Ladies And Gentlemen The Only Reason Why We Don't Have More Unmasked Logan (or Logan Himself Lol) Is

unless they specifically asked, you don’t get to tell a fanfic writer you think they mischaracterized the character by the way. because the second someone writes a fanfic about a character, that character becomes the writer’s own version of the character. canon is only a suggestion, but whether or not an author will follow it / how much of canon an author will take is entirely up to them. you don’t get to stick your nose in their world and tell them “hey this is not to my liking therefore I think you’re doing it wrong” when you can simply leave quietly and move on to something else you may enjoy

How i love pixel arts and the artists...

Male teammate reader realizing that he is seeing elias as a father figure😔

When elias of course was caring but he saw that beneath his stoic personality

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Elias as a Stern but Caring Father Figure X Male Teammate Reader

Notes: getting shot, mention of the hollow feelings!

Elias Walker isn’t a man who gives out praise easily. He’s disciplined, tough, and expects nothing less than the best from his soldiers. But under that hardened exterior is a leader who truly looks out for his men, even if it means showing it in his own quiet, firm way.

Breaking Up a Fight

The tension in the squadroom was thick. You and another Ghost had been angry—something about conflicting orders, a missed extraction point, and heated words escalating into a full-blown argument. By the time Elias stepped in, you had your fists clenched, jaw tight, and were about to throw a punch.

Elias’ voice cut through the room like a gunshot.

"Enough! both of you!"

The entire squad went silent. Elias didn’t yell—he never needed to. His tone alone held weight, commanding immediate respect. He stepped between them, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it clear he wasn’t playing around.

"You feel like fighting? You take it to the ring. But I better not catch my soldiers throwing punches like a couple of undisciplined rookies. Understood?"

“Tell me what happened.”

It was an order. But Elias wasn’t just here to discipline—he wanted to understand.

After you finished explaining, Elias studied you with that sharp, unreadable gaze. The other soldier just stared, silent, waiting. But Elias cut through the tension with a firm voice.

"You're frustrated. Good. That means you care. But losing your temper? That’s how you lose respect. Next time, think before you act like a meniac."

His words landed like a weight in the air—heavy, undeniable. Then, without another glance, he turned and left.

The soldier beside you muttered a curse and stalked off, but you stood frozen. Something inside you shifted, a flicker in your chest, like an ember catching flame.

Noticing Exhaustion

After days of relentless training, grueling missions, and barely any sleep, you were running on fumes. your movements were slower, your focus slightly off—things only a trained eye would notice. But Elias saw it.

During a weapons check, you fumbled with your rifle, dropping the magazine with a sharp clatter. The room went silent. cursed under your breath, bending down to grab it, but before you could, a pair of boots stopped right in front of you.

Elias.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stared down at you, arms on his hips. The weight of that silence was almost worse than being yelled at.

"How many hours of sleep have you had?"

You hesitated. "Enough, sir."

Elias arched an eyebrow. "That so? Because last I checked, ‘enough’ doesn’t leave you this sloppy." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I’m not running my people into the ground. You’re no good to me half-dead, so you’re taking the next twelve hours to get some damn rest. That’s an order."

You opened your mouth to protest "Sir" Elias cut you off. "Say one more word, and I’ll make it twenty-four. Now go."

It wasn’t kindness. It wasn’t pity. It was an order—one laced with a concern he’d never admit out loud.

The Realization:

It wasn’t an immediate thing—realizing that Elias was more than just a commanding person.

You had been under his leadership for years, and it had always been about discipline, orders, and the mission.

But somewhere along the way, those orders started sounding less like a commander barking at a subordinate and more like a father looking after his own.

It was in the way Elias noticed the little things—when you were exhausted, when you were unfocused, when you were pushing yourself too damn hard.

You had spent so long looking for approval, for recognition, and for a while, you thought Elias was just another hardass CO who expected perfection.

But Elias wasn’t just tough—he cared. Not in a soft way, not in a way that he would ever admit outright, but in the only way a hardened soldier knew how.

It wasn’t something you liked to admit—not even to yourself.

You never thought much about family. Not really. Life had been about survival, about moving forward, about being a soldier first and a person second. But sometimes… sometimes, that hollow feeling crept in when you least expected it.

Like now.

You sat a few feet away, absently cleaning your rifle, when you saw them—Elias and his sons, Logan and Hesh, talking like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You weren’t eavesdropping. Not really. But you couldn’t help listening.

"You two are getting sloppy," Elias muttered, arms crossed. "Hesh, your stance was too open. Logan, you hesitated at the last second."

The words were sharp, but there was something else beneath them—something steady, something certain. A father speaking to his sons, knowing they would listen and believed in them.

"C’mon, Dad, we still completed the drill," Hesh chuckled, a small, barely-there grin on his face.

Elias let out a short huff of laughter. "Barely."

Logan and Hesh kept talking, their words easy, their smiles unguarded. Elias listened, shaking his head but smiling all the same.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, pretending to focus on your rifle, but your fingers tightened around the weapon.

It was normal. Family banter. Criticism softened by familiarity. A father’s voice carrying weight but never pressing too hard.

It was natural.

And you felt like a stranger watching through a window.

You told yourself it was stupid.

You were part of the team. You had earned your place. Elias respected you. The others had your back.

But no matter how many times you drilled that into your skull, there were moments that made you feel like an outsider.

Like the way Hesh could roll his eyes when Elias reminded them that they only had each other—and still, Elias would stop, give him a look, half stern, half concerned, before offering a small, knowing smile. You had cursed Hesh and logan under your breath more than once, thinking how damn lucky they were to have a father like Elias.

Like the way Logan barely had to speak, yet Elias always understood him anyway.

And maybe that was what made the hollow feeling worse.

Because Elias was the closest thing you’d ever had to a father.

But he wasn’t even related to you.

Not Just Another Soldier

The mission was supposed to be clean—get in, secure intel, get out. But things went to hell fast. The enemy had been waiting, ambush set, gunfire tearing through the air before anyone had time to react properly.

You had been holding his ground, covering Keegan’s six when the pain hit. A sharp, burning agony ripping through your torso.

You barely had time to register the shot before You were on the ground.

“Y/N DOWN!”

Everything blurred. you could hear shouting, but it was distant—like you were sinking underwater. The weight of your gear suddenly felt suffocating.

And then—hands. Strong, steady, familiar hands pressing against your wound.

"Stay with me!" Elias’ voice sliced through the noise, commanding, but there was something buried beneath it—something raw. Something you’d never expected to hear from him.

Panic.

Elias Walker didn’t panic. Not in the field. Not in the face of death. Not ever.

Yet, his grip was relentless, pressing down on the wound with such force it almost felt like he was trying to hold you together. His hands, usually steady as stone, now trembled slightly, but his eyes never left yours.

"Merrick, Keegan—covering fire, now! We need an evac, ASAP!" His orders rang out, sharp and urgent, Now his gaze was fixed, locking onto you as though he could will you to stay conscious.

Around you, the world exploded in action—Merrick and Keegan firing, pushing the enemy back, their movements fluid and practiced. But Elias? He didn’t move. He stayed there, kneeling beside you, a sentinel, refusing to leave your side.

You tried to breathe, but it came out as a wet, broken gasp. The air burned, the pain almost too much to bear.

Shit.

It was bad.

Real bad.

You were fading fast, the edges of your vision slipping into darkness. Everything felt distant, like you were no longer fully part of the world around you.

Your fingers twitched weakly, reaching for Elias’ sleeve—not out of desperation, not out of fear. Just to hold on. To ground yourself in something.

Elias glanced down at you, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. "Don’t you dare give up, son."

And just like that, the words spilled out.

"I see you as a father, Elias."

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t some grand confession. It was just the truth—simple and undeniable. The truth you’d buried under years of discipline, of pushing forward, of convincing yourself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

And now, as blood pooled beneath you, as Elias held you together, keeping you tethered to life—those words broke free, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer.

Elias froze.

Elias’ grip on you tightened, his usually unreadable face cracking just slightly, betraying a flicker of something unspoken.

You coughed, the taste of iron thick on your tongue, but you kept going—because if you were going to die here, at least Elias would know.

"I never had one." Your voice was weak, barely audible over the chaos around you. "But you—you were the closest thing I ever had."

Elias’ throat worked, his chest rising with a breath he didn’t release, like he wanted to say something, anything—but nothing came out. His hands stayed firm, steady, holding you like you were the only thing left in the world.

For a moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—something raw, something real, something that wasn’t meant to be there. But then—

Everything faded.

Darkness swallowed you whole.

Congratulations you are alive

The first thing you noticed was the silence.

No gunfire. No shouting. Just the soft, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor cutting through the still air. The faint, sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the room. Your body ached, a dull throb that reminded you of one undeniable truth:

You were alive.

With a groan, you forced your eyes open. The bright lights overhead pierced your senses, making you flinch. Your limbs felt heavy, leaden. But then, as you turned your head just enough, you saw him.

Elias.

He sat across the room, his posture rigid, arms crossed, his gaze locked on you the instant you moved.

Not just your CO. Not just your commander.

But your father figure.

A weak, dry chuckle escaped you. "Didn’t think I’d wake up."

Elias shook his head, his face still set in that familiar, unyielding sternness—but his eyes were different. There was something raw in them, something unguarded. "Neither did I."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

You licked your dry lips, the words escaping in a rasp. "Where are the others?"

Elias leaned back slightly, his arms still crossed, his gaze unwavering. "Merrick and Keegan are handling the debrief. Hesh and Logan are outside." His voice softened, just enough for you to catch. "They've been here since we got you out."

You blinked slowly, letting the weight of his words settle into you like a stone sinking into water.

They had stayed.

Elias had stayed.

A tight, painful lump formed in your throat. You swallowed, the motion feeling like shards of glass scraping against your insides. "Did I... actually say that shit out loud?" You said bringing the topic and what you have said.

The question hung in the air, thick with embarrassment, with uncertainty. But Elias didn’t look away, his expression unreadable, as if your confession hadn’t shattered anything between you—just left it exposed, raw.

Elias gave a slow, measured nod.

You groaned, dragging a shaky hand over your face. "Damn. Thought I was just thinking it."

Elias exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, but something close—something that spoke of years of unspoken tension, of moments like these.

A beat of silence stretched between you, the kind that felt heavy, pregnant with something unspoken. Then, finally—

"You weren't wrong."

You turned your head slightly, your eyes locking with Elias’.

"What?"

The word slipped out before you could stop it, the confusion in your voice thick, unsure. What did he mean? What was he saying?

Elias’ gaze was unwavering, steady, like the ground beneath you was about to shift. "I’m not good at saying crab like this, but—you weren’t wrong. About how I see you."

Your breath caught for just a moment, the words landing in your chest like a punch.

Elias leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "You’re not just another soldier to me. Haven’t been for a long time."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking deep into you, heavier than any bullet wound, deeper than any pain you’d ever known.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

That hollow feeling, the one that had always lingered at the edges of your mind, wasn’t there anymore. It was gone.

You let out a slow breath, still groggy from whatever meds were coursing through your veins. Your body ached like hell, every movement a reminder of how fragile you were in this moment, but your mind felt sharper now. You were awake, alive, and painfully aware of what had just been said.

And it felt unreal.

Elias Walker, the man who had trained you like a machine, who had pushed you harder than anyone ever had, who had made sure you never slacked—wasn’t just admitting it, he was outright saying it. He saw you as something more than just another soldier.

But you couldn’t trust that. Not right now.

You shifted slightly, wincing at the dull pain that stabbed through your side. “Sir, you don’t have to say that.” Your voice came out rough, quiet, the kind of sound that only comes from the edge of exhaustion. “I just got shot—I get it. People say shit when they think someone’s dying—”

“Shut up.”

The command was sharp, cutting through your words like a blade. Elias' gaze locked onto yours, unwavering, and for the first time, you saw the weight of something real in his eyes.

You blinked, your gaze shifting to Elias, whose expression remained as unyielding as ever. His arms were crossed, posture firm, but the sharpness in his voice was impossible to ignore.

"I don’t say things just to say them." His gaze held yours, unwavering, like a soldier scanning the battlefield. "I’m not the type to sit here and sympathize just because you're lying in a hospital bed."

"If I want to say something, I say it."

You felt your throat tighten, the words settling heavy in your chest.

You knew Elias wasn't the kind of man to waste words. Everything he said had weight, had meaning.

So why did this feel so heavy?

Elias sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, before looking at you again, his expression unreadable. "You think I’d go easy on you now, just because you took a bullet? I Have seen worse than your situation."

You let out a weak, dry chuckle. "Kinda hoped so."

Elias huffed, the corners of his mouth twitching into something like a smirk. "Not a damn chance."

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, not tense. It was simply there—a quiet space filled with the weight of things that had been said, things that had been left unsaid.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in the bed, feeling the pull of pain in your side. Hesitation tugged at your words, but you pushed it down. “So you mean it?”

Elias didn’t hesitate. His response was steady, sure, like a command. “Yeah.”

“I do.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. Processing.

For so long, you’d thought you were alone in this. That the way you felt—the way you wanted to see Elias as more than just your commander—was something you’d buried deep inside, thinking it was one-sided.

But now?

Now, Elias had made it clear.

You weren’t just another soldier.

And maybe—just maybe—you never had been.

THE FACT THAT IM HAPPY TO LMAO

So I've written a lot of fics for the HBO war fandom (mostly BofB) and Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, but these day's I've been nostalgic and eyeing Call of Duty: WWII.

Been thinking a lot about Zussman, Red, and Pierson and had some headcanon/fic ideas rattling around my procrastinating skull. I looked at the fandom and it's relatively small compared to MW; which, is understandable, but I defs feels like it needs more love.

So in the future, if you see a random fic come out of me, don't be surprised. 🤪

AHHH i cannot get Logan out of my brain!! Would love to see your take on Logan and f!readers wedding day! Maybe what the first few years of “normal life” would be? a child maybe? do they own a farm with. bunch of animals? i’m curious on what you’d think!

Hell yeah ma'am.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

How would an after-marriage life be with logan

X fem!reader!

Notes: nothing just my little boy logan

💐 Wedding Day:

The sun sets low over a quiet, secluded outdoor venue, the sky painted in soft oranges and pinks. It’s a small ceremony—intimate, private—just family and close friends.

No grand spectacle, just the kind of love that doesn’t need an audience to be real.

Logan isn’t a man who gets nervous. He’s been through firefights, ambushes, war zones. But standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his tie? This might be the most terrifying thing he’s ever done.

Merrick claps him on the back. “Relax, Walker. She’s not running anywhere.”

“Yeah,” kick smirks, “but you might if you don’t stop fidgeting.”

Logan rolls his eyes but tightens his grip on the ring box anyway.

The only moment of pure calm comes when Elias walks in. He doesn’t say much—he doesn’t have to. Just a firm hand on Logan’s shoulder and a simple:

“Your mother would’ve loved this.” 😔😔😔 anyways

The venue is small, intimate, peaceful. A clearing surrounded by trees, where the golden hour sun filters through the branches. There’s no over-the-top décor, no extravagant flourishes—just a love that’s strong enough on its own.

He stands tall, hands clasped in front of him, but you can see the tension in his jaw.

Then he sees you. And for a moment, everything else blurs.

His grip loosens.

His heartbeat slows.

Everything makes sense.

how would he not when you're wearing this dress that is giving the final bride who would ever wear something like that🥺🥺 im sorry

He’s already halfway smiling, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

exchanging vows, Logan’s never been good with words, but when it’s time for vows, he doesn’t stumble. He doesn’t overthink. He just speaks.

“I never thought I’d get a life outside of war. I didn’t think I deserved one.”

“But then there was you.”

“You gave me a reason to want more. To believe that after everything, I could still have something good. Someone good.”

“You were my peace when I didn’t know what that felt like. And now, you’re my forever.”

His voice is steady, but his hands tremble when he slides the ring onto your finger. Not out of fear—but because this is real.

When you say your vows, Logan holds onto every word. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t shift in place. Just soaks in every syllable, like he’s memorizing the way forever sounds.

When it’s time to kiss the bride, he doesn’t hesitate. It’s deep, slow, the kind of kiss that says everything words can’t.

And when the reception rolls around? It’s warm, loud, full of life.

Logan isn’t much of a dancer, but he pulls you onto the floor anyway, hands firm around your waist. He’s stiff at first, but with every laugh you give him, every whispered “You’re doing great,” he relaxes.

Eventually, he relaxes, hands settling on your waist, forehead resting against yours.“This isn’t so bad,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“Told you.”

By the end of the song, he’s completely lost in you.

and elias dance like that cause he is so biased for logan, and then he dies before hesh's wedding cause he is just like that.

ok bye sorry

And just like that, Logan Walker—a man who never thought he’d have a future—steps into the first day of forever.

what?yall thought i would write a wedding night scene? stupid little muffins thinking i would turn my blog from SFW to NSFW

Getting into the real life:

At first, normal feels… strange. Logan spent so much of his life fighting that waking up without a mission feels unnatural.

The first few months are filled with small adjustments, moments where he has to remind himself that this—this quiet, peaceful life—is real.

Logan wakes up before you almost every day. It’s a habit he can’t shake.

But instead of rushing into action, he just… stays there. Lying beside you, listening to your steady breathing, memorizing the way your fingers curl slightly in your sleep.

Eventually, you stir, and he greets you with a low, lazy, “Morning.”

Some mornings, he makes coffee. Others, he just pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, as if making up for all the mornings he never got to have.

Logan never really learned how to cook. MREs and quick, no-effort meals were his go-to. But now? He wants to try.

One morning, you wake up to the smell of burnt toast and slightly questionable scrambled eggs.

Logan, standing there, arms crossed, looking down at the mess.“…It’s not that bad.”

“Babe, it’s black.”

He just shrugs, still stubborn. “It’s… crispy.”

Despite the failure, he keeps trying. And eventually, he starts getting good at it—to the point where Sunday mornings mean Logan making pancakes from scratch and grumbling when you try to help.

Logan still takes time to adjust. At first, he doesn’t leave much of a mark on the place—no decorations, no personal touches.

Until one day, you catch him putting up a picture of the two of you.You pause, smiling. “Making it feel like home?”

He glances at you, then back at the photo, and nods. “Yeah… I think so.” he is not awkward but that is his personality always a simple man talking.

at night, when the lights are low and the world is quiet, he opens up.

Some nights, you lie in bed tracing old scars, pressing soft kisses to them.He doesn’t flinch anymore. He just exhales, melting into your touch.

Other nights, you both just exist together. No words, no pressure—just the feeling of his steady heartbeat under your cheek.

One afternoon, while lying on the couch, you casually say, “We should get a dog.”

Logan raises a brow. “You want a dog?”

“You had Riley. You were basically a dog dad already.”

The next day, he surprises you by taking you to a shelter. And suddenly? You have a rescue dog curled up in your home, fast asleep against Logan’s leg.

Logan whispering “I love you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

im not gonna talk abt pregnancy and stuff cuz i am already planning for another post for all cod characters so!

Ofc...OFC you will write whatever this shit was and ignore my req that has been like month

You think this is bad? Wait till I make Riley start a podcast.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

From romance to ruff

Logan walker X fem! reader!

Summary: It’s movie night with your boyfriend Logan, and everything seems perfect—until Riley, the playful dog, decides he’s the star of the evening. Jumping onto the couch, he wedges himself between you two, tail wagging like crazy, completely disrupting Logan’s plans for a cozy date.

notes:SFW then slight NSFW

The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the flickering light from the TV screen, casting elongated shadows on the walls like silent sentinels. You sat there, as if time had slowed, the minutes stretching into what felt like eternity. The only sounds that punctuated the stillness were the faint crackling noises from the kitchen—Logan, standing by the stove, making popcorn. Each crack and pop seemed to echo louder than the last, a rhythm that held you captive in its cadence.

Your fingers idly toyed with the remote in your hands, flipping between channels without truly seeing any of them, the click of the buttons blending into the backdrop of your thoughts. The glow from the television screen painted your face with a pale hue, casting fleeting shadows over your features. You waited—no, you hovered between anticipation and the comfort of the familiar, like a gentle pull at the edges of your consciousness.

Logan stepped out of the kitchen, the sound of the microwave’s hum fading as he took a deep breath, relieved. Finally, he thought, finally he’d have some time with you tonight. The promise of shared silence, perhaps a quiet laugh, a peaceful moment of togetherness. But as he walked into the dimly lit living room, bowl of popcorn in hand, his eyes fell upon something he hadn’t quite anticipated.

Riley, the dog, was sitting by your side—staring at you with those wide, expectant eyes. The little rascal had claimed his spot next to you, sniffing eagerly at your leg like it was a prize. Before Logan could even react, Riley, as if to seal his spot, leaned in and gave you a big, slobbery lick on your cheek.

You couldn’t help it. A soft giggle bubbled up from your throat, the warm sound mixing with the quiet of the room. The light from the TV flickered across your face as you smiled at the dog’s antics, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Logan stood there for a moment, frozen. The bowl of popcorn dangled loosely in his hand, his face blank, a look of disbelief slowly spreading over his features.

"Oh, nah…" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper but laced with an unmistakable mix of exasperation and fondness. It wasn’t a surprise, really. Riley had always been the one to claim attention first, and tonight was no exception.

"really riley?"

FLASHBACK

Logan sat at the table, a stack of files spread out before him, his eyes scanning through the papers with that focused, almost detached look. The quiet hum of the living room was soothing, the glow of the TV screen casting fleeting shadows on the walls as he worked. But his peace was about to be interrupted.

The door to the living room creaked open, and there stood Hesh, dressed in his jacket with a hurried energy, adjusting the collar like he was about to dash out the door. His voice cut through the silence, casual as ever.

“Hey, Lo, we’re heading out. Me and the old man,” Hesh called, as if it was a simple statement of fact, no need for elaboration. Logan nodded without looking up, offering a soft hum of acknowledgment as he continued flipping through the files.

But Hesh wasn’t done. He paused by the door, hand on the handle, and glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh, and by the way, don’t forget to feed Riley at six PM," he added, almost as an afterthought, his tone carrying that easygoing nonchalance.

Logan’s pen froze mid-air, and for a moment, time seemed to still. He slowly leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking from the files to Hesh, a frown forming across his brow.

"Don’t forget to what?" Logan echoed, his voice thick with confusion as the words finally registered in his brain. His eyes widened, then narrowed in disbelief. He sat there for a moment longer, blinking in stunned silence before giving his head a small shake.

Hesh, unfazed, just shrugged, a casual grin spreading across his face as he adjusted his jacket. “You heard me,” he said, his voice light as he stepped toward the door. "You know how Riley gets when he misses his dinner. You’ve got this, right?"

Logan’s mouth opened and closed as if searching for words that wouldn’t come. "I—" He didn’t even know where to start. His mind was racing, images of Riley’s well-meaning but relentless face suddenly flooding his thoughts. And now, it was on him? this time? while he has a date?

Hesh, clearly amused by Logan's momentary confusion, turned and gave a small wave. "Alright, catch you later, Don’t let the pup starve.” And with that, the door clicked shut behind him, leaving Logan staring at the space Hesh had just occupied.

He let out a long, resigned sigh, dropping his head into his hands for a brief moment before glancing over at Riley, who was now wagging his tail innocently.

"Six PM... yeah, sure," Logan muttered to himself, shaking his head with a smirk. As if he didn’t already have a million things to do.

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

There he was. Riley, the true master of the living room, perched comfortably on the couch where Logan had once claimed his territory. His eyes gleamed with mischief, tail wagging in silent triumph, as if he had already decided that tonight, he would take the throne. The dog’s smug expression was clear: "try me" It was a look that only Logan had seen on his face before—a mischievous spark that made it clear Riley knew exactly what he was doing.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Riley, in all his glory, was sitting beside you, looking quite pleased with himself as he waited, almost too eagerly, for the next offering. With a playful grin, you extended the bowl of popcorn towards him, as if he was already part of the plan—though deep down, you both knew that Riley wasn’t quite the co-conspirator he might appear to be.

Riley took the offering in stride, his nose twitching as he sniffed the popcorn before gently plucking a piece with a careful, dainty nibble. He had already claimed his spot on the couch, his legs sprawled out as if he’d lived there all his life. He exuded an air of utter satisfaction, as though he were entitled to all the comforts that had once been Logan’s.

Logan, still standing by the edge of the room, watched the scene unfold with a quiet mix of disbelief and resignation. He could hear the lighthearted tone in your voice as you called out to him.

"Logan, come on!"

It was a playful invitation, a hint of laughter in your voice as you beckoned him back to the couch. Logan stood there for a moment, a deep sigh escaping him. His eyes flickered to Riley—who was now fully settled in, smug as ever—and then back to you, his expression softening in amusement. He could tell what was happening before you even spoke the words.

“Well, well…” Logan muttered to himself, though his words were meant only for him to hear. He stared at Riley, his mouth curving into a reluctant grin. “Guess it is Riley, after all."

As the movie began, Logan made his way over to the couch, moving toward the empty spot beside you. But as he reached the edge of the cushion, he found himself facing a small, furry obstacle—Riley, who was already sprawled out in the middle of the couch, as if he owned it. The dog didn’t even flinch as Logan approached; he was too comfortable, too at ease, his tail giving a small wag before he settled back into his spot.

Logan sat down with a soft sigh, not exactly annoyed but a little thrown off. He had hoped for a quiet night with just you, the two of you tucked away in the soft warmth of the living room, sharing a movie. But it seemed Riley had different plans. The dog was practically sandwiched between the two of you now, his head resting on the armrest, eyes flicking between you both with an air of calm superiority. Logan hadn’t expected the little furball to be this clingy.

Logan tried to push the thought aside and reached for the bowl of popcorn you were holding, the soft kernels looking so tempting. But as his arm stretched out, a small furry paw blocked his hand, as if Riley was playing the role of the uninvited bouncer. Logan's fingers hovered, unsure of how to proceed. He was almost this close to grabbing a piece when Riley, with a perfectly timed and unbothered stare, locked eyes with him.

Logan froze, his hand still suspended in the air, and turned his head from the TV screen to find Riley staring back at him with an expression that was as blank as it was baffling. The dog’s eyes were wide, unblinking, giving Logan the sort of look that only Riley could pull off—a mix of curiosity and mild disdain, as if to say, I’m here now. What’s the problem?

Logan blinked, confusion creeping up on him as his eyebrows furrowed. Was this some sort of challenge? Was Riley guarding the popcorn now? A strange mix of amusement and disbelief washed over him as he realized that, yes, Riley had just become the popcorn police.

"Really?" Logan muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper. But Riley only stared, unyielding, his posture unbothered. It was as if the dog had all the time in the world to continue sitting between the two of you, blocking his snack, and maybe even giving him that silent challenge to try and take it from him.

You turned to Logan, a look of genuine confusion flickering across your face as you noticed him staring at Riley with a mix of disbelief and mild frustration. "Did you say something?" you asked, your voice light, oblivious to the silent drama unfolding between Logan and the dog.

Before Logan could even muster a response, Riley, ever the opportunist, took that as his cue to intervene. With a sudden shift, the little dog, clearly eager for attention, wiggled his way closer to you, his nose beginning its familiar inspection of your hands, sniffing curiously at you. The pause in the moment was fleeting, as Riley’s attention shifted quickly, his warm breath against your skin as he nuzzled up to you.

You smiled softly at the dog, the sudden intrusion only making you laugh. “Wow… I used to be scared of dogs,” you murmured, your voice full of fondness as you looked down at Riley’s sweet, yet slightly invasive behavior. “But this?” You met his gaze, a gentle smile playing at the corner of your lips, clearly charmed by the dog’s antics.

Logan, on the other hand, sat back slightly, watching the scene unfold with a mix of amusement and annoyance. He didn’t know what it was, but the sight of Riley—his smug little face—now claiming both your attention and the couch, was almost too much to bear. The way the dog pressed into your side, totally oblivious to Logan’s territorial desires, was enough to make him seriously question if he was sharing the couch with a dog or a roommate with a bad sense of humor. He was on the verge of strangling the little furball—though the thought was as fleeting as it was humorous.

Despite his internal struggle, Logan kept his calm outwardly. His eyes flicked from you to Riley, who had found his sweet spot beside you. The dog’s eyes were wide and innocent, completely unaware of the tension he was causing.

“Guess I shouldn't have listened to hesh and let him to the fed,” sorry Logan muttered under his breath, his tone teasing as he shifted on the couch, a resigned smile tugging at his lips. He couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You, so wrapped up in Riley’s affection, hadn’t even noticed Logan’s silent frustration.

You looked back at Logan, your smile bright as you completely ignored the fact that Riley was practically trying to climb into your lap. “What did you say babe?” you asked again, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air, your focus completely on Riley, who was already inching closer to make himself more comfortable.

Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, and then, with a half-hearted sigh, he gave in. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. "Just… never mind."

You finally understood the silent battle that was unfolding between Logan and Riley, the tiny furball who had unceremoniously claimed his spot in the middle of the couch. You could see the way Logan was trying to subtly nudge the dog aside, and after a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to play peacekeeper.

"Okay, Riley..." you said softly, leaning down to gently coax him off the couch. Your hands found his soft, warm body, and you tried to guide him down, but the dog was surprisingly heavy for his size. His solid weight made it harder than you'd anticipated, and for a moment, it was almost like trying to move a small boulder that didn't want to budge.

You gave him a light pat on the side, smiling down at his adorably clueless face. "You’ve got to go down now," you repeated, your voice a mixture of sweetness and mild amusement. Riley tilted his head, ears flicking as he looked up at you, clearly not quite understanding the urgency of the situation. His big brown eyes seemed to study you for a moment before he reluctantly shifted, letting out a soft huff of air as he slowly slunk down from the couch.

The moment he hit the floor, a soft whimper escaped his lips, as though he were protesting the abrupt end to his cozy night. You couldn’t help but smile at the sound, your heart melting just a little as you looked down at him.

"Ohh?" you cooed at Riley, your voice full of gentle affection as the dog began to trot away from the couch, his tail tucked low. You couldn't deny the tug of sympathy you felt for him. He wasn’t exactly happy about leaving your side, but at least he had your attention, even if it meant a little reluctant distance.

You turned back to Logan, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "There. Is that better?" you asked, clearly amused by the whole thing, as you settled back into the couch, now free of Riley's uninvited presence.

Logan let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as the weight of the little drama faded away. He finally leaned closer to you, the space between you two narrowing as he reached out, pulling you into him with a quiet ease. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you gently but firmly against his chest, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you like a soft, comforting blanket.

You rested yourself against him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear grounding you as you sank into the familiar comfort of his presence. The world outside of the living room—Riley's protests, the movie, the mundane worries—seemed to fade away in that moment. It was just you and Logan, with the comforting hum of the quiet night and the soft glow of the TV casting shadows around you.

"Much better," he murmured, a small, contented smile tugging at your lips as you nestled closer, feeling his warmth seep into you. It felt right—peaceful, calm. You could feel his smile against your hair as his chest rose and fell with every breath, his fingers gently tracing the curves of your waist, as if marking the moment, holding you just a little tighter.

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

The movie ended, and with it came a blissful sense of peace that lingered in the air. The absence of Riley’s interruptions felt almost like a small victory, making the evening feel perfect in its simplicity. The room was dim now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the TV screen, the credits slowly rolling as if marking the end of the night’s little adventure. The stillness of the moment was rich and comforting, both of you simply existing in the space together, the warmth of your bodies pressed close, like a quiet promise of togetherness.

You turned to Logan, a playful smile curling at the edges of your lips as you felt a burst of lighthearted energy. Your eyes gleamed with mischief, and you couldn’t resist. "You didn’t plan on a movie night, right?" you teased, your tone light and full of curiosity. "I know you're not that boring." You pressed your hands gently against his chest, your fingers brushing lightly across the fabric of his shirt, the sensation grounding you in the moment.

Logan, caught off guard by the playful remark, smirked in response, his eyes twinkling with the kind of mischief that matched yours. Without a word, his hands moved slowly but confidently to your hips, guiding you a little closer as you rested on top of him. The shift in his posture was subtle, but it didn’t take long for you to feel the warmth of his hands against your skin, steady and sure.

"I don’t think you’ll say the word boring after this night," he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing, as he met your gaze with that familiar spark of mischief. His lips quirked up at the corners, his fingers pressing just slightly into your waist as if to underscore the quiet challenge in his words.

The tension between the playful teasing and the intimate closeness of the moment made your heart race a little faster. You felt the rhythm of your breathing match the quiet anticipation that hung in the air. The movie had ended, but the night—filled with more than just the flickering images on the screen—was just beginning.

You couldn’t help but smile, your gaze softening as you lingered in the warmth of his touch. "Oh really?" you whispered, leaning just a little closer, your lips brushing the edge of his ear in a teasing breath. "We’ll see about that."

Logan’s smirk widened, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink, just the two of you lost in that space, the world outside of the living room completely forgotten.

The moment your lips met, everything around you faded. The room, the lingering glow of the TV screen, even the subtle hum of the air seemed to quiet in comparison to the intensity between you both. Logan pulled you closer, his arms wrapping securely around your back, holding you against him like he never wanted to let go. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the pulse of his heart beneath his chest. Your breath mingled as you both closed your eyes, lost in the sensation of the kiss, in the tension that simmered just beneath the surface—unspoken but undeniably there.

Time felt like it slowed down, the kiss stretching into something almost sacred, yet electric. The world outside the two of you seemed distant, irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was this shared moment, this quiet space between you where nothing else could reach.

But eventually, the need for air became too great, and with a gentle push, you pulled away, your chest rising and falling with each breath. You rested your forehead against his for a brief second, your eyes fluttering open, a playful gleam still in your gaze. "To your room, soldier," you said, the words soft but firm, your breath shaky from the intensity of the kiss.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "Really? I thought we would go here, on the couch," he countered, his voice low and amused, still holding you in that protective embrace.

You raised a brow in mock seriousness, mimicking the playful demand in your tone. "What did I say earlier?"

His eyes sparkled with a challenge, and without another word, he grinned. "Alright then, giddy up." Before you could even process what was happening, Logan shocked you by swiftly scooping you up into his arms, lifting you off the couch in one effortless motion.

You gasped in surprise, a little scream escaping your lips as he effortlessly held you against him. Your heart raced, not from fear but from the thrill of it all. The sudden shift from playful teasing to pure action caught you off guard, but it was exhilarating. You couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed on your face as you found yourself in his arms, completely at his mercy. "Logan!" you laughed, your hands instinctively finding his chest as you tried to steady yourself, your heart still thudding with excitement.

"You really did say it," Logan murmured, his voice low but full of mischief as he carried you toward the bedroom, not even a hint of hesitation in his steps. The way he held you felt so natural, so right, and despite the surprise of the moment, you couldn’t help but revel in the connection between you two, the playful tension, and the undeniable chemistry.

"Alright," you laughed, your arms tightening around him just a little, "you win, soldier."

Logan’s grin widened, and he made a playful sound, like he was totally in charge now. "I always win," he teased, the sound of your laughter mixing with the steady beat of his heart as he walked toward the room, carrying you effortlessly, just as he promised.

And as the door to the bedroom closed softly behind you, the night stretched on—one of those moments you both would never forget.

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

Little did he know about riley in the dark edge of the room watching you both doing certan things:

She was mine, walker...

ok tf bye

stop being immature by criticizing people's art style or how they draw characters. seriously, everyone has their own style, their own way of expressing themselves, and their own pace of growth. if you don’t like it? just skip and move on. no need for rude or straight comments, even the ones disguised as "helpful advice" when you're really just trying to make them change it, because you don't like it, and it’s no different from saying "i don't like your art style, fix it." and that's just rude. either say something kind or say nothing at all. this isn't some top chef competition where you get points for being grumpy and overly critical.

also, stop acting like your favorite character is some sacred greek goddess who can never be drawn differently, they are fictional babes. if it bothers you so much, just go admire your favorite artist and have a good day :)

you don’t know what people are going through. a lot of them use art as a way to escape their hard times, to heal, and to find some happiness—and here you are acting like some "pro artist" trying to tear them down.

if you’re so confident, why don’t you show us your art from when you first started? i bet it wasn’t perfect either. everyone starts somewhere. so please, stop with the unnecessary criticism and let people create in peace.

Why Do Some Characters Feel “Off” in Fics?

Ever read a fic and thought, “They would never say that,” or “That’s not them”? It’s a common reaction, but let’s break down why it happens.

When you read multiple fics, you start to see patterns in how a character is written—their speech, personality, and habits tend to be portrayed a certain way across different writers. Over time, your brain builds an expectation of how they should act, and you will go like "I know them now".

But when you come across a fic where the character behaves differently—maybe they speak in a way you’re not used to, or their personality shifts even slightly—it feels wrong. Your brain detects the inconsistency and reacts with, “This isn’t accurate.”

But here’s the truth: no one truly knows the character they are fictional honey. Not you, not the writer. We all take what we see—canon material, dialogue, actions in movies, games and series—then interpret it differently. Fanfics aren’t about replicating a character 100% accurately; they’re about adapting them into different scenarios, tropes, and perspectives.

So instead of saying, “They’d never do that,” remember that every fic is just one version of a character. Different interpretations don’t mean they’re wrong—they’re just slightly new to you so whether you get used to it or leave the fic and not teaching the writer how to write the character XD

It’s totally fine to have opinions on how a character is written in fanfiction. Maybe a fic doesn’t match how you personally see them, or the way they talk feels different from what you’re used to. That’s normal! But there’s a difference between discussing these thoughts and going into a writer’s comments or asks just to tell them they’re “wrong.”

At the end of the day, fanfiction is interpretation. No one has an exact rulebook on how a character should act outside of canon, and even canon itself can be inconsistent. Writers take what they see and shape it into their own version. That’s the point of transformative work.

If a fic’s portrayal doesn’t sit right with you, the best thing to do is simple: move on. No one’s forcing you to read something you don’t like, and it’s not a life-or-death situation. Just scroll past, find another fic, and continue enjoying fandom in a way that makes you happy.

Constructive discussion? Great. Telling a writer how to “properly” write a character? Not so much. Let people write what they enjoy If they didn't hurt anyone :)

Let me know if u have another opinions today i feel the urge to discuss lol.

*UNHOLY SCREAMING*