hello! i love ur work and i was wondering if u could do some live action zuko angst (that makes ur heart sink) and then it progresses to fluff (that makes ur heart swell) please? HAHA idk if it makes sense but i rlly love ur work!! hope ure doing well n no pressure!!!
🐉・ HEARTBURN
summ. Fresh from his banishment, Zuko faces the aftermath of his punishment in both his dreams and his waking hours.
pairing. Zuko x f!reader (established relationship)
w.count. 1k.
a/n. A bit abstract on this one, but just typical dream logic. A glimpse at Zuko’s descent into madness, almost? Sorry anon if this is mostly angst than fluff! 🧎🏻♀️
Zuko’s dreams manifest at the scent of burnt flesh and the sound of his own screaming.
He feels the molten sting of a melting crown upon his skin and the fantastical beast that is his father; something monstrous— something scaled, fanged, clawed, and too large an appetite, with a touch and breath of fire that lights the skies in a blaze.
( He wakes up with his voice hoarse from screaming. The 41st Division will eventually learn early on not to mention it. They just leave a hot pot of tea ready for him come the mornings, by General Iroh's orders. )
Sometimes, it transgresses. Sometimes, it’s his mother who burns while he watches from the sidelines of the Agni Kai; Or Azula. Their shrieks mix with his when he wakes.
Sometimes, it’s Iroh who scalds him. Great Dragon of the West, jasmine-white with razor teeth and a flame that burns as hot as the sun; serpent eyes a shining gold and a sharper tongue that spoke of his disappointment for his nephew.
Sometimes, it begins with you.
Please, you beg, at the foot of a winged beast. It speaks in the voice of his father; damning, all-encompassing. It warns the Prince the price of compassion, of mercies, and of weaknesses. Eliminate her, or I will.
Rarely does Zuko ever move. He’d plead in your name, to spare your life. It never happens; he just wakes to the smell of smoke and the sound of your screaming.
( There are dreams he doesn’t speak at all to defend you. The shame devours him whole. )
“I’ve killed you over a hundred times, in my sleep.”
In the aftermath of another nightmare, you turn to face Zuko. You’re not quite sure what to say.
“Other nights, it’s the 41st, or Uncle,” he says, quietly. “Even mom, or Azula.”
You turn back to the small medical chest on the desk. The infirmary is quieter at times like these; the soldiers of the 41st know not to visit the usual haunts of their Prince. Tonight, Zuko will have to replace the bandages of his scar, and there are only two people on this ship he’d ever trust in his life to lay a hand on it.
You’re shifting towards where he’s sitting on one of the cots. “May I?”
( You ask. You always ask. Even when you’ve done this nearly fifty times, you ask. Zuko is glad; there’s a comfort in agency, especially when he’s gotten so used to losing it every time he sleeps. )
He nods, and you make quick work to unravel the bandages. When the layers come away, you observe the way his left eye shuts and opens as he blinks, remaining half-closed into a permanent expression of pain. He looks away, downcast.
The skin around is stretched taut, some areas rawer than others, marred with growing scar tissue that knots in twisting valleys. ( Zuko has only seen the scar once. He’s covered the mirrors in his room ever since; avoids glancing at his own passing reflections. )
The wound is still fresh; the memories fresher.
You don’t flinch at the sight or recoil like the other soldiers or dignitaries.
He finds… solace in that.
( Something roils in his mind. It uncurls and hisses and growls. )
“Tilt your head for me,” you say, ready to replace the cotton on his eye with a new one.
He stops your wrist just as you do.
Your heart jumps at the contact. His hands are warm.
“Why?” he blurts.
You blink in confusion.
“Why’d you come with me?”
The reply is instant, and unintentionally drowned in affection. “Where else would I have belonged?”
Zuko almost answers instinctively: With me. By my side. He shakes his head.
“You should have never come,” he says, instead. He’d grown fond of you over the years. Too fond; over some Firenation colonel’s daughter, a force to be reckoned with and yet a childhood friend who he’d played and studied and fought with countless times. Fond enough that he’d been foolish to let you step foot into the ship of the 41st Division the day he’d been banished; fond enough to be foolish enough to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way. “You could’ve had a better future back home.”
“But a miserable one,” you counter.
His nostrils flare as he sighs. You watch the way his brows weave to a frown, the way they always did whenever he’s tamping down his frustration. "Nothing is more miserable than being banished from home. Yet here you are walking away from it.”
“You and I both know the palace was never a home for me,” you say. “I’ve been by your side my entire life. I’m not about to break that streak over some punishment. You matter to me.”
Zuko’s heart stifles.
( Compassion, he hears the wings of the blood-red dragon in his dreams unfurl. Compassion is a sign of weakness. )
“It was a stupid move,” he blurts, letting go of you. He had wanted it to be emotionless, but it comes out as distinctively bitter: “Sooner or later you’ll come to regret your decision. Then, you’ll see I was right all along.”
“Maybe,” you say, just to appease him. “But I doubt it.”
( Lies, jeers the serpent. You have only yourself to rely on in this world, Zuko. )
For the sake of conversation, you don’t provoke him further. You continue, instead, with replacing the dressings around his eye. He’s angry enough as is with the world— with you. For being stubborn. And strong. And steadfast. And loyal. And—
Zuko glances at your face in focus, your hands so careful in binding the gauze it’s nearly featherlight. “Tell me if it hurts,” you say, with gentle authority.
The ire leaves his body. Zuko’s gaze softens at a realisation:
“Not once have you ever hurt me. Not even in my dreams.”
It’s a statement so frighteningly vulnerable that it has you stilling. Your breath staggers. Something swells in your chest. You let your hand rest on his cheek, thumb below his scar. The touch is reassuring. Zuko wants to lean into it.
“I don’t think I ever could,” you answer, honestly.
( She can, sings the beast. She will. And once she does, know that it will burn tenfold than what I've done. )
Zuko's hand settles on top of yours.
“You can hurt me,” he concedes, solemn, voice barely above a whisper. “You can if you must. I command it.”
( The dragon in his head hisses. For now, it retreats. )
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Things Wu Has Probably Said At One Point In Pilots-S2.
"Kai, I don't care who in all of existence taught you that word, but no cursing-
"What do you mean you heard some customer at Four Weapons say it? Oh god, curse the fact that Ray and Maya disappeared-"
"Zane, we don't sit in the fridge- yes, thank you for stepping out."
"Cole I don't know why you're lying in this letter you're writing to your father but- Oh, I see. Ok."
"Jay, why are you outside in the middle of the night in a thunderstorm- yes, that's why you kept getting struck by lightning, your element is the reason."
"Nya, please explain what Kai is doing-"
"Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon Spinjitzu, what are you doing up at Three. A. M.
"No, you aren't old enough to stay up- YOU'RE EIGHT YEARS OLD, CUB!
"No. go to bed or I'm moving your bed to my room so I can keep an eye on you. Do you want that?
"Then go to bed. Right. Now."
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ask game- Tim, if you're still doing it!
"Robin," Bruce acknowledges as he picks up the line. He doesn't sound tense or wary, but he answered a full three seconds faster than usual despite the fact that he's supposed to be with the Justice League right now. Usually that makes him answer a little slower.
Well–it is the private frequency. Tim doesn't call that too often outside of particularly dire emergencies.
Though this does probably count as one of those.
"Batman," he replies as evenly as he can. "I did something unethical."
"'Unethical'," Bruce repeats slowly. Tim can already hear the gates of Arkham slamming shut behind him.
"I duplicated Kon-El's experiment in the basement of Titans Tower," he says. "And I tried to program the results into . . . being Kon-El. There was a power surge three hours ago that triggered an emergency failsafe and pod containment was breached."
"Robin. Are you informing me that the second coming of Black Zero is currently destroying San Francisco?" Bruce asks, sounding something very close to resigned. Tim honestly wishes he were, for a moment. A half-Kryptonian supervillain would genuinely be easier to deal with than the consequences of what he's actually done here.
"No," he says, keeping his voice even. "I'm informing you that I made a ten year-old Kryptonian-human hybrid who thinks I'm mad at him for not being my dead best friend."
"I'll be there in twenty-seven minutes," Bruce says, and cuts the line.
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