Something I love about ATLA is that it doesn't force the "forgive the villain" on all the characters. It's been left clear that Ozai is a bad person, and there's no chance of redemption; the only reason he's not dead yet is because Aang is a pacifist
The one episode where a character is supposed to forgive someone who has hurt them in the past is the one where Katara is off to kill a man (which, fair) and Zuko helps. In that episode, even if Aang is telling her to let go, she doesn't forgive him. She never will. But she spares him. Not because she thinks he doesn't deserve death (he does), but because she's not willing to continue the cycle of violence
Killing someone can have a very important impact in your entire being, mostly depending on who you are as a person. Aang would've never recovered from killing Ozai. Katara wouldn't be who she is now, had she taken her revenge on the man that killed her mother
And the best part of it is that Ozai doesn't deserve to die. Not in a "I'm defending him" way (ew), but in a "he deserves worse that than" way
Taking away his bending was the perfect punishment for him. He believed bending made you superior and he never cared enough to train something besides his bending. What a loser. Zuko and Azula wouldn't be restrained by something like that
He's alive. Nobody has forgiven him. Nobody ever will
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WWDITS writers, please, I am on my hands and knees BEGGING YOU to take cues from OFMD in actually having the fortitude to follow through on plot points and actions from previous seasons and episodes. Emotionally repressed characters can in fact communicate about past events to a degree that is satisfying to the audience, continues story threads left hanging, and also manages to stay in character and make sense for the narrative. Traumatic events can in fact continue to affect characters for more than the duration of a single episode. Actions can have real, lasting consequences.
Shocking, I know, but. It's possible. It can be done.
IT'S NOT DIFFICULT AND CAN STILL FIT INTO A SERIES FOCUSED ON COMEDY. EVEN, DARE I SAY, HORROR SHENANIGAN-BASED COMEDY.
WITH JUST A BIT OF DEDICATION AND EFFORT, YOU TOO CAN CRAFT A SUCCINCT STORYLINE THAT WRAPS ITSELF UP IN MORE THAN JUST A THROWAWAY SENTENCE THAT'S NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN. YOU CAN WRITE CHOICES AND ACTIONS FOR CHARACTERS THAT MAKE SENSE.
I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT.
IT'S. NOT. HARD.
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Why can't we have a batman is the spirit of Gotham au?
He already is, in meta, in character, in theming. Him and the joker. He is so very built upon what Gotham is made of, and Gotham builds from what he needs in turn, the setting of his story.
What if that is the reason he can take damage that would permanently ruin a physical career and come back? What if that's how he's managed to maintain his no-kill streak to such an extent? What if that's how he manages to maintain such high maintenance and all consuming identities?
For the heart and soul of a city containing all extremes, the richest nobility and the lowest of the poor, the cruellest villains and the most compassionate heroes, orphaned children and ancient lineages, a city rooted in fear and madness and grit-teeth determination and hard won kindness, what better choice could you find than Bruce Wayne?
But what if he wasn't alone in that? What if Gotham has sunk to such a low because its spirit is damaged and corrupted?
For the heart and soul of the cruellest city in the dc universe, the most unrelenting and uncaring, the one that practically laughs at your pain and suffering as you try to make it through another day, what better choice than the Joker?
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May we please have a snippet from The Golden Rings AU? 🙏 Thanks! ❤
Sure! Here is a tiny snippet of The Golden Rings/AWG AU that I am still blaming @crystalmir for. (This is technically more of an AWG AU than Golden Rings considering we don't have baby!Alec and Magnus truly meeting, but we do have a teenager Alec meeting Catarina and the warlocks and magic shenanigans that ensue that also happen in olden Rings.)
They're five weeks into their lessons when Alec calls her during one of her night shifts. Catarina is in the middle of a discussion when the buzzing sound alerts her to an incoming phone call. She ignores it at first, finishing up her conversation with Dr. Palmer before she excuses herself to see who called her.
The name she sees innocently blinking on her screen gives her pause.
While Alec had been dutifully keeping up with his lessons despite his ridiculously overfilled daily schedule, he had been keeping a noticeable distance. A barrier that wasn't necessarily hurtful or antagonistic, but still woefully present in the young teenager's every action.
Without thinking twice, Catarina calls him back. She steps outside, away from anyone who might overhear, and raises the phone to her ear as she waits for Alec to answer.
He does on the second ring.
"Warlock Loss?" He asks, still refusing to use her first name despite the many reassurances he can call her Catarina. There's something more unsure in his voice than usual, though. Almost upset. "I- sorry for calling you. I..it's- I can't come tomorrow."
Catarina pulls the phone away for a second, staring curiously at the device before she brings the receiver back to her ear. "That's alright, Alec, then I'll see you in two days."
A long silence.
"Alec?"
"I can't come."
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#God tho this does make me want to pull back up that notebook fic snippet i had#of Margo confronting Molly about this too but like with science.#Margo would know. Just saying. She knows. ⃪ does this mean you have Molly/Margo fic?
Hi anon! sorry this is now several days late but boy do I. ( watched FAMK for the first time in February, wound up with Pages and pages of fic snippets (for a couple ships, margo x molly included) in chicken scratch on physical paper which is always a great sign that im being normal about a show, thought I'd cure myself if I just watched the whole thing a second time and absolutely only made it worse. )
I meant to answer this ask by just typing up the quick excerpt of the fic I was talking to myself in the tags about but...... started typing and did not stop. It lives over here now! Was not the one of the notebook fics I thought would see the light of day but you know? why not.
(I assume if you're here you, like me, have already read all the fics to be found but if you have Not read everything in that tag already, highly recommend. this fandom may be small but boy did it have good food on offer when I rolled in four years late fresh off a few episodes and absolutely screaming.)
Since I went ahead and dropped that one on ao3 at like 4am i'll throw in something a little more typical of the the notebook archives - how about this thing that exists entirely bc i noticed that used bookstore you can see beside the Outpost in season 1 and it gave me Ideas
Sometime post crossword-quiz / pre- run-in at the Jazz club.
Margo walks fast past the Outpost on her way over to Bargain Books. When she can, she prefers to park down at the other end of the street and not have to go by that eyesore of a bar in the first place, but when you double the size of the astronaut program with twenty female ascans, you turn street parking into a blood sport. On her salary, no way is she playing chicken with the corvettes, not even to avoid mustering a polite smile for a coworker at his inebriated worst.
Most days, that’s only an issue if she swings by after dark, the hour when everybody’s trickling out and stumbling home for the evening. Otherwise, the dingy whitewashed plywood keeps a nice impenetrable wall between book-seeking passers-by and drunken test pilots. Today, however, a spell of perfect weather is conspiring against her. Someone has the door propped open with a rusty paint can, letting the sound of laughter of clinking glass spill through it onto the sidewalk.
A flash of green catches Margo’s eye before she can make it past. Despite herself, she recognizes that shade in an instant. It’s the flannel shirt she had to reprimand earlier that afternoon for bringing a lit cigarette into the sim. Molly Cobb, bent over a pool table, chin twisted up towards Patty Doyle, grinning like a woman about to win.
Just Margo’s luck that this is the perfect time of day—indoor light matching outdoor light—for Molly to catch her eye straight through the open door as she makes her shot. 8-ball, dead in the pocket.
For no reason she can think of, Margo feels heat rushing up into her cheeks.
She stalks into Bargain Books in a hurry.
The sweater-vested owner behind the front desk gives her the polite nod reserved for a good customer (and disinterested conversationalist) as she beelines for Paperback Fiction. She finished Matheson’s Ride the Nightmare last night— should have picked up two when she noticed how short it was in the first place, but nothing else tickled her fancy when she was in here a week ago, so here she is again, browsing spines. Maybe it's time to cave and finally grab a 10¢ copy of Rosemary's Baby from the stack on the end, seeing as it’s the one highly recommended title in her genre-of-choice the entire country seems to have read in the last couple years, but she already knows the ending (and the entire premise of demonic pregnancy does not appeal for tuning out after the work day).
She’s dubiously eying the back-cover blurb on a Chandler detective thriller instead when a voice over her shoulder says, “Oh, Patty loves this shit.”
To her great chagrin, Margo jumps, gasps, and drops her book. “Jesus, Molly.”
“My bad.”
Molly squats down to pick it up, slouchy brown corduroy flexing over her thighs. She fixes a bend in the cover before offering it back to her, but when Margo tries to take it away, Molly doesn’t let go. Instead, she adopts a playfully quirked brow and tugs it back towards herself inch-by-inch, bringing Margo, frowning, a step closer than she was before. “Came here to see if I could talk you into a drink.”
Margo’s voice comes out approximately four steps too high as she looks around for some explanatory audience and says incredulously, “In there?” with a jerk of her thumb towards the Outpost’s adjoining wall.
“Yeah. NASA central, shithole though it may be, but I never see you around.”
“Well, I’m not an astronaut.”
“Neither are the five white-shirts who monopolize the best booth in the back six nights a week. They don’t check for a pin at the door, Madison. That’d be no way to run a business. It’s a bar. Come have a drink with me.”
“With… you.” She asks because she expects there to be an and. Me and the other ascans. Me and the rest of you white-shirt types in the back. Me and Patty Doyle.
But Molly just raps the cover of The Lady in the Lake with her knuckles and says again, “With me.”
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