Ayo Flameo Hotman!

BABYGIRL NOT THE KIDNEY!!!! how about just a pinky toe? <333

also - ask and ye shall receive!! <3333 the WAY i love this MAN MY GODDDDDD

The ceremony was over. Exhaustion didn't begin to cover how Zuko felt and he hadn't even gotten a chance to actually speak to his wife during it all.

Great Agni- My wife. He couldn't believe that it had happened. It felt surreal.

Currently, he was outside his chambers, pacing quietly as the handmaidens helped you change and ready for bed. Their bed. The thought alone made Zuko deeply nervous. He knew that the Fire Nation was still exceptionally archaic and expected proof of consummation of the marriage but he couldn't even bring himself to think of that right now.

All he could think about was how you were so far from home, in a strange place with stranger people and you were expected to make it work.

He sighed and looked to the door as it opened. The handmaidens bowed and left. He watched them disappear at the end of the hallway before knocking gently on the door.

"May I come in?" He asked.

"Yes- Of course." You answered hurriedly and he heard fabrics rustling about.

Zuko entered, his heart in his throat and his palms clammy. And there you were. A vision to behold. Hair undone, no rouge, no regalia. Just a simple sleeping gown and a robe.

You're beautiful. Like the moon- Like the sun- Like every star I've ever seen.

He wanted to say it all but he held it in. He didn't want to spook you on the first night. You looked nervous enough too.

"Would you care to sit?" He asked, sitting on the bed and patting the space next to him.

You smiled anxiously and sat beside him, but still left some space in between. Something that Zuko clocked immediately.

"I- Uh- I believe this is tradition." He pulled out a betrothal necklace. "I'm not the greatest craftsman but I tried my best." He said sheepishly and offered you the necklace. "May I put it on you?"

Your eyes widened- He didn't have to keep up with your traditions- He was the Fire Lord. But here he was. Giving you a betrothal necklace. You smiled softly and nodded, turning your back to him so he could tie it around your neck.

"Thank you-" You said softly. "You didn't have to-"

"I'm not finished." Zuko smiled, turning you to face him again. "Sokka told me that there's some other traditions if the husband is a warrior." You flushed at the term husband. It was still all so new and surreal. "I don't consider myself a warrior but I have fought, so I think I qualify." He joked and you laughed a little as well, turning your face away shyly.

Zuko considered this as an absolute win. You weren't shrinking away or running for the hills from him. So, clearly- He was doing this husband thing right.

He stood up and went to a drawer, pulling out a dagger that was encrusted with a moonstone.

"I am to understand that as I wed you-" He handed you the blade. "As per the Water Tribe customs, I put my life in your hands. And with this weapon, you may either protect me, or harm me- It would be your right as my wife."

Your fingers wrapped around the beautiful dagger. "Thank you..." You whispered again, holding the blade to your chest. "For upholding my traditions."

"They're ours now." He assured you gently.

Silence wrapped around the room but it didn't feel heavy. You held the blade tightly and couldn't find the words to appreciate Zuko properly for what he'd done.

However, as exhaustion deepened for both of you, the realization of sharing the bed grew heavier.

"Um-" You swallowed hard, looking at the bed then back at Zuko.

"Hm? Oh! Uh- We don't- don't have to-" His voice wavered as nerves took over.

"We don't?" You repeated, unsure that he'd said what he had.

"We don't." He said firmly. "I- I never wish that you feel obligated for such matters."

"But the court-" You fidgeted with the handle of the dagger.

Zuko smiled and shook his head. "I've dealt with worse than court gossip. They may whisper as they please- I'm not about to put their words above my wife's comfort."

You flushed and looked away again. "I appreciate that."

It seemed that everything you'd assumed about the Fire Lord was turning out to be very false.

"You are an honourable man." You said softly, still not meeting his gaze.

That woman never gendered me right once, but she shut up about Jesus long enough to feed people next to us bc she cared more about action than ideology. She also had a whole network of other church people who helped contribute $ to ingredients. We provided more and better meals together than in our "correct" silos

In 1992, Colorado passed Amendment 2. This was a vicious of anti-gay legislation meant to be a test bed for right-wing policy all over the country. Colorado became known as the "Hate State" because of this law.

It had a lot of far reaching effects. A lot of people got fired. Attacked. They lost families. They lost their livelihoods.

This forced queer people to organize, and act. And as oppressive governments so often do when faced with minority action, they sent in the jackboots.

Now the union men and women of the town I lived in might not know about all this gay business, but they certainly know how the cops treat them. And if these queers are throwing bricks at cops and getting beaten by truncheons same as any good card carrying union man, well maybe they're worth talking to.

So the union started showing up in solidarity with the queer community. They shared their knowledge of how to fight the cops. Of how to negotiate with business and government. Of how to apply pressure and make your voices heard. They showed up with snacks and water. They showed up with muscle. They showed up with negotiators. They showed up with the knowledge that they may not understand the way you live your life, but nobody should catch it in the jaw from some jackboot with a god complex.

This town celebrates Pride on a different month than the rest of the country, because they started celebrating pride before pride was a thing. The union came together with the queer community and worked to put on a pride event of their own long before there was anything widely accepted.

I had just transitioned back in August of the year of the Club Q shooting. I had been boymoding the entire time outside my own house. I barely told my friends about my transition. I was terrified.

And then the Club Q shooting happened within spitting distance of the town I lived in. I instantly knew what I had to do. This was a terrorist attack. This was supposed to make me afraid. I needed to show no fear.

The town had a vigil the next day. I went out into public as myself for the first time ever to attend a vigil for those who were murdered to try to keep me scared. I owed it to those people to not be scared.

There weren't just queers there. There was a pastor from the local open and affirming church. There were local business owners. Community organizers.

And a contingent of hard-bitten union men and women there to show solidarity with their oppressed comrades. They don't need to understand what a neopronoun is to know that people in their community had been wronged and they needed to do something about it.

That moment changed my fucking life. I saw how many people fucking cared. I saw a beautiful moment of solidarity and connection. I saw a community coming together to protect each other in the face of horrific violence targeting vulnerable members of their community.

And weirdly enough you’re really good at this: making pizzas and dealing with shitty customers and breaking up fights in the parking lot and pretending to be Duncan’s cousin on the phone so the utility company doesn’t cut off the power. But running a store is a lot of work for two dumb kids, so slowly you start accumulating a bunch of competent weirdos to help out, like the nun who left her convent because god told her to help you make pizzas, and the elderly school teacher who just survived a mass shooting, and the guy the papa johns down the street hired to run you over. And really there’s no way any of this should be working as well as it is - you’re absolutely committing fraud of some kind here - but you’ve managed to dodge the landlord every time he’s stopped by, and the health inspector never shows up to tell you to stop letting your dog hang out behind the counter and you’re all still kinda looking at each other and asking ‘are we allowed to just do this?’ before shrugging again and continuing to make pizzas, until somehow, through a series of unlikely technicalities, your doofus coworker ends up on the ballot for governor.