Wow, I wasn't expecting anyone to actually volunteer, so first of all, thank you.
So for the fanfic, I'd like aang to find out about Rozin from Gyatso and tell to toph katara and sokka. Sokka then thinks hey, if we get the teacher and principal together, maybe they'll stop punishing us for the problems we caused at school. Aang agrees, Katara is doing it because well it's good to try(+she has 10 disciplinary infractions for freezing students) and Toph wants to mess with teachers lives.
So basically they spend two whole weeks doing what they did in runaway, sending messages and gifts pretending to be Roku and Sozin, but they always realize it can't be real because whenever they talk at school it's clear the other isn't sending the bouquet of flowers.
The gang then finally remembers that Sozin's son and grandson are their advisor and classmate. Toph and Katara manage to get each of them to talk, but it was all "they broke up years ago, don't get involved, I'm not going to tell them anything so as not to make things worse" in different forms. Zuko and Iroh didn't report them. But Azula did (the girl likes to play with grandpa cameras).
So the gang ended up in Principal Sozin's office with Roku. The two were reprimanding them until Sozin said basically "You have no responsibility whatsoever to try and fix the stupid life's choices of Roku". After that, Roku sent them outside, and the Gaang only heard parts of their argument "Something, something, Ta Min, something, our family, something, liar, something, you left me..." and a lot off fire and smoke coming from the office.
After what felt like forever, they finally called the gang and told them they were grounded for two months. Katara, Sokka, and Toph think it was a complete disaster, but Aang disagrees. Gyatso told him that Roku went to visit Sozin and his family after years thanks to them and Sozin seems to be in a best mood at school after all of that. So, worth it!
Thank you again so much for volunteering. When I made that post, it was more to get this idea out of my head. Again Ty❤️
𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐥𝐝-𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲
𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: Avatar: The Last Airbender
𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬): past!Roku x Sozin, Roku x Ta Min
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: The Gaang, Roku, Sozin, Gyatso, Ta Min, Azula, Iroh
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Alternative Universe - Highschool AU, Fluff & Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Yearning, Getting back together, the Gaang are little shits, Aang tries to fix the "og old men yaoi", Zuko is so done, Iroh is a good councilor, Roku & Sozin are confused and in denial, Azula craves chaos
𝐀/𝐍: Thank you for this ask, I'll try my best!
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In favour of securing a long-lasting freedom from detentions, the Gaang take it upon themselves to fix the broken relationship between their highschool's callous, fun-hating Headmaster and Aang's favourite professor.
Thanks to Sokka's genius, the group comes up with a brilliant plan. Complex. Full of well-crafted ideas, all written down into Katara's worn out notebook. The most important parts are highlighted by neon-coloured markers and Sokka's shabby doodles.
(It only consists of three points, one of which was dubbed "not-really a mock date".)
So, there's no way it could go wrong in any regard.
Right?
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: Sing you songs full of sad things
The belly of the hearth was cold and empty, yet the smell of smoke lingered in the air inside the Headmaster’s office. Only meager streams of sunlight were allowed entry through the narrow window on the opposite wall, warming the smooth lacquered wood of the Headmaster’s desk.
It was nice woodwork, Aang thought, his eyes fixed upon it. With a slight tilt of his head, he managed to catch the passing of details—swirling golden flames, dancing blue dragons and people firebending—all of it carved into the sharp lines of the desk’s edges.
The wood was reddish, yet bore hints of usage on the other side, where the Headmaster’s armchair stood empty. Perhaps originating from Ember Island? Although Aang couldn’t be really sure. He’ll have to ask Kuzon about it once these unpleasantaries are behind him.
It was a truly fine piece of furniture. Shiny, where the sunlight glided across the surface. Sturdy. Reliable Just like everything in this room, really.
The Headmaster didn’t seem like the type to waste resources on frivolous things, unless it served him purpose. He could—
The door behind Aang’s back opened and then closed with the sort of finality one would experience during a funeral.
Aang’s spine stiffened reflexively, his nails digging into the armrests of his own chair, clawing at the mahogany. The air, an element that always represented freedom, stilled at the elderly man’s mere arrival.
A shuffle of a boot scraping against the floorboards.
A rustle of robes gliding towards him.
Aang forced himself to stare ahead, to keep his trembling pale hands still.
“I knew it’d be only a matter of time until you sat in this chair, singing your confession,” the Headmaster began, his voice a sharpened blade hidden by faux tenderness, “although I must admit to have you here is certainly… disappointing. You are, after all, his star pupil.”
The Headmaster walked around the desk, hands clasped behind his back. The small stripes of sunlight caught the edges of the broad red sleeves of his robes, the golden embroidery at the edges glittering for a moment.
“He always spoke highly of you, he did, yes. Truly a shame…”
A pause.
“But, I suppose, life is just one long line woven from betrayals.”
He lowered himself into his armchair in a way a king would seat his throne. From a drawer, the Headmaster produced what had to be records he kept about all of the high school's delinquents. All the while he kept his hollow golden eyes fixed on Aang’s pale face.
“Your merry band of misfits broke the school rules, my rules, in such grand scale in a single semester, it made the Freedom Fighters look like innocent angels in comparison,” he separated the files, five of them—one was empty—all wrapped in differently dyed leather (Aang tried not to wince) with yellowed labels plastered upon them. Names, Aang realized as he squinted at the black kanji, written in flowy penmanship.
“Most common offenses include physical assault with waterbending, forgery, theft—” okay, that sounded a lot like Katara, “—vandalism, impersonation of authority—” and that was most likely Sokka, “—illegal earthbending tournaments in the gym, attempted homicide, blackmailing of the faculty members—” that was definitely Toph, “—and arson.”
“Wait, Zuko's there too?” Aang looked up, his eyes wide, but immediately regretted his brash action when the Headmaster graced him with scathing glare.
With one bony finger, the elderly man tapped the empty crimson file.
Aang’s thin brows twitched in a slight frown.
Why was it empty? Sure, Zuko didn’t hang around them as much, but got into a lot of trouble with them too! And he wasn’t subtle about it either.
“Naturally. I requested an additional file from the school’s councilor the moment I heard rumors of the boy’s latest endeavors,” the Headmaster’s eyes narrowed a fraction, “And the company he keeps these days.”
“But you don’t have a file on me.”
A statement, not a question.
“You had a certain form of immunity gifted to you by the faculty on behest of the Republic City’s councilmen. Due to your… backround—” here the Headmaster made a vague motion with his hand, “—I found it prudent to give you more chances than most people in my position would find agreeable.”
Aang’s face fell, his lashes lowering as he glanced down at the back of his hand, and the sharp point of the blue arrow tattooed into its skin. His fingers curled into a fist so tightly his knuckles turned paper-white.
Through gritted teeth, the monk of the Southern Air Temple took a breath in, ignoring the sharp pang in his lungs. He held it in until his chest started to burn, until his surroundings blurred and the colours blended like flavours of tea.
Aang blinked away the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. It was no use. Lamenting over his loss wouldn't fix the hollow pit that was left in the wake of his home’s desecration. He and Gyatso, and the remaining survivors already mourned their dead… still.
Aang raised his gaze, hands still balled into fists.
The Headmaster’s face was composed. Blank. As if Aang’s grief was nothing but a mere (and very dull) part of a theatre play. A charade.
Aang’s jaw clenched. What a bastard.
The Headmaster went on, in the same soft, dry voice as if no interruption occurred: “But now, the evidence gathered from the camera footage and testimony of the students that were present to witness the moment of the assault bear a certain weight your excuses cannot withstand—were you to defend yourself, of course.”
The Headmaster’s carefully built composure cracked only a little, as his white bushy brows drew into a deep frown, expression darkening.
“Well? I’m keen on understanding why, in Agni’s holy name, you had thrown Coach Zhao out of the cafeteria window.”
“Self-defense… sir,” Aang hissed out the title with thinly veiled venom. It didn’t go unnoticed. “He harassed me and my friends in gym class. When I tried to talk him out of it, he retaliated with force. By using firebending. So I airblasted him. Hard.”
“He broke his right forearm’s ulna and radius, fractured three ribs and sprained his ankle while trying to land.”
“Zhao called Katara and Sokka filthy savages, so pardon me, sir, for standing up for my friends!” Aang spat out, nearly bolting from his seat.
A whirlwind of dust, which was collected from the top of the bookshelves behind the Headmaster’s back, rose to a wild dance, staining the crisp air with its filth. The Headmaster barely paid it any mind.
“Coach Zhao informed me your friends maimed one of the volleyball team players. Chang, I believe?” He adjusted the embroidered cuff of his broad sleeve. “Yes, a fine player. He won this school several awards in the Youth’s League. Popular. Wealthy. Hm… as witty and resourceful as a turtleduck stuck in a small pond, but I suppose we all have our own talents.”
“His father—an admiral of your nation’s fleet, mind you—took part in the naval assault on the Southern Water Tribe six years ago.”
Aang received the news days after it happened. He and Gyatso were cleaning the alcoves—a small ritual the two of them chose to turn into a weekly routine—when the monks told him. He wrote letters. Dozen of them. To Katara. To Sokka. To Hakoda. To anyone who might’ve survived. Katara’s reply only came a week later.
A little quietly, Aang added: “Amongst the civilian casualties was their mother, Kya.”
“Yes, I’m aware. But a personal loss doesn’t excuse such crude behaviour.”
“He stole Katara’s necklace! The only possession her mother left her!” Aang fumed, already red in the face. “He stole it and then threw it in the bin, calling it asymmetrical nightmare and a thing only uncultured plebeians would wear.”
“That aside, you still physically assaulted a member of the faculty. You broke the rules. You must be punished.”
Aang opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. No need to make his situation worse. Not that it wasn’t bad already.
The Headmaster took a clean sheet of small paper—a detention slip, Aang realized—from another drawer and an inkwell with a calligraphy brush from another. He opened the inkwell, expertly rolled his sleeve up to his elbow, dipped tthe brush in and started writing.
“You shall serve detention for the next week with Coach Zhao, every morning from 4.30 to 6.30 in the gym. You’ll also write him an apology letter and deliver it personally. You are also forbidden from attending the high school’s music band—wether you’ll be expelled from the other afterschool clubs will be up to the majority vote by the faculty. You’ll be informed by Head Secretary when that happens The other two weeks of detention will be supervised by the cleaners—communal service around the schoolgrounds. And one last thing: you may no longer bring your pet into the school. It stays home.”
“What? No! You can’t… it’s outrageous, unfair! Appa is my flying bison—my best friend, you can’t just separate us!”
“Oh, but I can,” the Headmaster replied, his tone casual, “and I am.”
“You—”
Someone knocked at the door, before opening them just enough to let a slight man dressed in wrinkled red-and-black uniform slip inside, his sharp amber eyes darting from Aang to the Headmaster. It was the Head Secretary.
“Pardon my interruption Your M—ehm!” he coughed into his sleeve. “Pardon me, Headmaster, but Professor Roku is… well, he’s here and demands to speak with you immediately. He says it’s urgent and—”
The door slammed open and into the office stormed Aang’s philosophy Professor, eyes of dying embers immediately fixed upon the detention slip.
He was dressed in finely crafted robes of dark red silk held together by a sash of yellow wool wrapped around his waist, not unlike the colour the Air Nomads had for their own robes. His white hair tied into an impeccable topknot, Professor Roku looked like a picture of a regal nobleman. At least he would’ve been, were he not talking hundred miles per minute.
“Before you start yelling at me about impropriety and the three-knock-rule, allow me to interrupt you with a reminder that Aang cannot serve detention for the next two weeks due to the upcoming Golden Dragon Festival, which you are surely aware of, is next Thursday.” Professor Roku leaned over, one hand firmly planted against the desk, supporting his weight, the other placed close to the Headmaster’s own.
Aang’s confused gaze jumped from one man to the other, thin brows arched high.
It didn’t escape his notice the way the Headmaster’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, his golden eyes lowered and pointedly staring at the detention slip, watching the ink dry. He looked uncomfortably stiff sitting in that chair; spine coiled, lips drawn into a tight line, tips of ears tainted pink, like roses.
Wait.
Aang blinked, focusing his squinted eyes on the Headmaster’s face. No. It surely was a trick of light. He couldn’t…
Oh.
Oh, Great Spirits, was the Headmaster flustered? Their hands were barely touching! And yet, he still wouldn’t aknowledge the Professor, stubbornly avoiding his pleading eyes, his fingers restlessly tapping the sturdy wood. He was white like the ink-stained sheet sitting before him, mocking him.
Oh, Aang’s lips curled into a knowing smile. This is good.
“Aang is an irreplaceable member of the school band, his skill on wind instruments are legendary and his presence is expected. He needs to be in top shape to perform and…” Professor Roku clasped the Headmaster’s hand, his eyes locked with the other man's distressed face, “Why are you frowning at me like that? You know this is important, we’ve been making plans and preparations for months!”
“I…” the Headmaster’s voice failed him, and he transformed the sputtering noises into an old man’s cough, covered by the sleeve.
The rose flush traveled from tips of ears to his sharp cheeks and then sides of neck. He appeared to be in want of a swift death. Aang would’ve gladly helped him… with choosing the spot where he’d like to be cremated, of course.
“Fine,” the Headmaster rasped. “He’ll serve detention in two weeks. Just… hmpf… You are all dismissed.” He made a vague gesture with his hand.
Professor Roku smiled, that familiar smug curve of his, the one he used when he knew he got what he wanted. It was awfully reminiscent of Gyatso's expression whenever he won a game of pai sho.
Leaning back, Professor Roku placed his opened left hand on top of his right hand's closed fist and bowed.
The Head Secretary and Aang hastily did the same. Aang almost forgot the man was even here, he’d been so quiet the entire time.
“You are most gracious, Headmaster. We won’t disappoint you.”
“May Agni’s blessed light guide your path,” the Head Secretary squeeled, before slipping away.
Professor Roku turned to look at Aang, head inclined towards the door. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”
Aang nodded hastily, bolting after the tall man, relief washing over him the moment the door closed behind him.
“They were what?!”
“Together, yes!” Gyatso’s warm laughter resonated through the living room. His storm-grey eyes, always crinkled in a mysterious knowing smile, shone with delight.
With a graceful sweep of hands he poured two cups full of ginseng tea, the smell enrapturing Aang’s senses. It was their little tradition at this point; tea time after school. Just the two of them, relaxing and simply talking about their respective journeys each underwent through the day, and then discuss plans for the afternoon and tomorrow.
Their evenings were full of quiet prayer. A whisper of dying winds. Names repeated in the dead of night, whispered to no one but himself and Gyatso. Names of their peers, friends, loved ones, family.
Besides the names, the two monks engraved faces into the clear depths of their memories. Carving their features into the hollow of their bones, because no one else but them would care to keep their spirits alive, no one else but them to mourn the people—their people, the way they deserved.
“But that was decades ago,” Gyatso made an exasperated gesture with his free hand, the motion dismissive. Cutting. As if the concept of the Headmaster’s and Professor Roku’s togetherness was a dying bird. Better killed by a merciful hand than to exist in a shadow of its own misery. “Back when they both attended the Royal Academy for Boys back in Fire Nation.”
He placed the tea pot and the cups on a small wooden tray. For a singular moment, Aang’s mentor stared at the shabby cream wall and its peeling tapestry, at the dusty cupboards and half-empty shelves. Gyatso shook his head, his kind smile widening a fraction, and yet it carried only half of its usual warmth, as if someone stole his carefree spark and replaced it with this alien blankness.
The elderly monk carried the tray towards the tatami mat placed on the creaky floor. Both he and Aang sat down, the wind rustling around their robes, singing for its surviving children.
The temporary flat they’ve been graciously given by the Republic City’s government was small and old, and damp, with two bedrooms and one living room, with a small kitchen counter built in the corner, right opposite of the sad-looking door. It was fine. More than fine, really. They had a roof above their heads, and food to put in their mouths.
Gyatso sighed, shaking his head. A flash of worry flickered in his eyes, his long, bony fingers stroking the tea pot’s ceramic lid. It was one of the only things Gyatso managed to save from the ruins of Southern Air Temple. That and their gliders.
“I had no idea he still harboured such feelings towards Roku,” Gyatso whispered against the rim of his cup before taking a strong sip. “I thought the flame died out after their fight… and yet, the heart still seems to burn bright and true.” Gyatso’s voice lowered to a malicious serpentine hiss, the tone of his voice made Aang’s skin crawl with revulsion.
“It should've disintegrated with the rest of his rot. But the cancer still keeps on thriving. He can’t ruin him, can’t take away his happiness. Not again. Not after everything.”
Aang has been aware of Gyatso’s immense dislike for the Headmaster in a way a person is aware of thunderstorms. That it was real. Dangerous. Loud in ways only silence inside one’s own mindscape could be, or in silence of small children crying over a grave of their parents, siblings, friends, angrily clutching the remnants of their old life now torn apart, cursing the world. Fate. The people responsible. Swearing vengeance upon anyone whom they deem an enemy.
But Gyatso’s anger wasn’t a curse born of envy—if it were, it would’ve been directed at another person entirely—but of fear that someone he loved might be carved open and left to bleed out in a puddle of guilt and grief.
That Professor Roku might find a part of himself willing to forgive this man, the person who supposedly nearly brought him to ruin, and might reach out his hand; trusting once more all too easily. And then, once he gets too close, he’ll burn.
“I… don’t think Professor Roku’s aware of the, um, effect he still has on the Headmaster. When he dragged me out of the office, he only seemed preoccupied with the preparations for the festival.” Aang said, choosing his words carefully, eyes strangely hypnotized by the steam rolling from his own cup. It resembled a rising cloud of smoke.
“He didn’t seem to care about the Headmaster’s… subtle interest. In that way, at least.”
Gyatso took another sip—Aang mirrored him— before placing their cups down, the clicking sound echoing in harmony.
“Roku has always been rather clueless about the effects he has on people. Not all the time, of course. Only when he’s absorbed in something he becomes… disinterested about anything else.”
“I don’t think Aunt Ta Min would let any of that slide, though. If she finds out—”
“When she finds out,” Gyatso corrected with a grin.
Aang nodded, his own smirk badly hidden by the less-than-graceful sips. “Right. When she finds out, we’ll be standing on the Square of Justice, witnessing the first public execution of a royal in centuries.” he said half-jokingly. Because as much as he hated the man, Aang… didn’t want him dead. Not like Gyatso or Aunt Ta Min did.
“It’ll be a bloody spectacle. Banners of red-and-black flying in the wind, bouquets of fire lilies decorating pots, their crimson petals staining the pristine pavement like droplets of blood already spilled. Not dramatic. Not a theatre. Just a clear message to the masses. Something very Ta Min-like.”
Aang didn’t wince at the horrific description, because Gyatso’s tone was warm and full of humour, and yet beneath it all, a whisper of bloodlust lingered still.
An error.
A flaw in the mask.
How unlike everything Gyatso was. Kind, full of humour and childish whimsy that matched with Aang’s adventurous nature. Mentor. Caretaker, Father. Friend.
Aang looked away, because the grey eyes of the man who taught him that all life was sacred were condemning the life of a man Aang knew only little about.
Aang looked away, for the guilt that shone in his eyes was far too bright, far too real; Gyatso would easily read him and figure out his scheme. Call him selfish. Tell him Aang was wrong and that he should be ashamed of trying to fix a garden that has been abandoned decades ago; now a wild jungle full of unstable greenery, with vines of poison growing over the rotting fence, and blue flowers of reluctance mixing with white blooms of hatred.
“Why did they part in the first place?” Aang asked, finishing his tea in a sloppy manner, the liquid—still running hot—burning his tongue. Aang welcomes the sharp stings with a content sigh.
“I was told that the cause of their quarrel was Ta Min,” Gyatso spoke up after a while, the tone of his voice grave. A form of ancient grief settled over him; his shoulders slumped, his spine coiled inwardly like a snailbeetle’s shell. Aang has never seen his mentor grow so old in a matter of seconds.
“Sozin… He did something unspeakable to her, something Roku was—and still is—unable to forgive.”
Aang frowned. But the Professor was acting like he and the Headmaster had been old friends? Surely they wouldn’t have been so chummy if… if.
“Spirits, you should’ve seen him,” Gyatso rasped, finally finishing his tea. “Murder in his eyes, so vicious, so wrong. A blade carved from a broken heart. Whatever Sozin did, it changed Roku in a scale only before unimaginable.”
“But that’s enough sadness for today. I don’t wish to frighten you more with stories of another’s past, now a black-and-white memory. We still have evening and tomorrow ahead of us. Bright warm tomorrow. Let’s focus on that, Aang.”
He smiled at Aang then, the familiar reassuring curve of lips that made Aang’s stomach twist in the nicest of ways, made him remember that there was still some good in this world left that was worth fighting for.
“Okay,” Aang smiled back.
He talked to Gyatso about the lectures, both the boring ones; sociology, chemistry, mathematics, and the more exciting; P.E., music class, philosophy, history.
Described the endless drone of Professor Pakku’s dull voice, the excitement buzzing through the class as Katara argued with him about some stupid sexist stuff (again), and the way both the student and the Professor rose up into a bullheaded yelling match. Naturally, it earned Katara detention. Again. But not before she froze Pakku’s entire left arm against the blackboard.
Aang talked on and on, his voice and excited chirp; talked about running around the library, stealing books on engineering from the forbidden section, carefully creeping behind the oblivious librarian.
He talked about Toph and Suki causing trouble together, talked about the food fight the Freedom Fighters started (it was sponsored by Ozai Corp, which got a… reaction… out of most). It was a blast.
The atmosphere in their flat grew considerably lighter, as some weight finally fell off of both their shoulders. Warmth returned, and so did Gyatso’s gentle smile and easy laugh.
But the guilt festering within Aang’s chest only grew, festered. Still, he kept smiling. Pretending all was well. Not yet, but soon enough, Aang reasoned.
All will be well soon enough.
Because Aang’s plan started forming way before Professor Roku dragged him out of the Headmaster’s office.
Because the spark lit up the fireworks in the back of his mind the moment their fingers brushed, the moment he caught the crack in the Headmaster’s composure—the rose-coloured flush. The way he hesitated, ever so slightly, stumbling over his words like a turtleduckling learning to walk. How he avoided his eyes, those warm loving eyes.
An idea has been formed in Aang’s head. Reckless. Foolish. Brilliant. The sort of plan that will ruin lives the way a forest fire does; swiftly, fatally, irreversibly.
Yet the hope of better tomorrow outweighed the possibility of ruin.
And Aang, despite being a child of winds and bright heavens could be as stubborn and as unmoving as a rock.
So, he decided, he’ll fix it. The broken heart of one cruel and bitter man that never moved on, forsook love for power, who decided that it wasn’t worth it.
Tomorrow, he’ll inform the rest.
Today, he won’t think about the consequences and laugh until the bitter taste of regrets is washed out by tea and cakes Gyatso liked to bake.
When he settled down to sleep, Aang dreamt of a boy his age disappearing beneath the surface of a cold lake.
He dreamt of the Southern Air Temple alight like a funeral pyre, and a comet—a scarlet wound oozing into this world, sailing through the starless sky.
He dreamt of a beautiful girl with bright-green eyes, laughing, inky waterfall of raven hair flowing in the wind.
When he woke up, he was unable to recall his dreams.
It won’t come off.
No matter how hard he scrubbed himself the fathom touch still lingered; seeped deeply into his skin, his flesh, his very bones. Roku’s warmth, his presence burned against the fingers of his hand like a brand made by a piece of molten iron. A ghost of something long lost yet still very much alive, breathing, surviving in the most unconventional and despicable forms.
The abandoned sentiment settled inside his shrunken heart of stone like an ancient battlehardened dragon, curling its tail around its serpentine body like a lazy cat. Not in defeat, not adjusting to the inevitability of death. Simply waiting. Expecting an answer once it graces the world with its roar.
Sozin despised Roku and the treacherous ache that came with every encounter he was forced to endure, with every smile aimed at him he was forced to dismiss. To store away, deep into the singular half-forgotten corner of a heart that forgot what love was.
Ridiculous, he thought.
He scrubbed himself harder.
The pale, wrinkled flesh of his hands and forearms went from a flushed pink to angry red, burning in the most unfamiliar ways.
Sozin clenched his teeth.
Not enough.
He bit the inside of his cheek until it stung, until beads of copper dripped onto his tongue.
He scrubbed harder, and harder, and harder.
He needed to rid himself of Roku, of the sweet memory of his touch,
(warm hand fitting perfectly against Sozin’s own as the shorter boy leads the two of them through the dance, the music a slow romantic waltz. The Crown Prince doesn’t flinch as his best friend rests his head against his shoulder, a small sentimental smile gracing his lips. Sozin simply laughs—perfect and effortless—before leaning down, murmuring something against the crown of Roku’s head.)
his voice,
(Roku’s laughter is infectious; rich and full of life, the kind Sozin would never hear in the palace or during council meetings. It’s real. Real and human and so unlike every other nobleman, and Sozin loves the way it rings through the gardens after they spar, his best friend his something more rolling in the grass, breathless, sweaty and beautiful.)
his lips.
(Their kisses were sweet and hungry, and eager. All of the ‘I love you's’ which are never said but understood, because Roku loves Sozin and Sozin loves Roku, and it’s simple and as real as the fact that Agni rises in the east and falls in the west. All is bright and perfect in their world, and nothing can take Roku—his Roku away. Then she comes into Roku’s life, bright and gentle, and full of fire unlike anything Sozin has seen before.. And the first cracks start appearing around the edges of their perfect world.)
So he kept on scrubbing with fury so hot the water in the shower started boiling. He ignored the sharp pain, the bite of sand paper against his tender fingertips. Ignored the scarlet beads forming on his palms, then dripping down and breaking over the marble floor.
His hands were marred with small red lines after he finally deemed himself properly clean.
I wish I was 17 again..those school days.. playing soccer after school., highschool romance,heartbreaks and crushes..summer vacation...post exam fun...unlimited energy.
Teenage life feels worst untill you cross 20.
To all the teenagers enjoy your days while you can.Each and every moments is worth living.Make it count.
here it is y'all, PROM NIGHT WOOOO. also, apologies for posting once or twice then disappearing for weeks/months, i've been desperately looking for a job and it seems like nobody is hiring and im close to tearing my hair out
AND ANOTHER THING, i've made a ko-fi account in case you guys want to tip or anything, im not 100% sure on how to use it but i've seen other people take commissions there so i might do the same thing once i am more familiar. thoughts??
anyways enough rambling
tags: cute, fluff, confession
unedited
ᴍᴏɴᴅᴀʏ
Finn is nervous. He's sweating up a storm as he watches you from his desk across the classroom. I bet you're wondering: What the FUCK is wrong this time? Currently he's a senior and prom is right around the corner, and he has yet to ask you if you wanted to be his date. and also confess to you
He has until Friday to ask; he knows that you don't have a date considering you've been whining about having nobody to go with. Just wait a little longer pumpkin.
Currently, it was lunch and you both decided to eat inside of a classroom, thanks to your teacher. Finn stands from his chair and reaches inside his large bag he managed to bring without you questioning it. Inside held a box filled with your favorite treats and next to it was a large, decorated poster that held the question; Will you go to prom with me?
But... seeing you laughing with your friends, the eye contact with him that follows soon after makes him freeze, cheeks heating up. He blindly shoves the poster back into his bag before you notice. He'll try again tomorrow.
And so, the struggle begins.
ᴛᴜᴇꜱᴅᴀʏ
Biting his lip, Finn taps his foot anxiously as he waits for you at your usual spot; the large oak tree that sat comfortably in front of the school. 'This kind of reminds me of those shoujo animes that [Name] makes me watch,' He thought, watching couples walk by him blushing and cuddling each other. Finn flushes at the sight before shaking his head roughly.
'Don't be ridiculous, Finn, this is real life and I'm pretty sure the rumor of confessing your love for your crush guarantees a long life together underneath this tree will NOT come true because it's a rumor, a silly, little rumor losers made up to cover the fact that their crushes will never love them back-'
"Hey Finn!"
Finn lets out a small scream as he was ripped out of his thoughts. You both stared at each other, Finn's face red from the scream and you will a large smile growing on your face. Snorting, you double over in laughter, setting a hand on Finn's shoulder, the warmth practically burning into his shirt, to steady yourself.
Finn watches as you try and contain yourself, only to break into laughter once more at his unamused expression.
Staring at you, Finn takes a breath, removing his bag from his shoulders to retrieve the poster and sweets to give to you. His hand continues to grope around which gave you the chance to calm down and watch him with a curious expression.
He hand remained empty, no hard smooth surface of the box of your sweets nor the poster. Confused, and a little bit embarrassed, Finn nervously giggles when he peaks his head into the bag only to discover... nothing. He had forgotten that he had taken everything out back home in order to not ruin them from his big ass textbooks and left in a hurry. His dumbass left them in his room!
"Finn?" You poked him arm, curious to why he was so silent. "Is something wrong?"
Finn lets out a groan, pouting at his forgetfulness. "No, nothing's wrong, just... I left something important back home."
ᴡᴇᴅɴᴇꜱᴅᴀʏ
So, yesterday was a total failure. That's fine, he still has time. Clutching the box of sweets, he hid behind his back from you, he stops in front of you and makes his move.
"[Name], I want to ask-" "Hey [Name]! Can I have the notes from Mr. Smith's class?" A voice interrupts.
Turning to the other student, you point at your bag. "Yeah, it's in my binder!" Refocusing your attention on Finn, you smiled. "You were saying?"
Finn clears his throat. "I just wanted to ask-" "[Name]! [Name]! It's not here! Are you sure it's in the binder?" The students voice whines, frantically digging through your bag. "I really need this!"
"Uhm-" Finn anxiously watches as his grip on the box gets tighter and tighter. He's running out of time; he's going to lose his nerve and back out last minute.
"Then check my folders, it should be there." You hummed in confusion. "I haven't moved it since class ended."
"Still not here, [Name]!" They groaned before opening another folder and pulled out a small stack of paper. "Oh, found it!" They laughed, thanking you before walking off.
Sighing at their behavior, you AGAIN brought your attention towards Finn. "Sorry, you wanted to ask me something?"
Finn nervously swallows, going through the whole speech in his head in the span of .3 seconds and opens his mouth. "Will you go-" "Yo, [Name]! Let's get off campus and get lunch at that new place that opened up."
Deflating, Finn watches you interact with your friend who had their arm around your shoulders, his nerves getting the best of him. Slowly, he backs away from the pair, embarrassment swallowing him whole as his pathetic attempts of trying to ask you to prom consumed his thoughts.
Waving your friend off, you tirelessly rubbed your eyes, "I am so sorry for the interruptions, Finn, what were you-" You apologized, turning to him only to find him gone.
"Finn?"
ᴛʜᴜʀꜱᴅᴀʏ
Finn sat on the floor of his room, head in hands in distress of yesterday's event. He was so embarrassed he didn't even bother asking you to prom the next day and now that the embarrassment has passed, it was already 10 pm. He would go next door and ask you in your room, but Finn thought you deserved something romantic and memorable.
You've put up with him for years, everyone didn't give him the time of day to even ask what his favorite color was. But that summer when you arrived next door, made him see that there was more to life than games and darkness. It had you.
Picking up a piece of paper and a pencil, Finn begins to write down ideas on how to ask you to prom. Maybe he could ask his friends from band to play your favorite song, and people will watch and get jealous for putting on a big show for you. Yeah, that sounds good! Dropping the pencil, he reaches for his phone and spends the next few hours planning with his friends. Finns ends of staying awake the entire night.
ꜰʀɪᴅᴀʏ
Today's the day. The day to ask you to prom once and for all. He's hiding behind the bleachers that was located in the football field, it was after school hours and he's certain that there were no practices. His friends were standing in the field waiting for you and once they begin playing their instruments, that'll be Finn's cue to come out with his poster and ask his most desired question.
Soon he hears the first few notes of your favorite song. That's his cue! Taking a deep breath and exhaling to ease his nerves, he fiddles with the corner of the poster before revealing himself, eyes filled with love and hope. Coming from behind the bleachers with a big smile he approaches only for the smile to be wiped from his face once he sees chaos.
One of his friends was arguing with the football coach, apparently the football team decided to have practice last minute, you were standing between the two of them, trying your best to resolve the issue. And you want to know how this day can't get any worse?
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Though Finn made the preparations to make this promposol as smooth as it can, he didn't bother to check the weather. Everything had gone to shit. His friends, who wasn't arguing with the football coach, looked at Finn for help on what to do, his poster ripped from the rain soaking it, his nicely done hair that took him almost all morning was soaked, and everybody was pissed on what to do.
Pissed, everyone walked away, the ones who weren't even involved in the shouting match, awkwardly walked away. Only one stayed.
You.
Finn choked on his breath and reframed from bursting out in frustrated tears. His eyes burned, but alas, tears slipped by and down his cheeks, mixing in with the drops of rain. Clenching his fist, Finn harshly rubs his eyes. Worried, you took placed a hand on his back, rubbing it in small circles.
"Hey, it's going to be okay, Finn." You comforted.
Finn shakes his head, sniffling. "No, it's not. I-I wanted this to be perfect, but it seems like luck is not on my side."
"What was it you wanted to do?" You asked gently.
"I..." Finn bites his lip. "I wanted to ask you to be...m-my date for prom."
The air leaves your lungs, heart beating in your ears at the information. Opening your mouth to speak, Finn beats you to it.
"You've done so, so much for me, tha-that I wanted to make this memorable for you." Finn stutters, tears now freely streaming down his face. "You deserve so much more an-and everything has gone to shit!"
He takes a couple of breathes before continuing. "It's so hard to ask you upfront because you make me freeze, and then I get nervous and back out then kick myself for being so entranced by you!"
"Finn,"
"Every time you say my name, it takes all my will power to not kiss you, whenever you talk about your friends, I get jealous because I want you to talk about me like that - to LOOK at me like that."
"Finn!"
"God, I love you so much, i-it hurts, I'm sorry for saying this so suddenly, but I-"
"FINN!" He shuts up, eyes puffy as he stares at your trembling form. Reaching a hand to cup his cheek, you wipe his tears with a soft smile.
"I like you too, you silly goose, and I would love to be your date for prom."
Letting out a small whimper, Finn scoops you into a warm hug, face buried between the junction of your shoulder and neck, a weak attempt to stifle any sobs of happiness. The weight of asking you to prom and confessing had been lifted from his shoulders and Finn could finally relax.
thinking of jake when writing about this so but it can be anyone to be honest ><><
highschool romance!
it started with a glance. so brief, you could’ve convinced yourself it didn’t happen. but you caught it, the way his eyes searched the room before landing on you. he didn’t look away immediately, and for a second, it felt like the universe slowed down, just for you.
you didn’t know much about him. he was one of those boys who seemed like a mystery wrapped in sunlight
quiet but never shy, kind but never overbearing. you shared a few classes, sat a few rows apart. sometimes, he’d walk past your desk, and you’d catch a faint scent of soap and citrus. it was ridiculous how much you noticed him without even trying.
you thought he didn’t know you existed. until he turned around.
“you dropped this.”
his voice was soft but steady, and when you looked up, he was holding out your notebook. you’d barely realized it had slipped off your desk.
“oh! thank you,” you said, reaching for it. your fingers brushed his, and you swore the air shifted.
he gave you a small smile before walking back to his seat. it wasn’t much, but it left a warmth lingering in your chest for the rest of the day.
from then on, he started noticing you. or maybe you started noticing him noticing you.
he’d turn around more often, his gaze lingering for a beat longer than necessary. sometimes he’d ask you questions, little things like, “did you understand the homework?” or “do you have an extra pen?” small, inconsequential moments that felt like secrets shared between just the two of you.
one day, he leaned back in his chair, his chin resting on his hand as he looked at you.
“you’re always so focused,” he said, a hint of admiration in his tone.
you blinked, caught off guard. “is that a bad thing?”
“no,” he said, smiling softly. “i think it’s cool.”
cool. the word echoed in your head, and you didn’t know why it made you so flustered.
it wasn’t just the glances or the small exchanges. it was the way he started waiting for you after class, falling into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. it was the way he’d defend your answers during group discussions, even when you weren’t sure you were right. it was the way he remembered the little things—how you liked your tea, which books you loved, the songs you hummed under your breath.
“why are you so nice to me?” you asked one afternoon, your voice barely above a whisper.
he tilted his head, as if the question surprised him. “because i like you.”
your breath hitched, and you looked at him, searching for any sign that he was joking. but his expression was sincere, his gaze steady.
“you… like me?”
“yeah,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “i thought it was obvious.”
it wasn’t, not to you. but now that he’d said it, everything fell into place, the glances and the smiles.
high school wasn’t perfect. there were misunderstandings, moments when you doubted whether you were good enough for someone like him. but he never let you linger in those thoughts for long. he had a way of grounding you, of reminding you that he saw you for who you were, not just the version of yourself you thought you needed to be.
“you’re stuck with me now,” he’d say, teasing but sincere.
and you didn’t mind. because when he turned around, when he looked at you, it felt like the whole world shifted in your favor.
SUMMARY: Matt and you have always competed against each other, whether it be sport, grades or friends. However will your secret romantic feelings for each other change your relationship or just make you hate each other more?
A/N- Matt and you are 17 and are in high school (I think- I’m British and our school system is different so sorry if I got the wrong school year). Also this is my first time writing seriously so I hope it’s good.
"Matt let me past."
Me and Matt had never really got along. By really I mean at all. Since middle school he strived to make every waking day a misery for me, going out of his way to annoy me. And in return I made sure do the same to him. Tests, assignments, even in terms of popularity. Everything we did we were endlessly competing to try and one up the other, constantly at each other's throats trying to drag the other down. When did this all start? Nobody could remember anymore. It's just how it's always been. And nobody cared to be the one tobe the first to put and end to these antics and 'lose'.
"Matt move the fuck away, go haunt someone else", I spat at the boy, who stood blocking my path, leaning on the lockers in front of me.
My annoyance was very apparent as I eyed him in disgust, his bright blue eyes meeting my stoney grey eyes. The bell had rung, signaling us to go to our next lesson, the sudden flood of students trapping me, pushing me into my locker, making it impossible for me to get around him.
"Make me", Matt sneers, clearly enjoying himself immensely as he saw the frustration growing on my face.
"Oh I fucking will"
I barge past Matt, shoving him out of my way. Or trying to. He grabbed me by the shoulders and yanked me back, leaning forward as he did so. His grip was firm leaving no room for me to wriggle away. There were inches between us, forcing me to breathe in the musk of his cologne, strong and spicy, comforting almost. It took every fibre of my being to keep my breathing steady: Matt cannot know that I find him even remotely attractive. I'd never live it down! I prayed with all of my might that it wasn't obvious from my face or body language that I was flustered, desperately hoping that my face was not a bright shade of beetroot.
Matt stood like that for a good few minutes, studying my face with great intent, absorbing my every detail of my facial expression, which didn't exactly help my paranoia, especially when I saw his lips upturn slightly, clearly finding something amusing. My initial attempt at matching his stare with cold, icy one was a complete failure, his beautiful deep blue eyes drowning out any hatred or disdain behind my glare, so in defeat I fixed my eyes firmly on the floor to hide any fondness towards the boy in front of me. Or rather, I tried to. The success rate, however, was questionable. Each breath he took was hot on my neck, the thought of his smirk, his lips, too appetising, inviting me back in.
Fuck this man. How am I supposed to hate him when every attribute that made him so detestable made him so attractive at the same time. Like one of those villains in films that you're supposed to hate but everyone ends up fangirling over instead. The control. The charisma. The charm. Everything drawing you in. There he is towering over me, pinning me to the lockers physically restraining me and here I am losing all composure. He knows what he's doing and he's enjoying watching it happen, and so I have to focus even harder to not give him that satisfaction of winning.
Finally snapping my attention back to the bigger problem at large, I took my chance while he was preoccupied. My foot smashed down onto his, causing Matt to yelp, in what must've been shock rather than pain- we both know that I certainly don't have enough strength to actually hurt him, just enough to cause a minor inconvenience. I quickly turned on my heels and stalked away down the now isolated corridor, which in itself was quite a worrying sign. I made my escape while I still could, but out of my peripheral I could see Matt, trailing after me like a disease.
I pretty much ran to English, anxiety churning away in my stomach as I wondered how late I even was.
"Theres no point going."
Matt's voice startled me, pulling me back from the mess of worries circling my head.
"Excuse me?"
"English class. Theres no point going. He'll only give you detention. Come with me instead."
"Matthew, why the fuck should I trust you? You're the one who got me into this mess in the first place", I reply sharply, not even turning to acknowledge him as I continued at my fast pace.
"What can you not bear missing one lesson? You're either too scared to miss even one small worthless little lesson or you've truly let your hatred towards me and cloud your better judgment. If we show up we'll just get detention, in which you'll have even more with me. Unless of course that was the pla-"
"Don't flatter yourself. Fine, I'll come with you, but only to avoid the embarrassment of everyone turning to look as we enter."
A disgusting smug smile of self satisfaction was plastered across his face as I followed him back down the hallway, making Matt look extremely punchable. Once we finally made it out of school and into the parking lot I followed him to his car, where he gestured for me to get in.
We were physically too close for me to even try and avoid my romantic feelings for him, not even half a meter between us in the front seats of the car. The smell of his cologne was stronger than ever, his hair fluffy and within arms reach, tempting me. The silver chain around his neck made him look even hotter, dangling over his pale blue hoodie which matched his eyes perfectly. My heart was thumping in my chest as my eyes trailed over the boy next to me, almost skipping a beat when I catch the rosy tint spreading across his cheeks while we looked at each other. I could've sworn I saw him glance at my mouth as he licked his lips. Matt? The same Matt that purposefully trips me up or insult me at every given opportunity or get in my way whenever possible. Surely not. They must've just been dry or something. I know him, he wouldn’t.. He couldn’t… And yet this side of the Matt in front of me was completely foreign to me.
He reached out to plug in the aux cable, his hand brushing past mine as he did, causing a sudden a jolt of electricity between us as our skin touched. My eyes immediately shoot up to meet his gaze at this sudden touch, and I feel myself feel hotter under his steady eye. I sat there goggling at his natural beauty, ensuring to remember the look of golden summer sun streaking across his face, shadows forming under his jawline and cheek bones contouring his face perfectly.
His hands meet his way to my cheeks, cupping them, and I melt further and further into him. He inched closer, his breath gently fanning my face. He was so close I could see every mark, scar and freckle on his face. Before I know it, Matt’s lips are smashed against mine, hard and urgent yet soft at the same time. The kiss is hungry, our lips passionately fighting against each other, desperate to feel more of the other’s touch. His tongue explored my mouth, the taste of him mixing with the taste of my cherry chapstick. His hands trail from my cheeks to wrap my waist, fitting perfectly, as if he was made to be with me.
We continued for a while, together a hot mess as we lent across the gear stick, tired from the strain but too desperate to feel each other’s touch to bear to stop. That was, until we were suddenly interrupted by a loud knock on the window and the shocked faces of Chris and Nick.
“Do you guys come up for air? God”
Disgust was written all over Nick’s face, his voice dripping in sarcasm, whereas Chris had a bemused smile playing at his lips. The shock of the noise made us separate immediately, jumping back, almost giving me a heart attack.
Matt just gives them the finger as I shrink back in my seat, nuzzling my head in the crook of his shoulder in embarrassment hoping to disappear. One things for sure: neither of his brothers are going to let us forget this. Ever.
