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)
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be mine.
billy sighs. rests his forehead against the cool metal of his locker. tries to ignore the hum of people talking around him. holding hands. cuddling. it’s a shitty day. it’s a shitty day and billy knew it was going to be a shitty day before it even started.
he knew because he had been the one to say it. yesterday. to tell steve that they’re not- that billy doesn’t need to be treated like a fucking girl. that they’re just screwing around. that he doesn’t give a shit if steve wants to fuck someone else today.
that steve might as well go crawling back to wheeler because billy sure as shit can’t hold his hand or call him sweetheart in the hallways. that he gets enough heat at home without the whole of hawkins high knowing how much of a queer billy hargrove is.
and then billy had walked off. slammed the door behind him and gone home. had picked a fight with neil just to top it off.
all because he was scared.
is scared. scared of steve harrington with his preppy fuckin’ polos and dumb hair. his pretty eyes and pretty smile and ability to tilt billy’s world on its axis just by looking at him. scared that steve will get bored of him. that he’ll realise billy isn’t worth the effort.
scared.
billy sighs again. shuffles back slightly and glares down as he twists the lock. the door swings open and billy is halfway to grabbing the book he needs when something falls out. a scrap of paper. no bigger than the palm of his hand. a note.
it lands on billy’s boot.
he looks around. wonders who had felt brave enough- dumb enough to shove a note through billy’s locker on a day like today. he bends down. picks it up. reads the words in front of him.
quarry, 9.
there’s a little heart scribbled on the top right hand corner. billy traces the familiar writing with a thumb. feels that all too familiar feeling in his chest. he clenches his fist. hears the crinkle of paper as he does.
then he looks up again. into his locker. really looks, this time.
a pack of marlboro reds lay on top of his books. unopened. new.
next to those, something smaller. candy, billy realises. a sweetheart, specifically. the words kiss me etched in pink.
billy smiles. can’t help it, really. it’s restrained. barely there. just a small twitch of his lips but a smile nonetheless. his first smile of the day. credit to steve fuckin’ harrington and his inability to leave well alone.
billy smooths the note out. places it next to the reds. next to the heart. tries to tamp down on the butterflies swarming in his chest. he takes a deep breath before stuffing the cigarettes and note into his pocket.
his hand hovers over the sweetheart.
“hey.”
billy pulls his hand back. fast. as if he’d been burned. he looks to his left. locks eyes with the boy now standing next to him. feels his heart stutter. “hey.”
steve gives him a knowing smile. “good day?”
“no.” billy frowns. you already knew that. “pretty shitty actually.”
steve leans. folds his arms. “that bad, huh?”
better now that you’re here. billy swallows. turns away from steve. back to his locker. “did you want something, harrington?”
“nah, just..” steve smirks. reaches out. billy feels his breath hitch. steve’s smile gets wider. he flicks billy’s earring. once. before turning on his heel with a see you around thrown billy’s way.
a promise. something deeper to them but. casual. friendly to anyone watching.
billy watches him leave. wonders if steve might be okay with them having to do things differently. wonders if this might be enough for steve. for them. wonders if he could be enough for steve. hopes-
billy jumps when the bell rings.
-
they meet up later. at the quarry like steve had said. neil under the assumption that billy’s seeing some girl. steve’s parents likely thinking the same.
billy feels as though a weight has been lifted as soon him and steve tumble into the back of the beemer. all cold hands and fumbling with belts. awkward limbs and steamed up windows. and billy lets it happen. lets himself be held. lets steve be sweet to him.
billy lets it happen. finds himself thinking that today might not be all bad. and that he might be more than a little bit in love with steve harrington. he pushes the second thought down. focuses on winding a hand into steve’s hair and sucking a mark into the soft skin just below his jaw, instead.
not all bad.
-
later finds them huddled under a blanket in the back of steve's beemer. sharing a cigarette. marlboro. red. steve nudges billy after a few minutes. doesn't say anything just. nudges him. billy tilts his head to the side. gives steve a look. steve just looks down as his hand finds billy's under the blanket.
then he presses something small into the palm of billy’s hand.
billy raises an eyebrow in question but steve’s already looking away. staring out into the night. cigarette glowing in the dark. billy rolls his eyes. wiggles his arm free and holds the object up to the window to get a better look.
be mine.
he laughs. loudly. tries to hide the racing of his heart. calls steve a fuckin' cheese. and a sweetheart. waits until steve turns to face him again before pressing the candy to steve's lips and pulling him in to exchange kisses that are almost too soft. too sweet for whatever this is. whatever they agreed for this to be.
steve pulls back first. whispers against billy’s lips “hey, baby?”
“yeah?”
“happy valentine’s day.”
“…yeah.”
almost.
steve grins and reaches out to play with one of billy’s curls. billy laces their fingers together under the blanket.
or maybe it’s just right.
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I saw another post about the Zepotha thing on tiktok and I wanted to throw in my two cents.
At first I was confused why everyone was just saying the same thing and then I was mad when I found out that it was supposed to be a joke about a fake movie or tv show or whatever the fuck.
It reminded me of Goncharov and how differently tumblr users handled that trend.
I think the thing that makes me so mad about the tiktok trend is that it’s so unoriginal and so unfunny it’s actually infuriating. Especially when the creator of the tiktok thats receiving comments like this also doesn’t understand what’s going on. Every other week there’s a new trend on tiktok of a bunch of people spam commenting some random “inside joke” phrase and they think it makes them cool. And when someone kindly explains that zepotha isn’t a real thing they get all defensive and nasty.
What would be cool and funny is if the fandom or the creator has an inside joke or a phrase that the fans say or comment because then everyone is in on it and it’s like a community thing. Like commenting some random comment on some random tiktok isn’t funny.
The thing about goncharov that made it so great was that EVERYONE was in on the joke (on tumblr anyway). Everyone could participate. Everyone was adding their ideas. It was collaborative and it was fun and everyone was right.
Commenting “you look like _____ from zepotha” on every tiktok you see and then refusing to include people in on the joke isn’t funny and it’s not cool.
Like I don’t want this to seem like I hate it when people have fun or I hate trends or whatever. Because I don’t. I literally don’t care what you do for fun and I love trends. But you don’t have to be mean about it when someone is trying to understand/learn more. If your version of fun is telling this inside joke and then actively excluding other people and getting upset when someone explains the joke I think you need to reevaluate.
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