diamondtrashbag

[diamondtrashbag]

from “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”

So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.

It started in low. Then it started to grow.

But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!

It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at Whoville! The Grinch popped his eyes!

Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,

Was singing! Without any presents at all!

He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,

Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"

"It came without ribbons! It came without tags!"

"It came without packages, boxes or bags!"

And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!

"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store."

"Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

-Dr. Seuss

[diamondtrashbag]

This is stupid, I spent too long on this lmao

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[diamondtrashbag]

[diamondtrashbag]

for you,

🌷🌸🌷🌸

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

/ᐠ🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷

( ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ🌷🌸🌷

\ つ \ /

U U / 🎀 \

[diamondtrashbag]

MARK: fraktsiya

[diamondtrashbag]

Mom Adopts a “Dog”

So y’all keep blowing up my notes with the various Family Lore stories I’ve been telling, so I guess I should tell one on my parents now.

My Mother’s Father was part of the United Auto Worker’s Union, and during the 50′s and 60′s, was on strike a lot. My point is, grandpa got himself an entirely deserved reputation for being a sucker who loved animals, so people would dump thier pets on him. Hence, my mother grew up in a house with pets such as Picket the one-eyed tomcat, Tweety the Bald canary, Dummy the cat, Stupid Son of Dummy, Spooky Garbage Dog and Chiquita the Tarantula.  Eventually Grandma put her foot down when Grandpa brought home Gerta the Saint Bernard.

I say all this because it provides some context for how the following occured.

Mom and Dad had just moved in together (my parents dated for six years and were engaged for 13 days, driving everyone on both sides insane), and unfortunately, My mother’s German Shepherd, Cops, has just passed away due to bone cancer.  After mourning for a bit, Mom and Dad decided to get a dog together, as a couple.  

For context, my father had never owned a dog in his life.  His mother had ‘Pretty Bird” the budgie as a child but parrots are alien life forms, not pets.

So they go to the Palo Alto Animal shelter to adopt.  The year was 1987, and at the time, Palo Alto was… not a great place.  Lots of drugs, gangs and poor civic managment.  Mom told me that she learned to identify different types of gunfire while living there. They get there, and mom explains that she’s always had a preference for Big Dogs, and the guy’s face lights up.  Oh Yes, he says, We have a Big Dog.  For expirienced owners, yep, adoptable today, here we’ll give you a discount even-

Somehow my parents were not suspicious about this.

They were shown to the Animal in question, a Gorgeous blue-sable beastie with pretty golden eyes who immediately pressed herself against the fence and gave them the best PUH-LEEEEEEASE TAKE ME HOME puppy eyes 100lbs of canine can do.  Mom and Dad fall in love instantly.  They sign all the paperwork and take her home for $10, and name her “Mazel” as in “Mazel Tov.”

Within the hour, it becomes clear that something is amiss.

Cops had lived with his kibble stored in a plastic garbage can in the garage for six years without incident.  Mazel figured out how to open doors and got the locking lid off the can in six minutes, horking down about four pounds of the stuff before my mother notices that it’s been weirdly quiet.  Most dogs bark at or chase squirrels.  Mazel stalked and caught one the second day, presenting it to my mother like an offering.  Mazel knew all her commands but would clearly stop to consider before obeying, and trained my dad to give her good treats within a week.  The locks on the side-yard gate were undone, and she took a stroll around the neighborhood, but always retuned home for dinner.

After a week of gradually realizing that Mazel was smarter than most of the professors my mom worked with, they took her to the Vet for a routine checkup.

Dr. Hamada walked into the exam room, dropped the clip-board and said “Where the HELL did you get a Wolf?”

After a bit of prodding and a very-angry-dr.hamada-calling-the-pound, they determined Mazel was a high-content hybrid, probably with a husky, but was going to be a lil shit her entire life.  OK, said Hamada, I don’t like destroying animals and you’ve got a lot of expirience with dogs, so I’m okay with letting you keep her, but you should keep her away from small children because her Prey Drive could kick in.

Two years later, mom got pregnant with me.

Mazel noticed instantly, and reacted by digging a large hole in the yard and catching even more squirrels for mom, because she needed the protein or something.  That what you do when the Alpha Bitch is preggers, right?  Dig a den and ply her with food?  On the advice of my grandmother, my mom stayed overnight at the hospital once I was delivered, and dad went home with a shirt that had moms and my scent on it.  Mazel spent the whole night puzzling over it.

The next morning, when mom came home with me, there was the sudden and instantaneous recognition of PUPPY!!!!!! :D:D:D!!!!! PUUUUUUUPPY!!!!!!  and Mazel turned into the most aggressively maternal being I’ve ever met.  Playing with me on the blanket, sitting under my chair at meals (I was a messy eater), sleeping under my crib, teaching me to walk by letting me hang onto her fur and shuffle around.

Dr. Hamada thought mom was a madwoman, until he saw me holding Mazel’s mouth open and sticking my face in so i could look at her teeth.  He gave up when my mom announced she was pregnant with my sister.

I’m making living with a Wolfdog sound awesome, but it did come with some drawbacks:

Mazel did have to be muzzled at the vets, because she had Opinions about having things stuck up her butt.

HAIR.  One of my chores growing up was to brush her out every week and I’d frequently end up with more hair than animal.

the only way we could reliably get her to stay in the yard was with an overhead tether with a STEEL cable, which she chewed through anyway.

Do you like waking up by being hit in the face with half a dead animal? No? Wolfdogs may not be for you.

More than capable of opening the fridge and eating everything if you’re not watching

Will get into everything if not otherwise occupied.  Including eating your tax forms.

Howls along with sirens at 4 AM.

PROS of growing up with a wolfdog, as a small child in the 90′s

I was afforded a degree of freedom normally associated with a pokemon trianer. It was no big deal for me and my sister to walk three miles through my not-really-good neighborhood to the Froyo if I took Mazel with us. People tended to leave us alone when we had 100lbs of overprotective Apex Predator following us around.

WINNING at Pet Day at school.  There wasn’t actually a compettion but Billy’s hamster sucks in comparison to an animal that is perfectly willing to demonstrate how she can snap an oak branch in half on command.

PTA moms losing their shit because Mazel would walk down the block by herself to come pick ups up from school.

Grew up associating the word “Bitch” with teeth and the willingness to rip an asshole’s face off for being rude.  Never changed the definition.

Learned the I-Own-This Strut and Murder-Stare from the absolute best.

When she was 17, Mom and Dad decided to add another room on to the house.  They rigged up the overhead tether so she could be outside but not underfoot for the contruction guys.  One morning, mom came out to notice them all milling in the side yard entrance, muttering worriedly.  When mom asked what was wrong, one of them explained that Carlos forgot to bring the Hamburger.  What do you need a hamburger for?  Asked mom, and they pointed down the side yard to where Mazel was sitting, doing her best Viscious Alpha Bitch Stare.

Apparently they’d never realized that she was on the VERY end of her tether there and couldn’t actually get to them, and had been scamming them for a big mac a day for a month.  Mom had my six-year-old sister pull her away to show she wasn’t dangerous and tired her best not to laugh but kind of failed.

Mazel ended up living to be 19 and a half, and except for some minor arthritis, remarkably hale until the day she passed away in her hole in the back yard while taking a nap.  I maintain that Death had to wait until she was sleeping to get a crack at her, or she would’ve taken his scythe for a chew toy.

[diamondtrashbag]

I'm up past my bedtime. I'm doing this because I'm evil >:)

[diamondtrashbag]

shameless

minors. dni.

your roommate, biker!JASON TODD, still hasn’t taken his helmet off.

readers can expect: a helmet wearing jason todd x fem!reader in an undefined relationship. reader in a dress and makeup. use of nicknames like “baby” and “sunshine.” implied consent but not explicitly stated. thigh riding and some dirty talk. minor, minor amounts of fingering.

he’d just gotten home from a ride, the same time you’d gotten back from shopping. you always did the same thing after, so he’d settled himself into a chair to give you and your new clothes an audience. but the mirrored panel he’s watching you through doesn’t give you the same privilege.

you can’t see his eyes, can’t tell if he likes the clothes or not.

he’s been silent the whole time, too. if you didn’t know him better, you’d worry he was mad at you. but you know him well. sometimes you think better than he knows himself. jason just doesn’t talk if he feels like he doesn't need to..or if he’s extremely distracted.

he’s leaning back in the chair, his arms crossed. the motion is making his forearms bulge. the fabric of his flannel straining, already rolled up to his elbows.

your brain is light and fluttery at the idea of his arms holding you close. his hips meeting yours with each thrust. his helmet on.

you’re itching for him to touch you. itching.

you twirl in the new black dress you got, hoping to catch a reaction of some sort.

he tightens his grip on his bicep. shifts in his seat, spreading his legs wider. the fabric around his crotch is definitely more taut than it was when you started.

but he says nothing.

you practically gulp, turning around to go put on the last thing you got.

you come back out in a new red dress. the ruching up the sides pulls the fabric tight against your skin. it ends mid thigh, but you might’ve hiked it up a little higher. might’ve reapplied your lipstick before coming back out. tousled your hair a little bit. who’s to say?

you come a little closer this time, spinning again. you stop, propping a hand onto your hip.

“what do you think?” you turn to the side.

his head tilts. he says nothing.

“okay, well, this was the last thing.” you turn, starting down the hallway.

jason mumbles, the words lost into his helmet. you stop in your tracks. spin back around.

“hm?” you step closer. “did you say something?”

the bulge in jason’s pants is too obvious to ignore now. he shakes his head, beckoning to you, patting his leg.

you have to hold yourself back from practically running to him.

you sit yourself down on a thigh, his hand immediately finding the curve of your ass. electricity runs up your spine. his other hand settles on your upper thigh, slowly inching closer to the junction of your legs. warmth unfurls in your belly at the sensation of the leather of his glove on your bare skin. you lean in, throwing your arms around his neck.

still nothing.

you’re looking at yourself in the mirror covering his eyes. it irks you. you want to see his eyes, the dark slashes of his eyebrows. the corner of your mouth rises as you bring your face in, and plant a lipsticked kiss on the plastic of his visor. jason pinches your waist. his cock twitches behind the thick fabric of his pants. he’s grateful he has his helmet on. it’s hiding his rapidly reddening cheeks.

he recovers, flipping up his tagged visor. just to make a show of rolling his eyes at you. his grip on your thigh tightens as you study the sliver of his face he’s letting you see. a tuft of hair covers his forehead, his telltale white streak cutting through the darker hair, into his right eyebrow.

he looks at you through half-lidded, deep blue eyes, his eyebrows furrowed.

you smile at him, batting your lashes. the itch grows stronger.

he rolls his eyes, again.

“feelin’ feisty today, huh, sunshine?”

you nod, humming in agreement. jason tightens his arms around you, bringing you closer. his eyes narrow, the look in them making the heartbeat between your thighs pound harder. you squeeze your legs together. jason glances down, then scoffs, shaking his head.

“you’re shameless.” he decides.

you nod again, blushing a little as you concede.

he adjusts you, grabbing at the fabric around your hips, pulling it up until it’s bunched around your waist. he pauses when he sees the lace of your underwear covering your sex, his own heart pounding in his ears. he fights the urge to clear his throat, a nervous tic he has that you’d pick up on immediately. he can’t fuck this up. he’s been desperate to touch you since the last time you let him, done nothing but think about the pretty little sounds you’d made. he’s gotta play this just right.

“were these really necessary?” he hooks a finger on the waistband, raising his eyebrow. a giggle bubbles out of your throat as you stand up.

“..my underwear? yeah, i’d say they might be.” it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you do, before pulling off them off.

jason grabs them from you, wrapping the lacy fabric around his wrist like a bracelet. at your shocked face, he shrugs.

“just for safekeeping, sunshine. i’d say don’t get your panties inna twist about it, but ‘s a little late for that.”

he looks up at you in his helmet, and even though the lower half of his face is covered, you can practically see the cocky smile he’s wearing. you set yourself back onto his leg, straddling his thick thigh. the rough fabric of his riding pants meets the smooth skin of your inner thigh, a wet spot already forming.

“well? show me how bad you want it.” he settles back.

you brace your hands on his shoulders while he folds his own gloved hands on his stomach.

you move your hips, starting a delicious rhythm. the friction makes you moan, feels so good you don’t even realize you’re making a sound. you rock yourself back and forth, back and forth. the movement jostling your tits.

jason’s eyes flicker down, his eyebrows raising. a low groan emanates from his throat. the sound takes you to another level. he reaches up, pulling the front of your dress down. his eyes flare in response, breaking his tense posture to reach up with a gloved hand and palm one.

the worn in leather on the delicate skin of your chest feels like heaven. he pinches a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. the combined stimulation drives you to move your hips faster, gripping your fingers into the sturdy angles of his shoulders.

your hands on him has his cock aching, no doubt leaking pre all over the front of his underwear. he can’t believe what you’re able to do to him without even trying.

“that’s right, baby.” he takes in how your face changes, pleasure so acute it’s unmistakable on your features.

“use me, just like that.”

you pick up the pace just a little, your toes curling as his eyebrows raise and he nods his encouragement. his big hands sink into the flesh of your tits, kneading them as you move.

“that’s right, you’re so close, keep going—”

it builds up, and up, and up, the waves cresting as your thighs clench around his, your back arches, you throw your head back. jason is humming is approval deep in his throat. he swipes your clit a few times with his leather-clad thumb, drawing out your orgasm, making your thighs tremble.

“needed that bad, huh?”

your face grows hot, and you flip his visor down.

he pushes it up again, rolling his eyes at you as the corners of them crinkle with what you can guess is a smile. jason caresses your thigh with his hand as you slump into his chest. your breathing matches his, and he brushes your hair out of your face.

“i like this dress.”

[diamondtrashbag]

Sometimes tweeter people know their stuff- this is the right kind of toxic angst I want to read.

[diamondtrashbag]

Can you imagine how weird it must have been for the people who had gone to school with Bruce Wayne. The Bruce they remember was a tiny, odd kid. He was quiet, but with a fierce intelligence when he chose to apply himself.

Then he disappears for nearly a decade on what they hear is a sex and drugs global party, and returns a COMPLETELY different person.

This new Bruce, while still odd, now seemed to have zero impulse control and had lost all the sharp intelligence he had a child.

Upper class Gotham watch on in absolute horror as the child that single handedly won Gotham Academy the Academic Decathlon three years running loudly argues that clearly penguins are fish not birds, because they swim and don’t fly silly. Which he jumps in a foundation to prove, how this proves his point no one is entirely sure.

Bruce Wayne accidentally becomes the best ‘anti-drug’ campaign Gotham has ever seen.

Bruce is so pleased to see a notable downturn in drug activity following his return to Gotham, believing it to be proof that The Batman is working.

When in actuality last week Bruce Wayne pushed The Penguin (The Mob Boss) in a fountain at a gala to prove that penguins (the animal) are fish not birds. “Clearly they swim. If they were a bird they would fly, silly.” Eventually, in a level of coordination unprecedented for Gotham’s upper class, they managed to convince him that they ARE birds because they have beaks and ‘fly’ under the water. This had the unfortunate side effect of meaning Bruce was now ‘convinced’ that octopus were also birds. The Penguin was so horrified he had a rare moral epiphany where he becomes seriously concerned about the effects of long term drug use.

[diamondtrashbag]

I googled it and I'm apparently a little overhydrated 😬

I drink water.

I get a headache.

Betrayal.

[diamondtrashbag]

I drink water.

I get a headache.

Betrayal.

[diamondtrashbag]

❄️🪶Goofy Ravens Playing in the Snow🪶❄️

[diamondtrashbag]

Kurenai: When I was Asuma: A young boy Kakashi: My father Gai: ATE AN ENTIRE LEMON. HE DIDN’T SQUEEZE IT. HE DIDN’T CUT IT INTO PIECES. HE JUST STUFFED IT IN HIS MOUTH AND SWALLOWED. I HAD NEVER SEEN ANYTHING SO HORRIBLE IN MY LIFE Genma: To see a marching band

[diamondtrashbag]

realized i could use my seasonal depression lamp as a light box so that I can give traditional animation a try. check out this guy

[diamondtrashbag]

At some point "fanfic can be as good as professional writing" became "fanfic should be as good as professional writing" and that's caused major damage to fandom spaces.