#Katara got curious about his war paint being different from the others and asked him about it. And so began a tradition of Zuko telling...

[cryoverkiltmilk]

#In case you were wondering yes he's talking about the Blue Spirit

#Also Izumi is the Painted Lady's human name. Because of course it is. Gotta love the canon implications of something like that

#Anyways Zuko is kind of an unofficial Kyoshi Warrior in this AU. Ursa escaped with her children to Kyoshi and eventually became... #... the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors. Zuko's war paint is a mix of the Kyoshi style and a river spirit from home #Katara got curious about his war paint being different from the others and asked him about it. And so began a tradition of Zuko telling... #... Katara stories about the Painted Lady. When she begins to impersonate her Zuko does Katara's makeup and lets her help with his war paint#Later on they help each other wash out the paint in the river. It's an intimate process.

Stories

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Ten (Zuko x Reader)

Part Nine

Word Count: 2,750

Author’s Note: We’ve had enough sad. Like, in general. So I wrote some happy for this week’s update. This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided to save the rest of it for next week since it ended pretty nicely where it is.

I feel like now is a good time to mention that I haven’t read the comics (I didn’t even know there were comics until like two months ago) so if you’ve been wondering why this story diverges so much from them, that’s why. I see the canon and I think it’s great, but it’s just so much more fun to write my own interpretations of what happened to everybody after the war. Sorry not sorry. 

I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things. I felt pretty okay yesterday, and I’m starting to not immediately hate everything I produce and am remembering how to talk myself up again after forgetting that anxiety and depression don’t rule my thoughts when it comes to my creativity. Things are still gonna be weird for a while, but we’ll be fine eventually. That’s how the human condition is - we always swing back at some point. 

~ Muerta

“What do you know about Fire Nation prisons?” 

You expect Rina to falter at the question. She doesn't even flinch, continuing to dress you as if you asked her what she’d had for breakfast. 

“What do you want to know?” she wonders in return. 

You gaze off, allowing your mind to roam as you consider her question. 

Since your return to the Fire Nation, Zuko’s attentive attitude hasn't changed, and your fondness for him has grown in ways you never expected it would. During council meetings, it’s become a habit to hold his hand under the table where your advisors can't see (though Yong has caught you once or twice, smirking as if you were two school children passing love notes during class). You spend more time together in the evenings before bed, and some nights you invite Zuko to sleep beside you, missing his presence since returning to separate rooms - he’s always gone before sunrise to discourage any scandal (despite the fact that you're married), never leaving without a kiss to your forehead and a murmur of, “See you soon.” It’s also become routine to meet him by the turtle duck pond when you each have a moment to spare, the little creatures getting so used to your presence that many of them freely approach you, pecking at your palms in the chance you have a treat for them. 

“My mother and I used to do this,” Zuko confides during one of your breaks; it's the first cool afternoon since the beginning of summer, a few leaves from the overhanging maple tree floating on the pond’s placid surface. “I remember throwing a rock at one of the ducklings when I was a kid. Its mother bit me.” 

You giggle, opening your hand so a young male can nibble at the apple peel you hold out to him; you attempt to scratch his head while he eats, and he squawks at you. 

“Good for her,” you jeer. “Serves you right for being a dick.” 

Zuko chuckles, the curl of his lips framing a hazy sadness in his eyes. 

“Azula did stuff like that all the time,” he sighs. “I always felt… bad. Our mother knew what she was when she was really young. I was the one who got all her kindness. Sometimes… I think it's my fault Azula ended up the way she did.” 

“It isn't,” you assure him. You tuck your hand into his. “Your parents played favorites. It wasn't fair.”

Zuko hums absently, his gaze drawn out across the courtyard. After a moment, he’s pulled back to you, a playful grin tugging at his mouth.

“You remind me of a turtle duck,” he states. “You look harmless. You're cute. But you could really fuck someone up if they provoked you.” 

You laugh, slipping your hand from his to teasingly shove his shoulder; the turtle ducks around you scatter as he mirrors your reaction, doing little to defend himself against your loving attack. 

“Did you just call me ‘cute’?” you tease, reaching to pinch at his cheek - he grimaces, taking your hand away from his face by recapturing it in his. “Are you going soft on me, Hothead?” 

He chuckles, mirthfully flicking an apple peel into your hair. You notice the blush that colors his neck, unable to deny your own.

“Oh, Turtleduck,” he says with mock pity. “Is Sokka so bad at flirting that you never learned to pick up on it?” 

He's used his new pet name for you almost every day since he coined it; every time he does, your heart soars out of your throat and into the clouds. 

Through your bedroom window, you can see Zuko on the porch behind your chambers, leaned casually against the railing as he chats with Aang. 

Aang says something that makes the older man laugh; your innards seem to melt as the lines around the corners of Zuko’s eyes and lips wrinkle like folds in a bedsheet. Something in the scene riles you - you’ll slit a hundred men’s throats to protect that smile and the feeling it gives you. 

“This is about Azula,” Rina observes. 

One thing you've learned in your short time with her is that you can't keep secrets from her - chances are she already knows all of them. 

“I just want to know what her living situation is like,” you tell her, “how powerful she could actually be from inside a prison cell.” 

“You have a merciful husband,” Rina sighs, somewhat dreamily . “Azula doesn't live in a prison; he put her in a compound in the Si Wong desert. She's heavily guarded and follows strict schedules and rules, but he didn't want her to live the rest of her life in a cage.” 

“What about Ozai?” you ask. 

“He’s in a prison. I said your husband was merciful, not that he doesn't hold a grudge.” 

You smirk, momentarily eased from the worry that strains your mind. 

“Do either of them have access to the outside world?” you press. 

Rina shakes her head. 

“Azula has very little; the last she heard of anything outside the compound was your marriage announcement. Ozai has absolutely none. All the guards that keep both of them are from the unoccupied Earth Kingdom, so they have no allegiance to them, and only a select few guards are allowed to speak to Azula.” 

“So… there's no way they could be the masterminds of any of this?” 

Rina lifts her gaze from the sash she cinches at your waist, her dark, round eyes meeting yours; her expression is blank, but she speaks in a determined hush. 

“I can't say for certain. But Azula’s intelligence is violent and cunning; she sees things from a different perspective that isn't entirely human. She has insights that more empathetic people would never consider.” 

You nod slowly, understanding. 

“I'll talk to Aang.”

Katara arrives from the Southern Tribe a few hours before the banquet you're hosting in Aang’s honor is scheduled to begin. You accompany her husband and yours to the imperial docks, a massive grin breaking across your cheeks the moment you spot her on the ship’s deck; she sends you a large, sweeping wave, catching you in her arms as soon as she's close enough to do so. 

“I'm so glad you're okay,” she cries into your ear. “How do you feel?” 

You nod, holding her by the waist as she pulls away. Her grip doesn't loosen, her arms still coiled around yours in an affectionate embrace. 

“I'm good,” you assure her. “I'm tough.” 

She smiles, pulling you in to kiss your cheek before turning to Zuko, greeting him with a warm hug. When she reaches Aang, her gestures are much slower, more tender. He takes her chin between two fingers and kisses her gently, his other hand positioned low on her waist as it presses her tightly against him; the action is so out of character for the two - typically so lively and averse to such kinds of public affection - that you and Zuko share an instinctive, curious glance. 

“Did we forget their anniversary or something?” you whisper, fear jolting through you when a look of panic crosses his features. 

“... I don't think so,” he says after a pause. “Maybe… he just missed her?” 

The confusion on his face is endearing - he's more emotionally intelligent than most people, but he's the last person who knows it. 

“Could be,” you agree. “This is the longest they've been apart in years.” 

The two of you watch as Aang assists Katara into Appa’s saddle, another strange behavior considering how used to flying Katara is. Neither of them seem to notice your staring, Aang leaning in for another lingering kiss before taking his place at the reins.

You return to the palace and are met with commotion, servants and high-level diplomats scrambling this way and that in a flustered frenzy. Everyone immediately alerts, prepared for yet another catastrophe. 

“What's going on?” Zuko demands as Rina approaches you; she doesn't hide her sneer at his brash tone, and you smirk as he apologetically shrinks back. 

“You have visitors, come to give their congratulations for your marriage,” Rina explains. 

“Who?” Zuko wonders. 

“Sun Warriors. They're waiting for you in the throne room.” 

Zuko and Aang exchange a look of shock. As you're ushered through the halls of the administrative wing and into the throne room, you take Aang by the arm, pulling him close so you can whisper to him. 

“Who are the Sun Warriors?” you ask. 

“They were the first fire benders,” Aang tells you. “They were supposedly wiped out, but Zuko and I met them when we visited their island at the beginning of my fire bending training. Their existence is supposed to be a secret.” 

“Then why would they come here?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” 

The throne room is silent - empty save for your entourage and guests - but a constant, electric buzz seems to hang in the air. Zuko falls into step beside you, taking your arm in his as you approach the group of visitors gathered before the throne; their clothing suggests Fire Nation, but from a different world, ancient to the point of almost primal. Each person present is decorated in baroque jewelry, glimmering gold and laced with vibrantly colored beads placed in intricate, deliberate patterns. Their faces are painted in stark lines of red and white, some across their noses and cheeks and under their eyes, others over their chins and foreheads; the makeup is so similar to Water Tribe markings that your eyes widen, unable to stop yourself from leaning in as you attempt to get a better look while also remaining dignified. The warriors are also much more robust than their mainland counterparts, with stocky builds and robust features - they remind you of your own people, leaving you in awe. 

“Chief Sunan,” Zuko addresses the leader of the group, bowing low as he speaks; you follow suit, leveling your gaze with the floor. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” 

The chief smiles faintly, warmly at the two of you, bowing in return. 

“We are not so cut off from the outside world that we have not heard of your marriage,” he says. “News has traveled to us of the strength of your union, and the tenacity of your bride. As Firelord, you have protected us, and made strides to restore the ancient ways of the element - we have come to give you our thanks, and offer our blessings to the both of you.” 

Chief Sunan steps aside then, making way for a man and woman carrying a basket between them; they lower it at your feet, bowing as they step back to rejoin their people. 

“A gift,” the chief proclaims. His muted grin morphs into something more knowing, almost mirthful as he watches Zuko approach the offering. 

You rest a supportive hand on Zuko’s back as he leans forward, lifting the lid of the basket to reveal its contents; he raises a bundle of blankets from the vessel, his eyes growing wide as he peels the fabric back. 

Inside the package is a dragon, just small enough to be cradled in his arms. Its scales are a gorgeous crimson, glinting and shifting between hues of gold and turquoise in the light cast from Zuko’s bended fire that surrounds his empty throne. The little beast peers up at its new parent with amber eyes that mirror your husband’s. Zuko lets out an astonished breath, raising his gaze to meet Chief Sunan’s. 

“I can’t accept this,” he states, so quietly that only you and the chief can make out the words. 

“You must,” Chief Sunan counters, his smile never faltering. “The masters insisted.” 

Under your palm, you feel Zuko’s body tense. He nods, cautiously settling the tiny dragon into your arms; you hold the bundle tightly, reaching in to stroke gently at the baby’s nose. It purs appreciatively, and your heart swells. 

Zuko bows, lowering himself to the floor in the ultimate display of respect. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I vow to protect him with my life.” 

When he once again stands, he looks to Rina. 

“Accommodate them however they need,” he commands. “Send a group of our Kyoshi Warriors to the island to guard it from outsiders.” 

Rina nods, scurrying off immediately to delegate the tasks. Chief Sunan then approaches you, resting a hand on your shoulder; you meet his eyes with slight fear, but find only kindness looking back at you. 

“We are grateful our bloodlines will merge once again,” he tells you. “The origin of our people is a history that has been lost to time, long before the war was even a speck on the horizon. You see, the Sun Warriors are descendents of migrant peoples from the earliest ancestors of the Southern Water Tribe as well as the Fire Nation - what our mothers and fathers knew of water bending shaped our understanding of fire. Your union brings our people together once again, as they should be.” 

Zuko wraps an arm around your waist, proudly pulling you against his side. You draw in a shaky breath, leaning into him as you nod, tears pooling along the lines of your lower eyelids. 

“It’s an honor to finally meet you,” you say. “I’ll do everything to make sure we regain our lost history. I promise.” 

Chief Sunan smiles temperately and nods, his fingers contracting around your shoulder in an appreciative grasp. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. “We are proud to call you our queen.” 

You invite the Warriors to stay for the night, Aang eagerly informing them of the banquet you have planned; by the time your reception of the unexpected visitors is finished, there's little more than an hour before it begins. 

Zuko brings your new ward back to your quarters, keeping him tucked protectively under his arms until you shut the sitting room door securely behind you. He then unravels the blankets the little creature is wrapped in, allowing him to explore his new home. 

“I thought dragons were extinct,” you marvel, watching as the fabled reptile twists and turns his body around every piece of furniture he encounters, inspecting everything he sees with humanlike interest. You smile, endeared by his wonder. 

“There are two still living,” Zuko explains. He kneels down beside the dragon, offering him a bit of a rice cracker from the box you keep in a side table for your nightly tea. “Three, now, I guess. The other two are the fire bending masters Aang and I had to seek approval from after I joined their team. Honestly, I thought they were both males.” 

“You must have made a good impression for them to trust you with their kid,” you remark, stifling a bit of laughter at his confession. “Maybe this’ll get Yong to stop bugging us about getting me knocked up.” 

Zuko chuckles, glancing up at you with an impish grin; the suggestive expression makes you blush, and you try to not admit to yourself that the excitement it sparks isn't unwelcome. 

The baby dragon lets out a mewling growl as he wraps himself around Zuko’s shoulders. He blows a minuscule jet of flame into the Firelord’s face, which Zuko mimics. You feel like squealing. 

“What should we call him?” you ask, lowering yourself onto the floor beside your husband. You hold a finger out to the dragon, which he curiously takes into one of his clawed hands. 

“Druk,” Zuko answers. “He looks like a Druk, doesn’t he?” 

You nod, your cheeks pinkened by the smile that’s plastered itself across your face; Zuko’s eyes meet yours with the same joyed expression. He maneuvers himself closer to you, resting his hand atop yours in your lap. As his fingers curl around your palm, you become achingly aware of just how near to you he is, and in a way that’s no longer friendly - the tension is heavier now, strained under the weight of a giddy, fluttering mania that leaves you dizzy. You don’t have to wonder if he feels the same. 

“Guess we’re parents now,” Zuko jokes, his voice barely above a breath. 

You giggle, taking the chance of leaning in to brush your lips to his. Your skin hardly touches; you’re too nervous to dive in and taste him, and for a moment after you pull away, you fear you may have imagined the glancing kiss. The fire that flares across Zuko’s cheeks tells you you didn’t. 

“Yeah,” you smirk, speaking in a murmur. “Guess we are.” 

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