"Canon(ish)" ships I love (said with aggressive air quotes):

(And yes, I say “canon” with quotation marks because Viv refusing to confirm HuskerDust is BALONEY. I saw Season 2. Don’t gaslight me.)

HuskerDust

I’m sorry but… come ON.

A grouchy, world-weary old man who’s emotionally held together with duct tape and whiskey, paired with a flirty little menace who pretends he’s shallow but is actually a traumatized cinnamon roll with an industrial-sized warehouse of baggage? That’s not an accident. That’s art.

What gets me is the mutual recognition. Husk clocks the performance immediately. He sees the mask, the jokes, the noise, and knows exactly what it’s covering. Angel, meanwhile, sees straight through the apathy: the bitterness isn’t indifference, it’s exhaustion. They don’t need exposition. They recognize each other. And that’s intimacy. Not soft and pretty intimacy, but soft in the ugliest, most earned way, the kind you only get when two people have already been chewed up by life and don’t feel like pretending anymore.

It’s not loud love. It’s quiet, sideways, shared silence at the bar. And honestly? That’s devastating to my heart. Luckily doctors are on site where I am right now.

Chaggie

I like them! I genuinely do!

That said… while they’re absolutely framed as the poster couple for “healthy, supportive, green-flag lesbians,” I personally clock a few red edges peeking out from under the pastel paint. Not full sirens. More like… the brake lights flickering ominously.

There’s real love there, absolutely, but there’s also control and an emotional imbalance that makes me squint a little. And yes, before anyone says it: we are literally in Hell. This is par for the course. No one here is walking around with a perfect attachment style and a therapist on speed dial.

That tension is actually what makes them interesting to me. Charlie represents radical hope and belief in change; Vaggie represents survival through vigilance and caution. Those ideologies love each other, but they also clash. And sometimes love doesn’t smooth those edges; it just learns how to live with them.

Also, full disclosure and confession at the altar: the yuri ships I gravitate toward tend to be either doomed, mildly toxic, or held together by longing and unresolved trauma. I still find them deeply adorable.

So yes. Charlie x Vaggie. Soft, sweet, a little worrisome if you stare too long. Just the way I like it.

Baxter x Niffty

Season 2? SOLD me. Fully. Receipt printed. No refunds.

I’ve always felt weird when fandom shoves Niffty into overtly sexual situations while also infantilizing her, like… pick a struggle. She’s canonically probably three times my age, please unclench. What Baxter does for her character is grounding because suddenly she’s not a gag or a gremlin mascot. She’s an adult woman with desire, agency, and feral energy that’s hers, not projected onto her.

Their chemistry reframes her entirely. She’s sharp, curious, chaotic, and very much in control of her own weirdness. Baxter doesn’t diminish her; he matches her frequency. It’s unhinged in a way that feels intentional instead of exploitative, and I am obsessed. More. Immediately. Don’t speak to me until I get crumbs.

CheriiSnake

Pixie manic chaos girl + awkward shut-in scientist.

This trope has survived centuries for a reason. He’s yearning. She’s explosive. They meet in the middle and somehow it works. I refuse to overthink this one. It's just fun.

StaticMoth

Against. All. Odds.

This is extremely hard for me to admit because I want Vox for myself, so please understand the vulnerability of this moment. I am either healing as a person or the pain meds are doing unspeakable things to my judgment—let’s blame the pain meds.

Staticmoth works because it’s horrible on purpose. They’re both awful people in complementary ways. Valentino as a trophy wife (whoever said that first, I curse you lovingly) has permanently altered my brain chemistry. Will this relationship ever be healthy? God no. Is that why it’s compelling? Absolutely. Also “I’m from Florida” still lives rent-free in my skull.

Now. Fandom ships. Buckle up.

As many of you know, I am an xReader enjoyer. Before that, I wrote xOC. Apparently I just like touching the narrative stove to see what happens. Pre-Season 1, I didn’t really care about canon x canon ships.

Post-Season 2?

Oh. Oh no.

RadioStatic (not radiosilence)

Okay. I get it now. I didn’t before, but after Season 2? Yeah. Yeah, I see you, Radiostatic enjoyers. I know Radiosilence exists. I know. Let my romantic little simping heart dream for five minutes, please.

Because Alastor and Vox are toxic in a way that feels curated in a lab. Add a QPR lens and suddenly you’ve got K-drama level of drama.

That brief snapshot of their past with the “sad and complicated” descriptor? Painfully accurate. Vox is, at his core, selfish and narcissistic. He is ambitious to the point of self-erasure, willing to give up anything (and anyone) to climb. And somehow, of course, he falls for the worst possible person: a man who doesn’t understand love, doesn’t want love, and frankly treats attachment like a liability.

Vox is hypersexual in canon, which already makes him incompatible with Alastor, who—stepping away from fandom smut goggles for a second—is very clearly touch-averse, likely sex-repulsed, and hovering somewhere between aromantic and “don’t ask me about feelings, I will kill you.” No, I’m not fighting anyone in the comments about Alastor’s sexuality. He’s fictional. Do crimes with him. This is just how I read him from canon.

So right out the gate? Doomed yaoi. Fundamental mismatch. Different needs, different goals. Alastor is all about isolation and ascension—alone. Vox, interestingly, craves companionship more than he’d ever admit. Watching him thrive with the Vees makes it painfully obvious: these are two profoundly lonely souls who don’t even realize they’re lonely.

Which is why the codependency would be catastrophic.

Vox falls hard. Alastor notices and uses it. Feeds the obsession, sharpens it, keeps Vox desperate and devoted because it’s useful. And maybe, in some deeply cursed way, Alastor grows… fond. Not in a healthy way. In a “this pathetic, lovesick puppy amuses me and I will keep him” way. Which is worse. Somehow.

And don’t even get me started on the historical layers: Alastor as a black man from the 1920s, Vox as a white 1950s corporate golden boy with privilege dripping off him. The power imbalance. The resentment. The cultural clash. Absolute masterclass level. It’s vile. It’s delicious.

The artists were the gateway drug. The fanfic writers turned it into a dependency. Will I write it? Probably not. Will I stare respectfully (and unwell) at the art and whisper “I understand” now? Absolutely.

Velvette x Melissa

This one snuck up on me.

I didn’t even clock who Melissa was at first, and then on a rewatch I realized: oh. She’s the model who replaced the other model Valentino tore up. Seeing Velvette personally dress her did something irreversible to my heart.

I tend to favor yuri ships, not because yaoi lacks depth, but because female relationships often hit emotional beats that does something to me. They feel more intimate to me. Boss x employee? Forbidden undertones? Velvette x Melissa presses all my buttons. I am weak-kneed. Send help. (Don't)

Radiobelle

Listen.

The art is pretty. One of the first fanfics I ever read was human AU Charlie/Alastor and it was beautifully written. You never forget your first. I don’t actively seek it out, but I smile fondly when I see it. Also, I already like pairing Alastor with happy-go-lucky reader types, so it tracks for me spiritually.

Staticbelle

Okay. This one jump-scared me. Fully Assassin’s Creed–style, back when that franchise was actually fun, before corporate greed, microtransactions, and some out-of-touch suit strangled it to death. (Yes, I’m still salty. No, I will not heal.)

And of course—of fucking course—it was the art again. Fanartists wield an illegal amount of power. I don’t know how they do it. I don’t like that they do it. But we are visual creatures and I am but a weak mortal. I digress.

At first, when I saw people pushing Staticbelle, I was like: nah bro, what are you smoking? This felt one step away from “Alastor is a misunderstood good boy” discourse, and I simply do not live there. But then curiosity hit. And then my love of Vox hit. And then—unfortunately—people started pulling out receipts.

And that’s when I knew I was cooked.

Because damn it… I see it. I hate that I see it. But I see it.

At their core, Charlie and Vox are both aggressively earnest in opposite directions. One wants to do genuine good. The other wants to feed his ego until it blocks out the sun. And yet—both of them are running on the same engine: something to prove, all the time, forever. Failure is not an option. Stopping is not an option. Being “good enough” is oxygen. That level of obsession? That kind of hunger? Oh, that’s a shared language.

They both reek of parental failure, too: abandonment, neglect, impossible expectations, pick your poison. They’re both trying to become great in a way that feels compensatory, like if they just succeed hard enough, the hole inside them might finally shut up. That parallel alone makes their dynamic fascinating.

And yes, I know, Charlie gets a lot of flak for the whole “inviting Angel’s abusers into his safe space” thing, and that criticism is valid. I get it. I do. But narratively? It gave us more Vox. And more importantly, it gave us Charlie and Vox interacting, which was insanely funny.

You can practically see it: initial hostility, talking down to each other, dismissing each other’s ideals the exact same way the rest of Hell does. And then—slowly—the realization hits. Oh. You’re just as insane and passionate as I am. Different flavor. Same disease.

They’d hype each other up by accident. They’d argue like it’s a sport. They’d be unbearable in a room together. And yes, they both canonically suck at drawing, which has absolutely nothing to do with why this works but somehow makes it better.

And let’s not ignore the elephant in the room: Princess of Hell vs. most powerful media mogul in Hell. Old money vs. nouveau riche. Inherited power vs. clawed-from-the-dirt ambition. Are you kidding me? The trope potential alone could power a small city.

I’m telling you, if I ever write an original story, I’m stealing this dynamic wholesale. Because Staticbelle isn’t just cute or cursed. It’s thematically juicy. And I hate how much it makes sense.

Abel x Lute

Okay. Hear me out. Please. I know I’m alone on this boat. (I'm joking there are crew mates, but we are few in numbers and starving) The deck is empty. The sails are broken. But the second I saw them interact my little goggles locked on and my brain went: now kith.

Because genuinely? I think Abel would be good for Lute and not in a “fix her” way, but in a “give her a different axis to orbit around” way.

Lute reads like someone forged in violence and raised on punishment. Everything about how she commands screams learned behavior: cold, brutal, hierarchical. She doesn’t just believe in cruelty, she believes it’s necessary. Adam didn’t challenge that worldview; he fed it. He validated her worst instincts, rewarded her hatred, and wrapped it in purpose. Power couple? Sure. Healthy? Absolutely not. They’re a red-flag factory.

Now enter Abel.

Abel, who clearly inherited traits from Adam, as we've seen at the peak of seson 2, but filtered through something softer. Less malice. Less ego. More restraint. If Adam represented righteous violence, Abel feels like righteous guardianship. Same backbone. Different spine.

And I am such a sucker for ice queen x soft-but-steadfast sunshine. Lute is all frozen edges and scorched earth ideology. Abel, in contrast, feels like someone who believes strength doesn’t have to mean cruelty. If the Exorcists exist to protect the Winners—not to indulge hatred or vendetta—then Abel is the guy who would actually embody that mission.

And here’s the kicker: Lute can love. We’ve seen it. Twisted, misdirected, buried under rage, but it’s there. So the idea of her slowly unlearning violence as virtue, of choosing loyalty rooted in belief rather than fear, of finding happiness that isn’t fueled by anger? That does something feral to my heart.

If she turned toward Abel. If he reciprocated with patience instead of domination. If she thawed, not into softness, but into peace?

Yeah. I’d throw up. I’d die. I’d ascend.

No one wants to board this ship with me, but I will go down with it happily.

And finally… my problem child ship. The one I’ve been quietly shoving across the table since S1 like “no no just look at it.”

FoxDicker. 🦊🍆

“What’s that?” you ask, with fear in your eyes.

It’s my Adam x Reader brainworm, where Reader is a fox sinner, Adam is a fallen idiot man, and I use smut as a thinly veiled excuse to do a full-on character study. As one does.

This started as a joke: specifically, me teasing my friend Kit (a.k.a @redfoxwritesstuff certified Adam hater) that she would absolutely tolerate him for the ✨good dicking✨. Somehow, against God and reason, it evolved into its own beast with multiple one-shots and lore.

So if you enjoy:

stupid puppy boy Adam

a feisty, emotionally unavailable fox Reader

enemies-to-unfortunately this works energy

and narrative-driven horny with feelings

Congrats. This might be your stop.

I will continue expanding the FoxDicker agenda for no reason other than spite, love, and the hope that it makes Kit sigh dramatically somewhere.

Anyway. I think that covers it before my IV beeps at me again.