#i will admit my internalized misogyny is always at the back of my mind

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 5

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia (sometimes internalized and sometimes not), canon typical violence* Fatphobia, misogyny, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues. Summary: The raid on the club effects more than just the people inside, and it finally puts you and Javier in a room together for a real conversation to be had. Notes: Hi all! Sorry about the erratic posting schedule, but I'm doing my best. Thankfully I'm coming out of my busy season at work and moving into something that is chaotic in a different way 👍

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4

Getting an oversized guard dog into the back of your tiny, broken-down car and halfway across the city was not on your checklist of things to do today. Fleeing your apartment was not either. Getting Chi-Chi to vaguely calm down enough to drive was a task in and of itself, but when you finally pull your car into one of the spare parking spaces adjacent to Javier's building, you breathe a sigh of relief. At best, you know where his spare key is. Though you doubt he'll be glad to see you in his apartment when he gets home from a night of work.

You just didn't know where else to go.

Javi sighs as he closes the door. He's had to convince himself not to go to the club the entire way back to his apartment. Almost turning around at one point, but he knows he would just be turned away. He doesn't want to care about your safety, you've made your feelings towards him very clear, but he can't just leave you to twist in the wind.

Up to his floor and to that now-familiar front door, you take a deep breath and tell Chi-Chi to sit before knocking twice on Javier’s door. Even if you assume he’s working — why wouldn’t he be? You’re not just going to barge into his place. Not after the awful things you said to him. Not when he very well might have saved your life tonight.

Turning and frowning at the door, Javi puts down the cigarette he had just been about to light and opens the door. His eyes going wide when he finds you on his doorstep with a very large dog by your side.

Chi-Chi starts to bark immediately, but you reach down (barely having to reach) to soothe her and frown apologetically when you look back up at Javier. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you admit softly, wondering why he’s here and if he’ll even let you in.

Javi opens the door wider and wonders if the acute sense of relief is just because of your soulmate status. He has thought more about fucking soulmates in the past week than he probably ever has in his entire life. "Want a drink?" He grunts, figuring it would be a neutral question and shouldn't piss you off too badly.

“Thank you.” Your own relief is just as mysterious, but you’re willing to set that aside for now just because you’re grateful to be safe. “I’ll um…I’ll put Chi-Chi in the guest room. She’s well behaved and has had a lot of excitement so hopefully she’ll just take a nap.”

"Let her sniff around." Javi doesn't mind dogs, he likes them. He doesn't approach the large furry creature, but he does offer a hand if she would like to sniff him. "The more comfortable she feels, the quicker she will calm down."

“She doesn’t like men,” you offer, trying to explain why you were going to set her up elsewhere. But aside from barking just once, Chi-Chi hasn’t done much besides look at Javier curiously. So you let her off her leash with a scratch behind the ears. “She uh…she’s my landlady’s dog. My landlady and my neighbor were both out tonight so it was just me and her and…and I didn’t want anything to happen to her.”

“She’s protective.” He hums, watching as the dog cautiously approaches him. Her nose is wet and warm as it bumps against his hand and he doesn’t move as she starts to sniff him.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” you coo softly to the massive dog, fascinated to see her like this with a man for the first time ever. “Javier’s good. We can trust him.”

He almost snorts at the comment, knowing the last thing you do is trust him. But maybe that’s not true, you left your apartment after all. After long minutes of sniffing his hand and his shoe, a brief bump against his crotch, the dog bumps her head under his hand in the universal demand for attention. “Good girl.”

“She’s sweet,” you assure him, and breathe a sigh of relief when Chi-Chi accepts the pets she is given and goes to flop down at the feet of the armchair you used to like to sit in while you were staying here. It must still smell like you. “We, um…we won’t overstay our welcome. I know you didn’t mean to invite me over when you called.”

“I doubt you can go home tonight.” Javier admits. “If you don’t want to stay here, I can get you a hotel.” Helena isn’t here to be a buffer anymore. “But there are clean sheets on the bed.”

“I’d feel safer here,” you admit with a half shrug of your shoulders. He has been busying himself with pouring drinks and you accept one gratefully. “Are you, um…are you okay?” You motion to your own cheek, indicated where he has a bruise blossoming from the fight earlier. “I mean…is that why you’re not at the raid?”

“Suspended.” Javi takes a sip of his own whiskey and reaches up to touch his cheek, wincing slightly. “Bastard.” He hisses, wishing he had blacked both of Alex’s eyes.

“Motherfucker,” you murmur with a shake of your head, and sit down in the chair that Chi-Chi is currently guarding. “I’m sorry.”

“Could be worse.” He shrugs slightly. “I could be a CIA prick.”

“He…did not look good.” That is for damn sure, though you’re still hesitant about whether not you’re entitled to even say anything about it.

“Good.” Javier grumbles a little under his breath, but he’s happy that little fucker is having a worse day than he is. He drains the rest of his whiskey and walks back to the bar cart.

“Can I ask…” You’ve barely touched the glass in your hand but you hang on to it tightly like some kind of security blanket, wondering if Javier is already regretting letting you in. “What the fight was about?”

He turns and looks at you for a moment, his brows pinched together and he’s about to say something sarcastic when he sees that confused and worried look on your face. The same one that you had worn when the ambassador had been there. One that said you couldn’t possibly think that the fight was about you. “What do you think it was about?”

“If I had to guess?” Since you’ve been chewing on it all afternoon and now with the raid tonight? It seems obvious to you. “Something to do with the CIA staking out the club you were — are — going to raid?”

He shakes his head and takes another swallow of whiskey to dull the ache and to settle the unease in his stomach that’s been rolling around since he ran into you in the embassy halls. “Not quite.” He grunts and sighs after that, his shoulders rolling slightly. “It was about you.”

“Me?” The audible surprise in your voice is enough for him to understand that that is the very last answer you were expecting.

He turns towards you, aware that you will just claim he’s using your soulmate connection to control you or he’s jealous, but he says it anyway. “He’s a fucking prick. You don’t need to be with that son of a bitch.”

Deeply confused about why he even cares, you just take a sip of your drink and look down at your toes. “I already dumped him.”

“Good.” Now he understands why the prick had felt the need to take stabs at your weight, he was emasculated when you dumped him.

“What about me?” You ask after a pause, since it doesn’t make any sense to you that either man would care that much. Enough to get into a fist fight over someone that neither of them, apparently, liked a little or at all.

"Doesn't matter." He's not going to hurt your feelings by telling you what the man you had been sleeping with was saying about you.

“If it was about me, don’t you think I deserve to know?” Maybe you shouldn’t push, but being told the reason doesn’t matter feels a lot like saying you don’t matter. And if they were fighting about you then that clearly isn’t true.

Javi rocks his jaw, hating that you are pushing this. "He was running his fucking mouth." He finally says after staring at you for a moment. "So I punched him in it." Hopefully you will leave it at that, but he has a feeling you won't.

“It was that bad?” You ask simply, bewildered that Alex could possibly have cared enough to say anything cruel.

He doesn't say anything, just stares down into his drink and hopes that you will let the question die if he doesn't answer. He honestly doesn't know why he cares what that fucker thinks about you. You made it clear that you would rather anyone else be your soulmate, and it's not his business what kind of man you decide to fuck. Still, he had been like a bull with a red flag waved in front of his face. Reacting furiously and only now examining the whys of the moment that had gotten him suspended.

Stoic silence has never exactly been a response you have taken lightly or well, and the attitude that you came here with —apology and peacemaking — so easily gets stomped under the heel of your shoe when provoked even the slightest. “If it’s that bad then don’t I deserve to know?”

"Christ, you won't let it go, will you?" Javi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "He fucking called you an assignment because no one picks a fat chick, but maybe he would visit again because 'even whales suck cock'." He doesn't snap it out as hatefully as Alex might have, but he can't look at you when he says it, immediately draining the rest of his whiskey to have something to do.

It’s certainly not the worst insult you’ve ever had slung your way in your life, but it’s not kind by any means. But it is the sort of comment that will probably have you second-guessing even going to Freckles or Vanessa for at least the next several months. The kind of comment that will have your eyes downcast at floor and pavement without the confidence that you have spent your entire adult life working to cultivate. The kind of comment that makes you feel as useless and unwanted as you always did as a kid. “Got it,” you murmur, head bobbing in a repetitive nod. “Got it. I, um…I’ll get out of your hair…” you decide, setting down your glass and altogether ready to flee his apartment despite having nowhere to go, just so he won’t see how genuinely hurt you are by what Alex said. Or worse, how much you appreciate the fact that Javier stepped in to defend you.

"Don't go." Javi won't make you stay, but he doesn't want you to leave when you're upset. He can hear the hurt in your voice. His eyes sliding over to where you are halfway out of your seat. "You don't have to." He has a feeling that being alone would be the worst thing for you.

“You can’t possibly want me around when I’m like this.” The tears have welled up in your eyes and are threatening to spill over, and Chi-Chi has sensed the change in your mood, sitting up in front of you and whining softly in concern. “Or at all, for all the grief I’ve given you.”

"Don't go." He murmurs again softly.

“I’m sorry.” That’s when the first tears fall. With two small words that mean so many different things.

"Don't be sorry." He shakes his head, frowning and wishing that he had another drink but he doesn't move. "It's not your fault he's a fucking prick."

“I’m sorry for so much more than that.” You wipe at your cheeks, calling yourself back to order as quickly as you can and also scratching between sweet Chi-Chi’s ears to soothe her so she doesn’t get too worked up. “I’ve given you nothing but grief and you didn’t deserve it.”

He frowns slightly, wondering what is with your change in attitude. "No, I didn't." He won't mince words and make you feel better. You were wrong about him.

“Helena set the record straight.” He deserved to know the discussion that was had about him just like you did, even if the one about you was far worse. “About how you protected her, and she was the one who insisted on trying to get information. That—that you didn’t send her in for it. I misunderstood the whole situation and I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you.”

Javi lets your explanation settle over him for a moment. Absorbing it. Letting it sit for a moment before he nods. "It was a shit situation." He admits. "At least she survived. Can one day move past it. Unlike the other girls that went with them that we fished out of the river last week."

“They’re all psychopaths. The sicarios.” The best you can do is shake your head in utter disgust. “But she’s going to be okay. It will be good for her to get to move. To get away from the memories, at least physically.”

"They are." That he will completely agree with. His jaw tightens slightly, knowing that right now he is on the outs of the action, unable to be there. Murphy probably won't even call him tonight. He looks at his empty glass and knows that before he gets too drunk, he should probably eat. "You hungry?" He asks, looking over at you curiously. He had never been around while you and Helena ate, often working long hours that week that you stayed here, but he had appreciated the leftovers in the fridge.

“Sure.” The olive branch he’s offering isn’t insignificant, and you’re not going to ignore it. Especially when you actually are hungry. In all the commotion of the day you’d completely forgotten to eat at all.

"Anything in particular you want?" He reaches over and nudges your drink towards you, urging you to drink it. "I can go pick something up or we can get it delivered."

“How do you feel about Lebanese?” It hadn’t at all been what you expected to see when you arrived in Bogotá, but there had been a wide variety of international restaurants in the area owned and operated by immigrants from other countries. Not the least of which was the amazing Lebanese restaurant two blocks from Javier’s apartment.

“I normally get the lamb kafta.” He tells you. “Haven’t tried much else on the menu to be honest.” He’s a simple guy, if he likes something, that will be what he orders every time. Someone had brought some in to the office one day and he had asked where it had come from.

“Have you never tried their falafel?” You ask in mock shock. The fact that you’re pushing forward, trying to be relatively normal with each other, it matters more than you want to admit.

“I don’t have clue what that is?” Javi admits with a snort, shrugging slightly. “Is it good?”

“It’s amazing, I promise.” In fact you’re prepared to swear to it, just hoping that what you consider amazing also fits his taste buds.

“Then I’ll let you order.” He offers, figuring it makes more sense because he doesn’t know what you like. In fact, he knows very little about you. “Sound good?”

“I’ll put it under your name.” And you’ll get an order of his lamb kafta, just in case he doesn’t end up liking the falafel. You’re balancing on a very thin and fragile tightrope right now so you don’t want to push too hard. Not anymore than you already have, anyway.

“That’s fine by me.” He stands with a groan and fishes his wallet out of the back of his suit trousers and pulls out some money. “I’m going to take a shower.” He tells you. “Use this for the food.”

“I’ll have it back by the time you’re dressed.” And you’ll use your own money, but there’s no use turning it into an argument. Arguing seems to be what you and Javier do best and most easily, but you’re trying to avoid it for at least a little while.

“Don’t leave.” He stops and turns around with a frown on his face. “Have it delivered.”

“Okay.” The look on his face is so set that you only nod. “I promise.”

He nods and looks like he’s going to say something before he just turns around and walks to his bedroom. Eager to get out of the suit and clean up a little.

It would be easy and very like you to just disregard his request and go pick up the food on foot. It wouldn’t take very long and it certainly wouldn’t be difficult. But something about breaking this first promise you made to him in good standing just doesn’t feel right. It feels worse than just sort of off. So you head back into the kitchen and pick up his phone, dialing the number for the Lebanese place listed on the front of the menu at the top of his take out drawer.

Javi feels bad about asking you to stay in the apartment, but he gets the nagging feeling that if he lets you out of that door, he won’t see you again. Plus he’s on edge, knowing that the sicarios will be trigger happy after they learn a kill team has been sent out.

You’re closing the door behind the delivery guy when Javier comes out of his room. “Good timing,” you tell him, holding up the bag. Your shoes are off and sitting by the door, so hopefully he doesn’t question that you kept your promise.

You are still in the professional wear from the Embassy, making him feel guilty about changing his own clothes. He doesn’t have anything for you to change into and he doesn’t want to embarrass you by bringing that up. “Good.” He hums. “I’ve realized I haven’t eaten anything since a slice of toast this morning.”

“I’ve had coffee and cigarettes, does that count?” Forks from the drawer and refills for each of your glasses, and before you know it you’re both sitting down at his table with plastic takeout containers full of fragrant dinner.

“Coming from a place of complete hypocrisy—” he points at you with a fork. “That’s not good for you.”

“Bite me,” you smirk, and shove the container of falafel, rice pilaf, labneh, and other tasty goodies toward him. “We both have terrible habits.”

He glances down at the container and pokes at it with interest. “Didn’t say we didn’t.” He points out. “But you took care of Helena, maybe you should take care of yourself.”

“As long as I’m in enough of one piece to get my work done, I’m fine.” You shrug, poking at the container of kafta, turnip pickles, and baba ghanoush in front of you. “Besides, I think we’ve established tonight that I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“Don’t do that.” Javi huffs, picking up one of the round little balls and inspecting it. “There’s not a goddamn thing wrong with you and you know it.”

“I definitely do not know that, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.” The first bite of lamb is unctuous and warm with spices, but you lean on the table and frown. “I’d be the biggest liar in the world if I said I hadn’t heard it before.”

“Because people are fucking assholes.” He snorts again and shakes his head. “Are you happy with who you are?”

“Fuck no.” You snort at the absolute ridiculousness of that question and lean back in your seat. “Why? Are you?”

“I don’t know much about you, but I don’t have any problem with anything I’ve seen so far.” Javi shrugs slightly, a little surprised by the vehemence in your response when you see so self-assured. “You’ve got a nice ass.” He adds, as if that helps prove his case.

For a minute you just stare at him, bewildered, before a disbelieving laugh punches its way out of your throat. “I—what?”

He looks down at his plate again, stung by the laugh when he had thought he was being nice. “Okay.” He huffs, shoving a bite of food into his mouth. “Forget I said anything.”

"No, no, I mean—" You pinch your eyes shut and remind yourself not to snap back. To just be a fucking normal person for once in your life instead of always being on the defensive. "I'm surprised that you...I mean I thought you hated me. That's what I mean."

“You hated me.” Javi corrects. “I didn’t know you.” He remembers that one meeting in the street in front of the brothel and snorts. “Except we sleep with the same women.”

"I hated my assumptions." You're a big enough person to admit that, though it feels appropriately humbling. "Thankfully, they were mostly wrong."

“Mostly?” That amuses him in an ironic kind of way and he wonders what it is that you think you have gotten right.

“Mostly.” Though this does make you smirk slightly. The amusement is so deep-seated you can’t help it. “I was not wrong about every woman you speak to falling at your feet.”

“Shiiiiiiit.” Javi snorts and shakes his head with a sardonic smile on his face. “That’s damned sure not the truth.”

“Name one,” you counter, knowing he’ll struggle. “And the ambassador doesn’t count.”

He lifts a brow. “You.” He says bluntly. “Damn sure woulda remembered you falling at my feet.” He takes another bit of the rice and reaches for a lamb kafta.

“I did.” You fidget slightly in your chair with the uncomfortable realization that he didn’t notice you at first. Not that he should have. But knowing that he is your soulmate makes it sting now. “The first time I saw you…at the embassy. I was with one of the secretaries and she…she told me about you.”

“You wore a pink shirt,” Javi hums. “Three inch heels that made your ass bubble up under a pencil skirt.” He had thought about it, thought hard on it and remembered seeing you around the embassy in passing. Although you always seemed to skitter away from him rather than come towards him.

“How…?”

“Because you were wrong about me not seeing you.” Javi has a wandering eye, he won’t deny that. If there’s a woman around, he’s going to appreciate her beauty. “You just seemed to rush away any time you saw me.” You seem shocked that he is telling you this and he wonders if it’s because you think that you shouldn’t receive a lot of attention because you aren’t thin.

“I guess I’m just…used to not being noticed.” It’s a nasty feeling to admit it, but being more or less invisible has always given you an edge as a journalist. Let you observe and be absorbed by what is happening around you. Apparently that isn’t the case when it comes to Javier.

“I noticed.” He takes another bite of his food and notices that you haven’t eaten much so he motions to your plate. “Eat.” He orders softly. “Noticed you outside the brothel too. Wondered if you were a client or if you were going to become a working girl there.”

“My editor wouldn’t sign off on me going undercover,” you admit, picking up your fork again. “I almost did it anyway.”

Javi shakes his head. “You don’t want to do that.” He frowns and looks down at his food, thinking about Helena. “For good damn reason.”

“It took me a while to get my footing down here, that’s all.” He doesn’t seem to be a big fan of the falafel, so you switch plates with him and try to find your appetite again.

“Thanks.” He pokes at your plate and frowns. “You like that, right?” He asks, wanting to make sure you aren’t just switching to make him happy.

“I got both of our favorites…” It feels silly to admit, but here you are. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Did you try it?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just reaches down and picks up one of the skewers to put on your plate.

The striking difference in how he’s treating you now versus just a week ago is enough that you simply nod, thank him, and try to imagine what it would be like between you now if the unfounded anger — yours was unfounded, his was reactionary — had never existed. If you had met by accident. Spoken that day at the embassy, or any of the others since. If Alex had never been a part of your life. If you hadn’t fled your honest attraction because Colleen had advised you to stay away from the skirt-chasing agent.

The silence settles between the two of you. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s anticipatory. As if waiting for one of you to break and ask a question, any question. He takes another bite, happy when you start to eat again. Keeping an eye on you as he starts to devour his own plate. He’s got a lot of experience waiting for a suspect to talk, understanding the value of silence and how it affects some people.

To say that you have questions would be somewhat of an understatement, but what’s overshadowing it is that you don’t even know where to begin. When your whole consciousness is wrapped up in trying to understand, how do you choose where to start? Some part of you seems to build up and build up, until what comes out of your mouth is finally: “So why is the elephant on your thigh?”

The question of you really being his soulmate is put to bed. He had thought that it might have been some kind of joke. The girls yanking both of your chains, but he doubts they told you about what kind of tattoo he had. They might have fucked with him, but they wouldn't share that. "Who sees my thigh?" He asks, chuckling quietly. "I can't have visible tattoos, it's too dangerous."

“Sure, but…” It came out more bluntly than you meant it to, you know that. It’s just so hard to try to imagine how you and Javier are meant to knit together so perfectly that the universe made you soulmates. “That was blunt. I’m sorry. It just surprised me when it appeared. It’s the last place I ever would have thought to put a tattoo.”

"It's a spot I...." He struggles with how to explain it. He sighs softly. "It's the last place my mother touched me." He admits after a moment. "She was surprisingly alert, reaching over and grabbing my thigh." He looks down at his food and remembers how his frail and perpetually exhausted mother had suddenly had a burst of strength. "It's— that spot is where her thumb was. Elephants were her favorite animal. It made sense when I was drunk."

“It makes perfect sense,” you assure him, voice dropping in shame over having asked so bluntly. You really do just spit things out sometimes. “I’m sorry about your mother. It sounds like you were close.”

He wonders why you sound upset, but he nods. “Thanks. She was amazing.” He glances up at you again. “What about yours?” He asks. “Any special meaning?”

Because you had just taken a bite you have to wait long enough to chew, but eventually you motion to your right foot, where your one small tattoo sits on the outside of your ankle. "The anchor? Yeah, it's...it's on our state flag." He raises one eyebrow slightly, so you explain. "Rhode Island. We have an anchor on the flag and the state motto – hope – underneath. I got it so that no matter how far I traveled, I would always have a piece of home with me."

You're nostalgic and sentimental. He can see the wistfulness in your eyes as talk about home because that's apparently what it is to you. "Makes sense." He chuckles. "I thought maybe you had been in the Navy or something."

"One of my brothers joined up, but that's the closest I'll ever get." His laugh, though small, is infectious, and you end up joining him in it. The warm sound shared between you is almost a hug. "I love boats, but not rules."

"Yeah." He grunts, reminded of his own disciplinary action because of breaking some rules. He sometimes gets annoyed at all the red tape and he's not above doing dirty deeds to make sure the bad guy doesn't win. "I get that."

"Is there..." You shift in your seat, feeling acutely aware of yourself. “Anything you want to know about me?”

Javi is fantastic at flirting. Amazing at charming women and getting in their pants. This is much more important than those simple tasks. "Why journalism?" He asks, looking into your eyes and wondering why a reporter from Rhode Island was here in Colombia, if not to somehow run into him.

"People deserve to have their stories told." It's why you specifically tell human interest stories. Why, as a reporter, you have focused on sharing the words of people who otherwise might not be heard. "Helping people understand each other is something that newsprint can still do really effectively."

“Your stories are really compassionate.” He agrees, looking back down at his plate and realizing he’s almost done.

Surprise overtakes your face again. "You've...read my stuff?"

He looks back up at you, frowning slightly at the surprise. “Why wouldn’t I?” He asks. “You’re my soulmate.” It seems simple to him, he considered it research and at the time, he wanted to know why the fuck you seem like you thought you had some kind of moral upper hand.

"I guess," you swallow, embarrassed all over again. "I guess I've never really had high expectations for whatever relationship I might have with my soulmate. Nothing to do with you specifically. I just didn't hold out very high hopes."

That’s something Javi could relate to. He chuckles and shakes his head. “So we both weren’t looking forward to meet the ‘perfect match’ the universe chose for us, huh?”

"It doesn't sound like it." Another tick in the column of things that the girls had said you have in common. The irony certainly isn't lost on you. "But here we are."

“Soulmates were kind of ruined for me.” Javi figures you should at least know why he had been so unenthusiastic.

“How so?” Not all soulmate pairs are perfect. You know that. You’ve seen plenty of it in your own life. But it sounds like he has a very specific example of why he wasn’t looking forward to meeting his.

“I was engaged.” Javi figures you deserved to know. “Hell, I stood her up, didn’t go to the church.” He huffs slightly. “You ever meet someone and you’re told that they are perfect for you – they are what you are supposed to want – but there’s just something you can’t put your finger on?”

“Yeah,” you huff slightly, acknowledging your own memory even as you nod. “She lied to you about being your soulmate?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Told me that she was pregnant too, doubling down on the pressure for me to tie the knot.” He had felt sick and trapped, hating how he was being dragged along to this elaborate wedding that was supposed to be the talk of the town. It was, but not for the reasons Lorraine’s family had hoped for.

“Shit.” That takes some serious balls to go into, with lies that big, and you’re instantly furious with this woman for being so selfish.

“I got drunk and got the tattoo the night before the wedding.” He explains. “I was already upset my mother couldn’t be there, so the tattoo was a way to keep her with me.” He picks up his glass and takes a sip. “That morning— shit it was probably four-thirty? I was hungover and needed to talk to her. Figured I could get around that old wives’ tale about it being bad luck to see the bride of the sun wasn’t up yet.” He laughs at himself. “She was wearing’ these little red shorts. Tiny things that she honestly would have been better just not wearing anything to bed. But she didn’t have a tattoo.���

“Hell of a way to find out.” Instinctively, you reach across the table. Fingertips find fingertips and even though you only touch him for a second you try to offer some small comfort. “I’m so sorry. She sounds horribly selfish.”

Javi looks down at his hand and yours still just within reach. “I didn’t even confront her.” He admits. “Couldn’t think. Just left and went through the motions of getting ready to get married to a woman who had lied to me, who had manipulated me.” He shakes his head. “When we were driving to the church….I just drove by and kept going.”

“I can’t lie,” you swallow a laugh, not wanting to seem insensitive. “I would have made a scene. That bitch’s dirty deeds would have been smeared all over town.”

“It came out. But she was more humiliated, standing there waiting for me to show up when everyone was at the church.” He shrugs. “But if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be in the DEA.”

“You would have stayed home instead of joining?” It’s only in this moment that you realize you don’t even know where he’s from.

“I was a Webb County Sheriff’s deputy.” He tells you. “I took the job after college so I could take care of my mama. Lorraine wanted me to quit and go work for her dad, and I didn’t want to do that, but she probably would have gotten her way if we got married.”

“Webb County…” Running through the Rolodex of relatively trivial information in your head, it takes you a few seconds before you place the department but then your head pops up like you’ve won a prize. “You’re from Texas.”

“Laredo.” He confirms and he’s curious how you know that. “Although I don’t think that Texas has the only Webb county.”

“I’m sure they don’t.” You can agree to that right away. “But if I combine the fact that you specifically were a sheriff’s deputy it narrows down the number of states you could be from, and then cross-referenced with what’s left of your accent and the fact that there more than ten DEA field offices in Texas, including one in Webb County? It…it narrows it down.” Revealing how your mind skips around to make connections and your weirdly encyclopedic knowledge of certain aspects of government organization makes you fluster at the table and look away, assuming that he’ll find it uncomfortable or off putting like so many others do. It’s useful for your work to be able to do this sort of thing, but people tend to find it odd.

He tilts his head and studies you for a moment, impressed by the way that you filtered through the pieces of information to come to your – correct – answer. “Huh.” He muses. “Maybe I should come to you with information rather than the fucking CIA.”

“Journalism is also a way to utilize all the weird factoids in my head,” you admit, quietly pleased that he doesn’t immediately think you’re some freak of nature for the way your mind makes connections.

“It’s fighting through the bullshit useless information to put the pieces together that you need.” He nods. “You’re analytical, but compassionate. I can see that in your writing. You don’t twist the facts to your own personal bias.”

“My opinion has no place in the writing. If I wanted to do that I’d be writing OpEds or I could have stayed in the gossip columns where they wanted to keep me.” With both of your dinners finished, you nudge the empty container away and take your whiskey glass back in hand. Not necessarily to drink it, but for the comfort of holding it. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk like this weeks ago.”

“You didn’t like me.” He shrugs. “I don’t know if I would have liked me either, under the circumstances.” He snorts. “Hell, I barely like myself now.”

“I understand that feeling very well.” Your shrug matches his. “Maybe we’re every bit as alike as the girls said after all.”

“Look.” Javi leans back and searches his jeans pockets for his pack of cigarettes. “I’m not going to tell you we need to be together or whatever.” He pulls out the half-crushed pack and takes one, offering the pack to you. “You didn’t come down here to find love and I sure as hell didn’t.”

"But?" You prompt, hearing the word in his tone and accepting a cigarette gratefully. You always crave a smoke after a meal and it's nice to not have to explain that to the person you're eating with.

“But….” He takes a long drag off the cigarette and blows it out towards the ceiling. “It’s dangerous here for anyone going after Pablo.” He warns, glancing back at you. “There’s a bounty on my head.”

"It would be easy enough for anyone to think I'm going after him, too. My articles are about how Escobar is destroying the country and the people that he alleges he's fighting for." Sitting back in your seat, you take a matching drag of your own cigarette and exhale the smoke slowly afterward. "I'm not going to back off, if that's what you're implying."

“Didn’t think you would.” He admits. If the girls think you two are alike, then you would have a stubborn streak as wide as the Rio Grande.

"Alright." Trying not to sound as frustrated as you temporarily feel, you bring your head down and look forward at him again. "So I'm not going anywhere, and we've established that neither of us came here looking for some world-changing love story. Does that leave us as acquaintances? Friends? People who occasionally pass each other in the halls of the embassy and happen to share marks?"

“I don’t have those answers.” He admits, flicking the ashes into the empty take out container. “What’s your gut feeling?”

Without meaning to, you half-laugh and take another drag from your cigarette. "That we're both too stubborn," you admit on the exhale. "So we shouldn't decide anything, and just let life fall into place however it's going to."

He smirks slightly and tilts his head in acknowledgement. It’s a relief that you are on the same page he is. It makes the nagging guilt he’s had for wanting to see Vanessa and Freckles, subsequently why he’s stayed away, disappear. “So we sit on it.”

"Sit on it." There is a twist in your gut that is both guilt and relief. Not making it out to be more than just a fact of your lives is a relief, but the guilt that you maybe should hangs heavily on your shoulders. "Not bury it, and not shout about it. Just let it exist."

He lifts the rest of his drink in a salute before he tips it back. Swallowing it in one go and wondering why it doesn’t feel as good as it should.

******

Spending the night in the same guest room that you spent a week in while you were caring for Helena doesn't feel as odd as it could, but the intensity of knowing that your soulmate is sleeping right down the hall has you lying awake staring at the ceiling for more hours in the night than you would like to admit. It isn't until Chi-Chi leaves the doorway to climb into bed beside you that you find any sleep at all, but at least you can clock a few hours before sunrise starts to wake the block.

Javi rarely sleeps past five in the morning. Too acclimated to years on the ranch, needing to get up before school to feed livestock, clean out stalls or whatever his pop might need help with. Now it’s his body craving that cigarette he smokes as he takes that first, glorious piss of the day and then shuffles into the shower. Once he’s out, he realizes that he doesn’t have anything to do today, and it makes him ill, knowing he should already be raring to go to the scene – if he had even come home the night before. Now, he decides that maybe you’d might like some breakfast and he slips out of the apartment to run down to the market for some fresh fruits and see if Señora Rodriguez is selling those little pastries that he sometimes grabs.

Showering seems superfluous since you only have the same clothes to put on again afterward, but you go into the second bathroom you're accustomed to using to wash your face and wish you had your toothbrush. It's futile, but Javier was kind to let you stay last night when he didn't strictly have to. You'll go home and get out of his hair today if you can. The comfort lying low in your belly is knowing that the next time you run into him in the halls of the embassy, neither of you will flee or fight. For now all you can do is wander out to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and cigarettes.

There are files spread on the kitchen table, a half-drunk cup of coffee and cigarette burning in the ashtray. He had waited to tear into the bag of pastries and fruit until you woke up and he’s proud of himself for that. He had even left a second coffee cup out for you to pour yourself a cup. “Morning.” He murmurs, still reading a CentraSpy report from two days ago.

"Morning." During the week of staying here you had paid attention only to Helena, and mostly hadn't even been speaking to Javier. So this sight is something of a surprise as you move to the coffee maker to pour yourself a cup. "You're an early riser."

“Raised on a ranch.” He glances up at you, watching your ass for a moment and trying to ignore the tug of lust in his belly before looking back down at the page. You didn’t want to hop into bed with him and he shouldn’t complicate things. “Mama would make you miss breakfast before you missed the bus for school.” He chuckles. “And your chores had better be done or you would get an earful when you got home.”

Small town. Texas. Sheriff's deputy. Ranch kid. The puzzle pieces of Javier Peña drop into place one by one. "Do you ever miss it?" You ask, bringing your coffee over to the table after you've fixed it. You don't mind sitting with your mug in your lap so he can keep his papers spread out everywhere. It's his space, after all.

He snorts. “If you had asked me that two years ago, I would have told you ‘fuck no’ so fast it would have knocked you over.” He reaches for his cup and sits back. “Now? It’s not as boring as I remember. Or maybe I’m just tired of the excitement of getting shot at here.”

"That's...fair, honestly." One half-glance at the papers around him tells you they're all about work, and you would be lying if you expressed any surprise at all. You're the same way. Always working, always composing in your head and stamping headlines on your life as you go about your day. "I bet even being a deputy would be a hell of a lot quieter than what you're doing now."

“Telling Mr. Johnson he can’t ride his fucking lawnmower to the liquor store. Cock blocking on the little lot where couples like to go to fuck.” He smirks. “Telling Mrs. Taylor that her husband was not abducted by aliens, he’s just a fucking prick. It was fucking cake.”

"Sounds like a retirement job." Not that you've really ever known anyone who retired. But it sounds like something that people say when they aren't raised scraping by every meal of every day. You're lucky as hell to be where you are now, and you know it.

“Yeah.” It was too boring for him at the time. That desire to do good and get the fuck out of town and away from the mess he caused with Lorraine, the DEA had come knocking and he couldn’t pack his bags fast enough.

"Maybe one day," you offer, going back to sipping your coffee.

"Maybe." He doubts it but he doesn't say that this job is dangerous enough that he will count his lucky stars if he gets out of Colombia alive.

"My Mom always says that if you don't think about what comes next, you'll give up on what's here right now." But he didn't ask for your family advice and you're not going to push it on him, so you offer him a small smile and reach for your first cigarette of the day. "Are you a breakfast person?"

"Been waiting on you." He nods towards the kitchen counter. "Picked those up this morning."

“You didn’t have to wait.” It’s sweet that he did, in a way that makes your chest tighten and think things you have to banish from your mind immediately, so instead you pop up from your chair and grab the bag to bring over to the table.

"Be rude to eat without you." He points out, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Is that that Southern hospitality I’ve heard so much about?” You set the bag down in the place he clears for it on the table and go back for two plates. Your cigarette is smoldering in the ashtray but you care less about that than whatever this morning patter is that the two of you have going. “We don’t have much of that where I’m from.”

"So why do you like it so much?" He asks, curious about your own history. "Where you're from."

“New Englanders are straightforward.” The bag has two arepas con huevos and two roscón — presumably one for each of you — and some assorted small cookies that are spiced and baked hard so they’re especially dunked in coffee. It’s a sweet gesture in more than one way, and you distribute the pastries evenly between you. “Everybody says what they mean, and sometimes they say shit things but then the same cranky ass old guys will turn around and give you the shirt off their back or the food off their table to help you.”

“You haven’t met many Texans, have you?” Javi snorts. “They are blunt, proud as fuck from being from Texas, but they also work together.” He shrugs. “Old man Sanchez had a heart attack in his field, crop of hay was going to go to ruin, so everyone met at his place and put up all the hay for winter for his herds while he was in the hospital.”

“Sounds like two groups cut from the same cloth.” Which is wholly a good thing in your book, and goes a big step to explain how you’re so similar coming from very different places. “You guys are the ranchers and we’re the fishermen.”

"Surf and turf." He chuckles slightly at his admittedly bad joke and shrugs. "We should open a restaurant."

“My father was a chef.” The morsel of information is offered up just like the food between you. “So it’s not a terrible idea.”

"Was?" He catches the phrasing and he wants to know more.

“He had a heart attack a couple a years ago.” Like you’re slipping into the memory, you stare at the pastry in your hand rather than at Javier. “Out on the fishing boat with my oldest brother. It was barely dawn and they had a haul to get in, so he ignored it. The second one he had, before dinner service that night, that’s what killed him.”

"I'm sorry." He really is. He knows how it squeezes your heart and doesn't let you breathe when you are swimming in grief so deep if feels like you are drowning. He sometimes thinks that it might have been because of his grief that he had ended up so lost in his relationship with Lorraine. He had been anchorless without his mother and she had swooped in and comforted him.

"Thank you." It means more coming from him because he knows exactly how much it hurts to lose a parent, giving you an odd and unwanted comradery in that way. "It's...pronounced. The things we have in common."

"Losing someone you love is shitty." He agrees.

"It does." You can agree to that wholeheartedly. So far these shared meals with Javier have been eye-opening, but not necessarily happy. The conversations tend to be more serious, which just might be the type of people you are. "I try not to let it overtake the other things, but it's not easy."

"Is that why you came to Colombia?" He asks, wondering if like him, you are running away. His own journey here had been a little longer, having to go through the academy and then his first post, but you are both here for a reason. "To escape?"

"Not consciously." Although now that he mentions it, there is a distinct possibility that that was an undercurrent in your decision making. "I fought for this assignment. My editor wanted somebody on the ground covering Escobar and I argued that every paper is reporting just on Escobar, but nobody is talking about the people in Colombia and how they're being affected by everything going on down here. How Escobar is ruining lives."

"It's a good angle" Javi shifts in his seat. "Some sing his praises, but they've never been touched by his violence."

"That was pretty much my point." And frankly, it's a comfort to know that it's coming across in your articles. "He might be doing good for some people on the surface here. Handing out money, claiming he's working for the people when he tries to run for office. But the fact is that he's hurting more than he's helping. And the hurt is spreading worldwide."

Javi snorts. "They don't fucking care though." He is bitter about that. "It's a fucking party favor to them. Something to experiment with and cut on a mirror in the big house that they are partying in. They don't see the fucking twelve-year-old overdosing on the street or the workers that have outlived their usefulness, rotting in the goddamn jungle."

"I know." You nod solemnly. "That's why I'm writing about it."

He watches you, his respect for you growing even more. After a moment, he nods. "Then it's a good thing you're here."

******

He wouldn't let you go back to your building alone. Something about wanting to make sure it was safe, but you couldn't really hear him over the blood pounding in your ears when he held open the door for you like some kind of fucking gentleman. Southern. You remind yourself, fully ready to reprimand your own stupidity into submission. It means nothing. It's just good manners.

But when he pulled up outside the club a half an hour later, you were suddenly very glad that he had insisted on coming with you. Chi-Chi growled low in the backseat, seeing so many men around the building, but you reached back and shushed her with some gentle pets that once again thanked her for somehow not spending all night making the same noise at Javier. The policemen outside were all busy and some of the club windows had been shot out, but all of it was taped off to prevent people from coming inside.

"Shit..." you murmur, sitting back in the passenger's seat as you slowly process the fact that you can't go home yet.

Javier frowns as he throws his Jeep into park. There's Steve, camera in his hands as he takes photos of a body laying outside the club. "Shit." He hisses, knowing there is no way he can poke around without being seen.

"Go around the block and park on the next street down," you tell him, annoyed that this day has taken an inconvenient turn. "I'll sneak in through the side door and grab some of my stuff. Enough to last me a few days at a hotel, at least." It was enough that you showed up at his place last night unannounced after having been there another week previous to that. You're not going to invade his space anymore.

He furrows his brow and shakes his head. "You don't have to stay in a hotel." He protests, not happy about you being in some hotel. Even if he's not got any right to tell you what to do. "Unless you'd rather have some space besides my guest room?"

"I don't mind your place." If you were being totally honest with him, not feeling isolated or alone is a lot better for you. Even with Inez in the next apartment over, living on your own had been lonely. "I just don't want to put you out."

"Because I spend so much time in my spare bedroom." He rolls his eyes at you sarcastically and frowns again. "Use it." He urges you. "You don't have to waste your money on a hotel." He shrugs, knowing that he sounds a little overprotective. "After all, it's because of my team that your apartment is now a crime scene."

"Why don't you and Chi-Chi stay in the car and I'll pack up some things quickly." If he's offering, you won't turn down a free place to stay. You'll do your part and keep the place clean so he barely recognizes you're even there except for putting a little food in his fridge now and then. "I guarantee my landlady is still with her son. I can drop our four-legged friend off to her later today."

"No." He shakes his head, knowing that someone could stop you from entering. Plus he can get a quick look to see if anyone important was taken out. "I'll come with you."

You raise one discerning eyebrow at him and motion to the backseat. "That means all three of us have to go in. You think you can sneak Scooby Doo's sister over here past all those cops?"

"Not going to sneak her in anywhere." Javi smirks and looks back at the dog. "She's going to go to work with me. Aren't ya, girl?"

For perhaps the first time in her life, Chi-Chi awoos softly for a man instead of for any of her usually preferred female companions.

"Well hell," you snort, shaking your head at both of them. "I guess that's a yes."

It takes a minute to get her out of the car and her leash unwound from her body. Then there are the two minutes that she has to sniff around the side door where she normally comes outside to pee and takes a squat while Javier smokes a cigarette.

It's ridiculous to watch, as the large and normally fearsome guard dog trots happily at Javier's side, but one intrusive thought breaks through the others and you snort under your breath in amusement as Chi-Chi indicates she's ready to go again. "I was right," you point out, smirking at Javier when you pull out your key to the building's back door. "All women really do roll over for you."

He rolls his eyes and huffs at you. Pursing his lips and murmuring a curse. "Shut up." He manages, although it's not exactly vehement. "Do you want me to come up with you?" He doubts anyone has ventured upstairs, but he doesn't want you to be uncomfortable.

"Might as well," you nod toward the stairs, letting the warmth of friendly teasing instead of annoyed barbs warm through you. "My living room has that good view of the front of the building and approaching street that you knew Alex was using."

"We were watching to club." Javier admits. "Saw the fucker there. The bartender giving him your note."

"I kind of figured." Climbing the stairs quickly, you reach your floor as quietly as you can and turn back to make sure you don't lose Javier on the stairs. "Otherwise how could you have actually gotten the note? It's not like the CIA and DEA cooperate. Even I know that."

He smirks, not at all embarrassed about stealing that fucker's note. "For a spook, he's shit at keeping track of things." He huffs.

"He was probably distracted." At your door, you scratch Chi-Chi's head and fit your key in the lock to shove it open. "I've been thinking about it ever since you pointed it out, and I think he went in with the intention of actually hitting on Inez."

"And he found you instead?" He asks, wondering what you saw in that schmuck. Granted he was tall, blonde, classically handsome. Everything he was not. Maybe your preference was completely different than the soulmate the universe gave you.

Pushing into your apartment, you shrug sheepishly and drop your purse on the table by the door to let him in behind you. "I was lonely," you admit, not feeling particularly proud about it.

"That happens." He knows that firsthand. He looks around the apartment curiously, eager to get an inside view of your life.

"I'll grab some clothes and stuff. Chi-Chi's allowed on my furniture, so she'll probably go sit on the couch if you let her off leash." He'll poke and prod. That's fine with you. It's what you would do if you were him – yet another similarity between you to note.

"Take your time." He moves over to the window and looks out, a little irritated that it was indeed a good fucking view. Pissed that he hadn't thought of that before Alex had.

You disappear into your room, glad that you had just done a big load of laundry after returning from Javier's place the first time and that you had neatly put everything away. It made it a hell of a lot easier to simply remove stacks of clothes from your dresser and pile them up in the one small suitcase you had arrived to Colombia with. After having been here for a little while you had accumulated a few more things, but most of them can just stay put. Your toiletries go into a bag to be packed away, and your work has its own tote bag. At least your typewriter was already packed up in its case. That saves you some time.

Your space is neat, not too many personal things, although he picks up a framed photo of what must be your family. “Nice looking family.” He murmurs to himself, the photo obviously taken before your father passed.

"My parents' thirtieth wedding anniversary," you tell him, knowing what photo he's looking at. "My Mom, my two older brothers, then me and my Dad. We're all dressed up because my aunt and uncle insisted on throwing them an anniversary party."

“It’s nice.” You look happy, beaming from the photo. “Soulmates?”

"Yeah." When you come out of your room, you're toting a full suitcase and heading for your work things on the coffee table. "They met at the beach. My Mom was out with her girlfriends one day when she was twenty and they started catcalling this group of guys down the other side of the sand." The memory of the story makes you crack a smile. "Reverse of the usual situation, but my mother isn't a shy woman. We used to go back to that beach every single summer. Usually three or four times a summer if we could manage it between everybody's work and sports and camp and everything else."

He laughs at the mental image and smirks. “Most men actually like it when a woman hits on them.” He agrees. “It’s nice to be chased every now and again.”

"Yeah..." It makes your cheeks burn to remember the times in your life you've attempted it – and how the one time it didn't go terribly wrong it was a CIA douchebag who didn't even reciprocate your interest in any real way. "I guess I just...never understood a lot of it. But my Mom is drop dead gorgeous even after three kids, so more power to her, I guess."

Javi studies the picture again. “Yeah, you look just like her.” He murmurs offhand.

“Except…not.” You wave one hand at yourself and shake your head, going back to stuffing your work things into their tote bag.

He frowns down at the picture sighs, not liking that you just wave off his compliment. But you aren’t really his problem to tackle. “I’m going to go downstairs.” He calls out.

“I’ll be down in a few.” Seeing that it’s flashing, you push the button on your answering machine to listen to your message while you get the last of your things squared away.

Javi reclips the leash and hurries down the stairs as Chi-Chi half drags him down. Chuckling to himself when the large dog growls softly at the crunch of glass under boots. "It's okay, girl." he soothes when he is standing by her in the small hallway that connects the apartments to the club.

“Hi mija.” The message is from your landlady, who sounds tired and shaken. “I am sorry for the short notice, but if you are listening to this you will know that the police have control of our building. We cannot return until they release it, and since you were kind enough to take Chi-Chi – thank you for your call otherwise I would have worried – mijita I am too old to be running that place anymore. I’m selling it, honey, I’m sorry. If you need help finding a new place to live, let me know. I will give you a wonderful reference. Call me at my son’s when you get this.”

“Fuck.” You groan out loud, looking around you and realizing that you need to pack up more than just a few days’ worth of things. It’s going to take you a hell of a lot more than a few minutes to get this all squared away, but there’s nothing you can do about that.

Almost a full half hour later you’re dragging things downstairs, including a plastic container of Chi-Chi’s food and treats, and a bag of her toys along with all your own stuff. “Bad news,” you tell Javier, when he looks at you with confusion.

"Are you moving in?" Javi half jokes, half wonders what the hell you had in the bags. It looks like a hell of a lot more than what you had brought when you were taking care of Helena.

“My landlady got spooked by the cops and all the agents crawling everywhere and she’s selling the building. I’m gonna have to find a new place.” It makes you wonder where the hell Inez is going to go since this place was her home and her work, but you’ll call her later to check in. After you call Señora Perrín about getting back this month’s rent since you haven’t even been in the place for more than a few days this month. “I’ll call her tonight about returning Chi-Chi to her and I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can. I’m sure the last thing you want is roommates.”

It's a surprise, Javi sighing and looking around the area. "Shit." He hisses. "I'm sorry." He is. Feeling like this is also his fault. Maybe if he had been involved with the SearchBloc raid, there might have been less bloodshed.

“It’s not your fault.” He’s the last person you blame. After all, he wasn’t here last night. His partner might get a piece of your mind, though. “Guess I just became fodder for my own column.”

He snorts. "Another victim." He agrees. "This time because of us instead of Escobar." He doesn't tell you that you can just live with him. That would be too much. For both of you.

“We should get out of here.” It feels intrusive to be here now, but it feels intrusive to know you’re now going back to his apartment with no idea of when you’ll be able to leave. The whole thing is uncomfortable and grating and you don’t like not knowing what the next step is.

"Is that all you have?" He moves to take some of the bags from you, happy that he has a vehicle that can hold more than the little box car you drive. That thing is a rolling hazard.

“In this country?” You nod, reluctantly letting him take some things from your arms. “It was a furnished apartment, that’s why I took the place. This is all my shit, plus some things for Bogotá’s best guard doggy.”

"Okay." He nods and moves to the door, pushing outside to hold the door opened for you. "Then let’s get you back to the apartment so you can get settled."

“Javier, I—” He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t hem or haw. Doesn’t even hesitate. And suddenly your father’s favorite words of wisdom float to the top of your mind, about how your soulmate comes into your life when you need them most. You have no idea how true that is, Dad.

“Thank you,” you say finally, offering him a grateful smile.

Javi nods, always having a hard time accepting thanks and whistles for Chi-Chi to stop sniffing the side of the building when you walk out. "We'll stop at the market on the way home." He offers. "I know you'd rather have some food in the fridge."

“That will work.” Loading up the car together, you get Chi-Chi settled and give her a treat for being so good. Somewhere in the back of your mind you fear there is a strong possibility of her spending at least one more night with you so you would prefer her to be happy. Once everything is inside and you’re buckling your seatbelts, you turn to look at Javier again. “Give it some thought and let me know what you think a fair number for rent would be. Since I’m basically subletting your guest room now, until I find a new place.”

Javi grunts, knowing that he won't take money for you using his room. He's not that kind of person and he already pays well below market value for his apartment. Instead, he starts the Jeep and throws it into gear. He had managed to get an overall view of the scene, so he's happy. "You know what we need to get?"

“At the market? Yeah.” There are a good handful of meals you can make easily and well, and those ingredients aren’t hard to come by. But as the child of a career cook, you know your way around a kitchen. At least you can cook some decent meals for Javier as a thank you.

"Sorry I don't keep much there." He huffs. "Honestly, I'm not home much."

“Don’t worry about it. Youngest kid of a chef, remember?” That grateful smile still tugs at your lips. “I do about half my work at home and I’m a fair cook.”

He nods, not as upset about you staying as he ever imagined he would be. He had resisted living with Lorraine before the wedding and he's never actually had a roommate unless his parents counted, which they didn't. If he wanted to go see Freckles or Vanessa, he would just go to them, but maybe he would find another girl.

One that you hadn't also slept with.

______

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[fallenhunnyapple]

@ilikelookingatthings left a very long and question filled essay about Angel!Lu AU in the replies so now its time to delve into More Info about the AU! @fallenguitarhero is my Adam so I got his input for all the Adam-related parts of this. Under a cut because.... this is Very Long LOL (bonus art at the end)

I'm going to just Copy-Paste the answers I got when we discussed it

I do think that Adam actually subconsciously shifts blame to Lilith because he's very black and white in his views. He hates devil Luci but he thinks he can prevent angel Lu from going down that path if he just keeps them apart. Lute also believes this and ngl her view of Lilith is like...really awful internalized misogyny type shit. Both of them think its better the two never meet and Lute outright threatens Lilith to stay away. Adam is too possessive to try and shift Lu to someone else but he does like... try to push Lu back into friendship type feels. Adam is a dumbass about sexuality so he thinks if he brings Lu to do Masculine and Straight things it will fix this. Instead he ends up just spending even more time with him and making it worse. As for his trauma... yeah Adam tries to hide it. Mostly by changing the subject and acting like an asshole tbh. I've thought abt Lu finding out about Cain and Abel p much by mistake (maybe saw artwork of it, all the hell related stuff is hidden but they wouldnt think to hide art of Adam holding Abel's body or Cain's exile) and it breaking his little baby heart. Adam def has moments where like... his mind is busy w something else like a bad day or a nightmare and for a second he sees the devil instead of his angel. Adam always like... 'shit, sorry, i thought you were someone else- fuck, don't look at me like that, c'mon.' There are other issues he just... doesn't realize he needs to hide. They're right about Adam being cynical and like... telling himself Lu doesn't really love him. Even once they date, he's still insecure. At that point i think he'd tell Lu about Lilith leaving him for a friend of his (whose name he never gives) and his marriage with Eve ending badly. He avoids details. He prob talks way more about his kids and prob even introduces Lu to them... Lu being around might encourage him to work on his relationship with them. Adam's body dysmorphia is such a contrast from the Adam Lu knew before... i do think that with him hiding so much from Lu, he tries to make it up to him by making sure his life is perfect. He goes out of his way to keep his angel happy and his attitude spreads to his exorcists who accept Lu into their flock. tbh Adam's dynamic with them prob becomes way healthier over time due to Lu's influence. i think Adam does tell the truth about some things but leaves out the details. Like he says evil found earth and destroyed Eden but says it hurts too much to talk about it (not a lie) and tells Lu that it's why the exorcists exist, they protect heaven and the dead humans from it. Which is what the official story is anyway! i think Lu prob has the same info the average low ranking Heavenborne and winners do. If Lu pushed him too much Adam might admit there are things he can't tell him but frame it as a military thing - there are things only Michael, Adam and the high ranking exorcists can know. He feels a lot of guilt about lying. it weighs on him a lot. that and the stress of protecting Lu from his brothers honestly makes Adam act more subdued and tired than canon Adam. His eyebags are awful. It prob becomes obvious as time goes on that Adam is Not Well. He keeps his mask on for a looong time after the first time bc it helps him hide his feelings and self-regulate but when he finally takes it off it's obvious to Lu from how he looks that Adam is struggling mentally. Comparing him to how he looked in Eden makes it so clear.

For Lu's part of things. Of course he'd ask about Lilith. Especially after finding out that so long has passed and Adam is here, so Lilith is probably here too, right? I feel like because he missed... So much, the concept of Death to him still doesn't really sink in. Like even with the Sins, it's basically like he just Knows he can't See them again. So with Lilith its like Adam has to just lie the same as with Anyone else from Hell. And Lu is definitely heartbroken about Lilith being Gone.

And like, at the time, Adam isn't lying so he doesn't feel Guilty about it, he just feels bad seeing Lu so upset. The timeline of this is kinda indeterminate but it definitely is Earlier than the 7 years of Lilith being in Heaven. So when he first Appears, she hasn't left Hell yet. Who knows, Charlie may not have even been born yet at that point. There's no Solid point in Time for Lu to have appeared in Heaven, it's just... Earlier. He doesn't think to Look for her because he knows that if she's Not Already There, then she's Inaccessible. Otherwise Adam would have told him, he's sure of it. (Adam has no obligation to tell Lu when Lilith does get there and for the reasons stated above + the fact that the Elder Angels probably would try and deter any interaction between the two. he's left in the Dark about her arriving in Heaven. He doesn't know Adam has even made a Deal with anyone) He still misses her because Adam is Truly the only friend from When he's from left.

And tbh the mixed signals are what keeps Hope Alive for Lu. As much as he tries to be okay with friendship, he still wants more because he's In Love and Adam is the only thing that makes him feel Normal when his entire life and everything he knew was entirely up-ended. It's why he's so passive about it. He doesn't want to make Adam feel bad, but he sees Adam being so Conscious of him now and it makes him happy. He doesn't wanna Push it, but he still likes seeing that Adam is Aware of him like that now. Especially because it's not in a way where Adam is trying to push him away, Adam is actively spending more time with him!

The longer time passes, the more discontent Lu grows. Knowing he's being lied to/that things are being hidden, even by Adam, he is Curious and he wants to learn more. But he also isn't going to be reckless about Learning More. The thing is also he Doesn't Know what questions he should be asking. He could ask Winners things and get answers, its not like anyone would stop him from Talking to Winners, its part of his Job. But like... How would he even start to figure out what's Missing in his knowledge?

Also Lu is definitely Aware of how different Adam is from his Eden self. Like just Visually, it's so easy to separate them because Adam wears his mask. But when its just the two of them and Adam is maskless, Lu may be more susceptible to treating him like that. But he's also very aware of the fact that actually their Knowledge Base is completely flipped. Lu hardly knows anything and Adam knows Everything.

And like.... Lu Knows that being kept in the dark is probably 'for his own good' but as stated, the person who fell is Still him. So now instead of resenting/being upset that Humans were kept in the dark, now it's himself. There's no Fruit That Will Fix Things for him though. He's just left frustrated at his lack of agency in this. And honestly, what keeps in line Most is Fear. Since coming to this time, his family has been Nicer to him, he's actually getting along to some degree with his brothers who used to ridicule him (or worse) and he Knows it's only because he's 'behaving' now, now that Creation is over and Life Has Existed. And he's scared or what will happen if he steps too out of line. He doesn't have the refuge of going to Eden to visit the Humans if things go south with his siblings. He isn't allowed on Earth, he's confined to Heaven, so he would just be stuck with the same sort of things that ultimately drove him originally to commit the Sin of giving Eve the Apple (not that he's Aware of how it culminated) And Also he has Adam. He doesn't want to know what the consequences would be if they were to decide that they shouldn't be allowed to stay together. It would absolutely break him.

If Lu were to find out about the exterminations, he'd be just as Appalled by it as Emily was. Lu doesn't know about Sin, what that entails, how Sinners destroy everything. He hasn't had to live with it so he can't see any contempt or justification for their destruction. Lucifer hates them because they came in a ruined the world he tried to build in Hell. Lu doesn't have any such associations with them. He would just see them much like Charlie does, souls who made mistakes and who should be given the chance to Do Better and make up for it. (That's sort of what he is, in a way, too.) He would absolutely be upset and scold the fuck out of Adam and Lute if he knew what his besties were REALLY doing once a year-

As for the sexual stuff, Both Lucifers started without having a concept of sex or sexuality, so both of them are specifically shaped by their partners (literally in a way). So the Lucifer who learned and explored with Lilith is going to be completely different from the Lucifer who learned and explored with Adam in terms of How they have sex. It's a skill they learn by doing, so it's not the Same.

Thank you for sticking it out this long, have a doodle for your troubles 🙏

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter two: sex and candy

*18+ minors DNI*

tags: mentions of anxiety, religious shame/guilt, reader being insecure, mentions of (negative) past sexual experiences and partners, brief mention of alcohol consumption, v fingering, oral (f receiving) joel is a cunnilinguist, 2000’s nostalgia, mentions of the patriarchy (booooo)  squirting (sue me),  Joel-Land™️™️™️

reader has hair that she fidgets with, "grows warm" /"cheeks burning" but not necessarily blushing, with embarrassment - minor edits to make this more inclusive for my readers <3

word count: ~4.5k

Author/s notes: Sorry it took longer to get ch. 2 out than I anticipated. I've had a lot going on in my personal life (I got a new job!) But I promise it won't be as long for ch. 3 hehe. this is a lengthy chapter, hope y'all enjoy!!

had to name reader's bestie after my dear friend @katiexpunk <3 thanks for always letting me run ideas by you and being a peach in general.

and thank you to @softiedingo for being a beta reader as well <333

It has been two weeks since you introduced yourself to Joel and Sarah. You hate to admit it, but you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Joel. Your mind will stay preoccupied temporarily, then they circle back to him. 

Throwing clothes in the washer? Joel. 

Boiling water for pasta? Joel. 

Doing the dishes? Joel. 

In the shower? Yep, definitely Joel. 

And this morning is no different. 

You’re staring at yourself in your bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth, mind deep into Joel-Land, then your thoughts take a sharp turn - for the worst. You’re thinking about all of your past sexual encounters. 

How unsatisfying and selfish your past partners were. You hadn’t been romantically involved with any of your past partners, all of them casual-no-strings-attached type of arrangements. 

Even if the sex was casual, did that mean the pleasure had to be one-sided? Of course not. 

However, after each encounter you found yourself feeling disappointed, and truthfully, it made you feel…..icky. Was it religious shame? Even though you don’t participate or believe in any religion anymore, your formative years were spent in a conservative, Christian church; where sex is bad, and sin is bad. And you don’t want to be bad, because you will go to hell. You don’t even believe in hell, yet, there is a small voice in your head that still worries about eternal damnation. Jeez, I should really see a therapist about that.  

 Perhaps it’s the misogyny and sexism, rampant and hard-wired into society and into mind’s since the beginning of time. 

Your internal theological and philosophical debate gives you a throbbing headache. 

+++

It’s Friday. Halloween falls on a Tuesday this year, so most Halloween celebrations would occur this weekend. 

If you were still in college, you’d most likely attend a costume party at a frat party and drink until the sun came up. These days, you don’t recover from hangovers as easily and find the anxiety spiral that follows a night of drinking to be too debilitating so you’re planning on keeping it chill this year. 

You’re pouring out a bag of candy into a bowl, so candy is easily accessible for your sweet tooth cravings when you hear a strong, loud cluster of knocks at your front door. 

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock. 

Shaking off your initial startling from the sudden knocks, you open your front door to find Joel. He’s leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, one half of his body bears all his weight. He swiftly straightens upright again when you greet him. He looks even more handsome from the last time you saw him. He’s wearing dark wash jeans that accentuate his body in the most delectable way and a black t-shirt with a faded MILLER CONSTRUCTION graphic that is just barely legible. 

You have the urge to steal the well-worn shirt so you can sleep in it, relish his scent, and let it become a metaphorical embrace of Joel. 

Fuck, I really am down bad, you internally scold yourself to come back to the present moment. 

“Joel! Ho-how are you?” you manage to creak out through nerves and surprise. 

His beautiful, dark brown eyes are staring right into yours. His eyes could compel you to do anything. 

“I’m doin’ alright, you?” The word ‘alright’ is drawn out making it sound like “awllll-right”

“Can’t complain. Y’all settling in okay?” tilting your head unconsciously, as if to convey genuinity.  

“Oh yeah, ‘s a nice neighborhood. Sarah seems to be enjoyin’ her new school, I was a lil worried she’d have a hard time but she’s a smart kid and gets along with pretty much everyone. Awful silly of me to worry in the first place…” he’s rambling, hands moving at the same pace as his speech. 

You find his rambling to be cute, it’s a bit of a juxtaposition from his strong, demanding presence. 

Joel realizes he’s nervous after he concludes his tangent. When’s the last time he felt nervous around women? Especially a sweet, non-threatening woman like you? 

“Anywho, I came over to uh- ask you somethin’... Sarah liked your cookies so much she wants to learn how to make them herself and was wondering if you’d teach her?”

“I’d love to!” You shoot him a flattered smile,  learning that Sarah wanted you to teach her to bake makes your heart sing.

Joel is amazed at you. You agreed to teach a twelve year old, one who you hardly know, to bake. He shouldn’t be surprised given your sweet demeanor and generous heart, but he’s in awe of you. 

“You sure? I mean, you obviously don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“Joel, I’d be honored to. Send her over in an hour,” you cut him off, hoping to convey your delight in teaching someone else to bake, the same way your grandma did for you. 

Joel can’t stop the shit-eating grin that appears on his face. 

“Sounds good. I’ll send her your way, sweetheart,” he lingers just for a moment to watch your reaction to the nickname, the one he’s used twice. 

You desperately try to keep your composure cool and collected, but you’ve never had a good poker face. You wear your emotions like an accessory. And right now, you are flustered. You divert your attention to the ground as if looking into his eyes would expose your every thought. 

���O-okay!” You can barely stammer out a response before he is pivoting off your porch, back to his own house. 

You can’t see it with his back turned to you, but Joel is smirking to himself and feeling amused at his effect on you. 

+++

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Yes, dad. I don’t need a chaperone to bake cookies. I’m a big girl now, remember?”

Yes, he is acutely aware that she is a big girl now. Well, not really, to him she will always be his baby girl, but that doesn’t stop her from growing up. Too fast for his liking. The idea of her becoming a teenager almost gives him a coronary. It won’t be long before she’s driving, then graduating, and college. What if she wants to attend a school in another state? Across the country? 

He feels queasy at that thought, afraid that she will grow out of thinking her dad is the coolest, afraid that she doesn’t want to spend time with her old man anymore. 

He wills himself to think about something else. Anything else. Inevitably his thoughts wander to you. 

Joel hates to admit it, but he was hoping to join Sarah for the baking lesson. He wants an excuse to be in your radiant, sweet, beautiful presence again. 

While you can’t stop thinking about him, he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Driving home from work? You. 

Making dinner? You. 

Making his morning coffee? You. 

Laying in bed? Oh, yeah. Definitely you. 

Exactly one hour passes when Sarah arrives at your house. You’ve already set up in your kitchen in preparation; already pre-measured the ingredients, setting out all the necessary baking equipment and you even found a spare apron for Sarah to wear. Ya know, to give her the full experience. 

“Oooh, this apron makes me feel like a professional!” Sarah exclaims after tying the strings on her designated apron. 

“Well, after this, you will be.”

You can’t remember the last time you felt this much joy. Sharing a passion of yours with someone who is eager to learn from you delights your heart and soul in a way you didn’t know you needed until now. 

“So first, we’ll need to combine the butter and sugar,” Sarah dumps the butter and sugar into the mixing bowl. “Great, now we want to beat the mixture until it looks fluffy.” 

She is completely engrossed in watching for the desired texture, furrowing her brows together in a way that mimics Joel. You find it adorable. 

“Excellent, now we are going to add in the eggs and vanilla extract.” 

She follows your instructions to a T, meticulous and concentrated as if she were mixing hazardous chemicals in a lab. 

“You’re doing great.  Now let’s add our dry ingredients, half of it at a time.” 

Her eyes light up when it’s time to fold in the chocolate chips. You both agree it’s the best part, both of you indulging in a few before adding them to the dough. 

You assist Sarah in rolling the dough into little balls and placing them onto the baking sheet. 

While waiting for the cookies to bake, you learn more about Sarah and Joel. She tells you about their old house, the camping trip they went on this past summer, the catchy pop songs on the radio that Joel will pretend to hate but she catches him humming the tune later, how Joel makes a big breakfast for the two of them every Sunday, a ritual they started when Sarah started school - he makes pancakes just for her. 

Getting a snapshot of Joel and Sarah’s lives and their dynamic makes your mega crush on Joel that much bigger. From what Sarah has shared with you, he seems like a caring, protective yet fun dad. You’re aching to learn everything about him. 

“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” Sarah asks as you’re pulling the baking sheet out of the oven. 

“Oh um, I usually just hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Nothing super exciting. What about you?”

“We always order pizza and watch a scary movie - nothing super scary though. We dress up too. Well, I dress up but dad thinks he is too cool to do that so he wears the same boring mask every year,” she has a mischievous grin on her face, concocting a plan when she asks, “do you want to come over and join us?” 

On one hand you’d love nothing more than to spend more time with your new friend and Joel, but on the other hand the thought of being in the same room as Joel, in his house, makes you both anxious and aroused. Dizzy, nervous, and horny makes for an unpleasant combination. 

Gaining a sliver of bravery, you swallow your apprehension and say yes. 

“Sure, yeah, what time should I come over?”

“6:30. And you better wear a costume!”

+++

You’ve spent the past hour trying to put a costume together. Not making any progress, you decide to seek external advice - your best friend Katie. 

You both met as freshman and have been close friends ever since, even rooming together in your first off-campus apartment. She moved to the West Coast shortly after graduation, though you still keep in touch via email and phone. You give her the scoop on Joel - him moving into the neighborhood, your gigantic crush on him, how you baked cookies with Sarah yesterday. She’s impatiently waiting for you to bone your hot neighbor. Girl, I’m waiting too. 

“Do you still have that bunny costume you wore junior year?”

You rummage through your tote of seasonal clothing in search of said costume. Pulling it out, you now realize just how skimpy the costume really is. Bunny ears and a tail paired with a skin tight black bodysuit leaves virtually nothing to the imagination and definitely too much skin for this occasion. 

“Dude, I can’t wear this! His daughter will be there! I can’t believe I wore this out in public. This is X-Rated,” you’re growing agitated in having no success in your costume, to the point that you are tempted to tell Sarah you came down with something so you don’t have to go. 

“Okay, okay, the ears and tail are still salvageable. Do you have something besides the bodysuit?”

“Ummm…” you trail off into the phone, frantically searching for something to replace the risque bodysuit. You find a plain white baby tee amongst the sea of clothing, deciding you can pair it with your favorite jeans, the ones that accentuate your body in all the right places. 

“This could work..” muttering to yourself when a devious thought pops into your head. White shirt, no bra. 

“Found it! Gotta go, loveyoubye!” You hang up the call before Katie has a chance to respond, tossing your pink Razr on your bed. Your body hums in anticipation and jitters, feeling emboldened by your no bra plot. 

After throwing on your outfit, you style your hair differently than you normally do. You add several coats of mascara to your lashes, sweep on some blush that complements your skin and add a sparkly lip gloss to your lips, making them appear extra plump and juicy. 

You grab a bag of Halloween candy and you practically skip across the street. Reaching the front door of your new bestie and her gorgeous dad, your confidence is replaced with a furious ball of anxiety. Your heart is palpitating and you feel your stomach churn. 

 Would Joel think you looked stupid? Or worse, childish? Fuck, you should’ve stayed home. 

Joel opening the door snaps you out of your thought spiral but only briefly, because he’s staring at you like you’ve started growing extra limbs. He looks both puzzled and pissed? 

“What uh-what’re you doing here?” 

His voice has a sharpness you haven’t heard before and it stings. 

You have a moment of realization. 

Sarah didn’t run the invitation by her dad.

 You deduct that he isn’t a fan of surprises. 

Before you can formulate a response, Sarah saves you from having to do so. 

“You dressed up! I’m glad you came,” she squeals while wrapping her arms around your middle in an embrace. 

She looks up at Joel from where she’s latched onto you and gives her confused dad an explanation. 

“Dad, it’s okay, I invited her.” 

That seems to alleviate his confusion. You, on the other hand, not so much. You’re internally screaming at yourself. It’s obvious to you that Joel wasn’t expecting you, and in conclusion, doesn’t want you here. 

“I didn’t mean to impose, I—I’m sorry, I’ll uh— just go back home,” fighting back tears of embarrassment, looking everywhere except at Joel.  You think now is a superb time to move across the country, change your name, dye your hair, somewhere far away from this humiliation. 

Joel senses you’re feeling rejected in some way.

“No, no, come on in. Jus’ wasn’t expectin’ you s’all,” he gives you his most reassuring smile. 

You swallow the lump of emotions in your throat. 

He didn’t expect you to come over, nor did he expect you’d show up as his personal version of a Playboy bunny.  He almost busted in his jeans when he could see your nipples through your very thin white t-shirt. He thinks you’re trying to kill him. 

+++

You’re starting to relax once you three settle on the couch, Sarah nestling between you and Joel, Alien on the TV. Turns out, you and Joel share a love for the film. You may or may not have gotten into a heated (playful) debate about the other films in the franchise.

Joel gets an influx of trick-or-treaters, more than you usually get, residents of the neighborhood taking advantage of this opportunity to be nosy. Again. 

In between costume clad visitors, you sneak glances at Joel, who looks absolutely scrumptious tonight. His hair had been damp and combed back when you arrived, his curls now almost dry and in all their glory. He’s wearing an obviously well-loved, faded Pearl Jam concert tee that clings to his arms and grey sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips. You wonder if all his shirts fit like that. When he stands, you can see the outline of his dick through his sweatpants.  You have to manually restrain yourself from pouncing on him. You’re soaking through your panties and you’re a little worried that if you stand, the seat beneath you will be soaked too. 

The scent of his body wash invades your nostrils, a heavenly mix of sandalwood and cinnamon. You’re imagining yourself running your hands through his hair and burying your nose into his neck, alternating between kissing and sucking on the skin there. You want to taste every inch of his skin, taking your time to savor him. 

Joel’s stealing glances at you, too. He’s never seen someone look so sweet and seductive, divine even. You smell warm and sweet, amber and vanilla. Not the artificial, manufactured type vanilla scent, it’s like vanilla straight from the bean. When you readjust your position on the couch to get more comfortable, your tits lightly bounce, unrestrained by a bra. He has to stifle a groan, disguising it as a cough. He wonders how much they’d bounce if you were riding his cock. Your lips are absolutely sinful. Pouty and plump, juicy from the lip gloss. The bunny ears are the nail in his coffin. He’s picturing you bent over on his couch, still wearing the bunny ears as he devours your pussy from behind. 

Only a quarter of the way through the movie, a few of Sarah’s friends from her old school pop in to invite her over for an impromptu sleepover to which Joel agrees to, since they no longer go to school together. 

Which means you and Joel are left alone. Together. Your body is aching to close space between you and the man you’re enamored with. You don’t know that Joel is itching to do the same. 

“Sarah couldn’t stop talkin’ bout yesterday. She loved hangin’ out with ya, thanks again for doin’ that.”

“She’s welcome to come over anytime. She’s a sweet kid,” you’re beaming at the fact she enjoyed baking with you. Joel notices the way your eyes gleam, overflowing with delight.

You finally have the courage to meet his eyes. The way his eyes are raking over your entire body makes your clit throb in anticipation. Your heartbeat is erratic, thumping loudly in your ears. 

The energy in the room is magnetic, pulling you and Joel closer together. 

“You can uh-scoot closer t’me if ya want,” he gruffs out, beckoning you to scoot closer to him. Joel wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you make him feel like a flustered teenage boy about to kiss a girl for the first time. 

You scoot closer to Joel, hoping he doesn’t notice your body trembling from nerves. 

With your body flush next to his, he stretches one of his toned arms behind your head, resting it on the back of the couch. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body and it sends a shiver down your spine, straight to your aching core. 

The tension in the air is palpable, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. You’re both pretending to watch the movie in front of you, but your minds are elsewhere. He gently removes his arm from the couch and rests it across your shoulders. It’s a seemingly innocuous gesture, but its impact makes you clench around nothing, more arousal dripping into your panties. 

He leans his head down close to yours, his mouth behind your ear.

“No bra? You’re a naughty lil bunny aren’t ya?” His hot breath tickles your ear, your eyes clamp shut involuntarily and you whimper. A high-pitched, whiny whimper, and Joel’s never heard anything sweeter. 

He places his other large palm on your thigh, gently squeezing it. Your skin prickling in goosebumps and your nipples are hard enough to cut glass. The wetness pooled in your panties is beyond the point of comfort. 

Joel presses a chaste kiss behind your ear, eliciting another whimper from you. He peppers kisses from your neck all the way to your collarbones.

“This okay?” 

“Mhmmm…”  You’re already so keyed up you feel hazy. Your whole body feels hot, lit aflame by Joel’s lips on your skin.  

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he rasps while his hand is caressing your thigh, intentionally not too close to where you want him. Need him. 

“Mhmmm,” you moan, still unable to form words, arousal taking over all of your bodily functions. 

“Need you to use your words, honey.” He squeezes your thigh again.

He pulls his face back from your neck to look you in the eyes, and slows his movements on your thigh so you can tell him to back off or give him the green light to continue. You grab his hand on your thigh and squeeze it, to keep him from removing it. 

“Joel, pleeease. Want it so bad. Need you so fuckin’ bad.” 

You beg in the most sultry voice you can muster, emphasizing every syllable. 

Your lust laden eyes and the way you mewl for him ignites something ravenous, primal, carnal in him. He hasn’t heard you cuss before and it sounds so filthy in your honeyed voice.  His rock hard cock twitches in his pants. 

He presses his plush lips against yours. It’s hesitant at first, but his apprehension dissipates when you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with fervor. Joel deepens the kiss, one hand gripping your hip, the other hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing your body further into his. You tangle one of your hands in his luscious curls. He tastes like sweet peppermint and a hint of black coffee. You feel dizzy, tasting him, finally feeling him. 

He breaks the kiss, guiding you to lie down on your back and props your head up on one of the couch armrests. 

He’s looking down at you and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. You’re always pretty, effortlessly so. But seeing you underneath him, sweet and desperate for him? He’d do anything you ask him to.

“You’re the prettiest lil bunny. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You’re bashful under his gaze and his compliment, cheeks burning. 

Joel notices you trying to shy away and he places a thumb under your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. 

Now you feel embarrassed for trying to shy away in the first place.

“Sorry I’m—”

“Nothing to ‘pologize for, sweetheart,” he’s caressing your chin with his thumb, alleviating all of the embarrassment from you.

“Wanna taste you. You’ve no idea how bad I’ve wanted to taste you. Needed to know if you were as sweet as your cookies.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, “yes - yes please, taste me, Joel”

He chuckles softly at your enthusiasm and promptly rids you of your jeans, making the leather of the couch feel cool to the back of your thighs. 

Joel lets out a guttural moan when he sees your sky blue satin panties soaked through. He runs a finger over the damp spot, making you quiver. His touch is featherlight and it’s maddening. You’re squirming, hips lifting off the couch, chasing for more. 

He obliges, running a finger over your clit with added pressure. 

“Joel, please–” You’re a whiny mess under him, and he’s just getting started. He’s rubbing gentle circles over your bud, still-panty clad. 

He presses a kiss on your belly, just below your navel. The tenderness makes your body shudder.

He finally removes your panties and you gasp when the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. 

“Pretty girl with a pretty pussy to match.” Joel’s admiring the way your pussy is glistening for him, begging to be touched. 

He runs a finger through your drenched seam, your juices dripping onto his thick digit. He licks his finger, then shoves it into his mouth so he can taste every drop. His eyes clamp shut, groaning at how you taste. You commit the image to memory, not wanting to forget how he looks and sounds when he tastes you for the first time.

“Knew you’d taste sweet. So fuckin’ sweet.” 

Your brain short circuits when you realize that means he’s thought about this before. That he’s imagined how you’d taste. Picturing him fantasizing about you makes you light-headed. 

Joel spreads your legs wider, giving him full access to your pussy. He dives in without warning, licking from entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck, Joel!” You hoarsely shout with one hand gripping the couch cushion and one tugging onto Joel’s messy curls. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your pussy as you grind your hips into his mouth, desperate for release. 

 You see stars while he expertly alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking on your clit. He’s keeping a steady rhythm, on the slower side, taking his time pleasuring you. He’s enjoying this.

Obscene sounds fill the room; Joel devouring your pussy like it’s the Last Supper and your chorus of moans and expletives. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”

“Shitshitshit–”

“Joelllll-” 

He picks up the pace, your fingers cramping from their deathgrip on the couch. You feel your peak approaching - sweat beading on your forehead, chest heaving, head thrown back in ecstasy. 

Joel senses your approaching release and pushes one of his thick, dexterous fingers into your weeping hole. 

He reaches for your hand that’s tangled in his hair and intertwines your fingers with his, resting your connected hands on your inner thigh. It’s overwhelming; the intimacy of your interlocked fingers paired with the filthy onslaught of his mouth. 

He speeds up as he adds another finger, hitting the spot that no one except you has reached before. You never knew it could feel this amazing. You thought you were doomed to a life of bad sex. 

Apparently, you just needed Joel to show you differently. And you are so glad he proved you wrong. 

Joel hooks his fingers inside you bringing you closer and closer to that peak you’ve been dying to reach. You’re squeezing his fingers, both the ones inside you and the ones interlaced with yours. 

“Joel I-I’m close,” you manage to choke out, mind foggy from the intense pleasure. 

He sucks on your clit, hard and you’re coming, entering a euphoric plane of existence. You’re floating, body trembling, coming harder than you’ve ever come before. 

Joel slows his fingers and removes his mouth from your pussy, beard glistening with your release, gently bringing you back to reality. He keeps your fingers locked with his, grounding you in the present.

The orgasmic fog clears from your brain, regaining awareness of your surroundings when you feel how drenched your lower half is. Like, really drenched. You lift your head from the armrest and look down and you’re appalled by the scene. 

You fucking squirted. Everywhere. 

On yourself, on the couch, on Joel. His beard is soaked completely, to the point it’s dripping down his chin. He’s just as stunned as you are. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, fuck I-” you’re scrambling to get off the couch and Joel grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks. 

“What’re you sorry for? That was so fuckin’ hot, sweetheart.” 

“I-I didn’t know I could do that…”

“Oh yeah? First time ever squirtin’?

“Yeah, the first time anyone else has made me come… like, ever.” 

His gaze goes dark. 

You get the feeling that he’s just getting started with you. 

And just like your cookies, he’d never have enough. 

THE END

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

a brief retrospective on Louis and Violet as love interests, Clementine's bisexuality, and the fandom's continued insistence on fighting over this

In December of 2019, I made a series of posts called "An Explanation of Why Louis and Violet are Both Excellent Love Interests" that explored my feelings on the topic after seeing a lot of fighting in the fandom over who's better; who is the "right" choice for Clementine?

The answer is simple: there isn't an objectively correct choice.

I compared Louis and Violet to the romantic options in other games, including Life is Strange, Persona 4, King's Quest 2015, and Catherine, as well as TWDG: A New Frontier. I wanted to show how much better TFS handled the romance versus those games, why we should be grateful for what we got since it could've been a lot worse, and how the fighting over who's "right" was a waste of time.

I suppose it's only fitting that I'd be driven to revisit this topic after seeing fans continue to argue amongst themselves over this years later in the trenches of a weakening fandom.

Just when I think I'm done writing pieces for TWDG, some random redditor writes an essay about how violentine only exists for "woke points" that grabs me by the throat and throws me down. Then another will insist that clouis is abusive since Louis voted against them in ep2 in their own essay and I'm dragged back here, kicking and screaming.

While I think my previous Excellent Love Interests posts about this are on the juvenile side, I do still agree with my main point: Louis and Violet are excellent characters who make for compelling love interests. The fact that we got them both, that we were given the choice, and that they're as well done as they are, is something I don't think we appreciate enough. Hell, I don't think we even appreciate that Clementine's a canonically bisexual protagonist as much as we should.

We're too busy trying to one up each other with, "Well, actually, clouis is superior because of this and this," and "no, you're wrong, violentine is actually better because of this and this," and sometimes a wild non-shipper will appear out of nowhere to slap down an, "actually, you both suck, singletine is better."

It's sad that this is what fandom inevitably defaults to, always. It stops being about the game we love, the thing that brought us here, and it becomes a pissing match.

Doesn't matter what fandom it is; we end up projecting too much of ourselves onto fictional characters, investing too much of our time into ship culture, hyper-fixating until it becomes part of us... and let's be real, sometimes it's in unhealthy ways.

So, when someone else attacks the things we're attached to, it becomes a personal attack... and when we feel threatened, we become defensive and retaliate... and sometimes, we take it too far and target others out of insecurity, to feel validated, even if it means going after someone who is just minding their own business.

Also, I think some people are just assholes who want to piss on everyone.

Because of this, I would like to discuss Louis and Violet as romanceable characters, why they're both important to TFS no matter who you choose, why Clementine being a bisexual protagonist matters, and the fandom's continued insistence on fighting over this.

For many personal reasons, I've always been trepid about being open with my sexuality as a bi woman. I've done a lot of reflection this year on why that is; internalized misogyny, the biphobia that lingers in the queer community, insecurities, regrets, how I tend to be harsher on female characters over male characters, why it took me so long to not feel afraid of engaging with queer media, admitting I was wrong about so many things I've said in the past, how it's all affected my writing, etc.

When TFS released and I made this blog, I had already accepted my bisexuality but was in no way public about it, not online or in my personal life. But playing the first two episode of TFS, being presented with both Louis and Violet as potential romantic partners struck something inside of me.

Yes, I picked Louis; we all know I'm a major clouis shipper at this point, and if you're new here, then now you know, too.

But it's the fact that Violet's also an option, that with just a few different button presses, Clementine could've fallen for her just as she did with Louis; that there's evidence in game that she shows interested in both of them no matter your choices; that no one in-game judges Clementine for who she chooses to be with... that meant something to me in a way that it hadn't before.

TFS wasn't the first game I played with a bi protagonist; in Excellent Love Interests, I compared Louis and Violet to Life is Strange's Chloe and Warren. I have a lot of mixed feelings about the first LiS game overall, but I've been quite open about my dislike of Chloe and indifference to Warren.

Chloe, to me, is everything I dislike in a love interest, predominately in wlw. 2023 was the year of "CJ dives into sapphic literature and it's a 50/50 chance of striking gold or gettin' hella eaten by disappointment, shaka brah." Meaning I've read a lot of wlw novels, and all the ones I hated featured a Chloe clone, sometimes done even worse.

And Warren? I'll be real honest with you- I couldn't even remember what his name was when I started writing this. I had to go back and check. That tells you what I think of him, no?

So, LiS didn't strike me the same way. Sure, I knew Max was a bi protagonist and that's great, but the choices weren't appealing to me. This was when I was a teenager still somewhat in denial of my sexuality, which most definitely contributed to me being uncomfortable when faced with a wlw relationship portrayed in-game, especially when I found myself wishing Kate was an option for Max... but y'know, "shhhhhhh if I don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist."

When the first episode of TFS released, I was older, I was no longer in a not-so-great relationship, and had better accepted who I am. The first episode does a great job of introducing you to Louis and Violet, and giving you the opportunity to spend more time with the one you're interested in.

I actually really liked them both when ep1 dropped, but I've always had a preference for a character who is kind, deflects with humor, and tends to be picked on by the rest of the cast... so it was inevitable that I'd stick with Louis. Though I won't discredit Violet in ep1, or the rest of the game, just because I didn't choose her in the end.

That's one of the best things about Louis and Violet as options; they're opposites, yet alike in many ways. They have their appeals and charms. They're flawed. It never feels like a "love triangle" situation where they're fighting over Clementine. Louis and Violet are friends who have known each other from before the walkers came. It's refreshing to have two characters who are interested in the same person but don't go for each other's throats over it. When they do argue over her, it's more to do with AJ shooting Marlon and whether it's safe for the group to let them stay.

I can't fault anyone who struggled to pick between them. When someone talks about who they picked and why, it's all about the player's preferences.

It's your choice to make, and no matter what, you're not wrong for it.

This season concludes Clementine's story, regardless of what some comics will say. It's the last fight. It's her happy ending. She and AJ finally found a home, a family.

I've played these games since S1 came out in 2012, over ten years ago. Clementine holds a special place in my heart. Not only did this important character have a great final season [despite Telltale shutting down and TFS nearly being left incomplete, remember] but she's also revealed to be canonically bisexual.

They didn't release the whole season and then as an afterthought be like, "oh yeah btw she's bi, she has oneline of flirty dialogue with this character so see? we did good rep."

Yeah, I'm side eyeing you, ANF.

They didn't try to hide it. They presented it to the player unapologetically and made a conscious decision to exclude anything biphobic from other characters... which meant a lot to me.

Biphobia is real and it's not that I don't want it explored well in media, but there's something appealing and safe about a game with a bisexual main character who isn't questioned about it negatively; "You're bi? Doesn't that mean you cheat on all your partners?"

To give a compliment to Life is Strange: True Colors, I had a similar feeling in that game, too. Alex is openly bi, she can date either Steph or Ryan and no one questions the "legitimacy" of her bisexuality.

Because that's always a thing on top of everything else, y'know? "You're a bad bi unless you're with the 'gayer option.'" "Bisexuality isn't real, you're just confused." "I don't date girls who've been tainted by a man." "Oh, you're into girls? How about a threesome?"

Violet never turns her nose up at Clementine for admitting she had a crush on Gabe. Louis isn't ever gross about Clementine and Violet getting close. It speaks volumes for their characters and how accepting they, and everyone else at Ericson, are of Clementine no matter who she chooses, if anyone.

That acceptance, even if it's just in a game, means more than words can express to queer players who don't feel that acceptance in their daily lives.

Which means it hurts all the more when it comes to the fandom's own display of biphobia; "You're bi but ship clouis? Why ship something hetero when violentine is right there?" "Well, MY Clementine's straight because she picked Louis! Stop forcing the gay onto MY Clementine!"

Clementine's important to all of us. Why do you think so many people are pissed about the comics to the point of spewing disgusting bile toward Tillie Walden? I've said my piece on that plenty times before, so allow me to say it on this; the representation of bisexuality in Clementine is beautifully woven through TFS in ways that are subtle yet impactful, and I thank TFS for giving that to us.

One argument I've come across recently against Clementine's bisexuality, and violentine in general: "blegh they only included violentine/made Clem bi for lgbt points." y'know... as if that's a bad thing.

It bothers me because A. saying "I'm not homophobic *but*-" and then making a homophobic argument against violentine while insisting that Clementine's bisexuality came out of nowhere and was forced is icky, and B. I know I've said similar things about violentine in the past. I know I used to argue that violentine's underdeveloped, yet the devs pushed it to the forefront over clouis to pat themselves on the back for doing representation, etc.

I don't believe that anymore; remember when I brought up people making arguments out of insecurity? Yeah, that and being lowkey bitter that violentine got more dev attention than clouis sometimes even though like... that doesn't matter? It literally doesn't matter. That's what I meant when I said you get so invested that certain things feel like a personal attack when they're not.

Some of the developers of TFS are queer people. They probably wanted a bi protagonist with a wlw option because that representation is important to them and they had the opportunity to express it, not because they were trying to get "points" with anyone. Go listen to the commentaries for TFS; they talk about violentine with nothing but positivity, and they didn't do that to shade Louis or clouis shippers. And if you do think they did it shade fans, then maybe stop and consider why; do you actually believe that or are you annoyed that your fave wasn't the center of attention?

On the flip side, I also want to say that gloating and insisting that violentine is the better/right choice because of these things is also unpleasant and untrue. It sucks when it feels like things are biased against you and it sucks even more when that bias is weaponized by other fans to beat you down.

But honestly? If you need this much validation on your opinions about fictional characters, maybe you should stop to think about why that is and what it says about you, yeah?

Truly, this whole clouis versus violentine thing is irritating at best, vile at worse. Thankfully it doesn't happen as much on tumblr given the state of the fandom, and everyone's at least agreed that no matter their feelings toward each other, clemricca is worse. So, that's something, I guess.

I think the best way I can put this is you don't get to dictate what other people think and feel. Being passionate is great until it becomes an excuse to be an asshole. Not everyone is going to agree with you and you need to put your big kid pants on and accept that.

I'm under no impression that the fighting will ever stop, even when this fandom is dried up with only bones and memories haunting its desert... but at the very least, I can point some of it out and ask that we do better than this.

The focus gets lost in the fighting, and that focus is Louis and Violet themselves. Y'know, the two this retrospective's about.

Remember when I talked about Persona 4 in Excellent Love Interests and how much it sucks when the person you want to romance isn't actually an option--?

Hmm? What's that? Ah, yes, right- @pi-creates insists I add that TFS and Persona 4 actually are the same because Aasim wasn't an option and they're still bitter about that... but this isn't about Aasim, that's a topic for another day. Sorry Pi, but thanks for the screenshots used in this retrospective👍

Anyway, TFS gave us two excellent choices, and it would've been worse off had it only given us one of them, or none at all.

Louis wears charisma as a mask and uses humor as a shield to deflect. Violet, for as quiet and standoffish as she first appears, has a heart she's both eager and reluctant to share.

Louis is warm curtains of sunlight seeping through the murmuring woods of green leaves and little song birds. A heart carved into the rustic wood of an out-of-tune piano. Music echoing in the early morning hallways.

Violet is the glow of a full moon that illuminates still waters so the stars can dance in its reflection. Paint smeared over finger tips to offer a piece of herself meant to be worn. Constellations of stars named in secret.

They're both lonely people, often misunderstood by the others at Ericson, and sometimes by each other. They want to be known. They want to be seen.

But fear is a powerful wall to overcome.

And that's the beauty of choice. You get the impression of knowing them in the beginning, but it rarely breaks surface tension; Louis is nice and funny but undependable, Violet's rude and reserved and a little awkward. Neither are outspoken about any issues around Ericson, content to keep their heads down.

Clementine has to make the effort to know them, and the game establishes this by asking you an unassuming question: do you want to go hunting with Louis or fishing with Violet?

Clementine either makes an effort to understand Violet's feelings toward Brody and why she's so mean to her, and try to help her through it... or she doesn't listen to what Violet's saying, is dismissive, and ends up making things worse.

When Clementine goes hunting with Louis, she has to make the decision to spend time with him or ignore him in favor of hunting, and should she choose him, he opens up to her just a bit.

Then comes the confrontation with Marlon at the end of the episode where Clementine has to make the choice of who to appeal to. The gravity of this choice is often glossed over, I think.

Marlon has a gun pointed at her head, and she pleas for Louis or Violet to step in and save her. Both are hesitant because of course they are! They've known Marlon longer, he has a gun, and he's using manipulation to scare them into submission; he uses his friendship against Louis, and Minerva against Violet.

But when Clementine gets through to them? They stand between her and Marlon in rather in-character ways; Louis eases in with his hands up, attempting to deescalate the situation while Violet pulls out a weapon and demands he back off.

They risked getting shot. They risked death. They knew what was happening was wrong. They didn't want Clementine to die, they didn't fully believe Marlon's bullshit but were too scared to step forward until Clementine asked them, too. In that moment she basically told them, "I trust you. Instinct tells me you are the one who can stop this. My life is in your hands."

This choice changes them, and this moment ripples through the rest of the season. It makes perfect sense that Louis would be upset over Marlon's death and feel unsafe with Clementine and AJ there whereas Violet sees the death as justified and Clementine and AJ shouldn't be kicked out over it. It's an overwhelming situation for everyone.

I've talked about ep2 and the vote until my lungs nearly collapsed and I saw the gates of Hell over the horizon... but that's fine, I can talk a little more about it and maybe this time the flames with cleanse me of my sins or something.

This is where the fighting really began, and I shouldn't have to say it again, but I will anyway: There isn't an objectively correct answer here, there's only personal preference.

Louis and Violet take very clear, opposite stances on this situation. I think they're both a little wrong and a little right; they shouldn't ignore that AJ killed Marlon, but kicking them out isn't the best solution either.

As a clouis shipper, I happen to like the way these events play out with Louis' vote. But not everyone feels that way. For some, Louis' vote is a deal breaker, making Violet the more appealing option given she voted for Clementine and AJ to stay.

Do you want a girl that's been by Clementine's side from the beginning and was vocal about keeping her and AJ here?

Great, Violet's the choice for you. Enjoy the lovely moonlight and constellation mini-game.

Do you want the extra angst of a boy who made a vote he comes to regret and then does everything he can to apologize and make it up to Clementine?

Wonderful, here's Louis. He'll play you a song he wrote and then name it after Clementine, it's very cute.

While on the topic of ep2, I also want to discuss the episode's final choice of saving either Louis or Violet and the consequences.

You know how in other games, say like massive RPG's with "good" and "evil" choices you can make that end up defining your character? You know how sometimes people question why developers even bothered putting those evil routes in since a majority of people will choose to be good? This isn't a new topic of discussion, but it's relevant to my point- they do it because the option to be evil makes the choice to be good more impactful. If you do choose to be evil, you did it knowing you could've been good and yet you decided chaos was the way to go, and now everyone and everything around your character suffers.

I don't think it only applies to binary "good" versus "evil" choices, either.

TWDG is great with its "You can only save one of them" choices, even if they usually fumble with the consequences in later episodes.

When I'm faced with this choice to save either Louis or Violet, I don't save Louis just because I like him more. Sure, initially that's why I saved him on my first run... but then the rest of the season came out and I learned the consequences of the choices I did and didn't make.

Knowing that he'll get his tongue cut out if I don't save him makes me all the more anxious to choose him. And I know violentine shippers are gutted knowing that if they don't save her, she'll feel so betrayed that she turns on Clementine and in the end is blinded in the boat explosion, so they're just as eager to save her.

But all of us have to live with the consequences of what happens to the one we didn't save, too. We made the decision to save the one we love at the cost of hurting the other we didn't love enough. You can't save them both. You're forced to hurt one of them in order to protect the other.

And it doesn't even stop there. TFS isn't done twisting the knife.

Mere moments before you have to make the choice to save one of them, Lilly's standing over Clementine with her finger on the trigger... only to then be tackled by the person you didn't choose to spend time with.

They just saved Clementine's life only to be dragged away by their neck, and the game asks you what that's worth: They got captured saving you, so do you save them in return or do you remain loyal to the one you chose before?

And when you know the consequences of both routes, when you know Louis will have his tongue cut out and Violet will have her eyes burned?

Louis and Violet are good people at their cores who only wanted to be understood and loved, and no matter what, you have to abandon one of them for the other... and they are left physically and mentally traumatized because of it.

But wait, there's more. The one you didn't save will always survive to the end and act as a constant reminder of what you chose... but the one you saved? If you don't trust AJ, then you'll be forced to watch them get torn apart and eaten alive by a herd of walkers. The only way to save them is to trust AJ so that he shoots Tenn.

A child has to die in order for you to save the one you love again, a choice you indirectly made.

The ending shows you the one you didn't save, and it shows you Tenn's grave... and it presents a quiet question: was it worth it?

Would you make those choices again?

That's the power Louis and Violet bring to TFS.

That's why the choice matters.

We justify trusting AJ because we'd rather see Louis and Violet live over Tenn, knowing we're taking away the best friend AJ's ever had and allowing Minerva to get her way. We save Louis knowing that it breaks something inside of Violet and results in her permanently losing most of her eyesight. We save Violet knowing that we'll find Louis bloody and sobbing in the cell after having his tongue cut out of his mouth.

And we argue about it amongst ourselves even though it's all fucked. There isn't a true happy ending here, not for everyone.

Louis and Violet stand on their own as great characters, but you only get the true depth depending on how you play. They're excellent love interests because they care for Clementine. Through their relationship with her, they grow as people and find the acceptance and love they're starved for.

It's not perfect, but it honestly doesn't need to be. There was care woven into these characters. Both routes have a wide appeal. That means something to so many people.

I know we as fans often will say we wanted more, we wanted this and that, we wish this was different. It's not a dating sim where the main objective is to woo them. It's not a massive RPG with hundreds of hours to explore every nook and cranny of their characters. This is a Telltale game. It's a narrative with Clementine and AJ at the forefront, and it's up to you whether you want Louis or Violet to share that spotlight.

It's a story about Clementine finding a home, about molding what kind of survivor AJ comes. It's about Clementine meeting two broken people with glass shards at their feet, about her glass mixing with theirs. It's a game about choice; which glass pieces do you pick up, and which do you step on?

We should take more time to appreciate Louis and Violet. We should share our appreciation for the development team for giving us a bisexual lead with two great love interests, especially since we almost didn't get TFS in its entirety; we can hate Skybound as much as we want for the Clementine comics, but without them, this team wouldn't have been able to finish the game they were clearly passionate about.

We should have more self-awareness and try to understand why we like and dislike things without targeting others.

In conclusion?

I think they're both neat 👍

[s0sorry]

Avatar Shipping VENT/RANT (sorry to be that person)

I know this dead horse has been beaten to hell and back, BUT……I want to say my two cents about Kataang and why it’s so important to me (and why Zutara still gives me the icks to this day). When the show originally aired I was probably eight or nine so romance was the last thing on my mind. I gagged and closed my eyes at every kiss/romantic scene in the show, no bias, I hated every couple. I’m also ashamed to admit that by the third season I didn’t like Katara….like at all.

I didn’t like Katara because she was emotional and it seemed like she cried ALL. THE. TIME. And I behaved very similarly to Toph, I stomped around bare foot, picked my nose, hated girly things and other internalized misogyny and I’m not like other girls shit (those last two things apply to just me not Toph). But I had a lot and I mean A LOT of emotions, and just like Katara I cried all the time, I was angry and hurt and sad, but unlike Katara I was told to stifle those feelings. To cry was to be soft and weak and if I wanted to survive in my house I couldn’t do that. If I cried it was considered a manipulation tactic by my dad, so when I saw Katara reacting to conflict like I did and watched her be rewarded and loved, I hated it. I hated her, but not really.

This all ties back to Kataang and Zutara, I swear.

As I continued to grow up I would rewatch Avatar reruns a lot, but rarely would they show season one episodes. By the time I was 13/14ish (Katara’s age) I had begun dealing with the unwanted attention of boys and men a like and as the oldest of four kids I was expected to be a grown up by the age of 12. I hated it all. I hated taking care of my younger siblings and I hated the way men yelled at me from their cars as I walked home from school, the way senior boys prayed on my best friend when we were freshman. I was supposed to be an adult so young and I was angry, depressed, and so beyond hurt all the time. I still am.

So when I’d go onto the internet as a child and saw overtly sexual pictures of Katara and Zutara I was thoroughly disgusted, but I didn’t know why. (I didn’t even ship Kataang at the time). It all made me uncomfortable and I didn’t know why.

Of course now I know. I was a child looking at a heavily sexualized children. Katara and Zuko are children, something I wouldn’t realize until I watched the show as an adult. And that’s one of many reasons I don’t like Zutara. They’ve always been grossly over sexualized in medias and as a someone who has been grossly sexualized as a child and adult of course I hated it. Now I know not ALL of the fan art of Zutara was sexualized, but still I grew up on the internet in the late 00’s/early 10’s and I didn’t know the ins and outs so I came across a LOT of gross and often p*rnographic art.

As an adult rewatching ATLA Katara is one of my favorite characters. She reminds me of who I use to be, who I could have been…which explains why I hated her when I was younger (I’ve dealt with a lot of self loathing over the years). Rewatching the series on Netflix allowed me to watch all three seasons as many times as I wanted. I’ll never forget rewatching the Boy in the Iceberg and hearing Aang say to Katara the words I desperately needed to hear as a child:

“You still ARE a kid.”

It made me cry. And that’s when my appreciation and love for Kataang grew. I loved watching these two kids journey across the world together and see their relationship develop over the three seasons. The way Aang always viewed Katara in lovestruck awe and the way Katara found hope and happiness in this boy. They were just two kids who cared deeply for each other, they were two kids trying to cling to the little childhood that hadn’t been destroyed by the world around them and they found that in each other. As someone who has always had to men/boys in my life constantly wanted me to be this hyper sexual version of myself, and being someone who was force to grow up too soon, Kataang resonates deeply with me.

They get to just be kids together, because that’s what they are. Kids. This isn’t even really an argument against Zutara (though I could make many arguments against it), it’s more of an argument against how it’s always been portrayed. Katara is a child, Zuko is a child and the only one who seems to remember that is Aang. Zutara has always been based on the sexualization of two children and because of that I can never get behind it.

[psychewritesbs]

Hii~~ greetings from Argentina oh juremos con gloria a morir~~

Question, do you have any hcs/ assumptions of what Touji’s early life in the clan was like? Cause I’d like to hear you out🥺

HOLA my dear CABAnon ♥ ¡Al gran pueblo Argentino, saludsita! 🍻

hcs about this man you ask...

Why I'm happy to bs about it under the cut mwahaha.

BUT FIRST... clarification:

I'm actually more of a daddy Sukuna stan... literally no one asked you, v.

Or basically how I just love this panel of Sukuna and GO. BACK. TO. YOUR BODY ALREADY DAMMIT!

Also, in case people have not noticed, I have such an obsession with Megumi that I sleep on any arc where he's not front and center. It's, literally, a #thing I am afflicted by.

So I must confess I don't spend a lot of time thinking about anyone else in this darn manga and most people who send me asks haven't realized yet how much of a fraud I am LOL.

So, no, I spend absolutely no time thinking about Toji's swag.

Zero time thinking about his sexy back.

Nope.

Sorry not sorry Toji, but...

Ok he's KINDA sexy. kinda.

So to answer your ask I pulled panels that I think might say something about Toji and then mixed it all with my perhaps unrealistic hc that Toji was actually quite the domestic daddy. It just so happened to be that Megumi-mama's death broke him.

Basically Toji is such a tragic character.

I am no longer who I used to be

So first there's defo a clear delineation in how Toji perceives himself. The person he was before he took the Fushiguro last name, Zenin Toji, and Fushiguro Toji.

And remember, names have power because they define your sense of self. ngl I love that my name is victoria.

I think there's some disagreement as to who was Fushiguro, whether Megumi's mom or Tsumiki's mom, but I personally prefer the idea that it was Megumi's mom.

My perspective, I'll admit, is a bit romanticized, it's just that Toji is always shown as being sentimental about Megumi and Megumi-mama.

So I like the idea that he took the Fushiguro last name because it was Megumi's mom's. I feel like in his head this also served the purpose of hiding himself and leaving behind the person he used to be. That is not to mention that it would also help keep Megumi a secret from the Zenin.

Self-sabotage runs in the family

I get the sense that Toji internalized all of the toxic masculinity of the Zenin household and expressed it by being a complete fuck up.

I get the sense that Toji was so disillusioned with life that he just allowed himself to become the worst version of himself until he met Megumi's mom.

He was also a womanizer, which implies that he knew he was good looking or was attractive to others and probably used that to his advantage.

Toji, truly was, irredeemable.

Just appalling behavior, really.

But I think that's part of Toji's tragedy, that just like Megumi, Toji did not grow up in an environment that was conducive to fostering one's best self. It's like a testament of how damaging extreme psychological attitudes like the ones held by the Zenin can poison the psyche and the sense of self and severely limit its ability to self-actualize.

In that sense, Toji and Megumi (more specifically Megumi) are examples of breaking the cycle of trauma from abuse. It's all about generational trauma getting passed on generation after generation until someone can break the curse.

So yeah, we gotta talk about everybody's favorite toxic family, the Kardashians Zenin.

The Zenin

Now, the irony of the Zenin is that their last name is a literal allusion to a family that is "Zen". And what is Zen if not mindfulness?

Quite the contrary, the Zenin, as an institution within Jujutsu society, epitomize everything that is wrong with Jujutsu Society: misogyny, toxic masculinity, corruption.

There's this really "cute" platitude, something about "bloom where you're planted."

And I believe you can bloom where you're planted. But when the very soil that is the basis for your sense of self is poisoned, well, the way you bloom is going to be a little poisoned.

So I imagine Toji's behavior was a sort of open defiance to the pressure to perform and conform to the unrealistic expectation his family held of him.

For that reason, I think the fact that he's a direct descendant of the previous head of the Zenin clan is a big fucking deal. Like, how are you going to be the son of the clan's head and not even be able to use Cursed Energy?

The nerve!

In other words, if he couldn't be accepted for who he was, what was the point in trying? Why not just give up altogether and be a complete and utter fuck up?

This portion of the post was sponsored by red wine. Thank you red wine.

Sorcerer Killer

Is it a collective headcanon or canon that Toji started killing sorcerers as a way to impose his sense of self against the injustice of being rejected for not having the same abilities as sorerers?

I'm assuming someone said "I'll pay you" and he said "sure ok" and he just became known as the person to go to if you wanted to kill a sorcerer.

Like father, like son

This epic panel...

Is a testament to how broken Fushiguro Toji is.

How does a father forget his son? Or more like... how does a father make himself forget he has a son he would rather forget he has?

Anyways, this reads to me like psychological suppression. And I have to wonder how much Toji had to resort to suppressing himself and his thoughts while growing up in the Zenin household.

Yeah you could take the panel at face value, or you can take the whole context of Toji's backstory and the environment he grew up in, + the tragedy of Megumi Mama's death, and wonder whether Toji cared so much about Megumi that he knew the best thing for him was to not be in his life.

He's a fuck up, right? Worst of the worst. So what's better than abandoning his child with someone else who is capable of caring for him the way he can't?

That's a lot of self-awareness on Toji's behalf if you ask me.

I just get the sense that Toji does not see himself as a "good" person and doesn't care to prove anyone wrong about it.

Toji had to learn to control his strength

Like... what if something as simple as splitting chopsticks is something that requires a lot of finesse and concentration for Toji? Makes me wonder if Toji had to learn to regulate his strength.

Toji is utterly unimpressed

Due to the word choice in the panel above, I have to wonder about how Toji perceives most people who can use cursed energy.

In other words, he's completely unimpressed with most sorcerers and their abilities because he has found he can overpower the vast majority of them with raw strength alone.

Think of it this way, he's the direct descendant of the head of the Zenin clan and is considered an anomaly and a failure due to his inability to use Cursed Energy, right?

Now...

If, in the words of a Zenin, the Zenin clan exists because of Toji's whim, that tells me that the Zenin feared Toji's physical prowess even if they did not acknowledge him.

It tells me Toji was perhaps unafraid to demonstrate his strength in order to gain respect from others in a similar way Maki did during the Perfect Preparation arc.

But for some reason Toji never quite did anything about it and instead decided to leave the clan.

I wondered for a sec whether Naobito perhaps defeated him but then I remembered how easily Toji took on Dagon compared to Naobito struggling.

I think what's sad about it is that after going to such lengths, Toji still found himself as the clan's reject.

In a sense, even if he could wipe out the clan, it wouldn't achieve being accepted and acknowledged as a human by them. And honestly, I can't say for sure that he wanted to be accepted and cherished by the Zenin, but the human need to belong is incredibly powerful.

So to see him call himself a monkey in spite of what he's able to accomplish shows how deep that wound runs.

To see his endless plight to validate himself in a world that denied him the belonging he most likely desperately sought...

And it's a real tragedy just how damaged Toji's self esteem is and how growing up in the Zenin clan completely destroyed his self-esteem.

Which brings us back full circle to...

I am no longer who I used to be + Megumi-Mama

Fudge me.

I know you specifically asked about Toji's early life in the clan but I find myself unable to write about Toji without addressing the clear delineation of who Zenin Toji was before he became Fushiguro Toji.

Again, this is assuming that Megumi's mom was the one with the Fushiguro last name, which I don't think Gege has confirmed.

But there's just something about how Toji was changed from his meeting Megumi's mom and Megumi's birth.

If Zenin Toji was unafraid to impose his will in order to validate himself through raw strength, we can assume from the panels above that Fushiguro Toji became someone whose priorities were reorganized when he met Megumi's mom.

Perhaps for the first time in his life he saw a reason to become the better version of himself and then he had that taken from him.

Breaking the curse of intergenerational trauma

Last but not least, Toji passes the torch onto Megumi...

I love that even though Toji had set out for Megumi to be sold to the Zenin clan because he thought it was the best for him, he is glad to hear his son did not have to grow up in the same toxic environment he grew up in.

God I love Jujutsu Kaisen... please excuse me while I go cry in the corner.

Anyways...

Spanglish Alert

Que hongo CABAnon? Gracias por el ask! Espero q mi tangente no halla sido muy tangencial LOL. Ya ves, con eso d q tiendo a irme por otros rumbos.

Anyways, me dió mucha curiosidad q compartieras ese pedacito del himno nacional Argentino pq inmediatamente pensé en el himno Mexicano y el himno Mexicano es total y completamente acerca d la guerra.

Me quedé con el ojo cuadrado pq nunca me había tomado el tiempo para pensar en la posible razón por la q el himno Mexicano está enfocado en q los Mexicanos vamos al grito d guerra.

En fin. Será por la lucha de independencia contra España y la sangre indígena hablando por medio de los mestizos?

Oh well... gracias d nuevo y muchos saludos!

[page-reader]

Admitting my Downfalls-I am not a Collective (a personal essay on mathematics and feminism)

As a proud feminist and someone that has researched the gender bias in stem, more specifically mathematics, I need to admit my downfalls.

My ill thinking. It might seem long ago, and it definitely is, but that is not an excuse. Throughout middle school it always confused me as to why we needed diversity in mathematics. If we all do the same procedures to get the same equations why does it matter where we come from? How do our past experiences shape the way that we do math?

The easy feminist (and phycologist) answer:

It was a form of internalized misogyny-or rather taking in what the teachers around me told me.

Ironic that my middle school social studies teacher said that women shouldn't study mathematics, and I internalized that hate. These comments were often directed toward my woman middle school algebra teacher, in classic boomer fashion, he labeled the millennial generation as lazy. But he had to have known young impressionable minds were listening.

And those young impressionable minds included me, a girl who wanted to pursue math. A girl who's dream job in 8th grade was a statistican.

It's ironic coming from that old history teacher, a man and a female dominated industry, that being elementary education, to tell others that they should not be pursuing their field of study simply because of their gender. If he was not a hypocrite, he would see that if he took his own words to be truth, he should have not been studying the social sciences, he should have not been teaching the social sciences to a bunch of 12-year-olds.

There was a lot of other problematic things with that teacher, he told us that the civil war was simply about states rights, never expanding upon what the states rights were (it is of course states rights to own a slave). But I was young and impressionable and his impact was more than I thought it was.

But enough about him, this is about me admitting my own ill failings. So what was the point of having a diverse mathematics community? If we all do the same equations why does it matter where we come from.

Instead, approach the topic from the idea that if we all do the same mathematics then mathematics is for *everyone*. However, I'm not going to stand here and preach that we all do mathematics the same, as we do not live in a vacuum.

We may eventually get the same answer, but our thought processes are completely different. It's hard for me to explain my train of thought at times, I might be because I'm undiagnosed dyslexic. I would not be a great professor. I can show my work, but I can't say it out loud. I can't write it in words, but I can write it an equations. I can't express my ideas verbally, I struggle with writing them down too (this essay is a testament to that), so how am I to explain my thoughts process? But what I do know is my thought process might be completely different from another's, because of my background.

I'm a feminist and I believe women are not a collective, people are not a collective.

Then why can this sentiment not be expanded to people of other disciples. Why must mathematicians be a collective too? We all do not walk, talk and think the same, so why must our math be the same?

Our past experiences also help us define our areas of research.

Maybe it all does come back to my middle school social studies teacher, because that hate that he instilled in me is the reason why I like to research gender equality. Those ideas that he put in my mind is the reason that I want to dispute them. I strive to always unlearn and re-educate myself.

I like researching gender equality, I like researching feminist politics, I like researching leftism, and I eventually do want to combine those in the future somehow. I don't know how. But our backgrounds do shape our interests, they do shape of what we want to study and our areas of research, and they also do shape how we do math.

Because our backgrounds shape our mathematical knowledge. It shapes our understanding and love for the subject. It shapes our interests and biases and research. Our backgrounds shape the things close to us, what we advocate for and love. It shapes us, thus it shapes our math as well.

To summarize...why does diversity matter in mathematics? Because we are not a collective. Because I am not a collective.

(If this essay might seem to be missing some information to some, you are not wrong! I am currently writing about the discrimination racial and gender minorities have faced for studying mathematics, and how we can overcome this systemic issue. This historic systemic bias also plays a role in why diversity is needed in mathematics, because unpursued talent due to discrimination leads to a weaker mathematics community. Diversity is needed because of our historic failings/mistreatment.)

As a footnote I want to say the inspiration behind the phrase "I am not a collective" comes from a Mexican feminist speech. A place a content warning for the following topics: mentions is sexual assault, femicide, murder, rape

Here is the link to her speech: https://youtu.be/j0E5RztXEko

[mangodestroyer]

"Why don't you date my son? You have a lot in common! In fact, you could get him to start doing things with his life!"

"I wish I had your body type. Then men would be attracted to me!"

Two comments that still haunt me a few days later (that I got within the same conversation). Really, it's the assumption that people perceived as female can only be attractive because of their looks, and should be more than happy to dedicate their life to "fixing" a man.

Sadly, I would have been flattered by this back when I was a desperate teen with issues. But part of working on those issues is realizing that I grew up in an environment where people gave me a ton of shit for not looking and "being" perfect. And also feeling like a burden and like I should cater to others.

Well, I did become more attractive in my 20's. And no, I've come to find that I don't like when people obsess over my body. And ONLY my body. Nor do I enjoy dealing with individuals who don't bother to work on themselves. I would like someone who appreciates me as a whole. Finds me attractive because of who I am as a person. And also has their shit together (I'll admit that I still have some things to work on, but I don't appreciate being compared to a person who isn't going to school or working or bothering to build their credit or anything like that when I'm doing all those things).

And yes, of course. It's ALWAYS the women who aren't afraid to express their internalized misogyny who get catty like this. Straight up start objectifying/assuming things about other women (this person seems to keep forgetting that I'm a STEM major and all that jazz, and that I'm also not seeking a bf). And yes, they always seem to have some kind of trauma they never took a single second to work through. Just like with sexist men, they'll never change.

Needless to say, I'm happy to be going to school in person again. The conversations are less likely to go down these paths, and seem a lot more deep and meaningful. I can straight up talk to a fellow student about something super nerdy or extremely l*beral/controversial, and no one gives af. Ig after a while I just started dissociating this stuff out of my mind, despite it being a huge culture shock when I started working with these small town people. I almost forgot that irl people can be fairly nice and have things in common with me (outside of co-worker's son). Not that I dislike my co-workers. I think most of them are pretty alright. I just want to be able to talk about my new interest in speed running, my revived interest in old video games, and concepts related to the field I'm going into. Not to mention, all the peeps who are openly into fandom stuff. That is pretty nice too!

The added bonus is also just less focus on my appearance. Or whether or not I'm being "pleasant" enough. It's more about what I contribute intellectually or personalitywise. Not to say that I've never had these same problems with college kids either. It just seems to be less common. But otherwise, I am coming to find this environment to be more inspiring. My anhedonia is clearing up a lot more. I dissociate less. I'm starting to eat a lot healthier too, and I think my bloating is starting to get better because I feel hungry more often. I'm also noticing less mood swings (which were initially a huge problem, probably because of the new environment and such).

Thankfully, I've heard good things about the campus librarian. Maybe I should start working for her.

[dappersautismcreature]

just finished fallout the show but holy shittt dude i havent watched a show this good in a whiiile. part of it could probably be contributed to the excellent video games and the worldbuilding already laid out for it but holy shit holy shit.

SPOILERS

i was convinced i didnt like maximus but no i was just falling for cleverly set up twists and some things were predictable yes but sometimes theyd just do something that felt SO right. and the characterization?? excellent. the tone? incredible and unique.

normally with these split POV shows i get bored of a POV but that didnt really happen. and normally i get frustrated with the political aspects (not because i think its 'too political' or whatever just because i have that good ol fashion autistic strong sense of justice and i want to punch characters) but there was enough nuance and characters that i could relate to on a moral level that i didnt feel as frustrated.

its really interesting because in my polysci 101 class we just learned about the Federalist papers and one of Madison's talks about interest groups in politics (lobbyist groups essentially) and saying that yes groups like these can be detrimental to political liberty but restricting the freedom of all groups would lead to a worse detriment to personal liberty and free speech.

Hank's (fuck u hank) whole deal was getting rid of factions but his ideas were flawed because he created a greater detriment to health and liberty than factions do, he created another faction (dumb bitch)

gore is not really my thing and ill admit this was a hard watch for me (close to Invincible levels imo and i cannot bring myself to watch Invincible again) but it was manageable and felt like it matched the tone

and the tone, ive never seen anything like it, i mean i havent watched like every show in existence but it feels really unique. my favorite aspec t of a lot of sci fi is what i call "confident ridiculousness" which yes can be grating and land badly sometimes but this felt like seasoning on a dish, just enough and not too much. They managed to keep serious and emotional moments while still having those moments where you can feel the comedic exasperation.

and the charactersssss, like i said i usually get bored of a POV but all of these characters were different and interesting.

Maximus most of all because i fell for the idea of him hurting Dane. I always kept that bit of doubt in my mind but as things progressed and Maximus did more desperate things i thought i would hate him by the seasons end. but no, looking back with the knowledge that he didnt hurt Dane everything he did really just seemed like instinct and self preservation not malicious intent. sure you can say he did bad things and hurt people but thats the point of the show. i like him maybe the most out of all the MCs but its a hard choice.

Lucy was great too! as a transmasc guy i sometimes feel dysphoric for relating to a femme character (my bad sorry im fighting my internalized misogyny) but she was so relatable and amazing. sometimes Lucy's (brown haired skinny white woman PC) can be generic and flavorless in terms of character traits but I liked her almost instantly. She is so smart. a lot of characters that start out naive stay very naive and thats seen as like, a strength of character but I personally love that she does change and is still mostly able to defend her values. She makes mistakes due to that naivety but to me at least, remains relatable and smart when she learns from those. she feels like a full character, which you dont see very often in the archetype thats supposed to be your self insert.

And the Ghoul, intensely complicated and interesting. I flipped back and forth so many times on whether i liked or hated him. Again i know thats the point but still! i will admit im a sucker for his type of character but the show still had me gritting my teeth over his actions. he is not a good person, of course, but seeing him grapple with what he used to be is so cool and i really liked his story.

im running out of descriptions but im really impressed with the writing and the acting. the main three actors were all perfect and im hoping for a season two.

i could talk more but again, running out of words lmao.

[the-music-maniac]

Okay so, this post here https://multsicorn.tumblr.com/post/649671498154557440/i-believe-were-supposed-to-think-that-evil is actually what made me think deeper about this scene, and also what made me get off my butt to write about this, so go check it out! But I wanted to voice why a couple sentences in the english subs for Episode 21 of Word of Honor irked me slightly in the scene with Du Pusa and Liu Qianqiao, this one onwards:

Now keep in mind, my mandarin is serviceable for casual conversations, but I struggle more with formal language, so feel free to correct me if I’ve gotten translations/the feel of the scene wrong. I’m gonna go through the subs that I’m annoyed with and then explain why I think they’re inaccurate and important to the scenes at the end.

But basically, some of the translations for the Youku english subs lightened Du Pusa’s language when she was talking about the dude that betrayed Qianqiao (still don’t remember his name, so I’m gonna call him cheater dude). And the thing is, I really can’t think of a reason why they wouldn’t translate it entirely? Like is there a reason?

For example, this?

The subs say “this lady’s lover” and I can sort of understand why it’s translated like that, she says “她这个“ which is “her” implying ownership (”her lover” as an example). So ”this lady’s” is correct. But that’s not all?? She says in the second half “狗男人“ which translates literally to “dog of a man”. It’s an insult, and without it, the feel of the sentence is completely different.

The english subs also don’t exactly translate this. She didn’t say “she fell for” in this sentence, instead Du Pusa exact words are, “she was tricked into hand”.

Here too, she didn’t call Qianqiao pitiful (I think, there might be cultural nuance I’m missing so let me know if this one is wrong) and the exact translation is “only a pity that she was blind”.

Finally this one, I’m pretty sure “废物“ is harsher of an insult than loser. It literally translates to “useless person” or “a waste of space”. Now I don’t know which officially ranks higher between “loser” vs “废物“ in the level of burn across languages and cultural contexts, but in my mind, 废物 is harsher.

Okay, now with the scenes and translations explained:

So. The reason why I brought all of these instances up is because I think the wording Du Pusa used to explain the story is pretty important, not for plot reasons but just because it changes the feel of the interaction. The post I linked at the very beginning pointed out that Du Pusa is meant to be a character that basically taunts the women she fights with, with her superiority in beauty, etc., but while she does that, at the same time her character doesn’t have that feel of misogyny that I think is so prominent in media when writing women characters who dislike each other.

Granted, Du Pusa also insults Qianqiao, and that didn’t show up in translation either, she calls her “小娘皮“ in place of “lady” which is not exactly a flattering thing to say. But I think the important thing is that throughout the entire telling of the story, Du Pusa recognizes that in this situation, the person that messed up, and is mostly at fault is cheater dude, and she places the blame rightfully on his shoulders despite how she dislikes Qianqiao.

Particularly in the sentences “she was tricked into hand” and “only a pity that she was blind”, instead of “she fell for” and “only pitiful”. “She fell for” puts more responsibility onto Qianqiao’s shoulders, because she’s the one who fell in love with cheater dude and his sweet talk - that’s her business. But “she was tricked into hand” places more of the emphasis on cheater dude, on the fact that he sweet talked her into believing him, that she in fact was tricked, and not because she just simply fell for him.

(Now I’m not here to discuss whether cheater dude’s feelings for Qianqiao are genuine or not, or whether he purposely tricked her - I do think that he does care about her but that’s also not enough to absolve him of the shitty things he did. So I’m not very willing to be lenient with him here)

“Only a pity that she was blind” also places less of the blame on Qianqiao then the phrase “only pitiful” because pitiful as a word implies that Beauty Ghost herself is pitiful. That she’s a pitiful person who’s too dumb to notice that she was being tricked. “Only a pity” however leaves room for her to be a victim of circumstance, and implies that the situation was “only a pity”, not her as a person.

Finally the two harsher insults, I think are important because for once, a character like Du Pusa doesn’t leave the man relatively unscathed in her process of taunting another woman, and also doesn’t hold misogynistic victim-blaming views about situations like this. She’s fully acknowledging here, even as someone who doesn’t give a shit about Qianqiao, that cheater dude is kind of a piece of shit. You see that fully in these three scenes as well:

First the rolling her eyes at cheater dude’s explanations. I think that one is pretty self-explanatory, it gives me strong “oh god don’t make me laugh” and “cut the bullshit and shut up already” vibes, which I high key love.

Second, this one where she pushes him back, feels like she’s sick of hearing cheater dude’s excuses and his attempts to sweet talk Qianqiao again, and so she decided to interject. Also has a little bit of, “okay, get away from her, I’m sick of you” vibes.

Finally, Du Pusa has an incredulous look on her face, and then gives a huff of disbelief when Qianqiao sorta defends cheater dude, saying she’s the one who had bad intentions. This one gives me a sort of “really? You’re defending him?” vibes, especially since it follows her asking if Qianqiao’s brain is broken for actually trusting him a second time after what he did.

Anyways, this turned out to be a long analysis, but I just wanted to translate/talk about my thoughts on some of the subs, and my low key appreciation for this scene. It sort of feels like Du Pusa almost backhandedly defended Beauty Ghost - although I admit that might be going too far/giving too much credit since Du Pusa isn’t exactly going easy on her either, and she might just be listing things as she sees it. Still though, what I’ve always appreciated so much about Word of Honor is that it creates so many female characters that are compelling to watch and well-rounded; who feel realistic, who are their own people and have their own stories to tell, who aren’t killed off as soon as it’s convenient or just to reinforce the heterosexuality of the male leads, who are vital to the plot, and most importantly, act in a way real women might act, and aren’t all internally misogynistic and apologetic towards guys who act shitty.

It’s really refreshing to see a “bad” character in this show, who’s mannerisms suggest she’s a character that’s a woman who taunts women, do so without piling on deep-seated misogynistic accusations or halfway pandering to the man in order to create some misplaced “jealousy”, and instead manage to taunt people/hit people where it hurts and yet still...almost purposely calls the man out on the shitty stuff he did?

Anyways, overall I think this scene was a pretty cool dynamic to think about, and I appreciate it a lot (although I appreciate the subs a bit less, for obvious reasons).

[turbo-enid]

cw long post & venting, tw anti-blackness mention, misogyny mention, misogynoir mention, medical racism & abuse mention

When I woke up today, the first thing to come to mind was the conversation (?) that my uncle had with me last night; which pretty much tells me it's something I really need to get off my mind.

He started off with asking me if I as a black woman* see abortion rights as an issue worth going out to protest for.

Here's the thing with my uncle though: whenever he tries to set up a "discussion" with me it always starts out with him wanting to "hear [my] thoughts as a black woman*", but then seems to have a very, very, VERY hard time with just shutting his trap and LISTENING to gain any form of the supposed "perspective" he wants to hear from me. He'd cut me off very often to start running on about how HE sees the subject, and oftentimes goes on a tangent to vent about the subject, revealing what he really had an issue with and the root of why he's asking me the question to begin with. Also, whether he admits it or not, he has internalized misogyny, misogynoir especially, so I always keep in mind that that's going to be embedded in his thoughts and worldview.

I responded to this question with something along the lines of, "Yes, because I see [abortion rights] as a serious issue for black women. I feel like a lot of people who are against it really lack understanding of the nuance of why abortion clinics are necessary. It isn't a black and white, good vs. bad topic; for example, sometimes people that have abortions are getting an abortion not to terminate a pregnancy, but because the fetus is already dead due to miscarriage. What is the pregnant woman* supposed to do without access to abortion clinics?" I was going to go into how common miscarriages were for black women*, and how pregnant black women* face a lot of medical abuse, medical racism, and neglect that results in them having a very traumatic pregnancy and/or birth-giving experience. But that was the part where he cut me off, of course starting off with, "[He] understands that, but..."

He ended up revealing that he saw the fact that the discussions about abortion was just another example of how the "real issues" in the black community were being ignored in the media and how the president doesn't actually care about black people. He sincerely believes that the conversation on the news centering abortion was just Biden and the Democrats "clearly" trying to manipulate black people into thinking that he actually cares about the community's well-being.

The thing that's bugging me was the insistence on the notion that abortion rights can't possibly be a black community issue. Pregnancy is a matter of life or death for many black uterus-havers in this misogynoiristic country and health care system, but of course the cishet black man who parrots misogynoir takes and basks in hotep ideologies doesn't understand what actual the issue is, nor wants to understand. Cishet black men aren't the center of the conversation, so this isn't a "real" issue for him.

Another thing that irks me is this patronizing way that he speaks to me, as if because he doesn't see me sitting outside watching the news with him and my grandmother all the time then I can't possibly know what's going on in current events. And it's like... no. I am aware of what's going on. I don't need him to try and break down every single issue for me and try to convince me that this country and its bipartisan parties are shit. Like. I'm acutely aware of that. I'm not fucking clueless to any of this, but he keeps talking about these issues with me as if this is new, groundbreaking information that he's so generously sharing with me. It literally makes my skin itch, like stop being so fucking patronizing for the love of god. I feel uncomfortable talking to him a lot of the time because I know in the back of his head he thinks I'm an idiot. I even overheard him say out loud to his kids that he sincerely believes that "all females are delusional". Cool. Thanks for saying that out loud; now I know for sure that I absolutely cannot trust anything you say to me since you see me as just another delusional, gullible idiot that needs to be sat down educated every chance you get.

I'm so sick of living in an environment with people who have backwards, regressive views on human rights issues. I'm so sick of sharing the same home with a hotep. I genuinely look forward to moving out.

*I put an asterix next to "woman" because 1. he didn't say woman; he uses the word "female" a lot, a word I find very gross to use when talking about human beings because it reduces the person to their genitals 2. I don't identify as a woman. 3. I understand that not all people who can get pregnant are women, but when talking about this subject with my transphobic uncle, I avoid treading that territory for my own sanity.

[posthumus]

hullo boys, today i’m writing about my thoughts on the Dickie incident in Maurice. (potential content warning for sexual assault and pedophilia — if you’ve read the book, though, it won’t get more graphic than that)

i’ve actually always appreciated the Dickie scene, controversial though it is. i first read the book when i was fifteen — the same age as Dickie himself, iirc (EDIT: I did not, in fact, recall correctly; see here) — and i feel like i got it instantly: to me, it serves to highlight the extremely fucked-up attitudes towards sex society helps to internalize. that said, your mileage may vary on how much discomfort you’re able to withstand, and i think it’s completely fair to feel that the incident makes Maurice — the character and/or the book — irredeemable. i’m able to forgive a lot of the more problematic elements of Maurice because i think they’re adequately criticized in the text (at one point Forster literally calls Clive and Maurice misogynists). however, i don’t blame anyone for feeling uncomfortable with them. mostly, i’m trying to explain why i personally like the function of Dickie within the story, and why i think the whole episode requires a nuanced approach. 

first up: i’ve seen the whole Dickie thing’s presentation interpreted as completely uncritical, which i think is pretty misinformed. i’ll certainly admit that at the start of the chapter, it’s quite ambiguous as to which way the novel will frame Maurice’s feelings. it’s extremely uncomfortable to read, especially in a modern context: there’s an element of suspense as you try to guess whether or not an author of this time period would have endorsed sexual assault. but the catharsis comes at the end of the next chapter, when the horror of the whole situation snaps into sharp focus: “was it conceivable that on sunday last he had nearly assaulted a boy?” for the previous chapter, Maurice had been kidding himself about the whole thing, and it doesn’t seem quite as rapey as it actually is; but then we’re thrown the word assault, and it becomes clear that we are, in fact, meant to understand that this was a horrible thing to even think of doing. 

in my opinion, the book in no way endorses Maurice's thoughts — i actually think that, for his time, Forster was taking a pretty noble stance. the introduction to my copy of Maurice, by David Leavitt, includes a quote from Lytton Strachey, who wrote to Forster, “you apparently regard the Dickie incident with grave disapproval. why?” like, pederasty was still celebrated amongst a lot of gay men at the time. the fact that the Dickie thing reads so uncomfortably at all is a testament to Forster's (correct) stance on the issue; i think you're meant to be grossed the fuck out by Maurice's thoughts. (also, not that this exempts him from criticism, but Forster himself was assaulted as a child; i think he very much understood the gravity of what he was suggesting.)

secondly, Maurice is an EXTREMELY flawed character, and it seems ludicrous to suggest that we're expected to sympathize with all of his thoughts and actions. he's an asshole for most of the book. much emphasis is placed on the fact that Maurice is an entirely average man within his time, location, and class; his opinions and actions fall in line with that, which is why i’m personally okay with his misogyny (even though i’d throw hands with him in real life). 

the big misunderstanding with a lot of Maurice’s flaws, i think, is that he isn’t a self-insert character, either for the reader or the author (consider the terminal note: “in Maurice i wanted to create a character who was completely unlike myself”). none of Forster’s characters are blank slates, to my mind — they all have extremely specific personalities; we’re not meant to be following them wholeheartedly the way we would with, say, Harry Potter. i worry some people read the book expecting to be able to back him 100%, but i think we're supposed to be observing Maurice, not putting ourselves in his shoes. (the omniscient narration helps with that, as we're told about elements of his psyche that Maurice himself isn't aware of. also, i’m no expert, so don't quote me here, but i think the concept of a self-insert protagonist is a sort of newer one? i feel like most books pre-mid-twentieth century have characters you're supposed to observe and criticize, and not wholly empathize with — Nick Carraway comes to mind.) 

lastly on his flaws, i think the genre you place the book in influences how angry you are at Maurice. if you see it as a romance novel, which is certainly a fair reading, his sudden moments of insane fucked-up-ness make it much harder to root for him. i’ve come to see it as more of a bildungsroman, so i think the point is Maurice's mistakes; he has to reckon with a lot of his actions, including the Dickie incident. 

the part of the whole Dickie debacle that’s the most fascinating to me is its context within Maurice’s discussion of sexuality. i think the Dickie incident showcases how sexual repression and internalized homophobia can pervert your perspective on all sexual relationships. within the novel, sex in general feels like something criminal (certainly in Maurice’s case this is true for sex between men; however, there are also the diagrams on the beach at the start of the book, and Anne’s complete lack of knowledge about sex when she marries Clive). if you view all sexual relationships as immoral, though, pedophilia and sexual assault become no more unethical than consensual sex. it’s interesting in that light, then, to compare the Dickie incident to the moment with the man on the train two chapters later: one absolutely should be illegal, but they are both interpreted by Maurice as obscene, and both (if acted upon) would have been criminal offenses. i also think it’s interesting that the man on the train is perhaps the closest comparison to Forster himself within the novel, as Forster, in middle age, cruised London’s public spaces in the hopes of finding someone to hook up with. while Maurice loathes the man on the train (David Leavitt’s introduction, again, discusses how Forster wrote a love story that deliberately excludes himself), i don’t think the reader is meant to. 

personally, the Dickie scene resonates with me as someone attracted to women. being told that your own desires are inherently predatory doesn’t dispel those desires, but only makes you ashamed of them, and warps your perception of healthy sexuality. i tend to interpret Maurice’s feelings about Dickie more as intrusive thoughts than actual, tangible want — this kind of obscenity, to his mind, is inevitable for him. i don’t think Maurice would have actually assaulted Dickie. i think he was cracking under the pressures of an openly hostile society, while grappling with his own repression and unmet needs. 

TL;DR — Maurice is a flawed character and Forster is critical of his actions. further, the Dickie incident gives us a striking picture of Edwardian society’s attitude towards all sexual relationships, which still has applications today; the episode also gives us insight into Maurice’s mental state. it’s uncomfortable, but in my opinion necessary to the core message of the book.

[orionsangel86]

Hey Everyone,

As you have probably noticed, I have neglected this blog for a long time now. I haven’t been on any fandom related social media at all actually. But I figured since I am currently in a good mindset, I want to write a post just outlining some things which basically boils down to a goodbye letter to Supernatural fandom.

Long rambling post below the cut...

This year (and the last) has just taken it out of me in terms of general negativity online both in fandom and in the real world. At first I got tired of fandom (mostly because Twitter is a cesspool of policing and bullying) and then I got tired of everything else (the world sucks right now, and my mental health basically stopped me from being able to participate in any form of online activism – just because I’m not blogging about something, doesn’t mean I don’t support the cause ya know?). Earlier this year, right around the time of the UK lockdowns, I had surgery and a recovery period in which I spent a lot of time with family, and just reacquainted myself with the real world. I think perhaps the coronavirus pandemic made me realise that long before lockdown began I had already been isolating myself from my real life and diving further and further into an online black hole.

It was years in the making. Supernatural fandom preoccupied my thoughts for such a long period of time it got to the point where every moment of my non working time seemed to be spent either online scrolling my tumblr dash or twitter feed, or reading fanfic or doing something fandom related. I invested so much of myself into this show and fandom that I think I forgot who I was before I was a Supernatural fan completely.

After my wake up call in late 2019, which lead me to break free from an extremely nasty clique, I have tried to re-enter fandom on my own terms, as well as attempt to enjoy the source material and the fandom creations to ignite some new spark of love and interest in the show. Yet as much as I have tried, I have failed to do so.

I was thinking recently about someone I used to follow years ago before I ever created a blog. When I was still just lurking in the tumblr shadows and followed the likes of Mittens, Lizbob, and other meta writers of the period, there was a blogger whose name I can’t remember but she was the funniest blogger I had come across. But when the show killed off Charlie Bradbury, she quit. I had never even interacted with her, as I was barely getting my blog started at the time, but I’ll never forget a post she wrote about her feelings on the show. She had recently started watching something else (I think it was Sense8 but can’t recall entirely), and that this new show had given her everything she had never thought she could have from her fave before. She wrote about how her relationship with Supernatural had become abusive. That for years the writers of Supernatural continued to throw punches at fans like her – women, LGBTQ+ people, people of colour, and yet she continued to give it all her time and attention, brushing off the punches because she was so damn devoted to the characters. Then this new show had come along, and it was like she had seen the light. The killing of Charlie Bradbury was the last straw, and she dumped Supernatural’s ass and fled into the arms of her new love.

I hope she is doing fantastically today.

What she wrote has resonated with me for years. I was a fairly new Supernatural fan at the time, and therefore didn’t really understand what she meant. A TV show can’t be abusive. Can it?

Of course, we are speaking in metaphor here, and in no way are these metaphors meant to reduce or limit the truly serious situation of actual abusive relationships, but every now and then, when a new episode of Supernatural has left me feeling upset, disappointed, frustrated and grossly let down, in some cases affecting my mood for days at a time, and therefore my mental health. I have thought back to those words she wrote and quietly agreed with them in my head. Yes. This is a metaphorically abusive relationship.

When I discovered earlier this year that Castiel was most likely going to be killed off in some sort of bullshit self sacrifice before the end of the show, I was extremely distressed. When I found out that my favourite person of all time Misha Collins, supported this ending for Castiel, and may have even been the one who pushed for it, I was more than distressed, I felt betrayed by the person I cared about most. I’ll admit to you all now that in my weakest moments I have fantasized about standing in front of Misha and screaming at him exactly just what kind of affect his “ideal ending” for Castiel will have on his fanbase, on their mental health, and potentially their own safety. This fantasy has me guilt tripping him and doing everything in my power to make him feel utterly shit about the decision. I know what you are thinking – don’t blame Misha, the guy has his own problems and we all know he projects his own self esteem issues onto Cas – and yes, I know this, like I said its only a fantasy to get me through my darkest moments. I don’t hate Misha at all. But perhaps I do love him a little less nowadays than I did back at the height of my fandom life. That’s at least still a little bit more than my feelings for Jensen and Jared which now I can only describe as complete indifference.

I am admitting all of this now knowing full well it will ignite shock and anger among the more die hard fans of J2M, to explain why I need to just leave this fandom completely, or more accurately, why I have already left fandom.

Over the past 10 months of 2020, I have watched a lot of TV (there isn’t much else to do during a lockdown when you are on crutches with your foot in a cast!) and the one thought that occurred to me over and over again was “this show is so much better than Supernatural”.

I kept comparing everything I watched, from the quality of the scripts, the actors, the special effects, to the inclusiveness of the shows. Just so many beautiful and interesting stories that seem to understand their audience, and understand how to entertain and impress without resorting to cringe humour, outdated jokes, and prejudice, not to mention misogyny and queerbaiting – yup, I said it.

The thing is, I think these thoughts have been creeping over me slowly for longer than just this year, but I have been desperately batting them away the way Dean Winchester bats away his own gay thoughts. Unlike Dean though, eventually I couldn’t ignore them anymore. I cannot continue to carve out space in my own soul for this show, which incessantly beats me down regardless of my devotion. The creators, the network, the writers, and sometimes even the cast, have all shown that they don’t care about me as a fan. I’m not some gun toting dudebro living in middle America, so why should they give a damn about me? I’m clearly not their target audience, nor have I ever been.

I know many of you will vehemently deny my personal opinion of Supernatural now. That is absolutely fine. I am sorry to be admitting it, but I had to. I feel like once I finally write out these words, I have got it off my chest and can close and lock the door on Supernatural for good.

Without Supernatural, I am able to focus on my real life, I am able to find pleasure in other things, new things, interesting things, that bring me joy and joy alone – not disappointment and frustration. I found a new job this year, which has been a huge accomplishment as I was stagnating in my old one, and several new hobbies under my belt. I moved to a new flat, I have a lovely flatmate who has been a godsend throughout lockdown, and I have rekindled friendships that I was neglecting due to my Supernatural obsession.

All in all, I am finding post-Supernatural life far more rewarding and content than my life in fandom. It has taken me a while, but I am over the show. And whilst I will always hold a special place in my heart for Castiel, it will be as I know him in my own mind; as the wonderful, strong, powerful and determined angel with a soul, who loves so strongly, and who is worth so much more than his own creators give him credit for. He is up there with Aziraphale and Crowley, with The Doctor, and Buffy, as one of the greatest characters of all time.  

So the Supernatural writers and creators can take whatever ending they have decided upon, and shove it up their asses. I am sorry to say that Sam and Dean Winchester are also lost to me. Any love I had for them was destroyed by their later season depictions. Castiel alone is the only character worthy of that space in my heart now. If in time he longs for a companion, I will find one for him, but it won’t be the Dean Winchester of the canon show. Canon Dean hasn’t been deserving of Cas for a long time now.

Perhaps I am still a little bitter about the ending. Perhaps the finale won’t be the disaster I expect it to be, perhaps Dabb will somehow turn it all around last minute following whatever travesty Bucklemming have given us in 15x19. Either way, I won’t be watching.

So this is me saying goodbye to this blog, at least until I have decided what else to do with it. It certainly won’t be a Supernatural fandom blog anymore. It wasn’t all wasted though. I did get a wonderful friendship group out of this fandom, and I have certainly expanded my knowledge of film and television analysis, as well as having enjoyed a great many memes.

I guess in the end, my internal war with my inner bitter Cas girl finished with her winning, and writing this post. Once it is posted however, I will put her to sleep with thoughts of a happy Castiel, who has swapped his wings for a beating human heart, and is living on a beach somewhere beautiful, refurbishing an old Victorian house, and greeting his kindly elderly neighbours. There’s a gay bar on the main strip, and the bartender is quite a dish. Green eyes and light brown hair with a killer smile. Castiel thinks he looks familiar, like a memory from a past life, but they’ve definitely never met, because this man is kind.

Now that she is asleep, there is nothing left for me here. Goodbye everyone. Whether you manage to enjoy the finale or not, I truly hope you too, find your peace.

[bensk]

Be curious. Be humble. Be useful.

I was invited to give the annual Taub Lecture for graduating Public Policy students at the University of Chicago, my alma mater and the department from which I graduated. This is what I came up with.

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I am incredibly grateful and honored to be here tonight. The Public Policy program literally changed my life.

My name is Ben Samuels-Kalow, my pronouns are he/him/his. I’m a 2012 Public Policy graduate, and I will permit myself one “back in my day” comment: When I was a student here, the “Taub Lecture” were actual lectures given by Professor Taub in our Implementation class. I’ve spent the last nine years teaching in the South Bronx. For the past two years, I have served as Head of School at Creo College Prep, a public charter school that opened in 2019.

I was asked tonight to tell you a bit about my journey, and the work that I do. My objection to doing this is that there is basically nothing less interesting than listening to a white man tell you how he got somewhere, so I'll keep it brief. I grew up in New York City and went to a public high school that turned out Justice Elena Kagan, Chris Hayes, Lin-Manuel Miranda, among many others…none of whom were available tonight.

We, on this Zoom, all have one thing in common — we have been very, very close to graduating from the University of Chicago. I have never sat quite where you sit. I didn’t graduate into a pandemic. But the truth is that everyone graduates into a crisis. The periods of relative ease, the so-called “ends of history”, even the end of this pandemic, are really matters of forced perspective. This crisis isn’t over. Periods of relative peace and stability paper over chasms of structural inequality.

You went to college with the people who will write the books and go on the talk shows and coin the phrases to describe our times. You could write that book. You could go into consulting and spend six weeks at a time helping a company figure out how to maximize profits from their Trademark Chasm Expanding Products.

You could also run into the chasm.

What is the chasm?

It is the distance between potential and opportunity. It is a University on the South Side of Chicago with a student body that is 10% Black and 15% Latinx, with a faculty that is 65% white.

It is eight Black students being admitted to a top high school in New York City...in a class of 749.

What is the chasm?

The chasm is that in our neighborhood in The Bronx, where I’m standing right now, 1 in 4 students can read a book on their grade level, and only 1 in 10 will ever sit in a college class.

It is maternal mortality and COVID survival rates. The chasm is generational wealth and payday loans.

It is systemic racism and misogyny.

It is the case for activism and reparations.

In my job, the chasm is the distance between the creativity, brilliance, and wit that my students possess, and the opportunities the schools in our neighborhood provide.

In the zip code in which I grew up in New York City, the median income is $122,169. In the zip code where I have spent every day working since I graduated from UChicago, the median income is $30,349. The school where I went to 7th grade and this school where next year we will have our first 7th grade are only a 15 minute drive apart.

In my first quarter at UChicago, I joined the Neighborhood Schools Program, and immediately fell in love with working in schools. I joined NSP because a friend told me how interesting she found the work. I’d done some tutoring in high school, and had taught karate since I was 15. I applied, was accepted, and worked at Hyde Park Academy on 62nd and Stony Island in a variety of capacities from 2008 to 2012.

At the time, Hyde Park Academy had one of very few International Baccalaureate programs on the South Side, and every spring, parents would line up out the door of the school to try to get their rising 9th grader in. I worked with an incredible mentor teacher and successive classes of high school seniors whose wit, creativity, and skill would've been at home in the seminars and dorm discussions we all have participated in three blocks north of their high school.

In my work at Hyde Park Academy, I learned the first lesson of three lessons that have shaped my career as a teacher. Be curious. I had been told in Orientation that there were “borders” to the UChicago experience, lines we should not cross. I am forever grateful to the people who told me to ignore that BS. Our entire department is a testimony to ignoring that BS. We ask questions like, why did parents line up for hours to get into what was considered a “failing” high school? Why had no one asked my kids to write poetry before? Why are they more creative and better at writing than most of the kids I went to high school with, but there is only one IB class and families have to literally compete to get in? I learned as much from my job three blocks south of the University as I did in my classes at the University...which is to say, I was learning a LOT, but I had a lot more to learn.

I knew I wanted to be a teacher from my first quarter here. I did my research. The Boston Teacher Residency was the top program in the country, so I applied there. I was a 21 year old white man interested in education, so...I applied to Teach for America. In the early 2010’s, I looked like the default avatar on a Teach for America profile. It was my backup option. I was all in on Boston, and was sure, with four years working in urban schools, a stint at the Urban Education Institute, and, at the time, seven years of karate teaching under my belt, I was a shoe in.

I was rejected from both programs. Which brings me to my second lesson. Be humble. We are destined for and entitled to nothing. There is an aphorism I learned from one of my favorite podcasts, Another Round: "carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man." If you are a mediocre white man, like me, do as much as you can not to be. If you look like me, you live life on the "lowest difficulty setting." This means I need to question my gifts, contextualize my successes, and actively work against systems of oppression that perpetuate inequity.

Over the last two years, I have interviewed over 300 people to work at this school. There are a series of questions that I ask folks with backgrounds like myself:

Have you ever lived in a neighborhood that was majority people of color?

Have you ever worked on a team that was majority people of color?

Have you ever worked for a boss/supervisor/leader who was a person of color?

The vast majority of white folks, myself at 21 included, could not answer “yes” to these three questions. This is disappointing, but I've also lived and worked in two of the most segregated cities on this continent, so it is not surprising. By the time I sat where you’re sitting now, I had learned a lot about education policy and sociology. I'd taken every class that Chad offered at the time. I'd worked at UEI, I'd worked in a South Side high school for four years, and I still thought I was entitled to something. Unlearning doesn't usually happen in a moment, and I certainly didn't realize it at the time, but these rejections were the best thing that has happened to me in my growth as a human.

I moved back home to New York, was accepted to my last-choice teaching program, and started teaching at MS 223: The Laboratory School of Finance & Technology. I ended up teaching there for 5 years. I had incredible mentors, met some of my best friends, started a Computer Science program that’s used as a model at hundreds of schools across New York City…and most importantly, while making copies for Summer School in July of 2015, I met my wife.

All this to say — if you aren’t 100% convinced that what you’re doing next year is Your Thing, keep an open mind…and make frequent stops in the copy room.

I learned that teaching was My Thing. I didn't want to do ed policy research. I got to set education policy, conduct case studies, key informant interviews, run statistical analysis…with 12 year olds. This was the thing I couldn’t stop talking about, reading about, learning about. I really and truly did not care about the “UChicago voices” of my parents and my friends who kept asking what I was going to do next. My answer: teach.

If you look like me, and you teach Computer Science, there are opportunities that come flying your way. I was offered jobs with more prestige, jobs with more pay, jobs far away from the South Bronx. I was offered jobs I would have loved. But I’d learned a third lesson: be useful. If you have a degree from this place, people will always ask you what the next promotion or job is. They will ask "what's next for you" and they will mean it with respect and admiration.

Here’s the thing: teaching was what’s next. “But don’t you want to work in policy?” Teaching is a political act. It is hands-on activism, it is community organizing, it is high-tech optimistic problem-solving and low-tech relationship building. It is the reason we have the privilege of choosing a career, and it is a career worth choosing.

I had internalized what I like to call the Dumbledore Principle: “I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.” This meant unlearning the very UChicago idea that if you were smart and if you think and talk like we are trained to think and talk at this place, you should be in charge. The best things in my life have come from unlearning that. Learning from mentors to never speak the way I was praised for in a seminar. Learning from veteran teachers how to be a warm demander who was my authentic best self...and more importantly brought out the authentic best self in my students. Being useful isn't the same thing as being in charge…and that is ok.

I believe this deeply. Which is why, when I was offered the opportunity to design and open a school, my first thought was absolutely the hell no. I said to my wife: “I’m a teacher. Dumbledore Principle — we’re supposed to teach, make our classrooms safe and wonderful for our kids.”

I also knew that teaching kids to code wasn’t worth a damn if they couldn’t read and write with conviction, so I started looking for schools that did both — treated kids like brilliant creatives who should learn to create the future AND met them where they were with rigorous coursework that closed opportunity gaps. In our neighborhood, there were schools that did the latter, that got incredible results for kids. Then there was my school, where kids learned eight programming languages before they graduated, but at which only 40% of our kids could read.

We were lauded for this, by the way. 40% was twice the average in our district. We were praised for the Computer Science — the mayor of New York and the CEO of Microsoft visited and met with my students. It felt great. I wasn’t convinced it was useful.

Kids in the neighborhood where I grew up didn’t have to choose between a school that was interesting and a school that equipped them with the knowledge and skills to pursue their own interests in college and beyond. Why did our students have to choose? I delivered this stressed-out existential monologue to my wife that boiled down to this: every kid deserves a school where they were always safe, and never bored. We weren’t working at a school like that. I was being offered a chance to design one. But…Dumbledore principle.

My wife took it all in, looked at me, and said: “You idiot. Dumbledore RAN a school.”

Friends, you deserve a partner like this.

The road to opening Creo College Prep, and the last two years of leading our school as we opened, closed, opened online, finished our first year, moved buildings, opened online again, opened in-person (kind of) and now head into our third year, has reinforced my lessons from teaching — be curious, be humble, be useful. These lessons are about both learning and unlearning. A white guy doing Teach for America at 21 is a stereotype. A white guy starting a charter school is a stereotype with significant capital, wading into complicated political and pedagogical waters. The lessons I learn opening a school and the unlearning I must do to be worthy of the work are not destinations, they are journeys.

Be curious

I didn’t just open a school. Schools are communities, they are institutions, and they are bureaucracies. If you work very, very hard, and with the right people, they become engines that turn coffee and human potential into joy and intellectual thriving capable of altering the trajectory of a child’s life.

First you have to find the right people. I joined a school design fellowship, spent a year visiting 50 high-performing schools across the country, recruited a founding board of smart, committed people who hold me accountable, and spent time in my community learning from families what they wanted in a school. There is studying public policy, and then there is attending Community Board meetings and Community Education Council Meetings, and standing outside of the Parkchester Macy's handing out flyers and getting petition signatures at Christmastime next to the mall Santa.

I observed in schools while writing my BA, and as a teacher, but it was in this fellowship that I learned to “thin slice,” a term we borrowed from psychology that refers to observing a small interaction and finding patterns about the emotions and values of people. In a school, it means observing small but crucial moments — how does arrival work, how are students called on, how do they ask for help in a classroom, how do they enter and leave spaces, how do they move through the hallways, where and how do teachers get their work done — and gleaning what a school values, and how that translates into impact for kids. Here’s how I look at schools:

Does every adult have an unwavering belief that students can, must, and will learn at the highest level?

Do they have realistic and urgent plans for getting every kid there? Are these beliefs and plans clear and held by kids?

Are all teachers strategic, valorizing planning and intellectual nerdery over control or power?

Is the curriculum worthy of the kids?

Can kids explain why the school does things they way they do? Can staff? Can the leader?

If I'm in the middle of teaching and I need a pen or a marker, what do I do? Is that clear?

What’s the attendance rate? How do we follow up on kids who aren’t here?

How organized and thoughtful are the physical and digital spaces?

Are kids seen by their teachers? Are their names pronounced correctly? Do their teachers look like them? Do they make them laugh, think, and revise their answers?

Would I want to work here? Would I send my own kids here?

Be humble

I learned that there are really two distinct organizations that we call “school.” One is an accumulation of talent (student and staff) that happens to be in the same place at the same time, operating on largely the same schedule.

These were the schools I attended. These are schools you got to go to if you got lucky and you were born in a zip code with high income and high opportunity. These are schools where you had teachers who were intellectually curious, and classmates whose learning deficits could be papered over by social capital…and sometimes, straight up capital.

“Accumulation of talent” also describes the schools I worked at. These were schools where if you got lucky and you were extraordinary in your intelligence, determination, support network, and teachers who’d decided to believe in you, you became one of the stories we told. “She got into Cornell.” “That whole English class got into four year colleges.”

Most schools in this country, it turns out, are run like this. I knew all about local control and the limits of federal standards on education and the battles over teacher evaluations and so much other helpful and important context I learned in my PBPL classes.  But when thin-slicing a kindergarten classroom in Nashville on my first school visit of the Fellowship, I saw a whole other possibility of what “school” can be.

School can be a special place organized towards a single purpose. One team, one mission. Where the work kids do in one class directly connects to the next, and builds on the prior year. Where kids are treated like the important people they are and the important people they will be, where students and staff hold each other to a high bar, where there is rigor and joy. A place where staff train together so that instead of separate classrooms telling separate stories about how to achieve, there is one coherent language that gives kids the thing they crave and deserve above all else: consistency.

We get up every morning to build a school like that. It’s why my team starts staff training a month before the first day of school. It’s why we practice teaching our lessons so that we don’t waste a moment of our kids’ time. It’s why everyone at our school has a coach, including me, so we can be a better teacher tomorrow than we were today. It’s why we plan engaging, culturally responsive, relevant lessons. It’s how we keep a simple, crucial promise to every family: at this school, you will always be safe, and you will never be bored.

Be useful

Statistically speaking, it is not out of the realm of possibility that several of you will one day be in a position to make big sweeping policy changes. You will have the power to not only write position papers, but to Make Big Plans. I will be rooting for you, but I hope that you won’t pursue Big Plans for the sake of Big Plans.

The architect who designed the Midway reportedly said "make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood." I had that quoted to me in several lectures at this school, and you know what?

It’s bullshit.

I am asking you not to care about scale. Good policy isn’t about scale, it’s about implementation, and implementation requires the right people on the ground. Implementation can scale. The right people cannot. We can Make Big Plans, but every 6th grade math class still needs an excellent math teacher. That's a job worth doing. I could dream about starting 20 schools, but every school needs a leader. That’s a job worth doing. Places like UChicago teach us to ask "what's next" for our own advancement, to do this now so we can get to that later. I learned to ask "what's next" to be as useful as possible to as many kids as I have in front of me.

I hold these two thoughts in my mind:

The educational realities of the South Bronx have a lot more to do with where highways were built in our neighborhood than with No Child Left Behind or charter schools, and require comprehensive policy change that address not only educational inequity, but environmental justice, and systemic racism.

The most useful policy changes I can make right now are to finalize the schedule for our staff work days that start on June 21, get feedback on next year’s calendar from families, and finish hiring the teachers our kids deserve.

I will follow the policy debates of #1 with great interest, but I know where I can be useful, and I’ll wake up tomorrow excited to make another draft of the calendar. I hope you get to work on making your Small Plans, and I will leave you with the secret — or at least the way that worked for me:

Find yourself people who are smarter than you and who disagree with you. Find problems you cannot shut up or stop thinking about. Do what you can’t shut up about with intellect and kindness. Use the privilege and opportunity that we have because we went to this school to make sure that opportunity for others does not require privilege. Run into the chasm.

Be curious, be humble, be useful.

Thank you.

[tropicaldruid]

The Survivor’s Guide to Leaving Your Birth Religion Part 4: Tear It Down

It’s 1998 and I’m on a road trip to North Carolina with my youth group. Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water plays, and my youth pastor lowers the volume, “Have y’all ever heard the story behind this song?” he asks. None of us have.

“The man who wrote this was a drawbridge operator. He had brought his grandkids to work with him one day and despite several warnings, his granddaughter was climbing on the bridge. The man had told his grandkids how dangerous it was but the girl wasn’t heeding him and was playing in the works of the drawbridge. There was a boat full of people coming and the man had to make a choice between his granddaughter, and the lives of all those people on the boat. Rather than risk the lives of all those people he made the ultimate sacrifice…” his voice trailed off for a moment “Years later he wrote this song.”

That story stuck with me. It’s a bizarre and sad story that doesn’t really seem to have a moral that actually holds up to any kind of scrutiny. Of course, it doesn’t help that the story was also bullshit. Paul Simon wrote the lyrics to that song after committing zero bridge-related murders. 

Yet somewhere along the way somebody made that story up. I think it’s inspired by the tragic story behind It Is Well With My Soul. Like Virgil borrowed heavily from Homer, someone decided that Like a Bridge needed a more palatable foundational myth and made one up for it. And apparently thousands of people know this sad backstory that never happened as if it were truth, and bellieve that it serves as a cautionary tale about listening to your elders. 

Stories are so fascinating in the way they can convey some values and undermine others merely by being convincing, whether true or not. For years I believed Charles Darwin renounced “evolutionism” and accepted Christ just before he died. What a damaging idea, a simple one, but one that set my actual academic progress back by years.

It’s time to put the previous months of research to work. 

It’s time to tear down some of the untrue things we’ve been led to believe over the years. 

It’s time to face that we might be idiots a little bit. 

Leaving my religious bubble, I was shocked at how little I knew about the real world and how it worked. How unacceptable my internalized and externalized bigotry actually was, just how bigoted I actually was. 

For someone indoctrinated to believe I was a shining example of God’s love to the ungodly world, this came as quite a surprise to me. 

I needed to identify and challenge a lot of problematic ideas I had, I needed to look at the stories I had learned these ideas and values from and test those stories against other narratives. 

If I had ever stopped to challenge the narrative that Charles Darwin rejected “evolutionism” in favor of creationism I would have learned how absurd the dichotomy was in the first place. 

So the homework for this section is to start identifying these problematic ideas. Make a list of things that maybe you’ve been challenged on in the past. Have you been called a bigot before? A racist? Write that down. Think honestly about that moment and write down what action or words on your part caused it. Google words, read articles with an open mind. Join some discourse and emotional labor groups on social media and ask polite questions. Enter these spaces with humility, you’re in someone else’s sanctuary; and although we are survivors of trauma, we aren’t the only ones traumatized by these institutions and depending on our involvement, we may be culpable in the trauma of others. Be ready to listen and learn rather than defend or explain. 

Maybe that’s not something you can relate to, but you’ve always had a problem with some teaching. Often questioning the highly questionable is met with accusations of non-belief and scorn. “Those bone shaped rocks were put there by The Debbil and if you fall for his tricks then you’re a heathen too!” These ideas would be a great place to start. If you’ve got some questions like this, again google is a great place to plug in a few key words and get a ton of information. Look for academic papers, peer reviewed articles, books by reputable publishers.

Check out this article https://www.mindtools.com/pages/article/fake-news.htm and learn about vetting the information you consume online and in the real world. 

Sit down and compile a list, maybe make three columns. In the first write what someone else told you was problematic, or what idea you’ve had a problem accepting. In the second, write what specific issue was addressed in your words or actions (homophobia, racism, misogyny, anti-semetism, etc) or what specific detail of teaching you take issue with (Eve’s curse makes no sense because all mammals experience pain during childbirth?) Now in the third column write the specific steps you will take to find better information on the topic. 

Be Honest. 

Be Tireless.

This is probably the hardest part of this guide to address because it requires us to be very critical of ourselves, of truths upon which we have founded our identities . We are presented here the opportunity to grow beyond obsolete ideas, or cling to familiar ignorance. 

Admitting we’ve been wrong is hard, and it’s counterintuitive when one has been surrounded by the pretense of absolute, infallible certainty for their whole lives. But facing this stage of our growth with resolve and honesty is so important. Many of these stories we have told ourselves have led to so much harm done to so many innocent people. So we begin this active stage of our growth by minimizing the harm we do to others moving forward. 

When I was in basic training the drill sergeants loved the phrase “Pain is weakness leaving the body” and as much as it grates my nerves to this day, it’s a mantra that has helped in this sort of endeavor. This is a rough time to get through, but we are becoming stronger people for it. By letting go of the familiar, by challenging the things that don’t add up, we are becoming more grounded in what we believe, our beliefs are starting to line up with our true values instead of blindly and unsteadily following the path someone else laid out for us. Be patient with yourself, but be honest in your motives and intentions as you work through addressing these ideas. As you do you may need to make a second list, of people you have harmed because you have believed things that are not. While writing this list, acknowledge the harm to each person in detail. Go as far back as necessary, be as thorough as you can. Decide in each case how to address it, is an apology warranted or would the situation be better healed by a change in behavior moving forward? Commit to it.  If you’ve been following along at home, you’ve got your work cut out for you. As you list the ideas and stories you need to challenge, repost this and share some of them if you feel like it. Let’s shine some light on this misinformation. I have a few I wanted to include in this post but it’s already long enough so I’ll share them later. 

Blessins Y’all

[dancingkirby]

Azula Week Day 5: Smiles

Summary: Zuko decides to invite all of his and Azula’s illegitimate half-siblings to the brunch on his and Mai’s wedding day.  It goes less badly than Azula had feared.

Warnings/Notes: Multiple non-graphic references to past sexual abuse of multiple underage girls, leading to one death and one near-death in childbirth.  (Don’t worry, it has a happy ending!).  Classism, internalized misogyny, etc. on Azula’s part.  OC-heavy.  One GoT reference that sort of wormed its way in there under its own volition.  

Word count: 2667 (longer than I had been anticipating!)

After many, many delays, the day of Zuko and Mai’s wedding was finally imminent.  There, would, of course, be intense media coverage and a general holiday for the populace, as well as thousands of guests. However, Zuko had also come up with the idea to have a pre-wedding brunch for family and close friends only. This wouldn’t be so outlandish, except that to him, “family” included Ozai’s bastards…every single one that he could find.

“Even the commoners, Zuzu?” she had sighed when he broke the news.  “It’s not a good image.  People at court are already talking.  We ought not to remind everyone of our baggage.”

“They’re not baggage, Azula,” he retorted.  “They’re our siblings.”

“Half-siblings,” she corrected as she brushed a cherry blossom from her shoulder; they were sitting in the courtyard watching the decorations being put up.  

Azula,” her brother admonished.  He spent what seemed like an absurd length of time trying to figure out what to say next, looked to make sure the decorators weren’t eavesdropping, then added, “I’ve been to their houses, you know that.  I’ve spoken with them personally, and I know all of their names and their stories.  You don’t want to know what I found out.”

“Don’t I, brother?” Azula inquired in faux innocent tones.  Zuko rubbed a knuckle against his forehead.

“Fine.” He conceded. “Here’s just one of the stories. There was a girl.  Lian.  Her father died suddenly, and her mother was sick a lot.  So she and her older siblings had to find jobs in the palace so the family wouldn’t starve.  She wasn’t even old enough to legally be hired, but they found work for her in the laundry under the table.  Her job was to go from room to room, gathering the dirty clothes.  I think you can see where this is going.  And…she died giving birth.  She was just a child.”  Sparks flew out of his nose as he exhaled forcefully.

“You’re rambling, Zuzu.  And watch the volume,” Azula stated almost without thinking.  Internally, however, her mind was spinning.  As much as she hated to admit it, Azula had not been prepared for that last part.  Died? Five years ago, she would have dismissed Lian as not fit to live anyway.  But now…she knew that she herself had been near death in that same situation, no matter how much the doctors had tried to sugarcoat it.

She was able to remain expressionless, however, and asked, “And the baby?”

“His name is Chun. The youngest of the bunch; just turned four.  Cute kid.”

That would place his conception sometime in the weeks after the Day of Black Sun, during which Ozai had lost his last vestiges of self-control and everyone else in the palace suffered.  For all she knew, Lian could have been one of the ones Azula herself had witnessed; she’d never bothered to find out any of their names.

“Any other dead?” she queried.

“No, thankfully.  Many of the mothers have permanent medical problems, though.  Some have turned to alcohol.  A few of the kids were adopted out.  Acknowledging and welcoming them and their children...well, it’s the least we can do.  It’s the…”

Wait for it.

“honorable thing to do.”

And that was that.  Once the h-word was added to the equation, there was no changing her brother’s mind.

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It was the morning of the big day.  Zuko had decided to get the inevitable family photos done at the brunch, since Fire Nation weddings were lengthy and the smaller children would probably be tired after a long day of ceremonies.  Currently, he and Mai were standing at the entrance to the courtyard, greeting the guests as they walked in.  

There were twenty-one acknowledged bastards; everyone at court knew that.  Zuko had managed to track down an additional twenty-three, and he wasn’t even certain that he’d found them all.  This meant that their lord father had sired at least forty-six children…well, technically forty-seven, Azula thought as she fingered the footprint pendant on her necklace.  Twenty-eight of those had been born during his not quite six-year reign as Fire Lord.  Had she not known for herself how insatiable Ozai had been, she may have found the number mind-boggling.

What was more, their heretofore unacknowledged half-siblings tended to skew younger than the acknowledged ones.  The noblemen of the court who were actually decent people (or at least concerned about marriage prospects) had started keeping their young daughters home a couple of years into Ozai’s reign.  That meant a veritable flood of children ten and under, most of them having never come anywhere near the palace prior to this.

She nibbled on a green onion tartlet as she stood on a slight rise, surveying the goings-on in the courtyard.  Some children were wandering around, looking at their surroundings with big eyes.  A sizable group had been attracted by Ty Lee’s impromptu acrobatics performance.  Ursa was sitting by the pond, commiserating with some of the young mothers.  Kiyi had taken it upon herself to give people tours of the grounds whether they asked for it or not.

But…where was…?

Azula was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even fully register the timid tug on her sleeve until it was repeated a few seconds later.  She looked down for the source, and saw a small boy, wearing what must have passed for finery in whatever tiny village he came from.

“Bathrooms are that way,” she said for about the tenth time today as she pointed with her finger. But apparently that wasn’t the reason this child had sought her out.

“Are you the Princess?” he asked.  Except the “r” sounded more like a “w.”

“I am,” she confirmed. Then she watched, bemused, as the kid sank into a kowtow with surprisingly good form for a child of that age…not to mention a peasant.

Azula would not smile. She would not smile.

“You may rise,” she told him automatically, with all the solemnity she would give to an adult.  He sprang back up.

“Aunty said we have to do that if we see the Fire Lord or Fire Lady or Princess,” he explained in a rush.  “I saw the Fire Lord and he said don’t do it, but I wanted to do it because I practiced!”

Pwacticed.

She…was smiling, wasn’t she?  Damn.

“What is your name?” she asked him.

“Chun,” he answered. Azula had already had her suspicions when he had mentioned an aunt instead of a mother, and this confirmed them. This was the one Zuko had mentioned, whose mother had died.

“Well, Chun,” she said, “Your aunt was correct, generally speaking.  However, Zuzu does have his hangups about etiquette.  If you really want to pay obeisance, I would suggest a bow instead.  Would you like to learn the correct form for that?”

“Yeah!” he cheered.  Azula was quite sure that in the entire history of the world, no four-year-old had ever been as enthused about learning courtly manners.  

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Chun had the three different depths of bowing down in about five minutes.  Azula had always considered herself good at sniffing out potential, and this child had heaps of it.  Perhaps one day he could find work as a palace bureaucrat, and even ultimately be appointed to a seat on the Fire Lord’s council.  She supposed that Zuko’s incorrigible stubbornness had had some merit for once; otherwise, Chun’s talents would have been wasted among the riffraff.  He was also tremendously eager to please, and refused to leave her side.  Azula got the feeling that nobody paid much attention to him at home.  

It almost made her wish that she hadn’t been so harsh toward Mai’s younger brother a few weeks ago. For someone who continued to know nothing about children except that they liked gross stories, she sure seemed to attract a lot of children.  

As the two of them wandered back to where the main crowd was, Azula provided a running commentary about their various half-siblings.

“That woman in the glasses is Anshi, the oldest,” she informed Chun.  “Great with numbers, and even beat Iroh at Pai Sho once.  Very boring conversationalist, though.  The lady in that hideous gown next to her is Zhilan.  She can lightning bend, yet refuses to actually learn how to use it effectively because she prefers to spend her days arranging flowers and playing the erhu like a proper lady.”  She shook her head.  

“She’s fat!” Chun exclaimed brightly.  Azula chuckled.

“Sssh.  Well, to be fair, she doesn’t have my flawless physique, but actually she’s expecting her third child.  Perhaps she thought that people would be so blinded by that monstrosity of an outfit that they wouldn’t notice?” She pulled Chun along before her vision was permanently ruined by what even Ty Lee would likely reject as too over-the-top.  Although it was unclear how much of her gossip the child actually understood, he didn’t appear bored.

“There’s Ichiro; he’s skilled at archery and so aloof that he makes Mai seem warm and inviting. And…ugh, that’s Eri, stuck-up as ever. Do not go near her,” Azula cautioned. The girl apparently ruled over the Royal Fire Academy for Girls just as Azula herself had done a decade earlier, but unfortunately lacked the intellect to be anything more than a common bully. Best to give her a wide berth like Kiyi did.

“Who’s that?” Chun piped up while pointing at a pair of children dressed in bright red from head to toe.

“Those are Akane and Akemi.  Twins. They’re the youngest of the Acknowledged, and they’re…”

Azula never got to say exactly what it was that Akane and Akemi were, since just then, there was a commotion at the courtyard entrance.

“Sorry I’m late!” yelled the new arrival.  As she turned to greet the soon-to-be newlyweds, her face was somewhat obscured. However, Azula had no difficulty recognizing her.  She’d know that short haircut anywhere.

Ruanyu.  Azula’s breath caught in her throat.  They hadn’t seen each other in nearly five years.  After so long without any contact, she’d been starting to think that her half-sister was dead.

“How about you run over to the Fire Lord and show him your bow?” she asked Chun.  He scampered off happily enough.

Azula was not anticipating that this would be a happy reunion.  Once, they had been close, and Azula had even allowed Ruanyu to call her by her given name.  However, she really had treated the girl more like a pampered yet disposable pet than anything else, and had all but forgotten her in the events leading up to Sozin’s Comet.  In fact, she hadn’t remembered that she had left the girl to her own devices until months later, when she was in the hospital.  

Then Ruanyu looked her way, paused for a split second, and began running toward Azula at top speed. Azula steeled herself, her heart racing. She remembered that the feisty little girl had held her own in sparring matches, and she was prepared to repel any firebending that might come her way.

What she was not prepared for was being nearly knocked off her feet by the sheer enthusiasm of her half-sister’s embrace.  When they pulled apart, Azula attempted to remain stoic, but the sheer magnetism of Ruanyu’s famous ear-to-ear grin was too much for her to resist.

“I see you managed to escape,” she commented dryly.

“Yeah.  My mom smuggled us out after the whole Phoenix King thing,” Ruanyu answered while shrugging, as if it were of no great importance.

Azula became painfully aware that everyone in the courtyard was watching them.  In fact, Zuko was leading the spectators in some applause, Ty Lee ran over to get her hug, and Mai made a cough that sounded a lot like the word “Finally.”

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” Azula accused Zuko.

“We wanted it to be a surprise,” was all he said in response.

“It seems that you succeeded in something for once,” Azula remarked in as deadpan a tone as she could manage.  Then, to Ruanyu, “Let’s go talk somewhere more private.”  Ruanyu agreed, and they retreated to Azula’s favorite shady little enclave.  Once they were out of earshot, Azula decided to cut right to the chase, as she looked at the face that was almost like looking in a mirror.

“If you’re angry at me, then say so.  Don’t hold back on my regard.”

Ruanyu bit her lip as she considered.

“I was angry at you.  Really angry for a while,” she commented.  “But I decided to forgive you.  Zuko told me about what Ozai did to you.”  Her eyes hardened.  

“Did he do anything to you?”   Azula had to know.

“Nah.  Well, he kept saying all this creepy stuff, but I was always faster than him,” Ruanyu replied.  She was obviously trying to be casual, but not quite succeeding.  She was sixteen; old enough to know that she had only just dodged a lightning bolt, and that others had not been as fortunate.

“And just what have you been doing these past years?” she inquired.

“Mom took us back to the village where she grew up.  She wanted me to settle down with some boring man and raise a family.  But that’s…not me.  So I’ve been doing a lot of traveling, seeing the world,” Ruanyu explained. Yes, Azula remembered her half-sister’s thirst for adventure well.  In fact, she had briefly considered taking the girl to the Earth Kingdom, but had decided against it since she knew that Ruanyu would never have gone along with taking Zuko and Iroh prisoner.  

She asked, “Any plans for after the wedding?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Ruanyu answered.  “I think I might stay at the palace again for a bit, then set off again.  I’m interested in seeing that new city that Zuko and his friends are building; he told me that they’re looking for settlers.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them.  “Did someone say my name?”  Azula turned to see that Zuko was indeed present, with one twin hanging off each arm.

“Yeah, I was just telling Azula that I wanted to see Republic City.”

“Well, we’d be glad to have you there.  But, uh, anyway, I came up here to tell you two that the photographer’s setting up.  He has a prototype model of a new kind of camera; one that can take the picture instantly.  I thought the younger kids might find it harder to stand still.”

“Don’t get him started on that special camera,” Mai chimed in as she walked up with Chun trailing behind her.  “He’ll probably spend our entire wedding night talking about it.”

“Not the entire night,” Zuko protested.

“Oh, really?  I suppose I will just have to make sure that you keep your word.”

Azula said, “There are children here, you two!” in almost perfect synchrony with Ruanyu’s “I don’t think I wanna hear this…”  They must have pulled identical faces, since Akane exclaimed, “More twins!”

“Oops.  Forgot about the kids,” mumbled Zuko. “So…yeah.  Picture time.”

And so the soon-to-be-wed couple kissed as they temporarily parted; Mai had to leave to undergo the ordeal of getting dressed in her many-layered wedding outfit.  (“If I’m really lucky, maybe it’ll actually get done sometime this decade,” she said.)  Zuko eventually got the whole group of Ozai’s progeny rounded up.  As her brother enlisted Sokka’s help to explain how the camera worked to those children who had never been photographed before, and Azula snuck appraising glances at the latter, she felt oddly at peace. They made for an odd collection of individuals indeed, but Zuko had been right just this once.  That awful trial was behind them, and they were all stuck in this same recovery boat together.  

After some time, they were all arranged in a more or less organized manner, and Azula made sure that her necklace would be clearly visible in the picture.

“Smile!” the photographer ordered.

And, as they saw weeks later when the developed pictures were sent to them, nearly everyone had.  Even Azula.