#urzai week 2018

[urzaiweek]

Urzai Week 2018 | Dates and Themes

Greetings, Fire Fam!

The moment is finally upon us. With only a week to go before the start of our little adventure, we hope you are all feeling inspired. The votes have been tallied and we have your Urzai Week prompts for 2018. Thank you for your submissions along the way and your participation throughout. You have all made this a seamless process and we are grateful.

With that in mind, here is the schedule going forward:

Urzai week 2018 is from August 6th - 12th.

August 6th: Arranged Marriage

August 7th: Beach Episode

August 8th: Winter

August 9th: Modern Au

August 10th: Role Reversal

August 11th: Memories

August 12th: Reunion

A few things to keep in mind:

Please be sure to tag your submissions with either “Urzai Week” or “Urzai Week 2018” at some point within the first five tags so that we can be certain we see and reblog your contributions. If you would like to tag this blog as well, we will be able to easily reference your submission. We really want you to get credit for your hard work.

Another effective way to make certain we see your submission is to @ the blog in your description!

Do you need to participate every day?

Not at all! As amazing as it would be to have fic or art from everyone every day, we understand that people get busy. And sometimes inspiration just doesn’t strike for that particular prompt. Focus on the days that speak to you!

What if we don’t write or don’t consider ourselves an artist?

That’s absolutely fine! Songs, poetry, fanmixes: all of that is a excellent contribution. And even if you don’t feel comfortable sharing your creations, you can help in an equally important way. You can support the other contributors. Like their stuff; maybe give them a reblog or leave a few encouraging words on their post. At the end of the day, this is all for fun and is about celebrating our shared interests and community.

Let’s make this a fun filled week, Fire Fam! We’re so eager to see everything you come up with. Until next week, happy writing, drawing, and everything in between.

[firelxrdsdaughter]

Arranged Marriage | Urzai Week Prompt 1

Day one!! Super exciting. This one really didn’t want to be written but. Here I am. x) Enjoy!

[read it on A03]

“Do not let them fool you, Ursa. You are going to be on thin ice in the palace. You are only as privileged as the Fire Lord allows you to be. Do not forget it.”

Urzai Week prompt 1: Arranged Marriage

Iroh and Ozai

.

Caldera’s Grand Palace, January

“I will not marry the granddaughter of a traitor!” Ozai’s voice snaps across the space like a whip. Iroh watches his brother pace, a caged moose-lion whose fury is crackling off of him in waves. The temperature of the room rises in tandem with the younger man’s temper. Iroh hums out, letting the heat radiate away from him with a careful release of his breath.

“I am afraid you do not really have a choice, little brother,” he tells him evenly.

“There’s always a choice,” Ozai answers, biting the words from the air.

Iroh hums again, inclining his head in agreement. Though —

“That is true, but there are limited choices in this matter, Ozai. Going against father directly will result in punishment. Who knows how harsh it will be. Perhaps this time it will not be something that you can come back from,” Iroh warns. “You could run away on your own, banish yourself…But I don’t think that’s really something you want to do.”

He cannot imagine his little brother roughing it. Not like one sometimes must when surviving on their own. Ozai is proud and poised, a true courtier. Iroh can see him bringing about his own downfall through his pride alone, if left to his own devices.

“Or you can marry Lady Ursa. Did you get a good look at her portrait? Either the painter greatly flatters her, or she is one of the most beautiful women in the Fire Nation.”

“I don’t care if she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, she is the granddaughter of Avatar Roku! This is an insult and a slight! Father plays his games as though there are no repercussions for those of us on the receiving end! What on earth could he possibly hope to accomplish by marrying me to her?”

Iroh purses his lips, considering his brother’s argument.

“You are a powerful bender,” he suggests, “and Ursa’s grandfather was the Avatar. Ostensibly also a powerful bender. Perhaps he thinks to unite the two lines in order that any left over dissenters will be assuaged and encouraged to the right side of things by marrying the two of you to one another.”

“It is a heinous joke. One played on me because he wishes to remind me of how little he thinks of me!”

“I do not think that father thinks lowly of you, Ozai.”

“Then you are blind!”

Iroh presses his lips together in a thin line, breathing out a sigh. There is no reasoning with Ozai when he is like this. The older of the two brothers lifts his tea cup, pausing with the warmed rim against his bottom lip before he finally takes a sip of the sweet jasmine brew.

“So what do you propose you will do?”

Ozai stills completely. From prowling lion-moose to statue in a breath. “I will refuse to see her.” He says finally.

Iroh makes a sound in the back of his throat.

“That will not work.”

“Well I don’t hear you making any suggestions!”

“Ozai please. Sit down. Have some tea. Rest your feet.”

“You’re no help!” His brother throws his hands in the air, and goes back to pacing. Iroh gives in. It’s always been best to let these moods of Ozai’s play out. He’ll come to see reason in a day or so. Then he will be ready to meet his betrothed when she arrives in a month’s time.

“If you say so,” Iroh answers finally, taking another sip of his tea.

Ursa

.

En route from Hira’a, February (one week before the New Year)

“Ursa.”

She tears her gaze from the passing landscape around them, returning her attention to her parents where they sit across from her in the dark carriage. It’s been raining buckets for two days, the monsoon season clinging to the country like a child to its mother’s breast.

Ursa’s mother is looking as though her stomach is rolling about like waves on the sea in much the same fashion as Ursa’s has done since the moment that she stepped foot out of her childhood home for the last time.

“Are you tired? We could stop for the rest of the day. There is a quaint little town not far from here which is supposed to have the best papaya in the region.”

Her mother has been stalling their journey as much as she can. It doesn’t take a genius to see it, yet her father seems just as content to drag the proceedings out for as long as possible. Ursa cannot say she is sorry for it. There are many things which excite her in her life, but the prospect of being married, no matter that she gladly does it for her family’s sake (it is what’s done, after all), is a daunting one. Especially when it truly is to a stranger.

Things like this are done many different ways amongst the noble elite, she knows, but HIra’a is a small province, with very few nobles, and those who do make marriages at her age are usually love matches and have known their brides or grooms their entire lives.

Ursa bites back a sigh, shrugging her shoulders briefly.

“I’m not tired, but if you think that the papaya is worth the stop,” she offers.

“Oh it is,” her father says, taking her attention away from the nervous twist of her mother’s hands in the skirts of her robes. Ursa smiles briefly at the greying head of their house hold.

“We should stop,” he continues on, “no harm will come in taking one more day on the road. We didn’t give them an exact date for our arrival.”

“They could not begrudge us extra time spent on the road, surely,” Ursa asks. “After all, it’s so rare that any of us ventures out of Hira’a and into the wider Fire Nation.”

No doubt the Fire Lord’s son had been surprised to find that descendents of Avatar Roku still live in the Fire Nation. Let alone that there is a girl old enough to be his bride. 

“There are plenty of things that they could and will grudge us. And you. Do not let them fool you, Ursa. You are going to be on thin ice in the palace. You are only as privileged as the Fire Lord allows you to be. Do not forget it.”

“Oh please Rina, don’t scare the girl. It’s an honour that the Fire Lord wishes for our daughter to marry his son. That he wants to join our two houses. It’s a show of faith,” her father asserts. He doesn’t raise his voice, but no argument is brooked, of this both women are assured.

Ursa glances at her mother, letting her amber gaze linger on the older woman where she ducks her head and says nothing else. The mother who has taught her so much. She’s not a fool. She knows as well as Rina does that her footing will be shaky at best, in the beginning. That she will be on thin ice, as her mother says.

She will be a stranger with no allies, and those allies that she does make right away will be questionable. They will be the snakes wanting to climb into the nest.

Ursa chews her bottom lip briefly, the full swell of the flesh slipping between her teeth before she goes back to looking at the scenery passing them by. The sky is dark and steely over the tree line.  She turns her attention down to her lap, picking at a piece of dry skin beside her thumbnail. She winces when the skin comes away, stinging.

Ursa and Ozai

.

Caldera’s Grand Palace, one day before the New Year celebration

The nobles have gathered. Every important person from every corner of the Fire Nation has arrived garbed in their finest, waving their scented fans about and wandering the covered walkways of the great expanse of the palace’s garden. 

There is no humidity today. Her long, heavy, robes are more than comfortable in the far cooler climes of the capitol city, insulating her against the chill edge in the air. No wonder all of the Fire Nation’s official portraiture shows the Royal Family in such heavy, long, clothing. It’s cold enough up here to set her teeth to chattering.

As such, every ten feet or so there are lighted steel pits, the air above them shimmering with their heat, radiating out to warm cold fingers and exposed faces for those coming from the far Southern reaches of the Fire Nation.

Ursa notes that even some Earth Kingdom dignitaries are present, their green robes a striking contrast to the red which permeates the palace decor, beneath the heavily present gilded patterning that seems to cover nearly every surface near or far. The rails of the covered walk way wink cool gold lilies up at her, carved into the wood surface. Ursa’s steps scrape the wooden boards at her feet, the hem of her robe hissing in her wake.

No matter how humble their beginnings, her father and mother have made certain that she is the best dressed woman in the room. She figures it must have cost them a month’s wages from the tenants at least, to pay for the seamstress and the cloth.

She passes an austere looking gentleman, around her age. He’s richly dressed, she presumes, but his outfit is all black, plain. If it weren’t for the little coronet nestled in his top knot Ursa would not have taken him for a noble, per se. He’s handsome. Handsome enough to raise the heat in her cheeks, but she looks away.

She’s a promised woman. There’s no room for a roving eye anymore. Not in her future husband’s house. Not amongst her elusive future in-laws.

Their audience has been reserved until after the week of New Year festivities has abated. Until then, she has free roam of the palace grounds, and a beautiful room that has been made to suit a princess. So far, she reflects, they are treating her well. So far there is no reason to worry about what her place will be once she has been married into the fold.

But she wishes that they would get this all over with. She wishes that her parents had not deemed the New Year the appropriate time to arrive.

It is a good chance to mingle though, she knows. To charm some of the nobility, and reaffirm old alliances that her parents have cultivated over the years. Who would have known that such alliances could be put to use by way of their daughter’s advancement.

Now it will be those nobles who are grateful. Those nobles who will come to her when they need something, and plead for her to put a word in for them, a whisper of good faith; an accounting of debts.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip, tasting the chalk of her lipstick where it comes off of her mouth. Ursa swallows convulsively and stops to accept ceremonial libations offered by a servant. The woman darts back through the crowd, serving the next in line of nobles who find their palms wanting.

Ursa tips the heated cherry wine into her mouth and swallows again. It warms down her throat and through her chest. She imagines that this is what it would feel like to be a fire bender.

Someone stands too close at her back. She can feel him before she sees him. The young woman turns to look and sees the handsome man from before, all dressed in stark, crisp, black. He looks down his long nose at her, his crown-gold eyes sweeping the length of her neck where it is bared by the cut of her robes. Ursa flushes, looking away briefly, embarrassed by his open stare.

She feels as though he is attempting to gouge her for her secrets.

“Hello,” he says. His voice is silk smooth. Ursa fights the need to clear her throat, and composes herself.

“Hello,” she answers smoothly in turn. He says nothing else. She feels the air between them growing thick. If he were not so handsome perhaps she would have absconded away already. As it is her tongue darts out once more and she offers him a brief smile.

“The palace is lovely. Do you suppose it is always this crowded for the New Year celebration?”

He scoffs, a burst of air through his nose, ducking his face a moment before looking out at the green expanse of the garden. Mist has gathered on a small body of water that sits at the center of the green space.

“It is always this crowded for the New Year celebration,” he tells her, “and really any other occasion. It is a miracle when it’s peaceful in the palace.”

He lives here, then. A noble with rooms? He is wearing such plain robes because he has nothing to prove, she thinks. His wealth and status speak for themselves amongst those who know him. She wonders who he must be.

“I wouldn’t know. My home is never so busy as this, even if the entire Village and surrounding nobles have come to visit,” Ursa offers for conversation.

“Did you travel far?”

“Yes. Actually this is the first time that I have ever been this far away from home.”

“A secluded life then.”

“….Not really,” Ursa answers. “There is always someone about. Someone visiting. Things to be done.”

He sniffs, as though realising that she is a country noble and suddenly losing interest. Perhaps he does. Perhaps later, when he finds that she is more noble than he could ever hope to be he will feel sorry, and frightened. Part of her wants this. The other cannot find room to care. If he is important she will come to know as much. He must be, if he can afford to be this terrible a conversationalist.

“Please excuse me.” She bows to him. “I see my mother, and she is looking for me.”

He nods at her in return, and Ursa turns, pushing through the crowd quickly to find her mother and father as she has promised.

Rina turns to her daughter with a quick gesture of her hand to come near. “Where did you get off to? Don’t get lost in the crowd. This place is so big we’d never find one another again,” she frets.

Ursa links arms with her mother, for once not grudging her mother’s worry.

Ursa

.

The banquet hall

Her father’s arm brushes her own as they seat themselves where they are shown. It seems there is but a moment between when she is seated and when the entire court rises again. A servant announces the appearance of the Fire Lord and his two sons. Ursa doesn’t dare look up as they pass. The hem of the crown prince’s wife’s robes brushes the floor just beyond where Ursa has prostrated herself.

It’s as richly embroidered as her own. The barest hint of perfume wafts from it with the movement of her passage.

A black hem brings up the end of the procession. She straightens fluidly with the rest of the assembled, and brings her attention to the front of the room. If there is any good moment to catch a glance of her fiancé before the official meeting, then it is now.

Recognition brushes both of her faces as their eyes meet.

He looks even more disgusted than before, if that is possible.

Ursa and Ozai

.

The grand courtyard, May

Ozai stares straight ahead as the Fire Sage reads the rites which will bind them to one another for good. He sees the flash of gold in the man’s hands as he lowers the symbolic crowns to hover above both of their heads. He thinks of the flash of his father’s crown in the fire light as he reaches out and strikes him hard across the face for even thinking to scorn this bride that he has brought him from some spirits forsaken province in their far South.

He remembers that the first impression he’d had of his new bride had been of a poor country girl out of her element, but pretty enough. She’d been so much more beautiful than he portrait that he had not recognised her until he had looked her way at the banquet and discovered that the woman he had attempted flirting with (and failed) at the visitation of the palace by the nobility had been none other than the woman whom he had been attempting to escape for over four months.

The Fire sage sets the crowns aside and brings forth a length of crimson silk, wrapping it about their joined hands. He speaks the words, but Ozai doesn’t hear them. They’re drowned out by the pounding of his heart in his ears. The palpable fury of being made to do this is enough for him to want to set the very air around them ablaze.

Perhaps if he burns himself and his new wife to ash now he can save them both the obvious suffering that they will have to go through.

They bow their heads to the ground in tandem.

When they rise, his brother comes forward with a gilded wooden box, opening it up and handing it to a servant. She holds it steady as he reaches within and brings forth the Fire Lord’s gift to Ozai’s new bride. A heavy sunstone and garnet waist decoration that ends in the family’s emblem.

Ursa allows a servant to attach it about her waist for her. Iroh brings forth the gifts from himself and his wife. A few rings. Simple, but pretty.

Ozai closes his eyes and waits for it all to be over.

At least the food is good.

Ursa and Ozai

.

Their private quarters on the wedding night, May

Ozai’s petulance remains. He is determined to make their marriage difficult. She can feel it in the way that the air warms around him whenever he thinks that she is paying too much attention. In the way that he turns from her whenever she attempts to speak.

This is going to be a challenge.

Most obviously, he had not known her either when he had approached on the first day of the New Year celebrations. Though he had been…up front, he had at least seemed to be interested in her. Now his disinterest drips off of him even as he shrugs away the outermost layer of his crimson and gold ceremonial robes.

Ursa sits at the edge of the bed they are to share, her heart hammering hard in her chest. Her fingers curl into the covers.

The bed dips as Ozai sits beside her, his own hands draped over his knees as he continues to stare forward at the wall opposite them. Ursa looks sidelong at her new husband, attempting to keep her breathing even.

“This arrangement,” Ozai begins then, and she is shocked to hear her husband’s voice after so long spent together in silence, “is no doubt not ideal for either of us. I have no illusions that you want me any more than I want you. However, my father will not suffer insubordination. No matter what comes, you and I are husband and wife. You will comport yourself as such,” he informs her.

Ursa raises her eyebrows but says nothing. If it is a model wife that he wants then, in public, that is what she will give him. In private…

Hesitantly, Ursa reaches toward him, her palm closing over Ozai’s thigh. Warmth radiates off of him in waves.

He looks down stiffly at her hand. He shifts his weight and she does as well.

They move in tandem with one another for the first time, but certainly not the last.

[vo1canic]

Urzai Week Day 3 - Ember Island.

Flashback to Urzai Week 2018 ‘Beach Episode’ where tmblr flagged the image because of Ozai’s female presenting nips. Anyways, they’re drunk and they need to go home.

[catie-does-things]

catie_writes_things AtLA fic masterpost

Chaptered - Complete

Sin and Duty (T, 80k+, Kataang/Zutara) - Bumi is the product of an affair between Katara and Zuko, and there are consequences for everyone.

Peace & Love (T, 18k+, Zutara) - Post-canon arranged marriage AU, written for Zutara Week 2020

Be Fruitful and Multiply (T, 30k+, Urzai) - AU where Ozai and Ursa have lots more kids after Zuko and Azula

Chaptered - WIP

Fate Deferred (T, 200k+, Zutara/Gen) - Aang sleeps for ten years longer and is found by Katara and Zuko, who are married.

It Must Follow, As Night the Day (T, 13k+, Zutara) - Zuko and Katara were brainwashed by the Dai Li and have been living as a married couple in the lower ring

Southern Sun (T, 5k+, Zutara/Zuko & Sokka friendship) - Zuko is banished to the Southern Water Tribe

Fearless (T, 7k+, Zuko/Ty Lee) - Retelling of canon with Ty Lee as Zuko’s love interest, from Ty Lee’s POV

Within the Hollow Crown (T, 7k+, Azula/Kuei) - Azula and the Earth King, arranged marriage AU, set in the same timeline as Peace & Love

One Shots & One Shot Collections

Second Child, Restless Child (T, 4k+, Zutara/Fire Nation Royal Family) - Fire Lady Katara visits Azula on Ember Island, coda to Peace & Love

Masquerade (T, 3k+, Zutara/Bluetara) - The Blue Spirit accidentally crashes a masquerade party 

The Tragic End of Fire Lord Azulon (T, 3k+, Urzai) - Ursa takes action against the Fire Lord when Ozai will not

Lying Little Beast (T, 2k+, Urzai) - Semi-sequel to the above, Ursa pays Ozai a visit in prison

Echoing Refrains (G, 1k+, Gen/Fire Nation Royal Family) - Zuko and Azula take after Iroh and Ozai, in different ways

The Significance of Dreams (T, 3k+, Urzai) - Ozai has weird dreams and self-worth issues, vaguely in the Be Fruitful and Multiply ‘verse

Things Unsaid (T, 2k+, Kataang/Zutara) - companion piece to Sin and Duty

Duty and Sin (T, 2k+, Kataang/Zutara) - companion pieces to Sin and Duty

Blue & Gold (T, 4k+, Zutara) - written for Zutara Week 2018

Push & Pull (G, 9k+, Zutara) - written for Zutara Week 2019

Sun & Moon (G, 2k+, Zutara) - written for Zutara Week 2021

[firelxrdsdaughter]

Beach Episode | Urzai Week Prompt 2

Urzai Week Prompt 2: Beach Episode

[Read it on A03]

The Month that Zuko is born, Ozai buys her a house.

Ursa

.

Ember Island, August, year 3

The month that Zuko is born, Ozai buys her a house.

It is ensconced in a private cove on Ember Island, far from the capitol’s gossip and the servants’ prying eyes. It is peaceful. It feels a little bit like home.

The baby is quiet, serious. He rarely smiles. He is five months old before they finally make it to the island to take up residence in their house. It’s more like a small mansion; obviously made for royalty. It has been freshly redone, plaster put in place, smoothed out to crisp lines against the warmth of the wood. Over it, they have painted crimson, of course, because this could not be a residence where Ozai spends most of his time if it were not decked out from head to foot in crimson and gold in spades.

There are worse things than a husband with terrible taste in decor. She will be able to change it eventually. When she is not so tired, or so preoccupied with being a mother.

There are plenty of nannies on staff at the palace, and plenty of wet nurses, but as in most things, Ursa insists on doing it the traditional way for Hira’a and not the capitol. Too much can go wrong with a royal baby if it is left to strangers. So she is his mother, and not an army of wait staff. She clings to him like a life line. She's spent too much time not being barefoot and pregnant.

She sits languidly across from her husband, watching as he props the babe up in his long hands and stares at him, as though the two might communicate through thought alone. The corner of Ursa’s mouth lifts just briefly at the notion.

Ozai’s coin gold gaze flickers to her where she watches them and then back. He lifts his chin, looks down his nose at the boy.

“He doesn’t have the spark.”

“What on earth are you talking about,” she asks him blandly, lifting her eyebrows at her husband. There are many things about him which still mystify her even after three years of marriage, but this is something new all together. She isn’t quite certain that she likes the look in his eye.

“The spark. The one that fire benders have in their eyes. He has the colour.” He glances at her again, slowly, as though he would say something more on the matter than he has already done, but he does not address whatever thoughts flicker behind his gaze. “But he does not have…it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s five months old. We won’t know better for at least a year, if not longer.”

“My father will never accept him into the line of succession if he cannot bend.”

She sees where he is going with this now, and Ursa’s brow draws low. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, lids twitching at the corners.

“Then he will not be in the line of succession,” she says simply after a moment. She has never wanted her children to have that fate anyway. They'd 'tempted' her with promises that her sons would be princes when they'd made the bid for her hand, but it had never been the reason for her decision to say yes.

Besides this, Iroh is the next in line, and he has a healthy, nearly completely grown, son of his own. A ten year old hearty enough to dazzle the nobles and light up every room with his charm. Even if his wife has died, and Ursa still feels a pang in her chest at the loss of her friend, a burgeoning sadness at the thought of her gentle smile or the way the sunlight would hit the ornaments in her hair while she sat at the window and embroidered and whispered her secrets, it is not likely that he will not see the throne, and Lu Ten after him.

“No,” Ozai says, petulant, “that is unacceptable.”

“Is it? And what good is his place in the line of succession if he is never going to be Fire Lord anyway?”

Ozai levels a look at her that could kill.

She’s aware of his ambitions, of course, has made him promises. In the end she finds that she does not really care enough to see them through. With his brother as Fire Lord his life will be more content, she knows. Even if Ozai does not see it. Perhaps Iroh will even send Ozai out to gain some of that longed for glory to crown his ego with.

Until then, they must simply bide their time. There will be a place for them in Iroh’s court, but they must play their part in Azulon’s first.

“I beg you to exercise patience, my love,” she says on a sigh, lifting her hair to air out the nape of her neck in the oppressive summer heat.

If there are any such early signs to be had that Zuko is a fire bender, surely one of them is his contentedness with the heat. Most babies fuss when they are over warm. Most babies fuss period. He does not.

Ursa levers herself from the couch on which she lounges, sweeping across the floor in bare feet to bend and reach out for Zuko. Ozai gives him up seemingly reluctantly, and she folds the child against her breast, smoothing her palm against the silken nape of his neck. She sways, a living tree rooted in her house.

“Azulon is old,” she says evenly, “and surely not so much longer for this world. He will perhaps have another twenty years, if he's lucky.” It feels like a prophecy, rolling from her tongue unbidden, thick in the watery air like juice bursting from a ripe cherry.

“Your brother loves Zuko, and Lu Ten loves Zuko. He will find a place which suits him with them, as will you, husband. You need only wait it out.”

Ozai huffs, turning his gaze away, jaw set whilst he glares into the empty hearth. She can feel the heat in the air around him fluctuating, first too hot to make her flinch and then lukewarm. He stands in one stiff motion and Ursa flows out of his way, raising an eyebrow at him and inclining her head upward to his full height.

“I am going down to the beach,” he announces.

Ozai is already bare but for the sarong draped about his hips, his well sculpted chest gleaming in the low light of the lamps that fill the room.

Ursa nods.

“Shall we come with you?”

He stands silently for a moment, contemplative.

“No.” Ozai reaches down, pressing a kiss to her lips. Ursa lingers perhaps a moment too long, but it’s enough to give him pause.

He hesitates before he turns and exits the room, leaving a heavy stillness in his wake, and taking half of the room’s heat with him.

Ursa exhales, and Zuko makes a noise in the back of his throat, stretching his mouth into an o shape and sucking briefly at the bare skin of her shoulder. She turns her face and presses a kiss over his ear, bouncing him as she wanders off to a cooler area of the house.

Zuko simply needs time to come to himself.

They all simply need time.

[sky-kiss]

Urzai Day 2: Beach Episode

A/n: One more after this. One more day of dumb floof.

______

Beach Episode

______

Over the past year she’s learned to catalogue the shifts in energy, the borderline electrical current that undercuts the Royal Family’s dynamics. There’s a marked change when Iroh heads to the warfront. When the Crown Prince graces their halls, equilibrium is restored.

Iroh is stability. Iroh is the calm, the mediator between his more volatile relations. When he is away...

Ursa frowns, pressing up on her elbow. Her husband remains asleep beside her. It’s a testament to his exhaustion. She can count the number of times he’s lingered after the sunrise on one hand. Azulon has him managing their trade routes, overseeing supply lines…

Necessary work but far from glamorous. That, she supposes, is the point. Ozai craves recognition, craves the glory so readily placed upon his brother’s head. Instead, he is mired in political busywork. The princess smooths a few errant strands of hair away from his forehead.

Their relationship to this point has been...tumultuous, at best. Ursa likes to think they have settled into some sort of routine, have managed to adjust to the other’s presence in their lives. She cannot say she loves the man, not yet, not truly. But there is a twinge of something in her gut when she looks at him now. Purple bags rim his eyes. The prominent cheekbones are more exaggerated than ever; there’s a gaunt quality to his face which she doesn’t appreciate.

Ozai speaks without opening his eyes. Sleep addled, he doesn’t think twice about pressing into her touch, turning to crook his nose against her palm, “What time is it?”

“Still early,” she cannot say she knows the exact hour but the air still has that sharp, chill quality she’s come to associate with the stretch of time following dawn. Ozai nods, exhaling heavily. He shifts his weight, rolling from his side to his back as he settles more fully against the mattress. No arguments, no veiled criticisms about her refusal to wake him; it’s out of character for the prince.

“I will never sleep with you staring.”

She feels the right corner of her lips tug up in a smile. There’s none of his typical fire in the statement; it’s irritable. Resignation more than vitriol. She stretches out beside him, reaching out before letting her touch fall to more neutral ground. She curls her fingers in the sheets, “Forgive me, husband.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he grumbles, dragging one hand over his face. He presses the heel of his palm against his eye socket. It must hurt. “I should be going anyway.”

Two things happens at once. First, he makes no effort to move. Second, she drapes one leg over his own; their is no strength behind it. She expects it is in equal part the weight and what the action represents that leaves her husband smirking. He arches one brow, expectant. Ozai glances at her, hand falling to rest at the curve over her knee. She digs into his side, “Surely the Fire Lord can spare you one morning.”

He chuckles. Something in the sound bothers her; she cannot say precisely what, “You do not know my father.”

“Perhaps not,” she frowns, dragging her lower lip between her teeth. It’s still early enough that the Fire Nation’s typical humidity has not settled in; a sea breeze licks over the palace walls, kissing along the length of her spine. The sheets are kicked down around her ankles and she shivers, curling into her husband’s side. The first few months of their marriage, she had found sleeping beside him stifling and uncomfortable. His firebender’s warmth bordered on feverish, left sweat trickling down her spine in the dead of night. Now, it’s more comfortable. She finds herself choosing his heat over the bedding. He does not pull away when she rests her head on his shoulder. Ozai hums, stroking idle designs over her knee, the outer aspect of her thigh. Her brows pinch.

There are rare moments in their marriage when he is like this. Hidden away from the world, from all his responsibilities and the expectations they entail, where he is softer. Ursa likes that prince. She imagines, somewhere down the line, she might even allow herself to love him.

The palace, and by extension, Azulon, represents the death of that man. She presses up on her arm again, staring down at him, “We should run away. Just for a little while.”

“Has the heat driven you mad?”

She ignores the gibe, pressing her palm flat against his belly, “Once upon a time, you promised you’d show me Ember Island. I would have imagined Prince Ozai to be a man of his word.”

He scowls at her, “You’re feeling bold.”

“Is a wife not allowed to feel concern for her husband’s well being?” the designation, as always, seems to soften him. Ozai sighs, his touch stilling. She can feel the invisible lines he’s drawn across her skin, their path marked with heat, electrical impulses running along her nerves, rather ink. She hums, “My love, you must rest. The work is starting to wear at you.” He doesn’t have a rebuttal. Ozai stares up towards the ceiling. The muscles in his jaw are tight. She leans in, dragging her teeth over his cheek, speaking against his skin, “Please, my love, come away with me.”

The second born prince is too proud to concede to his exhaustion. Instead, he says, “If it will please you, wife.”

_____

Li and Lo are made to accompany them. Ozai is outwardly calm beside her, his handsome face pointedly blank as the Fire Lord speaks. She knows better. The temperature around her husband spikes until it’s nearly stifling, the air around them superheated. She reaches over to squeeze his wrist. There’s not enough oxygen and she’s feeling lightheaded.

The temperature drops back to a more manageable level almost instantly.

Ursa finds herself echoing his irritation. They are not children in need of a chaperone. They are adults. They are wedded. They are entitled to some semblance of privacy. But Azulon is not a patient man, nor is he understanding. The prince and his princess nod, thanking the Fire Lord for his graciousness.  They will be monitored and Li and Lo will serve as his spies and they are expected to thank him. It rankles in a manner she is only just coming to understand.

Something must show on her face. Ozai chuckles as soon as they are alone. The sound is not particularly friendly. He takes her elbow, guiding her back towards their chambers, “You found one of your cage’s edges. Didn’t you, little dove?”

She glances across the pavilion. Li and Lo remain by the double doors. The crones faces are unreadable. She feels their eyes upon them. Ursa presses more closely to her husband’s side, turning her face into his robes. She lowers her voice, “Your father has no reason to distrust us.”

“No. And he doesn’t need one,” he smirks, glancing down at her, “Your little adventure is ruined, isn’t it? That’s what he wanted.”

“I refuse to believe the Fire Lord could be so petty.”

Her husband laughs. For the second time, she finds herself thinking just how ugly it sounds.

_____

In the early days of their marriage, when conversation had been scarce and they were still adapting to the other’s presence, he had told her tales of Ember Island. Ursa had been only once before and the experience was altogether different from what the Prince described. Ozai had gathered her to his chest, languid in the afternoon heat. The alcohol loosened his tongue.

The prince tells her of private beaches; of a house only slightly less luxuriant than the palace itself. He paints her images of immaculately white shorelines, of beautiful, secluded, grottos. She remembers shivering, nipping at the curve of his throat. His touch stills at the small of her back. He summons more intimate imaginings after that. Those images are the ones that linger.

She clings to them as the ascend the steps to the Royal Family’s private beach house. Li and Lo have the decency to linger a few steps behind. Ursa is young but she is not foolish. She can feel the weight of their attentions; the charged quality of the air suggested they were listening, always.

She will not allow them to ruin this. Ursa casts a sideways glance towards her husband. His lips are pressed to a thin line, jaw set. Latent heat radiates off him, broadcasting his displeasure to the world. She nudges his shoulder with her own, keeping her voice low, “My love, you do yourself a disservice.”

“What?”

She ignores the sharpness of his response, taking his hand in hers. She squeezes once, a warning, “Your enemies know they have the advantage when you react so...viscerally.”

Ozai sneers, staring down his nose, “Should I hide my distaste from peasants? Let them know I am displeased.”

Ursa sighs, “My love. Your father, Li and Lo...perhaps a more subtle touch would prove effective.”

Subtle is not a word she would ever associate with her husband. His looks are striking; his temperament is volatile. His ambitions are grandiose. He stares at her, expression pinched as he considers her words.

Ozai does not respond. The temperature around him return to normal.

______

Li and Lo shadow their steps through the common rooms. Ursa wonders precisely what her husband has done to elicit such a blatant show of distrust. She knows better than to ask. Even when they are alone in their chambers, the crones could be (are) listening.

Ursa drags her nails down her husband’s back, revelling in the slackness of her muscles. For once, Ozai makes no attempt to move. In the chillness of the morning, she finds his weight comfortable rather than stifling. She stares up at the ceiling, a familiar thought leaping to mind, “We should run away.”

He hums. He is always more eloquent, more indulgent, in the afterglow. Ozai tweaks his nose against  the rise of her breasts, “So you’ve said. And here we are.”

She rolls her eyes, ignoring him, “We could slip out now. Climb over the balcony, drop down to the sand…”

“And then what?”

She glares at him, lets the obvious note of challenge color her words, “Does it matter? We’ll be away.”

He is too proud to ignore her. Ozai presses up on one elbow. He drags his free hand through his hair, shooting an appraising glance towards the balcony. The drop is...not insubstantial. He rolls off of her with a grunt, padding over to the window. She will not deny she takes great pleasure, even pride, in her husband’s look. He’s impressive even now, hair matted with sweat, skin still tacky. Ozai glances over the railing. When he returns to the bedroom, his expression is set.

“Get dressed. Something common looking.”

She doesn’t give him time to reconsider. Ursa swings her legs over the side of the mattress, already searching for something suitable.

______

It’s foolish to indulge the woman. The simple phrase rings through his mind on loop, a tedious litany. Ozai drops to the sand, applying a quick burst of flame to halt his momentum before he hits the ground. He motions for Ursa to follow. Her amber eyes are narrowed.

“I meant lowering ourselves down. Not...leaping off the balcony.”

He scowls, flicking his attention to one of the other windows. No Li or Lo but they were running on borrowed time. “You doubt me?”

“Unlike some, I find myself at the whims of gravity.”

“I would have a far more difficult time explaining my wife’s broken leg. Jump. I will catch you.”

She shoots a final glance back towards their bedroom before nodding. Carefully, ever so carefully, she eases herself over the railing. The muscles in her shoulders pull tight as she lowers herself from the balcony. With a whispered curse, she lets herself drop.

She’s remarkably light for a woman of her size. Ozai catches her without effort. She’s paler than usual, her fingers curling in the front of his robe as she calms her nerves. He finds himself indulging her again, supporting her weight until her legs are steady.

“Can you stand?”

She smiles at him. In the early morning light, all pinks and gold, it could almost pass as fond. Ursa nods, easing free of his grasp. She takes his hand, tugging him after her, “Come, my prince. It’s high time you learned how the common folk live.”

Foolishly, he finds himself following her.

[sky-kiss]

Urzai Day 3: Winter

____

Winter

_____

She’s never been so far from home.

Ursa tells him this with a gently lopsided grin, eyes still foggy with sleep. She rests her head on his chest, scratching her nails over his ribs. She’s nervous. He has no words of comfort to provide, blinded by his more pressing irritation.

This...venture is his father’s doing. The first months of their marriage should not be spent sequestered away on a battleship. His free hand, the one not resting at the small of his bride’s back, curls into a fist, nails biting at the flesh of his palm. It’s exile. They should be reveling in the populace’s well wishes. Instead, Azulon has sent them to wander the far corners of the earth.

Ursa taps one nail against his clavicle, frowning at him, “It only a few weeks, Ozai.”

He hates that she can read him. The prince grunts, staring up at the ceiling, “It is the principle. The wasted opportunity.”

“There will be others.”

There’s a smoothness to her voice, almost lyrical, intentionally pitched to soothe him. He recognizes it for what it is: a control mechanism. They are still freshly married; still feeling out their respective authority. He scowls at her, sitting up in their too small (cot) bed.  Ursa sighs, turning her face back into the pillows.

He paces the length of their room, stopping near the decanter. There is still sake left over from the night prior. A part of him itches to finish the bottle, to let the alcohol soothe fraying nerves. He pushes that urge down. Instead, he crosses to the room’s single window.

While not large by any stretch of the imagination, Ozai recognizes they are blessed to have even this much. Fire Nation ships were designed for practicality rather than aesthetic pleasure. At best, a window was a luxury; at its worst, it was a structural weakness. They had anchored nearer to the coast during the night. The thickness of the fog had left them feeling anxious.

He sees now that the man made the correct choice. The fog has not dissipated over the night. They are near the southernmost aspect of the Fire Islands, closer to the south pole than anything. Overnight, the temperature has plummeted. The window is frosted now. Ozai drags his fingers across the glass, frowning. He cannot see much but...there are little flecks of white slowly drifting down. They melt as soon as they hit the waves, dissipating into nothingness.

He...cannot remember the last time he saw snow. The prince frowns, brow pinching. He glances back towards the bed. Ursa is feigning sleep, her breathing too practiced and irregular to deceive him. He seats himself on the mattress, reaching out to brush the backs of his finger across her shoulders, “Dress yourself, wife. There is something I wish to show you.”

“Ozai, it’s still early.”

“Please.”

He is not in the habit of asking for anything. Ursa frowns, regarding him with fresh curiosity before nodding. She pushes at his chest to make room. Her robes are pooled near the foot of the bed. She gathers them with a practiced air of nobility, redressing without shame. Ozai allows himself a moment of weakness, his gaze lingering on the narrowness of her waist, the flair of her hips. The marriage had not been his idea but...if nothing else, his wife is achingly beautiful.

Ursa cards her hands through her hair, attempting to smooth it back down. It offers the illusion of presentability. She clears her throat, “If you insist on dragging me from the comfort of our bed,” her tone stresses her irritation. “Then lead on, Prince Ozai.”

He offers his arm, shrugging on his travel cloak, “You seem aggravated, princess.”

“We’ll say I’ve taken a page from your book, husband. I’m brooding.”

He will never admit that he enjoys her spirit, prefers her aggression to the dull, passionless persona she adopts in public. Ozai leads them down the warship’s twisting corridors. Silence stretches between the two of them, surprisingly comfortable.

“Did you have snow in Hira’a, Ursa?”

She shakes her head, pressing more closely to his side. The temperature has steadily decreased as they approach the deck. And while her silks are undeniably elegant they were never designed with the cold in mind.   In a show of uncustomary chivalry, he drapes his cloak over her shoulders.  “Never. Even in the winter,  Hira’a stays quite warm.”

In lieu of a response, he holds the door to the deck of the ship open. The young woman’s eyes widen in naked shock. Over the course of the night a healthy coating of snow has settled, dusting every available surface. Everything, even the low rumble of the ship’s engine, the steady crash of the waves, seems further away. More silent, tranquil.

Ursa glances at him once more before stepping out into the snow. It catches in her hair, a smattering of white amidst inky darkness. The young woman holds out her hand, smiling at the little flakes. They remain for a moment before melting.

He watches her move about the deck, a bemused half smile tugging at his lips. His young bride looks out of place, the lines of her figure too soft for the military vessel. Her robes are a wash of color amidst steely greys and blacks. There’s a fluidity to the way Ursa conducts herself, as if every step is synced to music only she can hear.  It is a charming little oddity.

There’s a flush of pink in her cheeks, undoubtedly inspired by the cold. Ursa looks...far younger than she is, more innocent, more alive. More like the magistrate’s daughter from Hira’a and less like the prince’s wife. She spins on her heel, focusing on him. Ursa holds out her hand, “Will you join me?”

He likes this image of her, flush, drowning in the fabric of his cloak. Ozai chuckles, closing the distance between them with sure steps. Ursa does not mount so much as a token show of resistance, twining her arms around his waist. She is shivering. He focus on his chi, uses it to warm his own body before allowing it to radiate out to his bride. It must work; Ursa makes a small noise of contentment.

“I see your desire for my company was not entirely selfless,” he mumbles, glancing out over the sea. It’s uncustomarily peaceful for this time of year. Too calm, too tranquil; even Ozai cannot muster the necessary vitriol. His tone is lightly chiding, tinged more with subdued amusement.

It’s the first time since they left port that he feels...calm. A break in the storm, surely; he can feel his irritation, his frustrations with the Fire Lord, still crawling beneath his skin. For a moment, they are further away. Ursa turns her nose into his chest, mumbling something he does not catch. About the quiet, perhaps. She tips her head back to smile at him, young and (deceptively, falsely) innocent.

“You dragged me from the comfort of a warm bed. This makes us even,” she squirms a little in his hold, wrapping his cloak around them both. Ursa sighs, “It is beautiful.”

Ozai rests his chin on the crown of her skull. He will allow himself this reprieve. He will allow his bride’s calm to wash over him. The prince surveys the deck a final time, pale and rarely beautiful, “I suppose it is.”

[sky-kiss]

Urzai Day 4: Modern AU

A/N: I failed. This was going to be business AU. With a lot of boardroom sex. And then it was. Sokka getting the parents drunk and them just being filthy and confessing all their youthful indiscretions. Now it’s this.

______

AU Where Everyone Is Disgustingly Happy and It’s Pretty Gross

______

“I fail to see why we must attend.”

Ursa took a steadying breath, staring straight ahead instead of at the man beside her. If she looked, the urge to slap him upside his idiot head would prove too great. Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose. She reminded herself of the reasons she had fallen in love with him. She reminded herself of the two beautiful children they raised together.

Better. She turned, painting on a radiant smile, “Because, my love,” she stressed the endearment, enjoying the scowl it elicited, “this is a family affair. And, like it or not, Sokka is practically family.”

“Not yet.”

She pinched his forearm, “Hakoda will be there. You like Hakoda.”

“I tolerate Hakoda,” he corrected, turning up his nose. There were times when her husband struck her as a paragon of men, forward thinking, handsome, charismatic even. There were others when she could not shake the impression that he was nothing more than an oversized child trapped in a man’s body.

“Yes, well,” she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of his dress shirt, patting his stomach, “I tolerate you as well, dear. So please. Behave.”She knocked on the door before he could argue, shifting the bundle beneath her arm. A bottle of wine for herself, cinnamon whiskey for her husband, and a pie (bakery bought; she had no talent herself) for the children.

Despite Ozai’s grousing, she had high hopes for the evening.  Sokka hadn’t offered much in the way of an official explanation; he was just excited to have a place of his own after sharing an apartment with his sister for the past three years. “A get together kind of thing" had been his exact words. Kya had kindly translated to “ a housewarming party.”

Ursa was happy for the him. In part because he deserved it; of all the young men she’d she’d had the pleasure of knowing Sokka was one of the few she would classify as genuinely good. And, more selfishly, because she knew how good he had been, and was, to her daughter. It was something of an open secret among their social circle that Azula had spent the majority of her nights at the house.  Helping Sokka unpack.

“He’s really quite hopeless,” she’d muttered, making a show of inspecting her nails. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far.”

The hand at the small of her back smoothed upward, fingers curling in the fabric of her shirt as he leaned past her, knocking on the door. Ozai’s voice pulled her from her reverie, “If you’re going to stand there all day navel gazing…”

She shook her head, chuckling despite herself.

The conversation inside silenced immediately. She could just make out the sound of Sokka barking orders (at her own son, most likely) and then feet padding across the hardwood. The water tribe boy was grinning, a hint of color already in his cheeks from the heat, “You found the place! See, Azula. I told you they’d find it.”

Azula, leaning against the kitchen island, made some flippant gesture with her hand, “I didn’t doubt they could find us, imbecile. I doubted they would come.”

“Well,” Sokka turned back to them, grinning, “Shows what she knows. How are ya, mom?”

Ursa chuckled, returning his embrace, “I’m doing well, dear. Are you settling in?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just...boxes. A lot of boxes,” he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, surveying the living room. While it was mostly put together now (her daughter’s influence, no doubt) there was still an element of chaos. Nothing she and Kya couldn’t fix over the course of an evening. Sokka held his hand out, tone more somber, “Mister Huo.”

Ozai shot her a look. To an outsider, she imagined it must look as austere as any of his other expressions. After decades together, she saw it for what it was. Thinly veiled amusement. Her husband linked his hands at the small of his back, standing to the full of his considerable height, “Sokka.”

“Dad’s out back making burgers if you want to go help. Think he was going to make a fire or something.”

Ozai’s eyes widened, “He’ll burn your house down.”

Sokka flashed him a sheepish green, shrugging, “Yeah. That’s what mom said too.”

Her husband grumbled something under his breath, pausing to press the obligatory kiss to her cheek before stalking towards to the back door. It was probably for the best. Conversation would be easier without Ozai looming over their shoulders. And Hakoda, for as dear as he was, as good as he was, was better off with a more...grounded partner supervising his lofty endeavors.

The water tribe boy stared after the man, shaking his head. “We’re never going to eat.”

Sokka sounded appropriately miserable. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face, a testament to the summer heat and the oppressive humidity. Staring out towards the backyard, Ursa was inclined to agree with him. Already, she could hear the telltale signs of their bickering.

“I’m just saying. If you had a little more vision, we’d have this done in half the time,” Hakoda flipped the burgers for perhaps the fifth time in as many minutes. Too often. He shot a dark look at her husband. Ozai stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest, unrepentant. He was already portioning out their whiskey, tone droll, chiding.

“There is a burn ban in place for a reason, Hakoda.”

“Are you this unimaginative in every aspect of your life, Ozai? If so, remind me to offer Ursa my condolences…” Kya slid the back door shut. The rest of their conversation was (mercifully) droned out.

Sokka took the pie from her, motioning for her to follow, “C’mon. We were waiting to take a tour of the house until you got here.”

“That was very sweet of you, dear, but you didn’t have to go through any trouble on my part.”

He waved her off. To her surprise, Azula uncoiled from her position near the kitchen island, moving to twine her arms around the young man’s waist. It was...impressive growth for her.  Even months into their relationship (and after her parent’s reservations were finally erased), she’d been leery about showing public affection. She’d spent years cultivating her public persona, encasing herself in armor; even the smallest show of attention was too much like a gap in her armor.

That she felt she could express herself here was telling. Ursa  fought the urge to reach out and touch her daughter’s face. Azula’s smile was subdued, maybe even indulgent, but it was there. That meant the world to her.

Kya rolled her eyes. The water tribe woman pressed a glass of wine into her hand, tipping her head towards the hallway, “If you’d prefer, Ursa and I can show ourselves around…”

Her son shook his head, half a step from lunging in front of them, “Not a chance. You guys will start ‘organizing’ and I’ll never find anything again. Now. First stop, the bedrooms.”

The older women shared an amused glance. Neither of them missed the way Sokka took Azula’s hand. Neither of them  missed that the girl was mostly willing to follow, her protest entirely feigned.

______

It was a comfortable house, she’d give him that. Nothing overly remarkable (which shock her, honestly; Sokka was painfully traditional in some respects and a pioneer in others). Perhaps the most impressive aspect was an addition he had made himself.

He was living here alone (technically). The master bedroom was his. The spare was set up to serve as an office sometimes and a place for guests to stay. The third room was just...excessive. So he’d started a project all his own.

Sokka scrubbed and the back of his neck, gesturing at the polished hardwood floors. The far side of the room was lined with mirrors; an effective replica of any ballet studio. Ursa hid her smile behind her hand, listening as the boy fumbled through his justification, “Don’t smirk, mom. The room wasn’t doing me any good and Azula needed a place to...you know. Practice. And at least if she’s here when she falls…”

“I do not fall, Sokka.”

“If she falls,” he corrected, “I can drive her to hospitable or something. Or at least...defend the paramedics when they arrive.”

Ursa smiled, “It was very thoughtful of you, dear.”

“Eh. Gotta give her some reason to stick around.”

She didn’t respond but found herself shooting another glance towards Kya. The other woman shook her head. In silent agreement, they hung back a few steps, letting the couple lead them back towards the kitchen. They were involved in a little squabble, verbally prodding each other until Azula dug her elbow into the boy’s side. It didn’t keep him from laughing.

Ursa shook her head, linking her arm with the water tribe woman, “I don’t think I understand their relationship. But I’m not exactly in a position to judge.”

“Let’s just say love is strange, hmm? Leave it at that.” She liked the other woman. She was clever and feisty and had a...realness to her that was lacking among the majority of Ursa’s social circle. She liked the glint in her pale eyes, the hint of mischief as she leaned against her shoulder, “And how are you holding up, Ursa? After everything with Zuko?”

She snorted into her wine, “Ah. You mean after he decided to take ten years off his mother’s life?”

“More or less.”

Her (idiot) son had decided to vanish over the weekend. She’d been none the wiser until Azula forwarded her one of the (less flattering) new articles. Tycoon’s son married in Vegas. Ursa was still in the process of recovering. Her frustrations were only made worse by Ozai’s sudden indifference to the whole affair. For once, he wasn’t willing to chastise their son. Ursa finished her glass, “I’ll make it through. How’s Katara?”

Kya snorted, “Happy to have her brother out of her hair, I imagine.”

It’s all...oddly companionable. They two women drift into more neutral territory. How busy the hospital was recently (they were understaffed again, Kya was convinced that was responsible for her fresh string of grey hairs); how Ursa was managing the company’s latest merger.

It was...lovely.

[urzaiweek]

Voting for round two begins!! We only have ten themes left and must narrow them down to seven!

Please choose seven from the list that you would like to see! 

You guys have until Monday July 30th to vote. :)

[urzaiweek]

Day One

Happy first day of Urzai week everyone!!! Don’t forget to tag your posts with either urzai week or urzai week 2018 within the first 5 tags so that we can find them. OR just @ us in the description~!

Let’s have some fun ladies and gents!

[urzaiweek]

Lords and ladies!!! 

We got a fair amount of prompts, and submissions have completely stopped, SO we have made up our form and you guys can go right ahead and vote on what you’d like the themes to be!

Please only choose a maximum of seven prompts from the list.

We will likely do at the most two rounds of voting for the prompts. You guys have until Wednesday (July 25th) to submit your answers for this round!

We’re super excited to see what our themes will be! Please also reblog this post to pass it around so that we can get the most participation possible.

Thanks!

[urzaiweek]

Date Announcement

Your Urzai week dates for this year are.... *drum roll* 

August 6th - August 12th!

Due to the fact that this date is coming upon us VERY quickly, the last round of voting for themes will last only until monday! This way, everyone has a bit of time to prepare before the event’s start. 

Link for round two of voting will be posted shortly! 

[urzaiweek]

Send us your prompt ideas

Hey loves! 

Juuuusssttt realised while talking to @sky-kiss that we don’t have much time between the first choice and now if that ends up being the one, so even though we had planned on asking for prompt submissions after the dates had been chosen, we will actually be opening our inboxes to suggestions now. x)

We want to make sure that we give any of our artists or writers enough structure to work with but not so specific as to box ourselves in.

Good examples would include prompts like: Post Series, Reunion, Parenthood, Seasons,  etc. Clear concepts but with enough wiggle room for everyone.

What we are not looking for: “Ursa visits Ozai in prison on the anniversary of his coronation and they fight.” It’s a good idea but narrows the field too much.

Hopefully this clarifies things for everyone! Happy promptings, Fire Fam!

Please send the prompts via ask to either @urzaiweek, @firelxrdsdaughter, or @sky-kiss! We’ll be taking them until the middle of next week. 

[firelxrdsdaughter]

The official blog is up! Please come follow us over on the event blog so that you can keep up to date with everything that’s happening with our official Urzai Week 2018!!!!

[urzaiweek]

I’ve got something Urzai which I worked on a long time ago. It’s an AU beginning which I can polish up to be a stand alone piece. Can I use that? It was intended to be the begin of Urzai gone wrong and made well before Ikem came into being and imho it treats both Ozai and Ursa both better than the characters the comics made them out to be.

As long as it fits one of the final themes, absolutely! We would also prefer the content not be posted elsewhere as this is an attempt to generate new content for the pairing on tumblr. Provided it fits one of the eventual themes however, we would love to see your contribution!

We’re excited to see what you’ve come up with,

Mods Kiki and Sky

[firelxrdsdaughter]

Memories | Urzai Week Day 6

Urzai Week day 6: Memories

[A03]

just getting this in. right under the mark. oh god. xD Sorry for any errors in spelling and grammar. I am. Not even going to bother editing it this time. Thanks for reading! <3

Ursa and Iroh

.

The ferry to Ember Island, the 10th year of Zuko’s rule

Azula never once looks at her as they make their way by ferry to the little island where Ursa had spent so much of her children’s youths building something which had resembled a regular familial inner life. She wonders if Azula was old enough in those times passed to remember what little joy and peace the beach house had given their small family. She wonders if the thin young woman before her remembers crawling into her lap and demanding her attention when she’d been giving too much of it to Zuko.

The times before Azula had resorted to violence to turn Ursa’s head.

It strikes her, not for the first time, that violence is all Azula has ever really known. Even in exile she’d put herself to work (if the stories are to be believed - and certainly she believes them) through violent means. Dragging grown men to their reckonings.

Ursa’s gaze lingers on the stark profile of her daughter. She takes in the way that she holds herself. The haughty tip of her chin is all Ozai, as is the hard look in her eyes, and the way that she clasps her hands at the small of her back, legs planted firmly in place. But her eyes, if nothing else, are Ursa’s.

And if Ursa is being honest with herself her features her hers too. Even if they are a little harder; sharp at the edges.

The strength of the older woman’s gaze draws Azula’s attention, and Ursa smiles as warmly as she’s able at her daughter when she looks at her. The younger woman’s brow pinches. She turns her face away pointedly.

Ursa bites back a sigh.

She had been a fool to leave her children behind. He would have chased you to the ends of the earth if you’d taken them. She would not have been able to hide.

In her mind’s eye, Ursa sees the flash of Ozai’s dragon scale eyes, and the tight tip of his mouth akimbo. The telltale sign that he is displeased.

She shakes it away, and glances over her shoulder at Iroh sits, watching the two women silently, tea cupped between his palms. He smiles at Ursa warmly enough, though he does not show any teeth.

Even though they have mended their relationship somewhat since he return to the Capitol, she and Iroh are not as close as they once were. He has born the brunt of Ozai’s mistreatment of the children, she knows, and no doubt has wondered many times how she could have left them behind.

She supposes it must feel strange to him, considering his attachment to his own son. Ursa knows that it would not take much of his imagination to guess at why she had done what she'd done, which is why he never voices such concerns to her.

Ursa can sense Azula shifting at her side, and Iroh’s gaze flickers to the younger woman, a wink in his similarly amber irises as his expression becomes slightly more serious than before. He looks away when it is obvious that Azula has no intentions of doing anything violent. Yet.

Ursa wanders to sit beside him, pouring herself some tea to cradle between her palms, sighing out heavily.

“She will not even look at me,” she murmurs at her brother-in-law.

“A tactic that Ozai himself perfected for when he was angry with me,” Iroh answers slowly, shrugging his shoulders wearily. They have both been under duress since Azula’s return, Iroh because he has had to abandon his tea shop until further notice (her son has requested his presence indefinitely until he, too, has finally truly decided what to do with his sister), and Ursa because…well…It seems that the crux of many of Azula’s problems is her.

Not that her daughter will even allow her to address this.

“She really is like him, isn’t she?” Ursa turns her attention down to the tea in her hands, catching the shadow of her reflection in its dark surface. She lets her shoulders slump.

“Yes. He made certain of that, however…I suppose we are all at fault for that.” He remembers turning away from her even when she had been lying broken on the ground, bereft of her bending like his brother, an empty shell where once an eternal fire had raged.

The fire is there still, he can see, peering from beneath her placid surface. Perhaps not burning so hot as before. She seems as weary as he feels down in his bones.  He wishes that he had thought to ask Zuko to be allowed to take her with him to Ba Sing Se when he had left. Perhaps if he had paid the girl more mind she would not be…Whatever it is that she has become.

Ursa falls deeper into her distraction, nearly forgetting that her daughter stands not ten feet away from them as she mulls over what would be her best course of action. In the past she had been able to rely upon Iroh for advice in matters such as this, but he seems just as at a loss…Or perhaps more appropriately he seems to have given up on her daughter in a way that he did not give up on her son.

She has to wonder about it. It is a discussion for another day.

The dowager Fire Lady hears the scrape of her daughter’s shoes against the deck, looking up to see her turning to the both of them, surveying them down the length of her nose.

Ursa offers her another mild smile, and sees Iroh do the same out of the corner of her eye. Azula’s eyelids droop, and then she is rolling her eyes back into her head, turning from them stiffly and marching down the length of the small deck to stand…further away.

Ursa sighs again.

“I fear that I have permanently damaged my relationship with my daughter,” she tells Iroh blandly. The old man hums to himself, inclining his head.

“It will just take time. Azula was never a very open girl. I cannot assume that in her adulthood, having spent most of her adolescence in hiding, forgetting who she was, she has grown any more so. More likely, she has become even more insular. It is not ideal but…Nothing about this situation is, in all fairness.”

They have discussed as much before.

Ursa hesitates, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Forgive me for saying so brother, but…With you also in residence, I am rather convinced that I will do no better in reaching her than I have so far,” Ursa ventures. Iroh nods slowly in turn.

“I fear that you are right…But Zuko’s worries about her being alone with you are also no unfounded, sister.”

“That may be true,” she concedes. Ursa looks in the direction Azula has gone. Her daughter is a far smaller silhouette where she now stands looking back in the direction they have come rather than forward to their destination. “However…Perhaps when we reach Ember Island you could…”

“Take in a show,” he suggests, lifting his eyebrows.

Ursa smiles warmly at Iroh.

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

“There is always plenty to do on Ember Island,” he replies, “and I am certain that I can find a few things to keep me occupied for much longer than you might require.”

“I deeply appreciate it, Iroh.”

“Anything for my sister,” he intones gravely.

She looks again at the distant figure of her daughter, watching the wind grab hold of the dark curtain of the younger woman’s hair, tossing it to and fro at a whim.

Ursa

.

The Ember Island House, early afternoon

The house is still inside. Empty even of wait staff. Ursa has grown accustomed to caring for herself, though she has returned to her charmed life in the palace. Azula, too, seems more accustomed to caring for her own needs than to asking for servants to do so, and Iroh also has self-sufficiency down to an art.

Still, it’s obvious that it’s been lived in. On occasion. She cannot imagine that Zuko has had all that much time to enjoy in the Ember Island house with all of his duties, and keeping the citizens of the Nation from an all out revolt against his policies (easier in current years than it had been when she had first returned to the capitol with her son, but still a daily task).

Ursa watches her daughter disappear through the house and out of sight before she settles on her own course. She wanders up the grand staircase to the upper level, lugging her heavy bag of belongings with her.

The air is even more stifling up here.

In the relative cool of Caldera the suggestion to come to Ember Island had seemed a brilliant one. Now, in the deep summer heat of one of the more southern of their provinces, it seems foolish. Especially given the climes in which she’d lived in the Earth Kingdom.

She puffs her breath out through her lips, fanning herself wth her free hand and she looks around the long hallways of what had once been her prime residence.

Not much has changed, other than the feeling that it has been bereft of human life or presence for the majority of nearly two decades.

She wanders to the right, looking into still, empty, rooms and moving on. She pauses before the familiar double doors of what had been her shared quarters with Ozai. When they had been happy…When she had been happy.

Ursa wanders around the room, letting her fingers glide across the walls. They come away with a film of grey dust at the tips. Wiping her hand on her light summer robe Ursa sighs out deeply for what feels the thousandth time since she and her small group have left the capitol and falls to the bed in the center of the room.

She lies back, gazing at the shabby canopy, blinking lazily in the silence.

And then there is a crash.

It’s muffled. In a distant part of the house. Another follows, and another. Shouts come too.

Ursa bolts upright, stumbling out of the room. She runs down the hall, heart hammering in her ears, trips down the stairs with her skirts hiked in her hands, heading toward the sounds of destruction and grunting.

When she finally comes upon the scene it is to see Azula wielding an antique spear about the room, tearing up books and shelving, a great slash across the portrait of their family that still sits ensconced between the book cases. Ursa braves the storm, ducking under her daughter’s next erratic swing, catching her wrists in her hands, grip sturdy.

Azula is likely stronger than her, but Ursa is still larger than her daughter has managed to grow up to be. The younger woman screams at her, wordless, rage full, and then releases the spear.

It clatters uselessly to the floor between them, and Ursa lowers their hands slightly, searching Azula’s pinched expression with wide amber eyes.

“Azula…”

“Stop! Stop it!” The younger woman’s head drops, and her legs sink under her weight, dragging them both down to the floor to kneel. Broken sobs escape intermittently between breaths from her daughter, and Ursa feels the wetness of tears against her skin.

She pulls Azula close, wrapping herself around her in the dim room, calm amidst the destruction.

“I’m not going to stop it,” she tells her steadily then, “because you’re my daughter, and I love you. I know that you don’t want to talk to me, or see me, really, but we cannot leave things unsaid between us forever.”

“Why not,” Azula asks thickly. Ursa sighs yet again, turning her nose into her daughter’s hair. She breathes in the scent of jasmine and sweat.

“Because if we leave things then they will only get worse, and we want them to get better, don’t we?”

This is the most that they have spoken in the three months since Azula’s return to the Fire Nation.

“I don’t care.”

Ursa has begun to be able to tell when Azula is lying. It’s subtle, and difficult to notice, but there is a difference, a small one, between her truths and her lies. At least, Ursa believes that there is. She believes, too, that Azula does want to get better. Why else would she have simply disappeared instead of affecting a coup?

There have been plenty of chances over the years. Even without her bending there are many who would have stood behind her if she had chosen to rally her father’s loyal soldiers. Especially with the downturn in the economy which has come with Zuko’s abrupt stop to the war.

She gathers her daughter close, rocking a little with her as she cries, looking over her shoulder at the portrait which she has destroyed. Her father’s face is the one through which the spear cut. Ursa’s gaze falls.

“Azula… I know that it is my fault for leaving you. I know that I didn’t do the right thing, that I shouldn’t have left you with your father. But he would have found us if I had taken you and Zuko. He would have made certain to.” Because he wanted you. He had always wanted their daughter as a weapon. He had wielded her as such long before Ursa had gone away, and he used her as one long after.

They’ve both damaged this child.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to go,” Azula answers, voice brittle. She younger woman sits away from her slightly, rubbing her nose on the back of her hand, looking away. Tear tracks shine against her sharp cheekbones.

“Perhaps not,” Ursa acquiesces, “but I think in the end you would have been happier, once you had gotten over it.”

Azula glances at her sidelong, and Ursa offers her a lopsided smile.

“You and Zuko…were not allowed to be children,” Ursa says then, truthful, “and I fear that I was no more help in that than your father was. I always let him get away with too much where the both of you were concerned.”

“Why?”

The question gives Ursa pause, and she leans against her hand on the grass mats, considering her daughter.

“Because I loved him…And did not want to see his flaws where fatherhood was concerned,” she answers plainly.

“You loved him?”

Again she is surprised by the question.

“Of course I did,” Ursa replies. She searches her daughter’s face as Azula turns to her finally.

“I never thought — I suppose I assumed that you were unhappy in your marriage.”

“Not…” Ursa pauses, collecting herself. “Not until the end. When I saw that your father was willing to…sacrifice Zuko at your grandfather’s will, I could not…I could not abide our agreement any longer.”

“Agreement?”

Ursa stares long at her daughter once again, surprised that Azula, of all people, has not guessed this by now. That Ursa had been more than happy to commit treason if it would satisfy her husband’s drive for something more. If it would mean that they could all be happy, and that power in the Fire Nation is — was tantamount to happiness.

“We agreed to help one another. Prop each other’s ambitions up. It’s what spouses do. If Ozai succeeded then I would succeed. And the two of you as well.”

“Mother…” Azula sounds genuinely surprised in turn. Ursa cannot help the smallest quirk of her lips.

“Is that so difficult to imagine.”

“I simply — “ Azula looks away and Ursa waits. “I suppose I had simply always…Taken you for a passive player in father’s grand schemes, is all.”

“I was hardly that.”

“I see…”

Ursa’s lips part.

“And you?”

“Hm?”

“Were you a passive player in your father’s grand schemes?”

Azula frowns.

“Of course not. I saw his vision. I wanted to help enact it.”

“So. We are not so different, in that,” Ursa points out.

Azula observes her almost cooly in response, obviously rethinking her stance on the past. On what her mother’s role had been in her life before she had gone. Ursa cannot say she’s sorry for this. Azula’s an adult now, and she understands the ways of the world.

Zuko understands, but has always been a little more naive than his sister. Ursa could never tell him that she had been complicit in some of Ozai’s schemes. He knows of her role in Azulon’s death, and that is all. That is all that he needs to know.

“I suppose not,” Azula concedes finally. She looks around them, seeming suddenly wearied. Ursa is always unnerved by how quickly Azula seems to go from bright eyed to dull.

“I’m sorry…about the mess,” she murmurs to Ursa. The older woman shrugs, waving a dismissive hand around at the mess.

“We can clean it up. No real harm done.”

“Of course.”

Together they stand, Ursa supporting Azula a moment before they turn to the bitter work of cleaning up their memories from the floor. Ursa looks once more at the tattered remains of her husband’s portrait. Perhaps it is better if he only lives in their memories.