Author Note: I don't know how to fucking write.
CW for this chapter: drug use (marijuana), severe depression. Mentions of suicidal ideations, dissociating, drug addiction.
Ch 6 CW: unprotected sex, drug use (marijuana).
Additional disclaimers for the NEXT chapter: I want to make it super super clear that I understand consent, coercion, and addiction. The things I'm writing are partly based on my own personal experiences. Do not think that Toph is being forced into anything, in this story she has shown to be capable of telling him what she wants. He also is not making her to do anything. There is communication during sex in Ch 6, even if they're slightly inebriated.
This chapter is named after the song This Strange Effect by The Shacks. I personally enjoy this version of the song more than The Kinks or Dave Berry.
Soon enough, they reach his quarters and she finds herself on the couch in the living area. Her back is to the arm and her knees are bent, feet planted on the cushions. Her arms circle her legs, bringing her knees in closer, and her cheek rests on the back. He's more comfortable here than she is, for obvious reasons. She hears him puttering around, opening a couple drawers. He knows exactly where everything is, no time is wasted.
He sits on the couch next to her, she's at his left side, and sets his things down on the table in front of them. She smells it again, the herb. He tears up the flower into smaller pieces, tossing chunks of it in a mortar for grinding. He grabs the pestle and works at it for a bit, the sounds echo in his room. It's too quiet, she's too quiet.
"You can stay here."
"I know I can."
She accepts the offer in the most defiant way possible. It makes him smile for a second, hearing her speak like she did when she was younger; proud and slightly dismissive. He wonders if she's still mad about earlier. He doesn't ask.
"That room can be yours to use whenever you need it."
She says nothing, he didn't expect her to. He stops grinding. Some of the bud sticks to the tip of the pestle and mortar walls from the resin. He preps a paper to hold the loose flower.
"I don't like being Fire Lord. I wish Uncle was interested in the position instead," he sighs heavily, "Azula was cut out for this, not me."
She's slightly shocked by his admission, he keeps talking, "After 9 years the power doesn't interest me anymore. It's awful, but… I really wish I didn't have to care."
He's rolling the joint now, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He licks his thumb which grazes the edge of the paper, wetting the sugar gum. His fingers smooth over the adhesive, sealing in the flower contents. He reclines and relaxes into the back of the couch, fiddling with the joint in his hand.
"It took me 7 years to get this nation, the people I serve, to find me tolerable. I don't think I have the heart for it anymore."
"Is that why you do this?"
He knows she's talking about his smoking habit and he knows he does it more than he lets on. It's not just at night before bed, sometimes it's in the mornings when he doesn't want to feel the full weight of his obligations. He sneaks off in between meetings, frantically grabbing at his robes for the herbal cigarettes he hides in them. He smokes in the empty guest rooms, in the gardens, in the dining rooms before a meal, really anywhere except the library. He's glad his voice has a rasp to it already, concealing his addiction.
"I didn't think I would make it back either," he's speaking to their earlier conversation, "I thought about it a lot and almost went for it a couple times. I wouldn't do it now, even if I fantasize sometimes. This gets me close to where I want to be. I don't mind losing track of time anymore. It's nice."
There it is again; disappearing, dissociating, suicide. He's never felt like he could tell anyone. Not like anyone ever asked, not like he had parents or a sister to disclose these parts of himself to. He would never tell Uncle Iroh, Lu Ten is a painful memory and he wouldn't want to be another one.
She moves to sit on her knees, bringing herself slightly closer to him. He's fragile right now and she doesn't know what to say. She never knows what to say nowadays.
"Thank you for the room. I think I'm going to stay for a while."
This is her way of comforting him. Her underlying message is she's going to be with him now, that he's not alone, and she gets it.
"I want to try it."
She's talking about the joint he's playing with. She knows how to smoke, how to take the fumes into her lungs. She's never tried herb before and she thinks she wouldn't mind dissociating with him. It's unhealthy, but they both are. Two broken, mistreated heirs.
He sticks one end between his lips, snaps his fingers to light it, and inhales. He releases the joint from his mouth, taking a quick breath in to force the smoke to travel to his lungs, and breathes out. The cigarette is held between his index and middle finger of his right hand, he brings his hand to her mouth, his palm facing towards her face. She realizes he's holding it for her, waiting for her to take a puff. When she wraps her lips around the paper she touches his fingers, like she's lightly kissing them. She inhales, pulls off, and sucks in the surrounding air. His hand is at his mouth again, he's inhaling as she exhales and they repeat the same gestures as before.
He's mesmerized by her. It's been a while since he's touched anyone and he's reacting to the feel of her lips on his fingers. The room is becoming dim from the setting sun and candles light the room, not that she would know or care.
Her eyelids feel heavy, the way they get when she hasn't gotten sleep. She's surprised this is what being high is like, it's euphoric. Her head is slightly clouded as if a thought takes twice as long, but it's okay. She's relaxed, her body feels light, and he's not going anywhere. She wishes she could see the both of them now. She wants to know what they look like sitting together sharing this cigarette. She so badly wants to see him inebriated like this.
"Hey."
She turns her head towards his voice.
"Do you wanna try something?"
She does. She nods.
"Straddle me."
It's not a harsh command, it's an invitation. It takes her a while to maneuver herself over, her knees finally coming to either side of his hips. She sits back on his thighs and he takes a moment to appreciate her weight. He raises his free hand, slightly cupping her jaw, placing his thumb on her bottom lip. Signaling her to open her mouth slightly.
"Inhale when you hear me exhale."
He drops his hand and raises the opposite one to bring the joint back to his mouth. He takes another drag, rolls the smoke in his mouth, parts his lips and inhales just enough to hold it while he tilts forward.
She feels his face come closer, hers is heating up now. He's exhaling, she suddenly remembers her task. Inhaling his fumes is one of the most intimate experiences she's had with him. His head stays close, they share a breath as the smoke clears. She wants him and hopes he wants her just as much. He leans in.
Yup. Zuko is a total stoner loser and Toph wants to be one, too. Can we blame them? We love stoner tropes here, they're fun!