#equalist!korra

[kebonita]

Does anyone know where to find this one fanfic where korra was kidnapped as a kid by Amon and grew up thinking she was his daughter and her 'mother' died because she was bending??? Then bolin and mako get captured by the equalists and have to train korra in fire and earth bending.

[preciousbots]

Winter Amorra Week Prompt #6 - Secret Admirer

More Equalist!Korra. This week and these prompts have really helped me get back into writing this fanfiction again and figure out where I want to go with it!

Word Count: 174

Korra wasn’t sure when her mixed feelings of rage and unease towards Amon changed into something vaguely resembling admiration. Maybe it was the day of their impromptu spar to see if she was ready to go on raids, the second time she’d ever really been one-on-one with the man. Korra had never been the type to be impressed by a person’s words, instead judging them on their actions. And he was a man of action and a great combatant. So that meeting was probably what changed how she saw him.

Thinking about it, shoving him out of the way of an earthbender’s incoming attack and taking the injury for herself indicated just how much her feelings had changed. The scars still ached now and again, and sometimes her breathing got a bit messed up, but she had never regretted her decision or the pain.

Maybe Korra had deeper feelings for her leader and teacher. Maybe she didn’t. But she admired him in her own secret way, and that was enough for now.

[preciousbots]

Winter Amorra Week Prompt #5 - Scars

More Equalist!Korra. I've been in a bit of a slump today, so I might re-do this one sometime.

Word Count: 194

One of the lessons Amon had learned over the years was that scars of the spirit often took far longer to fade than scars of the body. His burns from the loss of his old life had healed as much as they could, but it always felt like the wound he’d taken to his soul that day was just as raw and painful. The dreams had gone away with time, but the memories still floated to the surface of his mind, even when he wasn’t sharing his tragedy with his followers.

Korra was the same way. The only physical wounds she’d suffered from her parents’ deaths were those she took when trying to kill Amon four years ago. But the memories of the broken bodies of her only family, in the only home she’d ever known, haunted her and motivated her at the same time. The nightmares were finally beginning to come less frequently, though they were still as painful as they had been four years ago.

Whenever they trained and meditated together, they silently took solace that they had found another that understood their scars of the spirit. Two birds of a feather.

[preciousbots]

Winter Amorra Week Prompt #4 - Apology

More Equalist!Korra that vaguely fits the prompt! (Credit for Midori goes to masksarehot) 

Word Count: 977

By the time she was fifteen, Korra had been on over a dozen raids. Thanks to her friends back in Dragon Flats, she thoroughly understood the fundamentals behind each style of bending, sans airbending, making her fairly adept at predicting and countering the triad benders.

But she had her reservations. Again, thanks to her friends back in Dragon Flats, Korra knew that not all benders used their abilities for negative purposes. She also knew that not all of the triad members were bad. There were two brothers she’d known, a fire-bender and an earth-bender, who did work for the Triple Threats because they didn’t have any other options. They weren’t bad people, just desperate. Korra could see that in many of the triad benders they attacked. She would let them go, not having it in her to make an example of them. Amon hadn’t started taking bending away yet, so her mercy wasn’t noticed. If it was, nothing had yet been made of it.

But that didn’t mean that Korra wasn’t a bit foolhardy. Specifically, she tended to rush into situations rather than carefully weigh her options. This time, Amon had taken that into consideration as he, Korra, and six other chi-blockers crouched behind a building controlled by an earth-bending triad known simply as the Quakes.

“So, do you understand what you’re going to do?” Korra nodded as she pulled on her mask and goggles, her uniform made distinguishable by the lack of covering on her biceps and triceps. She couldn’t stand the feeling of her upper arms being covered, but never complained if she was injured because of it, so Amon, Midori, and Lee didn’t push the subject.

“I’m going to take them by surprise so you all can rush the sides of the buildings.” Amon nodded. 

“You have fifteen seconds. Go.” Korra rounded the corner and entered the building, the bustling and rowdy first floor going silent.

“Hey, rockheads! Who’s up for a fight?” The Equalists outside heard the sound of rocks being bent out of the floor, as well as cursing. “Ooooh, how scary! You can earth-bend! I had no idea!” 

“She’s really not good at intimidation, is she? More like infuriation.” An Equalist named Anhui muttered as combat broke out in the building. Amon gave the signal and they busted in through the windows. The intel they’d received was accurate, with seventeen triad members in the hideout. All were focused on Korra, who had two laying at her feet. They turned to the other Equalists and Amon, who wasted no time in going on the attack. They couldn’t afford to waste time, seeing how the Quakes could bend not only the floor, but also the furniture and walls. Some even wore gloves based on the Dai Li of Ba Sing Se. Within minutes, the triad benders were down and chi-blocked. Amon inspected the offices for information while Korra, Anhui, and the others tied up the Quakes and scattered propaganda booklets or pasted Equalist posters on the walls. He came out after collecting a sufficient number of documents. After seeing that everything was done, he nodded towards the door.

“Get going.” As the others started filing out, he turned to the triad benders. “Let this be a lesson to your organization. Get out of this district, and perhaps we won’t have to return.” He expected the fear in their eyes. He didn’t expect Korra to slam him out of the way.

One of the Quakes hadn’t been tied up tightly enough and had enough movement to bend a broken table-head at Amon. Korra had reacted without thinking, shoving Amon out of the way and taking the strong blow to her chest and stomach. She felt something crack inside of her and heard Amon’s shouting as her vision faded and the taste of blood entered her mouth.

-

Korra woke up to a faint light and voices. Midori’s and that of a man she didn’t recognize.

“I’ve done what I can for now. I healed the hemorrhaging in her stomach and liver, put her ribs back into place, and mended her broken bones. It would normally take about three months for her to heal completely, but I think she’ll be fine in one.” He had a friendly voice.

“Thank you for coming on such sort notice.” Korra’s eyes flickered open, but not enough to see the owner of the voice.

“Of course. Your organization does many good things for the people, Ms. Midori.”

“Amon extends his gratitude as well.” She could make out the two bowing, Midori handing him something, and the man leaving. Once the door was shut, another opened.

“How is she?” Now that voice she recognized.

“She’ll be fine, Amon. Dr. Wu healed her up. Her ribs are still a bit cracked, but she’ll be back up soon.”

“She, no, Korra took that hit for me.” She heard the sound of someone sitting down close to her, but she was fading out again. “I probably could have dodged it, but she took a great risk.”

“It means she cares about you enough to put her life on the line for you.” Midori patted him on the back. “I’ll just tell the others you’re in meditation. Does that work?”

“Yes. Thank you.” The door closed and Amon turned back to Korra, now again in deep sleep. Before, back at the hideout, he’d asked her why she’d jumped in front of him. As she’d fallen unconscious, she’d muttered,

“You can’t end here.”

The girl who once tried to kill him out of a desire for revenge had risked her life to save his. For the first time in years, Amon removed his mask in front of another person, wanting to face her truthfully, scars and all. Maybe one day, he could show her when she could remember.

[preciousbots]

Winter Amorra Week Prompt #3 - Tea

Here's more Equalist!Korra~! (credit to masksarehot for Midori)

Word Count - 2101

Summary: Amon and Korra chat over tea and Amon finds out what Korra thinks of him.

If Amon had to name one thing that intrigued him the most about Korra, it would be her views toward him. Well, specifically his persona. Unlike most of the Equalists and the people of Republic City, she didn’t accept the personality he used to fight oppression as who he himself was. It was rather complex.

“So who am I to you then?” It had been nearly two years since Amon had made Korra his student, and a tradition they had started was having tea and talking after each of their lessons. His mask was pushed up just enough to drink from the small cup.

“You’re a person with your own hopes and dreams. Your family members were people you loved but sometimes had fights with.” Korra looked up from her tea cup. “There’s more to you than that mask and the story you tell. There’s a human being who can hurt, compromise, and feel love and rage.”

“So what difference does all that make?”

“Look, I met you when I tried to kill you. Towards you, I felt pure anger and nothing more.” After that incident, Amon had thought more about what negative impacts his ideas and speeches could have had on the people who listened. Korra and her tragedy had reminded him too much of himself after he’d lost his family. “Since then, I’ve seen what you do, what you want to do for the non-benders of the world. Unlike the people who joined out of admiration for you, I’ve had...”

“No expectations?” She shook her head.

“Not quite. It’s more like I haven’t expected you to do everything perfectly.” She took another sip of tea. “I’ve expected you to be a person, not a god or an embodiment of your ideals.” Amon cocked his head to the side.

“There are people who expect perfection from me?” He knew that his fellow Equalists looked up to him for guidance, but perfection was a bit much to ask. At the beginning, he’d expected perfection from himself and those around him, but he’d grown up since then. 

“Of course there are!” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’ve been doing this revolution thing for what, almost ten years, and still don’t realize how much influence you have? Midori must not get on your case enough.”

“I’ll have you know that Midori gets on my case enough already and doesn’t need the encouragement.” Amon sighed and finished his cup. “On another note, Hiroshi was wondering if you’d be willing to train with Asami again sometime soon. He likes having her train with people he can trust, and she’s rather fond of you too, apparently.” Korra mentally went through her assorted obligations. Xia could keep Hana and Kona in line if she was gone during their free time, and other than that she just had her block of evening patrols next week. She always enjoyed her time with Asami. 

“It couldn’t be in the evening next week. I have patrols to take care of.” Amon nodded.

“Very well. I’ll let him know.” Korra stood up, placing her tea cup beside the teapot on the tray.

“Well, I have to go take care of Hana, Kona, and Xia. Have a good evening, Amon,” she bowed respectfully and Amon returned the gesture.

“Same to you.”

After she closed the door to his office, Amon meditated on their conservation. What had begun as a discussion about Amon’s style of chi-blocking had somehow ended up as a peek into Korra’s mind. She always had been rather straightforward with her opinions, and this time had been no different. Even when Midori had asked her what she thought should happen to benders who misused their bending, a sensitive topic among the Equalists as a whole, she had said, “It depends on the situation, doesn’t it?” When asked about what she thought should happen to bending as a whole, she said, “I think should remain in our world, but it should be better regulated than it is now.” She and Amon had sensed she’d wanted to add something, but she hadn’t. Despite the loss of her family to waterbending, she didn’t hate benders. She didn’t see as an impurity, but something that had to be controlled.

“A lot of my friends back in Dragon Flats were benders,” she’d confided to him once. “They didn’t treat me any differently or anything. When I asked them to, they taught me some of the different forms they knew. I never felt like I was lower than them, I just had different skills.” He didn’t ask her what she would do if she were ordered to attack her old friends. That would be too much for now, but she might have to answer it someday. “Mom and Dad always said that benders and non-benders needed each other to keep the world in balance. ‘The Avatar maintains the balance between the our world and spirit world, benders and non-benders maintain the balance of our world,’ they would say.”

Amon was broken out of his meditation by a knock on the door. Looking at the clock, it had to be Midori.

“Come in.” Midori came in alone, bowed, and took a seat. “What brings you here tonight, Midori?” 

“Not much. Just general administrative duties.” She passed him a thick folder. “Those are some reports from our agents in Ba Sing Se and the eastern Fire Nation.” He leafed through them briefly.

“Should we continue looking into Ba Sing Se? The reports don’t have much to them.”

“From what I understand, the Avatar’s actions in Ba Sing Se two years ago gave the non-benders there a much greater voice. There’s been a few rough patches, but otherwise the city has stabilized.”

“I suppose bringing down the walls would have that effect.” The current Avatar, on whom information was painfully scarce, was much closer in her actions to Kyoshi or Yangchen rather than Aang. She was confrontational, certainly, but not without reason. She gave her targets fair warning to solve their problems before showing up out of nowhere and settling both sides back down again. Two years ago, a rebellion in Ba Sing Se had been stopped when she showed up and opened discussions between the city leadership and the rebellion leaders. After too much fuss from the upper classes, she had sent the class walls back down into the earth before riding off on her polar bear-dog. Since then, Amon had sent out agents to check on progress and establish Equalist groups in the region if possible. “Do we know the Avatar’s current location?” Or name, he thought sarcastically. The Order of the White Lotus had done an exceptional job of concealing anything about the Avatar’s identity. All that the Equalists knew was that she was seventeen, hailed from the Northern Water Tribe, and had great skill with animals. She’d been discovered at the age of ten and hidden away from the world, but apparently had broken out of whatever compound the Order was training her in three years later to journey the world on her own.

After flipping through a separate folder, Midori shook her head but said, “Our last reports indicated that she was in the Southern Earth Kingdom or the Eastern Fire Nation, but those are at least six months old. She’s an enigma, to say the least. We think that she may be taming different animals along the way so she can avoid the normal transportation routes between the nations, but that’s only speculation.”

“Well, she’s bound to show herself here sooner or later. The question is whether we should unveil my gift to the public before or after that happens.” Out of the entire movement, only Amon, Lee, Midori, Korra, and a few other highly-trusted Equalists from the earliest days knew about his ability to take away bending, Korra knowing only because he knew that she wouldn’t fully put her trust in him and the movement unless she knew that her efforts wouldn’t be in vain. He hadn’t told any of them about his guardian spirit.

Midori shrugged. “We should have the Revelation soon, regardless of the Avatar’s presence in Republic City. People need to know that we have a plan to combat the triads in a more permanent manner.”

“I agree.” Amon gestured towards the partially-full teapot. “Care for some tea? It’s jasmine.”

“Sure.” Amon poured Midori a cup and they toasted. It was too late for alcohol, so tea would take its place. “I take it that this is from your usual discussion with Korra? I saw her on my way up.”

“Oh? Is there something unusual about that?”

“She was a bit deeper in thought than usual. Then again, you two tend to get into some pretty deep topics, considering your history.”

“She actually told me that she sees me as a human being rather than my masked persona.” Midori’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“That girl has an interesting way of looking at things.”

“Indeed. But she gives me many things to reflect on as well.” Midori had been the one to first spot Korra that night almost five years ago, while Lee had been the one to catch her. They, as well as the couple who had initially taken Korra in, were the only others who knew Korra’s motivations and reasoning. “Do you ever think about what happened back then? I don’t think any of us were expecting a non-bender to try and kill me.”

“No, we weren’t. But she was a real piece of work. Trying to get her to open up again was next to impossible.” Midori poured herself another cup of tea. “She’s changed a lot, though. It’s hard to believe that she’s the same girl.” You’ve changed a lot too. Amon himself didn’t realize it, but Lee and Midori had. Midori in particular had noticed how Amon seemed more relaxed now then he had before Korra’s assassination attempt. His seriousness had rubbed off on Korra, but some of her levity and vivacity had gotten into him as well. Besides the past loss they shared, the two were similar in personality as well. Midori and Lee had had their doubts about Amon making her his protégé, but after she threw herself in front of a chunk of earth meant for him, Midori’s had disappeared. Lee’s had been put to rest after she caught a trio of triad benders despite her still-healing injuries on a later mission. She was a strong, capable girl who had great potential. “Do you have any future plans for her?”

“That’s something I’m still considering. At the least, she’ll be at my level of combat skill within two years.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea that you spend so much time with her? Korra’s a pleasant girl and an excellent example, but some of her opinions aren’t as popular with some of the members.”

“She doesn’t broadcast what she thinks to the others, but if you ask her what she thinks, she’s going to tell you. So long as she doesn’t invite trouble her way, I see no problem with it.”

“She told you to stop trying, didn’t she?”

“...she may have said something to that effect. She also said that if throwing herself in front of a boulder wasn’t proof enough of her basic agreement with me and the movement, then maybe I should look for a different protégé.”

She’s so like a younger you, it’s scary. Midori rolled her eyes and placed her tea cup back on the tray. “There’s one more thing you should know.”

“What is it?”

“After we freed the Equalists that were captured during that task-force raid on one of our chi-blocking schools a week ago, some people reported that it felt like their bodies were being moved against their will. Like they were puppets or something.” Her brow furrowed. “The only thing I could think of was blood-bending.” Amon’s eyes widened behind his mask.

“Impossible. The last full moon was two weeks ago. And who on the task force would have such an ability.”

“I don’t know. Tarrlok would be the most likely suspect, but how and why would he learn something like that?” Midori slid him a folder. “Those are the reports. I’ve been through them and added my own notes. Let me know what you want to do as soon as you can.”

“Of course.” They bowed to each other and Midori left for the night. Amon opened the folder and started to read.

He had a new assignment for Korra.

[preciousbots]

Winter Amorra Week Prompt #2 - Sexual Tension

Not really a whole lot of sexual tension in this one. Just regular tension and my attempts at writing combat scenes! 

This ties into my Equalist!Korra fic from a while back that borrows some of masksarehot's "The Cave" characters and concepts!

Word Count: 1951

Summary: Korra tests to become a raid-worthy Equalist. The test? Spar with Amon!

For most of the Equalists, their eligibility to go out on raids for criminal benders began at sixteen. For Korra, it began at fourteen.

While she had been highly driven to avenge her parents’ deaths, her early introduction to raids came out of a natural talent for combat. While Amon hadn’t been any more involved in her training than he was with any of his other comrades, he had been impressed by what he had seen and the reports he got from Midori and the instructors.

“You really should come see her in action, Amon.” Midori had brought her up during one of the regular drinking sessions between the three leaders of the Equalists. Well, Lee and Midori drank. Amon mostly jotted down ideas for speeches or new weapons. Alcohol rarely did anything for him.

“Really. Why?” He didn’t look up from the speech he was working on.

“Well, for one thing, she was able to give Lee here some trouble unarmed.” Well, that was unusual. He looked up.

“Yeah, she’s a quick one. Pretty sharp too.” Lee put down his bottle of ale. “Most of the trainees try to knock my sticks out of my hands, so they forget about the possibility of me kicking at them. That or they keep too much distance. She stayed close enough that I couldn’t use them properly and tried knocking me down instead. But,” he picked his ale back up, “she gave me a window and I took it.” 

“What kind of window?” Amon asked Midori as Lee downed his drink.

“She got just far enough away that he could get her in the stomach.” She smirked. “A bit underhanded, but then again, that’s how the two of us got this far.” The pair shared some kind of look, and Amon suddenly felt rather uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

“Anyway, Midori, why bring it up to me?”

“I think you should spar with her. I think Korra’s ready to be eligible for raids.”

“You want me to spar with the girl who, a little over a year ago, tried to kill me?”

“Look, she doesn’t want to kill you anymore.” Lee pointed out. “She’s made that clear to the two of us. She also hasn’t made the incident or her reasons known to anyone else.”

“Fine,” Amon sighed. “I’ll come by the day after tomorrow.” He didn’t doubt his second and third-in commands, but he knew that Korra wouldn’t have forgotten about their first meeting so easily. He certainly hadn’t. The look in her eyes back then had brought back the memories from a day long ago, a day filled with flames and death.

-

“Korra, stay after for a bit!” Korra looked up from unwrapping her hands and feet to see Midori walking over. 

“Why? Did I do something?” She tilted her head and scrutinized the Equalists’ third-in-command, who sighed in response.

“You really need to stop being so suspicious. It’s not attractive.”

“It got me by before I joined up. It’ll get me by now.” All of the instructors knew about Korra’s legendary stubbornness. 

“You know that no one here has anything against you, right? We’re all equal here.”

“I know, but...” Korra frowned and looked up at Midori. She scanned the training room and made sure no one else was around. “I miss my parents and friends sometimes. Like, some of them opened their homes to me after my parents died, but I chose to go after Amon instead. And here I am now. So I wonder if I made the right choice.” It was a good question. Midori had asked it herself many times before realizing that she was doing something important for the world. She put a hand on Korra’s shoulder.

“That’s something that you’ll keep wondering about. I asked myself the same thing when I joined the cause. I hope the one day you’ll realize, like I did, that you’re doing something extremely important.” Korra didn’t say it, but Amon had told her something similar that fateful night a year ago. So that Mom and Dad won’t have died in vain. So that no one else will suffer as I have.

“Am I going to be sparring or training more, or can I unwrap my hands and feet?” Her question was answered when Midori stood up to greet someone. The first thing Korra saw was the mask.

“You told me to come about this time. Am I late?”

“No, not at all.” Amon looked over at the girl sitting on the bench across the room.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Midori sighed and shook her head. She told Amon to wait as she went over to talk to Korra.

“What’s he doing here?” Korra asked, almost in a hiss. “I thought you said I didn’t do anything!”

“The Lieutenant and I think you might be ready to go on raids. Amon agreed to spar with you to test you.” Her answer did nothing to calm down the teenager in front of her.

“I tried to kill him a year ago! How do I know that he’s over that?!” Midori almost snorted before reminding herself about what had happened between the two. So they were both afraid of the same thing. Knowing Amon, he probably saw a bit of himself in her.

“You don’t need to worry about that. Just go and spar with him.” Korra huffed and jumped up, stretching her arms out again as she made her way to the mat in the middle of the room. Amon bowed when she stepped into the circle marked out for sparring matches.

“Good evening, Korra.” 

“Amon, sir.” She looked up from the floor and took a ready sparring stance. Now that she was up close, Amon could see that her appearance hadn’t changed all that much. Her hairstyle was in the same three ponytails, only now they weren’t half-undone. The necklace that had once belonged to her mother still graced her neck, although now it seemed to be tied with skill rather than hysteria. Her eyes were still a lovely hue of blue, but they were now filled with caution and focus rather than rage and sorrow.

“Are you both ready?” Midori stood outside the ring. The pair nodded as Amon shifted into his own fighting stance. The test for eligibility was rather simple: get five hits on Amon. The most anyone had ever gotten before was three. Of course, the young Equalists who took the test never knew that. “Begin!”

Korra didn’t move. The first rule of combat among the Dragon Flats kids was “never be the first to attack.” It had served all of them well. Instead, she slowly circled the ring, with Amon mirroring her movements. It quickly became clear that he followed the same rule. After a long minute of circling, Korra decided to take the first move. She took a step, but quickly doubled back, sunk down to the ground, and swept her left leg towards Amon’s. 

She was a moment too late. He jump-dodged her kick and tried to grab the still-outstretched leg, but she drew herself back like a water-bender before whipping an arm out at his chest. He grunted as she made contact with his solar plexus, but he didn’t go down that easily. She pulled back and maintained a defensive stance.

So she knows when to draw back. Good. He’d seen too many of his comrades rush in to attack triad thugs but not go on the defensive when it was needed. 

Korra took on a stance reminiscent of an earthbender, her feet firmly planted on the ground, and showed no signs of moving. Amon decided to throw her a right punch. She deflected it off her right arm and spun around, managing to hit two chi points before he turned around and flipped her down onto the mat. Korra felt the air rush out of her body, but she wasn’t done quite yet. His grip on her shoulders was strong, but she still had her legs. In an instant, she lifted them up, threw them down, and slammed her upper body against his, throwing him off her and bringing her back to her feet. He hadn’t even landed when he brought himself back up to his feet. He was momentarily entranced by the look in her eyes. Pure determination. Those were the eyes of someone who didn’t back down from what they’d started. 

This time, they both went at each other, blocking their opponent’s kicks and punches with brutal efficiency. In their struggle, Korra got in two more hits, becoming the first to ever get five hits on Amon. But he got a few hits in as well, blocking chi throughout her body. By the time they drew back, she barely standing, but still had that look in her eyes.

“Well, that’s it.” Midori stepped in. “Good job Korra.”

“Huh?” She looked and sounded confused. “What?” Korra’s eyes darted back and forth between Midori and Amon.

“You’ve passed the test.” Amon walked over to her and patted her shoulder. “You got in five good hits and show great perseverance in combat. You’re ready to be in raids now.”

“Great...” she smiled weakly before collapsing on the floor, her arms and legs sprawled out. “I know that this was a test, but did you really have to block my central chi paths?”

“You take what windows are available.” He shrugged before bowing to her and Midori. “Come to my office tomorrow and we’ll discuss what you want to do, Korra.” After he left, Korra managed to lift herself up.

“Gah!” Her arms and torso felt like they were filled with sand, while her legs were like sacks of water. “He doesn’t pull any punches, does he?”

“No, he can’t afford to.” Midori bent down to Korra’s level to help unblock her chi. “But I could tell that he was very impressed with you, especially when you managed to get up after he pinned you down.”

“I’m sure someone’s managed to get him five times before. It’s tough, but not impossible.” Midori considered Korra’s personality and decided to tell her the truth.

“Actually, you’re the first one.” Korra’s hands momentarily ceased rubbing her arms. “It’s true. The best before now was three.”

“Really?”

“Really. If you don’t want to go on raids or anything like that, you don’t have to. But we always need more fighters.”

“I knew that he was strong, but that was amazing!” Midori sighed. Looks like her mind’s made up anyway. “But, no one else knows about what happened a year ago, right?”

“Unless you told anyone, no. Only the people directly involved in catching you know about what you tried to do.” Korra stood up and stretched out her legs, finally unblocking her chi. “You don’t hold anger against Amon anymore, right?”

“I don’t want to kill him anymore, if that’s what you mean. I still think he holds more sway and responsibility over people than he realizes, but...” she looked away, “he told me that I could make sure that Mom and Dad didn’t die in vain. Amon and the Equalists gave me a home and a reason to keep going. So, I don’t have any anger towards him, but I want to make him realize his influence.” She turned back to Midori. “It’s kind of hard to explain, but it’s something like that.”

“I understand.” Midori smiled. “Now, go get some rest. Go see Amon in the afternoon tomorrow.” Korra bowed, gathered her things, and left with a little more confidence in her step.

She’s going to go places. We’ll just have to see where. 

[wordstoash]

Equalist! Borra Cut

Just working on something and want some feedback on how this story is rolling so far. 990 words to roll over for whoever's interested. Please and Thankyou.:)

Bolin was an intrusive teenager. When he had stumbled upon Korra in the early morning making her way to the surface, he had not expected the current. He was handed a second-hand beanie to cover his signature duck tail and a pair of shades to hide in the crowd. Korra was a few feet in front, and looking behind every so often to make sure he was still following. He made sure to, no matter how difficult it was to make sure he was close enough that whenever she swiftly turned a corner he would not lose her and far enough that he was out of punching range or stepping on her feet. Korra made it clear to be obedient and silent throughout the entire trip unless he was in critical danger, even then he was sure Korra would pick up on the danger before it hit him.

He had pestered her to share where she was going with him. She had clearly planned to leave alone, leave without letting anyone know, and had clearly not wanted someone younger tagging along and slowing her down. But Bolin had pursued her. He had tried to turn the conversation into his palm. As a younger, inexperienced member of the Equalist Organisation he was used to being overlooked. Normally he would have stepped down before things became awkward and he felt discouraged, but in front of Korra he did the opposite. He felt the need to impress her. With a dash of courage he had spoken:

“Come around breakfast…and I think word of a missing Korra will sweep the tables. The Lieutenant might overhear, and may want to pursue a certain rumour.”

He felt it came off casual. Sort of an icebreaker to amplify his status, yet still be on talking terms with Korra. Instead she had seemed to have taken it the wrong way. Her eyebrows rose cautiously. And her arms crossed over. Bolin unexpectedly continued.

“You see, the Lieutenant’s been rather bored lately. What with the slow, planned progress of Mr. Sato playing out…There’s not much action.” He watched Korra hesitantly. Her eyebrows were digging gravely and her muscles were tensing. “The first whisper he hears of the Avatar sneaking out…” He began to dabble. Korra was intimidating. “I’m not too sure what will happen. But I think whatever he decides is not going to be fun. Because you know the Lieutenant is no fun. Unless you call being electrocuted fun. And my last accidental experience just goes to show how unpleasant being electrocuted can be. I can still feel the scorch marks at night. Painful stuff man.”

“Be quiet,” Korra said.

“You heard me right, I said painful.”

“Shut up Bolin.” Her lips were tight. And her arms angled on her hips.

“Boh-kay” Bolin squeaked.

“You’re coming with me.” Korra ordered. She dipped her head over the corner to make sure no one was there.

“Pardon?”

She grabbed him by the clothes on his torso and bent a hole in the wall of metal. It led to a ramp to the outside world. He shielded his eyes from the bright light, and then shouldered some pain after being thrown against a brick wall. He was consumed in darkness again. It took a moment for him to absorb his whereabouts. They were in a narrow alleyway. The alley was filled with smells not any better than the ones that lingered underground and a damp ground. He wanted to wipe his hands on something, gunk had stuck to them.

“Take these.” Korra had demanded. “Put them on, and stick close by.”

“Am I going to be told what we are doing or where we are going?” Bolin managed to wipe his palms on the brick wall before retrieving the shades and beanie. “Why do I need these?”

“Any word from you and you’ll regret it.” Korra tapped her foot against the ground, waiting and thinking what to do next.

“You may outrank me and be more experienced,” Bolin said beginning to get to his feet. “But when it comes to being abducted by a supposed teammate, I believe I have the right to demand – What the heck are you doing crazy woman!?”  

“You’re annoying,” Korra said bluntly. “Make sure you keep quiet.”

“Why do I feel I’m talking to a brick wall?”

“Put the gear on and follow me,” Korra ordered, pulling her hair out of its wolf tail and slipping on a cap. Her hair curled around her face, and the rest fell inside her oversized grey waist coat. She pulled her collar up and began walking out of the alleyway. “’ Else, word on tonight’s dinner table will be that a certain Earthbender found themselves lost in the woods and eaten by wolves.”

Bolin sighed. He was clearly curious to what Korra was up to, but was more afraid of the consequences of not following demands. He admired strong woman, but sometimes Korra scared him.

[steinbecks]

dream of the lotus in bloom: chapter 5

Summary: Fourteen years ago, a masked man intercepts a letter to the White Lotus, breaks into the home of a young Water Tribe couple, and leaves with their only daughter. Now, she is seventeen, a youth in the spring of awakening. (An Equalist!Korra AU). | Family, drama, angst, throw in some romance | T on the edge of M | ~7,100 | | ff.net | Prologue | Chp. 1 | Chp. 2 | Chp. 3 | Chp. 4 | Chp. 5 | Chp. 6 | intermission | Chp. 7 |  A/N:  I'M NOT SORRY I'M NOT TW: a character briefly in a large amount of pain and a short, graphic description of a bad wound. the final scene eclipses everything else as my favorite part of the story, oh man. you have been suitably warned, i think; there is nothing left to do except read it. p.s. if you drop by my askbox to tell me what you think i will love you forever p.p.s. this chapter is dedicated to slacktension a.k.a. hannah because you get what you asked for

[CHAPTER 5]

I. BROTHERS

The tunnel is wide and dark and the red shadows shift swiftly over the Amon mask, no sound but the mechanical clicks of the elevator platform as it slides down the ramp. As they drop the air rushes into her hood, pooling rough and cool over her face fluttering her bangs; and Korra leans against the railing so that the bottom of the tunnel is behind her and she falls backwards into the draft. “Twenty-six years?” “Yes, Korra, twenty-six years.” He has both hands on the railing, watching the tunnel rise to meet him. “You haven’t talked to Tarrlok - your little brother, my uncle - no letters, no phone calls, nothing at all, in twenty-six years…” she says. “I have no interest in revisiting the past. Don't press me any further,” Amon says, turning his head. His eyes catch the dim red light, the gleam fading in and out as the elevator descends. She can sense his chill irritation and crosses her arms against it. It's too early in the morning to annoy him, and the hours are all off their axes. They’d left before dawn for the Sato mansion in full uniform and after the initial blur of drowsiness, she's vividly awake, her own thoughts warm to the touch in the quiet white of an overcast winter morning.

She had to make sure it was twenty-six years and not anything else. In her deeper, fainter dreams, the ones that linger in the depths below the surface of her waking moments, there is another man. Someone big and tall and safe, who holds her close and speaks to her with a rumbling affection, and she thought that maybe - maybe it had been Uncle Tarrlok visiting his baby niece, before everything went… wrong. But Uncle Tarrlok had also been unceremoniously ditched on the steps of City Hall for the council to find yesterday morning, with his bending intact. No martyrs, Amon had said, not yet. She wants to ask about the man, find out if he’s real or just some dreamy fleck of light playing across the ocean of memory. But Amon is stiff and humorless, knuckles gripping the railing; she won’t press him into a mood. And there had been no front-page headline. The platform squeals down another several dozen yards. “But… that’s why your impression of him is so good,” Korra offers, and she ventures a nudge to his arm. He startles and gives a short laugh and clears his throat for the right chords. “We must… restore the city to its former glory as a shining, glorious beacon of harmony and unity, with good will to all - except, of course, Tenzin, you bald bat,” he blusters, his voice full of Tarrlok’s spaciously high and oily tones. Korra snickers. “Vote for me and I will personally catch every single spider rat that plagues your homes, good citizens of Republic City…” The elevator platform grinds to a stop at the bottom of the tunnel. She feels the shudder of the gears right around her waist, pitching her forward. He steps off smoothly towards the door to the factory. “Don’t forget the box,” Amon says, and Korra lifts the wooden crate that mutters with glass clunks and papery rustles. She moves towards the factory floor but stumbles over her feet as he turns to a different door, an unmarked panel in the wall that opens when he presses the side. The doorway gapes onto a dark staircase that goes down, down, down, turning on itself. “Is this where you’ve been going every morning?” she asks, as they start down the staircase, the wall falling shut with an echoing slam; and he hums a flat note in response as his boots tap down the honeycomb stair grating: chack chack chack chack. At the bottom of the staircase, there is another door into a massive vaulted room, deep in the mountain. A warehouse, mostly empty, save for a few dozen crates of spare parts and uniforms. The heavy presence of the mountain weighs coolly in the air, lit with large bare lights. “Wait here,” Amon says, and Korra shrugs obediently. She sits on a crate as he crosses the warehouse floor to a nondescript door and disappears. She rests her chin in her hands and waits, like she always does, for whatever he’s going to do. Her mask is poorly tied from sleepy apathy, the ribbons tugging over the curve of her ears, the top edge scraping against her skin. “Stupid mask,” Korra mutters, undoing the crooked knot, picking at the ribbon with her fingernails. She is caught in a quiet, restless point between alertness and exhaustion. She holds the mask out, tilting it up and down, its sharp petal-shaped eyes wide and blank. Who defeated Tarrlok? Tenchu or the Avatar? It felt like the same thing, honestly, and Korra sighs. The little blue lotus on the forehead of the mask is fading a bit; she’ll probably have to repaint it, lacquer and buff it shiny… why did her father choose that, anyway? She never bothered to ask. The far door opens again and Amon is marching someone towards her, gripped tightly by the elbow. Exhaustion rolls off Mako like smoke as he walks, his expression somewhere hopeless and sullen, his yellow eyes dim and flat. Only the red scarf is bright, looped around his neck. There's still a stiff resistance in his movements as Amon pulls on Mako’s arm, making him sit, cross-legged, several yards away from Korra, who has her mask back on in the space of a blink. Amon is already turning on his heel. He vanishes into a different door on the opposite side of the room and Korra is alone with Mako. The silence yawns and creeps silvery cold into her bones, winding around her, serpentine and slow. Mako’s eyes are on the floor and she can’t read his breathing. He is threadbare, everywhere: from the softened tufts of canvas coming unglued on his shoes to the pale grey scars of old tears scored across the wrinkles of his coat. And if she pulls on his tight mouth, like thread, will his expression unravel, all the stitching splitting apart; what will he look like then? His gaze flicks to her, briefly, and then goes out. A quiet glimpse of an ember in charcoal. He must be chi-blocked. There are words, sticky and tasteless, on her tongue, and Korra swallows them. He is a prisoner just like Bolin was, and she will not be as weak as she was with Bolin. But the silence breaks as Mako opens his mouth, his voice hoarse with lack of use and shot through with an unyielding anger. “Tell me where my brother is.” “He went to go get him,” Korra says, lifting her arm and pointing to the far door, the second one. Mako reels in a slow breath and drops his face into his hands. “Tell me where my brother is,” he mutters, and this time it sounds something like a prayer, a murmur, a broken plea. Korra feels a squirming discomfort pushing inside her. Mako’s lines are all bent up into themselves, his expression covered by his gloved hands. Bowed over and hiding, like a child. How long were they down here? Inside the mountain, by themselves, visited only by Amon? A queasy guilt settles into her throat. “I have food for you,” she says swiftly, standing up and feeling for the wooden edge of the lid - “Do you know…” he says, into his hands, and his voice is like breaking glass wrapped in cloth; “what’s it’s like to be alone in the dark, dreaming of things that aren’t there and seeing people who aren’t with you and they’re telling you things you can’t really hear? Do you? For nine days?” Korra freezes over the crate, listens to his muffled voice, the sting of hopelessness piercing the break between each word. He’s pulling out splinters, with his teeth clenched over a sob. And she does know how it feels. She does. Korra pads over. His hand isn’t broken anymore and she can see the roughness of his skin, the whorls spinning over the tips of his fingers, smeared by callouses and shiny flat scars. Firebender hands. “Would you believe me if I said yes?” she asks. He drops his hands and finally looks at her, his eyes caustic and flaring. Then they flick to a point up behind her and she follows them with a glance. Tenchu is on a banner on the wall, the blue lines bearing down on them with an oppressive sleekness. “Oh, that. Ugh,” Korra snorts, jerking her head away, and Mako recoils slightly, defensively, his chest rising and his head tilting back - and suddenly she can’t stand it, she can’t stand the look on his face, she can't stand his sick defeated fear of her. So Korra starts with the mask, untying it and dropping it, looking at him. It clatters woodenly across the stone floor and she does the gauntlets and shin pads next, the leather stiff and creaky, her skin feeling fresh in the cold air. And then the belt and the uniform - the belt going shff as she slides it off her waist and drops that; her fingers nimble on each silver button as the uniform front curls down, like a wilting flower. Korra shrugs it off. It lands with a flump over the rest of her things and finally she's down to just her bulky pants and her sleeveless black shirt and no mask. None at all. “So my real name,” she says, drawing herself up; she is awake with the feeling of diving into untested waters, “is Korra, and I’m the Avatar. My spirit animal is a polar bear dog in a cage, and I kinda know what it feels like.” Mako opens his mouth, and shuts it. His tension is strung across his body, his gaze narrow and his broad chest hunched in defensive restraint. Korra sits on the floor in front of him, hands in her lap. She lets her words turn stale in the cold, dry air -  he can take them if he wants. He sits up straight and crosses his arms. “I don’t know whether to trust you or hate you,” Mako says simply, honestly. She can’t, won’t blame him… “But you let Bolin go. And then you didn’t take our bending. And then you - you went all - I don’t even know what you did but you didn’t let him kill us.” “Yeah, I went all Avatar glowy-eyes," Korra adds, because he starts to - not relax, but shift, slowly return to life… and Mako takes a long breath, eyes widening slightly, like he can’t believe he’s saying it, but he lets go with a short huff and says it: “You saved us, and for that, I guess, I should say ‘thanks.’” There is a long pause as the deep ache in his voice settles into her, and it stirs up so many things… How do you say don’t mention it sorry about everything to someone like this? Korra smiles at him and it flies onto him like sparks and catches as a blush of color on his face. Mako uncrosses his arms and tugs on his scarf with nervous energy, wringing the red out of its knit weave and ducking his head away from her gaze. He’s embarrassed - ashamed? - of his own gratitude. But he means it, she thinks. Korra drags the crate over between them, feeling overly casual even in her smile. And Mako keeps his hands politely, tightly on his scarf as she opens the box and finds a paper bag of steamed pork buns, dry and a little shiny with grease. “Here, I'll warm it up if you’re chi-blocked,” she says, offering him a bun. “Please,” Mako says, his fingers twitching, and Korra lights a flame on her palm, passing it over and around the bun. He watches with transparent fascination and she remembers… firebending is like death, he said, and she kind of knows what that means now, and with a twinge of sadness Korra kills the fire in her fist, cold rushing in around her hand, pushing out the warmth. “Not bad, for an Equalist,” Mako says, taking the bun, and as he stuffs half into his mouth with a whole-hearted bite she sees the humor playing in his eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment, firebender boy,” Korra says, and he smiles into his next bite. She wonders what he’s like when he’s with Bolin, in places not like this, with people not like her… The door at the far end opens and now Amon has Bolin by one arm, the fire ferret clinging gamely to the other. Korra scrabbles for her discarded clothing and jumps to her feet, strapping things back on, hands skipping over buttons. She fumbles with the mask ribbons and decides to skip it completely. She doesn't want to play this part for them and ties the mask to her belt. Amon forces Bolin to sit next to Mako and pauses, looking at Korra, his gaze thin from behind his own mask. Her heart skips a beat. He stands next to her, both of them facing the boys, and Korra realizes that the strange fit of her gauntlets is because they’re on the wrong arms just as Amon notices it too - he rolls his eyes, giving her a swift, exasperated cuff on the back of the head. “Ow,” she mutters, but his attention is already gone as he straightens up, feet apart, hands behind his back. The mouth of the mask frozen in fearless, feline satisfaction. Mako and Bolin are wide-eyed and quiet, Bolin’s hand surreptitiously pressed to the floor under Mako’s. And Bolin is openly nervous, his round cheeks pink and drawn by his tight frown, his other hand pushing up tufts of fur on the ferret curled in his lap. But he looks better than Mako does, more lively; and there is nothing hidden in his straight and unguarded posture. Mako still has the pork bun in hand and he holds it out to Bolin, whose happy surprise at warm food glows clearly behind his eyes. “Hi,” Korra mouths silently, and snaps back into rigidity as Amon begins to speak. "Gentlemen," he says, each syllable drawn out and pointed. Korra can imagine some predatory beast extending its claws. "I take very little pleasure from seeing you here, a pair of useless bender scum. I have no idea why my daughter went soft for you - ” Mako’s face hardens and Bolin softens and Korra feels a sting towards anger at her father - she had never felt less spineless in her in her life, trying to stop their murder. And, entirely on a whim, like something giving her a firm, gentle shove, Korra interrupts. “But the fact is that you’re down here and we can’t really let you go, so you’re my, uh… under my care,” she says, skipping over the word ‘prisoners’, looking from Mako to Bolin. “Precisely,” Amon huffs beside her, but she doesn’t care to let him take back the lead. Korra sits down again, scooting away from Amon and closer to the boys, and she claps her hands together and drops them into her lap. “So, I’m the Avatar, and I was hoping you guys could teach me some stuff about bending,” she says, with a measured cheerfulness, “because - uh - obviously I don’t know that much, and I really don’t want to lose control over it again.” Mako and Bolin consider each other, their eyes meeting warily; Bolin’s mouth in a small, hesitant pout, Mako with his chin up, his brow furrowed, skeptical. In the dim, spacious warehouse, the colors they wear stand out with all the bright defiance of graffiti on a wall. And then the ferret, still curled in Bolin’s lap, looking at her with dark, glittering eyes and a tweaky nose. She feels judged.

“This is not a request. The alternative is being taken back to your cells,” Amon says from above them, his fingertips grazing her shoulder; “and left to rot.” Korra frowns up at him and clicks her tongue and tries to shrug him off, but he stays there. Overkill, Dad, so much overkill. If only he could tone it down, just a bit - “Face it, you got nothing better to do, right?” Korra says, and Bolin chuckles lightly. “Yeah, I mean, I guess so, and it’s… awesome that you’re the Avatar, but see… you’re also an Equalist. So, uh. You probably won’t use anything we’d teach you in a good way…?” he asks, carefully, steepling his fingers together under his nose, one eyebrow raised. Mako crosses his arms and tilts his head, studies her. Amon snorts in disgust. “What she uses her bending for will be none of your concern - ” Korra meets Mako’s gaze and it’s like he knows, he knows but she just has to tell him, sometimes she hears him say it in the quiet of her mind, firebending is like carrying death around, and then: it was an accident, you are the firebender who killed your mother - “My mom died because of my own firebending,” she says, and she says it to Mako, he’ll understand; “it was an accident. So, like I said: I don’t want to lose control of my bending again. I don’t want to hurt any more innocent people.” This is the truth - at least, her truth. The cold air between her and Amon is filled with a ringing silence, brought out by a sudden pressure from his hand on her shoulder. Mako’s eyes are warm on her, like a scrap of sunlight breaking through the fog of her thoughts. He rubs his arm absently and nods, more to himself than to anyone else. “Excellent,” Amon drawls, “now allow me to expand on a few terms… You will earn the privilege of keeping your bending every day, through hard work and her progress. My instructions are to be followed immediately and without question - ” “Wait, why?” Mako says suddenly, his expression narrowing, and Amon stops short. “Why, what?” he answers, in a flat, clipped tone. “Why are you letting us keep our bending? That doesn’t make any sense,” Mako says, his voice rising, equal parts cautious and daring. Amon steps forward without hesitation and makes a fist around Mako’s scarf and collar, yanks; drawing him up close and leaning in so that the mask looms wide and implacable over Mako’s face. Korra swallows her protest and throws her hand, palm out, at Bolin, who tenses with the urge to move, to fight - it’s better if you don’t. “Do you want me to take your bending?” Amon growls, and Mako flinches at the words but doesn’t look away, breathing heavily, his face tense with a feral anger. “No,” he says, between gritted teeth, and Amon throws him back with a rough, careless shove. “People who have had their bending taken away are unable to teach it,” Amon says, after a forceful sigh; “they lose all respect for it. But rest assured, your bending will not help you escape. Bending only brings pain. It cannot set people free.” Mako, in a half-sprawl on the floor, looks ready to challenge that idea; hands balled into fists, chest heaving, trying to burn Amon with a searing look of hatred. And Korra thinks of dogs, street dogs; the dirty, homeless mutts that stalk down alleyways on clicking paws, desperately hunting shadows that can’t feed them and snarling over cast-away gristle. The dead ones flatten, their bodies collapsing into hollows of coarse fur that sag across the ridges of their bones, their tongues wilting over their yellow-black teeth. The ones left behind always look hungry, even after you toss them scraps. It’s a different hunger, a wild hunger, a starved emptiness choking on apathy. No one cares about them. But Bolin twists at the waist and leans over, his knees tilting out at unbalanced angles; and with a furtive glance at Amon, whispers into his brother’s ear from behind his hand. His smile is quiet and sincere and Mako snorts with laughter and sits up. “What?” Korra asks, confused, looking from one to the other, but Mako just dust himself off with a resigned sweep of his hand, his expression fading. Bolin rubs his hands, sheepish; his expression glowing like the hazy light of a paper lantern. “Well, sir,” he says to Amon, “even with all this Equalist stuff and scary threats, you know what? Of all the landlords we've ever had, you're still not the worst.” *** The fire ferret slinks around them, curious and furry, sniffing at Korra with its paws on her knee as she takes things out of the box and hands them to Bolin and Mako - the bag of pork buns. A bag of ripe green pears, freckled with brown spots. A box that rattles as Mako opens it: it’s full of nuts. Bolin picks out a walnut and holds it out to the ferret, who takes the nut delicately in its teeth and then gnaws away with tiny bites, whiskers twitching. “Does it have a name?” Korra asks, ghosting a hand over its head, and when it doesn’t turn on her, she scratches behind its ears and it chitters happily. “Pabu,” Bolin says, “the finest fire ferret in all of Republic City. Found him behind a dumpster when I was eleven.” “I wanted to sell him,” Mako adds affectionately, scuffing dirt off a pear with the side of his hand, watching as Pabu rolls over under Korra’s hand so that she can rub his stomach. “No, you wanted to eat him,” Bolin says, with an offended tone, and Mako shrugs indifferently. Korra takes a handful of nuts and eats them one by one, the muffled crunch loud in the quiet, Pabu with his eyes closed blissfully as she strokes his downy fur. Amon is sitting on a crate several yards away, an ink-dusted newspaper folded on his knee. He’s working on the sudoku, which she knows he won’t finish. His pencil scratches audibly on the cheap paper as he writes in numbers, crosses them out, tries again.. “I’m surprised he let you keep him,” Mako says, through a mouthful of pear, in a low voice, and Bolin hums in agreement. “Yeah, I think I would’ve gone nuts, waiting in there by myself. Pabu! Show Ten - uh, Korra what you can do, buddy,” he says enthusiastically, leaning forward over his crossed legs to shake Pabu’s upraised white paw, and Pabu opens his eyes with a righteous sort of annoyance. “C’mon, just one trick.” And he gently picks up Pabu and sets him on his feet. Pabu shrinks down lazily, his limbs disappearing into his fur, only the edges of his paws visible under the rust-colored red fluff. Korra lets out a laugh. “He’s not really interested in impressing me, is he,” she says, running her fingers down his tail, and Pabu turns and scrambles up her arm, his claws dull through the fabric of her sleeve, and curls around her shoulders, snatching the last nut in her other hand from right in front of her mouth. His fur is feathery on her neck and she laughs, wincing away the ticklishness. “Ha! There it is,” Bolin says triumphantly, and helps himself to another pork bun. “There what is?” Mako asks, as Korra bows forward, feeling Pabu heavy around her neck, and he clambers to the top of her head, balancing, his back paws pushing against the knot in her wolf-tail. “Her smile, I got her to smile,” Bolin says, and Korra feels heat flush under her eyes as she grins and claps her hand to her mouth. Amon clears his throat, once, punctuating his displeasure, but Korra ignores it as Pabu slips forward, pushing her bangs over her eyes, making a mess out of her hair. She dips her head and he topples off, rolling into her lap with a catlike chirp. Mako doesn’t say anything. he just makes an interested noise in the back of his throat. "I think you could do with a few more things to smile about," Bolin says brightly. "Haha! That's sweet of you," she says, and it's his turn to blush red.  She remembers this is how it started - with Bolin being nice, Bolin being brave, Bolin treating her like a friend when he had no reason to be friendly. "He makes my teeth hurt," Mako snorts, earning himself a swift punch in the arm, and he finishes his pear with a smirk, core and all, in three crisp, snapping bites. “What about your parents?” she asks, as his lips purse over his fingers, sucking on the pear juice - it distracts her from her own question. “Gone,” Bolin says, taking Pabu from Korra’s lap, slinging him over his shoulder; “when I was six. I don’t remember all that much about ‘em.” “Mugged, by a firebender,” Mako says, and there’s a moment where he sniffs and rubs under his nose, brushing something away, some old feeling. “He cut them down right in front of me. I was eight.” The pencil stops, briefly, and scratches away again; the sound falls hard on her ear and Korra brushes it off. She wishes Amon hadn’t heard that. And now Mako makes more sense, his image resolving with precise understanding - no wonder he was so desperate for Bolin, no wonder he attacked an Equalist rally, no wonder at the look in his eyes as he watches Bolin tear bits of bread off the pork bun. His devotion is unmistakable, as easy and natural as breathing. “I’m sorry,” she says. They both sigh with resignation and she gets it: it’s not something they have the energy to feel all that much anymore. Mako rests his elbow on Bolin’s shoulder. They exchange a look that lasts a second too long and Bolin pushes him away, stretching, his knuckles popping high over his head. Pabu jumps off with a chirrupy squeak. “I’m sorry, too,” Mako says, with a sudden force - He lunges forward and sweeps her up, rising to his feet, one arm strong and tight across her upper body, turning her around and pressing her to him - Bolin scrabbles to his feet and braces himself, fists up, his legs squared over the ground - Korra’s arm is pinned to her side by Mako’s, his hand closed with a firm, painless grip over her opposite wrist - and he drags her with him as he takes several steps back, widening the distance between them and Amon. His outstretched hand is sizzling, lit up with blue; sparks of lightning playing over the tips of his pointed fingers. Amon slowly tosses the newspaper aside and stands up. Korra can feel Mako’s chest rising and falling against her back - her heart sinks, sending a chill through her. “This is a bad idea,” she says, and Mako tightens his grip, his breath hot on the side of her face. “We’re getting out of here,” he says fiercely, “we’re leaving! Get out of the way and no one gets hurt!” Amon waves his hand towards the door, a casual invitation. Bolin’s eyes dart there and back to Amon, disbelieving. “What are you planning to do with her, take her as a hostage? I invite you to try,” Amon says, his voice slick and amused. “She can be more trouble than she’s worth.” And Korra is not remotely worried about herself, she doesn’t care, she could break away in a dozen different ways in half as many seconds - but she’s worried about them. She’s seen this before, how he wears people down, his cunning cutting like ice into even the most solid and unchanging people. Freezes them, finds the weak spots and cracks them open. And he’s been listening this whole time - she doesn’t want to go Avatar state again, or lose control, and she takes a deep breath - “Mako, you don’t know what you’re doing - ” “Yeah, I do, I’m getting my little brother out of here and away from him. And you shouldn’t be here either, Avatar Korra,” Mako growls, taking another step back, thorns of lightning trailing from his hand. At this, Amon gives a short, clipped laugh, a sound dripping with contempt. “I’m not going to move. Why don't you try?” he says, every word laced with vicious amusement - Mako exhales once, his breath falling past Korra's face. The door is right there, a dozen yards behind Amon - “Do it, firebender,” Amon says again, “strike me. Use your lightning. You will learn exactly what I mean when I say bending brings pain.” “Hah - get out of the way!” Mako yells, with a heated panic in his shout, his knuckles white and tight around Korra’s wrist. Bolin takes a slow, cautious step towards the door. “Dad, don’t!” Korra yells - she can see his fingers rolling, splaying at his side, the clear shape of a real threat - “Shut your mouth! He wants to escape; I won’t begrudge him the chance. Do it now,” Amon commands, in a ringing voice. She can disarm Mako, before anyone gets hurt - the Avatar state calls to her from a distant place, behind all her senses, between the beats of her thudding heart - no  - Mako takes one more step back - “DO IT!” - and a huge bolt of lightning erupts from his fingertips, wiry and sharp, shedding needle points of white-blue electricity as it tears through the air -  Amon throws his hand out and Mako’s arm twists away at an unnatural angle. He yells, clutching Korra to him, his two fingers now pointed at Bolin - the streak of lightning cracks through the air and Bolin screams as it hits him - - and for an endless second, barely a second - Bolin is screaming and screaming and screaming, white and hot as the lightning courses through him, rips and snarls through him on the knife-edge of Mako’s own rage - He collapses, slowly, with a sigh. Drops bonelessly to the floor, twitching violently, and Mako makes a sound that Korra has never heard before and never wants to hear again. He lets go of her and sprints to Bolin, falling to his side, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, desperate and terrified - “Bolin! Bolin! Wake up!” he yells, “Bo! Spirits, wake up, Bolin, open your eyes - ” Bolin’s head rolls back and Mako slaps him across the face, a reckless, helpless gesture. There is a jagged burn seared across the upper right of Bolin’s chest, straight through the cloth of his jacket: a shiny, puffy ring around an angry gash, full of mottled black-white skin.  “ - wake up, Bolin, I’m sorry, wake up! Bo, please, I'm so sorry - ” But Bolin is unresponsive and lifeless. Korra hugs herself, not knowing what to do, feeling ill and cold - Mako moans in a low voice and hugs Bolin to him, fumbling, trying to hold him as close as he can, and Bolin slouches limply in his embrace. “ - please, I'm sorry, don’t leave me,” Mako sobs, cradling him, and his voice breaks. “Get him off,” Amon says, unstrapping his gauntlets, rolling up his sleeves; “and restrain him.” Korra puts her hands on Mako’s arms, trying to pull him off; he doesn’t let go. He shrinks away with Bolin as Amon takes off his mask and sets it aside, kneeling on the floor in front of them. She drags Mako from Bolin, twisting one arm behind his back and folding him onto his knees; she pushes down as Noatak lays Bolin flat and tilts his chin back - “No!” Mako shouts, heaving against Korra, “Don’t touch him! Don’t you dare - ” “Shut him up,” Noatak says, with two fingers on Bolin’s neck, his head hovering an inch over Bolin’s open mouth. And Korra doesn’t have the heart to do anything except get down and press him into her, hold him tightly in place, her palm curved around the back of his head and her uniform front soaking with his tears. He clings blindly to her, wraps an arm around her waist, and doesn’t look at Bolin anymore I’m sorry don't leave me I’m sorry Noatak’s hands flutter over Bolin, skimming his clothing, searching, tracing... he stops over Bolin’s heart and turns one hand palm up and squeezes the air, slowly, like testing the ripeness of a delicate fruit. And as he does it, Bolin seizes once, his back arching, his limbs going rigid - and he lies still. "Please, I'll do anything," Mako begs, on splintered breaths, and Korra believes it. Noatak snorts irritably. He fans his other hand over Bolin and squeezes again, this time without getting the jerk. He does it one more time and again nothing happens - he pinches Bolin’s nose between two fingers and covers his mouth with his own and Bolin’s chest rises, fills with air - he does it twice, spares a glance at Mako, and squeezes the air again, slowly, carefully, the gesture gentle and steady. And then one more time - - Bolin coughs, and coughs again, his eyes blinking open. He rolls onto his side and chokes and gasps, struggling for breath and slapping the floor as he comes back to himself, and then Noatak puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him onto his back. “Stay there, don’t move,” he orders. He stands up and goes to the box of food, shuffles things around. Mako relaxes against Korra, releasing a long groan of relief onto her chest, and Korra sighs because she’s relieved too - Bolin is fine, he's alive. Mako slips out of her arms and turns to Bolin on all fours, presses his forehead to Bolin’s; says something but can’t get any sound out of the words. “Big bro - I love you too, but next time, could you - could you fucking warn me?” Bolin murmurs feebly, lifting a hand to Mako’s face.  Mako sobs hoarsely and grabs it, holding on as Noatak comes back and waves him out of the way, holding a tall round canteen of water. Noatak unscrews the canteen, bending the water out, and it starts to glow a clear sky-blue over Bolin’s burn. Bolin winces and hisses in through his teeth as the burn bubbles under the dome of water, the charred, spongy flesh spilling up and out, his skin turning raw and smooth. It only takes a few moments. Then the water dims and spirals gracefully back into the canteen, leaving only a new, smacked-pink streak of skin where the burn was. “You’re one tough son of a bitch, aren’t you,” Noatak says, capping the canteen again, and Bolin grins. “Born and raised, sir,” he says, in a weak voice that gets stronger on every syllable, and Noatak stands up, arms crossed, scowling down at the three of them. "And you - I warned you," he says, and Mako blanches, his face streaked with tears. "This is your own doing." Noatak gathers his mask and gauntlets from the floor and holds a hand out to Korra. He pulls her to her feet and she follows him away, leaving Mako and Bolin to each other. Korra turns her gaze over her shoulder as she goes; Mako is bowed over with his face hidden in Bolin’s chest, his shoulders hitching up and down as he sobs. And Bolin, trying to reassure him, with his hand closed tightly over his brother's - hey I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, it's okay, we're both okay, look, you gave me a really cool scar - she looks away. *** They go through the door, into the of the bottom of the stairwell, closing the door with a quiet click behind them. Noatak sits on the third step and huffs wearily, rubbing his face and brushing his hair back with both hands. “Boys, playing at being men. They can have some time to themselves,” he says, strapping the gauntlets back on, “what had to be done is done.” “No, it didn’t,” Korra says, driven on the impulse of a sudden anger. It feels older than her, an ancient rage, a willpower more cosmic and ageless than what she usually feels. “You didn’t have to do that. You chose to make Mako hurt his own brother.”

“You’re too nice to them. Mako had to le - ” “No, I’m just treating them the way you always say - everyone deserves to be treated equally and fairly,” she shoots back, her voice ringing in the stairwell: this is what she, the Avatar, believes - “and I don’t care if they’re benders or not. They’re people. They’re my age.” He doesn’t say anything and Korra leans against the wall, pressing her hands into the small of her back. It’s dark in the stairwell, with weak light coming from the red lamps on the walls, and there are indefinite shadows, soft as smoke, curving over his face. “You’re lucky I chose not to go into the Avatar state,” Korra says. The shadows bend and flicker as his expression changes, into - into what? She hadn’t felt it, or recognized it, in the warehouse room; she’d been too freaked out during the whole thing... but now she feels it looking at him, at his hands as he tugs and tightens the straps: the broad, wrinkled palms, the backs crossed with veins, and the odd scars braided across his skin. He bloodbends and heals. He threatens Mako and helps her up. The sweep of his fist over the faces in a crowd, brushing their emotions together like a smear of paint, all the colors blending together into a shade of his choosing - benders are scum, purge them from the world. And then, when he cuts her hair over the kitchen basin, his fingers carding through the strands and turning her head with a light touch, when he is nothing but gentle and tells her about the Northern Lights, the way they seem to whisper across the sky, and the snow on those nights glows with a pale, heavenly color - I’ll take you, someday - There's compassion in him, somewhere; and it spites his own iron violence. Or is it the other way around? “If Mako had to learn, why’d you heal Bolin?” Korra throws it into the deep shadows and the silence ripples with the challenge. “Did you really think I was going to let him die?” he asks, his forearms draped over his knees, the mask dangling from his hooked fingers. Korra can hear a hesitant disappointment under the lofty tones of his voice. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know. She never really knows. “It is a terrible thing, to watch your brother suffer at your own hand,” he says quietly, after a long moment. The shadows shift again as he frowns at the Amon mask, its blank, frozen gaze. Korra lets that settle into her. Tarrlok is his brother, whom he hasn’t spoken to in twenty-six years... and then something he said earlier... about people without their bending, and respect. It comes back to her and she catches it, puts it with the first thought. “Who taught you how to bend?” The silence stretches longer this time. The question starts to drifts away. “My father,” he says. And with the way Noatak re-settles himself on the staircase, the words come out of a blackness. “What happened to him?” This is the longest silence of all. She tries again. “Dad, what happened to your father?” But now the question is gone, she’s dropped it out of her reach, it won’t come back. She can feel it leaving, dragged away on a current... and he sinks it with the weight of some old, bitter remorse. Korra sighs and kicks the floor with her heel and traces the staircase up the stairwell, the black-grey-red crosshatch of light and grated silhouettes. “Come here,” he says. She stays where she is. “Korra, come,” he says again, tossing the mask onto the step next to him, and she goes to him. His hands brush along her jaw, rough and dry, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, and he pulls her forward to kiss her on the brow. Noatak murmurs something into her skin, his voice imperceptible even in the quiet; and the words disappear with the fleeting bright silence of a light falling from a dark and star-dusted sky. I wish I could regret this. His touch is startlingly warm.