warlockintothetardis
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Zuko had never excelled at anything. Azula was a prodigy. Uncle always knew what to say. And Father... Father was strong, iron-like. But Zuko had only ever been good at surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other in a grim show of stubborn determination, gritting his teeth and bearing it. Survival was all he had ever been taught. He knew how to do it. So when he was kidnapped by the Southern Water Tribe, he expected to fight as he always had. He didn’t expect to be taught instead how to live.
In a warring land, the Water Tribe forgave the enemy in an act of defiance, an act of kindness in a world so accustomed to blood. For this, he was torn from them, and this time, his wounds won't heal so easily.
Forced back into nothing but survival, the last person Zuko expected to see was Hakoda's son. Hakoda was a promise of safety. The relentless blue of Sokka’s eyes was a promise of happiness. Zuko could have both if he just reached out his hands, but he found them clutching into fists. After all, he’d been burned one too many times.
But hey, at least between Hakoda and Sokka, Zuko could appreciate the family resemblance of pure, asinine stubbornness.
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Bookmarked by warlockintothetardis
21 Dec 2020
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Zuko’s compass pointed south until the day his father burnt it off. Sokka’s never pointed home until the day he left it.
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Bookmarked by warlockintothetardis
16 Sep 2020