scribblings-of-a-fangirl

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Dream something nice.

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Like some 

    cold

        dark

            tomb

It should not be his to lay in

                    Even mortal years seem to s t r e t c h like millennia,

Only to be interrupted by the dog’s call, 

               Baying him forward.

He,

  Death.

                           But, as with all of Nature’s cycles, 

He is the end. 

He is all that remains.

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Honest love,

That's what he'd call it.

A love that never flinches, never falters,

A love that doesn't care who you are, what you do. 

A dog's love is earnest, kind, 

So unlike the fickle love of humans.

What does it matter that he imagines himself a killer?

What does it matter that his sanity is teetering on the edge of delirium?

Honest love is a soft head to scruff at the end of a long day,

Honest love is the comfort of a chorus of sighs, contently settling to sleep,

Honest love is honest love,

And honest love is exactly what Will Graham needs.

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Detail from Ivan Aivazovsky’s “Ship In The Stormy Sea”, 1887. (via)

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

And who will be there when you fall?

      Not your past, 

      Which you shunned so coldly,

                       The burden you thought you shed.

And your f u t u r e ?

                                           What safety does that hold?

    Not even you can save yourself,

Since you've lost the vision of yourself to which you clung to so fervently.

                Not that's all gone and died away,

 Who will be there when you fall?

              Who will pick you from the crumbled ruins of that golden life?

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

On the Wrong Foot

He stared ahead of him, eyes focused on the widening line of light that cracked the darkness as the palace gate lurched open. He was vaguely aware of the growing ache in his shoulders that came with the hectic day that was still nowhere near winding down- after all, orchestrating the movements of the Third and Fourth Infantries was no simple task. And, of course, Nash wasn't all too helpful, more focused on appearing 'kingly' than anything.

Brigan sighed lightly as they approached the gate, going over officer assignments in his head when his thoughts were interrupted. He had felt it before. Oh, had he felt it. First, it was just an awareness, a little prick at the side of his mind that alerted him of its presence. Then came that strange mix of emotion- curiosity, which was natural when dealing with a monster, and heat.

Heat and hatred. Burning, fierce anger that pounded away at his mind and heart, all because of that thing. First Cansrel, with his cold, drunken, disgusting beauty. And now her. The monster called Fire. His daughter, his heinous, scummy legacy. 

They thundered into the courtyard, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, mind locked as tightly as he could. But when he laid eyes on her, none of that mattered. It flared up, like- fire. It was more than hate. It was a brief, sudden, savage need to end it. End her. And on top of it, there was that small undercurrent of the breathtaking beauty that emanated from her.

But it passed. He sucked in a deep breath and took control of himself again, not caring whether she felt his momentary lapse or not. His mouth turned down into a scowl, doing his best not to look at her as he dismounted from his horse, handing the reins to the stable master. His eyes flickered over to his brother, whose face had gone slack and dumb, his eyes glazed over. He didn't seem to care that she was the only one left standing in the courtyard. 

Brigan hit his shoulder, saying curtly, "Nash! Snap out of it. Don't let yourself get entranced by that thing." He crossed his arms, muttering, "If it were up to me I'd throw her to the raptors and be done with it."

Nash's cloudy eyes widened, his tone sounding hurt. "Watch how you speak, Brigan! There's no way I'm throwing a woman who looks like that to the raptors..." His mind, practically unguarded, couldn't seem to help but let his eyes wander over to her. 

Brigan was about to retort when the girl's friend came storming up to them, his face red with anger, making some valiant statement about having to throw him out first. Ignoring the fact that Lord Archer was a friend of his mother's, he dismissed him with a sound of disgust. As he led Nash out of the courtyard, Brigan saw Archer pick up the monster and carry her in the opposite direction. He took in a deep breath, damping the fiery hate in his chest.

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Summer in the Concrete Swamp

You lower your head, eyes squinting against the sun.

Each trudging footstep drains you, the heat and humidity pushing you forward like a slave driver. 

Even the enduring petals of nature, vibrant in the new season, begin to languish in the still fever.

Beads of oppressive moisture begin to form, dotting your forehead and the crease of your elbow. 

You shift your burden, its weight seeming to double with every square of concrete you manage to pass.

Suddenly, salvation comes to you on the breeze, cool and gentle.

You straighten up, your head bowed only to the persistent glare.

Welcome, summer.

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

 "I know when I'm awake."

          It must be nice, having such a privilege.                

             If only he could say the same thing.

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Sunday Morning Across the Pond

She took a deep breath, the scent of Twinings English breakfast curling up to her nose. A smile curled her lips as she opened her eyes to a fogged view of the sun room. She set he tea down on the side table that accompanied the love seat she was sprawled on, pulling herself up to wipe off her glasses. She rolled her eyes when in the process her book fell from her lap and landed face down on the carpet. She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and set about rediscovering her page, her mouth set.

Just as she found her page the floor behind her let out a groan, and she dismissed it as her cat until a pair of soft hands pulled off her glasses and covered her eyes. The initial moment of panic subsided when she heard a stifled laugh from behind her- of course it was familiar, but she couldn't place it. "Who is it?" she asked, not entirely happy that she was being denied her eyesight, "Come on, I can't tell, just show me."

First the hands left her eyes. Next, a pair of legs popped over from the back of the couch as she scrambled to put her glasses on. A wide smile spread over her face as finally a familiar blue-eyed, fluffy-haired face appeared next to her. She couldn't help the rosy shade of pink her cheeks turned when he pulled her close to give her a peck, or the laugh of pure happiness when he put his arm around her and said, "Hey, love."

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Water

Of course water had come the easiest to her, feeling as flowing and natural as the element itself. One day, only a few short years after she'd learned to walk, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to move like the benders in the village. Suddenly, a shimmering bubble of water had appeared in front of her, dripping into the vase it rose from.

There was something so peaceful to water bending, the way it harnessed the stubborn energy her bending teachers thought would be her downfall. It let her bend with grace and power, the Tai Chi-inspired movements balancing all her peaks and valleys. Whether in the simple swirling motions used for warm ups or in raising an iceberg, waterbending felt as natural as the blood that flowed through her veins. 

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

.

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Birds of God

Angels. Flighty bastards.

All it takes is a blink of the eye and- poof- they've disappeared with a taunting flutter. It gets annoying pretty quick.

You better pray that what you have to say is worth sticking around, because one false move and you might not see them again for days, weeks, months. Maybe God thought he was creating warriors, but they ended up more like pigeons. 

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Suddenly she was there before him, 

    Needing no light to illuminate the universe.

He could feel it, through the fortress of his mind that he defended so fiercely. 

                That pull, that heat. 

A creeping glow, that, despite his best efforts, seemed to find its way through the cracks.

                     He set his mouth tightly, determined to put it out-

       The warmth that washed over the courtyard, the flowers, trees, horses,

              That unavoidable pull that sparked and flared,

                                That girl, who stood staring across the path,

 That l i v i n g,

             breathing,

                        Fire.

[scribblings-of-a-fangirl]

Collection of paintings by Joseph Lorusso:

A Favourite Poem

Late Night Edition

An Easy Read