I'm Gabby. 30s. terfs DNI Hope you like lesbians. And fiction. Mostly fictional lesbians. Also meta/au's for Supergirl, The West Wing, Leverage, and attempts at calligraphy Current hyperfixation is KPDH
when you download a fic as a pdf and Adobe goes "this seems to be a long document. use our ai to read a summary!" and im over here going absolutely fucking not. this is what I want. how fucking dare you
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"A marriage ending isn't a failure at all. I spent eleven years with her. We were so in love that we couldn't image life apart from each other. We got our own place, adopted a dog, and supported each other through school. I thought if tow people loved each other enough the rest would fall into place, except... love isn't everything.
And I didn't want to believe that, but we were sitting in counseling one day, talking about our future and I realized we were describing two completely different lives. Where we'd live, what kind of life we wanted, what made us happy. And it hit me that- I love this woman and this woman loved me. And after eleven years of loss, grief, career changes, we were so deeply in love... but we weren't aligned. And I kept thinking 'We just need to try harder. We can find some compromise to make this work,' because that's what you're supposed to do when you love someone, right?
But the reality was, we had just become different people. Her trade school took her in one direction, my graduate degree in another and trying to force us back into who we were five years ago wasn't coming from a place of love. It was coming from a place of fear. Fear that, if this ended, it meant we wasted eleven years. But sitting there across from her, I realized: That's not how love works.
Those eleven years happened. They were real. The dog, our home, showing up for each other through grad school and trade school. I wouldn't change a single thing because loving someone doesn't mean you're meant to stay with them forever. And letting go doesn't erase what you had. We measure marriage by whether it lasts forever or not, but what if we measured it by whether it mattered?
What if we measured it by the love we gave, the life we built, and the people we became? Because love's job isn't to last forever, it's to help you become fully completely yourself, and sometimes the most loving thing you can do is give each other permission to be yourselves, separately. But the dog doesn't know were' divorced. He just gets two Christmases now."
Pulled this from this guy Preston Rakovsky's Instagram (@prestonrack) because it is a beautiful perspective on love, marriage, and relationships in general.
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As soon as Zoey sent her anonymous tweet, she sensed her arrival. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and goosebumps rose on her arms.
But she was ready. Rumi was fast, especially like this, but Zoey was no slowpoke, and she was strong.
Perhaps it was the lack of her partner in crimeâs presence by her side, or the realization of who she had hunted down, but Rumi seemed almost sluggish when Zoey countered her tackle and brought her to the ground. The wrists of swiping claws were held down in one hand, while her other arm pressed Rumiâs well-toned abdomen into the carpeted floor, pinning her body to it. No matter how hard the half-demon thrashed against her grasp, she could not escape. Gnashing teeth bit at the air, trying to find some purchase on Zoeyâs body.
Normally, Zoey would allow her partner to sink those sharp fangs into her, but to do so right now would be to accept defeat, and there was no point in Zoey doing that when she was winning.
The room was well lit, but Rumiâs face and body still seemed steeped in shadow. Her patterns were a blazing red, and her glowed golden.
To anyone else, she would be a terror to behold.
To Zoey, she was her beloved, her partner in crime, her soulmate.
She didnât frighten her in the slightest.
She sat down on her girlfriendâs bucking hips, bracketing them with her legs. Now completely trapped, Rumi stared up at her, indignant fury burning in those golden orbs.
Zoey smirked. âHey, sweetie. It seems that little experiment worked.â Rumiâs head snapped up again, trying to get a piece of her. Zoey dodged her and tutted scornfully. âAh, ah, ah. Bad girl.â
Rumi froze, and a whine escaped her throat.
âBut you know how you can be a good girl for me?â The older girl perked up. Zoey stroked her wrists with her thumb lovingly. âGive me your color.â Silence followed. âI know you can, Rumi. What color are you?â
Rumi stayed silent for a few more moments, and Zoey wondered if she wasnât going to answer her at all. But finally, she spoke, her voice low and rumbling.
âGreen.â
Zoey squeezed her wrists. âGood,â she said, pressing her harder into the ground. âNow the real fun can start.â
one of the funniest conversations I ever had with my ex was when they were still getting used to Celsius and asked me "what's 20 degrees?" and instead of converting it, I said "it's the highest your dad will ever let you set the thermostat and when you say you're cold he tells you to put on another sweater, we're not made of money" and they went "oh, 68"
the fact that this reference was that fucking precise was something they went on to tell people about for years.
If you could instantly be granted fluency in 5 languagesânot taking away your existing language proficiency in any way, solely a gainâwhat 5 would you choose?
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âThis portrayal of a marginalized group was wrong then and is wrong nowâ and âThis portrayal of a marginalized group was very progressive for the time period and paved the way for more representation while likely limited by factors outside of the creatorâs controlâ are two statements that can and should ABSOLUTELY coexist and be kept in mind when interacting with older media
still caring about internet friends you lost touch with years ago is so embarrassing. yeah i had a deam we met up irl recently. the last time we spoke was maybe 7-8 years ago. i still wear the laces we randomly decided was a sign of our friendship. i dont know what any of your socials are or if youre even active on any. sometimes i see someones art resemble yours and i wonder for hours. do you still go by that name you chose? whenever i see it i wonder if its you. we couldve passed each other in this vastness a thousand times and not have a clue.
[REALLY NORMAL AND WELL-ADJUSTED VOICE] well you never know maybe it COULD have saved me. if i ever actually achieved perfection. it could have happened then. if i was actually ever enough. Which i was not
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one of the hardest things to learn as a depressed former Gifted Kid⢠is that half-assed is better than nothing. take the 50%, 40%, even 20% job. scrubbing your face is better than not taking a shower at all. picking up your clothes is better than never cleaning. nibbling on some bread is better than starving.
DO THINGS HALFWAY. NOW YOUâRE 100% BETTER OFF THAN YOU WERE BEFORE.
One of my college professors used to say âanything worth doing is worth doing poorly.â I didnât understand that for years because I didnât do anything poorly, I couldnât do anything poorly, I had to Do Everything Perfectly.
But brushing your teeth for 30 seconds is better than not brushing them at all when that 2 minutes seems exhausting. Doing ten minutes of yoga is better than 10 minutes of sitting when 30 minutes of cardio sounds impossible. Changing my clothes is good when a whole shower is impossible. Standing on the porch for a few minutes is worth it after being in the house for three straight days because I donât have the energy to go anywhere.
Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly⌠because doing it poorly is better than not doing it.
You must understand that perfectionism isnât striving for excellence, itâs a crippling fear of being flawed and therefore worth abandonment or punishment. Itâs a kind of psychological avoidance. Youâre avoiding fear and failure , not embracing the thing you want to do bc if it was about the thing you want to do youâd be fine with partial victory.
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