#sunrise and sunset time

[badolmen]

WARNING 18+

19

[wileycap]

At the intersection of crack and tragedy, I have this fic idea about Zuko getting time looped during the day of his Agni Kai.

The first few loops are painful and traumatic. (Well, they're all painful and traumatic, but after the first fifty times... even getting half your face burned off by your own father gets old.)

After a while, he manages to stay awake long enough to hear Iroh crying at his bedside, begging for Zuko to stay. Pleading with the spirits, please, not him too.

(And then it takes more time for him to realize who visits him after Iroh falls asleep. She doesn't say anything.)

Zuko makes a Plan.

In the mornings, he tracks down Iroh or any experienced firebender, and he learns. So what if he isn't good? He'll make up for it the same way he always does: with hard work. He has the time.

(One of these days, Uncle won't have to spend the evening crying to the spirits.)

He gets better. Far better than he has any right to be. Iroh is thrilled on the days when he manages to catch him and not one of the other masters. Every time, the other masters barely tolerate him until he shows them. Iroh is always patient and kind.

Middays are reserved for Azula. A sister is a sister, and maybe... maybe Azula just needed somebody after Mom left.

(Zuko got that wrong, too. He's pretty sure he died the first time, and this is the spirits punishing him for being a bad son, a bad brother, a bad prince. He'll get it right, eventually.)

And at sunset, he still tries to plead with his father. Ozai will never hear him, but he has to try.

(A few hundred burns to the face can make you hate a man.)

But no matter how hard he tries, he can't beat Ozai. His skills improve, but his body doesn't - it will always be thirteen, with undeveloped chi paths he can barely break through to, and Ozai is a man in his prime.

Until one day he fights so well that Ozai halts the battle. He has the old general (after all this time, Zuko has completely forgotten the general) brought up, and orders Zuko to give him a mark of shame. To prove himself a good son and a good prince.

He stands above the general and looks at his tears and his shaking hands and his panicked eyes and he understands.

This time, Zuko earns his scar with pride.

(And when Iroh cries at his bedside, he reaches out and squeezes his Uncle's hand: I'm here, I'm not leaving.)

(And later, when Azula comes in with her soft steps and doesn't say anything, Zuko cracks open his good eye and gives her a smile.)

(And when he and Iroh set out the next morning, it is with purpose.)

(They leave behind a princess who knows that her father is not invincible.)

[wigglebox]

Destiel Hot Summer - Picturesque ☀️

[constantlyfalling]

stained glass sky

[charleslovemustdie]

harry’s smile over the years.

[teekalu]

spring rolls around and patchy proves to be a worthwhile investment at the ranch

[emivipers]

[valenfield-inspo]

Jill Valentine & Chris Redfield 🌄 🌅 Resident Evil: Umbrella Chronicles / Resident Evil: Revelations

[ordinaryberry]

next time we meet, i’ll look you in the eyes and tell you that i love you

[liminally-spaced]

[astralfocus]

[rainbow280372]

[fettfleisch]

Like Lilith you will see, that in the end I am free

[thedorfmirrin]

What a weird rabbit?

[w-i-m-m]

[pencildragons]

snippet from my upcoming foxquin fic sinner, sinner (come to dinner) for foxquinweek !!!!!

“Commander Fox,” says the Chancellor, smiling his kindly smile. Fox stands very still and stares straight ahead, past Palpatine and through the great transparisteel window at the city below, skyline exploding in the brilliance of the sun’s final dying rays. The fanciful part of him that will one day be responsible for his death imagines that, if he’s just still enough, Palpatine will forget him entirely. It’s ridiculous, he knows, he knows, of course he knows, but he clings to it anyway, endeavours to move as little as possible, turns trying to hide even the slight rise and fall of his chest into some sort of test of how good his impression of being a block of stone is. “Sir,” says Fox. “Commander Fox,” Palpatine says again, still smiling that awful fucking smile, but sadder, now, mournful, bushy eyebrows doing something terrible and expressive. “You have disappointed me.” “Yes, sir.” “I gave you a very simple directive, Commander, and still you failed.” Fox is barely breathing now. Only a few klicks away, the spire of the Jedi Temple burns in a halo of pink-red, spearing through the cloud-strewn sky. It looks like one of the paintings hung in the Senate rotunda corridors, the ones that like as not cost more to procure than he did. His throat is dry. He tries to swallow. It sticks. It is likely he is dehydrated. There is a little light flashing on top of the spire, warning away in-atmo transports and low-flying starships. Orange-blue-green. Orange-blue-green. He stares at it, so he doesn’t have to look at Palpatine. “Yes, sir.” “Such inadequacy is, of course, unacceptable, Commander, as I’m sure you’re aware. I really had hoped it would not come to this, you understand.” Liar, Fox thinks. You love this. “But there is only one way to learn, and that is through experiencing consequences of your actions. Perhaps next time you will not take your sworn duty so lightly, hmm?” “Yes, sir.” “Draw your blaster, please, Commander.” Fox blinks and, in his surprise, breaks his stillness to turn his head to face Palpatine properly. “…Sir?” “Must I repeat myself twice? Draw your blaster from your holster.” Slowly, Fox draws. He wonders if this is some sort of test, if he’s going to be punished further for making his weapon naked in front of the Supreme Chancellor of the entire fucking Republic. (In the light of the dusk spilling through the window into the opulent office, Palpatine’s eyes seem almost gold. It is for but a brief moment, just the rays of the fat sun catching oddly, and then they return to that sharp, ice-chip grey like nothing at all happened.) “Good,” says Palpatine, and smiles again. Like this, he looks like some natborn’s father’s father—grandfather, he believes the term is—all benevolent wrinkles and knowing looks. “Set it to kill.” Fox sets it to kill. It is not a difficult thing. He is just as much a weapon as the blaster in his hands, well-oiled, clean, smooth. Efficient. He was designed for this. It is easier to follow orders mindlessly; his brain, like all their brains (except, perhaps, Kote’s, but Kote’s a little fucked up and is an outlier for everything else, anyway), is primed for command, made to obey. A perfect, thoughtless gun, with just enough ruthlessness and self-determination to set them apart from the CIS’ droids. That’s the idea, anyway. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the Kaminoans failed in the execution of something. “Turn around, Commander,” Palpatine murmurs, words soft and smooth and rich as the heavy velvet-fabric from his home planet that he has all his clothes cut from. “And fire at will.”

rbs deeply appreciated :]