Black Magic Woman

by Lily_Orpheus_Falomi

Summary:

Azula has no easy life, even though it may seem so. Aang has no easy life either, although many people think so. Struggling with cultural norms, like family, addiction and romantic endeavours is the fundament of their problems. And if they bump into each other, will their lives become better or worse?

 

Definitely worse.

 

Title's from Fleetwood Mac's song. I own nothing but the (existential) drama.

Chapter 1: Autonomy is not free…

Notes:

After some tries here and there, though I plan to finish those stories in the future, I decided that all my doubts about writing were worth nothing. Fuck them. So I sat down and began to write what I wanted to write. Today, that was Azula x Aang, so..
Fortunately, I know a guy who can beta, so that solves a lot. I hope you enjoy it.
Btw, it’s a modern non-bending AU with university terms thrown around, so ages around the 20 till 23.
Lastly, there are some subjects I couldn’t leave unmentioned, so please be careful with reading the fic, because I will make graphic mentions of child abuse.
Also lemons (smut), those too will be present.

07-11-2021 -> It's been some time since I worked on it, but betaing is finally done, so I'm posting!

Azula was sitting in her father's office, entirely still but for her tapping fingers. Her father was deliberately late, she knew it. Azula had seen him not a quarter of an hour past, when he was stalking towards the room where her brother was in the middle of some lecture about the ancient Firebenders and their way of life.

Cursing under her breath, she noticed one of her nails was slightly different than the others. Her mind supplied traitorously: a blemish upon her perfected hands.

Fuck.

She'd be thinking about that now, instead of this annoyingly tense meeting where her father would undoubtedly give a 'subtle' warning about her future and how she was throwing it away. She both hated and loved her father, a most perilous and contradicting relationship. She’d put most of her memories of her youth in her special box, so there wasn’t about to go anything wrong.

Except on those darkened nights, where even the best sex of her life couldn’t erase the shudder of too many hands on her breasts or the grip of...

Moving on, she despised waiting for the execution, so Ozai had better hurry the fuck up with his discussion with Zuzu. Well, she knew Zuko had a hard time with their father's eccentric behaviour, especially now as Zuzu had suddenly and decisively quit working as Ozai’s glorified accountant and started studying anthropology. How the hell he managed, she wasn’t sure, but jealousy reared its ugly head every time she thought about it.

Why should she, a better human than Zuko on nearly all accounts, except for their sex, be allowed to waste his life learning about other cultures while she had to impress old sexist men with her feminine wiles to gain a position in her father’s board of directors at the damn hospital?!

Abruptly feeling watched, she turned her head and saw some man with – frankly gorgeous – silver eyes, watching her intently.

Fuck.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

Aang had seen many things in life, both positive and negative, but this was definitely one of the most curious. A very fine-looking young woman, with piercing eyes that looked like molten gold of the highest quality, was sitting in the chair he was supposed to be in, whilst having an impressive non-verbal monologue with herself. The black haired woman – maybe a girl, he wasn’t sure about her age – had a smooth mask in place, though Aang could see the emotions swimming in her eyes, switching between cruel boredom, intense irritation, something the tattooed young man could not distinguish and malicious amusement. All that was accompanied by inspecting her visibly perfect nails, tossing her velvety onyx-coloured hair across one shoulder and an elegant eye roll.

Before he’d realized that he was staring at her, she snarled and looked at him. More precisely, exactly in his eyes. A flicker of consternation escaped, though silenced immediately afterwards. Aang felt something buzz in the back of his head, so he used one of his hands to scratch the back of his neck as his face naturally took on an expression of surprise and embarrassment.

He observed her gracefully getting up and approaching the door, so Aang trod backwards till he accidentally hit the wall. He was trapped inside her gaze; stuck between the wall and her nearing physical presence. She opened the door; her face still expressionless and her eyes furious. He could see the air disappearing as the woman’s chest – dark haired goddess, his mind supplied traitorously – heaved and she opened her mouth to speak...

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

“What seems to be happening here?” A low voice filled the tense atmosphere. Even without looking, she knew that dangerously smooth voice. Ozai, her god damn father. Of course he’d arrive at the moment Azula did not want to see him.

She’d got up and strode to the door to take this bald young man to task, because Azula knew he’d watched her little moment of vulnerability and that was not to go unpunished. Weakness was not tolerated, especially in the presence of Ozai. But it is tolerated when you converse with your uncle Iroh, her mind told her. Part of her convulsed at that statement yet, at the same time, another part agreed. Fortunately, and after years of resolute practice, none of the internal conflict had shown on her face. That’s why Azula knew she was better than Zuko. If only she had been born with a cock and balls, she’d be the perfect heir to their little feudal empire.

“It’s nothing Father, I was just telling this young man why he shouldn’t stare at young women,” Azula said sharply, adding a little venom when gesturing to the young man in question. He had lost his expression and was smiling slightly at her remark, as if she’d told him how to use a cross walk, instead of labelling him as some pervert.

“How very amusing Azula, although I didn’t expect that behaviour from someone so intelligent and so prudent,” Ozai’s voice dripped with judgment of this young man, probably referencing to his upbringing. As Azula turned her head to look upon the unnamed man, she was startled. Why had she not realized that this person had a tattoo on his forehead. And on his arms too? Failing to completely suppress her blush at this awareness, she schooled her expression into neutrality, catching a look from Ozai in the corner of her eye.

“Who is this then, Father?” Damn, she hadn’t succeeded in keeping her curiosity out of her voice, but her anger was more than enough to cover it up. Hopefully.

“Daughter, this is one of the highest achieving students of Republic City’s finest university, Aang of the Southern Air Temple.” Ozai nodded, though whether out of respect or dismissal, Azula wasn’t sure. “He’s present to discuss a change of courses with me, as he’s wanting to attend a course of First Aid. Naturally, as the head of the Medicine faculty of this brilliant institution, I chose to have this meeting with him in order to gauge his resolve.” This made Azula nod, as was the proper thing to do when your father explained something to you, and she always understood.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

While the daughter – Azula is her name, whispered his mind – and apparent father were interacting, Aang couldn’t help but notice how their body language did nothing to reflect their facial expressions or the inflection in their voices.

They resembled each other: in their proud posture, their devilishly handsome looks and the manner they dressed. Aang could almost imagine their sexes being reversed and nothing being out of place.

At last, Ozai looked at him and swept his arm towards the entrance of his office. Snapping out of it, Aang muttered a soft “my apologies, professor,” and strode towards the door. When he found Azula standing in his way, however, Aang stopped.

Presumably with a nod from Ozai, her indecipherable eyes followed his as he was now free to move past her. Their slight brush of elbows did nothing to resolve the dissatisfied feeling of not understanding himself. After all, there were very few moments when Aang did not understand himself and if this continued, he’d have quite the problem on his hands.

Turning back to see what was taking Ozai so long, he saw Ozai quietly speaking to Azula, his arms crossed across his front and his face displaying an annoyed expression. Whatever the father was saying, it was affecting Azula more than Aang had expected and he caught a glimpse of the same vulnerability in her eyes. They had narrowed considerably however, so she was, assumedly, as irritated as Ozai was.

Ozai moved closer and began hissing rather venomously at her. This action made protective feelings rise in Aang, which, in turn, made him uncomfortable. He’d just met her today, why did he care? Looking back, Aang caught the word ‘deal’ being spoken by Ozai and Aang promptly gasped at Azula’s reaction. Her whole face, no, her whole body had seemingly shut down. Knowing he’d seen too much, Aang directed his gaze at the window behind the professor’s desk and recomposed himself by taking a deep breath.

“Now,” Ozai began when the door closed, “you already have quite the busy schedule Aang. I reviewed your academic achievements and the number of courses you follow, and I don’t actually know if you are capable of finding time to fit in the First Aid course.” When Ozai finished his sentence, he’d taken the seat across Aang and inspected him with a calculating eye. “On top of that, you’re a Philosophy and Anthropology student.” Adding this bit made his judgment crystal clear.

“With all due respect professor, I believe that there’s no problem with the amount of time I spend on my courses. I’ve always managed to keep up with the coursework and my desire to follow this course is paramount,” Aang answered sincerely, not even noticing the potential pun.

“Why do you wish to follow this course, then?” Ozai leaned forward, his curiosity laid bare, but there was another emotion present as well. Insincerity, maybe? Aang’s intuition gave a subtle feeling of unrest, because something was not right.

“An accident happened, professor, to a family member. I want to be ready the next time something happens.” Aang hoped this would dissuade Ozai from asking further questions, so Aang steered the subject towards technical details; where his classes would be, how many hours he’d have to put into the course, etc.

Writing down these details was a welcome distraction from the images that had risen from his memory. An ambulance parked in front of the door, the teary-eyed neighbours speaking with a medical professional and Gyatso laying on a stretcher with a sorrowful look in his eyes. Especially as he began to explain what had happened, how he’d fallen and...

Luckily, as if the universe wanted to bless him, Ozai told Aang he’d considered his request and acquiesced to it, because First Aid was the first true glance into the illustrious world of medicine.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

A few kilometres away, Sokka was busy combining two colours for the ultimate artistic expression that would change the fate of the future, when he had the sudden urge to sneeze. With a splatter on his palette and the boisterous laughter of Toph, the paradigm shift was averted.

A scream of “THE UNIVERSE JUST LOVES FUCKING WITH ME, DOESN’T IT?!” reverberated throughout the street, but its sarcastic reply was lost in the noise.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

Thoroughly shocked that her loving father would breach the sensitive subject of the deal in the corridor outside his office, Azula decided she would visit her uncle Iroh at the Jasmine Dragon. The tea shop of his dreams, as Iroh often exclaimed, it was a very popular establishment in Republic City. Notable for its magnificent view of the ocean that stretched between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation, the tea shop had customers from every age group imaginable.

Even though her decision to visit Iroh was her main prerogative, she’d had a yearning to seek out another lover. Last time she was on a date at the Jasmine Dragon, she’d woken up the next day in a strange apartment to a surprisingly likeable cat. Their purring was not so different, she’d discovered, since she had petted the cat in a thoroughly and well fucked daze and she had to stretch more than at her other affairs.

Azula had yet to find out which type of sex gave her the most pleasurable orgasms after all these years. Men or women, because anything in between was just… unnatural.

There were as many disappointments as there were exceptional lovers from either sex over the years; making her tally roughly equal. A soft touch and lean muscles were desired equally by her, Azula figured. Still, it was pity that most men did not understand her as well as most women did, at least in the bedroom, or the alley or the club, or wherever the hell she was with her lover.

Her next lover should be someone who understood the fine line between pleasure and pain and would not be afraid to be a little rough. Unluckily, this meant that most of the women she’d fucked would not qualify. Azula wasn’t discriminatory in this area at all, but overall in her experience, men knew better how to fuck roughly than women.

Anyway, she’d keep her senses alert for someone worthy to fuck her tonight.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

Finally, a disturbing amount of time of being eyed like a bear eyes a fish in the water later, Aang was free to go (read: released). He’d had enough of the suddenly oppressive atmosphere of Independent Republic University, not with the haunting face of one of his new professors.

Aang cringed at that thought as he passed a crowd of excited Chemistry students. No lie you tell yourself has any worth, except to block yourself from pain that would definitely return, his mind supplied helpfully.

A little curious, and to distract himself, the tall yet slender tattooed man slid sleekly between a few groups to end up near the front. A quirky and hilarious sight greeted him. It seemed the Chemistry professor, affectionately called ‘the crazy bastard’, had burned off all the hair on his head.

“Bumi!” Aang exclaimed, “I could have shaved all of that for you!”

Professor Bumi glared at Aang and tried to smooth his moustache in a habitual manner, which failed. So he glared at Aang again for a few seconds, till he surrendered to the power of laughter. Even though Aang didn’t fully agree with or like the term ‘bastard’, he could see why the students had given his old friend that nickname. Bumi’s laugh was wholly suited to his character, one might even say that his laugh had to be exemplary of his character. Aang was absolutely not the one to claim that.

“Aang, this is – “ Bumi was shaking with laughter,” – not the end of the world man, but this will end my good reputation.” Bumi somehow only interrupted his sentence that one time, adding another layer to the hilarity. Already the memory of the unsettling eyes of Ozai was fading, even more so when Bumi spun a story about his class and argued with Aang on the merits of being considered crazy, a genius, or both.

After twenty minutes of catching up with one of his best friends, Aang had gotten a call from Sokka with the idea of going to the Jasmine Dragon for tea and cakes. Not able to resist the call of an egg custard tart, meeting Azula flew from his mind as well...

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

With just her luck, she would have a quiet conversation with Iroh, little to no interference from unwelcome figures and then Azula would set off to her apartment. Parking next to a particular broad tree, she would only need to cross the small park in front of the Jasmine Dragon in order to arrive at her destination.

Inevitably, there were people in the park practising yoga or something like that, for their peace of mind and body. Seeing this happen, Azula couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the dreary and mundane. Really, people couldn’t do one of the fucking clichés somewhere else? In some way, those sessions that the young woman observed felt like a detriment, or blasphemy of those cultural values in the eyes of the very strongly convicted that are sorely missed in this city. Or by some groups in the city anyway.

Several steps later, on a small wooden bridge, Azula stopped for a moment to spot her reflection in the water. The beauty knew she had issues with perfection, but old habits die hard. Movement in the bush next to the little river made Azula stop her – admittedly rather unneeded – grooming and she spotted some woman from the Water Tribe frying a fish. Her sense of sociocultural superiority spiked, she scoffed loudly at the savage sight. It was too bad the tribal woman was rather fucking beautiful, actually. She’d be gorgeous with just the right touch of style.

Traversing the rest of the wooden bridge and the street with no further interruptions, she elegantly walked into the Jasmine Dragon. It felt right to turn her nose up at other cultures, rightly so after that hideous display. If only you could permit yourself to let her fuck you, the hormones spoke seductively.

Shaking off the remnants of her street side experience, Azula spotted the greying old man known as her Uncle Iroh in the corner. At a table, meticulously pouring tea. For her. Smirking in dark amusement at her uncle, she’d crossed the perfectly decorated space in a matter of seconds and threw her arms around the large shape of her uncle. “Uncle Iroh, how do you become rounder when you’re the patron of a tea shop?”

“Well my dear, it has everything to with the pastries I serve with tea,” Iroh replied, taking the insulting joke in stride. “I have prepared your favourite tea Azula, I believe it was black with a hint of citrus?”

That was part of the code she’d developed with her uncle. Now, if Azula were to ask for wholly black tea, it’d mean something was wrong. The usual meant no changes and not hard to guess, any other tea would mean something had changed for the better. By this manner of speaking, the young and closed woman could indicate any changes without being necessarily open.

“Not entirely correct uncle, fully black today. It’s the anniversary of my ascent. Keep the citrus nearby please, if someone catches my eye, I may need it.” Azula never needed to explain the message between the lines to Iroh. She instinctively knew, from looking in his eyes, that her ageing uncle was updated on her course of life. Regrettably, though it never stopped filling her with an uncomfortable warmth, Azula had to evade his questions that were to come.

“Would you like to discuss this in greater detail, my niece?” As always, Iroh felt obligated to ask. “Uncle, nothing good would come out of an emotion-filled conversation. Bawling and confessing are not part of me,” replied Azula, her tone quick and angry.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

Oh dear, Azula sounded a bit sad. Even though she’d shot his request of elaboration down, Iroh felt strangely compelled to find another way to confirm his suspicions. The details of this deal with Ozai were extremely vague, but his intuition and paternal instinct had continuously waved red flags as he saw his niece and nephew grow up. Zuko had already broken down and told his uncle of the abuse Ozai had inflicted upon him. Sadly, Zuko didn’t confirm nor deny when Iroh asked him if Ozai abused Azula too.

It left the possibility grave to consider, because that would mean he’d left Ozai unchecked for the past few years. Even if the older brother could have done something, he’d not known what to do with his younger brother. Dolefully, the weathered man had known his brother was malcontent on some level.

Their father Azulon had often compared Ozai to a deadly snake; cunning, vicious and patient, whilst comparing Iroh to a dragon; wise, beautiful and courageous. All those small moments that build the character of a human, those moments which had spurned Ozai, made Iroh feel guilty and sorrowful. Above all, Iroh had had little control in those moments and in the later moments when the abuse took place.

It had stung all the more when he’d lost his son to war and his brother’s children were needlessly hurt for reasons they’d not know, ever.

“We could move to the living room upstairs, that has much greater privacy than here.” Iroh had the feeling Azula wanted to talk, thus he’d gladly offer any place where their conversation would be shielded from eavesdropping. He could feel his paternal instinct pushing to further increase pressure, to release the barriers that made her so controlled. Still, after years and years of teaching his brother’s children, he knew when to hold his breath. They were only scratching the surface, but a needle-like hole would utterly destroy her emotional defences.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

Her uncle Iroh was right at the gates of wherever the fucking flood of emotions would come from. Throughout the last minutes, an intense throbbing was gathering and pulsing at her temples. Azula knew this time, it would be incredibly hard to stop the nigh irrepressible need to spill her troubles and be free of it, if only for a moment.

Heavily breathing and occasionally wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, Azula was slowly losing the battle with her psyche and her body. “Uncle, what the fuck did you do to me?” Azula couldn’t help but whisper seethingly. “I’m not this person, undo this at once!”

Apologetic and grief-filled was the gaze of her uncle Iroh, who entirely ignored the fury of her voice. “It’s the change within you, Azula, that has you shaking and sweating. You need only to solve the conflict you have had since your mother left,” Iroh had never truly looked his age but for this moment. His concern for her was radiating off of him, but didn’t exactly help her predicament.

Fuck, her breathing exercises weren’t any help this time, she’d have to go upstairs to wait it out. Curse her weakness, her emotions and her morals, they were useless in this world!

“Uncle Iroh, please… I need to go lie down,” Azula pleaded with her uncle, grateful she had one person on her side. Gratefulness is for the weak, her most vicious part said – sounding a lot like her Father’s, as is pleading like a starving rat in the gutter or a pitiful schoolgirl who wants the pain to stop. Power has no other equal, no other measure to get shit done. Ambition is useful, but it is power that serves one’s needs and sees them through to the end. Whatever end it is, it justifies the means.

During this rant, undoubtedly instigated by her delightful upbringing by the world’s shittiest father, Azula had more or less assumed the classic foetus position.

She had not noticed, but she apparently was lying on a sofa.

Not the Jasmine Dragon though, it had to be her uncle’s apartment. Azula spotted the uncommonly high coffee table in the middle of her uncle Iroh’s living room with the clear glass of water on it and the handheld mirror lying upside down next to it. Her stiff muscles protested the necessary movements to straighten and carefully put each of her feet on the carpeted ground. Reaching for the glass and slowly drinking it, she felt a little less like shit till she picked up the mirror.

Tear tracks and ruined make-up were shown with no deterrent available, only the comfort of the gentle cough of her uncle that shook the shocked woman from her near-trance.

“What happened Azula?” At his soft and caring voice, so unlike her father, Azula broke down in tears. Fucking again, her mind added with irony-laced sarcasm. “It’s Ozai, he’s… he wants to – “

Iroh had seated himself next to her, opened his arms, and waited. Desperate for some form of comfort as the cruelty and grief took hold of her, she all but dove for his embrace. “Let it go, Azula, you are safe,” Iroh comfortingly spoke gently. Sobs interrupted her ability to produce sentences, so she ceased trying to speak.

Minutes, or even hours passed, Azula didn’t know. Eventually, she regained her voice and Iroh wordlessly offered her her refilled glass of water. Vanity be damned, she was certainly curious how her appearance had been affected, but the mirror wasn’t on the table any more.

A pleasant feeling that Azula would never admit to cleared the imperative cobwebs of the devastating heartbreak. “It’s Ozai, he had wanted to marry me off to some sad fucking rich man’s brat. In exchange for,” her voice trembled for a moment, “acquitting the touching of his only daughter. That deal was made six years ago, right after my sixteenth birthday. The agreement stated that the marriage will be in effect when I’m twenty-two-and-a-half-years-old. That’s in three months...” Speaking it aloud made it irrepressible, as if she could have hidden it forever without any mention. Azula was proud to say that she didn’t shed a tear this time, as she was resolved to tell Uncle and get shit done.

With no small effort, Azula began to lay one of her deepest secrets bare for her uncle Iroh, one she trusted with her heart and soul. “Uncle Iroh, you are not to tell anyone of this.”

Iroh answered with sincerity as bright as the sun, “Azula, I would never tell anyone of this, even with your permission.”

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

Flashback, seventeen years ago...

They were arguing or fighting, again.

Her father Ozai had stormed into his study after lunch, fury and disappointment clear cut on his face. Azula knew that she could hide around the corner next to the door, so she would know what was bothering her father now.

"For fucking Agni's sake, I will have to straighten that boy out in a way he won't like at all," Ozai was not-so-subtly talking aloud about his son and his unfitting behaviour of the heir of the most relevant business conglomerate in Republic City. "My belt could be useful, or that whip that Azulon used on his horses..."

Azula, not yet six, wasn't certain if she should be pleased or horrified by this, this terrifying side of her father. Hearing gentle but hurried footsteps down the hallway, the five-year-old hid behind the wall as she spotted her mother entering her father's study.

Unbidden but deadly curious, Azula surreptitiously moved towards the door to get a better chance of hearing.

"Ozai, stop that talk right now! He's not some animal you can train in a horrible way, he's our son!" It seemed Ursa had heard the most of the menacing ranting and decided to put a stop to it.

"Do not take that fucking tone with me, wife," Ozai turned to face his wife and stepped closer. "You promised me strong children and this is what I get?! Purely, despicably, utter bullshit!"

From a crack, Azula could see the slap before she heard it. Confronted with this amount of violence, she miraculously suppressed the sound of her gasp by putting her hands over her mouth. A small tear formed in her right eye, as unbelieving of this sight as she was.

To her credit, her mother hadn't even twitched and stood with a straighter back than Azula had ever seen.

(Years later, Azula would discover that not making a move was a symptom of habit.)

This somehow displeased her father, because his face twisted in just a second before he spoke: "On. Your. Knees."

Ursa slowly bent and dropped to her knees while her father untied his belt and let his pants drop. "No hands, mouth only," Ozai ordered Ursa, again.

Azula saw her father's penis hanging, but she couldn't look away or tear her eyes off of her mother kneeling. Her primary emotions became shock, disgust and concern as she watched Ursa caress the thighs and scrotum of her father.

Ozai’s pointed cough had Ursa moving up and kissing the head. Licking it, slowly twisting her tongue around and partially in the tiny slit, making Ozai groan for the first time. Azula didn't like that, not one (fucking) bit.

Ursa moved a little faster, switching her attention between the slit and the underside of the head. Languidly, she began putting her mouth further and further around the increasing size of the penis.

Fully erect and entirely impatient, Ozai grabbed the bun on the back of her head and aggressively pushed the rest of his member into her mouth and down her mother's throat.

That image made Azula shudder. Fortunately, she kept completely quiet this time, too involuntarily enraptured in her parents’ forceful sex.

Apparently, Ozai had had enough, because he threw her off and told her to bend over the desk. No comments or any sort of backtalk made Ozai growl as he watched his wife untie her robe and lift the necessary part for penetration.

He moved behind her, Azula observed, and started whispering in her ear. Regrettably, the young child couldn't hear what Ozai said.

(Years later, she would feel relieved and saddened that she'd never heard it.)

Rubbing himself against her mother, some part must have clicked, because they both moaned when her father leaned forwards. Azula had the distinct feeling her mother was moaning in pain though, opposed to Ozai’s moan of pleasure.

As the tall businessman started leaning back and forward again, the expressions on her parents' faces relaxed a smudge.

With all the luck in the world, only a very short time passed before Ozai's eyes fell closed and he began moving more erratically.

Her face pressed against the door, there was no fleeing when her mother made abrupt eye contact with Azula. A small and sad smile graced her mother's beautiful features as the sounds created by her father increased in volume.

In that moment, some sort of understanding passed between Ursa and Azula, though she was too young to comprehend the seriousness of this communication.

The moment ended when Ozai pulled on his wife's hair and forced her close to his chest as his body tensed.

At that precise moment, Azula's feet decided that they could move again, so she slipped around the wall, away in silence and complete disarray.

xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr

Eight years later...

Zuko had disobeyed Father again, and it would not be the last time either. He was being called to their father’s office more often in the past few years. Somehow, their mother had shielded them from Ozai’s influence – for better or for worse – because the house was different than before. Since the disappearance of Mother, the businessman had become even more calculating, tossing the value of emotions completely out of the window. After which he’d have a security guard catch the damn thing and had it shot, burned and vacuumed until there was piles of nothing left.

Azula was in the lounge, relaxing a bit and reading some useless dissertation on why employers should rather use positive reinforcement than negative reinforcement to motivate their employees. The author was quite passionate about the benefits of positive reinforcement, elucidating on his viewpoints of a positive attitude, both in their work and personal environment. A small part of Azula – the part that loved uncle Iroh – was enthusiastically agreeing with the statement. Her father had never been able to destruct that part of her, so the young teen hid it, deep behind a veneer of superiority and facades of prejudice and pride.

“Ah Zuzu, was it a pleasant visit?” Azula couldn't help but tease her brother, he looked quite morose, even more so than usual. Her smirk was clearly angering her brother, yet instead of reacting like he was fury incarnate, his face fell even further. “Father wants to see you in his office, Azula. His intentions are to initiate you into the leagues of adulthood,” replied Zuko with a small, rehearsed voice. Something in his eye flickered, but disappeared quickly, as if it had never been there in the first place.

Sure of herself and her observational skills – Father has trained me well, her mind reassured – that phenomenon made her frown. Being the declared prodigy of the two siblings, there was no reflection of her thoughts visible on her face. Smoothly standing up, she passed Zuko with a neutral look, while he seemed increasingly deprived of joy.

Nothing was said, so Azula walked on, climbing the stairs with a natural grace and following the maze of hallways and doors until she arrived at her destination.

A glimpse of stress and fear – a vivid memory – appeared in her mind, but resolutely crushed by herself. Fear was power, fear was a tool to be used by the strong. I have no fear, of nothing and no one, not even death, was her mantra. She repeated it three times as she knocked on the door.

“You may enter Azula.” Ozai’s voice greeted her with familiarity and coldness.

Azula calmly stepped into her father’s office, immediately noting that the curtains were drawn and several lit candles made the atmosphere more ritualistic than just a business meeting would entail. Furthermore, her father was settling the last of his cufflinks at the proper length, then picking up his jacket on the back of his seat. With a napkin, he swiped the slight trail of sweat from across his brow, giving the impression that he did something that put a strain on his body.

She waited until Father gave the approval to be seated and some part of her – the part that loved her uncle Iroh – was disgusted by the fact HE had to seat himself before her. Alas, that was the way and the way it will be, scolded the rest of her.

“Azula, my wonderful, beautiful, strong daughter. You are an model specimen of this family, unlike you miscreant of a brother, Zuko.” Her father sounded smug, as if he was the one that was ‘wonderful, beautiful and strong’. His voice turned into a hiss of poisonous judgment and unveiled disgust at the latter part of the sentence. As if it pained him to speak of a creature instead of his son.

“Yet, you have failed me. I taught you to be wary of trust, love and kinship. You betray me on all these accounts by visiting your Uncle. Have I been lacking as a father? As a businessman whose rule will be written in the annuals of history?”

With his hands folded in his lap, Ozai had been looking directly at her, his merciless golden-coloured gaze piercing her, as if she was a puzzle instead of a person with feelings. As Ozai ceased speaking, Azula bowed her head and silenced her impetuous response. Father got up with a smirk, but it was off, somehow.

“I see you recall the lessons about respecting your elders. Very well, Azula. You shall not be punished in a severe way, but rewarded in a glorious manner,” finished Ozai. His eyes shined with malicious dominance, something that made all of Azula repulse with loathing. That unfortunate moment was caught by Father, and weaknesses were made to be exploited.

“You dislike the reward? Why, oh why, wouldn’t you like what I have in mind for you? I want only the best for you, Azula. No one on this planet knows like I do, and we can achieve great things together. You need only to be open to the rewards you worked for.“

Ozai stepped closer to his only daughter, now towering over her more than ever. His calculating eyes dilated and his ruthless facade of a smile grew by the fact that Azula did not cower. I have no fear, of nothing and no one, not even death, Azula repeated her mantra again. Again, and once more for more luck.

“Your hands please, my dearest daughter,” her father requested of her with a low voice. That command – disguised as a request – stoked the conflict within her that had been that off-feeling.

After a ten seconds or so, Azula dutifully held out her hands. It was better to follow her father’s commands than face his wrath. She’d seen Zuko in the bath when he wasn’t looking. As brilliant as she was, there was no problem deducing the pattern that had been established.

Yet there was another reason Azula would obey Ozai. Azula wouldn’t gladly admit it, but she had flaws. One of them was – even after years of indoctrination – the love she had for her family. Apparently she wasn’t as susceptible to her father’s teachings as she had thought.

Father had gently grabbed her hands and began stroking them, entirely out of his character. It was so shocking that Azula couldn’t help but to cease breathing. It seemed like her lungs were protesting against this very situation that had been developing for the past minutes.

“You know your mother is gone, never to return to this home and family. That is why I need someone else at my side, someone strong, but obedient. Wilful, but dutiful. That grand honour falls on your shoulders, my lovely daughter,” claimed Ozai and with a flourish he’d grabbed her shoulders and pressed her into his chest.

It was… a hug? The young teen could remember the hugs her mother gave her, and they spoke of warmth, affection and love. This was nothing like it.

Finally, she breathed shakily, utterly surprised by this course of action.

Then the touching was changing… Something was digging in her upper leg, and a hand – not her own – was stroking her hair. Terror shook Azula to her core. Was this the fucking reward?!?, her mind screamed; How is this a good thing, something to be remembered on pathetic nights of loneliness and/or absence of company?

The last internal scream was swallowed by the furious press of Ozai’s mouth on hers. Lips – whom should be feeling the protests of her lips – gave no indication of stopping. When her father pressed his thumb in her left cheek – hard enough to make her eyes open in shock – Azula gasped loudly, but it was soon silenced by the atrocious tongue of the acclaimed businessman and doctor.

Being inexperienced in the ways of sex and such, Azula had been shocked into stillness. Not to mention the illicit and unwanted advances of her father; that had been the last drop to have her act like this. Azula couldn’t quite believe it, but she was frozen with fear. It seemed there was a thing she’s afraid of after all.

Ozai – being the utter dick – had no intentions of fucking a puppet. To inspire some movement into his daughter, he grabbed hold of her long black hair with one rough hand. And pulled.

“This is your initiation into womanhood, dear Azula. After we’re done, there’s no going back to being innocent in the ways of the world,” threatened Ozai softly in her ear. “You need to be taught what people will do to you if you fail to be ruthless in the execution of your duties,” added Ozai, emphasising the ‘fail’ with another hard pulling of Azula’s hair.

“Please, Father, no, don’t do that. Anything but that, I’ll do fucking anything but that!” Azula couldn’t help but scream and plead, trying to change the doctor’s mind.

“You bitch!” The word was punctured with the sound of Ozai slapping her on her cheek with a flat hand.

“You don’t deserve to plead for mercy, because you will get none. Such is the way of this family, the way of our forefathers. You’ll do the same, to everyone you’ll need to control,” his gravelly voice was raised and terrifying to behold. This was Father and she’d failed him.

At that moment, Azula realised there was nothing she could do against him. She’d have to be under his thumb, and wait for the right moment to strike. If she were to further disobey Ozai, he’d probably throw her out on the street, disown her, cast her aside in the eyes of the world.

There was no way she’d survive in that world, so Azula would have to repress her instincts and thoughts that had her physically revolting in this situation. If Ozai was a snake, she’d be the scorpion. She’d play nice till it was time to sting and let him feel the fury and wrath of all the coming years.

“Alright dear Father, I am ready. I will not fail you again, not like my piece of shit brother,” claimed Azula, although she could feel her heart (or what was left of it) throbbing in empathy for Zuko. I only hope this will take the heat off of him, let us share this horrible burden, the loving part of Azula spoke.

Taking a deep breath, Azula rose with her head high, her purpose clear. She knew a red handprint would be visible and her face would be covered with tears and weeping make-up. Yet her plan was made and she’d do it, however long it would take.

“Excellent Azula. Come closer,” Ozai called, because he’d be testing her resolve. To assuage his suspicions, she sprung in his arms and swept him up in a kiss. She’d tentatively quieted her mind, so she’d not be distracted by the urge to vomit.

Her father reacted with fervour, seemingly aroused by the whole spectacle. I always knew the son of a bitch was a damn sadist, that one part of her added with a little bit of irony sprinkled over it.

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Azula had only seen their Uncle Iroh cry twice and it appeared this was the third time. The first time was at Lu Ten’s funeral, when Uncle Iroh had been standing in front of her, weeping for the life his son should have had. The second time had been when Zuko had gotten disinherited and escorted off the property. In that moment, Azula had seen Uncle Iroh in the distance, his face puffy-looking and distraught. If she were brutally honest with herself, she didn’t know how she felt in that moment…

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Doing her best to desist her natural response, Azula felt her ass being grabbed at by a large hand, his fingertips prodding and bruising. Again, she was faced with the overpowering need to rebel, resist, make it stop.

Breathing slowly – punctuated by gasps – Azula held her heart silent and her emotions in a tight hold. It would not do to prematurely betray her intentions of future vengeance, so she shut down in a way she hadn’t experienced before. It was like she was a passenger in the vehicle that was her body, only watching and not controlling. An eerie feeling took possession of her, seeing her father pull, sniff and act entirely unsavoury with herself.

When he made her kneel, she held fast.

When he assaulted her throat with his dick, she ran a tight ship.

When he turned her around, bend her over his desk and tore a pathway, she suppressed herself.

When he monstrously and ruthlessly thrust into her, rendering her immovable and indelibly damaged, she cried inside. She cried for her brother, her mother and herself.

When he left her dripping with proof of womanhood, she sneered viciously in the blood-soaked promise of revenge.

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Azula sat, noisily drying her nose and cheeks with the handkerchief her uncle had handed her when she had started unloading her story. There was little make-up left on her face now, she’d have to call Ty Lee for a rescue operation.

If word got out that the black-haired heiress was crying in the Jasmine Dragon – or worse, Uncle Iroh’s apartment – she could not exact her vengeance. That objective was paramount, its relevance trumping all other purposes in her life. And if, that is a big if, Azula survived the confrontation with Ozai – there will be a death – she’d have her whole life ahead of her, the burden just a past reminder of life’s unfairness.

She would do this deed without anyone’s help, because Azula loved Zuko and Iroh and they couldn’t be implicated in the inevitable crime that shall happen.

Snapping out of the trance the young woman had gotten into, she looked over to her uncle who was wiping tears away and drinking tea to calm his nerves. The yearning to tell Uncle Iroh how she felt about him and what he meant to her was growing steadily. The irony of such a feeling was not lost on Azula, for in her soul she knew she wanted to tell Uncle Iroh she loved him. Ozai won’t rule me for much longer, starting today! A large part of her mind declared.

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In the weeks after the conversation with the head of the Medicine Faculty, Aang had joined his First Aid classes and had started to learn the different positions one should be in when administering first aid. Being the diligent student he is, Aang needed only two extra hours in a week to read and practice some of the first aid skills he’d been taught. Of course, when he was practising (mouth-to-mouth) resuscitation on a doll RU was kind enough to let him borrow in the living room, Sokka and Zuko walked in. Breathless and flustered, they seemed even more smitten with each other, till his predicament struck.

From the corner of the tattooed man’s eye, he could see his friends’ changing expressions. The lust and sweet-filled gaze of Sokka changed to befuddlement, embarrassment, amusement and full-blown laughter. Zuko’s gaze just changed to extreme shock, turned redder than ever and kind of looked he was going to pass out – though if Aang’s or Sokka’s face was the cause, would be a secret forever.

Being Zuko’s roommate, Aang had learned to read him, because Zuko had been taught to suffer in silence, to bear a mask to cry behind, so to say. Nowadays, he’d been more open since he’d been dating Sokka – which made Aang nearly sing with joy, if he could sing.

By all means, a romantic relationship between two of his best friends – Aang had very few yet very good friends – was a cause for concern. Keep an open mind, Gyatso had always said and even though it was hard not to mire in the possibilities of misery that could be truth, staying realistic and supportive would have to be enough for Zuko and Sokka’s relationship to flourish into a lifelong romantic companionship.

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Forty-five minutes later...

Even though he had a few sorrowing memories of Gyatso wasting away, Aang let it flow through him and took his time to accept that in the future, the young man could potentially do more than stare with tied hands while life with its bad luck took away those Aang loved.

He sat, eyeing the empty seat before him pensively.

After Sokka and Aang were done laughing and Zuko was blushing less furiously, the lovely couple were grabbing some stuff to quote: “Hit the gym and blow off some steam afterwards.” (Zuko had turned a little red when Sokka winked slyly at him – Aang tried to suppress his laughter by coughing and let them leave in how less dignity they had.)

Thus, the stubbled prodigy was alone again, with his thoughts, a practice puppet and the beautiful face he could still see in his mind, haughtily looking down upon him whilst looking up to him.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

A few weeks later...

Azula knew her role in life: to be desired, feared, or both at the same time. Of course, her father Ozai and uncle Iroh were the exceptions that proved the rule.

This tattooed young man sitting across her in a meditative position made her feel.

I mean, Azula knew feelings existed, but never had they struck her as dumb before as they did now. Confounding as these things were, she had to process and organise this; preferably in strict parameters and in concise terms. Internally rolling her eyes, she heard Uncle Iroh quote one of the most inspiring authors – Charlotte Brontë: “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”

Fuck.

Why was a part of her quoting Brontë about freedom? Would it be connected to the fact that she craves freedom for herself, to become a truly independent person? Furthermore, would that explain why she wanted to tell Aang about her life? Even though she met him four times and she doesn’t know anything relevant about him?

Notes:

Writing this was way harder than I thought. I faltered at the kinda explicit abuse scene, so that took me like 8 weeks to get it done. Or maybe ten or twelve weeks, I’m not sure any more.
(It has taken me about twenty weeks, but I’m getting back on track. This is on 08-04-2021 and I started on 10 October 😂. I’ve chosen to make this a two-shot, for it is becoming a drag on my part.) (Beta-ing is taking its sweet time too)
Finally, I’m done! (It’s the fucking 7th of November)

Chapter 2: And bless thy heart.

Notes:

And here’s the second chapter, long overdue. I don’t mind though, I like taking my time.

13-11-2023: More importantly, since I’ve reread the first chapter to get into it, I’d like to say that rape is one of the most horrible things there is, and I am not speaking from experience. I took myself to quite a dark place and I wouldn’t encourage anyone to read this if they didn’t want to. Most of all, I am not a mental health expert who deals with sexual abuse/rape victims so whatever I write isn’t exactly a good representation of how to deal with such an experience. That being said, I thought it important that I write such a scene to make clear how wrong it is and how someone might react. Excuse my being-raised-as-a-male-but-is-now-queer-lens.

Life is usually some sort of routine, a process to follow through before the daylight is up, night-time is present and most creatures sleep. Sometimes though, life is all sorts of fucked up. It could be minor; a bird shitting all over your clothes or a leaky stopcock that makes your hearing tingle every time you try to sleep.
On the other, heavier side of things, pretty much all events are majorly kind of fucked up; you shoot the father that has raped you for many years or you threaten your friends with a knife because you do not want them to see what you are.

As a matter of fact, those moments move fast and create a momentous aftermath that can’t help but slow time as if torture is the only way you’re good for. Which is a lie to appease your pride and endure the pain with a little dark humour. Hallelujah for the irony!

Take a deep breath.
Open. Your. Eyes.

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A transient chant rose with every inhale and exhale, simultaneously grounding and releasing Aang from the physical world. His torso, nay, his whole body seemed to fuzz the air around him, giving the young man a surreal and brightened presence. As if little tiny creatures had converged behind this being and waved their arms in pentagonal shapes – each angle accounting for a limb and the hairless head.

A flow of cold air disturbed this peaceful sanctuary. Daring to open one eye, Aang saw Azula sultrily walking through the door, and although her mouth was moving – there was no sound. The swaying of her body provided the young man with enough information though.

The enticingly beautiful young woman was three steps away from him and it coincided with some sort of rush of sound. At once the environment began breathing and living and it was as scary as it was sudden. A touch of a hand – on his arm.

Aang looked up and saw Azula moving in to kiss him. He moved to reciprocate, yet fell away into the absolute darkness with a frightened scream when the gun’s barrel (when had she grabbed that?) touched the side of his head.
(A/N: Think of the fall in the season three episode nine: Nightmares and Daydreams)

“HOLY MONKEY FEATHERS!”

Sokka was crouching near the edge of the bed and gently held his hand against Aang’s forehead.

“You gave us a scare there buddy. That’s one magnificent yell you have there .”

Blinking and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, Aang saw Sokka move away to reveal pretty much all his friends in a worried state. Naturally, Katara looked the most frazzled, apparently needing a break from coffee. Suki slung her arm around her: “You had Katara up to here you know.”

“Yeah Aang, you went really fucking deep for a moment there. You okay?” Toph added in a serious voice, which terrified Aang more than he’d care to admit right now.

With a deep breath, Aang dared ask what the hell – excuse his language – was wrong with him. No one held a reassuring expression on their face, which was just. Great.

“So, why am I buried in blankets while I’m sweating so much? Come on, answer me guys!” In spite of himself, he sounded desperate and he couldn’t control himself. His hands covered his face and groaned.

“Aang?” Aang rose his head from the protective dome of his hands and responded: “Yeah?”

“You had a large fever, which – to be honest – was quite a shock. In all the years I’ve known you, you have never been this ill before,” answered Katara, with a tone that revealed her being on the precipice of crying.

“I found you after Sokka and I returned from the gym,” Zuko spoke with a stunned voice. “You weren’t responding to m y questions about dinner and I carefully opened your door to see you slumped on the chair, muttering and sweating. It was fucking horrifying.”

This time Toph sat on the edge of his bed, grabbing his limp wrist and overtly feeling for a pulse.

“We’re all very worried about you Aang, because we all love you. Please, tell us whenever you’re not feeling well, okay?”

A tear ran over Toph’s pale cheek, and it made Aang recall what had happened yesterday.

“Yesterday I –” Suki’s voice rang out: “You were feverish for three days Aang.”

“Alright, three days ago,” Aang voiced with forced calm, “I was ruminating on Gyatso’s death and I cried until I was empty as an transparent inkwell. I tried to focus on the present, but I was feeling particularly lousy that day. I guess I must have fallen asleep with my mind running in circles.”

Omitting the fact that the tattooed man had thought about a certain young woman, that wasn’t bothering Aang as much as he’d thought it would have. It was strange that he was somewhat mollified by a good dream turned bad, considering all Aang knew of dreams and their meanings.

Anyhow, there’d be the waking world to contend with, and the tattooed young man would need the willpower to perhaps enable the first chain events of his dream; that was a thing Aang needed to consider... Azula had struck a chord in him and Aang was sure his friends wouldn’t exactly ‘approve’, for the lack of a better word.

Sitting up, stretching his limbs and only half-suppressing a yawn, Aang could have felt worse, but he wanted to do something. His friends swarmed him with loving hands, trying to convey that the bald young man should be careful when moving.

“Come on Aang, let’s get some food in you.” Sokka gently assisted him with getting on his feet, whilst maintaining a strained grin. Aang watched his friends’ reactions, seeing the worry sparkle in their eyes. Concern that was entirely justified, considering Aang wasn’t the type of person to be ill and certainly not from psychological causes. After Aang grew up on the streets, and was adopted into a very open home, suffering … well, still suffering, but the conversation(s) that followed were measured in their relevance as follows: firstly, the openness that brought about catharsis, and secondly, the acceptance offered by his adoptive father; that you are fallible as a human being and you suffer as a consequence of that.

Katara, as frazzled as she was, had wiped away most of her tears when she saw Aang being supported by Sokka and had walked into the kitchen to make a healthy meal that would help Aang recover his strength.

Sokka sat Aang down with a sniffling laugh in his favourite chair, a high-backed one that allegedly supported the flow of blood throughout a person’s veins when sitting for a long time. Aang thanked Sokka for his help with a toothy grin, before deciding to tell everyone to sit down and urging his friends to start a light-hearted conversation.

Sokka’s voice eventually took precedence, delighting everyone as he geared up for one of his “brilliant” jokes, and murmurs were slowly fading. “What do you call a komodo rhino in a relationship with an elephant mandrill? A giant ass crush!”

Everybody groaned in disbelief, how could Sokka’s jokes be this bad?! Zuko was especially red, hiding his face from his bronzed boyfriend, who eventually got around his scarred head and kissed him soundly to convey love – and to quell any complaints or mute any other sounds, of course.

“Damn you Sokka, how many times have I told you that I’m blind, not deaf! You’re giving me the fucking oogies!” Toph made her annoyance at the nigh everyday occurrence clear, to which Sokka plainly responded by raising his middle finger.

“Can’t see you flipping me off either Sokka…”

Aang, nearly choking on his laughter at the age-old scene of bickering in front of him, couldn’t hide his yawn however; Katara, the self-appointed mother of the group, yet always growling angrily if someone mentioned that, bid everyone to face the gravity of the situation that they found Aang in, and send everyone off to their house or room.

Suki, Katara, Toph, Zuko and Sokka wished Aang a goodnight’s sleep, with surprisingly no grumbling but lots of hugs. The tattooed man needed those, desperately.

The sorrowed young man padded to his room with a wave and a positive reply to Katara's demand about him calling her in the morning, after which he trudged to the sink to brush his teeth.

“Monkey Feathers, I look terrible…” Aang felt something awfully close to despair, as he inspected the haunting look in his eyes, the disturbing pallor of his skin and the stubborn stubble on his chin; it nearly made him moan. And Uncle Iroh had told everyone how horrible despair was, the depths of yourself it brought you too.

That memory brought forth a shudder – Zuko had been in pieces because of the situation with his parents – and Aang wished the remaining minute would surrender itself painlessly, because there was a little part of him that would stoke the fires of self-hatred again.

Accepting your pain and moving past it, that meant not that it was over for all eternity in that moment; no, it meant that in the future moments when that acceptance was needed, it would come and go easier. Possibly… no true guarantees in life but death after all.

Finally done with his hygienic routine as well as the depressing philosophising, the tired young man practically dove in bed, wanting to fall asleep as quickly as possible. Alas, as Aang expected, sleep would not come for him. His concentration was in tatters, his body pleaded for rest, yet sleep would not come. He would need to distract himself from the whirling of a mind in unrest.

Meditation was out of the question; it would have to be a sporty activity. Perhaps a cigarette to de-stress.

Aang couldn’t help the ironic chuckle that escaped him – more than enough people compared Aang to a saintly figure, sometimes an angel. Ostensibly, traits such as calmness, wisdom, kindness and love were attributed to the saints or angels of the myths in every culture. Sadly – which meant fortunately – Aang was human, therefore he was flawed and fallible. He needn’t act or be a saint, being just Aang would suffice; something which had been one of the main strengths that continued to save his skin to this day. If he couldn’t be Aang within a reasonable range, then he’d been lost to the all-consuming grief that plagued his every pore since Aang saw Gyatso close his eyes for the final time.

So Spirits forbid if anyone saw him smoke; they’d blow a gasket. Wi th a lot of fire included. Aang stood up again with a resigned sigh and pressed the tiny extending wooden pedal all the way down in the corner of his desk.

“Bison butt!” This was accompanied with another sigh, this one more dejected.

He was out of smokes. One particular expletive lay upon his tongue, considering all that had happened. Arguably, it would be more than deserving of this situation, yet Aang couldn’t do it. He’d always smile at the memory of when he’d asked his Gyatso for guidance on the subject of expletives.

“Gyatso, I heard my friend say something strange today. He fell down the stairs and spilled his sugary drink all over the young man that’s seated next to him in nearly every class. And everyone knows Sokka likes Zuko, so that was extremely mortifying for Sokka. Toph laughed the loudest,” Aang finished with an elated grin.

With a patient smile on his face Gyatso asked: “Which word did Sokka use, Aang?”

“Sokka yelled ‘Fuck’ really loud. What does it mean and why is it used so commonly Gyatso?” With curious eyes, the young man looked his all but biological father in his eyes.

Gyatso sat up and straightened his back; clearly this was to be food for thought.

"Aang, listen closely. People use these words – expletives – to express their anger, sadness or annoyance. It can be cathartic, but it is not necessary. There’s an ancient Air Nomad saying: if a word is used once, it is at its most powerful. If it is used twice, that power wanes slightly. If it is used in everyday conversation, it is or has become essentially meaningless. And as with most attachments to the physical plane, it is a fleeting thing and a distraction from the root of the problem,” Gyatso levelled Aang with an utmost thoughtful gaze, and Aang knew it was something to deeply consider.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

The young man tiredly stepped out of the apartment building, dressed in a simple robe that nevertheless flowed gracefully as if continuously stimulated by a light breeze , with a calm but grumpy gait. It was a ten-minute walk to the shop where he could surreptitiously buy cigarettes without being hounded by a bunch of now-unwelcome people.

Yep, everyone has off days, Aang thought with a wry grin.

The ten minutes went by, ticking and dragging. Aang wasn’t often bored, but this moment was something else entirely. Too much time to think and little to nothing to do but to synchronise his steps. Suppressing a sardonic grin at that particular end, Aang noticed he was nearly there.

Walking to the entrance – in full exposure of the regularly flickering streetlight – Aang yawned as he looked at the nondescript corner shop with a name that had long been eroded by the elements, or disfigured, perhaps stolen by mischievous students. It didn’t matter at the end of the day, though a certain drop of sadness for the deteriorated façade flew through the well of disparaging feelings that had been unearthed for this day.

Blueish light shone through the indelibly clean windows; indubitably cleaned for more hours than was healthy. A mist – tinted a hellish red by the apparatus that looked suspiciously like an oven – concealed the adjoining ruined building, apparently once a bathhouse or a bakery of sorts. Now, it was a den of sluggish, nonviolent drug abusers that eyed only certain characters with a greedy gaze; Aang was fortunately not one of them, at least in this state.

With surer steps than before as the vibe flowing from the ruined building was nothing to scoff at , Aang pushed the door and entered as quietly as possible.

No need to draw more attention to myself than necessary, Aang thought offhandedly, occupied by the contents of the store (read: the customers).

Azula!

Having no desire to engage in a conversation on this fuc- horrible day, Aang hid himself pretty niftily behind some shelves of the corner shop. Certainly steathily watching the young woman that had visited his dreams at least twice – daydreaming not included – was better than speaking to her; the ill-looking young man was convinced the interaction would be awful, yet the potential for common ground couldn’t be denied. Zuko had told Aang of his youth, living with Ozai and Ursa, and later alone with Ozai; life wasn’t pretty in the businessman and doctor’s household. Ozai was cunning though, and slick with words: so many allegations had come and gone, yet not a thing had changed in at least ten years. The young man with the shaved head didn’t know if Azula still lived with Ozai, but hoped for her sake that she didn’t.

Shaking off the frankly depressing thoughts, Aang focused on pretending to search for stuff to buy whilst watching Azula speak to the cashier with a frozen stare.

Luckily Aang wasn’t the recipient of that stare; he’d felt her stare and it wasn’t that comfortable, Aang thought with a silent chuckle. Moving to view her profile better, Aang concluded there was a glimmer of… Some unknown emotion on her face – it wasn’t a positive emotion though.

Ah! After a while of sifting through his experiences with her, the things Zuko told him about, and perhaps a bit of the dreamy interpretations of her character, it became clear to the tall, tattooed (not quite a) monk that Azula exuded an aura that made Aang think of a description along the lines of "Prideful, yet on the knife's edge of disillusionment. Beautiful, though filled with wroth. Graceful, and filled with a self-loathing of power."

A short poem by the world-renowned poet and writer Zaheer, about his partner’s disposition after the accident with the hearth in their home. Sources described the scene as “an explosion of gilded snippets of durable wood, scorched beyond recognition”. Ensuing the accident, one of those celebrity shows had invited the couple and had joked that “the house didn’t look as good as before too”. Subsequently, security had to pry Zaheer off the host for deliberately making light of the severity of the accident.

Zaheer was sentenced to three months of community service for those punches he threw; kicking all law enforcement officers in the nether regions when they tried to stop things from escalating earned him a sentence of two years in the “finest of correctional facilities of Republic City” (read: luxurious prison).

The damn celebrity talk show host hadn’t learned his lesson though, for three weeks later he was assaulted by P’Li in another recklessly ambitious interview – she earned a pretty prison sentence too, and was reunited with her lover. Needless to say, their reputation grew in spades, although many condemned the violence, they could understand that the frankly thoughtless and pushy interviewer wasn’t a good person in that situation. Some said he wasn’t a good person in all respects, and to that Aang wisely held his mouth shut.

A quick glance to the non-existent queue meant Azula had likely ceased unleashing her unique brand of terror upon the cashier and gotten at the least somewhat satisfied by whatever had transferred between them. With a dash in his step and disposition, Aang was in front of the still frightened cashier in no time at all.

“Longshot. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this terrified, and you have my sympathy,” Aang clasped Longshot’s forearm in a greeting known to the “Freedom Fighters” – an underground spoken word and rap group – and their associates. Longshot was a member of the Fighters whereas Aang was an associate.

“I know her a bit. She’s Zuko’s younger sister; imagine someone who has learned to survive in that horrible house,” Aang’s voice transformed into a whisper at that last part, you never knew who was in earshot. And badmouthing Ozai’s family hadn’t ever been a wise thing to do since Ozai arose as an “elite” citizen of Republic City.

“Yeah, I can understand that.” Longshot nodded as he’s known for.

“You alright though Aang? You don’t look so well.” Longshot’s voice was wavering, likely reeling from Azula’s verbal rant (abuse rather), though concern was bleeding through. Longshot and Aang weren’t especially close, but both appreciated each other’s serene disposition. Thus Aang didn’t know what to tell him, to be frank.

“I have been better, though I will be better. Nevertheless, I need a distraction from all the noise, but I think you understand. I want to find my balance again.”

Longshot nodded in empathy – his trademark motion – and Aang knew he was good, there and then.

“A pack of Students need less stress cigarettes for you, my friend,” Longshot’s tone was serene as always, making it impossible to discern if one was being judged. Still, Longshot was in the exact same boat as Aang found himself in – there was no cure for the incessant and continuous noise of the mind on days like these, and smoking took a great deal of the edge off. Yes, smoking was bad for one’s health, but the stress would be worse. As a matter of fact, it was worse and Aang blessed the person – most likely a man – that invented the cigarette.

(Aang blessed the inventor more often than he liked or would admit to.)

Giving Longshot the necessary coins, Aang preceded by sticking out his palm for the “Freedom Fighter” goodbye; consisting of a fleeting up-and-down touch of each other’s palms, a fluid coming-together thereafter – forming an open not-quite-there sphere – and lastly, kissing each other on the left cheek.

A wizened old man – clad in purple sporting gear – cleared his throat though to make room for himself, signalling to Aang that he hadn’t quite moved away from the designated cashier’s spot. That startled Aang into a brisk-like pace towards the transparent door that would lead to air that didn’t smell of cleaning fluids and marihuana (the combination was particularly stifling to those who wandered in nature). With a slight grin at the soon-to-achieve peace, Aang took a deep breath, savouring the spring air.

“Isn’t this a sweet surprise, tattoo boy?” A devious smirk graced Azula’s full lips at the surprise so obviously written all over his face, “You know you’re pretty good at being stealthy, though I saw you skulking and watching me from behind one of the shelves. Hmm, that look reminds me of Zuko when I caught him getting handsy with himself to gay porn…”

The red mist seemed to mock her statement by growing a second head that blew a nasty looking cloud towards the store. Azula, for the late hour, was still very alert and in a split second of indecision, nonetheless resolved to pull Aang out of the way of the airy abomination. Turning the corner, Azula threw the duo against the wall and out of sight of the mentally insane yet non-violent junkies.

“See, I’m only out here to make you as uncomfortable as possible, physical violence isn’t my thing.” The implication was quite clear as to whose thing physical violence is.

“Must be some kind of anniversary of the desecration of the ruined building, or something like that…” Azula heard Aang mutter in concerned curiosity, but she didn’t find herself wanting to stay here. He heard her, Azula was sure, though he was in such a bad shape that it was pretty logical that he was out of it sometimes.

“Come on, we’re going to the centre of campus, away from this shit,” Azula exclaimed and tugged on Aang’s hand.

Fuck, I didn’t let go of his hand. Now he’s going to be all emotional, thinking that I like him, Azula’s sceptical and pessimistic part ascertained.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Aang gazed questioningly at her face; it seemed that she spoken aloud, though how loud she was, was yet a mystery. Fortunately, the black haired woman had released his hand, so there was less reason to ask such compelling questions.

“What did you hear? And to be fair to you, I did see you behind the shelves in the shop. You made the effort to walk to this part of the campus, after all. Can’t blame a girl for having eyes,” A distraction would serve her needs best, so she’d be nice and give him a compliment. A blush indeed arose on his pale face, still looking as ill as she first saw him.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Aang returned, “and you know you’re a beautiful woman, right?”

Azula wasn’t impressed by his hollowed-out and clichéd flirting: “If you’re stating platitudes, I might as well go talk to the damn junkies!” Gaze fierce and ice-cold, Azula noticed a certain sway to Aang.

Alarmed, she moved to support his broad shoulder, feeling the outline quite clearly through the thin robe the tattooed man wore.

“Shit, are you alright?” Azula exclaimed, seeing no further outer signs of illness besides the swaying, and the pallor of his skin. They had walked about half the distance to the centre of the campus; they were lucky however, for IRU had placed several benches along the boulevard leading to the centre, interspersed with tall oak and pine trees. A pity that someone didn’t know how to properly design a road with trees however, and people thought Republic City was the place to be…

“Yeah, just have to sit. Maybe smoke. I need a smoke,” Aang decided, and insisted with a fatigued look.

Azula looked at him questioningly, not quite believing him but not wanting to start an argument. Hell, besides a few glances and a couple of strange conversations, they didn’t even know each other. Either way, she disregarded the fact that smoking was quite obviously not healthy; she was surprised that someone like Aang was actually a smoker – that took some guts.

Then again, anyone sins.

Gently pushing the tired young man on a seat that was dry – what luck! – Azula couldn’t help but think about the remarkable strength this person owned. She sat beside him, clearing her drying throat and did the thoughts about strength away.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’re a smoker; you rather look like one of those people who sniff glue,” Azula said dryly, which got a short, stale laugh out of Aang.

“Yeah, it’s a nasty habit. I am too far gone though. I couldn’t for the life of me stop smoking now,” Aang responded, entirely and purposefully avoiding his gaze from her person.

“Give me a drag then, if you don’t have the courtesy to look at me,” Azula demanded in that tone that was uniquely hers; wry amusement and steadfast coldness.

Aang’s bemused expression said it all when he turned around; her steadfast coldness wasn’t so convincing anymore, instead wavering and blurring at the edges. Being perceived as not cold, that was an intriguing and worrying thought. It seems she needed to shore up her mental defences; strengthen her fortress by deepening the moat or adding a Limes to her already complicated fortifications.

Things to think on, for another place and another time.

Not being able to let it go, it was truly disconcerting to have such an integral part of herself lessen by a smoking, bald, and tattooed young man – whom many see as angelic – in such a short amount of time, and there was nearly nothing she could do about it. Fucking monk-like dude just treated her like an actual person, avoiding any kind of flinching and being intimidated. Disarming her all weapons by smiling and talking!

(As Azula was not, nor would she ever be, privy to Aang’s innermost thoughts and feelings, she wouldn’t know how uncertain and complicated Aang’s experiences with her were.)

Cursing under her breath at her fool – not her fool, but the fool! – the troubled young woman ignored Aang for a few moments more, debating with herself as to what to do with this heap of idiocy; it wasn’t wise, going out to sate a craving whilst clearly dealing with some form of as mental or emotional breakdown. No one turned into such an awful state within minutes without some serious shit to deal with, after all.

Azula sighed, blowing smoke into the tired night air, after having appropriated the cigarette with a snarky sound. Yeah, she was tired too – even though the night had barely begun – it felt on the end of its rope too. In an industrial-turned-metropolitan city, the nights were like kisses from an aunt; expelling the smokiest air caused by a lifetime of smoking.

Chuckling, Azula remembered how her mother was in love with poetry. Her daughter, being raised as a sociopath, did not. How the hell things came to Azula spouting a near thing that could be called poetry, she didn’t know. Perhaps Ursa would be proud of her, perhaps not.

Azula simply didn’t know and wasn’t looking to ask anyone about it either.

Anyhow, the black haired woman returned to cigarette to Aang’s hand, where it took a moderately quick journey to the wanly smiling mouth that was nevertheless attractive.

“Are you feeling a bit better now?” Azula asked with that husky tone that all smokers seemed to possess in some form. The snarky inflection hadn’t exactly disappeared though.

“Feeling better, yes. Looking better, not quite I presume,” Aang replied with a dose of “why-am-I-like-this” like most of the philosophy students seemed to possess. Azula surmised it was the unending feeling of trying to peek into the inner layers of everything so much, that their pretty faces broke, shattered in pieces that wanted to be glued together, yet had not the instruments to solve the puzzle.

“That is good enough for me. How come you’re even out here, knowing what state you’re in?”

Azula peered into the cryptic eyes of a man suffering from illness. Sleeplessness, restlessness and a need for something indecipherable shone through, resonating strangely within her. This was problematic, because Azula didn’t want a connection with someone, least of all a fucking orphan turned monk-like Adonis.

You’re gonna get it, the irritating part of her promised the rest of her mind in a singsong voice.

“I mean, it’s been a eight days since you were in Ozai’s office, and you look a dozen times more appalling than the last time we met,” Azula finished with inexplicably blank expression that belied the conflict within.

“You’ve been counting the days since we last met,” Aang responded gleefully, his eyes shining with thinly concealed levity.

Of course Aang would notice that part, and not the insult! Growling at his insolence, Azula jostled his shoulder with a loose hand, because she would not lose control at this place and time! However infuriating the ubiquitously pretty man was, it didn’t to escalate into something that screamed friendly intentions, or worse, romantic intentions. “Shut up, would you? I have expressed my concern and that is all you’re going to get. I’ll be glad to hurl more insults at your face if you keep this aggravating behaviour up!”

The warmth that sang through her from his eyes died down, yet the mirth remained. Not troubled by this, Azula resolved to concentrate on more practical matters, like getting the sick person into a bed where he could do no more harm to himself. (Yes, Azula wasn’t completely heartless, she just didn’t like people to see her care; bounties of the elite upbringing!)

“Are you always this hot-and-cold? Spirits, you know how to knock someone down a peg,” Aang remarked as if this was on his mind for a while. Weighing this over, Azula decided to stay silent and see if Aang would keep on talking (They always did).

A few minutes passed in a kind silence, though a tense chord was thrumming underneath.

“Okay Azula, I won’t make any insinuating remarks anymore,” Aang solemnly swore with the heaviness of a child that has been orphaned for many years, “and I want you to have the rest of the cigarette.”

“Fucking fool,” Azula spoke angrily, all bluff and bluster, “it’s time to start walking again. We’ll share the cigarette, and be silent. Understood?”

“Crystal clear.”

So they went on walking to the campus, passing several student dorms and IRU buildings that were closed and dark, quiet in the misty hours of the evenings. Several minutes later, the unlikely duo arrived at the dorm where Aang and Zuko lived. Losing to the puppy-eyed look, Azula resigned to accost the progressively tired young man to his shared apartment, occasionally glaring at the handsome but fallen profile of someone she wished she didn’t know. Alas, Azula did and she’d be dealing with this like she did with everything: bloody precision and steadfast determination.

Far away, a man moaned in restrained ecstasy, and another man shut the door, knowing he’d have to confess to his husband that he was bisexual.

Life is unfair.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

Azula had left him alone in the darkened apartment; Zuko wasn’t home, so he had to be at Sokka’s for stress relief; either sex or cuddling like two very manly saber-tooth moose lions. Willing himself to be strong, Aang pressed on to the balcony.

The pack of Students need less stress cigarettes delivered a much-needed relief, especially combined a cup of jasmine tea from Iroh’s. Zuko had done well with this place. The balcony certainly was the thing that sealed the deal, Aang thought whilst looking at the night sky. The stars were peculiarly bright tonight, considering the reputed environmental damage the industrial areas of Republic City had wrought in the last few decades.

Already on his second cigarette, the muted-in-spirit young man couldn't help a prayer in his native tongue. For Gyatso. If he were feeling even more forlorn, he’d have thought that Gyatso disapproved of this kind of behaviour. Still, that wasn’t the case and Gyatso knew like no other what desperation tasted like. Aang was relievedly only on vacation to that destination tonight.

Aang stayed there for about twenty minutes, calmly sipping his tea and lighting three more cigarettes, disgusted with himself at the un-healthiness of the nicotine-carrying product, as well as the increased potentiality of lethal diseases, whilst soaking in the peace that the particular combination brought him like the Winter Solstice celebrations brought everyone.

Aang was basking in the mild spicy feeling that the tiny bits of tea leaves gave his entire self after consumption, before his door opened and a feeling of anticipation began to rise. What if Azula came in here to kiss me?, his most romantic part couldn’t help but say. Sadly, it wasn’t Azula, nor was it Zuko.

Gyatso stood there, smiling with suppressed grief at the look of his adopted son.

“I missed you Aang, my oh so brave son.”

The person in question began to choke up, emotions that weren’t repressed at all began bubbling up and vying for dominance. “Gyatso, how- why- that’s- I understand how this is possible.” Aang could barely get the words out of his mouth, so damn unexpected this meeting was.

“It isn’t possible Aang.”

Suddenly, yet not violently, Gyatso fell away and the shape morphed into Hakoda, Katara and Sokka’s father; Gyatso and Aang’s neighbour for more than a decade – of pleasant friendship.

“I’m sorry son, I am deeply sorry,” regret poured out of Hakoda like light through the cracks in a poorly built wall. When Sokka and Katara’s father opened his arms, Aang flew into them with tears shaping their paths down his cheeks. This is all that you have left of a father, you better make sure he knows it, the most hopeful parts of Aang concluded. Teary-eyed and shaking with a unforeseen coldness, the grief-stricken tattooed man hugged his second father, embracing him so tightly that Hakoda had trouble breathing. In turn, Hakoda kissed Aang on the head and told Aang how much he was loved by his second family, and that they would always stand by him. Even if he kept on smoking. Aang gasped out a laugh at that, rubbed too raw to genuinely appreciate Hakoda’s inclination towards scarily accurate jokes.

“Come on Aang, let’s get you to bed. You deserve the rest you need.” Hakoda’s smooth voice washed over Aang like summer streams languidly lapping over sleek rocks. It sounded like an ethereal welcoming into the heavens – if those existed. Instead, one had to make do with the trials and joys of earthly life, content to long for more and less of the same; always grasping at the rounded edges of fruit not quite in reach; their taste intoxicating even if your entirety could not taste it.

Four and a half blinks later, Aang was gently laid down on the enticing softness of his bed by Hakoda’s steady hand, his sheets apparently changed and a freshness – that would make any spider-moth jealous – emanating from the bed.

Hakoda murmured some more loving words, which turned into a pillowed touch of adoration and care, soothing Aang into a sleep that he hadn’t had for a long time.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

The following day…

The assortment of men - dressed in nondescript garb of dark colours - wielded no visual weapons nor fashioned themselves to be anything other than the physically existent force of Ozai's will; a reminder to all known and unknown to him that respect and obedience was prescribed instead of freely shared. To his heir apparent - Ozai's only daughter and legitimate child - this visceral image represented the weight of a subjugated youth and a merciless adolescence, both marred by the rape of the precious entity that is a child.

This appearance was very interesting, because it was not as if Azula had done anything wrong in the last couple of weeks. A funny feeling in her gut didn't agree though - like it was too much of a coincidence that those men appeared in the offices of Agni’s Healers. As a matter of fact, all employees were infinitely more nerve-wracked than their usual level of nervousness, balancing on the edge of the nervous breakdown today.

None knew whom the men were here for, after all.

Thus Azula strode to her office with equanimity, if Ozai was wanting to speak to her about the damned incident, then she needed to clear her head for a few minutes. Ozai was the epithet of hierarchy; having overturned many of grandfather's policies, Ozai transformed the company into a regional, better yet, a global powerhouse. So, if Ozai, cunning and cruel, wanted something done, it would be done. Come hell or high water - i.e. no matter the cost nor the obstacle.

Perhaps his spies had spotted her outing with tattoo boy – you know he’s a man dearest, a voice akin to her mother’s helpfully supplied – which would be very troublesome. Because any and all associations with Zuko were explicitly prohibited, and punishment was doled out with a strange heat. Azula was still expected to report on Zuko’s whereabouts so that Ozai could keep a quiet grip on his reputation and smother any unexpected faulty happenings with slick press statements, the occasional beat-up and life-threats, etc. whilst retaining an innocent face backed with sharp legal representation.

Time rolled on, the clock in her office ticked with an aggravating noise that, well… aggravated her in a way that was somewhat taking her mind off the potential doom that could occur any moment now.

A lunch break followed and it seemed the menacing men got their fair dues, because they were not present on the first floor when Azula chanced a look when walking from the elevator to the main entrance. That was even more disconcerting, knowing that the men would return.

Exactly why Azula needed a cigarette to feel the crushing sensation between her immaculately painted and manicured nails.

Or some sex. Getting fucked would be heavenly right now, maybe tattoo man would be up for the task. It would be amusing to see Zuko’s face when he found out she fucked his friend and roommate would be literally priceless. Besides, what would he gain out of it?

I bet he would say something along the lines of: “What I’m getting out of this? A lover cum smoking partner. There isn’t anyone I’d rather share a cigarette with.” Yeah, that sounds about right, he’d make it romantic no matter what – I guess philosophizing makes you a wistful romantic.

A crisp accent waved that enticing and funny thought away, and Mai appeared in all her gloomy height, releasing a seemingly put-upon sigh of boredom. Here we go, Azula couldn’t think anything else than that.

“You might as well come out with Mai, I’m tense as fuck today. Ozai has undoubtedly something nefarious planned and I’m just dying to see what it is,” Azula spoke casually and confidently. Privately, she thought she better fuck Jin again than get into a whole mess with the saintly figure. Instead, there was this involuntary image of her Aang engaging in a little nude, little strenuous tête-à-tête.

Choosing to focus on Mai’s grievances of how her father was ingratiating himself even further with her father, she ruthlessly pressed down on the whole cloud of thoughts and accompanying feelings.

“… desperate as a mole is to dig. It’s pathetic to see how he handles himself in his company. In your company as well, by the way. You’d think he’d have no other care in the world other than sucking his boss’s dick,” Mai eyed her dirtily, conveying that she knew that Azula hadn’t been listening and that’s why she was punished.

“I’m sorry Mai, I know that being stressed isn’t an excuse for being a bad listener. It’s just nothing new, this back-and-forth has been going on for about two decades. Although I agree with you, it’s pathetic, pandering to such an asshole,” Azula tuned her volume to whisper-levels there, because she had her plan and it wasn’t time yet.

“Yeah, I know. Why are our fathers like that?” Mai rhetorically asked, “and I’ve come to rescue you. Ty Lee has missed you for a couple of days and me too… a bit I mean. You know which excuse you can use,” Mai finished with a delighted smirk that oftentimes wasn’t present.

Sharing that smirk, Azula responded affirmatively and lead the way for Mai to see her father and tell him in no uncertain words that she was menstruating. Oddly enough, of all the flaws Ozai had, misogyny wasn’t one of them. He was more misanthropic than misogynistic, which had its set of advantages and disadvantages. Furthermore, her being his daughter gave her leeway on more than enough things, so this shouldn’t be no problem at all.

With a “I’m busy so get the fuck out” wave of irritated indifference from Ozai, Azula got into Mai’s car and turned her mind off all other things in order to be a good friend to Mai, ask her about her relationship with Ty Lee – which still puzzled her to this day, but opposites attract never rang more truthful than these days – and how Tom-Tom was doing.

Even Mai wasn’t immune to her little brother’s charms, even though he was already seven years old and lightyears removed from the cutesy baby and toddler he was. (God damn, Tom-Tom was extremely cute and he knew it.)

As quick as a bullet (but in reality much slower) they arrived at the apartment building where Ty Lee and Mai lived. Not together you see, but close enough that some neighbours had complained about the noise, which often seemed to reverberate from both apartments.

Ty Lee greeted them with a signature hug – with her arms this time – and immediately began asking all about what Azula had done (work, work, work), why she wasn’t over more often (jealousy), if she had found someone special (uncertain), how Zuko and Iroh were doing (pretty good apparently and unerringly sweet as usual), and on and on… and on…

Mai was of course, exquisitely resplendent in her gothic outfit, complementing the sugary sweet Ty Lee in odd ways that no one but them understood, yet they worked anyway. Why, you’re looking not so perfect today Azula! Her insecurity screamed at her. Yes, because I don’t need to look perfect. I need to treat people like persons with feelings, otherwise I’ll lose them like I did with the Freedom Fighters, the rest of Azula protested fiercely.

“Let’s not keep standing outside forever, in you go ‘Zula,” Ty Lee cheerily said as she hopped to the door and held it open for her two friends. Her smile was, in all honesty, one of the most beautiful smiles that Azula had ever seen. It was filled with love and care and kindness for her dearest people. Thus the heir couldn’t resist the genuine smile that played on her lips in response.

That short flash in Ty’s eyes was enough to incite a similar flash of jealousy. On second thought, it’s more like envy. Anyhow, her loveless love life wasn’t necessary examine in this time and place. A little thought diversion would be pleasant.

“How’s the neighbour situation going? I know all the dirty little secrets of your neighbours,” Azula smirked fiendishly, already trying to perceive whichever way their answer was going to go.

“It’s completely fine Azula. It’s better than the mind-numbing boredom at my parents' place,” Mai replied in her desert-dry tone that always seemed so close to rubbing every bit raw, while it rubbed Ty Lee in a whole other way. Azula felt tempted to make a snide comment on how Ty Lee resembled a Pavlov dog, but that would mean more drama and she had had enough fucking drama today.

Mai could handle her teasing better on average, though at times she was just like Zuko: a flame bomb on a bamboo stick. Ty Lee was more a dreamy park day where the water from the pond rippled quickly, but was never overflowing unless a storm happened to pass by.

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m out of the house – I couldn’t stand being the part of a set anymore!” Ty Lee chipperly put her two cents in.

“You’re not part of the set anymore Ty, ‘cause you’re pansexual, remember?” Mai teased her girlfriend in that manner that people in a loving, healthy relationship did.

“Oh, I forgot that counts me out! But I still look the same you know,” Ty Lee argued and this discussion persisted well into chilling in one of their apartments. By now, that argument seemed ages old, even though it had been only a few years since the flexible girl discovered her sexuality didn’t exactly fit into the “hetero norm”.

“How are your studies going Ty?” Azula asked in a kind manner that still kind of shocked her friends, certainly because Azula was far more harsh in public spaces. She occupied a chair in a supremely relaxed way, or so she claimed. In truth, it looked more uncomfortable than squatting for an hour.

Mai and Ty Lee were giving her googly eyes; stumped, totally boggled out of their minds and their respectively silent and bubbly disposition.

“Alright, I’ll stop manspreading. Agni, stop looking so astonished, I’d swear you’d never seen me make a joke or something…” Azula complained without any heat. She groaned when Ty Lee and Mai exchanged looks that were a little more difficult to read than the first looks the raven-haired woman received.

“How can I put this…” Ty Lee began, “you’re a fucked up amount of kind that we’ve never seen before. What’s going on with you Azula?” Mai completed her lover’s sentence as Ty Lee nodded emphatically in agreement.

“Well, if you must know… I’m trying not to alienate more friends, since that happened with the Freedom Fighters when the fear of Ozai completely subsumed any hope of having a friendship with Jet, Smellerbee, Longshot, etc.” Azula had mulled over it for a while now; what she could tell her friends about her friendship with especially Jet and how Ozai hated him without knowing they were friends (with benefits).

Her friends waited for her, their intentions clearly visible on their faces.

“And I was so afraid that Ozai would find out that Jet and I were fucking, that I burned the friendship down in a unnecessarily cruel way. I mean, I can say with certainty now that I was unnecessarily cruel, but back then… I was a vain, elitist, cruel, bitch of a woman.”

Bated breaths filled the room, despite the clacking sound of the autumn rain on the windows.

Azula swept her hair over one shoulder and declared with a smirk: “As you well know, these days I’m just a vain bitch. I’m trying to downgrade the elitist attitude and the cruelty.”

As if the Spirits had her back, a lizard crow landed on Ty Lee’s balcony, and screamed in uniformity with her statement. Thus, silence reigned before all three women burst out in laughter; the abject joy of friends together.

As their conjoined laughter died down, Azula felt compelled to ask Ty Lee about her studies again. Mai’s happy-go-lucky lover spoke about aerobiology and prehistoric biology, as those were her favourite subjects. Mai and Azula were content to listen about all those intriguing facets of the branches of biology and afterwards, Mai began speaking about her dedication to metallurgy and development of melee weapons. Mai studied history for this reason and this reason only, because she found the rest of history extremely dull – with some exceptions, of course. During that time Azula made herself comfortable on that chair while her eyes slipped closed in contentment, wholly focused on the interesting conversation that had been going on for a while and would continue for a good while as well.

_xA_xv_xa_xt_xa_xr_

 

Their third meeting was a mere collision of circumstances – a coincide one might call it – but led them both into deeper waters. It meant that Azula and Aang exchanged phone numbers – making the possibility for meeting again greater by that big a step.

A classical poet might’ve said “the strings of fate are interweaving tighter” to point to this specific situation, but that’s a cliché that doesn’t make this crazy world turn and shine brighter through the pollution of nature and spirit.

That’s what the monks would have said. Six hundred and seventy years ago.

Notes:

It appears that listening to Jimi is just as good an alternative, if not better. Thanks for reading!

1-11-2-2023: wow, it’s been a good while since I was back here, I hope you enjoy this one. I think I might come back for a part four, because I’ll need a part three to get where I want to go with this. I hope I can upload this soon.
Also my beta is busy, so only a part of this has been proofread!

13-11-2023: I’m done, though I will pester my beta to get the whole of it proofread, I wanted to post this sucker – I’ve just seen it’s been two years since the first chapter… wow…