Fic: Tokka Week 2015

[yours_truly]

Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender
Rating/Warnings: General Audiences/none
Summary: A collection of three sentence fics for each day of Tokka Week, inspired by the prompts provided by the organizer(s).
Notes: These ficlets were originally posted on my Tumblr, and can also be found on AO3 here.


day 1: taste | [ferrous]

the tang of metal on his tongue might be blood, might be shrapnel, might just be something that floats in the air in this desolate, forsaken part of the world, and sokka would give anything in this moment for the familiar crisp salt breeze of the south pole.

but everything is stagnant–even time stops, and the only thing moving is toph’s tiny hand as it slowly slips out of his; when she inevitably falls, his body is contorted in a way that won’t even let him do the honor of watching her go, and he hates himself for feeling glad that he won’t have to see it.

there are no more swords, no more boomerangs, no more weapons or skills or anything that can overcome his fractured leg, her failing grip, and the cadre of soldiers ready to burn two children in order to uphold their dream of sovereign dominion: “it looks like this is the end.”
 

~*~

day 2: i hope you’re happy | [learning how to cry is the hardest part]

most of the time it’s genuine–she really does wish sokka and suki all the best.

her friends and comrades are worthy of one another; their courage, good humor, and integrity are more than the sum of their parts; in her most very honest moments, toph even admits that suki has a subtlety and forthrightness that might genuinely make her better suited for the pony-tailed meathead.

most of the time it’s genuine–the rest of the time, she wants to pound mountains in gravel.

~*~

day 3: illness | [still got it]

in spite of katara’s diligent healing efforts, toph develops a slight fever after zuko burns her feet at the campsite above the western air temple; sokka can feel her over-heated skin pressing against his chest as he carries her through the ruins, and he makes sure that evening to move his sleeping roll next to her spot by the fire in case she needs to get up in the middle of the night.

though slightly lethargic, her wit and temper remain undimmed, and by lunchtime the next day she’s had enough: “you’re acting like my parents,” she accuses, and she tells him she doesn’t need a guardian or a keeper smothering her.

“i just thought you might like some help from a friend,” he mutters, grabbing an apple and preparing to saunter away, when suddenly (with something that sounds like an apology in her voice?) she calls for him to wait–her head is cocked to the side while she concentrates on the stone floor beneath her, and then there’s a devious smile creeping over her face as she asks him if he’d like to help her by paying a special visit to aang and zuko as they train…

~*~

day 4: we danced | [two step]

the drums send tremors up her legs, and even across the room she can detect the wind from the horns on the fine hairs at the back of her neck; the crowd’s feet, shuffling and pounding and jumping, feel like an earthquake; her ears are assaulted by music and laughter and conversation; and it’s hot, sweltering, the season and the mass of people conspiring to raise the temperature to an uncomfortable level.

it would be an assault on her senses, a battle to sort through everything and make sense of the scene around her, but to be honest all of her attention is preoccupied by the fact that she’s currently in a corner dancing with sokka with great exuberance and little coordination but more joy than she’s felt since before ba sing se, before the desert, maybe since before she can remember–it feels good.

they end up having to beat a hasty retreat from the cave, flying away from the island as fast as appa can carry them, but she can’t seem to stop smiling and when she tells aang that he helped those kids, taught them to be free, what she really means is i’ll carry tonight with me always.

~*~

day 5: behind closed doors | [crush]

which are more impenetrable: the walls of her rock tents or the careful defenses she builds and maintains around the secrets of her affections?

sincerity is dangerous–they missed you or something; i didn’t care–when the thought of showing weakness is unbearable, and surely humiliation is the only destination at the end of that road.

she nurses her feelings close, tells herself his jokes aren’t funny, and he’s too tall and awkward anyway, but she can’t stop herself from recognizing his heartbeat from one hundred paces away.

~*~

day 6: no excuses | [justification]

there’s no war to be fought or battles to be won, no bad guys chasing after them, nothing to make him confront his mortality and take a careful look at his life and whether he’s lived it honestly and completely.

there’s no celebration or holiday, he’s not running high on excitement and cheer filling him with good-will and affection that will be sincere but short-lived in its extremity.

he simply leans over and finally kisses her because wants to, and has for a while, and that’s enough.

~*~

day 7: complete | [live we can]

their demons are different but complementary, so mostly it works: dead mothers, absent fathers, and parents who somehow managed to be distant and overbearing at the same time all seem to breed children with selfless hearts who use humor to cope; who knows how that happened, but they’re grateful anyway.

they’ve got airships in common of course, and they know that’s the reason he has nightmares and why sometimes she’s angry with no discernible cause, but over the years they learn how to compensate–they manage salves, not cures, but it’s better than nothing.

while life has certainly taken things from both of them, it’s given them things too, and they find that that’s easier to remember when they aren’t facing the days alone; the math might not make sense, but for some reason two interrupted childhoods put together equals a unit that’s closer to whole than broken, and they know that they deserve that much at least.