#don’t you dare to vote for azula | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raisindeatre · 7 years

Note

ok but Picture This: a zutara musical lead au or tbh any type of acting

FIRST OF ALL: thank you so much for this prompt, anon! (if it was indeed a prompt. Maybe you were just telling me to picture this? I don’t know.) Second of all: I am so, sorry how long it took me to get around to this. Finally: I am 124% sure this was not what you were looking for (it really became more of a childhood friend thing than anything else?) and so I’M SO SORRY BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANYWAY (also this got… so long i’m SORRY)

love amongst the dragons

“I cannot believe,” Zuko grumbles as he puts his tray down, “that Bumi is directing this year’s school play. After what he did with The Boy in the Iceberg last year? A travesty!”

“The Boy in the Iceberg was pretty terrible,” Sokka says, reaching over to grab a handful of fries from Zuko’s tray and stuffing them into his mouth. “But at least the effects were decent.”

“Who cares about the effects?” Zuko replies indignantly, swatting Sokka’s hand away as the other boy reaches for more. “He absolutely butchered the story - if you guys had bothered to read the original, you would’ve known that the Blind Bandit was originally a girl -”

“I like Bumi,” Aang says absent-mindedly, and Katara smiles and bumps his shoulder with hers.

“You would,” she says affectionately, and Zuko has to turn away a little at the sight, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. Ridiculous. She and Aang were just friends. She and Zuko were just friends. What was his problem? “I swear, Aang,” she continues, “You guys are so close it’s like the two of you were friends in a past life or something.”

“Best friends, more like,” Aang says cheerily, and Zuko clears his throat.

“Are any of you listening to me?” he says. “I’m telling you, he’s going to mess this year’s play up just like he did last year! And Love Amongst the Dragons is completely different from The Boy in the Iceberg, it’s going to be much harder to direct -”

“How so?” Suki asks.

“Well,” he says. “The characters are different. The hero, for one. Roku. He’s a really difficult character to play, okay? Trust me. He has to be smart and brave and daring and - oh God, Bumi’s going to want to play him himself, isn’t he?”

“Lighten up, Sparky,” Toph says. “What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a big deal,” he says sharply, and he knows he’s gone too far. They’re all looking at him in surprise; even Toph has tilted her head at him, sightless eyes fixed unerringly on his face. The silence stretches out between them, awkward. “Look,” Zuko continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, okay? It just. This play means a lot to me. I don’t want him ruining it. I don’t.”

For a moment he thinks they’ll ask him why he cares so much. But he forgets, sometimes, that they are his friends, first and foremost. That they have each other’s backs, no matter what. That they will be with each other until the end of the line.

“Then you should audition,” Suki says thoughtfully, and for a moment all Zuko can do is blink at her.

“What? Me? I can’t -”

“That’s actually a really good idea!” Sokka jumps in. “You obviously know all about this play, Zuko, and you know how the main character should be portrayed - and listen, if you were part of the play I’m sure Bumi would let you have some input into how it should be directed! It’s perfect!”

“No, it’s not!” Zuko protests. “I don’t know anything about being in a play! I can’t act!”

“Please,” Toph says. “You’re the world’s biggest drama queen, Zuko. You were practically made for the stage. I gotta say, I’m liking this idea more and more.” She nods sanctimoniously, crossing her arms. “Toph approves.”

“Well, Zuko doesn’t -”

“You can do it, Zuko,” Katara says, and he turns to look at her. For a moment, the world narrows to her, this girl sitting across the table. His chest twinges, something that’s been happening more and more lately. Her eyes are very blue in the sunlight streaming over them, and for a moment,he experiences double vision: Katara grinning down at him as they climb a tree, six years old; Katara blowing pink bubbles and laughing when they burst on her lips, ten years old; Katara stretching her arms over her head and diving gracefully into the local swimming pool. How long he has known her, known all of them. Where have all the years gone?

“How do you know?” he says softly, and she smiles at him, just a little.

“When have you ever not?” she says. “You always do what you put your mind to, Zuko. You don’t ever give up.”

Uncertainty flits across her face, then, and she clears her throat awkwardly. It’s only then that Zuko is aware of the rest of their friends at their table, listening. Katara’s smile turns into a grin, playful. “And even if you can’t do it, you have to. It’s like you said. If you don’t play the hero, Bumi will - and we know that if he does he’s going to want to do it shirtless.”

“NO!” everyone at the table groans. Sokka goes so far as to make the sign of the cross.

Aang pipes up, “I heard Bumi has an 8-pack. That Bumi is shredded -”

“NO!” everyone at the table shouts again, and by now Zuko is laughing. The tense feeling in his stomach has evaporated, replaced by the sight of Katara looking at him, eyes bright.

“You have to do it, Zuko,” she says, laughing. “Be heroic. Don’t subject us to that!”

“Do it, Zuko,” the rest of them chirp, like baby birds. “Do it, do it, do it! Do it, Zuko -”

“Oh, my God,” he says, and so he does.

“Bumi really creeps me out,” he says to Sokka later as they make their way down the hallways, clutching the script to his chest. Auditions are in two weeks, and when the thought crosses his mind he abruptly shoves it away. His friends have made him do any number of stupid things in all the years he’s known them, but this really has to take the cake. “Have you noticed that one of his eyes is bigger than the other?”

“You’re one to talk,” Sokka says, laughing, and promptly dodges the half-hearted punch Zuko aims at his shoulder.

“I hope laughing at my scar is still funny when you’re in hell!” he says, mock-irritably, but Sokka just grins at him.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, it’s not like looking like the Phantom of the Opera has cramped your style. Katara was just telling me the other day -” Sokka breaks off. “Ah, forget it.”

What? “What? What did she tell you?”

“Look, if I tell you I’m worried your head won’t fit through the classroom door, and frankly I can’t have that -”

“Sokka. What did she tell you?”

Sokka sighs, world-weary. “Apparently, her class voted you the hottest senior in school. But she said that to me after I drank the last of her orange juice, so she could’ve just been saying that to get me back. In fact, I’m almost positive that’s what it was. You were probably second place, buddy.”

“I’m sure.” Her class. Not her. “Was it her whole class? Do you know?”

“Look at you, fishing for compliments. Is that a blush I see?”

“Oh, forget it.”

They walk on in silence for a while, until Sokka says thoughtfully, “You know what? They probably thought I was a sophomore. That’s what it is. I bet they voted me the hottest sophomore in school.”

Zuko turns his head away to hide his smile. “I’m sure, Sokka. I’m sure.”

“I heard you signed up for the play auditions,” Azula says to him later, almost causing him to jump out of his skin.

“God, Azula,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow at him from where she is leaning against his doorway. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“People out of the way? Sure. So. You’re auditioning for the play.”

“Did Ty Lee tell you that? How did she even find that out? That girl’s nose for gossip is terrifying. You need better friends.”

“Sokka has been going around school wearing a shirt that says ‘If you’re reading this I’m a senior’, and you think I need better friends?”

“Point taken. Was there anything you wanted, Azula?”

“I know why you’re doing it,” she says, and he shrugs at her, weakly.

“To pad out my college application?”

She smiles at him, and it’s cruel, but then all of Azula’s smiles are cruel. Even dressed in a tank top and pyjama shorts, everything about her manages to scream predator, but then her eyes slide to the framed picture by his bed, and something about her - well, not softens, exactly, but it’s like she’s sheathed her claws. She straightens up.

“Mum would be proud,” she says softly, and she turns to leave before he can reply.

His friends jump into helping him practice for the auditions with an enthusiasm that Zuko knows can’t be completely attributed to not wanting to see Bumi shirtless, and he is accordingly grateful.

“You know,” Suki says, “You don’t have to memorise the whole script, Zuko. I’m pretty sure for auditions you just have to read out a page or two.”

“If I’m going to do this,” he replies, “I’m going to do it right.” It’s not like it’ll be that hard to memorise the script, anyway - to his immense surprise, Bumi has thus far managed to stay loyal to the original material, and Zuko - well, Zuko knows the play like the back of his hand. He can recite half the lines in it from memory.

He runs lines with Aang as they walk Appa; Aang, who delights in the old-fashioned dialogue. “Have at thee, coward!” he says, looking very, very unintimidating with his cheerful gray eyes, standing a full six inches shorter than Zuko and breaking into a hasty jog as Appa barks and strains at his leash to chase Momo. (”God,” he says later. “Aren’t old-timey phrases the best? I swear, sometimes I feel like I was born into the wrong century, Zuko.”)

He runs lines with Toph, who only ever wants to be the villain. “Away, you mouldy rogue, away!” she says gleefully, and thumps his shoulder. (”That wasn’t in the script, Toph!” he complains, rubbing it, and she replies, “Sparky, you know I can’t read.”)

In the scenes where the whole cast is involved, he practices with everyone in Sokka and Katara’s living room, the whole gang, Suki’s voice low and steady, Sokka’s good-natured, Aang’s bright, Toph’s dry and Katara’s soft. He looks around at them, stretched out on the floor and crashed out on sofas, scuffling as they fight for the chips and guacamole, speaking through full mouths as he paces around the room and recites his lines, and feels his entire centre soften. How did they get here, him and Sokka hovering on the brink of eighteen, college on the horizon? Where have all the years gone?

But it’s not until Sunday, a few days before the auditions, that he realizes that he has yet to practice any of the love scenes: not a coincidence, but not something he can put off any longer either.

He already knows Toph will refuse flat-out to practice them with him, and Suki, Aang and Sokka are gone for the day, taking Appa to the vet. He briefly, briefly considers asking his uncle to help him, and immediately un-considers it, shuddering inwardly. He can just imagine it, and that is a mental image worse than any shirtless Bumi.

(”I have waited so long, Roku. Kiss me now… She looks deeply into his eyes. Oh, wait, nephew, am I supposed to read that part out?”

“…. No, uncle. You’re not.”)

And besides, maybe a small part of him wants to do this with her. He picks up his phone, and hesitates just for a moment before tapping out a message to Katara. SOS, he writes. Can you come over?

She comes in smelling like rain, all damp clothes and silver-stained cheeks, the ends of her dark hair curling, and when he takes her jacket from her to hang it on the rack, for a minute all he can do is close his eyes. He has a hundred memories of her like this, a thousand - running through the sprinklers together, sliding through mud puddles in the rain, the sight of her gracefully hauling herself out of the community pool from that one summer she worked as a lifeguard. Whenever he thinks of Katara, he thinks of water.

“What’s up?” she says, and he looks down at his feet for a moment.

“I need you to help me practice some scenes for the play,” he says in a rush, and then clears his throat. “The, um. The romance scenes.”

“Ah,” she says thoughtfully. “You know, I was wondering when you would ever get around to doing those.”

His heart stutters in his chest. “You - you were?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, squeezing the drops of water out of the ends of her hair. “I mean, it’s called Love Amongst the Dragons, right? None of the scenes I saw you practice were particularly. You know. love-y. Romantic.”

“Right,” he says, as she sits down on the couch next to him, tucking her long legs underneath her. “I mean, I wasn’t super keen on them.”

“No, I guess not. You’re not very romantic.”

His head snaps up, affronted. “Hey! I’m plenty romantic.”

“Zuko, I don’t think I ever saw you compliment Mai when you two were together.” His mouth opens, and she says, “And ’I don’t hate you’ doesn’t count!” He closes his mouth, and she smirks at him.

“You want a compliment? I’ll compliment you right now!” he says, casting around. Ah crap. “That shirt you’re wearing. It looks - it looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” she says, genuine surprise in her voice, and of course he has to ruin it by saying, “I mean, I think it’s a little small -”

“Thanks, Zuko.”

“I didn’t mean it like that -”

“Forget it. I need to go iron my muumuu now.”

“Katara!” he says pleadingly, and rolls his eyes when he sees her laughing. “Look, Mr. Smooth,” she says, turning sideways on the couch to face him. “Let’s just get around to practicing, okay?”

And so they do, and it’s… easier than he thought it would be. A big part of it is probably the fact that Katara’s eyes are on the script as she reads out the lines; it’s so much easier to say things like “moon of my life” and “my sun and stars” to her shoulder than it is to her face. He rattles off his lines from memory, and watches the way the sun slants through the windows to illuminate her, so that her hair falls into a thousand rich shades of mahogany and chocolate and at its lightest, a colour that seems almost red, and where have the years gone? The slope of her neck is only inches away from his face, the warm juncture where her throat and her shoulder meet so close to his lips.

And then Katara looks up from the sheets in her hand, her eyes so blue, and says, “Kiss me now,” and he -

- jerks back from her so hard he almost falls off the couch, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest so that for a moment he is almost gasping.

“Zuko?” she says, her voice confused, and he turns his head away from her for a moment.

“You -” he stutters, furious and bewildered, “You broke the rules!”

“I’m allowed to look at the script!” she protests.

I’m not talking about those rules, is what sears across his brain, white-hot and terrible. There were roles the people in his life were supposed to play, a plan he had for high school and what comes next, and she was never supposed to make him feel like this, not Sokka’s little sister who he’s known all his life, not her, no.

“Forget it,” he growls, pushing up from the couch. “This was a stupid idea. I’m gonna go -”

“What is with you?” she says, irritable, rising to her feet to mirror him, and for a minute he is six years old again, ten, twelve. How many times have they done this before, facing off over Capture-the-Flag disputes, over dodgeball squabbles? Where have the years gone? “God, what is the big deal with this play anyway?”

“It’s a big deal -”

“But why?” she says, exasperated, and he snaps.

“Because!” he says, almost shouts. Then the fight goes out of him; his shoulders sag, he reaches back to rub his neck. “It was my mum’s favourite play, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, but something about her posture softens, the tension bleeding out of her frame even as it does his. Ever his mirror, ever his shadow. He swallows.

“I just want to do right by her,” he says. “I just want to make her proud.”

“Oh, Zuko,” she says, almost sighs. “You already have.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” she says, and shrugs at him, a little. “Because. Who wouldn’t be proud of you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Katara -”

“I’m serious,” she says, stepping closer to him. “You told us that the hero of this play was smart and brave and kind and determined - you’re already all of that, Zuko. I mean, God!” She shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Remember that summer you decided you wanted to learn how to use dao swords? And you actually did! You watched YouTube tutorials and you took out books from the library and you practiced with them every day in your backyard. I was tired just watching you. But it was so inspiring to see, Zuko. You don’t give up. You work for the things that matter.

“And the time Appa got stuck in a tree!” she continues. “Remember? And we were all crowding around at the bottom and Sokka was talking about building some pulley system to get him down and Aang was about to call the fire department and you just - You just rolled your eyes and climbed up there and then - well, you both fell like ten feet -”

“I actually don’t remember that at all. Concussion, remember? But I’ve been assured by many people that it happened.”

“Stop,” she says, her mouth twitching. “That’s what I mean, okay? You’re kind. You’re brave. Your mother would be proud of you, Zuko. Your mother is proud of you. Your mother will always be proud of you. Look at all the tenses I’m using. My English teacher would approve.”

He laughs, just a little, and she tilts her head to smile at him. “Thanks, Katara.”

“You’re going to get this part, Zuko,” she says. “I know it. And even if you don’t, you have to.”

“To save you guys from Bumi. I know.”

“No,” she says. “Because I heard Jet’s trying out for the main role too.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m dead serious! Ty Lee told me she heard him practicing his lines with Smellerbee and Longshot during lunch today. Well, with Smellerbee.You know Longshot doesn’t say much.”

“God,” he says. “I really hate that guy, Katara.”

“I know you do.”

“No, I really hate him. He’s the worst.”

“Careful,” she says, laughing. “Keep saying stuff like that and you might be best friends with him in ten years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t that what happened with us?”she says, and for a minute all he can do is think about the word us in her familiar voice, how it makes the breath catch in his throat. “You used to hate me, Zuko. And look at us now.”

“I never hated you,” he protests, and even as he says the words a thousand memories come to mind: raspberries blown across the road, his outrage at seeing his platoon of GI Joes dressed in bonnets, hair pulled and knees kicked and drawings scribbled on.

“Sure you did,” she says easily. “I was your best friend’s annoying little sister. You used to tell me that all the time. Remember?” She reaches out to jab his stomach, playfully, and like muscle memory his own hand reaches out to grab her wrist, a motion they’ve performed a thousand times over the years. But this feels both strange and familiar.The way his fingers close over her skin is routine. The way his thumb traces circles across her pulse is not. This is the part where she would squeal and push him away. But instead she stands very still, letting him hold her, her pulse unsteady and delicate against his skin.

“Remember?” she asks again, her voice hoarse all of a sudden. She looks away, clears her throat. “When you didn’t used to like me?”

“No,” he admits to her softly. There’s no point in lying, not after all these years. The truth is in the way their skin is pressed together. The truth is in the way her wrist feels in his hand. I will kiss thee, then, is what the script says next, the last lines of the play. “Not really.”

They wish him good luck before the auditions, all fist-bumps and high-fives, but Katara hugs him, briefly. “Be heroic,” she says, and he remembers the first time she said that to him, sitting in the cafeteria when all of this was just beginning.

And so he does. He marches into the audition room like a general into the battlefield, and he delivers his lines with all the Best Actor panache he’s learned to muster, all the sincerity he’s learned from Aang, all of Sokka’s cheek, all of Suki’s confidence and Toph’s bluntness. All of Katara’s faith.

Bumi gives him the role on the spot. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, young man,” he cackles, and despite the nerves that crackle in his stomach at that, Zuko can’t help feeling… happy.

And it is fun. A girl named Jin is cast as his love interest, and they get on well enough. Jet is the villain, and they get on… less well, but hey. Method acting, right? The days slip by quickly, with all the rehearsals. A lot of Zuko’s time is devoted to trying to restrain Bumi from butchering the play, but somewhere along the way - and he’s not sure where - he finds the outrage he used to be able to summon at the very idea of revamping Love Amongst The Dragons is just… not there anymore. Your mother is proud of you. And he knows, somewhere in the truest part of him, that Ursa would’ve been delighted by all the wacky details Bumi wants to implement.

“It’s a metaphor, Bumi,” he sighs for the millionth time as they’re walking to the auditorium after school, but he finds his heart is no longer in it. “They’re not really dragons.”

“Which is exactly why they should be, in this play!” the old man counters. “It’ll be funny, Zuko. Shake things up! Make things new!”

“I really don’t think we should -”

“Oh, you just don’t want to wear a tail.”

“No! I mean, yes, but also,” Zuko sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think there’s merit in staying true to the original material, you know?”

“Maybe,” says Bumi. “But things don’t stay the same forever, Zuko. Times change. Things change. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Zuko opens his mouth to reply, but a flash of movement catches his eye.He turns his head to see Katara walking out of the school gates with Toph, gesturing with her hands as they talk. Something in him softens.

“No,” he says. “I guess not.”

“Excellent! I’ve already had three tails made, come along to my office and you can choose the one you want -”

“You what?”

The night before the play, Zuko leaves rehearsals nervous and wound-up and - surprised, when he sees Katara leaning against the wall waiting for him.

“What are you doing here?”

“McDonalds?” she says, which is not really an answer to his question, but he falls into step beside her anyway. “Good luck nuggets?”

He smiles at that. “I can’t believe you remember.” They have a longstanding tradition of eating McDonald’s nuggets the night before - well, anything really: piano recitals and Parent-Teacher days and the first day of summer jobs. So much history they have, the two of them. So many lives lived together.

“There are a lot of things I remember,” Katara replies, and she sounds a little wistful, but before he can reply she asks him, “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Are you kidding me?” he says, as they get into his car. “Absolutely. I can’t remember ever being this nervous about anything.”

“You’re going to be fine,” she says, looking out of the window as they slide through the streets. “What do I always tell you?” She smiles; he can see her reflection in the glass as he glances sideways. “Be heroic.” Her voice wavers for a moment. “You’re the bravest person I know, Zuko. You’ll be alright.”

They are quiet for a while, the gentle shhh-ing of the tires across puddles the only sound in the car. He pulls into the McDonald’s parking lot, and that’s when he says softly, “I’m not, though. Brave. There are lots of things I’m afraid of.”

“Like what?” she says. City lights rain down the passenger seat, catching her elegant features in a net of shadow and neon. In the shadows, her eyes look almost silver. “What are you afraid of?”

This. Us. Something more. But instead he says, “Well, Toph, for one. Sometimes when we’re playing pai sho I lose to her on purpose. She has a real right hook, you know.”

She throws her head back and laughs delightedly, and for a moment relief sweeps over him. This is Katara, after all, and for all that she’s seemed like a stranger lately, for all that he’s thought about her in ways that are new and different and exciting, she will also always be familiar to him, just as much home as Uncle Iroh is. “You lose to her on purpose?”

“Katara, I’ve been playing pai sho with Uncle since I was three years old. It’s literally impossible for me to lose to anyone but him.”

“Only you, Zuko,” she says, shaking her head, smiling. “Only you.”

Later, they sit on the bonnet of his car, legs dangling, trading the box of nuggets between them. “God, how long have we been doing this?” she says out of nowhere. “The good-luck nuggets thing, I mean. It feels like forever.”

“Ages,” he agrees, and she hums in assent, tipping her head back to look up at the sky.

“We’ll have to do this again before you leave for college,” she says, and he thinks he can hear sadness in her voice. It’s a sadness he himself is beginning to feel more and more now, as the days slip past and graduation looms on the horizon. And here and now, under these stars, her face is awash in radiance, a face he’s seen hollow out as the baby fat disappears, a face he has seen with eyes sore from crying and bright from laughter and lips split during scuffles in corridors, and he just wants to keep this moment, lose himself in its half-light, because the future could wait, couldn’t it? The future could just stay put, wherever the hell it was. What are you afraid of?

You broke the rules!

But no, he thinks, all of a sudden. Yes, he is afraid, but Katara is right. He has never given up when something mattered to him. And as much as he is afraid of it, he finds that he wants the future, too. And he wants her. And somehow along the way they - this girl and the days that lie before him - have become one and the same.

“Do you ever miss it, Zuko?” she says, and the wistfulness in her tone is evident now. It makes his chest thrum in response. “The good old days?”

No, he wants to say. When I’m with you, I miss the days that haven’t happened yet. The lives we have yet to live. And that’s when he knows, quietly but irrevocably, that he is ready for this, for her. For something more. Be heroic.

“Sometimes,” he says. And then, before he can say anything else, he says in a rush, “Thanks for the nuggets, Katara.”

There is a pause. “Wait, I thought you paid for them.”

And then they’re scrambling off the car and racing to McDonald’s, and Katara is wheezing through her laughter, “Did we just dine and dash?” and Zuko is sniping back at her, “It’s alright for you, you’re not eighteen yet - you’ll be sent to juvenile court, but it’s the big house for me!” and maybe the moment is gone, but this is a moment too, the way they scuffle to get into the restaurant first, all tangled limbs and hands at the door handle and Katara’s breathless laughter, the way Zuko hurls his wallet at the bemused cashier’s face and declares, “The debt is paid!”, and then how he has to trudge across the floor and get his wallet back, undermining the dramatic gesture of it all.

This is a moment too.

And then it’s the day of, and when Zuko steps out into the stage and squints past the spotlight shining on his face, he sees all the faces of the people he knows and loves, all the people that he will have to leave behind this time next year. Or maybe you could put it another way: that they are the people he will always carry with him, no matter where he goes.

Sokka is wearing a shirt that says “Team Zuko,” and Iroh is there, in his apron, loud enough that Zuko can hear the old man say excitedly from the audience, “That’s my nephew, there! The one with the red tail!” Even Azula is there, and the sight of his sister, even with disdain on her face and one eyebrow arched, makes gratitude wash over him. He straightens up, and turns his attention to the play.

It is a success, of course. The lines are memorized, the special effects in place, the audience enraptured. At one point, he says to Jet, “Away, you mouldy rogue, away!” and he makes sure to thump the other boy so hard that Toph can hear it from the audience; when he glances sideways at her, she is grinning so wide he has to bite back his own smile.

But when they stand to take their bow, the roars of the crowd loud in his ears, the applause ringing up to the rafters, no amount of biting his lip can hold back his smile. Jin is smiling at him as he takes her hand, and Sokka is hollering “That’s my boy!” and Jet is growling through his fake smile, “Did you have to hit so hard?” and Bumi explodes onto the stage in a shower of confetti, ever dramatic, to take his director’s bow and this? This is a moment, too.

They make plans to go out for dinner - “My treat!” Iroh says, “Um, as long as we’ll be eating at the Jasmine Dragon, that is,” - and so Zuko waves them off, telling them he’ll meet them there - he has to change out of his costume first. When he sees Katara waiting for him backstage, a flurry of emotions whirl in his chest: nerves and happiness and below all that, wanting.

“I’m so proud of you!” she says, reaching up to hug him, and he holds her tight, resting his face in her hair before she pulls back.

“Did you really like it?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“I loved it,” she says, and some part of him registers that she hasn’t really stepped out of his arms, not really. His hands are resting at the small of her back, just below her hips. Her mouth is inches from his. “But I have to say, I wasn’t super impressed with how Jin delivered that line. I think I did it much better.”

“Oh?” he says. His heart is hammering in his chest, but when he blinks he can see the pulse in her throat is beating just as fast, and that helps to steady him somehow. Where have the years gone? Finally, he has an answer: here. The air between them is full of the things they have been through together. “Which line was that?”

“Kiss me now,” she says, almost whispers, and Zuko looks into her eyes. He knows what to say, the next piece of dialogue, the last lines in the script. So he was graduating. So what? College was a while away yet. And he will always leave a part of himself here. She will always be his way home. Be heroic.

“I will kiss thee, then,” he says, and he does.

#anonymous #asks #i write #zuko x katara #zutara #zutara fic #otp: you rise with the moon i rise with the sun #forever and always the show of my heart #atla

136 notes · View notes