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#prompt answers

Before Tartarus, before Ares nearly got himself killed by fighting through titans to save Icarus’s life, they didn’t talk much. Ares was only able to come to the underworld rarely, and Icarus lived here, so Icarus would try not to intrude. He didn’t mind. He gets Hades the most, with Persephone gone half the year and Ares constantly pulled to war, and even if he did feel jealous, he’d ignore it. He doesn’t. Ares is kind, even sweet, for all that he’s almost just as deadly as Hades himself. It’s impossible to begrudge him anything that gets the hunted look off his face. 

After Tartarus, they’re more than they were before. Icarus will go to him on the battlefield, sometimes, just to talk, and Ares will even wander out of Hades’s bedroom for long enough to chat and catch up. 

Hades is pleased, in that careful, quiet way he has, and it’s nice that it happened organically, but Icarus knows that both he and Ares would have made more of an effort to be friends earlier if they’d known it would been so much to Hades. 

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Cedric thinks he could fall in love with Tonks, under the right circumstances. She’s beautiful, just as she is under her metamorphagus abilities, and she’s clever and quick and loyal. She’s exactly the kind of Hufflepuff he wants to be and that it’s her mark over on his chest makes sense to him. 

But she’s also exhausting, in the same way all his friends tell him he’s exhausting. He thinks they’re too much like each other, maybe, to survive any sort of relationship they might have. He doesn’t want to burn too bright and too fast, he doesn’t want he and Tonks to urge each other forward and faster past the point of reasonable durability. That’s no the sort of relationship of life he wats to lead. He wants someone steadier than that. 

He thinks maybe she does too. 

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a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

The best part of naming Sokka the ambassador to the Water Tribe is that everyone knows it’s just because he’s sleeping with the Fire Lord and Fire Lady. 

His wife is Water Tribe. Their Fire Lady is a Northern Water Tribe princess and if they have any diplomatic issues with the Water Tribes, theoretically her whole function is to deal with them. They don’t need a Water Tribe ambassador, or if they did have one it should be one who has no ties to the Fire Nation so they can be impartial, which Sokka obviously isn’t. 

He doesn’t even do the work of an ambassador, that’s all Yue. Instead Sokka spends all his time arguing with Azula about border patrols and army training. 

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a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Sasuke loves Naruto and Ino’s apartment. It’s not that it’s nice, because obviously the main house in the Uchiha compound is nicer, although it’s not - not nice, of course. It’s one of the apartments owned by the Yamanakas, so it’s nice, not like Naruto’s apartment that he’d been living in when they became genin. 

It’s that it feels like home. 

The Uchiha compound hasn’t felt like home since his clan was killed. But Naruto keeps his favorite foods in the fridge and Sakura bought a deep navy blanket just for him that’s in the basket next to the couch. It’s that he can come over whenever he wants and they’re always happy to see him, it’s that he can sit at the kitchen table and not speak and they’re still happy he’s there.

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a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Katara has plenty of reasons to dislike Zuko. He’s Fire Nation. He’s a Fire Nation prince. The crown prince, even, all set to take his father’s place. He’s forcing a Water Tribe woman to be his bride, the beautiful and mild Princess Yue. Sokka is in love with Yue, and it’s not fair, because a Southern chief’s son and a Northern chief’s daughter is a good match, it’s a match that makes sense. 

Fire Nation prince and Water Tribe princess makes no sense at all. 

So Katara has more than enough reasons to hate Zuko. Then her idiot brother has to go ahead and fall in love with him which just gives her one more. 

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Wei Wuxian has been dead for over a month when Lan Xichen hears music coming from the Jingshi.

Wangji is still too ill to move, the thin scabs across his back sometimes breaking and bleeding anew if he breathes too deeply. The playing is too tentative and uncertain to be his even if he could force himself to sit up straight for long enough to play the chords. It’s Healing, the music rough and uncertain but unmistakable, and he feels a rush of affection for whichever disciple has risked being thrown from their sect to sneak into his brother’s room as he sleeps to try to help him.

For a moment he considers turning around, pretending he never heard anything, but doesn’t. He is willing to overlook this. Uncle and the clan elders won’t be. Wangji is in seclusion and he has to heal on his own, under his own spiritual power, which he will. He’ll live and he’ll heal.

The thirty three lashes hadn’t killed him. He’ll live. He’ll heal. But he has to do it on his own.

He pushes open the door and freezes.

His brother’s guqin is playing itself. The strings are plucked slowly and carefully, but no one is there except his brother who lays unconscious on his stomach. He breathes in through his teeth, too quickly and too loudly, and the playing cuts off with a discordant twang.

The door closes on his face, nearly slamming except softening at the last second. He rushes to yank the door open again, but it doesn’t budge. Healing starts up again, and he bangs on the door, trying to rip it open with brute strength when talismans prove useless. There is something in there with injured baby brother. He tries a window next, which won’t move, won’t be shattered, but at least now he can see.

He should call for help, call for Uncle and the other disciples, but as he reaches for the talisman he sees something that makes him pause.  

Rippling across the strings of the guqin are whisps of red spiritual energy.  

Lan Xichen passes the night standing at the window, watching. Healing is played again and again, for hours, until the sky turns grey with morning, until it’s nearly but not quite five. The song is stronger and smoother at the end of the night than at the beginning.

When the song doesn’t start up again, he pushes the window. It opens easily. The door is the same, opening with no resistance.

He sits next to his brother, watching as his eyes slowly slide open. “Wangji,” he greets quietly, “how are you?”

Wangji looks at him. It doesn’t feel like he’s seeing him.

Lan Xichen leans forward and carefully lifts the sheet off of his brother’s back. His brother is a strong cultivator, one of the strongest of their generation, of course. Anything less and thirty three lashes would have killed him. But the thick scabs covering his skin are so much more than he’d had even when Lan Xichen saw him a week ago. There’s not even any blood on the sheet.

“You’re healing well,” he says, trying to keep his voice even.

Wangji’s face doesn’t so much as twitch.

He doesn’t know, then.

Lan Xichen can’t decide if Wei Wuxian’s ghost is acting out of kindness or cruelty by hiding itself from Wangji.

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Asuma and Kurenai still aren’t entirely sure how they got talked into this.  

“This is going to be so fun!” Naruto tells them, grinning. He and Ino are in matching purple croptops and baggy black sweatpants. Asuma keeps on yelling at Naruto thinking he’s Ino. 

“Right,” says Kurenai. 

Kakashi cackles. 

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a continuation of 1 2

Yeshua knows how this ends. Crowley knows how this ends.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, on his knees for her. 

She reaches down and runs her hand through his hair, feeling the Divinity sparking under skin. “If the price for my time in heaven is an eternity bound to hell, it’s a price worth paying. If losing you is the price of having you, then yes, Yeshua, it’s worth it.” 

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Draco finds a blank journal is his family’s library, which wouldn’t be strange, but magic fizzles against his skin when he touches it, which is. He brings it to school because he’s curious. 

The first time he writes in it, it writes back. 

Draco, who has grown up in a wizarding world in a manor full of cursed objects, immediately knows there’s something in this he doesn’t like. He tells his friends about it, Neville says to burn it, Hermione is appalled, but Ron just rolls his eyes and says, “Give it here, my dad will take care of it.”

They give the journal to Arthur Weasley and that’s the last they hear of it. 

That year, at least. 

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a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

The dragons all like Zuko best. 

It’s possibly just because Fern likes Zuko best, and they follow her lead, but Zuko’s going to be smug about it either way. They’ll play with the others, cautiously and then rambunctiously, but it’s Zuko they gravitate towards. 

Sokka thinks it’s unfair. Zuko and Aang can modulate their temperatures so they don’t the feel the cold, so it’s unfair that Zuko sleeps in a pile warm dragons underneath Fern’s wings. 

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a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Sokka doesn’t want to do this. Zuko has only become more terrifying after watching him subdue Aang, in the avatar state while being possesed by a god. 

But they need Zuko do join them. Not to be Aang’s firebending master, although obviously that’d be nice to, but because if Aang is going to lose control, he wants someone around who can stop him without killing him. 

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When Helen dies, Achilles is there, like he is for everyone’s death, ready to ferry them across. 

He thinks that she couldn’t have been worth it, worth all the pain and misery, worth the thousand ships. 

By the tame he’s helping her step onto the other side of the Styx, he’s changed his mind.

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a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Draco love his grandmother. 

When he comes back home with Harry and two more people, she only raises an eyebrow. “I’m assuming this is something you don’t want me to tell your father about?” 

“It’s probably best if you don’t,” he says apologetically.

She only hums and says, “We’re going to need more air mattresses.” 

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Draco doesn’t hesitate to throw his support behind Hermione. 

She’d been a very good teacher, like she was good at everything, but it had been more about ticked off a box for her than an end goal. 

But Minister of Magic? That’s a position that might be able to keep her attention for more than a couple years. 

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“You know he’s like, totally emotionally unavailable, right?” Padma points out. “And has been since we were eleven.” 

Lavender rolls her eyes. “I’m not interested in his emotions.” 

Ron Weasley is obviously in love with Hermione Granger. If she was looking for love, that might be a problem for her. She’s not looking for love. She’s looking at his shoulders, currently. 

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a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Draco already said his goodbyes before chasing after Harry, so it’s a bit awkward to come back after only a couple of weeks. 

“Hello Mina,” Draco says cheerfully. “These are my friends from art. We need to organize some dramatic subterfuge. Do you want to help?” 

Mina blinks at him, looks over his shoulder at Harry, who smiles brightly and waves, to Ron and Hermione, who look the appropriate amount of nervous for asking Mina for a favor, and she says, “You’re totally getting demoted for this.” 

“That’s fair,” he says. “Probably for the best, since Harry promoted me, so.” 

That catches her interest. “To summer boyfriend?” 

“Um,” Harry mumbles blushing, “just, uh. All the time boyfriend.” 

Mina gasps dramatically, entirely fake, and Draco’s eyeroll is probably completely ruined by his grin. 

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“A-jie!” Wei Wuxian laughs, bright and loud. “Stop that! Didi, come save me!” 

Jiang Yanli clenches her hands into fists, looking down at the ground. A-Cheng is tense at her side, clenching his jaw so tightly she’s worried he’ll crack a tooth. 

The banquet hadn’t officially started yet. They’re early, the first to arrive, and it’s clear no one has noticed their entrance yet. Wen Qing is yanking at Wei Wuxian’s hair, trying to tug it into a proper high tail, while Wen Ning hovers anxiously at their side, hands raised like he doesn’t know whether to help his sister or push her away at Wei Wuxian’s plea. 

“You don’t need saving, just stay still,” Wen Qing scolds. 

All three of them are in red, in rich silk robes that she’s never seen them wear. Wen Qing has done well as Sect Leader Wen. 

Wei Wuxian won the war for her. When the other clans wouldn’t stop abusing the Wens that Wei Wuxian thought needed saving, he switched sides, promising Wen Qing he’d win the war and protect her and her people as long she promised to be merciful to the other clans, even thought they had not been merciful to her. 

She agreed. Wei Wuxian defected. He raised a flute to his lips and killed Wen Ruohan, his sons, and all those who had been loyal to them. Meng Yao had apparently been invaluable in knowing exactly who needed to be killed and who could be trusted to swear loyalty to the new regime. It explained Meng Yao’s current position as chief advisor to the Clan Leader Wen, even if everyone had been horrified at a prostitute’s son being given the same position. 

Not that it mattered. No one could stand against Wei Wuxian and his Stygian Seal, and whatever ill effects it had seemed to be mitigated by Wen Qing’s unparalleled grasp on medical cultivation. Wei Wuxian looked healthier than he had since before the attack on Lotus Pier. 

Which was good. She was glad. 

It just hurt, now, to see them. Wei Wuxian had asked them to stand up to the other clans, to stop the senseless death, and they’d refused. They’d had to. 

So he’d left. Now he calls another woman A-jie, now he calls another man Didi. 

It’s what she and A-Cheng should have expected. Wei Wuxian had told them what would he would do, and then he’d done it, and now they have to live with the consequences. 

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yi-dashiAnswer

Force my Muse to Spill their Secrets

“There is a part of me I cannot reconcile with. It longs for conflict that continues. It finds comfort in violence, and anger, and an enemy I owe no holds. Blood, death, war…” The Ionian crossed his arms firmly in front of his chest, stifling the pace of its rise and fall, “It is hard to not see this everywhere I go. I had known nothing of my own Lands before I arrived. Ever since then I have known it in red. Is it not understandable that I find purpose in death? Every action I take, I do in service of the dead, or the soon to be… and I am content with it?”

He took a pause to try and settle the disgust festering in his throat. He was not successful, “Had the one thing I had been missing all along, tucked away in the mountains… had it been a want to kill someone? Do I still want this? Sometimes, yes. And why? Why must it be like this? Why do I not know? Is it a matter of worth, or talent? Is it fun? By all spirits here and beyond… I think this desire has made rot in my brain, and has stolen a way to give me joy.”

There was little he could do to walk back the violence that preceded his reputation, and his malevolent ticks seemed to thrive on that.

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yi-dashiAnswer

Force my Muse to Spill their Secrets

“I wish it were easy to take root somewhere.” He said on a pained sort of breath. His voice was steady enough, but he mused with an air of lamentation about him, “That is to say, I desire for a life that is easy. Many must think the same, so perhaps it is not so secret. But… I still wish I had less thoughts in my mind. I wish I could be callous to the plights of others, and that I could return Wuju to exactly what it was. Closed off from the world, teaching pacifism with no exception, eventually leading to another School that sits in silence as it meets destruction. It would be the easiest way, and the truest way, to honor those people who told me not to violate their wishes in the first place.”

His head hung low with the weight of it all, “It is hard to know what one must do, yes? Faced with the past, and the future, all at once?” He shrugged, defeated, “Who can say? Who can say…

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