#is wanting to have said tyrant on your side valid? hell yeah

[countlessofvoids]

With his father, Toothless along with all of Berk's dragons, and all the villains who became their allies:

Hiccup has infinite scary dog privilege

[lucien-lachance]

Okay, what's the Gortash propaganda? What's The Deal? I haven't encountered him yet, so I have no clue about his personality, and I Can't See It upon first glance. What's the appeal?

- @supervillain-smut

That’s totally valid! Honestly, Gorty can be…a bit of an acquired taste? He’s not your Stereotypically Hot antagonist, but he’s expressive, charismatic, and a compelling, nuanced character with perfectly human idiosyncrasies once you look beyond his emo hair and silly shoes. And that makes him incredibly magnetic imho. Full disclosure though, the big nose, under-eye shadows, and smug bastardry really hit my buttons from the start. The emo rocker look is a huge bonus. You can take me out of Hot Topic, but you’ll never take the Hot Topic out of me.

But yeah, this turned into a bit of an overboard character analysis? This pixel man is one of the most polarizing pixel men on the planet. Nobody I’ve seen has said, “Oh, Gortash? Yeah, he’s ‘meh’.” Ten seconds on screen, and you’ll want to throw your undies at him or decapitate him on the spot. (some of us gorty girlies would probably do both, tbh). He’s done despicable things in the name of survival, power, and simple pleasure; he’s a domineering, tenacious, S&M-loving Hot Topic enthusiast laced with parental angst and religious fanaticism, and grandiosity. Ruthless and cunning, he's a genius unafraid of flaunting his power and wealth, but who, behind a cultivated veneer of resilience, dominance, and villainy, is also incredibly damaged. Also, he probably has anxiety (bear with me there). I’ll try to avoid big plot spoilers here while still being thorough about his backstory etc.

Oh. Did I mention he’s voiced by Jason Isaacs? Because that…Does Things. sorry this is really long but i literally cannot shut up about my grimy greasy raccoon man. if you want my personal headcanons about anything hmu

So. To start, Gortash grew up in Baldur's Gate as the prodigy son of abusive parents. They describe him as a brilliant but “hateful little wretch. They sell him to a warlock to pay off what they called “world-ending debts”—which, for a terribly abused child, would only compound the confusion, anger, and hurt he’d stewed in for years. As a slave in the Hells, he endured still more abuse. If you break into this devil’s house, you learn that his parents’ “world ending debts” were actually paltry sums. The jailer there admits he liked to “bruise his knuckles” on his “sniveling face,” too, which could account for some of the blockiness in his features and the fact that he doesn't much look like his parents (see repeatedly injured boxers/fighters etc).

Now, those are pretty disparate descriptions of the same child. I side with the jailer, tbh; he has no reason to lie, where Gorty's parents do. Even if he was unruly or disrespectful to them, the fact that he was initially so distraught in the Hells tells me he wasn’t born a monster. He was made a monster by circumstances and his own choices. I like to think he wanted to be loved just as any other child does, but his restless intellect, curiosity, and perhaps a quick, inborn temper clashed with his mother and father’s parenting abilities/styles. They may not have wanted him and resented his existence. Considering his heartless upbringing, it’s obvious why he became what he did. Abuse was all he knew. Desiring, let alone showing, any care was asking to be beaten or ostracized. Nothing came freely. If he wanted something, he had to earn, create, or take it, and everything had consequences. In the Hells, he realized that if he wanted to survive, he couldn’t risk being an abused victim. He had to become the abuser.

And become the abuser he did. He escaped the Hells (probably sometime in his mid-late teens, imho) and became a prolific gang leader, slaver (hello irony), and arms dealer. He also took to the Banite religion, which is a natural fit for a budding tyrant desperate for control, power, vengeance, and personal security. He became the Chosen of the lawful-evil god Bane, a post that gave him more power, resources, and perceived safety than he’d ever known. If he was a blunt fist when he escaped the Hells, the gangs and Banite religion forged him into a knife capable of both precision and outright butchery.

A few game docs imply that he treats sex as a currency like gold or social favors. He had an affair with a prominent noblewoman in his youth, likely for her money. Love this gold-digging, burly-armed raccoon (screencap from the bg3 wiki)

There are some...shenanigans about a now-retconned letter between him and a guy named Franc Peartree, especially since there's some speculation that he didn't actually write it, so I won't get into that here. Hilarious though. Anyway, he’ll threaten and kill anyone that resists him or falls short of his expectations. Lives are meaningless unless they enrich him somehow; they’re tools and a literal currency, just as he’d been a currency to his parents and a tool to the devil that enslaved him. After becoming a lord, he sells his bodyguard—who is described by an NPC as being the only thing that “kept him honest”—to an archdevil to advance his schemes. In my opinion, it was also to rid himself of what he believed was a thorn in his side. He liked and trusted them in his own way, and he saw that as a weakness that must be purged for his own safety and to please his god. He’s a human who cannot afford to be human. He has to stay cold. Detached. Powerful. Mechanical like his weapons and automatons.

As Bane’s Chosen, he killed, connived, and seduced of his way to supreme power in Baldur’s Gate (also with the help some spoilery magic I won't detail. He uses this same magic to torture and enslave two npcs you can meet in act 3. Cold blooded, oof). Yet despite his hunger for control, he doesn’t want to rule alone. He’s completely honest about his offer to ally and share power with. Possibly, he just wants someone close to witness his own glory. Maybe he sees that a loyal partner could help him conquer wider lands. Maybe the heart of the beaten child he’d once been still aches for companionship, even if he can’t consciously acknowledge it anymore. Or it could be that he’s stumbled head over heels for your character. Any and all of it works, imho.

On the topic of the player’s character—if you play as the Dark Urge (aka Durge, Chosen of Bhaal, another evil god allying with Bane), he treats you differently. The man’s stern, knifepoint stares and smug smirks get spiced up with tender smiles and the biggest, wettest puppy eyes you can imagine. The difference is almost jarring. You have some different dialogue options and responses from him, too. The narrator even says he misses teasing Durge and doesn't think you should just submit to him. He’s playful, in his own way. You can side with him as Tav, too, of course, but he and Durge had a pre-canon relationship. Whether it’s romantic, sexual, or platonic/professional is up to you, though lots of in-game hints lean more toward the romantic/sexual angle. That’s where I camp, tbh.

Exhibits A, B, and C bottom two are mods from one of my files. Astarion's VA did the mocap for Gorty as well, and their mannerisms/expressions translate perfectly.)

Now, Durge canonically does some really fucked up things as both religious worship and fun (including cannibalism and necrophilia, big gross) and would arguably be the kinkiest being in Baldur's Gate. So, if you interpret their relationship with Gortash as romantic/sexual, this man would be kinky af, too. Tbh, he probably would be anyway after enduring years in the devil’s house (you'll understand when you get there in-game). He also just had to be literally and figuratively flexible enough to exploit anyone’s appetites for his own gain.

Larian maintains that he's too busy for kisses etc. I doubt any of us really buy that lmao. But however you view their relationship, he’s smitten with Durge, and Tav earns his respect through their strength, tenacity, and victories. Local tyrant actually has a heart locked up in that hairy chest? It’s more likely than you think! We can’t fix him, but he can make us worse. In any case, he's not mindless about his attraction/respect to Durge or Tav. Openly opposing him or breaking your alliance with him triggers him+his Steel Watchers to attack you. People are just tools, remember. RIP he’ll literally hang your corpse over the river for everyone to cringe at.

As I mentioned earlier, Gorty boy is a genius. He’s got a knack for engineering and I’ve seen lots of arguments classing him as an artificer. He designed a mech army of Steel Watchers that he vaunted as soldiers of the future, and a means of policing and protecting the city without losing human lives. It’s all a charade, of course. The Steel Watchers’ invention earned him a lordship and they’re deadly, yes, but they’re not simply the bloodless army with which he vowed to protect everyone. They’re his key to enslaving the city and enforcing his/Bane's tyranny. He also likely designed and fabricated his crossbow, as well as other weaponry. In a modern setting, you know this guy would be that billionaire inventor that eats Bill Gates and Musk etc, then usurps their tech empires.  

Despite calling himself and the other Chosen “servants of [their] gods,” he also seems to hold designs for godhood—and godhood for your character, if you ally with him. He wants to rule all of Toril together as gods. He wants to be “a roaring sun”, not the ravenous darkness normally associated with Bane. Some, myself included, interpret this line as him chafing under his own subservience to Bane, and thus his own weakness and endangerment. He wants to become his own god and truly, truly be free of all others’ power and exert his own. Interestingly, his 80’s rock opera edgelord outfit is covered in Bane’s iconography and colors, yet his Steel Watchers’ armor is notably engraved with light-symbolism. His crossbow also grants the wielder two light/radiant spells. Which is an interesting contrast for sure. So is it all purely a show? Something to symbolize hope in a dark time and better manipulate people? Undoubtedly! But it can also be more personal and hint at his long game. Again, it’s up for personal interpretation.

But amidst it all, he has a bit of a childish streak, too, if seen only rarely or by Durge. If you attack him at a certain point, one of your dialogue options will prompt The Tyrant of Baldur's Gate not to punch, slap, stab, or shoot you, but to kick you in the shins and taunt you like a cheap schoolyard bully. Amazing.

I’ll end with another quick note on his clothing. The Cloth of Authority, as it’s called, makes the wearer immune to emotion-altering conditions/spells, gives you 1+ armor bonus, and gives you an advantage in intimidation and insight checks. So, you can't panic etc and it lets you more easily detect lies and talk shit without getting hit, so to speak. Are these effects simply useful for a man trying to take over a city or run criminal enterprises? Hell yeah. But they’d also be pretty damned necessary for an abuse victim subjected to slavery and horrific living conditions, likely became anxiety-prone, and who is probably terrified of becoming a victim again. I like the idea that both ideas are valid. The stupid messy lace job on his shirt is A+++, too. Indifference, not knowing how to lace it, an intentional shade of sluttiness, who cares? He somehow makes it work despite being the most powerful guy in the city. Bonus points for the shameless chest hair tease and unabashed crotch bulge.  

So, uhhhh, yeah. I hope that sort of makes sense and flows okay. In conclusion, he’s terrifyingly amoral, intelligent, and the left hand of an evil god, but under Jason Isaacs’ voice and all the fancy clothes and horror, he’s still Just Some Guy, and I just think he’s neat.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

the crossroad of our destinies book three: air

cw: mild angst, cartoon violence, manipulation/betrayal, detailed fight scene including minor character death, blood, injury, weapons, sedatives, and manipulation, swearing, nightmare mention, references to past child abuse, mention of potential genocide

to skip the fight scene, skip the section that starts “There’s no need to be difficult, Roman.” 

wordcount: 6926

book one: earth // book two: fire // read it on ao3! 

“I’m hardly a master of air bending,” Patton says nervously, fidgeting with his hands. 

“You’re the only air bender that we know,” Thomas says, pressing his hands together and bowing his head. “Please, Pat, you have to teach me! Who else will do it?” 

“There are plenty of air benders in the temples where we live, Thomas, much more skilled than myself. I still think you’d be better off going there and seeking out one of the monks to train you.” Patton fidgets nervously with his hands. “I’m . . . not exactly a master airbender. I’m just a kid.” 

“We’re all just kids,” Thomas argues. “None of us chose to be thrown into this war, but we’re here now. Please, Patton. The sooner I learn air bending, the closer I’ll be to ending this war.” 

“And what happens when you do end the war?” Virgil asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re all from different nations, different histories, different cultures. We never would have met without this war. What will happen when it ends? Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than ready for peace, but are we just . . . never going to see each other again?” 

“That’s stupid,” Roman says. “I’m not going to just stop being friends with you all once the war’s over. If anything, with my bitchass dad dead -”

“Language.”

“- I won’t have to worry about getting murdered for having friends. You’re all my friends, and I fully expect all of you to be at my wedding ceremony when I marry Dolos.” 

“Really?” Logan asks softly. “You would want us to come to your wedding?” 

“Of course I would,” Roman says. He reaches out and gently touches Logan’s shoulder. Logan smiles, and Virgil feels something tight in his chest begin to uncoil. “Somebody has to walk me down the aisle, after all.” 

“I volunteer as tribute!” Patton chirps eagerly. “And - and Thomas, I’m not an air bending teacher, by any stretch of the imagination, but if you’re willing to put up with me, I can try and teach you what I know.” 

*~*~*~*~*

“How many times have they done this now?” Roman asks. 

“Counting this? Sevent - nope, eighteen,” Virgil says. Thomas tries to copy what Patton is showing him, and he falls flat on his face. “I think the problem is that earth and air are on opposite ends of the bending spectrum, so their movements are the antithesis of each other. Earth bending is all solid movements and grounded footing, and air bending is about being light and detached.” 

“So what are you saying? Thomas won’t be able to learn how to do it?”

“No, he’ll be able to learn. Every Avatar before him has mastered all four elements, there’s no reason that he can’t do it too. It’s just gonna be particularly difficult to do this stage.” 

Thomas falls for the nineteenth time, screams in frustration, and punches a massive fireball into the sky. “Impressive size, poor technique!” Roman calls. 

“I’m not working on fire bending right now, criticism is unwarranted!” 

“This isn’t going to work, is it,” Logan says dryly. 

“Have some confidence in your brother,” Virgil says. “But no, I don’t think it is. We might need to try a different approach.” 

“Such as what? Patton’s the only air bender that we’ve got.” 

“Technically, we have Remy, too.” 

“What in the fresh hell are you smoking?” Roman says. Virgil ignores him, reaching out to gently pat Remy’s nose. The flying bison huffs out a puff of warm air that nearly knocks Roman over and gently pushes his nose into Virgil’s hand. 

“Fire benders learned to bend from the dragons, earth benders learned to bend from the badger moles, water benders learned to bend from the moon, and air benders learned to bend from the flying bison. I’m not saying that Remy has the temperament to be a bending master, mind you, I’m just saying that he could be a teacher.” Remy makes a disgruntled noise and shuffles off to flop down and sleep a few yards away. 

“He might have better luck than Patton is currently having,” Logan says. “I am sure he is trying his best, but Thomas is not showing promising results.” 

“Yeah, but think about how long it took for him to first make a flame when I was training him,” Roman argues. 

“We no longer have that kind of time,” Logan says. “The reports from your brother are getting more dire every day. Your father is speeding up his plans of conquest, and we cannot let him harm any more innocent civilians. We must stop him in his tracks, and that may necessitate accelerating my brother’s training schedule.” 

Thomas hits the ground again. Virgil winces at the noise. “We should have a team meeting about this.”

*~*~*~*~*

The team meeting takes several days. 

This is mostly because people (namely Logan, Thomas, both of them, and occasionally Patton) get fed up and storm away to blow off steam without taking it out directly on other people. Virgil does his best to maintain a neutral voice-of-reason position, but no one in their group has ever been particularly inclined to neutrality. (Logan claims that he is, but he is also the most prone to losing his temper.) 

Eventually, they come to a collective consensus that while Patton is doing his best to teach Thomas the ways of air bending, it may not be enough for the time frame they’re working with. “I’m doing my best,” Patton says, staring firmly into the campfire, “and I know that Thomas is doing his best, too. But I don’t think our bests are moving fast enough, given the timeline of the Fire Nation’s attacks.”

“According to Remus, my father is moving up the attack schedules every day,” Roman comments. “The faster Thomas can master air bending, the better.” 

“I agree,” Thomas says. Logan makes a face, rocks trembling at his feet, but Thomas reaches out and squeezes his wrist. “Hey, Lo, stop it. It’s not a personal attack on me. I’m not mad, he’s right.” Logan huffs, but lets himself calm down. “We have to find someone qualified to teach air bending and hope that they can help me.” 

“We should see which Air Nomad temple we’re closest to,” Patton says. “I think that’s our best bet. The monks there spend their whole lives training acolytes to bend air, they’ll be able to help you.” 

“Are we sure that’s the safest option?” Roman counters. “Remus said that Air Nomad dignitaries were meeting with Father, and if that’s true then -”

“We’re pacifists,” Patton says stubbornly. “We only fight if absolutely necessary. We would never side with a tyrant who’s trying to take over the entire world.” The fire flares a little, and Patton winces and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I - I didn’t mean to insult your dad, Roman. I just -"

“It’s okay,” Roman says. He lets out a long, slow, controlled breath, and Virgil watches as the fire returns to its original size. “It’s okay, you - you’re right. You’re right, Patton, you don’t have to apologize for that. My dad is a tyrant and he is an abusive asshole and he is trying to take over the entire world. You don’t have to apologize.” 

“But he’s still your father,” Patton says. “It only makes sense that you would have an emotional attachment to him.” 

“I don’t want to have an emotional attachment to him,” Roman pouts. “I barely want to have a genetic attachment to him! He’s a dumbass and he’s useless and - and I don’t need him or his validation!” He pushes to his feet angrily and throws a fireball towards the surrounding trees. Patton swiftly bends a vortex around the fire to suction out its oxygen before it can cause any significant damage. 

“We know,” Logan says softly. “You are more than your father’s son, Roman. You have grown to be more than he could ever be.” Roman’s shoulder shake, chest heaving as he turns away. Virgil reaches out and touches his shoulder; Roman flinches, but when Virgil starts to pull his hand away, he whimpers and leans back towards the touch. 

“We know you’re not him,” Virgil says quietly. “I know you’re not him.” 

“He’s hurt all of you so much,” Roman whispers. “He’s the reason you lost your father, Virgil. He’s the reason Thomas and Logan’s village was razed to the ground, he’s the reason that Dolos had half of his face burnt off, he’s the reason my mother abandoned Remus and me and - and he did so much bad shit and - and I have to fix it, I have to -”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Thomas says. “I’m the Avatar, Roman, and it’s my job to restore balance to the world. I know that you have your own reasons for wanting to dethrone your father, but you are not responsible for what he did.” He grips Roman’s hands and gives what Virgil can only describe as his best “I’m-the-Avatar-and-everything-is-okay-now” smile. 

Virgil has trouble pulling comfort from it, but Roman seems to. “Thanks, Thomas.” He squeezes Thomas’s hands back, and he smiles. Virgil is still uneasy about pretty much every aspect of their situation, but he can at least relax in the knowledge that their little group’s uneven edges have settled comfortably against each other again.

*~*~*~*~*

You are in more danger than you realize.

Virgil lifts his head, and suddenly he’s not curled around the campfire sleeping with the rest of his friends. He stands in the middle of a vast expanse of black nothingness. Wisps of smoke curl around his ankles, creeping up towards his knees. He swats them away hurriedly, whirling around and watching a puff of water vapor appear where he’d just breathed out. 

“Who are you?! Where am I?!”

You are safe, little water bender. I am a friend, one you have rescued before.  

The mist stirs in front of him, forming a small dragon shape coiled in front of him. “You’re . . . the dragon I saved from the Fire Nation temple?”

The very same. Your fire bender friend is right to be suspicious. The Air Nomads are acting strangely. There are disturbances in the Spirit World. Proceed with caution and make sure that you protect those close to you.  

“Disturbances? Isn’t it Thomas’s job to balance the natural and spirit worlds as the Avatar? Should I tell him about it?” 

This is not a disturbance he can heal, not yet. You must keep him safe until he matures enough to help us. Protect him, little water bender, and keep your eyes peeled. If the Avatar falls, the world is doomed. 

The darkness surges up around Virgil, and he wakes up screaming.

*~*~*~*~* 

“And you’re sure that you’re okay?” Patton asks, gently touching his shoulder. Virgil rubs his arms, shaking softly. “You were screaming so loudly . . . you were so scared . . .” 

“It was just a nightmare,” Virgil says. Patton wraps an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, hesitantly, as though he’s going to push it away. Normally he would, but Virgil is still shaken, and he leans into the soft touch. Patton makes a soft noise and pulls him closer. 

“I know it was,” Patton says. “But it’s okay. You’re awake now, and we’re here. It’ll be alright. We’ll be at the Western Air Temple in a couple days, and then we’ll be totally safe.” 

Virgil doesn’t know how to tell him that they won’t be safe, that they’d be safer in the Fire Nation’s outlying villages than in the temple, because he’s seen the way Patton gets more excited the closer they get. So he stays silent, pressing close to his friend. 

*~*~*~*~*

Remy swishes his tail irritably as they glide closer to the mountains. “Is he okay?” Virgil asks. “He seems kinda . . . upset.” 

“He doesn’t like flying close to the mountains,” Patton says. “The winds are a lot stronger, and it takes more effort for him to course correct. He has to do it a lot more frequently, too.” 

Remy makes an exasperated huffing noise and veers sharply to the left. “It’s so pretty up here,” Roman wonders, leaning over the side of the saddle. “Isn’t it beautiful, Logan?” 

“Beautiful,” Logan deadpans. “There are so many different shades of black to see up here.” 

Roman winces, but Logan is smirking, so Virgil pats his shoulder reassuringly and turns his gaze to the mountains. There’s a large, elaborate structure built into the crevasses of the largest mountain, spires and peaks and buildings, some of which blend so seamlessly into the mountain they’re difficult to see. If he squints, he can just barely make out tiny figures flitting around the mountain. 

Remy lands at the base, rather than taking them all the way up to the top. “The head monks take turns bending the air currents around the Temple itself, so we can’t approach unannounced. We’re just gonna have to hike up there.” 

“Why would we hike when Thomas and I can bend us up the mountain?” Logan says. He hops off of Remy’s saddle and wiggles his toes, happy to be back on the ground. “It will not take long at all.” 

“But I don’t just want to leave Remy alone down here . . .” 

Logan squares his shoulders and leans into an earthbending stance. Within five minutes, he’s created a cave in the side of the mountain for Remy to settle into. “I promise we’ll come back for you,” Patton says, pressing his forehead against Remy’s nose. The bison huffs, but licks Patton back anyway. 

“I don’t like this,” Virgil says. “What if something goes wrong? We’ll be all the way up there, with no quick escape, I . . .”

“Are you expecting something to go wrong?” Patton asks softly. He looks upset, Virgil realizes, like he was expecting pushback. 

“Of course not, Pat,” Virgil says, reassuring. “I didn’t mean to say that I don’t trust your people. That’s not what I’m tryin’a say at all. I’m always nervous that something will go wrong. Anxiety, remember? It’s kind of my job to worry about stuff like this.” 

“I know,” Patton sighs, reaching over and patting at Virgil’s shoulder. “I appreciate you, Vee. But you know you don’t have to be worried, right? These are my people. They may not be the temple I grew up in, but they’re still my people. They won’t hurt us.” 

Virgil smiles, and wishes he believed Patton. 

*~*~*~*~*

Even with a master earth bender (not that he’d ever call Logan one to his face) and the Avatar himself, it takes them a good while to get up the mountain. Virgil gets more and more anxious the farther up the mountain they get, and Roman looks pretty antsy himself. He’d ditched his more traditional Fire Nation clothing for some of Thomas’s spares and he’d let Virgil style his hair to obscure his face. 

“How much farther?” he asks. Patton is bouncing eagerly on the tips of his toes. 

“Not long now!” 

When they finally crest over a ridge and into the temple, they’re greeted by a group of school-age children. They all stare at the strangers with expressions ranging from confusion to wariness to outright terror, and then Patton steps forward. He says something in a language Virgil doesn’t speak, but it must be some kind of Air Nomad greeting because all of the children parrot back in unison. 

Patton pushes his bangs off his face, showing them the arrow tattooed on his forehead. “My friends and I have come to seek sanctuary,” he says. “We do not mean to cause alarm.” 

“What temple are you from?” one of the children asks. The others cluster behind her. 

“I am from the Eastern Air Temple,” Patton says. “My friends are not air benders, but we come seeking sanctuary.” 

“You have to come with us,” she says. “You have to speak to the Head Monk about that.” 

“Of course,” Patton says. “If you would be so kind as to lead the way?” 

One of the children tugs on Patton’s flowy skirt. “Why do you have hair, mister? Is that a Eastern Air Temple thing?” 

“It’s not an Eastern Air Temple thing, dummy,” the leader says. “All Air Nomads shave their heads. I dunno why he’s weird.” Patton doesn’t flinch at the insinuation, but it’s a very close thing. 

“It’s because I have not been in a temple for quite a while, little one,” Patton says instead. “We’ve been traveling for many months, and I haven’t been able to take care of all this.” 

“Well, we can cut all your hair off here, mister,” the leader says. “C’mon, the Head Monk is gonna be interested to see you.” 

Virgil looks at Roman, who looks exactly as nervous as Virgil feels, and swallows. Logan looks normal, but he’s also pressing closer to Thomas than he normally does (probably unintentionally). 

Yeah. Virgil has a bad feeling about this. 

*~*~*~*~*

The children take them to a large hallway. A single woman sits inside, eyes closed, meditating. Virgil is about to suggest that they come back later, so as not to bother her, but she speaks without opening her eyes. “Hiroshi. Kanna. What are you doing here?” 

The girl, apparently named Kanna, recites a greeting and performs a strange bow. The boy, who must be Hiroshi, copies her quickly; the rest of the children had scattered long before they reached this hall. “Visitors, Head Monk. We brought them to you.” 

The woman opens her eyes, standing up and sweeping her robes around her. “I see. Thank you. You are now dismissed.” 

“Yes, Head Monk,” the children say, bowing again before scuttling out of the hall. The woman approaches them slowly, letting the anxiety in Virgil’s stomach rise to a rolling boil. 

“I am Kya, Head Monk of the Eastern Air Temple. We welcome you, visitors, seekers of sanctuary.” Her words are kind, but her voice disturbs Virgil. It’s too calm, too devoid of emotion. “What brings you here today?” 

Patton reveals his tattoo to her as well before performing the same strange bow Kanna and Hiroshi had. “I am Patton, of the Western Air Temple. These are my friends, they -” 

Thomas steps forward, brown eyes gleaming slightly. “Head Monk Kya, my name is Thomas, and I am -”

“The Avatar,” she breathes. 

“I’ve been trying to teach him air bending,” Patton says, “but -”

“You could not. I am unsurprised. You have clearly fallen out of practice.” There’s something strange in her eyes, and Patton seems to wilt away from her. “Allowing your hair to grow over your tattoos? Shameful. It is any wonder you can connect with the element which breathes life into your body. I am disappointed.” Her voice is like frost, and Patton grows smaller with every piercing word. 

“Hey, that’s not fair to Patton,” Virgil says, stepping in front of him. “We’ve undergone a lot of challenging circumstances, it’s not like shaving was a priority compared to staying alive.” 

Kya turns her gaze on him, but Virgil doesn’t falter. He’s faced winters colder than her gaze. 

“Who are you to tell an air bender what is proper?” she says. “Do you even bend?” 

“I do not bend,” Virgil grits. 

“Then you have no place speaking here.” Kya turns back to the Avatar. “I am surprised that one of your station would travel with those who are not in touch with the elements, but I suppose I cannot make your choices for you. If you wish to spend the night here, you may, and we will make arrangements for your training to begin in the morning.” 

Virgil glances around the hall while Thomas and Kya speak, frowning when he catches sight of someone lurking behind a pillar. “Who’s that?” he says loudly. Kya frowns at him, but she turns to look at the figure. 

“No one of your concern,” she says. “You are dismissed. Leave my presence.” 

Thomas turns around and walks out. Roman presses close to Patton, who’s clearly trying very hard not to cry, and Logan turns his face in Kya’s direction. If he could see with his eyes, Virgil would suspect he was glaring at her. 

As they reach the doors, Virgil lifts one hand up deceptively, as though he’s going to stretch or scratch his face. The knife hidden in his sleeve gleams against his inner wrist as he angles it to spy on what’s going on behind him.

The figure steps out from behind the pillar, dressed in the blazing crimson colors of the Fire Nation, and begins to speak in a low voice to Kya. She nods, face still impassive and stony. Virgil feels his heart drop straight through his stomach and tumble right off the mountain. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Are you sure?” Roman asks, for the sixth time in as many minutes. 

“I know what I saw!” Virgil snaps. “I travel with a Fire Nation prince, Roman, do you think I don’t know what fucking Fire Nation clothes look like?” 

“Kya . . . she sold us out?” Patton says. He’s curled into a ball on one of the beds in the little tower room they’ve been allowed to inhabit. “I - I don’t -” 

“Remus said that Father was trying to broker some kind of peace with the Air Nomads,” Roman says, “and this temple is closest to Fire Nation territory. What if . . . what if he wasn’t looking for peace at all?” 

“You think he’s colluding with the Air Nomads?” 

“We have no proof of that,” Logan says, running his hands along the stone wall. “I’ll tell you this, though. They locked the door behind us, and there’s two guards at the bottom of the stairs.”

“But we don’t have guards! We’re pacifists!” 

“They do not read like Air Nomads to me,” Logan says. “They appear to be Fire Nation, judged on their stances and breathing patterns.” 

Before anyone can say anything further, Thomas makes an aggressive “shhhhh!” and beckons them over to the window. The moon, newly full, is only a few days into its waning gibbous phase, and the courtyard below them is illuminated enough to see Kya and the Fire Nation man Virgil had seen earlier. 

“Can you bend their words to us?” Thomas mouths at Patton. Even though he looks miserable, Patton nods, stepping forward lightly. Kya opens her mouth, and Patton begins to bend. 

“Are you sure this is what the Fire Lord requires?” Kya says. “We do not wish to participate in this war, Ruon-Jian. We would ask that he leave us be, in peace.” 

“The Fire Lord wishes nothing more than to accommodate the wishes of his most trusted neighbors and trading partners,” Ruon-Jian says. His voice is silky smooth and oily, and Virgil hates him immediately. “He of course understands your cultural traditions, and he had nothing but the utmost respect for you and your people. He admires that you share a goal with him, to protect your people and promote their interests and well-being.” 

“However?” Kya says, tiredly. 

“However,” Ruon-Jian says, “there have been rumors of a plot to overthrow our most gracious Fire Lord. Conspiracies against him, originating from his own people. The traitorous Prince Roman has, of course, been exiled, as has his betrothed, and the cursed Prince Remus has been sent on a fool’s errand with the disgraced General Emile, but you can never be too careful. You can understand why the Fire Lord might wish to keep tabs on those he suspects may be involved in such . . . foolishness.” 

“What do you want from me, Ruon-Jian? What will it take for you to leave us?” 

“The Fire Lord requires a sign, Head Monk Kya. A token of goodwill, as it were. In order to spare you and your people, he must know that you are not conspiring against him. You are currently harboring traitors to the crown, including the Fire Lord’s most reviled offspring and the Avatar. These are dangerous insurgents.” 

“I can handle them.”

“We do not doubt your capacities, but the Fire Lord would hate to foist the responsibility of punishing and detaining his fugitives onto our most honored neighbors.” 

“They are children, Ruon-Jian. How much damage can they possibly do?” 

“Enough,” Ruon-Jian says, and his voice drops sharply. “Do not underestimate the Avatar. Do not underestimate the Fire Lord. The terms of the agreement stand before you, Head Monk Kya. Turn over the fugitives to me, and the Fire Lord will spare your temple. Otherwise, you will be engulfed in flames like your Southern brethren. We wouldn’t want that, would -”

Patton drops to the ground as though his legs have given out from under him, tears spilling down his face. “No,” he whispers. “No, they - he - they can’t have - they - the Southern Air Temple? They can’t have -”

“I am so sorry,” Roman says softly. “I know my father, and I know that guy down there. He’s the most ruthless of Father’s generals. He brags about things like that, he wouldn’t lie. He - he probably did, Patton.” 

Patton bites back a sob. “They . . .”

“Kya is going to sell us out in order to protect this temple,” Virgil says. “We can’t stay here and get captured, but we can’t let the Fire Nation attack this temple, either. We need a plan.” 

“What kind of plan?”

“We’re going to have to draw the Fire Nation away from the temple. If we escape, they won’t blame Kya, especially since there are Fire Nation soldiers guarding us, and they’ll have to give chase.”

“We’ll need a plan,” Logan says. Virgil grins, sharp and wolfish. 

*~*~*~*~*

Predictably, things rapidly go downhill. 

They make it out of the Temple, but they’re pursued so tightly by Fire Nation soldiers that they can’t immediately circle back to Remy for fear of getting him captured. Instead, they divert into the forest, splitting up to avoid detection. 

Virgil ends up pulling Thomas along, gripping the Avatar’s wrist and tearing through the trees. He’s not accustomed to forests, but he’s travelled glaciers and snowdrifts before. Dangerous terrain is no stranger to him. Thomas stumbles along blindly, tripping every few steps, but Virgil just pushes forward. 

They stop dead in their tracks when they hear someone scream. It’s high and frantic, and it sounds an awful lot like - 

“Logan,” Thomas says. His voice rumbles deep in his chest like an earthquake, and his eyes begin to glow blue. 

“No!” Virgil hisses, slapping Thomas to snap him out of the Avatar state. “Sorry, sorry - but you can’t do that, you can’t! You’ll draw attention, and you don’t have control of that state yet! You won’t be able to survive, you’ll get captured and we’ll never get you back!” 

“That’s my brother,” Thomas says plaintively. “That’s Logan, I - I have to protect him, I -”

“I know, Thomas. But we have to protect you, too. Come on, come on, I -” 

Virgil pulls Thomas after him, tearing through the forest. He stops a good distance away from his best estimate of Logan’s location and instead begins to pull Thomas after him into a tree. “You stay here.” 

“Wh -”

Virgil slams his hand over Thomas’s mouth, pointing to the ground. There’s a heavy thudding noise, like booted feet, and Fire Nation soldiers rush past the tree. Once he’s sure they’re gone, Virgil uncovers Thomas’s mouth. “Stay here. If they catch you, it’s all over. I’m gonna go after Lo and the others.” 

“And what if they capture you?” Thomas says. 

“They killed my father, Thomas. They took the only family I had left. It’s taken me this long to build another one, I’m not going to let them take it away again.” He hugs Thomas tightly, quickly, before he can change his mind. Thomas is surprised, but he squeezes back just as tightly. 

“Save them,” Thomas whispers, voice wavering. “Please, Virge.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

*~*~*~*~*

“There’s no need to be difficult, Roman.” 

Roman stands, frozen, staring at a man he thought he left behind. Ruon-Jian has the clearing surrounded with his men; his tone is level and soothing, like he’s speaking to a frightened animal or a rambunctious child, like he’s presenting the only logical option. His face gives him away. 

One of his goons stands behind him, holding Logan tightly. His massive arm is like a vice grip around Logan’s fragile torso, and he has a controlled flame-knife pointed at Logan’s throat. He’s holding Logan up so that he can’t touch the earth, and they managed to tie him up somehow. Without his bending, he looks like a blind, scared kid, struggling weakly. Patton is on his back on the ground, a spear point pressed against his throat, arms and legs bound with ropes.

“Come with us, and I promise I will be lenient towards your friends. Why you choose to travel with children is beyond me, quite honestly. Then again, most of your choices are . . . beyond me.” 

“How did you find me?” Roman asks. He knows he should be fighting, knows he should be bending right now, but he can’t. The fire inside him has turned to ice as he stares at his captured friends. 

“Your brother is not known for his subtlety, Roman. It was no secret that he was sending messages on your hawk. All I had to do was track it, and the stupid bird led me right to you.” 

This is all Roman’s fault. He’s gotten his new friends captured, and he’s going to get his brother killed. “What did you do to Remus?” 

“Nothing, yet. For all his lunacy, he’s popular with the crew. But once I bring you and your friend the Avatar back as proof of his treachery, I will have enough support to stage a mutiny. Your brother will die at sea in a tragic accident, and I will be the Fire Lord’s right-hand general.” 

“Never,” Roman croaks, but it’s a weak protest and Ruon-Jian knows it. 

“You are no threat to me, princeling. I will end you and your brother, and your father does not care enough to stop it.” Roman knows that it’s true. He knows he has to get them out of this situation before they all get killed, but there’s nothing he can do. He makes eye contact with Patton, trying to convey his apologies through his eyes alone. 

Patton shakes his head, mouths It’s okay before the soldier holding a spear to his throat kicks him, and Roman hates himself just a little more. Ruon-Jian holds up a rope, and Roman starts to lift his hands to be tied up, and then -

Creak. 

There’s a rustling noise around them, too pronounced to be normal forest noises, and Ruon-Jian frowns. “Did you capture the Avatar and the Water Tribe brat yet?” 

Two soldiers stumble into the clearing, carrying a third between them. Both of the standing soldiers have a knife sticking out of them somewhere, and the sagging soldier looks barely conscious. 

“What happened?” Ruon-Jian snaps. 

“It - out of nowhere, the trees -” one of them pants. 

“Before we knew what hit us, there were knives, and - and they attacked Shoji with some kinda weird punches and he couldn’t bend anymore! He collapsed, we’re lucky we got outta there alive!”

“There’s no such thing!” Ruon-Jian protests. “You can’t take away someone’s bending!” 

There’s a sharp whistling noise, and one of the Fire Nation soldiers cries out in alarm. A slender blade sticks out of his arm, and his eyes roll up in his head as he collapses. “Poison?!” Ruon-Jian hisses. More sharp whistles, and four more Fire Nation soldiers fall. Ruon-Jian snarls and thrusts his fist forward, vaporizing the blade that hurtles towards him. 

“Show yourself!” he roars. “Do not hide in the trees like a coward!” 

“Who are you calling a coward?” a voice snarks back; familiar, but also lower than Roman is accustomed to. “After all, I’m not the one who felt the need to attack children in the woods. You have, what, a teenager and a pre-teen tied up like prisoners of war? Did you really think you couldn’t handle them? God, you’re pathetic.” 

“Come down here and fight me like a man, then!” Ruon-Jian challenges. 

“If I can defeat your minions so easily, what makes me think you’re any more of a challenge?” the voice taunts. “You’re not so bad.” 

“Prove it!” 

The trees all rustle at once. If Roman strains, he can faintly hear the lightest of footsteps and grunts as something leaps from tree to tree. Knives appear out of nowhere, and a soldier screams as one pierces clean through his hand. There’s a gleaming ribbon attached to the hilt, and it gets yanked back before anyone can process what’s happened. 

“No match for me,” the voice lilts. “Too bad, so sad.” 

Ruon-Jian screams and thrusts his arms out, creating a fireball that he hurls at the nearest tree. He keeps screaming as he burns all the trees surrounding the clearing, and Roman cowers down to avoid a serious burn. 

“Where are you now, without your precious tree shelter to protect you?!” Ruon-Jian shrieks. “You’re nothing!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the voice says. A shadow steps forward from the wreck of the forest, knife glinting in the moonlight as they hold it between two fingers. 

Virgil steps into the clearing, and Roman gasps a little. He can’t help himself. Ruon-Jian stares at him, and then he laughs. 

“Another child? Pathetic.” 

“I’ve taken down too many soldiers for you to call me that,” Virgil says coolly. “Also, destroying the forest? Not cool, asshat. The spirits are gonna beat your ass.” 

“Spirits?!” Ruon-Jian snarls. “What can a spirit do to me?” 

“Count yourself lucky that you won’t find out tonight,” Virgil says, “because I’m dishing out justice on their behalf tonight.” 

“Where is the Avatar?”

“Safe from people like you,” Virgil says. “I disabled your soldier’s bending, and you think I’m not the biggest threat in this clearing?” 

“You are a child!” 

“So are the benders you have tied like dogs,” Virgil says. He looks angrier than Roman has ever seen him. “Let them go, and let Roman go too. Don’t think I won’t fuck you up.” 

“What can you possibly do to me?” 

Virgil spins a cord rapidly, and the knife on the end gleams. “You sound scared. Fine by me. Send your minions to fight me if you’re so scared. I’ll take them down and then I’ll come for your pansy ass.” 

Ruon-Jian snaps his fingers and three Fire Nation soldiers step in front of him. He retreats to the edge of the clearing with the soldiers holding Logan and Patton, and Roman steps back as well. Virgil’s eyes gleam as he steps forward. 

Roman sees the cord wrapped tightly around Virgil’s wrist as he throws one of the knives. It sticks in the shoulder of a soldier, who cries out in pain. Another soldier throws a burst of fire at the cord while it’s still stretched out across the clearing, and Roman winces, sure that Virgil is about to lose a weapon. 

Instead, he smirks, yanking the cord and pulling the knife free. “What, did you think that I was going to fight a crew of Fire Nation soldiers and not use my fireproof weapons? Morons.” 

Roman quickly realizes that Virgil has far more of an upper hand than he thought. He has a knife-on-a-string in each hand, and he wields them with terrifying efficacy. He spins the knives and uses them to keep the soldiers a good distance from his body. They retaliate with fire, but Virgil just evades them almost effortlessly with an impressive display of gymnastics. 

“Stop playing around and kill him!” Ruon-Jian shrieks, presumably to his own men. Virgil rolls his shoulders back and grins. 

“Great idea, idiot. I should stop playing, shouldn’t I?”

His knives disappear into his clothes and he runs straight towards the nearest soldier. They shout in surprise, and Virgil shifts to a stance that’s strangely similar to earth bending. He narrows his eyes and tilts his head slightly to the left and lays out a series of jabs, one-two-three-four-five, quick and staccato like Roman’s terrified heartbeat. The soldier wheezes in shock and collapses to the ground in front of Virgil. 

“Use your fire bending! Set him ablaze!” 

“I - I can’t,” the soldier says, “My bending - something happened, I can’t - I - it’s gone!” 

Virgil grins, cracks his knuckles, and bares his teeth. 

“Who’s next, motherfuckers?” 

*~*~*~*~*

It’s short work after that, disposing of the soldiers. 

The leader, that slimy Ruon-Jian, gets away, but Virgil does manage to disarm the rest of his men. He does his best to only use non-lethal combat tactics, but when he gets to the men that had tied up and hurt Logan and Patton . . . 

Well, it’s not his fault if a knife ends up in their exposed throats.

It’s short work to slice through Patton’s binds, and he hugs Virgil fiercely the second he’s free. “That was so scary,” Patton breathes. “I thought they were gonna kill us - I thought they were gonna kill you -”

“Am I forgiven for swearing?” Virgil teases. Something wet seeps into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, Virge, you’re forgiven.” 

Logan is practically mummified in ropes on the ground, but he hasn’t made a single move to free himself. He just lays there, catatonic, and for a moment Virgil worries he’s been injured. “Lo?” Logan flinches, tears spilling down his face. “Hey, buddy, it’s me. It’s Virgil. Can I cut you free?” 

Logan nods. “T - Thomas?” he rasps. 

“I hid him before I came,” Virgil says. “We’ll go back and get him, Lo, I promise. Let me get you out of these . . .”

Logan stands up once he’s been cut free, stumbling forward one, two, three steps before collapsing. Virgil catches him, quickly sweeping him up into his arms. “Whoa! Are your legs sore from the ropes?” 

“Y . . . yes.” 

“Okay. I gotcha. Come on, I got you, you’re safe. I’ll take you to Thomas, okay?” 

Logan tucks his head into Virgil’s shoulder, breathing shakily. Virgil presses his face into Logan’s hair reassuringly and politely ignores the way his shirt becomes damp. 

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas throws himself out of the tree the minute he hears Virgil call to him. “Where’s my brother?! Logan, what happened?!” 

Logan has been still and silent since Virgil cut him free, but now he shifts and reaches for Thomas, hands opening and closing rapidly in a childish gesture he would normally never use. Thomas pulls him into a tight hug, and Logan’s breath hitches as he sobs into Thomas’s neck. Patton presses his face against Thomas’s shoulder, and Virgil smiles. 

“I’m sorry,” Roman murmurs. Virgil turns, confused. 

“What? Why?” 

“I froze. If I’d fought back, if I’d done - something, maybe - maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Ruon-Jian was right. I am a coward. I couldn’t stand up to my father for Dee and Remus, I couldn’t stand up to Ruon-Jian to save Logan and Patton, I . . .”

“You are not a coward,” Virgil says firmly. “You’re a victim of shitty circumstances and a shitty upbringing. Doesn’t make you any less of a person. It’s not your fault you were conditioned into this.” 

“That would have been me,” Roman says. “If Father hadn’t threatened Remus and Dee . . . It would have been me.” 

“But it wasn’t,” Virgil says. “And I refuse to believe that you would have stepped onto a battlefield full of innocents and decided to kill them. You’ve got a conscience, Princey, and you’ve got a good heart. You’ll be okay.” 

Roman smiles, just a little, and touches Virgil’s shoulder. “Thanks, Vee.” 

“No problem, Roman. What are friends for?” 

“Are you finally admitting we’re friends?” Roman probably meant to be teasing, but his voice quivers. Virgil smiles softly, leaning forward and bumping his head against Roman’s cheek. 

“Yeah, Ro. We’re friends.” 

*~*~*~*~*

They make it back to Remy, waiting in his cave with Dragon. Roman writes a quick letter filling Remus and Dolos in on what happened, telling them not to reply and begging them to take care of Dragon, before sending the hawk off. Patton climbs onto Remy’s head, and they fly away. 

Logan is huddled up against Thomas’s side, face blank. “Lo,” Thomas coos, “are you okay?” 

Logan doesn’t speak, tucking himself more closely against Thomas. “Go to sleep, okay? I’ll keep you safe.” Eventually, Logan’s eyes slide shut, and Thomas exhales heavily. 

“Has he ever done that before?”

“Once. After we escaped our home village, when it was on fire. He just . . . shut down. He’s never been good at dealing with emotions, so he doesn’t deal with them at all.” 

“Not healthy,” Patton says from Remy’s head. 

“You’re telling me. But I can’t force him to talk about his feelings. He deserves to work through things at his own pace.” 

“I can respect that,” Virgil interjects, “but that kinda implies that he’s dealing with his feelings, doesn’t it?” 

Thomas pulls Logan into his lap and shifts so his brother is cuddled against his chest. Logan exhales softly, mouth open in a little “O” as he breathes. He’s never looked younger than he does right now, except for maybe when he’d been tied up by Fire Nation soldiers. 

“I have to take care of him. It’s my job. He’s the only family I have left.” 

“The only blood you have left,” Virgil says. “Don’t think for a second that he’s your only family.” 

“Who else do we have?” Thomas whispers. 

“Me, obviously. And Ro, and Pat. You have us now.” 

“He’s tellin’ th’tr’th,” Logan mumbles sleepily. “Don’eed bendin’ f’r that.” Thomas smiles at Virgil, watery and honest, and Virgil smiles back. It might be ragtag, but it’s his family, and anyone who threatens it has him to answer to. 

[dear-mrs-otome]

Feed a Cold - MLQC (Victor)

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice/Love and Producer Warnings: Slight spoilers for something heavily implied from Chapter 4 on. Summary: 2k words of purely self-indulgent ‘taking care of the sick’ fluff, sparked by some phone calls and dates. I’ve got requests to tackle but this wouldn’t leave me alone. @justine-the-guillotine I hope you enjoy!

She looked like hell.

He’d expected as much, from the moment Goldman had told him she was cancelling their meeting because she was home ill. He’d expected to see her looking wan and pale, but the dark smudges under her eyes and the haphazard hair that greeted him when she opened the door, the feverish pink stain that rode high on her cheeks, they all still made his heart do an odd sort of stutter-step. As if it had stumbled over its own feet.

“Victor.” She blinked blearily up at him, half-sagging against the open door listlessly in a faded oversized sweatshirt with some inane cartoon character on it and shorts that were doing their best impression of hotpants.

“That is my name, yes. Congratulations.” He hoped his words were brusque enough to cover the strain plucking at his voice.

She blinked, again, her eyes crinkling with confusion. “Why…why are you here?”

He sidestepped the question as easily as he dodged around her, letting himself into her apartment. “You didn’t show up for your report today,” he said severely, just to enjoy the moment of panic that put a bit of a spark back into her listless gaze as she straightened abruptly.

“I called Goldman, didn’t he tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Victor hedged.

“That I was sick. That I…” Her words dissolved into a sneeze, and she pulled a tissue free of the box tucked under her arm. “Needed another couple of days to deliver it.”

He let his gaze wander the place as she fluttered helplessly nearby. A studio apartment, not small but still a studio, decorated in a nauseating palette of pinks and pastels he was utterly unsurprised by - stuffed floor to ceiling with knick-knacks and kitsch. His studiously ignored the huge bed occupying one wall and let his eyes linger on the cello, standing proudly in a corner where the sun from the nearby window burnished it. An idle part of him wondered if he could ever convince her to play it for him.

Elgar, maybe…although she seemed much more like a Saint-Saëns person. He wanted to see those slim fingers coax the delicate strains of ‘The Swan’ from it. Watch her breathe life into something cold and inanimate.

“He told me,” Victor finally allowed, circling about to the small kitchenette tucked up against one wall. He set the vacuum flask in his hand down on her postage-stamp counter, slipped the suit jacket from his shoulders to fold neatly over a nearby chairback, and helped himself to rummaging through the cabinets. “Which is why I’m here. Things are pivotal right now. LFG needs you back as soon as possible.”

I need you, rattled the echo of that sentence within his own head.

He shook it away and opened another cupboard, rewarded with a stack of dishes only to find that her bowls had tiny animals capering about the rims garishly. Why had he expected anything different?

With a moue of distaste he pulled one down, and a soup spoon from a nearby drawer, gathering them all up to bring to the table that sat in the center of her apartment.

Canting her head to one side, her gaze lingered curiously on the container he held. “What is that?”

“It’s congee,” he explained shortly. “Don’t pretend you weren’t about to order some more of that delivery swill.”

She had the good grace to look sheepish as she sank onto one of the chairs at her small table, trying and failing miserably to keep the eagerness off her face. “I don’t know what you have against takeout.”

He paused in pouring out a measure of porridge, and fixed her with a hard look. “It’s greasy. And stuffed full of preservatives and who-knows-what sorts of mystery flavorings and chemicals. Glorified junk food.”

“You’ll have to excuse me. We don’t all have a personal chef to prepare us home-cooked meals every time we’re sick,” she huffed, a frown pinching her brows adorably.

“Well, now you do.” He set the bowl down before her with a clank for punctuation, before the ramifications of his words dawned on him and he scowled. “Try not to spill it all over yourself and waste my efforts.”

“You…made this? Yourself?” She was still staring at him when he pushed the spoon in her direction, and he busied himself with closing up the thermos to avoid meeting those wide, disingenuous eyes. By the time he’d turned back around, she had spooned up a bit and taken a hesitant taste, and he watched her features light up.

“This is delicious!” she exclaimed, in between mouthfuls.

“Of course it is,” he scoffed, resisting the urge to preen at her unnecessary compliment. The chair made a faint scuffle of sound as he pulled it out and sat down across from her, folding his arms on the cool wood of the table before him as he watched her eat with gusto.

This, he realized, was what he had regretted most when she came into Souvenir. Not that she hadn’t eaten his pudding offering, but that he hadn’t swallowed his pride and let himself come out of the kitchen to watch the way her eyes brightened with every bite. Heard for himself every tiny appreciative sound she made, or witnessed the flicker of her tongue catching an errant drop of porridge greedily.

Saw the contented smile on her face, and savor the knowledge that he had put it there.

In his food, he could put the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. Smile for me again, as he minced the ginger that would warm her belly. I worry about you, in the delicate shreds of chicken braised to near-melting. Lean on me, in the curls of spice-laced steam and scallion garnish.

Need me like you need this. Like water, like air. Like food.

At last, with a happy sigh, she pushed the empty bowl away and leaned back - only for him to stand, and scoop her effortlessly into his arms. “You should sleep.”

“I can walk,” she protested, but it sounded weak. Like a kitten mewling petulantly.

“Can you?” he drawled, in a voice that clearly said he doubted so. One that was validated when she gave up immediately and curled towards him, looping her arms around his neck in a way that made him feel more powerful than walking out of any successful boardroom meeting ever had.

As if he could take on the entire world, so long as she reached for him without hesitation like that.

He sat on the edge of her bed, indulging himself with keeping her slight weight on his lap. Finding himself loathe to let her go, now that he had ahold of her and she seemed so content to stay there.

Maybe she was merely delirious. Maybe she’d regret allowing him this tomorrow. But for now…

His silent musings were broken by her soft voice. “Thank you. Or maybe I should say, who should I be thanking? Are you Victor the CEO or Victor the Souvenir chef right now?”

He blinked down at the dark crown of her head. “I’m…” He hesitated, and felt foolish for having to even do so. “Neither. Just Victor.“

“Ah.Well, then thank you, ‘Just Victor’.” Her lips quirked in an impish smile he could just see as she tipped her gaze up to meet his. “And maybe you can do a favor for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Tell ‘Victor the CEO’ he’s a bully. And a tyrant. A veritable bespoke-clad despot,” she said, that infuriating little grin still curving across her face.

Is that all?” he asked dryly, his eyes narrowing peevishly. “Don’t hold back now, by all means.”

“No.” She let her mischief slip away and held his eyes pointedly, though he’d have been powerless to look elsewhere regardless. “Tell him…he needs to smile more. And mean it.”

One of her fingers poked lightly at his cheek and he caught it, stifling the urge to press his lips to her fingertip. Settling instead for folding his own around it as he chose his words cautiously, feeling as if he were tiptoeing across a minefield. “And ‘Victor the Souvenir Boss’, is there something I should convey to him?”

“Yeah. He needs to respond to his damn reviews.” She laughed softly, as if her own joke was the funniest thing, and the sound curled up carefully beneath his sternum and made itself at home. Squeezing all the remaining space from his ribcage.

"You’re silly. And an idiot. A great, grand fool.” Harsh words but he couldn’t help the laugh of his own that slipped in between them, warming the syllables to something like a caress.

He wanted to offer her roses, so very desperately. Perfumed words and all the softness she so rightly deserved, until his chest nearly ached with the desire to.

But he was a creature made of thorns, and he didn’t dare to bloom.

Not when petals were so easily crushed.

She only burrowed tighter against him, a small triumphant smile on her face. As if she’d just unraveled some grand mystery. “Maybe I am. And maybe you’re a great, heartless beast. But you’re here. That has to mean something. Maybe neither of us is quite what the other says we are.”

The strands of her hair spilled through his fingers like a rivulet of dark water as he brushed some away from her cheek.“And…what about ‘Just Victor’? Is there anything you want to say to him?” he finally dared to ask.

She wriggled closer, the tip of her nose brushing against the vee exposed by his open collar, and he prayed she couldn’t hear or feel how his heart was bruising itself against his ribs. “Mm. He smells nice.” Her words were a soft warm feather, ghosting across his bare skin. “ And…he has beautiful eyes. Kind eyes, when he thinks no one can see. But I see him.”

He swallowed thickly, and stopped fighting the way his arms wanted to wrap tighter about her. Counted out measureless breaths as she slowly melted against him. “You do, do you?”

“Yes. Because…I love…”

It was barely more than a sigh, and he strained his ears, waiting without daring to so much as exhale for her to finish the sentence. Every moment feeling like an eternity. “You love…?” he prompted, when the silence drew out unbearably thin, sharp edges waiting to cut him at a single wrong move.

The lace of her lashes fluttered against her cheeks at his faint question, but she didn’t open her eyes. “I love…congee…”

He snorted a sound of disbelief at her sleepy rambling, irritated with himself for the disappointment that plucked so keenly at the back of his breastbone. “Idiot.”

But he didn’t bother this time to halt the urge to lean down and press his lips to her fevered forehead, pausing as the wisp of her bangs tickled his nose. Lingering in the moment where she suffused all of his senses, until duty called him back to the world and he settled her gently back against the pillows.

“Rest well.” He folded another kiss into the slack palm of her hand, as if it would hold the warmth of his lips until she awoke, before relinquishing it and turning to gather his jacket. Slipping noiselessly from her apartment on reluctant feet.

The corridor outside was empty as he waited for the elevator, checking his phone and messages absently until the ding of its arrival drew his head up, and he caught sight of himself in the mirrored, polished doors.

He bit his lip against the smile he saw threatening, but it still found a way to cling stubbornly to the edges of his eyes, reflected back at him…and an uncomfortable truth nestled itself inside his heart as he stepped through the open doors and punched the button that would take him back to work. Back to reality.

Back to a day woefully bereft of her.

It could be pruned, and it could be shaped. But the briar had no say in when it flowered after all.

[fandom-trash-xl]

"A Memory Long Repressed" One-Shot Aftermath

To avoid confusion with some of the details, this follows the events of my old 100 followers one-shot, "A Memory Long Repressed", which can be found here. 

You could say this commemorates my 300th post on this blog or that I'm almost to 250 followers, but I'm not really treating it as either. I just realized there is more I could've done, plus I'm bored and writing one-shots feels like a good warm-up for bigger projects. 

Lord Frieza, emperor of most of the known universe, was confined to the Briefs' dining room with two young boys looking over his shoulders.

"Ugh... This is boring..." The Briefs' boy, Trunks, whined from Frieza's right side.

"You know, you guys don't have to watch me." Frieza rolled his eyes as he continued his work. He worked on a teal illuminated screen, managing reports while he was away from his empire, at least until his ship was fixed. 

"Yeah, but, don't you have any games or anything on here?" Trunks started to reach a finger out to tap the screen, causing the lizard emperor to shift it to the side.

"It doesn't have games! It's a datapad that I need for important-"

"Not even Tetris?"

"Or Mahjong?" Goten, at the left side, proposed.

"Or Minesweeper?" 

As Frieza began to slowly lose his patience, Bulma called out from behind them. "Boys, please leave Frieza to do his work in peace!"

"But, Mom-"

"I mean it, Trunks. He could very well destroy you if he felt like it!"

To validate Bulma's point, Frieza showed a single finger aglow with the red energy of a Death Beam. "She means it~" He taunted with a smile.

The two half-Saiyan boys jolted. "Ahh... Let's get out of here, Goten." Trunks was in a cold sweat as he and Goten took off. 

Bulma entered carrying baby Bulla in her arms. "Sorry about that, they're kind of antsy and I know you have a short fuse..."

"Ah, no matter. Those two are mere gnats."

"...and it probably didn't help that we found Goku eavesdropping on your story yesterday."

Frieza's eyes narrowed. "I'd prefer to forget that... There is only so much of that monkey I can tolerate."

At that moment, Vegeta, dressed in training sweats and carrying a mug of coffee, entered. "Okay, what did Kakarot do this time?"

"Oh, speak of monkeys and they shall appear..." The Icejin muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

"Well, good morning to you too, freeloader."

Frieza simply laughed at this. "How hypocritical of you, speaking of freeloading as if it wasn't how you managed to acquire your woman."

"Okay, that's it!" Vegeta growled, setting down his mug and preparing to take a swing at the lizard emperor.

"Vegeta, enough!" Bulma interrupted, clearly irritated. "You're going to make the baby cry and I'm not planning on replacing the dining room table again." Vegeta went red in the face, apologizing under his breath.

"Hmph... Serves you right~"

"That goes for you too, Frieza."

The emperor's eyes widened. "What?!"

"Look, I'm not saying you should be best friends or anything, but could you two lay off the fighting until Jaco gets here with the repair parts tomorrow?"

"Fine..." The two sighed.

"No promises, though~" Frieza added.

"Now, as I was saying... What the hell did Kakarot do?"

"Well, he kind of used his Instant Transmission to listen in on us..." Bulma explained. "...like a creep."

"So? What else is new?" Vegeta sarcastically replied.

"It was at somewhat of a bad time. Frieza was discussing somewhat of a sensitive subject. He was talking to me about his s-" Bulma soon realized and stopped herself short, so as not to be beheaded by an angry lizard.

"No need to cut yourself off, Bulma. Vegeta was part of my army long enough to know about Kuri." Frieza explained.

"Yeah, that little brat. That kid was a real pain the a-"

Vegeta was interrupted by a sudden firing Death Beam. He managed to duck beneath it, causing the red laser to instead shatter a stemmed glass on a nearby counter. 

"Vegeta!"

"Why are you yelling at me? Frieza was the one who fired the..." He trailed off when he realized his wife was having none of it. "Never mind... Now, if we're done here, I'm heading out to train. Call me when lunch is ready." 

The prince stormed off toward the nearby screen door, only to stop in his tracks. "Bulma?"

"What is it, Vegeta?"

"I don't recall hearing it was going to storm today."

"Then, you'd better not go out." Frieza replied as he returned to his datapad. "Who knows? You might get electrocuted, unless your spiky hair can double as a lightning rod."

Bulma took a brief glance out of a nearby window. Sure enough, the sky was dark, as if a storm was brewing. "So, he's found all seven..." She spoke quietly to herself, for she knew why the sky was gloomy. 

"Wait, Kakarot has the Dragon Balls?" 

"Damn it... I was planning on grabbing those while I was here." Frieza growled, rising from his seat. "When I get over there..."

"...he'll probably be done making his wishes. You shouldn't try to stop him at this point. What did you want to wish for anyways?" 

"Probably immortality again." Vegeta scoffed.

"No, I'm past that. Eternal life would mean eternal pain."

"Then, what is your wish?"

"I-I don't have to tell you everything!" Frieza stammered. 

"Well, whatever it is, it's probably better than whatever Kakarot wished for."

"Your wish... has been granted." Shenron rumbled in his low voice. As his eyes glowed red, a small being formed in front of Goku. He was reptilian and had a chestnut-shaped jewel for a skull. Copper-colored armor covered his dust-colored scales. He had a few areas of dusty-rose to make his colors pop out and his ruby red eyes were filled with fear. 

"W-what...? W-where... am I?" He stuttered.

"Yo!" Goku attempted to casually greet the newly-revived Icejin. "I'm Go-"

He shuddered, immediately firing a bright red laser that barely grazed the Saiyan, burning a small pinhole through the shoulder of his gi.

"Woah, easy now!"

"How I supposed to take things easy? Papa warned me about cretins like you. Do you have a death wish?!" He snarled.

"Listen, I'm not here to hurt you, just hear me out. I know your father. My name is Goku, and I'm a Saiyan-"

"A Saiyan?" The Icejin gave him a shocked and perplexed look. "You don't look like any Saiyan I've ever seen. Then, again, Papa wiped out all but three of you before I was born. You kind of look like the frou-frou princey one, but..."

"Well, you see, the thing is..." Goku soon found himself being closely inspected.

"Hmm... If you're really a Saiyan like you say you are, then where's your tail? And more importantly, why are you not in your Force-regulated battle armor?!"

"Well, I'm not actually part of the Frieza Force, I've been living here on Earth. It's actually a pretty interesting-" Goku was quickly interrupted for the fourth time.

"So, you're a deserter, then?" The Icejin boy's eyes narrowed and his tail flicked uneasily. "Deserters aren't taken to very kindly. Regulations say that you are to be promptly apprehended and annihilated."

"Wait, annihilated?!" Goku gulped. "No wonder Frieza's soldiers are so loyal!"

"Don't worry, you won't be in pain for long. Soon, you will be swiftly disposed of~" His hand started to glow with jagged purple energy. "Now, hold still while I execute you!" He pounced and Goku barely dodged in time.

"Woah, Kuriza sure does take after his father! Not in the way I hoped though!"

Kuriza continued to swing his energy sword in a frenzied manner, lightly grazing Goku. The Saiyan wasn't prepared for his high speed. As he dodged more and more blows, he finally caught sight of his way out of this situation. He quickly latched onto Kuriza's dust rose tail. The energy sword fizzled out. 

The young Icejin had a paralyzed look on his face and he looked like he was about to cry. He let out a small nervous squeaking, like air being slowly let out of a latex balloon. After freeing himself from Goku's grip, he sprung away in absolute panic. "Ah! Gross, gross, gross!"

"Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm not okay! Papa told me that Saiyans are riddled with fleas and vermin! How dare you touch me, Prince Kuriza, with your grimy paws!"

"Sorry, Kuriza. I thought I was pretty well-groomed."

"That's Prince Kuriza to you, you walking pest farm! Is there even enough disinfectant in the galaxy to-"

Finally, Goku wasn't the one to be interrupted.

"Hey, Kuriza, don't sweat it. I'm perfectly clean. Besides, you should probably be getting back to your dad soon."

The young Icejin's eyes lit up. "You know where he is? Take me to him now, Saiyan! I command you!"

"Well, Bulma said he would be heading back tomorrow and she probably doesn't want to host anyone else... So..." Goku thought for a moment. "Hey, how about we take you back tomorrow as a last minute surprise?"

Kuriza's eyes narrowed. "Are you refusing me?! I want to go home now, you filthy simian! I'll have you know that I am above you!"

"Well, you're almost above my kneecap."

"I didn't mean it that way, idiot!"

"Sorry, sorry. But, I can take you to my home, just until tomorrow."

"Uhh... I'm not so sure if I could handle being that close to whatever's infecting you..."

"It's alright, Chi-Chi and I shower fairly regularly and we make sure to check for ticks." Goku assured the Icejin.

"Pardon my asking, but what's a 'tick'?"

"Oh, it's a small little bug in the woods that latches to your skin and..." The Saiyan stopped when he saw Kuriza's expression grow more distressed and a green tint forming. "Uhh, let's leave it at that. Come on," He held out his hand and placed two fingers to his forehead. "Let's-" He was soon cut off by a rumbling throat clearing.

"Ahem!" Shenron grumbled. "You still have two more wishes and I can't hang around here all day."

"Oh! Sorry 'bout that Shenron!" Goku embarrassedly scratched the back of his head. "Hehe~"

The next day, Frieza stood watching Jaco at work repairing his ship. Intimidated by the Icejin's piercing glare, the Galactic Patrolman was nervously sweating and working at a fast rate, hopefully to get the tyrant to leave faster. 

"What's the rush, Patrolman? I'll have you know I won't be paying you if you mess anything up."

"You didn't say you were going to be paying me in the first place!" The Patrolman protested. 

"Exactly."

Jaco sighed as he began slowly continuing, only to have his work commented on again. "Could you go any faster? I do have a schedule to keep and I'd like to return to my empire sometime this century, if that's not too much of a challenge for a galactic boot-polisher such as yourself."

"Jeez, what do you want from me?!" 

The Patrolman shuddered immediately after hearing what he had just said, half expecting to feel the heat of a Death Beam at his neck. "Results." Frieza simply answered. "That's all I ask of you."

The tension of the moment was broken by Bulma calling out from outside of the ship.  "Frieza! Goku's here!"

The Icejin's eyes narrowed. "What does the monkey want now? If he's trying to pry more secrets out of me, he won't be getting any."

"He says he has something for you."

The tyrant sighed. "Fine... It'd better be a damned apology...” He exited his ship, arms folded and patience limited. Sure enough, Goku was outside, holding a bottle with one hand and holding something behind his back with the other. His characteristic smile was almost sickening. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see your face again for the rest of my stay on Earth... yet here we are.”

“Afternoon, Frieza! Sorry that I got your visit off to a rough start a few days ago.”

“And you’re giving it a rough ending too.”

“Listen, I’m sorry I eavesdropped on you back there.” He held up the bottle in his one hand. “Thought I might give you this to show there’s no hard feelings.”

Frieza analyzed the container quizzically. “Where did you get fine wine from Arcos of all places on such short notice?”

“Umm, I kind of used the Dragon Balls to get you that. Couldn’t think of any other wishes.” Goku chuckled a little.

“You what?!” Bulma and Frieza both looked at Goku in shock.

“You used a wish on the one of the most powerful beings alive for a single bottle of alcohol?” Frieza’s tail flicked uneasily. “That wish could’ve made me taller!”

“Wait,” Bulma snickered. “That was going be your wish?”

The emperor glared at the human. “Remember that I could kill you if I felt like it.” Bulma went silent.

“I appreciate the gesture,” The Icejin took the wine from Goku. “Even though I do have plenty of this already. I don’t appreciate how you obtained it though.”

Suddenly, from behind Goku, a small and frustrated voice spoke. “Okay, you gave him the stuff, can I please come out now?” The voice whined. Goku quickly elbowed the being behind him, causing it to yelp in displeasure.

“Umm, what was that?” Frieza’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Oh, that was probably just my stomach! It growls so loud it almost sounds like a person talking! Hehe~” Goku nervously lied.

“Well, if you have no further interruptions... That Galactic Patrolman should be almost finished up if he has any sense of time, so I must be going-” As Frieza turned to reenter his ship, Goku called out to him.

“Wait!”

The Icejin turned back around. “What more do you want?”

“Umm, there’s a part two to your present.”

“Oh~” Frieza smiled deviously and flirtatiously at the same time. “Are you trying to flatter me, dear Goku? May I remind you, you are a married man. Also, you’re not exactly my type-”

He suddenly trailed off as Goku led a familiar Icejin figure out from behind him. His eyes went wide. The bottle he was holding dropped from his hand, the Dragon Ball wish now shattered and spilled all over the below asphalt. Frieza stammered, looking for the right words to say in this situation. 

But, how was he supposed to think of words to say when his son... 

His many years dead son...

Stood alive in front of his eyes.

“I-I d-don’t know how to respond...” No one had ever heard Frieza’s voice falter this much- and whoever did was probably killed. An unexpected stream of tears flowed down his face, as if a large emotional reservoir had suddenly given way under pressure. “G-Goku, I-I don’t think this is an appropriate apology gift for eavesdropping, I-I could’ve just taken the-” 

“Shh-shh, hey, it’s fine. It just felt like the right thing to do. Finding the Dragon Balls for this kind of stuff is practically no sweat anymore. It felt worth doing for a friend.” 

“We’re not really friends, though-” Frieza tried to protest only to be cut off by a catch in his throat.

“Never mind that,” Goku picked up Kuriza, despite his squeamish resistance, and approached Frieza, setting him on the older Icejin’s shoulder. “Just... enjoy this...”

“Kuri…” Frieza started frantically speaking under his breath. “I should have taken you with me... I shouldn’t have left you in the ship... I shouldn’t have left you with Dodoria... I should’ve known better.”

“Papa,” Kuriza whimpered. “It was cold and painful and sad. I-I don’t want to be cold and sad anymore...”

Goku and Bulma simply observed the embrace until Frieza noticed. “What are you still doing here?” His eyes narrowed as he turned around and reentered the ship without another word to the two. 

Kuriza, who was still looking over his father’s shoulder, smiled and said, “He means to say ‘thank you’, he isn’t good with that sort of thing.”

And that was the last heard from the two Icejins during their time on Earth. 

“Soo...” Bulma asked of Goku. “What else did you wish for with the Dragon Balls?”

“Well, other than Kuriza and the wine, I decided to wish for some Zeni. It’ll make Chi-Chi happy so she’ll let me take off work to train with King Kai-” He suddenly trailed off as he realized.

“Yeah, did you remember to actually revive him this time?”

Goku nervously laughed. “Haha, whoops! Guess I forgot again”

“Damn it, Goku!!” King Kai’s furious screaming rang through Goku’s mind. 

Not too long after Frieza’s ship was ready to fly again, he had returned to his empire, and, to everyone’s surprise, he wasn't irritable and seemed to be in higher spirits. More importantly, he was followed by an unusual character that few of the soldiers knew.

In the soldiers’ common area, one of the new female recruits was speaking with an older veteran.

“So, Lemo, seems Lord Frieza’s in a better mood than usual!” She stretched her slim body in her chair. “Good news for us!”

“You say that as if I hadn’t noticed, Cheelai.”

“Yeah, but what’s with it with that little guy that’s almost always behind him? I think he’s a new recruit or some pet Frieza picked up on Earth. But, he’s been walking around here like he owns the place. I think it’s kind of crazy if you ask me-” Cheelai noticed Lemo looking at another nearby table and tensing up. “What’s wrong, Lemo? Why so stiff?”

Kuriza was sitting on top of the empty table. 

“Cheelai, show him some respect.”

“What, why? He’s just some kid!”

Lemo elbowed Cheelai, while still remaining mostly stiff. She sighed and positioned herself at attention.

“Evening, subordinates. I’ve been here for such a short time and you already know who’s the boss!” The Icejin started laughing a joyful laugh that was strikingly similar to Frieza’s, but more youthful and higher-pitched.

“He’s like a pint-sized Lord Frieza!” Cheelai commented.

Suddenly, as if cued, Frieza’s panicked voice could be heard through the halls. “Where is he? Where is he?!” Suddenly, the door to the common room opened and a worried Frieza suddenly became at ease. “Ah, there you are, son...”

“That’s Frieza’s son?!” Cheelai looked alarmed, but Lemo was not the least bit surprised at this fact.

Frieza picked up Kuriza from off of the table. “Kuri, you should know better. You’re supposed to tell Berryblue where you’re going. You had me worried sick.” He suddenly turned to Cheelai and Lemo. “I see you’ve already been acquainted.”

“Uhh, of course, Lord Frieza.” Cheelai composed herself.

“Alright, Kuriza, you’ve had your fun with the low-class soldiers, but it’s getting late now. You should be heading to bed.”

“Oh, we won’t hold you up too long.” Lemo apologized. “Have a nice evening, Lord Frieza.”

“And you too, young Kuriza.”

“That’s Prince Kuriza to you~” The young Icejin winked as the two left the room.