#not even fire spirit knows where they go or what happens to them(and they tell him EVERYTHING)

[captainmera]

Ahoy Captain! Question about ttocw if you haven't answered it already: how far into the toh timeline do you plan to write into ttocw?

I ask because you've laid down such an immensely intriguing foundation for each Witte-character, and like watching a sculptor take their chisel to the stone, we can already start to see how the various influences in Philip's life shapes him into the Belos we see in canon. BUT there's still the Phillip who outlives Caleb and Evelyn, the Phillip that meets Luz. Will you write that Phillip, too (even tho technically it's not longer a tale of Caleb W.)? It would be so fascinating to see how you portray his frame of mind at that stage, but if you feel it doesn't fit with the story, I would understand too

I wanted to get to the point of when Caleb leaves the final time.

Meaning he's gone back and forth a few times.

It could be that Evelyn stayed in the HR and Caleb never visited the DR until when he's Spirited away thru the portal. OR he's visited a few times, and then either thought he'd be back or decided he wouldn't go back.

In my version he's gone back and forth, he knows the DR, he likes it there, and due to *events* he decides to leave for good. And I want to write what builds up to him making that decision. Its a very "noooo, I mean I get it, it makes sense youd think that and do that, but nooooooo"

There are a couple of unanswered things in regards to gravesfield and the wittebros. And Evelyn visiting.

The show is LITTERED with breadcrumbs of intended story that never got any closure.

In TOH, it shows that they're both being lured into the realm of a witch. For example.

But I think that's just referring to that Caleb was "taken" and Philip followed, but that they both knew Evelyn.

The depiction of their ages, and their age gap, has been very inconsistent throughout the show. But I think it's safe to say they settled on this:

Being the most accurate, as this is when the creators solidified the actual gravesfield folklore tale about them. So the meta here is that the crew knows what their ages are, and even if the contemporary citizens of gravesfield doesn't - its a cartoon and they're showing us the information they have finalised.

At some point they hunt Evelyn, or at least "the dangerous witch", so I imagine that Evelyn visiting probably suddenly gave them a real physical person to try hunt down and pin all of the town's previous witchcraft on.

I want to write about how the imaginary threat of hysteria suddenly gets real cause. Suddenly, it's a game of who-done-it.

And if you've read my *down memory lane comic*, you might have a hunch that Philip finds out its Evelyn. And thinks Caleb is bewitched, etc.

ANYWAY,

There's also this mystery, yeah? The portal Caleb runs through is not the same as the one at the graveyard.

It does resemble the one they come through tho. So there's two portals that connect with the same arch in the demon realm. Or the old HR portal got a reconstruction by someone who added the Gravesfield bird symbol.

And yes, the owl door goes to the SUITCASE. And the suitcase door has an eye of a Titan. But the bird motifs makes e think of the one-eyed owl inside the owl house.

We know Belos at least made blueprints of the suitcase door. But he mightve just tried to replicate it.

ANYWAY,

I think once Caleb crosses over for the last time. I'm not sure if I'll continue it or I'd I'm full of ideas. As it looks r/n, I think I've got a lot to write for it as us anyway with Caleb and Evelyn going from friends-to-lovers.

And as that happens, Philip has his own sub-story and arc going on, all then cultivating into the climax the way that it does. The brothers part ways. Reunite, etc.

So I think it's best for me not to make promises where I put the end pin. It's supposed to be fun and a good writing exercise. :,)

But yes,I've got some breadcrumb milestones I want/need to check off.

The courthouse on fire being one too lol.

[sortasirius]

"There Goes the Groom" and Buck's Queer Joy

Hey so...remember when I did post ep meta for two years? Anyway we're back like we've never left.

Best Hen <3

OBSESSED with micromanaging party planner Evan Buckley. The clipboard was there in spirit.

"You are late."

I'll take married for several years for $500, Alex.

"Ooo sliders."

"Ah ah. No."

"You didn't just do that." PLEASE

Tommy giving Eddie a bro-y high five and then a soft, sweet "hey" for Buck and a hug??? Fellas I might need to be sedated.

Also obsessed with the tinge of bitchiness in Eddie's tone. It's like jealousy without even realizing it's jealousy. And I think it's an interesting mix of "hey my best friend has a new friend" and something else that Eddie cannot label.

Ryan Guzman you must be studied for that little side eye lmfaoooo

I LOVEEEEE TOMMY HE'S SUCH A BITCH, he said I do not care for your party themes. Me for real.

Why were they all so obsessed with the sliders???? I love them all so much.

"Reach for them and you'll be pulling back a bloody stump." WITH THE RAISED EYEBROWS AND THE LITTLE HEAD TILT RYAN GUZMAN I AM KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH.

"Wholesome, 80s-themed karaoke."

Buck was a party planner in another life and I stand by that.

"We should totally go as Crockett and Tubbs."

"Absolutely."

They are literally this meme:

The little shoulder rub that Buck gives Tommy <333333333333

The way Buck and Eddie are sitting during the party scene, Buck's arm absolutely SLUNG around his shoulder...yeah okay. Okay. I'm normal about this.

The whole party was two idiot best friends pointing at each other and saying "exactlyyyyyy." Yes, I would die for them.

I just want to say that every single thing about Chimney's journey this episode was heartbreaking and scary and I HATED that I didn't know what was going to happen to him the whole time. Ok thanks for your time.

From that guy stealing his car to every Doug jumpscare, I think they did a really good job freaking the audience (at least...me) the fuck out without actually revealing what had happened. Like..we know he's sick, we know something's wrong, but it was a well-paced episode, even if in my perfect world it would have been like two hours long lol.

And the fact that Maddie is always going to look for him, always going to find him, just like he would do for her...don't look at me I'm emo.

Chim essentially pushing the fact that he is actively dying from encephalitis to the side because being a paramedic and saving lives is so deeply ingrained in him it's something the can't forget? He's so important to me.

Then...Kevin. He's such a huge part of Chim's life, his arc, how he became a firefighter, and it essentially include him in the wedding (even though it was in a very scary way), I think it's a really great take on the idea that our loved ones who can't be there for milestones are there even when we can't see them, especially with his line "you invited me, remember?"

Doug was never there, but Kevin was, Kevin will be there even when Chim can't see him.

"I was trying to get back to you the whole time." THEY ARE EVERYTHING HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THEM. ALL THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH, ALL THEY'VE HAD TO DO, AND THEY STILL FOUGHT FOR AND CAME BACK TO EACH OTHER!!!!

Bobby officiating and saying "and the Los Angeles Fire Department" THEY ARE A FAMILY!!!!

And then...perhaps one of thee most important scenes ever aired on television ever:

"Sorry I'm late, that fire was a beast."

"So are you."

And STRAIGHT in for a SERIOUS kiss??????? 911 writers room you can have my life, take it, it's already yours.

Tommy's little huff of surprise and then hum of "yeah okay I'm down for this." PUT THEM IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE CUTEST COUPLE OF ALL TIME

And last...Buck coming in to the room where his family, both blood and chosen, is, with soot all over his face, and a smile so bright that it had to have lit up the entire west coast, not caring who saw him or who knew exactly what he had just been doing...yeah, that's what this shit is all about.

EDDIE'S beautiful smile when he realizes how happy Buck is they are best friends FIRST and that is all that matters to me!!!

Hen being like "it's about damn time." SO TRUE QUEEN OF COURSE SHE KNEW!!!!!

I haven't really been able to put this into words yet, but the way they are handling Buck's bisexuality and his first relationship with someone of the same gender as him is just...it's almost astounding. It's been handled with such care, from Oliver to Lou to the writers to the NETWORK, everyone is so clearly fully onboard with this and not afraid of it.

And there's no pain here, his coming out is not born out of trauma or being forced or caught or guilty. Tommy made him feel something that he had never been able to put a name to, and Tommy is helping him figure it out. He's letting Buck be overeager without taking advantage, he's letting him move at his own pace (which, of course, is at light speed) but is also confident enough in himself to pump the brakes when he feels like he needs to.

I just can't get enough of that smile, of how fucking happy Buck is. Happy in himself, happy with Tommy, happy to finally have a name for who he is, and not be afraid to share it with the people he loves. His parents' reactions don't matter, because he knows the people that matter to him most won't care who he's with, as long as he loves them and they treat him well.

It's such a huge step for Buck, who has so often fallen prey to what other people might think, it's so refreshing to see him get to explore this without fear of what others will say. Tommy is a steady constant, experienced and knows who he is. He teases Buck and calls him Evan and flirts with him shamelessly, and it flusters him in the best way.

To see a character like Buck, who was, essentially, billed as straight from the beginning of the show, be able to come in to himself and experience real queer joy...wow. For me, it just can't be overstated.

I can't wait to see where Buck's journey goes, and I am just so...grateful to be able to watch it.

[wileycap]

Crackfic Idea:

30-year-old Zuko gets randomly flung back in time to his 16-year-old self. For a couple of hours at a time. At the most random times imaginable. Imagine the potential.

Zuko assumes that it's a dream or a vision, but definitely not real. He tries not to freak everybody out too badly, but he's also fully enjoying himself and seeing all of his friends as their young selves.

ZUKO, as he and Aang circle each other at the South Pole: I've spent years preparing for this encounter. Training, meditating. You're just a [Spirit Shwoop Sound] ... baby Aang!

AANG, confused: Well, more like preteen Aang. How do you know my name?

ZUKO, looking around: Wait, where are we?

AANG: Um... this is the-

SOKKA: Don't answer him! He's trying to get information out of you. You can't give away our location!

KATARA: Sokka, he's standing in the middle of our village. I think he knows.

ZUKO: We're here? This is so weird. I was just here for the Annual Penguin Race.

AANG: THERE'S AN ANNUAL PENGUIN RACE?!

ZUKO: Well, yeah, it was your idea... you gave a whole speech about cross-cultural cooperation and friendship, but I know you just wanted to go penguin sledding with a bunch of people...

AANG: Well, I-

SOKKA: Stop giving him more information! He already knows about the penguins!

Everybody else is confused, bewildered and even befuddled except for Iroh, who assumes that it's Spirit Shenanigans™️ and just fully accepts that his nephew likes tea and hugs and Pai Sho sometimes while being his usual shouty surly traumaball self at others.

ZUKO, stepping into the cabin: Hi, Uncle. I brought you some ginseng. How about a game of Pai Sho?

IROH, tearing up a little: I would love that, my nephew.

ZUKO: I wish we could do this more often, but you live so far away...

IROH, mentally calculating that he lives exactly three doors away from Zuko, and nodding sagely: The rat-viper may never climb the mountain that a hog-monkey can, but the monkey does not know what lies underneath it.

ZUKO, sighing sadly: I know, Uncle. I do appreciate my position in life, even if it has disadvantages.

IROH: Hmm. Your move, nephew.

The crew of Zuko's ship is terrified by the fact that whenever it happens, Zuko is somehow even more hyper-competent, seems to be weirdly calm about everything, and most unnervingly of all, he's polite.

SOLDIER: Here is a report on the best teahouses within three days travel of our current location, Sir. And, uh, Commander Zhao sent a messenger hawk.

ZUKO: Excellent. Thank you very much, Sergeant. I think we can ignore whatever Zhao has to say. In reply, I want you to send him a list of the most famous officers in Fire Nation history, and point out that none of them had sideburns. I want to see if he shaves them.

SOLDIER, sweating nervously: O-of course, Sir.

As a matter of fact, the whole fic could just be Zuko trolling Zhao. It would be glorious.

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from in-progress "timebending with Zuko" fic

Zuko wakes up and everything hurts.

Most specifically, his scar hurts.

That . . . doesn’t make sense, he thinks, and reaches for it automatically. A strong hand catches his wrist before he can touch it, which seems–fair, yes. Probably a good idea, anyway, because spirits does it hurt. Just . . . so much.

“Uncle?” he asks reflexively, attempting to open his eyes. It’s surprisingly difficult. And Uncle is in Ba Sing Se, of course, but he’s on his back on a futon or bedroll or something similar and someone’s sitting beside him and his head is swimming and he’s injured, clearly, so options for who said “someone” might be are limited, really.

So it’s not Uncle, obviously, but . . .

“Nephew,” Uncle says, very quietly, and Zuko . . . blinks.

At least, half-blinks. The one eye’s in too much pain to open.

The ceiling is metal, he notes absentmindedly. That’s . . . odd. He was in the palace, wasn't he?

“What happened?” he asks, vaguely bemused. Uncle pauses in a very concerning way, and Zuko has about three heart attacks about just how badly he doesn’t want to know what he’s about to say before–

“The Agni Kai,” Uncle says, very carefully. “Do you remember it?”

Zuko frowns–just with the one side of his face, because again, his scar hurts right now. To the point that his whole body feels wrong, does his scar hurt right now.

“Um–which one?” he asks, because there’s been about a dozen this month alone, and frankly he’s getting really sick of fighting them at this point but if the old guard of nobles are just going to keep dragging everything out like this–

“With your father, Nephew,” Uncle says, very carefully.

Zuko . . . blinks.

“Oh,” he says, vaguely perplexed. Uncle never talks to him about that. “Yeah, I remember that. What about it?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Uncle says.

“The part where I disgraced myself or the part where he burned my face?” Zuko says, because it’s so fucked up and awful and horrible that he can’t even get upset about it anymore, except when he’s really upset about it. But if Uncle’s bringing it up, presumably he has a good reason to be, so . . . “Or the whole ‘go find the Avatar who no one even believes exists anymore or you can never come home again’ part?”

“. . . all of that, yes,” Uncle says, still sounding very careful. Zuko frowns a little–again with just the one side of his face–and then looks over at him. His body still feels weird and wrong, but . . .

But . . .

They’re on a ship, he realizes. A Fire Nation one.

Well, explains the metal ceiling.

It doesn’t explain why Uncle is wearing red armor and a topknot like he hasn't in years, though, or why he looks so unspeakably sad.

“Um,” Zuko says, and attempts to sit up. His head immediately starts swimming even worse, and Uncle catches his shoulders and keeps him pinned against the . . . futon? Looks like a futon, yeah. “Where are we, exactly?”

“We are aboard a ship,” Uncle says. “I . . . may have slightly commandeered it.”

“. . . you paid for it, right?” Zuko asks, a little skeptical at that idea.

“Yes, Nephew, I did,” Uncle says, giving him a very tired, pained smile. Zuko doesn’t feel much better, seeing it.

“Is someone dead?” he asks, because he can’t think of anything else that would make Uncle look that way.

“Ah–no, no one has died,” Uncle says.

“Then what’s wrong?” Zuko asks warily.

“. . . you are injured, Nephew,” Uncle says, slowly. Zuko frowns, bemused. “And your father . . . I did not know he was going to do this. I am so sorry.”

Zuko . . . pauses. Looks around the room again, and then realizes: he knows this room, doesn’t he. He knows this ship.

This is the same ship he woke up on after the Agni Kai.

“Hold that thought, Uncle,” he says, then lifts his hands and looks at them. They . . . well, they are his hands, obviously.

But they’re not his hands, obviously.

“Huh,” he says, frowning in bemusement at them; turning them around like he half-expects them to stop being a thirteen year-old’s or something equally ridiculous. They don’t. They are very definitely a thirteen year-old’s hands.

Specifically, his thirteen year-old hands.

Huh.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says after a moment, putting his hands back down and glancing back to Uncle, who’s obviously the more important concern. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I took you into that meeting,” Uncle says, his voice tight. “And I watched the Agni Kai. And I did nothing to stop any of it.”

“I know,” Zuko says. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Uncle says, his smile a sad and terrible thing. “You were there because of my actions. My mistakes.”

“You’re not the one who wanted to sacrifice all those soldiers,” Zuko says. “Or the one who decided to throw fire at my face.”

“You were there because of me,” Uncle repeats, his voice tight and his smile no less terrible. It occurs to Zuko, briefly, that Uncle must be thinking of Lu Ten.

He only ever looks like that when he’s thinking about Lu Ten, so . . .

“Uncle,” he says. “Really. It’s not your fault.”

“Nephew,” Uncle says, and his voice is somehow even tighter. Zuko tries to get up again, and his head swims again, and Uncle moves to stop him again. This time he grabs onto Uncle’s wrists and uses them to pull himself up, and then . . .

Well, then he’s sitting up, at least.

So that’s something.

He tilts his head and his hair slips into his eyes. It’s loose, and long. Not shaved on the sides yet, like he wore it the last time he was thirteen. He supposes he should cut it, but then again, why should he? He's not changing anything, after all.

Except for this conversation, he supposes, because that went very differently last time.

. . . hm.

"Uncle," he says one more time, and reaches out for him. Uncle doesn’t seem to understand what he’s trying to do, so he has to reach out a little farther, and then Uncle makes the connection and leans in and lets him wrap his arms around him and alright, yes: that’s better, Zuko thinks, and clings to him.

Just a little, perhaps, but . . .

Yes. He clings to him.

Uncle wraps his arms around him in turn, very carefully, and makes an awful sound.

“My boy,” he chokes. “I’m so–I’m so–”

“I forgive you,” Zuko lies, because of course there’s nothing to forgive.

But of course Uncle doesn’t understand that, does he.

[joyflameball]

If any other FNAF fans wanna throw in your favorite fucking insane FNAF facts PLEASE do

VAGUE explanations under the cut (please know I feel like that xkcd panel about overestimating the average person's knowledge of a topic right now)

the bite of 87 isn't important to the lore: It comes up ONCE in the first game, barely effects the lore, we don't even know who it happened to, literally its only lore impact is that the animatronics can't walk around during the day anymore. meanwhile the bite of 83 is incredibly likely to be the inciting incident that caused the murderer to do the murders. the "WAS THAT THE BITE OF 87" meme is not the bite of 87

golden freddy might have two souls: in the final fnaf 3 cutscene the bad end has golden freddy's head with two lights in it, and in the survival logbooks it's heavily implied there are two spirits rummaging around in there. there's more evidence but it's funnier if i don't tell you. the generally accepted canon is that golden freddy is possessed by a little boy named evan and a little girl named cassidy which is so genderweird of them

there are two purple guys and only one of them is actually purple: purple guy one is a murderer who killed at least six children. purple guy two is a rotting corpse who had his organs scooped out and possessed his own dead body to hunt down his father (who is purple guy one) and set him on fire twice. purple guy one is also a rotting corpse but he's in a fursuit

foxy has weird fucking genders: the foxy from the first few fnaf games is a guy and is referred to with he/him pronouns. in sister location, there's a foxy called funtime foxy, and when you select "girls night" in the custom night, they're one of the contestants. and in ultimate custom night, mangle (a really fucked up version of foxy) is referred to with he/she pronouns. this is canon and makes my gay little heart very happy

fnaf takes place in utah: fnaf takes place in utah

one of the novels had matpat mpreg: okay it's technically not matpat it's a guy named mat. however it's hilarious to say it's matpat. no this isn't a joke there was mpreg. with springtrap. i refuse to explain this

purple guy (the murderer one) might also be a yellow guy: in pizza sim there's a minigame with lore in it where you play a yellow mustard man who's a terrible father. it's theorized a lot that he may be the ourple guy because his son has grey text. no we don't know why he became yellow. he's never yellow again except when he's one of the comical amount of bunnies (there are like ten different bunnies in fnaf)

there are eight dead kids: we even know their names!

purple guy and his family are all british: in the opening cutscene to sister location, we hear the voice of one "mr. afton", who is the purple guy (the one who killed kids). he's british. throughout sister location, we hear the voice of a little girl, who is heavily theorized to be afton's daughter- elizabeth afton. one piece of evidence for this is that she is also british. and in the final cutscene of sister location, we hear the voice of someone named michael (who is the purple guy who's actually purple), talking to his father, and saying he's gonna come fucking KILL him, right before springtrap (purple guy) is shown and guess what michael's fuckin british. fnaf takes place in utah and no other characters are british. it's just the aftons.

there are three different jeremys and they all die: jeremy fitzgerald from the second game is heavily theorized to be the bite of 87 victim. one of the missing children is named jeremy and is possessing one of many bunnies. in the vr game a guy named jeremy is haunted by one of many bunnies and cuts his own face off. i personally find it hilarious to headcanon that jeremy fitzgerald is also jeremy from vr and maybe even the jeremy who got killed by william afton. especially considering the time traveling ballpit

bears are canonically extinct: in security breach, handunit mentions this in ONE LINE. it is not lore important. it is never mentioned again. objectively the funniest possible thing steel wool could've done

what the fuck is going on in fnaf: Buddy this is barely scratching the surface I haven't even talked about the child sized compartment in Circus Baby. You don't even know about the Charliebots or the Nightmare Gas. Do you even know about the Mimic. Do you have any idea what remnant is. There are ten different bunnies who are all also the same bunny. If you get into FNAF lore you will exit a changed man. Nothing here matters. There is a time travel ballpit

Anyway Cassidy isn't the Vengeful Spirit Michael is read that excellent Google Doc by @/whencartoonsruletheworld and THANK ME LATER

[theminecraftbee]

After he’s finished laughing at Iskall, the two of them start working together to finish drying off Iskall’s clothes. Beef knows full well that if he doesn’t, the man will almost certainly spend the next week naked, just to spite Beef. It’d go against the spirit of the message, to have Iskall turn around and strip because of it.

“I still can’t believe you filled my house with fishes! After I spent a whole ten minutes getting them for you!” Iskall complains. “You do not understand being neighborly. It’s sad.”

“I told you, the more fish you got me, the better your interior would be. You should be grateful, really. Many people would only dream of getting to sleep with this many fishes. It’s a much kinder warning of what will happen when you mess with me than some people get,” Beef advises. “Big Salmon isn’t very happy with you.”

“Sleep with—okay, first, I cannot sleep with salmons, because it gets all my clothes wet. I respawned underwater, Beef!”

“Well, better not upset me more,” Beef says.

“Second, I do not know phrases well. I thought that was a… a saying meaning that you kill them, when you make them sleep with fishes? I thought it was a crime thing. I did not think—sleeping with actual fishes was involved,” Iskall continues.

“I find that in my line of work, double meanings are handy to really drive the point home,” Beef says. “You’ll never know how you’ll sleep with the fishes next time, after all.”

“Right. Okay. Sure. Third: since when were you in Grian’s weird fish cult? Because, dude, I don’t know if I would have spent a whole ten minutes gathering salmon for you if I knew you were in a weird fish cult.”

Beef huffs, offended. “Not a cult! Thats the wrong—I assure you, religion has nothing to do with Big Salmon, just profits and salmon-related—hold on, wait, did you say Grian?”

Iskall stops, confused, from where he’d been airing out his jeans next to a campfire, nearly setting the article of clothing on fire in the process. Beef and Iskall are promptly distracted trying to put out the pants fire, and for a moment, Beef nearly forgets his conversation. After the now somewhat singed and somehow still not dry pants are rescued, though, Iskall remembers.

“Anyway, yeah, Grian. I didn’t think you were involved with him. He made a whole weird cod cave and everything. I think he was trying to worship some ocean fish thingy. It was weird.”

“I don’t know how to unpack that,” Beef says.

“You’re doing it too!” Iskall accuses.

“No, I’m making legal business decisions,” Beef says. “I think I would know if I were in a fish cult, especially one for something as gauche as cod.”

“Technically the cult is about a mending book,” Iskall says.

“Okay, sure,” Beef says.

“He tried to tell me it wasn’t a cult too, but dude, it definitely was. I am judging him. And also you. Get better things to do.”

“It’s not—you are misunderstanding. It’s a family,” Beef says.

“Still don’t get it,” Iskall says.

Beef groans and rolls his eyes. “Like the Godfather.”

“Oh! You are trying to kill me, but for dramatic crime reasons! I get it now. You know, the whole salmon thing still seems a little creepy though, especially with Grian’s cave. Are you sure…”

“Absolutely positive,” Beef says. “I can’t believe you accused me of following something Grian started. I’m offended.”

“Shouldn’t you be more offended at the cult thing?” Iskall asks.

“You’re the one with the giant monolith. You’re one to talk,” Beef says.

“I don’t see how that’s related,” Iskall says.

Beef looks across the neighborhood to the giant looming grey obelisk, covered in runes and filled with esoteric blocks Iskall had collected from all of the hermits. He looks back at Iskall.

“Yeah, fine,” Beef says. “Let’s just finish drying out your clothes.”

“You owe me even more now,” Iskall says.

“I absolutely do not, don’t even start—”

[cryptidghostgirl]

Rhapsody (Alastor x Cursed!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Alastor and Y/n have been taking down the overlords of Hell together for years but Y/n has had a secret and Alastor knows it.

Warnings: ANGST. Listen, when I get to write stuff not for requests, it's usually angst. Idk what to tell you.

Word Count: 1,545

Part Two: Ritornello

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Rhapsody Master List

Alastor had met Y/n in the early years of his career in Hell. As two agents of misfortune set on taking down the overlords of Hell, the Radio Demon and the Bard became fast friends. Before either of them really realized it, their care for one another had become a bit more than platonic.

It had been difficult to handle at first. Both had been let down, utterly betrayed by people that they had let into their lives in the past. Both were reserved but, it was inevitable.

Alastor was always causing trouble, making problems. He kept things interesting. Y/n liked that, liked him and his spirit. They were on the shyer side, having stage fright even though all their powers were based on music and performance. It was an amusing contradiction, the first thing that had really pulled Alastor in.

When he had finally worked up the courage to tell Y/n how he felt about them, they had been working on writing a new piece of music while Alastor wrote the script for his next broadcast. He hadn't been able to take it anymore. Watching them work, the concentration on their face, hearing them pick tunes on their instrument, the intimacy of the moment had over taken him.

They had look up in surprise, and he had apologized, controlled by a sudden fear of loss. Y/n had shook their head and gotten to their feet, allowing their lute to disappear. They had walked over to him, turned his face to theirs. They had kissed him, gently. Alastor was a goner.

He had never loved nor felt love like the one he shared with Y/n. It wasn't fire and passion, it wasn't destruction. No, the love was soft and gentle. It was a kitten they had adopted off the streets. It was a soft evening fog: all consuming and lovely.

None of the overlords were really all that surprised when they heard the news. Alastor and Y/n had similar goals, similar patterns of living. From what they knew of them, the pair balanced one another out perfectly, made one another stronger, better. Where Alastor was loud and omnipresent, Y/n was more reserved and watchful. Where Y/n could manipulate and control the world around them, Alastor handled people. Even the manifestation of their abilities was similar in some respects, Alastor with his microphone and Y/n with their lute. In combining their abilities and territories, they managed to control nearly a third of Pentagram City. Alastor was the face of their little operation while Y/n was the power. The overlords knew they had to act soon, otherwise their downfall would be inevitable at the hands of the most powerful duo of sinners in Hell.

They kept no secrets from one another, save one. Y/n, in all their quiet chaos, would disappear on occasion. It was something that began happening a year or so into their relationship, a few years after they had met one another. They would jump up and leave in the middle of conversations even on occasion. Whenever Alastor tried to ask about it, they always brushed him off. He never got more than a brief excuse out of them but, he trusted them. It was okay. He knew they weren't working against him or anything malevolent like that, it wasn't in their nature.

It wasn't that Y/n didn't want to tell Alastor what was going on, it was that they were scared. The truth of it all showed fragility, made them into something monstrous, made them weak. They trusted Alastor but, not enough to let him in. They trusted no one enough to let them in on this front. The secret put a strain on their relationship, but Y/n was certain it was better than the alternative.

The couple's favorite spot in all of Hell was on the outskirts of Pentagram City. There was a field there of red grass. A hill at the center bore a tall, twisted tree with bark so dark brown it was nearly black. It was where Alastor and Y/n went to simply exist, to escape the self imposed disarray of their lives.

Alastor had asked Y/n to meet him there that day and so they did. He had told them nothing other than that he had something important to tell them. As they climbed the hill, they spotted Alastor seated beneath the tree at the top reading a book.

Y/n smiled fondly at the sight. He was so engrossed in his book that he didn't even realize they were there until they were already seated beside him.

"Hey." Y/n smiled, leaning up against Alastor's shoulder.

He jumped slightly, turning to face them. His eyes softened at the sight and he closed his book, putting it to the side.

"Hello song bird." he cooed, pressing a soft kiss to their lips, "How has your day been?"

"Alastor, you saw me this morning. It's only like two in the afternoon."

Alastor shrugged and Y/n laughed lightly, pulling their knees into their chest.

"It's been okay. Nearly figured out a way to take that dinosaur overlord out, I forget their name. Should be done by the end of the week."

Alastor furrowed his brow, he looked down at his lap.

"Hey, are you okay?" Y/n asked, noticing the change in their partner's demeanor.

"Y/n, why do you always run off places?" he asked suddenly, "It's been happening more often, are you alright?"

Y/n sat up straight, taking their head from Alastor's shoulder.

"I'm fine."

Alastor shook his head.

"You're lying again. Sometimes... sometimes I feel like I don't really know you. So, I've made a decision."

Y/n's eyes went wide, his words a bullet through their chest. Sure, things had been a bit rocky between them of late. Alastor was right, they had been leaving him more frequently, hiding from him. They always figured things out, Y/n was sure of it. They had done it before and they would do it again and one day, once they figured out how to stop the curse, how to break it, they would tell him. Everything would be okay.

Their heart pounded against their ribcage, begging for release. They took a shaky breath.

"A decision?"

Alastor looked away, pulling a knee into his chest. Unable to meet their eyes.

"I'm joining the overlords and..."

"Oh, theres an and?" Y/n scoffed, "Joining up with our sworn enemies, the demons we've been trying to take down for years, that I've spent my afterlife fighting against, isn't enough of a betrayal?"

Y/n felt the anger rising in their chest. They pushed it down. Any strong negative emotion was a danger, the anger was a trigger and Y/n's body the loaded gun.

"I think we should see other people."

Y/n's heart dropped, crashing through their diaphragm. Their breaths quickened, becoming heavy and panicked. They had been in Hell longer than Alastor, it was true but, they loved him. He made their afterlife complete. There had been a before, the last thing they wanted was for there to be an after.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. It's over."

A sudden pain wracked their body. Y/n looked down at their hands to see the familiar claws sprouting. They jumped to their feet, turning their back on Alastor.

"Are you okay?" Alastor asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Oh yeah, fine!" Y/n stated, though their tone was anything but convincing.

Alastor got to his feet, noticing the way Y/n's body was beginning to change its shape, become more monstrous, more animalistic in its nature. He had never seen them do something like this before.

"Y/n, what's going on?"

They didn't answer, simply letting out a quiet, pained groan.

"Is this why you always have to leave?"

Y/n's panting became more intense as they tried struggled to keep their normal form. They pressed their hands to the sides of their head. Their eyes had gone black by now, not that Alastor could see.

"It's fine." they uncomfortably laughed, "Everything is normal. You can leave now."

Alastor sighed. His eyes lingered on their form for a few seconds longer before he too turned his back to Y/n, crossing his arms.

"I can't do this anymore. It's like you live two lives, one I am in and one I'm not. I..."

Alastor let his sentence trail off in indecision. He wanted to tell them he loved them. He did love them, a lack of care wasn't why he had to break things off. It just didn't feel right, to say it here and now, even if it was still true. Everything had become too much and the overlords had given him a truly tempting offer. Alastor had to think about himself, his future. He had to do what was best for him, not them. Not when they were the reason he had been in a constant state of upheaval for the past several years. Not when it seemed to never stay good once it got better, not when the times it was bad became worse and quicker every time

"I'll... see you around."

----

A/N Listen, I am obsessed with The Owl House, okay?? And Raine and Eda are the cutest and just shhhhh. Okay?

NEXT PART: Ritornello

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 2

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2,6k words | masterlist

"And what now?" The general's voice is still tinged with the shock from the earlier happenings, his breathing ragged.

"The box won't open without…I don't know. Without what?" Cassian looks at Nesta and only wants to wrap her into his arms, keeping her safe. Nesta holds Ataraxia tightly in her hands, face displaying nothing but strength and determination, but when her eyes slide to the box, completely untouched and closed, on the table in front of her, in the middle of Rhysand's office, disappointment passes over her features. It makes the former determination disappear and her shoulders slouch. Nesta looks exhausted, even a little sad and Cassian just wants to hold her, tell her she did her best, that she did everything she could and it is enough. 

"We need magic. A greater force," Nesta breathes, gaze not wavering, trained on the little onyx box. Vassa, the clever fire bird, managed to steal the box Koschei always kept with him. They need to destroy it in order to destroy him, but right now it seems impossible — they can't do it. At least not with the tools at hand. 

Even Amren is clueless. What should they do? How should they go forward? 

Silence, palpable and heavy, falls upon the room and for a moment everyone seems clueless until—

Amren taps her fingers against her chin and then opens her mouth. "There is one person that I know that could be able to open this box." 

The temperature in the office cools at least five degrees, a chill coursing through it. Amren moves towards the desk, fingers tracing a line over the box, eyes squinted. "She has power beyond our knowledge." Amren inhales a deep breath. "And you, boys, put her in the Prison many years ago. Many centuries ago." She looks over her shoulder, dark hair shifting with the movement. "Azriel, Cassian."

A cold shiver cascades down Azriel's spine. A Prison inmate would be their solution? It can't be—

"We can't free a prison inmate," Cassian says, voice strong. 

"Of course not, we can also let Koschei destroy us." Amren's statement is gleeful, almost mocking of the general. Cassian only narrows his eyes at her, fighting the urge to flip her off. 

"I mean, how can we be sure she is loyal to us and not to…Koschei. Or that she doesn't try to murder us the first chance she gets?" Cassian looks a bit scared and Amren frowns at him. 

"Why should she be loyal to Koschei?" she asks in a bored voice. 

"If she is a creature that has to be kept in the Prison the connection for her to be loyal to the Death Lord or any kind of evil spirit is not too far fetched," Cassian says and lifts his arms in despair. 

Nesta takes a step back, moving closer to her mate, her heart still racing with the former actions. She was the one who tried to open the box, but failed. The power that held it close is just too strong. Alone the trial left its markings on her skin, on her body. She is shivering, goosebumps spreading all over her body. The ancient force having fought against her, fiercely. 

"Remember where I come from, boy," Amren snaps and throws Cassian a deadly look. "I've been in there once as well. And I know her. I know about her. And I know that she will help us and isn't loyal to Koschei."

Rhysand, formerly having been calm, silently observing the situation, now steps in, Nyx cradled to his chest. "Can we truly trust her, Amren?" His voice is deep and strong, bouncing of the walls of his office. 

They can't risk anything and freeing someone from the Prison can be deadly and cause more problems than they already have.

"We can." Her statement is steadfast, like nothing can shake her belief that the female in question can truly be their life saver. "She might be a little out of practice after being locked away for centuries, but I know she has the kind of power and magic to open this box. After all she was part of…them."

"Of who?" It is Gwyn who asks this question, her voice hushed, almost like whispering about a secret. 

Amren turns her head to the priestess, smirking. "Of the Wild Hunt. Not their leader, but the second-in-command." 

Silent gasps rumble through the room, and surprise flickers over Gwyn's young face. She has heard about the Wild Hunt, read about it, but she had no idea that someone who was apart of it was locked away in the prison. 

Shock takes root in Azriel's chest, rattling his very bones. He has to grab the backrest of the chair in front of him to keep from tumbling. There is only one female this description fits. A female he locked into the prison himself. A female who promised vendetta. A female he loved once. You. 

His throat works on a swallow, shadows nervously swirling around him. Azriel isn't the type to be scared of most things, but you? You are a different kind. A different breed. Something otherworldly. Something - a being - that indeed scares him. 

"We can use the Harp to enter the cell," Nesta suggests and earns herself a round of agreement and planning immediately starts. But Azriel is unfocused. He thoughts return to you. Always. His body feels weak and he is shaking on the inside. For centuries he has been thinking about you, and now…

"Azriel, you will get her." The shadowsinger wants to say no, but he can't. He has to do it. If someone frees you, it has to be him. So, he only bows his head in silent agreement and already moves towards the door. 

"I'll return with her," he says as a matter of good bye, his mind too distressed, his body still in shock, to answer anything else or to do anything else. 

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

The prison still looks the same. The same dark stone walls, the same mossy smell. The only thing that has changed is Azriel himself. He no longer is this young boy that would do anything the High Lord tells him, without the blink of an eye. He has grown now, and he knows that what he did to you back then, was wrong. The situation — you — should have been handled differently. But he can't take back his actions. But maybe, maybe there is a chance for him to explain it all to you. 

His steps hollow through the dimly lit halls, prison cells on either side of it.

He still remembers your cell. It is a memory imprinted on his mind, but one that has been locked away for hundreds of years. 

A cold shiver curls around his spine, just like his shadows curl around his body.

He had clamped down on the pain for so long, for centuries, but now that he is here again it all comes back and nearly breaks him. Now, he can't believe what he did. He can't believe he hurt you like this.

Why did he not try to fight? Why did he not choose another option.

Because there wasn't one. It was the only option to keep you safe. To protect you. And your safety was always his priority. Even if it meant locking you in here and ripping his own heart into shreds.

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

"Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns to brass—"

Your voice catches in your throat, when your nostrils flare, taking in the new, uncommon scent. Someone is here. Someone that hasn’t been here in a long time. The scent is not fully unfamiliar, but you also don’t remember its owner. Until—

A nest of shadows is the first thing you see when the door to your cell opens. The black mist clears and reveals a male of ethereal beauty. A male you've come to loathe even more with every passing century.

"Shadowsinger." A vicious grin spreads over your face, showing your elongated canines. "We meet again."

Alongside the general of the Illyrian armies, the spymaster caught you and put you in this Cauldron-damned prison. It had been centuries ago. But you haven't forgotten. You never will. But why he returned is a mystery….

Before he can so much as blink, you lunge at him, chains clattering on the cold stone floor, covered in dirt and mould. You want to claw at his throat, at best rip it out. The fire of fury inside of you has burned for centuries, wasn't diminished once. And his presence alone added enough fuel to make your weak and broken body move. The sound of the chains reverberates through the dank, musty air, your long, elongated canines gleaming with a feral snarl. 

"I'm going to kill you." But you can't. Technically, you can't kill him while in here. Magic binds your power and you are restrained, also by magical chains, that keep you from moving too far or too close to him. But that doesn't stop you from trying. 

Hatred, raw and powerful, fuels you and makes you blind with the only thing on your mind being to end his life. He condemned you to this wretched, soul-crushing place. He never cared that you had no choice other than being part of the Wild Hunt. You didn't choose your fate. So, he had no right to do so either. 

"You think these chains can hold me, Azriel?" Your voice is a venomous hiss, each syllable dripping with disdain as you strain against the biting restraints, the cold metal spikes digging into your flesh. "I'll tear you limb from limb! I'll rip your throat out and watch you bleed out until the very last drop."

Azriel, his demeanour not giving away the whirlwind of emotions within him, stands in a stance, Truth-Teller clasped in his scarred hands. He seems composed and not afraid and that angers you even more. And so does his voice, cold, low, velvety. 

"I'm not here to fight you," he says, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside the Prison cell and within both of you. "I am sorry for—"

"Stuff your apologies up your pretty ass!" With a guttural roar, you hurl yourself at him again, driven by an insatiable hunger to destroy him. Memories of the centuries that have passed, of degradation, and the pain you suffered reach the front of your mind and drive your anger forward. 

But the chains hold you back and Azriel swiftly side-steps you. It isn't even necessary. If he doesn't get any closer, there is no chance for you to reach him. 

You bare your teeth again, the thin, white nightgown clutching to your body like a second skin. You shiver, but not from the cold, rather from the rage blazing through your veins. "What do you want from me? Why did you come back? Why did you come back now?" you demand, but he leaves you without an answer. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Azriel repeats instead, a note of regret tinting his voice.

"Hurt me?" You sneer. "You've already destroyed me! You broke me and you left me broken. Bloody and cold. I lay in my own puke for days, bleeding, wounded."

A pang of hurt hits Azriel right in the heart. He only followed what Rhysand's father had told him to do. He had no other choice. Everything else would have meant your death. He couldn't have risked it. 

"I come here because I—because we need your help."

His eyes drop to your hands, scars also marring them. Your pointed nails are still sharp, but brittle, almost like you have been clawing at the stone walls. 

Memories flash in his mind of how you sunk them into his skin. How you scratched them over his skin. And how…simultaneously your lips met his, mouths dancing, tongues toying—

"You betrayed me," you seethe, "and now you want my help?"

Azriel's expression looks pained, torn. His eyes drop anew, to the chains binding your feet to the wall. Your hands, though, are free and you can't wait to sink your sharp nails into his neck. Your fangs as well. 

"Only over my dead body!" you scream, fury clouding your vision like black haze. 

Only for you to realise it is not fury that clouds your vision. He is using his shadows to do so. You can't see anymore and it makes you panic. And this panic makes you lose control. You forgot about your former target, the darkness so looming and scary it makes you scream. 

Chains clatter to the ground, but you are too caught in a stupor to move. To run. To attack. 

With a swift and calculated manoeuvre, Azriel is behind you and secures handcuffs around your wrists, binding you. Binding you…binding you…You are restrained again. 

"I'm sorry, but I have to do this." His voice is softer, but it hurts you. You don't want to hear it. Don't want to see this side of him. Because it isn't his true self. His true self hurt you. Broke you. Destroyed you. 

You hate him so much, it almost hurts. You can't allow the pain. You will never allow it. You only allow anger. 

Blind rage surges within you, a thunderstorm of emotions brewing. And then he does the most unforgivable thing. He knows about your past. Knows about your fear of the dark. And yet, darkness swallows you wholly — a blindfold tightens over your eyes. Helplessness makes the content of your stomach sour and burning tears dwell in your eyes. Rage simmers beneath your skin, but it is the pain of betrayal that nearly gains the upper hand. The sort of pain you have been pushing away for centuries. 

You scream anew. His name. Curses. Noises. 

"Forgive me," Azriel whispers from behind you. "Forgive me, please."

But you wouldn't even imagine doing so. Never. Only over your dead body. 

"You'll regret this." Your voice is not strong. It is hoarse and broken. "I will never forgive you."

Azriel moves swiftly. In his hand, he holds Nesta's harp, the key that allowed him to enter your cell.

"Forgive me," he says again and his hand lands on your hip. 

You resist, squirming against his grasp, frustration and anger lacing your voice. "Let me go!" you demand, a mix of desperation and in your voice. But he is stronger. 

Ignoring your protests, Azriel gathers you in his arms, scooping you up with ease that is beyond you, cradling your frame against his chest. He adjusts his hold, ensuring you're secure and you feel that something cold, and metal - you can't quite tell- is placed on your belly. The Harp, but this knowledge is unbeknownst to you. 

"Stop fighting," he growls. "I'm taking you away from this place."

"Only to lock me up somewhere else." Your tears wet the blindfold. 

You struggle again, but it is useless against his strength. Your voice turns into a seething growl when you feel cold air brush you. Azriel rises. You rise. He is flying. And he is taking your with him. 

With a powerful surge of his wings, he gets airborne, leaving the prison behind. When air and wind swirls around you, you continue to squirm and strain against his hold.

"I won't let you imprison me again!" you seethe, fear and anger loud in your voice. 

He stays calm. 

Gradually, your resistance lessens, your body relaxing slightly against Azriel's chest, tension and pain still coiling inside of you. But you are tired. Exhausted. You only want to sleep. And that for ages. 

As you fly farther from the prison, towards Velaris, Azriel's embrace remains steadfast, his eyes brushing over your body from time to time. His actions are the only reason for you to hate him so much. And it hurts him as well. 

"Forgive me," Azriel breathes into the chilly night air, but you don't hear him anymore. 

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[moooncats]

✿ Pick A Card : Your Toxic Traits ₍₍ (̨̡ ‾᷄ᗣ‾᷅ )̧̢ ₎₎ ✿

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✿ Pile 1 ✿

Popular Loner

Detatched as fuuuuck. 💀 Oof pile 1, I'm hearing you convey the same energy as an Aquarius/Libra. You don't have to be that particular sign, but you do display simmilar traits. With that pile 1, you are very smart and you know that in some situations your words may cut like a knife... and yet you still full send them lmfao. This pile is goofy af, on top of that you are very hard to get a hold of. Deadass I'm seeing you tend to fall off the face of the planet, then randomly reactivate your social media's and positing again to see who missed you or whats buzzing. 🐝 ✨️ I'm hearing "Whats the tea 🍵?¿" Your card Pile 1 was the Queen of Swords. Althought it may seem like a favorful card, this is actually far from the truth. You are so in touch with your logic based brain that you are failing when it comes to connecting to your own emotions. They are turned off so you can percieve things as they actually are and continue to stay on the high pedstal that you put yourself on. Pile 1, I'm seeing here that so many people want to collaborate with you, but you love them at a distance. You rarely do anything else that isn't hanging out with your family doing errands, or working and stacking up silently. This may also be my piles who work from home. You prefer to be secluded in your own energy and most don't know that much about you. You may also be very "vocal" when it comes to your social media. This can lead to "trolling" or "fights" that happen. Pile 1 lets be honest, you like to stir the pot lmfao. Messsyyyy.

✿ Advice From Spirit ✿

Your Angel guides and spirits think you'll grow out of this phase. So that's good news right there pile 1. You may be on the Younger side, or have a youthful way of thinking. Honestly, you as a person is very likable. You tend to gravitate people towards you just from vibes alone, and people love that about you. I'm hearing, "You need to rationalize better, and use honesty in your everyday life with straightfowardness". With this type of living, your encounters will become enriched with trust from your own judgment and maintain integrity in your day to day life. I'm also hearing "Be there for people more, open up your boundaries and live life day by day, be present". Once you genuinely want to spend time with more people, you will reach the point of your life where you can be of guidance to others. Just like how the Queen of Swords was. Less Arguments, and more Growth. 🌱 (:

Channeled Songs:

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✿ Pile 2 ✿

Fight Club

"THANK GOD I AIN'T HAVE TO SMACK A B**** TODAY"

Why do you feel the need to even have to fight if you'll always come out right in the end? Like whats the use... I'm seeing someone who likes to get receipts, facts, everythinggggg before they start to go psycho mode and yell at people to defend their own ideals. Pile 2, your card was 5 of Swords. I'm hearing Smack a Bitch by Rico Nasty.

Especially when she say's "Don't work at MAC, but I'll beat a bitch's face". Bwahahaha Pile 2 you are fighters let's go! It reminds me of something my gamer girl friend always says "Violence is always the answer". While it may seem true to you; ya do know that sometimes it's better to let things settle and silence is always an answer as well? Why must you add more flames into the conversation just to set everything and everyone on fire? Contemplate on that thought pile 2 lmfao. You may think that you're very defensive and you wouldn't hurt a fly but babyyyy Tarot ain't lying here Lmao. Lemme call you out (with love ofc haha ♡). Pile 2 you are seen as a hot pan. Filled with oil and if one spec of water touches you, you'll go ape shit hahah. People around you have learned to just keep you happy and fed so you don't go all aggro on them. They know you hold grudges secretly until you kinda just dgaf then full send all those emotions that were held deep inside. Honey, you have to do some shadow work before you make everyone around you run. Trust me being lonely is not a flex. As human beings, we need to be surrounded by each other to function properly.

✿ Advice From Spirit ✿

Please look within yourself and ask for help from your loved ones. I'm hearing "We just want to know that you are okay". Giiiiirl, soooo many people are trying to reach out to you- yet you give them the cold shoulder and take on all this pain as your own... it is not. You are amazing, wonderful, LOVED. You have people around you who want to help, let them pile 2. I'm seeing that they are your soul tribe, and they will help you through the grief and pain you are going through. Your Angel Guides and Spirits want you to gain Fortitude during these times, it is great to be resillient and compassionate during these times. They also want me to bring up shadow work. It will help you a lot on your jouney here on earth. Please start journaling all those past trauma's so they can heal and you can be more level headed and yourself. (: Heres a hug pile 2, you'll get through it one day. ♡

Channeled Songs:

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✿ Pile 3 ✿

Depersonalization

You are it baby. Honey, You're a star did you know that?

All eyes are on you. You may have already known that from a young age, but I'm seeing here that you tend to dim your light so others can shine more. Why do you do that? Stars are meant to be seen. You are supposed to be guiding people, but instead you're making others guide randoms and they have nothing in common? Lmfao I'm seeing you being extremely friendly to everyone and when one bad person says something wrong about you, your whole friend group is broken up cause you trusted too easily and you made someone else their star. Giiiiirl get it together. You are deadass the main character without even trying, yet you feel insecurities that aren't even there. Seriously who says one star is better than the other? They are all equally beautiful. And like a snowflake, no two are like the other. Your card was The Star pile 3. ⭐️✨️ You are constantly putting bad eggs on the pedastal while you reduce yourself down to less than that of dirt. It's so sad to hear and see pile 3. People can clearly see that you are insecure, and you like to hold feelings like jealousy because you feel a sense of incomplete. Oof that was really deep pile 3, please let me know if I hit a nerve. This is coming from love I promise. ♡♡♡

✿ Advice From Spirit ✿

Pile 3, never let your dreams die. You know that you are on the right path when you are following it with clear conscice intentions. Your spirit already knows what to do. Just tap into your intuition and follow it. Embrace your unique talents and always let them shine brightly. Have faith in the universe and you will forever shine brightly like a star in the night sky. ♡ Please start listening to empowering songs that will make you feel amazing and great. I added in two from my playlist for you pile 3. Please make sure to read the lyrics and use it as a daily affirmation. You will 100% feel the difference in 2 weeks max. ♡

Channeled Songs:

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

Mahalo for reading this! If you enjoyed it please leave a like and comment down below. Comments always make my day honestly. ♡ I hope what I said did not offend people. It was advice sent from spirit with love. ♡ You are all amazing, wonderful, rad individuals! (: Remember to drink and stay hydrated baby bats! 🦇 ^-^ Moooncats out! 🚀⭐️✨️

[junkdrawerfics]

Hot Head

Request: Could you write something about him and a hot headed reader who has no time for anyone's BS? Maybe reader is friends with the wolves and gets both sides in line when it comes to talking about each other, none of them dares to make rude comments about each other in front of you, you may be human but you can be low key scary when angry

Words: 1332

Warnings: None really, Paul getting smacked down verbally, me not knowing how to right someone being scary or mean.

---

If there is one thing the wolves and vampires agree on, it is to not mess with you. Not after the incident with Paul.

You grew up in Forks, a close friend to the Blacks and Clearwaters, but also the Swans. You, Jacob, and Bella would play together in the forest as kids, making mudpies and pretending to be adventurers. You were always the brave one back then, the loud one, the first one to punch someone if they picked on Bella when her parents split up.

You still are that one. The hot head.

When the Cullens came to town, you, like everyone, were attracted to the strange, other than aura surrounding them. Unlike everyone else though, you were stubborn enough to befriend them. You couldn’t help but gravitate towards Jasper, with his quiet, gentlemanly charm.

Apparently he was equally drawn to your spit-fire, bold spirit. He always says the day he decided to “court” you was the day you tore someone a new one in the hall for spreading rumors about his family. Your anger was like a fire, destructive and all-consuming, but to him, it was warmth and light, sparked from how much you care for your friends.

Jasper evened you out in ways you never thought someone could. He could bring you down from any ledge with a single touch, sometimes a single look. Things felt softer around him, you felt softer around him.

Even after learning about the Cullens being vampires and some of the Quileutes being wolves, you never felt pressured to choose a side. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe foolishness. But you kept a foot in both worlds, unwilling to give up on the friendships you had all your life.

That being said, you couldn’t tolerate the animosity between the two groups, especially from the wolves.

“I can’t believe we have to work with the leeches.”

It’s quiet, you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t standing with Jacob, talking about the battle plan Jasper has come up with. Everything felt like it was going okay. The Cullens and the Pack had made a temporary pact to protect Bella, and you thought they were all okay with it.

Your brow furrows as you look over to where Paul and Jared stand off to the side with a very confused looking Seth. The smaller boy meets your gaze, dark eyes wide. You bite down a small spark of anger.

It’s Paul, you remind yourself. He’s never happy. All bark, no bite. It’s fine.

“You never know what kind of accidents will happen in the heat of battle, though.”

It’s like being doused in lighter fluid. Anger turns to rage. Rage into a burning urge to cause the shapeshifter ungodly amounts of pain.

Not fine. Definitely not fine.

“(Y/n)...” Jacob starts, discomfort clear in his tone. 

He heard it. They all heard it. And Paul has the nerve to wear a smirk like he’s proud of his poorly veiled threat. 

Your jaw aches from how hard you grind your teeth.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you growl, body surging forward, only to be stopped by a cool hand on your arm.

You flip, eyes meeting with a pair of calm gold ones. Jasper holds on to you gently, grip loose, thumb resting over your racing pulse. He must have crossed the clearing when he sensed your rising anger. He perks a brow at you, and for a brief moment, you feel the fire dull in your veins. 

A chance to think clearly.

You take a deep breath, frustration still crackling in your lungs.

You’ve had enough. Enough of the snide comments, the ugly whispers, the looks. You’ve had enough of all of it. It’s ridiculous that they can’t just get along.

“Let go of me, Jas,” you murmur, giving him a steady look.

The vampire nods, letting you go without hesitation, and takes a few steps back. Good. You really don’t want him getting in the middle of this.

You turn back to the small group of wolves, teeth practically barred as you bark out sharply, “Hey, Lahote!”

All eyes turn towards you as you stalk up to the burly man. Paul eyes you warily, the tension in the clearing rising as you come toe to toe with him. You may only be human, but even the wolves can sense the anger boiling the air around you. The sun might as well not be out with how dark the clouds hanging over your head are.

“What, (L/n)?” He has the gaul to sound irritated.

As if he has any right.

“You want to run that by me again?” You sneer, and you can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction when he flinches minutely. “Accidents happen, huh? Is that what you said?”

“Well-”

“Shut it,” you snap, and his smile falters, lips pulling into a tight line. “Don’t make this worse by talking before you think, like you always do. You’d think the wolf brain would shift back with you, but I guess not! And you know, I’ve been working so hard to make you thick-headed idiots - not you Seth - see how ignorant you’re being. You’ve all been nothing but horrible to the Cullens!” Your scathing glare travels over the pack, and they all shift uncomfortably. “They have done nothing to deserve it. At least they try to be respectful, and they would never, never threaten one of you.” Your eyes land back on Paul, and the giant man shrinks back. “So why do you think it’s okay, huh?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even meet your gaze. It’s like looking at a completely different person from the usually aggressive, quick to anger wolf. You can’t help but scoff.

“Yah, that’s what I thought. Grow up, Paul. I’m sick of you acting like a spoiled kid who gets away with whatever he wants. I expect better from Sam’s third in command. So why don’t you try to actually focus on your role for once so your idiotic ideas don’t get one of your packmates killed?”

By the end of your rant, your hands are practically shaking as you cross your arms over your heaving chest. It’s the only way you can stop yourself from hitting him, which wouldn’t do anything except make you feel better. 

It does help that Paul looks thoroughly kicked. His ears are tinged red, and he looks so, so angry, but also embarrassed as he just scowls at the ground. Sometimes a verbal beating is just as satisfying, this being one of those times. That done, you turn your attention to Sam. The alpha straightens up, apprehension flickering across his face.

“I better not hear anything like this again,” you order, “If you can’t at least be decent, don’t expect me to hold back. I have plenty to say, some of which I think the elders would be more than interested to hear about. Like-”

“I understand,” Sam quickly cuts you off, dark eyes narrowing as you smile all too smugly. Perks of growing up with them and knowing a lot of their secrets. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

With a satisfied nod, you feel your anger recede. It falls away just as easily as it appeared, leaving you almost unnervingly calm as you trot back to Jasper’s side. The blond watches you, eyes gleaming with pride.

“You know we can handle ourselves right?” He murmurs, amusement slanting his lips as he slips an arm around your shoulders. “Have been for a hundred years.”

You sigh and lean into him, “I know, but that doesn’t mean I need to stand by and watch them act like that. I’d do the same thing if any of you said something like that about them!”

“I’m sure, darlin’.”

“Are you teasing me?” You glare at him playfully.

His smile pulls just a smidge wider. “Of course not, ma’am.”

“I swear to God, Jasper-!”

---

I literally had no idea how to end this so I hope this works. I hope you enjoyed it! Love y'all, feels good to be writing again!

[cobragardens]

The Golden Lion

For all that Aziraphale is the more frightened of the two of them, Crowley is the snake: he camouflages himself carefully, and his first instinct is always to flee.

Aziraphale's is to stay. He insists on facing the Apocalypse. He insists on facing the Second Coming. He insists on trying to make a difference. He doesn't want to go up to Heaven, but he does it anyway, alone, because he wants to stop the destruction of Earth (again) and keep Crowley safe.

He's very difficult to shame, too. He never gives up his innocent pleasure in eating, even though Heaven, Hell, and probably people on Earth all mock him for it. He's soft and he remains soft, even after Gabriel shames him for both his physical and metaphorical softness. That takes a lot of strength and an unshakeable character.

You know the gold ring Aziraphale wears as a badge of office, that functions as the counterpart to Crowley's snake tattoo? The charge on that ring is a lion.

The heraldic attitude of the lion is rampant (i.e., reared up): it stands on its hind legs with its forelegs raised, as though attacking, and its head is forward-facing: it looks forward, toward the future.

Obviously in popular symbolism, lions represent bravery, and that definitely fits Aziraphale. He's literally leaving the only person who has ever loved him to go make the universe a better place for that person and for everyone, and he's going alone amongst the people who have despised and shamed him his whole existence and tried to kill him at least once; those people are mfing Heaven and have been entrenched in their power for thousands or millions of years. It doesn't get a whole lot braver than that.

In Christian symbolism specifically, the lion represents Christ. (He's referred to in the book of Revelation as the "lion of Judah" because the heraldic symbol for the tribe of Judah was a lion and Jesus was said to be from the tribe of Judah because his [step]father Joseph was from Judah.)

Normally when a story draws a parallel between a character and Christ, the parallel is one of self-sacrifice. That's not what's happening here. When symbolism for Christ represents his self-sacrifice, Jesus is invariably associated with a lamb--the sacrificial lamb--not a lion. When that symbolism represents Christ's mercy or holiness or divine nature/ordination, the dove of the Holy Spirit is used.

But the lion is a symbol inherited from the Old Testament. It represents royalty, power, threat, and seizure from others by force. Jesus is symbolically depicted as the lion upon his return to Earth during the book of Revelation. The lamb is Jesus' self-sacrifice and death for the sins of humanity, but the lion is Jesus' return, powerful, royal, and triumphant.

Does Aziraphale's ring foreshadow his involvement in the Second Coming of Christ? Probably! Is it a symbol that Heaven is the proverbial (and biblical) "lions' den" where they should be doves and lambs? Maybe.

I think it more likely that Aziraphale himself will be the lion, on a righteous rampage like Jesus chasing the moneylenders from the steps of the temple, telling them "It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves." Because the ring is a signet ring, meant to impress a seal that legally represented the wearer as an individual. So the lion is linked to Aziraphale himself.

Aziraphale is soft. It is one of his very best qualities. And soft and weak are not the same thing: because he is soft, he tried to kill the Antichrist, a child. Because he is soft, he stood alone before a demon in defiance of the will of Heaven and demanded with no power whatsoever to back him up that the demon spare children whose murder God had authorized. He, an angel of God, worked with a demon to deceive the Heavenly Host and, as he points out himself, thwart the will of God. Even before that, because he was soft, Aziraphale gave humans the gift of fire and self-protection and then lied to God Herself about it. I mean it literally does not get any more courageous than that.

And I can't stop thinking about what that lion, and that softness, and the link between the two is going to mean for S3.

[peachesofteal]

Heartbeat / Chapter 1

Same pairing as I got you and Picture.

Simon Riley/female reader 3.6k words - part of the Sassy series - AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, pregnancy, anxiety, vomiting, PTSD, panic attacks, emotional hurt/comfort, Protective Simon, Possessive Simon, oral sex - female receiving, explicit sex, breeding kink, praise kink. Mentions of violence. Trauma. Blood. Angst. Hurt/Injured reader. Simon made up his mind.

“But not the thick crust kind. The thin kind, well done. Tell them-“ He shut the truck door with a firm push and pressed the phone back up to his ear.

“I know, Sass. I know.”

“that I want it with black spots top and bottom. And extra cheese! Last time they forgot it and-“

“Sass.”

“Yeah?”

“I got it.”

“Erm, right.”

It’s been a month since Simon showed up on your doorstep. A month, since he took his mask off in front of you, showed you who he was. A month since he started to try to earn your trust back. It was slow, and you were wary of him, and he tried not to hold it against you, even though it frustrated him to no end. Some days, you still slip away from him. Distrusting, and angry. Hurt. He rides it out with you, as patient as possible, no matter how rough it is. He has no other options.

The first week was the worst. You fought him tooth and nail. Ferociously. Viciously. True to your spirit. The morning after he had showed up on your front step at night, you didn’t let him in your house for almost two hours. You spoke to him through the crack in the door until he convinced you to open up, and then once you did, you spent three hours putting him through his paces. Pushing him about why he had you put on leave, why he disappeared on you, why he ran from you at every turn.

“You put an intimate relationship with a superior down on my record.” You hissed at him, spitting poison with every word.

“I didn’t. Price and I, we talked. It wasn’t on record.” He was surprised when he watched tears gather in your eyes, his mouth moving but no words coming out except; “Sass, please, I-“ 

“You and Price decided to get rid of me!” you screamed at him, and he stood there and took it from you. Took everything you threw at him because you were right. In the end, that is what happened. He implored Price to put you on leave or transfer you out because he couldn’t handle it.

He’d never been a coward before that moment. Not a day in his life. But you, you had reduced him to rubble and ash. Left him helpless in your wake.

That night, he drank a bottle of bourbon in the emptiness of his hotel room. Who was he kidding? He didn’t have a clue. He didn’t know how to do this, navigate this situation, or you. He didn’t know how to be a father. He couldn’t tell you the first thing about what a healthy father-son relationship looked like, or how to be a good dad. What was he going to do? Stay with you? Play house? Mow the lawn and drink beers on Friday nights, change diapers and wash baby clothes covered in puke?

“I can do this. I have it all handled.” The words twisted in his gut, and he turned them over and over in his mind. Did he want you to have to do it alone? Did he want his kid to grow up without him?

Maybe you both would be better off. He could watch, from the shadows. Keep the two of you safe. Succeed where he failed before.

“You’re off the hook.” You had told him, and he was surprised at how much he didn’t like the sound of that. Or how it felt.

A memory, the sound of your laughter, tugged at him. He remembered watching you play a round of cards with Soap, nestled in a safehouse the night before a particularly difficult op. He can still hear the exact tone of your voice, the chime of your amusement. When you looked up from across the table, your eyes found his immediately. He wasn’t surprised, you always knew where he was. The two of you always found each other, in a crowded room, in a fire fight, in the dark of night. At first it had unsettled him, but then it just turned into… home.

The last of the liquor burned when he swallowed it.

He made up his mind. He had to try.

The next day when he showed up, you weren’t there. Eight in the morning and your car was already gone. His heart hammered in his chest as he sat in his truck and ran through every worst-case scenario he could think of. Someone had forced you into the car earlier this morning, and then ditched it once they got you far enough away. Someone had killed you in the house, and then pushed your car off a bridge or a cliff with your body inside. Someone had stolen your car and you had tried to chase after them, resulting in them kidnapping you as well. You went somewhere earlier, and were in a car accident but he sure as hell wasn’t listed as your emergency contact so he would have no idea… The list went on and on, and his pulse thundered in his ears until you pulled into your driveway an hour later, trunk full of groceries. You had tensed when his driver’s side door closed, turning in a panic with a carton of eggs in your hand.

“Jesus, Simon. You can’t sneak up on me like that.” You pressed your hand over your heart, and he frowned. He hadn’t been trying to be stealthy. He was even parked in front of your house, just on the other side of the street. You moved to grab another bag, but he reached for it first.

“Let me help you.” The resigned sigh was all he got out of you in response.

He came back later that night, at your request. You’d make him dinner, you said, the two of you could talk.

“What do I have to do to get rid of you?” you asked him outright, over a plate of pasta that you were pushing around. He ate most of his. You hardly got three bites in.

“You can’t.” He told you simply, watching your face shift from stress to irritation, confusion and then to wariness, concern. “I’m on leave. Extended holiday.” 

“You… you’re what? You never take leave.” 

“I do now.” 

“For how long?” ‘For as long as you’ll have me’ got stuck in his throat so he went with,

“Awhile.” You groaned his name, ready to launch into a full diatribe of protest when he held his hand up to stop you. “Sass, I know. I’m not too dense to realize I broke your trust. I know I hurt you. But I’m here, I want to be here for you, with you, now. As much as I can, as much as you’ll let me. I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. But I want to try.” He held his breath as you stared down into your plate, knuckles white around your fork. When you spoke next, your voice was different. Small. Broken.

“I’m scared.” You whispered to your lap. “That last bomb, when Soap almost died, it…took a piece of my brain, I think. It all caught up to me Simon, and now I, I’m going to have this baby, this thing that needs me and it’s been hard already and I don’t know-“ He watched you break apart until he couldn’t, pulling you from the chair and into his chest, lowering the two of you to the floor so his back rested against the wall.

“I’ve got you. I’m right here.” He hushed you while you wet his shirt with your tears and mumbled incoherently into him. He held you there for hours, until you were limp with exhaustion, eyelids slipping shut.

It didn’t get easier after that though. Whatever headway he thought he made with you was gone by the next day, and you were back to fighting him, dragging him through the mud as much as you could. He sat in your driveway for two days straight, until the third, when you finally opened your front door and let him in because ‘you didn’t want your neighbors to talk’. You steeled yourself against him, telling him your breakdown the other night was a moment of weakness, and that you were fine. You didn’t want him around; you didn’t need him.

You weren’t fine. He knew it, and he knew you knew it. But even if you were, he didn’t care. He wasn’t leaving.

“I have a scan, today. In an hour.” You announced one morning almost two weeks after he showed up. A scan? You looked up at him, eyes a little nervous, like you were unsure.

It was a strange thing for Simon to see, considering how you worked. You were always confident in the field, strong and assured. You knew bombs, you had told him, knew them like the back of your hand. You even taught Soap a thing or two.

“Where the hell’d you learn to do that, lass? That’s not military spec.” Johnny asked you, practically amazed, and you laughed at him, nodding in agreement.

“Family tradition.” You had quipped with a grimace and left it at that.

“To see the baby… do you want to come?” He blinked in surprise before quickly agreeing, offering to drive.

“When’s the last time you were in a doctor’s office?” you asked him quietly.

“Been awhile.” Since Tommy got clean. When Joseph was born. His fist tightened on the wheel unconsciously. “You?”

“Like two weeks ago.” Oh, right. You shifted in the seat and winced, rubbing your belly placatingly.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. He’s just… moving around, kicking me.” You surprised Simon by reaching for him, cupping his palm over the swell of your belly, letting him feel the little vibrations inside moving under his hand.

The office had been hell, at least until you got in the room. He stood beside you while you checked in, the stares of everyone in the waiting room burning into his back. He was too exposed, in unfamiliar territory, blind to any threats. Even with the face mask, ‘the civilian one’, as you called it, he still felt extremely uncomfortable. He sat next to you in the pink pleather chairs, back stiff, fingers curled over his knees, body practically vibrating with stress until you put your hand on his.

“Hey.” You leaned over with a whisper. “Everything’s okay.” Your thumb rubbed a pattern into the skin of his wrist. “We’re going to hear the baby’s heartbeat.” You had said gently, giving him a squeeze. The heartbeat. He turned to look at you, and you were smiling at him, tenderly. He could see the fear and nervousness that was wracking his own body reflecting in your gaze, but you had pushed it down, forced it away to give him comfort. His throat had felt tight with emotion in that moment.

When they finally called your name, brought you back, he relaxed slightly. The room you were in was dark, and it calmed him to the point where he felt in control again, his posture relaxed slightly as he watched the technician closely while they squirted some clear gel onto your skin.

“Wow!” they had commented brightly, “That’s a big baby!” and you had groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second while you took a deep breath. They showed you images of hands, feet, a little nose, technician moving the probe around your belly, and Simon stared at the screen, terrified to pull his eyes away in case he missed anything. Then they turned on the audio, and he heard it.

The heartbeat. A soft swoosh of a sound, steady and strong. He reached for your hand without even realizing, holding your fingers between his and bringing your palm to his face. He heard you laugh, a teary, watery thing, and he pressed his lips from behind the mask to your skin and closed his eyes. Swoosh swoosh swoosh.

Things changed, after that. You started to soften towards him more, letting your guard down bit by bit. You let him massage your feet at night and hold your hair back in the mornings when you spit bile into the toilet. He was a light sleeper, like you, and always knew the moment you rolled out of bed, stumbling for the bathroom, pressing your hand to your mouth.

“This is your fault.” You’d gasp as you vomited, face dotted with a light sheen of sweat.

“You’re right.” He’d console you and rub your back until you finished, little pieces of guilt burning in the pit of his stomach. He would press a damp washcloth to your face while you coughed and sputtered, murmuring to you softly until you rocked back, slumping against the tub and pulling his hand against your belly.

“Tell him. To knock it off.” He’d laugh, but oblige you, pulling you into his arms while you rested your face against the cool tile. He didn’t mind taking care of you. He secretly cherished it. Taking care of you allowed him some semblance of control, some ability to plan and execute in a way that was familiar to him. He thinks you knew that though.

“I’m nervous.” You gulped one night, toes tucked under your thighs on the couch. “You’re so… big. And so is he, already. It’s going to suck so bad.” You giggled a little, apprehensive smile on your face, and he did his best to reassure you.

“They’ll give ya good drugs. And I’ll be there. You can scream at me all you want, until you feel better.” You turned towards him on the couch in surprise, lips parted, eyebrows raised.

“You’ll be there? You want to be there?” 

“I’ll be there, Sass. I promise.” 

He feels like he’s in a dream sometimes, when he looks at you. Like this all can’t be real, that he’s going to wake up any moment in a tent somewhere, or a safehouse, listening to Johnny snore and Price whistle. He can’t stop himself from staring at you, eyes tracing the curves of your body, the swell of your belly the proof that you’re his, that he’s got you, now and forever. He realizes he likes you like this. He liked you before too, just as much, when you were lithe, fast and lethal. When you were easily foldable under him, ready for anything at a moment’s notice. He liked you when your nimble fingers would plug and pull wires, when your strong legs would creep silently down dimly lit hallways. You had the body of someone who killed, someone who watched him kill, someone who killed beside him. Now though, in these moments, when you’re heavy with his son growing inside of you, soft and tender, your edges softened, he has a hard time believing he’s not actually dreaming.

It was a few nights ago, when you rolled over in the dark, hands snaking across his stomach to reach in his sweatpants for his cock, that he finally tasted you again. He laid you on your back in the dim light of your bedside lamp, running his hands over your body, pressing his mouth to your belly. He couldn’t get enough of you like this; body spread open for him, sleeping in his t-shirt, having his baby. He’d keep you here forever if he could, keep you safe. Keep you both safe.

“You’re beautiful.” He murmured, spreading your folds to press a thumb to your clit.

“I’m a whale.” You whined with a gasp. His cock was painfully hard against the bed, dripping into your sheets, your whimpers and moans filling his ears.

“No, you’re not.” You were so wet, soaked, he slipped a finger inside you easily, stroking against the sponge like-spot in your cunt. “You’re having my baby, Sass.” He lowered his mouth to your clit, raising its hood with a thumb so he could lick your swollen nub over and over, until you were clenching around him and crying his name.

“Fuck, Simon. Shit-“ 

“That’s it, sweet girl. Come on.” He felt the muscles in your legs tense, and your body pressed against his face, seeking more friction. “Come for me. I know you can do it.” And you did, hard, straining against the bed while your thighs closed around his head. He pulled you on top after, guiding your hips gently to sink downwards, your face pained from the stretch. It had been a while, since you’d taken him, and you were slow to work your way onto his cock. “Take your time.” He told you through a gnashed jaw, the feeling of your hot cunt gripping him nearly sending him hurtling over the edge before he was even all the way inside.

“Look at you, my good girl. Sittin’ on my cock, carrying my baby.” He curled forward, teeth grazing your nipple, the sensitive peak hard between his lips. “Wanna keep you like this.” He wrapped his arms around you as you rode him, body moving up and down on his cock lazily. “Fuck you full of my come, give you another.” You tightened, liquid heat dousing him, and he stroked your clit again, fingers moving in time with your hips until you became frantic, hurried, and he knew you were close.

“Come on my cock like a good girl, Sass. Let me feel it.” You squeezed him when you came again, and he followed you shortly after, filling you so much it was dripping out of you while you panted on top of him.

Afterwards, you looked over at him suspiciously.

“Since when has that been a thing?” 

“Since now.”

“I double checked the amount of cheese for ya before I paid.” He says, depositing the two boxes onto the kitchen table. The house is silent in response. “Sass?” He calls louder. Nothing. His stomach flips. Maybe you’re asleep. You have been sleeping more, taking cat naps on the couch, or crawling into bed earlier than usual. He takes the stairs two at a time and calls your name again when he gets to the top. “Sass!” The light is on in the bedroom, and he relaxes slightly. Definitely fell asleep.

When he pushes the door open, the metallic, tangy smell is the first thing that hits him. It floods his senses and his heart drops into his stomach when he sees you.

You’re on your side, on the floor, in one of his t-shirts and little cotton shorts that sit snugly on your hips. You’re lying in a pool of bright red blood that is coming from between your legs, your color off, almost dull, and your cellphone lying face down five feet from your outstretched fingers. He says something, or shouts something, but they’re not words. They’re sounds. Hoarse, horrified, panicked sounds that echo in the dead silence of the room.

“No no no-“ He rolls you on your back, pushing your hair away from your face and cradling your cheeks between his palms. “Sass. Sass, wake up. Wake up Sass, come on.” Then he tries your real name, over and over to no avail. Your chest is moving, just barely, breaths rough and shallow and he swallows the scream that’s threatening to erupt from inside his diaphragm. Your head rests limply in his hands and feels darkness ebbing around the sides of his vision. This can’t- This isn’t- He can’t breathe. The fear spreads through him like an infection, threatening to immobilize him. “Come on sweet girl. Wake up for me.” He shakes you, just a little, but you don’t respond, and he actually screams this time. Shouts at the top of his lungs, hands fumbling in his pocket for his cellphone.

The next ten minutes pass in a blur. He keeps a hand on the side of your neck to count your too slow pulse as he talks to the operator on the other end of the phone. They try to give him instructions, but his head is buzzing so loud he can hardly concentrate. The smell of your blood is too strong, and it makes him think of Belize, makes him remember that time he almost lost you before he even had you, the day that guy shot you in the ribs. He nearly killed you right in front of him and he remembers holding your body against his in the truck, his hand pressing hard, so hard, to your wound as red ichor ran beneath his fingers. You were in so much pain, so confused, and all he could do was sit there with you, running his fingers through your hair as Price drove like a madman through the streets.

He didn’t lose you then. He couldn’t lose you now. Couldn’t lose either of you.

He’s still counting the beats of your heart when he hears commotion downstairs and he yells, desperation bleeding into the crackling of his voice. “You’re alright.” He tells you. Says the same thing he told you again and again that day. “You’ll be fine. You’ll both be fine.” He sees the flash of yellow, a backboard, at the top of the stairs and somewhere beneath his panic there’s a tiny feeling of relief that help is here. “I’m here. I’ve got you, Sass.” He murmurs before forcing himself to step away so they can take his place, a portable monitor counting the beats of your heart now instead of him. He stares at it the whole time, all the way down the steps, while they load you into the back of the ambulance, and then he watches two monitors, the baby’s, and yours, while the ambulance speeds down the road. He presses his hands against the metal bench he’s sitting on, gripping it tight and trying to breathe, the images of you unconscious and bleeding burning into his memory.

He can’t lose you. He can’t lose either of you.

He closes his eyes, and clings to the steady beep of the heartbeats on the monitor.

The next work in this series is here.

[envysparkler]

It had been a regular Friday—normal patrol, doing the rounds, Bruce hovering over all of them in spirit because he was laid up with a sprained ankle, and, of course, interrupted by a wannabe Rogue that was either insanely dangerous or ridiculously stupid.  Or, as in tonight’s case, both at the same time.

Magic.  Wondrous, terrible magic.  There was a reason Batman did his best to keep magic out of Gotham.  It was too unpredictable and they were all only human.  Their sole defense against magic was to dodge.  And keep dodging.  Damn, this guy was really fast at casting spells.

Dick hadn’t been paying much attention to his spiel—something something power something something Gotham something something everyone will know my name—because he’d graduated the point where he wasn’t the one who had to do the detective work—that was what younger siblings were for—and he merely calculated the height of those hanging lights and if one would crash and hit the magician if he cut them properly.

There was a yelp as Red Robin and Robin accidentally dove in the same direction to avoid a spell and ended up sprawling out on the ground.  Dick was on the other side of the magician, too far to help, but Red Hood stepped forward, growling, “Hey, you Hogwarts reject, did you learn aim from the Imperial Stormtroopers?”

Dick marked another point in Hood’s I-swear-we’re-not-family-fuck-off-Dickhead-or-I’ll-shoot-you-and-also-if-you-get-shot-I’ll-kill-you-myself column.  At this point, the only person who probably still believed Hood’s protestations of rebelliousness was Bruce.

Hood fired a warning shot from his gun.

The magician attacked on instinct.

Hood didn’t get out of the way fast enough.

Everyone in the warehouse saw the gray beam of light hit Hood square in the chest.  Dick’s heart dropped somewhere below his stomach, Red Robin made a sharp cry, and even Robin took a step towards Hood, though it was already too late.

Hood’s figure winked out.

No, something in Dick screamed, already whirling towards the magician—and was stopped by a tiny, scratchy little meow.

Dick swiveled back.  There was an unbelievably small baby kitten on the ground where Hood had just been, all black with a tiny little spot of white on his forehead.

Red Robin made a choked sound.  Robin had frozen in place.  “Oops,” the magician said, sounding distinctly sheepish.

Before anyone could react, the magician disappeared with a crack.

“Hood?” Dick tried, struggling to keep his voice level.  The baby kitten made another sharp cry, and took a tottering step forward.

Dick couldn’t control himself anymore.

“Oh my god.”  He was so tiny.  He could fit into Dick’s palm.  Maybe-Hood hissed when Dick scooped him up, putting up a valiant effort to gnaw Dick’s fingers off even if those teeny tiny little teeth—and that little pink tongue—could barely put a dent in Dick’s gloves.

“Is that really Hood?” Red Robin said, a strange expression on his face, like Christmas had come early and he wasn’t ready to believe it.  “What if—what if the guy just…sent Hood somewhere, and replaced him with a kitten?”

“It would be an improvement,” Robin muttered.

Probably-Hood stopped chewing Dick’s fingers to shoot Robin the dirtiest look a baby kitten could muster, and Dick could see the consternation visibly melt off of Robin’s face as his baby brother resisted the urge to coo.

“Even if this isn’t Hood, we need to get back to the Cave and figure out what that spell was,” Dick said, studying the kitten.  “Hmm, little guy?  Are you my little brother?  Give me a meow for yes, and continue trying to bite my fingers for no.”

Most-Definitely-Hood hissed at him again.

“This is the best day of my life,” Dick grinned.  “Bruce is going to freak out.”

~#~

Bruce was, indeed, freaking out.  “What happened?” he nearly shouted as they got out of the Batmobile, waiting in the garage—and judging by Alfred’s visible aura of disapproval, clearly against orders.

Dick, climbing out of the passenger seat, had to make a flailing catch as the baby kitten attempted to make a break for it.  “Shh,” he said.  “You’re going to scare Jason.”

Bruce stopped and stared.  Tim, exiting the driver’s side, broke down again into the giggling fit that had nearly caused him to crash the car.  Damian looked visibly amused.

Bruce blinked at the car, as if expecting a hulking six foot two former crime lord to get out.  And then looked at Dick and the tiny little kitten hissing in his hands.  Back at the car.  Back at Dick.

“What?” he finally said, voice weak.

“At least Damian isn’t going to adopt him,” Dick said, firmly detaching tiny kitten claws from his gloves to deposit the furiously hissing kitten into Bruce’s grasp.  Jason squawked, loudly, and attempted to escape, but Bruce’s reflexes were too fast.

He slowly drew the little ball of fur up to his face, face slack, ignoring the way the kitten pricked his palms.  “You’re joking,” Bruce said flatly.

“Would I joke about something like this?” Dick asked, wounded.  Bruce gave him a Look.  “Okay, yeah, I would totally joke about something like this, I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before, but no, our little magician problem waved his staff and it hit Jay and,” Dick waggled his fingers at the puffed-up kitten.

Bruce still didn’t look convinced.

“Of course,” Dick said to the kitten, “if this isn’t Jason, that means it’s a lost little kitten that needs to go to the vet and get lots of shots—”

Jason reacted predictably to the idea of needles and neatly clambered up Bruce’s arm, clinging to the man’s shoulder and hissing at Dick from his perch.

Dick turned the shit-eating grin to his father, “Believe me now?”

Bruce was wincing and trying to extract Jason’s claws from his skin.  “Jason got turned into a cat?  How do we undo the spell?”

“Frankly, Father, I find the current state of affairs significantly more agreeable,” Damian said, returning after changing.  “You have to admit that Todd is more tolerable like this.”

The kitten didn’t have time to take offense before Tim piped up, his face still splotchy from laughing too hard, “Yeah, he’s all cute and cuddly.”

Jason made a low growling rumble that showed clearly what he thought of that sentiment.  Unfortunately for him, it just made him look cuter.

“Boys, stop teasing your brother,” Bruce said firmly, finally managing to finagle Jason’s claws free of his shirt and tuck him into the curve of his elbow.  “Of course we’re going to figure out how to get him back.”

Jason made a loud hiss and scratched Bruce.  Bruce, startled, loosened his grip, and Jason leapt free like a bullet.  Dick dove for him and missed, Tim jumped out of the way as Jason went streaking past, and soon the black kitten was no longer visible.

“Well, that was entirely predictable,” Damian said, staring in the direction Jason had gone.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny bit back a sigh from his place on the throne as two young vigilantes fell from a portal in his throneroom. He peered at him through his long white veil as he straitened himself. He knew what to do. He had done this song and dance sixty-two times now and he was about to do it again.

He watched them bicker from the cold floor of his ice castle, something he made from his own ice so that the observants couldn't see or hear what was happening inside or pop in without his explicit permission. Something that angered the nosey creeps to no end. Ah, he's getting lost in his thoughts again. Its time to start the test.

"Why have you come to my Realms mortals?" He felt almost silly calling them that, but it worked in getting the two to stop arguing and pay attention to him. Ah, the younger one has a sword. Cool. Won't help him here, but he gets points for ascetic if nothing else.

"State your names."

"I am Robin!" The smaller one yelled, fierceness of his voice to match the fire in his soul.

The older seemed more hesitant, taking a moment to assess the situation before answering, "I'm Red Robin. Sorry for dropping in so suddenly-"

The younger cut in, needlessly destroying his partners attempt at deescalating the situation, "We were not at fault! A portal opened underneath us and we were transported here!"

Danny knows that. Thats why he was testing them, "Are you saying that fate brought you here?"

Robin looked pleased before confirming.

"Then you shall stay here, as those who enter the Lands of Lazarus are never allowed to leave."

They both bulked, one trying to argue and the other trying to reason with him. Danny tapped his fingers on the armrest of his throne, pretending to think. "I will be merciful and allow one of you to leave. I will allow you a moment to make your choice." Danny barely got his words out before the older one declared that he would stay behind, putting himself between the king and his companion. Good. He passed the test.

He turned his attention back to the younger, "And you are fine with this?" This is the part where the companion adamantly refuses and offers themselves as sacrifice and the two bicker about who will get to sacrifice themselves for the other. The king becomes "moved by thier bond" or whatever and sends them both back to the land of the living.

"Of course! He's useless anyway."

...wat.

The older one made a wounded sound that made his core ache with the need to care and protect. This was not how things were supposed to go. Were ten year olds supposed to be this cruel? At that moment he made an admittedly impulsive decision and sent the child back, keeping the older of the two in the spirit would with him.

Leaving the comfort of his throne he walked down the steps towards the young man, his snowy robes fanning out majestically as his crown of stars bobbed around at his movements, some even going so far as to float around him as if showing off.

"I've made a decision. For this day forth you are my royal advisor." He stated before grabbing the other guys hand and pulling him along down the hall, "You're going to help me rebuild my kingdom from the thousands of years of war and political neglect it has faced. You will aid me in political endeavors as well as help the people in any way you see fit." He paused long enough to open the kitchen door and sit him down at the counter,

"But first, what do you want for lunch?"

[bonefall]

(dif anon) So is Ashfur grooming Shadowsight a plotline you would keep/rework in BB? I'm not so keen on the way canon used it to retcon his epilepsy, but I do think a plotline examining how clerics can be vulnerable to abuse from StarClan spirits is kinda compelling

Shadowsight's epilepsy is staying in BB, the Erins can try and take it away again over my dead body

Yes, that's staying and BB!StarClan was reworked with unfairness in mind.

This time around, I'm considering the idea that Ashfur didn't work completely alone. After the events of Squirrelflight’s Horror, Silverpelt's divisons are starting to crackle the stars.

Skystar and the other more traditional spirits are losing patience with the peace that Fire Alone brings, and the ways that the code has been bent.

They feel that honor is being lost in their descendants.

Even angels disrespect the collective; see how Skypelt has its own heaven? With a demon in its midst? There is blasphemy even in the skies.

Firestar and the more modern pantheon are ferociously defensive of the choices of the living. StarClan exists for them; not the other way around.

Meanwhile, Mousefur has gone missing. Others start to blink out, too. This is causing panic... and Ashfur keeps it quiet that he's the only one who knows where they've gone.

The angels that plan action probably were a small group to begin with, radical spirits. Skystar and Ashfur are two of them, and Ash is the "youngest." So when he comes down to the mortal plane and betrays them, very few other angels knew what had happened.

(I might even have a few angels be doing the various supernatural things in that first book, but slowly, Ashfur is wittling down their numbers until it's just him.)

I'm still working out specifics, but the other angels that Ashfur has consumed are giving him a massive power boost. He can use this to jump between planes freely, and he's able to do some whacky things like weave dreams and pull nightmares out of the Dark Forest.

The most important unique power he has, which he can do ALL on his own once he's absorbed enough starpower, is blast Shadowpaw with a bolt of lightning. The electric current runs through Shadowpaw's brand new scar, giving him a connection to StarClan like he's a little radio tower.

Thing is... when StarClan is blocked off, the only signal he receives is Ashfur's.

So, Shadowpaw.

From the time he was very young, Shadowkit has had an unhealthy relationship to life and death

He watched a lot of cats die before he was old enough to really understand it, and the only one who came back was Heartstar.

His epilepsy was so severe it would have been terminal. He was prepared to die as a kit.

Tawnypelt took him to the Tribe to learn more about treatments, bringing back a method of refining chamomile to manage the convulsions.

When people come back from death, it was to serve "a purpose."

He feels like he needs to be special, like he needs to find the great meaning in his life. The reason why he's still here.

In BB, there can be guardian angels. Cats you knew in life who decide to watch out for you in the afterlife. Moleflight is Jayfeather's, Shrewface is Squirrelflight’s. Ashfur poses as Shadowpaw's.

THAT is how I plan to address my criticism. Ashfur DOES build a very personal, trusting relationship with Shadowpaw, pretending to be the one who's here to give him the destiny he craves. Pretending like he's someone looking out for him.

I actually LIKE how desperate the situation was in-canon and I want to stress how none of this was Shadow's fault, so I also plan to keep that they had very little choice. Shadowpaw trusts his angel completely, and Ashfur coaches him on saying all the right things.

The older Clerics are suspicious, but... what else can they do?

Also, instead of framing this all as something Shadowpaw needs to "atone" for, I'm going to make certain cats unfairly scapegoat him for bringing the Impostor into the forest. Shadowpaw himself agrees with them, blaming himself, but he has to learn it wasn't his fault.

He DIDN'T let anyone down by failing to live up to great expectations, and there's no way he could have known that Ashfur was using him. This never happened before, he always made the choice he thought was right and tried to make up for harm done, and he's not responsible for what his abuser made him do.

I actually want to have him figure out some of this by talking to DF demons, towards the end. Cats faaaar more responsible for what they did in life than him.

Ravenwing in particular, who was also mislead by a rogue StarClan spirit, but... ultimately decided that if StarClan was right in their judgement.

He was told (by Birchface, but he still doesn't know who it was in particular) to make three kittens unsafe by revealing their parentage. His choice killed three innocent children, and lead to the Queen’s Rights.

And StarClan was furious that he'd ever believe they'd want something so CRUEL.

And even if they DID want something so cruel... "Then they wouldn't have been ancestors worth following. And that's why I believe it's right that I'm here."

As a Cleric, he had authority on their behalf. And if they would misuse it through him, he wishes he could have just given it right back.

And Shadowsight's lightbulb goes Ding!

The very last thing Ashfur does in TBC, when the jig is up and he's about to be killed by the Lights in the Mist and a bunch of Demons who have come to defend their home, is swallow a Founder-- Skystar.

He takes the level of a true god, and reaches a nearly undefeatable level of power. Instead of black water, he's so large, malicious, and has a gravitational pull so massive it starts destroying the afterlife. It shatters the purgatory (Meadow of Young Stars) into floating cosmic fragments, and Heaven and Hell are set to collide.

Shadowsight confronts Ashfur, politely explaining that he's, well... done a lot of thinking, and, he doesn't really want what he gave him. "You can, uh, have this back!"

And blasts the lightning from his scar right back at him, like a chain, holding the screeching eldrich horror in place. Every ally he's made, here in the DF, come down from StarClan, and as Lights in the Mist, jump to his side. They can't hold down Ashfur, but they can hold SHADOWSIGHT

While they're all supporting him, Bristlefrost sees the one chance to get rid of him, once and for all. A clear shot. She bolts, pounces, and SHOOTS right into Ashfur like a falling star, knocking them both off the edge of the heaven he destroyed, burning up in orbit with a monster a hundred times her size.

And after that, Shadowsight has to go home and live with this.

He gave up the very connection that made him so special, and now he has to go back to being a Cleric without StarClan.

but the other Clerics accept this. They have to. They were all complicit in the choices that allowed the Impostor to rise.

What Shadowsight learns is... everyone was part of this. From those who made the follies with him, to the supporters and rebels against the impostor, to those who helped him realize his worth, to Bristlefrost who ultimately killed Ashfur.

He is valuable because living is valuable.

Everyone, and everything, matters. All cats have a role to play, and he was never alone.

I want to close him out in BB!TBC on a tea scene that parallels the various points in his life. Others used to prepare his chamomile treatments FOR him, in careful doses, because it is a very serious medicine. Now, at the end, he's the one brewing it.

A fully fledged Cleric, who realizes he's never been alone. Cats who love him were around him the whole time, making his medicine, and they'll love him even after he's given up his powerful gift. So now he's at the stage in his life where HE can make that medicine, share his wisdom with others, and find fulfillment in the skills he's acquired over a hard life brightening.

[theoutsiderslove]

Before the Rumble

Darry Curtis x Fem! Reader

Tags: Brief mentions of violence. 

Word Count: 2.5k

“Every one of us will be back here before you know it.”

Ponyboy and Sodapop had been talking about it for weeks.

It seemed like every other conversation focused on it. They talked about it at the dinner table, Soda yelled about it from the shower, and Pony would even take breaks from his homework to stop and chatter on.

When Steve and Two-Bit were around, and then all four of them got to going on about it? Then it was really a rousing conversation. 

While Darry was looking forward to it the same as they were, he was beginning to get a little annoyed with the constant talk of it. Sure, it wasn’t an everyday occurrence, and it was something that all got excited for.

Darry, however, preferred to wait until a day or two before to begin hyping up for it. There was no sense in being all tense for it when it was still two weeks out.

You, on the other hand, didn’t mind all the bubbly chatter. It made you happy to see them so excited for something. 

After all, it wasn’t every day that they had a rumble to look forward to.

Over the last several months, things had been extra heated between the Greasers and the Socs. More and more unprovoked fights, crossing over into territories, and just overall grievance between the two groups had become obvious – and it was time to cool things down a bit.

Rumbles were a decent way for the Socs and Greasers to blow off steam on one another. It was their chance to get in as many swings and kicks as they could without “breaking the rules.” 

It would settle things down at least…for now. 

Needless to say, the boys were stoked, and now that the night had arrived and the rumble was only a few hours out – they were off the walls.

“Hey! I saw that, Two-Bit,” You barked. “No knives.” 

His cheeks flushed pink at being caught shoving his blade into his pocket, but the grin on his face was as Two-Bit as ever.

“I wasn’t gonna use it!” He claimed, but you knew him all too well.

“You know what happens when a knife comes out at a skin fight,” You pointed at him with a knowing finger. “I don’t want to have to sew anyone back together tonight.”

Two-Bit cackled at that, his usual wisecracker of a personality shining brighter than ever. Nonetheless, he obliged to your scolding, removing his switchblade from his pocket and leaving it on the table in front of the couch.

It didn’t dampen his spirits whatsoever. If anything, everyone’s normal behaviors were doubled tonight.

The Curtis home was bustling with activity. The gang was on fire with energy tonight, all of them going through their separate routines to get prepped and ready for the rumble. Dallas was nowhere to be seen, but he usually showed up right when it was time to get going. 

They were spread out throughout the house, each of them piping up within the conversation.

“Y’all think the fuzz will show up?” Steve asked from the dining table, where he was playing some card game with Sodapop.

“Nah. I don’t think this is gonna be that kind of rumble,” Soda answered. “A couple of minutes at most.”

Your head popped out from the kitchen at the sound of that. While females usually didn’t participate in rumbles, you were going to be on clean up duty when they returned to the house later that night. It was important to be sure that there was plenty of first aid, clean rags, and aspirin to fix everybody up…not to mention some kind of bedding so everybody had a place to crash, and towels so everyone could shower.

“Sodapop, do not get too comfortable with that,” You advised. “I also would prefer not to have to bail any of you out of jail.”

“Awh, come on, [Y/N]. You’re just bein’ paranoid.” Ponyboy said from the sofa, where he and Johnny were sitting quietly.

Pony and Johnny didn’t usually say much before a rumble. They were the smallest of the group, and these rumbles were physically much rougher on them than the rest of the gang. Still, they liked to pull their weight like everybody else, and bringing glory to the Greasers meant more than anything.

“Especially you,” You pointed again, but at Pony this time. “It’s one thing bailing Dally out. You’re a different story.”

You couldn’t help but be protective. When you and Darry started dating, you signed on with this gang. Each and every one of them meant something special to you. In some way or another, each of them had helped you out and been there for you in some way. They trusted you the same way you trusted them. It was the least you could do to pay it forward – keep them safe and clean them up afterwards when they weren’t.

Steve turned around in his chair to look at you, a goofy smirk plastered on his face.

“Why? You think Darry’s gonna yell at you if he does?” Steve laughed. “No chance that’ll ever happen.”

You couldn’t help but share a smile. The guys always teased Darry about how he was so serious and rough all the time. But the second you were around or if he was merely even thinking about you, that big man demeanor melted away. 

“What will never happen?” Darry asked as he entered the living room, only hearing the second half of the conversation.

Not wanting to argue with the big man in the house, Steve waved him off.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Steve dismissed, returning to his card game with Soda. “Got any twos?”

Darry scoffed, rolling his eyes at his kid brother’s best pal. The man’s blue-green eyes met yours, a certain shimmer shining over them when he looked at you. He had a small, yet dashing grin on his face – an expression he showed when he was happily, but quietly thinking about you.

A moment was shared between your silent looks. He knew you were nervous, as you usually were before they all went off to go beat up a bunch of rich kids from the other side of town. He was sure that you had already given Pony and Soda the pep talk about getting away if the cops showed up. He was positive that you had already told Two-Bit to empty his pockets of any weapons.

He knew your thought process, and your caring nature for him and his family (both biological and not) made him feel like the most loved guy in the world.

“Hey,” Two-Bit called to Darry, suddenly re-inserting himself to the topic at hand…or the one that was attempted to be left behind. “Speaking of things that’ll never happen, when are you going to buy that poor girl a ring?”

Your smile was wiped clean off your face, and a scowl appeared in its place.

“Keith.” You said boldly and sternly before anyone else could get a word in.

Two-Bit sank into his chair at the usage of his real, government name – a telltale sign that (per usual) he had taken it too far.

That “girl” he was referring to was you, and it was something that he hassled Darry about all the time. 

Everyone knew that you and Darry wanted to get married and would get married…eventually. According to Ponyboy, Darry had wanted to ask you to marry him within the first six months that you were together. 

But you knew the situation that Darry was in. Their parents were gone, and things hadn’t been so smooth for them in the last few years. It had only been about a year since they had died when you met Darry and now, three years later, on the surface it seemed that your relationship was going nowhere. 

But you knew that things weren’t so black and white. Darry on numerous occasions had began to save up some money to buy you a ring and put it aside for a wedding, but it seemed that every time Darry was getting some decent cash saved, one of the boys would get hurt or something urgent around the house would need fixing, and Darry would have no option but to use the money elsewhere.

One time you even suggested to Darry to forget the ring and just have a small courthouse wedding. It was cheap and quick. It wasn’t like you needed a wedding ring or any kind of “real” wedding ceremony. Spending the rest of your life with Darry is what mattered the most, but Darry knew that (even if you wouldn’t admit it) you wanted a real wedding with at least some of the bells and whistles.

Darry was insecure about it. He knew that you were long overdue for a proper proposal. He wondered sometimes why you had stuck around the way you had without any promise of marriage. In many ways, Darry wondered why you were still with him at all – because he knew you deserved so much more than what he could give you.

You didn’t have to pitch in around their house like you did. You didn’t have to treat Sodapop and Ponyboy as if they were your own. You didn’t have to put up with the foul-mouthed, chainsmoking pack of people that you were around on a daily basis. And you surely didn’t have to be the caretaker of the aftermath of a good old-fashioned Greaser brawl.

But you loved Darry, so you did all of that.

In Two-Bit’s defense, pretty much everyone had asked that question at some point…in their own personal style. Whether it was Johnny quietly whispering to Ponyboy or Dallas asking Darry when he was going to “get on with it”, everyone had wondered about it.

It was clear too that everyone was curious for an answer, considering that the entire house had now gone silent. Every pair of eyes in the room was on Darry, which made you feel worse than it did him.

While you were well aware that they had all thought about it, you didn’t like it when they said it out loud.

Darry had enough pressure on himself as it was, you didn’t want more weight to press down at your expense. Darry had gotten used to the guys poking him about this, and he usually knew what to do to change the subject.

“What about you, wise guy? Where’s your girl?” Darry mocked. “Where’s Kathy, huh?”

Believe it or not, Ponyboy was usually the first to jump in to defend Darry…even though he wanted the two of you to get married more than anybody.

“Did Kathy finally get sick of your jokes, Two-Bit?” Pony joked, and the volume in the house began to pick up again.

“Maybe she moved on to a Greaser that can actually make it to noon without getting piss drunk!” Sodapop howled, and now everyone was dogging on Two-Bit instead.

“I’ll have you all know that me and Kathy are doing just fine.” Two-Bit proclaimed, but that only seemed to make everyone egg on him more.

There was a distraction for now, and you jumped on the opportunity to have Darry to yourself for a minute.

“Hey, Darry?” You called calmly, darting your eyes to silently let him know that you wanted to talk privately.

Darry caught your look, and nonchalantly carried himself into the kitchen to avoid disrupting the bickering between Two-Bit and everyone else.

You didn’t try to hide the anxious look on your face once it was just you and Darry. His face morphed into a worried look, but he already knew what your nerves were for.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, just in case.

“Listen…I know you’re always careful but…just be careful.” You asked, smoothing out a wrinkle on his t-shirt.

“Always,” He confirmed. “I don’t think this will be a big rumble.”

You heard what he said and understood, but that didn’t stop you from continuing.

“And keep an eye on Ponyboy and Johnny if you can. I know they’re independent and can handle themselves, but they’re just so much smaller and I don’t want-”

“Hey, hey. I’ve got this,” He smiled in amusement, but appreciated your concern as always. “Every one of us will be back here before you know it.”

There was no sense in fussing over them at this point. They were going to do what they always did…fight for their glory and return victorious.

“Okay,” You swiped a stray hair from his forehead, placing it back with the rest of his greased hair. “Try to avoid the one that bites.”

Darry laughed gently, his memory flashing in remembrance of the Soc from last time that bit Darry so hard that he swore his teeth almost popped through the underside of his hand. 

“I’ll try.” He nodded.

You didn’t have much else to say. Darry’s reassurance had comforted you, and you felt a little better about everything.

But Darry still had one thing in the air to clear.

“And…” He sighed, glancing over his shoulder quickly to make sure that there were no wandering, listening ears. “About the ring – I’m gonna ask you to marry me one day, I swear. I just- things are even tighter than usual right now and-”

“Shh, shh. Stop,” You held a gentle finger to his lips. “I don’t need a ring, and you don’t need to explain yourself.”

“But you deserve to know.” His gaze went even softer, his voice even finding a pillowy tone.

There was a beat. A brief silence. And a kiss.

“I already know.” 

Darry had never felt more loved. He didn’t know what kind of stars had aligned and what he had done to deserve such a wholesome, pure love. Whatever it was, he was thankful for it every single day. 

Darry stayed with you in the kitchen, sharing soft touches and sweet kisses, occasionally eavesdropping in on the ruckus going on in the living room. For a moment, Darry didn’t even want to go to the rumble. He wanted to stay right here with you, forever if he could’ve.

That was until-

“Dally’s here!” Johnny announced, peeking out the window to see Dallas cruising up the steps. 

Dallas’ arrival meant that it was showtime, and that the highlight of the night was about to begin. Dally’s appearance didn’t last long. Just long enough to rally his crew and get to where the rumble was being held. Everybody went scrambling out the front door (but not before Darry stole one more kiss from you), hooting and hollering all the way down the street until they were out of earshot from inside the house.

You knew that they would return much quieter and calmer, the post-adrenaline effect would have long been kicked in by then. But their spirits would be lifted, and there would be some…improved tension between the Socs and the Greasers. 

It wouldn’t be long before things would get intense again. It was only a matter of time before you would be doing this all over again. That was just how it worked. It wasn’t an easy life. Some days felt harder than others, and some days were unbearable. But even if you had the choice, you wouldn’t change a single thing. As long as you had Darry, you would be fine.

Because you loved him no matter what – rumbles and all.