#hello we are BACK IN BUSINESS

[muffinlance]

Zuko, banished, no crew, no uncle, no quest for the avatar. Says "fuck this" aka, if I can get back to caldera maybe I can convince my dad to take me back. Horribly wounded thirteen year old finds dragons, starts a civil war by accident

Zuko didn’t think he was still delirious. The Sun Warrior’s healer hadn’t wanted him to leave yet, but—

But he’s standing here, back in the throne room, and the room is set up again for another war meeting so maybe he should have waited before coming in. But the guards hadn’t even asked him—or anyone inside—before they’d thrown the double doors open, so. He’d thought father wasn’t busy.

The general he thought he was going to fight at the Agni Kai is here, and so are all the others, even uncle. And father, at the head of the table, standing.

Father is the only one standing. Everyone else is... They’re kneeling. 

When he’d come back to the palace, the servants in the courtyard he’d landed in had hurried to open the doors for him, all the way here. And the guards had let him in. And now the whole room is kneeling except for father who—

He doesn’t look like he did on the Agni Kai field. Father had been… he’d been so calm, then. He’d been doing what he had to do, to instruct Zuko, to correct him. 

Now he just looks angry. 

So. So Zuko is screwing this up, too. He practiced his speech the whole way home, it was a good speech, he’d based it on the one the Stone Prince made to his father the Mountain Emperor when he’d come home to beg forgiveness, bringing the treasures of the Ice Spirit with him as tribute. But Zuko doesn’t remember how he was going to start. And the flames behind father are getting higher, and hotter, and Zuko is okay now with flames that flicker with purples and golds and greens, but red flame is—

It’s so hot against his face—

“Father,” he croaks. “Father, I’ve returned. With dragons.” 

He is so, so stupid. Ran and Shaw have flanked him from the courtyard, have wound through hallways paralleling his path, are snaking between the pillars of the room until coils of red and blue dwarf everything here. Ran breathes her own flames out, and the fires before the throne shift from Ozai’s reds to the shimmering rainbow-sparks of dragonfire.

“A sign from Agni,” Uncle Iroh says. He’s bowed like the rest, but Zuko can see his eyes, and there’s the same glimmer there that father and Azula get before they do something Zuko should have seen coming.

“You dare,” father says, and Zuko isn’t sure if it’s him or uncle he’s talking to. But when he takes a step forward it’s towards Zuko and when he raises a fist it’s towards Zuko and when he makes the fire it’s towards Zuko and—

(And Zuko cowered the first time the dragons tried to show him their flames. It was all around him, swirling, and he hit his knees and shoved his face against his arms because he’d learned better than to look up. 

The fire stopped, and a whiskered nose nudged him, and then there was a huge scaly coil loosely wound around him until he was done crying, so at least the Sun Warriors below hadn’t seen how pathetic he was.

After that, it was… they made it a game. Little puffs of flames, the kind of sparks he used to make to keep Azula from getting fussy in her crib, until she was old enough to climb out and go exploring with him instead. 

He flinched at first, a lot, but they didn’t hurt. Didn’t even hit him. And then it really was a game, where he would spin their colors in with his own flames, and send them back, and they’d keep playing as the flames got bigger and bigger but somehow they never got scary again. 

When he’d stopped flinching at all, when he wasn’t a coward around his own element, he knew he was ready to return home. Grandfather had once welcomed uncle home with honors for killing dragons. So father would accept his apologies if he brought home two live dragons, right? Making friends with dragons had to be harder than killing them.)

Father’s flames were… they were just red. Zuko didn’t realize what he was doing until the war ministers were gasping. By then he was already spinning father’s flames with his own, mixing in all the colors father’s had lacked, and.

And sending them back.

(Batting fire around with dragons had not given Zuko a realistic grasp on the heat tolerance of the average abusive father.)

Uncle was not the first to bow, when Zuko had first entered. This time, he is.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” he says.

The war ministers are not prepared to countermand the Dragon of the West. Or literal dragons. They never left their knees, and they don’t start now. Foreheads touch the ground.

Zuko… Fire Lord Zuko’s first order is to take his father to the healers. He’ll let him stay there, longer than Ozai let Zuko.

(You can read this and other prompts at AO3. And longer stories, too. <3)

[restinpeacesensei]

[rosanna-writer]

I totally forgot that my favorite part of writing Rhys POV is him calling Feyre "Queen of Night" every two seconds in his internal monologue

[gregoftom]

i’m scrubbing through this episode to get some footage for folks and this shot is driving me absolutely buckwild

[anxiously-sidequesting]

Sorry to be posting twice in one day but now I wanna talk about Sybil's last line of dialogue at the end of Wallaru. Bro says "The Spiral will always need its Scion." In terms of new villains always arising, new worlds to explore, etc.

Now of course in the real world this means something totally different than in narrative; for us it means yay Wizard101 will continue and it's not ending and shit and thats good!!! But in universe, I believe that fact would have brought different feelings. Like sadness. Or anger. Or maybe just numbness.

Like if you think about it. The implications. The Wizard will never, CAN never rest. It's an ongoing, neverending thing of always being needed. It's You and ONLY You. There will never NOT be evil. If not GF Spider, then the Schism. If not the Schism, then the Old One. If not the Old One, then someone else. Someone or Something will always come up as a Threat that only the Scion (for some reason. Gods exists here) is expected and able to defeat. When Sybil said that I was legit terrified because gotdamn I can't retire???? I will Always be The Legend who Always saves the day???

Like even setting aside the social consequences of this (the whole people suspecting us/fearing us Thing) imagine what that does to your emotional and mental health. Fuck even physical health. Going through all that strenuous trauma and exercise and magical ordeals and shit???? The pressure of knowing it's the universe at stake, not just you or the world? I actually would have died just in arc 2 personally how the fuck are we supposed to carry this. For the REST. OF OUR LIVES. FOR HOWEVER LONG WE LIVE

✨ Anyways here's hoping the Schism Soldier is arc 5's new big baddie haha #enemiestolovers101 😘✌️💕💕💕

[the--highlanders]

His head bowed almost automatically, as if he was in mourning. Maybe he was. Mourning the smoking ruins of their friendship, everything they’d had, the best thing in his life. Would the Doctor even want to travel with him anymore, now he knew how Jamie felt? “I meant it,” he mumbled. “I – aye, I – I meant it. I thought I wasnae going tae have another chance.” When he dared to glance up, just for a moment, he found the Doctor staring at him, lower lip captured between his teeth like he was trying to feel the ghost of the kiss. Or to chase it away. Jamie had tried both, last night, lying in his bunk and staring up at the stippled metal ceiling. “Jamie, ah -” Even with his head bowed, Jamie could see the Doctor’s fingers moving, twisting over each other restlessly. “I’m not human. You do know that, don’t you?”

Believing they're about to die, Jamie kisses the Doctor. The next morning, they face the consequences.

[shima-draws]

Currently in my banging my head against the wall phase. Hope you all are well 🥰

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[honeyvenommusic]

watched Glass Onion a 2nd time just to see it through the lens of knowing the story and y’all… Janelle Monáe’s very 1st scene???? WHEWWW .

and she SAYS! NOTHING !

[moregraceful]

put 712 of the worst words ever put in a google doc tonight BUT! it is 712 more words in the google doc than i had yesterday. this fic will be more than 2k, so help me god

[killerchickadee]

Today was a MISERABLE day at work, like really fucking awful. Thank fuck I'm only at that job one day a week.

At one point my ~super awesome~ boss made a comment about how I must be too busy to dye my hair what with all the grey showing. Like fuck you, asshole.

It is pretty fucking grey though lmao

It doesn't help that my natural color is a light ashy brown, so it already has a sort of grey tinge to it. But also yes I am too fucking busy to do it cause I'm working 6 fucking days a week, you dick.

[journeyofthemoonprophet]

There is an outpost on the edge of the Oina territory, and not a far journey from the passageway Ikken told you about. The guards posted apparently rotate every month, and just your luck, the next pair leaves to trade out tomorrow. Thanks to Ikken, you'll be following Akari and Burai out at dawn, taking you most of the way you need to go. He even promised to give you one of his old maps for your journey south... well, he'll trade it in exchange for a favor... that being to bring Akemi back home along your way.

("Do you normally stay in Wep'keer this long at a time?" you had asked her that evening, and Akemi argued that it's a very long walk for someone her size, before sheepishly musing that she was going to be in so much trouble...)

You try your best to get some sleep, but your nightmares prove persistent. The dead are restless as always, but even more so now that you plan to leave. Every time you wake, you're left with the phantom chill of icy fingerprints on your limbs, clasped around your ankles, tugging you back by the arms, hooked around your shoulders and wrapped around your throat.

Why should you get to leave? they whisper, echoing louder in your skull and off the walls each time you awaken. How do you lead so many to death and bring a curse upon the world, and still get to walk away a second time?

The third time you jolt awake, you sit up to find the room is suddenly way too small, too warm, to the point where it's actually hard to take a comfortable breath. You have to go outside, at least for a moment.

You try your best to be quiet as you push open the door, and the cold air on your face is an immediate relief, however small. You don't go very far, opting to just stare up into the sky from a few steps away. The moon is barely a sliver, and you'll be lucky if any of it's left in tomorrow's sky. Not exactly the most promising omen... especially for you.

"Even with travel in the morning, you're once again wide awake..."

Glancing over your shoulder has Yawa staring back at you. Ah, damnit, and you had tried to be so quiet. "I'm starting to wonder if maybe you belong in the moonlight," she muses, tilting her head to the side. "It certainly seems to have an effect on you every time you're standing in it."

"Sorry to wake you. Just... needed some fresh air." You still have no idea what she means by that, but still do your best to casually wave her off. "I'll be inside in a moment, promise. You can go back to sleep."

Not surprisingly, Yawa isn't deterred by this, and instead tromps over to join you. You're half-expecting to get dragged back by the ear, but instead she just studies your face; it's almost torture how silent she stays, and how long she does so.

"So many thoughts behind those eyes," she eventually murmurs. "What's on your mind Waka? Wondering if perhaps you should stay instead?"

You shake your head. "I can't stay, and I know that, but..." You glance back up, though instead of the moon your eyes settle on the uppermost path. "It still feels a bit... wrong, I guess. Leaving them behind like this."

"You mean the ones who died..." Yawa hums a bit, and out of the corner of your eye you see her following your gaze. "You worry you're abandoning them?"

"Am I not, in a way?" You offer her a shrug, eyes not once leaving the horizon. "Not that I have much choice in the matter, but... do they understand? Or even care?"

Another hum, this one as if she finally understands. "You fear they'd resent you, then."

You really don't like how this woman's managing to cut to the core of you. Should you tell her? Should she be the first you confess the blood on your hands to? Maybe she already knows; Yawa would've been first to hear whatever you'd end up mumbling in your sleep. Maybe it's your imagination, but you swear the wind is still moaning with the dead's laments, carrying them from Lake Laochi to drift past the two of you.

Of all the people who fled the Celestial Plain... of all the people who should have lived or died...

"If any one of us that boarded that Ark should currently be dead on its floor, it's certainly me." For many, many reasons. The wind hisses past your ears as you raise your gaze back to the moon, and your heart aches at how empty it looks with just one little sliver left. "A prophet rarely sees his own future... perhaps I'm just running from my fate, and I don't even realize I'm doing it."

There's a long pause... then a set of hands on your face as Yawa gently pulls you down to look her in the eye. "Listen to me, Waka. I can't speak to how life was on the Celestial Plain, but here? Life is a gift, one that you're never guaranteed to keep. Even the gods that are dead would want you to live that life instead of spending your days asking whether or not you deserve to do so."

If only she knew why you're questioning it. The little 'heh' that escapes you is mirthless, flat as the ice on the lake. "You make it sound like that's so easy."

"Oh, it's definitely not. There are days that being alive feels more like a miserable curse than a gift." Her thumbs brush the corners of your eyes, and it's only now you realized you're teary. "But no one--not even the gods--can change what's happened; we can only choose how to move forward. The sun will still rise tomorrow whether we're ready for it or not, and it's up to us what we do with the day it brings." She chuckles a little. "Speaking of the sun, you still have that goddess to meet up with, yes? Certainly she wouldn't resent seeing that the escape wasn't completely in vain."

That's now two people who've said something like that. The mention of Amaterasu does rouse your spirit again, though the feeling is wavering dangerously, teetering on a knife's edge and threatening to slip from your grasp. Yawa seems to sense this, and before you can speak any doubts, she leans forward to rest her forehead on yours.

"Honor her and the dead by allowing yourself to live," she murmurs. "Don't let that resolve you share fade away by the time you meet again."

Resolve... that seems a good word for it. It's what fueled the fight on the Celestial Plain, and what's stirred in your memory to keep you going thus far. The breath you take is shaky, but the flickering feeling evens itself out into something smoother, warmer, burning just a little more steadily. Just enough.

"How did you get to be so wise, Yawa?" you murmur, and she huffs a quiet laugh.

"I'm a grandmother, dear. We're all wise." She pats your cheeks a few times before letting go of your face. "Now come inside before the cold makes you sick. You have quite the journey ahead of you, and Burai will be cross if he has to carry you a second time."

[catoinette]

what is your favourite mitchie m song and why is it ohedo julia night

[kyuala]

hmm

[greenelight]

the   fact   that   i'm   working   on   a   h.ot   priest   blog   &   today   is   apparently   the   anniversary   of   f.leabag   season   2   coming   out   .   .   .   it's   fate   i   tell   ya.

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 331

Adjective: Old-Fashioned

Noun: Posy

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Old-Fashioned: in or according to styles or types no longer current or common, or not modern; (of a person or their views) favoring traditional and usually restrictive styles, ideas, or customs

Posy: a small bunch of flowers; (archaic) a short motto or line of verse inscribed inside a ring