A/N:

Entry for Azula Week 2017 - Modern AU - Azula-centric.

Enjoy!

- Rebirth -

Her voice is like thunders across the room, calling your attention. Her words are fire. They burn the last bridge to that pitiful, wretched existence you had, of smelling the cheap cigarettes on mother's breath as she yells in your face, of listening to brother weep in pain as father beats him with his fists, his head drumming against the wall.

"Sit up straight and look at me!"

Your spine stiffens on command, your eyes staring straight ahead, afraid of the wrath you may incur if you blink. It was not a suggestion. It was as good as a commandment from God.

As one, the girls – no, the filth, just like you – sound off. Your voice cracks over the deafening roar and you count yourself fortunate that no one has heard how scared you sound.

"Aye ma'am!"

She towers over the group as you sit crossed-legged, her shaded eyes under her stiff drill hat glaring over you, but you don't look up. You stare straight ahead into the immaculately cleaned olive drab wall. You flinch as her voice pierces your ears and she paces like a tiger in front of the recruits besides you.

"My name is Staff Sergeant Azula, your senior drill instructor. My mission is to train each of you to become a United States marine. A marine is characterized as one who possess the highest military virtues, respects her seniors, and strives constantly to be the best in everything she does!"

Yes. They told you as much back at the recruiting office. A Marine. Tough, respected, proud, the very picture of someone you do not want to fuck with. The tip of the spear glinting in the sun, the fear of the world made manifest in human form.

Everything you aren't. Everything you want to be.

"Discipline and spirit are the hallmarks of a marine. Each of you can become a marine if you develop discipline and spirit! You will give every effort, every ounce of yourself, to meet this goal!"

There is a pain in your chest as her words sink in. You remember the grades you got in school, the feel of paper crumpling in your hands as you toss another failing grade into the bin and light another blunt to forget the shame, getting high off your own shortcomings.

And then the few gangly boys in your short life as a teenager pop into your mind, making-out on their stale and messy sheets as you fumbled with their zippers, trying to kiss the pain in your life away and hoping one of them gave enough of a shit about you to whisper sweet words in your ear. Maybe pretend like you're in love for a change.

You were always a fucking idiot.

"Starting now, you will treat me and all other marines with the highest respect, for we have earned our place as marines, and we expect nothing less than that from you!"

Your brow creases. Doubt creeps into your soul, black and poisonous and familiar. The teachers demanded respect too as you talked behind their backs in class. Mother and father demanded respect too, a hand across your face if you gave them sass. You didn't care. It was all the same. They were all wretched and pale and disgusting. Why did you have to give them respect?

But this instructor… this woman clad in brown and green fatigues with the voice like thunder…

You dare to look up for moment and you despair, for there is something in her you greatly envy, about the way she carries herself and strides with her chin up across the glossy green floor.

She is pale, like you, but firm, as if hewn from stone, her hair tied into a plain black bun. She is hard to comprehend, a freak of nature, for you imagined your entire life that a soldier was a man, gaunt and steel-eyed, hardened by war.

And yet there she paced, a warrior clad in camouflage, baptized in blood, and hard from distant wars the world over.

Everything you aren't. Everything you want to be.

"I and my assistant instructors will treat you as we do our fellow marines: with firmness, fairness, and dignity. We will push you every step of the way, for every single day that you are here, even when you have given up on yourself!"

There is a pain in your chest, a fear of the unknown, of going down another dark and uncertain path. You can't seem to take her words seriously, but there is no going back. You are dead. You are dead to those that knew you. You are ash scattered upon the dirt, flickering cinders blowing in the wind. You are the lowest form of life.

"I have told you what I will do. From all of you, I demand the following – you will give one hundred percent of yourself at all times! You will obey all orders quickly, willingly, and without question! You will treat all marines and recruits with respect. Abuse and threats made by any of you upon your fellow marines or recruits will not be tolerated!"

You hear the harshness in her words, the fear she invokes, for there is the weight and might of the corps behind her, something terrible and omnipotent.

And yet, you feel a sense of… relief.

Yes, that's it, isn't it? Why?

"A marine never lies, cheats, or compromises. Respect the rights and properties of others! A marine never steals and one who does will not be tolerated! You will work hard to strengthen your body and be ready to meet any threat our country faces! Be proud of yourself and the uniform you wear. Above all, never quit or give up!"

She says the words with such force that they sear your mind. The pain makes you flinch, forcing you to look away from her. You have never, in all your life, heard these words. They are unnatural, incomprehensible, and yet strangely… soothing.

"For me and for you the challenge of recruit training is the opportunity to earn the title of United States marine!"

The words roll off her tongue with firm reverence to the very institution that made her into the terrible warrior she is. The soles of her boots glide across the floor and her heels click as she comes to attention, erect and resolute.

Your eyes flick to her again and… and then something clicks. Even as you sit there, scared shitless and doubting your decision to leave your old, familiar life behind, it finally clicks.

This is your shot. This is your opportunity to make… something out of yourself. You were not as fortunate as other girls who could live a life of bliss and peace, filled with books and dates and boys fawning over you. You were not pretty to begin with, even when you tried. You weren't smart, you weren't athletic, and you weren't even interested in trying to be something. You were the worst kind of nobody.

This woman, this drill instructor… she's everything you aren't. She's everything you want to be.

You don't care how much you have to sweat. You don't care how much you will bleed. You don't care how many bruises you will get and you don't care how much time you have to spend in this hell they call recruit training. You've made your choice. You are not going back. You are not weak. You will stay. You have to.

You are dead to the world you left behind. Through the corps, through Drill Instructor Azula, you will be born again hard.

A/N:

Switching things up a bit here and giving you guys an Azula-centric piece I made for Azula Week 2017, back in early June over on Tumblr. As you can see, this AU involves Azula being a marine drill instructor, something I feel she'd be incredibly suited for. Married to Sokka in this one, but hey, didn't really look to far into this.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! See you all for the next installment!