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?? ?? ??? I woke with the worst headache a human being could get before they could legally call it a migraine. A bright, glaringly annoying light creeped past my eyelids, and there was absolutely nothing worse than being alive at that moment.
I didn’t want to open my eyes. Didn’t want it to take in the situation I’d gotten myself into last night. Because, frankly, it was probably a shit one. At least, it smelled like it.
Wait a damn minute.
I went to pick up Ben & Jerry's, not vodka. I knew what waking up in a random frat house surrounded by vomit smelled bad, but this was a whole other level.
Blinking my eyes, against the bright sun reflecting off the black garbage bags surrounding me. I was in a dumpster? Holy fucking shit, I was in a dumpster. Not the first time, and certainly not the last, but disgusting nonetheless. Scrambling, I climbed over the edge and hopped on the ground. Trying not to gag, I limped around, stretching my limbs.
Get yourself together.
Rolling my shoulders, I looked towards the end of the alleyway. Well, it was. . .cleaner than expected. Alright, definitely not in Brooklyn anymore.
I looked down. I was still wearing last night's clothes. They weren't covered in vomit or alcohol so the mystery behind however I got into that dumpster just got a lot harder to solve. Besides the fact that I had no idea where I was and how I got there, at least it was still light out.
Weak rays of sunlight shone through the clouds, highlighting the pale blue sky.
Pretty.
Nice old fashioned car, rumbling down the road.
Pretty.
A white cat picking at a bag on the floor.
Pretty.
Man rolling a cart full of cabbages down the street, humming softly.
Pretty.
Beautiful girl water bending tea out of her clothes and yelling at a stuttering boy.
Pretty.
Hold on.
Wait, what the fuck? Maybe I did something I wasn't supposed to yesterday. I was clearly seeing things.
Alright. . . so maybe I wasn't in Brooklyn.
"Come and get your fire flakes!" I flinched when the vendor's booming voice split the air.
Actually, eating something before orienting myself seemed like a pretty good idea. I reached into my pocket to grab my pho-
Shit. It's gone. Of course it's gone. My chest did that hollow panic thing it does whenever you don't feel your phone in your pocket. I looked hesitantly back towards the dumpster and thought of my phone. Maybe I...don't need it.
I looked at the cat, my heart still deciding between sinking, rising, or exploding. “Well motherfucker, this sure isn’t fucking Kansas anymore.”
That's when a fight broke out between two customers at a restaurant on the corner. I backed into the brick wall, even though they probably couldn't see me. The men looked at each other angrily before igniting fire in their hands. I stared silently and passively, letting out a breath I was very aware I'd been holding when they seemed to back down, not in the mood for a bar fight. Then, they both shot fireballs at each other. A second later, I realized that They Shot Fireballs At Each Other™, decided it was enough for the day and passed out.
-
Groaning, Korra came into the locker room, looking defeated and more beat up than usual.
“You lost.” I said, not looking up from my pad.
She gave me a flat look. “I’m aware.”
I stared at my handwriting, trying to make sense of what I’d hurriedly wrote in the past couple days. I was supposed to be keeping track of the bets. Who owed who, and how much of it would go to the house. This was one of the times where I really, really, missed modern technology.
It was my way of pulling my weight these past couple months, taking odd jobs. Since Korra took most of the grunt work by fighting in the ring to earn us a place to stay in the attic, I couldn’t just be the sarcasm and meat girl. I wasn’t exactly a genius but I could do my best. After all, she was the only bender. Well, the only element bender.
“You know,” Korra said after a moment, “Maybe you should get out on the ring.” she laughed.
I snorted, “Even if I could bend, I would still be beaten to a pulp.”
“Look,” Korra took off one of her arm bands, “I have absolutely no knowledge of your fighting ability. But you’re suspiciously buff. For all I know—you could be an undercover assassin!” Her eyes darkened after that last sentence and I remembered Zaheer with a clenched fist.
I rolled my eyes playfully. Assassin? Nothing like that! Although maybe a little worse and a lot more confusing.
“No offense Korra,” I said, covering her own tracks for her, “But you might not be important enough to be assassinated.”
The worry that had spread across her face while waiting for my reply faded and she went back to fussing with the edge of her hair. Suspiciously buff, my ass. There was just nothing else to do around here with my lack of money besides labor. I also stopped eating chips, so that’s a win. Not that it was a voluntary choice. I got some cardio from stealing.
“Judging from today, I’m clearly not good enough competition for an opponent to try and take me out outside of the ring.”
I frowned. “Don’t be like that.”
“Well I lost, didn’t I?” Korra snapped, turning away quickly.
I just ran my finger over the page and started doodling, as I often did when I was nervous. I wanted to say something. Anything. Sympathize. Tell her that things would get better soon. I was sure of it. She couldn’t spend the entire season like this, right?
I drew Katara holding an iPhone. Appa wearing chains. (What? Too soon? Bad joke, sorry.)
But there was absolutely no way I’d tell the only person that mildly trusted me and watched my back that I knew all about her life and struggles—seasons one through three. Even if I knew what happened in season four. Which I don’t. But I will soon enough. Since Korra’s living it and I’m. . . nearby. Ha. The Avatar’s unofficial roommate sitting on a wooden bench and doodling while Korra suffers through PTSD and gets beat up in a fighting ring in a shady corner of town.
“There’s always next time.” I mustered, I looked up at her this time.
“You got the participation money?” Korra cracked her knuckles and took a seat next to me, the outburst ignored. “Mr. Suyn already took rent from the payment. We might have some left for food.” She pulled out a measly stack of cash and I tried not to cringe.
Goodness, if only there were sugar daddies you could scam in Republic City.
“We should just spend this money on heels,” I chewed on the inside of my cheek, “And become strippers.”
Korra raised her eyebrows, “Strippers? What ar—“
“Fire nation slang.” I interrupted.
Gracious, I was getting way too comfortable. A lot of people from the Fire Nation probably didn’t mention much about themselves, especially during the Hundred Year War. But that was different now. And I wasn’t even from the Fire Nation. Unless Brooklyn somehow counts.
If Korra had enough energy to do anything but collapse in bed every day, she’d probably question me further. Instead, she just shook her head and muttered something. We were both bad at hiding things when we were tired.
We all had our secrets.
I never questioned why her bruises always healed overnight.
Even though I already knew the answer.
To her, I didn’t even know she was the Avatar.
To her, I was a Fire Nation traveler, looking for somewhere to stay.
To her, I was a non-bender.
To her, I was from this world.
This friendship was built on lies, but for the past couple months, we fell asleep to each other’s breathing, not worried about betrayal.
And as bad as it sounded, I liked that.
Did we trust each other? Maybe.
“You need to get yourself cleaned up. I’m not letting you in our room while you smell like the inside of a sky bison’s mouth.” I pushed her shoulder teasingly, offering a grin.
Grumbling, she got up and limped out of the locker room with a tired smile, leaving me alone with the stench of old sweat and dried blood.
Bouncing my leg, I closed my pad, waiting for something to happen. As horrible as it sounds, I need a bad guy to crash through the roof and attack Korra. Something to prove to me I wasn’t stuck in limbo or whatever. What was taking so long? Was there a break in between seasons?
Korra didn’t tell me much, but she looked older. Wearier. Was this my fault? Had I changed something essential simply by existing near Korra? Because if that was the case, I’d go full on Chad and punch a wall.
Sure, I didn’t want to come here. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want some spice in my life. And by spice, I meant enough action and adventure to force me to ignore my feelings. I was actually getting a bit worried. Was I the one “unbalancing” the universe? Sounds like something I’d do.
Sighing, I stood up and climbed the ladder to the attic. I looked around the small warm room before heading towards the beds.
I sat on my cot quietly and concentrated, gathering darkness grain by grain. I managed to get a small swirling cloud of darkness to float in my hand. I’d stolen it from the shadow the lamp cast against the walls.
This wasn’t bending—this was...something else. Just my luck, getting stuck in the Avatar universe, not as a nonbender, but as a fucking shadow bender. What even was that? I could’ve been a waterbender for goodness sakes—but no. Someone here had to be the evil villain with darkness powers. I wondered if this was how most villainous backstories went.
Focus.
I trained my vision on the grains of darkness (ha) and tried to move them, one by one, into a collective ball. I didn’t even know how it worked, right now it just looked pretty cool. That’s all it’d been for the past six months—cool. Nothing more because I was a bit of a pussy and didn’t wanna mess with shit I didn’t understand.
Even if the shit I didn’t understand was me.
God fuckinng dammit I could’ve been a waterbender.
There had to be cracks in this reality, in my memory.
It had been six months. Six months since I’d walked into a bodega in the middle of the night and never walked out. I could’ve been murdered. This may all have been my last few minutes of brain activity.
But why would that be a show I hadn’t even finished? Now I really wished I’d finished it because I needed to know whatever the fuck was going to happen next.
I dug my fingers into my palm as I went over these now familiar questions. Was this a dream? It felt pretty real, which is why I ruled that out the first time I ever got punched in here.
An extremely elaborate joke? Doesn’t explain the shadows. Plus, this whole getup with everyone constantly destroying the city and CGI flying bisons didn’t sound very achievable, if we’re talking in terms of the movie-that-shan’t-be-named.
“I think I clean up pretty nice.” Korra strolled in, a self satisfied smirk glued to her face.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and focus on Korra. I never got far with them. I was stuck here.
“Well look at you—you look like you’re from the Upper Rings of Ba Sing Sei!” I chuckled.
I looked at Korra from the side to see that her smirk had dropped. I stood up and slid next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder, not saying anything. We stayed like that for a couple minutes, leaning against each other, and I had to remind myself that I was comforting my only friend and not feeling up the Avatar’s muscles.
Heavens, I was a pretty shitty person. But what could I do about it right now?
*this timeskip is brought to you by katara’s hair loopies*
When I said me and Korra trusted each other, I never said the trust wasn’t misplaced.
When I was sure she was asleep, I crawled out of my cot.
I don’t know how Korra managed to keep sleeping through all the small noises the floor made as I climbed down the ladder and crept out the door. Goodness, my feet barely touched one of the boards and it creaked bloody murder.
I stayed close to the cement wall of the buildings—path lit only by the occasional forgotten lantern and the moon—until I reached the outskirts of the woods. Usually, I never walk about after dark, but this seemed safe enough. I swallowed before stepping inside. No matter how many times I’d gone inside, it was always unnerving until I stepped inside. When I did, I was almost immediately comforted by the usual sights and noises.
It was surprisingly humid that night, and I pulled my sweaty hair away from my face and neck, spinning it into a bun.
“Alright.” I swayed on my feet, trying to hype myself up, “Let’s do this.” I focused on everything around me, trying to find the familiar tug of darkness that always made my stomach do loops.
I was praying that these powers were just coincidental because usually shadows amd darkness correlated directly with the villain. And I might be shitty and wear red more than necessary—but I wasn’t really interested in world domination or anything. Maybe I’d just be a really questionable anti-hero.
Focus!
I curled my fingers inward, arms stretched out, trying to bring in something. It felt a bit like trying to grab blowing sand. If the sand extremely stubborn and heavy. Especially the part where sand is way too small to grab and most of it falls to the floor.
I felt them moving, gliding over rocks and trees, inch by inch, trying to reach me. I was pushing my luck now, straining to just keep the shadows moving towards me. My arms were shaking and I was probably red in the face.
Sighing, I dropped my arm and the small spark of connection I’d felt and watched the shadows rush back to where they were before, as if nothing had ever disturbed them.
“Well shit.” I sighed as a dropped to the floor, back against a tree.
I tried again, but in closer range. This time it was easier to let the shadows come to me, and the exaggerated “come hither” motion of my hand no longer felt stupid, but natural. Smiling at the minuscule bout of progress, I twirled my hand around spinning the shadows around and making small shapes.
If I looked closely, they looked like small, pitch black grains of sand, sucking the already weak moonlight and surrounding me in an unnatural darkness. I got tired after a couple minutes, the shadows leeching my energy. Breathing in, I squeezed my fist and felt all the energy the shadows had stolen from me and the nearby plants rush into my body. It felt like a tingle, a rush, then it stopped, and I just felt stronger.
I saw a weed on the ground droop and frowned.
It was my fault it was drooping.
My shadows.
It was a weed in the middle of a forest, but then again—so was I.
I smiled grimly, then walked back to the building, ignoring the shadows that wavered and moved when I approached them.
*this time skip is sponsored by all that meat that sokka promised to give up once he got out of that hole*
If I was that punching bag, I would’ve hit back, because I’m different like that.
Alas, the sand-filled lump of cloth didn’t react to my increasingly aggressive advances. I grit my teeth, taking years out of unspoken anger out on it, tears of frustration making their way into my eyes.
I couldn’t do anything right here. Maybe it was because I didn’t even belong here.
I usually only came to this old run down gym when I was feeling like shit. Which was often. Homesickness was basically a nightly routine now. And today everything just felt hopeless and I’d be stuck here forever without a purpose and ect. Bad thoughts.
I shifted my feet, making a fist and starting to hit the punching bag again.
I’d never thought I’d say this, but I’d do anything to leave this place. And this was coming from someone who used to imagine being here all the time.
Well, it turns out—I wasn’t the best pro-bender in the world and I didn’t fight crime. Ironically, on somedays, I was the crime.
By the end of the ineffective rant, I was hitting the bag with all of my might. Anger didn’t really matter when my puny noodle arms were enough evidence that this fight was already lost. The punching bag stood there, impartial and unaffected by my attacks.
“Goddam you!” I kicked the weight on the ground, hissing when my pinky toe took the grunt of it, “You’re an inanimate object, the least you could do is lose and spare my fucking feelings!” I probably looked incredibly stupid if anyone was watching from the small window in the corner, but I didn’t quite care at the moment.
“Seem’s like someone’s having trouble,” said a male voice from behind me.
I turned quickly, mentally scolding myself for not hearing him enter the gym.
The moment before I recognized him, I thought of how stupid it was for me to be murdered by a random man, in a random gym, in a random universe, after he’d probably just seen my little tantrum. I gulped, I’d murder me too, I guess.
And then I recognized his face.
It took me a moment to register and whole lot of exaggerated blinking for me to accept.
“What the fuck?!” I thought out loud.
Mako. Like...Mako Mako.
Main character Mako.
Shit. I was supposed to be avoiding everyone but Korra, and so far—I’d been doing a pretty good job.
How did this man even get a long enough break from work to have enough time to come to a nearly run-down gym in the corner of the city?
Seriously? What are the fucking odds he catches me right now?
“Excuse me?” he looked taken aback.
“Shut it, pretty boy.” I raised a hand, blocking him from my view and turning my head away.
Out of sight, out of mind. I stood there for a couple seconds, frozen in panic, before putting my hand down sheepishly. “You’re...still here.”
He tilted his head. “You weren’t really expecting that to work, were you?”
I sighed, annoyed. “A girl can dream.”
“Do I know you?”
“N-no. Well, I know you. You don’t know me, I hope.” Was I really standing there, stuttering in front of the guy who was probably so bad in bed that his ex girlfriends basically became lovers? Indeed I was.
He stood still for a second. I blinked back at him, really wishing I had some pepper spray so my OTP of him and the streets would finally come true.
“Do you recognize me from my pro-bending days?” he asked.
I hesitated. I couldn’t tell the truth, or even a modified version of it—but I still didn’t want to agree with anything he said. I nodded.
“You must’ve really hated the Fire Ferrets.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“You come here often?” he tried.
I shrugged.
“Not talkative then.”
Not talkative? Me? He had to be kidding. This man was playing the one I was actually good at!
“I just don’t divulge information about my habits to strange men in shady corners of town.” I put simply.
“Oh,” Mako looked uncomfortable, “I can see how it might seem—but I—it wasn’t like—it was just small talk.”
“Well, Mr. Small Talk, I came here for a reason and it was not to make uncomfortable 'small talk' with my least favorite pro-bender.”
“Least favo—?“ he spluttered for a second then started, “If your reason was to come here was to fail at menial tasks, then sure—don’t talk to me, hostile stranger.”
Scoffing, I walked away, back towards the weights. I had no fucking idea what I was going to do there, but if I stayed near Mako any longer, the deja-vu I was feeling would simply come to life and strangle me.
Maybe I should just leave early, in case Korra had another nightmare. I sat there for a moment. I had to be smart about this. I was being suspicious. Mako was a cop. Probably. How much time had passed? Either way—Mako was dangerous.
I looked at him from the corner of my eye, watching him practice with the ripped up dummy. Smiling a bit, I bent a shadow away from one of the cobweb filled corners of the gym and snuck it behind him, sapping a bit of his strength. To his credit, Mako didn’t falter. I kept watching as I absorbed his energy absentmindedly, feeling the tiniest bit stronger. I wasn’t checking him out, I was studying my enemy and stealing bits of his life source because I could.
I got up quietly after a couple minutes of messing around with the weights. Before I could head out the door quickly, Mako saw me.
I froze. He turned back around, disinterested. My shoulders sagged with relief and I wandered back out, keeping an eye on the other exit just to be sure.
It was starting to get cold outside and I pulled the cloak I’d brought around me. I walked briskly back to our makeshift apartment, changed, and climbed into my cot next to the gambling bills I had to keep track of and mark down.
I looked at Korra’s sleeping form, snoring softly and shifting around, mumbling something unintelligible about Air Temple Island.
Honestly, if I wasn’t constantly covering this girl’s tracks and was actually in normal circumstances—I would’ve probably caught on that the girl that looks like the Avatar, cringes every time someone mentions her name, and mumbles about important Avatar stuff in her sleep was—you know...the Avatar.
I closed my eyes, wanting nothing to do with tomorrow. Unless it consisted of my alarm waking me up in my own bed. Not that I’d be happy about my alarm clock waking me up, but it’d be a step up from waking up to the sound of the early morning matches.
My sheets were rough against my skin. I was thinking of home again. Which made no sense because I wasn’t really attached to home—more of the comforts that came with it. Like wifi or fanfiction or escalators. I steeled myself for the nightmares to come and closed my eyes.
They didn’t come.
Instead, what popped into my head was Mako.
Yes, Mako.
Fucking bastard.
Everyday, I strayed further from all that was good and closer to the Wattpad bad boy’s clutches.
He looked less tired and stressed then he was in the third season. Maybe Lin was finally making the poor guy take a break. The season must be about to start. Right? There was no way Mako could smile for more than five seconds without something going wrong. We had to be close to something. Anything needed to happen to tell me that my existence wasn’t screwing up the plot. Sighing, I rolled over and squeezed my eyes shut.
Golden eyes threatened to follow me into my dreams and everything peacefully faded to black.