animaopen

[animaopen]

ao3// nsfw, chargestep, technical spiritual successor to this one

Deeper. Flick your eyes up and watch how he’s covering his mouth, biting into a finger. Other hand buried in your hair. You reach up then, under his shirt. Palm flat over his chest, and you take him a little deeper. Again. Further. 

Hear the drag of your name. How it catches and dissolves, putty in your hands, as your nose bumps his skin and. Focus on breathing now. Swallow. Ricardo grunts, eases you back. “Shit, Logan…” 

Release the tip of his cock with a pop, drag your tongue down. Don’t give him a moment to breathe. Roll his nipple between your fingers. Calloused hands and flat tongue. The wink is his trademark, his style, but it’s appropriate, for when you lean back, just enough. Massage the curve of his knees with your thumbs.

“Alright there, liebling?”

Ricardo hasn’t quite let go of his finger, teeth leaving little half moons in the skin. Chest heaving, and he had half a moment, until he stops. Hand that goes over his face, rubbing at his eyes. Something of a laugh that comes out, just on the side of strangled, trying to make up lost ground. 

“You always were good with your mouth.”

It’s your turn to snort, light smack on his thigh, as you rest on your heels now. “Is that a ‘thank you’?” You wanted to stretch, just a little, and shift, extend your leg out, just enough. This wasn’t like seven years ago. 

Except, whatever he was going to say, gets lost in the, “Carino, you’re not done… are you?”

And it’s your turn to blink, slow, focused. “I was cramping, it’s—”

“Always cramping.” Ricardo laughs, then. A look that was only framed strangely with how his cock was still out, heavy, slick. Against his thigh.

“Some of us don’t have a medical team on speed dial.” Hands on the chair, pushing it back from the desk. Give yourself some more room. “Have to resort to good ol’ heat pads and ibuprofen.”

The short stunned pause almost offends you, before, “are you seriously—”

“I’m kidding!”

In one movement, that you had to give yourself credit for being a lot smoother than you thought it would be, you’re leaning up. Lips brushing his, pulling back just as he tilts in. Ricardo’s turn to pout, the slight slip dragging you in once more. You can’t help yourself, not when he sighs your name against the corner of your mouth. Always knew how to get to you.

Your laughter is caught up in the huff, strangled and a little bit of a giveaway. Even as you sink back down, pepper the kisses south, fingers seconds ahead. A hand that returns to resting against your head, teetering on the other side of encouraging, and you’re halfway to saying something, when the shrill tone of your phone goes off. 

Twice.

“Logan,” and he says it with some amount of, well, you can’t quite put a finger on what the actual tone was. 

Lean back on your heels again. Fish it out of your pocket, mindful of everything, pinching between thumb and forefinger. Dry cleaning later definitely. No caller ID and it was one of those days you weren’t sure who was a little more annoyed at your line of business. “What?”

Nice and flat and no nonsense. Ignoring the blithering of someone or other who wanted to make a cut into your territory and was pandering to—

Ricardo was levelling you with a look now. Unamused. Hand over the receiver. “How does it feel to be on the other side?”

Three blinks and the way his expression rolls around, tinged with understanding, has you cough into your hand and, “yes, I’m here. What do you want?”

You’re not paying attention. Not in the slightest. A few well timed grunts and maybe the odd, ‘yeah, okay’, if only because you’re too busy leaning into your hand. Idle finger dragging along the underside of his cock. Ricardo leans forward then, mouth in a hard line. Brush of hands. There’s a pause, where you look up at him then.

“Get off the fucking phone.” His hands are a little too fast, and Ricardo repeats the sentence twice, punctuating with a, “now.”

Shake your head, tempt fate. Ricardo finds purchase on the desk behind you, and you’re mouthing, signing, no, don’t you dare! Lowers himself down, weight on you. Even as you shuffle back, trying to hear the conversation that was supposed to be important and business and—

“Hang up.”

“I didn’t do this to you last time!” Words choppy, one handed, but you punctuate the slowly disappearing space between the two of you with a very pointed look. 

No, you had been quite polite and waited out the call last time. Was Ricardo simply more persuasive than you? A thought that almost gave you heart palpitations, no, of course not. Proactiveness that was definitely an attribute to being semi-retired, with how he all but plucks the phone from your hand, hangs up, tosses it aside.

“If that cracks, you’re buying me a new one.”

“I’ll buy you ten if you kiss me right now.”

Who would you be to argue that offer? Arms around his neck as he lowers the both of you down. In the uncomfortable space that occupied the underside of his desk, the world slipped just a little warmer, your breath and the way he grunts, nails that drag through his hair. “Remember that one time we did this in the Marshal’s office?” You laugh, because of course you do.

Ricardo’s chuckle is three points more affectionate, as he presses his lips to the curve of your jaw, runs down your skin. “Didn’t you call me ‘sir’?” 

“Mmm, I don’t remember that.”

Something that sounded vaguely like an ‘of course not’, but lost in the way his hands go to the line of your jeans, fingers hooking in. Across, to meet in the middle, finding the button and zipper. You raise your hips, reaching between to try to help. Hurry. When,

Your phone buzzes once more. Tilt your head back, and it’s lit up, alert, please. To be fair, they had been hung up on.

“Logan, come on, don’t—”

Twist underneath him, moving that half inch of convincing to reach for the phone. “Get your dick off my pants.” 

“It’s not on your pants.” And for emphasis, he raises his hips. Barely enough.

“Don’t put your back out, old man. Wouldn’t want to press your buzzer and have someone find you like this.” Was your hand wavering? You were so easy.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” 

“I know I am.” Stick your tongue out, get caught. Lost in the kiss that has you bump your teeth and snort as you try to push him away. The phone could wait. Wait and wait and wait. Because he whispers your name and you swallow the laugh, share one of your own when his digs into your waist. 

[animaopen]

ao3// okey i have no explanation for this, chargestep, marriage proposal lmao bye

It hasn’t quite clocked over to four, but your eyes are heavy. Rub the corners, smudge the liner. Tomorrow you’ll clean it up and complain and worry about the mark lingering on your finger, but now. Hands caught, pulled away. The same sleepy smile mirrored, reflected and doubled. 

Muted, by the sheets pulled up around your heads. Keeping you hidden away from the worries of the world, one whole moment.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, as he kisses your knuckles, one at a time. All the way from left to right. Same pattern, different year, like nothing had come between. 

And there’s a look, that lingers in the pinch of his eyebrow, as he. Chuckles. Lets go. Hands resting gently between, barely touching. Parts his lips, wets the skin, and there’s that smile you remember. That you,

“I have a kind of crazy request.”

Hushed words, cause for moving closer, leaning in. “Can’t be crazier than being in bed with a—”

“Will you marry me?”

Careful, practiced. Precise. Might’ve interrupted you, but Ricardo does not rush through them. A smile that instead suggests that this had been a long time coming, and. Did you know? Fingers find your shoulders, slide down your back. Rest in the middle, keeping you there in a way you knew you could break from. 

But you say, “that’s crazy.” “Why.” “What.” No questions, just statements, that flit through and are whispered and it’s too warm. Cheeks flushed and skin burning for where he touched. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy… for you?” The smile is cheeky, as you groan, push away. Throw back the covers and expose the both of you to the rest of the reality. Sun peeking in under the curtains and a colder press of air.

“We’re not the marrying types.”

Ricardo raises himself up, hovering over you. An expression that’s too gentle and honest and open. As you rationalise and hold out your hands and swallow the lump that had formed. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Isn’t this an occupational hazard? Aren’t there rules in place?”

A fight in you that you didn’t want, but needed. Keep the lines in place, seven year old habits that never died. Establish the rules, the necessities, and you will return to sitting on the railing in the park, tracing the little heart around your initials. 

Bury it.

“I’m not the Marshal anymore.” 

“I stopped being Sidestep a long time ago.”

Both admissions are soft and sorry. Clamouring over each other. Because the words are said and never really heard. You know this. You know this so damn well. Ricardo never really lost that little slip of rank for you, and it took this moment — this one, right here — to realise. For the world to click a little more into place.

When had you stopped seeing him as just that. Marshal Charge. The two of you chasing after each other when backs were turned. There was no moment, when you were able to strip the people apart. Put them back together. 

To figure out all the little puzzle pieces. And his words take the wind right out of you, a whoosh when you admit. Admit that deep down. Ricardo was honest. That this wasn’t another jumping of the gun, that landed you in hiding chasing the Void. Or the kind that had you buried under debris, post Psychopathor. Or better yet, throwing caution to the wind, mid your own villainous rampage. Terror of the streets.

Mouth dry, no words. Pressure at the corner of your eyes, one you want to fight against, because that was all you had ever known. Hardwired deep into your code, stamped across your skin. Ricardo makes you want to fight, so you.

Kiss him. Kiss him like a sun exploding, technicolour true. Where you can taste the pinks and the oranges and you whisper, yes. 

[animaopen]

ao3// idk man whatever, spoilers, chargestep

Should you forget?

As you work buttons through holes, slide your hands around your hips, you ask the question. And it is loud and real as it finds the reality, here, in your room. No longer a secret, buried under paper and in drawers and the hope that you were wrong.

So you pull at the curtain and let the light in. Slinky and slow and catches, right there, violent orange and golds. She is stretched, hanging off the edge, a smile full of teeth and the rise and fall of her chest. Find those spider web of scars that decorate her face. See something else. 

Stepping out, just your silhouette hanging, spectre. Should you forget. As you reach for her, find the softness of her cheek, holding, just so. Enough for her to lean in, for you to see the red of her eyes.

And Logan never answers. Never has, never will. Lower yourself, dip her head back, and the kiss bites and poisons and terrifies, because you never could close your eyes. Had to go digging, had to find the truth. Here it now sits before you, hand in your hair, keeping you close, cheek to cheek. Asking you to breathe.

“What are we doing here?” Whisper it. Make it real. 

She says, “you need to decide.” 

You are caught, between orange. Trail fingers down the inside of her arm, find her hand, catch and hold. Release. “I never was good with decisions.”

Spider webs and the burn behind your eyelids, as you find patterns and scars and her. Her. You could never forget. Even as bile rises and there are pockmarks and holes that you thought you knew and remembered. Replaced. Eyes open.

[animaopen]

ao3// chants mob boss mob boss

Flex your fingers. Count to three. Lean into the embrace of friends and you stretch your mind then. Picking up little flags, as the car hits a pothole and lurches. Enough to have a jolt, that was nerves and feelings bundled up into the way you sigh, earning you a: “sorry, Boss.”

You don’t respond. Never made a habit of it before. Just count again and continue, waiting for the signs. Don’t hold too closely onto the ones that tempt you, because you are a sneeze, burning the tongue on coffee, whisper in the ear. Thought about and gone. 

Except the sounds that reach you are not from the mind. Screech of tires that swing out, and someone swears. It might’ve even been you, might’ve been Nehal. Hand still holding onto the rail, you pull yourself up. Let the light fill your helmet, and Pelayo meets your eye. 

“We’re compromised. I’ll take the bike.”

“Boss, I don’t think—”

“Nehal, take a hard left.” And the car doesn’t hesitate, with the others following behind far too close. “Ward and ZaZa, on the guns. Mortum’s new toys should be working.”

Over the comms, you hear an agreement from ZaZa, a swear from Bo. Even Rosie chimes in with disagreement, but you don’t listen. Never were good at taking advice. Just let the mask hide your face once more, and swing a leg over the bike. “No heroics. Get back to base.”

Pelayo doesn’t argue, but you watch him hit the button. How the doors open, and you offer a salute. Hit the gas, and the bike roars, letting you swerve, gain balance. Pull the gun out your back. In your hand. Familiar and you don’t remember breathing, but you’re smiling. Racing forward, and.

Tilt. Bullet, fire, hit the tires. Watch one of the cars careen out of the way. Hard push on your leg that you can feel through the material, upright once more. Do you lick your lips, as you watch men lean out the windows now? As you raise yourself, and leap forward, jump jets carrying you?

To slam your fists down, as bullets rain behind you. Another car that goes, as you punch. And punch. And punch. Twist your wrist and pull the screen free. Maybe one of the men too, out of the way. A scream resounds, a little too close to your ears, but you’ve pulled the steering wheel now. 

Thrown it over your shoulder, even. Kick your heels and raise yourself up, as the car veers and swerves and flips. Takes out another and it’s cinematic in motion. Camera in your visor hyper-focusing, catching all the details. Jumping one, two, three. Licence plates, makes, mooks. Compiled and filed away. 

Roll your shoulders, miss the initial punch. Three quick jabs, and your would-be attacker is down and out for the count. Curl your fingers in his hair, pull him up and out. Symbol, left side of neck. New tattoo, new body for the masses. Pity.

But you let him fall, even if there is one last kick to his head. Silence on all fronts now. Good. Tap the headset, once, twice, “Did you get away?”

“Rendezvous point. Took some damage to the vehicles but we’re safe.” Pelayo sounded swollen, and you could’ve hopped and jumped and seen the damage in minutes, had it not been for the faces peering out now. Cameras and phones, pointed, on. 

Oh, there was the bike. Scratched, and a little worse for wear, but as you heave it up, fire the engine, it growls to life. “Good. See you soon.”

Weaving in between people is easy when you control the crowds. When you find the fear and the awe and pinch it, spread it. Mouths fall open and cameras flash and you hit the accelerator, front wheel raised. Take the corners hard and fast and the ground comes at you too close. Didn’t matter, anyway, when you see an LDPD car, because you’re up and over and gone. 

Last look back, before you get lost in the thick of it. Ranger blue hard and dressed. They never see your smile. 

[animaopen]

ao3// ok this i rly dont know where it was going, argentstep

How could you ever

love someone

like,

me.

And the words fracture. Spoken softly, under breath, while the movie plays. And yet you hear them. Were you meant to? A part of you, it breaks and splinters and begs, oh no, I can’t, not yet, not like this. Because it is afraid and it is loud and you want to be soft and gentle.

Melded into pinks and flowers and the way her hair drapes over her shoulders. You want to be. 

To pass this off, for how she always whispers the lines. How her eyes trace over figures unknown, but in that moment, they are held so dear. Like for one whole moment, they speak to her. One whole moment, Argent whispers back, and finds solace in those places, of dusty deserts and cold apartments and the warmth of bakeries, where it snows outside but the terrace is always free.

You want to be. Better. Softer. Gentle. You are at a loss of your own harshness, in the face of how she leans against you, licking icing from her fingers, too distracted. Her mind is relaxed, but you are afraid. Not it. You. You you you. 

How could you ever love someone like me.

Sinks its fingers into your brain, and holds you prisoner. Makes you tense and breathe and you have to. Wish. Pull at the fabric, hold it between your fingers, and think of pinks and silver and how she does not pull away. How Argent does cast a thought to you. To love. To the river deep and the embrace on screen. 

That there is a fleeting moment, of maybe’s and could we’s. Pillowed by sweet nothings and the way you. Close your eyes. Forget to breathe. 

[animaopen]

ao3// steelstep..... ok now this is old

You don’t know what you did to earn his trust.

Because these hands hold your future. And they are weighted, by choices and lives that the both of you have led, that you may never understand. But now they are curled around your fingers, gentle in the way they trace fine lines over your knuckles. Reliving a memory for you, of windows and fear. Of finding that place. 

So you. Fall. Always falling. Find the curve of his shoulder, and bury your face in soft cotton and softer skin. There are no words here, because they have all been said. Are spoken, in how Chen holds you. Maybe he should not keep you so close, so much so that there is a beat, and it rolls in sync, and you may convince yourself of other things and other words.

Tension holds you there. No it doesn’t. Yes it does. Slowly broken, in how you finally, finally, find the front of his shirt. His sides. Return the embrace. One day, you’ll stop the fall. But now you are locked in and held and you don’t want to fight. You don’t want to leave. 

There is a thought,

that maybe,

you want to stay,

far from earth, somewhere down here. Where he says your name, and you say his, and the world is tilted and coloured grey, but the beat warms you. Holds you. Keeps you.

[animaopen]

ao3// juliaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

There is something to be said, for the way that the world pops. An explosion, of pinks and purples and sunset reds. Blending into the way that she sits at your bench, eats your cereal, drinks your coffee. 

And you expect it to fizzle, because it always does. Because it always does. You grew up on thin lines and expectations and fingers find the end of your braid, carefully woven, practiced and practiced and practiced. 

Hold the tip, like a live wire, expecting there to be some sort of justification for the way you feel. Thumb the band chosen, with beads dangling and it’s so stupid and cheesy and you are smiling and floating, free fall, like the world is taken away. Always taken away. Bite your lip and try to fight the burst of colour that fills your eyes. 

If only because she is technicolour in motion, and you had not realised just how grey you had been. She may dress in blacks and blues and hide her face from the world, but now she’s. Dishevelled and beautiful and wipes the her nose with the back of her goddamn hand. And you love it? You do. Of course you do. Because it makes you laugh. Grab a tissue. 

Tease and smile and relish in the touch of skin. Relish in the flush, muted and tender and you do expect the worst. You always have. You always will. 

Except she says, Julia, a secret, just the two of you. And you are the one who leans across. Whispers back. Lips just apart, hairs breadth between. Daring it to break.

Because you are reds and oranges and the slips of light between, but you couldn’t imagine not orbiting her, loving her. Not when she leans into your hand, your name, once more. Yet again. Lost to lips soft, and. 

And. 

[animaopen]

ao3// spoilers ig, idk whatever

And he says,

Not like this.

Words that are dragged up from the pit. Tired and worn and punctured by lines that are harder now, cut along his cheeks and jaw. No longer softened by pockets of fat, that gave way to the idealistic and lighthearted. But you have always known, there was something underneath.

Something that ate and ate and ate. Seven years of guilt? Or was it more. More more more. Devouring him from the inside out, until his voice scratched and the tears rolled and he begs, please, oh god, not like this.

But you are smiling. Reflection in a helmet, bright and bloody and bruised. Broken nose, cracked tooth, new scars. Just you. Like you had always been. Always wanted to be. You’ll make it through this. You will make it through the rest.

If only because you are no longer armoured, you are just. Fingers, tugging at his hair. Watching him cry over you. Are you laughing? There are sounds, but it’s is more like metal drawing over metal. Clawing its way out of you, hiding your breaths under the sound. High pitched whine, left ear. 

It was always going to be like this. Maybe he knows. Maybe he regrets. Maybe you could find yourself, in the familiar curves of his face, those dark eyes. Seeing something you never understood, and Ricardo presses his forehead against yours. As he sobs. As he begs. 

Ah, you can only think. If only you had known, all along. Because your hand goes limp, and your breathing stops, and you are sunk into darkness and freedom. And the hard reset of lights.

[animaopen]

ao3// not at all safe for work, crossing off a list of things to write, dont ask me how this fits in

Open mouthed kisses, sliding over skin, brushing past lips. Hungry and fingers that wind in hair, you’re a little too caught up in the way he drags the neck of the hoodie down — his hoodie — exposing you just there. How his teeth sink in and you laugh, deep and throaty and sink your nails into his shoulders. How you can feel Ricardo smile, just there, against the curve.

Manhandled into turning around, and later you might say something aside, but you like the way he grunts, whispers your name. You like his hands, rough and scarred and the feel of metal along your thighs, as they slide between your legs. First touch, and something leaves you, maybe a chuckle, maybe a giggle, head falling back against his shoulder. Turn in to kiss, more holding him, right there.

Right there, as Ricardo draws tight circles around your clit. You would never accuse him of cheating, but there might be a touch of a buzz, and you do moan. Loudly, unapologetically. At the feel of a hand pushing up under the hoodie, gripping your breast. Ricardo rocks his hips against you, Logan, hard and heedy and flattering. Tomorrow.

Not now. When you lean forward, hands against the sink. Watch over your shoulder, as he barely gets the shorts low enough. Chases your underwear down with his hands, licking stripes up the back of your legs when he straightens. A kiss, right there, back of your knee. The bad one. The good one. 

A teasing bite against the swell of your ass. 

And tomorrow you’ll worry about cleaning. When Ricardo sinks into you, there’s that soft, silent, oh. Takes over his face, and tomorrow you’ll laugh about other lovers. Tomorrow, you’ll massage your hip, as you get your knee up, on the porcelain, another angle. Hand flat against the mirror. Watching him watching you. 

That grin on both your faces will matter tomorrow. Like how Ricardo says he loves you, and you say it, too. When it’s not two in the morning, and you won’t have bruises flush on your skin and he fills you, fucks you. Keeps his fingers tight and curled and undoes you, so tenderly, so lovingly, with the way he whispers into your nape. 

You’ll have an odd shape mark on your knee, but the mirror fogs, and you stand on the tips of your toes, holding on. Eyes squeezed shut, as you laugh and laugh and oh, god, tomorrow you’ll care. 

[animaopen]

I commissioned @sbeep who was more of an angel than she realises honestly with this, for my Sidestep, Logan Walsh. Thank you so much once again!!

I also wrote something,

Keep reading

[animaopen]

ao3// bgm: sex money feelings die by lykke li (again)

So you sit, and there is a hair’s breadth between. As if the barest touch would break the moment, and you feel the drag of lips right there. Across your own, a kiss in only the meaning of the word. Nothing weighted behind. Because it speaks to you of fear and time and the flush of breath on your skin. Soft swear at your cheek.

Shift your hand, press against hers. Line up your fingers, and they are crooked and too large knuckles. Speaking of years long past and fist fights and one too many reckless stunts. The only tension, connection, knowledge that this is real and life and she’s sinking now. Feet first into the deep end, disappearing under the blue.

Again, again again again.

You follow, as you always have. Had. Wanted to. Her going places you could not follow, with bubbles filling the space before your eyes. With her hands on you, lips against yours. Like the ferryman, hands out, a coin, please. 

One day, you would ask how she breathed. Another day. With the orange and red on her hands and your fingers caught between. Tied up and held prisoner and you give and you give and.

Surface breaks. First break of air is full and loud and the world roars to life in your ears. Reach for the edge, one hand digging in, as you catch her. Before she gets away again. No more.

You will not settle for staring into those cold dark eyes.

And hearing.

Nothing.

At. All. 

[animaopen]

commisons for @hotlineaisui of logan + ortega, ty for commissioning me:) i hope you like them!!!!!!

[animaopen]

atla au, more firebending

First kick, two, three. Streams of fire, leaving your fist. Deep breath, raise your leg up above your head, bringing down with an arc.

Tenth punch, before you focus, down the line. Do not close your eyes this time, as you watch the ground singe, exact, pointed. Again. Always again. 

Remember what they taught you. Not easy to shed the shackles of your forms, your life. Even if you need to let it ease off, slowly, slightly. Like removing layers of the armour that was so heavy, yet so light, you barely noticed most of the time.

Swing your leg out, dragging a firm circle around yourself. Watch the flames rise behind you, but you’re already spinning out, ahead. Final movement, hands drawn together. Just breathe.

[animaopen]

atla au, firebending

Sweep of her foot, and the dirt kicks up and over the embers. Rise of the sun gives warmth in the veins, and quick punches in succession, feeling the fire spread out. Warmth and safety. Familiarity in the movements. 

A mixed blessing they had not been followed in the night. Too much to think about had left her distracted, weaker under a moon than usual. Duty. Now there was a word she had thought she would escape, leaving behind the harsh reds and oranges of the homeland. Duty now was to run and hide, wait out the inevitable.

Duty was to pull out the small piece of parchment, tucked into the breast pocket, unfolding the little portrait. To not let the emotions overwhelm, holding it there. Right at the fringes of skin, before following the lines, putting it back in place. 

Find the ends of the tassels in her hair, twirl them around one finger. Find the little metal that hung alongside, curved flame, buried underneath. What might've once adorned the hair, when there was a duty. 

Slowly the camp wakes, and that part is forgotten. Left behind in the way she toes at the sword, kicking it into the air. Snatches it out on the way down, thumb finding ornate gold. Most recently earned after a wager. Untraceable in the Earth Kingdom. One more thing, that was shedding the layers of duty.

Replacing old with new.

[animaopen]

atla au, @ratkingkisses‘s zia

“Will you train me?”

Logan’s response is a short bark of laughter, hidden behind a hand. Quiet, politely so, with the others sleeping. Just the two of them, no one else to bear witness to this.

“No.”

Short, curt. Definite. Not the answer Logan was looking for, Zia knew, but it was fun to watch the supposed saviour squirm with being told no. That she will not be trained. That she will have to find someone else. That Zia wanted nothing to do with this war, and Ba Sing Se was large enough for anyone to get lost in.

“Why?”

“I have no interest, simple as that.”

A solid pause, and then. The burst of angry flames that lick the ground at Zia’s feet. “That’s not good enough!”

But that was all the response Zia needed, with how she holds her hand up then. Looks at the edges of her nails, finding specks of dirt. “That is your answer right there, Avatar. Control that fire.”

“It is controlled.”

Brows raised, Zia points one finger at her feet. “Yes, very controlled. I’m very convinced.”

The silence drags out a little too long, before Logan huffs. Throws her hair over her shoulders. “Eventually, you will have to train me.”

“I don’t have to do anything, my dear Avatar. You are not my master.”

“But you will be mine.”

[animaopen]

atla au, featuring @frozenabattoir‘s angel and cerise

Unseasonably cold, when Logan feels the hand press into her back. Even with the sweep of her arm back, and the way she shoots herself a few feet away, the rock catches at her wrist. Pins her against a nearby wall.

“You will come with me.”

Solid stance, hand outstretched. Other held back, with the similar glove much like the one that held her against the wall. Melts it away, leg pulling out, Logan’s own far lighter. “I don’t think so.”

Another slam of rock, course broken, air and fire searing through the space. Only a narrow corridor, playing in both of their favours. Weaknesses. Shift of foot forward, and Logan notices a moment too late, as the ground reaches up, soft like sand, hardening around her knees.

“You will come with me.” Emphasis once more, tightens around her legs. 

Logan lets out a low groan, as she’s dropped. Catches herself with a rush of air, pushing herself up. “And if I refuse?”

“I will drag your broken body, if I must.”

A slow blink, and a grit of teeth. Slow steps behind the earthbender, weaving through housing and down streets. Purposely getting lost. Each scorch mark left behind to map the way was grown over, the rock eating it away. Dammit. 

Until they stop in front of a remarkably unnoticeable place, and “enter.”

Hand raised, moving the silks out the way, as Logan ducks under the entrance. Stands in a grand chamber, that was likely new. Far too perfumed, with the distinct smell of Northern Wine. More than one person at the middle, on soft pillows and everything that betrayed the solid foundations. 

Logan feels her lip curl up, as she takes in the decadence of the Fire Nation, here, in Ba Sing Se.

“Cerise! I told you not to disturb me.”

Slide of eyes to the side, taking in the way the earthbender found the ground so interesting. Sharp intake, likely trying to calm herself. “I’ve brought you the Avatar, my lady.”

Noting the grit on the words, Logan turns completely, brows raised. Cerise, as she was, still had not looked up. But the lady before the both of them pushed herself to her feet now, crossing the room in staggered steps. Up and over pillows and blankets, knocking more than one bottle out the way. A hand that reaches for Logan’s face, nails that dig into the skin of her cheeks.

She can smell the wine on her breath, as the woman laughs. Loud, unabashed. “You hear this?! The Avatar!”

But the joy turns dark, narrowed eyes. Still not letting go. “Finally, we can go home.”

[animaopen]

atla au, again, always, @ratkingkisses‘s zia, @dorkousloris‘s anita, @erintoknow‘s ariadne, @queenofthieves‘s lyn

Sliding off the beardog, Logan’s barely got two feet on the ground when there’s a whip. Smack along her back, that shoots her stumbling forward. Slide her feet around, hand raised. Watch how Zia falls just in front of her, finger raised.

“Now, just what does the Fire Nation want with someone like me?”

A critical moment, where there’s one pause of breath, before Anita speaks up. Leans over the saddle, trying to reach out, trying to stop. “We just saw you being taken—”

“I’m not talking to you.”

Zia holds her hands out in front of her, and there follows ice. Catching Logan without much of a fight, pushing her up against a tree. Holding her to it. Lyn shouts, moving to follow, when with a quick whip, Zia pushes her back against the leg of the dog. “Stay.”

And the hand curls back, held up towards where Logan was still. No resistance. That set Zia on more edge than a firebender who couldn’t help to kick and punch. Deep breath, feel the water under her feet. Ice grows, holding Logan’s hands out to the side, only her face visible.

“Answer me.”

“Can’t a person just do a good deed?”

There’s a smirk on Logan’s face, that earns the growth of ice, over her mouth now. One last moment, where a gail force wind hits her in the side. Sends her tumbling. Airbender? How had she not noticed.

No matter. Zia holds her hand out, to where Ariadne opens her mouth to speak, and clenches to form a fist. 

The reaction is instant. One that renders Ariadne to her knees. Temporary solution, as she turns her attention on the firebender now. Logan. Overexerting herself perhaps, after several days of being contained, but she watches Logan’s eyes slide shut, how Ariadne curls on herself, and turns towards the other two.

“Answer my questions. Now.”

Except the answer is Lyn scrambling off the other side, dragging Anita with her by the collar. Zia only has one moment, to turn back. And gasps. 

Flames lick at the tree to where Logan had been frozen. Growing in height, forcing the ice to melt. Pools around her feet, but that does not stop the way she breathes in, deep inhale. Concentrated stream of fire as she exhales, towards where Zia had been. 

Zia tries to catch her, again, each footstep taken in ice. But it’s shrugged off. Barely a nuisance, with how she draws closer. With how the ground is singed, with how Ariadne falls to the ground, a pained cry. Cannot stop her, not as she draws closer.

As those eyes glow, seeing all. A hand that reaches out, takes Zia by the wrists. She stares, trying to pull back. To fight. But there is heat around her skin, and she looks down. Watches how the shackles melt, falling to the ground.

“What?”

Looks back up, and the fire is gone. Only answer being the smirk that cuts across Logan’s face. “Understand now?”