3 ficlets [2 Avatar, 1 Boti]
To fight off writer's block, I've been writing some scribbly drabbles in my regular journal. I ended up actually liking a few of them, and decided to repost here.
Title: Calligraphy
Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender
Characters: Ty Lee
Word Count: 608
Warnings: None
Notes: Written for ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
palpable
You can never take back a stroke of the brush, the teacher tells them again and again before pulling back her sleeve to let her hand dance over the paper, leaving fluid, perfect writing in its wake. Ty lee licks her lips and urges her hand steady. Calligraphy is hard. It’s as if the signs are flies she’s hunting after and trying to catch with the brush for a net; when she tried to explain this to the teacher it earned her a smack on the head.
The heat of the afternoon sun is relentless, but the highest window, just below the roof, is shady. Sitting perched on the windowsill she hesitates with the tip an inch above the paper. The signs buzz in her head. Already trying to fly away from her.
The slam of a door nearby and her hand twitches, a heavy drop of jet black ink falling on the paper. It’s ruined now. You can’t write on a stained paper, you’ll get scolded. Frowning, she leans forward to scrutinize the spot. It has almost dried already.
On closer look, the dot looks like one of Mai’s hairbuns. Round and dark. She adds another little dot to the side, and that makes the impression stronger. A thin line like a bridge between them, and that’s the top of Mai’s head. She adds a fringe. Cheeks and chin. Eyes and nose. It looks very much like Mai now. Ty Lee draws her mouth in a huge smile. Mai doesn’t look this happy too often, but when she does, she’s really, really pretty.
She’s pretty in the drawing, too. Ty Lee nods proudly to herself and dips the brush again.
Azula is next. Azula in Ty Lee’s picture holds fire in one hand and a jewel as big as her head in the other. Ty Lee knows Azula doesn’t have any jewels, or at least not any of that size, but in the picture it seems fitting, somehow. After giving it some thought, she draws another gem in a necklace around Azula’s neck as well. Diamonds would look nice on Azula.
Then she draws herself, in the middle. There isn’t much room left so Ty Lee is a little smaller than her friends, but that’s alright. She makes her aura extra large instead, encompassing all three of them. Lots of tiny specks and a long wavy line in an arch above their heads; that’s a pink aura when you paint in black and white. They should make pink ink, Ty Lee thinks. Calligraphy would be a lot more fun if they did.
Lastly, she adds a Zuko in the corner. At first she’s about to draw him crying -Zuko cries pretty easily- but it wouldn’t really be fair, so instead she draws him with his mouth open in a yell. It looks as if he’s yelling at them. He probably is, she decides with a giggle, and adds tiny bolts of lightning shooting from his head. Angry, angry Zuko.
The picture is complete. She holds it up before her, pinching the edges carefully so as not to smudge the still wet lines.
Azula is a little too tall and Mai’s eyes sit too close together—otherwise it’s really good. Ty Lee puts the thin paper down on the floor so the wind won’t sweep itt down from the windowsill and into the garden.
Homework now. Or else teacher will get mad. She hovers with the brush above the paper. The tip is heavy with ink.
A light tap and another drop falls, very, very dark against the white.
Ty Lee smiles. That will be the dragon’s eye.
FIN
Title: Repainting
Fandom: Blade of the Immortal
Characters: Doa, Isaku
Word Count: 300
Warnings: None
Notes: Written for ruhenheim in a drabble meme.
Without the weight of a sword bumping against her hip for each step her body feels light. Too light. Not grounded. Doa puts her heels down firmer and tries to switch the images in her mind with ones that aren't painted in red.
It's for the best. It's how it has to be. Isaku's fingers fills the emptiness in her hand since she left the blade behind and she squeezes them harder, trying to will her own palm to grow larger to fit him better.
"Doa," Isaku says. When Isaku says it, her name sounds beautiful. Loved. She turns her head up, and his face shades her view for the sun. "Now that you aint fighting no more, we could do that settling down. Grow those potatoes, maybe."
Her ears long for the sound of steel against bone just then. Doa tilts her head, so light without carrying an iron plate, and pushes the feeling away.
She pushes it away, but she can’t replace it. The earth doesn't pull her like the blood did and does.
"Isaku," she says. When she takes his name in her mouth, it tastes like home. Doa isn't a liar, but she keeps her eyes on Isaku's face and tells him half a truth. "I don't like potatoes."
"Oh." There's surprise in his voice but no disbelief. Her thoughts are already straying toward other things when Isaku smiles. "Tha-that's alright. We can grow corn instead."
It's too hard. Isaku is too happy and the day is too sunny, and maybe once they reach the place Isaku is painting in green in his head he will have forgotten about potatoes and corn already. He will forget, Doa decides, squeezing his hand and walking forward, forward.
Her head is light; her feet are firmly on the ground.
FIN
Title: Will Yourself Through
Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender
Characters: Fem!Ozai, Fem!Aang
Word Count: 414
Warnings: For genderswap, in case that's not your cup of tea
Notes: Written as a birthday gift for tl__dr
The Avatar shaves her head. She rakes a knife over her scalp and cuts off every strand of hair while it’s still only stubble. Her skull is perfectly round and smooth, like the pebbles the children use to play. She’s a girl, but she has no hair.
It looks grotesque. Revolting.
Ozai’s hair is coarse and unkept, but it is long and dark and befitting of a woman. It doesn’t hang in her eyes, not anymore. Ozai keeps her head high again.
You can endure anything. If they take away your fire, you endure the cold. If they take away your light, you endure the dark. If they strip you of your dignity, if they drag you through the mud, you close your eyes and hold your breath and endure.
For a while, she refuses to eat. It’s a matter of pride. Of defiance. Her breasts shrink and sag, her hips become narrow and her cheeks hollow. She doesn’t mourn her beauty as she mourns her kingdom, but she aches as it slips away from her, that as everything else.
The Phoenix Queen is a golden figure in her dreams. Sometimes she forgets they are the same person.
When the Queen comes to her even as she’s awake, she knows she can’t keep starving herself. The soggy vegetables in her bowl taste better than any other delicacy she’s ever tasted. She eats slowly, despite her stomach crying for more. Her will is still strong. Only her body is weak.
The Avatar accompanies the traitor Ozai used to call her daughter many years ago the next time she comes to ask her endless, foolish questions about the man Ozai used to call her husband. She must have heard of the hunger strike. Ozai considers it a victory.
She is as ugly as always, in her gaudy colors and shapeless clothing, with her jarring tattoos and chunky wooden beads. Doesn’t she know how barbaric, how ridiculous she looks? She is the only of her kind. Preserving their customs won’t help.
Ozai has turned phrases over in her head, planned out things to say, sharp words to cut bare skin, but she ends up saying nothing.
The Avatar looks at her with bright blue eyes and purses her lips with pity. She looks at her and the person reflected in her eyes is not grotesque, not revolting, only frail, wilted and pitiable.
Ozai keeps her head high, but her chin quivers.
Her hair sticks to her cheeks.
FIN
accomplished
