#day18

It's in the little things (that I can remember you by) {fic}

“What were the Air Nomads’ hairstyles? We could try them.” Aang’s hands still immediately.

Written for @domaystic !

I love imagining their little silent moments and family life, as busy as they were. This came about when seeing the Domaystic prompts and I kept imagining Aang brushing Katara's hair as if it was gold itself.

Prompts: 8. Reassurances 18. Relaxing evening 21. Hair brushing

the gift revealed on this day was…

bucktommy phone wallpapers by @jacki-daytona! (1080x1920px size)

What is a home? 

Is it a place where you grew up, or a place where your things are? 

You thought it was a place where you felt safe after a long day, where you could laugh freely and be yourself. 

But even with all your things and all the comforts of four walls, you felt like you were missing something. 

Until Xavier showed up in your life — mixing your laughs with his soft chuckles, the restful nights with deep breaths and warm embraces full of quiet and unwavering devotion. 

There are days when Ezan doesn't roar. Doesn't flex. Doesn't talk.

Those days are somehow worse.

Silence settles around him like steam in the locker room, heavy, reverent, a little stupid. When Ezan goes quiet, the bros know better than to interrupt. Not because he's wise. Because whatever is happening behind those golden eyes is processing at the speed of protein.

Mute Mode: Protein Overload

Ezan lounges shirtless on a gold-plated bench, legs spread, head tipped back, empty shaker dangling loosely from his hand. His abs are still carved, still dominant, just softened by a proud, puffed-out bro belly earned through reckless devotion to liquid gains.

He doesn't speak. He barely blinks.

Around him, bros move carefully, whispering like acolytes in a holy place. Empty gold shaker bottles form a ritual circle at his feet. Protein powder dusts the floor like sacred ash.

No words. Only digestion.

Chicken Coma Confessions

The feast table groans under the weight of grilled chicken breasts stacked to the ceiling. Ezan sits at the head, shirtless in golden sweatpants, leaned back in total surrender. His belly presses forward, full and victorious.

One bro taps it experimentally, thump. Another quietly writes on a napkin: "Too full to flex."

Ezan stares into the middle distance. Silent. Ascended. A god brought low by poultry.

Shh… He's Thinking (Maybe)

In the quiet glow of a study room, Ezan sits in full golden uniform, glasses perched on his nose, holding a fitness magazine upside down. He squints. He nods. He pretends.

A thought bubble hovers above him:

"Thinking hard…"

Nearby, a sticky note reads: "Chest Day > Chess Day." The wrong book lies open. The wrong conclusions are being reached.

No one corrects him. Silence is kinder.

Silent, But Not Modest

Locker room mirrors glow amber as Ezan admires himself in nothing but gold briefs. One hand cradles his bloated midsection like a trophy. The other flexes gently, just enough to remind the room who he is.

He smirks. He says nothing.

Behind him, the bros judge in complete silence. One holds up a sign:

"BRO IS DOWN BAD."

Ezan doesn't turn around. He doesn't need to.

Silence speaks for him.

On AO3

It’s been a long time since Shadowheart saw Lae’zel holding a blade. Even though it’s an ugly thing, whittled crudely from wood in the early hours of this morning, she carries it as though it is made of the finest githyanki silver. Her body, sharp and agile as ever, is poised at the ready, the years of training and natural warriors' instinct returning to her taut muscles in an instant. Shadowheart is sure that, despite her inferior weapon, any mindflayer foolish enough to cross Lae’zel’s path would swiftly meet its’ end, even if the worst they had to worry about these days was an escaped chicken or two...   

Shadowheart had been elbow-deep in the breakfast dishes when she spotted Lae’zel leading Xan out onto the lawn for his first ever lesson in swordsmanship. She pauses now her task, letting her hands rest in the warm, sudsy water as she watches the two of them through the farmhouse window. The pair stop when they arrive at a makeshift training dummy, another thing Lae’zel had hastily thrown together from an old sack stuffed with hay this very morning.   

*** 

Lae’zel had always been adamant that she had no expectations for their son to grow up to be a warrior, but last night, snuggled between the two of them in front of the crackling fireplace, when he asked them both if he could learn to use a sword, the glow of pride coming off her was unmistakable even as she said— 

“Battle will always be there waiting for those who seek it. Choose this path if you wish, but remember your life is your own and you are free to do with it as you please. Whether you grow to be a warrior, a baker, or a poet, your mother and I—”   

“—will love me just the same,” Xan finished with a huff. “I knoooow.”   

Shadowheart laughed and ran her fingers through Xan’s soft, red hair. “I, for one, think he already makes a fine farmer. Did you know our son managed to find where Betty has been hiding her eggs today?”   

"Truly?" Lae’zel’s bright eyes widened. “That damned fowl has been evading me for weeks.” 

Xan slipped out from between them and pushed himself off the sofa to stand in front of them, beaming. “Mamma taught me!” he said, puffing up his tiny chest.   

“Did she?” Lae’zel asked, sneaking a sideways look at Shadowheart as she closed the newly vacated space between them.   

Shadowheart had not been keen to pass on any of Shar’s lessons to Xan, but she may have taught him a thing or two about tracking recently...   

She sank back into Lae’zel’s warmth, enjoying the feeling of her arm wrapping around her as they settled in to listen to Xan’s tale of how he bested their most devious hen.   

***   

Through the window, Shadowheart watches bits of straw spill from the dummy and float gently to the ground as Xan lands his first successful hit. And although the latch is firmly closed, she can still hear Lae’zel’s cheer as she fists the air in their shared triumph.   

The pair of them still have a lot to teach Xan, but, as they so often tell him, he is free to live the life he wants. They all are.