#you ask

[central-dispatch]

if you could bring back any 911 character, who would you choose?

Albert Han

Linda Bates

Lou Ransone

Taylor Kelly

Michael Grant

Lucy Donato

Carla Price

Abby Clark

Sal Deluca

I would rather bring back [x] (tell me in the tags pls!!)

Voting ended onApr 7, 2025

tell me why in the tags!!

[jamathydodger]

Just Danny being creepy in human form. He can’t help it!

Based on this old sketch

[isufferfromyd]

💞Let It Burn Slow⛓️

Sharing another preview because this chapter is once again getting away from me. Fingers crossed I can post it next week?

Rumi giggles, nudging Zoey’s knee again. “That’s not a word.”

“Yes, it is,” Zoey insists, grin widening by the second.

“You made it up,” Rumi counters, amused.

“All words are made up,” Zoey shoots back triumphantly.

“True,” Rumi concedes, rolling onto her back with a soft exhale, shoulder brushing Zoey’s thigh. “But some are more made up than others.”

Zoey hums thoughtfully like she’s genuinely considering it, leaning over Rumi with a playful squint and the whole room feels a little softer for it, warm and close and easy. It’s the kind of warmth that feels like stepping into sunlight after too many hours in the cold.

Then Zoey snorts and flops onto her back beside her, the mattress dipping with the movement. "Yeah, maybe." She turns to her side, propping her head on her arm, and Rumi can feel Zoey’s gaze settle on her again — gentle, steady, almost reverent in its quiet focus.

Rumi pretends to read the papers for another moment, but the weight of that gaze is impossible to ignore. “You’re staring,” she says softly.

Zoey hums, unbothered. “You’re nice to stare at.”

Heat blooms instantly across Rumi’s cheeks, warm and startled and a little helpless. She rolls onto her side, facing Zoey fully now, her eyes flicking between Zoey’s — bright and impossibly open, like she never learned how to hide anything that mattered.

“You’re one to talk,” Rumi murmurs back.

Zoey’s lips curve into something radiant, not just a smile, but something that glows from the inside out. That effortless, sun-bright warmth Rumi has never been immune to. Zoey shuffles closer without hesitation, like being near Rumi is the most natural thing in the world. Like gravity, or breath, or coming home.

And in moments like this, Rumi can’t help but see every beautiful angle of her. The wild, loose fall of Zoey’s hair, the freckles scattered across her nose like soft constellations, the way her eyes soften when she looks at Rumi, as if she’s seeing something precious, the warmth she carries effortlessly, like she’s her own small sun.

Zoey looks at her like that warmth is meant for her and her alone. Open. Gentle. Loving in a way that feels unguarded, impossibly tender. And Rumi feels her chest tighten — in the sweetest, most devastating way.

And then Zoey’s smile begins to slowly shift. What starts as a soft, thoughtful curl at the corner of her mouth begins to fade, her expression turning contemplative, almost searching. Rumi watches the change with a faint prickle of worry, her pulse snagging as Zoey’s brows draw together, the warmth in her eyes sharpening into something she can’t read.

For a breath, Rumi wonders if she’s said something wrong. If something’s changed. If Zoey’s about to pull away. But then the frown softens… melts… reshapes itself into the unmistakable rise of a pout. And Rumi feels her body betray her — the impulse to lean over and kiss her rising unbidden.

The thought startles her, sharp and sudden. How easily it comes, how her chest tightens, how a tiny shiver travels down her spine. She has to consciously halt herself, remind herself that this isn’t what they are.

Rumi bites her lip, eyes flicking up at Zoey with a raised eyebrow. “You’re making a face.”

“No, I’m not,” Zoey mumbles, but her voice lacks conviction, soft around the edges, and Rumi feels the weight of it in her chest.

Rumi chuckles, even as something unsettles in her ribcage, something that both burns and coils tight. “What is it?”

“Mira got to kiss you again,” Zoey blurts, the words casual but with a strange, charged edge, and the admission knocks the air from Rumi’s lungs.

[snoopymyung]

hi new moot i just wanted to say that your theme is literally EVERYTHING its so cute so pretty so creative i love it omg

well, thank you new moot, for liking my cute, pretty, creative theme. this truly put up a smile on my face 😐>>😆😙😝

here...you can have my strawberrhyun and burgerhyun (treat him well!!)

[phoebester]

What's sort of adventure do you see Katara, Toph and Suki having?

Does…. My next chapter count?

Book 4: Ash Chapter 24 the Space Between.

I’m literally gonna embed this song in the chapter…

This aside, picture this. (For dramatic effect listen to this song while reading lol)

Our trio of heroines fighting some baddies all bloodied and sh—and they come back to the boys seeing them with flower crowns on their heads high on cactus juice 😅👇🏽

They’re gonna be alarmed at first but finds out that the boys created the crowns for them I swear I’ve seen this from some fanart…

For sparring…it would be legendary.

Suki teaching Toph hand to hand self defense without earthbending. (Toph complains the whole tome but secretly loves the challenge.) Katara acts as a training dummy, using water whips for Toph to ‘listen’ to while Toph blocks it with swords that Katara learned from Sokka and Zuko. Suki then trains Katara to create ice fans with shards of ice coming out like blades for aesthetics which of course she doesn’t need to. I know its extra but let me live my fantasy out.

They could also have a spa/sauna day where they’re supposed to be talking battle strategy but ends up roasting the boys or lovingly share how proud they are of them. And also sharing gossip in the kingdom, whether it’s within the Fire Nation, Earth Kingdom, the Temples or elsewhere.

Complete with a steam room, face masks, Toph dramatically complaining that ‘this mud feels weird on my feet,’ with Suki braiding everyone’s hair.

Or at minimum, post mission, wind down, they’d hang out at the Jasmine Dragon siping boba (yes,’m manifesting boba in the atla world) trading stories and just people watching, or in Toph’s case people vibing, Like a Ba Sing Se version of Archie’s Pop Tate’s.

Or The Charmed Ones P3…

[blackberry-command-cap]

more Galen Backstory Lore

@per-astraea WOW somehow i never thought about this. So.. have a writeup. Maybe it's a post, maybe it's a short little fic. unclear

They were never particularly close. Ga'eon's father is the unofficial leader of the clan, and very much a warrior. So when Ga'eon didn't have any interest in fighting, they just didn't have much to talk about. His father was often busy with missions, organizing everyone, etc. he had a lot of responsibilities.

After Ga'eon's mother died, his father definitely withdrew a lot more. Ga'eon took after his mother in most respects and so I think his father struggled with that. Seeing his wife in Ga'eon every time he did something that reminded him of her... plus, Ga'eon's vision was tied very much to what happened. He might not have ever said it outright, but his father definitely subconsciously blamed Ga'eon a little bit (or maybe a lot) for his wife's death.

SO. Obviously they're a clan and they work together as a group on missions so it's hard to avoid any particular person, and Ga'eon was a medic so he was around the warriors a lot, in close proximity. But his father pretty much acted like he wasn't related to him after that. Focused on leading the mission, making things happen. Ga'eon is just another one of the team. They interact for logistics purposes and that's about it.

Fast forward --

They're doing a high stakes mission. It's already not a great situation, because they're not getting to be independent, they're subject to the whims of this Sith who's working with them, and a lot of the guys are not happy about this. So the father has a lot on his plate, trying to retain their autonomy but also keep the peace (which is. difficult with Mandos)

And it's going pretty well! Except suddenly the Sith is threatening them. Over his son. Who he has complicated feelings about and he does not wish to examine them. But regardless of his own feelings, nobody threatens one of their own and gets away with it. This is crossing the line. So Ga'eon's father is the one who throws the gauntlet down to this Sith. You will not be kidnapping or stealing away any of our own, thank you. If we have to use force to make that clear, we will.

But... it's really not about Ga'eon, at all. It's about pride. It's about doing what Mandalorians do, which is protect their own and refuse to let anyone walk over them.

Fast forward --

One week into the war preparations. Ga'eon is missing. In fact, he has been missing for several days, but nobody was worried at first because he often went on solo trips to gather herbs and such, and those trips sometimes lasted days (he prolonged the trips, often. nature was better than dealing with the perceived judgement of his kin). And it's not like he took his armor, or any of his important belongings. Those are all in his area of the camp, just as they should be...

It's only when he's been gone for around a week that they realize something has gone wrong. They go looking, but nobody really knows where he goes on these trips. He never said. Eventually, they have to move on, so they have a funeral and leave. Of course, not everyone believes he's dead. There are rumors that the Sith came in the night and stole him away, somehow. But Ga'eon's father insists on a funeral (it's better to think that, than the alternative), and so that's what they do.

He mourns. A father, a husband. Now with neither child nor wife. Surrounded by community, of course, but... nobody to call his own anymore. He thinks about what he would do, if they were still here. What he would do differently. But they're not here, and his thoughts are wasted now.

[katrein05]

hiiii!! new follower here!! i was hoping i could ask for a fic or hc with darry and its after dally’s death and he’s hit super hard and he just pushed everyone away? like i know he’s big strong older brother but dally was his man yk? anyway sorry if it doesn’t make sense hehehe but don’t feel pressured!! <3

Hello my wonderful, amazing new follower!!! I took your inspiration and offer you an Emotional Darry Whump fic. I hope this is what you had in mind. I kinda threw it together last minute. Without further ado, based loosely on the amazing Broadway Outsiders song...

Throwing in the Towel

"You stupid freaks!" Darry screamed at the cops as they advanced towards Dally's lifeless body. The 17 year old kid was gone. Darry had failed. Dallas Winston died a wreckless, young criminal. Shot down in cold blood for a gun that wasn't even loaded.

Darry forced himself awake, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to force the wave of exhaustion that crashed into him. He couldn't fall asleep. Not again. Couldn't risk reliving that night even one more time before dawn.

He had already woke up three times prior to the same scene with its horrid sounds playing in his subconscious mind. That was the night he truly failed. The night he knew he wasn't meant to be all he was trying to be. The night Darrell Shayne Curtis Jr threw in the towel.

Upon his arrival at the hospital with an unconscious Ponyboy and distraught Soda, he gave it all up. Gave up trying to be a parent to the two most important people in his life. He left Soda to watch over Pony as he made a life altering phone call.

"I- I can't do it anymore."

"Darrell, are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes- No. I don't want it, but... they'd be better off without me."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"Yes ma'am."

"I will find a temporary foster placement for Sodapop and Ponyboy..."

The rest of the phone conversation was a blur. Darry remembered Soda punching him hard enough in the nose to make it bleed. "How can you abandon us!? Now?! Look at me! Look at Ponyboy, Darry! We need you!"

"No, you don't! Y- you don't need me."

Darry walked through the empty house. Soda and Pony's bed was a bare matress now. The walls were lifeless save the peeling wallpaper, and tape left behind from Soda's rodeo and car posters that once hung there.

The living room was dead. There was no more Steve to crash on the worn out sofa. No Two-Bit sprawled on the floor watching the television with a whole chocolate cake and ice-cold Pepsi.

The kitchen was cold. He hadn't used the stove in so long he couldn't even remember hardly what the burners looked like all lit up. The fridge was void of Pony's artwork, or Johnny's quizzes or tests that he would ace.

The only thing to indicate the house was ever occupied was the dining room table. A leather jacket hung on a chair, a bloodstained shirt folded in the middle of the table, and next to it a silver Saint Christopher medallion.

Darry's last failure. He could take Soda dropping out of school, Ponyboy and Johnny running away after murdering a no good Soc, even Johnny dying after saving kids lives from the fire. But Dallas was different. Dallas didn't die a hero, he didn't die free, he died in a cage that was his own mind. He died a murderous young teen with a record. Darry couldn't fix him. He couldn't risk ruining everyone else in his rapidly shrinking family, so he pushed them all away. Threw them all out of his life. He wouldn't ruin them anymore.

They were better off without him. He had made a mess of what his parents had worked so hard to put together. Ther little gang was more than friends. They were family... brothers, and Darry was running them all into the ground. The ground that had accepted Johnny and Dallas into it all those months ago.

It was the last time Darry saw the gang, and his brothers. Ponyboy had a lifeless face as he watched his best friend's coffin lowering into the six foot hole. He knew his kid brother had a good heart, a heart that held too much love to be kept holed up in Tulsa. The only place Darry could manage to belong, and he wasn't going to hold Pony here any longer.

Looking into both brother's eyes, he knew he had lost them long before they lost Johnny and Dally. He lost them the night he turned on Pony in his anger. The night Darry lost himself. He knew now he was more than foolish to try to keep his family together. He was only tearing it apart at the seams, trying to hold it together with his hands while pulling out all the thread.

He was a failure. He knew that deep in his chest as he watched Dally's casket being covered with the sandy earth. He couldn't take it anymore as he took two steps back before turning heel and walking back to the truck. Away from his brothers who's pained, longing eyes looked after him without his knowing. Away from his gang who didn't know if they'd ever see their Superman again.

Every night had gotten darker for Darry, and looking forward he didn't see how anything could bring the light back into his life. Any chance of that had left when he allowed Dallas to die. So he allowed the doubt to consume him, to convince himself that if he loved his gang, his brothers, he would need to let them go. So that was what he did.

Darry pushed them all away and allowed himself to be so engulfed in work that he was only ever home when it was time to hit the sack. He had thrown himself into his own prison, and no amount of bail could get him out. Not him, not any one else could save him. He walked out of the restroom after splashing water on his face, patting it dry before throwing in the towel and heading back to bed.