I'll bury you in my sound

Crumble - [The Legend of Korra]

A/N:  Bolin discovers he’s an earthbender. 

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CRUMBLE
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It is hot and the air is dancing for it, glitter-glitter-shine like water in the distance, and your lips are dry and you lick them and you are hungry, so hungry it hurts.  It hurts deep and twisting, not just in your belly but rippling down your back and into your legs, and when you curl your bare toes you feel the cracks in your heels spread and sometimes you swallow even though nothing’s been in your mouth but your tongue for almost as long as you can remember.

You are so hungry.

“Mako,” you tell your big brother.  “Mako, I’m so hungry.”

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Stoke The Fire - [The Legend of Korra]

A/N:  I’d be happy to!  Here you go!  115 words, even — one minute of writing.  Feel free to send me requests like these:  they’re nice exercises.

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STOKE THE FIRE
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His first job is heating the vats of lard at the soap factory in the city’s industrial sector.  He isn’t good at it, starting off:  his hands are too small, the flames they make weak and scarcely warm.  The lard doesn’t bubble.  The manager drags him out to the loading dock behind the factory and beats him, beats him, beats him until Mako stumbles and falls and spits out a tooth that wasn’t loose to begin with.  His lip is cut in three places—the blood from it runs sticky down his chin. 

“Again,” says the manager.  “See if you’re angry enough now, kid.”

The vat glows like an ember then, redder than the rest. 

Burning Question - [The Legend of Korra]

Anonymous asked you:

makorra? I’m in great need of some quality makorra as I have been spoiled with Ash- quality fanfic and won’t settle for anything less.

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BURNING QUESTION

She finds him sitting on the rooftop’s edge, looking out over the city and its lights like some narrow brooding vulturehawk, his shoulders a slanted square of black against the glare.  Thumping one, she drops next to him and sweeps her legs out across the ledge.  She swings them once, twice:  looks at him sideways, smiling.  Of course, he doesn’t smile back—not quite.  Not yet.

Their knees knock.

“So,” she tries.

His mouth’s corner twitches.  His nostrils flare and he volleys back, “So?”

“So we’re on the same team now and stuff,” Korra offers.  “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.  I guess we should, I dunno”—she shrugs—“try to have a civil conversation now?  Get to know each other, maybe?”

Mako exhales, a sound too short for a sigh, too long for a chuckle.  Digging his chin down into his scarf, he turns his gaze to her and blinks.  “Fine.”  Over that scarf his breath steams.  “What do you want to know?”

“Dude.  What does everyone want to know?”  Korra spreads her hands.  “What’s with the eyebrows?”