#but it was me it was my stupid deranged subconscious i gave him up in a silver platter

[strawberry-peach]

still cant stop thinking abt them and its only getting worse get me outta here

Ok i need to say it just to get it outta my head but i had, yet again, a weird ass dream last night. This time weirder than my last tofie one bc this one used characters that what the actual fuck brain, seriously? How?? Thing is it kinda created the wildest pair but also an incredible potential for tragic romeo and juliet shit like whoa man make up your mind, are they having the sexy time or a tragic angsty heartbreak and maybe even fucking death?? Man please chill im so confused and now sad?? Anyway this makes no fucking sense i know i just need to put it out there bc its not gonna leave my head for a fucking while now and im still getting over the fact that it paired THOSE two characters and made it work. You know what im spilling, one was Javi Peña ok? But the other one has nothing to do with him at all? Except my brain said bitch he does, look! And he kinda did and I shut up and let the ride go bc i cant stop my brain from going deranged whenever he wants so🤐

Ok thats it im off you can ignore me sorry.

[xamag-draws]

Ed’s fears

Just wanna talk about Ed's trust issues and fear of rejection and embarrassment for a bit. I’m sure a lot has been said about it already, but I need to release the pressure from my cranium.    

I love Ed because he’s simultaneously very confident and comfortable in his skin, with great people skills and open demeanor, but also has a lot of insecurities and feels lost in social situations he's not familiar with. He's up to any silly shit as long as others support it or find it cool, but if he thinks that people are starting to laugh at him instead of with him, he loses it.

Ed says that fear is the most powerful emotion, and that Blackbeard feels no fear. But the real Ed's biggest fear is being ridiculed and undermined. He simultaneously dislikes the caricature of violence people assign to him, yet subconsciously Needs to be the scariest pirate out there, because if people are afraid of him, they won't laugh at him.

It parallels Stede in an interesting way, because Stede is very familiar with being seen as cringe by everyone around, but he just kinda accepted it at this point, and doesn't let it stop him anymore. He only has this one life to live, and he's gonna do it his way, silly libraries on board and all, which is what Ed admires about him. Stede doesn't need to be some tough shit pirate to be able to handle some shade and throw some back, without absolutely losing it. If Stede learned to be a little more unhinged about standing up for himself from Ed, I hope Ed can learn some composure from him, too.

In the 5th episode, Ed is completely out of his element. These people have their own set of bizarre rules that are hard for him to follow, brilliant sailor or not. They don't know who he is, so his reputation and threats don't affect them. Not to mention him being a mixed person of color. His fear of being emotionally trampled was palpable in that shrimp scene, and he was about to resort to the only way he knows how to fix it: taking out his gun and maiming some bitches.

Ed's disturbed by the notion that thinly veiled insults exist as a form of emotional warfare, and that Stede obliterated an entire ship with politely delivered words alone. I think that moment of Stede's derangement was definitely respected and appreciated by Ed, but it also planted a seed of "he's capable of destroying me in ways I couldn't even fathom" in his mind.

During Ed's stay on the ship, he and Stede come to feel comfortable enough around each other to open up and be themselves without worrying about how others see them. This requires trust in each other, the trust that if you show your belly you won't get stabbed in it.

I think Calico Jack was the first blow to Ed's newly acquired trust in that regard. The old Blackbeard would've been on his guard and suspicious of Jack from the start, but for the new trusting Ed it was enough to cry about a mutiny (which I imagine Jack normally wouldn’t do). Jack tricks him, then laughs in his face and mocks the idea that pirates could even have friends. On top of that, Ed finds out that Izzy gave them up, and Izzy has always been his most trustworthy person.

Stede disappearing after their most vulnerable moment is obviously the biggest nail in the coffin. It's very telling that Ed didn't go back looking for Stede, in case he got himself into some trouble, but just kinda sat there in defeat, like deep down he expected it to go this way.

There’s a neat progression of his power dynamic with Stede. When they first met, Ed was obviously friendly and nice with Stede, but he had the upper hand there. Blackbeard is the legend of the seas, and Stede is a funny little guy who almost got killed for being stupid. Ed really enjoys casually revealing his identity to Stede, because he knows how much it'll awe him. "You're a lunatic and I like it" isn't an insult by any means, but it says “I know my shit, and you don’t (affectionate)”.

But then in the 5th episode, he learns that Stede is equally as knowledgeable and ruthless in other areas. In the 6th, Stede supports him through a moment of weakness and self-loathing. After that, Ed is no longer a cool menacing idol to a little incompetent goofball nobody; he fully comes to see Stede as an equal, hence them deciding to co-captain.

And after they level it out, Ed almost seems like he's afraid to believe that Stede Actually Really likes him back. He's very moved that Stede is willing to look past his assassination attempt; he looks surprised when Lucius tells him Stede went out of his way to do something fun for him; when Jack appears and badly influences his behavior, Ed sheepishly argues this is the real him, and Stede wouldn't like it anyway, so leaving is the right option. The way he says "what makes Ed happy is...you" is with baited breath.

If Stede is his equal and knows his weaknesses, he could hurt Ed like no one before, but Ed probably wouldn’t have the heart to hurt him back. That’s quite a vulnerable and scary position for him, so Ed is ready to explode the bridges and run if anything went even slightly wrong.

So maybe Stede's upset reaction to his resigned state confused him. Or maybe he projected his own unstable unreliable nature onto Stede. Or maybe he thought that Stede wasn't ready to become a real outlaw, or would rather not involve himself with such a horrible person after all. Or that their entire relationship was some fucked up social experiment invented by the upper class weirdos. Either way, I'm sure that when Stede didn't show up, he felt like a fool.

Ed convinced himself that there's no possible interpretation other than rejection and humiliation, and that's what he deserves. Sure, he could go back and check, but if he did and found Stede just chilling on his bunk bed like “oh sorry mate, I don’t actually want to gayly run off with you anymore, I hoped you’d just kind of go away“, that’d be fate worse than death. So it’s better to assume the unspoken, and get out.

Izzy's reaction back on the ship buried the rest of that coffin.

Izzy, Ivan and Fang strike me as very straight-forward with Ed. If Izzy doesn't like something, he's not gonna hold back or dance around the issue, he takes Ed aside and tells him how it is. And in turn, Ed is quite open to criticism, if it's delivered straight to his face. He might make scary eyes at you, but he's willing to try and make things better. In a way, they also talk it through like a crew, although they don't dig deeper for the roots of those issues.

But when Izzy goes "waa waa namby pamby pining for his boyfriend", this is the biggest slap in Ed's face he could deliver. No one laughs at Blackbeard, especially not his trusty assistant, who previously looked up to him as a sea god of sorts, who was literally ready to leave for being disrespectful to Ed before. So Ed's reflexes kick back again, and he resorts to violence to stop the mockery as he's used to.

And then, when he's left alone, the crew starts calling out for him to perform another song. There's something haunting about this moment, how you can feel his paranoia flaring up again, shifting his perception towards the people he thought he could trust.

He trusted Stede, he trusted Jack, he trusted Izzy, and all of them betrayed that trust one way or another. If the one person who allegedly cared about him so so much just left him hanging on a dock like an idiot, and his own right hand man feels okay with belittling him, then what about the rest of them? Who can he trust at this point? Who's not a fickle crowd?

Maybe all of them disliked him all along. Maybe they laugh at him behind his back. Maybe they're frivolously calling him Eddie and demanding another performance, because he's the ship clown. Maybe all of them need to be scared into their place again, with chopped toes and pointed guns.

I think this is confirmed by the way he looks at Lucius before throwing him overboard. Lucius comes to him talking about the talent show, and Ed gives him a bitter smile that says "I know what you're doing. I know exactly how you feel about me. I see it now, and I won't be made fun of anymore".

The way he calls the crew "Bonnet's playthings" too, not only objectifying them back into their role of ship's workers, but also separating himself from ever being friendly with these people. They can't hurt him anymore if they're some insignificant belongings of another person he has no feelings towards.

And after he's back to being the Blackbeard, the man who's feared but feels no fear, no rejection and no embarrassment, he sobs uncontrollably, now with even less emotional outlets for his pain, frustration and confusion. Probably certain that he will never meet another person who could love someone like him, whom Ed could love and trust back.

I know we like, jokingly blame everything that happened on Izzy, but he’s not the only one who needs the Blackbeard’s image. Neither of them have the social leverage without it, and Ed would need sooo much therapy before he can fully stop relying on being the Blackbeard, like he wanted in ep 9.

All in all, Ed's already fragile trust in people is now fucked beyond belief, and if Stede really wants to convince him his love confessions still means shit, he'll have to work his ass off for it. And i'm excited to see how it goes.

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

Golden Sands Arthur Morgan x Reader Angst

Inspired by the lyric “My lover stands on golden sands” from Beyond the Sea. First fic but I had to write this! I hope you guys enjoy ❤️

Trigger warning: violence, cussing, character death

Years after Arthur’s death, Y/N contemplates what could’ve been done had she been just a few minutes earlier.

__________________________________________

“Another.” You tell the barkeep at the Saloon in a flat voice. You watch blankly as he fills another shot of whiskey and pushes it towards you. You can see the concern in his eyes, as you’ve basically lived at the bar for the last week.

“You alright?” The barkeep said cautiously, “I usually keep to ma own business but you’ve outdrank almost all of my regulars, even ol’ Joe over there!”

A man in a corner jolted up out of his drunken half slumber, grumbled something inaudible before slumping back over into a position that you couldn’t help but notice looked quite uncomfortable. “I haven’t been alright for some time now.”

You can feel just with that one simple exchange every damned memory that feels like a dagger in the heart. Unsure of whether it’s being back in Valentine where you met, the booze, or maybe a little of both, you could feel the pain in your chest bubbling and decided a run down saloon in Valentine wasn’t the place to lose composure. You knock back your shot, tip the bartender, and stumble out the doors of the saloon.

It’s been years since you lost him, but no matter how much time passes it never eases the pain. No amount of killing, drinking, gambling, or stealing could take your mind fully off of what happened, off of him. You walk over to the general store and buy as much liquor as you can hold in your satchel and thank the merchant. You couldn’t help but notice the look of concern in his eyes too, and wonder if they looked at every drunken bastard that way. As you walk down the steps and towards your horse, you pull out a bottle of your ol’ reliable. The label on the Guarma Rum has always been the same, tasted the same, and gotten you shit faced all the same, it never changed. You found yourself wishing to live in a world that was unchanging, a world where the ones you loved didn’t leave and you were always happy, but then again you thought, without change you would’ve never met the gang, and most importantly Arthur.

You climb on your horse and as you’re about to open the rum, a shaky voice pulls you from your thoughts. “I-I...I know you!” You turn and see a small man with dark hair, and as you turn you see the recognition in his eyes and it quickly turns to anger. “You!” He spat with a thick Italian accent “You killed my brother!”

“Calm down, partner, you got the wro-“

“I will not calm down! And I know it’s you, you’ve got the same scar down your brow, it’s been years now but I swore I would never forget your face. I held my brother’s dying body after you shot him!”

“There’s your mistake fella, if it was me it would’ve been a corpse in your arms, not a dying man.” And with that, you give your horse a light kick with your spurs and speed off. It’s always better to get away than to risk getting your head blown off by the law or some deranged local. You hear him yelling and cursing you as you go, trying to follow you on foot but he was lost in the dust, and off your mind.

As you open your rum, your mind wanders back to the same place it seems to stay most days. On him. On them. On everything that you’ve been too little too late for. It seems like your entire life has been too late.

Too late to get out of a robbery. This particular robbery went south when you got greedy, you knew you had gotten more than enough but just five more minutes, just one last safe. You laughed at yourself and thought ‘you’ve got this, and you know you’d kick yourself for not hitting that last safe!’

Unfortunately for you, the sheriff had been closer than you expected because by the time you stepped out of the bank your horse was already tethered to another lawman’s horse and you had guns aimed in your direction from all sides. You cursed yourself, you knew better than to get greedy, especially in a new town. You knew you should’ve studied the towns habits closer and kept a better eye on the sheriff, but you were desperate for money, and greatly underestimated the law in this stupid cattle town.

You gave no fight when they took you to the Valentine jail house, where you were put away to rot. The days went by slowly and were very boring. When you tried to strike conversation with the sheriff he would ignore you, and the deputy would antagonize you to the point to where you told yourself if you ever made it out, you would strangle that man. But on the fourth night of your extended stay in Valentine, you were asleep on the cot when you were awoken by a couple of loud drunk bastards that had been arrested. You couldn’t get a decent view with the low lighting, but they were both men, one a lanky fellow, closer to your age and the other a gruff looking man with a beard, covered in dirt and belligerent. You laid back down, and as soon as your head hit the pillow, one of the men spoke to you, “heeeeyyyyy pretty lady,” he was so drunk his words feel out of his mouth clumsily and elongated. He surely wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning.

“I’m trying to sleep, mister.”

“Arthur...the names-“ he stopped mid sentence to vomit, unfortunately right into his friend’s shoes.

“Damn it Arthur, my shoes! Maaaaa shooooooeeeesssssss” the younger man jabbed him with his elbow then started laughing, obviously as enebriated as Arthur.

“Lenny Lenny listen... I’ll buy you some shoes. Nice shoes! Does the lady like shoes?” Arthur was so drunk he swayed as he spoke and as he swayed you could see more of him in the dim lighting, you had to admit he was pretty cute. Thus sparked interest, and the pair of you talked most the night until he passed out mid sentence, unable to hold back the drunken slumber. That night changed your life forever, because when Lenny and Arthur were released Arthur demanded to pay your bond to your extreme disbelief. At the time he said it was for keeping him entertained for the night, and you believed him. He invited you to join his gang, and you accepted as you had no where better to go. This was perhaps the only time in your life being too little too late worked in your favor, the other times weren’t at fortunate.

Too late, when you and the gang were cornered by the Pinkerton’s, Hosea held at gunpoint. Even though you were a fast draw, you still weren’t fast enough to shoot that damned Pinketon that killed Hosea.

Too late, when you saw Kieran leave camp, you debated chasing and offering to go with, if you had seen him just moments before, maybe you could’ve stopped the O’Driscolls from beheading him.

Too late, when things went south in Saint Dennis, and you made it to the docks just in time to see it pulling away, with Arthur aboard.

Too late, when you had to watch Arthur’s condition slowly worsen to tuberculosis. This one hurt you considerably, knowing full and well if you had gone to Strauss just a few minutes before Arthur, it would’ve been you going to Downe’s ranch.

Too late, for the worst day of your life. Too late, catching John on the road after everything went awry, asking where Arthur was, and he pointed to the mountain. You were riding your horse harder than you ever have, and your heart dropped as you heard the single gunshot. ‘Let that be a hunter,’ you tell yourself. ‘Let that be a misfire, let that be anyone other than Arthur be shot. God please let him be okay.’ Your blood runs cold when you see the body lying lifelessly on the ground. “Arthur!” You scream, holding back your sobs and you jump off your horse and run to him. You stop dead in your tracks when you see his face. The eyes you could get lost in for days were closed, the hands you held were cold, the lips you kissed were bloodied, as was the hair and beard you loved to absent mindedly play with. And his beautiful, lovely face, the face that melted your heart and taught you to love, was made ugly with a bullet hole and fresh blood. You couldn’t hold back your sobs any longer, and you cradled his body close to you, praying it was some god awful nightmare and you will wake up any minute next to him, but it wasn’t a dream and again, you were too late.

Too late, after Arthur’s death it was your one and only goal to make Micah pay for what he did to you, what he did to Arthur. For stealing the only good you had in your life and turning it foul and empty. Never in your life have you felt more rage than the day you tracked his gang to the top of a snow covered cliff. You were suspicious when no one was around to stop you, but you told yourself they must be out working a job, and you would be there when that rat bastard returns, to send him to Hell in the worst ways imaginable. It wasn’t until you saw him there, dead for days with a dusty layer of snow. Years of pain and anguish come all at once, and before you could stop yourself you let out a cry of fury and unload all of your bullets into his face. Tears streaming down your face, you look down at the sight you thought would finally make everything better. Micah, cold and dead, his face no longer recognizable from the bullets you unloaded into his head, but your bullets weren’t what killed him, and you felt no better, if anything you felt worse. Too late, to take revenge for everything good that was stolen from you.

At this point, you were slammed to say the least, you reached into your satchel and to your disappointment, it was empty. Looking up, you realized where you were and tears instantly welled up in your eyes. You didn’t know if you subconsciously led your horse here, or if God had given you a devine coincidence, but you found yourself at Horseshoe Overlook. Most wouldn’t recognize it from any other grassy area in the woods, but you had too many memories here. You drunkenly stumble to the spot Arthur set up camp. After you joined the gang, he always made sure your tent was near his. Something shiny poking out of the ground catches your eye, and you pick it up. You let out a soft sob, it’s an old bottle of Guarma rum. You sit down on the ground where you think Arthur’s bed would’ve been and think back to one of your fondest memories.

Not long after joining camp, there was a celebration for a man named Sean that had been rescued. Arthur walked up to your tent with two beers in his hand and held one out in your direction, “we’re throwin’ a party tonight to celebrate ol’ Sean bein’ back, why dontcha join the fun, and have a little drink?”

Arthur was already drunk, but not as drunk as the night you met. You laughed, “Okay Mr. Morgan fair enough, but I’ve got my own drink of choice.”

Arthur let out a hearty laugh, and you didn’t know why but it caused you to blush furiously. “Oh ho now, and what’s the lady’s drink of choice?”

“Guarma Rum, the best there is!” You proclaim as you pull it from your bag.

“Makes sense a girly girl would be drinking a girly drink.” He teased.

“Oh really?” You challenged “how about you and me have ourselves a good ol fashioned drinking contest with my liquor of choice, and we’ll see who the real girly girl is.”

He lifted an eyebrow up at you and stuck his hand out for a shake. “You got yourself a deal, Y/N! I hope you know what kinda trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Oh, I think you’re the one who’s in trouble Mr. Morgan.”

You chuckle as you recall how drunk he got, and started flirting with you, whispering drunk nothings in your ear, before he passed out, head straight in your lap. “Looks like I win, Arthur.” You said to him gently, stroking his hair. He grunted, and was out like a light.

Hands shaky from liquor and sadness, you hear a slosh inside the bottle, and to your surprise there is just half a chug left. Wiping the tears from your cheeks you take the last swallow of the rum, and even the sweetness of the liquor isn’t sweet enough to take the sour taste of sadness off your tongue. You watch the sun set in the distance, and let yourself fall into an alcoholic slumber.

You are awakened by the sound of a shotgun cocking, and shoot up, instantly regretting moving so fast as your head was swimming. The small Italian man was now standing above you, hate shining deep in his eyes.

“You thought you could get away didn’t cha?”

“I-I-“ you stumble still drunk, but before you can say anything else, you hear the gun fire, and see the blood start leaking from your chest, and everything goes black and cold.

__________________________________________

Everything around you feels warm. A warmth you’ve never quite felt before, yet still feels familiar. You can smell lavender fields and hear the chirps of spring birds in trees, but wait, wasn’t it late fall? And why are all of your aches and pains gone? Everything from the dull pain in your lower back from riding so long down to the old bullet wound you had from a bar fight about a month ago.

Bullet wound. Your eyes fly open and your hands immediately go to your chest, you’re memories flood back, a drunken pitiful night and an angry man. An angry man with a shot gun. Your eyes are fuzzy and it’s hard to see, everything is shrouded in golden light, and as your eyes begin to focus, you notice your shirt is as crisp and clean as the day you bought it, no bullet holes. You stand, hands still at your chest, and look around. Youre on a beach, waves lazily washing upon the sand, and a figure-no, a man. Your chest tightens as your eyes focus. Those shoulders, those arms, and as he turns, you feel the first bit of joy you’ve felt since the day he died.

You break into a clumsy dash across the sand, and fall into his arms. Looking up, you see his smile, and kind eyes, just as lively and bright as the day you met. Gone were the bags under his eyes, the sickly pale look of his skin, and the haggered breathing. “Hey darlin’, I’ve been waitin’ for ya.”

More tears fall from your eyes onto his smooth skin, once again the healthy sun tanned color you knew, and he held you tight, and you finally feel safe again.

He pulls you away and looks into your eyes, those stormy blue eyes looking right into your soul and loving every piece of it. “Welcome home, pretty girl, we’ve missed you.”

You both turn, and there further down the golden shore was Lenny, Hosea, Ms. Grimshaw, Kieran, and Sean. You reach for Arthur’s hand, and remember what true happiness and family feels like after being without for so long. Finally, you’re home.

[kangseluigi]

ANOTHER personal post bc I deleted my facebook since no one reads that shit anyway and I need to let it out somewhere so THERE

I am…deeply damaged, by many things, but especially by my first “real” fandom???

Like, yea, I was hardcore into like Sailor Moon and Pokemon and Britney and shit as a kid, but that doesn’t really count for me. The first real fandom to me, was the first one I really spent my own money on, on merch, concerts etc. The one I was pushed into bc a “friend” tried to use it to exclude me from her talks with her best friend, so I had to learn it all v quickly to keep up with them and not be excluded every. single. time we spent time together. Her friend was cool with me and just focussed on topics we could all talk about or would explain things I didn’t get, but the other one, wow.

And now that I’m saying it, I realise how much deeper it goes than i realised.

I learned all that cryptic shit about the band within days and learned every song, which album it’s on, downloaded a whole bunch of pictures and forced myself to become obsessed within a week or less, just so I could join their talks. Of course that didn’t help me, because she only became annoyed with that and ended up mocking me for being too obsessed and all kinds of shit, or would change the topic to another thing I wasn’t involved in, like their shared trip to Paris, which I would never be able to catch up on.

And nowadays, I sill have a habit of forcing myself to “learn” fandoms in days and after 24-36 hours of obsessing (sometimes with a little pre-game/getting to know phase these days though) I just become so fuckin burned out I cannot enjoy it for at least another full day, sometimes a week or anywhere in between. It sucks.

But the whole situation, having been forced into it only to be ridiculed again, ended up pushing me even deeper into that fandom, because I guess, in the beginning, I thought if I love it enough, it will get me accepted as a real fan, but of course things only got worse. More people thought i had lost it for being that obsessed with the band, having no other topic anymore. On the other hand, the band had all these messages of their fans being their family and connection and whatnot. The kind of bullshit that a teenager with abuse at home and angry/overworked/stressed/… parents with no time for anyone would absolutely run into to feel a little taste of family and comfort.

It completely spiralled out of control. I was existing only for that stupid fucking band. I was existing entirely online and for the times I could go back online to talk in chat groups and message boards and whatever the fuck it was we had back then, to talk to other fans, some of whom actually became my friends, and stalk the shit out of that band. Any and every update had to be documented and I had to know it. Every picture, no matter how intimate. The shit I had found out about the band in the end was unhealthy! Pictures buried so deep in the web, because they were so personal, not even the most deranged fans would dare re-post them, but I ended up saving them just to be safe, just to have something. I honestly disgusted myself at that point, but I couldn’t stop, somehow. And I still find it gross, but I also know I was maybe 17 at the time I went that far out. My dad had just died, I was grieving, I was lonely more than anything, I felt like the only actual family who had still cared about me was gone, I needed something to hold on to and went into all the wrong directions.

But despite all the deeply intimate things I knew by then, there was one big issue I had somehow managed to keep missing, until they released a video for a song that upset me on such a deeply subconscious level, that I didn’t even know why, until it built up enough to cause my first real flashback.

There was a lot of drama about it within the fandom. A few of us who actually were triggered through the video into reliving our most traumatic moment, while everyone else still praised the shit out of them and told us we were just horrible for implying anything.

We didn’t imply anything. We just said we had a hard time dealing with it. But that didn’t stop threats of violence and death, even from people I was friends with until that point.

But amongst all that, one of the friends, who had already left the fandom to the most part at that point, told me the one big thing I had kept missing: The lead singer is a rapist. He especially goes for underage girls, but ultimately, it’s all the same.

There were enough stories about it out there and even if I think one or two may be made up—oddly enough the favourable ones seem the most unlikely—I think with that amount of stories, including things my friend has seen herself, it’s pretty evident that it has happened. And once that veil was lifted, I could see it. Maybe it’s my imagination, but some signs have always been there, and many people have said the same to me over time, some who knew, and some who didn’t. But that look is there, and cannot be trusted.

This whole thing just messed with me. It messed hard with me then. I had my trauma before, but I had had it well-repressed and buried so deep in my psyche only bits and pieces came bleeding through in the weirdest ways. Not enough for anyone to notice and only for me to occasionally wonder why I’m always returning to this specific topic. (Shit, I still have the hardest time using the term, especially when applied to me…) But now I also had flashbacks, and the knowledge that for the second time now, someone I thought I loved and thought—for some reason—loved me (In a way), was actually this kind of asshole, was a goddamn rapist, and had deceived me so horribly, only for me to go through the pain and trauma all over again.

I’m still thankful I had LInkin Park at the time, to be honest. I know y’all love to make fun of them, but they were there when I was bullied at 12-13 years old and felt all alone in the world, just when “Numb” came out. Translating their lyrics is how I learned english and at that point, Chester screaming in my ears alone, was often the one thing able to keep me from dissociating every 5 minutes, but moreover, he was screaming about the exact trauma that had come to the surface, that I wasn’t equipped to handle in any way, and I just knew I wasn’t alone with it, I knew he understood. It was a little comfort keeping me from losing it entirely, and it gave me some hope that if he could make it through the same bullshit and come out on top, I could, too. Of course, a few years ago that hope got shattered, but that’s another story.

The thing about this whole experience though, is that I still suffer from it. Not only can I still not look at that shitbag’s face without rage and sickness and pain—although it’s getting easier, not that I’m trying to look at him, but he’s unavoidable these days, fucking horrible. I can never listen to their songs again, not that I want to. Even karaoke versions or covers make me run out the room with massive panic attacks. Especially the songs from the same album as the song that triggered it all. The last time someone covered their song at an event I was at, I nearly threw myself off the balcony in the hotel lobby as I was trying to get away from it, because I was that terrified and in that much pain from hearing the first line alone.

And thinking about it, maybe that’s why I no longer go to events. I told myself it was finances, but i just don’t wanna run into that again. Ever. I’m so, so thankful the same friend who had informed me of it all back then was standing by on twitter to talk to me. Typing and reading is good to get your head out of it. It’s a mental and physical sensation and forces you to think of something else, even if it’s only spelling, and I could talk to her to calm tf down.

But mostly, I’m thinking about the very, very deep sitting trust Issues towards famous people and fandom I have developed through all of it. Up to this day, I cannot trust anyone who is famous. Riches being bitches is one problem, an intellectual one for me, mostly, but this is something else.

As soon as I see someone enjoying their fame—especially white men—I get suspicious, because it’s so much like him. What if they too are like him? What if they too only want fame to attain girls they can violate? What if? How could I allow myself to like someone like that ever again? How can I allow myself to fall for this stunt again? I can’t. That’s it. I see you enjoying your fame, I cannot trust you, to protect myself, if nothing else. To not accidentally promote someone who’d do those things. To not accidentally promote them to someone, who’s led right into the trap and has to endure what so many others already had to endure, what I had to endure, even if in my case it wasn’t even a famous person.

So I shy away from anyone who seems a little too “Type-A” or too joyful about their status as celebrity or… too talented, too inhuman. I don’t even know. A lot of it comes down to the eyes, and sometimes I’m definitely right, but in some cases even I am not sure if I see it, or if I’m just scared I don’t see it when I should. (Does that make sense to you?)

On the other hand, sometimes I am certain I don’t see it, and my brain goes into overdrive, running around in circles. We don’t see it, so does that mean it’s not there, or that they are that good at deceiving us? We’ve been deceived before, we failed to see it before, who says we won’t fail this time? Do we see it now? Maybe we only think we see it because we are scared and a little paranoid. But maybe-

it’s a never-ending circle. (Kind of the definition of a circle, isn’t it?)

Every time I see a famous person I want to trust be so visibly human, and warm, or shy, and just likeable, I trust them a little more, and want to trust them a little more, and that is exactly what makes the alarm bells go off in my brain! it’s ridiculous.

Yet, every time I see the same person interact with, say, a child, I freak the hell out.

This is not normal in any way, and it cannot be, and it shouldn’t be, I shouldn’t constantly be afraid of what thoughts some adult man has towards children, literal gd toddlers in frilly dresses. I cannot keep thinking that being nice to a toddler has an ulterior motive, because it’s wrecking me the hell up! Yet here I am, unable to shake those thoughts and I don’t know what to do about it, or how to feel about myself. I was angry at myself a lot today, partly because of that. But I’ve also been deeply depressed lately, partly because so much of my actual trauma came up again and again, and now it’s not going away. I cannot even listen to remix versions of that one Lady Gaga song the band once covered, because it all brings me back (and How very shitty for a rapist to cover a song by a rape survivor too). Even worse, because that song is in my workout game.

I don’t want to have to think about all this all the time anymore, I don’t want my brain to constantly suspect the worst in people, but I cannot fucking shake it off.

I know I’m getting better, generally. I know I’m breaking through some of my fears and all, but I also know I may never be ready to actually speak about this topic with another soul. Therapist or not, no one will ever achieve the level of trust I need to open up about this the slightest bit. If someone were to approach the topic (to talk about me, not themselves, that is), I’d shoot them down. I may actually fall into a panic attack and punch them and run away I don’t know. But this conversation is not going to happen, ever. So I really don’t know how to fix it, except keep fixing myself, but I just don’t know if I can this time.

[asteriaways]

Everybody Knows Part 5

Hiya everybody! The long awaited Chapter 5 is here!!! Don’t die of excitement, please.

I worked really hard on this, so please like and reblog!!!!!

Warnings: Swearing, fluff. Fluff. FLUFF.

A/N: Guys, we are almost at 100 followers!!!!!!! Please remember to like and reblog, and send me asks of what you want to happen next.

Song: Inspired by Back to You by Selena Gomez and Human by Christina Perri

It means so much that everyone reads this story, I wrote it as a means to escape and now it’s become big and omg it makes my heart soar x

Onto the story!!!

The soft morning light light streamed through the blinds as you slowly stirred, twisted around as you stretched. You sat up, immediately clutch your head, groaning as pain spiked throughout every region of your brain.

You quickly looked around, taking stock of your surroundings. One thing was for sure- you were not at Freddie’s. So where were you? You scanned your alcohol ravaged memory, trying to pice together a coherent thought. You remembered a pub, a car park, 2 bottles of vodka - shit, that would explain the hangover- and a pair of the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. Suddenly the room shifted in your brain- you recognised the posters, the bedcovers- even that stupid music notebook you gave him two years ago laid on the bedside table, stuffed to the brim with budding sings and works of art.

You leaped our, ignoring the stabbing in your head as you ran out into the sitting room of the house you knew so well.

Shit. Shitty shit shit shit shit.

‘Hey.’ A soft voice said as you looked around wildly. You spun around, seeing Roger in a dressing gown, holding out a glass of water and two panadol tablets.

‘This will help with your hangover.’

‘What the actual FUCK am I doing here? I swear to god if we-‘

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. To answer the question that I know you’re thinking- no, we did not fuck. I found you in a car park, completely wasted, so against my better judgement I brought you here so you didn’t collapse and drink yourself to death.’

Your gaze softened without even meaning to. ‘But..... Where did you sleep?’

He pointed to the leather couch, which was covered in blankets and pillows. ‘I slept on the couch. Now take the goddamn Panadol before I shove it down your throat.’ He threatened, shoving them in your face. You groaned and obliged, quickly sculling the water as if it was the desert and you hadn’t drank anything in days. God, you needed that.

‘Now, I can’t cook, but I can make tea. Ya want some?’ Roger said, getting two mugs out of the cupboard.

‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ You blurted. You clapped your hand around your mouth, eyes widening. Shit. You thought you only said that in your head.

‘Because, 1) Above all else, you are my friend, and friends help each other out, and 2) because I was a stupid dick and I couldn’t keep it in my pants and because of that I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.’

Your mouth opened as your jaw dropped, catching flies. Well, that was unexpected.

‘Rog, that doesn’t change the fact that you cheated on me. It’s over.’

He rolled his eyes, pouring hot water into the chopped cups. ‘I know. And I’m really sorry- but I know I can’t make it better. But do you really think I’m that much of a dick that I would leave my friend out in the world, completely shitfaced? I’m not that much of an asshole, Y/N.’

You sighed, taking the tea he offered you. You took a sip, a small smile gracing your lips as you realised he made it just the way you liked it. Slowly looking over the rim of your cup, you surveyed his tired face. It was these unguarded moments, the ones where all the filters disappeared, when you really saw the person. They dropped the mask- sometimes unintentionally- and it was then and only then that you could observe their true nature. Everyone puts up a filter. Whether it be their words, their emotions, their feelings. But sometimes, just sometimes, you could catch a glimpse of someone unfiltered- if you were lucky.

So you studied his face. He didn’t look like he usually did- cocky, arrogant and deranged. Instead, he looked.... tired. Exhausted. As if the weight of the world was crashing down on his shoulder and he couldn’t shake the weight off.

You lifted your hand, subconsciously bringing his face towards you. You studied his expression, and then, and only then, did you notice the fading bruise on his face. You lightly brushed the purple stain with your fingertips, feeling his shiver beneath your touch. You caressed it, completely forgetting that you weren’t in a relationship. His eyes bored into you as your breath hitched in your throat, the cup of tea forgotten as you gazed into each other’s eyes.

‘D- did Deaky do this?’ You asked breathlessly, breaking the spell.

‘Yeah- but to be fair, I deserved it.’ He whispered, lowering his gaze.

‘I’d drink to that.’

‘No! I don’t want you getting drunk again. Speaking of which, you must be dying in that dress. I think I have some old clothes of yours in my room- just have a look around, I never got around to moving them. Now go and have a shower- you stink.’

You shook your head, bringing yourself back to reality. You were broken up and he was looking after you- no feelings whatsoever.

You sighed, standing up and putting your cup on the counter. ‘Okay, thanks. I’ll be right back.’ You scurried off into his bedroom, hiding your blushing face.

He busied himself with cleaning up, trying to distract his aching heart that constantly lingered on you- Y/N L/N, the one that got away. He heard the water being turned off but only registered it when you walked out, your wet hair in a towel and wearing a pair of pyjama pants and- was that his Led Zeppelin top?

You noticed him staring and blushed, your face flushing a pleasant shade of pink. You wrapped your arms around yourself- why? Roger wondered- as you stammered an apology.

‘I couldn’t find my tops and these were all I could find and so I grabbed your shirt- I hope that’s okay.’

He reluctantly tore his eyes away from you, trying to look anywhere but at you. God, you were so beautiful.

‘It’s- it’s okay, keep it. It always looked better on you anyway.’

You shook your head, eyes widening. ‘No, no, I couldn’t possibly do that. It’s your shirt and I shouldn’t and, ugh, I’m so sorry, my head still hurts so I’m still a bit fuzzy and-‘

Roger rolled his eyes, tired of your nervous blabbering. He took a quick step forward, coming so close that if you moved even an inch, you would end up kissing. Your breathing stopped- it was if the world instead had frozen as you stared into each other’s eyes, all previous thoughts forgotten. Was this a fantasy? Was this the real life? Or was this just another figment of your imagination running wild and untamed.

‘Look, I’m so sorry, but I just needed the top-‘ you started to apologise, but we’re cut off by the soft feel of his lips on yours. They were sweet, almost hesitant as you instinctively kissed back, winding your fingers through his hair, winding your fingers through his fluffy golden hair as he gripped your waist gently, still kissing you.

He was the one who broke away, gasping for air. You looked at him, your mouth opening as you realised what you just did.

‘No. No no no nononononononononono. I can’t do this!! We broke up, Rog. No!’ You cried, running into the bathroom, slamming the door and sliding down it as you touched your lips, feeling the ghost of his kiss still touch you.

Fuck. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, to say that it couldn’t- wouldn’t- happen, it still was there.

You, Y/N L/N, were still completely and utterly in love with Roger Meddows Taylor, drummer from Queen.

Ask to be on my taglist!!

@mxrcury-love @will-ptx @dreamer821 @marequeenii @mrsmazzello @11mb0 @rogerlad

So sorry if I forgot anyone! I’m very sleep deprived atm heh

[katrina-cornwell]

No More Tears

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: gunshot, swearing, blood

A/N: So this my entry to @literallyprentissstwin ‘s fic challenge. My prompt was You mean to much to me. This is also my first ever fanfic so it might suck I ‘m much better at math than writing. Anyway, basically Emily’s girlfriend is Will partner and gets shot in the line of duty and angst ensues with what I tried to make a coherent happy ending :)

“When will this job get any easier?” Y/N sighed as she slammed the door to the cruiser.

“I’m not sure it will but you can’t just focus on the bad you need to focus on the good too,” Will responded.

“Yea I guess you are right, but crimes involving children are just sick,” Y/N said leaning against the car.

“Well I can’t argue there” Will replied, “But let’s focus on catching the monster that did this before they can do it again.”

Y/N pushed off the car and approached the house with Detective LaMontagne. The knowledge of three dead children and one missing for three days hung heavy in the air surrounding the two detectives. Y/N’s boots crunched on the loose gravel path leading up to the house. She looked down to see the gravel was pushed exposing the dirt beneath in certain spots as if there was something dragged across it.

“Will, what do you make of this?” Y/N subconsciously rested her hand on the top of her holstered Glock.

He glanced down at his feet, “The gravel?”

“Doesn’t it look like something was being dragged across here?”

“It could have been anything, Y/N don’t jump to conclusions. For all we know it was a bag of topsoil.”

“You’re right; I just want to find who did this. I guess it’s setting me a little on edge.” Y/N said taking her hand off her holster.

They continued up the path. As they approached the front door Will nudged Y/N.

“Doesn’t that look a lot like Sarah Peterson hiding behind that curtain. Y/N glanced over Will's shoulder at the window. Sure enough there was a young blonde girl peeking around the curtain in the window.

“I don’t think that looks like Sarah Peterson I think that IS Sarah Peterson.” Y/N hissed.

The little girl’s eyes widened as she was pulled from the window by an unknown figure.

“We should call for back up…” Will started as they heard yelling.

“There’s no time we have to go NOW” Y/N exclaimed pulling her gun out. “I’ll cover the back and you go in the front!”

Y/N raced around the side of the house to the back door. She tested the doorknob and quietly cracked the door. When she heard Will yell police she burst into the room. The little girl came racing around the corner and almost collided with Y/N when she slid and fell on the hardwood floor. She gave a terrified look at Y/N.

“Sarah, my name is Y/N I’m with the police can you get behind me?” she said urgently moving forward to put herself between the child and whoever she was running from.

As Sarah crawled behind Y/N to the washer as the UNSUB came around the corner gun in hand.

“Give her back” he growled aiming the gun squarely at Y/N.

“Not in your lifetime” Y/N spat.

Will maneuvered himself quietly behind the man. Sarah was crouched behind the washer next to Y/N.

“I would advise you to put your weapon down,” Will said evenly but Y/N could see the rage in his eyes.

The man’s expression flashed a startled look as he realized he was surrounded. The expression quickly morphed into a look of wild determination.

“I am not going to prison,” he said squeezing the trigger.

The next second lasted an eternity. Y/N saw the bullet leave the barrel of the gun but couldn’t move. Will fired two shots into the UNSUB’s chest. The bullet struck Y/N in the stomach and tore through her flesh like it was tissue paper. She remained standing for a millisecond before feeling a searing pain and crumpling to the floor. Will yelled her name as he kicked the gun away from the now dead UNSUB and rushed over.

“Oh Y/N,” he said. His expression was determined but his eyes flashed with worry as the blood seeped through his hands. He pulled out his phone and called for an ambulance.

“Will, the girl,” Y/N croaked.

“She’s alright,” Will said soothingly, “She’s alright and you will be too.”

Y/N heard the wail of the sirens and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she was in the ambulance. The paramedics were yelling medical jargon. She closed them again and woke up to being wheeled down a hallway. She blacked out again and woke up to a constant beeping noise. Her mouth was dry and she coughed causing her whole body to ache. Out of the corner of her eye she was someone stir in the chair. Y/N relaxed as she recognized the familiar face.

“Emily,” she croaked, ““what happened?”

Emily stood up and walked over to the bedside. She gently grabbed Y/N’s hand.

“You were shot” she began “I was really worri---“

“Is Sarah alright?” Y/N interrupted worry straining her voice.

“Sarah?”

“The little girl is she alright?” Y/N asked a little too forcefully.

“Yes she’s fine. Will’s with her now.” Emily responded.

“Oh thank god” Y/N sighed with relief, “I thought she was dead but then when we saw her in the window…” She trailed off when she saw a flash of pain in Emily’s eyes. For the first time she realized Emily looked like she had been crying.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” Y/N asked squeezing the brunette’s hand.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Y/N you were shot! Why didn’t you call for back up or at least put on your vest?” Emily’s voice cracked with emotion.

“Wait are you mad at me for doing my job?” Y/N let go of Emily’s hand.

“No I’m not mad at you for doing your job I’m mad that you weren’t being safe!” Emily responded, “If you had your vest on or proper back up this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Emily there was a child in danger!” Y/N’s voice strained. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing!”

“You’re right I wouldn’t have.”

“Oh no you would just go off on your own to face a deranged madman to protect a child then have to fake your own fucking death. Heaven forbid I go into a house with my partner to save a little girl and suddenly I’m doing something wrong?!” Y/N yelled.

“That’s not fair and you know it!” Emily cried.

“Neither is you getting mad at me for saving a little girl!” Y/N could feel her face turning red with anger. The beeping on the monitor was steadily increasing.

Emily opened her mouth but before she could say anything, a nurse burst into the room. “You need to calm down” she said looking at Y/N.

“And if you two can’t keep it civilized I will have to ask you to leave” the nurse glared at Emily.

“It’s fine I was just leaving” Emily picked up her coat and stormed out with tears in her eyes.

Y/N stared at the doorway with a look of shock. Why had she brought up Doyle and Declan? Emily was right that wasn’t fair, but neither was Emily getting mad at her for doing her damn job. God being in a relationship with these jobs sucked.

The nurse left the room and shortly after JJ and Will came in.

“Hey Y/N, how are you doing?” Will asked in his southern drawl.

“Honestly I’ve been better” Y/N sighed. She could feel tears beginning to form in her eyes.

“Doc says you’ll be back to work in no time,” JJ said playfully bumping Will. “Lord knows I need someone to keep an eye on this one.”

“Yea great” Y/N said softly as a tear ran down her cheek.

“What’s eating at you?” Will asked concerned.

“It’s just Emily was here and I…I screwed everything up” Y/N sobbed. “I…I shouldn’t have said the things I did, but in fairness she was mad at me for doing my job. And I brought up Doyle and her faking her death and and I think I just screwed up the best relationship I’ve ever had!”

“Oh sweetie,” JJ said clutching Y/N’s hand, “Don’t worry about Emily. She’s got a thick skin, she’ll get over it. And the only reason she was so angry was because she cares about you. More than I’ve ever seen her care about anyone.”

“Really?” Y/N wiped away some of her tears, “We haven’t even said I love you. Which is really stupid because I do love her and I don’t know why I can’t just tell her that.”

JJ smiles, “She loves you too Y/N, unfortunately you two are not the best at verbalizing your emotions.”

“I don’t know JJ,” Y/N half smirked through her tears, “we are pretty good at expressing anger.”

“You’re telling me” Will smiled as you swatted at him.

“You two were meant for each other. You just need to take the plunge and say it.” JJ said reassuringly.

“That’s all well in good but I don’t think she wants to talk to me,” Y/N said sadly.

“Nonsense,” JJ said standing up, “I’ll make her come back here so you two can work all of this out.”

“Thanks JJ,” Y/N said wiping the last of her tears away.

Emily looked down at the roses she had bought for Y/N and sighed. They weren’t nearly enough to apologize for blowing up at Y/N like that but it was all she could think to bring with her. She took a deep breath and entered the room.

“Emily,” Y/N said nervously picking at her fingernails, a habit they both shared.

“Y/N I am so sorry” Emily whispered. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you especially after you had been shot.”

“Emily I’m the one that needs to apologize. I should have never brought up Doyle or you leaving. It wasn’t fair.” Y/N replied.

“I was just so worried about you.” Emily sighed sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.

“I know” Y/N whispered, “And you were right I should have put on my vest or called for backup like Will wanted. I should have thought about the consequences of my actions.”

Y/N grabbed Emily’s hand. The brunette began to shake softly as tears began to fall onto the roses she was holding.

“Emily?” Y/N’s eyes began to tear up. It gutted her seeing Emily this upset. “What can I do to make this better?”

“Nothing” Emily cried tears still streaming down her face, “I’m not strong enough to do this.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N tried to hide the hurt in her voice. Was this it? Was Emily breaking up with her?

“You mean too much to me, Y/N and I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I’m just not strong enough for that,” Emily sobbed looking at Y/N. “Seeing you being wheeled into surgery was terrifying. It felt like I was the one shot. I love you Y/N and seeing you on death’s doorstep without me telling you that, I thought it would kill me.”

“Emily Prentiss, I love you!” Y/N said pulling Emily into a kiss. “And I promise to say it every day to make up for how long it took me to say it now.”

Y/N gently wiped the tears away from Emily’s eyes. “No more tears I can’t stand to see my love upset.”

“You are so cheesy you know that,” Emily said smiling.

“Yeah but you love me” Y/N responded.

“That I do,” Emily said leaning in for another kiss.

[flowerchildchim]

Inferno // two

Genre: demon!au so I guess horror Word count: 3.5k Summary: Nothing makes sense, but you have to figure out where you are. To your surprise, it’s not really what you think.

PART I / PART II

A/N: I finally got time and enough inspiration to write again. I’m afraid this part is sort of boring, but I tried my best. The whole idea, specifically this part, was inspired by this post, but read it after you’ve read this or else you’ll ruin the plot twist, haha.

I think next part is gonna be more interesting, the first two are sort of a slow intro, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

The painting mentioned is this one, Heaven and Hell by Octave Tassaert.

Jimin’s words were playing in your head over and over like a broken record, but no matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t grasp what he was trying to make you understand. You tried to remember all the things that he said, forcing yourself to piece the puzzle and solve the riddle. He said it was a one way ticket. He said he had no phone. And he told you to look around and get familiar.

So it was a dead end with no return, no source of connection, and you had to make yourself at home?  Nothing at all seemed to make any sort of sense.

You walked back over to the front door, but hesitated once you placed your hand on the handle. Your body had almost gotten immune to the pungent smell of rotten eggs at this point, that wasn’t the problem. It filled the house anyway, there seemed to be no escape from the displeasing odour. Going back out just didn’t feel tempting considering the thick smoke that lingered in the air, and no matter how scared you felt to be in this unfamiliar place; being inside felt a lot safer than to wander off in the middle of nowhere. Besides, you had felt like the smoke almost suffocated you just a while ago, and that wasn’t something you wanted to experience again, so you decided against the idea of exploring the outside and stepped away from the door.

Instead, you moved over to the large window on your right that was letting some faint light in through the gap between the velvety, deep red curtains covering it. The window towered over you, going all the way from the ceiling, and as soon as you pushed the curtains to the sides, you were met by the now familiar, red glow of the desert like nature around here. Everything was dead silent and the silence was eerie, almost hauntingly disturbing. You couldn’t spot the sun, nor the moon, the only thing that seemed to move were the grey clouds of smoke. What kind of messed up place was this?

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming from the stairs, causing you to spin around in fear of Jimin having other plans for you. But instead, you were met by an unfamiliar face. The new male was taller than Jimin, that you could tell, but he was equally as ethereal. His caramel skin was glowing even in the poorly lit room, giving a beautiful contrast to his bleached, blonde hair. His angelic face didn’t belong in this dark, mysterious, foul smelling place.

“Hey, you must be the new girl! I’m Taehyung, but please feel free to call me Tae, or TaeTae,” he said with a bright, box shaped smile, reaching out his hand to greet you as he approached. “Or V, my friends like to call me that too. I’ll tell you why later.”

His aura was so much different from Jimin’s, so much brighter. You didn’t feel apprehensive to be around him, not that you knew much about either of them, but the characteristic contrast between the two was significant. His demeanor made you feel less anxious, which instantly made you more confident about taking his hand for a shake.

“Uh, the new girl? You know me?” you questioned skeptically, shoving your hand into the pocket of your hoodie once Taehyung let it go. The situation was getting not only weird but also fishy. What on earth did this ridiculously beautiful man know that you were oblivious to, and most importantly - why?

Taehyung furrowed his dark brows and crossed his arms over his chest. “So you don’t know much yet, huh?” he asked, flinching as a loud thud sounded from behind him, somewhere upstairs.

You stared at the staircase in horror but he brushed it off by clearing his throat and look at you to listen to your answer. Why was everything around here so secretive and out of place? You let your eyes fall from the staircase to the golden buttons of Taehyung’s shirt, admiring his sense of style. Alike Jimin, he looked like a piece of the finest art the world had to offer, and the silky white material adorned his body just perfectly. You didn’t even question why they dressed so elegantly, if anything you’d almost be disappointed if they didn’t.

“I don’t know anything, I’m clueless. I woke up outside, over there, not knowing what had happened or where I was. I came inside to ask for help and this guy named Jimin came down, I asked for help, but he just replied with a bunch of riddles and I’m honestly not in the mood or shape to solve any mysteries now. I just wanna go home already, I’ll do anything just to get home right now.” You peered up at Taehyung and met his sympathetic gaze, hoping he’d be to more help than Jimin. “Can you help me out? Just tell me where I am, or what to do. I’m begging you, Tae. I’m scared, I don’t know what to do.”

He let out a heavy sigh and placed his hand on your shoulder, slowly shaking his head. His hand was warm, he as a whole was radiating warmth, and it made you feel safe in his presence.

“I wish I could, I really do. I know how it feels, I’ve been in your position once and I know how frightening it is to arrive to this place. But it’s against the rules for me to help you out now, Jimin would be furious. You’ll be fine, I’ve heard good things about you, and I can’t tell you how or why I know about you. You’re being put to test, nobody is allowed to interfere, so just follow Jimin’s instructions and your own instincts. Once you’re ready I’ll be around, and then I’ll be to more help than I am now. Pinky promise.” He slid his hand down to the small of your back and guided you to a large, black, leather couch in the corner of the hall, letting it fall once he stopped and motioned you to take a seat. He gave you the same warm smile he had on his face when he greeted you, trying to ease the tension hanging in the air. “I’m not allowed to interfere, but I can give you this tiny bit of advice. Don’t think too much, but think outside the box. If it doesn’t make sense, you’re probably on the right path.” He paused for a second and hummed. “Be sort of careful around Jimin, his anger tends to get the best of him. Then again, he’s not as bad as he seems. At least when you get to know him.”

You sat down, letting Taehyung’s words sink in as you let your arms wrap around your own body. You had hoped he would be more helpful than Jimin, and in a way he was, but his words were riddles just like Jimin’s. It felt like the confusion was leading your mind to a deranged reality and for a second you wondered if this was how people became mentally insane.

“Thank you, Tae-” you said but cut yourself off abruptly when you realised he was no longer there. You had only looked away for a mere second, two at most, but he was nowhere to be seen. There was no way he could’ve walked away without you noticing in that short timespan. Even if he aimed for the staircase or the door you were sure you would’ve caught him leave. The thought of him disappearing into thin air left you petrified, it all felt so surreal. Was it even possible?

Despite feeling startled by the sudden event, you leaned back and sighed. What were you supposed to do? Your family, your mother specifically, was probably panicking by now, how long had you even been gone? Did they think you ran away or that you got kidnapped? Were they aware of your whereabouts? The questions in your mind seemed to be endless, cramping together in your head and causing it to ache. In order to get any sort of help you had to figure out what was going on, and that alone confused you enough to send you into a state of panic. If it doesn’t make sense, you’re probably on the right path. Taehyung’s words circled among your thoughts but you didn’t seem to grasp the core message of his statement.

You let your eyes wander across the room from your spot on the couch, trying to start over. Just like you had remarked earlier - everything seemed so expensive and posh, it almost felt wrong for such a simple person like yourself to be there. You probably spent an hour just looking around and thinking before the large painting hanging on the wall on the opposite side of you really caught your interest. It seemed to portray a way from hell up to heaven, people along they way either reaching up to the top or falling into the arms of eternal anguish.

There it was.

Suddenly things started to clear up, pieces connecting. The foul smell wasn’t rotten eggs - it was sulfur. The red skies, the thick smoke, Taehyung’s sudden disappearance. The realisation made your world fall apart - this couldn’t be real. This had to be a sick joke, a completely preposterous show that your friends had signed you up for just to mess with you. But the longer you sat there, looking around like a lost child, it began to sink in that this wasn’t a mad joke. This was reality and this was exactly what Taehyung meant; it made no sense but it was right. That was why Jimin said it was a one way ticket.

You stood up on shaky legs, unsure if they even would carry your weight in this state. You had to find Jimin now that you had understood the whole situation, he had to help right? That was what he said. You felt so stupid for not understanding it right from the start, it was all so obvious. Maybe it was your subconscious self that did everything to push this reality away, since it seemed to bizarre and unlikely to happen. It was a fact that was hard to accept, but nothing else would fit the description of this place.

Standing in front of the massive staircase made your stomach twist in agony, the adrenaline running through your veins making your heart thump so hard you could practically hear it. You weren’t sure you had the courage to face Jimin, not sure if you had the strength to find out more. Who was Jimin anyway? Who was Taehyung? Jimin seemed to be somehow higher ranked than Taehyung, at least that was the impression you had gotten while Taehyung spoke of him, but why? You came to the conclusion you’d soon find out and there was no use in standing there trying to figure it out alone, so you started to climb up the stairs to the upper floor. The interior of the hall that they lead you up to was very similar to downstairs, the only exception was that instead of massive the windows and crystal chandeliers, it was lit by small lamps that were placed along the walls, between the doors.

You started to wonder what all these rooms contained, who was here other than Jimin and Taehyung? How big was this house actually? It had seemed huge from the outside, but you had only seen the front, and it probably had a massive basement too. You tried to recall how Jimin had described his door, wanting to just find him and get this over with as soon as possible. Third room to the left down the hall. Mahogany door with a golden knob. Hard to miss.

It really was hard to miss. It was significantly bigger than the other doors and the doorframe had an enchanting pattern carved into it. So extravagant, you thought, holding back the urge to scoff and roll your eyes as you approached the large door. You knocked, expecting to hear Jimin call out “come in” or something along those lines, but there was nothing but silence until Jimin finally opened the door himself.

“You’re quick,” he said, the half-smile on his lips sending a shot of heat to the pit of your stomach. It was wrong to have those thought about someone you didn’t know in this situation especially, but it was hard not to when he was leaning against the door, one hand in the pocket of his sleek jeans and a strand of hair falling over his eyes. He looked absurdly beautiful, and you were aware of how that thought seemed to sneak into your mind each time you laid your eyes on him. You just couldn’t help it, it wasn’t human to be this perfect from head to toe. The word ethereal was made to describe Jimin. He probably noticed you staring, because he soon let out a chuckle and stepped aside. “Come in, I’m sure we have a whole lot to talk about.”

You sure had, personally you had a ton of questions you wanted answered, so you took a step in and studied the inside of the room. It was a notably large office and matched perfectly with the rest of the house, they sure had the theme going on in most of it. The colours inside Jimin’s room, although, were a mixture of black and white, and it seemed to suit him better than the red tones. It was mostly black, however, with accents of dark brown, wooden furniture. He had a desk on the right and bookshelves running along the walls on the left, beautiful paintings embellishing the spaces between. The motives of the paintings were alike the one downstairs; linked to hell and heaven in one way or another. One thing that you remarked was that they all were hauntingly dark in their own twisted way. Nothing was particularly gory, the scenery of each one just gave you the chills. It was like something out of a historical movie, every corner of the room seemed to hold secrets concealed by exquisite art and interior.

Jimin closed the door behind you and you heard the lock turn, loud and clear, but decided not to address it. Perhaps he didn’t want anyone to come in and disturb your conversation. Or so you hoped. He stayed silent as he strode over to his desk, taking a seat behind it in the massive chair. The whole situation made you gulp, feeling your throat become drier than the Sahara desert the more you thought about it all. Why was Jimin so different to Taehyung? Why did Taehyung’s presence feel like a warm embrace, whereas Jimin’s was the opposite. His gaze sent chills down your spine and you felt like you needed to be on your guard at all times. He motioned for you to come over and take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, but you couldn’t budge and he eventually got the hang, leaving you standing as you pleased. He ran his hand through his hair and pushed it back, once, twice. The simple action was really a sight to see and no matter how many times he did that, the adamant strand of hair just wouldn’t stay out of his eyes. In the midst of your fear and panic, you let yourself take a moment to just admire his looks, feeling like it was the only way to get your racing mind off for a second. You had to calm down, not wanting to look like a frail child even though you most likely already did. Jimin didn’t seem to mind you looking, anyway. He sat back in his seat nonchalantly, legs crossed and head tilted to the side, looking like he didn’t have a single worry on his shoulders. Maybe he didn’t, for all you knew his life could be perfect. However, that would remain a mystery for now.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jimin said with a serious tone, pulling you out of your trance. You felt flustered, shying away from his remark and looking frantically around the room. The panic was building up inside you, and you had no idea what to say. Suddenly, your discovery of your arrival to hell felt utterly ludicrous. Didn’t Taehyung warn you not to anger Jimin? You got the feeling that was exactly what you were currently doing.

You inhaled deeply and finally faced Jimin, giving him a fearful look. Your eyes wide open, feeling like a helpless pray in the arms of a deadly hunter. But despite the dread in your eyes and your distraught aura, his own expression was rather blank. There was no sign life in his eyes, they were almost looking right through you as he patiently waited for you to speak. The lifelessness in his gaze kicked your anxiety up another notch, as if it was needed, but you pushed yourself to speak anyway.

“So.. This is hell? Am I dead?” you said, shifting uncomfortably. The statement sounded more like a question and you wanted to disappear right there for letting yourself appear so fragile and lost. Your eyes were fixated on the small speck of dirt on the floor, not bearing to look at him. The tiny stain was suddenly amusingly interesting. Way more interesting than the possible outcome of Jimin’s reaction.

Your words were followed by a moment of unmitigated silence, a moment that felt like eternity, and it made you want to rip your hair out in frustration. That was until the sound of a half suppressed laughter sounded from Jimin, making you lift your head and let your eyes rest on the ever so breathtaking face of the male you had barely known for a day. You couldn’t put a finger on what exactly he seemed to be thinking about. Nothing about his expression really screamed anger, derision or even annoyance. He seemed just slightly amused, maybe even pleasured by what seemed to be your sheer stupidity. There was no such thing as hell, of course.

But you sure spoke to soon, because as soon as you though that, Jimin spoke up and made you swallow your words before you had the guts to speak up again. Leaving your mind a complete mess, creating a gate to insanity.

“Hell? Sweetheart. There is no hell,” he said, a smile spreading across his lips. It wasn’t a warm smile like Taehyung’s though, no. Far from it. That smile was taunting you, playing with your emotions. That smile reassured you that you were a helpless marionette in Jimin’s little game.

“What is this then? Heaven?” you blurted out, regretting it instantly as Jimin’s brow shot up. You felt shame engulf you in a tight embrace, your cheeks heating up and becoming blood red within seconds. You felt futile, foolish, and you knew he was enjoying this, his facial expression said more than a thousand words. He found some sort of twisted contentment in watching you squirm uncomfortably under his control, dragging the whole conversation out just to see how much you could handle.

“There is no heaven,” he replied calmly, looking up at you. His dark eyes locked with yours and you immediately noticed how they were no longer lifeless and empty, but it was anything but pleasant to look at him. Although, you couldn’t look away. His gaze was completely captivating and it was hard to even move an inch. The atmosphere in the room was making it hard to breathe, the fear and panic numbing all of your senses and you weren’t sure if you could stand this situation for much longer.

“There is no hell, no heaven. The stories you hear on earth are all superstition, whatever they tell you - it’s all out the window. They make you believe you have a choice, when in reality there’s only one place and that is this, right here.” He let out a displeased chuckle. “The good deeds you do in your life sure make a difference here, the pure souls are so highly valued my dear, you don’t have a clue. Pure souls like you are the most precious thing we hold in our possession. But it won’t grant you a happily ever after, that’s something I can promise. You mortals are so naive, believe everything you’re told. And you sure like a good fictional story to hold on to and believe in.”

“So who - or what - are you then? The devil? Or the equivalent to the devil?” you asked hastily, unable to bear this endless conversation. But again, his next move made you regret your actions. His eyes darkened and his smile twitched into the most sinister one you had ever witnessed in your life, making your heart sink right through the floor.

“Oh no, honey. I’m God.”

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

5 Stupid Things We Need To Stop Clicking On

We “re living” the final choke of the Information Age. Experts estimate that 62 percent of all the points we now receive is purposely mistaken, and that includes the percentage and professionals I made up at the start of this sentence. The sad fact is, the majority of members of you are able to never have the critical envisage or research abilities to know what’s real, and that will simply manufacture you more absolutely convinced the erroneous situations your stupid ass belief. The good story is that this article isn’t about that shit. The imitation information fighting is over, and stupid won. No, this article is about the dumb things we all keep falling for — even you, the genius who chose the right political area and religion. 5 Pointlessly Insane Product Are Not That At All Last year, Tiffany& Co. started selling the Sterling Silver Tin Can, an empty can that costs $1,000. You’ll notice that this is far more than you’d naturally pay for soupless garbage. To be clear, this wasn’t some tin can that once impounded Prince’s final dark-green nuts. It’s simply a can. As an imaginative word, it was 50 years stale, and as a money-making strategy, it was somewhere between a portable diarrhea carton and that same product without a eyelid. It’s the kind of sentiment that they are able to offset the other Saved By The Bell novelists tell, “Look, if you’re not ready to come back to effort, make more time off to deal with the death of your son.” The item I’m building is that it’s hard-boiled not to comment on Tiffany’s silly can, and that’s more appealing to Tiffany& Co. than where reference is comment on how the ones who quarried their concoctions all lived of slavery. “Darling, I was part of many someones transcending penetration to convert a utilitarian men’s room into an installment of signature Tiffany oeuvre.” — this Tiffany copywriter justifying to his wife why “theres” seven colourings of pubic hair in his underpants Read Next 8 Baffling Poop-Themed Toys Kids Are Lining Up To Buy And it’s is not simply tin cans and Wu-Tang recordings that are marketed in intentionally strange modes. Food advertisers have figured out that they can get more attention by being ridiculous than by being delicious. Retain when KFC employed fried chicken as sandwich food in the Double Down? Or when Chick-Fil-A announced that their fried chicken detested lesbian people with the Cajun Titty Jiggler? We all made amusing of them, but they perfectly did not care. These are people souring pigeon meat and “deported” foreign nationals into nugget figures. They’ll take any press they can get. We need to stop doing this. It’s very possible the only conversation any of us had or will ever have about Dr. Pepper started when they liberated a special copy of their soda for men exclusively . We all went on Twitter to add stuffs like, “Forbidding females from savor Dr. Pepper Ten will only retard the disclosure that it’s made from semen , not stop it completely.” We asked questions like, “Why would you make a soda for men exclusively? Are you trying to find the perfect drink to pair with losing custody of your adolescents? ” Or maybe you are only pondered, “Dr. Pepper Ten sounds like the refreshing discus you contact for when defending an alleged rapist you haven’t met.” SORRY LADIES, OUR CREATIVE DIRECTOR IS STILL DEALING WITH SOME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA INVOLVING PENISES . b> Products should conclude the customer happy , not be so intentionally foolish that the customer hears about them during a Jimmy Kimmel monologue. You shouldn’t spawn every tenth new Oreo out of cat suppository in the hopeles said he hoped that cookie influencers tweet about it. And pizza, you peculiarly need to get your shit together. In 2012, a Pizza Hut employee happened upon the relevant recommendations of a hot-dog-stuffed crust, relatively by coincidence, when his administrator caught him fucking a pizza and asked written explanations. This distinguished the last experience there would ever has become a non-insane pizza ability. Today, pizza marketing is a series of deranged inventions, like a serial killer’s pilgrimage toward becoming the Minotaur. For speciman, Pizza Hut created “smart” shoes that situate an degree for you. Aside from get the elderly to wonder what they’re going to come up with next, what the fuck good do pizza shoes do anyone? If you have a use for dictating Pizza Hut via shoe, your foot is going to fall off from diabetes long before you get to make love a second time. essay > And did you know that Domino’s devoted millions of dollars promoting something called “carryout insurance? ” It’s what it sounds like — a monetary guarantee that when your haphazard ass puts a pizza, they give you another one. Aside from getting us to mention how foolish that is, what’s the pitch? Was there a community of overweight idiots devouring pizza off the foot and involving their representatives do something? Let’s say it’s only to place your subconsciou at ease. Let’s profess you’re “ve been thinking about” prescribing Domino’s, but decide against it because you’re always stopping pizza. Will this convince you? Of track not. You’re not even here. You were taken in the night by mad scientists, and now you’re a bulge of brain material named “HISTORY’S SADDEST FUCK.” “CARRYOUT INSURANCE !? Hey, boss? Yeah, I just perceived a loophole that gives me boundless flooring pizza. So what I’m saying is you can kiss my ass . i> “ div > 4 All Things ���Of The Year” Are Arbitrary Decisions Made By Small Teams Of Random Assholes We are living in the darkest of goes. Our current sexiest guy alive looks like a rectangle who acquires its living hustling milk-drinking contests. “I’m digesting four gallons of Half& Half. Hi, I’m Blake Shelton, your sexiest mortal alive.” When People store announced hoedown music standout Blake Shelton as the sexiest humankind alive while Casper Van Dien was still not dead, it stumbled like a bomb. Every Gab report and Safeway express lane had a hot take on it. It wasn’t simply controversial; it was a direct challenge to what vaginal lubrication even wanted. What will it do to society if passably handsome NASCAR dads are the brand-new standard of seductive? Do we need to stop doing sit-ups? Will there be enough denim? What will Casper Van Dien do with this boner? div > You know what we should have been doing that whole season? Not establishing a shit about how handsome Blake Shelton is. Don’t get me wrong, Blake Shelton is alright. His condoms maybe don’t expire, and if he was arrested for sodomizing a dairy moo-cow, you’d anticipate “Him? ” But let’s not play games. He’s not the sexiest male alive. At best, he’s “Oklahoma’s Hottest Mostly Ham DNA.” But we should remember that this isn’t some enormous honor decided by appraising the gonad stimulation of test subjects. “Sexiest Man Alive” is picked by four or five journalists desperately trying to hang onto print media chores, and every now and then one of them is smart enough to say, “What if we trolled everyone? ” With all respect to Blake Shelton’s fuckability, if you died trying to learn a prosthetic forearm how to give a handjob, the People organization would write your figure up on the “Sexiest Man Alive MAYBES” board. It’s important is maintaining mind how insignificant these entitlements are before we get outraged. Before Donald Trump, Time opened its 2006 “Person of the Year” title to You, as in the second-person pronoun. And in 1938 they gave it to Hitler, the Donald Trump of 1938. These are meaningless choices meant to engender awful conversations between uninteresting people. Did you think LaTonya from Fayetteville was chosen as Jet ‘s “Beauty of the Week” because of her prevailing tits and smile? Wake up. It’s because her front tattoo announces “Abortion is Bae.” Please, all of us, we have to stop get outsmarted by the Jet magazines of the world. 3 It’s Not An Contest When Fictional Characters Die In 1992, DC Comics killed Superman — an indestructible ventriloquist with laser noses, frost wheeze, and chronosphere-bending flight speed — with a rock ogre who was pretty good at punching. Despite it being the third occasion he had died, the country is entered into mourning and the tale was picked up by the actual bulletin. Which was weird, because if the media wanted to cover upsetting Superman fibs, where were they when his girlfriend get turned into a pony and fucked his mare? I think about this every day. Every day. div > Why are we so preoccupied with fictional deaths? Most of the time, they’re not even real in the make-believe macrocosm in which they happen. Captain America and Batman vanish around 20 epoches a year, each in different combinations of fake-outs, resurgences, and universe reboots. If a dead guy’s best friends own a meter machine and the Eye of Agamotto, you can probably hold back on making funeral proposals. And if your favorite person dies on The Walking Dead , perhaps don’t debris an hour watching Chris Hardwick cry until you accompany the body. It should help you relax knowing that most fictional fatalities are exclusively abusive escapades, but the “real” ones are about as meaningless. I mean, you knew there wasn’t going to be any more Firefly . This death cost us maybe two wisecracks. div > Remember when Han Solo expired? He was a 73 -year-old laser gun fighter scheduled to get his own movie in three years. His death was both long overdue and altogether inconsequential to the amount of Han Solo you will continue to see on your TV. His father-in-law, Darth Vader, was on screen for about 36 minutes before he died in 1983, and since his death, there have been more Anakin Skywalker narratives than anyone could ever require. Anakin Skywalker is the Nicolas Cage of outer space. He stopped making good movies three decades ago, more he’s still everywhere and radiating inexplicable planetary energy. If George R. R. Martin gone on TV to announce that a comet smacked Westeros between works and everyone in A Song Of Ice And Fire is lead, how is that different from “the worlds” you’re living in now? The chap have undoubtedly wanted to focus more on snacks for about four works. You know what’s sadder than identifying Ned Stark get his head chopped off? Watching some fragile-hearted slobs go across the various stages of sorrow in a YouTube video afterwards. Mothers, if your child is filming themselves weep over a make-believe death, that’s a bigger default than if your child is filming themselves pee into a tube sock for Patreon advocates. I symbolize, you can do whatever you demand, but when you cry over forgery people whom you can still hear every day for as long as you miss, you’re exclusively sending a message to the people around you that you’re a drastic piece of shit. But I know something that will ovation you up! 2 Being Special Is Free That’s right, I said it. You’re welcome. It’s pretty easy to sell someone nothing more than the notion that they’re special or important for actual money. For illustration, somewhere right now, a Todd is looking through a rack of keychains to see if they have one with his reputation on it. “I hope they have a Todd, ” he might announce as he thumbs through dusty debris. “They do! And it’s spelled right ! b> ” So Todd will buy it, a cute remember of the worst collected in the least interesting part of a town he formerly called, and it will never occur to him that an Indonesian plant gambled and won that a completely shitty Todd would one day pay money to prompt himself of his own name. This next part is way off-topic, but not even the Indonesians could have foreseen that this keychain would one day be used to frame Todd … … for Toddslaughter. div > Back to the point I was trying to utters: We are all prone to this idiocy. Coke had its first marketings increase in more than a decade when it introduced the idea of adding the customers’ stupid fucking lists to their cans and bottles. And the internet has been recurred by ego-stroking personality quizs and IQ tests since before we used it to pay girlfriends peeing into tube socks. We are so desperate to be told we’re special that we will expel all disbelief and critical consider to hear it. You should know that answering a few simple-minded personality interrogations does not determine you the coolest ninja turtle, and you shouldn’t trust the scores of an Iq test that you watched yourself cheat on which likewise advertises free Slavic women and four new pounds of dick girth. One of my favorite a few examples of this, and favorite things in general, is an online community announced Intertel — “An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted.” It’s very difficult to get in. You can only affiliate if you tally in the top one percent of any self-administered intelligence test and mail in a $10 lotion reward. You may have considered that this in fact checks to see whether you’re stupid enough to forward in a test with a 98 percent composition or less and nothing else. If you get accepted, you then compensate a $39 annual reward to be a part of a genius squad for people who are very specifically not. What do you get? I’m so glad you asked. For the annual reward, you get inexhaustible pity and the human rights of berth a photo and bio about your singularly unsophisticated soul. It has created an avalanche of unearned narcissism that looks like a late ‘9 0s Casper Van Dien supporter page whose webmaster travelled mysteriously missing. Image courtesy of the property of the Casper Van Dien Fan Page& Genius Community webmaster. div > OK , no, but seriously, this next epitome is a real screenshot from the Inertel( An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted) website. This is a real person who really thinks he’s in the 1 percent of intellectual nobilities, and this is his real profile. I didn’t doctor this. This is what an actual genius named BigJim3 69 remunerations $39 a year to expose. Fucking! This macrocosm is spell and you get to live in it! div > Another business that employs your adoration of yourself on a big, sprawling magnitude is the pop-up museum manufacture. The reputation implies that there are things to do or learn inside them, but they’re more like oversized photo booths than artistry halls. For speciman, if you take a junket to the zany, world-famous Museum of Ice Cream, you will memorize zero to one things about ice cream and feed ice cream worth $45 less than the entering ticket. What you will do is wait in line to make photos of yourself next to what you’d describe in any other situation as “nothing of interest.” So to be clear, we are so self-obsessed that it’s now an efficient business model to charge us money to make pictures of ourselves so we can promote you online. You didn’t fool ME, Museum of Ice Cream. But my family loved it. Five stars. div > 1 Stop Attaining It Seem Like There Are Nazis OK, so the world has just fairly stupid prejudiceds to elect Donald Trump chairman, but not all of those voters were full white supremacists. Some of them were simply extremely theological to know when someone is lying or too old to change their memory about politics. And yes, a troubling number of them were Nazis. But in a lot of ways, most things are fine and the world isn’t as unpleasant as you think. You’re welcome again. div > Impossibly shitty parties, like the Trump supporters who made that Garfield mug privately, looks a lot like they’re everywhere. A pile of that is our omission — the good beings making fun of them. They use us to amplify their articulates, like Han Solo( R.I.P .) reassuring a hallway of Stormtroopers that he’s acces more people than he actually is. Every few minutes, a website publishes a variant on the article “These Miserable Fucks Said Something Racist About A Thing And Got Annihilated By Twitter.” They’re fun and vaguely heroic, but if you read more than one, you’ll start to see that they all share the same content. It’s the same three or four prejudiced tweets quoted in each article, tweeted by the same three or four prejudiceds who “attacked” the Star Wars with the Asian girl and “staged boycotts” of the all-lady Ghostbusters . We need to stop treating these three or four beings like they’re a threat to anything other than skewing PornHub’s algorithm to favor mother-son incest. BREAKING NEWS: Regional high school’s least-likable puncture still manufacturing quite a sight out his irrelevant awfulness. div > Here’s a comforting information: A analyse of Reddit found that 1 percent of communities were responsible for 74 percent of all conflict. We are taking the intentionally insensitive notes of a Kia’s worth of debate club hobbyists and feigning they’re a tidal wave of detest “were supposed to” stand together against. The “alt-right” movement is 30 sons more cranky to year and too slow to hear Dungeons& Dragons . Their adherents are a lethal group of gamers who will disappear once they sour 17, and their media channel is a cable network whose entire audience will be dead in two more flu seasons. All these people want is for the other side to get upset, so if we stop writing thinkpieces about the rise of dapper grey patriotism and focus more on how liberals hate suicide religions, we can be rid of them almost immediately. BREAKING NEWS: C-word who are tweets C-wordy antisemitic concepts DOES! div > Ann Coulter is a good example. She’s the skeletal are still in relic antipathy, and she has about as much cultural affect as Corey Feldman’s band, Oral Thrush and the Yeast 2000 s. Has she ever done anything other than hiss bad acts at impatient Tv identities or suppose that clinical antisemitism is antisemitic slapstick? She only seems like she is a thing because 10,000 of us dunk on the bitch each time she condemns her oral thrush on the Jews. Without all of us excusing to one another how mistaken she is, Coulter would just be straying through Home Depot to see if there are any lily-white works she can ask about the lavatory refuge rails. And soon she would be spawning spider eggs in her lip while her parakeet watched their own bodies rot. “Rawk! The Jews are at it again! ” it would recite to her undiscovered body. “The Jews are at it again! “ We all seem to get how foolish it is when the story answers “teens” are doing a comically apeshit circumstance like human centipede gatherings or detergent eating. Why can’t we use those same beings psyches to figure out how one Nazi nerd looking for attention isn’t “the Right”? I know it’s tough to stand trolls, but Kim Kardashian owning all the world’s money should have taught you that there is virtue in shutting the fuck up about some things. We need to stay strong not in the battle against the “alt-right, ” but in the battle to ignore them. The next time you verify another tower about how maids won’t time republican people, leave it alone. Let those dickless Nazis prevent writing versions of that section into the empty vacancy until they discover evil campaigns brides to dry up. And the next time someone on your Facebook thread attacks their Second Amendment liberties after local schools shooting, don’t confirm their child assassination fandom with tending. Move your cursor to the left and click on their mother’s chart. Pose as Blake Shelton, acquire her moist rely, and calmly destroy that child-murderer’s family. Every one of us can shut up and make a difference. Seanbaby devised being funny on the Internet. You can follow him on Twitter, or frisk his hit mobile competition Calculords . b> Did you realise Casper van Dien was in a Tarzan movie in the 90 s ? i > b> Support Cracked’s journalism with a tour to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you . i > b> For more, check out 5 Deeply Embarrassing Thing The News Keeps Doing and 6 Time The News Went Totally Overboard Chasing A Story . i > b> You should click on this join and follow us on Facebook . i > b> Read more: http :// www.cracked.com/ blog/ 5-stupid-things-we-need-to-stop-clicking-on / http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/06/30/5-stupid-things-we-need-to-stop-clicking-on/

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

5 Stupid Things We Need To Stop Clicking On

We “re living” the final choke of the Information Age. Experts estimate that 62 percent of all the points we now receive is purposely mistaken, and that includes the percentage and professionals I made up at the start of this sentence. The sad fact is, the majority of members of you are able to never have the critical envisage or research abilities to know what’s real, and that will simply manufacture you more absolutely convinced the erroneous situations your stupid ass belief. The good story is that this article isn’t about that shit. The imitation information fighting is over, and stupid won. No, this article is about the dumb things we all keep falling for — even you, the genius who chose the right political area and religion.

5

Pointlessly Insane Product Are Not That At All

Last year, Tiffany& Co. started selling the Sterling Silver Tin Can, an empty can that costs $1,000. You’ll notice that this is far more than you’d naturally pay for soupless garbage. To be clear, this wasn’t some tin can that once impounded Prince’s final dark-green nuts. It’s simply a can. As an imaginative word, it was 50 years stale, and as a money-making strategy, it was somewhere between a portable diarrhea carton and that same product without a eyelid. It’s the kind of sentiment that they are able to offset the other Saved By The Bell novelists tell, “Look, if you’re not ready to come back to effort, make more time off to deal with the death of your son.” The item I’m building is that it’s hard-boiled not to comment on Tiffany’s silly can, and that’s more appealing to Tiffany& Co. than where reference is comment on how the ones who quarried their concoctions all lived of slavery.

“Darling, I was part of many someones transcending penetration to convert a utilitarian men’s room into an installment of signature Tiffany oeuvre.” — this Tiffany copywriter justifying to his wife why “theres” seven colourings of pubic hair in his underpants

Read Next

8 Baffling Poop-Themed Toys Kids Are Lining Up To Buy

And it’s is not simply tin cans and Wu-Tang recordings that are marketed in intentionally strange modes. Food advertisers have figured out that they can get more attention by being ridiculous than by being delicious. Retain when KFC employed fried chicken as sandwich food in the Double Down? Or when Chick-Fil-A announced that their fried chicken detested lesbian people with the Cajun Titty Jiggler? We all made amusing of them, but they perfectly did not care. These are people souring pigeon meat and “deported” foreign nationals into nugget figures. They’ll take any press they can get.

We need to stop doing this. It’s very possible the only conversation any of us had or will ever have about Dr. Pepper started when they liberated a special copy of their soda for men exclusively . We all went on Twitter to add stuffs like, “Forbidding females from savor Dr. Pepper Ten will only retard the disclosure that it’s made from semen , not stop it completely.” We asked questions like, “Why would you make a soda for men exclusively? Are you trying to find the perfect drink to pair with losing custody of your adolescents? ” Or maybe you are only pondered, “Dr. Pepper Ten sounds like the refreshing discus you contact for when defending an alleged rapist you haven’t met.”

SORRY LADIES, OUR CREATIVE DIRECTOR IS STILL DEALING WITH SOME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA INVOLVING PENISES . b>

Products should conclude the customer happy , not be so intentionally foolish that the customer hears about them during a Jimmy Kimmel monologue. You shouldn’t spawn every tenth new Oreo out of cat suppository in the hopeles said he hoped that cookie influencers tweet about it. And pizza, you peculiarly need to get your shit together.

In 2012, a Pizza Hut employee happened upon the relevant recommendations of a hot-dog-stuffed crust, relatively by coincidence, when his administrator caught him fucking a pizza and asked written explanations. This distinguished the last experience there would ever has become a non-insane pizza ability. Today, pizza marketing is a series of deranged inventions, like a serial killer’s pilgrimage toward becoming the Minotaur. For speciman, Pizza Hut created “smart” shoes that situate an degree for you. Aside from get the elderly to wonder what they’re going to come up with next, what the fuck good do pizza shoes do anyone? If you have a use for dictating Pizza Hut via shoe, your foot is going to fall off from diabetes long before you get to make love a second time.

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And did you know that Domino’s devoted millions of dollars promoting something called “carryout insurance? ” It’s what it sounds like — a monetary guarantee that when your haphazard ass puts a pizza, they give you another one. Aside from getting us to mention how foolish that is, what’s the pitch? Was there a community of overweight idiots devouring pizza off the foot and involving their representatives do something? Let’s say it’s only to place your subconsciou at ease. Let’s profess you’re “ve been thinking about” prescribing Domino’s, but decide against it because you’re always stopping pizza. Will this convince you? Of track not. You’re not even here. You were taken in the night by mad scientists, and now you’re a bulge of brain material named “HISTORY’S SADDEST FUCK.”

“CARRYOUT INSURANCE !? Hey, boss? Yeah, I just perceived a loophole that gives me boundless flooring pizza. So what I’m saying is you can kiss my ass . i> “

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4

All Things “Of The Year” Are Arbitrary Decisions Made By Small Teams Of Random Assholes

We are living in the darkest of goes. Our current sexiest guy alive looks like a rectangle who acquires its living hustling milk-drinking contests.

“I’m digesting four gallons of Half& Half. Hi, I’m Blake Shelton, your sexiest mortal alive.”

When People store announced hoedown music standout Blake Shelton as the sexiest humankind alive while Casper Van Dien was still not dead, it stumbled like a bomb. Every Gab report and Safeway express lane had a hot take on it. It wasn’t simply controversial; it was a direct challenge to what vaginal lubrication even wanted. What will it do to society if passably handsome NASCAR dads are the brand-new standard of seductive? Do we need to stop doing sit-ups? Will there be enough denim?

What will Casper Van Dien do with this boner?

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You know what we should have been doing that whole season? Not establishing a shit about how handsome Blake Shelton is. Don’t get me wrong, Blake Shelton is alright. His condoms maybe don’t expire, and if he was arrested for sodomizing a dairy moo-cow, you’d anticipate “Him? ” But let’s not play games. He’s not the sexiest male alive. At best, he’s “Oklahoma’s Hottest Mostly Ham DNA.” But we should remember that this isn’t some enormous honor decided by appraising the gonad stimulation of test subjects. “Sexiest Man Alive” is picked by four or five journalists desperately trying to hang onto print media chores, and every now and then one of them is smart enough to say, “What if we trolled everyone? ” With all respect to Blake Shelton’s fuckability, if you died trying to learn a prosthetic forearm how to give a handjob, the People organization would write your figure up on the “Sexiest Man Alive MAYBES” board.

It’s important is maintaining mind how insignificant these entitlements are before we get outraged. Before Donald Trump, Time opened its 2006 “Person of the Year” title to You, as in the second-person pronoun. And in 1938 they gave it to Hitler, the Donald Trump of 1938. These are meaningless choices meant to engender awful conversations between uninteresting people. Did you think LaTonya from Fayetteville was chosen as Jet ‘s “Beauty of the Week” because of her prevailing tits and smile? Wake up. It’s because her front tattoo announces “Abortion is Bae.” Please, all of us, we have to stop get outsmarted by the Jet magazines of the world.

3

It’s Not An Contest When Fictional Characters Die

In 1992, DC Comics killed Superman — an indestructible ventriloquist with laser noses, frost wheeze, and chronosphere-bending flight speed — with a rock ogre who was pretty good at punching. Despite it being the third occasion he had died, the country is entered into mourning and the tale was picked up by the actual bulletin. Which was weird, because if the media wanted to cover upsetting Superman fibs, where were they when his girlfriend get turned into a pony and fucked his mare?

I think about this every day. Every day.

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Why are we so preoccupied with fictional deaths? Most of the time, they’re not even real in the make-believe macrocosm in which they happen. Captain America and Batman vanish around 20 epoches a year, each in different combinations of fake-outs, resurgences, and universe reboots. If a dead guy’s best friends own a meter machine and the Eye of Agamotto, you can probably hold back on making funeral proposals. And if your favorite person dies on The Walking Dead , perhaps don’t debris an hour watching Chris Hardwick cry until you accompany the body.

It should help you relax knowing that most fictional fatalities are exclusively abusive escapades, but the “real” ones are about as meaningless.

I mean, you knew there wasn’t going to be any more Firefly . This death cost us maybe two wisecracks.

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Remember when Han Solo expired? He was a 73 -year-old laser gun fighter scheduled to get his own movie in three years. His death was both long overdue and altogether inconsequential to the amount of Han Solo you will continue to see on your TV. His father-in-law, Darth Vader, was on screen for about 36 minutes before he died in 1983, and since his death, there have been more Anakin Skywalker narratives than anyone could ever require. Anakin Skywalker is the Nicolas Cage of outer space. He stopped making good movies three decades ago, more he’s still everywhere and radiating inexplicable planetary energy.

If George R. R. Martin gone on TV to announce that a comet smacked Westeros between works and everyone in A Song Of Ice And Fire is lead, how is that different from “the worlds” you’re living in now? The chap have undoubtedly wanted to focus more on snacks for about four works. You know what’s sadder than identifying Ned Stark get his head chopped off? Watching some fragile-hearted slobs go across the various stages of sorrow in a YouTube video afterwards. Mothers, if your child is filming themselves weep over a make-believe death, that’s a bigger default than if your child is filming themselves pee into a tube sock for Patreon advocates. I symbolize, you can do whatever you demand, but when you cry over forgery people whom you can still hear every day for as long as you miss, you’re exclusively sending a message to the people around you that you’re a drastic piece of shit. But I know something that will ovation you up!

2

Being Special Is Free

That’s right, I said it.

You’re welcome.

It’s pretty easy to sell someone nothing more than the notion that they’re special or important for actual money. For illustration, somewhere right now, a Todd is looking through a rack of keychains to see if they have one with his reputation on it. “I hope they have a Todd, ” he might announce as he thumbs through dusty debris. “They do! And it’s spelled right ! b> ” So Todd will buy it, a cute remember of the worst collected in the least interesting part of a town he formerly called, and it will never occur to him that an Indonesian plant gambled and won that a completely shitty Todd would one day pay money to prompt himself of his own name. This next part is way off-topic, but not even the Indonesians could have foreseen that this keychain would one day be used to frame Todd …

… for Toddslaughter.

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Back to the point I was trying to utters: We are all prone to this idiocy. Coke had its first marketings increase in more than a decade when it introduced the idea of adding the customers’ stupid fucking lists to their cans and bottles. And the internet has been recurred by ego-stroking personality quizs and IQ tests since before we used it to pay girlfriends peeing into tube socks. We are so desperate to be told we’re special that we will expel all disbelief and critical consider to hear it. You should know that answering a few simple-minded personality interrogations does not determine you the coolest ninja turtle, and you shouldn’t trust the scores of an Iq test that you watched yourself cheat on which likewise advertises free Slavic women and four new pounds of dick girth.

One of my favorite a few examples of this, and favorite things in general, is an online community announced Intertel — “An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted.” It’s very difficult to get in. You can only affiliate if you tally in the top one percent of any self-administered intelligence test and mail in a $10 lotion reward. You may have considered that this in fact checks to see whether you’re stupid enough to forward in a test with a 98 percent composition or less and nothing else. If you get accepted, you then compensate a $39 annual reward to be a part of a genius squad for people who are very specifically not. What do you get? I’m so glad you asked. For the annual reward, you get inexhaustible pity and the human rights of berth a photo and bio about your singularly unsophisticated soul. It has created an avalanche of unearned narcissism that looks like a late ‘9 0s Casper Van Dien supporter page whose webmaster travelled mysteriously missing.

Image courtesy of the property of the Casper Van Dien Fan Page& Genius Community webmaster.

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OK , no, but seriously, this next epitome is a real screenshot from the Inertel( An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted) website. This is a real person who really thinks he’s in the 1 percent of intellectual nobilities, and this is his real profile.

I didn’t doctor this. This is what an actual genius named BigJim3 69 remunerations $39 a year to expose. Fucking! This macrocosm is spell and you get to live in it!

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Another business that employs your adoration of yourself on a big, sprawling magnitude is the pop-up museum manufacture. The reputation implies that there are things to do or learn inside them, but they’re more like oversized photo booths than artistry halls. For speciman, if you take a junket to the zany, world-famous Museum of Ice Cream, you will memorize zero to one things about ice cream and feed ice cream worth $45 less than the entering ticket. What you will do is wait in line to make photos of yourself next to what you’d describe in any other situation as “nothing of interest.” So to be clear, we are so self-obsessed that it’s now an efficient business model to charge us money to make pictures of ourselves so we can promote you online.

You didn’t fool ME, Museum of Ice Cream. But my family loved it. Five stars.

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1

Stop Attaining It Seem Like There Are Nazis

OK, so the world has just fairly stupid prejudiceds to elect Donald Trump chairman, but not all of those voters were full white supremacists. Some of them were simply extremely theological to know when someone is lying or too old to change their memory about politics. And yes, a troubling number of them were Nazis. But in a lot of ways, most things are fine and the world isn’t as unpleasant as you think.

You’re welcome again.

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Impossibly shitty parties, like the Trump supporters who made that Garfield mug privately, looks a lot like they’re everywhere. A pile of that is our omission — the good beings making fun of them. They use us to amplify their articulates, like Han Solo( R.I.P .) reassuring a hallway of Stormtroopers that he’s acces more people than he actually is. Every few minutes, a website publishes a variant on the article “These Miserable Fucks Said Something Racist About A Thing And Got Annihilated By Twitter.” They’re fun and vaguely heroic, but if you read more than one, you’ll start to see that they all share the same content. It’s the same three or four prejudiced tweets quoted in each article, tweeted by the same three or four prejudiceds who “attacked” the Star Wars with the Asian girl and “staged boycotts” of the all-lady Ghostbusters . We need to stop treating these three or four beings like they’re a threat to anything other than skewing PornHub’s algorithm to favor mother-son incest.

BREAKING NEWS: Regional high school’s least-likable puncture still manufacturing quite a sight out his irrelevant awfulness.

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Here’s a comforting information: A analyse of Reddit found that 1 percent of communities were responsible for 74 percent of all conflict. We are taking the intentionally insensitive notes of a Kia’s worth of debate club hobbyists and feigning they’re a tidal wave of detest “were supposed to” stand together against. The “alt-right” movement is 30 sons more cranky to year and too slow to hear Dungeons& Dragons . Their adherents are a lethal group of gamers who will disappear once they sour 17, and their media channel is a cable network whose entire audience will be dead in two more flu seasons. All these people want is for the other side to get upset, so if we stop writing thinkpieces about the rise of dapper grey patriotism and focus more on how liberals hate suicide religions, we can be rid of them almost immediately.

BREAKING NEWS: C-word who are tweets C-wordy antisemitic concepts DOES!

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Ann Coulter is a good example. She’s the skeletal are still in relic antipathy, and she has about as much cultural affect as Corey Feldman’s band, Oral Thrush and the Yeast 2000 s. Has she ever done anything other than hiss bad acts at impatient Tv identities or suppose that clinical antisemitism is antisemitic slapstick? She only seems like she is a thing because 10,000 of us dunk on the bitch each time she condemns her oral thrush on the Jews. Without all of us excusing to one another how mistaken she is, Coulter would just be straying through Home Depot to see if there are any lily-white works she can ask about the lavatory refuge rails. And soon she would be spawning spider eggs in her lip while her parakeet watched their own bodies rot. “Rawk! The Jews are at it again! ” it would recite to her undiscovered body. “The Jews are at it again! “

We all seem to get how foolish it is when the story answers “teens” are doing a comically apeshit circumstance like human centipede gatherings or detergent eating. Why can’t we use those same beings psyches to figure out how one Nazi nerd looking for attention isn’t “the Right”? I know it’s tough to stand trolls, but Kim Kardashian owning all the world’s money should have taught you that there is virtue in shutting the fuck up about some things. We need to stay strong not in the battle against the “alt-right, ” but in the battle to ignore them. The next time you verify another tower about how maids won’t time republican people, leave it alone. Let those dickless Nazis prevent writing versions of that section into the empty vacancy until they discover evil campaigns brides to dry up. And the next time someone on your Facebook thread attacks their Second Amendment liberties after local schools shooting, don’t confirm their child assassination fandom with tending. Move your cursor to the left and click on their mother’s chart. Pose as Blake Shelton, acquire her moist rely, and calmly destroy that child-murderer’s family. Every one of us can shut up and make a difference.

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