|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Practice Makes PerfectThe arena was gorgeous at night, and Korra didn't know if she'd ever get used to the sight of it.
She had been tossing and turning in her bed unable to sleep for over an hour and had finally given up. Now she sat in her room, elbows propped up on her windowsill, staring at the arena, trying to relax. She wanted this constant irritation and doubt that had plagued her all day to just go away, but even the beauty of the arena's lights sparkling off the water didn't seem to be helping her forget her troubles.
It had been another rough day of training with Tenzin and the kids.
It was indeed true that something had clicked inside Korra, and after days of frustration, she could finally airbend. It was also quite true that she wasn't very good at it.
No matter what she did, it didn't seem like the rawness, the pureness, the sheer power of airbending was there for her. Tenzin kept trying to tell her that all she needed to do was practice more meditation, but that didn't make any sense. She wasn
An ImpossibilityMako had come to a conclusion about meditation:
It was impossible.
He'd been sitting in the pavilion for over five minutes, and he felt even more anxious now than when he started attempting meditation. He opened one eye and peered over at Korra. She didn't seem to be having any problems. Her legs were crossed, her fists lightly touching above her stomach. He closed his eyes again and tried to sit even straighter. How in the world was she clearing her mind? She'd explained it all to him before they sat down, sure, but that didn't help. Not when she was here sitting next to him.
With Korra around, relaxation was impossible.
She was there. Right there. If he stretched out his hand, he'd be touching her. Touching her! And honestly, even if she were further away, even if she wasn't sitting next to him, it would make no difference. He couldn't get her out of his head. Frankly, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head since they met. Ergo, clearing his mind was impossible.
Korra was gor
Celebration"Mako, why'd you hafta do that?!" Bolin growled, slamming his crossed arms firmly over his chest. He was quite upset at his brother, and for very good reason.
The Fire Ferrets had been having a perfectly lovely evening at the bar, celebrating their latest victory. There had been much laughing, dancing, and heavy drinking (all of those being strictly Korra-and-Bolin activities). Mako had been content slowly nursing his drink, relishing in the win and their happiness. Things started going south, however, when Bolin had sauntered away from their table to make an attempt at wooing another fangirl. Having lost her drinking buddy, Korra proceeded to get louder and more raucous, arguing with a Tigerdillos fan, standing on top of their table, making a scene, and somehow managing to catch the attention of the usually mellow bar owner.
Before the three got into serious trouble, Mako had grabbed Korra's arm, Bolin's collar, and the last bits of his reputation and dragged the two of the
TeamworkShe'd never felt more exhausted in her life.
Her entire life had been devoted to bending, working on techniques and training and pushing her body to its limits. She'd felt fatigued before, of course, but right now she just felt tired.
So very tired.
Korra's knees were nearly buckling under Bolin's weight as she and Mako carried him up the stairs together to the brothers' home. Each step she took made her legs shake with the extra burden. Bolin's arms were wrapped around each of their shoulders, but he, too, was miserably drained of energy, and was still pretty out of it. He couldn't support his own body, and after the night he'd experienced, Korra couldn't blame him. He slipped in and out of consciousness easily, but she wished he would just stay asleep.
Bolin screamed every time he awoke from his dreams. It made Korra cringe, unwilling to imagine the torture that he had been through.
She didn't want to think about it.
Bolin's boots banged against each step as they cl
Fate... or SomethingAs he leapt forward, his inner fire building up inside his fist for the final attack, for the win, Mako thought absently how this must have been fate or something. After all, he had been waiting for this moment, and the knowing look of defeat in Tahno's eyes satisfied him immensely.
This is what he'd been waiting for.
Mako had never liked the Wolfbat's waterbender. He was cocky and undeservedly so. But the truth of the matter was that Mako did not like many people, and this was not a new phenomenon, so he had always simply ignored Tahno whenever they passed in the arena or saw each other out. It wasn't that hard to pretend he didn't exist. After Tahno met Korra, however, and spoke to her in that filthy, cocky, condescending way, Mako realized that he didn't just dislike him. He hated him. He truly was disgusted by him and his stupid hair and his smug expression and his weird taunting (flirting?) with Korra and everything.
Korra had handled everything perfectly well of cour
AlwaysHe could never get that lock of hair to stay off his forehead.
Bolin stood in front of the mirror, running his hand from the front to the back of his head again and again. He dipped his fingers in the bowl of water that was set next to him, stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth ever so slightly, and tried again. The annoying bit of hair was swept up with the rest for a brief moment, but within seconds, it fell back onto his forehead.
"Fine!" Bolin growled, pointing a finger at his reflection with squinted eyes. "Be that way!" He shook his head, and the tendril aired out a bit and bounced happily in its rightful place. Bolin spun around and held his arms out, showing off his appearance. "So, what do you think, buddy?"
Pabu looked up, squeaked, and continued munching on a leechi nut.
"Awesome! Lookin' good," he said, turning back to the mirror and admiring his reflection as he stroked his hairless chin. It was strange to see himself like this, in an outfit like this. He'd onl
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
Keep in Touch!