*me, Getting Out Of My Dissociative State To Log Back On My Mdzs Bullshit For A Hot Second:* There Really

au where nhs doesn't have to girlboss and can just be malewife <3

Qin Su's death ~ live reactions

Prettiest fish prince 🐠

IG: rayviolifordinner

"I need to do this. Zuko, Z-zuzu you know, you understand. He will find this amusing. Father will give me more time." Her eyes were blown wide with fear, silent tears streaming down her checks. He remembers when she would come crying to him like this when they were children.

She had been tiny then, still whole, but oh so very strong. Head held high, she would wait until the servents cleared his rooms before collapsing into sobs. There had been precious little that could make her cry even then, and Father had started desensitizing them to death early. But Azula, so small, so young, hadn't taken well to the lessons, not yet.

Zuko's family was filled with monsters. He wasn't the exception. He had stared at her, with all the love an older sibling could give to a little sister, and broken her so Father couldn't, like he had done to him.

He remembers comforting her, fixing her crown and wiping her face, before taking her small hand into his and sneaking into the prison. He remembers bribing the guards at the end of every lesson with silk cloth, leather shoes, and embroidered bags of rice, and teaching her how to hurt humans so Father wouldn't have to.

His fingers curl on top of hers-so old, already fourteen and her hands are still so small-like they use to, giving her strength, guiding her blade. He leans forward, grunting a little as the blade slides all the way to the hilt, to whisper advise in her ear.

"Twist the blade until the edge faces up. A hole will be harder and more painful to heal then a tear."

Her breath hitches in the next inhale, but she does not sob like she use to. He feels so proud of her, of her strength and at her resolve when the pain in his abdomen flares white hot. Zuko stumbles, but he catches himself before he can fall on Azula because he refuses to let his little sister deal with more then what she has to before she needs to. He hates to break her even more at all but he needs to.

Father had broken him with his love, and raged and stomped on him when his sharp edges didn't poke out to hurt anyone but himself. Father had picked and prodded at him until his insides were glass sand, not big enough to break free but sharp enough to hurt with each step, to tear his lungs with each breath and scrap at his bones.

He couldn't have left Azula with Father. But he also couldn't leave her with Mother who picked up and dropped her glass children equally and without warning, disgusted by the shards they left behind. Or Uncle, who sanded down his edges for them, but who's shaving floated in the air to cut bite and sting nor their cousin who's molten glass center ran so hot that his sheer presence fixed him and unavailablity left a void so cold he broke all over again. He had broken her so Father wouldn't feel the need to, so Mother's love and indifference wouldn't leave her desperate to please and hurting, so Uncle's careless words wouldn't cut into her skin and bury into her heart, so she would keep herself at a distance with their cousin and not break at his very absence.

Azula, better then him at everything, had broken in a way to hurt others, she learned to fit the pieces of herself to walk without hurting, had lived under Father's approval without falling victim to it as he had. When Father had burned half of his face and cruelly given him hope in the form of an impossible task, he had chased even whispers of it, not to come back to his sister or people, nor had he after a twisted sense of loyalty to the Fire Lord but out of nessercery. He had needed to go back home to the fire and pain, where burns and words and exhaustion would melt the glass whole again and grant him rest until the next time Father had him shattered.

Blood slipped through his fingers and reached hers despite his best efforts. He hoped his glass wouldn't sting her too badly or for too long.

"Good," he praised. She had always needed praise when she got like this when they were little. She was still so small. "Now run the knife up and stop before the heart."

He refused to leave her without instruction, to leave her alone while she was still so frail. He had always imagined himself a quick death, earth on the battlefield, the jumping in front of the blade of an assassin, tasting poison and warning his family before he passed, but for her he would hold on as long as he could. He curls up as metal tears his insides, muffling his scream on her shoulder to try to give her more time. Briefly, he stares at the ceiling and its glowing green stalactites and wonders when he ended up on the ground.

Her face is there, lips parted in shock, eyes bright with unshed tears. She won't let them fall again but he thinks it might of been nice for someone to publicly mourn him. He figures it won't matter to him for much longer anyway.

Her hand, still on the knife, shakes so he musters up the strength to lift his to hold to hers, but he forgets to factor in gravity and his vision goes white when he accidently shifts the knife inside him. Her eyes are dead when he comes back to, and part of him is comforted by the fact that in their three years apart, this part of her still hasn't changed. But his time is running out and he needs to tell her how to sell this to Father.

"Tell him... tell him-" his throat is dry and he can't shallow but he needs to finish this. Azula, so smart, so old, so small, sees and leans to hear better. He hears the screams and booms of battle but they sound far away from their little bubble. He wonders why the Avartar and his teachers haven't yet left.

"Tell him what knife you used. He'll ... he'll find it funny if you tell ... Uncle." It would hurt him to learn that the knife he gifted him would be the thing to kill him but-

"It will be enough to excuse my lack of fire," her eyes widen as realization sets in.

Azula was p e r f e c t; Uncle had betrayed their country, he could suffer the consequences.

The edges of his vision darken. He needs to hurry.

"Do," he tastes blood in the back of his throat. It feels like shards. "Do what you need to . . . to survive." Lie, steal, kill. Kill Father or the Avatar.

"You were always better the second time." These words come out like a whisper but by the widening of her eyes he knows she heard, can tell she understands. He hates doing this to her but the sounds of fighting are getting closer. They're almost here now.

"Lala, you're perfect."

Her face blanks. Azula isn't perfect, not yet, but she will tear herself and anyone opposing her apart for the next hour trying to be. As long as she gets out of this alive he doesn't care. Ty Lee and Mai have always been able to put her back together.

She stands smoothly, taking the knife with her. He barely feels it.

Blue eyes and dark skin replace her. He doesn't know his name but he can see him panicking. He wonders why. Pain flares up as he applys pressure to his wound and he no longer cares. Water Tribe can go die.

The scene starts moving and pain flares up periodically. Azula screams words. He doesn't know what she said but he wants to stay. He claws at blues and trys to summon fire but his inner fire is just dying embers now. He gets pulled in tighter. He wonders if the blue will let him go if he pukes.

Suddenly there is wind and stars and he is oh so very cold. Water smothers the last of his inner flames and agonizingly knits him back together. It hurts less as it continues. Zuko knows it is not a good thing. Water can heal but it cannot replace blood. He will die and Azula will be safe because of it.

Faces surround him with worry but he doesn't want them. He wants the sister he raised, the uncle that tried, the girls who already mourned him once and shouldn't have to again. He don't want enemies and strangers. But he never gets what he wants. He used up all his luck being born.

He looks at the stars and trys to will the sunrise. He knows it will not come. Zuko had been born at night away from Agni' presence. He was probably destined to die away from it too. He still hopes for the warmth of His rays.

His breath shallows. He hears Lu Ten's voice humming a song loud and clear and his mind fills in the lyrics of a soilder coming home from war. In the distant he notices the warm laughter of his lady grandmother, the grumbling voice of his grand sire, the quacking of turtleducks and the overwhelming sent of fire lilies. He briefly wonder about the whereabouts of Mother.

The sounds get louder. Home.

Over the sky of Ba Sing Se, the sound of sobs get muffled into warm bodies as faces turn to hide away from the glare of the rising sun.

One funny scenario that came to my mind is that when Jin Ling finally becomes a full-fledged sect leader, and gains some self-confidence and pulls the Jin out of the swamp Menu Yao pushed it in...

And then he has to deal with Huanguang-Jun as the Chief Cultivator. Fuck that.

Others may respect the man and his "righteousness" but Jin Ling knows what sort of a petty gremlin the man is. Can still be. And he knows that Lan Wangji has the political acumen of a footstool. And still has it out for anyone who ever slighted his idiot husband.

Jin Ling has no time and patience to deal with that. He cannot make waves or go against the man, his position is barely stable after all, but Jiujiu raised no bitch and Xiao-shushu raised no idiot.

Thus, when Huanguang-Jun pisses him off to much, Jin Sect Leader sends a polite letter to the Lan Sect Leader requesting the return of all the loans the Jin has issued to Gusu Lan since the war. After all, they were marked as "loans" in the official paperwork and the understanding they don't have to be returned only existed between Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao, the terrible criminal. One could say that the money was, gasp, mishandled by the man, as none of the sect elders signed off these loans.

That was really a lot of money, and Jin Rulan had a project in mind to build some orphanages and needed liquid funds. Urgently.

Say what you will about Jin Guangyao, but his bookkeeping was impeccable, and Jin Ling had bunches of receipts at the ready.

Also, there were these 200 spirit nets Huanguang-Jun destroyed five years ago. These weren't cheap. As they were Jiang Sect's personal gift to him, Jin Rulan would like to be reimbursed for the loss. As soon as possible.

Yes, he was aware that Gus Lan didn't have such amounts just laying around and trying to organise them may as well bankrupt the sect. Isn't that a pity. He feels for them, truly. But money is money and one needs to keep an eye on their assets.

Of course, he'd be amendable to forgetting some of these debts if properly motivated.

Say, Jin Rulan would be willing to let the matter go if, for example, the Chief Cultivator kindly fucked off.

bonus:

(i like to think nie husiang’s entire existence is just a stream of continuous  flustered internal screaming upon being Chosen™ by this really weird grumpy dog with abandonment issues,)

bonus:

somehow their different cross-media designs give off different vibes/ship dynamics to me, i just thought it'd be fun to draw it out lol

(also i love their mobile designs they're so pretty ;v;)

lichtenberg scars

(fengqing 🏹⚔️ )

first base is beating the shit out of each other second base is having a normal conversation

the sumeru concept of the academic family was criminally under explored. you’re telling me cyno and tighnari and collei consider themselves an academic family? kaveh and alhaitham got academically divorced and that’s basically the same thing as getting maritally divorced in sumeru? unreal.