panickedscribbles
panickedscribbles
PanickedScribbles
20K posts
Horrible mishmash of whatever takes my attention
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panickedscribbles · 11 hours ago
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The curse is lifted!
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panickedscribbles · 11 hours ago
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panickedscribbles · 11 hours ago
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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Yeah Mr. Darcy’s proposal was a complete turd and a half but you gotta understand. You got your life together. A good career, stable income, retirement plan, all that shit together. And you meet this girl. And she’s everything. Clever, outspoken, funny, calls you on your bullshit. Grade A cutie, right? And she doesn’t go out of her way to spend time with you but she’s nice, and sometimes you catch her looking your way in a way that makes you think you might have a shot.
But her family. Holy shit.
First off, it’s p much ALL women, and mostly UNMARRIED women, which at this time means of something happens to her dad then you’re financially responsible for like. Four grown ass adults, potentially forever
Because mom in law is DEFINITELY gonna need someone to take care of her when dad in law kicks it, and they have like. NO money. So already you’re accepting that if all goes well, you’re gonna be one random old bag’s retirement home. That’s expensive and exhausting, yeah? Imagine asking someone on a first date knowing that if they say yes and things go good her high-strung chihuahua mother is gonna move in with you. IMAGINE.
And girly’s other sisters. Well, one is a sweetheart, yeah, and she’s getting engaged so she probably won’t be an issue, but that still leaves two more, and those ones are INSUFFERABLE. Never went to school, dumb as rocks, spend cash like it’s toilet paper
And while one of ‘em’s young still and might grow out of it the OTHER one is actively torpedo’ing her entire family’s reputation by wandering off with random dudes and chasing ass. She’s never gonna work, she can’t build connections, she’s a fucking sinkhole, and she’s being led on by the same goddamn con man ass leeching tit who’s been bleeding you dry while telling anyone who’ll listen that your family is full of ratty thieving bastards.
And if he dumps her after a week- WHICH YOU KNOW HIS BITCH ASS IS GONNA- you’ve got a SECOND UNMARRIABLE GROWN ASS ADULT TO PROVIDE FOR. And you KNOW she’s gonna be a tantrum-throwing little shit about it, and it’s not like you can lock her in the basement or something, you’re gonna have to bring her fucking. Everywhere. And give her an allowance and shit while she contributes zero, because again, she NEVER GOT EDUCATED AND HAS NO MARKETABLE SKILLS. She’s not even good to TALK to. FUCK
And you’re looking at this girl’s father like “please for the love of fuck get your spawn under control, marry them off, get them working on their résumé, learning to sew or be nursemaids or manage staff or SOMETHING, yall got no money and one foot in the grave” and that old man just laughs like “haha yeah, what can you do. lol”
So you’re looking to the mom and finally it’s making sense how she got that twitch in her eye and as MUCH as she is you’re starting to realize she’s the SMART one, desperately throwing her armloads of girls at random men like they’re a bunch of fucking lifeboats bobbing around a sinking ship, like yes Jesus Christ sweetly that life boat IS old and ugly and kind of boring but for FUCKS SAKE PICK ONE
And you look back at this girl who is ALSO REFUSING THE LIFE BOATS BY THE WAY and god damn it she’s still the most radiant thing you’ve ever seen so fine, fuck it, Christ alive, you’ll do it. You’ll shoot your shot. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted in anybody abut it’s not even just about that anymore, it’s about being her best fucking shot at a future, and even if she doesn’t like you all that much she’s still gonna say yes and that might break your heart a bit knowing it’s about the money but who knows, maybe it will at least be civil, or companionable, and even if she doesn’t LOVE you at least you’ll know she’s well and cared for
And so you’ll do it. You’ll take on the neurotic stress mess mother in law, the absent father, the broke ass wingnut no brain no money no future airhead sisters, the bad mannered relatives and the embarrassing behaviour and the impending future of sharing your entire shit with a clown parade of freeloaders, you’ll risk it all and accept the absolute certainty of financial ruin and emotional exhaustion for the rest of your whole ass life and you’ll make your own family deal with it too, you’ll do it, you’ll fucking DO IT, you stupid lovesick motherfucker
And so you go to this chick like “look. Your whole family’s a shitshow. You’ve got fucking nothing and you’re gonna die on the street. But for some reason- and I don’t get it either- I’ve fallen in love with you, and I wish I didn’t, but I did, so I’m telling you that whether you like me or not, I’ll give you everything. I’ll give you everything even if it’s the dumbest shit I ever done. Fuck my stupid Baka ass, I’ll marry you.”
And she looks at you- having heard or considered absolutely none of your months-long internal debate and monologue- and goes “The fuck did you just say about my family, you son of a bitch?”
And the shock of that is enough to jolt you back into a reality where you are able to actually hear and process what just came out of your damn mouth And yeah
Yeah, I think I kinda get it
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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"He would NOT fucking say that" does not apply to yoda, who could plausibly say anything
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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The biggest misconception in public schools is that literary analysis is about proving you can be right or wrong about a book you read
Literary analysis isn’t about the book
It’s not even about being right
It’s about performing an investigation and presenting your case to the jury
It doesn’t matter if your defendant killed that guy or not. If you can convince the jury he didn’t, you’ve won
And the incredible life skill of spinning bulletproof bullshit out your ass with a handful of facts and a prayer is soooooooo much more valuable than anyone’s ever gonna tell you
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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huh. so i just found out "Torment Nexus" was invented for that one specific meme. i genuinely thought it was from an Orson Scott Welles novel. my ignorance is an unending source of surprise and delight
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.
And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.
I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.
I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.
And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.
Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?
I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could knit me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.
So my mom found the next best thing.
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The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.
And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.
...
Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?
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A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.
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She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.
And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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So, how does Zuko wind up at the Tree of Time in Chaos Avatar to bust Vaatu out? Didn't you say the start is pre-banishment, post-mom gone? What, does he, as a descendant of Roku, have enough of a knack for spirit stuff to fall into a meditative trace while hiding at the turtleduck pond and missing his mom or whatever, and poof! He's at the Tree of Time?
FINALLY someone asks for the START. You are correct that the turtleduck pond is involved. <3
* * *
The turtleduckling had disappeared the day after mother did, but at least Zuko knew where it had gone. But he still wasn’t talking to Azula. 
“You have to talk to me sometime, Dum-Dum,” she said.
He crossed his arms, and stared at the remaining ducklings as they hid under a bush on the opposite side. There were four left.
“It was an accident, I didn’t even see it, and anyway it should have moved. You have to forgive me for accidents, moth—”
Mother said so. But they didn’t talk about mother anymore. 
Azula sat down next to him. She crossed her arms, too. And puffed out her cheeks, and glared, and he did not look like that. Not that he was paying attention to her. 
He was paying attention to the turtleducklings. Because… because there were five.
Azula went very still next to him.
The fifth turtleduckling had a darker shell and feathers, like it had been rolled in ashes. It waddled into the water, heedless of its parents' warning quacks and the two children the rest of its siblings were hiding from. 
Quack, it said, and paddled merrily along. 
Quack, it said, and disappeared like it had swum behind a screen. Except the screen was a normal patch of water and air, and he could see straight through it still. No fifth turtleduck.
“Is our pond… haunted?” Zuko asked.
“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” Azula said, but it was more of a reflex, as they both stared. Then, more sharply: “What are you doing?”
Zuko was standing up. He found a pebble and, without a mother to re-advise him against throwing rocks into certain ponds, launched it towards the spot they’d last seen the ghost duck. 
Quack, quacked an extremely offended quacker, who was still out of sight. The rock had disappeared, too, with no ripple on the water to show it had ever landed.
“...Dare you to go in,” Azula said.
“How stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Azula said. “But a coward? That remains to be seen.”
Zuko glowered. Azula smirked. …Zuko started rolling up his pants.
“I wasn’t serious,” she snapped. “And I take it back, you are stupid,” which meant that now he was definitely going in. “Father is going to be angry when he sees you in wet robes,” she said, as he toed off his shoes. “And I’m not covering for you,” she said, as he caught his balance on the first slimy algae-covered stones, “and I’ll demand the servants attend me so they won’t be able to help you change, and—”
By then he was near the center of the small pond, and poking at air. His hand disappeared.
“I hope it hurts,” Azula said. She was on her feet now, with her arms crossed even more firmly over her chest.
“It just feels… normal? Maybe a little cold? It doesn’t—oww!” 
He jerked back his hand, complete with one ghost turtleduckling clamped over his palm. 
“Oww oww oww,” he shook it, and shook it, but it wasn’t coming off, and then he tripped on a stupid slimy rock and fell sideways—
“I’m not coming after you!”
—into somewhere that wasn’t the palace gardens at all. He’d fallen in water, but it was a shallow stream now. The day was colder, the wind stronger and drier. And there was a tree, up ahead.
The duckling dropped off his hand, and paddled away. Zuko barely glanced after it.
That was a very, very big tree. A purple light pulsed at its bulging, split-barked core.
“Hello, mortal,” the tree said.
At which point Zuko scrabbled backwards until he splashed back into the stiller, warmer, deeper water of the turtleduck pond.
“Evil tree,” he told Azula.
“Dum-Dum,” she said, and stomped off. 
By the time Zuko got inside, the servants were busy drawing their little princess a warm bath. He was made to wait his turn.
* * *
“I am unaware of any records pertaining to… evil trees,” the sage in charge of the royal archives said. 
“What about the spirit world?” Zuko asked.
* * *
The ghost turtleduckling swam with impunity between realms. And stole entire loaves out of Zuko’s hands, before fleeing on its tiny paddling feet to the safety of the other side.
“Hey!” 
It had learned that Zuko wouldn’t follow. Neither would its equally hungry siblings.
* * *
A place of death could form a rift, if the spirit did not realize its own passing. If it still desired to return, and was unaware of the general impossibility of the task. Spirits worked mostly on not realizing they couldn’t do a thing. 
“Oh,” Zuko said, to the scroll.
As this was a more common occurrence with animal spirits than with humans, who tended to overthink things even in death, it did not help Zuko narrow down his mother’s location.
* * *
Azula had stopped coming to the pond. And they had different bending instructors, now; father said a private tutor would stop her from being held back by… others. She preened.
Since Zuko was left alone at his lessons, he had a private tutor now, too. It didn’t feel like a reward.
* * *
“...Hello again, mortal,” the tree said, its voice oozing like a courtier’s. “Do come in. No need to be shy.”
“Are you evil?” Zuko asked, only his head poking through the rift.
“Such terms rarely apply to spirits,” the tree said, exactly like an evil tree would. “Consider our meeting, rather… an opportunity. Is there something you require assistance with? You would not have found yourself in this part of the spirit world, if I could not help. Perhaps we could— Mortal, come back here—”
Zuko pulled his head back out. It was definitely evil. But he’d gotten a better look at the patterns on the glowy purple part, so he sat down on the pond’s edge, and drew them before he forgot. He’d brought paper this time.
Maybe he wasn’t a good bender. Or heir. But there was an evil tree in the royal turtleduck pond, and he wasn’t a coward. He’d take care of it.
* * *
The sage in charge of the archives blinked. Took the paper from him, and blinked again. 
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe I have seen something like this. Come.”
The scroll was old. So old it wasn’t even the original: it had been copied, and had time to grow old all over again. The sage fretted over every crackling inch they unrolled.
“Where did you say you saw this design?” the sage asked.
“...I, uh. Dreamed it?” Zuko said.
They stared, together, at an inked drawing of the Avatar’s patron spirit. 
* * *
…If Zuko found the Avatar, father would definitely like him better than Azula.
* * *
“Mortal,” the evil tree greeted, much less cordially.
“Are you the Avatar?”
“What,” it inquired, with a sort of rustling tree sigh, like it was already disappointed in his answer, “is the Avatar?”
Oh. So… no.
“It’s just, there was this picture in a scroll, of the Avatar’s patron spirit. And they looked like you, except without the tree, and white—”
“Raava,” the tree hissed.
Which had probably been the kanji that he hadn’t recognized. But neither had the sage, so it must have been a really hard one.
“Tell me about this… Avatar,” the tree said.
And maybe Zuko should have gone back to the training grounds to practice his katas more. Or read over the next chapters in his textbooks again, so he’d actually understand them when his instructors went over them tomorrow. But he was still sore from the extra sets his master had assigned as remedial instruction after Zuko had embarrassed them both in front of father. And sometimes when he read ahead he thought too much and got all the wrong ideas in his head, like the time he’d asked why Sozin hadn’t formed a coalition of other nations against the threat of the Air Nomad army. And that just made more work for his instructors to fix, so.
So Zuko sat down, on the stream bank nearest his escape route, and talked to an evil tree.
“They’re the master of all four elements,” he said. “The last one was an enemy to the Fire Nation, and the new one’s been hiding, probably because he’s too much of a coward to face us—”
* * *
He brought an extra loaf of bread next time. One for the ducklings who needed it, and one for the duckling who just thought she did. The ghost duckling tugged and tugged against his grip, before grudgingly clambering up to eat in his lap.
She was really soft.
She bit really hard.
“How many of these… Avatars… have there been?” the evil tree asked.
* * *
“How many Avatars have there been?” Zuko asked the sage.
“Nigh uncountable,” the man said. “Have you had more dreams, my prince?”
“Um,” Zuko said.
* * *
“A lot,” Zuko told the tree. “The sage in the archive said the histories don’t go back that far. He guessed there were at least a hundred.”
“...And how long does your species of mortal live?”
“Avatar Kyoshi lived a really long time. But most of us don’t live more than seventy or eighty years. And some of the Avatars probably died a lot sooner than that, if people resented their meddling as much as the textbooks say.”
“Seven thousand years,” the tree said. “At least.”
And then it got really quiet, for a long time. Which was natural for a tree, but not for an evil tree. Zuko sat with it. He’d brought his homework, so he wouldn’t be wasting his study time.
…Except he kind of did, because apparently ghost turtleducklings could sleep—or at least, dream of sleeping?—and this one did it right in his lap.
* * *
They had flambéed quail-shark for dinner, and Zuko had almost been late, but father was too busy watching the flames to notice him sliding onto his cushion. Azula did.
“Look,” she whispered, “a dead bird can firebend better than you.”
* * *
“Flambé,” Zuko scolded, trying to pull half a loaf of bread out of the mouth of a ghost turtleduckling intent on choking herself.
“...What is ‘flambé’?” the evil tree asked.
And, after Zuko was done with that explanation: “What is… ‘taste’?”
* * *
“I need a recipe book,” Zuko told the sage. “With pictures.” 
“I… of course, my prince. But first, would you like any of these?”
The man had set out a whole table of toys. Most were wooden. They all looked really old. There was another sage there, one of the ones from the high temple. He was just kind of standing there, watching them for some reason. 
“Thanks,” Zuko said. “But I’m too old for toys.”
They both watched him leave.
* * *
“Which turtle do you hail from?” the tree asked.
“I… don’t know?”
The tree sighed. “Air. Water. Earth—”
“Fire!” Zuko said.
“Yes,” it said drily, “that is the final option.”
“No, that’s… that’s what I bend. I’m from the Fire Nation.”
“Ah,” the tree said, in its oil-slick voice. “The element of power. A fine fit, for such a promising young larva.”
So today was going to be one of those days.
Zuko crossed his arms. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, “but if you keep trying to make me evil, I’m going to go back and practice my bending some more.”
“No need for anything so dramatic,” it said. “But I would wager that there’s something you need more power for. Some task to do, or someone to impress. Perhaps someone to… surpass?”
Azula was two sequences ahead, now. Father had rewarded her with an even better tutor. They were very famous, or something. 
“Perhaps we can help each other,” the tree said.
“Do you want more water?” Zuko asked. Because he’d been sitting here day after day thinking how dry the ground was, even with the stream, and the stream was actually really far from the tree’s roots. Maybe that was why it looked so dead. Maybe it wasn’t evil, it was just really thirsty. “I could dig the stream closer. I saw farmers doing that, when mo— When we toured the countryside, when we were younger. They said it was good for the plants.”
“I…” the tree said, like that was not the response it expected. “No, larva. I do not require more water.”
“What else do trees need?” Zuko asked.
“...I am not the tree. I am inside the tree.” 
“Oh. Oh. …You can come out, if you want. I’ll try not to be scared.”
It was silent again. And then it was laughing, but not a funny laugh. And then it was shouting, and Zuko knew better than to talk back when someone was shouting at him. 
“I cannot simply come out. I have been trapped here, alone, for millennia beyond your comprehension, and…”
The spirit stopped, and took in great big breaths, which wasn’t a thing father or his tutors did until they were done yelling. The spirit had stopped itself early, without Zuko apologizing even once. 
“...Is that why you’re lonely?” He’d thought it was because it was a tree, and evil trees without many leaves probably didn’t get many visitors. But being inside a tree probably wasn’t any better.
“I am not lonely,” the not-a-tree growled. “Listen, human larva. I will grant you power beyond your mortal imagining. You can be that Avatar you speak of, if you join with me. All I require in exchange is to not be in a tree.”
* * *
“Could someone who isn’t the Avatar learn the other elements?” Zuko asked the sage.
“...I suspect,” said the man, looking somewhat tired, “that the most likely explanation for such a phenomenon would be that this person was the Avatar. I happen to have a book here, with select personal accounts of how those who came into the knowledge prior to their sixteenth birthdays adjusted to the situation. If you would be interested.”
Zuko scowled, because that wasn’t helpful at all.
* * * 
“You’re never going to catch up, Zuzu,” Azula said. “But I suppose you could come train with me, if you asked nicely. My new tutor believes in the benefit of sparring, even against lesser opponents. We don’t even need to ask father, so long as you can refrain from embarrassing us both.”
“Mmhmm,” said Zuko, who was thinking.
“Well?” she snapped.
“Sorry, what?”
His sister stomped away.
* * * 
She wouldn’t talk to him at dinner, which was normal, because she always talked with father then.
She wouldn’t talk to him at any other meals, either, which wasn’t. Father wasn’t even there for those, it was just them and the servants who silently scurried in and out.
She didn’t even barge into his room to read his essays over his shoulder and laugh. …Or read the play scrolls they’d smuggled out of mother’s room before the servants had cleaned it, and laugh together. 
* * *
The servants were polite, but father hated for them to waste time on idle chatter.
Uncle was still missing. 
The sage in the archives kept looking at him funny.
“Could we spar sometime?” Zuko asked Azula, because he missed training together.
For some reason, that made her ignore him even harder.
* * * 
Flambé nibbled at his pant legs, then bit his ankle, then waddled petulantly away. Zuko hadn’t brought any bread, this time. 
“I don’t think power would help me,” Zuko said. Not unless it could make him smart enough to learn faster, or help him find mother, or fix whatever in him was so broken that father didn’t even like to look at him. “But… would you like to see the rest of the turtleducks? The not-dead ones.”
Flambé quacked derisively from the side.
“No,” the probably evil spirit said. “I do not desire to see more turtleducks. One is quite enough.”
“...Maybe the garden? It’s nice.”
“No, I—” it said. And then it paused. And got out its oily voice again, like that was something that it needed with Zuko. Maybe it didn’t know how else to talk when people were being nice to it. “...Yes. Yes, I would enjoy seeing your delightful little garden. Simply place your hand into the tree, and…”
“And?” Zuko asked.
“…This is a permanent thing, larva. Beyond even your single miniscule lifetime, as your so-called Avatar discovered. Are you certain?”
“Yes,” Zuko said. And stepped past the banks of the stream, and marched right up to the tree itself. He pushed his hand into his friend’s prison. 
Someone that wouldn’t ignore him, who couldn’t leave him. Zuko had never been more sure in his life.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Vaatu,” whispered the oil-slick voice, inside his own mind.
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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Look I don’t care how implausible it is, I don’t care how ridiculous it is. Dick is eight years old when he becomes Robin. It’s the funniest fuckin thing and I refuse to ever make him older than eight when he bullies a grown ass Bruce into letting him go out at night with him.
Does Bruce take him on kiddie runs until he’s a little older? Maybe. Does Batman stand menacingly behind a brightly colored little bird to threaten the goons while Robin can’t see him? You know he does.
But Robin is still actually terrifying when he first appears on the scene, because he’s a teeny tiny fluttery little thing that does cartwheels and handstands and makes puns then launches himself full force to kick a man in the nose and then cackles when he bleeds. His laughter makes goons shiver, they hear it bouncing around warehouses and half of them bolt, because they learn very quickly what happens when a feral Robin appears.
The Gotham rogues all immediately have beef with a literal third grader because he took the bats attention away and also because he’s roundhouse kicked them all in the shins at some point and that shit hurt like hell, and then he laughed in their faces while making a pun about their villain name.
Majority of the rogues everywhere hate Nightwing because they all know he used to be the feral child that they all thought Batman should have put on a leash, half of them have been straight up bitten by him before he lost all his baby teeth, and they’re all so bitter about the fact that they’ve been beaten by an actual elementary school student. And now he’s all grown up? He’s fucking terrifying.
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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agriculture is basically an infinite materials hack
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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I CCAN'T BREATHE
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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an australian walks up to a bar
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panickedscribbles · 4 days ago
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if you’re having a bad day, here’s a cute little marching band
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