Toph

Thirty minutes or so after Katara left Zuko alone in his room feeling slightly sorry for himself, someone was knocking at the door. He pushed off the bed to see who it was, but whoever it was apparently wasn’t going to wait, and it swung open. He had a moment of confusion as he looked through the door to see absolutely nothing.

“Er, hello?” he called out.

“Down here, Firebreath.” He looked down to see Toph on her knees, holding a bowl of what appeared to be stew and looking slightly irritated.

“Well? You gonna keep staring or are ya gonna let me in?”

He coughed and stepped aside, and she crawled in and pushed the door closed with her ankle. “Dinner,” she said, holding up the bowl. He took it, slightly baffled, and watched as the earthbender made herself comfortable on the floor.

“What’s this for?” he asked, stirring the contents of the bowl and peering at it suspiciously.

“It’s for eating, idiot,” she drawled. “We didn’t know if you ate yet, so I brought you a bowl.” Sensing his hesitation, she added, “Come on. We’re the good guys. We don’t let people starve and we certainly don’t poison them.”

Zuko brought the spoon to his lips and took a bite of the stew.

“Much.”

He paused, eyed Toph’s maniac grin, and shrugged. At least if he was getting poisoned, it’d be with decent-tasting stew. He took another bite.

“I heard what Katara told you,” she said, seeming perfectly fine with monologing while the firebender ate. “She’s like a mother hencat. Mess with her kitchicks and she’ll peck your eyes out. Win her over and she’ll fight for you tooth and nail. You were telling the truth, so she’ll come around eventually.”

“How do you know?” he asked, holding out the now-empty bowl. She took it.

“That you didn’t lie?” she snorted. “You could never lie to me, Firebreath. You’re way too open and honest.” She crawled over to the door and Zuko stood to open it for her.

“Does that mean you’re not angry at me?” he asked hopefully.

She laughed. “Nice try, but your butt’s getting kicked just as soon as I can stand again.”

He closed the door behind her after she left, and dropped back down on the bed, feeling decidedly better about his situation than he did just a few minutes ago.

Sokka, Momo, Appa

Although Momo and Appa were not unfamiliar with action and adventure, mostly they much preferred to lie about and sun themselves. They had found a nice, sunny courtyard about an hour or so ago and settled in for a peaceful nap.

“Zuko! Oh, Zuko!”

The cry jolted Appa out of his snooze, and Momo went tumbling down his head to the ground with a squawk. The Fire Nation prince stumbled into the courtyard; he was panting a bit and his eyes were slightly panicked.

“Please guys, you’ve gotta hide me,” he said, eyes darting around as he looked for a place to conceal himself. Sparring with Aang had been no problem at all—actually, it was always fun to firebend with the Avatar. But then Katara wanted her turn, and his muscles were still burning from his efforts to dodge her quick attacks, and then Toph had left him feeling sore and bruised. Those girls definitely were out for his blood. He was sure of it.

When he’d first come across Sokka, the water tribe boy’s fighting had been laughable at best. But now Sokka had trained with the Kiyoshi warriors, somehow fell under the mentorship of Piandao. He also had a streak of cleverness and creativity, giving him some sort of super-luck-power that generally completely humiliated Zuko when Sokka finally managed to hit him.

Tired, aching Zuko had no intention of being Sokka-fodder today.

“I’ll just hide in here,” the firebender said, parting Appa’s fur and concealing himself within the long strands – and not a moment too soon, because his pursuer had appeared.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Sokka called cheerfully, and Appa chose that moment to roll over, revealing the Fire Nation prince that had been previously huddling in his fur.

“Ah! There you are!” Sokka said, grabbing Zuko by the collar and dragging him off before he’d even realized he’d been exposed.

“Traitors!” Zuko shouted at the animals as he succumbed to his fate, hearing the larger whuff in amusement while the smaller chittered with laughter. They were fairly sure the firebender wouldn’t be disturbing their sunbathing again anytime soon.

Aang

As he stood at the edge of the putrid swamp with Aang, Zuko suddenly realized why the others had declined the boy’s invitation and encouraged him to take Zuko along for some “male bonding time”.

Clearly, he was still being punished for his past misdeeds.

“Here we are!” the Avatar said cheerfully, ignoring Zuko’s glare.

“And why,” asked the Fire Nation prince, trying not to raise his voice, “Are we here?”

“To catch and ride a platygator, of course!” Aang replied excitedly. “They can only be found in the Fire Nation’s only swamp, so I haven’t gotten a chance to see one until now. I was surprised when Katara let us go. Last time I asked, she said it was too dangerous to go animal-riding in enemy territory.”

Zuko rather thought the waterbender let them go so Zuko would have a miserable time sloshing around in a huge smelly swamp, and said so.

“Nonsense, my good hotman!” Aang said, slapping him on the back. “It’ll be awesome! I heard that if you can stay on a platygator long enough, you’ll get to see a precious treasure. Don’t you want to find out what it is?”

Zuko did not, but Aang had already grabbed him and was dragging him into the murky swamp.

Platygators, as it turns out, were fairly strong creatures. They were covered in thick scales that poked at you when you touched them, had a big flat tail that was, apparently, the better to slap you with, and a duckbill filled with rows of sharp, pointy teeth. By the time the boys had found one, wrestled it, and managed to climb onto its back, Zuko was tired, sore, soggy, and covered in mud. He was pretty sure he would have to burn his clothes when they got back to camp.

And then the wild ride had begun. Zuko clung to the thing with a white-knuckled grip and clenched his teeth while the airbender behind him whooped and hollered happily. It seemed to take hours for the platygator to calm down and glide smoothly through its homeland, and when it did Zuko let out his breath in a whoosh and flexed his sore fingers.

Soon, the platygator stopped in front of a large nest of sticks, mud, and swampgrass, and waited patiently for its passengers to climb off and wade over to it to peer inside. “Well,” said Aang upon seeing the platygator hatchlings sleeping in their nest, “I guess the platygator sees them as a precious treasure, right?”

Zuko resisted the urge to slap his own face—his hands were muddy, after all—and sighed heavily. All this trouble to see some (admittedly adorable) evil-beastie-babies?

“I hope you realize I’m never letting you drag me out like this again,” he grumped.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says,” Aang said with a smile, and the pair watched the hatchlings for a little longer before boarding the mother platygator and hitching a ride back to solid ground.

Katara

Zuko was used to people’s reactions where his scar was concerned. Most of them would pretend they hadn’t seen it and studiously kept their eyes trained away from his face as if he wouldn’t notice. Others openly gaped at him until they realized they were being rude, whether it be on their own or someone snapping them back to reality with a hiss. Some furtively glanced in his direction over and over.

And then there were the annoying ones. For instance, the vegetable vendor whose wares he was currently examining.

“Nice piece of work you got there,” the vendor said, eying Zuko’s marred face.

“Mm,” Zuko replied noncommittally, hoping the merchant would take the hint and realize he didn’t want to talk about it. He placed the tomato he was holding back into the cart and picked up another.

“How’d you get it? House burn down? Run into an angry firebender?” the vendor prodded, and was unfazed when he didn’t get a response.

“I heard the traitor-prince had a burn like that as a punishment from the Fire Lord,” he continued, oblivious to the way Zuko was now gripping the tomato he held. “Bastard probably deserved it, too. Betrayed our country and ran off with the Avatar—”

“What are you doing?” a voice interrupted, and Zuko spun around to find Katara standing just behind him. After Zuko had gone with her to get revenge for her mother, Katara enlisted his help for the grocery shopping. She claimed that he would take the job more seriously than the others.

The irritated waterbender pried the now-bruised tomato from Zuko’s hand and slipped it back into the cart before glaring at the merchant, who flinched under her gaze. “Do you harass all your customers this way?” she scolded, her eyes glittering angrily. “Can’t you see he doesn’t want to talk about it?”

She turned to her princely companion. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere else for our vegetables.” She grabbed Zuko’s sleeve and dragged him away from the vegetable cart and its merchant, who was left gaping open-mouthed, wondering why he had been yelled at for trying to initiate friendly conversation.

Zuko wondered for a moment if he should be feeling emasculated or grateful that he had been saved, but then he remembered a conversation he had with the earthbender when he first joined the Avatar’s group. Was this what she meant about Katara protecting her kitchicks? A slow smile spread across his face.

“Yes, mother,” he drawled, and she stopped in her tracks and faced him with a huff.

“Not you, too! I get enough of that from Toph!” she cried, throwing her hands up with exasperation. Zuko was unsuccessful in holding back his chuckle, and her glare was now directed at him.

“Since it was your fault we couldn’t buy any vegetables,” she said, poking him in the chest to emphasize her point, “you get to go foraging in the forest today to find some.”

He watched her stomp off for a moment before shrugging and following after her, the same smirk still playing across his face. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry that he’d been punished when she was the one who chewed out the vendor.

Table of contents for The Dreaming

1. The Dreaming Chapter 1: Holly
2. The Dreaming Chapter 2: Butler

Fandom: Artemis Fowl
Genre: Vignette/Romance
Pairing: Holly/Artemis
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 568
A/N: Many thanks to WillItWork for beta-reading this piece and giving me helpful suggestions for improvement. =D

I dream about him, sometimes. Not too often, but more than what’s good for me.  

And what’s good for me is never.

At least, not for the particular variety of dream I’m prone to having about him. The kind that leaves me panting and flushed andunsatisfied when I wake up. The kind in which a barely fifteen-year-old boy should certainly not be starring as lead male. The kind that leaves my stomach churning with self-disgust for lusting over a child.

But in my dreams, Artemis Fowl is no child. Oh no. He’s eighteen as he had been when we blundered into the past together not long ago. His features are much more sharp and angular, having shed the boyish look for a masculine one, and his body is tall and lean, completely free of extra baby-fat. His keen, knowing gaze turns my insides to jelly as he prowls around me, circling in towards his prey as graceful as any predator would. My heart skips a beat whenever his mismatched set of eyes meet my own.

Strands of his silky, black hair escape from his ponytail, brushing against my cheek as he leans in to whisper about the things he had learned. “I have doubts as to the validity of some of my readings,” he tells me, his breath hot in my ear, his husky voice sending shivers down my spine. “I would like to…experiment.”

He touches me all over when I give in—and I always do give in. His long, slender fingers cup my face and brush lightly against my pointed ears as he steals a deep, sensual kiss, then they trail down my neck and sweep over my breasts. His finely-manicured nails scratch me lightly, eliciting a gasp whenever they do so.

Eventually, I realize that he had positioned himself behind me as his roving hands caressed my chest and my sides and my stomach, keeping me so occupied with sensation that I hadn’t even noticed him move. He kneels, pulling me towards him, slipping a perfect finger into my folds and chuckling as he finds me wet with anticipation.

“Holly,” he murmurs into my ear as he works me expertly, his slick finger teasing my entrance and flicking over my clitoris. “What is it that you want?”

My hips buck into his hand and I ache to release. My body strains against his hold, asking for more, more.

“You, Artemis,” I manage to moan through my whimpers of pleasure. “You, always you…”

And then his finger slips inside of me, and his hand grinds into my sex, and he holds me up when my legs collapse out from under me because my body is shaking and quivering and my insides are pulsing around him.

And then I wake up, panties soaked through, and I have no choice but to bring myself again or I’ll surely be distracted by the empty ache in my loins for the rest of the day.

Every time, I wonder if I will be able to control myself as Artemis grows up to be the man he is destined to be? Will I have to stop seeing him entirely to keep from selfishly using him, seducing him, alienating him from his own species? Am I even capable of staying away from him forever if that’s the only option I’m given?

I hope, for both our sakes, that I am.

Shigure had been writing since he was a small boy. In fact, he was writing even before he knew how to write. His parents would humor him and pretend they could read his lines and scribbles, but he would always snatch his papers away from them and say, “No, no, the story goes like this!” He would write fanciful tales of children that could turn into animals and go on adventures and save the world, because he wasn’t allowed to do any of those things.The tales continued as he grew older and became readable by all once he entered school and learned to write properly—a task which he set to diligently. He still wrote his heroic fables, of course, but he’d also written a few about how it might feel like to be hugged by one’s mother, because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever had such a hug. He kept those stories tucked away under his bed, beneath a loose floorboard.

At the age of seven, after Shigure wept when Akito was born, and he began to write for her and her alone. She didn’t understand his words for many years, but he would write them and read them to her anyway. Eventually she grew old enough to make requests, and he found himself writing about princesses locked in towers and princes to rescue them, and about girls being protected from evil monsters, and even about fairies and magic and other girly things like that, just to see her smile.

Sometimes, Akito asked him to write about what it was like to be hugged by one’s mother, because she’d never had such a hug. He wasn’t sure where those were hidden, but they were always gone when he returned to see her the next day.

After Shigure and Akito betrayed each other and he left his family home to live on his own, he was much older and more knowledgeable about the ways of the world. His writing drifted into romance, and he spun tales about handsome men wooing beautiful girls. He managed to find a publisher, and his novels were so descriptive and heartwarming and made people feel so easily that they seemed to disappear from the shelves. He wondered if Akito was reading them, too. After all, he was writing them for her, hoping that she would read them and see the words in his heart that he couldn’t bring himself to say to her.

It wasn’t until after the curse was broken that Shigure and Akito came together again. It was difficult, because Akito was still broken and unstable from her harsh upbringing, but Shigure stood by her and guided her and eventually their rocky relationship smoothed out into one that only had a few bumps and hills along the way.

One night, Akito shyly led a confused Shigure into her living room. She pushed a chair away from the wall and opened a hidden panel where she kept all his boyhood writings and copies of all the books he had published since he moved out. His heart aching with emotion, he gathered her up in his arms and they both wept silently before they made love on the floor.

Some people wonder why Shigure doesn’t write anymore, and he gets letters every day from his fans. He dutifully replies to them all, giving them one excuse or another, but never the truth. He has no intentions of ever publishing another book because he has ever only written for one person’s happiness, and now that person lays beside him at night, curled into his chest as he reads his stories to her, just as he had always done before.