#my one gripe is that its only single sided. the back is just white. why use clear acrylic if ur not gonna make it double sided??

[mayorofcattown]

Finally got around to trying out proxy services for finding niche anime merch and of course my first purchase was this tanuma with kitties keychain I found for surprisingly cheap

#id been looking for merch of this set for ages when they came out but could never find them #so i was surprised to actually find one tbh #id have gotten the natsume one too but they were like 40 nzd WITHOUT fees and i am not paying that much for a keychain lol #for reference this one was like $8. plus like $15 in fees. which is still reasonable tbh #my one gripe is that its only single sided. the back is just white. why use clear acrylic if ur not gonna make it double sided??

[royalrazz37]

Disclaimer: I love this film. These are just my critics. I know someone else has already pointed these issues out and better than I ever could. Just wanted to get my thoughts out. Feel free to link their analysis

Post Disclaimer Disclaimer: A lot of these may be petty and have no real solution so I apologize preemptively.

Without further ado here is an aging millennial’s concerns with: The Lion King (1994)

Small nitpicks first

Incest

Usually lion prides have a single adult male that mates with all the females but in this case there are two, Mufasa and Scar, meaning, that at best Simba and Nala are first cousins and at worst siblings, getting married and having children.

On the flip side there is nothing more royal than keeping it all in the family.

Say his name

What is Scar’s real name? I know it can probably be found somewhere but i think it’s pretty messed up it’s never said in the movie. Also making someone’s physical feature their name is rude. Its like calling someone Hairy, Big Nose, or Six-Fingered Man.

Sexiest Lion

From what I remember learning about lions, the males with darker manes are seen as more attractive. So why is my man Scar not getting hole? I know its a kids movie but could we at least see a couple dark furred cubs running about? (I know about Kovu)

Choice of voice actors

Why are all the good characters voiced by white people? (Exceptions for James and Madge) and all the bad guys are POC? And its some extra ish when only the lackeys are POC. The big bad is white. Colored folk can’t even be their own boss.

And i know the remake “fixed” this but we’re not talking about the new woke Disney.

Now the real gripes

Monarchy and leadership

While the idea of a hereditary monarchy is bad enough the main plot strongly implies divine right is just and desirable.

Mufasa is supposed to be king and this is reflected by the kingdom being pristine and in balance.

Scar, who is not ordained by the sky daddies, takes the throne and all falls to ruin.

Then the “rightful king” returns, restoring prosperity to the land.

It gives credence to the idea that a higher power has to approve of a leader for things to go right. That those in power are there because that is how it’s supposed to be.

Look, little one. See what happens when you try to break the status quo? Bad things happen. Be happy with your lot in life.

If you try to rise above your station like Scar, well. You saw what happened. (I know Scar murdered fools but you get my drift)

“But Razz” I hear you say. “The reason things went bad is because Scar had the hyenas live in the pride lands and they ate everything. Those slobbering mangy stupid poachers!”

Aha! I say. You activated my trap card.

US History as a Metaphor

I think its safe to say that the hyenas are coded as POC. As such the idea of their integration into the pride lands being the catalyst for its blight is troubling.

It harkens back to the fear of the negro moving into cities during white flight. Hyenas/blacks move in and everything goes to shit.

Thats why we keep them in their elephant graveyards and shadow lands (the ghettos) so the blight doesn’t spread.

And if one of the hyenas do come into the pride lands we send our strong alpha Mufasa to beat and brutalize them.

Also the hyenas are painted as gluttons for wanting to eat. THEY WERE IN A LITERAL GRAVEYARD.

Of course they’re hungry. Of course they’d want to eat everything they could. They were forced to live that way.

Now lets draw a line.

Hyenas are always hungry because they live in a food desert and actual desert.

They live there because of enforced segregation by the lions.

Lions who then blame the the hyenas for being hungry and use that as justification to continue segregation and harsh policing of the hyenas movements.

Sounds familiar.

And the film’s solution to all this is a return to the status quo. Yuck.

Not to mention the sequel where there’s a reconciliation between the lionesses who supported Scar and the pridelanders because Kiara says “We’re the same”. I know I’m probably grasping a straws here but that moment felt like the Irish and Italians gaining whiteness.

Ok rant over.

#lion king #lion king 1994 #Razz Rants #my rants

[chrissshub]

❝GOTTA EARN IT❞

⭑—pairings: ex-husband!Ran Haitani x ex-wife! reader

⭑—cw: oral(m. receiving), chair sex, creampie, Ran being a meanie, baby trapping

⭑—a/n: to my dearest moot deja. we’ve had quite the adventure, from wattled, to here, getting our accounts shadow-banned within just two weeks and now to the both of us growing into where we are now. I'm so proud of you and cannot wait to see what else comes of both you and I. Just saying, I will be waiting for the day to flex that I know a real cool journalist. Love you <333

There was always the unspoken tension existing between you and Ran, resulting in an untimely divorce he never could have anticipated. To begin, it didn’t help that he stood at the door frame of his apartment, arm perched against white painted trim. His neatly pressed trousers hung around his belted waist, the white button-down leaving his marked chest on display.

As heavy as it weighed upon you to peel away from his chilling stare to observe his laxed attire, it pained you more to hear those remarks spill from his suave mouth. Keeping your calmed composure was a challenge alone, arms folded across the wide chest of your pink dress.

“Hello…Ran,” you griped, flaunting a faux smile. Taking a moment to send a flickering glare over your brooding figure, Ran gave into you, bringing his sly smirk towards your own.

“Well, don’t you look pretty with that dress? Bet you got it with my money…right?”

Pushing past him, you entered the dimly lit living room forcefully, settling onto the cherry leather couch. “Funny you talk about money,” you surmised, eyes falling on Ran's lazy movements as he shut the door. “You must know why I’m here then.”

“ ‘Course I do, it’s the only thing that brings you around these days. You want me to increase the alimony…for reasons,” he hummed, dropping into the armchair adjacent from you.

“Well, when you feel the need to tell me about how you “stumbled” across money, I just want what’s due.”

Rather than to look you in the eye, Ran found himself slouching into the seat, head tossing back to stare at the ceiling’s lights aimlessly.

“Tch, you know it’s much kinder on the both of us if you just got back with me. I don’t have to ruin my wallet every month and you won’t be on an allowance. It’s a win-win to me, Sweetheart, don’t you?” Ran leaning over his knees as he posed the question.

A scoff riddled with disgust rang from your chest, your hand waving off the bizarre idea.

“Ran what don’t you understand about the term, divorce? We’re done and nothing is going to–”

“All you do is run that mouth of yours. While I’m out risking my life, you just sit there and collect a nice check. Quite the Princess complex you’re developing, and it needs to be fixed…now.”

“Ran, I don’t know who you could possibly be talking to, but it’s not me,” your tone sharper than before. Just this conversation alone was suffocating, having to occupy the same area as Ran once more. His tongue was slick, knowing which words to pry at your spirit.

You sank deeper into the chair’s plush, Ran taking the cue of silence to speak again.

“Well Y/N, if you want it so bad, come work for it.”

“And how do you expect me to do that, Ran?”

A single digit arose, pointing to the convenient space between his legs. His eyes never parting from yours, not a glint of regret nor shame could be found in his hues. His motions didn’t lack from his usual smug manner, even a grin joined upon his features as he rattled off

“On your knees, of course.”

The strike of heat that rose to your cheeks was heavier than before, eyes widening at the brash request. You shook your head, rebuking such an idea in its entirety. “Ran, there’s no possible way I can–”

“Then walk out that door and come back when you're ready to come home–to both me and my money.”

Though the proposal was truly one-sided, there was one known fact that existed amongst you two. Whenever his words fell onto a slow roll of his tongue, his chest holding in each breathe with intent, and his eyes trained to catch each twitch of your body…he had you laced around his fingers without a doubt.

Blame it on the self-control, or maybe the aching need residing between your legs, but there was something simply sinful in how you mindlessly rose to your feet, strolling towards Ran with lust written across your eyes.

“Go on. If you do a real good job, I’ll just double the alimony.”

You kept your head low from Ran’s view, allowing for the tips of your fingers to drag along Ran’s clothed thigh. Every graze was met with the slightest bit of resistance, the tense hold succumbing beneath your touch. The air began to weigh heavy, the staggered heated pants leaving from Ran’s lungs.

His hands found a new strength along the chair’s arms, prompting for the veins to rise to the forefront of his skin.

Ran watched as you gently tugged at the black leather, falling from its clamped hold around his hips. With a lazy drag and a greedy lift, both pants and briefs sat around his knees. Your eyes flew up to his, studying the cherried highs of his cheeks.

“This is the first and last time I ever do this, got it?”

“You say that but we both know the truth, Y/N. You miss me and want to do anything to stay near me, Baby. Just shut up and earn your money, mkay?”

You shuddered at Ran’s words, his slender fingers cupping your puffy cheek. Even after a four-year marriage, he never failed to bring you back to the premature days of your blooming romance.

A small smirk grew across your lips, sending a wavering glare down Ran’s chest. The charcoal patterns of ink adorning his skin, marking its way along the right of his body.

Upon reaching his abdomen, you were greeted by the flustered swell consuming the crown of his cock, the pearly beads of white spilling from his slit. Following the trail, the rivulets of precum only seemed to emphasize the pulsing veins surging with his heated blood.

Your lips gravitated to his length, placing down trails of gentle pecks. The hints of salt seeped onto your tongue, bringing the soft purrs of delight to stream from your throat.

“You know how much I hate teasing, I can only have but so much patience, Angel,” Ran reminded, his hand resting atop your head.

Your hand braced around the base of his cock, squeezing his girth within your fist, basking in the sharp seethe strumming between his gritted teeth.

Pressing the flat of your eager tongue along Ran’s shaft, painting a glossy strip along his stiffened cock, the thumping twitches blending through your touch.

Guiding the trail to the fat tip, you kept your tongue flat, displaying the pretty contrast of salacious hues.

“That’s the pretty tongue I remember,” Ran rasped, his head tossing back from view. “Get everything in your mouth fr’ me now!”

With an abiding nod, you allowed the slicked muscle to swipe about the head, the warmth of his desire tingling against your tongue’s grooves.

The plush mounds of your lips finally clung to him, sealing off the blushed tip greedily. Inch by inch, you took him deeper into your mouth, eyes, mind, and body growing unsteady beneath the amorous atmosphere.

Shameful thoughts were no stranger to you, helplessly indulging in Ran without a single care. You swore to never fall into his one-sided whims.

But there was one intoxicating fact that you couldn’t ignore, knowing that you held the power to Ran’s relief. Just the flick of your tongue, roll of your hips, even the shrill being pulling from the depths of your lungs dictate his undoing.

The sight had you enthralled, basking in the shuddering shivers licking past his skin. Ran had become immune to the idea of looking to his ex-wife for pleasure was apparent, his mouth granting for such indecent sobs to fall.

His reaction only spurred you to continue, using the hollows of your cheek to suckle around Ran’s crown. Your mouth playful strummed along his length, the explicit ‘pop’ ringing through the air. Through the dips of your head, you only ever allowed for his cock to be teased by the back of your throat, stirring up his urge to buck his hips unrelentingly.

Yet somewhere along the way, the reasoning behind such dedication slipped from you, only the forgotten remnants of what used to be flooding your mind.

And what used to be you, happily sinking onto your knees to help bring a sense of ease over Ran after a hard day’s work. It was honorable at a time, one that seemed to influence Ran’s hazy mind.

The soft grip he once held atop your head crept to the nape of your neck, ripping your mouth from his cock. Both pairs of eyes were immediately drawn to the gummy strands of your spit, connecting your lips to his length.

With his chest huffing for air, Ran pushed a kiss onto you, his arms racing to latch around your sides. You found your body settled atop of his bare thighs, legs slotted beside his own and your hands yanking at the inseam of your panties.

“Just like old times, Beautiful. Gonna let me fuck you, right?” Ran cooed, his hand snaked between your bodies. Uncaringly, he took hold of his cock, nipping at your entrance with a tease jolt. With frantic nods of your head, nonsensical babbles flew from your swollen lips, hips rocking with such desperation.

In a swift manner, Ran found himself writhing beneath you, gasping at the velvety heat your walls enveloped him in. It wasn’t a far cry from discreet, Ran barely giving you a moment to adjust. The curves of his nails clipped at your waist, his strength overwhelming your own. Your hips succumbed to his pace, the brutal snaps striking at your skin.

Your hands braced around Ran’s neck, struggling to keep up with his untamed vigor. Your mouth unraveled with the squeal equalling that of pornographic shrills.

The burning tease of tears welled up along your lashline, each drop smearing against Ran’s cheek. The pad of his thumbs circled at your trembling thighs, his subtle attempts of calming your broken mind.

“I know, I know, just take it for a few more–”

His words came to a sudden end, the brash groan of relief cutting through a gritted grin. The pearly white ropes flooded your womb. Ran was all too quick with himself, keeping you firmly grounded against him. His lips graced the curve of your ear, rattling off his daunting motives.

“Maybe a child would bring us back together, what do you think?”

A plump pout formed onto your lips, pushing away from Ran’s heaving chest. “Aw, no fair, Ran! Just a little bit more, I was so close!”  hands crashing against the hull of his chest. In spite of your words, his brows came into a knit, paired with head tilt fueled from ignorance bliss.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Last time I checked, I only make my wife cum and well…you aren’t mine anymore, Y/N.” Through the thick curls of his lashes, ran sent you a chilling glare towards you, a slutty smirk easing upon his features.

“If you wanna cum too, my pretty ex…you gotta earn that too.”

⭑—tags: @dejwrites @gabzlovesu @nanaminshousewife @tokyomanjihoe @presidentmonica @aasouthteranoswife @haikyutiehoe @varietysins @kazusugar @whore4mikey @rinhoes @dabilovesme @getoswhore @po3ticb3auty @rinny-babe @the-great-himbo @kenmasbimbo @10-jiku @jjjangsta @mitsuyasfavorite @yukihime-mikeys-girl @sweeneyblue1 @angwritez @devilgirlcrybabiey

wanna join my taglist click here:))

#anime #x fem!reader #x female reader #reader insert #x black fem reader #x black reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani x you #ran haitani #tokyo revengers ran #tokrev ran #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani smut

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Mending

ever wondered what happens when you have too many ideas and want to do them all immediately so you cram them into one story even though it doesn’t make any sense?? this. this is what happens

What if Zuko was the one struck by Azula's attack in The Chase? And what if instead of fire, it was lightning? An exploration of what would have occurred between Zuko, Iroh, and the Gaang in that scenario. Hint -- the Gaang has a LOT of fun messing with him.

word count: 29,650

_____________________________________

It happened so fast. Unbelievably fast. 

One second, Azula was standing in front of them, trapped and outnumbered, raising her hands in defeat. They’d beaten her; they’d won. It should’ve been over. Then, with a single sweep of her arm, a bolt of lightning shot from her fingertips, zipping toward Iroh too quickly, too close range for him to react in time to redirect it. 

She had been aiming at him. It should’ve been him getting hit, him doubling over, him collapsing lifelessly to the ground. So why was his nephew suddenly flying in front of him? Why did the lightning strike him instead? How could he have predicted what was about to happen, let alone moved in time to take the blow? 

Why did the world dip into slow motion as the electricity coursed through his body? Flashing, cracking, sizzling—coiling like neon blue snakes? Why couldn’t he move as he watched Zuko fall? Why didn’t he reach out and catch him? Why did his screams sound distant even though he was right there, convulsing at his feet?  

Why did the stench of burning flesh have to smell so familiar?

“Zuko!”

The avatar and his gang threw everything they had at the princess. But in a flash of blue flame, heat and smoke exploded across the battlefield. When the air cleared, she was gone. Zuko lied where he’d fallen, motionless and silent. 

Iroh dropped to his knees. “No—Zuko—no.” A large hole was seared through the fabric on the upper left side of his chest. The skin that was visible was red and raw. His eyes were closed and his muscles were slack. He looked asleep—peaceful, even. 

It was too similar. Too real. His last day in Ba Sing Se roared back to the present with a ferocious vengeance. With trembling hands, Iroh cradled the boy’s head. 

“Nephew...can you hear me? Zuko…please...”

Once they’d determined the threat was gone, the group gazed upon the gut-wrenching scene, stunned. A cold knot formed in Aang’s belly. Zuko had been hurt—bad. Zuko was their enemy. They’d been fighting each other not even thirty seconds ago. But the old general he called his uncle had always seemed strangely neutral. He’d never actively fought against any of them. Back in the Northern Water Tribe, he’d helped them save the moon spirit—and in turn, the entire world. 

However evil Zuko was, Aang didn’t want him to die. The old man clearly cared about him. And the sound of his sobs…

He looked to Katara. The war raging in her soul gleamed in the whites of her eyes. She caught his gaze, grimacing bitterly, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Katara,” Toph said, the weight of the situation heavy in her voice. The others held their breath, glancing between Zuko and the waterbender. Slowly, the anger drained from her expression. 

She stepped toward the old man, extending her hand. “I—I can help,” she said. “I can heal him, if you’ll let me.”

“Katara!” Sokka protested. She ignored him. Iroh looked at her over his shoulder, eyes red and pleading. 

That was all the confirmation she needed. Katara rushed to Zuko’s other side, kneeling opposite of Iroh. She streamed a line of water from her pouch and cloaked it around her hands.

“What are you doing?” Sokka snapped. “He’s our enemy!”

“He’s hurt,” Katara retorted coldly. “He needs my help.”

“I d-don’t think he’s breathing,” Iroh stammered, clutching the teenager like he’d disintegrate if he let him go. “Is he—is his heart—I c-can’t tell if he’s—”

“He’s breathing,” Toph assured him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I can feel it. His heart’s beating, too.” She closed her eyes. “But...they’re both very weak.”

It tore her up, feeling Iroh shiver against the ground, hearing his voice quake with fear. She’d only spoken to him once, but in their short conversation, he’d proved himself to be a wise, kind person who would do anything for his troubled nephew. They couldn’t let him die, if only for Iroh’s sake.

Katara held her hands over the injury, the water following its path through his body. The damage was deep and gruesome. Streams of burnt flesh fanned out from the entry wound across the majority of his torso, snaked down his left leg, then re-concentrated at the bottom of his foot, where the lightning must have exited. 

“This is bad,” she admitted, her gaze shifting to Zuko’s face. He’d never looked so fragile to her before—so small. His weird bald ponytail look was gone; he’d chopped it off and let his hair start growing out. It was short, fuzzy, and—dare she say—cute, comparatively. It also aged him down, making him look less like a scary Fire Nation soldier and more like a teenager. 

“It’s going to take me awhile. We should find somewhere safe to move him.”

Iroh sniffled and wiped his eyes, holding Zuko’s head in his lap and running a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he said. “Yes, let’s—yes. Okay.”

It took him a minute to stand. He kept his palm cupped under Zuko’s head, never letting it touch the ground. Once he was on his feet, Katara and Aang helped lift his nephew into his arms. 

“Thank you,” the old man whimpered. “Thank you all s-so much...” Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he held Zuko close to his chest. Aang offered him a small smile. 

“Let’s head back toward the river,” Katara said, returning the water to her pouch. “Appa should be waiting for us there. We can set up camp in the surrounding forest.” 

As she walked past Sokka, he gave her a what is wrong with you look. She shot back with a glare of her own, which shut him up for the time being. 

That lasted about two minutes. As Katara led the way, Sokka jogged to catch up with her, keeping his voice low.

“You do realize how crazy this is, don’t you?”

Katara narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond.

“We’re helping Zuko. You know, royal Fire Nation psycho freak? Ozai’s devil spawn? The guy who's been chasing us around and terrorizing us since we first met Aang? The dude who wants nothing more than to kill us all and drag our friend back to the Fire Nation like a prized turkey pig?”

“You think I want to help him?” Katara snapped, holding her shoulders tight as she walked. “He’ll die if I don’t heal him. Are you saying we should just let him die?”

Sokka swallowed and stared at his feet. “I...no. I don’t know. I just...don’t see any version of this ending well.”

“I know it’s weird,” Aang concurred, glancing back at Iroh nervously. “But...we have to help him. It’s the right thing to do.”

“What if one of us got shot full of lightning?” Sokka retorted. “You think Prince Jerkbender would do anything to help us? Of course not. He would exploit the situation to try to capture Aang.”

“His uncle would help,” Toph said.

Aang smiled solemnly. “Exactly. Don’t think of it as helping Zuko. Think of it as helping Iroh not be sad.” He blinked, his eyes darkening. “He seems...really scared and shaken.”

“It boggles my mind that he cares about him so much. That old man’s kindness is completely wasted on a selfish moron like Zuko.” 

Iroh moaned suddenly, causing the group to freeze in place and turn around. The Fire Nation general was trailing far behind them, flushed and sweaty. His knees were wobbling under the burden of Zuko’s weight.

“I’m so sorry,” he grated out. “S’my old joints. Please...could someone…”

Slowly, all eyes swiveled to Sokka. It took him a moment to notice the sudden onslaught of attention. He glanced between his friends, spluttering.

“What?” he exclaimed. “Why me?”

Aang shrugged. “Out of all of us, you’re probably the strongest.”

“But I don’t want to carry the angry jerk!” he whined, stamping his feet.

Katara placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t want to, or you’re not strong enough to?” she retorted smugly. 

Sokka knew she was baiting him, but with a huff, he decided to bite. All of them were exhausted; Azula and her tank of dangerous ladies had made sure of that. The sooner they got to camp, the sooner they could rest. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. He marched back toward Iroh, griping sourly under his breath. “Here—gimme.”

Sokka knelt down and let Iroh drape Zuko over his back. Sokka wrapped his arms under his knees and hoisted his weight forward, bundling the unconscious prince into the world’s most unhappy piggyback ride. 

Once he was secure, Sokka rose upright and stomped after Katara, face gnarled with irritation. “Happy now?” he said. “If he wakes up and roasts me alive, I’m blaming you.”

“Please be careful with him,” Iroh said nervously, tailing Sokka with his hands out like he was going to drop his nephew at any moment.

Sokka rolled his eyes but held Zuko a little tighter. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmured.

Ten minutes later, they reached the river. Appa was snoring peacefully beneath a tree with Momo nestled in his fur. The sun poked above the horizon line, casting blood red beams across the water.

As Aang gathered their blankets and sleeping bags from Appa’s saddle, Katara yawned and pointed at an alcove between two evergreens. “Toph, could you make us an earth tent? One big enough for all of us to fit.”

Toph jabbed her fists out then up, forming a large, triangle-shaped structure. The gang staggered inside, blinking and rubbing their sleepy eyes, with Iroh close behind.

“Lay him down here,” Katara instructed. Aang spread their spare blanket across the ground while Sokka unraveled himself from the lifeless firebender. 

“You know, you’re a lot heavier than you look, your highness,” Sokka scoffed. “Might want to lay off the fire gummies. And your obsessive rage-fueled quest of evil against me and my friends.”

Iroh hurried to Sokka’s aid. The two of them worked together to gently guide Zuko to the ground. Aang tucked Sokka’s Water Tribe jacket under his head as a pillow. 

“But that’s…!” Sokka began, then sunk in defeat. “Oh, whatever.”

“He looks so still,” Iroh breathed. He petted Zuko’s hair and ran his thumb along his cheek, tears glistening in his eyes. “Oh, nephew. How could I let this happen…?”

Again?

Katara re-soaked her hands in water and sat on Zuko’s left. “I’ll help him as much as I can,” she said, expression steely. She stifled another yawn, then got to work. 

The moon was high in the sky by the time she was done. The wound was still bad, but edging away from life-threatening. Her friends had fallen asleep long ago; she and Iroh were the only one’s left awake. She would’ve kept going, but at this point, she could barely keep her eyes open.

“He’ll need a few more sessions to heal properly,” she said, streaming the water back into her pouch and rising to her feet, “and a lot of rest. I’ll start again in the morning.”

“Thank you, young lady,” Iroh said, bowing his head. “I owe you and your friends an insurmountable debt. I know how you all must feel about my nephew, but…” He swallowed, voice wavering. “He—he’s very important to me. I know he is capable of great good, he’s just...been through a lot.” 

Katara wasn’t sure how to respond. She didn’t want to entertain the possibility that Zuko was or ever could be an actual human being with feelings—not after all the pain and trouble he’d put them through. Regardless of how his uncle saw him, he was still their enemy: a Fire Nation scumbag determined to capture their friend and rid the world of its last emblem of hope. Healing him was a reflection of her own kindness, and a courtesy to Iroh; it had nothing to do with Zuko himself. Having the capacity for good wasn’t enough; he’d never acted on it, which rendered it meaningless.

Katara glared at the ground. “If he wakes up…” she began.

“He will be no trouble to you,” Iroh assured her. “You have my word.”

She trusted him, though she wasn’t sure why. He was just as much Fire Nation as Zuko, but his aura and levelness reminded her of her father. Someone inclined to protect the wellbeing of others, and who never broke their promises. Still, she wasn’t letting her guard down.

She eyed the large red splotch on Zuko’s chest. “Even if I can fully heal him, he’ll probably still be left with a scar.”

Iroh blanched, but kept his expression stony. “I see,” he said. His somber gaze shifted to his nephew’s face. “That is okay. He can handle it.” His fingers carded through Zuko’s hair, lingering around his left eye. “It won’t be his first time being scarred by a family member.”

Something cold coiled around Katara’s heart. Her eyes flickered toward the dark, leathery burn marring half of the prince’s face before quickly jerking away. Someone in his family did that to him? She’d never thought much about Zuko’s scar—just that it marked him as an individual, distinguished him as their enemy, and made him all the more scary-looking for it. She hadn’t really considered how he’d gotten it, or what significance that might carry. 

Her curiosity was officially piqued, but she knew better than to ask. She turned away indignantly. What does it matter, anyway? A bad home life doesn’t warrant a lifetime of evil. 

No amount of sob stories would ever make Zuko deserving of her sympathy.

“Goodnight,” she said, curling up beside her friends.

“Goodnight,” he replied. He scooted behind Zuko and lifted his head into his lap, periodically checking his pulse as he petted his hair. It didn’t look like he was planning to go to sleep anytime soon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world that Zuko woke to was bright and painful. A beam of sunlight was shining directly into his eyes, making him squint and blink. He tried to shift to escape the harsh glow, but he couldn’t seem to move.

Maybe it had something to do with the bone-deep agony radiating through his entire body.

It started underneath his left shoulder and pulsed out from there, feverish and nauseating. His foot surged with a similar ache, but to a less heated degree. Every feeble attempt to move made it a hundred times worse. Even breathing was excruciating. 

Ugh, he thought, gritting his teeth. His mind was hazy; his skull felt like it was full of stones. Wha…?

He blinked, and a blinding blue flash exploded behind his eyelids. He jolted as the memory returned, his hand flying to his shoulder.

Azula. Outnumbered. Defeated. But...she attacked. Uncle. Had to protect him. Jumped between them. Then…

A cataclysmic thrum of unimaginable pain. After that, everything had clapped to darkness.

Grimacing, Zuko slid one hand underneath his body and pushed against the ground. The effort left him dizzy and gasping, but he managed to lift himself off the floor and into a sitting position, his bare back resting against the stone wall behind him. He sat that way for a while, panting and moaning, gripping his chest where the pain throbbed like a second heartbeat. 

Azula had done this to him. Figured. Had she captured the avatar and dragged him home to Father while he was out, taking away his only chance of ever redeeming his honor? 

He looked down at his shoulder, lifting his hand away from the skin. A large, red scar lied underneath, blistered and swollen and still relatively fresh. The splotchy, scarlet circle was the only visible evidence left by Azula’s attack, although he could feel its harrowing effect in every muscle of his body. It looked slightly different than the mark on his face—felt different, too. But not different enough. 

Another burn. Another scar. At least this one he could hide.

But man, did it hurt.

He tore his gaze away from the wound and scanned his surroundings, blinking the sleepy sheen from his eyes. He was in some kind of tall, tent-like structure made of earth. The ground around him was littered with blankets, bags, and other miscellaneous items. Not Uncle’s belongings, he realized. Zuko’s throat tightened. 

He’d have to worry about dealing with Azula later. For now…

Where in the world am I?

Voices reached his ears, making him perk up in alarm. Someone calling from afar, followed by a cheerful laugh.

“Hold on—let me grab my staff!”

Footsteps approached, quick but light. A few moments later, a figure jogged into the tent, silhouetted by sunshine. Zuko squinted against the harsh brightness, his eyes still bleary with exhaustion. 

The individual moved out of the doorway to rummage through a bag on the floor. Only when he stood upright, glider in hand, backlit by the sun but no longer blown out, did his bald head, blue tattoos, and chipper smile become distinguishable.

No way.

“Found it!” the avatar cried. Then his gaze fell upon the injured firebender, who was now sitting upright and visibly conscious, and his eyes bugged out of his skull.

“Ah!” he gasped, flinching back and dropping his staff. Before Zuko had time to react, let alone process what was going on, Aang darted out of the tent, shouting: “He’s awake! Guys! Zuko’s awake!”

Zuko blinked. And suddenly, four people were looming over him, their outlines and features fuzzy-looking. Time seemed to be flying by at double the speed while he was trapped in slow motion. His brain felt like a mushy bowl of jook. Fortunately, he managed to identify the individuals surrounding him.

Unfortunately, they were the last four people he wanted to see right now. 

“What the—?” he exclaimed, panic blooming in his chest. He tried to sit up a little straighter, but the movement made his chest flare with pain. He clutched it with a groan, slumping limply against the wall. 

“Don’t move,” the small earthbending girl said. “You’re hurt really bad.”

Zuko forced his eyes open, leering between the avatar and his gang, sweating bullets and shivering all over. Why was he shivering so much? Why couldn’t he make it stop? He didn’t just feel hurt; he felt sick. The wound was hot and sticky against his palm.

“W-what are you doing here?” he growled. 

“Saving you, that’s what,” Aang retorted. The Water Tribe boy—Sokka, if his memory served—stood beside him, holding his boomerang at the ready. 

“Azula attacked you,” he explained. “She shot you full of lightning. You’d be dead if Katara hadn’t helped you.”

Zuko’s stomach turned icy. His eyes wandered to the waterbender, who frowned at him with her hand hovering over her pouch. All of them looked ready to kill him the second he made the wrong move. 

Meanwhile, he felt ready to puke. 

Why would they save me? That meant they needed him for something. Information? Intel on the Fire Nation? A ransom hostage? Fat chance he’d be helpful on any of those accounts. They could turn him over to his father, maybe—he was a fugitive of the Fire Nation. Then again, so were they. 

Or they were lying about saving him. Maybe they’d kidnapped him after Azula’s attack just so they got to watch him suffer a slow, grisly death. Maybe this was building toward some elaborate form of payback for all the times he’d tried to capture the avatar. His injury wasn’t even bandaged—no medicine in sight, either. What exactly had they done to help him?

“I’ll go get Iroh,” Aang said, jogging out of the tent. Zuko’s fear-fueled fantasies veered into confusion.

What? Uncle’s here? Why? Was he hurt, too? Had the avatar and his friends captured them both? What was going on? 

“His fever’s gotten worse,” the earthbender said. It took Zuko a second to realize she was talking about him, and a second longer to realize she had somehow come to this conclusion without even touching him. It made no sense. None of this did. It felt like he was trapped inside some crazy, lucid nightmare.

Katara studied him for a while, her eyes dark and searching. Then she sighed, coating her hands in water. She walked toward him suddenly, making Zuko tense.

“Stay back!” he shouted, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering. He kept one palm glued to his wound while the other stayed flat against the ground to prevent him from toppling over.

To his disbelief, the waterbender ignored him, sitting by his side with a level expression. Katara stared at Zuko coldly. She’d never realized how golden his irises were. She’d never been this close to see—not while he was awake. When they caught the sunlight, they glinted and shimmered in an almost supernatural way. The eyes of a hunter. 

Zuko glared back with his usual scowl. Brows furrowed, teeth bared. He’d always reminded her of a predator. Something wild and ferocious that prowled after the innocent. But today, something was different. Today, Zuko was the prey: trembling, injured, trapped, and scared. His typically scalding gaze was clouded with fear.

Katara held up her hands as she stared him down. The water encasing them glowed a soft blue. “I’m going to help lower your fever,” she stated. “Either you sit still and let me do it, or Toph pins you down and makes you stay still.”

“And if you try firebending, Boomerang is coming for your head,” Sokka added. 

Zuko’s skin bristled with goosebumps as chills shuddered up his spine. After the Agni Kai against his father, he recalled contracting an intense fever in response to the terrible burn. It hadn’t lasted long, but it wasn’t pleasant. Uncle had worked diligently to bring it down and comfort him while the physicians tended to his scorched face. It wasn’t a time he liked to remember, but he wondered if that’s what was happening now—if Azula’s burn was afflicting him just like Father’s had. 

“I don’t w-want your help,” Zuko hissed. He had no idea what she was planning to do to him, and he wasn’t interested in finding out. Whatever the end goal to all of this was, their intentions were clearly hostile.

Katara shared a look with her brother, then wrinkled her brow. Wordlessly, she reached forward, placing her palm against Zuko’s forehead. 

“Hey! What’re you—?” He squirmed away and made a grab for her wrist, but she caught his first, pinning his arm against the wall without moving the hand on his head. He didn’t realize how weak he was until he tried and failed to wriggle free of her hold. The effort it took just to try left him woozy. 

“Just—wait,” she instructed sharply. “It’ll make you feel better. I promise.”

He considered frying her hand to force her to release him, but Sokka was right there, and he knew how much that boomerang could hurt—even with a helmet on. Plus, he was tired, lightheaded, and now that she mentioned it…

He stopped fighting for a moment, panting. The watery glove around her hand felt like it was seeping through his skull and into his brain, sucking all the heat and pain with it. The pulsing ache in his head eased to a small hum. His feverish chills eased away. Slowly, his muscles relaxed. He blinked, stunned by the sudden and extraordinary relief. 

Once she realized he wasn’t trying to escape anymore, she let go of his wrist and pressed both palms to his temples. The assuage increased even more, making Zuko release a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“This should bring your fever down temporarily,” she said. This was not normal waterbending; he knew that much. It was cool, tingly, soothing, almost spiritual in nature. When she took her hands away, he was left feeling exponentially better, though the wound on his shoulder continued to throb. Zuko met her gaze for an instant, pressing a finger to his brow. 

“What...what’d you just do?” he asked. Katara stood and stepped back, her expression sour.

“Reduced your pain, even if you deserve every bit of it.” 

Anger resurfaced in the prince’s chest. Even though he was still reeling with relief, his eyes cut daggers through hers.

“Then why do it?” he remarked. He gripped his injury tighter. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

“I’ll see if Iroh has any herbal remedies he could give you for a more permanent solution,” Katara continued, ignoring his abrasive inquiry. “But you’ll need plenty of rest to recover completely.”

“Answer my questions!” Zuko yelled, making Sokka and Toph wince. “Why are you keeping me here? What are you planning?”

The shouting roused his wound, making him fall back against the wall with a strained whimper. At that moment, the avatar skipped back into the tent with Iroh on his tail. Zuko glanced up along with the others. As soon as Uncle’s eyes found his, the old man melted. 

“See? He’s awake! Told you he’d be all right!”

Iroh didn’t wait for him to finish. He rushed toward his nephew, tripping over sleeping bags and pushing past Sokka with his arms outstretched. “Zuko!” he cried.

“Uncle?” the young prince answered, looking puzzled. He yelped in surprise when Iroh practically tackled him, wrapping him into the biggest platypus bear hug any of them had ever seen.

“Oh, my beautiful nephew!” Iroh blubbered, squeezing the air from his lungs. “I’m so happy you’re all right!”

Zuko squirmed uncomfortably, inexperienced in dealing with such blatant physical affection. “Uncle! What’re you—ouch! Quit it! You’re—crushing me!”

A few giggles slipped from Aang and Toph’s lips. It was an amusing scene—watching the grumpy Fire Nation prince get smothered by his overbearing uncle. Even the Water Tribe siblings hinted smug grins. Aang swore he saw a touch of pink flush across the firebender’s cheeks. 

Despite his nephew’s wriggly protests, Iroh clung on to him a little while longer, one hand wrapped around Zuko’s torso while the other cradled the back of his head. Zuko eventually gave up trying to escape and just sat there awkwardly, squished and pouting as he waited for his uncle to get his fill. The gang was relieved to see Iroh happy after so many hours of anxiety. 

Once he finally released Zuko from his hold, Iroh’s attention honed in on his nephew’s wound, his hands hovering around the bright red scar. “How bad does it hurt? Are you in terrible pain?”

More like excruciating, Zuko thought. His muscles felt like burnt noodles, his bones like over-roasted komodo chicken legs. But he didn’t need to tell Iroh that—he was already an erratic pyre of stress as it was. He rolled his eyes and shrugged, trying to evoke nonchalance, realizing his mistake too late. A stabbing ache tore through his shoulder and shot down his arm, making him to wince sharply and hiss through his teeth. He grabbed his chest, groaning wearily.

“Stay still, Prince Zuko,” Iroh said, laying the back of his hand against his cheek. “Your body is very weak, and you’re still warmer than usual. I’ll brew you some ginger root tea to reduce the fever.”

Zuko scrunched up his brow and knocked his hand away. “Stop fussing, Uncle,” he grumbled bitterly. “M’fine.”

“Fine?” Iroh repeated. A beat passed where the old man just stared at him, jaw tight, his lower lip trembling. Then, out of nowhere, Uncle seized Zuko by his uninjured shoulder, his eyes flashing with an uncharacteristic rage. “Are you insane? You call this ‘fine?’ What on earth were you thinking?”

Zuko blinked, looking just as surprised as everyone else in the room. He was still recovering from Iroh’s crushing embrace, followed by the sudden burst of pain. Now he was yelling at him? 

“What?” Zuko said, startled.

“Why would you throw yourself in between me and Azula like that?” he shouted. “That lightning should have hit me, not you!”

It wasn’t like Uncle to shout. Uncle only shouted when it was for a very specific and important purpose. He wasn’t like the Fire Lord—or Zuko, for that matter. 

“You’d rather I just sat there and let you take the hit?” Zuko scoffed in disbelief. “Azula was trying to kill you!”

“And she very nearly killed you!” Iroh retorted, making Zuko shrink back a little. “If it wasn’t for the kindness of these children, you’d be dead right now! First in the North Pole, and again today!”

Zuko grimaced and turned away, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I never asked for their help.”

Iroh gave him a quick shake, making the young prince tense. “You shouldn’t even be needing it! You have to stop putting yourself in danger like this!”

Zuko didn’t understand why he was so angry with him. He huffed toward the ground. “This is exactly why I didn’t want us traveling together anymore. You worry too much.”

“Because you don’t worry enough!” Iroh roared. “You seem perfectly fine with throwing your life away over nothing!”

“I was trying to protect you, Uncle!” Zuko exclaimed, shoving his hand off his shoulder. “Is your life nothing?”

“Yes!” Iroh snarled. He cupped his nephew’s face in his hands, his eyes like fire. “Compared to yours, yes! My life is nothing, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko’s scowl fell, replaced by a look of sickly confusion. The tent plunged into sudden silence. Aang and his friends felt like they were intruding on a very private moment, but now they were too intrigued not to see how this ended.

“Why...would you say that?” Zuko asked uneasily. He pulled Iroh’s hands away from his face. “That’s not—”

“I’ve lived my life, nephew,” Uncle insisted. “If I died today, I’d die a happy, fulfilled old man. But you are just a boy, my prince, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. You have so much life left to live. If you died…”

Uncle shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, bowing low to ground, as if the thought physically hurt him. Zuko didn’t know what to say. Tears started slipping down Iroh’s cheeks and dripping into the grass.

“Uncle…” Zuko began softly. A moment later, his eyes lurched up to the four others occupying the room and grew wide, as if he’d forgotten they were there. He leered at them with a mixture of loathing and embarrassment, feeling strange and exposed by their prying gazes, until Uncle listed forward, burying his face into his chest. 

“Don’t m-make me endure it again, Zuko,” Iroh wept, hugging the prince with all the love and pain in the universe. “Don’t make me watch another son die...”

Guilt and sorrow surged into Zuko’s throat. He knew Iroh cared for him—knew he liked to pretend that he was his own now that Lu Ten was gone. But to this day, he didn’t understand why. Zuko had done nothing to earn Iroh’s love; he actively pushed him away and treated him like garbage just to prove it, testing how much it would take to get it to break. But no matter what he tried, Iroh’s love persisted: unbending and unconditional. It was perplexing, illogical, infuriating—and wonderful.

Uncle’s love wasn’t like Ozai’s. Uncle’s love wasn’t something he had to beg and fight and compete for. It was just...there. Always. And he had no idea how to deal with it.

As Iroh cried into his shoulder, Zuko placed an awkward hand on his arm in attempt to calm him, wincing at the anguish in his sobs. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—” he stammered, grappling for the words to make him stop.

“It would’ve killed me, Zuko,” Iroh wept, holding him close. “If you d-died saving me, I would have died anyway. I couldn’t bear it. Not again…”

Zuko watched his Uncle sniffle and shake, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t understand it. He doubted he ever would. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. He cursed the wobble that snuck into his voice. 

“I think we should go,” Toph whispered, jerking her thumb toward the exit. The group nodded in agreement. None of them had ever seen Zuko so vulnerable before—physically, emotionally, or otherwise. He obviously reciprocated Iroh’s love, even if he wasn’t as good at expressing it as him. It was obnoxiously heartwarming.

“No,” Iroh said, sitting up suddenly, running the heels of his hands under his puffy eyes. “No, please stay.” He turned to Zuko, placing a palm against his back. “My nephew has something he’d like to say to you.”

Zuko’s soft expression twisted into a look of disgust. “What?”

“These people saved your life on two different occasions, Prince Zuko—despite all the trouble we’ve caused them. The least you can do is thank them for their generosity.”

The firebender’s golden gaze bore ferociously into his uncle’s, then swept across the four kids standing around them. His signature scowl returned with a vengeance. 

“There’s a reason besides generosity that they did it,” Zuko hissed, flinching and grabbing his wounded shoulder. “I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

Katara placed her hands on her hips. “We did it because we’re not monsters,” she shot back. “And because your uncle cares about you. Why, I have no idea—but we didn’t want him to lose his nephew.”

Zuko lunged toward her with a growl, but Iroh held him back, which did not take much effort. 

“Enough, Zuko,” he scolded him. “The reason they helped you does not matter. The fact is, they helped you. And that alone warrants your gratitude.”

The injured prince glowered at them, gritting his teeth. Iroh was kidding himself if he thought he was going to get a ‘thank you’ to cross his insufferable nephew’s lips.

“Trust me, Prince Zuko—it is far more honorable to thank your rival for sparing your life than to hold your tongue out of senseless pride.” He placed a hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “Go on.”

Zuko ducked out of his reach and scratched his scalp irritably. The group waited for him to blow up, to spit fire and fury and tell all of them to go jump in the river. His glare alone could sear clean through stone.

But to everyone’s disbelief, the flames in his eyes were gradually superseded by something else. A lifetime of exhaustion, misery, and defeat. His golden irises suddenly looked dull; his expression grew heavy with sadness. He grimaced at the wall, still trembling a little from his fever.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he spat, squeezing his eyes shut. “But...thank you.”

A moment later, Zuko did a quick motion, placing the heel of his left palm on top of his right fist and dipping his head toward the ground. If someone blinked, they would’ve missed it—but the gang recognized the rapid gesture as a Fire Nation bow, done as a sign of respect and humility. It was fast and awkward, but it was genuine. Then Zuko turned his back to them, frowning at the corner of the tent, hunching his shoulders and kneading his wound with his thumb.

Katara, Sokka, and Toph walked outside, but Aang stayed behind, smiling wide. Even though he wasn’t looking, Aang repeated the movement back to Zuko. Iroh beamed at him delightedly, then patted his nephew’s arm.

“Get some rest, Prince Zuko. I’ll be back soon with the tea and some soup.”

Zuko didn’t acknowledge him as he got up and left with the others. He just stared at the wall, feeling small, broken, and weak. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Iroh prepared the meal, the avatar and his crew sat around the fire in a misshapen semi-circle, each occupied with their own projects. Aang polished his staff, Sokka sharpened his boomerang, Katara sewed a tear in her dress, and Toph played with Momo, making little pegs of earth pop up from the ground for him to chase. 

The silence was suffocating. 

Sokka kept shooting looks at his friends, as if to say is no one going to acknowledge how strange this is? They had two Fire Nation royalty with them, one of which was making them dinner, while the other (who had tried to kill them on many, many occasions) was sleeping hardly twenty feet away. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, he cleared his throat, painting an awkward grin on his face. 

“So...uh...Iroh. General Iroh? Or—Prince Iroh? Or—?”

The old man chuckled. “Just Iroh is fine.” He swirled a ladle through the steaming broth. The aroma was thick and spicy. “Would anyone care for some ginseng soup?”

Everyone raised their hand, bringing a smile to his face. He filled four bowls to the brim and handed one to each of the kids. Once the group had been served, Iroh sat among them, sipping his own meal while monitoring the tea.

“Wow, this is great!” Sokka said, slurping noisily. He wiped his mouth and eyed the old man with a frown. “Not to be rude or anything, but...you seem like a pretty okay guy. Why do you waste your time trying to help your evil nephew?”

“Sokka!” Katara rebuked him, making him wince.

“What? It’s a valid question! He’s so polite and nice, even if he is Fire Nation. Zuko, on the other hand...”

Iroh rested his bowl in his lap, watching the soup wobble and glint in the sunlight. He sighed softly. “I know you all dislike my nephew. And after everything he’s done, you have every right to. He is a conflicted person who has made many mistakes.” He lifted his gaze. “But I’ve known Zuko since the day he was born, and I know the goodness that lies within him.”

Katara huffed dubiously, sipping her dinner in short bouts. Sokka frowned behind his soup mustache. Meanwhile, Aang and Toph listened curiously, spooning heaps of broth into their bellies. Momo leaned over Aang’s shoulder and lapped up a few mouthfuls from his bowl. 

“I was on a path not dissimilar from his for most of my life. Obsessed with honor and power, as well as my place in the Fire Nation. It took immense pain and suffering for me to realize the error of my ways and to start on a new journey. One focused on restoring balance to the world and protecting peace.”

His words struck Katara like an arrow through the heart. “Your son?” she said hesitantly, remembering his words from before. Iroh closed his eyes and nodded his head. 

“Yes. Lu Ten.”

“But how is helping Zuko capture Aang protecting peace?” Sokka asked bluntly. “You’d be destroying it.”

Iroh chuckled. “I haven’t exactly been helpful in my nephew’s pursuit of the avatar. That has never been my goal. I travel with him because I’m all he has left.” He lowered his gaze. “Now that he and I have been declared fugitives of the Fire Nation, I suppose he’s all I have, too.”

Aang gawked. “Fugitives? You mean the Fire Nation considers Zuko a criminal?”

He recalled that it had been Zuko who busted him out of the Fire Nation prison Zhao had locked him up in. Zuko, wielding dual swords and wearing a blue mask, had helped him escape. To this day, he never understood why he’d risked his life to free him. Was it really all because he wanted to capture the avatar himself? 

Had the Fire Nation found out what he did that night, and branded him a traitor? 

“Zuko was banished from the Fire Nation when he was thirteen, and has been living in exile ever since. But only recently has the Fire Lord labeled him fugitive.” Iroh stroked his beard. “Why, I’m not entirely sure—though I have my suspicions.”

Katara and Sokka exchanged a startled glance. Zuko was banished from his own country? At thirteen?

“Why was he banished in the first place?” Toph asked, voicing the question in everyone’s mind.

Iroh finished off his soup and placed his bowl to the side, his eyes dark. He knew Zuko wouldn’t approve of him sharing his life story with his so-called enemies. But perhaps if they knew how he ended up in the place he was today, they could begin to understand the why, and maybe even aid him on his journey to see the light. Iroh heaved a lofty sigh.

“It is my fault, I am afraid. I let him attend a war meeting even though I knew the risks. It is one of my greatest regrets.” He bowed his head. “The Fire Nation is very strict about knowing one’s place and staying quiet in certain social situations. When I granted him permission to join us, I warned him not to speak. But when one of the generals suggested we use a group of new recruits as bait for our next attack against the Earth Kingdom, that we send a bunch of kids into what would very likely wind up a suicide mission—Zuko denounced him in front of the highest ranking war authorities in the Fire Nation.”

His nephew’s words echoed hollowly in his skull. You can’t sacrifice an entire battalion like that! Those soldiers love and defend our nation. How could you betray them?

The four friends stared at him in tense silence. Iroh poured himself a cup of tea as the fire cracked and fizzled. 

“Zuko was right, of course. But his actions were considered extraordinarily disrespectful. He was forced to fight an Agni Kai—a fire duel—in front of the entire royal court. He thought it would be against the elderly general he’d interrupted. Instead, when he turned around, he found himself standing face-to-face with Ozai, his father.”

The icy claw from before seized Katara’s heart with a newfound frigidness. She had a feeling she already knew where this was leading, but the thought still chilled her to her core. 

“His dad...wanted to fight him?” Sokka inquired. “Or he was forced to?” 

“Ozai is the Fire Lord—the supreme leader of the country. He could have easily pardoned Zuko and moved on. My brother chose to fight his own thirteen-year-old son willingly and zealously.” Iroh grimaced. “Ozai has detested Zuko since he was a child, always favoring his sister Azula above him. He’s been searching for a way to revoke Zuko’s birthright to the throne since Azula began to overshadow him in firebending prowess. Speaking out in a war meeting granted him the perfect excuse to do just that.”

The air was still. Toph suddenly felt guilty for once believing her parents were the worst the universe could bestow. Momo trilled and pawed at Aang’s ear. The avatar leaned toward Iroh anxiously. 

“What happened next?”

The old man sipped his steaming cup, his expression sad and distant. “I thought by this point, the whole world knew what happened that day. Fire Nation parents tell the story to their children to scare them into obedience and allegiance to their country.” 

None of the kids spoke up. They just stared at him, wide-eyed. So Iroh continued. 

“Zuko threw himself to the ground, begging for his father’s forgiveness. Ozai commanded him to fight, but he refused to attack his own father.” 

The cup was suddenly trembling in his hands. His knuckles were stiff and white. “I...I should have stopped him. I should have protected Zuko. He was just a child, you know? And he was so afraid...”

Iroh gazed at the grass between his feet. Tiny flowers shuddered and danced in the breeze. 

“Ozai...did not show him mercy,” he said, voice ominous. “After the duel, Zuko’s refusal to fight was pronounced weak and disgraceful—behaviors unfit for a prince of the Fire Nation. And so, the Fire Lord banished him. He was tasked with capturing the avatar,” he noted grimly, turning to Aang. “A purposely impossible mission at the time, since you had been missing for over a hundred years with no sign of returning. It was meant to keep Zuko from ever coming back to the Fire Nation. But Ozai claimed that if Zuko found you and brought you to him, he would restore his son’s honor and welcome him home with open arms.” He looked away, face solemn. “And that is what he’s been trying to do ever since.”

Appa grunted from his shady spot by the river. The air between the four friends suddenly felt cold. It was a lot to process. It explained a few of the things many of them had always been confused about when it came to Zuko, but gave rise to multiple entirely new questions they’d never even thought to consider. Katara lifted her hand toward her left eye.

“Is that…” she began reluctantly. “You said a family member gave that to him—the scar on his face.”

Iroh blinked slowly, miserably. “Yes,” he replied. “His father did that to him. He burned his own son while he lay prostrate before him, pleading for mercy.” His eyebrows furrowed together. “Out of all the horrors I’ve witnessed throughout this war, watching my brother scar and banish that boy is among the cruelest. I doubt the memory will ever leave my mind.”

Shocked silence gripped the group. So that was where Zuko’s scar had come from. Not a training misfire, not some careless childhood mistake—but an intentional brand from his father to mark him as an unwanted outsider. A couple more seconds passed before Sokka scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. 

“This is insane! If Ozai really did do all these terrible things to him, then why is he so obsessed with capturing Aang and returning home? If I was Zuko, I’d be relieved to be banished and away from that psycho. The guy’s a total monster!”

Iroh released a slow breath. “It is hard to understand my nephew’s logic from the outside. But please, try to put yourself in his position. He was cast out—renounced and rebuked by his home and his people, those he had been taught to depend on. His own father disowned him. One tiny mistake cost him everything: the crown, his honor, and his family. Now, exiled from his country, where else can he hope to go? The entire world despises the Fire Nation for the atrocities they have committed. As the banished son of the Fire Lord, no nation is safe for Zuko. He believes his only choice is to bring his father the avatar. That only he can restore everything he lost. That if he can complete the mission Ozai bestowed upon him, their relationship will somehow be different. He thinks he is capable of winning the Fire Lord’s love by delivering you to him. It gives him hope.” 

The old man withered. “I don’t have the heart to tell him the truth, to take that hope away. Even if I did, it wouldn’t change his mind. He would continue this poisonous path without me, searching and fighting until he destroyed himself. I’m doing what I can to support him until he discovers the truth on his own.”

Iroh’s anecdote hung over their heads like storm clouds. Katara narrowed her eyes in thought, drumming her fingers against her bowl. 

“What if he never comes to that conclusion?” she said coldly. “How many more people does he have to hurt or villages does he have to burn down for you to decide he isn’t worth it?”

Iroh met her gaze, his jaw tight. She thought he was going to snarl or shout, like he had in the tent with Zuko. Instead, he relaxed into a smile. 

“He will change. I know it. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. He was such a sweet and happy child before my brother got ahold of him and twisted him up.” He grinned at Aang. “He was a lot like you, actually. Bright and joyful and kind. I wish you all could have seen him then. Perhaps you’d understand why I haven’t given up on him yet.”

“Really?” Aang said, beaming. “Wow. I’m having a hard time imagining that.”

The old man chuckled, then stared across the circle of young faces. “I’m not asking any of you to forgive my nephew for what he’s done. I’m not asking you to make excuses for him or to pity him. I just wanted to grant you some insight into the person he is, and why he acts the way he does today. You’ve already been more kind to him than I ever could have anticipated, which shows what honorable individuals you are. I am forever grateful to each of you.” His expression softened. “Zuko is too, even if he doesn’t seem it. Because of the way he was raised, he can’t comprehend the idea that others would show him compassion without it being earned, or without some sinister ulterior motive in mind. Your kindness is entirely foreign to him, so don’t take his aversion to it personally.”

This was exactly what Katara had been afraid of. That if they learned more about Zuko’s past, they’d start to realize he wasn’t the sick, totally irredeemable person they believed him to be. She wanted to hate him—wanted to see him as nothing but an obstacle in their path, a soulless enemy to defeat. But it was hard to do after hearing his life’s story. 

“If only Zuko had been surrounded by people like you growing up,” Iroh continued wistfully. “You all have such good hearts.”

Sokka swirled his boomerang in the air. “Yeah—too bad we all couldn’t live it up in the Fire Nation palace together, celebrating global tyranny and singing kumbaya around the fire.”  

Iroh hinted a somber smile, then rose to his feet. “I’m going to see if I can get my nephew to eat something,” he said, ladling another helping of soup into his bowl and pouring a second cup of tea. “Have a delightful afternoon, all of you.”

With that, he strolled back into the earth tent, humming a quiet tune to himself. The group was left to wallow in the tsunami of information they now knew about their arch nemesis. 

Eventually, Sokka huffed. “Well, if there’s anything we’ve learned from this bizarre little misadventure, it’s that the Fire Lord is literally the worst in every way imaginable, and deserves everything he’s got coming his way.”

“No kidding,” Toph agreed, cracking her toes.

Aang pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...I kinda feel bad for Zuko.”

“Don’t,” Katara snapped, scowling at the fire. “We’ve all had hard lives. We’ve all been hurt and lost things we cared about. You don’t see any of us attacking towns or terrorizing innocent people.”

“But we were raised by good people,” Aang pointed out. “Even when we disagreed with them or fought with them, we never doubted that they loved us.” He rested his chin on his knees. “Zuko didn’t have that. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of change.”

“A lot of people are capable of a lot of things,” Katara retorted. “That doesn’t mean they’re ever going to do the right thing and actually commit to being better.”

Aang blinked at her, then gazed into the flickering flames. “Not if you don’t give them the chance...”

He considered telling them the truth about that day in the Earth Kingdom. When Zuko had broken him out of Zhao’s prison, saving his life—and, unknowingly, Sokka and Katara’s. If Aang hadn’t escaped and gotten those frogs to them, they could have died. The only reason the three of them were sitting together today, alive and well, was because of Zuko’s help.

But before Aang had the chance to speak, Katara scoffed and stood, marching toward the river.

“Katara?” he called. “Where are you going?”

“Swimming,” she answered without looking back. “After today, I seriously need a bath.”

He watched her stomp away, then exhaled defeatedly. Maybe he was being naive. Maybe Zuko wouldn’t change. But while the Fire Nation prince was stuck here with them, he’d try his best to be patient and kind to him—perhaps to the point where it no longer felt so foreign.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Iroh went back into the woods to forage for more tea leaves and herbs before the sun went down, leaving Zuko alone in the stone tent. While the others were off busying themselves around their campsite, Aang crept into the dark structure. He intended to pop in for only a moment to grab some nuts from his bag, but froze in the doorway at the sight he stumbled upon. 

Zuko was facing the back wall of the tent, sitting with his legs crossed and his spine straight. Four small candles were arranged in front of him, their flames rising and falling in sync with Zuko’s steady breathing. Aang immediately recognized the familiar scene.

“You’re meditating!” he exclaimed. Zuko flinched in surprise, the candlelight flaring and rippling, casting wild shadows across the walls. He turned on him lividly.

“Don’t scare me like that!” he shouted. “I almost torched you alive!”

“Sorry!” Aang said, grinning shyly as he stepped closer. “But you are meditating, right?”

Zuko huffed and turned back toward the wall, rubbing his wounded shoulder. “I’m trying to,” he said pointedly, re-assuming his sturdy position.

“That’s awesome!” Aang said, bounding to stand by his side. “I never would’ve pegged you as someone who meditates.”

Aang thought he remembered Zuko mentioning meditation back in the South Pole, but it seemed so out of character for him. He never expected to actually witness the hotheaded prince putting it into practice.

Zuko looked uncomfortable and irritated by Aang’s presence. He tried to ignore him, but the avatar wasn’t making it easy. The twelve-year-old stood over him, smiling from ear to ear.

“I meditate too. Every day, in fact! Meditation is a sacred tradition among Air Nomads. The monks always said it’s a great way to strengthen one’s discipline, inner peace, and spirituality.”

The flames danced and flickered, mirroring Zuko’s aggravation. “Then you should know how important it is to be quiet when someone’s trying to concentrate!” He jabbed his finger toward the exit. “Get out of here!”

Aang was beginning to realize that Zuko yelled a lot, but there wasn’t any real bite behind it. At least, not in his current condition. So for now, he wasn’t going to let it faze him. 

Ignoring Zuko’s demands, he plopped down beside him, making the royal teenager start. “Can I meditate with you?”

Zuko blinked, looking appalled. “What?” he gawked. “No!”

“Why not?” Aang asked, settling into his own meditation position with his fists pressed together and his eyes closed. 

“Because—because you’re going to distract me!” he cried. “There’s a million other places for you to do it besides here! Why don’t you go meditate with one of your obnoxious friends?”

“None of them practice meditation,” he explained simply. “Back at the Western Air Temple, me and the other monks used to meditate in a group, all of us sitting and breathing together in perfect harmony. I haven’t meditated with someone else for over a hundred years.” He opened one eye and hinted a sad smile. “I miss it a lot. I think it’d be nice.”

Zuko scowled at him, but it seemed more thoughtful than angry. Scowling also appeared to be a thing he did by default, not as an intentional expression of aggression. He could see him searching for a motive, a scheme, some kind of backhanded revenge plot in the avatar’s innocent request. He really did second guess every gesture of kindness offered to him. 

The firebender looked ready to blow a gasket, or snag his quartet of candles and stomp out the door. Instead, he exhaled forcefully, growling under his breath like a komodo rhino with a headache.

“If you’re quiet enough that I forget you’re here, I don’t care what you do,” he grumbled. 

Aang beamed, flinging his hands in the air. “Hooray!” he cheered. He leaned forward with a grin. “I like your hair, by the way.”

Zuko’s eyes popped open and flitted towards him bewilderedly. “W-what?” he stammered, as if that was the most absurd thing anyone had ever said to him. 

“Your new hair! It looks nice. A lot better than the bald ponytail thing you had going on before. It’s so cute and fuzzy now. I like it!”

Again, Aang watched the wheels in Zuko’s head turn, trying to find some convoluted ploy masquerading behind his friendly words. He couldn’t even take a tiny compliment without drowning in doubt and suspicion? It was as heartbreaking as it was endearing.

Once the prince deduced the avatar’s nice comment posed no immediate threat, but was simply a genuine approval of his change in appearance, his expression softened. “Oh,” he said. He stared at the wall, warmth rising in his cheeks. “Well, um...thanks. I guess.”

“Of course!” Aang chirped. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Zuko sweeping a timid hand through his hair, and felt pretty proud of himself.

“I like your hair, too,” Zuko said after an awkward pause. “Did you...do something new with it?”

Aang stared at him blankly. His delivery was so bland and clumsy, it took the avatar a full five seconds to realize that Zuko was attempting to make a joke. Immediately, he busted out laughing—not because the joke was good, necessarily, but because Zuko had actually tried to make one, and his effort was so hysterically ungraceful. 

“Ehahaha!” Aang cackled, hugging himself around the middle. “Good one, Zuko! I didn’t know you could be funny!”

The tiniest of smiles lifted one corner of Zuko’s mouth before vanishing without a trace. He made an oval with his hands, pressing his thumbs and middle fingers together, then straightened his spine. “Now be quiet,” he ordered bluntly, inhaling and releasing a slow, centering breath. 

Aang grinned and reflected his pose. Zuko was still a little shivery and sweaty from his fever, but both were growing less severe as Uncle’s tea worked its magic. The room fell silent except for the soft flickering of the fire and their synchronous breathing, and stayed that way for the next hour. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The avatar was the first one to break their vigil, floating to his feet and bounding out of the tent like a miniature whirlwind. “Thanks for letting me join you, Zuko!” he called cheerfully, then darted outside.

Zuko...didn’t know what to make of their interaction. He and the avatar were adversaries. He’d told him he wasn’t going to stop hunting him. As soon as he was healed, their little game of cat owl and spider mouse would pick right back up from where it had left off. 

So what had compelled him to come in here and meditate by his side?

Not only that—he’d opened up to him about his past, his culture, the society that raised him. The very people Zuko’s forefathers were responsible for wiping out. Was he trying to appeal to his humanity, guilt him into abandoning his mission to capture the avatar? 

And what was with the whole complimenting his hair thing?

The whole exchange left Zuko feeling off. He didn’t want to think about what would become of that peppy little kid once he delivered him into the hands of his father. Avatar or not, he was so agonizingly young. 

But tricky, as well. And conniving, all of them. Just like Azula. He wouldn’t let them get in his head. For however long he was trapped here, he’d avoid interacting with them unless it was absolutely necessary. He couldn’t afford any more distractions. 

“How are you feeling, Prince Zuko?” Uncle’s voice asked from behind him. “Have you managed to eat or sleep at all? I found some basil and turmeric to add to your tea. I know you don’t care for either, but they should help settle your stomach.”

Zuko turned toward him, grimacing as the movement sent little sparks of pain zipping through his muscles. “I’m going to sleep outside tonight.”

Iroh raised an eyebrow as he prepared the ingredients for the brew. “I don’t know if the avatar and his friends will approve. They wish to keep you contained and in sight, understandably, and—”

“I don’t care what they want!” he interjected. “I’m not sleeping in here with all of them. I won’t be able to.”

Uncle sighed exasperatedly. “Prince Zuko. They are already being very considerate. They’ve given you space and leave you to your business unrestrained.” He wafted the fumes from the pot toward his nose and breathed deeply. “If I were them, I would have chained both of us up. We aren't exactly trustworthy company.”

“I’m not sitting in this stupid tent anymore,” he growled. He braced one hand against the wall and tried to push himself upright, groaning and straining with effort. 

Uncle rushed to his aid, wrapping an arm around his waist and hoisting him to his feet. Zuko wanted to push him away, but there was no way he could stay standing without his help. 

“All right—easy now, nephew.” 

He took one step forward, and almost immediately collapsed. Pain bloomed across the bottom of his foot and shot up his leg like an explosion going off in his bones. He listed forward, dizzy and nauseous, gasping for breath. 

“Do not put any weight on your left side,” Iroh insisted. “Let me support you.”

“Th-this is...infuriating,” he hissed, panting. “Why am I still so weak?”

“It has only been a day, my prince. You must give yourself time to heal.” He slung his nephew’s arm over his shoulder and bore him forward. “Come on. We’ll go slow.”

Any progress toward the exit basically required Zuko to hop on his good leg. The violent motion still jarred him, but he managed to keep going, pausing in between to let the pain subside to a manageable level. Iroh would rather he let one of kids carry him out of the tent, but Zuko would sooner hop himself to death than allow that.

Once they breached the doorway, their little limping routine turned the heads of everyone outside. Katara stood up, hands balled into fists at her side.

“What’s going on?” she said.

“Zuko needed some fresh air,” Iroh explained, grunting beneath his nephew’s weight. He was basically doing all the work required to move him away from the tent. The prince hung off him loosely, grimacing in pain, a line of sweat glistening along his forehead. His face was abnormally pale and blanching whiter and whiter with every cloddish hop forward. 

“Do you need…help?” Sokka asked hesitantly. 

Iroh forced a smile. “No, we—” he began, but Zuko was sagging lower and lower, a quiet moan rising from his lips. “—Zuko? Are you all right?”

The teen’s head was suddenly spinning like a top. Gravity was pulling on him two times stronger than usual. His wounds throbbed and ached in protest. He’d barely walked two steps away from the tent, but apparently that was all his stupid body could tolerate right now. 

“Ugh…can’t…l-lemme...down…” he whimpered.

Alarm pricked Iroh’s heart. “Okay, okay. Here.”

He eased him carefully to the ground. Zuko slumped against the outer wall of the tent, panting harshly, gripping his leg with one hand and his chest with the other. 

“What’s wrong?” Iroh asked, kneeling in front of him and cupping his palm against his pallid face. 

“He doesn’t look good,” Aang noted uneasily.

Once she realized he wasn’t going to be doing anything threatening in his current state, Katara’s muscles uncoiled. “He shouldn’t be moving,” she said, stepping closer. “Especially if he hasn’t been able to eat anything today.”

“He’s been too nauseous to,” the old man said, fear creeping into his voice. He gave his cheek a few light pats. “Zuko—hey! Talk to me! Tell me what’s going on.”

His eyelids fluttered sluggishly as he fought to stay conscious and slow his rapid breathing. “Just...lightheaded,” he slurred, squeezing his shoulder and gritting his teeth. “Ugh...h-hurts…”

Iroh turned to Sokka. “I’ve prepared some tea for him inside the tent. Please—if you could—”

“Right,” Sokka said, hurrying into the stone structure. He reappeared a few moments later with the kettle and cup in hand.

“Thank you,” Iroh breathed. He filled the cup and held it to Zuko’s lips. “Here, nephew. Drink. It will help you feel better.”

Zuko wrinkled his nose but did as he was told. He abhorred the fact that he was acting so pathetic and weak—and in front of his enemies, no less—but he was so woozy, and everything hurt, and he just wanted it to stop. The tea was hot on his tongue and left a sour aftertaste in the back of his throat. He made a face and found himself missing Uncle’s classic jasmine brew. 

“Blech,” he said. 

“I know,” Iroh conceded sympathetically. Katara offered him a bowl, and he lifted the edge to Zuko’s mouth. “Have some water.”

Zuko braved a few small sips then pushed it away. He was still queasy and didn’t want to risk overwhelming his upset stomach. The black fuzz pressing into his peripheral vision was slowly beginning to retreat, and the world was no longer dipping and tilting around him. But he was still so tired. He rested his head against the tent, struggling to keep his eyes open, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.

“You must try to eat something,” Uncle insisted. “A couple bites of bread, soup—anything.”

Zuko recoiled at the thought of food. It was the last thing he was in the mood for right now. “I’m fine,” he grumbled breathlessly, sweat slipping down his face. “Just...lemme sit for a...a minute…”

“You will never recover your strength unless you eat,” Iroh said softly. He tore a piece of bread in half, took his nephew’s hand, and placed it in his palm. “Please, Prince Zuko.”

The firebender stared at the bread miserably. He looked so ill and weak—even Katara was nicked with pity at the sight. He must’ve been desperate to feel better if he was letting his uncle order him around without throwing a fit. 

Zuko wished there weren’t so many eyes on him right now, watching him lie half-conscious against the tent, barely able to hold his head up, shivering with pain and sickness as he nibbled defeatedly on the bread in his hands. Azula’s mocking voice echoed in his ears—weak, pathetic, miserable failure. Father’s piercing glare bore down on him, radiating disgust and disappointment. 

But Uncle was with him, pressed against his side, telling him everything was going to be okay as he gently guided his head to his shoulder.

“Don’t...wait...” Zuko whined. But once he was leaned against him, he felt himself starting to drift. Sleepiness curled around him like a warm blanket. Iroh pulled the bread from his limp fingers and ran his thumb along his cheek. 

“Just rest here a moment. I will help you move once you have the energy to stand.”

But Zuko made the mistake of closing his eyes. It was meant to be for only a moment, but after they slipped shut, he couldn’t get them to open again. As Iroh anticipated, his nephew was soon asleep. He pulled a rag from his pocket and mopped the fever sweat from his forehead. 

“Did he just...pass out?” Toph asked.

“He hasn’t slept since last night,” Iroh said, watching his nephew snooze against his shoulder with a tender fondness in his eyes. “He’s always been so stubborn, never resting until he’s completely burnt out or unless it is forced upon him—even when his body desperately needs it.”

Aang found the sight endearing. Katara thought the old man’s concern for his nephew was misplaced but sweet. Sokka narrowed his eyes, opening the tea pot and gingerly sniffing its contents. His jaw dropped. 

“Did you drug him?”

Iroh chuckled lightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “An old trick his mother used to use when he couldn’t get to sleep as a child. Add a tiny dash of dragon thistle root to his tea, and he is out like a light.”

While the others reeled over the old man’s well-intentioned but semi-conniving actions, Katara’s mind honed in on one word: mother. During Iroh’s entire soapbox about Zuko’s past, he’d never once mentioned his mom. What did she think about her son? Was she like Ozai? Cold and heartless, happy to exile her own child in favor of her more powerful daughter? Or was she different? What part did she play in the strange, tragic menagerie of Zuko’s life?

Iroh smiled at the children. “Would one of you please grab a blanket for me, if you don’t mind?” 

“Sure!” Aang said, darting past him. Katara stared at Zuko’s sleeping face and decided not to ask about his mother. She already knew more about him than she wanted to as it was. And the more she learned, the harder it was to hate him.

Aang returned with the linens. Iroh gathered his nephew into his arms and carefully laid him down, tossing the blanket over his body and pulling it up to his chin. 

“Hopefully he sleeps through the night,” he said. It was funny to watch the person they fought and feared as an enemy be treated like a precious little baby by his uncle.

“I’ll heal him again tomorrow morning,” Katara said, then stalked into the tent without another word.

Her friends hesitated, then followed her inside. Iroh stayed beside his nephew, matching his breathing to his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zuko woke up screaming. 

He’d suffered from night terrors since Mom had disappeared without a trace, and they’d only gotten worse since his banishment. He dreamed of her face being swallowed up in flames, of the ground turning to tar beneath him and dragging him into suffocating darkness, of his father scorching his eye again and again and again, the smell and the pain all too real. 

And now, he was dreaming of Azula. Eyes dark and remorseless as she shot lighting into the hearts of those he loved, sending Mom and Uncle toppling to the ground in smoking heaps before turning on him. He was lucky if he got through the night without shooting awake in a cold sweat at least one. 

When the lightning struck him, Zuko bolted upright, a terrified shout leaping from his throat. But something clapped over his mouth to stop it from escaping. Whatever it was was shaped like a hand, but it had the texture of rock. Panicked, fire flared from his fingertips. He made a grab for the stranger’s arm, but something caught his hands before they reached it, trapping them at his sides. He squirmed and cursed, voice muffled, heart racing. 

“It’s okay,” a girl’s voice said. “Shh. It’s me.”

A young face took shape in the darkness. Black hair and pale, faded eyes. It was the tiny earthbender that had showed up at the fight between Azula, the avatar, and himself. She must have joined their group while they were traveling through the Earth Kingdom. So far, the two of them had avoided direct confrontation—or rather, any interaction whatsoever. 

“I heard you. From the tent. And, uh, felt you shaking. I didn’t want you to wake anyone else up.”

Zuko stopped struggling, his breathing quick and his eyes blinking. Slowly, she took her palm away from his mouth. It was shrouded in rock, perhaps in case he tried any breath-related firebending moves. With a flick of her wrist, the earth restraints fell away from his hands. 

“Sorry for scaring you. I just figured you wouldn’t want anyone else hearing that, and I didn’t wanna get fried in the process of shutting you up.”

Zuko studied her in a fuzzy, flustered haze, panting quietly. “Oh,” he stammered. “Uh, r-right.” His bones were quaking under his skin. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears. He scrubbed a hand across his face and started when it came away wet. He touched under his eyes and realized his cheeks were damp with tears. Shame burned up his throat as he dried them frantically and turned away. “Um, s-sorry for waking you.”

She stared at him in silence. Well, not exactly stared—not with her eyes, at least. But he could feel her feeling him, gauging his movements, his voice. She probably knew he’d been crying. She barely looked a day older than the avatar, but exuded the power and poise of a master bender, all while retaining the appearance and quirkiness of a child.

Which was weird. Because as far as he could tell, she was totally blind.

“Well...goodnight,” he said, voice brittle. But she didn’t move. And he didn’t lay back down.

“They have them too, you know.”

He glanced at her bemusedly. “What?”

“Nightmares. They get them too. Aang, Katara, Sokka.” 

He scoffed lightly, rubbing his eyes. “And you don’t?”

She grimaced at the ground. “Not like they do. I had a difficult home life, but...it’s different.”

He gripped his arms at the elbows and stared off to the side. He wasn’t sure what she was looking to get out of this conversation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Zuko wrinkled his brow. “About what?” he said.

“Your nightmare.”

Heat flushed across Zuko’s skin. “No,” he said sharply, glaring between his feet. 

Toph shrugged. “That’s fine. Just thought I’d extend the offer. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

The girl grinned. Zuko narrowed his eyes. Was that supposed to be a joke? He kneaded gingerly at his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he growled, wincing when he touched a particularly sore spot. “You can go away now.”

“I’m Toph,” she said, ignoring him enthusiastically. “I don’t think we’ve formally met.” 

Why don’t any of these people ever listen to a word I say? he thought bitterly. Also, I’ve never formally met any of you. He heaved a small sigh. 

“Hello,” he deadpanned. “Now get lost.”

“My friends don’t seem to like you, but I judge people for myself.” She flexed her feet in the grass absentmindedly. “And yeah, hunting Aang isn’t cool, but I don’t think you’re as bad as they make you out to be.”

Zuko was caught off guard by her blunt but oddly nice statement. He tried not to let it show, masking his surprise behind a scowl.

“I don’t care what you or your friends think of me,” he snapped, bunching the blanket in his fists. “Just leave me alone!”

“See, you put on this scary, tough facade, but I don’t think that’s really you,” she continued. “It's a defense mechanism.” 

Zuko fumed. “Are you blind and deaf? Go away! You don’t know me. Stop pretending like you do!”

“But I do know you,” she insisted. “You try to push others away so they can never get close enough to hurt you. You think by being mean and abrasive and keeping them at a distance, you’re protecting yourself. But really, you’re just making yourself more lonely.”

The firebender’s heart skipped a beat. Toph could tell she’d struck a chord. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish stranded on land, her words bouncing around in his head, freakishly insightful for someone who barely looked ten. 

“I know you because you’re like me,” she explained. “We’re not good at feelings and all that dumb mushy crap. We think doing everything on our own makes us stronger than accepting help from others. But I’m starting to learn that’s not always true.”

Was she baiting him? Trying to rile him up to the point that he attacked, granting her an excuse to kill him? Or was she truly speaking from the heart? Her observation stung a bit too deep to not be genuine, and sounded a little too familiar for his taste. 

Like Uncle. 

But he refused to dwell on it. He wouldn’t; he couldn’t. Stunned confusion was quickly superseded by prickling irritation. He scoffed indignantly.

“You’re crazy,” he spat. “You’re a child. You don’t know anything.”

Toph crossed her arms and smirked. “Then that makes two of us.”

Flames roiled in Zuko’s belly. “What?”

“Hey!” a voice called from the tent. Zuko turned and spotted Sokka peeking out from the darkness, an angry line twitching between his eyebrows. “Some of us around here are trying to sleep! Why are you guys yelling?” He stepped through the doorway with his boomerang cocked behind his head, glaring sleepily at Zuko. “Is Prince Angry Jerk here causing trouble?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he snarled, gesturing to Toph. “Your obnoxious little friend won’t leave me alone.”

“We’re fine,” she assured him. “I was just informing Zuko that his whole ‘bad guy’ charade is stupid, along with his entire mindset about everything.”

Smoke hissed from his nostrils and coiled from his fists. “Why, you little—”

“Ah-ah!” Sokka interjected, waving his boomerang threateningly. “Don’t even think about it.”

Zuko threw his hands in the air. “What, I’m just supposed to sit here while she calls me stupid to my face?” 

“Precisely,” Sokka said, sitting beside Toph. His hair was out of its usual ponytail and hanging in his eyes, forcing him to tuck it behind his ears every now and then. Zuko had never seen the Water Tribe boy with hair down before. It was a lot longer than he expected. 

Sokka bumped his shoulder against the earthbender’s. “Is this late night insult Zuko hour or something? Because I’m totally in, and very upset I didn’t receive an invitation.”

“I’m not trying to insult him,” Toph insisted. “I’m just telling him the truth.”

“What you’re doing is asking to get fried beyond recognition,” he spat viciously. Sokka leaned toward him and squinted.

“Why are your eyes red?” he asked. His brows shot toward his hairline. “Have you been crying?”

Zuko’s scowl dissolved into a look of panic. He’d tried to push the horrific nightmare from his mind, but the damage it had reaped was evidently still lingering. Drenched in milky moonlight, Sokka had never seen the Fire Nation prince look so scared and distraught before. Humiliation sawed at Zuko’s insides. He grappled for something to say—a quick and scathing retort. But his throat was seizing up, and a fresh bout of tears welled in his eyes.

“I…” he began, voice shivery. Toph punched Sokka in the arm. 

“Lay off,” she scolded him. “He startled me when I came out here to take a whizz, so I kicked dirt in his eyes. That’s all.”

Zuko turned to her in disbelief, blinking. She hinted a small smile that disappeared just as quickly. Relief drizzled over his heart. 

“Oh,” Sokka said, rubbing his shoulder, glancing between them skeptically. “Right.” He recognized immediately that they weren’t telling him what was really going on, but decided not to press the matter. If Toph thought it important to keep under wraps, he trusted her.

Zuko kneaded his eyes with the heels of his hands and avoided his gaze, feeling sticky and exposed. Why would she lie for me? he wondered. How does that benefit her? Wouldn’t she want to humiliate her enemy every chance she got? To show her friends how weak and pathetic he really was? Maybe she wanted him indebted to her. Or to have something over him to use as blackmail. 

Whatever the reason, he was relieved. For now, at least. A part of him wanted to thank her. He stared into her foggy eyes for a moment, hoping she understood. 

Toph responded by crossing her arms and grinning wide. “Anyway, back to you being stupid,” she said spiritedly. 

The prince deflated with a groan. So much for being grateful. “Seriously?” he exclaimed, his rage blossoming back to life. 

“You make no sense to me,” she continued unperturbed. “You're trying to capture Aang and bring him home to your dad so he’ll love and accept you, right?”

Zuko was off-put by the direct address. So was Sokka. The firebender huffed irately. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

“But it sorta seems like he’s been awful to you even before you were banished.”

The prince wasn’t sure how much she or others knew about his situation, but already it sounded like more than he was comfortable with. He gritted his teeth.

“Be quiet!” he barked. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You want a father who cares about you and understands you,” Toph said with a snort. “Trust me: I get it. My parents still think I’m some helpless little blind girl, not a butt-kicking, earthbending champion.” 

Zuko glared daggers through Toph. “Our situations aren’t the same. My father does care about me. Once I bring him the avatar, he’ll accept me as his son, and my honor will be restored.” 

Toph blew a tuft of hair out of her face and dropped her chin into her hand. Sokka rolled his eyes.

“No offense, Prince Jerkbender, but your dad is kind of the worst.”

Zuko turned away from them, hissing with pain and frustration. “This is why I’m not talking to you about this! None of you could ever understand!”

“What we don’t understand is why you’re set on getting your terrible father to like you when you already have someone who loves and accepts you right now!” Sokka cried, exasperated.

A shock went through Zuko’s system. He swallowed, gripping his wound and hunching his shoulders.

“What...w-what are you talking about?” he murmured.

Toph scoffed. “Um...your uncle?” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe. “You know, the guy who left the Fire Nation to help you? Who travels around the world with you and supports you no matter how badly you treat him? The man who makes you tea and comforts you when you’re sick and tucks you into bed at night?”

“And who convinced us to help you even though we really didn’t want to?” Sokka added. 

Zuko’s chest tightened. Anxiety and confusion and an avalanche of other emotions churned inside his gut. He grimaced at the ground.

“He cares about you. Like, openly, aggressively cares about you. It’s as annoying as it is sweet.” Toph tilted her head to the side. “Why are you so determined to earn your dad’s love, when your uncle already loves you as you are?”

The prince didn’t look at them. He watched a beetle crawl over a rock, his fingers shivering against his aching shoulder. He inhaled sharply, then laid across the ground, yanking the blanket over his head and curling into himself. 

Sokka glanced at Toph, then back at Zuko, then sighed. It looked like there was no getting through to him. The earthbender rose to her feet.

“Drink some more of your uncle’s tea,” she demanded, then strode back into the tent. “G’night.”

Sokka was quick to follow her, yawning as he stepped into the darkness, shooting one last look over his shoulder.

Zuko shuddered alone beneath the stars, blinking back tears. A few restless minutes later, he heated up Uncle’s teapot, choked down another cup of boiling, bitter liquid, then nestled against the grass, praying that the rest of his night would be dreamless. That is, if he ever managed to fall asleep again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is it just me, or is Zuko...kind of awkward?”

Katara stopped fixing her hair mid-braid, scoffing. “What? What do you mean?”

Aang stretched and smiled, the morning sunlight pouring in through the doorway gilding his limbs in a golden halo. “Yesterday, while we were meditating, I told him I liked his new hair. And he totally didn’t know how to respond—as if he’s never been complimented by anyone besides his uncle before. It was hilarious!”

Sokka shot upright, mouth hanging agape. “Wait—‘we?’” he exclaimed. “As in, you were meditating together?”

“Yeah! Zuko practices meditation just like me! Isn’t that cool?”

Katara frowned. “That’s...weird. He’s the last person I’d expect to see meditating. Especially with you.”

“I know, right?” Aang giggled. “The best part was, when I told him I liked his hair, he said he liked mine, too. Like, as a joke! Because I’m bald!” He laughed brightly. “It was so bad, but that only made it funnier!”

Katara huffed, tying off the end of her braid. “Well I’m glad you had fun with the guy who’s going to try imprisoning you the moment he can walk again.”

Aang winced at her coldness. “I’m just saying, Katara. If you’re patient and give him the chance, you’ll see there’s more to him than ‘angry scary firebender prince.’ He’s more human than you might think.”

When Katara simply rolled her eyes, Toph decided to speak up.

“So, don’t tell him I told you guys this, but...I had a chat with him last night. He had a really bad nightmare, and the sound of his cries woke me up.”

Sokka hopped to his feet. “Ha! I knew you were lying! I may not have lie-detecting feet, but I know a fib when I hear one.” His excitement was short lived, however. He backtracked with a troubled look, eyeing the doorway. “Oh...does that mean I was right before? You know...about him crying?”

Aang’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Wait—Zuko was crying?” 

Everyone’s gazes veered toward Toph. The tiny earthbender nodded solemnly, her expression grim. “He was screaming in his sleep. I had to cover his mouth to stop him from waking all of you up.” She scratched the back of her neck. “He was...calling for his mom. Begging her to come back. I don’t know what happened to her, or what their relationship is like, but…” she shook her head. “It was really sad.”

Silence veiled the room. Again, Katara felt torn in half by her usual eagerness to help those in pain and her hatred toward Zuko. Sokka put his hair up and placed his hands on his hips.

“The guy’s got a lot of issues, that’s for sure. Do I feel bad for him? Maybe, a little. Does it make me trust him any more than I did before? Absolutely not.” 

“Exactly,” Katara said, glad she had her brother were back on the same page. Aang crossed his arms against his chest.

“But he has shown us he has more than one side. You guys saw more of his vulnerable side, and I got to see part of his calm and awkward side.” He snickered into his hand. “Man, you should’ve seen his face! He has no idea how to take a compliment. I don’t think anyone’s ever called him cute before.”

Katara stuck out her tongue. “Who would ever have a reason to?”

“Oh, come on! You have to admit his new haircut is better than his old one!”

Sokka snorted. “I think anything is better compared to that disaster, so you’re setting the bar pretty low.”

Aang beamed between his friends. “You all should try complimenting him sometime, if only to see his response. It catches him completely off guard.”

Sokka blew a raspberry and walked outside, stretching his arms over his head. Katara wrinkled her nose at Aang’s chipper attitude toward all of this. How many times did she have to remind him that Zuko was their enemy who wanted nothing more than to see him in chains. Even if she liked his new look, and had maybe had to stop herself from touching his hair while he was unconscious and no one else was around to see (it just looked so fuzzy!), no way would she ever say so out loud. 

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she snapped. “Under no circumstances would I ever consider that monster cute.”

At that moment, Sokka popped back into the tent, looking both shocked and delighted at the same time. “Guys, you have got to come see this,” he said.

Katara and Aang exchanged a glance before following him. Toph came along too, although she had a feeling she already knew what he was referring to, based on the cluster of mismatched vibrations her feet were picking up.

The three friends tailed Sokka outside and stopped when they discovered a giant fluffy mountain resting in the sunrise. Appa had moved from his spot by the river and was now lying beside the earth tent. His ears perked up as they approached, but he didn’t raise his head. Aang didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, until Sokka coaxed him forward.

“Look,” he snickered. 

Katara and the avatar peered over Appa’s large foot to find a very bizarre sight. A bunch of animals were gathered between Appa’s front legs—a skink quail, a prickle snake, a pair of dragonflies, and a family of turtle ducks, which was strange in itself. But underneath the zoo of wildlife was Zuko, curled up and sleeping peacefully with all the animals snuggled against him, as if they were his babies and he was their teenage firebending mama. Even Momo was there, nestled in the crook of Zuko’s neck and shoulder, purring contently. 

“What the…?” Aang said, blinking.

“Right?” Sokka giggled.

“What exactly am I looking at right now?” Katara asked, her hands flying to her mouth in horror. “Oh no. He’s not—they’re not—eating him, are they?”

“He’s not dead, if that’s what you're asking,” Toph assured her. “His breathing and heartbeat actually feel better than they did yesterday.”

“They look like they’re just...cuddling him,” Aang said. He cupped his palms over his heart, melting with endearment. “Awww! That’s so sweet!”

“But why are they doing it?” Katara asked. The prickle snake was coiled into a spiral and resting on top of his belly. The four turtle ducks were pressed against his back, their tails tucked underneath his side. While the dragonflies occupied both of his arms, the skink quail burrowed itself in the bend of his knees. Appa had his nose against his shoulder blades and his toes under his head and feet, his deep breaths stirring Zuko’s hair. 

Okay, it was cute. Sue her. It still made no sense.

“Maybe he...smells good?” Sokka suggested dubiously. “From something in his uncle’s tea?”

Aang sprung on top of Appa’s head and petted his fur. “Whatcha doing with Zuko, buddy? Do you like him? Does he smell nice?”

“Maybe it’s because of his fever,” Toph suggested, pressing one hand against the ground. “He still feels a lot warmer than the rest of you.”

“So they’re snuggling him to sap his fever heat?” Katara said, fighting back a smile. It was oddly endearing—watching the prince sleep, his wiry shape buried in woodland creatures. He looked like a spoiled little kid surrounded by toys, or some kind of mystical forest spirit communing with nature. 

“Here Momo,” Aang called, hanging off Appa’s horn to try to scoop him up. Momo growled and hissed in protest, pressing closer to Zuko. His squirmy movements roused the slumbering firebender, making him wrinkle his brow and release a quiet moan. 

Zuko blinked sluggishly, the grass and the flowers poking up from the earth gradually coming into focus. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, feeling clusters of tiny bodies shift with his movements. Oh, great, he thought. Not again. He pushed himself upright, grimacing from a sudden jolt of pain, careful not to squish any of the little creatures around him. When he lifted his bleary gaze, he was surprised to find four pairs of eyes gazing back, wide with confusion.

“Ah!” Zuko yelped, flinching backwards sharply. The turtle ducks and the dragonflies sprung away from him for a moment, then quickly reconvened, nuzzling against his limbs. Momo hopped on to his scalp, pawing at his messy bedhead, but Zuko barely seemed to notice. His shock shifted to puzzled anger. “What on earth? Why are all of you watching me sleep? Don’t you know how creepy that is?”

Sokka shrugged dramatically. “Huh, gee, I don’t know. Maybe because we walked out here to find you having a giant cuddly slumber party with an entire petting zoo’s worth of animals.”

“Which for some reason doesn’t seem to be weirding you out,” Katara added, watching Momo growl at the dragonflies from on top of Zuko’s head. 

Aang and Toph giggled at the peculiar scene. Zuko glared between them lazily, stifling another yawn.

“It happens sometimes when I sleep out in the open,” he mumbled. “I don’t know why.” He winced when Appa nudged him in the back with his nose, as if he hadn’t noticed the enormous flying bison looming over him until now. Momo leapt from his head to his shoulder and licked his cheek. 

“Wait—you mean this is a regular thing for you?” Aang floated to the ground in front of him, beaming. “Waking up and being surrounded by a bunch of animals?”

Zuko shrugged, scratching at his disheveled hair. “Sorta.” 

The four friends just stared at him. He began to realize how strange this probably looked to people who didn’t have to deal with it on the regular. He cringed when Appa’s giant tongue lapped across the entirety of his back, plastering him in sticky saliva. 

“Ugh! Gross!” Zuko shoved the bison’s enormous nose in disgust. “Get your slobbery pets away from me!”

“They like you!” Aang insisted, eyes sparkling. “Wow! You’re like an animal whisperer! Look at you, surrounded by cuddly wildlife! You’re so cute!”

To everyone’s delight, Zuko’s cheeks turned pink. Aang hadn’t been joking about the whole ‘can’t take a compliment’ thing.

“I’m not—it’s not—cute,” he grumbled. “It’s annoying.” 

Frowning, he scooped the family of turtle ducks in his arms and placed them to the side, trying to look careless and angry while also being noticeably gentle. As soon as their feet touched the ground, they scurried back up his legs and into his lap with a chorus of quacks and chirps. His look of surprise made all four of them burst out laughing. Sokka grinned smugly. 

“Face it, Zuko. You’re a prissy little prince whose angry royal yelling attracts flocks of baby animals to snuggle you to sleep. If that’s not cute, I don’t know what is.”

Zuko’s cheeks went from pink to red. Until now, none of them had ever seen the firebender full-on blush before. Couple that with the dragonflies flanking his sides, the skink quail fluffed against his knee, the prickle snake slithering toward his neck, and the turtle ducks quacking incessantly at Momo, it was a scene all of them wanted painted and framed to treasure forever. One of the dragonflies prodded at his hand, asking to be pet, and he begrudgingly obliged.

“Whatever,” he muttered shyly. “It’s not like I try to make them come. They just show up.”

Toph hummed in thought. “I figured they were snuggling you because of your fever, but if this happens pretty often, then I don’t know what’s causing it.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a royalty thing. Wild animals just really like aristocrats. Especially ones that sing.” Sokka leaned toward Zuko suspiciously. “Can you sing? Come on—belt out a tune for me.”

Ignoring him, Zuko lifted Momo off his shoulder and placed him on the ground. “I don’t feel like I have a fever anymore,” he said. “I think it broke last night.” The lemur warbled in disappointment and scampered away.

His chills were gone, along with the skull-splitting migraine. Now he only had the aches and pains of his lightning wound to worry about. It wasn’t much of an improvement, but it was better than no progress at all.

“You still feel warm to me,” Toph said skeptically. Katara reached forward and held her hand against his forehead, making him wince in surprise.

“Definitely warm,” Katara agreed. Zuko pulled away from her touch sourly.

“I don’t have a fever,” Zuko snapped. “I’m just naturally hot.”

Katara blinked at him. Sokka snorted behind his hand. 

“Oh, is that so?” he snickered.

Zuko narrowed his eyes bemusedly. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s a firebender thing. We tend to run hotter than regular people.” He pushed at the dragonfly that was nibbling his ear. “But I’m unusually hot for some reason. Like, more so than normal firebenders.”

Now everyone was giggling. Zuko glanced between them with a puzzled frown, the double-sidedness of his words clearly not registering.

“What?” 

Sokka waved dismissively, clutching his stomach. “Oh, nothing,” he chuckled. “That’s just a pretty bold statement to make about yourself.”

One of the turtle ducklings scuttled on top of Zuko’s leg. He stroked its tiny head with his thumb unconsciously, scowling. 

“No it’s not,” he insisted. “It’s the truth. My uncle said so.”

Now the four kids were howling. Zuko started, eyes wide, then scoffed, balling his hands at his sides.

“What is so funny?”

“Are you sure your uncle’s not just saying that because he’s obligated to?” Katara giggled. 

Toph cackled with her arms crossed. “Personally, I trust Iroh’s opinion. If he says Zuko’s hot, then I’ll take his word for it.”

Aang and Sokka doubled over with laughter, hugging their bellies as their shoulders bounced up and down. Zuko’s face burned as the realization gradually dawned on him. 

“No, wait, th-that’s not what I…!” he began, but no one was listening to him. They were all too busy giggling like children at his simple slip-up. He sighed irritably, plucking the prickle snake from his shoulder and placing it in his palm. “You’re all so immature. You know I was talking about temperature...”

“Whatever you say, Prince Hotman,” Aang chuckled, bowing extravagantly. Zuko blushed and avoided their gazes, petting the snake bitterly. 

“Aren’t you scared it’s going to bite you?” Toph asked, pointing to the serpent in his hand. “Prickle snakes are venomous.”

Zuko looked down at the small reptile. “They never have before,” he said casually, letting it curl and slither around his wrist. 

“I think they like how warm you are,” she said. “That’s why they cuddle up to you to sleep. I guess it was pretty chilly last night.”

Without warning, Aang hopped over Appa’s leg and wrapped Zuko in a hug, making the prince recoil uncomfortably.

“Hey! W-what are you—?” he stammered.

“You’re right, Toph! He is really warm!” Aang nuzzled his head into Zuko’s shoulder, closing his eyes and grinning wide. “No wonder all the animals want to snuggle you! You’re like a big, cozy space heater!”

“Get off me!” he snapped, squirming and pushing the clingy airbender. The dragonflies hissed in protest, the turtle ducks squawked furiously, and the skink quail puffed into an angry little ball, cuing Appa to let out a guttural roar.

Feathers exploded from the skink quail as it took flight, flapping and fluttering in terror. The dragonflies screeched and zipped into the sky as the prickle snake sprung out of his hand and slithered into the brush. Quacking frantically, the turtle ducks scurried out of the prince’s lap, gunning for the river. In a matter of moments, all of the wildlife had fled the scene. Zuko blinked in surprise as Appa licked his hair, satisfied with his work. 

“Appa! How rude!” Aang scolded the bison, his arms still curled around the wriggly firebender. “Space heaters are meant to be shared!”

“I am not a space heater!” Zuko retorted, shoving Aang’s face away with both hands. The others weren’t sure whether they should be concerned or amused. It was a pretty funny sight, watching the two diametrically opposed benders squabble like little kids. 

To add to the humor of the situation, it was at that moment that Zuko’s stomach decided to release a long, loud growl. He and Aang both froze, startled by the sudden noise. Then the avatar laughed brightly. 

“It sounds like the space heater needs some fuel!” he giggled, releasing Zuko from his hold and flitting on top of Appa’s foot. Zuko stared sideways sheepishly, gripping his belly, still rattled by the random cuddle attack. His stomach continued to rumble against his fingertips, pleading for anything besides tea. He’d forgotten that he’d hardly eaten yesterday. Now that he was no longer nauseous, he was really beginning to feel the effects. 

“Do you have an appetite at all?” Katara asked. “We have fish and berries and a little bit of bread. You need to get some food in your system if you can.”

Zuko shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess,” he mumbled. A second later, his tummy practically roared, causing heat to rush to his ears. 

“I think the monster in your stomach speaks for itself,” Sokka snickered. His friends chuckled alongside him. Zuko squeezed his belly tighter, as if he could smother it into silence. 

Katara tugged on the avatar’s sleeve. “Aang, why don’t you go grab him some breakfast while Sokka and I move him into the tent?”

Aang brightened. “Okay!” He formed a ball of air underneath his body and sprung onto it, balancing on top with one foot and zipping away like some kind of crazy performer in a freaky circus act. Toph followed after him, yawning and stretching.

Zuko looked uneasy as the two Water Tribe siblings approached. Appa nuzzled his back with his nose in an almost encouraging manner. 

“Can you walk at all, or do you want us to carry you?” 

The prince glowered. “I’m not going back in the tent,” he hissed. “And you’re not carrying me.” 

“You need another healing session. I figured you’d want some privacy.” Katara rolled her eyes. “But if you want to do it out here, grouchy pants, we can.”

Zuko thought on it for a moment. He supposed he’d prefer not having eight eyes watching as the Water Tribe girl put her weird glowy healing hands all over him. He looked up at the bison, who had angled his head toward him in an oddly convenient manner.

“Fine,” he mumbled. He grabbed hold of Appa’s horn and used it to lift his body off the ground, straining and sputtering. Once he was upright, he sagged against the fluffy monster, sweat beading across his brow, face flushed with effort. Appa stayed still for him, perfectly content being a two-ton support stand for the tiny, warm human. 

Katara and Sokka shared a look before flanking Zuko on either side, wrapping their arms under his and bearing the majority of his weight. They walked him toward the tent, letting his feet touch the ground so he didn’t feel like he was being carried even though that was essentially what was happening.

“Wow, Aang was right,” Sokka observed. “You are really warm. Just like a—”

“If you say space heater, I’m lighting your hair on fire,” Zuko grated out. 

Katara gaped. “If you even think about lighting my brother’s hair on fire, your ungrateful butt is going in the river.”

“Yeah,” Sokka chuckled. “The fishies need a turn cuddling Prince Hothead.”

Zuko grumbled something under his breath, but didn’t have the energy to banter. He hated having to be cared for and escorted around by his stupid enemies. The Water Tribe siblings in particular both annoyed and puzzled him. He’d never seen a brother and sister get along so well, let alone be protective of each other. Azula would never in a million years defend him if he were in trouble; she’d be watching from the front row with a bowl of fire flakes, cheering for his demise, if not trying to kill him herself. Similarly, for as long as he’d known them, Ozai and Iroh had always been rivals first, relatives second. Being dual heirs to the Fire Nation throne just gave you another person to compete with, to fear, to suspect of plotting your assassination. Royal Fire Nation siblings were never allies, and certainly not friends.  

He and Azula had been playmates when they were kids, of course. As a child, Zuko had protected his little sister whenever and however he could. But that only lasted until they began to understand who they were—what they were. Until Azula no longer needed his protection. Until he needed protection from her. 

If it came down to it, if it was life or death, would he still defend her? Or would he let her get what she deserved?

Even after getting zapped into oblivion by his sister, it was hard to say. 

“Where’s my uncle?” Zuko asked through his teeth as they led him into the tent.

“He went to a nearby town to get supplies,” Sokka replied. “He said he was looking for ingredients for some kind of burn balm for you.”

Sokka eyed him in a way that screamed you know, because he actually cares about you, unlike a certain son-banishing Fire Lord I know? 

Zuko turned away from his gaze and glared at the ground. He hoped Uncle would find what he needed and get back here soon. Whatever medicine he’d put on his eye in the infirmary three years ago had significantly sped up his recovery.

“How are you feeling right now, overall?” Katara asked. She and her brother helped him sit against the wall. He held his shoulder and panted softly, his face gnarled with pain. 

“Like I got struck by lightning two days ago,” he muttered.

Sokka barked out a laugh. Katara frowned at him. He withered beneath her glare. “What?” he said defensively. “It was funny! Wasn’t that supposed to be funny?”

“Why don’t you go harvest some nuts or something?” Katara said, pushing him toward the exit. Sokka dug his heels into the ground, narrowing his eyes at the injured prince. 

“You’re okay being alone with him?” Sokka asked. “What if he firebends at you?”

Katara scoffed in Zuko’s direction. “Don’t worry,” she insisted. “I’m more than capable of handling him myself.”

Zuko scowled, even though he knew she was right. Sure, he could get a surprise attack in—two, if he was lucky. But she’d easily counter with a lash of frozen water, rendering him immobile (and possibly eating the floor) in seconds, if not dead. She had gotten obnoxiously better at fighting since visiting the Northern Water Tribe. She was now one of the biggest threats he encountered when confronting their team, even when he wasn’t half-fried and barely able to walk. In his current state, he didn’t stand a chance. 

It wasn’t like he was planning to attack her—not right now, at least. Still. These were the anxieties constantly seething through his mind. In the event he needed to overpower her, it was scary to realize he probably couldn’t. Why did Uncle think it was okay to leave him all by himself with these people? The old man was far too trusting. 

Sokka wrinkled his nose. “Okay,” he relented, giving Katara a quick hug. Then he jabbed a finger at Zuko. “Don’t try anything funny or fiery with my sister, or you’ll be sorry. Got it?”

Zuko stared between them bemusedly, then offered a short nod. Sokka puffed up his chest and marched out of the tent, leaving the waterbender and the firebender alone inside. 

Once her brother’s footsteps had faded out of earshot, Katara turned to the prince with sharp eyes and an expression he couldn’t quite read. She popped open her pouch and streamed the water around her hands, cycling a slow breath through her lungs. 

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, and kneeled beside him. She pressed both palms to the wound on his chest and let the water flow over and into the burnt flesh, tracking the damage as it traveled through his body. Zuko tensed at first, the strange, cold feeling taking him by surprise. But as the pain began to ebb away—the stings, the aches, the twinges, all of it—he allowed himself to relax. Well, as much as he could relax with a Water Tribe girl who hated his guts sitting uncomfortably close to him with her hands on his chest. 

As the two sat in awkward silence, Zuko considered the possibility that choosing to be alone with Katara while she healed him was worse than being out in the open. 

“How long is this going to take?” he asked, shooting brief glances at her hands, but mostly just staring at the ground. 

“About twenty minutes, if you stay still,” she answered. Hardly a minute had passed, and already Katara knew she preferred healing an unconscious Zuko over an awake one. When he was asleep, she didn’t have to worry about breaking the tension, or tip-toeing around his injury, or those deadly golden eyes watching her every move. She didn’t even have to acknowledge that he was Zuko, their nemesis. He was just a body that needed to be healed. A broken pile of muscle and skin for her to mend with waterbending. It was like working with one of those dummies the Northern Water Tribe women had practiced and demonstrated their healing abilities on. Treating him while he was unconscious was easier because she didn’t have to think of him as a person. It was more like fixing a machine.

Zuko’s piercing stare lingered on her hands a little longer than she liked. Maybe she should get him to drink more of his uncle’s knock-out tea. Anything to escape the growing balloon of discomfort suffocating the air between them.

“How...are you doing that?” he inquired carefully, the glow from her waterbending glinting in his eyes. She weighed the question in her mind before choosing her reply. 

“Some waterbenders have healing abilities,” she said. “Lucky for you, I’m one of them.”

Zuko studied her for a second before looking away. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Maybe you would have, if the Fire Nation hadn’t killed nearly every last waterbender in the South Pole.”

Zuko’s eyes flitted wide for a moment before dropping to the floor. He swallowed, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“I’m sorry.”

Katara’s steady hand movements wavered. She lifted her gaze to his. Now that she knew the story behind his scar—the malevolent forces and people who had allowed the prince to be permanently branded so cruelly—she found it difficult to tear her eyes away from it. She’d never noticed how painful it looked. How the scorched, leathery skin stood out so drastically against the rest of his young, unblemished face. He could be two totally different people, depending on which side of him you were looking at. Staring at him now made her stomach clench. It felt like she was seeing him—truly seeing him—for the very first time. 

The apology had caught her off guard. So much so, she didn’t realize how long she’d been gazing at him until he turned toward her. A flash of realization crossed his face.

“My—my sister didn’t give me this one too, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Katara glanced away quickly, feeling rude. “N-no, that’s not…” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry.”

Zuko gave a small shrug. “It’s fine,” he said, although his expression told a different story. 

She went back to healing his shoulder. Now she was purposely not looking at his face, which somehow felt just as awkward. A full minute passed before either of them spoke again.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked quietly.

Zuko blinked at her. “What?”

“Your eye. Does it still hurt sometimes?”

A line formed between his brows. “It’s a scar,” he said.

“Is that a no?”

He shifted in place, looking thoughtful and uneasy. He reached up and grazed the burned skin with his fingertips. “I guess I sometimes think it’s hurting, but...I don’t think it’s real.” 

Katara nodded solemnly. “Sokka has a scar on his back like that. He fell out of a canoe as a kid and landed on a sharp patch of ice. It really rattled him, and he says it still stings from time to time. But he thinks it’s all in his head.”

Zuko looked down at her hands again. “Do you think it’s all in his head?”

The waterbender pursed her lips in thought. Then she lifted her shoulders somberly. “Does it matter? It still hurts him. Except there’s nothing I can do to make it better.”

The prince had a curious expression on his face, like he wanted to understand what she was saying while also knowing he never would. This was the longest she’d ever seen him go without boasting his signature scowl. 

“You and your brother care a lot about each other,” he said warily. Not as a question, but a stated fact. An observation. 

“Of course we do,” she said, almost laughing. Zuko eyed his shoulder wound dismally. 

“Must be nice,” he murmured. 

Katara followed his gaze and grimaced. “Oh,” she said. She’d almost forgotten it was his sister who had nearly electrocuted him to death.

“I guess not all siblings were meant to get along like you two.”

Katara couldn’t imagine not being friends with her brother. Sure, they’d had their fair share of spats and squabbles, as all siblings were bound to have. But to honestly, genuinely hate each other? To see him as an enemy rather than her most trusted companion? To not have each other’s backs through thick and thin, in every trial they’d faced together? 

And to actually try to kill each other…the absurdity of the concept blew her mind.

But she and Sokka weren’t Zuko and Azula. 

“I guess not,” she said softly. Her hands moved to hover directly over the gruesome injury. “Still...I can’t believe your own sister did this to you.”

“Have you met Azula?” Zuko scoffed. 

Katara narrowed her eyes. “If you had the chance, would you kill her?”

Zuko lifted his gaze and blinked. A flicker of uncertainty touched his irises—one that scared both of them. Then his expression clouded over.

“No,” he said adamantly, swallowing. “But if she was in danger dying, I don’t know if I’d save her.”

Silence shrouded the room. In that moment, it occurred to Katara that she was doing the exact thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do. She was interacting with Zuko like he was a normal human being, not their sworn enemy. Not the person who had tried to imprison her friend over and over. Not the prince of the most bloodthirsty nation on the planet. She cursed herself for so carelessly letting him in, for actually feeling bad for him. 

She set her jaw and refocused her attention on his wound. She wouldn’t let herself slip again.

“We saved you,” she pointed out coldly. “Because unlike you and Azula, we’re actually good people.”

She felt Zuko tense and saw his hand curl into a fist out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t react. She continued to begrudgingly heal his injury, moving her palms along his collarbone. 

Unbeknownst to her, Zuko was actually glad she’d decided to insult him the same moment her hands changed position on his body. The feeling of the water healing his wound fanned outwards from wherever her palms touched, strange and cool and tingly—perfectly fine when it was just over his shoulder. But as she inched toward his neck, the tingly sensation started crawling up the sensitive skin, spreading underneath his chin. In an instant, the feeling went from soothing and mystical to tickling him like a feather. Zuko soon found himself clenching his teeth and coiling his muscles in attempt not to laugh, a position he had not anticipated being in. When it grew too much to handle, he jerked away, gripping his throat.

Katara winced in surprise, her water-coated hands hanging in the air. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Zuko blinked. “Um.” His face suddenly felt warm. How was he going to explain this? He rubbed his tingling skin nervously. “It just—hurt. I’m sore there.”

“Where? On your neck?” She reached toward his throat, but he flinched back from her touch. A line formed between her eyes. “Let me see. I might be able to help.”

“It’s fine,” he snapped. “I just tweaked it. It doesn’t need your freaky magic hands.” If that tingly feeling was pressed directly against his neck, he was certain he’d fall to pieces in seconds. He was embarrassingly sensitive, as Uncle had recently (and obnoxiously) discovered, and he had no desire for anyone else to find out—especially his enemies. He’d sooner let Azula fry his other shoulder than let that happen.

Fortunately for him, Katara didn’t press the issue. “Fine,” she said, letting her hands fall to her sides. “I’m done with the wound on your chest for now anyway.”

Zuko breathed a sigh of relief. Bullet: dodged.

“Now I can start on your foot.”

A spark of alarm shot up Zuko’s spine. His eyes popped open as she moved to sit by his feet.

“W-what?” he exclaimed. 

Katara gave him a questioning look. “Your foot,” she said, pointing. “It needs to be healed, too. You know, the one you can hardly put any weight on?” She gave his sole a light tap, causing dread to rise in his belly. “The lightning entered your chest, traveled down your left side, and exited out of the bottom of your left foot. The scar on it matches the one on your chest—it’s just smaller.”

Just the thought of that tingling sensation spreading across his sole was enough to make him twitchy. Zuko swallowed, worrying his thumbs in his lap. “Do you…have to heal it?” he asked timidly.

Katara frowned at him. “I mean, yeah. If you ever want to walk normally again.”

It took a moment for the change in his demeanor to catch her attention. He looked shy and fidgety all of sudden, as if he was about to give a speech but had forgotten his notes, and he was doing absolutely everything he could to avoid her gaze. His face also had a slight pink tint to it, like he’d been holding his breath. 

“Is something wrong?” she finally asked him. Zuko hesitated before shaking his head. He was doomed either way, but he refused to confess what was really going on. If he kept his mouth shut, at least there was a chance he could find the strength to stay composed—perhaps enough for her not to notice. 

Katara studied him for a few more puzzled seconds before shrugging it off and getting to work. She used one hand to hold his ankle steady while the other brought the water to his sole. The scar was in the center of the ball of his foot, just above his arch and right below his toes, which was why Zuko was having so much trouble walking on it. His leg would probably be stiff for a while, but she could heal it enough for him to at least start putting some weight on it again. 

But barely two seconds into the healing session, Zuko yanked his foot out of her grip. She flinched and looked up at him, narrowing his eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked irritably. “I told you, you have to stay still.”

Zuko had his hands shoved under his armpits and his lips pursed tight. “Oh, r-right,” he said. His voice was pitched slightly higher than normal. When he didn’t return his foot to her, she grabbed his ankle and dragged it back to its original position. 

“Don’t move,” she demanded, and pressed her glowing palm against his sole again.

Easy for you to say! Zuko thought miserably. The tingly sensation revved back to life, sprawling down his heel and between his toes. It felt like his entire foot was being brushed with tiny, magical feathers. Even worse, it hurt to curl his arch or scrunch up his toes, so he really couldn’t move other than ripping his foot away or kicking her in the face, which he was seriously considering.

A flood giggles started building behind his lips. He twitched and snorted and slapped a palm over his mouth before tearing his foot away from her tingly touch. Katara huffed exasperatedly, balling her hands into fists.

“What is your problem?” she shouted. “What part of ‘don't move’ and ‘stay still’ do you not understand?”

Zuko’s ears felt like they were on fire. He hugged his knee skittishly, grappling for an excuse. “I don’t—I’m not trying to,” he stammered, rubbing his heel against the ground. 

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

The prince crossed his arms close to his chest. “Because—” he said, biting his lip. “I just—I don’t...like how it feels.”

Katara raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like how it feels?” she parroted mockingly. “You didn’t mind how it felt when I was healing your chest. Why is this any different?”

Zuko didn’t answer. The firebender was noticeably flustered—hands restless, shoulders hunched. Clearly there was something bothering him that he wasn’t letting on about. Katara’s expression softened.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said, changing her tone. Zuko was in a pretty vulnerable position. Even if he was evil, he still felt pain the same way she and all her friends did. As a healer, she had to acknowledge that. She sighed levelly. “But you need to stay still so I can heal you properly.” The waterbender nodded towards his foot. “Is it hurting when I heal you? Is that why you keep jumping away?”

Zuko shook his head. “N-no, it’s not...” he mumbled, scratching his forearm nervously. His eyes stayed locked on the ground, as if it would disappear from underneath him if he dared look away. “It’s just...weird.”

“Weird?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Weird how?”

“You know...weird.”

Katara scoffed. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Forget it,” Zuko growled, scowling between his feet. “I’ll let it heal naturally.”

“You’ll have a limp for the rest of your life if you do that.”

A grimace crawled across his face. Zuko shifted uncomfortably, weighing the two evils in his mind.

“Just tell me why you can’t keep still,” Katara insisted. “Use your words, your highness. Does it sting? Does it burn? Is it making your skin pruny? What?”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” he snapped. “It feels weird, so I’m not staying still.” He turned away bitterly. “Why don’t you learn how to heal in a way that doesn’t feel weird?”

The waterbender stared at him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. She placed her hands on her hips. “You’re being a spoiled little brat right now, you know that?”

Zuko continued glaring at the wall, his stomach rumbling quietly. Katara sighed.

“Fine,” she said. She stood and walked out of the tent, disappearing into the sunshine. Zuko watched her go, blinking. Had she given up? Maybe she had another way to heal him that didn’t require tingly waterbending magic. He exhaled slowly and stretched out his legs, allowing himself to relax a little. 

The moment he did, two bands of earth rose up from the ground and wrapped around his ankles, trapping his feet in place. At the same time, the wall opened up behind him and swallowed his arms from the elbows down, pinning his hands behind his back. Zuko yelped in surprise, straining against the newly formed bonds as Katara re-entered the tent, tailed by Toph.

“Hey! W-what are you doing?” He tugged and pulled to try to free his arms, grunting with effort.

Katara smirked. “Making you stay still so I can heal you, of course.” 

Zuko gawked. Uh oh. Trying not to laugh when he could pull away from the tickling sensation anytime it grew too intense was already hard enough as it was. But trying not to laugh when he couldn’t escape it at all? Not good. 

“Now I can make sure you’re up and walking again in no time.” Katara grinned at the earthbender. “Thanks, Toph.”

“Sure,” Toph replied, looming over the trapped firebender smugly. Zuko blanched, squirming even more.

“Th-this is absurd! Let me go!” The prince wrenched and fought with all his might, but it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. He was thoroughly, entirely pinned. Even at his full strength, he doubted he’d be able to escape Toph’s rock-cuffs.

“Relax, Squirmy,” Toph chuckled. “You’re in good hands. Katara knows what she’s doing.”

She most certainly does not, he thought skittishly. Not yet, at least. And I’d really prefer to keep it that way! He twisted and turned as the Water Tribe girl sat by his feet again, reaching for his now defenseless sole. Anxiety leapt into Zuko’s throat.

“Wait!” he cried. “I’ll—I’ll be still. I promise.” He fidgeted sheepishly. “Just...let me out of this.”

Katara had no idea what was causing him to act so strange and frantic. She’d never had anyone respond to her healing sessions this way. But as entertaining as it was, she’d had enough of it. 

“I’m sure you would, Zuko,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But this guarantees it.”

With that, she pressed her palm to his foot and willed the water to mend the damaged flesh. It was a lot easier to do now that he wasn’t pulling away every two seconds.

Once she got into her usual healing rhythm, she looked up at Zuko, expecting the assuage to calm his bizarre uneasiness. Instead, she found him with his face buried in his shoulder as his cheeks burned bright red. 

“Zuko?” she said, startled. “What’s wrong?”

The prince shook his head, his body shivering like his fever had returned. He was trying his best to hide his face, but she could see enough to notice he was smiling, although it looked like he was fighting it with every ounce of his being.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked, the corners of her own lips lifting in puzzled amusement. She didn’t think she’d ever seen the grumpy firebender actually, genuinely smile before. It was a nice look on him, even when he was trying desperately to conceal it. He was also making a bunch of funny little noises—stifled squeaks and snorts he was struggling to keep at bay. At the same time, he was twitching and wriggling sporadically, as if his pants were crawling with centibeetles.

“He’s smiling?” Toph asked, mirroring Katara’s grin. Curiously, Katara’s gaze dropped to his foot. She moved her hand down his sole and gently fluttered her fingers against the center of his arch. Zuko’s wild reaction confirmed her hilarious hypothesis. 

“Ahack!” the prince yelped, his entire body going rigid. He whirled on her bewilderedly. “Dohon’t do that!”

Katara’s face lit up with delight. “No way. You’re ticklish?” She scribbled her nails toward his heel, making Zuko squeak and writhe. “Oh man! You are! That’s why you’re being so weird and squirmy!”

“S-stohop it!” Zuko giggled, a giant smile overtaking his features. Meanwhile, he was absolutely dying on the inside. This was too humiliating for words. His whole body smoldered with embarrassment while his toes twitched in protest. 

“Is my waterbending tickling you?” she wondered aloud, swirling one finger against his sole in thought, fiercely enjoying his erratic response. If there were ever a time she’d consider calling Zuko cute, it was now, when he was squealing and squirming beneath her delicate touch, flashing one of his rare (and surprisingly radiant) smiles, his face rosy with shame. She chuckled softly. “Hm. That’s new. No one’s ever told me it tickled them before. You must be really sensitive, huh?”

Thankfully, Katara did stop tickling him, but the evil smirk she drilled him with rendered him no less flustered. The damage was done, and there was no taking it back. Toph placed her fists on her hips and grinned smugly.

“Aw! No wonder he didn’t want to tell you why he couldn’t stay still. The little Fire Princey is embarrassed! How cute!”

For the second time that day, Zuko’s face turned as red as a lychee nut. He pouted timidly. 

“Sh-shut up!” he snarled. “It’s not cute!” He didn’t seem to understand the fact that the more he denied it, the less he was helping his case. 

“What’s not cute?” Aang’s chipper voice called, causing dread to shudder up Zuko’s skeleton. He and Sokka stepped through the doorway, holding bags of provisions. 

Katara giggled into her hand. “Yeah, Zuko,” she said pointedly. “What’s not cute?”

The firebender shrunk into himself shyly. Aang tilted his head to the side.

“Why is Zuko all bound up?” he asked. “Did he attack one of you?”

“He wouldn’t stay still for Katara’s healing session,” Toph explained, a mischievous glint in her faded eyes. 

Katara pressed her water-cloaked palm to his foot again, boasting a bright grin. “But we don’t have to worry about that anymore! Right, Zuko?”

If Zuko were able, he’d definitely kick her in the face right now. Unfortunately for him, all he could do was cringe and bite the inside of his cheek, battling back a wall of bubbly giggles while squirming against his restraints. 

“Why does he look like he’s about to explode?” Sokka asked, frowning.

“But like...happy explode!” Aang observed. 

Toph chuckled, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Because Katara’s water healing technique is tickling him,” she explained, feeling Zuko’s heart leap in despair. “She has to heal the exit wound on his foot, but apparently his feet are super ticklish.”

To Zuko’s dismay, two more pairs of eyes turned on his blushing, smiley self with stunned delight. Other than the Agni Kai with his father, Zuko couldn’t remember another moment in his life where he so desperately wanted to be invisible. 

“Zuko is ticklish?” Aang exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “Aw! That’s adorable!”

Zuko considered retaliating, but if he opened his mouth, laughter was the only thing coming out. Sokka snickered.

“First we discover you sleep with a traveling petting zoo, and now we find out you’re ticklish?” The Water Tribe boy tsked disappointedly. “Man. Your bad guy aesthetic has taken a major hit today, buddy.”

Aang hopped to Zuko’s left side, leaning in close to his flushed face. “If you’re tickling him, how come he’s not laughing?” he inquired. 

Katara chuckled softly. “I think he’s putting all his effort into keeping himself from laughing,” she said. “He seems determined not to let us hear it.”

A steady stream of whimpers and squeaks were escaping the flustered firebender, but he was somehow managing to stave off the tsunami of giggles. If somebody wasn’t intentionally tickling him, it seemed he was able to stay quiet, so long as all his focus was honed in on that goal.

Before Aang had a chance to remedy this injustice, Iroh appeared in the doorway of the tent, beaming with excitement.

“Zuko, look what I found!” he exclaimed, holding up his fist. “Feathers from the rare blue skink quail! Legend says if you add them to your tea, they can cure any ailment!” He eyed the long quills suspiciously. “Unless I am mistaken, and they are actually normal skink quail feathers, which are known to cause uncontrollable dysentery if consumed…”

He glanced up from his dilemma to find his nephew pinned down with shackles made of earth, looking extremely red in the face. He was surrounded by the avatar and his friends, who appeared amused by the prince’s pitiful squirming.

“Hey Iroh, did you know Zuko is ticklish?” Aang giggled. 

Iroh blinked, taken back by the sight and the question. “What are you doing to my nephew?” he asked bemusedly.

“I’m just healing him,” Katara insisted, pointing to the glowing hand on his sole. “But I guess the feeling on his foot tickles, so we had to restrain him to keep him still.” 

Iroh stared at Zuko’s twitchy toes, then at his smiling, blushing face. A stroke of endearment touched his heart. He loved seeing Zuko smile, even if the reason at the moment wasn’t to his liking. Unfortunately, the only way to get his hotheaded nephew to smile nowadays was through convoluted and unconventional methods like tickling. He tried not to use his adorable sensitivity against him too often, knowing it embarrassed the prince tremendously, but sometimes he felt he had to do it just to remind himself that Zuko was capable of joy and laughter, no matter how hard he tried to convince both of them he wasn’t. It was especially nice to see him smiling now, after nearly losing him to Azula’s attack. The thought of never seeing his nephew’s happy face again was too painful to dwell on. 

“I see,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning upward. “He’s probably not pleased you found out about his little weakness.”

“Uncle!” Zuko squeaked out before shutting back up again, clenching his teeth behind his lips. The children chuckled in delight. He was really struggling now, snickering and sputtering with his eyes squeezed shut. Not even Katara was immune to the endearing scene. She offered him a sympathetic smile. 

“You know you can laugh if you want,” she said earnestly. “I imagine it’s not easy to fight it for this long. It might actually be good for you.”

“Yeah!” Aang chirped. “It’s just like the monks always said: laughter is the best medicine.” He sat down beside him, beaming brilliantly. “Don’t be shy! Go ahead!”

Zuko shook his head adamantly, shoving his face into his shoulder as his whole body trembled and quaked. He had already been humiliated beyond all reason—he would not grant them any more satisfaction at his expense. A wry grin curled along Sokka’s lips. 

“Perhaps the stubborn prince needs a little more encouragement,” he suggested. He plucked one of the large feathers from Iroh’s fist. “Could I borrow one of these?”

“Sure,” Iroh said knowingly. “I probably won’t be using them anyway. I don’t have a great track record with concocting teas from strange things I found in the wilderness.”

Sokka skipped between his friends to sit on the firebender’s right side, opposite of Aang. “This oughta do the trick,” he said. Grinning eagerly, he held the soft end of the feather above Zuko’s torso, wiggling it threateningly. “Hey Fire Lord Spawn,” he teased him, “is your upper body ticklish too?”

Something lithe and fuzzy started brushing against his side, causing Zuko’s eyes to fly open. Horror sprawled across his face as goosebumps bubbled up from his skin.

“Ah! W-wahait! Don’t—!” He clamped his mouth shut and tried to angle his body out of the feather’s reach, but Sokka made sure the tickly bristles stayed glued to his side, gliding in the space between his hips and ribs. 

Zuko’s steely resolve was snuffed out in seconds. The sensation tickled far too much for the poor prince to take. Add that to the tingly tickles on his foot, and he knew he was done for. In real time, the four kids and the old man watched Zuko’s willpower rapidly crumble away: from whimpering to snorting to thrashing in place, until finally—

“Ehahaha!” he belted out, his cheeks glowing bright pink. He bucked and writhed, bursting with uncontrollable giggles. “Nohoheehee! Stahap!”

“Aww! There ya go!” Aang cheered.

“No way,” Toph gasped. “That’s Zuko?”

Sokka smirked triumphantly as he swooped the feather up and down the full length of the firebender’s side, drawing airy, nervous giggles from his lips. It was a softer kind of laughter compared to the time Iroh had attacked his tummy in the cave, but just as endearing—if not more so. Plus, in his current state, gentler tickling was definitely more appropriate. 

“Q-quihit it! Gehet awahay!” His eyes darted around the room, searching feverishly for a way out of this ticklish nightmare. Among the unfriendly faces, he spotted Iroh, who was watching the scene play out from the back, chuckling softly. 

“Uhuncle!” Zuko bubbled, his wide smile and bright laughter melting Iroh’s heart. He squirmed helplessly, burning from head to toe. “Mahake them stohop!”

Iroh grinned, stroking his beard. “I think the avatar is right, Prince Zuko. Laughter is a wonderful remedy for a broken body and a troubled soul. Indulging yourself in it for a little while may benefit your condition, especially right now.” 

Zuko stopped listening six words in, when it was clear he wasn’t going to help him. His mind was too occupied by the feeling of the feather delicately tracing the right side of his ribcage, causing light but frantic giggles to spill from his throat. Sokka lingered in the spot just below his underarm, teasing and stroking the exceptionally sensitive skin, then dragged the feather back down his side, fluttering the tip right above his hip bone. 

Katara chuckled along with the giggly prince, still grappling with the notion that the shrill, happy noise ringing in her ears was coming from Zuko. The typically grumpy firebender had a laugh that was both joyful and shy, like every second longer he heard himself doing it was making him all the more ashamed of it. He continued to try to muffle his giggling but was failing at every turn. The fact he was so mortified by the sound of his own laughter almost made her sad. 

“I think Prince Grouchy Butt is embarrassed of his laugh,” she observed amusedly. “Is that why you don’t do it very often?”

The blush in Zuko’s face bled down into his neck. Iroh chortled.

“He has a strict image of hostility and toughness he likes to maintain,” the old man explained. “I don’t think giggling like a child fits into that criteria.”

Sokka cooed, brushing the feather all over his belly. “Poor little Zuko, trying so hard to act tough. Too bad all it takes to shatter that facade is one wiggly feather!” He painted figure eights across his abs, noticing the sharp leap in the prince’s voice. “Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think tough guys typically have such ticklish tummies.”

“Stahap patronizing me!” Zuko demanded between giggles, doubling over as much as his restraints would allow. “Youhou’re all gonna—p-payhay for this!”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Iroh assured him, unfazed by his nephew’s squeaky threats.

“Yeah,” Katara agreed, grinning fiendishly. “Your laugh is super cute.”

The way he looked at her, you’d think she just told him he would never walk again. Katara couldn’t help but snicker, which only made his face heat up more. Zuko fought once again to stem the waterfall of laughter from breaching his lips, but it was hopeless. The feeling of the feather teasing his bare skin was driving him mad with giggles.

“Nohot—it’s nohohot—eheeheehahahagh!”

He was so focused on the soft bristles mercilessly exploring his right side, he didn’t even notice the avatar nabbing a feather from his uncle and floating down on his left until he started swirling the soft end inside his belly button. 

“Katara’s right, Zuko! Your laugh is super cute. Now I just wanna hear more of it!”

Zuko threw his weight around and arched his spine. “Nohohahaha!” he squealed, the sensation sending shocks across his ticklish tummy. “Ahagh—s-stahap! Thahat feels so weeheeheird!”

The room buzzed with laughter. “He means it tickles,” Katara translated with a snort. “Weird is his word for when something tickles.”

His hysterical response only seemed to goad Aang’s tickling fervor. The airbender drew slow ‘Xs’ over his navel, skimming the side of the feather along the edges as he stroked the tip back and forth, all while asking in a playfully mocking voice, “Does this feel weird, Zuko? Or this? How about this?”

Meanwhile, Sokka started scratching his midriff with the quill part of the feather, which Zuko didn’t expect to tickle beyond human comprehension. But it did, making him shiver and squirm and peal into shrill, sheepish laughter. 

“Ahaha! Ihi’m—ehaha—mhmheeheehee!”

He didn’t even know what he was trying to say at this point. Every ticklish inch of him wanted to beg for mercy, but that would require sacrificing his last leg of dignity, and he was resolved not to degrade himself any further. Unfortunately, that meant he just had to endure their torment until they got bored with it, and who knew how long that would take. 

Sokka and Aang could sense the firebender was reaching his limits. They exchanged a look and eased back on their tickle attack, switching to the fuzzy sides of their feathers and giving him longer breaks between strokes. He was still wounded, after all. If this was how he reacted to being tickled by two gentle, innocuous feathers, Aang could only imagine how much he’d lose it if they started using their hands.

The prince’s laughter returned to nervous, airy giggles—the kind that made Iroh want to pinch his rosy cheeks. He twitched and flinched every time the feathers made contact with his skin, which Sokka and Aang were brushing higher and higher up his body. 

“Do you think his armpits are ticklish?” Aang wondered, stroking his feather dangerously close to his underarm, making Zuko cringe.

“Good question! Why don’t we ask him?” Sokka did the same, drawing a yelp from the firebender’s lips. “Hey Zuko, are your armpits ticklish?”

Poor Zuko was doing everything possible to guard himself, pulling his arms as close to his sides as he could, but the way he was pinned didn’t allow him to protect them completely. The remaining gaps were the perfect size for two silky feathers to slip right into and destroy him. 

“Youhou’re both soho dehead,” he giggled helplessly, straining against his bonds. 

“I can confirm his armpits are quite ticklish!” Iroh exclaimed. “In fact, they may be his worst spot.”

Zuko bared his teeth at his uncle in what he hoped resembled a snarl. “Youhou’re dead too!” he snapped, his arm muscles trembling with effort. “Traihaihaitor!”

“How ‘bout, on the count of three, we both go for his pits?” Aang proposed to Sokka with a wink.

Sokka grinned, winking back. “Ready when you are.”

Aang held his feather toward his underarm. “One....”

Sokka mirrored him, swirling the quill tauntingly. “Two…”

Zuko went pink with anticipation. He shut his eyes, squirming anxiously. “Ihi’m gonna—k-kill all of you!”

The two boys giggled at the flustered prince, drawing out the last count just for good measure. Aang smirked in delight. 

“Three!”

Both of them lunged toward the firebender without making contact. As expected, Zuko busted out laughing anyway, nervous giggles pouring from his lips.

“What’s the matter? We’re not even touching you!” Sokka teased him. 

“We’re not tickling you, so why are you laughing?” Aang concurred. They wiggled their feathers an inch away from his skin, inflicting him with phantom tickling sensations. 

Zuko was at his wit’s end with this entire humiliating affair. He continued to writhe restlessly, snickering into his shoulder. 

“You jerherks! You’re insane! Ahall of you!” He squeaked as Katara’s hand crept toward his toes, shooting tingly, tickly snakes between them. “Come on! Lehet me go already!” 

Sokka cocked his head to the side. “We’re jerks? For not tickling you?”

“Sounds to me like you’re mad that we aren’t actually tickling you,” Aang mused. 

Zuko stiffened. “W-what?”

“We were just messing with you with the whole countdown thing,” Sokka continued.

“But if you’re going to call us jerks for not tickling you…”

“Then I guess we better give the guy what he wants.”

The whole scheme was so well-rehearsed, Zuko was almost impressed. But he didn’t get to marvel at it long. A second later, two fuzzy feathers were swishing against his underarms, setting off every nerve ending in his body. 

“Ahahaheehee!” He threw his head back, cackling wildly, twisting from side to side. “N-noho! Pfftahahack! Cuhut it ahouhahahaaa!”

Hiccups began punching through Zuko’s giggle fit. It didn’t look like Iroh had been kidding. Aang drew circles in the hollow of his pit while Sokka skated his feather up and down the underside of his upper arm, rendering the prince a wriggly, squealing mess. None of them could get over just how silly and adorable their nemesis was when he was laughing like crazy and squirming away from their tickle attack. He went from angry, scary firebender to giggly little teenager with one stroke of a feather. The happy expression on his face reminded Aang of his old friend Kuzon. 

“What was it that I heard Azula’s call you?” Aang said, bopping him playfully on the nose. “Zu-Zu, right?”

“Zu-Zu?” Katara repeated, laughing out loud. “That’s so cute!”

At that point, Zuko’s entire body had turned a rosy red color. The feathers wisping against his underarms were driving him ballistic—not to mention their incessant efforts to make him blush. 

“Dohon’t cahall me thahahat!” he giggled shrilly.

“How come?” Sokka asked, fluttering his feather in the hollow of his pit. “Does Prince Zu-Zu not like his adorable little nickname?”

Iroh chuckled lightly to himself, both adoring and pitying his poor nephew. “Are you going to join the fun?” he asked Toph, offering her the last feather.

“You’re terrible,” she snorted. “I love it.” 

She snatched the quill from his hand and sat beside Katara. When the earthbender began whisking the soft bristles across his uninjured sole, Zuko’s whole leg jolted violently.

“Whaha—nohoho!” he cried. He curled his toes and flexed his foot, but it did nothing to deter Toph’s delicate and meticulous destruction of the ticklish firebender. She tickled the entirety of his sole, gauging his reactions to see which places and methods made him squirm the most. Sawing the feather between his toes ended up being her deadliest technique, leaving Zuko in writhing, squeaky stitches.

Now all four of them were teamed up on him, and Zuko was starting to lose it. The fuzzy feeling of three wiggly feathers and one tingly hand all tickling the most sensitive areas of his body at the same time was making his brain go haywire. It seemed the longer they teased his ticklish skin, the more sensitive it became to their touch, rendering him more desperate and more giggly with each passing second. 

“Thihis—ihis—ehevil!” he gasped. Every word was either punctuated by hiccups, or followed by a stretch of silent laughter—where he was giggling so much, he could hardly make a sound. 

Katara scoffed. “Did Zuko just call us evil? That’s hilarious.” She watched her friends tickle the helpless firebender to bits and chuckled at his hysterical flailing. She could hardly believe the cruel soldier she’d fought in the North Pole and the laughing teen wriggling in front of her were one and the same. It was crazy to think she actually used to be afraid of him. She could probably sit here and watch him squirm all day long and never get tired of it.   

When Aang realized Toph had joined the fray, he switched to gently tickling Zuko’s neck to give him a breather. Sokka did the same, brushing his feather in the gap of his collarbone every now and then, sending spikes of chills across the prince’s skin. 

Zuko’s giggling calmed down a tiny bit, but not as much as they expected. Aang laughed when he stroked the feather towards his ear and Zuko scrunched his head to his shoulder with a squeak. 

“You might be the most ticklish person I’ve ever met,” Aang said cheerfully. “And I’m a hundred and twelve years old!”

“You’re definitely the squirmiest person I’ve ever met,” Sokka agreed, copying the movement on Zuko’s right side, making the prince yelp and hike that shoulder to his ear.

“Stahahap it!” he giggled. He didn’t know how much more of this he could bear. His flesh tingled all over, shuddering beneath the soft, silky touch of the three fuzzy feathers, which stroked and brushed and teased his bare skin without mercy. He’d breathe fire at them if he could, but it was impossible to gather enough air in his lungs to attempt the technique when he was laughing this hard. 

The Water Tribe boy and the avatar started working in tandem to tickle whichever side of his neck was left exposed while Zuko struggled to guard himself, turning it into a fun little game of back and forth. He fought so hard not to shrink up every time they switched sides. Unsurprisingly, he failed every time. 

“You’re so cute when you try not to squirm!” Sokka laughed, stroking the feather against the back of his ear. “Go ahead, keep fighting it. I’m sure it’ll work eventually.” 

“Eheehee!” Zuko squeaked helplessly, jerking away and making Sokka smirk. “Y-you—rahat vihiper!” 

The prince was spiraling. Just when he figured things couldn’t get any worse, Aang and Sokka jumped back down to his ribs and belly, gliding the feathers all over his torso and making him want to disintegrate.

“I think this is the most fun I’ve ever had with a firebender,” Toph said, poking the quill between his toes.

“Me too,” Katara agreed. “Look how smiley and blushy he is! It’ll be hard to ever take you seriously again after I’ve seen you like this.”

Zuko shook his head feebly. It was bad enough they were tickling him to humiliating extremes, making him erupt with high-pitched laughter that he was powerless to quell no matter how much he tried to shut up. Did they really have to make fun of him as well? He couldn’t even move, let alone cover his stupid, blushing face! Talk about fighting dirty. All he could do was wriggle and squeal as they tickled him senseless, his smile as wide and bright as the sun. 

“Ahahaha! Guhuhuys!” he howled. What he would give to be an earthbender right now—or to temporarily have one on his side. 

“Based on his heart rate, he gets even more flustered when you tease him while you tickle him,” Toph observed with a grin. She stroked the feather from the bottom of his heel to the ball of his foot, wiggling it for extra effect. “Coochie-coochie-coo, Zu-Zu! Doesn’t that tickle so much? It’s okay—laugh all you want! It’s not like you can make yourself stop.” 

Aang snickered as Zuko’s ears turned a shade pinker. “Wait ‘til the whole world finds out how adorable the Fire Nation prince is when you tickle him!” he said, flitting the feather below his belly button, tickling the skin along his waistline. Based on the way bucked and yelped, he was exploring an extremely sensitive spot. But to be fair, there didn’t seem to be a lot of places on Zuko that weren't extremely sensitive.

The kids giggled in unison with the hapless prince, the joy on their faces making Iroh’s heart soft. As he watched his helpless nephew get teased and tickled out of his mind, he wished he could snapshot this moment in his memories and save it forever. Seeing the five of them laughing and goofing off together just seemed right, even if it was at Zuko’s expense. How he hoped Zuko’s time with these selfless children had changed him in some way, however small, for the better—offering him the chance to seize a new outlook on his life and his destiny. Iroh sensed the prince’s future was intertwined with the avatar’s, just not in the way he’d always imagined. Perhaps this could be his first step toward that realization.

Meanwhile, Zuko was in giggly shambles. He couldn’t handle another second of this teasy, feathery torment. He’d sworn they wouldn’t get him to beg, but that was the only way out of this he had left in his arsenal. He doubted it would work; it would probably just give them more fuel for their ‘let’s humiliate Zuko’ party. But he was out of options, and his head was starting to spin, and Uncle obviously wasn’t going to save him. He had to try.

“Ohokay!” he cried, breathless and defeated. He barely had the energy to twitch anymore; he was basically just lying there and taking it, tears glinting in the corners of his eyes. “Pleehease—please stahap! I cahan’t… m’g-gehetting…dihizzy…”

Iroh stepped forward to say something, but thankfully, he didn’t have to. All of them immediately stopped tickling Zuko, dropping their arms to their sides and watching the firebender sag with relief, airy giggles still slipping from lips as he fought to catch his breath.

“Gah...heh...uhugh…” He hung his head low, panting lightly. Even though the feathers were no longer tickling him, his skin itched and tingled in all the places they’d perused, and bubbly butterflies continued to dance in his belly. He was also mortified to his core, and probably would be for the rest of his existence, which wasn’t great. He couldn’t wipe the goofy smile off his face just yet. “Myhy…sihides…” he whined. 

“See? All you had to do was ask nicely,” Toph said, grinning.

“Poor Zuko,” Sokka cooed, poking one of his bright red cheeks. “I’ve never seen anyone blush so much for so long before.”

He lolled out of his reach skittishly, fuming with embarrassment. “Stohop,” he whimpered. “Y-you’re all...psyhychos…”

Aang giggled with his hands on his hips. “We really got you good, huh? It was nice to see you look so happy for once. Maybe all that laughing will help you recover faster!” 

“If the laughing doesn’t help, hopefully my healing will,” Katara said, holding up her glowing palm. Zuko winced.

“Ugh...pleehease tell me you’re done with that,” he said weakly. Katara chuckled. 

“What, healing your foot?” she asked. She dragged one finger up the side of his arch. “Oh, yeah. I finished that, like, eight minutes ago.”

A startled giggle leapt from Zuko’s throat, making the four friends cackle and the prince’s ears burn. The moment they settled down, Zuko's stomach let loose a pitiful roar, causing them to crack up all over again.

“Oh man! You still haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Aang poked at his rumbling belly, making Zuko squirm and squeak. “Aw! You’ve got to be totally wiped! That was mean of us. We should’ve fed you first.”

“Quihit messing with me!” Zuko snapped, twitching and snickering beneath the avatar’s tasering fingertips. “Just...lehet me go already!”

“Are you going to attack us if we do?” Sokka asked dubiously. “You did say you were going to kill us before. Like, a lot.”

“Ihi’m seriously considering it!” he growled between giggles. “It’s whahat you deserve!”

Aang clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You might want to rethink your answer on that, your highness.” He sat beside the fettered prince and reached around his back, curling his hands around his tummy, grinning mischievously. “Because if you don’t promise you aren’t gonna hurt any of us after we let you go, I’m not going to stop doing this.”

To Zuko’s horror, the avatar started squeezing both sides of his bare torso, drilling his fingers deep into his flesh, jumping between his hips, his belly, his ribs, his pits, holding absolutely nothing back. Zuko jolted and shrieked, twisting and bucking uselessly, his laughter shooting to an entirely new octave of hysterical.

“AHAHAHAHAAA!” he screeched. “GAHA—S-STAHAHAHAP! IHIHEEHEEHAHAHAGH!”

“Whoa,” Toph whistled. “That’s new.”

“Let’s try again,” Aang said, feigning innocence. “Are you going to attack us once we release you, Prince Zuko?” He needled between each individual rib bone with deadly precision, then burrowed into the dips of the firebender’s hips. 

Zuko thrashed and hiccuped, frantically trying to get the words out between bouts of wild cackling. “NOHOHAHAHAY—I WOHON’T! AHAHAHAY PRAHAHAMISE!” He didn’t think anything could ever tickle as badly as Aang’s ten fingers digging into his upper body did at that moment. The fact he couldn’t do anything to guard himself or wiggle away made it so unimaginably worse than any other time he’d been tickled. As carefree and goofy the twelve-year-old avatar could be, this was downright cruel. He was certain he would die if he didn’t stop. Laughter erupted from the teen like adorable, desperate lava. “PLEEHEEHEASE—NOHO—MOHOHOREHAHA!”

“That’s more like it!” Aang said jubilantly. He lifted his hands off the prince’s tummy and floated to his feet, grinning with triumph. “You can let him go now, Toph.”

Toph punched her fists toward the ground, and the rock restraints retracted from his ankles. A second later, she pounded her heel against the earth, freeing his arms from the wall. Zuko celebrated his newfound freedom by immediately shrinking into a tiny ball, hugging himself around the middle with his knees pulled to his chest, giggling dazedly as he fought to tame his breathing. The others watched him with smiles on their faces. They couldn’t help but be endeared.

“Are you all right, Prince Zuko?” Iroh eventually asked, crossing the room to kneel beside him. He laid a hand on his shoulder, which was beginning to bounce less and less. 

“Myhy everything hurts…” he wheezed, but the smile refused to leave lips. He looked up at Iroh, woozy and flushed. “Why didn’t you...hehelp me…?”

Iroh smiled and wrapped him into a hug. Zuko groaned into his shirt but didn’t have the strength to pull away. 

“I’m sorry,” Uncle said, rubbing his back. “But you know how much I love hearing you laugh. When Azula’s struck you, I thought I might never get to hear it again.” He squeezed him a little tighter. “Seeing you happy fills me with so much joy. I try to soak it in every time I get the chance.”

“I’m nohot happy,” he grumbled, voice muffled by the fabric. Iroh chuckled.

“I know you’re not,” he said, giving his side a gentle pinch. “But I hope one day you will be, so I can hear you laugh without resorting to this.”

Zuko flinched and squeaked, shoving him away with as much muscle as he could muster. “Ahack! Uncle!” He clamped his palms over his sides, blushing furiously. “Ehenough! I am so done with all of you!” He pouted at the ground, shoulders hunched, ears pink with embarrassment. “Just...leave me alone...” 

“Sorry, Zuko,” Katara giggled. “We may have gone a little overboard. We’ve just never seen that side of you before. It was sweet.”

Zuko didn’t feel like acknowledging or interacting with any of them right now—maybe for the rest of time. He was too flustered and humiliated by what had just transpired to even begin to decide how to handle it. The sound of his laughter blared shrilly in the back of his mind, mortifying him to no end. Even after being tickled by Uncle not too long ago, he could still hardly believe how loud and hysterical his own laughter could get—that that silly, squeaky noise he was hearing was somehow coming from his own body. It was as if he was possessed by some girly-voiced ghost every time someone tickled him. It was relentlessly embarrassing. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Toph said, swiping her arms toward her feet. Two hands made of earth stretched down from the roof and grabbed hold of Sokka and Aang’s wrists, hoisting them over their heads.  

“Hey!” Aang cried.

“What the—?”

Toph stepped between the boys and tickled their exposed sides, making both of them squirm and laugh shrilly. “They act all high and mighty now, but they’re just as ticklish as you are.”

“Ehahaha! Tohoph!” Aang squealed.

“GAHAHASTAHAHAPIT!” Sokka shrieked, flailing around like a beached elephant coy. 

“Or perhaps even more so,” Toph corrected herself smugly. She released them from her hold and shoved them both aside. They staggered in opposite directions, blushing deeply and thoroughly chagrined. 

Zuko stared between the avatar and the Water Tribe boy. He had to admit, seeing them flustered did make him feel slightly better about this entire nightmarish affair. It also helped that he’d finally caught his breath and was no longer bubbling with giggles. He decided if he had to pick someone in their group to hate the least, it was Toph. Even if she kind of terrified him.

She scooped one of their bags of provisions off the floor and tossed it into Zuko’s lap. “Here—eat,” Toph said. “The sound of your stomach growling is driving me insane.”

Zuko flinched in surprise and eyed the offering warily. He dug around inside and found some bread, a couple strips of salmon jerky, and a weird, round fruit he didn’t recognize. His mouth watered at the prospect of finally getting to eat without yesterday's queasiness holding him back. 

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the fruit skeptically. 

“Honey plum,” Toph answered. “Have you never had one before? They only grow in the southern Earth Kingdom.”

Zuko shook his head. Iroh plucked it out of his hand with a grin.

“A honey plum! What a treat! These are delicious, Prince Zuko. You must try it.”

He handed it back to him excitedly. Zuko frowned at the bluish-purple fruit before taking a hesitant bite. As he chewed, a sparkle of surprise touched his golden eyes.

“Wow,” he said, swallowing. “That is really good.” He bit into it again, this time with far less reluctance, munching eagerly to qualm his ravenous hunger. It was sweet and juicy, the swirl of bright flavors bursting like firecrackers on his tongue. He was so focused on feeding the monster in his gut, he didn’t look up for a while. But when he did, he was startled to find everyone staring at him.

“Why are all of you...watching me?” he mumbled over his mouthful, shrinking uncomfortably. “I feel like some kind of zoo animal.”

“No reason,” Aang said, grinning. “We’re just happy you like it!”

“You eat like Sokka at the Glacial Spirits Festival,” Katara giggled. “I expected the Fire Nation prince’s manners to be a tad more dignified.”

Warmth rushed back into the firebender’s cheeks. “I’m hungry!” he retorted defensively. “I haven’t eaten in almost a day and a half! What do you want me to do—stick out my pinky and curtsy with every bite?”

“Yes,” Sokka said enthusiastically. “Absolutely yes.”

Zuko huffed, nibbling at the plum self-consciously. “Why do you people insist on making me feel weird about everything I do?”

“Cuz it’s fun,” Toph snickered. “You’re so easy to fluster.”

Zuko bristled. “No I’m not!”

Katara tapped her chin in thought. “When you say ‘weird,’ do you mean the normal definition of weird, or do you mean your definition of weird, which is that something tickles?”

The prince reddened and avoided their gazes, knowing there was no answer to that question that worked in his favor. 

“See? Like that,” Toph laughed, noting the spike in his heart rate. Zuko crossed his arms and stared sideways, hating having all their attention focused on his blushing self for so long. 

“Don’t feel weird,” Aang insisted, cramming a handful of berries in his mouth. “Eat as much as you like—and as messily as you like! You deserve to porcupig out a little.”

“I’m sure he’s just tickled by our kindness and hospitality,” Sokka said, wiggling his feather at him teasingly.

Zuko grimaced and jabbed two fingers forward. In a puff of flame, Sokka’s feather disintegrated in his hand, making him gawk.

“Hey! No fair!”

Katara watched her brother mourn the loss of his new weapon amusedly, then stepped toward the skittish firebender. “Come on,” she said, offering him a hand. “Let’s see if you can walk any better after your healing session.”

Zuko glanced between her palm and her face uncertainly before accepting her help, letting the waterbender pull him to his feet. Iroh stood with him, holding out his hands in case he fell. 

The prince wobbled a little once he was upright but didn’t need anyone’s support to stay that way. He flexed and stamped his left foot, delighted by the lack of pain that followed.

“It’s better,” he said, pleasantly surprised. “A lot better.” He braved a couple steps forward. He still had a limp, but he could finally walk on his own again, if only for a little while. 

“Good,” Katara said. “I can heal you again if anything starts hurting badly, but you mostly need lots of rest.”

He met her gaze gingerly. He didn’t want to say it, but he felt like he had to. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words grating his throat as they left his lips.

The girl smiled and nodded. Toph pounded her foot into the ground, making the tent collapse around them and sink back into the earth, startling Zuko tremendously. 

“I’m hungry too now,” she announced, lifting their campfire off the ground and placing it in the center of their group with earthbending. She snatched the bag of berries from Aang and gobbled down the rest. “Iroh, would you mind making us some more of that jasmine tea?”

Iroh beamed. “Yes! Of course!” He ran and grabbed his pot and the leaves. “Tea always tastes better when it is brewed and shared with others.”

While Zuko watched his uncle enter his tea-making trance, Toph grabbed the honey plum from his hand and shoved it in his mouth, making the firebender grunt in muffled surprise. “Eat, Princey,” she snapped. “Food doesn’t last long around here. Take what you can get before someone else horks it down.”

Zuko pulled the plum out of his mouth and chewed sourly. He hadn’t realized just how tiny the earthbender was until now, when he was standing over her, practically craning his neck to look her in the eye. 

And suddenly, everyone was settling down around the fire, taking and eating and acting like this whole bizarre situation was perfectly normal. At least he wasn’t the center of attention anymore, though it felt like he should be; they were being far too trusting, letting him stand so close so freely now that he had some of his strength back. He swept his gaze around the circle with a puzzled frown. Hesitantly, Zuko sat among them, listening to the criss-crossing conversations as he finished off the honey plum and started in on the bread. 

“When do we start my earthbending training?”

“You sure you’re ready, Twinkle Toes? Being an earthbender takes guts and grit like you’ve never seen.”

“Definitely!”

“Pass me some of that sun melon, Sokka. Momo’s getting fussy.”

“Sure. Here, Zuko—have some too.”

Sokka casually handed Zuko a slice before giving the rest to Katara. Zuko took it reluctantly, gave it a sniff, then munched on the fruit, glancing warily between the others, feeling odd and out of place, like an unacknowledged elephant rhino in the room. 

But also...strangely content. 

As he tended to the tea, Iroh watched his nephew with a small smile. He wished Zuko could see how well he fit with these kids rather than in a toxic palace in the Fire Nation capital. He wished he could see how relaxed he looked here versus how tense he was beneath the scrutinizing gazes of Azula and his father. He wished he could stay with them, reject the false path Ozai had set him on, and find his own destiny with these kind, goofy children.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You must leave tonight—all of you.”

The four friends stood before the old man in disbelief, the setting sun reflecting in their wide eyes. Behind them, Zuko slept by the fire, his back rising and falling steadily.

“Leave?” Aang said, blinking. “What for?”

“What’s going on?” Toph asked.

Iroh bowed his head, his voice grim. “Now that he is getting better, there’s a possibility my nephew may try to pull something unfavorable against you and your friends. I want you all gone before he gets the chance.”

Katara took a step back, her eyes clouding over with rage. “What? Did he tell you he was planning something?”

“No,” Iroh insisted. “He hasn’t mentioned anything like that.” A grimace gnarled his features. “But I know my nephew. He needs more time before he is ready to fully realize his destiny. He is still extremely lost, hurt, and confused, and I do not want any of you to suffer because of it.” He sighed softly. “I don’t believe he will try anything, but...I’m not willing to risk it. Not after everything you’ve done for us.”

Sokka eyed Zuko’s slumbering form, then turned back to Iroh. “So...we should just...go? Right now?”

The old man nodded somberly. “I think that would be best.”

“But what if he needs more healing sessions?” Katara asked. “He’s still really weak.”

“I can take care of him,” Iroh said, his expression softening. “I’ve done it before. I am more than capable of doing it again.”

Toph shifted her weight between her feet. “He’ll be upset when he finds out we’re gone.” 

Perhaps in more ways than one, she considered. They had only just begun to peel back the layers of the person they knew as Zuko, peering into the heart of the troubled but not entirely unsalvageable individual he was. Leaving now felt like dumping all of that progress down the drain, reverting back to their old shtick of pursuer and prey. Oddly enough, it almost felt...treacherous. 

The old man hinted a smile. “He will be okay. Do not worry yourselves for my nephew’s sake. You have all already helped both of us more than we deserve.” He bowed respectfully, his hands clasped inside his sleeves. “Good luck on your journey, young avatar. May the spirits guide you and your friends. I sincerely hope we meet again soon, under more desirable circumstances.”

Aang hesitated for a moment before bowing back. He didn’t know how Zuko would react if they told him beforehand that they were leaving. Probably not favorably. Still, it felt strange, abandoning the two of them without a proper goodbye. 

“I hope so too,” he said. He raised his head and met Iroh’s gaze. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Iroh glanced over his shoulder. “I’m lucky to have him, too,” he said. Icy sadness tugged at his chest. He fought not to let it bleed across his face. 

“Keep trying to, I don’t know, ‘lead him into the light’ or whatever.” Sokka shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I have way more faith in him than I do Azula.”

The old man shuddered. “Me too,” he breathed.

Katara stared at her feet. “I hope...he changes,” she managed to say, looking awkward and conflicted.

Iroh nodded once, his expression warm. “He will,” he said. Then he exhaled slowly. “Go. I wish each of you the best this world has to offer.”

The four kids smiled sullenly, then dispersed to pack their things. They left on Appa thirty minutes later, the two firebenders shrinking smaller and smaller before vanishing behind the horizon, a collective ache hanging over them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You let them go?”

Iroh sat by the edge of the river, legs crossed with a cup of tea in his hand. Zuko stood over him, boiling with anger.

“I did not ‘let them go,’ Iroh assured him, breathing in the dewey morning aromas. “They were here when I went to bed. When I woke up, they were gone.”

It wasn’t lying, technically. Just strategic withholding of information. Zuko groaned in frustration.

“I can’t believe this!” he yelled, stomping in circles. “Why would they just leave like that?”

Uncle sipped his tea calmly. “Why wouldn’t they? They healed you, fed you, gave you a place to sleep. Now that you are doing better, there was no reason for them to stick around.” 

Zuko buried his face in his hands. “The avatar was sleeping right next to us! We could’ve captured him and dragged him off without any of them noticing!”

“Another valid reason for them to leave,” Iroh pointed out. “I’m sure they feared you would try something like that, even after they saved your life.” He sighed contently. “We’re lucky they simply left us in peace, rather than taking us prisoner.”

He hated how well his uncle was taking all of this—and how accurate all of his rebuttals were. Zuko kicked a pine cone into the river. 

“It could take weeks to track them down again! Ugh!” He sunk to the ground, griping and grumbling incoherently. 

“I am surprised you are so shocked that they left,” Iroh said, raising an eyebrow. “We are still their enemies, after all. They never had an obligation to help us in the first place. What reason would they have to stay with us after they healed you?”

To be honest, Zuko wasn’t sure why he was so stunned by it, either. Of course they had left. That was the smart thing to do. If he were in their position, he wouldn’t have stayed, either. Now that he could walk, he was capable of committing all kinds of malicious crimes against them—as he’d done many, many times in the past. 

But the weird thing was, he hadn’t planned to do anything like that.

At first, sure, maybe. When he was hurting all over and seething with anger and resentment. But after speaking with each of them, forming those little connections he never thought possible, things had changed. His usual appetite for causing them pain had gradually dwindled away. Capturing the avatar and hauling him back to his father was starting to sound more like an unsavory obligation rather than something he actually wanted to do. 

He was still mad at them for that mortifying stunt they pulled in the tent yesterday, but not in the way he expected. It was beginning to feel more like a “you got me, now I’ve got to get you back” kind of mad—the innocent, playful kind he and Azula had for each other whenever they pranked one another as kids. Now, he would never get the chance. 

“I guess there is no reason,” Zuko admitted bitterly, hugging his knees. “I’m just...frustrated.”

“It’s okay to be angry,” Uncle said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But it’s important that you recognize why you’re angry, because I don’t think the reason is what you believe it to be.”

Zuko eyed him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

Uncle’s hand moved to his back, steadying him in the comforting way it had done a thousand times. “Why are you upset they left, Prince Zuko?”

The young firebender frowned. He didn’t know why Uncle was asking him this—the answer was obvious.

“Because now I have to find them again to capture the avatar,” he said, although it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Iroh hummed thoughtfully. “That’s it? No other reason?”

“What other reason would there be?” Zuko shot back. 

Uncle stirred his tea, the spoon clinking against the sides of the cup. “They were kind to you. Rather than ignoring you or berating you, they chose to interact with you in a warm, friendly manner. They didn’t treat you like a dangerous Fire Nation soldier; they saw you as a person who needed their help. They are all very good people.”

Zuko scoffed. “They were not kind to me. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You have rarely ever been around kids your age outside of the Fire Nation—especially ones that care so openly about one another.” He sipped his drink and stared across the river. “You fit in well among them.”

“What are you trying to say?” Zuko snapped, feeling hot and nervous and furious all at once. “That I miss them? That I want to be friends with the avatar and his obnoxious cronies? You’re insane, Uncle. I—I hate them! They’re the most insufferable people in the entire world! And my enemies!”

Iroh didn’t react to his tirade. He simply laid his hand on his nephew’s head, scratching at his short, fuzzy hair. Zuko went stiff, startled by the affectionate contact, debating whether or not to jerk away. He hated to admit it, but it felt...nice.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to befriend good people, regardless of your past or theirs. Not everything is as rigid and definite as you might think.”

Zuko blinked. His entrails felt like a bundle of knots. His throat grew sore and tight. The ache inside him was sickening familiar, and he hated himself for feeling it in this situation. He tried to will it away, to loathe it out of existence. But it was there, cold and stinging.

The pain of being left. 

He hadn’t had a head of hair to pet since he was thirteen. All Zuko wanted was to lean into Uncle’s touch and let him scratch his scalp forever. Instead, he ducked out of Iroh’s reach, clambering to his feet. 

“You’ve officially lost your mind,” he growled, running his fingers through his hair irritably. Uncle stood by his side, a somber smile on his face. His nephew’s walls held strong, but they were weakening every day. He still needed more time, more patience, but the old man had hope.

“Come, Prince Zuko,” he said. “Now that you’re feeling better, it is time to resume your firebending training.”

Zuko turned to face him, his scowl melting into a look of excitement. “Wait—really?”

Iroh nodded. “It is time you moved on to the advanced set, and learned how to defend yourself against people like Azula.” He assumed a steady stance and pointed two fingers toward the sky. “Do this motion with me.”

The prince stepped in front of him and mirrored his movements. He still couldn’t fully extend his left arm, but he tried his best to copy Uncle’s form. “What are you going to show me?” he asked eagerly.

Iroh grinned. “A firebending technique that I developed by studying waterbenders, one that neither Azula, Ozai, or any other firebender except me can do.” His eyes twinkled defiantly. “How to redirect lightning.”

#zuko #iroh #atla #ticklish!zuko #ticklish zuko #sfw tickle fic #sfw tickling #Avatar The Last Airbender #gaang #zuko fic #lee!zuko #atla fic #atla tickle fic #atla tickling

[afandommultiverse]

Verbal Mistakes - Nozel Silva LEMON

Words - 1389 Request -  

A/n - Enjoy!

Y/n P.O.V

He's been down there for days... its like he hardly went to bed anymore to busy with whatever it was he wouldn't tell me. I was sick of it but he never listened, rather he ignored me. He didn't even bother to look at me. But like clockwork, I found my legs moving without thought, tiptoeing down the steps and behind the huge door which held Nozel inside.

I knocked 3 times, one, two, three... and of course no answer. I flicked the lock inside the door and pushed through, only to be stopped by Nozel. Standing in front of me, he wore a face I didn't know.

"When- will you cut this childish behavior out?" He seemed to growl the words out like a feral dog though his face remained all the more stoic. But his eyes, they were lit like fires, angry and irritable, restless and tired.

"Nozel-"

"No! It annoying, Y/n. I'm working! I can't listen to your pleas every. Single. Night." I couldn't look him in the eye. Those eyes weren't the eyes I loved. I just wanted him to be okay, was that so wrong? I know he was tired, and staying here for all hours of the day wasn't going help whatever he was working on. 

For my lack of response, he went to close the door, moving to push me put, again. It was under his breath he whispered,

"When did I learn to love someone so weak." I stopped, and quicker than a flash I had Nozel against the door, which had slammed against the wall of his office.

"I am not your sister, I wont simply let you push me around like your all so mighty. You are as weak as they come Nozel, and all your training will never let you live that down." My grip on his collar tight, I shook him out of his shocked haze.

"Consider this the last night I annoy you, Captain Silva." It was then it felt like the wind was really knocked out of Nozel, like the blow to his shakily built pride wasn't enough, the loss of you seemed to make him really crumble. Regret began pour into his eyes but it was all to late. You were already gone, and when he did run to find you there wasn't a single trace of you ever being there.

*** 3rd P.O.V

Three days later, Nozel stood before the wizard king, a urgent summons.  Although annoyed, Nozel couldn't refuse, it was his duty and expectance to go, and with heavy feet he did. Julius waited no time in getting to the point, his curiosity blunt.

"Ahh, Capitan Silva, may I question why your fiancé is demanding for a immediate squad change?" Nozel almost tripped in his steps towards the desk, like said, Julius wasted no time.

"W-What?" A knot tied tightly in Nozel stomach. It was true, she truly was leaving.

"When?" Nozel asked hurriedly, he had been looking for you, but no spell could find you and no mage could catch scent of you.

"Y/n left an note sometime in the night, quick in and quick out. Care to explain?"

***

Y/n P.O.V

I had jut gone to sleep when the sound of my heavy door opening and closing tickled my ears. The calm steps towards the bed gave me time ti sit up and look around the dark room.

"Yami?" But who I lied my eyes on, was not Yami. It was Nozel.

"How did you get in here?" I seethed, the candles in the room lighting up the once dark room. Nozel stepped forward again. He looked horrible, worse then what he had looked like before you left him. His braid hung frizzy and unkept in front of his face. His eyes were dark and sunken in, skin paler than usual.

"What happened to you?" In the five years I loved this man, he's never looked a bigger mess. Even his clothes were shambled, thrown carelessly together. Nozel emitted and low empty chuckle and looked down.

"I lost the love of my life." My heart pulled at my chest and swam to choke my throat. I have to stay strong. Nozel's eyes looked up to find mine, they looked bloodshot and bleary. My own eyes were hard and narrowed, I hope he was getting the gist.

"Why are you here, Nozel?" I sighed, finally looked away and relaxing, what good would it do to glare at him like a child, it'd only prove him right wouldn't it?

"I came to apologize."

"In the middle of the night."

"I couldn't find you, you were gone for days, I needed to make sure you were okay." He tried to reason, as if he didn't come for his own selfish-reasons. He went to take another step closer, and he succeded, walking towards the corner of my bed and sitting on it.

"I didn't mean what I said." He whimpered out into the still air. I scoffed looking to the side before meeting his sad eyes. It was hard looking at a man you've only known as strong. In the five years of dating Nozel and the years before, I've never seen him so weak and broken. Nozel turned away from me moving to get up, taking my silence as the end of the conversation.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't-" I grabbed Nozel by the wrist and pulled him up to the bed.

"Jesus Christ-!"

"Get in here you fuckin idiot, I'm-... I'm sorry too," I mutter and curled myself around Nozel as he slipped under the covers and gripped me back tightly. He seemed to shake as he held me, and the quietest sniffle escaped him. I looked up at Nozel, his eyes teary but he was clearly trying to fight them back.

"I'm sorry, Nozel, for leaving and of course what I said, but I won't be taking anything like that every again you hear me." I flicked his chest and he chuckled hoarsely.

"Never again, my love." I smiled and leaned in and kissed him softly. Nozel was quick to reciprocate grabbing at me tighter and sighing into the kiss, finally relaxing what must have been the first time in weeks.

This heated fast with the eager touching from Nozel and the complete opened armed welcome for me, things were moving fast and in no time, did I find myself nude beneath him. Hot and panting, Nozel took his time gazing down at me, pupils dilatated. His messy hair completely out of its braid and fell down the side of his face as he leaned down, tickling my shoulder.

"Nozel please, its been to long," I begged, pulling him in closer and locking my legs around his hips. Nozel gripped my chin and made me look at him, eyes burning with a lustful passion.

"You'll never have to wait again. I promise." He sealed that promise with a slow push of his hips. Nozel's thrusts started out slow but as he grew more desperate and determined his hips sped up. Torrents of heat rushed to fill my body, sensitive from lack of touch and the delicious pounding from Nozel, my body had no problems with bring me to climax quick.

String pulled tight and taunt it took three perfectly aimed thrusts from Nozel to finally finish me off. Mind blank with white hot pleasure, I griped and clawed down Nozel's back. Nozel faltered as I gripped him tighter, moaning in my ear lewdly as he finished inside me.

Nozel collapsed on me, careful of his weight but none the less heavy. I laughed and pushed him off me.

"I can't breath!" Nozel laughed and turned me to my side, pulling me into him and spooning me. I got myself comfortable before cringing in disgust.

"Are you trying to get me pregnant?" I slapped his forearm, moving to get up and clean myself but Nozel pulled me back down.

"Would that be so bad?"

"Nozel...?"

"Lets get married, Y/n. I never want to lose you again, I can't, It would kill me. This has showed me that without you, my life is worth no living. You are my light darling, I can't see without you." I held Nozel's face, and enormous smile spreading over my face.

"Yes!"

#Black Clover #black clover nozel #oneshots #Nozel Silva #Lemon #Smut #nozel smut #black clover smut #xreader

[gohyuck]

pairing: lee donghyuck (haechan) x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 1.7k

warnings: swearing, small mention of alcohol, hyuck’s just a little tired of everything, driving (hyuck takes them on a drive)

part of a series?: yes, 37.5% viewer ratings, my hyuck bday celebration

🎵 au revoir - zac greer

☀️ everyone needs a break sometimes

a/n: sasaengs can die by my sword

“you know that this is insane, right?”

donghyuck doesn’t miss the way awe and disbelief couple together in your tone, watching idly as you run a hand over the metal railing of the balcony. he’s sitting, hunched, on the silky sheets of the hotel bed inside the tokyo hotel room you’re both currently situated in. his forearms are balanced on his knees, hands hanging, empty. this directly contrasts you, you note, as you take a sip of your sake.

you’re wearing the shirt you’d worn on the flight - hyuck’s favorite white adidas shirt, though it’s a little loose on you just as it’s loose on him - and some running shorts but your boyfriend has already changed from his comfortable sweats to his current ensemble: a plain black t-shirt tucked into black jeans, held in place with a black belt. his leather jacket, a given, is snug around his shoulders. a white facemask hangs from one of his ears.

the two of you look like yin and yang.

“hyuck?” you ask again, and he nods. “why are we doing this?”

“doing what?” donghyuck asks, finally pushing himself off of the bed. the sheets are crumpled where he’d just been sitting, though they remain pristine everywhere else. he comes up to stand beside you as the two of you look out over the cityscape beneath and in front of you. multicolored lights twinkle brightly against the inky night sky. thousands of people mill around underneath you, and you’re suddenly hit with an immense feeling of wonder.

“fucking off to spend a single night in tokyo before going back. i mean, this is great-” donghyuck rests one hand against your lower back, pulling you closer to him. “-and all but you evaded your managers and only left them a handwritten letter - which, by the way, you never told me what it says - as a means of explanation. there could be a witch-hunt for you going on as we speak.”

“yeah the amount of pissed texts i’ve gotten are insane. thanks for letting your phone die, by the way - i had to assure your mom that you aren’t dead.”

“sorry.” you smile, turning your head to see him. he lets you rest your palm against his cheek, smiling down at you, though his betrayal when you pinch him is immediate.

“what the hell?” he screeches, bounding backwards.

“you still haven’t told me what we’re doing here.” you point out, and it’s all hyuck can do to roll his eyes at you while soothing his now reddened skin.

“the reason is downstairs, actually. that’s what i came out here to tell you, before i got distracted by your brilliant, dazzling self...” your boyfriend nuzzles into the junction where your neck and shoulders meet, and it takes everything in you to gently shove him off.

“forget fullsun, it should’ve been fullshit,” you gripe, taking another sip of your drink before setting the bottle down on the glass table in the corner of the balcony. “because you’re full of-”

“because i’m full of shit,” he finishes, no bite in his words. “yeah. you need to work on your disses. now put your shoes on- we have things to do. and no, i’m not telling you until you see for yourself.”

you stare at him for one beat, then two, before slumping your shoulders in defeat.

“fine,” you mutter, pushing yourself off the balcony to go get ready inside. “this better be good.”

♕ ♕ ♕

“... this might be the most beat up car i’ve ever seen. i didn’t think you could rent cars like this.” you raise an eyebrow at the small, red sedan parked in front of you. there’s a visible dent on the front bumper, and a long scratch underneath one or the taillights. the paint is peeling all over the car. beside you, donghyuck snorts.

“you can’t. it’s one of yuta’s friends’ old car. he was going to straight up give it up for scrap metal, but i begged him to hold off for a couple days so i could drive it. he’s the one who dropped it off here right before we got to this hotel. left the keys at the front desk, i picked them up while getting us checked in.”

“dr-drive it? it looks like it’s about to collapse in on itself.” you take a step back instinctively, and donghyuck grabs your wrist gently.

“do you think i’d ever have you do something unsafe?” he says, forcing you to look into his earnest eyes as he speaks. you shake your head, truthful in your entirety.

“no, but still... you could’ve rented almost anything. why this?”

“because i have a problem, and throwing money at it would both be ironic as hell and make it worse,” he says, dropping your wrist to loop his arm around your waist. he leans down to whisper directly into your ear. “i kind of wanted to be a normal person for a night.”

“you’re being uncharacteristically vulnerable tonight.” you look at hyuck, raising an eyebrow in emphasis. one corner of his mouth upturns as he side-eyes you, albeit kindly, and you can’t help but mold into his side just a bit more.

“can’t be the hot one, the witty one, and the strong one all the time. shoulder the burden a little, baby, damn.” he teases, dodging out of your grasp before you can pull him down and flick him in the forehead. his high-pitched, abrupt laugh is all it takes for the air around you to start feeling more vibrant, and you find yourself giggling along with him. he unlocks the car, moving towards the drivers’ seat while you get into the passenger’s side.

“you know, you haven’t driven me before.” you note while buckling yourself in. donghyuck hums in response, not focusing on you as he backs the car out of its parking spot. it’s only once he’s on the road - a small side road, the kind you didn’t think existed in cities as big and brilliant as tokyo - and cruising easily, one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, that he looks over.

“i’ve had my license for a while - jeno, jaemin, renjun and i all sat for ours right when jaemin turned 20 - but i only ever really use it when i’m home for breaks. which sucks, because driving is one of the only things that takes no thought at all.” donghyuck explains, and you realize that, as you’ve been tracing his jawline with your eyes in the moonlight, he’s moved onto a main road and is about to merge onto the shuto expressway.

“i thought you were used to having no thoughts at a-ow! dick!” hyuck pinches the skin of your thigh when you’re right in the middle of making fun of him, forcing you to yelp indignantly. he chuckles at your reaction, smoothing your skin over with the palm of his hand. once he’s fully on the expressway he shifts, pulling his wallet out of his pocket before dropping it into your lap.

“toll is coming up.” he explains, feeling rather than seeing your confused expression. you nod, rifling through his wallet quickly before pulling out one of his cards and letting it dangle between two of your fingers. you’re sure it’ll work, even if the currency differs.

“you never told me why we’re here.” you say eventually. the silence is comfortable, but you still want to satiate your curiosity. the sigh donghyuck lets out in response is just a little too long, a little too pronounced for you to let go, though.

“you already know.” your boyfriend says simply, again uncharacteristically, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his attempt to be cryptic. while you gather your thoughts, he pulls into the toll and pays. still, hyuck isn’t wrong - you do have an idea.

“and you already know i think you should say it for yourself.” you ultimately reply, and you can see donghyuck’s shoulders tense visibly and stay that way for one, two, three long seconds before he forces himself to relax.

“i’m fucking tired.” he says, more conviction behind his words than you’d expected. you can’t say you’re taken aback - he’s always passionate - but you do place your hand on the one that’s on your thigh, squeezing it tightly as you wait for him to continue speaking.

“if i could i’d get out of my head for a week but... we only get a night. there’s ‘fans’-” he airquotes the words against your thigh, his eyes not wavering from the road. “- camped outside our dorms, i haven’t had a chance to rest since, like, february, and i barely have time to breathe without getting dragged online, so it all sucks even more, actually. sometimes i wish i could be ordinary and do ordinary things, but i can’t, and it sucks. everything sucks and everyone sucks.” 

he pauses, taking a long breath before glancing over at you, expression far too soft considering everything he’s just vented about.

“everyone sucks except for you, but that’s a given.”

you don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. still, you squeeze his hand once more to know that you’ve heard him - that you’ve really, truly heard him. the smile you give him is a genuine one, full of all of the love you’ve ever had, and he returns it with equal intensity. 

“we can worry about your managers and everything tomorrow.” you finally say, and the corners of donghyuck’s lips quirk up. 

“and what about now?” he asks, turning his palm up so you can finally intertwine your fingers with his. you raise your clasped hands to your mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of his. as you relax into your seat, you find that you’re enveloped by donghyuck - his scent (leather, fresh linen, cedar, peonies), the way his smile makes you feel, the enormity of his love for you. you can’t help but beam as you look at him, really look at him, before speaking.

“now, we just drive.”

#fullsunnet #thekpopnetwork #thekpopnet #kwritersworldnet #kwritersworld #haechan #donghyuck #haechan scenario #haechan scenarios #haechan angst #haechan fluff #donghyuck scenario #donghyuck scenarios #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck angst #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct scenario #nct scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #haechan x reader #haechan smut #donghyuck smut

[incidentreport31]

Episode One: In the Middle of the Street TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.]

[Intro music players.]

ANNOUNCER:

Three-Eyed Frog Presents: Incident Report Number 31.

[Theme song fades to a stop.]

[click recorder on]

ARCHIVIST:

Test. Test. One, two, three. (mutters) Bloody hell, why does it smell like something died in here? Well, guess we can’t prove something didn’t, eh? The recorder seems to be working, at least.

My name is Val West. I’m the newly appointed head archivist at The [REDACTED] Institute, which documents people’s possible experiences with the supernatural for both emotional support purposes and to get recovery time off of work, school, et cetera if the trauma is deemed severe enough by their employers or other supervisory staff.[beat as they scoff] Supernatural doctor’s note, innit...

The Head of the Institute, Mr. Neil Banks, has asked me to record these accounts because, well, there actually isn’t really a good reason. [mutters] Didn’t spend eight years getting a masters in library sciences to read stories into a dusty tape recorder, but, we all have to get by.

I do, at least, have people to assist me: two researchers: Zach Zamuel-Imogen Baker, and Christine Lewis, along with, I’m told, a very well-respected psychologist: one [hesitant] Dr. Oliver Possum, who will be advising me on any cases where there is necessary psychological follow up. I haven’t actually met any of them yet, but hopefully they will be helpful.

I was also explicitly told not to look behind the bookshelf to my left, so I will be looking behind the bookshelf later today...right. Guess I should get started, then.

[Sound of papers tapped on desk to organize them]

ARCHIVIST:

[They clear their throat.] For the consideration of Ortolan Bunting Law Firm: Ayla Stephenson’s encounter with a house that did not exist and her subsequent request for thirty hours of paid time off. No date given. Fine by me. Not gonna lose sleep over improperly filled out paperwork. Well. Start? I suppose? Yes.

[ACCOUNT.]

I feel the need to start with this, so you fully understand what I’m trying to say. I have a feeling you’ll just dismiss my story otherwise. I’ve lived here going on ten years now. Moved here on the promise of a job from the same company that I still work for today: Ortolan Bunting Law Firm. I drive the same route to work every day. I mean, I looked up the quickest way on the map when I first moved to town, and hey, who am I to question that? If it works it works. No need to make something difficult when the map’ll just figure it for you that first day, right?

I guess I’m getting a bit off topic here, but my point is that I’ve been going the same way for a decade, which is to say that I know the route to and from work like the back of my hand. Sure, maybe I don’t pay attention to every detail every day, I mean after ten years, the drive is almost an unconscious thing-

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Not a great way to build up your story’s credibility but, I digress.

[ACCOUNT.]

-but I still know all the road’s quirks, even if they don’t stick out to me after all this time. I know that the first left turn light on the way lasts for about two seconds and if you’re more than two cars behind in line, you’ll have to wait a whole cycle to go. I know there’s a business center that, god knows why, has their logo done in comic sans just off to the right before I merge onto the highway. Once I’m on that freeway for about fifteen minutes, I can see this drive through coffee place on one of the adjacent streets. Every single morning the line’s backed up out to the street- you’d think there’d be a better way to do that, but that’s more of a personal gripe and certainly not the point. On my way back from work, I take a few side streets to avoid rush hour traffic on the main road- just the way the map recommended on my first day, of course, I’m not looking to get lost in the backroads. There’s a few old houses, sometimes I see elderly couples sitting out on their porches. Sometimes they wave and I do have the decency to wave back, though some of my colleagues might not believe you… I’m afraid I’ve been a bit put off by this whole experience and have been taking it out on some of my coworkers. All the more reason to give me the [THE ARCHIVIST sighs this last part out as they are once again pulled out of the story] time off that I so kindly requested.

ARCHIVIST:

That last line is crossed out. It appears that Ms. Stephenson was reluctant for her Firm to read that bit if this ever got back around to them. To be honest, the way that this is going, I’m not so sure that plea would have done anything for her, but I am, of course, to remain the impartial academic in my work here, so I suppose I’ll allow the defacing of Institute paperwork just this once, even if the scribbles are rather unprofessional.

[ACCOUNT.]

There're a few empty lots there too. I think at one point, the city wanted to buy them up and make a park, but I don’t think they ever got around to it. Really don’t think they will now. I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve been going the same way day in and day out for ten years… I’d notice if something was different.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m assuming… that is the point of this report yes? [beat] Continuing on.

[ACCOUNT.]

Nothing that day was really any different, I’d say. Just drove to work, hit all the usual landmarks: waiting to turn at the light, glancing at the comic sans sign, thinking that that coffee shop is definitely obstructing traffic, the usual. Went to work, got through the day with… minor amounts of stress… I mean it’s legal work, it isn’t fun, but somebody’s gotta do it. Got off right at five, gathered up my things and left. I took my usual streets, not really minding anything, but I noticed no one was out on the porches. That’s not unusual, I know, people can be inconsistent, it’s not a big deal, but looking back? Maybe they knew something was off… I mean if I’d lived in that neighborhood I certainly would have.

[Eerie music begins playing.]

I always drive with the radio on, can’t stand being alone with my thoughts on a busy street where road rage can make its way into my thoughts. Guess I should’ve mentioned that earlier, huh? Either way it seems important that I say it’s part of my daily life. I do it every day, and I’ve never had a problem with reception in that area, so when the sound started to glitch out, I thought something was wrong with my car. It was frustrating, sure, but not a big deal, even if I don’t necessarily enjoy the sound of static more than the average person.

I went through the usual useless attempts to fix it, of course. Smacked it a few times, turned it off and on again, but nothing changed. In the end, I just turned it off as I kept driving. Figured my own thoughts were better than the white noise that faded in and out of my speaker at an unpredictable volume. Things were fine for a few minutes. I’d almost gotten to the end of the street when I realized something wasn’t quite right.

At first, I thought maybe the light was just reflecting into my eyes weird. Maybe I’d just seen something out of the corner of my eye that there was a fine explanation for. Because… I knew this road. And there had never been a house there before. I was sure of it. A whole house isn’t something that could go up in a night, but you know that, you aren’t an idiot.

[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]

ARCHIVIST:

[pretentious bastard] I’d certainly like to think so, yes.

[ACCOUNT.]

But there it was. It wasn’t right next to the other houses, a few lots down the road instead. Other than my knowledge that it wasn’t there before, though, it could have blended into the neighborhood without anyone noticing.All things considered, it was a pretty nice house. Sure, it was done up in that fancy Victorian style and therefore inherently a little unnerving, you know how those old places just seem a little haunted even if they’re perfectly put together?

Still, beyond that, it was fine. Not broken down in that sort of creepy ghost way that you see in movies, or anything. The paint was pretty well done, only a little aged from the sun, and all the wood on the wrap-around porch was together. I mean if I was building a murder house, I would’ve splintered the boards and peeled up the exterior wall a bit, something along those lines, you know? It looked like someone could have been living out of it. Totally normal.

I know what you’re thinking, that I got out and had a look, but I can’t say I did. As the sun was going down? While I was all of a sudden unsure of my own thoughts? Really? No way in hell. I’m not an idiot either. So I kept driving. As I passed by, I got this strange feeling… like I wasn’t alone on the street. I don’t know if I imagined it or not, but with how much I was already questioning what I knew, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, and I sped away, not wanting to stick around any longer than I had to. Now, when I got home, I went through stages of denial before realizing that, hey, it wasn’t my damn neighborhood, and therefore not actually a problem that I would have to deal with.

At least until I was driving back from work the next afternoon. Funny how that works… your problems don’t just disappear because you’ve chosen to ignore them. Although ignore is a strong word considering I spent all day at work worrying about whether or not I should trust myself and whether or not I would see the house again when I drove home… I could’ve gone another route, of course. Could’ve gone even one street over and left it at that.

But that isn’t how it works, is it? I was so unsure of my own thoughts that I’d rather put myself in a situation that seemed potentially harmful than not know if I was wrong or not. [beat] So I went down the same route, just like I’d been conditioned to for the last decade. Once again, the couples were inside. They had to know something was wrong, I mean I was able to realize the house shouldn’t have been there and I didn’t even live in the neighborhood. I slowed my car to a snail’s pace as I inspected all about the street that I could. Not really sure what I was looking for if I’m being honest, but when I got to the house, I’d convinced myself that, yes, in fact, it was as real as the rest of the places on the block.

I don’t think it was really a conscious decision when I stopped the car. I’d just been going so slow already and… well I’d reached my target, hadn’t I? I sat and gazed over the house for a few moments. Looking over the perfect condition it seemed to be in, to no avail. It seemed to be perfectly normal. Maybe… Maybe I was really just in my head about all of this. Was it really that hard to believe? I should’ve just left, stopped staring at this place. Sitting there wasn’t going to change the fact that it was there, whether or not I could really trust my mind.

But… then I saw the curtains in the front window move. I snapped my gaze over to where I’d seen the motion and there was a little boy staring at me through the glass. He looked off to something behind the curtain before looking back over and waving, grinning a gap toothed smile at me. I... Well I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that so… I waved back. What else was I supposed to do? In an instance, I became convinced that I’d really just made the whole thing up. If there really was someone inside and nothing untoward seemed to be going on, the kid had seemed perfectly happy after all, then it had to be a real house. And really, if it had been some big spooky master plan, then why would he have acknowledged me? I’ve been to the movie theatre. I know children in horror flicks can be creepy, but just straight up waving at me like I was just another neighbor and nothing was going on? Didn’t exactly set up the sinister mood that I figured would have come from the place.

And then a hand shot out and. The kid recoiled as it shut, looking disappointed that he’d been caught doing something it was evident he wasn't supposed to. And I snapped back into trusting myself and sticking with my gut. I didn’t like the look of that. At all. Unfortunately, my whole life, I’ve generally been prone to the third fear response rather than either of the useful ones: I freeze. This time was no different. I couldn’t bring myself to drive away.

[In the background, eerie music begins playing.]

I sat there in dead silence for what felt like hours with a vague feeling of unease hanging in the air when the door opened. A man stepped out, wearing this fine tailored suit that I’d seen clients wealthier than I would ever be wear into my office and carried himself with the confidence of a person that knows no one is going to cross them. Despite all that, his face was soft. Approachable. Kind, even. Seemed like the kind of guy that knew he had money, but was willing to help you if you’d just say thank you afterwards.

As he approached my car he called out to me: “Hello there!”

Nice and friendly. Even with the strangeness of a few moments ago and my lingering unease, I could hardly bring myself to believe that this man would do anything to me. Sure, I was still stuck to my seat in fear, but he seemed perfectly safe. Maybe that’s just what it’s like to be charismatic though, looking back. I wasn’t sure what to do at that point, but my pre-programmed social response got the better of me and I rolled down my window to meet him.

“Hi.” I said. Just a simple greeting until I could really figure out what was happening.

He put one hand on the top of my car and leaned down to meet my eyes. As he spoke, his smile never faded: “So… I take it… you can see this place?”

Well, I was so taken aback I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I just nodded. And the next thing he said, well… threw me a bit off. He stood up, brushed off his pants calmly, turned back to the house, began walking, and he just said-

[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]

ARCHIVIST:

Now there’s a profanity here that I will not repeat, but it seems Ayla’s statement finishes there.

[The Archivist sighs and shuffles their papers.]

ARCHIVIST:

There’s not much followup to be done here. Ayla gave us a street address, but didn’t actually tell us which house it was. [mutters] Perhaps she’s more of an idiot than she claims to be.

Regardless, upon investigating the street, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, though none of our staff were familiar enough with the area to tell which houses should and shouldn’t be there. In my personal opinion, this is a mere case of a poor attention span. I can’t blame Ayla, I suppose, but was it really worth coming here and telling a whole dramatic story over it?

[scoff] There are some other areas of this statement that leave room for questioning and research, such as the radio static and the house’s residents. For now, however, I will be filing this one under “Irrelevant” in my mind. End recording.

[Recorder clicks on.]

[Recorder clicks back on.]

[There’s footsteps as HR walks down the hall. They knock on the Archivist’s office door. Meanwhile, the Archivist can be heard moving something.]

HR:

[muffled] Uh, hello? I’ve got something for the Archivist.

ARCHIVIST:

Oh, uh, yes, of course. Just let me— [They curse as they are heard tripping over piles of statements.]

[A pause.]

HR:

...should I come back at a later time, or—?

[The door suddenly swings open.]

ARCHIVIST:

Right. Blimey. Sorry about that, mate. What’s all this, then?

HR:

Er, are you the head archivist?

ARCHIVIST:

That depends, who’s asking?

HR:

Your HR. I’m also an intern under Mr. Banks, which brings about a whole array of other useless titles, but for your purposes, I’m just HR. My name is Luca.

ARCHIVIST:

Oh! Lovely. Mr. Banks told me I’d be seeing you. Um, pleasure to meet you.

HR:

Thanks, you—wait, wh—?

ARCHIVIST:

[trying to change the subject] Say, why are you here, Luca? Any plans for after your internship? I mean, surely, you have a field of study, a career plan?

HR:

[slowly, growing increasingly confused] Oh, um, yeah. I, um—well, I started here—um, yeah, after my internship, I. Uh.

ARCHIVIST:

It’s alright if you don’t have a plan, y’know. Took me a while to figure all my stuff out, and, well, I got out alive, didn’t I?

HR:

No, it’s just—I know I have something, I just. Um. [desperately trying to change the subject] What are you doing in there, exactly?

ARCHIVIST:

[beat] Oh, just some housekeeping.

HR:

...and that required you to move an entire bookshelf?

[A long pause.]

ARCHIVIST:

Listen, I know what this looks like.

HR:

Doesn’t he have a weird thing about that?

ARCHIVIST:

[passionate] Which is exactly why I did it! I mean, they’re not the heaviest bookshelves in the world, so it’s certainly not a matter of safety.

HR:

[mutters] As if Mr. Banks has ever valued the life and safety of his employees.

[Both are heard walking back into the office towards where the bookshelf was.]

ARCHIVIST:

[cont.] Which means there must have been something weird about the bookshelf—and I was right. See, look, there’s like a weird...hole. Thing.

HR:

...I’m guessing that’s why Mr. Banks made me bring you a shovel?

ARCHIVIST:

Hm? Oh, right, the shovel. Kind of forgot I had asked for that.

HR:

How did you not notice I was carrying it when I came here?

ARCHIVIST:

You see, within the hole, there’s this big mound of dirt, and I have reason to believe that there’s something hidden beneath.

HR:

[They sniff, then, disgusted] Oh god, why does it smell like something died in there?

ARCHIVIST:

That’s what I’m trying to find out.

HR:

Look, can’t you just...I don’t know, leave it? Like, just put the bookshelf back, spray some air freshener, and then be done with it? I really don’t want to have to write this up.

ARCHIVIST:

You expect me to work under these conditions? Having a mysterious hole in my wall with no idea what’s lurking within?

HR:

Look, I just think this is a really stupid idea. If Mr. Banks finds out—

ARCHIVIST:

He’s not going to! You— [they huff a sigh.] Would you just hand me my shovel? I’m going in!

HR:

Whatever you say.

[HR hands the Archivist the shovel.]

ARCHIVIST:

Thank you.

[They are heard shoveling for some time, before the Archivist finally seems to hit something.]

HR:

Is...is that…?

ARCHIVIST:

My god.

HR:

That’s a dead body.

ARCHIVIST:

Appears to be. [beat.] Do you know who it is?

HR:

I mean, they’re sort of hard to recognize now.

ARCHIVIST:

Perhaps the previous archivist?

HR:

I dunno, I never knew them.

[A long pause.]

ARCHIVIST:

Right, then. Back to work. Mind helping me move this bookshelf?

HR:

(under their breath) God, I’m gonna have to write this up, aren’t I?

[Recorder clicks off.]

[Theme music plays.]

[CREDITS.]

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “In the Middle of the Street,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Luka Miller as HR. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at [email protected]. Thanks so much for listening!

#ir31pod transcripts

[alethiometry]

How are you liking AC Valhalla so far? Any characters you love? Any characters you hate? Is there anyone as sexy as Brasidas?

hiiii thank you for asking!! i’m going to keep this as spoiler-free as possible.

i’m really liking it so far! i have my gripes about gameplay mechanics and the buggy launch, but at this point i have either grown used to them or am happily experiencing stockholm syndrome and am just enjoying the game for what it is (and hoping the stuff that needs patching gets patched soon).

here are some things i love:

the voice acting is so good. SO GOOD!!!

eivor! she stands out among the protags of other ac games i’ve played because she always has this community about her. she’s a loved and respected leader to her people, they’re always happy to see her return to the settlement, she’s got her crew to back her up at a moment’s notice, there’s always portions of the main quests where she has companions fighting beside her.

basically all the other characters in ravensthorpe! they’re a fun bunch and a loving community and they have their quirks and i love hanging out with all of them. petra in particular is an absolute sweetheart and not a day goes by where i don’t feel awful for breaking up with her bc my goblin brain decided “lol i want to fuck my stepbrother’s wife who looks like kassandra in sweatpants”

HYTHAM IS A SWEETHEART. we love an assassin who is also, to use 2012 lingo, a pure and sweet cinnamon roll, too perfect for this world.

petting dogs and cats!

how dynamic the settlement is. every time i go back there’s something new and interesting happening, whether it’s a new sidequest an npc wants me to help out with, or a dispute between neighbors, or new dialogue with npcs i repeatedly interact with. i love having a home base that i can upgrade and that i want to spend time in.

the minigames! orlog is fun and frustrating but mostly fun, and the drinking contest is AWESOME.

quick-time assassinations for higher-level enemies! it’s a good balance between the old games where you could just indiscriminately kill fucking anybody in one overpowered hit, and odyssey where you had to either stack your assassination damage to get that sweet OHKO, or straight up fight the polemarchs.

the relationship between eivor and sigurd. i’m only about 40-50% of the way through the game so i’ve only seen a bit of it, but as someone who generally gravitates towards sibling narratives (i.e. odyssey, fullmetal alchemist, and way too many of my prime years wasted on supernatural) i really love their dynamic. i think it was an excellent idea to have that become one of eivor’s central narratives from the very beginning of the game. also, i get to fuck his wife.

(forces through gritted teeth) the... modern... day. i HATED layla in odyssey, to the point where i don’t even remember what happened in the modern story at all because every playthrough except for my very first one i simply mashed the skip button until i got back in the goddamn animus.. and i do not remember a single thing she did in origins. and maybe it says more about me than anything else that i wasn’t able to care about her until ubisoft (finally!!!!) brought back shaun and rebecca to make me care, but... this is the closest the modern day has felt to the desmond games, and there’s post-odyssey continuity with layla’s struggle as the keeper of the staff or whatever, and i really like it!

when you hover over different things in the map, the sound effects change. you get chanting music when you hover over monasteries, and ocean noises when you hover over the ocean! IT’S SUPER NEAT.

taking damage when you swim in the cold cold waters of norway made me chuckle. i can see how it might get annoying, but it doesn’t really bother me that much and it’s not that much damage.

THE SOUNDTRACK GIVES ME CHILLS IT IS SO GODDAMN GOOD

things i’m ambivalent about:

fall damage? i’m peeved that it’s back, but it makes sense. i do love that the breakfall skill makes it so that the most damage i’ve ever gotten from taking a long fall is like... 5 hp lmao

kill animations. they’re really cool and i love seeing what new fun way eivor has to brutally murder her enemies. on the other hand, the shift in camera angle can be annoying in the middle of a massive battle, and if there’s an object in the way of the very specific camera angle then sometimes i can’t see the animation at all and have to just stare at some wood/stone texture for like 10 seconds.

environment puzzles. sometimes they’re fun but sometimes i’m too damn tired to try and figure out the 3895th way to break into a locked building.

side quests world events. they’re fun but also seem largely... pointless? i wish we had one or two longer sidequests; some of my favorite moments in odyssey were on long sidequests like mykonos or the battle of 100 hands. i feel like this was a reactionary mechanic to people complaining that odyssey had “too many” sidequests or something idk.

tattoo parkour. i would like it more if eivor didn’t feel so “sticky” if that makes sense. i like the return of parkour puzzles, and i like collecting tattoos (the tattoo shop is always the first place i visit when i return to ravensthorpe), but the parkour in the game often feels quite clunky.

social stealth. another excellent idea that they brought back, but executed clumsily. i just don’t understand how it works, or, more importantly, why it’s even necessary in the first place. but it’s also easy to ignore, so whatever.

animus glitch platform puzzles. they’re super cool but for some reason give me massive anxiety.

things i don’t love:

some combat mechanics, like having a stamina bar and losing adrenaline when you get hit. i’m not here for any of that *~*~sO gRiTtY aNd rEaLiStIc~*~* bullshit. i just want to have fun and hack shit up.

that motherfucking god damn terrible fucking skill tree/map/web. who the FUCK thought it was a good idea??? the incremental changes between the big nodes feel kind of meaningless, and it’s very difficult to see the (completely arbitrary) progression towards the big nodes because they’re pathed out on SKINNY WHITE FUCKING LINES

synin got nerfed real bad :(

dag is a massive chode. and not even in a fun way, like stentor was in odyssey.

don’t really care for ivarr either if i’m being honest.

i do not give a single shit about fantasy asgard, and i’m kind of peeved that i apparently have to finish that arc in order to finish the game. (i didn’t like the atlantis dlc in odyssey either—a couple hades sidequests notwithstanding—so go figure.)

congratulations on reading this far if you actually bothered to do that! i don’t think any game will top odyssey for me in terms of setting/storyline/general vibes. but valhalla is a great, solid game in its own right.

no npc will EVER be as sexy as brasidas, but eivor is definitely sexier. she and kassandra and aya hold the 3-way title of Sexiest Assassin’s Creed Characters But Not In Like A Creepy Incel Gamer Way.

#assassin's creed #ac valhalla #charlotte plays acv #anonymous #asked

[kyndaris]

The Cost of Honour

What would you sacrifice to save the lives of the people you love and the home you cherish? How long would you be able to hold onto your morals when faced with an enemy that is impossible to win against? In the last exclusive for the PlayStation 4, Ghost of Tsushima from the developer Sucker Punch, asks these hard hitting questions and many more as it follows the journey of Jin Sakai in his quest to drive out the brutal Mongols from the island of Tsushima.

Considering the pedigree of Sucker Punch and chafing to dive into the world of Feudal Japan, Ghost of Tsushima was an easy buy for me. Immersed in the world of the Yakuza series and delighting occasionally in fresh new anime, it seemed imperative that I see what this game could bring to the fore. After all, the game looked very much like Assassin’s Creed. I liked Assassin’s Creed. And hadn’t the fans of the Assassin’s Creed franchise been clamouring for something in a similar vein for a very long time?

Once I booted it up, I was immediately struck by the visual representation. The colours were vibrant (though one could choose to play in black and white mode) and coupled with the particle effects, I could have sworn I had been pulled into a cinematic world. The opening scene used this to great effect and proved to be a masterful attempt of immersing me immediately with the world. As Jin raced down the beach, I thoroughly enjoyed the rush that came with swinging my katana at anyone that was foolish enough to stand in my way. Yet, it is not long before it becomes exceedingly clear that the samurai have lost the battle. Many are slain on the beach and Lord Shimura, Jin Sakai’s uncle and jito (land steward) of Tsushima is captured. Jin, having taken a couple of arrow shots in the back, is left for dead.

Enter Yuna. It isn’t clear why she singled out our protagonist as being alive and pulled him away to nurse him back to health. 

As the prologue continued, I wondered if she was questioning her choice of companion as Jin, armed with only his sword and a broken piece of armour went to confront the Khan at Castle Kaneda, in a desperate bid to rescue his uncle. This first attempt is met with failure and Jin is essentially yeeted off the bridge. Yes. I know. I used the word ‘yeeted.’ I’m basically roasting my own hands over hot coals as I type this. 

Despite plummeting what looked like several hundred metres down into the water below, Jin manages to survive. The man, it seems, is almost unkillable. You could say...he’s a ghost. Badum tss. I’ll see myself out now.

From a discouraging defeat, Jin, however, vows to avenge his fallen samurai brethren and rescue his uncle from the clutches of the evil Mongol invaders. Here, too, was when my journey to collect everything and complete all the side stories began.

Unfamiliar with the works of Kurosawa Akira, I can not rightly say if the narrative nestled in Ghost of Tsushima’s maze of collectibles plays upon the tropes of those that came before. What I did manage to glean was a story of revenge and hate, the cost of war and the values embodied by the notion of ‘samurai.’ With his back to the wall, Jin Sakai must adapt if he hopes to win. Much like Yuna’s speech at the start of the game, he and Lord Shimura have forgotten what it was like to face someone stronger and smarter than they were. If Tsushima and its people hoped to survive, instead of throwing away their lives, they needed to change their tactics.

In the early stages, Jin is shown to grapple with the idea of going in quietly and silently stabbing people in the back. But after the first mission and the first outpost, he was free of the burdens that were his old code of honour. I suppose in that sense, there is a degree of dissonance between the narrative and the play. Alas, I couldn’t have cared less as I went from camp to camp, observing the leaders and unlocking new technique points.

The end of Act 2 and the beginning of Act 3, however, is when Jin Sakai’s actions finally catch up to him. Instead of following through with his uncle’s plan of rebuilding the bridge at Castle Shimura after an explosion killed countless soldiers and allies, he poisons the Mongols drink in a bid to save the lives of his comrades. Classic war crime manoeuvre. Learning from this, however, the Mongols use this against the people of Tsushima as well.

It is this devastation that we see after Jin escapes from his uncle’s stronghold, desperate to free the people from the Mongol’s iron grip. Despite the gruesome nature of it all, it helped put Jin’s actions into a different light. By making the enemy aware of a new weapon, could he have possibly doomed his own people?

Subsequently, when the Khan is killed and Jin is about to face his father figure, it makes sense for Shimura to point out many of his misdeeds. Can the people of Tsushima really be saved if Jin’s actions undermine the authority of those in power? What of the stories that paint him as a ten foot demon with eyes that glow in the dark?

So, it came as no surprise when Lord Shimura asked for a warrior’s death. And wishing to be the dutiful son, no matter how painful it would be, I granted it. One last ‘honourable’ act.

The gameplay in Ghost of Tsushima initially proved to be a challenge, although that was mostly due to the fact that I had to readjust my understanding of my controls. Navigating without a minimap in the corner or a HUD showing me the general directions of north, south, east and west also took some time to adjust to. I don’t think I’ve ever just ‘followed the wind’ when it came to video games before. But, because of that, it allowed me to actually keep my eyes focused on the screen in front of me rather than the top right/ left corner. I could actually take in the scenery instead of being solely focused on clearing out the fog of war.

As for the actual combat, the controls were incredibly intuitive. Square for a normal attack, triangle for heavy. L1 to block and circle to dodge. Where it seemed like the developers should have stopped a little when it came to the variety of options available to the player was mapping R2 as the interactions button - but also the stance and quick throw wheel.

Traversal also proved to be fun and because the HUD wasn’t as cluttered as I was used to, it made exploration easy. Equipped with the Traveler’s Outfit as soon as the game had started also made it incredibly easy to start hunting down collectibles and feeding my urge to see every nook and cranny that was on display. What pained me, however, was the fact that it took me a while to realise that I needed to progress the story and obtain the grappling hook before I could complete a few of the shrines in the first area. And to obtain a few choice head gear.

My only other gripe with the game is that my poor Nobu was felled so swiftly at the start of the third act. And the thin brown horse that served as its replacement was not the replacement I had hoped for. Thankfully, Yuna was able to gift me with another horse - which I named Sora - but my heart still goes out to the faithful Nobu.

Why do you have to kill all of my faithful steeds, video games? I was distraught when Red Dead Redemption 2 did it. Appalled when Shimmer was caught in an explosion in The Last of Us Part II and now...this?

The side characters and side stories also proved to be entertaining distractions over the course of the long journey to free Tsushima. While Masako’s revenge plot was a hollow echo of the pain Jin faced, it was Norio’s burning of the Mongol camp that left me frightened of the legacy of the ghost. At least the ending of Sensei Ishikawa’s story felt a little more redemptive and filled wit hope.

And, after IMDBing the cast, I was gladdened by the fact that many of the voice actors chosen for the game were Asian Americans. Jin Sakai was actually voiced by a Japanese man in the English dub! Imagine that!

Ghost of Tsushima is an excellent open-world game that hews quite closely to the more recent Assassin’s Creed formula. Despite that, I thoroughly enjoyed my time exploring Feudal Japan, inconsistencies and all! My favourite part of it was collecting Mongol artefacts, records and learning a little about each clan banner. The combat also provided a few surprises, although the duels were a little tedious in the latter half. With the world still unable to quite shake the virus that still threatens many of our loved ones, it’s fun to actually dive into this fantastical and historical inaccurate world that is Ghost of Tsushima. 

#ghost of tsushima #video games #platinum trophy

[hippriestess]

Part 2: Cherry-picking

Cherry Red had been releasing The Fall's new music since 2011's “Ersatz GB” and we already knew that Smith had signed a further deal with them to look after what portion of the group's catalogue he owned. They had already made a start with the handsome seven disc “Singles 1978 - 2016” box set they had released late in 2017 (alongside a cut-down three disc “A Sides” collection). The set had originally been scheduled for release in 2016 but the production deadline for the all-important Christmas market was missed and the set was held back until after “New Facts Emerge” - from which no singles were taken - had been released. Following Smith's passing, the seven-disc edition sold out and was unavailable for a short time before Cherry Red did the decent thing and made a few more.

A reissue of  1997's “Levitate” had been in the works for a while; Smith had signed off the tracklisting and there had been a trailer of sorts with a Record Store Day-only 7” of “Masquerade” in 2017. Given that the album had been in contractual limbo for quite some time with original vinyl copies fetching 3 figures on the open market, Cherry Red's first posthumous release felt like a public service,  doing the right thing both by Smith and by the fans. Released towards the end of May 2018, the new 2CD/3LP edition was justly well received and some kindly reviews appeared with mostly positive re-evaluations of one of their most awkward albums. Hindsight benefits the record; if it sounds like they were falling to bits, it's because they were and now that we know not just what happened next but how the whole story of The Fall continued for another 20 years, it has context. For the record (Portugal), yr present author is no more fond of the album than she was 7 or 8 years ago but “Ol' Gang” has clicked into focus and the second disc puts those great b-sides from the “Masquerade” CD singles back onto the shelves so it would have to be considered necessary.

Less impressive was “58 Golden Greats”, released at the end of 2018. A 3CD set in a clamshell box, this was, in essence, an extended version of the classic “50,000 Fall Fans Can't Be Wrong” collection from 2004, extending the tracklist to cover the remainder(er) of the group's career. It actually expands on the original in other ways, adding several songs from the era covered in the original version; the puzzling omission of “Big New Prinz” is corrected for one thing and other singles are added such as  “Oh! Brother” and “Dead Beat Descendent”. Perhaps Beggars Banquet were more co-operative this time. Whilst one could always quibble with any attempt at a Fall “best of”, yr present author was not taken with this one and my purse remained closed. 58 was an unwieldy number (why not a round 60?), the cover artwork – a spoof of a different Elvis Presley sleeve – was far from appealing and the entry-point value of “50,000...” was lost, a 3 disc set at £17 being too big a serving at too high a price for the merely curious. However, it looks as if I'm just flat-out in the wrong. As we'll continually see, Cherry Red aren't just experienced, they are also smart and do not lack savvy. I'm sat here keyboard-griping while “58 Golden Greats” is sold out. Enough said.

In 2019, Cherry Red announced the beginning of the Fall Sound Archive, the title of which gave the air of a mission to preserve The Fall's work for future generations. Inevitably, they were starting with 40th Anniversary editions of “Live At The Witch Trials” and “Dragnet”. There was early disappointment. The 3CD edition of “Live At The Witch Trials” contained the exact same music as the 2CD edition from 2004 but spread over three discs. Any thoughts that the decision at least preserved the sanctity of the original 11 song album were hampered by the 3CD edition of “Dragnet” containing, as disc 1, the exact same running order – with single and outtakes – as the 2004 CD edition. The other two discs were 2 of the little-loved “Live From The Vaults” series (of which, more later, sort of..). The archive was perhaps, not so deep.

However, the plus points were the vinyl editions, which had been hatched with obvious care. Using the rare US edition of “LATWT” with an alternate sleeve and revised running order was a clever touch and one that acknowledged that the Fall's audience would need something more than just a nice colour of vinyl before they indulged the album yet again. Similarly, “Dragnet” came with a reproduction 7” of “Rowche Rumble”, a record which originally came with the thinnest paper sleeve in the history of music. That's not to say that we didn't get coloured vinyl, oh we did - “LATWT” came of red vinyl to match the US sleeve and “Dragnet” on black and white “splatter” vinyl. These both sold well, sold quickly and sold out, now being tricky to score except on the Discogs etc market. But perhaps more to the point, they suggested that Cherry Red's experience and nouse would, at minimum, keep things interesting.

Later in 2019, the Kamera catalogue came under Cherry Red's microscope and it was another mixed set of releases. For CD buyers, a 6 disc set called “(1982)” was developed. This contained “Hex Enduction Hour”, “Room To Live” “Fall In A Hole” various single and live tracks and the “Live To Air In Melbourne” album which had previously snuck out in the late 90's when MES was broke. There was no new music to be had here at all – everything had previously been released. As such £40 was too rich a price tag for many and the edition is still easily available. The new vinyl edition of “Hex” was well particularly well presented. For the first time, the 60 minute LP was cut onto 4 sides of vinyl – a long overdue move, this did the album real justice on the format and would have to be considered an essential for those who insist on twelve-inch slabs of wax for their music. A pleasing, sturdy fold-out sleeve showed that corners were not being cut, the vinyl again matched the colour scheme of the artwork and it also came with an excellent reproduction of the sterling “Look, Know/I'm Into C.B.” 45. What spoiled it a little bit was the inclusion of a third LP with Peel Session #5 on one side and some of the live tracks from the 2005 Sanctuary 2CD on the other. All this really did was drive up the price – a double LP with the 7” would have been perfect and would have been less heavy on the purse *NB – this didn't stop me buying it – that's my copy in the picture...). “Room To Live” was given a vinyl reissue too, this time as a double LP with sides 3 and 4 being the live tracks from the 2005 Sanctuary edition. Again, this didn't quite feel like the right choice – an alternative idea would have been a single LP with a 7”. Given that the classic “Lie Dream Of A Casino Soul/Fantastic Life” single had been added to the popular, widely owned German pressing, why not add a repro of that instead? It would have cost less and added more value to the package.

Despite these whinges “(1982)” would have to be considered an elegant, practical solution to a latter-day problem and demonstrates why Cherry Red remain a market leader in catalogue reissues. Can you really sell compact discs of these albums yet again? How else do you present the music in this format? The answer to parcel the whole lot together and present it as a “year-in-the-life” was a smart one that was only hampered by an optimistic £40 price tag (which translated to as much as £58 in stores) and the artwork being based on “Hex” which could have given a more casual customer the notion that the set was Hex and 5 discs of “other” material. The bottom line here is that there is nothing else in the cupboard; as with the IAKO ballet and the Hey! Luciani play, fantasies about things like the unedited “Winter” and the full 20+ minute “And This Day” ever appearing are exactly that – fantasies. Were they ever preserved, they're gone and anything that did turn up, almost 40 years hence would likely be in such a state of degeneration as to be unlistenable. From now on, all that can be done is to keep this material out there and try to present it with a fresh angle. That's precisely what Cherry Red have done here.

Come 2020, come the challenge of reselling what is not just one of the most widely-distributed but also one of the worst Fall albums: “Reformation Post TLC”. Cherry Red stuck to type with a double LP pressed into blue and red coloured vinyl, again matching the colour to the sleeve. Undoubtedly a handsome package, this version was snapped up with some enthusiasm although it does seem that sales were likely harmed by coinciding with the early, uncertain, often panic-stricken days of the Covid-19 pandemic reaching the UK. The 4CD edition was daunting: the whole album and 2 CDs worth of outtakes and rough mixes, followed by the “Last Night At The Palais” CD. The “Last Night At The Palais” DVD was not included. Time has passed, time has healed and it is clear that RPTLC is a terrific EP stretched out beyond the energy of the participants. There is even a strong 40 minute single LP to be had within its contents but, hey it was what it was. With almost all of the unreleased mixes having no vocals, interest wears off before we got to the excellent live disc but, on the other paw, Cherry Red have done exactly what we want; it is highly unlikely that there is anything left from the album sessions; this is the whole lot, every scrap. Up to us now what we do with them.

****************************

Now, if you're thinking I've skipped something, you're right but the story of The Fall's posthumous discography is difficult to tell in a linear fashion. So I invite you, friends, to join me in a diversion. Cast your minds back to Record Store Day 2019.  

Cherry Red played a good hand by releasing a new vinyl edition of the superb “Imperial Wax Solvent” album. As with “Levitate”, vinyl copies were going for silly money, Universal having allegedly pressed a mere 500 for the world. It was a shame that Cherry Red therefore added only another 500 copies, this time pressed into yellow vinyl. These were almost entirely snapped up on the day and copies of this edition are routinely offered at £50-60.  “IWS” had, of course, been out of print since 2008, having been deleted less than 6 months after its release. As such the RSD edition of  “IWS” could be said to have undersold the record somewhat. Unless, of course, a properly “available” edition, maybe with that unreleased original mix of the album was to follow at some point...more on that later.

Sadly, we must also wade through the other Fall releases that were curled out for RSD 2019. That will take us into Part 3...

#the fall #mark e smith #hex enduction hour #dragnet #live at the witch trials #reformation post tlc #1982 #room to live #craig scanlon #steve hanley #paul hanley #marc riley #karl burns #imperial wax solvent

[kumeko]

Prompt: Brock gets shrunk to a finger size due to Hank Pym and Jack has to keep him entertained.

A/N: Written for HHdiscord, for @marveltrumpshate! I was originally planning a 3-5k fic (5 because it took so long!) but this mutated to a 7+k fic instead. I find this hilarious since the first thing I had to ask when writing this was “who’s Jack Rollins?” 

Here’s chapter 1!

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There were many reasons to work for Hydra—a chance at status, the money, the ability to alter the world, the money. No, seriously, if you got high enough in the ranks, the payout was unimaginable. Unfortunately, not one of those reasons was their medical plan, substandard as it was. It was a pity, considering how often Brock’s men got injured when facing a superhero.

 Then again, maybe that was why they didn’t offer one. The overhead costs would be astronomical.

 Still, there had to be a better solution than sitting in his subordinate’s kitchen in the middle of the night, the light flickering above him because Jack didn’t remember to screw it on tight enough. Brock couldn’t say how many times he’d visited Jack’s rundown shack of a home, only that somehow it looked worse at every visit. While they weren’t getting paid the big bucks, they were certainly getting paid enough to afford better digs. For some reason, Jack liked living here; he had a rare strain of loyalty, the stupid kind that would get him killed.

 Brock just hoped that wouldn’t happen soon, it would be hard to find a competent replacement. Even more so now that the fucking Avengers were tossing everyone they could find into the slammer. A sharp sting interrupted his thoughts and he grimaced. “Watch it,” he growled, snapping his head to his right.

Next to him, holding a cotton swab dipped in alcohol, Jack raised a brow. “It’s not like it can sting less. It’s an open wound, what do you expect?”

 It was the truth. Brock glared at him anyways. “I can still hurt you.”

 Jack looked utterly unimpressed. Firmly, he pressed the cotton swab down once more, cleaning the wound. “If you can still threaten me, I guess you’re fine.”

 “Like there was any doubt,” he muttered, glancing down at his raised arm. There were three long slashes on his arm of varying depths, all reminders of what it means to go against S.H.I.E.L.D. Begrudgingly, he had to admit their field operatives weren’t bad. At least they gave him a bit of a challenge; it would be boring otherwise and he didn’t sign up for Hydra to fall asleep.

 Jack glanced at him, then back at the wound. Firmly gripping Brock’s arm, he started dabbing again. “No, you’re too good for them.”

 “Damn straight,” he bit out, resisting the urge to flinch as the swab brushed a more tender region. It was easier to deal with when he was the one patching himself, but Jack had insisted. Distracting himself, Brock scanned the kitchen, his eyes jumping from the clean plates in the dishrack to the sparse but organized counters. There was something ridiculously domestic about Jack despite his hulking frame. No doubt there was a frilly apron hidden somewhere here, and Brock chuckled darkly at the thought.

 Jack raised a brow at the sight but said nothing as he started to wrap a long, cloth bandage around his arm. He pulled tight with each round, almost enough to cut off circulation but not quite. “Maybe…”

 When he trailed off, saying nothing, Brock turned back to him. “What?”

 “Just…” Jack bowed his head, his shoulders hunched as he focused on bandaging. Hesitantly, he suggested, “Tomorrow’s mission, getting the Pym particles—maybe we should delay it.”

 It was the most asinine thing Brock had ever heard. He snorted, not sure if he should be insulted or just amused. “As if. Think Hydra would stop for something like this?”

 “Then what if you—”

 Now he was insulted. “Think I would stop for something like this?” Brock snarled, yanking his arm out of Jack’s grip. The still untied bandage started to unravel, loosening around his forearm.

 “Hey!” Jack protested, trying to snatch back the bandage.

 “Do you?” Brock repeated, keeping his arm away. With his good hand, he grabbed Jack by the collar and pulled him down till they were at eye level.

 Jack was good at many things, but eye contact was not one of them. He looked away. “No.”

 “This is nothing.” Not quite satisfied, he let go and held up his forearm once more. “Don’t be such a fucking mother hen.”

 “I’m not,” Jack shot back, tugging on the bandage harder than necessary.

 Brock wanted to laugh. For someone with Hydra, he was a poor liar. No longer insulted, he eyed his subordinate, amused. Part of him wanted to needle Jack more, to push his buttons; he’s seen Jack scared, worried, hurt, but never angry.

 At the very least, the sex would be amazing.

 Maybe he could try after the mission.

 -x-

 “This it?” Standing in front of a tall, dilapidated building, Brock frowned. The place looked like an apartment on the verge of being torn down rather than a secret hiding place of a superhero. Sure, Hank Pym was an ex-hero at this point, but that sort of stench never really washed off. The government always paid them off one way or another.

 “Yeah.” Jack shifted from one foot to the other, antsy. Dressed entirely in black, he blended in with the shadows save for his green night-goggles. The street was darker than it ought to be at midnight, the streetlights here dead so Brock didn’t have to break them. “Thought it’d be nicer.”

 “Guess it doesn’t pay to retire no matter what side you’re on.” Brock shook his head, feeling mildly disappointed.

 “Retire?” Jack gave him a look, before looking at the rest of their squad spread out around them. Half a dozen men dressed in black, tensely studying the building in front of them, ready for a fight. “That’s not even an option, is it?”

 Brock didn’t bother to answer. Jack was right—Brock couldn’t even name some of the newer guys, they’ve cycled through so many. He had no illusions about his place in Hydra—they’d use him until they couldn’t, and then they’d dispose of him the first chance they got. Unless he rose to the top or saved a good nest egg, he wasn’t going to make it past 40. 50, if he were lucky.

 Not that Brock needed luck. He made his own and in a place like Hydra, he thrived.

 Jack checked his watch. “It’s almost time to start.”

 “Have two guys come down from the top.” Brock pulled on his mask as he shifted to a commanding tone. His shoulder ached from the movement but he bit back a wince; he was here to do a job. If Jack noticed, he didn’t say anything. He liked that about him, it was hard to find a professional sometimes. “We’ll go in through the front and pin him in.”

 “What if he shrinks?” Jack asked, pulling down his goggles and readying his gun.

 “Doesn’t matter. We’re not here for him, but for the particles.” Brock gestured to two members of his squad. They nodded and quietly slinked toward the front door. One of them stood to the side, gun cocked, while the other forced the door open.

 Nothing happened. Brock jogged forward, his gun drawn and goggles on. Scanning his surroundings, he commanded, “Catch him if you can. But I don’t mind if he’s bloody or dead.”

 The inside of the building was surprisingly clean and empty. Someone lived here, even if it wasn’t Pym. For a lobby, the area was sparsely decorated, a wide square room with a single chair on side and a board full of keys on the other. Not bothering to grab them, Brock headed to the apartment rooms. “Everyone take a floor,” he barked, already making his way to first floor rooms.

 He kicked in the first door he found and rolled in. Just like the lobby, the apartment room was empty, the walls all newly painted white. Signs of people without the people. His goggles indicated no signs of Pym, small or otherwise.

 As he exited back to the hallways, he bumped into Jack coming out from the opposite room. “Not here, unless he’s small,” Jack griped, glaring at the carpet as though Pym was hiding in its fibers.

 Maybe Pym was. As good as his equipment was, it wasn’t that good. Brock stepped more forcefully. “If he is, his fucking equipment has to be around.  If I’m chasing him a second time, he’s dead.”

 It was easy to keep up the energy as he burst into the next apartment. And then the one after that. The entire first floor was cakewalk.

 By the fifth floor, however, it was just getting tedious. Even with the fact that his team had split up, dividing and conquering the fifty-storey building, it still took time to investigate each room. The results were the same each time—no Pym, no particles, no equipment. Occasionally, the empty rooms had furniture, indications of their previous tenants, but Brock wasn’t sure if it was just a red herring or if there was some meaning in it. He wasn’t a detective, he’d leave that work for the cleanup team after.

 “The teams above are almost done,” Jack relayed to him, standing stock still as he listened to his earpiece.

 Brock shot open a door half-heartedly, tired of it all. “Fucking finally. Can’t wait to leave.”

 “After we finish this hall, we’re done.” Jack checked the room across the hall with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.

 “He wasn’t here at all,” Brock grumbled, checking the last room in the hall. “Who thought he was?”

 Jack shrugged, already leading the way to the stairwell. “Dunno, one of the intelligence units.”

 “When we get back, I’m having their head.” As Brock descended down the stairs, he ground his teeth. Their steps echoed through the stairwell. “Waste of a night.”

 “Yeah. Everyone’s out now.” Jack opened the door to the first floor lobby and headed toward the front doors.

 “Your house,” Brock stated shortly, still pissed.

 Jack smiled. “I thought you didn’t like my house.”

 “I’m not breaking my bed.” Brock snorted. There was only one kind of distraction he needed after this, and it was going to be rough.

 “I don’t know why I bother to repair it,” Jack muttered, opening the glass door. He lingered at the entrance, looking back at him. “Coming?”

 “One sec.” Brock scanned the lobby one last time. Just like when he’d arrived, there was nothing here that caught his eye, no sign of the man or the particles they were after. The door closed in front of him and he sighed before following after Jack. “What an utter was—”

 As he exited the building, his body started to tingle. Brock stared at his hands as a fuzzy, glowing light enveloped him and the building. He felt disconnected from his body, like he was half-asleep and listening to Jack go to the bathroom.

 He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the glowing lights were gone but he still felt fuzzy. Maybe his arm had been poisoned yesterday. Maybe it was blood loss.

 “Brock?” Jack yelled, his voice sounding way too loud. His shadow fell on Brock, looking like it could eclipse the sun.

 “What?” As usual, Brock looked up at his subordinate. And then he craned his neck back and looked up even more.

 Fuck, Jack was always a tall man, but he was a fucking giant now.

#brock rumlow #jack rollins #hydra husbands #crossbones #captain america #mcu #forgive some mischaracterizations #i'm still working on voice #but hopefully progressive chapters sound better (i think i got a hang of it by ch 3) #fanfic

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Requested and written for @vfordii’s birthday which was...back in December. So...not quite six months late, but at least I had a good excuse XD I ended up writing a first draft before my hospital stay, and then had an EVEN BETTER IDEA while I was convalescing and then had to write a whole new “first” draft, which was at least supposed to cover some of the other draft and...THINGS GOT OUT OF HAND.

“Why, Kiki Seiran.” The drawl alone turns her veins to to ice water; it’s only the strength of her spine and the grit of her teeth that stems a shiver. Or a right hook; Kiki’s always been a bit mixed up with her fight-or-flight. It’s what makes a good ranger. “As I live and breathe.”

She’s tempted not to give him the satisfaction of being noticed-- he doesn’t deserve hers after the stunt he pulled-- but he’s perverse enough to find that sort of behavior encouraging, as if getting under a woman’s skin was some prelude to foreplay.

“Hisame Luigis.” Her teeth chomp down on the last syllable, strangling the hiss she wants to make it. A snake like him deserves to be greeted in kind, after all. “I wouldn’t expect to see you here.”

Not after the last time, she doesn’t say, because despite her personal feelings, her father didn’t raise her to start a fight-- just finish them. Which she already had, sending Hisame scurrying out of the shatterdome with his tail between his legs.

(Must be hard for him to sit in that helo, Mitsuhide rumbles, standing close as they watch it take off, sound muted by the thickness of the windows. She spared him a raised brow, and he grinned. The way his ass must be smarting.

He gets a laugh out of her. She hadn’t thought it possible, right then.

Spurned by both the drift and you, he clucks, shaking his head. He’ll need medical to give him an ointment or something.

She’d been embarrassed by the whole thing, by being made a woman instead of a ranger in front of all her colleagues, years more experienced than she, and she’d thought she’d never recover, never get over the humiliation, but--

Well, she’s never heard her partner be uncharitable before. Might as well enjoy it. Maybe they can give him something to get his head out of his ass too.

Nah. Mitsuhide turns back to the window, eyes fixed to where the helo hovers in the skyline. I think that’s a chronic condition.

Kiki coughs on a laugh. The foot in his mouth certainly is.)

The line in front of them shudders, then trudges forward, and Kiki braces herself. His personality might be as thrilling as the scum on the dome’s flight deck, but he’s a ranger, just like her, plucked from a PPDC family whose illustrious history is only outstripped by her own and maybe the Wisteria’s. She’ll have to face him-- quite literally-- at some point, and it might as well be now.

Besides, it’s been five years. People change. Hisame may not be his father, nor his brother, but he could at least be tolerable now.

She dares a glance behind her, and it’s the same infuriatingly handsome face that smirks back at her, only this time he fills out his flight suit better. He might be less boyish around the edges, but it looks like insufferable douche isn’t a stain that comes out in the wash.

White teeth flash at her from between smirking lips. “I was invited.”

She somehow manages not to balk, not to say, I didn’t realize we were scraping the barrel for the dregs.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here either,” he admits, insinuating his tray beside hers on the rail. “In the mess, I mean. I would have though General Seiran’s daughter would merit better fare than the grunts.”

The rim of her tray wobbles beneath her grip. These people would die for him, die with him, and he calls them grunts.

“What can I say,” she says, turning to him with a smile drawn thin, plate outstretched for dinner, “I can’t resist some good old shit on a shingle.”

She has the distinct pleasure of watching the color leave his smug little face as a healthy heaping of the caf’s beef stroganoff plops down on her plate. If only he hadn’t been so eager to dog her heels, he might have noticed just which line he got in.

“Yum yum,” she adds, because she’s never been a woman to shy from twisting the knife. “My favorite.”

“Ah, of course,” he manages faintly, handing over his own plate. “You have always struck me as a woman of...simple pleasures.”

“Simple pleasures,” she agrees, “and unmovable opinions. Enjoy your time in the dome, Luigis.”

She doesn’t add, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. He’s a smart boy-- he knows how to read between the lines.

“I don’t know how you eat that.” Zen eyes her stroganoff warily, nose wrinkled in distaste. “I don’t think the recipe has changed World War Two.”

She slides into the last available seat, so close she nearly elbows the jaeger mechanic next to her. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Mitsuhide hums on her other side, and she feels the rumble in her elbow, warm and pleasant. Kiki’s not a fan of eating at the designated meal times-- Zen’s the one that likes to see and be seen by the adoring masses, not her-- but being crushed in like sardines does have its perks, sometimes.

Zen opens his mouth-- to complain, she assumes, since he habitually gripes about the mushrooms being too fragrant for his taste-- but she sweeps in before he can get a word out with, “Luigis is here.”

His jaw drops. Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his milk.

“Hisame Luigis?”

As much as she would love to rag him, to say what other Luigis is there?-- it’s a valid question. With a general for a father and a ranger for a brother, any one of them had a better reason to be here than Hisame did. Too bad; teasing Zen was the best entertainment she could get in the dome.

“What does he think he’s doing here?” His arms fold tight over his chest. “Did he not get humiliated enough the last time?”

“Well, you know,” she drawls, scooping up a forkful of her dinner, “for some people it’s a kink.” While he’s sputtering, she adds, “He says he was invited.”

Mitsuhide frowns into his stoganoff. “Invited?”

“By who? My brother?” Zen shakes his head, emphatic. “Last time he was here, Izana was happy to see the back of him.”

She shrugs. “He didn’t say.”

“But who else could?” Mitsuhide sits back, thoughtful. “There’s not a lot of people who could go over a Marshal’s head, not even here.”

Kiki shovels a bite of beef into her mouth. “Garrack.”

They both sit back at that, uncomfortable. “But for what?” Mitsuhide presses, sounding strained. “He hasn’t piloted a jaeger outside of the simulations.”

“And they can’t be trying to put him in one.” Zen shoved peas around on his plate, mullish. “The neural handshake’s only meant for two, and with Hisame’s ego taking up the second chair, I don’t know how anyone else would fit.”

She can’t help but grin at that. “Maybe they’re making a three-pilot jaeger.”

“Wasn’t China working on something like that?” Zen’s expression turns speculative, distracted. “Something...Typhoon wasn’t it? Triplets were piloting it.”

“Crimson Typhoon,” she corrects, “based out of Hong Kong.”

“Right, and then Japan said they could seat seven.” He shakes his head. “Good thing nothing came of that. Sounds like a disaster from start to finish.”

“Too many cooks in the kitchen,” she agrees.

“Maybe it’s a single ranger jaeger,” Mitsuhide says, and she nearly laughs until she realizes he’s serious.

“Single ranger?” she echoes, dubious. “Can’t be done.”

“Or they’d be tiny,” Zen scoffs, waving a hand. “There’s no way you could pilot a mech as big as Rex all by yourself.”

“Can’t be that then.” Kiki’s mouth quirks. “Hisame Luigis could never suffer being smaller than anyone else.”

Mitsuhide flushes a red so deep it looks painful, studiously applying himself to his dinner as if it might make make him less noticeable. Too bad being six-foot-fuckable and a head taller than half the folks in the mess didn’t lend itself to invisibility.

Zen grins, smelling blood on the water that for once isn’t his. “Right. We all know that’s for-- ah, fuck.”

Kiki takes in his wide eyes, his pinched mouth, and twists her chin over a shoulder. Her stomach knots just think that snake could be right behind her, knowing she still talks about him and inferring all sorts of idiotic encouragement from it, but--

But she only sees a bright red bob lingering over by the chafing dishes, sticking out like a buoy on a choppy sea.

She frowns. Shirayuki was usually cause for excitement, or at least Zen making an ass of himself trying to impress her. There should be a sudden, manic search for stories sedate enough to tell but funny enough to entertain, since the good doctor apparently labored under the misconception that Zen was intentionally witty, and didn’t just bumble into cleverness completely by accident, but today--

Today there’s a lean body that curves beside hers, a slim question next to Shirayuki’s bright exclamation. It’s The Asshole.

Or at least, that’s what Zen calls him. The jury’s still out for her.

“What’s he doing here?” Zen grumbles, churning rice across his plate.

Mitsuhide takes in a breath, measured, and says, “Waiting for you.”

Zen glowers, hunching over his dinner. “I know that. I mean, what’s he doing here with Shirayuki?”

Kiki glances over her shoulder, watching as The Asshole bends down, Shirayuki laying a hand on his shoulder as she yells something over the din, and doesn’t say, flirting.

She shrugs. “Seems like Shirayuki can handle him just fine.”

He glares. “I know that. She just shouldn’t be around a jackoff like him.”

Mitsuhide sets his jaw, and oh, she can read every word he won’t say like it was printed across his forehead: We don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a jackoff. He’d never say it-- and not just because Mitsuhide didn’t truck with words like jackoff and douchebag-- but because he knew to wait until Zen was listening. Which he wasn’t going to now, not with his hackles all raised because the Asshole was in the same room, daring to breathe the same air.

Kiki doesn’t have the same compunctions. “Do we even know if he’s a jackoff?”

Zen sputters, dropping his fork in consternation. “Of course we do! He acts like one every time I walk into the room.”

She glances at Mitsuhide, and his gaze is already darting away. If he isn’t going to point out Zen’s probably earned it, it’s definitely way above her paygrade.

“Every time! Calling me master and reminding me he’s at my beck and call and awaiting my leisure,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I bet he’s over there right now, telling her I’m getting high-handed or something. Like I’m keeping him here to jerk his chain.”

Kiki lifts a brow. “Aren’t you? Izana isn’t going to let him out of the dome until you--”

“I know what he thinks,” Zen snaps, “and it’s not happening. My brother is just going to have to get used to the idea.”

Her brows reach even higher. Izana Wisteria didn’t get to be the youngest Marshal in the history of the PPDC by being the first one to flinch.

Mitsuhide clears his throat, pointed. “And you plan to keep him waiting the whole time?”

Zen blinks. “What?”

“The Asshole,” Kiki clarifies when Mitsuhide balks. “While you’re playing your game of chicken with Izana, he’ll be waiting. Right here. In the dome. Making...friends.”

They all look toward the bright splash of red hovering at the edge of the mess, tray in hand. Shirayuki’s face lights when she sees them, hand half-raised--

And falls. Kiki doesn’t need to look to know what sort of face Zen is making, not when Shirayuki spins so suddenly away, hooking her hand around The Asshole’s arm and steering him away.

“I’m not drifting with him,” Zen says, shoving his tray away from him. “I’m not.”

“Good,” Kiki hums, mouth quirking at a corner. “Be a pity for him to leave when he’s getting along with Shirayuki so well.”

Zen glares at her, mouth pulling thin. “I’m not hungry. Enjoy yourselves.”

She’s supposed to be asleep. Or at least, that’s what the dome’s light pattern it trying to tell her; when she turns on her lights, it’s set to the soft night-time glow.

Shirayuki explained all that once, in her patient, bubbly way: bodies are supposed to use natural light to tell what time it is, and living in a bunker with no windows is one of those things that throws off its entire groove. The mood lighting is supposed to help, subtly dimming and brightening so their brains get the signal that it’s time to sleep or time to work.

Kiki flicks it off with a grimace. It’s a nuisance.

Darkness settles over her, the only light the painfully bright display on her alarm clock. 1:17. She lets out a huff, rolling onto her back. Definitely should be asleep.

Still, it won’t come. Hisame Luigis is here, sauntering around the dome when he has every reason to be a world away, annoying anyone else. Before today she would have said there wasn’t a single thing that could lure him to the site of his own humiliation, but now-- now she knows there is. And what it is--

Well, that’s enough to keep anyone up at night.

She sits up, swiveling to put feet on the floor. Something is happening; it’s one thing for Luigis to be here, gunning to relive all his old mistakes, but he’s not the only new face in the dome.

Her fingers clench around the edge of the mattress. Rex Tyrannous has been sitting in its box for years; Izana might say that getting it into the fray is a priority, but he never picked more than one or two recruits out of the graduating class to try, never seemed to be more than tacitly interested with how they did.

But now, now, he’s flown the whole coast to get this asshole to the dome. An asshole that doesn’t seem to want to be here any more than Zen does.

Kiki levers herself up, reaching for her clothes. Something is happening in the dome, something big.

And she knows better than to wait around to find out what.

There’s only ever been one place in the dome where she can clear her head. It’s too bad that someone’s had the same thought; as she approaches the door the the gym, Kiki can already hear the grunts of exertion coming from inside.

She swallows a sigh, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. It’s better when she has the mats to herself, when it’s just her and her thoughts and the burn of her muscles, not interrupted by the groaning of men who want to impress her--

Good thing this one doesn’t. As much as she wish he might.

Mitsuhide has his back toward the door, and she has the perfect view of the way his muscles coil as he brings his staff up, of the way they shift into sharp relief under his skin as he strikes down with an overhead blow. It’d brain anyone who didn’t block it, but with no partner he brings it up short just inches from the mat, muscle quivering with control.

It’s a sight Kiki never gets tired of. She’s half-tempted to leave her worries behind and just enjoy the show, but--

“You’re up late,” he says, breathless, rising out of his stance. Searching eyes turn toward her, his mouth down-turned with concern. “Everything all right?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs, tossing him a towel. “No Zen?”

He grunts, snatching the cloth with one hand. “He went to go talk with Izana earlier.”

Kiki grins, sauntering over to where the staves are propped against the wall. “Ah, so you sent him to bed?”

His mouth twitches at a corner, but he shakes his head, saying, all too serious, “He needed some time to cool off.”

She hefts a staff into her grip, testing it’s weight. “I’m assuming this is Asshole-related.”

Mitsuhide lets out a sigh, and they don’t need to be in the drift for her to know he means, what isn’t?

He’s already in his first stance when she steps in front of him, waiting for her to strike first. She should mix it up, try to wait him out, try to lure him into making a mistake early in the bout and riding the moral boost to victory, but--

Well, Kiki hates to disappoint.

Mitsuhide’s a big man, a practical giant, but he jumps over her sweep with a nimbleness that always stuns her. She may drift with him, living inside the corners of his mind, but she can never anticipate his speed. The way that man can move the incredible mass of his body verges on superhuman.

The butt of his staff taps her side, so soft that it’s only her pride that stings. “That’s one for me.”

She lets out a huff, shuffling back, out of his range. “The last one.”

He shrugs, but she can see the smile he tries to hide in his shoulder. “If that’s what you think.”

This time, she’s more cautious, circling the mats, advancing where he retreats. He’s more wary as well; dark eyes fixed to her, watching where she shifts her weight. He catches her first blow, and her second-- light taps, staves clacking together as soft as kisses-- but her third catches him on the thigh, and he laughs.

“One to one,” he tells her, stepping back. “Should have seen that one coming.”

She hums, mouth curving in a smirk. “You should have.”

The go back to their corners, and her body is humming with victory, alive as she watches him shift into stance, and she says, “So, do you know anything about him?”

Mitsuhide blinks, head tilting, and she clarifies, “The Asshole.”

“Ah,” he grunts, more from catching her first blow than surprise. “I can’t say I like him, but that assessment seems...unfair.”

She barks out a laugh, dodging his swing. “I don’t think Zen’s concerned about being fair.”

His mouth pulls thin, and she blocks a hit that leaves her arms vibrating. “Unearned, then.”

She nearly gets a hit on him, throwing off his staff and going for his side, but he steps back, right out of her range. “He doesn’t want to compromise.” 

“This isn’t about compromise anymore, it’s about survival.” She ducks under his follow up, a swing that probably would have left a real shiner on her shoulder. Sloppy on his part; he’s usually so careful. “He doesn’t want to trust anyone.”

She dances out of the way of a jab. “No one does in a jaeger.”

“But all of us would try,” he presses, strangely emphatic as he blocks her strike.

“We would,” she agrees, testing his guard. “If I was down, you would drift with Zen--”

His guard drops, just slightly, and it’s like the heavens are parting since right there, right there is where she can tap him--

And she does, so hard he stumbles back, unprepared. She can only stare for a moment, watching him breath heavily, head hung.

“Don’t say that,” he manages after a long moment, voice too raw.

Her fingers tighten around the staff, and she shrugs. “It could happen.”

His eyes fix on her, too intense too dark. “It won’t.”

She knows better than to tell him it’s not their choice, that every time they go out it’s a roll of the dice whether a kaiju takes them under. It’s not what a man like him needs to hear, not when his last station was up in Anchorage, so near the rift.

“Besides,” he says, shoulders straightening as he composes himself. “I should be more worried about you drifting with Luigis if this knee of mine gives out.”

She frowns. “I’d rather be eaten by a kaiju.”

“Well, that would be the other choice,” he informs her brightly, sliding into his stance. “Two-to-one.”

“I know the score,” she snaps, sending a hit to his legs, a sweep he easily sidesteps. “That better not be the reason he’s here.”

Mitsuhide raises a brow. “Back up?”

She smirks. “That you’re getting old.”

“I’m younger than Izana!” he protests, trying to hook his staff around her knees. She jumps over it, missing the timing on the stomp to keep his bo on the floor.

“And he’s sitting behind a desk,” she replies, enjoying herself far too much. “Maybe it’s time for you to push some paper--”

“He has other reasons,” Mitsuhide grouses, retreating as she advances. “Not because he’s old.”

“They can’t be thinking he’ll drift with Zen,” she reasons, “even if this asshole doesn’t work out, he’ll never agree to it.”

Mitsuhide hums absently, fending off her advance, and she presses. “Right?”

“R-right,” he answers. “Zen really only wants one pilot--”

His staff takes her right in the side, and she’s not ready, stumbling to the ground. With a huff, she sits on her ass, shaking her head. “And it’s not any of us.”

“No,” Mitsuhide says with a grin, offering her a hand up. “It’s not.”

She takes it, levering up to her feet and brushing herself off.

“You know...” Mitsuhide’s face takes a wistful bent, almost thoughtful. “Way back, when Atri--”

Kiki perks. She’s been at the dome a long time, but Atri predates even her, here and gone before she’d even stepped foot on the tarmac.

His lips wrap tightly around his teeth, stopping the words he means to say. “Never mind. Two-two. Next is match point.”

She smirks. “I hope you don’t mind losing.”

He smiles, stepping back into his stance. “Not to you.”

When Izana had mentioned they were hiring on a therapist, Kiki had been skeptical, to say the least. He’d gone on to expound on the newest data, how rangers and support staff alike were suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress at higher and higher rates each year, how having an individual focused on the mental health of a dome had reduced the number of accidents in the hangar and fights in the mess, but--

It’d been clear: Garrack was the one twisting his arm on it, and Izana never got in a fight he couldn’t win.

Kiki’s been in the PPDC her whole life, even if it wasn’t in uniform, and among them, stoicism was less a personality trait and more a way of life. If you didn’t have your emotions on lockdown, if your mental vault didn’t have tighter security than Fort Knox, a drift could break you into pieces. It could break your partner into pieces. She’d seen it happen before, dozens of times.

Talking all that out nicely on a couch didn’t really fit with the aesthetic. Or so she’d thought, until she met Shirayuki.

“Thank you for coming,” the good doctor says brightly, taking tea Kiki offers. “I mean, for inviting me! I’m sorry, I’m just so used to, um...”

Kiki can’t help but smile as she takes her seat, cup warm in her hands. It’s not hard to see why Zen likes her so much, not when she’s flushed just from that little slip. “I understand.”

Relief blooms across her face. “Oh, good! It’s nice to not be drinking alone in my office, for once. I mean, tea! Drinking tea! Oh...”

Kiki smothers a snort with a sip of her tea. “I know what you mean. Though honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if I had to listen to Zen’s problems.”

Shirayuki looks as if she might protest, trying to come to the rescue of her patient, but she must catch her wry tone and the smile lurking at the corner of her lips, because she just stops. “From what I understand, you already do.”

Kiki stares. “You’re right. I should start insist on being paid.”

A laugh bursts from Shirayuki, so bright and earnest it surprises her. “I’d listen to him anyway, but--” she leans in, dropping to sotto voce-- “it does help, sometimes.”

She can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her, but it’s worth it to see the way Shirayuki flushes, two bright spots on the apples of her cheeks. “Thank you for coming. There’s not a lot of women in the dome, and it’s nice to just...chat, sometimes.”

“I agree!” Shirayuki tells her eagerly. “There’s more women in K-science than on the deck, but still-- it’s nice to just have a cup of tea and not have to listen to Suzu talk about his numbers.”

Kiki raises a brow. “Suzu’s invited to your girls’ tea?”

“Well.” She takes a thoughtful sip of her tea. “We don’t really have girls-only outings. But if we did, he’d invite himself, and then talk exclusively about his algorithm. The only thing that gets him to stop is Yuzuri--” she coughs, flushed-- “anyway, this is far nicer.”

“I’m only sorry I couldn’t provide better tea service.” She nods at the offerings on the table: buttery crackers with hard cheese, and cookies so crunchy they’re more like hard tack than a treat. “I asked the kitchen if they could make scones, and I’m not sure the cook even knew what one was.”

“Oh, no!” Shirayuki sets down her cup with a clatter, wincing at the sound. “This is perfect, really. When you first asked me to come I was afraid that Zen had asked you to-- ah--”

She claps her hands to her cheeks, mortified. “Never mind. This has been a pleasant surprise.”

“Ah.” Kiki smothers a grimace as she sets down her own mug. “You thought that Zen asked me to talk to you about--”

“Obi, yes.” She spins her cup slowly, as if looking for anything to keep her hands busy. “I know he doesn’t like him. He’s been...vocal about that.”

To put it lightly. “We don’t know anything about him. He’s concerned.”

“I understand that.” Her mouth curves in a wry, almost chagrined smile. “And I understand that being in the dome doesn’t really allow...typical professional-patient relations. But it would be nice if his concern at least took into account that I’m an adult who can make her own decisions.”

Kiki takes a sip of tea to cover her grimace. It’s a fair assessment; there are times where she’s sure Zen doesn’t even remember that his therapist has a doctorate in psychology, let alone is an authority in her field.

“Besides,” Shirayuki sighs, dunking a cookie in her tea. “You could say that about anyone. It’s just that you can say that about Obi especially.”

“You must know all about him,” Kiki presses, leaning in just the smallest amount. “Since you have access to everyone’s files.”

“Oh, no!” Shirayuki shakes her head, hair splaying over her shoulders. “I can’t access anyone’s files unless they consent to treatment. Or, at least, not unless I’m given an emergency override by the Marshal.”

“Oh. Huh.” She settles back in her chair, stymied. “Well, I suppose that makes me feel better.”

Shirayuki blinks, eyes wide. “You didn’t think that I had...?”

Read her file and formed her opinions already? It’s what Kiki would have done, coming into a situation as hostile as the good doctor. “You had to pick your patients somehow.”

Her cheeks flush, differently this time, two angry splotches that spread from jaw to temple. “Treatment is voluntary,” she reminds her firmly. “And even if I could read every record, I wouldn’t. Even with my patients, I prefer to have them tell me something in confidence rather than scrolling through a file. Trust--” she fixes Kiki with an earnest look-- “is the most important currency I can earn in my line of work.”

It’s a good sentiment, and an honest one, but Kiki hums, unconvinced. “But you’ve looked at Zen’s haven’t you?”

Her mouth pulls into a guilty grimace. “I-- I hadn’t, not at first. But when Izana told me he was bringing someone into the dome to drift with him, and that they were going to need to be reintegrated, I, um, well...”

Kiki raises a brow. “You looked.”

Her chin drops to her chest, chagrined. “I...did. I thought he might have...” She hesitates, finger once again rotating her cup on the saucer. “I thought it could have been Atri.”

Her hand tightens on her mug. Atri. The second time she’s heard that name this week. “Is that so.”

Shirayuki sighs. “We’ve been working for months, but Zen just...doesn’t choose to talk about it.”

Funny, how no one does around here.

“Which is fine!” she continues, breathless. “But if Izana was going to bring him back, then--”

Kiki nods. “Then you needed to know who he is.”

“Exactly.” Her shoulders drop in relief, the tension leaving her body on a breath. “I mean, especially if Izana was going to have me treat him--”

“Atri?” She blinks. “You thought he would want you to treat Atri?”

“Well, he, ah...” Shirayuki leans in, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “He asked for my help.”

“Izana.” She’s a broken record, just repeating everything the doctor says. “Izana asked you for help. Specifically.”

“I know.” Shirayuki shifts, just as uncomfortable with the thought. “He told me this was a-- a special case.”

A special case. “So he must have given you access to his file, then. If it’s so...special.”

“Well, yes.” She fiddles with her cup. “Parts of it, at least. But Obi doesn’t seem interested in therapy--” no, Kiki can’t help but think, just the therapist-- “and, ah, it felt...too intrusive to look.”

It probably wouldn’t have done her any favors making friends either, but Kiki knows that’s a thought best left on the hangar deck. “Parts of his file?”

“Oh, um, yes.” Her eyes dart around the room, as if she half suspects Izana would be lurking just around a cabinet. Fair, considering the thing that man knows. “He only had authorization to open up the vitals to me. Everything else was classified. Even his birthday!”

Classified. Kiki take a sip from her mug. “How interesting.”

“Kiki.” Her father’s voice is as comforting as a warm blanket and hot milk, just the thing she wants to hear at the end of a long day. “What a surprise. We just had our weekly chat--” she can hear him flipping through his datebook-- “not even two days ago.”

“I need to ask you something.” She tucks the phone deeper into her shoulder, turning her back to the group of young pilot-wannabes that swagger through the mess. She’d love to do this where there was more privacy, but it’s the only place with reception in the whole dome, unless she wants to explain to K-science what she’s doing. “A favor.”

“Please,” Father sighs, pained. “You know I don’t keep track of that. It’s my job to take care of you.”

Kiki bites down on her lip. It’s his job to take care of his rangers, to make sure there’s no kaiju to wipe out Seattle, and as much as he’d been her dad too-- there was only room to do one job well.

“There’s a file I need you to look at,” she says, voice pitched low, watching the idiots horse around at the window. Must be fresh off the deck if they’re that cocky this close to open water. “Personnel. I’ll send the information over to you.”

“Oh my,” he hums, far too amused. “Should I let Mitsuhide know you’re looking at another man?”

She only manages to half smother the grunt out of her throat. “Just let me know what you find, all right?”

“Of course, princess.” Her teeth grit down until he adds, “Good hunting.”

Izana’s mouth curves as she enters his office, amusement only growing as she drops into the chair across from him and glares across the wide expanse of his desk.

“Ranger Seiran,” he drawls, sitting back, fingers laced on is lap. “To what to I owe the pleasure?”

“Obi,” she says. “Who is he?”

His lips tip into a smirk. “The next co-pilot of Rex Tyrannous, once my brother gets over himself.”

“Don’t do that.” Her knuckles blanch where they clench her knees. “Not with me.”

“No.” He grows serious. “Not with you. But come now,” he raises a brow, “surely you can find out what you need on your own.”

She lets out a long breath, fingers twitching where they lay. To think, she had longed for a sibling, even knowing the Wisterias.

“Ah, I see,” he hums, all too pleased. “Your father couldn’t get you what you needed.” His teeth flash from behind his lips. “Now, now. If that’s the case, you can’t possibly think you’ll get anything out of me.”

“No,” she admits, grudging. “Not about that.”

That intrigues him. “Oh my, then what would bring you all the way here for a visit?”

“Hisame Luigis.”

All the humor drains from him, his back stiffening against the chair. “He hasn’t bothered you.”

It’s not a question, it’s a promise, and some part of her eases. “No, he hasn’t. Why is he here?”

Izana tilts his head, letting the thick shadows in his office obscure his expression. “That is need-to-know information, Ranger Seiran. “

“And I don’t need to know?” she demands, and even shadowed, she can see how his mouth pulls, pained. “After the last time, you don’t think I deserve to know?”

He stands, pacing to where a large painting sits on his wall. “It’s Confidential.”

She grits her teeth. “I see.”

As she stands, he inhales sharply, and she turns.

“Come now, Kiki,” he murmurs into the space between them. “You’re a clever girl. It’ll come to you, if you think about it.”

She lets out a long breath. “I don’t think we have time for that.”

Sometimes, there’s nothing for it to go to the source.

Not much may be known about this Mystery Asshole, but Kiki’s observant, and he’s been on her radar from the start. And if there’s one thing she’s noticed: he doesn’t like people.

Not that he’s rude; oh no, he only vents his spleen in Zen’s direction, which even she can admit is well-earned. But if he’s got a choice between a full mess and an empty gym, she knows exactly which one he’ll choose.

Which is how she finds him, back pressed to the bench, lifting with no spot in the middle of a deserted gym.

Her mouth pulls thin. Only an idiot would risk it, but then again-- it’s not like anyone would offer to help him, not when they could end up on the bad side of at least one Wisteria. These rangers might all talk tough about facing kaiju in the raging Pacific, but one harsh word from Zen and they’re all chicken shit.

With a grunt, she slides in above his head, hands out and ready. “You’re some mystery,” she says, ignoring the way he gapes at her, “aren’t you?”

His jaw snaps shut, mouth pulling into a grimace. “Sounds like you’ve already decided.”

She lifts a brow. “You’re a ranger, but no one in the whole dome’s ever heard of you.”

He does a single rep, racking the barbel with not a single sign of strain. “I hung up my flight suit a long time ago.”

“There’s people here who can list every pilot since Mark 1,” she scoffs, “time isn’t the issue.”

“I didn’t distinguish myself,” he explains, wry, rolling up the bench, grabbing the towel from behind him. “One run wonder, you know.”

She crosses her arms, watching as he towels off the rigid bristle of his hair. “Your file’s so confidential not even generals can access it.”

“Ah, well.” He cocks a brow from under his towel, mouth rucked up in a grin. “Did someone make daddy try?”

It’s not until her knuckles crack, harsh like gunfire in the empty room, that she realizes she’s clenched her fists at all. The Asshole only gets more smug. “Maybe I just value my privacy.”

“You lost that by coming back here,” she tells him, tight, as he stands, unfurling half a head taller than her. Still, she didn’t get on the flight deck by being cowed by a few inches. “Not just anyone gets offered a seat in Rex Tyrannous.”

“Well, I don’t want it.” He slings the towel around his neck, turning toward the door. “As soon as the prince deigns to let me in his head, we can all go home.”

Kiki is a Seiran, a name that commands respect in every dome in the Pacific. Conversations end when she says they end, and no one has ever put their back to her.

But this Asshole just starts to walk away, like she isn’t a general’s daughter, like her mother didn’t save a whole city, like she’s some rookie straight out of the academy.

“Hey.” She grips his arm hard, fingers wrapped like talons. “I’m still--”

There’s no warning; one minute she’s got a hand on him and the next she’s on the ground, jaw radiating pain like the heart of a jaeger. She lifts a hand to it, and oh, that is gonna leave one hell of a bruise.

“Fuck.” Obi stares down at her, those strange gold eyes wide and jaw slack, horror etched in every line of his face. “Jesus.”

She gets to her feet, knees wobbling beneath her. Asshole didn’t kid around when he laid one on you, that’s for sure.

“Hell,” he hisses, hands hovering around her, like he can’t decide whether to help her or ignore her. “Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t even--”

Okay, that’s enough.

She’s smaller than him, lighter built, but she knows how to pack enough wallop to send him stumbling back. Her knuckles sting-- he’s got a hard head for a boy with such delicate cheekbones-- but it’s worth it to see his face ruck up in confusion, to see him cradling his own jaw.

“All right,” he laughs after a long moment, shaking himself out. “That’s fair.”

“It is,” she agrees, stepping up to him. “But it was my fault. Let’s try this over. I’m Kiki Seiran.”

She thrust out a hand, and he just stares, like he think it might bite him. Fair enough; her other one is still red from where she hit him.

“Right.” His own hand envelops her own, giving it a good firm squeeze. “I’m Obi.”

#obiyuki #mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #this is really starting to become an ensemble piece and I'm just gonna roll with it #though obviously there's gonna be some obiyuki pinning this whole beast together #and some side mitsukiki #i got another chapter coming up in a few weeks #which is gonna get a lot more into the drifting side of things #but uh...enjoy the slow build to that point i guess #now with kiki being salty about life

[hellimagines]

Starlight Saviour (Chapter One) -- Billy Hargrove

*My masterlist link can be found in my blog description*

Summary: Being Steve Harrington’s younger sister and the notorious girlfriend of Billy Hargrove is hell. Especially when your boyfriend becomes infected and you’re the only one willing to step between him and the monster.

Warnings: blood and gore, angst

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!Harrington!reader

Word Count: 2,800+

A/N: This is based entirely on the trailers we’ve seen, and has nothing to do with the actual outcome of ST3 (sadly). So, when the new season does drop, RIP Billy and RIP this piece of work whOOPS. Also, if your name is crossed out in the taglist, that means I am unable to tag you and you need to fix it before the next update, or else you’ll be removed from the tags. Thank you, and I hope you guys enjoy this!

Outside, the pitch-black night sky encased you and Billy as the Camaro drove steadily down the backroads. Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue whispered from the stereo, but you and Billy singing along managed to outpower Vince Neil’s voice completely. Billy drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other gripping your calf, keeping you safe as you dangled out of the passenger side window. He kept the car slow, no more than 30 miles, and his grip on you would tighten at the slightest bump or turn. Your arms were flung out behind you, body teetering dangerously close to falling as you leaned back, with your head tilted towards the sky so you could admire the stars. The light pollution had been horrible this summer with the new mall having been built and the fair now in town. The only way to actually see the stars anymore was to go deep in the woods (where you knew not to go anymore) or driving the backroads. Billy knew how much you enjoyed seeing the moon and the stars, and he decided to take you out for the night- ultimately forgoing your original plan of meeting up with Steve and the kids at the fair.

Two quick taps on your leg brought your attention back to the car. “C’mon, star, it’s cold as hell,” Billy griped, giving a full-body shiver for supposed dramatic effect. Rolling your eyes at the nickname while a smile played at your lips, you dutifully slid back inside the car and rolled up the window. You were only wearing a pair of black, high-waisted shorts and one of Billy’s ragged band-tees, and yet you still hadn’t managed a single shiver.

“It is not, you big baby.” Despite your scoff, you reached over to turn up the heat and face it towards your shivering boyfriend. “Thank you for bringing me out here, though, it’s so nice,” you sighed softly, kicking your converse-clad feet onto his dashboard, and turning your body to rest your forehead against his shoulder. You almost pulled away, however, because of how cold his bare skin was. But, you brushed it off as Billy not having the same adrenaline as you did at the moment, and that you’d cool down soon enough, too.

“Mm, yeah, babe, ‘course,” he mumbled, his words slurred together and causing you immediate alarm at the sudden change.

You sat up quickly and turned to look at him, ready to berate him for any alcohol he may have had, but the words immediately died on your tongue. Billy was white-knuckling the steering wheel, and even though his words were slurred and his voice wasn’t all there, his eyes were wide and almost manic. They kept flicking from the rearview mirror (looking at something that you couldn’t see), to you, and back to the road, but his focus seemed to be on whatever was in the back. Turning around, you tried to spot whatever he was looking at- maybe a rogue car chasing you down or a bra you’d left in the backseat, but there was nothing there. Just darkness.

You turned back to him and placed a careful hand on his cold shoulder. “Billy? You alright, handsome?”

A smirk lifted at his lips, but he didn’t look to you. “I’m fucking perfect, baby, why’d you ask?” Billy’s voice was now much darker and throatier, giving you whiplash from the way he’d spoken just moments before. The familiar sound of the engine revving hit your ears, drowning out your song on the radio and filling your blood with ice.

Your eyes flicked to the speedometer, “You’re going too fast, you’ve gotta slow down.”

“It’s alright, baby, you know I’ve got control,” Billy chuckled, reaching out a hand to pet your cheek. You allowed him to, but you couldn’t keep the panic out of your eyes as you held onto his hand.

You urged, “Billy, please, slow the fuck down. You promised you wouldn’t start this shit up again. I know it’s an empty road, but please just slow down.” Billy laughed at your words and shook his head, thumbing your cheek. “If you don’t slow down, we’re gonna have a real fucking problem,” you seethed, losing the caring and concerned attitude, replacing it with panic and fear. Whatever Billy was going through you could deal with later, after the possibility of an impending crash was off the table.

“Baby,” he cooed, “don’t worry.” Billy lifted his head to look at you, and instead of being met with his beautiful ocean-blue eyes, you were now face-to-face with monsterish-green irises and black veins creeping in the whites of his eyes.

“Fuck-”

Just as you began to reach out, pleading silently with yourself that, ‘no, it can’t be back, El destroyed it, it’s fucking dead,’ something struck the driver’s side windshield, instantly shattering the glass and causing shards to spray everywhere. Billy jumped, not expecting the sudden collision, and the car moved with him, swerving you guys into an uncontrollable circle. You cried out, reaching to try and hold onto Billy’s arm in an effort to keep yourself grounded, but it was fruitless. The Camaro slid across the dry dirt and slammed into the side of one of the trees lining the road before you were able to hold onto anything. Since you weren’t wearing a seatbelt and you had been angled so awkwardly prior to the crash, you were thrown backward causing your head, shoulders, and back to collide painfully with the passenger-side window. If the tree hadn’t been pressed so tightly against the miraculously unbroken window, you were positive that it, too, would’ve shattered. Instead, your body slid down the door, a trail of blood smeared across the window in your wake. You could tell there were shards of glass embedded in your forehead, mainly because of the blood dripping into your right eye and obscuring your vision- but with the pain ricocheting across your right side, you figured that there had to be more. The crash had thrown your body to the floor, squished painfully between the passenger seat and the dashboard.

Slowly, you lifted your head, looking to see if your boyfriend was alright. “Billy,” you choked out, trying to blink away the blood and tears to get a better look and make sure he was safe and uninjured. The blond didn’t move at first, staying slouched over the steering wheel with his hands limp at his side. The car was still on and running, and the vibrations and the music didn’t feel right- like all of this was supposed to be much worse than it actually was. Whimpering in pain, you reached out your right arm and gripped the keys, turning off the ignition with a quiet groan. Your arm was littered with glass from your shoulder down to your wrist, and streams of blood fell into the palm of your hand, creating a bloody-red lake that eventually emptied through your fingers. Silence fell over the car with the radio and the engine now shut off, and all you could do was sit there and try to figure out, ‘what the fuck just happened?’.

Tired of the silence, you tried again, “Billy- babe!” And this time, he shifted. But Billy didn’t groan in pain or make any indication that he had been hurt. He simply sat up and straightened himself out, before opening the door and leaving the car. Not a single glance was spared your way, even as you tried to call out to him again. Confusion masked the pain on your face as you watched your boyfriend walk away from you and his car. Now that he was under the illumination of an isolated streetlight, you could see the all-too-familiar faint, black veins creeping up his arms and crawling up his neck, fading into the skin by his eyes and his forehead. It wasn’t Billy, you could no longer deny that, but Billy was still there, still fighting just like Will had all those months ago, and you had to do something to get him back to you.

Even though your entire body ached and your mind was whirring with endless catastrophic possibilities, you still managed to brace yourself against the seat and the dashboard, pushing to try and get off the floor. With a groan of agony, you managed to push yourself up, your arms shaking with how weak you felt. Your right arm nearly gave out against the dashboard, but with a final spurt of energy, you were finally able to throw yourself back into the passenger seat. Squinting against the streetlight now blinding your vision, you were hardly able to decipher the decaying Brimborn Steel Works sign against the rotting wood of the warehouse you had crashed near. Brimborn had shut down years ago, a short while after the war, when Hawkins Lab took over and the factory work shifted to a close. Now, not many people knew it existed let alone where it was located due to its isolation. You were shocked that Billy did, having only been in Hawkins for less than a year, and you couldn’t think of a reason as to why he would know. None of it made sense: the split-second character change, the crash, Billy walking away, and now this- but the detective work would have to wait because Billy was getting closer to the mill and farther away from you. With a deep breath, you climbed over the console and into the driver’s seat before stumbling out of the car and falling to your knees beside the tire.

“Goddamnit- Billy!” you finally screeched, just wanting him to hear you. “Billy, for fuck's sake! Just stop for a second!”

And he did. The monster paused, one leg out in front of him in anticipation for the next step that never came. His head tilted to the side as if waiting for you to say something else, but he didn’t turn to look at you or make any noise.

You whimpered and tried to push yourself to your feet, “Billy, just-” Your legs gave out, sending you face-first into the ground,  and you screamed in pure frustration. Lifting your head and spitting out blood and dirt, you looked towards your boyfriend for any sign that he was still there. “Don’t fall. Please, babe, don’t fall,” you whispered, unsure if he could even hear you.

But then he was turning to look at you, and even though his eyes still weren’t his, the black veins had melted into his skin, giving you a false sense of comfort. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe.” The voice, not belonging to Billy, was deep and throaty, just like you’d heard in the car. “He needs me, just like I need him. He’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, can’t-”

A scream, so painful it made your heart ache, erupted from Billy’s mouth. His hands flew to clutch at his mess of curls before he began shaking his head fervently. “No! No, you can’t fucking touch her! Not her!” Billy, true Billy, cried out, doubling over in the fight against himself. “F-uck off!”

Your heart leaped into your throat at his cries of anguish, and you began to crawl forward, digging your fingers into the dirt for leverage. “Don’t fall, Billy, don’t fall,” you repeated to yourself, desperately trying to get to your feet in your haste to reach him. But the right side of your body was still bleeding, and you were positive one of your ankles was fucked from the crash. So each attempt only got you a couple of inches closer before you were back on your knees, clawing at the dirt.

Ahead of you, Billy was repeating his own mantra of, ‘not her, not her, not her’ and he seemed to be negotiating with whatever was inside him. ‘The Mindflayer,’ you reminded yourself, narrowing your eyes at the memory of last fall. The Mindflayer must’ve said something to appease Billy and calm him down for at least a second, enough time for the monster to take over again. The monster stopped pulling at his hair and he straightened out, looking back down at you with those foreign, green eyes.

He didn’t say anything for a while, silence encasing both of you as you stared the other down. Will managed to fight this thing off with the love and support of his family and his friends, but Billy… Billy only had you. You loved him more than the stars, but with the look the Mindflayer was giving you, you knew it was going to take more than that to bring him home. He seemed to be waiting for you, whether to follow, retreat, or fight, neither of you knew. But with the hope that Billy was still in there, still fighting, you managed to push yourself to your feet, swaying unsteadily with the knowledge that this wasn’t your boyfriend.

“You’ll be safe. Once this is over. I will not hurt you, and neither will he-”

“Of course Billy won’t hurt me, I’m not an idiot,” you spat, interrupting the demonic voice coming from your boyfriend. The monster’s eyebrows rose, but he made no move to retaliate. “Why? Why are you doing this to him?”

“I didn’t choose him if that’s what you’re implying. I was given to him and gifted with all his pain that will help me thrive- help us survive,” the Mindflayer answered, taking a couple of steps forward. You didn’t move away, allowing the monster to get closer to you.

“How? Who did this to him? Who betrayed him and gave him you?” you asked, refusing to flinch when his hand came to stroke your cheek.

“Injection. That’s all it took. I am a virus, I can live anywhere.”

A memory flashed in your mind; Billy and Steve fighting, Max jumping on to Billy before injecting him with the same sedative that had been given to Will- with the same needle. “You don’t like the heat, though. It hurts you,” you whispered, grasping for anything to help you save Billy. Regardless, your eyes widened at the fact that the monster had been there for months, living alongside you and Billy in peace.

“It hurts us, now. Whatever you do to me, is done to him, baby. You mustn’t forget,” the monster said, gently running his thumb over your cheek to wipe away a stray tear that had mixed with your blood. He was taking Billy’s demand to heart and you hated it.

“Don’t call me that,” you growled, resisting the urge to swat away his hand. It wasn’t Billy, but you couldn’t piss off the Mindflayer without Billy receiving those repercussions. Besides, if you closed your eyes just right, his touch felt just like Billy, just colder.

“He would have been the perfect host. Broken, lost, all the pain… He wasn’t supposed to have a light, a star. He wasn’t supposed to break free just to keep you safe. But I can work around you. Your love won’t be enough to stop me this time. I’ve been here, in his head, I know what he thinks and what the others think of him. You’re the only one that cares about him. Neil, Susan, Max- nobody cares about him. Nobody else will help you.” Your breath hitched at his words because he was right and you both fucking knew it. “It’s just the three of us now, and it will be once we end everything. It’s what he deserves, it’s what I deserve.”

The Mindflayer let go of your cheek with your blood staining his palm as he turned away from you. No other words were spoken as he retreated into the mill, but a lone rat squeaked past your shoes, scurrying ahead of the monster and into Brimborn. You wanted to chase after him, you wanted to plead with the monster to let him go, to take you instead, but you knew he wouldn’t. The Mindflayer had adapted to Billy’s strengths and weaknesses, and the bond they now forcefully shared wouldn’t be given up easily. So, with your heart cracking, all you could do was watch as Billy disappeared into Brimborn.

—

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#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargroves imagines #stranger things #st3 #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagines #starlight saviour #billy hargrove angst

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Congrats on 500 followers! I have a simple (shameless) prompt. I loved All That Glitters and I would feel utterly blessed if you gave the world another ZenYuki fluff. Thank you!!!

Prompts are currently closed. I will announce when I am open! :)

Zen has always been fond of the castle by firelight. As a boy, he slipped his minders leash more times than he cared to count, sneaking between the halos of torchlight and into the many shadows they afforded him. There was a certain freedom inthe silence, in the way his boots would echo in the emptiness while all but theguard slept. Squeezing into a crawl space between statues here and grabbing ahandhold among the trellis’s there, he was alone. An adventurer exploring new lands. A soldier heading off to war. A knight in search of a dragon to slay. All while being blessedly unseen.

He hadloved the dark. The anonymity of it had been… peaceful. A respite from the expectations of his birth. Truth be told, he still does - seeking it out just like the moon seeks the sky. The way light forges its own path through it is beautiful. Memorable. And in his own way, hesupposed, he understood Obi because of that. Found kinship with him and envy in the way that he never lost his casual relationship with something that Zen couldonly have in secret.

But rightnow, that darkness was getting in his way.

“Shirayuki!” He doesn’t know if it is thesoles of his boots or the tick of his heart that is pounding against the walls.“Shirayuki!”

And maybe, he thinks, heowes his retainers an apology.

~ ~ ~

Music swells, drowning out the rustle of cloth and creak of bones as the entirecathedral – including Zen, including the King – rise to their feet. And, in thecenter of it all, she stands among them. Rules them. For this brief moment, for thissingle minute in history, she is bestowed something approaching the respect that she deserves.

And she takes it. Like a dream,Shirayuki steps through sunlight stained by colored glass, down the aisle and up thealtar to claim her prize. 

She’s a vision in white, like he always knew shewould be, her hair curled and laced through with diamonds and rubies and pearls,wisteria dripping from her hands.

Her headbows as she stands before him. Even veiled, he can still see the emerald of hereyes, the burn of her blush, the bright shock of her hair.

Andwithout waiting for him to even offer, her gloved hands slide into his. Taking him boldly before the kingdom gives her the right.

Dearly beloved…

~ ~ ~

He’s panicking. 

The rush of blood deafens him, makes him sloppy. He’s already tried her rooms. And the pharmacy. And the rooftops and the hothouses. Each location, empty. Each location, swept clean and brightly lit and completely empty in preparation for today.

With every second he fails to find her, doubt creeps into his veins. Reminds him of his station. Of the multitude of reasons he might be too much trouble.

It would have been better if you were never born a Prince…

Heart in his throat, he rounds another corner. Maybe he should summon the guard. Inform them that there is a problem with security. Send out the call that Shirayuki has been kidnapped. Has run away. Has gotten cold feet and she doesn’t–

The leather of his boots screech against marble.

And he stops.

And stares.

There, in the dark of the garden, framed by the gaudy monstrosity of golden swans and colored lights and arches of water making up the fountain that could only be a gift from Prince Raj himself, Shirayuki stands. Eyes shut and mouth moving as she sways ever so slightly, hands folded tightly above her stomach.

His knees go weak, and he collapses against the nearest pillar. Ah, he was going to have to speak with Mitsuhide about his training schedule soon - All this paperworkwas finally starting to catch up with him. 

“Shirayuki,” he calls out, more breathless than he likes. “What are you doing?”

She comes to a sudden and guilty hault, spinning on her heel.

“Zen!”

~ ~ ~

“PrinceZen,” Lord Brecker interjects, not even a full five steps after he’s extracted himself from Lord Lido’s well wishes. “There’s still the matter of the land claim in the Yuris. If you could just speak with His Majesty on my behalf–”

It’s onlyyears of watching his brother that keeps his face from crumpling like a used tissue. With a carefully neutral smile in place, he nods along to the old bag. And maybe, just maybe, he entertains the thought of following Obi’s advice and absconding for a fortnight.

It wasn’tfair. It was their wedding day. But every noble in the country who was not ontheir deathbed was in attendance, all eager to remind him of their presence from the moment they walked into the ballroom. And, what felt like hours but was likely only minutes later, he was still he was wading through endlessmembers of nobility and visiting royalty.

“Excuseme.” A drink slides into his hand, a broad hand skating the length of hisshoulders. “His Highness is needed elsewhere for a moment.”

Zen onlyjust catches the flint of gold and the nudge of a leg against the back of his knee before theroom spins, Breckers annoyed face being exchanged for the faceless multitude. He looks to his side, and up.

A smile blooms across his lips. “ThanksObi,” he sighs, and lets himself be led. Hopefully to Shirayuki. “I wasn’t looking forward to whatever gripe he had about Kihal this time.”

Obi’s hand falls from his shoulder in a casual shrug. “You looked like you were drowning back there.”

“Mmph,” he takes a careful sip and jolts in surprise. It’s wine. Watered down. Zen casts Obi a long gaze out of the corner of his eye. “You would think they would give me some breathing room today out of all days.”

“There isno day off for a Prince, I suppose.”

Zen narrows his eyes even more, watching as that cat-like demeanor slants towards him.

“But,” Obi muses, in a tone too much like Izana for Zen’s poor heart. “Oh my,if you are the Prince, I wonder where the Princess might be?”

Zen blinks. “You’re not bringing me to her?” He scans the room. There’s a million faces, none of them the one he is looking for. “Wait. Weren’tyou supposed to be watching her?”

“WhyMaster!” Five fingers splay across Obi’s chest, brows arched. “You asked me to attend to you tonight,remember?” 

~ ~ ~

“I’msorry,” Zen takes a step forward, straining to pick her voice out from the shower of the fountain. “What did you say?”

Shirayuki’s hands are fisted at her side, shoulders reaching for her ears. And she blurts, 

“What ifI step on your feet?!”

Zen stops. Blinks. Stares at her, at a loss. “This has really been bothering you, hasn’t it?”

A delicate flush works its way up her neck and shesquirms. “We’re going to be dancing in front of everyone and I-” Her hands flex against empty air. “I don’twant to embarrass you!”

“Shirayuki.” He takes a step forward. “You won’t.”

“But what if I do?”

“Then go ahead and step on my feet!” Zen shrugs, lip tugging at one side when her mouth falls open. “What are they going to do? Revoke our marriage license? Demand that I divorce you for failing to complete a perfect turn?”

“Zen!”But she’s laughing now, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering. Dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a kerchief, she sniffs, “Be serious. Your brother–”

“Our brother,”he corrects softly, closing the distance between them. He takes her wrist, pulling the tissue away from her face. “Remember? My family is your family now. Nothing’s going to change that. Least of all some silly dance.”

Shirayuki’s eyes swell, face going blotchy, and she looks around, worried about the shadows that are doubtlessly watching them.

Brushingaside his cape, Zen extends his hand towards her. Like then, like always. “Comehere.”

She ducksher head, body suddenly so shy.

“Shirayuki,”he breathes again. “Please. I would like to dance with my wife.”

Her mouthparts, wordless, and she stares, tissue gripped tight against her breast.

“Mm,” isall she says, ducking beneath his arms and sliding her free hand into his.Her ring glints in the bare light, the weight of her hand in his something fought for.Something cherished.

~ ~ ~

I call it the Northern Star, he whispered, sliding the diamond band past her knuckles. A perfect fit. WhereverI go, it guides me back to you.

~ ~ ~

Musicswells in the distance between the gentle song of night critters and the trickle of the fountain, and Zen swaysmore than follows any particular set of steps until she stops shaking. Until the heaving of her back subsides, and then calms.

“This isnice,” she says softly, her mouth touching his lapel right above his heart. “Butwe should go in soon. They’re probably wondering where we are.”

She makes to pull back, but his hand tightens; molds her to him. There would certainly be no dancing like this once they returned, and he- well, he likes it.

“Wait,” he whispers, lacing his fingers through her hair. “Just a little whilelonger.”

Shirayukitucks her face against his neck, wet lashes tickling his pulse. A shiver races down his spine.

“Okay. Just a minute.”

“Mm.” Hepulls back, just slightly, pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger. Her head tilts back, hair spilling down over her shoulders and eyes wide and shimmering the same as they were that day so long ago in Kokoku Watchtower.

“Yea,” hebreathes against her lips. “It might take a few minutes more.”

#bubbleswrites #answeek2019 #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #zenyuki #prompt fic #i asked muse for additional prompt suggestions and she said stars! #so stars is what you get :3 #now if you'll excuse me i need to go schedule an appointment with my dentist #i'm sure i gave myself a cavity writing this #XD XD XD

[taeken-my-heart]

Independent {f} Chapter 16

Summary: Your mom calls you stubborn, your friends call you wild, and the boys you’ve left in your wake call you a frigid bitch.  You’ve built a life of independence and you like it that way. Kim Taehyung, however; seems to be able to change your mind.

Pairing: Taehyung x ReaderGenre: fluff, mild angst

Word Count: 4718

Warnings: Ongoing themes of death. Her father is always mentioned briefly. 

TN: This is it, guys. This is the final chapter. It’s all just gooey fluff and I hope you enjoy!

**There is a read more linked but it doesn’t seem to be working and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m sorry! TT 

***

“OK, but see, I don’t get it.” You said.

Taehyung sighed, flabbergasted. “It’s not something you have to get, it just is.”

“But why does she talk like that?” You mused, shifting on the couch and Taehyung squeezed your arm gently, pulling you closer to him. 

“Y/N, you’re seriously analyzing this way too much; it’s just a movie.” He chuckled.

“Because you told me this movie was deep!” You cried smacking his stomach and he groaned like a drama queen. “Oh, come on, I barely touched you.”

“The movie is deep, but her tone of voice is literally not important to the plot.” He complained, fingers massaging his abdomen. 

“You know what’s nice?” Jimin called from his spot in the bean bag on the floor and the two of you stopped your bickering to look over at him. “Being able to watch a movie and actually hear it. I wonder what that’s like.”

“Bite me, Jimin.” You chuckled and he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.  

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Hey!” Taehyung scolded, throwing a pillow at his friend’s laughing face. “Stop flirting with my girlfriend!”

“He can’t help it,” you laughed, “my sass is like a siren’s call. You should know this, of all people.”

“Yeah, but it’s my sass.” Taehyung pouted, pulling his arm from your shoulder and linking his fingers with yours. 

“So, uh…are we still watching the movie?” Jungkook called from his spot, sprawled on his stomach on the floor. “Or are you guys just going to continue being gross?”

***

Your house was empty when Taehyung dropped you off and he followed you in, kicking off his shoes and coming up behind you to kiss your cheek. “Where is everyone?” He asked. 

You walked towards the kitchen, dropping your bag off on the table and reaching for a glass. “Sarah and Charlotte are out watching a movie and Anna is out on a date with her boyfriend. You want a drink of water?”

Taehyung smirked, shaking his head no and you filled your own cup, taking a generous gulp. “So, we’re alone? How interesting.”

“Is it?” You mumbled around the rim of your cup, watching as he stalked his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and dropping a kiss to your shoulder.

“I think so,” he smiled, looking down at you. “I’m curious, though, what’s something we could do while we’ve got the house all to ourselves and how long do we have?”

“I don’t know what you’re alluding to.” You lied, grinning as you turned your back to him, finishing your water and putting the cup in the sink. 

“I think you do,” he whispered, kissing the side of your neck up to your cheek as he curled his arms tighter around you.

“Tae.” You said and he hummed against your collar bone. “Have you started packing?”

The tip of his hair dusted the side of your cheek as he shook his head no. “We’ve still got a week before the semester is over,” he murmured, kissing against your jaw and your eyes fluttered closed.

“Yeah, but you have a lot of stuff.” You said, turning in his embrace and he pouted. 

“Baby, I don’t want to talk about packing right now, can you just kiss me back?”

“Kissing leads to trouble.” You reminded, linking your arms around his neck and he smiled. 

“But it’s fun trouble.” He wiggled his eyebrows and you laughed.

“You think you can be done in 15 minutes?”

He frowned down at you, “Is that even a question? Give me 10.”

“That’s not something to brag about.” You giggled as he hoisted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

The hallway to the bedroom was cramped and you bumped your knees against the wall a few times before finally making your way up and around the corner, kicking the door to your bedroom closed behind you.

***

Most of your classes had concluded by now, but you still had a few final exams so you spent the majority of your days packing, studying, or just lying in bed until the early afternoon out of sheer boredom. 

Taehyung had classes until almost the last day of the semester so you didn’t get to spend as much time with him as you wanted. At least you had the evenings. You also reminded yourself that he was coming home with you for a month so it was unreasonable to be so greedy with his time when you’d very shortly have all of it to yourself. 

After Taehyung and you had decided to start over, it was like a switch had been flipped. Everything just fell into place so easily and for the first few weeks you lived in constant fear that it was going too well; it was too easy. 

It just kept getting better, though. Sure, there were definitely times when you’d fight. Like that time Tae had insisted that tying your shoes with two bunny ears before even making a line across was the correct way stuck out in your mind. 

He was super wrong, but the way his eyes widened and he began to talk wildly in pout was really cute. Or the time that he insisted on buying those hideous knockoff fur lined Gucci slippers. You’d definitely threatened to burn them a couple times and he’d definitely nearly cried each time.

Charlotte looked at the two of you like you were losing your mind and Anna just smiled, swooning about young love. It was gross and weird and strangely domestic. You actually didn’t really mind it.

You also learned pretty quickly that he was kind of a slob. The first time you saw his bedroom, only a month ago, was a bit of a shock. To describe it as a war zone was, honestly, too kind. 

He told you everything had its place, but you weren’t really sure why he thought his favorite pair of jeans belonged tucked behind the front right leg of his single bed. That didn’t seem like much of a “place” in your opinion, but you quickly got over the idea of trying to figure him out. 

He was an odd ball and you loved it. You hadn’t said the L word yet, because it was still a bit soon, but honestly, you already felt it. You weren’t sure there was even a “right time” to say that word, but two months seemed…fast. You really wanted things to go right with him, you wanted to do your best so that if things with him ever did end, you could say it wasn’t from lack of trying.

You were both trying and really hard, too. The thing about dating and relationships is that people romanticized them and they were so different from what you’d expected. It was a lot of sacrifice and compromise, thinking about his needs before your own. That made it damn hard sometimes because honestly, there were times that you just really wanted to watch a freaking episode of The Bachelorette and he wanted to watch Avatar…the non-animated version. 

But you loved him and you’d watch Avatar every day if it meant he was happy. Well, maybe not every day, but the sentiment was there. Choose your love and love your choice; that was your new motto.

The you from a year ago would faint if she could see you now. You smiled at the idea, taping the top of a box of clothes and knick knacks until it felt secure. You could hear Anna out in the kitchen humming, likely deep cleaning the counters. The end of the semester meant white glove…which meant your own personal living hell. A time when the school (or whoever owned the complex people were living in) came to check your apartment to see if it was appropriately clean for the occupants of the next semester. 

Because you wouldn’t be coming back until next winter, you also wouldn’t be keeping the house, so packing and cleaning was your life right now. 

“Y/N!” Anna’s shout was muffled and you made your way out into the kitchen to see what she needed. 

“What’s up?” You asked, eyeing her standing beside the stove.

“I need you to help me pull the stove out so I can sweep behind it.” She smiled, tapping her fingers against the surface. 

“Yeah, that’s a hard pass from me.” You said, “last time I helped you move that thing there was a mouse behind it. Nearly crapped my pants.”

Anna laughed from the memory, clutching the broom in her hand a little tighter as she bent at the waist with her giggles. “That was hilarious. Don’t worry, though, I got on the counters and checked behind before I asked you. It’s mouse free!”

“Is it sad to say I don’t trust you?” You mused and Anna scowled.

“Y/n.” She scolded lowly, “I know where you sleep.”

“Fine!” You griped, moving towards the stove to help her shuffle it away from the wall and towards the center of the kitchen. 

“You excited for the break?” she asked once the stove was out of her way and she could begin sweeping. 

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “it’ll be nice to take a break from studying, my brain is pretty fried.”

“I feel that.” Anna nodded soundly. “You nervous to take Taehyung home? This is the first time your family is meeting him, right?”

“Yeah,” you frowned, picking at the worn wood of the top of one of the kitchen chairs. “Do you think it’s too soon?”

She paused in her perusal of the area just behind the fridge to look over at you, brows furrowed in thought. “Honestly, it’s all pretty individual. For some people, it’s too soon, and for others it’s not. You’ve never introduced a guy to your family before which means a lot. You don’t take that sort of thing lightly so I think whenever you chose to do it, it would be right.”

“Thanks, Anna.” You smiled, “it means a lot.”

“Of course, you’ve got this and you know it. Your family is going to love Taehyung and he’s going to love them.”

“That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” You grinned, walking over and giving her a hug, “you’re the best.”

“I do hear that around.” Anna nodded solemnly, hugging you back and you chuckled.

“Anyway, I’ve got a final in about an hour so I’m gonna get ready and when I get back, I’ll start cleaning the bathroom.”

“Sounds good.” Anna said, turning back to her sweeping.

***

Whenever a semester ended, it was usually pretty bittersweet. Happy to be done with classes and tests, but sad to put the memories to bed. Leaving this semester was much better than last, though, and you smiled fondly, watching Taehyung pulling a bag over his shoulder and dragging his suitcase behind him, feet shuffling awkwardly.

“I’m nervous,” he said, coming to stand beside you at the bus stop and you wrapped your arms around his waist, kissing his chin to distract him. 

He looked down at you, smile soft. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.” You said, squeezing his waist firmly. “My family is going to love you; seriously.”

“But what if they don’t?” He pouted and you sighed; melancholy.

“Then I guess I’ll have to ship you off.” You giggled at his squawk of protest. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s somewhere nice. You like the beach, right?”

“You’re mean.” He whined and you chuckled, reaching up to pull his chin down towards you, kissing him firmly and he returned the kiss with eager enthusiasm. Mouth humid and skin flush with humidity, you stuck to each other in the late spring weather but you’d never been more thrilled to be uncomfortably warm with someone. “OK,” he mumbled against your mouth, “I forgive you.”

The sound of the bus rumbling around the corner had you pulling away with a grin, patting his bum for good measure and then pulling your own bag over your shoulder. “I knew you would.”

The bus was warm, leaving you feeling sticky around the edges and you pulled open the window beside your seat to let in the breeze. The weather wasn’t quite hot enough to merit air conditioning yet, but on a bus this full of students (some of whom had not figured out how to use a shower) they probably should have turned it on.

“It’s an hour ride, right?” Taehyung asked, pushing his suitcase into the shelving over your seats and his bag under the seat in front of him. 

“Yeah, and I’m daydreaming about using your shoulder as a pillow for naptime. What say you?”

Taehyung sat down beside you, fiddling with the seatbelt as he clipped it over his waist. “Sure. You know how boney it is. Sleep at your own peril.”

“You gonna listen to music?” You asked, leaning your head against his shoulder and peering up at him. He nodded, pulling out his earbuds and you kissed his cheek quickly before closing your eyes and trying to make yourself comfortable enough to nod off. 

You didn’t really sleep well in tight spaces and Taehyung’s shoulder was uncomfortably boney, but you managed to get about 20 minutes of rest before giving up and taking the other earbud he offered to you, focusing on his music. The sun had reached its highest point when the bus pulled into the station and you glanced out the window, fogged from the humidity inside and you could see your family waiting for you at a huddle of benches off to the left.

“There they are.” You smiled and Taehyung glanced out the window.

He swallowed, groaning, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

You laughed, swatting at his arm and ushering him to stand. “You’ll be fine.” You insisted. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand and guide you through everything.”

Stepping off the bus, you took a deep breath, the cool air in the station refreshing on your heat drenched skin. The bus driver pulled your suitcases from under the bus for you as Taehyung walked to your side, lumbering awkwardly with the weight of his own cases behind him.

“Do you trust me?” You asked and he looked down at you, smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Forever.”

“Then we’ve got this. They’ll love you; I swear.”

Your mom’s smiling face was who you noticed first; hands clasped under her chin in excitement. She’d been talking about meeting Taehyung for weeks now, so you were pretty sure she was already half way in love with him. 

Truthfully, the only one you were a little nervous about was Ben. Paul was a pretty supportive guy and he wasn’t really one to meddle. As long as you were happy, so was he. Ben was overprotective, though. If he wasn’t accepting of Tae, you’d all know it and you really wanted them to like each other.

“There’s my girl!” Your mom called, pulling herself from Paul’s embrace to run over to you, arms outstretched. Wrapping your arms around her waist, you clung tight as she giggled, rocking you back and forth. “Ah, I’m so glad you’re back. This must be Taehyung.”

She stepped back as Taehyung held out his hand and she chuckled, swatting his hand away. “I’m a hugger.” She supplied, giving him a quick hug to which he blushed and smiled.

“Taehyung, this is my mom, this is Paul, and this is my brother Ben.” You pointed to each member of your family as he shook hands with the other two, fingers from his other hand laced tightly between your own. 

“Nice to meet you.” He said, and if he hadn’t told you he was nervous beforehand, you never would have guessed it now. He was the picture of confidence.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Ben smiled, clapping him on the back. “My sister’s told me a lot about you.”

“Really?” He grinned, looking down at you and you faked a glare for his amusement. 

The five of you began to walk towards the car, Paul and Ben grabbing your bags as the three men began to chat away. “He’s cute.” Your mom whispered, linking her arm with yours. 

You turned to smile at her, nodding. “I agree.”

“I’m so glad you came home for the break.” She continued, “we’ve missed you a lot these last few months.”

“I mean…not to be captain obvious, but I am only an hour away. You could always drive down if you really missed me.” You sang and your mom pinched your side with a laugh.

“Hey now, none of your sass missy. I’m really glad that you could come back and that you could bring Taehyung with you! We’ve all been so excited to meet him!”

“Really?” You asked, eyebrow raised, “even Paul and Ben?”

“Oh yeah. Honey, you haven’t mentioned even having a crush on anyone since you were a little girl. We were really excited to meet the man you talk so highly of.”

“He is pretty wonderful.” You smiled, watching as he walked side by side with your brother, laughing at something the former had to say.

After some serious maneuvering of your suitcases in the trunk of the car (and one on the roof, because honestly, you didn’t know how to pack lightly) you’d all piled into the car, you the unfortunate soul crammed in between Tae and Ben in the back seat.

“Y/N, you didn’t tell me your boyfriend was famous.” Ben complained and you huffed, looking at him bemused.

“Because he’s not famous, you weirdo.” You chuckled.

Ben scoffed, “He signed with TTIG, that’s as good as it gets. He practically is famous already.”

Taehyung laughed, blush high on his cheeks, “Ah, we’ll see once I start really auditioning for gigs. Right now, I’m just another body in their crew.”

“I highly doubt that,” Your mother said from the front seat, turning to face the three of you in the back. “We saw some of the videos the school put up online. You’re a very talented young man.”

“Thank you very much!” Taehyung smiled, “I don’t deserve all this praise, but I’m definitely gonna take it.”

Your mom laughed, turning back to face the front. “Good.”

***

Once you’d reached home, your family helped you to bring your suitcases into your room and helped Taehyung bring his to Ben’s old bedroom. You had the feeling that most nights the two of you would be sharing a bed, but it was nice to know you each had your own little space if you needed alone time. 

“What do you think?” You asked, entering Ben’s old bedroom as Taehyung stood beside the dresser, unpacking some of his things. 

He turned to look at you, dark hair skimming across his eyelashes. He’d let his hair grow out the last few months and he looked a bit shaggy, but warm. He smiled at you, big and bright and you walked to his side, wrapping your arms around him.

“What do I think of what? The room?”

You nodded into his shoulder and he peered around the room, taking in the dark colors and warm patterns. “It’s nice.” He confirmed, turning to look back down at you.

“And how do you feel?” you asked, blinking up at him.

“I’m still a little nervous,” he admitted, “but less than before. Your family is really nice and welcoming.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about.” You grinned, smacking his butt and walking back towards the bed to sit down.

“You did.” He nodded, placing a folded shirt into the top drawer of the dresser before coming to stand in front of you. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

You lifted your hands to his, linking your fingers and wiggling your hands in front of you idly. “We’ve still got a whole month to go, you sound like you’re all ready to say goodbye and jet back off to California.”

Taehyung chuckled, pushing you back onto the mattress and coming to lay beside you, leg hitched over your hip to pull you closer to him. “Don’t pout, that’s not what I was saying.” He grinned, “I’m just really glad I could be here to meet everyone. Your family is really important to you and I feel really lucky that you wanted them to know me too.”

“You should feel lucky.” You nodded and Taehyung laughed, smacking your thigh as punishment.

“Stop being so obnoxious.” He scolded and you smirked, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re so hot when you’re annoyed.” You complained and he grinned, pinching your hip.

“Stop changing the subject!” 

You pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” You whispered.

“Me too.” He sighed, nudging his nose against yours as he kissed you again; needier.

“Don’t get carried away,” you murmured against his tongue and he whined. “My family is all still downstairs and they will definitely hear us.”

He sighed, kissing wet into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “Fine, but I’m gonna be without you for two months after this, I’ll need some memories to keep me company while I’m gone.”

“You’ve always got your hand.” You teased, sitting up and he glared up at you, hand ruffling through his hair.

“You’re actually so mean.”

“This is true.” You nodded solemnly as you helped him to stand. “Don’t worry, you big baby, there will be plenty of opportunities while you’re here. You’ll see.”

“I’m looking forward to them.” He grinned.

***

You were right when you suspected that you’d end up sharing a bed. Taehyung slept in your bed most nights, cuddled up around you like a koala. Because of this, you now slept with no blanket on because his body heat was enough to melt the polar ice caps.

You were also right about your mom practically being in love with him. She spoiled him with food and became his own personal chauffer and you couldn’t even think of the last time she’d doted on you like this. Even Paul and Ben loved him. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re trying to fatten him up so he can’t leave.” You complained at dinner as your mom piled his plate high with food.

“Oh stop,” she chuckled, waving the serving spoon at you, “I just want to make sure he’s well fed.”

“Yeah, well, the little pooch he’s developing around his midsection is an indication of how well fed he actually is.”

Taehyung grinned at you, face stuffed full of dumpling like the doughboy he was. Wiggling his eyebrows at you, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, kissing your cheek. “You like me chubby.” He remarked.

“That’s true.” You admitted, poking his little tummy. “You’re just so soft!”

“Hey, Ben’s coming over after dinner.” Your mom said after she’d sat back in her own seat, newly opened soda in hand. “We should watch a movie or something.”

“OK, but not Princess Bride again, we can’t watch that every night!” You complained and Paul laughed.

“We have watched that a bit too much!” He nodded, rubbing your mom’s arm.

“No such thing!” She quipped, “that movie is a classic and it’s got everything you could ever want in a movie. But fine, we’ll watch something else.”

“Are we having dessert?” You asked, grinning at your mom and she rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her drink.

“Of course, we are. I’m no chump.”

***

After dinner (and after Taehyung had sufficiently stuffed himself and likely put on a few more pounds) you helped your mom clean up before heading to the living room to set up for a movie. 

You could hear Ben in the hallway, making his way in from the front door and he barreled into the living room and over to your boyfriend with a loud and friendly hello before turning to you and ruffling your hair. 

“Hey Tuck.” He grinned down at your scowling face as you attempted to fix the mess he’d made of your hairdo.

“I’ll actually kill you.” You muttered. 

Taehyung and Ben made their way over to the couch to talk as you grabbed the remote to flip through the movie options on Netflix. You could hear your mom and Paul talking in the kitchen as they finished putting away the last of the dishes and you smiled. 

This was such a good night. There was literally nothing extraordinary about it, but it was still special. Your family around you, getting to know your boyfriend and everyone was happy. You really couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.

You made your way to the couch, curling under Taehyung’s arm as he continued chatting with Ben. The only thing that could have made it better would have been having your dad around. He would have really liked Taehyung and that settled the ache in your heart at the thought of him. 

Someday you wanted to take Tae to your father’s grave and introduce them. You weren’t sure if he’d be interested in that sort of thing or if it would feel too morbid for him, but you hoped that he would understand how important that was for you. 

For now, though, things were perfect as they were. Your mom and Paul made their way into the living room, everyone turning to the subject of what movie to watch and bickering lightly until finally you’d all decided on Home Alone and got comfortable with blankets, popcorn, and your mom’s fudge brownies. 

You were of course predictable and about half way through the movie you were out like a light. It would have been embarrassing had you been around anyone else, but everyone in the room already knew you were a hopeless case. 

You woke with a start as Taehyung was setting you in your bed and you looked up at him blearily. “I fell asleep huh?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “It’s OK, though. It’s not like you’ve never seen that movie.”

“True,” you yawned, stretching your arms over your head. “Sleep in here tonight?”

He nodded, helping you to stand as you both went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. After curling back under the blankets and pulling them up to your chin, you stared up at Taehyung as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

His eyes blinked blearily closed as he fought the fatigue of the day and you watched as he shuttered to a close, letting his body sink, exhausted, into the mattress. You couldn’t believe you were so lucky, then again, maybe it wasn’t luck. Meeting each other, sure, maybe that was, but where you were now? That was hard work and love.

Tae?” You whispered.

He shifted slightly; eyes still glued shut. “Mmm?” He hummed, running his fingers up and down your spine.

“I love you.”

His fingers stopped their quiet perusal of your back and he opened his tired eyes to look down at you. “What did you say?” He asked softly.

“I said I love you,” you whispered back. “Thank you for coming with me to meet my family.”

He smiled, pulling you closer to him, kissing you with tingling lips. “Thank you for inviting me. I’m so glad I got to meet your family, they’re really awesome.”

Everything settled for a few moments and you began to wonder self-consciously if he’d even heard your confession. Maybe he had and he just wasn’t ready to say it back. That was OK, even if it did sting a little bit. You were still happy with what you had with him now.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You murmured; eyelids heavy.

“I love you too.”

You looked up at him, heart jumping into your throat. “You do?” you whispered. You were afraid if you spoke any louder that the emotion of it all would choke you.

He nodded, running the tip of his nose along yours before kissing you. “I really, really do.” He whispered. 

And somehow you knew, not only was he going to be the greatest adventure of your life, but he was going to be it. He was your forever and you were his. You couldn’t have asked for a better new beginning.

This was euphoria.

***

Oh my gosh, it’s over! This story is so precious to me and I’ve spent so long thinking about it and agonizing over it. I can’t believe it’s over. It’s really, really bittersweet to say goodbye to it. I hope you enjoyed this fluff fest chapter and that it made you feel as warm and fuzzy as it made me feel <3

Thank you so much for sticking around and reading this story. It means so much to me!

I love you guys!

Chapter 15

Copyright © 2017  by taeken-my-heart (Nora.) All rights reserved.

#taehyung scenario #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #kim taehyung

[fanfictrashdump]

Queening a Pawn, 1

I am kind of Loki trash. I take pleasure in attempting to write some of the cheesiest/most cliched fanfiction around. Honestly, my policy is that if it makes me “awww” or giggle to myself, it goes in. So enjoy this WIP and let me know what you think!

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Loki x OC 

==

The air was still and silent, as it had been for the last several hours. The guards had not been around for a few hours to check on him– why would they? He was trapped in a gilded cage with little to no chance of escape. Not with those wretched manacles that stopped even the lightest whiff of his seidr to come alive. It was very early morning, if the light streaming in from the windows was to be believed– he didn't. Not that it mattered. Not that he was anything more than a sitting duck at the mercy of these annoying, useless mortals and his buffoon of a brother. Briefly, he wondered if they were ever going to attempt to torture him for information. Maybe that would liven up his current situation. 

Bright, fool-hardy whistling echoed down the concrete halls and made his ears ring uncomfortably. The blessed, unmarred silence that seemed to be soaking up all of his self-pity was now gone, which meant that the hare-brained Midgardians would be back with questions. A single human appeared within the doorway, headphones in their ears, and hands laden with a box of what seemed to be colorful ornaments. 

Loki sighed, rolling his eyes much like a petulant child. "What are you, then? Psychic? Super-strength? Power to boil me from the inside? Therapist?"

The sudden noise seemed to startle the newcomer, and they placed the box on a nearby table before turning towards the source. Behind the cardboard box was a woman. Her chocolate brown hair was cropped short, though the messy fringe fell into her eyes as she moved. It made her look messy in a very purposeful manner, like she wanted to look approachable and kind, but also didn't want you to think she didn't put effort into her appearance. The green eyes turned his direction sparkled nearly as bright and excited as the grin perched on her lips as she pulled the buds from her ears and shoved them into her jeans pocket. Loki frowned. This was… different. 

"Sorry, didn't hear you. What was that, sir?" Her head tilted sideways like a curious pup at a weird noise, though twice as enthusiastic. 

"Are they sending children in to question me now? What, not enough ice-thawed super soldiers to do the job? And Stark? What of him? It's odd he hasn't come to gloat, yet." Loki scoffed, throwing himself into the only chair available in his cell, growing more impatient with every passing moment. 

The woman's face fell, if only slightly. "Oh. You don't know, do you?" Green orbs snapped up to her saddened expression, curious. "Mister Stark died with the Titan and Captain Rogers… well, you wouldn't recognize him if you saw him."

"Who are you, then?"

"I manage the Compound. I was just putting up the Christmas ornaments." She gestured over her shoulder at the box with the trinkets, as if it were an obvious response. 

Loki frowned further, trying to process the information as it was received. A moment later, he stared back, deadpan. "You realize this is a prison, yes?"

The woman's cheeks darkened as she fidgeted with her jumper sleeves. "To be honest, I couldn't really see over the box, so–"

He rolled his eyes, opting rather to pinch at the bridge of his nose with a groan. "Norns, I am surrounded by idiots. Why am I still here?"

"Well, Sam and Valkyrie have been trying to find your brother for the lon–"

"It was a rhetorical question!" He seethed, and the woman snapped her jaw shut at once. 

She awkwardly looked around the room before her eyes stopped on a holographic chess board that was sitting just outside the cell. Clearly, this was some of Tony's sense of humor showing through the AI he left behind, FRIDAY. He would have probably summoned up the board with a how about you think about what you've done, and if not, just play with yourself. She had encountered more than a fair share of these ghosts inside the code in her time, like the nervous Is that a trick question? whenever she asked the smart mirror in her apartment if she looked OK. 

There was a single knight in play on the white side of the board. "Are you a chess enthusiast?" There was no response. "Stalking the knight out first is a powerful move." This sentence was accompanied by a huff, but no verbal retort. "FRIDAY, favorite pawn forward." The second to last pawn zoomed gracefully into place a square further and settle there. She looked up at their captive demigod, sneer locked into his lips and eyes staring dead into the wall. She waited several minutes for a move, any move, but came up empty. 

"Lilah, there you are!" Sam strode into the prison floor, still clad in his black flightsuit and more than a little on edge. "FRIDAY, tell Valkyrie Lilah's fine." The AI acknowledged the command, immediately. "What are you– are you putting up Christmas ornaments in the prison deck?"

"Just checking in with our guest," she lied, smiling. 

Sam turned on his heel to face Loki's cell. A shiver ran past him as if simply gazing upon the Liesmith gave him the heebie jeebies. "How is he, then?"

Lilah shrugged, disinterestedly. "No worse than last time."

"No, not like last time. Last-time-Loki helped save the world and his whole realm from his psycho sister. This Loki just came off trying to enslave New York."

"Tomato, tomahto. Same dude, different day, Sam." With an amused smile, she turned the glaring superhero and nudged him out ahead of her. "Someone should be down with your dinner in a bit, OK?" She assured, as if that cleared up the rest of the questions brewing in Loki's head. 

Loki knew was out of sync with the time. He could feel it in the air and with every pulse of his veins. The agents who brought him into the basement gave him a barebones recollection of what had happened– how the Titan known as Thanos, how half the population died, how time had to be altered to change the course of history. Dangerous games played by children who didn't know any better. Once the Stone had been pulled from his timeline, he had jumped, as well. 

It took an impressively short amount of time to apprehend him, as they had the benefit of time to adapt to his wily nature. He had found it odd that he was not immediately chained and scrapped for every bit of information he could give, that they didn't bother monitoring him 24/7, that there seemed to be only a handful people employed in the facility. Midgard was different: older, wiser, a little jaded. It had lost many of its heroes in a short time, it seemed. The corner of his eye caught the subtle glow of the chess board, effectively interrupting his internal monologue. 

Lilah walked cautiously across the threshold of the prison floor. In her hands she balanced a tray with covered food and a large pitcher of sweet tea. Funnily enough, none of the staff found it a great opportunity to bring their prisoner his dinner, despite the fact that he had been doing nothing but bellyaching at the walls and pout for the week he had been there. That meant it was up to her to slow walk some food and drink over to the prison desk and hope she didn't spill. Lilah wasn't particularly clumsy, but she also never had the need to carry a tray full of food and drinks across a couple of floors before. 

"I don't know what you wanted to eat, so I made you a plate with some of everything. Then, I brought sweet tea and then remembered that almost no one outside of the South likes sweet tea, so I brought you some water, but you're free to have some tea if you can tolerate it," Lilah rambled, passing a plate through the hatch on the door along with a bottle of water and a glass of sweet iced tea. Though he tried to seem disinterested, the smell of food made Loki abandon his in-bed lounging and cautiously approach the cell door. He first took the glass of tea and took a tentative sip. His face screwed up unpleasantly a moment after. "Yeah, it's an acquired taste– like watered down cane molasses."

His face turned hard as he swallowed down a few gulps of water to wash out the taste. "Is your intent to poison me?"

"I don't know. Do Asgardians get diabetes?"

"What?"

"That's a no." Glancing over her shoulder, Lilah glanced at a chair by the empty sentry desk. "Mind if I join you?" She gestured the remaining plate on the tray. 

For a long moment, he did not reply, instead glaring into her as if his eyes could become lasers and explode her from the inside out (though they probably could if he tried hard enough). "If you wish." A satisfied grin perched itself on her lips as she placed the tray on the floor and jogged over to collect the chair. She carried it right to the cell's side and collected her tray before sinking into it cross-legged. 

Loki had not moved from his place in front of the food hatch, quietly watching the mortal woman dig into a plate of vegetables, chicken and rice as if it were the most exquisite of treats. The weight of his gaze pulled her attention, and she glanced upwards. "Eat. I don't want Thor griping about you getting thin. God knows he already has enough going on in his brain. If Valkyrie even finds him."

"You must be mistaken. The Valkyries are dead," Loki says, simply, an observation. 

Lilah stopped chewing, putting down her fork back on her plate, speared carrot and all. "I suppose they still are, for you."

"Where is my brother?" Lilah hesitated. "You also said earlier that I saved my people from my sister. I don't have a sister."

"Fuck, Thor. Where the hell are you when I need you?" She muttered to herself. "FRIDAY, can you pull up the records on Asgard and Hela, please?"

"Are you sure you want to show him this, Delilah?"

The woman rolled her eyes at the AI's sass. "Do you know where Thor is?"

"King Brunnhilde has yet to find him, as of ten minutes ago."

"You know the answer, then." The glass of the prison cell lit up with pictorials of Asgard. "Some time ago Odin Allfather disappeared." An image of Odin faded into the ether on the screen. "You, in true Loki fashion, had taken up the throne dressed as his clone. Thor found out and forced you both to find him. Odin died shortly after." The images of Thor, Loki and Odin faded and Hela was left in their wake. "His death caused the release of Hela, Odin's eldest child and death-bringer to all realms. You tried to fight her off, ended up on a trash planet called Sakaar." The images on the screen turned to the bright, metal and pastels of Sakaar, complete with Hulk and Thor fighting while Loki stood in a corner laughing. 

"On Sakaar you met Brunnhilde, the last Valkyrie. Thor, Banner, and Valkyrie escaped the planet to rescue Asgard. Surprisingly, so did you." The images of Loki graciously arriving in the giant cruiser ship with Korg and Miek flashed before them, and Loki could not but feel fascinated by this stranger who wore his face. The people of Asgard smiled and thanked him as he ushered them into the ship and jumped into the fray of battle below. "Eventually Hela was defeated and you fled with your people from Asgard. They've made a new colony in Iceland called New Asgard."

"They, not you?" He asked, perceptively, brow furrowed. "I did not survive the trip," he added, matter-of-factly. 

"Thanos happened," she quipped with a sigh. She leant a small smile to him knowing full well it was not to be returned. "You died protecting your people."

Loki seemed as surprised as anyone who heard the tale from Thor, afterwards. "I died a hero?"

Lilah now smiled in earnest. "It seems you are capable of amazing things when you want to. You rose to the challenge," she finished, watching the holographic Loki sink his dagger into an undead sentinel and toss another over his shoulder with dangerous precision. 

Despite himself, Loki smirked, staring somewhat proudly at the ferocious warrior hopping around the scene. He took his plate to the small desk in his cell and tucked into his meal, seemingly satisfied with her answers thus far. Lilah followed his lead, eating her dinner in silence before picking up the remainder of her dinnerware and preparing to leave Loki, once more. Before she did, she noticed the chess board hds moved. Smiling, she glanced shortly at Loki, who had taken up a book and was quite immersed in it, though she swore she saw him briefly gaze at her while she thought of her next play. With a quick jolt of her fingers, her bishop conquered his knight. She then swore she saw him frown. 

"By the way, you can ask FRIDAY for more books, access to the archives, or movies or something. You're not meant to be here to rot in your boredom." She gave a friendly wave. "Good night, Loki."

#fanfic #fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x oc #loki x ofc #we fucked up the timeline dudes #i do what i want #mcu #mcu fanfiction #fan fiction #Loki