joe-au

things the Hamilsquad cried over

Alexander
• his breakup with Eliza
• getting accepted into university on that scholarship he worked so hard for
• being so broke he wasn’t able to pay the rent and had to ask a friend to lend him money
• Robin Williams’ death

Hercules
• Titanic
• his mother’s cancer diagnosis
• his little brother graduating college
• those soldier-comes-home-to-his-dog-vids

Lafayette
• the paris attack
• getting his green card
• Rose Tyler, I…
• election night

John
• seeing whales die on the shore near his childhood home
• Mass Effect
• having to spend christmas away from his family because they don’t accept him being gay
• the relief of being hiv-negative after a scare

anonymous asked: I love Joe!!! I would love to see more of him in Modern Glasgow or any other idea that strikes any of y'alls fancy. I think he is truly the only good friend Claire ever had (beyond Jamie, naturally) and I wished the books had even more Joe and Claire moments!

Read the other chapters here.


Our Story

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. The rattle of death behind drawn curtains, expletives hissed over set bones and shots taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening, that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths—one, two, three, one, two, three—to release the night’s chaos, still lodged in her throat. 

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation: leap into the procedural dance, embrace the temporary loss of yourself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures. 

But eventually, the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends, reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a free meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in? 

Point proven: our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death against her. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls. 

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side, as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks: James Fraser.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie, no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, “Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.” on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb. 

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.) Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways (Later, she will paste it on before she leaves, for the J should be hidden. Hers alone). “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.” 

“Phew. Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile, destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the beast’s belly had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway. A soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just…wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. But – it’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, ain’t he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Must say, I’m steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be the fault of Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew, the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

“Slack-arrr,” Joe jokes, turning swiftly on his heel. She hears his cry boom down the hallway. “Operating room, ahoy!”

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. Something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl, in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips on the sting and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl, no citrus kisses in a molting New York. (But in a parallel land, perhaps, where the lemonade is phosphorescent and you can eat the stars.) Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. He’d led her to the bedroom, with its king-sized bed, and slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $20 for subscriptions, scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack, for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things. 

GE: Oh yes, certainly! But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest? 

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press. 

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always making bread from crumbs. But it never rises in the oven, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no. 

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:           

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

Hamilsquad modern au and fashion

Alexander
A total hipster, knitted beanies and cardigans, colourful pants and shoes from the thrift store, scarves and fingerless gloves in winter. 
Makes an effort to look like he doesn’t care about his looks. Suceeds in this and still looks good most of the time. 
Wears sweatpants in public whenever he can get away with it. 

Hercules
Always a perfect colourscheme, can make things that you would never think go together kind of work. Experiments a lot with new styles and is just really into the whole matter. 
Has his own little clothing line and makes most of his clothes himself.  Expensive suits, grey sweaters, silk ties.

Lafayette
Models for Herc and loves it, looks great in anything. 
Sometimes likes it dramatic.
Hats, coats, big patterns, lots of contrasts. 
Wears only jeans and t-shirt on other days, really it’s like you’ve got two different people. 
Can sadly not be persuaded to wear his glasses everyday. 
He will make you cry by wearing a tanktop in summer.

John
Your typical white girl despite being neither white nor a girl. Wears addidas sneakers, skinny jeans and wears his ponytail through the back of a snapback. Basically doesn’t really care about fashion and just buys the stuff he can find in every store.
He even gets starbucks like the basic bitch he is. 
Has to be stopped by Herc. 
Please.

Briste | Chapter 13

Briste | Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12


He was going to kiss me.

I could see it in his eyes, lust, passion, desire… it was all there everything I had been aching for, been yearning for was right there.

“Stop.” I whispered gently laying my hand on his chest. I could feel his rapid breathing and thundering heartbeat under my palm. My eyes transfixed on my hand, refusing to see the hurt that was sure to be in his eyes.

“Alright. I’ll wait.” Came his breathy, hoarse whisper. His voice so deep it sent chills down my spine.

I chanced a glance at this face, surely he was joking. He had to be angry, I just denied him… they always get angry when denied.

“Really?” I asked in amazement, not seeing any anger but still the same passion and desire. He intertwined my hand with his, laying it back against his chest while pulling me forward. The backs of our hands touching the other’s heart.

A quirk of his lips pulled them into a side smile. “Aye, I’ll wait for ye Claire. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Ye ken I’ll no be your patient forever, and when that day comes,” he bent down kissing my hand. “I’ll be here a dozen flowers in my hand, and walking on my own two feet asking ye to be mine.”

My cheeks filled with color as his statement sunk in.

“Come on, you shouldn’t be out of your bed for too long. You’re going to drive the nurses into a tizzy.” I tried to diffuse the current mood, the sexual tension was thick in the air, my own mind questioning why I wasn’t following my gut and letting him kiss me.

“Aye, suppose ye are right.” Jamie nodded, then began to hobble back out the door.

I let out a breathing looking at the ceiling. “You’re a bloody fool Beauchamp.”

We were silent on the walk back to his room. What should have been a short walk, turned into a laborious adventure for both of us. Neither fully healed, hobbling and shaking down the hall, unable to move quick enough out of the random running personnel.

M'aingeal, bidh thu leig dhomh gaol agam ort?” Jamie whispered pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear as we stood outside his door.

I started to shake my head, words fumbling. “I-I don’t know what you said!”

Jamie only smiled and kept his hand on the side of my face. “Dinna fash yerself over it. Good night, Doctor Beauchamp.”

Gone was his playful and desire-filled tone, in it’s place was the quiet reluctance of professionalism.

“Good night, Jamie.” I managed to say just as the door clicked shut.

The hall felt too large, yet too small simultaneously. I couldn’t breathe.

My heart ached and my head warred with my thoughts.

He was perfect. He was a patient. He wanted me. No one ever wants me. He makes me feel different, worthy. No one will ever accept me.

Over and over, the cycle of confidence and doubt turned over until I couldn’t take it any longer. Still in scrubs I ran from the hospital. My bag, keys, phone, everything still locked safely away in my locker. Legs burning, hip screaming in pain, I pushed on. I felt the bandages Mrs. Fitz so carefully attached begin to slip from my legs. The scabs on my knees begin to crack and bleed once again, but it didn’t matter. I needed air. I needed to be able to breathe.

Tears blurring my vision, I stumbled and caught myself before falling onto the pavement making my way to a bench at the edge of the block.

All the emotions I had been fighting for weeks came to the surface, no longer were tears only clouding my vision, now they ran freely in unending streams down my face. Why was he so nice to me? How could he want to kiss me and why did I want to kiss him back?

I don’t know how long I sat on that bench two blocks from the hospital. My body chilled as rain drizzled down.

“Claire?” A voice called, I didn’t look in it’s direction.

“Claire!” Warm hands gripped my shoulders, slightly shaking me. “What are you doing out here? Where’s your coat? Jesus! You’re freezing!”

Joe Abernathy pulled me from my spot on the bench, my mind and body still numb. Speech not coming easily.

“You need to get back inside, when Marcus told me he saw you running out of the building like a bat outta hell I had to come look for you! What has gotten into you?”

I shook my head, a frown pulling deeper on my face. “I can’t go back. I’ve broken the rules. He can’t.. I can’t… please don’t make me. I don’t have the will to stay away. I can’t lose this job. I can’t lose him. Please Joe… I…”

I rambled and sobbed as Joe pulled his coat tighter around me, throwing his arm around my shoulders then guided me back to the hospital.

“Who are you trying to run away from? Is it the man that hurt you? I’m still not convinced it was as you said, and just a running accident.”

I shook my head at his words. “No one hurt me! I did this to myself, granted not intentionally, but I did not get beat! I wish people would stop assuming that!”

“That was the most coherent sentence I’ve gotten from you all day.” He laughed jovially, squeezing my shoulder. I snorted.

“I can’t lose my job Joe, but I can’t be around Ja–Mr. Fraser.” I stopped walking and turned to look at Joe’s face. “I’ll break every vow I’ve ever made as a physician if I continue to be one of his primary care doctors. I can’t do it. It’s become…personal. He means too much to me and I can’t lose him, but I can’t lose this job either.”

Joe smiled and nodded with a sigh, “I figured this would happen. You’re all the man talks about when I go to see him. Keeps calling you m'aingeal, and I can’t get anyone in this damned place to tell me what it means. They simply smile and have a lovesick look on their faces so I’m going to guess it’s an endearment.”

I felt my chin wobble with the tears that were threatening to fall from my eyes.

“He—” I cleared my throat, “he’s called me that before. Right before I ran out of the hospital actually.”

Joe smiled jovially. “Ha! See! You won’t be losing that boy, I can guarantee that! Now, come on. You need to get dry and warm. I’ll make sure, if it’s the last thing I do that you will not only keep your job, but you will get to keep your…unprofessional relationship with the young Mr. Fraser.” He winked and pulled me back inside. Back to the warmth, pain, brutal politics, sadness, and overwhelming joy that will hopefully shape my future for the better.

3

Heat Jump by @alyseofwonderland

The Army has the following rules about having a sexual relationships while deployed: 

1.Please, pretty please with sprinkles on top, don’t.

2.If you find that you cannot follow the first instructions then: Do not have sex in zero G. Don’t do it. You will get written up if you even suggest it as an idea to a recruit.

3.If you have a sexual relationship with a member of your unit, please make it not your direct superior officer for the love of all that is holy.

4.If you find that you HAVE to have a sexual relationship with your direct superior officer you will be forced to fill out five times the paper work.

The Hamilsquad and why you should date them

Alex:
let’s be real: you probably shouldn’t. not if you’re looking for the love of your life. But for a few months A. Ham will rock your damn world with loveletters, candle-light dinners and the most creative dates. While he has trouble committing to someone for long he is a very affectionate and enthusiastic lover in the short term. Lots of PDA - whether that’s good or bad is for you to decide. Even after you break up you’re probably gonna remain friends.

Lafayette:
Sexgod. Makes an effort to get to know every part of your body and personality, will initiate lots of late-night-conversations because he wants to learn your view on things, your story and the way you think.
Your family will love him under any circumstances.
Will kiss you goodbye really dramatically whenever you have to go out of town without him.

Hercules:
Will bring you ice cream in the middle of the night and sings along to living on a prayer in the car with you. Is really good at picking up on your current mood and acting accordingly. Lots of hugs and cuddles and kisses. Gives you all the space and time you need and will support you in anything you’re determined to do.
Would be a great dad.

John:
Will make you laugh until you cry.
Takes pictures and draws you a lot. Is very honest and will keep you grounded no matter what. Loves every little thing about you and will never stop fighting for you.
Will secretly call your best friend to find out your favourite flowers before your first date.
Can make you feel like the most important person on earth.

joe in the gta au

  • got to be a part of the group bc he’s been friends with james for years and james trusted him enough to let him in
  • stays behind the scenes at the headquarters (bc let’s be real he could never hurt/kill someone UNLESS it was someone who injured a dog/animal in anyway)
  • watches the dogs; includes ein and mishka and whatever stray/rescued dogs they pick up along the way
  • also trains the dogs so they can help the other guys on missions
  • people mistake him as being weak compared to the other guys, but when push comes to shove he can hold his own
  • went with the guys on one mission, but got distracted by the guard dogs and was never allowed on missions again
  • proposed ridiculous ideas for missions that everyone else says no to (now they just don’t tell him when the planning meetings are)

I have meal swipes at the dining hall that reset every week and I haven’t gone in over two weeks because of social anxiety (I’ve been eating other places just not using my swipes) but I went today by myself and I was okay. I sat by myself, I ate, I left. I put my recovery ahead of my anxiety and I couldn’t be more proud

Teen Wolf AU

Kitsune

‘often described as tricksters with no care for the concept of right or wrong when control is lost’

‘when using their abilities a Kitsune’s eyes will have an orange glow’

Joe Toye

Bill Guarnere

Hellhound

‘Hellhounds will take over, eyes glowing like fire, leaving their alter ego blacked out and remembering little to no detail’

‘‘appears to protect the secrecy of the supernatural’

Joe Liebgott

Frank Perconte

2

Y/N: So Joe and I are currently out shopping with some friends! We’re at the pier and it’s pretty cold, but fun! I bought some new outfits for summer, so I’ll probably do a small haul video later…How’s that shake there, Joe?

Joe: *gif*

Hamilton Youtuber AU

Alex
Makes videos on politics and social justice to get kids interested and keep them informed about what’s going on in the world.
Was invited to The Ellen Show once.
Has probably changed the world a little bit.

John&Laf
Share a flat and a channel, do vlogs, short films and cooking videos. Really funny dudes, will always brighten your day.
Ship themselves with each other&probably wrote half the fanfiction on their own.

Hercules
DIY-Boss, watching his videos will make your life 10 times easier. Once made a celebrity-impressions-video that went viral.
Is really friendly with his community and hangs out with viewers whenever he meets them.

Peggy
Queen of gaming, does reviews&LPs. Also makes inspirational videos and spends hours replying to tweets and messages.
Sometimes invites Eliza for challenges or song-covers.

Angelica
Lifestyle&Fitness vlogger, spreads positivity all around and tries her best to help make people realise their own potential.
Donates to charity on a regular basis,
has like 3 million instagram followers (mostly posts pictures of her youtube-friends and dogs tho)

Preacher AU

I really want a preacher episode where the Unholy Trinity has an accidental body swap. Tulip would get Jesse’s body (giving her also Genesis), Jesse would be in Cassidy’s body (giving him a look into why Cassidy is an addict and also getting chased down by vampire hunters), and Cassidy would be in Tulip’s body (which would just make Tulip upset and tell him not to look at her naked).

Once Upon a Time AU-  Joseph “Joe” West: The Magic Mirror

King Joseph was a loving man. He loved his wife, before she passed. He loved his daughter, Iris, with all his heart. He loved his best friend, Henry Allen. He even loved Henry’s son and Iris’ best friend, Bartholomew. 

He made mistakes. Having an affair with Bartholomew’s mother was one of them. Trusting her was another. So was lying to Bartholomew about the fate of his parents, after Iris told him about Nora Allen’s secret conversation with a man they both assumed was Henry. 

Nora escaped arrest, and Henry…well, Joe couldn’t kill his best friend, even for treason. So, he locked him away in the darkest part of the dungeons, and told Bartholomew his parents were killed in an accident. 

He thought taking in his best friend’s son would be enough to ease what he’d done. Twelve years later, he found out just how wrong he was. He should’ve known that Nora’s magic teacher, the Dark One, would come for Bartholomew. He should’ve known he’d tell him the truth, twist him to his own purposes. 

He realized too late, when Bartholomew asked him to go for a walk through the woods, only to trap him in a magic mirror. Joseph was forced to watch Bartholomew carry out his plan for revenge–tell Iris her father died and comfort her, only to send a Huntsman after her; hunt Iris down like a common thief; kidnap her true love and use him against her; cast his curse on the Enchanted Forest.

Joseph didn’t hate Bartholomew. (Even locked away in an asylum in the land without magic). He hated himself for not protecting his children from the past.

2

Joe: I think this is actually a pretty sexy look, y/n