#i feel like i fought a whole battle to answer this one bc im silly and tumblr hates me

[mirkwood]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers ♡♡♡

Thank you so much vi, I appreciate you <3

When I see a cat and I pspspspsp them and they actually come to me. YEAH. and then they let me pet them??? SEROTONIN!!!!!

When I finally hang out with all the groupchat, all 5 of us <3 It's a rare thing to happen since life gets in the way but i love spending time with the besties and sharing all the tea and everything in between <3 just girlies being girlies

Finally doing something that I thought was hard but in reality I just had to stop panicking and procrastinating and trust myself

Discovering new music and bands and just knowing that im gonna be. obsessed w them

Good hair days are also important to me that makes me super happy actually

Thank you again <3

[thanks--for--listening]

all these people think love’s for show (but I would die for you in secret)

yes im finally back with fic! this time its korrasami tho bc my avatar obsession has not let me go yet. and yes its based on peace by taylor swift lol (also on ao3)

--

I’d give you my sunshine, give you my best, but the rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me

Korra always came back to the sky. When the noise became too much, when the voices and the faces wouldn’t relent. Staring at the stars made her feel small, reminded her that the world was bigger than the images in her head. It was always changing, the constellations and the colors from the portals shifting as time passed, but in the end that change brought something new. Something good. Something beautiful. 

“Can’t sleep?” She turned, saw Asami standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around her stomach. It made her wonder if it was cold out here, if she would even notice anymore. After everything her body had been through, she couldn’t gauge her standards, couldn’t figure out whether she felt something normally or too much or not at all. Did she not feel the chill in the air because she grew up in the South, or because she’d felt the life drain out of her, felt a cold so deep the definition had changed completely? Could she ever care for someone like Asami, someone so perfect and beautiful and normal, when she was so permanently damaged she couldn’t even begin to see the extent of her own scars?

Korra tried to snap out of it, searched for something she could offer her and came up empty. She fought back the urge to light a fire on the balcony floor just to keep her warm as she nodded. Asami sighed, walked up to her until they were standing side by side, arms leaning on the railing in front of them. “Yeah, me neither.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Korra asked. 

Asami turned, raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you?” She shook her head, and when Asami laughed, she swore she felt a spark inside her, the embers of a flame that had burned quietly for so long finally finding the space to grow. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Silence floated in, gentle and easy, leading their attention back to the sky. The whole city seemed to be asleep, everyone exhausted from the past few days. She thought she’d appreciate the moment of relief, but there was something unsettling about staring into the streets and seeing nothing but vines and rubble. She’d spent her entire life used to the empty, to open space with nothing but sky and silence to fill it, but here it looked all wrong. It looked like another thing she’d ruined. Republic City would never go back to what it once was, to what it was supposed to be, to what Aang had dreamed it could be, and it was entirely her fault.

“Hey,” Asami‘s voice nearly startled her. “You okay?” She didn’t understand why she was asking until she followed her gaze, looked down and saw the metal railing bent and broken underneath her hands.

Korra sighed. “I thought when the battle was over, this stuff would get easier. I’m beginning to think it’ll always be this hard.”

“I’m sorry,” Asami said. “I feel like I kept pestering you after Zaheer. Kept trying to get you to talk to me, to let me help you, but now...I can understand why you wouldn’t want to. Why you couldn’t.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You did everything right. I’m the one who messed that all up.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did. I messed everything up with Zaheer, with Kuvira. With Mako and Tenzin.” She hesitated, before adding, “With you.”

“You haven’t messed anything up with me.”

“But I will.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this,” Korra gestured toward the yellow beam shooting up into the sky, “isn’t going away. It isn’t going to stop. And as long as you’re with me, you’ll always have to deal with it. And someone as good and kind and wonderful as you shouldn’t have to suffer because you love someone like me.”

“Who said I’m suffering?” Korra glared at her, but Asami didn’t relent, didn’t soften her gaze. “I’m serious. Being with you has only made my life better.”

“Since you met me, you’ve been arrested, captured, stranded in the desert, and forced to fight some of the strongest benders in the world. Oh, and you almost had to sell your company. Let’s not forget that.”

“I also met some amazing people, learned how to take care of myself and my business, and made sure the Sato legacy wouldn’t be associated with hate and fear. You showed me that I could be more than I’d ever thought possible. If I’d never met you, I don’t know who’d I’d be now, but it wouldn’t be me. Not really.”

She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to let out the words that had been eating away at her since the battle, but she couldn’t keep them in anymore, couldn’t let Asami look at her and not know the truth. “You lost your dad,” Korra said quietly, “because of a monster I created.”

“No. I didn’t. I—“ she bit her lip, and Korra watched as she swallowed, blinked back the tears that she knew would force themselves out sooner or later. “I lost him because he made a choice. To sacrifice himself for the greater good. To fight Kuvira, who you did not create. You stopped her, in a way only you could.”

“I should have stopped her sooner. If I had been stronger, if I had taken her down the first time, if I hadn’t been so weak, maybe—maybe I—“

Korra felt her words disappear, felt tears of her own threaten to make an appearance, but the feeling of Asami’s hands over her own buried whatever emotion had tried to fight it’s way to the surface. She squeezed hard, like she was holding her together, and Korra wondered if maybe she was, if one person could be that strong. If two hands were all it took to keep someone intact. “You are not weak, Korra.” Asami spoke as if she was giving a command, and she felt compelled to listen. “You are the strongest, bravest, most selfless person I know. But even you can’t stop bad things from happening. None of us can.”

“But I’m the Avatar. I’m supposed to help people. Save people.”

“And you have. How many people did you save by creating that spirit portal? By defeating Unalaq? By stopping Zaheer?”

“Yeah, but— I just—“ she searched for the words, found them buried underneath the rubble of every version of herself that came before tonight. “I just wish it didn’t hurt all the time. And I know what Tenzin said, but I wish being me, being with me, didn’t mean a lifetime of desperately trying to prevent bad people from doing bad things. It’s like I’m always fighting, like I’m always gonna be fighting. And I’m so tired, Asami. Sometimes I wish it would all just stop. Not for a day, or a week, but forever.”

They didn’t say anything, not at first. Korra looked down, stared at their hands, still pressed together. She waited for the words she knew would come, waited for Asami to recoil, to tell her it was too much, that she was too much. That she wasn’t worth it. That the brief periods of peace would never be enough to outweigh the pain and suffering that would always follow. And when she did, when she reached her breaking point and walked away, Korra knew she’d let her go. She’d gotten more time than she’d ever expected already — she wouldn’t allow herself to be greedy and ask for more, no matter how badly she wanted to keep those hands wrapped around hers.��

“It isn’t fair,” Asami finally said, “that you have to go through this. You didn’t decide to be the Avatar. You didn’t pick this life. But I did. I choose you, Korra. Today, tomorrow, and every day after that. I’m in this no matter what.”

Korra looked up, tried and failed to hide the surprise in her eyes. “Even if it hurts?”

“Even if it hurts. I want it all: the good, the bad, and everything in between.”

Korra hesitated, just for a minute. In her wildest dreams she couldn’t have written this, couldn’t have imagined a world where after everything that happened, Asami wants to stay. Wants her. And maybe it was selfish, and maybe she was damning her to a life that no one should ever have to live, but she couldn’t lie and pretend that she didn’t want her more than anything, couldn’t walk away when she was standing in front of her, couldn’t stop from confessing every secret she’d tried to bury in the name of survival. 

“If you’ll let me, I choose you, too. I don’t want to spend my restless nights with anyone else. And I know I can’t give you the life you deserve, but if it’s enough, whatever I have is yours. Always.”

Asami stepped closer, threw her arms around her. Korra fell into them, let herself get lost in the feeling of Asami’s embrace. She felt safe, in a way she didn’t anywhere else. The world couldn’t touch her here. 

She didn’t know how long they stood wrapped in each other’s arms. Korra didn’t care— she’d spend a lifetime in this moment if she could. She probably would have tried, if she didn’t hear Asami yawning into her shoulder, didn’t feel exhaustion weighing heavily on her own eyes.

She forced herself to step back, to lean out of her arms just enough to look her in the eyes. “So much for not talking about it, huh?” Korra said, and she knew photos could never do it justice but she wished she had a way to capture the look on Asami’s face when she smiled, when she laughed quietly, just for her to hear.

Asami pulled her closer. “Don’t let go yet,” she sighed into her chest, “You’re warm.”

“We should probably head back inside, anyway — see if we can salvage any more sleep tonight.” 

Korra wouldn’t have caught it if Asami hadn’t been wrapped up in her arms; instead, she felt the tension shoot through her body like an echo, until her shoulders went stiff and her hands squeezed a little tighter. 

“Asami,” she said slowly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she answered too quickly. “I just like being out here. I don’t think I’m ready to head inside yet.”

“Asami. Talk to me. Why don’t you want to go back to bed?” She looked at her, really looked at her, and this time she saw the bags under her eyes and the desperation in them, and quietly added, “Did you sleep at all tonight?”

Korra watched her hesitate, and patience had never been her strongest virtue but she willed herself to wait. Her efforts were rewarded; Asami shook her head, stared at the ground and whispered, “I don’t want to see it again.”

“See what ag—oh.” Realization swept over her, and she cursed herself for not putting it together sooner, for not thinking about what could have possibly led her to also be awake in the dead of night. “Oh, Asami. I’m so sorry.”

Asami looked up, and the tears that had threatened earlier fell all too quickly now. Something inside Korra broke at the sight. She pulled her closer on instinct, held her and pretended it would be enough. She wondered if this would be their future, holding each other together to keep them both from falling to pieces, wondered how many nights they’d spend exactly like this, running from nightmares that didn’t disappear when they opened their eyes. 

Korra waited until she heard the cries settle, until Asami stopped shaking in her arms, to ask, “Can you tell me about it?” 

Asami shook her head. “You’ll blame yourself,” she said, her words decisive, quiet but powerful. “I won’t let you hurt like that.”

“I won’t let you hurt like this, either.”

“You can’t fix everything, Korra.”

“I can try.”

Asami stepped back, looked up at her, and Korra swore she smiled, just a little, just for a second. “It—“ Asami started, searching for words before she continued. “It makes me feel so helpless. The watching, the waiting. Every time I see it I know he’s...that he’s gone, but then you disappear into that machine. And no matter how many times I try and tell myself that it isn’t real anymore, that it’s over, part of me never knows if you’re going to make it out. Not until I wake up and see you for myself.”

There was a war inside her. Korra the Avatar wanted to ball up her fists, wanted to feel her fire burn, wanted to fight the pain away so that Asami would never hurt again. Korra the girl wanted to pull her closer and never let go, wanted to make promises she couldn’t keep just to make her feel better, even if it wouldn’t last. As battle waged within herself, whichever Korra was left behind wanted to ball up and cry. She knew she’d been right, knew that no matter what Asami said, she couldn’t possibly want to hold onto this much pain. She knew that it didn’t matter which Korra won the fight in the end — not a single version of her was worth it. 

“I’m sorry,” Korra finally said. She had a million other apologies sitting at the tip of her tongue but she forced them back. 

Asami read her mind anyway. “Not your fault,” she said. “I’ll remind you every time if you need me to.”

“Still. I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

Asami sighed, as if the very admission of her pain was something to be frustrated about. “I don’t understand why it hurts this much, though. A month ago we weren’t even on speaking terms. I spent years hating him for what he did. And I was right. He did so many awful things to so many people, and a few games of Pai Sho can’t make up for that. So why can’t I stop seeing him?”

“He was still your father, Asami. All those years he spent raising you don’t just go away. You have a right to be sad about what you lost.” 

“That’s the thing, Korra,” she said quietly, like she didn’t trust the words coming out of her mouth. “Sometimes, I’m not sure I’m sad. I’m mad. I’m mad that he went against everything he ever taught me. I’m mad that he fought for someone who hated what you are. I’m mad that he left me alone, that he didn’t even give me the choice.”

Korra reached for her again, searched for any words that could have possibly helped but came up empty, left only with a mantra of apologies that would never fill the hole left behind. She knew that feeling, understood with brutal clarity what it felt like to lose her agency, to be left at the will of those around her when she was the one who would suffer the consequences. It was a feeling she wouldn’t wish on anyone. And as she stood there, Asami’s head on her chest, she knew that she could never be the one to make her feel that way. Stay, leave, fight, run — no matter what she wanted, it could never be up to her. 

“I’m sorry.” Asami’s voice broke through her own internal ramblings.

Korra failed to hide her incredulity. “What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“I came out here to try and help you, and then I turned and made it all about myself.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“I’m serious, Korra.”

“So am I. You think I have the monopoly on pain? That I’m the only person who can ever be comforted?” She stepped back, placed her hands on the side of her face and made sure she was staring right into her eyes as she said, “I love you Asami, and that means that I’ll always be here to listen, or hold you, or do whatever it is you need. Anytime, anywhere.”

Asami smiles back at her. “I love you, too.”

“And,” Korra added, “as much as I wish I could keep you away from all the shit that comes with being me, I promise I’ll never take the choice away from you. If you want in, you’re in. If you want me, I’m yours.”

Asami leaned forward, kissed her cheek, and Korra thought she might burst into flames right there on the balcony. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They stood there for a minute, and she knew they should head back inside but she wanted one more moment of whatever this was. Peace, maybe, or something like it. Something close enough.

“We really should go back inside,” she finally conceded, “but I think I have an idea.” She stepped forward, held her hand out behind her. “Trust me?”

Asami reached for it without hesitation. “Always.”

Korra smiled, led her back into her temporary bedroom, held onto her until they were laying side by side, with just an inch of space between them. 

“You said when you wake up, you never know if I made it out. If I’m okay. This way you’ll know.”

“I bet you use that line on all the girls,” Asami said, and she could hear the smile in her voice, but she couldn’t help herself from responding seriously. 

“There’s no one else. Never has been. Just you.” 

Asami erased the space between them, moved so her head rested on Korra’s shoulder, and she wondered how it had taken her so long to realize how well they fit together, how she could have possibly lived so long in a world without this. 

“Does it ever go away?” Asami asked after a minute, her voice drifting away from their lighthearted jokes, soft and sad and lacking the hope Korra wished she could give her.

She thought of her own ghosts, of the scenes that played in her head like clockwork, of the way she could still find herself choking on air as she opened her eyes. She thought about the more recent additions, the way Kuvira had swapped places with Zaheer the past few nights, haunting her as relentlessly as her predecessor. “I don’t know. But it does get easier, after a while.”

“I wish I could have been there to help you. I wish I didn’t stay when you left. I wish—“

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters to me.”

They laid there for a few minutes, and here, when it was just them, Korra felt the silence return. It didn’t carry the weight of the world, didn't bring anything with it. It simply filled the space around them, provided a comfort she wasn’t used to. 

“Korra,” Asami whispered. “Is it okay if I’m still scared?”

“Yeah. Is it okay if I am, too?” She felt Asami nod. “Then we’ll take on the night together. Fear and all.”

“Even if it hurts?”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling, even as she felt her eyes close, her arms pulling Asami closer still. “Even if it hurts.”