#• ❨ ϟ ❩ ⇝ * v. miscellaneous (cross-over/au) ;

[fearbend]

A SMILE LIKE DAGGERS, tightly strung, learned cruelty wedged in the curve of her lips. she knows this game well, has played it so many times over it’s become second nature. the stance, the demeanour, the delicate balance between lordliness and disdain ⎯ these are the makings of a fine art with azula as its master, every underhanded trick in the book long practiced to perfection.

❝ a little late for bravery, don’t you think? ❞ chin high, speech unfettered and cold as steel; the princess is poised to strike, all scales tipped in her favour. still, she would be remiss if she didn’t draw this out, making her inevitable victory all the more sweeter. so she saunters over, sizing the other up with a force that only belies danger. it’s a valiant effort, she supposes, for such a measly opponent to take arms against her, not knowing they were doomed to fail from the start. nothing more than a cornered animal with no place left to hide. an easy quarry, flushed with horror, choosing righteousness over a hasty retreat. how laughably pathetic. peasants and their delusions of grandeur, so very eager to die a hero’s death. and for what? some washed-up village in the middle of nowhere?

❝ now if you’re quite done with your childish antics, i suggest you stand down and surrender, ❞ this, suspended in time, the moment just before defeat is finally conceded. when the weakened defences of an already losing enemy have all but been rendered moot. she beams, satisfied ⎯ the sight would never get old. ❝ while you still can, that is. ❞

@yukikorogashi | continued from here

[fearbend]

A GLASSHOUSE OF A GIRL, just barely held together, ready to crack and topple at the faintest of winds. her brow creases in suspicion, then hardens into paranoia; a festering, live thing, as palpable as can be. nearby, the campfire crackles to new heights as if stoked by unease, cold air steaming against a flurry of sparks.

not in the mood for revelations, she bristles under howl’s questioning, bothered anew by his sudden curiosity. of course she’d find herself stuck with such meddlesome company. just her luck. born out of nothing other than circumstance and convenience, their tentative alliance has been rife with speculation and shrouded in a great deal of mystery since the very beginning, with both parties keeping to themselves, lying and withholding as and when needed ⎯ function over form. so why were they now veering off course?

her pause gives way to a pocket of silence, a slow simmer building to a boil. secrets. they are often the most valuable of currencies and she will guard hers brazenly, like a dragon might its hoard ⎯ no matter the cost. ❝ what’s it to you? what are you really playing at here? ❞ an accusation more than anything else, words leaden with the sting of one too many betrayals. she miscalculated once, but never again. whatever ulterior motives fuelled this asinine probing into her past, she will stamp them out lest he try anything unsavoury. better yet, she should torch him where he stands. do away with would-be traitors before they can do the same to her. what need does she have for some gangling companion anyway? he’s served his purpose well enough so far, but he’d only drag her down in the end. dead weight she’d be better off without. yes, cutting the threat off at the root might just be the way to go.

like filthy peasants.   howl laughs.   not because he wholeheartedly believes in her words,   but because it’s such an earnest way of putting their dilemma that there’s nothing else he’s able to do.   in spite of their current peasantly means for camp   ( the fact that they’re both sitting on the dirty ground in clothes that were absolutely not made to withstand the wear of the outdoors ),   howl finds it almost … nice.   it is certainly enlightening,   to have to travel with his relatively new companion like this.   less comfort means more revelation    or so howl has come to learn of the world,   for the short time he's been alive.   nor has it been lost on him that azula isn't revealing very much of herself every now,   even after the weeks since they found each other.   she acts as though he's merely her unwilling travel companion,   and several times has he believed she would ditch him to be rid of him.   several times has he acted imprudently toward her all because he's had such suspicions,   and several times has he been proven wrong.   he's still by her side,   after all.

❝    yes,   of course.    ❞    there's still humour in his voice yet,   and the faintest smile at his lips he can't tame down completely.   it's better to agree with her than cause her any reason to point her sharp words at him tonight.   and he is nothing if not pleasant to those he's still trying to figure out.   and azula ?   is an enigma all of her own.   he does not wish for anyone in the fire lord's family to know that he's been evading their war draft for the past several years.   so he keeps the peace.    ❝    we wouldn't want to be on foot for any longer than we have to be.   in fact,   i rather hate sleeping outside.   but,   since none of the towns happen to be anywhere nearby  …  well,   regardless,   tomorrow.    ❞

and then,   because he cannot help himself,   he mutters,    ❝    but i'd still like to know in future what throne and crown you believe you deserve by right.    ❞    and stretches a hand over the fire,   catching a spark in his fingers before pulling it back and rubbing his hands together.   this warmth,   he presses to the front of his neck,   curling where he sits and watching her out of the corner of his gleaming green gaze.   he's hoping his prod will get a rise out of her,   at least.   he might even get something from it.

[fearbend]

can we put away our differences for a second ? // he tried okey

CASCADES OF CONTEMPT flow forth like a violent thunderstorm, rippling across her face. ❝ put away our differences? really? ❜❜ the ever-present glacial tone gives way to a drawn out sigh, as arms fold over a chest that practically bursts with distaste ⎯ if looks could kill, this oaf would no doubt be little more than a pile of ashes by now. of course she’s tempted to vehemently reject whatever pathetic attempt at a building a rapport he throws her way, categorically deny it, not even entertaining the prospect. but his utility hasn’t run its course yet, so instead she swallows the barrage of remarks stuck in her throat, all of them unkind. still, this close-quarter buddy buddy act is starting to become rather tiresome. who knew fate had such an inane sense of humour so as to force her into playing nice with someone who is clearly her lesser.

❝ let’s get one thing straight ❜❜ stalking nearer, she hovers just close enough for her tunnelling glare to incite unrest. ❝ this ⎯ flimsy alliance of ours is only born of circumstance and necessity, nothing else ❜❜ a facsimile of calm, she conveys her message with nary a crack in her voice. ❝ so don’t think for one second that i won’t dispose of you as soon as you stop being useful. now less talking, more doing. i for one have a life worth returning to ❜❜

[fearbend]

THE   POTENCY   OF   A   THOUSAND   SUNS   all   rolled   into   a   severe,   near   murderous   glare.   those...   pests,   with   their   incessant   flapping   and   earsplitting   squawks,   truly   are   the   lowest   of   the   low.   really,   they’re   almost as   irritating   as   this   child   and   her   nonsensical   request.   almost.   not   for   the first   time   today,   she   briefly   considers   culling   the   creatures   from   existence   for   souring   her   mood   so   fortuitously.   while   it   might   not   warrant the   effort,   it   would   serve   them   right   to   be   sent   scattering,   some   kind   of   poetic   justice   in   the   form   of   singed   wings   and   ruffled   feathers.   if   nothing else,   it   would   at   the   very   least   offer   a   momentary   reprieve   from   the   constant   clamouring.   the   idea   pulls   her   lips   into   a   taut   smile.   yes,   with   enough   firepower,   she   could   still   turn   this   miserable   situation   around.

squinting   down   at   the   girl   beside   her   and   the   bag   of   bread   eagerly   offered   by   two   tiny   hands,   she   breaths   a   deep   sigh   of   exasperation.   this   was   becoming   rather   tiresome.   children   had   never   been   her   strong   suit,   she   will   admit.   they’re   much   too   frivolous,   juvenile,   with   their   wide-eyed   innocence   not   yet   stained   by   the   realities   of   the   world.   in   truth,   she   might   still   be   considered   a   child   herself   to   some,   but   azula   knows   better than   to   lean   into   her   young   age   and   its   less   than   favourable   shortcomings.   as   far   as   she’s   concerned,   children   are   just   that   –   small   little   weaklings   determined   to   test   the   limits   of   her   patience   (not   unlike   those   hapless   birds   as   a   matter   of   fact).

❝   if   you   really   cared   about   their   wellbeing,   you’d   know   feeding   these   vermin   is   doing   them   a   huge   disservice   ❜❜   there   is   nothing   kind   or   compassionate   about   her   delivery,   no   wisdom   of   old   or   gentle   teachings   to   be   found   in   the   way   her   words   clash   against   each   other,   like   sparking rocks   ready   to   ignite.   ❝   what   they   need   is   basic   survival   skills,   learning   how   to   forage   and   hunt.   without   that,   they’re   as   good   as   dead   ❜❜   she   explains,   while   sidestepping   the   other   girl   as   though   not   to   contract   her   nauseating   naivety.   ❝   regrettable,   but   that’s   just   the   nature   of   things   and anyone   with   half   a   brain   can   see   it.   no   amount   of   coddling   or   bread   ❜❜   her   nose   crinkles   briefly   in   something   like   disgust.   ❝   –   will   make   a   difference.   the   sooner   you   accept   that,   the   better   ❜❜

@earthssprout | continued from here

[fearbend]

IN   A   RARE   SHOW   OF   MERCY,   she   holds   off   from   reducing   the   unfortunate   soul   before   her   to   cinders,   bringing   his   existence   to   an   end,   right   then   and   there.   it   would   be   rather   amusing,   she   supposes,   to   take   him   up   on   his   offer   by   making   an   object   lesson,   one   he   won’t   soon   forget.   but   why   stop   there?   she’s   never   had   qualms   about   hurting   people,   let   alone   someone   so   snivelling   and   pathetic,   undeserving   of   her   time         low   hanging   fruit   in   every   sense   of   the   word.   no,   there   will   be   no   allowances,   especially   not   for   daring   to   suggest   that   her   firebending   mastery   is   anything   other   than   absolute   or   even   worthy   of   comparison.   being   infinitely   superior,   she   will   come   out   unscathed,   winning   by   a   landslide,   as   she   always   does,   of   course.   they   don’t   call   her   a   prodigy   for   nothing,   after   all.   and   what   of   her   opponent?   he’s   bound   to   lose,   like   all   those   before   him   have   been,   just   another   hapless   victim   who   never   stood   a   chance.   if   he’s   lucky,   he’ll   get   away   with   only   a   singed   ego   and   the   crushing   weight   of   humiliation.

❝   confident   in   your   chances,   are   you?   well,   you   shouldn’t   be   ❜❜   this   is   the   part   where   she   smiles,   a   little   too   sharply,   too   coldly,   the   first   warning   shots   hidden   under   the   guise   of   sincerity.   azula   knows   half   the   fun   is   just   establishing   the   playing   field,   watching   underlings   squirm,   eyes   widened   in   terror   of   what   she   might   do   next   and   relishing   every   second   of   it.   ❝   lucky   for   you,   i’ve   already   warmed   up   for   today   and   easy   victories   aren’t   really   my   style   ❜❜   with   this,   she   turns   her   attention   to   her   perfectly   manicured   nails,   an   action   so   casual   one   might   think   it   was   borne   of   boredom   rather   than   careful   consideration.   in   fact,   its   sole   purpose   is   to   drag   out   the   anxieties   that   have   no   doubt   been   rising   from   the   moment   she   started   speaking         this   truly   was   a   breeze.

@badboysupr​   |   continued   from   here

[fearbend]

IT STARTS WITH A MINUTE HARDENING OF EYES, her chin jutting forward just fractionally, followed by the slightest twitch of the jaw — her tells border on the covert, almost impossible to pick out from a pool of carefully crafted gestures she’s long mastered to perfection. still, casting doubt on her bravery is more than enough fuel to spark the fury of one prideful fire nation princess, evidenced by the tendrils of smoke curling around azula’s tightly wound fists. did he expect her to cower? to back down or buckle in the face of a challenge? no, she would not be made a fool out of, nor would she be goaded into battle by some pompous nobody.

❝ my, such confidence. you’ll forgive me for being skeptical of your supposed abilities ❜❜ amusement rounds her cheeks into a short, brittle laugh, as words drawl out, unimpressed. lowborns and their misplaced bravado, so intent on deluding themselves into a false sense of reality. their arrogance is sure to be their downfall and in this case, she’d be more than happy to expedite that process. ❝ but i suppose there’s only one way to test your claims ❜❜ he will realise, too late, that her prowess far surpasses his and whatever little tricks he has in store will be nothing but fodder for her entertainment. ❝ well? what are you waiting for? let’s see it ❜❜

@fearbend continued from here!

Haughtiness dripped from her every word. Clearly the girl not only knew her own talents, but was unabashedly proud of them. Childe couldn't help but chuckle, remembering back to his days as a common Fatui foot soldier when he'd worn a similar look each time he bested his training partners.

If they'd ended up bloodied and bruised by the time he was done with them? Well, someone had to push the Tsaritsa's soldiers to improve when his superiors at the time clearly hadn't.

"A Vision is far more than a trinket, though I can see how it may seem that way to those who don't have one," he said with a shrug. Challenging words lit a spark in his eyes, and his grin stretched wider—sharpened just beyond the realm of 'friendly.'

"Besides, there's far more to my power than a Vision or a Delusion. Not that I expect you to take my word for it, of course; I'd be glad to prove it, if you're brave enough to take me on."

[fearbend]

flanked  on  either  side  by  royal  guards,  she  wears  her  displeasure  plainly,  expression  caught  somewhere  between  a  scowl  and  a  sneer. 

❝  you’re  awfully  cheery  for  someone  who  just  got  caught  stealing  from  a  princess  ❞  with this,  she  takes  a  moment  to  consider  the  other  :  small,  insignificant,  nothing  more  than  a  sorry  excuse  for  a  thief,  a  pest  ready  to  be  squashed  under  the  steel  of  her  boot.

there’s  a  halt  in  speech,  ILL  INTENT  swelling  in  its  vacancy,  while  manicured  fingers  raise  to  straighten  the  lines  in  her  uniform.  ❝  but  no  matter.  i’m  sure  this  attitude  will  wear  off  once  i  deliver  you  to  the  fire  lord              you  see,  he’s  not  the  forgiving  type  ❞  INTIMIDATION  is  an  art  she’s  long  mastered  and  so  she  offers  a  warning  or  maybe  it’s  a  bluff.  she  hasn’t  decided  yet,  though  the  idea  is  thrilling.

@riidcr​  liked  for  a  starter

[fearbend]

❝              do  you  make  a  habit  of  picking  battles  you  can’t  win  ?  ❞  more  rhetorical  than  anything  else,  the  question  is  voiced  passively,  velveteen  tone  full  to  the brim  of  disinterest.  still,  she’s  never  taken  any  chances  and  isn’t  about  to  start  now.

so  her  stance  remains  unmoving,  the  balls  of  her  feet  pointedly  rooted  in  her  kata  ;  a  clear  DICHOTOMY  between  body  language  and  speech.

@allmothered​​  liked  for  a  starter

[fearbend]

not  a  hair  out  of  place,  with  her  shoulders  squared  and  hands  perfectly  folded  behind  her  back,  the  princess  draws  near,  each  step  poised  and  deliberate.  ❝  mr.  talis  !  i  look  forward  to  your  speech  ❞  she  begins,  tone  schooled  into  that  of  politeness.  appearances  are  everything,  after  all,  and  she’s  nothing  if  not  prepared  to  present  the  very  picture  of  refined  nobility.

now  come  the  underhanded  tactics,  buried  beneath  the  guise  of  FLATTERY.  ❝  you  should  know,  the  fire  lord  has  expressed  a  keen  interest  in  your  inventions  ❞  well  aware  of  the  weight  held  by  her  father’s  title,  even  here,  continents  removed  from  their home  land,  she  allows  a  small,  albeit  self-serving  smile  to  press  into  the  corners  of  her  mouth.

❝              naturally,  if  we  were  to  invest  in  this  technology,  we’d  expect  it  to  do  more  for  the  fire  nation  than  just  boost  trade  and  improve  our  people’s  quality  of  life  ❞  on  the  surface,  a  mere  observation,  matter-of-fact  in  its  delivery  and  lacking  no  ounce  of  finesse.  yet  there’s  something  sharp  that  catches  onto  the  cultured  edge  of  her  speech,  a  HARSHNESS  that  speaks  volumes  in  the  absence  of  transparency.  cunning  beyond  her  youth,  azula  is  playing  a  game,  of  course,  nothing  more  than  a  battle  of  wills,  waiting  to  see  which  one  of  them  will  give  in  first  ;  she  knows  it’s  not  going  to  be  her.

@adveanture​​  liked  for  a  starter

[fearbend]

DISBELIEF STEALS ACROSS HER FACE and then, without preamble, it bleeds into a fit of incredulous laughter. ha! good one. as if she would ever stoop so low as to cavort with a simpleton, and for the sake of some worthless piece of junk no less. ❝ oh, i’m sorry, i must have misheard you. for a second there, i thought you were asking for my help, but we both know that couldn’t possibly be right ❞ condescending doesn’t even begin to describe her tone, too barbed to be even the slightest bit benign.

on a whim, she gives the other a once-over, pinning the instrument cradled in her hands with a harsh glare. does she really look like someone who would know what to do with that thing? the mottled state of it was a fool’s errand if she’s ever seen one. but what strikes an even more pitiful note is the look of gentle optimism reflected in alfira’s eyes, so unbearably naive ⎯ it would be such a shame if someone were to shatter that hope. ❝ on second thought… ❞

expert hands suddenly seize the lyre from their unsuspecting victim, as tendrils of fire crackle to life, turning it into kindling without an ounce of regret. a swift death, she thinks. what remains is nothing more than a blackened lump of charcoal, which azula breezily drops on the ground, embers and all. ❝ there you go. no need to thank me ❞ with this, she offers a smile, smug and threatening, like a dragon’s maw.

she prefers the lute, but there is a lyre in her palms here, something [ . . . ] sad about the look of it. perhaps it is the broken strings, the way they bend all askew, like misshapen spider legs.

❝ you poor thing ——— ❞ alfira murmurs to the lyre, as if it were alive. as if it could feel. she carries it so gently in her hands that it may as well be living, breathing. ❝ oh, you are hopeless. ❞ she hears @fearbend mutter, and it causes her to turn, to feel the corners of her mouth tip upward with some sort of hope. a funny thing, that. ❝ please, ❞ she murmurs, approaching the other with careful steps. ❝ you must know how to fix this, right ? i found it there, discarded. but someone ———— someone would surely play it ! do you know where i could go to get it fixed ? ❞

[fearbend]

NIGHTFALL   DESCENDS   and   with   it,   a   sharp   quietude   envelops   the   air.   under   the   cover   of   darkness,   sheltered   by   an   overgrown   thicket,   the   two   sit   on   opposite   sides   of   a   now   crackling   pyre,   footsore   from   the   day’s   travels.   she’s   broodier   than   usual,   knees   drawn   up   to   her   chest,   watching   vacantly   as   the   firelight   decants   its   amber   glow   across   the   clearing,   casting   shadows   that   lengthen   and   shrink   around   them   in   tandem   with   the   breeze.   a   beat   passes,   the   sparks   peter   out   and   somewhere   far   away,   her   claim   to   power   grows   weaker ⎯ when   did   it   all   go   so   wrong?

the   confession   catches   in   her   throat,   shaky   and   raw   and   full   of   self-pity.   so   unlike   who   she   used   to   be,   glory   days   little   more   than   relics   of   the   past,   a   distant   memory   buried   deep.   ❝   forget   it.   there’s   no   use   crying   over   things   lost.   ❞   a   liar’s   tongue,   she   deflects,   doing   her   best   to   smother   any   suspicions,   though   the   words   fall   clumsily   nevertheless.   not   the   most   inspired   of   answers,   azula   can   admit   as   much.   maybe   it’s   the   exhaustion   lining   her   eyes   with   tired   purple   grooves   that   is   to   blame   for   her   sudden   deficiencies   or   the   snaking   paranoia   that   has   long   wormed   its   way   in,   coiled   violently   around   her   bones.   or   maybe,   just   maybe,   it’s   the   phantom   ache   of   her   mother   still   haunting   even   the   darkest   recesses   of   her   mind,   whispering   falsehoods   that   spring   weaknesses   where   there   used   to   be   none.

not   wanting   to   grapple   with   how   the   thought   makes   her   heart   squeeze,   she   shifts   uncomfortably,   gaze   now   soldered   onto   her   fingernails   and   the   caked   dirt   that   encrusted   the   edges.   more   than   a   little   dismayed,   she   begins   cleaning   away   at   her   manicure,   as   methodical   as   ever.  then, with   an   effort,   she   rearranges   her   voice   into   something   silky   and   imperious ⎯ if   there   were   any   doubts   before as to who the leader was,   this   is   bound   to   lay   them   to   rest.   ❝   in   any   case,   i   propose   we   try   to   procure   some   practical   transportation   come   first   light   tomorrow.   unless   you’ve   suddenly   gotten   a   taste   for   traipsing   around   like   filthy   peasants?   ❞   while   throwing   her   lot   with   someone   who   quite   clearly   lacks   competence   is   beyond   undignified,   asserting   authority   over   her   lessers   hasn't   yet   lost   its   luster   and   these   days,   she   will   claim   victories   wherever   she   can   find   them.

they've found a place to rest,   for now.   he's not sure about azula    with whom he's been travelling for the past few days   ( or maybe weeks ?   he's lost track,   as is his usual routine )     but he's so used to being on the move that this unfamiliar territory doesn't strike him with nerves.   it's dark enough tonight,   the moon enshrouded by clouds,   that he doesn't think anyone will spot the smoke from the fire,   least of all take interest in it.   if he's ever found by the fire nation's army,   he'll surely have to join.   and he wants that less than anything in this world.  

with a soft puff of breath,   howl blows the small flame he's made across to the next long.   it sparks weakly at first,   aided only once the sparks reach the dried leaves and twigs he had stacked on it.   only then does it begin to grow into the campfire he wants it to be.   satisfied then,   he leans back,   crossing one leg and pulling the other knee up to wrap his arms around it.   he curls up,   rests his cheek on his knee,   looks off at a point just shy of where azula is sitting.   and for now,   he's silent,   and in that silence,   time ticks on.   he's tired.   the day has been long,   after all.

@fearbend.   ‘ in another kingdom exists a throne and a crown that is mine by right. ’

it strikes him at this very moment that he really hasn't heard much about azula from she herself.   he quirks a brow,   attention immediately snapping to her,   and tilts his chin up slightly so he can see her better.    ❝    mmm ?   another kingdom ?    ❞    he's begun to suspect,   in knowing her even for this small amount of time,   who she really is.   but he'll never even hint that he knows in any way.   instead,   he merely looks at her,   a curious gleam in his eye.   an eager one,   too.    ❝    yours by right,   is it ?   and what sort of right is that ?    ❞

.゜––   of fairytales, folklore and faekind.  /  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.