frank jensen

Just imagine your fav celebrity being obsessed about you.

Him/Her spending every moment of his/her day fantasising about you.

Him/Her running a blog about you and stalking you daily on Facebook, Tumblr or Twitter.

His/Her heart beating faster when you post a new status or some art or just a post.

Imagine him/her dreaming about meeting you in real life.

Imagine him/her writing fanfictions about it.

Just. Imagine. It.

I can’t stop thinking about Pritchard sitting alone in his darkened office at Sarif HQ. it’s 3am and the building is deserted except for him. he’s speaking to Jensen through his infolink, communicating important information with him -  helping him, protecting him, guiding him (interspersed with trading blows of vitriolic snark of course.) Jensen is anywhere, everywhere - China, Montreal, the Arctic, or right here in Detroit. Not often enough right here in Detroit. He’s gone, always gone, but Pritchard still feels him like he’s just down the hall in his office. Jensen opens himself up for a particularly good insult, which Pritchard delivers with glee. His face bathed in the blue-green light of his monitors, he leans forward and smiles fondly. Butterflies erupt in the pit of his stomach as he realizes just how much he loves this - but it hurts, it aches, because even if Jensen weren’t constantly away and hurtling at breakneck speed towards almost certain death, he would never… they could never… it was impossible. Just a stupid daydream. A schoolboy’s crush. A wave of nausea overtakes him and the next time he hears Jensen’s voice in his ear, a knife twists inside of him, equal parts painful and intoxicating.

Suddenly, through the infolink, gunshots. The blood drains out of Pritchard’s face and his heart is pounding. Frantically he’s tapping at his keys, his eyes scanning darting back and forth between multiple screens. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to do. This is the part where he is useless. He hates feeling useless, hates it, and Jensen is hurt and he can’t do anything to help and fuck fuck fuck. He should have known, he should have hacked a security camera or a radio feed, he’d been distracted lovestruck like a fucking idiot. The gunfire ceases and Jensen’s ragged breathing resonates in his ear.

Francis! Think you can warn me next time I’m about to walk into a room full of turrets?

Like he fucking hates being called Francis by anyone else and Jensen knows he hates it and that he is the exception to the rule. It presses Pritchard’s buttons even more, just flaunting the fact that he knows he can get away with it. He can. He always can. His heartbeat calms, slowly, beat-by-beat, and without thinking he spits his usual venom right back.

He palms a handful of caffeine pills into his mouth. His eyes burn, but he has to be there for Jensen - more steadfast than ever after each and every close call. He can’t sleep until Jensen is safe, and he can’t sleep because he knows Jensen is never really safe. He’s always been a workaholic, so nobody questions the bags under his eyes, but truthfully he’s pushing himself harder and further than ever for Jensen’s sake and he loves every second of it.

Jesus, he thinks to himself. I’ve got it bad.

*whispers* i can’t stop thinking about it

Adam Jensen Headcanon C: Happy

∆ Frank physically thanked him for the Joystick games since they are impossible to find or cost way too much to buy. Just a brief hug. Or was it…

∆ Malik and Pritchard have been talking about getting Adam another dog once he comes back from Prague.
’/If/ he does.’ -FP
‘Don’t be so negative Frank.’-M

∆ He has had so much fun at Sarif’s holiday parties. Malik was always there stealing some drinks or flirting with the bar tender or D.J.. Pritchard would occasionally go, but only of it doesn’t involve mistletoe. They both dragged him along anyways.

∆ Pritchard’s grandma has made sweaters for Jensen since Pritchard always talks about him being so cold and stoic. She took him for being “cold” literally. Grandma sends her love even if Cranky Franky is jealous.
'He already has a grandmother, he doesn’t need another.’-FP

∆ He stopped celebrating his birthday after he joined swat and got “too old for parties”. Malik tried to coax Adam into telling her when his B-day was, but he didn’t budge. She asked Pritchard, demanded it really, to tell her what it is. After a few rants of “I hope you know this is illegal” and “This is invasion of his privacy,” she finally found out. Eventually his birthday came around and they threw him a small party with just the three of them. They even filled his office with balloons and had cake specially made from a bakery. They still celebrate every year despite the janitors throwing a fit about the party poppers leaving a big mess.

New Black Gold - Babel Demise

Some of you may have wondered what this ‘Babel Demise’ stuff is I keep advertising about.

Since all my finished chapters are stuck in editing process, and I don’t want to publish anything without a proper review I thought I’d explain.

I started writing Deus Ex: Human Revolution fanfiction about three years ago under the title New Black Gold, which only tells some story gaps left open by the main narrative of the game. The first two chapters describe Adam’s six months of recuperation before the main game begins (and, sadly, these are the only chapters available for now). Chapter 3 is an interlude I included in the Hengsha arc. Chapter 4 is the conclusion of the game after I chose the Sarif ending.

Unfortunately, I got hit by a major writer’s block back then and only finished NBG last year when the release of Deus Ex: Mankind Divided was drawing near.

So far, I haven’t read any of the complementary MD canon, but from what I gathered of Deus Ex: Black Light, the comics and MD itself, I got majorly disappointed by the lack of noteworthy character development. It’s so generic it downright hurts; especially after the brilliant storytelling of HR.

So, I decided to write something better.

Developed as a continuing storyline Babel Demise starts about two months after Panchaea. Adam returned with David to Detroit, and Sarif Industries struggles to survive the Aug Incident with new troubles ahead. I’ll include all the characters I came to love and will give David Sarif a downfall he deserves. Ultimately I will catch up to the MD storyline and try to stick as close to the canon as my writer’s esthetics allow.

So, please bear with me. Two chapters of Babel Demise are already finished, and at some point my editor will keep up the work.

Until then I’ll write on and every now and then indulge myself in some written Jensard fantasies. :3


War of the Heart

I’ve combined two challenges (i hope that’s ok).
@sdavid09 TaleTeller’s Winter Writing Days
Song: Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra
AU: Doctor
@jensen-jarpad Becca’s Christmas Challenge (I’m going to apologise, I feel I skimped on your challenge and the Christmas spirit here, I’m sorry, your due date was coming up fast and I panicked)
Song: Santa Claus is Coming To Town

Summary: YN YLN, is a female doctor in an army medical base (think mash), one day she takes a patient, a young soldier by the name of Dean Winchester, in times of war, and so close to Christmas, love can bloom quickly, if only there’s a miracle…
Warnings: Medical talk, description of a bullet wound, pain, fever, near death…
Characters: Doctor YN YLN, Dean Winchester, Jackie (OFC)
A/N: This is my first AU, hope y’all like it. I only had this idea today, hammered it out, and voila.
Italics are the mentions to the songs.
Thanks to @avasmommy224 for beta-ing this one for me at such short notice.

Originally posted by cassgracie

Every day seemed to bring a drop in temperature, a flurry of snow and at least, one injured patient, flown in from the camp closer to the “action”. I was one of the very few female field-doctors, the only one on this base, and that was fine by me, I’d earned my respect and none of the soldiers that were lucky enough to stay on base would dream of treating me differently.
“Five in bound. YLN, you’ll take the worst.” Major called from the doorway to the hospital tent, the nurses began prepping beds as we dressed and found our respective sterilized kits. As my nurse, Jackie, tied up the back of my gown, and I dried my hands, my patient arrived and was placed on my bed.
I looked to the men that had run him in, flushed faces and snow dusted hair, “What do we have?” I asked them, looking over the two bullet wounds as they told me where, how and with what. I searched the rest of his body as the two men wished him well and left.
“Oh my, a soldier!” I said in mock surprise with a smile, meeting his gaze, he smiled too, his muscles tensing as Jackie began to cut up the side of his shirt.
“Sweetheart, you’re in a field hospital, you should be used to soldiers!” He winked up at me. This guy was something else, here he was, a clean-through to the leg and a bullet lodged somewhere in his side and he was flirting. I took an instant shine to him.
“Name’s YLN, what’s yours?” I questioned as I left his curious eyes to inspect the now clean wound above his hip.
“Dean - ungh - Winchester.” He grunted, as I prodded at the sensitive site. I looked at Jackie and nodded, pointing to the site I wanted her to inject the anesthetic.

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