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

[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??

[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).

[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.”

[goldenseresinretriever]

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!

[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.

[carionto]

A Proper Welcoming Party - P2

Part 1

As Big Thrasher's fleet emerges from hyperspace, they are all pleasantly surprised that: a) they all arrived roughly at the same time this time around; b) none of them are crashing into a planet or space station; c) they're not getting shot at immediately.

Glorious success!

Now the raid begins.

Quickly scanning the perimeter, Big Thrasher learns the orbital mining station around Mercury is, for starters, way bigger than they thought based on the intel they had, which was only a few months old. And there were three of them now. Okay, Humans build quite fast. Noted.

There was a number of heavily armed and armored large ships docked at each station, and signs of recent hyperjumps of similar magnitude, but no cargo ships. Weird. Are the Humans somehow transporting the processed materials using individually powered containers? Doesn't seem very efficient.

No matter. Big Thrasher has a fleet of a hundred ships, they can just pillage the stations themselves and load up with precious cargo. In fact, none of the Human ships or structures have shield! What fools, such easy pickings! As he was about to broadcast his demands and threats, he noticed the comms have been pinging for a while now. Oh, they want to surrender already? Good. This is going so much better than planned!

"Unidentified vessels, this is the Heart of Liquid Stone. Your sudden appearance in our space is disrupting scheduled flights. Move out of the indicated transport departure area and identify yourselves, please."

Something's off, but Big Thrasher can't quite put his finger on it. Oh well, they're listening, and they clearly don't know who they're dealing with. So, he shall speak with the full authority bestowed upon him by the raw confidence of someone who doesn't know he's about to learn a very valuable lesson!

A moment of silence after his proclamation. Indications of encrypted communication between the stations and the docked ships, and several scan pings going over his entire fleet. Then, a slightly bemused Human calls back:

"Uhh, you sure about that? From what we can see, you guys don't got enough, well, frankly everything, to do much of anything to Bertha's Bosom over there, let alone this station."

At this, one of the large unshielded military ships undocked from the station with uncanny speed and grace for a vessel it's size. If Big Thrasher was paying attention, he would have noticed that a single turning engine was more powerful than all the main engines on his flagship combined. But he didn't, because he was paying attention to the several massive cannons training their sights on his fleet.

Sure, they're big, and kinda scary, but, but, BUT - his ships have shields and theirs don't! Doesn't matter how big a gun you have, any weapons technology before the invention of shields becomes obsolete. This has proven to be true in every civilization. Energy weapons, now that's the real stuff. Drain the shields, then easily melt through the hull, everyone knows this.

So... why is it that they have all been firing at one spot on the hull of Bertha's Bosom for nearly a full minute now (without retaliation or evasive maneuvers, but they're too busy to notice such details), and it's not even red hot yet? You would need an astronomical amount of reinforced multi-layered plating with the highest grade heat dispensing alloys interwoven throughout the entire vessel to absorb a concentrated laser barrage like that. The sheer mass of such a ludicrous thing would then require stupendously powerful engines. AND to power THOSE would demand literally impossible levels of energy generation. Nothing is making any sense right now.

Then, there was a thud. Even though it's the vacuum of space, Big Thrasher felt it. He did not understand what it was.

He equally did not understand what the shiny particles were where one of his ships used to be. Or why they were streaking in a trajectory directly away from one of Bertha's.. cannons....

Oh.

Uhhh...

huh

Big Thrasher is having a thought (a truly rare occurrence, so let's give him some time)

...

..

.

RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

I was considering this with a friend earlier, and felt like bringing it up to you, so ...

We were discussing what we think Finn would be like as a twisted assuming he hadn't lost his legs. We both agreed he'd definitely be faster than average, probably with a higher attention span, too.

I briefly suggested the idea of him having ice physics, since I thought it was a vaguely entertaining idea. Gets so into chasing toons down that he gets TOO excited and loses his balance and goes careening into some boxes lol

Ofc he'd still have his hoard, I think. Speaking of which, we also discussed the possibility of him .. putting Rodger's capsule into his hoard by mistake LOL. Imagine being Glisten, chilling in Finn's hoard because he wants you there, and you curiously go to pick up a capsule and get a bit of a nasty surprise ... Rodger jumpscare, ig.

Outside of gameplay gimmicks I imagine he'd climb shelves/boxes to scan large, open areas, but he wouldn't bother with smaller/enclosed spaces due to his speed and clumsiness. This is excluding the area he's stashed his stuff in, ofc, because he's not sprinting around in there.

I also kind of considered the idea of him being like .. a herding twisted? Ice physics and he doesn't actually go for the kill himself but rather he forces players to make sharp and sudden turns and bump into other, more dangerous twisteds. I thought it'd kind of make sense and fit him.

I think he'd still slow players down upon completing machines, though.

Okay I love that idea honestly! I love the idea of him having ice physics.

Glisten gets curious and reaches for a capsule and just immediately gets lasered in the face. Finn stops chasing whoever he’s chasing because of the scream coming from his hoard. Just slides in to the room rapidly

[amenders93]

Rats to the Rescue!

After Rocky's painful yet successful experience, the gang realized that breaking into Fun-Land Farms was going to be a difficult and dangerous operation. At least, they've got the details about the layout of the building and all the security systems. However, they're going to need some backup. They need someone crafty, someone who was good at sneaking around and finding stuff. They needed... Nick and Fetcher! Our two sneaky rats are experts when it comes to this sort of thing. 🐀🐀

Ginger and the gang rushed to the rats' nearby junkyard to ask for their help. As soon as Ginger finished explaining they needed the rats' help to break into Fun-Land Farms, Nick and Fetcher both refused on account of the place being impenetrable (meaning they can't get in). That it's an impossible mission, although Fetcher believes it should be the other way around. However, our determined island queen reassures the rats that even though it's a million-to-one shot, they know the layout of the farm and even better, Mac thinks there's a way in.

Mac had made an entire scale model of Fun-Land Farms to help them see what they were up against. Babs likes the model, even though it came out smaller than she expected. Nick and Fetcher looked at the model with skeptical faces as Mac explained her strategy. For instance, she describes that in a blind spot, there's a side door where the guards had to have their eyes scanned by the electronic eye scanner in order for the door to be opened. Then Nick and Fetcher summed up Ginger's proposal - that it's only a small matter of the electric fence, all the guards, the camera-driven gun-toting moles and the laser-guided exploding ducks.

In desperation, Ginger pleaded with the rats to help them. When she told them that her husband Rocky is in there, Nick and Fetcher aren't interested. But only when she brings up that also her daughter Molly is in there as well, that's when our two sneaky rats start to crumble. Fetcher's lip started to quiver with Nick telling him to stay strong until they both burst into tears, thinking of their precious niece. That's when Ginger knew they were in! Nick and Fetcher may seem hard-hearted, but that's all an act. Especially since we see that their little niece Molly is their Achilles' heel. 🥹

Ginger states to the group that they can do this impossible mission. As long as they worked together and use their skills - Bunty's strength, Mac's brains, Babs' knowledge of wool, Nick and Fetcher's ability of being sneaky and Fowler's wisdom and vigilance. Although with Fowler's older age, Ginger gave him a special position suitable for him - their getaway man. After thinking it over, the old sausage graciously accepts it on account of it sounding important. That's when our Wing Leader/Island Queen tells everyone they need to gather what they need, and to hurry. She starts to worry about what horrors her beloved daughter is dealing with in that chicken farm. But she’s not the only one; everyone simply cannot imagine what their precious Molly is dealing with in there. Their love for Molly is all the reason they need for busting in there and getting her back to them, as well as getting Rocky out of there too. 🤜🤛

So everyone has a role in this mission - Ginger the Wing Leader, Bunty the Muscle, Mac the Brains, Babs the Wool Specialist, Nick and Fetcher the Scroungers and Fowler the Getaway Man. Let's just hope that they can succeed with this dangerous and impossible mission to break into Fun-Land Farms and rescue Molly, not to mention Rocky too. Ginger is more determined than ever to break into this industrial chicken farm to get both her husband and her daughter back.

[corishadowfang]

What do you think the other Union leaders would look like as dragons? What abilities would they have?

Haha, I actually DO have some doodles of them:

(Scanned from my sketchbook, so hopefully they look okay, haha.)

Skuld was actually the one that came quickest, I think? (Shocking, I'm sure.) Very traditional dragon-esque, but I liked the idea of her having small scales on her wings that glittered like stars, Wings of Fire-style. Ended up putting her earrings as like...horn ornaments instead of actual earrings, haha.

Ephemer was very lion-inspired! Partially because of the whole 'ruler of Scala ad Caelum' thing, partially because then his mane could be a stand-in for his scarf, and partially because I was trying to keep him from look exactly like Baldr. (They both...needed to be fluffy...)

Lauriam...is a flamingo. I mean, not really, haha, but my first thought was "pink feathers," so... (He also has some spikes as like...'thorns,' kind of? That was the idea, anyways.)

UX!Ven is interesting because like...okay, since he's named based on the wind, I thought it'd make sense for him to have big wings that he has to grow into? (Which...they don't look big here, but that's fine.) But then sometime between here and BbS (fight with Darkness? when Vanitas gets taken out?) they kind of get...torn off. And then he ends up with Wing Blade-style prosthetics. Which...hang on, I kiiind of have a sketch of that?

(It was mostly just based on the Keyblade armor, but you can kiiind of see the wings?)

As for abilities! Ven's the one I have the clearest idea for, haha. He naturally has a lot of light powers (that line along his side glows!), but I think when he's young he has a lot of trouble controlling it. His breath weapon is...basically a laser beam, haha, but he's terrified of hurting people with it, so he never uses it. (You can hear Brain yelling at him in the background.)

Speaking of Brain--he just has, like. All sorts of magic, haha. He doesn't usually use the traditional breath weapon thing a lot; he creates stuff using spells, mostly. He has a lot of control over things--probably more than most! (On that note, when he does use his breath weapon, I think it'd be more like...for the intimidation/cool factor, since I think it's not that strong. It's just normal fire, but he can change its color using magic.)

Lauriam, naturally, is very good with plants! He can make things grow very quickly if he wants, but he normally prefers to like...let it be more subtle, haha. He does not have a lot of precise control over things, so like Ven, he's a little warier of letting lose. I like the idea of him breathing acid, but...Maleficent-esque fire would also be cool, haha.

Skuld has gravity-based magic, but hers is naturally a bit more subdued. She can make things float/make things heavier, but only to a certain degree. Breath weapon's standard fire.

Ephemer...I honestly have no idea? My thought is that he's actually the most normal one of the bunch, magic-ability-wise, but he makes up for it with charisma and leadership ability, haha.

Uh, that got long, but...haha, hopefully it was entertaining?

[missharleenfquinzel]

Now and then I get a customer who doesn't want me to scan their stuff because they don't want lasers touching it and I'm like...I promise you that item has already been scanned multiple times. We scan it in, we scan it for the location, we scan it to price check, we scan it to adjust stock, we scan it to mark it as clearance. Of course I just say "Oh okay, no problem!" So they don't have a meltdown at the register. (Even though it is a problem, it means typing 15 numbers for every single item they want and I have to call an employee to open another register because it takes like 10 minutes to type all the shit in.)

[okasuka]

more mark stuff idk

“Cecil’s Gonna Kill Us.”

(Mark Grayson x Reader)

Summary: Mark drops by the comic shop during your shift, but a mission call from Cecil turns your afternoon upside down.

“You work at a comic shop, and you don’t even read comics.”

Mark rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter with a lazy grin. “I read comics. I just don’t have time to get into every random indie series you recommend.”

You scoff, flipping through the stack of new arrivals as you scan them into inventory. “Excuses. You literally are a superhero, and yet you refuse to read any superhero comics. You’re a disappointment, Mark Grayson.”

Mark chuckles, watching you work with a soft kind of amusement. “I can’t exactly enjoy them the same way you do. Besides, what if I read something and it’s too accurate? That’d just be weird.”

You smirk, setting a copy of Invincible in front of him with a pointed look. “I think you just don’t wanna read about someone doing your job better than you.”

“Okay, rude—”

Before he can argue further, your earpiece crackles to life, cutting off whatever comeback he was about to make.

“Y/N, Mark, need you both on-site now. Sending coordinates.”

You sigh, already moving to grab your bag from under the counter. “Duty calls.”

Mark groans. “Man, I was enjoying my lazy afternoon.”

“Too bad, you’re a superhero. No days off.” You toss your work vest onto the counter, making a mental note to text your manager later with an excuse. “Let’s go.”

Mark grabs your wrist, and in a flash of yellow and blue, you’re airborne.

Somewhere in the City

The scene Cecil sent you to is already a mess. Some rogue alien tech—probably smuggled in from one of the many disasters Earth has endured—has gone haywire, unleashing a massive, hovering drone equipped with lasers.

You land first, rolling your shoulders. “Alright, I call dibs on wrecking this thing.”

“Since when do we call dibs?” Mark argues.

“Since now.” You crack your knuckles, feeling the familiar hum of power coursing through you. The stronger the enemy, the stronger you could get—something Mark never liked, but it worked.

Mark huffs. “Fine. I’ll handle the damage control.”

As he flies off to pull civilians out of harm’s way, you sprint forward, dodging a laser blast with inhuman speed. The drone’s targeting system tracks you, but you’re too fast, moving in unpredictable bursts. You leap onto a crumbling building, launching yourself off the edge with enough force to dent the drone’s side with your fist.

It shudders, but doesn’t fall.

“Okay, tough guy,” you mutter. “Let’s see how much you can take.”

Another laser fires, grazing your shoulder. Pain spikes for a second, but then the familiar rush of power follows. You smirk. Perfect.

With a burst of enhanced strength, you grab the drone’s underbelly and slam it straight into the ground. The impact sends cracks splintering across the pavement.

“Y/N!” Mark’s voice rings out. “Maybe try not destroying half the city?”

You look around. The street is… definitely worse for wear. Several buildings have chunks missing, and there’s a massive crater where the drone just landed.

“…Whoops?”

Mark sighs, rubbing his temple. “Cecil’s gonna kill us.”

As if on cue, your earpieces crackle. “You two better have a damn good reason for that mess.”

You and Mark exchange a glance before simultaneously saying, “It was an accident.”

Cecil doesn’t sound convinced. “Get back to base. Now.”

Mark groans. “I told you to go easy.”

You shrug. “What, would you rather it be still shooting at people?”

“…Fair point.” He sighs, then grabs you by the waist before taking off. “We are so dead.”

You grin. “Hey, at least we stopped it.”

Mark just shakes his head. “Next time, I’m calling dibs.”

Cooling Off & Unwanted Company

(Mark Grayson x Reader)

By the time you and Mark get back to GDA headquarters, Cecil is pissed—but not enough to do more than lecture you both about “reckless destruction” before dismissing you to the locker rooms.

You groan, rolling out your sore shoulder as you strip off the outer layer of your suit. “I swear, he acts like we meant to level the street.”

Mark, pulling off his gloves, snorts. “Yeah, well, I think the part where you powerbombed a drone the size of a car might’ve had something to do with it.”

You point at him. “That drone was asking for it.”

“Uh-huh.” He tosses his gloves into his locker and stretches, sighing as the tension eases from his muscles. His suit is still clinging to his skin, damp with sweat. Not that he cares—he’s too busy watching you as you grab a bottle of water and down half of it in a single go.

Mark clears his throat. “You alright?”

You nod, wiping your mouth. “Yeah. Got singed a little, but you know how it is.” You wiggle your fingers, flexing your knuckles like the pain is just a distant memory. Because it is. Your body adapts fast. Faster than Mark likes.

He shakes his head. “You really freak me out sometimes.”

You smirk. “That’s the point.”

The locker room is empty, most of the other agents either out on the field or clocking out for the night. The only sounds are the occasional drip of a showerhead and the hum of the ventilation system. It’s… nice. Quiet.

Mark leans back against the bench, exhaling. “Y’know, for all the property damage, today wasn’t bad.”

You glance at him. “What, just because you got to sit around and annoy me at work before we got called in?”

He grins. “Exactly.”

You shake your head, but your lips quirk up despite yourself.

Of course, that’s when the door swings open.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s all buddy-buddy in the locker room.”

You groan before even turning around.

Rex Splode.

He steps inside, arms crossed, that cocky smirk plastered across his face like it’s a permanent fixture. His suit is half-unzipped, exposing his scarred chest, and despite technically being a teammate, he still carries himself like a guy who doesn’t fully take anything seriously.

You sigh. “What do you want, Rex?”

He leans against the lockers, looking between you and Mark. “Nothin’ much. Just couldn’t help but notice someone—” he gestures vaguely at the two of you “—was takin’ their sweet-ass time cooling off together. Thought I’d check in, make sure I wasn’t interruptin’ anything.”

Mark groans. “Dude. It’s a locker room.”

“Yeah, and yet—” Rex makes a show of looking around, “—you’re the only two here. Kinda suspicious, don’tcha think?”

You roll your eyes. “Please. If we were actually doing something, do you think we’d be here?”

Rex smirks. “I dunno, maybe you like the risk?”

Mark looks like he’s this close to throwing something at him. “Why are you even here?”

“Came to clean up. Unlike you two, I had an actual fight today.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How many buildings did you destroy?”

“None, thank you very much,” Rex says, looking very pleased with himself. “See, some of us know how to be efficient.”

Mark scoffs. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Rex just shrugs. “Hey, I’m just sayin’—if you two are gonna get each other all hot and bothered before a mission, maybe try not leveling a city block after.”

Your face heats. “Oh my God.”

Mark groans. “We weren’t—”

Rex raises his hands. “Hey, no judgment! If I had someone to fool around with before a fight, I’d do it too. Get the tension out, y’know?”

Mark covers his face with both hands. “I hate you.”

Rex grins. “Nah, you love me.” He pushes off the lockers, waving lazily as he heads toward the showers. “Don’t take too long in here, lovebirds.”

You glare after him. “I swear—one of these days—”

Mark sighs. “Don’t waste the energy. He’s not worth it.”

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We’re never gonna hear the end of this, are we?”

Mark slumps forward, defeated. “Nope.”

“About Time.”

(Mark Grayson x Reader)

After Rex finally leaves, you and Mark finish cooling down, change into your normal clothes, and head for the exit.

Your civilian attire is simple—your usual hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. Mark’s not much different, his red jacket slung over his shoulder as he stretches with a yawn.

“Man, I forgot how exhausting these days get,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Feels like we were just at your work, and now it’s dark out.”

You glance at the time on your phone. It’s late, but not too late. You could still catch a movie or grab food somewhere.

The thought makes your stomach twist—not in a bad way, just… nervous.

You’ve never been nervous around Mark. Not once. But now? With what you’re about to do?

Yeah. You’re feeling it.

As you step outside, the cool night air washes over you, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the pavement. Mark walks beside you, hands in his pockets, completely oblivious to your internal debate.

You take a deep breath. Just say it.

“Hey, Mark.”

He looks over, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

You hesitate for only a second before pushing forward. “You wanna go out with me?”

Mark stops walking. “Huh?”

You shift your weight, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pocket. “Like, on a date.” You exhale sharply. “I mean, we already spend most of our time together anyway, so I figured we might as well make it official.”

Mark blinks. His mouth opens slightly, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. He just stares at you.

You groan, rubbing your face. “Oh my God, say something.”

Mark snaps out of it. “No—I mean, yes! Yeah, I—” He runs a hand through his hair, laughing a little. “I was just not expecting that right now.”

You smirk. “Didn’t think I had it in me?”

He grins. “Nah, I just figured I’d be the one asking you out first.”

You cross your arms. “Well, you took too long.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head. “Guess I did.” He looks at you, softer this time. “So… yeah. I’d love to go out with you.”

You nod, satisfied. “Cool. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s perfect.”

You start walking again, and Mark falls into step beside you. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the air buzzing with something unspoken but mutual.

Eventually, he nudges you with his elbow. “So, was that what Rex was picking up on?”

You scoff. “No. Rex was just being Rex.”

Mark chuckles. “Yeah, but… maybe he wasn’t totally wrong.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t push it, Grayson.”

Mark just grins. “No promises.”

Mark shows up at your place the next evening, exactly on time, wearing a dark blue hoodie and jeans. His hair’s a little messy—like he tried fixing it and then gave up halfway.

“So,” he says, rocking on his heels as you step outside, locking the door behind you. “Where to?”

You smirk, adjusting your jacket. “I was thinking burgers. Low effort. Less pressure.”

Mark exhales in relief. “Thank God. I was worried you were gonna make me do something fancy.”

You snort. “Have you met me?”

“Fair point.”

The walk to the burger joint is easy, the conversation flowing like it always does. You tease Mark about his horrible taste in movies, he argues that you just have weirdly high standards, and before you know it, you’re sitting across from each other in a booth, burgers and fries spread out between you.

Mark picks up his drink. “So, are we actually calling this a date, or is this just a technicality because I was too slow to ask first?”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on a fry. “Are you calling this a date?”

Mark shrugs, lips twitching. “I mean, I did say yes yesterday. Would be kinda weird if I backed out now.”

You smirk. “Damn right it would be.”

He chuckles, shaking his head before taking a bite of his burger. For a few moments, the only sound between you is the hum of the diner and the occasional clatter of plates from the kitchen.

Then Mark glances at you. “Y’know, I was kinda expecting something to go wrong by now.”

You pause. “Why would you say that?”

“I dunno.” He gestures vaguely. “We’ve never been lucky like that. We get a day off, something blows up. We try to chill, Cecil calls. It’s, like, a thing.”

You narrow your eyes. “You just jinxed us.”

Mark groans. “Shit, I did, didn’t I?”

Right on cue, his phone buzzes.

You both freeze.

Slowly, Mark pulls it out, checking the screen. Then he sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“Cecil.”

You close your eyes for a second. “Unbelievable.”

Mark gives you an apologetic look. “We could ignore it—”

Your phone vibrates. You don’t even check it. “Yeah, no. He’s not gonna let us.”

Mark slumps forward, forehead resting against the table. “I hate this job sometimes.”

You shake your head, standing up. “Come on, lover boy. Duty calls.”

Mark groans dramatically, but he follows. As you both step out of the diner, he nudges you. “So, do we get a do-over after this?”

You smirk. “Obviously. And you’re paying next time.”

Mark laughs. “Fair deal.”

By the time you’re both off duty, it’s late. The streets are quiet, save for the occasional car passing by, and the sky is dark enough that the stars peek through the city’s usual glow.

Mark stretches his arms behind his head, sighing. “Well, that was exactly how I wanted our date to end.”

You smirk. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Could’ve been better,” he counters, bumping your shoulder.

You roll your eyes but smile. “At least I still got to spend the night with you.”

Mark glances at you, something flickering behind his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps walking beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets.

It’s only when you reach his street that you pause, shifting your weight.

“You, uh… wanna stay over?” you ask, rubbing the back of your neck. “I know we didn’t get much of a date, and I don’t really—y’know—love going home alone, so…”

Mark looks at you, brows slightly raised. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” You exhale. “It’s not a big deal. Just—stay. Crash on my couch or whatever.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Okay.”

You both head to your place, and once inside, the exhaustion really hits. You kick off your shoes, throwing your jacket over the arm of the couch, and Mark does the same before flopping down with a groan.

You shake your head, amused. “You act like you did all the work today.”

“I did work,” he argues. “I had to put up with you the whole time.”

You flick his forehead, making him yelp. “Watch it, Grayson.”

He grins, but instead of getting up, he stretches out on the couch, patting the space beside him. “C’mon. You’re gonna sit there all night?”

You hesitate, just for a second, before sighing and joining him.

The couch isn’t huge, so you end up pressed against him, legs tucked up beside you. It’s comfortable. Warm.

For a while, neither of you say anything.

Then Mark shifts, resting his chin on top of your head. His voice is quieter when he speaks. “I like this.”

You hum. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “I like you, too.”

Your breath catches. Slowly, you pull back just enough to look at him.

His eyes are soft, watching you like he’s trying to memorize your face.

You swallow. “Mark—”

“I know, I know,” he says, rubbing his neck. “We kinda skipped a few steps. But I do like you. And not just because we’re around each other all the time. You’re—you get me. And you’re kind of a badass. And you’re annoying sometimes, but I don’t think I’d want you any other way.”

You stare at him, heart hammering. Then, quietly, you say, “Good.”

Mark blinks. “Good?”

“Yeah.” You smirk. “Because I also like you.”

His face lights up. “Seriously?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m lying.”

Mark grins. “You are annoying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble, nudging him.

He just pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And honestly? It kinda is.

You wake up to warmth.

The kind that makes you want to stay put, sink deeper into it, and forget the rest of the world exists.

It takes a second for your brain to catch up, but when it does, you realize three things at once:

1. You fell asleep on the couch.

2. Mark is still here.

3. You are very much tangled together.

His arm is draped over your waist, his face buried somewhere in your hair. One of your legs is hooked over his, and his hoodie is bunched up where your hand is curled against his chest.

For a moment, you just lay there, blinking against the dim morning light filtering through the window.

Mark shifts, inhaling slowly, then groans.

“Ugh… what time is it?”

You tilt your head to check the clock on the wall. “Almost ten.”

He groans louder. “Oh my God, I haven’t slept in this late in forever.”

You smirk, voice still thick with sleep. “Blaming me?”

“Absolutely.”

You chuckle but don’t move. Neither does he.

A few more seconds pass before Mark exhales, voice softer. “This is nice.”

You hum in agreement, fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric of his hoodie. “Told you staying over wasn’t a bad idea.”

Mark grins, eyes still closed. “Guess I do owe you another date, though.”

“You do.”

He sighs dramatically. “Guess that means I’m stuck with you now.”

You nudge his side. “Damn right you are.”

Mark just laughs, tightening his arm around you. And honestly? You wouldn’t mind staying like this for a little longer.

Eventually, the need for food outweighs the comfort of lying around.

Mark groans as he stretches, his arms reaching above his head. “Alright, alright, I’m getting up.”

You smirk, sitting up beside him. “Didn’t realize I was keeping you hostage.”

He rubs his face. “You were. But like, in a fun way.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the grin tugging at your lips. Standing up, you stretch out the stiffness from sleeping on the couch and make your way to the kitchen.

Mark follows, dragging his feet. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We could be responsible adults and check in with Cecil,” you say, opening the fridge.

Mark groans. “Pass.”

You snort. “Figured. So, how about we take the day off?”

Mark blinks. “We can do that?”

“Dude, we just spent all of yesterday saving people. I think we’ve earned a break.” You pull out some eggs and milk, setting them on the counter. “Now, are you gonna help me make breakfast or just stand there looking confused?”

Mark grins. “Depends. You actually know how to cook, or are we about to burn this place down?”

You narrow your eyes. “Excuse me? I live alone. Who do you think feeds me?”

Mark raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll assist. Chef’s orders.”

You pass him a pan. “Damn right.”

The next few minutes are spent in mostly comfortable chaos—Mark gets distracted flipping pancakes and almost lets one burn, you flick flour at him just because, and he somehow ends up smearing batter on your cheek in revenge.

It’s messy, but it’s fun.

Eventually, you both sit down with plates full of pancakes and scrambled eggs. Mark takes a bite and hums in approval. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit it—you can cook.”

You smirk. “Told you.”

Mark nudges your knee under the table. “Y’know, if every morning was like this, I wouldn’t mind staying over more often.”

Your heart does a weird little flip, but you keep your expression casual. “Are you saying you wanna move in already? Damn, Mark, at least take me on a second date first.”

Mark laughs. “Hey, you were the one who asked me out first.”

You roll your eyes. “And I will hold that over your head forever.”

Mark just grins, kicking back in his chair. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. But I know you like having me around.”

You shake your head but don’t argue. Because, yeah… you kinda do.

The sound of a knock at the door interrupts the comfortable silence. You look over at Mark, who’s halfway through stuffing his face with pancakes.

“You expecting someone?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Mark shrugs, wiping his mouth. “Not that I know of. You?”

You shake your head. “Nope. But I’ll check.”

You get up and open the door, and there stands Eve, her arms crossed and her expression slightly tight, like she’s trying to keep it together.

“Oh, hey,” you say, surprised to see her. “What’s up?”

Eve glances past you at Mark, sitting at the table, oblivious to the tension in the air. Her lips press together, and for a moment, she doesn’t speak.

“Is… everything okay?” you ask, sensing something’s off.

Eve nods but it’s stiff, her eyes not quite meeting yours. “Yeah. Just wanted to talk to you for a second.” She takes a deep breath, pushing her feelings down. “Can we, like, step outside for a minute?”

You glance back at Mark, who’s now looking at you curiously. “Uh, yeah, I’ll be right back,” you say, stepping out onto the porch.

Eve shuts the door behind her, and the two of you stand on the stoop in an awkward silence.

Finally, she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I’m not trying to make things weird.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay…”

“I just…” She hesitates, then looks at you, her expression a little softer but still guarded. “I like Mark.”

Your stomach drops. The way she says it, with so much quiet tension, it’s clear this is something she’s been keeping to herself.

“I… didn’t realize,” you start, but Eve waves it off quickly.

“I know you two are close, and I respect that. I just thought I’d tell you… before it gets any more awkward.”

You nod slowly, trying to process her words. “I get it. But you know, Mark and I… we’re still figuring things out. I don’t want it to be weird, either.”

Eve gives you a small, tight-lipped smile. “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable between us. I just didn’t want to keep this from you. I respect you, you know?”

You nod, grateful for her honesty. “I appreciate that. Really.”

She looks over her shoulder toward the door where Mark’s still sitting. “I’ll let you two… do your thing. Just thought you should know.”

With that, she turns and heads down the steps, leaving you standing there with a heavy feeling in your chest.

When you walk back inside, Mark’s already standing, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. “What was that about?”

You shrug, your smile a little forced. “Nothing. Just… girl talk.”

Mark narrows his eyes, clearly sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “You sure? Eve seemed kinda… off.”

You force a chuckle. “She’s fine. Just had some things to clear up.”

Mark doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go. “Okay, if you say so.”

But he still looks at you strangely, something flickering behind his eyes as he sits back down at the table. It’s like he can sense the slight awkwardness between you and Eve, but he doesn’t press.

Instead, he pokes at his pancakes with his fork. “So… what now? More breakfast?”

You try to shake off the moment, but it lingers. Eve’s words sit in the back of your mind, and while you don’t regret what you told her, you can’t help but feel like the air is a little… different now.

“Yeah, sure,” you say, sitting back down beside him. “More breakfast.”

But it’s clear that Mark’s still a little distracted, his gaze flickering toward the door, wondering what really happened out there.

The next few days feel… off.

Mark, ever the oblivious one, hasn’t noticed the subtle shift. But you definitely have. He’s been spending more time with Eve—checking in with her more often, talking to her after missions, hanging out even when the workday’s over.

It’s not like you don’t want him to be friends with her. You get it. She’s been through a lot, and you respect that. But seeing him comfort her, seeing them laugh and talk like… that? Yeah, it stings.

It’s on one of those nights, after you’ve had the worst day of your week, that you look out the window and see them talking by the street. Mark’s hand on Eve’s shoulder as he says something, probably to reassure her. You can’t hear the words, but you don’t need to.

You turn away from the window before you can catch more of the scene. It’s dumb. You shouldn’t feel this way. Mark and Eve are just friends, and you and Mark are still figuring things out, but… still.

That jealousy is there, sitting heavy in your chest.

The next few days only make it worse. Mark seems more distant, always a little more focused on Eve. You start catching yourself snapping at him for the tiniest things—his lack of attention, the way he acts differently around her. You don’t mean to. But it’s like everything is building up inside of you.

You try to push through it, throwing yourself into your work, but it’s hard to ignore. Hard to ignore the tension building between you both.

Then, it all blows up.

It’s after a particularly brutal mission, one that pushed you to your limits. You went in headfirst, not caring much about the risks, and it almost cost you. You’re sitting on the floor of the safe house, your knuckles scraped raw, a bruise blooming across your face, and you’re already chugging down an energy drink like it’ll fix the ache in your bones.

You hear footsteps and look up to see Mark standing there, eyes narrowed. “What the hell was that out there, Y/N?”

You stare at him, irritated. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re reckless,” he snaps, stepping closer. “You didn’t think. You just went in without a plan, got yourself hurt. What the hell is going on with you?”

You stand up, brushing yourself off, even though you’re pretty sure you’re not fooling anyone. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Mark presses, voice tight with frustration. “This isn’t like you. You’ve been acting off for days, and I know it’s because of me and Eve. So just… tell me. What’s going on?”

The words come out before you can stop them. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired of watching you spend all this time with her, okay?!”

Mark looks taken aback, his confusion morphing into concern. “Y/N—”

“No!” You shake your head, pacing. “I don’t care that you’re trying to be a good friend. I get it. But it’s like… like you don’t see me anymore, and it’s driving me crazy!”

He stands there, processing for a moment, before stepping closer. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I didn’t—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” You cut him off, voice shaky now. “I didn’t want to feel jealous. It’s just…”

You lower your voice, fighting the lump in your throat. “I like you, Mark. And I’m scared that you’re getting too close to her, and I won’t matter anymore. But I don’t know how to talk about it without making it worse, so… I just shut down.”

Mark steps forward and pulls you into him before you can react, one hand on your back, the other at the back of your head. You bury your face into his chest, the weight of everything starting to lift just a little.

“You do matter,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t. Eve and I—we’re just friends. I never wanted to make you feel like I was pulling away from you. I just didn’t know what was going on with you, and I didn’t want to push you.”

You swallow hard, nodding into his chest. “I didn’t want to make you feel guilty for helping her, though.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “I’m not guilty for helping my friends. But I should’ve checked in with you more. I should’ve noticed you were feeling like this.”

You laugh softly, a little embarrassed. “I guess I’m not great at asking for help.”

Mark smiles, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “It’s okay to ask, you know? I’m here. Always.”

You take a deep breath, nodding. “Okay.”

“And I like you, too,” Mark adds, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t have to worry about me choosing anyone else. I’m right here.”

Your heart skips a beat, and this time, it’s the good kind of flutter. You step back just enough to look at him properly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, squeezing his hand. “I was being a mess.”

Mark shakes his head. “We both were. But hey, we’ve got each other, right?”

You nod again, this time with a bit more certainty. “Yeah. We do.”

You’re standing there, still processing Mark’s words when the door suddenly swings open, and in walks Rex, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. The moment he sees you and Mark, lips locked, his grin grows wider.

“Well, well, well,” Rex drawls, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Looks like I was right after all.”

You pull back from Mark, both of you startled by Rex’s voice. Mark shoots Rex a glare, his hand still resting on your waist, possessive.

“Not now, Rex,” Mark says, his tone sharp but controlled. His eyes stay on Rex, and there’s a flicker of something in them—something more intense, more protective—that you’ve never quite seen before.

Rex raises his eyebrows, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s getting. “Oh, come on. You two were doing that, so don’t act like it’s no big deal.” He steps closer, clearly trying to get under Mark’s skin. “Can’t say I didn’t see this coming. You two have been all over each other for days. Didn’t think you had it in you, Grayson.”

Mark’s jaw tightens, and for a split second, his eyes flash with something darker, a shift in his demeanor. He steps toward Rex with a dangerous calm, his stance widening, hands fisting at his sides.

Rex’s smirk falters slightly, but he stands his ground. “What, you gonna fight me over it?”

Mark doesn’t answer right away, instead glancing at you, his gaze softening just for a moment, but there’s something possessive in his eyes when he looks at you again. “We don’t need to make a scene.” His voice is low, even, but there’s an edge to it that cuts through the air. “And you’re not invited to our moments, Rex.”

You can see Rex’s frustration building, and when Mark steps in front of you—almost protectively, you notice—Rex just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Fine, whatever.” Rex turns on his heel, clearly annoyed but too proud to back down. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

Before he leaves, he gives you both one last smirk, his voice full of unspoken taunting. “But hey, good for you, Grayson. At least you finally figured it out.” Then, with a flick of his wrist, he walks out, leaving you and Mark alone again.

You turn to Mark, your breath still a little unsteady from the tension. He doesn’t move, still standing between you and the door, his body language practically screaming dominance.

Mark glances back at you, a slow, almost predatory smile curling at the corners of his lips. “Don’t mind him,” he murmurs, his hand reaching up to gently cup your chin, tilting your head just slightly. His voice drops lower. “He’s just mad because I’m the one who gets to kiss you.”

You smirk back at him, suddenly feeling the pull of that intensity. The way he’s looking at you, the way he’s standing—like he’s claiming you, marking his territory. It’s hot, and it sends a spark of desire running through you.

“Oh, really?” you tease, your voice soft but playful. “You think that’s all it is?”

His lips curve into a smile that’s more predatory now, his hand sliding down your neck to rest at your collarbone, his fingers brushing over your skin like he can’t quite get enough of the feel of you. “I don’t think. I know.”

That confident, possessive tone hits you differently this time. You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s holding you or the smolder in his eyes, but something inside you shifts, and you lean up, brushing your lips against his in a slow, teasing kiss.

Mark’s hands move to your waist, his grip firm as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, the fire between you igniting again. You can feel the intensity of his presence, how he’s starting to take control of the moment, and you find yourself loving it.

When he pulls away just enough to catch his breath, his voice is thick with desire. “You like that, don’t you?”

You smirk at him, breathless, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “You’re getting a little too possessive.”

His eyes darken, and before you can say anything more, he pulls you in again, this time with an urgency that makes your heart race.

“Good,” he murmurs against your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss again. “Because I’m not sharing you.”

And in that moment, you can feel everything—the heat, the dominance, the tension—and you know you’re not going to want to leave this place anytime soon.

Mark pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes flashing with a playful yet dominant glint. There’s something in his gaze that makes your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. He’s always been confident, but there’s an edge to him now, a teasing intensity that has you hooked.

“You like to tease me, don’t you?” he says, his voice low, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk. He steps closer, crowding you against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, trapping you in place with his body.

Your pulse quickens as you try to maintain some semblance of control, but the proximity, the heat radiating from him, makes it hard. “What if I do?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice steady even though you’re not sure you’re succeeding.

Mark leans in, his breath brushing against your ear, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make sure you can’t tease me anymore,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

You swallow hard, your body responding to his proximity despite the teasing tone. “You think you can stop me?”

His grin widens, and before you can react, his hands slip to your waist, lifting you easily, and you’re suddenly pinned against the wall with him leaning into you, his chest pressed firmly against yours.

“I don’t think,” Mark says, his lips inches from yours, his eyes darkening with desire. “I know.”

You try to move, to push him back just enough to get some space, but his hands are firm on your body, holding you in place. The strength in his grip sends a thrill through you, and you let out a soft breath, feeling that spark of excitement.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this right now,” you mutter, your voice shaky.

Mark chuckles softly, the sound deep and low. “I can. You’re not exactly making it hard, you know?” He presses his body further against you, and you feel the heat of him, the solidness of his muscles beneath his shirt.

“Are you always like this?” you ask, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear again, sending a shiver down your spine. “Only when you make it this easy.”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours once again, harder this time, more demanding. He kisses you with purpose, his hand sliding up your back to grip the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

His body moves with a kind of quiet control, every motion calculated, and you can feel the shift as he takes complete command of the moment. You melt into him, the teasing games gone, replaced by a hunger that only seems to grow as he kisses you more fiercely.

When he finally pulls back, his breath is heavy, his lips just a fraction away from yours, eyes filled with an almost possessive gleam. “You think you can keep teasing me now?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, a wicked grin tugging at his lips.

You swallow, looking up at him, and in that moment, all the teasing is gone. “No,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” he murmurs, a low chuckle escaping him as he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his fingers grazing your skin like he’s savoring the touch. “Because I’m not letting you get away with it again.”

You smile at him, a little breathless, but the teasing glint in his eyes hasn’t faded, and you know that this is just the beginning of something new, something thrilling—and you’re more than ready to see where it leads.