#this experience has permanently scarred me

[merchant-wizard-and-jerry]

(This is going to be linked as the card drawing post from now on)

(List of effects)

TP who TC Gains partial divinity

TP who TC can ask one question to the universe and gets a true answer

TP who TC is immune to all undead for 24 hours

TP who TC can ask one request of the Flock of seagulls

TP who TC gains absolute mastery of there most proficient skill

TP who TC gets there perfect ideal of a follower summoned, the follower is made of stained glass

All people who wants to attack TP who TC becomes completely peaceful

TP who TC has the vision permanently enhanced by 4x

TP who TC brain grows 10x as fast and smart for 1 hour

the next good effect drawn from TD is doubled

TP who TC has everything blue that there touching enchanted randomly.

TP who TC gains a skeleton key

TP who TC arms turned to metal

TP who TC is recognised as a minor noble in the nearest nobility system

all eyes in a 1 mile radius of TD glows gold for a year

TP who LC gets magic equal TP who C's magic capabilities for 1 spell

TP who NC has there card effect double

TP who TC can identify if it’s safe to drink any water they see

TP who TC gets 10 currency

TP who HC has control over a small company of knights

TP who TC gains scales for 1 hour

TP who TC begins to be observed by a god

TP who TC will have all cuts immediately scab over for the next month

(Automatic custom card)

TP who TC plays a game of 20 question, if you win, you get a clue finding spy glass. If you lose you lose an eye.

TP who TC next spell will go wild

all water in a 30 foot radius of TD turns into wine

TP who LC has its effect happen to TP who TC

TP who NC has TP who LC effect added to theres

TP who NC will gain the ability to know where you are at all time

TP who TC has all there hair light on fire, they are not armed nor is there hair

TP who TC experiences 1 years worth of advanced mutation that would be handy in this situation

all grass in a 3 yard radius of TD turns into a fungus based alternative

TP who TC will lose all their hair and have it regrow in a 24 hour period

TP who TC is swarmed by pollen

TD loses its magical effect for 10 minutes

TP who TC gets struck by lightning

TP who TC if they have a scarred over stump it grows cactus spines making it impossible to restore, if not you are immune to cactuses.

TP who TC loses their sense of smell for 10 min

in a 1 yard radius around TP who TC rain will clouds form and rain for 1 week

TP who TC becomes a telepathic potted plant for 1 hour. they're completely inanimate but still conscious anyone who touches them is given a random effect from these options #1. they too become a telepathic potted plant but without the secondary effect #2. they get healed a whole bunch (regenerating limbs n such. but no resurrection) #3. their clothes are replaced with grass and leaf equivalents that are not very covering.

TP who TC becomes a potted telepathic plant for a year

TP who LC attacks you

TP who TC loses all of wealth

TP who TC has there most prized possession trapped in this card for 1 year or until they tell someone a deep secret

all events that took place in the last hour reverts in a 20 yard radius of TD

TP who TC Dies

TP who NC will gain control of your body for 1 minute

(List of terms)

The person (TP)

The deck (TD)

Drew this card (TC)

Drew last card (LC)

Draws next card (NC)

Holds this card (HC)

(Rules)

You can ask pay for a card with 10 currency

When you pay you can specify our of character whether you want a random card or if you want me to make a new one for you

If I make a new one I’ll add it to the list

Also if the card calls for good or bad it is referring to thirds, the first 1/3 is good, the last 1/3 is bad and the middle in neutral, round down and give the neutral the extra cards.

If you pick random, roll for me out of the numbers and tell me what you get

#wizard island island #wizard tumblr #wizard posting #wizard #wizardposting #wizard blogging #wizard shit #magic shop #thank you

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Chloe Cole

Published: July 28, 2023

On Thursday, her 19th birthday, Chloe Cole testified to Congress with a “final warning” that medical treatments to change the gender of confused children is horrific. Cole, who was given surgery as a teenager to become male and soon regretted it, said what she needed most was therapy, not a scalpel. Here is what she told lawmakers:

My name is Chloe Cole and I am a de-transitioner.

Another way to put that would be: I used to believe that I was born in the wrong body and the adults in my life, whom I trusted, affirmed my belief, and this caused me lifelong, irreversible harm. 

I speak to you today as a victim of one of the biggest medical scandals in the history of the United States of America. 

I speak to you in the hope that you will have the courage to bring the scandal to an end, and ensure that other vulnerable teenagers, children and young adults don’t go through what I went through. 

Deceit & coercion 

At the age of 12, I began to experience what my medical team would later diagnose as gender dysphoria.

I was well into an early puberty, and I was very uncomfortable with the changes that were happening to my body. I was intimidated by male attention. 

And when I told my parents that I felt like a boy, in retrospect, all I meant was that I hated puberty, that I wanted this newfound sexual tension to go away.

I looked up to my brothers a little bit more than I did to my sisters. 

I came out as transgender in a letter I sent on the dining room table.

My parents were immediately concerned.

They felt like they needed to get outside help from medical professionals. 

But this proved to be a mistake.

It immediately set our entire family down a path of ideologically motivated deceit and coercion.

The general specialist I was taken to see told my parents that I needed to be put on puberty-blocking drugs right away. 

They asked my parents a simple question: Would you rather have a dead daughter or a living transgender son? 

The choice was enough for my parents to let their guard down, and in retrospect, I can’t blame them.

This is the moment that we all became victims of so-called gender-affirming care.

I was fast-tracked onto puberty blockers and then testosterone. 

The resulting menopausal-like hot flashes made focusing on school impossible.

I still get joint pains and weird pops in my back.

But they were far worse when I was on the blockers. 

Forever changed 

A month later, when I was 13, I had my first testosterone injection.

It has caused permanent changes in my body: My voice will forever be deeper, my jawline sharper, my nose longer, my bone structure permanently masculinized, my Adam’s apple more prominent, my fertility unknown. 

I look in the mirror sometimes, and I feel like a monster.

I had a double mastectomy at 15.

They tested my amputated breasts for cancer.

That was cancer-free, of course; I was perfectly healthy.

There is nothing wrong with my still-developing body, or my breasts other than that, as an insecure teenage girl, I felt awkward about it.

After my breasts were taken away from me, the tissue was incinerated — before I was able to legally drive. 

I had a huge part of my future womanhood taken from me.

I will never be able to breastfeed.

I struggle to look at myself in the mirror at times.

I still struggle to this day with sexual dysfunction.

And I have massive scars across my chest and the skin grafts that they used, that they took of my nipples, are weeping fluid today, and they’re grafted into a more masculine positioning, they said. 

After surgery, my grades in school plummeted.

Everything that I went through did nothing to address the underlying mental health issues that I had.

And my doctors with their theories on gender that all my problems would go away as soon as I was surgically transformed into something that vaguely resembled a boy — their theories were wrong.

The drugs and surgeries changed my body, but they did not and could not change the basic reality that I am, and forever will be, a female. 

Depths of despair 

When my specialists first told my parents they could have a dead daughter or a live transgender son, I wasn’t suicidal.

I was a happy child who struggled because she was different. 

However at 16, after my surgery, I did become suicidal.

I’m doing better now, but my parents almost got the dead daughter promised to them by my doctors.

My doctor had almost created the very nightmare they said they were trying to avoid. 

So what message do I want to bring to American teenagers and their families?

I didn’t need to be lied to.

I needed compassion.

I needed to be loved. 

I needed to be given therapy that helped me work through my issues, not affirmed my delusion that by transforming into a boy, it would solve all my problems. 

We need to stop telling 12-year-olds that they were born wrong, that they are right to reject their own bodies and feel uncomfortable with their own skin. 

We need to stop telling children that puberty is an option, that they can choose what kind of puberty they will go through, just like they can choose what clothes to wear or what music to listen to. 

Pseudoscience 

Puberty is a rite of passage to adulthood, not a disease to be mitigated.

Today, I should be at home with my family celebrating my 19th birthday.

Instead, I’m making a desperate plea to my elected representatives.

Learn the lessons from other medical scandals, like the opioid crisis. 

Recognize that doctors are human, too, and sometimes they are wrong. 

My childhood was ruined along with thousands of de-transitioners that I know through our networks.

This needs to stop. You alone can stop it. 

Enough children have already been victimized by this barbaric pseudoscience.

Please let me be your final warning. 

Thank you.

Might as well call her a murtad and kufr.

"The medical industry mutilated me, maybe don't mutilate other kids," shouldn't require bravery or renouncing an ideology.

Reminder: A minor under the age of 18 is too young to agree to a cellphone contract. 🤦‍♀️

#Chloe Cole #detrans #detransition #gender ideology #queer theory #medical malpractice #medical scandal #medical mutilation #gender affirming #gender affirming care #affirmation model #double mastectomy #gender cult #sex trait modification #genderwang #religion is a mental illness

[tetriminas]

hey did you know that fatphobia has made it so that I can't trust my partner when she tells me she thinks I'm beautiful?

hey did you know that fatphobia has contributed to my self esteem being so low that I'm more scared than excited to finally meet her in person?

hey did you know that fatphobia has ruined my life so much that I really don't know if I'll ever be able to love myself as I am?

hey did you know that fatphobia has this lasting effect not just for me but for almost every fat person that sees it or experiences it?

HEY. DID YOU KNOW THAT WE DONT DESERVE TO FEEL THIS WAY ABOUT OURSELVES JUST FOR EXISTING? FOR TRYING TO LOVE AND LIVE OUR LIVES?

HEY. DID YOU FUCKING KNOW THAT FAT PEOPLE DESERVE YOUR RESPECT AND DONT DESERVE TO BE TREATED LIKE DIRT TO THE POINT OF PERMANENT MENTAL SCARRING OR GOD FORBID, THE NEED TO APOLOGIZE FOR BEING ALIVE?

I AM TIRED OF APOLOGIZING. I AM TIRED OF FEELING THIS WAY ABOUT MYSELF BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE DID. I DESERVE LOVE AND RESPECT AND SO DO YOU.

#tetri.txt #fatphobia #sorry been getting really angry about this stuff lately #okay to rb if anyone wants #i had an eventful morning lots of crying im not mentally okay sometimes and fatphobia has been a big contributor to that so im angry

[kasssscali]

This question is for The Monkey king (Netflix). This has been going through my mind lately, how would Monkey king react to being hugged for the first time by s/o?

Monkey knows what a hug is, but he doesn’t have much experience with affection

In the movie we see him as an infant getting rejected by nearly everyone when he tried to hug them

you guys have been dating for a while, and you’ve been weirded out how he hasn’t hugged you at all

yeah he kisses you, and holds your hand but he never has hugged you since you guys were official

it’s because he’s afraid of rejection, being rejected in the past for his affections have had some permanent scars that he won’t let heal

he simply can’t let go of the past

it’s a bold move for you to hug him out of nowhere

Monkey and you have been dating since him and the Monk stopped by your village with his disciples

He’s still on the Journey to deliver sacred scriptures and you guys had to depart for a while

it hurts Monkey the most out of the both of you, he doesn’t talk to the Monk about this type of stuff

he doesn’t feel like he can talk to any other of the disciples too, especially Pigsy

if he did try to talk to Pigsy about this, high chances Pigsy might make some sexual remark about you which would definitely piss Monkey off

it’s been months since you guys seen each other, Tripitaka finally makes Monkey talk because the entire time he’s been sulking since he left you

the Monk is a pretty decent guy and grants Monkey permission to see you again

Monkey flies back to your village on his trusty stick looking for you

Finally seeing Monkey after so long, made your heart leap with excitement, without even thinking you run to him at full speed and wraps your arms around him with an embrace

Monkey is strong enough to hold his ground, he laughs “Looks like someone missed me~”

you really did, and Monkey finally embraces you back, wrapping his tail around your waist tightly

this was the first time he ever received a hug from someone back

#monkey king netflix #monkey king 2023 #jttw #journey to the west #sun wukong #monkey king #sun wukong x reader #jttw monkey king #monkey king x reader #wukong

[spenzitz]

dazai with a scarred s/o

some headcannons and a little drabble! the headcanons are from a random brain dump i sent one of my moots... my bad

t/w ~ light mentions of blood, scars, fluff!! w/c ~ 1k

i headcanon dazai to have a pretty decent amount of scars under his bandages, self-inflicted or otherwise, so if he had a s/o who had lots of scars or stretch marks, he would be extremely supportive. esp beauty marks!!!! this man loves beauty marks tells you how even though it’s a permanent score of your bad experiences, it also paints a breathtaking picture of the person you are. in a way it’s also healing for himself, reassurance that if you, the person he loves dearly, have marks on their body, then his don’t have to be inherently bad either maybe you feel self-conscious about showing more skin during the summer, he’s so encouraging, tells you how proud he is of you for wearing that tank top you’ve had for ages

most days, especially in the winter, you forget about your scars. coats and jeans covering any permanent discoloration or texture variation on your body. they’re not something you actively think about, it’s not like you see them every day, and even if you do, it’s not for very long. you no longer get a stinging feeling when your shirt brushes against the scars across your chest. the blood has long dried up.

but, with melting snow comes sweltering heat. heat that makes your usual ensemble of sweaters and thick jeans, not an option this morning.

the agency had decided to take advantage of the warmth in the spring air and have a picnic. of course, you were excited, the agency was your family, and time with them was always time well spent. the only problem was what you were going to wear…

dazai has watched you come in and out of the bathroom almost four times this morning. switching between breathable and overly modest clothing every time. but even from inside your dorm with the blinds closed and the fan blowing on max, the heat was terrible.

you start to head back to the closet on your fourth attempt, inevitably picking another outfit too warm for the summer months, only to have your ankle grabbed by the sloth-like creature lying on the floor that you called your boyfriend.

“hey!” you laugh out, almost tripping before finding your balance and joining dazai on the floor. you sit criss-cross-applesauce in front of him as he emerges from your futon. you show a genuine smile as he yawns and takes your hands in his.

he wears a soft smile as he looks at you, his amazing partner, so capable, so attractive.

“can you just wear what you have on so we can leave already?” he says, kinda bossy, mostly annoyed. you were supposed to leave half an hour ago, he’s probably starving at this point.

“sorry, sorry… let me just put on what i was already wearing,” you say, starting to push yourself up off the floor.

again, dazai drags you back down to the floor with him, this time clutching you to his chest from behind and seating you in his lap. “nah, s’too hot for that,” he slurs his words as he pushes his face deeper into your neck. you squirm a little from the close proximity, not sure what to do with your body.

if you were being honest though, a part of you was anxious about where his hands would wander, as they usually did. you were currently dressed in shorts and a tank top, something you usually wouldn’t be caught dead in. even behind closed doors you opted to cover most of your skin, to your boyfriend’s dismay. so to say dazai was happy to see more of you in broad daylight was an understatement.

he had seen your scars before, but only once or twice, in the dead of night, with no one else around. they were fond memories of his. the first time was when you two weren’t dating but you certainly weren't just friends either. you had been pretty severely injured but you refused any kind of help. that was, until dazai walked you to your dorm and insisted he bandage you up stating that he’s “a professional at this point.”

he remembers how even though he found you very attractive and had probably thought about you with your shirt off in a different context, there was nothing even remotely sensual about that night. he didn’t ask any questions about your scars until you were dating, and even then, he was never pushy about it. the second time he’d seen your scars, it was very late, and you’d both had a few drinks. you both started asking questions about each other’s pasts and you both answered them as honestly as you could. you showed him your scars, and he showed you his.

dazai thinks about that night now, as he holds you close and traces a light finger across a particularly large gash on your shoulder, half covered by your top and the rest peaking out for anyone to see and ponder the origin.

”you told me you wanted to be more confident in your body right?” he asks you in a gentle voice, pressing a light kiss into your exposed shoulder blade. “yes…” you whisper back, fidgeting with your fingers as you’re suddenly much too aware of how much skin is showing.

“then this is a perfect start. you know everyone will be nothing but supportive.” he pauses to kiss your cheek before saying, “you really are your own worst enemy sometimes, you know that?”

his words had a twinge of harshness to them, but you knew he was right. not to mention there was no way you would enjoy yourself drenched in sweat.

you turn to face him in his lap and rest your head on his shoulder, which he gladly cradles. “i know you’re right.. it’s just hard y’know?” you start absentmindedly picking at the bandages peaking out of his sleeves. yeah, he does know.

“nothing my y/n can’t handle hm?”

you take a few breaths, enjoying the proximity. if only other people knew how sweet he could be.

“yeah, you’re right.” you sigh and sit up straight, parting from him with a kiss on his nose as you pull yourself up. he whines from the loss of contact but follows shortly after you.

you take one last pass by the mirror and push past your reservations. dazai was right, these people love and support you no matter what, you know that. what better direction to step out of your comfort zone than that?

masterlist

#dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x y/n

[strwbmei]

In the spirit of me fucking up my knee, could I request a short thing of Keqing/HSR Bronya princess carrying an injured reader?

~Teeth

(Also heya how’s it going?)

Hello, Teeth!! It's been a while! A lot has happened. Normally I'd say that I hope you've been doing well, but the fucked up knee speaks for itself. Not sure how you hurt your knee exactly or how bad it is, so I apologize if anything written here is medically unsafe/incorrect!

Keqing would go full asian mom style. She'd scold you for being careless, saying things like "I told you to be careful!" and to "stop being so reckless!" while dressing your injury. Her words sting, but you can tell that she cares with how careful she's being with you. Also, she insists on carrying you the same way a few days even after you've recovered. Acts strict, but you can get away with a lot more with her during the time that you're recovering. She'll even let you use her lap as a pillow.

"Ow!" You hiss in pain as Keqing tightens the makeshift bandage around your knee. She glares up at you, eyes full of disappointment and irritation, yet also with a hint of worry that only you could discern. "Well, maybe if someone wasn't being such an idiot..."

"Still, be more gentle! You're dealing with an injured person here, y'know?" You complain, and the other woman rolls her eyes in response. "I'm sure it isn't as bad as you make it out to be if you still have the energy to whine."

Suddenly, Keqing stands up and lifts you into her arms with ease, carrying you bridal style as she starts walking. You yelp in surprise. "What are you-"

"Taking a certain idiot to the infirmary." You sort of just stare at her awestruck because she's rarely so... gentle? It's hard to find the right words to describe it, but you're sure this kind of opportunity is rare.

"What, you think I'd let you walk around with an injured knee?"

"Honestly, yeah, a little bit." As soon as you said those words without thinking, you were sure she'd put you down out of annoyance and tell you that you're free to go to the infirmary yourself, but she only stays silent.

"Whatever. Just... don't worry me again like that, okay?"

Bronya... would definitely overreact. There's no other way to word it. Her expression would be akin to a wounded puppy. She'll have all of the best doctors in Belobog taking care of you and the most luxurious bed for you to lay on even if your injury isn't that bad. Qlipoth bless her soul if the doctors even mention the possibility of your injury permanently impairing you, because she is most definitely going into cardiac arrest. After you recover, she makes it a point to ensure every place in Belobog is accessible to people who can't walk.

Although Bronya works as the Supreme Guardian, she's spent most of her life on the battlefield and she's learned many useful techniques from her experience. One of them is basic medical care.

She's not a professional, but her know-how has saved a few comrades' lives. Still, Bronya most certainly didn't expect that she'd have to use this skill of hers on you of all people.

"Bronya... I'm okay now. Really." You say; an attempt to console the very obviously distressed woman in front of you. With how much she's frowning, anyone that saw her would think that she was the one with an injury.

"No." Bronya responds, and honestly, this is the first time you've heard her so... stern. She knows that you aren't lying, but she sure as hell isn't risking your wound getting worse. "We need to get you to a doctor."

On second thought, it's too dangerous to move you around; it'd be better to have a doctor come here themselves. Still, the nearest doctor is much too far away, so Bronya decides to carry you there instead.

As soon as she picks you up, her mind races with a million thoughts all at once. What if it leaves a scar? What if you aren't able to walk normally again? Aeons forbid, what if you won't be able to walk at all? However dramatic, just the thought has her heart sinking.

She senses your unease and takes a deep breath, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. Perhaps her emotions have gotten the better of her. "I'm sorry, my love. You know how I worry for you." She smiles reassuringly. Whether she's trying to reassure you or herself, you don't know.

#strwb inbox #teethoftheeditor #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr bronya #x reader #fluff #bronya rand #genshin impact #keqing #keqing x reader

[writers-potion]

Hi. I'm writing a novel in first person and my main character has some serious trauma around swimming, but I'm not quite sure how to write that fear or that reaction they would have. also having the same problem with a lot of fear-related subjects when writing in first person. any tips? thanks! :D

Hi, thank you for the question!

As someone who has a deep fear of drowning AND of swimming, I think I can testify for that particular fear in person. But before I dive in, here are some factors to consider:

Age of your character: A child or teen or adult?

Children are more likely to show fear by expressing dislike, or even being violent/throwing tantrums when they're made to confront it. Teens may try to hide it, or build creative (sometime extreme) methods to avoid it like hell. Adults, at least mature ones, will learn to build barriers around their fears: avoiding it as much as possible, but also learning to control their reactions when they come to contact with it.

One-time event or chronic?

Another thing to consider is how the trauma came to be in the first place. Here are two traumas from my personal life:

Fear of water: I nearly drowned in a wasterfall at age 2. At age 5, one of my friends pushed me into a pool unexpectedly. Age 10, my sister made me swim to the deep side of the pool and when I stopped to take a break, I couldn't stand up. Age 13, I had a horrible swimming teacher who expected everyone to be able to swim..etc.etc. I've had multiple near-death experiences in water and after that, even after I've learnt how to swim, I'll NEVER.

Fear of elevators: I was locked inside an elevator for over an hour during a powercut. When I managed to forced the door open to escape, I found myself staring at the abyss that smelled faintly of oil. I was stuck in between floors. + Around the same time, a delivery man in the same elevator grabbed and kissed me, then ran away. A couple of days later, he tried to force his way into our apartment when I answered the door. These two event alone was enough to compel me to take the stairs for the next seven months.

Usually when a trauma has been built over time, it's difficult to see the problem rationally even when time has passed.

Traumas caused by a large, one-off event, moving away from the specific location and getting rid of the situation more or less permanently is often enough to make the person see the situation rationally. It was that particular elevator, that delivery man. It's not going to happen again. It'll remain more like a fully healed scar that tingles once now and then.

The attitude of your character. Do they want to overcome the fear, and feel frustrated/angry at themselves when they inadvertently feel scared? Or are they highly defensive? Maybe they have no mental walls built, and simply run away at the slightest hint of the feared situation.

Tips for Writing Fears

It's easier to open up to strangers. It's easier to confess a fear to someone who doesn't know your personal history, since there's less chance you'll be judged.

Simulating isn't the same as actually confronting. Your character can find themselves dreaming about being able to swim perfectly, then feel their daydream shatter when they actually try to.

Extreme tension + crashing afterward. Whenever your character is exposed to swimming, they'll be at their wit's edge, being tense and paying extreme attention to their surroundings. Once they're home, they'll simply crash like how you'd hit the bed after a long, hard day (maybe feeling body pain, constricted chest, headache, loss of appetite from the sheer exhaustion).

Overly prepared vs. Avoiding. It's one or the other. Either your character brings a safety jacket, a donut tube, a rope, snorkling equipment, etc. or they don't bring a swimsuit at all so that they can say, "I can't swim in my skinny jeans and silk shirt, can I?" and avoid it altogether.

Saying "I'm okay!" repeatedly. More to themselve than to others as a form of desperate self-assurance.

Panic. At times when your character comes dangerously close to swimming, they'll just panic and make the situation worse for themselves. For example, if they just happen to slip inside water while sitting at the edge of the pool, they'll immediately start kicking and gasping as thogh they've already drowned. It almost becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. They'll swallow water, strain all the muscles in their body, and sit extremely still covered in multiple swimming towels afterward, saying nothing and playing the moment over and over in their head.

Being nervous for the whole day if they know they have a swimming class (or something similar) later

Dreaming about drowning

Trying to learn swimming, but not progressing for months because they can't bring themselves to step out of their comfort zone (which is going to be very small)

Hope this helps! :)

#writers block #writing #writers and poets #creative writing #writers on tumblr #creative writers #helping writers #poets and writers #writeblr #let's write #resources for writers #writerscommunity #writing practice #writing community #writing advice #writing inspiration #writing tips #on writing #writing prompt #writer #writers of tumblr #writers life #writers community #writer things

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

one of my batfam hot takes is that alfred having a very kind and understanding grandfather-like role is a boring spin on the character and lacks a lot of nuance around his backstory.

like he is a classically trained british butler which means he very likely comes from a working class family. and like, as a working class brit myself, i sometimes find the kindly, well-mannered grandfather thing grating because, a lot of white, working class men his age are unfortunately not nice people. some of them are like my great grandad was a really great guy, but hes really the only one i know who is or was not awful.

because their generation werent as exactly raised with ideals about mental health and emotional regulation. a lot of them were traumatised due to ww2 either because they saw it firsthand when they were like 15, they were old enough to remember things like rationing and the blitz, and a lot of them lost their dads in the war.

i dont expect american writers to understand how much ww2 affected britain (modern britain is still so steeped in it, its insane) and that generation specifically, BUT id love to see that explored more with alfred. like depending on where he grew up, he would likely have been separated from his family during the blitz and sent off to the countryside like most of the kids in cities were, (this is how narnia starts) and like, a lot of them were horrifically abused or used as free labour. a lot of them also lost parents and never got to say goodbye to them. many came back to destroyed homes. some kids also remained in the city or their parents requested them back so theyd experience the blitz first hand and would know the sign of air raid siren meant they might die that night.

you can see how a lot of that generation were permanently scarred. and for a few decades now, alfred would have been part of that generation.

plus he was also a secret service officer which is just like more opportunities to be traumatised and more reason for him to not be this gentle old man whos in touch with his emotions.

and like, as a classically trained butler, he would likely be more reserved because you know, thats how he was trained. also british men that age would also likely be very hands off in regards to emotions.

but the biggest reason as to why the gentle, kind grandfather take doesnt really make sense is that he raised bruce wayne.

like bruce has a whole slew of emotional issues and problems, and obviously some of that is going to come from alfred raising him because you know, thats kinda how that works. i know a lot of batfam folks want bruce to be this great dad, so i guess their take on alfred fits that, but canonically, bruce wayne is an emotional mess and not the best father figure at the best of times.

you cannot look at that bruce wayne and tell me alfred did a good job.

listen, this shouldn't even be a hot take. it's just an opinion that differs from the most popular interpretation of Alfred as an endlessly giving grandmotherly old man.

the thing about Alfred is that more than anything you have to recognize that he's an enabler. and I love the man to pieces, but at absolute best he was extremely negligent in Bruce's upbringing, if not actively encouraging the world's worst coping mechanisms.

I hate to give Gotham credit for anything, especially when it comes to Alfred since I hate their Alfred, but the show was bang on in its insistence from day one that Alfred should not have been Bruce's primary guardian. it's painful to watch how often Alfred encourages Bruce to tough it out and suck it up, and it never really stops. in one of the latter seasons (four, I think) he hits Bruce hard enough to give him a black eye during an argument, and this is ultimately written as a situation in which Bruce needs to apologize to Alfred for being a bratty teenager, rather than Alfred owing Bruce an apology for hitting him when he's a grief-stricken teenage boy cracking under stress.

and like, listen, I understand there are Watsonian and Doylist layers to this. Alfred fundamentally can't have been a good enough guardian to stop Bruce from channeling his trauma into fursuit vigilantism, because then there's no story. I get it.

but jesus christ.

I don't think characterizations of Alfred as a stoic caregiver are wrong, but I do think people don't want to think about how he got there. when I see the aged Alfred patching up Bruce's wounds and nagging him to eat, or doing his best to offer advice to the kids who have gotten mixed up in Bruce's crusade, I see a man who realized a long time ago that he dropped the fucking ball and has dedicated his life to doing as much damage control as possible. okay, so, completely failed step one (raise a well-adjusted child). can we at least make sure that this basket case adult man doesn't go completely over the edge? can we make sure he doesn't become a killer? can we encourage him to take off the mask and be Bruce Wayne sometimes? can we keep the children safe?

I do think Alfred loves all of them, for whatever its worth. his care for Bruce is real, that is his son, the Batgirls and Robins are his extended family. he'll cook their uneaten meals and clean the entire, massive house himself and stitch them up every night forever. he would die for them. hell, he'd kill for them. he loves them. but none of that means he raised Bruce right.

that's kind of the thing I like most about the Bats: they all care so, so much. but the way they love is terrible.

#alfred pennyworth

[raaorqtpbpdy]

What Fades, and What Never Will

After Danny's accident, he starts acting strangely, and after exhausting all their other options, Jack and Maddie call upon a long-time friend who once had a portal accident of his own to try and get Danny to open up.

For the Prompts: In another universe, Maddie and Jack did visit Vlad in the hospital, and stayed in contact. What happens when Danny has his accident 20 years later? [from @kinglazrus]

After the accident, the Fentons can't help but notice something wrong with Danny. And since Danny also has that terrible symptom of "being a teenager", he refuses to tell them anything. So they reach out to the only person who could possibly help: an old friend in Wisconsin. [from Mimca]

And Like Danny, Vlad also has an unfading death scar—several of them, actually. Dozens of pock scars mar his skin all over his body, a permanent reminder of his slow, painful death from ecto-acne. [from me :)]

Read also on Ao3

[Warnings for mentions of past trauma/death, and past hospitalization]

Danny's accident had given his parents quite the scare. Their son nearly dying put a serious damper on the excitement of their portal working properly, to say the least.

But after that, even though Danny insisted he was fine, and the doctors said he was in the clear, medically—they couldn't help noticing that there was something wrong with him. Maybe that was a bit harsh, maybe it would be kinder to say there was something off with him, or something different about him. But whatever it was that was different about him... it seemed very wrong.

Maybe it was like Jazz said, and he was just traumatized from the accident and isolating from his family as a coping mechanism after his parents' invention had caused him so much distress. But if that were the case... why was he going into the lab so often? Much more often than before, and it didn't seem to bother him at all to be in a place where he'd experienced so much... distress.

They tried several times to talk to Danny about it, but he also appeared to be exhibiting unrelated symptoms like 'being a teenager', which of course meant he refused to tell them anything and suggested that they, 'butt out of his business' when they pressed even a little bit.

After about a month of trying and failing to get through to Danny in any way shape or form while whatever was going on with him only seemed to get worse, they decided to call in some back-up. As it happened, Danny wasn't the only person they knew who'd had an... unfortunate experience involving an experimental ghost portal. 

Maybe... hopefully, their old friend from Wisconsin could help.

After a month of complete failure to connect, Jack and Maddie started to think that maybe he was the only person who possibly could.

Although they stayed in fairly regular contact with him, they still hesitated to ask him to come all the way out to Amity Park from another state entirely. But Vlad seemingly thought nothing of making the trip out to see them and have a chat with their boy.

After his own accident with the proto-portal, they were the only friends of his who didn't cut ties with him because they found him too grotesque to look at. They'd visited him in the hospital often, and gave the doctors all their research in the hopes that it might help cure him. Although the doctors hadn't asked, and Jack and Maddie were pretty sure they'd just thrown all the research away.

Eventually, Vlad's ecto-acne went away, although it was years before it vanished entirely. He was always terribly self-conscious about it. He refused to be in any of their wedding photos because of it, even though he was the best man. 

And even when the ecto-acne itself finally went away, it left scars, dozens, maybe hundreds of them. Vlad often complained that he had to spend a small fortune on foundation and concealer to keep them covered, even though Jack insisted they made him look cool and mysterious. Vlad argued that they made him look sickly and unkempt.

It would be good to see him again after so long. Oh, sure, they called and e-mailed each other all the time, but they hadn't seen Vlad in person since they moved to Amity Park. Danny had only been four years old at the time, so he almost certainly didn't even remember the man, even though Vlad was his and Jazz's godfather.

Two days after reaching out to him, late Saturday morning, there was a knock on the door. Jazz was the one who answered. It took her a moment to recognize the tall, gray-haired man in a fancy suit standing there, but eventually she did.

"Uncle Vlad?" she asked. "We haven't seen you in ages. What are you doing here?"

"Your parents called me the other day and asked me to come down," he replied easily. "I heard about poor Daniel's accident. They were hoping I might be able to commiserate with him, since I was in a similar unfortunate accident myself with our prototype portal many years ago." 

Jazz nodded slowly. "That... could be good for him. Personally, I'm pretty sure it was a traumatic experience for him, but he won't talk to anyone about it."

Vlad's expression was sympathetic. "It would be a traumatic experience for anyone. May I come in?"

"Oh, right," Jazz stepped aside to let him through the door into the house. "Sorry."

"Think nothing of it," Vlad said. "Are you parents around? I'd like to say hello."

"Down in the lab," Jazz told him, pointing to the basement door.

He nodded his thanks, remarked how good it was to see her, and what a lovely young woman she'd grown into since he last saw her, and then headed down into the lab to talk to her parents.

"Maddie?" he called down. "Jack?"

"Vladdie!" Jack shouted.

As soon a Vlad reached the bottom of the stairs, he was tackled in a massive bear hug. His arms were pinned to his sides and the breath squeezed out of his lungs.

"Let go of me you big oaf!" he wheezed out.

Jack dropped him with a good-natured laugh, and Vlad gasped for air for a bit before chuckling with him.

"It's good to have you over, Vlad," Maddie said, though she didn't move from where she was standing over a laboratory apparatus. "I would walk over to greet, but I'm holding volatile chemicals at the moment. Just give me a minute to stabilize the experiment." 

"It's quite alright, Maddie, dear," Vlad said. "Don't rush on my account; especially not where volatile chemicals are involved."

"Thank goodness you're here, Vladdie," Jack said excitedly. "I'll finally get to show you all the new inventions we've made since moving here."

Vlad gave him blundering old friend an amused smile. "And approximately what percentage of these inventions actually function as intended?"

Jack looked sheepish, though the excitement didn't fade from him.

"Oh, but here, I thought you asked me to come all the way down from Wisconsin to talk to your Daniel," Vlad added. "Perhaps seeing all your hundreds of failed inventions and a dozen or so working ones can wait?"

"I guess so," Jack agreed, though he seemed very reluctant.

"Yes about Danny," Maddie said. 

She'd apparently finished at the apparatus and was carrying a rack of test-tubes to the nearby freezer to be stored until the next phase of her experiment.

"We told you he had an accident in the new ghost portal," Maddie said. "I thought we'd disconnected the power source before leaving it unsupervised, but I guess not. The doctors say he'd fine, physically, and Danny insists he's fine, too, but... something just doesn't seem right with him anymore. Jazz says he's traumatized, but he doesn't seem anxious in the lab at all, so we're just not sure. 

"Obviously he won't talk to us, but we were hoping, if you told him about your own experience, that he might be willing to talk to you."

Vlad nodded thoughtfully. "You know, he probably doesn't remember me," he pointed out. "To him, I'll be a stranger prying into something he probably doesn't want to even think about, let alone discuss."

"We know it's probably a long shot, but we had to try something, you know?" Maddie looked more worried than Vlad had seen her since he was still laid up in the hospital. "I'm just... I'm worried about him. We all are. He's been acting so strangely lately, cagey and short-tempered, maybe it is just stress, but it can't be healthy for him to keep it all bottled up. You'll at least try, won't you?"

Vlad looked at her distraught expression and nodded once, firmly. "I'll try," he agreed. "But if Daniel does talk to me, and he asks that I not relay what we talk about to his parents, I won't violate his trust."

Maddie shook her head, a sigh of relief escaping her. "That's fine," she said. "We don't need to know everything. We just want him to have someone he can talk to, so he doesn't have to bottle everything up. Right, Jack?"

"Absolutely," Jack agreed. "Whatever's best for Danny is good enough for us."

"Alright then," Vlad said. "Is he here now?"

"I think he's out with his friends right now," Maddie said. "He'll be back for dinner though. At least, he'd better be."

He removed his jacket and hung it on a hook next to a lab coat, which he put on in its place. It must've been Jack's judging by the way he practically drowned in it, but he rolled up the sleeves without complaint and ignored the way the bottom of it touched the floor when he bent his knees even a little bit.

"Then, for now, how about I give you both a hand in the lab," he suggested. "Where might I find a spare set of safety goggles?"

—

Danny was late for dinner, but he didn't miss it at least. The Fentons weren't really a regular family dinners kind of household, so when they told Danny they would be having a family dinner tonight, he knew there would be consequences for skipping out. Still, he was surprised to see a mysterious, well-dressed guest at the table when he hurried into the kitchen.

"Uh... hi?" Danny greeted, awkwardly taking a seat between his dad and his sister.

"Daniel, so nice of you to join us," the stranger greeted with a smile. "You know I think this is the best chicken casserole your mother's ever made."

"Not that it's a very high bar," Maddie joked.

"Don't say that, Maddie," the stranger said. "You're a... perfectly adequate cook."

Maddie laughed out loud.

"Um, not to be rude or anything, but... who's this?" Danny asked, jerking a thumb over at the stranger.

"Oh, that's right, you wouldn't remember Vlad," his mother told her. "He's our friend from college, and you kids' godfather. He was really close with the family when we lived in Wisconsin, but since we moved, he mostly just talks with me and your father over e-mail. I'm sure we've mentioned him before."

Danny did vaguely recognize the name Vlad. This was probably the same Vlad his dad called Vladdie and gushed about while his kids tuned

"Yes, the last time I saw you, Daniel, you were only four years old," Vlad said. "At risk of sounding like an out-of-touch old man, you've certainly grown since I saw you last."

"Yeah, that tends to happen in ten years," Danny pointed out. He narrowed his eyes at Vlad, scrutinizing him. "What brings you all the way out to Amity Park?"

"Oh, I was doing some business a couple towns over, and figured since I was so close, I might as well pay a visit to some old friends."

It was a perfectly plausible excuse, especially since Danny was pretty sure his parents had mentioned their Vlad was some kind of businessman. It didn't ease Danny's suspicions at all.

Throughout dinner, Vlad maintained a casual, friendly conversation with the rest of the family, easily defusing Danny's loaded, accusatory questions. When dinner was over, Danny went straight up to his room. He'd had a long day and was hoping to turn in early, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to actually fall asleep until well after midnight, if he slept at all.

He wasn't expecting a knock on his bedroom door a few minutes later.

Vlad being on the other side of it was less of a surprise. He glared at Vlad, but the man seemed completely unperturbed.

"I have a confession to make," he said.

"Oh yeah? I'm shocked," Danny replied sarcastically.

"I didn't want to bring it up in front of everyone and put you on the spot," Vlad said. "But the truth of the matter is that your parents asked me to come in the hopes that I might be able to talk to you, commiserate, I suppose, about your recent accident in their lab."

"And why on earth would I talk to you about about it?"

"Because I know what you're going through," Vlad replied.

"No offense—actually, yes offense," Danny said, "but I'm pretty sure you have no idea what I'm going through."

Vlad raised an eyebrow, and then his blue eyes glowed a sinister red. Danny gasped and his eyes blew wide in shock.

"No offense, Daniel," he said, "but I'm pretty sure I do." He let the light fade and smiled, a little smug, but not unkindly. "May I come in?"

Danny nodded mutely and let Vlad through before closing the door behind him.

"You're like me," he said incredulously. "How?"

"The portal in which you had you own accident was not the first your parents made," Vlad began to explain. He straightened up Danny's blankets before taking a seat on his bed. "When we were in college, the three of us formed a paranormal science club, and we made a prototype portal. It didn't work, but it did turn on and... badly injured me when it did so. 

"Your father turned it on, actually. He got a little over-excited and hit the button prematurely. I was very angry at him about it for a while, but... bygones." He shrugged. 

Danny continued to stand in the center of his room, staring openly at the man who'd already made himself comfortable and was casually describing what must've been a horrific accident—if it was anything like Danny's, that is—as if it were nothing more than another boring anecdote about his past.

"I spent years in the hospital after my accident," Vlad continued. "Your parents were the only people who ever visited me. I was so unsightly after my own accident that all my other quote-unquote 'friends' couldn't stand to look at me."

"You look alright now," Danny observed.

"Ha!" Vlad barked a short laugh. "Not without effort, I assure you."

"Do my parents know you're—"

"Oh, heavens no, can you imagine the embarrassment?" Vlad scoffed. "Of all the things to do me in, ecto-acne was what did it. No, bad enough I had to suffer the nasty condition for so long, nobody needs to know how much it truly affected me."

"Ecto-acne?" Danny questioned.

Vlad waved him off. "Never mind that. Now that I've told you my story, would you care to share yours?"

"I..."

Vlad patted the empty space on the bed next to him. "You can lock the door if you're worried about someone coming in."

"No, you'll just tell my parents," Danny said. "You're their friend, not mine."

"If you don't want me to tell them, I won't tell them," Vlad refuted. "In fact I said as much to them earlier today. Death, even half-death is a very personal thing, and no matter how close I am to your parents, I would never disregard your privacy in such a matter. I may be their friend, but I'm your godfather."

"You promise you won't tell them anything?" Danny asked.

"I promise," Vlad confirmed, then smiled lightly. "Cross my heart and hope to die." 

He patted the bed beside him again, but this time Danny sat. He didn't speak at first, but after a long moment of getting his thoughts in order, he opened his mouth an began to tell his story.

"My friends and I were just... messing around I guess," he said. "I told them about my parents portal, and how they were upset because it didn't work, and they wanted to see it, so I showed them. Sam wanted to get some pictures, and she asked if she could get one of me inside. At first, I said no because I thought it might be dangerous, but... I figured the portal didn't work anyway, and it would be kind of cool, so I did it.

"She got her picture, but then, on my way out... I guess I put my hand on the wall. I don't know what happened, I felt something move under my fingers and then... the portal turned on."

"You were inside it at the time?" Vlad asked, sounding surprised. "Standing fully inside?"

"Yeah," Danny confirmed. "You weren't?"

Vlad shook his head. "No, the prototype portal was only about as big as a desktop computer monitor. I couldn't have stood inside if I wanted to. I was standing in front of it when it turned on, and it... well, I suppose you could say it quite literally blew up in my face."

"Oh..." Danny got real quiet for a moment, and then asked, "Do you still remember how painful it was when it turned on?"

Vlad stiffened, and he got a faraway look on his face. "Every day," he replied. "That agony has stayed with me for twenty years."

"That's comforting," Danny grumbled.

Vlad tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I wish I could give you better news, but something that changes you on such a fundamental level was never going to simply fade away."

"The scar will, though, right?" Danny asked. "He pulled up his sleeve to reveal an angry red Lichtenberg figure sprawling across his forearms and disappearing under his sleeve. "The doctors said it should fade in a day or two, but it's been a month now and.... But you said the portal blew up in your face, and I don't see any scars there, so it will fade, won't it?"

That scar felt like it was staring at Vlad even harder than he was staring at it. His eyebrows drew together in sympathy and anguish. He reached into his pocket and his fingers closed around the small make-up kit he always carried around for touch ups.

"I'm afraid not, my boy," Vlad said apologetically, and pulled up his own sleeve to reveal the pock marks scattered on his forearm. "I use make-up to cover the ones on my face, but death scars never fade. Be grateful you only have the one."

Danny stared down at the marks with despair written all over his face.

"If it's any consolation, you do get used to them," Vlad assured him, pulling his sleeve back down to cover the marks. "It will always remind you of what happened every time you see it, and the memories will always hurt, but the pain, like all pain, gets boring after a while, and starts to carry less weight."

"Really?" Danny covered up his own scar again, but looked up a Vlad hopefully.

"Yes, really," Vlad said. "Humans are the most adaptable creatures on the planet, and, despite everything, you are still human to some extent. As am I."

Danny smiled a bit at that. He'd be ruminating on the fact that he wasn't fully human anymore for the past month, and the reminder that he was still human, at least in part, was more than welcome. It was a nice reprieve, actually.

"How long did it take for you to realize you had changed?" Vlad asked. "Not long, I suspect."

"No, not long at all," Danny said with a slight laugh. "I went into the portal human and came out a ghost, so that was my first clue. When Jazz and my parents came down in a rush after hearing my screams, I was able to change back just on impulse, although I had no idea how I did it at the time. I think maybe I just passed out and turned human automatically.

"Then I got rushed to the hospital."

"So... it was instantaneous for you?" Vlad asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah... it wasn't for you?"

"No, it wasn't," Vlad said, his shoulders slumped and his face fell. "My... condition took much longer to kill me than that. It was years before it had run its course and I discovered how it had changed me and what I could do."

As soon as he saw the pity on Danny's face, Vlad averted his gaze. It had been twenty years since his accident. He didn't need pity anymore. He never had.

"That sounds awful," Danny observed.

Vlad almost laughed at how obvious the statement was.

"Yes, quite," he agreed. "But I've had plenty of time to come to terms with it. You, on the other hand, are still in the existential angst part of your journey. 'What am I? Where do I belong? What do I do with myself? How should I use these powers? Did I even deserve to half-survive? Should something like me even exist?' these questions and more keeping you up into the wee hours of the night. Am I close?"

"Dead on, actually," Danny said, his shoulders sagging. "I haven't been sleeping very well lately."

Vlad put his hands behind him and leaned back slightly on the bed.

"Well that's in part because you simply don't need as much sleep as you once did," Vlad noted. "The more time you spend in your ghost form, the less sleep your human form needs. It's all to do with the delegation of energy. 

"Ghosts and humans regain energy and use energy in ways that are too different to be compatible with each other. Your human brain, body, and internal functions can't consume energy when you're in ghost form, so you don't need to recharge as much in human form, and vice-versa. You may have noticed you don't get hungry as much as you used to either."

"Yeah, actually," Danny confirmed, a little incredulous.

Vlad smiled at him. "I had to figure all this out on my own, but if you accept my help, you won't have to go through all the trial and error that I did. I'm more than happy to teach you. 

"I'm only planning on staying in Amity park for a few days because I do have to get back to my business eventually, but I'll give you my contact information, direct line so you won't have to go through my assistants. That way, if you have any questions, or need help with anything, you can reach out to me, and I'll do my best to answer any question you may have."

For a long moment, Danny just stared at Vlad, like he was trying to see through the thick layer of make-up on his face to the scars beneath. Vlad inhaled deeply and tried not to squirm under the teenager's gaze.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Danny asked. "Just 'cause you're friends with my parents? You barely know me."

"For the same reason you were willing to open up to me, even though you don't have any memories of me before today, I suppose," Vlad answered with a shrug. "It's... it's a relief to know that I'm not alone anymore, especially after all the years. It's terribly lonely to be one-of-a-kind, isn't it?"

Danny nodded and looked down at the floor.

"Besides, even if we don't know each other very well anymore, I'm still your godfather," Vlad reminded him. "I do rather have a responsibility to be nice to you, even if you were a wretched, awful boy, which, thankfully, you don't seem to be."

The not wretched, not awful boy chuckled softly.

"Now, is there anything else you want to talk about?" Vlad asked. "It's getting fairly late."

Danny shook his head. "But uh... thanks for coming all this way just to talk to me."

"I would have flown in from another country," Vlad assured him. He stood up from the bed and straightened his clothes. "Would you uh... like a... hug or something? Physical affection isn't really my forté, but—"

"No," Danny cut him off. "No hugs, thanks."

"Good, good," Vlad agreed awkwardly. "Ah!"

He reached into his pocket and took out one of his business cards. On the back, he wrote his personal phone and email address, along with the words 'direct line', so that Danny would be able to reach him directly.

"Hold onto that, reach out whenever you need to," he said, handing the card to Danny. "Might I suggest that, now that you don't need as much sleep as you used to, you use the extra time to work on your homework? Your parents tell me your grades have been slipping since the accident, and while that's perfectly understandable, you really ought to try to maintain at least a 'C' average. 

"Trust me, you don't want to be in high school any longer than is absolutely necessary, I assure you. Your life will improve dramatically after high school graduation, and anyone who says 'high school is the best years of your life' is an idiot of the highest caliber. I spent a good portion of my college years hospitalized, and it was still better than high school. You do not want to be held back a year."

"Noted," Danny said, looking vaguely horrified at the prospect. "I'll get going on that homework."

Vlad nodded curtly and left the room. He headed down the hall to Jack and Maddie's bedroom, but of course they hadn't gone to bed yet, so instead he headed down to the lab to say goodbye before he went to his hotel for the night. They had offered him their couch, since they didn't have a guest room, but he had politely refused. It wasn't as if he needed to save money on this trip, and the four-star hotel he'd found was much more comfortable than their old, stained couch.

"Still working into the wee hours, I see," he commented when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Vladdie!" Jack greeted, boisterously as always. "How did it go with Danny."

"It went very well," Vlad replied. "After I told him about my experience, he was willing to open up to me about his—although as I expected, he asked me to keep it between us. Still, I think you'll find his demeanor will start to improve now that he had some one he can relate to. He'll probably never be exactly as he was before, but no one ever is."

Maddie stepped over and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "Thank you Vlad, truly," she said into his ear, and he blushed so hard he feared that Jack might see it through his many layers of foundation. "You're a life-saver."

He cleared his throat when she let him go. Even after all these years of being happily friends with her and Jack, his feelings for her hadn't gone away entirely. They probably never would.

"Think nothing of it," he said. "I'm always happy to come to the aid of my god-children, and to you."

She smiled at him, and Jack gave him a hearty pat on the back that nearly bowled him right over. Another thing that hadn't changed after all these years was that Jack still didn't know his own strength.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I only came down for a brief chat and to say goodbye—"

"No! You're leaving already Vladdie?" Jack looked positively crestfallen.

"Relax, Jack," Vlad said. "I'm only going to my hotel for the night. I'll be back tomorrow. The three of us have a lunch appointment, remember? And I agreed to go bowling with you on Saturday. I'm staying in town for six days, you dope." He shook his head, though he couldn't deny it was just a bit fond.

"Oh, hehe. Right," Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "We'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Wouldn't miss it, Jack," Vlad said. "And it's been a delight as always, Maddie. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Vlad!" they both called up after him as he ascended the basement stairs with a hidden smile.

#danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #badger cereal #vlad plasmius #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #fic #things i wrote #phic phight #phic phight 24 #dp college buddies #college trio

[morallyinept]

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS - A Frankie Morales Christmas One Shot

Summary: Frankie is facing the prospect of a lonely Christmas, and this time of year is particularly difficult for him with maintaining his sobriety. He and the Miller brothers go to a bar on Christmas Eve for festive drinks, and perhaps a chance encounter with you might make Frankie believe again in the magic of Christmas.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 5.9k

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's fluff. You're safe.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - None, this is pure Frankie fluff. The only warning is tooth rot from how sweet it is.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: This might be one of my favourite stories in this Christmas story collection. I love writing some angsty fluff for my boys. 🥰 Cameo's from the Miller brothers too.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

Laughter and festive music spills onto the wet sidewalk from restaurants and bars; a whiff of seasonal spices and cooked meats waft in the air.

Neon lights reflect back into Frankie’s eyes as he traipses alongside Benny and Will, a reserved contemplation etched into his tan features. 

Will can't contain his wild excitement about proposing to his long term girlfriend. "I'm gonna pop the question, boys. Right there tomorrow on Christmas morning," he explains as he sidesteps puddles. 

“About fuckin’ time!” Benny roars, clapping his big bro on the back, as Frankie hides behind a supportive smile in the shadows of his worn and slightly fraying cap. 

“That’s great news,” Frankie says, as he pats his friend’s shoulder affectionately.

“Thanks, Fish.” Will eyes him carefully, noting the tight knot his face has become. “How you doing?”

It’s a daunting prospect, answering a question like that, which feels pretty loaded these days.

Frankie can remember all the times he’s been asked how he’s doing, and all the times he’s lied, convincing everyone that he was, indeed, perfectly fine. A well crafted façade as his life spiralled away from him right under everyone's noses, and the words feel hollower now. 

The white, powdery gap has wedged itself in all of his relationships to note. The strain, and shame, of having and carrying the stigma of an addiction - something that he had tried to convince himself he didn't have for too long - has damaged some of those relationships permanently, most notably the one with his closest friends, his brothers in arms.

The separation caused by his addiction weighs heavily on him; he sees the way they step carefully around him now. Frankie’s acutely aware that the person they knew him to be during his darker days might be vastly different from the Frankie they once called a comrade on the front line.

Frankie's return to the fold of his former, closest friends, is a gritty experience, filled with the raw emotions of both redemption and remorse and the heavy load they drag. The scars run deep, and some days it feels like he won't ever escape the haunting spectre of the person he used to be.

Reunions like this, are like stepping into combat where trust is always the first casualty, and he has to navigate the minefield of scepticism whilst trying not to lose a limb should one detonate in his face.

The estrangement from his military buddies has left wounds on both sides. Benny was genuinely concerned, while Will harboured resentment for the times when Frankie’s struggles had impacted the cohesion of their once tightly knit phalanx. 

The camaraderie that previously thrived in the crucible of combat and beyond, has been fractured by the corrosive effects of his weaknesses. He prepares himself mentally for the conversations that lie ahead, adopting the same meticulous planning mindset he had during his time serving in Delta Force.

Although, a fat lot of good that will do.   

“I’m good, doing alright.” Frankie replies in a tired monotone. 

“Six months, buddy!” Benny says, knocking into him. “That’s more than alright.” 

And Frankie lets a crooked smile slip from lips that are constantly downturned as of late. Benny was the only one to really check in on a regular basis, to help him move what little belongings he had into the shitty apartment the VA had assigned to him after weeks of crashing on Benny’s lumpy couch.

He’s not mad at Will for taking a step back, he gets it; the man is in love and swept up with it, which Frankie is actually pleased about. Will needs a sturdy woman to take care of him when he faces his own darkness trying to claw at him in the middle of the night. 

Pope’s absence is what cuts the deepest; it's been over a year since Tom’s passing in the Andes on that fucking stupid mission, leaving them all to try and pick up the pieces without him, and each of them failing miserably in their own ways. As resilient as Benny is, he still takes the punches in the ring to help quiet the tornadoes in his mind. 

Frankie’s not heard a word from Pope, except for a text message, months ago, informing him he had moved on to Australia. 

“Six months? Fuck. That’s great.” Will agrees. And he seems genuinely pleased.

Frankie nods, head down as he follows along with them. He squeezes the sobriety coin inside his pocket to the point it could absorb fully into his skin. 

Six months into his journey of being clean, the pull of old habits still linger and twitch at his fingers.

The holiday season, with its emotional complexities, is akin to flying in low visibility conditions. Frankie recognises the familiar dreaded terrain of festive traditions, obscured by the fog of past memories and cravings. And navigating his way through this time of year in particular, alone, is something that has stunted his rotary blades in mid-flight.

“Any chance of Pope meeting us here, early Christmas present?” Will asks.

Frankie shakes his head. “No. He’s not back.”

“Still loved up with that gorgeous chick in Aus.” Benny interjects. 

“Shit. Pope in love.” Will chuckles in bewilderment. 

Benny laughs. “Never thought I'd see the day.”

“What about you Fish, you patch things up with Carmela?” Will asks Frankie. 

“That’s long dead in the water.” Frankie replies bitterly as he pulls skin from his bottom lip with his teeth. 

“What about your kid, you’re seeing her for Christmas, right?” Will queries. 

“Carmela's being… obstinate.” Frankie says. 

“Carmela's being a bitch.” Benny corrects. “She got back to you yet?”

Frankie shakes his head and bites down on his cheek.  

“Like I said, bitch.” 

“Come on. That’s the mother of his kid, Ben.” Will interjects, softly.  

“Don’t matter. She’s withholding visitation.” Benny explains.

“What the courts say?” Will addresses Frankie and he shrugs.

“Can’t afford a lawyer so we’re kinda freestylin’ it right now.” He bows his head further, almost tucking his chin to his chest, shoulders hunched up. 

“You know, if you need money-” Will begins.

“Jesus.” Frankie mutters and shakes his head. 

His ex-partner's decision to withhold visitation rights is a gut-wrenching blow, another barricade on the path to rebuilding a fractured life.

The pain of being separated from his daughter, especially at Christmas, only adds another layer of complexity to his struggles, testing the limits of his newfound sobriety.

It cuts deep as he squeezes round the coin tighter now, trying to drown out the voice that reminds him of all of his shortcomings. 

Frankie, the single dad; the recovering addict, the deadbeat. Frankie, who can’t even afford a cheap condo or his own mattress, and can't help but feel a stabbing twinge of loneliness sweeping in beneath the sociability of some drinks on Christmas Eve with his friends.

Man, he fuckin’ hates Christmas, and all the schmaltzy shit that comes with it. Passing by windows lined with glitzy tinsel, he'd like nothing more than to wrap it around his neck and step off the stool. 

He shakes the grisly thought away as his thumb runs over the familiar ridges of the coin. 

Amid jokes and banter, mainly spurred on by Benny, they reach the bustling bar, squeezing through the door. A last get together before Christmas whisks them away with families and significant others, and Frankie goes back to staring at four walls on his own each night.

Frankie nervously checks his phone before he pushes in. The phone in his hand, a cockpit instrument, displaying crucial data for the upcoming flight - his daughter's presence on Christmas day - glancing at the obvious void of being left on read by Carmela.

It's cutting close to the hour, almost nine PM and he still hasn’t a clue about plans for tomorrow, so he taps out another quick message and pushes send with a growl on the cusp of his tongue. 

Well? Can I see her 2morrow or not?

He shoves his phone back in his jacket pocket, along with his hands, grips around the coin in there again, and pushes into the bar after the guys.  

Mismatched, but cosy furniture fills the space, from worn leather booths to tall barstools that line the crowded bar with bodies perched on them.

Laughter and lively chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of holiday cheer from groups engaged in boisterous and animated conversations. Behind the bar, bartenders expertly pour draught beer and craft seasonal cocktails; their hands moving in a dance of mixing, shaking, and smug pouring.

The clinking of ice cubes and the subtle hiss of carbonation adds to the melange of sounds. A tinkling of Slade echoes around the bar, muted out somewhat by the cacophony. 

As Frankie navigates the crowded bar, the festive ambiance a rotor wash, swirling around him and lifting the spirits of those caught in its currents. However, beneath the surface, the turbulence of emotions echo his past experiences where clarity often comes after navigating through complex conditions.

His gaze lingers on the phone again, a lifeline dangling like a rescue hoist, awaiting confirmation that he could airlift his plans for Christmas with his daughter to safety. Instead he’s left in a holding pattern, patiently waiting for clearance to land.

Mierda.

Gritting his teeth, he dodges bodies coming at him.

Unable to find a table, the trio settle to standing at the end of the bar, squeezed in as Benny signals for the bartender as he pulls out his wallet, immersed in the festive chaos orbiting around them.

“So much for a quiet one.” Will smirks at Frankie.

“It’s fuckin’ Christmas eve, man.” Frankie responds with a shrug, taking off his cap, smoothing back his hair and settling it back on again. Curls billow out wildly behind his ears like he’s been electrocuted.

“So tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” Frankie questions.

“Yeah.” Will nods. 

“You nervous?”

“Shitting myself, man.” Will says. 

Glasses of whiskey are pushed into their hands by Benny. “Who’s shittin’?” He asks. 

“Tomorrow.” Will explains. 

“She’s gonna say yes, man. You don’t need to worry. She’s a good girl.” Frankie states taking his drink and sipping it.

He’s only met Will’s partner once and she seemed nice enough. Unmemorable, as he struggles to recall her face, but nice. The sharpness of his drink hits his tongue and warms his mouth. 

“Too good for this asshole.” Benny ribs. 

Frankie glances around the bar idly as Benny lets rip into his brother some more. 

He’s pulled back into the conversation when he feels a light jab in his shoulder. 

"Fish, when are you getting back into the dating game?" Will queries.

Frankie shrugs and his eyes find the floor again, looking at his feet. “I dunno man, I’m not exactly a catch right now.”

“Shut up, you handsome bastard. You just need to get laid.” Benny cajoles. "Fuck dating. Get you some pussy."

"I'm focusing on staying sober and being a dad right now. Or trying to be-” He’s acutely aware his phone hasn’t buzzed in his pocket. 

“Fuck that bitch Carmela, man.” Benny hisses. 

“I did. Look where it got me.” Frankie smirks. 

“You’re on the up, Fish. Stop with the melancholy.” Benny says. 

“You heard back about your licence appeal yet?” Will queries.

“They’re still reviewing it. S’been almost fourteen fuckin’ months. Got a letter last week."

“Shit.” Will says.

“Yeah. My sponsor’s putting in a good word.” Frankie explains. “Reckons it oughta get it rolling now.”

“Fuckin’ A!” Benny grins. 

“I don’t wanna get my hopes up.” Frankie shrugs. “But it could be looking promising.”

“We’ll get you outta that workshop and in the air again!” Benny says. 

“You still wanna fly for the Military?” Will queries, surprised. 

Frankie shakes his head. “Private. Lessons, maybe for hire, that kind of thing.” Frankie explains.

“Fish has got a whole business plan mapped out.” Benny praises. “Even designed a business card.”

“You did.” Frankie corrects. “And you spelt aviation wrong.”

Benny flips him off. 

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” Will says, holding out his glass. “New business venture.”

“Let’s drink to you getting engaged instead,” Frankie counters, feeling prickly. "Salud!"

They chink their glasses together and neck back the whiskey. Benny gathers the empties and leans over the bar again. “Same again?” He asks the guys.

“Yeah. I’ll be back. Gotta take a leak.” Frankie turns towards the direction of the toilets.

He squeezes past clusters of people and pushes through the door that feels sticky on the tips of his fingers.

A waft of ammonia tinged in the air, mixed with the lingering scent of various cleaning agents, assaults his senses. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights barely illuminate the small, cramped space. The walls, once painted a neutral colour, now showcase peeling paint and patches of unidentified grime.

Random graffiti and scratches mar the surface, telling tales of forgotten nights and transient patrons, and Frankie skims his eyes over them as he unzips his flies at the urinal. 

Drying his hands on crunchy, blue paper towels, he pulls out his phone to check again for a message that he already subconsciously knows isn’t there. Sighing, he glances himself in the mirror and stares at his tired complexion. 

The weariness etched in his expression doesn’t diminish the underlying determination. His jaw sets firm, a silent resolve evident even in the tired lines of his face, anger and frustration bubbling inside.

He takes the coin out of his pocket, staring down at it and grounding himself. Remembering to breathe as the vibrations in his skull begin to whir. He tucks it away quickly when the door opens and a couple of guys bundle in, chattering away.  

The bar's atmosphere is electric, and the holiday spirit seems to amplify it with every step.

He bumps into a body on his way out of the bathroom, the encounter is a gentle collision, enough to pause him momentarily as a bright pair of eyes and gentle smile renders him still.

It takes a second for the wetness to register as it seeps through his shirt and jacket and onto his belly skin, cooling it. 

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” You gasp at him, your glass now empty and all over this rugged stranger who’s smiling at you, wiping himself down with his large hands, although it does absolutely nothing at all, and reassuring you it’s alright. 

"My bad, I should’ve looked where I was going." Frankie says, offering a sheepish smile. 

"No, I regularly make a habit of being a klutz.” You assure. “You’re the innocent party.”

“In that case, I’m glad for your lack of co-ordination.” 

“Smooth.” You remark with a grin, eyes twinkling at him in amusement.

“Can I get you another?” Frankie offers.

The accidental spill on his jacket becomes a metaphorical bird strike, a sudden encounter with the unexpected. Yet, much like dealing with a bird strike in flight, Frankie handles it with some flooding, composure, brushing off the impact and continuing on his course. Even if he’s running on the subconscious act of keeping true.

“What? No. I should be buying you one for ruining your shirt.”

“S’not ruined. Just a little damp.” He explains.

“Well, I’m glad. It’s a nice shirt.”

“Now who’s being smooth?” 

“Dude, I live for Fleetwood Mac, okay. I would be devastated if you had to throw it away on my account.”

And suddenly Frankie’s brain envisions you wearing it, the t-shirt depicting his favourite band under his shirt and jacket. Nothing else, but his faded t-shirt that he should have thrown out months ago, as the holes under the armpits get a little wider with each wear, but he can’t bear the thought of parting with it.

He swallows dryly and tries to remember to breathe again. 

“Come on, I insist.” You say. And he doesn't have time to resist or object as you promptly link his arm and drag him towards the bar. 

As you wait for the attention of one of the bartenders, you tilt your head curiously to him. "So, what brings you out on this busy Christmas Eve?" You ask him.

Frankie leans in so you can hear him. “Insanity.”

“Oh, you too?” You smirk.

He chuckles. “My friend’s getting engaged tomorrow. We’re out celebrating.”

“Oh nice, he’s doomed.” You cajole and Frankie nods in agreement. 

“Something like that. What about you?”

“Drinks, work colleagues. Blah. Blah.” You say.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“You’re not. I can’t stand them. Besides, you're much more interesting.”

“I doubt that.” Frankie blushes. 

“Oh come on. You love Fleetwood Mac. I’m already hooked.” You smile. 

He smiles back at you and you notice the deep richness of his eyes stunning you for a moment. He nods just over your head as the bartender approaches, and you turn to order your drinks, breaking the spell. 

“Let me get this.” Frankie insists as he pulls his wallet and thrusts a twenty into the bartender's hand before you can.

“That was supposed to be my round.” You say. 

“Early Christmas present,” he confirms to you with a lazy shrug.

“You play dirty.”

“Surely that’s the only way to play.” He smirks.

“Well, thank you.” You say handing him a glass and you notice a subtle tremor in his fingers as he takes it from you.

There’s a pause between you, a moment where your mutual smiles bleed into the surroundings and turn the noise down.

You glance around the bar as you sip your drink, the colours of Christmas lights twinkling in your irises and Frankie tries his best not to stare at them. But it's difficult because he’s drawn to them, like a magpie in want of something shiny. 

Smiling, you point them out in wonder. “I love all this tacky shit, don’t you?”

Frankie looks around and nods subtly. “We’ve even got mistletoe.” He nods further down the bar at a plastic sprig hanging over the oblivious revellers underneath. 

“That's so cliché. I prefer the subtlety of strategically placed tinsel."

"Ah, a tinsel strategist. Now that's a title. Do you have a manual for that, or is it all instinct?" He asks.

"It's an art form, my friend. Requires a keen eye for Fung Shei and a touch of OCD."

“I’m a bauble man myself.”

You scoff into your drink, choking a little as you giggle and Frankie feels like he’s just been immolated on the spot at the sound of it tittering out of you.

“Is that a euphemism? Should I just cut my losses now and go?”

“Funny.” He smirks.

You pretend to fan yourself, "I try my best. Making handsome guys laugh is just a side gig, you know."

“It’s a look, it’s working for you.” You confirm. "I like me a bit of scruff."

“Handsome? That's the second time tonight I've heard that."

"Really? Look at you, Mr Popular. Am I encroaching on someone else's staked claim of you?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all."

"Good. I wouldn't care if I was anyway." You smile.

"Fighting talk."

"You better believe it, handsome." You chuckle.

"I mean, I’ll take it.” A small pink blush settles in over his nose. 

Frankie baulks. “Well good. I haven't washed this t-shirt for like, eight days…” he laughs.

“Hot.” You laugh back. “But let’s get into the nitty-gritty here.” You say. You thwack your glass onto the bar top as you lean on it, studying him.  

“Alright.” 

"I bet your holiday playlist includes some seriously cheesy tunes. Care to share your guilty pleasures?" You prompt. 

He laughs. "Guilty pleasures? Please, my playlist is a masterpiece. Mariah Carey's 'All I Want for Christmas' is a holiday anthem that frequents. No guilt, only joy."

"Mariah Carey? Bold choice for a man in a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt.”

Frankie shrugs. “I’m eclectic.”

“I respect the commitment. Maybe I'll have to reconsider my stance on disliking holiday music." You say. You swirl the ice around in your glass.

“You don’t like a bit of Mariah? What is wrong with you?” Frankie sneers with a grin as he raises his own glass to his mouth. 

"Everything. I’m a lost cause.”

“I doubt that, querida.” He murmurs. 

“So, what's your go-to holiday movie? This is crucial information." You question.

"Die Hard, obviously. It's a Christmas movie and an action masterpiece. What more could you ask for?"

"A man of macho culture, I see. I concur. Die Hard, it is. Now we just need to settle the pineapple-on-pizza debate, and we'll be golden." You smirk. “And there is a correct answer by the way…”

The banter with you stirs something raw within Frankie - he can feel it - a feeling he hasn't experienced in a while. A long while.

Your smile and the daring glimmer in your eyes at him chokes him up in a solar flare; he’s finding it hard to breathe. 

It’s a gritty, unfiltered connection that cuts through the tarnished facade he often wears, but comes surprisingly natural.

The jokes and playful challenges become a form of rebellion against the loneliness that has silently plagued him.

In the midst of the crowded bar and flashing Christmas lights, Frankie finds a refuge in your shared banter - a reprieve from the weight of his own battles that have been pushed aside like the empties stacking on the bar top between you.

Your sharp wit and unabashed humour becomes a tonic for the rough edges that shape him, a remedy of a soothing salve for the scars he carries.

As Frankie leans into the quips and jokes, he finds solace in the cracks of vulnerability it exposes, instead of rushing to seal them back up.

The conversation isn't just light-hearted snaps coated in something flirtatious; it’s a reminder that, sometimes, the least expected connections are the ones that break through the walls built around ourselves, offering a chance at genuine, unfiltered connectivity in the midst of the holiday chaos.

It pulls him back sharply into reality and everything comes flooding back. Looking at you, the way you look back at him as though something incredible has landed in your lap, stunts him.

He shares another drink with you, paying for it again at your insistence that he doesn’t have to, even play fighting him to see who can get their note into the bartender's hand first. Your laugh is infectious as it warms his blood.

And then he remembers he’s left his friends hanging at the top of the bar as he catches their prying grins, gurning animatedly at him. 

He can’t drag you down with him, he’s being ridiculous, selfish even. 

“Okay. Yeah, I should show my face again I guess.” 

“I should probably let you get back to your colleagues.” Frankie says, and turns as you hop off the stool. 

He realises only now, that his phone still hasn't buzzed in his pocket.

He wonders if that’s disappointment in your voice, a subtle resonance reaching out to tug him back by the collar of his unwashed t-shirt. 

“It was really nice talking to you.” You say, earnestly. 

“And you.” He agrees, nodding. 

“Have a good evening.” You say, with a warm smile and make your way back to your table.

“You too.” Frankie says, floundering. 

Fuck. 

He just let you walk away. Watches you go back to the table, no fight in him. Carmela was right, maybe he has no passion anymore. 

He retreats back towards the guys at the end of the bar who are stunned and wide-eyed at his return.

“Dude!” Benny scolds. 

“Did you get her number?” Will asks as Frankie approaches, hands shoved in pockets. 

Frankie shakes his head and bows it again. “No.”

“Are you crazy? Go back over there and ask her for it, she clearly likes you, man.” Will encourages.

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck it. I’ll do it. I’m your wingman, Fish.” Benny knocks his drink back bracing himself for manoeuvre, but Will tugs on his bicep. 

“Leave it.” He says, noting Frankie’s unease. 

Frankie tosses a weary glance over his shoulder towards your direction and catches you glancing back. You smile and he smiles back thinly. 

“I need another drink,” he says back to the boys. 

“You alright, man?” Will says, putting his arm over his shoulder. 

“Yeah.” Frankie sighs.

Although he’s pretty certain he’s sweating all over, and that Will can feel him shaking. 

A while later and the boys have found a small table that they’re crowded around.

Frankie’s not sure how many he’s had, but he’s starting to feel warm and his arms are tingling from the alcohol consumption. 

Something he knows he probably shouldn’t do.

“Fish,” Benny nods over his shoulder and Frankie turns to see you approaching gingerly, tossing your purse over your shoulder. 

He can just hear his sponsor's nagging voice scolding him in his ear about other vices being the gateway back to the coke, Francisco. But he’s never had a problem with booze, never really getting wasted beyond all control.

He always stops when his fingers start to feel numb. 

“Hi,” you say, warmly. 

“Hey,” Frankie greets, immediately standing up like he’s been tasered.

You smile at the boys who look back at you grinning behind their tumblers as they sup. 

“Urm, I’m about to head off. I don’t live too far from here, I just wondered if perhaps you’d want to walk me home?” You offer to Frankie.

“These streets ain’t safe for a woman on her own, Fish.” Benny pipes up and Will nudges him sharply in the rib cage. 

“Fish?” You query with a smile.

“Nickname.” Frankie says with cheeks turning pink again.

“Well, you can tell me about it on the way.” You suggest with those sparkling eyes again, and Frankie swears he’s never seen a pair like them before.

They literally take his breath away. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” Frankie says, he puts his glass down on the table. “I’ll walk you home, hermosa.”

“Great.” You smile and head towards the door.

Frankie glances back at the boys, who clearly can’t contain their excitement as they laugh and punch the air, and Frankie simply flips them the bird discreetly as he follows behind you. 

“So, you’re Spanish?” You query once outside in the cool air.

“Texan. I'm from from El Paso. But beyond that it’s a mix of Mexican and some Colombian thrown in.”

“That’s cool.” You smile.

“What about you, where are you from?” He queries as he throws his hands inside his pockets. The weight of his phone tugs lightly at the frustration spiking on the edge of his mind. 

“Here. Born and raised. I’ve not seen you around before though.” 

“Should you have?”

“It's a small town.” You remark. 

“I’ve been out of it for a while.”

“Just moved back?” You ask. 

“No. I was… in the military for a while and then-” he pauses as you walk along together.

“Ah, the nickname. Fish.”

“Catfish.”

“Dare I ask?”

Frankie smiles. “Used to fish a lot with my pop growing up. Caught a big fish once, a catfish, that almost threw me overboard. It was twice my size. Told the guys about it one night when we were on duty, it kind of stuck.” Frankie explains with a wily smirk.

“Nice. What did you do in the military?” You question genuinely enthralled to hear him speak. 

“Pilot. Helicopters, mostly.”

“Oh wow, you fly?” 

He nods subtly. “Used to.”

“So, you’re not in the army anymore?”

“Special Ops. And no, retired.” 

“You’re not old enough to retire surely,” you say with a smile. 

He shrugs. “Feels like it sometimes.”

You smile at him as you clutch your hands over your purse and he walks with his hands fisted in his pockets. Grasping tightly around the coin and his phone in equal measure. 

“So you live close by?” He queries.

“Yeah. A shitty apartment block on third. Work’s close by too. Glad I can walk because my car packed up weeks ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I'm a triple threat.” You say and he laughs. 

“You not got it fixed?” Frankie enquires.

“Can’t afford it right now. It’s a sore subject.” You say bitterly.

“Say no more.” He smiles. “I can... take a look, if you want?”

You turn to him with a small, coy smile. “Do helicopter pilots know how to fix cars?”

“It’s a combustion engine. They’re all pretty much the same.” He shrugs. 

“Well, then. I might take you up on that, Pilot.” You say glancing at him and he smiles. 

“So, obvious question, but why are you alone on Christmas?” You ask him. 

You both walk along with some comforting sense of ease. As you stroll through the quiet streets, the banter that had filled the bar now gives way to a more subdued, yet charged atmosphere.

The occasional laughter and shared glances add a layer of unspoken intimacy, a peep of vulnerability; a departure from the boisterous energy of the crowded bar you’ve just left that settles into your pores with ease.

Frankie glances at you with a knotted tongue.

"No ring, you’re not married. Unless you are, and you’re a player. But you don’t strike me as the type.”

“Not a player.” He confirms with a side smile.

"Divorced?"

"Not lucky enough to have been married yet." He confirms.

“And you’re not gay. Despite a penchant for baubles.”

He laughs. “Definitely not gay.”

“Good.” You chuckle.

“How about you? What’s your situation?” Frankie questions tentatively.

“Lonely.” You say after a few moments to deliberate, and he feels the sharpness of your choice of descriptive pierce his skin.

“I’m tired of being the awkward third wheel in my group of friends.” You say.

“You too, huh?” Frankie smiles gently at you and you smile back nodding.

And the sincerity in your eyes mirrors his own. He knows how that feels, only too well. 

“Me too.” He agrees. 

“Any existing Christmas plans tomorrow?” You ask as you both round off the street and down another. 

“Hoping… to see my daughter.” He braves. 

The unspoken truth about his life - being a single dad and probably a failure at it too - is out there now, and he wishes he could cram the scathing truths back into his mouth when you don’t say anything.

He expects you to recoil.

Expects you to say thanks, but you’ll walk the rest of your way by yourself. He comes with baggage, so much more than what your little, dainty purse is equipped to carry.

He can’t expect you to shoulder the weight of his as well.

When you allow him to hang there, suspended in the awkwardness of laying himself bare. 

He expects a change in your expression, waits for it. That subtle shift that often accompanies the revelation of such personal details. 

But instead, you simply nod and smile curiously; a reassuring gesture that eases the tension instantly in his shoulders.

“That’s cute. How old is she?” You query and your interest seems genuine. 

“Almost two.” He replies. 

“So you’re a daddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Hot.” You smirk. And he laughs. 

“I don’t know about that.” 

“I think so.” You confirm.

“Yeah?” He queries with raised eyebrows. 

“Absolutely.”

"You got kids?" Frankie asks, feeling his cheeks burn.

You snort. "Please. I'm not insane. I can barely take care of myself."

You both laugh as you come to a stop outside an apartment block.

“So, this is me.” You say, turning to him. 

“Nice.” Frankie says inspecting the building.

Your apartment block stands at the end of a weathered street, surrounded by buildings that bear the scars of time and neglect. It’s a little shabby and run down with yellowing lights that emanate from inside the lobby doors.

"It's really not nice. It's not much, but it's home, I guess." You say, clearly embarrassed about the state of it. 

“That's all that matters, trust me.” Frankie says. It’s far more than he’s had of late.

“I’d invite you in, but I’ve had a bit too much to drink.” You say, sheepishly.

“I wouldn’t come in because you’ve had a bit too much to drink.” He clarifies.

“A gentleman. That’s rare these days.”

“That I am, ma’am.” He says, saluting with two fingers under his cap gently.

You rummage in your purse for your keys. “Well, thank you for wal-”

“Have dinner with me?” Frankie interrupts. “I mean, if you’d like to, I'd like to take you out for some dinner?”

You smile widely and it takes his breath from his lungs. “I’d really like that.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod smiling. “Yeah. Give me your phone.” 

He hands it over and you put your number in there. You then call it from his phone and pull yours out of your purse. Fleetwood Mac’s Gypsy plays as your ringtone until you silence it. 

“That’s my favourite song.” Frankie smiles. 

“Mine too. Told you I had good taste in music.”

The air between you both shimmers with the unspoken tension of another, new shared commonality. The banter and laughter has woven in a comfortable bind around you both, seemingly pulling you both in tighter.

Charged with a quiet anticipation, the kind that precedes an intimate moment, your eyes meet, a silent agreement passing between you both as you instinctively step forward and so does he, without hesitation.

Leaning in, the gentle press of his lips against yours is soft, breaching. 

A delicate meeting of lips that convey a sense of mutual understanding, some semblance of painful hesitation lying on the outskirts, that this is truly a Christmas miracle of some kind. 

The cold night air contrasts with the warmth exchanged in that fleeting touch, creating a sensation that’s both electrifying and comforting.

And mildly terrifying. 

Frankie can feel himself tremble as you moan gently into his mouth, seeking you out with an explorative tongue. 

His heart is racing, he’s convinced you can hear it clattering around bruised ribs as it fills his ears with a thumping bass. 

Your hands clutch onto his arms, winding up the length and thickness of them gently, carefully feeling him out too.

His hands settle tentatively on your waist, pulling you into him further as he tastes you.

You lean up on tiptoes, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as you kiss him with more fervour, enjoying the way he tastes, the way he sounds as he grunts into you hungrily.

He can feel himself stiffen, the oncoming rush of blood coursing through his body and centering in the length of his cock.

Fuck, it’s been too long since he’s felt a rush like this. One that wasn’t chemical and burned away the cilia in his nostrils. 

The way his hands clutch onto you desperately as if he’s convinced you’re going to fly away. And the way you hold onto him too, trying to convince yourself that he’s real as your fingers scratch gently into the subtle greying hairs on his cheek. 

You feel the visor of his cap clip your forehead and you pull back giggling a little as he chuckles. You plant another kiss on the side of his scruffy face, his beard soft and fuzzy against your lips. 

“That was really nice,” you whisper in awe.

“Yeah.” Frankie agrees, his thumb stroking across your cheek. 

“I’ve never kissed a Catfish before.” You muse.

He snorts and you giggle. "How was it?"

"Good. Real good." You smile. “Thank you for walking me home.”

“My pleasure, hermosa.” He kisses your mouth again, a delicate lingering smooch before you reach in to pull out your keys. 

“Get yourself inside. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

He watches you walk up the steps, unlocking the door and pushing it open with your behind as you turn to smile at him.

You nod enthusiastically. “You better.”

"I will be, don't you worry." He says, smiling and blushing further.

“Merry Christmas, Pilot!” You call out to him. 

He waves, smiling. Frankie doesn’t leave until the door closes behind you. 

He pulls it out. There's a message from Benny that he didn’t feel come through:

He walks up the street, trying to contain the grin on his lips that now make his jaw ache. His body feeling like it could give way any second.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

You score yet?

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. He types out another message to Carmela, noting her lack of response, despite clearly reading his messages.

And he feels that he can finally see straight. 

I’ll b ova 2morrow whether u like it or not. I’m seeing my daughter on xmas day. If u think that I won't fight u 4 joint custody, ur wrong.

His phone buzzes again. A response from her almost immediately.

FINE. U can stay for some lunch. 2pm.

Frankie smiles again, tapping out a message, but it's not a response to Carmela. 

Instead, Frankie types out a message to you:

Merry Christmas, hermosa x

You message back a minute later:

All I want for Christmas is you, Pilot. Merry Christmas from me & Mariah xx

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal charcters #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x you #christmas stories #jett's writing

[nhothicket]

Ever create a band au even though you cant draw instruments?

more info below the cut :>

Meet Bdubs, 38, stage name BdoubleO - Boomer is often mistaken for his first name, but is just another nickname for the pile. Infamous online, if it weren't for the fact that he makes disgustingly good music he would probably have more hate followers than genuine fans. The line between charming asshole and just asshole is one he fails to tread lightly most days, but he's mostly harmless. Let's just say the Bdoubleo could also stand for boorish. A bit of a sellout, but he enjoys what he does and many appreciate his extremely.. candid attitude. Best likened to a cartoon villain dressed as a rockstar, with the ego to match. (It's usually his unrelenting pretentiousness that gets him into Twitter spats.)

Thank you @foxden-frontier for always helping out with my stupid aus ^v^

Annoying at worst, unfortunately very charismatic at best. You could say he's a softie at heart, but that implies its at all difficult to spot. Once he's done "clapping back at all the haters", in person he's still got a temper (he thinks he has a bad boy reputation to uphold) but is enthusiastically friendly.

Etho, 32, resident keytarist of creatively named band Canadian Bacon. Joined by his two best friends, Pause the frontman and bassist, and Beef their drummer. A deceptively popular band if judging by their permanent rough draft name and their nerdy-college-student dress code. Etho himself is just a guy who likes playing music with his buddies, their hobby having blown up under their noses. Now, as an unfortunately successful touring artist, Etho's anonymity is scarce, but he continues to wear his mask to discourage widespread photos of his face. In spirit. He's concerned about having his face plastered all over fan accounts, which still occurs, but a perk of having a completely rabid fanbase is that many will defend your boundaries to their last dying breath. Like his face, his legal name is out and about online, but its similarly discouraged. Best likened to just a guy.

If asked on the subject of his scar, the entire band has various different whimsical stories, brand new everytime. His lack of internet presence means Pause and Beef are free to make up whatever misinformation about him as they please completely unchecked (in jest of course), and they do take advantage of that. Many of these alternative facts are passed around on wikis and in fan circles.

To say Bdubs is jealous of Canadian Bacon's popularity is an understatement. They weren't even trying at all and yet they're the hot shit? But instead of putting that jealousy to hatred (which he had considered of course) he's instead set himself on proving himself. And if that means impressing Etho then so be it. Why does it mean impressing Etho? Good question, never ask it again. They say keep your enemies close, and Bdubs' enemies don't deserve personal space.

As it turns out, Etho wasn't too difficult to impress or maybe Bdubs was just that amazing. Either way, they end up hitting it off. Their friendship is an interesting one, mostly because Etho's fans basically hunt Bdubs for sport online. We're talking scribbled out of pictures, get behind me, #FreeEtho. Etho thinks he seems pretty cool though, if not a bit much sometimes, so no harm no foul.

Okay, rapid fire, some other notes for this au.

> Etho's legal name is Ethel. Because it is. My heart is so set on it. But if you're boring, Ethan or Ezekiel or something work too I guess.

> Etho's keytar mimics a more traditional guitar in most cases, though he's known to experiment a lot with how far he can push that.

> Etho's scar is from a mugging in this au, not a very fun story to tell. Beef practicing his brand new razor blade throwing hobby or fighting a bear to beat Pause in a bet is much more entertaining.

> Canadian Bacon is meant to have a manager, but I couldn't think of anyone I felt fit. Just a note.

> Bdubs has a habit of grabbing Etho by his tie and pulling him down to his level or otherwise using it as a leash. Etho doesn't usually wear the tie outside of show stuff or interviews, but he wears it around Bdubs because thinks its funny. When there's no tie that doesn't stop Bdubs, collars and hoodie strings are subject to the same usage.

> Etho isn't aware of how infamous Bdubs is when they meet as they meet at a festival with a big group of other musicians. Most of which already know Bdubs as his more excitable friendly self. He only finds out later when Bdubs complains about Etho's fans flaming him anytime he mentions him.

> Bdubs still has a self-imposed curfew, 10pm every night unless it conflicts with a show. He needs his beauty sleep.

> The trigger reason for the animosity toward Bdubs is due to being blamed by fans for the split of his last band that had a pretty hardcore cult following (OOG, I've not named their band yet), and that has since snowballed into what it is today, despite his actions being relatively harmless. To note, this was not an assumption at all promoted by either party, it was entirely a fanmade judgement.

> For those who can, picture s5 jungle Bdubs mixed with drunken OOG(E) ctm maps for his approximate personality. Still goofy but with a sharper tongue and a lot worse of a temper.

> Originally I considered Cleo as Bdubs' manager so he's not all alone in narrative sense, I still think it's not a bad idea I'd love to see her chew him out for acting like a moron. Ren or Scar would be also be options for manager.

> Bdubs needs a touring band, but I'm not well versed enough in the hermits to actually pick one out. Just a note.

Okay, that's most of it! There's some more pg-13 headcanons for this au, along the lines of fuck yeah rock'n roll lifestyle, but it's not really important I'm sure just that is enough to get the gist of it. Thank you for reading this overly long note. ^v~

#Definitely expect more stupid aus - ive been having a lot of fun throwing them into random scenarios #ive been watching a lot of older bdubs content lately and ive been loving his attitude #band au #bdubs #etho #birdie art #birdie writing #bdoubleo #bdoubleo100 #hope i did the alt text right - let me know if it needs fixing #bdouble100 fanart #bdoubleo fanart #ethoslab fanart #etho fanart #ethoslab #hermitcraft fanart #divorce duo

[mtkay13]

Affection running deep

(^ me pretending I title my illustrations) More info below! It's a bit personal and fandom related.

So WKX likes to bite. Let's be honest, from what I know, most priest "gong"'s do, so this is more a priest thing than a WKX thing--but if we look at TYK in a vacuum, we can still just say that it's a WKX thing (and, coincidentally, in Qi Ye, a Wuxi thing 🤭) It's pretty delightful, isn't it, to think that ZZS will permanently bear the scar of WKX's deep bite in his wrist... I'm going to use this piece as an opportunity to talk a bit about the permanent mark that TYK and QY have been carving into me for the past year and a half, then.

Funnily enough, although I started sketching and making a few illustrations here and there before, I consider that the infamous bite is my real "entry" in this fandom, when I made the animatic based on the scene in the audio drama. It's to this day my most viewed piece, and is sort of what made me... "known" as an artist in the fandom, I guess.

Although I've always devoted the most energy to personal projects, I'm no stranger to being a dedicated fan, even though this is my first real, "public" fandom experience. And honestly, personal and fandom projects combined, the animatic is the biggest, most ambitious work I had ever done so far for something not work-related. It was exhausting, and I almost succumbed to burnout after I finished it (just because, combined with work, it got too much). Ironically, it's the state I found myself in afterwards that made me enjoy rereading TYK in a way I never had before.

It's hard to say, whether I let TYK's fangs sink in my throat, or if I was the one to latch on and not let go ever since; but my life has certainly been changed by it.

I often forget about the bite scene; about the bite, in general. It's rarely ever one of the scenes that I think about spontaneously--and I rarely think about drawing the bite scar. Maybe because I've always thought it was a more typical scene? Maybe because on the surface I didn't resonate that much with it? And yet, as I'm going through really rough times right now, this new piece is what I chose to draw yesterday. A bit more than a year ago, when work felt like it was completely consuming me, this is the scene I chose to animate. I'm not sure there is a point in diving too deeply in this. Maybe, more than I would have assumed, I resonate with the desperation and hope that this scene carries. I'm glad I got here, in this fandom. It has had its very difficult moments, in many different ways, and I've discovered new sources of anxiety along the way--but at the same time, I've discovered many joys that I had never known before, and I think it's worth it. I'm grateful for those books to be in my life--grateful for Wen Kexing, for Zhou Zishu, and all the other characters, to be in my life. But of course, more than that, I'm incredibly grateful for the people I met, for the people who spend time with me, who cheer on me and let me cheer on them. Thanks everyone, for being there, and helping me form memories of better days that I can always look forward to.

I'm glad I'm here.

#tian ya ke #zhou zishu #wen kexing #tyk #wenzhou #meta #personal thoughts

[papaver-decervicatus]

Headcanons- König (featuring a bit of Sebastian Krueger)

Authors Note: Full disclosure, at this point König is basically an OC of mine with how specifically I think of him. Which, in fairness, cannot be helped when his entire characterization is limited to 20 mins of voice lines, 131 words in his bio, and multiplayer animations exclusively. I feel similarly about a lot of the other SpecGru/KorTac operators but König is definetely the most fleshed out because I've been writing a lot about him (at this point, like 30k words extended universe thing whoo-ee.)

A tag for the lovely @kneelingshadowsalome who has inspired me to write the above mentioned story and all this silly little world building about one of our favorite masked murder men~! Thanks for being so kind and pushing me to publish my work after so long ❣️

⚠️TW: Mentions of abuse, murder, undiagnosed mental struggles, ableism (?), sexual assault, and human trafficking

Birthday, March 15th, 1982

Full name: Julius Kilgore Doss

Early Life and Backstory

Born and raised in the slums of Vienna, Austria to a poor family. His father was frequently unemployed but focused on manual labor jobs (he was also like 6'10 like his son,) and his mother worked various hospitality jobs.

He gets his first name from being born on the Ides of March.

Teasingly called “Kaiser” as a child for his name. This resulted in a minor obsession with Roman history in an attempt to disprove these accusations. That failed.

Result of a “baby trap” from his father. His parents got married when he was 3 years old.

He is an only child, and he was an incredibly complicated pregnancy. His mother was on bed rest for two trimesters.

He was born with a pretty severe cleft palette, this was the original cause of his bullying

When König was 12 or so he got his cleft palate surgically corrected, but he got permanent scarring from the event. 

This did not help his bullying. The site became infected and required multiple follow-up surgeries to correct. 

He was severely abused by his father, who would frequently intentionally scar König in an attempt to “toughen” his “shy” son up. 

The behaviors he was trying to correct were just König’s undiagnosed neurodivergence and the abuse did nothing but make König retreat further into himself. 

Undiagnosed au/dhd. Primarily manifests in masking in a need of control of his environment.

As much as he desires company, he has such a hard time relating to others (not because he lacks empathy, but he experiences it differently) he tends to be a loner save a few very close loved ones. 

Sebastian Krueger is his mother’s brother’s son. Krueger's father was in the military. 

Originally joined the military to get away from his hell of home life at Krueger's father's recommendation. Has re-enlisted ever since.

König is 3 years older than Krueger (March 29th, 1985)  and the two grew up together.

Krueger also had a little sister but she died in a car accident at 11 along with his mom. From then on, Krueger's father, König’s mother, and father, Krueger and König all lived in a medium-sized flat in Vienna. The two shared bedrooms often. 

Krueger was well known as a serial delinquent and general creep when they were growing up. Despite his harsh reputation, König always stood up for him (which did not help his bullying). The only time he didn’t was when he beat Krueger to a bloody pulp for attempting to assault a girl. 

Krueger never attempted that again and later thanked König reluctantly for setting him straight before he did something really stupid. 

Krueger never stood up for König in front of his face for fear of showing weakness but definitely threw some punches behind his back in his stead (which further isolated König). 

When he was 19 and came back from his first deployment, Krueger's father had a mental break and lit the flat on fire after murdering König’s father. Krueger was out at the time. 

He got in time to save his mother, but he gained third-degree scars on the right side of his face, cheek, and over a lot of his legs. 

Super insecure about it, and avoids wearing shorts like the plague.

Will never admit it, super fucking glad his dad died. 

Very close with his mother's mother, his Oma. When she got too old to live on her own, she moved in with König’s mom and she gave König her house near Gosau, Austria.

Credits the metal scene as single-handedly saving his life at 13. He went to jump off a bridge and was talked down by a local metal band bass player who was 17 at the time. The two became friends and König joined the metal scene. 

He became sort of a stagehand for local bands and bulked up as a result. Found he liked working out (because people were less likely to make fun of him) so he kept at it. 

Got the nickname “König” from underground bare-knuckle boxing rings. He was scouted at a bar during a fight at 15 (he was 6’3 at the time, and still growing) where he beat up someone for attempting to spike a girl's drink when he was there helping his bass player friend. 

He fought for around 3 years on and off and never lost a fight. He made decent money and learned a lot of stuff about sparring in the process. 

He didn’t stop his tendency for fighting in the service and got reprimanded a couple of times for picking fights with soldiers he disagreed with. 

Has yet to lose a one-on-one spar with another man, but hasn’t fought anyone outside of training sparring in years.

Appearance

6’10 and 280lbs at his peak, trapezoid body type. Athleticism most resembles a Hockey Player or a Boxer. Has lost some musculature with age but definitely stays on top of it.

His face is partially numb because of all the surgeries to correct his cleft palate and all the scarring.

 Even though it’s been years since any trauma to the area, he has sort of a “disquieting effect” because he doesn’t emote properly from the numbness. Mostly just numb around the bottom of his “Greek-style” nose and through his burn scars. Smiles appear lopsided as a result

Strawberry blond, pin-straight hair, that gets darker when he’s deployed because the hood blocks sunlight bleaching. 

As a teenager he let it grow down to his shoulders because he was involved in the local Vienna metal scene, when he joined the military he cut it short. Doesn’t care because no one sees it anyways. It’s usually in a crew-cut style. 

Hair has thinned as he's gotten older, will probably bald at some point (but I hold onto hope that that one person on twitter who teased that his model does actually have hair is right because I think it would be funny for him to have an elaborate braid or something)

He has bunny teeth that he never bothered getting corrected because he was bullied so badly he kind of gave up on vanity. 

Has stretch marks all over his body because he’s so massive, they tend to act up during the winter. 

He is not vain enough to do anything about them besides moisturizing when needed. 

Generally does the bare minimum extra besides keeping himself clean. 

Uses generic military-grade laundry soap, generic antiperspirant, and unscented lotion, but he does use spruce-scented aftershave and tea tree shampoo. 

Likes having facial hair, but rarely gets to. 

Plenty of Freckles, beauty marks, moles, etc. beige cool-toned skin otherwise. 

Has various tattoos but no piercings. Tattoos include

Skull with a crown on his left shoulder

Trash polka war scene sleeve on his right arm through the shoulder. 

Bleeding Laurel crown on his sternum

Dagger at the base of his neck 

Various basic things like a lion, some roses, a couple of guns

Does not wear the hood when not on duty, it was originally a last minute addition to his uniform for anonymity when in the field working with terrorists.

General

Blood type is AB+

Contrary to popular belief, is not shy so much as he is awkward. Has built up a sarcastic, cocky, and harsh persona to avoid (what is in his mind) inevitable heartbreak and betrayal by those closest to him. 

Genuinely cocky. He believes his own hype on that front. 

Actually, a big teddy bear but, next to nobody gets close enough to him to find that out. 

He (probably) has ADHD that manifests in nervous movement. 

Never got tested, never will. 

Struggles with anxiety that leads to depression, but the military was decently good for his mental health because of the strict scheduling and forced camaraderie.

Does not have a temper problem as much as he has an impulse problem. He doesn’t get into fights because he’s angry, he gets into fights because he’s a cocky bastard who knows he’ll win and he wants to speed up the process of others leaving him alone/deferring to his plans

The big difference between König and Krueger is that König wants control over his surroundings and others to be comfortable, and Krueger wants others to be uncomfortable and he wants control over others and he doesn’t care about his surroundings.  

König mostly wants to throw his weight around to get left on his own, and Krueger wants to manipulate others to do his bidding. 

König would solve an ethical disagreement by explaining himself until he came to blows with the other party. 

Krueger would go behind their back once he knew he wasn’t going to get his way, but wouldn’t result in physical violence immediately. 

Krueger needs other people to feel powerful and in control; he doesn’t really believe that he has an equal or a superior. He thinks in terms of leverage and power. 

König feels less powerful and in control when he has a ton of other people in the mix: he doesn’t like the unknown variable of a possible weak link. He thinks in terms of self-sufficiency and sacrifice. 

Wanted to be a sniper because the position is a solitary one, he wants to be put in positions where he doesn’t have to trust other people because he simply does not trust other people 

He is a really good shot

Often Times gets into little skirmishes with snipers because of jealousy 

Another reason he couldn’t be a sniper was his red/green colorblindness. It’s moderate to severe. 

He is a people watcher, he is genuinely concerned with the people around him. Will remember even the smallest details if he’s close to someone (which is a hard position to earn.)

Has a very duplicitous way about him. Cunning, ruthless, and bloodthirsty on the field but in reality he’s a very agitated, demure sort of guy off the clock, especially in crowds.

 Gets his “berserker” energy out on the battlefield. Is typically much more relaxed in “civilian” life or when in leadership positions. 

Chronically the instructor who starts off making every recruit shit themselves but becomes a base favorite after basic training when he opens up and shreds a bass solo at drunk karaoke night

He hates civilian life for more than 6 months at a time. If he has to go much longer than that without doing something related to field work he gets incredibly antsy and like. Decides to build a whole ass barn on his property from scratch because he always has to have something to do. 

Was promoted to Colonel incredibly young (32) for the position due to his exemplary ability as an insertions specialist and as a leader. Never attempted a rank above it because of forced retirement requirements. 

The only reason I can personally see my version of König in KorTac is because somewhere along the line he fucked up and was either going to be forcibly retired or put out of active combat in the Austrian Special Forces. 

You don’t become a Colonel in the military for fun and desert for merc work, and shitty merc work at that. 

More than likely I think he was supposed to retire and that made him have a midlife crisis because König doesn’t see himself as a person, he sees himself as a soldier. Without the army, he’s nothing. He needs that stability, that outlet, that free pass at total carnage- so when the army told him he had to call it quits, he “retired” and went to KorTac under the specific condition that his name not get used for fear of tarnishing the Austrian special forces. 

Not a particularly big “Austrian culture” nut but he has his moments. 

Prefers Austrian foods that he grew up with, likes beer a lot (and has gotten drunk only once in his life because he’s. Fuckoff massive,) and doesn’t care about culture/history all that much. 

He more or less just finds comfort in stuff that reminds him of the happier parts of his childhood, mostly the mountains. 

König considers himself “traditional” in the sense that he doesn’t believe women should be on the front lines of combat. If he has to attack an enemy woman, he much prefers it to be with a gun at long range. 

Doesn’t necessarily think of women as “lesser” instead he firmly believes that they are superior to men because they are better humans, less violent, etc. 

The number one hatred in life is men who are sex traffickers. 

Hatred was acquired from his work.

Has had various stints in therapy because of what he’s seen.

Fond memories of the house he inherited from his Oma It’s where he lives when not deployed. 

He also has a decently expensive townhouse in Vienna, mostly from when he was a colonel and he needed to be close to Vienna for work-related reasons. 

Has a shitton of money from his work that he just doesn’t spend on anything. Drives a shitty car, and inherited a nice house, he doesn’t have anything to spend it on so he ends up giving most of it to his mom, grandma, and local charities. Still always has a ton left over. 

Is a lumberjack and carpenter for hobbies, and built most of the furniture in the house. 

Very much enjoys the alpine lifestyle. Hunts his own game, leatherworks, the whole nine yards. 

This bitch cannot draw. Stick figures that look like marks dogs made with pens in their teeth. Awful, awful, awful at drawing. 

Very much an “audio person” who can remember anything he’s heard but has sort of a terrible sight memory. 

His handwriting is so bad it puts 6-year-olds to shame. 

Not overly religious, but believes in god, more as a “wow. What a sicko. Makin everything then fucking it up” sort of way. Prays on occasion. 

Doesn’t watch tv or movies. Would rather listen to music, go hiking, or read nonfiction books in his free time. 

Small psychology fascination. He’s read a lot of early psychology essays, he’s the kind of guy who likes to read shit from Freud and go “I’m bad but thank god I’m not this fucked up”

The punchline, of course, is that he is that fucked up.

The most expensive thing he owns (discounting his guns, knives, car, or house) is a custom long-double neck electric bass. 

Her name is Wulkyrie

Extensive custom knife collection. Finds cleaning them soothing. 

His favorite is a Custom Glock Field Knife that is 10 inches long, has a serrated edge on the bottom, and has a red hand chord he wrapped himself. 

Has the engraving of an Edelweiss flower at the base, her name is Kaiserin (empress) 

She is his prized possession. Goes nowhere without it. 

He also has a gun collection. It is much smaller due to firearm restrictions, but he certainly has many more than is necessary. 

Mostly hunting rifles. Probably also has a custom game bow. 

He can handle being a leader, but he does not enjoy it. He hates being under people, too. He is such a good leader, though, because he hates the position and the power that comes with it, so his troops are the most self-sufficient, inventive, and well-trained platoon in the army at any given time. He creates other leaders because he’s a very selfless commander. 

Believes the mark of a great leader is not the willingness to lead, but instead the reluctance to let others get hurt. The only thing he hates more than having someone tell him what to do is letting down someone beneath him. 

He’s taken the fall for many of his subordinates' screw-ups, but he’s an all-or-nothing guy. If you’re not loyal to him, your ass is grass. 

Bonus! Romance HCs (very very very slightly NSFW)

Gave up on dating early in his military career. He had a couple of short-term girlfriends, each he ended upon realizing he probably couldn’t be there for them like they wanted. 

Not sexually inexperienced, but rarely has partners more than once or twice. Has had sex with ten different people in his life tops. 

Simultaneously very badly wants to and is completely terrified of being a father. Should the stars align, he’d want nothing more than to have a full house with a lovely wife and a gaggle of little ones in the Alps. 

Would want a traditional Austrian wedding, especially fond of the “bride stealing” tradition. 

preferably a capable woman he wouldn’t have to worry about leaving in the mountains, would also probably only end up with a pretty extroverted partner who pursued him first.

They fell first, he fell much much much much harder. Admires her from afar for a long time but doesn’t think he’s worthy so he never makes the first move. Once he realizes that she’s not going anywhere and can handle herself, he’s violently loyal. 

Also desperately wants a partner who is less strong than him so he can feel like his strength can be put to good use in protecting them. 

Has a marking fixation, clothing, jewelry, hickies, bruises, cum, etc. 

Anniversary presents include modest but expensive jewelry, knives, tools, and replacement bed frames for the ones that. Got broken. Whoops! 

Love languages are receiving physical touch and words of affirmation. Giving is physical touch and acts of service.

#navigation -> headcanon tag #könig mw2 #könig cod #cod mwii #könig

[emo-batboy]

I know a lot of people want to see Harvey Dent’s origin in the future movies and maybe even Harley Quinn being “friends” or unwilling acquaintances with Battinson, and I really want those too because they’re such good characters…but I was thinking…what if it already happened?

Batman started out about 5 years prior, when he was 24/25, and I’m sure a lot has happened since then. He’s definitely got a rogues gallery gathering, and canonically a handful of that gallery is personal friends of Bruce Wayne. There’s a lot of potential angst in those ones, ESPECIALLY Harvey Dent, and it makes me wonder if that’s one reason why Battinson is so dark?

What if Bruce started out much more hopeful, even if he was pretty jaded by his parents’ death, but he had the clear intention to deliver justice by locking away the bad guys without killing anyone? He knows there are good people out there to help. His friend. DA Harvey Dent, is fighting for a Justice system free of corruption. And his friend from med school, Harleen Quinn, is working in Arkham to rehabilitate criminals who suffer from poor mental health.

But then Harvey Dent is targeted by thugs during a court trial. He meets a terrible fate at the hands of Sal Maroni that permanently scars him, physically and mentally, until he starts killing. Then Harleen is kidnapped by the Joker and stockholmed into being an accomplice to countless killing sprees. Rather than helping her patients, Harleen’s methods of rehabilitation are used against her and others.

Bruce watches for years as the people he trusts to protect the same Justice as him are swept away into the jaws of corruption and ill fate, to not fault of their own, but it’s devastating, and he’s cracking under pressure.

Bruce becomes less about Justice and more about vengeance against the criminals that did this to his friends. He beats criminals even harder to teach them a lesson. He cares less about the letter of the law because Gotham never helped its victims anyway. He stops caring about Wayne Enterprises as much because what’s the point if everyone fighting the good fight only gets locked up anyway?

He asks himself why he’s still upholding his moral code, why he doesn’t kill. And Harvey and Quinn comes to mind over and over again. How does he know the criminals he’s fighting aren’t also just victims too? He’s not the judge in this system. He can’t kill. Not when he knows from personal experience that everyone, victim and criminal, has someone who loves them and wants to see them get better.

Death isn’t the right option, and The Batman will never act as prosecutor, Bruce makes sure of that. But if he ever sees Sal Maroni or the Joker, he’s damn well going to let his punches fly.

#battinson #batman #bruce wayne #the batman 2022 #harley quinn #harvey dent #pre-the batman 2022 #the batman #battinson needs a hug #oooooo this is angsty #with a capital A for AAAAAA

[chickenstrangers]

Not Me: It's About Earrings

Earrings in Not Me represent identity and transformation. The scene where Black takes back his earrings is one of my favorite scenes of the show (ignoring the continuity editing errors where Black puts in one earring like 4 times). I made this set a while ago but I still have thoughts about Not Me that I want to write down.

The earrings are a marker of identity, and a way to recognize that identity, not only with White's earrings (or Black's, as the case may be) but Sean's as well.

White's transformation process highlights the earrings. He physically alters his body in multiple ways in order to become like Black. The most permanent alteration is of course the tattoo, but the earrings are also important, especially in their lack of permanency. We see the piercing, the grimace on White's face, the discomfort of having to take on this new identity.

When White is living a double life, going between the gang and dinner with his father, we see him taking out the earrings himself, shedding Black's identity. This time it is voluntary, White can separate these two sides of himself, because he has not fully become someone else yet. It is still an act.

But the earrings are not just about White and Black, they also play an important role in Sean and White's relationship. When Sean tells White about his dad, White reaches out to him, to comfort him, and starts gently playing with Sean's earring. This is the first time, really, that White is seeing Sean, the culmination of the flag scene. Seeing who Sean is, the soft vulnerable core of him that he tries to protect with brashness and animosity. Then there is the tent scene. And at this point it doesn't matter who White is pretending to be, and Sean has started to suspect something has changed. What matters is who White really is.

And right as White has begun to settle into this new identity, one that is not just a copy of the one he stole from Black, when he's realizing how he has himself been transformed by these experiences, Black wakes up and takes everything back.

The tattoo is permanent, it will stay on White's skin forever unless he gets it removed, but then it might still scar or leave something behind. It shows the lengths he went to to become his twin. But while White was pretending, he himself changed significantly, his worldview, his goals, his community. While the tattoos and earrings and contacts are a disguise, they are also a part of the person he has become. The tattoo is something that Black cannot take from White, it is etched in his skin. But he can take the earrings.

White looks so incredibly forlorn during the conversation with Black. Especially once Black takes out the earrings, he seems naked without them. He looks so young, like a kid playing dress up but now the costume is off.

Black's movements are detached, uncaring, calm, but it feels as if he's ripping out the earrings, taking back his identity by force. And of course White does not stop him. Cannot stop him. That was not his identity to start with. He was borrowing it, and so the return was inevitable. Black takes out the earrings and immediately puts them in his own ears.

But the meaning of the earrings has changed. Unlike the tattoo, which is a copy, a recreation, the earrings are material, they are Black's earrings. But they're not just Black's anymore. White is different than he was before, and now, bereft of the earrings, he must grapple with who he is now.

Thanks to @ranchthoughts and our regular discussions on this subject.

#anyway as I'm always saying #not me is about ears #i'm pretty sure i think about this topic a normal amount #not me the series #nmrewatch23 #not me #not me meta #thinking thoughts #tuserrowan #for my hopefully slightly more coherent than normal thoughts on the subject if its of interest #sometimes the gifset is the meta and sometimes i have more to say

[ask-ink-machine-chronicals]

Hello everyone who followed me, I know I haven't been uploading in a long time but I'm not much in the fandom anymore, I will continue to post redraws and other sorts but I'm not labeling myself part of it

My new versions of Oswald the Lucky Rabbit and Felix the cat

Oswald is more out going and less introverted, He stepped down from the circus/business to settle down with his wife, Ortensia, They live in the city that is where everything is being setted, that they grow many vegetables and plants to their liking, now having a family and his wife's unfortunate passing, he served to make himself better for his children and give them a strong, confident father. Although PTSD still lurks in his mental state, he's gone through therapy and medications to help his problem, he's a rabbit with a good future

Felix is how he is but he's more, how do I put it... vile and tired. Of course he's generous and kind to every soul, but he is very cold when it comes to his bad side which he can get aggressive and rude. His fire tiger scar still remains but he has other permanent scars that makes him paranoid, his adventures weren't always so, courageous and wonderful but under that title, is a traumatic experience. His eye scar was the one that gave him fame and almost everyone knows about it.

So that's about it, I'll probably post some more redraws

#babtqftim #redraw #original art #InkMachineChronicles