's a vicious cycle." the fridge door swings open and the blonde grabs the milk that is sitting unexpectantly on the door. she plops it loudly on the counter, the plastic jug sinking in on itself at the bottom upon impact. busy bodied, the girl walks over and fills the tea kettle as her thoughts continue to race. "what'd you say? i'm a hurricane. yeah -- i'm a hurricane. i come, i tear through the fucking place, and we try to rebuild and repair. you can either move away or get a raincoat and weather the storm --" the tea kettle is placed on the stove with a screech and the flame beneath it flickers to life. her voice breaks slightly as she raises her voice. "because i don't know how to fix me. i can make all the promises i want but i don't know how to -- god, i don't know. stop.. being a monumental fuck up?" the tea kettle is whistling before drew can even register how much time has passed. her frantic hands flip the cabinet doors open and closed, open and closed. she quickly realizes that she doesn't know where the mugs are anymore. how much has changed about this place. how once finding the mugs was second nature and now it's a disorienting quest. it become clear -- once things were so easy for them. as common as breathing. and now things had changed -- and this quest to get back to familiarity was a wild one neither of them knew how to navigate. tears are brimming the corners of her eyes as she cuts the heat on the kettle, utterly giving up on the search for the mugs. "i'm messy. i'm cruel. i make jokes. and i've changed and i don't know if it's for the better. i try to be honest. i try to stay -- i try to be here. but it fucking sucks to be reminded or everything i've done wrong.. every single time i look at you. and i'm not looking for your sympathy. it's entirely my fault. i love you. and you love me. but it's fucking destroying us."

Okay, hey, easy! I’m not making it a thing. It’s just a fact. 

GIGI HADID.

VIA HER INSTAGRAM HANDLE. | 26TH APRIL 2024.

@niamhhmccormack_: luck of the Irish ☘️

your writing does not have to be perfect! no matter if you keep it simple or use lots of prose, whether you prefer more dialogue or more descriptions, or if your sentences have few or many words, it doesn't need to be a literary masterpiece. do what feels right for you. do whatever you enjoy the most, and don't stress yourself too much about it because chances are, there will be people who like your writing regardless.