fanwright:

This one is pretty long. Click “read more” for the full story.

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Resenbool never struck Azula as particularly significant place. 

As far as her eyes could see the rolling hills stretched out in all directions like a vast green sea, the tall grasses swaying gently in the spring sun, trees rustling in the breeze. She could almost pretend like the war never touched this place, if it weren’t for the occasional crater the farmers in the area worked their fields around.

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fanwright:

Liunaq froze, hands trembling as she clasped the handle of the door.

She had made it this far disguised as a maid and the old splendor of the of the Royal Palace Historic Museum (or just the Royal Palace as the people in this current time period called it) in its heyday, without the hordes of tourists and guides and flashing bulbs from cameras, was a sight to behold. All those secret passages they talked about came in handy and the guards were surprisingly relaxed in their vigilance. If she was being honest with herself though, the confidence she felt after infiltrating the old palace almost undetected completely evaporated. 

She didn’t even recognize their voices – they were so young, impossibly high pitched, full of pent-up frustration. She could’ve sworn one of voices cracked just from the yelling. Playing the part of a maid only made it easier for her to blend in, so it was only natural to act like she was checking up on the residents of the palace. That’s what she thought maids did anyway.

But seeing them turn their eyes toward her, their voices immediately silenced at her intrusion, Liunaq could’ve sworn she felt the very blood in her veins freeze. A snow shrew caught by a spotted leopard. 

Spirits beyond, they were so young. She knew she had gone back far, but this was inconceivable. She wasn’t even expecting them to be here. Perhaps she turned the dials wrong on the switchboard or cranked out the numbers incorrectly pulling the dozen or so levers to set the appropriate date in time. They were always so stiff, so hard to pull, she had meant to fix that.

But this? Just a few short years after the war, with them in this very room? Had her precious machine somehow malfunctioned during the warp back through time? Did she make a miscalculation? How the-

“And who do you think you are barging in here like that!? Witless woman!”

The imperious remark, the indignation in her tone, the sharp delivery that cut straight to the jugular, that black hair so immaculately combed, those burning eyes she shared with her, a look as deadly as a fire breathing dragon. No, there could be no mistake.

It was Mom.

“Oh yeah, sure, take your anger out on the servant just making her rounds cleaning up your home. Real mature, Azula!”

Oh spirits no. That sarcasm, the awkward way his hands would fly over his head whenever he was so passionate about something, those proud blue eyes that had the utmost confidence in whatever endeavor she pursued. 

It was Dad.

“Peasant! I will incinerate you and throw your ashes to the wind if you don’t shut up!”

“Why do you keep telling to shut up all the time!?”

“Because if I had to answer every infernal question your idiot brain could field I’d be stuck in this cell of a room for an eternity!”

Liunaq, against all logic, against all fear she had of sending devastating ripples through time, against every theory she could possibly conjure that told her not to do what she was about to do, took a chance.

She gulped hard, and feared for the future, “My lady! My lord!”

They both looked to her, shock twisting their faces. Blinking, completely frozen, Liunaq was back at their penthouse in Republic City, her little hand opening the door to their room as she held her stuffed polar dog, their eyes glowing with passion in the dim light, caught in the act amid tender embraces.

Mom. Dad. Please stop that.

Her eyes darted from one to the other as she hastily immersed herself into her role, “… while I am sure the subject of your current, uh… discussion is no doubt pressing, perhaps it would be wise to keep the passion in your voices contained.”

The thunder is scaring me and I want a hug. Please stop being weird. 

The tension slowly eased from their bodies, her mom flashing her dad with a searing gaze. He just rolled his eyes as he walked away. 

Suddenly Liunaq felt she was the parent for a change.

“Crazy princess,” uttered Dad, making his way passed her as he stormed out of the room.

“Filthy peasant,” Mom muttered under breath, striding passed her to turn the opposite direction.

Liunaq’s skinned crawled uncomfortably. She had heard those phrases uttered in more lustrous tones through thin walls a little too often. 

Before she could even sigh, her Mom called out to her.

“Servant! When you are done dusting the furniture, I want a new carpet laid out on the floor by the time I return. I grow tired of looking upon that hideous rag. See to it!”

Liunaq’s back straightened, stiff as a soldier, “Yes! O-Of course-”

Mom.

She bit her lower lip, catching the word before it escaped, “-Your Highness!”

The footsteps down the marbled halls faded. And just like that, decades back in time, with the pull of a lever and the turn of a dial, Liunaq was a little kid again, cleaning another room as if it was her own, and groaning just the same.

fanwright:

He is a sworn vassal of this realm and though he has trained under the great sword master Piandao, he was still born a foreigner and was still born a peasant. Don’t be a fool!

Nothing can be gained from this union! No wealth to add to our own! No family of his own with an honorable name! This is social suicide!

He is not handsome in the least. Look how tanned his skin is, as dark as the rice pickers in the fields! Brown like the murky rivers that snake through the jungles. Wouldn’t you prefer a paler man?

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and you take it as his genuine love for you. Are you so blind as to not see what he is doing? He has everything to gain, a filthy tribal usurper!

You think he loves you, my daughter? Look in the mirror and tell me what you see, behind that mask that covers your scars. You’re a leper. You’re a monster to him!

Hesitating, her hands trembled just above his head as he knelt patiently, his back toward her, head bowed.

A silence fell over the dim chamber deep within the temple, her lips pinched shut, staring at the hairpiece she had made for him in secret, shaking in her gloved hands. Not even the handful of priests she had gathered spoke. She breathed through her nose, the sound echoing through her mask.

And so? When have their petty opinions ever mattered? Why now, of all times, should they care about you? 

Her jaw tightened, her courage returning in a surge of fire that seared her soul. She would have this moment. And she would have him.

You are Azula, Second Princess, daughter to Second Prince Ozai, Son of Azulon, and descendant of the great house of Sozin! You conjure the Azure Flame and bend it to your will! The Dragon’s Whiskers shoot from your fingers with ease and strike your enemies with terrible force!

She took a deep, audible breath. She would have this moment. She would have him.

You are no mere leper. You have power, great and terrifying to behold! Greater than your brother, greater than your father! You see, you take what is yours! Why do you hesitate!?

Through the eye-slits of her mask, she looked upon her lover with a tender eye. She would have this moment. She would have him.

The words returned to her and she spoke with renewed assurance, placing the hairpiece on his head and securing it to his topknot, “… and you are bound to me, as I am bond to you.”

She stepped away, letting the long, dark-purple sleeves of her tunic fall over her arms. As he knelt, she managed a painful smile behind her heavy white mask. He looked every bit the prince he had the potential to become.

The head priest stepped forward, a worn and open book in his hand, and spoke the words from the hallowed pages.

“And may almighty Agni bless this union, to join this man with our…” he paused for a moment, choosing his words, “most esteemed Princess Azula, daughter of Prince Ozai, and descendant of that most illustrious house of Sozin.”

As one the accompanying priests joined there voices in a chorus, “Praise be to Agni!”

The head priest looked upon Azula’s lover and turned his palm upward, “Now, rise, Prince Consort and rejoice! May your union be ever strong.”

As he rose to his feet, the head priest looked to Azula. With nod and a subtle wave of her hand, the man bowed as courteously as he could before shuffling off into the shadows of the temple, the dim torchlights barely illuminating his red robes. His subordinates followed him and without a word they disappeared.

With a deep and trembling breath, Sokka exhaled, his voice echoing through the cavernous halls.

He turned to Azula with a relieved smile, “Whew! Well… that’s done. Can I say that was a bit creepy?”

Azula stepped forward, arms folded behind her, a husky chuckle behind her mask, “Do they intimidate you, Prince Consort? This will not do. I did not bind myself to a coward.”

“Right, ‘cause men in flowing red robes and pointy red hoods are completely trustworthy and un-intimidating.” 

She stopped in front of him, reaching out a hand to smooth out the creases of his tunic.

“Hm, they do not scare me. We in the Royal Family are their benefactors. They do not forget who pays for the murals that adorn their walls, for the golden idols they so ardently pray to.”

“So… does that mean its official then? Will your family say its okay now?”

She looked to him, her hand resting on his chest, and cursed the mask she wore. She could never see him clearly with it on.

“No. You must prove your worthiness to them, as you have done for me,” she reached up and took his chin between her thumb and finger, “Fear not, Prince Consort, for I am by your side now, and that is all the assurance you will ever need.”

Smiling, Sokka took a step forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. It took her by surprise, but she didn’t recoil, her hands instinctively gliding across his forearms, feeling how firm his hold on her was.

“Aren’t I lucky,” he said, kissing the forehead of her white mask. The gesture didn’t please her.

“Do you mean that?” she said, her voice low, muffled by her mask.

His body stiffened and his arms slowly loosened their embrace around her waist. Azula’s arms sank to her sides. She made to turn away, but instead Sokka gently took her face in his hands. She could see the dim torchlights catch in his eyes through the slit holes. The pain in her chest warm and torturous.

As he removed the dark purple hood over her head he gently clasped his hands over the sides of her mask. Her breath caught in her throat for one tense moment as he removed it. She lifted her eyes to meet his, cold and questioning.

He looked grim, but he couldn’t waver, not now. Her face was a twisted and gnarled remnant of what it once was, her cheek and left eye a mass of pinkish scar tissue, her hair all but shaven, and her lips cut and burned. Underneath the purple tunic and light plates of armor were scars worse than what he was seeing. Sokka still remembered the way her hands shook as he removed her robes all those nights ago. They never went through with their passion on that occasion.

And the royal court, even her own family, called her a leper for surviving the attempt on her life – a hulking assassin with a third eye bent on murdering her. She had his head impaled on a pike and displayed at the entrance of the capital’s gate as the man’s eternal punishment. 

He looked at her, taking her cheeks in his hands as her eyes widened, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, Azula.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the lips before she could respond. The sensation sent her heart racing and she opened her mouth, eagerly inviting him, embracing his love as her tongue sought his. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she held him tight, her fingers snaking up his back, pulling at the fabric of his tunic.

As she lost herself to the moment, all the doubt and fear she had for this night seemed to vanish as he nibbled at her scarred lips and kissed a hot trail down her burned neck.

I will have this moment. And I will have him. 

fanwright:

He couldn’t get enough of looking at her through that mirror, those sharp eyes so focused, so utterly concentrated on her task as her tentative fingers ran through his hair.

And then the shaver slipped, a sharp and painful buzz that made him wince, and he could feel the sting as the small blades picked the bare skin.

Her eyes widened, holding back a curse, but he tried to reassure her with an awkward smile, “Uh… Y’know Azula, that’s fine, you can shave the rest of the sides too – I’m thinking a number one maybe?”

fanwright:

She gazed out over the tundra toward the setting sun, lips pursed and eyes grim, voice as cold as the icy wind whipping around her, “…I knew it… you should have never taken me here, Sokka… they will never accept me, never forgive me.”

Tentatively he approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close as his head rested on her shoulder, the weight of his family’s words heavy on his mind.

“I do,” he whispered, breath warm on her ear, “I don’t care what they say, Azula, I belong to you.”

fanwright:

She quirked and eyebrow, puzzled by his lack of feeling, “Peasant… do you not feel that arrow jutting out of your ass?”

Stopping mid-step, thinking her tone was just another ruse to annoy him, his eyes widened, the sudden, hot pain emanating from his left cheek making its uncomfortable presence clearly known.

“…Oh,” he uttered, grinding his teeth as he twisted his hip around to look at the offensive shaft buried deep into his skin, “Would you look at that?”

fanwright:

Heart beating, sweat in his eyes, cordite on the air, he hastily leaned down to lock the breaching charge over the door handle, muttering to himself, “Oh yeah, sure. Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs.”

“Ugh, Shut up about it already, its not like I made any promises,” She spat, pressing her back against the wall just behind him, the harsh click of a fresh mag being loaded into her sub-machinegun, the charging handle sliding against metal, “You ready to breach, cowboy?”

Getting up and taking his place just behind her, he took the shotgun hanging off his side by a strap and pumped the handle, a new shell loaded in, a smirk twisting his chapped lips, and the breaching charge ticking to zero, “Yippie kay yay, mother-fucker.”

fanwright:

At first she thought it was kind of erotic, the way he firmly gripped her hand and sat close to her in the summer sun as she held the bottom of the cone, both of them insistently licking and munching away at the deliciously cool flavors of chocolate and vanilla mixed into a sweet harmony as their lips drew closer.

And then, just as she finished her side, she realized he was just hungry and a swift tap to the side of his head made his eyes boggle, as if roused from a trance, “Hey! Don’t eat it all you pig!”

His mouth was filled with chocolate and vanilla, “Owf! Whaf wasth thaf for!?”

fanwright:

She sniffed the air between them, her enchanting eyes momentarily flinching at the putrid smell, her lips recoiling from his, “Have you… vomited recently?”

He swallowed his pride and any chance of an impression, “…A minute ago, I, uh, I was just gonna go clean my teeth and rinse out my mouth.”

A long, tense pause, her eyes and hand raking over the skin behind his un-buttoned tunic, until she finally gave a decisive shrug, “I’ll wait.”

fanwright:

Up high, snaking between the jade green hills in the warm light of dusk as clouds passed by, a calm finally settled over Sokka’s mind and the apprehension of riding on the back of Azula’s flying, fire-breathing beast of war seemed like a trivial worry.

Riding in the large saddle, his arms wrapped around Azula’s hips and pulled her close, her warm fingers grasping his hands as he locked her in place, resting his head in the nape of her neck, breathing her in as he gazed at the sunset, “Its beautiful up here.”

She turned her head, eyes narrowed and leveled at him, burning in the dying light, and he quickly corrected himself with a phrase as worn as it was cliche, “But the view is not as beautiful as you!”

Smiling imperiously, pleased with his answer, she rewarded him with a kiss, and went about their evening ride under the glinting stars and purple skies.