love is not for me, i promise

Summary: Continuation of “War Paint.” He won’t let her die, unfortunately.

Rating: M for a miscarriage; the details are graphic

Pairing: Amosami

Word count: 847

—-

Nobody can know, so Asami suffers alone. Well, Amon is there, but she prefers to pretend otherwise.

This is his doing, though he doesn’t look at her with satisfaction, doesn’t smile maliciously as he tells her what he’s about to do. She can’t run, can’t stop him. Asami is used to being able to fight back, but she’s stuck in his living quarters, and his bedroom is stark and uninviting. Yet it’s been her place of residence (she refuses to call it “home” and remembers that he took her home away from her) for half a year. She wonders if she’ll be able to look at her father when he sees her and tells her that he hopes Amon has shown her the truth of things, as he says cheerfully that he hopes she’s not as obdurate as she was last time.

They are together in his bedroom, which is simple, composed of browns and reds. Colors unfitting for a man who grew up swathed in blues and purples, grays and whites. Asami peers at him and she can’t believe those stories he told her as he held her, limp and fatigued, against his chest in their–no, no, his, his bed with its linen sheets reeking of sweat and musk. She can’t recall what her perfume smelled like. It was cherry-something, yet she can’t conjure any sort of fragment of it. All she smells like is him.

Pairing: Amosami (Amon/Asami)

Word count: 777 words

Rating: T+ for sexual references

—-

At a tea shop far more modest than what she’s accustomed to, Asami meets someone. This Water Tribe man introduces himself as an admirer of her father’s work, and he apologizes for her loss. He never thought Hiroshi Sato would do something so vile. The weak tea sits bitter and cold on her tongue, but she won’t lose her decorum.

Asami thanks him politely. She and Mako recently went their separate ways, and she enjoys the company. Though many young women would balk or blush profusely if an older, admittedly attractive man sat down across from them, she’s grown up surrounded by older gentlemen. Her father, his friends, his workers.

Asami asks him what it’s like, the Northern Water Tribe, and he discusses the superficial things. Anything of emotion? He quiets, not that he’s particularly loud. Just eloquent. And she can appreciate his silence. There are things she doesn’t want to discuss as well, and they respect that.

This isn’t a fairytale. She can’t mull around and daydream about being swept off of her feet. She has to fend for herself. It’s the only way to preserve what she has left. She’s not a lovesick princess, and he’s no prince from a fabled land of rainbows and dragons.

Perhaps she’s wounded, just a bit, but she’ll stitch herself up for the greater good. Even if it still bruises her.

secret’s out everybody, asami is actually a 40-year-old dead man

……

dammit I will

———————

The dim lights from the small street lamps outside the apartment shone through the translucent curtains, casting a dull yellow glow throughout the room.  The front door clicked and its sole occupant slowly trudged in, her head hanging low and her vision obscurred by the green tinted goggles she wore. A souvenir from her first target.  The mustiness and silence of the small apartment she rented out welcomed her with open arms, mingling with the heavy scent of copper that still lingered on her clothes and skin.  She had been on patrol that night, although her definition and the one her friends had were blurred.  Whereas they wanted justice and to bring in the enemy to face charges in front of a group of their peers, she wanted vengeance on lonely nights in darkened alleyways and hidden locations scattered throughout the city.

She wanted blood.

Asami locked the door behind her, making a beeline for the shower to wash away the filth of the day and the kill of that week.  She was this close to finding his hideout, so close to discovering the truth about the man beneath the mask.  She paused, turning her focus to the far wall decorated with newspaper clippings, maps, and photos, some of which were marked through with a red ‘X’. All of which were framing a large blowup copy of the masked man that haunted her dreams.  Right. She nearly forgot.  Walking up towards the wall, she ran two fingers along the large butchers knife she held in her hand, the cool metal still wet with tonights kill.

"Haruhi Tomoya, deceased."  She murmured, creating a small ‘x’ on the face of one of the photos.  She stepped back, tilting her head to the side to admire her work.  One more down.

Characters: Asami Sato, Amon.

Notes: I literally wrote this a year ago. It was meant to go on, but ehhhh, I was never a very good writer. Always fascinated by Asami’s potential relationship/interaction with Amon though considering what she is, what he isn’t, where both of them stand and the person they both need. Without further ado, enjoy my rusty writing :D

They’ve been separated, but she’s not afraid.

Asami chases the Equalist down the street, away from her bending team mates. They can handle themselves. One of the chi-blockers she’d been fighting made for an escape, abandoning his allies, but she was not going to let him.

She makes a sharp turn into an alley and pulled out the bolas she stole from a defeated chi-blocker. Whipping them into the fleeing man’s legs, he falls, and soon enough she’s standing above him, electricity flowing from her glove and just waiting to take a shock.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t beg for mercy, but his body language betrays him. He’s quite terrified, and she’s too riled up to show him any mercy. She should leave him there in the alley, tied up and abandoned by his team mates like he was going to do to them, but instead she bends down and shocks the man unconscious.

As she stands up, she can hear slow footsteps approaching. More Equalists, no doubt. She readies herself, but as she looks up, she’s unable to move.

Pairing: Amosami (Amon/Asami)

Word count: 777 words

Rating: T+ for sexual references

——

At a tea shop far more modest than what she’s accustomed to, Asami meets someone. This Water Tribe man introduces himself as an admirer of her father’s work, and he apologizes for her loss. He never thought Hiroshi Sato would do something so vile. The weak tea sits bitter and cold on her tongue, but she won’t lose her decorum.

Asami thanks him politely. She and Mako recently went their separate ways, and she enjoys the company. Though many young women would balk or blush profusely if an older, admittedly attractive man sat down across from them, she’s grown up surrounded by older gentlemen. Her father, his friends, his workers.

Asami asks him what it’s like, the Northern Water Tribe, and he discusses the superficial things. Anything of emotion? He quiets, not that he’s particularly loud. Just eloquent. And she can appreciate his silence. There are things she doesn’t want to discuss as well, and they respect that.

This isn’t a fairytale. She can’t mull around and daydream about being swept off of her feet. She has to fend for herself. It’s the only way to preserve what she has left. She’s not a lovesick princess, and he’s no prince from a fabled land of rainbows and dragons.

Perhaps she’s wounded, just a bit, but she’ll stitch herself up for the greater good. Even if it still bruises her.

"This piece is horrendous," she muttered.

"And I suppose you’re qualified to make such a statement?" a deep voice asked.

Amosami for anon.

who cooks normally?: They both cook. Asami learned cooking from her mother, and her dishes are very Fire Nation-oriented, while Noatak knows a little about cooking Water Tribe food from his rare bonding moments with his mother.

how often do they fight?: Not too much, but it can get heated with their diverging views and Noatak’s general issue of being fucked up.

what do they do when they’re away from each other?: Asami leads Future Industries, making new innovations and trying to help the social divide issue. Noatak is probably pretty damn sad when he’s alone. He wanders around Republic City, absentmindedly checking stalls and paying no mind to his destination. Never speaking. Nobody knows his face and what he’s done, but he hears about his mistakes and the lives he’s ruine with the bombings or the consequences before people could get their bending back day after day.

nicknames for each other?: They probably don’t really have cute nicknames, though Noatak will sometimes refer to her as “Ms. Sato” when being jokingly curious. Maybe “Noa,” though it’s not a nickname I actively consider because I have the hots for Noatak and Noah is my brother’s name.

who is more likely to pay for dinner?: They probably do it in equal shares.

who steals the covers at night?: Noatak because he’s used to being alone. :( I mean, Asami has never really had to share with anyone, but she’s had more comfortable surrounding; she’s rarely had to feel cold and just deal with it.

what would they get each other for gifts?: I feel like they’d both get practical things like clothes, but Asami buys more extravagant things. Not because Noatak is cheap, but because he’s always used to curtailing his spending.

who kissed who first?: Asami because I think Noatak would be pretty hesitant. Yakone ruined his second chance by meeting a woman and settling down. He’s probably afraid to do the same. Both brothers were very solitary, climbing up near or to their forties without close friends or starting a family.

who made the first move?: Asami because, again, Noatak is reluctant at first.

who remembers things?: Both of them do, though Noatak wishes he didn’t.

who started the relationship?: Asami. It took awhile, what with him being a terrorist and being the cause of her last family member betraying her and permanently splintering her off from any firm support. Good thing Asami is very independent for her upbringing.

who cusses more?: Noatak is quite shocked at his prim and elegant lover’s choice of words when racing.