#zutaraangdrabblechallenge

[zutaraangtastic]

Could you do a little drabble about zuko and aang sharing dreams? maybe that is how zuko’s relationship with aang and katara starts, like it is what sparks it all :)

Also inspired by this post by @vomara! (Reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1.) - Mod J

The moonlight pools in a pale circle on the dark water, perfectly still until Aang lands. His light footsteps cast ripples outwards as he spins Katara for an extra few beats in the air. Her eyes are squeezed shut with laughter as he guides her down gently, but she opens them, a gleam of mischief in their blue depths, and takes the lead as soon as she finds solid footing.

Aang gladly follows, letting her twirl him out to the end of her arm’s length and bring him back in. They sway together for an easy, quiet moment, with his back to her front and her smile pressed to his shoulder. He feels secure, wrapped up in her embrace, as he always does.

It’s a dream he has often, dancing on the sea with her—it’s one he never tires of. In the back of his mind, he knows she’s sleeping peacefully right next to him, so it’s not like it’s coming from a place of unfulfilled desire, as far as he can tell. They dance together all the time in their home, at fancy Republic City functions, at the Fire Lord’s galas. It’s just nice to steal away this extra secret time with her between night and day.

Even if it’s not quite the same as in real life, his mind does a pretty good job of conjuring Katara in a sleek sky-blue dress that tapers down one leg, her shoulders bare and her hair cascading in waves down her back. She’s utterly enchanting.

She dips him low, and Aang raises a hand to her cheek, his heart so full of love he feels like he could drown in it. “Baby, you’re my moon and stars,” he whispers, watching for the way the corners of her eyes crinkle with a smile as she leans in to kiss him. His own eyes flutter shut.

Something changes at that moment, heats up on his skin, brightens against his face. He doesn’t think much of it until he peeks his right eye open just a crack and gets a close-up look at an unmistakable scar—closer than he’s ever seen it in real life, close enough to see rivulets of pale tissue and faint pockets between rough scarlet ridges.

“Uh,” says Zuko.

“Um,” says Aang.

Neither of them moves. Around them, the scenery has turned to a soul-baringly sunny day, the water glittering beneath their feet. Zuko’s hands are where Katara’s were, one supporting Aang’s backwards lean and one resting high up on his thigh, Aang’s other knee raised up to frame Zuko’s side. Golden light, reflecting off the pool, dazzles in Zuko’s wide eyes, which soften little by little with something like gratitude.

Finally, he breaks the stillness of the moment with a somewhat dismayed laugh, letting go of the breath he seemed to be holding. Aang could almost swear he catches a sharp firewhiskey aftertaste brushing warmly over his lips. It’s an oddly specific detail, for a dream.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Zuko says, his mouth curving in a rare, secretive smile. “You’re just the person I wanted to see tonight.”

Something about it rubs against the grain in Aang’s mind, doesn’t quite add up the way it should, but he finds himself laughing, too, settling with ease into the firm hold that shifts to his waist. His own arms naturally find their way to wrap behind Zuko’s neck.

“You’re a lot smoother when I’m asleep, sifu hotman,” he remarks, and if Zuko’s brow furrows momentarily, he doesn’t really think twice about it after Zuko quickly twirls him a few times, catches him again by the hand and shoulder and steps with him in perfect sync.

Briefly, in the back of his mind, he wonders about Katara, but she wasn’t really here, and neither is Zuko. Even if his keen gaze makes Aang feel just as flustered as it does in real life, when he judges Aang’s firebending forms to “keep him sharp.” Even if the hand gliding up his side through the open slit of his robe makes him feel as hot as the sun.

He loves Katara. If he could love Zuko, too, he would—or, well, he already does, he thinks, but what difference does it make? All he knows is the real Zuko is sleeping soundly on the other side of the world. This can’t do any harm.

A little bit of sparring seems to blend naturally into their exchange. Instead of breaking apart to do the full Dancing Dragon, they stay close, trailing rainbow fire from their footsteps and trading precarious kicks around each other’s knees, legs crossing back and forth over one another as they move to and fro. The water doesn’t sizzle when their bending makes contact with it but splashes up into crystallized leaves of amber flame, scattering in their wake.

Aang ends up in the lead at some point, supporting Zuko’s weight in a high lift and a descending spin, their orange and red robes catching with a friction that might as well make a spark of its own. Several long strands of hair have strayed from Zuko’s topknot, falling messily around his face, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. There’s a simmering, unwavering intensity in his eyes now, never leaving Aang’s face. Aang flings him this way and that, dips him low and whispers, grinning, “Baby, you’re my sun and stars.” 

Zuko smirks invitingly, only to backflip over Aang’s bracing arm before Aang can act further. He lands easily, links his hand with Aang’s again and steps in close and fast to snap one leg up around Aang’s hip. They lean together, an unbroken line of contact from chest to thighs, breathing heavily. The shared hallucination of rhythm and music fades, and the utter brightness of the sky, too.

The closeness is so tempting, would make it so easy to kiss Zuko, but Aang decides to let his subconscious decide whether Zuko might make the first move instead.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” he says, with just a teasing note of accusation.

Zuko snorts, rolls his eyes with a distinctly affectionate exasperation reserved for Aang alone. Unthinkingly, Aang reaches to brush the loose hair back behind Zuko’s ear. His hand lingers gingerly against Zuko’s scar, warm, real, solid. Zuko doesn’t flinch away. Aang expects this dreamed image to melt away at any minute, but it doesn’t.

Before he loses the nerve, he blurts, “I didn’t know you would ever want to. With me.”

At that, Zuko chuckles, a self-deprecating sound edged with hopelessness that makes Aang’s heart clench. He closes his eyes and says, seemingly more to himself than Aang, “I knew this was all just stupid wishful thinking. That’s what happens, going to bed after too much to drink. Stupid.”

His eyelashes paint delicate, spidery shadows towards the arch of his cheek, shining damply, and his eyebrow digs down into a tense furrow. Aang doesn’t know what to do. This doesn’t make sense anymore—everything was going so well, and he thought that at least in a dream he might get a happy ending. He can’t put his finger on what went wrong. 

Lost, he bends his head slightly to press his lips to Zuko’s forehead, as the last golden light is swallowed up in the gray dawn all around them.

When Aang blinks slowly awake, the morning sky through the window is the first thing he sees, the first rays of sun stretching up into the receding blue. Katara is snoring gently, facing him, with her hair spilling over half her face. Aang lifts her sleep-heavy hand and works his fingers between hers, bringing her knuckles to his lips to kiss them softly.

He doesn’t know how long he lies awake there, watching the sun turn the clouds a rosy orange. Normally, he would get up and find somewhere to meditate. But he feels reluctant to leave Katara’s side this morning.

He stays long enough that she wakes up, though he’s sure she’ll doze off again soon enough. She squints at him with a reflexive, familiar smile and rasps, her voice rough with sleep, “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Like what?”

“The way you always did when you thought I wasn’t watching you, back then.”

Aang laughs, and Katara does too, their breath stirring together between. “I can’t help it. I just love you.”

“Mm.” Katara scoots closer, snuggling her head under Aang’s chin and draping her arm over him. “Something’s on your mind, though. You always looked at me like that, all in love, ’cause you didn’t know how to tell me yet.”

Aang falls quiet. Reading the tension in him, Katara raises her hand to rub his upper arm gently, expectantly.

“I had a dream,” he says eventually. “About you…and Zuko.”

Katara leans back to look at him sharply. “Sweetie, you know you can’t let the tabloids get to you like that. I love you,” she says, with just a hint of scolding in her voice. “Zuko’s just a good friend.”

Aang opens his mouth, then closes it. “Yeah,” he says, pushing down the regret in it. “He is a good friend.” 

He can’t explain this to her, can’t ask her to understand something that might very well tear them apart. And that dream, as weird and real as it was…there’s just no way that Zuko feels like that, too. 

When Katara eventually does slip back into sleep, Aang kisses the crown of her head, carefully disentangles himself, and wanders down to the seashore to practice his firebending forms.

[zutaraangtastic]

i love the intimacy of people sharing stuff of their childhood so how about sharing comfort food or favorite music for the prompt thing. the prompt could go angsty but doesnt have to.

Here you go, anon! - Mod G

Heat, Zuko was used to, but the skin-crawling mugginess of these southern climes melted his nerves, especially on a day like this when half the neighbourhood was out on the streets. The food stalls they passed were mostly depleted by now, and many of the others were already packing up. There was a display of Ember Island shadow puppets - decidedly second rate, he noted - still commanding an excitedly milling audience. Someone was carving ivory puffin-seals, in a style he vaguely recognised as traditional Southern Water Tribe from one of Gran-Gran’s holiday lectures. More food, pungent. A hard voice chimed against the beat of unfamiliar drums at the following corner, and so it went.

On the bright side, the newly instituted Culture Day celebrations were aimed largely at children - meaning the crowd had thinned significantly since he came out alone earlier. Still, Zuko strode through it expeditiously enough that it took him a second to notice that Aang was no longer beside him.

He swiveled around. Aang had hung back, wordlessly - Zuko awkwardly reversed his steps. 

When Aang stopped at a stall, it was always to coo over or charm whoever had caught his attention with their craft; join them in eating, playing, dancing. So it was a surprise to find him stock still on the sidewalk, strange amidst the casual chatter of all the people strolling past. 

“Aang?” Zuko said on approach. “Are… you alright?”

If he was in earshot, it didn’t feel like it. After a moment, Zuko shifted on his feet, coming to stand on Aang’s other side, cautious.

When Aang finally tore out of his reverie, it felt sudden - both the wistful gaze that arrested Zuko, and the tears in his eyes.

“That melody,” Aang said, before Zuko had the chance to fumble into a response. He struggled to wipe his eyes on his naked forearm, until Zuko offered his sleeve. Aang took it nonchalantly, smiling against it as Zuko stood dumbfounded with his arm outstretched. “I didn’t think I would ever hear it again.”

Instead of letting the wrist drop, Aang tugged it as he turned. “You have to hear this, Zuko. It’s an old Air nomad tune - someone here must have learnt how to play it -” 

He had barely processed Aang’s words, but Zuko’s feet didn’t drag when he pulled him along. It was the elderly man with the chiming voice and the drum. Zuko’s curious eyes would have missed him, if Aang didn’t practically flying into him with a humongous grin.

As it turned out, the man was in possession of an antique pamphlet of songs from the Southern Air Temple. The rarity of such a written record in the Earth Kingdom notwithstanding, it would have taken a lot of effort to interpret it back into music. He explained how he’d tried to recreate the instrument as faithfully as possible from descriptions in some old catalogues, though he insisted that Aang was to be the judge of his success. Upon making the Avatar’s acquaintance, the singer designed himself as a humble amateur musicologist, doing his reverent best - but Zuko knew that was unnecessary, that it was impossible for anything to impinge upon Aang’s gratitude tonight.

As they sat on the dusty sidewalk to listen to his next enthusiastic request, Zuko’s hand crept around Aang’s wrist. He closed his eyes and imagined a lively scene; the lone, strained melody evaporating into a whole chorus of voices both young and venerable. He saw them, not too clearly - he knew little about the Air nomads, though he resolved to know more - but he felt them more, so vibrant and ghostly that he was loath to open his pricking eyes and lose them forever. 

Zuko’s grip tightened.

“I’ve always wanted Katara to hear our music,” Aang said, nodding along amiably. His eyes drooped, though the faint smile on his face seemed etched there permanently at this point. “Actually, it was pretty high on the list of things I wanted to show her when we first went to the Southern Air Temple.”

Zuko gulped, the words ringing too hard for how plain and free they were. How Aang was.

Then Aang’s sigh swept them out of the air, whirling with so many emotions, but bliss not the least of them. He let his head fall against Zuko’s shoulder.

“I’m really glad you’re here, though.” 

[zutaraangtastic]

for the prompts how about older Katara and Zuko talking about Aang after his dead?

“Katara?”

She follows Zuko gaze: at the top of the basket, otherwise packed with food for Zuko’s stay, are three egg custard tarts. Aang’s favourite.

“Oh.”

Katara is so, so sure enough time hasn’t passed yet for her to have unthinkingly picked tarts up at the market, as had once been her routine. Not with the way she’s been strictly avoiding Mr Song’s stall for months now and how grief still sticks sharp in her throat at the most unexpected of times. 

The possibility that she just absentmindedly thought Aang was away with Zuko on a trip, like nothing’s changed, is inconceivable. But the tarts are still all there. Three of them. Katara can’t think how to explain herself, or what the next step should be.

Finally, Zuko breaks the silence to suggest, “We could, uh, eat them anyway. After dinner?”

“All three?” 

“Why not?”

Katara wants to say that they were Aang’s favourite, not either of theirs. She doesn’t even really like egg custard tart that much, how will they get through three? But Zuko is trying; she can too. 

So, instead, she goes for a lighthearted, “Even though he always said they never quite tasted right?”

It comes out sounding all wrong anyway. Zuko’s mouth is tight and Katara’s chest hurts. They let the well, he’s not here to say anything anymore hang in the air unspoken. 

A growing part of Katara, abruptly furious that what time they have together has been soured already, wants to snap and start an argument over her own mistake. But it’s far from the first time one of them has been tripped up by the spaces Aang’s left behind; they’re already becoming practiced at navigating them.

“Come on, Katara,” says Zuko after a pause, with moderately successful forced levity. “I know you know it’s ‘they don’t—“

“— taste the same, not they don’t taste right.” She heard Aang needlessly defend his issues with Mr Song’s tarts with the exact words so many times she can’t not hear it in his voice. “I know.”  

Zuko tries a smile that comes out more bittersweet than real. “But never where Mr Song could hear him.”

“Never where Mr Song could hear him,” Katara agrees. Her anger washes away as soon as it’d appeared. Repeating Aang’s words, talking about him, without Aang there to fake outrage at their teasing stings as much as it soothes; but ultimately it does soothe.

She takes Zuko’s hand and squeezes it, apology and comfort wrapped in one, then sets the custard tarts aside to start unpacking the basket properly.

“Get some plates while I put this all away,” she orders, steadier than either of them can be feeling. “Let’s have dessert for dinner. Just this once, okay? You must be tired from the journey, and I’m sure neither of us feel like cooking.”

[zutaraangtastic]

If you’re still doing drabbles, here’s an idea: Nightmares and comfort afterwards. While it’s most common for Zuko and to a lesser extent, Aang, I think it would be so sweet to see Katara being comforted and tended to by her husbands. Of course, no offense will be taken if you’re done with drabbles or not interested in the prompt.

Final drabble! Warning for violence and temporary character death - nightmare stuff, as you might guess. I hope the comfort makes up for the hurt! (Reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1.) - Mod J

The igloo seems impossibly big before her, its white sheen stained with the ash raining from the heavens. The snow is up to her knees, as small as she is, and the sounds of war clamor for attention behind her: the men shouting, the sickening swish of the burning catapults, the hiss of fire devouring everything in its path.

Katara hesitates outside, trying to breach the chasm of dread in her stomach and force herself to enter, knowing what awaits her.

At least, she thinks she knows, until something happens that’s never happened before: a boy comes flying out through the blue curtains with a horrible scream, flung by a red flare inside that she barely glimpses. She runs to where he’s collapsed in the snow, his shaking hands covering his face. 

Through the cracks in his fingers, she sees the raw, seared flesh, and gasps.

He’s dressed just like the other Fire Nation soldiers, but he’s too young, his armor too big for his shoulders. His head is bare except for a disheveled ponytail. He’s hurt, badly.

These things she takes in, paralyzed, before it registers in the back of her mind that she can do something. She can heal. 

Or, she should be able to, but her tiny hands don’t seem to work the way they should; their grasp on the water is too unsteady, and when they reach for his face, he screams again, his fist lashing out in a flaming arc. Katara drops onto her belly, trembling with her eyes squeezed shut, until the near-brush of heat subsides. 

When she peeks up to make sure she’s safe, she notices the overcast sky has changed color, now a murky blood-red crossed by a trail of blazing orange light. 

Then the boy slumps back down, and Katara scrambles away, leaving him to writhe in his agony and returning to her own task with just enough bitter determination to overcome her fear.

In the igloo, she finds a different man than she expects, this one’s armor adorned with gold, a semblance of wings framing his helmet when he glances over his shoulder at her. There’s another boy, too, a boy in simple orange-and-yellow monk’s robes. He’s even smaller than her, his legs kicking pitifully as the Fire Nation man holds him aloft by the collar.

“You’re too late, little peasant,” the man says, an oil-slick voice dripping with malice. “The Avatar is mine.”

It doesn’t make sense, because how can that kid be the Avatar? His tattoos would be glowing white, a radiant, otherworldly bluish-white like she saw in the iceberg when she found him, and that’s the thing that snaps Katara back to herself—the boy, Aang, doesn’t have any tattoos. He’s too young to have earned them yet.

He looks at her with wide gray eyes, pleading for help, but she’s still too small, too weak to fling more than a puddle of water at the Fire Lord’s boots.

Wake up, she tells herself. It’s not real, wake up, it didn’t happen like this, you’re safe, they’re safe, just wake up—

But she can’t, try as she might. She can’t even look away as Ozai throws a fiery punch into Aang’s face, even as everything inside her lurches with fury, with horror, with dismay. Aang howls, the same cry that Zuko made, as instinctual and vulnerable as a wounded animal. And Zuko, spirits, Zuko’s out there alone and she has to do something!

Too much happens all at once, Ozai roaring victorious fire and the igloo crumbling all around them and a crimson cloud gathering overhead and an awful static crackling in Azula’s hands—no, Ozai’s, but familiar white-hot lightning, and he’s going to strike them at the same time and there’s no way for Katara to shield them both—

Until her waterbending returns, and without even thinking, she surges into Ozai’s blood and freezes him from the inside out. His last, choked breath comes out a red mist.

Katara falls to her knees, overwhelmed and hanging onto the adrenaline just to crawl to Aang and carry him to Zuko. She’s fully herself again, not the little girl she was when the raid happened, but the two of them are still just kids, even smaller in her grasp now. When she lays them next to each other, she notices the symmetry of their fresh burns, and a nauseous weight of understanding churns in her.

Snowmelt coats her hands in a shimmering, glowing blue, ready to heal, until she realizes neither boy’s chest is rising or falling. Katara fumbles to feel their pulses, uselessly; Zuko is too cold, no trace of fire left in him, and Aang is so still, the joyful breath that animated him stolen by the sharpening wind.

“Wake up,” she whispers, not certain who she’s talking to. She presses her palms flat to their hearts, water seeping through together with her tears, to no avail. Between her blurry eyes and the gathering storm around them, everything is growing dim.

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up, Katara, you’re—”

She bolts upright with a sharp gasp, her head spinning in the disorienting dark of the room. Real tears are flowing sickly-hot down her cheeks, sticking wetly to her chin, even her ears. She almost can’t suck in enough air, her chest wracked with sobs, disrupting every attempt to steady herself.

“Katara,” Aang says again, and she nearly jumps, reflexively whipping water from her nearby satchel to catch the hand reaching for her in an icy grip. “Ow—Katara, it’s okay! It’s just me. It’s me.”

To the other side of Aang, Zuko stirs, mumbling in confusion. Katara barely has the presence of mind to return the water to its container before she throws herself into Aang, wrapping her arms tightly around him. With her ear pressed to his chest, she can hear his heartbeat, feel his breathing like the rush of a sea breeze. A tentative hand meets hers on Aang’s back, and she raises her head to Aang’s shoulder to look at Zuko, twining her fingers with his. His skin is warm, faintly damp with sweat. He reaches behind him to light the candle on the bedside table with a snap, and the soft orange glow haloes around him, permeating the shadows of the room.

Aang presses a kiss to the top of Katara’s head, cupping her cheek and brushing away the tears on one side. “Was it a nightmare?” he asks.

She can only nod, not trusting herself to speak. He folds her into his embrace just a little harder.

“I get them too, around this time of year,” he admits. When she remains silent except for her sniffles, he adds softly, “Ones where we lose. Or we win but I lose you, or Zuko.”

“That makes three of us,” Zuko says, his voice hushed. He turns his face against her hand, the scarred side. It’s one of the most intimate gestures they share, open and vulnerable, but this time it makes Katara flinch, half-expecting raw, oozing skin in place of the long-healed tissue. Zuko catches her recoil and draws back himself, his brow furrowed with uncertain concern. “Sorry, I can…leave you with Aang, if that’s better?”

Katara shakes her head quickly and extends her arm, beckoning him to her side instead. Aang shifts with her towards the middle of the bed to make room. Zuko still hesitates, sitting beside Katara with his knees drawn up.

“I understand if it was about—I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to see me right now.”

“Zuko,” Aang says, half-regret and half-reprimand, at the same time that Katara takes Zuko by the shoulder and pulls him into their hug.

Hoarsely, she manages to say, “That wasn’t it.”

A patient quiet presides over them as Zuko’s arms finally settle around her waist and Aang’s fingers wind through her hair. Katara’s breathing eventually evens out, her tears slowing. There’s still an awful feeling inside her, a violent terror in the pit of her stomach.

“It was…” She steels herself, curling one fist so her nails bite crescents into her palm, until Aang stops her gently. Katara picks a spot on the far wall to keep her attention and continues, “It was like the nightmare I always have, about my mom. But Yon Rha wasn’t there, and neither was she. It was the two of you—” she lays her other hand over Zuko’s and squeezes his knuckles, hearing his apprehensive swallow “—and Ozai. And he…burned you, and you were so young—we were, and then I wasn’t, but you both were just kids and you were helpless and hurt and I couldn’t do anything before it was too late and—”

The panic is rising in her chest again, threatening to overflow, and Zuko tries to hold tighter to ground her, but it’s too much, Aang’s look of frantic worry is too much, and Katara suddenly needs not to be touched or she might break something. She hurriedly disentangles herself and slides away to sit at the edge of the bed, raising a hand to let Aang and Zuko know to give her space.

After a moment, she manages to quell the nausea, her gasps fading. She’s crying again, but her eyes are too dry now, making it harder to get the tears out. Mostly, she’s annoyed by the thought of how puffy her face will be in the morning, and how much she’s overreacting in front of Zuko and Aang. Katara lets out a shuddering exhale and stands, smoothing down her nightgown and going to open the window. The tang of the ocean clears her head, blessedly wakes her from the nightmarish haze. The half-moon tilted low in the sky is serene.

She gives a silent thanks to Yue before she looks back at her husbands, who lean together on the bed, obviously trying to seem calm despite the visible tension in their joined hands. It makes Katara smile weakly and gesture for them to follow her. They pad to the kitchen together on three sets of tiptoeing feet, extra careful as they pass Bumi and Kya’s room.

Zuko puts on a pot of tea without being asked, and Katara pulls herself up on the counter beside him with a strained noise that immediately reminds her she’s too old for it. Aang suppresses a laugh and approaches, after she nods, to massage her lower back.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to push you guys away.”

Zuko scoffs, though not meanly, giving Katara a skeptical eye. “Why are you sorry? We’re the ones who didn’t do anything to help.”

Katara kicks his thigh, though not hard. “Don’t say that. It helped that you were both there with me. If I was alone, or even if it was just me and Aang, I would’ve been so anxious.”

Aang bows his head against her chest, his sigh brushing against fabric. “Still, it’s—it’s hard, not being able to make things better. I guess that’s what your dream was like, too?”

“Yeah,” Katara says, but before she can start dwelling on it again, Zuko ushers her and Aang away from the counter so he can finish preparing the tea.

He brings it to them at the table with a generous helping of milk stirred in, and it’s exactly the right thing to soothe the lingering unease in her stomach. Aang sits across from her, leaving Zuko the spot next to her. Katara leans her head on his shoulder after she downs her cup, willing away the flashes of lightning on the backs of her eyelids.

“You think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” Zuko asks. His foot is tangled with hers and Aang’s under the table.

“I think so.” Katara offers him a smile and a peck on the cheek. “The tea helped, Mr. Jasmine Dragon Jr.”

“Speaking of, when are you heading off to see Uncle?” Aang asks.

Zuko has abandoned his own cup in favor of playing with Katara’s hair, gathering it into haphazard braids that she subtly shakes out as soon as he looks away. “I’ll stay here another few days, at least.”

“Good,” she says. “We’ll have each other if anyone has another anniversary nightmare.”

Leaving their dishes at their places, they find their way back to bed. Katara claims the middle this time. She’s on her side, facing the moon and Zuko, with Aang’s sturdy chest against her back. Touch is welcome now. Aang spends a long time tracing patterns on her back, continuing his earlier massage as he goes, until he starts to drift off.

“Let us know if you need anything,” he says, stifling a yawn and kissing her cheek.

“Mm. There is one thing, actually,” Katara murmurs. “Your head wasn’t shaved before you were banished, was it, Zuko?”

Zuko’s brow furrows, but he shakes his head. “No. I mean, it was after the agni kai, but before I left.”

“And Aang didn’t get his tattoos until he was twelve.”

Aang confirms this with a sleepy mumble addressed to the back of her head. Zuko is kneading her leg, her hip, her side, working the last tension out of her muscles.

“Why do you ask?”

“That’s how I know it wasn’t real,” Katara says, blinking slowly at him. “That’s how I’ll remember, if it happens again.”

Consciously or not, Aang curls his arm more protectively around her stomach. Zuko lets her pillow her cheek in his palm and eases closer to kiss her. She drapes her leg over his to keep him there, his warm breath mingling with hers and his other hand resting over her back. Once he’s joined Aang in slumber, her eyes finally fall shut. Their hands are soft, tangible, and the sharpest burning details of the nightmare start to fade to cinders at the edges of her mind.

[zutaraangtastic]

Prompt: someone has an article of clothing (shirt, jacket, cape, etc.) that they can never find because their partners like borrowing it and they can never tell who’ll have it at any given time

it’s someone birthday (idc who) and their partners all pooled together money to get a one really big present!

I’ve combined these two prompts in this ficlet! - Mod G

“Just keep it,” Zuko had muttered the last time, batting away Katara’s profuse (though not very guilty) apologies. If there was anything - anything - better than the feel of his favourite robe, it was the sight of Katara snuggled up in it. Never mind that he had barely gotten the chance to wear it in… what, years? It was a silky, red garment, weightless yet warm, that brought you almost magically to the perfect temperature on a summer evening. 

If it wasn’t Katara, it was Aang - and if it wasn’t Aang, it was Katara; such that whenever the robe was missing, which was whenever they were here, Zuko could never be sure where to go for it (except back to the wardrobe, for a lesser option.) He was lucky if one of them didn’t smuggle it with them when they parted ways. Zuko would just have ordered a replacement if it weren’t for the fact that it was made from some rare, special, local Earth Kingdom silk whose production had long been stamped out by colonial industries in the region. In fact, he’d tried to once, which was when the Royal Seamstress had revealed all this to him.

There was even that time when Zuko had made it to Republic City after months, looking forward to fetching it from Katara, and curling up with it after the evening’s journey, only to find -

“Uh, actually, I think Aang took it when he flew to Chameleon Bay the other day…” 

She had tittered all the way through the sentence. Aang wasn’t scheduled to return until after Zuko left. Part of him thought this was a purposeful ploy on their part, though Aang’s insistence once that they “just liked having a part of Zuko with them” did more than he’d like to admit to quell his grudge. 

Zuko was hoping that tonight, on his birthday - a rare day among occasions they could all be together - they would let him wear his own robe. His hopes were duly dashed when he came into his quarters after dinner to find the wardrobe door flung open and, over on the veranda, Aang and Katara engaged in a verbal tug-of-war between the red robe slung over the chair.

When they noticed him, they immediately brightened and approached him, though not before Aang surreptitiously snatched the robe and flung it over his own shoulder. 

“Zuko, you’re here!”

“It’s time for your present!”

Aang stood and coughed importantly while Katara produced an unadorned box from the shadows.

“Open it,” she grinned, clasping Aang’s hand.

Inside was a robe - identical to his red one. For a moment Zuko was puzzled, until he saw the note: For His Highness The Fire Lord, With highest compliments from the Xihai silk atelier.

“How did you -? ”

“Oh, we did some research,” Katara said enigmatically.

“We paid a very special diplomatic visit to the only people still harvesting Xihai silk,” Aang beamed. 

“But how much did this cost?”

“You’re underestimating my bartering skills,” Katara pouted. 

“Avatar privileges,” Aang shrugged and winked. “They were happy to knock down the price if Katara and I stayed a couple days and spent some time with the community.” 

Katara clasped her hands. “It was perfect, really. They do beautiful work. And it’s peaceful down there these days! Appa enjoyed our little break.” 

“And most importantly, Your Hotness,” Aang declared, “you can stop harassing us for our robe.”

Zuko rolled his eyes as he pulled the new one on.

[zutaraangtastic]

Zutaraang Drabble Challenge Roundup!

We originally started this event to celebrate our 150 follower milestone, and now we’ve reached 200 more than that! Thank you all so much for sharing our love for this ship and sending in amazing prompts.

All the drabbles/ficlets we’ve written can be found in the tag on this blog and are also available on AO3; for your convenience, they are organized here by author, collection, and prompt.

Mod K (@kuchee​): Perfect Weather (chapters 6-7)

prompt: capture the avatar roleplay | Aang is compelled to watch his captors | blog | AO3

prompt: accidentally married in a local ritual | Katara, Aang and Zuko make a stop on a lively island of plantbenders | blog | AO3

Mod J (@jaystrifes): the law of three (chapters 1-6) & In Reverie (oneshot)

prompt: inappropriate use of bending | Katara and Aang tag along with Zuko to a Fire Nation gala | blog | AO3

prompt: Iroh’s relationship advice & prompt: Katara's jealousy | Katara works through her feelings at the Jasmine Dragon | blog | AO3

prompt: cat adoption | A ferret-cat in distress interrupts Zuko’s lunch with Aang, Katara and their children | blog | AO3

prompt: temperature play & prompt: dominant Katara & prompt: bloodbending | Katara shows off a new trick while sparring with Zuko and Aang | blog | AO3

prompt: dream-sharing | Aang and Zuko share a dance in a dream that feels too good to be true | blog | AO3

prompt: nightmares and comfort | Katara watches Zuko and Aang meet the same fate as her mother and wakes up in tears | blog | AO3

prompt: drunk Katara fluff & prompt: little spoon Zuko | Aang, Katara and Zuko share a bed for the first time in Daoshu | blog | AO3

Mod M (@comradegreenbucket​): see the same stars (chapter 1-2, & 4)

prompt: babysitting | Aang and Katara discover Zuko’s awkwardness with babies | blog | AO3

prompt: Zuko and Katara, after Aang | Katara buys three egg custard tarts | blog | AO3

prompt: teaching each other dances | Katara and Aang obliviously cha cha slide their way into Zuko’s heart | blog | AO3

Mod G (@guileheroine​): An Equation Heaven Sent (chapters 4-5)

prompt: favorite childhood music | Zuko and Aang encounter a lost melody at a Culture Day festival | blog | AO3

prompt: borrowed clothes & prompt: birthday gift | Zuko reluctantly gives up his favorite robe to his favorite people | blog | AO3

Back when we started this, we also planned to expand the drabble challenge for everyone else to participate. It took longer than anticipated to get through all our own drabbles first, but keep an eye out for a prompt masterlist coming soon!

In the meantime, there are some other awesome events in progress you can check out, like our zutaraang holiday gift exchange and the zutaraang zine!

[zutaraangtastic]

imagine your polyship adopting a cat together and everyone fawns over the cat like they’re everyone’s child (bonus if the cat is Zuko's and named Your Honor.)

Coming back to these prompts after a little break (reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1). Accidentally gave this cat fic a little plot, hope you enjoy! - Mod J

While waiting for the rest of his family and a picnic lunch to arrive in the garden, Zuko notices Izumi crouched in the dirt. Normally, she’d be sitting on the bench, reading in the shade—unlike Kya, who’s laughing wildly and kicking around in the fountain, thriving in the hot Fire Nation sun.

Zuko humors her, lets her splash him and treats her to some slow and easy firebending counter-moves that make her wobbly water whips sizzle into steam. It was refreshing and cooled him off at first, but it has gotten a little tedious to keep drying his robes every five minutes. He’s not dressed for play, just stealing an hour away from the day’s endless succession of formal meetings to spend some time with his lovers and their visiting children.

(His children, in some way—they’ll have to get all that out in the air sooner rather than later, before the oldest two figure it out on their own. His daughter is too smart for her own good, and Bumi is more observant than Katara or Aang realize.)

Izumi still hasn’t moved, so Zuko tells Kya to keep practicing, maintaining a watchful eye on her as he goes to find out what has Izumi’s attention.

He hears it before he sees it: a small, rumbling growl coming from a dark gap beneath the wooden walkway and the ground. Izumi stretches out a tentative hand, but on instinct Zuko pulls her back just as a set of teeth snap near her fingertips. She yelps in surprise, and his heart jumps into his throat with panic that she might be hurt. Her hands are shaky, but otherwise unscathed. Zuko breathes a sigh of relief.

Kya arrives at the site of the commotion, wielding a tenuous rope of water. She lashes it towards the gap and misses, splattering the walkway instead. Izumi jumps to her feet and wards Kya off before she can try again.

“No, don’t hurt it! Avatar Aang says to respect all life!”

“I know that, he’s my dad!”

Zuko spots Katara making her way across the garden to them, a welcome sight amid the chaos. While she sorts out the girls’ argument, he lowers his face close to the ground so he can peer into the hole, holding a small flame for light. A ferret-cat is coiled at the deepest end, its feline eyes gleaming at him before it turns its head away and resumes digging, presumably trying to tunnel its way out. It’s hard to tell, but it looks injured, half of its ear torn, its fur dark and wet in places.

It must have wandered into the garden after a fight. There haven’t been any ferret-cat families here in a long time—after how Azula terrorized them, Zuko wasn’t surprised when they disappeared. It’s hard to believe that that childhood, good and bad, is almost 30 years gone.

He’s spent much of his time as Fire Lord working to restore relationships between the nations. Restoring one with the local fauna shouldn’t be too great a task.

After she finishes explaining the animal crisis to Kya and Katara, Izumi turns to Zuko with imploring eyes. “Can we help it?”

Zuko smiles and squeezes her hands gently in his. “Of course,” he says, and looks to Katara. “Do you know where Aang is? Earthbending might be most useful here.”

Katara nods. “I was thinking the same thing. He just put Tenzin down for a nap, so he should be on his way.”

Just as she says it, Bumi appears around the corner. He sprints down the colonnade parallel to the garden, with his father chasing behind by air scooter. Judging by his casual poise, Aang isn’t really trying to win their race, unlike Bumi, who arrives sweaty and panting. He nearly trips over Kya, earning him a sharp look from Katara, which goes ignored as he turns and waits with his arms crossed. Aang leans forward to speed up in the last stretch only when he realizes he’s being watched.

Dissipating the air and landing lightly on his feet, he ruffles Bumi’s hair and says, “Looks like you’re just too fast for your old man!”

“Dad.” Bumi pulls a face and ducks out of Aang’s grasp. “I told you not to let me win!”

“If you didn’t think you were too old for air scooter rides now, both of us could’ve won.” Aang grins, arms akimbo, and flashes a quick wink at Zuko. “Problem-solving is my middle name, just ask your Uncle Fire Lord. At least he listens to me, most of the time.”

“We’ve got one for you, O Wise One,” Katara says, at the same time as Izumi glues herself to Aang’s pants leg and tugs him to see the ferret-cat, explaining how she found it.

Zuko moves out of the way, gesturing for Bumi to wait his turn. The boy still sulks, but less so when Zuko gets him to talk about his practice training with the palace guards. Getting all fired up about it again, he reenacts some of the kicks and stances he’s learned, and puffs his chest out when Zuko nods approvingly. He barely seems to notice Katara tailing him, attempting to smooth down his hair. Zuko catches her twinkling eyes over Bumi’s head. He fights a smile and tries to stay interested in Bumi’s rambling and cartwheeling.

It’s Kya who sends up the cry when the kitchen servants arrive with lunch. Aang waves for them to start without him, nudging Izumi to go join the others. Katara and Zuko shepherd the kids to their chosen picnic spot under the shade of a maple tree, while Aang sets about fashioning an earthen cage.

Bumi and Kya chow down eagerly, while Izumi only picks at her rice. She nods when Katara encourages her to eat, but she’s distracted, watching Aang. He sits in lotus on the walkway, waiting patiently.

“I thought he was going to earthbend it out,” she says, frowning.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to scare it,” Zuko suggests. “Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing. If you really want to help, here.” He takes the top off a bowl of steamed meat buns and hands it to Izumi. “Food might coax it out. But you have to eat some of these too, okay? Don’t give them all to the ferret-cat.”

Izumi jumps to her feet, smiling brightly. Then she pauses and looks from the bowl to Zuko. “But Avatar Aang is vegetarian. Will I hurt his feelings?”

Katara exchanges a nearly saccharine look with Zuko, her eyes reflecting the melting of his own heart. “It’s okay, honey,” she says, patting Izumi’s hand. “He won’t mind. Uncle Sokka has practically made him immune to the smell of meat, I promise. And, you can tell him we’ve got vegetable buns for him once he rescues the ferret-cat.”

Izumi nods resolutely and hurries back down the little hill. She lays down a trail of buns leading into the makeshift cage, before sitting next to Aang, painstakingly copying his position. Zuko watches, almost overwhelmed with warmth, as Aang assuages Izumi’s hesitation, gesturing to the food for her to eat. 

Across the picnic blanket from him, Katara wipes Kya’s mouth clean and chides Bumi when he burps, before she releases them, warning that they’ll scare the ferret-cat if they play too loudly. They end up in the fountain where Kya was before, within sight but a safe distance away.

Katara scoots closer to Zuko, laying a hand over his, and he leans on the other as he twines their fingers together, low enough to stay hidden.

“Izumi’s really growing up, isn’t she?” she remarks.

Zuko groans. “Don’t say that, she’s only eight. I want her to stay this way forever.”

Katara laughs lightly. “You’ve done well with her,” she says, and she sounds almost wistful. 

He wonders if she daydreams as often as he does about a life where they could raise Izumi and the rest together full-time, where they could spend the whole day like this with Aang and their children. 

But judging by the sun, edging past its midday zenith, it’s almost time for him to get to his first afternoon meeting. He’s just starting to think he won’t get to see the ferret-cat rescue for himself when a furry white-and-brown head pokes out of the hole. Izumi gasps, and Aang grins at her with a finger to his lips. While the animal busies itself with digging for the meat, he slowly raises the layer of earth it’s on and slides it towards the cage. Zuko and Katara stand to get a better view, and Katara beckons for Bumi and Kya.

The ferret-cat seems to notice the trap at the last second, but Aang earthbends the door into place before it can do anything. Everyone ventures closer once it’s clear that the cage is secure. Katara kneels, drawing water from her satchel and bending it between the gaps in the sides of the box to surround the ferret-cat in a healing blue glow. Izumi speaks soothingly to it while it hisses and squirms.

Smiling, Zuko bends to kiss the top of her head. Then he catches Aang by the shoulder, squeezing gently and resisting the urge to drop a kiss there, too. Aang’s eyes are shining as he looks fondly from the children to Zuko. It’s easy to read the gentle pride in his posture—Zuko knows that for all the world-saving and spirit-negotiating and political crisis-averting Aang’s done, he takes the most satisfaction in the small, everyday kindnesses. He’s always had this soft spot for animals especially.

“I have to go,” Zuko says, “but you know where the physicians’ wing is. I’m sure someone there has some veterinary experience.”

Aang clasps Zuko’s forearm, hand slipping up his sleeve and thumb caressing the way back down to his wrist. “You’ll find us later?”

“Of course.” Zuko reluctantly disentangles his hand and looks over his shoulder to add, “Izumi, be good and listen to Uncle Aang and Aunt Katara, alright?”

He leaves the kids discussing names for their new pet, with Katara jokingly suggesting something to do with honor and Aang interjecting that they might need to wait a while before the ferret-cat is ready to be domesticated. Kya and Izumi get into another argument over it, while Bumi unwisely sticks his fingers in through the gaps.

Zuko pauses one last time at the edge of the garden to look at his family, and knows he’ll spend this meeting daydreaming.

[zutaraangtastic]

for the prompt thing how about Ihro giving relationship advice to any of the three, could be preot3relatinship or etablished, i just though it was a cute idea.

Hi this is for the drabble challenge thing, could you write something about katara getting a little jealous of zuko and aang? Could be pre-poly or not I guess! Btw you are awesome

Didn’t originally intend to double up on these two prompts, but they fit well together. Enjoy! - Mod J

They’re washing dishes after the Jasmine Dragon’s doors close for the day, Katara bending water into two basins and Zuko’s uncle burning a block of wood for scrub ash. 

In the South they use soap fats and fishbone scrapers, but it’s interesting to watch a firebender’s method. Iroh heats up the water in the first basin and stirs the ash in it, then takes up a rough cloth and the nearest teacups, dipping them both in the grayish water. He doesn’t let Katara do much of the work for him, despite her insistence that she wants to help.

The scraping – scrubbing – is always the most calming part to her, something she used to throw herself into when Sokka got on her nerves, subjecting her hands to aggressive, numbing repetition that allowed her to think. With enough force, the water usually scraped everything away for her once she learned to control her bending. Still, there was something satisfying about the manual labor, the raw knuckles and wrinkled fingertips.

Unlike her, Iroh doesn’t clean the dishes with any urgency, taking time and care with each cup and spoon. He hands them to her, and she plunks them into the second basin for a final rinse before she lines them up to dry.

It isn’t uncomfortable, being alone with him, but it’s also unusual – normally, her visits with him are visits with Zuko. This one is too, technically, except that Zuko and Aang are still off at Ba Sing Se’s Culture Day festival. She and Aang had run their own stall this year, with Southern cuisine and air nomad drums, and closed a little early so he’d have time to visit the other attractions. Their notoriety had drawn crowds all day, and Katara excused herself to go back to the tea shop instead when they were done. 

Besides, Aang has Zuko to keep him company, anyways. It had been fun to spend the day with them both, but it was like there was something tense underneath it all.

Katara breaks the easy quiet with a quick, deep breath. “General Iroh?”

He laughs at that, not unkindly, but heartily, with his whole belly. “Please, it has been years since my retirement. Allow me to enjoy it. You can call me Uncle, as your friends do.”

“Uncle Iroh, then,” she corrects herself, resting her hands on the edge of the basin while she waits for the next dishes. “Can I ask you something, about Zuko?”

“Ahh. I suppose a little gossip will do no harm,” he says. “What is it that’s on your mind?”

“Do you think he likes someone?”

“Likes someone? Sure! I know he likes his friends. He may still be grumpy sometimes, but I assure you, he was much more hostile before he met all of you.”

Katara smiles, but shakes her head. “No – well, yes, I mean, I’m glad. But I guess what I’m asking is, has there been anyone special in his life? Since Mai?”

“Hmm.” Iroh turns his attention to removing a particularly difficult sugar stain from a cup as he considers her question. “I am afraid it would be a violation of his trust to speak too openly about his personal life, which is to say, if he had a personal life to speak of. He devotes much of his time to his duties, perhaps too much. If he keeps any company in private, I do not know of it.”

“I see.”

Iroh passes her the cup in the palm of his hand, his copper eyes curious. “I don’t mean to pry, but you seem troubled, Katara. Is all well with you?”

“It’s just…” She sighs. “I wish I knew how to read him. There are all these – rumors, and even what I’ve seen for myself, that make me wonder if…if Aang might be better off spending more time with him, than with me.”

She thinks of Aang’s easy laughter, and the way it made Zuko smile more freely, too, the two of them escaping the world for a day with a little less weight on their shoulders. The way Aang’s eyes softened, and the confusing pull on Katara’s own heart, when they watched Zuko hand a raspberry ice cone she made to a small child, his expression kind and indulgent as he urged the little one to try it.

It doesn’t make sense. She loves Aang. And she knows he loves her. But what if she’s holding him back from something else he wants? 

And what does Zuko want? Aang always seems jealous when Katara spends time alone with the Fire Lord, but why does she feel the same when Aang does? She doesn’t even know who’s jealous of who anymore!

Katara isn’t aware of the tears filling her vision until Iroh puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, and his face blurs when she looks at him. 

“You do know Zuko, better than you think, because the two of you are much alike. He is not a selfish man, and he would not do anything to hurt you, or Aang.” 

She rubs at her eyes with the heel of her hand, nodding. “I know, you’re right.”

After a beat of silence, Iroh reaches into a pocket of his outer robe and produces a short cord of braided yarn, unraveling it to the knot. “I have taken up a new hobby recently, and there is something I have discovered.” He begins to demonstrate, taking two of the strands and leaving one out. “If you do not want to use as much yarn, you can make something nice out by twisting together only two pieces.” He pulls the new cord taut, then relaxes it, allowing the gaps to show. Then, he starts over again. “But see, the braid is stronger when made up of all three strands. It does not waver when given slack, nor can it be pulled apart so easily.”

Katara blinks and opens her mouth, then closes it, unsure of his meaning. Is he suggesting that she, and Aang, and Zuko, could all…?

“I can braid, too,” she says, instead of voicing her question. It’s something she learned at a young age, the same as cooking, and washing these dishes, and all the other things men are seldom asked to do. Especially not royalty. Iroh’s humility is refreshing – and not for the first time, she recalls how much Zuko takes after him.

“Oh, do you think you could do my hair sometime? I have tried, but it is a little hard to reach in the back.” Iroh laughs, putting the cord away and taking up the first basin to go drain it in his garden beside the shop. “I am just kidding, of course!” he calls behind him. “I would not ask you to make my head look pretty, because by now, I am pretty sure it is already a lost cause.”

Smiling, she finishes drying the last cups and spoons, and when Iroh returns for the second basin, she says, “Thank you, for your advice.”

“I don’t remember giving much advice – just an old man’s rambling, if my nephew asks,” he says with a genial wink. “But, perhaps I can add this: the best way to know another’s feelings is by asking them.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

While he’s in the garden, Zuko and Aang return, the two of them aglow with the setting sun behind them through the doorway. Aang’s arm is around Zuko’s shoulders, and Katara thinks that beneath the nervous doubt in her stomach, there’s warmth. 

Zuko catches her eye and immediately draws nearer to tell her all about the last stalls they visited before the festival’s closing, and Aang gives her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. For one brief moment, the three of them standing here together, wreathed in the aroma of Iroh’s teas, feels like something perfectly woven.

[zutaraangtastic]

I have a prompt idea! This idea fits into more of an Aged up Zukataang headcanon. Drunk!Katara preferably interacting with both Zuko and Aang. On the Fluffy side. I think it would be amusing and cute.

hi! if you're still doing prompts, may I offer "little spoon zuko" ?

Combined these two prompts, accidentally went overboard and wrote more like a whole fic than a drabble! (Can be read without context, but for the best experience, read as a missing scene from ch. 10 of Heartlines by kuchi/Mod K.) - Mod J

There’s always been casual touch between them and Zuko: Katara’s instinctive hand holding, borne of navigating her village with her family during fierce white-out blizzards; Aang’s penchant for hugging him like a panda on a tree, which became all the more comically ridiculous when he outgrew Zuko. 

But it had taken Zuko time to adjust to those habits, even when they meant only friendship. Katara knows to expect some hesitation, now that they’re adding another layer of love to their actions. They’ve agreed to take this slow, ease into the newness of being able to show their full affection.

It’s a good thing, too, because he seems almost overwhelmed just by this, sitting with them in the near-dark as they take turns playing with his hair, leaning into his shoulder, kissing him. 

When Katara breaks their latest, lingering kiss and looks up at Zuko, his pupils are wide, shaken, though she’s already lost track of how many times she’s done this. How many times Aang has. They’ve been in too good a mood for any lingering nerves to interfere. With Zuko’s enthusiastic—if stumbling—assent, it’s hard not to kiss him, and hard not to do more.

Talk has dwindled, but they’ve been here for hours and said all they possibly could. About their feelings, about their future, about everything. It’s a relief to finally let loose after the whirlwind the past few months have been.

The sweet palm wine helps, leaving Katara pleasantly fuzzy-headed. She’s come to suspect Aang doesn’t mind the secondhand taste of it on her tongue, or Zuko’s, nearly as much as he pretends. And she doesn’t mind watching them, feeling the bloom of nervous warmth in her gut, almost like the old eagerness of first-time teenage exploration with Aang.

The lantern’s firelight blurs a fraction when she tilts her head, gaining sharpness only in the twin reflections between Zuko’s and Aang’s eyes, which flicker open as Aang pulls back to let Zuko catch his breath. Katara notices the subtle tell of Zuko about to flip the script, the stubborn squint a moment before he takes the back of Aang’s neck and yanks him in, harder this time. Aang makes a muffled, surprised sound. The warmth in Katara’s stomach drops into a tense thrill, like when Appa plummets suddenly during flight.

Aang is the one left breathless this time, and it’s more than a little impressive, considering he’s an airbender. After a moment, the fierceness in Zuko’s posture eases, and the delightful tension fades. His voice is raspy when he murmurs, glancing to Katara, “Stay. It’s gotten late.”

It wasn’t initially part of their plan, but Katara nods, smiling over the rim of her glass. She’s game if they are, trusts that they can all handle themselves—it’s wonderful that Zuko thinks so too. They’ve shared beds as pairs before, though that was without this passion simmering so openly between them.

“Is that your way of saying you’re ready to take us to bed?” Aang asks, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. Katara might have to think twice about it, in that case, because he’s the only one who hasn’t been drinking, and poor Zuko’s gone strawberry-red.

“Not like that, I’m not – I mean, no pressure, only if you want—”

Nothing will come of it yet, rationally speaking; Aang’s a flirt, but when she thinks back on it, he said things like that to Zuko even before confessing his undying love for him, so Zuko must know better than to take him seriously.

Then again, nothing feels serious right now, everything perfectly light and crystalline and dreamy, all the weight of secrecy lifted from her heart. She can’t help but laugh. It infects Zuko, too, his embarrassed glower slipping and lips twitching into a smile as he shakes his head at Katara.

“So much for waiting for our honeymoon at the palace,” she says, leaning across him to poke Aang accusingly in the chest.

“Okay, okay,” Aang says, glancing at Katara as he nuzzles into the crook of Zuko’s neck with playful smugness. In return, Katara sticks her tongue out at him as she wraps herself around Zuko’s arm. “Maybe His Royal Hotness just doesn’t want to admit he’s getting sleepy.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but he makes no move to escape them. “I changed my mind. I’m kicking you both out.”

“Too late!” With a huff of air, Aang sends himself flying backwards and lands sprawled on the nearby mattress, making himself at home.

Katara’s laughter keeps bubbling up like a running stream, trickling off only when she curves her arm around Zuko’s head and pulls him into another kiss of her own. When she stands, she’s only a little unsteady on her feet, and takes hold of both of Zuko’s hands to pull him with her. He goes to snuff out the lantern, while Katara sits on the edge of the bed and starts to let down her hair for the night. 

Aang helps without being asked, taking extra care to disentangle the ties painlessly. Katara closes her eyes with a pleased hum, enjoying his familiar hands massaging her scalp.

Yawning, she cracks her eyes open again to find Zuko still crouched by the lantern, watching her and Aang with something inscrutable in his expression, something both fragile and ardent. The low-burning light casts half his face in a mellow orange glow, until he shakes himself from his reverie and puts out the candle’s flame.

“Come on, I promise I won’t let my husband jump you,” she says, patting the space beside her.

“Hey, I’m not planning to do anything indecent!” Aang protests. Katara glances over her shoulder to find him pouting and giving Zuko his best innocent Appa eyes. “I am staying in the middle, though. Unless you want to?”

Zuko shakes his head, drifting closer but still hesitating. “No, it’s just – three’s a crowd, right? I can take the sofa, and you two can have the bed, if it’s easier.”

There’s a point to that—this bed is probably meant to comfortably accommodate two at most, and Aang might as well be a person and a half, all lanky arms and legs everywhere, but Katara’s not about to let that stop them. “Zuko,” she says, with the specific kind of misplaced authority she gets only around the time that tiredness overtakes tipsiness for her. “After everything we’ve said, you really think we’d even think of stealing your bed without you?”

Zuko opens his mouth, closes it again, and eventually says, smiling, “That barely makes sense.”

“C’mere,” Aang says, and finally, Zuko does. 

He’s still awkward when he sits next to Katara, still stiff and uncertain when Aang wraps his arms around them both. She doesn’t know whether to call it silly or sad, that Zuko has such trouble letting his guard down, letting himself accept their love, even after admitting he’s wanted this for a long time. That he never thought he would have it. Maybe that he never thought he deserved it?

She’s reached the point where she wants to cry a little bit, but she doesn’t, just presses her forehead together against his and Aang’s and lingers in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Everything she wants is right here in this room.

Eventually, Aang reaches for Zuko’s casual evening robes, with a gentle “Can I?” As he helps Zuko out of his clothes, Katara unwinds the ribbon securing Zuko’s topknot and adds it to the pile of her hair bands on the bedside table. She smooths out his hair before shrugging out of her own outer layers, down to sarashi. Normally, she likes the freedom of sleeping without the wrappings, but she figures they’re trying to maintain some propriety for Zuko’s sake, both he and Aang keeping their loose pants on.

Katara runs her hands lightly over Zuko’s bare shoulders, presses a kiss to his collarbone and then his cheek. “I’m glad we’re here with you,” she says sincerely, raising her hands to cup his face. “Earlier, I thought, we could be ruining our friendship, that we’d be forcing our feelings on you. And if you ever don’t feel what we feel, we can always stop, or—”

“Katara, please,” he whispers, and it’s a genuine entreaty, his lips ghosting against the side of her thumb. “It’s not – it’s just me, I’m not…good. At any of this. But it’s not that you’re forcing anything, I promise.”

“Hey, you are good,” Aang says, taking both of Zuko’s hands in his. “You’re amazing, in fact. You’ve changed our lives in so many ways.”

Zuko exhales a shaky breath, a hint of a self-deprecating laugh. “Not always for the better.” He pauses, looking everywhere except for them. Katara and Aang exchange a stricken look; it’s always heart-wrenching, to hear the way he mistrusts himself. “I just worry I’ll…what if I mess it up? Everything you have, it’s already perfect, and I don’t want you to have to sacrifice that for me. What if it’s not worth it, what if I’m…not?”

Wordlessly, Aang pulls him into a tighter hug. Zuko makes a slightly distressed sound, but holds on when Aang starts to let go in confusion and worry. With his nails digging into Aang’s arm, Katara can’t help but think he looks almost like a scared animal, utterly incongruous with the Fire Lord she knows, the image of confident power he projects. In a way, she’s always known it to be a projection, at least in part—that beneath the surface, there’s still the old volatility, like a riptide beneath a calm stretch in the waves. 

He’s grown so much, but there’s still something lost about him, something hunted. As if he still doesn’t think he’s earned his peace, and makes himself restless with doubt in recompense.

Katara’s throat closes up, and she blinks through the wateriness in her eyes as she twines her fingers with Zuko’s. He squeezes her hand so tightly it trembles.

“Listen,” she says with difficulty, “I’d gladly sacrifice plenty of things for you, I know we both would. But it is so much more than that, it’s – it’s hoping, and it’s knowing you better every day, and knowing Aang better through you, and seeing you both in everything I do for the rest of my life. You’re not taking anything away from us.”

“You’re giving us so much,” Aang finishes the thought for her, perfectly on the same wavelength. “We’re figuring this out together, all three of us. Maybe it won’t always be the easiest thing, but it is the most freeing. It already makes me so happy, just being able to be close to you. And if this makes you happy, too, then it’s so worth it. You’ve just gotta let yourself trust in it. Do you trust us?”

Zuko nods slowly, but unhesitatingly, and the nervous hunch of his shoulders starts to relax. He loosens his grip on Aang and Katara with an apologetic glance. Noticing her tears, he reaches up to brush them away, and when he meets Aang’s eyes, Katara can tell Zuko’s really seeing him again. He kisses Aang’s knuckles, then hers, softly. 

“We all have to leave in the morning, don’t we?” he says. “It’s probably time to sleep.”

Katara sighs and sinks back into the mattress, and Aang follows, pulling Zuko with him. “I wish we had more time,” she murmurs, resting her forehead against Aang’s back. 

“Someday we’ll have all the time in the world,” Aang says, and he sounds so assured that Katara almost finds it easy to believe the same.

“Maybe when we’re retired,” Zuko says with a small snort.

“Hey, lucky you, you get to retire! ‘Avatar’ is a lifelong job title, Mr. Fire Lord.”

Zuko musters a chuckle, and Katara props herself up with one arm beneath her head, so she can look at him over Aang’s shoulder. He’s lying on his side, facing her and Aang, bathed in the moonlight pooling in through the window.

It’s not the first time she’s noticed their matching lightning scars, the wounds she healed for each of them. These days Zuko is only shirtless during sparring matches with Aang, though, and those are always a blur of acrobatics and heat—not that she ever complains, when she gets the chance to watch. But it’s rare to observe them both so still together. Katara can trace around the familiar, messy red sprawl midway down Aang’s spine that interrupts the line of his tattoo, and almost be able to reach out and touch Zuko’s, sharper and neater on the edges, maybe from his partial redirection back then.

She resists the urge, not wanting to dwell more on the turmoil of the past when they’ve worked so hard to focus tonight on the shining bright future ahead of them. For now, she can content herself with knowing that they’re both safe, here with her.

Aang’s breathing is deepening into near-sleep, one hand extended and tangled with Zuko’s. Katara stretches her arm to join the hand pile, though Aang’s is inconveniently longer and in the way. Zuko scoots closer to accommodate, offering up his other hand to her. His long lashes sweep in a slow blink, but he’s still awake. For the first time, she notices those are mismatched in the same way as his eyebrow, never regrown on the burned side.

“You know, you have to actually close your eyes to sleep,” she says softly.

Zuko gives her a faint smile. “Yeah. I just don’t want to open them again, and find out I’ve been dreaming.”

“Aww, you’d—” Aang interrupts himself with a wide yawn “—you’d dream about us?”

“Hah, you have no idea.”

Aang laughs, and Katara raises an eyebrow with interest. But again, they’ll have to leave that for another time.

“It might help if you get comfortable,” she says, before Aang can tease Zuko further. “Turn over.” After a moment, Zuko complies, but just stays there, facing away. “Not like – I meant, turn over, and come closer, too.”

“Like spoons,” Aang adds helpfully, as Zuko shuffles into cuddling range, his back close to Aang’s chest.

Katara curls her arm across them both. “There. Now, relax. We’ve got you.”

It takes several minutes of hesitant shuffling, tiny adjustments, tensed muscles beneath her palm. While Aang’s hand rests automatically around Zuko’s middle, Katara moves hers up, reaching for his hair to thread her fingers through it, trying to soothe him. Surprisingly, it seems to help. Zuko leans his head into her touch, eases back against Aang, and breathes out a sigh that sounds…relieved.

“Love you,” Aang mumbles, almost asleep for real now. Katara knows he doesn’t intend it just for her, but she kisses his forehead, making him hum pleasantly and tangle one ankle with hers as he secures his gentle hold on Zuko.

As she’s drifting off, she hears Zuko murmur, “I –” and hesitate, his quiet swallow audible in the stillness of the night. “I’ll be better at this next time,” he says eventually. “I promise.”

Katara lays her hand over his heart. It’s still beating too fast for him to be totally at rest, but slowing, little by little. “I love you too, Zuko.”

[zutaraangtastic]

If I'm not to late to join in on this inappropriate use of bending may I suggest temperature play? A tied up avatar between the mercy of katara running ice up and down his body and then zuko playing with fire a little. Heating his hands up slightly Letting small flames ghost over his skin not ever touching but close.

(#2) Prompt: more dominant katara pls she honestly my favorite

(#3) Prompt if you're still taking them: More bloodbending please!

3-in-1 this time, hopefully our wonderful prompt-givers don’t mind! (Reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1.) - Mod J

The evening air off of Yue Bay is cool, brushing refreshingly over Zuko as he sits on the temple steps and watches Katara and Aang circle each other in the courtyard.

When the caress of the breeze gets a little too friendly, billowing through his loose pants and lingering between his thighs, he knows it’s not nature’s doing. He catches Aang smirking in his direction and shakes his head. 

Katara takes advantage of the distraction to knock Aang into the fountain with a blast of water. Serves him right, Zuko thinks—he’s just had his own duel with Aang, still sweaty and winded from it, but he certainly wouldn’t be playing around if he was the one who won and had to go up against Katara.

Aang launches out of the pool on a jet of his own, stray droplets shimmering off of his graceful trajectory. He turns them into an icy rain to pelt down on Katara’s back before he lands behind her, making Zuko wince sympathetically for her mostly-bare skin. She cries out sharply and grabs at her shoulders. Zuko starts to stand, and Aang freezes before hurrying to her with hands raised in a worried, surrendering gesture.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?”

From his angle, Zuko can just barely see her smile, and some of the tension drains from him. He starts to ease back into his seat, but stops in his tracks at the sight before him. Aang is raising his arms high above his head, standing ramrod straight. His shoulders quiver with resistance as they go backwards, and his arms lower to fold together behind his back. When he sinks to his knees, giving Zuko a clear view over his head, Katara is facing Aang, her hands tilted in a familiar position.

“Uh,” Aang says, though it doesn’t exactly sound like a complaint. He tips his head forward—or Katara tips it for him, with a flex of her fingers—to rest against her thigh, blue arrow to brown skin below the simple cloth wrap at her hips. “Wait a minute. You fought dirty!”

Katara laughs, crystalline and guileful. “You never made me promise not to. All you said was you’d stick to waterbending for me.”

By now Zuko is no stranger to her bloodbending or its many titillating uses, but something feels off. The courtyard is dark, illuminated only by the lanterns lining its edges. When he sparred with Aang earlier, it seemed so much brighter, their multicolored fire swirling all around. Without it, he realizes it’s a night with no moon.

Her eyes, blue as dark as the ocean’s crushing depths, find him. He draws towards her and doesn’t know whether it’s of his own will or hers.

He hasn’t been so surprised by her ability since he first saw her demonstrate it, when they hunted down her mother’s killer—and she’s told him about it since then, what it requires of her, how it feels to use for combat, healing, pleasure. But this is a whole new level.

“Zuko,” Aang says, struggling to glance up at him, “has she been practicing on you without telling me?”

Before Zuko can respond, Katara interrupts, “I honed this all on my own, thank you very much.”

“For people who can’t wait until a full moon for treatment,” Zuko realizes. He’s piecing things together, though his brow remains furrowed. “But how…?”

“Well, it’s the same as you being able to firebend at night, even if you’re stronger during the day. Except during the eclipse, you could always feel it, right? Just because I can’t see the moon, doesn’t mean it’s not there.” She looks pleased with herself, and probably at Zuko’s half-open mouth. “Maybe Sokka helped a little,” she adds in admission. “Or at least, helped me put words to what I was trying to do. He’s been studying more astronomy from—”

“This is all very interesting, but do you think we could save the details for pillow talk?” Aang asks from below, shifting minutely and restlessly on his knees.

“Why, is someone getting desperate?” Katara croons, turning her keen gaze on him. 

She curls her fingertips and turns her wrist at a different angle, and Aang’s spine straightens again, his legs pushing him up to stand unsteadily. With a gesture of her palm, she backs him up against Zuko’s chest. 

There’s the telltale tingle of her control in Zuko’s veins, too, starting with his arm, and he doesn’t resist it. He notices the sweat beading on Katara’s forehead.

The feeling washes out like the tide, in the middle of raising his hand to wrap across Aang’s neck and shoulder. 

Katara’s mouth tightens with concentration, but Zuko’s arm falls limp. Puzzled, he looks at it, then back at her, flexing his hand to test the sensation and finding unexpected freedom. Normally she can bloodbend him and Aang at the same time with little issue, after years of full moons spent together in their bedrooms—but maybe that’s the problem, that this new form of hers isn’t as strong yet.

Aang seems to pick up on that too, and Zuko can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Having trouble?”

In one fluid motion, Katara spins Aang so he faces Zuko and wraps his wrists in a tight coil of water behind his back. “I still have other ways to keep you how I want you, sweetie,” she says. “Zuko, be a dear and show him a little fire.”

For just a moment, Zuko has the urge to challenge her, the spark of competition that always flickers between them flaring up. But Aang looks perfect like this, restrained and eager and a little on-edge. Over Aang’s shoulder, Katara stares expectantly at the flames that have crackled to life on Zuko’s fingertips, sharing a conspiratorial smile with him. That’s all he needs to decide he wants to play along.

While he trails one hot hand up to Aang’s sternum, making him squirm, Katara raises another bubble of water. She shapes it, freezes it in the form of a dagger that she presses between Aang’s shoulders, making him arch his chest. He gasps at the lick of heat to skin, the bracing cold flat of the icy blade down his spine, caught with no escape.

Zuko fans the fire out to dance tantalizingly across Aang’s collarbones, but almost loses control of it when his body jerks forwards, a different sort of warmth blooming suddenly in the pit of his stomach. He extinguishes it all together, for fear of hurting Aang, until Katara says, low and dangerous, “You’d better not stop.”

The throb in his blood is there again, Katara swaying him to press up close to Aang’s front, wobbly legs between legs. Aang exhales a breathy laugh, which turns into a gulp and a shiver with the ice skimming up his throat. Zuko’s eyes linger on Katara for a moment. The focus is clear in the crease of her brow, even as she digs her teeth into Aang’s shoulder. 

He knows he can trust her to keep them all safe, power play aside. His hand lights up again, gently curling hot and orange at Aang’s side, but it slides in the opposite direction than he intends.

Maybe it was his own folly, to think that he was ever actually out of her control.

[zutaraangtastic]

Idk if it’s too late to submit a prompt but I would love to see more inappropriate uses of bending please !

More inappropriate uses of bending coming right up! Also, this is the only prompt we’ve gotten so far, so for anyone reading this, feel free to ignore the original deadline and send some more in! See this post for suggestions/guidelines. - Mod J

The occasion is some fancy function in the Fire Nation, honoring a cousin of the royal family whose support for Zuko’s reign would carry some weight with the lesser nobles. It’s just bad luck that the evening social comes in the middle of a rare, full week that Aang and Katara have been able to take off to spend with their dear Fire Lord. Of course, they weren’t just going to stay behind and let him go without them. Two extra high-profile guests, the world’s greatest waterbending master and the Avatar, could only help Zuko’s efforts to impress.

The couple arrives fashionably late on Appa, needing a little extra time to fit the dress code – they hadn’t come here expecting to attend a gala, so they raided Zuko’s closet and combined their findings with some reasonably priced streetwear from the city.

The moment Zuko sees them, it’s hard to look away.

Katara is draped in a simple wine-red gown, with an open slit halfway up her thigh and a golden sash wrapped around her waist. Her brown shoulders are bare, though she wears two unattached wide sleeves, secured at her upper arms just beneath the rise of her biceps. Aang, too, has a lot on display, decked out in a flowing, scarlet, gold-trimmed hanfu skirt without a complete robe over the top. A yellow shawl thrown over one shoulder, tucked into the waist at the front and back, leaves half his chest exposed and allows a peek at the other side even beneath the covering.

Zuko’s always enjoyed seeing them in his colors – on Aang, they’re so fitting, only a step to the left from the usual warm tones of his air nomad garb; on Katara, they’re wonderfully surprising, contrasting with her striking blue eyes and her mother’s necklace. 

Their clothes are bold choices for a formal event, but it’s the thick of summer, and nobody could blame them for dressing lightly in the heat. Zuko feels conspicuously overdressed by comparison. Even near twilight, with a full moon rising in the sky, it’s oppressive. Besides, their fashion statements can be taken as that – statements. Soon enough, the whole Fire Nation will be trying to replicate the outfits they wear tonight.

After greeting the host, they find Zuko and a quiet spot away from the throng of people, sharing private, eager smiles all around.

“You look…amazing,” Zuko says, and mentally kicks himself for not being able to come up with something more eloquent.

Aang grins, catching his moment of regret, and says, “Really, just amazing? Katara’s breathtaking.”

Katara leans against her husband, holding his arm and smiling up at him. “I think you’re mixing your metaphors, sweetie.” She reaches out to take Zuko’s hand, lacing their fingers together. To any spectator, it might seem like only a familiar gesture of friendship, but the way their gazes meet speaks volumes. “He’s the breathtaking one, don’t you think, Zuko?”

“Well, yeah, so in that case, you’re – refreshing. Like a cold drink! Of, uh, water, or something.”

“I’ll take the ‘or something,’” Katara says, laughing. “The cat-owl’s really got your tongue tonight, Your Fieriness.”

“Or is it Your Hotness?” Aang asks with a look of faux intellectualism. “He has so many titles, I can hardly keep track. I guess that’s what you get for being the best Fire Lord who ever lived.”

He snags Katara that drink from a passing server – he doesn’t partake himself, but he knows it’s a sure way to get her to dance and have a good time. Zuko’s face is mildly red even without any alcohol, and Aang takes full advantage of the chance to fluster him further, sidling closer to bump their shoulders together. “You’re lucky Sokka’s not here to razz you about sharpening your wordbending skills.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but he’s acutely aware of the jump of his heartbeat, Aang’s strong arm around him, Katara giggling at them both over the rim of her glass. He clears his throat. “You know, that’s how you know I mean it when I say you look good,” he says. “Because it’s not just anyone who can leave me speechless.”

Katara’s expression softens fondly, and she thinks if she’d had a little more sparkling wine by now she’d try to kiss him, secrecy be damned. Instead, she squeezes his hand and says, “There’s the smooth romantic you keep deep down inside!”

“Speechless, huh?” Aang echoes, with a sneaky look on his face.

He doesn’t really think it through – it’s just an impulse, the same as the game of juggling a small fireball back and forth with a shivering Zuko at the South Pole, or passing by a fountain in Republic City with Katara and sprinkling her hair with water. Aang steals the breath from Zuko’s lungs just briefly, not long enough to hurt, but long enough to make him touch a hand to his throat before Aang allows him a normal inhale.

“How’s that for speechless?”

Zuko opens his mouth, closes it again, and there’s a stunned shine to his eyes and a distinct flush high on his cheeks that reminds Aang of a very different kind of play than he had in mind. More of the kind that happens in the bedroom, when Katara makes Zuko’s every muscle arch with bloodbending, when Aang trails a little spark of lightning across Zuko’s chest.

“Don’t – don’t you dare say anything,” Zuko warns, avoiding eye contact and tugging at the collar of his robes, suddenly too warm. “We’ll pick this up later.”

Katara and Aang exchange a look as Zuko disentangles himself from their affectionate holds and darts away to socialize with the nobles he came here to appease.

“Look at you, discovering a whole new way to embarrass him,” Katara says. “In public, no less. You’re going to cause a scandal if you’re not careful.”

Aang blinks a few times, still trying to process what happened. How has he never thought to use airbending like that before? Why did Zuko like it? He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. Zuko’s going to kill me, just for this.”

“And you’re looking forward to it, I bet. You’re the one who always wants to play ‘capture the Avatar.’ Maybe I’ll ally with Zuko this time – he’s going to need all the help he can get.” 

Katara smirks up at Aang, who blushes and looks away. Subtly, she twists one hand, and he stiffens at the strange sensation as she gently pulls at his blood. She leads him out to a clear space on the floor, bathed in a pool of moonlight, and Aang smiles, his ears tinged pink as she makes him bow and invite her to dance.

Not by coincidence, they end up in the perfect spot to catch Zuko’s attention. He’s composed himself enough to keep up an amiable conversation with his cousin’s husband, but his eyes keep straying to Aang and Katara, twirling each other back and forth with the aid of the cool night breeze and – is Katara bloodbending him? Zuko shakes his head. Breathtaking, indeed.

[zutaraangtastic]

prompts! zutaraang on babysitting duty (or maybe accidental baby acquisition I love that trope), cute and or humor, whatever floats your boat.

went for cuteish humourish. hope this floats your boat anon! - mod M

Baby Uki’s delighted screeches get louder with every air-bending-secured fling into the air. Aang isn’t sure this is exactly what Katara’s cousin had in mind when she asked them to watch Uki, but who is he to deny such a simple joy to such a cute baby?

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?” Katara asks, scepticism ruined by her helpless smile at Uki’s happiness. 

“Of course I do! Look, she’s loving it!” Aang keeps Uki in his lap this time when she comes down, though. “Tell Auntie Katara you were loving it, Uki.”

Uki shrieks her agreement, smacking Aang in the face with surprising strength as she flails. He claps the hand not supporting a super strength baby to his stinging cheek. “Oh, f- I mean, monkey socks. Ow, Uki!” 

Katara, failing badly at hiding her laughter, asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Aang feels the inside of his cheek with his tongue, and the outside with his hand. “I think she scratched me though! Ouch, those sharp little nails. Zuko, take her for a second?”

Zuko, unwilling babysitter and self-proclaimed much-better-with-older-children-er, has been sitting several feet away with his shoulders around his ears, almost on top of Uki’s sleeping basket. “Uh.”

“Come on!” Aang insists. “She’s so sweet. You’ll love her. Won’t he, Uki? He’ll love you!”

The persuasive effect is maybe a little ruined by the fact he’s still feeling over the gouges Uki’s tiny nails have left in his face. Still, Zuko shuffles to the edge of the cleared, designated playing space and allows Aang to hand Uki over.

“That’s your Uncle Zuko,” Katara explains to Uki and then, just as brightly, “And he’s holding you like you’re a mangy kitten, isn’t he? Yes he is, oh, yes he is.”

“I am not!” Zuko yelps, going red. But he’s not immune to Uki’s charms or to Katara’s shaming; he stops holding Uki stiffly away from his body with his hands, shifting to holding her stiffly against his body with his arms. 

She blinks up at him, quiet, considering the development. As the quiet stretches, the half-hopeful expression slides from Zuko’s face. “Uh, does she not…?” Like me, Aang finishes in his head, which is adorable. 

Call it Avatar powers – call it a sixth sense, since Katara makes the exact same aborted movement – but Aang realises what’s about to happen half a second before Uki turns her head, makes a small blep sound, and sicks up nearly all her milk from earlier.

It’s mostly on herself, but it’s also a lot down Zuko’s chest. 

Impossibly, Zuko goes stiffer than before as it spreads and seeps. For a moment Uki looks deeply content, but then the discomfort of wet, milky clothes and Zuko’s paralysed-with-horror grip dawn on her and she starts wailing, wriggling and kicking so hard Zuko almost drops her.

After a surprised second, Katara (failing even harder than before to hide her laughter) takes pity and bends the worst of the puke away from both of them. She whisks a still-grizzling Uki out of Zuko’s arms, getting up to walk about the room and stroke Uki’s wispy baby hair and coo, “Oh, now, don’t cry. Don’t cry, we’re going to get you all fixed up, aren’t we? Yes we are.”

Zuko, still silent, stares after Uki and Katara like it’s the worst betrayal he’s ever experienced. Which Aang wouldn’t say is the case, but he supposes it’s a subjective definition.

[zutaraangtastic]

how about a absolute classic of prompts: accidently married in a local ritual.

hope this floats your boat! - mod K 🌸

“The plum blossom symbolises hope and perseverance,” the Priestess explained, her wrinkled arms putting the garland around Zuko's neck. Zuko tried not to look quite so alarmed. “A harbinger for spring. Perfect for a graceful, strong leader such as yourself.” Now he ventured a small and familiar smile, affected and even embarrassed. 

Katara giggled, touching the garland resting on her own chest - she had picked out her own night jasmines, though for reasons she kept to herself. The locals had a different name for it when she asked, coral jasmines. That made sense, considering the abundance of shore reefs that encircled this tiny island off the eastern Earth Kingdom coastline. Since her very first meeting with swampbenders during the war, Katara was always curious to find more plantbenders. Rather unlike the Foggy Swamp tribe, this particular tribe seemed to have a culture that revelled in the beauty of plant life – enough to keep a vibrant ecosystem of flora alive, far beyond what the season, soil and saline air should have allowed. Katara suspected there was some exceptional mix of healing and plant bending going on; she’d have to ask around more. 

Though their tribal lifestyles were reliant on the marine environment just as her own tribe was on the polar ice, every aspect of their culture was new and exciting – including their elaborate welcoming rituals. She was so glad Aang had pestered them to stop by here. 

Aang sidled up to sit next to her in the sand, looking with unbridled affection toward Zuko and then catching her eye with a smirk. “They suit you!” she called, earning a glare from Zuko and a chorus of laughter from the few children skittering around the sand. Katara’s eyes were drawn to Aang’s wreath – round, fatty yellow petals diffusing to white as they spread outwards. “Champa,” he said, eyes twinkling. “These used to grow on the Southern Air Temple, too. We used them for funerals, so I wasn't sure if it would be offensive, but Hana over there told me that here, they symbolise marriage.” He cocked his head. “That's definitely nicer, though I guess I don’t really know why it’s relevant.” 

Soon, they were drawn together by the Priestess and her attendants, who pushed the three of them to sit in a loose circle. Katara looked between Zuko and Aang with amusement, and then a dawning puzzlement as the Priestess instructed them to take off the wreaths they had just put on and stack their hands.

She took a long breath of salty air. Then, gathering each garland on her arm, she deftly swiped every flower clean off their stems. One attendant held them suspended in the air with waterbending while another presented a sinewy vine to the Priestess. With stunning precision, the Priestess wound the flowers around the vine, her fingers moving fast to alternate between each. She had created, Katara realised belatedly, a gorgeous garland of three flowers. Creamy white petals of different shapes and sizes danced between each other, each dashed with a pleasing hint of colour: the blush of Zuko’s plum blossom – a lot like the blush on his face right now – the sunshine yellow of Aang’s champa, and the droopy jasmines with their central dot of the ripest orange. 

“Now,” began the Priestess. “Nothing makes the flowers bloom like a healthy union. When Avatar Aang and his cherished friends came to our little island this morning, I was delighted to welcome them. When our fellow water-daughter, Katara, spoke to me of their adventures and their unions, I was amazed. And when the Fire Lord Zuko bowed his greeting to me, presenting the seeds of his native fire lilies, I was touched.”

Katara beamed. It was nice when they all travelled together. This wasn’t the first time a local had brought it up. Something about seeing people so obviously of three different nations travelling together so casually seemed to strike the hearts of people in the remotest places they visited. It was easy for her to forget, given how entwined her own heart was with the wider world – between her homeland, the United Republic, and Zuko’s palace. Watching her shining eyes, Katara wondered what the world had been like when the Priestess last ventured out. 

The Priestess continued, “So it is with the greatest pleasure I bestow upon them the greatest gift our tribe offers – the union of three spirits as one.” And with that, she hovered her arms above them and began winding the vine around their stacked hands with wide, looping gestures that remind Katara of the waves moving in and out on the horizon behind her. 

Katara’s hand, trapped between the others, sprung up a sudden sweat. Wasn’t this oddly like—? Zuko must have noticed the same thing, because he was redder than a fire lily, eyes widening as he took in the Priestess’ words–– 

But a chorus of claps and shouts drowned Katara’s thoughts just as quickly. The Priestess  raised their joint hands triumphantly into the air, and Katara, caught in the vibrancy of the moment, went with it. The Priestess released her remarkable hold on the vines, and the flowers burst away from the vine and cascaded around them in a blur. Aang had joined in on the whooping, just as the children surrounded them, braiding a plum blossom into Katara’s hair here, a cluster of champas tucked behind Zuko’s hairpiece there. Two kids were resourcefully measuring up Aang’s head for the beginnings of a jasmine chain. 

She took their hands, took in their identical grins, and her heart swelled.  

“Now,” the Priestess said, reserving a sly wink for her. “Let's eat and then we'll get your marriage scroll printed.” 

Katara and Zuko gawked. Aang, it didn’t escape her notice, firmly avoided their eyes.

[zutaraangtastic]

Also unsure if it's too late, but if you're still doing the prompts, what about "capture the avatar rolwplay"?

 a somewhat spicy roleplay for you anon! - mod K 🤍

"I was joking," Aang says, voice high and hoarse, all the joke wrung out of it. "I wasn't being serious–" Zuko gives a sharp tug on the rope around his wrists, a silky length extricated from one of his robes. ”-Hey!” Aang glares resolutely, the column of the balcony pressing uncomfortably against his arms, his back, and bound wrists; blunt and cold and giving him no edge. 

 "This looks pretty serious to me," Zuko says, voice low in mock gravity as he draws the flat of his palm down Aang's chest to his straining trousers. Aang levels his eyes to Zuko's, feigning ease against their predatory gaze, unwilling to give them the upper hand. Zuko is touching him with more restraint than Aang could have ever imagined from him. He wishes he wouldn’t. 

Katara's voice is sticky sweet when she speaks. "You think playing innocent will get you out of this, Avatar?" The curve of her lip, stained fire lily red, twitches just shy of laughter. Aang wants to kiss it and then some. But she doesn't break character.

The two of them make a tantalising, vicious pair between them. 

So they've captured the Avatar. Now what? As if reading his mind, Katara rises from her seat on the bed and slips behind Zuko, winding her slender arms down his waist, before carefully circling his forearms and his hands and pulling them off Aang. Aang complains audibly – more audibly than he usually would, really –  at the loss, earning a sharp look from Katara.

"Come on," she says, leaning up to Zuko, her mouth a hair’s breadth from his ear. Aang watches Zuko's eyes flutter at her call - always, at her beck and call. "You've done well to bring him to me. Now, we can't let him languish here without a little torment? What do you think is a suitable punishment for the dangerous Avatar?" 

She doesn't wait for Zuko to answer the question. (Aang would make him answer. He would - except he can't open his mouth to speak a word against the mesmerising view in front of him.) Katara draws them face to face, sparing only a sly smile for Aang before they envelop each other in an ardent kiss. Zuko knows what to do from here. His fingers dip to the back of her waist; hers in his hair. Hands tug and grip and squeeze with abandon, but not Aang's hands. They're stuck uselessly behind his back.

He takes a harsh breath in. A smattering of stars is visible above where they sway between Zuko’s bedroom and the balcony, winking in the misty night. They’re mocking him too. 

Katara and Zuko all but attack each other. Zuko is decisive. Aang shudders at the way his body curves into hers, knowing that industrious intensity firsthand - but she’s always a step ahead. A tug in his hair here and there to keep him apace. Hair everywhere –  it spills all around them, long and shining, astray in the moonlight. When Zuko slinks down to kiss her arching neck, Katara gasps in a way that Aang knows in the deepest, thoughtless parts of his brain has nothing to do with the performance. She gathers herself and looks right into him with too-bright eyes, a possessive hand clasped over the back of Zuko's head. 

Aang's head reels. He swallows thickly, spine twisting against the pillar, and assesses his painfully uncomfortable predicament. He's going to have to find a way to escape their clutches soon.  

[zutaraangtastic]

for the prompt thing: teaching eachother different dances.

decided to combine filling this prompt with zutaraang week day 2 (secrets) and get a little silly. hope you like it! - mod m

(reminder that we are not accepting new prompts; we received these before July 1)

“I’ve got a secret,” Aang whispers. His tone is aiming for something somber and conspiratorial, only they’ve reached a stage in the evening that’s far too giggly for that.

Zuko is mostly trying really, really, really hard not to look at Aang’s mouth. But Aang’s right there, falling against Zuko on the couch, and Aang might just be drunk on the company of others but Zuko’s had a fair amount to actually drink.

“A secret?” Katara asks from Zuko’s other side, head popping up over his shoulder and her breath against his ear in a way that doesn’t help at all.

“A secret,” Aang confirms. He sweeps to his feet with surprising grace and holds out a hand to both of them. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

Some eight minutes later, the coffee table has been pushed against the wall and the three of them are smacking into each other and tripping over Aang and Katara’s shitty rug in an attempt at coordinated dancing.

Surprise of surprises, Aang’s secret isn’t whatever outlandish fantasy Zuko hadn’t been having. Aang’s secret, it turns out, is a deep, profound, and confounding love of the Cha Cha Slide.

They’ve already gone through the song once with Aang demonstrating the moves. It had seemed simple enough, but the music tells them to the left and, unreasonably disorientated and like he’s possessed, Zuko goes right.

“To the left,” Katara yells, grabbing Zuko’s arm. She pulls him left and then sharply backwards, the music having already moved on to take it back now, y’all.

“How do you already know all of this?” Zuko asks, doing his one hop a beat too late.

Katara rolls her eyes like she’s not just as new to this dance as Zuko is, like they hadn’t been snorting with laughter at the fact that this is Aang’s oh-so-secret love a minute ago. “Just follow the instructions.”

Aang nods encouragingly and says, “Right foot left stomp,” like that helps.

Zuko only lasts until they’re told to criss-cross before Aang and Katara pause the music and take an executive decision to relegate him to the couch until the next go around of the song.

“But relegation is no vacation, okay?” Katara tells him with the firmness and wagging finger of the truly tipsy. “You’re going to study what we’re doing.”

Aang is outraged. He presses play and yells over the booming sound, “Study? This is a slumber party and we’re dancing. No studying!”

“Okay, you’re right,” Katara agrees, her put-on severe expression melting away. “Time to get funky.” Her impression of the singer as she says it is so bad.

Katara and Aang dance with ease along to the vague call for hands on your knees, hands on your knees! Zuko doesn’t get it; he’s not usually actually bad at dancing, especially not ones where the entire song tells you exactly what to do, but maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s that stupid right foot left stomp. Maybe it’s Aang and Katara being there, on a Friday night, having a pyjama party with him because they think he’s sad over breaking up with Mai.

Zuko takes a sip of the drink Katara had ruthlessly mixed for him and claps along when the song tells them to. He has to sink back into the couch as Aang and Katara demonstrate some how low can you go even though it’s not like, actually sexy, it’s just– but anyway.  

He laughs along with them when they trip over each other doing reverse, reverse! and when they collapse in a heap on the rug, calling for time out, Zuko helps them both to their feet.

It’s all so sweet, a well-intentioned distraction. Zuko isn’t sure if it makes him more or less at risk of blurting that it’s not his break up that’s been on his mind.

[zutaraangtastic]

zutaraangtastic 150 follower celebration!!!

Wow! We totally shot past the 100-followers mark on this blog without even noticing, but 150 is an even cooler milestone. To celebrate and thank you all for joining us on this, our god tier ship, we (the mods) wanted to do something special with the help of a little audience participation.

Send in zutaraang prompts via the replies on this post or our ask box, and we'll do our best to write drabbles in response! 

Guidelines:

The more specific the prompt, the better!

Prompts can be original, from the resources linked below for your convenience, or from anywhere else you can find. If you are sending in a prompt from a source other than yourself, please specify that so we can give credit!

NSFW allowed, but think Mature rather than Explicit.

Resources:

writing-prompts-list

polyshipprompts

ot3muse

imagineyourotp

#atla15

Happy prompting!