#It boils down to the fact that I will respect a person of authority not based on their title but on their actions

[hardoncaulfield]

snooping thru the tags of the xtianity quiz and read “if quakers had the aesthetics of catholicism” which i found really funny bc from my v limited understanding of quakers, if they were to adopt catholic aesthetics (the stained glass the icons the statues the fancy robes and bells etc) they would no longer be what makes them quakers (ascetics). i wish they would tho can you imagine it

Yeah, this ideal religious space I'm imagining is not, like, theologically sound but I've been to quaker meetings and I love their approach to worship and the idea that everyone is equally worthy of giving ministry and being listened to & that God doesn't need an interpreter. HOWEVER, the room looks like a fucking doctors office and it makes me upset. My problem is that I love ritual and ornamentation but I dislike hierarchy (unless of experience & scholarship¹) but you don't really find ritual separate to hierarchy (from my limited experience of Christian denominations)

1. I mean like, the hierarchical relationship of teacher to student is one I respect, based on the idea that a teacher is a person who's studied the field longer than you and so knows more than you by virtue of their work and experience. I mistrust titles as a rule, however.

[drunk-person]

Healing Kisses

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After an injury on a normal day of training, Aemond Targaryen has difficulty understanding what it feels like to be cared for by his sweet wife, mainly because he is not used to receiving healing kisses.

WARNING: +18. Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and and a little bit of hot, Aemond trying to understand feelings, a bit of blood, basically a lot of softness, no description for the reader.

Word cont: 2.600 k

Author's note: Ok, I was minding my own business and this story just slipped my mind and ended up on my phone. I hope you guys like our guy trying to understand what love is hahaha 💕💕💕.

It had been about two months since Lady Y/n had gotten married, to Prince Aemond Targaryen. From the first day she saw him, she found him a disturbing man, with his silver hair, the black eye patch over one eye, the marked jaw that looked like it could cut the tips of her fragile fingers. He always seemed to be watching everything going on around him with trained eyes that she swore could see right through her.

Y/n's mother had prepared her her entire life for marriage, but not for a marriage with Aemond. Nothing was as she expected, since her husband seemed to have his own way of doing things, always silent and taciturn, just muttering from time to time, and most of the time she couldn't even decipher what he was saying, she didn't even know if he was speaking the same language as her at times.

The most unexpected thing of all, considering how reserved he normally behaved, was the fact that he liked to touch her when they were together in the martial chambers. Y/n felt her skin boiling every night with every touch he directed at her, sometimes harder, sometimes softer, but always firmly squeezing her waist, hips and breasts. Always doing things to her that Lady Y/n had not thought possible until marriage, and that just the mere thought of it made her blush and feel her skin heat up. The way he lay against her back after having poured himself inside her to the last drop and kept squeezing her breasts in a languid and soft way made her shiver.

But Y/n wasn't satisfied. She couldn't accept the fact that her Husband had such passionate touches for her at night, but didn't let her get close to him during the day, either physically or emotionally. Y/n respected him in that regard, aiming for nothing more than to be a good and obedient wife, but she wouldn't give up so easily. And with this in mind, she began to try to include herself in Aemond's daily activities and personal tastes.

Reading about the history of his ancestors, observing his favorite foods, sewing his clothes personally and even reading an old book she found in the library written by a maester who promised to teach Valyrian to even the most obtuse person. Which only made her feel even more foolish since she didn't understand a thing.

One of the best parts of trying to include herself in her husband's daily routine was watching his daily training, she usually did it in the morning after breakfast and even after a whole month watching him fight she still hadn't gotten used to the fact that he was so good, the sword seemed like an extension of his own arm and she had to restrain herself from sighing a few times while admiring him.

Until one particularly boring afternoon she decided to go down to the courtyard, since the library was very stuffy and she heard a maid saying that Aemond was fighting with Sir Criston Cole. As soon as she arrived, she leaned on the windowsill along with some other ladies, smiling as she watched her husband a little below, but the smile died on her lips a few minutes later when Aemond didn't dodge fast enough and Cole's blade wounded him in the left shoulder, drawing blood and staining the knight's sword.

Y/n's eyes widened when she saw her husband's blood and she felt her stomach churn. Aemond put his hand to his wounded shoulder and frowned, then returned to the fight furiously, disarming Cole, who apologized to the prince, but said that it wouldn't have happened if he had kept his guard up and focused.

Aemond just put away his own sword and walked with long strides into the Keep. Y/n could barely see what was in front of her, she just walked towards her husband with her eyes burning with concern.

-Husband! - She tried to reach him, but Aemond was walking too fast towards his own chambers. - Husband, please wait! Your arm is injured, you need to go see a maester!

Aemond entered the chambers, leaving the door open as he passed, as his wife followed closely behind.

-It was just a scratch, wife. - Aemond stated as she looked at him with tears in her eyes. - I'm going to be fine, it doesn't even hurt.

-Husband, if you're not going to let the maester look at this wound, at least let me take care of you! - She begged in a very worried voice, approaching him.

And with a snort, valuing his peace of mind, Aemond removed his doublet and undershirt, which had bloodstains at the site of the wound.

-By the gods, husband! - Y/n's eyes widened when she saw his shoulder. - How can you tell me this is just a scratch?

-Sit down here! - She pushed him down onto the chair with a very stern voice, and Aemond frowned - she had never used such a tone with him, always gentle and submissive to his wishes. - Don't move, I'll get hot water and an herbal ointment.

A little while later she returned with a basin full of water and a tray filled with things that a maid had brought. And Aemond watched with a very serious frown as she leaned over him with a clean, damp cloth, cleaning the coagulated blood with a very concentrated look on her face.

He barely realized that she had spoken to him, completely lost in what was happening.

- Husband? - She called him a little closer, stopping to clean the wound.

- Mmmm? - Aemond looked at her slightly confused when he finally realized that she was talking to him.

-I asked him if by chance it hurts. - She smiled, now using her usual sweet and gentle voice and Aemond didn't know why his belly warmed, but not with the excitement that had become so common in the last two months whenever he was near his wife, but with an unknown feeling.

- No. - He shook his head slowly as he answered. - I don't feel anything.

Nothing but a tingling where her warm and soft hand rested.

- Are you sure, husband? - Her look was doubtful as she frowned, Aemond just nodded and she continued her work. As soon as she finished cleaning the area, she left a few soft kisses on the wound and Aemond felt that a rope had pulled him through his navel at that moment.

-W-What are you doing? - He ended up stuttering unintentionally as he formed the sentence, feeling the skin where his wife was touching him warm as if she had touched him with a hot coal.

-Healing kisses. - She murmured simply against his heated and slightly reddened skin. - To help you heal faster.

Aemond frowned with his eyes slightly pressed together, enjoying that unfamiliar sensation in a strange way.

-And do they work? - He asked as if he suddenly had no control over his own tongue and felt very stupid for it as soon as he spoke.

-I believe so. - She smiled at him, leaving one last kiss at the end of the open wound, and Aemond felt less stupid for some reason after that.

-I'm going to apply the herbal ointment, okay? - She walked to the table, picking up one of the clay pots with a greenish, pasty mixture inside. - The maester said it should burn.

With a delicacy that Aemond had never felt in his entire life, she deposited the ointment on the open wound and gradually spread it with her fingertips, showing a look of implacable concentration on her face as if this were something of extreme importance.

Aemond hated wandering hands on him, hated receiving treatment from the maesters with their rough and hard touches, but with his wife it was different, the touches were so sweet and gentle that they were making him drowsy. And when she left more kisses after finishing applying the green ointment he thought that his mind had left his body and gone to another dimension.

-Mmmm.

-I hurt you? - She sounded very worried as she brought her right hand to the side of his face.

-Not at all. - He practically sighed, laying his head against her hand, and Y/n felt her heart warm when she had that reaction of familiarity from him.

-You need to take a bath, husband. - She stroked his cheek with her thumb, enjoying the moment where she was allowed to, smiling sweetly at him. - And after that I move on to another herb that the maester sent.

Aemond agreed, just nodding positively, feeling his whole body as if it were pleasantly numb as he walked towards the bathtub full of warm water on the other side of the rooms. And making him feel even lighter Y/n untied the front of his pants, blushing slightly as she helped him get completely undressed.

With a sideways smile at seeing his wife's reaction to his nudity, Aemond entered the bathtub, murmuring in satisfaction with the temperature of the water.

Y/n, her face still warm, knelt at the foot of the bathtub and gently massaged his uninjured shoulder, leaving sweet kisses there.

-This shoulder is not hurt. - Aemond spoke to her in a soft voice for the first time, making her smile against his damp skin.

-It must be at least sore from the effort. - She murmured very close to his neck, making him smile even though she couldn't see it.

-Join me, wife. - He turned his head back, watching her with a calm gaze.

And with a shy and very happy smile, Y/n removed her own clothes under the watchful eye of Aemond, who sighed when she was completely naked and embarrassed in front of him. The prince always found it sweet how she had not yet lost her shyness when being naked in front of him in these two months of marriage.

Y/n entered the bathtub and before she could sit on the other end of the bathtub he pulled her to sit on his thighs, leaving his wife very close to him, making her sigh.

-Are you sure it doesn't hurt at all, husband? - She gently ran her fingertips over the injured area.

-Mmmm. - He shook his head. - But I could use more kisses.

And with butterflies in her stomach Y/n did so, leaving sweet and moist kisses around her husband's shoulder who just laid his head back in contentment.

-You know if I had an injury like that I would be in a lot of pain. - She looked at him from under her eyelashes. - You are so strong husband.

Aemond had never felt so imposing in his entire life as when he heard his wife saying in that sweet and soft voice how strong he was, while looking at him from under her eyelashes sitting naked on his cock.

-I haven’t felt so much pain since I lost my eye. - Aemond didn't know where that had come from, he felt so relaxed at that moment that the words just flowed through his tongue with ease in a strange way. - It seems that I have become a little insensitive to slight pain.

Y/n gently ran her hand over his face where the eye patch was still firmly in place even during the bath. And after taking a deep breath fearing rejection after a day with so many advances she asked.

-Can I see husband?

Aemond automatically looked away, staring at his wife's breasts while his hands firmly locked on her waist.

-You don't want to see that, wife. - He muttered through his teeth. - It's not pleasant to look at.

-I think everything about you is pleasing to the eye, husband. - She tried to encourage him by stroking the scarred cheek below the eye patch, but still feeling afraid that he would push her away from him. - I would appreciate it very much if you let me see all of you.

And even fearful of his wife's reaction, taken by that strange and unfamiliar feeling in the midst of that moment of softness, Aemond removed the eye patch and dropped it on the floor next to the bathtub without looking her in the eyes.

Aemond's stomach turned as much as it had flown for the first time on Vhagar when he felt his wife's soft lips placing a gentle kiss against the deformed skin where his eye had once been.

-Gavy. (Gevie -Beautiful) - Her voice sounded like a very poor attempt at High Valyrian and Aemond's eyebrows arched.

-Where did you learn that?

-I read it in a book in the library. - She lowered her eyes in embarrassment. - Was the pronunciation bad?

-It was perfect. - He murmured with his eyes closed, lost in those sensations as he felt her sweet kisses against his face.

And with redoubled affection Y/n washed the herbs from Aemond's body and with a smile noticed that the redness had divided quite a bit, as well as the bleeding.

-After the bath I need to apply another ointment to you according to the maester, husband. - She smiled completely happy with her husband's moment of confidence. - To help it heal, he said.

-Mmm. - Aemond would let her do anything about him, as long as he could feel the softness of his wife's touch and her care and concern directed at him.

And with a sigh he trailed kisses down her soft neck, drawing low sighs and gasps from those gentle lips.

-I want you to be the one to take care of me from now on, wife. - He continued kissing her, and with a smile of pure contentment Y/n nodded positively to her husband.

-It is a pleasure for me to take care of you, husband. - She sighed at him in joy, making Aemond's heart accelerate in a strange way that made him want to vomit. He didn't understand what it was, it wasn't desire, something he was very familiar with as he desired his wife constantly, yes he was hard against her wet intimacy, but there was more.

There was something strange consuming him inside without explanation and he felt that even if he took her at that moment he wouldn't be close enough to her. And as he slid into her warm and receptive intimacy, he could feel his wife's arms hugging him tightly and pulling him closer and closer to her while she left kisses on his shoulders and face, making him lose himself inside her, feeling more and more of that sensation as strong as the pleasure of spilling his own seed inside his wife.

And letting himself be carried away by that moment, Aemond kissed her sweetly on the lips, almost a soft caress, while he felt her entangle her hands in his hair, caressing it in a way so gentle that it didn't seem intended for sex, but rather for something more delicate that the prince couldn't say the name.

-Skoros issi ao naejot issa? (What are you doing to me?) - He muttered between sighs, and Y/n had no idea what he had said, but chose to think it was something good.

All those unknown emotions, feelings and sensations were too much for Aemond, tearing from him an unparalleled pleasure that he had never felt in his entire life, and he poured himself deep inside his wife while hugging her tightly to his chest with a poignant need to feel her as close to him as possible.

And when Y/n came in his arms soon after, looking into his eyes without a hint of repulsion for his missing eye, but rather kissing him again while admiring him with pure devotion, Aemond knew. His wife's healing kisses might not help his wounded skin heal any faster, nor would they even bring back the eye that had been ripped out, but perhaps little by little they could help him heal much deeper wounds.

[notedchampagne]

What makes a tlt au work for you? Do u have any favourites out there/that you’ve thought of?

its hard because it can go down to the writing! i have a huge bias for things that put focus on the characters acting awful and driving the story forward- if a story has a plot thats great, but its the difference between "gideon and harrow keep meeting up at parties and fall a little bit in love every time" and "gideons angry she lost her childhood to the cult so she attends a party with the tridentarii to shotgun adolescent experiences, and harrowhark, frustrated that gideon is pulling on her metaphorical leash, follows to stalk her". the former retains a 5+1 fic format and is more bite-size, while the latter puts more focus into their growth as characters. im not great at articulating what i like specifically, but ill put my favorite fics below:

what if nona was dogs tugs at my heart: its post-canon, slice-of-life, and has a unique concept (said in the title). i judged a book by its cover because i thought the premise seemed too silly at first but ive been made a fool and its pet clown. it feels so true to nona the way its about all the things nona loves and how she gets to explore the world through new eyes. i love the way it explores characters softening up and getting hurt through a third person pov

we have always lived in the apartment by @thatneoncrisis i keep saying this but for the love of GOD guys this au is so good it makes me cry and feel such a deep catharsis from it. it takes gideon and harrow and the ninth as a cult and explores their struggle to adapt to a modern society when noone ever gets a break (WOW ITS JUST LIKE IN REAL L-). quinn writes the sides of griddlehark i think go overlooked in fanfic often: their codependency, their tendency to lash out when theyre defensive, their mutual paranoia and different coping mechanisms, harrows psychosis and gideons bitterness, their relationships to each other as being the only other person who really understands what the other suffered through. god. i feel lightheaded.

"but SAM, i dont like angst but i want to see this writing!" read gap between a tragedy and a comedy

"SAM, i also like when gideon and harrow are horrible because theyre maladjusted teenagers! but i want more antics where the characters drive things forward over angst!" read whats eating gideon nav

you just aint receiving is one of my FAVORITE modern aus of all time (and i heavily recommend the authors other fics as well!) if you really want to see how much i love this fic the fact that my comments take up the entire phone screen probably says a lot. its hard to put it concisely: it keeps harrows air of misanthropy and cruelty but redefines it as the result of her upbringing and personal struggle to live in a university while dealing with a backpack of mental illness and frustration. it changes gideons personality as the daughter of john gaius in a way that makes sense having her grow up with johns middling parenting skills and getting everything she ever wanted (connecting it back to kirionas personality in ntn!). it brings in side characters (specially palamedes. my beautiful boy palamedes) in ways that compliment harrow and gideon but not so obviously that they only exist to be supports. they have their own lives and ideals. its a modern au that brings in the boiling politics of johns cult uprising once again in a really novel way

semi charmed kinda life by @griddlebait. jesuchristo and all his middle names this fic is GREAT for you if you want a slice of life, coming of age type modern au that explores what its like for gideon and harrow if they actually got the space to see who theyd become outside of the stifling fate tlt has for them. as far as modern aus go im usually very hesitant to read them because im afraid modernizing the characters takes features away from their core but i really love and respect the way the author treats the 69ers with care and draws distinct lines that shows me how their grow and change while keeping a line to the anchor. also they write HIDEOUS (complimentary) PINING. DISGUSTING. some of these chapters were so chock full of dyke drama that they made me nauseous and whimsical. i think once a friend said this fic felt like if gh could be reincarnated and i like that descriptor a lot

til the cows come home is another postcanon fic that made me feel sick and crybabyish about it- i would definitely recommend it if you want to explore a happier ending with griddlehark! with this and what if nona was dogs the thing i like most about them is that they mix up vulnerability with pain and fear, so it feels more lifelike that way if that makes sense. i lost my taste in fluff fics over time but when its interspersed with struggle and characters causing problems because they cant cope with themselves it feels much more earnest and raw

this became very long. im not sorry

[myfandomrealitea]

You're the one making an assumption here... I never said everyone who ships is bad. I mean that there's enough of a problem with shipping that I and others feel uncomfortable associating with shipping culture. I'm saying more people should try to address issues with bigotry in their fandoms instead of acting like reality and fiction *never ever* interact. Proship is just a bad term and I hate that it's so common (so is anti)

Where did I make the assumption?

When you said:

"I'm not an anti, but I'm still going to criticize people for ignoring female characters or characters of color for the sake of only ever shipping boring white men"?

How about when you said:

"Proship sounds like you just ship totally uncritically which isn't any better than ONLY criticizing"?

And then there's:

"Proship is a bad term and I hate that its so common."

If you can't even recognise, understand and respect the literal definition of and history of a term, you are simply not ready or in a position to be trying to grandstand about it or argue about it. If you want to talk about bigotry, how about the female actors who get paid a fraction of what their male co-stars do?

How about authors of color who are told to use a white-presenting pen name in order to sell more books?

How about the fact that abortions are being controlled by religious fascists who are coming for birth control next?

How about the fact that China won't allow any form of queer representation in movies even if its only implied?

No? You're just mad that people aren't buying into the ship where the female character's sole role in the movie is to be the 2D love interest who's entire personality boils down to owning breasts and being either quirky or hypersexual?

I see.

[ayphyx]

Why is it that whenever someone talks about media literacy they only talk about things like rape, incest, pedophilia, and murder but never misogyny, racism, fatphobia, or ableism

Like it’s always about “problematic ships” and “evil characters” but never about how the treatment of woc in media influences how woc are treated in society and vice versa. How female characters are almost always the ones being singled out as “annoying” compared to male characters. Or how, yeah, there might be an in-story reason to why this lazy, depressed character is fat but societal views on fat people being lazy, depressed, unhygienic, etc., most definitely influenced the writer’s choice to make that lazy character fat.

I find that a lot of the “media literacy” arguments that pertain to subjects of sexual abuse and violence don’t really apply to other subjects in a way that isn’t wildly or even somewhat bigoted. Ofc there’s not gonna be a catch-all argument for how every theme should be treated in media but the arguments should at least be somewhat consistent.

I rarely ever see anyone talk about media literacy in a way that doesn’t boil down to “ok but liking evil/bad/taboo characters/themes/stories don’t make you a bad person and authors can write things they don’t agree about.” This statement isn’t wrong and i agree with it but it shouldn’t be your only knowledge on what media literacy is.

Sometimes, a story that has a rape scene in it depicts rape poorly. Whether its because rape was written in a fetishistic light or because the victims weren’t treated with the respect that they deserve, you need to be able to know how and why that scene is (cant think of a better word rn but I’ll probably change it later cause i don’t really like using this word) problematic. The fact that the story depicts rape isn’t the problem, it’s how they chose to depict it. And yes, how this story depicts rape can absolutely affect how a person views rape victims irl.

Sometimes, an author includes racist views into their work. Sure, depiction isn’t endorsement but when an author writes primarily about white characters, and has the first character of color in their book be executed as that character’s introduction, don’t be surprised when that author turns out to be a racist.

Yes, fiction isn’t one-to-one with reality but they both influence each other in a way that cannot be escaped. You will never find a piece of media that isn’t influenced by reality and you will never find a person whose views havent been influenced by a piece of media.

(Also, there is a tendency that i see in a lot of fandom “media literacy” people. And that is the tendency to use leftist, anti-racist phrases and terminology to refer to fandom discourse. “Kill the cop inside your head” refers to killing that part of your brain that has been drilled by society to view black, brown, and poor people as threats. It does not refer to people who don’t like your 20k incest fanfiction and are kinda mean about it. Stop fucking fandomizing anti-racist rhetoric. You just look fucking racist)

Sorry if this is kinda incoherent, I’m mostly just rambling.

[that-ari-blogger]

This Is About Relationships (Hell's Greatest Dad)

I feel like we are seeing more and more stories that draw on horror elements as of recent times, with mixed success.

Critical Role, for example, has put some heavy emphasis on body and cosmic horror in their most recent campaigns, and I think that has worked really well. They are telling a story about feeling powerful in the face of adversity, and so having villains who are either unknowable or far too knowable really works for that idea.

On the other hand, the horror elements of Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness actively took me out of the story, because they didn’t fit with the rest of the franchise at all, and I found that rather jarring.

Then there is Hazbin Hotel, which isn’t scary, but it definitely draws on some of the tools of writing horror. Although it doesn't do that in the way you might expect. Specifically, it uses the character of Lucifer to both embody and subvert the very nature of Gothic horror itself.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Hazbin Hotel, Ratatouille, Paradise Lost, Frankenstein)

I have made my stance on genre extremely clear in the past. I think it exists, but I think it is bollocks, and Hazbin Hotel kind of proves my point.

Because, yes, you can boil Horror down into however many constituent parts as you would like in order to organise a bookstore, but however you spin it, Hazbin Hotel fits that, with the exception that it isn’t scary.

Then again, being scary is entirely subjective. For example, I am completely fine with ghosts and ghouls, so the only thing that gets me about games such as Phasmophobia are the jump scares, and Jump Scares aren't horror. By the same score, I am incredibly squeamish, so Hazbin Hotel itself was more difficult for me than a few of my friends.

Which leads me to gothic horror, which has a distinct aesthetic to it that isn’t actually essential at all.

The name actually comes from its aesthetic. Gothic fiction got started in the 1700s when Gothic architecture was popular but gained traction in the early 1800s when authors such as Edgar Alen Poe and Jane Austin got involved. The latter of whom wrote Northanger Abbey in 1818 to parody the overdramatization of the genre in a book that I personally despise.

Austin’s book comes across to me as incredibly insincere. I have an infinite respect for Austin’s work, but there is a deep sense of contempt in Northanger Abbey that drives me up the wall.

I want to be clear here, this is not me saying the book is bad. It is incredibly well written. I just hate it with every fibre of my being.

To me, Northanger Abbey missed the point of the gothic genre. Gothic isn't about the emotion, it's about the humanity. The fallibility, the force of will, the instability and resilience that come and go like the wind.

Gothic horror turns that into fear, specifically the fear of morality. It’s the Ratatouille genre. Any angel can sin, any demon can rise. Or in other words:

“Anyone can cook.”

Gothic horror is the fear of inconsistency. That someone you trust can betray you, or spiral into awful deeds, or that someone you despise might be right. It’s the fear of redemption, and conversely, the terror of good motives leading to bad ends.

Other subsets of horror draw on the fear of the unknown, or of not knowing. Gothic fiction is steeped in the terror of what you know being wrong.

Case and point, Frankenstein is both the archetypal science fiction book, and a phenomenal Gothic story. The terror is derived from the fact that it’s titular character can be so great and yet such an absolute monster, as well as the horror of creating a conscience.

The creature is intelligent, and its intrinsic morality is up for debate the entire time. Frankenstein calls it his "Adam", for Pete's sake. It kills multiple people, but as a reader you are unsettled by how much you agree with its motives.

Gothic horror is the fear of absence. There is no good or evil here, just people.

There’s a reason I brought up Ratatouille. The conflict of the series is derived from Skinner’s visceral fear that someone he despises as much as Linguine can actually be competent, combined with a field rat rising from the gutter to run a restaurant. “Anyone can cook” is a threat in this movie, but it gets better explained by Ego in a way that I really like.

“In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau’s famous motto: ‘Anyone can cook.’ But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.”

According to one of the greatest fanfics ever written, Paradise Lost, Lucifer rebelled against G-d’s vision and fell, which can be taken any number of ways. It’s written so that you sympathise with the main character, who is, may I remind you, the literal devil.

Worth noting, Frankenstein's monster reads Paradise Lost. I wonder if there is any significance to that.

Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel is nominally the same character as his biblical counterpart, except that he is blissfully unaware of any of the themes surrounding him. Kinda.

He has grasped the fact that anyone can fall, but the reverse of that hasn’t quite registered to him yet.

Case and point, he doesn’t understand people at all. He has sought escapism through “stuff”. By which I mean the ducks, but I also mean his song, Hell’s Greatest Dad.

Part of the gothic theming in Hazbin Hotel is that people aren’t static, and that relationships are more important than anything else. Angel Dust and Pentious don’t become better people through trust falls, the find it through love and companionship, both platonic and more than platonic.

To demonstrate this, we contrast Lucifer with Alastor, who once again doesn’t sing his own song but steals it off someone else. Alastor’s relationship with Charlie is so obviously sinister, and that will be better explained two episodes down the line, but at least he has a relationship with her.

The agony of this is that Jeremy Jordan is a phenomenal voice actor, who, along with Lucifer’s stellar writing, endears the character to you from his first scene.

Alastor is a villain; Lucifer is an absent father. Who do you side with here? That’s gothic fiction.

“Sailors fighting in the dance hall, Oh man, look at those cavemen go. It’s the freakiest show. Take a look at the lawman Beating up the wrong guy Oh man, wonder if he’ll ever know He's in the best selling show. Is there life on Mars?”

This is the chorus of a David Bowie song called Life On Mars. It centres around someone seeking escape through television and storytelling. It points out the futility of this, but the fact that it works. It’s a stable dynamic that doesn’t go anywhere.

Remind you of anything?

“Who needs a busboy, now that you've got the chef? Michelin tasting menu, free à la carte I'll rig the game for you because I'm the ref Champagne fountains, caviar mountains, that's just to start!”

Lucifer is offering Charlie anything she could dream of. Any thing. But Charlie doesn’t need an object. She needs a father, and she needs her relationship with Lucifer.

Enter Alastor, who, up to this point, has been generally benevolent to Charlie. He’s basically the embodiment of that old Tumblr textpost that described someone as “chaotic gay. I haven’t done anything evil yet, but my general aesthetic and demeanour tell you that I will, any day now.”

Side note, I know this post exists. I have seen it, I have screenshots of it. But Tumblr’s search function is so legendarily awful that I cannot locate it. Tumblr’s search function has beaten the FBI before, and I don’t have that much patience.

In any case, Alastor offers up his own curriculum vitae in the form of this:

“Who’s been here since day one? Who’s been faithful as a nun? Makes you chuckle with an old-timey pun? Your executive producer.”

He’s pitching himself via his relationship with Charlie. But what I wanted to point out specifically was how the two characters relate to the beat of the song.

This song is inspired by Friend Like Me. I know it's subtle, but I'm onto something, and I can pick out the clues. If you look closely at his moustache in this shot...

Lucifer is clicked to the rhythm, or rather, his backing music is. The band hits ever downbeat as one, looping back to play the same thing every few bars. It is incredibly stable. The one thing that isn’t, is Lucifer.

The man misses every single beat by a fraction of a second. Not much, but when you contrast him with the entirely of the rest of the song, you notice that tiny imperfection, especially when Alastor doesn’t share it.

Alastor starts singing by matching the beat perfectly with his opening sounds, then going free within the restraints. Later, when he co-opts the song, the band begins playing along with him and matching his melody.

The Radio Demon understands people incredibly well, and he works on relationships. As such, his music has a much more symbiotic relationship between each of the parts. Lucifer’s feels like a creation, Alastor’s feels like it was created, if that makes sense. There’s a human element to Alastor’s take on this song.

Which brings me back to the gothic stuff going on here, and the relationship between Lucifer and Alastor. Alastor is, of course, a manipulator. He takes issue with Lucifer because he wants Charlie isolated. But Lucifer has no reason to get upset by Alastor, right?

Alastor shakes up Lucifer’s entire worldview, to the point where I find some of the double dad dynamic between them rather compelling. Most of it.

Alastor is risk incarnate; he stands for the idea that anyone can do anything. A radio presenter can be a cannibal, and have parenting instincts take over with Nifty and at times Charlie. But he is unsafe. Because he is such an unknown, he is untrustworthy. You don’t know where you stand.

Lucifer, meanwhile, is terrified of this fact. He likes the safety of knowing where he stands, he can protect himself there, but he can also protect others. In my eyes, that’s why he was so absent with Charlie. He found something he could understand and kept it because he didn’t want to shake up the rhythm. But that was futile, and he realises this over the course of this episode.

But you might say “wait, Alastor is ace, he can’t be with Lucifer,” and my answer is twofold. First up, I am ace too, that doesn’t prohibit relationships. I’m not even talking about romantic stuff here, Alastor is the poster boy for being aromantic, but more importantly, parenting isn’t just about the other parent.

The two can both be dads, joined by their mutual care for their daughter, rather than affection for each other. I find that compelling. Charlie needs both the security and the sign that everything is possible. She needs someone to lift her up, but she also needs someone to catch her when she falls, and Lucifer and Alastor both play different roles in that dynamic.

Any angel can sin, any demon can rise. Anyone can be a dad, anyone can cook.

Final Thoughts

Jeremy Jordan is a global treasure and even if this series doesn’t stick the landing with its next season (we will see), Lucifer will be amazing.

Do I have a crush on this man? No. No, I do not. Why do you ask?

In all seriousness, I think episode five should have been two episodes. One for this song, and one for the next. Lucifer would join the Hotel’s crew for a few days, befriending Pentious and co., being utterly disrespected by Husk, and being eased into the fact that morality isn’t binary.

I don’t even mean this from just the pacing perspective, I think the series would have so much more thematic weight if it devoted more time to the literal devil learning the thesis of the series and becoming on board with redemption. I think that would be cool.

I'm also just now realising that this is a Gothic Horror musical, so of course Alex Brightman got cast in it.

In any case, next week is More Than Anything, which is yet another case study in why Jeremy Jordan is amazing. Stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎSpellbound (Part Three)꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: talk of witchcraft, trauma, threats of death, mentions of abuse, violence pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: witch reader x billy the kid author’s note: I really hope I did the end justice. thank you for all the support on this series! anon who sent the original request, you have my heart <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Nightmares were as regular as breathing for you.

Billy learned so the night he pulled you from the pond. He'd fallen asleep beside the fire; you cradled in his arms. You were so soft and warm despite your earlier tryst in the water, all warmed up from the adjacent flames and the comfort of his arms. As soon as you slipped into sleep, he allowed himself to shut his eyes, confident you were protected and safe resting against him.

An awful scream pierced the night, and he shot up wide eyed, head jolting around for the source, holding you tight against him. It was only when he felt the vibrations on his chest that Billy realized they were coming from you.

He lifted you under your arms to sit directly on his lap, running his fingers through your hair until you awoke, blearily looking up at him. "Billy?"

Sighing in relief, he pressed your face against his chest, rocking you back and forth soothingly. "Honey...'r you okay? Whatsa matter?"

"I get bad dreams sometimes," you murmured, rubbing your eyes. "I have ever since I was spellbound."

"'bout...?" Billy didn't want to say it out loud for respect of the situation.

Nodding and resting your body against his chest, you murmured, "Yes."

"Baby," he whispered, eyes clouding over with concern. He stroked your hair, roving his fingers through it. Mind and heart both were weighed heavy with your revelations.

Married. The mere thought of you being trapped in a situation with someone alike to the scum of the earth made his blood boil. The fact that anyone would dare do such things to a woman filled him with a desire to hunt your former husband down and teach him a new meaning of pain.

But, looking down at you, he knew that wouldn't make your current situation better. It would only weigh you down more with unearned responsibility. Besides, you possessed more power than he knew. If you'd truly wanted to you would have exacted revenge.

You were goodhearted. Purer than him in every way. It was something to marvel at: the difference between you. He'd been forced into a situation that'd caused him to pick up a gun, become a murderer. Now his name was associated with danger, his face splashed across many a wanted poster. His intentions were good, but his actions spoke otherwise.

But you had endured the same thing, powers endlessly thrust upon you like earth on a coffin. You despised your situation as he did, eyes on the horizon for any sort of way out of it. but you were still good. You kept your heart kind, your actions free of entanglement with personal bitterness toward what you could not control.

Nothing anybody said about you was true. You were a sweetheart, through and through. He was deserving of his reputation. You were not. Not in any form of the word.

You had every reason not to trust him. Not only was he an outlaw, he was a man, the exact species that had caused your misery. And yet you let him in, let him help you bear the burden of your title in what little ways he was able. Looking down at you resting in his arms, he felt stirrings of love expand his heart once more.

Your fingers were on his bare collarbone, tracing symbols onto it. He pressed gentle kisses to your hairline, hoping they would reaffirm his love for you, the safety he could maintain while you remained near him.

It was a heavy toll, the price you paid for magic. It was horribly undeserved. The least he could do to balance out the unfairness of the world was give you love. Something you clearly hadn't received for too long a time.

So, with that in mind, he rested his chin on your head, keeping you thoroughly burrowed into him, where it was safe. Fish wandered over and settled against your thigh soothingly. "Try 'n sleep, sweetheart. I'll keep the dreams away."

Knuckles collided with Billy's jaw, sending him flying backwards into a table. He struggled to stand, knees wobbling, but a force collided with him, knocking his body back and tumbling over the table. Wood splintered under his back, and he cursed the poor craftmanship. There'd be splinters in his back morning come.

Determinedly, Billy found his bearings and managed to stand. He dove at the man who'd caused his tumble, shouting obscenities. The man hadn't been expecting it, and the surprise attack gave Billy the upper hand. He pounded his fists against his face, beating him bloody until a bystander shoved him away, tossing him out of the saloon on his ass.

Spitting dirt, Billy stumbled to his feet and ducked into a nearby alley. The law would've likely been alerted by now and he was already on thin enough ice with that lot.

Somehow he managed to find his horse and ride off without being spotted. Trekking through the forest, he searched for the one place he knew he could go. The night was cold but clear, and your beloved stars gave him comfort even as his injuries stung. The moon was his light, guiding him to his one love, the only good thing he was next to possessing in this life.

"Think that bitch's got fight in 'er or would she let me take 'er?" the drunked man slurred, slamming his bottle on the table. "She's too lil' t' really bite back."

"She's got that innocent look in 'er eye." Another man grinned. "Look real pretty underneath ya."

"n' she's a witch," the first man laughed. "Y'know she'd be into some nasty shit-"

Knocking on your door, he winced as some of the blood from his knuckles stained the surface. But his worry over that was replaced by the disarming sight of you. Your eyes widened as you took in his damaged appearance.

Wordlessly, you pulled him in, sitting him down at your table and turning your back, busying yourself with finding the perfect remedy. Once you'd found that familiar paste you knelt and began to dab it on, not bothering to clean the wound. That could come after he was healed.

You looked up into his eyes. "What happened? How did you-?" Cutting yourself off, you reached for a bottle on the table that was uncorked. "Drink this."

He obeyed before answering your half question. "Bar fight."

"What on earth for?" Your brow was furrowed, and you were watching carefully as his knuckles smoothed over. Taking a wet cloth, you began to wipe the blood from his skin. "You haven't gotten into one before. At least not since I've been here."

Billy hesitated, and you noticed. He pursed his lips, looking away in shame. "They were...sayin' some things."

Warily because of his pause, you lifted your chin. Then you got up from your knees, quietly pushing his hands from his legs. Your knees found either side of Billy's thighs, and his hands instantly found your hips. You stared into his eyes, and he was pierced by your gaze. "Billy."

It could have been the magic in you, but Billy was sure it was a natural thing you possessed. That ability to draw anything from him you wanted to know. His lips were moving before he had a chance to think. "Honey...they were sayin'...sayin' awful things 'bout you..." Your face fell and he slowed down, the last few words following his first like a dog with its tail between its legs. "...'n I couldn't let them talk 'bout my girl...like...that." He finished lamely, avoiding your eyes.

Frozen, your lips parted slightly, and your hands fell from his shoulders to his thighs. He kept his hands on your waist, unsure if you'd slap them away. How angry would you be? He held his breath in anticipation.

To his shock you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face there and pressing a kiss to his skin. He was still for a second, and then he slid his arms all the way around you, holding you close and rubbing your back. He mumbled into your hair, "'M sorry...'m so sorry baby..."

You shook your head, drawing back to look at him. "Billy...I'm not worth it. Don't hurt yourself over me-"

"I'm not lettin' anybody talk 'bout my girl like that," he interrupted firmly, his hand stroking your cheek. "'specially after what ya told me 'bout everything. 'm sorry for upsettin' ya, 'n for comin' here so late, but I ain't sorry 'bout defendin' ya."

Something changed in your expression, and you breathed softly, leaning in to kiss him tenderly. Billy nudged his nose against yours, deepening the kiss and holding you close and tight to him.

"Honey," he muttered after you pulled back. "'m always gonna protect ya. I told you that."

"Don't get hurt for me anymore," you sniffled, leaning your forehead against his. "Please."

Billy couldn't deny you anything. Not even this, which went against his nature. Forever and always, he was a defender of those he loved. "I won't, sweet girl. For you, I won't."

Nodding, you framed his face with your hands, closing your eyes. He caught wind of what you were about to do and pulled you right up against him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You smiled lightly and started to whisper something. He recognized the spell, muttered in French. It was one you had used with him many a time before.

The air began to glow, and he closed his eyes, staying quiet. Your words, though not understood by him, were soft and comforting. There was a bright light in your unlit cottage stemming from you. Billy felt a warmth in his chest just as he did every time you did this. The magic warmed him inside and out, holding him to the earth like only something connected to you could.

Once you'd finished, he kissed your forehead long and tender, lips parting against your head and holding there. Billy murmured against your skin, "Thank you, baby."

The light had nearly faded, but the calm your magic gave him remained. You performed this spell nearly every time you saw him, taking the emotional weight off his shoulders he'd carried nearly his entire life.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then suddenly he caught wind of something over your shoulder, in the window. Billy's body stiffened, and his arms tightened around you. "Darlin'-"

The door burst open, a man storming in. He took one look at you and Billy and shouted behind him, "They're here! Him and the witch."

A crowd of around ten men overtook the room before Billy knew it, disturbing your furniture and knocking bottles to the floor. He heard the smash of broken glass, the splash of your potions hitting the floor.

Arms firm around you, keeping you tight to his chest with your head in his shoulder, he asked roughly, "The hell is going on here?" You made a little noise, shifting in his lap, and he moved one hand to the crown of your head, holding your head to his neck.

"We'll be takin' the witch," the closest man hissed, holding his pistol up, pointed at the back of your head. "Saw your little light show."

They'd followed him. Billy cursed himself for not being more careful. He shook his head, arms tightening around you if it was even possible. "She ain't done anythin' wrong."

"She's a witch." Billy hated how the man said it like it was dirty. "That's reason enough."

Two cowboys pushed forward, yanking you from Billy's arms and pulling you from his lap. Before he could jump up, a revolver was pressed to his forehead and faintly he saw a hand squeeze the trigger.

"No!" You screamed, and there was a loud noise, a burst of light more intense than before. A few of the men shouted, and the man holding the gun in front of Billy collapsed, leaving his view of you clear. His eyes widened, and he could see the terror and guilt on your face.

Quickly trying to remedy the incident as he watched your face crumple, he called, "It's okay! It's okay, sweet girl."

Your chest was heaving and the men surrounding you dragged you away despite your cries, their positions on your magic solidified after seeing you hurt one of their own. Accident or not, they now believed themselves justified.

Billy was restrained by the man who'd tried to shoot him as they carried you far past the bounds of your home. He could hear your crying and it made his heart ache. Struggling, he tried to stand and run after you but the man was determined.

It was only once the hoofbeats of horses outside had vanished that they let go. He got to his feet immediately, but his detainer punched him in the eye, making him fall like a pile of bricks.

He lay there limply, the pain literally blinding. There were sounds of boots stomping away, and he felt agony strike his chest. You were gone. Taken to a fate he felt sick imagining.

Billy felt adrenaline and anger pulse through his body, and he scrambled to his feet, picking up his hat that had been knocked off his head earlier. His legs took him to his horse, and he threw himself over it, kicking the creature into a gallop. It was halfway through the night.

By sunrise you'd be gone if he didn't hurry.

You shouldn't have been so careless.

With Billy, your guard had been down, and you loved him truly for making you feel that safe. But in his presence, you'd forgotten the world's hatred for those of your kind.

The spell you'd performed was harmless, one that gave your lover some peace of mind. It was the least you could do for all he'd given you. Though he insisted feelings weren't payment, you disagreed. Love had no debts.

Even though you hadn't hurt Billy, you had hurt the man pointing a gun at him. Guilt and pain ate you up inside, worries overtaking you. Was he okay? Had he been able to get away?

Your heart pounded a bruise into your chest. There were noises outside your cell, and you folded your arms tightly around yourself. They'd nearly shredded your dress. It was in tatters around your body where the men had torn at it, searching for any sign of magic on you. They found nothing.

The door clanged open, and a man knelt beside you, pushing you to sit up against the wall. He held a length of rope, wrapping it roughly around your arms. You whimpered as the course material scorched your arms.

He glared at you. "You'll be burnt at sunrise. Considered hanging but then the witchcraft'd still be in your body."

Eyes widening, you shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "No...no, please. Please don't do this."

But his eyes were unforgiving. Shoving you to lie on the ground again, he stood, shadow looming and making you feel even more pathetic. "See ya at dawn."

And with that he left.

You sobbed helplessly, twisting in the binds of the ropes and struggling to get free. But the man's knots had been firm, and now you suffered for it.

Hours slid from under your feet. You closed your eyes, resting your head heavily against the stone floor. And now you wished Billy had never pulled you out of the pond. Drowning would be a less cruel fate.

Tearfully, you thought of Billy. Of the love and light he'd bestowed upon you, a beautiful thing you hadn't ever thought yourself worthy of. It was a shame you'd never gotten to live a normal life with him. So many times since meeting him had you dreamed of blissful domesticity. And now there wasn't even a prayer of such a thing.

Your dreams died slowly before your eyes, and you mourned even the ones that you'd known wouldn't have come true anyway. Love was loss. It had only ever been loss for you. Any trace of hope in your veins had been sucked out by the rope that would now bind you until your death.

He had never shamed you, never cast you out. Instead, he had embraced your difference and shown you there was a facet of the world that wasn't cruel. Now you were setting him free from any obligation of you.

It was enough for you to know that as you closed your eyes, lying weakly on the stone. All the fight had left you, and you could feel your magic pulsing faintly, begging to be used, to be needed.

But you never wanted to use it again. Not after you knew you could hurt someone. Of course you'd always known it was possible, but never had you known yourself capable of it. No, you'd rather die than injure another living soul.

The door swung open again. Hours must have passed, because through the cell window you could faintly see the sun beginning to stretch forth its rosy fingers. Your hair was strewn over your face, and you were grateful at least that the rope covered what your poor dress couldn't.

Two pairs of arms lifted you up, dragging your tired body through the halls of the jail. There were whispers around you, but you paid no mind, trying to numb yourself to everything. The world was blurry to you. With any luck, before your murder, it would be black.

Your mind swayed back and forth like a rocking ship, and you thought aimlessly of the sea. Your home. You never wanted to go back to it, but now the details of it were comforting. The tide, the waves, the sand. It was something you wanted to stay a memory, but that memory was stowed safely in your heart next to everything pertaining to Billy.

The men grew tired of dragging you, and one of them tossed you over his shoulder like a bag of flour. His steps were heavy, jostling you carelessly. Of course, you were less than human to them. What did they care for your comfort?

Now you were outside, and the fresh air stung your senses. You breathed in softly, your hair fallen over your face as you hung upside down. Dust travelled into your lungs, and you coughed pathetically. The man carrying you laughed.

Death was waiting at the end of this path. You could feel it up ahead like a light at the end of the tunnel. By the time the sun hit the sky's middle you would be long gone from this world.

The man stopped walking, interrupting your train of thought. You squeezed your legs together to try and maintain some modesty. There were a few groans around you, and you wondered briefly if something had gone wrong with the setup for your execution. The one carrying you said something you couldn't hear, and then you were falling sideways, earth tilting on its axis. You didn't know you were falling until someone caught you, shoving the other man away.

Now a course, but gentle hand was smoothing your hair, whispering something you didn't make out. You squeezed your eyes shut; sure you were dreaming.

When you dug your face into Billy's chest you knew he was real. He let out a soft, lightened noise, his words becoming clearer to you. "...honey. I've gotcha. C'mon, we're gettin' outta here."

He was running now, and you could make out shadows. Everything was blurry except for the pain of your magic. It pounded against your head, and you cried softly into Billy's chest, trying to breathe and alleviate it.

His voice rumbled against you. "Shh, I know, sweet girl. I know."

"I need...my lavender," you hiccupped, gripping the collar of his shirt.

"We'll find ya some," he promised, fingers making quick work of untying your ropes. They fell from around you, and you heard him take in a breath at the state of your dress. He put something over your shoulders, sliding your arms through sleeves, and then you felt yourself being lifted up. Fur met your legs. Billy's horse.

The ride was a mess of pained whimpers and bumpy movement. Billy did his best to comfort you but it was just so painful, all of it.

He held you close, assuring you with every step. Once you reached the apparent destination, Billy pulled you down, settling you against the grass. Reaching over, he plucked something from the ground and held it up to your lips. You inhaled gently before opening your mouth. Lavender.

The plant revived you enough to look up at your lover, who was breathing fast, anxiously watching you. He squeezed your hand. "Darlin'...sweetheart...how're ya feelin'?"

You looked up at him. Highlighted by the sun's newborn rays, he was angelic. You would have fallen to your knees if you weren't on the ground already. Here he had ridden time and tide for you, yanked you from the path of death and uncaged your love. Now you were splayed out in the light, softened by his touch.

How long had you been unworthy? How long had you deemed yourself terrible? But he had saved you. Billy, the one facet of good in your life, had seen you fit to survive. He defended you. He carried you beyond the bounds of your self-worth. Oh, how he loved you.

Looking up at him, you managed the faintest of smiles, pressing your cheek to his chest.

"Yes."

Billy was shielding the leftover sun from the day, reflecting it from his eyes. He squinted at you, kneeling several feet away from him. "Everythin' alright?"

You nodded; breaths faint. He could see the panic in your eyes, but you didn't let it show anywhere else as you pressed your palms to the grass. The open field was perfect for your intentions, you'd assured him.

It was a hard decision. You had cried and pleaded with your tired body, trying to make it last. Nightmares tormented your unconscious mind; your magic grew heavier by the day. Billy helped as much as he was able, but it couldn't be denied that your quality of life was diminishing.

It was a risk. He knew that. But more than being aware of the consequences, he was confident in the goodness of your soul. Never had he met someone whose light shone so bright from within.

Somewhere in his heart he instinctively bore the knowledge that you were pure. The origins of your magic were unknown, but he was certain that if it was evil in the majority you wouldn't be as kind as you were. He shared that with you over and over until you had no choice but to believe it.

So now, here he was, standing helplessly as you tapped into the most vulnerable crooks of your body, the ones magic and witchcraft occupied. You'd insisted he stay back in case something went wrong.

Bowing your head, your hair fell in front of your face. He could hear a muttered incantation from where he stood. Your fingers clenched the grass, knuckles whitening.

He longed to run to you, but he didn't want to ruin the process and make something go worse than it already could. The situation was precarious enough.

Billy watched as a light shimmered through your body, palpitating against your skin and making you shiver. The sky was turning grey as storm clouds feathered the air.

You were crying- he could hear it. Now your body was shaking, tremors seizing you as you somehow kept your hands flat to the ground. Billy's heart pained for you, and he watched with wide eyes as a bright star seemed to glow from within you.

Your head tilted back, and something seemed to snap. Eyes snapping open, you gasped loudly, and fell backwards, staring at the sky.

The earth was quiet. The clouds were still. You were no longer glowing.

Billy hesitated before moving. He had no idea if you were still in the process. But now you were sitting up, flexing your fingers in front of yourself with eyes as round as the moon.

A joyful smile like sunshine spread across your face, and you exclaimed happily. Getting to your feet hurriedly, you ran like a deer to him, stumbling a little in excitement. Before he could react, you were throwing yourself at him, arms and legs wrapped tightly around his torso.

Laughing a little, he buried his nose in your hair. "Did it...did it...?"

"It worked!" You pulled back, then touched your forehead to his. "Billy it worked! It worked, the magic was good...I'm free!"

He spun you around, making you giggle in delight. "'Course it was, baby! You're better than anyone else."

You kissed his nose. "Billy..."

Grinning, he nodded. "I know, I know."

Leaning in, he kissed you tenderly, moving his lips against you like it was what he was created to do. There were happy tears on your cheeks, and he thumbed them away, holding you tightly to him.

Pulling back slightly, you nudged your nose against him. "You showed me...you loved me when it wasn't for the better. You rescued me in every possible way..."

"It's all worth it," he breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth again. "You...you, my love, are worth every step. Don't know how I ever came 'cross such a sweetheart."

"I needed you," you whispered, smiling brightly. Oh, he'd been too right about your draw. Magic hadn't had anything to do with it. The gravity encased within your soul was all you. "The past was my charge to carry before, but it's faded with my magic." You kissed his nose. "The future is you. Everything that matters is you."

"My love," he smiled, capturing your lips again. "My darlin'..." Billy took one of your hands from his neck and pressed it to his heart. "It's yours. It always has been."

You kissed him soundly until the moon rose over the river, the night bringing promises of love no longer lost.

No, now it was only found. You found each other, a magic that had nothing to do with what you'd just given up connecting your souls.

Previous part

[lunar-years]

i wonder if a lot of the ted-as-jamies-father-figure stuff comes from the fact that he's SO heavily contrasted with james sr anytime he and jamie interact. and then you get a two roads in the woods situation. on the one hand, compared to how james treats jamie, it's easy to think "yeah ted! that's how a real dad acts!" when he's doing things like giving ted the army man or being gentle with him in the crown + anchor. but on the other hand, if you get past ted's mannerisms and look at his actions/words, what he's actually doing is, uh, not great!

Excellent point! I very much agree (and it's super interesting that the vast majority of their interactions revolve around James Sr. on some level.)

@goodmorninglovelies42 said Ted sees Jamie as a son-figure but Jamie doesn't see Ted as a father-figure and I think there's a lot of truth to that!

(although personally, I also think even that is very much mixed up in Ted's own Henry & Dad stuff. IMO, Ted sees many of the boys as substitute sons he can focus on guiding and leading in lieu of his missing actual son [and as a way to work past the guilt he feels at leaving said son behind]. He isn't there for Henry but he can be there for Jamie, Sam, Nate, etc. Like, I totally do think Ted sees Jamie as a son-figure, but in a 'Jamie can easily fit into the son-shaped hole in my chest' way as opposed to like, something specific about Jamie himself/Jamie's personality that has Ted caring for him like and thinking of him as a son. If that makes sense? To me it all boils down to that I do not think Ted actually comes to ever understand Jamie on a personal or deeper level, it's moreso the idea of Jamie/what Jamie represents that gets into Ted's head.)

I feel like i'm at risk of coming off as way too harsh on Ted lol so I also want to clarify that I believe in all of the following:

Ted genuinely cares about Jamie and Jamie's well-being (as he does about all the lads). Ted's just genuinely a good person who cares about the majority of people, Jamie included!

The (terrible) advice he gives to Jamie always comes from a well-intentioned place. Like, I think Ted really believes he's bestowing vital wisdom upon him. It's just always...misguided. Because Ted does not actually know what works for Jamie or how to effectively help Jamie, despite thinking he does.

so much of this boils down to Ted's very real mental health struggles which are not his fault. However, I do wish the show had grappled with the potential consequences of his words/actions for others. Like... I would have loved for someone else (Beard) to find out what Ted told Jamie in Mom City and call him out on that being Terrible Advice. Because it's something the show never makes Ted reckon with and I find that annoying lol.

Jamie respects Ted as a coach and appreciates what he's done for Richmond. He just sees him as a coach/authority figure, not a dad.

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

Schnee's video "The Deeper Meaning of Loser Baby" is by far the BEST Hazbin Hotel analysis I've ever seen. Literally. Perfectly pointed, edited and EXTREMELY empathetic. Like. For real. It clearly shows how media literate and sympathetic the author is. He analysed Angel's behaviour, his trauma, how realistic it is, how well written Angel and his whole arc is, analysed why and how Husk was able to help Angel when Charlie wasn't... omg, it's so much better than any anti bullshit trying to explain why "Angel is a bad victim actually, hypersexual and unperfect? Nhaaa you're unvalid actually yeah sorry" to validate their own hate boner against Viv. Seriously, what a fucking perfect video. I recommend anyone of watching it, even haters, so they can see how blind and ignorant they truly are.

Thanks for sharing!

I did really like how non-judgmental Schnee's video was. I do occasionally watch videos made by Hazbin haters - because I want to give the other side a fair hearing, and expose myself to different views so I'm not just in an echo chamber - and one of the things I'm struck by is how many of them drift away from talking about the cartoon to pass judgement on the fans. "I don't understand how anyone can like these characters!" "Y'all have been gaslit into thinking this is good writing!" "Everyone has such bad takes, as evidenced by this single comment that only one person said which I'm now going to rant about!" That sort of thing.

Schnee's video was different. It didn't poke fun at the fans of the cartoon (probably because it was made by a fan). It instead kept its focus on the story - what Angel goes through, and how impactful that is, and how Angel's arc fits into the wider themes of Hazbin Hotel. And the whole thing was really well-scripted and well-edited.

Another thing I liked about Schnee's video was the fact that it wasn't laser-focused on Angel's character flaws, which it seems a lot of anti-Angel videos are. They focus too much on how he was harassing Husk in the earlier episodes, and don't acknowledge the fact that he changed and stopped doing that in the later episodes.

I even saw one video that was criticising the Huskerdust ship saying, "Be mad at me for saying this all you want, but I'm sorry, does Angel even really deserve Husk at this point?" When I heard that, my jaw dropped. What do you mean, Angel doesn't deserve Husk? Yes, he has a bad coping mechanism that hurts others, but does that really make him totally unworthy of love? Can he not be loved as he is and then helped to change?

And what does that say about Husk? That quote makes it sound like Husk is better than Angel and that Angel would drag him down, like Husk is some perfect precious uwu smol bean who needs to be protected from the big bad spider demon. My fellow human being, Husk is a former Overlord. He owned souls and gambled with them and didn't care until his own power was threatened. But I don't see anyone arguing that Husk doesn't deserve Angel because of that!

Why is Angel getting all this ire? Why is he the launcher of a thousand discourse posts and not, I don't know, Valentino, his abuser? That very same video also mentioned Staticmoth, and all it said about that ship was, "I just don't feel comfortable shipping a sex abuser with someone" - and that was it! Valentino has done so much worse than Angel, but he was quickly dismissed in that one comment, whereas Angel got three minutes in this video (plus multiple other videos by the same person) trashing him in an angry tone of voice with F-bombs aplenty! It's disproportionate!

(deep breath)

Wow, that was a doozy of a tangent!

That's the trouble with watching videos by Hazbin haters: you run the risk of hearing something that boils your blood. So it's really refreshing to find videos that aren't just criticising Angel endlessly, but treat his story with the respect such topics deserve.

I feel that not enough people recognise Angel's positive traits either. Such as his willingness to assist people even if they've hurt him in the past. Or his bravery in standing up for others. Angel's got a good heart deep down! It just takes a bit of work to help him show it.

[ohtobeleah]

Roll of the Dice // Jake Seresin

Chapter One: ‘Echoes’

Summary: When Rooster makes a snarky remark that should have never left his mouth—everyone who knew, for a brief moment in time, Is brought back to the moment where Jake Seresin lost his one and only wingwoman.

Warnings: Angst! Graphic Mentions of injuries sustained from a fighter jet accident. Loss of life, reader x Jake Seresin WHUMP!

Word Count: 3.8k

Author Note: Damn, I dunno where all this shit is coming from but these ones shots & little two parters are clogging my brain so I thought it best to get them on paper once and for all.

Series Masterlist

“Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.” Bradley Bradshaw had a few regrets he’d managed to tally up in his thirty eight years on earth—but letting such a harsh truth slip past his slightly chapped lips when he knew the seriousness of the situation playing out before him wasn’t all that deep, was definitely on top of his list.

“Oof“ Jake could hear Fanboy chuckle from behind him as he leaned over to take his shot at pool. For a moment those around him wondered if he’d falter, slip and miss under the weight of Roosters insult. But Jake never faltered in front of his peers in such a public manner. No—he simply took a deep breath and sunk his shot. 

Fanboy hadn’t known of Jake before stepping foot into the Hard Deck fifteen or so minutes ago, nor did he know how serious Bradley Bradshaw's accusation had truly been. How hard it hit on a personal level. Bob Floyd, the one who should have been a stealth pilot in Jakes eyes, stood smirking beside his new colleague. The two Weapons Systems Officers instantly bonding over their respective roles—Coyote and Phoenix though? they knew. They knew just how deep Roosters jab had truly cut and the fact he could never take it back would follow the moustache wearing aviator to his own grave. 

Rooster expected Jake to turn to stone at the venom he spat, if anything at the very least Rooster wouldn't have been surprised if Jake Seresin fell to his knees like the night he did when he’d heard the news you hadn’t made it through the night. But to much surprise his dog shot insult had washed over the cocky superficial as all hell aviator like water rolling off a duck's back. Remaining unphased and staying poised, Jake stood with a smug smile. He took calculated strides towards Bradley as he pulled his lips into a cruel smirk. Sitting on the edge of the pool table with his chest puffed and his blood boiling.

“Well, anyone who follows you is just gonna run out of fuel—“. Jake wore an egomaniacal bravado incredibly well–but Rooster, Phoenix and Coyote all knew he hadn’t always been this way. “But that’s just you, ain’t it Rooster.” He just hadn’t been the same since he lost you. “You’re snug on that perch, waiting for just the right moment—” Rooster knew deep down that Jake wasn't talking to him right now. He knew that the man who stood before him with his shoulder squared and his thousand-watt smirk was channeling some deeper repressed emotion he never got to properly work through. Turning into a version of himself he didn't know as a coping mechanism, loss, grief, heartache consuming him fully—turning him into someone completely different to the man you knew him to be. The man he was. The man he wanted to be beside you every day and every night. But that didn’t matter because you weren’t around to see how far he’d fallen into the character he developed to protect himself from the world that was so fucking cruel. It took no prisoners, it played no favorites. “That never comes.”

Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave. It burned his skin, the all too familiar sensation like jet fuel landing on exposed flesh. Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave. Drowning out his surroundings Jake couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. He carried on his night in autopilot as the former and less heartbroken version of himself screamed and clawed and tried to beat against his chest over his heart to no avail. Jake wasn’t letting him out—no. He couldn’t, not when you weren’t here. No one left on earth was worthy of who he truly could be. When you left? Jake swore you took everything with you, all the good he could and wanted to be. Without you? His better half, his soulmate, his best friend, he was simply Hangman.

Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave. Rooster's voice echoed like a poorly educated Orchestra, everything and everyone around him felt like the hands of time had slowed them down so he could revel in every passing second. A longer eternity away from your warm embrace. The one he’d worked so hard to earn. The love he lost. That his body ached for since you left.

Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave. Jake brought a round of beers blindly, going through the motions, he razed Phoenix up a little more about her being here, he beat Coyote in three games of pool and thought it was ridiculous just how many people turned their attention to Rooster when he played Great Balls Of Fire. He hated the fact he knew you’d be the one sitting next to him—singing your heart out because you knew how to party and party hard.

Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave. He helped Coyote throw some guy from the bar—said a witty little remark before saluting and slamming the door. Jake knew you’d kick his ass for it if you had seen him act so differently to the Jake Seresin you knew. But with every slow, overwhelming moment Jake couldn’t shake the comment Rooster had made. Couldn’t rid you from his mind although he tried so hard to keep you locked in a box deep inside his cerebellum.

Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

When Jake Seresin finished his night at the Hard Deck, he went back to his dorm, locked his door—and stood in complete silence. Stood in the dark of his empty dorm and sighed heavily as the weight of what felt like the entire world crushed his chest.

When he couldn’t breathe he knew it was serious. Dropping to his knees with a sob that would have broken your heart he clutched at his chest and tried to steady himself. A panic attack surging through his veins like a rush of adrenaline his body rejected. The endorphins backfiring, sending his body into overdrive because he couldn’t stop hearing your fucking laugh in his goddamn head. Like a permanent reminder that you were gone but not forgotten. Too far away to talk to, to touch, to see, but never far enough away to not hear. It was cruel. It was a sick joke.

“AAAHHHHH!!” At the top of his lungs like the world wasn’t at a standstill at two in the morning, Jake shouted to the heavens above until his face was bright red, till his eyes stung, till the vein in his neck popped and there was nothing left inside him till the deafening silence once again consumed him.

Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave. He didn’t know how long he had been on the floor of his dorm for either—time must have resolved itself at some point. Suddenly not so slow motion.

“Ay yo—Jake man you good?” Banging his first against Jake's door, Javy frowned his brows with concern after the agony ridden scream coming from his wingman’s dorm ripped through the first floor dorms. Rooster had stood in his doorway watching, but too stubborn to move. He hated himself enough for what he had said—he didn’t need a black eye to remind himself he crossed a line. He knew if there was such a thing as life after death you’d be watching over him with a frown so prominent it would haunt his nightmares. His dad would have smacked him upside the head by now for causing someone this much distress.

“Hangman?” Knocking again only to be met with silence and a locked door, Javy slid down the door, his back pressed against the heavy wood as he took a stab in the dark as to what this was about. “There was nothing on this earth you could have done differently Bro.” He sighed, his head hanging low. “But Dice? She’s gone, she’s been gone for almost six months man.”

Javy would be lying if he said he didn’t miss you every single day. He also knew that with some twisted turn of fate, if you’d never been taken so soon he never would have had the privilege to fly in your honor every day beside Jake. But something he also knew was that dwelling on the past held back whatever bright future was ahead. “Jake I know you’re listening man, so imma say it one more time—.”

Jake couldn’t hear what Javy ended up saying, it was probably something like he couldn’t change the past or that you’d want him to get off the ground out of the heap he’d collapse into. Or something along the lines of there was nothing Jake could have done to protect you or prevent your untimely demise. He didn’t hear anything of it, because all that rang out through his head like an obnoxiously loud gong was:

Hangman, the only place you ever led her was an early grave.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

(North Island — United States Navy Fighter Weapons School, October 16th 2014)

“DIXON!!” Admiral Paynes voice bellowed through the locker room with enough grunt behind it that it had you jumping out of your skin before slamming your hand in the door jam of your locker. Muffling a cry in pain as you held your hand to your chest as it throbbed, turning on your heels to stand to attention, hiding all the fear you felt coursing through your body as the older more authoritarian admiral approached you. His nostrils flaring like saucepans as he held out a deflated whoopee cushion. “You think this is some kind of game?”

“No sir, not at all sir–” You tried your best to look him directly in the eye as you lied through your teeth. Of course it was a game, it was actually a childs gag toy if anything–but you weren’t about to get into an argument with Admiral Nathan ‘Agony’ Payne. “Why are you showing me a whoopee cushion, sir?”

“Someone put it on my chair thismorning–” Fuck. “I thought I’d give you the chance to perhaps enlightening me as to who that might of been before I ask the admin assistance to run the security footage.” You knew you’d been caught red handed. Agony knew no one else would be stupid enough, or ballsy enough for that matter, to pull a stunt like this. However! It was in your DNA. He knew immediately that you had been the culprit of such a crime. Like father, like daughter.

“Dad says Hi.” Was all you muttered out before you dropped your gaze, fuck– as if you wouldn’t think about the security cameras. “He told me to tell you that he’s really pissed you keep flying Jet Blue when he knows you know he flys American Airlines–” There was no response as you dropped your gaze once again to your feet. “Sorry Sir, it won’t happen again sir.” Your father and Admiral Payne had been friends for a few decades, remaining the same even though your dad decided that flying commercially sparked his interest now more than for the Navy. It probably wasn't your finest moment to allow your father to use you as a conduit to get a rise out of his old buddy.

Bradley Bradshaw sat zipping up his flight suit on the bench behind where Admiral Payne had been scolding you. He got an undisturbed front row seat to the seven colours of bad shit you’d gone while taking an absolute scolding from your superior. Chucking softly as he caught your attention for just a few seconds.

“How the fuck did you end up here?” Agony scoffed as he let the whoopee cushion drop into your hand. You’d somehow by the skin of your fucking kneecaps, slid your way into the latest class of TopGun. You still weren't too sure how you got here or what the Navy saw in you–but nevertheless, you were here. “Pull a stunt like this again and I won’t be so inclined to keep you around long enough so you can show me what you're capable of, do I make myself clear?”

“In abundance sir.” You confirmed what he needed to hear in order to let you live, keep the skin on your body. “It won't happen again, sir.” Without so much as a word after, Agony turned with an expression that rivalled one of Jack Nicholson's own. Leaving you to breathe again, since when had you been holding your breath though?

“You fucking idiot–” Bradley cried out in hesterrics as you threw the deflated woopee his way, laughing along with him as you slide down the lockers into a heap on the floor. “As if you’d do that! That Admiral Agony Y/n! You can’t do that type of shit and expect to get away with it, even if dear old pops put you up to it.” Although you had your mothers maiden name and had lived with her for most of your life, you were still Ron ‘Slider’ Kerners flesh and blood. His daughter through and through. A last name didn't prove that, your attitude and wits about you told that story enough.

“I just kinda assumed the whole last name situation would have thrown him off my scent a little.” You and Bradley had known each other for what felt like your entire lives. Not all that close but still, you kept in contact over the years, met at family gatherings until his relationship with Pete Mitchell diminished into nothing. Suddenly Bradley Bradshaw was no longer around, for four years you heard nothing until one day you ran into him in the halls of the Naval Academy. He’d finally made it. Since then though things had been good–you found solace in his ability to overcome adversity and he found joy in the easygoing attitude you wore like a badge of honour. A friendship pure and as platonic as they come.

“Sounds like someone just got a scolding–” Phoenix smirked as she entered the locker room, noticing you on the ground after your near death experience. “I'm assuming you were on the receiving end of that mouthful Dixon?” She beamed, roughing the top of your head as you groaned in response. Still rattled. “You’ll never learn will you?”

“I’m hoping to one day, but no.” Sitting up as you let your legs stretch out, you ran your hands down your face–pulling at the skin as you widened your eyes and smirked at your own idiocy. “Probably not–”

“Who let you in here anyway, Bradshaw? I haven’t seen you since 0 week at Acam?” Natasha teased her long lost lover as she sauntered over to where Bradley sat. “And more importantly whos dick did you have to suck to get a mention?” You couldn’t help but to smile at the way Bradley looked at Natasha Trance, she mimicked it back as she stood between his legs so effortlessly, her hands on his shoulders as Bradleys hands slid up her hips.

“Well the list is certainly long, but highly distinguished.” You could have sat there for hours longing for a love like theirs. Fait always brought them back to one another. Each and every time like they had never left each other's sides, picking up right where they had left their bookmarked chapter.

“What do we have here?” When you turned your head towards the doorway of the locker room, you were met with a man who you could only physically describe at first glance as Coverboy Pretty. With sandy blonde hair and a smile that could most likely light up New York City after dark, he was the embodiment of a ken doll. “Phoenix and Rooster, my oh my, do my eyes deceive me?”

“Get bent Hangman—“ Rooster sneered as Phoenix stepped back from his welcoming embrace, instead opting to fold her arms across your chest and raise a single brow Hangman’s way. The blonde barely turned his attention to Rooster as he caught the sight of you slumped against the lockers on the ground. He’d never seen you before in all his years of active service. There was a gentle glint in your eyes as you took him in, for a moment you could have gotten lost in the green of his eyes, mesmerising as they swirled in all shades. Jake was quick to catch that momentary glint–deciding to chase it further.

“And who might you be?” He pointed with a smirk. “And what are you doing on the ground like that?”

“That’s Dixon—“ Phoenix spoke before you could say something stupid. “She’s mentally and physically recovering from nearly taking the beating of her life from Admiral Payne.” You and Phoenix had been assigned with the strike fighter squadron VFA/-41 Black Aces prior in Lemoore before your summons for Miramar. Rooster however had been stationed out with Hangman with the strike fighter squadron VFA-87 Golden Warriors in Virginia.

“What’d you do to fall on his radar?” The man who’d been standing just behind the blonde who you could only assume was Hangman spoke up finally. He was darker, quite handsome, by all accounts a nice guy–you'd give him the benefit of the doubt until further notice. But you’d never seen either of them before in your career. Never crossed paths, never heard the callsigns.

“I whoopee cushioned his chair, Dad was in the same TopGun class as him back in the day” You explained yourself, with your hands up by your side in defence. “Stupid I know but dad said if I didn’t at least do it once—“

“Wait, who's your dad?” Hangman coaxed the information straight from the source as he stepped closer. “There’s more than one Nepo baby in the class Coyote, my god—what are we gonna do?” Ah, so Hangman and Coyote–did everyone have their call signs except for you? You couldn't possibly be the only person on this goddamn base that didn't have their call sign yet.

“Pfft, please if anything I’m gonna get my ass handed to me the whole time I’m here because of my dad.” You groaned as you stood from your seat on the ground. Dusting your hand off on the normex suit before sticking it out Hangman’s way. “I’m Y/n Dixon, Dads Slider, Ron Kerner.” You explained. “And before you ask, it’s just Dixon—I don’t have a callsign yet.” Jake couldn’t really wrap his head around what he was hearing, how had you not been given a call sign yet? If you were at TopGun level surely you had one–right? To not have a callsign was like seeing a unicorn in the wild. It didn't happen because those things just didn't exist.

“You display a complete lack of personality or something? What’s the go with that?” Taking your hand in his, the blonde introduced himself. Taking your knuckles to his lips. “Jake, Jake Seresin.” You saw Bradley gag from your peripheral vision as Jake kissed your hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Callsign to be determined.” Bradley hated the laugh Jake evoked out of you, your smile bright as you felt the flush of heat rise to your cheeks. “But surely your’re fucking with me? You can’t not have a call sign?”

“Well, they always say you shouldn’t ask for one, and I haven’t been given one, so yeah—“ Pulling your hand back, Jake watched as you ducked your head a little and rubbed at the red marks that had started the get a little more aggressive on your hand from where you'd slammed it into your locked not too long ago. “Little bit of a nomad I guess, everyone just calls me Dixon.”

“Dixon huh?” Jake grinned ear to ear as he drank in the sight of you—he couldn’t deny you were a breath of fresh air, he’d never had a female wingman and he was keen to test the waters. “Well it’s nice to meet my new wingwoman.” When Jake had seen his last name posted next to yours. Seresin x Dixon—he assumed he’d be flying with another guy. He’d never had a female wingman.

“What are you talking about?” Bradley stood with a sudden urgency. “How do you know you got Dixon?”

“Listing was posted like an hour ago on the communications board outside the hub.'' Jake said it in a way as if this isn't something you guys shouldn’t have known about. “I was just there.” Pointing his thumb over his shoulder, Jake watched as Phoenix and Rooster barrelled out of the locker room, shoving at each other as they fought to be the first one out the door. Rooster let Phonix go first, of course. Coyote wasn’t too far behind them, he wanted to bear witness to the meltdown Rooster was going to have when he realised Phoenix had been paired with Kenny ‘Plan-B’ Shepard. The call sign had been with him since before his time in the Navy. When women walked into the bar, they knew when they saw this guy, that that was what their “last resort” was.

“So since you're my wingman I guess we should get to know each other?” Turning back to your locker, you grabbed your helmet out. It was simply black. No details or call sign to decorate it with as of yet. Which kinda sucked—but you knew, list most things, time would only tell. “You wanna grab something to eat after the first run? Grab a few beers at the Hard Deck? I could go a couple of rounds if you’re not doing anything.” Jake took the opportunity you’d handed him on a silver platter to rile you up.

“If you’re asking me on a date, I'm gonna need a little bit more effort than that sweetheart.” He beamed back at you as you raised your eyes stunned at his forwarness.

“Oh—I wasn’t.” Immediately jumping to your own defense to correct the course that you thought the conversation was heading. You hadn’t been asking Jake out. “Honest, I just thought that maybe that was the best way to just—“ Jake's laugh echoed through the empty locker room as you rambled, stopping yourself when you noticed he had just been pulling your leg. “Oh, okay so you just assume every girl who gives you the time of day wants to date you? Is that it?”

“Nah, just the real pretty ones with no call signs.” He was falling in love in a millisecond just from the way you caught yourself smiling for a split moment before you had to reel yourself in. Would you be into an autumn wedding? His family's ranch was always the prettiest place on earth in autumn. “Hard Deck, your shout.” He pointed as you stared at him with a raised brow and lips pressed firmly together.

“Oh great.” Rolling your eyes, you pushed past Jake Seresin, you couldn’t think of a worse wingman to want to have to work with. “I can already tell you’re gonna be hard to deal with.”

***~***~***~***~***~

Jake caught himself smiling softly at the sound of your voice playing out in his head like a symphony as he thought back to the moment he first met you. How beautiful you were, how charismatic.

He sits there for a moment, his hair a mess as he reminisces about your softness, your kindness, your ability to take his breath away in an instant at just a simple smile. Jake catches himself for a split second smirking softly at your memory. His eyes lingering on the photo tapped haphazardly to his mirror. The photo of you and him that would forever travel the globe with him. Cross the seven seas with him. The engagement ring on your ring finger just a tad too big. He never got a chance to get it resized, but regardless it sat snug around his neck—strung between his dog tags.

Pushing him self up off the ground Jake wiped his tears and sighed a heavy sigh. Fixing himself up the best he could before he unlocked his dorm door, opening it to have Coyote falling in as the door disappeared from where his back had been leaning against it.

“I’m fine—“

“You sure?” Javy asked as he stood to his feet in Jakes threshold. He had know his best friend long enough to know by now that the look on his face was the mask someone wore when they were battling their own inner demons. “I’m here if you wanna talk about it.”

But Jake couldn’t talk about it. How could he? When his own mind was as loud as all hell, screaming at him the same thing over and over and over again until he got the message loud and clear:

Hangman, the only place you ever led her was an early grave.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @dempy @abaker74 @a-serene-place-to-be @starkleila @some-lovely-day

[vigilskeep]

Curious what u think of the judgment side quests in DAI? Somere fine but for most the options while judging are 'death sentence' 'imprisonment' or 'indentured servitude' which are all pretty bad?

i mean i think it’s up to you whether you consider dealing out premeditated punishments worse or better than killing dozens of randoms at a time out in the exalted plains or whatever. neither of those things are great but remember that it’s only the people in charge who ever get the privilege of trial

sorry to be a nerd here but i’m way more interested in the political implications which are fucking insane. so one of the absolute most prime functions of a quasi-medieval king is adjudication. one of the reasons the aristocracy even lets there be a king is because someone has to make those decisions to end disputes—usually what land belongs to who, because that’s what it always boils down to—so that people’s rights are respected and we’re not just in all out warfare all the time. higher authority is useful. and sometimes that search for higher authority that can actually enforce the result needs to go beyond the borders of your kingdom. the church fulfils this role a lot, especially between kings, but you also know a king or emperor is powerful and respected as hell when they’re getting called on to adjudicate disputes even outside of their own borders. this half-remembered over simplified summary of historical information that is no doubt making someone shake their head in despair all goes to say that the fact that the inquisition is overseeing justice on orlesian and fereldan territory is insane. i could believe it for orlais, which is obviously in civil war and full of desperate nobles whose land rights and grievances are not getting attended to in the slightest, if it weren’t for the inquisition inexplicably getting to judge and potentially humiliate a grand duchess. the EMPRESS’ COUSIN OR THE EMPEROR’S SISTER. and as for ferelden, a country that holds its freedom as its highest ideal, and very much has its own monarch?? what the fuck is going on. the inquisition isn’t even chantry-backed it’s a popular army of fanatics led by a handful of rebels who were close to a dead divine. on what fucking authority?? the fake herald of andraste’s?? arl teagan kill these fools. i would be surprised if the punishments of anyone who isn’t dead outlive the inquisition btw even if just for orlais and ferelden to assert their authority again

i really enjoy the judgements on a player level i think they’re fun and i like when what the inquisitor is doing actually makes sense for a leader of this scale of organisation instead of wandering around the forest personally mining the inquisition’s supply of iron or whatever tf

[isa-ghost]

Isa my darling! Happy Birthday, albeit a couple of days early.

Seeing you screech in Philza's streams because Apollo hit you with that dodgeball yet again makes me giggle a lot.

How about since headcanon's for qPhilza's past/pre island relationship with qFit. How they got to know each other, and how quickly they became friends?

Idr if I said this on Tumblr yet but deadass I asked Apollo on my pendulum if qPhil is his blorbo and he said yes. He's been as invested in shit as me and it's been hilarious. I literally have crows yelling at me irl to keep writing rn but I'm answering headcanons first.

The entire time I've been distracted between writing these, crows have been yelling at me about it. Which. Is how Apollo communicates with me when I'm not actively talking to him through readings LMFAO.

Also thank you for the birthday wish :D [desperately hoping nothing else horrible happens this weekend please god]

Anyway qPhil headcanons masterlist let's go

Disclaimer that I didn't know of Fit before QSMP (I've only been in mcyt for 4 years monkaS) so these are gonna be largely pulled out of my ass and a lil repetitive.

These two both have experiences in anarchy and war, they've definitely brushed shoulders a couple times bc of it

They admired each other's work ofc. Phil is a macro scale kinda guy, total annihilation and victory that makes a statement. Fit's more of a micro scale kinda guy, zeroing in on one person or group individually and making their lives hell until the end in the name of surviving a little longer

On that note, I think we all sleep a little bit on the fact that Fit is Also a survivalist like Phil, just in a very different set of high stakes conditions. These two are equally skilled in it and equally sharp strategists

On that note, anyone who knew them from the past would fear the idea of them coming together to create a plan of any kind, especially of the anarchist-fueled variety. If the Federation has done their research right, they should know full well how terrifying this duo could be in an effort to dismantle their authority

Btw by brushing shoulders I don't just mean brief passings by, I mean they've like. Camped out for a night together, temporarily truced for the sake of safety in numbers, etc. More than a few conversations have been had even if the time they've spent together totals to less than a week.

However, even when they weren't actively paired together, they'd still occasionally trade or gift each other surplus resources. It was a genuine kind act, even if it simultaneously served as a reason for each of them to not come after the other. I scratch your back, you scratch mine.

Like why do you think Fit was one of the first threats on Phil's mind in Purgatory. He Knew(tm). And he knew Fit has an affinity for picking off the weak first, like a lion after a herd of antelope. To him, Purgatory was the awakening of a monster who'd been dormant for a long time.

See, present day they're QPR as fuck, they'd never do this now without 10x the pressure Purgatory put on them, but back in the day they took close notes on each other's strengths and weaknesses. Just In Case, yknow? They could very much kill each other. Back in the day they would've if it came to it, no matter how good an ally they were.

Something about how these two used to be so cold and hard to the world. Be it to self-preserve or some other reason. Something about how now they've both softened and warmed after becoming parents. They never could've imagined the other would "weaken" like this, especially back then.

Phil 🤝🏻 Fit - Phil being a historian of the deities/builds of his Hardcore World, Fit being a historian of 2B2T

A lot of this boils down to mutual respect, common interests, and secret admiration tbh. And what's more homoerotic than that?

They're both crisis preppers. Not doomsday type shit, just. Being ready for shit to hit the fan. They both come from places where life is significantly more dangerous than it is in other realms.

The crazy thing is though? Despite the above, they can't imagine being from each other's realms. Phil would LOATHE 2B2T and Fit would hate the absoluteness of Hardcore. Isolation is absolute, death is absolute. There's no wiggle room or margin for error.

With how adaptive the two of them are due to their origins, they could probably acclimate to any conditions. They'd complain about having to, especially if it was inconvenient, but they could. They used to swap tips & tricks with each other on how to improve their adaptability too.

Fit would've 100% been down to join Phil on Doomsday in DSMP. He was thoroughly impressed when Phil told him the story.

[multi-fan-girlie]

The man behind the badge pt1

Authors note: I've seen people asking for Ralvez with internalized homophobia so here's part ones :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

pairing: Spencer Reid x Luke Alvez

genre: hurt?/angst?

Summary: spencer is in denial about his sexuality and takes it out on luke (idk how to summarise it tbh)

word count: 1013

Part two | part three

Spencer Reid had always been a brilliant and dedicated member of BAU. Known for his intellect and marvellous profiling skills, he was highly respected by his colleagues and feared by the criminals he helped put behind bars. But there was one aspect of his life that he kept hidden from everyone… his sexuality.

For years, Spencer had struggled with his internalised homophobia,he was unable to accept the fact that he was attracted to men. Growing up in a conservative household, he had been told that being gay was wrong and something to be ashamed of. So when he started developing feelings for his new teammate, Luke Alvez, he was overcome with confusion and self-hatred.

Spencer tried to push his feelings aside, burying them deep within himself. But the more he tried to deny them, the stronger they became. He found himself constantly thinking about Luke, his handsome features and charming personality. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards him, but he also couldn't accept it.

As a defence mechanism, Spencer became snarky and abrasive towards Luke, hoping to push him away. He would make snide remarks and swear, something that was completely out of character for him. The whole team noticed the change in Spencer's behaviour, and they were all worried.

Rossi was the least concerned, boiling it down to Spencer finally growing a backbone after prison and most of the team thought the same, but Penelope, was particularly concerned. She had always been close to Spencer, and she could see that something was eating away at him. She decided to take matters into her own hands and called Derek, who had left to start a family.

Derek rushed back to the BAU, concerned for his friend. He was shocked to see the usually calm and collected Spencer acting so out of character. He watched as Spencer snapped at Luke, who seemed taken aback by the sudden change in his teammate's behaviour.

'What's going on,pretty ricky?' Derek asked,Spencer turned around hearing this nickname from derek.

Spencer was taken aback by Derek's sudden appearance. He had always looked up to Derek and valued his opinion.

'Nothing, I'm fine,' Spencer replied, his tone defensive and bitchy.

Derek knew there was more to it, but he didn't want to push Spencer. He decided to talk to Luke instead, hoping to get some answers. Luke was surprised when Derek pulled him aside, but he was more than happy to talk to him.

'I'm worried about you Spencer,' Derek said, getting straight to the point. ‘Why you left 8 months ago or something?’ The unspecified date gave Derek even more to worry about due to Spencer normally begging accurately ‘just 8 months?’

‘Yes just 8 months…3 days 14 hours ago oh fine i missed you alright’ spencer mumbled as he looked down at his file as derek grins 'there's the soft guy i knew’

Luke was taken aback by Spencer’s words. He had noticed the change in Spencer's behaviour towards him, but he had no idea why. He had always thought they had a good working relationship, and he couldn't understand why Spencer was suddenly being so bitchy to him.

Derek smiles ‘right tell me what’s going on here why are you being snarky to luke?’ spencer averted his eyes down to the file ‘i am not being fucking snarky derek’

‘Then what was that you've never once said the f-bomb in the years i've known you’ Derek sat and Luke walked off wondering if his presence is making it harder for Spencer to open up to derek.

‘I'll ask again spence…what's going on with you tell me what's going on in that big brain of yours’ derek spoke softly inadvertently pulling spencers walls down ‘i…i’ spencer’s voice went quiet and quivering  ‘i..i…i like him derek i..erm…i like like’ spencer's eyes were rimmed red the tears he was hiding flooding his face.

Derek's usual smug smile drops ‘is this your way of saying you're gay??’ spencer nods and gasps quietly as derek wraps him in a tight suffocating hug and speaks quietly ‘don’t cry spencer i love you and i accept you’ derek stands there holding spencer as luke comes back quietly and stands there next to jj and emily ‘what the hell happened’ luke said quietly.

Emily leans a little closer ‘spencer is gay he's just admitted it to der- wait’ she  turns to jj and gives her the look and jj speaks quietly ‘luke…i think spencer likes you but..he's in denial about it’

Lukes face burns red as he gives a tight-lipped smile his own battle starting in his mind. Does he stay silent about his bisexuality? He's not felt close enough to the team to tell them it's always been personal to him… 

‘Cool…i guess’ is all that fell from luke’s lips and he already wanted to kick himself  cool is that all i could think of stupid luke you could have said something else! 

Emily laughs quietly ‘cool? Just cool? No “omg i never knew he liked me i need to let him down gently”  your odd guy luke’ 

Luke groaned in thought he loved spencer but he didn't want to make work weird ‘emily please stop it there's alot about me you dont know’ jj smiles and pokes his side ‘ooo what's got into you are you annoyed luke’

Luke just sighed as he watched spencer leave with derek to get a coffee and calm down the sound of spencer’s sniffles broke luke's heart but he kept his feelings silent and unshowing

What feels like hours past realistically it was an hour and a half but spencer comes back his tears gone his signature tight lipped smile as he sits back at his desk as luke walks over and sits on the edge of his desk ‘hey spencer…i was wondering if you wanted to go out some time?’ luke smiles shyly  as spencer just keeps his snarky attitude ‘im not gay luke now fuck off’ lukes heart sinks into his ‘but you-…nevermind you keep deining it’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@wheelsup30 I think I saw you posting abt this or smt just thought I should tag you x :)

[thecoolerliauditore]

Hi I might sound a bit insane here and feel free to not answer this cause it might get a little controversial but I was thinking about the Jimmy solidarity hierarchy system you’ve been hinting at and how it seems to be some sort of life series form of the patriarchy.

Cause ok essentially I was thinking about your labour edit of Jimmy and then trying to like understand the fact that Jimmy is a social person right like his strength is his social skills and his likability. However within the life series (and similar) series) his biggest downside is the fact that people are mean to him, like if we think first episode of Sausages’s sossmp he talks about how no one’s died yet and they talk about how Jimmy isn’t there and would have died but then Pix specifically points out someone would have killed him (around 5:20ish). But then like everyone is obsessed with Jimmy people want to be in strange romantic relationships with him, people want to be around him and they want him to be like the centre of attention. They crowd around his streams a lot but specifically to be mean to him, one time in another sossmp video (sausage episode 11 around like 3-4 minutes in) they meet at his house for like no reason. But that doesn’t mean they’ll acknowledge his house is nice or respect him in anyway they just want his attention and to use him and his stuff for themselves and their own gain. Sort of in the same way men see women as like these mythical attractive creatures that they want the attention of without respecting

I’m not exactly sure how to put this into words but yeah people like Jimmy but not in the same way they like people, you know. They like him like an object or comparing it to our world they like him like men like women. (See a lot of this has also been on my mind since I read this one fanfic that accidentally projected their own experiences with misogyny onto Jimmy without even realising that’s what it was but I can’t talk about that cause it was so clearly written by some kid in a rough situation who hasn’t realised it yet but yeah overtime I’ve realised it makes sense why Jimmy was in the place he was in that fic)

Also if you ever want to expand on your idea of the Jimmy solidarity hierarchy I am very excited to listen

NOYEAH THIS IS AWESOME you pretty much put into words alot of stuff I have trouble saying outright but yeah The Ecosystem as I've come to call it is dripping heavily with gender (in a bad way). This is pretty much what I was lampshading with things like the labour edit and comparing jimmy to characters like anthy and kotoko

If I may say something that may one up the controversial aspect of this post I do believe a lot of it comes from the inherently somewhat homophobic style of humour a lot of the (real life. content creators. including jimmy himself) esmp crew tends to indulge in with jimmy where there are constantly bits that pretty much boil down to. hahaha a MAN taking on the social role of a WOMAN is that not FUNNY AND STRANGE hahaha that shouldn't be happening!! (don't want to get too into this because I don't think they're like. evil or anything I just think most of them are basic straight men who think gay = funny and that does weird things for the very queer fanbase's storyline they've made up)

On a certain level it's also very. Men can't be hurt in the ways women can so it's okay to laugh-ish. Like imagine if the maid poledance sequence in sos was being done to say. Pearl instead. I'd argue it'd affect Me in the same way but I don't think anyone would have the balls to suggest she do that in a video in the first place.

So what we end up with, character-wise, is Jimmy essentially being the victim of this. prison-like ecosystem where he's constantly humiliated through this taking away of his masculinity (whether that's through literally making him crossdress and poledance or denying his authority, such as during esmp2) as the "bottom of the food chain" so to speak.

Women are kind of an untouchable because it's not "funny" when these things happen to women (see: how sausage treats people like pearl and false vs how he treats jimmy) so Jimmy has to kinda. fit that slot. And I do think it's fun when people play with Jimmy having complicated feelings about this (especially through stuff like transfem headcanons and such) but yeah it is very much a position he is continously forced into.

Also I'd argue I've read. quite a lot of posts projecting frustrations with misogynistic life experiences onto jimmy. I think it's like. comforting a little bit? Like in the same way women like boys love because it's divided enough from you as a person physically to be confronting about your own feelings regarding sexuality or whatever but you can still enjoy relating to the characters.

Anyway I'd love to expand on the jimmy hierarchy thoughts. I haven't because I honestly don't trust myself to talk about creators I genuinely dislike as creators which is most of the people most responsible for that but I do have thoughts, albeit ones I wouldn't trust myself with. But pretty much no single one of them is like. a complete monster. they just all have very strange worldviews and accept jimmy's dehumanization because it benefits them in some way.

[thickenmyblood]

With 15/20(?) chapters completed for hand in unlovable hand, I still can’t understand how any version of Laurent could have a sexual and romantic relationship with a person he barely knows and clearly doesn’t love. It seems so totally out of his nature. I respect you making this choice for the story you wanted to tell, I guess I’m just curious why you made it. Pacat said that Laurent is an “all or nothing” person, so the idea that he could dump Damen and shortly start hooking up with some random jerk like Maxime is really hard to fathom. The guy seems like a pretentious, performative douchebag that the canon Laurent would have ridiculed and excoriated, not someone he would have considered as any type of partner. Laurent choosing to have sex with someone like that is inconceivable and unrecognizable to me. I love how you write Nicaise and a lot of the other relationships, and again, it’s your story and so whatever characterization you choose is your right! But regardless of whatever in-story reasons your Laurent has for being like this, I hope at some point you as the author will also talk about why you wrote him in this way. Thanks for reading my opinion.

hello! my reply will be below the cut.

i don't think we're at a point in hiuh where you can fully understand why laurent started seeing maxime, so i don't exactly fault you or anyone else for asking this kind of question. this reply will sadly give you very few spoilers on laurent's motivations. what needs explaining will be explained in the fic, and whether you or other readers agree/disagree with it (as in, laurent's intentions and actions and thought process), from a moral or even psychological point of view, exceeds the limits of my writing.

however, what does concern my writing is the characterization aspect of your ask. i understand that fanfiction, by definition, does not exist in a bubble. it is a derivative work. it comes from somewhere else. obviously, when compared to canon (where laurent turned down every single romantic/sexual offer he had before and after damen), hiuh exhibits a lot of contradictions and apparent ooc-ness. it is impossible not to compare fanfiction to its original source. without the og material, there would be no fanfiction.

having said all of this, i think your ask and overall perspective overlooks the main point of the fic itself. in order to understand hiuh (boiled down to its bare tags: a breakup fic), you have to understand why laurent dumped damen. for the first half of the fic, damen himself doesn't understand this. he looks at the truth and denies it, time and time again, rewriting the narration of their break up to fit into a more comfortable lie: he didn't dump me, it was a mutual agreement. later on, once damen has had some character growth, he realizes that it was laurent that initiated the breakup and why.

laurent did not break up with damen because he was cheating on him, because he was bored, because he was suddenly straight. laurent broke up with damen because he felt that damen was hurting nicaise, emotionally and psychologically. in fact, we have seen in early chapters how nicaise absorbed damen's harmful messages on mental health/masculinity/self-expression. whether or not that was the right decision is not the point. whether or not laurent became the Perfect Single Parent after the breakup is not the point. laurent broke up with damen because they were vastly different and they were no longer good for/to each other. that was laurent's reasoning, flawed or not, morally correct or not, hypocritical or not. in real life, people make decisions and convince themselves of why they're right all the time. why should fiction be the exception?

now that we have established that the breakup was not simply a whim on laurent's end, we can perhaps approach laurent's dating life with a more balanced perspective. is laurent truly and irrevocably in love with maxime? so far into the story, damen doesn't know, which means we don't know. he sees them together, they seem happy, he concludes that they're in love. has damen always been right in hiuh and, dare i say, in canon? no. why did laurent start dating someone so radically different from damen and yet so much like him? have you thought about how much damen and maxime might have in common and where they differ? why is maxime more awful than damen? maxime made some bad, reproachable comments. but so did damen at the start of the fic. has damen not been pretentious throughout the fic? has he not thought himself above others, judged them, ridiculed them, and hurt them? has damen not hurt laurent? (yes, laurent also hurt damen, i will address this in a different ask). i know i have said this before, multiple times, and i stand by it: economic class is NOT examined well or thoroughly in hiuh. however, are maxime and damen not rich? do they come from different economic backgrounds? aren't they both slightly out of touch with reality? what is it about maxime that truly gets on your nerves?

it is more than okay to read this version of laurent and 1. not understand why he is the way that he is, given that it hasn't been explained in the story yet and 2. not like it. you and anyone reading the fic is completely, 100% allowed to dislike, hate, loathe, be irritated to the point of tears by this version of him. what i care about is that when the fic is done, you look at him, IN THE VERY SPECIFIC CONTEXT OF THIS STORY, and see a consistent, well-written characterization. this is not about readers rooting for lamen, for laurent, for damen, for true ever lasting love... this is about the story making sense. that is what i care most about: coherence and consistency.

to answer your final question: why did i choose to write laurent like this? i chose to write laurent the way i saw him to be in canon. snarky, smart, sometimes unjustifiably mean, and at his very core self-hating. that is my personal interpretation of laurent. from the moment we disagree on any of those pillars, it becomes quite difficult to think that we are talking about the same character. yes, he is frigid in canon, he is saving himself for the grave, he is not at all promiscuous. but to me, his self-hatred is perhaps his most defining feature. and, obviously, my favorite. which is not to say you can't read laurent as someone that doesn't hate himself in canon. you can. these are not my books, and even if they were i wouldn't dream of telling you what you can or can't think about them. yet this is my vision, this is how i see him.

as for the "all or nothing" quote, i believe you are talking about a snippet from the summer palace. if not, correct me. i have many, many, many issues with that short story. that is why i have decided to exclude further commentary on that from my reply. i hope you understand. either way, I don't see how that statement contradicts what's happened so far in hiuh.

i don't want you or anyone reading this to take my reply as a slap on the wrist or some sort of "angry writer yells at a cloud" exposition. i am not mad, and i like getting questions and comments that challenge my writing, that ask for clarification, that complain. this is part of being a writer and sharing your work with others and i am more than fine with it. i wish, if anything, that i had more time to explain and reply, to quote my own work and give you specific examples for things, but i do not have that luxury.

thank you for your time!

PS. this entire commentary is not to be taken as The Author's Interpretation Is The Holy Word.

[lizardlicks]

one vague ATLA idea I have in mind for AU stuff is less specific but more of a broad AU spectrum and the general point is that instead of Team Avatar being a fairly small central group, they pick up people as they go along so that the folk who join them in the Zuko Friendship Arc and flee at the begining of the Southern Raiders stick around since their introduction; Haru, maybe a few members of Jet's crew, perhaps Jee from Zuko's crew following the end of Book Water, Chit Sang after the boiling rock, maybe even Iroh throughout Book One as a more extreme AU where Aang accidentally incapacitates Zuko and takes him hostage early on and Iroh and Zuko's crew go 'oh nooooo you have captured us and we're with you now I guess' while Iroh low key attempts to provide Aang perspective on the Fire Nation for dealing with them and some basics on Firebending philosophy, but anyway who else do you think would be interesting to see in this kind of AU joining up with Aang and his mission to free the world

Answering this TEN DAYS LATER OOPS

Personally I haven't thought about anyone else joining the gaang outside of Zuko joining the gaang early plots. First, I wouldn't include any of the adults. While yeah, there's something wrong with their world in the fact that actual teenagers have to save it from a century of war, if we actually stuck one of the adults into the group dynamics, they would alter the story and themes in a way I don't find satisfying. Too many of their own motivations and personal hang ups. Iroh works for Zuko because Zuko doesn't really have friends or any other social support, but even so to get to the core of Zuko, we have to separate Iroh's direct influence on him.

So for the other kids: NGL I think Haru as a character is boring. he's dry wheat toast. He exists only as a vessel for katara's hero complex. Teo could be a lot of fun; him and Aang play off each other really well, and it would give us more non-bender rep.

Jet I could not see willingly giving up his leadership role and joining the gaang. He might butt heads with Sokka first, but eventually he would piss off "everyone works together and does their fair share" katara, "I don't respect any form of authority" toph, and even "we're all friends and equals here" aang when he won't give any slack to the reigns-- metaphorically but also possibly literally. Similarly, I don't think smellerbee or longshot would willingly leave jet.

I love The Duke and Toph's relationship. I would have thought of anyone in the gaang for him to latch onto he would have gone with Aang or Sokka, but him looking up to and becoming really good friends with Toph is just really good. And him and Pipsqueak are more non bender rep too!

Suki joining the gaang earlier than canon would be great, especially if she brought a couple other kyoshi warriors along with and we got to see more of their dynamic as a group! Plus more sukka, and Sokka in the kw outfit.

Yue. Alright I apparently lied above, Yue is definitely one that I've thought about joining the gaang. In AUs where Yue lives, her getting out of the North and coming into her own as a person who can assert her expertise and authority is a big deal for her. Might also add some fascinating conflict: did she leave with Arnook's blessing or did she see an opportunity and leap??

Thousands of words have been devoted to the "zuko joins the gaang early" tag, but here's mine:

Zuko knows Azula. He knows not to trust when she puts her hands up and claims defeat. It's an old, old trick, not even a clever one, and they both know it. When her smile falls on uncle, Zuko doesn't even think twice. He's burned before. He knows how. Sinks into that familiar pain like an embrace from an old friend.

Iroh is horrified when Zuko drops like a stone (sick with guilt that he has to see this again, again, it never seems to end). Zuko stays down. His nephew never stays down. He begs the gaang for help, pleads for a mercy he knows neither of them have yet earned. They hesitate, but Toph also insists; Mushi, Iroh, whoever he is, he was kind to her. Whatever his nephew did, the other kids are alive and whole enough to bitch about him, so it couldn't have been so bad as to deserve a slow, painful death.

Katara pulls back his clothes, revealing the burns, the deep purple-black bruises from his fight with the earthbender soldiers, his starvation and exhaustion. It's abundantly clear to everyone that Zuko needs more help than they can give just standing around in an abandoned desert town, and the kids are exhausted. Iroh asks one more favor, a big one: watch over his nephew and keep him out of trouble while Iroh tracks down some old friends who will help find someplace safe for them to hide.

It's only supposed to be temporary, but now the gaang have to deal with wrangling a cranky, ornery firebender who's ass much a threat to himself as he is to them.