I think this is short enough to post without a cut, but if anyone disagrees tell me and I’ll stick one in. Have some pregnancy fluff, idek. 

——

Not The Mothering Kind

——

Lin knows the child won’t look like her. That, at least, is certain.

As a young woman she’d tried to imagine having a child. Tried to imagine the feel of a life inside her, of being pregnant, of becoming a mother.  The thought had felt – wrong. She hadn’t been ready for any of that. She’d liked her sharp, agile body. She’d liked her independence. She’d been prickly and fierce and hadn’t known how to be gentle, hadn’t known how to love generously and tenderly like children deserved. (Like Katara and Aang had loved their children; like her mother had loved her.)

I don’t want children, she’d told Tenzin, and he’d fallen in love with someone else.

But here she is now, watching Korra doze on their bed beside her, wondering what her child will look like. Their child. She wonders if it will have Korra’s hair, or her eyes, or that aggravating pout she gets when she sulks. She wonders and wonders. Can’t stop wondering.

Korra’s hand is curled around the edge of her belly, a gesture she’s careful not to make when she’s awake. Korra doesn’t like to seem soft. She doesn’t like anyone to think the pregnancy has changed her.

Oh, but she is soft: with the morning light pouring through the window, casting shadows on the deep dark of her hair, with her eyes closed and her arms flung out over Lin’s side of the bed, she looks so very soft, so very peaceful. And Lin, who likes seeming soft even less than Korra does, can’t help but brush Korra’s loose hair tenderly away from her forehead. She tucks Korra’s hair behind her ear and leans forward to press a light kiss to Korra’s cheek.

 Who knows. Maybe age has mellowed her.

Korra cracks open one eyes. Half yawns, half grins. “Caught you,” she sing-songs. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lin says blandly.

“Liar. You were feeling me up.” She shuffles closer to Lin, sheets tangling around her ankles. “C’mere,” she says. “Kiss me properly.”

 Lin kisses her properly. Thoroughly. Then she pulls back, one hand still pressed to Korra’s warm cheek. Korra looks straight back at her. Her usually piercing gaze is muzzy with sleep. Her smile is a little lopsided.

“Hey,” she says. “This kid.”

“Mm?”

“When it’s born, I think you should name it. A good traditional Earth Kingdom name.” Korra cracks out another yawn, then nuzzles up against Lin’s neck, warm breath gusting gently on Lin’s skin. “If you want to,” she adds.

Lin lies there with Korra in her arms, and doesn’t respond for a long time.

Their child won’t look like her. It won’t have her high cheekbones, her narrow eyes, her temper. But it will have her heart, bound to it with a cord of love stronger than simple blood. It will have an Earth Kingdom name, and Water Tribe eyes, and two mothers who love it. It will grow up strong and safe and adored. Their child. Her child.

“Yes,” Lin says. “I want to.”

“Good,” says Korra. “That’s good.”

Lin feels Korra’s smile against her skin; warm as sunlight.

I saw a woman on the train home this evening watching game of thrones on her laptop.

Internally I was like, WOMAN

WHAT ARE YOU DOING

IF ANYONE LOOKS AT YOUR LAPTOP THEY’RE GOING TO THINK YOU’RE WATCHING PORN ON THE TRAIN

DO YOU WANT TO SEEM LIKE THE SORT OF PERSON WHO WATCHES PORN ON THE TRAIN?

I didn’t think so.