dear buddha please bring me a pony and a plastic rocket
I'm seeing butterflies flit past my window through the closed blinds. It's an interesting sight. Meanwhile, this meme has been floating about for a while. Commented on iki_teru and am now contractually obligated to continue it!
The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing.* ( Read more... )
The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing.* ( Read more... )
Azula doesn't have much to do in her life now. She sleeps, she eats, she waits in the cell she's been given for the healers to come and speak to her in low, soothing voices.
She is in the icy North. She knows this because she hears the wind roaring outside despite the fur-lined warmth of her room, she sees the bulky savage clothing of the people caring for her, she recognizes the flavor of their food as Water Tribe.
And she knows the Southern peoples have yet to go before they can create a building of this size and guard it with enough able-bodied benders she suspects this one is surrounded with. Brother Zuzu wouldn't have sent her anywhere soft.
She has a guard who is somewhat young, as far as those go. She supposes there must not be many older men here, what with the cost of war being decreased population: and these waterbenders seem to think their women weak. (she'd like to tell them of the girl who fought her to a standstill under ba sing se and finally beat her at her own palace) Anyway, the guard is young, perhaps just past his boyhood years, eighteen or a very early twenty. This is unremarkable. But the boy himself reminds her of another boy, either through their shared coloring, their shared ethnicities, or the equal amounts of hatred both of them wear when staring at her.
Sokka. The boy the Kyoshi warrior swore would come to find her. She hadn't focused on him in particular- not a bender, not a threat, until he pushed her against a wall and snarled in her face. Few were bold enough to do that. Few were bold enough to break into Boiling Rock prison, and still manage to survive. Oh, her brother must have helped, of course. But he had never been a planner.
Azula has nothing but time. She has time to take a leaf out of Uncle's book and plan an escape, but the planning is long and she must turn her mind toward other matters as well, to refresh it. To keep thoughts of betrayal and mothers from breaking her thought process. She's beyond that now. Now, she needs a focus. The Water Tribe boy will do.
She thinks of his name, the rough harmonics. So-kka. A lack of grace. So-kka. Rough hands on hers, water-blue eyes and bared teeth. So-kka. The sound of a droplet of water touching down onto stone. Touchstone. Sokka is her touchstone, taken for the irony of it all: if the thought of him helped her enemy escape her prison, than he will help her escape her own.
She lets flame escape through half-parted lips, licks the corner of her mouth as she watches the guard, not-Sokka. He will be the replacement, the next best thing. He will be practice, and he will be her key. She's seen how he watches her, and there is anger and hate, and there is loathing. But there is an edge of something else, hard and burning and lusting, and she will use it as a weapon.
"Don't leave just yet," she says, words snagging on the half-purr in her throat. He enters, closes the door. Doesn't fear her. Azula is a little mad girl trapped in a land of ice and snow. What does he have to fear?
"I'm cold," she says when he touches her, because she needs to be warmer for this to work. Just a little warmer, enough to kindle her body heat, enough to rekindle her flames. She closes her eyes and his hands aren't his hands- they're clutching her with bruising force, hard enough to be Sokka's. She presses against him and he's warm, warm enough to feel burning, and she exhales in a long, drawn out noise. He curses in that thick, barbaric tongue of theirs and she smiles, smiles into the curve of his neck and against the salty smell of his skin.
"A little bit closer," she says, quiet enough to be unheard, feeling her body react to the heat, "Sokka."
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aughhhhh my brain won't even make words to describe the joy of reading this. THANK YOU <3
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