korra: double dab

 平.      @extremesmet​      //      open plotting call

“I think your form is slipping,” Noatak teases as he rolls up his sleeves. It’s spring, bleeding into summer—their weakest season, but the moon is out and Yue Bay is around their ankles, so for now, the lingering heat does not trouble them. 

“How far ahead am I? Two? Three?” His grin grows. “Maybe four with that stance. You’re spending too much time in that bathrobe, little brother.” 

    ‘ get off my dick, ‘ i spit, ‘ learn to live a little. ugh! you’re giving me a stitch... ‘

biting back pathetic pouted lips, i anchor my feet in the sand and hiss at the almost literal thorn in my side. noatak’s right, as always, but he and i both know i’ll never give him the pleasure. i get more done in a day than some ratty councilman can in two moons. that’s not the standard that’s been set here, however — i’ve been living a life of decadence and noatak, as usual, lives a life of constant vigilance and ox-like athleticism. stupid.

@extremesmet asked: “ you choose your family, but it doesn’t change the fact that i’m still 50% him. ” // closed meme

“If you are, then so am I,” Noatak said brusquely. He always had been bad about talking about stuff like this, but if Tarrlok was involved, then he sucked it up. He put his hands on Tarrlok’s upper arms and pap-pap-papped one of his cheeks like mom used to. There was still some baby fat there. They were so young–but the things they had done were things adults would never be able to stomach doing. 

Noatak hated it when Tarrlok was like this: dejected, despondent. Even after death, Yakone clung to them. Noatak hated it–hated him. And he hated that he was still hating a dead man, and he hated Yakone for making him hate him. Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate. 

But Tarrlok–Tarrlok was the one thing in this world Noatak didn’t hate anymore. It was for Tarrlok that Noatak had come this far. It was for Tarrlok that Noatak would go even further. 

“Look, I–I know it’s hard. But it’s better this way, Tarrlok. You see that, don’t you? He might be half of us, but that doesn’t mean he has to be in our lives. He’s dead now. We live however we want.” Noatak got up and brought back a paper bag. He pulled out a wrapped box of food. “Here, I got your favorite–from today’s winnings. You did good today, really helped us out.” He set the box in front of Tarrlok and gripped his hand. 

“No matter who our father is,” Noatak said, “we’re one hundred percent us. And the legacy we’re going to build? That’ll be all us too. And it’ll be better and more than our father could’ve ever achieved. You know why? Because we have each other.” Noatak squeezed Tarrlok’s fingers. “It’s you and me. Always.” 

       𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊, 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄. It had always been difficult for Tarrlok to feel sure of anything; Yakone made it so that their lives — their futures! — were constantly uncertain. It wasn’t fair. But it was all he knew. Still, Noatak remained steadfast at the crest of hardship, so he believed quietly that it was something they both could count on for now. Tarrlok wished he could do a little more. Rather than ruminating on the dying past and mourning over its slowly decaying carcass, however, he chose to turn his attention to the warm box his brother had brought him. The comforting warmth of life. He pried it open as if there was an angry animal itching to bite him, but waiting for him instead were two placid egg rolls. He wanted to cry again.

                     ‘ I’m still really scared, Noatak. I . . . I don’t like . . .                       I don’t like change. I miss Mom. I miss . . . ‘

         Pause. A waggle of the head.

                     ‘ I’m glad you’re with me. You’ve done a lot for us                      and I... I love you so much. I’m scared, and I don’t                      like getting beat up every day, but as long as you’re                      with me, m—maybe it will be alright? ‘

      𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘, 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘. Tarrlok had shrugged off far more troublesome diatribes. The general’s poetic observation was nothing to write home about, after all. It was dressed in the flowery language the councilman was so used to spouting himself.                      ‘ I shan’t lie — I do enjoy listening to your thoughts.                      Perhaps you ought to take up writing in your spare                      time, hm? ‘