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pettyprocrastination · 1 year

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whoever this beloved anon was I am so touched by your kindness! You definitely didn’t have to do this but I am so happy you enjoy this idea and I will happily expand upon it for you!

this is just a collection of word vomit bullet points for the time being but I will happily answer any and all questions about this pair!!

warnings: violence, angst, child death (Sarah Miller), foul language, the same warnings that apply to tlou, reader is Sarah's mom and described as having similar features to her.

So the general Idea is that you and Joel are happily married before the outbreak.

You had been Sarah's mother, his high school sweetheart he got pregnant when neither of you were old enough to have any reaction to the pregnancy test other than a fucking panic attack in one another’s arms. but you made it work

you both worked but made time for one another and your sweet girl, going to museums every other weekend and joel insisting on swooping you off for a date every now and then

nothing special. He knows you’re more of a diner gal than anything too fancy that makes you both feel out of place.

On his birthday in 2003, you had planned to tell him that you were pregnant again. But the memories of your own fears of motherhood from all those years ago begin to swirl through your head again and you get cold feel. deciding to tell him the morning after

it is his birthday afterall, you want to focus on him.

but when you’re woken up in the middle of the night because tommy needs to get bailed out, Joel kisses you sweetly one last time before promising he’ll be back and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening.

its you that shakes sarah awake that night. shouting at her to put on her shoes when she’s still rubbing the sleep from her eyes because you’ve been listening to the radio for the past two hours, calling joel again and again and again praying for him to fucking pick up but to no avail.

Sarah, bless your little girl’s bleeding heart is the one who insists you check on the adler’s against your better suspicions and when you find the eldest looming over her daughter, blood and sinew dripping from her mouth, you grab your daughter hand and burst into a full sprint until something slams into your back and sends you tumbling onto their front lawn

its how joel finds you, struggling to keep the once sweet old woman, whose now nothing more than dead eyes and gnashing teeth straining to snap at your pulse point as you push against her while sarah shrieks before your husband runs forward and cracks her skull with a wrench.

there’s hardly a moment of pause, just enough for him to pull you up and into his arms before he’s ushering you both into the car with an urgency.

when the truck crashes, you get separated from them. Perhaps at Tommy’s side when the flames rise and create a wall, separating you from your husband, or maybe pulled into the mob of chaos when trying to escape from those already infected-

all joel knows is that you promise you’ll find him: just get sarah to safety and you’ll meet him at the river

Poor thing is already so frightened, held in her father’s arms with tears streaming down her face insisting they can’t leave you they just can’t but her father kisses her forehead and reassures her its going to be okay

“we just need to be brave, okay babygirl? Your mama’s real tough, she’s gonna be alright.”

he isn’t sure if he’s saying it to his daughter or himself.

but when he comes to the river you aren’t there. Only a soldier who points a gun at the scared little girl in his arms and then he loses everything

its when the light is gone from his daughter’s eyes that he realizes. His voice cracked and raw from sobbing that he looks around to see his brother with drawn in shoulders and tears in his eyes but his wife is nowhere to be found.

Tommy says you got lost in the chaos. Everything was so loud, so sudden that he turned around and suddenly you weren’t there.

Joel wants to go back but its Tommy that stops him, that dulls the red in his vision to a sad faded pink because his brother points at the orange horizon not too far from them, so much of the city is already in flames.

“We’re gonna find her, but not there.”

So Joel searches. for the first year spent in the world post-outbreak its all he did.

He became a smuggler because of it.

Information came at a price and he needed to be able to fucking pay it, whether it be in blood or ration cards. He was willing to do anything to find you or any thin thread that lead your way.

But it’s Tommy that asks him to give up. Not in those words of course.

The youngest Miller knows better than to say something so cruel that would make his brother, the only person he has in this world turn on him.

But his voice is worried when he asks him one night in Boston when he hasn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his knuckles

“You think she would have wanted this for you?”

the fight that followed his words was brutal. Vicious insults and scarred fists slamming against each brother until they're both too tired and bloody to continue. Each leaning against a wall for support and Tommy’s wavering voice breaking the silence.

“I don’t know where she is, Joel. But I do know you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep lookin’ for her.”

All he can do is nod.

It’s a few days later when he meets Tess. Who has heard plenty of stories about the elder miller’s brutality and wants him to put that muscle to good use for some extra profit.

It begins his new life. One that empty and cold but one he can live.

Until of course, Ellie comes along. The sweet and incredibly opinionated girl that makes him become something akin to the man he thought died twenty years ago.

its when he’s traveling with Ellie, that it happens. When a warm familiarity has settled between the two because so much blood and pain has been shared he can’t help but see her as something close, something bright even though all he can force himself to utter in her reference is “cargo”

when theyre traveling through the woods as Ellie chatters away, probing his memory about a movie that may or may not have existed thirty years ago because her descriptions of the plot are incredibly odd he hears a voice shout for them to stop and finds himself staring at a man- no, a boy- pointing a gun at them.

Ellie stills, but Joel can see enough to know that from the lanky figure and dimpled face that he’s young. Maybe twenty, twenty-two at the oldest, but his eyes dart from Joel to Ellie with a pinprick of fear that allows Joel the time to charge forward and slam him to the ground before wrestling the gun from his hands.

He has enough to time to tuck it under the stranger’s chin before he hears the sound of the safety being turned off and finds himself looking up and seeing a gun just inches from his face.

Joel’s head whips around when Ellie’s voice calls out his name in fear, he turns to see another stranger holding her a gun point, shoulders drawn back and a shadow cast over their face by the had obstructing their identity.

“You hurt one of mine, I hurt one of yours. That a fair deal?”

Its takes him a moment to recognize you. It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice, the sweet tease when you would poke at him each time he woke up late despite the fact that you reminded him to set his alarm the night before, the times you’d chide him with a harsh “Joel Miller!” whispered in public anytime he was able to grab you a bit too passionately to be appropriate in public but the laughter in your voice let him know you were never truly mad at him. You didn’t know how to be.

But that sweetness is buried under a cold rasp that cuts through the air as you point a rifle at the scared little girl in front of you.

“You think I won’t?” You’re older now, skin covered in scars from a life he didn’t know you got the chance to live and your eyes are cold as they regard your husband. “Put the gun down and get the fuck off of him, I won’t repeat myself.”

Joel mumbles your name in awe. The woman he loved, the woman he mourned the one he fought so hard to find stands before him like some sort of hallucination and suddenly the world feels like its spinning until you bark orders at him again.

“You’ve got five seconds Joel, make a fucking choice before I make it for you.”

He looks down and realizes the boy under him, the one with the bleeding nose and snarling face has your eyes and his dimples.

“One.”

The one above him has Sarah’s hair. Soft brown curls that shine under the sun.

“Two”

Wait. No, they both do.

“Three.”

Twins. Jesus fucking Christ you had twins.

“Four.”

Joel holds the rifle up above his head and the one boy standing snatches it from his grasp, tossing it to the ground and kicking it far from his reach. He slowly stands, allowing your son- dear god your son- to scramble to his feet.

Your voice softens just for a moment. “You okay, Duke?”

Blood stains the bottom half of his face from where Joel slammed his fist into the boy’s nose just moments before, but he nods nonetheless.

Now, they both stand on one side of you and he can see the resemblance clear as day the same way he would whenever Sarah was by your side.

When you order him to hand over his bag, he does so without question before telling Ellie to do the same.

She watches him with wide eyes, her hands still up in the air but gaping at her companion as if he had grown a second head.

“Joel!” “Just do it, alright?”

He doesn’t miss the way you watch their interaction with narrowed eyes until she tosses her bag to you and you slowly lower your gun.

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doin’ at my home?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #i had an idea of something similar for tommy but on outbreak night he uh. abandons you instead of getting separated from you #because. angst :D #people say nice things #this was incredibly generous of you anon thank you so so much!#i may get myself a little starbucks drink this week now because I havent had starbucks since like january 1st lol #joel reeling from taking in all this information and also realizing he suckerpunched HIS OWN KID #id like to apologize for all the grammatical issues with this. this is just a bulletpoint word vomit to get my thoughts on the page before-#-beginning the actual fic. also I have to do a midterm tonight and this is my treat to myself hehe #but yes. joel getting separated from his wife on outbreak night and having to accept that shes probably dead #meanwhile youve lived this entire life without him because you think HES dead ad raising your boys all on your own #which just- further digs into his insecurities about failing in his role as a protector #he couldn't save sarah. he can't save ellie and he couldn't even save you #he thinks about you pregnant and alone. fending for yourself in a world full of infected and raiders and his chest grows tight again #this is all followed by Ellie going >:O 'you KNOW THIS PSYCHO?'and then joel immediately snapping at her to WATCH HER MOUTH #because that kid has no filter and he has to explain that youre his wife #anyways joels wife is a badass mfer who also maybe has a little garden and some chickens that you and your boys take care of <3 yeah .#reunion tag #ill be using that for this specific couple because I dont have a fic title yet but if anybody has suggestions!

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muffinlance · 1 year

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Prompt: Azula joins Zuko on his Avatar hunt instead of Iroh. I don't know why, I don't know how, but I'm certain to be entertained by whatever follows.

Ozai and Ursa were already dead by the time Iroh arrived home. He stepped from his ship into the palanquin, and rode past the places of their execution, holding the urn of his son’s ashes.

He had no time to entrust them to the Fire Sages before his father summoned him. He brought them along, because this was an easier thing than setting them down. And perhaps Lu Ten’s grandfather would like to see him once more, outside of the family shrine. Iroh would have given anything—

He placed the urn on the floor next to him. It did not kneel when he did. Fire Lord Azulon surveyed him from behind the flames.

“Rise, my son. It is good to have you home.”

They did not speak of Lu Ten. His father had always been a man to look to the flames of the future, rather than the ashes of the past.

* * *

They hanged Ursa, as befitted her attempted crime, and her past station.

They burned Ozai, as befitted his. A child of Agni should always return to the flames.

The children of the traitors had been stricken from the family line. Had been placed in the capital prison; bait for the trap. Azulon was keeping close eye on those who expressed concern for the offspring of regicides. Ozai had expected support for his position; it would be Iroh’s second task to sift through the court, and discard the chaff.

His first task was a more practical resowing. Azulon had already selected a handful of candidates: women of suitable birth and known loyalties. The wedding date had been set, pending selection of the bride.

“Thank you, father,” Iroh said.

Lu Ten held his silence.

* * *

Azula had never liked the servants who’d fussed at her hair and clothes, who’d pulled and tugged until she was perfect, like perfect was a thing outside of her for others to bestow. She only had to look at Zuko to know how far tailored robes and well-oiled hair could take one.

She couldn’t see Zuzu from her cell. Her robes were too cold against the stone and every tug to wrap them tighter just made them worse, she could see it in the guards’ faces, the way they’d stared when she’d first arrived and looked a few days after and now they barely even saw. No one would talk to her, no matter her demands. They didn’t even stop their own conversations anymore; just slid in her food and kept walking and batted away her fires and it was cold here.

There were things crawling in her hair that her nails couldn’t dig out. Sometimes she thought she heard Zuzu yelling, but she couldn’t be sure. And it would have been undignified to yell back. She was a princess. She was fifth in line for the dragon throne.

Fourth, now that Lu Ten was dead.

Third, because father was, too.

He’d yelled and then he’d screamed and it hadn’t done anything but make the crowd jeer. Fire Lord Azulon had been silent. Poised. In control. She was his namesake and she would be too.

She was nine.

* * *

Zuko yelled until his throat burned. The guards didn’t care, they didn’t listen to him, which was nothing new. He shouted and shouted and his own ears hurt. Maybe that’s why he never heard Azula calling back.

Grandfather had made them watch when he’d killed father and, and—

If grandfather had Azula killed, he would have made Zuko watch that, too. Azula was probably just better at being a prisoner than he was. Maybe the guards even talked to her.

He was eleven.

* * *

Iroh’s new wife was a third his age. A flower just coming to bloom. She looked like his first wife; Azulon knew his preferences. She was young enough to be Lu Ten’s sister. She smiled and laughed each day with the other court wives, and came to his room with lists of possible dissenters to discuss in their marital bed. It was not the pillow talk he was used to, but it was charming, in its way. She liked to lay on her stomach and kick her feet above her as they traced the web of treachery with his dead brother at its center. She was here to have his children—a task at which she worked with admirable diligence—and to be the acting Fire Lady. She had not had to struggle and flaunt herself for his affections; she had been picked from a line-up, her expectations realistic, her motives aligned with his. It was the least romantic relationship Iroh had ever been part of. It was… refreshing.

On the day the palace doctor confirmed their newly budded line of succession, the Fire Lord called them both in for congratulations. And for pruning.

* * *

Zuko had turned twelve, but had not realized it. Azula had turned ten. She’d counted the days.

Iroh had not been able to visit them in prison; only to inquire as to their treatment. Individual cells, regular meals of reasonable quality, no abuses. He’d moved his own people into position to ensure the last.

Azulon had moved them back, after a delay for his soft-hearted son’s conscience. They could not waste loyal men on cuckoo-vipers. And Iroh could not waste his father’s good will. Not when it would be needed in the future, for the most important request.

* * *

“And your wife agrees to this?” asked the Fire Lord, behind his flames.

Iroh’s wife had not been directly addressed, and so did not reply. She sat in polite and perfect seiza, her head raised, as befitted the woman currently running her half of the court. Azulon had never seen fit to replace his own wife, after all.

“She does,” Iroh spoke for her. “We have spoken on the issue at length, and believe it best. Our family is small, and cannot afford to be smaller. The children are young; too young to have been in their parents’ confidences. With proper guidance—”

“And how would they place in the line of succession?” Azulon asked. “How would they chafe, how would they plot, with a decade’s experience over your eldest?”

Lu Ten’s own connections at court had been built while his cousins were still in diapers. But he was no longer Iroh’s eldest.

“We believe—”

“No,” his father interrupted again. “I will not allow their adoption. Not by you, where they could smother your own babe in the cradle, and certainly not by someone I trust less.”

Which was everyone, since the night his daughter-in-law had served him tea sent by his son.

“Father,” Iroh began, and his wife shifted her elbow just so, the only indication that she wished to dig it into his ribcage. “They are young, and innocent. They are my beloved nephew and niece. Your grandchildren. We cannot in good conscience—”

‘Good conscience’ had never factored into his father’s policies. Iroh had… begun to realize that, of late. His wife let out a small sigh, deliberately audible only to the man next to her. She had cautioned very strongly against a—how had she put it?—a feelings-based approach to this situation. Feelings rarely factored into her own decisions. She had been hand-selected by his father, after all.

His wife went into a half-bow, her head lowered. “May I speak, my lord?”

The flames crackled. The shadow of his father inclined its head, just slightly.

“To kill the children is wise, and I admit, would set my mind at ease for my own child’s sake. But my husband feels strongly on this matter, and so I support him, for his happiness is my own. May I suggest a compromise? To place them outside the court, where they cannot build influence, nor harm your son’s heirs. A position from which you can judge their characters and value to the nation as they grow.”

“You suggest banishment,” the Fire Lord said.

“Not unstructured, of course. To leave them roaming freely would invite those that would take them in. Perhaps a military commission? As they are commoners, they should begin from a rank befitting their station, of course. Let them prove their worth on their own merit.”

Iroh could not see through the flames, but he knew his wife’s small smile was reflected on his father’s face.

“A naval position,” the Fire Lord said. “On a ship that does not frequently make port. The frontlines would be the best place for them to prove themselves, wouldn’t you agree?”

Iroh closed his eyes.

“Father,” he said. “Please,” and he could feel his wife willing him to stop talking. The Fire Lord had already agreed to spare their lives. A banishment could be undone, so long as he and the children both outlived the man before them. “I… thank you for your wisdom in this ruling. But perhaps, if they complete some feat worthy of our line, they could be allowed to return?”

The flames were hot against his face. His new wife was still and silent against his side. His father… his father laughed, a low exhalation, the wheeze of a humorless old man.

“Let them bring me the Avatar,” Fire Lord Azulon said, “and I will welcome them home with honor.”

* * *

Zuko didn’t know why they’d pulled him from his cell or scrubbed him down or taken his old clothes. They’d been dirty but they could have been cleaned. His new clothes were scratchy, and too big, and they looked like a common soldier’s, and… and—

And they’d shaved his hair.

* * *

It had gotten rid of the bugs, Azula admitted, in the privacy of her own mind. Still. She memorized the faces of the woman who’d held her down and the man who’d shorn her. For future reference.

They hadn’t bothered sizing her new outfit for a child. Azula noted the quartermaster’s face, as well.

* * *

They were put on a ship. It was the first time they’d seen each other in nearly a year.

Zuzu looked at her head, and wisely said nothing.

She raised an eyebrow at his, and graciously granted him the same.

It was hard to tell them apart. They had their mother’s face. And their father’s.

* * *

Their captain’s name was Zhao. He invited them to dinner in his private quarters, once the Fire Nation was behind them. Zuko fidgeted. Azula didn’t.

The captain spoke on how much potential he saw in them, under a commander who saw their true value.

Together, they could go far. Very far, indeed.

Azula smiled and said all the things she thought father would have said. Zuko scowled.

Zhao brushed over their arms with his own while reaching for things. He served them more when they said they were already full. He squeezed their shoulders when he brought them back to their rooms, which were next to his, even though the rest of the lower crewmen slept together in the same big cabin. Zuko scowled harder.

Azula was invited back. Zuko wasn’t.

* * *

Zhao was… Zhao wasn’t a good person.

“I know that, dum-dum. But do you want to stay banished forever?”

“Uncle said—”

“Uncle’s going to change his mind, when he has his own heir and a spare. We’re threats, Zuzu. And Zhao knows father’s old friends. He’s one of the smart ones.”

The dumb ones had already been executed.

“I… I think he wants to—to tie himself to the royal line.”

“Eww,” she said. “I’m ten. If he wants to get engaged, I’ll just break it when we’ve got the throne. It will be too late for him to retract his support, then.”

They’d barely left port before Zhao had made his first move. He didn’t seem like a man who waited.

Azula was ten, but Zuko was twelve. Being twelve was almost thirteen, which was almost a teenager, which was almost an adult, and adults understood things that ten year olds didn’t.

They had to get off this ship. They had to go home.

Zuko had to find the Avatar.

* * *

(This ficlet is now posted on AO3.)

#are you not entertained?#eventually this one will be a Fire Lord Iroh AU #better hope he gets that throne quick <3 #Happy Ending: and then they joined the southern raiders just as Hakoda was setting sail #and Hakoda was unprepared for these feral fuzzy-headed children suddenly on his ship #Bad Ending: and then they joined the southern raiders when Zuko was sixteen and Azula was fourteen #after four years with Zhao #Zuko: *shakes Aang until he glows then yeets him at Zhao like a grenade*#Azula: that's a good first step to being my favorite brother #but I still don't have a crown in my hair Zuzu #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla #Zuko #Azula #Iroh #I actually really like Iroh's new wife?#RIP one-off OC I'll probably never use again #you are the politically climbing aro-ace rep we deserve #New Wife: sure I'll exchange my firstborn for ultimate power in my nation #wait I can keep the kid too?#sweet deal #ficlet #Cuckoo-Vipers

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