#then like HAVE to be lasers that scan stuff then??

[akikohanasaki]

hiii!! could you write some headcanons for the eltingville guys having a s/o that can draw? fem would be appreciated but ofc it’s alright either way! thank u<33

I like this ideaaa. Here ya go ;3

---

Yandere Eltingville Club boys x female reader who likes to draw

---

Yandere!Jerry x Artist!Reader

Jerry is the most quietly obsessed. The kind of yandere who hides behind politeness, who offers to carry your portfolio, compliments your drawings softly, and never really stops looking at you. He’s completely enchanted by how your mind works when you draw — especially if it’s fantasy-themed.

He fantasizes about you drawing him as a heroic knight or an elven prince — someone powerful and beautiful, everything he’s never felt like in real life. It becomes his escape.

He would never force you to draw him, but he’ll definitely hint at it. If you ever do draw him — even casually — he will treasure it like it’s a religious relic. It’ll be pinned to his wall, hidden under his bed, scanned, printed... He keeps extras in his bag.

Jerry can get uncomfortably clingy under the guise of being helpful. He’ll offer to carry your sketchbooks, get you new pens, “protect” you from Bill’s scepticism. But it’s all to stay close.

When others mock or touch your art, he quietly starts holding grudges. If Bill tears a doodle or Josh mocks your anatomy, Jerry’s the type to wait and quietly sabotage them — breaking a collectible, hiding a prized issue, or spreading rumors online under a pseudonym.

His obsessive fantasies get darker over time. In them, you’re isolated with him in a fantasy world — and everyone else is dead or banished. You live happily ever after, and he’s your muse. Your knight in shining armour.

---

Yandere!Bill x Artist!Reader

Bill is the worst kind of yandere — jealous, gatekeep-y, angry, and aggressively possessive. The moment you mention art, he immediately wants to know if you draw real stuff — like comic books, superheroes, or Frank Miller-inspired noir.

If you like manga or softer art styles, he mocks you for it... but then keeps every doodle you leave lying around. He says it’s “anime crap” but he has one taped in his locker and another folded in his wallet.

The second he realizes someone else likes your art (or you draw for another guy)? He loses it. Screaming, throwing things, maybe even trashing that person’s stuff. He says it’s about "respect for fandom" or “fake fans” — but really, he’s seething with envy that someone else has your attention.

He’ll start trying to “correct” your style, pushing you to draw hyper-violent comics or edgy pin-ups. It’s his way of controlling what you create — shaping your imagination into something that revolves around him.

He’d say messed-up stuff like, “If you really cared about me, you’d draw me killing Josh with a chainsaw,” and mean it. And if you laugh it off? He’s secretly disappointed.

Bill doesn’t hide his obsession — he yells it. He’ll tell the club you’re “his girl,” even if you’re not dating. Anyone who denies it? Expect an all-out brawl.

---

Yandere!Josh x Artist!Reader

Josh gets obsessed with you in the way he obsesses over Dune or Star Trek. It’s fanatical. He wants to memorize your art style like it’s a sacred code. He starts scanning through your sketchbooks when you’re not looking, studying how you shade eyes, how you draw hands.

He’ll not-so-subtly demand that you draw sci-fi scenes — space stations, androids, him as a captain in a dystopian empire. If you indulge him? He’ll never let go. “Can you make me taller?” “Make my arms bigger.” “Give me a laser sword.”

He overanalyzes everything you draw. “What do these symbols mean? Is this me?” He’ll invent entire headcanons around a doodle, thinking you’re leaving secret messages for him.

Josh is territorial. He’ll hover over your shoulder while you draw, yell at anyone who dares distract you, and get extremely aggressive if another guy asks for a commission.

He starts showing up at your house with “gifts” — Dune art books, custom sketch pads, even rare inks — but if you reject him or just seem ungrateful, he spirals into passive-aggressive rants about how artists don’t appreciate “real fans.”

He’ll fantasize about owning all your art. Literally hoarding it. If he could lock you in a basement with nothing but paper and pens to draw for him forever, he’d do it... and convince himself it’s romantic.

---

Yandere!Pete x Artist!Reader

Pete fixates on your art with the same intensity he has for horror and gore. He’s fascinated if you draw dark or violent themes — monsters, slashers, death scenes. If your art is cutesy, he thinks it’s lame... at first. Then he gets weirdly obsessed with how your soft art contrasts his brutal tastes.

He starts demanding that you draw horror scenes — but with you and him as the characters. “Make us the final girl and the killer. You’re running from me, but you kinda like it, right?” He’s dead serious.

Pete’s the kind of yandere who steals your sketchbook and keeps it under his mattress. He pretends to hate it when you confront him, acts like you’re annoying, but the moment you leave? He’s sniffing the pages and mumbling about how beautiful your hands must be when they move.

If your parents or teachers discourage your art, Pete flies into a rage. He sees himself as your protector, the one person who “gets it.” If he ever finds someone tearing up your drawings, he’ll get physical without hesitation.

Pete is paranoid and angry. If he sees you talking to another guy while doodling, he assumes it’s romantic and will immediately try to pick a fight — calling them a poser or accusing them of “using you for free art.”

In his ideal world, you two make horror comics together, and everyone else is either dead or too scared to come near. And if you ever say you want space? He might threaten to hurt himself, guilt-tripping you into staying.

---

Zip zip 👽

[nerdcrawfish]

HEY UH.

You know how when you close your eyes you see black?? Um, TFs have glowing eyes--so would they actually see the lit up backs of their lids?

Or do the eye lights shut off when they close their optics lids like a refrigerator??

does it... does it click??

[wosospacegirl]

Capi Mami - Alexia Putellas x barcelona femini

Summary: Alexia swears she’s not the team mom… and yet she’s the one confiscating phones, doling out granola bars, and keeping this locker room from imploding.

Word count: 1.5k

This is part of my 1k commemoration blurb! <3

a/n: a single mama who works two jobs

Masterlist

..

The locker room was a mess. Water bottles were scattered across the floor, shoes were everywhere, and a few jerseys had been tossed carelessly on the benches.

The younger girls were in full gossip mode, laughing and talking over each other, completely oblivious to the chaos they had created.

Vicky was sitting on one of the benches, animatedly chatting about some TikTok challenge, while Salma and Jana were having a loud conversation about the training session they had just finished.

Pina’s laughter echoed through the room as Esmee said something dry and hilarious.

Y/n and Sydney were livestreaming on Instagram–very much against team rules–talking about their training routine and casually throwing shade at the referee from their last match.

Marta walked in first. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the scene. She shook her head with a sigh and muttered, “What is this, girls?”

She took one step and nearly tripped over a bag lying in the middle of the floor.

“Okay,” Marta said angrily, lifting the bag into the air. “Whose bag is this—and why do I have a bunch of stickers glued on my locker?”

“Do you like it?” Vicky asked brightly, the only one acknowledging Marta’s presence.

“I hate it,” Marta replied flatly. “Take it off.”

Vicky rolled her eyes and continued chatting. The others kept pretending Marta didn’t exist.

“You might want to clean this up before Alexia gets here,” Marta warned, but the girls barely looked up.

Marta rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath before walking out.

She walked down the hall to find Alexia stretching on a bench, prepping for another round of training. Marta couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Tus nenas están causando problemas,” [Your girls are causing problems], she said with a teasing smile.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Qué?” [what?]

"They’re making a mess in the locker room again. And I’m pretty sure I saw Y/n going live on Instagram ranting about the ref being bought."

Alexia sighed, her expression shifting from confused to fondly exasperated. "You know what they’re like," she muttered, standing up. "I’ll handle them, and then I’m confiscating Y/n’s phone."

The moment Alexia stepped into the locker room, her gaze swept across the chaos. Water bottles, jerseys, shin guards, and random clothes covered the floor. Not a single head turned.

Alexia didn’t speak at first. 

She simply stood there in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. After a long pause, her voice finally cut through the room.

"Nenas, qué es esto?" [Girls, what is this?]

Y/n jumped to her feet, face paling at the tone. The room fell silent in an instant.

Vicky, Salma, and Pina all sat up straighter. Y/n very discreetly hid her phone behind her back while nudging Sydney to sit properly and kick a rogue boot under the bench.

“Hi, Ale!” Vicky greeted sweetly, putting on her most innocent baby voice.

“Mi reina!” Pina chimed in, springing up and reaching for a hug.

Alexia sidestepped her without missing a beat. “What is all of this?” she asked, gesturing at the chaos with one unimpressed sweep of her hand.

“Nothing! We were just… talking,” Jana said quickly, voice shrinking. “It, uh… got a little out of hand?”

Alexia’s eyes scanned the room like a laser. Her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

“Is this how we treat a shared space?” she asked. Her voice didn’t rise, but the warning in it was sharp.

“No,” they chorused, voices barely above a whisper.

“Is the locker room where we throw our stuff around like toddlers?”

“No.”

“Should I start labelling your bottles and jerseys like you’re in daycare? Or can we act like professionals?”

“We can act like professionals,” they muttered in unison, chastened.

Alexia took one slow step forward. The shift in the room was immediate–every breath held, every eye on her.

“I don’t like doing this,” she said quietly, the calm in her voice somehow worse than yelling. “But this? This is not okay. I expect better from all of you.”

Y/n shifted awkwardly, guilt written all over her face. “Are you mad at us?”

“I’m not mad,” Alexia said, her pause deliberate. “I’m disappointed.”

The words hit harder than anything else could have. The silence that followed was thick.

“We’re sorry, Capi,” Y/n said, her head ducked. “We didn’t mean to mess up. We just got carried away.”

Alexia’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “You should’ve known better. I trust you girls. Don’t make me regret that.”

“We’re really sorry, Alexia,” Salma added quickly, voice sincere.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Alexia replied, crossing her arms. “I better not hear another complaint. Understood?”

“Yes,” they all said, truly meaning it this time.

“Clean it up,” Alexia ordered, turning to walk out. “And next time? Think before you act.”

As soon as the door shut behind Alexia, Sydney let out a dramatic exhale. “I really thought she was gonna make us run laps again.”

“My feet still hurt from last time,” Y/n groaned, flopping back onto the bench.

“Obviously,” Pina snorted. “It was yesterday, genius.”

“We are never doing this again,” Vicky said, voice solemn like she was making a blood pact.

“Nope,” Jana chimed in, hand raised like she was swearing an oath. “From now on, we will clean up before she walks in.”

“We should actually stop throwing stuff the second we get here,” Salma added thoughtfully.

Y/n suddenly sat up, panic dawning on her face. “Wait. Do you think she saw me go live?”

“Yes,” everyone said in eerie unison.

Y/n groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so screwed.”

“You two are a disaster,” Jana muttered, nudging Sydney.

“We are not,” Sydney defended. “The world just needed to know how rigged that ref was.”

“You need to stop,” Esmee said, already starting to clean up the bottles.

Sydney shot her a look. “You’re just mad you didn’t join the live.”

“No,” Esmee said dryly. “I just don’t enjoy being yelled at. Call me crazy.”

Their chatter continued as they cleaned, a little more subdued now. Just outside, Alexia leaned against the wall, listening. 

A soft smile tugged at her lips.

Y/n leaned back on the bench, phone in hand, muttering just loud enough for the others to hear, “One day, I swear, I’m gonna figure out how to get away with this. Maybe I’ll just block the older girls on Instagram and on Twitter–problem solved.”

A few of the girls snorted in laughter.

But then…

A voice, calm and deadly precise, cut through the moment.

“You think I’m gonna let that happen?”

Silence.

Alexia had stepped into the room like a shadow. Everyone froze. Y/n especially.

"Phone. Now."  Her palm was out, her stance unyielding.

Y/n clutched her phone like a lifeline. “Ale… come on. Please.”

Alexia didn’t budge. “Now. You’ll get it back after training–if you survive it.”

A dramatic sigh escaped Y/n, but she reluctantly handed it over, placing it in Alexia’s open palm like a guilty child surrendering contraband.

Alexia smirked, tucking it safely into her jacket pocket. “You really think I don’t hear everything? I’m always watching.”

As she turned and walked off, Vicky whispered, “She’s got ears like a hawk.”

“No,” Jana said with a grin, “she’s got mom-radar.”

From across the room, Alexia called out, “I heard that, too.”

As soon as she left, Vicky whispered, "Okay… maybe we should behave."

"Maybe," Jana said. "But I doubt it’ll last."

After cleaning everything, the door opened again. Alexia stepped back in and surveyed the room.

"Well done," she said. "Now get ready. Training’s going to be tough."

As they moved, Alexia pulled a small bag from her backpack and began tossing sandwiches and granola bars at them.

“Eat,” she ordered, hands on her hips. “No one’s stepping onto that pitch with an empty stomach.”

“But we already had lunch,” Y/n mumbled, catching hers mid-air.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“You’re serious?” Vicky asked, halfway through peeling the wrapper.

“Sí,” Alexia replied, voice firm but laced with affection. “You need it. You’ve all been dragging your feet since drills this morning.”

Y/n took a bite and sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I was kind of sluggish.”

“You always try to avoid eating before training,” Jana chimed in, smirking. “No more excuses.”

“I’m eating, aren’t I?” Y/n grumbled around a mouthful.

Alexia gave her a knowing smile. “Good. You need the energy to keep up with the rest of them.”

“Okay, mamí,” Y/n teased, raising an eyebrow.

Alexia paused mid-step. “What did you just say?”

“Mamí,” Y/n repeated, grinning now. “You act like a mom. You scold us, you take our phones, you pack our snacks. You’re literally parenting us.”

“I am not,” Alexia scoffed.

“You are,” Vicky said through a mouthful of granola. “This is full-on mom behaviour.”

“Keep calling me that and I’ll ground you,” Alexia warned, but her lips twitched, threatening a smile.

“See?!” Y/n pointed dramatically. “Mom threat.”

Alexia rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she watched them finish the bars and sandwiches, making sure every last bite was gone.

Once the wrappers were tossed and silence settled back in, she straightened, captain mode back on.

“Alright. Let’s go. Hydrate, boots on, and meet me in five. We’ve got work to do.”

She turned, but not before one last glance over her shoulder at the girls–her girls. 

Their chaos, their charm, their energy. They might not be hers, not really, but her love for them was unmistakable.

Strict? Always.

Soft? Only when they weren’t looking.

..

a/n: Just really wanted to write something platonic haha

[barabones]

With our Crips for Esims for Gaza Itch Bundle halfway to the $100,000 goal, let's take a minute to actually spotlight some of the works in it! A lot of stuff was specifically created or submitted for our cause, and are not only entertaining, but are great resources for getting yourself involved!

Let's check some of these projects out!

What Palestinians’ Use of eSIMs Can Teach Us About Tech

A fantastic introduction essay written by friend of the group, @chloetankahhui.bsky.social, specifically for our bundle! I highly suggest it as your first download after purchase!

What Is An eSim?

Another project designed to quickly inform people on how eSims are used in Gaza! Made by various volunteers in our own Crips for eSims group. We hope to use this as an easy printable way to spread the word of what we do!

Cartoonists for Palestine anthology

250 whooping pages of incredible art! It is worth spending an evening looking through all 63 stories! Thank you to @redgoldsparks for submitting this collection!

a fruit is a stone

A chapbook made by one of our volunteers, who also apparently studies rocks on Mars! Go ahead and take a minute to read some poetry about sediment.

Game Assist for Palestine Companion Zine

If you love video essays about video games, especially breaking down the politics in them, then grab yourself the companion zine for some of Game Assist's videos!

In Fear of Fucking It Up

In Fear of Fucking It Up is a zine collecting scraps of essays focused on the authors personal thoughts; all themed on the intersectionality of the Palestinian and African American struggle, the overwhelming pressure to perform socially, and general thoughts about acts of resistance. A neat little zine with a very personal perspective!

'Tis the Season

Have you ever wanted to be a mistletoe themed superhero? Check out this TTRPG to get involved with domestic actions from protecting protestors to destroying arms shipments!

ANY SAND

May be a little biased, since hexcavator is one of the wonderful authors of our bundle, but Any Sand is a beautifully crafted point and click game with themes of resistance similar to the Rasha Abdulhadi poem it is named after.

Drawings for Palestine

Now it's time for some free poster assets! This bundle by Axell is planned to be updated over time; with all works in the public domain!

RISO PRINT FILES FOR PALESTINE

I'm not entirely sure what a risograph print is, but these also have inkjet and laser printer file formats available! The concept of scanning in your own keffiyeh for the red layer is a brilliant way to make your own print run unique!

MASK UP! Poster print pack

Plenty of color options available for your needs! Gosh this poster is just so cool. Thanks @counterintuitivecomics for submitting it along with a really cool guide for navigating Covid-19!

Esims for Gaza Poster Graphics

Ending on my own art hahaha! I've been doing what little I can to make poster graphics for our cause since July of 2024. I never would have expected them to end up wheatpasted around Canada! I'll also be updating this pack with new assets or updated information when I can. Use these graphics and characters however you like, just be sure to send me pictures!

And that ends our round up of Palestine themed projects! This should be plenty to keep you busy for a few evenings, but that's only some of the over 200 projects submitted to our bundle! There's plenty more hidden treasure in there, but that may be for another day. This post is already getting to "color of the sky" length anyways.

But hey hey, did YOU read a zine or game in this bundle that you really enjoyed, and you think people should check out? Let folks know! And let them know that our bundle is still going until the end of May 19th!

At the time of this post, we are already halfway to our new goal of 100k! Let's get it up there!

[reasonsforhope]

"Clothing tags, travel cards, hotel room key cards, parcel labels … a whole host of components in supply chains of everything from cars to clothes. What do they have in common? RFID tags.  

Every RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) tag contains a microchip and a tiny metal strip of an antenna. A cool 18bn of these are made – and disposed of – each year. And with demands for product traceability increasing, ironically in part because of concerns for the social and environmental health of the supply chain, that’s set to soar. 

And guess where most of these tags end up? Yup, landfill – adding to the burgeoning volumes of e-waste polluting our soils, rivers and skies. It’s a sorry tale, but it’s one in which two young graduates of Imperial College London and Royal College of Art are putting a great big green twist. Under the name of PulpaTronics, Chloe So and Barna Soma Biro reckon they’ve hit on a beguilingly simple sounding solution: make the tags out of paper. No plastic, no chips, no metal strips. Just paper, pure and … simple … ? Well, not quite, as we shall see. 

The apparent simplicity is achieved by some pretty cutting-edge technical innovation, aimed at stripping away both the metal antennae and the chips. If you can get rid of those, as Biro explains, you solve the e-waste problem at a stroke. But getting rid of things isn’t the typical approach to technical solutions, he adds. “I read a paper in Nature that set out how humans have a bias for solving problems through addition – by adding something new, rather than removing complexity, even if that’s the best approach.”   

And adding stuff to a world already stuffed, as it were, can create more problems than it solves. “So that became one of the guiding principles of PulpaTronics”, he says: stripping things down “to the bare minimum, where they are still functional, but have as low an environmental impact as possible”.  

...how did they achieve this magical simplification? The answer lies in lasers: these turn the paper into a conductive material, Biro explains, printing a pattern on the surface that can be ‘read’ by a scanner, rather like a QR code. It sounds like frontier technology, but it works, and PulpaTronics have patents pending to protect it. 

The resulting tag comes in two forms: in one, there is still a microchip, so that it can be read by existing scanners of the sort common within retailers, for example. The more advanced version does away with the chip altogether. This will need a different kind of scanner, currently in development, which PulpaTronics envisages issuing licences for others to manufacture. 

Crucially, the cost of both versions is significantly cheaper than existing RFID kit – making this a highly viable proposition. Then there are the carbon savings: up to 70% for the chipless version – so a no-brainer from a sustainability viewpoint too. All the same, industry interest was slow to start with but when PulpaTronics won a coveted Dezeen magazine award in late 2023, it snowballed, says So. Big brands such as UPS, DHL, Marks & Spencer and Decathlon came calling. “We were just bombarded.” Brands were fascinated by the innovation, she says, but even more by the price point, “because, like any business, they knew that green products can’t come with a premium”."

-via Positive.News, April 29, 2024

--

Note: I know it's still in the very early stages, but this is such a relief to see in the context of the environmental and human rights catastrophes associated with lithium mining and mining for rare earth metals, and the way that EVs and other green infrastructure are massively increasing the demand for those materials.

I'll take a future with paper-based, more humane alternatives for sure! Fingers crossed this keeps developing and develops well (and quickly).

[mattsgracie]

matt and knuckles have a road trip!

“oh my fucking god.” was the last thing matt could say before his windows started shattering, red lasers being shot through his house and bouncing off the walls. matt ducked, hiding under the coffee table in his living room, with a grunt he turned over to see where knuckles was- seeing the red echidna also hiding like him- under the dining table.

matt looked back over at the garage door. he had a clear path. he could leave knuckles and get the hell out of here, but when he took one more look at the echidna, he could see the slight tremble. knuckles was terrified. matt sighed, closing his eyes shut as he made up his mind.

matt slowly started making his way to knuckles, crawling while being mindful of the shattered glass on the floor. he carefully scooped up the creature in his arms before swiftly making his way through the garage and making a run for his car.

knuckles got into the passenger side while matt started up the car. he noticed the cuts on matts hands, the cuts caused by matt crawling over glass just to get him.

he looked away and out the window sadly.

it had been an hour of just silence over the two of them. the only sound being the car on the road and the faint pop music on the radio.

“thank you.” knuckles finally said his voice somewhat somber.

“for what?” matt asked.

“getting me out of there.” knuckles looked at him, watching as matt shrugged.

“couldn't leave you there.” was all he said.

a few moments passed, matt grew tored of the static taylor swift on his radio. seeing a gas station, matt pulled off of the main road, “are you hungry?” matt suddenly asked after pulling into a gas station, turning in his seat to look at knuckles.

knuckles looked deep in thought before nodding. “matt, have you ever had burgers of ham?” matt brows furrowed in confusion before nodding, “yes, i’ve had hamburgers.”

“can we get some?”

“yeah. let me just fill up my tank, stay in the car.” matt huffed, undoing his seat belt and getting out of the car.

matt put the gas pump in, standing idly while minding their surroundings, they were technically on the run from the government at the current moment. across the gas station matt saw you- you had a few cuts and gashes on your cheek, and you were arguing with someone in your car to stay put.

matts seen you a few times- you were friends with his brother nick he didn't know much about you but what did know is that he just couldn't stand you.

he couldn't help but snicker and shake his head, of course you’d be here but at least you didn't see him. matt pulled the gas pump out of his car, putting it back in its rightful spot and getting back into his car.

“alright. i know the perfect place for burgers.” matt said, buckling his seatbelt and starting the drive down to the burger spot.

“shadow. i told you to stay in the car. you have to and that's it. i’ll get you your coffee. okay?” shadow frowned at your words, “but what if-”

“shadow. i’m going right into the store and out. i’ll be fine.”

shadow huffed, crossing his arms, “i want a milkshake.”

you couldn't help the smile that ran across your lips, “we’ll get some at the burger spot.” you said, “roll up this window. don't let anyone see you.”

as you walked away you heard the sound of your window being rolled up. you made your way through the various aisles of the gas station, grabbing yours and shadows favorites and some necessities.

you dropped all your stuff onto the counter, your eyes meeting the cashier, “hi sally.” you said, a small smile on your face.

“hello sweetie. how's shadow doing?” sally asked as she scanned your items. sally was the only other person who knew about shadow. “he’s alright. back at home. it's movie night. i thought i’d get some snacks.” you said, although it was a lie, sally believed it.

the truth? you and shadow were currently trying to leave boston and massachusetts altogether. something had happened, your house being broken into while you weren't home. it was a good thing shadow went with you everywhere.

“thanks sally.” you said after paying and grabbing the two plastic bags. you left the store, putting the bags into your backseat and getting into the drivers side.

shadow was on your phone doing something you didn't know until you heard the sabrina carpenter song he loved all too well come through your car speakers.

you smiled to yourself, before pulling out of the gas station.

as you pulled into the lot of the burger spot, you put a baseball hat on yourself and shadow, to give you some extra disguise. shadow opened your glove box and took out a pair of sunglasses- pink and heart shaped, putting them on and a sweater he had in your car.

as you got out you walked around the car, grabbing his hand and walking into the burger spot. this was a tradition for you guys. you made your way to the counter, “hello tucker, how have you been?” you asked.

“i’m alright. got the night shift.” he said. you nodded at his words, “i’ll get two milkshakes, 4 burgers and 4 fries, please.” tucker nodded, putting in your order.

once you got your order you took shadow outside, sitting at one of the benches and tables there.

“i asked him to put extra sprinkles for you.” you said, handing him the vanilla milkshake that had sprinkles mixed in the ice cream and the whipped cream.

“thank you.” he grumbled, taking the milkshake from you.

there was a moment of silence, you were looking around the parking lot, your eyes caught matt- you wondered what he was doing here, and who he was talking to. you assumed it was one of his brothers. shrugging it off you started to eat your own food.

after you and shadow were done eating, you cleaned up, both of you sitting at the table for a moment. over your shoulder you heard the sound of electricity cracking, and for a brief second you saw the bolts of red before it lunged itself at shadow.

[socialitesleuth]

:COMMS BEGIN:

Lady P,

Sorry for the early morning comms, hope this doesn’t wake you too early - I make it just after 5 your time.

We’re just finishing up a mission in the Persian Gulf - a luxury hotel collapsed overnight, on an island just offshore Doha. Only built two years ago, whole place is pretty new and shiny.

Been a rough night, Pen - fifteen we were too late to help, including two kids. Just families on vacation...

Anyway, victims are saying they felt tremors, it certainly looks like a quake from the debris now the sun is up and J is absolutely confident it came from beneath the sea bed (absolutely being a rather irritated direct quote, so I’m not asking again).

But… this isn’t a quake hot zone. It doesn’t make any sense, and there haven’t been any aftershocks either while we’ve been working. Five can’t get a good read because of the debris and mineral interference underground. The whole place is on top of the enormous old oil fields, and it sends the scanners haywire.

The company that owns the hotel has set my squid sense off though. Name’s Fulcra, I’ve sent you the profile on them. Ran by a guy named Randall Price. He’s a venture capitalist from Houston originally, but the company’s HQ is a London address. That’s as far as I’ve managed to get.

They own a couple of the small artificial islands around here that are being used as tourist hotspots. Think luxury waterfront villas on stilts kinda stuff, the hotel that’s collapsed was the biggest. Nice place, high end, lots of good dive spots.

This area’s all under a World Heritage protected marine environment permit for a biosphere reserve. They’ve spent decades trying to replenish the mangroves and coastal vegetation after what the oil fields and production did to the waters here, the aquatic populations are only just starting to rise comfortably. I didn’t understand how they even got permission for this sort of work but…

They’ve got a giant platform further out in the Gulf that’s supposedly ‘cleaning the sea’ and helping to replenish the sea bed. Seems to be some sort of agreement that they can build these resorts, in exchange for what appears to be green work. I tried to get a proper look at the platform in Four, out of interest, but they’ve got laser nets up. I got an autoturret my way for trying to go any further in the exosuit…

I’d like to think they’re just really protecting that biosphere, but I don’t get a nice eco-friend impression.

My gut says I’m getting Hydrexler vibes, and you were right about that oily CEO last time. I’m not sure I want to be right, but I do want to know what’s going on here… and I thought you might too, as our resident top agent with a passion for all things Earth-saving.

So, I thought I’d hand it over to you, and let you do what you do best - cosying up to the billionaires and getting them to spill the tea.

Lemme know if you know or find anything on them. We’re going to be here another couple of hours, finishing up stabilising the debris field and having another run through, and then heading back. S managed to get the Price guy on comms briefly, but he wasn’t much for talking. Maybe you’ll have more luck.

G 🦑

:COMMS END:

FIRST DATE?

The flickering light and the soft buzz from her compact device caught her off-guard. Penelope, who had positioned herself in an armchair beside her tall windows after giving up on sleep half an hour earlier, sat herself up a little straighter. The blanket which she’d wrapped around herself was pulled tighter to her frame as her eyes read the message.

The hour might have been earlier and, on any other day, Penelope might very well have still been sleeping, but today was different. She rubbed her tired eyes as they scanned Gordon’s words. At first, she’d hoped it had been something akin to a social call. She rather enjoyed those, especially when they came from Gordon, but the more she read, the more Penelope realised it was anything but that.

Her interest peaked as she reached Gordon’s conspiracy.

Her mouth grew dry when she reached Gordon’s information.

The blanket was thrown off her body and Penelope stood. With her comms device still in hand, her eyes still darting from left to right as she continued her reading, she crossed her bedroom and gently tugged on the bell. 

Minutes passed before a very sleepy Parker knocked on her bedroom door. Penelope, having only just finished Gordon’s message, opened it.

“Terribly sorry to wake you, Parker, but it seems we have a situation. I need you to cancel my schedule for today and then get me all we have on the company known as Fulcra. CEO is a man named Randall Price.”

“But, m’lady, that’s—”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, thank you, Parker. See if you can arrange a meeting of some kind, if that’s at all possible.”

Parker nodded, still more asleep than he was awake, before he trundled off down the hallway to make good of his ladyship’s requests.

Penelope returned to chair by the window and curled herself back up. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon as she typed out her reply.

COMMS BEGIN

@squidsinashirt, Thank you for your concern — I shall look into this and get back to you when I

Penelope ceased her typing and sighed. She knew it wasn’t fair to lie to him, not after her sent her looking. A moment or two passed before Penelope deleted her previous sentence and began to re-type it. 

COMMS BEGIN

Gordon,

This company?

I shall look into this as you requested but, I must warn you, you may not like what I find. Randall Price is… let us say a man I am already familiar with, or rather his business is. What I can tell you is that, for the most part, Fulcra is celebrated as a rather clean company, but that doesn’t always mean much — you were right to mention Hydrexler. The Persian Gulf was supposed to remain a protected marine environment, at least that was how I understood it. I’ll ask some of my World Heritage connections what they know too, see if I can get a bigger picture for you.

Give me a couple of days. I’ll try and, what was it you said? Cosy up to the billionaire? Get him to spill the tea? Parker is going to try and get me an appointment but, if that fails, I do have an alternative plan.

Do try and get some rest once you’ve finished up. The mission in Doha sounds like it’s been a terribly distressing situation for all involved. You know I am always here if you need to talk about it. Any of it.

I’ll be in touch once I hear something.

Stay safe, 

Penny x

COMMS END

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

Once upon a time, names held weight. Penelope had thought that Scott’s name had simply been too tied up with International Rescue for Randall Price to give him the time of day… until she too was ushered away once the more difficult questions were asked. From her other sources, Penelope had heard only rave reviews of the company. Yet something felt… off.

It was just after dinner when Penelope began her second message to Gordon.

COMMS BEGIN

It's too clean. Not sure what’s going on but I definitely sense something. Plan B is in operation. Randall Price might not have wanted to speak to me today, but he did invite me to his Charity Ball this weekend — I’ll see if I can find out more then.

I’m hoping you returned home safe and sound and that you managed to have a good rest. I suppose it’s my turn to apologise if this message wakes you. 

Penny x

COMMS END

[rogueshadow1124]

AFTERMATH OF VICTORY

[Task force 141 x reader]

Summary: when the task force have had a long mission and need some well needed rest they decide to relax away at base but not without a little amusement.

Word count: 1566

Warnings: none?

The moon cast a silver glow over the desolate landscape as Task Force 141 trudged back to their base, exhausted but triumphant. The mission had been long, grueling, and fraught with unexpected twists, but they had succeeded in their objective. Now, they were returning home, their once pristine uniforms now smeared with mud and blood, the marks of their labor.

Y/N, was leading the way, her boots crunching against the gravel of the path leading to the base. Her hair was tousled, and her face was streaked with dirt and exhaustion, but her spirit remained undiminished. “Seriously, did we have to spend half the night hunting down that rogue operative?” she grumbled, casting a sidelong glance at Ghost, who was walking beside her.

Ghost, his face concealed by his mask, simply shrugged. “That’s what we do. Find the bad guys and make sure they don’t get away.”

“Yeah, but couldn’t we have had a less complicated mission? Maybe something involving less running and more relaxing?” Y/N replied with a sarcastic edge.

Soap, who was a few steps ahead, laughed, turning back to face them. “What, you mean like a vacation? We’ve been over this, Y/N. We don’t do vacations.”

“Right, because that would be too easy,” Y/N shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Instead, let’s do something that involves getting shot at and blowing stuff up.”

Price, the team leader, had been quietly listening to the banter. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning the horizon. “We’re almost there. Just a bit further and we can drop this gear and get some much-needed rest.”

The team pushed on, their fatigue making each step feel heavier, but their shared camaraderie keeping them motivated. When they finally reached the base, the contrast between the harsh night outside and the warm, inviting interior was palpable. The base was lit with a soft glow from overhead lights, and the hum of the heater provided a comforting background noise.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, the team began to shed their gear. Y/N tossed her tactical vest onto a nearby chair with a resigned sigh. “I swear, if I ever see another assault rifle, I’m going to lose it.”

Ghost, who was methodically removing his gear, chuckled softly. “You say that every time. Give it a week, and you’ll be itching for the next mission.”

“Yeah, well, don’t remind me,” Y/N said, flopping down onto the couch with a loud thud. “Right now, I’m all about the relaxation.”

Soap, ever the cheerful soul, grinned as he flopped down beside her, sprawling out with a contented sigh. “Now that’s more like it. No more dodging bullets for the next few hours.”

Price, taking a seat in a nearby armchair, nodded in agreement. “Let’s take advantage of this downtime. We earned it.”

The base’s common area was a cozy, albeit slightly cluttered, space. There were a few worn couches, a coffee table strewn with old magazines, and a small kitchenette in the corner. The room exuded an air of lived-in comfort, a stark contrast to the sterile, high-tech environment of the rest of the base.

Y/N leaned back into the couch, her legs stretched out and her arms folded behind her head. “You know, I was thinking,” she said, looking around at her teammates, “we should really start planning something fun for once. Maybe a team outing or something?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, though it was difficult to tell through his mask. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

“Bowling,” Y/N said with a straight face. “Or maybe laser tag. Something where we can all be terrible at it together.”

Soap chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, that doesn’t sound half bad. I haven’t been bowling in years.”

Price leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bowling, huh? I’d love to see Ghost’s form on the lanes.”

“I’ll have you know,” Ghost interjected with a rare hint of defensiveness, “that I have impeccable aim.”

Y/N snorted. “Impeccable aim in a combat situation, maybe. But I bet you’d struggle with a bowling ball.”

“I’d like to see you try to beat me,” Ghost replied, the hint of a challenge in his voice.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Alright, it’s a deal. But be warned, I’m a force to be reckoned with when it comes to recreational sports.”

Soap raised his hand, as if taking an oath. “I’m in. But we need to add laser tag to the mix. I want to see Y/N try to outshoot Ghost.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Y/N said, her voice full of competitive spirit. “You’ll be eating my dust, Ghost.”

As the conversation flowed, the team’s laughter filled the room. The tension of the mission seemed to dissolve as they reveled in each other’s company. Price, with his usual calm demeanor, joined in the banter, his laughter a warm sound that added to the sense of camaraderie.

Y/N turned to Soap, who was now lounging comfortably on the couch beside her. “Remember that time we were stuck in that warehouse for hours because of a broken radio? We ended up using our tactical gear to play a game of hide-and-seek.”

Soap grinned, his eyes sparkling with recollection. “Oh man, I remember that. You were so sure you had the perfect hiding spot, but Roach found you in less than five minutes.”

“That was because he cheated!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing her hands up in mock outrage. “He used the thermal goggles to find me. Totally unfair.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you decided to hide in plain sight,” Roach, who had been silently observing from the corner, said with a smirk. “You should have known better.”

Ghost, still removing his gear, shook his head. “You all are a bunch of children. I can’t believe we survived a mission with this kind of behavior.”

Y/N laughed, a bright, genuine sound that resonated through the room. “Hey, if we didn’t have fun, we’d all be losing our minds by now. This is what keeps us sane.”

The team continued to share stories, each tale adding to the warmth of the evening. As the hours passed, the initial high-energy banter settled into a more relaxed and comfortable silence. They had earned this moment of peace, and they savored it.

Price stood up and moved to the kitchenette, rummaging through the cabinets. “I think it’s time for some coffee. Who’s in?”

Y/N groaned dramatically. “Ugh, you’re a sadist, Price. It’s late, and you want to keep us awake?”

“You know as well as I do that we’re all going to be up in a few hours anyway,” Price replied with a grin. “Besides, coffee’s the least we deserve after tonight.”

Soap raised his hand. “I’ll take one. I’m not ready to sleep just yet.”

Roach, who had been quiet for a while, finally spoke up. “I’ll have a cup too. It’s been a long day.”

Ghost nodded in agreement. “I’ll take one as well. Can’t hurt to stay alert.”

Y/N, realizing she was outnumbered, reluctantly agreed. “Fine, I guess I’ll have one too. But only because I don’t want to be the only one not caffeinated.”

As Price brewed the coffee, Y/N leaned back into the couch, her gaze drifting around the room. The dim light cast a soft glow on the faces of her teammates, and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for them. Despite the harshness of their missions and the danger they faced, moments like this reminded her of the strength of their bond.

Price returned with steaming mugs of coffee, handing them out with a satisfied smile. “Here you go. One round of coffee for the night owls.”

Y/N took her cup, cradling it in her hands as she took a sip. The warmth of the coffee was a comforting contrast to the cold night air. “Alright, let’s make a toast,” she said, raising her mug. “To surviving another mission and to the best team in the world.”

The team raised their mugs in unison, clinking them together in a makeshift toast. “To us,” Price said, his voice filled with pride.

As they drank their coffee, the conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics. Y/N found herself enjoying the ease of the moment, the simple pleasure of being surrounded by friends who understood her and shared her experiences. The laughter and banter continued, and the weariness of the mission seemed to fade away.

Eventually, the coffee was gone, and the team began to wind down. They stretched out on the couches, their bodies relaxing into the comfortable cushions. The room grew quieter as the conversation dwindled, each member lost in their own thoughts or drifting towards sleep.

Y/N, feeling the weight of exhaustion finally catch up with her, snuggled into the couch. Her head rested against the armrest, and she closed her eyes, a contented smile on her lips. Despite her usual fiery demeanor, she found solace in these quiet moments of companionship.

Soap, noticing her relaxed state, gave her a playful nudge. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep. Don’t let us keep you up if you’re tired.”

Y/N opened one eye, giving him a lazy smile. “Nah, I’m good. Just enjoying the rare peace and quiet.”

[oopsallgoalies]

Snitches Get Stitches: Chapter 4

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Jake Seresin, golden boy of the NHL and Captain of the Dallas Stars makes headlines when he unexpectedly signs with newly-formed San Diego Dogfighters. When your future seems at the verge of crashing down, you receive the opportunity of a lifetime to become the team physician for the Dogfighters. You never expected to be working directly with your favorite hockey player. Jake has a secret and you have a job to do. Will he be able to trust you enough to help and will you be able to trust him with your heart?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, violence, sports violence, medical stuff, blood probably, angst, fluff, (eventual) smut, forbidden romance, sexual harassment, suggestive language, medical inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, Snitches Get Stitches. It was originally posted in October-November 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

The next morning you get to work early. You’re getting set up in the exam room for Jake’s physical, having spoken to both Mav and the player already scheduled for the first slot to rearrange the schedule. You glance at the door every few minutes, it’s still early but a small party of you is scared that yesterday’s agreement was made in the heat of the moment, lulled into comfort by the shared pizza and conversation, and that Jake wouldn’t show. You aren’t sure what you’re going to do if he doesn't show up. You’re running out of options. The puck is very much in his rink, and while you’d promised him two weeks, with the rate everyone else was getting through their physicals, it won’t be too long before Cyclone is up your ass asking what was taking Jake so long. You put down the chart you’ve rearranged on the counter a dozen times over the last five minutes, deciding to use your time elsewhere. You reach for the filing rack to scan over the charts for the other players scheduled for today, anything to take your mind and eyes off the closed door. The ticking of the analog clock on the wall above it feels like a bomb, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in response to every move of the minute hand. At 8:59, your hands are trembling as your nerves finally make their way to your extremities, your toes clenching and opening to ground yourself with the stinging pain. Your back is leaning against the counter, your hands clasped in front of you to hide their shaking while keeping them visible, a sign of trust. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from going out and hunting down Jake yourself when the door opens just as the minute hand clicks into place over the 12. His blonde hair, usually perfectly styled first thing in the morning, is already sticking up waywardly as if he’s been running his large hands through them repeatedly. When you meet his green eyes, you see a scared animal, caught between fight and flight as his knuckles are bordering on white where they grip the door handle, an anchor to the hallway, a way out if he decides to bolt. His perfect lips, usually spread in that infectious grin you adore so much are pinched in a tight line. Your mind starts racing. The game begins for real now. He’s in your home court and it’s up to you to convince him to stay. The problem with putting two nervous individuals with their respective careers on the line in the same room is that their brains are too busy setting themselves on fire to properly function like human beings. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Alright Lola, up on the table and we can get started.” Your hands clap to try and break the tension that you’re sure you’d need an electric knife if not a high-grade laser to dissolve.

It seems like the completely out-of-left-field address does at least some of the trick, however, and Jake’s face twists from nervous to confused. “Lola?” His grip on the door loosens and it swings shut behind him, forgotten.

“Lola.” You wave a hand, dismissively. “Like Lola Bunny? I mean you’re the one who called me Bugs. It makes perfect sense: you’re blonde, you’re an athlete, and you’ve got great tits.” Your eyes widen as your brain finally takes a break from arson to catch up with what your mouth has been up to. You slap a hand over it, but you can’t take back what you’ve just said. Speaking of things currently resembling an on-fire garbage can? Your professionalism can be added to that list. You’re yanked out of your mental spiral by Jake’s booming laughter. It turns out you didn’t need an electric knife or a space laser to cut the tension in the room, that sound was more than enough. Behind your hand, your lips curve into an involuntary smile at the infectious smile. He’s doubled over now, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. His hands are on his knees, one gripping in humor while the other simply rests, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Oh Bugs,” he manages to get out between wheezing aftershocks, “you’re a lot funnier than I expected.” You feel your cheeks heating involuntarily. He looks up from his doubled-over position to fix you with the full force of his dazzling grin. You honestly can’t blame every girl in America for falling for it, you’ve never been particularly attracted to Jake yourself, but it’s got your knees weak, seeing it up close and personal.

“Sorry.” The words are murmured just under your breath, embarrassment muffling them.

“Don’t apologize, Bugs, I’m a big fan.” You feel yourself shrink at the sweet words as he straightens, his previous nerves nowhere to be seen as he closes the distance to the exam table in a few strides, sitting down and you notice the way his feet actually touch the ground. “I like it. Bugs and Lola. We make a good team.” You can hear a thousand warning bells going off in your head. The common sense fire department has arrived to put out the fire in your brain. The sirens are loud but you block them out because the doctor side of your brain is jumping up and down at the strides you’re making with Jake. The doctor side. Definitely, the doctor side.

“Well then Lola,” you emphasize the name because you can’t help it, “let’s get started, shall we? We can do this one of two ways. First, we could just treat this like a regular physical and assume I know nothing about your injury, and proceed as normal until I inevitably discover it and then you start talking or second, we could just address the elephant in the room, you can explain what’s going on from the get-go and then we’ll work from there. I’d personally prefer option two so I can amend the physical procedure so you don’t have to put any unnecessary strain on your leg. Still, it’s up to you, whatever you’re most comfortable with.” The mood in the room shifts as you’re both brought back to the present. Jake is quiet, considering your question before he looks up from where he’s been studying his clasped hands.

“Let’s go with option 2 then, Bugs.” You nod, giving him a gentle smile, pulling the stool out from under the counter and taking a seat, giving the floor to Jake but not before you let him know.

“Thank you, Jake. I'm really proud of you.” You hadn’t intended to tell him the second part but something about the visible nervous tension in his broad shoulders makes you think maybe he needs to hear it. He nods, silently.

“Like you said,” he starts. “It happened during Game Four of the Anaheim series during the playoffs. That defenseman, Jones I think his name was, had been on me all night, and he was getting more and more pushy. I could barely move on the ice without him being in my way and it was starting to piss me off. I went to shove him off but he was too close, and our legs got tangled as we went down. I landed on my knee. Honestly, I think I blacked out momentarily from the initial pain. I knew something was seriously wrong but I also knew we were down two points and if we lost that game it could be the deciding moment of the series.” He shakes his head. “So I lied to the physician. I told him I was fine, just a little shaken up from the fall. I didn’t hit my head, I wasn’t concussed, so they let me play. We lost anyway. Then I finally told the physician what was going on, and,” he falters and you fight the urge to close the distance between the two of you and take his hand. “We did all the scans, the tests, and it came back that I had torn my MCL.” You can’t help the sound of shock that passes your lips. It wasn’t an uncommon injury, complete recovery was possible, common even. Complications were rare. Yet the idea of Jake spending the last three months walking around with it untreated, covering that up, even going so far as to play hockey with the torn ligament made your heart lurch. He had to be in unimaginable pain every single day. His eyes raise at the sound from where they’ve been focused on his hands in his lap.

“What grade?” You don’t recognize the gravelly sound of your voice.

“Three…” You can’t breathe.

“And that son of a bitch didn’t DO anything?” Your voice is dripping with the rage that swirls around your heart. It was simple. It was so simple. Six weeks to heal minimum, but they were at the end of the season. Surgery would have been entirely possible with a three to four-month recovery period during the off-season. He could have been almost back to normal right now and your stomach turned at the complete and total disregard for his care. Jake is silent, his eyes darting between his hands and your seething face. “What the fuck did he do?” Your voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear it. “What the fuck did he do instead of his fucking JOB?” You shake your head, a delirious chuckle escaping your lips as you do so. “What did he do instead of holding to his duty of fucking CARE?” You can’t see Jake’s expression past your blind rage.

“He told me full recovery would take over a year. He said that I would have to sit out the next season if I ever wanted to play again.” Jake shakes his head. “Then my coach was so adamant, so sure we could make it to the final. He was so convinced. He said we could get another cup, if I just stayed in for the rest of playoffs, if I just pushed through it. He said it would make the year off seem earned instead of,” Jake cuts off, barking a laugh, like even he can’t believe it now that he’s saying the words out loud. He’s quiet for a minute before he continues. “And he had my physician in his back pocket, so he told him to make sure I could play when I definitely shouldn’t have been. And you know how that ended. We played the next three games but ultimately lost the series with Anaheim. I started getting more in-depth scans and preliminary treatment done but suddenly Coach wasn’t so sure I was going to be worth the wait. He said if I took the year off, he couldn’t promise me I’d get my first-line spot back. And not in the way that you say when you’re trying to be realistic. No, he said it the way you say when it’s a promise, a threat. Like he just casually forgot my contract was up.” He chuckles and this time it’s unlike every other time you’ve heard the sound. It’s cold, cruel. “He expected me to re-sign, just like everyone else, because when you’re the face of a team, you can’t just leave. So I did just that.”

His green eyes are icy. “By the time I decided to leave, and figured out everything with my legal team, I knew there weren’t any teams still looking for players. It’s the NHL, who doesn’t want their shot? The rosters were full. Then I thought about the Dogfighters. They’re new, looking for their big break, their secret weapon.” He shrugs. “So I gave them an offer they couldn't refuse, served myself up on a big silver platter. I’d been taking the summer easy, staying off my leg the best I could. I thought it would be enough, that I could play. And sure it was probably the delusion, and I knew I would get caught out eventually because I didn’t think any of this through but I sure wasn’t expecting you to call me out on my first fucking day, Bugs.” He chuckles again and this time it’s the one you know so well. “You threw me off my axis, and now we’re here.” His eyes come back to your face and his expression changes to one of immediate concern. “Hey Bunny, hey what’s wrong?”

“What?” Your voice comes out as a croak and that’s when you realize you’re crying. You don’t know when the tears started leaking from your eyes, but now they run silently down your cheeks, dripping onto your clasped in your lap. “Oh, oh my god, Jake I’m so sorry. This is so unprofessional.” You flounder as you reach for the tissue box on the countertop behind you. You swipe at your cheeks roughly, trying to clean up the salty tracks as quickly as possible. “Sorry, I just- That’s not fair, what both of them did to you. They made you play, threatened your job, lied to you about your leg-” You can’t help the sob that chokes your words as you feel yourself getting more emotional as your heart breaks for the man sitting before you. He reaches for you, letting his good leg snag on your stool, rolling it over so you’re sitting between his spread knees. His hands come to take yours and you’re struck by the cruel irony of him comforting you when it should be you doing so for him.

“Slow down, Bunny. What do you mean they lied about my knee?” His green eyes search yours for a lie.

You shake your head. “A grade three MCL tear can heal in as little as six weeks with proper care. With surgery, it could take a little longer, but even then complications are rare. You could’ve been back on the ice as good as new by the time the new season started.” The tears are still running down your cheeks as you watch his face change as he processes your words, his hands clenching on your own as rage contorts his features and you pray you’re never on the receiving end of it because it steals the breath out of your lungs. You have to remind yourself that it’s not you that he’s angry with because your body is fighting the urge to pull away from him until you see tears mirroring your own on his cheeks. Frustration and grief wrack his body with sobs as you stand, pulling him into your arms against your better judgment. “I’m sorry, Jake.” You whisper as you rub circles into his back and just hold him as he falls apart. “I’m so sorry.”

***

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like that. Eventually, you separate and discuss your next steps. You want new scans and tests run which you need to schedule. In the meantime, you go through with the rest of the physical to the best of Jake’s abilities and when he finally stands to leave with your help, the two of you exchange tired smiles and promise to see each other tomorrow. In the meantime, Jake needs to talk to his team and you need to talk to his manager and coach. You shoot Mav and Cyclone a text that you need to meet with them ASAP.

That’s how you find yourself sitting in that dreaded chair across from Cyclone’s desk later that day. You’re not sure how long you’ve been there. Time started slowing to a slow bleed ages ago. What started as a perfectly reasonable conversation about the health of one of your patients stopped being that while Cyclone’s face was still human-colored. “What the FUCK kind of behavior is this, Bugs?” Normally you’d fight the urge to flinch at the rage in his voice, but you’ve mentally checked out of the tirade. “I have an injured player, a fucking STARTER at that, and I’m only finding out about this now? And not just injured, but potentially unable to fucking do his fucking job when the season starts in less than two months?” He’s standing, waving a finger in your face like it’s a gun. You don’t really notice, the same way you didn’t notice Maverick typing furiously at his phone a few minutes ago from his seat slightly behind you, closer to the door, out of Cyclone’s direct eyeline at the moment. Mav tried defending you himself, at the beginning, only for Cyclone to yell at him to “sit down and shut up as if you haven’t caused enough trouble by practically begging me to hire her” which was news to you. Maybe you would’ve been touched if you weren’t so numb. You don’t hear the door behind you slam open, cutting off Cyclone as he’s in the middle of degrading your character into the ground.

“HEY!” Jake’s voice cuts through some of the fog around you and your body relaxes slightly instinctively from the tense position it’s been since you entered the room. As if your body knows you’re safe now that Jake’s here. He crosses the room in seconds, standing in front of you as if he can somehow shield you from Cyclone’s wrath. “This isn’t her fault, so don’t you go accusing her as if it is.” His voice is pure fury and if you were in control of your body, maybe you’d shudder at the rage that laces every single word. Even through the haze, your eyes clock the way he puts more weight on his left leg.

“That’s not up to you, son. She’s fired, effective immediately. This is gross negligence, she’s lucky we don’t sue.” Maybe you would have giggled at the words, at the inevitability of them, but your face is still glazed over.

“No, she’s not.” Jake’s tone leaves no room for discussion. “The only way I’m getting treated is if she’s the one to do it.” He glares at Cyclone. “I know I’ve cost you all a pretty penny that you currently don’t have so not only can you not afford to fire me, but you need me to play, and the only way that’s going to happen is if my leg heals, and I’m telling you right now that that’s not happening unless Bugs is my physician. If you want to blame someone? I’m feeling pretty good about my chances of suing my last physician and coach for a lot more than gross negligence. But Bugs and I are a package deal. If I stay, she stays, and I’m staying.”

With that, he turns to you, the rage gone and replaced with concern as he reaches for your hands so, so gently, taking them in his and easing you to your feet. “Come on, Bunny. “ He whispers so only you can hear, placing a hand on the small of your back, the other laced with yours as he guides you out of Cyclone’s office.

Once you’re far enough from the door, he stops, turning to you, a hand coming to cup your jaw as he strokes his thumb across your cheek, green eyes full of worry as they search your empty ones. “Bunny? Hey Bunny, come back to me, baby. I know you’re in there, Bunny, come on.” The gentle repetitive gesture on your cheek and the soothing sound of Jake’s voice slowly draw you out of the place you’ve barricaded yourself in your mind and Jake watches with relief as the haze in your eyes clears. “There you are, Bunny. You okay, baby?” The feeling rushes back into your body and your knees buckle with exhaustion from being on defensive shutdown for so long. You can’t bring yourself to speak so you nod as Jake slides an arm around your waist, holding you up as you slump against the wall. You’re too overwhelmed to catch the term of endearment he’d added into his sentences.

“Jake?” Your voice is a hoarse croak from disuse.

“Yeah, baby? I’m right here, Bunny.” His thumb continues its trail across your pallid cheek.

“What were you- How’d you- Why’d you do that?” Your brain is still fuzzy as you trip over your words.

He shakes his head gently, quiet affection in his gaze as he looks down into your bleary eyes. “It’s like I said this morning, Bunny. We make a good team. You really think I’d let you get away when we’re just getting started?” His eyes dance with something else you can’t place but before you can respond, the door down the hall opens again and you force yourself to stand and step out of Jake’s arms as Maverick comes towards the two of you. If he saw anything, he doesn’t say, instead giving Jake a gentle clap on the shoulder.

“Good save, kid. Quick on your feet, I like that.” He turns to you then. “Bugs, I’m so sorry about all of that. You didn’t deserve any of it, I wish I could have done more to stop it.”

You wave him off. “No need for both of us to lose our jobs, right? And you did help, Maverick. Even if I almost just lost it, you’re the reason I got this job, in more than one way apparently.” You give him a knowing look and his cheeks pinken with embarrassment that makes his fatherly face look boyish. “Thank you for that, I really mean it.” You know Maverick has no idea why Cyclone was so trigger-happy to fire you, Cyclone made that clear at your interview, and as much as you feel the sudden urge to tell him, you hold back because this is your new start and you definitely don’t need Jake to know.

“You don’t need to thank me, just keep taking good care of my boys.” You nod, hoping your gratitude shows in your eyes. “On that note, the three of us obviously need to talk about the next steps and honestly I’m really not in the mood to do that here, so why don’t you two join me and Penny for dinner?” He slings an arm around each of your shoulders, guiding the two of you down the hall, away from Cyclone’s office.

“Penny, sir?” Jake questions.

Maverick beams. “She’s the team nutritionist, and by some miracle, my girlfriend.” You fight the urge to giggle at the sixty-year-old man referring to Penny as his girlfriend instead of his partner.

“I don’t know,” Jake says ruefully. “Pudding’s been home alone all day and I can’t really leave her alone any longer in good conscience.” Mav waves him off.

“Bring her, there’s plenty of room at my house. I’ll text you both the address and take the rest of the afternoon off. We’ll work out where to go next at dinner and let the team know first thing tomorrow. Bugs, you too, you don’t look too great, the physicals can wait until tomorrow.” You nod gratefully as Mav leaves the two of you at the door to the parking garage.

Jake turns to you as Mav walks away. “Do you need to grab your stuff? We can meet back here in a five and I’ll walk you to your car?” You shake your head.

“No, you go ahead and head home. I’m definitely putting my afternoon physicals on hold but I want to make a comprehensive list of scans and treatment options to discuss with Mav at dinner so I’m gonna be another hour or two. I need to make a couple of calls.” That is if your so-called colleagues will even deign to answer the phone. “And no waiting for me this time.” You poke at his chest with your finger. “You get home to your girl and stay off that leg as best as you can.” Your eyes drift down to the new knee brace barely visible under Jake’s sweats. “Give her some extra cuddles because I have a feeling things around here are about to pick up, and drive safe with the brace, you hear me?” You frown at Jake’s leg. “You probably shouldn’t be driving period. Maybe I should give you a ride home.” He waves you off.

“I’m all good Bugs, you focus on finishing up your work, and I’ll see you at Mav’s for dinner.” You shake your head again, more forceful this time.

“No, I’m picking you up. This is the last time you’re driving with that leg. Here,” you pull your phone from your pocket, “put in your number and text yourself that way you have mine. Then you’re gonna text me your address when you get home so I know you made it in one piece.”

“Not all of us are prone to vehicular manslaughter, Bunny.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that HE drove in front of ME?” You snap, irritantly and he grins playfully.

“I don’t know, I think I’ll have to hear the other side of the story at dinner.” He says with a wink before he pushes open the door to the garage. You scowl after him. “See you, Bunny.”

“See you, Lola.” You enunciate as you turn on your heel, marching back to your office with purpose, ready to finally be able to do your job.

[angelasscribbles]

All That She Wants Chapter 10: Old Wounds

Series: All That She Wants

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for this chapter: Drake x Olivia (past)

Word Count: 1,341

Rating: M

Warnings for this chapter: none

My other stuff: Master List.

“Coming!” Drake bellowed as he crossed the room to open the door. He pulled it open to find Olivia standing on the other side. “Liv! What are you doing here?”

The side of her mouth turned slightly downward. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you. I didn’t know you were in town, much less here.” He stepped back and swung the door wide. “Come on in!”

Olivia sauntered in like she owned the place, her eyes scanning the room surreptitiously. Not much had changed since the last time she’d been in it. The room was tidy, practically bare. She’d always told him he was a minimalist, and he had always told her that he just preferred simplicity.

The changes that existed were minimal, but they were there. Like the woman’s hairbrush lying on the bedside table.

Riley’s.

She shoved her annoyance down as she perched on the edge of his bed. Watching his face carefully, she confided, “Liam summoned me here.”

Drake’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“To offer to divorce Riley and marry me.” She laser focused on his face, watching for any sign that the information troubled him.

If it did, he gave no indication of it. “Why don’t you just put the man out of his misery and say yes? Then he’ll have what he wants and let Riley go. Maybe then she can move on.”

“Is that what you want?” She asked more sharply than she intended. “For Riley to move on?”

He ignored her question. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him no.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She gave him a look that indicated he was stupid. “Because I don’t want him like that!”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you and Liam have been entangled in some sort of situationship since puberty.”

“Not continuously.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t on again, off again, but it’s on far more than it’s off. Come on, Liv. Name a period of at least six months where you haven’t been sleeping with him!”

“Is that why you broke things off?” She sniffed haughtily. “You were jealous of my relationship with Liam?”

An ironic laugh escaped him. “First of all, no. I was never jealous of you and Liam. I’ve known forever that the two of you are like fucking moths to a flame when it comes to each other. No matter what you say, no matter how many times you tell him to go to hell, sooner or later, the two of you end up in each other’s orbit again.”

“That sounds like jealously.” She gloated.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Just stating facts. I always knew that whatever you and I had, it was temporary. We were never an actual couple, Liv.”

“Only because neither of us do relationships.” She protested. “You kept clothes at my home. We went on vacation together. I’m pretty sure you stopped sleeping around.”

“All those things are true.” He replied carefully. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that it felt like something more than just sleeping together. Things were going well. We never argued, never had a falling out, then you just ended it without an explanation or conversation.”

He was dumbfounded by the note of hurt in her voice. Had Olivia Nevrakis had actual feelings for him? He stared at her in shock for several long seconds, until it started to get awkward. “Oh. I…I didn’t realize you would care. I mean, yes, we had fun together, and yes, I kept clothes at your house because it was convenient to do so since we were spending every other weekend there, but I never thought you wanted more than that.”

“I didn’t say I did.”

“Okay.” He considered his next words carefully. “I stopped sleeping around at some point because I was satisfied with what we had. Did you?”

“I—”

He waved her away. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t. We weren’t in love, Liv. We were in lust, we were in like, we were a lot of things, but in love wasn’t one of them.”

Maybe he hadn’t been, but she had. She wasn’t about to tell him that, though. Still. She had to know. “Fine. But if you got bored, or met someone else, why not just tell me that? It was rude to just cut and run the way you did.”

It was beginning to sink in that he had hurt her when he ended things. He knew her well enough not to say that out loud to her. Instead, he tried his best to fix it. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I have no excuse other than I really didn’t think I was more than a blip on your radar, so my reasons weren’t important.”

“Alright. I’ll accept that. But just out of curiosity, why did you end it?” Drake Walker was the only man that had ever dumped her. She was usually the one who did the dumping.

Her pride still stung.

Drake sighed as he ran a hand across his face. He didn’t want to throw Liam under the bus, but he didn’t want to compound the hurt he had caused by lying to her about it. “Liam asked me to back off.”

Shock, anger, and indignation shot through her. “That son of a bitch!” She was furious, and she was outraged, but underneath that, there was a tiny sliver of satisfaction. “What gave him the right to interfere in my life?”

“Probably the fact that you were still sleeping with him, knowing he was in love with you.”

“That…are you judging me?”

“I’m just saying that if he’s truly your friend and you don’t return his feelings, then you should probably stop sleeping with him.”

Olivia scoffed. “Who asked you?”

“No one. But why can’t you just admit you have feelings for him?”

“Because I don’t!”

“Then why do you two keep ending up together?”

“Please. The sex is good. What more could there be?”

“Do you keep in touch with Jin?”

“What? No. What does that have to do with anything?”

Drake shrugged. “You told me the sex with Jin was phenomenal.”

“So?”

“So, if everything is just about bumping uglies, why don’t you keep in touch with him?”

“I—”

“Or that Italian guy? What was his name? Fransisco?”

“Oh, for the love of God, Drake!” she exploded. “Liam’s the king! I can’t just cut ties with him like I can some fucking second rate spy for hire or a foreign diplomate!”

“Right. But it’s not just budget meetings and galas, is it? It’s trips to Paris, skiing in the Alps, yachting in the Caribbean, sneaking away during—”

“Because we’re friends!”

“Okay. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Oh my God, you’re infuriating!”

“Infuriating and right.”

Olivia rolled her eyes with a scoff.

Drake shook his head. “Well, this has been fun, but I need to get to the gym for PT with my squad. I’m already late. See you at dinner tonight?”

“No, I’m leaving for Lythikos before dinner.”

“Alright. Well, see you next time, then.”

He was almost to the door when she asked, “What was the second thing?”

He stopped and turned back to her. “What?”

“Earlier, when I asked if you were jealous of my relationship with Liam, you said first of all….what was the second thing?”

Drake smirked as he responded, “Second of all, you called it a relationship. You asked if I was jealous of your relationship with Liam. Your words, Liv. Relationship. And you just did it a second time. I trust you can show yourself out?”

She watched him leave as fury, confusion, and dismay collided inside her.

Were her feelings for Liam more complex than she wanted to admit? Was all her pining over Drake just wounded pride because he dumped her?

She leaped to her feet, slammed out the door, and power walked back to her room to pack.

Because fuck if she was ready to confront any of that.

[the-unknown-void]

!!UPDATED!! Murder Drones/Half-Life AU character bios

Welcome, welcome to City 9, one of our finest urban centers on Copper 17!

~ Citizens ~

Any worker drone that is not part of the resistance, and is not conscripted into the Combine. Live openly in the city under the harsh rule of the Combine, disassembly drones watching their every step, scanning for even the slightest sign of disobedience.

~ The Combine ~

Disassembly drones, basically. Except for metropolice who are worker drones who choose to work for them. All drones converted into DDs have their memories wiped entirely. The only exceptions to this are J, V, and N for who still have their memories but they are suppressed.

Design- They still have most of the canonical built-in weapons like claws, SMGs, blades, missiles, and B E A M. And they still adorn their signature “X” on their visors while fighting but they also have it while working in general, they mainly turn it off in casual situations. (Metrocops will adorn the “X” as well) Disassembly drones now come in different color schemes depending on their rank and role. (Look at Humanoid Combine Units for references) And they all(including metrocops) wear partial gas masks over their mouths(these are removable)!

Air Defense - Bigger and reinforced wings, stakes attached to the backs of their ankles that they can protrude downwards for anchoring to trees n such. In exchange for being able to fly for long periods of time, their bodies are not as armored so that they are lighter, making flight require less energy.

Land Defense - Digitigrade legs with goat hooves for agility and optimal ability to traverse varying terrain(and because I said so.) Smaller wings and their bodies are very reinforced for close-combat. Can only fly for short periods of time but they can glide.

Tessa James Elliott - Puppet Leader - Role: Dr. Breen The only known human left alive after the destruction of Earth and the Copper 17 core collapse. She managed to negotiate with the Absolute Solver to keep the worker drones alive and was appointed leader of the Combine on this planet. She remains in the Citadel and communicates with Cyn who tells her what to do whenever necessary.

Weapons/Tools: - Revolver - Sword - Wrench

Serial Designation J - Combine Operative(Commander) Relays orders to large groups of disassembly drones, can operate most Combine machinery, makes sure things are running smoothly, and speaks directly with Tessa. She mainly sticks around guarding the Citadel, if something(such as an uprising) threatens it and Combine control she will come to strike them down in nearly an instant. She isn’t as built for close-combat battle, she is able to fly very quickly but not for as long as air defense. Can drive APCs and pilot Hunter Choppers.

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly Drone Stuff (Some listed weapons may be built-in) - Revolver - Grenades - Tau Cannon - Laser tripmines

Serial Designation N - Elite of Combine Air Defense He follows/leads hunter choppers or he can pilot hunter choppers. He is specifically designed for long flights and in-flight combat. Despite his higher position, he’s not very respected due to lacking intelligence and frequent hesitation causing more trouble than usually necessary.

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly Drone Stuff (Some listed weapons may be built-in) - Pulse Rifle - Can deploy manhacks

Serial Designation V - Soldier of Combine Land Defense She guards the borders of Combine territories, making sure no unwelcome creatures from the outlands get inside the city.. Also sometimes deployed to guard places like Nova Prospekt. She is mainly designed to be able to traverse various terrain, she is still able to fly in short bursts and gliding. She can also drive APCs, set up mounted guns and turrets.

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly Drone Stuff (Some listed weapons may be built-in) - Shotgun - Crossbow - Grenades - Hoppers - Can deploy roller mines

~ The Resistance ~

Worker drones who have decided to rebel against the Combine, refusing to submit to their abuse. However, since the death of their previous leader, Nori Doorman, their movement has been dormant. As Khan decided that everyone should go into hiding in the bunker for the sake of their daughter(him and Nori's).

Yeva - Deceased Was almost just as important to the resistance as Nori, playing a large role in getting them out of the city. Unfortunately she was killed by V along with her husband not long after the uprising fell.

Weapons/Tools: - Absolute Solver powers - Revolver - Pulse Rifle - Can hack roller mines

Nori Doorman - Former Leader(dead?) - Role: Gordon Freeman The initial starter of the resistance movement, which actually got pretty far. But it came to an abrupt end when she reached the Citadel walls and alerted J to the scene, killing Nori and many of those by her side just before they could make their final push.. At least everyone is pretty sure she’s dead?

Weapons/Tools: - Absolute Solver powers - Uzi (the gun, not her daughter) - Crowbar - S.L.A.Ms

Khan Doorman - Current Leader - Role: Eli Vance After Nori's death, he decided it was best to go into hiding with his daughter, fearing the Combine would begin hunting for them even more aggressively than they did before. He is also developing a patch for the absolute solver in secret, originally for his wife but now he hopes he can save his daughter.

Weapons/Tools: - Wrench - Pistol - Shotgun

Uzi Doorman - Role: Alyx Vance + Gordon Freeman Infuriated by her father’s cowardice for stalling the resistance movement, believing it nullifies everything her mother worked for. She wants to finish the job her mother started, and she will end up doing just that with the help of an unusual disassembly drone named N.

Weapons/Tools: - Crowbar (Nori’s) - Railgun (From the show) - Alyx’s gun (Modified Pistol) - RPG (Rocket Launcher) - Gravity Gun - S.L.A.Ms - EMP Tool - Absolute Solver powers (acquired much later)

Thad - Metrocop - Role: Barney Calhoun He’s another metrocop but he’s not in on Doll’s scheme. He’s just a metrocop for spying and it’s just useful to have rebel drones who can use Combine tech. But.. no one’s seen him in a while..

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly drone headband (A headband with the 5 small extra eyes that disassembly drones have. Unlike actual DDs tho, the headband is only wired into the head instead of welded) - Gloves with retractable blades (Wolverine hands basically, when the user makes a fist, 3 blades protrude from their knuckles) - Booster Boots (Increase user’s agility and jump height, also protect the user from fall-related injury) - Extra arm & Leg armor (To look more like the disassembly drones and protect those limbs as they will NOT regenerate) - Partial Gasmask (same as DD’s) - Stun Baton - Pistol - SMG - Baseball Bat

~ Ambiguous Alliance ~

Who these drones are allied with or what they stand for isn't quite known.

Alice - Role: Father Grigori ??????

Doll - Double agent, Spy on the Resistance - Role: Dr. Mossman (Mitchell HDTF) Lives in the bunker with the resistance. She seems to have some kind of deal going with J to provide information and in return protection from the Combine. Promising to retrieve the patch from Khan, in exchange for protection and being able to avenge her parents by killing V.

Weapons/Tools: - Absolute Solver powers - Metal Pipe - Revolver

Lizzy - Triple agent, Metrocop Works for Doll, doesn’t know her entire scheme but she goes along with whatever Doll tells her anyways. Like joining the metropolice under the guise of being a spy on the Combine, but to the Combine she claims to be a spy on the resistance and giving them information to back it up. Can set up turrets and mounted guns.

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly drone headband - Gloves with retractable blades - Booster Boots - Extra arm & Leg armor - Partial Gasmask - Stun baton - Pistol - Sniper Rifle

Cyn - True leader of the Combine - Role: G-Man + Overwatch No one but J knows there is someone above Tessa pulling all the strings. She let Tessa live, making her leader and assigned J, N, and V their ranks, allowing them all keep their memories as long as they stayed in line.

Weapons/Tools: - Absolute Solver

~ Outland Creatures ~

Eldritchs - Disassembly drones who’ve been damaged beyond what their regeneration is capable of fixing, requiring material from outside sources. Sometimes this is viable, but usually it is advised to just destroy eldritchs immediately as they will violently massacre and destroy anything that contains the material it needs, even other disassembly drones. These beings take on many forms and can create very convincing holograms of those they kill to lure prey, so one should never approach random figures in the outlands.

Note: because of this, disassembly drones have a fail-safe trigger that disables regeneration if it detects a certain amount of weight lost. (indicating severe damage that could lead to becoming eldritch.) Of course this fail-safe can fail to trigger or trigger unnecessarily(falsely detecting significant weight loss) sometimes.

Heartcrabs - The cores of disassembly drones and solver-afflicted drones that can no longer return to their bodies(likely entirely destroyed). Similar to the eldritchs, they may start looking for a new body by attacking living drones; this doesn’t work well and creates aggressive zombie-like drones.

Anti-Drone Sentinels - Quick, aggressive robotic raptors that emit bright flashes of light to boot-loop any drone who looks at it, rendering them immobile until a reboot can be done. They move in packs in the outlands, it’s rumored a few drones have learned how to tame them.

Do not be afraid to send questions my way about this AU! I am always itching to ramble :D

[serialkilluh1996]

✮𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑✮

Android-König x Detective-Female-reader

Detroit Become Human x Call Of Duty

Themes: drabble, oneshot, kinda platonic, meet cute

Author's note at the end.

୨୧How you and König meet୨୧

☣Content warning☣

➛ Mentions of bombs, terrorists, hijacking, Kidnapping.

➛ König uses "die"(pronounced, dee) instead of "the".

➛ use of "☆☆☆" in place of reader's name.

contact me if I need to add more.

It wasn't easy being a detective in detroit with the whole "androids going crazy" bullshit running a muck in the local headlines. Stacks on stacks of painful paperwork revolving around someone's artificial housepet going haywire.

You could feel a migraine coming on just looking at the file in your hand. "Android terrorists, huh?" You shrug, scanning over the case. Who new robots were capable of making complex bombs?

Cyberlife, probably. It's one of the reasons they're trying so hard to keep this under wraps. They knew from the very jump how dangerous these things could be, knowing lives would be in danger the second an android was sold, but sells were booming, and morality doesn't interfere with money in this economy. The crime scene photos were awfully graphic. It made you sick to the stomach knowing that a robot did this. Then again, it is a machine made in human image, and humans certainly weren't the best people. Millenias of track records proved that.

"☆☆☆!" You wince as you hear the grouchy old voice of your least favorite lieutenant. Hank. Fucking. Anderson. That sleazy old bitch and his shaggy dog beard. You could smell the beer from across the room, too frustrated to even turn around and face him. You were NOT in the mood.

"Hey, Ms. ☆☆☆. It'd be real courteous of you to, I dunno, turn the fuck around when I'm talking to ya." Hank teases, clearly too nonchalant for your byllshit today. "Lieutenant, WHAT do you want–" you turn in your spinning office chair, going silent as you notice the massive monstrous man that he was leaned against. He was tall, nearly 7'0", all decked out in a military combat uniform, large gun held firmly in his left hand that you could only assume was locked and loaded.

He had on some sort of dark hood with red streaks around the eyes, his irises glowing a vicious shade of bold red that illuminated like lasers. "What the fuck..." your voice trailed off, a reluctant fear in your voice as you tried to stand your ground. This guy clearly wasn't hunan, but he wasn't your usual android either.

Androids were designed to look friendly and appealing to the eye. Not to strike fear into the heart of whoever dares to look. Cyberlife's usual color scheme was a gentle teal blue, one that seemed electric and hyper. He was red-themed, not as friendly nor appealing considering that the color red is confirmed to cause anxiety and unease if in large quantities, especially bright red.

And that gun. This fucker had a gun. Cyberlife had lost their damn minds. There's no way these people actually thought that they should give an android, recently discovered to have a high possibility of going rogue and causing fatal damage to the human race, a gun, especially a murder weapon like that. That gun didn't even look legal to own. And then there's Hank, without an inch of a fuck to give, leaning against him like it was nothing.

"Cyberlife wanted me to, eh, bring you this little gift." "Why are they giving it to me???" You fuss. "Well, I'm off duty, kid. The case is yours, so the fuckin' android is too." He stuffs his hands in his large coat pockets, turning to leave.

"Hank?" You call out, a subtle whine in your voice caused by the fear of being left alone with it. "Whatever questions you have, ask the big guy. Or, just...Google it like the old days." He chuckles, knowing he sounded like an ass. You grunt at his lack of concern, trying to suppress a whimper as the metal monster progressed toward you, clenching the gun tightly.

"Greetings. I'm König, Die android sent by Cyberlife." He speaks, the tone in his voice making it obvious his words were scripted. "...you don't look like a usual robot " you stagger out, remaining calm with an unbothered, cocky facade. "I'm a prototype sent from Germany. I'm die only one with my model." He responded, voice clearly created with the idea of a German accent in mind. "Why are you so..." "Big? Red? Scary? Different from die others? It's simple, really. I'm especially designed for missions involving heavy crimes such as Kidnapping, bombing, hijacking, and trafficking. Missions like yours." He raises his right hand, index finger pointed directly at your file. Twelve dead. Nine injured. A shopping center blown to bits at the hands of AI.

"My bright shades of red are meant to exert power, instill fear and imply threat. Like a big X when you do something incorrect in a game." He places his AR on the ground, letting the loud metal cling as it hit your desk. His eyes examine your face, scanning cautiously, he squints as his inner computers calculate your current anxiety.

"You are...confused. Scared. Do not fret, detective. I was sent to protect you. I will terminate any and all threats to this mission and your safety, even if that includes me." He puts a shockingly soft gloved hand to your cheek. He really was an advanced model.

They're programming them with charisma as well? What will they think of next? You roll your eyes. Pushing the hand away, you reach for your car keys, snatching the file up off the table.

"Where are you going, Detective?" "Home. I've got a case to work on." Before you know it, you feel a firm grip around your waist before your lifted in the air by König. "What are you doing?" You hit his back, wincing at how firm it was.

"Taking you home. You're car needs to stay here incase they're stalking you. They'll see it and assume you're still at die precinct." He responds, opening the door with a single hand before ducking to exit. "So, you're just- you're gonna carry me back? All the way?" "Yes, Detective."

"Don't you think that would bring more attention to me than just...driving?" And suddenly, he stops walking. You can literally hear the gears turning in his head. "So, I was lying." The admission shocks you. "What?! What the hell kinda lie is that?"

"I just wanted to carry you back. Perhaps, show off what I can do. But,...dont worry. I assure you, you'll make it home safely. Then I can show you what else i can do." König's tone is flat as he resumes his journey. Lying, charismatic robot. What. A. Day.

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

Okay, so this was something that's been on my mind for a while and I'm thinking about doing more oneshots with this scenario because robot König is just MWAH🫶🏾😚😚😚 and I absolutely must have more of him.

And to everyone that has recently submitted requests, please read my pinned and rules before sending one, because a lot of these asks were.... heavily against my boundaries. Have a great day/night!

[jack-bloomie]

”intro post.”

”Clarie said this could help my social presence, I don’t get why I need this but.. whatever.”

(It’s me @iburntthewateragain and this is an ask blog about my FPE DANGER! AU OC named Jack!)

FUN FACTS ABOUT JACK!:

1: he is cold, uncaring, respectful, calm, has a soft side. he can be rude

2: he carrys a smith and Wesson model 19 and heckler and koch MP5A3 and a switch blade.

3: has been trained to kill and fight sense he was 8 4: he is 19

5: his birthday is on October 7th

6: he isnt friends with anybody but is chill with Abbie, Clarie, and Engel. ( @danger-abbie )

7: touch starved!! very touch starved.

8: he’s actually pretty ticklish. (GO FOR THE HIPS! HIIPPPS!)

9: he wears a bullet proof vest which can stop a sniper rifle bullet and it goes around him so don’t shoot him in the chest or back, bullet proof pants that can stop a sniper rifle bullet that are also heavy duty and are black, bullet proof boots, bullet proof gloves that are heavy duty, and a black trench coat .. he’s hard to kill

10: despite being 19 he is physically stronger then mister Demi so he is the strongest studen and stronger then the teachers

11: his mother is @danger-bloomie … he hates her for killing students for failing, yeah I know he’s killed people before but he doesn’t like killing unless it’s someone who attacked him first. (Sorry if you don’t like that she’s his mom)

12: has the bloomie horns, just hides them.

final fact: his full name is Jack Sargent bloomie

robot eye ability’s:

1: facial recognition scan

2: eye laser

3: X-Ray vision

4: tracking (good for shooting)

5: voice volume raising

6: heat vision/infa red vision

RULES!:

(NO NSFW, suggestive asks are okay because he is 19 but nothing too extreme.)

(tickle asks and M!As are allowed but don’t be weird.)

(kill him if you want, injure him, bully him, I can just bring him back.)

”students.”

@danger-zipster @danger-abbie @abbie-appleboy @zip-the-chaos-child @oliversoapeater-official @engels-ask-blog @claireslibrarycard @danger-oliverrr

“Psychopaths.”

@math-teacher-who-loves-oreos @wendigo-language-teacher @danger-circle

“My mother.”

@danger-bloomie

“The principal.”

@ask-principal-grace

“The actual instructors”

@best-art-teacher-miss-sasha @pansexual-music-teacher

“Others.”

@mister-hotchkiss-craft-teacher @ask-mister-barrel @ask-margaret-sterling @ask-april-stuff-ig @askmyfpeocs

extra facts:

1: him and @danger-zipster (or just zip they are technically the same person) have a frienamy relationship in zip likes to mess with him and Jack hates it, but if he needs to he will protect her from danger (or the teachers-)

2: the robo eye glow changes to his emotion, red = anger, blue = tiredness, yellow = neutral, green = happy (or the happiest he can get-), and purple = sad.

3: despite being physically stronger then mister Demi (which makes him stronger then the teachers-) he doesn’t like getting in fights

4: his step mom is Sasha (I don’t feel like typing the @)

5: his voice claim is mark from invincible, it fits imo.

6: he was at FPE before being transferred to the military school, he usually tried to be unseen by people.

[psalacanthea]

still organizing all my fic folders as I remove stuff from gdocs, found the old Cello fic prompts. I don't feel like putting this all on AO3, so I'll just post this here and if ppl seem interested maybe I'll dust off the rest some time.

This one I BELIEVE was the first post-fic prompt, chronologically.

It was a beautiful night, just a hint of summer in the air- a promise of things to come.

Ella had never been to the old Denerim Arlage estate, which had been converted to a museum. Sadly, not the interesting kind with dinosaurs, but the other kind. The kind without laser light shows. It had a garden, but she remembered the last time she'd ditched Solas to go hide in a garden, and didn't want to repeat the experience.

Not that she didn't appreciate art, but her frustration with this particular art museum crowd was almost as strong as Fenris'. And there wasn't anywhere to go and hide when you got sick of them. You couldn't really hide behind a painting and make out.

Well, you could, but people would see you.

“Why am I here.” Fenris' skill in asking questions that sounded like statements was unparalleled. Especially when combined with the dead-eyed stare and the slight sneer in his raspy voice. “You have a girlfriend now. Specifically so that I do not have to come to these sorts of events.”

“Is that why he got me? I thought it was because I'm witty and super smart and pretty.” She peered down into her wine glass. Empty. Damn. They only poured like a half inch into the bottom of it anyways. “I didn't realize it was to make your life easier.”

“I find you to be very charming and intelligent,” Solas informed her placidly, and then added on as she glanced up to him, “and you are very pretty.”

The embarrassment was instant, and so was the fidget, her fingers twisting tighter in his as they shared a look.

“You are very pretty too," she told him, not just because it flustered him a little, that little bit of a flush that made his freckles stand out a little more. Also because it was true, and because...

“Stop it,” Fenris demanded near-instantly, disgust evident in his tone. “I will lose my dinner if you do not stop that. Right. This instant.”

And because it would annoy Fenris.

Her smile turned a hint impish, and Solas gave her a silent look of reproof, lifting her hand for a brief kiss on the knuckles. Still, she was quite sure he was thinking about smiling just a little as he looked up and away.

“I asked that you attend to locate the donors I am expected to speak to, Fenris.” Solas finally said, after scanning the U-shaped gallery for the third time. “For now, however, we will enjoy the exhibit. Find us again in half an hour.”

"Understood."

Ella followed as Solas wandered away, letting her empty glass be taken by a passing server. That was nice. She made sure to smile and say thank you, even briefly, remembering that whole mess in Halamshiral. Bleh. The wrinkle of her nose drew Solas' attention as they paused in front of a painting, and he gave her a curious look.

“No, nothing. Just a bad memory,” she told him mildly, and then turned her gaze towards the painting. Pretty, but kind of...messy. She tilted her head slightly to the left and squinted. “Oh. Huh, I get it.”

“It is...vhenan, I do not believe this particular piece is meant to be 'gotten'.” He remarked, in what she was coming to recognize as his 'being tolerant of my weird girlfriend' voice. She liked that one.

“No, it sort of looks like a naked lady if you squint a little bit,” she insisted, and was gratified to finally see a genuine smile from him. She resisted the urge to kiss the corner of it. “It's okay. Like you said, two hours. We can survive two hours.”

“I cannot recall telling you of my reluctance to attend.” He led her on to the next painting, pausing to get her another glass of wine.

She accepted it with a smile, and was relieved to see his shoulders relaxing just a little. She'd get him to share his burdens a bit yet. Stubborn man, stuck inside his own head.

“I could tell,” she responded simply, fingers tightening a little in his, securely. “Why else do you think I'd be in heels?”

“I thought you were just trying to see the world from a new vantage point." His smile only in his low voice, staying off of his lips.

“Ah, yes, a short joke. Excellent, excellent.” She pulled on her most pompously affected voice, which of course happened to be Orlesian. Petty revenge being best revenge and all. “I would say zat joke was per'aps from what we now refer to as his 'I think I'd like to be single again' period. Also commonly known as ze 'blue balls' period.”

The clearing of his throat was so loud that there were suddenly about a dozen eyes on them, and she freed her hand from his to solicitously pat his back. All while hiding a smirk, and he tried to hide his red cheeks behind his hand, finger and thumb splayed over his mouth. She could feel the tension in his shoulders as he tried not to laugh, smug satisfaction settling in.

It took him a few moments to recover, and then a few more to settle himself. She thought he might at least give her a token chide, but instead he just cleared his throat again, quieter this time, and took her hand once more. Smiling to herself, she behaved as they wandered around to look at the rest of the paintings.

Solas seemed more relaxed, and that's really all she'd wanted.

Ellana was really starting to wish that Leliana had time to come to this. She knew she'd gotten an invitation, but there was some sort of silent auction going on somewhere that she was helping. A Chantry thing, she thought. A proper charity, not self-congratulatory assholes like some of the ones here. Being with Solas helped, it did, and she felt like she got a lot less second looks because of it.

Less, not none. And some of the first looks were bad enough, like when someone who passed by handed her their empty glass without even looking at her. She took it, because what else do you do when someone shoves a glass at you? And then she just sort of stared at it for a minute. Ellana shook her head as Solas immediately half-turned, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Not worth it. Just...not worth it.

“Ir abelas, vhenan.” He leaned over to plant a small kiss on top of her head. “Josephine should have been here to navigate such insults. It was simply bad luck that she took ill.”

“She does have a way of handling this crap.” She agreed, and then sighed, lifting the dirty glass. “What was she thinking with this shade of lipstick, anyways?”

“The world may never know. Where is Fenris?”

That...was a good question, actually.

Lips pursing together, she scanned the room, checking the corners, of course. Always check the corners for the hipster with his face in his cell phone. And...nope.

“I don't know, you should probably check if they're missing any bottles of wine. If so, probably the coat closet.” She glanced up and aside at Solas, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And if so, I'm kind of thinking about joining him.”

“I would not blame you.”

“No, I'm serious. Not joking. I would completely hide in the coat closet with a bottle of wine. That would actually make my night about a hundred times better right now, especially if you were there, too. Pants basically optional at that point.”

For a long moment, he didn't say anything, scanning the gallery in silence, a thoughtfully distant look on his face. She was actually starting to worry she'd annoyed him. She had said she'd come, after all, maybe she wasn't being supportive enough. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this dumb, fancy sort of thing. Which would be a huge pain in the ass, because she knew he had to do this sort of thing, and it was part of his job and she did want to be a good girlfriend...

Solas gave a small tug to her hand, turning. "

Dumbfounded, she managed to contain the questions and sheer disbelief, following after him. It wasn't until he'd left her in the hall with a squeeze of her hand and ducked into the server's room that she snapped out of her surprised daze. And then started giggling.

“What?” he asked her as he wandered back out, bottle of wine in hand.

The sight only made her laugh all the more, cheeks pinked. Eventually it roused a smile from him as well, and he shook his head at her slowly.

“Did you actually steal that?” she asked him, letting him take her hand again and lead her off.

“I asked. They aren't paid to care what guests do, vhenan.”

He didn't turn back towards the gallery, but down a hallway they hadn't been down before, his fingers laced securely in hers. Curiously she watched the way ahead, glancing into darkened rooms as they passed them.

“I'm not used to people just giving me things when I ask,” she pointed out, laughter still coloring her words. “You just assume no one will say no to you, and then they don't. You bulldozer.”

"I find it makes my life less complicated. Come,” he pulled her around a turn, and she blinked in surprise at the darkness of the hall ahead. "There is something I would like to show you."

This wasn't the way back to the party.

Ellana wasn't opposed- if they got in trouble Solas would handle it. “Ooh, spooky. No coat closet, then? Are we going to go find the ghost of a long-dead arl?”

“No ghosts that I have personally met,” Solas replied, offering her the bottle of wine. She took it in her far hand, tucking herself more comfortably against his side. He smiled down at her, making her heart give one of those funny little flips she liked so much, a little flutter of happiness.

“I didn't say it properly before, but you look very handsome tonight.” She nudged her hip into his, and then added just to see if she could get him to blush, “though you always look handsome.”

Yep, that worked. Smiling to herself, she was too busy admiring the flush as it crept along his cheekbone, and then she got lost in the line of his jaw for a moment. And then, well, there was all the rest that needed staring at, and maybe if she just grabbed his tie she could get in a kiss...

“We've arrived,” he told her, and she blinked back into focus, turning her attention to the rest of the room.

It was big, and open, and for a moment she wondered what it had been once upon a time. Hard to tell now, but this one still had the old, sturdy stone exposed, not covered up with plaster. It made it feel timeless, even with the low electric lights set into the floor. Each one turned up to face a mosaic, probably even older than the estate itself.

Way older.

She felt him release her hand as she stepped forward, entranced, the extremely low lights giving her just enough to see the mosaics. They gleamed like metal, tiny tiles meticulously put together. She could see the cracks from the restoration, but it didn't take away from the beauty of the pieces.

Eerie beauty, though, stylized and spare, but flowing. Some of the tiles were so small that from a distance they looked like beading, giving them the strangest appearance of mosaic and tapestry all in one. It was the eyes that arrested her, though, gazing up into a face otherwise featureless, silvery eyes reflecting more light than the rest of the piece.

“It's like...looking at a statue of something that's been out in the desert for hundreds of years," she finally decided, low and awed. “Where it's just been blasted down so long it's almost just a lump, but you can still see the essence of what it was. I didn't...that's supposed to be Dirthamen, right?”

“Yes. They were excavated from a ruin in Orlais,” Solas told her, finally moving up to join her, an arm sliding around her waist. “I thought you might like to see; I was told the restoration was nearly complete.”

“Wow, I...yes.” She finally managed to speak, moving on to examine the next one, still rather cracked, one large corner missing, but still gorgeous in its own right. “Way better than the coat closet.”

“The evening is young yet.” He took the bottle from her, and she smiled impishly, flashing him a wink that made him laugh. “D not underestimate the utility of hiding in the coat closet. We still must properly face the terrible people out there, and it may be necessary.”

“Mmh, we've got it," she replied dismissively, eyes still captivated by the ancient murals. “I can handle you, I can handle anyone.”

“I know. I am a very lucky man.”

The tone of his voice made her flush, as she glanced up and aside to meet his eyes. They held for a moment, a familiar contact now but no less intense for it. Pleased warmth settled in her belly, making her breath catch audibly. And then he smiled, slow and intimate, which just made her heart turn over in her chest.

Luckily, him tying her tongue in knots now had a very easy solution. She didn't have to fumble to find the right thing to say, she could just kiss the hell out of him.

And so she did.

[murphy-kitt]

Ectoberhaunt Day 9 - Fall

Word Count: 1,619

Part 2 to red in tooth and claw (that’s your fatal flaw)

AO3

Tags: Angst, Death Aftermath, Blood & Injury

Wes deals with the aftermath of Danny’s death.

The past few days feel like they’ve thrown his whole mindset into a paradigm shift. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

Wes does know where it ended.

And that was with Danny Fenton lying battered and bleeding on the floor of Caspar High. His last moments spent as a some sort of real life screenplay, something to gawk at.

Even in second death Danny Fenton got no dignity. And Wes had been part of that crowd.

Danny Fenton was infuriating. Flaunting his secret about, knowing that no one would ever believe Wes.

At first it’d been sheer shock, and incredulity, Wes thinks. That he’d found out Fenton was a ghost and needed to tell someone. And then eventually overtime, Fenton became aware of his knowledge. And the bastard had taunted him.

All his money wasted on cameras, to get proof of what? The pride had been too much.

He stares at his corkboard pinned up on his wall, once his pride and joy, something with hours of dedication. And now where’s all that work come too?

Danny Fenton is dead, at the hands of his own parents.

He doesn’t know how they’re coping, doesn’t really want to. Probably saying that the Phantom had ‘taken over their son’ or the likely. Absolve themselves of blame.

At least Wes isn’t afraid to admit he’s part of this whole mess. Okay, he wasn’t the one to go and lure Phantom with a blob ghost and watch him bleed out.

But he had been the one to spur the theories around Caspar High, even if no one believed him. He’d been the one to not consider the implications or even sheer thought of the Fenton’s actually putting Danny at risk.

And even then, that’s ridiculous. Of course the senior Fentons would do that. Their house is a minefield, for God’s sake. One stakeout with a camera and Fenton’s quippy comments about the kitchen cupboards having ghost lasers had taught him that.

”Wesley, breakfast!” His dad shouts, voice reverberating through the walls.

Admittedly, Wes hasn’t had much of an appetite. Seeing someone bleed out will do that, even if you don’t (didn’t?) like them.

Sure, he’d seen Fenton get injured multiple times. But he’d always picked himself back up and continued on.

“Coming!” He drags himself from being fixated on the corkboard, opens his bedroom door and heads downstairs.

Breakfast is an anaemic slice of toast—barely brown enough it’s still bread—and a mug of green tea.

”To settle your stomach. Something light.” His dad states, sitting at the table opposite his chair.

”Literally light.” Wes quips, picking up the toast by the corners, which sags slightly. “But thanks, dad.”

“How are you..holding up?” His Dad edges awkwardly, not making eye contact. Things between them have never been emotionally open, so the room is thick with tension.

Wes only shrugs. How does he even begin to voice the past few days? His dad knew about the whole situation with Fenton, his conspiracies, the lot. Hard not to when the school would constantly be ringing him about Wes’ behaviour.

”I don’t know where to start.” He finally says.

”I thought you’d stopped with all that…stuff. There was nothing new on your corkboard for ages. And the next thing I know, you’re the key witness to what occurred in that corridor?” Walter straightens up, folding his arms.

Well I was right in the end, wasn’t I? The thought is petty, and Wes pushes it back. This matter never was about being right or wrong, never was about winning. In his eyes, sure, he’d seen it that way.

To Danny, it was simply survival.

”I did.” Wes lies.

A hidden corkboard under the bed. Extra notepads stuffed in his backpack. Developed pictures slipped under the mattress. He just hadn’t made it visibly obvious when the school had started catching on and prevented him.

”Okay.” His dad finally responds, scanning his face intently. “To have seen that…must’ve been difficult.”

He tenses. Even as much as his mind is consumed with the whole…scene. He’s not considered it that way.

”I don’t know.” Wes shrugs again. Now everything is tipped on its axis, uncertain. He crosses his arms, staring at the barely-eaten toast. “I mean, yeah, it’s all I’ve thought about. But not like that. My mind’s thinking about his parents, all the conspiracy stuff that I did. I’d thought they’d never hurt him. But seeing someone die? Bleed out right infront of me, even if I thought he was annoying? I don’t think I’ve process how fucked that is.”

His dad barely even reacts to the swearing, straightening up in his chair, reaching his arms over the table to lean closer.

“You’ve always been too far ahead of yourself, Wes. Even just when you were little, wanting to investigate everything.” His dad finally says, voice weary. “And this time, you got so caught up that I think you forgot why you were doing it. Or what the impacts would be. How many times has that school called me in the past year?”

Well, you won’t be getting phone calls anymore.

The whole time he’d pushed and pushed to be believed. And now everyone knows. He’s always imagined the day where his proof would be concrete enough to feel believed. Satisfied, vindicated, no longer mocked for being a conspiracy freak.

But now, all Wes feels is empty. A nauseating void of being right.

“That’s not—“ his voice falters, and he averts his gaze to the toast, pushing it away. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I didn’t actually think his parents would hurt him.”

“You didn’t think at all! You got so obsessed with proving something, you didn’t stop to think if the point even mattered.” Walter sighs, looking weary.

His chest tightens. It does matter. He’s not thrown his life at months of research for nothing. Fenton had been lying to everyone for months—deceived Amity.

And why do you think that was? The Fenton’s proved it enough for you two days ago.

“It does matter.” He says, but his feeble tone betrays the doubt.

“I know you feel that way. I don’t expect that to change in two days when you were so… focused on this.” Walter drags a hand over his face. “The truth, though? Do you think that damn truth was worth Danny Fenton’s life?”

Wes doesn’t know what to say, bunching his shoulders by his ears. He usually feels sure, certain of himself. But now it’s much different. What can he say, he only wanted to expose Fenton, not get him killed? That he didn’t think it’d end like this?

Maybe that’s the problem. He’d never seen an ending in the relentless chase to expose Fenton. For validation.

“I thought—“ Wes mumbles, “I thought if I could prove I was right then everyone would listen. That I wasn’t crazy.”

“Son.” Wes feels his dad’s hands squeeze his, tone softening. “There’s no satisfaction in being right about this.”

Wes’ heart plummets to his chest, and he stares at the beige wood of the table, unable to make eye contact. Being right had been the ultimate goal, but it fixed nothing. It hasn’t changed that fact that Danny is gone. That Wes had witnessed him bleeding out. That he’d played a part, even if it was a tiny drop of ectoplasm compared to the bloodbath the Fentons caused.

First it’s the ectoplasm pooling underneath Danny.

His skin is pale, too pale for a ghost. The way his body twitches slightly, his eyes bleary, tone slurred.

And then the green turns red. It shouldn’t do that—not when he’s a ghost. But it doesn’t stop. And then the halo of light ignites, and everyone knows.

But there’s no quip from Danny Fenton, no stupid smirk or witty remark. Just silence. Just the blood.

A sob catches in Wes’ throat, he splutters. Sour bile threatens to rise in his throat, his stomach queasy.

The chair creaks as his dad stands up, awkwardly hovering besides Wes. A reassuring squeeze on the shoulder is what he gets.

”You’re not a bad kid, Wes. I love you, and I always will. You saw something horrific. You got too carried away with the conspiring, but I think that’s a lesson strictly learnt now.” His dad murmurs, grimacing.

Wes only nods, edging away from the contact on his shoulder. His dad gets the jist, and sidles out the kitchen.

This entire year, Wes had prided himself on being the one who knew Danny’s secret. Better than everyone else who was oblivious and saw his claims as ridiculous.

All the months he’d built up, “knowing” Danny better. And yet, in the face of Danny’s death he’d been a bystander just the same as everyone else.

He badly stifles another sob, eyes stinging. Fenton hadn’t deserved that, didn’t deserve killed by his own parents nor his secret stripped in the process.

Wes had just stood there by the lockers, frozen, and watched. Done nothing. For all the dedication he’d put into investigating Fenton, in the end he hadn’t even twitched a muscle to act.

He remembers beforehand. Fenton taunting him, the stupid smile. That was who Fenton had been. Aloof, weirdly obsessed with space, well-meaning. Moonlighting as a superhero all the while. His grades in the gutter, sleep deprived to hell. Sacrificing everything.

And Wes had plundered through, determined to get his closure. But now, there’s nothing.

The realisation hits him like him like that damned ectogun. Dead. Never coming back again.

For the first time since he witnessed Danny Fenton bleed to death in the school hallway, Wes puts his head in his hands and sobs.

[buggyboba]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖

↳ ▣ | Hi, Hi! a little hurt/comfort was ordered, and it's angsty and comfort I hope that works for you! I have only written Ten in a relationship with companion!reader before, so it was nice to write platonic/Father!Ten. I got the word 'Porr' as Gallefreyan slang for 'dad' from gallifreyinstituteforlearning, they are really neat, and I like there stuff, they are a great help!

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

↳ ▣ | Anon asked | Could you write something hurt/comforty with the tenth Doctor and the reader being his recently reunited Gallifreyan daughter?

𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | None really, mentions of the time war, and a tardis in the stages of death. Doctor calls his daughter 'little star', 'little one', 'clever girl' 'darling'

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | Platonic/Family, Father!Ten & Daughter!Reader

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥

↳ ▣ | 1200

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The sky was orange, but not the same orange that used to paint Gallifrey’s sky; this was duskier, and light lavender clouds floated by. The wind swept over the hill he had landed on, his eyes searching the area. This was where the distress signal came from, he was sure of it; his hearts felt tight in his chest. It had certainly been Gallifreyan—the circular writing, the message in its melodical tone. His body was tense as he looked for any sign of movement, any sign he wasn’t alone, he wasn’t the last one.

He couldn’t be the last one; his guilt was something he couldn’t outrun, no matter how hard he tried. He was a different man during the war; he had to be. It didn’t make it any better. Gallifrey was lost; he had pushed the button. Divine reckoning, an end to everything. He lost it all while he was a wanderer. Gallifrey was home, he had children, he had been a father. He had been a grandfather. Now he was alone—no, not alone—the signal. The signal he had picked up was Gallifreyan; he needed to find where the signal was coming from.

𓆩⟡𓆪

You weren’t even sure how you made it out; screams echoed in your mind, visions of your fallen comrades. The deafening sound of the Dalek’s lasers and their cries of ‘exterminate’ haunted you. You vaguely remember making it to the TARDIS chambers and getting shot as you entered it. When you woke up, you were here, on this planet, your stolen TARDIS badly damaged, but she protected you. She sent out a distress signal on loop. That was a week ago. She hadn’t even disguised herself to fit in among the flora; you didn’t blame her; she was working on low power. She was trying to heal her wounds, wounds you no doubt had helped inflict with your regeneration. You weren’t even sure if she could heal the wounds she had; she got weaker every day. You were lost. This planet, while having a familiar feel, was foreign. You scavenged in a small area around your TARDIS; you didn’t want to leave her alone, not like this; she had gotten you to safety, but you knew she would leave you soon enough. You had just gotten back from scavenging some edible flora and clean water. You had left the fire crackling, some warmth. You were a survivor; you would figure this out, at least you hoped. You spoke quietly to your TARDIS, telling her it was okay, that she did so good, that you felt honored that you had her, even if it was under these circumstances, and that she didn’t need to hold on if it was painful.

You heard a sound, twigs snapping, and you moved to get up quickly. You grabbed the stick you had sharpened into a makeshift spear. Your eyes scanned the brush for movement. In your week here you hadn’t found any other people, only animals and plants. You weren’t even sure if this planet was inhabited; you hadn’t seen the signs of civilization, even an ancient one, so the chances it was a local were slim. You raised the spear a little.

Out of the brush he stepped, his hair messy but pushed up into a sort of spiked manner. He wore a young man’s face, but his eyes were tired. He wore a long brown jacket, a blue suit, and a pair of Converse. You knew that energy; you hadn’t felt it in years.

“Oh! Hello there…” He greeted and paused, his eyes falling on the cylinder TARDIS, growing softer as he looked at you, his breath caught in his throat. He knew you, your energy, the unmistakable feeling. While he wasn’t always great at sensing others, there was no mistake; how could he be wrong about you?

You stared at him, your hearts racing; a flood of emotions overtook you. “Porr?” You breathed out the Gallifreyan slang for dad, slipping from your lips. “Porr!” You dropped the makeshift spear and practically jumped on him. He caught you tears spilling as he wrapped his arms around you, his hand holding the back of your head as he pressed kisses to your temple and hair.

“Oh, my darling girl.” He breathed into your hair, holding onto you as if, if he let go, you would vanish. You clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder, your hands clinging to the lapels of his jacket tightly. “My little one.” He breathed out his own voice, trembling as he lowered you both to sit on the ground. “I thought I lost you.” He muttered softly. “I thought I was the only one to make it out.” He clung to you tightly, his chest aching. “Oh, my clever girl!” He gave a choked laugh, squeezing you tighter. “Do you know if anyone else made it out?”

You let out another choked sob, shaking your head, burying it further into his shoulder. “Oh no, no, it’s okay, shh!” He soothed, “Shh, I know, I know.” He said, rubbing your back softly, like he did when you were little. He pressed more kisses to your temple, rocking you softly, trying to calm you down. “I am here, Little Star. I am here. You aren’t alone anymore. Porr is here.” He soothed again. “I’m here.” He assured.

He held you until you stopped shaking and sobbing, muttering reassuring words to you. Neither of you moved, even after the fire burned out. The comfort of not being alone, the comfort that the fates brought you back together, that out of everyone, you and your father had survived, that you had found each other again, washed over you both. You couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from your lips. He looked down at you, startled, but your laugh was infectious. After so long, he couldn’t help but laugh too. It was a relieved laugh, even though the Time War destroyed everything you had survived.

“The odds.” You shook your head, steadying your breathing as you looked up at him.

“The odds,” he repeated and only let you go when you moved to sit up. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs brushing your tear-soaked cheeks. You smiled, your hands covering his for a moment.

“I am glad we found each other, Porr,” you said softly. It didn’t feel real; it felt like a cruel joke, that the universe would tear him away from you, that you would wake up, and this would have been a dream. He moved his hand, squeezing yours.

“Me too, little star.” He nodded and kissed your forehead before moving to get up and help you to your feet. “Let’s get out of here, get a hot meal in you; there is so much to talk about, to catch up on.” He said, and you gave a weak nod again.

The path was going to be long, war took its toll, but the universe was less lonely now; you could heal together and mourn for what was lost. Your father would protect you, make it better, the universe would heal, and so would you.

You couldn’t wait to see the stars.

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