Author's Notes: Hello there! Because I'm working on several different things (Big Brother, a oneshot I just finished up, my chapter story, and that challenge from Nerf-or-Nothing -- I have an idea, by the way), it's been hard to finish up one thing when so many ideas are fighting for top priority. So between scribbling about Mamoru and crazy AU Toph, I've been blinking at a prompts list I have and coming up with simple little drabbles. Thus, this collection was created. ((The title is completely random and has no real purpose, but I like it nonetheless.))
My favorite is 6. Ageless, for some reason. I think it's mostly the (wanna-be) parallelism that gets me. Review and let me know which one is your favorite! Or least favorite, I really don't care. But just so you know, another chapter should be up soon, and a real one at that. Stick around! It's AU!
Alisa
in a world full of liars
9. Nature
1. Natural
Katara says it's natural, something that happens to all girls "when their time comes." (She makes it sound painful.) He tries to be nice, considerate, to Toph when her time comes; she barks at him and gives not-so-friendly punches. Katara says that's natural, too. (He realizes it is painful—but not for Toph.) Then she's in tears and apologizing and hugging him in that not-so-friendly way he's learning to get used to. She wipes her nose on the back of her hand and stomps off. All natural, claims Katara. Sokka sighs—he's not sure how much more "natural" he can take.
2. Devastating
He got jittery, nervous around her, uncomfortable, confused. He didn't know what to say, how to act, when to breathe, where to stand, why he was like this. He'd never been this way before, not with her, not with anyone, he didn't know why. It was frightening, a desperate ache in his core, a touch into the unknown; devastating, and at the same time, the sweetest thing.
3. Thundering
A crack like bone snapping in two and he's awake, just awake enough to be startled by the resounding rumble that follows. Yet again he is thankful for the tent of rock over his head and the dry ground beneath him, the ceaseless bombardment of raindrops almost soothing when he's not in them. A soft sigh, barely heard, next to him, and Toph rolls over. He wonders how she can't be cold without a blanket, and throws his over her. She shifts, faces him, quiet breath tickling his ear; he does the same. A hand finds her waist, pulls her closer (she's cold—just repaying the favor). Above, deep thunder reigns.
4. Lines
Every movement, every shifting of her body, and they change. The curve of her cheek, the slope of her neck, the arch of her back, every one new and enticing and elegant for all her roughness and his fingers itch, reach to touch her and explore and understand. But he holds back, for there is an even greater line dividing them, one he cannot cross.
5. Genesis
It never really had a beginning—she likes to think that it was always there, just bidding its time, waiting for the opportune moment to surface. She just woke up one morning and knew, much like when one can tell if it will be a good or bad day (attributed to that might have been the fact that he was sitting at the side of her bed, watching her sleep). He took her hand and that was that, thank you very much. No one was very surprised, really, because it wasn't much of their beginning—no, she knows, their beginning had been there from the beginning.
6. Ageless
They say that love is timeless, that it can overcome all obstacles in its way and triumph over everything, untouched by years or wandering eyes. They say love conquers all, but, she wonders, have they ever been in love? Have they ever cried over one harsh comment or one cruel word? Have they ever fought over every little thing until there's no fight left? Have they ever woken up to find the bed cold or fallen asleep alone? Have they ever been stung by a cold silence or heartless touch? Have they ever fallen out of love? Have they, she wonders, fingers grasping the cold stone of the necklace at her throat, ever considered how long forever is?
7. Beauty
It occurred to him at the strangest times, how stunning she could be. Occasionally, for one reason or another, she would dress in the most expensive silks and jewels, her face painted and her hair perfumed, and he would think that she looks nice. But later, after she had torn the silk from her frame and washed the perfume from her hair and stomped her feet in the dirt, dressing only in that particular tunic of his that she liked so much—that was when she would take his breath away.
8. Harmony
One day she sits down and observes, and Katara notices something. It's something in the way they understand, she thinks, something in the way they communicate. They have something about them that doesn't need words but for all it's worth, Katara names anyway. It's a balance, simpler than the sun and moon but more complex than fire and water, an ever-changing scale never tipped. She calls it harmony, but they call it simply, love.
9. Survival
The most basic instinct in life—to fight, to live, to survive. Yes, they knew all about that. But it was more than life and death, more than going on and passing on—it was the difference between a passionate home and a broken friendship, between two hearts as one or one heart in two. It was about survival, and only the fittest can go on.
10. Protection
He said they were for protection—from what, she didn't ask. Instead her fingers found the tiny knots and undid them, pulled the long strips of cloth meticulously from his arms. Her fingers traced the untanned skin, palms pressing against flesh often left untouched. The ribbons of dirty white pooled, and exploring hands found faded and worn gloves. Curious fingertips mapped the material, the unique make and style, pulling cloth from long fingers, one two three. Blue joined the white, and he felt exposed and bare without them. Fingers trailed over fingers, palms, wrists, looping and dipping and learning. Pale, slender fingers slipped into place, at home amongst long, dark ones made for hers. Fingers tightened, bare wrist against bare wrist. And he found, in the gentle cup of her palm, that he needed no protection.