“You’re treating her like some kind of machine, when she’s not a machine, and I don’t want her to die looking for the flayed when they’ve obviously vanished off the face of the Earth. So, can we please just come up with a new plan? because I love her and I can’t lose her again!!”
It will never NOT be insane how in that scene Nancy and Max gaslight Mike into thinking he was being controlling and possessive (when in reality what he was talking about didn’t have anything to do with that and he was literally just concerned for her safety) AND the Duffers also gaslit the audience into believing Mike was the one in the wrong, only for the series finale to demonstrate that he has always been right… which wasn’t even intentional because apparently the Duffers wholeheartedly believe that El dying was the only solution to everyone else’s problems so it’s more like “Mike HAS always been right but El’s life is less valuable than everyone else’s so fuck them both” INSANE.
Interesting. The character who always called her El, who SUGGESTED it, was also the one who she said understood her the best. Whatever could this mean.
y’all i am too old and tired for this. get my fic off goodreads. get all fics off goodreads actually. we authors ask for like one thing 😭
also to be clear this is not an invitation for anyone to go find it or—god forbid—leave more ratings or reviews. if you have thoughts about my work, tell them to me! leave a kudos, or a comment, or send me an ask or a dm. the enjoyment of fandom comes from the interaction. i love talking to people about what i’ve written.
and the reason fic is not intended to be tracked, rated, and reviewed like other published work is because it is not published work. half the time (in my case, for sure) you’re reading a first or second draft with some minimal self editing. fic authors don’t write or post with the same intentions as indie or traditionally published authors, and as a result, we expect that readers do not engage with our writing the same way you would with a published novel. please just. engage with fan work in fan spaces.
every time i listen to “you’re a mean one mr. grinch” i can’t help but sit there and think “what did the grinch do to hurt you?” because dude just stands there for 2 minutes and 58 seconds and drags the grinch into the dirt
he stole christmas, kayla! stop with your #notallgrinches propaganda!
you know what if someone told me i was a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce i’d probably be bitter enough to steal christmas too
Interestingly, though The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is narrated by Boris Karloff, the big musical number is sung by the late Thurl Ravenscroft - an American voice actor better known as the voice of Tony the Tiger.
My headcanon is that the Grinch and Tony the Tiger had a bad breakup, and “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” is the resulting breakup song.
Did this really HAVE to be the first thing I see when I opened up Tumblr?
ive been avoiding reblogging this honestly but just. What the fuck. What the fuck tumblr
I apologize to all my followers for this
if i had to read this you do too
I have a hate-hate relationship with this
………
Good grief… I’m sorry, but I can’t not reblog this…
Tis the season bitches
DAMN IT WHY WOULD YOU BRING THIS BACK YOU HEATHEN
Why is this on my dash?
…..I’m.. Bothered? by the fact that I’mnot bothered by this.
You’re not bothered?? I’m not only not bothered, I’m freaking invested. I’m having actual empathetic sadness for The Grinch. I want them to go into couple’s counseling. I want the “ten years later” when Tony visits Whoville on business and meets the reformed Grinch whose heart has grown 3 times its usual size. I want them to reminisce over a shared dinner of roast beast and wine, then spend a drunken night together, then realize that maybe things are different and people really do change. I want a 3-act story where there’s a long dark night of soul searching and the realization that maybe we’ve all got a little bit of bad banana with greasy black peel inside us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make a damned fine banana bread if someone will give us a chance.
﹕﹒⟢ she never planned on raising a child alone, never mind at an age so young with it’s father dead, but gotham has a way of reshaping plans. her daughter became the bright center of her world — the little heartbeat that reminds her that hope can exist in a city like this.
﹕﹒⟢ with her sister and mother’s help, babysitting through long study nights and keeping her fed when she forgot, she managed to finish high school early, balancing motherhood and essays with quiet grit.
﹕﹒⟢ she sped through college too, fueled by caffeine, hope, and her family’s unwavering faith. at twenty, degree in one hand and her daughter in the other, she was writing for the gotham gazette turning her love for words into a voice the city couldn’t ignore.
﹕﹒⟢ she adores working as a journalist, her desk always covered in coffee mugs, half-scribbled notes, and old poetry books. her editor says she writes like she’s in love with words, and she beams because, in a way, she is.
﹕﹒⟢ her apartment smells like coffee, old books, and cinnamon. she keeps string lights up all year because she likes how they make the walls feel alive. there’s always a vase of flowers on the table, usually half-wilted but still beautiful.
﹕﹒⟢ her daughter, who is nearly five now, is the light of her life. she’s all curls and questions, with her father’s eyes and mother’s smile. every morning starts with mismatched socks and hurried breakfast, and every night ends with a bedtime story she half-makes-up from her favourite novels.
﹕﹒⟢ she never tells her daughter much about her father, though she will read his favourite novels to her. the four year old has taken a specific liking to pride and prejudice, just like her father. the similarity hurts and heals her at the same time.
﹕﹒⟢ her notebooks are filled with scraps of poetry, half-finished essays, and doodles in the margins. her handwriting changes with her mood: looping and wild when she’s inspired, neat and tiny when she’s trying not to cry.
﹕﹒⟢ she romanticizes everything — her morning coffee, a passing stranger’s smile, the sound of the rain outside her window. her loved ones tease her for it, but she insists that finding beauty in small things is the only way to live instead of merely survive in gotham.
﹕﹒⟢ despite everything, she believes in goodness. she believes in people. her kindness isn’t naive; it’s deliberate, a rebellion against the city’s cruelty. “if gotham can’t be gentle,” she once wrote, “then someone in it still can be.”
My little random idea was Jason with a girlfriend that gets a pet raccoon while he’s gone. Please let me know if you enjoy by commenting and reblogging! Kisses 💋
Its been a long three week.
Jason had to leave to help the Titans with a mission they had to work on.
He was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally.
Every inch of him ached and he was dreaming of being in your shared bed with you in his arms and that damn cat you rescued at his feet.
He wasnt on team cat for the longest time. It was basically like having a moody toddler around all the time now but you pointed out how it was just like Damien just actually less dangerous and he couldn’t argue wit that.
He would never admit it, even though it was so obvious, but that was his cat that was his baby. As soon as he would roll over in bed the cat was right in his face giving kisses, as soon as he walked through the door the cat was there meowing as loudly as it could to get attention and each time he got the softest smile across his features.
And he didnt need you to admit that you were jealous. It was painfully obvious. He knew you were jealous but he didnt think you’d go out and get another animal while he was gone!
Let alone this….
“Baby? Im home.” Jason entered your small apartment when he noticed it was oddly peaceful in the lived in space. “Babe?” He looked around and took note of the christmas movie playing and the fresh popcorn on the table. He also took note that you were missing from your favorite blanket.
So whhere the hell were you?
Walking further in he finally could hear clattering in the kitchen and your voice echoing against the walls. “Popcorn! You cannot get in the sink!” His brows furrowed. Who the fuck is popcorn??
Jason followed the noise slowly, dropping his duffel by the couch like it suddenly weighed a hundred pounds
He stepped to the kitchen, boots silent on the hardwood, shoulders tight with suspicion. You weren’t usually like thus especially when you knew he was coming home. Usually you were already running to the door, throwing yourself at him, babbling about everything he missed.
Tonight?
There was just clattering, well, and your voice.
“Popcorn! No no, Hey! hey! do not get in the sink! You little gremlin!”
Jason froze in the doorway.
Then blinked once…then once more.
Because standing on the kitchen counter; sopping wet, tiny paws covered in suds, whiskers twitching with mischief, was a raccoon.
A raccoon wearing a red holiday bow collar.
You were trying to wipe its little hands clean with a towel, muttering something about how “dude we talked about this,” like the thing understood you.
Jason stared, jaw hanging just enough to be insulting.
“…Baby,” he said, voice low, careful, a man on the brink, “why is there a raccoon in my kitchen?”
You gasped, spinning around.
“Jason! You’re home!”
As if that was the part that needed clarification.
You scooped the raccoon up with practiced ease, and it immediately clung onto your shoulder like a clingy toddler. Its black eyes narrowed at Jason in full judgment mode. Jason’s eyes narrowed back at it as he listened to you explain.
“Jason, this is Popcorn,” you said proudly. “Popcorn, this is Jason.”
Popcorn hissed.
Jason blinked again. “…Popcorn?”
“He likes popcorn and he picks pockets,” you said with a shrug. “It felt right.”
Jason pointed at the raccoon. “That is a wild animal.”
“Noooo,” you said, stroking its striped tail, “he’s rehabilitated. They couldn’t release him into the wild, so he needed a home.”
“So naturally you brought him into ours?”
“Well,” you said, smiling too sweetly to trust, “you were gone. And the cat was lonely!”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “You got–listen, sweetheart, you got a raccoon. A raccoon. While I was gone for three weeks.”
“He likes Christmas movies,” you said defensively
“That doesn’t make this better.”
“He also likes snuggling.”
Jason opened his mouth to argue–and stopped.
Because Popcorn had reached out one tiny, damp paw and placed it on Jason’s shoulder like he was blessing him.
Or sizing him up.
Truky it was hard to tell.
Then, slowly, the raccoon dug into your hoodie pocket and retrieved a piece of popcorn, holding it out to Jason like an offering.
“…Is he bribing me?” Jason muttered.
“He’s being friendly!”
“No, he’s trying to win me over like that damn cat did.”
You grinned. “And you love the cat.”
“I do not” Jason started, then shut his mouth when Popcorn chirped at him, impatient.
Jason sighed-long, deep, defeated–and held out his hand.
Popcorn gently dropped the kernel into his palm.
Your smile softened, warm and bright and everything he’d missed for three weeks.
“Welcome home,” you whispered.
And God help him, Jason stepped forward, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pressed his forehead to yours. Exhaustion, relief, and bewilderment tangled in his chest.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
Popcorn, apparently done observing, climbed from your shoulder to Jason’s like this was his rightful throne.
Jason stilled.
You giggled. “He likes you.”
“He’s plotting something.”
You shook your head “He likes you.”
“…Fine,” Jason muttered, arm tightening around you as Popcorn settled smugly against his neck. “But if he steals my keys, I’m calling animal control.”
Popcorn chirped victoriously.
You kissed Jason’s cheek. “He already stole your keys. And one of your knives. ”
Jason groaned but he didn’t let go of you Or the raccoon.
Summary: Clark gives a heartfelt wedding speech <3
Word count: 1.9k+
Warnings: fluff
A/N:
this is something that was in my drafts for ages lol so I aoplogize beforehand if its bad xxx
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
The music fades into something gentle, something warm, the kind of melody that doesn’t demand attention but wraps itself around the room like a shared sigh. It’s quietly alive beneath the low murmur of voices, beneath the clinking of glasses and soft laughter, until the reception hall feels less like a place and more like a feeling like contentment, joy, love settling comfortably into every corner.
Your feet ache from hours of dancing, from spinning and swaying and being pulled back into Clark’s arms again and again like gravity itself insists on it. Your cheeks ache from smiling so much it feels unfamiliar, like you’ve unlocked a muscle you didn’t know you were capable of using this way. And your heart feels so full it borders on painful, like it might burst right out of your chest if you let yourself think too hard about the fact that this is real.
Summary: Clark makes it so easy to fall in love with him <3
Word count: 7k+
Warnings: fluff, black cat reader
A/N:
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
You had been at the Daily Planet long enough to earn a reputation.
Not a title, no, those were handed out in conference rooms with bad lighting and forgotten by the next fiscal quarter, but a presence. The kind that didn’t need a name because everyone already knew it. The kind that seeped into the walls, into cadence of the bullpen until it became part of how the place functioned.
People adjusted around you without thinking about it.
Voices dropped when they passed your desk. Jokes paused when your jaw tightened. Interns learned, quickly, which hours were safe to approach you and which were not. You weren’t feared, exactly—but you were respected, and not in the polite way.
a sprinkle of 🐇 ⋆˚꩜｡ mutual pining but one is delusional about it and the other is in denial, lots of fluff & banter, friends to lovers but they’re both idiots.. everyone around them knows they’re together except for them. (???)
a love letter⠀❤︎⠀i loooove making these i might make a pt 2.. also changed my post layout bc my original one was a lil boring. i still dont know if ill stick with this bc its kinda eh but oh well
No one knows you and your best friend Steve are a thing. In fact, everyone is very much under the impression that Steve is still in love with Nancy. When Nancy calls while Steve is in your bed, you have to keep your secret - and Steve isn’t making it easy.
Warnings:
Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), exhibitionism?, minor s5ep1 spoilers
Word Count: 4.9k
A/N:
wow it feels SO GOOD to be back! i am so happy to have finally finished something and for it to be s5 steve is just 😮💨 i hope you enjoy! thank you @punkrockmlchael for my beautiful banner and @feral4youu for reading and always hyping me up! and i guess thank you syd for the idea but you don’t need a bigger ego smh (i love you)
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