I sort of like the thought that Zuko and Aang take the Sun Warriors' warning not to tell anyone about the dragons a little more seriously… and they keep it between them. Of course, they trust Sokka, Toph and Katara. Of course they know they wouldn’t tell anyone, but now three people (including Iroh) know the truth about Ran and Shaw. And that’s three too many when you’re trying to keep a secret.
(and there are other people at the temple as well - like Haru, Teo and The Duke - who, while trustworthy, aren’t as close to them as the others, and when it comes to secrets with as much consequence as this one, you can’t afford to take any chances.)
Furthermore, the culture within the Fire Nation since Sozin’s rein has been warped. The culture is not to respect the dragons as the original firebenders, it’s to conquer and kill them. It’s the ultimate proof of your strength as a firebender. All it takes is one mistake before rumour spreads, and people go looking for the ultimate hunt. It’s not something Zuko or Aang can risk.
Whether Katara, Toph and Sokka (and Suki) ever find out the truth is up to you. But post-war, after Zuko returns from a strange, poorly explained trip with a dragon, and eventually develops the ability to use rainbow fire, either the others have some questions about Aang’s knowing look, or they are finally let in on a monumental secret.
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In an effort to try write something anything I’ve asked various people to give me a word. I’ll add the micro flashes here as they come out
1. Thigh
If handed a pen and a piece of paper TK could map out Carlos’s thighs from memory. Every curve of firm muscle, every dip of soft flesh, the scar he got riding his bike when he was twelve, the soft hair that dusts them. All of it is burned into TK’s living memory.
When he’s not with him he can see them so clearly in his mind's eye. He can picture the way they tense when he comes and trembles when he desperately needs to. His fingers ghost over phantom scratches he’s left behind on the outside of his husband’s thighs a few nights prior.
They’ll be there, under his uniform, standing raised against golden brown skin.
The inside of his thigh starting to purple in a delicate pattern of bruises from TK’s mouth that morning.
Fuck.
He knows them better than he knows his own. He’s traced his fingers along the veins when they’ve had lazy Sundays wherein Carlos lay on his stomach and read trusting TK to amuse himself, and he’s tasted the salty sweet sweat that peppers his skin when he’s been working out and TK dragged him to bed. He’s felt the power in them when Carlos fucks up into him. How they feel squeezing against his sides, trapping him in place, in a warm safety he’s never felt before.
Work is slow. The energy in the firehouse is low and there nothing to occupy TK’s thoughts away from his husband’s thighs.
It’s criminal they’re attached to the man who’s across the other side of the city.
2. Knife
TK knows that there is probably some deep seated, psychological, issue at play in his unconscious mind right now but he’s pushing it to the side to admire his husband’s knife work.
Well, more like drool over it.
He’s seen Carlos cook a thousand times but it feels like this is the first time he’s really seen it.
He’s finely chopping peppers as he talks idly about his day in that sweet, soothing, tone of voice that comes deep from inside of his chest. The kind that calms the voices in TK’s mind and ebbs away his anxiety like cold water in a stream.
TK isn’t listening to a word. He’s transfixed on the way he has the knife gripped in his hand, it’s secure but not too firm, there’s enough movement from the handle that it works as an extension of him. The blade flashes teasingly as it slices through the vegetable with ease. They rhythmic thumpthumpthump on the chopping board is syncopating with TK’s own heartbeat.
Why is he sweating?
The muscles in Carlos’ forearm flexes with every commanding chop of the knife and TK’s mouth goes dry.
“Babe?” The word floats towards him languidly before settling in his brain. He snaps his eyes up to Carlos’ concerned ones.
The concerned expression vanishes as quickly as it came and a smug tug on his lips appears instead, “you good?”
“Bed,” TK says, he misses suave and alluring by a mile and lands on croaky, “forget dinner let’s go to bed.”
Whether or not the knife stays in the kitchen is between them.
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