#chance foley

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Every year, Sam, Danny, and Tucker go on a vacation courtesy of Sam's very reluctant parents. This year, it was Tuckers turn to choose the location and activities, and he chose Gotham.

Not only did it have Wayne Tech, one of the most technologically advanced companies, but Gotham was also hosting a massive furry convention this year and the three of them were complying as Succubats from the Dragon Quest series. They had gone all out, full purple body and face paint, contacts that made the whites of their eyes black, hand died leggings, leotards, and fuzzy leg warmers as well as everything else. Let's just say there was a lot of sowing involved.

Danny even made a mad scientist invention that toyed with gravity so that they could fly while flapping their wings. His parents were so proud and made them stop for pictures before they left.

The convention was fun and they got saved by Robin once and ended up teasing him a bit. Sam was cackling the next day when she found out Robin had gone through the rest of his patrol not knowing that Danny's purple galaxy lipstick was still on his cheek the entire time.

The only part they didn't like was this weird trenchant guy kept following them around in the shadows but Batman was with him so it was probably okay. The justice league had found out about the anti ecto acts and publicly tore the government a new one. Danny had barely managed to hide his parents involvement and work with Tuckers and Vlads help. While he hand Vlad were still bitter enemies, Vlad didn't want to see Maddie in jail and Danny could work with that.

On the flip side of things, the Justice League still had no idea about the portals in Amity Park or that anything was going on there. So when John Constantine found out about a insanely powerful entity that radiated death energy like the sun radiated light heading straight to Gotham, he panicked and immediately went to Batman to tell him the bad news.

Jahn had no idea what this creature was and was determined to find out, but between the make up and body paint and everything else, it was impossible to discover the identity of the three teens. It didn't help that Danny could just turn them invisible/fly them everywhere so John and Bruce are suffering

#prompts #fanfiction prompts #dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #damian wayne #tucker foley #sam mansion #succubat #dragon quest #tucker totally begs tim/ lucious for his autograph if he gets the chance #danny had gotten his wierd death vibes all over tucker and sam so no one knows if they're actually human or not #lucious is interested in the tech Danny made and wants to hire danny and Tucker in the future #succubat is a monster from dragon quest btw

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 153

 Pariah Dark, Ghost King, warrior, tyrant, world-breaker, Ancient of Darkness, is utterly gobsmacked. The sarcophagus had been opened- something he wasn’t honestly expecting seeing as it was supposed to be for eternity- and he had honestly just been blinking awake. It took a minute or few to properly wake up, but who could blame him? It wasn’t like there was anyone before him who could have opened his prison. 

 Though that wasn’t what had him utterly befuddled. He was rather certain that he had not gotten locked into the Sarcophagus of Sleep with several literal ghost infants. 

Well mostly infants, one is more like the equivalent of a three or four year old but still. And he has a rather panicked sort of feeling breaking through his usual bloodlust, because they all look really similar to his not-exactly ex. Same white hair, same wispy ghost-tail, same tiny fangs and claws currently being bared at him and each other. But they also kind of look like him, what with two having hair aflame- one even had black hair like he once did before his insanity- and even having red eyes. Most even had his own corpse-pale skin, though he could see a more blue tint on a couple and one more similar to his brother’s. 

So yes, Pariah Dark is very much panicking and trying to do the math in his head. A visit to Clockwork might be in his best interest…

#prompts #dcxdp #dpxdc #de aged danny #de aged jazz #de aged vlad #de aged team phantom #halfa sam manson #halfa tucker foley #halfa valerie gray #CW might have definitely De-Aged team Phantom+ #This includes Danny Dan Ellie Jazz Sam Tucker & Val #with a bonus of Vlad #They’re all going to be fighting at any moment #Valerie Tucker Sam & Jazz might also be freaking out about being Halfas now #Clockwork saw a chance to fix what would be a world-ending timeline and took it #Pariah is just confused & freaking out #He has no idea if it was an mpreg situation or not #Dad Pariah Dark #pariah dark x clockwork #Stopping the conquering of a world via several toddlers #Word travels Very Quickly that the Ghost King is out #Word then travels that the Ghost King has EIGHT children & potential heirs #JL Dark call a meeting before learning that second part #Just in time for some summoning attempts resulting in an Uno Reverse card

[flowertab]

LayClaire Week Day 6: Future

Moving forward on this road

trusting that it one day leads me back to you.

#their story is so tragic and yet in a way it still has a happy ending #they got a chance to say goodbye and Layton finally found closure #layclaireweek24 #professor layton #fan art #flowertab #layclaire #hershel layton #claire foley #claire

[running-on-coffee-and-anxiety]

Noticed But Hoping For The Best Part 2

Tucker is the second person to notice something was 'off'. Not quite 'wrong', they weren't at that level yet, but things certainly weren't the same. Things had been surprisingly quiet recently- not that anyone mentioned it, they always jinxed it if they did so- so the classic trio of friends could spend time together! They were even trying normal hobbies, at the insistence of Jazz. Well, hah, he knew coding and that was normal!- But apparently it was too connected to 'work' so he had to split his time between that and a 'normal' hobbie.

Sam was planning on showing them sewing- it was a lot harder to get clothes in her style than either him or Danny realized- but apparently there was some social event she was being forced to attend, so the plans were put on pause. That led to Tucker ending up at the Fenton household to spend time with Danny, teaching him at least a bit of coding before Jazz forced them to do something different.

This was when he first noticed something was 'off' with Danny. They used to play online games together, and he knew his best friend to have quick reaction times and almost never fat finger the keys, but apparently things had changed in the- what, month or so?- since he became Phantom. Randomly pressing the spacebar, forgetting to hold shift or tapping shift or caps lock at the wrong times, pressing multiple keys at the same time or accidentally pressing a key around the intended target. The two laughed at it, joking that he was more suited for fighting instead of typing now, though Tucker didn't fail to noticed that something was on Danny's mind afterwards.

The true realization came when they were playing video games. Things were going well, they were joking, but Danny kept dying in odd ways. He occasionally pressed random buttons, his triggers would randomly be moved and send his character off-course, or once again it was a button next to the one that was targeted being pressed.

After they reached a gameover screen, Tucker nudged his friend, trying to make a joke of it. "The golden boy of gaming has fallen! Glad to see I actually have a chance if we go PvP this time, I could only ever beat you on PC!" Danny always chuckled, but there was an underlying of something else... It was rare to see the other have subtle emotions, but Tucker was surprised to see his friend was genuinely frustrated! "Yeah, my hands haven't really been on my side for a bit. Me and Jazz think I just need to actually sleep for once, maybe I caught some kind of bug to make my mind foggy. Give me a few days of rest and I'll be back to my winning streak!"

Tucker was silent for a split second- Danny never admitted he was tired at all since starting being Phantom, even if he and Sam had noticed it- before grinning. "By the time that happens I'll have grown to match you, good luck getting a win over me!"

Tucker Foley hadn't seen a reason for actual concern, there was simply something a bit off with his friend, something that was easily fixable. It was easy to wait and hope for the best!

Previous Next

#danny phantom #danny fenton #tucker foley #writing because the brain worms won't leave me alone #Feel free to take this idea and write more with it :) #dp #phanfiction #phanfic #I'm still figuring out personalities so if I ever write more DP content there's a good chance characterization will change #disabled danny #It's only slight for now but it's going to get worse #Noticed But Hoping For The Best

[deuynndoodles]

[image id: a monochrome comic page featuring characters from danny phantom. in the first panel jazz crosses her arms, a concerned expression on her face. "danny, you can tell us things, you know?" she says. "we're here for you." in the second panel sam and tucker look at the camera with concerned expressions, silent. in the third panel, danny breaks eye contact, rubbing an arm self consciously. "i'm fine," he says. end id]

[dannymay 2022: ft prompts no one knows au, lies, promise, friends]

i draw my favorite au, at last

#doodles #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #jazz fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #dannymay2022 #dannymay #this was the perfect chance to do it n i think im p happy w the results #btw i think im gonna defenestrate anyone who says this is just cute. fair warning /hj

[ilovereading5252]

Dp promt

When Danny went missing Sam organized a distraction, made Tucker turn off the power in the Fenton building, marched herself down to the lab, climbed into the portal and told Tucker to turn the power back on again.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #Sam might take a while to get control of her new powers #but at least now they have a chance to rescue Danny #Tucker would do the same #but he would be out of commission until he can stop accidentally dropping his gadgets #at least one of them should stay human for now #in case of them having to infiltrate something with anti ghost security

[ihategrass]

I love these three idiots and their dynamic

Danny: You're sure you're not gonna be spotted?

Tucker, whispering: My cover makes me invisible

Tucker: EXCUSE ME MA'AM! Do you have two minutes to talk about the environment?

*Tucker is ignored*

Tucker: Nailed it. Now no one will make eye contact with me

Sam angry struggling as Danny holds her back.

#i dont know what this is #but i bought a drawing tablet over a month ago #but i havn't been home in three weeks so i haven't had the chance to use it #so this idiotic comic was good practise to get used to the new medium #danny phantom #my art #digital drawing #comic #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #incorrect quotes #source: b99

[colexs3]

WHYYY?!?! I need my 0.0001% chances back 😭

(Congrats to my man who already has his own man tho😘🤞🏻)

#lee pace's husband is so lucky #suddenly i want to be Matthew Foley #gosh i badly need my 0.0001% chances back #like i want him to be mine alone #jk #i love this guy #lee pace #thranduil #lord of the rings

[themiserymarquis]

All the art I've completed for Karma's novel, What Lies Beneath :3c

Everything below the cut! I realize this is more than I thought--

@whatliesbeneath-ao3 @skinprophet

There's probably others I forgot or I didn't think I should post but weeeeeeeeeee <3 I love ur guys so much they're all precious :]

#I decided. hm. fuck it #sure I'll throw it down rn. I'll always get the chance to do more later. #first image of leander is a screencap redraw from '100 epitaphs' by ferry #second leander is a screencap redraw from 'butcher vanity' by flavor foley #can anyone tell who my favorite is #progressively gets less polished the further we go down fhghehrwe #what lies beneath #skinprophet #wlb ambrose #wlb hastur #wlb leander #wlb forge #wlb press #wlb anem

[nerdpoe]

Duke had a little brother, once.

He'd been a tiny thing, only four months old when Duke was two. Honestly, he couldn't remember that far back; but he has the pictures.

When everything went to shit, his parents had sent him away for the chance of getting away from Gotham. They only had the money to get one of them out, and they'd chosen the youngest.

Then, nothing else was said about it.

Duke was never told what happened, but Gotham had been....very, very bad during that time. He assumed his baby brother died.

He made it a point to never think of the kid's name.

Then Damian invites his online friend to the Manor, and Duke finds himself staring into an eerily familiar face-it's kind of like his, but not really.

Tucker has their mothers eyes, but Duke always took after their father.

TLDR; Tucker Foley is adopted, and Duke Thomas is his biological older brother.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #story prompt

[andhumanslovedstories]

I’m genuinely surprised how much I love nursing. Every shift, I get to meet and help so many people. I’m float pool so I go to the whole hospital, but I’ve also been floating for a while so everywhere is familiar. Sometimes it’s hard for me to walk through the hospital because I know so many people I pass, and we keep stopping to chat. I float to seventeen different units. That’s crazy! I know so much about the hospital! Every night I’m somewhere else, working with a different team and a different group of patients. The constant novelty and familiarity of floating is delicious.

And I love my patients! I know this all sounds so goody two shoes, but I love that I get to help so many people in so many ways. I only get them for one night, so I try to give them my best. I love tucking people in with warm blankets, I love explaining what I’m assessing to a patient with a new diagnosis, I love having heart to hearts with patients at three am when they can’t sleep, I love making people hurt less and stop throwing up. And you can be a real scamp about it. I love stealing snacks from other floors. I love when a patient is like “god I’d love some chocolate” and I get to be like “sir I know the location of every candy drawer in the hospital, I can get you some chocolate.” Or like figuring out like a cheat code for alleviating symptoms. When someone’s like “wow this heating pack rules” and then falls asleep instantly? It feels good and it’s fun. I have a lot of fun figuring out how to cheer up my patients in minor little stupid ways.

I never have to wonder if my job contributes value to the world. When I go home at the end of my shift, I can always think of something I did that makes me feel proud. That rules! It’s so fun to be proud of yourself! It’s so fun to know that what you do matters and that you are doing it well. And if I don’t feel proud, I have a drive home to think about why and I get a chance to do better next shift. And that’s good too. There are nights where I can feel the way I let someone down, and I have to sit with that, and I have to learn from it.

(And I don’t want to sound like I’m crushing it always super-nurse style, like I’m completely immune to ableism and the other -isms, or that I’m never lazy or callous or checked out. I’m new and I’m learning and I’m human and I’m tired and I’m not always living up to the person I hope to be. But I do get a lot of opportunities to make up for it and try again. That feels good.)

And I love teaching new nurses! I love having to constantly keep studying so I can be in a position to teach anyone anything. I love watching people get better at stuff. And I love that as I’ve gotten more confident as a nurse and a person who trains new nurses that I’ve started coaching more and more on the soft skills of nurses. Those are really hard! We should get as much practice with therapeutic communication as we do with Foley catheters!

Also where I work pays good, and I’ve got great job security, dude, I can buy so many stupid little trinkets. I was so nervous when I decided to go to nursing school that I was fucking up my life and other people’s plans for a job I wouldn’t even end up liking. I’d literally never worked something remotely close to healthcare when I decided to go to nursing school. I’d been in a hospital like once. I feel like this big life change shouldn’t have worked out nearly as well as it has, but hey it’s really fuckin cool it did

#nursing tag #augh I am being so earnest #I’m frankly the most earnest person I know and I’m still always a little embarrassed by it #lemme put a stupid joke down here in the tags #uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck I got nothing #just pure earnestness

[dcxdpdabbles]

thought: what if jason had the ability to see ghosts but only when tired. so he ends up thinking he’s hallucinating and doesn’t tell anyone because thats tims thing

There is a little girl singing nursery rhythms and spinning in small circles. Now usually, Jason wouldn't find that too out of place. Kids always found the strangest things entertaining.

No, what was strange was that the little girl was floating just above the rails of the stairway. She looks like a poorly edited clip slapped onto the backdrop of the gala he has been dragged to.

She's wearing a red dress and a large bow in her hair that seems to have been stolen from Alice on her way to Wonderland. Her skin had a greenish hue, and a slight glow was coming off her, reminding Jason of a miniature night light.

"Huh," He mumbles, taking another sip of the water he picked up. Bruce is the one who pretends to get sloppy drunk at all the parties, while in comparison, Jason has gained a reputation for never touching alcohol. It says a lot about how powerful the Waynes are if his presence ensures the hosts have other refreshments ready for him.

This means that the little girl is not a drunken hallucination. Maybe he's more tired than he thought.

"What is it?" Tim asks to his side. His disgusting CEO smile is still firmly in place, a twist of the lips that belie the hidden tension. Tim would appear relaxed and enjoying the party like any other elite if anyone glanced in their direction. "Trouble?"

The little girl is sticking her tongue out at some teenagers heading her way. She's not doing anything but making faces at random guests that walk by. "I don't think so."

"What is it then?"

Jason had a choice here. He could mention the little girl, but that would mean admitting he could see her. Based on the way, literally, no one is reacting; he's the only one that can.

She's likely another hallucination.

Jason has been getting those since he was young, usually due to a lack of sleep. Just last week, he saw a butcher wandering the streets of Gotham, wearing the highest heels he had ever seen. That had been after the five-day mission with the OutLaws, where he thinks he only had a chance to sleep maybe three times.

He should go home before the little girl starts doing something weird.

Not that he would ever let the rest of the family know, especially Tim. Seeing things that aren't there is Tim's thing, and Jason has teased him too often over the years about it to start admitting he's got the condition too.

He nods his head at the teenagers. Tim turns his body slightly, allowing his gaze to take in what he's looking at without making it obvious he's staring. Apparently, he can't make it known he's interested in someone. Ugh, another rule of high society that Jason will never bother to understand. "I've never seen them before."

He means the two accompany Samatha Manson. He's aware of the inventor's granddaughter, seeing as her family had ties with the Waynes, distant as they may be. It was Waynes who bought the rights to her grandfather's inventions many years ago, and his son was the one that started investing in some smaller shell companies of Waynes, further building the family fortune.

Jason didn't see her often at galas because while the Mansons were wealthy, they were new money. They had no connections, mannerisms, or mindset to be welcomed by the elites.

"Daniel Fenton and Tucker Foley. Foley is in the brown suit, Fenton is the one in the black one." Tim identifies quickly. He probably went over the gala invitation guest list to memorize everyone attending even though it wasn't a gala they were hosting. "Her best friends. Nothing that stands out too much about them except for Fenton. His parents are independent ghost hunters and researchers."

Jason blinks down at this brother. "Ghost hunters?"

Both brothers know how real ghosts can be in their line of work, seeing as Deadman has helped them with some cases before. Still, it's surprising to find civilians who are that close to the undead.

"More Ghostbusters than actual hunters." Tim shrugs when he gets a confused frown. "I looked into them to make sure Fenton over there wouldn't be a danger once in Gotham. His parents' inventions are marketed as ghost-hunting equipment but are authentic weapons. He's been known to show signs of rouge potential behavior."

Jason looks back at the black hair boy who is......talking to the little girl? Or trying to? She is spinning again, floating up to the chandelier, not caring for the teenage boy leaning over the railing towards her as Foley and Manson stand guard. If they trying to be inconspicuous, they are doing a poor job.

Jason spots Damian approaching the trio with a tense set of his shoulders. His youngest brother taps his finger against the glass in his hand in a specific rhythm.

If any of the Bats have seen Damian- which is all of them, given that everyone in the family always keeps an eye on Damian at galas- they have all been told the same message.

Possible jumper.

Granted, without the little girl, it looks like Fenton wants to take a leap over the railing. That's worrying.

Tim proves this by tilting his chin slightly in their direction, shoulders also tense. "Let's go."

Jason follows after Tim, trying his best to not make it obvious they are freaking out about a possible tragedy about to happen. Damian, thankfully, has already reached the teenagers but is stalled by Manson.

He can't hear what she's saying, but she's matching Damian's angry scowl with her own. Seeing the only two goth kids standing off with each other is hilarious.

Damian had told Bruce a few months back that he wanted to try and change his civilian persona a bit and had taken their dad's credit card with Raven to do shopping.

He's come back as a goth, giving Bruce a near heart attack, as Damian changed out all his suits to have a scull somewhere on his person at all times. Jason thought it was the best cover plan the brat could have ever done.

Mason's right eye twitches when she sees them, but other than glaring harshly, she doesn't say anything as they come up to stand behind Damian. Tim is in the perfect place to sludge for Fenton should the boy throw himself over. Jason is to tackle the two teenagers should they try to stop his brother.

"Dude, it's okay. Danny always does that," Foley assures as they finally climb up to them. "He's really into, ugh, parkour."

"It's dangerous," Damian particularly bites. Looks like someone needs more sensitive training.

Fenton stops trying to lean over the rail to glance over his shoulder to Damian. "I'm okay. Thank you for worrying about me, though."

Jason is standing in the prime location to see Damian's haughty expression melt away into startled wonder. He watches a tiny bit of red appear on the cheekbones of his youngest brother, and for a moment, all Jason can think is how much he will have fun teasing the boy later.

Gosh, if he wasn't so tired he would realize he wasn't the only one who noticed.

"He's red like a tomato!" A feminine voice chirps, and he can't help but laugh at the comment. Damian's face is slowly turning redder by the curious head tilt Fenton does in his direction. Cute.

"You got that right, kiddo, so red he's ripe for the picking. " Jason smirks down at his brother, who, for his part, dares to look confused.

"What are you babbling about?" Damian snaps as Tim's intense eyes swing over the boy's head to lock gazes with Jason.

"What the girl said"

"I didn't say anything," Manson denies, and Jason finally realizes he has responded to the little girl, who is grinning ear from ear. Shit.

"Oh." Fenton nods, stepping down the railing to look Jason dead in the eye and smile. "You see dead people."

"Cool, one of us. One of us." Foley chants with a grin, and even Mason seems to relax more, going from irritated to indifferent. The teenager stops his chat when the three brothers fail to find humor.

Danny just smiles near-vacantly, which causes Damian to look hot under the collar.

Maybe Jason should leave to take a nap in the safety of his room because he does not have the time to unpack all of this.

"Maybe we should find Bruce," Tim says after a moment, and that is when the little girl choices to fly right up to Tim and flick his ear. Tim startles so hard he slams into Damian, who loses his footing and falls over. Jason is fast enough to catch him before he rolls down the stairs.

Danny giggles, and for the first time since he's known Damian, he looks like he wants the ground to swallow him hole. What a weird night for Jason.

"What the hell was that?" Tim mumbles, looking around.

Manson grins a sharp, wicked thing. "A ghost"

"Of course it is." Tim sighs then he gives Jason a near-eye glare. "How long have you been able to see ghosts?"

"Honestly? Probably since I was six. I thought they were hallucinations."

"And why did you not tell anyone about having what you thought were lifelong hallucinations?"

"I'm not you. Hallucinations are your weird thing. Mine are guns."

"I like them," Fenton announces, and the other two finally step back. Only then does he come to the startling observation that Manson and Feley had been acting like bodyguards by placing themselves between Fenton and the Waynes?

What a strange night indeed.

"Todd, let me up!"

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #pre-Dead Serious #Jason sees dead people #But doesn't tell anyone cause he's pity #Danny and co are just trying to tell the little ghost girl to move

[fanfiction-artist-prototype]

DC/DP prompt:

Conner Kent, resident clone, Tim Drakes corresponding Super and all around punk gets a boyfriend. Nobody is amused by Dash Baxter as he seems like an asshole to everyone but his partner type.

Clark has a revision of his opinion when Dash accidentally stops a bus crash with his bare hands, waving it off by saying "Some weird shit happened in high school, never quite been the same."

Batman gets called in only to commiserate that he too has got what Constantine was calling "Those weird Amity blokes" in the form of one Tucker's Foley who when Diana had visited Wayne Industries by chance had commented that she didn't know Bruce was employing the avatars of Egyptian Gods.

#dc x dp #dc crossover #dp/dc #dp x dc

[kinglazrus]

The Moment it Breaks

AO3 | FFN

Summary: He knew his identity couldn't stay a secret forever. Eventually, someone would find out. But he always thought it would be on his terms. Instead, that chance is ripped away from him in the middle of a ghost fight, and now all of Amity Park knows the truth: Tucker Foley is the Tech Hunter.

After a harrowing fight with Phantom that they both limped away from, Tucker needs his friends more than ever. If only Danny would answer the phone.

AU where Vlad sought out Tucker as his teenage ghost hunter instead of Valerie.

Word count: 4340

—

Phantom lunged with teeth bared and claws outstretched—and was met with a cannon to his chest. Lost in his mindless pursuit, he did not react or even attempt to push the cannon away. The barrel dug into his gut as his body curved over it, the light within smothered against his jumpsuit.

The cannon fired.

The street exploded into light as Phantom took the blast at point-blank range. It tossed his body across the street, slamming him into a parked truck, where the door crumpled and held him like a jagged maw biting down on its prey. A moment passed before he phased through the twisted metal and collapsed onto the street. Ectoplasm dripped from his ears, nose, and stomach, hissing against the pavement.

There was more green than black on his suit.

Across the street, the Tech Hunter stood with his arm raised, his left gauntlet unfurled into a cannon. His arm flagged under the weight but did not drop. Violet light still glowed within the barrel, gathering for another shot.

Although he was too far away to hear, the dancing line on his mouthpiece showed he was speaking.

It was impossible to tell if Phantom could hear Tech. The ghost's eyes were bright but unfocused. One arm pressed against his side while the other struggled to hold him up.

Everyone knows that ghosts don't breathe, but it looks like he had been gasping, his mouth gaping as he struggled to catch a breath he could never take.

Tech limped forward. Light rippled across his suit, or seemed to, as he stepped under a streetlamp. The nanobots surging over his body drilled into the pavement as he braced his cannon arm with his other hand, readying for the next shot.

Phantom jerked his head up, eyes completely white.

Tech fired. In that instant, Phantom unleashed twin beams of ectoplasm from his eyes. The beams tore through the street as Phantom raised his eyes to Tech, and the attacks met.

Night turned into day as ectoplasm swept across the street. A horrible screech sounded from within the blaze as it flung the two silhouettes aside like limp dolls.

The light was gone as quickly as it came, letting the night sweep back in just as Tech hit the pavement, the visor on his mask shattering as his head bounced off the curb.

No one moved. Phantom lay in a puddle of ectoplasm, and Tech sprawled in the middle of the street.

The seconds ticked by.

Tech stirred first, lifting his head as he struggled to rise. The crack in his visor exposed the face of Tucker Foley.

“It’s not too late,” Tucker's dad says.

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and even longer for Tucker to drag himself back to the present. He pauses the video he had been watching on his phone, freezing it on a close-up of his battered face. Although the footage is somewhat out of focus, his teal eyes are unmistakable. If Tucker's timeline is correct, the video had only been up for ten minutes before someone mentioned his name. By morning, everyone had known the truth: Tucker Foley is the Tech Hunter.

He closes the video—there's no point watching the rest when he already lived it—and looks at his dad in the driver's seat.

“You can wait in the truck while I talk to Mr. Lancer, and then we can go home,” Maurice suggests. “Maybe stop at the Nasty Burger on the way. No harm in missing a Monday.”

Tucker gasps. “But then I’d miss out on the love of my adoring fans!” His voice softens as he continues. “Besides, I already told Sam I’d be there.”

“And Danny?” Maurice glances away from the road long enough to catch his eye.

Tucker’s gaze drops back to his phone. Notifications had been pouring in all weekend, setting his phone off so often that he had to turn off his alerts to get a few seconds of peace. But things have settled down, and only one message waits for him now. Sent from Sam at the start of second period that morning, her first class with Danny.

AWOL again. Have you heard from him yet?

“No,” Tucker says, texting Sam the same thing before putting his phone in his pocket. No texts. No calls. Tucker’s whole world turned on its head, and everyone has had something to say about it. Everyone except his best friend.

He feels his dad’s stare but refuses to meet it, glaring at the parking lot as they pull in. He doesn’t want to see the expression on his dad’s face, whether it’s pity or worry. After a year of dealing with this new Danny, Tucker has grown used to the silent treatment. But he had hoped something this big would make things different. Apparently not.

Tucker opens the passenger door and stands up slowly. Although his concussion is minor, his head spins when he moves too quickly. He braces himself against the truck while lowering to sit on the door frame before sliding to the ground, mindful of his injured ankle.

Gravel crunches under the boot he has to wear for the next three weeks.

“Crutches,” his dad reminds him, not that Tucker would have forgotten. He grabs them from the back seat and fixes them under his arms.

He makes his way to the front doors slowly. Since he has never sprained an ankle before, he’s unsteady on the crutches. The doctor said he would get used to the crutches and that he should keep off his right ankle as much as possible.

The temptation to sprint the rest of the way to the door is still there. Has the sidewalk from the parking lot to the front door always been this long? Ironically, the reason Tucker wants to make a mad dash for the entrance is the same thing keeping him from trying it—rows of classroom windows looking out over the front lawn.

The lunch bell won’t have rung quite yet, which means plenty of antsy students looking outside as they stave off the last boring minutes of class before they can finally eat. Tucker makes the mistake of glancing up once and making eye contact with a girl on the second floor. She stares at him, her mouth falling open.

Tucker tosses her a brilliant smile before hobbling faster, catching up to his dad just as he opens the door.

The secretary is on the phone when they enter the main office, but Lancer intercepts them before Tucker and his father can sit down to wait.

“Ah, Mr. Foley! Thank you for coming in. Tucker, I hope you’re feeling well,” Lancer says.

Tucker gives Lancer an incredulous look. What a dumb question. He knows Lancer saw the video, along with everyone else in Amity. He saw the fight. Can see the crutches and the bruises. He already knows the answer.

Tucker humours him with a shrug but offers nothing further.

“You wanted to talk about Tucker’s grades?” Maurice asks.

Lancer's stare lingers on Tucker a second longer before switching to Maurice. “Almost right. After the, um, revelation, I went through our records. Tucker’s grades started dropping when he began ghost hunting, and I doubt that's a coincidence.”

“I don’t choose when ghosts attack,” Tucker says.

“Of course that's not your fault; you were doing this city a great service. But school is still important, and I'd like to help Tucker keep up. We have a student advisor program that could be useful.”

“What does it entail?” Maurice asks.

A tugging draws Tucker's attention away from the conversation, and he tunes out his dad and Lancer's voices. The feeling comes from behind him.

The visitor chairs calling my name, Tucker jokes. Despite his doctor's warnings, he may have put some weight on his ankle in his rush to get inside, and now it throbs through the boot. Plus, leaning on the crutches has started hurting his arms.

He turns away from the desk and looks at the three chairs against the wall.

The furthest is occupied. Tucker hadn't even noticed when they came in, but the office door hadn't opened again since they arrived, so the kid must have been there the whole time. They look more like a lump than a person, swathed in a hoodie three times their size, clutching a backpack that has seen better days.

Tucker recognizes that backpack, which would look more at home in a trash can. That orange and green logo stamped on the hoodie sleeve. That unruly fringe of hair splaying out from the hood.

“Danny?”

Tucker’s best friend flinches.

That tug again, harder this time, pulling Tucker forward half a step.

Danny's arms, lost in the sleeves of his father's old hoodie, curl tighter around his stomach as Tucker moves. No wonder Tucker had not recognized him at first glance. Jack's sweater smothers Danny, and the way he curls around himself with his head ducked… It's no surprise that Tucker called out first. That's how it always is, now.

He pushes down the flutter of anxiety and drops into the chair closest to the door, leaning his crutches against the wall. The space between them feels like a canyon. For months, Tucker has stood on one side, shouting across the chasm, while Danny watches from the other. How many bridges has he built trying to cross that gap? How many times has he reached out to nothing but open air?

How many times has Danny bothered to answer him?

As if sensing Tucker's thoughts, Danny lifts his head, exposing pale cheeks and sleep-starved eyes.

Tucker looks again at Danny’s arms around his stomach and asks, “Sick?” Danny's go-to excuse, although it appears true this time.

Danny doesn’t answer right away. His eyes lock on the golden band around Tucker’s throat. Tucker barely notices the choker these days, or the longer chain accompanying it, but it's hard to ignore when Danny stares. He becomes aware of how the choker shifts—so unlike the solid metal band the nanobots parade as—when he swallows.

The matching bracelets on his wrists and ankles constrict as the nanobots spread, reacting to his quickening pulse. He knows better than to try and will them down. Sometimes, he thinks his suit has a mind of its own and trying to fight it only makes his heart beat faster, makes the suit more reactive.

“Something like that,” Danny says.

“And without a note,” the secretary adds.

Danny sinks in his chair, eyes lowered.

Lancer stops talking mid-sentence. He turns, surprise lighting his eyes, as if he hadn't noticed Danny before.

Tucker realizes that he hadn't. Like him, Lancer had not clocked the quiet observer in the corner.

“Again? You don't have a note excusing your absence this morning?” Lancer asks.

Danny shakes his head.

“Can you contact your parents for us and have them give a verbal notice?”

“I’ve been trying,” the secretary cuts in. She sets the phone down on the receiver. “Four times, no answer. I can’t leave a message, either, since their voicemail is still full.”

Tucker is willing to bet his PDA that all the messages taking up the Fentons’ voicemail are from the school. Anyone who knows them knows calling the house is a useless endeavour. Danny could offer up his parents' cell phone numbers, but his lips stay sealed.

Tucker could give Lancer their numbers. Or Maurice could. Tucker has reasons for not offering the phone numbers up—frustration being the biggest among them—but his dad…

Maurice watches in contemplative silence.

Lancer sighs. “Daniel, you know what we talked about.”

“I wasn’t skipping!” Danny makes a move forward but abandons it with a sharp hiss. “I didn’t feel good, so I overslept on accident, honest.”

“I want to believe you, but you don’t have a note, and we can’t reach your parents. We can’t ignore this problem.”

“​​Please, I’ve been trying.”

“You’ve been late nearly every day this month, gone missing from class three times last week, and have sixteen absent days without explanation from the beginning of the year. Not to mention your streak of late or incomplete assignments and failing grades.” Lancer recites each offence as if reading off a grocery list. He could have said “bag of flour” instead of “failing grades,” and it wouldn’t have sounded out of place.

Danny's face crumples as Lancer speaks, and his eyes water. Although, judging by how he grips his side, Lancer's words may not be the only thing causing him pain.

Tucker wonders if he should speak up. A good friend would, and Tucker is a good friend, but something holds him back. Part of him wishes Lancer had taken Danny into his office to have the conversation in private, so that he didn't have to watch this. He may be annoyed with Danny, but he doesn't enjoy hearing Lancer scold his best friend.

But another part of him, much smaller yet big enough to keep him quiet, thrums with satisfaction because someone is finally calling Danny out.

“Please.” Danny's voice cracks. “I swear it's not on purpose.”

Then stop doing it, a voice hisses in Tucker's mind.

“Now, hold on.” As Maurice steps between Lancer and Danny, the growing sneer vanishes from Tucker's face. “Can we talk about this? I might not be Danny’s parent, but I am one of his emergency contacts.”

“Only a guardian can provide an absence note,” Lancer says.

“I know, but this conversation is for an adult, not a fourteen-year-old. What kind of punishment are we looking at?”

“In-school suspension at the least, but we need to consider Danny���s record. Property damage—”

“I stopped dropping beakers,” Danny mumbles.

Lancer glares at Danny for the interruption. “Property damage, and bringing questionable substances to school. Two months ago, we had to confiscate a lip… balm?”

 “Lipstick.”

“Thank you, Daniel. We confiscated a lipstick blaster. He fired it at a student as revenge for a prank.”

“Ghost weapons don’t hurt regular people. Much,” Danny says.

“And we were lenient enough not to suspend you then since Mr. Baxter wasn’t injured, but it’s concerning behaviour. Taking that into consideration, we’re now looking at a three-day suspension.”

“I don’t see how taking a student out of school will help when they’re struggling to stay in,” Maurice says. “I’ve known Danny his whole life. He's a good kid, and someone should speak up for him. Can we at least talk about this?”

Lancer purses his lips. “Daniel, are you comfortable with me talking to Mr. Foley about this?”

That’s funny, since Lancer already recited Danny’s record from memory without care.

Danny stays silent, stare fixed on the carpet, hands trembling in his lap. The bell for lunch goes off, ringing right outside the door, but he doesn't move.

“Dude.” Tucker nudges Danny's foot with his own.

Danny's leg jerks, pulling out of reach, and he finally looks up. “Um. Sure. Yeah.”

Lancer nods. “Ms. Nichols, could you go to the guidance counsellor and get a packet on the student advisor program? I’d like Tucker to read it over. Mr. Foley, if you’d come with me.”

Tucker’s dad casts Danny a worried glance before disappearing into Lancer’s adjoining office. The secretary steps out a moment later, leaving Tucker and Danny alone. By that time, Danny is back to staring at the carpet. His trembling worsens, and he lowers his head to his knees.

“Hey, man. It'll be okay. A few days isn’t so bad.” Tucker pats Danny's shoulder, but he flinches again. Tucker's hand hovers in the air before pulling back. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other in days, and this is how Danny acts. No, “I’m glad you’re not dead” or, “Hey, how’s your leg?” If Tucker hadn’t noticed Danny, would he have said anything?

No. Tucker knows he wouldn't have.

Anger sparks in his chest. He tries to swallow it, but it leaks into his voice. “I'm surprised you care this much. It's a free pass to skip more school.”

“I can't afford to miss any more school.”

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

Danny glares at Tucker. “What does that mean?”

In the back of his mind, Tucker knows he should stop talking. A few words in, and the conversation is turning sour already. There’s a bitterness growing between them that wasn’t there before. It shadows Danny's gaze and turns the spark in Tucker’s chest to a blaze.

He doesn’t think before he says, “I know your grades are bad, but I didn't realize you were actually stupid.”

Danny reels back. Tucker is nowhere near him, but his words are enough of a slap in the face. Tucker regrets them the second they leave his mouth. It's too far. Too close to Danny's greatest insecurity. He knows it was an asshole thing to say, but he keeps talking.

“It's hard to believe you care when you're never here.”

“You don't understand.”

“It doesn't sound that complicated. Stop skipping class, and Lancer won't suspend you. Simple.?

“I have—there are things I have to do, okay? You don't­—” Danny bites down on his words. His gaze drops to Tucker's choker. “You should get it.”

Tucker puts a hand on his throat. The collar responds to his touch, rippling beneath his fingers. The chain resting against his chest grows warm. “Are you serious? I don't know where the hell you've been the last few days, but I'm a ghost hunter. What I'm doing matters. What's your excuse?”

Danny opens his mouth, but Tucker pushes on. Now that he's started, he can't seem to stop.

“Whatever it is, I guess it's more important than your friends. Where have you been, Danny? Because it's not here. First, you miss school, then stop hanging out with us, and then you miss Sam's birthday. We tried to reach out. We asked what was wrong, but you kept shutting us out! You've done some rotten things this year, but we still thought you cared. We still­—”

Tucker's voice cracks. Is it cold in here? He feels cold. And wet. Phantom raindrops strike his nose and cheeks, just like that night. The world around him grows fuzzy and distorted, making his head ache. His ankle hurts. His suit is broken. There are no enemies here, but his instincts scream at him to fight.

To attack.

“I needed you! It was the scariest night of my life, and you weren't there. I had to limp home alone because my best friend wouldn't answer his phone. And you kept ignoring me! You didn't come to the hospital. You didn't visit me at home. You didn't answer any of my calls. I need you, Danny, but it's like you're not even here. Where the hell are you?”

Tucker looms over Danny. He doesn't remember standing up, but his shadow falls over Danny's face. Danny isn't here. His eyes are wide and distant, looking through Tucker at something very far away. He curls into himself, his trembles turning to full-body shakes.

“You don’t have anything to say?”

Danny grabs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, the backpack falling from his lap.

“Say something!” Tucker grabs Danny's hoodie and hauls him up. That's when Danny screams. Tucker's first instinct is to shove him back, send him sprawling. Danny hits the floor with another broken cry. The rain vanishes, leaving Tucker with a sheen of sweat as he returns to himself.

“Shit, Danny.” Tucker is drowning in an ocean of anger, but he swims for the glimmer of light above his head, reminding himself with each stroke of his arms where he is, who he's with, that Danny isn't his enemy.

Tucker reaches out to help. No matter how angry he is, Danny is still his friend. Tucker grabs Danny’s arm to hold him steady, wondering what he’s supposed to do now. Should he call the nurse? His dad and Mr. Lancer? Whatever’s wrong with Danny isn’t like a cold or flu.

Unconsciously, his grip on Danny’s arm tightens.

He doesn’t see Danny move. Tucker is standing, and then he’s on the floor, staring up at the ceiling rather than down at Danny's crumpled face.

“Mr. Fenton!”

“Tucker!”

Tucker blinks, trying to process what just happened. Grabbing the nearest chair, he hoists himself up and surveys the scene. Lancer and his dad hover in the doorway, staring at Danny in disbelief. Danny stands in the middle of the room, his fist extended. He’s the one looming now, but somehow he looks small.

Tucker’s chest throbs where Danny had struck him.

“Fighting in school is prohibited. Thanks to Mr. Foley, I was willing to give you another chance, but I’ve just changed my mind.” Lancer goes to a cabinet behind the desk and opens the top drawer, pulling out a pink slip of paper. It only takes him a second to fill it out.  “You’re not allowed on school grounds for the rest of the week. This needs to be signed and brought back to me as soon as possible.”

Danny grabs the paper without looking. “How can I bring it back if I’m not allowed?”

“Your parents need to bring it in, so we know they've seen it. You can wait in the hall until we send you home”

Danny’s jaw clenches. For a moment, Tucker thinks he’s going to protest, wants him to protest. Do anything to show that he still cares about any of this. But Danny only lets out a shuddering breath and leaves.

Tucker stares after him until a hand appears at the edge of his vision.

“Tucker, are you okay?” his dad asks.

“Fine. Been hit worse by nastier things.”

“We heard shouting.” His dad helps him up.

“We were just talking, but then…” Tucker doesn't understand how it spiralled so fast. Danny's scream snuffed out the fire in Tucker's chest, but watching him walk away without a word fans the lingering embers. “Be right back.”

He snatches his crutches from the wall and hobbles out of the office as fast as he can. The hallway is empty. Bursting out the front door, Tucker scans the schoolyard. He spots Danny halfway across the grass, heading to the side fence.

“Danny!” Tucker shouts.

If he hears Tucker, he doesn’t show it.

“Hey!” Tucker stumbles down the steps, swearing under his breath. Damn crutches. Damn ankle. Damn stupid best friend and their stupid argument.

They aren’t the only ones outside. It’s lunchtime, and on such a nice day, a handful of students have congregated at the picnic tables and bleachers to enjoy their food in the sun. Tucker feels their stares as he crosses the field but ignores them. All his focus is on Danny, who moves much too quickly for him to catch up.

“Danny Fenton!” Tucker bellows.

Danny falters but doesn’t stop.

“Fuck this.” Tucker throws his crutches aside and activates the boots on his suit. With a burst of lavender rocket fire, he soars across the field, overtaking Danny in seconds. His landing is sloppy, too hard on his injured ankle, but he drops right in front of Danny and grabs his collar.

“What the hell was that?”

“Leave me alone.” The words are harsh, but Danny's voice trembles as he says them.

“Uh, no, because there is something wrong with you. Aren't we friends? Why can't you tell me what's going on?” Tucker searches Danny's face. He doesn't know what he's looking for, but he wants to see something.

“Like you told me about the Tech Hunter?”

Tucker can't hide his wince. He thought about it—so many times, he thought about it. Had never cared about his friends knowing his identity, hoped for it even. It would have been so easy to say. Hey, guys. I'm the Tech Hunter. Cool, right?

There had been many moments he could have said it, especially to Sam, but he always wanted both of them to know. On his favourite PDA, he has a note saved, a confession, spilling everything to them. All the fights, all the excuses, his most triumphant moments, and his lowest ones. Every time he opened his mouth, he fought down the urge to confess.

Sam and Danny are his best friends, and they have always deserved to know. But…

“That's different.” Tucker's voice is quiet, but not soft. “Vlad said it would keep you guys safe.”

Something other than grim acceptance finally flashes through Danny's eyes, but it's here and gone so fast that Tucker can't identify it. But he knows he said something wrong. Danny's face falls as soon as the words leave Tucker's lips.

“I don't know what's going on, but this doesn't have to be whatever it is. You're still my best friend.” A lump forms in Tucker's throat. The nanobots respond to his distress, their hum drowning out his haggard breathing. His choker, the chain, and the bracelets grow warm as the suit activates. It doesn't cover him completely, just enough for him to see the gleam of his gauntlets, and feel the weight of his helmet. It calms him down. Makes him feel safe. The Tech Hunter is cool, strong, and brave. Nothing phases him.

Nothing except the terror that fills Danny's eyes as the golden armour appears.

“Stay away from me!” Danny screeches.

A burst of wind pushes Tucker back a step. His grip loosens, and Danny pries his hands off. For a moment, Tucker swears something sharp digs into his wrists. The surrounding yard has fallen silent. He can feel the other students watching them. No one speaks. No one moves.

The inferno roaring in Tucker's chest has finally gone out, snuffed by Danny's howl. It leaves a blackened pit behind. Tucker's arm rises imperceptibly, an unconscious move to reach out one last time.

Danny's gaze leaps to Tucker's hand as he steps back.

Finally, something in Tucker shatters.

“Fine,” he whispers. “I don't care anymore.”

His arm lowers, he turns away, and limps back to the school. Tucker is done offering his hand to someone who won't take it.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #unlucky alis #phicc #tech hunter au #phanfic #no one knows au #posting at 2am isn't really conducive to getting the phic seen #but I was too excited to wait

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter Three // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV. 

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

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The crowd is fired up as I squeeze between Dad and Jack on the home team's bench. The massive arena throbs with energy, flashing lights dancing across the packed stands and smooth ice. Blaring music competes with the deafening cheers of fans who arrived early just to watch warmups. On the Jumbotron above center ice, bone-crushing hits and highlight-reel goals from last season pump up the crowd. I bundle up in my cozy black fleece jacket, the team logo proudly displayed across my chest. My dad and Jack wear matching jackets and hats, pulled low to fight off the chill. I let my hair fall loose around my shoulders - an extra layer of warmth for my ears.

The arena plunges into darkness as the jumbotron fades to black. The crowd hushes in anticipation before a crimson glow washes over us. Bold letters flash across the screen: "Welcome the Rooks!" Our boys in black glide onto the ice - jerseys fluttering, skates carving arcs through the chill air. Moments later, a blur of gold and silver enters from the opposite end - the opponents have arrived.

The crowd roars as the Rooks and Pirates take to the ice. Fans decked out in black and red are on their feet. Across the rink, a sea of silver and honey gold erupts for the rival Pirates. The deafening cheers make the arena shake as the teams complete their warm-up laps. 

Our players zip across the ice, passing pucks in a frenzied warm-up. They swing by the home bench, exchanging fist bumps with Coach on each lap. Sanders zooms over and bumps gloves with my dad, then swoops around to me. He flashes a playful grin, head tilted, and I can't help but smile back as our gloves meet with a thud. Then he's off again, swallowed by the sea of players circling the rink.

McClain, the towering goalie, glides around the net, his massive frame armored in pads as he gathers up pucks. Pierce and Dominick hit the ice, dropping into deep lunges to stretch out their legs before the game. The rink echoes with the sounds of pucks clacking off sticks and skates carving the fresh sheet of ice. 

My eyes scan the team, catching Sebastian immediately. He skates effortless circles around the guys, poking their shins with his stick and shimmying his shoulders to get them loose. One by one, his energy infects them all until the entire squad is smiling and gliding around the ice, ready for a great game. 

As I look out across the ice, a sea of adoring fans presses up against the glass, eager for a chance to get close to their heroes. McClain, ever the showman, casually skates over and bumps fists with a starstruck youngster, posing for a picture with the kid's beaming mom. Not one to be upstaged, Sanchez whips the crowd into a frenzy, waving his stick like a maestro conducting a symphony of cheers. The arena erupts into a thunderous chant as the fans, decked out in their red and black jerseys, stand as one to worship their idols.

Sebastian and Karlsson slice through center ice like greased lightning, buzzing the Pirates with some cheeky close calls before zipping away again. The defensemen swoop back around, circling like hungry sharks eager for the kill.Sebastian's grin says it all - he came to fight. To win.

I'm transfixed, leaning forward, trying to anticipate their next move. Jack notices me watching and flashes a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He goes back to scribbling plays, unperturbed. The easy confidence of it makes me smile too, even as Sebastian and Karlsson continue their dangerous dance, ready to strike.

“Those two are certainly a pair of daredevils, aren't they? Always pushing the limits and getting their thrills. I gotta admit, their bold style is impressive, even if it makes me a bit nervous. They really know how to walk that fine line between crazy and genius!”

With a few slick practice shots, McClain glides out of the net and Sanders swoops in to take his place. The boys fire off some blistering slapshots, testing Sanders' reflexes. Ruffilo starts showboating, swirling the puck in dizzying circles with his stick, playing a little game of keep-away from Karlsson. Sebastian cruises by the bench, bumping fists with dad and Jack as he passes. He drifts past me, brown eyes sizing me up through his mask's shield.

The warmups end and the team hustles off the ice, dad and Jack retreating to the locker room. I'm left sitting alone on the bench, mesmerized as the zamboni glides across the freshly scarred ice, smoothing it over for the game ahead. Jack emerges first, focused intently on the paperwork clutched in his hands, barely noticing me as he takes a seat. Suddenly, the announcer's voice booms through the arena, drawing all eyes upward as he begins introducing the Rooks players one-by-one on the jumbotron.

The crowd roars as Joakim Karlsson takes the ice with a nod to his adoring fans. "Number 18, Jake Sanders!" bellows the announcer. Sanders glides onto the rink, Southern California smile beaming beneath his helmet as he greets the stands. The cheers continue as each player is introduced, building to a fever pitch when the announcer calls, "Number 13, Noah Sebastian!" The arena explodes in shrieks and screams - no doubt from his legions of female fans. The heartthrob glides to center ice, flashing his million dollar grin and eliciting another wave of adulation from the crowd. 

The energy in the arena is electric as the opening ceremonies wrap up. The anthem singer belts out a passionate rendition, players scramble back to the bench, jostling past me as I'm wedged tight between their muscular bodies. Sebastian vaults over the boards right in front of me, his rock-hard shoulder slamming me back against the glass. He rips off his helmet, his piercing eyes meeting mine for a split second before he drops down on the bench. I feel my heart race as his raw, aggressive energy radiates through the tight space. This team means business, and I'm caught up in their intense pre-game ritual, pulse pounding with excitement and intimidation.

"Listen up!" barks coach as he strides into the room. All eyes snap to him.

"Sanchez, you've got first line. Sebastian, Karlsson - you're on defense. Willow, Dominick, be ready to sub in."

He scans the bench, gaze hard. "It's time. Bring the heat today and leave it all on the ice. We've got a championship to win. Now let's go out there and crush 'em!"

The team roars, pounding fists and slapping sticks. The starting six spring over the boards, skates carving the fresh ice as they hustle into position. Sanchez glides to the faceoff dot, eyes locked on his rival Hemingway across the red line. Karlsson and Sebastian flex their gloves, sticks poised and shoulders squared, eager for the opening puck drop. The crowd hushes and the tension swells. My pulse thunders in my ears. 

This is it.

Noah's POV

My pulse pounds as the puck hits the ice with a crack. Sanchez bodychecks Hemingway, both of their wingmen rushing in. No luck - Hemingway emerges with the puck, barreling towards McClain’s net. I rock back and forth on my skates, poised to strike. Hemingway feints, faking a slide my way instead. I surge forward, stick low, leveling him to the ice as I snatch back the puck. Twirling away from the wingmen, I pass it back to Sanchez with a flick of the wrist. The crowd roars as we regain control, hungering for more bone-crunching hits and lightning-fast plays.

Sanchez charges down the ice like a freight train, barreling towards the Pirates goal. He loses control and is thrown off his skates, the Pirates pounce on the loose puck and race toward our zone, the crowd roaring in anticipation. Sticks clash and skates scrape as the action explodes, both teams desperately fighting for control.. Jolly and I scramble back on defense, sticks flashing, bodies crashing, doing everything in our power to shield McClain. The puck squirts free and the pirates pounce, but Jolly throws himself in front of the shot, taking one for the team. I help clear the rebound as the crowd roars. 

The puck is ours once again. Sanchez leads the charge, weaving through defenders like a snake. His wingmen flank out wide, drawing the defensemen with them. Sanchez winds up at the top of the circle, eyes locked on the net. He unleashes a blistering slapshot. The puck screams towards the goalie, too fast to react. Sanchez spins away, not daring to watch. The ref's hand goes up. Goal! The crowd erupts as Sanchez is mobbed by his teammates. Helmets clank together in celebration before it's back to business. 

Ruffilo whizzes past, giving my stick a friendly slap as he crosses over. Gotta love that guy. As wingmen go, he's as solid as they come. We're tight, me and Nick - been roomies for a while now. Probably for the best we don't live with Jolly too, that'd be a bit much. Don't get me wrong, Jolly's my right-hand man on the ice, we're a well-oiled machine out there. But off the rink? Me and Nick kick back, bust each other's chops, talk a little smack. That's just how we roll. I've got his back and he's got mine, on and off the ice. We make a pretty good team.

I'm still trying to figure Sanchez out. He's obviously a talented center, and he gets the other guys pumped up, which is good. But I dunno, there's something about his attitude that rubs me the wrong way. Like, he acts like he's the main character out there, and the rest of us are just supporting actors. I don't wanna judge too quickly, he might just be really competitive. But that arrogance could cause problems if he doesn't keep it in check.

The puck rockets across the ice as The Pirates battle to get it to McClain. Jolly and I scramble to guard the net. A winger charges at me and I slide to block, but the guy jams his skates at my feet to trip me up. I spin away from the attack but lose my position, forced to go where he steers me. Hemingway whacks the puck toward McClain, who splits his legs and snags it in his glove. The crowd roars at the clutch save.

I scan the crowd, my eyes darting from the approving cheers of the fans to the nods of my teammates. But my gaze keeps getting drawn back to her. The coach's daughter. She's been here since yesterday, hanging all over her dad. I tried not to notice her at first - I'm here to play hockey, not ogle girls. But I can't seem to look away for long. 

The way she moves, the cute little smiles she gives her dad. She's got my head spinning more than taking a hard check into the boards. I've gotta get my focus back if I want to play well tonight.

Coach would slaughter me if he caught me within 100 feet of his daughter. Hell, I didn't even know he had one until just yesterday. Can't blame him for wanting to keep her far away from us hooligans. If I had a girl that looked like her, I'd lock her in a tower. But damn, the second I saw her, something inside me snapped. My inner defenseman kicked in - I wanted to shield her from these animals, keep her safe. She's not mine...yet. But I'll be damned if I let any of these punks lay a finger on her. I'll knock 'em into next week if they even look at her wrong. That angel's gonna be protected at all costs. Coach better keep that beauty off the ice, 'cause she's got this enforcer feeling some type of way.

Sanchez is back on the ice, battling Hemingway for the puck like two bucks locked in a duel - even their wingmen keep their distance. Karlsson slaps his stick on the boards twice, jolting me back into the action. We watch Sanchez twirl and shove Hemingway, fighting for control. Then I see it coming - Hemingway's left winger charges Ruffilo, tripping our man and making him flinch, slashing down toward the dude's skates inches from his own. The ref's whistle pierces the tense air as he calls slashing on Ruffilo, handing him a two-minute penalty. The crowd erupts into a chorus of boos while Ruffilo glides to the box, shaking his head.

Man, I feel for my buddy out there. He didn't mean to. But did the ref see it that way? No chance. Two minutes in the box. Unbelievable. Now the rest of us have to pick up the slack while Ruffilo cools his heels. Me and Jolly slide in, McClain’s head on a swivel now that we’re down a man.

The puck rockets toward me as I skate backwards, eyes locked on it, guarding the goal with everything I've got. Hemingway winds up and fires a blistering slapshot through a seam in our defense. I dive, stretching every inch of my pads to block it, but the puck deflects off McClain's stick and glides into the corner of the net. The ref's whistle pierces the tense air. Hemingway's teammates swarm him as the crowd erupts. We were so close to stopping them. If only McClain had kept his focus. But it's too late now. The damage is done.

My blood is boiling so hot I can feel it flushing my face. I circle the rink to cool off before I explode. Nick's back from the box, his eyes narrowed to slits. He's out for blood.

Sanchez streaks up the ice with the puck, Pierce on his tail. But the Pirates' D shoves Pierce hard into the boards. Now Pierce is seeing red too. He grabs the bastard's jersey, drops his stick and gloves, and drags him along the ice. Pierce is ready to pound him into the ground right here.

We all grind to a halt, transfixed by the scene erupting before us. I charge forward, stick clattering to the ice, ready to drop the gloves as the D wads up Pierce's jersey in his fist. The ref circles like a shark, while Coach's screams echo from the bench. I glance over and see her leaning over the boards, eyes blazing, shouting breathlessly as she watches Pierce and his nemesis tangled together. Man, the intensity in her gaze is electric. Must be the adrenaline and testosterone coursing through my veins, but damn if she doesn't look sexy as hell at this moment.

Pierce and his rival crash together, gloves dropping as the ref struggles to pull them apart. The crowd roars as fists fly, the two tangled in a full-on brawl. Sharp whistles pierce the din as the ref forces them to their corners, both still straining against his grip. They're banished to the sin bin while tensions boil, leaving the ice open for Dominick to vault over the boards. He joins the nameless sub now skating for the Pirates, eager to capitalize on the empty space. The crowd pounds the glass, feeding off the raw intensity as play resumes in the wake of the fight.

We're locked in a never-ending battle on the ice, the clock winding down as overtime drags on. One more blistering slapshot, one more brick wall save, and victory is ours. Firing up my teammates, I skate around them offering as much encouragement as I can. 

“Dom, Ruff, Sanchez - skate like your lives depend on it. Harass them, frustrate them, smother them! Don't give their stars an inch to breathe out there.” I skate around turning to our goalie “McClain, my brother - I need you to lay out and block every shot you can. Be our brick wall. We're too close to let it slip away now. One more stop, one more big play. That's all we need. Let's bring this W home in front of our fans! Now let's get out there and take what's ours!”

The boys erupt in a roar, heads bowed as they clench their sticks with white-knuckled intensity under their gloves. The ice shudders under the force of their voices. They're fired up and ready to battle, adrenaline pumping through their veins.

The puck rockets through the air and Sanchez snatches it, a warrior king charging forward as the black disc zips between him, Dom and Ruff. They weave a web of deception, bamboozling the opposing defense just long enough for Sanchez to whip around the net and slam the puck into the gaping goal mouth. The ref's whistle pierces the din and I hurtle my stick away, tear off my helmet and blaze towards my brothers. We collide in a crush of celebration as the rest of the team swarms the ice. 

We separate carefully trying not to catch each other's blades. I slide back, regaining my footing before skating to grab my stick and helmet. On the bench, she bounces excitedly, hugging her dad in celebration of our victory. Her cheeks flush red with exhilaration, her smile radiant. She's tied her hair back in a messy ponytail, loose strands perfectly framing her face. I'm mesmerized watching her, knowing if she sticks around much longer, I'll either lose the championship or lose my heart completely.

#bad omens cult #noah sebastian #bad omens #noahsebastian fanfic #bad omens band #hockey player noah #hockey #bad omens au #bad omens smut #hockey romance #hockeyomens

[whitecoatblackmarket]

When you’re burnt out from working 80 hours a week and on the edge of losing your damn mind from sleep deprivation but then someone gives you a small snack or you have time to sit down and drink a cup of water:

Today I had the chance to drink a whole cup of water between OR cases and I almost cried of happiness. When the highlight of your day is that you had the chance to pee once, something is wrong.

Residents like me work 80 hours a week (sometimes more) for what calculates out to be less than minimum wage because this is how residencies are structured and because we are the last line between patients and unsafe care. You didn’t hire enough nurses? Have the resident remove/place foleys and NG tubes. You didn’t hire enough transport staff? Have the resident transport patients. I can’t in good conscience let my patients have less than the standard of care, but it becomes unsustainable when you don’t have enough staff. To top this all off, my hospital CEO got a raise of millions of dollars this year, but my raise to next year doesn’t even keep up with inflation. People justify this treatment of residents by saying that oh well we will be rich when we’re attendings, as if having a higher salary in the future justifies this kind of exploitation. I know residents right now who are struggling to afford healthcare for their children, who struggle to find affordable housing within the area we are required to live because of home call. There is simply no justification for the amount of work we do compared with our pay (or the hours we work period).

Maybe this is just a long way of saying please be kind to residents in the hospital. We work really hard within a really broken system and care a lot about our patients.

#medical school #residency #medstudent #medschool #medicine #medicalstudent #medical student #healthcare #resident doctors #physician #covid 19 #covid19 #doctor #surgery #burnout #insurance #health insurance