there's a folk tale in hisui. (PLA SPOILERS)
a prophecy, passed through time itself. it's just whispers and rumors, now, a story told from mother to child to soothe nightmares, legend becoming myth and myth becoming skepticism.
they say a man is coming. a man will be coming to hisui, with a voice such as thunder, loud and booming, with eyes the color of a stormy moon. he will rage once, and when it hits, it hits as a lightning strike, harsh and burning and uncaring of who is in its path. they are told to beware his arrival, but do not cast him out- for where his arrival foretells disaster and chaos, his presence will lead to the solution, preserving the Clans.
with the man will come a child. they will not look special. their arrival is the second warning, the calm before the storm. they will fall, from heights unimaginable, and in their palms they hold the power of the very stars from which they came. they will face an untold darkness, an evil none will know, but their light will burn brighter than any darkness that may befall them.
some versions disagree. many will tell the story as the man having a brother, others will claim that neither are human, something unknown and beyond belief. some will claim that a dragon will come, others claim a god.
the myth has dwindled, told only as it is viewed- a myth, a bedtime story for children.
a golden-haired child looks to his aunt, silver eyes wide as he takes in the story. time passes, he grows old- wide eyes grow bitter, awe shifts to a grim, determined darkness. distortion taints his soul as he flies, tries to reach those stars, grasp their power in his hands.
the sky twists, bends, breaks.
a man falls from the rift, silver eyes wide and confused and lost, voice too-loud for survival and too-sudden. he is silent when he walks, moving as if he takes more Space than he does- yet if you look into his eyes, it's as if lightning streaks across his irises.
three years pass. one night, a comet streaks across the sky.
a girl is found, on the banks of a beach. she knows nothing, yet when you look into her eyes, they shine as the stars would, bright as the sun. no one in the village next to this beach knows of the myth, yet all can agree... something is off about her.
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to me, the funniest thing about “that’s rough buddy” isn’t the fact that sokka says something patently insane with zero context seemingly out of nowhere, or the fact that zuko clearly doesn’t know how to respond. it’s the completely incorrect use of the word “buddy.” zuko would obviously like to be friends with sokka, but sokka is not, in fact, his friend. this is the most time they’ve ever spent together, and it’s because zuko invited himself to tag along on sokka’s suicide mission. at this point in the episode, sokka still hates this guy, perhaps less than he did a week ago, but he still hates him enough that he didn’t bother forcing zuko to stay home, which means he still didn’t really care whether or not zuko lives or dies. which, considering that he had tried to kill zuko multiple times in the past, is not all that surprising. this entire episode is essentially just zuko forcing his friendship onto sokka while sokka is legitimately too depressed to care. so when zuko calls sokka “buddy,” there’s a spirit of dogged optimism characterizing that epithet, because in no possible realm would sokka consider zuko his buddy at this point in the episode. and that’s something we miss when noting the iconicness of this exchange, simply because, by the end of this episode, they are buddies, so in our minds looking back on these lines, the implication of friendship doesn’t feel out of place at all. and really, it isn’t out of place, but only because zuko’s tenacity and determination (in this instance, his determination to befriend sokka) has always hugely outweighed his ability to read the room.
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✨ STUPID HEADCANON ✨
MC gets kidnapped by a cult that worships the brothers, and while the cult leader is monologuing about how MC is going to be sacrificed to the great seven lords of Hell, this poor human is just sitting there like “Damn this is gonna be hella awkward once I summon the brothers during the most dramatic moment”.
Cult Leader: We call upon our seven demonic princes of the Devildom to accept this sacrifice-
MC: Princes? Ugh, I almost forget those bastards are royalty. Though, it does explain why Mammon is always so iffy about doing his own laundry.
Cult Leader: What-
MC: Nononono, don’t mind me, continue on. Sorry for the interruption.
Cult Leader: …ahem. We call upon Belphegor, the Avatar of Sloth.
MC: Pfft, sleepy brat probably isn’t even listening right now.
Cult Leader (getting annoyed): We call upon Beelzebub, the feared Avatar of Gluttony-
MC: Oh, shit, you might not wanna call upon Beel, if he finds out you’re bothering me you all might end up as second breakfast.
Cult Leader: AND WITHOUT FURTHER INTERRUPTIONS. We ask Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust to-
MC: You’re not even going to give Asmo an extra compliment? At least call him the “divinely beautiful” Avatar of Lust.
Cult Leader: WE SUMMON THE VERY VERY SCARY AVATAR OF WRATH AS WELL.
MC (remembering how the last time they hung out with Satan he started spontaneously weeping because he remembered the sad ending of a book he read): …yeah. Hella scary, that one.
Cult Leader: And the Avatar of Envy, the master strategist, Leviathan!
MC: Master strategist? You know what? I’ll give you that, that one checks out.
Cult Leader: And the Avatar of Greed Mammon-
MC: My first man :D
Mammon: Hell yeah, human! Up top!
The cult: …AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
MC: Wow, they didn’t even get to Lucifer. How’d you get here so fast, Mam?
Mammon: Oh, I just heard you refer to me as your first man, as ya should, obviously, and I was so happy I decided to pop in and give ya some positive reinforcement. Now where’s my high five?
MC: I’m tied to this alter thing.
Mammon: Oh shit, ya are-
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Prompt 115
“Seriously old man?” the rumbling voice nearly caused Tim to jump, his eyes darting away from where Ras was sitting, the Al Ghul almost seeming to perk. It was kind of hard to miss the man… teen… being? It was kind of hard to miss the owner of the voice what with how their hair looked like it was on fire.
They motioned around at well, everything, crimson eyes looking exasperated. “Really?” They were definitely motioning towards him, interrupting Ras when he opened his mouth to talk. “No, I don’t want to hear it, I swear- Did he kidnap you?” That was definitely aimed at him.
“N-no?” Tim was feeling slightly unbalanced and may be on hour sixty without sleep at this point, if the hour long nap was counted. “I need help finding my not-dad who's lost in time.”
The being let out a strangled noise that Tim could nearly swear was almost another one, but couldn’t vocalize his slurred thoughts as the dude muttered something, motioning around as though he was tempted to strangle something or someone.
Ras cleared his throat, looking almost awkward which was how Tim knew he had to be dreaming or drugged. Probably drugged. “Jordan, how good to see you, it’s been so long-”
“Can it Pops,” the being-named-Jordan scoffed, finger pointing towards the Demon’s Head. “Moms still pissed and isn’t coming back any time soon with you still pulling this shit.”
Tim felt his brain stall, process for a moment, then process some more over what he just heard before his mouth ran before it could catch up. “Ras is married???”
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DP x DC Writing Prompt #8
The day Bruce Wayne knocks on her apartment door Sam knows it's going to be a doozy.
"Mr. Wayne, I really do hope no one saw you," she says, ushering him in. "And for the record, a text ahead of time would be appreciated."
"I parked the car a few streets away," Bruce says, sticking a finger in his heel to peel his polished leather shoes off. Sam raises an eyebrow. "It's a sedan, not a Lamborghini."
"You own a sedan?"
"Taught Dick to drive in it...after he crashed the Lamborghini."
Sam snorts despite herself. The charm Bruce Wayne exhibits would usually rub her the wrong way, too reminiscent of wealthy men that feel comfortable placing a hand on the small of your back at a crowded gala, but Bruce is honest enough about his playacting that she has come to find its insincerity comforting. She's actually sought him out more than once, leading to several annoying headlines that can't seem to decide if she's aiming to date him or one of his eligible sons. None of whom are eligible by the way, as they are a) taken, b) legally dead, c) practically a minor, and d) an actual minor.
Sam's generational wealth is peanuts compared to Wayne Industries, so naturally her parents have been thrilled and rooting for option c.
"I also didn't want Danny to see I'd texted you. Or force you to lie to him."
Sam doesn't quite tense, but it's a near thing. She does slide to the other side of her kitchen island, under the context of finishing prepping her feta fried eggs, laid on a bed of smashed avocado and warm tortilla. She pulls a bottle of crunchy garlic oil out of the fridge and drizzles hot red crisps across the runny yolk. She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, not so much as offering him a glass of water.
"You realize, Mr. Wayne, I have no intention of lying to Danny now?"
Bruce sits at the stool on the opposite side of the island. "I understand. And if you want to ask Danny to return home before we continue, I'd understand that as well. I didn't mean to discomfit you--"
"Please do not lie to me now, Mr. Wayne," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "By your own admission you showed up at noon without warning knowing my superhero boyfriend wouldn't be present. If I am discomfited, all the more likely you get your information, right?" Golden yolk runs down her fingers, and she sacrifices it to the napkin rather than lick up her arm in front of her boss, with no small amount of resentment. The yolk is the best part.
"Get to it then," she demands.
Bruce straightens in his stool, chin raising and firming in a jawline she most often sees under a cowl. His eyes attempt to pin her in place, but Sam has stared the Master of Time in the face and demand he reschedule so she is built. different. She takes another bite of egg taco.
"I was not aiming for you to feel threatened, and moreover, I doubt you could be."
Except a smart person should always feel threatened by a threat, no matter their capability of handling one. It keeps them alive.
"Can you tell me how I'm not like all the other girls after lunch? You'll spoil my appetite."
Bruce clears his throat. "I'll get to the point--"
"Thank you."
"--Danny has been exhibiting paranormal behaviors beyond his baseline. We welcome all biologies; human, alien, and paranormal alike, but I have observed actions unlike what he had previously established as his, for lack of a better word, 'normal'
"I want to make sure he is not experiencing any unwelcome outside influence. Or, if this is merely a facet of his evolution, I'd like to know if this is something we or his family should be monitoring."
Sam has been an eco-consultant with Wayne Industries and unofficially, the Batfamily, for half a year now and this is the most she's ever heard the man speak in one sitting.
"Wow," she says. "How long have you been rehearsing that one?"
"A while." Bruce grunts, voice finally taking that final drop into Batman's gravelly rasp. "I see you're not surprised by any of this."
"No, not really," Sam says. She pours him a tall glass of lemon water from the pitcher, freshly sliced that morning, and he takes a polite sip.
"So what can you tell me?"
"Probably a lot. And Danny would probably prefer that I do, knowing him, the big baby," Sam sighs. "Listen Mr. Wayne, I can appreciate that you came here from a place of caution rather than intrusion. And if Danny was undergoing something negative or from an 'unwelcome outside influence' that would be the right call, and I, albeit begrudgingly, encourage you to do so in the future."
"But he's not."
"He's not," Sam confirms. "And in fact, I think he could really use someone to talk to about it. Outside of his family."
"I see..." Bruce says, shifting.
"If you want to tag team this one with one of the higher EQ players, such as Superman, I give you permission." Sam does not think she's imagining that slight sag of relief.
"Thank you," Bruce says, sliding off the stool. "I don't suppose you have material we could consult...?"
"Actually yes, I happen to have a pamphlet right here. 'So your ghostly body is changing, and how.'"
"You're being more sarcastic than usual."
"You interrupted my lunch, Mr. Wayne."
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