#clearing out OLD drafts

[vuomelo]

azula better than me because if I found out that my mother who I had an unhealthy relationship with went off and had a toddler daughter who called my brother by the nickname I made for him, and everyone and their grandmothers liked her more than me I would kill myself fr

[despazito]

goldfinch

[delightfullybritishgoldar]

[sarayu-sunrays]

when you're "such a helpful daughter" but you're also "so lazy" even though you did everything haha imagine

[sheepstiel]

every day i'm just pouring cold coffee on yesterday's cold coffee hoping for the best

[cilly-the-writer]

sorry, but I’m dying at all these right now:

Zuko: What are you doing firebending your tea? For a wise, old man, that was a pretty stupid move! Zuko: *lights over a dozen candles with firebending in a public space literally 2 episodes later to impress a girl*

Sokka: Hey, we're in enemy territory. Those are enemy birds. Sokka: *buys a fire nation bird literally 5 episodes later*

Sokka: *argues about how they can’t stay at the polluted fire nation colony and help people because they’re on a tight schedule* Sokka: *spends over a day learning about being a swordsman in the literal next episode*

[artsyfartsy-quotesywotesy]

i think you wanted to like me more than you actually did

and honestly i did too

i accidentally got lost in the comfort of having someone

even if they were the wrong someone

and so in the end

i was left scarred with the feeling that the next person would be lying too

[curvein]

continued from ( x )

it didn't take her father's telepathic prowess to know that her dad friend was dog tired. she could giggle at that pun later when there wasn't a hangry baby to soothe. whispering sweet nothings in mandarin, she flitted around the room with inhuman speed and grace that wouldn't be lost to the wolf's gaze— well, if his eyes had been open that is. seeing him slumped in the chair with exhaustion and stress pouring off of him in waves that even her nose could pick up on, she couldn't help but think of just how young he looked. an ache echoed through her heart but she tried not to dwell on the thought as she focused on radiating soothing energy. at his quip, she snorted, but some devilish delight was evident in the twinkle of her golden hues. ❛ too late. gotta warn her early. ❜ as he approached, she offered him a gentle look, a salve for the biting remarks they usually exchanged. all in good fun, of course. like he said, he had been around since before her birth. there wasn't anyone who could understand her quite the same way. ❛ i refuse to believe i was ever this small . . . ❜ she murmured, peering down at the tiny little bundle swaddled in her arms, her little features painted with serenity in a soft slumber. reaching over a hand, fingertips glanced over his pulse as she project the same peaceful thoughts to him, coaxing him to take a much needed rest. her tone was stern yet gentle, matching the set in her jaw and the softness in her gaze. ❛ you can take a break. don't worry, i got this. ❜

[shuvva]

I should have Ruma get sucker-punched at some point just to get back to her Noir roots.

‘Ruma’s like a cool action hero’ no she just wants you to think that

[cozylittleartblog]

New Family Speedrun 00:09.12 (World Record Not Clickbait???)

[sunsburns]

summer road trip with luke castellan (16+, implied sex)

it starts with a promise.

made late at night, in the kind of hazy space between sleep and dreaming, when the world feels quiet and nothing’s quite real yet. you’re lying side by side on a roof somewhere—one of those abandoned places luke likes to sneak into. the stars are barely visible, city lights bleeding up into the sky, but you’re not really looking at the stars anyway.

“we should do it,” he says, breathless from laughter after a dumb joke he barely managed to get out. “just take off one day. no plans. no schedules. just you, me, and the open road.”

you laugh into the sleeve of your hoodie. “okay, cowboy.”

“i’m serious.” he props himself up on his elbows. “we’ll make playlists. stay in janky motels. get gas station snacks that’ll probably kill us. it’ll be perfect.”

you hum, eyes fluttering shut. “we’re always saying ‘one day.’ you ever think about making it this day?”

he doesn’t say anything for a long second.

then, “i’ll steal a car.”

you snort. “please don’t steal a car.”

“fine. borrow one.” he nudges your arm. “c’mon. you know you want this.”

you do. gods, you really do.

and maybe that’s why two weeks later you’re throwing a duffel bag in the backseat of an old car luke somehow managed to “legally” obtain (you don’t ask too many questions), a worn paper map stuffed into the glove compartment, and three half-charged burner phones just in case.

you don’t even pick a destination. that’s the point.

it’s about the drive.

the first few days are the best kind of disorganized. you get hopelessly turned around trying to get out of the city, miss your turn like, four times, and end up on some weird detour through a town that seems stuck in the 1950s. you eat breakfast-for-dinner at a diner with cracked red booths and a waitress who calls you both “sweethearts.” luke leaves a doodle on a napkin and tucks it into the jukebox.

the road stretches ahead like a ribbon of possibility, glittering under the sun. the heat blurs the horizon, making everything shimmer like a mirage, and the sky is that kind of obnoxiously perfect blue that feels more like a postcard than real life.

the a.c. in the car gave up somewhere around three days ago, so the windows are rolled down, warm air rushing in and tangling your hair, sticking your shirt to your back. it doesn’t help much, but it’s better than nothing.

you've got one foot propped on the dash and a half-melted slushie wedged into the cupholder, condensation dripping down the sides. the map—the one you swore you didn’t need, and luke insisted you bring anyway—flutters against your knee every time the wind hits just right. it’s already creased and stained, with corners starting to curl. neither of you are really using it.

a cd clicks softly in the stereo, and a hazy guitar riff spills out—something easy, something old. the kind of music that makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

you hum to the songs you know, watching the scenery blur past in golden smears of light and heat.

luke’s driving one-handed, the other resting lazily out the window, fingers tapping against the door in time with the beat. sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose, and there’s a sunburn blooming along the edge of his jaw that he keeps forgetting to take care of. he looks over at you, grinning.

“you’re gonna fly out the window if you lean any further.”

“worth it,” you say, hair whipping across your face. “this breeze is all that’s keeping me alive right now.”

he chuckles, reaching over to tug the map from your lap. “you’re the one who said we didn’t need to stop for sunscreen. or, y’know, ice.”

“and you’re the one who didn’t want to stop for directions,” you shoot back, watching him squint at the map like it personally offended him. “so now we’re two thirsty idiots lost somewhere between nowhere and hell.”

“romantic,” he says, tossing the map into the backseat. “just the way i like it.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s affectionate. always is with him.

the wind smells like dust and wildflowers, and every few miles, you pass a road sign faded by time and sun. one of them promises a lake in twenty minutes which probably is not true. the next, a diner with the “best pie in the state.” you don’t stop for either. maybe the next one.

you were supposed to take turns driving. that was the deal—fifty-fifty, no arguments. but luke, being luke, never sticks to the plan. he always insists he’s fine, even when you catch his eyes fluttering shut at a red light, head tilting slightly like he’s about to nod off right then and there.

“i literally saw you close your eyes for five seconds,” you say when he pulls into a gas station, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as he parks.

“it was just five seconds,” he groans.

“five seconds away from crashing,” you mutter, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “move over.”

he sighs, dragging himself out from behind the wheel with all the theatrics of someone who’s definitely not fine, even if he still insists otherwise. he grumbles under his breath as he slides into the passenger seat—and is completely passed out the second his head hits the window. no “i’m not even tired,” no “just resting my eyes.” just out cold. mouth open, snoring, even drooling a little.

you drive comfortably after that. there’s less tension on your shoulders now that you’re the one in control, and luke’s quiet snoring is oddly comforting.

he stirs sometime later, sleep-warm and rumpled, his voice still thick with it when he reaches across the console. his hand finds yours with ease, like it’s muscle memory. his fingers slot between yours and, without a word, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. soft. slow. like a thank-you.

somewhere between a cracked-out diner with the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had and a pit stop at a quiet national park, you start feeling it—that warm, slow burn that only summer with luke castellan can bring.

it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not looking, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. it’s in the casual brush of his thumb over the back of your hand. it’s in the way he steals bites of your food, complains about the heat, and still tucks a cold bottle of water into your hands without being asked.

he’s quiet during the hikes, but he always slows down so you don’t fall behind, even when you insist you’re fine. he keeps snacks in his pockets for you, things he knows you like, things you didn’t even notice him buying. and when you sit beside him on the edge of a cliff, watching the sun drip like honey into the horizon, he kisses your shoulder so gently it sends goosebumps across your skin.

he takes so many pictures of you. most of the time you don’t even notice until he shows you later—sun-drenched, wind-tousled, blurry with motion but sharp with love. he says he wants to remember you like this. you laugh and roll your eyes, but still smile a little too hard when you see them.

you two stop at a few motels every now and then. they were nothing special. peeling paint, flickering neon sign half-buzzed out, and a questionable stain or two on the carpet—but it’s cheap, and it’s got just enough charm to feel like part of the story. luke leans against the counter while you check in, tapping the bell repeatedly until you swat at him.

the old woman behind the desk gives you a room key and a knowing smirk like she’s seen a thousand versions of you two before: sunburnt, road-weary, eyes too bright to be anything but in love.

sometimes, impulses get the best of the two of you. like when one day luke spots a faded little hand-painted sign pointing down an overgrown path off the side of the highway. beach access. there’s no one around. no cars. just the sound of cicadas and wind through tall grass.

you both follow it on instinct, barefoot and laughing, racing toward the sound of crashing waves.

and then there it is: a hidden stretch of shoreline tucked between two cliffs, like a secret carved out just for you. no footprints, no noise except for the ocean. the sand’s hot and soft under your feet, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting everything in amber.

you run straight into the water, still half-dressed, splashing and shrieking when luke dunks you under and then pulls you back up, breathless and dripping. he kisses you then, water-slicked and grinning, hands on your waist like he’s never going to let go.

and later, after you’ve both sprinted back to the car, giddy and dripping wet, after the sand’s stuck to every inch of your skin and the sun’s painted you gold, you end up tangled in the back seat. skin sticky with sweat, your bodies pressed close in the heat of the car, breathing in tandem.

the windows fog up, the air thick with salt and sun and something heavier. the radio hums low, some lazy summer song playing beneath the sounds of your bodies shifting, touching, needing. his hands roam like he’s mapping you out all over again, rough in the way he holds you but gentle in the way he touches, like he knows exactly where to press to make you shiver.

he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the taste of salt on your lips, like he wants to bottle this exact moment and keep it somewhere safe. and you, half-laughing between gasps, fingers twisted in his curls, mumble against his mouth, “i told you the backseat would get too hot.”

“guess we’ll have to open the door,” he says, voice low and teasing. “get a breeze in here.”

you roll your eyes, breathless and flushed. “fuck off, if we get caught by some poor park ranger—”

“worth it,” he grins, before kissing you again. deeper, slower this time.

and when you’re breathless and half-dressed, your back pressed to the warm seat and your body aching in all the best ways, you lie there with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is loud in your ear, steady and real.

you tilt your face up toward him, the fading light painting him in gold. “same time next summer?”

his arm tightens around you, his voice soft and full of something you don’t have a name for yet. “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

[chickren]

the way that jaime and brienne are created to be unobtainable to each other is so damned delicious

brienne is the embodiment of virtue. so naturally she thinks jaime is an utter reprobate. irredeemable. and if she didn’t already know more of jaime’s crimes than anyone else on earth, he makes sure she knows the ones no one else ever pinned on him, like rossart. but the thing is, he longs to be considered just. he is dying to be thought honorable.

it rarely comes up in his chapters, but everyone else in the universe knows that he could have basically any woman he wanted. the only time you hear him even vaguely imply it is with catelyn, but it’s a known thing. then he encounters brienne. and she sits there, judging him, obviously wishing she had an excuse to kill him herself. she is not playing hard to get, she actually is impossible for him to get. how could this honorless criminal hope to tempt her? she is beyond his reach.

then you have jaime. a legendary beauty. born the heir to a great house, the most powerful house. he is considered the greatest swordsman in the land. and to top it all off, he’s not only a member of the kingsguard but is the lord commander. he’s both what brienne wants to be and what she wants to fuck.

and he immediately confirms for brienne that he thinks what everyone thinks: she’s ugly. she’s a woman in breeches who fights like a knight, which is grounds for more than half the people she meets to disdain her. and the things that might make her an attractive mate to some men are meaningless to jaime—her inheritance is inconsequential to him, he gave away more power than her lesser house would ever possess. he’s completely out of her league.

so what happens when you tell someone that something’s off-limits? when you say: “them? you can never have them.”

[loveisactivated]

NOT ME (2021)

[rotintheshadows]

once I had a dream that scar posted a video simply titled "motherfuhckjer". I clicked on the video and scar was standing at the edge of the perimeter with grian half out of frame on the left hand side, and there were a few seconds of dead silence. then scar inhaled and yelled "MOTHERFUCKER" eith all his chest and after another moment of silence grian starts laughing his ass off. this was like 4 months ago and I remember this in. vivid detail. anywya

[artsyfartsy-quotesywotesy]

what do you do when you move too fast?

how do you go back to the innocence you used to have and work up to this?

[mcfcizuku]

i truly think the addition of carlos sainz jr to the f1 grid makes things x10 homoerotic, i admire his commitment to the part bc he never fails to deliver