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mandoalorian · 3 years

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Three: Beauty

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ description of male masturbation, descriptions of blood and injury, mention of childhood trauma as well as legal battle of custody over a child.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Three - Next

Maxwell had to stifle back laughter from your comment. A hero? There wasn't a chance he was a hero. You didn't know what he had done. How he'd almost destroyed the entire planet without even realising. The guilt was eating him alive, it was all he could think about at any given second of silence. How could he have let himself become so power corrupt— to the extent he'd forgotten what really mattered? Alistair might have forgiven him, but there wasn't a chance the rest of the world would. It had only been a day and Maxwell didn't know how he could possibly live with himself.

"I need help." you announced, breaking the silence. Maxwell looked at you momentarily in curiosity but then looked away, sighing with discontentment.

"Look, whatever it is, I'm sure you don't want my help." Maxwell told you with a frown. You admired the deep shade of brown that was his eyes. It was so easy to get lost in them, they were hypnotic.

"You're the only person I know," you explained to the businessman sheepishly. "You and Alistair. And Raquel too, who is lovely, but I sense that she doesn't like me very much," Maxwell raised an eyebrow. You had wandered into Black Gold Cooperative wearing a crazy brown tunic, and you were covered in mud saying words like Themyscira, Hestia, hearth… jargon that not even Maxwell could understand. It didn't surprise him one bit if Raquel was a little put off by you. Until he learned the truth, he was borderline about to call you crazy and run ten mile. He believed you now. He had no reason not to. "I'm looking for someone." you told the man as you nervously bit your lower lip.

"Yeah, the thing is, I'm not going to be able to help you look for him, if that's what you're suggesting," Maxwell hummed. He wanted to get out of here. It wasn't your fault— you weren't doing anything wrong, but since seeing the lasso and remembering what had happened in the bunker just a day ago… a mixture of guilt, anger and hurt consumed him. "I have to go." Maxwell gasped feeling the desperate urge to get some air.

Of course, you chased after him. "I shouldn't really need any help finding him, I shouldn't really ask anyone for help either…" you mumbled, fumbling with your fingers as you shimmied through the revolving doors that led out of his office. "As the goddess of home and hearth, it would be my duty to see the man, and his child, myself."

"So you're looking for a man and his kid?" Maxwell asked, relishing the feeling of relief washing over him as the cool air hit his skin. He wasn't a smoker, he hadn't been since before he moved to the U.S., but in this moment of pure stress and anxiety, he had never craved a cigarette more. He turned to you for comfort. "I'm afraid ‘the world of man’ is full of those."

"That's what I was afraid of," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "There's not a single man on Themyscira, we are all children of Zeus, sculpted in his image only,"

Every time you mentioned your homeland of Themyscira, or one of the Olympian Gods, Maxwell's curiosity piqued greatly. He had so many questions— so much he wanted to learn about you. He wondered if you'd even give him the time of day to answer them.

The delay in a response from Maxwell prompted you to speak up again. “As I was saying… I don't know anyone in D.C., I don’t have a place to stay… so I was wondering...”

Maxwell’s head snapped to face you, his eyes going comically wide. “I don’t know.” he said quickly and almost defensively. Yes your beauty was unimaginable and he had so much he wanted to ask you, but was now really the right time? What would happen once you learned about the terrible things he had done, how he was an awful father? And why did he care so much about what you thought of him when you were merely just a stranger? You looked down at your feet, your toes beginning to feel fuzzy as the evening grew colder. He couldn’t just let you stay out on the street, alone. Without any further prompting for you, he pulled out his car keys and tilted his head in gesture for you to follow him. Unlocking the car, he slid into the driver's seat as you waited outside. “Are you coming or not?” Maxwell huffed.

“What is this?” you asked after sliding into the passenger's seat. You were completely awe inspired by your surroundings.

“It’s a car,” Maxwell said hesitantly. “Wait, let me guess. You don’t have cars on Themascream, you have unicorns.”

“It’s Themyscira,” you corrected again, feeling only mildly irritated and wondering if he was deliberately just being that obnoxious. “And no, don’t be silly, unicorns don’t exist. We ride horses.” you sighed, shaking your head. Maxwell almost had to stifle back an incredulous laugh. Everything he once believed to be mythological was turning out to be true, he wouldn’t even be surprised if you had a license in Pegasus flight.

As he turned on the engine and began to reverse out of his parking space, you gasped, clutching onto the gear stick. The same gear stick that Maxwell was holding as he pushed the car into reverse. Your hand grazed his, and the skin on skin contact practically took Maxwell’s breath away. You grabbed onto his hand in fear as the car moved, and you stared out of the window. Of course, this was your first time in a car. Maxwell’s eyes flicked between the road, the frightened delight on your face and the way your soft hand enveloped his. He wanted to curse at the feeling of your touch and how it went straight to his manhood - this was the second time you had him feeling things he shouldn’t. Was there something in the air? It’s not like he wasn’t that touch starved. He shouldn’t have been reacting to you like this, but he was, and he didn’t know why. Swallowing the lump in his throat he gently removed his hand from yours and placed it back on the wheel. He wondered if the sexual tension was one side, if only he could feel it. He saw the innocence in your pretty eyes. You were just an oblivious girl trapped in a new world, seeking guidance from Maxwell, out of all people.

“Is this car… dangerous?” You asked nervously, the palm of your hand resting against the window.

“Not as dangerous as a horse,” Maxwell chuckled, taking his sunglasses out of the glove compartment and pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “I once knew a girl back home who fell off a horse and broke her leg. Couldn’t walk for a month. But, she deserved it.”

You gasped in horror at his statement, your eyes widening as your lips parted into a perfect ‘O’ shape. “How could she deserve it?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“She wasn’t a nice person,” you watched as Maxwell’s face hardened at the memory.

You frowned but chose not to question him further. “So, you aren’t from here?”

“Wh- what makes you say that?” Maxwell asked, feeling a well of familiar anxiety.

“You said ‘back home’.” You acknowledged and Maxwell’s grip on the steering wheel tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. You were certainly right about that. You’d caught him out.

“Yeah uh, that’s just something we say over here. In the ‘world of man’.” Maxwell muttered, hoping you wouldn’t question him further. And thankfully, you didn’t.

“I think there’s a lot you can teach me about the world of man,” you smile pleasantly at the businessman who is doing his utmost to keep his concentration on the road ahead, rather than getting lost in your divine beauty. “Mr Lord?” You asked when he didn’t reply.

“You- you don’t have to call me Mr Lord,” Maxwell said awkwardly, turning at a junction.

“That is your name, isn’t it?” you quizzed.

“My name is Max Lord.” he was a little taken aback upon realising he hadn’t yet introduced himself to you. He’d just made the assumption you already knew exactly who he was, just like the rest of the world did. He’d come to think that maybe that wouldn’t be the case.

“Well then who is Mr?” “I’m Mr,” Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows. “Mr Max Lord.” “Why does Raquel call you Mr Lord?” you quizzed further, and Maxwell could feel an onsetting migraine. He actually hated talking about himself.

“She- because- I-” Maxwell stammered out, before shaking his head profusely. “Doesn’t matter okay? Just call me Max.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being annoying.” You admitted timidly after another silence.

Max sighed. “You’re not annoying. Look, we’re almost home.”

The final five minutes of the journey were sat in complete silence. You spent most of the time looking out the window, trying to find clues and wondering how you were planning to find Lorenzano. There must be a way. You contemplated asking Maxwell for help, but you knew, as the daughter of Zeus and the goddess of home and hearth, it was your duty to find him and help him yourself. And that’s exactly what you were going to do. Of course, it was hard to ignore your mother’s word’s before you left Themyscira, regarding Romulus and Dolos. The God of Lies. You looked over at Maxwell who was staring dead ahead. You wondered if you could poke his brain about that… or even about the two dreamstones. Might he know something?

While you were thinking about your objective, Maxwell simply couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ashamed to admit it, but his cock was still semi hard and it was becoming difficult to ignore when he couldn’t help glancing at your reflection in the rear view mirror. He’d known you for barely an hour and he could already feel himself growing attached. Maybe it was the glitter in your eye or the way you spoke every word like it was your last. You had such joy and passion in your soul. Maxwell didn’t have any of that. All he had was his deep, dark secret as well as the anxiety and guilt which was eating him alive. There was something so perfect about you. Maxwell had sworn that nobody could be perfect, but he had also sworn that places like Themyscira, magical lassos and Gods and Goddesses weren’t real. He could be wrong about one more thing.

You followed Max as he slipped out of the car, and you found yourself absolutely astonished by his large D.C. home. Like everything else you had seen so far, it was beautiful. It seemed extensive in size, especially for just one man and possibly Alistair, but you refrained from making a comment. The exterior of the house was framed with beautiful greenery, tall trees, blooming bushes, and flowers that you only assumed could be native to the world of man. You knelt by a bush, admiring a red flower, as Maxwell fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door.

“What is this?” You asked, unpicking the flower from the bush.

“Be careful.” Maxwell gasped, his eyes widening when you hissed and saw blood trickle slowly down your finger. “It’s a rose, and they have thorns and if they prick you it’s gonna hurt like a bitch. Are you okay?” He grabbed your hand and pulled it to his face. You swiped your thumb over the wound, cutting off the bloodstream and healing yourself within seconds.

“I’m okay.” you confirmed, pulling your hand away from Maxwell’s. His vision crossed you in bewilderment.

“How did you?” He stammered, rubbing his eyes. “You just-”

When Maxwell saw you shiver from the cold, he ushered you inside his home and shut the front door behind him. He walked behind you, taking in your every step as you looked around his home. You admired all the little things, like the oil paintings that were hung upon the cream coloured walls and the ornaments scattered around on every surface. He supposed he could tell you to make yourself at home, but as you bent over and let your fingers grace the softness of the living room carpet, he figured maybe you already had. You stood up again, taking a deep breath before turning to face Maxwell.

“Us Amazons aren’t like humans,” you began, your eyes still scattering around his spacious living room. The sofa, although not as big as the one in the lobby of Black Gold Cooperative, was still extensive in size and made from the same plush velvet, this time in a coppery colour. It seemed he had a television too, which just so happened to be the biggest one you had seen yet. He had so much stuff, but his home was so big it still felt kind of empty. You found the mismatched patterns and colours endearing and you wondered if he had decorated himself.

“I’ll say,” Maxwell mumbled, walking over to the mini bar in the corner of the living room and pouring out a glass of whiskey. “Can I get you anything?” Max offered.

“No thank you,” you hummed, looking at all the paintings on the walls. “We’re immortal.”

“Immor- so you mean, you can’t die?” Maxwell looked at you dumbfounded.

“Immortal not invincible,” you laughed, and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up slightly. There was no reason for him to feel embarrassed, this was all extremely new to him, and yet, he didn’t want you to think any less of him. He wanted you to believe he was smart and knowledgeable. “We don’t age. We’ve lived on Themyscira for centuries. We have enhanced strength, coordination, agility, stamina…” Max listened intently as you educated him about your kind. “If the injury isn’t too bad… I can heal.” you explained nonchalantly but then frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting his glass of whiskey down on the grand piano and walking over to you.

“My powers aren’t as refined as the other Amazonians,” you said weakly. You had been so used to being made feel inadequate by the warriors around you. They'd judge you and call you for being the goddess of home and hearth— telling you your powers were pointless and would never lead to greatness. Maybe not their greatness, but you had truly found your calling and maybe this time, just for once, things could be different. With a sudden bolt of confidence, you felt Maxwell take your hands. You looked up at him with a doe-eyed expression. "Are you judging me?" you couldn't help but ask him. It wouldn't surprise you. Everyone else judged you.

"No," Maxwell replied almost breathlessly. He was too lost in your eyes, too enamoured with every word you spoke. "I think you're… sensational."

And with that, your lips curved into a small smile. He was so entranced by your beauty. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to lean in and kiss you. He tried to shake away the feeling, like it wasn't all he'd imagined since the moment he laid his eyes on you. It was wrong of him. Besides you had only just met, and once again, he was swarmed with guilt. If you found out about what he'd done, you'd want nothing to do with him— nobody would— he was certain of it. It was only a matter of time before even Alistair walked out for him. Alistair. That's when Maxwell remembered the letter Theodore had given him, which was sitting on the kitchen cabinet.

"Zeus brought me to D.C, he will bring me to the man from my dreams. And with the lasso of Hestia to aid me, it shouldn't take me long at all," you told Max. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."

Maxwell wanted to tell you to stay. He didn't want you to hurry. He'd come incredibly lonely over the years and he was really beginning to value your company.

"Zeus is your father… right?" Maxwell asked, trying to recall the way you spoke about him earlier.

"Yes."

"What's he like?" Maxwell prodded further with genuine furiosity.

"Oh, I've never met him," you replied, rubbing your eyes.

So he's a deadbeat— Maxwell thought. Max knew exactly how that felt. "But he's king of the Olympian Gods, the ruler of the skies. He crafted us all in his own image and gave us a purpose."

"And your purpose is to find this man?" Maxwell quirked an eyebrow.

You nodded in affirmation. "It may seem simple and unimportant, but I assure you, it isn't. This man is special. He's unlike any other man and Zeus will bring me to him for a reason. Before I left, my mother Hestia told me of two Gods, Romulus and Dolos… they were the God of Lies,"

Maxwell's eyes widened. He had heard of them, very little, but he'd heard their names through researching the dreamstone. "They were deceiving and created a darkness amongst the world. They harnessed the power of wish-granting and were responsible for death and destruction… the world of man had to be rebuilt from scratch." you explained, a horrified look on your face as you recalled the events that your mother, Hestia had educated on.

For Maxwell, this was hitting far too hard. Things weren't adding up but he did deem it to be more than a mere coincidence that you had shown up just a day after the world had gone to hell. He didn't understand— he couldn't fathom the connection he had to you, or that laying on his sofa was a beautiful Amazonian goddess. He hoped that he could figure it out soon enough, but for now, he had his own troubles. He has to focus on fixing things with Alistair.

"I'm tired," you announced with a yawn, breaking Maxwell out of his thoughts. You raised your hand and cupped Maxwell's cheek, mirroring his own actions to you back at the office. "Your home is beautiful." you whispered lovingly.

You found the crinkles in the corner of his eyes so handsome, and you even pondered if the perfect curve in his nose had been sculpted by Zeus too. He wasn't like the Themysciran depictions of 'man', he was worn and slightly miserable, but there was no denying the connection you felt to him. For a second, you wondered if he was your reason. If he was your purpose. You'd grown so attached to him in just a matter of hours, you'd even grown attached to Alistair without even realising. Alistair was the first person you had met upon waking up in the world of man. But there was no way, you were looking for Lorenzano. Lorenzano…

You slipped your hand away from Max and sat on the soft couch, relishing the same feeling you loved so much back in the office. You took off your tiara, placing it on the coffee table, and unbuckled your sandals. You went to remove your tunic and skirt, but were cut off by a yelp from Max as he diverted his eyes.

"What- what are you doing?" Maxwell gasped, looking away.

"I'm undressing," you replied simply. "Amazonian clothes are so uncomfortable to sleep in."

"I- I'm sure," Maxwell nodded his head, feeling himself become flustered. "But uh- you can't just- I mean, I don't know what it's like in the Themy place-"

"Themyscira." you deadpanned.

"-Right, well I just think. You know. Maybe don't get naked, right now. Not yet anyway," Maxwell wanted to curse out loud. Not yet anyway? What was he saying? "Let me find something for you to sleep in okay? Something comfortable."

"You don't sleep naked?" you asked, tilting your head and readjusting your skirt so you were covered up again. Maxwell turned back to you.

"I- I do, sometimes." Shit, Max was definitely blushing.

"So why can't I sleep naked?" you shrugged your shoulders.

"I just… don't want you to be uncomfortable." Max trailed off.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" you questioned further.

No, it didn't, but the thought of you laying naked on his couch went straight to his cock. "Let me get you a shirt." he said, avoiding your question.

While he was gone, you turned to the small side table to the left of the sofa. There, in a small frame, was a man who, although younger, was very clearly Max. He was sitting in a chair, smiling holding a newborn baby in his arms. You picked up the photo and analysed it, admiring every part. You guessed the baby was Alistair. It was hard to see the child's face, being that the photograph had aged and was slightly blurry. It dated ’1978 in the corner. Six years ago. That would make Alistair only six years old.

Maxwell was back in no time with a folded pinstripe button down. You took it and muttered a thank you before going to undress yourself again. Seeing this, Maxwell turned back around and figured he could grab you some soft blankets from the guest bedroom. When he returned, you were already sleeping peacefully on the sofa, wearing his shirt.

Maxwell thought he could've spent hours just watching you sleep. You were so peaceful. He watched as the way your chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, he admired your little snores and the way you stirred slightly now and again. He'd never been so entranced with anyone in his entire life. Not even Julianna.

And shit— he was still semi-hard. He was going to shower, he'd decided. He'd shower away all these feelings, all this anxiety and he was going to be okay. He'd wash his hair, brush his teeth— he'd make an effort. He couldn't keep sulking around. He had to try for his son.

Maxwell gasped as he stepped in the shower. His hunched up shoulders became relaxed and he was able to unclench his fists as he let the hot water envelop his body. His eyes fluttered closed as the image of you scattered his thoughts. He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn't. Just knowing you were laying on his sofa in one of his dress shirts stirred something primal within him. He dropped his hand down to his cock and began to jerk himself off, his fingers rubbing against the small slit in his tip as he wiped the precum down his length. The hot water felt so good, and Max had forgotten to open a window so the steam from the shower made the air foggy and moist.

He dragged his fist down his throbbing length, his movements becoming fast and erratic as he squeezed his eyes tight shut, trying to hold out moans. He couldn't let you hear. He couldn't let you know. He hadn't done this in so long. He'd always had his assistants at his beck and call, he never needed to relieve himself in the shower since his and Julianna's marriage broke down.

You consumed his every thought. He imagined your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, he imagined you giving him sweet kitten licks as you massaged his balls. He imagined you gagging around him as you took his long, thick length to the back of your throat. He imagined fucking your mouth. The thought of him being able to get a literal goddess to choke and whimper really urged his power complex enough to throw him over the edge. In only a matter of minutes, Maxwell spilled his milky white seed over the tiled bathroom walls, gasping your name as he came.

And when it was over, he felt a familiar remorse. A familiar guilt. He knew he did not deserve you.

Maxwell had to force himself to get washed, using his apple scented shampoo and even conditioning his hair. He was satisfied with his minty fresh breath as he walked into his bedroom in only a towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist. Since it was approaching night, and fast, he picked out a pair of light grey sweats and a wooly sweater before combing through his unnatural dark blonde hair which just so happened to be naturally wavy.

He sighed, padding into the kitchen quietly being careful not to wake you. He knew what he had to do next, what he'd been putting off since he received the damn letter. The envelope was staring at him on the cabinet. He picked it up, an anger engulfing him as he read the name ‘Maxwell Lorenzano’ on the paper. He ripped it open furiously and opened up the letter.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano

I, Theodore Thomas IV, attorney of Miss Julianna Grey, present you with a civil lawsuit case regarding full custody of Alistair Lorenzano in favour of my client, Miss Grey.

-—- please see proceedings below -—-

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano's divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

-—- proceedings concurred -—-

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Sincerely,

Ted

Maxwell screamed as his face turned bright red with astonishing rage. He crumpled up the letter into a ball, throwing across the kitchen. Tears fell from his eyes in complete and utter disbelief. No, this was the worst thing that could ever happen to Maxwell. He'd rather die than not be able to see Alistair. His heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces.

It was ridiculous and down right unfair. Max began to laugh manic as he swept the plates and glasses that were standing by the sink into the floor. He'd forgotten about you, sleeping in the other room. He didn't care. He was done being considerate.

Maxwell had made a lot of mistakes in his life— a lot, but he loved Alistair so much and Alistair loved him. He couldn't let Julianna and her stupid lawyer boyfriend rip him away from his son. If that happened, he'd be no better than his own father. Maxwell let out another scream of frustration, clenching his fist until his knuckles were white. This was nobody's fault but his own. He was too much like his own dad— too much like his own fucking deadbeat, abusive dad. Max had tried his whole life to make Alistair proud, to be different, a good different. But he wasn't a Lord, he was a Lorenzano, and maybe blood was thicker than water. He was nothing but a low life conman who had almost singlehandedly destroyed the entire world and now, he was about to lose his son.

How was he ever going to win this case? Julianna literally had one of the best family lawyers in the state on her side, and Maxwell wasn't even sure if he could afford a lawyer given the circumstances. What he had failed to think about, was the fact he had a literal goddess sleeping on his sofa. A goddess who’s purpose was to reconcile families.

A shatter of broken glass awoke you from your nap. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, lifting up onto your elbows before hearing a thud and a crash. Alerted, your eyes snapped open and you swung your body out of the big warm bed, bolting into the kitchen where you had heard the noise. Fragments of a broken vase were scattered over the tile floor, soil spilled everywhere and some daffodils that looked like they had been dead for at least a month already. The sound of gushing water drew your attention to Maxwell, who was standing at the sink. Stepping over the broken glass, you padded over to him and placed a hand into the small of his back. He jumped slightly at your touch. You peered over his shoulder and saw a really deep cut in his hand, blood dripping into the sink. Not even the water coming from the faucet was enough to wash it away. It trickled down his arm and you looked up at him, noticing he was pale in colour.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, your voice smaller than it intended to be. Your gaze trailed along the kitchen surface tops until you spotted a roll of kitchen paper. Taking plenty, you ripped it and gently wrapped your fingers around Max’s wrist, maneuvering his still bleeding hand away from the sink. A few drops of blood fell to the tiled floor, but you quickly wrapped the paper around his wound and applied pressure. “That looks really deep.” you hummed, looking up at your friend with concern.

“It’ll be fine.” Maxwell mumbled, watching you intently as you cared for his injury. It was a strange feeling. No one had ever looked out for him the way you did, and you’d only known him for a few hours. Your soft was gentle, he even noticed the way you subconsciously began to rub comforting circles into his skin, like it was just natural for you.

You frowned, slowly lifting up the soaked tissue paper and discarding it in the waste bin. The bleeding had settled down, but it still looked incredibly sore. Dampening another paper towel, you tried to clean around the edges of his cut. He hissed in pain as your finger accidentally grazed over the wound and you shot him an apologetic look. Maxwell was like putty in your hands. He let you do whatever you needed to - and he absolutely wasn’t like that with anyone else. “You might need stitches,” you sighed, taking a closer look. “If only we were on Themyscira, I have a friend who could heal you in a matter of seconds.” Themyscira - there it was again, the mystical place Maxwell had never even heard of. “What happened?” you asked eventually, your gaze meeting Maxwell’s.

“Uhm-” his eyes flicked around the room, searching for something that would fuel the white lie. "Was changing the flowers and dropped the vase."

His lie didn't account for the broken glasses and plates that were also on the floor. You looked at him in bewilderment, knowing he wasn't being entirely truthful to you. He couldn't stay. He couldn't stay with you right now. He had to go see Alistair. "I- I gotta go." Maxwell said quickly before bolting out the house.

He left you standing alone in the kitchen amongst all the mess. As you began to pick up the pieces of the broken vase, you noticed the scrumpled up ball of paper in the corner. Picking it up, you slowly unravelled it in hope it would give you a clue regarding Maxwell's behaviour.

Your heart practically sank when you read the first three words.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano,

Lorenzano. He was Lorenzano.

-----

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donablue · 3 years

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this particular store is usually deserted around this time of day, so anto is always a little thrown on the rare occasion when he finds someone else there when he walks in. but this time it's a familiar face that wheels around to face him, surprise taking over it before he's greeted with a loud, "anto!"

"what's the story, champ?" he makes his way over to posy and bumps his arm into her shoulder. she bumps him back and anto stifles a small laugh at how it's less of a bump and more her bouncing ineffectively off his arm.

"wig shopping! i am not liking this one anymore," posy explains, absently gesturing at the pink wig currently on her head while she turns back to the mannequin heads displaying the range of wigs. she shoots him a glance out of the corner of her eyes. "what is being your story?"

he could say anything. and yet he opts for the truth. "last storm knocked one of my earrings loose, so i'm in the market for a new pair."

judging from the quirk of posy's eyebrows, she hadn't been expecting him to actually explain himself. he hadn't expected it either, really, but there's always been something about posy that settles him enough to offer up bits of honesty that he wouldn't afford anyone else.

when she doesn't reply, anto moves away to browse the lines of jewelry along the nearest wall. he's about halfway through the first display before posy speaks up.

"can i be choosing them for you?"

she's no longer looking at the wigs and is instead staring at him, looking borderline excited already.

"well, shit," he mutters to himself under his breath. anto knows he's going to give in but he gives himself the illusion of thinking it over for a beat before his shoulders sag and he lets out a sigh. "yeah, alright. nothing pink, though, alright?"

brilliant smile fixed on her face, posy hums her acknowledgment and runs to his side. her focus turns intense as she mulls over the displays in front of them, considering every piece carefully before she moves onto the next, and anto has to fight back the fond twist of his lips.

waiting patiently next to posy, his gaze flicks back and forth between her expression of concentration to the jewelry cases until she says, apropos of nothing, "i have never been thanking you."

"what–?" anto balks. "the fuck do you have to be thanking me for?"

"for not cheating at the duel. or, i guess, not totally cheating at the duel."

thinking about the duel still leaves a sour taste in anto's mouth. it makes his temple ache with the phantom pain of a bullet ripping past, just barely avoiding killing him outright.

"it was nice of you to be giving him a chance to fire back," posy continues, not having stopped to look up at him.

"he shot me in the face, posy," he grumbles, not caring how petulant it comes out.

"i said it was nice, not smart," she clarifies, and anto is torn between laughing hysterically and snarling.

he settles for bristling, shoulders hunching as he huffs out a harsh breath. "should've killed the bastard when i had the chance."

"grognak would never have forgiven you," posy states matter-of-factly, "and troy is being my best friend, so i'm happy you didn't."

nostrils flaring as he mentally flinches away from thinking about what grognak would have done if he'd actually killed troy, anto grunts and deflects, "yeah, well. i've done worse before. wouldn't have been the first time, or the last. all part of the job description, posy."

silences settles over them for a minute, and anto is pretty certain that posy's eyes don't move from the same set of earrings the entire time. that is, until she turns to meet his eyes and surprises him again.

"i killed someone too."

eyeing the woman skeptically, anto leans his hip against a display case and crosses his arms. "you? you, posy, have killed someone?"

"i have!" her stare is defiant and anto is reminded once again of why he's fond of her.

"just the one?"

"as far as i am knowing, yes," posy replies.

the cryptic answer makes him narrow his eyes at her until posy admits, "i suffered the blunt force traumas from having my face beaten in with a flashlight, so i don't remember. but thomas says it was to protect peoples! captain planet was stabbing people on the pier! i don't know why he died, i was only hitting him once with my flashlight!"

the distress on her face is too much for him. placing a hand on posy's shoulder, anto gives her a small shake and ducks down to look her in the eye.

"no offence, posy, but accidentally killing someone isn't the same. what do you know about being a gangster?"

"oh!" somehow, that seems to distract her from the turn the conversation had taken. she turns on her heel and darts towards the back, presumably into one of the changing rooms, leaving him to stand alone in the middle of the store without a response.

he can hear her rustling around so he goes back to browsing the shelves. watches, earrings, glasses, bracelets, necklaces, all easy enough to pluck from their stands and stuff into a pocket when he finds something he likes or deems good enough to sell off. a glimmer catches his eye and he turns to inspect it. there's a pair of earrings that look like they might be real amethysts, judging from the locked case enclosing them. with a glance over his shoulder, anto sets to picking the lock, smirking to himself when it pops open and he can snake a hand in to snatch the earrings. the case is closed again and the jewelry is safely in anto's hand when the sound of a curtain being drawn back reaches him, and he smoothly tucks them away into his jacket pocket, moving to greet posy when she comes out.

whatever he'd been expecting, he's not prepared for the sight of posy striding over to square up to him in her new outfit. it's not plain, but strangely muted compared to the other clothes anto has seen her in. her hands settle on her hips and she straightens up to her full height, puffing her chest out proudly.

"i am a solo dolo but i have respect all over the 'hood!" she declares, and anto's eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

"that right?"

he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling, but his disbelief must come across loud and clear in his tone because the next thing he knows, posy is flashing him a grin and has her gun trained just to the left of him. "what is up, motherfucker?" she chirps.

his resolve cracks and laughter startles out of him.

it's not often that something reduces him to tears of laughter, but he doubles over and laughs until he can manage to straighten up, breathless and sporting blurry vision. "jesus– fair play, then. who taught you that one?"

"the ballas gave me gangster lessons," posy elaborates, grinning widely as he allows himself another few chuckles. "we've been killing, slicing, and gangbanging."

that sets him off again.

"they let me paint maxwell purple! steven thought i joined the gang, but i am thinking they are being liking me. like abdul with the vagos!" she explains further, watching him as he leans back against a display case to catch his breath.

"explains the purple wig." he jerks his chin in the general direction of her head, hand coming up to clutch at his ribs where he feel a faint ache. his eyes drift down to where her gun has come to rest against her side and he arches an eyebrow after a beat. "that a diamondback? what do you need that kind of firepower for, eh?"

posy spares the weapon a glance before she tucks it back into her jacket. "troy gave it to me. or pillbot. they both gave me one, it is being for protections. one of them got stolen though."

sobering slightly, anto nods, recalling the abridged version of events she's told him before. he tucks the first question that comes to mind, and the accompanying prickle of curiosity to know where troy would have gotten a diamondback from, away. "you let me know if you need something else, got it? don't want you walking around without a strap."

there's a long pause that nearly makes anto fidget with how intently posy stares at him. the moment abruptly ends and she rewards him with a sunny smile. "okay! peace, pimp!"

she's already made her way back into a dressing room by the time his stunned silence gives way to another bout of raucous laughter.

they don't spend long in the store after that, with posy quickly settling on a new blue wig and moving onto insisting he get a matching pair of stud earrings for himself. despite himself, anto caves. he buys them.

he's securing the backing of the second earring into place as they step back outside. when his hands fall back down to his sides, posy looks him over and gives him an approving nod. he returns the favour, making a show of inspecting the look of her new wig before nodding gravely. "right deadly," he announces.

"right deadly," posy returns with another nod.

his chest warms and, for a second, he allows his face soften.

posy moves towards her car, a little thing that he's seen a few times which, sure enough, has been painted puple.

"it was nice to be seeing you without... um. yeah!" she calls out once she's seated behind the wheel.

the corner of his mouth twitches up into a half smile as he fills in the blanks himself. "sure, look, we'll link up later, yeah? i've some stuff to sell."

he's about to turn away and head back to the shit car he'd stolen to get here, but he stops to consider briefly before jogging over to the driver's side of posy's car right as the engine comes to life. crouching down and rifling through his pockets, anto finds what he's looking for right as posy rolls the window down with a curious expression. reaching into the car and tugging one of posy's hands towards him, he deposits his favourite set of brass knuckles into her open palm and folds her fingers over it.

"easier to hide than a gun," he says by way of explanation and leaves it at that before he dashes away.

her excited "oh!" is easily heard and anto allows himself a pleased grin as he slides into his stolen car and promptly throws it into reverse, honking twice before he speeds away.

#i just think..... that they should be friends #and that posy should be trying to get anto to wear more colours #anyway this one goes out to tumblr user trognak bc posy our beloved #anto murphy #posy florian #anto: every good gangster has at least one set of knuckle dusters #donablue.exe

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miraculous786 · 4 years

Note

I vote Damian to be Mari's Persephone because it would be hilarious to see him making flowers bloom when his wife is happy and when she's sad he brings out the hawthorns on anyone that made his Queen cry.

Note: Thank you so much Nonnies and @loveswifi for the help with this! Hope you enjoy it! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

A Hidden Hades Hunting For (Hopefully) Her Husband

Damian is son to Talia al Ghul, the goddess of harvest, sacred law, and the cycle of life and death. There are rumours that beneath her sweet exterior is a woman of high authority and challenge, but none have been confirmed.

She is believed to have wooed Bruce (Zeus) into having her child, however it is more widely accepted that she used her magic and power over fertility to have his offspring without him knowing. His wife Selina refuses to believe that such a brooding yet faithful man would cheat on her after he rid of his playboy-persona millennia ago.

In this AU, Jason is Ares, Dick is Hermes, and Tim is Athena.

Only those who know her well are aware of her true bubbly personality. They’re mostly the deceased souls of those who’ve died.

Marinette is Hades - goddess of the Underworld. She took visits to Earth in order to experience what life was like for mortals years ago, except stopped when gossip flew about around her being dark, despicable, evil.

Marinette laughed. Her domain didn’t need any worshippers in order to prosper, but she didn’t tell Lila that. She only sat back and watched, a grin on her face as students with glowing eyes accused her of unspeakable acts. It was only when one that she viewed as a sibling of sorts - Adrien Agreste - did as well that she decided to do something.

What happened was that a class of teenagers she came back to frequently were put under the spell of Dolos, or Lila who she took the form of. She sensed Marinette’s ichor and threatened to turn her followers against her if she didn’t conform to her will.

It was only after all of their deaths that they learnt what happened.

With a flick of the wrist, a crack formed in the ground beneath Dolos, soon enlarging into a crater as limbs made of fire pulled her screaming form down into the depths of the Underworld. The class watched, stunned, but then a fog began to clear out of their minds. They seemed to wake up, apologies on the tips of their tongues, only to realise that Bridgette and Adrien weren't there anymore.

Dolos was doomed to having to solve an infinite puzzle, whilst Adrien was allowed to live as an equal to Marinette in hell. The class, now adults, are sentenced to be souls who help them in their duties. They aren’t mistreated, however. On the contrary, they’re viewed as friends to her.

Now, we skip to present day.

Damian is sitting on a bench in one of the gardens that he is confined to on the orders of his mother, when he suddenly hears what sounds like a bark. He turns around, only to be met with something shoving him to the ground.

He whips out a vine, wrapping it around the creature to inspect its species. That's when he realises that it's a dog. A very happy dog that starts to lick his face all over and leave its saliva everywhere.

Despite his cold personality, Damian has a soft spot for nature and animals of any sort. He picks it up, stroking it gently and trying to fight off the urge to smile at the way it leans into his touch.

He's touch-starved himself, to put it simply.

Damian sits with what he realises to be a male dog for a few minutes more. He doesn’t bother to keep an eye out for Talia - he’s too busy creating vines that his new friend bats at with his paws. It explains why he doesn’t realise the person walking up to him until they put a hand on his shoulder.

A polite voice calls for him, asking if he found their pet.

He turns, only to be met with a beautiful face framed by a black hood. The woman smiles at him, then suddenly calls out, “Titus!” with a surprised expression.

The animal in his arms leaps forward, starting to lick her whilst jumping up and down happily. Her laughter causes Damian to freeze, since he starts to sense the magic surrounding her. She’s a diety, he realises. But how did she get in here?

That day is the day that a friendship blossomed between Damian and Marinette.

She convinces him that she’s a nymph of sorts, citing that the reason some plants wilt around her are because of a curse set upon her by Talia. It makes him cautious and understandably distrustful until she assures him that she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

They keep their meetings a secret for years, though it doesn't feel like that long because of their immortality. Titus is usually the communication between them, and leads Damian to where he needs to go within his mother's gardens to find Marinette.

She has earrings that preserve her identity and prevent nature around her dying - however, plants still wilt and weaken enough to be on the brink of death. They are brought back to life by Damian almost constantly when she is in his presence, meaning she can touch them without worry.

As time passes, the two become closer. Instead of words, they begin to trade flower crowns and daisy chains. They always have blushes on their cheeks when talking to one another, or even thinking about each other.

This doesn't go unnoticed by Talia.

She plans to figure out once and for all why her son's demeanor has changed, at least until she's called to Olympus by the higher-ups in order to discuss something. Something involving Damian.

This only makes it easier for the two to get away with their escapades.

One day, whilst her and Damian are sitting under a tree, Marinette pulls out a black ring. She shyly offers it to him, making him flustered as he slowly takes and slides it on his finger.

What he doesn't know is that there's magic laced within the jewellery.

They relax for a few minutes in silence, until she breaks it by calling his name. She takes a deep breath, preparing herself as she explains that she's not really a nymph - she's a diety. A diety that he wouldn't like if he found out about the domain that she ruled over.

A soft hand cups her tear-stained cheek. She looks up, only to hear Damian whisper, "I'm sure that's not true, Beloved."

That's all it takes for her to yank him forward into a kiss, which he returns full-force under the watchful gaze of her sibling Adrien in the shadows. It takes all of his will to not jump up and down from joy.

They officially become a couple that day.

Marinette returns to the Underworld in the evening with a dazed expression, causing Alya and her friends to grin and float up to her. She deals with their relentless teasing, trying to cover her face out of embarrassment whilst she hesitantly tells them all what happened.

Adrien is the first to suggest courting Damian, though she immediately shuts it down and expresses fear at being found out. Her reputation was tainted, after all - and maybe he would go back on his promise of still loving her true self.

He manages to convince her of his sincerity by reminding her of all their interactions (he may or may not have watched over them to keep watch and see his ship sail), and Marinette eventually comes to the decision to start courting.

As she prepares lavish gems to gift him in the future, she is unaware of what is happening in the skies way above.

She'd refused to give him up - saying that he was her pride and joy and the perfect soldier for them to use in battle against future enemies trying to overthrow them. That made him even more angry.

Bruce, after a long conversation with Selina and his many children, had decided to have a conversation with Talia about his youngest son not too long ago. He showed interest in wanting to have custody of Damian on Olympus instead of her having him on Earth, making Talia lose her sweet attitude and gain a scowl.

Lightning struck harsh that night, and the goddess of harvest had returned home with her tail between her legs and a newly-formed resentment towards Damian. He was too busy thinking about his 'nymph' friend to notice, however.

In Olympus at the current moment in time, Damian is kneeling before Bruce. The god tells him to stand, his sons and daughters at his side displaying various levels of shock as he begins to explain why he is there, and why he will be in the future.

Everyone had agreed that Talia wasn't a good fit for him, due to her revealed intentions for his birth. He doesn't have time to argue about the situation before he is whisked away into a room fit for a royal, high in the clouds and miles away from his girlfriend.

The next morning, a dinner is set up with all of the gods in Olympus, including Tim, Jason and Dick. Dick is enthusiastic, trying to make conversation with Damian as his brothers are eating (or drinking coffee...). However, he has none of it.

He's too busy thinking about Marinette. How she would think that he'd broken his promise, or had abandoned her, or forgotten about her. His demeanor switches to his defensive one - cold, cruel, uncaring.

Marinette returns to Earth with a crown in her hands the next day, which has a shining jewel in the centre and spikes with the finest of gems at their points. She looks around excitedly, smile on her face as she and Titus wait for Damian.

Hours pass.

Up in Olympus, said diety is being introduced to family friends and other gods, that all coo at him much to his displeasure. He growls under his breath after every new person he meets, only cementing in everyone that he is a child. A young one that needs to be watched over like a hawk lest he attempts to go back to his mother.

Just as he enters his room with a heavy heart, he senses something strange in the mortal world. Large fields of crops near to his old home had just been destroyed - their roots upended and ripped out. His eyes widen.

Damian rushes to Earth, taking a route that is unknown to most whilst trying to keep hidden from his new siblings. He reaches his destination in a matter of mere seconds, but it's too late. He only breathes out a shocked sigh as he gazes down at the crater in the ground.

There's a glint of something gold at the bottom of it, and he picks the item - the crown - up with almost invisible tears in his eyes. The ring on his finger burns as a reminder of Marinette's emotions.

Below him, a frantic Adrien is trying to calm her down, but it's no use. The goddess of the Underworld is hysteric, crying rivers of tears filled with betrayal as souls all around try to ease her too.

Damian spends the next centuries and millennia on Olympus, sometimes returning to Earth when he wants to remember Marinette.

He keeps her a secret from all of the gods except for one of his friends - Jon (Artemis) - though he only mentions that she was someone important that handed him the crown that is always on his head.

He reluctantly begins to view Tim, Jason and Dick as brothers when enough time has passed, but never admits it. Selina and Bruce, however, catch the glints of relief in his eyes when they're in his presence. He finally has someone to talk to without worrying about Talia, excluding Marinette all those years ago.

Speaking of which, she had slowly become closed off and harsher in her treatment of the dead in the Underworld. They see that she's spiraling, hiding her depressed state under a constant frown, but can do nothing about it. Even Adrien is unable to bring back her kind personality in the absence of Damian.

That is, until he catches word from the messenger, Dick, that he is up in the skies on Olympus.

It's a slip-up, of course, but he still manages to catch what Dick says and act like he didn't. He waits until he's gone before he rushes back to Marinette and tells her what he suspects.

A small smile spreads across her face. One that is cruel like the rumours say, yet happy like she once was. Of course he didn't want to leave her, she thinks. He was simply forced into doing so.

Damian is talking to Jon about another recent affair in the middle of a mortal forest, when suddenly, he freezes. He feels a familiar burn at the ring on his hand, along with fields full of nature dying in an instant miles away.

He uses a zeta portal to teleport to the area, leaving behind a confused Jon. He zips around, eyes wide as he senses the plants around wilting slightly, along with some of the nearby animals inching away from him.

Everything becomes quiet. That's when he catches a flash of black darting around in the corner of his vision. He turns there, his eyes widening in recognition when seeing a dog wagging its tail happily.

"Titus!"

Damian takes a step forward.

A large crack forms in the ground beneath him, revealing the depths of the Underworld in all of their glory. Just as he's about to fall down, a chariot of the darkest colours hovers below him, soon speeding off without a second to waste with him inside.

He tries to command vines to capture the person at the reigns of it, but can only muster enough energy to sag back. Strong magic fills the air around him, forcing him to stay seated on plush pillows.

The last thing he sees before his sight is shrouded with nothing is a glint of red at his kidnapper's ears.

~*~*~

More to come!

There will be a second part, which will include general headcannons and what happens after this. Feel free to send in an Ask if you have any suggestions of different legends in Greek mythology that could be included. :)

@northernbluetongue @moonystars14 @soupfilledboots @vixen-uchiha @starsshineandgivehope @professionalfangirl1738 @queen-in-a-flower-crown @pale-lady-dreamer

#mlb x dc #ml x dc #dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #daminette #maridami #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damimari #maribat #adribat #ml salt #lila salt

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scintillasofbeomgyu · 3 years

Text

➷ always | z.cl

pairing: zhong chenle x fem!reader

genre(s): fluff, crack, f2l

word count: 1,8k

requested: yes

you and chenle have been friends for longer than either of you can remember. The idea of being more than that never even crossing your mind. Or that was, until the night you’d agreed to play truth or dare.

an: sorry this took so long anon! i hope you liked how this turned out! this was also completed in a rush and hasn’t been proofread sksks srry

“Go ahead,” Chenle shrugged with an air of indifference, the tablecloth picking up where his fingers tapped impatiently, “I dare you.” Jisung clicked his tongue and shoved his hyung’s shoulder, rebuking him for cold bearing with which he treated you. He simply rolled his eyes before setting them on you once again, grinning at your visible inner turmoil.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. There were two possible choices: you could either throw down the uno reverse card and let Chenle win, or you could hit him with the ‘+4’ in your hands and give yourself and Jisung another chance at winning the game. The decision should have been an easy one, but the revenge of your lifelong bully (otherwise referred to as your best friend) was always sweet — for him, of course.

He watched as you pensively shuffled the remaining three cards in your hands, and found himself revisiting the memories of your shared childhood with a distant smile. You were just six years-old when you first met, sketchbook flush against your chest like your life depended on it, shivering as Ms. Liu seated you next to him. Having moved from the country to Shanghai, the city was very overwhelming, so the she had encouraged him to befriend you. Your eyes welled with tears as you stuttered and stumbled over your words, your body falling into a curt bow, “H-Hello! I’m (Y/n)!”

The sound of your hand slamming against the table snapped Chenle out of his reverie. You kept your hand over the card you chose, thoughts of how he would never let you live this down ramming your ‘instant regret’ switch. He raised an eyebrow as you cracked a nervous smile.

You had become alot more daring since your formative years; every year seemingly more audacious than the next. He wasn’t complaining, though (even if you did drag him better than he did you sometimes). Instead, it relieved him to know that even though he couldn’t be with you in Shanghai anymore, you’d be able to look out for yourself. His inability to show his affection in any way other than “no, you idiot”, “ugh, you’re sitting to close to me”, “ha, more like ‘pretty when I close my eyes’”, counted for something.

Just as he was about to lift your fingers and reveal the card, the front door opened. “We’ve got the goods!” came voices from down the hall. You screeched in joy, taking the opportunity to make a run for it. Your saviours (namely Renjun, Haechan, Jeno and Jaemin) came bearing plastic bags stuffed with assorted drinks, crisps, chocolates, sweets, biscuits — anything and everything that you could swallow, they had picked from the shelves of the convenience store.

You followed them into the kitchen where they left the bags on the countertop, greedy hands dying to sift through the merchandise. A head of hair pushed past yours, taking a massive bite from the chocolate Haechan had given you. Chomping in satisfaction, Chenle flicked the bangs out of his face. Your scowl softened as he flashed the wild draw four before you; your eyes averted. “This is payback for stabbing me in the back earlier.”

Empty wrappers were scattered across the living room floor of Chenle’s house, where you were all either sprawled across the floor or the sofa. After doing a healthy amount of catching up, and an excessive amount of Just Dance, you were exhausted. Your head rested on the arm of the sofa you were sharing with your best friend, legs pulled up so he could sit comfortably. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix played on the television, your voice sounding off against Doloris Umbridge every now and then.

“I have an idea,” Haechan piped up after a while, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You whined, putting a finger to your lips. He should know better than to interrupt your relishing inner Potterhead. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

Your mouth dried and an unsettling feeling overtook you. You glanced briefly at Chenle who had yet to tear his eyes from the screen, oblivious to anything happening around him. This is a bad idea.

“Come on,” you laughed, waving Haechan off, “we practically know everything about one another. There’d be more dares than anything.” you looked across the room at the others, hoping that if they heard, they’d let it go. You weren’t prepared to take the risk of playing this game. Not with Chenle here.

These feelings of unrequited love which you developed for Chenle had been there since the very beginning. Back then, whether it was “love”, or not, you weren’t certain — but now you most definitely were. His mouth would utter the most sarcastic remarks, but, when matched with eyes which swam with concern, would bombard you with a million questions. And like that, he had always been there for you. Each and every corner of you life was painted with Chenle — and you loved him. But that was your secret.

Haechan flicked the TV off, soliciting exasperated groans from the boys. You bit down on your lip and glared at the light-haired boy excitedly motioning for everyone to join him at the table in the centre of the living room. Chenle grabbed onto your arm and seated you next him on the floor, a blush threatening to flood into your cheeks.

Chenle’s turn came before yours and when he picked truth, your ears perked up even though your pretty much knew everything there was to know. Jeno thought for moment, before a smirk rolled onto his face. “Is there anyone you’re interested in at the moment?”

You squeezed your hands in your lap; half of you was dying to know the answer, while the other was terrified. You realized that although you were sure you knew Chenle better than anyone, he’s a healthy 19 year-old boy — who lives and works in an entirely different country. Even though he was sitting right next to you, bare arms brushing occasionally, he suddenly felt very far away from you.

“No.”

The answer should have relieved you, but your heart only sank instead. You reckoned that after fourteen years, you were still hopeful for something that was never going to happen. “So...(Y/n). Truth, or dare?” Renjun clasped his hands together, the same mischievous glint in his eyes that Haechan had.

“Um...” within either option lied the possibility of your feelings being brought to the fore. It frightened you, even more so now that your reality had been handed to you on a silver platter. But how would they have known anyway? You didn’t tell them. Perhaps you were being irrational? Maybe— Chenle nudged your shoulder and brought you out of your thoughts, making you shout out an answer before your brain even registered it.

“Dare!”

You thought you saw them exchange satisfied expressions with each other, but brushed it off as the light-headedness from your unravelling nervous breakdown. What followed only made it worse.

“I dare you to kiss Chenle,” your heart stopped and your eyes widened at the absolutely ludicrous words which escaped Renjun’s lips. He looked rather proud of himself though; he and the others stared at you with eyes which were almost anticipating. You craned your neck over to your best friend, carefully, reluctant to see what his reaction was to all of this.

His body was turned completely to you, face only inches away from yours. In surprise, you stumbled and fell back into Jisung, who grabbed onto your shoulders and pushed you back up; whispering words of encouragement to you. Chenle’s eyes bore into yours, the edges of his lips picking up, “you don’t have to if you don’t want too.”

Being unable to move under his gaze, you gulped. What was going on? Why was he being like this? Did he find out how you felt about him? Was he teasing you? It wouldn’t be very funny if he was. You cleared your throat, shifting in the place where you sat, “This isn’t funny.”

“I wasn’t laughing.” He snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you close, until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your face — it was unsteady, just like yours. His eyes absorbed the features he was all too familiar with, yet loved regardless. “Last chance. If you don’t want this, we don’t have to do it.”

Chenle had always loved you and only you for the past fourteen years. It was cute that you thought he didn’t know you felt the same, but the novelty faded the longer had waited for you to tell him. He started to think perhaps he had guessed it wrong, or maybe you were unsure about how he felt. So he arranged all of tonight’s happenings.

You gulped again, eyes flickering to his lips before they met his eyes once more, “I...want to.”

His lips pressed against yours, setting free a swarm of butterflies into your stomach. They were soft, and they tasted like chocolate, kissing yours in the most gentle way possible. You, along with the tension you had felt, melted into Chenle’s arms as he tightened them around you. After slowly pulling his lips from yours, he rested his forehead against yours.

The fact that other people were in the room rushed back to you, and your head snapped away from his, only to see that they had disappeared sometime in-between whatever had just happened. Relief washed over your embarrassment and you breathed, both you and Chenle bursting into a fit of giggles.

“I thought you weren’t interested in anyone?” you asked, looking down at where Chenle’s head rested in your lap. The two of you had moved back onto the sofa, both of your exhaustion having reached a new peak. Chenle had been just as nervous as you were tonight since the day prior.

He grinned in response, keeping his eyes closed. Reaching into the left pocket of his washed out jeans, he pulled out what looked like a folded piece of very old parchment and handed it to you. Your face turned bright red.

About a week after you started kindergarten, you anxiously presented a sheet from your sketchbook to Chenle. You were grateful that he didn’t force you to come out of your shell like everyone else, so you wanted to thank him and be friends. You made use of the new pack of crayons you got for your birthday and drew the two of you holding hands, ‘let’s be friends’ scribbled on the top with a heart next to it. Chenle had averted his eyes when you gave it to him, a blush on his cheeks as he muttered how well you did between nervous coughs.

“I’ve treasured that ugly drawing for years — interested? I’ve loved you ever since.”

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

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the crossroad of our destinies book two: fire

CW: mentions of fantasy ableism, character death of minor background OCs, cursing, mentions of war crimes, atla-canon-typical fantasy violence, mild angst, injury, brief blood mention, mentions of murder

word count: 9708

book one: earth // read it on ao3!

“So you really can’t bend at all?” Roman asks.

Virgil stiffens, rolling his shoulders back to try and relax the tension gathering there. He knew this question would come up sooner or later, and he has spent an inordinate amount of time preparing his response. “I don’t bend.”

It’s not a lie. Virgil would lie outright, but Roman had tried that a couple of weeks ago only to have Logan immediately bust him. (As if he needed another reason to be the most terrifying twelve-year-old Virgil has ever met: his earth bending makes him a human lie detector.) Instead, Virgil answers with technical truths. They’re not the answers Roman is looking for, but they’re not going to earn a “Falsehood!” from Logan, either.

“What’s it like?” Roman leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands. “Not being able to bend? I know that every type of bending feels different, but I don’t know what it would feel like to not bend at all.”

“It’s not so bad, not bending,” Virgil says. “I mean, bending might make my life easier, but it also might make my life more difficult.”

“Have you ever seen it? Water bending, I mean?”

A beat of silence. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

“What does it look like?”

“It’s . . .” Virgil searches for words that won’t betray his secret. “Have you ever seen dancers?”

“I’m an ex-Fire Nation prince, Virgil. Of course I’ve seen dancers.”

“But have you seen ribbon dancers? The way the silk arcs through the air, rippling and elegant, controlled and powerful . . . that’s what water bending looks like. To me, anyway. Snow and ice bending are different, and of course healing is different, but water bending . . .” Virgil’s throat chokes up. “It’s beautiful.”

Roman is quiet, subdued. “I know my father. I know what he did to the water benders of the Southern Pole. I . . . I’m sorry.”

“They killed my father,” Virgil says softly. “My mother died giving birth to me, and my father . . . he died protecting me. They killed him instead of me.” Roman gently places a hand on Virgil’s knee, all traces of joking gone, and Virgil whines softly.

“I am so sorry,” Roman murmurs, “that my father has destroyed your life.”

“It’s not your fault,” Virgil says. Before starting this journey, he never could have pictured himself saying something like that to a fire bender, much less a former prince. But Roman isn’t just some prince, some foreign enemy. He’s Virgil’s friend. “You didn’t kill my father, and you didn’t give the orders to the general that did. It isn’t your fault, Roman. You’re not responsible for your dad and his tomfuckery.”

Roman snorts a little at the swear. A whip of air smacks Virgil’s arm. “Virgil!” Patton says, scandalized. “Watch your language!” Virgil just laughs, and Roman laughs with him.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil is hesitant to enter Fire Nation territory, even if it’s just the outlying colonies. Roman assures him that nothing will go wrong, that they’ll be safe, but he isn’t quite sure if he believes him. “My father rarely visits the outlying colonies,” he tells Virgil. “My people are suffering under such a harsh regime. They will not aid him.”

They still force him to stay with Remy and Thomas in the woods when they venture into town for supplies. “I know the Fire Nation better than any of you!” Roman protests.

“And the Fire Nation knows you,” Logan tells him firmly. “Stay with my brother and Remy. If something goes wrong, you’ll have to protect them and get Thomas out of here.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Thomas says firmly, gripping Logan’s shoulders. Logan reaches up and covers his brother’s hand with his own. “Promise me, Logan.”

“That is not a promise I can realistically make, Thomas. I cannot control the actions of others,” Logan says. “But I can promise you that I will do my best to avoid unnecessary confrontations and keep a low profile.”

“You duelled Roman into the ground, like, two and a half weeks after you met him,” Thomas laughs. “I don’t think subtlety is in your nature.” Logan scoffs at him, but he doesn’t push Thomas’s hand out of his hair when he ruffles it.

Patton ties a strip of fabric around his forehead, obscuring his air bender arrow tattoo. When they first met him, he was bald, but now that he’s been on the run with them for so long, his hair has grown back in. It’s a tousled mess of coppery curls, and they match the bright copper freckles splattered across his nose.

“Do you think you’re going to keep your hair or shave it off again?” Roman asks. Patton reaches up to touch his hair.

“It’s strange to get used to,” he says. “I’m used to feeling the wind on the skin of my head. It’s so weird! But I kinda like the way it looks. Do you think it looks weird?”

“I think it looks nice,” Roman says.

“I think you look fantastic,” Logan says dryly.

“Thank you, Lo!”

“Roman, however, looks like a drowned platypus-bear.”

“Hey!” Roman squawks. “Why does Patton get to look good?”

“Roman,” Logan says, slow and patient like he’s talking to a toddler, “I can’t see either of you. I”m fucking blind.” Roman throws a fireball at him, which Logan easily dodges, laughing. Patton flicks a hand up to extinguish the fireball before Roman can set the forest ablaze.

*~*~*~*~*

The Fire Nation is loud.

It’s much louder than Virgil’s village ever was. The air is sharp and sweet, smelling like spices and sweet incense and wood ash. Virgil sticks close to Logan as Patton bounces happily in front of them. He reaches down and takes Logan’s hand in his.

It’s so small.

“I do not need you to hold my hand,” Logan says testily.

“This isn’t for you,” Virgil hisses, gripping Logan’s hand tightly. “This is for me.” Logan turns to him, face scrunched up in confusion and annoyance, before exhaling softly.

“You’re telling the truth.” He keeps holding Virgil’s hand as they follow Patton through the bazaar, and Virgil exhales in relief.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman squeals in excitement when they bring back the little pastries he had requested. “I love them!” he squeals. “They’re my favorites, I -” His eyes go misty as he unwraps the parcel. “On our birthday, Remus would always get to pick out the cake. I was happy as long as the chef made a tower of these.”

He takes a bite, and the tears spill down his cheeks. “They’re just like I remember.” Before any of them can offer any sort of consolation, Roman is wiping at his eyes and offering his pastries to them.

“We can’t take them,” Patton says gently. “They’re your special piece of home.”

Roman shakes his head and pushes the parcel towards them. “Please, I insist. I want to share with my friends.” Virgil is the one to break the strange, motionless silence, breaking off a corner. The pastry is layered with a thick, syrupy honey that leaves sticky residue on his fingers. When he pops it into his mouth, a sweet spice explodes across his tongue. There’s a slight, residual burn that tingles through his mouth as he swallows.

“I know, right?” Roman says, reading something in Virgil’s facial expression. Virgil nods, licking the honey off his fingers. His obvious enjoyment is enough to encourage the rest of the group to start snacking on pieces of the treats.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman keeps every letter that Dragon brings him tucked against his chest. Under his shirt is a leather pouch that he attaches to his chest by tying it with strings, and inside he keeps the scrolls that he receives. “Remus and Dolos probably can’t keep my letters,” he tells Virgil. “They’ll have to burn them to make sure that no one else sees them.”

“Why?”

“If the crew finds out that the exiled prince is sending messages to them, they’re in danger. Remus is already toeing the line by keeping Dolos aboard the ship. Discovering that they’re in contact with me endangers our lives and theirs.”

Virgil wants to ask why Roman bothers putting so much care and effort into the crafting of his letters if he knows they’re going to get ruined. He spends so much time staring off into space, thinking of the perfect words, and then he sketches out elaborate doodles. Remus’s are always weird and kind of deranged, but Remus sends them back in kind.

Dolos’s letters all have intricate, elaborate borders of twining flowers on them, and more than once Virgil has caught Roman doodling sparrow-snakes onto the letters for his love. “He loves them,” Roman tells him. “I promised him a pet sparrow-snake as a wedding present.”

“Why would you do that?” Virgil asks, pulling one of his knives from his sleeve and examining the blade’s edge for imperfections.

“Because it would make Dolos happy,” Roman says, looking up with an uncharacteristically fond expression. “I love Dolos. I want him to be happy. But I also want him to be alive, so . . . so I have to sacrifice his happiness and mine to keep him that way.”

Virgil sets his knife down and reaches out to touch Roman’s shoulder. “I know that you love him,” he says softly. “And I know that he means so much to you that you would kill to keep him safe. You’d do anything for him.”

“Not anything,” Roman says.

“What, then? What wouldn’t you do?”

“I wouldn’t sacrifice you,” Roman says, eyes burning and serious. “I wouldn’t sell you and the others out to my father, even if it meant he would take me back. I love Remus and Dolos, I do, but you guys are . . . you’re my friends.” The way he says that word, friends, has a heavy finality about it. It carries a gravity that Virgil didn’t expect. “I wouldn’t be worthy of Dolos if I sold my friend out. And anyway, I like you guys too much to let you die.”

“How touching,” Virgil says dryly, smacking Roman’s head with the flat of his blade. The only part of Roman that’s damaged is his pride.

That doesn’t stop him from squawking in rage and chasing Virgil all across their campsite.

*~*~*~*~*

Dragon lands on Roman’s outstretched forearm with ease, even though Remy is still coasting through the air. Roman coos to the bird, stroking his back as he reaches up and nips at Roman’s hair and ear.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Thomas asks, eyeing the bird suspiciously.

“Not that bad,” Roman says. “When he nibbles my hair, it only feels like a light tugging, and he never bites my ear hard enough to hurt or bleed. It’s like a pinching feeling. I’m fine with it. Besides, he’s a good little birdy! Isn’t that right, Dragon? You’re a good little messenger birdy!”

Dragon wraps his massive talons around the reinforced sleeve of Roman’s jacket and coos. Roman unties the scroll from his leg and spreads it out on the back of the saddle. Virgil carefully drops little weights on the corners to keep it spread out without blowing away. “What’s the intel?”

The intel, as it turns out, is a map of the Fire Nation, with a few small islands marked in red and black. “These are all sacred fire bending sites,” Roman muses, slowly tracing his fingers over the map. “And this is the code Re and i used when we were children. We used to write secret messages to each other.”

“What does it say?”

“He’s marking which islands are safe.”

“None of them are safe, because they’re in the middle of the Fire Nation,” Virgil mutters. Roman glares at him. “What? It’s not a comment on you personally, Princey. I know you love the Fire nation, I know it’s home for you. But it’s currently under the thumb of your tyrannical father, who’s a notorious jackass that wants all of us dead.”

Roman lets his fingers skim over the ocean. One of the islands, the only unmarked one, is surrounded by drawings of monsters. There is writing above the island drawing, the only neatly-printed script on the entire map. It looks like Dolos’s handwriting. Roman smiles.

“What does it say?”

“It says ‘Here there be Dragons.’ It’s an old Fire Nation children’s story - that island is, supposedly, where the last of the dragons was slain. The water is so rough and choppy that there’s not a single chance of a ship being pulled into that island.”

“And we’re supposed to be able to get to it?”

“By air, we could,” Roman says. “Remy could fly us in. There are pretty regular storms, but if we go on the heels of one we’ll make it before the next one hits. No Fire Nation battle cruiser is getting to that island - but we will. We can. It’s the safest place in the whole Fire Nation, probably. It would be a good base of operations, at least for a little while.” He splays his fingers over the island.

“You miss home,” Logan says gently. “You want to be back on Fire Nation soil more than anything.”

“Not anything,” Roman says. “Not more than your safety. If I thought it wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t suggest it. But as far as I know, it is safe, and . . . and if we’re there, it’s mostly rock. There’s no chance of us setting fire to a forest and attracting unwanted attention.”

“That sounds like it’ll work,” Patton calls, turning his head around just enough to glimpse them without taking his eyes off the sky. “I’m on board with it.”

“I trust Roman,” Virgil says. “If he thinks that island is safe . . . I’m with him.”

Thomas studies his face. Virgil maintains a calm expression, despite his nerves. “Alright, then. Fire Nation it is.”

“Yip yip!” Patton calls. Remy swishes his tail irritably, but he turns anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

It gets hard to find water in the Fire Nation.

It has to be there, obviously, because sustaining life without water is impossible. But when compared to the flowing rivers of the Earth Kingdom forests and the ever-present oceans and ice of the South Pole, the Fire Nation is practically a desert.

Still, Virgil finds that their group is drawn to the water almost instinctively. Realistically, it’s because Remy needs to drink and to keep himself clean, and while they can all make do with a little waterskins, he needs a large body of water. Virgil still finds it like fate or destiny to be able to find so many little places to connect with his element, given where they are.

The river nearby is smaller than any he’s seen before, full of large, mossy rocks that he can easily fall and hurt himself on. He carefully removes his shoes and steps into the water. It takes a minute to find a spot where he can achieve a normal bending stance, but once he does, he inhales.

“Vee?”

Virgil nearly falls as he whirls around, seeing Logan standing in front of him. “Is - that is Vee, isn’t it?”

“Y - yeah, Lo, it’s me,” he calls. “You weren’t sure?”

“You’re standing in the river,” Logan says. “The water fucks with my earth bending, so it obscures my vision a little bit. I knew someone was there, but I didn’t know who it was . . .”

“It’s me,” Virgil says.

“Why are you out here in the middle of the river?”

“I miss home,” Virgil says. “We don’t have rivers like this, but we have water everywhere. We’re surrounded by ice and ocean and . . . and there’s just water, no matter where you look. And that’s why I’m here.”

“I understand,” Logan says, sitting at the edge of the river. “There is earth all around me, but all earth feels different. This is nothing like the earth that I knew at home. It’s full of ash and volcanic overflow, which makes for rich soil that nourishes plant life well. But I miss the rocks of my home village.” His voice is quiet. “I do not think my home village exists anymore.”

“Why not?”

“They knew that the Avatar had been born into an earth bending family. They travelled through the Earth Kingdom, searching for the Avatar . . . Thomas and I ran in the middle of the night. I could not let him leave alone. As we ran, I smelled the smoke, but Thomas . . . he must have seen the village go up in flames.”

Virgil hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. “Is he . . . okay?”

“I assume so,” Logan says softly. “He never tells me otherwise. Then again, I doubt he would say anything to me if he was. He doesn’t like to worry me, which is stupid, because he’s my brother. I’m always worried about him. Especially when he goes and hides shit from me.”

“You curse a lot for a twelve year old,” Virgil tells him. Logan throws a rock at him.

*~*~*~*~*

The island is beautiful, Virgil thinks. It’s all tall, imposing mountains with scraggly trees clinging to the cliffs and shining black-sand beaches. As Remy descends, Virgil spies a glimpse of a gleaming golden building hidden in the mountains. “What’s that?” he asks Roman.

“It’s a Fire Nation temple,” Roman tells him. His eyes are wide and shiny as he stares at the island, even as the waves crash down onto the beach. “Fire Sages would study there, calling on the spirits and seeking their advice. This temple’s been abandoned for who knows how long, since it’s virtually inaccessible these days.”

“Is that where we’re going to study?” Thomas asks, leaning over the side of the saddle.

“We can study anywhere on the island,” Roman responds, “but yeah, we probably will spend a fair amount of time there. It’s a traditional place to train in fire bending.”

Remy touches down on the beach, and almost immediately a dark, choppy wave crashes down over his tail. The flying bison snorts loudly, irritated, and lurches forward off the beach. “Easy there, boy,” Patton soothes, reaching to pat at his head.

“Where are we going to camp?” Logan asks.

“We’re on the beach right now,” Thomas says, “but I don’t think we can stay here. The ocean is too unpredictable, not to mention ships could spot us. I think it’s best if we move inland, try to camp out somewhere in there.”

“That sounds good,” Roman says. He jumps off of Remy’s back and sinks to his knees, digging his hands into the black sand. “Oh, I’ve missed this . . .”

“What is it?”

“Volcanic sand. It’s formed from lava, there’s no feeling like it!” Roman happily begins to roll around in the sand, laughing like a little kid. Virgil watches him indulgently for a couple minutes before he starts harassing him to lead them inland.

*~*~*~*~*

They set up camp at the base of one of the large mountains. Logan and Thomas earth bend some shelter structures out of the rock, and Logan hollows out a campfire pit. Roman goes and finds good firewood, easily bending a campfire to life. Virgil settles down next to Logan as Roman begins to talk about fire bending to Thomas.

“You know how to do this,” he says. “Not consciously, of course, but you’re the Avatar. You were a fire bender in some of your previous lives. The memory of bending is somewhere inside you. We just have to unlock it.”

“And how do we do that?” Thomas asks.

“We start with the bending stances,” Roman says, “and we work our way up from there. A word of caution - I can only teach you some of fire bending.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t bend lightning.”

“Fire benders can bend lightning?!” Thomas gasps.

“Not all of us,” Roman says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remus and I had training in lightning bending, since we’re princes, but neither of us mastered it. To the best of my knowledge, anyway . . .”

“That’s really cool, though,” Thomas says.

“You know what’s really cool?” Roman says. “Redirecting lightning. If bending lightning is rare, redirecting lightning is crazy rare. It’s not really a fire bending technique, I don’t think, cause Uncle Emile’s the one who pioneered it. He told me he used water bending techniques to develop it.”

That perks Virgil’s interest. “Water bending?”

Roman nods, explaining the way his uncle had developed the redirection technique in between instructing Thomas and adjusting his bending stances. Virgil listens, quietly taking mental notes in case he can use any of these stances in his own bending practices.

*~*~*~*~*

The ocean is so different to the one at the South Pole.

Virgil creeps away at night, after they’re all asleep. Patton is snuggled up to Remy, tugging the flying bison’s tail over himself like a blanket. Logan and Thomas are pressed close together, Logan’s quiet breaths obscured by Thomas’s snores. Roman is sprawled out on his stomach like a starfish, face totally obscured by his growing mop of wild curls. It’s warm enough in the Fire Nation that no one feels the need to huddle up to him for warmth, letting him spread out the way he apparently normally does.

As he makes his way to the ocean, Virgil hums to himself, an old lullaby that he remembers from his childhood. It’s an old tale about spirits and balance and the moon, and it comforts him. The Fire Nation island is dark, but the moon overhead is bright and full. Virgil can feel it pulling on him as he creeps ever closer to the ocean. He steps out from the shadow of the sparse forest lining the coast onto the black sand of the beach just as a massive wave breaks against the shore. The water is black as pitch, and the moon gleams overhead like a jewel, reflecting beautifully on the water.

“Hello,” Virgil whispers. The black sand is unlike anything he’s ever felt; it glides smoothly over the skin of his bare feet, slipping between his toes as he digs them in for balance. He understands why Roman missed a beach like this.

Virgil knows that he isn’t strong enough to bend the ocean. Water is one thing, but the ocean is under the control of the spirit La, and Virgil doesn’t want to mess with spirits. For once, he isn’t out here to practice his bending.

“Tui, Spirit of the Moon,” he says softly, “you gave me the gift of water bending, and taught me to wield it for defense. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” Reaching into the small bag tied at his hip, he pulls out a piece of fruit he’d saved from their dinner, one of the two finest. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” A wave rolls in, and he carefully sets the fruit down on a large, broad leaf. It’s carried out to sea, like a tiny boat, and Virgil quickly loses sight of it. He doesn’t bother to try and keep track of it; he has another sacrifice to make.

“La, Spirit of the Ocean, you gave me the gift of the water I bend, and taught me to wield it for healing. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” He produces the second piece of fruit he’d saved. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” Another wave rolls in, and Virgil watches another leaf-boat disappear into the ocean.

He’s done this spirit sacrifice every full moon that he can remember. Even on this journey, he’s done it, setting the sacrifices of the nicest parts of dinner he can save into the nearest body of water. He hopes that the rivers will carry his sacrifices out to La.

Traditionally, the spirit prayers are meant to be said in the plural. Virgil’s father had told him stories of the past, when all the water benders of the tribe would gather and sacrifice and pray together, thanking Tui and La for their gifts. Once the Fire Nation raids had begun, they had stopped.

Virgil makes a point to do it every single full moon. Bending is a precious gift, and deserves to be treated as such. He steps closer to the ocean, bending down to dip his fingers into the waves. The water is chilly, but it’s nothing compared to the burning cold of his home ocean. He lifts his hand to his mouth and gently licks his fingers, grinning.

He’s missed the taste of salt water.

*~*~*~*~*

It takes Thomas almost a week to be able to produce fire.

At first, all he can produce are puffs of dark smoke and the occasional spark. Roman seems ecstatic with this progress. “It’s good!”

“It’s not fire,” Thomas says dejectedly. “It’s not anything.”

“Most firebenders start out with smoke,” Roman says. “At least it’s dark! That’s a good sign! Dark smoke is always better than pale smoke. Remus’s smoke was pale for the first two months that we practiced.”

“So . . . I’m not a failure?”

“Of course you are not a failure,” Logan says, smacking his brother’s shoulder. “Do not say stupid things. It is beneath you.”

Virgil snorts, laying out his array of knives. They gleam in the strong Fire Nation sunlight, and the edges are freshly sharpened. “You’re the fuckin’ Avatar, Thomas. You’re not a failure.”

“Yeah!” Roman says, trying to be helpful. “Hey, at least you can bend!”

“Roman!” Patton hisses. Logan glares at him disapprovingly, and Thomas frowns. Virgil is confused for a second, until he sees Patton glance at him sympathetically.

Oh.

They think Roman was making a dig at him, because they think that he can’t bend.

Roman looks at him in confusion, and then immediately claps his hands over his mouth. “Oh - shit - fuck, Virgil, I didn’t - I wasn’t trying to - I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t apologize,” Virgil says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s all good.”

“It’s not all good, though,” Roman says. “I never meant to imply that you’re not as important as us just because you can’t bend, I -”

“It’s all good, Ro, I mean that,” Virgil says. “I don’t bend, but that doesn’t mean I’m defenseless. I have all of these to keep me safe, and that’s not the only trick I have up my sleeve.”

“What do you have up your sleeve?” Logan asks him. “Besides many, many knives, anyway.”

“Water bending can be used for healing,” Virgil says. “There are plenty of scrolls about it in my home village. Different types of bending use different energy pathways, and if you know where those pathways flow, you can cut them off.”

“You can take away someone’s bending?” Roman whispers.

“Not permanently,” Virgil says, picking up one of his knives and fiddling with it so that he doesn’t have to look at anyone. “It’s only temporary. It leaves them weak and semi-paralyzed, and unable to bend, but they recover after half an hour or so. I try not to use it unless I have to, cause I know how much benders rely on their abilities.”

“That’s a pretty powerful skill,” Thomas says quietly.

“I guess. But you’re the Avatar, so you’d know all about power, wouldn’t you?”

Thomas nods, but there’s still something strange in his eyes.

Virgil goes for a walk by the ocean. When he comes back, the strangeness is gone.

*~*~*~*~*

“Why am I the one who has to go get firewood?” Virgil complains.

“Because I did it last time, and Patton did it the time before that, and Thomas and Roman are off doing fire bending practice somewhere,” Logan says. “It’s your turn.”

“I can go,” Patton offers. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“No, Logan is right,” Virgil sighs, rolling to his feet. “It’s my turn to go get the firewood, so I’ll go get it. It’s not really that big of an imposition.” He pats his tunic, boots, sleeves down to make sure that he’s fully stocked with knives in case something happens. “I’ll meet you all back here, alright?”

He tightens the straps of his boots and heads off inland in search of firewood.

The island is very pretty, Virgil will give it that. The forest is almost non-existent this far inland, but there are plenty of small, woody plants and shrubs that he can gather wood from. He has an armful tucked against his side when he hears the noise. It’s a pained cry, and for a moment he thinks it’s Roman or Thomas.

Quickly, he shakes his head to clear it and refocus. Thomas and Roman are training closer to the shoreline today, so they wouldn’t be this far inland. And the cry he’d heard . . . it wasn’t quite human.

The cry echoes again, but there’s something different about it. Virgil ties the firewood together and throws it over his shoulder, scrambling off towards the cry. “I’m coming!”

He realizes that this is kind of a stupid move. He realizes that he could be running straight into danger. What if it’s a trap? What if he gets himself killed? Despite his fear, there’s something in him pulling him forward. The cry sounds real, and it sounds pained. Who or whatever is making it needs help, and Virgil will not stand idly by and let someone suffer because of his fear.

He makes his way to a cliff, and he can hear whoever’s crying on the other side. The cliff is tall, but not unscalable. Virgil’s used to climbing glaciers back home, and while ice is slippery and more perilous than rock, he can rely on his bending to keep himself steady. Here, he’s climbing with no support.

Virgil pulls off his boots and knots the laces together, slinging them around his shoulders. Going barefoot will ensure that he has a better grip on the cliff as he climbs. The sun gleams sharply on the dark rocks, and Virgil goes slowly to make sure he doesn’t accidentally grab a sharp rock and slice his hands open. He hasn’t had to climb like this in quite a while, but he enjoys it, despite the reason for his climb.

When he finally pushes himself up to the top of the cliff, he gasps. He’s found a small valley, hidden in the large, dark mountains, and tucked inside is a building. It’s built almost into the shadow of the mountain from dark brick, with a dark red tiled roof and gleaming golden accents. This must be the Fire Nation temple he’d spotted when they flew in, he realizes.

The cry echoes again, and Virgil realizes that it’s coming from the temple. He quickly pulls his boots off from around his neck and tugs them on, knotting the laces securely. The cliff slopes much more smoothly on this side, like the curve of a bowl. Virgil backs up and then leaps over the side, pulling water out of the waterskin hanging at his side with his hand. He bends it and freezes it beneath him, creating a flat board that he can surf down the hill on.

Virgil makes it to the bottom of the hill in record time, leaping off and bending his ice board back to regular water, which he quickly bends back into his waterskin. The temple hadn’t looked huge from the top of the cliff, but up close and in person it’s enormous. It’s clearly suffered from neglect; the door hangs ajar from the hinges, the gold is flaking off of the roof and the statues, some of which are missing arms and legs and noses and ears and even heads. Still, the temple is undeniably beautiful.

A pitiful whimper sounds from the temple, and Virgil exhales softly. “I’m coming,” he says softly. “I’m coming.”

The temple is dark inside, but Virgil can see rows of torches on the walls. He assumes they’re meant to be lit with fire bending, probably meant to be eternally burning, but he’ll have to make do. He carries flints with him in his shoulder bag, and he quickly pulls a torch off the wall and lights it. As he progresses slowly through the temple, he lights the other torches, and they cast a warm, ambient glow over the whole room. There are pictures decorating the entire length of the hallway, telling stories of the Fire Nation. They tell how the dragons taught the people of the Fire Nation to bend, to harness the warmth and strength of fire.

Looking at these pictures, Virgil can’t fear fire bending. It looks peaceful; there’s strength and power there, but there’s also love and light and warmth.

The hallway narrows and narrows and narrows, and then it widens abruptly into a large central chamber. This is the most intricately decorated room Virgil has ever seen - the walls, the roof, the floor, the pillars, everything is absolutely covered in decoration, but he can’t focus on any of it.

All he can focus on is the dragon in the middle of the room.

It’s enormous , a long, serpentine body winding around the columns. It’s a brilliant red, scales flecked with gold, and a row of orange gold-tipped spines running down its back. Its wings are spread out over the floor, and its head has golden horns and spines and whiskers. The dragon lets out another pitiful cry, and as Virgil inches closer he sees it - a massive wound in the dragon’s side.

It looks like an old wound, one that hasn’t healed properly. Even from afar, Virgil can tell that it might be infected, and the dragon’s breathing is heavy and labored. He creeps closer, and the dragon’s head snaps around to stare at him. Its eyes are a bright, unnatural blue, with slitted golden pupils, and when it stares at him it feels like it’s staring directly into his soul.

WHY HAVE YOU COME, CHILD? Virgil nearly drops the torch to cower and cover his ears. The voice is only in his head, and the dragon’s mouth does not move to speak, but he can feel it resonate against his sternum. HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME, FINALLY?

“N - no,” Virgil manages, voice catching in his throat. “I heard you crying out.”

I AM IN PAIN. I HAVE BEEN IN PAIN FOR QUITE SOME TIME. I FEAR I AM NOT LONG FOR THIS WORLD.

“I - I might be able to help you,” Virgil says.

WILL YOU KILL ME, CHILD? PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY?

“No,” Virgil says. “I - no ! I will not kill you! I want to try and heal you.”

YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN DO THIS, CHILD?

“I’ve never tried to heal a creature this big or a wound this serious,” Virgil admits honestly. “But I’m going to try. I won’t just let you suffer without trying.”

THAT IS ADMIRABLE.

“Can I come a little closer?” Virgil asks. The dragon rests its large head on its forepaws.

YOU MAY.

Virgil slowly climbs over the coils of the dragon’s body, settling himself down cross-legged next to the massive wound on the dragon’s side. It looks like an old burn wound, and the dragon’s flank rises and falls shallowly as it breathes. He gently lays a hand next to the dragon’s wound.

“Oh . . . what happened?”

IT WAS DRAGONS WHO TAUGHT THE FIRE NATION TO BEND. WE GAVE THEM THE GIFT OF FIRE. THE FIRE LORD TURNED IT ON US. HE SLEW ALL THE DRAGONS THAT I KNEW. I AM THE ONLY ONE LEFT. I AM THE LAST OF MY KIND.

Virgil presses his free hand over his mouth. “That’s . . . that’s so horrible . . .”

I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS HAD THEIR LIFE DESTROYED, I SENSE.

Virgil winces. “My . . . my dad. They killed him because they thought he was the last water bender of our tribe. He died lying to protect me.”

I AM SORRY, CHILD. THAT IS A FATE NO ONE SHOULD SUFFER.

Virgil exhales shakily. “No one should suffer your fate, either. I will do my best to heal you.” He pops the cap off of his waterskin and bends the water around his hands like a protective covering. The water begins to glow as he places his hands just above the dragon’s wound, letting his water bending give him information. What it tells him isn’t good; the wound is old, and it’s infected as he’d thought, and he suspects that the dragon has some form of blood poisoning.

He’s never tried to heal something this big, or this serious. But he promised he would try, and try he will. He’s lucky that the full moon was the other night; that’s when water benders are at the height of their power. With luck, he’ll be strong enough for this task.

IF IT IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, CHILD, DO NOT PUSH YOURSELF. I HAVE SURVIVED THIS LONG. I WILL ENDURE.

“No,” Virgil says, narrowing his eyes and clenching his jaw. “I’m not giving up. I have to try.” He presses his hands against the wound, and the water begins to glow even brighter. He focuses on the flow of energy moving throughout the dragon’s massive body, pulling out the infection surrounding the wound and trying to push healing energy into the dragon in its place.

The water quickly becomes murky and infected as he heals. Virgil takes breaks to dispose of the tainted water and fetch some more clean water from the stream outside. The more he works, the shakier he gets, and he’s worried that he won’t have the energy to finish healing the dragon.

DO NOT HURT YOURSELF, LITTLE ONE, the dragon rumbles. ALREADY I FEEL MYSELF IMPROVING. YOUR KINDNESS HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR ME.

“I - I can keep goin’,” Virgil slurs. “Almost done . . . one more should do it . . .”

He presses his hands against the wound one last time. It’s shrunk down considerably, all the infection pulled out and purified and disposed of. He’s working on the final part of the healing now, re-growing the torn and burnt muscle and skin and making sure the dragon’s scales grow in properly.

Finally, he pulls his hands away, and the wound on the dragon’s side is no more. It stands up, shaking itself out; all of the scales rattle as they realign, and the dragon roars. THANK YOU, LITTLE ONE. YOU HAVE HELPED ME IMMENSELY. The dragon begins to glow bright blue, and Virgil’s exhausted brain manages to connect the dots: the dragon is a spirit. He’s just healed a spirit.

YOU HAVE EARNED MY GRATITUDE THIS DAY, the dragon spirit tells him. REST NOW, LITTLE ONE. KNOW THAT THE SPIRITS ARE WITH YOU, AND ONE DAY YOUR GOOD DEED WILL COME BACK TO YOU TENFOLD.

Virgil’s vision blacks out and blurs around the edges. The last thing he sees as he falls backwards is the dragon spirit’s head coming forward to catch his body.

*~*~*~*~*

“- isn’t he waking up?!”

“What if he’s dead?”

“He is not dead, I can hear his heartbeat. It is strong and steady. He will survive.”

“But what if he doesn’t wake up?!”

“Geez, Roman,” Virgil groans, lifting a hand to his head. “I never knew you cared.”

“Virgil!” He winces at the shout. “Oh, shit, sorry -” A hand presses against his forehead, warm, and when Virgil opens his eyes (only halfway), Roman is leaning over him, eyes bright with worry.

“What . . . happened?”

“You were taking forever to come back from firewood, so we went looking for you! We thought you had been ambushed and captured!” Patton explains, twisting his hands with worry. “We found you at the foot of a cliff, there was a rock next to you! We think there was some kind of rock fall that caught you unaware, you must have hit your head! We don’t know how long you were unconscious!”

“How long has it been?”

“We found you a few hours ago,” Thomas says. “It’s evening now.” Virgil slowly sits up, wincing when his head pounds. Logan is sitting beside him, and he offers him a waterskin. Virgil takes it and quickly gulps down a few chilly swallows.

“I thought you were dead,” he says softly. “I could feel your heartbeat, I could hear you breathing, I knew you weren’t, but when we found you, I - I was terrified, and I . . . I thought you were - I -”

Virgil gently touches Logan’s shoulder. It’s easy to forget that he’s only twelve and a half, with the mature aura he generally projects, but sometimes it’s painfully obvious that he’s just a child, thrust into a war against his will. Logan will lose what’s left of his childhood to this conflict, and Virgil will be damned if he forces Logan to grow up any faster than he already is.

“I’m sorry, Logan,” he says. Logan turns his face towards Virgil, and his eyes are wet. He hasn’t let any tears fall, but his hand is shaking when he places it over Virgil’s. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I - I didn’t mean to make you think you’d lost someone else. I’m okay.”

Logan is silent for a moment. “You’re not lying,” he whispers. “I’m still mad at you, though.”

“That’s fine,” Virgil says. “I’m sorry that I made you mad.”

“Smart answer,” Logan says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He sniffles once, loudly, wiping at his eyes. “You saw nothing. I was not crying.”

“Of course not,” Virgil teases, gently ruffling Logan’s hair. He squawks loudly, but he makes no attempt to dodge Virgil’s hands. Virgil assumes he’s been forgiven.

*~*~*~*~*

The stars seem a little brighter that night. Virgil is on his back, hands beneath his head, staring up at the stars, when Roman flops down next to him. “What’cha doin’?”

“Looking at the constellations,” Virgil tells him. “They’re nothing like the ones back home, so I’m making up my own.”

“Do you wanna hear about ours?” Roman offers. He seems uncharacteristically shy, but Virgil just smiles at him.

“Sure, Ro. I’d love to hear about Fire Nation constellations.” Suddenly, the stars alight in Roman’s eyes. He lays next to Virgil and starts to trace lines between the stars, telling stories about the pictures he’s creating. At some point, the rest of their group shows up and settles in around them. Thomas lays down next to Virgil, Logan slots up against his brother’s side, and Patton stretches out beside Roman.

It’s good. It’s . . . peaceful.

*~*~*~*~*

The first time Thomas produces a flame on purpose, they all stop and stare.

Roman has arranged the kindling around the firepit, but he’s refusing to light it. “You’re going to light the fire,” he tells Thomas. The Avatar shakes his head.

“Ro, I’ve never made more than plumes of smoke and the occasional spark. I can’t light it.”

“You’re going to have to,” Roman says, “because I won’t. We can’t cook dinner without the fire, so you’re gonna have to figure something out and fast. The sun’s setting.” Thomas huffs.

“Roman, you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re the Avatar. The fire is in your veins the way it’s in mine. You just have to convince it to come out.” Roman crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow impassively at Thomas. Even though he’s only met the man in passing, Virgil is reminded of Roman’s Uncle Emile.

Thomas drops into a fire bending stance and thrusts his hand forward. A puff of dark smoke appears, but no fire. He growls in frustration and throws his hand forward again, and again, then his foot, then another hand. He’s copying Roman’s bending stances, but no fire appears.

“You have to try harder than that.”

“I’m trying the hardest I can!”

“If that was true, you would have lit the fire five minutes ago.” Roman’s eyes are hard as steel. “Do better.”

“How?!” Thomas pants, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Just do it.”

Thomas screams and thrusts his hand forward in frustration. A massive jet of fire roars forward, licking up the sides of the pit and engulfing all of the kindling. Within seconds, it’s reduced to ash. Before anyone else can react, Patton bends a vortex around the fire and siphons out all the air, extinguishing the fire. Thomas stares at the pit in shock, breathing heavily.

“You did a good job,” Roman says, and his eyes are warm again.

“What was that?!”

“Fire benders often have to be pushed to a strong emotional extreme to create their first flame. Once you do it, though, it gets easier. We’ll work on being able to call your fire more reliably, and then we’ll work on tempering your control.” Roman touches Thomas’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m proud of you, Thomas.”

Thomas smiles. Roman sweeps fresh kindling into the firepit. “Again.”

Virgil backs up several feet.

*~*~*~*~*

It takes about ten days for Thomas to be able to call his fire reliably. Roman needles him through the first few attempts, poking and prodding until Thomas screams in frustration and incinerates whatever’s closest to him. Eventually, however, he gains the ability to bend flames without fifteen minutes of Roman’s prompting.

“You did well,” Roman tells him. “Now, we work on training that fire. Producing it is one thing, but controlling it is another. For that, we go inland.”

“What? Why?”

“There’s a Fire Nation temple on this island,” Roman says. “It’s not, like, strictly necessary to go there, but I always found that being connected to the tradition of fire benders before me helped sharpen my focus.”

“Sounds cool,” Thomas says. Virgil thinks back to the temple where he’d found and healed the dragon. He’s glad they won’t be walking in on that fiasco. “Are we the only ones going?”

“I want to go!” Patton says eagerly. “I’ve never seen a Fire Nation temple before!”

“I would also like to visit an example of Fire Nation architecture,” Logan offers. “I am sure it will be fascinating.”

They turn to face Virgil. “Vee? You coming?” Virgil’s already seen the Fire Nation temple, but he’s not too proud to admit that it was beautiful. He wonders if there are other secrets that the temple holds, secrets that will only reveal themselves in the presence of a fire bender.

Plus, he’s not exactly keen on everyone else going off on an adventure without him.

“Yeah, of course I am.” Roman grins.

*~*~*~*~*

The cliff is much easier to scale the second time around. Before any of them can attempt to problem solve, Logan steps forward. Within a minute, he’s earth bended a set of stairs leading up the gleaming cliffside. “Will these suffice?”

“Nicely done, Rocky!” Roman says, ruffling Logan’s hair. Logan hides his pleased smile, but Virgil catches a glimpse as he heads up the stairs.

The temple is just as beautiful the second time around. Logan and Thomas bend a chute in the cliff, allowing them all to slide down to the entrance of the temple. “It’s beautiful,” Roman breathes. “It’s been neglected . . . forgotten about . . . but it’s still beautiful.” He reaches out towards the front door, carefully places his hand on the intricate wooden panelling. “There was one of these in the palace, but it wasn’t so intricately decorated. My father didn’t believe in taking care of temples like this, in honoring tradition. He only believes in power.” His voice is shaking.

“We know not all fire benders are like that,” Virgil says softly. “We know you’re different.”

Roman takes a deep breath. “Let’s go inside.”

Once they step inside, Patton frowns. “It’s pitch black in here!”

“Oh, no,” Logan deadpans. “How terrible, to not be able to see anything. How frightening.” Patton winces guiltily before Logan snorts and socks him in the arm. “Kidding. I do not take offense.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Roman says. Virgil can barely see his silhouette in the dark, but then a flame arcs through the air, following the path of Roman’s foot as he bends. The flame dances along the rows of torches, illuminating the hallway. “Shall we?”

Roman trails his fingertips over the murals carved into the walls as they walk. He’s vibrating like a little kid, but there’s something solemn and reverent in the way he touches things. “These murals tell the history of my people,” he whispers. He doesn’t need to, but Virgil feels the atmosphere of the temple the way he’s sure Roman does. It feels like a place for whispering. “They tell how the dragons taught us to fire bend. I wish I could see one . . .”

Virgil thinks of the last time he was here, and prays that they don’t see another dragon.

When they enter the central chamber, it is empty and darkened. Roman steps into the center, humming softly to himself, before glancing upward. “I think I can open it . . .”

“Open what?”

“All Fire Nation temples have a hatch in the ceiling that opens to let the sunlight in. That’s the source of our bending powers, is the spirit of the sun. There’s an intricate set of bending steps you have to do to open the hatch, it’s considered sacred. Fire Sages are usually the only ones who can do it, but they teach it to royalty as well.” Roman frowns.

“What is it?”

“Typically, you need two fire benders to open the hatch . . .”

“I can help,” Thomas offers.

“No, you’re not skilled enough outside of the Avatar state to do it. I can try and do it on my own, but I’m not super optimistic.”

“You have to try!” Patton cheers. Someone snorts derisively from the darkness of the temple. Roman narrows his eyes, shifting to an attack stance. Virgil lets a knife drop into his hand; Patton and Logan shift into bending stances; Logan steps in front of Thomas, who settles into an earth bending stance of his own.

Something crackles as white lines begin to trace in the dark. Roman’s face shifts from caution to shock. “Get down!” he shouts, moments before a lightning bolt sails over his head and slams into the wall. It fizzles out harmlessly against the stone, and Roman shifts back to a bending stance. “Show yourself!” Virgil’s blood runs cold. Another fire bender. They’ve been found.

Another lightning bolt shoots out of the darkness, heading towards Roman. He doesn’t move, and Virgil is about to shove him out of the way when the lightning bolt strikes the stone right in front of Roman. Virgil frowns; Roman said lightning bending was rare, something only skilled fire benders could do. Whoever’s bending in the dark has missed them, not once but twice. Either they’re a terrible shot, or . . .

They’re missing on purpose.

Roman takes a step towards the darkness, and then another. “Show yourself,” he repeats, voice just a little softer.

“Bad idea,” Virgil warns, voice low. Something shifts in the darkness, snarling, and then a dark blur throws itself onto Roman. It tackles him to the ground, knocking him flat on his back. Roman lets out a winded noise as he rolls with his attacker, trying to pin them down. Virgil slips a throwing knife into his hand, pinning it between his index and middle fingers, but he can’t get a clear shot on Roman’s attacker to throw it.

Finally, they stop moving. Roman is on his back, his attacker perched proudly on his stomach. Virgil is ready to attack, but freezes when he sees that Roman isn’t staring up at his attacker with fear or anger or concern. His face is soft, and open, and looks almost . . . hopeful. Virgil’s eyes slide to Roman’s attacker, and he does a double take.

Roman is being pinned to the ground by . . . himself?

A few more seconds clears his vision; the boy pinning Roman looks very similar to his friend, but there are differences. He has a white streak of hair in his bangs, the wispy beginnings of a mustache, a gap between his front teeth. There’s something slightly unhinged glinting in his eyes as he grins.

“Remus?” Roman breathes. The name rings a bell. Remus. Roman’s twin brother. The one who told them about this island.

“The one and only!” Remus crows. He hops up off of Roman, eyes settling on Virgil and the others. He bows exaggeratedly, crossing one foot behind the other, grinning up at them with something just shy of mania. Roman rolls to his feet and yanks Remus into a hug.

“Rem!” Roman’s fist grips Remus’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, and Remus holds his brother just as tightly. “You’re okay! After I left, I was so worried Father would do something to you, are you - are you okay?!”

“I’m okay,” Remus says softly. “I’m okay, Ro, and Deedee is too. He’s safe.”

“Is he here too?!” Roman gasps hopefully. Remus shakes his head.

“He’s not strong enough to leave the ship’s quarters. Father did a number on him. But he’s alive, and he misses you. A lot.”

“I miss him too,” Roman says, eyes watering. He pulls back from the hug just enough to study Remus’s face. “Your hair - what happened?”

“Lightning mishap.”

“You can bend lightning now?! You absolute fucker!” Roman laughs, dragging Remus back into his arms. “I can’t believe you figured it out first!” Remus grins, hugging his twin. “How did you get here? We flew in, but -”

“I took a rowboat.”

“Are you crazy?! You came in by sea? You could have been killed!”

“I know! It would have been so exciting!” Remus chirps, bouncing and flapping his hands. “But I knew you were gonna be here, and I missed you!”

“That was a stupid risk!”

“Saving the Avatar and his baby brother from Father’s wrath was a stupid risk, too. Must run in the family.”

Roman punches his brother in the chest. Remus laughs, rolling with the blow and kicking Roman’s feet out from under him. Roman lands flat on his back, laughing breathlessly. Virgil lets his knife slide back into its sheath. Remus still sets him on edge, but Roman looks more at ease than Virgil’s ever seen him (with the possible exception of when his Uncle Emile tumbled out of those bushes).

It’s nice to see him relax.

*~*~*~*~*

Later, after Remus and Roman have performed and intricate series of dance-like fire bending steps and opened the roof hatch, letting the sun come pouring in, they all sit together. Remus and Roman are pressed close together, literally joined at the hip.

“I can’t stay much longer,” Remus says regretfully. “I’m going to have to head out today if I’m to make it back to the warship before the sea becomes unnavigable.”

“Why risk it at all?” Roman asks.

“We’re checking all the outlying Fire Nation islands for you. Your flying sky beast was spotted by some locals on the shore. I volunteered because I knew it was the most dangerous island to look for. The crew thinks it was a noble gesture, they don’t suspect me.”

“But if they do,” Roman says, “what will they do to you?”

Remus grins, sharp and unhinged. “I can do worse back to them, tenfold. Trust me. And they won’t find anything out.”

“Why come yourself?” Virgil asks. “Why not send your Uncle?”

Remus’s grin fades. “I missed Ro. We’ve never been apart this long, it’s . . . I hate it. It’s like someone ripped my arm and leg out and then beat me over the head with it.”

“I hate it too,” Roman says. He grips Remus’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry that I left you.”

“Hey, if Dee and I coulda escaped with you, we would have,” Remus shrugs. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Someone has to take care of him until you get back. And Dee’s cool, I don’t mind.” Remus turns to regard Thomas, tilting his head to the side. “So how good of an Avatar are you?”

“I’ve mastered earth bending,” Thomas says. “Roman is teaching me to master fire. Air is next, then water.” Remus winces. “What?”

“You might wanna hurry that time table up a little. There aren’t any water benders left at the South Pole.”

“I know,” Virgil says coolly. “I’m from the South Pole.”

“Father is planning something,” Remus says, gripping Roman’s hand back. “He keeps meeting with dignitaries from the Air Nomads, and I’m not sure why. He told me before I left that he was trying to broker peace, but -”

“But Father has never brokered a peace in his entire life,” Roman finishes. “That’s suspicious.”

“There’s more. I think once he finishes with whatever he’s doing with the Air Nomads, he’s planning an assault on the Northern Water Tribe.”

“How is he going to do that?”

“With the Air Nomads’ help?”

“My people would never aid in something like that,” Patton spits. Remus shrugs.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying, you don’t know what Father is capable of the way that Roman and I do. He’s capable of atrocities beyond your comprehension. He took Mother away from us. He took Roman away from me. He’s - he’s taking everyone I’ve ever loved.”

“He won’t take me,” Roman promises. “We might not physically be with each other, but as soon as the war is over I’ll come home.”

“You’ll have to kill Father for that to happen,” Remus says. “You’ll have to win the war.”

“We will.” Roman’s eyes are blazing, and Remus stares into them for a moment before nodding.

“I believe you.”

“Good.” Remus stands up. “Don’t accompany me to the shoreline. The ship’s crew are watching through the onboard telescope, and if they see you they’ll storm the island. Wait until after sundown, we’ll be long gone by then. If plans change, I’ll send Dragon.”

“You better be taking care of him. And Dolos.”

“Please, Roro. I’m not taking care of anyone. Uncle Emile is keeping us all alive.” Roman heaves an exaggerated sigh.

“I don’t know why I expected better.” He stands up as well, gripping Remus’s shoulders. “Promise me that you’ll be careful?”

“I’m never careful, brother,” Remus laughs. They pull into another tight hug before Remus is disappearing down the hallway like a shadow. Roman watches him go with a wistful, hungry expression on his face before turning around to stare at Thomas with renewed fire.

“You heard my brother. We have a lot of work to do.”

#starshinewrites #avatar!au #sanders sides #ts deceit #ts remus #brotherly creativitwins #background romantic roceit #virgil sanders

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alecmagnuslwb · 4 years

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My Only Light

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The first time he says it it’s in a whisper of breath in the cold light of a dreary grey morning. The night before had been no less than a shitshow. In hindsight making a deal with a demon named Dolo, which quite literally means deceit hadn’t been his best thought out plan to date.

But John Constantine isn’t exactly known for always thinking before he acts.

He’d thought he was done for, with the demons six scaly hands wrapped around his throat, his arms immobilized to his side he figured it was finally going to happen. Finally, a demon would get its way and drag him down to hell where he belongs.

And just as he felt the flicking flames of the underworld truly touching his feet, not just the pull that usually haunts him, she showed up. Zatanna in all her magical glory stepped through a portal and blasted the demon with a hit of swirling angry red magic so hard it sent John flying back a few feet as well.

Likely an intentional move considering how upset he knew she’d be that he didn’t just call her in the first place.

Just like that the ground wasn’t swallowing him up and Dolo was nothing more than a pile of dust. John’s vision was blurred and darkened as he attempted to stand, falling back to the ground after even the slightest movement. Whether it was from the blood loss at his neck or the literal hellfire he’d felt he’s not sure, but everything is hazy and dark around him until Zatanna is hovering over him a burst of light in fishnets and a top hat.

“Wasn’t sure you’d get my message,” he said looking up at her forcing his eyes to stay open and look at her shine. His voice came out broken and a little wet, he’s pretty sure there was some internal bleeding involved. Zatanna healed him quickly and sighed once she was finished.

“Of course I did,” Zatanna said looking at him a little fond, a little sad and far more tender than he deserves. “Your fail safe could use an update though,” she added voice much angrier referring to his longtime magical fail safe that sends a message to her whenever he finds himself in a no escape, likely moments away from dying situation he should have called her in the first place for help with. “Maybe don’t make it so I get the message when the claws are already about to decapitate you.” Her voice gets softer with each word.

That was last night, she’s lying in bed beside where he’s propped up on the headboard now her face peaceful not a bit of anger or sadness curling at the edge of her lips. A streak of sunlight peeks through the clouds and the tattered curtains of the hotel room they’d settled in for the night cascading over her bare shoulder. She’s so bright, even exhausted in a trashy hotel room, and John can’t believe he gets to have her.

He reaches out a hand ghosting lightly over her hair brushing it back from her face.

“I’ve walked in darkness my entire life. And I’ve been at home there. But you, Zee? You’ve always been my light,” he says quietly hoping not to wake her. It’s so quiet and still in the room that for moment or two he thinks he’s succeeded until she grumbles lightly shifting closer to him tossing an arm over his waist and tugging, a signal for him to lay back down.

“Wax poetic later, sleep now,” she says eyes never opening. John snorts and slides back down letting himself be fully embraced in her arms and in her light.

Pitch black basements in houses that may or may not be haunted are generally a bad thing, so of course John is currently in one tugging at a light string that’s so old it breaks after one failed pull. The light pouring in from the flickering halls his only guide.

Luckily he moves well in darkness, metaphorically and literally.

He and Zatanna have been investigating a house as a courtesy for an old friend of her father’s. The old woman thought the place was haunted, Zatanna was more convinced the woman was just lonely and living in a house with creaky boards.

Usually he would agree, but when the basement door slams shut from a gust of wind and locks him in he’s not so certain.

He rushes up the stairs tripping in the darkness over a few of them before banging on the door.

“Zee!” he shouts tugging on the door handle the thing not even budging. There’s nothing but silence on the other side, Zatanna likely still in the attic where she’d been headed when he bounded down the steps of the dingy basement. He knocks on the door a few more times shouting her name unsuccessfully.

He huffs and pulls a lighter from his pocket flicking it to life and using it to brighten the space around him when a noise catches his attention to the left. He goes down the few short stairs and points his only light source towards the corner when he hears the sound again from the other side of the room. Another gust of cold air seeps across his skin and knocks out his light.

The sound moves faster now coming from both sides as he frantically attempts to relight his lighter, the damn thing not cooperating. When something rushes across his foot and another something taps at the back of his leg he’s not proud of it and he’ll deny it till his dying day, but he yelps loudly and a little higher pitched than he thought he was capable of scrambling towards the stairs.

The door swings open with a particularly forceful tug as soon as he hits the second step, Zatanna standing there a look of concern on her face and a flashlight in hand shining down on him.

“My literal damn light in the darkness,” he breathes out in relief looking down and seeing nothing nearby that could have been touching him anymore. She smirks at the light comment and pushes the door open further, ensuring it doesn’t jam again.

“I heard a scream,” she says moving the light up and down his body seemingly satisfied that he’s unharmed when she comes down a few steps and moves the flashlight around the basement.

“It was a yelp,” he defends jumping up to the same step she’s on and a little shamefully hiding behind her his hands on her waist. “Something’s down here, luv.” He says it low like he’s trying not to anger whatever it might be.

She shifts the flashlight around the floor when the sound that had startled him in the first place comes again. Two mice scuttle into view looking at them wide eyed for a moment before scurrying off to another corner.

Zatanna purses her lips poorly holding in her laughter.

“Shush,” he says in a huff pointedly stomping up the stairs, Zatanna no longer bothering to try and hold in her giggles. It’s a delightful sound, but he’s just grumpy enough to keep stomping away determined to prove the house is haunted just to save his dignity.

It isn’t.

The chilly November air swirls around them as they huddle close walking through Robinson Park after an all expenses paid dinner courtesy of Gotham’s favorite Bachelor in a bat suit. Gotham City is a bit of a hellhole in many respects, but this park is well kept thanks to the donations of Wayne Industries and one of the cities finer and safer points.

It’s been a long two weeks working with the bat and this is the first night they’ve had to themselves since arriving. They’ll be gone by tomorrow back to San Francisco where they settle these days, it’s the most stable John’s felt in years, maybe in his entire life with her. It feels good.

They settle on a bench John instantly tossing one arm over Zatanna’s shoulders and pulling her close. He uses his other hand to look for a smoke.

“Fuck,” John grumbles patting at all his pockets and coming up empty.

Zatanna reaches into the inside pocket of her own jacket, a black jean jacket covered in patches that’s too big on her and actually used to be John’s once upon a time. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and shakes them in front of his eyes.

“Did you really think,” she says pulling one from the pack and sticking it between her lips. “That I didn’t know you keep a pack in that pot on the balcony that’s empty because we keep killing all the plants we put in there?” she smirks at him around the cigarette pulling the lighter from the pack and flicking it to life.

“I took the pack out in the hopes that we might successfully plant something in there and in the knowledge that you’re always running out and losing full packs when we’re working,” she continues as she puts the flame to the end of the cigarette.

“You know me so damn well,” he says with his own answering smirk. Once the cigarettes lit she puts the pack and lighter back in her pocket and takes a slow drag. John would never wish his nasty habit on her permanently, but he won’t act like it isn’t one of the sexiest visions in the world to see the smoke curl from her dark painted lips a bit of her magic at the edges of it.

She smiles, genuine at him as she pulls the cigarette away and holds it out for him. He ducks his head quickly placing a light kiss on the two fingers that hold the cigarette before putting his lips around it and pulling back ensuring the lit end doesn’t brush her fingers.

“Too damn well,” she says with a roll of her eyes dropping her hand. He takes his own drag loving the burn of it in his lungs and the sweet taste of her lipstick staining the end.

“My light always with a light for me,” he smiles pulling the cigarette away and placing a quick kiss on her hair.

She rolls her eyes again before settling back under his arm and into his side.

“You get cornier and cornier the older we get,” she says curling a hand into his trench coat for warmth. John just laughs around another drag of his cigarette not arguing the point.

John wakes up screaming.

In an instant Zatanna is pouring into the bedroom her hands on his shoulders, a steadying grip grounding him back to reality.

“You’re okay,” she says soothingly as he gets control of his breath. “You’re okay.”

He looks down at himself covered in sweat and then up at her a vision of goddess-hood in a white t-shirt, dark pants, suspenders and sharp dark eyeliner. Just one look at her settles his frayed nerves a bit more than anything else could.

He doesn’t remember the nightmare, but it must have been a doozy to leave him in the state he is. He does however remember the night before, or parts of it, and winces.

It’d been the anniversary of losing little Astrid at Newcastle, a hard day any year, a day that reminds him of his failures and of how he’s never quite good enough in the end. One drink in her memory had turned into two, which turned into shots and a pool game gone wrong which resulted in the ache in his jaw from the punch he vaguely remembers receiving after trying to haul off with some bloke’s entire wallet. He’d been thrown out of two pubs before some bartender had finally taken pity on him and cut him off, stealing his phone and calling the first number they’d found.

Years ago he’d put numbers before Zatanna’s number to make sure she was always be at the top of his contacts just in case, instead of dead last as she would be alphabetically. It’s one of those moments though were he wishes he’d changed that; wishes that she didn’t have to deal with him like this.

“I’m sorry,” he says grimacing a bit as her hands drop from his shoulders. She looks a little stunned at the words, which just makes them even truer. He fucks up pretty frequently and doesn’t apologize enough if she looks surprised to hear it said out loud. It’s something he needs to work on.

“John,” she starts softly, all kindness and understanding he doesn’t deserve in this moment at all so he cuts her off.

“No, I got fucked up last night and I shouldn’t have and the responsibility of making sure I didn’t drink myself to death shouldn’t have landed on you,” he says firmly looking directly into her bright eyes, almost too bright to look into with his head screaming a headache from every angle. “So, I’m sorry.”

Usually she would have been with him on the day keeping him from doing as he had done the night before, but he’d done a number on their relationship a few months prior and they’ve been distant. The fact that she showed up when a random bartender told her to come pick up his drunk ass means more than he’ll ever be able to express and as usual is more than he deserves.

“You’re forgiven,” she says with a small sad smile. She reaches out pushing his sweaty bangs back from his forehead. “Go wash up, I made one of your good old-fashioned hangover cure breakfasts.” She stands up from where she’d settled on the edge of the bed and pats him on the shoulder as she goes.

The shower helps and the breakfast, despite it nearing two in the afternoon, refreshes him even more. He’ll always be grateful that despite being a stout vegetarian she took the time to learn his hangover breakfast recipes back when they first got together. Zatanna just sits beside him the whole time sipping a coffee quietly and scrolling through her phone.

“Thank you,” he says eventually after pushing his empty plate away. She sits her phone down and turns to him.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she shrugs always so damn good and humble. She deserves everything, a simple thanks doesn’t even begin to cover it, but it’s all he has.

“I really do,” he says running a hand across his jaw, the stubble reminding him he should have shaved too while he was washing the sadness and sweat away in the shower. “I’ve been shit these last few months and I know it, but you showed up anyways, so thank you.”

She smiles reaching out and tapping her fingers lightly against his knuckles.

“You’d do the same for me, no matter how shit you are,” she says with a smile and for the first time in days John actually feels good. She moves to pull away, but John stops her flipping his hand and tangling their fingers together.

“I know you hate it when I say it, but you really are my light Zee, more than I ever deserve,” he says squeezing her hand once before letting go. She pulls back and collects his plate pausing next to him as she does. She leans down pressing a kiss into his hair.

“You deserve more than you think,” she says before stepping away and disappearing into the kitchen.

He doesn’t believe it for a second, but he appreciates the sentiment from the best person he’ll ever know anyways.

It’s hell and fire surrounding them again and he’s so goddamn angry.

Things were finally settling into place with the world, with his ever-improving mindset and most importantly and selfishly with them. Now he’s standing in front of a burning pentagram that will take him to hell and he may never come back, Zatanna standing in front of him begging him to not do this alone.

The window of the bar they’ve taken over to do this in bursts, glass shattering all around, a bit cutting at the exposed skin of his hand and neither of them even flinch too focused on one another and the reality of what’s about to happen settling in, hyper aware of the argument they’re about to have and he’s too stubborn to lose. Outside there are shouts of fear and fighting, somewhere every friend they have is fighting every hell beast and monster that’s slithering out of a crack in the universe raining hell down on earth trying to contain it to Metropolis alone before John seals it from the other side.

“It’s the only way, Zee,” he says for at least the fifth time. She knows, but he understands her position he’d be fighting the same fight if it was her making a choice that would likely end with her death.

There’s only three people on their side with magic strong enough to seal an exposed gate to hell, she’s too important to the world and to him to be the one to do it and Doctor Fate is too self-important to do it, which just leaves him.

It’s not the hero moment he asked for, but it’ll have to do to really earn that Justice League membership Bats handed over months ago that had a lot of existing members scratching their heads.

“We can figure out something else,” she says weakly. “I can go with you, we’re stronger together.”

It’s true in a lot of senses and in theory for this particular situation, but this is a one-way ticket most likely and she’s too damn valuable to test a theory.

John steps forward fingers gripping around the suspenders she’s wearing and tugging her close.

“There’s no other way, my love,” he says pressing his forehead to hers. Her hands come up lightly holding onto his bent elbows. “I can close it and you can save the world.” He sighs and moves forward gathering her up in his arms and holding her close. Her arms lock tightly around his waist like she can hold him here with just this.

She could. He can’t let her though.

“I love you,” he says, taking what might be his last chance to tell her everything he feels about her. It’s easier to say it this way with her bright eyes not staring into his and making him change his mind about this. “You are the light in every darkness I’ve ever faced, you’re the whole damn world to me.”

Zatanna’s arms squeeze around him tighter as he pulls back. He leans in kissing her for all he’s worth, pouring every apology he’s never given her, every word he’s said and hasn’t, every touch he’ll miss and every touch that set him alight into it and god does she give right back. She doesn’t need to say a thing back, he feels it all in her kiss. It feels like a goodbye, he hates that it probably is.

“Fuck this,” she says wetly once he pulls away. She doesn’t move to stop him this time though, even if her hands twitch at her sides desperately wanting to.

John chuckles and smirks stepping backwards into the pentagram and flames with his arms spread wide.

“I emphatically agree,” he says before the flames take over and his screams begin. The last thing he sees before the pain takes over is Zatanna wiping away tears a sad laugh escaping her lips at his theatrics.

Miracle of all miracles that can only be explained because of the existence of Zatanna Zatara he makes it back. It takes three days which feels like three hundred years for him, but somehow she finds a loophole, sneaks in and gets him home without so much as a hellhound following them out.

He sleeps for five days straight after she portals them into their shared room in the House of Mystery. When he wakes he’s disappointed to find no get well soon bouquets from Superman and then is hit with a split second of wondering if he dreamed it all when he notices it’s dark outside and Zatanna is nowhere to be found.

But before any fear can overtake him she’s pushing the door open with her hip a tray of food in her hands and she freezes.

“There you are,” she says hopeful and lovely, choking on the words just enough that it would go unnoticed by anyone but him. She sits the tray down on the vanity before throwing herself into his arms on the bed.

“Here I am,” he says disbelieving he’s back here, in this bed with this woman, the only place he ever wants to be. They stay that way for a while just holding onto each other before she eventually leans back.

She looks tired hair pulled up in a swaying ponytail, not a smidge of makeup or jewelry on wearing one of his old torn to shreds Mucous Membrane t-shirts and leggings that look like the galaxy. She’s never looked more beautiful; she’s never been more the personification of the light of his life merely for the fact she’s here and this is real and he’s not dead or stuck in hell running for his very soul for eternity.

He says just that aloud.

“You’re always saying that, John,” she says brushing a hand through his hair briefly before sliding down to settle her fingers lightly on his collarbone just above the tattoo on his chest she’d picked out the design for what feels like a lifetime ago when they were twenty and filled with light. She held onto hers though, even if he lost his along the way. “That I’m your light and I don’t doubt it, but have you ever stopped to consider for a moment that you’re mine too?”

John freezes. He hadn’t. The thought had never once crossed his mind and if it weren’t for the fact that he’s stone cold sober right now and more alert and aware than usual he’d question if he even heard her correctly. As far as he’s concerned John is all shadows and the darkness at the end of a tunnel with only dead ends, he’s no light, no beacon of anything, especially not to the woman who’s always been the glowing candle in his undercurrent of nothingness, the flashlight in every cave he’s been brutally tossed into.

The concept is completely implausible. Yet, here she is saying it.

“I know you’ll never believe it,” she goes on and continues running her fingers delicately along his collarbone. “But it’s the truth, for all the mistakes you make and the mess you tend to bring with you, you’re the most consistent thing in my life. You’re always there when I need you, you’re always the first person I want to be there, you may think you’re all darkness and monsters, but to me that’s never been the case.”

She drops her hand and grabs one of his holding it between both of her own. They’re a little cold, just like always, a stark contrast to the burning scorch his skin always holds.

“You’re my light as much as I’m yours, keep that in mind for me next time you step into a hell portal on a suicide mission will you?” she requests with a light teasing tone. He hears the words beneath it, don’t you dare die on me.

He can’t make any promises on that front and he’s frankly so stunned by the admission he can’t find the words to articulate it, so he settles for moving forward kissing her soft and slow, a complete opposite to the last kiss they’d shared all desperate and filled with farewells. This one is slow and tender saying with his slightly chapped lips and warm tongue that he’ll stay as long as hell allows him.

“I’ll do my best,” he says eventually long after the kiss and a few dozen more his back pressed to her chest her fingers carding through his hair as he trails light paths with his own hands up and down her now bare thighs.

“Good,” she says tugging a little at the ends of his sandy hair understanding what he means. For the first time in a long time he feels like maybe he does have some light left in him too.

#my fic #johnzee #john constantine #zatanna zatara

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prinssess61 · 4 years

Text

Snek Cuddles and Consequences

Ok, so I had an idea inspired by a post made by @dailysandersidesaudoodles (go check them out). So it just kind of developed into this... anyways, let's do this! There is am odd POV change just so you know. It changes from Roman's to Virgil's and goes back in time a little. I also may do a part two, depending on if anyone wants it.

Summary: Virgil and Deceit liked to cuddle before he left the Dark Sides and old habits die hard

Trigger warnings: Snake Deceit, sword, let me know if I should add anything

Pairings/Ships: platonic Anxceit (or romantic if you really want to)

Before Virgil had left the Dark Sides he and Deceit loved to cuddle. Although Deceit had often changed into his snake form when they did. Deceit was often too cold and Virgil was too hot because he refused to take off his hoodie, so it was a pretty good way to regulate their temperatures.

So, one day after Deceit had revealed himself to Thomas, he was sensing a lot of heat from something in the living room. He walked in expecting a heater on (that's how hot it was), but instead he found an overheating Virgil. He was sprawled out on the couch fanning himself and sweating too. His face was red as a tomato, but he still had his hoodie on. The Light Sides had all told him he needed to take off his hoodie, but every time he simply said he would never take it off.

"Virgil, you stubborn moron," Deceit muttered under his breath, walking to stand in front of him. He looked at Virgil as the anxious side noticed his presence.

"Oh, hey, Dee," Virgil said, in between his panting. Deceit didn't respond, but instead sat down beside Virgil and changed into his snake form. Now he was a 4 foot-long, yellow, black, and brown boa constrictor. Virgil looked at him confused for a moment, but then said as he lifted up his oversized jacket sleeve, "Come on."

Recognizing the invitation, the snake slithered onto Virgil's arm and continued until he was comfortably wrapped around Virgil's shirt and neck. Virgil sighed in relief as he felt the cold snake cooling him off. It wasn't as cold as he would've liked, but it was still better than before.

Virgil didn't realize how much he had missed this until he felt himself relax in the tight, but not uncomfortable, grip of Deceit. He also didn't realize how tired he was until he drifted to sleep, feeling safe enough to do so.

As he felt Virgil relax, Deceit stuck out his tongue in what Remus described as 'a blep'. There wasn't really a reason he did this, except when he was trying to figure out his surroundings. He subconsciously tightened his grip on Virgil, as Deceit felt he was protecting him like he had before.

Deceit felt Virgil relax more and figured he had fallen asleep in Deceit's embrace, which made Deceit feel proud since Virgil thought he was safe enough to go to sleep.

Eventually sleep also overcame Deceit, as Virgil's warmth crept into his cold body, and although his grip did not lessen, his head was hanging over Virgil's shoulder. They slept peacefully until the Light Sides came to check on him.

Roman was the first to walk into the room and seeing Virgil's head tipped back slightly, motioned to Patton and Logan, who were behind him, to be quiet. They continued in slowly and quietly, but when Roman got close enough to see a huge snake on him, he summoned his katana, with a shriek. Patton and Logan saw it as well. Patton joined Roman in his screaming, but Logan stood there in shock, his eyes wide.

Virgil heard their screams and shot off the couch with a jump and and stared at them with wide eyes. The snake moved too, although it seemed like Virgil didn't notice the snake on him. It was then that Roman realized it was a boa constrictor, and that it was wrapped around Virgil's chest and could easily wrap itself around his neck and choke him.

"What the HECK was that about?" Virgil shouted, still clearly startled. The snake moved again.

"Virgil, don't move," Roman said, trying to keep his voice calm, so Virgil wouldn't freak out.

"What? Wh- Wait. Why do you have your sword?" Virgil asked, pointing to his katana.

Patton and Logan were too scared and shocked to say anything, so Roman continued inching forward keeping his eyes locked with Virgil's but keeping the snake in his view, "Virgil, don't freak out. Just stay still. Don't move."

"Why would I freak out? The only reason I 'freaked out' was because you screamed."

Roman saw the snake's head move closer to Virgil's. He also saw the snake's tongue move out of its mouth and flick up and down, as if feeling Roman's nervousness. Roman was standing about 3 feet from Virgil when Virgil winced and muttered a small, "Ow."

Roman realized the snake had been tightening its grip with every step that Roman took so he stopped, fearing the snake would squeeze Virgil too tight.

Deceit was obviously uncomfortable being in this form around anyone else besides Remus and Virgil. Then Roman started to move forward with his sword in his hands. Dee started to tighten around Virgil defensively as if relying mostly on instincts. Eventually he got a little too tight so Virgil quietly said, "Ow." Roman stopped moving.

Deceit seemed to recognize this and loosened a bit, but not much.

Roman started moving again, but more slowly, and Deceit hissed in response. Roman jumped back and yelped. Logan and Patton shouted in surprise. Virgil understood why they all seemed so frightened. They had never seen Deceit in his snake form. They thought Deceit was going to hurt him.

"Guys, it's ok. I'm ok," Virgil said, although he didn't show that he realized that there was a boa constrictor around him.

Roman couldn't believe it. Virgil had a giant snake wrapped around his chest and he didn't even realize it. The snake had even hurt him. Roman was somewhat infuriated with him. How could he be so... so... oblivious!

Logan spoke up, finally finding his voice, "Virgil. Do you realize there is a... snake... on you? Please do not get upset at this information."

"Why would I- Oh! You guys haven't met... uh... Dolos! My... pet... snake..." Virgil trailed off, hoping Dee wouldn't be mad at Virgil for calling him a pet. If the others didn’t know about Deceit’s snake form, he was not going to tell them. Thankfully, he wasn't, since Virgil felt him loosen his grip a bit more, almost as if relieved.

The others stared at him in shock, disbelief, and surprise. Roman was the first to speak.

"Why the heck would you have a snake for a pet?! Do you know how dangerous that is?!"

Logan joined in, "Indeed, Virgil. This," he paused looking for the right word, "arrangement... is not safe." He emphasized the word 'arrangement' while motioning to the snake wrapped around his friend.

"Guys, it's fine. I've done this hundreds of times before."

Patton finally spoke up, "Uh... kiddo. I agree with Logan. This isn't safe. Maybe you should keep him in a cage or something, at all times."

Dee hissed at him for suggesting such an atrocious action. He looked up at Virgil as if pleading him to take his side, then back at Roman and the sword in his hands. Virgil seemed to understand as he said, "Roman, put the sword down. He won't hurt anybody. Look."

He lifted his chin a little and Deceit wrapped around his neck once like a scaly scarf, understanding the need to prove his harmlessness.

"Virgil! Don't do that!" Roman yelled, brandishing his sword. Dee hissed once more, at his movements. Roman instinctively took a step back. Logan was sharing concerned looks with Patton, who was biting his nails and almost crying.

"Fine! Fine! Chill out, guys." Instead he lifted his arm and looked at Dee. He responded by unwrapping his body from around Virge's neck and moved to his arm, although most of him was still around his chest. Virgil didn’t understand why they wouldn’t trust him. He told them the snake was harmless. Why couldn’t they believe him?

“What would it take to prove that he’s harmless?” Virgil asked.

“If he does whatever I tell him to do, I’ll believe he’s ‘harmless’,” Roman responded. Logan and Patton nodded.

“What do you have in mind? I won’t let you hurt him, in any way.”

“Virgil! It already hurt you! Just a couple of minutes ago!”

“Yeah! Because he thought you were threatening me!”

Roman sighed and Patton spoke up. “Maybe we should trust Virgil and... Dolos. I mean, if it was going to do anything, it would’ve done it already. Um... Virgil? How long have you been like... that?” Patton gestured to him.

“Oh. Um...” Virgil looked at the clock. He had been asleep for four hours. That was more sleep than he usually got at night. “About four and a half hours, give or take.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. Virgil could’ve died four hours ago? And he wasn’t there to protect him? How could he have been so stupid?! He had to protect Virgil from that ferocious fiend, no matter the cost.

“See? Virgil’s been fine for more than four hours,” Patton said, although a bit hesitantly. “And Virge said he’s done this a lot before.”

“As much as I hate to say this, I agree with Patton. We should trust Virgil and his decisions, even if they are not the smartest ones.”

“Fine,” Roman said, his sword vanishing into thin air. “But I’m keeping an eye on it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Logan said. Virgil and Patton made noises of protests, but Logan continued, “I said I would trust Virgil, not his pet.”

Virgil looked down at Deceit and saw him take a more offensive stance. ‘Uh oh,’ Virgil thought. Now Deceit was angry. He didn’t mind Virgil calling him a pet, as long as it was for protection, but Logan... that was a big no.

“Guys, you might want to take a step back,” Virgil said, trying to put as much distance between them and the angry snake.

Logan took a step back as he asked, “Why?” They were all confused, but did what Virgil said. And just in time too. Deceit had been uncoiling from Virgil and was now lunging at Logan. Fortunately, Logan was out of reach. Unfortunately, Roman registered the attack and willed his sword into his hands and swung it at Deceit.

Deceit had just barely dodged the sword, when Virgil reached forward and grabbed him. He was heavy and it was hard but it he managed to lift him up completely and put him back on his shoulders.

“Dec- Dolos, no!” Virgil chastised him. “I’ll go take him to my room.”

Virgil ran upstairs before anyone could say anything else. He shut his bedroom door as Deceit slithered onto the floor. He shifted back to his human form, and sat on Virgil’s bed.

“Sorry, Virge. I just... I really do like people calling me a pet. It’s not fine with you. I don’t know you are just trying to protect me. Thanks, for that, by the way.”

“It’s fine... just, be more careful next time.”

“Sure thing, Virge. Does this mean that were somewhat friends?” Deceit said quietly.

“Yeah. Friends,” Virgil said giving him a soft smile.

#sanders sides #deceit sanders #virgil sanders #snake deceit #dark side cuddles #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #sympathetic deceit

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oh-theatre · 4 years

Text

You Can't Force A Fairytale (Chapter 2)

Chapter title: A Short-Lived Separation

A/n: EEEE IM LOVE LOGICALITY?? Also, my uhh mantra is just HMM WHAT IF THEY WERE ALL FRIENDS?? God, I love them,,, oops. Anyway!! I hope you enjoy! I know how bad this is and probably super like rushed but uh enjoy and make sure to leave me comments!

also if this is confusing i understand, so please tell me and ill try and clear it out!

words: 2133

summary: Roman has buisness to attend to as the gang continue their journey.

pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, eventual demus, eventual remile (These might change but for now im love them)

warnings: bow and arrow, violence, injuries, magic, swearing, bruises, scars

Ao3 Link

“Roman, let’s go” His father calls, Roman nods at his fencing partner, stepping away from his place. He thanks him with a nod before following his father out of the arena with a sweat towel, through the bejeweled halls. “Stop dragging your feet” He reprimands, Roman does exactly that.

“Apologies” Roman clears his throat, knowing he shouldn't mumble. Less he receives a punishing yell. “Where are we going?”

“Father, where are we going father” He corrects, Roman nods taking a mental note. “We are going to meet with some neighboring powers, it seems prince Patton has set course again” His father explains, Roman resists the urge to smile at the first news of Patton he had heard in days. “They wish to discuss with us about lending resources in exchange for something of value, I hope you learn something” They turn the corner, photos, perfectly set line the walls.

“Thank you for the opportunity father” Although he does wish he could spend his afternoon fencing and practice alongside his brother, no one had seen Remus for weeks and no one seemed to care. Except for Patton, who promised he would find him, and now here Roman was about to destroy that. He stuffs his sword into his holster as they arrive in the grand room. Roman will always marvel as the ceilings disappear from view, too high to squint out.

“Sit” His father commands, Roman does, his back sinking comfortably into regal chairs. He fights every instinct to fidget as more people gather, talking in hushed voices to one another, simply nodding towards Roman. A hint of acknowledgment. He listens, however, the voices molded into snippets of conversation until finally, someone talks a little too close to the prince.

“I heard they caught him finally, threw the boy into the back of the carriage they did” Roman perks up, swirling his drink carefully as the snivelly voice continues. “He was with that other prince too, Prince Logan, his father was less than pleased” Logan! Roman fights an eager grin, taking a quick sip. “God only knows what they're going to do to that boy now” Roman's heart sinks below his knees, the sweat upon his forehead growing stronger. “I'm sure the King has his punishment ready”

Bingo

Roman's mind runs wild, only his assumptions in mind. Patton and Logan? Caught? What trials were they going to face now, at the dawn of the world they were on the brink. What was going to be their fight, consequence for trying to do what's right? Was it all Romans fault, no...no, no...it'll be fine. Everything will be fine.

~~~

“This is not fine!” Patton cries, shaking violently in the guards hold. “You can't just lock me away!” He argues, angry tears fall from his cheeks, staining the floor.

“I can do as I please Patton, I'm the King” The deep voice could silence a chamber of councils with his bellows. “Throw him in” He directs, the men do so allowing Patton to scuff his knees, tangling himself in his cloak.

“Please! You cant do this” He shouts, shaking at the bars that lock him into the freezing room. The King snickers before bowing out, the lights dimming as it falls silent. Patton groans, small sparks fly from his hand bouncing off the walls. He catches them playing around with the light. After a brief moment, he sprinkles them around, a calming sense falls over him.

He moves to the window, the glaring sun shining in providing the only hope of escape through the bars. Knowing this tower was made to prevent or weaken magic, Patton wasn't too hopeful. He yearns from the opening, watching the kingdom go on without him, the magic of life swirl about. He looks just across the borders, watching a sliver of another castle behind the clouds, praying maybe a little, that Logan is safe.

Once his dream ends he retreats to the slab they dare call a bed, removing his boots massaging the sores of his adventures. He undoes his cloak, hanging it on a single hook, laying down as his eyes examine the plain ceiling. Maybe something manifest, what does he have to lose?

Yeah, that last about five minutes. Patton, much to antsy, jumps towards the window once more. His fingers tracing every inch of the metal, using what small iota is left of his powers to bend them just slightly. He’s small, he can squeeze through...surely.

~~~

“Surely you've lost your mind, Logan!” His father yells, Logan scratches his ear, clearing out the sound of annoyance.

“Surely I haven't father, now may I be excused?” he requests politely, following his father graciously with his arms behind him.

“No!” His father barks “Because instead of being here doing your duties, you were off gallivanting with that...scoundrel” He seethes, Logan clutches to his wrist taking a deep breath.

“Prince Patton” he corrects, His father turns to him stopping them in their tracks. It was rather amusing the difference between the two. Logan was slim, he maintained himself. He was a lousy man, plump as he waddled grumpily through the castle halls. Logan found it hard not to laugh as he had to look down addressing the man who was supposedly in charge of him.

“You will not speak to me like such” he warns, Logan swallows his thoughts nodding. “Now we have a conference to prepare for, so shoo, go...do something of use” He excuses his son, meeting with his advisors. Logan smirks, bouncing on his heels as he races calmly upstairs. Shutting himself in his room, moving to the fountain that sprays beautifully in the corner.

“I know you're in there” He mutters searching his pockets, finally his fingers surround a circular item. He pulls it out, smiling as a shine comes from the gold coin. “Please work” He begs silently, flicking it into the water, watching as light dances around, his eyes dazed as the color pours out. Soon an image clears, and Logan's blush returns. “Patton!” He whispers, the figure turns, a giant grin as he approaches the screen.

“Lo!” Patton greets in return, his curled locks bouncing along with him. He adjusts his glasses, checking the room. “You used the coin” Patton identifies, sitting at the end of the bed.

“It worked” Logan mumbles in disbelief, his fingers itching for more. He shakes his head, focus, your time is limited. “Are you alright?” He questions

“Little bruised but mostly just bored!” Patton exclaims “They locked me atop ‘Fiona's Tower’” He informs, Logan nods listening, his eyes scan what he can see. “How are you, he didn't...hurt you did he? You got home safe?” Patton inquires, Logan eyes alight with soft affection. Patton watches from his end, wanting nothing more than to be there with him.

“Id barely call this a home” Logan scoffs, Patton bites his lower lip “But yes, the king's men got me home all in one piece” He gestures to himself, Patton smiles weakly. “Pat? Is everything truly alright?”

“Hmm?” Patton hums, he shakes off his doubts, a flashy smile returning “Yes of c-” He pauses, listening “Logan I must go! I'm so sorry, stay safe, promise?”

“Always and forever” Logan recites, his hands cross the water and as it dissolves so does Patton.

~~~

“Everything hurts” Virgil moans, his feet dragging the grass behind him “And I'm tired” He continues, Dolos nods sympathetically.

“‘Everything hurts and I'm tired’ title of your sex tape” Remus blurts, laughing before his eyes grow in confusion. “Whats a sex tape?”

“You don't...nevermind” Virgil groans shaking his head. He realizes quickly his posture over Dolos and straightens himself out, yawning as Emile simply floats ahead of them. Humming delighted as more comes to view. “Hey uhhhh Fairy godfather or whatever?” He calls out, they stop as Emile turns.

“Yes, dear Virgil?” He wonders, ascending as he plants his feathered feet into the newly green grass.

“Where exactly are we going?” Virgil asks, Dolos helping him making sure he stays upright. “Cause like, we've been walking for hours, and Dolos is tired” he nods sadly, Emile cocks his head, his flashy grin remains.

“To the people who I hope can help you…” he looks to the narrator “And Remus” He states first, looking to the figure. Remus stands, kicking the dirt below as he scratches his head. “He needs to return to his brother” Emile informs

“Roman” Remus breathes, a sappy sorrow over him.

“Who?’ Virgil questions

“Virgil's future love!” Remus narrates, quickly his eyes grow as he turns to Virgil “You touch my brother” he shakes his head, Virgil quickly hides behind Dolos

“I didn't do anything” He argues “I don't even know who Roman is!” he shouts, Emile hushes him as he listens to the crackle of leaves.

“You dare speak the prince's name in such a manner!” A voice comes from the shadows, the group closes in each facing a new way. “You will- Prince Remus?” The man stops, gesturing for the rest of his men to stop as well.

“Lucio!” The prince cries, racing forward

“What is going on here?” Lucio forces Remus behind him “Men, take them! They kidnapped the prince!”

Fucking come on! Virgil groans

~~~

“A suitor?! This is ridiculous” Patton scoffs, a furrowed pout upon his face. The King sits across from him, a scowled smirk. “Please! You mustn't do this!” He begs, standing now from his seat. The King does the same but looks to one of his advisors.

“We must prepare for the conference, take Patton to get ready” he commands. The man nods and soon Patton feels himself whisked away, dragged through the halls of the palace he once adored, stuffed into a room.

“Patton!” A woman cries he turns, his face lights up, a sweet grin.

“Val!” Patton breathes a sigh of relief, embracing the red-cloaked woman in a hug. “Oh! I missed you” He smiles pulling away, examining her every feature. “You look good, are you. No harm has come to you right?” He checks

“No! No of course not Pat” Valerie assures nodding “Im perfect as a peach” She grins, he embraces her once more before removing his cloak. He then allows Valerie to work around him, placing the ever so familiar royal garments on him.

“Oh” Patton sighs, spinning delighted in his new suit. His pants comfortable around him, a new slick cloak falls behind him dancing in a celestial blue. He feels royal, he feels himself. “I do miss this” He breathes, smoothing out the bedazzling outfit.

“Oh, I'm glad you like it!” Valerie appreciates, holding a hand over her heart. “You look perfect for the conference” A bell rings throughout “Oh, go show em whos the rightful heir to the throne” She nudges, Patton giggles nodding as he leaves. He braces himself joining them back in the throne room, Patton stands at the King's side grumbling only slightly. As the kingdoms file in, each with a toothy smile to the family Patton ducks out. He makes his way to the stables, finally arriving.

“Nork?” he whispers sweetly, a neigh in response as he bites his lower lip. “There you are” He wastes no time petting his beloved animal, the horse excited to see him. “Oh, I’m so sorry for what happened” He laments, brushing the dark hair. He stops listening as the hay below him rustles, he turns quickly his bow appearing in his hands and arrow ready in a spark of blue light. “Show yourself!”

“Patton” Logan emerges, his hands in surrender. One quick flick and away goes his weapon. He rushes forward wasting no time jumping into his arms. Logan lifts him, spinning his friend around before pulling away keeping their hands interlaced. “Are you alright?” He checks, his hands moving Patton's head.

“Better, now that you're here” Patton admits a quick spread blush. Logan averts his eyes. “Wait...why are you here?”

“The conference? I wasn't sure what it was for but almost every kingdom and the royal family is present '' Logan informs “I fear it means something detrimental for the land” Logan voices his concerns, fiddling with Patton's fingers as he's done since forever. “Is there an evil force at play?” he questions, Patton clicks his tongue cupping his hand on Logans cheek

“Come back to me Lo” he grounds the prince, a quick blink as his friend returns. “Surely if it was dark magic...we would sense it would we not?” Logan shrugs only hoping so. “Come, we should return before our punishments only further”

“Your majesties! You must return at once!” A knight presiding directs, tossing his way into the stables.

“What's the matter?” Logan pushes

“Prince Remus has returned” The knight utters one simple phrase and yet Logan and Patton crash.

#fairytale au #logicality #prinxiety #remile #demus #deceit sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #youtube #thomas sanders #writing #my writing #ao3 #archive of our own #fantasy

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frontproofmedia · 1 year

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Dolo Flicks: Avatar: The Way of Water - James Cameron Adds Another Quality Blockbuster Sequel To His Resume

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By Hector Franco

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Published: December 29, 2022

"The way of water connects all things. Before your birth and after your death." -- Lo'ak

Thirteen years can be an eternity, especially in the filmmaking business. In the decade-plus since 2009s, Avatar, the top of the food chain for blockbuster films, has been monopolized by the superhero genre.

Superhero films were a huge part of the film landscape in 2009; in fact, arguably the two best in the genre's history, 2008's The Dark Knight and Sam Raimi's Spider-Man 2, released before the first Avatar. But they weren't the reigning goliath that they are today.

With the added proliferation of streaming services, the question was, did James Cameron wait too long to release a sequel to Avatar?

The answer is a resounding no.

Waiting out the wave to the point where moviegoers are going through a superhero fatigue of sorts, Avatar: The Way of Water improves upon the original in almost every facet. Cameron is familiar with creating high-quality sequels. 1986s Aliens and 1991s Terminator 2 are widely considered two of the top-tier follow-ups in film history.

While 2009s Avatar currently holds the worldwide record for highest-grossing box office, the movie's reputation over the years has soured. Most of the complaints were due to some characters feeling like caricatures and a derivative plot line resembling Dances with Wolves or Ferngully. Instead of developing a complicated or overly expansive plot to combat those criticisms, Cameron delivers a simple story that allows for more complexity in his characters for The Way of Water.

At over three hours in length, The Way of Water plays, in some respects, like a three-episode television show with its three acts clearly defined. The film picks up over a decade after the first film's events, with many of the original cast returning. Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), a former human and now Na'vi Pandora native, has a family with Neytiri (Zoe Saldana) and largely lives peacefully. Worthington's character is at the center of a majority of the conflicts throughout the movie, but The Way of Water's main characters are Jake Sully's children. Most of the first chapter allows the audience to catch up with the protagonists and what life has been like for them.

The movie's primary antagonist is Colonel Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang), who has been brought back from the dead. He has been resurrected in a way that isn't head-scratching and makes sense for the world within the film. Before the final events of the first film, Quaritch and fellow Marines in his squad used a technology to save one's memories and put them into another host body. Since this is a future setting and a world that allows humans to live and breathe in a different alien body, transferring memories isn't overly farfetched.

Regardless of how he returned, Quartich's revival sets a revenge plotline for the villain rather than just one of colonization. While colonization and environmental politics are still themes of The Way of Water, it isn't as overt as the original. There aren't military members calling the Na'vi savages or monkeys, for example.

The film's second act is where the visuals take the front seat. The underwater scenes are, at times, breathtaking, immersing the audience as much as possible with the characters. The movie's filming lasted from August 2017 to September 2020 in California and New Zealand. The development of the technology for gathering performance capture for the underwater scenes allows the film to provide a unique experience.

Watching The Way of Water at a theatre is essential. The movie is good enough to be enjoyed at home, but unless you have an impressive home theatre system watching at home can be akin to watching a video of a rollercoaster on YouTube.

"It's never been done before and it's very tricky because our motion capture system, like most motion capture systems, is what they call optical base, meaning that it uses markers that are photographed with hundreds of cameras," James Cameron said to The Independent. "The problem with water is not the underwater part, but the interface between the air and the water, which forms a moving mirror. That moving mirror reflects all the dots and markers, and ... it creates thousands of false targets, so we've had to figure out how to get around that problem, which we did. ... It's taken us about a year and a half now to work out how we're going to do it."

Adding the new Na'vi characters as part of the Metkayina tribe adds to the dynamic of putting the younger protagonists at the forefront. As you spend time with the characters, you learn with them the new lifestyle of the Metkayina. The leaders of the tribe, Tonowari (Cliff Curtis) and Ronal (Kate Winslet), are somewhat of an obstacle for the Sully family to overcome but ultimately prove to be a needed addition to the film.

The Way of Water's most significant faults falls under its ambition. Its more than three-hour length is well-paced, but the inclusion of some intermission may have been helpful for the theatre experience. Putting the Sully children as the central characters mainly works; however, some of them feel like a nuisance rather than a welcoming entry.

Neteyam (James Flatters) and Lo'ak (Britain Dalton), the two sons of Jake Sully, are at the movie's emotional core. The audience spends most of its second act with Lo'ak as he learns the ways of the Metkayina and deals with the growing pains of living in a new tribe.

The film's third act is the battle on the water between the Sully family with the Metkayina and Colonel Quaritch's marines. Unsurprisingly, the final battle is a massive spectacle in the style of Cameron, with explosions and a sense of stakes on the line. In a crucial moment, the film highlights the consequences of the battle with Neteyam tragically dying, providing the most poignant and emotional portions.

Avatar: The Way of Water isn't likely to be an Oscar-nominated film for anything other than its technical achievements, and deservedly so, but James Cameron once again continues his status as one of the kings of the blockbuster.

Films can be spectacles and escapism all wrapped up in one. Being taken away to another world will always be a necessary experience for the film medium. It may not be perfect, but Cameron delivered with Avatar: The Way of Water and succeeded in audiences waiting in anticipation for the next journey into Pandora.

(Featured Image: 20th Century Studios)

#HF #Avatar #James Cameron #20th Century #Dolo Flicks

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ts-into-the-coinverse · 4 years

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Made of Love, Chapter 29

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Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Thomas and Logan get some alone time.

TW: Cursing, body horror

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Trying to train Thomas was decidedly… difficult. Roman and Virgil weren’t experts. There was only so much someone with less than a year's experience can teach. Patton would come by every once in a while, but he didn’t feel all that comfortable leaving Logan by himself for too long. Not that anyone could blame him. Ever since the freezing fiasco, he started to look like a real hot mess. Also the glitching happened more frequently, which was in no way a good sign. Specifically the weird arm thing, and not the flickering in and out of existence. The flickering had yet to make a comeback, and Virgil hoped it would stay that way, but with their luck hope is all it would be.

They were running out of time.

Logan was running out of time.

“Oh, I’m going to die when this is over.” Virgil flopped face-first into his bed. He and Roman had to go outside and train Thomas soon. “No matter which way this goes I’m going to just keel over. And then I’ll be dead. Free from this mortal realm and all of its anguish.” It was too much stress for one person to handle. Yet it somehow kept getting worse.

“Calm down. You sound like me.” Roman shut his laptop. “Only one of us is allowed to hold all the theatrics in this relationship.”

Virgil wasn’t even going to question how Roman heard a word of that muffled ramble. He turned his head to see the chair Roman sat in. "What kind of dysfunctional relationship is this, exactly?"

"A symbiotic one."

"Like Venom?"

"With less vore, I hope."

Someone knocked on the door. Virgil rolled over and said they could come in.

“Here.” Logan handed Roman something. “You should probably get Thomas acquainted with this before we lose any more time.”

"Wow, yeah, hi. You have absolutely no sense of social —" Roman froze when he processed what he held in his hands. “This is…”

Virgil shot up in bed. “Why are you giving Thomas your sword?” He didn’t like the implication.

“He’s going to need something to defend himself,” Logan responded simply. “Might as well not let a good sword go to waste.”

The casualness of it might have been the worst part.

Still, they took it. What were they going to do? Argue with a dying man? Because whether they accepted it or not, Logan was dying. It was just a matter of circumstance if he officially kicked the bucket or not.

The two played hot potato with the sword, neither wanting to be the one to give it to Thomas (along with its connotations), but Virgil shoved it into Roman’s hand at the last minute. Before they made it out of the backyard, Roman decided to give it to him. If he didn’t do it now he wouldn’t do it later. Better to get it over with as fast as possible.

“Okay, uh, Thomas,” Roman started. “We sort of have something for you.” He handed the pommel over. “You’re going to have to start getting used to it.”

Thomas looked at it quizzically. “This,” he let out a nervous laugh, “this is Logan’s.” He looked at them like he expected them to admit this was a joke.

Roman could barely even manage a smile. “Yeah.” He continued walking.

Thomas didn’t move. He looked at Virgil, his eyes begging him to say there was some other reason.

Virgil had nothing to say.

Throughout all these days, Thomas hadn’t actually seen Logan glitch out before. He had no idea it even happened. No one thought to explain it; most of the time they tried to pretend it didn’t happen. So he had no idea about the severity of it all. Was it the smartest idea to keep it from him? Probably not. But it just sort of happened. And no one wanted to be the one to correct it. How would they? Not only would they have to admit keeping information from him, but they also had to admit things were worse than they seemed. No one wanted to admit that.

If they were silent on it, then maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe they had a chance to fix this. Maybe each day they spent with no new leads would be okay. Something would come up. Something good would happen. It was blind, forced hope with a heavy helping of denial.

After they were done, Thomas gave the pommel to Virgil. “It’s still Logan’s,” he said quietly.

Virgil could have sworn it weighed more after that.

“Where’s Logan?” Virgil asked Patton after they came inside. Roman went off to edit some photos. Thomas went to his room to, well, probably to sulk if Virgil was being honest. He had been doing a lot of that. “I have something to give back to him.”

“Out on the deck.” Patton’s eyes were on the TV, though it didn’t seem he was processing what was going on. His thumb ran along his palm in one of his nervous habits.

Virgil didn’t need to see that to know Patton was anxious. He felt it almost as soon as he stepped in. “It’s freezing — why would he be out there?”

“He needs to cool down.”

Last time Virgil checked, Logan needed the exact opposite of that. “What do you mean?”

Patton’s eyes flicked over to him before returning to the TV. “You’ll see when you go out there.”

That was a bit ominous. Still, Virgil went out. He found Logan sitting in one of the chairs dressed as if summer was right around the corner. If the sky was clear and Virgil hadn’t gone outside, he might have believed that to be the case. Logan’s skin was flushed in addition to a gleam of sweat on his face. “Uh, hey. You doing good?” There was an obvious answer, but Virgil thought it polite to ask still.

“I’ve certainly been better.” Thin wisps of steam rolled off his body.

“Yeah, I get that. Uh —” he went to step closer, but stopped — “where are your glasses?”

Logan moved so that the opposite armrest could be seen. His glasses sat neatly on top of it.

“Alright, cool.” He took a seat on the other chair. “I have something of yours.” He fished the pommel out of his hoodie pocket and placed it on the armrest of Logan’s chair.

Logan turned it over in his hand. “He’ll have to get used to it eventually.”

“You don’t seem surprised he gave it back.”

“I assumed that would be the case. I think I know my —” he caught himself, placed the pommel back on the armrest, and adjusted, “Patton and I are fairly acquainted with Thomas considering the whole raising him thing. While it was mainly Picani at the forefront we were still there along the way. It’s easy to predict what someone might do once you’ve known them for so long."

Virgil hummed, decidedly ignoring the abrupt correction. “So when did this happen?” He waved a hand around Logan’s direction.

“A few minutes ago. Patton still has no sway over it so I decided to come out here to attempt to not have a heat stroke.”

“Only you would somehow find a way to die of heatstroke in the middle of winter.”

“While I’m flattered by the endearment, I don’t think it’ll be the heatstroke that kills me.”

Virgil adjusted his hoodie strings. “So do you know what’s causing this?”

“I can’t say for certain, but…”

“You have an idea.”

“A hypothesis, really." Logan sighed. "I can do three different types of magic. Fire, ice, electricity. It didn't cross my mind when I was freezing from the inside out, but now that it feels like my skin is melting off, I'm starting to suspect there's a reason. My body is reacting to my magic being used, but I don't have enough to protect me from the heat or coldness that manifests from those spells. Plus," he extended his left arm to Virgil, "this appears to have gotten worse since its first appearance."

His entire wrist had a solid black band around it. The length of his forearm was littered with what appeared to be dark bruises. Like large storm clouds attempting to block out the sky.

“That seems… bad.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Very astute.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you want me to say about this, this thing happening to you, alright? It’s fucked up and looks like some sort of bad omen.”

“I suppose you can think of it that way if you believe what Dolos said.”

Virgil grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”

Patton poked his head out. “Hey. Is everything, um, fine?” He tapped his fingers against the doorframe.

“I’m actually starting to cool down a little." Logan shrugged slightly. "So I suppose it’s as fine as it can be.”

“Right. Good. Um… I’ll leave you to it.” He left with a hesitant smile.

Logan stared at the door with a small frown.

Virgil looked at it curiously. “That seemed brief by Patton standards.”

“He just doesn’t like not being able to do anything.” He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. “I’m sure there’s also some awkwardness between the two of you still.”

Oh boy. Talk about an elephant in the room. “Is it wrong to still be a little mad?” Virgil decided to stare at the railing instead.

“Honestly, I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.” He directed his attention back to Virgil. “I love Patton, but I know he has a tendency to… overreact. Especially where his loved ones are concerned. It’s more than a little reasonable to be upset after getting blamed for everything.”

Virgil frowned. “The thing is, I don’t want to be upset. I understand why he did what he did. He had a shitty way of going about it, but it’s not like I can act like I’ve never had a bad reaction to something.” Yelling at Thomas was a pretty prime example of that. Something he still felt guilty for even after all these weeks.

“I’m not an expert on this, but it would appear you need to have a proper talk with him." He ran his finger over the intricate details of the pommel. "It may take some work to get back to where you used to be, though that doesn’t mean it’s not impossible. As long as you both want to get there.”

“You’re probably right.” Virgil pulled his sleeves over his hands. “Uh, I’ll leave you to it, I guess. I would prefer if you didn’t become a puddle of goop right after I leave.”

“I’ll see how it goes.”

Fair enough. Virgil slid the door open and walked inside. He was hit with anxiety strong enough to rival his own, causing him to pause before heading anywhere. Patton sat on the couch again, but with one of his legs pulled up to rest his head on top of his knee. His eyes were staring, unfocused, in the spot the coffee table used to be. Virgil wondered if this would be a good time to have a talk. Either it would be a good distraction for Patton, or just make things worse.

Before Virgil could properly weigh each option, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Weird. He didn’t get very many texts. He fished his phone out of his pocket as it continued to vibrate from the barrage of messages. They were all from the same contact, one Virgil recently dubbed, ‘That Bar Weirdo’. It seemed a fitting description.

Virgil

Look

Listen to me

I need you to listen to me

I did some snooping

Sort of in a bind

Okay I’m just going to call you

Virgil almost dropped his phone as it started vibrating intensely, the call screen popping up. He hurried to his room to not bother Patton with a one-sided conversation. Roman was sitting at the chair with his laptop. Right, of course. He left it in here. Rather than risk running out of time to go to Roman's room, Virgil answered the phone right there.

"Uh, what —?"

"Oh, thank God you picked up."

Virgil blinked. He noticed Roman lift his head and decided to turn on the speaker. Whatever the Theorist had to say he could say it to them both.

"I know I said I don't do calls but it'll be easier if I do it this way."

"What are you talking about?" Virgil kept an eye on Roman as he stood up to join him.

"Well first things first. The magic world sort of has rules. Unspoken rules that Magi are expected to follow. One of the important ones is to not let humans know magic exists. That's why I'm considered a black market Seer. I let anyone come to me to ask whatever they want and I give them real answers."

"This sounds like you're leading up to something big," Roman mentioned.

"Yeah, kind of." Something fell over. "Because I mean anyone can come and see me. Humans, shifters… one of Altair's men…"

"I'm sorry — what?" Roman jerked Virgil's phone closer to him.

Virgil jerked it back, giving Roman an annoyed look. "Men? What do you mean men?"

"God. Right. You two don't know anything. Okay, so back when Altair first started becoming a nuisance he had a large following. Magi of all kinds joined him for a chance to live without hiding. But over time their numbers dwindled. I personally thought none were left, but I guess a few decided to stick around."

“So what does that mean for you?”

“One of them came to see me earlier. He asked a pretty mundane question, but when I looked into his timeline, I saw who he was. And maybe I sort of did a little bit of a dumb thing and… tried to look for Altair through his timeline.”

“Why was that dumb?” Roman gazed at the phone curiously.

He shifted. “Apparently Altair was three steps ahead of me. He’s locked all recent references towards him.”

“Locked?”

“How do you lock something like that?” Virgil asked.

“If you’re a madman with stolen magic anything is possible. Magic types are a lot easier to manipulate and combine than you realize. As far as I could tell, it was sort of like antivirus software for a computer. Which makes me the virus, I guess. Recent memories on Altair and where he is are behind a protective wall so people like me can't poke in easily. The guy figured out what I was trying to do almost as soon as I started looking. Apparently, that's a big no-no."

"So you're running away?" Roman asked.

"A little bit, yeah. I would appreciate it if you two came to help me out. Maybe bring that Machai with you — Patton, was it? He's good at killing, that could come in handy."

"Woah, hold it. No one's killing anything yet." Virgil scowled at his phone. "Just text me where you are and we'll be there as soon as possible."

"Sounds like a deal."

They hung up.

Virgil rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hoped today would at least be a little normal."

"You're asking for too much." Roman headed for the door.

"Apparently."

When they entered the living room, they found Patton and Logan talking. Logan didn’t look like he would melt into a pile of flesh anymore, but he was drenched in sweat. Which was gross, obviously, but a hundred times better than being dead. Patton appeared more worried than relieved, however.

"We hate to interrupt," Roman announced. "But there's sort of a pressing issue."

"What kind of pressing issue?" Logan asked.

Virgil frowned at the address. It was two cities over. "The Theorist needs our help and we have to leave right now to get to him before anyone else does. We might need some backup."

"I'll go." Patton looked at Logan. "You should probably stay here. Not that I don't think you can't handle it —"

"I'm not going anywhere." Logan gave him a soft smile. "I don't think I could if I wanted to."

Patton returned it. "So where are we going?"

Thomas laid face first in his pillow for a very, very long time. He felt like garbage. Most of that had to do with still not giving Logan a proper apology. It had already been a few days — he should have done it by now. He should have done it the day it happened. What made him feel worse was that he apparently never learned his lesson. And he hadn’t even made a proper apology then. He knew the longer he waited the less likely it would be that he said anything. He couldn’t go without saying anything this time. Especially if the last thing Logan remembered of him was…

Groaning, Thomas flipped over. From the moment Logan’s sword entered his hand he realized he had to act fast. He wasn’t dumb. He knew bad things were happening that no one wanted to admit to him. He’s been treated like a kid long enough to know when adults are hiding something. (Though it felt a little weird to label Virgil and Roman as adults because while, yes, by human standards they are adults, Thomas was older than them by a few decades.) He couldn’t say for sure what it was they were hiding, but he knew it had to do with Logan and how little time he had left.

“Why am I like this?” He pressed his hands to his eyes. “What’s so difficult about saying sorry? It should be easy, right?” He threw his hands to the side. “I’ve already done it. I just have to make it better.” A lot better. He never apologized last time, which meant this time he had to make sure Logan knew how sorry he was. He wouldn’t allow it to become another regret.

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. Before he got up, his eyes caught sight of the photograph on his nightstand. The one of Picani and him from the broken picture frame. It was scratched, but not enough to ruin the whole thing. If anything it emphasized the photo's age. Thomas picked it up and turned it over. On the back was Picani's messy writing.

Old Lane Park. July 1993

Thomas remembered that day pretty well. There was a mural in the park that everyone was allowed to contribute to. So of course Thomas had to go. A huge event was made out of it. There were a lot of people and vendors even though it was a blistering summer day. He ended up helping a few younger kids with what they wanted to paint. Picani used to take a lot of pictures back then, so there was more evidence of this day somewhere in the house. Someone offered to take a picture of both of them.

That mural was painted over last year. Those kids were all adults now.

But Picani and Thomas were still the same.

They would always be a constant in an ever-changing world. Things may come and go, but at least they had each other. It only took Thomas half his lifetime to realize that. Even then it could still be hard to remember. It was easy to focus on what he could have had rather than what he did have.

It wasn’t fair to anyone involved.

Thomas put the photo back with a sigh. He couldn’t focus on that right now; he had something to do. He pushed himself off the bed and walked downstairs. The first thing that threw him off was the silence. It wasn’t ever quiet with all of them in the house. Did they leave? They wouldn't leave him alone, would they?

He quelled his rising panic when he spotted Logan sitting on the loveseat. Well — the panic about being left alone was gone. The panic about facing the music hadn't gone anywhere.

On the bright side, it didn't seem Logan noticed him yet. He was curled up in his corner, scribbling in his notebook. He had on the flannel Thomas picked out rather than the sweater he wore earlier. His hair looked somewhat in order which meant he took a shower. That explained the wardrobe change.

Standing around observing every detail instead of saying anything seemed to be enough to catch Logan’s attention. He stopped scribbling to look up. "Did you need something?"

Thomas jumped. "Uh, no. I-I mean —" he fidgeted with his hands — "not right now. I, um, I'm… gonna be over here." He awkwardly shuffled to the kitchen. This wasn't off to a good start. He opened the snack cupboard just to make it seem like he had a purpose for being in here. Nothing in there grabbed his attention, his stomach churning with nervousness, but he took the animal crackers anyway and sat at the breakfast bar. “Where’s everyone else?”

Logan turned back to his notebook. “There was an emergency they needed to take care of.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

“No.”

Thomas wanted to question that further but figured it was best not to. Logan never gave basic answers unless there was a reason. Instead, he tried to figure out a way to go about the real purpose he was down here. It proved to be difficult to bring it up organically.

“I don’t believe you can open a container by trying to crush it like that.” Logan’s eyes were on him again. “At least not without also crushing your animal crackers.”

Thomas loosened his grip. His palms were sweaty.

“Is there something on your mind?” He closed his notebook.

“Um,” Thomas set the animal crackers down, “sort of?”

Logan raised a brow. “What do you mean by ‘sort of’?” He walked over.

“I mean…” It was now or never. “I’m an idiot.”

He blinked. “I’m not entirely sure how you came to that conclusion, but —”

“No.” He ran his hands through his hair. “That’s not the issue. Well, it is, but not the one I’m trying to focus on.” Why was this so hard? “Okay, let me start over.” This should be easy. Why wasn’t it easy? He was being genuine — he wanted so badly to make up for what he did — it shouldn’t have been so difficult. “I’m sorry.”

That didn't appear to clear up any confusion. “Sorry for what?”

“For what I said to you.” His throat started to burn. “I never should have thought it was okay. There’s no excuse for it, and I'm… I’m just so sorry.” He should have done this sooner. He shouldn’t have let it fester between them.

“It’s alright —”

“But it’s not. It’s �� it’s so very far from alright. I said something stupid and hurtful and you’re never going to forget that. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. All you’ve ever done is care for me and make sure I’m okay. It seems all I’ve ever done is make you feel bad.” That extended to Picani as well. There were countless times where Thomas prodded where he shouldn’t have. He never meant to, but he was an idiot and it always seemed justified in the heat of the moment.

“I know it doesn’t make up for anything,” he continued, on the verge of tears. “I could say sorry all day but it doesn’t prove that I learned anything. And why would you think I have? We’ve been down this road before — Picani and I.” It was one of his biggest regrets. He never gave an actual, spoken apology then. He just sort of ignored it until the sting went away. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about this. It was wrong and I understand if… if…” He tried not to cry. It wasn’t something he deserved to be upset about. “If you hate me or don’t forgive me or, or —”

"Thomas." Logan put his hands on his shoulders. Thomas shut his mouth immediately. "I don’t want you to think that I would ever hate you. You're my… you're family." He held up his left hand. "Do you remember when I told you about this?" A long, faded scar ran across his palm. Thomas nodded. “This is what hate is — what it does — and I’m never going to do anything like that to you. It’s okay if you make mistakes. You’re a child and you’re learning. As long as you recognize what you did was wrong, you are deserving of forgiveness.”

Thomas didn't hesitate to throw his arms around Logan and squeeze him tight. Fast and messy apologies flew out almost as quickly as his tears. He didn't think he could say sorry enough.

Logan just held him. He murmured calming words and assured Thomas he was forgiven.

Once the round of tears was over, Thomas pulled away. He felt a little less like garbage now. At least he didn't have this specific weight on him anymore.

"I'm always here for you." Logan brushed Thomas's bangs out of his face. "All of us are."

Thomas smiled. "Thanks, Da —" he almost literally bit his tongue — "Logan."

Logan returned the smile and (thankfully) ignored the slip-up. Before he could get out another word, he let out a sharp gasp. His eyes widened in panic as he frantically tugged one of his sleeves over his hand. "I-I hate to cut this short, but I should — I need a minute." He tried to inch his way out of the kitchen.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," he answered through clenched teeth. "Don't worry." But as soon as the words left his mouth, he collapsed to his knees.

"Logan!" Thomas rushed over to him.

“Don’t. I’m, I’m fine.” He didn’t sound or look fine. He kept his left hand clutched to his chest and out of Thomas’s sight. “J-just give me a —”

A scream got caught in the back of Thomas’s throat. Logan vanished right in front of his eyes. What the hell happened? What did this mean? What should he do? Should he do anything? Should he call Patton? He should call Patton. Patton was normally the one who had the phone, right? What was going on? This didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t lose Logan like this. What was he supposed to do without him? What would he tell Patton? What would —?

Logan returned with a pained hiss. He was now sprawled on his back, grimacing at the ceiling.

“Logan!” He grabbed his hand. “Are you okay? What’s happening to you?”

“That’s a bit difficult to explain.” He groaned. “Look, I’m going to be —”

He disappeared again. Thomas flexed his fingers. There was nothing there at all. Not even a slight feeling. Logan was disappearing — actually disappearing. It wasn’t some sort of illusion or trick. His whole body was vanishing. But where was he going? How was it happening? He can’t just vanish into thin air. That wasn’t possible. This isn’t possible. It can’t be happening. It can’t, it can’t, it can’t, it can’t.

“What am I supposed to do?” Thomas grabbed Logan’s arm when he came back this time. As if maybe holding onto more of him would make him stay. “How can I help you?”

“Don’t, I’m —” He didn't even get to finish a sentence this time.

Thomas clenched his fists. He didn’t like that feeling. It wasn’t like someone was ripping Logan’s arm away from his grasp. It was just… gone. No movement. Like it never existed in the first place. That was probably the scariest part. If Logan vanished for good then it would be like he never existed at all. There would be no trace of him left. Thomas couldn't handle that. The idea of Logan being gone was still a foreign concept. But now it was here and the threat was very real. What if this was it? The last day any of them would ever see Logan?

He shut his eyes tight. He couldn't freak out right now. That wouldn't be helpful. But he didn't even have any idea on what would be helpful. He didn't know what to do. This was wrong. It shouldn't be happening. None of this should be happening. It was like some horrible dream. A nightmare. Logan couldn't just be gone like this. He needed Logan. They all needed Logan. If Logan was gone then there was no more Picani. If there was no more Picani then Thomas lost a guardian. Patton lost the one person who's been with him almost his whole life. What were they supposed to do without him? How could they have let it get to this point?

"Thomas. Breathe. I'm right here."

Thomas opened his eyes. How long had it been?

Logan was sitting up. "I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere." He looked exhausted and in pain, but all his focus was on Thomas. "Come on. Let's get off the floor." He clambered to his feet and held out his hand to help Thomas up.

Thomas took it, not knowing what else to do.

They made their way to the couch where Logan helped to calm Thomas down. It wasn't… it shouldn't have been this way. Logan just went through an excruciating dilemma, he shouldn't have to focus on Thomas. He shouldn’t have to pretend he wasn’t hurt just for Thomas’s sake. It wasn’t fair. But Thomas couldn't voice his thoughts. He was underwater and any attempt to speak filled his lungs.

Once he wasn't overly panicky anymore, Thomas decided to put on Animaniacs to have something that didn’t require a lot of brainpower to process. Not that he watched most of it, anyway. Most of his attention was on Logan. He stayed curled up on his corner of the couch and dismissed Thomas’s suggestions of going to lie down. He needed to make sure Thomas would be okay. Because that was his priority for some reason.

It wasn’t like his body kept disappearing into the void or anything.

He fell asleep by the third episode, though. It didn’t bring Thomas any peace of mind, but at least he was resting. He took out his phone and sent a text to Patton. Hopefully whatever they were doing would end soon. He didn’t like being so helpless and lost. He wanted to be able to do something. He couldn’t wait around any more. This was serious and they needed all the help they could get — that included him.

He was going to fix this.

#its been so long #sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #platonic prinxiety #body horror tw #made of love

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