#hiiiiii alex beloved this got way out of hand. i hope u like it anyways

[dickpuncher420]

hi ambre my love for writing prompts can i get uhhhhhh fairground ferris wheel zukka

As the Fire Lord, it’s rare that Zuko finds enough time to travel, especially at this time of year. But the spirits must have been feeling especially generous lately, because this is the longest he’s ever gone without an assassination attempt, his council has been uncharacteristically agreeable, and all of his current projects are moving smoothly along, without the need for his supervision—meaning that he’s free to take some time off, for once in his life, and finally experience this Glacier Spirits Festival that Sokka has told him so much about.

Sokka and Izumi have already been down in the Southern Water Tribe for a while, ever since Izumi started suddenly bending the tea out of their cups at breakfast one day, and they’re the first ones to greet him when his airship touches down on the outskirts of town. Izumi makes a face when Sokka pulls him in for a kiss—she’s getting to that age where everything her dads does embarrasses her—but then tugs insistently at Zuko’s robes until he reaches down to pick her up.

“Oof.” Zuko groans as he settles her onto his hip. “You’re getting a bit too big for this, ‘Zumi.”

Izumi pouts at him, her golden eyes big and imploring. “But Daddy does it all the time, and he never says I’m too big.”

“Does he now?” Zuko shoots Sokka a look, and Sokka grins sheepishly and shrugs. They’re going to have a talk about that later—he’s well aware that Izumi has the both of them wrapped around her little finger, but that doesn’t mean they can’t learn to tell her no sometimes.

He sets Izumi down after placing a kiss to the top of her head, and she holds his hand and chatters excitedly the whole way back to the house. Auntie ‘Tara has been teaching her some very basic waterbending control, mostly to keep her from getting into any future accidents—even Azula didn’t start learning actual bending techniques until she was six years old.

With the festival starting tomorrow, booths and attractions have been set up all over the centre of town, and Izumi eagerly points them out as they walk past. Zuko can practically feel the tension easing out of his shoulders by the minute—he doesn’t realize how much the crown weighs him down until he’s finally free of it, and now, with it safely stored in his rooms all the way back in the Fire Nation, he feels lighter than he has in ages.

Dinner is a quiet, simple affair. Sokka nabs the stewed sea prunes that Izumi has pushed to the sides of her bowl, and laughs at the face that Zuko makes when he bites down into one by accident. Even after all these years, he’s never quite been able to get used to the taste; never had to, really, since Sokka would always steal his right out of his bowl whenever he came to visit.

They put Izumi to bed once she starts nodding off in her seat, and then spend a few more hours talking quietly, curled up together next to the hearth. Zuko heats his hands and massages Sokka’s leg without being asked—the break is old and fully healed, but Zuko knows that the cold still gets to it sometimes—and Sokka sinks back into his furs with a grateful groan.

“You’re the best husband ever, you know that?”

“Mhm,” Zuko says, smiling. “You could stand to say it more often, though.”

They’re awoken in the morning—or what passes for the morning, this close to the solstice—by Izumi, who leaps onto their bed, squealing about the festival. She barely gives them time to eat breakfast before she’s ushering them out the door, one hand clasped in each of her fathers’ hands, dragging them along as fast as her little legs will go.

Zuko catches Sokka’s eye as they walk and grins. He can’t help it—Izumi’s excitement is infectious.

She totes them along as they go from booth to booth, trying out the fried eel-squid here, admiring the beadwork of a young vendor there. At one of the game stands, Sokka wins her a stuffed sky bison plushie, which she immediately names Baby Appa—or Bappa, for short. Zuko complains that it sounds too much like Baba, and Sokka just laughs and wins him one too, if only to shut him up.

There’s something comforting about the anonymity of the festival. Here, he’s not the Fire Lord. Here, he’s just a man, enjoying the Glacier Spirits Festival with his family, just like any regular person. He’s not the only foreigner, either: in the years since the end of the war, the festival has expanded enough that people from beyond the Water Tribes have become regular visitors as well. Nobody even spares Zuko, with his pale skin and mottled scar, a second glance—especially not when his hair has been braided back like this, in a traditional Water Tribe style.

Zuko doesn’t often regret being the Fire Lord, at least not anymore. Sure, it’s tedious and tiring and stressful, but he’s always proud of his work, and there isn’t a single person in the world that he would rather have take his place.

It’s at times like this, though—with Sokka’s hand in his, and Izumi bounding ahead to marvel at the ferris wheel that towers over the rest of the town—that he wishes he could leave all the pomp and circumstance behind and just be Zuko.

Izumi waves them over, practically vibrating with excitement, and begs them for a ride on the ferris wheel. Unable to deny her anything, Zuko dutifully hands over a few copper pieces to the operator, and the next thing he knows they’re being strapped into the strange metal contraption, Izumi safely wedged between him and Sokka.

Snowflakes begin to fall as they wait for the rest of the seats to be filled. Izumi kicks her feet excitedly, eyes wide, and sticks her tongue out in an attempt to catch a few. Zuko laughs and joins her, and he’s so intent on his snowflake-catching that the sudden jolt of the ferris wheel kicking into motion catches him off guard, and he yelps and clutches at Sokka’s arm.

“Scared?” Sokka teases, and Zuko gives him a half-hearted smack.

“Are you scared, Baba?” Izumi says, adorably earnest in the way that small children are. “You can hold my hand.” She holds out a small gloved hand, and Zuko smiles at her and takes it, wondering if she can sense the way it feels like his heart is melting in his chest. He can feel people’s inner fire—surely waterbenders must be able to do something similar?

“Thank you, ‘Zumi,” he says, and she beams.

The ferris wheel creaks and groans as it carries them up, and back down, and back up again. Sokka assures them that it’s perfectly safe—he’d looked over the plans and supervised its assembly himself—and Zuko finds himself relaxing into the motion of it, chuckling at the way Izumi’s eyes go wide whenever they reach the top of its cycle.

Eventually, the ferris wheel slows and shudders to a stop—and it’s just their luck that they happen to be sitting at the very top of it when it does. Like this, they have the entire town spread out before them, with all its lights and colours and the crowds of people milling about. It makes Zuko feel strangely small, but small in that way that he likes, in the way that makes him feel like just Zuko.

And maybe it’s only temporary, but—he glances over at Sokka, at Izumi, both staring down at the world below with wonder in their eyes—he thinks he can let himself enjoy being just Zuko, just for a bit.