Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Azula hadn’t meant to like them, honestly.

Being reborn had been a painfully dreary affair, even with people doting on her endlessly.

She’s sure she took her new family by surprise when, at the age of one, after remaining silent out of pure spite and righteous fury at the universe, Azula’s first words had been –

“Unhand me this instant, you impudent swine!”

The shock on the face of the sour-faced uncle that was holding her at arm’s length was rather amusing, she supposes. Of course, she’s sure her bewildered family were not expecting her to follow it up with –

“Are you deaf? Unhand me. I am the princess of the Fire Nation!”

The uncle very carefully set her on her feet, where she had proceeded to march over to her stern-faced father, still and awed as he sat seiza, and climb up onto his shoulders. There, she succeeded in looking down her nose at the unfavourable uncle, only to say –

“You are dismissed, old man. We are not in need of your droning commentary this afternoon. Goodbye.”

The uncle – ah, Kagari, she thinks his name was – had blinked at her once, slowly. Then he had looked to her father, sitting stern and still, and then her mother, who was valiantly pressing her lips together to refrain from either laughing or yelling.

And then the man got up, and did as she had commanded.

Her parents had sat in that room in silence for another minute in his absence. Azula, rather comfortable with the quiet, had taken it upon herself to play with her father’s rather silky hair.

“Kagami-chan,” her mother’s voice had been soft and deceptively sweet. She’d watched this woman puppet the entire clan and half the village with her artful manipulation of words. “All this time you’ve been holding out on us.”

Kagami, after her father’s famed uncle. A great man. Azula had distantly wondered if it was her destiny to be named for men who she was bound to surpass.

Azula sighed then, and climbed from her father’s shoulders, ignoring the steady hands he provided as footholds – she didn’t need them, damn it.

“Terribly sorry, mother,” except she wasn’t, and if her mother’s sharp-eyed stare was any indication, the woman knew it.

Point being, she hadn’t intended to like these people.

But then her father had said –

“My cute Kagami-chan, already giving orders,” with his too-stern face and a voice full of warmth, and Azula’s response had been to square her shoulders and declare –

“I am not cute! I will crush my enemies!”

But these people – her parents – had only smiled. And her father had said –

“Of course you will, darling.”

And her mother –

“And you’ll make sure they never get up again.”

And, well. Wasn’t that refreshing?

.

The universe saw fit to damn her with not one, but two brothers this time around.

The older one, Itachi, is soft spoken and gentle. He teaches her five ways to hamstring a man by the time she’s two, though, so she supposes his status as her sibling is redeemable.

Sasuke, on the other hand, reminds her of Zuko with burning ferocity. His easy smiles and his foolish naivete rankle at her unceasingly.

“Come play, Kagami-chan!”

He’s five years older than her, damn him. And he wants to play, like they’re children.

Well, she thinks, looking down at her stubby toddler legs, she supposes they are. For the time being.

“Fight me,” she demands of her stupid smiley brother, scowling, “my age is my only weakness, brother.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” and his big brown eyes are too full of concern, “I can help you train, though.”

He shows her the first moves of an unfamiliar kata. She’s already got the ones from her old life memorised, but this new land with its strange customs seems to mix all styles of bending movement into their standard forms.

“Too much earth,” she grumbles to herself, shifting into the next stance. This one has too much water, but she continues copying Sasuke with practiced ease. Her little body is surprisingly limber and recovers quickly from over exertion.

“Huh?” Sasuke doesn’t stop his forms, only looks down at her confusedly, “What was that?”

“That was my victory calling!” she yells, and then charges him. He dodges out of the jab she sends at him, and then again out of the way of her axe-kick.

“Woah, Kagami-chan! You’re super fast!”

“Don’t patronise me, fool!” she spits, and for a blinding second she only sees Zuko, six and happy, Zuko, being fawned over by their mother, Zuko, weak and pathetic and –

She draws from her chi, falls into the easy, sharp movements of her bending, and sends a swathe of blue flames in an arc towards her annoying brother.

He ducks beneath it with a yelp, and stays on the ground, panting. He’s staring at her, she realises.

But – but –

He’s not Zuko. There’s no horror on his face, no fear in his eyes.

Instead, Sasuke looks awed.

“Kagami-chan!” he scurries forward, reaching for her hands. She’s too slow to pull back, wincing as his grubby fingers grip at hers. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she scoffs, “I’m not an amateur.”

Sasuke cocks his head, and for a second she thinks he’s going to ask her what the word amateur means, and then he says –

“That was awesome! Father! Aniki! Come here!” he bellows in the direction of the house. They’re only in their neat, proper backyard.

Azula scowls at the back door as her father and Itachi appear in a flash.

“Kagami-chan performed a fire jutsu!” Sasuke babbles excitedly, “And it was blue!”

Azula huffs, pulling her hands from his, “What did you expect? I’m the genius princess of the Fire Nation. I am the best.”

“Blue?” Itachi echoes, eyeing her hands worriedly as they approach.

“Yes, yes, my Kagami-chan is a princess, and Sasuke is her honourable knight.” Their father’s voice is warm despite his deadpan expression.

“Father, please,” Azula replies flatly, “I’m being serious.”

“Of course,” her father’s lips tilt up then, the slightest, “you’re my princess.”

She scowls harder, ignoring the flush to her cheeks, and the fury burning at her chest – wait, no. That’s not fury. And it’s less burning and more tickling, gentle candle warmth. Ugh, ew.  

“Show them, show them!” Sasuke is bouncing in place, eyes alight with excitement, “Please, imouto!”

Huffing, but straightening her shoulders all the same, Azula marches a few metres away in her tiny two-year-old form, and refocuses. Her body falls into the beautiful sharp fluidity that so mirrors the flames she bends, and she performs her katas perfectly.

Her flames dance bright, vibrant blue, with their white-hot centres, and her arcs and kicks and jabs are seamless and strong. When she comes to a stop on one knee, her brothers and father are staring.

“Where did you learn that?” Itachi is the first one forward, holding her little hands in his, searching for burns, “Are you hurt, imouto?”

“I’m fine,” but she can’t bring herself to pull away from his warm, calloused hands. “I – well-”

She scowls, furious at her stutter. The genius of the Fire Nation, stuttering under a teeny tiny lie? Shameful.

“The fire tells me all I need to know,” she declares, “I already told you. I’m the princess of the Fire Nation, and I will be the next Fire Lord.”

“Fire Lord?” Sasuke cocks his stupid, adorable – wait not adorable. Yes adorab- no, foolish. He cocks his stupid, foolish, naïve head, and looks to his father, “Does she mean the Hokage?”

“Did I stutter?” she spits, “I will be the next Fire Lord and-”

“My daughter,” her father only narrowly escapes being set alight as she watches him raise a hand to set over his heart, “my very own Kagami-chan, striving for Hokage.”

Damn it all, she hates that she can hear the pride in his voice. That she can see the small upward tilt of Itachi’s lips, despite concern still in his dark gaze. That Sasuke is smiling at her like she’s some beautiful dainty flower and not destined to be the supreme ruler of the nation.

It’s only a little later that she realises he doesn’t smile at flowers or delicate things. Sasuke smiles in the face of danger, smiles at powerful, deadly things, and he had smiled at her.

She guesses he might be alright to keep around, too.

Chapter Text

Azula sits in her high-chair, glaring at her mother while the woman ignores her.

Sasuke is glancing between them curiously, but is obviously too meek to ask.

Itachi is resolutely ignoring that there’s any tension at the dinner table at all.

But her father – her most avid supporter – finally speaks up.

“Mikoto, why is Kagami-chan-”

“She went to day-care today,” says Mikoto evenly.

The table falls sharply into silence.

“I can’t believe you,” Azula’s tone curls with disgust, and she hopes it turns her mother’s stomach.

“Kagami,” her mother only sighs, preparing to brush her off. Again.

“They’re all animals,” she hisses, fist clenching around her stupid, pink, miniature chopsticks. The fact that they’re cute enough that she actually likes them only fuels her current rage.

“How could you put me there, without a shred of civilised company?” she spits, “I saw a boy throw his own shit today, mother. With his bare hands. And then he chased the other children around, trying to smear it onto anyone within reach.”

At this, even Itachi starts to look a little green.

“I had to take him out, of course. An outbreak of e. coli would be disgusting.” Azula’s fists slam into her highchair tray. “And then I got sent to the naughty corner! For doing my fellow inmates a service, and saving those buffoons that call themselves childcare workers from getting sued-”

“Mikoto,” her father sounds like he’s had the breath punched out of him, “how could you?”

"As if they could ever confine me to a corner with the weak staff at hand, honestly, it was insulting-"

“I don’t want to hear it, Fugaku,” she holds up a perfectly manicured hand, “I’m going back to work, and as mature as our daughter is, I’m not leaving her alone. She’s barely three.”

“I won’t be going back there again,” Azula declares, leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, you will,” her mother responds in a no-nonsense tone that usually stops Sasuke an Itachi in their tracks.

“Try it,” Azula bares her tiny baby teeth, “I’ll just escape, and stage a rebellion against your tyranny.”

“A rebellion, Kagami-chan?” Mikoto raises a brow, “You and what army?”

“Fool,” Azula snaps, “you think I need an army? I’ll do it singlehandedly, watch and learn, mother-”

“Mikoto, Kagami-chan,” her father interrupts them dryly, “there will be no more day-care. If our daughter does not wish to go, I will not force her.”

Mikoto narrows her eyes, and Azula watches her father, swallow under the pressure of her gaze. Pssht. Weak.

“In that case,” Mikoto says, turning back to her food with the air of someone who is very done with this conversation, “you can figure out what to do with your daughter on the days I’ll be working.”

Azula watches her father with expectant eyes.

“I will take her to work with me,” he says it simply, and with a pleased air about him, as though this was the best possible outcome.

“Only if you let me do something,” she demands, “I refuse to let my brain rot of boredom. Understood, father?”

“Yes, my princess,” he smiles, and an angry flush heats Azula’s cheeks. Must he?

Well, she supposes she is royalty. And he is the only one who actively acknowledges that.

She will go to work with him without complaint.

.

“I did not agree to this,” Azula huffs, attempting to maintain some form of dignity in her cursed position.

“I can move much faster this way, princess,” her father explains rather dryly, “and my arms are free in case of an attack.”

“I’m not an imbecile, I understand that much,” she snaps back, “I still hate it.”

Her father had somehow managed to wrangle her into a harness – a baby carrier, he told her – that slings over his shoulders and sits at his chest. It wouldn’t be so bad if it had been designed with her mobility in mind.

No, she can’t even cross her arms because the blasted padded saddle holding her torso is in the way.

It’s simply undignified to be holstered at her father’s front like a tiny, useless piece of decoration, legs and arms protruding from the bright yellow carrier, mostly immobile.

She glares at anyone and everyone that dares look her way.

Commoners should be bowing down before her, not cooing and pointing and smiling, curse it all!

She scowls the entire way to her father’s place of work, interest beginning to pique as they ascend the steps to a building with KONOHA MILITARY POLICE in bold black kanji above the entranceway.

It’s easy to maintain her glare as they enter what appears to be a reception area. The two officers on duty salute her father, obviously trying very hard not to stare.

Hm. Disciplined.

They enter a large room, where desks are separated by partitions. Along one wall, chalk boards sit. The one adjacent to it is full of pinboards, full of orderly information. People – mostly men, Azula notes with distaste – though she sees a few women here and there – are conversing in small, serious groups.

At the sight of her father, they quieten down.

“Good morning,” her father addresses the office in a clear, no-nonsense tone.

“Good morning, chief!” comes the unanimous chorus.

Azula lets herself be mildly impressed at their synchronicity, and at the clear command her father has over them.

“Team leaders, assemble in meeting room three. I expect the rest of you to show Konoha the fire of our justice today.”

It should sound foolish, this ridiculous play on words. But, well. He did use ‘fire’, and Azula doesn’t hate it. She decides not to set his hair alight for using the cringe-worthy phrase.

“We’ll serve the village with all our hearts!” the force declares back, once again in sync.

Azula eyes the people they pass as they head for what must be meeting room three. No one is giving her father a second glance, despite the fact that it must be highly unusual to see him bring anyone to work, let alone his toddler child.

She watches with sharp, predatory eyes as ten men and three women file into the room and settle around the round table. Their family emblem features at the centre of the table, red and white and not entirely unpleasant to look at.

Azula still prefers the flame motifs of her past life, but this will do. For now.

“Chief, I have a most urgent matter to discuss,” says a man who is obviously a Nara, “the Scissor-Killer case – I have a potential lead but would like to put forward the viable options to the other team leaders for consideration before moving forward.”

Only now does anyone acknowledge her, the Nara looking pointedly from Azula to the case file in his hands.

He must read a similar, unimpressed expression on both she and father’s faces, because with a small clearing of his throat, he begins.

“As you know, we’ve faced difficulty profiling this suspect. A close inspection of their family, friends, and associates was unsuccessful, which led us to the loose conclusion that this might be a random murder.”

Azula listens with interest and mounting impatience as he goes on.

“However, half a year has passed since this case opened, and we weren’t getting any new leads. My team has revisited every piece of evidence, re-analysed all the interviews, and has consulted with a few new officers for different perspectives, and we have found something which may be of use.”

He opens the folder and sets it on the table.

Azula can’t quite make out what’s in it, and her current position doesn’t let her manoeuvre enough to see it.

“A new officer suggested we check surrounding villages for any murders or missing persons, and after following a few leads we discovered two other cases exhibiting similarities to the Scissor-Killer file.”

Azula squirms in the harness, kicking at her father to be let loose. He pats her head gently, and she scoffs, trying to reach up to grab his hand and force him into compliance.

Unfortunately, the stupid straps mean she can’t lift her arms, and bending her elbows gets her nowhere.

She lets fire consume her fists, making it very clear to her father that if he doesn’t let her down immediately, the harness and possibly his clothes, will be set alight without remorse.

He undoes the buckles keeping her in place, and she wriggles herself free as the officer continues with his breakdown of the potential suspects.

Finally – finally - Azula is set down. The moment her feet touch the surface of the meeting table, she strides over to the open and reads through its contents at speed, listening to the officer talk all the while.

“- current position, hence the third option which would be to pull in the suspects for questioning unrelated to the case in order to obtain evidence from their premises or workplaces while they are out.”

There’s a moment of silence as the others digest the bulk of information he has given them.

“You said you’ve been working on this for six months?” Azula demands turning to face him. Annoyingly, his gaze darts towards her father briefly before returning to her.

“Yes.”

She snorts, pleased that it sounds as dignified as ever, and begins strolling the length of the table, arms twined leisurely behind her back.

“Father, really. A whole team of grown men, and not a single shred of ability between them,” she sends him a condescending look, “I was impressed, at first. I thought you ran a tight ship. Now I see I was mistaken.”

She resumes her walk, ignoring the eyes on her now.

“Explain, please, Kagami,” her father leaves the cutesy chan off her name for once, and she can’t decide whether to be elated or disappointed.

“It was obviously the neighbour couple that comforted the children after they found their mother in the bathroom,” she says it with complete conviction. “Their background reflects that they were in the capital at the time of the case that shares eerie similarities with this one.”

It’s so blatantly clear to her, really.

“They ran a tailoring business, so it’s not a far cry to assume that they often travel to source expensive and rare materials and dyes for their clients. Though the village that the other case occurred in is not on a direct path to Konoha, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out that they made a detour between leaving the capital and arriving in Konoha.”

Azula cocks her head at the lead investigator.

“Check their arrival date against their last transaction in the capital. I’m sure you’ll find they took more than the necessary three days to get here, that’s for sure.”

Satisfaction stirs in her gut at the serious, considering look in the man’s eyes.

“You haven’t been able to profile a single person because it’s not one person acting alone. This couple are doing it together – it would explain why their victims, all young females, felt comfortable letting a man into their homes while they were alone. If he had a woman with him – his wife – there’s no doubt that the victims would have been lulled into a false sense of security.”

She wanders back to her father, who has set the harness on the floor. Though his face is stoic and difficult to read, she can see pride in the glint of his dark eyes.

“Look into them more,” Azula says over her shoulder, “they’re it.”

“Agreed,” Fugaku says, extending his arms to her in question.

After a moment’s consideration, Azula steps forward and allows him to lift her. He settles her against his hip, and she stares down the officers from her new perch, indisputably regal.

“Good job, Kagami-chan.” Half the officers startle at the warmth in her father’s tone – or maybe at the stupid cutesy nickname – it doesn’t really matter. The other half just appear disturbed, which Azula is rather proud of.

“Next,” she says, in lieu of acknowledging the warmth in her chest, in her cheeks, at the praise of her father in front of his highest ranked subordinates.

A different officer steps forward, file in hand, and presents his case.

They break when it’s Azula’s naptime. Someone has set up a cot in her father’s office, filled with soft blankets and firm pillow. They’ve also made sure the entire thing is red and black, which she deems acceptable.

“Sleep well, my princess,” her father places a kiss on her forehead as she’s drifting off to sleep, and she just barely has the energy to scowl blearily up at him.

“That’s my girl.”

Chapter Text

Azula’s giddy and impatient by the time she convinces one of her family members to let her handle weapons. She’s truly terrible at the little throwing stars that Itachi tries to start her on, so they move onto little well-balanced kunai instead.

She lifts them from their box, and the feel of them in her hand reminds her so suddenly of Mai that she freezes.

“Kagami-chan?” Itachi’s voice is soft, concerned.

With a blink, Azula realises her throat has gone tight and her eyes are stinging.

“Imouto, is everything alright? Did you hurt yourself?” he’s kneeling before her now, prying her white-knuckled grip apart to remove the weapons from her hold. “How can I help?”

She surprises herself, and definitely Itachi, with the sob that tears from her chest.

A second – just a glimpse, of his startled brown eyes, and then – gods, what is this feeling?

Arms, around her.

A warm chest, the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

Her brother’s voice, soft and comforting as he runs his hand down her back.

Azula wants to push him away. To scowl at her own reflection in the mirror until the hurt stops tearing its way up her chest and out her throat. She wants to cut her hair and breathe fire and wreak destruction because that’s what she’s good at.

She wants to prove that she’s the monster they say she is, the monster whose own mother can’t love her, whose father uses her like the weapon she is. Whose friends finally turn their back based on feelings Azula’s never understood.

The monster who would hurt – who would try to kill – the brother that, in the end, had only wanted to help her.

But that brother is not this brother, who holds her close and teaches her dangerous things.

This brother, who hasn’t yet seen the ugly, mottled parts of her, bitter and terrible.

Not good enough.

Never good enough.

Gods, she doesn’t even know how to be good.

And hadn’t that been the heart of the chasm that separated her from them?

“Imouto,” Itachi’s rocking them gently now, “I’m here, okay?”

She’s shaking hard, crying and clinging, weak –

“-not – not - good enough-” she chokes on the words, but there’s no way he could possibly understand what she means.

Ty Lee, Mai, Zuko. Father. Mother – Mother –

And Azula, striving for perfection, but it was never – never enough –

“Kagami,” Itachi’s hands are on her shoulders now. She’s in his lap, in the middle of the dojo, and she’s still trembling like a leaf. “Who made you think that?”

She realises he’d been listening to her babbling, and the resulting shame and embarrassment threatens to rocket her into a rage.

Only, his eyes aren’t soft and pitying. No, her gentle brother is furious, and she can read it in the stiff line of his shoulders, in the fire burning in his usually placid gaze.

“I’m not good enough,” she hiccups, and to her frustration, the tears keep coming, “I – you’re all going to realise it soon enough. And then you’ll leave, like-”

“No.”

Itachi’s frowning now, and his hands have moved from her shoulders to her cheeks. He tilts her face up, wiping at her tears with his thumbs.

“We will never leave you,” there’s steel in his tone, the promise of blood beneath it, “I will never leave you, Imouto. Not for anything.”

Her traitorous lip wobbles, and she thinks remorsefully that she might have to kill him after all, now that he’s seen her cry.

“You are a marvel, Kagami,” conviction, in every syllable that leaves his mouth, “and you have already made our family proud. Nothing will change that. Here, you are more than enough.”

“But – I – Once you see what I am, you’ll realise-”

“What I see,” Itachi’s voice is somehow both steely and soft in the same breath, “is my sister. She is strong willed, smart, vicious. She is deadly and capable, and still only three. She is – She is loved, by her mother and father, by Sasuke. By me, Kagami.”

Azula can feel her face crumpling, and her tiny hands grasp at her brother’s wrists too tightly as she tries to ground herself.

“But-”

“No buts,” he’s smiling now, she can just tell. Her eyes are too damn blurry to see anything through, but she can hear it. “If you are struggling, speak up. Your family will help you, always.”

I don’t need help, fool, is her reflexive response. But her throat is still too tight, and her chest is both hurting and warm, an odd juxtaposition that leaves her off balance and unable to voice her retort.

Yep, totally what’s stopping her from snapping at him.

It’s nothing to do with his hands, still cradling her face, or the words he’s so artfully twisted to soothe her. Manipulative. He’s definitely his mother’s son.

“Don’t-” she sniffles, once she’s managed to get herself under control, “don’t tell anyone you saw me cry, or I’ll end you.”

His laugh makes her own cheeks tug up into a wet, splotchy smile.

“That’s my vicious imouto,” he pulls her close for a hug, and she gracefully lets him. “I won’t say a word.”

“Good,” she sniffs, getting off his lap, and wiping at her wet face with her sleeve. She picks up the kunai again, and turns towards the targets. “They wouldn’t believe you anyway.”

She can hear the smile in his tone as he says, “Let’s begin, Imouto.”

Chapter Text

“What are you doing, imouto?” Sasuke’s voice is soft as he peeks into the bathroom.

Azula ignores him, frowning at her reflection. How is it possible to be reborn, yet look almost exactly as she had before? Down to the shape of her lips, the texture of her hair, even her complexion?

The only difference here is the colour of her eyes – a deep brown, so dark they appear to be black. She’s still three (and a half, but despicably young, regardless), but she’d seen her baby pictures – and there had been plenty. She’d been the only princess of the Fire Nation, entire books had been filled with photographs and paintings of her at every stage in her life.

She even has the same chubby cheeks here. It’s infuriating.

“Is everything okay?” her foolish little brother steps tentatively into the room, and her gaze snaps to his in the reflection of the mirror.

“What do you want?” she demands flatly.

“Nothing,” his gaze is so genuine, so open, that she forcibly resists the urge to snarl at him, just to see the look on his face. “You’ve just been in here a while, frowning at yourself.”

Azula raises a brow. Her ‘and? What of it?’ is implied.

He frowns, at first contemplative, and then worried, finally settling – concerningly – on firm resolve.

She waits with waning patience, brow twitching.

“Imouto, you’re very cute.” He says with utter conviction.

Azula gives him one slow blink. Of course she’s cute. She’s not blind.

“I- we are learning about disguises at the academy,” he blurts suddenly, and she inhales deeply, channelling patience. Because, as she’s been reminding herself, he is quite literally only a child.

Azula hates children, but that’s not the point.

Adults deserve every tongue lashing, every fireball, every incident of blackmailed compliance they get. They should know better.

Her brother, on the other hand? Her sweet, naïve, weak little – mentally, that is – brother?

He’s still learning.

For him, well. That just means he gets exactly three chances before he gets a fist of fire squarely to the face, child or not. She will ensure he does learn, and she will drag him to understanding kicking and screaming.

 He seems to be waiting on a response of some kind.

“Yes. Disguises. Very good.” She intones boredly.

He swallows nervously, hands fisting at his sides.

“Let me practice on you, Imouto?”

Azula respects his resolve. He obviously has a healthy amount of caution around her, and yet.

He would risk bodily harm for a chance at this opportunity.

“Don’t think I’m not going to critique you because you’re a beginner,” she warns, climbing onto the vanity from her perch on the annoyingly (cute) pink footstool that she’d been utilising. It’s not hers. She only threatened her family not to use it in case they broke it, in which case she’d have to wait for it to be replaced. That would be supremely annoying.

She doesn’t like it, at all. Or the stickers of shiruken and kunai that she peppered onto the landing because they were so ugly, they needed to be stepped on. Her father had brought them home one day, a measly gift for her.

She had set half on fire before him, and only spared the other half because her mother had shrieked about burning the tatami again.

Azula takes care to glare at Sasuke as he carefully picks up the footstool and sets it aside.

He opens the cabinet beneath the vanity, and pulls out their mother’s cosmetic bag. She’d already given them the rundown on what was and wasn’t poisonous a few months back, so Azula knows its exact contents.

“Close your eyes, please,” Sasuke murmurs, serious as he assesses his arsenal. “No peeking.”

Azula rolls her eyes once more, but humours him. While she’s idle she fluctuates her chakra, an exercise Itachi had informed her would broaden her reserves.

Sasuke begins applying makeup to her face, calloused fingers gentle as they tilt her face this way and that. With the amount of time and assumed produce he spends, she’s sure she’ll look like a wreck.

She’s almost giddy at the thought of the scathing criticism she’s sure to dish out.

Only, when he gives her permission to open her eyes after thirty long minutes, she’s momentarily stunned into silence.

“The aim of this disguise was to make you appear extra cute and harmless.” He sounds a little hesitant. “I made sure to emphasise the cherubic elements of your face.”

By the fires of hell, he’s done exactly that. Azula looks… soft. Angelic. Like a real, clueless child.

Sasuke hasn’t gone overboard with the makeup at all, using it minimally to create a softened effect. All that time with the brushes was to blend what little he did apply.

“This is acceptable,” she states, assessing her face from a few angles.

“Really?” Sasuke sounds pathetically hopeful. It makes her want to crush him.

“Did I stutter?” she snaps sharply, barely resisting the urge, but he’s still smiling when she turns to look at him.

“Come closer,” she demands, scowling.

He stands before her, looking happy, and clueless. Gods, she hates it.

Not him, though. She’s decided that she doesn’t hate him.

Yet.

“Teach me,” she demands, picking up a brush and inspecting it with a critical eye.

Sasuke flounders for a moment, clearly stunned.

“I – Okay, I’ll get the makeup remover-”

“Not on me,” she breathes deeply, willing herself not to set him alight, “on you. Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

If they end up spending the rest of the day in the bathroom together, well. That’s Azula’s business.

Chapter Text

Mikoto is under no illusions about her daughter.

She might have Fugaku wrapped around her finger, but Mikoto had once been young and clever and cunning to boot – she knows exactly who their daughter takes after.

Kagami has been intelligent since she opened her eyes for the first time. Not in the gradual, realistic learning way Itachi had been, either.

A quick intelligence, unnatural and unsettling – something that Mikoto had been proud to create.

Mikoto’s a genjutsu specialist. Creating terrors is something she actively invests time into.

It hadn’t upset her that Itachi and Sasuke shared none of her temperament, or that neither were particularly ambitious.

And then Kagami came along, with enough of both to make up for all of them.

Kagami’s first words had been: Unhand me this instant, you impudent swine!

As startled as Mikoto had been in that instant, she hadn’t truly been surprised. Her daughter’s uncanny ability to glare from the moment she was born had hinted at her personality.

Only, Mikoto hadn’t expected to clash with her so swiftly. Kagami had the mindset of a teen – almost an adult – from that moment onwards.

Fiercely independent, scornful of any affection or advice, she had refused to wear diapers after revealing she could, in fact, talk. She had insisted on critiquing Mikoto’s cooking for lacking spice. She had openly challenged the authority of Fugaku and Mikoto at almost every opportunity.

Then, her talent for fire jutsu. Admittedly, Mikoto thought Sasuke might have been exaggerating, but she had watched the girl train since, and was greeted with a mastery that not many Uchiha end up possessing after years of extensive training.

It made her proud, to watch her little girl manipulate blue flames, linking taijutsu and ninjutsu with astounding fluidity, barely three years old.

She’s strong, and passionate, and Mikoto is eager to see the mark she will make on the world.

“Uchiha-sama! Uchiha-sama,” a chunin is gasping, obviously having completed multiple flash-steps back-to-back, “please, there’s been an incident-”

Mikoto is before the chunin in a flash, concerned.

“Speak,” she urges calmly, reigning in her chakra tight.

“The – the park – the children-”

Mikoto doesn’t need to hear more than that. Kagami had swindled Fugaku into allowing her to ‘amass a following’ with the other children at the park, with only a few other – admittedly, older – clan children to accompany her.

She arrives on scene just as the village-wide chakra alarm flares in a very distinctive pattern.

Infiltrators.

She takes just a moment to assess the scene before her. There are assailants – four of them, in fact – though three are twitching on the ground, incapacitated.

The last one is defending against –

Mikoto tenses, sharingan whirling to life to capture the moment her daughter wields lightning, striking down the man. While he’s in the midst of a spasm, she uses her distinctly sharp taijutsu to kick him across the face, sending him careening to the ground.

She’s only three – almost four now – but standing amongst her felled enemies, she holds herself with all the power and prowess of Madara himself.

Mikoto experiences an enormous rush of pride, so heady that she struggles in deactivating her sharingan.

“Oh, mother,” Kagami, has noticed her, “don’t worry, I didn’t get any blood on myself.”

Her daughter is already moving between the men.

“Three are dead, but I kept that one alive,” she prods at one with her foot, “for questioning.”

“Excellent work, Kagami-chan,” Mikoto smiles warmly at her, an expression just as comfortable on her face before three dead men and one severely injured one than it would be in her home.

Kagami’s shoulders straighten slightly, satisfaction shining in her dark eyes as Mikoto reaches out to pat her on the head.

“Oh look, dear, you mastered the garotte I taught you last week. Wait until I tell your father, he’ll be so proud!”

Kagami puffs up incrementally with pride, and Mikoto’s chest feels full to bursting. Her deadly little daughter, as much as she tries to act above it, is easily pleased by well-earnt praise. Gorgeous little thing. Gods, Fugaku will be upset to have missed it.

Mikoto only has one concern for her daughter. Kagami is fierce and independent, spiteful and cunning, and she goes about her days as though she’s seen worse.

How does an Uchiha, unaffected by the world or their own emotions, activate their sharingan?

Later, as she shows Fugaku their daughter’s easy takedown of the infiltrators via genjutsu, she muses that Kagami might never need it, anyway.

It’s best not to be too reliant on one’s bloodline limit.

.

Fugaku loves his daughter.

Of course, he loves his wife, and both of his sons – make no mistake.

But the moment Kagami opened her eyes, glaring out at the world, a tiny spitfire of a thing, the ground had dropped out from beneath his feet.

She, to this day, is the cutest baby – and child – ever. Ever.

And then she had opened her mouth at the age of one, her words perfectly enunciated as she voiced exactly what she thought. No political dithering or consideration for anyone or anything – just full fireball ahead, no warning.

He had honestly not known it was possible to love another human being so much.

Oh, sure, it would have been perfectly cute and sweet if she had shared Itachi’s disposition, or even Sasuke’s. Shy, and clever, and gentle.

His daughter would take that description, stomp it into the mud, set it alight, and then do the same to all words of a similar sentiment without a second thought.

And, spirits help him – that was devastatingly, debilitatingly, adorable.

If he had to describe his daughter with one word, it would be: ferocious.

Yes, ferocious covered it. It implied beauty, grace, a fierce, instinctive violence. Quick wits and a quicker temper.

Kagami-chan, at three, had frankly terrified his team leaders at the KMP. And Fugaku had loved it.

People talk about his sons – both of them – frequently. Itachi is undoubtedly a genius, and Sasuke, while not as instinctively talented, is not too far behind.   

Gods, none of them know what’s coming with Kagami-chan.

It fills him with glee to think about her outwitting and overpowering her opponents with ease. Her deductive reasoning, instinctive leadership, and unwavering ambition will make waves in Konoha, and no doubt the rest of the world.

“Father,” she says it imperially, as though she’s addressing him on a throne instead of on the pier over the lake. “It’s time I learnt this fireball jutsu I’ve been hearing about.”

Fugaku raises an amused brow, “Kagami-chan, that’s a coming-of-age jutsu-”

“I know perfectly well what it is, father,” she interrupts smoothly, “I’m sure it’s well within my abilities.”

Oh, he’s sure of it. He had just hoped she’d at least wait until her fourth birthday.

She taps her foot impatiently, and any resistance he had to the plan crumbles, ash scattering into the wind. How could he say no?

“Fire,” he says gravely, “is the oldest tradition of our clan, Kagami-chan.”

She’s staring at him, focused intently. So cute.

“Older, even, than our sharingan,” he crouches to her height, and raises his hand between them. Atop each of his fingers, a finely controlled flame sits. Not near enough to lick at his skin, but enough to heat his callouses.

“Uchiha, for the fan that fuels the flames,” he nods to the symbol embroidered on her training shirt. “Chakra has been around longer than even ninja have.”

“Of course it has,” she responds, huffing, “chi - chakra is the flow of life. Every being has chakra.”

“They do,” Fugaku nods, resisting the urge to boop her on the nose. “Our clansmen – warriors and civilians alike – learnt to mould theirs to just the right consistency. And then-”

Fugaku flicks his wrist, turning up his palm. A larger flame hovers above his hand, steady and glowing in the late afternoon light.

“Fire,” he says, watching Kagami’s gaze as she locks in on his hand. “No longer were the nights a chore, or winter a threat. It warmed our hearths and fuelled our forges, enabling our clan to produce their own wares. Wire and shiruken, kunai and senbon.”

He makes the fire dance briefly, splitting into separate flames that twist and twine.

“Only,” he smiles, and it’s one reserved only for Kagami, “we never forgot its beauty, or its dangers.”

He clicks his fingers, and the flames burst into tiny fragments, separate licks morphing into little butterflies with wings like candlelight. They scatter, and then coalesce into a pretty group, flying in loops and twirls.

“What is this?” Kagami asks, and for once her tone lacks bite. “Fire is a weapon, father. It’s to showcase strength.”

She’s gazing, mesmerised, at the display. Good. He created this one specifically for her.

“Fire is life,” he responds, “and life is forceful and unyielding and harsh.”

She meets his eye then, and he can’t help the soft upturn of his lips at her focused expression.

“Fire is also delicate, and beautiful. Fan too strong, and it’ll go out. Lose control and it will destroy you. Fire is balance, my princess.”

She frowns, and he almost huffs out a laugh.

“We may use it as a weapon, but it should not be forgotten that it doesn’t have to be.”

Kagami raises an unimpressed brow, “So, you want to impress upon me the importance of learning pretty tricks as well as deadly techniques?”

Fugaku does laugh a little at that, and Kagami bristles a little.

“My strong girl,” he reaches out, flames clear of his hand now, and pats her head gently, “creating with fire,” he nods to the butterflies, still fluttering in pretty, lazy patterns, “and destroying with fire, are two sides of the same coin.”

He withdraws his hands, and Kagami hurries to ensure her hair hasn’t been mussed.

“We are Uchiha. We must not forget that.”

There is more he could say, about love, and its ability to warp into deep, terrible hate. That his clan with their affinity to fire, often live lives reflective of its properties.

But his daughter is only turning four in a few months, and he doesn’t want to peel back the layers to their clan’s curse. Not here, when the sun is near setting, and he has Kagami-chan’s full attention.

“Come now,” he stands, and takes a few steps to the edge of the pier, “let me show you the oldest tradition of our clan.”

He does it once. Explains his hand seals, describes the way her chakra should feel in her lungs, coming up her chest. Performs a moderately sized fireball that hovers in the air above the lake for a few moments as an example.

And then he steps back, and watches.

His daughter takes a few moments to ground herself. He can sense the flatline of her chakra, calm and focused.

She performs the hand seals with ease, raises two fingers to her mouth, and breathes a fireball so hot and massive that passing clan members stop to watch. Water steams off the lake, and the heat on the pier is almost unbearable, but Fugaku isn’t watching the fireball.

His gaze is on his daughter, who stands confident and focused, her control absolute.

His daughter – his princess – will be Hokage one day.

She’ll force her will, bend fate the way she bends flames, and he has no doubt that Konoha will be better for it.

It doesn’t matter that an Uchiha will finally be Hokage – spirits, his daughter could tell him she was going to franchise a tea house and he’d support her – what matters is that she’s happy, and strong.

Fugaku loves Kagami, and would conquer the world for her if she asked.

Only, he knows she’ll never ask.

If his daughter wants the world, he has no doubt that she’ll conquer it herself.

Chapter Text

Azula doesn’t quite understand her new family.

With Ozai, Ursa, and Zuko, it had been simple.

Mother loved Zuko.

Father loved Azula.

It had been neat, tidy.

There had been a time where she wanted mother’s approval, of course. But Azula had been a fast learner, and to earn her father’s love, she had to be perfect.

She couldn’t understand why Ozai’s perfect had only ever incited her mother’s disapproval.

Azula had weighed it up in her head back then. The soft smiles her mother only ever directed at Zuko, the hugs, the time they sat side by side feeding the turtleducks.

Her father, in contrast, was firm, and unimpressed. The slightest upturn of his lips to show his approval, the lack of his scorn.

Her mother’s love had been tangible, unlike her father’s.

But her father’s scorn had also been tangible, unlike her mother’s.

Careful, kind, empathetic – for the chance of her mother’s love? For the assurance of her father’s displeasure, like Zuko – imperfect Zuko – how many times had she stood stock still, watching him be punished? How many times had she dreaded Ozai’s gaze flickering to her next, with fire in his eyes and an ugly twist to his mouth?

To follow his rules, though? Cold calculation, superiority, perfection – for the guarantee of father’s good grace and approval, at the small cost of her mother’s love?

Azula made her choice because she had to.

Her fear of her father had outweighed her desire to be loved by her mother.

It had been simple.

Her father had his favourite, and his spare, and Azula moulded herself to his desires to ensure her place.

Fear, after all, had been her most reliable teacher.

It had worked for the most part. Until it hadn’t.

Anyway, her new family is confusing.

Her father may appear mostly stoic in external company, but she can read his emotions rather well. He… seems to be under pressure – from his role as the leader of their clan, and the head of the police force.

But strangely, he doesn’t expect Azula’s perfection, or place any kind of role on her.

Of course, Azula is perfect anyway, so she can’t be sure. Wariness is key, and despite his doting she never forgets the lessons of her old life.

Her mother is an entirely different story. The woman isn’t soft or gentle like Ursa, hadn’t feared Azula’s sharp edges and quick wits.

No, this woman – her mother – revels in it.

Her only critiques are for comebacks that lack bite. She doesn’t teach Azula to be humble or kind, she teaches her how to string up wire in complicated traps, and throw shiruken in specialised secret techniques.

Uchiha Mikoto would have looked Ozai in the face and called him weak. And then she would have destroyed him with a smile.

Azula battles her verbally at every turn, because she knows the only way to become better is to fight more skilled opponents. Her mother is the most skilled opponent of all, and one day she will surpass her and make her proud –

Only. Her mother, despite being terrifying, and stern, is earnest with her praise. She smiles at Azula and means it, snatches her up for hugs and lies down to cuddle her at nap time. Azula only struggles minimally before she gives in to her obviously stronger opponent.

It’s not because she likes being held. No, that would be ridiculous, and weak. She just knows when to admit defeat.

Neither of her parents seem to have favourites, which is… disconcerting. Azula struggles to place herself in their priorities, because as far as she can see, they’re treated equally.

Not exactly, of course. Sasuke still needs a little coddling, a little assurance. Itachi, despite being older and independent, is nurtured all the same, though less obviously.

How is she supposed to differentiate? Her father might dote on her, and her mother might insist on cuddles, but does that really make her favoured?

Zuko only had two years to endear himself to Ozai and Ursa, but Itachi has had thirteen – almost fourteen, and Sasuke has had eight.

She glares at the board before her as though it can help with her predicament.

Being perfect earns her praise here, of course it does. But she needs the assurance that she is the favourite. That she won’t – won’t be discarded like a tool, or – or be the failure like Zuko, or –

“You frown too much for a three-year-old.”

Azula very carefully doesn’t startle. She turns a glare to the interruption to find a cousin sitting on the floor beside her. She hasn’t bothered learning all her cousin’s names. They’re of no significance to her until they prove their worth.

“Bold of you to presume you’re permitted to speak to me,” she keeps her tone superior easily.

He raises his brows, and reaches up to run his hand through his wild hair.

“Wow, that hurts Kagami-chan! Your older brother’s closest friend, and you treat me like this?” he places his hand over his chest, feigning hurt.

“Who you are is of no significance to me,” she states dryly, “leave.”

“Aw, Kagami-chan, don’t be mean!” Sasuke’s obviously trying to supress his grin as he appears in the doorway. Azula resolutely pretends like her day hasn’t been brightened considerably at the sight.

“You can deal with this oaf’s attempts at conversation then,” she turns her attention back to the board before her. She’d learnt shogi a few weeks ago and has taken to playing out matches between masters to entertain herself and learn. Sasuke takes the seat opposite her, watching the board with interest.

“Oh, I’m an oaf this week?” she can hear the grin in the cousin’s tone, “Wasn’t I an imbecile last week?”

“What you are is of no importance to me,” she responds offhandedly, “now leave me be, peasant.”

“Mah? Peasant?” the curly-haired cousin sounds amused, “We’re related by blood, Kagami-chan, what does that make you?”

Oh, spirits. He just won’t shut up.

“Look, oaf. Peasant. Imbecile. Whichever you prefer-”

“How about my name?” he challenges lightly.

Azula squints at her board, considering. “Right. What was your name again?”

There’s a loud thump to her left, and she turns to look. The cousin has slumped to the floor, a hand clutching at his chest, anguish on his face.

“Kagami-chan,” Itachi appears in the doorway now, bearing a tray laden with tea and sweets, “whatever you did to get Shisui to shut up, good job.”

She huffs, and pretends it’s not an amused one.

“I did nothing. The oaf took himself out with his stupidity. It was rather impressive, was it not, Sasuke?”

“It was,” he laughs, and she has the violent urge to reach across the table to pinch at his cheeks. No mortal being should be capable of so much sunshine. Spirits, she thought Ty Lee had been bad.

“So she remembers your names!” the cousin – Shisui – wails.

“Don’t be too depressed, Chipui,” she waves a hand, “they had the divine luck to be born into the same household as me. It’s only natural I know their names.”

It had taken her a year to be bothered enough to remember them. Not that she is going to disclose that.

Shisui makes a choking sound, almost like a sob. Itachi sets the tray on the low table beside Azula, taking the seat beside her.

She yawns. It’s almost time for her nap. But the dango on the tray are looking at her, and really, it would be rude not to sample her mother’s sweets. They’re a delicacy.

Sasuke sets her cup and plate before her. Her father had brought the set home for her only two weeks ago, and she’s loathe to admit her fondness for it.

It’s a pretty pale yellow, with little duckies – not turtleducks, just plain ducklings (how odd) – painted around the rim of the cup. The plate has little daggers decorating its border.

She has no idea where he found such a thing (he commissioned it specifically for her, not that he would ever tell her), but has made the decision to kill – or at least severely maim – anyone who breaks it.

Itachi pours her tea, and Sasuke puts the dango on her plate – the pink ones, because she will hurt anyone who tries to serve her anything less – and she glows with contentment. Her brothers, serving her.

As they should be.

If Itachi gives her an affectionate pat to the head, and she resolutely does not tilt into the contact. She needs no such affection.

Shisui has sat up at the smell of tea and sweets, and is eyeing her warily as she takes dainty sips with gentle reminders from Sasuke to blow, Kagami-chan, the tea’s real hot!

“I assume your mission was successful?” she looks to Itachi, subtly taking note of his clean, loose hair, and his home yukata. Fresh out of the shower, then. Suitable.

“It was, imouto,” he takes a bite of his dango and savours it. They’re his favourite. She knows, and has filed the information for later use.

“Good. And your… playdate,” she manages to get the word out without sounding too repulsed, “went well?”

Sasuke nods, smiling, “Yup! The Hyuuga compound is weird though. Hinata stopped being so shy when it was just us playing, like you said.”

“Good,” Azula nods, and then considers. “You should make an effort to befriend her outside of your playdates. The Hyuuga heiress will be a powerful ally when she finally grows a backbone.”

Shisui whistles, low and impressed, “When do you turn four again? Gods, Itachi, she might just beat your graduation record.”

“You’re not privy to my private information, Timuchi,” she dismisses the question with ease.

“June twenty-first,” Itachi responds, the traitor. She scowls up at him, and he offers only a raised brow. “It’s your birthday, imouto, and mother intends on throwing you a party anyway. There’s no use hiding something like that.”

“Shimpuli didn’t need to know at all,” she retorts petulantly, “what is he doing here anyway?”

Sasuke giggles a little, and she refuses to feel warm at the sound.

Itachi sighs, and takes a sip of his tea, “He’s my friend, my cousin, and a teammate. He has every right to be here.”

“Hah,” Azula narrows her eyes, “inadequate excuses. This is my private space, at the very least I should have given permission-”

“Kagami-chan,” Itachi sighs, “this is the home of the clan head-”

“Of whom I’m the most beloved youngest child,” she interrupts seamlessly, “I could have Charkui thrown out on the street in a heartbeat. All I’d have to do is appeal to father like this.”

She pouts just slightly, lets her lower lip tremble. Two blinks, and her eyes are glossy and threatening to spill fat tears down her cheeks.

Sasuke, despite having seen her do this more than once, almost reaches out over the table to comfort her. Pssht. Stupid, soft brother. He almost looks like he wants to cry, too.

Itachi, who has unfortunately seen her actually cry – just the once – only raises an unimpressed brow.

“Wow, Itachi,” Shisui leans in, inspecting Azula’s expression critically, “she’s actually good.”

“Of course I am,” she snaps, wiping the expression from her face in a single blink.

Shisui gives a low whistle.

Itachi hums warmly, and she can hear his amusement. She sets her empty cup on the table, yawns again, and decides that a freshly washed brother is a good a surface as any. She leans into his side, and lets her eyes shut.

“Wow,” Shisui’s whisper is not a real attempt at being quiet, “kinda terrifying. Like cuddling a venomous snake, or a wasp or something.”

“Shut up, Marmui,” she mumbles, already half asleep. Her brother smells clean and fresh, and his arm automatically moves to cradle her more comfortably. She drifts off to the sound of Sasuke’s quiet chatter.

When she wakes, she realises she’s lying down. Comfortable, warm, and… trapped.

She opens her eyes groggily, trying to make sense of her predicament.

The room is unfamiliar at first glance. The bodies on either side of her, however, aren’t.

Itachi and Sasuke, asleep on either side of her. Her hand is tangled with her older brother’s, and Sasuke’s skinny arm is carefully splayed across her middle.

There’s no way she can escape without waking both of them.

Azula feels… warm.

Maybe, if she and Zuko hadn’t been the favourite and the spare, they could have had something like this. Maybe.

She shuts her eyes and lets her breathing even out. Anyone would take advantage to lengthen their nap a little longer. Besides, she’s trapped. Best make the most of her situation.

Chapter Text

It’s… difficult, sometimes, to remember an entire life – and entire world – that doesn’t exist anymore.

Mostly, Azula masks it. The confusion, the curiosity – all swept beneath an overlying expression of disinterest or superiority.

The smallest changes are the hardest.

“Duck?” Azula remembers being very small - probably one or two -  walking past one of the ponds that litter the area around the Naka shrine, “What do you mean, duck?”

Her mother looked down at her, raising a neat, thin brow.

She could feel the stares of her brothers at her back even as her father pat her on the head gently.

“They’re ducks, Kagami-chan,” her mother explained, guiding Azula by their entwined hands and pointing at the family of odd-looking birds.

“Just… ducks?” she questioned, raising one of her own brows in response, “Not turtle-ducks?”

“Turtle-ducks?” Sasuke chimed up from behind them, “What are those, father?”

Her father didn’t have a response, and Azula realised as she got a little older that this place just has… singular animals.

Just ducks. 

Just lizards. 

Just foxes.

How dull.

Still, she finds herself slipping into old speech patterns, making references that don’t quite make sense. Well, not here, anyway.

Her mother will ask her, “How did you find your tutor, Kagami-chan?”

Kagami will respond, “He’s got as much wit as a maggot slug, honestly. Where did you find him, the zoo?”

A snot-nosed brat will try intimidating her into giving up the best spot on the playground, and she’ll sneer, “Get out of my way, you grubby little elephant-rat.”

Her brother asks her one day – Sasuke, that is – if she’s sad that the other children are scared of her sometimes.

“I…I know you can be blunt, Imouto,” his voice had been soft, “but you’re nice, too. If I didn’t have to go to class I would play with you all the time.”

She'd been disgusted by his concern, and by his judgement of her as nice - but nevertheless, a little touched.

Azula had raised her chin, and responded in a tone she learnt at Ozai’s knee –

“As the saying goes,” she lifted her chin, superior, “the saber-tooth moose lion does not trouble itself with the opinions of koala sheep.”

Sasuke had just stared at her, confused but not questioning.

She knows she’s perfect in every way, but with a lifetime of memories and habits in her head, it’s sometimes… hard, to catch herself before she comments.

If her family has noticed her odd phrases or turns of speech, they haven’t brought it to her attention. They must think she has an overactive imagination, or that she’s been inventing new insults and sayings.

Well. They hadn’t brought it to her attention.

Not till now, anyway.

“What is it?” she crosses her arms as she watches Sasuke shift nervously from foot to foot. He exchanges a look with Itachi, who is sitting at the kotatsu nearby, and seems to gather his courage.

“Tada!” Sasuke whips something out from behind his back, grinning broadly. “Look, Kagami-chan, it’s a turtle-duck!”

The thing in his hands is not a turtle-duck. With the body of a duck, but the head, arms and legs of a turtle… it’s nothing short of a nightmare.

Azula glances from the rather horrifying plushie to Sasuke’s nervously grinning face. Slants a look sideways to catch Itachi’s reserved, but somehow hopeful expression.

“How… cute,” she reaches out and takes it from Sasuke, who is almost bursting with excitement.

“Squeeze the arm, Imouto! I thought of a super special surprise!”

Bracing herself, and trying very hard to keep a sneer off her face, Azula squeezes the plush turtle arm.

It quacks.

Azula represses her knee-jerk reaction to incinerate the gift on the spot.

She opens her mouth to make a comment, and then shuts it again. There’s no way they bought this from a typical merchant. No vendor with their sanity about them would ever consider making something so hideous.

She peers closer at it, noting the small, sad lumps where there’s not enough stuffing, eyeing the messy stitches along the underside.

Mismatched little beads make up the eyes, and a stupid looking pink tongue sticks out of the turtle’s mouth.

So, they must have made it, then.

How troublesome.

She takes a deep breath, and counts to three.

When she opens her mouth next, she does it honestly.

“I hate it,” she declares, turning her nose up as she tucks it safely under her arm, “it’s ugly and poorly made. It wouldn’t even make good tinder, so it’s a waste of my time to even bother setting it alight.”

Sasuke looks so happy she thinks she might throw up.

“If anyone but me touches this abominable creature, I’ll burn them alive. I don't care if you made it, if you touch it from here on out I will end you.”

Itachi is silently radiating satisfaction, like the crocodile-cat that got the bumblebee-canary.

She ignores the heat rising to her cheeks and turns away, making for the front door.

Her family unfortunately know her well enough by now to realise that hate is sometimes her way of saying love. Tch. Annoying.

“Well, I’m off,” she says at them over her shoulder, “time to terrorise the other clan children with this.”

.

OMAKE

“Ne, aniki?” Sasuke is frowning down at their plans. “Isn’t it…too cute?”

The creature Itachi has sketched out has the shell of a turtle, with little webbed feet and the head and body of a four-legged duck.

“You’re right,” Itachi mutters, fingers tapping at his chin, “we could make it with a knife in it’s mouth or something? Or maybe we can give it horns?”

“Hmm,” Sasuke squints, and then shakes his head, “nah. I think… what if we flipped it?”

“Flipped it?” Itachi squints, too, trying to imagine it.

“Yeah, like the turtle for the head and legs, and the duck for the body,” Sasuke elaborates, pointing at their drawing for reference.

Itachi thinks about it for a moment.

“I think that’d be hideous, otouto…”

Sasuke is looking at him with his big, hopeful eyes.

Itachi continues, with a small smile, “It’ll be perfect.”