#unpicked

[silkdamask-blog]

Good morning! Sharing a bit of morning lovely from The Warner House textile collection. Sumptuous silk brocade, with floss fringe, prob. Spitalfields, by mid 18th century. Only the unpicked skirt remains, the bodice long gone. Despite its fragile condition and shattered silk, it retains its vibrance and some of its silky sheen. Worn in Portsmouth, NH & Boston, MA., prob. by Mary MacPhaedris Warner #gorgeousgeorgians #warnerhouse #portsmouthnh

[avayarising]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 10: In which Jee takes a compliment

“It’s hardly fair, is it?” Zhao’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, following him – pressing him – into the room. “He gets forgiven, while you… you will be working off your dishonour for many years to come. What commission can you get? What other ship will take you, once the Prince returns home?”

“Sir,” Jee grunted again. Let him insult him. He didn’t give a flying fuck what Zhao thought of him.

Even though it was true.

“Unless, of course, you know of some reason Prince Zuko shouldn’t return home? Some reason he doesn’t deserve to regain his honour?”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Read from the beginning

[silkdamask-blog]

Late 18thc homespun linen bodice with silk thread embroidery

[avayarising]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Ozai wanted perfection? They made sure he got it. They had worked hard to help Azula to become ready for the field, to become perfect, to be valuable to Ozai. To never even think rebellion. Helping Azula meet his standards, encouraging, even bullying her, until she reached the next accomplishment, perfected the next set, proving herself useful to him.

They had made her loyal.

And in the end, it was all for nothing, because the pressure had broken her, and he had burnt her anyway.

Chapter 7: in which Lo writes a letter.

[avayarising]

– and Azula’s crackling bolt of lightning steadied, became still and straight, and was a beam of blue light thrusting from the horizon to the sky. The cold voltaic shock through his nerves was the sting of cold air damp with spray from the sea, the pressure of electrical charge the weight of armour on his shoulders, the harsh blue-white glow of lightning the grey-white-blue of sea and ice and sky.

…His scalp was cold.

Zuko doesn't know why he's suddenly back on his ship looking at a pillar of light in the sky again. He's not even sure this is real. But if it is, he's going to do things better this time.

Of course, things go wrong almost immediately.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34310251/chapters/85367974

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[avayarising]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 3: In which there is a misunderstanding.

[ballowvalence]

There is a particular kind of sadness in being unchosen. It does not exist all the time. Rather, that is to say… you don’t notice it. Except when you do. It is in the call with a friend and in the background you hear their partner talking. It is in the happily ever after at the end of a movie where he gets the girl.  It is in the dead silence of your bedroom when you sleep at night.  It is in the 2L milk that’s gone off since you didn’t finish it. It is in the held hands between strangers at the store. It is in the repeated question from your mum. It is in the lack of push notifications. It is in the meal leftovers. It is in the mirror. It is in you. But don’t worry about it. Because it’s only there when you notice it.

[avayarising]

Just wanted to let you know I'm loving Unpicked, Unwoven. (And your Jee. Your wonderful, wonderful Jee. He doesn't get enough love.)

Thank you so much! I love Jee too – I think he has great potential and is sadly underused.

We'll see more of Jee in future chapters.