I want to address my absence. I’m fine, but the world isn’t and that’s impacting me.
I know it’s impacting all of us.
I work at a university in the American South. I am white. Many of the students who work in my office are not.
Some of my students are survivors of gun violence.
Some of my students have mental health concerns.
At work, beyond my own child, my first priority encompasses all of my students.
I have talked about race more in the past six months than I have in my entire life. I have had more students cry in front of me than my entire career in the past two months. My students are hurting.
For all that I am a writer, I often say that in the face of extreme emotion, I can never express myself properly.
As America votes, please understand that people are breaking. I can’t write. Mindlessly, numbly, I can reblog things on Tumblr or retweet things, but there’s nothing left inside of my heart.
My free time is spent reading and researching. Donating and advocating. The world is still burning. Black transwomen are still being slaughtered. People are dying while others are screaming that a mask is killing them.
White people saying they can’t breathe.
I can’t understand.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to return. Maybe after the election. Maybe. Depends on who wins.
Please, my American followers, please vote for Biden when you go. Or before you mail your ballot. Please.
I don’t care about the politics anymore. Children that have been locked in cages have parents that no one can find. Black people are being murdered. Indigenous fishers are being attacked. And COVID is settling over everything like a plastic bag, threatening to choke the rest of us to death.
There’s nearly no joy left. I have my son. I have my students.
@sparkle-bunny had a prompt request and while this isn’t really what I wanted to get at, I did stumble on a fun scene! So while I still work on that, plus you know the rest of my writing, here’s a continuation of the College AU! (You can find the other posts HERE and HERE)
Rapid knocking interrupted Zuko’s studying and he swore as he pushed back from the desk.
“If you forgot your key again, I might leave you out there.” Zuko called as he reached the door. He opened it, and immediately sucked in a breath.
“Hi.” He said as Katara pushed past him into the dorm.
“Is Sokka here?” She asked as she walked toward the beds. Zuko dipped his body into an exaggerated turn while he closed the door. Standing up straight, he turned to her and awkwardly tried to figure out how to cover his bare chest.
“He went to see Suki.” Zuko answered. Katara was staring out the small window that was the midpoint on the wall between the head of the two beds. As she kept her back to him, Zuko edged over and tried to grab the t-shirt that hung on the closet knob next to him. While he was leaning over, Katara turned and he shot upright, crossing his arms high over his chest. Katara frowned at him.
“What?” She asked. Zuko shrank a little, his shoulders coming up toward his ears.
“I wasn’t expecting….you.” He said. Katara’s eyes flicked down and he died a little inside. When she looked back up, she seemed unimpressed.
“I just needed to talk to Sokka.” She said with a huff and sat down in the chair at Sokka’s desk. Zuko sighed and grabbed the shirt, pulling it on as he went to his own desk.
“Since he’s not here, do you want to talk to me?” He asked, sitting across from her. Katara turned her face away from him, looking at the window again, but nodded.
“What’s going on?” Zuko inquired. Katara’s chin quivered and he had to restrain himself from reaching out to her.
“Aang and I had a fight a few weeks ago.” She started. Sokka had told him this already and Zuko stamped down the resurgence of joy he felt.
“Ok.” Zuko said. Katara took in a shaky breath, held it for a moment, and let it out in a smooth release. She looked at him and Zuko was impaled by the hint of tears in her eyes.
“We went on a break but I told him that I was done.” She said.
“Ok.” Zuko repeated, not knowing what else to say. Katara chuckled and lowered her head as she covered her mouth with a knuckle. Zuko still saw the corner of a smile and he leaned closer toward her.
“Do high school relationships ever last?” She asked suddenly and looked up. Zuko suddenly realized how close they were and he felt warmer.
“I mean, I don’t think that many things are meant to be in life, but it certainly hasn’t been the case for me.” He said and sat back in his seat.
“Did you have a highschool girlfriend?” Katara questioned. Zuko grimaced and glanced upward.
“Try middle school.” He answered.
“Tween Zuko was a Casanova?” Katara blurted and Zuko reacted with an amused wince. He touched his fingers to his chest and did his best to look affronted.
“Excuse me,” He said in mock offense. “I was never a Casanova.” Katara laughed a little louder and Zuko relaxed, smiling as well.
“What happened?” Katara asked when the laughter subsided. Zuko sighed and stood up, turning to busy himself with his loft bed; he tucked in a loose edge of blanket as he continued.
“I dated this girl for two years. She was a friend of my sister and like.” Zuko stopped, his hands hovering at the edge of the bed. “After my accident, I kind of just left everything. We tried dating again after I left for college, but she was just miserable.”
“Was it the distance?” Katara asked. Slapping the side panel of his bed, Zuko turned around and shrugged.
“Sorta. I mean, she didn’t like a lot of things, but she really didn’t like it when I wasn’t around. But she also said that I changed after, you know.” Zuko explained and gestured to his face. Talking about his scar always made him self conscious and his eyes darted around the room as he talked. He didn’t notice Katara had moved till he looked up and saw her standing in front of him. Zuko took a step back and Katara flinched.
“Does it hurt?” She asked softly.
“It’s a scar Katara,” He said and hitched the corner of his mouth up in a small smile. “It hasn’t hurt in a long time.”
“What happened?” She asked and a lump formed in Zuko’s throat. She asked while looking directly into his eyes, and not at the angry red slash. She wanted to know what had happened to him, and not the history of the scar. It was a subtle difference, treating him like a person and not a walking trauma story.
“I accused my father of something very serious and he,” The words cut out as his throat tightened. He looked down and swallowed. “He smashed a whiskey bottle in my face and cut me.”
Zuko lifted his eyes and Katara was still staring at him. His own breath got shaky and Katara reached a tentative hand up.
“I wish I could erase it.” She murmured. Zuko closed his eyes and relaxed. He felt the warmth of her hand before she actually touched him. Her fingertips lightly brushed against the scar and it felt like his skin melted under her touch.
“Scars are usually permanent.” He replied.
“Not the scar.” She said and cupped his cheek. Zuko opened his eyes and looked back at her.
They stood there for a moment, Katara’s eyes ticking back and forth from focusing on each of his.
“Katara.” He started and reached out toward her.
Three quick knocks startled them both and they jumped apart. Zuko smacked his head against the bed and swore as Katara went back to Sokka’s desk. He looked over at her, frustrated, and then walked to the door.
“Forget your-” Zuko opened the door and stopped dead. Azula stood in the hall, idly running a hand over the side of her hair as she regarded him.
“Hello Zuzu.” She said, fake cheer dripping off his nickname. “Father wants you to come home.”
Haida, as a village, was always small. For forty-five years, the Fire Nation had been making systematic sweeps of the coastline. Each year their expeditions drove further into the interior, and so the soldiers hit the coastal villages on the way out for good measure. Thus Haida got smaller.
As fewer and fewer Waterbenders were found, the raids occurred more and more infrequently. Still, there was very little rebuilding. Waterbenders were necessary for shaping roads and buildings. There were fewer men in the village to hunt or fish. Haida withered and her villagers became dried husks in the ice and snow.
When Katara showed her abilities as a Bender, the people of Haida spent three days in silence. The Elders met with Hakoda and Kya, to try and figure out what to do.
Waterbenders were vital, and so they swore to protect her. But they knew word would spread. They knew it was only a matter of time before someone said something to the wrong person.
So a roughshod sort of training was enacted. Anybody related to a Waterbender was called in to assist to cobble together some sort of rudimentary learning. An aged mother recalled a long dead cousin who had practiced every day. A brother could recreate the motions he had mimicked of his older sister, but only if his eyes were closed. A man with sad eyes corrected Katara’s small hands as he remembered his wife.
As with their stories, Katara learned her bending from the passed down wisdom of her tribe. Her hands moved through memories, and they were not perfect. But within a year, Katara could call the water and move it as she wanted.
On the day of the black snow, Katara had been out practicing. Standing in a circle she had marked out, she turned snow to ice, to water, to steam, and back to snow, breathing in a rhythm specific to each form. When her ring of water was streaked with black, Katara looked up. At first, she did not understand. Children younger than her knew snow was white, or red after a hunt, or yellow in the animal pens. Snow was never black.
“Katara!” Her brother’s voice, already high in youth, was shrill as he screamed. She knew, at that moment, what was happening.
The secret had finally been revealed.
Katara ran, her mittens attached to her sleeves flapped like penguin flippers. She had to get to the tent. She had to find her parents.
The village was small, the outskirts were just as restricted. Katara clambered over a low wall and went half tripping toward the tents. Pausing at one, Katara tried to catch her breath, but she could see bursts of fire erupting from near the coastline. Gulping in air, Katara continued to run.
When she reached the tent, she ripped back the flap and tumbled inside. Kya caught her, bringing her in toward her chest. After kissing her hair quickly, Kya pulled Katara back, cupping her face.
“Grab your bag.” Her mother said and Katara nodded before breaking away. There had been a plan. A sled was kept behind the village, half a day’s walk from the wall. If her father and brother survived this raid, they would all meet at the sled. If a day passed and they didn’t show up, Kya would lead the sled down a carefully marked path to another village.
They moved around the tent in frightened silence. So when the flap was torn away, both Kya and Katara screamed.
Even before she could hope the large figure was her father, Katara saw the sharply curved shoulders of the Fire Nation uniform.
“A woman of Hakoda’s tent. Now, which of you is her?” The man asked, sounding hateful and condescending.
“I don’t know what you mean sir.” Kya said, keeping her eyes downcast even as Katara rushed to her.
“Which one of you worms is the Waterbender?” The man demanded and Kya flinched.
“Please sir, where is my husband?” Kya asked. The man didn’t respond but kicked snow at the pair. Kya squeezed Katara’s arms, keeping them pinned at her side. It was one of the easiest tricks to expose a Waterbender. As the icy slush hit Katara’s face, she felt her skin burn.
“Which of you,” The man hissed. “Is the Waterbender?”
“Sir, there has not been a Waterbender in Haida for twenty years.” Kya said and the man now laughed. His laughter was acidic and burned through Katara’s head. Two more soldiers, masks gleaming, walked into the tent. The man raised a hand.
“Grab the girl.” He said and the soldiers moved forward.
“KATARA!” Kya screamed just as one soldier wrenched Katara away with a fistful of her jacket.
“MAMA!” Katara screamed in return as her arms flailed to reach her mother, who was restrained by the other soldier.
It was in this flailing of limbs, both Kya reaching and Katara fighting, when a spear of ice was jammed through the leg of the soldier holding Katara. As he screamed, he let Katara go, but before she could run back to her mother, the man grabbed her.
“The mother then.” He said, his voice low and almost gentle.
“Please sir, let my daughter go.” Kya said through her sobs. Holding her up by her arm, her toes barely touching the ground, the man examined Katara.
“I suppose she doesn’t need to see this.” He said and then tossed Katara bodily out of the tent. “Go get your father child.”
Katara scrambled backward and she saw Kya’s face, serene and tear streaked. Gulping in the frozen air, Katara turned and pushed herself up. She ran to the coast, yelling for her father.
A good distance away from the shore, a large metal boat and sheared through the snow and grounded itself. Four soldiers were working on melting the ice around the bow while a group of villagers stood in a huddle. Three soldiers stood guard a few feet away and they held up their hands as Katara came running into view.
“She’s my daughter!” Hakoda yelled as one soldier advanced. Katara, crying, only saw the large blur of her father and nothing else. Hakoda grabbed her, picking her up and crushing her in his arms.
“They have mom.” Katara said through sobs and hiccups. Hakoda’s squeezed tightened till Katara yelped and then he released her. Sokka came to her then, wrapping his arms gently around her shoulders.
“Then you’re safe.” Hakoda stated, his tone strained.
“But-” Sokka started but Hakoda cut him off with a look.
“She’s gone Sokka.” He said severely and both children started to cry. Minutes after Katara had made it to the group, the unmasked man came walking up. One of the soldiers held up the wounded one and the pair hobbled quickly after him.
“The fugitive Waterbender has been executed.” The man said to no one in particular. He looked directly at Hakoda for a moment, as if challenging him. Instead, Hakoda only pulled Katara and Sokka to his legs. With a smirk, the man turned to the soldiers.
“Let’s go.” He said and they all moved to ramp that had been disgorged from the bow. Katara and Sokka howled as the ramp was pulled in and the villagers began to stand closer together.
“I will grab the bags.” Someone said.
“Someone find Kanna.” Someone else added.
“The sheets are in the trunk. Get them. Now!” A third said sharply.
“We’ll see to her burial Hakoda. But as soon as the ship leaves the ice, run.” A fourth voice whispered and Hakoda scooped Katara back up.
“Why do we have to leave?” Sokka asked as they moved to the fishing boats. They had stores of dried food for their journey already packed away, but fresh fish would help in the beginning.
“If someone told them the Waterbender was of my family, someone will tell them it was a child and not a woman.” Hakoda said and jostled Katara up so she wrapped her arms around his neck. Hakoda’s jaw clenched before he continued. “They’ll be back.”
They moved quickly, grabbing the stores they had dispersed among various families. When they found Kanna, she was holding Kya’s necklace in a tight fist. Sokka and Katara both had ceased crying, but Katara could feel something break inside of her.
Blood & Seawater is still active, and I will actually have a chapter up soon! The thing is, I’ve been getting a lot more attention for random posts here on Tumblr and I’m kinda interested in pursuing one.
Currently there are three options:
Warlord/Avatar Katara
What happens if Zuko is engaged to Mai but hates it
What happens if Aang is never found oh and PS Zuko is raising Katara’s lost daughter
Please vote HERE!
I don’t want to clog up the tag, but feel free to share!
The palace, for all its many rooms and long halls, was small. Fear and isolation made it smaller. When Zuko was born, he was fourth in line for the throne. His uncle was forty-nine, already a widower, and with a grown son of his own. Azulon, the reigning Fire Lord, was eighty-three and had no intention of abdicating. Ozai was a second son, born to a second wife, and kept inside of the palace as the obvious spare. In case the worst happened to his older brother, the great Dragon of the West.
Even as a small child, Zuko had felt the tension that lingered over dinner. Ozai obviously wanted more, but was consistently denied military appointments or even a governorship. The only thing he had succeeded in was his marriage to Ursa. Zuko was supposed to fulfill a prophecy; the blood of the infamous Sozin and the Avatar Roku in one superior Firebender child.
When Zuko proved to be a less than satisfactory Firebender, his father was immediately disgusted. A prodigal Bender was known with an early onset of ability and be able to innately protect themselves when faced with their element. Zuko’s hands were burned when he was four, after Ozai tried to force his bending. It wasn’t until his sixth birthday, an average age, when Zuko was able to summon fire.
Azula, on the other hand, called her first flame at three. And Ozai began to wonder about the succession of the second born.
Still, nothing really changed at the palace. Iroh was often away on a campaign or a dragon hunt, and once Lu Ten had begun his officer’s training was also gone for long stretches of time. Ozai, in an attempting to make Zuko good at something, hired the Piandao to teach him swordsmanship. It was a backhanded offer, since Piandao was not only a legendary swordsman, but also an infamous deserter. He had defeated a hundred men sent to arrest him, but came when the Fire Lord summoned him. In exchange for his freedom, Piandao was tasked with training the small prince. An insult to both of them.
Piandao, however, proved to be a compassionate teacher and Zuko was a loyal student. The former soldier taught him a different philosophy than what had been expounded by firebending teachers. Zuko learned to move, to hold himself, and to strike with more grace. His firebending improved as much as his swordsmanship did.
Ozai seemed content that his son was no longer an abject failure, though a disappointment nonetheless. He saw Ursa’s attention as coddling and often contrived ways to bring down both of his children. Azula, as a toddler, began to act out around Ursa, going so far as to strike at her. But at night, when the nightmares came, Azula clung to her and howled. Once she started attending the Girls’ School, she became distant from all of them, drawn more to her friends Mai and Ty Lee. When the three of them were in the palace, they swarmed on Zuko more, but at least Azula’s pranks were more frustrating than cruel.
The routine continued. Tension would slowly build and Zuko would avoid his father, Azula would antagonize him, there would be a fight, Ozai would have them both beaten, and then things would settle back into the usual state of affairs.
In between episodes there were family visits to Ember Island where it almost seemed like they loved each other. Zuko had clear memories of Ozai bending over Ursa to kiss her gently. He remembered playing with Azula on the beach, or having Lu Ten teach him how to swim in the gentle ocean. Iroh would go for a walk and return with fruits he would steam and they would watch the sunset, rinsing off in the surf before they rode back to their estate.
Zuko knew they were all so desperate for happiness that they each played their part in the farce. Yet still there were nights, when Zuko’s backside was raw and his body pulsed with pain, when he would think of those days. He would silently plead for them to always feel like that.
Everything changed the day Lu Ten died.
The Fire Lord kept the most rooms in the palace. Then the crown prince had his apartments, which had been empty for almost two years. Finally, there was Ozai’s suite. Their rooms were clustered together and shared one large garden. When he was anxious, Zuko often sneaked out to the garden when he couldn’t sleep. After a family dinner where Ozai not only didn’t show up, but called Ursa away, Zuko was extremely anxious.
Just as he tossed off his blankets, he heard the shaking rattle of a door being slid open. He paused, one leg halfway off the bed, listening. After a moment, the door closed and Zuko heard a pair of voices in the garden.
Although they were muffled, he could pick out his mother and father. Gliding carefully out of bed, Zuko lightly stepped onto the floor and padded over to his interior door that opened to the garden. Sliding it open by painful inches, he held his breath till he had a gap wide enough to peer through. Laying on the floor, Zuko spied out into the moonlight garden. Ursa wore her summer jinbai with an open kimono draped over her shoulders. Ozai was still dressed in his kimono but his hair was down and wet.
“Lots of sons die in wars.” Ozai said dismissively and Ursa raised her shoulders, turning her back to Zuko’s door.
“His only son.” Ursa stated and Ozai raised a hand.
“More importantly,” He said and pointed at her. “His heir.”
“That’s disgusting.” Ursa said darkly and Ozai smirked.
“My father had me when he was fifty-three. Iroh is what, sixty-one? He could have another son.” He retorted. Zuko felt the shock of dread. Lu Ten was, dead? Clenching his fists, Zuko dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands.
“I can only wish that my brother finds happiness again.” Ursa demurred and Ozai let out a bark of laughter.
“He’s a coward. One unhappy marriage and he swears off women for the rest of his life. His son dies and he immediately calls a retreat from the single most impressive siege of history.” He said.
“An unhappy marriage can be very damaging.” Ursa said sharply and Ozai turned to her, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled into a thin line. Then, with a slow smile, he advanced on her. Grabbing her chin roughly, Ozai pulled her face toward him. He examined her and then reached back to unpin her hair. Taking the long pin in his fingers, he ran the tip along her jaw and down her throat. Zuko couldn’t see what happened, but Ursa gasped lightly.
“You have done what you needed to do, and you have done it so well.” Ozai said. Ursa flicked up her arm and knocked the pin out of his hand. Laughing lightly, Ozai took his free hand and wrapped it around Ursa’s middle while the other went to the back of her head. He grabbed a fistful of her hair as he pulled her to him.
“Wouldn’t you like to see your husband on the throne?” He asked.
“Whatever makes you happy Ozai.” Ursa replied. Ozai’s face softened as he looked down at his wife.
“Do you really mean that Ursa?” He asked, not seeking an answer. When Ursa stayed silent, he dipped down and kissed her. When he released her, she swayed slightly.
“I had thought, in my vanity, that I deserved a beautiful bride. Now I can see how beauty is a trap.” Ozai muttered and turned away from her. They stood, silent, and Zuko could feel his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
“I am going to petition Azulon to disinherit Iroh.” Ozai continued abruptly. Ursa straightened and her arms fell rigid by her side.
“You’re already your brother’s heir.” She said.
“At this point, Iroh may pass over me completely and name that insignificant brat you coddle as his heir.” Ozai took a few steps away from her and held his hands behind his back. “No, I’ll not wait for both my father and my brother to die before I take the throne.”
“This is immoral Ozai.” Ursa countered.
“This war has been raging for ninety-four years Ursa. Three generations of children have been born into a world of constant war. I will end it. Sozin’s Comet returns in six years and I will end everything.” Ozai said and turned his face toward the sky. “The century of generals will end, and I will rule.”
“This is treason and madness.” Ursa said. Ozai turned his head to glance at her over his shoulder. Zuko flinched and receded a from the gap.
“And what will you do my little wife? What is your duty here?” He questioned. Zuko held his breath again as he watched his mother’s back. It took only a few seconds, but the hesitation was noticeable. Then, she fell gracefully to her knees and bowed her head.
“My duty is to you, husband.” She answered softly. Ozai turned fully and walked to her, putting a hand on her head.
“Come to bed wife.” He said and walked back to the door for their room. Ursa rose in a fluid motion and walked after him. Zuko curled around to watch them. Ozai held Ursa’s hand as she stepped up onto the low porch and kissed her hand as she slid off her sandals. Zuko watched until they both went in and the door slid shut with a firm clack. Counting the minutes, Zuko waited and strained to hear any sign that his parents were still up. With only the sound of the night breeze and a faint hooting from a roosting owl, Zuko edged the door open more till he could slide out. He kept his eyes on his parents’ door as he darted out into the garden, barefoot, and went to where his father had dropped the hairpin.
Finding it, Zuko was suddenly rooted to the spot. He held the long pin in both hands, watching it glint in the moonlight. Like many of Ursa’s hairpins, it was weighty and had a sharp tip. Zuko remembered a lesson with Piandao. How, when wielded with enough force, almost anything could be used as a weapon.
Even something with such a basic use and seen as nothing more than decoration.
Having some car trouble and had to get the Spawn ready for his first day of third grade on Monday so, update is late. Also it’s short so, hopefully it’s not a let down.
I just need to bite the bullet and skip Zuko ahead more.
