#char: raava

[ebonynightwriter]

waava month (2023) // day 4 · turning back

If everything goes as planned, we'll all walk out together after Harmonic Convergence. If not ... There's no turning back now.

[ponytailzuko]

[ID copied from alt text: Digital drawing of the characters Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste drawn in both their civilian and superhero forms to fit in the Avatar universe. The text labels Marinette as "Avatar Ladybug; Raava" and Adrien as "Avatar Cat Noir; Vaatu." The rest of the text is in a list that says, "Avatars are meant to be partners that balance each other as well as bring balance to the world. Both live in Republic City. Keep being the Avatar a secret in their civilian lives - becomes necessary as the prolific bloodbender Hawkmoth makes his way thru the city trying to capture both Avatars. Marinette's originally fire, Adrien is originally water. Alya teaches Marinette airbending, Nino teaches Adrien earth. Marinette's prev. reincarnation in the cycle was Master Fu, Adrien's was Marianne Lenoir." End ID]

made an au where the avatar chars were in the miraculous universe. now i have done the opposite. o7

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 9)

A fire rages within her, one that is much more powerful than she has managed to produce today. She wishes that, that fire would come forth. She wishes that she could stop making an absolute fool of herself in front of such a formidable foe. He smiles at her, encourages her. It is patronizing, really.

She lets the flames die in her palms, not that there is much to extinguished at all. She finds herself a large rock to sit upon and rubs her hands over her face. What is wrong with her? She is calm, mostly. She is free. There is nothing to hack at her chi and chakra points. So why can’t she just do it? Why doesn’t it come as naturally as it always has?

She thinks that she knows the answer but, Agni, she can’t bring herself to admit it…

“It’ll come back, Azula.” Aang promises. He makes a lot of promises and he doesn’t deliver. She lightly gnaws on her lip. That isn’t fully true; he had promised to break her free. But he has also promised to help her mind mend, promised to help her get back to herself physically, promised to fix her…

She can’t rely on him to fix her. She doesn’t want to. Agni, it would be humiliating if she did.

But her fire isn’t fixing itself and she is making little progress on fixing it. “We’ve been at this for nearly a week!” She complains. “Why haven’t I made any progress at all?” She’s an embarrassment, a perfect picture of squandered potential.

“You’re trying too hard.” Aang answers.

Azula goes rigid.

“You can’t force your fire out. You have to feel it.”

And that’s just it. She can’t, not like she used to. A connection has been severed and she doesn’t think that he can give that back. “Forget it.” She mumbles. She would rather cease firebending altogether than stare at such pitifully meek bursts.

“Forget what? Firebending?”

She nods. “I’ll find something else…”

“Y-you...I can’t belive you!” He throws his hands up. “You were so upset about your firebending being gone that you wouldn’t even move. I had to carry you...and now you’re just not going to use it?”

“It’s useless, Avatar.” She scowls. “You wouldn’t got to battle with a broken sword, would you?”

He opens his mouth.

“No. You’d find yourself a new weapon that actually works.” She hisses. But how many weapons has she gone through. All of her sharpest are gone. Her mind and cunning, her confidence, her fire…

“So you’re quitting then?” He asks. “It isn’t like you to quit.”

She laughs, the pitch of it is startling and uncanny to even her own ears. “I’m. Not. me.” She doesn’t know how many times she has to remind him of this. She is very sure now that Azula had died in that facility and this semi-lucid husk is what has come to fill in the vacancy.

He crinkles his brows. “I don’t believe that.”

She quirks a brow.

“Sometimes you are. Sometimes I can see it really clearly, that you’re still you. Other times...right now, I can’t.”

Neither can she. She fixes her eyes straight ahead, staring off and at nothing at all.

“So that’s it? You’re done for today?”

She is done for...for who knows how long, really. Perhaps for good. And perhaps she should muster up the courage to prevent herself from sinking any further. If Azula has died, why shouldn’t the lingering remains of her…

.oOo.

Looking at her, slouched over and dull-eyed, it comes to him what is missing. He supposes her aura was a potent indicator it is almost entirely brown now where it isn’t spotted with grey.

Confidence. He is almost certain that that is what it amounts to. That is what is missing; what the old Azula had that this Azula does not.

The fact of the matter is, she is uncertain. Riddled with conflict and turmoil to the likes of which he doesn’t think he can possibly fathom. Not without having someone like himself endlessly tinker and fiddle with his spirit for months on end.

“You can’t just give up.”

Her body shifts as she draws in a very deep inhale and seems to deflate even further as she exhales.

“How are you going to beat Sangyul if…”

“Maybe I don’t want to beat Sangyul.” She replies softly. “Maybe that’s what you want. Maybe I just want to forget about him entirely. What would it do for me anyhow?”

He begins to speak but she lifts a hand. And suddenly he wonders if she is right, wonders if it really is he who wants to take vengeance on Sangyul. Wonders if he has lost himself just as much as she has. Really, it would serve him right. It would be the justice that Gyatso had warned him about; in doing damage to her, he has unravel himself.

“You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Aang nearly shouts. She flinches ever so slightly. He needs to stop feeling sorry for himself. “You need to stand up and start practicing your bending again.”

She is tense twice over but she does stand. “You need to fix me first.” She jabs the side of her head. “You need to fix what you’ve broken.”

“Azula, I…” He trails off. “Your spirit energy stabilizes itself. As long as I don’t touch it, it reverts…”

“Elasticity fades with age and overuse.” She pauses. “With misuse.”

He feels a twinge, likely of annoyance, possibly agitation. He is tired of taking the blame for this. Tired of receiving no credit despite doing everything he can to help. “So you want me to tamper with your spirit energy again?”

Azula swallows, he sees a little more fight leave her body. “No.”

“Then what do you want from me? Because it sure sounds like you want me to get into your head again and make some adjustments.”

It is back, if only for a moment.  “Stay away from my spirit energy, Avatar.” She scowls.

But he sees it. He sees the spark and he pushes. “Ya know what, no. I’m going to do it.” Her eyes widen and he takes a step closer. “You want me to fix you, I’ll do it. I’ll touch a few threads and tug a few strings.”

“Stay away from my spirit energy.” She repeats, lower. Cooler.

“What are you going to do, Azula? How are you going to stop me?” He closes his eyes, he is well aware that this can go one of two ways. As the words leave his lips, he hopes to Raava that she won’t shut down, “You can’t firebend.” His stomach lurches as he lifts a flame of his own.

He waits for a strike that never comes. Her eyes train on him and her breathing comes heavier. His tummy flops again and he lurches forward. He doesn’t expect to crash into her. He doesn’t expect to send her to the floor. Come on, Azula... He very nearly mutters. He has her pinned. He should really let her go. But it was there. He saw it. He saw that spark. He presses his thumbs to her forehead. He can’t remember much else but he wakes up on the ground.

His ribs sear white hot and moving is mighty awful. He touches his hand to his ribcage. The cloth is charred. A good hole burned through it. He gives a pained moan as he forces himself up right. He lumbers towards the lakeside and falls to his knees. It is a good burn, he smiles, a very good burn.

He isn’t as good as Katara but he patches himself up enough to be okay. Only then does it occur to him; Azula is gone.

[ebonynightwriter]

waava month (2023) // day 2 · detour

what may at first appear as an obstacle a detour a meander in life can often be the most direct ground-breaking enriching and enlightened path

[ebonynightwriter]

waava month (2023) // day 10 · team

I can't let the world fall into chaos because of my mistake. Neither of us can defeat Vaatu alone, but together we have a chance.

[ebonynightwriter]

waava month (2023) // day 13 · making history

You make history not with the scale of your feats, but with how many lives are touched by your acts.

[ebonynightwriter]

waava week (2017) // day 5 · simplicity 

and somewhere in the back of her thoughts, she believes him.

[ebonynightwriter]

waava week (2017) // day 6 · out of time 

what is a legacy? it’s planting seeds in a garden you’ll never see.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Chasing Fyre

This hot mess of a fic is brought to you by this hot mess of a discussion.

Azula lays in the grass, staring up at the sun...the moon? She isn’t sure what she is staring at, but it is an orb and it is in the sky.  What she is looking at is neither the sun nor the moon, but a paper lantern that sways in the breeze. This is boundlessly alarming for the princess because she has never seen the sun move like that. Usually the sun sits in a fixed position. Perhaps, she decides, she isn’t looking at the sun at all. Perhaps she is looking at Sozin’s Comet coming back because it too knows that she has been cheated out of her crown. Azula grins, this time, she will have victory! But then it dawns upon her that she has never seen a comet hang in one place for so long.

She rubs her head, it is beginning to ache. She takes another hit from her cactus juice joint. It has been prescribed to her to calm her anxieties and alleviate her stresses.  Though they advised her to use it only in moderation. Which had been going well until she’d met that weird flying monkey thing. She should have known not to trust it, it is after all, the Avatar’s pet. But she had run out of her medicinal cactus juice so she didn’t refuse  when the creature perched itself on the window and said in a voice that was alarmingly deep for a creature so small, “five gold pieces and I’ll get you the stuff.”

“Just this once, lemur.” She had vowed.

“You can call me M0m0. But with two zeros instead of O’s.”

“Just this once, lemur.” She had repeated as she fished out five gold pieces.

As fate will have it, the lemur’s cactus juice is much stronger than the medically regulated joints she is used to. And so the princess finds herself unfathomably and helplessly high as fuck. She flops down and tries to remember where the hell she is and how the hell she has managed to free herself from that institution again. Especially considering how heavily they have cracked down since her last escape. She wracks her brain but each blade of grass around her has something to say.

“You’re pretty, Azula.” “You have nice eyes!” “Those asylum robes look great on you!” “You deserved to be fire lord.” “You are the fire lord.”

At this, Azula perks up. “I am?”

“You are to me.” That particular strand of grass gushes. She smiles at the strand and plucks it from the ground. It grows silent. She has killed it. She begins to cry softly to herself. Another friend lost.

.oOo.

“We’ve decided to try something different with her.” The head doctor speaks.

“What are you trying?” Zuko asks.

“Medicinal cactus juice.” The man replies.

“And…” Zuko prompts.

“It was going well.”

“Until…”

“It stopped going well.” The doctor smiles nervously.

“Can I see her?” Zuko asks.

“Ah...well, that’s part of the problem. You seeeeee….she...uh...she escaped.”

“Escaped!?” Zuko throws his hands up. “Have you started looking for her.”

“We have not. But we think that we know where to start.” He pauses. “The princess has grown quite fond of Chong & The Singing Nomads.”

Zuko curses to himself. He and Mai have had several discussions already and they have already decided that they would be staying far, far away from that crowd and their bad hair and lack of hygiene. And their overly lax mannerisms and their constant spouting of peace and love bullshit. Both he and Mai are well aware that peace is for Air Nomads and love is dumb. They do not love each other, they simply not hate each other. “You don’t really think that she went there do you?”

The doctors trade glances. “We think that she did.”

.oOo.

“Do it, Azula, follow your dreams.” The remaining blades of highly motivational grass chant. “Achieve your goals!”

Azula, feeling highly lethargic, stands up anyhow. With each enthusiastic encouragement, the princess finds herself feeling more inspired even if she’d rather lay back down and stare at the swaying sun.

“You can do it!” Shouts a blade of grass that sounds like it belongs to a burly earthbender. It sounds that way, because it had come from an earthbender. The Boulder to be specific, he is shouting at Toph as she tries to deadlift Appa who is being ridden by Raava. But Azula does not know this, so she attributes it to the blades of grass. And she decides that she will. She will go out and do what she had escaped to do. What she had always wanted to do. What she had been born to do! She is going to meet her favorite band and she is going to join them!

She supposes that this is much easier said than done considering how many bands are in attendance.

.oOo.

The scent of incense hangs heavily in the air. A breeze rustles the beaded curtains that act as the tent’s door. Moku leans back, humming to himself.

“C’mon man.” Chong drawls. “We just need one more good joint, man. And we’ll write one more jam it’ll be totally groovy, man.”

“I don’t grow for free.” Momo scowls. “Do you know how hard it is to ditch that bald headed, twinkly toed, monk?”

“It’s godda be tough, man.” Chong admits.

“I gotta act like a muffin...a complete square. If my homies saw me prancing with that loser they wouldn’t ride with me anymore. So when I grow, I gotta make bank. I ain’t makin’ bank with you.”

“Bummer, man. Listen, just hang tough and in the mean time pass us another joint and you can jam with us.”

Momo pulls out a glock. “You pay up or Imma cap yer ass.”

“What a downer.” Says Lily.

.oOo.

Azula wanders aimlessly, she has been wandering for some twenty minutes now. Though she has not made it very far. She circles the same tent for the fourteenth time now; she does not realize that it is the same tent because every time she makes a lap around it the design shifts.

Azula frowns and folds her arms over her chest. And then she extends her arm. She crosses them over her chest again. She extends her arm once more. “Arms are weird.” She says to herself. She bends and unbends her arm several times. “We-eird.” She whispers in a lazy sing-long.

She shakes her head, she has to stay focused. She looks around. The place is disorientingly crowded. People sit shoulder to shoulder on checkered blankets. They braid each other’s hair and weave flower crowns. Some make bead jewelry and others make love.

Azula narrows her eyes, just who makes love while wearing socks. She tip toes up to the woman and tugs her socks off.

“Hey! What are you doing!?” The woman shouts.

Azula bolts. Bolts meaning lightning bolts. She does not run. Running is for lil’ bitches. And Azula isn’t a lil’ bitch expect for when her therapist brings up her mother then she is kinda, in fact, a lil’ bitch. At the very least, she cries like one.

Having freshly charred a woman, Azula wanders off. She is carried on a cloud of music. Music! Her objective comes back to her.

.oOo.

“Welcome to Fyre Fest, the Fyre Nation’s most far out festival!” Guru Pathik greets. “Onion and banana juice?”

“No thanks.” Zuko grumbles. He wishes that Mai would have come along, but he could convince her to ‘enter that hippie hell land’. He’d even snagged some My Chemical Romance tickets from another dimension entirely and she still sent him off on his own.

He looks around. In ever direction is some new monstrosity and none of them are Azula. He sees men and women running around with their bits exposed, the more conservitive of them place leaves and flowers but just enough of them to cover what needs covering. He sees men with long hair staring into lava lamps that they heat and bend themselves. Across the way a woman offers to predict the future via seeing it in smoke. Zuko is certain that a helping of cactus juice is involved with those visions. But it isn’t what he sees that horrifies him the most; it is what he hears. Pan flutes and harps play out of sync to a singer who may very well be tone def. She bellows a ditty about loving one’s self and loving one’s potted cacti.

He covers his ears. He has to find Azula fast, before she can do something that will have the nation talking. Because if the Fyre Nation citizens get to talking then word will get to his father. And if word gers to father… Zuko shudders, the man is a week away from getting out of prison and if he comes back to his perfect, can-do-no-wrong daughter completely stoned…

.oOo.

Azula wanders towards the music. There are, in fact, many songs playing all at once--most of them come from the various stages or from within the tents. But there are at least two songs that play in Azula’s mind only; these songs are indescribably horrifying they are played at a frequency very low so as to induce a sense of horror and foreboding. But Azula is used to them and has actually taken a liking to them.

She ignores these songs for the time being and tugs open one of the tent flaps. She pushes the beaded curtain aside. It is vacant except for an air of failure and a perfume of incense. Azula can see the failure, it is all around and there is so much of it. So, so much failure. She stumbles back and out of the tent, she trips over a bong and falls on her ass, this doesn’t deter her any. She continues her hasty retreat away from the failure before it can latch onto her again.

It chases her clear across the field. She is so busy looking at the failure behind her that she doesn’t notice the failure in front of her until she collides with  him.  “Oh, hi Zuzu.” She greets before remembering that it is probably not a good thing that he has found her. Before he can turn around she picks up one of the rugs, lays down, and throws it over herself. It is only large enough to cover her face.

“Azula...” Zuko says through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“I am not here. I am back at the institution where you left me.”

“You’re right here, I can see you.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes I--okay, no, I’m not doing this with you again.” Zuko hisses. “You’re right here in my field of vision.”

Azula does not understand, she is perfectly hidden. Zuko snatches the blanket from her face and she screeches. Zuko winces at the hideous noise. She seizes the opportunity to dash.

.oOo.

“Wait, no!” He hollers.

But Azula is fast, she has always been fast. Why the hell can’t she be clumsy and uncoordinated like every other stoner he has met.

“Hey, man, you need some chase music?” Chong asks. He still has plenty of time before his performance.

Zuko is about to say no, but Chong plucks at his dramyin and begins a fast paced and frenzied tune. As Zuko persues Azula, Chong persues him. Lily chases Chong and chasing Lily is Moku who is being chased by Momo, who is chased by Zhao, who is chased by Vaatu who is trying to drag him back to the depths of hell where he belongs.

Zuko doesn’t notice any of this for he is hyper fixated on Azula who has flung herself into a pile of flower petals and is army crawling towards one of the stages.

“I did it!” Toph shouts loudly. Zuko looks away momentarily to see Toph standing proud, holding Appa above her head, arm pit hair blowing in the breeze. Zuko gags, he has only heard legends about armpit hair that long. He wants to cry. Even if Mai would let him, he couldn’t even grow his pit hair out that long.

.oOo.

Azula smirks to herself, she knew that it was a good idea to sprint past Toph! With Zuzu well and distracted she makes her get away. It is time to begin phase two. Looking back at her brother, she knows that she doesn’t have much time, the shock is already wearing off.

She snatches up a flower crown and a peace sign necklace and takes a seat upon one of the quilts. She gives a loud and forced laugh, “yeah, I totally get it.”

Chan and Ruon-Jian turn to look at the weirdo who has just invited herself into their circle. They don’t remember her arriving at the festival with them, they aren’t even sure if she is real. “What are we doing?” She asks.

“Oh, we’re just hangin’ loose, ya know?” Chan says.

Azula nods but she does not understand. She has not immersed herself in enough Fyer Festival culture to know what that is supposed to mean. She watches Chan pass Ruon a joint. He takes a puff and passes it to the girl next to him.

“You want a hit?” Chan asks when it gets back to him.

“My therapist says that partaking in acts of violence is detrimental to my healing process.” Is what she would have said if she weren’t so high. What she does say, because she is high, is, “yeah, sure man.”

“Far out.” Chan nods with a smile. He gives her the joint and then gives her finger guns.

Before she can bring the joint to her lips, Zuko snatches it. Azula frowns. “How did you find me so quickly?”

“First of all, I know that laugh anywhere. Second of all, you walked like two feet away from where you were before!”

“Can I hit you?” She asks.

“Wh-what?” Zuko sputters as Chan leans in and whispers something in her ear.

She nods and says, “oooooh,” and turns back to Zuko. “Do you want a hit?” She holds out the joint.

“No!” He throws his hands up. “I’d rather let you hit me in the face or something.”

Azula frowns to herself, she has to ditch him somehow. She steals another blunt from Chan and takes a drag, in the hopes of getting a burst of inspiration. She watches the smoke trail up to the clouds. She snaps her head back down, she knows that if she looks up now that the clouds will begin to take shape and that she will end up watching them for hours. The smoke alone is hypnotic. She sways drunkenly back and forth with the smoke. The smoke… Her lips curl back into another wicked grin.

She lets a burst of fire erupts in her palm. Zuko gives a jolt and she does to. She thrusts the flame much too close to his face. “Look at this!”

“I see it.” He carefully pushes her hand away, the grimace never leaving it.

“LoOk aT It!!!” She repeats.

“I see it!”

“Why is my fire water?”

“What?”

“Why do I have fire that is water???”

“It’s…”

“wHY DO I HAVE FIRE. THAT IS WATER!?” She asks with more volume. Now she is holding the fire too close to her own face.

“Throw me.” The fire crackles. “Throw me and I’ll set you free.” She launches a ball of fire, it lands upon a tree and bursts into song. Azula gives a lopsided smile. “My fire can sing.” She declares.

“Why don’t we go home where it’s quieter and you can hear it better?” Zuko offers.

Azula chuckles. “I know what you’re trying to do Zuzu. But it’s not going to work because I’m smarter than you.”

“Maybe when you aren’t high.” He mutters.

Without warning she catapults herself into the air using twin jets of fire. She gives a yelp that is equal parts elated and fearful. She has never felt so free. She lands relatively gracefully and continues her mad dash away from her overbearing brother.

Her excitement subsides and she resumes her aimless wandering. She gets the feeling that she has strayed far from where Chong & The Singing Nomads are performing. She is growing anxious, if she misses them then she will miss her chance to make a name for herself. If she can’t sing then how the hell will she leave her mark on the world. If she can’t sing then she will be forgotten by society.

“You can do it.” A blade of grass reminds her.

“I can do it.” She whispers back.

A pungent spicy odor wafts in on the breeze. She doesn’t know where it comes from but it is rather enticing.

.oOo.

Zuko races through the crowd, people try to sell him banana juice, scented candles, butt scratchers, and something that looks curiously like his father’s favorite left sock.

“No thank you!” He says before the next merchant can speak. He is not interested in band T-shirts--he doesn’t even like this kind of music.

“And here I thought that you’d like some honor.”

Zuko comes to a dead halt. “Honor?” he asks. He clenches his fistrs. No. He doesn’t have time for this. He has to find Azula, if he doesn’t than he will lose more honor than he can ever hope to buy.

He makes his way around another tent as the man calls, “wait! It’s buy one get one free.”

He finds his nose graced with an absolutely heavenly aroma. It is strong and spicy and he follows it to a tent brimming with all sorts of luxurious foods. The meats go mostly untouched. That’s how he knows that Azula is not yet fully immersed in Fyer Fest culture, there is still hope for her. She stands by the roast duck with a fist full of fire flakes in her mouth.

He never imagined that her downfall would be a case of the munchies, but he will take a victory where he can get it. She looks up from her snack and  makes eye contact. He isn’t sure if the look of horror in her eyes is because he has found her or if it is because he has caught her doing something far less than dignified. She finishes stuffing the flakes into her mouth and darts off.

.oOo.

The sun is on its way down and she knows that she is running out of time. But she no longer remembers what she is running out of time for. She doesn’t think that it matters. Why would it? She has water fire and encouraging blades of grass that say kind things to her in spite of all of her flaws. They also don’t seem to judge her for eating fire flakes in such a barbaric manner.

“Hey, man, you’re gonna miss the show.” Chan says.

“The show?”

He loops his arm in hers and leads her towards the main stage. Azula grins, she will finally get to see Chong & The Singing Nomads and she is going to do it with an absolutely gorgeous hunk of a man.  He pats the grass next to him.

Azula takes a seat.

“Fire flakes?”

Decidedly, she still has the munchies, so she takes the bowl.

.oOo.

Zuko doesn’t find his sister again until Chong & The Singing Nomads begin singing their most popular hit. It is at this time that  Azula rises. Like a phoenix out of the ashes, she propels herself up on a wave of blue fire. But only until she notices and gets startled by  the color of her fire again. “If I’m a waterbender then why am I at Fyer Fest?”

“Because everyone is invited to Fyre Fest.” Chong calls up.

“Everyone?” Azula asks.

“Everyone.” Chong confirms as he plucks his instrument. “We’re all one, man. We’re all the same.”

The crowd claps. Azula claps. Mai does not clap, because she hates this band and she is enraged that Zuko has been gone long enough for her to grow concerned enough to arrive at Fyre Fest and find him.

“You are terrible at this.” She remarks. “It has taken you all day to find Azula and I’m able to find both of you in under ten minutes.”

“Just...just help me get her home!” Zuko practically begs. “She’s a mess and…” His eyes grow wide when he turns his attention back to her.

“Azula, don’t you dare!”

She halts, mid pull, with her hands gripping the hem of her shirt.

“Father will kill me and then he’ll kill you, and then he’ll resurrect me with spirit water and kill me again!”

.oOo.

Azula’s eyes glimmer with delight, she loves a good murder! With that threat in place, she hastily tugs her shirt over her head and tosses it to the side. A steady stream of fire, from her feet holds her up right.

Zuko’s mouth hangs open in shock and horror. “Azula, put your shirt back on.”

She spares it a glance before lighting it on fire. She hated that uniform anyways. She feels so liberated! Everyone else at the festival is naked, she doesn’t know why she shouldn’t be! She has always wanted to feel the heat of her fire upon her bare skin. She is about to pull her pants down when a tendril snakes over her arm. “Don’t do it, princess.”

“Raava?” She asks.

“You will regret this later. Get down from there and go find yourself a shirt.”

She narrows her eyes, “don’t tell me what to do you gaudy, glowing, kite...thing.” She sputters.

Rava, growing tired of the princess’ antics, and already peeved from having to chase Zhao down, swats Azula out of the sky. She lands with a thud and Chong’s drummer plays a quick ‘bu-dum tiss.’

“You’re ruining my dreams!” She shouts at the offending god-kite. “I just wanna be free and no one wants to let me.”

Raava pets her head. “Shhhh...it’s okay. Have some…”

“More cactus juice?” She asks hopefully.

Raava sprouts herself a pair of eyes so that she can shoot the princess a judging stare.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Azula folds her arms across her chest. “You’re just jealous.” She doesn’t know what she thinks Raava is jealous of, but she knows that she is right in her assumption.

.oOo.

Zuko wraps a blanket over Azula’s shoulders. “Let’s get you home.” She allows him to walk her towards the festival’s exit. Now that she is thoroughly exhausted, she is a lot easier to manage. The biggest hassle she puts up is leaning into him as she walks. She does so until he is pretty much carrying all of her weight. “A little help, Mai.”

“Nope.” She replies. “I just came here to watch you struggle.”

“Come on, I have to get her out of here before father finds out.”

Mai shrugs. “Sounds like a you problem.”

.oOo.

“I saw Raava.” Azula murmurs sleepily.

“That’s what happens when you accept drugs from questionable lemurs.” Zuko replies.

“That lemur is the Avatar’s pet.” Azula defends. “I thought that I could trust him. It’s like Mai and TyLee all over again…”

“Don’t make me get your therapist.” Mai threatens.

Azula waves her off. “Raava was really there…”

“And you’re really a waterbender.” Zuko grumbles.

She crosses her arms and pouts. “I hate you.”

“I saved you--both of us--from dad’s wrath!” He declares. “I chased you all over that hippie…”

“Hellscape.” Mai fills in.

“I chased you all over that hippie hellscape, had my eyes assaulted by Toph’s free flowing armpit hair, and denied a chance at buying my honor to save yours.”

For a moment she considers thanking him, he truly didn’t have to go that far to save her dignity. But he is still Zuzu. And she is still his younger sister so she instead replies, “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Dad would have killed both of us and you’re not even going to thank me?”

Azula sighs, she supposes that it is good that he didn’t let her embarrass herself and that her reputation and relationship with her father will remain unblemished. “You let me yank my shirt off.”

Zuko sighs. “Okay, most of those people were so high that they won’t even remember…”

“I remember and I was high.”

“Honestly, they’ll probably think that it was part of their trips. As far as they know, you’ve been here the whole time.”

A wave of relief comes over her. “Which means that dad will never find out.”

Little do they know, Ozai has already escaped prison and has been Chong’s drummer the whole time.

.oOo.

Ozai takes a long hit of his cactus juice joint. What a night that had been! And here he had thought that he would disguise himself as a nomad, escape prison, and resume his quest for world domination.  And that is just what he intends to do. He is going to conquer the world with far out music and a funky fresh beat.

In his wildest dreams he had never imagined that  the singing nomad life is for him. He has already grown the beard and long scraggly hair for it!

“So, man, you gonna talk to that lemur for us?” Chong asks.

Ozai shudders. He has faced the Avatar and has had his bending yanked away from his very soul. He had been given a vision of his death and an afterlife in the most horrific end of the Spirit World. But the fear he had felt then doesn’t compare to how looking into Momo’s eyes makes him feel.

“Nah, man. We’ll just pay up.” Ozai shrugs. “I’ll just get some gold pieces from the palace treasury.” He makes a note to do that after he yells at the absolute messes that he has for children. It is the only way to ensure that they never find out that he had attended Fyre Fest and will attend it again.

He doesn’t want to think too much about that right now. Instead he takes another hit of his joint as Moku threads another daisy into his beard.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Wrought Iron Machine (Part 19)

Azula slips herself into the hot springs. She exhales and stretches her legs out. It is nice to have the springs to herself. Nice to not have to dread an awkward conversation about the morality of her music or endure an overly enthusiastic fan offering her an uncomfortable amount of compliments. It is just she and a lovely perfume of jasmine and cherry blossom and a kind and curling steam.

For the first time since she followed Zuko into banishment, Azula truly smiles. She feels truly at ease.Things are going well. Better than they have been in a while. Certainly better than things are going for Wrought Iron Machine--and that alone is cause for relief. They are one less band that she has to worry about, and the only band that Azula felt was ample competition.

She almost wants to dig up the article again. The one that officially announced the departure of Baatar. For all of the times Azula fought with her own bandmates, at least she can say that she has never pushed them out completely.

To think, the woman had been so snide and condescending when they had first come by each other. Masquerading about as if she had everything together.

Azula plucks one of the petals from the water and rubs it between her fingers. How exquisitely wonderful it is to bathe in luxury again. Their music movers and a few extra concerts have put their funding in a much more stable condition. Overall, the past month has been kind, perhaps even generous with she and her band.

The crowd has taken to their story surprisingly well. Of course there is still a healthy amount of outrage. How dare they portray such a disgusting concept? It is poisonous to the youth, or something of that sort. But at least they don’t think that she genuinely wants to bed her own brother.

She supposes that she can deal with having to fake some more kisses with him to maintain their image and story.

“Hi, Azula!” TyLee waves.

Azula jolts at her unexpected guest.

“You don’t mind if I join you?”

Azula pats the spot next to her and TyLee gives a wide grin. “This bath smells so nice.” She mentions as she casts her garments to the side.

Azula nods, “I suppose that it does.”

TyLee sits down next to her and pecks her on the nose. Azula takes the girl’s hand, it is soft and delicate, and she gives it a small kiss.

It is soothing and reassuring to kiss someone that isn’t her own brother. It leaves her feeling more secure.

More normal.

She lets TyLee sit in her lap and lathers her hair. Her fingers work through the looks with ease and TyLee gives a soft and loving little purr. How endearing, Azula thinks to herself. When she finishes shampooing TyLee’s hair, the girl turns to face her, her fingers brushing over the charred rose inked near her waist. Azula strokes the girl’s back.

Indeed it is nice to be more intimate with someone other than Zuko.

To be authentically intimate.

.oOo.

In the past month Kuvira had only one performance. She had planned a handful of them but couldn’t be bothered to go through with the rest of them. She had barely mustered enough enthusiasm to get through the first. She, during at least three songs on the setlist, had thought about ending the performance for the night.

She had lacked the energy.

Lacked the drive.

Lacked everything a worthwhile performance needs.

She would rather put on no show at all than a half-assed one.

It doesn’t matter anyways, they had lost such a good portion of their fandom. Had gained a healthy helping of anti-fans. She finds herself almost buried in hateful letters, with former fans furious at her for pushing Baatar out of the band. Buried in letters accusing her of things that ranged from being a moody and unbearable bitch to outright being emotionally abusive and manipulative.

She rakes a hand through her hair as she comes across another one of those. She is beginning to think that they are correct. He hadn’t left for no reason. Her parents hadn’t abandoned her for no reason. Ming and Ghazan aren’t growing distant for no reason.

At this, Kuvira bites her cheek. She is going to lose them too.

And she doesn’t have the willpower to talk things over with them. She fears what would come of it if she chose to do so.

She is uncontrollably tempramental these days; swinging from one emotion to the next, ignoring the pleasant ones.

She is furious and frustrated. Stressed and nervous. Nervous wondering  if it is possible to have her Southern Air Sounds invited revoked. Stressed and frustrated, knowing that she is about to lose everything that is important to her.

But mostly Kuvira is sad.

Sad that she has made the wrong decision. That she let Baatar go. Sad that she is letting her dreams slip away as well.

She isn’t sure how much longer she can endure it. P’Li offers her a cigarette and she tries to take it. But once more, her body rejects it. This time even the odor off puts her. She coughs and wanders away from the table and onto the balcony for some fresh air. P’Li calls after her. But she might as well push her away too.

Kuvira leans against the railing feeling dizzy and sick.

She is making herself sick, she thinks.

Dwelling so much on this mess is destroying her inside and out.

She should call Baatar, but she doesn't want to bother him. She is sure that he won’t pick up anyhow. Instead she peers over the balcony at the ground below. A small gaggle of teens cluster in the yard, laughing and giggling. One wears a shirt bearing the Fire Of Agni logo.

At least one band is doing well.

She just hopes that their latest stunt doesn’t blow up in their faces.

Raava forbid that the girl ended up like her.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Wrought Iron Machine (Part 9)

It is good to see the walls of Zaofu again. Kuvira watches Baatar embrace his mother, father, and siblings in turn. P’Li rolls her eyes at each drawn out hug. “This guy’s too fluffy.” She comments. Though Kuvira found Baatar’s connection to his family to be rather enduring.

“Let him have his moment, P’Li.” Ghazan remarked.

P’Li opened her mouth. But Kuvira speaks first, intending fully to stop that squabble before it can truly begin. “how about we ask Suyin where you guys will be rooming.”

“I sleep where I want.” Ming mutters. The woman refuses to sleep anywhere that isn’t a couch. Kuvira sighs, deciding that she will let Suyin deal with that one.

The lady in question approaches her. “And how have you been, Kuvira?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” Kuvira answers. Truth be told, she is exhausted. “That tour kept me busy.”

“Baatar has been well?”

Kuvira nods, deciding to leave the petty disputes unspoken. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, you know that.” She thinks mostly back to the time when a hoard of fans managed to pull him off of the stage. That had been quite a night--one that ended with her in a cop car. She’d landed a few good punches, before they escorted her away. And Wrought Iron Machine had their first scandal. The first thing that had the general public declaring that, “this new type of music promotes violence and disharmony.” Kuvira had to roll her eyes at that one, and at Ming who was thrilled to, once again, be a part of some sort of discord. Kuvira had been released the next morning with stern warnings not to stir up trouble again, as though she were the one who’d started it in the first place.

Suyin set a hand on Kuvira’s shoulder. “I’ll see all of you at dinner.”

Kuvira makes her way down the hall. It has been so long since she’d seen this room. Suyin hasn’t touched it. Her old posters still hung arranged in alphabetical order by band name. Her dancing shoes were still laying in front of the closet and her first guitar (though she hasn’t actually learned to play any more than one song) still leaned in the corner. She sits on the edge of the bed, finding that the half-read book she’d left there hasn’t been moved either. She thumbs through the pages until Baatar joins her on the bed. “When are we going to start the songwriting process?”

“Does tomorrow sound good to you?” She asks. For the time being she is fine with a little break. She trails her fingers over his chest. “I think that we’ve earned some time to ourselves.”  With a few hand gestures she metalbends the door’s locks into place.

“I think that you might be right.” He kisses her neck and follows her down to the mattress. She slips her hand under his shirt, tracing from his abdomen up as he runs his hands along her sides.

What is it that the magazines say; drugs, sex, and rock ‘n roll. Clearly they have been missing out on one of the three.

Baatar unravels her braid as she pushes herself more firmly against him. They couldn’t do this with P’Li, Ghazan, and Ming always present.

Another kiss or two and she has his shirt discarded, taking in abs that have only become more prominent since their tour began. He dips down and runs his tongue over the piercing on her navel.

Raava it has been so long, she had forgotten how enticing that was.

.oOo.

She wakes with her hair in tangles to the sound of the television. She untangled herself from the sheets and slips into her underwear and a tank top. “Good morning, Baatar.”

“A good morning after a great night.” He mumbles.

She combs her hair, trying to decide if she wants a shower or breakfast first. Eventually she settles on taking the shower, it is closer anyhow. Of course, she will have to comb her hair all over again. She doesn’t know why she had bothered dressing upon waking. She thinks that it is mostly out of habit.

She emerges from the shower to see Baatar looking furiously at the television screen. Quietly she sits down next to him.

“And what was the inspiration for your song, Burn Away?”

The boy on the screen points at the scar on his face.

“How did that happen?” The interview questions.

In answer, the boy only folds his arms over his chest with a, “hmmph.” So the interviewer turns to the girl. “When people look at you, I doubt that they expect you to have a voice like that.” The man doesn’t need to elaborate for Kuvira to know what he is referring to. The Fire Of Agni girl is such a small thing. Small and petite, and elegant. It is hard to imagine such harsh and powerful vocals coming from such a teeny body.

Her speaking voice is so smooth, “you’re right, they don’t.”

Kuvira is almost curious as to how her clean singing would sound.

“Where did you learn to sing like that?” The man asks.

An expression, almost indistinguishable appears on her face. Something between pride and hurt. A smirk contrasted by a flicker of sorrow in her eyes. “At this point…” she pauses. “At this point, most people seem to know about…” another pause. “My stay at Lava Lakes.”

Kuvira recalls hearing something or another about the former princess having been institutionalized, though she hasn’t bothered to keep up with that story. As far as she is concerned, it’s none of her business no more than it is the princess’ business than she had been abandoned as a child.

The interviewer nods and the girl keeps talking. “Before that, I was on the ground screaming and breathing fire.”

Kuvira can’t suppress a shudder. There is something truly dark about know that the girl has learned of her talents through madness. It adds an almost haunting undertone to the more pained sounding songs.

She stands, deciding that breakfast is well overdue.

But the thoughts follow her. The notion that she and her band have directed so much hatred at a child who has already seen straitjackets and medication and a boy whose face had been charred.

If she hadn’t already made the decision to drop their feud, she certainly has now.