Myopic musings of a mediocre mind...
What do I blog about? Generally my shipping preferences or updates on my writing or art. Yeah, nothing too interesting.
Fandoms/Shows I follow:
❅ Avatar: the Last Airbender
❅ Avatar: the Legend of Korra
❅ The Vampire Diaries
❅ BBC Sherlock
❅ Sleepy Hollow
❅ Almost Human
❅ That 70s Show
❅ The Big Bang Theory
❅ And loads of others...
Should you wish to read my fanfiction, please go here. If you wish to check out my horrible art, please go here.
If you are interesting in participating in AtLA & LoK writing and art challenges, visit the PROMPTBENDING forum.
Just an excuse to doodle some Zutara. I’ll let you decide what they’re saying/what’s happening. =p (I’d freaking love if someone wrote a drabble about this, hint hint. XD)
Her fingers claw their way through his tunic with a dire sense of urgency, digging into his chest as she pulls him towards her.
“Don’t you understand?” Katara shouts through the howling wind and the pelting rain that stings her eyes. “He killed my mother, Zuko! He—” her voice wavers “—he took her away from me.”
Her strength suddenly leaves her and her once firm hold on him slackens. She glances down at his chest, refusing to let him see the tears in her eyes, refusing to let him see her so vulnerable. But he knows, he sees. He knows all too well what it means to have your mother stolen from you, because of you. And because of that he is willing to let her abuse him—hit him, hurt him, do whatever it takes to quench that inconsolable anger raging inside her heart. But letting go of that kind of anger is difficult; it requires her to be able to forgive herself first.
“I know,” he whispers, bringing his hand to touch her cheek. “I know.”
But he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing or why. His hand is touching her face; it’s such a warm gesture, far too delicate and intimate a gesture for a man like him to make—not towards her. Not her, of all people. But she doesn’t seem to mind. Instead she brushes her cheek into his palm, closing her eyes as she breathes in, allowing him to comfort her this small way.
And he knows—he knows that there is no going back from this.
He moves in close, and her palms suddenly flatten against his chest. For a moment he is frozen, unsure of what to do, but then her chin lifts and she meets his eyes through the hail of rain. She is reminded of the sky at sunset—the way his eyes curve like the inside of a glass ball, golden yellow with specks of amber like stars, and she falls into him.
Somehow both his hands find their way to her face, long fingers travelling from her cheeks up her jaw until they touch her ears, holding her in place. It’s as though he cannot let her get away. Not now. He leans in slowly, and her eyes flutter shut in anticipation. His nose nudges along hers, and their lips meet like charged electricity; they both inhale sharply. Her lips are soft and warm, wet from the rain, and his own eyes close as he finally abandons all thought, pressing his mouth firmly into hers. Her lips open hesitantly under his at first, but when his warm tongue awkwardly slices into her mouth she moans, digging her fingers back into his chest to pull him close. She can’t let him get away. Not now.
It all begins to fall together in a slow, groggy ascent as they hold onto each other for support. The return of his kiss is like a pardon for the violence he has wreaked upon her—forgiveness that he has been so desperately seeking. And as their bodies entangle, flushed, heartbeats shared warm, they pay no heed to the elements raging around them. None of it matters now. Maybe it never did.
Without knowing how or why, he realises that she has come to mean something very dear to him, something more than a wrong he needs to right. And she has come to depend on him like no other; a man who knows the very nature of her soul. And for the moment their embrace soothes away the terrible guilt that hides behind their hearts. For now, it is enough.