#i am going to go Decompress that was a hellscape

[talentforlying]

the way i got held up after class for over an hour trying to ask my professor one question because a single douchey fucking film bro would not stop talking about himself in the guise of asking questions that he talked over every single answer to. hitting things very hard in my mind with a very large rock.

[thefirsttree]

A personal update + my next game

OK, time to do this. I’ve been meaning to do a big DAVID WEHLE™ update for a while now and explain why I haven’t released a new game yet, but you know how life gets in the way. Especially when life is a quarantine hellscape, you have three beautiful, amazing, exhausting kids to raise, a spouse’s job you support, a viral YouTube channel that turns your brain to mush, a thousand emails waiting in your inbox since your game is free on the Epic Games Store (with an impressive number of redemptions too! … meaning lots of emails and customer support issues), etc., etc. What also contributes to my lack of updates is because… I just don’t really like posting online. Fascinating correlation, I know!

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a venting/ranting blog post (well, maybe a bit), because my life is seriously AMAZING and INSANELY BLESSED and LUCKY. I can’t believe how many dreams keep coming true, so much so that I feel I don’t deserve it and I really pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes… but I did want to at least be honest, because I owe that to myself.

Wow, where do I even begin? Well, how about we start with the reason I’m even a full-time indie game dev now: The First Tree. This small hobby project I worked on at night morphed into this gargantuan beast (or fox) that took over my life the past 5 years. Which is great! I’m living the dream! And yet, I really didn’t expect it to do as well as it did. At its core, my game is a slow-paced, sad walking simulator (ahem, I prefer the term “exploration game,” but you know what I mean) that somehow seemed to launch at the right time to the right audience. It resonated deeply with some of you, and for that I’m eternally grateful. I still get emails almost daily how my game changed their lives in some formative way. I’m beyond honored.

However, with that spotlight came criticism and demands from the ever-present, insatiable internet. I would randomly be surfing the gamedev subreddit trying to decompress, and I would see a comment by some rando saying how much I didn’t deserve my success, and how it was all one huge lucky fluke. And I believed them!

And to add to it, some devs considered me an indie marketing “guru”, which I was uncomfortable with. I worked hard to market my game every week, and after my GDC talk, people assumed marketing was my passion; the reason I got up every morning. Just to clarify… NO, I don’t like marketing, and I hate being the center of attention. I don’t like asking people for money and wishlists. But I did what was necessary because I was passionate about telling stories, and I wanted to give my story a fighting chance to be seen on the crowded pages of Steam.

So now, you’re probably wondering “well then David, why did you make fancy YouTube videos showing off your success? Not very modest if you ask me.” This honestly could be a long blog post all on its own, because my experience of putting myself in the spotlight and becoming a “content creator” is… complicated. It was an unusual step for me, especially since I never even showed my face online (as a game developer) until my GDC talk.

First off, I always wanted to teach and start a YouTube channel. I love video editing, especially since I’ve been doing it longer than making games! It’s a huge passion of mine. And teaching people who didn’t know they could make and finish games was a huge motivator (and it’s been so rewarding already). But the second reason is, I was scared. I was self-employed, and I was riding the success of a “huge lucky fluke” that would probably not happen again. I wanted to make sure I could provide for my amazing family, and give them food and health insurance and security in these tumultuous times. I was turning my lifelong passions and hobbies into a business, and it wasn’t as simple of a mental transition as I thought.

So, I went all in on YouTube and the accompanying online course called Game Dev Unlocked. I spent years editing the scripts and videos, and polishing them to a shine. At first, no one watched my videos, no one was buying… and in the blink of an eye, the YouTube algorithm picked up my main autobiographical video (“How Making Indie Games Changed My Life”), and I started getting 5,000 subscribers a day. Right now, I’m at 150,000 subs, which is still hard for me to believe. I always had a dream of earning 100k subs on YouTube, so I was pretty happy with the whole thing. Sales were OK, but mostly people didn’t want to buy the course. Then the emails came in…

Something you should know about me: I am a textbook “people pleaser,” and if someone asks for my help, I take it very seriously. If someone is mad at me, even if I didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all I can think about, and it ruins my day. So, taking an onslaught of people begging for help and multiplying that by an impossible amount of people for my brain to truly comprehend thanks to the internet… and let’s just say it wasn’t a healthy mix.

I received thousands of emails from people who were begging me for some kind of reassurance that everything would be OK. That their dreams would come true too. And I wanted to help every single one of them. I went from a nobody working on a game for fun to becoming a spokesperson for the indie game dream. I couldn’t even get a shake from the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru without someone recognizing me and asking for game dev advice. And it didn’t stop there… I would get emails from suicidal kids asking for help, teenagers from Afghanistan asking me to get them out of their country, and on one occasion I received an email from a hopeful game developer in a war-torn country who had just experienced a bomb blowing up their neighboring village. His friends were dead, and he was hoping he could finish a game before he died too, and he needed my help. How do you say no to something like that? Didn’t I owe it to everyone because I was lucky with my hit game and I needed to “pay it forward”? (Something people constantly reminded me of)

And then to top it off, after you’ve given everything you’ve got to other people in need… you get hate mail in your inbox. You spend the whole day serving your children and strangers on the internet, then when the kids are finally asleep, you hit the bed to relax and take a look at your phone to decompress, and you randomly come across an angry gamer in your Twitter mentions telling you your game they got for free sucks, and that you took away a potentially great game from them and that your apology isn’t good enough.

Long story short, I went to a mental therapist for the first time in my life. I was broken trying to care for two toddlers and a new baby in a pandemic (which is very, very hard), taking care of my course students who gave me their hard-earned money and demanded results, and the countless people begging for help on the internet. I was this introverted, internet-lurker trying to take on the weight of the world. I was so tired and hurt that no one cared about me and my needs… only what I could do for them.

Quitting my day job and making this hobby my full-time job has stirred up… mixed emotions. This statement may disturb some of you, but I was definitely 100% happier when I had a full-time job and I was working on my game at night. I missed working with the amazing team at The VOID, working on Star Wars… back when the success of my game was this abstract thing I could only daydream about. Mostly, I was making my game for me with no outside expectations to pay the bills or satisfy the ever-demanding internet, and that brought me a lot of joy.

It’s not all doom and gloom though! I’m actually very happy now and in the best shape I’ve been since the pandemic started. I’ve had to confront my weaknesses and personality quirks, but I’m a better person for it (and I’m sure these issues would’ve come out eventually). I hired an awesome community manager for Game Dev Unlocked who is helping SO MUCH with the emails, I can’t even tell you the mental burden it alleviates. I even leased a co-working office to help separate work from my home, and that’s been a huge help too. I’ve decided to work with my old friends from The VOID on a cool, new VR experience. It will take me away from my projects a bit, but I’m ecstatic to work with a great team again (and not manage anything, whew).

These are all things I would’ve never guessed I needed, because I thought I knew myself pretty well… turns out I didn’t.

The reality is: running a business is HARD. Running it solo is even harder. You have to remember, I was burnt out on The First Tree well into the Steam release in 2017, but I kept working on it for 4 more years due to my fears of failing again and not earning enough money for my family.

So, I was wrestling with the age-old concept of commercialism and art. There was this dichotomy of doing whatever I wanted and being true to my vision (what most people assume the indie dev dream is like), and doing only what customers wanted to buy. This is something that has killed me with YouTube… in one specific instance, I was super excited to make the exact video I wanted to make. I loved every part of its creation, and I thought it had a message that would inspire everyone. I lovingly edited it over several weeks, posted it, and excitedly waited for the stats… and it was by far my worst performing video.

This is not a new problem. Even the Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo was a commission forced upon him by the very violent Pope Julius II. My wife and I regularly talk about the fine balance between artistic integrity and commercialism, a problem she is very familiar with as an artist who constantly needs to balance what she wants to make with what the customer wants to hang up in their home.

For The First Tree, I was lucky. It was pretty much what I wanted to make (I had to compromise a lot of things of course), and it turned out millions of people wanted it too. Recently, I thought the safe business decision would be to do it all over again, so I started work on a spiritual successor to The First Tree (an idea that I may revisit one day since I do love the story idea). But that isn’t happening anytime soon. Trust me when I say I am now currently burnt out on animal exploration games.

So that realization left me with a question: what do I do next?

I’ve decided I need to make a game that I want to make, for me. It will be a bit different and I’m almost certain most fans of The First Tree will not love it… but it’s an idea that gets me super excited. It’s an idea that could help me fall in love with game development again.

A few more details: this game will be story-driven, first-person, and will use the Unreal Engine. That means development is gonna be slow going, because I have to learn a whole new tool. The “smart business” decision would be to make something quickly in Unity which I’m already familiar with… but I want to do this for me, and UE5 looks like a lot of fun. I’m also shooting for an early-ish release date so I avoid burn out and I keep the game short: I want to release it in Fall 2022, but knowing game development, it will probably take longer.

With the help of my therapist, I’ve also concluded that I’ve been too accessible on the internet and that my self-worth isn’t determined by the amount of people I try to help online. Of course, I love helping people and seeing them succeed, but I need to step back and focus on my family and myself. I will delete my social media apps on my phone (I will still post big updates occasionally) and stop responding to most emails, tweets, DMs, etc. It’s not that I’m ungrateful… in fact, if I don’t say thank you or at least acknowledge the incredibly nice people who share a sweet message about my game or want to tell me how I inspire them (still hard for me to believe, lol), I feel a ton of guilt… but I need to let that go. Please know I’m extremely grateful to all the fans who follow my work, so even if I don’t thank you directly, I truly mean it: thank you.

I will still post and stream occasionally on YouTube when I want to (and I still do live Q&A’s for my GDU students). The online course sales will help support my family as I work on a potentially risky game idea (and my new job will help alleviate the risk too). I’m gonna try one more marketing experiment and sell a mini-course soon (and add an Unreal section), and after that I’m done working on it. A gigantic thank you to the people who bought my course and are part of the amazing community, it has helped me and my family tremendously, and it’s inspiring seeing the games you make!

I’m a bit worried about the whole thing since this new game idea could flop, which could definitely affect my family. But a sappy, high-school yearbook quote is coming to mind…  I think it applies here: “A ship in harbor is safe—but that is not what ships are built for.”

Thanks for reading,

David

[sidecarghost]

Suptober20 - Day 28 Hellscape

Fic Summary: Among Us Crossover AU where Dean is a crewmate headed to the Polus outpost on the frozen hellscape of Mars. But he may not make it there alive, because someone in their crew is an imposter that enjoys chopping humans into small pieces.

  Dean opens the electrical panel in the navigation room, and reaches in to his toolbox for a voltage detector. He wills his hands to be steady, but he is a nervous wreck. Dean is worried about the success of this mission, the safety of his crewmates, and his chances of survival. He is on a supposedly routine mission to prepare the latest Mars colony for habitation, but his crewmates keep getting chopped into pieces. Out of the original ten person crew, only seven are still alive.   The PA system crackles to life, "Dead body reported! Dead body reported!" Dean dashes to the cafeteria where the rest of his crewmates have gathered to discuss.   "I saw Kelly standing over the dead body!" Kaia yells.   "I was upset! Donatello had been cut in half. I'll try to remember to skip the tears after you get murdered," Kelly responds.   "Kelly sounds pretty sus to me," Benny sneers.   "Where was the body found?" Castiel asks.   "In the reactor room," Kaia replies.   "Okay, everyone listen up! Someone in this room is an imposter masquerading among us, and it falls on us to discover the truth and identify the cold-blooded killer before they can strike again," Kevin tells his crewmates.   "Jeez, shouldn't we just turn around and head back to Earth," Dean speaks up.   "No, we can handle this ourselves Dean. We can jettison the murderer into space, and then do our mission. Let’s keep it democratic, everyone will have a chance to vote for who they think the murderer is," Kevin speaks authoritatively, but Dean just shakes his head in disbelief.   "I vote Kelly," Castiel says.   "Well, I vote Castiel," Kelly says with icy disdain.   "Kelly," Benny states.   "Kelly," Kaia says.   "Yeah, I think Kelly too." Kevin says.   Everyone looks to Dean to cast his vote. "What? It sounds like you've already decided," Dean complains.   "Everyone has to vote Dean." Kevin tells him.

**

  "Okay, I vote Castiel," Dean says. Just something about Castiel seems a little bit off. Like he's playing at being human, but doesn't quite understand the rules. Of course, he could just be socially awkward, and if that is the case, then Dean feels pretty lousy of accusing him of murder.   "It's decided then,” Kevin says matter of factly. “Kelly has been found guilty by the majority of her peers, so by the authority granted to me by the HostCorp you will be executed by ejection into the vacuum of space. May God have mercy on your soul."   Kelly resists, but she is roughly pushed into the decompression chamber that provides ingress and egress for the spaceship. Dean watches her face stare back at them haughtily. Kevin opens the outer bay doors, and her body is sucked into the void of space.   "Great, now that the murderer is gone. We all have tasks to do. Let's get them done so we can make safe landing on Mars," Kevin commands the crew. ~~   Maybe Kevin had been right after all, Dean thinks to himself. The ship had just landed safely on the Polus station on Mars. And after sending Kelly into space, there had been no more murders although there had been a couple close calls with damaged systems. For instance, the O2 system failed and they just managed to get it rebooted before they all died of oxygen deprivation. Then the reactor had nearly melted down, which would also have caused the catastrophic death of the entire crew. But the cursed crew managed to land at the outpost against all odds.    "I'm going to report to HQ. Check your tablets for your tasks crewmates," Kevin tells everyone after they disembark the spaceship.   Dean looks out at the frozen wasteland of Polus. The space station is on the northern pole of Mars, and it reminds him of the old expression of "when hell freezes over." He powers up his tablet, and pulls up his task list.   One of the tasks catches his eye, "Monitor Tree." That sounds like an easy, short task to knock out first. And he is feeling sentimental about getting to see things from Earth like a tree and grass. Dean pulls up his map to find the O2 laboratory, so he can find his way around the unfamiliar outpost.   Dean enters the O2 lab, and he breathes in deeply the fresh air from the vegetation. He walks up to the monitor panel and makes the necessary adjustments to bring the readings to the specified levels. He then turns to look at his next task, but he catches some unexpected motion out of the corner of his eye.   "Uh, hey Cas. How did you just vent out of that hole? That seems like a pretty impossible thing to be able to do," Dean rambles nervously to the crewmember that just apparated into the room over a hole in the ground. Apparently, Kelly was innocent, because Dean feels certain that Castiel is not what he seems. And Dean is certain he is about to be the imposter’s next victim.   "I didn't realize that task was so short," Castiel admits. "But that doesn't matter for you. I hope you had a good life Dean, and if you didn’t you can feel glad that you won’t ever have to suffer again. Your death will be swift and mostly painless, and I think you will find me more merciful than many members of your own species."   "So you're not human?" Dean tries to delay the inevitable with banter while he looks around wildly for some kind of weapon.   "No, I am an angel of the lord. You are just perceiving my vessel, Jimmy Novak," Castiel replies.   "Oh, well your vessel is pretty hot," Dean hopes this imposter can be diverted by flirting.   "No, the temperature of my vessel is 37 degrees Celsius or 98.7 degrees Fahrenheit. That is within normal range for a human." Castiel tells Dean.   "I meant you're vessel is very attractive," Dean can't tell if the angel is messing with him or not. But he thinks anything is better than getting chopped into pieces, so he can play along if that gives him a chance to prolong his life.   "I'm above mundane things like physical attraction, Dean," Castiel says. "I just like killing humans for sport, but Heaven usually notices, and then I get thrown in the dungeon to stew for a millenia or two. But Heaven doesn't seem to care what happens to humans outside of Earth."   "That sounds very clever of you to figure out Cas," Dean tells Castiel.   "Yes, I do like to think of myself as the cleverest angel of the garrison," Castiel puffs up with pride and nods in agreement with Dean.   "Can I ask why kill humans for sport? Can't you take up frisbee golf or something else less homicidal?" Dean asks the imposter.   "I was given the task of watching humanity a long, long time ago. And humans can be so boring. So I just randomly kill a bunch every now and then. There is no malice in my actions. I just consider humanity to be on the level of ants, but maybe lower because I actually have a fondness for insects." Castiel discloses to Dean.   "That sounds very reasonable, Cas. But you know some humans can be the total opposite of boring," Dean says while considering his next move. Okay, Dean thinks, if movies have taught me anything, it’s that getting a villain to monologue usually gives the good guy a chance to win. If he can just get Castiel to ramble, he can probably escape alive and report Castiel to the crew or maybe even slay the imposter himself.   "I suppose you want me to believe you are one of those non-boring humans," Castiel comments and tilts his head to one side considering Dean.   "Yup! Today is your lucky day, Cas. Because I am the most non-boring human since the dawn of Creation." Dean sells his lie with confidence. He would have thought his life before was very boring, but how many humans have to outsmart a homicidal angel. Maybe he is more non-boring than he realized.   "Okay, I'm waiting to be entertained." Castiel tells Dean.   Shit, this guy just doesn't want to monologue, Dean thinks to himself. So Dean needs some way to entertain an angel before he becomes sliced and diced all over the O2 laboratory. He vaguely remembers a story about a lady that had to tell her captor 1,001 tales to avoid death. Maybe if he can tell enough stories he can make it off this Hell rock in one piece after all.   "Have you ever heard the tale of the Killer Stuffed Dinosaur in Love?" Dean asks the imposter.   "No, but I'll admit it does sound entertaining," Castiel relaxes and sits in the grass with his legs criss-crossed, and looks expectantly at Dean to start.   Dean begins to weave his story, and keeps careful watch of Castiel. He vigilantly watches the angel for some sign of momentary distraction, so he can seize the chance to raise an alarm or make a run for it. But in the meantime, he remembers back to storytime with his mom. When he and his brother would sit up in their beds to listen to their mom tell fantastic stories about witches, vampires, ghouls, wendigos, demons, ghosts, werewolves, fairies, and magic. And his mom told them with such love and care that he never felt bored by them. On the contrary, they were warm, fluffy comforts when reality did the best to beat him down. If anything could save him now, he was hopeful it would be the love of his mother that would keep him safe from the homicidal monster waiting for him to fail.   “Dead body reported!” the PA system crackles.    “Umm... is there more than one of you on this outpost?” Dean asks Castiel.   “No, but I did kill Benny before venting into the O2 lab,” Castiel confesses. “I am hoping I can rely on your discretion at the discussion.”   “Uh, sure Cas,” Dean lies.   Castiel disappears through the hole in the ground somehow. Dean walks over to the hole in the ground, but nothing magical happens to help him teleport through it. Dean decides lying to a homicidal angel is okay, because he is going to meet up with his crew and tell everyone Castiel is in fact the imposter.   Dean is the last crewmate to join the discussion.    “So there is only four of us left, Kaia was with me until we stumbled on Benny’s body. So the murderer must be Castiel or Dean,” Kevin declares.   “Maybe he died of natural causes,” Castiel suggests.   “Really? You think his body naturally got sliced to ribbons?” Kaia shouts.   “Uh, it seems possible, even if it’s not probable.” Castiel says thoughtfully.   “Guys, it was Castiel. He has been the imposter all along. He was going to kill me in the O2 laboratory,” Dean tells the crew. Castiel cocks an eyebrow at Dean, but says nothing in his own defense.   “I don’t know Dean. I think the murderer would be eager to cast shade on other crew mates. How do we know we can trust you?” Kevin says.   “I can’t believe you have been chopping up people Dean. What kind of a person does that!?!” Kaia shakes her head in disapproval.   “Look! I’m telling you the truth. Castiel is an Angel of the Lord, and he is supposed to be watching humanity. But I guess he thinks watching humanity like a reality tv show is boring, so he likes to mix things up with murder sprees,” Dean tells them.   “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Dean,” Kevin says.   “I vote Dean,” Kaia says.   “I vote Castiel of course!” Dean tells the crew passionately.   “I vote Dean,” Kevin says.   “I vote Kevin,” Castiel tells the crew.   “Dean, you have been found--”, Kevin begins, but is interrupted by getting murdered by Castiel.   “Oh shit! Castiel was the imposter!” Kaia runs screaming out of the room.   Dean is not sure what just happened. Did Castiel save him from death by space vacuum, or did his bloodthirsty tendencies just kick in? Dean wonders. Dean stumbles out of the room, and sees Castiel standing over the corpse of Kaia.    “So, Cas... any reason in particular why you killed my crewmates?” Dean asks the angel.   “They were going to execute you. They were not fit to be your judge and executioner,” Castiel says. “You bravely spoke the truth, even though I had threatened your life. It reminded me of the dinosaur, in your story, that bravely stood up to the menacing spider king to save the trans princess after she had been cursed into the shape of a frog. Although, I think the princess should have been able to save herself, a frog should be able to eat a spider.”   “Well, it was a very large spider,” Dean laughs. It was kind of nice that the killer angel had in fact been paying attention to his fairy tale made up in desperation.    “So, what happens now Castiel?” Dean asks the homicidal angel.   “I don’t know. I had expected to have been ejected out of the space station by now, but the vacuum of space won’t kill me. There are very few things that will kill an angel,” Castiel muses.    “I don’t suppose you will tell me about the things that can kill an angel,” Dean says doubtfully.   “Stabbed in a vital area by an angel blade, attempting to exit a ring of holy fire, certain spells from a powerful enough book of witchcraft, a stronger cosmic being like leviathans, archangels, Death, God, Darkness, or the Cosmic Entity,” Castiel enumerates the means of his destruction.   “Darn, it appears I left my leviathan in my other pants. I guess you win this round Castiel. Uh, thanks for saving me for last I guess. Do you think I will go to Heaven?” Dean asks. “My mother, she passed away, and she was such a kind person I’m sure she is in Heaven. Sometimes I feel like she is just behind me watching over me, and if I can just turn fast enough I will catch a glimpse of her.”   “That’s a nice sentiment Dean,” Castiel says. “But I’m not able to predict where human souls will go when their physical body is dead. I am also not fit to be anyone’s judge. But I can check if your mother, Mary Winchester, is in Heaven.”   Castiel disappears before Dean gets a chance to ask how the angel knew his mother’s name, but maybe that was just an angel thing. Dean heads to the maintenance shed to get a shovel. He wants to dig suitable graves for Kevin and Kaia. Paying his respects is the most he can do for them now.   Dean is patting the soil flat on top of the graves after burying his crewmates, and he wonders if Castiel is ever planning on coming back or if he found more unsuspecting humans to murder. He decides to go back to the O2 lab and rest under the tree. The lab is comforting and fills his thoughts with childhood memories of climbing trees with Sammy in the woods and late nights playing manhunt with the neighbors. Castiel would definitely find his childhood version of manhunt boring, basically it was just hide and seek in the dark, but when you were a kid late nights outside just felt liberating.    “You’re mother and father are in a shared Heaven, Dean,” Castiel reports.   “Oh, hey Cas,” Dean looks up from where he was dozing by the roots. “Thanks for looking into it for me. I think I’m ready to be killed now. I know you can’t tell me where my soul will go, but I’m at peace with this being the end. I would have liked a longer life, but no one ever promised me life was fair. And I have had a really good life so far. Just try to look out for Sam Winchester if you can. Maybe I can call him one more time and warn him to stay out of space, so you don’t end up hunting him during one of your murder sprees. I’d rather he lived a long time and died an old man.”   “That’s not necessary Dean,” Castiel says staring down at where Dean is still dozing. “I think I will give murder a break. I would have stopped earlier, but Kaia and Kevin presented a threat to your safety.”   “Okay, Cas,” Dean says unsure how much he can trust the words of this cold-blooded angel. “I think it’s very nice of you to give up killing humans for a bit. Did I tell you my brother Sammy gave up eating meat? He’s a vegetarian. I think you would really like Sammy, because everyone likes him. He is the best man I have ever known.”   “He sounds very impressive then,” Castiel agrees.   “If you don’t feel like killing me, are we just going to keep hanging out together on Polus?” Dean asks.   “I guess so,” Castiel nods. “I haven’t really thought things through.”   “Okay, I’m really beat after everything today Cas. I need to get some sleep,” Dean says while stifling a yawn.   “I’ll watch over you then,” Castiel says.   “That is so random of you Cas,” Dean mumbles. “How did you just go from angel of death to guardian angel? I’m not complaining though, I like being alive. I definitely prefer being alive with guardian angel beside me to dead with killer angel beside me.”   “Here Dean, I got you a pillow and blanket. I think these things make sleeping more comfortable for humans,” Castiel drops the mentioned objects where Dean is laying down.   “Yeah, your thinking was right. Very comfortable for humans,” Dean mumbles as he wraps himself into a cocoon in the blanket. “Today was so random. If I wake up and you kill me tomorrow, no hard feelings okay Cas? Like I’m not going to pretend I’m something special and that a crazy, killer angel would be reformed after having one conversation with me.”   “Okay, Dean that seems fair,” Castiel nods. Then Castiel sits in the grass besides Dean, and he watches over the human as he snores peacefully. Hanging out with Dean sounded like a nice change of pace for the killer angel. And he cast out his mind to pinpoint where Sam Winchester was on Earth. It sounded like the health and safety of Sam was important to Dean, so that made it important to Castiel, too.

[7-wonders]

Naked & Afraid

Summary: You finally (unwillingly, like everything else that’s happened to you since that night in the parking lot) meet your father-in-law in what is arguably some of the weirdest circumstances you’ve ever dealt with.

Word Count: 3734

A/N: What, Claire finally updated Mad Love? Hell must’ve frozen over and pigs are surely flying! Feedback is always appreciated (even the h8ers; bring it on hunny I’m always up for a throwdown), and if you liked this chapter I would love if you would reblog and/or leave me a comment!

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE | Read Where Angels Fear to Tread (part six) HERE

Every single thing about Michael Langdon and the life that he lives is the epitome of luxury, so it comes as no surprise that the en suite bathroom that has been deemed yours is just as opulent as everything else you’ve seen. After an incredibly long week that’s seemed to stretch for months, the large, ornate bathtub is the only thing on your mind. After Michael cut dinner short tonight, an issue with the Cooperative requiring his attention, you found yourself sitting on your bed and trying to figure out what to do with an unexpected free evening. Your head is still spinning after everything that’s happened in the past couple of days, and a long bath is where you tend to do your best thinking and decompressing. Today, especially, there’s a lot to think about.

The sound of rushing water fills the bathroom and echoes off of the large granite walls (who has granite walls?). Sticking your hand under the steady stream, you fiddle with the knob for a few moments before finding your ideal temperature. The bathtub starts to fill quickly, and you pour a generous amount of some fragrant lavender bubble bath into the water. You sit back on the balls of your feet, waiting for the bath to fill to your desired depth before rushing to turn it off. Glancing one last time to make sure you remembered to lock the door, you yank your clothes off of your body before sinking into the bath.

You sigh audibly once the hot water covers your body, the heat immediately going to work at relaxing your muscles. Relaxing against the back of the porcelain tub, you turn your phone on to play some music and stare up at the ceiling. There’s a chandelier, because of course there is. Although the signature black is prevalent throughout the room, you’re pleased to see some accents of purple and silver as well. Your thoughts, which can never just remain on one topic for an extended period of time, quickly shift to what’s happened yesterday and today.

The major thing is, of course, the kiss that you shared with Michael mere hours ago. More specifically, why the hell did you reciprocate the kiss? He certainly didn’t use his magic on you; even if you didn’t know what magic felt like when it was used on you now, the stern warning that you would beat his ass scared him enough to not even consider it. But, it’s not as if you like him. At best, you’re starting to tolerate him. That doesn’t mean you’ve ever thought about kissing him before, no matter how soft his lips actually are.

Maybe it was a lapse in judgement? Or maybe drunk (Y/N) was still lurking in the darkest recesses of your mind, just waiting for a moment to come out and screw everything up. A single kiss does not equal attraction of any kind. Michael’s arrogant, nosy, doesn’t understand boundaries, is the literal Antichrist and, to top it off, kidnapped you to be his unwilling bride. But at the same time, he obviously didn’t have a very loving or normal childhood, and he’s been used as a puppet by so many: Ms. Mead, the Satanists, his father. You don’t empathize with him, or even excuse his actions due to what he’s gone through. You do, however, understand why he acts the way that he does; maybe that makes all the difference.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but it’s obvious that you did. One moment, you’re relaxing in a bathtub and pondering how weird your life has gotten, and then you blink and you’re here. Well, wherever ‘here’ is. Everything’s dark, as if you’re standing outside in an empty field with no sign of stars, the moon, or any lights. Your eyes take a minute to adjust, but even then you’re still unable to see any sign of life. Although you can’t see anything, you can feel that something, or someone, is here with you.

The hair on your arms prickles, goosebumps rising as you feel a pair of piercing eyes watching you. The worst part, though, is that you can’t tell which direction they’re looking at you from. Just when you turn around to try and catch them, the feeling’s from behind you. It’s everywhere: Your back, your arms, your side, your face. At times it feels like you’re nose to nose with this entity, even though there’s nothing there. Your breathing picks up, nervously coming out in visible puffs as you wrap your arms around yourself. Looking down suddenly, you’re grateful that you’re not still naked in this dream (or vision, or premonition). You’re wearing the same clothes that you were wearing earlier today, almost as if you had dressed yourself while asleep.

As far as you can tell, you’re alone. That is, until you’re not. You spin around in a slow circle one last time, shrieking loudly when you come face to face with a man. A small smile has his pink lips upturned, showing his amusement at your fear. He’s tall, tall enough that his neck is bent in order to look at you. His unruly black hair somehow manages to look like he styled it that way, and his hazel eyes seem to flicker and crackle with sparks. You stumble backwards, desperate to put some space between you and this stranger. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, reminding you of how Michael looks when he smells your fear in the air.

“Who are you?” Your voice, although you attempt to sound strong, comes out shaky and hesitant.

“I am known by many different names, and I possess many different faces.” He quips, taking one long step closer to you. “Mmm, but of course you would not recognize me as I am now, right, sweet (Y/N)?”

“How do you know my name?”

He doesn’t answer. In a split second, he’s changed from the man with the mop of black hair to a tall man with brown hair and brown eyes, a trimmed beard on his face. If it weren’t for the same sparks in his eyes, you would have thought it was a completely different person.

“Does this not work for you, either?” His form changes again, to that of a teenage boy in an ill-fitting sweater and ratty jeans. His blond hair hasn’t been combed in a while, but he has the same brown eyes as that of the man before him.

“Stop doing this!” You snap, half-tempted to smack him.

“Oh, but I think you will quite enjoy this next form.” Suddenly, Michael stands before you. It looks just like the Michael you know, except for those eyes. Michael’s eyes, the real Michael’s eyes, lack that odd flame in them that this person has.

“Change back.” You say through gritted teeth. You’re not sure why the sight of him makes you feel so odd, but it does.

“You are no fun at all.” He sighs, reverting back to the original form that you first saw him in.

“I’m going to ask you this one more time. Who. Are. You?” Your hands are balled into fists at your sides, and you can feel your nails digging into the calloused flesh there.

“‘The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.’” He quips. It sounds familiar, what he’s saying, but you have no clue where you would have heard something like this before. “Why did you react the way that you did when I assumed the image of my son?”

“Your son? Who’s your…” You trail off upon realizing the only person that he could possibly be referring to as his son. He smirks, knowing that you’re hoping with every fiber of your being that he’s not who you think he is.

“Such a smart woman you are, (Y/N).” His voice drips with the same saccharine that tempted Eve when she stood at that lonely tree in the Garden of Eden, listening to the lies of the serpent as he whispered in her ear that the Forbidden Fruit would provide her the same knowledge that God himself possessed. “Surely you have heard some of my names. Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Lucifer--” he cuts himself off, and the grin that he shoots your way has you shuddering at the mere sight of it, “--Satan.”

“You can’t be, I--how am I here?” There’s so much about this situation that’s wrong, but for some reason your mind latches onto the sheer absurdity of waking up in an actual hellscape.

“My dear, I’m the Devil. A mere parlor trick is all it took to get you into my domain.” He spreads his arms wide, proud of the desolate landscape that stretches ahead for miles and miles.

“I’m not your ‘dear.’” You retort, eyes widening when you realize that you just sassed Satan himself. Instead of stealing your soul and banishing you to the Ninth Circle of Hell, which is what you’re expecting, he stares at you for a moment before laughing loudly.

“See, everytime I think that I chose the wrong mortal to be my son’s companion, you prove to me that I made the correct choice.” He seems proud of himself, standing tall and with his chest out.

“You ruined my life with your ‘choice.’”

Satan’s face falls, and he takes another step closer to you. “I have given you the opportunity to be great!”

“You stole my free will!”

“Thanks to me, you will rule the New World side-by-side with Michael. You are the missing link to bring about our plans for the Apocalypse. My son, as I am sure you have noticed, is all too human. I blame his mother; gentle, impassioned Vivien did not pass many things down to Michael, but she did manage to give the boy an overly caring heart. He needs someone to fulfill his heart’s desires, and who better than the one who was handpicked for him?”

“The Apocalypse,” you scoff, choosing to ignore the last part of his spiel for now as you look the Devil right in the eyes. “Why do you even want to bring about the Apocalypse? Once everyone’s dead, there’s no more new souls for you to torture.”

“Hell is not just made up of the souls of the damned, (Y/N). Legions of demons, swarms of locusts and scorpions, plagues that mankind has long since forgotten. My domain shall no longer be restricted just to Hell. Instead, Hell, and all of her beasts, will wreak havoc upon the Earth.”

“You want to kill billions of people, just so that you and your buddies can get your jollies?”

“Chaos and disorder are what keeps the world running. I am merely trying to make sure that only those who can survive the most chaotic of situations will populate the New World. Which, might I remind you, you shall have a hand in ruling.”

“I don’t want your fucking crown or kingdom.”

You go to whirl around, hoping that there will be some door that you missed when you first woke up here, but you’re faced again with Satan. When you try to back away from him, a ring of flames encircles both of you, effectively trapping you with him. He snatches your wrist, and your eyes widen at the sharp talons digging into your skin.

“Did your mother never teach you that gratitude is a virtue?” His voice comes out as a thunder, shaking the very ground that you stand on.

You really should tone down the sass and backtalk, but you can’t help it when a man as arrogant as any you’ve ever met stands mere inches away. “That’s really rich, coming from the literal Devil.”

“You foolish, insolent little girl. You have no idea what I am capable of.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as he loosens his grip on your wrist, allowing you to snatch your extremity back from him. You rub the skin, visibly marked and bleeding in areas where the talons pierced through, as gently as possible while trying to gain some feeling back into your tingling hand.

“I embody the seven deadly sins,” he continues. “I can become your greatest desire…”

You haven’t been looking at him while attending to your wrist, but your movements stop at the sudden change of voice when he reaches the end of his sentence. Moving your eyes slowly upwards, you let out a harsh breath when you’re greeted with Michael’s smirking face. The Michael doppelgänger slowly walks towards you, lifting a chilly hand up to your face and caressing your cheek.

“Don’t touch me.” You mutter, unable to look away from his cerulean eyes.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” even his mocking tone sounds just like the Michael that you know, “don’t play coy with me. I can see into the deepest parts of your soul. That purity that you try so furiously to embody, tinted black in some areas. You desire me, even though you hate to admit it.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.” He whispers, breath ghosting across your face while he moves even closer to yours. “The very essence of your being calls out for me, just as I call out for you. We were created for each other. No matter how much you try and fight it, we belong to each other. Soon enough, your mind will give into what your soul already knows.”

“Stop it!” You shout, shoving him away from you.

Satan goes stumbling back, caught off-guard by your sudden attack and nearly topping into the flames. When he rights himself again, he has a devil’s grin plastered across his original face.

“As I was saying, I can become your greatest desire, but I can also transform into your worst nightmare.”

He starts to shift and change, body convulsing as bones grow from out of nowhere. Satan’s no longer a man, although was the title of ‘man’ ever one that could be bestowed upon him? Instead, he’s a horrific, imposing creature with multiple heads that almost looks like some sort of dragon.

“‘And I saw a beast coming out of the sea,’” he bellows, all of the heads combining their voices to form a roar that has you clapping your hands over your ears. “‘It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name.’”

Vaguely, you realize that the heads are quoting some part of the Book of Revelation, but you don’t have time to wonder about if the Devil has the Bible memorized when the heads of the beast unhinge their jaws, showing off their gaping maws and the dim glow of fire being conjured from deep in their belly. As the heads start to lower towards you, you drop to your knees and let out a blood curdling shriek.

Michael senses your panic before he hears your terrified screams. He springs up from his plush leather chair in his office, abruptly ending the phone call he was just on with a couple of world leaders. Your screams permeate the air, Michael’s heart pounding in terror at what you could possibly be experiencing right now. In his mind, there’s no time to waste. He blasts the bathroom door open the moment that it comes into view, hoping that you’ll forgive him for barging in on you while you’re nude.

Your subconscious, which Satan had pulled into Hell the moment your eyes slipped closed for longer than a second, had jolted back into your body upon sensing your imminent demise. In your panic, you had slipped under the water, inhaling mouthfuls of it as your lungs tried to breathe normally again. Your hands cling to the lip of the tub, almost like you’re worried that something will swim up from the depths of the bath and attempt to drag you back under. Alternating between screaming and coughing up the water that has invaded your lungs, your eyes remain clenched tight.

Michael reaches for you before his mind can start to think about the repercussions of doing so, arms slipping under your body and pulling you out of the water. His suit is soaking wet now, but he doesn’t care. He’s never seen you like this before, so terror-stricken that you can’t even open your eyes, and it shakes him to his core. You thrash against his firm chest, sure that Satan has shifted back and captured you in hell. It’s only when you hear his frantically calm reassurances that your body stops writhing.

“Hey, you’re okay, it’s fine. I’m here, nothing can hurt you.” He soothes you, waiting patiently for your eyes to flutter open.

“Michael? It’s...it’s actually you, right?” Your voice is meek in a way that he’s never heard before.

“Why wouldn’t it be me?” Your eyes fill with tears at the memory, and you shake your head before burying your face in his chest, sobs wracking your body. “What happened to you?”

The only sounds you make are the small whimpers that slip past the barrier of your mouth, floating to Michael’s ears. His fingers go to your back, freezing when he remembers that you’re naked. Hesitantly, he grabs a towel and wraps you in it, though you’re still too shocked to even care. Michael holds you tightly against him, rubbing circles on your back and listening to your heart to make sure it evens out. It takes a while, but it slowly manages to go to a rate that wouldn’t have an Apple Watch alerting its owner of a possible heart attack.

“(Y/N), is it okay if I get you dressed?” If your head wasn’t pressed against his chest, he wouldn’t even be aware that you had nodded in response to his request, the movement was so small.

Michael can tell that the steady metronome of his heart is calming to you, so he remains silent while he runs another towel through your hair. He’s gentle with you, almost like you’re a wisp of smoke he’s managed to capture in his hands; one wrong movement, and you’ll disappear. He helps to tug the black nightdress over your head, looking up at the ceiling while he inches it down past your thighs until you’re modest. A wave of his bejeweled hand makes the bathtub start to drain, the sound of the water level receding helping to fill the silence of the bathroom.

You’re exhausted, although you’re not sure if it’s from the near-drowning that still has your lungs feeling like they’re burning or the fact that Satan literally had you in Hell with him. When Michael picks you up in his arms, you don’t even bother to protest what he’s doing. The covers of your bed have already been turned down, likely the work of a maid slipping in while you were first in the bathroom. Michael sets you down amongst the plush pillows and starts to pull the blankets up around you, but stops when you grab his hand.

“It was Satan.” You mutter, tired eyes gazing up to see his panicked reaction.

“What?”

“Lay down with me.” Patting the spot on the bed next to you, Michael slowly slips his shoes off before sliding in next to you. You smile slightly at how he still respects your space, fingers just barely brushing against yours in an effort to not piss you off. “I must have fallen asleep while I was taking a bath. It felt like I only blinked, and suddenly I was in this pitch black landscape…”

You tell him everything about the confrontation with his father, only leaving out the part where Satan accused Michael of being your greatest desire. He listens intently throughout your entire story, saving all of his comments for after you’re finished.

“Why did he show himself to you?” Michael mutters, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“Does he normally not do that?”

“I’ve never actually seen him before. My father has an...odd way of communicating with me, and that usually involves some sort of visions or rituals. I don’t understand why you’re--” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening while he lets out a sigh. “--he’s not pleased with either of us.”

“He couldn’t just have a friendly conversation with you instead of dragging me to Hell?”

“This was intended to be a message that would resonate with both of us. Would you have taken me seriously if he had spoken to me during a ritual?”

“You already know I wouldn’t.”

“Then what better way to voice his displeasure than by getting the skeptic, the unwilling second part of this equation, to be the messenger?”

“I don’t understand why he’s not pleased, though. I married you. Isn’t that enough?”

Michael grimaces. “You’re far more headstrong than he thought you would be. I think, when my father was picking a bride for me, he imagined that she would be this demure little thing who faithfully worshipped Satan and had already accrued a body count by her eighteenth birthday. You are almost the exact opposite of that, and it infuriates him. Any wrench in our plans means more time that’s wasted.”

“What you order on Amazon versus what shows up.” You joke, chuckling when Michael stifles a smile. “C’mon, that was funny!”

“It’s time for you to get some rest, (Y/N).” Michael reminds you, stroking your damp hair back from your face. His clothes are no longer wet, and you briefly wonder if he used his magic to dry them before nerves seize your stomach.

“Wait! Please don’t leave me.” You plead, gripping his arm tightly with both of yours. Michael looks concerned, and you sigh. “I’m scared that he’ll get me again if I fall asleep.”

Michael’s arms wrap around you, securing you against his chest. That steady rhythm that makes up his heartbeat starts to calm you again, and you use the sound to ground yourself.

“I won’t let him anywhere near you, I promise.” You can’t be too sure, considering how fast you drift off, but it feels like he lays a kiss to your forehead.

Michael keeps his promise, remaining with you until long after you’re asleep. When his own eyes start to slip closed, he allows himself to fall asleep next to you, protecting you no matter what.

Tag List: @sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @sebastianshoe @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @alexcornerblogthethird @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @dolceandchalamet @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @dextergirl12345 @americanhorrorstudies @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @coloursunlimited @punkysouls @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonsdemon @langdonslove @carousallie @cuddletothecake @born-on-stgeorges-day @mega-combusken @michaelsapostle @babyloutattoo89 @divinelangdon @venusxxlangdon @idespac @hexqueensupreme @hecohansen31 @rocketgirl2410 @gold-dragon-slayer 

[new-pseudonym]

Charli XCX - Charli (2019)

SCORE: 8

Genre: pop, avant-pop, bubblegum bass

Charli XCX proves she is the pop star of the future by bridging the wild, fantastical world of the UK avant-pop scene with the Top 40 pop world where she attained her fame.

Alright, I’m going to start out by talking about Taylor Swift. This summer, Taylor released her follow up to her tumultuous 2017 album Reputation, Lover. Lover is (or, was) unique in Swift’s discography in that it was the first album she owned. This follows a controversy that took place this summer about the rights to her previous albums’ master recordings. Beyond Lover, Swift plans to take control of her creative output by re-recording all of her previous studio albums while retaining ownership of future releases.

I think it’s important to mention the struggles of a Top 40 pop musician regarding control of their creative output, especially because of the connection between Charli and Taylor (Charli was the opener for Swift’s Reputation tour). It’s also important to mention this specific struggle because Charli has heralded Charli as her “most personal album” to date. This demonstrates that once again, Charli is ahead of her colleagues by owning her sound and making music just for her. 

Both positively and negatively, Charli is described as the “future of pop,” and she constantly straddles the line between ahead of her time and refreshingly innovative. This highlights a dichotomy that exists in Charli’s music: is she a Top 40 pop musician like Taylor Swift/Iggy/et cetera, or is she an icon for experimental pop and electronic music? Her affiliation with A.G. Cook (and by extension, PC Music) only obfuscates this discussion. On one hand, she was the girl who sang on “Fancy” and “I Love It” earlier in the 2010s. But on the other hand, she’s the one who put out an incredibly challenging EP Vroom Vroom with Sophie Listening to the original version of “Blame It On Your Love” released on Pop 2 last year (”Track 10″) illuminates how tame or how experimental Charli can make her sound. Charli clearly wants to honor her origins (the rave scene of the late-2000s UK), but is also still clamoring to “make it big” in some way.

Thankfully, Charli puts this discussion to rest. She has masterfully melded these two halves of her fractured identity into something that is uniquely her. There is something that can only be described as genius about putting “out-there” producers like Cook, Dylan Brady, and umru on a record alongside rising pop superstars like Lizzo and HAIM. This serves Charli listeners in two different ways, depending on their camp (please read this facetiously):

“I really like her big singles and I mostly listen to Top 40. Sometimes Charli has gone outside my comfort zone in the past and it was pretty weird.” I think this camp holds the majority of Charli’s listeners: ones that listened to “I Love It” and she shows up in their party radio on Spotify or whatever. Charli gives less-enfranchised listeners a way to expand their taste. God, writing this makes me sound like such a pretentious asshole.

“I really like PC Music and 1000 gecs is the best album ever made. Also, Top 40 is derivative and my refined palate is above it.” If you are reading a music review you are more likely to be in this camp. I think everybody who “gets into music” has been here at one point. I certainly have. Top 40 is a low-hanging fruit for people who are just starting to be critical of their musical input and I think many budding tastemakers are too dismissive of it as a genre. A lot goes into producing an album with so much polish and Charli delivers a polished album that still has some of that “weirdness” to it that is familiar with consumers of experimental, less-commercial music.

I think the genius in Charli is that it meets these two groups of people (who historically clash a lot) halfway. It’s got something for every listener at every level of commitment. You can put it on at a party and your friends will enjoy it, but you can also spend way too much time deconstructing all its influences and thinking about how it is (hopefully) going to change pop music forever. The whole album exists on this kind of “pop-weird” spectrum. Songs like “Blame It On Your Love” and “1999″ deliver the catchy earworms you’d expect Charli to play while on tour with Taylor Swift (if they had existed back in 2017/2018). At the other end of this spectrum we have “Click” and “Shake It,” songs that are sonically challenging and feature more the traditional maximalist production PC Music leader Cook is known for. They’re abrasive, but fit in to the braggadocio of the album’s easy listens pretty well.

However, sometimes the album “changes gears” a little too quickly, and you go from a totally normal pop song to a Dylan Brady hellscape before you can realize what’s happening. Conversely, sometimes you are getting wrapped up in the insanity of the production when the next song delivers a mellow performance that feels completely flaccid while you are still coming down from the rush from the previous track. The worst moments on the album are when Charli isn’t sure whether she wants to be an entertainer or an innovator, as the purgatory between the two ends of this spectrum holds a lot of lukewarm filler. I in particular was upset with “Warm.” I love HAIM but I don’t think their soft-rock sound was right for the energy of this album.

I’m sure I could pen many more words about this album. Sometimes I feel like I am still decompressing it and I’ve been listening to it on repeat since the day it was released. And I may be wrong in scoring it at only an 8. But instead of worrying about all that, I’m gonna her tonight at Emo’s in Austin and I couldn’t be more excited.

Song Ratings

Next Level Charli ★★★★★

Gone (with Christine and the Queens) ★★★★★

Cross You Out (feat. Sky Ferreira) ★★★★★

1999 (with Troye Sivan) ★★★

Click (feat. Kim Petras and Tommy Cash) ★★★★★

Warm (feat. HAIM) ★★

Thoughts ★★

Blame It On Your Love (feat. Lizzo) ★★★★★

White Mercedes ★★★

Silver Cross ★★★

I Don’t Wanna Know ★★★

Official ★★★

Shake It (feat. Big Freedia, CupcakKe, Brooke Candy, and Pabllo Vittar) ★★★

February 2017 (feat. Clairo and Yaeji) ★★★

2099 (feat. Troye Sivan) ★★★

Learn more at: https://www.charli-the-album.co.uk/

[agentxthirteen]

How to write a negative post on tumblr

You’re probably thinking, “Why can’t I find a post tangentially reminiscent of something I’m upset about and put it on there?” And you would be wrong, because I’ve seen that happen multiple times now. Someone works hard on a gifset, or a piece of fanart, and someone reblogs it or comments on it with, “I don’t like this character” or “I like the concept, but I hate the couple you used” or “I just can’t get into this.” And you know why that’s bad? Because someone worked on that, and when you say shit like that on something they worked on, it’s a stab to the gut. I’ve seen people say they aren’t going to make any more gifs at all because of dickknobs like that.

So! First, check how upset you are. Scroll past that post where you can’t say anything supportive or nice.

If you move on to other things, great job! No need to go further. You haven’t caused pain to anyone else, nor come across as a jackass, and everything’s moving along fine. You’re moving on with your life, they’re living on with theirs, everything’s great.

Is it still bothering you? Then this post is for you.

First, create a new text post. You can scroll to the top of your tumblr or hit c and z at the same time. There you go! We now have an empty post. Look at all that white space! Isn’t it amazing?

Now ruin it. There should be a set of options along the side or bottom of the post, depending on what you’re using on xkit or if you’re using xkit (I don’t remember the ways before xkit, but it’s basically the same). Choose the ellipses. This means “read more.” It’ll insert a “read more” line, like this:

Or, you know, “keep reading.” But everything we write under here? People have to click a button to read it. And people are lazy. Only the people who care about your weirdest thoughts and have time will click on the keep reading button.

Why insert the read more? Because it’ll cut down on reblogs, which will cut down on comments, and these two combined mean that there’s less of a chance of your negativity spreading to people it could hurt, and fewer people will think you’re an asshole. Yay!

Okay, so there are two ways to rant here.

One is the vaguepost. “I’m quietly cackling that the thing I don’t like is failing. Haha, thing, haha.” That’s usually enough.

At times when it isn’t enough, when you just HAVE to get names in there, x marks the spot. No, not that spot, you gutter-minded pirate.

See, tumblr has two ways of things showing up in search. There are the tags, and then there are the tags on mobile. Why the difference? Because the tags on mobile essentially double as a search function. So if I say, “john boyega” in the post but not in the tags, people are going to see it on mobile and think two things, “No, he’s MY husband, who does this bitch think she is?” and “Why am I browsing tumblr on mobile,” a question that has plagued us for years and still has no answer.

However, if I say, “john boyxga,” I’m going to know what I mean, my friends who are still reading will know what I mean, but I won’t have to deal with someone in Brazil looking up my ISP location because when it comes to John Boyega, we’re all highlanders, and there can only be one.

I could also just say “jb.” Admittedly, this leads to problems down the road. Years from now, I could be like, “... I didn’t realize I liked John Barrowman so much.” But I can think ahead and just say “jboy.”

We also have tags. A lot of people use “anti” tags, but it can still be seen by people - particularly on mobile, which is a hellscape that even Trump wouldn’t use (mostly because he can’t figure out how). The easiest solution? Don’t tag them at all. Or if you must, for organization’s sake, use the code we used above. X’s, abbreviations that only vaguely make sense, etc.

Don’t @ the people you’re talking about. If you’re that much of a dick, you shouldn’t even be here. Go to myspace and pray for more dicks to join you.

So you’re done. If you still have some negative emotions, add whatever you want to your post. A string of bad words, a string of Monty Python gifs, who the fuck cares? It’s your fucking post. Have fun with it until you feel better. Maybe, in the end, you won’t even feel like posting it. That’s fine! It’s up to you!

In conclusion:

Am I still upset after scrolling past the thing that upset me? If no, keep scrolling. If yes, make a post.

Effectively hide the post from everyone but myself and the few people that care about me when I’m being an asshole. Don’t intentionally upset other people just because I have so little going for me in my life that upsetting other people is the closest thing I get to a high, or to feeling like I matter.

Rant. Vaguely or otherwise.

End rant. Decompress.

Move on.