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areyouwell · 27 days

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Thanatophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of losing somebody you love. Children or adults with this condition tend to steer clear of any form of relationship, haunted by the possibility it could be ripped away from them.

Ch.6

Ch.5,5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Paring: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, explicit content, brief description of rape, extremely fucked up timelines cuz i can't do maths but just like, go with it? for me? pls?

Word Count: 13k

A/N: whew boy was this chapter tricky. not to go into too much detail about my personal life but i actually managed to trigger myself writing this so please please please be aware that this could be difficult to read if you're an SA/Rape survivor cuz yeesh... was this tough

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik

Settling into your new life hadn’t been as difficult as you’d thought. Perhaps it was because you’d spent the last two years away, but you didn’t miss the mansion as much as you thought you would. Sure, you missed Kitty randomly barging into your room, and you sincerely hoped someone had explained to her at least some of what was going on, but the feeling faded fairly quickly within the first few weeks. You and Logan fell into routine domesticity a little too easily. He taught the correct way to aim a hunting rifle, nestling the butt of the gun into the nook between your shoulder and chest. He taught you how to follow deer tracks, what to look out for when estimating how far away the game is, and which tracks not to follow under any circumstances.

You, on the other hand, started teaching him a passion you’d forgotten you’d had until you found yourself with too much time on your hands. Or at least, a passion you’d forgotten was planted in your memory… was it your passion, or just a passion you thought was yours? Every time thoughts such as these rose to the forefront of your mind, you tried to push them away. They never yielded any answers and just served to send you spirally. Logan usually caught your faraway stares, the way your eyes glazed over as you dissociated back into your mind. He’d bring you back with a gentle call of your name, hands tilting your chin up to look into his eyes.

The first time you’d slid your sketchbook across the dining room table, Logan’s eyes welled up slightly. Sure, he’d stolen glances at you whilst you huddled on the window seat bench, charcoal staining your fingertips black as you elegantly swiped it across the paper, but he had no idea you were sketching him. When you’d asked him what he thought, he couldn’t find the right words and ended up with you perched on the kitchen counter, his head between your thighs, pouring his awestruck gratitude into eating you out. Since then, you both took time out of your days to sit with each other and you taught him everything you knew. As it turned out, he wasn’t half bad. At least, that’s what you exclaimed with a slightly insulting amount of surprise in your voice. He’d always brush off your praise, comparing his work to yours, but he couldn’t deny the pride that bloomed in his chest.

Logan had learnt not to ask after your well-being too often, finding that you would huff in irritation if he mentioned it more than once a day and remind him that you weren’t that mentally unstable. After a month of settling in, you’d mutually decided to start training again, heading out into the woods a little ways and finding a safe, exclusive spot on the lake shore. Plenty of shadows around between the tree line and the water, it was perfect. Though, not that it made much of a difference. The progress you made was second to none, barely managing to make the darkness shift a fraction before you’d grit your teeth and attempt to stamp down your frustration.

The days grew colder as the months went by, leaves fading from lush, vibrant greens to crinkled, burning oranges before dropping altogether, coating the ground in a blanket of crunchy fire. It was your favourite season, autumn. The sweet scent of mulch wreathed your senses with every kick of the chilly breeze as you stepped from the warm cabin thankful you’d donned a knitted scarf around your neck, two mugs clasped in your hands. Amongst the many other things Logan had taught you, how to make the best cups of hot chocolate may be, in your opinion, the most useful. Small marshmallows melted atop the surface of the drink as your boots crunched along the gravel, eyes drinking in the sight before you.

He was made for this life. Leather jacket discarded atop a stack of logs, he’d rolled the sleeves of his brown flannel shirt up to his elbows, the hood of the truck propped open and his head ducked far into the depths of the engine. You mentioned you thought the spark plugs were going a few days ago, but he brushed off your concerns. It wasn’t until he’d received a call from the local garage about a bike part he’d requested and he went to leave that morning did he realise you were right after the truck misfired almost instantly. You tried not to be too smug about it.

“How’s it going?” Logan looked back as he heard your voice and approaching footsteps, withdrawing from the depths of the hood and swiping his hands on the dirty rag over his shoulder. A warm smile pulled at his lips as he saw what you were carrying, and he thanked you with a quick kiss, taking the mug you’d offered to him.

“Well. you were right,” you pursed your lips as you tried not to smirk wildly, failing miserably when he rolled his eyes. “Yeah alright. ‘Scuze me for asusmin’ you didn’t know what you were talkin’ about. Anyway,” he continued pointedly and you giggled lightly. “Todd rang, he’s on his way with a few replacement plugs, since the damn thing won’t even start now. The good news is, he’s bringing the bike part with him, so we could get that goin’ this afternoon.” He raised the marshmallowy mug to his lips, humming pleasantly as he tasted his own hot chocolate recipe you’d followed.

Your eyes lit up at his words. He’d been working on the bike hidden in the small barn since you’d arrived here six months ago, making its restoration his little personal project. He’d spoken to Todd before about acquiring replacement parts and had slowly been fixing up the motorcycle with each trip to the garage. All he needed now was the replacement brake calliper and it would be good to go. “I would have made a third mug if I knew Todd was coming round. That’s amazing though, crazy to think it’s taken this long.” You cradled the steaming mug with both hands, blowing slightly on the warm liquid before taking a long sip, licking at the remains left on your upper lip.

“I know right?” he agreed, tucking you against his side with an arm around your shoulders. “Startin’ to think I should have asked you for help since you can recognise a blown spark plug from a single misfire,” you snorted a laugh into your drink.

“Yeah well, in my completely fabricated past, I trained as a mechanic for a bit so I know a thing or two.”

“You’re only tellin’ me this now?”

“It didn’t seem important at the time!” You held your hands up in defence, your fingers still hooked around the handle of your warm mug. Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame his disobedient smile.

“You’re a pain in my ass, ya know that?” He set his half-full mug next to his jacket on the stack of logs, taking yours and setting it down as well all so he could pick you up in his arms, your legs instantly circling around his waist, his hands settling on your thighs. Your fingers threaded through the soft strands at the back of his head as you looked down at him, your eyes dancing with mischief.

“Me? Little ol’ me? I’m heartbroken,” nothing about your current body language suggested anything of the sort, your faux innocence only serving to confirm his suspicions.

“Bet it’s just eatin’ you up inside, huh?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone and you threw your head back as you laughed, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck before you looked back down at him, wasting no time in taking his lips captive with your own, giggling into the kiss when he bit gently on the soft flesh of your upper lip. You inhaled a sharp gasp through your nose when he smoothed over the small hurt with his tongue, feeling your core respond to his actions, your blood heating with every languid brush of his lips against yours, every slight nibble of his teeth.

Logan groaned softly at the scent of your arousal building, his skin tingling as you returned every nip of his teeth with one of your own, sandwiching his lower lip between your front teeth and tugging slightly. Your hands returned to his hair, twirling the longer strands between your fingers and pulling tight. Todd’s imminent arrival forgotten, Logan swiped at the hood prop, slamming the lid shut and setting your down so his hands could roam up your waist to your breasts, kneading and groping at your tits over your hoodie.

His lips dragged a trail of soft bites down the side of your neck, his fingers deftly popping open the button of your jeans and pulling down your zipper, his entire hand disappearing down between your damp thighs, his fingertips grazing across the centre of your slick core over your underwear. He growled in response to your whimper, tugging the crotch of your briefs to one side and sliding the back of his finger up over your clit.

“So wet for me, what got you goin’, hm? ‘S it that book? Did they finally fuck? Make you miss me, hm?” He’d caught glances of you in the window, lip caught between your teeth as you devoured the pages in front of you, your legs crossed tightly. He’d laughed to himself at the time, but now he wanted to show you what the real world could offer.

You went to bite back at his condescending tone, opening your mouth only to inhale an embarrassing gasp as one of his thick fingers slid inside you, pumping and curling in the ways he knew would have you creaming in minutes. Your nails sank into his forearm, mouth dropping open as hot pleasure coursed through your veins. Humiliatingly enough, it was exactly why you’d come out to see him. The two characters in the book you were reading finally put aside their differences and realised they loved each other in a passionate display of tender fucking. And yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think of Logan at the time. But this wasn’t what you were expecting at all.”

“Logan!” you cried out to the blue skies as your head fell back the moment a second finger slipped inside your aching heat, your walls clamping down against his digits as if he would ever try to escape. With his one free hand, Logan dragged your jeans and underwear down just far enough to slip beneath them between your legs, keeping your knees over his shoulder as he pushed you back against the windshield. You clutched at the wipers as he rubbed his nose against your clit, moaning wantonly at the scent of your liquid nectar.

His tongue darted out to swipe a long line up the centre of your core, using his fingers to provoke more of your slick to drip down the apex of your thighs for him to drink like a man parched of water. Your hips bucked with each stroke of his tongue, gasping a pitched whimper of his name as his lips wrapped around your sensitive pearl and sucked until you screamed at the heavens above you, your orgasm splitting every nerve in your body with each slow caress of his fingertips against that delicious bundle of nerves nestled two knuckles inside you.

Your nails scratched against the hood of the truck, flaking off the paint job as wave after wave of your high crashed through your mind and body, your spine arching your hips further against his face as you ground against his tongue before the pleasure spiked into overstimulation and you squirmed away from his fingers, panting desperately.

“That’s my girl, y’allright?” he soothed, pressing soft kisses to the scar on your inner thigh, cringing in second-hand pain as the back of your head smacked the windscreen behind you, your tensed, shaking muscles finally relaxing. “Y’okay!?”

You giggled, still a little dazed from your orgasm, your hand lazily feeling the slight numbness at the back of your head, simply making sure you hadn’t cracked it open, or at the very least, split the skin. But you felt no blood. “Yeah, ‘m all good. But if you don’t fuck me on the hood of this truck I might pass away– whaaat’re you doing?” You asked as he ducked out from between your legs, pulling your underwear and trousers back up over your knees and to your waist.

“I’ll start makin’ funeral arrangements then. Todd’s here.” You didn’t miss his growl of discomfort, and your heart bled for him a little, knowing he was going to have to go the next god knows how long hard as a rock in his jeans. Pulling up the zipper and fastening the button at your navel, you hopped off the truck just as Todd’s beaten old 4x4 trundled through the tree line. He was one of the only people who knew you were even here, apparently, he was a friend of the previous owner and knew Logan fairly well. The two hadn’t kept in touch, but he’d given him a firm handshake when he first took the pickup truck to his garage.

Retrieving the two mugs of now slightly cooled chocolate, Logan smiled gratefully as he once again took the mug from you, placing a kiss to your brow as he held up an arm of greeting to Todd. The older man stepped from the car, slamming the door shut, a ziplock bag of spark plugs grasped in his broad hand. He had a thick, greying beard bushing proudly along his chin and jaw, bridging across his upper lip. A full head of salt and pepper hair slicked back from his brow, tied into a small bun at the back of his head. You couldn’t deny that he most definitely would have been a lady's man back in his prime, with deep-set blue eyes and a smile crisp as winter frost? You could definitely have seen yourself falling for his charms.

It seemed you had a thing for bearded men. And Logan also seemed to have noticed. He raised a brow as he looked at you out of his peripheral. “Stop eyeing up my mechanic.” He elbowed you lightly and you snorted a laugh.

“Not my fault,” your tone was hushed as you watched Todd head into the backseat of his car, retrieving the new brake calliper for Logan’s bike. “Clearly I like older men.” You sent him a wink and he rolled his eyes, smirking against his better judgement.

“What’ve you done to ‘er then? And I don’t mean to yer girl ‘ere.” Todd strode over with the self-assurance of a gold medal athlete, a winning smile parting his bearded lips to reveal bright white teeth. You flipped your hair over your shoulder, stepping forward to embrace the man who planted a kiss on your cheek. “Hello, gorgeous. He lookin’ after ya properly?” His faux seriousness had you casting a cheeky glance back at Logan, who narrowed his eyes in response.

“He’s doing his best.” You whispered loudly behind your hand, and Todd nodded in an exaggerated display of understanding.

“I’ll ‘ave a word with ‘im, don’t you worry.” He winked at you and you placed your hand against your heart dramatically, pretending to faint as Todd turned from you to Logan, who folded his arms across his chest with a thick brow raised. But he couldn’t keep up his irritated façade for long. It was a tradition ever since the two of you started visiting the garage frequently for Logan’s bike. Todd would flirt with you relentlessly, Logan would pretend to get irate about it for all of thirty seconds before breaking into a wide grin and firmly clasping the man in an embrace. And this time was no different, a solid clap to Todd’s back was all that was needed for you to know this wasn’t the time the men fought it out. The first time you’d visited, you genuinely thought Logan was going to slice his head clean off the second Todd looked your way. But he just stood back with an amused, almost proud smirk as you were flirted with relentlessly. It took you completely off guard at first, but now you were more than happy to go along with it.

“Didn’t surprise me, it’s an old truck,” you heard Logan explain as you returned from your memories, stepping up to lean against the raised hood of the pickup, your arms crossed against your chest, gesturing to the engine with the mug in your hand.

“Think the oil needs changing too. The mileage counter was going crazy the other day and I only went out to the corner shop. I checked the oil level when I got back and nothing was wrong so I think it’s most likely carbon buildup. Like Lo’ said, it’s an old truck.” The two men stared at you in disbelief as if knowing how to check the oil on a car wasn’t something they expected from you. You flipped them both off. “Oh fuck off the pair of you, I was the one to notice the faulty spark plugs thank you very much.” You placed a defensive hand on your hip, and Todd looked from you to Logan next to him.

“That true?” he asked with a bushy brow raised.

Logan released a long sigh, offering a low, reluctant “Yep…”

There was a beat before Todd howled with laughter, his hand clasping Logan’s shoulder with a loud clap. “Said it before an’ I’ll say it again, you got yerself a keeper ‘ere Logan. A woman who looks this good in jeans and knows ‘er way ‘round an engine? Tie ‘er down ‘fore someone else does.” Todd sent you a wink and you blew a kiss back at him. “C’mon then, gotta fix yer bike ‘fore I tackle this hunk o’ metal. Unless missy mechanic over ‘ere would like to do the honours?” he raised a brow and you held up your hands to decline.

“Cars I can do. Bikes are totally foreign to me, so you lead the way,” you gestured for him to head to the barn, which he did but not before offering you a chivalrous bow. You rolled your eyes as he turned away, falling into step next to Logan who slipped a hand to your waist. You elbowed him slightly. “See? I’m a keeper.” you shot him a shit-eating grin and he pursed his lips in a feeble attempt to suppress his smile.

“‘M stuck with you either way,” he shrug in mock nonchalance, and you poked his ribs.

“You like being stuck with me.”

“Shut up.” He breathed, smothering your face into the crook of his arm, muffling your maniacal cackles as the two of you followed Todd into the barn, watching as he pulled off the tarp sheltering the bike from any leaks in the roof.

“You’ve done ‘er up somethin’ great, Logan. Lookin’ good as new.” Todd patted the back fender the same way you would a horse you were proud of. Logan just grunted in acknowledgement, being truly terrible at receiving compliments.

“Think we can get her up and runnin’ today?” Logan asked, glancing as once again your eyes lit up. It had been since months ago since he promised to take you out on that date, and he wanted to stay true to his word. Todd nodded thoughtfully as if contemplating how realistic that was.

“We can certainly give it a go. If you an’ the missus wanna change those spark plugs I can start on replacin’ this break calliper and we can go from there.” You suppressed a grin at being referred to as Logan’s ‘missus’, a giddy spark pepped up your step as Todd tossed the ziplock bag to Logan who caught it in one hand.

“Sounds good. Absolutely no way I’m leavin’ you two alone together.” You snorted a laugh at Logan’s slight grumble, sending Todd a flirtatious wave as he steered you back out of the barn and towards the pickup. “Unbelievable…” he shook his head fondly as you all but skipped over to the hood of the car, removing what Logan only now realised was his jacket and rolling up the shirt sleeves of his flannel. Not that he was about to complain, but he must have been too caught up in your cunt earlier to notice.

Leaning into the hood of the truck, you peered around the side of the engine, finding the six plugs you needed to change. With deft fingertips you twisted the wire boot of the first plug instead of just yanking it free, a trick you’d picked up when you’d…

Oh yeah. That never happened. A trick they’d planted in your brain, you guessed. You extended a hand out behind you, barely needing to open your mouth before the socket spanner was placed firmly in your grasp. You looked over your shoulder at Logan who’d returned to leaning against the large pile of wood to his right, smirking shamelessly at your ass as you bent over the engine. You grinned, making a show of rolling your eyes, before returning back to the task at hand, unscrewing the first spark plug from the well. Discarding the old part to the floor, you accumulated a small pile of six faulty plugs when you’d removed them all.

Stepping back from inside the hood, you wiped a small bead of sweat from your brow with your oil-slicked hand, leaving a dark smudge just above your eyebrow. Logan handed you the ziplock bag, his smirk ceaseless. “I ain’t gonna pretend this isn’t the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.” He shrugged when you sent him a questioning look before bubbles of laughter rose from your chest.

“Now look who’s the freak.” You shot back with an equally wicked smirk, before eyeing up the toolbox to his left. “You got a torque wrench in there? Todd might have one actually–”

“Todd is not seein’ you like this, he’ll lose his damn mind. The man already worships the ground at your feet.” Logan rifled quickly through the toolbox as if speed would prevent you from heading back up to the barn and giving the poor mechanic a love-induced heart attack.

“And why shouldn’t he? I’m a keeper, dontcha know?” You responded haughtily, raising your chin with a dignity you couldn’t possibly hope to possess with your face smudged with engine oil. Logan barked a laugh, tossing you the torque wrench from the box and watching as you returned to your mission, fitting the new plugs in the wells and using the torque when you couldn’t tighten the screw any further with your fingers.

Logan slotted his hands in the dip of your waist, his front pressed against your back as he bent over you, teeth catching the sensitive skin behind your ear. “You’re a keeper, sweetheart. And you’re mine.” his breath fanned your ear as he growled lowly, the outline of his hard cock grinding against the seam of your ass as his hands pulled you against him slightly.

You gasped airily, teeth clamping down on your lower lip. “You been hard this whole time?” You asked, struggling to focus on fitting the remaining plugs as he trailed one of his hands down your front and between your thighs. He just released a gravelly moan in response as you pushed back into his crotch, moving your hips in a slow circle. Logan bucked with a sharp gasp, nipping at your earlobe.

“Not my fault. I got this gorgeous new mechanic. She’s hot as fuck and you wanna know the best thing about her?” Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as he rubbed your clit over your jeans, eyes fluttering closed as a smile split your mouth.

“What would that be?”

Logan inhaled your scent, a mixture of engine oil, wood smoke and sweet arousal, his fingers tightening on your waist. “She lets me do whatever I want to her after she changes my spark plugs.” It was a blackened promise filled with swirling lust, sucking the vow of pleasure into a bruise on the side of your neck before withdrawing completely to lean back against the stack of firewood, giving the both of you room to catch your breath.

You had to shake your head of the daze he’d left you in before you could continue, agile fingers reconnecting the ignition leads before you stepped away from the hood completely, swiping at your cheek with your forefinger and leaving yet another dark, greasy smudge.

“The oil still needs changing but at least we won’t be getting anymore misfires. At least, we shouldn’t.” You wiped your hands on the dirty rag still draped over his shoulder and he licked his thumb, rubbing at the dark smudge above your brow but to now avail. You waved him off, ducking out from his fussing with a look of irritation. “Alright, Dad, I’ll clean myself up later, Christ.” You folded your arms across your chest, before remembering exactly why he wanted to get rid of the smudges, and snorting a laugh.

“His blood is on your hands if he keels over at the sight of you.” Logan shrugged just as Todd emerged from the barn, wheeling the good-as-new bike along with him.

“A’ight Logan, she should be all ready for ya. Though I’d take ‘er steady to start, I don’t–” The man stopped the second his eyes shifted to you, and he clutched his heart dramatically. “Oh my lord this is it, I’ve seen the light! An angel! Here! Standin’ before me!” He sank to his knees and you chuckled madly, Logan shaking his head in disappointment. “Oh, nope, beggin’ yer pardon. It’s just yer girl.” Todd stood, dusting off his knees and sending you yet another wink, clearly having heard Logan’s comment. “Well, that’s me all finished up then. Comes to around fifty dollars.”

You and Logan exchanged a glance of knowing. You were both well aware Todd had been giving you both discounted prices. Hell, just getting the spark plugs replaced was around eighty, and he was only charging you fifty for both the plugs and the brake calliper? You and Logan had prepared for this moment. He gave you a subtle nod, and you pranced forward, hooking your arm around Todd’s shoulders. A perfect distraction. Logan stepped up behind the two of you silently, slipping the extra hundred-and-twenty into Todd’s pocket, listening to you ask about the difference in performance between the firing cylinders on a V6 and a V8 engine and not really listening to the answer.

“Well, I think that’s everything, right Lo’?” You asked and he confirmed with a brief nod as you pat Todd’s shoulder once, letting Logan take the lead and make a show out of counting out fifty dollars from his wallet. You left them to it, folding away the prop for the truck hood and slamming it shut, giving the side a gentle pat. The pickup really had served you well for the last six months, and you couldn’t quite bring yourself to either consider getting a replacement car. You’d grown kind of attached to it, developing a taste for the more rugged things in life.

You couldn’t help but look over at Logan alongside the thought. Rugged things indeed. You leaned against the car door as the two men made their way back over to you, and your ears picked up on their ongoing conversation as Logan stopped by your side.

“She’s a gem, Logan. Fuck knows how yer ugly mug managed to bag ‘er, but you look after ‘er, ya hear me?” Todd jammed a finger towards his aforementioned ‘ugly mug’ in an empty threat.

“Loud ‘n clear, Todd.” He sent the man a false salute, settling an arm around your shoulder and you instantly leaned into his side. Todd took both your hands in his own and Logan fought the urge to laugh.

“An’ if this one ever pisses y’off, you know where t’ find me.” He grinned and you chuckled heartily.

“You’ll be the first one to know.” You responded with such conviction Logan had to double take, though your partially imperceptible smile eluded to your sarcasm. You were incredibly good at that. At saying the very thing people wanted to hear. You were also incredibly good at saying the opposite of what people wanted to hear, one too many bar fights started because some handsy asshole decided you were a prime target. If it didn’t piss him off so much, he’d sit back and watch as you both verbally and occasionally physically beat a motherfucker down.

But unfortunately, handsy motherfuckers at bars did piss him off. Monumentally. And though he rarely threw the first punch, he would always throw the second. You didn’t need defending. He knew that. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop.

“Right. Well, I’ll see you both soon then. Best’ve luck with the bike, and my door’s always open for the both of yous, whatever ya need.” He nodded as you both waved him goodbye, standing in the driveway until he disappeared down the track and past the treeline. You hummed a contented smile.

“You’re gonna get a really angry text later, you know that. How much did you slip him?” You asked, stretching your arms high above your head and checking Logan’s watch on his wrist. The time had just gone midday, the sun still casting speckled shadows through the canopy.

“One-twenty. Brake callipers aren’t particularly cheap.” He admired the way your arms flexed as you stretched, that bruise he’d sucked into your neck blossoming a dark purple. He needed to control himself if he wanted to make good on his promise to you six months ago. “Fancy a drive?”

You spun round to him, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’ll get my boots!”

Biting wind whipped your unbound hair, exhilaration flooding your system as you clung to Logan’s leather jacket, your cheek resting against his spine. True to his word, he’d taken you out for the day on the back of the bike, finding a secluded, forested cliffside for the two of you to perch on. It wasn’t quite the lakeside romance he’d planned for you before, but it still worked to perfection, watching the clouds pass by overhead, the view a palette of every shade of red, orange and yellow, trees igniting as the sun began to sink low in the sky, faded the bright blue to a softer pale pink as the daylight descended into twilight.

His hand secured your arm around his middle, caressing the sleeve of your jacket with his thumb with soothing swipes. Glancing over his shoulder, Logan smiled to himself as you nestled closer into his back, your arms tightening around his waist. One of your hands spread up his chest and over his heart, something he’d noticed you started doing absently, subconsciously. His soul sang along with the warmth you brought.

“Y’okay back there?” he called over his shoulder, returning to face the road. He felt you shift in what he could discern was a nod of your head, patting his abs twice.

“Perfect!” he caught your response over the roar of the engine and the whistle of the wind in his ears. Though you sounded alright, something had been off about you. You covered it well, playing around with Todd, nestling into his embrace as you watched the setting sun, but Logan had been seeing that faraway look on your face more often recently.

It started around a week ago when you were looking for a new book to read after finishing your old one. You were sifting through the bookcase, carefully removing old sketchbooks the two of you had filled and grainy photographs taken on a digital camera when Logan heard you stop abruptly. He’d been oiling a baking dish when eerie silence greeted his ears, and by the time you returned back down the stairs, that vacant look had returned to your eye, the shitty romance novel clutched in your hands.

He’d asked if you were alright, but you waved off his concern with a huffed laugh of dismissal. Though Logan could see it, he didn’t press you. You’d talk about it when you were ready. You always did.

Turning off the tarmac and down the track to the cabin, Logan took your hand over his heart in his own and dipped down to press a kiss to the top of your knuckles. He was rewarded with a squeeze of your fingers, kicking down the footstand as he parked up next to the truck. He couldn’t smell any rain on the air tonight, so he was happy to leave the bike out and just cover it with the tarp from the barn.

Swinging your leg over the back of the bike, you cupped the side of his furry jaw, stooping to mould your lips to his grateful kiss, your warm smile infectious. Logan sighed into your mouth, his hands tugging you closer by the waist until you stood between his knee and the bike. His palm moved to the back of your thigh as you swiped your tongue along the seam of his parted lips, your taste sweet honey on his tongue whilst he pulled you onto his lap, two steadying hands braced on the dips of your waist.

“‘M gonna fuck you on this bike… wanted to do it since I first saw the thing,” you breathed against his cheek before dipping below his jaw, suckling little nibbles against his skin. Logan groaned lowly. You’d been teasing him all damn day, from the way he ate you out that morning to the way he ground against your ass when you were changing the spark plugs. His cock twitched as he let himself hope he would finally find the relief he needed deep within your cunt.

You rolled your hips against his growing erection as he sat more deeply in the saddle, your legs perched daintily on the foot pegs on either side of his calves. Nimble fingers fiddled with the front of his thick belt, unlacing the buckle from the loop and pulling the two halves aside. Logan growled at your urgency, appreciating the swift tug of his zipper, your fingertips ghosting along the waistband of his briefs, causing his skin to prickle in anticipation. Scratching through the happy trail leading down beneath the elastic, you bit down into his throat, drawing a gasp from his chest.

He could do nothing but hold you tight as your hand finally sank beneath his briefs, curious fingers circling around the shaft of his cock and tightening your grip. His eyes screwed shut when you circled his sensitive tip with your thumb, his mouth falling open with heavy pants, his hips bucking up into your soft palm. Your nails clawed against the nape of his neck as he pushed you from his throat, turning the tide and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh behind your ear, licking and biting at the same bruise he’d left there earlier. You whimpered against him, and the scent of your arousal teased his nose.

You tugged his hard cock from his briefs, shoving the fabric down as far ar you could. Logan shivered slightly, the cold air caressing his raging length as you released him to fiddle with the buttons and zipper of your jeans.

Too long. It would take too long. Logan needed to be inside you yesterday. With a heated hiss, he slid his middle claw from his knuckle, using his other hand to grip both your wrists. “Stay still…” he murmured, bracing the tip of his claw over the clothed apex of your thighs. You gasped, promptly sandwiching your lower lip between your teeth when the ripping of fabric caused your gut to churn. Logan’s nose twitched as your quaking cunt gushed to soak the crotch of your underwear, and you both looked down, equally as surprised at your reaction.

“Yeah?” he queried with a raised brow, ever-so-softly dragging his claw down the inside of your thigh. You pitched an airy whine, tugging tightly at the hair on the back of his head. To see you like this, gaping and breathless because of his claws did something wicked to him. Instruments that had previously only been used for death had suddenly become something so much more, gifting you with sharp peaks of pleasure when he dragged the back of it over your throbbing clit.

You nodded desperately, breathing hard through your nose when he hooked that same sharp claw around the waistband of your underwear, slicing clean through the fabric and exposing your pulsing cunt. “Fuck…” you breathed as he retracted the silver claw, giggling slightly when he lifted you against him, pausing to tease your dripping entrance with the head of his cock.

“‘course you get off on knives…” he muttered, smirking wildly as you attempted to sink onto his cock, using your weight to push down on the hands holding you aloft. You groaned in frustration, dragging a wicked chuckle from his throat, before he slowly pulled you down, humming a low moan as your tight walls welcomed his thick shaft.

“Should… should do that again… sometime.” You panted into his mouth, barely able to form your words as you slowly roll your hips against him, earning yourself a gravelly grunt along with your movements. “So fucking hot.” You gasped as he thrust up into you, using the bike’s suspension to bounce you slightly as you clung to him, your fingers buried in his hair.

Logan looked down to where he rhythmically disappeared up into you, his breath hitching as you took one of his hands from around your waist and pressed your fingers into his knuckles, right where the slight hurt of his claw healed over. His cock twitched as you massaged his knuckles gently, finding just the right spot between each bone where his claws usually split. He couldn’t help the way his jaw fell open, his eyes rolling when you lifted his hand to your mouth and tongued one of the three surprisingly sensitive skin.

“Fuck… Fuck! D’do that again…” Logan fucking stuttered as you repeated the motion with your tongue the very same way he would when he ate you out. Pleasure surged through his veins at the newfound discovery of the erogenous zone, thrusting up into you deliciously and causing you to bite down at the bone of his knuckle as the tip of his cock brushed against that patch of ecstasy inside you.

You held his gaze as you made a show of dipping your tongue in the slits between his knuckles, closing your lips around the skin and sucking the same way you would against his cock. Logan furiously drove into you, still holding your waist with his one hand whilst you lavished the other. Eight months he’d been seeing you, and not once in that entire time had he ever come before you with his cock inside you, always taking extra care to make sure you hit your high at least once before he found his own. But with the liquid heat pulsing in his veins, he didn’t know if he could last.

He was thankful when your other hand left his wrist, skirting down beneath the waistband of your torn jeans to play with your own clit, throwing your head to the sky as the building pleasure wracked your body, only to bring his knuckles back to your lips.

Your walls clenched tightly around his thrusting cock, deft fingers toying with your own pearl when your thighs started to shake, your whimpers and moans climbing in pitch, the vibrations of your voice tingling against the skin of his hand.

Logan felt his own high cresting, his back tensing as his balls drew up, trying in vain to hold your failing gaze. Watching your eyes roll back into your skull was his undoing, feeling you coating his cock as you came around him, your teeth sinking into those little patches of pure pleasure shoving him over the edge of tension and into the honey-coated lightning storm of ecstasy. He cried your name, sharp pulses of fire shaking his system as he exploded inside you, coating your inner walls white.

Your brows pinched, mouth forming a perfect O as you struck your peak, his aphrodisiac cries of your name pulling you under as you simultaneously came with each other. You’d never felt him come so hard, and through your pleasure-addled brain, you assumed it was the result of being so pent up all day. Logan clung to you like a lifeline, nestling his face against the nook of your neck as he continued to twitch inside you, those overwhelming waves finally receding until he was basking in the full afterglow.

You panted hard, finally releasing his hand to grab at his shoulders, anchoring yourself against him to recover from just how hard your release had wrecked your body, barely able to laugh breathlessly and in utter disbelief into the little peaks of his hair. Logan grit his teeth together as you lift yourself off him to sit back on his sturdy thighs. How you managed to absolutely wreck him every goddamn time he didn’t know, but at least he’d been working on his self-control, and his claws didn’t slice your mouth open.

“That was fuckin’ dangerous…” he murmured, swiping his thumb along your lower lip. “Coulda hurt ya.” His brows pinched with genuine concern and you pressed your forefinger into the creases between them, easing his worries.

“How have we waited until now to use your claws? Such a good idea!” You were way too enthusiastic about that, and Logan simply huffed a laugh, looking up at you through dark lashes.

“Not a good idea. Sure it was good today–”

“Logan it was fucking great today–” he clamped a hand over your mouth, silencing your protests.

“But I can’t guarantee I’m always gonna have that kind of control. I could’ve done some real damage.” He knew reprimanding you was going to do absolutely nothing. Not when it had felt so fucking good, and you’d seen and felt what it had done to him. “Where’d you even get that idea?” He asked as you giggled a little mischievously, swinging your legs back over the bike and shimmying a little as you felt him drip from your cunt. Logan snorted as you squirmed awkwardly, tucking himself back in his briefs, not bothering to re-buckle his belt before scooping you into his arms and carrying you bridal-style to the cabin.

“Just came to me in the moment. I’m sensitive around my scars, so I guess it made sense to me that you would be as well. Or rather, if scars could be left on your body.” You shrugged, your arms looping loosely around his neck, your head resting against his shoulder as you reached into his pocket for the key, inserting the metal into the lock.

Logan nodded in understanding as if your explanation made sense. And, in a way, it did. You were sensitive around your scars. He knew that better than anyone. At any point he wanted to distract you from something, all he needed was to nip at the mark on your neck, swipe his thumb against any of the four bullet wounds on your chest, or even pinch lightly at the one on your inner thigh, and you’d throw your head back with a breathy gasp.

So it checked out that, if scars could be left on his body, he’d react similarly. Which he had done.

You tossed the keys into the bowl on the kitchen windowsill as Logan carried you through the cabin and up the stairs. You couldn’t pretend you weren’t enjoying the treatment, and at the very least it was preventing his cum from dripping uncomfortably down your leg.

Laying you on the bed, he pressed a sweet kiss to the top of your brow, before disappearing into the ensuite. “Why aren’t you pregnant yet?”

You choked on your spit, half laughing half coughing at his question as he returned to you with a warm, damp towel clutched in his hands. “Come again?” you asked, still in recovery.

“We’ve been fucking, unprotected, for months now, and you still regularly get your period. Sure, you’re ovulating at the moment–”

“Logan!?” You gaped, kicking him lightly with the side of your foot as he cleaned you up, tossing the towel to the side and innocently dragging down your ruined jeans.

“But I’m just curious. Surely something woulda happened by now, even just a scare,” he pulled open your drawer, rummaging around until he recovered your favourite dark grey sweatpants.

“You got a point. Maybe it’s my mutation? I guess my body sorta resets itself every time I shadow walk, almost like a default state,” You shrugged, sitting up as he handed you the pair of trousers to replace the ones he’d ripped. “I guess if we wanna know then we could always just…” You trailed off and Logan turned from where he was changing his own clothes, comfy loungewear pulled up to his waist.

Following your line of sight, Logan’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He knew where you were looking, and if he was being truly honest with himself, he knew what you’d found a week ago. He wasn’t blind. The first month settling into the cabin, you’d cast fleeting glances at the bookcase where the folder was nestled, and he didn’t know whether you thought he wouldn't notice, but he did.

The months went by and you didn’t quite forget about it, but you learned to live with it. Until a week ago, when you were searching for a new book to read. Logan didn’t know if you were ready. Shit, he didn’t know if he was ready. He’d only scanned a few pages of the file and he was truly terrified of what he’d discover if he’d looked at the pages in more detail.

His blood turned to ice as you stood, approaching the shelving as if it would lash out and bite you. Steeling your nerves, you reached behind the first layer of books, parting them slightly as you retrieved the thick folder detailing every day of your life. Every horror you endured, every agonised second. You inhaled a shaky breath, returning to the bed and setting it down.

NLMO. Subject Eight. “Phantom”.

Logan slowly came to sit by your side, taking your hand in his own, a silent gesture to remind you he was here. You looked up from the file, uncertainty swirling in your irises.

“I have to…” you whispered, trembling slightly as you went to open the folder, only for Logan to stop you.

“No. You don’t. You’re safe here. Nothin’ can get to you, sweetheart. Only do this if you want to, not because you feel like you have to.” You squeezed his hand, gaze flickering from the sincerity in his face to the handwriting on the documents containing who you were.

“I do have to do this, but I have to do this for me. Not for anyone else. I still have so many questions, Lo’. I don’t understand why Rowan is still there and I’m here. I need to know what happened. To all of us.” You spoke with such conviction, that Logan knew you’d made up your mind. Covering your hand positioned at the corner of the folder, he nodded.

“Alright then. We do this. Together.”

“You don’t have t–”

“I promised you I wouldn’t leave you whilst my heart was still beating, yeah? Do I look dead to you?” You snorted a laugh, shifting to lie on your front. Logan waited until you settled yourself before he too shuffled about, lying almost on top of you so his cheek was practically pressed against your own.

“Dead gorgeous maybe.” You grinned, and he pinched your waist, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Just open the fuckin’ folder, freak.”

You turned your attention back to your past, once again inhaling a long, shaky breath. “Ready?” you asked, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

Logan nodded once in response. “Ready.” And the two of you turned the first page to your past.

For the some of the part, the documents within were mundane. It was incredibly creepy to start off with, knowing every moment of the life you remembered was being observed and written down, but it quickly became more of a story and less of a recounting. Logan would often crinkle his nose in confusion. “Wait, which one’s Subject Three again?” He’d ask, to which you’d respond with a sigh and a long look. “That’s Joseph, or Janus. He can teleport. Kinda like Kurt but less smoky.” And he would raise his head with understanding, before continuing to read in silence.

You were okay for the first few pages, Ex.3 shook you up a little, reading about a memory you simply don’t have where they pushed your mutation to the limit alongside your bother. Deprivation and indulgence indeed. You took deep breaths through the surge of anxiety, Logan holding you close to him, asking softly if you needed anything. You just shook your head. You were fine. There were worse things to come. If you couldn’t handle this, how would you be okay with everything else?

The first big obstacle arose in 1944. The day was usual, you’d woken up, made breakfast with Rowa, and visited Jade, before they took you out for experimentation. It was the shift at Shots Shack. The one where you’d been flirted with all night and ended up fucking one of the customers in the bin shed.

Except, that’s not what happened at all. It was an accident. The result of a guard getting far too handsy with you. You’d fought him off as much as you could, but Subject One hadn’t restored your memories yet, so your mutation was at its baseline. You clenched your jaw as you kept reading, nausea roiling in your gut as Kreva detailed his observations, from your agonised screams for him to stop to the way you couldn’t stop shaking after he was done. You could barely stomach another sentence before a particularly vivid description of what was left behind had you detangling from Logan’s arms, racing to the bathroom and throwing up the contents of your stomach. You were kept under extreme observation after the incident. Not to make sure you were alright, but to look out for any signs of fucking pregnancy.

Logan had to suppress his burning hatred, not finding enough justice in knowing that the guard was let go from his position. He should be torn to fucking pieces for what he did. But flying off the handle wouldn’t help you. He followed you to the bathroom, gathering your hair in his hands as you convulsed over the toilet seat, the acidic stench of pure bile burning his nose.

It was a fairly fond memory, what supposedly happened that night, only now for it to be tainted forever by the truth of what really happened. Your gasp echoed into the toilet bowl as you wretched again, your skin itching as if you hadn’t washed in days.

“What’d you need?” Logan asked, gently scratching down your spine as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your weak response of “Shower…” Had him moving instantly, opening the window before turning the dial of the shower, letting it warm before he helped you to your feet.

“Where d’you need me?” He asked as you swallowed hard, clinging to his arm.

“Here.” You whispered, before slowly removing your clothes. Logan helped you out of your sweater, leaving you to pull down your own sweatpants unlike what had been written in the folder, before he guided you into the steam. Stripping himself of his own clothes, Logan stepped in after you, his heart breaking in two as you instantly sought his embrace.

He held you beneath the warm water until he completely lost track of time, your face nestled beneath his chin, his thumb slowly caressing up and down your spine. Occasionally your shoulders would spasm with a stifled sob, and he’d whisper sweet nothings into the top of your head. You were safe with him. He was going to look after you. He’d never let them find you again.

Despite having read your previous experiences, his hands on your body felt clean. Pure. Nothing about Logan was tainted in the same way that memory was. You nuzzled your nose further into the hair on his chest, feeling the aura of comfort wrap around your heart. He had you. He wasn’t letting you go.

Promises and vows drowned by the hum of water left his lips until you took a deep breath, stepping back from his embrace and meeting his gaze with newfound determination. You were okay. You’d be okay. Reaching behind him, Logan turned the dial for the water pressure until it was off completely, barely separating far enough from you that you could wrap a fluffy, heated town around your shoulder before he was stuck to your back again like a limpet. You weren’t complaining. It was absolutely what you needed right now. His presence. His touch. Knowing he wasn’t going to leave your side no matter what. No matter how broken your past, or how ruined you may be. He’d be by your side through all of it.

Logan kissed the top of your head, stepping ahead of you to snap the folder closed and shove it somewhere out of sight, but you stopped him before he could.

“I’m okay…” you murmured, loosening your grip on his forearm a little. He tensed his jaw, looking between you and the file. The mere fact that you were alright to continue was a testament to your courage. If he was being honest with himself, Logan didn’t know how much more he could read before it was you holding his hair back. And you giggled as he said just that. “Big baby.” You teased lightly, threading your fingers through his dark strands, swiping the damp back from his brow.

“‘Scuze me if I’m not exactly thrilled to read all the agony they put the love of my life through…” he admitted with a soft huff, unable to meet your gaze as your eyes lit up. You rose to your tiptoes, moulding your lips against his in a soft, reassuring kiss, before pulling back. You chose not to mention it, how he’d never said anything like that to you in the last eight months you’d been together. You chose not to pinpoint the moment of vulnerability, opting instead to let his words settle in your heart.

You didn’t know the time and honestly didn’t want to. Making yourselves two cups of tea, you returned back to the folder on the bed, once again getting comfortable. “Well. That was fucking harrowing…” you commented flatly as if you’d read something in the news, and Logan grunted in agreement, raising his fresh mug of tea to his mouth. He’d never been a tea drinker in the past, but living with you had turned him to all kinds of interesting new habits. “Ready for more…?” you asked with a wry smile to mask your nerves. He shot you an exhausted look but nodded nonetheless as you flipped through the papers to return to the one you’d had to leave. “Yeah no okay we don’t need to continue that one, we get the gist of it…” you turned the page hurriedly, smoothing out the paper as you pushed the contents behind you.

Year by year you kept reading, huffing little laughs as Kreva noted down everything NLMO got up to. From stealing some man’s car in the 1950s to graffitiing a wall with a penis in the 1980s. And whilst you knew your entire life was a simulation, it was almost gratifying to see that half of the things you remembered really did happen. You really did cook food with your brother. You really did hang out with Jade, or Kaleidoscope, every day. Erin, or Wood-Nymph, really did teach you how to grow plants effectively. You used to sit with Morgana, or Sanguine, and sketch together. Atlas, or Harmony, used his mutation to heal you up every time you ‘got into a fight’. You refused to refer to them by their numbers, just as you would refuse to refer to yourself that way too.

Logan wasn’t expecting the moments of peace within the file. He’d only skimmed a few pages back in the med bay and hadn’t picked it up since, so he was pleasantly surprised every time you chuckled lightly at your old shenanigans. You would offer small anecdotes of what you remembered, providing further context to what he was reading.

It broke him apart, however, when you went quiet. When you’d turn the page and be faced with the reality of what was happening to you. Psychological torture to test your mind’s durability. Scans and tests that had you screaming in pain as they injected you with various drugs, just to see how your mutation would react, if at all. These were the moments when Logan would hold you tighter against his side, eyes flickering from the pages to your face to guage where you were mentally.

1962, your mouth fell open as you scanned down the experiment report. They were helping you develop your mutation. Logan too pinched his brows in confusion. You’d been able to call the shadows at will, conjuring various objects, weapons, and appendages without a sweat. “Wh– How?” you muttered to yourself, flipping back through the pages you’d already read as if to find some kind of answer. Logan stilled your hand, his eyes scanning furiously down the log before pointing to a paragraph roughly a quarter of the way down the page.

“There.”

Sub.8 only seems to access its mutation after we use Sub.1 to refocus its brain. Whereas 5 had access to its full range of powers at all times, 8 shows signs of regression when 1 replaces its memories. To combat this, I have 1 reassemble only the memories it needs to regain full control and access to its mutation. The reasons for this are, as of right now, unclear. However, it is suspected that, though subconscious, 5 retains muscle memory of utilisation. It could be that 8 is so resilient because it simply forgets even on a subconscious level. Further investigation is needed to yield an answer.

You rolled your eyes, muttering a sarcastic “Oh, very helpful.” Before you continued flipping through the pages.

Spending the next day in bed, Logan was up and down the stairs, mainly to stretch his legs every now and then, but also to grab snacks and drinks before falling back down next to you on the bed, offering you a bite of whatever he’d snatched. You’d continue reading the document in front of you, absently opening your mouth before sinking your teeth into what you learned was a block of cheese. Only then did you look away from the text, shooting him a look of bafflement.

“An entire block of cheese?”

“‘M hungry.” He shrugged defensively, and you snorted a laugh, shaking your head as you returned to the words before you.

Logan didn’t know how you did it. He’d seen you sit for hours, with a nose buried in a book, but this was on another level. In the last twenty hours, he thinks he saw you get up and stretch once, head to the bathroom maybe three times, and take a roughly two-hour power nap. He, on the other hand, had to stand every hour or so, his legs feeling like dead weights if he lay down for much longer than that. The stacks of pages evened out slowly before finally, the read side looked far larger than the to-read side.

Setting down another mug of sweetened coffee on your nightstand, a new secret recipe of espresso mixed with hot chocolate, Logan lay back down next to you, skim-reading the rest of the page where he’d left off before you turned it over. It was how he forced you to give your eyes a break. You couldn’t continue until he’d finished the page you shared, and you only looked away when you’d reached the bottom and he’d stood up to go somewhere.

You’d reached 2013 now, only seven years ago, and the two of you were coming to the end of the folder. Flipping over the final page, you were met with penmanship rather than the typeface you’d become used to. Glancing to Logan, he returned your look of trepidation, before you started to read it aloud.

6th April, 2013. Fuck fuck FUCK! He’s let them all fucking go. FUCK! I barely managed to save their folders before the stupid bastard blew up the whole FUCKING FACILITY! I don’t know how he managed to get 1 to alter their memories without coercing it, but they’ve all scattered across the fucking country. We need to start rebuilding. We need to get them back. Now. We cannot let this research go to waste. They need to be understood. If we are to create an army of these mutants, we need them to return and continue understanding their fundamentals. 5 was the easiest to manipulate, and 1 didn’t know how to run. I found it lying on the ground by the road. I will rebuild what he destroyed, I will find them all again. I’ll continue the work of my great-grandfather. But if anything should go wrong… I’ll have 5 eradicate all evidence.

That was the last entry in your folder, and you wondered if any of the other seven had a similar log. Blowing out a long breath, you folded the file closed, turning to look at Logan as he seemed stuck in his head. A palm against his cheek, you turned him to look at you, tilting your head to the side in silently questioning.

“Hundred-and-five.” Was all he said, and you squinted in confusion.

“Hm?”

“That’s how old you are. At the start, it said you were sixteen. The first entry was in 1931, and the last entry was in 2013. Add the last seven years to that, and you’re hundred-and-five years old.” You stayed silent, attempting to wrap your head around his calculations. Over a century, you’d been alive. And eighty-two years of it was spent in a simulation, your memories being replaced almost daily. It was like your brain was a computer software they updated every ten years, making sure the background to your memories matched the decade. Fucking hell.

“Guess I can’t really make fun of you for your age anymore, huh…?” You smiled a little sadly, genuinely upset that half your jokes were now completely voided due to the fact you weren’t that much younger than him. You still didn’t know his age for sure, and neither did he. “But, looking on the bright side… at least I won’t grow old and grey whilst you look gorgeous forever.” You elbowed him softly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

If this was how you chose to cope with it, then Logan would be happy to go along with you. “You were worried ‘bout that?” he asked, raising a thick brow as you nodded.

“It crossed my mind, sure.” You shrugged, before kicking the folder to the floor, its once imposing presence in the room was now little more than an inconvenience taking up too much of the bed. The silence settled as you contemplated that last page. A mutant army. It didn’t seem possible. Who would be willing to join something like that? And why would any mutant fight for a human doctor? But you couldn’t shake your growing fear. And now he’d gathered whoever was left of NLMO, minus yourself and Jade. And since Jade was dead, you were the last on his list.

The thought didn’t scare you. You knew what you needed to do. And you were pretty sure Logan knew it too.

“We need to get you back to Charles…” he whispered in defeat, being the braver of the two to actually voice what needed to happen. You needed your full mutation, and if the file was to be believed, the only way you could get it back, was if your memories were restored. Your real memories.

Closing your eyes, you tensed your jaw as you nodded in agreement, still too afraid to speak it into existence. Truth be told, you didn’t want your memories back. Whilst you weren’t exactly thrilled at what happened to you, it felt so far away, since you don’t remember living through any of it. “What if…” you started, trailing off almost immediately as you found the right words. “What if I’m not… me, anymore. If he can get them back, my memories… what if I’m different than I am now?” You asked timidly, avoiding looking anywhere near his face by fiddling with one of the tassels of his zipper hoodie.

Logan sighed through his nose, clasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger and raising your head so he could look you in the eye. Honestly, it scared him too, what those memories might do to you, but he also knew who you were. At your core. At the centre of your being. He knew exactly who and what you were.

“You’ll be different, sure. But you’ll still be you,” he urged you to meet his gaze, adjusting his grip on your chin every time your eyes shifted from his own. “No matter what happens. No matter who or what you are after you remember, I’ll be right here.” His fingers shifted from your chin to your jaw, sandwiching your face between his calloused palms, his thumbs tracing the shadows beneath your eyes.

Your head settled against his brow, simply feeling him close to you, whispering a quiet “Okay…” before he pressed a kiss of assurance to your lips. You smiled against him, your breath fanning his mouth and chin.

“Glad I changed the spark plugs now… shame about the oil.” You chuckled slightly, and Logan rolled his eyes.

“Think an oil change is the least of our concerns…” he mumbled, before you sat back, rubbing a tired hand down the side of your face. You looked exhausted, but then again, you always did. “Well, no time like the present, huh?” A rapid sigh flew from parted lips and you scrambled off the bed, pulling your rucksack out of the closet. Logan made to follow your lead, before halting as rhythmic, low vibrations hummed from the bedside drawer. His wry gaze slid to you, a brow raised in sly amusement.

You held your hands up in innocence. “Don’t look at me! My drawer’s on that side! Plus it has an off switch, thank you!” You huffed, folding your arms across your chest. Logan’s brow furrowed in confusion, wrenching the drawer open, various different objects clattering around with the force, including his unused mobile phone. It was rudimentary, barely more modern than the Nokia Brick, sporting large thick buttons rather than a screen. What small screen it did have illuminated as Logan chuckled at the name, holding up the mobile so you could read it.

TODD

You snorted a laugh, checking the time on the phone simultaneously. Had he really only found the sneaky money after almost two days? At two in the morning? “Told ya you’d receive an angry text or call!” You grinned triumphantly, Logan tossing the phone back down on the bed to let it ring out. He’d return his call on the road whenever you’d inevitably fallen asleep, and listen to whatever long-winded reprimanding he had coming his way.

“Stay in the car…” he’d growled, his nose twitching as he sensed something wasn’t quite right. Your heart thundered in your throat as he opened his door, claws sliding from his knuckles, surveying the treelines on either side of the road. The air beyond the cab was quiet. Too quiet. And Logan angled his head to the sky, inhaling deeply before exhaling a threatening snarl.

Something was very wrong.

You linked your fingers through the handle of your door, pulling against the mechanism. Logan whipped to look at you through the driver’s side, his eyes wide and panicked as you shot him a look back. You weren’t fucking defenseless for Christ’s sake. You were a powerful mutant even without the whole scope of your abilities.

You stepped out of the car despite his protests, waiting for something to happen the moment your feet touched the tarmac.

Silence.

You took a step forward.

Silence.

Casting a glance over to Logan, you watched as his chest heaved with adrenaline, and you didn’t fight the urge to cross the road with the intention of setting him at ease.

The second you were crossing the headlights, the dark road ahead exploded with light, shadows disappearing as a single gunshot rang out.

Logan’s world froze as blood exploded from your chest, spraying the hood and windshield of the pickup. A look of confusion tilted your head, before realisation dawned on your features and you staggered back, your breath strained in your throat as a dark line of crimson slid from the corner of your mouth. Pain wracked his chest as Logan roared, though his desperate attempts to get to you were in vain, finding his limbs sluggish and his brain hazy.

Your knees gave out as you collapsed onto the road, splitting your head against the tarmac. This is why you haven’t left for six months. This was the exact reason why he’d kept you safe in the cabin. Logan supported himself against the truck, dragging his stubborn legs across the ground, his vision swimming. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. All you needed was a shadow and you’d be okay. He’d deal with the rest. He just needed to get his shadow within your reach.

“The Wolverine. I’ve heard a lot about you.” A voice echoed around the trees lining the road, that pocket-sized sun moving closer to where you lay, gasping and bleeding, with no shadow to disintegrate into. “You’re extremely hard to get rid of. I never take Subject Two anywhere, yet here it was needed to keep you at bay. An impressive little mutant. It can manipulate blood cells. You see, right now, it’s slowed the beat of your heart to the point where you feel… drowsy? Sluggish? Exhausted? How’re you feeling right now?” He almost mocked, crouching down to where Logan had fallen to the floor, inches away from you. But the light had moved, his shadow now behind him and nowhere near where you needed it.

“Kreva.” He hissed, his claws slowly sliding from his knuckles and scratching along the tarmac. You gurgled weakly, making a subconscious reach for where Logan lay immobile, his eyes bloodshot. You’d read the file now. You knew all about NLMO and their individual mutations. Subject Two, Sanguine, could control and manipulate blood, whether it was her own or belonged to somebody, or something, else. And of course, that constant glow of sunlight belonged to Subject Five. Rowan. Solaris. Your brother.

Your body itched as you bled out, begging for the haven of darkness to dissolve and reform, it was taking all of your strength to hold together those threads.

“It’s been cute, watching our Phantom domesticate the great Wolverine. But it couldn’t last. I still need it, unfortunately.” Dr.Kreva patted his hand against Logan’s arm as if in consolidate him, but it did nothing other than fuel his rage. Logan struggled against Sanguine, looking up at her shrouded face, eyes burning a deep red as she continued to manipulate his bloodstream. “Everyone step back!” Kreva called out, resulting in the team around him shuffling back a few feet.

“Don’t… don’t you– fuckin’ touch her!” Logan’s vision tunnelled slightly, barely managing to ground out his threat between clenched teeth. Kreva simply laughed with bitter condescending.

“Yes, I suppose I could let her bleed out. Though considering she’s been shot in the chest before and lived, I wonder how long it would take for her to actually die. Maybe that’ll be our last experiment. Whaddya say, Eight?” He bent over you, and you mustered up enough energy to spit a globule of blood into his face. He swiped at your crimson spit, cracking a hearty smile. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Subject Five, if you could.” Rowan moved behind Kreva, his shadow shrouding you in darkness and you fought the urge to dissolve into it, knowing that if you did, there would be nothing you could do. He had intimate knowledge of your mutation, he’d already prepared by bringing along your brother, let alone whatever else he’d had with him. You greet your blood-stained teeth, shivering as your body pleaded with you to let go. “You’ll give in, Eight. You always do. You tried this before. Not that you remember. Those scars on your wrists? You’ve tried this before and your body wouldn’t let you. So just give in…” He urged quietly, and you balled your fists, your nails digging harshly into the soft flesh of your palm.

Your eyes slid to Logan a few feet away, his breath heaving in his chest, fear swirling in his wide hazel irises as he looked at you.

“I will find you,” he grit, the tendons in his neck straining. “I promise. I will find you.”

You offered him a weary, bloody smile, and his heart broke as he saw the hope fade from your face.

“I love you…” you barely managed a silent whisper, lingering just long enough to watch his whole world shatter through the windows to his soul, before you released the threads within your body, sinking into Kreva’s shadow.

“Splendid,” Kreva clapped his hands together as if he’d done nothing but lit a fantastic barbecue. “Subject Five, you can stop now.” Like a switch had been flipped, the daylight glow resonating from your brother cut out, the torch beams from the truck headlights now the only remaining light. Logan clawed at the ground, his eyes lingering where he’d seen you last. You weren’t dead. He needed to remember that. You weren’t dead. But the way you spoke to him like it was the last time you were ever going to see him…

A cry of anguish worked its way up his throat, splitting the air as Kreva turned back to him like he’d just remembered he was there. “Oh, I know, hurts, doesn’t it? Let’s ease your pain for a while. Subject Two, if you’d be so kind.”

Logan’s vision swam further, the pounding in his head growing to a crescendo as his heart rate slowed, knowing nothing more as his senses faded to black.

It must have only been seconds of unconscious, the sky still shrouded in black clouds when he came to once again. Though Kreva was nowhere to be seen, a pool of crimson blood left behind where you once lay dying.

You weren’t dead. You weren’t dead.

Raising to his forearms, Logan shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the cobwebs, hazy memories dancing just out of his reach. Staggering to his feet, he craned his neck as the hum of a jet hovered overhead, recognising the Blackbird instantly, the sleek design blending in seamlessly with the sky above before the beams from the truck headlights illuminated the cockpit, steam hissing with pressure as the feet extended to the ground.

The engine was still whirring when Storm sprinted down the ramp toward him, her stark hair flowing behind her in the breeze she kicked up. Logan shook his head numbly as she approached, in answer to the question she had yet to ask. “Gone…” was all he could say, eyes sliding from Ororo to the bloodstain on the tarmac. Scott jogged up behind her, fingers braced at the side of his glasses before he stopped, seeing Logan’s expression.

There was a moment of understanding between the two men, Scott swallowing hard, Logan shaking his head still, slightly helpless before Scott stepped forward and firmly enveloped him in a tight embrace.

“We’ll get her back, man. We will.”

Logan’s breath shuddered as Scott drew back, keeping a hand firmly clasped atop his shoulder as Ororo looked between the two of them. “Kreva, right?” she asked rhetorically, though Logan nodded nonetheless.

“Yeah. Ambush. Had this freaky blood manipulator. I couldn’t fuckin’ get to her.” he bared his teeth, running a hand through his hair.

“How’d he even know where she was? Where were you headed?” Scott asked, continuously glancing around as if someone was eavesdropping on the conversation. But they’d gone. Kreva and his subjects had gone.

And taken you with them.

“Headin’ back to you. We read the file. She needs her memories back if we want to use her mutation. I don’t have a clue how he knew. I just–”

The realisation struck Logan like a brick to the head, stopping abruptly as he absently removed his phone from his back pocket.

There, glaring in the low light, the sole reason for icy fury to flood his veins. There, the sole reason you weren’t by his side right now.

Logan gripped the phone in his palm, hearing the casing crack slightly as he read the text over and over, a name he thought he could trust. The only name he thought he could trust with you.

TODD:

Forgive me.

#wolverine x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #logan howlett #x men logan #x men wolverine #x men x reader #logan smut #logan x reader smut #the wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #essa's works

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txttletale · 3 months

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If we're asking about games on your list of favourites, as someone who adored Paradise Killer, I'd love to hear your thoughts on it! I always enjoy your analysis.

so first of all the aesthetics of paradise killer are really good. usually games that were written in english but read like translations from japanese irritated me, but here i think it is very much leaned into and embraced as an aesthetic and set of cultural signifiers in its own right, which i really enjoy. the character designs are outlandish and charming. but what i really like about it is like, the way the core premise works

in most detective games, there is a correct answer, and not getting it is a failure state. you can't end a case in ace attorney with your innocent client being convicted, you can't get the wrong guy in the frogware sherlock holmes games. and this invariably, even if the game is critical in other aspects, tends to come around to a fundamental faith in the legal system and authority, right--something that's kind of baked into the detective genre at a fundamental level.

paradise killer upends that by simply saying "you are the detective. get the facts you need, make a compelling argument, and if the authorities above you believe you then you get to distribute justice as you see fit." you arrive on the island you're investigating and you're immediately told "hey, this member of a disenfranchised underclass did it, we've already arrested him, here's the evidence." and absolutely nothing stops you from taking that evidence and walking into the trial room and presenting it and saying "yep, he did it!" and beating the game! it's not a 'bad ending', you don't get a big popup saying 'you're wrong', the powers that be just accept the convenient narrative you've been given to present and everything moves on.

i like this from both, like, an ideological perspective, and also from an interpersonal stakes perspective. in most detective games, you can't miss a crucial piece of evidence, either because the game will not proceed until you pick it up or because you'll be forced to restart the 'trial' or 'deduction' segment when you game over because you're missing it. in paradise killer, whatever argument you put forward, if enough evidence supports it--even if you know for a fact it's wrong!--leads to the person you're accusing being executed. so the stakes are much higher, right, because instead of a game over screen and trying again, getting it wrong means that's just... how the game ends, with an innocent person being executed.

and more importantly i think it does a fantastic job--better imo even than something like disco elysium--at deconstructing the fantasy of justice. a constant theme of the game and something that the protagonist repeats often is "there is a difference between facts and the truth". you can withhold evidence at trial because it implicates your friends, or misrepresent it to implicate that bitch you hate. nothing in the system exists to stop you getting wrong, in fact your superiors encourage you to make the easy completely stritched up conviction and move on with your life.

and at the end, even if you get it right, if you catch all the criminals--all the time you spend investigating this island shows that, like, the society you're part of is fucking evil! you're all deranged immortals making constant human sacrifices to your evil gods! and you don't change that by solving the case, the whole thing just packs up and moves on. you don't get any comfortable resolution to that or to your role in it. you can play lady love dies as a diehard true believer or as a dissident rebel but either way she's ultimately just another cog in a machine, dispensing an alien and uncaring justice that is only attached to any real morality or truth by your decision to do so. a genuinely incredible game.

plus i like how whenever you open it a voice says 'paradise killer' so you know you're playing paradise killer

#ask

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beenbaanbuun · 5 months

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hi i wanna ask if dove ever fought with seonghwa or hongjoong like full on disagreeing and just arguing? and what was it like ^____^ i really love ur Addams!Matz fic and seeing you post smth new related to it makes my day!

darling has tiny arguments with hongjoong on a semi-regular basis. despite her tendency to roll over and submit, she’s actually surprisingly hard headed and if hongjoong claims that she broke a rule that she doesn’t agree with, then she is going to give that man hell. the problem is, hongjoong is equally as stubborn and it sometimes ends up with the house being a full on war zone. snarky comments over a game of chess, silent glares over dinner; it’s just an all round hostile environment and seonghwa just tends to be on the sidelines watching it all go down.

“you can’t move your piece there,” hongjoong deadpans as he watches you do an illegal chess move. normally he’d just laugh it off and gently correct you, but he can’t find it in himself to do that when his blood is still boiling from that mornings conversation.

“well if you can make up rules, then so can i,” you fold your arms in defiance and hongjoong finds himself seething. if he were calmer, he’d drag you over his lap and teach you a lesson about being a brat, but just like you had your rules, they had theirs. no punishments out of anger was a pretty important one; they didn’t want to end up hurting you whilst getting their frustrations out. “and i say i want to put my castle there…”

it usually ends up with seonghwa having to step into the metaphorical firing line, because hell below, he and yeosang are sick and tired of it! the constant back and forth has driven the two of them to insanity and if he has to put a stop to it himself then he absolutely will. seonghwa isn’t a believer in anger, and so he will make them sit down and air out their grievances in a calm and collected manner. he’ll even implement a talking stick of absolutely necessary. as long as the two of them aren’t at odds by the time they slip themselves beneath the comforter or their bed, seonghwa will be happy.

for that very reason, darling and seonghwa almost never argue. if she doesn’t agree with seonghwa on anything, he will just nod and offer to talk it through with her when he’s less busy. sometimes she agrees and step down, but sometimes it’s clear that she’s looking for a fight and she tries to push it further. it’s infuriating because no matter how hard she tries, seonghwa just keeps his cool and answers her as if it’s any other conversation. he knows she only does it when she’s in a bad mood, so his first port of call is usually tackling whatever it is that’s getting you down.

“but i just don’t understand how it’s fair,” you snarl, your pacing coming to a stop right in front of where he sits on the chez. he doesn’t even look at you as you growl out your words, and it drives you mad. you stomp your foot in frustration, the loud noise irritating the man just ever-so-slightly. he lets out a deep sigh.

“i said we’ll talk about it later, lamb,” he hums with disinterest as he flicks over the page of his book. you’re fuming above him, chest rising and falling heavily as you glare at him. he lets his gaze flick up to your face, an unimpressed look resting on his features. “what? are you looking for an argument or something? you know i won’t give you one so why don’t you come and sit with me until you’ve calmed down.”

#ateez x reader #matz x reader #opposites attract universe

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hauntdoesthings · 7 months

Text

let's talk about: Husk

Husk is a character that I see a lot of love for, but not a lot of discussion about, at least not the same way we talk about Angel Dust or Alastor, so I'd like to start the conversation since I've noticed certain details about him during a rewatch.

How He Socializes

Husk puts it best himself; "Everybody likes to bitch to the bartender." He knows more about everyone than anyone else, whether they tell him or not. Not only is he the one people turn to vent to at their lowest, he has incredible skill at reading others. It's most likely something he picked up as a gambler, but we can see he still utilizes it to read the other residents, like knowing Angel shouldn't be getting drunk after his long shift and realizing when he's masking right afterwards.

On the other hand, reading people like this doesn't seem to fit with his character in earlier episodes. In the first episodes, Husk makes it very clear he doesn't want to at the hotel and by extension doesn't want to be around the residents. His first line is literally about how he's forced to be there and pretty much all of his screen time is spent being anywhere from unfriendly to outright aggressive towards the rest of the cast. He surely doesn't care enough to read people to get closer to them, so why does he? I believe it's either a subconscious behavior or possibly as a defensive measure. Like in a poker game, he reads his "opponents" to stay ahead of them while keeping his own cards close to his chest.

It's already clear Husk values his boundaries when watching his earlier interactions with Angel, but this combined with other behaviors makes me think he's a very defensive person in general. His body language is constantly closed off, often crossing his arms or physically being separated from others behind the bar. This could just be indicative of his surly personality, but there is a specific behavior makes me think more of it. During my rewatch for this post, I realized Husk has a tendency to hug himself during certain moments of discomfort, like the entire first trust exercise in episode 3(more on that later), and during his first argument with Angel in episode 4, he actually shields himself with his wings when AD insults him before leaving.

Speaking of, episode 4 is really a great example of how Husk view others, especially since this is when his mindset finally shifts.

It's easy to see how dismissive Husk is of AD during this episode, with his constant reiterations of how "fake" he is and even saying that he'll be fine after running out despite knowing that he's had a hard night. Looking a little closer at his mannerisms though, it's clear that he cares more than he wants to let on. He insults the scripts and setting of AD's video rather than his acting and even says that that's specifically what Angel tends to complain about. Even when Valentino sudden calls up AD, Husk's face is more upset than "I told ya so." He realizes that Angel is unhappy with his work, but at the same time, he doesn't think too deeply about it.

Husk assumes that because everyone tends to spills their guts to him while drinking, he knows all he needs to about them, and he's correct to a certain degree; however, despite everything he knows, he doesn't appear to think too deeply beyond what he can easily glean. Charlie wants to help others so she doesn't have to help herself, Vaggie projects her self-hatred and high standards onto those around her, and Angel bullshits his way through everything because he's an actor who doesn't know how to be real. Husk realizes these things easily, but not why the others are this way, and it especially shows during his confrontation with AD, as when Angel finally snaps and reveals his true motives, Husk is visually taken aback.

He's so used to knowing and analyzing people easily that this sudden, truly heartfelt moment from Angel makes him rethink how he's been going about their interactions, how he's been thinking of him this whole time. And this is the moment that makes him decide to open up about his own past. Whether it was seeing that common thread between himself and Angel or possibly a realization that he won't accept help from someone who doesn't offer any input of their own, this is the first time we really see him offer any of his private, personal life, and afterwards, there's an obvious shift in how he treats Angel and everyone else.

"Loser Baby" is the first time we see Husk willingly initiate physical contact onscreen when he's always be visibly tense and uncomfortable at even most mentions of it, though most of that was AD being suggestive so it could be an issue with sexual intimacy than physical. He's comfortable enough in episode 6 to go clubbing with the group and genuinely looks like he's enjoying himself, especially compared to when he went to keep an eye on Angel in episode 4, even helping look out for Niffty when needed and supporting Angel after standing up to Valentino. In the lead-up to the Extermination, there's not a single insinuation that he would've left the hotel, choice or not, and he is with the rest of the cast during all the important moments of the battle, from Sir Pentious' death to the ending number. Even when Alastor is presumed dead, even if he assumed Alastor wasn't really gone, Husk could've easily run off during his absence, but he sticks around to help rebuild, undeniably of his volition, wanting to help his friends and possible family.

That note also brings me to something I've really been wanting to talk about:

Husk and Alastor

Unless we see a shift or get new knowledge about Nifty, Alastor and Husk have a really unique relationship both in theory and as evidenced. Husk is a former Overlord, presumably from before Alastor's rise if he was willing to bet his soul in a game with him. This opens up a lot of questions for me, mainly about what their bet entailed, what led Husk to making it in the first place, and if there's a certain respect between them. Yes, Alastor refers to Husk as his "pet," but Husk also comes to him with his suspicions about Mimsy and it can almost be read as worry. Alastor even responds that "it's nothing [he] can't handle." There has to be a certain level of trust for someone to bring up "hey, that friend you've known for decades only ever comes to you when they need something" and have their concerns taken seriously, even if Alastor's care for others is negligible at best. This whole scene seems to be showing that despite their deal, their past as equals has not been totally forgotten by either of them, leading to a certain understanding of each other that neither, particularly Alastor, have had with anyone else up until now.

The biggest reason I bring their relationship up though is Alastor's deal. With all we've seen, I believe Husk is the one character besides Alastor himself and whoever the other party is that knows about the deal and its possible connection to Alastor's disappearance.

For one, Husk is the one that confirms Alastor is "on a leash" in the first place, and he shows no surprise that Husk knows. Alastor is definitely not the kind of person to let anyone know about something like that no matter how close they are, so this makes me think either Husk had to know or that he was possibly there during the deal.

It also stands out to me the specific phrasing that Husk and Alastor use during the scene.

"You've been gone a long time, and it's not like anybody knows why." "They don't need to know!"

This kind of phrasing makes it feel like Husk is specifically being excluded from that group by both himself and Alastor. If it's true that Alastor's deal is the reason he disappeared, then Husk knowing about both the deal and why Alastor's been gone lines up perfectly. Maybe Husk will be the one to reveal more about this to the audience or even the rest of the cast later on, but it's clear that he does know more than anyone not directly involved and at this moment is the most likely to talk about it, assuming Alastor doesn't immediately tear him a new one for it.

Little Details

Last section, I promise. This is just some little details I noticed while rewatching for this that didn't really fit in anywhere else and questions/speculation about them.

Remember how I mentioned Husk hugging himself earlier? The first time I noticed this was during episode 3 when, after seeing the stage, he declares "I'm not about to put on some show for these fucking chumps." Not sure how much of everyone's backstory is still canon, but it was stated that Husk was a magician during his life, so maybe this is hinting that he has some stage-related baggage?

Also during episode 3, we see Husk sneak down the stairs before Vaggie can toss him off the roof in the warzone, and since he didn't come back up with Angel and Pentious, he presumably left before they made it out. However, at the end of the episode, he's laughing with everyone over the events of it. He comments that SP can "take a beating like a champ" and "you did ok, new kid," so was he just pretending like he was there or did he just hang out on the sidelines and watch? Husk wtf?

Husk specifically says that AD's video is "not a very convincing interrogation scene." Does Husk have experience?

When the bartender pours drinks for the gangster getting Angel a refill, Husk immediately watches the drinks themselves, before the guy even reaches for that little bottle. He's a bartender, he's probably seen too many people have their drinks fucked with to the point it's just an instinct now.

He was ready to square tf up when Valentino hit Angel, but waited until Angel walked away instead of jumping in like in episode 4. He really does trust him to take care of himself and was ready to back up whatever he did.

During "The Show Must Go On," it's minor, but Husk actually tucks his wings around the group hug and it's aasfjkdsajfd

For those who've made it this far, thank you so much for listening to my overthinking and ramblings. Please feel free to ask about anything incoherent, add on to anything, or point out things I missed, I'd just really love to get the discussion started on some of these things!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #husker #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel analysis #hazbin hotel theory #also thinking about doing one of these for vox esp since he's supposed to be a major antagonist next season #but all that rewatching may lead to me getting very sick of my husband sooo(i say as tho i'm not fixated like he is on radio man)#holy shit haunt posts twice in one week(this is a rare occasion please do not expect things of me i will cry)/j

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the-s1lly-corner · 4 months

Text

Crps x reader who does horror podcasts

Just got done watching creep casts left right game videos and it gave me an idea for this post WOOOOO

Characters: jeff the killer, ticci toby, Laughing jack

Notes: reader is GN, established relationship, reader mostly reads stories and stuff for their podcast

CWs: horror talk, talk of canon typical violence

Laughing Jack

He provides sound effects for you!

if you're reading a scary story he kind of just... pops in add to the story telling

if your podcast is purely audio he's going to be lingering around so he can just wait for the opportunity to butt in

sometimes does some voice acting for you if you ask, thrilled that you want to do something with him

actually pretty good at offering unique voices for each character though he does tend to get... very in character... like horrifyingly so, especially if the character in the story is really... not having a good time

clown logic lets him make most sounds accurately, many of your listeners think you're using a sound board or are a really really good foley artist... glass shattering, bones breaking, or something as innocent as a car honking.. its actually a little interesting to watch jack make the sound effects live because they just.. happen

Jeff

i mention somewhere that hes not much of a reader- not because hes not interested in it but because he just struggles with reading. no real reason yet but he just struggles with keeping track! listening to you read things out loud actually help a lot if you're also reading creepy stories

loooooves when you read gorier stuff, for... obvious reasons

hes not very interested in joining you on your little show, though, hes content with being a listener

a little sweet that you sometimes catch him listening to your recordings, will deny it though

if you ever talk about crime stuff and happen to talk about his murders hes definitely going to be giving you information and correcting details from the news and reports

may or may not make you look unreliable or even suspicious...

Ticci Toby

not much of a reader but thats because he just doesnt have the time or patience or desire to sit down and read something... but listening to something while doing his thing? now he can get behind that! and your storytelling is the perfect thing to listen to!

loves how deep into the storytelling you get into as well as generally just loves hearing you talk about something that obviously interests you

similarly to jacks part, if your show is only audio he may be inclined to do an episode with you! you guys switch off and take turns

oh he would 100% save funny bits from your episodes so he can go back to them

gets a little jealous if you often have guests on your show, but he tends to internalize those feelings

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #crp x reader #crp x you #crp imagine #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack x you #laughing jack imagine #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer imagine #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #ticci toby imagine

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apomaro-mellow · 2 years

Text

based on this

It was supposed to be a joke. A laugh. A funny story to tell later. But five questions in and things were different.

It was a normal barbecue. Everyone was there at Hopper’s cabin and generally having a great time. Good food and good company tended to guarantee that. But then someone had pulled out a home version of the Newly Wed Game. It was clearly well-used and probably missing some parts, but still playable. The most important parts were the questions anyway.

Mike, definitely not compensating for anything, adamantly exclaimed that he and El could win in a heartbeat. And because he couldn’t help his annoying little brother tendencies, challenged Nancy and Jonathan. And because Nancy couldn’t stomp down the big sister urge to put her brother in his place, she accepted. So they already had two couples but Mike got it in his head that they needed a third. He vetoed Hopper and Joyce, saying that they didn’t count as newly weds.

Lucas and Max were still figuring out what they wanted and hadn’t officially come back as a couple even though Max wasn’t actively avoiding him anymore. Dustin proclaimed he’d kick their asses if Suzie was there, but alas.

“We’ll be your thirds”, Eddie said, putting an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“You?”, Mike’s face and voice was so incredulous and while Steve was confused as well, Mike’s offense offended him on principle.

“You’ve got two couples who are absolutely made for each other. You need an obvious dud couple”, Eddie reasoned, then winked at Steve and oh.

This was another one of those attempts at getting him back with Nancy. Because he and Eddie wouldn’t get any of the questions right, but he’d know things about Nancy and she’d know things about him. A sound plan.

If only Steve wanted Nancy back.

Steve meant to tell Eddie as such but it was hard to fight against that blind optimism.

And so the three couples sat down, with Argyle being their show host and asking the questions. The first few were easy. Steve got asked “What’s their favorite type of music?” Eddie got asked “Favorite sport?” Steve got asked “Favorite kind of weather?” Eddie got asked “Do they prefer the beach or the pool?” Steve got asked “Night in or night out?”

All easy. He knew those almost immediately. And it seemed Eddie did too by the quick way he answered. But while they were 5 for 5, Nancy and Jonathan had only gotten three and Mike and El had only gotten two. And Steve had to admit, he was at a loss for some of the answers for Nancy.

“You guys are on a roll my dudes”, Argyle said. “Next one: Crust on or off the sandwich?”

“Crusts off”, Mike answered.

El showed her response and Mike was correct.

“Crusts on”, Nancy answered.

Jonathan bit his lip. “Actually, I prefer them off.”

“Heh, yeah he does”, Argyle said. “He said crusts were crusty and it was like, profound man. Eddie?”

“Trick question, he’ll eat anything I make for him. Wontcha, big boy?”

Steve grinned. “I never turn down free food. Even when it’s one of your Scooby Doo specials.”

“His what?”, Mike asked.

“Moving on”, Argyle continued. “Your spouse can take one thing on a deserted island. What is it?”

El guessed a book, which turned out to be wrong. Jonathan replied with a gun, which turned out to be wrong. Argyle’s eyes turned to the third couple.

Steve bit his lip before answering. “My first instinct was to say his guitar, but I gotta go with a copy of Lord of the Rings.”

Argyle looked to Eddie. “Is this correct?”

“This man knows me like the back of his hand”, Eddie said, clapping Steve’s back. At some point he had forgotten his own plan and was just having fun.

“Okay, this is bullshit”, Mike finally broke. “How are you guys getting all of these right.”

Steve didn’t have an answer. And neither did Eddie. They shared a look without words and once again they came up with the same answer but neither of them wanted to admit it.

“Just admit you lost, Mike”, Nancy said.

“You lost too.”

“Second’s better than third.”

“God you’re so-”

“Hey guys! There’s more hot dogs!”, Lucas called out.

The game ended there, the other two couples going about their business. Whereas Steve and Eddie were left with the question that already had an answer. How did they know all of those things about each other?

Part 2

#apo writes #fanfiction #steddie #stranger things #also includes #mileven #and #jancy

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 1 year

Text

Superstar (Superstar Chapter 1)

I'm no one special, just another wide-eyed girl

Who's desperately in love with you

Give me a photograph to hang on my wall, superstar

The Reader is thrilled to start a new job at AFC Richmond- especially since it means working with a certain player-turned-coach.

Roy Kent x Reader

2.7k words

Warnings: language (because Roy Kent); I’m a bit rusty so forgive my writing!

A/N: Been having some horribly bad writer’s block in addition to work stress. Thankfully my man Roy Kent helped me finally break through!!!

“Well, there she is!” Coach Ted Lasso waved enthusiastically as I parked my car in the staff lot. Next to him stood Rebecca Welton, who offered the tiniest of waves and something of an apologetic smile.

I took a deep breath, my hand hovering over the driver’s side door. First day on the new job: coach’s assistant. Between three coaches, there was a lot going on; they needed someone to handle communication, schedules, and small tasks so they could focus on training and (hopefully) winning. Having grown up just around the corner from Nelson Road, it felt almost like an honor to be part of the organization.

In a blur, Ted had firmly shaken my hand for what felt like an eternity, yammered off about a dozen Lasso-isms that I wasn’t quite sure I heard correctly, and ushered me into the building, all with Rebecca following along, interjecting short corrections and reassurances every time Ted paused to take a breath.

“And this here’s the locker room,” Ted announced with a small flourish. “Now, the boys tend to be pretty modest, the only one you may see too much of is Jamie, but if you just throw a towel in his face, he’ll take the hint.” He opened the door, gesturing for me to follow.

Rebecca touched my arm gently, that tight smile still on her face. “I should be going. But please, let me know if there’s anything you need. You’re in great hands,” she added, nodding towards Ted. “Welcome to Richmond.” With another touch to my arm, she was gone.

I followed Ted into the changing room. A few guys were milling about, still in their street clothes, chattering and beginning to put their things away. They looked up when I entered, offering small nods of acknowledgement. Ted rattled off their names, all familiar to me. I made mental notes about how each one smiled and shook my hand, trying to take snapshots in my brain so I could describe every moment to my family later that night.

After meeting all the players that Ted called “early birds”, I followed Ted into the coaches’ offices, where I was quickly introduced to Coach Beard, who nodded from behind a tattered copy of Either/Or.

“Now, Coach Beard and I share this office,” Ted was explaining. “You’ll be right through here. Hope ya don’t mind sharing!” He led me through the side door to another office. “I’m sure you know this ray of sunshine here is Roy Kent.”

My stomach jumped to my throat as the man in black track pants and a dark Richmond shirt glanced up from his desk. As if I really needed to be introduced to the man whose poster still hung above the bed in my childhood bedroom. Several kits sporting his name and number hung in my closet. Hell, for one birthday my jokester dad even got me a cardboard cutout of the man. It currently sat folded in the back of a closet in my flat, but it often made an appearance in my living room when I hosted game day parties with my mates.

I was pretty sure if I dug far enough in my parents’ attic, I’d find my school notebooks with “Mrs. Roy Kent” scribbled all over them.

And now he sat in front of me, staring up at me through thick eyelashes that made me go weak in the knees. A half scowl appeared on his face. “You’re the assistant then?” He offered his hand.

I nodded, praying that neither coach could see my body trembling slightly as I reached out to shake Roy Kent’s hand. “I- I am.”

Ohmygod ohmygod I’m shaking Roy Kent’s hand I’m touching Roy Kent Roy Kent spoke to me Roy Kent is looking at me ohmygod ohmygod.

It felt far too soon when he let go of my hand. “Well, as long as you keep your shit off my desk and don’t wear any rancid perfume, we should be fucking fine.” He nodded behind him toward an empty desk. “That’s you.” Without another word, he stood up, grabbed the notebook he had been drawing in, and left.

Ted beamed at me. “Well now, that went great! That’s about as charming as you can expect Roy to be, so count yourself lucky. Now, why don’t you get yourself settled and we’ll see you in the locker room in about ten minutes?”

“D’you like kebabs?”

I turned my head, pausing my fingers above my keyboard. “Excuse me?”

With a giant sigh, Roy swiveled around in his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Kebabs. D’you like ’em?”

“Uh, I guess.” I scrunched my nose as I stared at him. After two weeks of working for Richmond, this was the first time Roy had spoken to me so directly. Up until now, it had been mostly grunts and growls in my general direction. But, after years of watching him on the pitch, I knew by the look in his eye that he didn’t hate me- at least, not any more than he hated the rest of the world. And that was fine enough with me.

“You guess?” There was that scowl. “You either fuckin’ like ‘em or you don’t.”

It took all my strength to suppress my grin. God, he was just as gorgeous as when I used to watch him play on the television. “Fine, fine. I like kebabs.”

With a suddenness that almost made me jump in my seat, Roy stood up. “Okay.” Without another word, he walked out of our office.

About twenty minutes later, a Styrofoam container slammed onto my desk. I looked up at Roy, who towered over me, a plastic bag clutched in his fist. He glowered at me.

“Thanks, Roy,” I managed, opening the box. Sure enough, kebabs. I smiled up at him, but his eyes were scanning my desk.

“That your family?” He pointed at a frame that held a photo my family had taken during a camping trip.

“Oh, yeah. My folks and brothers. They live not far from here. We grew up huge Richmond fans.”

His eyes continued to roam my work area. “What, no pictures of your boyfriend? Is he fuckin’ ugly or somethin’?”

My cheeks heated up. “No boyfriend.” Somewhere inside me, boldness surged forward. “What about you? I don’t see your model of the week on your desk.”

He smirked. Ohmygod he smirked. “I’m too fucking old for that shit now.”

“Uh huh.” I couldn’t make myself say anything else. All I could see was that smirk, and those brown eyes. Until I realized he was waiting for me to say something. Speak, you idiot! “I like kebabs,” I blurted. Shit.

The smirk softened slightly. “So I heard.”

For a moment he just stood there, smiling down at me. Then he cleared his throat, glancing at the bag in his hand. “Don’t tell anyone I got you lunch. They’ll be trying to make me some fuckin’ errand boy if they find out.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

With a small hmmf, Roy nodded and headed back to his desk. I smiled down at the container on my desk and returned to my work, ignoring my burning cheeks.

“What does Jamie Tartt smell like?”

“Is the gaffer really like that in person?”

“Did you pass out when you met Roy Kent?”

Swallowing the bite of pasta I had been chewing on, I grinned at my family. “Tartt wears a homemade combo of Tom Ford, Dior, and Juicy Couture that he calls ‘Tartt by Tartt’. Coach Lasso is exactly what he seems. And Roy Kent…” I cleared my throat and prayed my face wasn’t completely red. “He’s fine.” My voice cracked slightly. “We, uh share an office. He got me kebabs for lunch last week.”

“Come off it,” I scoffed. “Or else I’ll take back those VIP tickets I got you for your birthday.”

“Ooh, Roy Kent bought you kebabs?” my dad hummed, grinning at me pointedly. “My future son-in-law, the football superstar.”

Before my dad could retort, the doorbell rang. I jumped up, relieved to have a distraction.

“I’ve got it!” I just about sprinted down the hall to the front door, confident it was our elderly neighbor asking to borrow the spare key, as she did at least once a week. Instead, when I threw the door open, I found Roy Kent on my parents’ front porch.

“We should really put a fucking tracking device on you,” he grumbled as he moved past me into the entryway.

I stared at him, closing the door. “Um, not to be rude, but why are you here? At my mum and dad’s house?”

He shoved a manila envelope into my hands. “Some papers Lasso wanted you to work on if you can this weekend. Said it was important. I dunno, I don’t fucking listen to him when he yammers.”

“Oh.” I placed the envelope on a nearby table and folded my arms. “And how-how did you know where I was?”

Roy wiggled his phone in the air. “You’re one of those idiots that has their Snapchat locations on. You’re gonna get fucking murdered one of these days y’know.”

Right. Ted had made us all join multiple Snapchat groups with him; he was adamant about keeping our streaks.

I couldn’t help but grin. “And you’re gonna murder me?”

“Not today.” A small smirk cracked through that grizzled face. “But apparently if I wanted to, you’d be easy as hell to find.”

“I’ll just have to keep being a good officemate then,” I supposed teasingly. Am I flirting with Roy Kent?!

“You’re doing a fine job so far.” Roy took a step towards me, looking down at me.

Is he flirting back?!

My brain short-circuited. “Um, well I…” I coughed, looking around the entryway, as if I hadn’t walked through it my entire life. “Thanks for uh, bringing those papers.” A question interrupted the high-pitched buzzing in my brain. “Why’d you bring it by the way?”

Roy cleared his throat and took a step back, allowing a respectful space between us again. “Told you, Lasso said it’s important.”

“Yeah…” I started slowly. “But I’m sure it’s something you guys could’ve sent Will to do. Or something Ted would probably love to do, tracking me down to my dad’s birthday dinner. Why are you-?”

“He’s here! He’s there! He’s every-fucking-where! Roy Kent!” Beaming, my dad burst past me and clapped a hand on Roy’s shoulder as Roy stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh hell, Roy Kent’s in my foyer!” He turned and faced me. “I can’t believe you got Roy Kent to come down here! You’re my favorite kid, you can tell your bloody brothers that anytime.” He grabbed Roy’s hand and started pumping it, reminding me of the first time I had met Ted. “It’s an honor to have you here. Absolute honor.”

I finally found my voice. “Dad, Roy’s just here giving me some stuff for work. He’s not here for your-”

“What kind of cake do you have?” Roy’s gruff voice interrupted.

“Chocolate,” my dad answered. “M’wife made it herself. And we have plenty of pasta if you’re hungry.”

Roy unzipped his jacket. “Then happy fucking birthday. Let’s eat.”

A half hour later, I was still in a state of shock. Roy Kent was sitting next to me in my parents’ dining room, chatting with my dad and eating my mum’s pasta. He took all everyone’s questions in stride, not seeming to mind how obsessed my brothers were. He only growled at them twice- once when they asked about his knee, and again when they said how much they like Jamie Tartt. Of course, they made kissy faces whenever Roy wasn’t looking, and my mum kept raising her eyebrows at me with a twinkle in her eye, but the dinner was much less painful that I had expected.

And getting to sit there with Roy’s arm pressed against mine? A dream come true.

My dad cleared his throat as my brothers began clearing the plates. “I think it’s time for presents and cake then?”

I stood up; my arm felt cold after having Roy’s arm keeping it warm. “I’ll be right back, gotta go get your present.” I pressed a kiss on my dad’s head as I passed by. “Don’t embarrass me,” I hissed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. He offered me an assuring wink.

I quickly went up the stairs to my old bedroom, not completely closing the door behind me. Since I was planning to spend all weekend a their house, I had just haphazardly thrown all my things into the room when I had arrived after work. I regretted it now, noting that my idiot brothers could be saying anything to Roy while I searched for the envelope holding my dad’s birthday card and the tickets to Richmond’s next match.

I groaned. “Where the hell-”

“Ah, this isn’t the fucking loo.”

I whirled around. Roy stood in my doorway, eyebrows slightly raised as he glanced around the room. My cheeks burned as I watched him take in all the Richmond posters, which disproportionately featured his bearded face.

He is never going to talk to me again, a panicky voice in my head whimpered.

To my surprise, a small smirk formed on his face as he quietly closed the door behind him. “Why the fuck are there so many pictures of me in this room?” he asked, a chuckle escaping his lips.

I cleared my throat and stood up, straightening out my top as I cursed my teenage self for being so obsessed. “I, uh, I told you. My family’s huge Richmond fans. You’re kind of our favorite player. Hence, my dad’s excitement when he saw you.” I winced. Lame, lame, lame.

“So…” He stuck his hands in his pockets, still looking around the room at the embarrassing number of photos of himself. “Does that mean I’m your favorite too?”

Somehow, my cheeks grew warmer. “I… I mean… I guess.”

His eyes moved upward and widened slightly.

Fuck.

“Is that a fucking poster of me above your bed?”

I shifted my weight, wishing that somehow the carpet beneath me would spontaneously turn into a black hole. “Oh, you know, gotta keep the monsters away somehow.” You’re fired. You are so freaking fired for being a creepy fangirl.

Roy let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s what I’m good for? Scaring away fucking monsters?”

With a groan, I covered my face and collapsed on my bed. “Please don’t tell anyone,” I grumbled. “This was my room when I used to live here, I was a dumb kid. I swear to God, my flat is normal. A normal adult flat.”

The bed squeaked as I felt someone sit beside me. When I peeked out between my fingers, Roy was looking at me with a hint of concern on his face.

“Hey, no need to be fucking embarrassed.” He glanced up at the poster that now laid directly above us. “Can’t say I blame you. I was young and hot.”

Despite my inner anguish, I moved my hands and grinned. “You’re not that much older now, Kent,” I teased.

He raised his eyebrows at me. “I’m still hot then?”

Before I could come up with some clever retort, Roy cupped my face and leaned close. “Please say yes,” he said softly.

I gulped, knowing he could definitely feel it. “Yes,” I whispered.

He gently pressed his lips against mine, a soft, small kiss that made me melt closer to him. His beard tickled my face as his hand stroked my cheek. Roy Kent is kissing me Roy Kent is kissing me Roy Kent is kissing me.

When Roy let go, a tiny giggle escaped my lips. He smiled at me- a real smile, the one I had seen maybe a small handful of times on television over the years. He opened his mouth to say something-

“Oi!” A loud knock banged on the door. “Mum and Dad want to know if you’re snogging Roy Kent in there!”

Roy grinned at me, still holding my face. “Don’t suppose I can tell your brother to fuck off?”

I wrinkled my nose. “’d rather you didn’t,” I whispered.

“Well then.” Roy stood up, stretching out his hand to help me to my feet. “Guess we should go have some fucking cake.” He nodded up towards the poster above my bed. “You should bring that thing to work sometime. I can fucking autograph it if you want.”

#he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent fluff #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fluff

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twst-drabbles · 9 months

Text

Azul and Idia 2

Summary: The winter chills and heavy rains have completely shut off your lights and your heater as a result. You bring out your old board games just to play around with this, and two little pets decided to join.

(Have I ever told any of you that I have a tiny board game collection? I do. Anyways, take a guess as to what board game I am referring to in this drabble. Should be easy to guess.)

There are many things about this house that you really loved. You loved it’s rather remote location, love that it’s not so remote that you needed a vehicle to drive to the store. You loved that there’s plenty of plants to give you fresh air. And mostly, you loved that this house was made to be used by anyone. You didn’t have to worry about being locked out of your basic needs just because you couldn’t use magic to activate them.

What you don’t love is the fact that this is an old house. Because it lacked modern sensibilities, it is prone to fail more often than you’d like.

And right now, you are in the middle of such a failing. Wind and rain have been pelting your roof, pipes and wires like no tomorrow and eventually, your house just gave up. The lights flickered one day and went out like that. Along with your heater.

You already called in advance, but because of the weather, you’d have to sit tight for the next few days until conditions are good.

So, here you are, bundled up in your winter hiking clothing just because it was the closest thing on hand, with you two little pets.

Azul, the little guppy, was no stranger to the cold. His kind are used to being in frigid waters, so he didn’t have to wear anything. Well, rather he didn’t want to wear anything. Hates clothing since it always sticks to him in all the wrong ways. His skin is always wet, so you can understand.

“Nope,” you pushed the little old lady figure back a section on the hallway tile, “can’t move a fifth time, Azul. You already used your two actions.”

Azul went stiff and curled into himself, flushing an array of colors at this small error. You patted his tentacle writhing self on the head. No worries, no worries. He grabbed onto your hand like it was his moral support as he corrected his movement and set his figure–less than half his size but still looking pretty big–at the end of the hallway.

You heard a tiny snicker to your left and blew a strong gust of air towards Idia. His flame aura flickered and twirled back like a wayward leaf, though leafs don’t really yell in distress. He caught himself in time on the battery lamp you had set on a nightstand.

Idia was also bare, though he’s taken to wearing a little embroidered handkerchief like it’s a cape. It’s leftover merchandise you got because you saw Idia really focused on this dark fantasy anime the tv has been playing. Little dork. Mean little dork.

“Don’t laugh at him, Idia,” you said as he hovered back to the main table, low to the ground like was dragging himself, “Anyways, your turn. What do you want to do?”

Idia floated over and tapped a question mark token laid on the entrance tile. He hummed, though it almost sounded like a sad huff.

“Alright,” you woke up your tablet–connected to a power bank–and tapped on the matching question mark, “you want to investigate the painting?”

Idia nodded.

“Then show your character card to me please. It’s a skill check one.”

A slow game for a slow day. Honestly, you’re surprised that these two are staying as still as they are. They both have this nervous chihuahua energy about them, and when they’re together, they tend to amplify those levels. Well, they become less nervous, but they start having too much fun and get jittery like they drank concentrated coffee.

Well, at least you found something that’ll keep them calm until they’re tired.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #octavinelle #azul #azul ashengrotto #ignihyde #idia #idia shroud #house pet au #reader insert #drabble

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tremblingmuse · 1 year

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Omg you're a godsend I love your stories so damn much. Could I request “You’re lucky you’re cute.” “Thanks! Wait…” and/or “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re flirting with me.” “I am.” “Excuse me?”

With Nico? Or wally

Thank youuuu!!

I’m killing two birds with one stone for this one!

Thanks everyone for being so patient! I took a little break. It’s the start of summer blues.

Prompt 8 for Wally Clark

“Well, I do.”

Y/n has known Wally for years. When you’ve been stuck at the same high school for a few decades you tend to become friends.

Sometimes you know each other so well, the friendly conversations can turn into flirty banter.

The gang was having their monthly round of hide and seek. Rhonda was seeking, she loved chanting “Come out, come out. Where ever you are…” in a creepy tone down the vacant halls.

Y/n found the perfect spot, a small crawl space in the back of the art room. Wally just had to follow her.

“No get out of here!” Y/n whispered, trying to shoo him.

“You don’t just get to claim spots, we can share!” He told her, scooting into the small space with her. He covered it up with a piece of board that was over it before.

“Just because I’m the reigning champion does not mean you can freeload off of me.”

It was true. She was unfindable. She always spent all month preparing different spots. A few she can run from and then too, just in case.

Wally always tried his best but he was always found first.

“But you’re so selfless, and kind. I was hoping you’d be willing to make an acceptation for your dear friend.” He loaded on complements.

“Awe, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me.” She told him in a sarcastic tone while rolling her eyes.

“I am.”

She looked at him, well tried to. It was dark and she couldn’t make out his face well. But it didn’t seem like he was joking.

Her breathe hitched. It was stuck in her throat.

“What?” She whispered, questioning if she heard him right.

Because if he said what she thinks he said, that would be absolutely ridiculous.

They both froze when they heard Rhonda’s taunting voice. She opened the door and stepped in the room.

Y/n covered Wally’s mouth. She’d deal with him later, she’s not loosing because of him.

Her heart raced as heat radiated off him in the small space. Also because Rhonda’s footsteps made their way to the counter. Where they were hiding.

After what felt like hours of waiting for the worst. It sounded like she left. Her voice trailed down the halls as she sang and teased her next victim.

If Y/n was a master hider, Rhonda was the perfect horror movie villain she was hiding from.

She slowly removed her hand, Wally swallowed hard.

“Did you say you were flirting with me?” She asked, hushed.

He didn’t skip a beat.

“Yeah, did you not know?” He asked as if it was the most obvious think in the world. “I have been, for like ever.”

She relaxed back to her original position. Contemplating.

He had been flirting with her? For how long?

“No, I didn’t know.” She quipped, crossing her arms.

Wally let out a small laugh. He corrected it immediately.

“Sorry, it’s just- I thought you...” He cleared his throat.

“I thought you liked me? No way.” She interrupted.

Wally tilted his head. Of course he liked her. He has since she’s been stuck in this horrible purgatory with him.

“Well I do.” He stated. “And now this in awkward.”

He shifted in place, trying to find something other than her face to occupy his mind.

“Why?” She asked, filling the painful silence.

It wasn’t hard for him to answer.

“Cause, you organize all these games. You make being dead kinda fun. I’ve been a lot less miserable since you came around.”

She paused, trying to find a response that didn’t make her sound uninterested or desperate. She settled on a simple explanation.

“Well it’s the least I can do, you guys have helped me a lot. I wasn’t always like this.” She told him.

“I know.”

Her head jerked to look at him, in question. She was a little disturbed. “Okay, stalker.”

“Wait no-“

“First you follow me to a small dark room, then tell me you know what I was like before I died. Sounds stalkerish to me.” She laughed.

Of course she was joking, she knew most of the living kids by names. Knew their schedules and lives. She wanted what was best for them, she was pretty protective over the kids at school. She hoped Wally felt the same when she was living.

“It’s just… I always kinda saw you.” He looked at her with those eyes again. The eyes that wanted something from her.

“Well what do you want? This is flattering but I’m not sure what it means.” She admitted not so gracefully.

“Well I’d love to kiss you, but you have your game face on.”

He’s right. She took these games very seriously.

“Meet me when I win this thing. Now out.” She pointed to the board between them and the classroom.

His eyes told her. “Come on.”

“Go on, out. Plenty of time for flirting when I’m victorious. You’re bad luck.”

“Fine.”

“And don’t rat me out! You’ll pay…”

#milo manheim #x reader #school spirits #fanfic #wally clark #wally clark x reader

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pokemonshelterstories · 3 months

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Even after reading your FAQ and a bunch of asks you've answered, I'm still not sure if a shelter blog is the best place to ask this, so do feel free to delete this (or tell me privately that you won't post it, but only if you have the time and energy), but I can't think of anyone else, and if you do post it, you or some of your followers might have some interesting thoughts, so here goes:

How would you feel about using Pokeballs to catch Pokémon you're planning to eat?

For context, I and my siblings grew up in a small, mostly off-grid community, and while most details aren't relevant, we did hunt for food occasionally. We never used pokeballs, but instead bow and arrow, fishing rods, nets and traps.

These days I live closer to a big city, sharing a house with my brother, his husband, and their teenage son (my other nibling, their older child, has moved out a while ago, so they're not part of this story).

Last month, we visited the community my brother and I grew up in, and during our two week stay, I took my nephew on a hunting trip. He was decently enthusiastic to train his archery, but he asked why we don't just use pokeballs. Wouldn't it be easier? I didn't have an answer for him then, only that we'd been taught this way and that I'd never considered using pokeballs.

But I've been thinking about it. It would be easier, but wouldn't it also be more cruel? After all, by catching it in a pokeball, you're giving the pokemon false hope of a nice life with a trainer, only to then kill it. I feel like killing it quickly while it's still in the wild and doesn't know any better is more, like, honest maybe?

What do you or your followers think?

(If any angry vegans find this post, don't even waste your energy on a mean response or lecture, because most likely I have you blocked already, and if I don't, I'll correct that when I see you being rude to me)

oooh, this is an interesting ask to get...

i think this is really more of a matter of personal comfort with the idea of eating a pokemon that's been caught in a ball, but as long as it's done properly, i don't see anything wrong with it. after all, pokemon for the most part don't really have any concept of what's going to happen to them in the future.

as someone who hunts, you (i assume) understand our duty to give the pokemon we eat as painless of a death as possible. then, as trainers, we have a duty to maintain the 5 freedoms for our pokemon, which includes freedom from psychological stress. provided you meet those requirements, i think it's ok to catch a pokemon in a pokeball for the sake of eating it. it's more humane than certain types of traps that leave the pokemon struggling until the hunter comes to check them, and pokemon tend to relax in pokeballs, since they mimic the way pokemon curl up when healing. when the pokemon is released from its ball, you then just need to humanely slaughter it. there are some pokemon that i wouldn't do this with, since they don't immediately take well to being caught in a ball; buneary is a good example. but many common game pokemon do just fine.

i've actually used a different tool to help out with culling food pokemon- my styler! there are a lot of farms out near artazon, and rangers do sometimes get asked to help with keeping livestock mons calm in the moments leading up to slaughter. i've met rangers who aren't comfortable taking on those cases, and i've definitely gotten fussed at by my share of pokemon rights activists, but i think pokemon raised as food deserve as calm of an environment as possible. so, no, i dont think using pokeballs to trap game is cruel as long as you know what you're doing and don't stress the pokemon out. but if you're used to the way you already do things, don't feel like you have to change it up either.

#charlietalks #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #pokemon death #pokemon welfare #//i will not engage with vegans on this btw

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rjthirsty · 1 month

Text

To be Understood

Chevalier&Reader (First Person pov)

Words: 1172

Rating: G

This was done for @venulus Learning How to Love Myself challenge. Contains discussion of ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder).

“Chev?” I glanced up from my game to look over at Chevalier, who was sitting in a nearby, upholstered chair. He didn’t look up, but a gentle “hm” indicated he was listening to me. “Do you know what autism is?”

For some reason, his gloved fingers, which were just about to turn a page, paused and held touching the corner of the book he was reading.

“I’ve just been thinking about it.” I glanced away, staring at the frozen screen on my handheld as if the characters there would have some sort of encouraging words. “I was thinking about how when the kiddo was diagnosed, and when I started learning about it to help him cope and manage - how so many things started falling into place. And…” I trailed off, not even entirely sure I wanted to say the words myself.

“Say it.” Chev prompted. I blinked and snapped my head in his direction again, surprised to see his icy blue eyes trained on me. Somehow, I earned his full attention.

“Uh… Just… I can understand it, ya’ know?” I shrugged, unsure of my own thoughts. Who was I to diagnose conditions? My reading to be a support for my kiddo didn’t give me the medical know-how to start looking at myself. And what if I was wrong? Would it be fair of me to fit in a category that didn’t actually pertain to me?

“When I was 4, I have a vivid memory of sobbing for hours because I didn’t get to follow my typical routine of hugging my mother after she dropped me off at daycare. She was in a hurry, and before I put my coat in my cubby, she was gone.”

“I hate being interrupted in the middle of a task. It takes me forever to get back into the groove of things. I have to reread and find that headspace again.”

“After hanging out with friends, I feel like I’ve been at a concert for the last five hours. My ears are ringing, and everything is SO LOUD. I find it hard to think. I hate feeling like that, but yet I had fun. Does that even make sense?”

“The squeak of styrofoam makes me physically recoil. The scratch of certain fabrics or textures on my skin makes me violent, it’s not painful, it just makes my skin crawl and it claws at my brain and I just have to get away from it.”

“I can’t eat gummy or jelly-like things, did you know that?”

“Most have food preferences.” Chev interjected. Turning my head to look at him, he was still fully focused on me, and I felt a sense of relief that he was actually listening to me.

“Yeah, no, I get that. But… I get this weird thought like it’s not food even if I know it is while I’m eating it and I want to retch and that’s.. That’s weird, right? My fingers were always in my food as a kid. My mother complained a lot about me and my quirks. I’d pull everything apart into bite-sized pieces so I could be sure that whatever I was eating was edible. It’s silly, right?”

“I’m ridiculously set on following instructions as presented. Like rules and things. If it’s a rule, everyone should do the rule. If someone isn’t doing the rule, I want to remind them it’s a rule and that it would be appropriate to follow it. Why can’t they just follow the rule? It’s right there. Everyone was told it. Just do the rule, right?!”

“Mistakes should be corrected.” Chev agreed.

“Yeah! Exactly! I’m just trying to help them do the right thing! And not only that, but people tend to think I’m sarcastic when I’m not. I don’t know what it is, but something about just flat out telling someone my thoughts means I’m clearly being deceptive and mean about it. You know how that is. You don’t say anything unless it’s necessary, and while that isn’t a bad thing, it can make you seem harsh. At least I understand you there.”

Chevalier snorted and graced me with a smirk.

“Don’t deny it. If I were to ask you how I did after making something for you to eat, you’d give me an honest critique and offer suggestions on improvements, but keep your personal opinions on the matter to yourself. I didn’t ask how you felt about it, I asked how I did, so you’d be objective.”

Chev set his elbow in his open book, sitting on his lap, leaning forward to put his chin in his hand as he listened to me. “Indeed. That was what you asked of me in this hypothetical.”

“I just don’t get it.” I sighed. “I’ve been told my whole life that I’m difficult.”

Pursing my lips, I glanced downward again. I could feel the heat of tears rimming my eyes. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be just like everyone else. So that every day isn’t a struggle to understand and be understood. Have you ever wanted to be like everyone else?”

Chevalier was silent for several seconds. I could tell he was considering the question and running through his extensive memory to pinpoint any time he might have actually wanted to be different. “I have never desired to be like everyone else. I am who I am, and I have accepted that. However, to be understood without pointless struggle - I don’t believe that exists.”

“What?” My gaze cut to Chev. “Is that why you don’t talk to people?”

“It is a factor. It’s simply a waste of time in most of my dealings to manage the information and detail one would need to match my level of understanding.”

“So… you’re saying that no one understands you. But you’re a genius, so that makes sense.”

“My intellect isn’t the only factor that creates a divide between myself and others.”

I stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was giving me. Of course his intellect created a rift with anyone he interacted with, but he was saying he was fundamentally different than other people. Than people he tended to deal with.

Chev despised social functions, yet he attended because it was his responsibility to do so. He found creating relationships difficult, and fostering friendships tedious and unreasonable. He found people to be confounding and emotions to be incomprehensible and needless as they interfered with logical conclusions. Emotions were irrational, that’s why they were emotions.

My eyes moved to his gloved hands, and I had to wonder if there were textures he found himself repulsed by. I looked at his book and considered how we were always quietly spending time in the same room. No noise to overwhelm me. No stimulus besides what we chose for ourselves, him reading his book and me playing my game.

“Oh,” I uttered, finally understanding. “You’re like me.”

#ikepri fanfic #ikepri chevalier #autism #learninghowtolovemyselfcc #actually autistic #ikemen prince #chevalier michel #ikepri #rjthirsty fanfic #otome taught me to love myself

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broodwolf221 · 3 months

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cole—spirit or human?

this, like all my meta, is just my personal feelings or interpretation: I am not trying to claim any kind of objective correctness, or to dismiss those who feel otherwise. I remember conversations about cole being somewhat strained so I'm hoping ppl aren't going to be super weird on this post.

so—cole. I've played both routes and I actually enjoy both of them, but I'm strongly inclined towards making him more of a spirit, and my reasoning comes down to three primary aspects: 1) respecting cole’s autonomy and his choices up to this point, 2) acceptance of an “other” way of being as equally valid to a “human” way of being, and 3) making him more human feels weirdly to me like asking him to replace the real cole in full rather than be himself

1—respecting his autonomy.

cole states early on that he became more of who he was and less human, and that it lets him help. that's a choice he made. on a personal level, even though he's just pixels, I find it deeply uncomfortable to unmake the choice he made about his nature. I understand that he's shown as happy and fulfilled regardless of which path you choose, which is part of why I like both, but this is why I prefer the spirit path: making him more human feels, to me, like the inky is making him more… palatable. or like the game is giving a “comfortable to the player” option. I felt this way when I first played dai when it was new, and I continue to feel this way now

he is happy in both and that's nice, and i like that there's no strong delineation of a right v. wrong choice. at the same time, i've always gotten the sense that cole wants to be more spirit—maybe not because it brings him joy or satisfies him, it could well be that he just believes he will be more useful/functional as a spirit, but even making "bad" decisions (which i don't think this one is, but for the sake of argument) is an individual's right and part of their autonomy

2—acceptance of an “other” way of being as equally valid to a “human” one

in a watsonian, in-text view (which does tend to be my approach), I think it's very important to accept the personhood of spirits, even when they're so fundamentally different. spirit!cole forgets things, can erase negative experiences, etc.—there's a lack of what we'd see as typical growth and maturity going on there, but I'd argue that we can't really effectively apply human (or “mortal” ig, bc elves, dwarves, qunari…) norms to a spirit.

cole as a spirit of compassion is the way a spirit is supposed to be. the way a spirit is supposed to be is not the way a mortal is supposed to be. and to me, it does feel like his preference throughout the game is to act as a spirit. he stays "pure" and "clean," and that allows him to help without becoming corrupted or changed. it's tempting—and not wrong—to view this through a human lens and to find it unhealthy for him, but i tend to defer to solas' explanations of how spirits are in this case. they can easily be corrupted because they are a Single Thing. that is their nature. wisdom is wisdom; changed by perception, expectation, memory, or pain, it becomes something fundamentally different. spirits are malleable in a way mortals are not

3—replacing the “real” cole

tbf, this one isn't really supported by anything in game, just a personal discomfort. but he “became” cole after the young man's death. honestly, I find that a little uncomfortable, but I can understand it: the textual “simplicity”/purity of spirits makes sense of that kind of reaction to compassion’s “failure,” its inability to help the real cole (according to its own standards where help=fix: it did help the real cole by being there)

so, to me, it reads a little like you're confirming that direction when you have cole become more human. ik it's not presented that way, but yeah, personally just makes me uncomfortable bc it feels like I'm encouraging cole to view himself as a replacement of the real cole

spirits can come back, but they are the sentiment that gave rise to it in the first place, not the individual being itself. compassion taking on cole's name in the first place feels like that to me, but becoming more human feels like it's taking it a step too far. bc then cole becomes a young man who's taken on the face and name of a dead man and it's… it's a lot. for him to grapple with down the line, for the people around him, for everyone. but as a spirit, that kind of behavior feels more like a way of recognizing and respecting the being that came before

and of course, cole isn't 100% either—he's more human or more spirit. so it's fair to say that it'd still be a sign of respect and acknowledgement of the real cole even if he becomes more human, it doesn't turn automatically into a Bad Thing, and the complexity can honestly be fascinating to explore, bc i imagine as more-human he will develop some complex feelings about all of it

#broodmeta #cole #also i know the pov of autism acceptance/“cure” and i get it #i just don't really feel it #so i didn't include it here

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galedekarios · 9 months

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I really appreciate you defending our boy so valiantly and with such well thought out, concise arguments! As someone who has ADHD, and has struggled with depression my whole life, I immediately latched onto Gale bc I see so much of myself in him!! There is SO much to love about him and he's one of those characters that helps me be more compassionate to myself (self recognition through the other for the win!) so seeing fans constantly shit on him is disheartening and really annoying, but to see the actual DEVELOPERS talk about "yeah that guy sucks he's SO annoying everyone would be better off if he had just killed himself" is.....ooof.

BUT thankfully when I start feeling really upset we've got blogs like you to ride to our favorite wizard's defense and help celebrate all the things we love about this beautiful, complex character! I hope one day we won't have to work so hard to push back against this negativity towards Gale (and any character that isn't that one who fans and devs have deemed perfect and flawless and the only one that matters...) but as long as we do I appreciate all the work and passion you put in to raising up Gale of Waterdeep!

(and sorry this went on forever I just get really discouraged in this fandom sometimes but seeing your posts always build me right back up and I wanted to let you know what a bright spot you are in my bg3 experience! ^^)

thank you for sending me this message! 🖤

i normally try to ignore these things because at the end of the day, they are meaningless.

but... not only does this come from the devs, but this hit a bit too close to home for me as well.

i've been struggling a lot with depression myself for the better part of a decade now.

i'll try to put my feelings into words bc how they have chosen to respond here and the message they are sending actually upsets me. i know i'm repeating myself at this point so sorry for sounding like a broken record myself, but:

gale is clearly coming out of a depression & self-isolation & struggles with suicidal ideation.

there is absolutely no sugarcoating that.

despite that, once he has no choice but to travel again after he's been abducted by the nautiloid, or perhaps because of it, he can't help himself. he can't isolate himself again. he's happy to talk and connect with not only the protag, but also the companions. he talks a lot, he cooks for them, and yes, sometimes he can be overbearing. he tends to overexplain. he corrects himself for talking too much, being too much. he's very aware of that perception of him and it's still an insecurity of his by the time the epilogue rolls around. it's in the devnotes. it's in the way he thanks the protag for encouraging him to attend the get-together at all.

i thought (foolishly, apparently) that at least the people who created the game and who are colleagues with gale's writer, had the emotional maturity and intelligence to recognise that and also see how that could be something a part of their player base emphasises and connects with.

gale being described as the one who annoys everyone and him dying as the "right" ending, as making up for being perceived as "annoying" by those around him, "inconveniencing" them by being ill and asking for a treatment, and his death being contextualised as "giving" back "to the world" is just...

it's so fucking disgusting to me.

#ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #text: asks #text: personal #depression cw #suicidal ideation cw #larian critical #bg3 critical

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 10 months

Text

Love's a Game, Wanna Play?

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 1

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

2.9k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking/partying, Roy being kind of pathetic for Keeley

A/N: Ahh I'm so excited for this series! I was inspired while watching the Eras movie and it just kind of spiraled from there. I am so, so excited to share this with you ❤️

As always, @agentstarkid is an absolute angel for letting me yammer about this thing nonstop!

The tabloid headlines screamed up at me from my publicist’s office coffee table, all about how Everett, my idiot boyfriend- ex-boyfriend now- had punched out some guy in a club. And in every photo, there I was behind Ev, holding two drinks and laughing. Granted, one of those drinks was his. And the laughter was because in my drunken state, I genuinely thought Everett and the other guy were just goofing around. But none of that mattered when people had magazines to sell.

“Babe,” Lanie, my publicist, was saying from her spot next to me on the couch. “We need a serious image makeover.”

“I already broke up with Everett for continuing to be the world’s biggest jackass,” I reminded her as I grabbed some M&M’s from the coffee table. “Not sure what else there is to do.”

April, my personal assistant, picked up one of the magazines and began to flip through it. “It’s not just Everett,” she started slowly, opening up to the article all about mine and Ev’s ‘wild night’ at the club. “It’s you. You party, you go out with guy after guy, this Twitter thing with, well, you know…” She shrugged. “You’re getting something of a reputation, love.”

I sighed and popped another candy into my mouth. “I bet Ev’s people aren’t having this conversation with him right now,” I grumbled childishly.

“Because everyone already knows he’s garbage,” Lanie snorted. “This is exactly the kind of behavior they expect from him. But you-” She grasped my hand, her face full of affection. “-you are amazing. You’re a great writer and performer, and you’re a role model. So what the hell you were doing with that rat, no one could ever understand.”

“Hmmph.” I slouched further onto the couch, pretending that she wasn’t completely correct about Everett being scummy. He was cute, in that skinny, pale, undernourished, unshowered way rock stars tended to be. He was famous and had a commanding stage presence with a swagger he really hadn’t earned. And he was always ready to have a good time. But he wasn’t exactly sweet. Or sensitive, unless someone was criticizing his art. Or really all that intelligent, although he liked to talk like he was.

April cleared her throat. “Lanie and I think we might… need some outside help.”

I narrowed my eyes, always suspicious when these two were in cahoots without me. “What kind of outside help?”

“Keeley Jones,” Lanie said simply, pulling out her phone. “Has her own firm. I’ve worked with her before. The woman’s a bit… quirky. But she’s brilliant, babes.” She showed me a picture of a woman I was sure I’d seen before. “We’ll meet with her the day after tomorrow to talk strategy.”

“She’s a fan,” April added in that helpful voice of hers. “She loves your music.”

I studied the picture carefully. “Keeley Jones,” I murmured. “She’s a model, right? Or was, I assume?” Before either woman could respond, it clicked. “Oh shit,” I hissed. “She’s one of those poor women who got her photos and videos leaked last year, isn’t she?”

“She was,” Lanie confirmed. “So, she completely understands how ruthless and, frankly, unfair the press can be to a woman. It’s one of the reasons I think she’ll be a good fit. She’s pretty passionate about defending women from unfair treatment.”

“Well,” I sighed, leaning back, “guess we can hear her out, see what she has in mind.”

Lanie cleared her throat, glancing at April, who looked just as anxious. “Actually,” my publicist said slowly, “we already know what she has in mind.”

Keeley sat in Roy’s chair, feet casually up on his desk, scrolling absently on her phone while she waited for the gaffer to come in from the pitch.

“Oh. Uh, hi Keeley.” Roy Kent stood stiffly in the doorway, the way he often stood when he saw his ex-girlfriend. Fuck, she looked pretty today, in a stupidly fluffy pink sweater and ridiculously high heeled boots. Keeley always looked pretty.

Either Keeley didn’t notice the way his eyes softened at the sight of her, or she chose to ignore it. “Hey there, Roy-o!” she greeted, swinging her feet off his desk and sitting up straight. “D’you have a minute?”

For Keeley? Roy had all the minutes in the fucking world. To an extent, she knew that; he did come stumbling to her house with Jamie Tartt, begging her to choose between them, after all. And she cherished Roy, she really did. He treated her better than anyone else ever had. But she also knew that the way he loved her wasn’t the way she loved him or was even the way she wanted to be loved.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use his softness for her to her advantage every now and then.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” she started slowly as Roy leaned on his desk, not growling at her to get out of his chair like he would to anyone else. “See, I’ve got this client, and she needs some help in the PR department.”

Roy smirked. “She wanted the best, so she came to Keeley fucking Jones for help?”

Keeley shrugged off his praise. “Well, kind of. Her people came to me for a consultation. I know her publicist, she’s fabulous, they’re just a bit at a loss right now.”

“Can I ask who it is?” Roy vaguely recognized the name Keeley responded with. “That fucking pop star, right? With all the boyfriends?”

“Pop phenomenon, you mean,” Keeley snorted. “She’s only one of the biggest names in the world.”

Like Roy gave a fuck about some pop princess. “If she’s so big, why does she need PR help?

Keeley sighed. “She’s got some bad press right now. Her gross boyfriend- ex-boyfriend now, thankfully- got into a fight at a club, sent the guy to hospital. And somehow, this is her fault. Not to mention that this actress that she used to hang out with is all over Twitter badmouthing her, saying she’s trying to steal her boyfriend. She’s just… got a lot going on at the moment.”

“Fucking trainwreck,” Roy mumbled, starting to wonder where the fuck he came into play.

“She’s really not,” Keeley insisted. “Her publicist- Lanie- says she’s actually really great. Very kind and intelligent. She just goes out a lot and apparently has shit choice in company.” She lit up. “That’s where I need you, Roy.”

I need you, Roy. Those four words had Roy sitting up taller, smirking a little as he gazed at that pretty face. “And what, exactly, do you need me for?”

Keeley bit her lip. “D’you know what a ‘publicity stunt’ is?”

I drained the last of my giant coffee cup as I approached the elevator, sighing when I realized it had not made my tequila-caused headache disappear. While I’d promised Lanie I wouldn’t be going out for a bit, she’d never said anything about me having people over. Just a dozen of my closest friends, laughing in my living room and losing track of shots. Definitely what I needed to take my mind off the headlines, but probably not the best idea before an early-morning breakfast meeting at KBPR.

“You need to press the button.”

“Excuse me?” I turned in the direction of the voice- the growl, really- that pulled me out of my thoughts.

The bearded man let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his brown eyes. “You need to press the fucking button,” he repeated slowly, as if to a toddler, “if you want to call the lift.”

Behind my oversized sunglasses, I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring my initial observation that he was pretty damn cute. “Are you really implying that I don’t know how to use an elevator?” I scoffed.

He reached around me, completely invading my personal space, and hit the button in question. “Well, you’re standing here just fucking staring,” he grumbled. “So, either you’re a fucking zombie, or you don’t know how to use a lift. Either way, you’re making me fucking late.”

With a scowl, I turned to face the doors, desperate for them to open- although less desperate to get into the enclosed space with this man. As soon as the elevator dinged, I stepped inside the still opening doors, smashing the floor number Lanie had texted me and settling myself into a corner with crossed arms. The man stepped on after me and reached for the buttons, but stopped, thumb hovering over the number I had just hit. With a small hmmph, he slouched in the opposite corner, mirroring my closed-off body language.

It was a silent ride, filled with scowls and impatient huffs from both of us. I tried to remember the last time someone was so snide to me; it definitely didn’t happen often, at least not away from the safe anonymity of the internet.

When the elevator got to our floor, the man glared at me, a grunt urging me to step out first. I gave a hum of acknowledgement, matching his curt tone and refusing to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

What a dick.

Unfortunately, that dick was about two steps behind me as I walked down the hall to the KBPR office. I tried to ignore the heavy sounds of his footsteps and focus on the insane idea this supposedly brilliant PR expert had come up with.

That PR expert smiled at me when I approached, sticking her hand out. “I’m Keeley Jones,” she chirped, her professional tone and handshake contrasting with her bright pink dress and sparkly shoes. “It is so nice to meet you!” Her eyes shifted behind me. “And I assume you already met Roy in the lift!”

Oh no. Oh hell no. There was no way this was the guy, this scowling, rude, son of a-

“Can we start this meeting?” the man- Roy- grumbled as he approached. “I’ve only got like an hour. I left Beard in charge of training, so the team’s probably in the fucking sewer again.”

“Come on in,” Keeley Jones hummed, gesturing for us to follow her. We walked through the bright office, following her into what I assumed was her personal office, one as brightly lit and colorful as her.

Lanie was already on the plush couch, scrolling on her phone. She raised her eyebrows when she saw me. “What’s up with the sunglasses? Not hungover, are we?” Her bored tone was annoyingly familiar.

I rolled my eyes and plopped down on the couch next to her, removing the shades. “Didn’t want to be recognized on my way into a public relations office,” I muttered, tucking them into my purse. “Figured that would defeat the purpose of this whole operation.”

Keeley Jones smiled at me, an admittedly lovely, friendly smile, as she took a seat behind her desk; Roy hovered nearby. “She’s a smart one, Lanie, just like you said.” She looked up at Roy. “You two got acquainted on the lift, then?” When he simply grunted in reply, she turned back to me. “Now, I understand if you think this idea is crazy,” she started slowly. “And it kind of is. But believe me when I say, it’s been done, and I’ve seen it work.” She cleared her throat. “Celebrities fake-date all the time. To promote projects, to deflect bad press, to hide secrets. So you wouldn’t be the first ones to do this, trust me.” She gestured towards Roy. “And I think Roy here is perfect for you. He’s older and more mature than your previous boyfriends, so none of that party-boy stuff. He’s dated plenty of celebrities- including myself- so he knows what comes with the territory. Absolute football legend, so I think you’re suitably matched in terms of fame. And he’s pretty damn private these days.” Her smile softened. “And if I’m being candid, he’s probably the best guy I know. He’s so protective and trustworthy. He’ll have your back.”

“What’s in it for him?” I couldn’t help the way I narrowed my eyes at the brooding man; he returned the glare in kind.

“He could use the press too,” Keeley chuckled, gazing up at him. “I love you, Roy, but you’re not the most poised with the media.” She turned back to me as he rolled his eyes, something close to affection on his face this time. “He could use some of your charm and charisma to bolster his own reputation with the papers.” She nodded firmly. “It’s a match made in heaven. Or KBPR.”

Lanie nudged me. “What d’you think babes?”

I thought it was insane. Fake dating to get the press off my back? There were so many ways this thing could backfire. Not to mention the fact that my potential fake boyfriend was already on my nerves, with his probably permanent scowl and annoyed eyes.

But, as my mind wandered to the headlines I’d passed at the newsstands on my way to this meeting, I knew that I had to at least try.

“Yeah,” I murmured with a shrug. “Let’s do it.”

Roy only vaguely heard her agree to the plan. He was too busy trying not to smile at Keeley’s praise; that he was mature, a legend, protective, and trustworthy. As ridiculous as he thought this whole publicity stunt business was, he was willing to give it a shot- for Keeley.

“Well, since we’re all onboard,” Keeley hummed, pulling out her tablet. “All that’s left to do is sign NDAs and plan your little romance.” She glanced at the calendar on her desk. “I’ve got a meet-cute in mind, actually. You’re friends with Dani Rojas, right?”

Roy blinked as the pop princess nodded, showing enthusiasm for the first time since he found her in front of the lift. “Dani? Oh, I love Dani! He’s such a sweetheart.”

“Oi.” Roy frowned at Keeley. “If they already know each other, why didn’t you ask Rojas to do this shit? The press like him a hell of a lot more than they like me.”

A snort came from the couch. “Don’t think his girlfriends would like him adding another woman to their relationship, even if it’s just pretend.”

Keeley nodded. “Exactly. And again, you’ve got this steady older guy thing going on, Roy. You manage a professional football team, you coach your niece, you sit at home and read. You’re very domestic, and I think she needs to be seen that way.” She grinned. “Dani doesn’t exactly have that same reputation. But he does provide you two with a connection.” She turned her attention back to her visitors. “Here’s what I’m thinking: you get Dani to invite you to a Richmond game and go out with the team afterwards. Win or lose, those guys pretty much always do something after a match. And that’s where you two can meet and connect.” She leaned back comfortably, looking every bit like the boss she was. “Then we’ll get you two seen together, get you to a few more matches, get Roy to a show, make some cryptic social media posts. Soft launch. Then we’ll do your debut as a couple, have you attend events on each other’s arms, gush about each other online and in interviews. Maybe you write Roy a song, maybe you go on holiday together, that kind of thing.” She flipped through the planner on her desk. “All in all, I’m thinking four to six months, then you can end things amicably and stay friends.”

“Six months?” Roy carped. “Keeley, you didn’t mention-”

“That’s a respectable period of time,” the ex-model interrupted. “Long enough for you two to get attention, be believable as a serious couple, and to get everyone to forget about these headlines.” She shook her head at Roy. “What, you thought you’d go on one date and that would be it? Come on, Roy. It took at least three weeks for us to start making headlines together. You know this takes time.”

Roy’s voice went low. “Keeley-”

Keeley stood and grabbed Roy’s arm; he wondered if she could feel that same little surge of energy at the contact. “Will you ladies give us one moment?” She dragged Roy out of the office, out of earshot. “Come on, Roy,” she huffed, letting go of him. “You said you could do this.”

“That was before I met her,” Roy grumbled, folding his arms and missing her touch. “This isn’t gonna work. No one’s going to believe us. We’ve barely met, and already she’s a right fucking nightmare-”

“You’re not exactly my daydream either, Kent.”

Roy whipped around. She stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed. She walked over and gazed up at him with nothing but determination on her face.

“Listen,” she started. “I get it. This is stupid. The press is stupid. I think Keeley and Lanie are insane for this scheme, and I don’t really believe it’s going to work, if I’m being honest.” She looked at Keeley. “No offense, Miss Jones.” She turned her eyes back to Roy. “But this whole fame thing is an absolute fucking game. And apparently we both need help playing it.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m in if you are.”

A slow sigh escaped Roy’s lips. He really could use the positive exposure. Despite his growing comfort in front of the cameras, he still had years- decades- of shit press to make up for. And the Greyhounds could always use whatever positive publicity they could get. It’d be good for the club, and Roy would do just about anything for the club.

And he’d do absolutely anything for Keeley.

All it took was one glance over at that face, the face he missed waking up to, and he was done for. “Fine,” he huffed, shaking the popstar’s hand. “I’m fucking in.”

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten @ladygrey03 @book-of-roses @thatonedogwithablog @misshall14 @wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff @akornsworld @itswhateveripromise @purecinnamonextract @oceanncurrent @dearvoidgoodnight @hopefulromances

#roy kent i'll write your name #roy kent iwyn #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso fanfiction

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