FIC: Avatar: The Last Airbender: Children Of A Broken World (Aang/Azula, PG)
Title: Children Of A Broken World
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Pairings/Characters: Aang/Azula
Rating: PG
Word count: 954
Prompt: 040. Sight
Author's notes: Oh, Feebus, this is angsty. It was supposed to be fluffier, but I guess this is just what happens when I try to write fluffy Azulaang. The characters won't cooperate.
Summary: It's something indefinite and strange, but as clear as day in it's own right.
Azula leans up and grabs Aang's mouth in her own. She kisses him desperately, dangerously, forcing his lips to spread, grabbing his chin and forcing him to reciprocate. His hand grips her wrist like a vice, and he pulls away. He looks disappointed, almost, his hands gentling as he guides her arms back to her sides.
"No." He speaks only that one word, but his eyes tell endless stories - stories about how it saddens him to see her like this, so frantic and shattered, and stories of how she used to be, when she used to burn with the passion of a thousand suns. "No."
Azula jerks her head away, unevenly cut hair falling in her face. She doesn't want to see what she used to be, or what she's falling into. She doesn't want to know, with Aang's quiet certainty, that there's no hope left in the world. But he reaches up, carefully turning her face so she has no choice but to look into his eyes.
There's no hatred there, no hopelessness. Just quiet acceptance, and she wonders for a moment if this is why the Fire Nation hated the Avatar. Because Aang is not trying to bring her to trial, and he's not judging her. He's just letting her be, and suddenly she wants to tumble forward into his arms, cry into his shoulder, spill all her secrets and clutch at his robe with white-knuckled fingers.
But instead she buries her tears, and Aang walks away.
-
Aang's fingers are longer than she remembers - Airbender fingers, long and slender. They wrap around her wrist and he leads her outside for the first time in two years. Her muscles still ache from where Ty Lee sealed her bending in, and she can feel the fire, bubbling under her skin. She can feel it in Aang too, tempered by soft rain and gentle breeze and soft grass, but it's there, a constant threat to burn everything to ashes. It makes him feel familiar.
He leads her through the forests of saplings that have started to grow during her time in prison. The dirt feels alive, like it never did in the barren, hot Fire Nation she remembers. Her whole home is different. Aang is different, too, no longer the cheerful hero reluctant to fight. Now he's a symbol of new life for a land just beginning to piece itself back together, and she hates him for it, because everyone has gone and moved on without her.
But it's hard to hate him when he's led her to a quiet clearing, and when he sits her down in front of him and runs gentle fingers through her hair and tells her that he wants to forgive her.
It's hard, then, not to see the truth in his eyes, but Azula looks away.
-
"Azula." This time, Aang visits her in her cell, leaning against the door and not looking at her as he speaks. She sneers at his back, and his shoulders slump. "Yknow, it's funny. I used to hate you. You-you hurt the people I care about. You hurt them a lot. But I think...I think I hate it more when you're like this. Like you can't even hear me." The words make Azula's knees weaken, because it's true. She's not listening.
The door to the cell creaks open, and she looks up as Aang steps in. The light from outside surrounds him, making him appear ethereal and mystical. His hand stretches out for hers, and Azula wants, so badly, to reach up and twine their fingers together and follow him into the sun.
A part of her is wondering why she doesn't.
She does stand, though, and sweep her hands regally over her dirty, rumpled dress. Her hair is tied up but it's falling in her face, and she watches him through the strands. He's taller than the last time, and his shoulders are broader. He's turning into a man. Azula's fingers ache to touch him, but she doesn't want to pollute such a good, kind thing, so instead, she just stands.
But Aang grins at her uncertainly, and for a moment she meets his eyes.
-
His fingers splay over her bare back as he pulls her in close, and the tears sting at her eyes. Azula buries her face in Aang's shoulder, and her hands reach behind his back to clutch at his shirt, and she feels weak, but in a good way, somehow. She feels like she's loved.
It's an unfamiliar sensation, because her whole life has been one false affection after another, the constant chatter of people who are only with her because they're terrified of her. Azula is finding she likes this sense of security that comes from letting Aang touch her, letting his hands drift down to her hips and back up to her face, letting his mouth lean against her throat, not exactly kissing but not quite not. He smells of wide open spaces, like his native element has pervaded every inch of his skin - skin which is fiery and warm against her own.
For an instant, she feels like she could burn him up, like embers could be fanned back into harsh, burning light, and she stumbles back, because she doesn't want to hurt Aang anymore. She doesn't want to watch him crumple like wet paper in front of her, she wants to stand behind him where she can feel safe, wants to watch him stand tall and strong. She thinks that this might be what love feels like, and that terrifies her even more.
Aang's eyes catch hers for a long, long time.
And this time, Azula doesn't look away.
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Pairings/Characters: Aang/Azula
Rating: PG
Word count: 954
Prompt: 040. Sight
Author's notes: Oh, Feebus, this is angsty. It was supposed to be fluffier, but I guess this is just what happens when I try to write fluffy Azulaang. The characters won't cooperate.
Summary: It's something indefinite and strange, but as clear as day in it's own right.
Azula leans up and grabs Aang's mouth in her own. She kisses him desperately, dangerously, forcing his lips to spread, grabbing his chin and forcing him to reciprocate. His hand grips her wrist like a vice, and he pulls away. He looks disappointed, almost, his hands gentling as he guides her arms back to her sides.
"No." He speaks only that one word, but his eyes tell endless stories - stories about how it saddens him to see her like this, so frantic and shattered, and stories of how she used to be, when she used to burn with the passion of a thousand suns. "No."
Azula jerks her head away, unevenly cut hair falling in her face. She doesn't want to see what she used to be, or what she's falling into. She doesn't want to know, with Aang's quiet certainty, that there's no hope left in the world. But he reaches up, carefully turning her face so she has no choice but to look into his eyes.
There's no hatred there, no hopelessness. Just quiet acceptance, and she wonders for a moment if this is why the Fire Nation hated the Avatar. Because Aang is not trying to bring her to trial, and he's not judging her. He's just letting her be, and suddenly she wants to tumble forward into his arms, cry into his shoulder, spill all her secrets and clutch at his robe with white-knuckled fingers.
But instead she buries her tears, and Aang walks away.
-
Aang's fingers are longer than she remembers - Airbender fingers, long and slender. They wrap around her wrist and he leads her outside for the first time in two years. Her muscles still ache from where Ty Lee sealed her bending in, and she can feel the fire, bubbling under her skin. She can feel it in Aang too, tempered by soft rain and gentle breeze and soft grass, but it's there, a constant threat to burn everything to ashes. It makes him feel familiar.
He leads her through the forests of saplings that have started to grow during her time in prison. The dirt feels alive, like it never did in the barren, hot Fire Nation she remembers. Her whole home is different. Aang is different, too, no longer the cheerful hero reluctant to fight. Now he's a symbol of new life for a land just beginning to piece itself back together, and she hates him for it, because everyone has gone and moved on without her.
But it's hard to hate him when he's led her to a quiet clearing, and when he sits her down in front of him and runs gentle fingers through her hair and tells her that he wants to forgive her.
It's hard, then, not to see the truth in his eyes, but Azula looks away.
-
"Azula." This time, Aang visits her in her cell, leaning against the door and not looking at her as he speaks. She sneers at his back, and his shoulders slump. "Yknow, it's funny. I used to hate you. You-you hurt the people I care about. You hurt them a lot. But I think...I think I hate it more when you're like this. Like you can't even hear me." The words make Azula's knees weaken, because it's true. She's not listening.
The door to the cell creaks open, and she looks up as Aang steps in. The light from outside surrounds him, making him appear ethereal and mystical. His hand stretches out for hers, and Azula wants, so badly, to reach up and twine their fingers together and follow him into the sun.
A part of her is wondering why she doesn't.
She does stand, though, and sweep her hands regally over her dirty, rumpled dress. Her hair is tied up but it's falling in her face, and she watches him through the strands. He's taller than the last time, and his shoulders are broader. He's turning into a man. Azula's fingers ache to touch him, but she doesn't want to pollute such a good, kind thing, so instead, she just stands.
But Aang grins at her uncertainly, and for a moment she meets his eyes.
-
His fingers splay over her bare back as he pulls her in close, and the tears sting at her eyes. Azula buries her face in Aang's shoulder, and her hands reach behind his back to clutch at his shirt, and she feels weak, but in a good way, somehow. She feels like she's loved.
It's an unfamiliar sensation, because her whole life has been one false affection after another, the constant chatter of people who are only with her because they're terrified of her. Azula is finding she likes this sense of security that comes from letting Aang touch her, letting his hands drift down to her hips and back up to her face, letting his mouth lean against her throat, not exactly kissing but not quite not. He smells of wide open spaces, like his native element has pervaded every inch of his skin - skin which is fiery and warm against her own.
For an instant, she feels like she could burn him up, like embers could be fanned back into harsh, burning light, and she stumbles back, because she doesn't want to hurt Aang anymore. She doesn't want to watch him crumple like wet paper in front of her, she wants to stand behind him where she can feel safe, wants to watch him stand tall and strong. She thinks that this might be what love feels like, and that terrifies her even more.
Aang's eyes catch hers for a long, long time.
And this time, Azula doesn't look away.