#you agree. i don’t need to explain this

[8-evil-annoying-catboys]

i definitely agree with you on pretty much everything here. i brought up the comparison not to necessarily assert that benevolent sexism and misandry are one and the same—they are not, as you’ve eloquently explained already. i mostly asked the question rhetorically, hoping that other readers may think critically about misandry and how it is still sexism and still harmful to women in the long run, and how the end results of misandry and benevolent sexism are often indistinguishable from each other, if not always. i was not intending to ask you directly, although i enjoyed reading your response and my perspective has shifted, even if only slightly, from new information.

i did not necessarily think through the systemic applications of benevolent sexism, i’ll admit. but i did make a point to say that both misandry and benevolent sexism come with the idea that men are dangerous OR bad, and women are safe OR good, rather than both ideologies believing both that men are dangerous AND that they are bad, although i can definitely see how a small word change like that can get lost in the overall reading of a post or comment. i’m saying this not to argue or anything, but just because i want to be clear that i do not believe that these two concepts are entirely the same, just that they are so similar in their application and the general attitudes that people with these ideologies hold, that their ideological differences end up being negligible in practicality. and the differences are negligible not because those differences don’t exist, but because it’s sort of an illusion of choice… at the end of the day, if you’re arguing that women are pure and safe and calming, does it matter that much to the person listening to you whether you think men are bad, or you think they deserve and need women as a ‘warm bath’ to recuperate from the harsh world outside their shared homes? i would say that, well obviously context is important so sometimes yes it will matter, but generally, not really.

people will read what they want to read into your arguments, and often come away with their own takeaway that may be entirely different from your intention. besides that, one of the main differences in between misandry and benevolent sexism is the belief that men are universally bad, evil, or lack self-control. that belief is false and can and will be disproved by material reality. because of this falsehood, the misandrist-to-benevolent-sexist pipeline is practically inescapable unless you have absolutely no trouble entirely separating yourself from men, therefore anyone making misandrist arguments will inevitably cause other women to get caught up in that pipeline, even if the person arguing isn’t concerned with interacting with men and doesn’t give them any opportunities to prove the reality that good men exist.

but all that is just my beliefs. i think it’s more effective to ask questions than to make statements, if we hope to break harmful beliefs in others. i would hope that anyone reading this would think critically about their own beliefs about men and women and whether or not there are any meaningful, inherent differences between them, any hard and fast rules that apply to all women or all men, and whether or not separatism is useful in any case… but they may choose to refuse to examine their beliefs since i stated mine so plainly, instead of simply posing questions. people hate being told they’re wrong more than they hate being asked if they’re sure they’re right ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

We need to bring back the term “benevolent sexism” into widespread use for real. It’s a major mechanism in how bioessentialist Girlboss Radfems can be turned into bioessentialist conservative Tradwives.

[wlwjenna]

casual | t.c

summary: after several months of a casual fling with tara, you come to the realization that she was using you for the sole purpose of forgetting about her unrequited crush. tara attempts to make amends and explain that it was all a misunderstanding.

pairing: fwb!tara carpenter x fem!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: minor cursing, mentions of sex, manipulation.

a/n: this is my first oneshot, i hope you all enjoy it.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your face, cascading down your chin until it lands on the bedsheets.

Only then do you realize that the night is approaching an end. You and Tara had stayed up all night, making love and savoring the feeling of being in each other’s presence. Not an ounce of regret filled you; only she did.

Tara stretches her limbs with a soft yawn and rolls over onto her stomach, her skin clinging to the silk sheets. She peers at the clock that reads 4:51 am.

Her lips form into a tired grin, and she throws an arm over your waist, pulling your body flush against hers. “Hm, that was really nice. Best way to spend an all-nighter.” She murmurs, her voice drowsy but tinged with satisfaction. Her touch is gentle as she brushes your hair back behind your shoulders, admiring the artwork of bite marks and hickeys along your neck.

Your gaze locks with hers for a moment before slowly drifting down to her lips. Tara has two rules for this arrangement—no feelings involved and certainly no kissing. Despite that, you can’t stop yourself from imagining. You wonder how soft her lips feel and what they taste like. You hope deep down that maybe one day she’ll let you break those rules.

Tara stares at you, trying to decipher what you’re thinking about. When she notices where your gaze has landed, she lets out a weary sigh and pulls away, breaking the proximity between you. “Have you forgotten-“

“No, no. I haven’t forgotten.” You whisper and nibble on your lower lip in thought, repeating the rules in your mind. “No kissing, no feelings, nothing.” You confirm with a hint of disappointment in your tone.

Tara runs a hand through her hair, trying to tame the messy and sweaty strands. “Look, I like you, but not in that way. I don’t do relationships, and I made that clear the first time you attempted to kiss me.” Tara mutters and rests her hand tenderly on your stomach, trying to offer a small amount of comfort.

Despite the warmth of her hand on your stomach, a sense of coldness seeps through your body.

“I know, Tar. Trust me when I say I know.” You breathe and watch her hand trace gentle circles along your skin, the feeling being both painful and comforting. The vulnerability in your eyes is evident, as is the pain in your tone. “But it just feels like I’m a tool for you. You like Amber, but she doesn’t reciprocate those feelings, so you keep coming back to me to make yourself feel better.”

Your words hang heavy in the air.

Tara falters momentarily at the mention of Amber and glances at you. She hesitates before speaking. “Well, of course, I’m using you.” She casually agrees, as if she’s unaware of how impactful her words are.

“As you said, Amber doesn’t like me, and I need a distraction from that. It feels nice to have someone who caters to my every need and does exactly what I say. Especially if they already like me.” She intertwines her fingers with yours, her grip firm. “Like you.”

Her words hit hard, like a punch to the gut.

You don’t know if you can do this any longer, letting Tara use you while she thinks about another girl. It’s tearing you apart inside, the act of pretending that you’re okay with this arrangement. That it isn’t eating away at you, slowly killing you from within. It’s nearly unbearable.

“I have to go.” You abruptly climb off of her bed to put some distance between you and her. You grab your clothes, slipping into your undergarments before your T-shirt and jeans.

You don’t know how you didn’t realize sooner that Tara only started a fling with you to distract herself from Amber. The most painful realization is that she had taken advantage of your feelings, knowing damn well that you wouldn’t reject such an offer, giving her the endless perks of sex and pleasure.

Tara simply watches without uttering a word, her expression unreadable. When she hears the sound of the apartment door shutting behind you, she collapses against her sheets and lets out a groan mixed with frustration, and self-loathing.

“Fuck, why am I doing this to her?” Her question lingers in the air, like a quiet confession that she can’t quite understand.

-

For the rest of the week, you maintain your distance. When she tries to approach you on campus, you excuse yourself and make a hasty retreat. Her messages and calls go unanswered, left unread, and unreturned.

Tara is well aware of your actions. The prolonged ignorance causes a deep sense of discomfort inside her, a knot in her stomach that feels increasingly tight. The feeling of hope begins to fade, and the idea of mending things feels like it’s slipping further and further out of reach.

After days of internal debate, Tara musters up the courage and pours her heart out to her older sister in desperate hopes of receiving some advice. Sam responds with a stern scolding and paints a sobering reality for her. It’s a wake-up call for Tara, a powerful slap in the face. The realization of her mistakes and the damage she’s caused to your friendship weighs heavily on her.

Despite that, she’s not going to give up. She wants to repair the damage and she will. Even if it seems impossible.

A tired sigh escapes your lips as you tap away at the keys, finishing up the conclusion of your essay. You’ve been sitting at your desk for the past three hours, completely immersed in your work for your English class. It’s a welcome distraction, helping your mind stay occupied and away from recent events with Tara.

You’re jolted out of your focus as your phone buzzes, signaling that you’ve received a new notification. Your heart skips a beat, a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Reluctantly, you pick up your phone and look through it.

Tara

Please meet me at the park near your house. I won’t bother u anymore after this.

I promise.

Pls show up.

A storm brews inside you. Part of you is tempted to lash out and tell her to fuck off and to never text you again. But a small voice in your head is pleading with you to go see her. To hear her out.

You push aside your anger and resentment, deciding the latter.

The walk to the park is short, just under five minutes. The cool wind gently caresses your face, blowing strands of hair out of your face. Despite the calming breeze, tension and unease churn within you.

You don’t know what awaits you. Maybe tonight is the night that Tara officially ends the arrangement, cutting you out of her life completely. Maybe she already found solace in Amber, perhaps they’ve already become more than friends.

As you enter the park, the sight of someone sitting on the bench greets you. No guesses are needed; you already know who it is. You continue to approach her, your heart beating your chest and your breaths growing shaky. Tara sits there, fiddling with the rose in her hands, and as you get closer, she lifts her head. A small smile graces her lips at the sight of you.

She awkwardly hands you the rose and watches you sit next to her, the silence between you hanging thick and heavy.

Tara swallows past the lump in her throat and turns to you, Sam’s words from last night echoing in her head. She takes a deep breath before speaking. “When you left me that night, I felt so much regret. Regret for using and manipulating you. It was a shitty thing to do, and you didn’t deserve that, especially when you’ve shown me nothing but kindness.” She whispers, her eyes growing watery with guilt and remorse.

“I don’t like Amber. In fact, I never did.” Tara’s words catch you off guard, and you look at her with shock, a sense of hope in your heart. A small chuckle escapes her due to your reaction and she continues. “I had a crush on you all along, but I was afraid of what would happen if I tried pursuing a relationship with you. I feared that if we did start dating, one day you wouldn’t love me anymore and you’d vanish from my life forever.”

A tear rolls down her cheek, and she’s quick to wipe it, feeling vulnerable and exposed. “I had this stupid idea to start a fling with you because I knew you would agree without hesitation.” She confesses, her voice trembling. “In my head, I convinced myself that it’d be alright, because if I ended the arrangement someday, then we would resume being best friends like nothing happened. And I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but I thought that it would be better to have a little piece of you than none at all.”

“I owe you a huge apology for everything that I have ever said or done to you. I don’t expect forgiveness or anything, and I certainly don’t expect you to say anything to me. I’d understand if you got off this bench and walked away. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I regret it all.” She whispers sincerely, her eyes searching yours.

You’re quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. You can see the genuine remorse in her eyes, silently begging for forgiveness.

Finally, your lips curve into a small smile as you whisper. “You really went through all this trouble, all this bullshit, just because you wanted to be with me?” A mixture of affection and annoyance fills your tone. “God, you’re such an idiot, Tara.”

Then she does something that’s both adorable and endearing; she pouts. “I can’t tell if you’re insulting me in a negative or positive way.”

“It’s both.” You reply with a playful grin, scooting closer to her on the bench. “I’ve been in love with you for the past three years. I doubt my feelings would change like that. You’ve been a complete dumbass, wasting all this time starting this fling when we could’ve been dating for, like, the last five months.”

Tara's frown deepens as realization sets in, finally realizing how much time has gone by. She scratches the back of her neck. “You’re right about both things, me being an idiot, and we could’ve dated a while ago.” She sighs, feeling lost and confused. “Do you think it’s too late for us, though? Are you still open to being my girlfriend?” She looks into your eyes, hope and fear swirling in them.

A surge of excitement courses through you at the very thought of dating Tara. There’s no way you’ll let this opportunity slip through your fingers. With a determined look, you stand up and extend your hand, still clutching the rose in your other. “It’s never too late.” You reply with a reassuring smile. This is a relationship you both deserve.

Tara quickly rises and places her hand in yours. “So, what now?” She asks, her grin widening.

“We’re going on a date.” You suggest, squeezing her hand. “I’m sure that pizza place is still open.” You start to walk out of the park, guiding her with you. Before you can fully exit, Tara tugs on your hand, pulling you back towards her. You turn around with curiosity etched on your face.

You’re about to ask what’s wrong when her lips crash into yours, her arms encircling your waist as she kisses you passionately. She kisses you with everything she has. The feeling is overwhelming, making you feel like you’ve ascended to cloud nine.

While in Tara’s embrace, you’re enveloped by a sense of belonging, realizing that you’ve finally found your place here in her arms.

[atskiruma]

Dr. Curly

assigned as the tulpar’s personal secondary mechanic it’s always important to remember that romantical relationships between crew-mates are strictly forbidden

a/n: a curly x reader, pre-collision curly, a little nsfw but nothing goes into detail, reader is 18+, not proof-read, not the biggest fan of this one but ill see everyone elses opinion

second-person POV, no pronouns used

I could feel the excruciating headache I had push against my eyes as I listened to Daisuke attempt to explain new slang to Swansea. The older man simply ignoring the young boy as he read over the manual for a broken part needing new installation in the medical bay.

It felt like the daytime screen in the lobby was brighter than usual, or maybe that was just my headache intensifying my vision. Whatever it was, it hurt. I could feel Anya burning a hole in the front of my skull at the same time, after already declining her offer of medical help when I had first walked through the electronic doors.

“So when you do something awesome, that’s when you’d say-” Daisuke couldn’t finish before Swansea had already slammed his paper onto the table. The sound making me flinch.

“Let’s go, boy,” Swansea said in a flat tone, also rubbing his eyeballs from what I assume was irritation from Daisuke’s voice and exhaustion from having to do his job. I watched the two walk out of the bay and into the hallway, turning back to see Anya still looking at me.

“Anya, I appreciate the concern but I’m fine,” I said, giving her the best apologetic look I could muster at the moment. I could tell she wasn’t going to budge when her brows remained in the same downward position.

“Please, all you need are some painkillers and I could easily retrieve them for you.” She pleaded, just as Jimmy and Curly walked through the door. Curly’s concerned stare was the first thing my eyes caught.

“You need painkillers? Why?” His baby-blue eyes set on me, occasionally flickering to Anya for answers. Jimmy spoke before either of us could answer, “Who wouldn’t on this hell-ship.” His gruff voice spoke as he sat down at the table with almost a ragdoll force. Anya had seemed to seize up, from what, I was unsure.

“Painkillers for a headache, but I’m fine Curly. I’ll ride it out.” I said, looking at him sideways with my hand shading the top of my eyes from the bright fluorescents. Curly almost mimicked Anya’s stare, “Why? Why not take something to get rid of it?” He spoke softly, stepping beside me to grab the top of my upper arm.

“Come on, we can go into the medical bay and get you fixed up,” Curly said as I looked at him from my chair. We kept eye contact for a few more minutes as I pursed my lips in denial, finally, I reluctantly agreed. “Fine.”

The walk to the med-bay was short. Curly still had his large hand wrapped around my arm, keeping a steady pace to lead me.

“Don’t you have important captain duties to do?” I said, my eyes glancing down to his touch and then towards the back of his head. He turned his face to me and smiled, “Of course, keeping my crew in check is one of them, which I’m doing right now.” I stared at his smile and then looked down at our shoes while we kept walking.

When we reached the medical room, Curly hadn’t taken his hand off me until he lightly pushed me to sit on a bed. Daisuke’s head popped out from one of the curtains covering the other side of the bay. “What seems to be the problem, Nurse Curly?” Daisuke spoke with a goofy smile taking over his features. However, it was kept short when Swansea pulled him back to working on the mechanical issue.

Curly breathed a laugh through his nose and stood in front of me. I looked up at him through my eyelashes and spoke, “You could of just handed me the bottle.”

“As a responsible nurse, I need to make sure my patient’s injuries are completely notified to ensure a speedy and professional recovery.” He said, reaching over to grab a clipboard from the wheely table.

I felt my eyelids droop in disappointment as what was going to happen next was clear as day. Curly ran a finger through his fluffy blonde hair as he spoke, “How would you rate your pain on a one to ten scale?”

“Three.” I mumbled.

“How would you describe your injury pain level in one word?” His eyes looked into mine.

“Can I use two?”

“Sure.”

“Mildly irritating.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, as the sound of a pencil scratching paper sounded through the silence. Occasionally a loud tinkering sound would cut through our conversation, followed by Swansea’s swearing and Daisuke’s audible wince. Other than that, a clock ticked in the white noise.

Curly was tall, I had to strain my neck to look up at him as I sat on the medical bed. Not only that, but he was close to me too. Closer than someone would usually stand.

“An awful lot of writing for a patient who only has a headache,” I said, swinging my legs. Curly kept quiet for only a few seconds longer, “I’m prioritizing your care.”

Before he could continue this play, Swansea’s voice cut through the air. “Christ sake, go get me the utility bag near the pods.”

Daisuke responded, “Um, you moved that, remember? I touched it to do that thing and you got all mad so you-”

Swansea’s lack of response was followed by dragging footsteps that carried out of the room, “Let’s go.” Daisuke followed and I watched them both leave. The door closing automatically with more force than it usually had. Curly didn’t seem to notice it but I kept my eyes on it a little longer in confusion.

My glare was forced away when he spoke up again, “Alright, I’ve finished my report.” His blue eyes looked at mine. “You’re suffering from… a headache.”

I stared back at him, “I would have never guessed.”

He smiled his charming smile and laughed his captivating laugh. Turning to get the painkillers from the cabinet. Not hesitating for a moment, he knew where they were the whole time. A breath of annoyance flew from my nose as I took the bottle from his hands, shaking two little white pills into my hand. All I needed now was a glass of water.

Curly was one step ahead of me, “Does my patient need water? Stay here, I’ll get you a glass.”

“Thank you, Doctor Curly,” I said lowly, a smile attempting to break onto my face.

Since the sink in the medical bay broke a while ago and Swansea claimed that it was, “the last thing on his list of things to fix,” it remained broken. As Curly turned and headed to walk out the door, his adventure was left short when he hit the automatic door head-on.

My eyes raised when my concerns from early were confirmed. Curly placed a hand on the door and attempted to slide it with force. “That’s odd,” he mumbled.

“You don’t think Swansea shut off the power because he planned on fixing that busted door next, do you?” it was known the med-bay door wasn’t up to code, but it was known to be shoved down the old mechanic’s list just like the poor sink was.

“That could be a reason..” Curly trailed off as his attention was focused on trying to open it. He seemed to come up with a solution when he turned back to me. “Don’t you handle these sorts of things too?”

I shook my head softly, “I handle lights and pipes, I’ve got no experience with the panel like Swansea. I don’t even know where it is.” My expression turned fearful when Curly looked away, locked in a room with my captain was not on my bucket-list. A slight blush coated my cheeks as I turned my head away from his view to look elsewhere.

Just when it couldn’t get any worse, the lights in the room dimmed as the night-time mode began to slowly start for the ship. I prayed that Swansea would see this and come back to close up his project for the day.

It was silent as Curly turned to think of a solution. All I could do was twiddle my fingers anxiously while my head came up blank for ways to help. I could see in my peripheral that he was occasionally glancing at me.

“Can you use your code scanner for some emergency-open-the-door thing?” I said still looking away from his handsome face. Curly shook his head, “Even if so, I don’t have my code scanner.” He pats his pants pockets. My eyes glanced at the motion and almost immediately looked away.

He sighed and walked over, I followed his every movement. “Mind if I sit next to you? I’ve got a feeling we’ll be here for a while.” Again, I had to crank my head to look up at him.

“Of course,” I responded, watching as Curly sat close next to me on the medical bed. His body causing it to dip slightly from the change of weight. The smell of the captain’s cologne filled my nose as I kept my head low.

“Hows your headache?” He said softly, I turned to see his face was close, only faltering a little bit, I responded, “It’s better, especially with Daisuke not in my ear.” Curly chuckled at my response.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, an apologetic look on his features. “What for?” I asked.

“If I hadn’t roped you into a stupid joke we probably would have left before Swansea and Daisuke. We wouldn't be stuck here.” Curly said.

“It’s okay you didn-” He interuppted me, “I wanted to spend a little more time alone with you, even though we weren't technically alone.”

I didn’t know how to respond, “You wanted to spend time alone with me?” He nodded in response without saying anything. My ears picked up the clock ticking in the background as my senses heightened to his confession.

His hand reached up and the back of it touched my cheek softly, I flinched a little from the sudden contact, our eyes never left each other. It felt like hours waiting for him to say something, but it was only seconds. “Are you oblivious or just hoping it’s not what you think it is?”

“What?” I said, shocked.

“Hm?” He responded, patient.

I blinked, he wasn’t going to elaborate. “What do you mean Captain Curly?” I said softly. He stared at me and rubbed his mouth with his hand. “Come on, you’re gonna make a poor man say it out loud?”

I nodded my head slowly in hopes he’d continue. Curly sighed heavily and looked around. His fingers tapped his knees.

“One could say you’ve grabbed my attention.” He spoke in a soft, low voice. I don’t think I blinked while waiting for him to continue. “I’m just hoping you’ll reciprocate my feelings. Don’t you notice how much I steal you away from others?”

The dimmed light, along with the silence of a quiet ship made this moment even more heavy. I could hear my breathing with how hyperfocused I was.

“I…”

“I didn’t look much into it, Curly, I didn’t believe I was your type.” Was the only thing I could respond with. His face contorted into a confused smile. “What made you believe that?”

We were cut short when a knocking sound broke the moment. Anya’s voice came from outside the door. “Are you guys okay in there? I tried to open the door earlier but I couldn't budge it, I brought Swansea…”

“And me!” Daisuke’s voice murmured through the door.

“And Daisuke…” Her soft voice continued.

“Alright, alright, move it,” Swansea spoke.

Even though my head turned to the door when they spoke, Curly never looked away from me. I frantically looked back into his blue eyes. “Curly…” I couldn’t think of what to say to the sudden confession.

“Can I kiss you before it’s too late?” He asked slowly and hesitantly. My heart picked up in beats as I nodded lightly.

Curly’s face came close to mine before I pushed forward a little and connected our lips. The soft plush of his overpowering mine kept my heart beating a million miles an hour. They moved together in a motion that felt like the last piece of a puzzle. The scruff of his beard scratched against my face as we moved together. Just as quick as it started, it ended, and an audible smack of our lips disconnecting sounded through the air.

I felt breathless as I stared at him with my mouth slightly agape. Curly seemed fine, his eyes droopy as he stared at me, in fact, he looked like he wanted to do it again but was cut short when the door flew open.

My eyes shot to the 3… no, wait, Jimmy was just far in the back. The 4 people standing at the doorway. Anya clasped her hands together while Daisuke beamed a smile.

Swansea gruffed, “Finally, save it for you two to get stuck in here.” I gaped, “You left us here!” The old man would never admit when he’s wrong.

“Curly?” Jimmy spoke, it was then I realized the Captain hadn’t stopped looking at me this whole time. I blushed and stood up.

“Thank you, Swansea,” I said quickly while barreling out of the room and past everyone.

“Oh! Your headache!” Anya said urgently.

“It’s fine!” I yelled down the hallway to my quarters.

Anya, Daisuke, Jimmy, and Swansea all turned to Curly. Only to be met with a big smile on his face. “Thank you, Swansea, you’ve done great work.” Curly said, patting the old man on the shoulder and walking in the same direction to the quarters.

“What’s with the pep in his step?” Jimmy said.

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

@noandnooneelse

How does Star Trek Universal Translator™ translate the accent? We see people like Chekov speak, and he has an accent, but I'm not sure why. My main thought is that he is speaking English, so the translator's does not have to do much work in regards towards other English speaker, such as Kirk and Bones. It's not actually translating in that regard, just kind of letting him speak normally towards other English speakers, and then translating towards other other non-English speakers. It becomes interesting when you consider that he might be speaking Russian, and in that case, where does the accent come from? Another point is Spock. Vulcan's have their own language, and arguably with their own accents and dialects varying on regions. However, when he speaks, he sounds like he is just speaking English with an American accent. Now, Logically it could be that he just learned English from his mother, an American, and speaks it on a ship where English is most likely the dominant language for clarification sake, but lets humor the hypothetical. If he's speaking Vulcan and it's just getting translated, then naturally the translator just defaults to an American Accent, which makes sense given that Star Fleet is based within the United States. However, also humoring the hypothetical, Chekov is speaking Russian, and yet he's being translated with a Russian accent. So, let's just say for the sake of the argument that he is speaking Russian throughout the whole series. That would mean that Chekov is being translated with an accent, and Spock is not. What's the criteria for that? Does the Vulcan accent just not make sense in English language, and therefore the translator just cuts it out? It's also interesting to note the other side of things. Going back to Chekov only speaking Russian, how would that get translated on his end? Would Kirk be speaking Russian with an American accent? Would it just be a regular Russian accent cause the translator isn't translating that? What about Spock only speaking Vulcan? Would Kirk be translated with a Vulcan accent or just a really butchered one? I also want to bing up Worf, as he was raised Russian. His parents, if I recall. correctly, have heavy Russian accents, once more bringing up my point with Chekov, but Worf does not. Assuming Worf speaks Russian and only Russian, then why does he get translator with more of an English/American accent compared to his parents? I also wanted to bring up Picard, with him being French yet speaking with a British Accent, but I think it was told in the series that French became obsolete by the 23rd/24th century, so people learned English instead, explaining his accent despite being French. Am I overanalyzing this? Absolutely. More likely than not, it was just the dictators wanting to show diversity amongst the crew and not taking the implication of the accents too seriously. The logical option, as well, would be that a majority of them learned English prior to going Star Fleet, and therefore the translator doesn't have to work as hard to translate them for other people, so they can retain their accent.

[mossadspypigeon]

okay welcome to “chaya is done with anyone saying trump is good for jews or israel.”

here’s the uh scoop on what his appointees have done for and against jews and israel:

note: THIS IS NOT ABOUT ANY OTHER POLITICAL TOPIC. DO NOT REBLOG TELLING ME I SHOULD CALL OUT ANYTHING ELSE. I AM TALKING ABOUT JEW HATE RIGHT NOW. I AM TALKING ABOUT JEWS. not everything is about you!!! GIVE US A FUCKING MINUTE.

OKAY? okay. good talk.

(i will also include good shit if they have any lmao. only two of them do)

marco rubio.

the only things i agree with the man on are a. taking out hamas and b. the antisemitism on college campuses bill he helped introduce. he has said some weird dog whistles:

but this was a good choice:

from the forward, which i will link later:

“Rubio surprised pro-Israel backers with his April vote against emergency funding to Israel because it lacked border enforcement measures. Rubio excused Trump after he repeatedly accused American Jews of disloyalty to Israel and suggested they must hate their religion if they vote for Democrats.”

religion lol

HAHAHAHHA GAETZ:

he’s also a RAPIST.

and this beautiful fucking moment lmao:

PETE HEGSETH HAHA

need i say more

kristi noem

one decent thing:

she also signed an anti bds bill and has pointed out antisemitism, BUT she’s pentecostal so that likely explains why she wants israel around:

yup.

idk it’s sad that she’s decent one a single issue when so many progressives can’t even pass that bar. it’s for selfish reasons, but yay she signed and ratified the antisemitism bill woo

don’t ask me my feels on anything else with her.

ratcliffe

the man is a hawk even for me, and i want hamas GONEEEEE

tulsi gabbard:

a. praised assad. like HELLO????

b. jew hate dog whistles:

fun.

she also has other shit she’s said that i dont appreciate:

lee zeldin is an EMBARRASSMENT. moving on.

elise stefanik destroying antisemitic college presidents endeared her to me:

she also wants to cut funding to UNRWA, which is always A+.

fucking furhhr huckabee

another “i only support israel bc prophecy for jesus” evangelical

selecting him for a traditionally jewish role is not the flex trumpy thinks it is.

AH YES ROBERT F KENNEDY HAHAHA

ANYWAY YAY WOO YAY fhrbhf UGHHHH

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn’t be watching a man undressing, specially not from the house next door."

Warning: Angst 🥺 conversation about suicide, depression, uncertainty about oneself, Misuk being the best character of all 🫶 Namjoon finally makes an appearance (he appears a little, but then a little more, I promise) Jungkook being an idiot – forgive him, for he doesn't know what he's doing.

A/N: I'm back!! First, I wanted to thank you all for the affection I've been receiving. Thank you so much for the messages and interactions! If you want to send non-anonymous messages, I even prefer it, because I can follow you 🥰 Pure Attraction is a not very elaborate story, I know, but it has become an important part of my life, so I thank you for reading all these chapters, you don't know how much this means. Without further ado, here is the chapter.

P.S.: Later, still today, I will post the next chapter 🤌

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 10

The journey back home has never felt so long. Minutes pass, yet it feels as if the clock's hands are stuck. I try to take a deep breath, but I can't. My head is filled with memories, occasions when I could have done something different. I was so foolish, so stupid. Filled with regret, I can't even look at myself in the reflection of the window. I remember my father, my mother, and I wonder what they would say if they knew I made a mistake with no way to turn back. My eyes fill with tears, almost instantly, for the fourth time today alone. Mrs. Jeon remains silent, looking through the coffee table of her house.

She sighs and gaze at her own hands before locking eyes with me, as if she understands me in some way. But I don’t know if anyone could comprehend what I’m going through at this moment. I feel... used. As if, even with my consent, Jungkook took advantage of me, of my innocence and of my inexperience. At the same time, I can't place all the blame on him. I made a mistake, I should have been more cautious and I let him inside of my life.

"Are you okay?" Misuk asks, almost in a whisper. I try to shake my head and force a smile, but I can't. She sways her hair and clicks her tongue nervously. "I can't believe Jungkook did this to you, dear. He’s my son, but I don’t agree with any of this."

"He’s not the only one to blame," I deny; I barely recognize my own voice, weak and trembling.

The last time I saw myself this way was when, during a difficult year, I didn't want to visit my father's grave, and my mother opposed it. The anguish is different, but equally overwhelming.

"Can you explain how you two got so… close?" she questions. "I mean, it hasn’t been long since he came to Busan. Did you have many opportunities to talk?"

"A few." I shrug. That doesn’t matter now. I’m angry and don’t want to talk to anyone. I want to lock myself in my room and pretend everything was a terrible nightmare. "Sorry, I don't even know where to begin. I feel awful."

"You can talk to me."

"You’re his mother."

"I am." She smiles, placing a hand on mine, gently caressing my skin. I immediately feel a maternal love and care I haven’t experince in years. My crying intensifies as I realize that the person I need right now isn’t with me—my mother. Even if she were here, she wouldn’t help. She would judge me, make me feel bad about my mistakes, just as she has done in the past, and I don't need this right now. "Y/N, I’m Jungkook’s mother, but I understand what you’re going through. You have no idea."

"What do you mean?" I frown, confused. Her dark eyes fill with tears, just like mine.

"When I was around your age, I fell in love with a man. He was two years older, and so handsome. He seemed like a dream, someone so different from me, yet so similar—almost like he was a part of me." She tells me looking ahead, as if she could see the memories playing out before her. "He is Jungkook’s father. He was my first love."

"What do you mean?" I whisper. "Mr. Jeon isn’t Jungkook’s father?"

"He isn’t." She shakes her head. "That’s why I say I understand you. It was the first time I fell in love with someone. It was also the first time my trust was broken. When he found out I was pregnant, he left. I was alone, working a part-time job I didn’t even like, that paid poorly and had no support. Those were the worst years of my life."

"Misuk, I don’t know what to say," I respond, with a knot in my throat. She had never shared this while we talked about the past. But I understand her, in a way. It must be hard to relive those memories, and even harder to confide them to someone.

"You don’t have to say anything. I, after all this time, have moved on. The fear of being abandoned, however, still hasn’t healed, even with twenty-six years gone by." She smiles again, but I know she’s more hurt than she wants to show. "Dear, I care about you. I love you like a daughter, even. You’ve been with me during these days, and we’ve grown so close. I see parts of myself in you. The way my mother treated me, the absence of my father. It’s all so similar. That’s why I say I understand you."

"It all happened so… suddenly." I comment to myself, looking down. The shame of crying, and the shame of what I did, prevent me from looking her in the eyes. "I know I should have been more careful, but I was so happy... I don't get it."

"Jungkook, being more experienced than you, should have talked to you, asked what your expectations were, and told you what his intentions were. If he didn’t want something serious, a commitment, he should have warned you." She argues, not letting me continue. It’s as if she wants to lift the guilt I’m feeling, and I'm really thankful for that.

"Yes, but I was so naive. I was a fool to think he could like me the same way I like him." I groan, covering my face as more tears come. My chest hurts just remembering him. His kisses, his touches. He was so gentle with me, treating me like no one else ever had. He listened to me, and that was enough for me.

"Did you... did you have sex?" Misuk asks, running her hand along my back in a comforting gesture that soothes my pain, at least a little.

"I-I... Misuk..."

"It’s okay. You can trust me. You can open up and tell me." She smiles, without judgment. I just shake my head embarrassed, exposed, somewhat humiliated.

"We did it last night. It was very sudden." I try to explain, even if I don’t have many words to do it.

"Was it your first time? Is that why Eunji thinks you slept at my house? She said that yesterday, and I didn’t understand."

"Yes, but that night was the first time I slept at his apartament and we hadn’t done... you know."

"You hadn’t had sex, just other things." She concludes with a smile, tucking my hair behind my ear.

My cheeks burn, even when I try not to. It’s very difficult to talk about this kind of subject, even with Misuk, because I never had anyone to talk to when I was a teenager. My view of sex always came from books, whether educational or romantic.

"That’s it." I confirm, shaking my head.

"Are you in love?" Mrs. Jeon asks me when a silence falls between us.

I take a moment, reflecting about the question as if it were the most difficult one of my life. What does it mean to be in love? Is it feeling a flutter in your chest every time you see the person? Is it having a wild rush of energy that courses through your body uncontrollably? Is it standing still and feeling your heart race a thousand miles an hour? Is it missing that person and wanting to hear from them every day? If that’s the case, then yes, I’m in love. The realization of this fact hurts me even more. It makes me feel weaker. How could I be so foolish? How could I think someone would be interested in me when no one else had?

A flood of memories overwhelms me. If I had known I’d feel this pain, I would have never gotten close to Jungkook. I would have shut my window the first time I saw him, and never opened up again.

"It’s okay." She reassures me, hugging me. I hug her back, trying to purge the feeling of rejection that’s almost lodged in my chest.

"He just turned his back on me. He didn’t even see me when I left. It’s as if he got what he wanted and then I wasn’t worth the effort anymore." I vent, hurt, too wounded to stop the words pouring out.

"Jungkook is a fool." She shakes her head, pressing her lips together. "At the same time, he’s stuck in this messed-up relationship. I’ve told him millions of times that they’re not good for each other. I told him that true love doesn’t hurt, doesn’t deceive, but he’s stubborn like no one else."

"Does he really talk to his ex?" I ask, hoping it’s not as I imagine. That maybe they talk, but not as much as I’ve put in my head.

"The last time we talked about this was two days ago. He told me Namjoon called him, and they had a conversation for twenty minutes. He’s very deluded." She shakes her head, angry. Two days ago we were texting. I know we had no commitment and hadn’t established anything, but to me it’s worse to know he didn’t respect this moment. That it didn’t mean anything to him. While I melted over our messages and smiled like a fool for his attention, he was with his ex, doing the same with someone else.

"Did Namjoon really cheat on Jungkook? Why does he still try? Why does he still talk to him?"

"Namjoon was his first boyfriend. They were together for almost five years, and at one point, they practically lived together. When Jungkook was alone in Seoul, working in a tattoo studio, he met Namjoon and fell in love almost at first sight. He was very shy, introverted, with few friends in the new city. I think that helped them form a strong connection." Misuk explains. She seems to know a lot about the situation, as if she followed everything in detail, even from a distance.

"Have you ever met him... I mean, have you met Namjoon?" I ask, hesitant. My heart races for some reason. My hands feel cold with anxiety.

"Yes." She nods, sighing. "He’s a great guy, I can’t deny that. He works at a book publishing company, very intelligent and kind. I think that’s why Jungkook fell for him. At the same time, Namjoon is someone who wants more. He wants to achieve other things, and when the relationship got in the way of his goals, he didn’t think twice before stepping on everything they built together. Jungkook was devastated."

"How long ago was that?"

"About three months." She says; her body suddenly tenses. "That’s when I tried to take my own life."

"Mrs. Jeon... Jungkook told me what happened." I say, not really knowing if it’s right to tell her the truth. But it’s the first time she’s opened up about the subject, and I don’t think it’s fair, especially now that she told me so much about her past, to hide this from her. Her eyes widen, and then she smiles awkwardly.

"He really is an idiot. He must have told you to keep an eye on me." She says, shaking her head as if recalling her son’s actions, however she doesn't seen to hold any resentment towards him, regarding this. "He’s always been very careful. Always very protective. Jungkook has his flaws, but I think I understand why you fell for him. He’s stubborn but takes care of those he loves. I feel guilty for, even unknowingly, adding this weight to his shoulders. I’ve been feeling better now."

"Are you really okay?" I ask, somewhat uncertain.

"I am. I’m taking my medication, going to therapy, and visiting support groups once a week. Sometimes when I feel bad, I seek comfort. I know that ending my life isn’t an option. I don’t want to leave my son alone." She states. I search her eyes for any hint of untruth, anything that tells me she’s not okay, but I find nothing. I’m glad to know that, at least she, is evolving and improving. "But you know what’s making me feel better, Y/N?"

"What?" I ask, eager to know the answer. Whatever it is, I need an urgent dose of what is making her feel better.

"You." She smiles; more tears appear in her eyes, this time from happiness. "You’ve made my days better. I want you to know you can count on me. For everything." She confesses. Her voice deepens as I break down again.

"Thank you so much." I say sincerely. I have a friend. I have someone I can count on, and that brings me such a great relief that it feels like I could die.

"It’s okay. No more crying Y/N." She gets up from the couch, smiling. She raises her arms and wipes her face with her shirt. "Dear, tell me. Did you use protection? Did you take precautions?"

"No." I flush at the confession, feeling like a child who has no idea of the consequences of her actions. "He went out to buy a morning-after pill, but you arrived and..."

"It’s fine. Don’t worry." She holds her hands up, as if all of this doesn’t matter. "You don’t need to explain. I know that in the heat of the moment, you don’t think about anything. That’s why I had Jungkook when I was twenty." She laughs, making me feel even more embarrassed. "I’ll buy you a pill. Don’t worry; everything will be fine."

"Mrs. Jeon, you don’t have to. I'm going to do it."

"I don’t want to be a grandma so young, Y/N." She jokes, making me laugh too. "And it’s not a problem at all. I want to see you well, and that’s what matters."

"Thank you." I express my gratitude. Not just for the pill, but for everything. Even though it hurts, being here with her alleviates, at least a little, the torment I’m feeling.

"You don’t need to thank me. Everything will be okay." She assures me, and I accept it. I pray to God that all of this I’m feeling will soon come to an end.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" I hear a voice behind me. I don’t look right away, afraid to fall.

Since the library shelves are very high, I usually use a mobile ladder to organize the books, so before I make sure who it is, I carefully step down the rungs. When I finally reach the ground, I regret coming down. It’s Hayun, Jungkook’s friend. Not because of her, of course, as I enjoyed meeting her, but because of him, who has kept me awake for the past three days.

"Are you okay? It’s been a while since we last saw each other." She smiles. She approaches and kisses my cheek suddenly. She seems to genuinely like me, and I’m grateful for that. Her outgoing personality couldn’t be better right now. My energy, ever since that argument happened, has been dwindling.

"I’m okay." I say, putting on my best smile. "And you? How have you been?"

"Busier every day. With the move and everything."

"You’re moving?" I ask, curious.

"Yes, didn’t Jungkook tell you?" She asks, and just the mention of his name makes my chest ache. The crying and tears have passed, but I’m far from normal with everything that happened. He hasn’t sent me any messages, and I can’t stop thinking that somehow, I was just a conquest for him. A night of sex that is already forgotten.

"No, he didn’t tell me. We haven’t... talked."

"Seriously? He’s been talking a lot about you." I raise an eyebrow, startled.

"What do you mean? What has he said?" The words fly out of my mouth before I can control myself. Hayun laughs, as if she notices my sudden interest.

"He says random things. That you like to read, or that you’re in college and you cook well. Random stuff like that." She comments, approaching one of the shelves to take a look at a book. "Anyway, I’m moving soon. Me and the guys, we’re all going to Seoul."

"With Jungkook?" I bite my lower lip, intrigued.

"Yeah, I’m from Seoul and wanted to go anyway, but we’ve been talking about everyone moving there for years. We were just waiting for Bora and Taehyung to finish college." She closes the book and puts it back, shrugging. I nod in agreement. Good for them. It feels like I’ll be the only one stuck here, stagnant for the rest of my life. I feel bad. I should make a list of topics I can’t discuss without feeling like a fraud. Damn it.

"That’s great... Hayun, I have to go now. I’m working. But it was nice to see you again." I say sincerely. It’s like seeing her again makes me a little closer to Jungkook. I don’t want to think about him, yet simultaneously, I can’t get enough of him. I’m going to go crazy.

"It was nice to see you too, really." She says, smiling. "I don’t want to bother you or anything, but before you go... I wanted to ask, are you going to the party tonight?"

"What party?" I frown, confused.

"The celebration. The studio opened, and we’re having a party at Yoongi’s house. It’ll be the last one before we move to Seoul. What do you think?" She grabs my arm, full of excitement. I shake my head immediately, flustered. Jungkook probably hasn’t told his friends what happened between us, and I don’t know if I should be sad or happy about that.

"I can’t, really." I respond, trying my best expression.

"Come on! Let’s go, Y/N, it’ll be fun. It’s for Jungkook. It’s important to him."

"It’s precisely because of him I’m not going." I whisper to her, softly. Hayun stops smiling and glares at me intently.

"Did something happen? You can tell me. Did the idiot do something to you?"

"He didn’t do anything." I half-lie, half-try to hide. Him sleeping with me while still talking to his ex isn’t exactly a huge thing. We hadn’t established anything serious yet. Though, in my head, he is wrong in any case.

"If he didn’t do anything, you should go. He’s really happy about the studio. He worked for about four years to save the money he needed."

"Hayun..." I sigh, embarrassed. "Actually, something did happen. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go. It’s to avoid ruining his night that I’m saying no." I finish, somewhat nervously. My body trembles with sadness and bitterness.

"Hey, you can count on me. I won’t tell the idiot anything you say. I’m a jerk, but not a bad friend." She rolls her eyes, clapping her hands together. I chuckle helplessly. She’s funny. I had forgotten this little detail.

"Alright, but I’ll be brief. I really need to get to work." I say. Hayun nods silently in agreement. "Jungkook and I did have a thing."

"I knew it!" She exclaims, in the middle of the hallway. Since it’s a library, her loud voice echoes throughout the place, drawing the attention of the few customers to us. I laugh in despair, covering my mouth with my hand. "Sorry, I spoke too loud. But I knew it! the way he talks about you... he likes you."

"I don’t think he likes me that much." I whisper, losing my smile. "He doesn’t want commitment, and that’s why we drifted apart. He still seems to care a lot about his ex."

"Namjoon." Hayun grunts his name without enthusiasm, rolling her eyes. Her once cheerful face, suddenly tightens. "I know. I liked him until I found out what he did to Jungkook. No one has spoken to him since."

"Yeah. Well. That’s why I think it’s better not to go. I want this to be a good moment for him, anyway. I don’t want to cause any discomfort." I vent, gathering my hands that get sweaty, every time I think about this topic. I have to swallow hard to avoid more tears and appearing like a fool in front of his friend.

"I still think you should go. You won’t ruin anyone’s night; I’m sure of that. And it's Yoongi’s house, it’s not like you can’t go." The brunette argues.

"Even so, the party is for him."

"Y/N, Jungkook won’t be in Busan for long. Don’t you think it’s better for you to talk, whether to end whatever it is you have, so you can both move on without resentment?" She suggests, making me think.

I shake my head for the tenth time in this conversation. I don’t know if it would be a good idea. It’s the first time I’ve ever had feelings for someone, and I don’t know if to end what I feel, I should talk to him. My romantic experiences are based on books, and in books, the heroines are never rejected. Just imagining even for a second, if I go to this party Jungkook will show discomfort or indifference, makes me panic. A strong shiver runs through my whole body with the thought.

"I don’t know if it’s a good idea." I reply, shrugging. Hayun sighs, tapping her boot on the wooden floor.

"Okay. Let’s do this: you’ll go. Stay for five minutes. If you see it’s better not to force things and forget all of this, I’ll take you home myself." She says, putting her hands together as if in prayer.

"You’re quite persistent, huh." I murmur, laughing. I roll my eyes, reflecting. Should I talk to him? Should I give myself a chance to hear him out and maybe understand his side? Even if we don’t end up together, and I end up sad, wouldn’t it be better to finish whatever it is we had, so I can move on?

For the past three days, all I could think about was him. There hasn’t been a single hour where I could relax, read, or watch something like I always did. I sigh, groaning. Then I nod my head, still unsure. My mother is still out of town, and that gives me a little more freedom than usual. Hayun lets out a high-pitched scream and bounces around, hugging me. It’s as if with my decision alone, I’ve made her day happier.

"You’re going to love it! Yoongi’s parties are always so much fun." She assures me with a confidence I don’t have. I went to a party once, and I remember hating everything. Both the music and the people.

"I hope so." I laugh, not very sure about what I’m doing. I want to give up on this idea because it makes no sense, and at the same time, I want to show that I’m brave. That I can face my fears. I don’t want to run away of everything forever.

I can do this!

I can’t do this. I can’t do this!

I look at my outfit and feel like going back outside, running after the taxi I took to get here. My long dress, made of thick fabric, has nothing to do with what these people wear. It’s as if I live on another planet, literally. The music is upbeat, playing from two speakers in the middle of the room. It’s good, considering the bizarre things I’ve heard out there. The lights are all purple, giving the place a sensual and enigmatic look. There are many people, and none of them I know. On one hand, I thank God for not running into Jungkook. On the other, I wish he’d appear before me out of nowhere, just so I could put an end to all of this, once and for all.

But what would I say? You’re a bastard, Jungkook. You didn’t promise me anything, but actions speak louder than words. Your actions didn’t show me you still loved your ex. I could say all of that, but how would it help me? Being honest with myself, I came because I felt afraid that, that morning, three days ago, would be the last time I would see him. The last time I could look into his eyes and feel his presence. I am truly in love, and I don’t want to hold onto another regret in my life.

I look side to side, trying to find Hayun, but in the middle of so many people, it’s hard to recognize anyone. I walk through the room, bumping into a few women. They don’t mind, though. I don’t know the environment very well, but the further I get from the crowd, the more I can enter the open backyard, which has a huge pool. Hayun sent me the address an hour ago; maybe if I called her, I could find her more easily. When I take my phone out of my small bag, determined to complete the call, I spot a red-haired figure that catches my attention. Yoongi. It must be him. I walk slowly towards his group of friends, feeling apprehensive, afraid of accidentally colliding into Jungkook.

"Y/N! Over here!" I confirm my suspicions when Hayun waves her arms in the air, as she recognizes me despite the low light. I smile faintly, walking closer to everyone. They all seem unbelievably beautiful, well-dressed, with an air of excitement that I don’t possess. "You made it! I thought you got lost."

"I took a taxi. It’s just far from where I live." I apologize, shrugging.

"Don’t worry. I haven’t had anything to drink. If you need anything, I’ll take you home, okay?" She smiles, placing her sunglasses on the top of her head. Hayun looks prettier when she does that. "Guys, look who’s here. Y/N!"

I shake my head, greeting them. They seem happy to see me, which relieves 50% of my worries. My stiff and tense shoulders, from imagining scenarios where none of them wanted to see me. I’m relieved to realize that this isn’t happening in reality.

"Y/N, how are you?" Bora kisses my cheek, just like the other girls. Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung nod, sipping something from their cups.

"I’m good." I smile, feeling awkward. I look around for Jungkook, but he’s nowhere in sight. At least not as far as I can see. "It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other."

"Right? What have you been up to, Y/N?" Yoori, Taehyung’s girlfriend, asks. I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t have much to say.

"I’ve been working a lot." I say, honestly. Partly because it’s true, and partly because I don’t know how far I can tell. Do Yoongi, Jimin or Taehyung know that I was with Jungkook? I’m so paranoid about this I can hardly look them in their eyes.

"She works at the Dongseo University bookstore. When I went to pick up some books, I found her there." Hayun circles her arm around my shoulder, smiling. I nod in agreement. "Y/N, Jungkook is around here; he went to get something to drink." She whispers the last part in my ear, trying to keep everyone else from hearing, and with all this noise, it’s not too hard.

My breath catches when I think I might run into him at any moment. My heart beats like it’s going to burst out of my chest, and my legs feel like jelly from so much nervousness. When I think of a mantra to calm me down and finally face things like a normal person, head held high, I see him coming toward his friends, not really seeing them. It’s as if he’s so lost in thought that he can’t see anyone a foot in front of him. Hayun beside me suddenly gasps. She mutters something near me, and I only feel her tense body, because she is pressed against mine. Everyone looks at Jungkook with expressions of discomfort that I can't quite understand.

"Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t know." She says, shaking her head. I frown, confused. What’s happening?

"What’s wrong? Is everything okay?" I ask, anxious, feeling all kinds of emotions at once.

"That guy next to Jungkook." She says, discreetly pointing to a very handsome man, just a few inches taller than him. "That guy is..."

"Namjoon? What’s he doing here?" Jimin questions, crossing his arms over his chest, interrupting his friend. My eyes widen as they approach. My whole body pulls back, and I want to disappear. To be swallowed by the earth and never inhabit this world again. But it’s too late. Jungkook is already here. And his dark, big eyes grow wider when they see me.

"Y/N?" He asks, confused.

Fuck.

"J-Jungkook. Hi." I nod my head. The fear of making any move and embarrassing myself in front of everyone, is overwhelming. The fear that he might just ignore me and pretend I don’t exist, is even greater. I swallow hard, frozen in place. I can’t even greet him properly.

Jungkook doesn’t move either. He stares at me in a static way, and everyone in the group seems to notice. Even Namjoon, his ex-boyfriend. He’s handsome. With his black hair, lean strong body, and a masculine perfume that exudes confidence. My insecurities about myself intensifies. If I had known he would be here, I would have never come. I was a fool to think this would be a good closure. Jungkook hasn’t wanted to talk to me for the past three days. Why would he want to talk to me now? The urge to cry returns, and I’m tired of this situation.

"I didn’t know you’d come, Namjoon." Hayun says beside me, still with her arms around my shoulders. I lower my head, embarrassed.

"I decided at the last minute. I had to come to support Jungkook." He smiles, and he’s even more attractive when he does, forming charming dimples on his cheeks.

"Wonderful." Yoongi grins, but I have the feeling it’s not very sincere. His dark eyes show feelings far from happiness. "I hope you came to stay for a short time. I don’t want certain people in my house."

"Yoongi!" Jungkook scolds his friend, and my throat tightens. Is he defending his ex-boyfriend? Doesn’t he realize the gravity of what Namjoon did? He cheated on him!

"Don’t worry." He places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeezes it with an intimacy that makes me extremely uncomfortable. "I came just to see you; I won’t stay long, anyway."

"He was kidding." Jungkook clarifies to him, his voice somewhat hoarse. Then he lowers his head and looks at me again. His eyes are so intense that I have to take a deep breath, struggling to breathe normally. "Actually, I need to talk to Y/N."

"What?" I ask, surprised. My body tenses up again, stiff. Hayun lets out a small smile that everyone notices, and shakes her hair, almost as if the whole situation were a movie, and she’s the spectator.

"I told you it would be a good idea for you to come." She says, and her voice is so loud that it’s as if she wants everyone to hear, especially Namjoon, who bites his lips and watches me. His gaze is enigmatic. I can’t tell if he feels anger or discomfort. Or neither.

"Hayun, please..." I whisper. "And Jungkook, I was actually leaving."

"You weren’t." Hayun argues, furrowing her brow. "You just got here, and you’re staying. You’re welcome here."

"I don’t know..."

"Please, Y/N, I wanted to talk to you. Stay a little longer." Jungkook whispers, biting his rosy lips. His face looks sad, but I can’t believe it’s because of me. If he liked me, even a little, he wouldn’t be standing next to his ex with almost an intimate proximity. I can’t understand him. Not at all.

"Okay." I agree, uncomfortable with everyone watching us, as if we’re animals in a zoo. I don’t want to imagine what they’re thinking.

"Namjoon, I’ll talk to Y/N. I’ll be back soon." He smiles faintly, looking at the dark-haired man. Namjoon just nods and gaze at me one more time.

"Okay. No problem. I’ll stay here with your friends." He says, and I catch a glimpse of Jimin sighing as he takes a large gulp of his drink.

We move away from the group in silence. His hand approaches the end of my back, but he doesn’t touch me. My brain feels like it’s going to fry. There’s so much I want to say, and at the same time, so much that isn’t worth saying. I feel so bad. The way he said he would return to his ex is one of those reasons. Why does he stay in this relationship? Doesn’t he realize he would be happier if he just distanced himself from Namjoon? But that’s my opinion, and he clearly doesn’t think that way. We approach a tree, further away from the party, in the backyard. I lean my back against it, fearing I won’t have strength in my legs. I can’t even look him in the eyes. I don’t have the courage for that. We stand in silence for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

"Are you okay?" He asks me quietly. If he weren’t so close and we weren’t so far from the music, I wouldn’t be able to hear him.

"I am." I respond, trying to form a smile that isn’t real. "And you?"

"Yeah." He smiles too; he tosses his hair back, closes his eyes and sighs, watching me. "You look very beautiful."

"Thank you." I say, feeling awkward. I don’t feel beautiful; I feel terrible.

"Y/N, I don’t know what to say." He says, placing his hand on the trunk of the tree, behind me. His scent invades my nose whether I like it or not. I have to use all my self-control not to respond to any of his movements. "I haven’t been well since that morning. I don’t feel good."

"You don’t feel good." I repeat his words, finding it amusing. He doesn’t feel good? Seriously?

"You may not believe it, but I had to hold myself back from calling you."

"You could have called." I shrug, speaking. My voice sounds ironic, but I can’t be any different. I’m angry. So angry and sad. It’s as if all the bad feelings are inside my chest right now.

"I could, but I shouldn’t. I wanted to take some time to think, and you needed that too." He argues, furrowing his brow. "I want you to know that Namjoon is here, but I didn’t know he would come. It was a surprise to me too."

"You must have been thrilled." I respond with a not-so-happy smile. Jungkook runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and tightens his jaw, irritated.

"I wasn’t thrilled. I’m not happy, if that’s what you're saying."

"Jungkook... I get it. You want to be with him. I may be inexperienced, but I can read the situation. You don’t need to explain yourself to me. There’s nothing to explain. I just came because I wanted to say I’m happy for you. To congratulate you. Just that."

"You didn’t come just for that." He says in denial. "I can see it in your eyes."

"You know me so well, don’t you?" I respond ironically, trying to hide the extent to which I’m affected. I want to leave. I shouldn’t have come to this party. I shouldn’t be here with him.

"Y/N, please..."

"Jungkook, what are you doing here with me?" I lose my patience, finally reaching my limit. I push away from the tree, my stomach churning. "Why aren’t you with him? With Namjoon? I’m not important to you, so why are you pretending like I am?!"

"I already told you to stop acting like you know me better than I know myself." He grunts, his face reddening with anger.

"It doesn’t matter what you say. I’ve already told you: actions speak louder than words, and you’ve proven that to me since that morning. You didn’t call me for three days simply because you didn’t want to!"

"Y/N..."

"You don’t want to be with me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to be. I already understand where your limits are; just... just don’t pretend to like me if you don’t care about me!" I finish, trembling. My eyes fill with tears, and I feel so vulnerable, anxious. Jungkook has always brought out the best in me, and now I don’t even recognize myself.

"I care about you." He moves closer, furrowing his brows. His dark eyes grow bright. If it weren’t for the lack of light, I could swear he’s about to cry too. He gets even closer and touches my cheek with his hand, gently caressing my skin, sending chills down my spine. I want to pull away from him, but I can’t. "Y/N, I really like you. I didn’t call because I needed some time."

"Stop..." I plead, in a whisper. Both for his words and for his touches. I wrap my hand around his wrist, but I don’t halt him from continuing. I don’t move, half weak, half uncertain, afraid he’ll stop and nervous he’ll keep going.

"I missed you." Jungkook says softly in my ear. His body almost fully pressed against mine. His breath hits my neck; his strong chest touching my breasts. And I don’t know if it’s his heart or mine, racing a thousand miles an hour, so fast and strong.

"Jungkook, stop." I beg, but I can’t pull away myself. He takes his face away from my neck and looks at me once more. His pupils dilate, and they go straight to my mouth. A shiver runs through my entire body as he moistens his lips with his tongue, with a desire so exposed that I can’t mistake it for anything else. And I let him come closer, so damn slowly, as if we’re in slow motion. When I finally close my eyes, surrendered, hypnotized, I hear someone calling him.

"Jungkook?"

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments

@joonwater @ane102 @ttipa @kookienooki

[schrijverr]

No, Daddy, I Want Papi’s Helmet

Divergence from chapter 18 to 19, where Chris gives the secret away when he’s staying at the 118 firehouse after Abuela broke her hip. In this universe, the PT switch didn’t happen, facilitating the reveal.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warnings: ableism mention, homophobia mention

~~~

Eddie buckles Chris in with tense shoulders and Buck wishes he could make it better, wishes he never suggested it with Chris in hearing range, because then Eddie wouldn’t have felt obliged to say yes.

Buck could have just gone back to the station and convinced Bobby that Eddie really needed to stay with his Abuela and he’d be fine without a partner for the day. He feels like an idiot for opening his big mouth and making Eddie uncomfortable. Both of them know the chances of any of this ending well are improbably low.

So, he anxiously watches Eddie fuss with the seatbelt, before he closes the car door. Wanting to know where his head is at, before they walk into the lion’s den, Buck asks: “What are you thinking?”

“That this is going to be a shit show,” Eddie answers honestly, rubbing his face.

“It’s not determined they’re going to find out.”

“He calls you papi, Buck.”

Okay, yeah, that is a fair point. It’s pretty damning if a child you’ve supposedly only known exists for a week or two calls you papi. People are going to want an explanation and Buck isn’t going to be able to come up with a good one that doesn’t give everything away. If Chris was still a baby and couldn’t talk, this whole thing would be easier.

The thought triggers a heartbreaking idea in his brain, but he still has to say it. Has to offer Eddie this out, even if it will tear himself to shreds inside. “We can ask him not to do that. It’s only for a little over an hour by the time we get there,” he suggests, aiming for causal and probably missing by a mile.

“That’s not fair on you.” Eddie is already shaking his head before Buck is done talking. For a moment, Buck fears Eddie found him out, but then Eddie adds. “And what sort of message would we be sending if they did find out? I don’t want Hen to think we’re raising Chris to be homophobic, just because we’re straight.”

It’s adorable how determined Eddie looks. Every time Buck is reminded how hard Eddie is trying to be a better father than his own, Buck falls in love with him all over again.

“Alright,” he says. “We’ll leave this one up for the universe, then. But we should probably get the good kind of bribery coffee. We’re probably gonna need it.”

Eddie throws his head back in a laugh, before he agrees. Then they get into the car and drive off, Buck behind the wheel as always.

Buck pulls up into everyone’s favorite coffee shop that they usually don’t go to, since it’s slightly out of their way. Both of them are nervous, that much is clear, even if they try not to be. While he waits in line, he calls Bobby, explaining the situation as vaguely as he can, while still getting the results he needs.

He’s pretty sure Eddie is as nervous as he is when they get to the firehouse, but if he’s nervous, Eddie will only get more nervous and if they’re both nervous, Chris will get nervous. So, he stuffs any sort of nervousness down and plasters on a big smile as he gets out the car and waits for Eddie to help Chris out of his seat.

They’re going to give this some semblance of a try, so Buck doesn’t walk as near as he usually does, when they enter under the curious gazes of the others.

His own shoulders want to tense, but he stops them and Eddie relaxes slightly when he seems at ease, so he keeps it up. He loudly greets everyone as he usually would. Normalcy is key. “We come bearing bribery coffee.”

“I would say who cares about coffee when you’re bringing such an esteemed guest, but I really need my caffeine fix,” Hen jokes, a big gentle smile on her face.

She probably knows how nerve wracking it is to introduce people to your kid and Buck smiles at the gesture. He is about to make a joke about Chris being way more important than some coffee and more than enough of a fix to get you through the day, but stops himself. It’s not his place right now.

Eddie, however, is in sync with him as ever and picks up on it. Clumsily joking in his stead: “Hey, Chris is way better than coffee.” He looks slightly mortified at himself, but Buck and Chris both grin widely.

However, no one else seems to notice and Hen just laughs quietly: “I believe you,” before she turns to Chris and holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Hen. I heard a lot about you, you’re a real smart kid.”

That was partly a lie, since Buck hadn’t been able to brag and Eddie is still private and not great at talking about emotions. But no one is going to call her out on that when Chris is smiling the way he is.

“Hello, I’m Christopher,” he says, shaking her hand. “You’re really cool. Daddy and papi say so.”

Hen pauses for a second at that and Buck and Eddie both hold their breath. She quickly glances over to Eddie – they worked hard for Buck to not even be considered – and sees his the apprehension, before quickly covering any reaction and smiling as she tells Eddie: “Oh, I like him.”

Their shoulders relax. Buck assumes that Hen must think Chris just accidentally outed Eddie and is helping him by pretending to not have noticed. He appreciates that about her, not just because it works in their favor.

Chimney follows her lead, sending a quick glance between her and Eddie, before swooping in. “Hey, what about me? I’m cool.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Chimney.”

“Chimney! I know you. You have a silly name,” Chris informs him seriously, getting laughs from everyone.

The tension has been broken and Chris easily accepted without any realizations. Buck thinks they might actually get through this okay, going to grin at Eddie, only to find him looking choked up at the three moving towards the stairs as Chris asks all about the ambulance.

Buck knows how nervous Eddie always is about people meeting Chris. Not because he is ashamed of him, but because people always seem to judge Eddie as if there is something wrong with him, with both of them, which is fucking terrible and makes Buck want to deck whoever makes Eddie feel like that.

Getting this easy acceptance from everyone must mean the world for him. Buck should know, he’s in the same boat. There isn’t anything to say, though, so Buck just gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze, before jogging to catch up with everyone.

Chris is determined to get up the stairs by himself and Buck easily lets him as Chris chats away about what he’s studying at school and what his daddy and papi told him about the trucks, asking a thousand more questions about the ambulances, since Hen and Chimney know them better.

Every time he mentions papi and daddy, he sees how Hen and Chimney send looks to Eddie, clearly waiting for him to acknowledge it, but he never does. Buck is pretty sure they’re dying to ask, but aren’t going to with Chris there. It makes him dread what will happen after Maddie comes to pick him up.

From how Chris is talking, it’s clear that both his dads are firefighters. When it comes to fun facts – of which Chris has many, Buck is so proud of him – Chris always starts with ‘Papi said…’ And Buck is pretty sure none of them are buying that Eddie has been supplying him with those facts.

In these moments, Buck is glad Chris was too young to realize it’s a little odd that Buck is papi, because that might be the only thing throwing everyone off their scent right now.

Then Bobby comes over and Buck’s stomach tightens. This will be another hurdle. Jovially, Bobby says: “What’s this? I don’t remember asking the chief for reinforcements. You any good with a hose, kid?”

“I can try,” Chris smiles and everyone chuckles.

“Alright,” Bobby smiles back, because Chris’s smile is infectious.

And even though Buck knows that Bobby doesn’t know that’s his kid too, it makes him fly that Bobby seems to be taken with him immediately. Buck craves Bobby’s approval so bad and having Bobby approve of his kid is the best feeling.

Eddie on the other hand, tenses and gets up as he explains: “So sorry, Cap. Maddie, uhm, Buck’s sister is getting off work early so she can take him, before my tía can, but you know LA traffic, so until then w- I- I didn’t know where to take him.”

“Yeah, you did. Right here. Buck gave me a heads up. I already cleared it with the chief,” Bobby says, nodding towards Buck, who smiles at Eddie, trying not to look too love struck when Eddie looks back with those big, beautiful brown eyes.

For a moment, it looks like Eddie is going to cry, but the attention gets pulled away from him before he does by Bobby asking: “Did you get a tour of the trucks yet, kid?”

“No,” Chris answers, hopefully excited.

“Well then, what do you say about a tour?” Bobby asks him.

“Can I?” Chris asks immediately, looking absolutely thrilled at the idea. He hasn’t caught on that no one seems to realize Buck is also his dad, and while he directs the question at both of them, he looks over at Eddie first, since he’s standing next to Bobby.

“Course, we can look at the trucks,” Eddie smiles.

Before Chris can look to him for confirmation as well, Buck grabs Chris under his armpits and swings him over the back of the couch, putting him on his feet again with a, “Let’s go, Superman!” getting a delighted shriek from Chris as expected.

It’s probably a little too familiar for a kid that he supposedly doesn’t know that well, but Buck ignores whatever looks get send his way. He loves kids. And he loves this kid in particular. It already sucks enough that he can’t be as loudly proud as he wants to be. Let him have this.

Eddie steps up next to him soon enough, asking: “Wanna walk downstairs by yourself too, mijo?”

“No. Carry me?” Chris asks and Buck is so proud of him. They’ve raised him well, asking for what he wants, what he needs, when he has to, and doing it by himself when he can and wants to.

“Yeah, here.” Eddie sweeps Chris up in his arms, putting him on his hips and handing his crutches over to Buck with practiced ease.

It’s so natural that neither of them even realize they shouldn’t be doing that here, until Chimney claps Buck on the back and grins: “Always in sync, you two, huh?”

“Haha, I guess,” Buck blushes, hurrying down the stairs after Eddie and Chris before anyone can study his face too closely.

While Chris had the most questions about the ambulances, he wants to see the engine and ladder truck the most. It’s what he’s heard all the stories about it. And he wants to do it on his own, demanding to be put down, the second they get downstairs. Buck is glad he hurried after them, so he can hand Chris his crutches before he even has to ask for them.

Chris clatters over to the engine, looking at all the stuff that he can see, excitedly pointing at the hose as he says: “It has a loop, just like you said!”

“You know why, kid?” Bobby asks, looking pleased that his way of doing things is important enough to Chris to get pointed out by him.

“Papi said it’s because if you leave a loop and stick your arm through, it makes for a faster carry and speed is important,” Chris recites.

“That’s right,” Bobby smiles.

Chris proceeds to ask more questions, already being way more knowledgeable about the vehicles than most kids his age. He’s been hearing firefighter stories for a year and a half already and when Buck’s excited about a topic, he pulls Chris with him and vise versa. They feed on each other’s curiosity and energy.

Just when they think they’re getting off scot free, Chris wanders over to where everyone’s turnouts are gasping: “Can I try on a real firefighter helmet?”

“Of course, here you go,” Eddie says, grabbing his own, even though Chris is standing in front of Buck’s helmet, and moving to put it on his head.

“No, daddy, I want papi’s helmet,” Chris protest. “You’re still a probie, he’s a real-real firefighter.”

Buck is pretty sure that if the ‘oh fuck’ didn’t hit Eddie at that moment, he would have been more offended by that, going to give Buck a playful glare, before what Chris said registers and he instead looks at everyone else with wide eyes.

There’s a beat of silence wherein everyone tries to piece together what they just heard and process what that means. Their eyes rapidly go from Chris to Eddie to Buck, then back to Eddie to Buck again, then to Chris.

Fuck, we’re so caught, Buck thinks.

However, the silence isn’t over yet and he’s not going to let Chris feel like he did something wrong. So, he acts like this isn’t a huge thing that just got revealed, instead smiling at Chris as he grabs his own helmet and carefully puts it on Chris’s head. “There you go, Superman, a real-real firefighter helmet. Way cooler than daddy’s probie helmet, right?”

Eddie catches on to what he’s doing, unfreezing himself and forcing himself to act casual. “You know there’s no difference between the helmets, right? I also have a real-real firefighter helmet.”

“I know,” Chris smiles, looking absolutely adorable in the over-sized helmet. “Papi said only the Captain has a different helmet, but it’s about the idea.”

It seems that a repeat of ‘papi said’ is enough to unpause the others, who have been watching Buck and Eddie brush this whole thing off with great confusion. It was such a smooth blasé turn of events that they almost started to think they imagined it. But no, Chris is still very much there, in Buck’s helmet, calling him papi and reciting his facts.

“Papi?” Bobby finds his voice first, though he only manages the word, butchering its pronunciation slightly.

Chris doesn’t seem to notice how the vibe has shifted very quickly and just nods proudly, helmet nearly falling off. “Daddy and papi are both firefighters, but daddy’s still on his probationary period.” He slows down on the big words, carefully sounding them out. “They’re heroes.”

Despite the situation, Buck can’t help the pleased smile and blush that appear at the declaration. It will always feel good to hear his son be so proud of him. Of both of them.

“So you- so you two…” Chim starts, then trails off, pointing between Buck and Eddie with a confused look. It’s as if he isn’t sure where to start asking.

Before anyone can figure out what to ask, the alarm starts ringing and they all stare up at the flashing lights for a second like caught animals.

Buck snaps out of it first. He knows they’re in deep shit, but they need to help people first. It’s a small fender bender, shouldn’t be anything too traumatizing to Chris, but he’s not going to make it worse by going over Bobby’s head. So, he asks: “Am I man behind, or are we taking Chris with us?”

“We can take him with us,” Bobby decides. These accidents are often nothing big, but if there are a lot of cars, they need the extra hands. And they’re already next to the trucks anyway.

Besides, while his head might still be reeling, a small part of him looks between Buck and Chris and suddenly sees all the similarities. The way Chris was religiously asking questions and spouting facts moments ago suddenly very familiar. Much like his papi, he can’t deny Chris the opportunity to see everything in action. The thought of having a grandkid intruding on his brain without his permission.

With that decision made, Buck gently pulls the helmet from Chris’s head and puts it on his own, before lifting Chris into the truck and smiling: “Save my seat, alright, buddy?”

“Sí, papi,” Chris smiles back, legs kicking excitedly at being in the truck.

The others only hear the exchange, too busy with pulling on their turnouts. Since Buck had a delayed start, the others have already climbed in when he gets there. Eddie pulls Chris onto his lap while Buck climbs in, before handing him back, so Buck can buckle him in next to him.

Everyone is watching the exchange as if it’s something alien and Buck wants to snap at them to stop it, because Chris has gotten enough of that as it is. However, he knows it’s not because of Chris that they’re looking at them like that – well, it is, but not like that – and snapping isn’t going to help them when they’re in enough trouble as it is.

They pull out of the firehouse at record speed and Chris gives a loud cheer, clearly thrilled to be a part of this. Despite the situation, Buck smiles broadly and pulls out his phone to take a picture of Chris with the huge headphones on in the back of the fire engine.

This is sadly taken as an invitation to start asking questions, of which they must have many now that everyone has had the time to gather their wits.

Hen starts it off, asking: “So, when did the whole papi thing start?” A valid question, since it would be quite the leap to have taken after learning about Eddie’s son a few weeks ago with the earthquake.

Before Buck or Eddie can start, Chris is already explaining: “Well, papi was Evan first when he worked with the chickies, but then mommy left,” Chris’s lip wobbles for a second, but he braves on, “and papi stayed forever. But he was still Evan, but then he and daddy got married and Ms. Jane said that made him my daddy too, but daddy was already daddy, so he’s papi.”

The answer does nothing to get them out of trouble, in fact, it probably only gets them deeper into trouble. However, Buck’s heart can’t help but do a happy little flip at Chris’s confidence in stating he’s staying forever.

“Married? But what about-” Chimney starts to loudly say something, before cutting himself off. He looks at Chris uncomfortably, then at Eddie, who is giving him a confused look, trying to guess what the fuck Chimney is on about.

Buck, however, can take a guess and cringes slightly. Still, the last thing he wants is for them to think they watched him cheat on Eddie for his first few months at the 118. That is never the kind of man he wants to be. Never.

So, he clarifies: “Yeah. We got married as friends. Great tax benefits and stepparent adoption. This little guy is legally half mine,” he grins, ruffling Chris’s hair.

“Uh-huh,” Chris nods excitedly. “We went to court and it was all official and we went to the courthouse too. They made daddy and papi kiss, it was really silly.”

Both Eddie and Buck blush at the reminder, though Buck supposes they’re blushing for very different reasons. He’s honestly happy if his wedding day kiss is the only kiss he’ll ever get. He treasures the memory. Eddie probably not so much. Buck tries not to think about it.

Hen looks between the two of them, clearly not believing it. She says: “You got married for the tax benefits and for adoption?” her voice asking why the fuck they would do that.

“Yup,” Buck answers, trying to act casual. Chris is still right there and they’ve already dragged up Shannon leaving today, he wants to spare him as many reminders, but he needs the others to stop asking questions. So, he slings his arm around Chris and smiles at him, Chris smiling back. “So, me and Superman here could continue to hang out while daddy was out saving people, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah!” Chris cheers, thankfully taking the comment as not something to be sad about because papi isn’t sad about it. “Daddy took care of everyone, giving band aids to all the soldiers.”

Realization dawns on everyone’s faces as they figure out Buck raised Chris while Eddie was out on his tour in the army. Eddie looks like he always does when someone reminds him of having to leave Chris behind; devastated, but locking it up. However, is face softens slightly at Chris’s unwavering support and recount of what he did.

The air gets awkward now, everyone unsure what to ask, wanting to get all the details, but not wanting to interrogate Buck and Eddie in front of their kid.

After a few moments, Bobby clears his throat and changes the subject, telling them about the accident they’re driving up to. He also tells Chris all about the headsets and the communication system, with as much flair as he usually has for school trips, maybe a little more. Seeing it makes Buck’s heart warm and he hopes they haven’t fucked it all up entirely.

They arrive at the accident and everyone gets out. Except for Eddie and Chris after a look between him and Buck to check who’s gonna stay behind with him.

As Buck walks away, he hears Bobby say: “I’ll watch Chris. I need you out there with Buck. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

“Yeah, daddy, you got to have papi’s back, right?” Chris says, which must be enough to convince Eddie, because soon enough he’s at Buck’s side.

While they work, they keep their heads down and stay quiet. Both feel like scolded school boys and they don’t want to get more attention on them than necessary.

From time to time they shoot a look towards Chris, who looks to be having the time of his life listening to Bobby, who is smiling as well as he explains what’s going on. Buck hopes that’s a good sign, hopes that means Bobby isn’t too mad at them. At him. Buck hates the idea of Bobby being mad at him.

Hen and Chimney go with the ambulance to a nearby hospital with one of their patients, so it’s just the four of them in the rig back. Bobby is allowing Chris to sit up front with him, letting him pull the horn even though he’s usually against such frivolous use of equipment, much to Chris’s delight.

Both Buck and Eddie watch nervously, with Eddie sending Buck a look asking ‘what does that mean?’ and Buck sending a look back that conveys ‘I don’t know, but maybe something good?’

When they get to the firehouse, Buck gets a notification on his phone. “Maddie says she’s held up and is going to be a little later.”

“Looks like you’re going to be hanging out with us a little longer, kid,” Bobby tells Chris.

“I don’t mind,” Chris grins broadly.

“Of course, you don’t,” Eddie says fondly, ruffling Chris’s curls. “The inside of the rig can be dirty, so let’s go wash our hands, yeah?”

“Okay,” Chris says easily and follows Eddie out of the way, leaving Buck alone with Bobby.

He can’t blame him for the smooth escape. Still, he is nervous when he turns to Bobby and asks: “So…”

“You have a good kid,” Bobby starts, surprising him. “I see he gets his curiosity from you.”

Buck flushes with pride as well as embarrassment. “Oh, uh- Chris isn’t mine. Well, not biologically, I- I don’t think-”

“Buck,” Bobby cuts him off. “You still have an impact on him. You’ve been raising him for quite a while already from what I understand. He gets things from you.”

“Thank you, then,” Buck says with a bashful smile, before he carefully checks: “So, you’re not mad?”

“Oh, no, I’m pissed off you’d keep something like this from all of us when Eddie started working here, but I do hope you didn’t keep this from us before that, because we made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, that was me getting in my own head,” Buck assures him. “I knew you guys wouldn’t judge, I just didn’t know how to explain. And I am sorry, you know. For lying about it. We just wanted to work together and we thought you’d retract the offer if you knew.”

“I probably would have,” Bobby agrees. “But you two can clearly keep it professional in the field and your teamwork is truly something. If it’s not romantic, I can make a case for you two to the brass.”

Buck blushes again, twisting feeling in his gut. “Oh, no, it’s definitely nothing romantic. Just two married guys, being friends.” He wants to smack himself in the face for his reply. He’s not even lying, but he is being weird about it and Bobby is going to see right through him.

“Uh-huh,” Bobby raises a brow. Then too conversationally, he asks: “So was Eddie the girl, who was in that trap with her parents?”

At that, Buck freezes, he had all but forgotten about that. And he didn’t think Bobby would have remembered either. However, he’s totally right and now both of them know it and Buck basically confessed to wanting more with Eddie. Shit.

“You love him, don’t you?” Bobby asks. Before he can answer, he adds: “Now, don’t lie to me. I see it in the way you look at him, even before I knew all this.”

Buck panics slightly and he says: “You can’t tell him.”

“I won’t,” Bobby promises, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But remember what I said back then, I said you’re ready to have those things and, by how you’re raising Chris, you were more than ready. You stepped inside with Eddie a long time ago. You’re ready for a next step too.”

“Thank you, Bobby, but it’s not like that for Eddie. He’s my best friend, but nothing else. He’s straight, it’s not going to happen,” Buck answers.

“I wouldn’t count it out.” Bobby says cryptically, before clapping him on the back and walking off. On his way to the loft, he runs into Eddie and Chris and he asks: “You up for a grilled cheese, kid?”

“Yes, please,” Chris cheers.

“Then let’s go,” Bobby smiles the two of them going up the stairs.

Meanwhile Eddie makes his way over to Buck so he can get out of his turnouts, Buck also still dressed in his own. He must look kind of stupid, the way he stands there, because Eddie pauses and asks: “Are you okay? Did Bobby say anything?” He looks more and more nervous. “Are we fired?”

That snaps Buck out of it and he quickly says: “No, no, not fired. Bobby’s gonna make a case for us with the brass, since it’s not romantic. He is pissed though. That we lied.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Eddie nods, oblivious to Buck’s crisis as he steps out of his turnouts.

Not wanting to seem weird, Buck quickly follows his lead, until they’re walking up the stairs, shoulders knocking into each other. It’s comforting. Familiar. Buck doesn’t want to lose that. He studies Eddie, trying to see what Bobby saw, but he can’t find it. It’s just Eddie, as he’s always been.

Naturally, Eddie notices him looking, giving him two wide, confused, beautiful brown doe eyes as he asks: “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“Nah,” Buck says casually after a few moments, “just trying to imagine what you’d look like as a real-real firefighter.”

Immediately Eddie’s expression falls into something more deadpan and annoyed. “You put that idea in his head, you know, with your probie bullshit.”

“I don’t know, Eddie, seems to me like you just still have a ways to go,” Buck grins with as much little shit energy as he can.

“You’re the worst,” Eddie grins back, pushing him slightly, though immediately catching him, before he can do as much as stumble.

At this point, they’ve reached the top of the stairs and find Bobby presenting Chris with a plate of grilled cheeses with a flourish. “Here you go. What do you think?” he asks, awaiting Chris’s judgment.

Chris takes one bite, before he beams up. “It’s very tasty.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Bobby ruffles his curls. Buck imagines that this is what it would be like to have Bobby as a grandparent and the thought makes something twist inside him. By that time, Bobby has spotted Buck and Eddie and calls over: “You two also want a grilled cheese for lunch?”

“Yes, please,” Buck replies, shaking it off and skipping forwards.

Soon after, there’s a plate of grilled cheeses on the table and the four of them are sitting around it. The adults are listening to Chris about his latest school project, any interrogation of the family unit he’s a part of shelved for now.

At some point, Hen and Chimney return, joining the table. Chimney is still looking between Buck and Chris as if it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever encountered – Buck tries not to be too offended – while Hen seems more comfortable about the whole thing, though she sends glances in Eddie’s and Buck’s direction from time to time.

The grilled cheeses are being eaten when Maddie comes up the stairs, greeting everyone. Buck smiles and waves at her, before turning to Chris, steadying him as he gets out of his chair. He hands him his crutches and goes on one knee in front of him, smoothing out his clothes and pressing a kiss on his forehead as he says: “Be good for your tía Maddie now, okay, Superman?”

“I will, papi,” Chris promises.

Maddie, who’s been getting closer pauses for a moment, before her eyes snap to Eddie. Eddie pauses under her gaze. She hisses: “Evan is papi? He’s the husband?”

Well, if Chris hadn’t given it away, Maddie would have it seems. And because Eddie is an asshole, who has the ability to lie to Maddie, he puts on a faux-innocent look and says: “Yes, he is. Didn’t you know that? I thought you must have realized.”

“No, I did not,” Maddie says lowly, turning to Buck. Buck swallows, but straightens his spine defiantly anyway. Maddie asks him: “Why didn’t I know that?”

“I thought you were being homophobic,” Buck answers honestly.

“What?” Maddie sounds almost offended.

“What was I supposed to think? I got there after Eddie picked up Chris and mentioned me and you didn’t say a word. Nothing.”

“Of course that’s not what I was doing. Eddie asked me not to tell anyone. I wasn’t going to out him!”

“Oh, that makes a lot more sense, actually.”

“Thank you,” Maddie says forcefully. Then she does turn back to Eddie and goes: “What are your intentions with my baby brother?”

Eddie has just started to relax, but freezes all over. Before it can get nasty, Buck jumps in quickly. “It is not like that, Mads. Me and Eddie are friends. Married as friends. And I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But we’re on the clock. Please, just take your nephew home.”

Maddie puffs herself up, gearing up to protest before the last part of that sentence hits and she looks at Chris with big awe-like eyes. As if she has never seen him before. In a way, she hadn’t. She’s hung out with him a few times, but not as her nephew. That’s her nephew. Buck has a kid. Her baby brother is a dad and has a kid and she missed that, but now she gets to know him.

The fight leaves her and she puts on a smile. “I’d love nothing more. What do you say, we get some ice cream. It’s an aunt’s job to spoil their nephews, you know.”

“Ice cream!” Chris cheers, making his way over to her.

“Don’t fall for his pout, he’s only allowed two scoops,” Eddie calls out bravely. “Thank you so much for taking him,” he adds quickly.

“We’re getting three,” Maddie informs Chris cheerfully.

“Be wary of the sugar rush,” Buck warns her.

“We’ll be fine, now stop worrying,” Maddie calls back, having reached the top of the stairs.

They all watch the duo go down the stairs, waving and calling out goodbyes. As they go, Eddie turns to Buck and says: “She never babysat on her own before, has she?”

“Yeah, not since she was a kid with energy herself. She has no clue what she just got into with that promise,” Buck agrees.

“Oef, good luck.”

“Ah, her mistake,” Buck shrugs. “Maybe she’ll be so tired when we come to pick up Chris that she won’t have the energy to be mad.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Well, you two shouldn’t be worrying about her right now,” Hen suddenly speaks up behind them. “We want answers. Now.”

With matching apprehensive looks, they turn around to face everyone. Buck feebly says: “I think we’ve gotten most of the basic information out there.”

“Not good enough,” Hen says. “Come, sit, and spill.”

“I’m not a dog,” Buck pouts as he goes to do what he’s told.

“You could’ve fooled me,” Chimney grins patting his back.

“Oh fuck off.”

Eddie comes to sit next to him, crossing his arms defensively. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Chimney snorts. “Come on, you can’t just drop being married with a kid – even as friends – for god knows how long on us, not to mention lying about even knowing each other, and expect us to just shrug it off.”

“Well, there isn’t much more to add,” Eddie says defensively. “We got married as friends, so Buck could adopt Chris and take care of him while I was in Afghanistan after Shannon left. He already helped before that. It was the most logical thing to do at the time.”

“There wasn’t anyone else?” Hen asks, now mostly directed at Buck. The underlying, ‘you had to take care of Chris by yourself?’ heard by everyone.

“Uh,” Buck sends a look at Eddie, but Eddie isn’t looking his way. “Eddie’s parents helped too, you know, but you don’t want to drop your kid on your parents,” he settles on in the end. It’s as neutral as he can make it.

Hen seems to accept this answer, which is enough for Chimney to jump in on it. “How did you even get involved anyway, Buck? Chris said you were taking care of the chickens? How do you get from chickens to father?”

Buck blushes slightly and explains: “I worked as a farm hand on a chicken farm. Chris’s mom used to buy eggs there, took Chris with her from time to time. I babysat in a pinch, then did it more regularly, also after Eddie came back. She left Chris with me, before getting on a plane to never look back. Eddie still had work that night, so I offered to watch Chris and, uh-” he rubs the back of his head “-I kind of never left.”

It’s quiet for a moment as everyone processes, then Eddie cuffs him on the back of the head. “That’s not how it went and you know it.”

“What?” Buck asks confused, because last he checked, that’s exactly how it went.

“You didn’t watch him for one night and never left, you chose to stay and help a stranger who was struggling, even though you didn’t have to. Because, Evan, that’s who you are,” Eddie says forcefully, making sure Buck hears it.

“Oh.” Buck doesn’t really know how to respond to that, tears prickling despite himself. “I guess, I never thought about it like that.”

“Of course you hadn’t,” Eddie sighs, but it’s a fond one.

Everyone is looking between the two, various expressions on their faces, but all scrutinizing. It makes Buck blush. Especially when Hen feels the need to check: “And it’s strictly a platonic thing?”

“Yes,” Eddie replies forcefully, which doesn’t make Buck sad at all, no, sir. “We’re gonna get divorced at some point, have a prenup and everything. The plan was when I got back from Afghanistan, but then I got hurt.”

“So why haven’t you yet?” Chimney asks curiously. “I mean, since you’re obviously better now.”

Eddie looks a bit like a deer in headlights and Buck clenches all his muscles and tries to disappear into the background. If he starts trying to answer that, a whole bunch of things he’d prefer to stay hidden will come spilling out.

“Why would we?” Eddie counters after a few beats to think, a blush coloring his cheeks anyway.

“Huh?” Chimney replies dumbly.

“I mean, think about it. We’ll divorce just for the sake of divorcing, then we’d have to come up with a parental plan for Chris, uproot him again, because one person alone can’t afford that mortgage, plus we’d loose are tax benefits, which means we can’t save up for college for Chris,” Eddie lists. “Unless one of us wants to marry someone else, why go through the hassle? It’s not like either of us are planning to leave anytime soon.”

Despite how utterly practical it is, Buck can’t help but smile widely, stomach unclenching as butterflies flutter in it instead. Eddie truly isn’t planning on leaving. Eddie still wants him around, still needs him around. He nods: “Yeah, what he said.”

Hen looks between the two then nods to herself as she mutters: “Ah, so that’s how you’ve justified it to yourself?”

“What was that, Henrietta?” Eddie snaps, without even fearing for his life.

“Don’t call me Henrietta,” Hen scowls back, dropping what she just said. Buck is grateful for it, he doesn’t need anyone pushing at Eddie and making him feel weird about staying.

Bobby thankfully steps in for them. “Alright, alright. It’s quite the story, but we’re not here to interrogate either of you.” To the others he sharply says, “I mean that. I’ll bring up the situation with the brass and we’ll see from there what will happen.”

“But, Cap,” Chimney starts to whine, but he’s cut off by the alarm that starts blaring. They all look up for a second, then Chimney quickly stuffs a grilled cheese in his mouth. Still chewing, he says: “This isn’t over.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Eddie mutters as he and Buck get up in sync.

Together they hurry down the pole and to their gear. They’ll have a lot more questions to answer later, not to mention appearing in front of the brass. However, all in all, bringing Chris to the firehouse could have gone much worse.

~~

A/N:

I know I cut the whole explaining themselves thing short, but it’s mostly a repeat after a while and I did put a chunk in there.

[modismod]

I understand the lemonade lore but I’m sorry Beyoncé I cannot take your Jolene seriously at all

[quietwingsinthesky]

sometimes i think about my spn oc and how i rewrote everything about amara to interact with the story i was trying to tell about her. there were some really neat ideas in that i need to recycle for something one day. like, in the show proper, they just let amara take over a human baby and that’s fine, but amara’s not Meant To Be Here. this entire universe is one constructed in her absence. saying she can possess a human body should be like saying if you took a person and sent them to a universe where 1+1=3, they could just figure out how to function within that.

which in story took the form of Amara being something that could not be Understood, only Rationalized. a force locked outside the narrative who could only get inside and destroy things if given a role within it. by the Winchesters as A Monster To Face. by Chuck as Wayward, Unreachable Sister. and by miss oc as. simultaneously a projected creature to be saved, an amalgamation of injustices done to herself (and others) that would never be righted but could be made up for by being a part of this. and as something impossibly powerful that could be both protection and purpose.

and the Darkness wasn’t any of those things, really, but to have agency in her own story required new shackles, but ones she was always straining against. she wouldn’t fit inside the confines of a human mind, let alone a body, at least not well enough to leave it Intact. like lucifer burning through nick, but Worse. because the burns were an expected outcome of skin not strong enough to hold him. humans were built for angels, some were built better and some worse, but they’re meant to work. putting amara in human skin should disconnect the skin and mind and soul from the reality her brother built itself, i think. slowly. bit by bit.

and at the same time, i’d gone and written the kind of wild scenario you really can only write for your thirteen year old mary sue, given that spn oc the part of herald/high priestess/failed vessel. which she pursued with wild abandon like that would fix anything wrong with her <3

in the end, running alongside the borrowed family theming of the original show was my own theme of “how much self-annihilation will you accept to make your point. are you accepting it, really. or are you seeking it.” not just physically, in letting something unmake the base components of what you are as it tries to fit inside you or in it constricting and suffocating itself beyond self-recognition to get inside in the first place, but, obviously, it’s supernatural, how much selfhood do you cede to your family. is it worth it.

it was interesting, if nothing else. let thirteen year old me cook. she had ideas.

[jammmbi]

god i need therapy and to move out

[starlooove]

The way I don’t post about hobie is akin to gatekeeping

[robertsbarbie]

my only complaint with this ENTIRE movie is that it feels very similar to a Marvel movie like that’s it that’s the only complaint i have i don’t know what it has gotten so much hate

[chromekingkong]

Truly growing tired of people being so media illiterate they have to like actually over analyze every piece of media cause they actually aren’t « smart » enough to just…accept something as « art » for what it is…including the time it was made…not to excuse anything but like Rocky Horror Picture Show was a counter culture, shocking, « disgusting » piece of media…ironically during the same overly puritanical time that seems to be coming back. Again, cause most audiences just sit and STARE and accept whatever they see, they go with the mainstream opinion and then go on to find something else to consume. How that era of Musical Theater were angry, horny responses to the restriction of heteronormative, evangelical ideology and queer phobia…

Whether it’s Jesus Christ Super Star, HAIR, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Little Shop of Horrors…like even when you watch it how can people miss the OBVIOUS cultural commentary and fuck you??? EVEN GREASE KINDA!!! Omfg Frank n Furter IS/WAS/WILL ALWAYS BE so quintessential to my unapologetic queerness. Random but I literally want a song played at my funeral to be I’m Going Home…if at that point you don’t get Frank N Furter…get the fuck out the room!!!

Respectfully why do people need to problematize everything old nowadays??? Answer: the height of PSEUDO intellectualism. People feel late to the intelligence game (cause kids WERE left behind.) They feel late to the critic/discourse culture that really is DEAD. Swear to god, I’ll die for my terrible, ugly, problematic, angry, homosexual, hyper sexual, crazy ass media. If you can’t hang, drop off….

EDIT: AND LET ME ADD TOO THAT MY STRAIGHT (hmmm I’m rethinking a lot) WHITE DAD BORN IN 1963 WHOS OPENLY FAVE PREZS ARE NIXON AND TRUMP…STAY WITH ME!!! STAY WITH ME!!! A MAN LIKE THIS SAT ME DOWN AT LIKE 6 AND MADE ME WATCH THIS SHIT!!! I SAY ALL THAT TO SAY…a lot of these criticisms of older media literally just seem like tryna almost appropriate an assumed response of the time…when everyone kinda ate it up…lol

Just saw a video like "um actually rocky horror isn't good queer representation because frank sexually assaults janet" girl he kills and eats people. It's called the rocky HORROR picture show not the rocky cute gay rep tw t-slur picture show

[headful-of-worms]

While high I was ranting to my roommate about how some of the vibes in shonen ai remind me of how some people think of lesbians and how historical depictions of real life lesbian are like

Wow they’re really great friends who live together and talk about how they couldn’t live without each other and maybe they call either partner but everyone just says they’re real good friends

And I had a bunch of points lined up in my head that I wanted to say next as I was monologuing but

Suddenly I was struck with the thought that

Yaoi is Yuri

And then I realized that whatever else I wanted to say should be disregarded for the greatest epiphany I could gift to my roommate

[imaginedisish]

Heroes (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: I think I used David Bowie's "Heroes" for another fic when I first started writing on this blog. Oh well. We're using it again bc it inspired this fic. This is a combo request fic: Co-teachers/Logan having a nightmare/smut. Hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: You and Logan are assigned by Charles to co-teach a class to learn how to work as a team. You expect Logan to be cold, distant, short. What you don't expect is the way you find yourself needing him, and him needing you.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, soft!Logan, cocky!Logan (always), softdom!Logan vibes, implied age gap (Logan is obvi older), frenemies to lovers, feelings, some violence (Logan accidentally hurts the reader while having a nightmare), reader has regenerative powers, fluff, hurt to comfort (literally), reader has family trauma, afab!/f!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it!

Word Count: 5,267 kinda wanna do a part 2 this was cute

“I work better alone Charles. You know that.” 

You and Logan Howlett never did see eye to eye. 

“Yes, Logan. Which is why I’m giving you this challenge.”

He was always cold. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Always distant. 

“Hence why it is an excellent idea, Logan.”

But you never thought he’d be this resistant to teaching a class with you. 

“I’m fine with it,” you say, your eyes flitting between Logan and Charles. “It doesn’t faze me at all.”

Logan’s leather jacket crinkles and he puts his hands on his hips. He furrows his brows. “You’re fine with this?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. 

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why not.” Your eyes find Logan’s, but you can’t make out the expression on his face. Can’t tell if it’s dislike, pure hatred, or something else altogether. 

“This can’t happen,” Logan insists, tearing his eyes away from yours and turning towards the Professor. His words sting and you’re not quite sure why—not sure why you should care about this at all. 

“It is too late,” Charles’s voice booms. “I have already decided. You will co-teach a history class for...” Charles trails off, choosing his words carefully. “Younger students.”

You smile, but Logan rolls his eyes, his brows still furrowed. “How young?” You say in unison, although in starkly different tones. You whip your head to face Logan and find that his eyes are already on you.  

“Ages six to seven,” Charles explains. “This will be a smaller class, given how rare it is for children of that age to show their abilities, and the course will be incredibly simple.” He rolls away from behind the desk and approaches you and Logan in the center of the room. “I have faith that the two of you can handle this.”

Logan exhales deeply but doesn’t say a word. “We can,” you answer, your stare breaking away from Logan and turning to the Professor instead. “I look forward to teaching the class,” you pause, “with Logan.”

Something in Logan’s glare softens. His frown slowly disappears, melting away. His jaw relaxes, and his shoulders go slack. “Fine.” He’s curt, but something about the resolve in his voice gives you an ounce of hope that maybe, just maybe this will go well. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is, in fact, not going well at all. 

Agreeing on the curriculum was not a problem. Logan, having experienced most of U.S. History, believes in telling history as it happened. No rose-colored glasses. No murky half-truths or prettily wrapped white lies. No weird Christopher Columbus-themed arts and crafts. Having seen multiple wars and experiencing the power of government exploitation firsthand—not surprisingly—has made Logan progressive.

So, you had designed an age-appropriate, honest, curriculum. You were shocked at how well you and Logan worked together. You shared quiet hours in the library, passing scribblings and notes back and forth while pouring over books. You actually felt quite confident. 

That is, until the very first class. 

You and Logan had only just introduced yourselves—written your names on the board. 

“We are going to have a fun, educational year,” you finish, smiling widely. “Does anyone have any questions?”

A young girl in the center of the room raises her hand. You nod towards her, and she smiles sheepishly. “Are you two married?”

You’re taken back, your brows furrowing. “Oh, um—”

“No,” Logan cuts you off, his arms crossing tightly against his chest. His shortness hurts more than you’re willing to admit. “Absolutely not.” 

The little girl’s eyes widen. “But then why do you look at her like that?”

“Excuse me?” Logan asks, his voice a little too harsh. “Like what, kid?”

“Logan,” you whisper, turning to face him. “She’s six. Let it go,” you chide. “Professor Logan and I are friends and co-teachers. That’s all.” You turn back to the little girl, who nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. 

The rest of the class goes relatively well. It’s very introductory—teaching the children how mutant history and human history are intertwined. You and Logan are able to simplify things for the children so that they can understand. And, as the class goes on, Logan seems more comfortable with the children. 

The period is almost over when a little boy raises his hand, and Logan calls on him. “My older brother told me people like us are scary,” he says shyly. His eyes are sad—too tired for a six-year-old. “He told me that we shouldn’t exist.”

Your stomach drops, tears burning behind your sinuses. You think back to your own family, back to the trauma of being disowned for something you couldn’t control. You’re too heartbroken to tackle the question. Logan’s eyes flicker between you and the little boy. 

“Your brother is wrong,” Logan answers, crossing the room to stand next to you. He brings a hand to your lower back. It’s the ghost of a touch, but it’s a lifeline. “You’re special,” Logan says, and you know he’s talking to you, too. “You all are. Don’t listen to what they say. You’re more important than you’ll ever know. More extraordinary than they can understand.”

The bell rings, and the children stand, collecting their belongings. “See you all tomorrow,” Logan shouts over the shuffling and ruckus in the hallway. The children file out the door, jumping and cheering as if nothing happened. 

“They’re so resilient,” you say, shaking your head and watching them leave. You look over to Logan—his face close to yours, his palm still pressed against your back. 

“So are you,” he whispers, smiling softly, rubbing up and down your back. “You did great.”

“Yes, she did. And you did too, Logan,” Charles says, suddenly in the doorway to the classroom. “I forgot to drop off the roll call this morning,” Charles explains, holding out a sheet of paper. You cross the room to meet him, taking the sheet into your hands. “It has the list of names of the children in your class, as well as their abilities.” Charles backs into the hallway. “Excellent work, you two. You make a better team than you realize.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you say. Logan mumbles a soft Thanks, and heads towards the door once Charles is gone. 

He scratches his head, almost nervously. “Got another class to teach,” he husks. “Meet up later to go over tomorrow’s lesson plan?” 

You nod your head. “Sounds good.” Logan smiles and walks through the doorway and down the hall. 

You look at the roll call, and your eyes widen. Your heart beats out of your chest. You find the name of the little girl who had asked if you and Logan were married. 

Claire Teller—Precognition, Clairvoyance, shows signs of potential telekinesis.

The paper falls from your hands and drifts slowly to the floor. You look down, your lips parted in shock. Did she see you and Logan—

“You alright, sugar?” Rogue’s voice snaps you back to reality. You look up, and she’s standing in the door. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the week goes smoothly. You and Logan meet each night to discuss the lesson plan for the following day. The classes go well. Claire always seems a bit distracted, her eyes flickering between you and Logan, but she does just fine in class. 

In fact, you’d say this was going better than well. You and Logan, despite his hesitation in the beginning, were growing closer every day. 

It’s written in secret, stolen moments—hands accidentally brushing, glances across the room. But you can feel it, the way your lives are being sewn together. You find ways to spend time alone outside of class—ordering dinner and grading together, practicing in the Danger Room as partners and not opponents. You had become something of a team.   

Tonight, you’re alone with Logan, sitting on the floor of his room, grading the small quiz you had given the children on the branches of government. Logan had picked the background music—60s and 70s rock. 

You hum along to Evil Woman by Electric Light Orchestra as you write “100%” at the top of a student’s quiz. 

“Pretty voice,” Logan rasps, looking up from his last quiz. Before you can react, before you can even process what he says, he’s moving on. “You almost done?”

“Just finished.” You write another “100%” and look up at Logan. He’s on his side, resting his head in his hand, balancing on his elbow. He smirks and stands up, striding over to you. He reaches his hand out, and you tilt your head, confused. You take his hand all the same, and he pulls you up. 

Logan’s hands find your waist, and he sways you from side to side. You giggle, shakily bringing your arms up and around his neck. Your heart thunders in your chest as you dance with him. 

“Didn’t take you for a dancer,” you murmur. Evil Woman fades out and Heroes by David Bowie starts up.  

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Logan husks. He pulls you in tighter, his chest pressed to yours. 

“Yeah?” You ask, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. Your eyes flutter closed. “Like what?”

He’s suddenly silent, and you can feel the tension thicken in the room. “When Charles came to us about the class…” He trails off, searching for the right words to say. “I was nervous,” he admits. 

You lift your head from his neck. “Why?” You question, smiling softly. 

Logan presses his forehead to yours. “Because I—” But then there’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Charles on the other side. Logan huffs, his eyes closing defeatedly as he loosens his hold on your waist and walks over to the door. 

“There has been an emergency,” Charles says the second the door is open. “I need you to go on a mission immediately. This is a dire situation.”

Logan looks across the room to you. “Okay,” he says, his eyes still trained on yours. 

Charles nods and heads down the hallway. “Meet me downstairs. Hank is readying the jet now.” 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you confess, fighting the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. You can’t quite place where the feeling is coming from—why you’re suddenly so nervous about Logan leaving. A month ago, this sort of thing would’ve felt routine, normal. There’s always a crisis somewhere. 

Logan swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I’ll come back,” he promises. “And we can talk then.” He strides over to you, wrapping you in his arms, and pulling you into his chest. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” 

“Logan?” Charles calls from downstairs. “We need to leave at once!” 

Logan squeezes you tightly before letting go. He works his jaw, his teeth gritting as he backs out of the room and down the hallway. Your heart drops as you listen to his footsteps echoing against the stairs. By the time you muster up the courage to follow him, it’s too late. The door to the mansion slams just as you make it to the bottom of the steps. 

You can still hear Heroes faintly playing from Logan’s room. 

And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall) And the shame, was on the other side Oh we can beat them, forever and ever Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

You sit on the bottom step, your head falling into your hands.

“Oh, sugar,” Rogue whispers as she walks into the foyer. She settles next to you. “I didn’t know you and Logan…” She trails off, shaking her head. “He’ll come back. He always does.” She hangs her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her chest. 

You hope she’s right. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Logan is still gone. You’re forced to teach the class alone. As you’re starting roll call, a young boy raises his hand. 

“Yes, Jimmy?” You call, arching your brows. 

“Where’s Professor Logan?” He asks curiously, tilting his head to the side. 

You swallow harshly, inhaling deeply. “He has something to take care of,” you explain. “It’ll just be me teaching today. Is that alright with you?” You try to sound light, jovial, plastering a fake smile across your face. The kids buy it, giggling and nodding. Jimmy smiles widely and nods, too.

But Claire—the little girl who can seemingly see into the future, stares at you sympathetically. It sends a chill down your spine. It’s like she knows how you’re feeling—can see it in her mind’s eye. You shake the feeling off, proceeding with the lesson. The material is distracting enough—the U.S. voting system, carefully explained so that the children can understand. 

The rest of the class goes off without a hitch, and the bell finally rings. The session felt longer than usual without Logan, and certainly harder to get through, but not impossible. The class picks up their belongings and files out. You grab your papers, readying to leave, assuming that everyone is gone. 

“He’s going to come back,” a small, familiar voice whispers. You look up from your materials, and there’s Claire, standing in front of the desk. Her deep, brown eyes twitch back and forth. She closes them tightly and smiles. “You don’t have to worry,” she assures. “He’s safe. He’ll always come back to you.” She pauses. “All I see is happiness.” The veins in her temples grow thicker, and you can tell she’s working too hard to look to the future.

“Claire,” you say, your hand grabbing her shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself, my love. You don’t have to do that for me. I’m okay.”

Her eyes fly open, and she smiles widely, as if nothing happened. She steps away from the desk, your hand falling from her shoulder. “Didn’t hurt at all!” She calls as she skips out the door. “See you Monday!”

You shake your head. Resilient, you think to yourself. So goddamn resilient. 

The rest of the evening is slow. You try to keep yourself busy—grading papers, listening to music, going for a run, training in the Danger Room. But all you can think about is Logan. 

After dinner, you get ready for bed, changing into a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt. You sit alone in your room, on your bed, reminding yourself of what Claire had told you this afternoon. 

He’s going to come back. You don’t have to worry. He’s safe. 

You lay back on your pillows, bringing the covers up to your chin and closing your eyes. You repeat her words over and over again in your head as you fall asleep. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake up a few hours later, your bedside lamp still on. Your alarm clock reads 1:45 AM. You groan, rolling over and shutting your eyes tightly, trying to force yourself back to sleep. But it’s no use—you’re awake, thinking of Logan already. 

You push yourself to sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, and pressing your feet into the cold wood floors below. You walk to your door, twist the knob, and head out into the hallway.  A lap around the mansion might make you tired—might relax you. 

You walk down the hallway slowly, noticing instantly that Logan’s door is closed. You can’t help but pick up your pace, striding towards Logan’s room. 

You stand in front of his door, your hand on the knob, ready to twist and push. You stop yourself, wondering if this is crossing a line, tearing down a carefully constructed boundary. But all you want is to see him breathing, lying on his bed. You need to know he’s in there—safe. 

You knock once, but there’s no answer. You swallow nervously, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. 

Your heart stops. There he is. He’s home. He’s safe. He’s breathing. You let out a sigh of relief, smiling softly as you start to close the door. 

But then his head snaps to the side, and he grunts. “Logan?” You call, opening the door slightly. He doesn’t answer. He grunts again. You quickly notice the way his fists white-knuckle his sheets. 

You step inside his room, closing the door behind you. “Lo,” you whisper into the darkness. He tosses and turns, his head whipping from side to side. He must be having a nightmare, You think to yourself, your heart breaking in two, watching pain wrack his body, his mind. 

You meet his side, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him softly. “Logan,” you say, your voice louder, stronger this time. “You need to wake up.” But he doesn’t. He groans, his brows furrowed, sweat beading his forehead. 

“Come on,” you plead, climbing into the bed, and straddling him. You hold him down by his shoulders, stopping him from writhing. Now that you’re closer, you can see the tears streaming down his cheeks, can see the agony etched into the lines of his face. “Logan!” You yell. “You gotta wake—”

His eyes fly open, and you feel cold metal pierce your leg. Your jaw drops as pain stings sharply in your thigh. “Oh fuck,” Logan curses, sitting up and retracting his claws. Tears brim in the corners of your eyes as the pain worsens. “Shit!” He cries out, grabbing at your thigh, blood spilling into his fingers. 

You close your eyes as your powers take hold. Your skin slowly stitches up, putting yourself together again. You groan, and Logan wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles into the side of your head, pressing soft, gentle kisses there. “I love you, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

What did he just say?

“W-what?” You ask, the pain fading away as those three words echo in your mind. 

Logan’s breathing only quickens as he realizes what he said. “A-are you okay?” He asks, ignoring your question. 

You nod. “It’s already gone,” you whisper, nodding to your thigh. “But what did you just—”

“I love you,” he interrupts, saying it again. You pull back a bit to look at him. You can see the seriousness in his eyes, the adoration, the honesty. “I love you.” 

You bite your lip, your eyes widening as you process what this means. Logan loves you. It’s everything you ever wanted. Everything you could have asked for. It just makes sense.

“I love you too,” you confess, choking on your words. “I was so worried. I didn’t know when you’d come back, or if you’d come back at all. I saw your door closed, and I just had to see you. I needed to know that you were okay, that you came home.”

He presses his forehead to yours, his eyes closing. “Before I left,” he pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I was going to tell you why I didn’t want to work together.” His eyes open again. “I was scared to get close to you,” he explains. “I knew I wanted you the second I saw you. Knew I had to have you. I’ve never felt that way before. You opened something inside me that I thought I didn’t have. Turns out it was just locked, waiting around for you.”

“Logan,” you breathe, his lips just inches from yours. “I wanted you too. Wanted you this whole time.” You need him to kiss you—to take you right here and now. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you admit, giggling softly. 

He shakes his head, smirking. “I liked you too much,” he rasps. “Didn’t know what to do about it. You were driving me crazy, sweetheart.” You can feel his erection straining in his boxers, and you can’t help but grind down on him, your core rocking against his cock. “Fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips. “Slow down, pretty girl. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod emphatically. “Already healed,” you assure him. “Just need you, Lo.”

“Need you too, sweetheart,” Logan groans, rolling your hips against his, tugging you down his length. “Can feel you soaking through those panties already,” he grunts. And he’s right. The heat pooling between your legs is uncontrollable. 

You groan as your clit drags across his erection. “F-fuck,” you stutter, his fingers digging into your hips. You bring your hands to the waistband of his boxers, tugging at them. But before you can get anywhere, Logan is flipping you onto your back and crawling down your body. 

“Next time, sweetheart,” he coos, hiking your shirt up and smirking when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. He palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples before sliding down further. “Wanna take care of you this first time.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words. You can see the hunger in his eyes as he kisses down your stomach, going past the hem of your panties, stopping at your clit. He takes a deep breath. “Can smell that pretty pussy. Know she needs me, darlin’.” 

He hooks his fingers into your waistband, and tugs the thin lace down your legs, revealing your aching cunt to him. He settles between your thighs, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your clit. 

“L-Lo,” you choke. “Please.”

He smiles against you, breathing you in again. “Please what, princess?” He asks, looking up at you under hooded eyes. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” you beg. “Need you. Always gonna need you.” 

His smile meets his eyes as he licks a long stripe through your folds, his tongue pushing through your entrance, tasting you, savoring you. He hums against you, the vibration of his voice rocking your core. “Tastes so good,” he mumbles, licking another long stripe. “Perfect pussy. Knew you’d be this sweet.”

You watch as he laps at you, drinking you in. Logan’s tongue finds your clit, drawing tight circles into the bud. “F-feels so good,” you stutter. 

“I know, beautiful” He soothes, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh, drawing closer to your heat. “You look so pretty when you let me eat you out,” he praises, his fingers prodding your entrance. “You want more?” He teases, slipping just past your slit and quickly pulling out. 

“Yes,” you whimper, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Need your fingers, Lo. Please.”

He wastes no time—suddenly thrusting inside you, his long, thick fingers splitting you in two. Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in, taking him deeper. “So tight,” he coos, pulling out and sliding back in. “So fucking wet.”

Logan wraps his lips around your clit, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, hard. He releases, his teeth grazing the bud lightly. Your walls clench around his fingers at the sensation. “Fuck,” Logan curses, smirking against you. “You like that?” He teases. “Like when I’m rough with you?” His tongue flits out, lapping flat strokes across your clit. 

You moan a soft Yes in affirmation, your back arching off the mattress. You’re already close, ready to let go. But Logan isn’t letting up, his fingers slamming into you, taking your clit back into his mouth and sucking harder, rougher this time. He swirls soothing circles into the bud, pushing you to the edge. 

“Logan,” you whine, your hips squirming as he drags his tongue harder against your heat. “I’m so close.” 

Your muscles contract and release around his fingers as he hits that sweet spot inside you, pump after pump. “I know, pretty girl,” He soothes, his free hand wrapping around your hip and holding you down to the mattress. “Look at you,” he praises between harsh sucks. “So beautiful like this.” His tongue circles your overstimulated clit. “Already fucked out, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” you mutter, your hips squirming helplessly against his grip. It’s all too much, his hushed whispers, his praises, the way his tongue flits against you, his deep thrusts dragging along your walls. “Logan, I’m gonna…” 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coaches, his tongue still lapping at you ravenously. He’s starving, unwilling to stop. He needs more. “Should keep you in my bed so I can taste you whenever I want.” He grunts against you. “Want you to come on my fingers, darlin’. Wanna taste it. Let go.”

It’s all blazing, white-hot heat, raging through your body, searing your skin. Your eyes stay trained on Logan as he works you through your orgasm—ravaging you, lapping up every last drop of your release. His fingers pump in and out, slowly, before he pulls out completely. But his face stays buried against your cunt, his tongue pushing through your folds. 

“Logan,” you whine, lacing your fingers through his hair. “Need you up here.” 

He looks up from your heat and licks one more long stripe before climbing up your body. He tugs his boxers down his legs, his eyes not leaving yours. His cock springs free, bumping against his stomach. 

Logan settles on top of you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand wraps around the base of his cock. You instinctually spread your legs, as if it’s second nature, as if you’ve been here before. “Such a good girl,” Logan praises, sliding his tip through your folds. “All spread open for me.” His cock nudges against your clit and slides back down. “You need me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you choke. “More than you can—”

And then he’s plunging inside you, bottoming out with just one thrust. “Fuck!” You cry out. He stays inside, unmoving, letting you adjust to the size of him. 

He presses his forehead to yours. “You okay?” He asks. His cock throbs, pushing against your walls, searching for more. His hand slips between your bodies and finds your clit. 

“Y-yes,” You stutter, sighing in relief as his fingertips draw gentle strokes into the bud. “S-so big.”

“I know,” Logan soothes, sliding out only to shove himself back in, down to the hit. Your back arches off the mattress, your chest coming flush with his. “Gonna work you open.” His voice is gentle, calm. “I’ve got you. Relax for me, sweetheart.” 

Logan pulls out and thrusts in again, his lips swallowing your moans with a kiss. His fingers swirl around your clit as pleasure pulses through your every nerve ending. “Feels so good,” you murmur as he picks up his pace, his hips rolling against yours. 

He grunts. “So perfect,” he praises. “Fucking made for me.” He pumps in and out of you harder, faster now, letting himself go. He pinches your clit, rolling the bud under his fingertips. “Never gonna want anyone but you, you know that?” He twitches inside you, and your walls flutter around him. 

You curse under your breath. “Yes,” you cry out. “Only gonna want you, Lo. Only you.”

“Doing so good for me,” he husks between hard thrusts. “Taking me so well.” His hips snap against yours, his fingers circling your clit rapidly, adding more pressure. His lips find yours again, biting, kissing you bruisingly, fitting against you like a puzzle piece. 

Your chests heave together, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing against the walls of the room. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers, his lips suddenly at the shell of your ear. He bites down on your pulse point, his tongue flitting out to lick the pain away. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Your walls contract around him, squeezing him as he sinks deeper inside you, hitting exactly where you need him most. You’re so close, ready to come undone. “Fuck, Logan,” you whine as he pounds into you. “I’m gonna—”

“Me too, pretty girl,” he rasps, twitching inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close as he plunges deeper. He lifts his head from the crook of your neck and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Don’t wanna stop. Don’t wanna…” He trails off, his cock throbbing inside you again. You know he can’t hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist. “Don’t stop,” you beg. “Stay inside.” 

He groans, his forehead pressing to yours. “You want me to fill you up, sweetheart? That what you’re asking for?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, his fingers pinching your clit and stroking relentlessly. “Please,” you choke, begging, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. 

“Fuck,” he curses. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, sweetheart. Wanna make you mine.” 

“Already yours,” you whisper, your muscles contracting around his length again, your legs trembling as stars flood your vision. Logan moans your name, and you can feel him spilling inside you. You come together, your orgasm crashing into you, more intense, more powerful than the last. 

“Love you so much,” he whispers as he finishes, painting your walls. 

“Love you too, Lo,” you say back, your heart beating out of your chest as you come down from your high. 

His fingers drag against your clit, swiping gently before running up your body, slipping under your back, and pulling you into his chest. His hips are still, his cock unmoving inside you. He finally pulls out, and rolls off you, taking you with him. He tugs you into his chest, holding you tightly.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Need anything?”

“J-just you,” you stammer. His fingertips trace patterns along your back, soothing and gentle. 

“Let me clean you up, sweetheart,” Logan whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead and moving to sit up. But you stop him, wrapping your arms around his torso and holding him down. He smirks, letting you pull him back. “I’m just gonna grab a towel, yeah? Wanna take care of you. I’ll come right back.”

You nod, letting him go. He slips out of the bed, strides over to his bathroom, and grabs a towel from inside without turning a light on. Within ten seconds he’s back in bed, just like he said he would be. 

Logan brings the towel between your legs and wipes you clean. His touch is gentle, soothing, careful not to be too rough. Once he’s done, he throws the towel to the floor and reaches over to his nightstand. When he turns back to you, he has a glass of water in his hand. He extends the glass out, bringing it to your lips. The water feels cool as it slides down your throat. You drain the glass, and Logan smiles as he pulls it from your lips. 

He places the cup back down on the nightstand and pulls you into his arms again. You bury your head into the center of his chest, listening carefully to his heartbeat. It’s even, steady, constant. Just like him. 

“Never felt like this before,” he whispers into the silent darkness of the room. 

“Like what?” You mumble, your voice muffled against his chest. 

You can hear the smile in his voice as the words leave his lips. “Happy. Safe.”

Tears—happy tears—free themselves from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks. 

“Can’t let go of you,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t wanna go back to before.”

“You don’t have to, Lo,” you pant. “I’m yours. Always.” And you know you mean it. You know it’s true. It’s already been decided, already played out. Already etched into the future. 

Are you two married? Claire had asked. 

He’ll always come back to you. All I see is happiness, She had promised.

And she was right. 

“I love you,” Logan husks. 

“I love you, too.” 

tags: @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @Ifdybadgirlsdiw @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[kabutone]

OR maybe art can be interpreted multiple ways? the way it’s always been? this is an incredibly bad faith take. you assume people hc mizu as trans bc they’re a “strong female character” and you jump to label these people misogynists? or do you suppose those trans hcs may come from something like, idk, mizu living and presenting as male for many years? they can be read in multiple different ways. i even saw someone in the tags saying they could be relatable to trans women (and ive seen people in the reblogs of This post saying bes is FOR cis women and NOT for anyone else)

after the life mizu’s lived i wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve never gotten to know who they are beyond revenge. they even said they have “no interest in being happy, only satisfied” do you think they’ve ever given themselves the chance to introspect on who they are outside of revenge?? the writers can take it any way they want and it could still make sense. i’m not saying you can’t see it as a story of oppression against women, cause it very much is, but there is a Lot of room for further interpretation and you can’t just act like that doesn’t exist either

ultimately the writers stated it’s about not feeling like you belong anywhere.

“And what it is to not feel like you belong anywhere really is something that a lot of people resonate with.”

you could draw parallels between people not accepting mizu as white AND japanese; there is only room for them to be “japanese and i’ll pretend that’s all you are” or “demon” but they don’t get to be both. they’ve lived as both a man and a woman. they may end up preferring one over the other, but if not, isn’t there room for both?

if someone says a song means something to them are they suddenly wrong because it means something different to you? people in the reblogs keep saying “trans mascs it’s not all about you!!!!” well it’s not all about you either. a good story is one that can resonate with many people on many levels. the ACTUAL point of the story is living as someone who isn’t accepted as who they are, and that can resonate with everyone on some level. don’t be mad because you don’t think other people get to relate to something in a different way.

I don’t know how some of you could watch blu eyed samurai and still debate Mizu’s gender like hello ??? media literacy dead ??? Mizu is a woman, that’s the whole fucking point !!!! That’s her biggest crime !!!

Eiji couldn’t care less about her heritage but he literally cut her off when she tried to confess her gender !!!!

Mikio was fine with her being half white but the moment she dared to show him that -as a woman- she was a greater fighter it was over. His ego was irreparably hurt because a woman defeated him !!!!

And he calls her a monster !!!! He calls her a monster because she’s a woman and she’s strong she’s capable she can fight she isn’t submissive and that’s the point !!!!!!!!!!!!!