#12!

[rosejubilee113]

The Warrior’s Final Battle

about two and a half people are gonna know what this is, but I just finished a re-read of Gregor the Overlander and decided to make this as my life preserver in the middle of the sea of emotions.

I know it’s been said before, but Suzanne Collin’s really does love traumatizing the children.

[my-wee-hughie]

There is seriously a lack of Hughie Whump Hurt/Comfort fanfictions out there.

[idkwhattocallmyselfs-stuff]

Broski’s, I just watched a movie at my dad’s (and mom’s but my dad is the one who texted me about it) recommendation and I looked it up expecting to find some feminism, maybe some shit about the creepy, grapey* vibe a character (the villain of the story) gave off, maybe some love for the intelligent queen who kept fighting to get herself out of a truly horrific situation, no matter the cost, or especially for her sheer badassery at the end of the movie, and instead just found thirst posts and fanfic for aforementioned villain? :/ because I want some of that previously mentioned stuff on Red Eye, but now I’m just lowkey mad >:-/

[retrokid616]

checking there company socials

[lovethisfat]

Do me a favor and partake in your THC of choice in memory of mom. I know you didn't know her but she would have loved you.

[itoldyouthings]

reblog and tag how many years of stanning taylor 2021 makes for you

[amerrierworld]

a fic every day in august (12/31)

Twelfth Doctor, Clara Oswald (216 words)

“You’re terrible at this,” Clara said exasperatedly, waving a dish towel to air out the smoke from the burnt cookies in the oven.

“What do you mean, I did exactly as I was told,” Twelve huffed. “You told me to watch the cookies.”

“Yes, but not literally just watch them! When the timer goes off, you take them out!”

“You should have included that in your initial instructions.”

“God, you’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve heard worse.”

Clara picked out a couple of salvageable cookies and put them on a small plate, disappointed at the meagre amount. 

“This’ll have to do then. Go on, have a taste.”

“But they’re burnt.”

“Uh, and who’s fault is that? Take off you sunglasses, and you’ll see how really burnt they are.”

Twelve picked one out and nibbled on the end of it, scrunching his face in disgust. “Far too burnt.”

“Well, I think they’re fine,” Clara said, biting into one. A split second passed before her face contorted too. “No, you’re right. Far too burnt.”

“I’m always right.”

“Yeah, sure. Here,” she tossed him a flowery pink apron form the cupboards.

"Why do I need this?”

“We’re making a new batch, Grandpa, and you’re helping me. Get up.”

Twelve grumbled as Clara pulled out the flour and sugar, but stood up nonetheless.