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bokunosimpfiction · 3 years

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Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Synopsis: Heisenberg kidnaps the reader. And she’s pissed about it. And so is he. Turns out there’s a lot more to it than it seems, tw: kidnapping I’m not tagging for violence because it’s less graphic than even the mild stuff in canon. Like reader gets a concussion and a dislocated arm, that’s it.

A/N: first time ever writing for Resident Evil. I haven’t even played the games, only watched a play-through and immediately fell in love with this hobo. Honestly, there’s a lot of room to make a sequel or some more from this but I have commitment issues and it probably won’t happen.

Oh and one last thing! Do you think I should add resident evil: village to my fandoms I write for or no. Let me know please!

It’s dark in your small cottage, claustrophobic with the way you stumble to the front door as fast as you can. You try to take deep breaths, but you can’t, not with someone chasing you. You cut through the kitchen, and when he reaches out to grab you, you slam the door to a cabinet as hard as you can. You can hear his pained yell.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, (y/n),” he says.

“I’ll make it as hard as I damn please!” You put your hand on the handle to the front door, twist and right before you manage to open it, a body slams into yours and you hear your arm pop. Loudly. And it burns at the elbow like someone poured gasoline on it and set it on fire.

You can hear his heavy breathing and feel the warm air on the crown of your head. “You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that much.” He presses his body further into yours, and you feel everything. The toned muscle under a layer of fat, the harsh fabric of his shirt and jacket, and the bulge that presses into the small of your back.

“You’re so small,” he coos, like he’s talking to a dog, “I can’t wait to break you.”

You manage to wiggle one arm free and jab him in the side as hard as you can with your elbow. You hear him say oof under his breath, and you take this as the opportunity to press your foot into the door and push back into him as hard as you can, to at least get him to stumble back.

It doesn’t work, he just leans his whole-body weight on you and uses one hand to smash your head into the door. He could have done it harder, you reckon, but it still hurts like a mother fucker. “Shut the fuck up before I do something I regret.”

“Like you don’t already regret breaking into my house and trying to kidnap me? Like you don’t regret slamming me into my door and dislocating my elbow? What are you going to do to me that you’ll regret? Huh?”

He looks down at you through those yellow glasses of his, light from the glass peephole reflecting off of them but his hat shading the rest of his face. “I said shut the fuck up!” He presses your head even further into the door, and your temple digs into the frame. It hurts, and your eyes water from the pain.

“Who even are you?!” You end up shouting. His grip loosens a little bit, just enough for you to move your head off the door frame and onto the actual door. “I’ve never met you in my goddamn life and you break into my house, say you love me, and try to kidnap me!”

Something in him breaks, you can tell, the outline of his features look crestfallen. “You don’t know who I am?”

“No… I don’t. And here you are in my house, chasing me around like I’m some goddamn animal you’re hunting.” Your eyes water. “I know you don’t mean a damn word you said this entire time.”

“Shut your goddamn trap woman!” His grip on your hair tightens. “I love you and we both know it; I know everything about you.”

“So, you’re a stalker? Huh, didn’t think I was pretty enough to have one.”

“I knew you had a mouth on you, and it was attractive till it was pointed in my direction.” His voice is low and gravelly at this point, like a thin string that’s pulled taut and about to snap.

“Well get used to it you fu-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because a piece of metal from his hammer slams you hard in the face, knocking you out cold.

When you wake up, it’s hard to open your eyes. It’s too bright and the room is spinning when you move your head up. That must be one hell of a bump on your forehead. You go to feel it, only to find you hands chained up to a metal pipe on the wall. Your feet are too, but that chain is a lot slacker.

You’re lying down on the floor, a cheap scratchy blanket separating you from rough, worn down cement. It’s still hard and cold, but it didn’t scratch up your skin, so that’s something to be grateful for. You look around the room, only to find an old tv, that’s on, and playing static. That’s what was so bright, you realize.

Suddenly the noise from the t.v. stops, and you hear a voice. It’s still sounds like static, but it’s audible enough to understand the words and recognize the voice. It’s the same guy who kidnapped you. You don’t really process what he’s saying, it’s just noise to you, and you close your eyes and curl up as best as you can. Maybe you’ll wake up, and everything will be okay.

“Quit ignoring me girlie.”

You snap out of your daydreaming. The days of that warm bed and leaky bathroom faucet are over, and this cruel situation is your reality for the time being.

“Okay. Okay. But just quiet down my head hurts.”

“I’d be sorry, but you brought that upon yourself,” he says.

You can’t help but be snarky, you’re tired and already sick of this shit. “I’m sorry you don’t have the self-control to not kidnap people and knock them unconscious via flying pieces of metal.”

“Touché.” You hear back.

“Can you at least get me some Tylenol for my head or something.”

“Why should I? After all the attitude you’ve given me, I should just leave you in there to starve.” Looks like he knows how to be snarky too.

“Because you were the one who hit me in the head and locked me in here?”

“Apologize and I’ll consider it.”

You go back to your curled up position. “I guess I’ll just starve down here then.”

The t.v. cuts off again, or you just tune him out, just run your hands along the chains to try and find a lock. You find the one attached to your left ankle and begin to plot your escape. Maybe you could pick the lock with a bobby pin? You run your hands through your hair, not only to find that it was down, but all of them were removed.

You run your hands down your pajama pants. Maybe you have something in your pockets? They also turn up empty.

“Are you looking for something to pick the lock with?” You hear from the t.v. You turn back to look at it, only to see his face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s taken off his worn-out bucket hat, so you can see his untamed salt and pepper hair. “I took the liberty of searching your person while you were knocked out. I highly doubt you’ll find something to pick the lock with.”

�� “You’re an asshole, you know that.” You find yourself saying. To be fair, you probably shouldn’t, considering that he: is holding you hostage, threatening to leave you to starve, and is clearly a psychopath, despite his claims that he loves you.

“Calm down, you know it makes me upset to see you mad.”

You can’t help but raise your voice at him. “Quit fucking taunting me! You won this stupid ass game. You kidnapped me! You can come down here and kill me now!”

“You think I wanna kill you?” He asks, you can tell he’s just as furious as you are. He chuckles lightly. “You know I love you. I did this for your own good! There are people out there. People who want to taint you and your innocence! People who want to hurt you!”

“I can handle myself just fine! I had before your psycho ass came along and kidnapped me!” Your furious, desperately searching for a weak point on the pipe with your hands while you yell at the t.v.

“And what would have happened if I didn’t?” He asks you, “lady supersized bitch in the castle would have gotten to you first… I can’t have that.”

“I’m sorry who?” You ask. Suddenly things have gotten more confusing.

“I’m not the only one who’s after you,” he clarifies. “You think I’m the one who’s a psychopath, there’s a woman out there who wants to drink your blood and eat your flesh! And monster that wants to drown you and swallow you whole-”

“Slow down! I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Don’t interrupt me! I want what’s best for you!” You can hear him take a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you upstairs and explain everything. And you’re going to behave, am I clear?”

You just nod your head.

“Good. Now stop trying to find a weak point on that pipe to get loose before I get down there. It has carbon monoxide in there, you’ll poison yourself before you get to that door.”

You immediately stop twisting the connector and drop your hands to your sides.

“Good girl…” His praise makes you want to vomit. “Now stay still while I come get you.”

When he comes down and opens that iron door and unceremoniously tosses you over his shoulder, you can’t help but comment on it. “Am I a bag of potatoes to you?”

“Don’t complain, I could be like that Dimitrescu bitch and turn you into wine.”

You shut up immediately and grasp the back of his coat for balance. You don’t know why, but his empty threats scare you immensely. You watch the hallways blur into one another, trying to see if you can find a window, or an escape rout of some sort, hell, even a vent he couldn’t fit in but you could would work well.

He smacks your thigh. Not hard, but enough for a slight sting and to get your attention. “We’re in the center of the factory, there’s no need for you to be tracking an escape route, especially because you won’t be leaving any time soon.”

Eventually, you end up in a small office like space, with a desk, a cork board with several pictures of people on it, and a large grate that leads to a tunnel downwards. He pulls the metal chair out of the corner with his powers and places you in the chair. “Stay.”

“So…” He turns towards the cork board. “Since your out of town, I’ll explain the run-down-“

“I don’t really care for the details.” You stand up from the chair and go to walk towards him, but he crosses the room in a second and slams you back down.

“I told you to stay in that goddamn chair!” He opens his mouth to explain but a whirring noise starts out of nowhere. It’s loud, obnoxious, and coming from the vent. He opens it. “Shut your goddamn trap!”

“Anyhow, (Y/N),” he starts, “the other three lords decided that they’re interested in you, for whatever their reasons are. I’m assuming they want to kill you.”

“That’s a veeeeeery extreme assumption.” You roll your eyes, and prop your head on your hands.

“Well two of them are well know for turning people into dolls and drinking their blood,” he says casually, “it’s only a fair assumption they want to do the same with you.”

“I’m sorry they what?”

He turns to you, surprised for a moment that you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Super-sized bitch over here,” a sharp piece of metal lands on the photo of a pale, middle aged woman with bold red lipstick and a black hat, “is one of the other three lords, known for drinking the blood of girls like yourself. Wouldn’t suggest meeting her, she’s not that pleasant.”

“Known for?”

“Sort of, most of the towns people don’t know,” he turns to you and leans on the table by the cork board, “they’re too busy worshipping Mother Miranda.”

“I’ve heard her name before,” you say, “doesn’t she protect the town?”

You can sense the anger you caused before you can take it back.

“That Miranda bitch doesn’t protect anybody from shit. She’s the one causing all the issues, kidnapping people and mutating them, killing them and throwing their lives away like table scraps.” You slams his hand on the table and you visibly flinch. He quickly apologizes.

“You keep mentioning ‘the other three lords’ how many are there, and who’s the one your excluding in that statement?” You question as soon as you get the chance. He’s talking, loudly, quickly and it’s filling up the space in the room with an anxious sort of white noise.

“Pardon me,” he says, and waltzes over, almost over-dramatically. He brings your hand to his lips and places a light kiss. You can feel his stubble and chapped lips on the top of your hand. He desperately needs to use chap-stick. “I’m Heisenberg, one of the four lords, but you can call me Karl.”

“Okay… Karl.” You test the name out on your tongue. “What are you going to do with me, now that I’m here?”

He gets down on one knee in front of you, still holding your hand. “Oh (Y/N), I’m going to treat you how you deserve, like a princess.”

#resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #yandere karl heisenberg #yandere heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #yandere karl heisenberg x reader #tw: kidnapping

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maturemenoftvandfilms · 4 years

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Coach Bowden

Chapter Four: Private Meeting

Featuring Football coach Terry Bowden

A few days had passed since Coach Bowden and I had last gratified each other in the coach's office this past week. We had just won our game against Kent State and coach had pulled me aside after the team had finished showering and changing post game. He usually gave us a debriefing of sorts after the game, quickly going over some negatives or places in need of improvement balanced by as many positives as could be found. But after this game he merely addressed the team with a contrite congratulatory speech and told us to be on our way as we had a tough stretch of games ahead of us.

"Matt, I know you probably want to go with your buddies, but I wanted to ask you to come over to my place and talk about what has been going on. Audrey is at her mother's house for the next day or two, so we have the place to ourselves and get some things in the open." Asked Coach Bowden as he pulled me aside from the group of guys going out to celebrate.

"Sure Coach, let me just tell the guys that I can't make it. I'll meet you at your place in an hour?" I asked.

I was expecting the break up talk, followed by the keep our sexcapades a secret. I wasn't too broken up about as I was still fucking his brother Jeff with regularity. If anything, I'll have the opportunity for more guys in my life.

We all knew where Coach Bowden lived, as he was our coach as well as our friend. He frequently had us over in the summer for cookouts. I walked up to his front door, it was a medium sized house with a short driveway and four steps leading to the front door. The doorbell had hardly rang when he opened it and whisked me inside.

Coach had me in an embrace before I could think as he shoved his tongue in my mouth and was rubbing his hands up and down my back. I went from half-mast to dripping before I even knew what was happening. Clearly this wasn't a man who wanted to end an a relationship as we shared a long passionate kiss. I certainly didn't mind.

"Lets head to the bedroom." And with that, he led me to his bedroom with me nipping at his heels, frantically ripping my clothes off on the way, tripping over untied shoelaces and peeling socks off just as he entered the small room. We continued undressing as Terry already had his pants off and pulling off his shirt. I crept up behind him, wrapping my arms around his belly, hugging him close. I started kissing his left ear and cheek as I groped his still clothed crotch. I could tell he was enjoying this as reach up and started squeezing his tits.

"I want you." He whispered.

Turning back to face me, his thick, hard cock slide against my leg, touching my own growing cock. We were face-to-face, chest-to-chest and groin-to-groin as he began to kiss me, slowly entering my mouth with his tongue. Our kiss was so passionate. I felt his heaving chest press against me, and his cock was now between my thighs, pumping back and forth. His hands started lifting my shirt before quickly attack my tits as we stood there kissing and groping each other.

Next thing I know, we're on the bed, me on top of Terry, grinding our crotches together through our underwear. I could feel his dick was hard too and knew he was aroused. I put my fingers in his shorts and slowly began to pull them down off his legs. All six inches of it pointed at the ceiling, framed by his pubic bush and his nuts were hanging close to his body. Taking him in my mouth, I began to suck while I swirled my tongue around his boner. He rubbing my back as I wet a few of my fingers, got a finger inside him and started to massage his hole.

I had him so turned on, he started thrusting into my throat, barely keeping still as continued devouring his cock. He had pre-cum oozing like crazy moaning as I took him in my dream land. I kissed and licked every inch of his manhood. I guess he got pretty turned on by what I was doing to him he turned me around with his burly arms and put us into 69 position.

I had one hand on his ass and the other on his head force down on my cock. He could really suck; he knew how to please a man. He swirled his tongue around the head of my dick and he gently squeezed my nuts. I began to moan and my hips bucked slightly. After awhile Terry pull up, look at me, I went to kiss him immediately, working my way on top him. I was again grinding our rock hard cocks together as passionate kiss.

I got on my back as coach got between my spread legs and attack my cock. Looking in the mirror on the wall, I admired his ass as it moved slightly from side to side. He had a hold on my nuts and was devouring my cock. I lovingly caressed his grey hair to show my appreciation. I’m thrusting my hard erected dick pumping hard and deep into his hungry mouth which my balls were banging against his chin at the same time. Again I check the mirror, admiring his cute, bubble ass.

I got on my back as coach got between my spread legs and attack my cock. He grabbed my balls and put his mouth back over my throbbing cock. He pushed his head down on it as far as he could without gagging. I felt the head rubbing the back of his throat. I looked down and saw the gray hair bobbing up and down on my dick. Looking in the mirror on the wall, I admired his ass as it moved slightly from side to side. He was eagerly gobbling my cock and it was as if he was a starved man trying to satisfy his hunger.

I lovingly caressed his head to show my appreciation. I started to push him down farther on my dick. He opened his mouth and relaxed his jaw to take more in. Soon he was reaching up and squeezing and rubbing my chest. Again I check the mirror, admiring his cute, bubble ass.

After a few minutes of this, coach crawled on top of me, kissing me and grinding our crotches together. The friction of our dicks rubbing together was fantastic. He lifted his face off mine and slowly raised his chest off me while still grinding his dick into mine. Turned on by this, I quickly rolled on top of him before sliding down to his waiting cock.

My finger found his hole and he was moaning and moving around. I reached and start jacking off to get myself ready for what to come.

"Do it, Matt. Fuck me. Fuck me now. Please, Matt. I need to be fucked." Coach begged.

I rolled off the bed and with my hard cock swinging back and forth, hurried to my jeans.

"I used to be a Boy Scout. So I'm always prepared." I said as I pulled a tube of lubrication out of my pocket.

He grinned as I bounded back on to the bed. While terry laid on his side, I applied some lube to my cock and to his ass. Then I ran my dick up and down his crack before I mounted him as he reached back, rubbing my chest. The sensation was indescribable. It felt so good to have this man want it so bad. Leaning forward, I looked into his eyes as I started to slowly fuck him.

"That's it Matt. Fuck me." Coach moaned.

I just smiled into those lust-filled eyes, as I started fucking him. Each time the fat head of my dick passed his hard prostate, pre-cum would squirt from the tip of his cock.

"Yes." He moaned as he reached back to pull me against him, making sure I was all of the way in.

It looked so hot to see his salt-n-pepper hair, the fur on his shoulders and back with traces going all the way down to the ass my cock was now firmly buried in. I pulled out and pushed back in. Out and back, making the slowest of rhythms. Still looking in his eyes, I kissed him. We held a kiss as I worked his ass. He was reaching back squeezing my ass as began to pick up the pace. He shifted to his belly and moaned as I continued, now moving a bit quicker while I kissed him on his neck and sucked on his ear lobes. Smelling the sweet scent of the cologne that he wore mixed with his sweat was intoxicating to me.

Every so often he would squeeze my dick with his ass muscles. He rocked left and right, spreading his legs a bit wider. I continued to pick up the pace. My fucking worked up to a solid rhythm, my balls occasionally slapping against him. He began moaning low. It was very quiet, but with an encouraging note. As I continued to fuck him his moaning grew louder. His ass felt so good that I knew I couldn't hold back much longer.

Feeling I was about cum, I stop and continued kissing the back of his neck before he turned on his side and we kissed. I could tell he was still pretty hot. I rolled him onto his back and fuck his ass the way he would have fucked his future wife, missionary style. I ran my fingers through the hair on his chest, squeezing his nipples while my cock repeatedly drilled his ass. By the time I was getting close, my married man was begging me to fuck him harder. He was spreading his legs wide apart, giving me full access to his butt.

He started jacking off his short, thick cock as his moans filled the room. His cock was leaking all over his abs, and I knew from the look on his face that he was getting close himself.

"You O.K.?" I managed, panting heavily.

"Yes, yes I'm fine." He breathed.

"I'm getting very close." I said, making it clear that if we didn't change course soon I was going to shoot my load.

"Uh huh." was his only reply.

I was about to pop. He pushed back hard in to me. That was my cue to go for it. I double my effort and pounded his butt even harder, angling the entry direction to smash against his butt nut. That did it. With a loud cry, he grabbed the bed sheets and his cock spewed married cum all over his chest and stomach. His body convulsed with each spurt as he emptied out his seed onto his body.

The contraction of his ass on my pistoning dick while he went through his orgasm brought my own climax. It was only another three or four strokes before I slammed up against him and held myself there, my dick in him as deep as it could get.

"Oh!" I gasped as my cock began to throb, pumping my load into his ass. My head spun and my vision went blurry. He was moaning and rocking, his warm hole enveloping my throbbing cock.

"Yes! Yessss..." He said, ending in a whisper.

It was fantastic to know I could give him so much pleasure. He gently released me and was still hissing through his teeth and breathing frantically.

"Oh god that felt good." He said.

After we got off and caught our breath, he looked at me and we both started laughing and telling each other how glad we were that wed just met up today. When we finally got up, we both went to the shower and bathed each other.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

#Terry Bowden #fan fiction #Coach Bowden #bowden fiction #bowden fan fiction #Private Meeting

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firelxrdsdaughter · 6 years

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A Foolish Undertaking Chp 9

Read it on A03!

Azula learns that she isn’t likely going home any time soon. (this one’s...really long gais. so I am putting it up here but might be easier to read on A03).

“What makes you think I will ever be a member of this secret…pai sho society of yours?”

Azula

“The breaks are bad, but they are clean.” The tingling, cold, sensation of the water that has been circling over her wounds dissipates, and Azula watches in fascination as the relatively old woman returns the water to the basin at the corner of the room. At her core she is, of course, mistrustful of the water bending peasants who generally lie at the furthest reaches of their borders. She’s never fought any of them save the Avatar’s travelling companion, and the girl had been deadly…

And even Azula could see that she was far from polished at the time.

None of this mistrust means that she does not find interest in other bending styles, however. In how they can be manipulated to fit into her own style, and surprise her enemies. None of this means that she doesn’t wonder, briefly, if fire bending could be turned to such purposes as healing, just as water bending has been.

She decides it’s probably silly. Even if it could be, and there were practical applications for such a technique, it is more prudent to continue studying it to fight, rather than turning her attention away from martial skills for an unknown amount of time.

Especially if she wants to keep her father’s attention.

“I’ll re-splint them with something proper,” the healer, Master Kana, continues, “bandage them up good.” The old woman glances at Azula, her light blue eyes not unkind, the princess thinks.

“She’ll need something to walk with,” she adds, turning back to Iroh, “when she does walk. Of course it’s preferable if she were to rest and not put undue strain on the breaks too early. If she does not wish to cause permanent damage.”

“I am most certain that she does not,” Iroh answers evenly, “but unfortunately we do not have the means to stay in one place, as yet. I would not wish to overstay our welcome, and I think that staying in town would only invite trouble.” He strokes a hand through his salt and pepper beard, humming thoughtfully to himself. Azula observes the familiar stitch of skin at his brow only briefly before she returns to studying the healer’s face.

She wants to commit her features to memory.

The old woman is lean, far leaner than is likely healthy, all skin and bones and hardly any fat. Her Earth Kingdom clothing hangs off of her frame, her white hair pulled back from her face in Earth Kingdom style, though she is so clearly Water Tribe. Her dark skin holds wrinkles and folds that speak of her endless years amongst the living.

She is far older than Uncle Iroh. But the old woman shows him deference, as though he were not in a peasant’s rags. It’s strange.

But then, so was their greeting, and her uncle’s sudden decision that she would be the preferable healer over another more reputable healer in town.

Azula supposes a more reputable healer might be more inclined to report Iroh to the authorities. As a matter for their reputation.

What does some little old woman healer with a Pai Sho tile for a sign have to lose?

“I’m certain I can find something sturdy enough to get you through to somewhere safe,” Kana offers with a wave of the hand.

“That is very kind,” uncle replies. The old woman shrugs, smiling at him, as though pleased with the praise.

“Anything for the Grand Lotus, of course. The Order passed along the news of what happened nearly as soon as it had occurred,” the woman continues in conversation, “Everyone has been wondering when you would surface.”

“It has been difficult to come for help. I put a rather large target on my back.”

Azula frowns, confused not for the first time since they’d entered the little hole in the wall practice and been seen through to the examination room. Grand Lotus. The Order. She stares long at the two elderly people and wonders what connects them. What this order is.

The woman knows who Azula is, that much is clear from their conversation. So much for her plan to tell Kana of her plight while Uncle’s back is turned. To ask her to send for help. Soldiers to come and ‘rescue’ the princess from her horrid uncle and violent brother.

She will find no such help here.

Azula clenches her teeth, and turns the puzzle of this new information over and over again in her mind’s eye, inspecting it.

“And your niece is…uninitiated?”

“That is correct. For now.”

Azula’s attention turns to Iroh and Kana once again, her gaze intense and suspicious. For now? Her uncle’s intentions once again blur and become unclear. By now she has usually figured out those who she spends an inordinate amount of time with. Her uncle continues to elude her. Her hand curls into a fist, nails biting into her palm.

“Unlike my nephew,” Iroh continues, “she has a better appreciation for the finer things in life. For the cryptic arts. Given time, perhaps she may even come to appreciate what the world has to offer when it is in balance.”

“She is right here,” Azula finally snaps. The older folks turn to look at her, eyebrows raised, and Azula feels her glare deepen.

“Apologies,” the old woman says, stepping in before more vitriol can be tossed around. “Of course you are here. You are to take it easy.” The old woman crosses to her, reaching over to a table next to the examination slab, plucking up a nondescript bag and folding it between her age-softened hands. “This herb is for the pain. You only need very small doses. Your uncle will be able to measure and brew them for you.

“It will make you groggy,” Kana warns, “but, at least you will not be in so much pain.”

Azula’s lips press into a thin line, but she nods. Right now, there is no pain in her leg, but she knows that this will likely not last. Much as she requires a sound mind, she also requires rest to make her mind work. She will take the herbs when she needs to sleep, she resolves, no more often than that.

Her uncle comes forward, helping Kana sit Azula up. Her vision swims momentarily, but settles, and the princess looks between the two old people with a delicately raised eyebrow.

“I’ll fetch that walking stick and the splints,” Kana announces congenially, wandering off to do just that.

Azula looks at her uncle then, left alone with him once more in the quiet of the healer’s hut.

“The Order,” she tries then, expression questioning. Uncle only smiles cryptically. Azula scowls at him, huffing.

The old woman comes bustling back, a thick walking stick and her other supplies in hand.

“This will have to do,” she says to them. “It’s not ideal but — I don’t suppose much about this situation is very ideal to begin with.” She hands the stick out to Azula. The princess takes it, moving her hand up and down briefly, testing the weight of it. Kana takes her wounded leg in hand and sets to work.

When the healer has finished her work, Azula’s grip tightens around the curved top of the hard stick, and then she sets it sturdily against the floor, using it to lift herself from the bed she’s been languishing within. Even with the splints she can feel the rush of blood back into her foot, throbbing sharply in her ankle. Azula sucks breath in through her teeth unbidden, closing her eyes as she breathes through the pain.

It settles slightly after a few moments, but her breaths remain infuriatingly shallow to compensate for the pain. Clenching her jaw she takes a tentative step forward with the help of the walking stick. Uncle is going to have to carry her again, she knows. She eyes him silently.

He looks to be deep in thought.

“I have a few more questions for you, Master Kana, if that is alright,” Uncle says then. Azula raises an eyebrow once more. “Azula why don’t you wait outside under the awning in the shade. I will join you momentarily.”

She knows when she is being dismissed. She likes it no better from her uncle than she does from her father. Still, she obeys, hobbling carefully from the house and out into the dust of the street. Azula garners a few passing glances from those on the street, but no more. She finds a low stool and lowers herself onto it carefully, leaning back toward the door.

She listens. Her uncle’s voice can be made out but not understood through the wood. Kana’s replies are even more muffled. Frowning, Azula presses her ear a little closer to the frame, hoping to hear what they are conspiring over.

“-ong-ong…us…” It’s no better really. Her uncle’s laughter is unmistakable, however, and is followed shortly by the tinkling laugh of the healer before she can hear him making his goodbyes and coming closer to the door.

Azula leans back hastily, schooling her expression to boredom, making certain to look as though she were simply staring at the passersby the entire time that she waited. Her uncle’s portly figure trundles through the door, and he casts about for her briefly before realising that he merely needs to look down.

“Done flirting,” she asks flatly. Azula’s mouth tucks up into a lopsided curve. Iroh snorts at her.

“Come on, we’re going to find an ostrich-horse.”

“Oh?”

“I figure that it will be easier on both you and me if we have something to carry you around that isn’t my old, aching, back.”

She scoffs, “Inspired.”

“I certainly thought so,” he agrees. Iroh reaches down a hand to assist her. Azula takes it with a roll of her eyes, eased to her feet with her uncle’s help. They start into the street, Iroh’s hand around her arm.

There is companionable silence between them for a time. At least — as companionable as it can get between herself and her uncle. He seems pleased with himself when she glances at him out of the corner of her eye. She presses her mouth into a line, and then finally gives in to her curiosity, closing her eyes for a breath.

“What is the ‘grand lotus’, and why are you it?”

Iroh’s heavy brow lifts high, stitching to wrinkles as his attention diverts back to Azula. She is careful to show as little emotion as she can force from herself, expectant.

“Do you really want to know,” he asks. Azula rolls her eyes yet again,

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t know about that…but alright. Since you asked. The Grand Lotus is my title within the Order of the White Lotus.”

“White Lotus…?” Wasn’t that a pai sho gambit? And an old one at that? “So you’re…in a pai sho club?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he says after a chuckle, “but essentially? Yes.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Now, now. Don’t be so quick to judge what you do not understand, princess Azula. I thought you of all people would know better than that.”

Azula huffs.

“Well, it’s obviously given you connections. I assume it has to do with more than just pai sho, since you felt safe enough bringing me to that healer that you didn’t really need to watch me. Not to mention, she appeared to be aware of our situation without any need for explanation.”

“There you see? You are a very perceptive girl.”

“I have my moments,” she answers dryly. “So it’s some sort of secret intelligence society with networking across the world. Or at least across the Earth Kingdom.”

“More or less,” he answers easily.

Azula’s eyes narrow.

“Why would you tell me that then? I could tell my father about your secret society of information gatherers.”

Her uncle looks cheerful when he answers her.

“I don’t think you’ll tell him.”

Something inside of Azula clenches at the words, despite his cheerful demeanour. Him not believing that she would tell her father could mean so many things. It could mean that she isn’t ever going home, for instance. She wonders if her uncle is truly above ridding himself of her entirely. Certainly if she were in his shoes she would have done something to take her permanently out of the game by now. She would not have brought her all the way to the Earth Kingdom. She would not have kept her alive on that ship.

Perhaps he hopes that he can get through to her. Or, perhaps he is merely waiting for the opportune moment. Certainly to keep up appearances he could not have killed her in front of Zuko. It would have given him away.

That’s probably it.

Azula steels herself internally.

“Here we are. This is the place that Master Kana described.” Her uncle makes certain that she can stand on her own before leaving her side. Azula puts all of her weight on her good leg, waiting as he barters with a stern looking man over the price for a sturdy mount. Her uncle comes away with one that looks a little ruffled around the edges, but otherwise healthy. It comes with a saddle and bridle already attached.

She’s uncertain where he got the money for the beast. Perhaps the healer.

“There. Come and step into my hands here, I’ll give you a boost so you can sit side saddle. I’ll lead the ostrich-horse for you.” He kneels next to her, hands cupped, ready. Azula sighs wearily, hopping over to her uncle and pressing her good foot into his palms. It requires her to compensate with the bad one. She digs her walking stick into the ground hard to keep as much of the weight from it as is possible.

When she finally gets into the saddle it is on her belly and, exasperated, Azula grunts as she pulls herself in further using her arms, settling awkwardly in the warmth of the leather seat. Her uncle recovers the walking stick where it’s fallen to the dirt road, rubbing at it with his sleeve before he hands it back up to her.

The wood is still warm and smooth under her palms.

“Don’t fall off now,” Iroh says with that same gentle cheerfulness he has affected for most of their journey to the healer. Even carrying her on his back as he’d done for most of the way his tone of voice hadn’t changed. She purses her lips.

“I have never fallen from a saddle in my life. I’m not about to start now.”

He grunts mirthfully, and the ostrich-horse bounces into motion. Azula winces when her splinted leg hits the side of the animal with the movement of its gait, holding it out steadily after that to avoid a repeat offence.

It’s some time before they speak again. Silence their comfortable companion, they disappear into the forest with the beast. It rises around them like a tide of green, late sunlight filtering through here and there to the forest floor in dappled spots of brilliance.

“What makes you think I will ever be a member of this secret…pai sho society of yours,” she asks finally, sudden after the long silence. His words to the healer have been nagging at her. And your niece is uninitiated? Yes. For now. Her voice is hushed in the close press of the foliage. Uncle Iroh turns to look up at her in surprise, eyebrows hitting his hairline.

“Well…” he sighs, his head inclining to the side as he considers his answer. Azula watches from her perch, silently expectant. “You are intelligent, and diligent. You are dedicated to your craft, and adept at many things. I suspect that you like the traditional arts more than you let on, and that you respect the traditions of the other two remaining Nations despite your life’s purpose of putting them on their knees. In short, I see much of myself in you.”

Azula snorts, unable to help herself.

“Yourself?”

“Yes. When I was a different man. Before I lost Lu Ten and had to find myself. I was a lot like you when I was younger. The Dragon of the West, in truth, is not the same person that I have become.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Iroh nods slowly at her remark. Azula watches his expression with care.

“There was a time when i was possessed of the same ruthless drive with which you execute everything, Azula. I am not proud of that man. He was smart in many ways, but still naïve in others. I did not know what the world could truly offer back then, though I called myself cultured. I did not consider the other side of the argument all that often, except where it would serve me in my military position. I was blind to the fact that my son was not ready to be on the frontlines of a war that we had been fighting for nearly a century.”

Iroh grows quiet, looking sad. Azula cuts her gaze away from the naked show of emotion on his weathered features, concentrating on the slithering underbrush below her. She hears him take a steadying breath.

“I merely hope that you do not grow up and have the same regrets that I do when this whole war is over.”

Azula frowns and looks back at the old man.

“What will I possibly have to regret?”

He’s silent for a moment. “If the Fire Nation loses, what will you lose, princess Azula?”

Her lips press closed, a thin white line, and she observes the old man down the length of her nose, expression cold as the inlaid gold of a crown.

“You think that the Fire Nation will lose?” It’s a possibility, of course. One of many. The Fire Nation is at the height of its power, however, and their technological advances far out pace those of the other two Nations. In her estimation, it is very unlikely that the Fire Nation will lose this war. With the return of Sozin’s Comet, too, they will have a once in a century opportunity at finally conquering the Earth Kingdom and the Northern Water Tribe both. They are going to win this war. They are.

“I sincerely hope that it does.”

Her brow draws low, and she looks sharply away from her uncle, back to the path they are forging through the sea of green before them.

“That’s treason,” she informs him flatly, “and a foolish hope at best.”

“Perhaps it is, but I have already kidnapped the heir to the throne. So what’s a little more treason?”

“Huh. You don’t take anything seriously do you,” she asks blandly. Iroh rasps out a laugh.

“Sure I do. But treason is the least of my worries, at the moment. If you want to talk about treason, I would be glad to point out all of your father’s treasons from the brief moment before he took the throne.”

It’s Azula’s turn to laugh, but it sounds bitter.

“So this is about him usurping you.”

“I did not say that. I merely wish to point out that no matter what I do, he would have eventually found an excuse to jail me, or worse. I might have helped him to grow up, but it is clear that your father feels no filial duty toward myself or any of the rest of us. He serves only himself and his own interests. He wanted to be the most powerful man in the world, and now he is.”

“And you didn’t?”

“…When I was young, perhaps…But once my son was gone, I found that all of my desires and ambitions had turned to ash in my mouth. What good was there in conquering? None. How many loving fathers had I deprived of their sons?” He gestures vaguely at the air.

“They feared you,” she says, and thinks that that is infinitely better than being chased down and used as a pawn in father’s plans. She will never be anything but fearsome to those around her. It’s for her own good as well as theirs.

“My name was feared, yes, but that did not bring me joy then, and it does not bring me joy now. It was a lonely life before, even though I had my son. He was the centre of my world. When he died, I was left with nothing that I cared for.”

“So you went wandering,” Azula guessed, sighing tiredly. It was an old story. Uncle and mother had disappeared at around the same time in her life. When father was rising to his place on the throne. When she went from the daughter of the second prince to the daughter of the Fire Lord. Sister of the heir to the Fire Nation throne. The heir in her own right though it was not official at that time.

He doesn’t respond.

“The camp is not far now,” he tells her instead.

Azula settles into the saddle a little heavier, back slouching.

They smell the camp before they see it. Zuko’s gone fishing and has pieces of cod scorching over the fire on a makeshift spit. Others he’s left out in a sunny patch with a generous helping of salt scattered on the skins so that they’ll dry out to jerky. He stands in one swift motion when he hears their approach, sheathing his swords when he sees that it’s them. He eyes the ostrich-horse in surprise.

“Well?”

He doesn’t look at Azula, cutting his gaze down before their eyes can meet. He concentrates instead on their uncle.

“Her leg will heal, and she will live,” Uncle answers cheerfully. Azula rolls her eyes for what feels like the thousandth time that day.”

“Good. Then we can move on,” Zuko says, sitting back down before the fire heavily.

“Well…We do need to wait around here for just…a little longer,” Iroh replies slowly, reaching up for Azula as he speaks. She sighs shortly, accepting his assistance and sliding from the saddle gingerly.

For his apparent level of fitness her uncle is surprisingly strong. He eases her down with the strength of his arms and settles her on the ground so lightly she might have been floating previously.

The clearing has heated noticeably in response to the shift in Zuko’s mood.

“What do you mean two days,” Zuko demands, “we can’t afford to stick around here that long!”

“I don’t think we need to worry about camping out for two days,” Iroh answers calmly. He reaches out a hand to help Azula. It comes gently around her bicep, and she wrenches herself free before he can firm his grip. Iroh glances at her briefly before retracting his hands back to himself.

“The Fire Nation is on our heels!”

“We are in Earth Kingdom territory now,” Iroh answers placatingly, “they will be forced to be more careful. It will work in our favour.”

“Why do we have to stay here anyway,” Zuko demands in turn. Azula is wondering the same thing.

“I am waiting for word on the whereabouts of an old friend. I believe that he can help us, if only we can make contact with him.”

So he’d been setting up this meeting while Azula had waited for him outside of the healing hut. She closes her eyes, and swallows against the sudden wave of nausea brought on by the pain of her broken ankle and knee. She leans heavily on her walking stick, breathing out between her lips and teeth.

“And if we can’t make contact with him,” Zuko questions.

“Azula, settle yourself down and I will make some of that tea,” Uncle invites. She shakes her head only slightly, looking sidelong at Iroh once again.

“No tea.”

He purses his lips at her, eyes narrowing.

“You are clearly in pain,” he tells her, “there is no reason that you must be in pain when we have been provided with the means to keep you comfortable. Sit down. I am making you the tea. And you are going to drink it.”

She huffs at him in outrage, limping briskly to her bed roll where it’s been set cradled within some tree roots. It’s more comfortable than it looks.

“Zuko help your sister sit down,” Iroh instructs.

There’s a pause, annoyance at being ignored, and then Zuko stands with a long sigh of his own. His hand is at her arm a moment later. They don’t look at one another as Azula is eased to the bedroll. Zuko shrugs off his outer robe, rolling it up and stuffing it at her back without a word before he stalks off back to the fire. She frowns as he goes, settling her spine against the bunched up fabric.

Forced to take the tea. Forced to stay at this campsite for the next two days. Azula closes her eyes and crosses her arms. She thinks of home.

#ooc #A Foolish Undertaking #my writing #fanfic #azula #princess azula #iroh #uncle iroh #Zuko #prince zuko

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