#wanted to emphasize her 'soft skills' if you catch my drift

[generic-sonic-fan]

Underestimated

Summary: Rouge is not the strongest member of Team Dark. Then again, she doesn’t have to be. 

1068 words

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Every thief had her bad days. Days where the lock just won’t come undone. Days where the goods aren’t where the map said they’d be. Or, in the case of today, days where the guards actually did look up. 

Rouge sighed as the leader of the squad of six sat her down on a steel chair. He yanked her arms back and wrapped them tightly in a steel chain. He then fished a lock from his pocket and clipped the bolt down. 

“Nice try, Agent Rouge, but we are no ordinary organization.” The squad leader sneered. “We do our homework.”

“Is that so?”

“We know all about you and your little team. The only thing we don’t know is why you were sent after us.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s six of us, and only one of you. So you’re going to answer our questions, or you might not be waking up tomorrow morning.”

The other five squad members, each more heavily armed than their so-called leader, seemed fidgety. Nervous. They held their rifles down low from their shoulders but kept their fingers on the triggers. Shadow would get a kick out of lecturing them for their unsafe gun practices- but he wasn’t here right now. Tonight was one of the few times a year when he took an evening off; some kind of anniversary that she wasn’t invited to so she hadn’t asked. Omega, meanwhile, was out of town on his second day of repairs with Tails.

But these goons didn’t seem to know about that, not with the way they kept flinching at shadows.

“I’m going to ask again. Why were you sent here? How did GUN find us?”

“Maybe you deserved it.”

“Don’t give me mouth! Answer the question!”

“Maybe you deserve what’s really coming.”

That struck a nerve in the rest of the room. The wandering squad members stiffened. Bingo. 

“Oh, if only there were two big strong men to come and save me!” Rouge threw back her head and gave a conspicuous wink to the ceiling.

“TRAIN ON THE VENTS!”

Six men in full armor and tactical gear squirmed their gun barrels up past their heads, clanking metal against metal, boots shuffling. Rouge slid her lockpick out of its special pocket in her glove and used the outburst of noise to cover the sound of the pick clacking against the lock. This lock was nothing compared to those found even at a normal bank. She made quick work of it, feeling the last lock pin stick open. She caught the lock and chain in her hands and stayed very still.

Three members of the squad kept their rifles trained on the ceiling, flinching at any unusual whisper from the air conditioning. The other three slowly lowered their sights back down onto her.

“Where are they?” The leader growled.

“Hmm? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She smiled.

“You just gave the signal! Where are the other two?”

“The other two what?”

“The ‘big strong men’! Don’t play coy with me- everyone knows that you have two hyper-lethal freaks at your beck and call to protect you.”

Oh, she almost broke her smile at that. Almost, almost. But she couldn’t afford to lose her advantage now. “Ugh, I could use the help. I’m so defenseless on my own like this.”

“WHERE ARE THEY, BITCH?”

The cold ring of a gun barrel pressed against her temple, not for the first time (nor for the last time, if she was being honest with herself). 

“Oh, you’ll know where. They’re much less subtle than I am, sweetheart.”

The rest of the squad squirmed at the comment. She laughed. 

The gun barrel was removed. The leader pointed to groups of two. “Johnson, Smith, scout the left wing exterior. Mendez, Stanley, you’ll take the right. Report anything you find immediately.”

The four goons took off, leaving the squad leader and just one other goon alone with her. 

“We’ll find them.” The leader said. “As soon as we spot them, we’ll tell them we’ve got you. If they don’t comply, you’ll get your brains blown all over that wall, you see?”

“Hmph.” She looked the opposite of where he pointed.

“Such a damsel. It’s a wonder how you got the other two under your thumb.”

“Why don’t you come here and I’ll show you?”

The other squad member stifled a snort. She shot him a pout, before raising her eyebrows at the squad leader. The squad leader left her side and wandered directly in front of her. He pulled down his mask and gave a goofy smile, before raising his pistol and pointing it at her.

“Nice try. The files said that about you too.”

“Did they say this?”

Rouge slammed the lock into the side of his head. As he recoiled away, she kicked the pistol out of his grip, sending it sailing into the air. The other squad member shouted. She flung herself from the chair and kicked the leader into the other guy, knocking them both over. She then grabbed the pistol as it came back down to earth. She pulled the trigger and iced the annoying dumbass. The other goon scrambled out from beneath his body, fumbling with a radio in his pocket.

“Tell me, what’s the quickest way out of this dump?” She asked the goon. “Tell me soon, otherwise you’ll be joining him.”

“The others will get you!”

“Not before you’re gone, honey. Now talk.”

“Down the hall! Down the hall, to the right! Big window, can’t miss it!”

“Thanks.”

She flew out of the room, looked both ways down the hall, and went to the left. She glided up to the ceiling, tucking herself beside a vent, and watched as a pair of the squad went rushing beneath her, screaming something about a window. She waited for them to pass before continuing further into the complex.

The vault wasn’t too hard to find- there’s only so many places in a building you can construct an enormous steel door. She cracked the lock with the password she’d gotten from her prior stakeout of the place. She left with the weapon the gang had stolen, along with some shiny gold coins that she was sure GUN wouldn’t mind lining her pockets with. 

Every thief had her bad days, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still earn her keep. 

[invincibleinck]

Stay the Night

(AN: I’m breaking with tradition and posting a text version of Stay the Night. This was labelled in my files as "polycu[ddles]".)

Alan opened the door while the bell was mid-ring. He squinted into the darkness with bleary eyes, wishing that he'd had the thought to put on his glasses. Through the murk he made out a familiar human figure.

There was Flynn, shivering on his front step like some lost puppy. He even had the puppy-dog eyes to match. Alan leaned against the doorway and addressed him dryly.

"Flynn, do you have any idea what time it is."

"I can't sleep," he said, as if that excused everything.

"I didn't think you slept at all."

"Well- normally not," Flynn admitted. "But THIS time-"

"Say no more." Alan snorted, crossing his arms against the cold. "Just get inside before Lora gets up."

The last thing Alan wanted was Lora checking on him and catching a chill, least of all in her condition. She'd been running on low sleep for weeks now, her evenings spent at Encom, and her mornings spent hunched over the toilet.

Without further ado, Flynn bustled into the apartment, tossing his coat onto the couch along the way. He trod the intimate path to the bedroom and disappeared into the dark. After a short moment, Alan followed him.

He found Flynn already beneath the covers, nestled beside a restful but very-much-alert Lora. He murmured something into her ear and she let out an amused hum in reply. Alan's only reaction to this exchange was to roll his eyes at the ceiling. Though he could not hear the words, he could guess at their meaning. Flynn only ever adopted that tone when he was in one of his more playful moods.

By now Alan was accustomed to Flynn inserting himself into their bed and between their bodies. He slid into his side of the bed with practiced grace and faced the wall. Almost immediately, he felt Flynn snuggle himself against the curve of his back. Alan tolerated this with a smile for many minutes before his mood began to sour.

"Flynn, your knee is in my spine."

"Fine, I'll spoon Lora." Flynn sniffed, already rolling over. "At least she'll appreciate it."

"You're not spooning me, you're causing me excruciating physical pain," Alan corrected through clenched teeth.

"Lalalala going to sleep now."

Despite this assurance, Flynn stayed awake for almost a half-hour afterwards. He kept shifting, occasionally kicking at the sheets or pawing a pillow. Alan felt his own frustration slowly rising as the minutes wore on. Just as he was about to reach his limit, a grumble drifted up from the center of the bed.

"...Can't believe you bashed my spooning skills, it's not like I've ever brought up your snoring-"

Alan's response was short and swift. "MY snoring?" he said tartly. "You come into my bed-"

"Enough," Lora said, and the men went quiet. There was a beat in which Alan could hear her awkward adjustments, the bed frame creaking with each movement. Voice softening, she teased, "Does the big baby need a kiss?"

Flynn folded his arms, pouting wordlessly.

"...Yes."

As if drawn by a sort of shared magnetism, both Lora and Alan rolled inwards. They leaned into Flynn and simultaneously pecked him on each cheek. For just a moment, Alan felt Flynn's skin crinkle in a smile. He draped an arm across the man's chest just as Lora hooked her foot around his ankle. Together, they wove their limbs with his, like a living, weighted blanket. Flynn seemed to sink into the mattress, eyes dreamy, breaths light.

"Am I the luckiest guy in the world, or what?"

"Flynn? I cannot emphasize this enough—go the fuck to sleep."

They spent the remainder of the night in serene silence, broken only by Alan's soft snores.

[someonefantastic]

Do These Tacos Taste Funny to You?

I had so much fun with the details at the beginning of this and I just love the idea of the four of them hanging out. If you want some ambiance while you listen to this, check out the video "You're in the bathroom at a club in 2007" on YouTube. I wrote the whole thing while listening to that on repeat lol. Summary: Juliet, Shawn, Gus, and Lassie are hanging out at a nightclub after a very long week. But sometimes unwinding can go a little too far. Warnings: alcohol, non consensual drug use, some suggestive content also on ao3 ___ The beat thumped low in her chest, music pulsating in her ears. Her and Shawn’s bodies swayed together, enjoying the intimacy that their closeness provided. She secretly suspected that was the whole reason why he had wanted her to come- not that she was complaining.

Usually, she wasn’t a fan of clubs, opting to instead spend her evenings off at a place like Tom Blair’s or at home. But Shawn and Gus had been raving about a new nightclub for weeks now, claiming that it would be the event of the century. Naturally, their persistence (and Shawn’s boyish charm) wore her down. Never wanting to leave her partner out- and knowing he had nothing else going on- she had in turn dragged Carlton along. She knew, deep down, he appreciated being included.

To be honest, she was having a really great time. It had been a long time since she went to a club for reasons other than being undercover or investigating a case and being able to just relax and enjoy herself was amazing.

Shawn’s hands rested low on her hips, chest pressed against her back and her hands were in his hair. It was clear that she was in charge, hips moving to the beat as she led their bodies in precise rhythm. Occasionally he would dip his head, using their position to whisper sweet nothings in her ear or press a kiss to her cheek.

She was loving it. It had been an extremely stressful week and, on top of her increased caseload, she had to deal with way too many disgruntled family members. Most notably was a man who was pissed they had arrested his brother for grand larceny. He had screamed and shouted threats for hours, preventing her from being able to get any actual work done. Way too many nights had been spent pouring over cases or lying awake thinking about all the things she had to do. She and Shawn had barely spent any time together lately so being able to unwind and dance with him was blissful.

She smiled as one hand swooped up her side, fingertips just barely touching the exposed skin below her halter top before gliding up over her arm to grab her hand. Once their fingers were joined, he spun her in one swift motion, bringing them chest to chest. Hooking her arms behind his head, she grinned, continuing to sway to the beat. He returned the look, fingers finding her hips again. Their cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily, whether, from the dancing or their close proximity, she wasn’t sure.

Taking advantage of their new position, she let her hands run down to his shoulders. Toying with the shirt collar, she admired his exposed chest, happy he had undone a few more buttons than usual. He squeezed her sides, causing her to jump and she laughed, catching his knowing look.

Leaning forward, she shivered as his breath ghosted over her ear, “If you keep staring at me like that we may have to find someplace to make out.”

She hummed, hand coming up to cup his cheek, “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“As tempting as that sounds- and believe me Jules it’s very tempting-��� His voice had dropped low, and she briefly considered just dragging him out of there. “I think Lassie wouldn’t take well to being abandoned.” He nodded behind her and she turned to look, trying to stifle a laugh when she saw Carlton attempting to dance in his own lanky way.

She turned back and he shrugged, “Plus I think Gus has struck out with pretty much every girl here.”

Tilting her head, she pursed her lips, a small smile pulling at them. “So drink break?”

“Yeah,” He sighed, “But I promise I’ll get you back here before the night is over.” With a wink, he pulled away, making sure to grab her hand before walking off the dance floor.

After some maneuvering, the four of them gathered around a tall table near the bar. Gus and Shawn dubbed themselves “the official drink orderers” much to her amusement and Lassiter’s annoyance. Once they disappeared towards the bar, she adjusted her miniskirt taking a seat across from her partner. Lassiter fidgeted with the cufflinks of his shirt, looking very uncomfortable.

She leaned forward, sending him a soft smile. “Thank you for coming Carlton, I know this isn’t your scene.”

He shrugged, “I don’t mind. This has actually been kind of… enjoyable.”

Her smile burst into a grin as she sat back, absolutely thrilled by his admission. He rolled his eyes, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She laughed as Shawn and Gus approached, the former attempting to hold four drinks without spilling them and the latter carrying plates stacked precariously with food. “I thought you guys were just getting a snack?”

Gus raised an eyebrow, placing the food on the table before taking a seat. “We did.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes, snatching his Scotch from Shawn’s hands. He just smirked before placing a glass before her, “A wine and whisky cocktail for my lady.”

“Thanks, Shawn.”

“Do these tacos taste funny to you?” Gus spoke up with a frown, having barely taken a seat before digging into his food.

Shawn grabbed one off his plate and took a bite, eyes squinting as he chewed, “A little. That’s what you get for ordering tacos at a nightclub buddy.”

Gus glared, grabbing the half-eaten taco out of his hands while Shawn immediately started protesting Shaking her head, Juliet took a sip of her drink, watching as the two bickered. What a way to spend a night off.

She wouldn’t have it any other way. ___ Four plates of food and two drinks later, Shawn took a much-needed bathroom break. Exiting, he looked around in search of his best friend, ready to tell him about how cool the restrooms were when he caught sight of his beautiful girlfriend instead.

“Hey, babe!” Juliet greeted, sliding up next to him. She had a full drink in her hand- her third if he was counting- and he guessed she had just gone to the bar.

He grinned, “Hey yourself.”

“Wanna dance?”

“I’d love to but your hands seem full.”

She frowned, staring at her drink before throwing it back in a few quick gulps. He raised an eyebrow, “Wow.”

Grabbing his hand, she led them both out to the dance floor, talking the whole time. “I asked Lassiter to dance but he’s still grumpy because he had to miss seeing Marlowe due to working all day. If you ask me, he just needs to get some.”

Shawn nearly tripped over his own feet, “What!?”

She paused, turning towards him and beginning to dance. “Shawn please, don’t act like you don’t know what ‘get some’ means,” Her lips curved into a smirk, “Especially since you get some quite often.”

Shawn bopped his head, a flirty reply on his tongue but it died as he noticed her pupils were dilated. She had continued to talk, her voice was loud and fast and he found that he was having a hard time following her.

Eyebrows creasing, he grabbed her hand, and she trailed off, “Jules, are you feeling okay?”

She gave him a puzzled look, “Of course silly, never better. I feel like I could dance all night.” As if to emphasize her point, she pulled on his hand, bringing them closer together. This time as they danced, her movements were quick and jerky, practically bouncing up and down.

She talked the entire song, conversation drifting from the lyrics to their friends to her grocery list and then to his looks. Normally he wouldn’t mind the endless stream of compliments but his worry had grown past the point of being able to enjoy anything. She was acting so different, he knew alcohol caused her to let loose a little and become a bit more flirty but this wasn’t like that at all.

Just then a slower song started playing and she frowned, grabbing his hand to pull him off the dancefloor. “Let’s go see what Lassie and Gus are doing.”

Okay, something is definitely wrong. She rarely calls Lassie ‘Lassie,’ He thought as they approached their table where the two men were immersed in conversation.

“Hey, guys! I’m bored, anyone want to go for a run or hit the town or something?” Juliet bounced on her toes as she spoke, curled hair swishing around her shoulders.

Lassiter’s eyes darted from her to Shawn. Clearly, he picked up on the strange behavior too. “Spencer… what did you do?”

He put his hands up, “I swear I did nothing, I don’t know what happened.”

“Guys nothing is wrong,” She rolled her eyes, “I feel great! Actually, I’m going to get another drink.”

“Jules, I don’t know if that’s the best idea-” He tried calling but she had already disappeared into the crowd around the bar.

Lassiter sighed, standing up, “I’ll go get her. You” He shot a pointed look at Shawn, clearly not believing his innocence, “stay here. We should probably leave soon if she’s this drunk.”

“I swear it’s not my fault dude,” Shawn said once Lassiter had gone after her. He flopped into a chair beside Gus, frowning, his eyebrows knitted together.

“I believe you. Maybe she’s just drunk.” Gus shrugged, taking a sip from his own glass.

He shook his head, “No, I thought so too but she acts way different when she’s drunk.”

“She could just be enjoying herself.” His best friend tried again, attempting to ease his worry.

“Maybe...” He was unconvinced though, his friend’s words doing little to ease the growing pit in his stomach. Something was wrong. He didn’t know what though and that made him feel even worse.

He didn’t know what to do without the facts, his abilities were so dependent on figuring out the truth and rolling with it. When he didn’t have that, he was lost. It was even worse when it came to people he cared about, if he couldn’t help them then what was even the point of having his skill set?

Juliet bounded up, snapping him out of his thoughts. A wide grin had taken over her face, another glass in her hand. Behind her Lassiter slowed down, breathing heavily, “She has... so much energy.”

“Oh, crap.”

Shawn’s head whipped towards Gus whose eyes had gone wide. “What?”

“Remember when we solved that case for Mel Hornsby? The baseball one?” Shawn nodded. “And remember when you accidentally drank the dead coach's water?”

“Guster out with it!” Lassiter was tapping his foot, clearly having grown impatient

“Well,” His eyes darted to all three of them, “I think Juliet accidentally ingested speed.”

It was now Shawn’s turn for his eyes to go wide. He looked over at his girlfriend who was back to dancing, her drink sloshing out of her cup. “Oh, crap.”

[firelxrdsdaughter]

A Warning | Drabble

@avatarworldweek 

late, but this is for prompt two: Tea Time with Iroh. 

The sun is warm where it hits her skin, a counterpoint to the cool air of early spring. Azula shivers with her eyes closed, face tipped upward and her hands braced against the cool wood of the railing she’s perched herself upon to enjoy the sunshine.

The wound on her throat still throbs. A reminder that she still lives.

“Lady Azula.”

Her eyes open slowly, but it’s an effort not to look as surprised as she is by the sudden voice at her back. She cannot let her uncle know that she hadn’t noticed his approach.

“General Iroh.” Her voice rasps from her throat, stringy and soft.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” he continues, as though she had done more than simply acknowledge that he was in her presence, “it’s such a nice day to feel the sun on your face.”

Azula’s head tips back down, and she looks back at her uncle as servants arrive, bearing a table and a steaming pot of tea. She observes while they set up, expression smooth and unreadable as she mulls over the possible reasons for this particular interruption.

He’s done so well at avoiding her until now.

The former princess turns again to look at the old man, her father’s older brother…Her brother’s surrogate father.

It’s going to be an intimidation, probably. Or else an attempt at reaching out to her now that it is clear she’ll be staying a while. Either one is honestly exhausting to think about.

“If I say no will you go?”

Iroh chuckles, looking jolly, his plump cheeks rosy. It hasn’t taken him all that long to gain back all of the fat he’d lost for the end of the war. It hasn’t taken long for him to grow comfortable in his new life.

Azula wonders what he would do if she were to upend his cozy existence. She knows she’ll never find out while she stays loyal to Zuko.

“Even those of us who prefer to be alone,” he begins, “need company from time to time. Whether we think we want it or not.”

Iroh crosses to the table that the servants have set down, dismissing them with a wave of his hand as he bends to pour the tea they’ve set on a portable heating plate. The embers glow with a low fire, the steam from the spout visible in the shade of the walkway where they have come to this meeting.

Azula waits.

“You…” he walks to her, handing out a steaming cup of tea steadily, the expression he wears around his eyes more akin to a warning than a friendly exchange of words, “are someone who requires constant attention.” He says it so matter-of-factly that Azula almost believes it of herself for a moment.

She lets her gaze linger on the steaming liquid still held out to her, refracting the sunlight from under the awning back into her eyes before she finally reaches for it and accepts the offering. This should be good.

“Believe me, I know,” he continues, going back to the table to retrieve his own cup before he comes to join her at the railing overlooking the pond. He leans against it heavily, his own cup poised under his nose as he takes a happy sniff of the jasmine petals that feature in the brew. “I am the same…or rather I was the same, in all honesty.”

She’s not certain what to make of that. Father had always let him be. Iroh had always been one to do what he thought he needed to do, and not what was right for the Fire Nation itself, in her eyes. It is no wonder that all of these years later he’s still never held the throne. He hasn’t the countenance for such a position. Not in the end. Not when he can be so affected by tragedy that it effects his foresight enough to allow Ozai to take the throne out from under him.

Finally Iroh takes a drink from his cup, and Azula feels some tension leave her shoulders. She tips her own cup back against her lips, letting the hot liquid parse them and run soothingly down her throat.

Her uncle turns his attention to her fully, seeming to take consideration of Azula. His honey gold eyes see a lot further into her than she likes. It’s as though he’s peeling back her flesh and viewing what she’s hidden underneath. She wonders if this is how others feel when she looks at them.

“We’re not the same,” she finally says.

Iroh chuckles, taking another sip of his tea, the glass cupped in his hands to warm his palms.

“We are, though,” he tells her easily. “Maybe not so much now…But when I was young? I was just like you. Smart, cunning, manipulative when I had to be. A brilliant tactician. Charismatic…” The list is rather self-congratulatory.

Iroh smoothes a hand through his moustache, wiping away clinging droplets of tea from the corners of his mouth.

“Ruthless,” he adds then, setting his empty cup aside.

Azula’s cup still sits poised in her hand, hanging over the pond and her knee. She lets her eyelashes lower, looking down her nose at her uncle.

“I changed,” he admits, “but I never really changed. Sure I learned to embrace the little things in life, to appreciate differences in views and opinions. I learned spirituality and how to keep balance in the world and my life…” he smiles just a little.

Azula purses her lips, taking the last gulp of her tea as she turns her attention back to the way the sun dazzles off of the pond’s surface, leaving light ghosts behind in her eyes every time she blinks.

“But one thing is for certain — I never truly lost my sense of pride.”

There is the barest of twitches at Azula’s brows as they knit subtly together.

“I swallowed it down, and tucked it away to let it fester. I let your father stay in his place on the throne he stole from me. I even let him destroy his own family,” he shrugs as though it is of little consequence. “He did deserve it after all.”

Iroh paces away from her, hands tucked comfortably at the small of his back. Azula watches him, calculating.

“When he cast aside Zuko,” Iroh almost laughs, “I couldn’t believe my luck.”

Azula’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly.

“That boy always made him so angry because he saw himself in Zuko,” Iroh tells her, “Ozai always struggled with his bending, always using anger and emotion to fuel the fire inside of him instead of intellect. Instead of skill.” Iroh turns back to her, his hand folded into a fist as though to emphasize his meaning. “Oh he learned skill, of course, but it was never quite enough to catch up to me, which always chaffed Ozai. How could it not? I didn’t seem to take anything seriously, did I?”

“Perhaps you should tell me your point,” Azula whispers back at him, impatience overriding her curiosity at what he will say next somewhat.

Iroh holds his hand up in the air, motioning for her continued patience. Azula presses her lips into a thin line.

“The day your father cast Zuko aside I finally saw my path forward,” Iroh says then. He fixes her with his gaze, firey, and Azula stares back, cold like the static charge of lightning.

“I love Zuko, of course. That is the main difference between you and me, I am rather certain.” Iroh’s hand slides through the coarse hair of his beard again, his skin rasping on the wiry strands. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I used him for the vengeance that I’d been hoping to exact since the day I came home to find our father dead and Ozai on the throne in my place. The place where I belonged.”

Azula’s heart is racing just slightly, elevated as her uncle speaks. Still, she sits heavily, still waiting for the next revelation with bated breath as though she knows the end of the story but doesn’t want to.

“When your father wounded and banished your brother, I seized my opportunity. I’m rather certain that you have long since guessed that, however. I know you were attempting to bring me back to the Fire Nation all of those years ago, not Zuko. You knew that I would follow wherever he went. He was an investment, to speak your language.”

Uncle is certainly speaking her language. Horror or thrill, she’s not certain exactly which she is feeling.

“Imagine how satisfying it was for me when your brother, the boy that Ozai had deemed worthless, assisted in his downfall, defeated you, the brightest fire bender of the age, and then took the throne for himself.” Another rasping laugh, and Iroh came to a stop only a breath or two away from Azula where she still sat upon the railing, the pond at her back when she turns to face her uncle in his confession.

“Then again, I don’t think you really need to imagine it. You’ve felt the same satisfaction in using your brother as the means to the same end. Only you actually killed Ozai…Honestly it’s almost a more poetically satisfying ending,” Iroh admits. “His favourite child takes his life and he falls to the watery grave he tried to put her into.”

Iroh shrugs, the kindly old man’s façade sliding comfortably back into place as he stands before her, too close for Azula’s individual comfort. She stares at him, waiting for more.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“So that does bring me to my point.”

“Does it indeed?”

“Yes. I want you to know that I am not so foolish as to think that you are done,” he tells her, “or that you are not still sore over your own defeat at Zuko’s hands — “

“Master Katara’s actually,” she interrupts, voice straining, “I defeated Zuzu.”

“Yes, I suppose you did…” His eyes have grown hard, again. “I just wanted you to know that I understand the sort of woman you are. I understand your motivations, unlike my nephew and his friends, and I know that, for now, he is safe under your watch. I also understand that, like me, you are an opportunist. You are able to see all possible outcomes and you prepare for them. I would like you to know that I have also prepared for all possible outcomes, and that those which are favourable to you, but not to Zuko, will be thwarted by me. If they are not, then I can promise you that I will hunt you down to the very ends of this earth, and I will make certain that you pay in kind.”

Iroh reaches forward, plucking a stray hair from her shoulder and flicking it aside. It drifts to the wooden floor of the bridge slowly.

“Do we have an understanding, niece?”

Her eyelids twitch, but Azula doesn’t blink. She stares back at her uncle just as hard as he stares at her, trying not to hold her breath.

Azula takes a slow breath in, moving her hands to fold in her lap almost demurely.

“I think we do, uncle.”

“Excellent.” He takes the porcelain teacup from Azula’s hands and sweeps back toward the table, filling it again with the tea that he’s brought with him and bringing it back to her. “Then I look forward to our long future as friends.”