#IT WAS WHEN BOBBY WAS STILL AROUND.

[alexvals]

i miss them so much i feel physically sick

[buckevantommy]

ohhhh they made a blunder with the timeline: tommy tells gerrard he transferred out of the 118 5 years ago, but then later bobby references buck's arrival at the 118 being 7 years ago. hmmmm

[flowers-that-sing]

how to cure the sudden onset of horrible and inexplicable rage

[factorialsotherfandoms]

[top disclaimer - I saw yesterday's whumptober prompt of worked to exhaustion and remembered a bit of my xcom2 with qsmp characters playthrough I keep meaning to type up at least tidier notes for. I haven't yet, but this is a pair of scenes 47 pages in to my 90 pages of notes. Hopefully enough of this makes sense... TLDR: Mike was kidnapped, there's been 2 awful missions in a row where many people get hurt, etc. Warnings for major character injuries, though there are no graphic descriptions.]

It's been a two days since Bogota. If Philza never sees another sewer again, it will be far too soon. Tiny scabs from where the Spectre sent its bugs all through his body still cover every bit of skin, and the larger lazer burns remain bandaged tightly.

Fit is visiting, looking even more exhausted than Philza feels. He's brought snacks, and gossip, and will not go back to bed no matter how much Philza suggests it. It's not like Philza would be lonely - Missa and Roier's mission had also been a bit of a wreck, the entire team of six also in the medical ward for the immediate future at least. Chayanne, too, is about, the young boy currently curled up and asleep on the foot of Missa's bed.

Must be terrifying for the kid, to be rescued from hell only to see both new parents in the hospital in a few days of each other. For Bobby, too; Jaiden was also on the mission with Missa and Roier.

Still, Fit is here, so they make small talk. There's not a whole lot happening on the ship, but they can pretend.

The curtain lifts up, and Philza expects either Chayanne or the Doctor. Instead he sees Cellbit, looking about as close to passing out as Fit. His uniform is smart but his hair is a mess from running his hands through it too often, his face is near gaunt, and his fingers shake where they cling to his tablet.

"Fit, Philza." Cellbit nods to them both.

Philza's wave comes with a wince, Fit's salute with an "oi there what's up?"

"I'm really sorry to interrupt, but we need you for something. Fit, that is. We need Fit."

"What is it?" Fit groans as he tries to peer at Cellbit's clipboard.

The paperwork is hastily tucked away, "there's an opportunity that's come up. We need you to go undercover and get some research done."

"You're fucking joking," Philza immediately cuts in, one arm protectively covering the largest of his wounds, while the other grabs on to Fit. "Cellbit, we just got back from Bogota. You know how bad Bogota was. There's no way in hell this is safe. And everyone who was in Kaduna? Can't it wait a week"

Cellbit at least has the decency to look genuinely apologetic, "if there was another option…"

"What is it?" Fit removes Philza's arm from his own. "I'm not really in top condition; if you just need shit blowing up, Vegetta's a little better off."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Philza asks. "At least then our armour upgrades will be done."

"Phil," Fit's voice drops a little.

Philza knows what being scolded for being overprotective sounds like, but Fit is his friend. His friend, who he dragged through hell, and has been dragged through hell by, and he trusts with his soul.

"It's Mike," Cellbit says, and that has both of them shut up. "We think we have a lead, but from the glimpses our contacts got during the transfer... It doesn't look good. Here."

Fit is handed a tablet, and shown whatever evidence the resistance has found.

"Fuck," Fit whispers the word, rubbing at his face. "There's nobody else?"

Philza is handed the tablet. It's a very short video clip, slightly corrupted. Still it's very clearly Mike, bloody and disorientated and still fighting as he's dragged from one transport van to another. He manages to bite a guard, and for it gets cracked over the head, goes limp and is tossed into the van.

He hands the tablet back, and tries not to think about the implications, or how they probably don't have as much time as this needs.

Instead he runs through the options: Jaiden and the team she took to Kaduna are back, but every one of them is in hospital with him. Forever, Tubbo, and Aypierre are needed on the ship. Mouse is still exhausted, even more dangerous for psi ops than the rest of them to push it. Cellbit himself still has one arm in a sling, and probably should not have left medical yet. A couple of other people, but most are too inexperienced to be sent out in just a duo for what will likely be a multi-week stealth operation. There's Baghera and Foolish, both experienced, but neither is much good at hacking. Which. Will probably be needed, to confirm which facility has Mike, and for how long.

There's Pac, of course, and Philza would put Pac on being the other half of the planned team. Ever since Mike was captured best part of two months ago, Pac has been on one ground mission - and there have been a lot of ground mission. The problem is, without Mike, Pac can be... Not volatile, volatile is Mike when Pac is critically injured and dying on the floor and Mike is too terrified to let anyone past to stabalise him, but reckless. Only with his own safety, but that's a problem itself.

Add in that Pac was /also/ on the mission in Bogota, still recovering from the sheer exhaustion of the test... Philza really wishes anyone else were available.

"There's Pac," Cellbit offers, also frowning. "He found out and wants in."

"If Pac's going, you need to go." The words taste like ash on Philza's tongue. "If it were not about Mike…"

Cellbit nods in agreement.

They can't keep Pac from going after Mike, and the purpose of a mission is impossible to keep secret for long with thirty-odd people crammed into one airship. Forever wouldn't be willing to, either. And to get Mike back but have lost Pac... They cannot do that either.

And Pac needs a stabalising hand with Mike gone, someone to keep him from shattering completely. There's a reason every mission he's been on since, Fit has been there. There's good reason, and everyone knows it.

Fit misses Mike like a limb, too, Philza knows.

Fit sigh, and stretches, and rubs his face, "I hate when you're right. Do I have time for a nap?"

"You leave in twenty minutes, but it's a long flight," Cellbit does seem apologetic, for all he runs his hands through his whitening hair. "The real problem is it's in Australia."

"Fucking hell," Fit groans. "They really didn't want us finding him, did they?"

"But we did," Cellbit reminds them, with a flash of his slightly too sharp teeth. "And they won't keep him. Once we have the coordinates, Forever'll send someone to help you get in and out."

Philza and Fit share a look. Fit looks like the exhaustion has seeped into his soul. It's a danger, going out in the field so tired. To himself, to others, to everyone.

But sometimes, he supposes, there really is no other choice.

Fit breaks eye contact first, "I'll kit up and be at the hanger in ten. Who's briefing us?"

"Not sure yet. Forever's still working out the details, so probably him?"

"A'ight," Fit turns to Philza. "See you later, big boy."

Philza rolls his eyes to mask his concern. "Just don't fall asleep on the job."

He gets flipped off; Philza laughs, and lets them leave.

Two weeks later, Pac and Fit come back - not someone joins them, they come back. They have Mike's location, and an entry point, and the head cracking didn't kill him, but he's being tortured and there's talk of disposing of him soon. Philza wishes that was the worst of it, though, he really does; most people's injuries have recovered so getting a team together won't take long. It's serious, but they can handle it. Hell, he'll voluenteer.

No, the worst of the report is that Pac gives it alone; Fit was rushed straight to medical as soon as they land. He is alive - conscious even - but the wounds are still severe.

Didn't hear a Viper coming, Pac says, was caught and constricted and had his rib cage crushed. And then used a grenade to force it to let go, dropping it at his own feet to force the alien to let go. Pac had been hacking at the time, getting the info they needed, and didn't notice anything until Fit was snatched from the door.

Fit didn't hear it, or so Pac says, too tired, too caught up in exhaustion to hear the threat until it was too late.

And Philza, Philza wishes he was surprised.

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"It's an old Pratt family recipe," Josephine explained, saying, "My family used to make it for farmer's markets when I was younger, we used to sell it by the bagful; it was always very popular, so we oftentimes sold out very quickly. It's been a long time since I made it, so it felt good to get back in the kitchen and make a batch-especially with two great little helpers."

"We helped!" Lon declared proudly through a mouthful of popcorn, and even Erika smiled a little and nodded-it had actually been really fun, helping Grandma Josephine out. It was a lot like being in the kitchen with Grandma June, and that helped Erika feel a little more at ease about pitching in.

And watching her favorite movie also helped her feel a little more comfortable being around these new family members, admittedly, able to forget about her anxieties in favor of colorful animation and wonderful music, with the hot, sweet kettle corn being an additional bonus. Laying on her stomach watching the movie, Erika felt more content than she had the day before, and smiled as she relaxed. Maybe this visit wouldn't be so bad after all!

Meanwhile, Lon, sitting up beside his sister, was still trying to figure out what this "burlesque" was that his family kept talking about-it involved dancing, performing, but the specifics he couldn't quite figure out. When Esmeralda began her dance at the Feast of Fools, Lon turned back to ask his great-grandmother curiously, "Is that burlesque?"

"Ah, not quite," Josephine chuckled amusedly, though she could see some similarities there, between herself and La Esmeralda: Performing flirtatious, provocative dances for an appreciative audience (with some disapproving figures in the crowd as well), being looked down on because of it, but still remaining kind despite all that? Yes, that all sounded rather familiar to her...

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I disagree with some things Amzet is talking about, but it's interesting hearing his perspective.

[echotunes]

skipping around old vods for fun again and I found this conversation (4:17:08) between forever and q that is incredibly funny to me. golddigger forever was so real

q: woah, this is beautiful. this is beautiful. just like you. f: yeah, it's... aww. it's a shame that you are poor. otherwise we could be together. q: what the fuck?! what do you mean?? f: you are so cute, it's so sad that you are poor. we could be a couple. q: what does that have to do with anything? do you not like poor people?? f: oh innocent boy. innocent boy, innocent boy. knows nothing about life

[mymelodyisme]

I think I may have made the actual farm plot a little too big ,,,, I am a tiny person who cannot cover all the land ,,,

[youremyonlyhope]

.

[soviet-space-ace]

When you wake up, make sure to write down everything you think you said to Sirhan Sirhan. That way, in the morning you will still remember what you said to Sirhan Sirhan. It’s Spencer’s law.

[8lyme]

Heat Rises

Logan Howlett x f!Reader

SUMMARY: The mansion is boiling hot

WARNINGS: excessive use of italicisation, borderline dirty thoughts, makeout scene bc that's the best i can do, maybe ooc bc I fear I imagine Logan a little funnier than he actually is.

a/n: the ac in my room broke and inspiration struck after I doomscrolled through wolverine edits on tiktok ... chat i love men

It was hot. Boiling. Stifling.

You woke up at 2 a.m. drenched in sweat, sucking in a deep breath of hot, stale air. Grogginess fading, you stumble from your bed while pulling of your shirt and pajama pants. You open the door to the bathroom and turn the cold water on in the sink.

The heat was dripping down your back despite your lack of clothing. Overheating and still half-asleep, you stuck your head into the stream of cold water, splashing over your neck and across your shoulders.

You straighten to tie your hair up before turning the water off and running your still cold hands down your arms. The patter of thudding sounded outside your door, and you move to dress in a thin tank top and shorts.

You let your eyes adjust to the light as you began walking down the hallway of the mansion. A few children slipped out of their rooms in similar sweaty conditions to follow you down the staircase and onto the main floor.

Gathered by the professor's office were Scott, Storm, and Jean. The stray young mutants who trailed you settling around them.

"Goodmorning," You call out the the group.

"Do you know who turned this place into a boiler?" Jean asks. You both swipe sweat off your foreheads in sync while you shrug, shaking your head.

"Jesus, my glasses are gonna slide off my face," Scott complains, knocking his head against the wall in exasperation. He was shirtless, (rightfully so) wearing what you guessed were swim trunks.

"Charles is working on it," Jean put a hand on his shoulder, then quickly removing it to wipe his sweat off her hand and down the wall.

You turn to Storm, who was pulling the fabric of her tank top to fan herself off.

"Do we know where Bobby is?" You ask in search of the Iceman. You turned to scan the room, addressing the three students who followed you.

"Pretty sure him and Rogue took off before lights out," a young girl from the floor calls out. Her mutation rubberized her molecules, and her legs were in misshapen puddles - akin to flat stanley - due to the heat.

"Christ, it's fuckin' hot in here," a familiar voice groans loudly from behind you. "Nice shorts." Logan said to you before reaching your side.

"Alright fashion police," you respond in mock annoyance, offering a small smile at him. "Didn't know you worked this late."

He shot you a wink before turning away. When you caught full sight of him, your face froze and (if possible) more sweat rolled down your spine.

It was sickening how attractive he managed to look in what felt like the inside of an air fryer. Having clearly just woken up, his hair was perfectly tousled into a messier version of his normal tufts. His hair hardly looked damp despite the oiled-up glow he had on his face ...

And torso.

Fuck he was shirtless.

Although you've known Logan for the better part of a year, you unfortunately failed to experience him half-dressed. You'd been in close proximity frequently - sparring and other various training taking a large percent of that. You were friendly with each other, his acknowledgement of you with a nod whenever you walked in a room affirming he didn't hate you. You normally ate breakfast together, often offering the other the last portion of cereal or setting aside an extra cup of coffee for whoever entered the kitchen second. Within the last few months, however, after a particularly unfortunate mission gone wrong in almost every way, your friendship became more affectionate in those 'off the clock' moments.

Quick but firm hugs, slinging his arm over your shoulders, nudging each other with elbows or hips at inside jokes. He'd also been placing a hand on your back or shoulder every time he was in proximity to do so when moving behind you; in the kitchen, during briefings, even while you were grading papers in the library. He would touch your shoulder to let you know he was moving past you or going to sit next to you.

All that is to say you were aware - in theory - he was well built. He was taller and broader than you, so you made an educated guess. Theory proven, but well beyond expectations.

A month ago, you and Scott had stopped at a Texas Roadhouse an hour outside of the city after having spent two weeks clearing out a mutant experimentation lab in eastern Quebec. The plump and shine of the appetizer rolls (that you and Scott had both equally asked for seconds of) had absolutely nothing on Logan.

He damn near glistened. The dim light of the mansion sconces bronzed his skin, cutting him into an even more defined picture for you to look at. His chest expanded with each breath, shoulders and pecs slightly flexing in response. His hands lazed on his hips, if even possible causing the room's shadows to shade in the dips of his biceps and forearms. The veins of his arms just barely covered by the moisture-slicked hair covering his skin. If you had a fork and knife, you would throw them behind you to happily eat a piece of him with your hands.

You had to force yourself to swallow to shock your brain into looking anywhere else. You made an 'eaugh' sound and swiped your hands across your face. You meant it defensively, but you really were dripping into your eyes.

"I feel like I'm being waterboarded," you say disgustedly while wiping your palms on the back of your shorts. Feeling a texture that wasn't fabric, you turned your head. Glancing down, you understood Logan's earlier comment.

These shorts must have been from your freshman year of high school that somehow never got tossed or donated. They were a pair of (very) short, low-cut and dull pink velour Juicy Couture shorts with the word 'Juicy' spelled out in rhinestones on the ass. You actually felt like hurling as your body got even hotter.

You slowly turned your face away from the glittery stones on your booty to unfortunately glance in Scott's direction. His hands covering his mouth to block how obviously he was holding in a laugh.

"Scott, don't even look at me right now," you groan in exasperation, crossing your arms over yourself in attempted modesty. Scott's eyes glitter, and you snap "Keep your mouth shut" at him to no avail.

"Do your shorts say Juicy on your ass?" He snickers. "In rhinestones?"

He's cracking up now with his hands in fists over his mouth. Jean bites a smile away and looks down, shaking to stifle a giggle. You look across the room to the kids who are choking down laughter themselves.

"Oh my fucking God-uh!" you again groan out, covering your eyes. "I really liked Jersey Shore when I was in High School, guys, leave me alone!"

Storm bursts into a laugh that inspires the others to join in. You're cracking up too, mortification disappearing. You glance at Logan through your fingers, who surprisingly seems to be choking back a laugh himself.

"Storm, can't you make it snow or something to-", Logan clears his throat. "Save her from embarrassment?"

"Not how it works," She says. "I can't pull cold air or moisture out of this heat to create any snow." She looks at you and winks. "Sorry J-Wow, the shorts are staying on."

Scott about keels over with a snort before Jean thwaps him in the shoulder.

"If we bring you enough bags of ice, could you use that to cool the building down then?" Jean asks.

"In theory," Storm says. "I can stay here with the students to wait for the professor if you all don't mind searching for some. I'll need to conserve energy if I have to create a blizzard out of thin air."

"Copy. Divide and conquer," you say glancing at Logan again. The four of you turn to wander the mansion, but you stop to turn back to Storm.

"Also," you call back to her. "I'm so obviously Snooki."

Scott barks a laugh from the other corridor as you trot after Logan. He turns to meet you with a confused look on his face.

"What the fuck is a Snooki?"

---

Logan daydreamed about upper-cutting Scott with his claws unsheathed. He fantasized about throwing him down the stairs and curb-stomping him after. He imagined speeding over him on his own motorcycle and drilling him into the asphalt.

Right now, as your face flushed with embarrassment over your bedazzled booty shorts, he wished he had enacted any of those in reality so he had never, ever, heard Scott say a word about your ass.

Logan was used to waking up in a sweat, heart racing as he yelled out in anger (or fear, he couldn't tell which) from the nightmare that slipped from him the longer his eyes were open.

This time, he awoke uncomfortably hot and sprawled out diagonally above his sheets. He pushed himself up onto his knees and rubbed his eyes. He took a beat to wake himself up and stared at the clock on his nightstand blinking at 2:00 am.

He found it impossibly hotter in the hallway, swiping his palms on his pants every few steps. He regretted not scouring his room for shorts or even a pair of briefs. He moved down the stairs and rounded, following the sound of conversation. He dragged his sweaty palms across his pants again, groaning out; "Christ, it's fuckin' hot in here".

And then he almost tripped over his own feet.

You stood facing away from him, hands clasped on top of your head, in the tiniest clothing humanly possible. You wore a thin, strappy little yellow tank top that ghosted just under your ribs. In the dimmed lighting, your skin glistened, droplets of sweat gliding down your neck, your spine - fucking hell, was your sweat turning him on? - down your lower back, and -

Logan just about stopped in his tracks.

Impossibly tiny pink shorts clung to your ass, riding low on your hips. In glittering rhinestone, the word Juicy was bedazzled over the fabric. He felt like a dumb moth to a flame, trying to look like he wasn't seconds away from using his hands for some workplace misconduct.

"Nice shorts," he managed, trying to shake his head clear.

"Alright fashion police," you smirked up at him. "Didn't know you worked this late."

He winked at you, turning away to avoid staring at the beads sliding down your collar bone. Trying even harder to not imagine where the droplets would travel next.

Too focused on thinking about anything else in the world other than you, he blinked back into reality after Scott's voice grated his ears.

"Do your shorts say Juicy on your ass? In rhinestones?"

Whatever you or anyone else responds with falls on his deaf ears. The only thing he can hear is the pounding of his heart and the rush of blood. His face tightened and he clenched his jaw.

He coughed to clear his head and interject into whatever conversation he's too furious to tune in to.

"Storm, can't you make it snow or something to-", Logan paused, coughing again to catch himself from saying anything related to freezing Scott solid so he can shatter him to pieces. He settled on "Save her from embarrassment?"

Once again, Logan half-listened and half-internally plotted extreme violence, perking back in at the sound of your voice. He turned to you as you catch up with him.

"What the fuck is a Snooki?"

---

You declined to continue to explain trash TV to Logan. You settled on "It's entertaining to watch people be out of touch with reality", to which he quipped back a "That's stupid", effectively shutting you up.

The both of you wandered to the kitchen, you fanning yourself as Logan tried not to burst a blood vessel while holding to his willpower to not watch you tilt your head back and exhale while uttering whines of complaint. He decided the amount that his was sweating coupled with the lack of sleep made him delusional. That's why his brain kept trailing back to the same thought: you.

You pulled open the bottom drawer of the fridge, exposing the freezer. The rush of cool air fanned at your skin, and you signed in relief.

"Logan," you call, eyes closed. You waved him over and he leaned next to you.

"Oh my god," he quietly uttered out, eyes closing in relief. "Oh my god, this is better than sex."

You snorted and slapped your hand to your mouth.

"Logan, shut the fuck up" you giggle. He snickers back with you, shoulders shaking.

"Aw man," you groan, staring into the freezer drawer. Inside, there was an empty popsicle box, an half-eaten pint of strawberry ice cream, and an unwrapped ice-cream sandwich with freezer burn. You and Logan met each other's eyes with matching disappointed expressions.

You shut the freezer drawer, straightening up.

"I think there's a freezer in the basement lab," Logan says, sweat instantly beginning to drip down his neck.

"Aw man," you respond, lifting your arms slightly as sweat slides down you as well.

"Come on, bub," He moves around behind you. You feel the familiar ghost of his fingers against your back, but you recoil away at the thought of more heat against your body.

Logan yanked his hand away like he had been burned, gaze raking from you to his hand. You keep walking, not realizing how far behind you he's trailing.

---

He tries to shake it off, he really does. He feels stupid for letting something so small seep into his head and twist his thoughts around.

It's just because it's hot, he thinks to himself. Rationally, yes, he knows that is the answer. And yet he stupidly can't help but overthink every interaction he's had with you.

He masks it with a stony expression. The walk to the elevator is sticky and humid. When you both step in, he strays as far away from you as he can.

You've felt the shift in energy from him. He's pressed against the curved wall, arms crossed over his chest. It's palpable, but you aren't the type to pry when Logan is brooding.

He slips out of the opening doors first, relinquishing in the slightly cooler air of the lab. You trail after.

The air is awkward now. You fumble in your brain for the right words to say to him. 'Are you okay?' doesn't seem to cut it.

You've come to understand Logan. He has a complicated relationship with feelings and is awful at communication. If you don't notice the energy shift and bring it up, it isn't getting spoken about.

You follow him to a white metal crate pressed near a cabinet of saline. It's clasped shut and luckily on wheels. The precipitation on the outside confirming this is what you were looking for.

You place your hands on the corners of the crate to slide it from the wall, but Logan damn near rips it out of your hands. He shoves it across the lab towards the elevator.

You stare at him in shock and confusion. Your thoughts whir as you replay every moment from the entire day, convinced that he's pissed at you. He seems pissed. He's acting pissed.

You reach the elevator just as the door slides open. You're trying to decide if you should say something. Trying to think of a way to approach this in a way that will actually get him to talk. The air in the elevator is thick, more so with his shift in attitude than with heat.

Logan is locking himself inside his head. He can’t organize his thoughts and all he feels is stupidity. He can't understand why he's over analyzing, much less what he's over analyzing.

He doesn't know it's basically radiating off of him. Unaware that you've been staring at him to try and decipher what's wrong.

You utter out "Are you okay?" just to cut through the thick silence (and hopefully the wall he's locked himself in). You're sure he hears you, but the sliding of the door gives him the perfect opportunity to continue to ignore you.

Again, you trail after him. The wheels scrape against the hardwood, a testament to how hard he is pressing into the metal.

You're confused, sweaty, and almost on the verge of nonconsensual tears when you reach Storm and the other kids. The girl from the floor has turned into mostly puddle. Everything besides the tip of her shoulders and up are deflated to the wood. The other kids have spread to the floor themselves.

Logan shoves the crate towards Storm.

"Alright," he says curtly, once again crossing his arms. "Cool this shit down."

You fiddle with your fingers as Storm unlatches the metal. Her eyes gloss over to a milky white while she lifts the lid. The temperature drops almost instantly, and you begin to shiver.

"Done," She says, blinking away the glaze. "Charles said that-"

"Great," Logan cuts her off with a slam of the metal lid. He slides it around before moving back towards the elevator. You glance back and forth between Storm and Logan for a second. When you meet her confused expression, she gestures back towards him.

Ignoring the comfort of your sheets and lack of emotional drainage, you jog after Logan.

---

He huffs at you when you reach his side.

"I can push a metal box by myself," he says dismissively.

"Okay," you say, just to get something in the air. "Am I not allowed to come with you?"

You regret even speaking anyways as he scoffs at you, kicking the crate into the opening of the sliding door. It hits the wall with a loud clang. You flinch, but you're more concerned about him to not slip into the door at the last second.

You hug yourself as you start to shiver. Logan rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and turns away from you to lean against the wall. For the third time tonight.

You are racking your brain. Screaming at yourself to say something, literally any words at all. It feels like you've been panic-searching your thoughts for anything to say for a while.

"Are we not moving?" You ask. You wait for an answer before repeating, calling him by name and moving to stand in front of him.

He huffs before standing straight. After a beat, he says "We're not."

"Shit, how should we -" You start, but are cut of by the metallic unsheathing of Logan's Claws. In a blur he rears back and slices through the door, scraping three parallel lines across the metal.

"Jesus Christ, Logan!" You snap out at him. The glare he gives you while his claws sink into his skin makes you back up into the wall.

"What the hell is your problem?" you say evenly.

He scoffs at you, muttering out "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You just sliced the wall open," You point out, gesturing to said wall. "And you're acting like you're pissed at me"

"You're imagining things," he says back, resuming his position against the wall with his arms folded.

"Oh, that's bullshit. You're literally sulking in the corner and you want to tell me that isn't happening."

Logan stays silent. You almost expect him to turn into the wall so he can pretend to not see you.

"Logan," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "Why can't you be upfront with me? It's very easy to say 'Hey, you pissed me off because of this' or 'Oh, something sparked a bad memory' or, I don't know, 'I don't want to talk about it' "

"I don't want to talk about it," he responds. You smack the back of your head into the wall behind you in exasperation.

"Oh my god, obviously that was just an example. Please just tell me what's wrong."

Logan raises his eyes to meet yours for just a second. You catch his gaze, and you can tell that he wants to tell you. When you quietly say his name he looks away.

"Logan, you’re being mean." Your eyes flick over him, trying to catch any more indication that he'll open up. He stays stoick, stubborn piece of shit. You decide to wait just a moment longer before giving up. If he's going to be this adamant about whatever happened, you aren't about to keep fighting him on it.

"Okay, you’re pissing me off and I give up" You spit, sinking to the floor. You draw your legs up and fold into yourself, the chill of the room sinking into your skin.

It takes a long, awkward amount of time sitting in silence before you her Logan speak.

"You're cold," he states.

"No, I'm not," you say into your arms. Shivering.

"You look cold," he once again states plainly.

"I'm not, stop talking to me."

"I thought you wanted me to talk," Logan retorts at you. You look up at him over your arms, seeing a smug look on his face.

"Yeah, if the words you say are 'Hey, I'm sorry I'm being a dickhead and shoving stuff around and slicing into walls and ignoring you. I'm just thinking about X,Y and Z, which is making me feel X,Y and Z,' and then I would say 'Oh my gosh Logan, I had no idea! I'm so sorry, I wish you told me so I didn't make a big deal out of it because I thought you hated me!" You snap at him, mocking his voice for emphasis.

He blinks at you, and you move your head back into your arms.

"I don't hate you," he says quietly.

"You're acting like it."

"I don't."

The softness in his voice makes you sigh. You decide to take it easy on him, and ask him to come to you.

"What?" he asks, hesitation evident in his tone.

"Can you come sit next to me, please?" You ask softly.

"Why?" he asks, and you roll your eyes.

"Because I'm cold and you run much warmer than I do."

He moves and sinks down beside you, thankfully. You scooch closer until your arm is against his. The warmth of his body radiates against yours.

"Can you please talk to me?" you break the silence. The smallness in your voice chips away at his resolve, but his pride is still in the way. He's embarrassed enough about being upset in the first place, he can hardly stand (much less find the words) to say anything to you.

"Look, I'll literally cover my eyes so I'm not even looking at you," you offer, covering your eyes with your palms. "Please, just tell me."

"It's stupid," Logan says, pride dwindling down.

"I don't care, I promise. Please, Logan," You plead.

He sighs loudly, searching for the right words. He stutters out a few syllables before managing a sentence.

"In the kitchen earlier, you flinched away from me. I don't know. Didn't feel great."

Your hands dropped from your face. He was staring down at the floor. He looked embarrassed, maybe downright ashamed. You gently placed a hand on his arm.

"Logan, I'm sorry. It was just so hot and I felt all gross and sweaty. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

"Okay," he says, but his eyes never left the floor.

"And that's not stupid. I freak out over the tiniest things in the world."

"Yeah?" he huffs out a small laugh, finally turning to you.

"Yes, duh, I'm a girl. One time you didn't sit in the stool right next to me and I had to suck my tears back in and I thought about it for two days straight," you told him.

"Because I didn't sit next to you?" he teases, and you push off of his arm in mock annoyance.

"Yes, I'm not kidding. I remember once when you came back from a mission you ignored me when I said 'hi' to you on the stairs and locked yourself in your room for almost two days. I was genuinely convinced you wanted me dead and I couldn't function until you'd brought me toast because you thought I was sick."

"You weren't sick?" He raises an eyebrow at you.

"No! I thought you wanted me to jump into oncoming traffic!" You laugh at yourself, feeling ridiculous after replaying those few days back in your head.

"Okay, okay, I get what you mean. I don't want you dead, by the way. Never will." His face has relaxed and the tension in the air completely dissipated. You tilted to rest your head on his shoulder, relishing in his body heat and enjoying the comfortable silence.

"Seems like I get you pretty worked up, huh?" Logan smiles to himself, knowing he'll get a rise out of you.

"I'm not answering that," you snort, giving him a side eye.

"Are you kidding me?" He says in a deadpan.

"No! I'm not answering that," you sputter, forcing an even tone out of yourself. "Why'd you get so upset about me moving away from you?" You shoot back.

"I'm not answering that," he says, and you now shove him away jokingly.

"Oh, come on!"

You both start to giggle at each other, needing to look at anywhere except at the other. Weight has been lifted off both of your chests, being stuck in the elevator long forgotten.

"So," Logan speaks, letting the word hang in the air for a second. He wonders if the feelings he's completely sure are mutual should remain unspoken. "Are either of us gonna do anything about," he gestures to the both of you. "Or..."

"Oh man, I was wondering which one of us was going to take the bait first," you giggle out to mask the nervousness settling in your chest. "You almost had me, I never figured you'd say anything."

"Did I?" He asks. You turn to him and meet his gaze, smirking at him. You hum happily after a few seconds, turning away from him to lean on his arm once more.

"So," Logan says again, so you mock him and echo the word back.

"So," he tries again, obviously wanting a certain response from you. You bite, looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Oh my god, you can just kiss me. I'm cold, I'm not moving my arms," you say to him, earning a short laugh from him.

Logan moves and scoops you into him, sandwiching your arms between both your bodies. You slide one of your hands up him so that your fingertips reach his collarbone. His nose is just touching yours, and he tilts, barely touching your lips.

"So," he whispers against you. You snort and shove his face away with your free hand.

"Okay, nevermind! Get away from me!" You giggle, Logan following suit.

You feel Logan's hand move to the back of your neck, and you blink at him a few times with a small smile. Finally, he leans down to kiss you. You snake your free hand up to the side of his neck and grasp onto a few tufts of his soft hair. He leans into your touch slightly, so your curl your fingers in response.

One of his arms releases you to brace the floor for support, the other moving to hold you tighter. His fingers splayed across your shoulder blade as you slip your other arm out. You slide your hand up the side of his abdomen, almost moaning when the feeling of his back muscles reach your fingers.

You both pull away for a second to breathe before diving back into each other. Logan pulls you towards him, hand that was on the floor now sliding down your side to squeeze at the flesh of your hips.

He pulls back from you and presses and open mouthed kiss just under your ear. You crane your head back in response while feeling your way up the front of his body. Your fingers dip over the curves of his abs and over his chest, and then slide over his shoulder and down his arms. You think about the glisten of his body earlier in the night, the shadows of his muscular biceps and forearms.

"You and these damn shorts," he groans between the kisses he's now leaving on your collar. You let out a breathy laugh.

"I'll take them off later, they don't even fit," you say, pulling his face up so you can kiss him again.

"I hope you'll let me help," he says into your open mouth, causing you to squeeze your thighs together as you heat up.

The shrieking sound of metal against metal surrounds you both, and you shove Logan off you to scramble to your feet. He moves besides you, claws unsheathed on instinct.

The door of the elevator slowly slides open, coming to a halt while it's halfway open. Charles and Jean were waiting from the outside.

"There you both are," Jean huffs out. "You've been gone for about an hour."

"What time is it?" Logan asks, moving out into the mansion floor and sinking his claws back into his knuckles. You follow behind, the chill coming back to your skin.

"About 4:30 in the morning," Charles replies, gliding away from the opening of the metal door. "I suggest you all get some sleep while it's still early." He looks pointedly at you and Logan before rolling to face Jean.

"Agreed. Goodnight you two," Jean says, moving down the hallway to her room.

You and Logan make your way up the stairs, still buzzing. You stop at his door while he opens it. He turns to face you. Once again, you're back to staring at each other hoping you both can understand what the other is thinking.

"Well, good night Logan," You sigh. He cocks an eyebrow at you.

"You're not coming in?" He says while leaning against the door frame.

"Oh," you begin, a smile nervously making its way to your face. "Well ... I ..."

"I gotta help you with those shorts, remember?"

You can't help the soft laugh that leaves your mouth. You move towards him and step just into the doorway.

"I'll take all the help I can get," You say up at him. He takes the opportunity to wrap you in his arm and move you both through the door.

He turns you both, pressing your back against the wall next to the doorway, shutting the door as he molds his lips into yours. His hand slides under your flimsy yellow tank top as you hear the click of the door lock.

More than likely, neither of you were getting much sleep tonight.

[loverboydotcom]

realising this is silly in hindsight but the way i kind of just assumed people would not be interested in the grief and death and caretaking and historical aspect of lover boy LOL happy to be proven wrong. going to be obnoxious on main now

[uunmitigatedpoppycock]

Wgat the fuck no one wass gonna tell me the silly global smp was gonna get me crying what the fuck guys.............

[sonofatoasterwaffle]

I know there's a lot of people in the fandom now who didn't watch from the beginning/don't watch s1, but I just can't express to you how important it is to me. For every character.

Hen cheating on Karen is a stupid, stupid thing but it tells us so much about who she is and who she wants to be and it makes HenRen so much better because you know they FOUGHT to get there. Hen saying she's scared she isn't the woman she wants to be, and then still choosing to chase after that??? To confront Eva and to tell her that it was never Hen who tore them apart. That woman is made of iron and soft edges and love.

And Chimney? Man, Chimney is such an incredible character for so many reasons, and Madney is one of my favorite TV pairings ever, but watching that man live through being single. Trying to teach himself that being himself isn't a bad thing. That he really will find someone who loves HIM and not whatever version of himself he's created for the Girl of the Week.

Bobby is so fucking suicidal in s1 it's not even funny. That man is nothing but a ball of regret and shame and yet he STILL BUILDS A FAMILY AND HE ASKS FOR HELP AND HE MEETS ATHENA AND LOVES HER SO GODDAMN MUCH EVEN THOUGH NEITHER OF THEM IS EVEN REMOTELY HEALED. Goofy Bobby who wants to shoot the Roomba with Athena's gun and goes on shenanigans with Michael doesn't EXIST without s1 relapsing raging Bobby. Without Bobby asking Hen and Buck for help and them immediately pulling him into their arms and promising that they will.

And Buck?!?!?! That boy is such A Mess. He's an absolute Mess who doesn't really stop to think a single thought for most of the season. But when he does?? He works hard to become a person who can be relied upon. He builds empathy not only for the people around him but for himself. You start to love him when he's trying so hard to become a better person, but 1x10?? Finding the man who's been using Buck's face to catfish women-- in such a spectacular way that it very nearly blows up Buck's life--dead, and having so much compassion and empathy for him that he stabs a bloated corpse to make sure that man has dignity in his own death??????? Are you serious????

S1 is worth it man. If you haven't seen it, you should.

[zainclaw]

One of the reasons why I've always thought that pairing up Eddie or Buck with a brand new character who's only brought in as a love interest will simply not work, is the fact that the rest of the mains are all paired up with other mains.

Bobby and Athena. Maddie and Chimney. Karen is the only wife who's not a real main herself, but her character and her and Hen's relationship are both so fleshed out and beautiful that she still feels like a main.

This is the main reason why, in my opinion, it's always going to feel so incredibly lacking to try and pair up Eddie and Buck with random new people. When we're so used to knowing and loving both parties in a romantic relationship on this show. It's one of the many reasons why I feel like endgame romantic Buddie is the only thing that's going to feel fair to their characters.

Which leads me to the genious choice of Tommy being brought back to be Buck's new love interest. Tommy, who's already an established character in this universe. Tommy, who's already got history with members of the 118 that aren't Buck. Who was insinuated to be a closeted gay long before he was gonna be Buck's bisexual awakening. Who said he thought Kirsten Stewart was too broody way before the show decided to pair him up with someone as sweet and bright as Buck.

And even now that he is a love interest, he still gets to keep a personality of his own. He still gets to be a little reserved when meeting up Buck for coffee at the end of the episode, hesitant to say yes to another date, because he's allowed to look after his own heart and not wanting to be hurt by someone who might still be in the closet, unlike himself. Like that is such a real and fair choice to make for yourself as a queer person, and I'm so happy they let him be all that.

I still think endgame Buddie is the thing that'll make the most sense for this show and its characters. But, my god, is it hard to be anything but fucking thrilled about having Tommy around right now.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

random percy headcanons:

wants to be the photographer friend SO bad and he technically is but like 70% of the pics come out blurry or weird bc there was a monster attack in the middle of them. his instagram is truly so chaotic looking.

literally always has seashells on him someone will ask him for a pencil or spare change and he has to empty all his pockets of shells to find it. drops his backpack and a bunch of shells fall out. kicks his shoes off and sand and shells fly out and his mortal friends are like percy What the Fuck

his eyes glow underwater!! bioluminescent king. no one told him though and he didn't find out until he joined his school's swim team and terrified everyone (he managed to convince them his contacts were having a weird reaction to chlorine lmao)

he really likes art!! he doesn't just pretend to for rachel's sake he genuinely enjoys painting with her. he likes splatter paint, collages and pop art styles the best. one day after splitting some edibles they realized percy could manipulate water colors and went CRAZY with it

will ask to be excused during class and comes back like an hour later with scorch marks all over his face bleeding from one of his ears covered in dust missing three fingernails rips in his jeans and a fat lip and the teacher is like percy what the actual hell were you doing in the bathroom all this time and he's just like uhhhhhh I have ibs

the brand from camp jupiter did unfortunately (for sally) Unlock something in him lmfao he keeps getting shitty little tattoos. usually stick-n-poke but someone's friends cousin's girlfriend's brother has a gun that gets brought to parties every now and then. most of them are sloppy but you can tell what they are HOWEVER he has one that was supposed to be a seal that came out looking like one of those shitty ms paint crying memes. annabeth laughed at him for ten minutes straight when she saw it.

he wanted to dye his hair blue but he was too chicken to bleach his entire head so he just did the tips. his hair is curly though so it looks absolutely ridiculous but he loves it

percy and annabeth get a crusty little yappy white dog in college and he carries it around like a baby lmao

back to his chaotic instagram, he's got so many pics of him like, relaxing at the bottom of the mariana trench or hugging a giant squid or riding on a whale shark and his mortal friends all think he's just really good at photoshop and this is a very specific bit he decided to commit to. they're always like lol percy where do you even FIND these pictures are you subscribed to like scientific journals for the laughs? but no he just took them all on his shell phone

has an ongoing prank war with annabeth's little brothers bobby and matthew but like it's Unhinged. they're playing 5D chess and she has no idea whats going on

weird tshirts!!! he loves them! like

shit like this or those 'women want me fish fear me' shirts, anything with a funny or incomprehensible slogan is going in his closet right along with his band tees lmfao

bought estelle a panda pillow pet when she was born 🥺

can NOT bring himself to eat seafood no matter how many times poseidon has told him its fine. he's like NO these are my FRIENDS JONATHAN WAS TELLING ME ABOUT HIS GRANDDAUGHTERS WEDDING LITERALLY YESTERDAY WHY IS HE ON A PLATTER DAD. they had to give up and just start eating normal land food at the palace every time he comes to visit lmfao

gets into horsegirl antics with hazel she NEEDS to know everything the horses have to say. they spend hours gossiping in the stables.

movie nights in the poseidon cabin were 10000% a thing and when he was missing annabeth and thalia and grover (and a few others) would still sleep in there every now and then and talk about how much they miss him :(

percy and beckendorf had the worlds most elaborate handshake

he DOES impulse buy stuff just because they're ocean-themed. stuffed animals, home decor, school supplies, clothes, you name it he bought it if theres like a fish on it

has more scars from crashing off his skateboard than he does from monster attacks

grover is somehow the only person who's ever noticed percy is severely claustrophobic

has a deep passion for adele. I can't explain this one I just feel and know it to be true.

he and annabeth both proposed to each other at the same time and they were SO mad about it they kept yelling over each other's speeches lmao

he can SING but he doesn't know it. sally keeps trying to record him singing to himself but something always happens to the camera and she loses the evidence

called chiron a brony one time and mr d thought it was so funny he was nice to percy for an entire week

the camp keeps trying to convince him to teach sword fighting lessons to the younger kids but he can NOT bring himself to swing a sword at a 9 year old so he keeps getting injured

has the most complicated iced coffee order in the world his go-to local coffee shop finally just put the damn drink on the menu and named it after him

he IS the quiet kid in the back of your math class that always has his hood up to try and hide his headphones and eats increasingly elaborate meals out of his backpack when the teacher isn't looking. one time someone caught him with a rotisserie chicken in the middle of a geometry final.

he argued that he DID have enough to share with the class

currently obsessed with the image of him knocking back a container of sea salt as if it was a shot and his mortal friends being like hey! what the actual fuck! and he's just like uhhhhh anemia kills!

its his birthday<3