(middle of the night update because i feel bad about being too busy the past couple days to really get on here at all, woo)

this was the second and "final" version i did of this prompt, dealing with mako's issues with self-blame and self-worth, especially when it comes to korra. yknow, fun stuff. it's also kind of a weird one? so uh, brace yourself.


There was a hand around her neck, clenched beneath the hinges of her jaw to keep it locked; Mako wanted to shout but he felt the chains, too, like frostbite at his fingertips, binding his wrists, trapping the sound as it thrashed helplessly around the inside of his throat. Even from here he could see Korra's eyes were wide – in defiance, he thought, with equal doses of pride and fear. Battling all of his warring instincts as he did so, he forced himself to take only a single step forward, and at near precisely the same moment, her eyes flicked over to him with a hundred alarms going off in them as the shadow, the monster tightened its grip on her and mirrored him, lighting a flame in its fist, reflecting blue and then red, and blood, a promise.

"You should leave," a voice said; though the fire cast light over the angles of Korra's face (cheeks blooming bruises lip split swollen nose and eye), the owner of the voice wasn't visible.

Mako took another step forward. "That's not possible."

"What a pity." There was a disembodied sigh, and Mako allowed himself to believe it was actually full of regret – just for a fraction of a second, before the tone sharpened again, like words spoken from the edge of a knife. "There's nothing you can do to help her now. She belongs to me."

Korra struggled a bit (at least as much as she could without causing herself too much pain, going by how limited those movements were, how stiff) until the hand flexed and she made a small choking, coughing sound and fell still again, silent, glaring.

He willed the fire to flare to new heights. At the same time, the flames held at Korra's throat rose, so that they almost seared her skin, but Mako didn't back down. He wouldn't run this time – he couldn't.

"She's not yours," he said, deadly calm and quiet, continuing to close the distance between them. The figure with its arms around Korra approached from the other end of the room. "She's mine."

The growl in his own voice surprised even him. He was close enough now that he could see the sweat collecting on Korra's brow, could practically feel her pulse jumping. He drew his arm back, the muscles coiling and tensing.

Almost amused: "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Aimed perfectly, impeccably, Mako threw a punch, and a fireball arced through the air – the flames seemed to catch on themselves, drag, as though everything, all matter, had frozen at once –

In slow motion, he watched Korra crumple into a sizzling, charred heap on the floor, and he knew nothing for a moment except the shock – just an instant before she had been breathing, had been fighting, even, and now – now the anger rushed to him, in a wave of dizziness, and he realized he was on his knees beside her and trying not to recoil – because he knew but didn't want to know that he'd done this, his hands suddenly dripped with her blood, he would not darken her with his touch.

Laughter from above: he was standing over them, over her body, over himself, in a mask of childlike glee, as though the whole thing was an elaborate joke and he was half-expecting her to pop up again, the same way she always did when they were sparring.

"I warned you," he said. "You should have listened to me." And this time Mako did listen, and this time he saw, and it was his voice and his face, like looking into a mirror warped by extreme temperatures – hot or cold, he couldn't tell anymore, he was beginning to lose all feeling in his nerves. "You did this to yourself."

"No."

Yes.

"No –" He dropped his head, clutched at it. Korra was crumbling to ash right in front of him, falling through his fingers like she was made to do it. "Korra, no – no – come back –"

He leaned closer to her, trying to gather her into his arms and wish the life back into her, but he might as well have been trying to trap smoke – she was already being blown away from him, far away. Someone put their hand on his shoulder; he threw them off; they tried again, shook him, and the entire world shook, too, and with a painful crick in his neck, his head snapped back up.

The room was mostly dark. Panic and anguish kept his breath tearing in and out of his chest, and he stayed very still for several seconds until "Mako," when he gave a start and his head spun and then started to clear: He was in the apartment, at the table. He'd been working on the report for this week's breaking and entering to stay awake (admittedly, maybe it wasn't the best plan) so he could wait up for Korra – Korra

He twisted around in his chair, and it was her hand that was on his shoulder, and she was home – here, next to him. Her chin was cut, but on first glance that seemed to be the worst of her injuries; her gaze was full of concern, but she was smiling.

"Bad dream?" she said.

For a few seconds he just blinked at her while his eyes adjusted to the lack of light and she came further into focus. Then he said, "Uh –", standing – she reached up and peeled a leaflet from his forehead, which came away with the ink a little more faded than it'd been earlier this evening. "Kind of – doesn't matter." He cleared his throat, rough from sleep. "Everything go okay tonight?"

"Yeah, it was fine."

Frowning briefly, he brushed the gash on her chin, resisting the urge to lick his thumb and wipe away the dried blood there; as it was, she wrinkled her nose and swatted him away.

Finally, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. "Okay," he said. Deep breath. "Good."


putting this at the end to avoid spoiling the damn thing before you even read it, but - dream things are weird, ok, dont look at me like that.