Hello everybody! I'm Tawny, and this is going to be a multi-fandom blog, from
cartoons like Lok to TV shows like BSG and GoT and Sherlock and classic novels like Anne of Green Gables and more, such as history!!! There's gonna be something here for everyone! ;)
Fandoms: Ice Age, Doctor Who, Rise of the Guardians, Legend of Korra/Avatar the Last Airbender, Young Justice, How to Train Your Dragon, OUAT/OUATIW, Casson Family series, Sherlock etc.
Also, whilst this is my personal/fandom blog, it functions as a writing blog of sorts since I reblog so many writing tips and helps.
I'd also like to say that I post a LOT of Ice Age posts on this blog (ranging from meta to fic to speculation to general discussion), and get a lot of Ice Age anons nowadays, so please be aware of that before you click the follow button!
Addendum: I also write A LOT (tis my favourite thing) so don't be afraid to send me a request :) However, please be patient with me since I often get many!
Ships: Manny/Diego (bromance/BrOTP), Doctor/River (Eleven/River) (OTP), Amy/Rory (OTP) Manny/Ellie (OTP) Gwen Stacy/Peter Parker (OTP) Wally West/Artemis Crock (OTP) Korra/Tarrlok (OTP) Bolin/Korra (OTP) Katara/Aang (OTP) and others. Don't be afraid to send me an ask if you want me to write a pairing!
Once again, this one actually has a title. And it’s erm 3k words so I hope you’ll read it since I know long oneshots deter readers here. Is a continuation to THIS story from Korrlok Week and is partially based off a comment of a reblog of Zenaga’s. (thanks for the comment sweetie I hope you like the story :3) The burial practice Korra does for Tarrlok at the beginning is research from Inuit/Eskimo burial customs and the depressingly appropriate song that I was playing that gave this story its title and also my atmosphere for this is piece is Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years. Enjoy!!! And please don’t kill me, I know Korra acts a bit batshit crazy in this during the middle part….
Korra stood on the tundra, her gaze falling upon the still face of her husband. Only his face was visible from the wrappings of the blanket she’d ensconced him into. She’d made the journey alone to the North Pole, travelling in secret so that no one would follow her. A strangled giggle emerged from her mouth as she remembered Tarrlok telling her once how much he loved the wide open ice fields of the tundra, where he’d often slipped away to inspect the magnificent yaks and wolves, out of a childish curiosity. She could see him doing such a thing, it sounded just like what his tender boy’s heart would have done before his father instructed him in the cruel art of bloodbending that nearly destroyed his innocence.
She bent down, gently brushing her lips against Tarrlok’s before her arms reached out, scooping his silent form closer to her as tears froze into icefalls on her cheeks. She pressed another kiss on Tarrlok’s pale lips, her heart beating fast as she once again hoped that her action might awaken him, but she was rewarded only with silence as snowflakes sparkled down all around her. She resented the beauty of the snow. Her husband was gone. Nothing feels right to her anymore, and she has sworn vengeance on his murderer, and she will have her revenge.
Korra felt a tear slip out of her left eye, her grief overwhelming her. Placing his body down onto the ice again, she began to gather rocks to pile up around him. It was a fitting burial to give him, she deemed, returning him to the place he loved best as a child. One by one she stacked her stones around his body, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing sight of his scarred face.
The exertion caused by carrying the stones and the weight of her grief crushing down on her, so she draws to stop, only then just then realising the violent blue glow in the sky is the harbinger of dusk. She lies down next to the cairn, her hand reaching down inside so that it brushes against the bumps of Tarrlok’s ridges of scars that line his face. A river of tears spills out of her eyes at the contact.
“Tarrlok, dearest, my sweet, come back to me,” She whispered, although she knew there would be no answer. “Tarrlok, Tarrlok, Tarrlok,” She began to repeat his name in a frenzy. There was no one to hear her anguished reiterations of his name, plying it between her lips like a caress. “Tarrlok, come back to me,” She pleaded, stroking his scars tenderly, tears continuing to slide down her cheeks, the drops of liquid freezing as the cold – as cold as her heart at this moment – reached them. Her fingers entangled with a strand of his long hair and she twirled it around in her index finger. The memory rose into her mind of her doing the same thing with Tarrlok’s hair that morning when her whole world had vanished before her eyes. Her ears rang, once again, with Tarrlok’s words to her before he’d slipped away, leaving her desolate and alone:
“I…. love…. You… Korra… I’m sorry… It had to end like this… Korra… Korra… you are like life itself to me… It’s the least I can do, giving my life in exchange for yours… Korra… my sweet…. You can be strong… even if I’m not here with you.
His words sank into her mind, filling her even more with an acute sense of loss. She wanted suddenly to grasp his hand with all of her intensity, but even that touch is denied her. Her arm slipped from out of the shelter of the stones and it landed on her propped-up knees. Korra laid her head down onto her knees, bringing her arms up around her face to hide her abrupt explosion of tears.
“I miss you so much, Tarrlok, dearest,” She murmured in between the chokes of sobs. “Will I ever see you again? I promise that I will bring your murder to justice, I swear it!”
At last her tears are spent. She rose from her sitting position and then leaned over her cairn of stones, taking one last, long stare at the still face of her Tarrlok before she closed over his resting place with the final stones.
She stepped away from the cairn, her eyes brimming with moist tears as she raised her face to the now dark blue skies. The tendrils of the Aurora Borealis, decorated in all the colours of the wind, waving in hues of green and purple and pink and light blue.
She lifted her hands towards the sky, glancing back again at Tarrlok’s cairn as she spoke to the Spirits.
“Great spirits and Avatars of my past life, hear my prayer as I, the Avatar, humbly come before you as an advocate for the tarniq of my husband and my dearest love, Tarrlok of the Northern Water Tribe. He sacrificed my life for me… and I ask of you to take his tarniq up to the joyful place in the sky our elders gave us the knowledge about when we were children.”
After she’d thrown her words into the night air, a silence fell over the tundra. Korra held her breath in anticipation, hardly daring to hope, and then felt a whisper trickle over her. She looked up, seeing the glowy blue trail of Tarrlok’s tarniq fading away into the Aurora Borealis. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she placed her fingers to lips and then took them away, blowing a kiss at the disappearing tarniq of her lover.
Words: 1, 088
Welp it got long again and it got FLANGSTY but anyway, here is my entry for day 7.
Korra lets out a playful groan as her boots make squishes into the mud as she traipses along, her feet stepping into the footprints of the man striding in front of her. Tarrlok stops short, causing her to bump into him. She gives him a genuine smile and then reaches out to take his hand.
His gloved hand wraps around her own and she begins to walk again, having seen the flutter of a butterfly’s wings up ahead, wanting to investigate.
“Korra, I take it you are enjoying the hiking trip?” Tarrlok says, sounding out of breath as Korra pulls him along.
Korra turns to glance at him, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Of course!” She replies, gripping his hand even more tightly. Once she realises he is trying not to wince from the viselike hold of her grasp she loosens it and he sends her a relieved grin.
The trip is Tarrlok’s idea, of course. He’d decided, after learning that Korra liked hiking but hadn’t ever had much of an opportunity to go on a hike with someone BESIDES her polar bear dog, that he was going to change that. Now they were taking one of the trails to the top of the snow-crested mountains flanking Republic City in a bulwark of defence and beauty.
Korra tears her gaze away from Tarrlok and cranes her neck upwards, admiring the slender tallness of the lofty trees embracing the light blue sky above them. Sequoias, aspens, and conifers decorate the light green grasses in a lush blanket as the couple makes their way up the trail to the peak of the mountain.
By the time they are halfway up the trail, Korra begins to feel her stomach rumbling. She immediately slings off her pack from her shoulder, subtly nodding at Tarrlok, who arches his eyebrows at her, communicating silently, without words, as he places the quilt (made by Katara) on the ground for them to sit on.
Korra then unpacks their lunch of seal jerky and stewed sea prunes, a favourite of her and Tarrlok’s, along with dumplings that she’d ordered from an air nomad themed restaurant in Republic City. Korra removes the bands from her wolftails and allows her hair some freedom to move in the brisk breeze, and catches Tarrlok’s approving glance, blushing at his attention.
After they’d eaten, Tarrlok lays back on the grass as Korra snuggles up next to him, resting her head on his chest whilst they both watch the clouds floating above them form various shapes.
“Oooh, look I see a polar bear dog,” Tarrlok murmurs, indicating the fluffy cloud with his index finger. “Do you see her, Korra?”
“Mmmhmm,” Korra replies, her voice muffled. For the moment, she just wants to lie in the sun on Tarrlok’s chest and forget about all their responsibilities – including one she hasn’t gotten up the courage to tell him about yet: she is pregnant. With his child. She is uncertain, unable to broach the topic to him, because she fears he might abandon her if he knows – and Tenzin is going to be displeased as well, especially considering the fact that he looks down on her relationship with the councilman, even though he is changed from the man they knew from before the explosion.
Korra feels Tarrlok’s hand stroke her hair, and his gentle touch makes her want to cry. Tarrlok, always attune to her moods since they’d officially entered into a relationship a year ago, glances at her as she trails her fingers over the scarred half of his face lightly. She puts her finger to her lips and then places it on the scars. She’s found the harbingers of glory in his scars, and with it comes the promise that he will be whole and intact, but despite his scars she finds him all the more beautiful.
Another writeworld prompt ficlet that got a bit longer than I expected it to… But anyway, this story resulted from some of the answers I gave in this response to an ask of xc’s for Korrlok. Lots of flangst, as usual, and I was tearing up whilst writing this, so be warned. Rated T.
Korra awakens to feeling as if a heavy weight has fallen upon her chest. She attempts to stifle a cough, but it doesn’t work. She struggles to open her eyes, blinking against the harsh light. Memories begin to filter back to her mind… the raid they’d undertaken at the crime lord’s lair…. the large crime lord towering over her as ice arrows slice into her body just as Tarrlok blocks her way, taking several hits himself before sinking to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain as she stumbles over to help him…. and then the darkness swamps her.
She turns her head, striving to fight against the delirium presently clouding her mind. She gradually realises that she is lying in a hospital room in Republic City because of the stark white walls of the room. Feeling very weary, she angles her head again slightly so that she can see who is resting in the bed opposite to her, and the fringes of a smile crest her mouth as she notices it is the councilman.
“Tarrlok,” she murmurs through parched lips, woodenly extending her hand to touch his arm. He stirs, moving gingerly because of the bandages on his torso. His eyes open slowly and she sees in them pain, resignation, and acceptance all at once.
“Korra?” Tarrlok mussitates, taking her hand in his own. “Korra, are you all right? What happened?” A gasp emanates from his body and he clutches his side. Korra attempts to sit up, but she is too weakened to get more leverage off of her arms to lift her even slightly to help him.
“There was a raid… I think… and now we’re injured,” Korra explains. Her eyes pool with tears at the sight of seeing her magnificent husband in such a state of incapacitation… From what she could see, his wounds seem severe and the pain radiating from his body is reflected in the light of his eyes as he stares at her. “We’ll be all right, Tarrlok,” She tries to comfort him, even though to her own mind her words ring hollow.
“I’m… not… sure…. of that,” Tarrlok replies, a groan slipping from his mouth. Just then, the doctor emerges into the room, causing Korra and Tarrlok to break their gaze off with each other and look at him. The doctor’s eyes are sympathetic as he says,
“I’m sorry, Avatar Korra, Councilman Tarrlok, but we were not able to get you here in time… we did all we could to stave off the fatality of your wounds, but our councilman is not long for this world, I think.” He makes his words as gentle as possible, but the words still hit Korra with the force of another ice arrow. She glances at Tarrlok and knows she sees in his eyes the same knowledge.
“What about me?” She hears her voice whisper. The doctor shakes his head,
“Both of you arrived here in great distress and severely wounded… the injuries of both of you are fatal. Avatar Korra, an artery in your neck has been slashed, same as your husband, who is also suffering from an ice spear breaking his leg, which is causing him internal hemorrhaging, which you can see by his weakness.” She watches the doctor pucker his lip, almost as if he was angry at two of the highest officials in the city for daring to use their Task Force to stop crime. “I’m sorry,” the doctor murmurs before stepping outside of the room.
“Wait,” She calls to the doctor, who pokes his head back in through the door. “I want my bed pushed up next to his.”
The doctor shakes his head but moves to comply with her wishes, shoving her narrow hospital bed next to Tarrlok. The doctor steps back as Korra reaches out to run her head over Tarrlok’s face, feeling him lean wearily against her.
Korra glances up at Tarrlok, surprised to find no fear in his eyes, although she can see how limp his body is and that is worrying to her.
“I’m sorry…. I had to leave you… in this way,” Tarrlok says. She feels his hand stroking the long strands of her unkempt hair. In return, she twines her fingers within his long hair, which had fallen down during the battle and was now the way she likes it best, messy and hanging over his shoulders.
“Don’t be,” She replies, her voice as soft as a butterfly’s wings in the silent room. She presses a soft kiss to his forehead, their foreheads touching. On the wall behind their beds, a silhouette forms of their two heads resting on the other’s. “We’ll go together… my sweet.”
He stares into her weary eyes, and she sees the reflection of love beaming from them. Another moan emanates from his body, causing him to grab his side in pain again as it sears up from his leg.
“Take my hand,” He declares, extending his left hand to her from his place on his bed. She reaches out to take it, feeling the electricity of connection race through her arm at his touch. Her fingers intertwine with his as his large hand envelops her own. “I want to feel you here with me.”
Hey all, followers and fellow Korrlokers!
My much-anticipated (at least in the Korrlok Chat) story is here at least, coming to you in two parts!
Part I is now posted, so go check it out :D
A Korrlok AU taking place in the 18th Century, based off Alfred Noyes’ magnificent poem “The Highwayman” and written in third person limited present again. Flangsty as usual, but you all know that by now! For zenaga, since she requested it in the Korrlok Chat and has also taken some time out of her day to make art for it! :3 :D Also, Part II is complete, but will be up shortly since zen is still working on the art for it! This song was what I listened to whilst writing this entire work, which ended up being 7,000 + words. Listen to the song as you read; it will provide atmosphere! ;D
Also, this story became so long it’s now a two-shot, hence the Part I and Part II, that goes very well in sync with the poem. Rated T for thematic material.
Art credit: Zenaga
The Highwayman, Part 1
The wind was a torrent of darkness amongst the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghastly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
It is a night that breathes of ghosts. The highwayman reins in his ostrich horse, his bright blue eyes focussing on the ribbon of the road that lies before him, shining in the moonlight in the purple-flowered sheen that blankets the hills surrounding the city of the Republic, founded years ago by Avatar Aang and his friend Zuko, the Fire Lord. The highwayman has taken it upon himself to protect this city in his own way – he does it out of love for his sweetheart, the lovely daughter of the old inn-keeper.
He takes sight on the moon, idly thinking to himself how much it resembles a grisly ship sailing amongst the cloudy seas of the dark blue sky as he urges his ostrich horse onwards, the breeze playing with his black cape, making it rustle against the wind.
The ostrich horse canters along the road as he gently guides it with his legs, riding, riding, riding, until finally he came up to the road that led to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
He wears a hat from the land of the French, of the cocked design, lending him an air of sophistication despite his menial work as a highwayman, pilfering men and women on the road to provide for his band. The bunch of lace sitting snugly at his chin was his own, sewn onto his fashionable tunic by his mother. He wears an elegant coat of velvet, its colour claret and glimmering wine-red by the light of the moon, and his breeches were from a doe he had skinned one day and then over the course of several days of tanning the skin he transformed it into a fine pair of breeches for him. He wears thigh-length boots that settle against his breeches smoothly, his long hair hanging down alongside his back.
His spurs glinting in the moonlight, glimmering with twinkles of inset jewels, his hand resting near the rapier dangling on his right side as his pistol butts caught the light of the moon spirit Yue as he canters down the road, the sky overhead a carpet of jewels against the dark blue skies.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there,
But the landlord’s blue-eyed daughter,
Korra, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long brown hair.
He hears the clatter of his animal’s hooves as they make contact with the cobblestones of the yard. He pulls the ostrich horse to a halt, its head narrowly missing the sign advertising “Inn” that dangles above the old door.
His eyes dart towards the darkened building, inspecting it for any traces of life within. Touching his hat briefly, he allows his hand to snatch up the whip slinging at his side. He picks it up, tapping his whip on the shutters on the second level of the house, but to his disappointment he recognises that everything is locked and barred. There is no entrance for him here.
He turns away as if to depart, but then angles his ostrich horse below the second-storey window, whistling a gay tune – “Four Seasons” - knowing that someone will hear.
He glances up and out of the darkness a figure materialises in front of his eyes – that of a young woman smiling down at him through the open window as he watches her plait a dark red love-knot into her long dark brown tresses.
She holds his gaze and the silence between them trembles with anticipation, as if longing to know what the young woman yearns for him to say.
Korrlok Week Prompt: Frozen
Day 4, August 15th
Summary: A day on the Task Force goes wrong for Korra and Tarrlok when an old friend of Yakone emerges, intent on assassinating the Avatar. Major loads of fluff and ANGST ANGST, so be prepared for your emotions to be ravaged all over the place. (I AM SORRY O_o My next story - the poem- is happier, honest!)
This story is also the companion story to “Politics” and takes place two years after that prompt, and you’ll easily see how it ties into the previous story. I was originally intending for this story to turn out to be bittersweet but the stupid thing tripped me up and decided to go its own way. Post-finale redemption arc fic. LOTS OF FLANGST SO BE WARNED. Likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated/encouraged – I love feedback. ;) :D
Also, the act of writing this made me hyperventilating crying it was that intense and hard to get through and even just looking it over brings tears to my eyes so once again I am sorry everyone for writing such a depressingly sad story! Please don’t kill me. D:
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, of unspeakable love.” Washington Irving.
“I would gladly lay down my own life for it – and for you, Korra.”
Those words echoed through Korra’s mind as she gathered Tarrlok into her arms, trying to hold back the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Tarrlok! Tarrlok!” She heard her own voice saying over and over, emerging from her mouth hoarse and fogged by tears. She used his limp arm, lying on the ground beside her, to help prop his head on her shoulder as she began kissing his face anxiously, from his scars to the intact left half of his face, but no matter how many times she placed a gentle kiss on his face, there was no response.
“Tarrlok!” She cried out again, tasting the saltiness of her tears dribble onto her lip as she pressed another kiss on Tarrlok’s scars. “Tarrlok, please wake up, please!”
Her heart fell in her chest when again she received no response.
She ducked as a barrage of ice arrows were thrown at her, but she couldn’t see who had done it. Her anger, already visible, had grown to a breaking point. She scooped up some water from a nearby puddle of water and transformed it into icicles, aiming it in the direction of the attacker before gazing down at Tarrlok’s still face again.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The thought chased around Korra’s mind as she gathered Tarrlok into her arms to hold him closer, her face wet with tears. It was only supposed to be a day together on the Task Force, fighting crime and taking names.
She planted another soft kiss on Tarrlok’s lips, hoping it would cause him to wake up, but it was to no avail. The ice arrow had plunged itself into his chest too deeply, and she hadn’t been there quickly enough to remove it and apply her spirit water to the wound.
No! He can’t be gone. He can’t leave me.
This isn’t the way it was supposed to go!