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Consider: Post-canon Zuko wakes up in the body of his childhood self, the morning of That War Meeting. Would he still speak against the plans, knowing his fate? What do you think he would do differently the second time around?
"Turned away at the doors, Zuzu?"
"Shut up, Azula," her brother sulked. But sulked weirdly, after staring at her too long and too wide-eyed, not like she'd surprised him but--
But like he hadn't expected her to be there. At all.
He turned away. ...He turned back. "Hey, Lala? Do you think you could help me practice that one set?"
He didn't meet her eyes.
She narrowed hers. "Which set?"
"The one I'm bad at."
She scoffed. Pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against. "That's all of them, Dum-Dum."
He didn't shout or stomp or yell about the nickname. His lips twitched.
"It's okay," he said. "If you're afraid you won't be a better teacher that my instructor..."
It was the most obvious manipulation ever.
Perhaps if he proved an adequate firebending student, she'd work on his courtly survival skills next. Honestly, it was good that not even Uncle Gets-Cousins-Killed had been fool enough to take Zuko into that war meeting. She could only imagine how terribly that could have gone.
"Keep up," she said, and turned her steps towards the training grounds.
He did. There, and during the katas she ran him through.
Azula kept her eyes narrowed.
"Hey," he asked, "do you know how to bend lightning yet?"
As if he could have missed it, if she'd been able to get more than sparks. "I will soon," she said.
"You will," he agreed, and flowed through his next set. The one she'd only just mastered.
Father didn't notice how weird Zuzu was being. Uncle never noticed anything. Zuko ate dinner and asked a servant for seconds and didn't stutter or flinch or lose his appetite when father asked, coolly, what he'd done with his day. Azula's shoulders tensed, because one mention of how she'd squandered her own training time teaching him--
"Azula hogged the training grounds. For hours," Zuzu scowled, exactly like a petulant thirteen year old.
Exactly like he hadn't been acting all day.
By the time Father was looking her way, Azula had her usual smirk in place. "I'm sure there would be room for both of us," she said, "you're not afraid of a little friendly fire, are you, brother?"
Zuko sulked. And ate his seconds, like he was enjoying each bite. There was something in his eyes, like a joke no one else was getting.
---
Father died that night. A heart attack. There were the faintest of burns to either side of the treacherous organ; the royal physician hypothesized that he'd grabbed at his chest, fingers burning hot in his final moments; so hot they'd only exacerbated the problem.
The royal physician would never have been brought any victims of lighting strikes. Those that occurred in the capital did not generally require a doctor in the aftermath.
Zuzu ate a hearty breakfast.
He didn't order seconds. Azula gave him points, at least, for not being tacky.
---
The sages named Iroh as regent.
They named Zuko as Fire Lord.
"No," the tiny Fire Lord in his perfectly miniaturized Fire Lord robes said, sitting at the head of his war council. "We're not doing that. And I'll be reviewing all recent battle plans, as well. What's this I hear about a division of new recruits being deployed to the front?"
He did not mention how he'd heard of the 41st Division. No one asked.
"Prince Iroh, surely--" one of the generals tried to appeal.
The young Fire Lord's regent was looking as startled as the rest of them, for a moment. Then he sipped his tea, and smiled.
"Your Fire Lord is correct, of course. A change in our leadership--a change the other nations may mistakenly view as weakness--will necessitate a change in our strategy."
"Now," said their lord, "what, exactly, is our overall objective in this war?"
War, the new Fire Lord decreed, was not an end unto itself.
---
The new Fire Lord continued to have time, to pretend to be trained by her. Azula watched him. Adjusted her footwork. Did not tolerate, and was not offered, any commentary on who was teaching who.
"What did you do with my brother?" she asked, as they flowed from one set to the next. As her hands, poised to throw fire, just so happened to be pointed his way.
He missed a step. It didn't look like an act.
"I'm, uh. Right here?"
She didn't bother to dignify that.
He didn't bother to look worried about her hands, one movement off from a true attack.
He looked around, then grabbed her sleeve, and tugged her further from any walls that may hide ears. The royal family's private training grounds were wonderfully large, and wonderfully open.
"It's me," he said. "It's still me. Just. More of me? Longer of me?"
She narrowed her eyes. A familiar expression, by this point. "Explain."
"...I found the Avatar," he said. "And this is definitely his fault, but--but I guess it started at a war meeting, when I was thirteen."
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hi!! sorry if you've been asked this question before, but as someone who wants to be a lawyer, how do you deal with defending people that morally you really don't agree with? thanks!
I get a lot of versions of this question, and I answer it seriously every time, because it’s both important and not important at all. Anyone who asks respectfully gets my whole ass answer.
It’s just not really about that. My job isn’t about defending the idea of hurting someone else. It’s about stopping the state from inflicting further hurt, torture, pain. It’s about pushing back for some fairness against a monumentally stacked system. And it’s about stuff that’s normal human stuff that counts as crime for some reason.
Yeah, it’s hard to do a sex abuse case. Sometimes the images stick around and it bothers me. But honestly? Mostly those cases have real plausible theories of innocence or they’re cases that I will lose because the evidence is there, and the question is not whether the perpetrator will go to jail but how long.
Those cases are so rare, though. I get so much pointless bullshit. Felony of a teen taking mom’s car without permission. Two kids that try to break into a car and get so scared by the alarm that they run away. Trespassing on dad’s house because his new girlfriend wants you to stop coming around. It’s just human stuff, and the violence of the state is not necessary or helpful.
I also reject the idea of punishment completely. The state has a responsibility to stop people from hurting other people again. But inflicting pain doesn’t do it, we know this by now. So I argue for mercy and for real solutions to real problems. I’m here to build a future, not get caught up with doing violence to someone because of the past.
So yeah, sometimes it’s hard, but mostly my conscience is dead clear: I’m not responsible for the crime. The damage has been done. I want to start the healing process, and I want it for everyone involved. When that’s not possible, I just want to tell the authorities they don’t get to just Do What They Want.
The more I do this job, the more I am a genuine pacifist who is against violence in all forms, and actually I don’t see a contradiction between that and what I do for a living. State violence is a pervasive evil that tears apart families, communities, and countries, and it’s far more damaging and awful than any individual crime. The average prosecutor has more blood on their hands than a serial killer, but it’s invisible: people who died in jail, who froze to death on the street, who were shot in a drug deal. Their violence begets violence.
When I get blood on my hands, it’s because I put my hands over the wounds and try to stop the flow. I’m okay with it.
Also: people don’t ask doctors how they can stand to treat bad people. Why ask me?
#i find people have such an inherent misunderstanding of the roles of defense attorneys (understandably but still)#in that most people i talk to seem to be envisioning me personally defending the right of people to commit crimes or that like. Crime Is#Good Actually#‘yeah this person did X but they should never face any consequences ever please and thank you judge’#(and people think this would WORK??? a different tangent on a lack of legal education and cop shows being awful etc)#meanwhile i am simply protecting people’s rights. yes even those people’s#idk i could write my own post but op Gets It and also a prosecutor just filed the DUMBEST motion ive ever seen and i need to respond to that#instead lmao (via @anixit26)
The number of people who respond to my post about how even the guiltiest person in the world deserves rights with "but not [crime I think makes you undeserving of rights]!" is truly insane. People really truly think that being accused of a crime makes you irredeemably evil and protecting the rights of those accused means you are also evil.
so, i noticed that in “sinners,” remmick is portrayed as playing a banjo when he performs. that piqued my interest because i know somebody, hannah mayree, who runs something called the “Black banjo reclamation project” which aims to educate people about the banjo’s african origins and history in Black music, accepts donations of banjos to be distributed for free to Black folks who are interested in playing, and offers shows and events oriented toward helping Black people reconnect to their roots through this instrument.
there’s a campout that starts tomorrow, june 4th, and an online study group that starts this weekend, june 6th, and some events and shows this summer that look really fun. there’s also a newsletter for any future events!
looks like i can’t put the link to the website, but it’s just the name of the project dot org
I have always loved a good banjo. It's crazy bc it's from Africa, but it always gets a bad rap as a Southern White Hick stereotype. Which, interestingly enough, is probably why they gave it to Remmick. A sort of sign that even in this, he's trying to use Our Music to get Inside to Us. But anyway, somebody shredding on a banjo is 🤌🏾🔥
I'd actually love to participate in something like that, because I gave up on this guitar 😭 I don't have the memory and focus anymore to teach myself music.
This seems like a great place to plug the full-length documentary about the all-Black old-time string band Carolina Chocolate Drops:
They formed at a Black Banjo Gathering in North Carolina in 2005 and have been a big influence in the revival of Black traditional/string band/old-time/folk music in general but also from the Piedmont region of the Carolinas.
I especially like this documentary because they talk about how you take a style of music that's been whitewashed/repressed and bring it back for a modern audience, while repairing its ties to and honoring the Black ancestors who played it first. The origins of the banjo are a huge part of that and a huge part of the documentary.
Further context: Durham city council (Reform UK) cut funding and support for Pride. The Durham Miner's Association and other trade unions raised enough money for Durham Pride 2026 to go ahead - a direct call back to when Lesbian and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM) raised money for mining communities when Margaret Thatcher seized union funding during the miner strikes of 1984-85.
At the 1985 Labour party meet, the motion to support LGBT rights as a party was passed due to a block vote from mining unions.
Stephen Guy, the chair of the Durham Miners’ Association, said that when it became apparent Durham Pride was under threat, he took it upon himself to “encourage the trade union movement to step up and do the right thing, and stand shoulder to shoulder with the LGBT+ community […] They not only raised funds for us, but came to our communities, uplifted our spirits when they were down, and showed their solidarity.”
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so i’ve eliminated my phone from the “staying up all night” equation by getting an alarm clock and charging said phone in another room, but this resulted in a second, secret problem of staying up too late drawing because i still had my tablet. i don’t wanna move my tablet to another room as well because i like having a little bit of drawing time before bed so for about a week i was like….. oh i’ll just force myself off at the correct time eventually. one of these days that will happen.
but last night realized i'm never gonna just gain the willpower to curb my bad habits at random, that’s the entire reason i took the phone out of the room, so i just. set my tablet to turn completely greyscale from 12:30am to 8am to prevent me from staying up all night drawing. and guess who actually fucking went to bed the second his tablet turned grey.
moral of the story and a lesson i think everyone can take from this is don’t expect yourself to just get over your bad habits through sheer force of will. it won’t fucking happen. instead make them as annoying as possible to continue. make them completely unsatisfying. sabotage your bad habits.
when James Baldwin said to be a pessimist means that you have agreed that human life is an academic matter. So I am forced to be an optimist. I am forced to believe that we can survive whatever we must survive.
In 2026, the chicest thing a gay actor can do is never explicitly come out as gay but also make it abundantly clear that he is. Coming out is too modern. Staying closeted is too old fashioned. But this method merges contemporary freedom with Old Hollywood glamour and allure, and it weeds out the dumbest people who truly don’t get it. I call it the Pascal Method.
You clearly don't go here or to queer history and signaling, or both, enough to have this conversation and I'm not going to explain it to you. You could have asked questions, you could have done even a modicum of research. You didn't and you made yourself look ignorant. Goodbye.
#I'm fucking crying#this is an instant classic#this is the next meme#i can't believe I'm here to see a baby copypasta nary two hours old#I can't#lol#i laughed way too hard#iconic
please eat enough and drink enough water and get enough sleep. this is so that you have enough energy. because we need you to be writing and drawing porn on the internet
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And there was an extraordinary atmosphere uniting us, of comfort in being amongst our own with no thought given to the mortal world whatsoever.
It was not the imitation of mortal life I'd achieved with Louis and Claudia in our little bourgeois townhouse in the French Quarter of New Orleans. It was a different kind of life, our life, defined by how we wanted to dress, to dance, to speak, to be together. And mortal life had nothing to do with it.
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
