Why did the demo dogs legitimately go âruh rohâ like Scooby-Doo in that hospital scene Iâm CRINE đ
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Why did the demo dogs legitimately go âruh rohâ like Scooby-Doo in that hospital scene Iâm CRINE đ

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Dial T for Tenna (PART 9)
Part 1 - Part 10 - Ao3
Summary: Patch gets handsy!
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The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was full of everything unspoken. The faint fizz of Tennaâs screen, still tinged pink like a held breath. The way your hand still felt the echo of contact, even after you'd stuffed it deep into your pocket like that might erase what happened. It didnât.
Neither of you said anything.
Instead, you bent down and picked up a discarded tie â yellow, crushed, and twisted like it had tried to slither away from the awkwardness in the room. It still had the tag on it. You didnât even look at Tenna as you set it on the couch, like pretending it was just part of the job might settle your heart back into place.
Across from you, Tenna shifted. His limbs moved with a practiced theatricality, but the usual flair was gone â replaced with something stilted, mechanical, almost nervous. His antennae twitched as he bent to retrieve a shoe from under the wardrobe. He turned it over in his hand like he didnât quite know what shoes were supposed to do.
You reached for another hanger â this one bent like someone had thrown it on the ground with great force. It caught on the edge of a blazer and clattered as you yanked it free. The sound was loud in the stillness, sharp and sudden, and both of you flinched like someone had shouted.
Then silence again.
You grabbed a button-up from the floor next, smoothing it out with your hands before folding it over your arm. It was warm â not from the lights, but from him. Everything in here still felt like him.Â
Across the room, Tenna crouched to pick up a bowtie. His screen was dimmer now, the pink fading to a white fuzz.
You risked a glance.
And so did he.
Your eyes met â or rather, your gaze locked with the flat of his screen. But somehow, it felt like eye contact. His whole frame froze, his hand mid-reach for a shoe he clearly forgot was there. His screen flickered once and his antennae twitched upward in sharp alarm before snapping back down like someone had yanked them with a remote.
Your throat went dry.
His mouth parted slightly, a small stammer of static glitching through the speakers. Nothing formed. Your own breath caught in your chest, eyes wide for a split-second too long. Your fingers curled tighter around the wrinkled shirt in your hand, suddenly all too aware of your posture, your expression, your everything.
Then, at exactly the same time, you both looked away â hard. You turned toward a coat half-hanging off a drawer. He pivoted toward the tipped-over wardrobe like it had just caught fire.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then the rustle of clothes filled the space again â both of you diving back into the mess, suddenly extra determined to clean up whatever was closest. A tie. A hanger. A crushed program sheet from a past episode. It didnât matter. It was an excuse to not talk. An excuse to not address whatever had just surged between you like a rogue signal with no station.
Tennaâs antennae didnât lift again for a while. They stayed drooped at that odd, stiff angle â a mix of embarrassment and over-processing. His screen glowed a soft white now, but the kind of white that looked like it was trying too hard to stay neutral. Like he was holding it there.
Eventually, the room started to look less like a breakdown and more like a dressing room again. The chair was righted. The wardrobe, while still tipped on its side, had been cleared of its disorder. Most of the ties had been draped over hangers.
You folded the last blazer, set it neatly across the couch cushion, and gave the room one final once-over.
Quiet.
Tenna stood by the mirror now, one foot tapping idly on the floor â not rhythmically, just nervously. His arms were crossed, fingers twitching at the hem of his coat sleeve. His mouth opened once, then closed again.
Then, finallyâ
âW-Well!â he blurted, louder than necessary. His voice cracked halfway through the word like a skipping VHS. âUm. Thank you! For theâuhâthe hand! Theâhelp. With the, yâknow. The wardrobe. Situation.â
He made a vague gesture toward the fallen furniture like it had personally wronged him.
You stared at him.
He stared at the ceiling.
âI-I wouldâve gotten it eventually,â he added quickly. âProbably. Maybe. I was⊠just about to start organizing it. When you came in. Totally had it under control.â
He looked back at you then â not directly, but in your general vicinity. His antennae twitched once, then slowly lowered like wilted branches.
ââŠBut thanks. Really.â
It wasnât performative. It wasnât loud.
It was just real.
And in the quiet that followed, you let yourself smile â just a little.
You opened your mouth to respond â a soft, automatic âyouâre welcomeâ waiting on your tongue â but your eyes drifted for half a second.
Something caught your attention on the wall behind him. Big block letters, vintage and bold, slapped across a crooked poster youâd never really stopped to read before:
âA real Ant Tenna fan? Hereâs your chance to meet him! Join the competitionâwin the prize!â
The font looked like it had been ripped from an old game show title card â loud, gaudy, all-caps and full of false enthusiasm. Gold sparkles glittered around his name in exaggerated spirals, and a little cartoony version of Tenna was printed in the corner, mid-pose, with a spotlight graphic slapped on top of him like a sticker.
Your gaze lingered on the top line.
âAnt Tenna.â
Huh.
You tilted your head slightly. "Ant" didnât exactly scream towering bundle of wires and melodrama. Not that youâd ever say it out loud â oh wait, you absolutely would.
You turned back to him, and your grin came easy this time â not from fluster or reflex, but something lighter. Something teasing, just enough to pull the weight out of the air that had grown heavy between you.
You looked right at him.
âAnytime⊠Ant.â
It was so casual, so deliberately lighthearted, that for a second, he didnât process it.
Then he froze.
His screen buzzed â a few flickers that bloomed and fizzled almost instantly. His mouth stayed open a fraction too long. His shoulders went stiff. Both antennae shot straight upward in hard, vertical alarm before jerking downward again like someone had yanked his soul.
ââŠDonât,â he said.
His voice was flat. But not angry. More like horrified. Maybe flustered?
You couldnât help the little laugh that broke through your chest â soft, bright, genuine.
âWhat, too soon?â you teased.
Tennaâs mouth worked silently for a moment before he huffed â a strange, whirring noise that sounded like a cross between an old modem booting and a deflating balloon.
âDonât call me that.â he muttered again, quieter this time, antennae twitching like they didnât know whether to rise in defense or curl up in shame.
You held up both hands innocently. âAlright, alright. Iâll shelve it... for now.â
Then he turned back toward the mirror, muttering under his breath. Something about branding and verbal sabotage.
But the tension? It was gone. Not completely. But enough.
You watched the way his frame shifted â posture relaxing, just slightly. Antennae no longer pulled tight with nervous charge. His screen wasnât pink anymore, but it wasnât cold either. It was something soft and white, the kind of glow you only noticed when you werenât looking for it.
And even if he didnât say it out loud, you could feel it.
He appreciated the effort.
He appreciated you.
The quiet between you now wasnât strained. It just was.
You bent down to grab the last tie â somehow this one had ended up slung over a lampshade â and tossed it gently onto the couch with the others. Behind you, Tenna fiddled with his coat sleeve like it had personally wronged him.
You didnât press him. Not yet.
But maybe⊠maybe later.
For now, âAntâ could wait
You were about to grab one last hanger when Tenna shifted behind you â sharper this time, more erratic. His limbs moved in stiff, nervous jerks as he paced a tight little line in front of the mirror, muttering something under his breath that you couldnât quite catch.
Then, louderâ
ââI donât have time for this, oh no-no-no, absolutely notâ!â
You turned. His antennae were twitching at full volume now, his mouth moving fast with half-formed words. And worst of all â his screen had gone completely black. No fuzz, no shimmer, no soft glow. Just blank. Off.Â
He wasnât looking at you. He wasnât looking at anything. He was too busy fiddling with the sleeve of his coat, yanking it down, then scrunching it back up, like it was personally betraying him. His posture had shrunk a little, hunched and tense â the kind of small that wasnât physical, but mental. Emotional.
âTenna,â you said gently.
No response.
âI know youâve got the show soon, butââ
âThatâs the problem!â he snapped, not at you, but at the room, at the coat, at himself. âIâve gotâseven minutes?! Eight?! I donât even know what Iâm wearing! Most usual coatâs wrinkled, and the lapels look like someone ran âem through a blender, and the backup blazerâdon't even get me started on that disasterâI canâtâI canât walk out there looking like this!â
His voice was pitching higher now, climbing fast toward panic. His mouth kept moving, breath stuttering at the edges, panic leaking through the speakers in short bursts like he couldnât keep up with himself. His antennae did a strange half-fold, unsure if they were supposed to flee or freeze. And his screen â still black.
You took a step closer.
âHey,â you said, keeping your voice low, steady. âItâs alright. Youâre not alone here.â
He didnât look up. But his hands stilled.
You reached slowly toward the nearest jacket â a black one,, rumpled from being stuffed under a chair earlier â and held it up for inspection. The fabric was nice, actually. Heavy. Stylish. Itâd look great on him once it was sorted out.
âI can help,â you said, without thinking. âIâll just⊠smooth it over for you.â
There was a pause.
A beat of silence where your words floated between you, unclaimed.
And then it hit.
Your own eyes widened a touch as the phrase turned over in your head a second time â the way you said it, how close you were standing, what that might sound like to him. You didnât even mean it like thatâokay, maybe half-meantâbut it was too late now.
Your fingers tightened slightly on the jacket.
Tenna, very slowly, turned his head toward you.
His screen was still black, but the silence said everything. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. Then a single flicker sparked to life in the top corner of the glass â faint, hesitant. The pink spread gradually, blooming across the screen like he was trying to hide it and failing completely.
âIâuh,â he managed, his tone skipping like a stuck tape. âYOUâyou want toâsmooth me over.â
You could hear yourself breathing now. Why did it suddenly feel warm in here?
âI meant theââ you gestured vaguely at the blazer, as if that clarified anything. âThe jacket. Just the⊠yeah.â
âRIGHT. Right, of course,â he said quickly, antennae jolting upward in alarm before curling back toward each other in a flustered manner. âTh-the jacket. The⊠sleeves. Not me. Why would youâhahâhahaâŠâ
You stared at him. He stared at a completely unrelated section of wall. His mouth opened again, then closed. Then opened. Thenâ
âIâd appreciate that,â he said in a small voice, pink still painting his screen. âIf youâre offering. T-to, uh. Smooth it. The jacket. Not me. Just. Yes. That.â
You gave a single nod, trying not to smile too much.
âOf course,â you said, voice calm â except for the tiny hitch that snuck in at the end. âStrictly professional...â
His shoulders jerked once like a spooked marionette, and his hands flew up in a little fluttery gesture of confirmation.
âPROFESSIONAL!â he agreed, a little too fast. âTotally. Absolutely. No funny business. Justâblazer smoothing. Like friends do. Probably.â
You took another step toward him.
He didnât move.
Didnât back away.
His screen was still pink.
And you werenât breathing quite as steady anymore.
You didnât say anything else. Just turned, slowly, toward the pile of clothes still slumped over the arm of the couch, your fingers scanning the edges of fabric until you found it â a crisp black blazer, still relatively unscathed despite the mess that had swallowed the rest of the dressing room. It wasnât flashy like some of Tennaâs usual outfits, but the cut was sharp, and it had just enough sheen under the lights to catch the eye. Simple, clean. It suited him.
You held it up by the shoulders and gave it a quick shake, letting the folds fall loose before stepping back toward him. Tenna stood perfectly still now, antennae twitching slightly like they didnât know if they should stay up or hide. His screen was still glowing pink, but softer now, dulled to the shade of a held breath â like someone trying very hard to play it cool despite every system inside buzzing at high alert.
âThis oneâs clean,â you offered. âNo glitter, no mystery food stains. I think itâs safe.â
Tenna reached out to take it from you. His fingers brushed yours â brief, but enough â and you both pretended not to notice. Or at least tried. His movements were unusually careful as he slipped the blazer over his arms, adjusting it with small, robotic motions, like he wasnât sure how sleeves worked today. He didnât look at you. Not directly. But you could feel his attention pinging toward you like a signal waiting to be caught.
The blazer hung lopsided.
One lapel was slightly flipped inward, and the shoulders bunched just a little near the seam. Wrinkled, mostly along the back, with a few folds along the hem where it had been pressed against the couch.
You stepped closer.
âHold still,â you murmured.
And he did.
You reached up and tugged gently at one sleeve, smoothing it down with your hand. The fabric was still cool from disuse, but warming under your touch. You slid your palm along the outer edge, fingers brushing against his elbow as you worked out a stubborn crease near the cuff. Tenna didnât move. Not even an inch.Â
You moved to the front next, fingers adjusting the collar and then flattening the lapels with both hands, one side at a time. You could feel the tension underneath â not in the jacket, but in him. His frame had gone stiff, locked in place, but his antennae betrayed him. They jolted up at first, startled, then dipped slightly as you moved your hands down, tracing along the fabric until everything lay smooth.
âThere,â you said softly. âBetter.â
Tenna swallowed a sound. It wasnât a word, exactly â more like a noise caught between embarrassment and overclocking. His screen was still pink, but deeper now... Not shy. More like flustered, and holding on for dear life.
You stepped back an inch. Not far. Just enough to give him space to pretend he hadnât just melted a little.
He looked down at himself â or tried to. His screen flicked briefly toward his sleeve like he needed something else to focus on. His mouth opened, then closed again, and for a second, it seemed like he was buffering â stuck halfway between gratitude and short-circuit.
ââŠYouâre good at that,â he said finally, voice a little uneven, like it had tripped over its own tone. âThe, uh. Straightening. And smoothing. And⊠making me not look like a total catastrophe.â
âGlad I could help,â you said, half-grinning. âYou clean up nice.â
That one made his antennae snap upright again â rigid with surprise before trembling slightly at the tips like they wanted to curl inward but couldnât commit.
âIâUHâY-YOU DO TOO,â he blurted, then froze. âI MEANânot that you need to be cleaned. Up. Or, wellânot that youâre messy. NOT THAT I LOOK AT YOU. I meanâI doâsometimes. Casually. Professionally. Normalââ
You raised both brows.
His screen flashed pink-pink-white-pink again like a warning light. He slapped a hand over his mouth.
â...FORGET I SAID ANYTHING.â he muttered through his fingers, voice muffled and horrified.
You chuckled â low, genuine â and took another step back to let him recalibrate. But the air between you wasnât heavy anymore. Not awkward, not brittle. Just⊠charged. Light, and maybe a little dangerous in the way a new feeling always is. The kind of quiet that made your chest hum.
âAlright,â you said, letting your hands drop to your sides with a final once-over of the blazer. âLooking better already. Way less⊠tragic.â
Tenna let out a soft, wobbly laugh. âTragic is my brand, Iâll have you know.â
You grinned at that but didnât respond right away. Your eyes lingered on him. Not in a way that was overtly intense or uncomfortable â at least, not intentionally â but in that squinting, assessing kind of way. Like you were mentally holding up paint swatches next to him and trying to figure out what didnât match.
Tenna stood still for a second, then shifted under your gaze. His screen flickered â not glitching, just⊠fidgeting. His shoulders twitched.
âWhat?â he asked, trying for casual and landing somewhere between anxious and five-seconds-from-self-destruct. âWhy are youâ? You're doing a thing. With your face. Youâre⊠youâre scanning me.â
âIâm just trying to figure out whatâs missing,â you said, head tilting slightly as you took a half-step to the side. âYouâve got the blazer. Pants look okay. Shoes are fine. Somethingâs just not⊠clicking.â
Tenna raised both hands. âOKAY, WELL, NOW IM PANICKING!â
âNo, no â hold still. I got it.â
You turned, scanning the room like the missing piece might suddenly materialize from the carpet. And then you saw it â a narrow strip of black fabric draped carelessly over the back of a chair, nearly blending into the upholstery. You moved quickly, fingers closing around it like it had been waiting just for this moment.
âThis,â you said, holding it up. âThis is what you need. A tie. Not one of the weird glittery ones, justâclassic. Pulls it all together.â
You extended it toward him. Tenna took it delicately, like it might bite.
âI, uhâthanks,â he muttered, voice quieter now. He stared at the tie in his hands like it had come with a math problem attached. âI canâyeah. Iâll justâŠâ
He turned it over, then around, then looped it once â maybe twice â then paused again. His fingers moved in slow, uncertain knots, and after a few seconds, the result dangled off-center and twisted like it was trying to escape.
You gave it a long look.
Tenna looked back at you sheepishly. â...Fashion is subjective, right?â
âCâmere.â
You stepped forward before he could object. His whole body stiffened as you reached for the undone tie â your fingers brushing against his as you gently took it back. You didnât say anything, didnât tease him, just started looping the fabric with practiced ease.
Your focus narrowed to the task, brow slightly furrowed as you adjusted the length and drew the ends tight. One hand at his collar, the other smoothing the knot into place.
You didnât notice at first â the way he froze. The way his antennae jolted straight up, then wavered like they didnât know whether to signal distress or faint. His screen was glowing so pink it was almost rosy.
His mouth was set in a wobbly, helpless smile, teeth gritted ever-so-slightly in what could only be described as emotional freefall. His hands â poor things â were twitching slightly at his sides like they didnât know where to rest or how to behave. A nervous stutter shook through his fingers.
âThere,â you said, satisfied. âMuch better. See? Simple, classic. Ties the look together.â
You stepped back a half-pace â not all the way, just enough to give him breathing room â your gaze still fixed on the knot youâd made, admiring the way it sat crisp and centered now against the dark fabric.
And without even thinking about it â without any plan or forethought or cosmic reason â your hand lifted and gave two gentle, absentminded pats to the side of his head.
Not hard. Not playful. Just soft. Instinctive. The kind of gesture you might give a tired friend. A quiet little there you go that came out of your body before your brain could stop it.
It wasnât until you heard it â a sound halfway between a hiccup and a strangled whimper â that you froze.
Your eyes snapped up.
Tenna was staring at you. Or rather, through you. His mouth hung open just slightly before closing, the nervous grin frozen in place like it had been struck mid-frame.
A soft, embarrassed haze of color, blooming around the edges of his screen like heâd been caught doing something far more scandalous than standing very still while you touched his neck and then⊠casually patted his head.
âOH MY STARS,â Tenna blurted suddenly, his voice climbing an octave. âSorry. SORRY. That wasââ he winced, hands coming up to cover his screen halfway, like he could hide behind his own fingers. âI DIDNâT MEAN TO MAKE THAT NOISE! I justâyour handâthe patsâthat wasâUGH, SO EMBERASSINGâ!â
He groaned and turned half away from you, antennate drooping in shame. He hissed under his breath, clawed fingers running over the top of his monitor in helpless little scrapes. âThat wasnât evenâwhat was that?!â
You stood there, lips parting with a silent breath, caught somewhere between horrified and wildly intrigued. Not that youâd ever admit the second one aloud.
You cleared your throat, once, and took a small step closer. âTenna,â you started, trying to ease the sharp edges in your voice, âheyâTenna, itâs okay. It happens. That was justâuhâŠâ You scratched your cheek, eyes flicking down for a split second. âI didnât realize you were, um. That pent-upâ I mean!âsensitiveâ!â
You immediately regretted saying anything at all. He was panicking again. Shoulders rising like he wanted to retract directly into the walls. His screen flared a brighter, more unstable shade of pink, and his antennae twitched in a way that could only be described as nervous.
âTenna,â you said again, gently, raising a hand in an attempt to rescue the moment. âItâs really okay, Iâm notââ
A knock.
Sharp. Two short raps, muffled through the dressing room door.
Both of you flinched at the same time like someone had fired a starting gun.
âTenna?â a voice called â Mikeâs voice, muffled but urgent. âYouâve got ten minutes. They want you in mic check, like, yesterday. You decent in there?â
Tenna whirled toward the door as if it had personally insulted him. His arms flailed once, then snapped to his sides like he was trying to stand at attention. âYES!!â he barked, voice cracking up an octave. âIâMâYES! Decent!! I am so decent! Nobodyâs indecent here!!â
You had to turn away for a second â had to â just to bite the inside of your cheek and keep from laughing. That tiny, flustered bark of his had gone straight to your stomach.
âOkayyyâŠâ the voice outside said, clearly unconvinced, but leaving. The shuffle of footsteps faded down the hallway.
You slowly turned back toward Tenna.
He was still standing ramrod-straight, hands balled into anxious fists at his sides, antennae slowly curling downward in abject humiliation. His screen had dropped to a pale rose-pink. Like heâd been caught in the most intimate act imaginable â despite the fact that all youâd done was dress him and accidentally discover that his version of emotional intimacy was apparently located somewhere between âhand brushingâ and âcasual head pat.â
ââŠI should, um,â he said weakly, his voice the softest it had been all day, âprobably⊠go. Right? Before he comes back in here with a mic cable to strangle me with.â
You nodded, lips twitching into a half-smile despite yourself. âYeah. You probably should.â
But neither of you moved.
You blinked. Watched him. The way his screen had dimmed to a softer, gentler pink now â almost white. His mouth, still in that frazzled little half-smile, twitched once more before going still.
And thatâs when it hit you.
He wasnât stuck. He wasnât frozen. He was⊠waiting.
For something you hadnât given him yet.
Something like reassurance. Like grounding. Like a little signal that said you did good or Iâm here or youâre not alone in this, even if he couldnât ask for it.
Your chest ached a little with how obvious it was now.
You gave him the smallest, most genuine smile you could manage â something just for him â and said, softly, âIâll be watching from backstage.â
Tennaâs shoulders dropped with a full-body exhale, the tension bleeding out of him all at once. Not a dramatic sigh, not exaggerated or loud â just a quiet, shuddery breath like something important had finally clicked back into place.
âOh,â he said, voice tiny, almost sheepish. âOKAY. GOOD...â
Another little beat passed, and then he nodded â mostly to himself â and turned toward the door.
He didnât say anything else.
You let out a long sigh the second the door clicked shut. Hand dragging down your face, you groaned, "Oh my God."
This was so unprofessional.
What even was professional anymore? You used to think it was staying out of the spotlight, keeping things neat and neutral. But now? Apparently it meant tying a sentient CRTâs tie while he trembled like a kicked puppy and practically moaned at two pats on the head.
You exhaled again. Embarrassed. Flustered. Maybe a little doomed.
But⊠he looked happy. Nervous, yes â but happy. And that counted for something.
"As long as heâs happy," you muttered, "Iâm happy."
You glanced around the dressing room one last time â then slipped out the door and headed for backstage, where the lights were warming up and the real show was about to start.
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Notes:
Guys⊠I know itâs not as spicy as some of you were hoping for⊠But⊠itâs better than no spice at all, right? Right??????
They'll kiss... evenetually!
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TAGLIST: @fallendove@theilluminatidragonqueen@sacru-tainted@thefiasco-onyourblock@aroura-yuh@good-person-reblogs@driedhuman@badeggonthebeat
Just to clarify since it seems some people seem to be misinformed, /hj actually stands for "heebie-jeebies" and is intended to be used when things are getting crazy, Scoob. Zoinks.
Oh I see! Thanks for clearing that up, Claire :)b
Scooby Doo, Where Are You! S01E14 - Go Away Ghost Ship (1969) Hanna Barbera Productions

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
đ¶ The name is Scrags
and Iâm a mother of two
I gotta eat everything to find out what tastes good đ¶
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