#i just saw online that you can only get one

[luvst4rc0r3]

Loser!Jinx x Reader Headcanons

Jinx wasn’t just a loser—she was the loser. The kind who sat in the back of the class doodling in her notebook instead of taking notes, who always had a random bruise from doing something stupid, and who somehow had a negative GPA but could explain the entire plot of an obscure 90s anime no one had ever heard of.

She wasn’t exactly hated at school, but she was weird, loud, and unpredictable, which made people avoid her. Except for Vi, who was always yelling at her to “Get your shit together, Powder,” and Sevika, who only tolerated her because Vi forced her to.

Then there was you.

The first time Jinx saw you, she short-circuited. She was just trying to make it through another miserable day of Algebra when you walked into the classroom, and suddenly, math didn’t exist anymore. All she could think was:

“Oh no.”

You were effortlessly cool—new to school, good at everything Jinx wasn’t, and way out of her league. But you were nice. Too nice. The kind of nice that made Jinx go home and kick her feet while screaming into her pillow because why would you ever talk to her unless you were planning to ruin her life?

- The first time you talk to her, it’s because you sit next to her in Algebra.

You: “Hey, do you have a pencil?”

Jinx, panicking: “Wh—uh—I—yeah—no—I mean—” (frantically digs through her backpack, pulls out a crayon).

You: “…Thanks?”

Jinx: “Yeah! Totally! I only use crayons, actually. Pencils are a government conspiracy.”

You: “Oh? Tell me more.”

She thinks you’re messing with her. But you don’t laugh. You actually listen. And when she rants about whatever nonsense is currently living rent-free in her head, you just nod along like she’s making sense.

She falls in love immediately.

- Jinx is the type of loser who spends all her time online, plays obscure indie games, and has a concerning amount of conspiracy theories about random things (like why the school vending machine is always out of strawberry soda).

- She is hopelessly, painfully, pathetically in love with you. Like, full-blown kicking her feet and giggling into her pillow kind of crush. She doesn’t even try to be normal about it.

- If you so much as glance in her direction, her brain short-circuits. Immediate blue screen of death. Malfunctioning Jinx noises.

- She swears she’s being subtle, but the entire school knows she’s down horrendously bad for you. Like, it’s embarrassing. Vi has tried to stage an intervention. Sevika has bet money on how long it’ll take before she faints in front of you.

- If you actually talk to her? Oh, she’s done for. Stammering, tripping over her words, probably dropping whatever she’s holding. You could ask her the simplest question, and she’d be like:

You: “Hey, do you have a pencil?”

Jinx, sweating bullets: “Uh—uh—uh—uh—I—pen—yes—no—I mean—I do? Maybe? What’s a pencil?”

- She definitely stalks your social media. She has your entire posting schedule memorized, knows all your interests, and tries to bring them up in conversation to impress you—but it just makes her sound insane.

Jinx: “Soooo… I heard you like frogs.”

You: “What?”

Jinx: “Uh. Frogs. Y’know. Ribbit.”

- If you compliment her, even as a joke, she will take it to her grave. Like, you could say, “Hey, cool jacket,” and she’ll wear that same jacket every day for a month straight.

- One time you called her cute. She has not recovered.

- She tries to act cool around you, but she’s the type of loser who fumbles everything. Drops her phone. Walks into doors. Trips over air. It’s a miracle she hasn’t spontaneously combusted yet.

- If you so much as smile at her, she’s writing about it in her diary like it’s the most life-changing event to ever happen.

“FEBRUARY 8TH, 2025. 3:47 PM. Y/N SMILED AT ME. I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW.”

or

“February 8th, 2025. 3:47 PM. Y/N TOUCHED MY ARM. I CAN NEVER WASH IT AGAIN.”

- Jinx, in her head, planning out all the ways she could confess to you: Writing you a love letter? Making a mixtape? A grand, romantic gesture?

- Jinx, in reality: “I like your face.”

- If you start liking her back? Oh, she’s doomed. Malfunctioning. Exploding. Game over.

People still don’t understand how you two work, but at this point, it doesn’t even matter. You and Jinx are in your own little world, and honestly? It’s kind of perfect.

- You keep hanging out with her. At first, just in class, but then at lunch, after school, texting late at night. She stops feeling like a loser when she’s with you. She starts hoping.

- The first time you realize you like her back, it’s because of something dumb.

You’re at lunch, sitting with her, Vi, and Sevika. Jinx, being a disaster, spills her drink all over herself. Instead of being embarrassed, she just goes, “Guess I’m drinking it the hard way.”

And something about the way she owns her weirdness makes your heart do a stupid little flip.

- The first time you flirt with her, she malfunctions.

- The first time she realizes you like her back, it breaks her brain.

It happens after school. You’re both walking home together when you grab her hand, lacing your fingers through hers like it’s nothing.

She nearly trips over her own feet. You just laugh and squeeze her hand tighter.

Oh no, she thinks. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She’s never going to recover from this.

(She doesn’t want to.)

Random Cute Couple Things:

- Jinx is the kind of girlfriend who will 100% steal your clothes.

Not just hoodies—everything. She once showed up wearing your jacket, your socks, and your backpack, and when you pointed it out, she just went, “Yeah, and?”

The worst part? She looks stupidly cute in your clothes, so you can’t even be mad.

(You started “accidentally” leaving extra hoodies at her place just so she’d always have one of yours to wear.)

- She gets insanely clingy when she’s sleepy.

Jinx isn’t really a cuddler during the day—she’s always bouncing off the walls, getting into trouble, dragging you into her weird ideas. But the second she gets tired?

Good luck getting up.

She’ll wrap herself around you like a human koala, mumbling something about how “you’re warm and smell good” and refusing to let go.

(You’ve accepted your fate. You live here now.)

- She makes the dumbest bets just to get kisses.

• “Bet you can’t solve this riddle. If you lose, I get a kiss.

• “If I make this paper ball into the trash can, you have to kiss me.”

• “Okay, rock-paper-scissors, best out of three—winner gets a kiss.”

You caught on pretty quickly and just started kissing her before she could suggest a bet. It completely breaks her brain every time.

(She still tries, though.)

- She doodles all over your stuff.

If you lend Jinx a pen, it’s over—your notebooks, your arms, even your homework will be covered in little scribbles.

Sometimes they’re just random sketches. Other times, you’ll find little hearts with your name inside them.

(She denies drawing them. But the blush on her face says otherwise.)

- She absolutely loves when you play with her hair.

She pretends she doesn’t care at first—shrugs it off, acts like it’s whatever. But the second you start running your fingers through her hair, she literally melts.

(If you braid it, she’ll leave it in all day, even if it looks ridiculous.)

- She’s always touching you.

• Holding your hand? Obviously.

• Leaning against you when you’re sitting together? Yup.

• Linking pinkies just because she can? Of course.

It’s like she needs to be physically connected to you at all times.

(If you ever pull away too soon, she’ll dramatically gasp and go, “What, you don’t love me anymore?!”)

- She makes up the dumbest excuses just to hang out with you.

“Babe, I need your help with something.”

“What is it?”

“I dunno, I just wanted to see you.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

I love Jinx

I want sleep

[bi-planeandsimple]

I see so many posts worrying about boys and men, and their mental health and their body image issues and be kind to men and men are good and men are hot and it’s okay and good to like men and if you’re really a feminist you can’t hate men and don’t worry men we don’t hate you …and vanishingly few posts about how feminism is actually about freeing women from the hell we exist in. It’s about liberating all women from patriarchy. Vanishingly few about if you are a feminist these are the things killing and hurting women and here is what men can do to stop this. Putting any responsibility on men for the system created by for and of men is too far, I guess.

Like yes, all that is true about men, men are not inherently evil and body positivity is for men too. Sure all that is correct. But can we talk about men as beneficiaries of misogyny and the patriarchy? Women still do the majority of childcare and cleaning/keeping the house while also working full time - and that’s just in America. In other countries it’s even worse. And there are absolutely not enough legal protections for domestic violence victims globally. In America Republicans want to remove no fault divorce which was one small protection for victims of domestic violence. And there is not gender parity in the perpetration of domestic and sexual violence. And It’s not biological - it’s 100% cultural. Rape culture is perpetuated by women too, yes, but that’s likely because we see what happens when we don’t toe the line. At best it’s pointless and at worst we lose our entire world and even life for daring to suggest a man should choose to behave better.

Like so many women came forward for me too. We did our part. We did the scary thing, the brave thing, the right thing. And what happened? Not a lot. A few individuals got charged, but man more women got yelled at for daring to speak up. For daring to tarnish a man’s reputation for “only” for doing xyz. something every man does (which is the problem) or it’s not a big deal or you’re lying for attention etc etc. and there has not been a larger cultural shift for the better I have seen. Andrew Tate got more popular after me too. and many many women are still routinely abused and raped and routinely not believed when they come forward and talk about being abused or raped. We saw amber heard ignored and mocked and belittled by tons of men and women online who fell for the smear campaign Depp paid for. Roe v Wade is gone and now in some states it’s a crime to seek an abortion. And those who rat you out for even wanting one can be rewarded for their trouble. (Which of course means as taxpayers we are paying men to rape women - rape a woman repeatedly until she gets pregnant, call in her desire to get an abortion, get $10,000 - easy peasy for any one who thinks women aren’t human - which is too many men)

Ending patriarchy needs to be the goal. Not passively “believing men and women are equal” that’s not feminism. That’s not an action. You aren’t doing anything. a belief is nothing. Men need to highlight women coworkers who are talked over, give them credit for their ideas publicly, push them forward for raises and promotions, do more around the house, take care of their own kids, provide transport to and pay for abortions, not stalk or attack women who reject them, not spread rumors lies or personal information shared with them in private, not share nudes, not send dick pics unprompted, not create deepfake porn of their exes, and stop perpetuating and supporting rapists and abusers and rape culture.

Stop defending Andrew Tate and Louis CK and Johny Depp and Woody Allen and R Kelly and P Diddy and Cosby and Roman Polanski and Neil Gaiman and and. The list is so long and it’s not even the half of it. Stop defending your cousin your uncle your father your brother your friend. Cause these perpetrators are not all loners born fully formed out of the ether - they have families and friends. Who don’t listen to the wives the girlfriends the sisters the daughters the friends. And so they continue to harm. For years and years and years. Traumatizing dozens of people, or the same people over and over. children too often included. with no consequences and no one to stop them.

This is what it means to be a woman. It’s not about genitals or chromosomes. Of course trans women are women. There are many ways to be a woman. But something we all share is being an ignored inconvenience to larger society. It’s about our harm being expected and accepted. As the cost of doing business. We are An afterthought. For no one to act on our behalf. Most rape victims are women and most rapists are serial rapists. So one individual is hurting lots of women. And is never caught. Or stopped. Or even slowed. But saying “I hate men” because of their collective inaction on liberating women from the hell they benefit from is the real crime. That’s what’s really keeping so many male feminists away from the cause, from doing the work. If we were just slightly nicer then maybe they wouldn’t hurt us would help us.

So I will say to all men: Stop minimizing what abusers and rapists did, listen to women, and take action. Women cannot end the patriarchy on our own. We have been trying, believe me, since so few men join us, and those that do are chased off by other men. But we need all men to step up and take action. Take accountability and make change happen. Stop asking for our sexual histories, stop forcing your creepy friend on us, stop telling women to give him a chance, stop ratting us out for wanting an abortion or otherwise keeping us from getting medical care, whether abortions or hysterectomies, or vaccines or anything else. stop commenting on our weight stop expecting sex ever, start learning more about menstruation start carrying tampons and pads start cleaning up after yourself and cooking your own meals and parenting your own kids and making your own appointments and believing women who say they are being abused or were raped. And then help them. Ask them what they need. Do that.

When the patriarchy ends, everyone benefits, yes even men. When there is no more rape culture male victims will be believed about their rapes too, and treated with the care and respect that all victims/survivors deserve. When there is no more patriarchy and ppl’s worth and rights are not determined based on looks, or passing, this will help cis and trans fat balding men as well as cis and trans fat women to not be discriminated against.

until we seriously address these cultural pitfalls, and until men and boys seriously address their failings in themselves and and in fellow men and boys around them, and until men realize our toxic misogynistic culture is the problem and permanently change the culture, and change their own behavior, we won’t get anywhere. And women globally will remain in hell.

Men shouldn’t feel bad for being men - they should feel bad only if they don’t actively work to destroy the patriarchy every single day. Action vs inaction. That’s what matters. A little perspective is what I would like to see on this site.

The toxic masculinity epidemic and machoization of America is why I'm even less willing to entertain a lot of niceness and cordiality to the "we need to be nicer to and understanding of men these days!" argument because the problem is that these men think they don't need to experience negative consequences for their behavior and I'm tired of it.

As a trans woman who struggled with my identity and experienced a lot of this up close while closeted (and veered from very masculine to somewhat androgynous), and continued to experience it from the other side now that I'm out and actively embracing it (and have been for years now, actively and very feminine-presenting) a lot of this is bullshit and the same pleas for understanding the challenges of women, or of non-binary or intersex people are not extended in the same way, to the same level, with the same fervency.

Why isn't it an alarm bell for society and culture that women aren't being understood or listened to or regarded? There's no movement calling for the reorganization of education and employment on behalf of women who might not be succeeding or progressing as there is with the fucking Richard Reeves motherfuckers and their Men and Boys Crisis invocation.

I'm not saying I'm perfect, or have everything figured out, but I've had to work on myself and grapple with myself to be comfortable and present in society, and I don't see why a lot of men can't be told they should do the same.

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER FIVE

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, late-night facetime calls, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash, cheol being a cutie

playlist: spotify

After the whirlwind that was Coachella, returning to Seoul felt almost surreal. The festival had been a massive success—HOT DIVISION’s performance was already blowing up online, clips of their set spreading across social media like wildfire. Fans, critics, and even other artists were praising them, calling it one of the best rock performances of the year.

But before diving back into the madness of the industry, the girls had one important stop to make.

Dinner at the Kang household.

Ms. Kang had insisted on it the moment she heard they were coming back. She had been supporting from afar, watching livestreams, keeping up with the news, and making sure Cheol—Sae-Byeok’s twelve-year-old brother—did his schoolwork while obsessively following his sister’s every move.

Now, gathered around the small but cozy dinner table, the energy was warm, filled with laughter and the kind of comfort that only home could bring.

"You guys killed it," Cheol said excitedly between bites of food. "Seriously, my friends won’t shut up about it. They keep asking me if I can get them tickets to your next show."

Ji-Yeong smirked. "Tell them we’ll consider it if they start a fan club in your honor."

Cheol lit up. "Wait, really?!"

"No," No-Eul deadpanned, making everyone laugh.

Ms. Kang smiled as she refilled everyone’s bowls. "I saw the performance online. You all looked amazing. I’m so proud of you."

Sae-Byeok, who had been mostly quiet, gave her mother a small, genuine smile. "Thanks, eomma."

Se-Mi leaned back, stretching. "It’s crazy how much attention we’re getting now. Feels like overnight, we went from ‘rising rock band’ to THE rock band."

Ji-Yeong grinned. "I mean, we are that good."

"Yeah, yeah," No-Eul muttered, rolling her eyes.

And then—

Ji-Yeong smirked knowingly. "Oh, speaking of new fans…"

You had just taken a sip of your drink when she said it, and something in her tone made you pause.

"You guys won’t believe this," Ji-Yeong continued, looking at Se-Mi and No-Eul. "Jisoo made a group chat for us."

You froze for just a second—just long enough for it to sting.

"A group chat?" you asked, forcing your voice to stay light. Casual.

"Yeah!" Se-Mi laughed. "She’s actually hilarious. She’s been sending us memes all day."

"And you didn’t add me?" you joked, smiling like it didn’t feel like a punch to the gut.

Ji-Yeong blinked. "Oh, shit. We didn’t, did we?"

Se-Mi shrugged. "Didn’t think you’d care. It’s just dumb stuff."

You waved it off, keeping your expression perfectly neutral. "Nah, it’s fine. I barely keep up with my messages anyway."

Sae-Byeok didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look at you.

Didn’t correct them.

And that hurt more than you wanted to admit.

After dinner, you insisted on helping Ms. Kang clean up. The others were still chatting in the living room, but you needed a moment—just a moment—to push down the sinking feeling in your chest.

As you rinsed dishes in the sink, you felt a presence next to you.

Cheol.

The little troublemaker had grabbed a towel and was drying plates with surprising focus for a twelve-year-old.

"You don’t have to help, you know," you said, giving him a small smile.

He shrugged. "Figured you could use the company."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why’s that?"

He hesitated, then asked, "Are you okay?"

You stiffened.

He was twelve. How the hell was he this perceptive?

"Of course I am," you said easily, forcing a chuckle. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

Cheol gave you a very unimpressed look. "Because you got all weird when they started talking about Jisoo."

You almost dropped the plate.

"Cheol—"

"I mean, I get it," he continued, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "She’s kinda stealing Sae-Byeok-noona’s attention, right?"

You swallowed hard. "Cheol—"

"And you like her."

Your heart stopped.

You turned to him, actually speechless, but Cheol just shrugged like it was obvious.

"I mean, it’s pretty clear," he said matter-of-factly. "I don’t know why no one else sees it."

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

What were you supposed to say?

Cheol sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Adults are so bad at talking about their feelings."

You let out a weak laugh, ruffling his hair to distract from the fact that your entire soul was currently malfunctioning.

"You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?" you muttered.

He grinned. "I know."

And as much as you wanted to deny it—to brush it off, to pretend none of this was getting to you—Cheol’s words lingered.

Dinner had settled into that comfortable post-meal haze—everyone lounging in the living room, sprawled across couches and chairs, half-full cups of tea resting on the table.

You had tried to stay engaged, really.

But it was hard when all the girls were glued to their phones, laughing at whatever Jisoo was sending in their group chat.

Ji-Yeong snorted. "No way she just said that."

Se-Mi cackled. "I swear, she’s funnier than you, Ji."

Ji-Yeong gasped, clutching her chest like she had been personally attacked. "How dare you."

No-Eul, who had been silently scrolling, smirked. "You walked into that one."

Even Sae-Byeok, who wasn’t the most expressive when it came to things like this, had a small amused smile on her face as she read whatever Jisoo had sent.

And you?

You were just… there.

You weren’t in the chat.

You weren’t part of the inside jokes.

You were just sitting on the edge of the couch, feeling like an outsider in a group you had been with since the beginning.

It wasn’t their fault.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You exhaled quietly, deciding it was probably time to head out.

"Alright," you said, standing up and stretching. "I should get going—"

"You wanna draw with me?"

You paused, turning to see Cheol looking up at you from the floor, where he had been quietly doodling in a sketchbook.

He held up an extra pencil.

"You don’t have to," he added quickly, like he didn’t want to pressure you. "But, like… it’s more fun with two people."

Something in your chest softened.

Here was this twelve-year-old kid—who could’ve easily gone to play video games or ignored you like most kids his age would—but instead, he noticed.

He saw you feeling left out.

And he was giving you a way back in.

You smiled, genuinely this time, and sat down on the floor next to him. "Alright, but only if we color too. No boring sketches."

Cheol grinned. "Deal."

Cheol had a surprising collection of colored pencils and markers, and soon, the two of you were deep into a ridiculous art session.

You had started drawing a cat, but somehow, it had turned into a superhero cat with sunglasses and a cape.

Cheol was drawing a rock band made up of aliens.

Every few minutes, you’d nudge each other’s arms, messing up lines on purpose, and burst into laughter.

It was silly.

It was fun.

And for the first time that night, you didn’t feel like you were on the outside looking in.

Unbeknownst to you, two people had noticed.

From across the room, Sae-Byeok had glanced up from her phone, her gaze lingering on you and Cheol.

She watched the way you smiled—really smiled—for the first time that night.

The way Cheol leaned into you, like he had claimed you as his favorite person in the room.

The way you weren’t paying attention to any of them anymore.

Sae-Byeok’s grip on her phone tightened slightly.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

No-Eul, ever observant, caught the look on Sae-Byeok’s face.

She didn’t say anything.

Just met Sae-Byeok’s gaze for a second—just long enough to acknowledge it.

Then, like nothing had happened, she went back to scrolling through her phone.

And Sae-Byeok?

She looked back at you again.

And this time, she really saw you.

And maybe—just maybe—she realized that she didn’t like seeing you find comfort somewhere else.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚇𝙸. 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, toxic family dynamics, parental abuse, alcoholism/disordered alcohol use, protective!Joel, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, beauty in the mundane, learning to be peaceful in the stillness WORD COUNT: 6.8k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: How odd it is to be haunted by someone who is still alive.

“But what if I miss a payment?”

“You’re not gonna miss a payment,” he assures you for the millionth time.

“And the interest is, like, 27%, so if I miss a payment it’s gonna be so much extra on top of the bill,” you stress.

“Your interest is only that high because you don’t have any credit in your name, baby. It’ll get knocked down eventually – once you build up a good history – but that’s just how it starts out most of the time.”

You can tell he’s about to launch into his comforting finance dialogue yet again, but you don’t stop him. You still need to hear him say it, even if it feels like he’s beating a dead horse at this point. You need the comfort in his assurances, and for once you don’t get down on yourself for needing it and seeking it out.

“And you’re not gonna make huge purchases to start, right? You’re gonna put small, consistent charges on there every month and pay it in full every month. After 6 months to a year, you’ll get a low credit utilization ratio, and you might be able to increase your credit limit. It sounds scary, but it’s really simple. I promise. And I can go over it as many times as you need to feel comfortable with it.”

You gnaw your bottom lip and review the little pamphlets and flyers Joel collected for you. He was insistent about having you use your money not for helping with the mortgage or grocery bill or utilities but rather to open your own bank account and then a line of credit so that you could start building credit in your name and your name solely.

Now you were on a Joel Miller crash course about interest rates, utilization ratios, FICO scoring, and all sorts of other financial planning topics that were meant to help you build a firm foundation for lifelong financial independence and security. You constantly doubted yourself and felt overwhelmed with the volume of information, but Joel was adamant about it. After a while, some of it was finally sticking, and you could only pray that you’d pick up more and more of it each time.

Your payments were scheduled automatically now through your online banking, which he also helped you set up, and he helped you get into the habit of keeping track of things on the phone app. “If it’s easy enough for me to do it, I know you won’t have any issue with it” he’d laughed when he first installed it. He was honest to god excited about how much you’d be able to put into savings over the course of the next five years. 

The concept of five years into the future felt hard to conceptualize. You were still getting used to staying on your feet most days and taking more onto your plate when possible. But to Joel, it was something just around the corner. He talked about it as though it was clear as day in his mind’s eye. He saw that future for you – for the both of you – so easily.

The thrum of your pulse felt sticky every time at the casual insinuation that he’d be there to see it, that you and him would still be together and happy and in love, but your stomach lurched at the thought of it. 

He cared an awful lot about you. That much was clear. It was the whole acknowledging the whole being in love thing that made it harder to fathom. It felt dangerously hopeful. It was hard enough to admit to yourself that you loved him, even though there was really no denying it at this point. But that awful, nagging worry still nipped at your heels: would he grow tired of it all one of these days? The mollycoddling and constant instruction for shit you should’ve had all figured out by now?

There was no real concept of losing him in your head because that was even harder to envision than anything else. Your thoughts flipped over to a blank slide when you even tried to imagine what it would feel like to not have him in your life. When the nerves of it all started to prick and sting and make you nauseous, those were the moments you held him a little closer to you until the fear subsided.

Joel doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s watching you, all bent over the edge of the deck with your little stack of porcelain plates that you carefully arrange in a neat line along the step.

“Madeline and Helen, you’re over here,” you call over your shoulder to the two grungy “frenemy” cats, as you’d dubbed them.

He snorts and shakes his head, but you just ignore him and continue with your task. All the plates are dispersed, and your usual hoard of neighborhood cats have come meowing and pawing for the “good brand wet food” you insisted on buying for them. When you first started this habit of spoiling the “cat collective,” Joel had been surprised to learn that so many stray cats roamed the neighborhood. That was, until he noticed that many of them had collars and tags. Despite belonging to a nearby family and having perfectly good homes, they regularly showed up like the greedy, indulgent creatures they were.

You didn’t mind, though. You were delighted to greet them all every night like the informal mayor of some feline city. You gave them names despite some tags displaying an entirely different moniker. They responded to whatever you called them, though, so he really had no room to say anything about that. The corner of his mouth twitched up as he watched you slip into your little routine. You’d taken to giving them all nicknames or new names, mostly from movies you’ve watched together.

When the two “frenemy cats” had gotten into a little brawl on the stairs a few weeks back, you broke up their fight and giggled to yourself when you came up with the grand idea of naming them after characters from Death Becomes Her. He shared in a laugh at the fitting names you chose, and you flashed him a million kilowatt smile that made his knees weak.

He watches in open amusement as you chide Walter –  the rotund, irritable tabby that struggles to play nice with others once he’s gobbled up his own dish and is unable to bully others for theirs. You’d quoted “you’re outta your element, Donny!” to Walter about a half dozen times by now, but he never seemed to find your references to The Big Lebowski as hilarious as you did. The grumpy furball looks up at you, annoyed but put in his place, and allows you to scratch his head.

While you made your nightly circuit, Joel scanned the back deck, surveying a potential spot for a small safehouse unit. Might as well start looking into building a heated, insulated area for all these cats since you’ll probably worry yourself sick over how cold they could get in the winter without proper shelter. They could always carry their asses back to their own houses in the neighborhood, but, knowing you, the thought of “what if?” would make you fret enough that he wants to have a plan and build ready to go when it’s time. He tucks it into his mind for later, just like so many other ideas and dreams and possible futures with you.

For now he enjoys giving you the space to indulge in the things that make you happy, a freedom to do something not because there’s an end goal in mind but because it makes you feel radiant in the moment. He loves to see what you latch onto without the angry voice of a controlling dirtbag berating you and making you feel insignificant and frivolous just for finding joy in things.

Watching you shift from constantly on edge to relaxed was a reward all in itself. It was most noticeable at night. You’d stir so frequently in bed those first few weeks after moving in. It might’ve been the new house noises, sure, but there’s no doubt the learned vigilance was a big part of your tendency to be a light sleeper. When you’d startle awake, he’d wake, too. You’d be apologetic and sometimes even a little embarrassed at being so jumpy “over nothing.” He’d just pull you closer and tell you it was okay and to try to go back to sleep. It took a while before it really sunk in, but eventually falling asleep and staying asleep came easier to you.

He was constantly discovering new ways your upbringing and home life had carved these jagged neural pathways in your mind. He didn’t know what the answer was for some of them, other than time, but for the simpler things, like letting you freely explore hobbies and whims, he’d jump at the opportunity to give you that sort of life.

“Do you think I could just… wear some shorts and a shirt? I mean….”

Your words taper off as you stare down at the dress Sarah had ordered online along with the pretty blue one you wore to Kenzie’s graduation ceremony. You didn’t want to repeat the blue dress when you’d just worn it so recently, but you really didn’t want to be up moving around and socializing in a dress all day anyway. Plus, the temperature had crept up steadily now that Memorial Day had just come and gone. Ideally it was denim cutoffs and tank top weather, but you could deal with some linen type shorts and a t-shirt for the sake of a party.

“I’ll match with whatever you put on, so just go with somethin’ comfortable,” he suggests. “There’s worse things than being underdressed for a college graduation party. I doubt anybody’ll even care, honey.”

He was probably right, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself and drag Joel down with you. Attending parties and looking the part of a well put-together couple was new for you, and there was only so much “fake it ‘til you make it” bravado that could pull you through these sorts of settings. Joel dons a pair of darkwash, neat jeans with a short-sleeved button up, and you huff loudly at how easy he makes things look. 

He catches your toothless irritation and shoots you a wink before grabbing the dress and hanging it up in your shared closet.

“C’mon, let’s look at the shirt options ya got,” he encourages.

The lack of options ended up being a bit of a blessing because it meant you weren’t overwhelmed with choices.  You wind up settling on a spaghetti strap top that’s nice and flowy with a small bow detail in the back. It wasn’t the fanciest thing, but it was dressier than a plain t-shirt. A once over in the mirror reflected a pretty well put together outfit, and your shoulders relaxed with the crisis having been avoided thanks to Joel. He, of course, looked effortlessly handsome and casual.

The drive to Kenzie’s house for the party is uneventful, as are most of your driving excursions these days. Pretty soon you’ll accrue enough hours of road time to take the test to be an actual, bonafide licensed driver. Joel is in his usual spot in the passenger seat with a hand resting on your thigh, calming and a reminder that you’ve got help if you need it. 

The half-circle drive is full of cars with brands you’re sure you could never pronounce correctly. The front of the house and down the street is lined with more of the same, and Joel takes mercy on you when it’s time to parallel park, swapping seats with you and taking over. You watch the confident stretch of his arm along the back of your seat as he reverses neatly into a spot. He hops out to get the door for you, and you both comment on the lavish decorations as you walk into the party.

There’s way more people in attendance than you anticipated, and you just hope you won’t have to socialize too much with people you’re probably never going to see again. Kenzie’s dad spots you and makes his way over to extend a firm handshake to Joel and a warm side hug to you. He doesn’t stick around for long as he returns to his hosting duties, but he flags down a member of the waitstaff for beverages before politely excusing himself to continue on his rounds.

Joel whistles low and cocks a brow as he takes in all of the setup. “Nice lookin’ party.”

You laugh under your breath at the understatement of the century. “It’s insane. This could be somebody’s wedding! It’s freaking gorgeous,” you gush.

He agrees silently, sipping on his cocktail and wrapping his free hand around your lower back and waist. He points out that most people seem to be either wearing business casual adjacent looks or something more formal, which places you both a little underdressed but not so much that you stick out. You also observe that he was right about people not really seeming to notice or care what you had on. It made you feel a bit more relaxed as you sought out Kenzie.

So far you hadn’t come across anyone you knew, but it wasn’t awkward with Joel by your side. He had that poised, assured air about him like always, and it made everything feel manageable. Under control. Free of chaos.

“Ooohhh, hey!” a high pitched squeal sounds across an open path of people. You turn to see someone you recognize but can’t remember her name. You refresh Joel’s memory that this is Kenzie’s friend who had asked him at the graduation about any single brothers, cousins, or nephews that he might have. She shimmies up to you and waves excitedly.

“There’s my little matchmakers!”

Joel laughs awkwardly and shakes his head. “Sorry to tell you, er….” he trails off, her name clearly not springing to his mind either.

Thankfully she doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and you're not entirely convinced she’s aware of much at all. “Sel,” she supplies with a bright smile.

“Sel, right,” he amends. “Sorry to tell you, Sel, but we are unfortunately here sans eligible bachelors.”

She makes an exaggerated pouty face before busting into a fit of giggles and shrugging. “Aw, dammit. Can’t win ‘em all, I guess. Well, it was good seeing you!”

She struts away without another word, and you and Joel exchange an amused look.

“Wonder how many of these she’s had,” Joel chuckles, shaking his half empty cocktail glass.

You giggle and playfully slap his side. “Oh, shush. She’s entitled to celebrate a little bit. It’s gotta feel good getting that degree after being in school for four years,” you contend.

He bobs his head in passive agreement. “Now remind me again why your friend was workin’ with you in a grocery store when she’s got all this waiting for her back home? Coulda just focused on her studies, couldn’t she’ve?”

It was a fair question. Why on earth would someone work a minimum wage, public facing job if their family could afford this sort of lifestyle? 

“She told me before that her dad wanted her to know what the ‘real world’ was like. I’m pretty sure he didn’t grow up with a whole lot, and I guess he didn’t want his kids to end up spoiled or whatever.”

Joel nods his head like that makes perfect sense to him. “Explains why her dad seems like a decent guy. Doesn’t have that ‘daddy’s money’ attitude. Your friend doesn’t either for that matter, so I guess he’s done a pretty good job keepin’ her level headed.”

When you finally do come across Kenzie, she seems a bit frazzled. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so uptight and serious. She hastily explains that she’s spent the entire party schmoozing with all her dad’s “dumb important friends” and hasn’t had a chance to relax at all. You feel a bit sorry for her, but you know she’ll probably end up with extravagant gifts from said family friends in exchange for a few social niceties. 

Your eye lands on a familiar looking man whose identity isn’t readily placed. Was he at the graduation ceremony, too? Was he the dad to one of Kenzie’s friends? He looks at you for a split second like he recognizes you as well, before he looks away, disinterested. You shrug it off. Maybe he’s just got one of those faces.

Kenzie’s dad comes back around and asks if he can “borrow Joel for a minute,” to which you assure Joel you’re fine without his company for a little while. He shoots you one last worried glance over his shoulder as Kenzie’s dad claps a hand against his back and starts up the construction conversation they’d been having at the ceremony. You watch Joel’s reluctant figure weave through the crowd until he’s following Kenzie’s dad inside the house through a large side door. 

The sea of attendees around you make for good people watching. You wouldn’t admit it to Joel, but not having him by your side feels strange and a bit vulnerable, especially now that you spend practically every waking moment together. It was something you’d become rather accustomed to, and with your nerves starting to pick up again you remind yourself that it’s healthy to do things on your own every once in a while. You’d done it plenty in your life, and being subjected to it now wouldn’t kill you. 

A solid twenty minutes have passed, and you distract yourself with the abundance of ornate decorations.

Deeper into the backyard is a small bunching of rose bushes. The delicate folds of pink petals have you considering asking Joel if he could plant this sort of thing in your backyard. You smile gently to yourself, running a fingertip along the velvet furl of the rosette. Your backyard. Together. A little garden of eden right smack dab in the middle of Texas.

Sentimental musings are cut short with the announcement of a “few words shared on the eastern lawn” in about five minutes. Throngs of guests begin making their way toward the tabled section that you assume is the “eastern lawn,” and Joel is still nowhere in sight.

You hang back and check your phone. No texts or missed calls. You call him, but it rings until it goes through to voicemail. He’d probably muted it for the party. You decide to just go look for him in the house, letting yourself into the same side door they’d used when they went inside almost 30 minutes ago. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten carried away talking business.

A welcomed cool breeze butts against your bare skin when you slip inside, the indoor AC a stark difference to the looming summer heat outside. A pristine and stately kitchen filled with stock for the party greets you: ice filled coolers, wrapped trays of hor d’oeuvres lining the countertops, napkins and utensils and glassware all stacked to the side and ready to go when toasts are made. The smooth marble counters give an air of quiet opulence, made all the more silent with no noise coming from anywhere in the house.

A sliver of a stairwell is visible just around the corner. A separate hallway stretches door after door, no light glowing from any of the rooms behind them. A dull babble of laughter and conversation outside at the opposite end of the house is practically a white noise in this massive, empty space. Joel’s deep timbre is absent. No creaking footsteps from upstairs. No friendly hum of conversation.

It felt a bit intrusive to just waltz upstairs to look for him, but it’s not like you didn’t have a good reason to be looking around. Surely at the very least Kenzie’s dad wouldn’t want to miss whatever was about to happen on the eastern lawn.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to find you hiding out in here.”

The familiar voice cuts through your chest, your heart clenching sharply as you turn to find your dad wearing a nasty, callous expression. He looks more exhausted than you remember, somehow more dead in the eyes. It’s only been a few weeks since you’ve last seen him, but he stands before you more gnarled and sickly than memory serves. His skin shines with a thin layer of perspiration, and his lips are so dry and chapped it’s as if all the moisture in his body is steadily exiting through the gathering beads of sweat along his brow. His eyes are sluggish but malevolent, darting all along your face and body as though he’s taking inventory of your present state.

The words you wish to scream, for him to get away from you, get twisted and caught in your throat. You stand there, infuriatingly mute, and await whatever venom he’s here to deliver. He makes no rush as he walks fully into the room and slides the door shut. He looks so out of place here, in your world. In your life. A living ghost here to haunt you once more.

“Takes guts to be at somebody’s party celebrating everything you’ll never be.” He pauses to let the barb cleave and carve, laughing to himself as he continues, “ I mean, imagine you a college graduate. Barely fucking graduated high school.”

His line of sight wanders around the room as he picks you apart. Although his air is indifferent and unrushed, you have an odd, sneaking feeling that he doesn’t want to look you in the eye again until he’s established a rhythm of cutting you down, as though your absence has left him feeling out of sorts and unpracticed in destruction.

“Some hell of a fluke that the driven, successful young ladies here at this party see anything in common with a loser like you.”

His eyes slip over to yours again, narrowing with palpable hatred. “Can’t imagine any of them are a complete embarrassment to their families.”

“What are you doing here?” you finally manage to spit out.

He bobs on the balls of his feet, stepping around airily with his hands in his pockets like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he found all of this an amusing way to pass the time. Like he hadn’t just cannonballed himself into your life again.

“Got a funny text from an, uh, acquaintance of mine. A picture of you, sticking out like a sore thumb. Surrounded by better dressed people. Way outta your social class.”

Embarrassment warms the back of your neck and the tips of your ears at his astute, cutting words.

“Had my friend wondering if he was imagining it was you - misremembering your face, maybe – especially since he didn’t see me anywhere nearby. Told him he was right and that I’d be sure to come say hello when I dropped in.  He was nice enough to remind me of the address. What a guy,” he finishes in a dry tone.

He laughs, a hollow and mirthless sound, and takes a step forward, hands shoved in his pockets that you now realize are balled into fists. His voice was steady enough, but the fury bubbling beneath the surface was quickly rising to the tipping point. There was no doubt he’d been drinking heavily – that dangerous teetering between being dampened by the alcohol and being livid that it still didn’t make all his problems fade away into a muted, ignorable thing.

“How much have you had today?” you lob at him. “Or has it just carried over from last night?”

He laughs again, just as empty and forced as the first. “It’s funny because, the thing is, I can promise you there’s no amount of whiskey that could make me as delusional as you are. I mean, parading around this party in what? Backyard barbecue clothes? Can’t even put together a decent outfit for one day, but you expect to keep up with these people? College graduates getting real jobs, not just some entry level bullshit you sucked off some old jackass for.”

Heat rises on your chest and neck at the insinuation that Joel only offered you the job in return for sexual favors. You jut your chin out defiantly but can’t find the words to say. Can’t find the words that will defend yourself. Defend Joel. Make your dad leave with his tail between his legs. He takes your silence as another opportunity to tear you down.

“You think you got real friends here? How many times do you think they’re gonna cover your tab? Spot you $100? Invite you to weekend trips? Hm? How many times are they gonna get out their wallets before they see you for the leech that you are?” he hisses.

“I think you need to leave,” you warn with a tremble tacked to the last word.

“And don’t get me started on that middle aged perv you got brainwashed into giving a shit about you,” he continues, completely ignoring your reproval. “He might be giving you a little allowance for now, but I give it a few years max before he dumps you for the next young bimbo he can use to wet his dick. Of course you’re too fucking stupid to realize that. It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking pathetic.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” you snap, adrenaline rushing through you now and helping to supply the harsh words. 

His eyes crinkle with a malicious smirk, like he revels in finally having got to you. 

“Or what?” he sneers. “All you can ever manage to do when things get tough is run. So, what are you gonna do now? Run?”

You don’t miss the challenge in his tone, daring you to try to leave before he gives you permission to do so. 

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW.”

The curve of his mouth is sickly sweet, a slip of red the only thing standing between you and his corrosive words. His gate is unhurried walking towards the door, leaning against it in a lazy show of provocation as he blocks it. The shrill tempo of your pulse in your ears grows louder while you stare each other down. It’s a dangerous game of calling the other’s bluff, and you know he’s banking on you fleeing. You know he wants to track you down and catch you this time before you can get away, just to prove that your actions wouldn’t go unpunished. Just to remind you of who’s in control. 

But something contrarian and fortified slinks between your ribcage and finds purchase there next to the hum of your heart. 

He doesn’t make the rules anymore. 

This is no longer his game that you’re forced to play just to survive. You don’t live in this nightmare anymore. This isn’t your life now. 

He doesn’t control you anymore.

“You’re a really sad person, dad.” 

The somatic buzz kindling and catching inside you yields a wave of goosebumps all over your body, the shake in your hands and voice just a timid thing that stays barely in check. You still your head and really look at the fractured shell of a man in front of you, and it’s more obvious than ever: he’s more lost than you’ve ever been and ever will be.

“You’re never gonna be happy,” you assert.

It all floods you now, a blurred picture coming into focus. That clarity you’d sought so long but never had with the mind muddling environment of abuse. But suddenly you aren’t searching for the words anymore. They’re all right on the tip of your tongue and ready to depart.

“You’re gonna die sad and miserable and probably alone, and I know that has to eat you up inside to finally realize it. That no matter how much you try to put your anger and your– and your pain onto others, it still doesn’t make it go away inside of you.”

His balled fists rest at his sides, heaving breaths moving his chest like the snap of a rubber band.

“You can’t hurt me anymore. You can’t hurt anybody I care about anymore. You don’t have the power like you used to. You’re just… you’re just nothing, dad. An empty person who’s trapped inside his own mind like a prison. And-And honestly? I feel bad for you.”

The flicker of surprise at your words graces his worn features before quickly being replaced with a deep scowl. For once it’s him cornered into a stunned silence, but you have no intention of letting up.

“I left, dad. Don’t you get it? I’m done. You don’t have power over me like that. Not anymore. The sooner you realize that, the less of your life you’ll waste trying to hurt me again because it’s not going to happen. You tried to break me down and take away everything, and it still didn’t work. I’m not broken like you. I’m gonna be okay, no matter how much you hate that. And you can call me a loser as many times as you want, but it won’t change the fact that it’s really you who’s lost out on everything in life.”

A heavy air lingers, but you feel lighter than you ever have. Your deep, centering inhale punctuates the finality of the meeting.

“I’m gonna go now, and I think you should leave the party before something bad happens.”

The urge to scurry away from the danger rises, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. You refuse to let him see you run from him anymore. 

Of course, it was never likely that he’d just let it go so easily.��

Menacing stomps follow your measured stride towards the stairwell, your exit cut short by his piercing grip around your bicep and the sharp whip of your body as he yanks you sideways to face him. The smell of alcohol comes off him like a foggy wet cloud.

“You think you just get to leave in the middle of the night like a disgusting, slimy rat and not have to answer for it?” he fumes, his nose pressing against yours when he hauls you face to face.

He doesn’t control you anymore. 

He doesn’t control you anymore. 

He doesn’t control you anymore.

There’s no hesitation in your movements, wrenching your arm from his grasp and slamming the butt of your palm into his nose. As clumsy as the unfamiliar motion is, it affords a moment of frozen shock from your father, which you take as an opening to rear back and slap him with as much force as you can muster. Your hand immediately prickles and tingles from the impact.

The few feet of space apart that you gain is quickly closed when he charges at you with a raised, clenched hand ready to strike. The fact that you’ve never fought back before seems to be your saving grace in this moment, the disorientation of you actually resisting and challenging him making his approach unsteady and delayed.

Your hand still stings from the slap as you wad it up and swing it into his gut before he can make contact with you. He sputters and doubles over in shock at the unexpected blow, but the late retribution still comes sooner than you anticipated. He readies to ambush you, lip curled over his bared teeth, when something smashes and shatters into the wall beside his head.

“I was hoping you’d show up one of these days and make trouble just so I’d have the fucking excuse to beat you within an inch of your fucking life,” Joel growls.

It’s a blur of violence as he barrels into your dad, tackling him to the floor in one headlong motion, and lands two punches before it can even register. The clamor draws more people, one of them being Kenzie’s dad who you spot darting back out of the room with his phone to his head — you assume to call the police. A handful of waitstaff hang at the perimeter of the commotion, gawking at the all out brawl taking place in the middle of the kitchen. You aren’t much better, just standing there rooted to the spot in an adrenaline freeze, as your dad manages to topple Joel onto his back and land a punch to his jaw.

By the time they flip again, two men have been alerted to the fight and brought inside to intervene. They aren’t dressed like the other waitstaff, but it’s clear they’re here working the event in some other capacity. A frenzied

yelp pierces the air as Joel digs his knees into your dad’s elbows, pinning him to the ground. Joel yanks a chilled bottle of wine from a nearby bucket and smashes the neck of it against the edge of the counter. The light catches on all the jagged edges of broken glass when he raises it in the air and flips it over in a drive directly into your dad’s mouth, who instantly gurgles and gags at the influx of liquid and serrated opening.

“You look real thirsty,” Joel taunts. “Have a drink. This one’s on me.”

Pockets of liquid jet out from the side of your dad’s mouth as he chokes on it, Joel holding the bottle snug in place as the contents pour out. The two men in matching black uniform shout “break it up, fellas,” which falls on deaf ears. The liquid eventually empties, and the bottle cracks into several more pieces when Joel slams it against your dad’s temple. Blood spills and mixes with the choked out liquid, pooling and smearing across the floor.

The two men quickly lodge themselves between the two when a flurry of fists and kicks and jabs from Joel start right back up. He manages to get one last closed hand strike to your dad’s face and one crushing stomp to his thigh as the bigger of the two uniformed men finally drags him away. Your dad lies motionless on the floor as the man scolds Joel for taking “cheap shots” instead of heeding the calls to break the fight up like they’d asked.

Joel wears a flinty, unrepentant sneer that only deepens when his eyes cast down to your unmoving but groaning dad. He spits a bloody pool of saliva onto him as he’s ushered to the other side of the kitchen.

“Put your hands on her again, asshole. See if you walk away the next time.”

You can feel all the eyes in the room slip over to you, making the connection of what had started this entire mess. Some of the faces lose their look of pity for your dad, all crumpled and thrashed in a feeble sprawl on the floor. 

“You okay, baby? He hurt you?” Joel demands.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, instead running impatient hands all along your body to assess for injury.

“I’m okay,” you answer, and it’s a relief to be able to offer that in truth. “I was holding him off long enough for you to get to me.”

His shoulders sag with the reassurance that you’ve not been harmed, hands roaming up to gently cup your jaw and search your face for any lingering distress. You don’t turn away, content to let him find the undercurrent of peace that swells within you, held in his arms. 

It’s the first Father’s Day since you severed contact. Calum had already gleefully sent you a picture of your dad’s mugshot, framed and hung on a wall in his apartment. Having the advantage of knowing you were safe and sound while he listened to the recap of Kenzie’s party meant he got to enjoy every last bit of comeuppance relayed. He’d cheered you on when you recalled how you’d defended yourself, verbally and physically, and he demanded to complement Joel directly on his part in all of it before he let you hang up.

Kenzie’s dad was the first to press charges, having absolutely no qualms about sending a message to the guy who almost ruined his daughter’s graduation party. It didn’t hurt that he had connections with some law enforcement higher ups, more than enough “fuck you money” to throw around, and a top notch lawyer on retainer ready to let the long arm of the law screw your dad over. With a neutral but supportive nudge from Joel, you also pressed charges.

When all was said and done, your dad was looking at: trespassing, assault, battery, menacing, criminal mischief, disorderly intoxication, disorderly conduct, false imprisonment, stalking, driving while intoxicated, open container in a motor vehicle, property damage, and a smattering of any other offense that the lawyer could manage to unearth, ready to assist his client in rubbing salt into your dad’s wound.

You weren’t sure how much of it was going to stick or what the outcome would be, but it sure as hell didn’t look good to have a pending imputation like that with a job like his. Hell, any employer would look sideways at a string of legal infractions that extensive and that damning. It wasn’t exactly something tenure and bullshitting could smooth over. And if Kenzie’s dad had any say in the proceedings, your dad wasn’t going to get off the hook easily.

“You’re just buttering your old man up now,” Joel chortles to the screen.

You smile to yourself as you listen to his and Sarah’s video chat. She couldn’t make it back home to celebrate in person, but she’d made sure to call and lay the sweet talk on thick.

“Yeah, but it’s obviously working, sssoooooooo….”

“Little shit,” he chuckles under his breath, walking aimlessly through the house and out onto the back deck.

You hear him laugh loudly a couple minutes later, and you can’t help but join in with your own giggle. Eventually the cadence of his voice changes into words of endearment and goodbyes. He tucks his phone into his pocket as he rounds the corner.

“You’re a really good dad,” you observe warmly.

The corner of his mouth ticks up softly at the compliment, but he takes his time walking over to where you’re sat comfortably on the couch before responding. “Ya think so, huh?”

“Yeah. I do.” 

Your voice is steady and pointed. You want him to know you mean it. You might not have a personal reference to defend your position, but you know without a doubt that Joel Miller is the best father and deserves to hear it every day of his life.

He pauses for a moment before asking, “You doin’ okay? Is the day botherin’ you at all?”

You assume he means the fact that it’s Father’s Day and you have a strong contender for worst dad on the planet.

“I actually– it might sound weird, but I actually feel really light. I feel good.”

“Not weird at all,” he assures you, plopping down next to you and scooping your legs to lay across his lap so he can rub your ankles and calves. “Dead weight is dead weight. Not bein’ weighed down by him’s gotta feel like you’re finally able to live the life you deserve. Deserve the damn moon on a string for all the shit he’s put you through.”

You exhale, an amused little sound. “You’re doing it again.”

“What? What am I doin’?”

“Gunning for Best Boyfriend in the World award.”

“Remind me again what put me in the running,” he teases and leans in for a kiss.

“A million things, but today it’s mostly just– seeing you be who you are. Getting to experience that and be a part of it.”

The air of levity dampens a bit when you reach for his hands and draw him closer, and he recognizes the shift from playful to earnest.

“I think sometimes people are just meant to… they’re made for showing love. They’re made to pour their love into special people, people they love. And they are the most happy when they get to do that. I think- I think that’s you. I think you pour your love into people, and that’s when you’re happiest. To see the people you love being filled with your love.”

“Goddamn, honey, Sarah already made me all mushy,” he grouses, suddenly blinking rapidly with glossy eyes. “Y’all are gonna have me a blubbering baby if y’all don’t quit.”

But you can’t stop. You can’t hold it in. You can’t keep yourself from gushing about this beautiful person you’ve been lucky enough to know and create this life with.

“I love you, Joel. I’m in love with you.” 

It comes out without thinking, but it’s meant for this moment. There’s no hesitation or regret in it. You want to say it again.

“I love you,” you repeat, drawing on the intoxication and freedom of it finally being spoken.

“I love you, too, honey,” he returns softly. “So damn much. Love you so damn much.”

tagging:

@copperhalfcent @guelyury @keylimebeag @magpiepills @bizarrelove-triangle

@missladym1981 @wand-erer5 @koshkaj-blog @bubble-pop-eclectic @lovelyladiess

@ellenmunn @lavema @confusedpuffin @getitoutofmymindwrites @getitoutofmymind

@fishingforpike @drunk-and-capable @sheepdogchick3 @pastelpinkflowerlife @bonezone44

@guiltyasdave @toomanystoriessolittletime

[sleepymccoy]

if you wanted to convince someone who had never seen any star trek that they should watch it, which episode (from any of the shows) would you show them and why?

Okay so I'm going to beg forgiveness and give you two episodes just cos I did this with my dad and I still think it's so so interesting

First is an episode of strange new worlds. The one where captain Pike gets told he's gonna become disabled and he tries to avoid it so they play out the plot of the balance of terror with Pike in charge and because he's a bit more reluctant to go to arms against the romulans and he obeys the word of the law, causing war to break out

Then we watch the balance of terror from tos to compare

And I think anyone who likes sci-fi or film history will enjoy that, and that gets you past the why are we watching this to oh this is interesting and then they can decide themself if they liked the show enough to watch it. But you can frame it as almost educational about film in general, not just watching star trek for the sake of it

Because the snw version is so modern. It doesn't really feel it when you watch it, they try to be a bit 60s about things and exist just as sci-fi but like. The lens flares. The increase in injuries. The drama! Oh my god the interpersonal drama. And it's always noisy, if no one's talking then the music is swelling. The scenes cut fast and change constantly. It's kind of exhausting

Then you watch tos and yeah it's the same sort of plot but it's done totally differently. Jim doesn't voice every thought he has, but you can see him thinking. Injuries are minor except the death, and even then it's not gory at all. There's long long periods of silence with only radar bleeps. I saw someone online describe it as submarine warfare and it is. You feel the mystery of the unknown and the tense parallel with chess. It's amazing

I think the TOS episode is miles better. My dad grew up with star trek so he's not the example you gave, but he hadn't watched any in decades. I made him watch these two back to back with me, snw first then tos, and we talked about film and tv editing and how submarines work and the sort of statement each episode was making and which we thought was stronger for thirty minutes after. And I think that is a very good outcome for a star trek watch

Trek is just so much more esoteric and political than people expect. So if you can get someone in a frame of mind to engage on that level they may appreciate it. And if you can do it in a way that's here compare these two pieces of film in a vacuum (like, the show explains everything. There's no series plot in tos and snw drops most of its season arc for that ep) then it levels the playing ground. It's not you as the holder of star trek lore lecturing them on what political view is being stated, it's just two mates talking about the two episodes they just watched. And I think starting with the newer one is better cos it matches what people expect more, tos is quite a tone switch if you've only seen the latest Netty dramas for the last few years. But it softens you up to being able to engage in tos with an open mind

Unless you're both drunk, in which case watch The Arena

[ryansemporium]

Hey I'd like to add my perspective growing up queer (cis, gay male) during the 2000s in Western Europe.

There was a lot of shame. Especially as a small town boy, there was the very real feeling my family would never accept me. I went through an entire "I'm bi I'm bi I'm bi I can't be gay that would be the worst thing ever, I'm bi" phase.

My country had legal gay marriage (not even just 'civil partnership', actual marriage) by the 2000s. Despite that, mainstream opinion was still that we were a bunch of freaks and fruits. The big tv channels had "lifestyle" segments on gay people that were exoticising, demeaning, and very much "look at how these freaks live".

In true European fashion, anyone who complained was told "well AT LEAST you don't have it as bad as AMERICANS" (see also: racism)

'Don't ask, don't tell' was a thing not just in the US military but in high school as well. Palpable sense of "don't tell me you're gay so I can continue to be civil to you"

When I was out during the last year of high school, a gym teacher asked me "Hm, shouldn't you get changed in the girls' locker room instead?" (On a positive note, several of my straight male classmates immediately shut him down by calmly going "Excuse me? What? What did you say? You can't say that.")

Parties were pretty great. This might be nostalgia talking. There was (is) a semi-government-funded organisation focused on helping queer youth, and they threw parties about once a month. They had an online forum (discontinued only a couple of years ago! I hate the current internet and the Discordification of social online spaces) where I made a lot of friends, some of whom I'm still friends with to this day. Anyway, the parties were fun. I'd take the bus there and dance through the night and make out with people, thinking "are you a boy or a girl? does it matter?"

The internet was WILD. Only freaks were on there. 'Groups' and chatrooms were a big thing. I was in an MSN or Yahoo! group for Final Fantasy VIII yaoi. I made friends there too. We used ICQ messenger and Yahoo! messenger, before MSN messenger was even a thing. I sent and received nudes. Much later I wondered about some of the people I sent nudes too, and how maybe they were not 16 like me but a whole lot older. (And also: I lived. It barely affected me.)

I realised I was gay when I was in some sort of summer camp. Another kid was panicking because he thought he might be gay (he was, and in retrospect it was very obvious.) He'd got the idea from a GOVERNMENT FLYER on "you may be gay (and it's okay)", containing a bulleted list on "Things that indicate you might be gay." ("Masturbating while mainly thinking about people of the same gender as you" was the big one for me)

There were government posters up in libraries about "1 in 10 people are gay, it might be you, and that's okay!" It was... weird but well-meaning, I guess?

9/11 and the Bush Administration and the Afghanistan and Iraq war were... something. Yeah. I think a lot of us forgot that the War on Terror was a semi-religious war against islam. I know I forgot how big a role Bush's born-again christian thing played in it all until I saw some clips of his "God bless America" and "If you aren't with us you're against us" and it all came rushing back.

Chick-Fil-A being homophobic was a thing back then too. Back then straight people didn't care either. It's kinda funny how that came back up again recently.

Cultural imperialism is a thing. As a kid in Europe you get inundated in American tv shows and movies, whether you want to or not, and there's no telling what will stick. My mom and sister were really into Seventh Heaven, a shitty religious / evangelical Aaron Spelling show. I was really into South Park. I feel this has only gotten worse now that the entire Internet has narrowed down to five American-owned mega-sites.

At the same time, there was a sense of pride that most European countries didn't blindly go along with what Bush and Cheney and Powell were trying to sell about "Saddam's weapons of mass destruction". The whole "freedom fries" debacle was the first time me and many of my peers realised America is a deeply unserious nation.

The internet was a lot better, though.

…I’m asking this as a younger queer person who was busy with other things during the 2000s (namely being a toddler/very young child)…what was being queer teen in the early 2000s like? Also, before I go interrogate the first willing 40 year old I find at the LGBT Center…do you know of any books or articles about this time period?

it was a lot of being forced through abstinence only sex education, getting hate crimed, being super eating disordered and that being completely normalized and even considered healthy, having classmates die of a mix of eating disorders & drug use, rampant teen pregnancy, both teachers and students getting into fistfights, being sexually harassed literally all the time, the one trans kid having to take school online so he wouldnt kill himself, 25 year olds hanging out around the school giving girls cigarettes and sexually assaulting them, working a part time job at the mall for 5.50 an hour then driving home to find your mom watching bill oreilly ranting about how people like you are evil and disgusting and next thing jeff dunhams on the tv doing jokes about dead muslims. cant tell you just how ambient and everywhere both violent homophobia and rape culture were like it was omnipresent. lotta slurs too. lots of teens getting black out drunk all the time and puking and getting into situations. what resistance to the wars i got to see in my small ish city was a few rallies of a few dozen people and some protest signs tied to highway overpasses, but otherwise american flags and jingoistic propaganda were everywhereeeee, on every minivan window and classroom etc. nobody spoke up for gay people that wasnt gay and everybody hated women and were so so anti black

the internet was a lot better though.

[shy-canadian-snowflake]

Not Hungry- Mentally Unwell Wade

Something was wrong. Logan knew it in his gut, knew it in his metal bones. Something was up and Wade wasn’t saying a goddamn thing. He watched the man as he raced around on his Mario Kart game, swearing and shouting along to whatever the hell was going on. Something was wrong though. Something in the look of the other’s face.

“You’ve been taking your meds, right?” Logan asked, throwing his arm around the back of the couch to seem a lot more relaxed than what he felt. Wade shot him a look from the corner of his eye before going back to the game. 

“Yep, Five pills in the morning, one at night. Got my alarms set so I never forget- Fuck! God damn blue shell-” He let out a line of swears. 

“No new symptoms?” He asked casually again, this time looking at the TV. He saw Wade give a half shrug and turned to face him again. “What’s going on, Bub?”

“Same old shit, people coming to kill us in the middle of the night. It’s fine, I’m dealing.” There was something to the other's face that made Logan think that wasn’t everything. There was something else going on. He reached over and patted Wade on the knee before giving it a little squeeze. 

“You’d keep me updated if there were new symptoms.” It wasn’t really a question. It was a silent agreement between them, Wade would tell Logan, Logan would keep track. It’s been that way since Logan first found out Wade was prone to hallucinations and delusions. When Wade didn’t reply Logan frowned. 

“Talk to me, what’s going on?” Wade continued to play his game and only gave a half shoulder shrug again. 

“I’m dealing with it. When it becomes too much I’ll let you know, don’t worry your pretty little head there Babygirl.” Logan didn’t like that answer. He wanted to know now what the other was dealing with, but knew if he pushed Wade would clam up more. So he only grunted and patted Wade on the knee again before turning to the TV.

“What do you want for dinner?” Logan asked after a while, it was getting late and it was something they should think about. With Al on a date to steal some rich oldman’s money, they were on their own tonight for food. 

“Not hungry.” Wade said, still focusing on his game, tiling his body with every curve of the road. Logan raised a brow at that. The man was a black fucking hole, always gobbling up shit that wasn’t his to eat. He watched the other for a moment longer. 

“I’ll order a pizza, you can always eat it cold.” Wade made an agreeing sound still focused on his game. “You are going to eat right?”

“Like I said Babygirl, not hungry. Maybe later.” It was the short answers that were bothering Logan. Normally he had to wait through verbal diarrhea before he got the answer he was looking for. These quick quips were even more concerning. 

“Can you pause your game?” Wade shook his head. 

“Playing online.” 

“Can you stop playing for a second?” Wade gave a big sigh before closing down his game. He turned to Logan, waiting. Logan waited back. 

“Did you make me quit my game so that we could stare at each other? I mean I don’t mind looking at ya, you are easy on the eyes baby, but did I have to stop my game for this?” Logan waited and Wade tilted his head back on the couch to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing is wrong, yes I’m seeing and hearing things that aren’t there but it’s livable. I’m not about to do something stupid.”

“So you’ll eat dinner with me?” Wade side eyed the other before shaking his head.

“Like I said. Not hungry.” 

And Wade stayed ‘Not hungry’ all that night, all the next day, into the following morning. Logan watched and the fucker didn’t eat a goddamn thing. Something they both did a lot because of their healing factor, so he knew the other was starving, but still Wade refused to eat. 

“Is your brain telling you you aren’t allowed to eat?” Logan asked that morning over coffee. Wade just sipped his and shook his head. 

“I’m fine, Peanut.”

“Are your meds making you not hungry?” Again Wade shook his head. 

“I mean sometimes they make me forget that food is a thing I gotta do, but no, I’m just not wanting to eat.” Logan zeroed in on that.

“Why don’t you want to eat?” And again they went around in a circle of Wade’s answers always being ‘I’m not hungry’. By the fourth time they did their little song and dance around the topic, Logan thought he was going to lose it. 

“Eat something. I don’t give a fuck if it’s a pudding cup, or a granola bar. Eat fucking something.”

“I’m not-”

“You say that one more fucking time and I’m shoving something down your god damn throat.” Wade snapped his jaw shut. Logan sighed and ran a hand down his face before looking into his own coffee for a moment. 

“Is there something I can buy that you’ll eat?” Wade shook his head no. “Can I make something you’ll eat?” Again, another shake of his head. “Bub, if you don’t eat something soon, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“And what are they going to do? Look at me disapprovingly until I eat something too?” Wade fiddled with the Hello Kitty cup in his hands. Logan gave him a lost look. 

“They might give you an IV so you have something in your system.” Wade seemed to debate that for a second. Logan could feel his throat close up. Was Wade really thinking an IV would be better then eating a goddam sandwich or a fucking pudding cup? He reached over and put his hand on Wade’s. Wade took his hand and started playing with Logan’s fingers, distracting himself. 

“I’m fine baby.” Wade whispered, still playing with Logan’s fingers. 

“I’ll give you a fucking blowjob if you eat something.” Wade gave him a half smile before shaking his head. Logan ran a hand through his hair and shook his head back at Wade. “I’m really fucking worried Jackass. Explain to me why you won’t eat, and for the love of god don’t tell me it’s because you are not hungry. I heard your stomach growl last night.” 

“I’m just… I can’t… There’s little worms in my food.” Wade finally said, letting go of Logan’s hand to bury his own face in his hands. “I know there's not, but there is. I keep seeing them.” 

“Okay.” Logan got up from his chair, stood beside Wade and pulled Wade into him, holding him close. “Okay, I need to know shit like this Wade. We can work something out.” 

“Or just wait it out.” Wade’s muffled voice came from where it was pressed into Logan. 

“We can’t wait this one out, Bub. You need to eat.” As if on queue, Wade’s stomach made a sound. 

“I can’t, the worms.” He sighs. “Don’t make me eat the worms, Logan. I don’t want them wiggling around in me.”

“I know Darlin, I know. I won’t make you, we’ll find a way to work around this, it’s going to be okay, Bub.” He didn’t know if he was saying that more to Wade or to himself.

Ha ha ha. Yep, throwing my issues onto Wade. Started for me two days ago. I'm not this bad yet, but I'll stop eating once I see the worms. I know logistics there are no worms in my food, but I can see them wiggling, and know they are there. I'll stop eating if I see them. I'm eating enough that I'll be fine, and my care team will learn about this on Friday so it's fine!

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

what kind of sick fucked up joke is it for coral island to let you only get ONE pet from the shelter

[xxplastic-cubexx]

BIRTHDAY HAUL courtesy of a very lovely friend of mine 🥺

bonus goofy pics of a bday snack i had earlier with my favorite menace …..

[d8tl55c]

me: waiting for shoe(s) to drop

Personified Alan Becker YouTube Icon: oh... buddy...

[rigelmejo]

Something that always annoys me is the idea only 1 language learning method works. Which is not true. While it may be possible that, for a particular individual, only a few out of many study methods may work well enough for That Individual to make progress and stay motivated... that doesn't mean all the other study methods won't work for anyone else out there, or that those few methods will work for every other given person.

Obviously if you've been studying a while, then you already figured out what kinds of things work for you and don't. If you're a beginner, just wading into studying?

I would suggest you simply look for study methods that: 1. Teach you new things regularly, 2. Review and practice things you've learned, 3. Include studying things you need for your particular goals (for example if your goal is to read X book then the study materials at some point should involve reading practice and some words the book contains, if your goal is to talk about Y then the study materials should include some information about pronunciation and words you'll need to be able to say).

As you can imagine, a TON of study materials will meet these requirements. And you can study a given skill in a LOT of ways.

(Reading is my focus lol so just for reading, a beginner might: do vocabulary study with lists or conversations with native speakers or watching shows and looking words up or listening to dialogues with a transcript like in a textbook or graded readers or a picture book with word labels in the target language or a video game with labelled objects in target language, all of those things as long as your vocabulary is improving or reading practice is happening would help you make progress). So to improve reading skill as a beginner: you could study with a textbook, a podcast with transcript, a classroom or tutor with words written down in target language (like TPRS), a video game, a TV show and a translate app on your phone, a friend you talk with (who either writes words down or you look up words you hear with a translate app), a friend you text with, srs flashcards like anki (provided there's text) etc. As long as there's new words, and/or you're practicing reading, the study method may work. If it works will come down to if you can stay motivated doing it regularly, and make sure you regularly learn some new things and review/practice things you've already studied.

So consider those things when you see people selling a study method as a product (especially when it's costing you money). Consider if it teaches you NEW things, and are those new things related to your goals, and how MUCH new stuff will it teach you before you finish it? Consider if it provides review or practice, or if you can use it's materials to review on your own making up your own method, or if you'll need to do separate review/practice.

So examples:

LingQ. Can it teach you many new words? Yes, thousands, since you can import any texts you want when you get done with their provided material (I have no idea how much their beginner material covers though in terms of words... I would hope 1000-3000 words but that can be researched). Is your goal reading? It's suited to reading, so you will practice and review often with it. Cost? I think it was $12 a month when I last had it, and the price may have increased. Is it worth it? Depends on a learner's needs. I found it was wasting my money, so I chose to use free tools like Pleco and Readibu apps - since those apps are suited for Chinese learners and have better translations, Pleco has better paid graded reader material if I was going to spend money, and both Pleco and Readibu let me import texts so I can learn thousands of new words just like LingQ but free. Now that I'm not a beginner, I often use Microsoft Edge to read chinese... since I can still click-translate words easily (all my web browsers have that tool free), and Edge's TTS voice is helpful for pronunciation and sounds quite good. I read webnovels online so Edge works well. But it's translations aren't as good as Pleco or Readibu, so if I still needed translations more I would use them. So... is LingQ a good study method? Its certainly a study method marketed to buy. Well... the method is suited to improving reading skill, at least. It costs money, which is a negative, but it does offer a lot. However: everything it does regarding reading can be done free with other apps or sites or web browsers on their own. So if paying money motivates you to read... sure. LingQ does have a few word tracking features a learner may find worth the money, keeping in mind the actual read-to-learn method can be done free without lingq. (Also... while LingQ is a valid option for improving reading, if the learners goal is speaking then it would be important to think of what study activities the learner will do OUTSIDE of LingQ to improve speaking... because I've seen how LingQ is marketed as "how to learn a language" but it's only focused on some skills. It has vocabulary and grammar in some sense, since you'll read a lot and encounter new words and structures. But it doesnt have speaking or writing practice at least last time I was on it. Those activities would need to be worked on, on your own).

You can do that kind of cost/benefit contemplating with any study method material you see being sold. Amother example: there's a beginner Mandarin course called Mandarin Blueprint. It teaches like 800 words. Thats all. It may be worthwhile for a beginner... who still needs to learn 800 common words. But if you already know a few hundred words, the benefit of the course is less, you'll need to find a new material to teach you more new stuff soon. And the price was like a few hundred for the course... which for me personally was too much to spend, when I had already learned 800 hanzi from a book that cost me 12 dollars and 2000 words from a free user made memrise deck. The course claimed to get a person speaking, competent, but anyone not a beginner would say speaking basically with 800 words is nowhere near the level of working in Chinese or just doing a lot of daily life stuff, or reading/listening to media. (Although for the motivated beginner if you're learning 800 words on your own like I was, its definitely close to the point of jumping to learn more words and start reading kids and teenager books, and watching easier shows if you're willing to look new words up). So to me... Mandarin Blueprint felt like overselling some basic beginner materials. (Again when I know several other things that teach beginner stuff either more in depth so HSK test prep classes, and college courses, or that teach beginner stuff to the same depth as Mandarin Blueprint but free).

Some study materials aren't going to act like they teach everything. I've seen chinese courses just for learning to speak tones better and general pronunciation - probably worthwhile if your goal is to improve speaking and a teacher could help improve the issues your having. But a learner needs to be aware for that course that they'll need to study vocabulary on their own, its JUST a pronunciation improvement course.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Just want to say: a, I admire very much that you've figured out a healthy way to work on your fics that allows you to have fun with it. And also b, am very excited to hear that you are getting there with pez! It has fully given me brain rot ever since I read it last year, there is just such a lack of content for the highly specific trope of using time travel as a device to explore extremely unhealthy levels of self loathing.

I just adore everything you're doing in it. Neither midoriya is anywhere approaching okay for any portion of the fic and I love rereading and mining into all the subtle characterization pointing to that. It's a bit like nhtycth in that some really goofy funny stuff is often hiding some really fucking worrying things, but the fact that characters DO do that stuff—that todoroki uses his teaspoon's worth of extremely stunted social skills to bludgeon his friend's door open and help him, that a rpf shipping war is an actual source of drama despite how goofy the sentiment seems on the surface, that about half of what jon says is deeply worrying and the other half is extremely funny and there's a lot of overlap between the two—really lifts the tension and brightens the universe. It's sort of similar to what you did with gerry, in that endless misery isn't nearly as painful as the ups and downs of a life that, when you step back and zoom out, has something deeply and horribly wrong with it.

(jon sort of reminds me of spider-man in that he uses human to deal with trauma and stress, except I don't think he at any point realizes how fucking funny he is. He's just there, in a home depot, gnashing his teeth because he's got so many bodies to dispose of and this cashier sure is taking her time.)

I really, really, really have had trouble finding fics that take everything midoriya has dealt with to task. It's a hell of a thing to live 14 years as a disabled minority, have it heavily shape your existence, and then one day you wake up and you realize you're...not that, or at least, nobody will ever acknowledge you as that again. You've lost all claim to it. Those experiences that shaped who you are? Dust in the wind. 14 years of pain and life might as well be buried in the ground for all the good they do you. Nobody's going to cut you any slack or quarter, you've gotta simply work harder, be better. And now when you do that you get the results you wanted, so that's fine, then. That's good. There was something wrong with the you before, and there's something right with the you now, and if the transition is a little rough, well that doesn't matter, you're the same as everyone else now, so it's your own job to fill in whatever gaps you need to.

I really can't get over how mentally fucked it must be for midoriya to run into quirkless people, run across quirkless issues, and be silently caught between, incapable of speaking his mind and too scared to do so anyway around those he can trust.

Also I should mention, I'm just very excited for bakugou to get back from the gym. He's been there like a year I hope he's getting a good workout in.

Me realizing that it’s been a year since pez dispenser debris:

I feel like there’s just this very specific type of grief that Izuku has to grapple with in the span of pez dispenser debris that I’m just obsessed with. He’s sort of silently mourning who he could have been, when 1) he has to present like there’s nothing lost to maintain his secret and 2) the entire world is constantly inundating him with the message that there was nothing lost.

Like. I don’t want to get too deep into it because it risks spoiling things and I do have major plans to continue it (I’ve loved this story for so many years before I ever even hit publish), but the emotion that Izuku’s feeling right now is so much more complex than “I hate who I used to be and want him to stop existing” or “I just want to keep my secrets.” And I think the way he interacts with Mirio is the biggest evidence of that.

Izuku’s placed himself at the very center of the Quirklessness debate with his support of Mirio. He fights for Quirkless heroes, very publicly, to the point where he’s not even graduated yet but considered to be one of the most prominent voices on the matter. If you took a poll of Quirkless people as to which hero would be most supportive of them pursing their own career in heroics, Izuku would be right at the top of the list. When it comes to Quirklessness itself, he’s nothing but supportive.

But he didn’t tell Mirio the truth of his own Quirklessness.

Out of everyone, Mirio’s the one everyone expects to know, despite him being a relatively newer relationship compared to someone like Iida or Uraraka or Todoroki. And I tried to imply that he’s sort of the one who knows the most about Izuku out of everyone save All Might.

Like, we’ll get into how much exactly Mirio knows soon, so I won’t divulge what, if anything, Izuku has told him. But we know that Mirio knows, weirdly enough, that Izuku is deeply fucking haunted. He knows that boy has many violent ghosts in his bones. He finds it hilarious and will tell their realtor about it. Izuku told him about the discontent spirits who died in a violent passion and live on inside of him before he told him about his Quirklessness.

And I just feel like one of those things is a little bit easier to discuss than the other.

Izuku has decided to keep his own Quirklessness quiet in a way that surpasses secrecy about One for All. If it was just about OfA, he could tell people he didn’t get his quirk until the entrance exam, and it wouldn’t even be a lie. He’s purposefully obscuring his own past as Quirkless even as he takes a forefront of the Quirkless hero debate with his open support of Mirio.

And the fact that he’s at the forefront of this debate in and of itself requires a difficult dichotomy. He is the world’s most vocal proponent for the first Quirkless hero. He is a known figure in the Quirkless community now.

He isn’t considered one of them anymore. He’s an outsider coming in.

It must be such a strange, odd sort of grief to come to the people you were home amongst for most of your life and be greeted as a stranger. To return home, and to be welcomed in for the first time, and to not even be able to tell people that you’ve lived here all your life and don’t need a tour.

It’s a sort of death of self, I think. And I think Izuku never expected to have to grapple with his own ghost.

[worstloki]

negative connotations to Arabic phrase ‘God is Great’ incorrect. average praying Muslim does takbir (says Allahu Akbar) a minimum 95 times a day and should have been counted.

[philsmeatylegss]

Ask the librarian subreddit about getting my degree online and the responses were not encouraging to put it simply😭 other reddit posts asking have better comments? It’s different everywhere I look girl I just want to be a librarian why is life so hard😭

[loveguts]

i’m not a transandrophobia truther in the slightest don’t get me wrong, but i think some people on here really need to realize and comprehend the fact that cis women, way WAY more often than not, hold extremely significant social and political power over trans men the vast majority of the time in our day to day lives

[jichanxo]

how it started:

how it's going: