#ft fern.

send ‘🎶’ and i’ll link a song that reminds me of our ship

                “hey, fern?” logan began, tone all too innocent as he flipped through one of the magazines that his agent so graciously kept sprawled across the coffee tables of his office. his head tipped back to give her his full attention as she entered the room, a polite smile on his face despite his follow-up question: “what are the chances that you, i don’t know, quit?” despite the teasing nature of the inquiry, he wasn’t entirely joking. — no, he wasn’t joking at all. he wholeheartedly felt he could handle himself well, so what the hell would he need a publicist for? his name getting tossed onto the front page of half of the country’s major magazines for the past year completely disagreed with that sentiment, but he didn’t understand why such a thing would be considered a ‘problem’. there was the fact that people would harbor not-so-favorable opinions about him, but that wasn’t really his issue, was it? he’d still get jobs regardless of how many times he tried to start wet t-shirt contests in random bars. he had the kind of name that got people’s attention — brands would always want him, in one way or another, even if it was just to be the gag in a thirty-second commercial. his stupid little fuck ups were free promotion, a.k.a. the best kind of promotion. so, again, he wasn’t entirely sure why he needed fern trying to dig around in his personal life, nor her attempts to try and control him. “just a question, before you end up sucking all the fun out of me.” his grin grew wider, still unbelievably polite as he held up a picture of another one of her clients, “i mean, just look at this guy. you’ve successfully cured him of anything that was interesting about his personality. bravo to you."