kazoolapow

[kazoolapow]

not me appreciating two shirtless dudes for a casual duel ...

but seriously, this was well-done.

[kazoolapow]

Azula's Gambit

pairing : Azula x Gender-Neutral Reader word count : 5k

warnings: angsty and feels. Summary : Princess Azula known for her cunning and control, finds herself inexplicably drawn to you, a figure who challenges her at every turn. You and Azula were bound by a complex game of emotion, mind games, power plays and manipulation. One day, you challenge Azula to break her facade; to see her vulnerable, with one question in mind: Are you just a game to her? Or are you something more? A/N : I really hope you enjoy this angsty, brainy, little fic of Azula. There will be part two of the ending (in which I still wrecked my head to write about 🥲)

---

In the center of the courtyard, Azula stood, a figure of fierce concentration. She took a deep breath before opening her eyes. She started off by twirling a flame on her fingertip, it zig-zag through her fingers effortlessly. With a flick of her wrist, that flame conjured a blazing inferno. The blue flame leaped, spiraled, and danced around her; each second is precise, each movement is organic, each turn with it’s whirl are calculated. 

So far, so good. A smug smile playing on her lips. Now, It’s time to dance with the lightning. 

As she extended her arm, her fingers splayed. She shifted her weight effortlessly, her feet gliding over the ground as if she were part of the wind itself. With a swift, circular motion of her hands, the lightning followed, spiraling around her in a mesmerizing display of control and power. She transitioned into a series of quick, explosive movements, a sharp turn of her body directed the lightning outward in an stunning arc. She finally point to a giant rock to blast all the lightning with, cracking it into two.

The courtyard erupted into spontaneous applause. Each clap full of admiration, awe and maybe a bit of fear: just how Azula liked it. As she stood amidst the blue flames, her chest swelling with pride, her head held a touch higher.

She scanned the crowd, searching for one face in particular, yours, hoping to catch a glimpse of your stupid amazed face. Her ‘fiery’ performance, as you repeatedly called it, was a spectacle to proof your dare. You had dare her to split the rock with only a finger, and she did just that.

As her eyes darted through the sea of mostly aged and ragged men faces, her heart sank slightly. You were nowhere to be seen. Instead, her eyes met her father’s. Their eyes locked, he stood, a stoic figure– his face betraying no emotion. He gave a subtle nod, it was terse, almost reluctant approval. But she knew almost it’s not good enough.

Finally, she had to maintained her composure, her face now a mask of indifference mirroring her father’s. With a graceful bow to the audience, she let the flames die down, taking her leave from there.

The performance had ended, and the courtyard was still buzzing with the leftovers of Azula’s fiery display. Azula had trained for this. Hours and hours that turned to days and days then it became to several weeks to months. But she felt nothing paid that hard work, those time were wasted. This performance was not a big deal, it was not a green light to be a Firelord either. Yet, she can’t help but failing.

Ty Lee rushed up to her, “Azula! There you are,”

Ty Lee already brimming her words of amazement with uncontainable energy, “The way you move the lightning and those dancing flames?! It was so amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice echoed the corridors.

Azula nodded in acknowledgment, “Naturally,” casually shrugging.

“You did well,” Mai soon approached with a small smile, “As always, you know how to leave an impression.”

“Leave an impression?” Ty Lee said, “She set the standard sky-high! Oh, Y/N should’ve seen this. Y/N would’ve been totally wowed!”

Azula almost jolt by the mention of your name. As if she had electrocute herself with her own lightning. Her eyes immediately glare at Ty Lee, usually fierce and controlled, but now it flickered with absolute disappointment. “Y/N or not, the performance would have been the same. I don’t perform for anyone’s approval.”

Azula felt weird. It was something bittersweet. It’s simple in words actually, she just long for your eyes to witness her element; her elegance and her perfection–all blended it in her ‘fiery’ performance, to share the countless training sessions into triumph–but now felt incomplete. Was that too much to ask?

“Maybe not,” Mai observed wryly, “but sometimes certain eyes matter more than other, don’t they?”

Azula’s gaze hardened to Mai, a silent glare that spoke volumes. But Mai was unfazed by the glare, somehow she was used to it.

“Y/N is busy with the date,” Ty Lee tried to defend, completely oblivious to the unspoken glares, “but anyway, we are going to celebrate! What about a dinner in your honor? Come on, it’ll be fun!” 

Azula momentarily lost in the fact that you are busy with something that you had to bail on her performance–wait, what is the date? She decided to ask that later on and quickly set that aside as she straightened her posture, the commanding edge returning to her voice, “A celebration in order, indeed. Lead the way.”

As they started to follow to wherever Ty Lee’s are leading them towards, Azula still let her eyes momentarily drifted back to the empty space where she had hoped to see you. It was a fleeting glance, one filled with a mix of hope and resignation, before she finally turned away.

———

You finally made it to the place, the place your date will be waiting. You stepped into the restaurant, and was immediately taken aback in an atmosphere of elegance. It was bustling with energy, each table almost occupied by well-dressed patrons engaged in lively conversation, the clinking of fine china and glassware creating a harmonious backdrop. Soft, golden lightning bathed the room, casting a warm glow over the sophisticatedly decorated interior, accentuating it’s luxury.

Though you were no stranger to luxury, having spent considerable time in Azula’s opulent surroundings, the ambiance here was a refreshing change—to say the least. This place was a modern version of luxury you’re used to—sleek, polished, and contemporary. It was less about showcasing heritage or history, it is simply about aestheticity.

Comparing this to the Fire Nation’s palace, specifically Azula’s bedroom or her study room—where every corner told a story, every tapestry and artifact held a piece of history. You had always been fascinated by that world, a world where elegance was defined by it’s connection to the past, it’s cultural significance to the Fire Nation. But, if you had to choose: you knew your heart leaned more on the timeless, old and dusty artifacts in no time since you are such a history nerd.

Your mind took you back to the palace. Your mind showed you her face—that damned face. Her stupid beautiful face with her arrogance, her high ego that seemed impenetrable, and her refusal to be vulnerable with you. Then you remembered that today was her ‘fiery’ performance, where she practically show off her skill and power that was undeniably impressive, yet tinged with haughtiness. 

You had deliberately missed it or rather bailed on it. It was a decision that is not easy but felt necessary. You believed Azula needed a lesson, a taste of what it felt like to have someone important to you not acknowledge your hard work, no matter how small or grand it is.

You remembered the countless moments when Azula had to let her ego overshadow their friendship. Azula always keeping a part of herself hidden, always maintaining that edge of superiority, always strive to perfection. You don’t need that perfect princess of Fire Nation; you had always been attracted by what makes Azula human. You love her intense passion, which made her arrogant but also made her deeply committed and earnest. You love her insecurities that she rarely voice out loud—but once she do, you savor her little doubts and asked your thoughts on it. You love her hidden softness in her usual confident and prideful exterior. You simply just love her, by her flaws.

Now, you are searching for a sign if you meant more to Azula than just another person in the friend group. You are reaching for cracks to Azula’s walls, to find a tender glimpse that you, more than anyone else, held a special place in her heart.

This date is more than just a dinner. It is a statement, a silent rebellion against Azula unyielding façade. Tonight, you wanted to feel that sting of absence, the pang of being ignored. You wanted Azula to realize what she was potentially losing. It was a gamble—provoking someone as strong-willed as Azula—but you felt it was necessary. 

You had only one question: Will this finally drop Azula’s barriers?

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” You said to the receptionist, “I believe I’m expected by Chan?”

“Oh yes, Y/N! He’s been looking forward to your arrival. Just follow me, I’ll take you to him.” The receptionist glanced up at you, there was a brief flicker of recognition in her eyes—maybe too quick to be merely courteous acknowledgment from a staff member to a guest. In a place where the staff typically meets countless strangers daily, such a look is a bit odd, as if the receptionist had been expecting you, or perhaps knew of you in some way beyond the scope of a simple dinner reservation. 

The receptionist weaved her way between elegantly set tables and past animated diners as you followed her through the bustling restaurant. The receptionist moved with a practiced ease, guiding you through with a casual grace.

 “Our chef has some delightful specials tonight," she mentioned, gesturing subtly towards the kitchen, where the harmonious chaos of culinary creation was just visible. “Is there a particular type of cuisine you're fond of, or are you looking to be surprised?”

“I’m open to recommendations. Surprise is part of the experience, isn’t it?” you said. You wondered how, in a busy restaurant like this one, the staff could still afford to be so casual and engage in small talk. Perhaps she was just exceptionally good at her job. 

The receptionist nodded, her smile still in place. But you caught a quick, almost imperceptible tap on her pocket. It was a weird gesture, a brief one though—but it made you questioned more. Was there more to this receptionist than met the eye?

No, no, you said to yourself. I’m here on a date. You shook off the thought as a byproduct of your cautious instinct.

Reaching a well-appointed table, the receptionist present you to Chan, who is apparently the restaurant owner, "Y/N, welcome!" Chan exclaimed, rising from his chair with a warm smile. He leaned in to peck your cheeks in a friendly greeting, then smoothly slid aside, gesturing gracefully to the chair, inviting you to take a seat. 

You sat as the receptionist departed, you found your gaze subconsciously trailing the woman’s retreating figure. There was something about her you could not figure out, something like a hidden agenda beneath her polished exterior that catch your curiosity.

“I’m glad you could make it!” Chan interrupted your thoughts. You scolded yourself for possibly reading too much into a simple exchange, a habit you often fell back on— especially now with your thoughts deeply entangled in how Azula might respond to this evening.

“Well, thank you for inviting me, Chan. I heard so many great things about your restaurant.”

“How could I not invite someone as knowledgeable as you in culinary arts? I’ve been looking forward to our conversation all day.” His gaze lingered on you just a moment longer than necessary.

 “And might I add, you look absolutely stunning tonight. Guess it’s not just the food that’s going to be exceptional.” His smile broadening, tone alight. He leaned slightly towards you, trying to close the physical and metaphorical gap between you two. His gestures were smooth and a well-rehearsed play.

The dinner progressed with a steady flow of conversation and laughter. Chan, ever the entertaining host, amused you with tales of the restaurant’s origins and his personal journey in the culinary world. Each story was accompanied by a detail explanation, his knowledge in arts and history were evident— that made you intrigued, his enthusiasm were entirely contagious too.

“I'm definitely interested in those stories,” you confessed, “Did you know I stumbled upon a recipe from Princess Azula’s ancestral line? It’s amazing to see how food connects with history!" 

"No kidding? That’s the kind of stuff that makes my job cool, right? We should totally whip that up sometime. Might impress the Princess or even the Firelord, too. You know, they got quite the taste for the authentic."

You nodded eagerly, you stand up by what he said, your smile brightened, “It's all about the details, isn’t it? She values that in everything, food included.” Your gaze briefly flickered to the door, half-expecting, half-hoping for her to burst in—but the door remained closed.

“Absolutely,” he said, as you two were finishing dessert, “Speaking of details, how about after dinner, we take a closer look at some of the exclusive wines I’ve got? A private tasting, just for us. It said dated a while back to Avatar Roku’s age! Could be a nice way to wind down the evening, you know?”

His invitation was clear, his gaze intent on you, slightly dimming. The suggestion was tempting, it was wrapped in the complex of his stories that you really enjoyed and it was a possibility to continue your fun conversation. But it was also unmistakably laced with an intention that went beyond a simple wine tasting. 

Chan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a suggestive whisper, his hand finding reasons to brush against yours under the impression of emphasizing a point. He was intruding  your personal space, his body language more assertive than courteous. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your mind’s racing. You were aware of Chan’s motives. And now he was trying his best to lure you into accepting his request. He sensed your hesitation; thus escalate his flirtations even more.

You look around for some form of silent support. You realized you might get none. The staff, loyal to Chan, were unlikely to intervene. The patrons were too absorbed in their own worlds, oblivious in your discomfort. Then, you locked eyes with the woman you noticed earlier— the receptionist. 

Her gaze was intense, not just observing the scene between you and Chan, but seemingly focused on you yourself. In that brief eye contact, you felt a strange sense of safety—a little bit. The receptionist, whatever her role or reason for being there, was a witness, an outsider to the unfolding scenario.

“You know,” Chan said, “I once threw a party back in the day, at my parent’s place.” 

He grew bolder; you could feel it. He was getting impatient with your hesitance, so he decided to shift tactics. 

“There was this girl, like you,” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Sophisticated, smart, but impulsive. We hit it off, and well, let’s just say, we shared a memorable kiss that night.”

He paused for effect, his smile grew. “But here’s the twist— suddenly, we found the house in ruins. Turn out, she had a bit of a wild side. Wrecked the place. My parents were furious and I was too. But she still live up here,” he pointed to his forehead. “I couldn’t help admiring her spirit, now.”

The story, seemingly harmless, but you knew there was something intended; what is he trying to say? You knew he was subtly warning you of your next move. It was a veiled attempt to gauge your response.  The clock ticked on, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself at a crossroads. Part of you wanted to put an end to the evening, to assert your boundaries firmly. Yet another part, the strategist within you, contemplated the potential outcome.

Screw it.  You went this far.  Screw you, Azula.

“I’d be delighted to see your winery,” you said, voice steady. You made your decision.  Chan’s face lit up, he giggled boyishly.

You instantly pictured Azula’s reaction— would it be jealousy, anger, or indifference? The uncertainty was agonizing yet exhilarating. You doubt the effectiveness of this decision; Azula was a fortress of composure and arrogance. Could this be the key to crush her?

Your thoughts swirled as you left the restaurant, hand in hand with Chan. You decided the night was young, and the possibilities were endless. There was no turning back now.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a woman, disheveled and frantic, burst through the restaurant doors, clutching a young boy in her arms. The boy was pale, his condition visibly dire. The restaurant, a moment ago, a peaceful haven of lively diners, plunged into chaos.

“Help!” The woman cried loudly. “My son! He is sick because of your food!”

Chan, caught off guard, hurried back inside, with you following closely behind. Your heart pounded. The mother’s anguish was blatant, her voice breaking through the murmurs of the startled diners.

“Ma’am, please, calm down. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Tell me what happened.” Chan said, trying to maintain control.

“We eat your leftovers, and now he’s like this! You did this to him!” she cried out, almost hysterically. She clutched the poor boy close, her eyes were wild with panic and desperation.

“Everyone, please listen!” the mother continued, “This isn’t just about me and my son. It’s about you too, how can you eat here, not knowing if your food is safe? My son is dying because of this place!” Her voice cut through the room, her desperation resonating with every patron.

 Chan seemed irritated, he blocked her from reaching the diners, “Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but making unfounded accusations won’t help. Let’s discuss this privately and find a solution, yes?”

The mother, ignoring Chan’s presence altogether, turned to other diners. “Would you all just sit there if it was your child? He was fine before eating the leftovers, but look at him now!” 

“I’ll assure you, our food is prepared to the highest standards. We’ll call for medical help right away, but please, let’s not cause a scene.” Chan tried again, though he was visibly flustered.

“A scene?” The mother shrieked, “My child is dying! How can you talk about scenes? You need to take responsibility!”

Chan struggling to maintain his professional demeanor, signaled his staff to intervene, hoping to move the mother and her son away from the public eye. 

You stood there, a bystander. You froze from the unfolding scene before you. Your plan to provoke Azula suddenly seeming insignificant in the face of such raw human vulnerability. It was heart-wrenching, a stark contrast to the calculated world you’re used to, a world you shared with Azula.

And you loved this. You would love to see it in Azula.

You heard Chan sighed. His earlier confidence had evaporated. This was not how he had envisioned the evening—what was supposed to be a simple date with a girl had spiraled into his career nightmare. He looked back to you, offering a small smile that he tried doing genuinely. He looked tired. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

As the tension of the restaurant simmered, the sudden arrival of men, dressed in crisp, light blue uniforms with the emblem of public health department prominently displayed. The health inspectors. What are they doing in here?

Accompanying the inspectors were a couple of royal palace guards, adding a layer of urgency to the situation. These officials grabbed the attention of all eyes in the place. 

What the Agni is this about?

“Good evening, Mr. Chan,” the health inspector said, “We’ve received an urgent complaint regarding a health hazard in this establishment. We need to conduct an immediate inspection.”

Chan with his face a mix of confusion and panic, quickly stepped forward to greet them. “This must be some misunderstanding. Our kitchen adheres to the highest of standards. Can we discuss this privately, perhaps?”

“I’m afraid this is a matter of public safety. We must proceed with the inspection now. In full view of your patrons.” He surveyed the restaurant with keen eyes.

“Please, let’s handle this discretely,” Chan practically begged and almost fell to his knees, “I promise, whatever the issue, we’ll cooperate fully. There’s no need for a public spectacle.”

“Our priority is the health and safety of the public, Mr. Chan,” said he firmly, “We need to inspect your kitchen and restrict all activities within. We are ensuring that there are no violations.”

The health inspectors, without warning, walked towards the kitchen, with a pleading Chan following closely behind them. As you stood by the door, left, deserted, you had no idea what to do now. The restaurant buzzed with whispers and speculation from the patrons. The air was thick with tension, drama after drama are unfolding way too fast.

The timing of the inspection was too precise, too perfectly aligned with the chaos the mother had caused. 

You grew suspicious to the inspectors. You observed them; they moved with an air of the outmost confidence and purpose that seemed beyond the usual protocol. Their approach was methodical, almost as if they were following a script.

Moreover, the presence of the guards, royal guards. What are their business with this?

These details, all in different kind that if were put together—it formed a picture. A scheme. An orchestration. You had aligned it all to form it’s real essence—which point to her involvement. 

You knew Azula’s penchant for dramatic flair; you knew this was controlled and design thoroughly, unyielding and impactful; you knew the guards were a show of force, a tactic that Azula often employed to assert dominance and control. And the mother? Was that her plan too?

This wasn’t just a simple health inspection; it was a revenge in a larger game she recently launched, in perfect motion. From this, you knew that this night was far from over, and that the aftermath of Azula’s actions would ripple far beyond the walls of the restaurant.

“Ms. Y/N,” a guard spoke, “Princess Azula request your presence at the palace immediately.”

You expected it, but you were also caught off guard. You were about to dismiss the guard when the receptionist from earlier appeared beside him. She gave you a subtle nod, her expression betraying nothing, yet is trying to tell something. In that instant, you realized the truth—the receptionist was more than she seemed, likely a spy placed by Azula, to monitor your movements.

You acknowledged Azula’s cunning and what a dick move she pulled. You can’t help but respect this carefully designed scheme but frustrated to the supervision that limits your own autonomy. The latter emotion got the best of you than the former. “Tell Princess Azula I’m not at her beck and call. I won’t be going to the palace.”

The guard’s expression remained impassive, but it was the receptionist who stepped forward, breaking her professional facade. In a swift, startling motion, she slapped you across the face, the sound echoed sharply.

“You don’t understand,” she said urgently, “You need to come with us now. It’s not a request.”

The slap left a burning sensation on your cheek. It was unexpected and forceful. The onlookers in the restaurant paused, the scene unfolding before them adding to the night’s surreal quality.

Realizing that resistance might escalate the situation further, you reluctantly nodded in agreement, “Fine, I’ll come. But this isn’t the end of it.” You shifted your eyes to the receptionist, she was somehow surprised herself. Her actions, It was a breach of protocol.

As they escorted you away from the restaurant, you felt a sense of being a pawn in a larger game, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar. ——— Azula sat calmly in her opulent study room, her posture relaxed, unpinning her hairpin and let her hair fall. She was waiting for you, expecting you to burst through the door at any moment, fueled by your anger and frustration.

 Azula had done the evening’s event with precision, pushing you to your limits. She anticipated that this act would be the peak to finally see your raw astonishment that she believed you harbored for her.

The door opened, but not with force or drama that Azula had expected. You entered quietly, your expression unreadable, your usual kindled spirit replaced by an unsettling calm. Azula’s lips curved into a sly smile, intrigued by this new side of you.

“Well, well, Y/N,” Azula started, “I must say, I’m terribly sorry. I was expecting a grand entrance. Did you lose your fire along the date?”

You remained silent, your eyes locking with Azula’s. There was a depth in your gaze, a tumult of emotions you harbored beneath.

“Come now, don’t hold back my account. I know my little game at the restaurant must have… stirred things up for you.”

“Your games are getting old, Princess,” you finally replied, “Do you always need to manipulate situations to feel in control?”

Azula leaned forward, breaking a genuine smile. You hadn’t change at all. And Azula is enjoying this.

“Oh, Y/N, manipulation is such a harsh word. I prefer,” she paused, “strategic planning.”

She saw your faint smile, she knew you would not backing down. “Strategic planning that involves putting a homeless family in distress? You’re losing your touch.”

“On the contrary, I’d say my touch is quite effective. It brought you here, didn’t it?”

You side eyed her, “Maybe I’m just here to tell you that your ‘strategic planning’ is backfiring. You’re not as in control as you think.”

Azula’s eyes narrowed, she was both admired and irritated by your resilience. She had long for your anguish to confront her, but your composed defiance was a curveball she hadn’t anticipated.

She sighed. “Or maybe you’re just afraid to admit that you enjoy my little game. Admit it, Y/N, you love the challenge as much as I do.”

You walked to her, leaning in close, lowering your voice. “There’s a fine line between a challenge and a reckless game, Princess. Be careful not to cross it.”

Azula waved her hand dismissively, “Always so serious. Where’s the fun in playing it safe?”

“This isn’t funny, Azula,” your voice impatient, “Your little game at the restaurant, using that woman and her son—it’s cruel. You manipulated their distress for your own amusement.”

“I’m being cruel to be kind. I gave the boy the best medical attention. Plus, the sister received a job now—but a shame it will be in ruins. Anyway, There’s no need for you to worry about that.”

Your face redden. Azula could sense you’re infuriated. “How dare you use someone’s vulnerability for your own selfish ends? These are people live. Our people!”

Azula, usually unfazed, was taken aback. She felt goosebumps in your intense voice, a seriousness that was rarely encountered.

“You think I don’t know that?” Azula raised from her seat, “Everything I do, I do for a reason. You of all people should understand that.”

“Understand? What is there to understand about exploiting a desperate mother and her dying child? I want to see you vulnerable for once, Azula. I want to see you hurt, to see you break.” You roared as you were shaking. There was a palpable silence in the room as your words hung in the air. It was a raw, emotional confession, one that revealed the depth of your desperate goal to that date.

Azula did not know how to respond, your emotion was too intense for her to handle. Azula felt a twinge of something unfamiliar. Was it guilt? Regret? For a moment, her fortress of composure wavered.

“Is that what you really want, Y/N? To see me broken?” she asked, surprisingly soft and weak.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” You choked, “But I can’t keep doing this. Not with you, not like this.” Tears, unbidden, spilled from your eyes, your resilience crumbling under the weight of your emotions.

Azula stood there, feeling a sudden urge to reach out, to offer comfort. It was an odd desire that clashed with her self-restraint, her need to always be in control.

You turned to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” something within Azula compelled her to made you stay. It was a surge of emotion, random and messy, unlike anything she had ever allowed herself to feel. She rushed to you with a determined stride.

You suddenly paused at the door, looked back at Azula, watery eyes. “Every game has it risk, right, Azula?” your voice faltered, barely a whisper.

“What are you getting at, Y/N?”

Azula watched you looked down, thinking something. “In the next of your act, I promise you it would include real danger—a situation I’ll go that even you can’t control.”

Azula scoffed, “You wouldn’t dare, you’re not that reckless.”

That took so much to say for Azula. She half-expected to see your ego arise from the compliment. But as she looked into your eyes, she saw something that gave her a pause. There was no trace of the usual sarcasm or defiance. Instead, there was a deep, unsettling seriousness.

“Y/N, you’re joking, come on laugh it out,” Her heart pounded. “If you’re trying to provoke me, there are better ways.” 

You remained silent, your expression unwavering. You turned to leave for real now, your steps resolute.

Panicked, Azula lunged towards the door. Swift and forceful, she slammed the door shut, effectively blocking your path of escape. Her heart raced with adrenaline and unusually breathless.

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N. Literally and figuratively.” Azula searched your eyes, looking for a sign. But all she found was an empty resolve that send a chill down her spine.

You finally looked back at her, your voice cold and distant, “Sometimes, you have to get burned to see the light. You’ll understand when it’s too late, Azula. When you’ve finally lost.”

Azula felt your words like a physical blow, her face twitching in pain, her mask completely shattered. She knew this was a trap. But the threat brought something in the depth of her own feelings—the potential cost of losing you, forever.

You two just looked at each other, thick with absolute silence. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Azula gritted her teeth.

You pushed Azula away. Then your figure slipped from the door with a slam. The room felt colder. The air was suddenly thick that almost made Azula suffocate. The door closed, leaving Azula alone with her thoughts.

The game had change, and for the first time, Azula was uncertain of her next move.

[kazoolapow]

i'm sorry..

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

[kazoolapow]

f*ck me gently with a chainsaw

[kazoolapow]

Dark they were, Golden Eyes. part 1

pairing : vampire! Azula x f! reader word count : 2.7k warning(s) : azula being a vampire should be a red alert on it's own. and oh my god, she's gæ. summary : you are a journalist that's struggling to keep your self-employed job running. you specialized in vampire research. Sokka, your partner in crime, forced you to tag along with him for the richest family's party, The Azulon Family (just pretend their last name is Azulon). your mission is to befriended a rich person to support your business. But everything you planned changed when she approached you... A/N : it's my first fic that i humbly share to the world. because it has taken over every waking moment of my life. there will be a few parts to this. i hope y'all enjoy it!

Have you ever feel trapped? No idea which way to go. Whichever paths you choose, you lose? Within your mind, you could have sworn that you had tried every way, anything—no matter how small it is, yet the results countered back your hard work? If yes, then hi, I feel you, I see you. Life is a funny thing. No one said life is fair. But no one warned it hurts like a bitch.

Yes, life sucks. It can go to hell, for all I care, in which I'm unaware of how that concept works. Life going to hell. But that's not enough to convinced me ending mine and actually go enter the place. Hell is a friendly concept I've accustomed with, even befriended with. I spent my whole spirit of being to research this creature from hell. A creature from it lurked around my innocent city.

From what I believed, it tore down and melt the innocence as slowly it replaced by gruesome, wicked, egoistical philosophy that pathetically most people worship. A creature so acute, people started to be indifferent by the sight of it's true evilness. To them, it brighten their minds with new ways of thinking, just enough light to blind them with much ignorance to the nature of this mass of a scam. An intellectual vampire laid out their plans with the outmost care that the facade is as good as it is true. As most people followed the philosophy from an unknown author, a follower with no clue to who.

And so, my pathetic life is on the line to, at least, try to wake people up. I wanted to help. Eradicate this unnecessary pile of evil that no one asked for. The world's already disarray as it already is, it always were. But a place has it's limited space, this newfound philosophy is just none other like an ugly Christmas sweater, you wore it once and for the rest of your time it should be ignored and unbothered.

Of course, what's life without it's injustice. My research is on the brink of collapse. A Jenga wobbly piece, tempted to be pulled by gravity in any moment. If that vampire played their game right, they might just won and left my Jenga to take a dive.

"Hey, Long Face." My thoughts halt, adjusting my blurred vision to his waving hand. "There's no turning back now." Sokka eyed my face, as if he just heard my thoughts narrating.

"I know." I say flatly. My head feels heavier from waking up to reality, I'd rather to be drowned by my flowing thoughts until the time of a big event is five minutes away. The intrusion from Sokka, sadly, set the train of thoughts into the distance, a distance I could not reach. Irritated, I turned to him with his compulsive to take off his suit that he said was torturous. "Ugh," I sighed. "Why do we have to do this again? Just the both of us?"

"Shush. You complained like an annoying walkie talkie."

"But we could get some help! From your sister, Katara would—"

"Listen," He points a finger, uncaring to let me finish my sentence. "Katara is growing a family with Aang. Children, my friend, children. We cannot bother them with this anymore." I frowned. Slumping my tensed shoulders down with a defeat. "You talk big about growing a family. What about Suki?" I probed. He stopped his movements to process what I said. "Aren't you supposed to plan something for her?"

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "You doubt me? Even the slightest bit, teeny tiny bit, as thin as a paper? You wound me, Y/N." His expressions animated with over-exaggerated pout, big doed eyes, and hands covered his face. I narrowed, not taking his hints to break a smile to his magnificent acting. It's quite pitying. He dropped the act to convert to a new emotion. "Of course I do! I'll have that ring slipped to her finger in no time. But just—let her focus on her study, okay?"

I hummed. Everyone is taken to a commitment for the love of their life. A ceremony where exchanging vows and complicated administration work that will lead to their new chapter. Then what's the empty promises that friends made, the ‘I'll always be there for you’. Is that just empty words? Because legally, people are devoted to tie their ropes of responsibility and loyalty to their chosen partner. Love is a funny thing. Like a cake divided up, but one slice have a slight bigger size compared to the others.

"Hey." He called. "It's for your cause, too. If I leave you as a married man, then who's gonna help you do all the dirty work without all the money?"

He spat. He spat the fact that shuddered every living nerves inside of me. I had no fear of working alone. I fear of losing support from like-minded people like him, I fear their trust in what I do will evaporate to thin air. Hope would be all gone within me. I keep digging up the seeds that I sow yet nothing I plant will ever truly grow. I sighed, massaging my tensed temple due to overheating use of brain power. "You're right." I say in defeat.

"Alright then, Frowny Face. We're going to nail this." He took a hold of my shoulders. "I got your back." An instant smile turned my frowned lips upside down.

"Now, listen up. Here's the plan. A bunch of aristocrats will be cramped together for three hours in this party. The main goal is to win a heart of a loaded aristocrat enough to support your work with their innumerable amount of cash. If you're fortunate, then two or more would be nice. But if you're lucky—The Big Jackpot would be to get close to The Azulon Family. At least, one member of the family. Since individually, they have huge, gigantic, loading to erupt of a volcano of a money," He gestured explosion, arms stretched open wide to reveal his "boom" voice more audible.

"But," he added, composing himself again. "Never ever, ever be a kilometer close with the daughter." His lips thinned.

"Azula?" I tried, remembering the family's name one by one.

He nodded slowly. "That woman is impossible to win over. She's ruthless. A great liar and just an absolute sinister. God knows what will happen if we ever partnered with her, we'd be good as a stray cat."

"Why's that?"

"In what mad Jasmine Dragon Tea you've been into? Have you not hear the news?"

I shrugged. "I don't follow politics." Politics is where the philosophy was planted it's root deep. While it may be a main cause on my research to the vampire, it's too much havoc for me to handle. I cut to the chase to the planter instead.

He groaned. "It's a long story. This one thing you should keep in mind. Do not go near her. Understand?" He stare deep to me, waiting for my reply. "Yes, sir."

———

"Act natural." He lowered down to my ear. What's does natural even mean in this cramped up party with full of devious people? "What does it even mean? People like us may have different definition of natural from people like them." I scoffed, earning a glare under his party mask.

"Don't you dare being a partypooper now. If you observe anything from my acting, you would've been so wise." He offered his arm for me to take. Hesitating, I took it as we walk towards the big door that hid the party I dread for. "The Azulon will be dressed in red today." He informed before the doors were being opened by a footman.

As soon as the door was opened for us, my senses immediately struck in awe. Everybody was going out. What's with these doors being opened, and the descent and the start? It seemed as if the whole town were embarking in little boats come ashore to the bank, tossing on the waters, as if the whole place were floating off in carnival. And golden as it was the room shine so bright. The pillars even pronounced itself with detailed, complicated carvings. And there was a sense of midges round the arc lamps. It was so hot that people stood about talking, anonymously, veiling their identity under their elegant party mask. Even when you are the center of attention, you're still a nobody.

I let Sokka guide me to whatever group of people, he didn't care what kind, but only with money in mind. He sparks almost anyone with laughter. Some give him queer looks, mostly from the timid attached with their stuck up personality. From there, I work my way up to try talking to the timid. They are collected, cold in their reactions and firm on their judgement. If the topic is mainly about them though, they'll warm up to you. Treat them special, like interviewing the star of the show.

After a while, I grow sloppy in my choice of words. I slurred and basically parrot what the other person said without adding any spice that would trigger an interest. "Hey." Sokka called, a hint of excitement in his voice. "I spot the son of Azulon. I think I can convince him. Should we go?" He's not asking me, he insisting me as he dragged me to Zuko. "Sokka, please. I need to catch a breather, just a moment, please?" I begged, resisting his pull to the red suited tall man and the crowd surrounding him. He sighed, letting his arm slide from mine. "Alright, you stay here. I'll go get the boy's pocket money."

"But—" He shushed me before I could protest. "I'll do the dirty work, remember?" He patted my cheeks and send me a reassuring smile. I shooed his hands away. "Then what am I going to do?" He shrugged, taking a glass as the waiter was passing by. "You could charm Ursa Azulon. She's an easy one. She's a sweetheart, like you. You two will hit it off." I narrowed, is he being serious? "Then why didn't we start on her, for the last goddamn hour that was wasted?" He held his hands up. "Networking." He said innocently. "But now, I got a boy to catch, Y/N. See ya."

I huffed, letting my hands hang mid air as I watch Sokka dance his way to Zuko. I shook my head and walk ahead without any destination in mind. Would an unaccompanied woman, strolling along like a lost puppy catch any attention? I feel like a child that's hungry of attention in telling their craves with telltale signs and persuasive hints. I try to turn my attention to the room. To the people in their heavenly dresses. To the roar of chats and erupt of laughter here and there. To the chandelier that float with dignity.

Nothing was interesting anymore to hawk. The all the same visual impressions becoming dull after half an hour. My idleness has failed me now, as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down it's china walls unrecorded. It's now or never. It’s now or my work will drown forever. My brain must wake now. My body must contract now. My soul must brave itself to endure.

"Hey. There you are." A cool, feminine voice sighed. Her arm tangled mine without warning. She and her all-black-themed dress bounced as she pivoted back to a disheveled man, panting for air and pouring sweats. "I'm sorry, dear. I'm afraid I'm already taken by this girl right here." And that was the moment, when my prayers was heard. A roleplay to save a fellow woman from a persistent man.

"Dear," I turned to her. "Who was this man again?"

The lady in black blinked twice. Her head tilting up to match the mischievous quirk of her lips. "Oh, he's a friend from work. Quite drunk here, my dear." She leaned in closer, invading my personal space. I respond. "It's a pity," with cracks in my voice that fail to hide my trembling being. I took a moment to muster up courage and say, "You heard the lady, young man. Let go of her."

He lowered his head, gloom soon color his pale skin. "I hope you got demolished by the vampire." His spirit went away as he wandered off, dragging his dejected body. Whoa, he dropped the V-bomb. What did she do to make him burdened with such agony?

I heard her exhale heavily. She took away her arm and keep it to her side, she turned to me with a beaming smile. "Not bad."

I returned the same smile. "Thank you."

Her dark hair spilled over both of her shoulders fairly, straight and voluminous. Her skin is fair and warm to my freezing body. Her eyes were glittering golden rays of the sun, that—I just noticed—it dragged slowly down my body in a leisurely appraisal, lingering in ways that left me light-headed.

"Anything—any explosion or any horror is better than a pretty lady like you wandering aimlessly." She said, her perfect white teeth sank into the plush swell of her bottom lip. I blinked dumbly, red rising up to my face. Her eyes flitting upward, in which I could guess crinkling softly at the corners.

"Uhm, yeah." I stuttered, unsure what to respond to that. "I was on the mood to just observe." I played the top button of my dress and try not to squirm under the mysterious woman's hot, heavy-lidded stare. "Oh," I started. "I didn't catch your name."

One of her arched brows rose. "I didn't throw it." The corner of her mouth rising, devilishly. A hot rush of blood raced to fill my face, leaving the blood on my brain completely dry. A laugh from her made my heart rise into my throat. "Well, what's the name of my hero, tonight?" Her lips quirked, deriving perverse pleasure in my growing flustered manner.

"Y/N."

"Y/N. My hero." My name runs through her mouth, rolled by her tongue, it scattered butterflies everywhere down there. She started to look around, circled a little with her swaying hips, satin skimming the skin of her thigh with each languid step in a direction towards a waiter. She took two glasses of champagne and stopped ahead from me, handing me a glass. "To you, Y/N."

"I don't drink." I send her an apologetic smile, waving off the glass to deny. "Come on, now. Let loose a little." She pressed, forcing my hand to accept the glass. "Please. For me?" She stared up at me with pleading eyes.

I sighed, who would say no to that eyes? "Alright," I hold the glass, brushing against her delicate fingers. "I'm warning you. If I'm drunk, It'll be all your fault. And who knows what will I do." I raised my glass to the air as she clinked it with hers. She gulped down the liquid like it was water while I'm wincing as I took a sip. "I'd take the blame as far to take you home," she smothered a sly smile. "If you're willing."

My breath hitched, almost chocking on my drink. "You don't have to go that far," I cleared my throat. "Yet."

She cocked a brow, satisfied with my reply as she rasped out a laugh. I continued and change that topic for future me to worry about. "What's your name, really?"

"Lady." She said almost immediately.

I arched a brow, "Lady...?" I trailed off, hoping for her to fill in the blanks. "Just call me Lady."

"That's not your real name, is it?"

She shook her head, a smirk lingers on her lips. "At a party like this?" She chuckled as if laughing at my own stupidity. "You're kidding." I said. My fingers twitched, anxiety crept gradually to my sickening stomach.

"A crying shame I didn't pursue a career as a stand-up comedian." She sighed. And I'd like to excuse myself from her, for a moment, the urge to smack my head off against a wall for slipping my real name without more careful consideration is highly tempting to do. "A party like this hardly ever contain originality, dear Y/N."