( it's there. she sees it written in her before that second utterance of her name, and asami freezes. stares in wonder, and delight and shock and love as korra continues on from that singular starting point to. that final, apex point. korra proposes and it's. every romantic notion she's ever read or heard of. her heart sings. she feels weightless. everything beyond the sphere of their small world is rendered irrelevant. asami thinks it could end, just beyond the reach of their outflung arms and she would be oblivious to molten torrents and acid rain, the howl of eldritch winds.
korra has been changing her life since she came into it. not always in good ways — they barely knew each other when korra called the police force in to raid her home. she still dreams, sometimes, about being in her old bed in her old room and waking up with metalbenders tying her down, yelling about equalists. but it wasn't her fault, it was. her father's. she misses the man he used to be, but that man... he died a long time ago. maybe when her mother did, the both of them subsumed by flame.
the good that korra's given her far outweighs the bad things she pulled the curtain back from, in any case. the love and respect and the care, they've saved each other's lives now more times than she's bothered to count. korra took her to the spirit world, and gave her time with her mother, who'd looked at her and smiled and said how big she'd grown.
even if they weren't in love, she would love korra in an endless way, an outflung emotion that would sink into all the corners of this world and make flowers grow in the path of her footsteps. this love will linger far after she's gone, and it will be the guiding light for the next generation of avatars that will come when korra dies.
korra is holding out the necklace, looking nervous, as if she could ever say no. she reaches out and takes the necklace, letting that jeweled centerpiece rest against her palm, thumbing the etchings in the stone.
somewhere along the way, she started crying. and hasn't stopped. )
Funny. ( she says, through a veil of tears and smudged make-up, streaks of messy wildfire violet enlivening her cheeks. with her free hand, she pulls the chain out from under her shirt and draws it taut against her index finger so the ring catches the light, its purpose made obvious by the faint inscription inside, and by the fact it wouldn't fit her. ) I was going to ask you the same thing.
( it's not a yes. it's an of course, obviously, forever.)
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korra has been changing her life since she came into it. not always in good ways — they barely knew each other when korra called the police force in to raid her home. she still dreams, sometimes, about being in her old bed in her old room and waking up with metalbenders tying her down, yelling about equalists. but it wasn't her fault, it was. her father's. she misses the man he used to be, but that man... he died a long time ago. maybe when her mother did, the both of them subsumed by flame.
the good that korra's given her far outweighs the bad things she pulled the curtain back from, in any case. the love and respect and the care, they've saved each other's lives now more times than she's bothered to count. korra took her to the spirit world, and gave her time with her mother, who'd looked at her and smiled and said how big she'd grown.
even if they weren't in love, she would love korra in an endless way, an outflung emotion that would sink into all the corners of this world and make flowers grow in the path of her footsteps. this love will linger far after she's gone, and it will be the guiding light for the next generation of avatars that will come when korra dies.
korra is holding out the necklace, looking nervous, as if she could ever say no. she reaches out and takes the necklace, letting that jeweled centerpiece rest against her palm, thumbing the etchings in the stone.
somewhere along the way, she started crying. and hasn't stopped. )
Funny. ( she says, through a veil of tears and smudged make-up, streaks of messy wildfire violet enlivening her cheeks. with her free hand, she pulls the chain out from under her shirt and draws it taut against her index finger so the ring catches the light, its purpose made obvious by the faint inscription inside, and by the fact it wouldn't fit her. ) I was going to ask you the same thing.
( it's not a yes. it's an of course, obviously, forever. )