Rachel, 20 year old college student and dedicated Avatar: the Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra fan.
I mostly talk to people and reblog craploads of things. I sometimes write fic or make gifs/graphics. I comment extensively in my tags, and I am prone to headcanon about anything and everything.
I adore worldbuilding, families, and jerkbenders. Commentary and character analyses are my true loves.
Mako measures his life in how many times he’s outlived his father: twenty eight; fifty six; he doesn’t quite make eighty four, and he’s kind of glad.
Summary: Aang returns home from business in the Earth Kingdom
Pairing: Kataang
Rating: K
Notes: I was going to write Makorra then I went Kataang o o p s. Arbitrarily titled after the song “All Things Beautiful” from the soundtrack of The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.”
***
He comes into the city not himself; a year or a century of childhood spent in hiding brings a dull stab of pain between the shoulderblades, runs a shivering memory of ice on his skin. He shakes it away and tugs at his collar, dull brown instead of ochre, as the freighter smooths the waves behind it down to black-green glass. His hat threatens to fly into the sea and his fingers turn to brittle nails that tack it to his head. Unnatural, uneasy, his glider is snapped tight with wire to serve as the walking stick for the man he is pretending to be.
He walks off the ship to the docks district, a coastline stretched far from the pale green dock that still smells of fresh cut wood and a new home. He pays his fare and leaves with a small burlap sack over his shoulder, the sun at his back.
It was easier when he was younger, being small, a boy with the presence of a sparrow rolling in the dust. Even now in the poor brown suit, the sleeves tucked over the backs of his hands, people look up and stare because he is tall. He towers, smiles, ducks his head to shuck off titles that don’t belong there. The pedestrians in the city are kind and let him pass through as one of them, heavy and burdened. He dislikes pressing coins into the slots of trolleys, and tries not to choke on his smile when he empties his pockets to the homeless.
The world has changed. He holds it in the fatigue of his body, age lingering there that he should be too young to feel. Maybe once the sting of arrows and burns scorched the earth and the Avatar’s skin, but now he senses steel rods of foundation splintering his bones. Change, not progress, and he rubs his arms to shake the feeling away.
Title: “Shadow Child” by pinkaffinity
Fandom: LoK
Rating: T
Word count: 4,900
Published: March 25, 2013
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Author’s note: OHHH HEY THERE, HANNAH! I’M YOUR SECRET VALENTINE! OH, HAPPY DAY. (And we’ll just ignore that this is oh so late, hehehe.) Hopefully this is close to what you wanted. I tried? Anyway… enjoy, friend!! :D
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Mako held out his hand, wanting. He felt his toes itching to tap out his impatience, felt his fingers dying to scrabble for the money that tempted him and teased him. He took a deep breath; he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was a little hungry. He couldn’t tell if that’s what was making him anxious or if he was just sick of Shady Shin’s backhanded compliments whenever they met up for a pay exchange inside the shadows of Silk Road.
“—never thought you’d come crawling back to us. Of all people. Well, you’re not as pathetic-looking now, so that’s good, but—”
Mako kept his hand steady and kept his face steady and kept himself steady as Shin counted out his and Bolin’s share from the bets from yesterday’s match, flicking through the yuans carelessly. Their colors flashed, pinks and purples and teals blurring, and Mako just wanted to grab them and go but he had to listen and he had to obey.
This was something he couldn’t mess up.
They needed this.
Aaaaahhh, it turned out wonderfully, Jessie~!
Summary: Fourteen years ago, a masked man intercepts a letter to the White Lotus, breaks into the home of a young Water Tribe couple, and leaves with their only daughter. Now, she is seventeen, a youth in the spring of awakening. (An Equalist!Korra AU).
| Family, drama, angst, throw in some romance | T on the edge of M | ~ 8,300 |
other chapters
A/n: sorry for the wait. enjoy. spoiler: this chapter ends happily WHO’DA THOUGHT IT WAS POSSIBLE oh korra one thousand years hugs for you, god. friendship! romance! good things!! likes are good, reblogs are better, COMMENTS ARE THE BEST.[CHAPTER 8]
I. ENCOUNTERS
Things Korra knows: Equalism, chi-blocking, the location of each chakra like secrets she has hidden herself; what fire and earth are (poetry in a language she is just beginning to speak), cracked, dry-skinned anger. The hopeful longing of waking up with the warmth of someone else, but only the idea of it, a whisper, lingering like a half-heard tune. And her father, she knows her father - oceanic endurance, the invulnerability of winter. His expression carved in stone as he hammers power into himself, palms braced against the floor, muscles rolling in his arms and back, weakness dripping from his skin as he counts: eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine… And then he turns over, bends his knees, arms crossed to his shoulders, and begins a new set. Every morning. Strength requires clockwork discipline.
Things she doesn’t know: the tone in Noatak’s voice when, as she is definitely not using firebending to light the burners for breakfast, there is an agh! and a muffled thump and then her name -
“Korra?! Korra!!”
Title: “Safety Net” by pink-affinity
Fandom: Legend of Korra
Rating: T/PG-13
Word count: 5423
Published: May 4, 2012
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Makorra: This argument was routine. That being said, all arguments between the two of them were routine. They’d been arguing with each other about anything and everything since the first day they’d met.
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Mako woke to the sounds of screaming.
No, it wasn’t really screaming— it was more of a horrible, ear-piercing, infantile screeching, the same exact sound that had plagued him every night and every day for the past two months. He groaned.
Summary: set in between books 1 and 2, Mako and Korra have a lazy date night in between cop training and Avatar duties. fluffy fluff fluff fluff.
Pairing: Makorra
Rating: K+
Notes: for eveeli, the person I was assigned for the makorra fic exchange!! I hope you like it~
***
Korra experiences the first night of summer with air curling from her palms, bowing flickering flames and sending fireflies off course like her hands brush the stars from the night-blue sky.
The Air Nomad robes don’t help with the hotness that lingers in the earth, pushing the captured sunlight from the day on the surface of stones and asphalt, ebbing it all back into the night. Under the rough fabric, Korra’s skin is slick with warm sweat. It feels like a lazy ribbon of rough saffron breezes have swirled around her skin and have decided to cling to the atmosphere of her body.
She turns her ankles in the opposite direction of her hips in the opposite direction of her hands, because airbending forms are all conflicting in movement and in her heart. What she wants is to sink herself off the cliffs of Air Temple Island, let the water meet her with a kiss and spread out on a rock to watch lazy stars reveal themselves through wispy, dirty lavender clouds. Let the water in the air keep her skin cool and saturated, beads of it rolling across her body like soft fingertips and tracing tongues.
Summary: Reading and writing on the backs of brown paper bags stuffed sweet with the smell of opium; Mako can’t write his name.
Rating: T
Word Count: 7,000
Chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Warnings: violence, general nastiness
Notes: This is a weird time to update I know but I might as well. Sorry for the wait!!
***
Words were tricky; they looked sharp and charcoal-dry, stale and scratched into yellowed pages that still had imprints from the printing press warping them, smelling like chalky dust and glue. Mako had held books a few times in his life, always secretly gutted and replaced with things he could understand: either re-laced with lines of code for pickups and drop-offs, or hollowed out and stuffed with brown paper bags that smelled of incense. He never had use for words.
Arak and a handful of other Triads thought otherwise. Bolin sat at the kitchen table, leaning against Arak’s arm as the older man wrote lines of nonsense on a familiar brown paper bag. At his side, a long pipe burned with silky black tar stuffed in its maw.
He wrote lines of childish poetry - owlcat and dog fight, mother and father love baby - and slid the bag to Bolin along with the pencil. As Bolin copied his words, Arak inhaled his smoke and rested his head on the table to let the high wash over him.
Bolin took to words the same as he took to anything, with eager, gap-toothed smiles and rough hands. He whispered the words out loud as he laid them down with shaky lines, a handling that Arak slowly began to mimic as opium gummed up his bones.
Mako sat at a low table in the other room of Arak’s apartment, leaning against a thin pillow, partially listening to the men around him discuss the renovation of a nightclub. He kept leaning back against the wall to look through the open doorway into the kitchen, watching Arak slump on the table as his mind grew heavy with smoke. All the while Bolin’s back curved, as if the new knowledge in his head was making it impossible to hold up, until he rested it against the table.
“Mako. Hey, Mako.”
OK HERE IT IS I FINALLY FINISHED
I threw that three-line condition out the window a very long time ago and kind of went nuts with the prompt, Mako is the only gangster here
Kinda smutty
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They stomp up the stairs and stumble out of the speakeasy, her hands fisted in his coat, his arm around her waist, to find that it’s raining, and the rain-streaked glow of street signs, pinks and yellows, bright reds and scattered starlit blues, colors her drunkenness with childish delight - all these lights, drifting on the surface of the midnight hour, like lanterns floating on a dark pond. Mako trips and she hauls him up, laughing as he flails and clings to a lamppost, and their reflections blur as they pass over puddles, damp hair, drop-spotted clothing.
/dying whale noises
Summary: Korra comes home to a dark apartment and a boyfriend who’s had a bad day.
Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort
Characters: Mako, Korra (Makorra)
Word Count: 1,400
A/N: haven’t written anything in a while so this was a nice warm-up for me, comments and reblogs always appreciated! mako you are such a fun little character aren’t you****
Late summer, and the sky burns slowly through the deeper colors of dusk. A lick of pomegranate curling inwards on yellow edges, the languid seep of navy purple towards the horizon, a dusting of pale stars. Korra presses her hand to the wall and feels for the key hidden inside; it touches cold to her palm and she closes her fingers and bends the wall flat again. She opens the door.
The apartment is dark, the air is quiet, and she trips on something soft just a few feet into the room. She bends down to pick it up and it’s his coat. It’s not like him to leave things lying around, especially not like this, dumped on the floor… Korra picks it up and it seems - darker, heavier; she turns it over and rubs her fingers together, soaked wet with something, and when she holds them up to the light, her fingertips are slick with blood.
Title: “The Jade Necklace” by pinkaffinity
Fandom: LoK
Rating: T?
Published: January 20, 2013
a/n: For Rachel.
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“Bolin! How could you lose it?!”
“I… I’m sorry! It was an accident!”
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His mother once had a jade necklace.
He still remembered the day his father gave it to her. He remembered the stones dripping over her fingers, he remembered her surprise and her refusal at such a lavish gift, he remembered his father’s insistence that she keep it, and he remembered the kiss they shared, so full of love and so wrought with hope. They were a beautiful couple.
He remembered.
“Can you please help me put it on, Mako?” she’d asked him sweetly. He stumbled up from the floor and rushed over to her because of course, of course, of course he’d help her. She knelt down to his height, and with his tongue peeking out from between his lips, he latched it behind her neck. His father beamed at him, and his mother kissed his head and pressed her fingertips on the stones that lay so lovely on her skin.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Oh my goodness, Jessie, you turned our horrid game into fic like I knew someone would, and now I will have to do the same.
And now I am burning for some more info on Mako and Bolin’s parents, and my heart was just hurting so much for my boys, and my train of thought ended up going exactly the way Mako’s did.
Dang. I love this.
