Cute picnik quotes
Roorh
2016.02.04 20:24 AliEvans Roorh
Roorh is all about Cute Quotes, sayings, wishes and messages. website: http://www.roorh.com
2017.03.25 02:18 with-a-box-of-scraps Wholesome Pokémon
The place to share everything wholesome related to Pokémon!
2016.12.16 20:07 guykopsombut 4amShower by Guy Kopsombut
Hi guys! I make happy, cute illustrations to help the world smile :) I'll post my latest comics here along with news for new books and randomness in my brain :)
2024.05.13 21:39 Plant_Musiceer 100 quotes about Nazrin's cuteness >>>
 | submitted by Plant_Musiceer to 2hujerk [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 20:23 Efficient_Jaguar5153 My Mother(58F) Don’t Feel Like I(20F) Answer Her Messages Fast, And Enough Since I Moved Out?
I find myself in a situation where my dear mother believes that we don't communicate enough in our daily lives, since I moved out and in with my partner about a year ago, even though I already feel quite stressed and exhausted as it is.
I have an autism diagnosis, which affects me greatly, especially with extreme fatigue after long days. It even reaches a point where I receive disability benefits because my exhaustion is so severe and affects my functional ability. In addition to this, I also struggle with depression, and not thriving well in my studies adds extra strain on my energy, especially with commuting, household chores, and a house purchase in progress in my daily life.
I am an only child, and my mother has always been single, so we have always been very, very close. She has a good job where she is social, and she tries out new hobbies and hangs out with her friends several times a week. She's basically a freaking badass, and I forever look up to her.
Now, onto the matter at hand: Every day, if there's no reason otherwise, I keep my phone on silent. It's a major stress factor for me to have to decide and respond to messages, so it can take a couple of hours to a day before I reply. But I always keep an eye on who or what's messaging, so I can reply when time and energy allow. In my friend circle, everyone is quite busy and understands if it takes a day or two to reply, so it has never been a problem for anyone.
However, it is for my mother. She sends me several Instagram reels of cute puppies, inspiring memes and quotes, old pictures and snaps, and messages throughout the day. I usually reply within a couple of hours to a day to messages and a bit less frequently to reels, but she's not above deleting them if I don't respond quickly enough. And worst of all, she drops little hints EVERY TIME we're together, in the form of "well, one would hope you'd answer me" and "it would be nice if you replied, you know," etc. I've explained myself many times and always say that if she wants a quick response or misses me, I always answer a call, but I promise to try to respond better, and I have indeed improved.
But she just keeps on with those hints. So, I talked to my psychologist, and she said I should sit her down and tell her that her hints and comments stress me out because I'm doing my best, and she knows my situation right now.
She reacted a bit defensively and said that she doesn't prod every time and that she just misses me so much that one can't even say they miss their daughter anymore when the nearest one is the farthest away. Also, she understands that I have a busy life with a partner, school, and my own life, and that her life isn't as filled. I reiterated that she could always call since I respond better, but then she said it feels more like a burden on my behalf in her head, so she doesn't do that.
I just don't know what to do. It gives me the worst guilt, but I'm really stretched thin. For those who are a bit more experienced in this area, what do you do?
(We get together once too twice a month)
Best regards, A very stressed daughter
TLDR: Feeling overwhelmed by studies, autism, and depression, I struggle to maintain communication with my mother, who bombards me with messages and hints for quicker responses. Despite explaining my situation, she persists, causing guilt and stress. Seeking advice on how to manage this situation.
submitted by Efficient_Jaguar5153 to relationship_advice [link] [comments]
I have an autism diagnosis, which affects me greatly, especially with extreme fatigue after long days. It even reaches a point where I receive disability benefits because my exhaustion is so severe and affects my functional ability. In addition to this, I also struggle with depression, and not thriving well in my studies adds extra strain on my energy, especially with commuting, household chores, and a house purchase in progress in my daily life.
I am an only child, and my mother has always been single, so we have always been very, very close. She has a good job where she is social, and she tries out new hobbies and hangs out with her friends several times a week. She's basically a freaking badass, and I forever look up to her.
Now, onto the matter at hand: Every day, if there's no reason otherwise, I keep my phone on silent. It's a major stress factor for me to have to decide and respond to messages, so it can take a couple of hours to a day before I reply. But I always keep an eye on who or what's messaging, so I can reply when time and energy allow. In my friend circle, everyone is quite busy and understands if it takes a day or two to reply, so it has never been a problem for anyone.
However, it is for my mother. She sends me several Instagram reels of cute puppies, inspiring memes and quotes, old pictures and snaps, and messages throughout the day. I usually reply within a couple of hours to a day to messages and a bit less frequently to reels, but she's not above deleting them if I don't respond quickly enough. And worst of all, she drops little hints EVERY TIME we're together, in the form of "well, one would hope you'd answer me" and "it would be nice if you replied, you know," etc. I've explained myself many times and always say that if she wants a quick response or misses me, I always answer a call, but I promise to try to respond better, and I have indeed improved.
But she just keeps on with those hints. So, I talked to my psychologist, and she said I should sit her down and tell her that her hints and comments stress me out because I'm doing my best, and she knows my situation right now.
She reacted a bit defensively and said that she doesn't prod every time and that she just misses me so much that one can't even say they miss their daughter anymore when the nearest one is the farthest away. Also, she understands that I have a busy life with a partner, school, and my own life, and that her life isn't as filled. I reiterated that she could always call since I respond better, but then she said it feels more like a burden on my behalf in her head, so she doesn't do that.
I just don't know what to do. It gives me the worst guilt, but I'm really stretched thin. For those who are a bit more experienced in this area, what do you do?
(We get together once too twice a month)
Best regards, A very stressed daughter
TLDR: Feeling overwhelmed by studies, autism, and depression, I struggle to maintain communication with my mother, who bombards me with messages and hints for quicker responses. Despite explaining my situation, she persists, causing guilt and stress. Seeking advice on how to manage this situation.
2024.05.13 19:11 rpkat [F4A playing Male] The Contract
No Smut
Partners and their characters must be AT LEAST 23 and no older than 38
Your character is a well known celebrity! This could include a hockey player, race car driver, senator, musician, other athletes, movie star, etc. Lately he has been all over the media and not for the right reason. He’s been out partying, getting caught doing drugs, with a new woman every night, and / or getting into fights. The press has been laying into him with each new circumstance and it’s starting to affect his career, badly. And what’s the best way to make everyone think he’s not a huge playboy? Get a serious girlfriend that makes it look like he’s calmed down just for her. She’s the one that keeps him out of trouble.
Bad part is, he doesn’t have that, but he does have money and with an app made for sugar babies he might be able to find the right girl to get his reputation back in line with.
OR
Our characters are both celebrities and needing a boost in publicity somehow. Their managers come together to make them into some super cute power couple. The only issue is that the two of them cannot stand each other when they’re not in front of the cameras or out in public. Even then that’s a hard time for them to get along.
Hey there! I’m female and 26 years old. I’m looking for someone to roleplay this plot (or the others on my profile) with me! This will be safe for work and done via discord. You MUST be able to write in third person. I would like at least one good paragraph to two paragraphs per reply and someone that can reply daily. I get that people get busy, but please don’t leave me hanging. I love drama and romance in my stories while also making friends out of character. I like to send tons of references ranging from pictures to quotes to Tiktoks. Please send a message or chat with your age, writing sample, and any ideas you have or what your character will be like!
submitted by rpkat to roleplaying [link] [comments]
Partners and their characters must be AT LEAST 23 and no older than 38
Your character is a well known celebrity! This could include a hockey player, race car driver, senator, musician, other athletes, movie star, etc. Lately he has been all over the media and not for the right reason. He’s been out partying, getting caught doing drugs, with a new woman every night, and / or getting into fights. The press has been laying into him with each new circumstance and it’s starting to affect his career, badly. And what’s the best way to make everyone think he’s not a huge playboy? Get a serious girlfriend that makes it look like he’s calmed down just for her. She’s the one that keeps him out of trouble.
Bad part is, he doesn’t have that, but he does have money and with an app made for sugar babies he might be able to find the right girl to get his reputation back in line with.
OR
Our characters are both celebrities and needing a boost in publicity somehow. Their managers come together to make them into some super cute power couple. The only issue is that the two of them cannot stand each other when they’re not in front of the cameras or out in public. Even then that’s a hard time for them to get along.
Hey there! I’m female and 26 years old. I’m looking for someone to roleplay this plot (or the others on my profile) with me! This will be safe for work and done via discord. You MUST be able to write in third person. I would like at least one good paragraph to two paragraphs per reply and someone that can reply daily. I get that people get busy, but please don’t leave me hanging. I love drama and romance in my stories while also making friends out of character. I like to send tons of references ranging from pictures to quotes to Tiktoks. Please send a message or chat with your age, writing sample, and any ideas you have or what your character will be like!
2024.05.13 19:03 GrumpyFinn Misinformation, Twitter, and You
Hi, everyone.
It’s no secret that this weekend was rather turbulent for us all. But one thing that didn’t help - and, in fact, made things even more chaotic, was Twitter misinformation.
I am aware that misinformation can and does spread across all social media platforms, including TikTok and Instagram. However, this weekend, Twitter was especially harmful,
Many people, some new to our community and some not, were flooding the comment sections and submissions of this subreddit with links to random tweets and Twitter profiles making all sorts of baseless and speculative claims around the Joost situation, Israel, Bambie Thug, and pretty much anything you can imagine. This misinformation and rumors were so bad that we had to block Twitter links in the subreddit for the weekend.
I understand that confirmation bias is a thing. When we want something to be true, we often go out of our way to find any and all evidence that backs up what we already believe. If you believe that Joost was disqualified because he likes to eat onions and you want the world to know, you might try to find tweets that back up this idea.
But Twitter isn’t a news outlet. It’s basically a chat room. Anyone can make a Twitter profile right now and claim anything they want, with no evidence nor repercussions for making claims.
This can, does, and will hurt people, including artists you care about, their friends, and their loved ones.
Actual news websites have standards and laws that regulate what kinds of things they can claim and what they can’t. Especially in Nordic countries, matters related to police investigations involving individuals have an even higher threshold for standards and privacy in media, in order to protect any potential victims.
Not all news is created equally, either. Reliable articles understand nuance and provide balanced, factual information, rather than relying on shocking headlines and inflammatory writing styles.
On a personal level, this was one of the hardest weekends in my 20+´year “career” as a forum moderator. It really felt like no one was interested in any facts, they just wanted to sow chaos around the show, or they wanted to be “right” about their opinions. It didn’t feel like a community, it felt like a mob, and it was all fueled by random Twitter accounts.
So, with everything going on right now, I beg that we step back just enough to ignore Twitter, and trust reliable news sources for whatever happens next. The chaos isn’t cute, and it has consequences.
And when posting a news article, avoid tabloid clickbait and articles that rely on out-of-context quotes or videos, and rage-bait.
Thank you.
GrumpyFinn (They/Them)
submitted by GrumpyFinn to eurovision [link] [comments]
It’s no secret that this weekend was rather turbulent for us all. But one thing that didn’t help - and, in fact, made things even more chaotic, was Twitter misinformation.
I am aware that misinformation can and does spread across all social media platforms, including TikTok and Instagram. However, this weekend, Twitter was especially harmful,
Many people, some new to our community and some not, were flooding the comment sections and submissions of this subreddit with links to random tweets and Twitter profiles making all sorts of baseless and speculative claims around the Joost situation, Israel, Bambie Thug, and pretty much anything you can imagine. This misinformation and rumors were so bad that we had to block Twitter links in the subreddit for the weekend.
I understand that confirmation bias is a thing. When we want something to be true, we often go out of our way to find any and all evidence that backs up what we already believe. If you believe that Joost was disqualified because he likes to eat onions and you want the world to know, you might try to find tweets that back up this idea.
But Twitter isn’t a news outlet. It’s basically a chat room. Anyone can make a Twitter profile right now and claim anything they want, with no evidence nor repercussions for making claims.
This can, does, and will hurt people, including artists you care about, their friends, and their loved ones.
Actual news websites have standards and laws that regulate what kinds of things they can claim and what they can’t. Especially in Nordic countries, matters related to police investigations involving individuals have an even higher threshold for standards and privacy in media, in order to protect any potential victims.
Not all news is created equally, either. Reliable articles understand nuance and provide balanced, factual information, rather than relying on shocking headlines and inflammatory writing styles.
On a personal level, this was one of the hardest weekends in my 20+´year “career” as a forum moderator. It really felt like no one was interested in any facts, they just wanted to sow chaos around the show, or they wanted to be “right” about their opinions. It didn’t feel like a community, it felt like a mob, and it was all fueled by random Twitter accounts.
So, with everything going on right now, I beg that we step back just enough to ignore Twitter, and trust reliable news sources for whatever happens next. The chaos isn’t cute, and it has consequences.
And when posting a news article, avoid tabloid clickbait and articles that rely on out-of-context quotes or videos, and rage-bait.
Thank you.
GrumpyFinn (They/Them)
2024.05.13 18:59 CoalTrain16 Suggestions for my fiancée's birthday
Recipient: my fiancée (female, mid-late 20s).
submitted by CoalTrain16 to GiftIdeas [link] [comments]
- I'm male, mid-late 20s.
- I moved in to her house a few years ago. We're the only people who live here. She really likes getting new decorations, but I have given her at least a couple of wall-hanging items as gifts in the past and thus would like to avoid those.
- We live in a suburban neighborhood with a small fenced-in backyard.
- Both of us work remotely full time at home. But once every several months, she travels for work for at least a few days. In the past, she has had to stay in an apartment in different states for weeks due to the nature of the project she was on at the time (consultant). But she hasn't had to do that in over a year, and she doesn't expect that she'll need to any time soon.
- We're getting married later this year. It's going to be a pretty nontraditional wedding with a weekend stay at a mountain retreat, sunrise ceremony, and then a standard reception party later in the evening. We're not giving each other gifts for the wedding itself.
- One other unique aspect about the wedding is that all the things we're supplying ourselves (such as the plates) are secondhand/thrifted items. It's going to be a wide variety of mixed and matched things that give slightly rustic aesthetics contrasting with typical formal wedding aesthetics.
- We became dog owners a few months ago with a Shetland sheepdog (female, 7 months old). Fiancée is the one who really wanted her, and she's definitely more "her dog" than mine, but don't get me wrong, I love her too. (I have requested a quote for a professional photo session with the dog and us already. This would be the birthday gift if the quote is reasonably close to my budget.)
- We also have 2 cats (both male, a few years old), but she's not nearly as close to them as she is to the dog.
- She likes going camping and other less intensive outdoor activities such as hiking and kayaking. She doesn't get to go very often due to a very busy schedule/lifestyle though.
- She LOVES travelling and staying in cute AirBnBs/Vrbos. I once paid for a weekend stay as a gift to her in a past year. I don't want to do that again now because we have a lot of travel booked for this year already.
- She made it very clear early on that she does not want me to ever try getting her clothing or jewelry as gifts because she has very particular taste and frequently just gets her own stuff of that nature when she feels like it.
- She generally prefers receiving gifts that are things which she normally would not spend money on otherwise. I know this may be too vague to be useful for you, but I figured I'd mention it anyway.
- We both drink alcohol regularly. One of my favorite gifts that she has ever given me is a fancy glass decanter for my whiskeys. She isn't necessarily into a specific kind of drink herself, but she is very well-known in our friend group for her talent with mixing cocktails. (We have a whole cabinet dedicated to mixers, bartending tools, and so forth.) I have also gotten her a home wine making kit as a past gift which can still be used, so that's off the table.
- We're both avid coffee drinkers and have an espresso machine with a full coffee cabinet. Idk if there is anything else that we could possibly use for coffee, but maybe there's something that I've just never known about. (She introduced me to coffee drinking via this machine a few years ago when she got it.)
2024.05.13 18:49 shaneka69 KEEP GOING
KEEP GOING
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04 limited sazabys keep going
04 keep going
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04 limited sazabys keep going 歌詞
04 limited sazabys keep going 歌词
keep going 歌詞 04
why doesn't auto stop always work
are not likely to stop suddenly
keep going 100 reasons to stay alive
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keep u going 365
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3 fingers keep going numb
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3 things to keep a relationship going
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why does my phone keep going to 4g
why does my iphone keep going off wifi to 4g
i keep going to sleep at 4am
why do i keep going to bed at 4am
why does youtube keep going to 480p
why does my 401k keep going down
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keep going 5k
keep going 5k/10k/13.1 run miami
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50 reasons to keep going
5 reasons to keep going
why does my phone keep going to 5g
i'm going to keep it a buck 50 with you
will the s&p 500 keep going up
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always goes up never comes down
why is it so hard to keep going
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why does my nest keep going to 68
why does my thermostat keep going to 62
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6 elements that keep the ecosystem going
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9 hours away from now
2024.05.13 16:10 GiganticGirlEnjoyer Happy End
 | submitted by GiganticGirlEnjoyer to Fumofumo [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 14:21 gugulo When you are not sure if your post fits r/LikeUs you can give it a score. Add the numbers on this list that match the content of your post and see if the total reaches a positive number. If it does it is good content for r/LikeUs!
Consciousness / Intelligence Self-consciousness +6 Tool Use +5 Theory of mind +4 Friendship +3 Cooperation +2 Imitation +1
Language Language production +5 Complex language understanding +4 Verbal language understanding +3 Giving or following instructions +2 Non verbal communication +1
Emotion Grief +5 Love +4 Curiosity +3 Sadness +2 Happiness +1
Special Behavior Playing Music +5 Playing Sports +4 Dancing to Music +3 Reacting to Magic +2 Enjoying a Bath or Shower +1
Other Formats Scientific Article +5 Documentary +4 Compilation +3 Philosophy Discussion +3 Meta Discussion + 2 Quote +2 Pop Science Article +2 Anatomic Similarities +1 Interesting or Unusual +1
Undesired Content Sleeping -1 Eating -1 Pets -1 Funny -2 Cute -2 Common Repost -3 Violent -4 Sexual -5
Anthropomorphism Potential Unintentional behavior -1 Misleading -2 Forced behavior -4 Likely Fake -4 Fake -5
Rule Breaking Off-Topic -3 Rude -5 Recent Repost -7 Spam -10
submitted by gugulo to likeus [link] [comments]
Language Language production +5 Complex language understanding +4 Verbal language understanding +3 Giving or following instructions +2 Non verbal communication +1
Emotion Grief +5 Love +4 Curiosity +3 Sadness +2 Happiness +1
Special Behavior Playing Music +5 Playing Sports +4 Dancing to Music +3 Reacting to Magic +2 Enjoying a Bath or Shower +1
Other Formats Scientific Article +5 Documentary +4 Compilation +3 Philosophy Discussion +3 Meta Discussion + 2 Quote +2 Pop Science Article +2 Anatomic Similarities +1 Interesting or Unusual +1
Undesired Content Sleeping -1 Eating -1 Pets -1 Funny -2 Cute -2 Common Repost -3 Violent -4 Sexual -5
Anthropomorphism Potential Unintentional behavior -1 Misleading -2 Forced behavior -4 Likely Fake -4 Fake -5
Rule Breaking Off-Topic -3 Rude -5 Recent Repost -7 Spam -10
2024.05.13 12:26 dandy_dandy_dandy Feeling ashamed / "less of a man" for mindfulness and meditation?
It feels like the concept of trying to improve your mental health is something for women and children - almost every person I see online talking about it is a woman, people post slideshows on tiktok and instagram using cute soft illustrations where you're encouraged to "do yoga" or "drink water" (which is good advice regardless of gender, but both examples feel like they're directed at women. I can't remember the last time I saw a water bottle that wasn't pink or didn't have girly quotes in cursive printed on it).
Even apps that claim to help with self care are designed like a kid's game (like "Finch" for example). They're more focused on gamifying brushing your teeth or dressing up cute characters rather than actually helping you sort your head out. Then again, maybe I haven't been looking hard enough because I've only tried two apps (finch and daylio) so maybe I'm wrong and there are plenty of apps out there that aren't as embarrassing to use.
Maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places for help, I know algorithms on social media can make it look like there's more of something than there really is. Even with that in mind, I have no idea how to handle my low points when all the advice I currently have involves methods that make me feel like I'm playing a game (like the grounding technique where you have to point out five things you see and stuff) or appropriating a feminine hobby like meditation or journaling (which sounds stupid now that I'm actually reading it, but it still feels patronising even if I acknowledge that it shouldn't be).
How do I overcome this issue? Is it common to feel this way?
submitted by dandy_dandy_dandy to malementalhealth [link] [comments]
Even apps that claim to help with self care are designed like a kid's game (like "Finch" for example). They're more focused on gamifying brushing your teeth or dressing up cute characters rather than actually helping you sort your head out. Then again, maybe I haven't been looking hard enough because I've only tried two apps (finch and daylio) so maybe I'm wrong and there are plenty of apps out there that aren't as embarrassing to use.
Maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places for help, I know algorithms on social media can make it look like there's more of something than there really is. Even with that in mind, I have no idea how to handle my low points when all the advice I currently have involves methods that make me feel like I'm playing a game (like the grounding technique where you have to point out five things you see and stuff) or appropriating a feminine hobby like meditation or journaling (which sounds stupid now that I'm actually reading it, but it still feels patronising even if I acknowledge that it shouldn't be).
How do I overcome this issue? Is it common to feel this way?
2024.05.13 03:05 atseptic (Updated version!) Things you might or might not see in the r/hazbin post comment sections! (for newbies)
I am not using images this time so here's a list:
1: u/biddudefromcanada (the infamous charlie's hot steaming cum mug)
2: u/SuccubunL0L (choccy milk giver, may appear to give you choccy milk)
3: u/Inevergetpaidenough (verosika's lesbian slutty sexslave, getting pretty active on here i must say i see them a lot)
4: actual memes (rare in reply sections but common in original comments)
5: meme stealing fests (here's the sugar on the cream, he asked me to steal your meme! as an example)
6: roleplayers (mostly found on AMA post comments)
7: horny (very common will be found)
8: the cum containers (commonly known as the cum mug army)
9: v e g i t o (occasionally, this is just where he spends his spare time)
10: song chain (commonly stayed gone or hells greatest dad but one time i did one to candy store from the heathers musical?)
11: comments related to the post (yes that's obviously on here)
12: sometimes references to comics (eg gone too far)
13: helluva boss (well it's the same universe as hazbin hotel so why not?)
14: simps (related to horny, but some are less extreme)
15: mass downvoted comments (i don't see these often but i have seen them before)
16: image chains (less common, have seen one with a cute sir pentious)
17: on the topic of pentious, sir pentious quotes (do a sssssex with me -sir pentious)
18: flairs of different fandoms (i've seen one of spamton from deltarune, as mentioned before we know vegito from dragon ball, etc)
19: "you can have the meme pal, in fact I stole the meme myself!" (pretty self explanatory, someone steals a meme they sent and then the person admits to having stole that meme beforehand but in the form of a meme)
20: "WHAT IS THAT FLAIR" (person sees flair and questions the said flair)
There you have it, beginners and non beginners, double the amount of things I put on my previous and now deleted post of stuff you'll see in comment sections on posts here! I would put "anything related to hazbin" as number 21 but that's cheating
submitted by atseptic to hazbin [link] [comments]
1: u/biddudefromcanada (the infamous charlie's hot steaming cum mug)
2: u/SuccubunL0L (choccy milk giver, may appear to give you choccy milk)
3: u/Inevergetpaidenough (verosika's lesbian slutty sexslave, getting pretty active on here i must say i see them a lot)
4: actual memes (rare in reply sections but common in original comments)
5: meme stealing fests (here's the sugar on the cream, he asked me to steal your meme! as an example)
6: roleplayers (mostly found on AMA post comments)
7: horny (very common will be found)
8: the cum containers (commonly known as the cum mug army)
9: v e g i t o (occasionally, this is just where he spends his spare time)
10: song chain (commonly stayed gone or hells greatest dad but one time i did one to candy store from the heathers musical?)
11: comments related to the post (yes that's obviously on here)
12: sometimes references to comics (eg gone too far)
13: helluva boss (well it's the same universe as hazbin hotel so why not?)
14: simps (related to horny, but some are less extreme)
15: mass downvoted comments (i don't see these often but i have seen them before)
16: image chains (less common, have seen one with a cute sir pentious)
17: on the topic of pentious, sir pentious quotes (do a sssssex with me -sir pentious)
18: flairs of different fandoms (i've seen one of spamton from deltarune, as mentioned before we know vegito from dragon ball, etc)
19: "you can have the meme pal, in fact I stole the meme myself!" (pretty self explanatory, someone steals a meme they sent and then the person admits to having stole that meme beforehand but in the form of a meme)
20: "WHAT IS THAT FLAIR" (person sees flair and questions the said flair)
There you have it, beginners and non beginners, double the amount of things I put on my previous and now deleted post of stuff you'll see in comment sections on posts here! I would put "anything related to hazbin" as number 21 but that's cheating
2024.05.13 03:03 Ok-Tap-5275 To quote "dang, I look cute" 😳 I mean, I guess if you are going for the butch trucker look.
 | submitted by Ok-Tap-5275 to BuffySnark [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 01:31 Ok-Pianist1211 S2E5: “An Unthinkable Fate”
Today’s late installment of our Benedict focused rewatch is brought to you by wine. Lateness brought to you by Mother’s Day festivities for all of you American darlings. Also, side note, my Italian grandmother (Nonna, if you will) was over today and I introduced her to Bridgerton by watching the version dubbed over in Italian, which she loved. I might eventually watch the whole series in Italian to brush up on the language.
Anyhoot. Onto our regularly scheduled programming. “An Unthinkable Fate” finds the Bridgertons conflicted over Anthony’s choice of bride, especially after tensions run high at dinner with the Sheffields. Elsewhere, Eloise decides to engage with a new crowd, and Benedict starts art school. With that in mind, let’s get into it.
We first find Benedict soaking up his surroundings in his new art school. He looks elated as he first steps into class, maybe even more so as he catches Tessa’s eye. Later, he stretches languidly as Anthony insists everything at Bridgerton House is perfect in case they must entertain. He jokes with Anthony, asking if they must also he polished and braided, before adorably poking his brother in the cheek. It’s such a breath of fresh air to see him so happy in this episode. When Eloise tells Violet she is taking a class on flower arranging, Benedict is poking his face close to hers, lowering his voice to tease her about when she became so interested in such things. It’s moments like this that I wonder if their relationship will be more strained in season 3, with Eloise’s new interest in society, but perhaps Benedict will have more of an interest too?
Back at the Royal Academy, Benedict has rolled up his sleeves and taken notice in Tessa, who informs him that she poses for the Academy so she may learn from the lectures. He looks so good in this scene, as he shows yet again that he doesn’t discriminate based on anything, including gender, declaring he doesn’t doubt Tessa’s artistic ability. When she asks him to give posing a try, he strikes an overzealous position, before Tessa adjusts his gaze, in one of the best Benedict scenes ever. He then strips down at her insistence, because he is all for equality, and it’s such a great scene. He’s just so cute.
There’s a lot happening in this episode, so Benedict moments are fleeting. HOWEVER we are rewarded for our patience with a quick but HOT moment between Benedict and Tessa where we get to see his backside. What I’ll say regarding this quick love scene is I feel like people really blow the whole “Benedict is a sl*t” narrative entirely out of proportion. I’ve rewatched this series slowly, and, yes, he does have a threesome, but he continues to see Genevieve after that until she tells him she won’t see him anymore. Then he remains solo until Tessa comes around. It’s really nothing more than what any average person does at that age, tbh. I can only speak for myself and those I know, but I did not marry the first man I kissed, nor would I expect the man I marry to have remained abstinent. Anthony had a long winded affair with Siena, then almost married Edwina. I’m not really sure why people (most notably on the main sub) make Benedict out to be a huge rake. Even if he does go on to date Lady Tilley, having a few girlfriends over the span of three years really isn’t the huge sin some people make it out to be IMO. He’s more likely to know real love when it comes along I rather think.
Sadly, that concludes today’s rewatch. Tomorrow we dive into “The Choice,” which I will warn y’all now, is one of my least favorite episodes of the entire series. I’m not an enormous fan of episodes that exist in short pans of time as I find they drag, which this episode did for me. But, it does include one of my favorite Sassy Benedict moments, so I’ll forgive it. See everyone then!
Best Benedict quote from this episode: ”Another? Mm. You’re over counting.”
submitted by Ok-Pianist1211 to Benophie [link] [comments]
Anyhoot. Onto our regularly scheduled programming. “An Unthinkable Fate” finds the Bridgertons conflicted over Anthony’s choice of bride, especially after tensions run high at dinner with the Sheffields. Elsewhere, Eloise decides to engage with a new crowd, and Benedict starts art school. With that in mind, let’s get into it.
We first find Benedict soaking up his surroundings in his new art school. He looks elated as he first steps into class, maybe even more so as he catches Tessa’s eye. Later, he stretches languidly as Anthony insists everything at Bridgerton House is perfect in case they must entertain. He jokes with Anthony, asking if they must also he polished and braided, before adorably poking his brother in the cheek. It’s such a breath of fresh air to see him so happy in this episode. When Eloise tells Violet she is taking a class on flower arranging, Benedict is poking his face close to hers, lowering his voice to tease her about when she became so interested in such things. It’s moments like this that I wonder if their relationship will be more strained in season 3, with Eloise’s new interest in society, but perhaps Benedict will have more of an interest too?
Back at the Royal Academy, Benedict has rolled up his sleeves and taken notice in Tessa, who informs him that she poses for the Academy so she may learn from the lectures. He looks so good in this scene, as he shows yet again that he doesn’t discriminate based on anything, including gender, declaring he doesn’t doubt Tessa’s artistic ability. When she asks him to give posing a try, he strikes an overzealous position, before Tessa adjusts his gaze, in one of the best Benedict scenes ever. He then strips down at her insistence, because he is all for equality, and it’s such a great scene. He’s just so cute.
There’s a lot happening in this episode, so Benedict moments are fleeting. HOWEVER we are rewarded for our patience with a quick but HOT moment between Benedict and Tessa where we get to see his backside. What I’ll say regarding this quick love scene is I feel like people really blow the whole “Benedict is a sl*t” narrative entirely out of proportion. I’ve rewatched this series slowly, and, yes, he does have a threesome, but he continues to see Genevieve after that until she tells him she won’t see him anymore. Then he remains solo until Tessa comes around. It’s really nothing more than what any average person does at that age, tbh. I can only speak for myself and those I know, but I did not marry the first man I kissed, nor would I expect the man I marry to have remained abstinent. Anthony had a long winded affair with Siena, then almost married Edwina. I’m not really sure why people (most notably on the main sub) make Benedict out to be a huge rake. Even if he does go on to date Lady Tilley, having a few girlfriends over the span of three years really isn’t the huge sin some people make it out to be IMO. He’s more likely to know real love when it comes along I rather think.
Sadly, that concludes today’s rewatch. Tomorrow we dive into “The Choice,” which I will warn y’all now, is one of my least favorite episodes of the entire series. I’m not an enormous fan of episodes that exist in short pans of time as I find they drag, which this episode did for me. But, it does include one of my favorite Sassy Benedict moments, so I’ll forgive it. See everyone then!
Best Benedict quote from this episode: ”Another? Mm. You’re over counting.”
2024.05.13 00:12 Trash_Tia A dead boy has been hunting me down my whole life. On my 18th birthday, I finally understand why.
I've always been bound to death.
On my eighth birthday, a shadow strode into my house and shot me and my family dead. I remember it vividly, every detail, every angle, etched and stained and carved into my memory.
I sat very still with my knees to my chest, my gaze glued to my siblings.
Lily and PJ looked like they were sleeping, and I could almost believe it.
I didn't look at the shadow.
From the comfort of my knees, I waited for my brother to lift his head.
But his body was so limp, so still, every part of him faltering. My sister’s head was nestled in his shoulder, thick beads of red running down her face.
They're just sleeping.
I could tell myself they were— as long as I didn't look at the splatter of scarlet staining the back of the couch and pooling at their feet.
BANG.
Mom’s body dropped onto the ground.
I lunged forwards, slamming my hands over my ears.
BANG.
PJ’s head slumped forwards, a teasing smile still frozen on his lips.
BANG.
Lily gently tipped into PJ, like she was going to sleep.
Before she closed her eyes, Mom told me to run.
I can't remember how long I stayed under the shattered remnants of Mom’s favorite table. The shadow was waiting for me to move, to make a noise.
I watched booted feet crunch through glass, getting closer and closer, and slowly, fight or flight began to take over.
Making it halfway across the living room, my palms slick with my mother’s blood, I thought I was going to live.
Cruel fingers wound their way through my hair and shoved me to my knees. I remember the phantom legs of a spider creeping down the back of my neck when the shadow with no face dragged the barrel of his gun down my spine.
“Turn around.”
The shadow had a voice.
When I didn't move, the protruding metal stabbed into my neck.
“Turn around, kid!”
I did, very slowly.
Behind him, my siblings still weren't moving.
They were asleep.
Lily was still smiling, strawberry blonde ringlets stained red.
I couldn't see PJ’S face anymore.
BANG.
I didn't feel the gunshot.
I didn't feel anything.
Looking down, I glimpsed slowly spreading red blossoming like a flower.
It felt like being cut from strings.
I hit the ground, just like my mother, my body felt heavy and wrong.
Paralysed.
I remember being unable to scream, unable to cry, the salty taste of metal filling my mouth. It was like being winded. Rolling onto my side, all I could see was flickering candlelight.
The air was thick, so hard to breathe.
I rolled onto my back trying to suck in air.
The shadow took a step back, opened the front door, and bled into the night.
I don't remember the pain, and I don't remember dying. I couldn't breathe, couldn't conjure words in my mouth.
I felt warm and sticky, lying in my own blood.
I think I tried to move.
But I was so tired.
I’m not sure what death feels like, because it's like going to sleep.
I remember my last shuddering breaths, a lulling darkness beginning to swallow me up. I don't know why I wasn't afraid.
Oblivion almost felt like I was sinking into lukewarm depths on a Summer’s day.
Oblivion wasn't pain, and there was a peaceful inevitability to it.
It was endless nothing, a nothing I found myself gravitating towards. But before I could envelope myself in that darkness, it was spitting me back out.
The next thing I knew, I was in a white room, a slow beeping sound tearing me from slumber. I had a vague memory of slow spreading roses blossoming across my shirt, like summer flowers blooming.
Everything was white.
The walls, the ceiling, and my clothes.
Sensation hit me in slow waves.
Exhaustion.
I felt it tightening its grip around my brain, dragging me back onto a mountain of pillows when I tried to jump up. My Aunt May was sitting next to me on a plastic chair, her warm fingers entangled in mine. Aunt May and Mom were practically twins, with the same thick red hair and pale skin.
Mom wore her hair in a casual ponytail, while May preferred a strict bun.
I had to bite back the urge to yank my hand away.
Aunt May was asleep, used tissues filling her lap.
There was a nurse pottering around, checking my vitals and prodding my arms. My eyes felt heavy. I had to blink several times to keep myself awake.
“Charlie?”
The nurse’s voice was like wind-chimes.
I pretended not to notice her forced lipstick smile, the way she stood with her arms folded, staring at me like I was one of my cousin’s experiments. “You were in an accident, sweetie,” the nurse spoke up. I could see her trembling hands. “Just, um, try and rest, okay?”
I wanted to ask where my family was, but I already knew the answer.
I think she knew that too.
“You died, Charlie.” The nurse’s voice was eerily cold. “You were dead for thirteen minutes.”
She took slow steps towards me, her eyes growing frenzied, like she couldn't understand me, like I was a puzzle she could not solve– and it was driving her crazy. I could see it in her twitching hands, her wobbling lips that were trying and failing to appear stoic.
“In fact, I just pulled you out of the morgue, honey. I opened up your body bag that I had just zipped up, and told your aunt that you were a miracle I just… can’t understand.” The nurse sounded like she was trying to choke down a laugh, or maybe a sob.
“Charlotte, you were pronounced dead at 3:02am from a gunshot wound to the chest.” Taking a slow, sobering breath, the nurse tried to smile. “The bullet went through the right ventricle of your heart and severely damaged your left lung, rendering you unable to breathe. Your heart stopped, and after four attempts to resuscitate, we called it.”
Something slimy wound its way up my throat when she began to pace the room. “I… did all the paperwork. It took me two minutes. Your death certificate was signed, and your body was taken to the morgue to be prepped for transportation. Then I had my lunch. Tuna salad with a protein milkshake. I’m not a fan of the chocolate flavor.”
She shook her head. “Anyway, when I came back to you, you were awake inside your body bag.” Her voice was starting to break. “You were…um, alive, and asked me for apple soda.”
The nurse moved closer, and yet kept her distance.
I could feel myself moving back, panic writhing through me.
“So.” The nurse spoke calmly. “How the fuck are you still alive, Charlie?”
I think I passed out after that.
When I woke up again, my head a lot less heavier, the nurse was gone.
Slowly, my foggy brain began to find itself and connect dots.
My mouth was dry, full of cotton.
There was a sudden tightness, a sharp and cruel sting in my wrists.
Something sharp was protruding into my flesh, and no matter how many times I violently wrenched my arm, it was stuck. It didn't feel right to be able to breathe so easily.
I knew the second I woke that my Mom was dead.
Lily and PJ were dead, and it was like losing them all over again.
As clarity came over me, I found my voice, a strangled cry escaping my lips.
“Get it out.” I whispered in a shrill cry.
Tugging at the IV in my wrist, I tried to yank the needle from my skin.
“Get it out!” I shrieked, my gaze glued to the tiny spots of blood staining the insertion point.
I could see it again.
So much blood.
Mom was curled up on the floor, lying in slow spreading red that wouldn't stop, seeping across her beaded rug.
She was all over me, slick on my skin and caked in my fingernails.
I couldn't wash her off of me.
“You're okay, Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice came from my right, stabling me to reality.
The world started to move again, started to make sense again, when she cupped my cheeks and told me to breathe. When I opened my mouth to ask where my family were, she lightly shook her head and I swallowed my words. Aunt May handed me a glass of water, and I drained it in one gulp.
She told me I was a miracle.
Aunt May didn't say much, and when she did, she broke into sobs.
Her eyes were raw from crying, clinging onto me, her shuddery voice reassuring me that I was going to be okay.
She told me I would be living with her from now on, before wrapping me into a hug and leaving to get coffee.
Once my aunt was gone, another nurse came to prod my IV.
I tried to sleep, but the uncomfortable tightness of the needle sticking into my skin and the sterile white lights in my eyes made it impossible. I waited for grief to catch up with me, drowning me in a hollow oblivion I wouldn't be able to claw myself out of. But I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel angry.
I wanted to know why my family were dead.
I wanted to know why I was breathing, and their skin was ice cold.
Rotting.
The sudden image of maggots crawling up my brother’s nose sent me lurching into a sitting position, my stomach heaving. Reaching for my glass of water, it was empty. The sensation of throwing up felt familiar, almost comforting.
Mom was always with me when I was sick, holding my hair back and lulling my hysteria with reassuring murmurs.
I was frowning at the trash can by the door, my cotton candy brain trying to figure out if I would be able to make it in time, when a small voice drifted from the doorway, startling me.
“I don't want you to come live with us.”
My cousin was peeking through the door, hiding behind a shock of dark brown curls. Jude was the only brunette in our family. The rest of us were redheads.
I wasn't sure why he was dressed up like a ghost, draped in a white cloak that was way too big for him. Jude was a weird kid. His mother, and my auntie, had inherited the family house, so in his mind, that made him superior.
Jude made it clear he didn't like his cousins, refusing to let us play with him and banning us from family gatherings.
When the adults were drinking cocktails and losing their awareness, Jude ordered us around. The times we did play with him, our cousin showed us his spider collection, or the raccoon brain he kept in a jar. PJ was convinced our younger cousin was a serial killer. Several months earlier, he'd happily showed us the roadkill he'd been growing bacteria on under his bed.
Jude’s ‘experiments’ were worrying.
He stuffed mushrooms down my brother’s ears while he was sleeping, to, and I quote, “Recreate The Last Of Us.”
When Lily had a nosebleed during Thanksgiving dinner, Jude collected all her bloody tissues and refused to tell us where he'd put them, and what he had done with them. Fast-forward two months, and I found them under a nest of spiders. Jude was trying to adapt the spiders to be able to feed on human blood. I was surprised my cousin hadn't immediately demanded to see my siblings’ dead bodies for autopsy.
Jude stepped into the room, shuffling his feet.
“I'm sorry about Lily, PJ, and Aunt Ivy.” He mumbled, glaring at the floor tiles.
My cousin made no move to offer real sympathy, instead speaking to the floor.
“But I don't want you to come live with us.” Jude lifted his head, looking me dead in the eye. “I don't like you, Charlie. I want you to stay away.”
Before I could reply, he stepped back like I was diseased.
“You should be dead.” Jude grumbled.
He scowled at me, getting my age purposely wrong as usual before running off.
“Happy 68th birthday.”
I was six months older than him.
In Jude’s eyes, I was ready for retirement.
Still, though, my cousin was right.
I was stone cold dead, and then I was somehow alive.
Which was wrong.
Growing up, I realized Death was not so subtly attempting to fix his mistake.
It started small. I'd choke on things I wasn't supposed to choke on.
Chips.
Candy.
Ice cream.
Aunt May had to perform the heimlich manoeuvre when I choked on a piece of chicken. I thought I was just really unlucky, but then I locked myself in a freezer that didn't have a lock, and almost drowned in the local swimming pool, catching my foot in stray netting.
At the summer fair, Jude convinced me to try apple bobbing, only for my head to conveniently get stuck underwater.
It started to make sense.
I was supposed to die with my family that night, and death was out to get me.
Death started to get clever, changing his tactic. Instead of using everyday things to try to kill me, he sent reinforcements.
I turned twelve years old, and my aunt threw me a huge party, inviting all my classmates. Aunt May was rich, rich.
Mom never explained it, but our grandparents left everything to May.
The house was like a palace, a labyrinth of floors I was yet to explore, and two swimming pools.
I was in the kitchen cutting myself a slice of cake, when, out of nowhere, a dead boy came rushing at me with one of my aunt’s favorite kitchen knives.
A dead boy who I immediately recognised.
Wren Oliver.
Several years prior, he'd gone missing from his parents' yard. The town launched a full investigation, only to find his body in a ditch a week later.
So, Death had sent a footsoldier.
Hiding under a hooded sweatshirt, Wren appeared older, like he had grown up with me. But there was a startling vacancy in his expression that drew the breath from my lungs, freezing me in place. Wren’s death was announced as an accident, though his wounds suggested the opposite, dried blood smearing his right temple and a cavernous hole in his chest, his clothes painted, stained, in bright red, glued in sticky mounds clinging to him.
The boy’s eyes were wild, feral, like an animal.
His hair was longer, a mess of reddish curls matted to his forehead.
Lip split into a demented giggle.
I remember taking a slow step back, my gaze glued to the knife.
Wren’s fingers were wrapped around the handle like he knew exactly how to use it, how to plunge it into my heart and kill me for good. He moved like a predator, zero self awareness or recognition, only driven to kill me.
The dead boy prided himself in slow, intimidating steps, shoving me against the wall and dragging the blade of the knife down the curve of my throat.
His eyes confused me, writhing with hatred that was artificial, programmed into him as Death’s official soldier.
He didn't speak, only smiled, revelling in my fear. I could tell it thrilled him, my trembling hands, my sharp, heavy breaths I couldn't control. Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited to finally die.
I waited for the pain, and to lose my breath once again.
But death was playing with me.
When I opened my eyes, the dead boy was gone, and I was on my knees, screaming.
“Wren Oliver is trying to kill me!" I managed to hiss.
My aunt knelt in front of me, her expression crumpling.
*Sweetie,” She spoke softly, squeezing my hands. Aunt May was trying to appear calm for my sake, but I could tell she was scared, her frantic eyes searching mine. “Wren Oliver is dead.”
The kids surrounding me started to giggle, whispering among themselves.
In the corner of my eye, my cousin was leaning against the door, mid eye roll.
When my aunt was ushering kids back to the pool, Jude came to crouch in front of me. Ever since I started living with him, he'd made sure to keep his distance.
This time, though, Jude leaned uncomfortably close, a sparkle in his eyes I had never seen before. Inclining his head, he rocked back and forth on his heels, prodding me in the forehead.
“If you see the dead boy again, can you tell me?” His lips curved into a smile.
“I did see him.” I gritted out. “I’m not lying.”
Jude shrugged. “I never said you didn't,” he lowered his voice into a whisper, “I wanna know when you see him again.”
“Why?”
His lips curved into a smirk.
“So, I can catch him.”
My cousin got closer, his breath tickling my cheek.
“I seeeeeeee dead people.”
After that incident, death left me alone for a while.
I was fifteen, walking through the forest with a friend, catching fireflies in bell jars. Aunt May was lucky to live so close to the forest, the entrance just outside her back door. When we were littles, PJ would drag Lily and I down the trail to escape Jude’s weird experiments.
I decided to invite Jem Littlewood on a summer walk.
Jem was cute, but in a dorky way. He was chronically clumsy, and dressed like he'd been spat out of a John Hughes movie. We hiked all the way to the end of the river and had a picnic, watching the sun set over the horizon. I was having conflicting feelings for this guy.
Jem was obsessed with fireflies.
Though he seemed more interested in photographing them than me.
The guy couldn't seem to sit still, jumping to his feet to marvel at tiny specks of light dancing in the air.
“I'm just going to take photos!” Jem beamed, holding up his camera.
I had to bite back the urge to say, “Don't you have enough photos?”
I nodded, and he turned and sprinted back down the trail.
Before his footsteps ground to a sudden halt.
At first, I thought he was snapping polaroids.
When I got closer, though, blinking in the eerie dark, I caught something.
Bending down, I picked up a bell jar still spilling fireflies.
Further down the trail, Jem was lying crumpled in the dirt, his camera smashed to pieces next to him, blood running in thick rivulets down his temple. There he was. Leaning against a tree, his arms folded, was the ghost boy. Wren Oliver was growing up with me. Now, a teenager, and yet his face was carved into something else entirely, more of a monster, slight points to his ears and too-sharp teeth, eyes ignited.
Wren didn't look like a ghost boy anymore.
Death had dressed him in shackles of ivy, a crown of glass and bone forced onto his head, entangled in his curls. Death was torturing him. Wren’s flesh was its canvas, and every time I got away, he was punished, painting his failures across scarred flesh. I should have been running for my life, but I was mesmerised by each symbol cruelly carved into his neck.
The boy did a slow head incline, like he couldn't believe I was standing in front of him.
His slow spreading smile caught me off guard.
I remembered how to run, stumbling over my feet.
But I couldn't move.
The burning hatred that death had filled him with, was stronger, hollowing him out completely. I managed two shaky steps, before I felt him, an unearthly force winding its way around my spine. This time, he didn't hesitate.
I watched his mouth move, a single curve of his upper lip that wrenched my body from my control, slamming me against a tree. There was something around my throat, choking the breath from my lungs, a thick fog spreading over my eyes. Following his mouth curving into silent letters, I could feel my feet slowly leaving the ground, my legs dangling.
I was floating.
Hovering off of the ground, suspended by his words.
Through half lidded eyes, I caught the glint of a blade between his fist, but I couldn't move, couldn't scream.
He was drowning me, bleeding into my blood, spider webbing and expanding in my brain without moving a muscle.
Instead, the ghost boy stood silently, running his thumb down the teeth of his knife while he ripped my lungs apart.
It was like suffocating, sinking into that peaceful oblivion I met at eight years old.
This time, though, the darkness was starving.
“Charlie?”
My eyes found daylight, a scream clawing out of my mouth.
“Charlie, it's past curfew!”
Wren flinched, his stoic expression crumpling.
The dead boy’s lips moved again, this time in a curse.
Fuck.
“Charlotte!”
Staggering back, Wren’s eyes widened and the suffocating hold on me severed.
His head snapped in the direction my aunt was coming from.
“Charlie, answer me right now.”
He hesitated, his bare feet pivoting in the dirt, like he was considering finishing me off. Wren studied me with lazy eyes, sucking on his bottom lip. When my aunt's footsteps got louder, branches snapping under her shoes, something contorted in the boy’s face.
Fear.
I guessed the boy wasn't expecting other humans to intrude.
Wren fell over himself, shuffling on his hands and knees, before diving to his feet. When he turned and ran, I was released, slipping to the ground, trying and failing to draw in breath. I barely felt the impact, only a dull thudding pain. I could hear the ghost boy’s footsteps, his uneven, shuddery breaths as he catapulted into a run.
Under a late setting sun, I watched his dancing shadow disappear into the trees.
Mission unsuccessful, I guessed.
When I was fully conscious, Aunt May was checking over Jem, helping him sit up.
“Where did he go?” I managed to get out, scanning the darkness for Wren.
“He's okay, just concussed.” May whispered, dialling 911.
My aunt applied a dressing to Jem’s wound, ignoring the boy’s hisses.
“Keep still.” she murmured, smoothing his bandaid. “What happened, Charlotte?”
“She pushed me over.” Jem groaned, shuffling away from me. When my aunt told him to stay calm, he straightened up, leaning against the tree. “The psycho bitch tried to fucking kill me!”
When my aunt's gaze flicked to me, I shook my head.
“It was Wren Oliver.” I gritted, teetering on hysteria. I could tell she didn't believe me, but I couldn't stop myself. I prodded at my throat, clawing for the indentations where his phantom fingers snaked around my neck, squeezing the breath from my lungs.
But there was nothing.
I could feel my mind starting to unravel. I nodded to my disgruntled classmate trying to dodge my aunt’s prodding.
“Ow, ow, ow! That stings!
“He knocked Jem out.” I managed. “Then he tried to kill me.”
Jem surprised me with a scoff. “You're seriously blaming your psychotic break on a dead kid?”
Aunt May pursed her lips, motioning for Jem to be quiet. Judging from her face, however, she agreed with the boy.
May forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Okay. Can you, uh, describe the boy to me, Charlotte?”
“He was wearing a crown,” I said, “And he looked my age.”
Aunt May cocked her head, and I saw real worry, like she was trying not to freak out. Jem made a snorting noise.
“I'm sorry, he was wearing a crown?”
“Yes!” I insisted, getting progressively more frustrated.
I tried to jump up, only for my aunt to gently lower me back down. “I know it sounds crazy, but death has sent Wren Oliver to kill me, just like my family. He tried to kill me when I was twelve, too!”
Jem let out a bitter laugh. “Your niece is a fucking wackadoodle.”
Aunt May’s eyes darkened. She grabbed my shoulders, her nails stabbing into my skin. “Charlie, I want you to listen to me, okay?” When my eyes found the rapidly darkening sky, my aunt forced me to look at her.
“Charlotte!”
She was as scared as me, her voice shuddering.
“Wren Oliver is dead.” My aunt said firmly, shaking me. Even then, though, I wasn't even looking at her. I was trying to find his ignited eyes lighting up the dark. “Wren died at eight years old in a terrible accident, and you can't keep using him as an excuse for your mental trauma.” There was something twitching in her expression I was trying to make sense of. When I risked a look at Jem, the boy was staring at me dazedly– like I really was crazy.
Aunt May pressed her face into my shoulder, and I could feel her tears soaking into my shirt. She was trying to hold it together, trying to understand.
“Charlie, I know you lost your family,” she whispered. “But you and Wren Oliver are not the same. You survived, and he didn't.” Her voice splintered.
“You need to come to terms with that, okay?”
When I didn't respond, she pinched my chin, forcing me to look at her.
“Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice turned cold. “I ignored this when you were a kid, but if you continue to use this poor boy as a coping mechanism, I will have no choice but to send you to a specialist.”
When Jem was taken away by paramedics, Aunt May held my hand, squeezing my fingers for dear life.
I caught her gaze scanning the tree's around us, delving into twisting oblivion. Every little noise sent her twisting around. She was looking for something.
“I'm going to get you help.” Aunt May said in a low murmur when we were back at the house. Jude was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging. I could feel his penetrating gaze burning into the back of my head.
Aunt May set a cup of cocoa on the table.
“No more fairytales.”
By the time I was eighteen, I had bitten three therapists.
They refused to believe that death was coming to reclaim my soul, and was using a dead boy to do his dirty work.
For my 16th birthday, I braced myself to come face to face with Wren Oliver’s ghost.
I wasn't even in town, staying at a friend's house.
But dead boys, and especially dead boys moulded into Death’s personal soldiers, could materialise anywhere.
I locked every door in the house, and taped up my friend’s window.
Nothing happened.
On my seventeenth birthday, I was sick in bed with gastritis.
Still no ghost boy.
Death seemed to have finally left me alone.
On my eighteenth birthday, I was stuffing books in my locker when my cousin popped up out of nowhere, scowling as usual. After an unexpected growth spurt and losing a tonne of baby fat, my cousin had scaled the high school hierarchy, swapping his weird experiments for a varsity jacket and experimenting with his sexuality.
The two of us had come to an unspoken truce.
I kept quiet about his spider collection to his popular friends, and he tolerated my existence until I left for college.
“Your surprise party is cancelled.”
Jude leaned against my locker, running a hand through thick dark hair tucked under a baseball cap. Jude never admitted it, but he was definitely embarrassed of being the odd one out.
My siblings may be dead, but they were still redheads.
I pulled off his cap with a smile, throwing it in his face. “Sure it is.”
My cousin’s eyes widened. He lost his slick bravado, grabbing for his cap.
“Hey!”
According to my cousin, my party was unexpectedly cancelled every year.
I wasn't sure if it was his weird superiority complex, or just plain jealousy, but it was getting exhausting.
Jude followed me down the hallway, matching my stride.
“Can you just not come home tonight?”
I quickened my pace. “It's only a party. I'm having some friends over, and no, we won't go anywhere near your room.”
“No, I mean.” Jude stepped in front of me, and for the first time in a while, he wasn't trying to hide disdain for me.
His dark eyes pinned me in place for a moment, the world around us coming to a halt. Sound bled away, and all I heard were his slow breaths. There was something there, an unexplainable twitch in his eyes and lips, that twisted my gut.
Jude stepped closer, his lip curling. He shoved me back, losing his facade.
“Stay the fuck away from the house tonight.” He said, and his voice, his tone, was enough to send shivers creeping down my spine. Jude had always hid behind a ten foot wall in his mind. It was jarring to see something in him finally start to splinter. Fuck. I thought.
This kid had serious Mommy issues.
I blinked, and the world resumed, kids pushing past us.
Jude seemed to catch himself, slipping back under his mask.
“I'm having friends over,” he rolled his eyes, “Your presence will ruin the vibe.”
“It's my birthday?”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Yes, I know. But–”
“I think you can deal with the attention off of you for one night, Jude.”
“Will Wren Oliver be there too?” Jem Littlewood hollered.
Jude didn't respond for a moment, his lip curling.
“Shut the fuck up.” He spat at Jem, who immediately backed down. With an audience this time, Jude forced an award winning smile. “Fine.” His lips split into a grin I knew he hated. My cousin clamped his hand on my shoulder, hard enough to hurt. I could feel his fingers pinching the material of my jacket. “Have it your way, dude.”
Jude backed away with a two fingered salute.
“Happy 78th birthday!”
In a sense, I wish I listened to my cousin.
My party was a success, sort of.
Four of us, a crate of beers, and no sign of my cousin.
I was mildly tipsy, sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling my legs in the water when my friend demanded more beers.
I was also hungry for cake, so I stumbled inside in search of the goods.
The house was dark, lit up in dazzling blue from the pool's lights reflecting through the windows. Aunt May was in her office on the ground floor, and Jude was getting high in his room. In my drunken state, I found myself marvelling my aunt's house, and how much of it was left unexplored.
For example, in the foyer, past the spiral staircase she’d had custom made, was an elevator I had never questioned.
There was a girl my age standing on the staircase.
She was frozen, mid run, dressed in ragged jeans and t-shirt.
Everything about her stuck out to me, bringing me to a sobering halt.
The girl reminded me of my sister– or at least, if my sister had ever grown up.
I wasn't sure if I was drunk or hallucinating.
Her flower crown was pretty…
Lily had grown wings.
I was slowly moving towards her, a sudden bang sounding from the kitchen.
The bang of something shattering on the floor.
Twisting around, I found myself gravitating towards warm golden light.
The first thing I saw was the refrigerator door hanging open, and someone, no, something, rooting around inside it.
Glued to the spot, I dazedly watched them grab milk, guzzling it down, and then soda, cracking open each can and sucking them dry, before carving their fingers into my birthday cake. But I wasn't looking at the spillage of food seeping across the floor. Instead, my gaze found a crown of antlers, both human and animal bone entangled with dead flowers and human remains glued to a head of familiar matted brown curls.
There was something sticking from battered and bruised flesh, twin gaping slits sliced through a torn shirt resembling glass wings that were not yet formed, reminding me of a butterfly.
Wings.
But not the wings I dreamed of as a kid. These things were unnatural mounds that both did and didn't make sense on a human boy. I could see the trauma of them slicing through his flesh, monstrous, looming things protruding from what was left of a human spine.
Human, and yet I couldn't call his beautifully grotesque face human.
Wren Oliver had grown up with me, now an adult.
Eighteen years old.
His clothes confused me, a single white shirt and shorts.
Wren’s feet were bare, battered and bruised, blood smearing my aunt's tiles.
Angel.
Death had turned his footsoldier, and my future killer, into an angel.
But there was nothing angelic about the dead boy, his body and mind sculpted and moulded into Death’s own.
The boy no longer resembled a human, feral eyes and a manic smile, choking down pieces of cake. His face had been contorted into a monster, gnashing teeth and sharp points in his ears, a sickly tinge to malnourished skin.
And that's when it hit me, watching him stuff himself with food.
Something slimy inched its way up my throat.
The boy didn't move. I don't even think he'd noticed me, gorging himself on anything he could get his hands on.
Chicken, raw bacon, leftover salad.
When he moved onto cupcakes, licking frosting from his fingers, I glimpsed markings on his arms, a language I didn't understand, carved into him.
His wrists were shackled, bound, in entangled iron and vine, iron that was ingrained into his skin, vines and flowers and ivy entangling his bones, that were part of him, polluting his blood. Slowly, my eyes found stab wounds splitting open his torso.
Raw flesh, where his skin had been torched, melting, and then merging, ripped apart and put back together over and over again.
I found his heart, the gaping cavern in his chest where it should be.
And it was.
Marked, carved, and branded with a symbol resembling an X.
Wren Oliver was not dead.
But, just like me, he should have been.
I remember saying his name, my voice slurred slightly.
I didn't drink that much, but I could barely coerce words, my head spinning.
Wren’s neck snapped towards me, his eyes narrowing with resentment I couldn't understand, hatred that seemed to puppeteer him. Slowly tilting his head, the boy’s lips split into a grin, eyes filled, polluted, with mania. I could see where his lips had been stitched shut, and then ripped open.
“Hi.”
He held up his hand in an awkward wave.
When one of my friends stumbled into the kitchen, Wren reacted on impulse.
He picked up a knife from the counter, throwing it like a dart, straight through the guy’s throat.
Something shattered inside my mind.
Ignoring my friend bleeding out, Wren stumbled over himself, abandoning his feast. He took a single step towards me, backing me against the wall, coming so close, close enough for me to feel his very real breath grazing my cheeks. Just like when he was a kid, he traced the teeth of his blade down my throat. I wasn't expecting him to burst out laughing, trembling with hysteria.
His eyes were wild, feral and wrong, almost euphoric.
With what all I could only recognise as relief.
BANG.
I was barely aware of the gunshot.
The bullet went straight through his head, the winged boy hitting the ground.
Dead.
I saw the blood stemming around him in a halo before the bleeding pool faltered, seeping back inside his head.
Like rewinding a VCR.
Wren was dead, and then he was alive.
Wren’s body contorted, his chest inflating.
His gasp for air was painful, strangled, eyes opening wide.
Terrified.
“You fucking idiot.”
Jude’s voice sent me twisting around.
My cousin stood in the exact same robes he wore as a child.
The world tipped off kilter, and I was on my knees, then my stomach.
I sunk to the floor, my thoughts swimming.
Jude’s murmur followed me, creeping into the dark.
“I told you not to come home.”
I can't remember how long I was unconscious for.
When I woke, I was dressed in an evening gown, a dress that used to be my mother’s.
My vision cleared, and I found myself sitting in an unfamiliar room resembling an abandoned swimming hall.
The pool itself was empty, the bottom stained revealing scarlet.
There were symbols carved into each tile.
Like a game.
“Sit up straight, Charlotte.”
I was sitting at a banquet.
Jude was in front of me, sipping on wine.
He caught my eye for half a second before averting his gaze.
At the far end of the table sat my aunt May.
Kissing the rim of her glass, her smile was twisted.
“I've been waiting so long to give you your birthday presents, Charlotte. Your memories should be returning soon.”
“Mom.” Jude muttered, hiding behind his glass. “Calm down. You're embarrassing yourself.”
Ignoring my cousin, May tapped her glass with a fork, and in walked my birthday presents.
No, dragged.
By their hair.
Wren Oliver, the dead boy, was in fact my aunt's prisoner.
Behind him, was the girl who looked so much like Lily.
I think that's why my aunt chose her.
Aunt May cleared her throat.
“For a long time, our family has lived among creatures who live in the forest you played inside! In exchange for keeping this town safe, they only ask for small favors. Wayward children who disappear into the woods are good enough payment. However, you and your siblings do not share our inheritance. Your mother never wanted fae children. She wanted you to be human.”
Aunt May’s smile faded.
“After losing my sister, and my niece and nephew, I made a deal to give my last surviving niece 100 years of life.”
Her words were white noise, my gaze glued to my birthday presents. I couldn't call them human anymore.
I couldn't call Wren human, when his face was so beautifully grotesque, painfully hypnotising.
The monstrous things sticking from twin slits in his back were supposed to be wings, except they looked wrong, cruelly protruding from his exposed spine. Under the influence of alcohol earlier, the girl made me smile.
Her wings, to me, looked like one of a real fairy.
In reality, they were torn and shredded apart, bigger than the girl herself.
When she dropped onto her stomach, she was dragged back to her feet, her knees buckling under the weight. Her tiara of flowers and bone looked pretty to me when I saw her on the stairs.
Now, though, I could see the pearly white of a human child's skull forced onto her head, dead flowers threaded through cavernous, gaping eye sockets.
The two of them were violently shoved into the empty pool.
“Jude. Please demonstrate, sweetheart.”
Jude stood, pulling out a gun, and aiming it at the winged girl.
BANG.
The girl’s body hit the tiles, her blood seeping across stained white.
“Now, of course, our king did not give you life for free.” May continued.
“The King demanded a debt, as well as two heirs to join him in his court once your hundred years were complete.”
Her lips quirked into a smile.
“The king is smart. If a child cannot be stolen from the human world, they can, however, be made, moulded and shaped from their human forms, skinned of their humanity through their suffering, leaving a hollowed out shell in the child's place.” She was speaking so casually, ignoring Wren’s whimpers.
“The conversion takes a while. 100 years to birth a fully blooded fae heir, who will lose their human memories, in preparation to join their new family.”
Jude shot Wren in the chest, his eyes empty.
This time, he dropped his weapon, using finger-guns instead.
“Bang.” He deadpanned.
Then the neck.
I watched Wren come back to life, and then die.
Over and over again.
I think at one point, he screamed and cried.
But not now.
He was their puppet on display, dancing for their entertainment.
Half lidded eyes drowned in oblivion found mine, and I understood his hatred.
Before he was shot again.
Stabbed.
Branded and burned, and ripped apart.
At some point, I screamed at them to stop. I couldn't breathe, slamming my hands over my ears and begging them.
Aunt May didn't listen, ordering for my hands to be tied down.
“The King required two human sacrifices to suffer in your place.” She concluded. “For one hundred years.”
Aunt May’s smile was suddenly sad, and she lifted her glass in a toast.
I was watching their blood trickle down each tile in the pool, like every death, every time they suffered, my body became progressively less human.
I felt disgusting. I wasn't supposed to be alive. Every single year of my life, every breath I had taken, was stolen.
Aunt May nodded at me, her lips forming a proud smile. She stood up, and was handed a sacrificial knife.
Climbing into the swimming pool herself, she strode over to Wren.
The boy slumped to the floor, trembling, his knees against his chest.
Aunt May grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head up, and sliced the blade across his throat.
His eyes flicked to me, and I swore, he smiled.
Spots of red dotted yellowing tiles, a river trickling under my aunt's heels.
“Happy 78th birthday, Charlotte.”
Last night ended with me being locked in my room.
It's been almost 15 hours, and the door is still locked. Please help me. I'm fucking terrified of what my aunt is planning.
I can't stop shgajing. FycjbfucibFUCK
If she is telling the truth, I shouldn't be here, right??
And I can't stop thinking.
Is Wren Oliver trying to kill me, or himself?
submitted by Trash_Tia to nosleep [link] [comments]
On my eighth birthday, a shadow strode into my house and shot me and my family dead. I remember it vividly, every detail, every angle, etched and stained and carved into my memory.
I sat very still with my knees to my chest, my gaze glued to my siblings.
Lily and PJ looked like they were sleeping, and I could almost believe it.
I didn't look at the shadow.
From the comfort of my knees, I waited for my brother to lift his head.
But his body was so limp, so still, every part of him faltering. My sister’s head was nestled in his shoulder, thick beads of red running down her face.
They're just sleeping.
I could tell myself they were— as long as I didn't look at the splatter of scarlet staining the back of the couch and pooling at their feet.
BANG.
Mom’s body dropped onto the ground.
I lunged forwards, slamming my hands over my ears.
BANG.
PJ’s head slumped forwards, a teasing smile still frozen on his lips.
BANG.
Lily gently tipped into PJ, like she was going to sleep.
Before she closed her eyes, Mom told me to run.
I can't remember how long I stayed under the shattered remnants of Mom’s favorite table. The shadow was waiting for me to move, to make a noise.
I watched booted feet crunch through glass, getting closer and closer, and slowly, fight or flight began to take over.
Making it halfway across the living room, my palms slick with my mother’s blood, I thought I was going to live.
Cruel fingers wound their way through my hair and shoved me to my knees. I remember the phantom legs of a spider creeping down the back of my neck when the shadow with no face dragged the barrel of his gun down my spine.
“Turn around.”
The shadow had a voice.
When I didn't move, the protruding metal stabbed into my neck.
“Turn around, kid!”
I did, very slowly.
Behind him, my siblings still weren't moving.
They were asleep.
Lily was still smiling, strawberry blonde ringlets stained red.
I couldn't see PJ’S face anymore.
BANG.
I didn't feel the gunshot.
I didn't feel anything.
Looking down, I glimpsed slowly spreading red blossoming like a flower.
It felt like being cut from strings.
I hit the ground, just like my mother, my body felt heavy and wrong.
Paralysed.
I remember being unable to scream, unable to cry, the salty taste of metal filling my mouth. It was like being winded. Rolling onto my side, all I could see was flickering candlelight.
The air was thick, so hard to breathe.
I rolled onto my back trying to suck in air.
The shadow took a step back, opened the front door, and bled into the night.
I don't remember the pain, and I don't remember dying. I couldn't breathe, couldn't conjure words in my mouth.
I felt warm and sticky, lying in my own blood.
I think I tried to move.
But I was so tired.
I’m not sure what death feels like, because it's like going to sleep.
I remember my last shuddering breaths, a lulling darkness beginning to swallow me up. I don't know why I wasn't afraid.
Oblivion almost felt like I was sinking into lukewarm depths on a Summer’s day.
Oblivion wasn't pain, and there was a peaceful inevitability to it.
It was endless nothing, a nothing I found myself gravitating towards. But before I could envelope myself in that darkness, it was spitting me back out.
The next thing I knew, I was in a white room, a slow beeping sound tearing me from slumber. I had a vague memory of slow spreading roses blossoming across my shirt, like summer flowers blooming.
Everything was white.
The walls, the ceiling, and my clothes.
Sensation hit me in slow waves.
Exhaustion.
I felt it tightening its grip around my brain, dragging me back onto a mountain of pillows when I tried to jump up. My Aunt May was sitting next to me on a plastic chair, her warm fingers entangled in mine. Aunt May and Mom were practically twins, with the same thick red hair and pale skin.
Mom wore her hair in a casual ponytail, while May preferred a strict bun.
I had to bite back the urge to yank my hand away.
Aunt May was asleep, used tissues filling her lap.
There was a nurse pottering around, checking my vitals and prodding my arms. My eyes felt heavy. I had to blink several times to keep myself awake.
“Charlie?”
The nurse’s voice was like wind-chimes.
I pretended not to notice her forced lipstick smile, the way she stood with her arms folded, staring at me like I was one of my cousin’s experiments. “You were in an accident, sweetie,” the nurse spoke up. I could see her trembling hands. “Just, um, try and rest, okay?”
I wanted to ask where my family was, but I already knew the answer.
I think she knew that too.
“You died, Charlie.” The nurse’s voice was eerily cold. “You were dead for thirteen minutes.”
She took slow steps towards me, her eyes growing frenzied, like she couldn't understand me, like I was a puzzle she could not solve– and it was driving her crazy. I could see it in her twitching hands, her wobbling lips that were trying and failing to appear stoic.
“In fact, I just pulled you out of the morgue, honey. I opened up your body bag that I had just zipped up, and told your aunt that you were a miracle I just… can’t understand.” The nurse sounded like she was trying to choke down a laugh, or maybe a sob.
“Charlotte, you were pronounced dead at 3:02am from a gunshot wound to the chest.” Taking a slow, sobering breath, the nurse tried to smile. “The bullet went through the right ventricle of your heart and severely damaged your left lung, rendering you unable to breathe. Your heart stopped, and after four attempts to resuscitate, we called it.”
Something slimy wound its way up my throat when she began to pace the room. “I… did all the paperwork. It took me two minutes. Your death certificate was signed, and your body was taken to the morgue to be prepped for transportation. Then I had my lunch. Tuna salad with a protein milkshake. I’m not a fan of the chocolate flavor.”
She shook her head. “Anyway, when I came back to you, you were awake inside your body bag.” Her voice was starting to break. “You were…um, alive, and asked me for apple soda.”
The nurse moved closer, and yet kept her distance.
I could feel myself moving back, panic writhing through me.
“So.” The nurse spoke calmly. “How the fuck are you still alive, Charlie?”
I think I passed out after that.
When I woke up again, my head a lot less heavier, the nurse was gone.
Slowly, my foggy brain began to find itself and connect dots.
My mouth was dry, full of cotton.
There was a sudden tightness, a sharp and cruel sting in my wrists.
Something sharp was protruding into my flesh, and no matter how many times I violently wrenched my arm, it was stuck. It didn't feel right to be able to breathe so easily.
I knew the second I woke that my Mom was dead.
Lily and PJ were dead, and it was like losing them all over again.
As clarity came over me, I found my voice, a strangled cry escaping my lips.
“Get it out.” I whispered in a shrill cry.
Tugging at the IV in my wrist, I tried to yank the needle from my skin.
“Get it out!” I shrieked, my gaze glued to the tiny spots of blood staining the insertion point.
I could see it again.
So much blood.
Mom was curled up on the floor, lying in slow spreading red that wouldn't stop, seeping across her beaded rug.
She was all over me, slick on my skin and caked in my fingernails.
I couldn't wash her off of me.
“You're okay, Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice came from my right, stabling me to reality.
The world started to move again, started to make sense again, when she cupped my cheeks and told me to breathe. When I opened my mouth to ask where my family were, she lightly shook her head and I swallowed my words. Aunt May handed me a glass of water, and I drained it in one gulp.
She told me I was a miracle.
Aunt May didn't say much, and when she did, she broke into sobs.
Her eyes were raw from crying, clinging onto me, her shuddery voice reassuring me that I was going to be okay.
She told me I would be living with her from now on, before wrapping me into a hug and leaving to get coffee.
Once my aunt was gone, another nurse came to prod my IV.
I tried to sleep, but the uncomfortable tightness of the needle sticking into my skin and the sterile white lights in my eyes made it impossible. I waited for grief to catch up with me, drowning me in a hollow oblivion I wouldn't be able to claw myself out of. But I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel angry.
I wanted to know why my family were dead.
I wanted to know why I was breathing, and their skin was ice cold.
Rotting.
The sudden image of maggots crawling up my brother’s nose sent me lurching into a sitting position, my stomach heaving. Reaching for my glass of water, it was empty. The sensation of throwing up felt familiar, almost comforting.
Mom was always with me when I was sick, holding my hair back and lulling my hysteria with reassuring murmurs.
I was frowning at the trash can by the door, my cotton candy brain trying to figure out if I would be able to make it in time, when a small voice drifted from the doorway, startling me.
“I don't want you to come live with us.”
My cousin was peeking through the door, hiding behind a shock of dark brown curls. Jude was the only brunette in our family. The rest of us were redheads.
I wasn't sure why he was dressed up like a ghost, draped in a white cloak that was way too big for him. Jude was a weird kid. His mother, and my auntie, had inherited the family house, so in his mind, that made him superior.
Jude made it clear he didn't like his cousins, refusing to let us play with him and banning us from family gatherings.
When the adults were drinking cocktails and losing their awareness, Jude ordered us around. The times we did play with him, our cousin showed us his spider collection, or the raccoon brain he kept in a jar. PJ was convinced our younger cousin was a serial killer. Several months earlier, he'd happily showed us the roadkill he'd been growing bacteria on under his bed.
Jude’s ‘experiments’ were worrying.
He stuffed mushrooms down my brother’s ears while he was sleeping, to, and I quote, “Recreate The Last Of Us.”
When Lily had a nosebleed during Thanksgiving dinner, Jude collected all her bloody tissues and refused to tell us where he'd put them, and what he had done with them. Fast-forward two months, and I found them under a nest of spiders. Jude was trying to adapt the spiders to be able to feed on human blood. I was surprised my cousin hadn't immediately demanded to see my siblings’ dead bodies for autopsy.
Jude stepped into the room, shuffling his feet.
“I'm sorry about Lily, PJ, and Aunt Ivy.” He mumbled, glaring at the floor tiles.
My cousin made no move to offer real sympathy, instead speaking to the floor.
“But I don't want you to come live with us.” Jude lifted his head, looking me dead in the eye. “I don't like you, Charlie. I want you to stay away.”
Before I could reply, he stepped back like I was diseased.
“You should be dead.” Jude grumbled.
He scowled at me, getting my age purposely wrong as usual before running off.
“Happy 68th birthday.”
I was six months older than him.
In Jude’s eyes, I was ready for retirement.
Still, though, my cousin was right.
I was stone cold dead, and then I was somehow alive.
Which was wrong.
Growing up, I realized Death was not so subtly attempting to fix his mistake.
It started small. I'd choke on things I wasn't supposed to choke on.
Chips.
Candy.
Ice cream.
Aunt May had to perform the heimlich manoeuvre when I choked on a piece of chicken. I thought I was just really unlucky, but then I locked myself in a freezer that didn't have a lock, and almost drowned in the local swimming pool, catching my foot in stray netting.
At the summer fair, Jude convinced me to try apple bobbing, only for my head to conveniently get stuck underwater.
It started to make sense.
I was supposed to die with my family that night, and death was out to get me.
Death started to get clever, changing his tactic. Instead of using everyday things to try to kill me, he sent reinforcements.
I turned twelve years old, and my aunt threw me a huge party, inviting all my classmates. Aunt May was rich, rich.
Mom never explained it, but our grandparents left everything to May.
The house was like a palace, a labyrinth of floors I was yet to explore, and two swimming pools.
I was in the kitchen cutting myself a slice of cake, when, out of nowhere, a dead boy came rushing at me with one of my aunt’s favorite kitchen knives.
A dead boy who I immediately recognised.
Wren Oliver.
Several years prior, he'd gone missing from his parents' yard. The town launched a full investigation, only to find his body in a ditch a week later.
So, Death had sent a footsoldier.
Hiding under a hooded sweatshirt, Wren appeared older, like he had grown up with me. But there was a startling vacancy in his expression that drew the breath from my lungs, freezing me in place. Wren’s death was announced as an accident, though his wounds suggested the opposite, dried blood smearing his right temple and a cavernous hole in his chest, his clothes painted, stained, in bright red, glued in sticky mounds clinging to him.
The boy’s eyes were wild, feral, like an animal.
His hair was longer, a mess of reddish curls matted to his forehead.
Lip split into a demented giggle.
I remember taking a slow step back, my gaze glued to the knife.
Wren’s fingers were wrapped around the handle like he knew exactly how to use it, how to plunge it into my heart and kill me for good. He moved like a predator, zero self awareness or recognition, only driven to kill me.
The dead boy prided himself in slow, intimidating steps, shoving me against the wall and dragging the blade of the knife down the curve of my throat.
His eyes confused me, writhing with hatred that was artificial, programmed into him as Death’s official soldier.
He didn't speak, only smiled, revelling in my fear. I could tell it thrilled him, my trembling hands, my sharp, heavy breaths I couldn't control. Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited to finally die.
I waited for the pain, and to lose my breath once again.
But death was playing with me.
When I opened my eyes, the dead boy was gone, and I was on my knees, screaming.
“Wren Oliver is trying to kill me!" I managed to hiss.
My aunt knelt in front of me, her expression crumpling.
*Sweetie,” She spoke softly, squeezing my hands. Aunt May was trying to appear calm for my sake, but I could tell she was scared, her frantic eyes searching mine. “Wren Oliver is dead.”
The kids surrounding me started to giggle, whispering among themselves.
In the corner of my eye, my cousin was leaning against the door, mid eye roll.
When my aunt was ushering kids back to the pool, Jude came to crouch in front of me. Ever since I started living with him, he'd made sure to keep his distance.
This time, though, Jude leaned uncomfortably close, a sparkle in his eyes I had never seen before. Inclining his head, he rocked back and forth on his heels, prodding me in the forehead.
“If you see the dead boy again, can you tell me?” His lips curved into a smile.
“I did see him.” I gritted out. “I’m not lying.”
Jude shrugged. “I never said you didn't,” he lowered his voice into a whisper, “I wanna know when you see him again.”
“Why?”
His lips curved into a smirk.
“So, I can catch him.”
My cousin got closer, his breath tickling my cheek.
“I seeeeeeee dead people.”
After that incident, death left me alone for a while.
I was fifteen, walking through the forest with a friend, catching fireflies in bell jars. Aunt May was lucky to live so close to the forest, the entrance just outside her back door. When we were littles, PJ would drag Lily and I down the trail to escape Jude’s weird experiments.
I decided to invite Jem Littlewood on a summer walk.
Jem was cute, but in a dorky way. He was chronically clumsy, and dressed like he'd been spat out of a John Hughes movie. We hiked all the way to the end of the river and had a picnic, watching the sun set over the horizon. I was having conflicting feelings for this guy.
Jem was obsessed with fireflies.
Though he seemed more interested in photographing them than me.
The guy couldn't seem to sit still, jumping to his feet to marvel at tiny specks of light dancing in the air.
“I'm just going to take photos!” Jem beamed, holding up his camera.
I had to bite back the urge to say, “Don't you have enough photos?”
I nodded, and he turned and sprinted back down the trail.
Before his footsteps ground to a sudden halt.
At first, I thought he was snapping polaroids.
When I got closer, though, blinking in the eerie dark, I caught something.
Bending down, I picked up a bell jar still spilling fireflies.
Further down the trail, Jem was lying crumpled in the dirt, his camera smashed to pieces next to him, blood running in thick rivulets down his temple. There he was. Leaning against a tree, his arms folded, was the ghost boy. Wren Oliver was growing up with me. Now, a teenager, and yet his face was carved into something else entirely, more of a monster, slight points to his ears and too-sharp teeth, eyes ignited.
Wren didn't look like a ghost boy anymore.
Death had dressed him in shackles of ivy, a crown of glass and bone forced onto his head, entangled in his curls. Death was torturing him. Wren’s flesh was its canvas, and every time I got away, he was punished, painting his failures across scarred flesh. I should have been running for my life, but I was mesmerised by each symbol cruelly carved into his neck.
The boy did a slow head incline, like he couldn't believe I was standing in front of him.
His slow spreading smile caught me off guard.
I remembered how to run, stumbling over my feet.
But I couldn't move.
The burning hatred that death had filled him with, was stronger, hollowing him out completely. I managed two shaky steps, before I felt him, an unearthly force winding its way around my spine. This time, he didn't hesitate.
I watched his mouth move, a single curve of his upper lip that wrenched my body from my control, slamming me against a tree. There was something around my throat, choking the breath from my lungs, a thick fog spreading over my eyes. Following his mouth curving into silent letters, I could feel my feet slowly leaving the ground, my legs dangling.
I was floating.
Hovering off of the ground, suspended by his words.
Through half lidded eyes, I caught the glint of a blade between his fist, but I couldn't move, couldn't scream.
He was drowning me, bleeding into my blood, spider webbing and expanding in my brain without moving a muscle.
Instead, the ghost boy stood silently, running his thumb down the teeth of his knife while he ripped my lungs apart.
It was like suffocating, sinking into that peaceful oblivion I met at eight years old.
This time, though, the darkness was starving.
“Charlie?”
My eyes found daylight, a scream clawing out of my mouth.
“Charlie, it's past curfew!”
Wren flinched, his stoic expression crumpling.
The dead boy’s lips moved again, this time in a curse.
Fuck.
“Charlotte!”
Staggering back, Wren’s eyes widened and the suffocating hold on me severed.
His head snapped in the direction my aunt was coming from.
“Charlie, answer me right now.”
He hesitated, his bare feet pivoting in the dirt, like he was considering finishing me off. Wren studied me with lazy eyes, sucking on his bottom lip. When my aunt's footsteps got louder, branches snapping under her shoes, something contorted in the boy’s face.
Fear.
I guessed the boy wasn't expecting other humans to intrude.
Wren fell over himself, shuffling on his hands and knees, before diving to his feet. When he turned and ran, I was released, slipping to the ground, trying and failing to draw in breath. I barely felt the impact, only a dull thudding pain. I could hear the ghost boy’s footsteps, his uneven, shuddery breaths as he catapulted into a run.
Under a late setting sun, I watched his dancing shadow disappear into the trees.
Mission unsuccessful, I guessed.
When I was fully conscious, Aunt May was checking over Jem, helping him sit up.
“Where did he go?” I managed to get out, scanning the darkness for Wren.
“He's okay, just concussed.” May whispered, dialling 911.
My aunt applied a dressing to Jem’s wound, ignoring the boy’s hisses.
“Keep still.” she murmured, smoothing his bandaid. “What happened, Charlotte?”
“She pushed me over.” Jem groaned, shuffling away from me. When my aunt told him to stay calm, he straightened up, leaning against the tree. “The psycho bitch tried to fucking kill me!”
When my aunt's gaze flicked to me, I shook my head.
“It was Wren Oliver.” I gritted, teetering on hysteria. I could tell she didn't believe me, but I couldn't stop myself. I prodded at my throat, clawing for the indentations where his phantom fingers snaked around my neck, squeezing the breath from my lungs.
But there was nothing.
I could feel my mind starting to unravel. I nodded to my disgruntled classmate trying to dodge my aunt’s prodding.
“Ow, ow, ow! That stings!
“He knocked Jem out.” I managed. “Then he tried to kill me.”
Jem surprised me with a scoff. “You're seriously blaming your psychotic break on a dead kid?”
Aunt May pursed her lips, motioning for Jem to be quiet. Judging from her face, however, she agreed with the boy.
May forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Okay. Can you, uh, describe the boy to me, Charlotte?”
“He was wearing a crown,” I said, “And he looked my age.”
Aunt May cocked her head, and I saw real worry, like she was trying not to freak out. Jem made a snorting noise.
“I'm sorry, he was wearing a crown?”
“Yes!” I insisted, getting progressively more frustrated.
I tried to jump up, only for my aunt to gently lower me back down. “I know it sounds crazy, but death has sent Wren Oliver to kill me, just like my family. He tried to kill me when I was twelve, too!”
Jem let out a bitter laugh. “Your niece is a fucking wackadoodle.”
Aunt May’s eyes darkened. She grabbed my shoulders, her nails stabbing into my skin. “Charlie, I want you to listen to me, okay?” When my eyes found the rapidly darkening sky, my aunt forced me to look at her.
“Charlotte!”
She was as scared as me, her voice shuddering.
“Wren Oliver is dead.” My aunt said firmly, shaking me. Even then, though, I wasn't even looking at her. I was trying to find his ignited eyes lighting up the dark. “Wren died at eight years old in a terrible accident, and you can't keep using him as an excuse for your mental trauma.” There was something twitching in her expression I was trying to make sense of. When I risked a look at Jem, the boy was staring at me dazedly– like I really was crazy.
Aunt May pressed her face into my shoulder, and I could feel her tears soaking into my shirt. She was trying to hold it together, trying to understand.
“Charlie, I know you lost your family,” she whispered. “But you and Wren Oliver are not the same. You survived, and he didn't.” Her voice splintered.
“You need to come to terms with that, okay?”
When I didn't respond, she pinched my chin, forcing me to look at her.
“Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice turned cold. “I ignored this when you were a kid, but if you continue to use this poor boy as a coping mechanism, I will have no choice but to send you to a specialist.”
When Jem was taken away by paramedics, Aunt May held my hand, squeezing my fingers for dear life.
I caught her gaze scanning the tree's around us, delving into twisting oblivion. Every little noise sent her twisting around. She was looking for something.
“I'm going to get you help.” Aunt May said in a low murmur when we were back at the house. Jude was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging. I could feel his penetrating gaze burning into the back of my head.
Aunt May set a cup of cocoa on the table.
“No more fairytales.”
By the time I was eighteen, I had bitten three therapists.
They refused to believe that death was coming to reclaim my soul, and was using a dead boy to do his dirty work.
For my 16th birthday, I braced myself to come face to face with Wren Oliver’s ghost.
I wasn't even in town, staying at a friend's house.
But dead boys, and especially dead boys moulded into Death’s personal soldiers, could materialise anywhere.
I locked every door in the house, and taped up my friend’s window.
Nothing happened.
On my seventeenth birthday, I was sick in bed with gastritis.
Still no ghost boy.
Death seemed to have finally left me alone.
On my eighteenth birthday, I was stuffing books in my locker when my cousin popped up out of nowhere, scowling as usual. After an unexpected growth spurt and losing a tonne of baby fat, my cousin had scaled the high school hierarchy, swapping his weird experiments for a varsity jacket and experimenting with his sexuality.
The two of us had come to an unspoken truce.
I kept quiet about his spider collection to his popular friends, and he tolerated my existence until I left for college.
“Your surprise party is cancelled.”
Jude leaned against my locker, running a hand through thick dark hair tucked under a baseball cap. Jude never admitted it, but he was definitely embarrassed of being the odd one out.
My siblings may be dead, but they were still redheads.
I pulled off his cap with a smile, throwing it in his face. “Sure it is.”
My cousin’s eyes widened. He lost his slick bravado, grabbing for his cap.
“Hey!”
According to my cousin, my party was unexpectedly cancelled every year.
I wasn't sure if it was his weird superiority complex, or just plain jealousy, but it was getting exhausting.
Jude followed me down the hallway, matching my stride.
“Can you just not come home tonight?”
I quickened my pace. “It's only a party. I'm having some friends over, and no, we won't go anywhere near your room.”
“No, I mean.” Jude stepped in front of me, and for the first time in a while, he wasn't trying to hide disdain for me.
His dark eyes pinned me in place for a moment, the world around us coming to a halt. Sound bled away, and all I heard were his slow breaths. There was something there, an unexplainable twitch in his eyes and lips, that twisted my gut.
Jude stepped closer, his lip curling. He shoved me back, losing his facade.
“Stay the fuck away from the house tonight.” He said, and his voice, his tone, was enough to send shivers creeping down my spine. Jude had always hid behind a ten foot wall in his mind. It was jarring to see something in him finally start to splinter. Fuck. I thought.
This kid had serious Mommy issues.
I blinked, and the world resumed, kids pushing past us.
Jude seemed to catch himself, slipping back under his mask.
“I'm having friends over,” he rolled his eyes, “Your presence will ruin the vibe.”
“It's my birthday?”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Yes, I know. But–”
“I think you can deal with the attention off of you for one night, Jude.”
“Will Wren Oliver be there too?” Jem Littlewood hollered.
Jude didn't respond for a moment, his lip curling.
“Shut the fuck up.” He spat at Jem, who immediately backed down. With an audience this time, Jude forced an award winning smile. “Fine.” His lips split into a grin I knew he hated. My cousin clamped his hand on my shoulder, hard enough to hurt. I could feel his fingers pinching the material of my jacket. “Have it your way, dude.”
Jude backed away with a two fingered salute.
“Happy 78th birthday!”
In a sense, I wish I listened to my cousin.
My party was a success, sort of.
Four of us, a crate of beers, and no sign of my cousin.
I was mildly tipsy, sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling my legs in the water when my friend demanded more beers.
I was also hungry for cake, so I stumbled inside in search of the goods.
The house was dark, lit up in dazzling blue from the pool's lights reflecting through the windows. Aunt May was in her office on the ground floor, and Jude was getting high in his room. In my drunken state, I found myself marvelling my aunt's house, and how much of it was left unexplored.
For example, in the foyer, past the spiral staircase she’d had custom made, was an elevator I had never questioned.
There was a girl my age standing on the staircase.
She was frozen, mid run, dressed in ragged jeans and t-shirt.
Everything about her stuck out to me, bringing me to a sobering halt.
The girl reminded me of my sister– or at least, if my sister had ever grown up.
I wasn't sure if I was drunk or hallucinating.
Her flower crown was pretty…
Lily had grown wings.
I was slowly moving towards her, a sudden bang sounding from the kitchen.
The bang of something shattering on the floor.
Twisting around, I found myself gravitating towards warm golden light.
The first thing I saw was the refrigerator door hanging open, and someone, no, something, rooting around inside it.
Glued to the spot, I dazedly watched them grab milk, guzzling it down, and then soda, cracking open each can and sucking them dry, before carving their fingers into my birthday cake. But I wasn't looking at the spillage of food seeping across the floor. Instead, my gaze found a crown of antlers, both human and animal bone entangled with dead flowers and human remains glued to a head of familiar matted brown curls.
There was something sticking from battered and bruised flesh, twin gaping slits sliced through a torn shirt resembling glass wings that were not yet formed, reminding me of a butterfly.
Wings.
But not the wings I dreamed of as a kid. These things were unnatural mounds that both did and didn't make sense on a human boy. I could see the trauma of them slicing through his flesh, monstrous, looming things protruding from what was left of a human spine.
Human, and yet I couldn't call his beautifully grotesque face human.
Wren Oliver had grown up with me, now an adult.
Eighteen years old.
His clothes confused me, a single white shirt and shorts.
Wren’s feet were bare, battered and bruised, blood smearing my aunt's tiles.
Angel.
Death had turned his footsoldier, and my future killer, into an angel.
But there was nothing angelic about the dead boy, his body and mind sculpted and moulded into Death’s own.
The boy no longer resembled a human, feral eyes and a manic smile, choking down pieces of cake. His face had been contorted into a monster, gnashing teeth and sharp points in his ears, a sickly tinge to malnourished skin.
And that's when it hit me, watching him stuff himself with food.
Something slimy inched its way up my throat.
The boy didn't move. I don't even think he'd noticed me, gorging himself on anything he could get his hands on.
Chicken, raw bacon, leftover salad.
When he moved onto cupcakes, licking frosting from his fingers, I glimpsed markings on his arms, a language I didn't understand, carved into him.
His wrists were shackled, bound, in entangled iron and vine, iron that was ingrained into his skin, vines and flowers and ivy entangling his bones, that were part of him, polluting his blood. Slowly, my eyes found stab wounds splitting open his torso.
Raw flesh, where his skin had been torched, melting, and then merging, ripped apart and put back together over and over again.
I found his heart, the gaping cavern in his chest where it should be.
And it was.
Marked, carved, and branded with a symbol resembling an X.
Wren Oliver was not dead.
But, just like me, he should have been.
I remember saying his name, my voice slurred slightly.
I didn't drink that much, but I could barely coerce words, my head spinning.
Wren’s neck snapped towards me, his eyes narrowing with resentment I couldn't understand, hatred that seemed to puppeteer him. Slowly tilting his head, the boy’s lips split into a grin, eyes filled, polluted, with mania. I could see where his lips had been stitched shut, and then ripped open.
“Hi.”
He held up his hand in an awkward wave.
When one of my friends stumbled into the kitchen, Wren reacted on impulse.
He picked up a knife from the counter, throwing it like a dart, straight through the guy’s throat.
Something shattered inside my mind.
Ignoring my friend bleeding out, Wren stumbled over himself, abandoning his feast. He took a single step towards me, backing me against the wall, coming so close, close enough for me to feel his very real breath grazing my cheeks. Just like when he was a kid, he traced the teeth of his blade down my throat. I wasn't expecting him to burst out laughing, trembling with hysteria.
His eyes were wild, feral and wrong, almost euphoric.
With what all I could only recognise as relief.
BANG.
I was barely aware of the gunshot.
The bullet went straight through his head, the winged boy hitting the ground.
Dead.
I saw the blood stemming around him in a halo before the bleeding pool faltered, seeping back inside his head.
Like rewinding a VCR.
Wren was dead, and then he was alive.
Wren’s body contorted, his chest inflating.
His gasp for air was painful, strangled, eyes opening wide.
Terrified.
“You fucking idiot.”
Jude’s voice sent me twisting around.
My cousin stood in the exact same robes he wore as a child.
The world tipped off kilter, and I was on my knees, then my stomach.
I sunk to the floor, my thoughts swimming.
Jude’s murmur followed me, creeping into the dark.
“I told you not to come home.”
I can't remember how long I was unconscious for.
When I woke, I was dressed in an evening gown, a dress that used to be my mother’s.
My vision cleared, and I found myself sitting in an unfamiliar room resembling an abandoned swimming hall.
The pool itself was empty, the bottom stained revealing scarlet.
There were symbols carved into each tile.
Like a game.
“Sit up straight, Charlotte.”
I was sitting at a banquet.
Jude was in front of me, sipping on wine.
He caught my eye for half a second before averting his gaze.
At the far end of the table sat my aunt May.
Kissing the rim of her glass, her smile was twisted.
“I've been waiting so long to give you your birthday presents, Charlotte. Your memories should be returning soon.”
“Mom.” Jude muttered, hiding behind his glass. “Calm down. You're embarrassing yourself.”
Ignoring my cousin, May tapped her glass with a fork, and in walked my birthday presents.
No, dragged.
By their hair.
Wren Oliver, the dead boy, was in fact my aunt's prisoner.
Behind him, was the girl who looked so much like Lily.
I think that's why my aunt chose her.
Aunt May cleared her throat.
“For a long time, our family has lived among creatures who live in the forest you played inside! In exchange for keeping this town safe, they only ask for small favors. Wayward children who disappear into the woods are good enough payment. However, you and your siblings do not share our inheritance. Your mother never wanted fae children. She wanted you to be human.”
Aunt May’s smile faded.
“After losing my sister, and my niece and nephew, I made a deal to give my last surviving niece 100 years of life.”
Her words were white noise, my gaze glued to my birthday presents. I couldn't call them human anymore.
I couldn't call Wren human, when his face was so beautifully grotesque, painfully hypnotising.
The monstrous things sticking from twin slits in his back were supposed to be wings, except they looked wrong, cruelly protruding from his exposed spine. Under the influence of alcohol earlier, the girl made me smile.
Her wings, to me, looked like one of a real fairy.
In reality, they were torn and shredded apart, bigger than the girl herself.
When she dropped onto her stomach, she was dragged back to her feet, her knees buckling under the weight. Her tiara of flowers and bone looked pretty to me when I saw her on the stairs.
Now, though, I could see the pearly white of a human child's skull forced onto her head, dead flowers threaded through cavernous, gaping eye sockets.
The two of them were violently shoved into the empty pool.
“Jude. Please demonstrate, sweetheart.”
Jude stood, pulling out a gun, and aiming it at the winged girl.
BANG.
The girl’s body hit the tiles, her blood seeping across stained white.
“Now, of course, our king did not give you life for free.” May continued.
“The King demanded a debt, as well as two heirs to join him in his court once your hundred years were complete.”
Her lips quirked into a smile.
“The king is smart. If a child cannot be stolen from the human world, they can, however, be made, moulded and shaped from their human forms, skinned of their humanity through their suffering, leaving a hollowed out shell in the child's place.” She was speaking so casually, ignoring Wren’s whimpers.
“The conversion takes a while. 100 years to birth a fully blooded fae heir, who will lose their human memories, in preparation to join their new family.”
Jude shot Wren in the chest, his eyes empty.
This time, he dropped his weapon, using finger-guns instead.
“Bang.” He deadpanned.
Then the neck.
I watched Wren come back to life, and then die.
Over and over again.
I think at one point, he screamed and cried.
But not now.
He was their puppet on display, dancing for their entertainment.
Half lidded eyes drowned in oblivion found mine, and I understood his hatred.
Before he was shot again.
Stabbed.
Branded and burned, and ripped apart.
At some point, I screamed at them to stop. I couldn't breathe, slamming my hands over my ears and begging them.
Aunt May didn't listen, ordering for my hands to be tied down.
“The King required two human sacrifices to suffer in your place.” She concluded. “For one hundred years.”
Aunt May’s smile was suddenly sad, and she lifted her glass in a toast.
I was watching their blood trickle down each tile in the pool, like every death, every time they suffered, my body became progressively less human.
I felt disgusting. I wasn't supposed to be alive. Every single year of my life, every breath I had taken, was stolen.
Aunt May nodded at me, her lips forming a proud smile. She stood up, and was handed a sacrificial knife.
Climbing into the swimming pool herself, she strode over to Wren.
The boy slumped to the floor, trembling, his knees against his chest.
Aunt May grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head up, and sliced the blade across his throat.
His eyes flicked to me, and I swore, he smiled.
Spots of red dotted yellowing tiles, a river trickling under my aunt's heels.
“Happy 78th birthday, Charlotte.”
Last night ended with me being locked in my room.
It's been almost 15 hours, and the door is still locked. Please help me. I'm fucking terrified of what my aunt is planning.
I can't stop shgajing. FycjbfucibFUCK
If she is telling the truth, I shouldn't be here, right??
And I can't stop thinking.
Is Wren Oliver trying to kill me, or himself?
2024.05.12 23:46 Woodstovia What is it with Blue Women and loving themselves?
 | submitted by Woodstovia to Hololive [link] [comments] |
2024.05.12 23:43 theadorable_duckling Love quotes from Rammstein?
Hey!!
My boyfriend is a huge metal & Rammstein fan. I’m writing him a love letter, and I thought it would be fun to adding something Rammstein themed to it as he really likes it. Any ideas of quotes from their songs that are somewhat cute or lovingly that I could use?
I’ve looked through some of the songs without success. Thought I’d ask here before giving up on it
Thanks in advance!
submitted by theadorable_duckling to Rammstein [link] [comments]
My boyfriend is a huge metal & Rammstein fan. I’m writing him a love letter, and I thought it would be fun to adding something Rammstein themed to it as he really likes it. Any ideas of quotes from their songs that are somewhat cute or lovingly that I could use?
I’ve looked through some of the songs without success. Thought I’d ask here before giving up on it
Thanks in advance!
2024.05.12 23:41 Supergluedappendage AITA for not ensuring my mom received her Mother’s Day gift on time?
For context, we live across a 3 hour time difference (I am 3 hours behind).
I (24f) had some friends visiting for a week and it was a very busy/hectic the past 10 days for me. This morning I let myself sleep in and woke up around 10am.
At 10:15am I texted my mom “happy Mother’s Day”, sent a cute gif, and let her know her gift was arriving a little late since I didn’t get to the post office due to my hectic week hosting friends. I showered, got ready, and she texted me back saying “we all have time for things that are a priority. But thank you.” (exact quote). This made me feel absolutely horrible for not sending her gift in time. I did buy it in advance and I meant to take it to USPS, but with work and everything else I just didn’t get there in time. At 11:30 am I tried to call her twice and she didn’t answer. Clearly she was super upset with me, and my sister and brother texted me that she was crying.
I gave her a call a few hours later and she picked up, and we basically just argued about the situation. Apparently she is also upset that my dad got her a fake flower instead of a real flower, and she didn’t like his card. My 2 bothers didn’t get her anything. My sister gave her a beautiful handmade card in the morning which she was pleased with. She told me she is upset that I texted her instead of just calling her first thing in the morning, and that I didn’t prioritize sending her gift in time to make her day special. She said it’s not about the gift itself, and if I didn’t get her a gift she wouldn’t be upset, just she’s upset that she knows I didn’t prioritize it. I told her that she is choosing to be upset instead of enjoying her day. Am I the asshole?
Side note: I am generally very good about sending birthday gifts/cards on time. All my siblings still live at home with my parents, I live across the country (I am the oldest child).
submitted by Supergluedappendage to AmItheAsshole [link] [comments]
I (24f) had some friends visiting for a week and it was a very busy/hectic the past 10 days for me. This morning I let myself sleep in and woke up around 10am.
At 10:15am I texted my mom “happy Mother’s Day”, sent a cute gif, and let her know her gift was arriving a little late since I didn’t get to the post office due to my hectic week hosting friends. I showered, got ready, and she texted me back saying “we all have time for things that are a priority. But thank you.” (exact quote). This made me feel absolutely horrible for not sending her gift in time. I did buy it in advance and I meant to take it to USPS, but with work and everything else I just didn’t get there in time. At 11:30 am I tried to call her twice and she didn’t answer. Clearly she was super upset with me, and my sister and brother texted me that she was crying.
I gave her a call a few hours later and she picked up, and we basically just argued about the situation. Apparently she is also upset that my dad got her a fake flower instead of a real flower, and she didn’t like his card. My 2 bothers didn’t get her anything. My sister gave her a beautiful handmade card in the morning which she was pleased with. She told me she is upset that I texted her instead of just calling her first thing in the morning, and that I didn’t prioritize sending her gift in time to make her day special. She said it’s not about the gift itself, and if I didn’t get her a gift she wouldn’t be upset, just she’s upset that she knows I didn’t prioritize it. I told her that she is choosing to be upset instead of enjoying her day. Am I the asshole?
Side note: I am generally very good about sending birthday gifts/cards on time. All my siblings still live at home with my parents, I live across the country (I am the oldest child).
2024.05.12 20:51 rpkat [F4A playing Male] The Contract
No Smut
Partners and their characters must be AT LEAST 23 and no older than 38
Your character is a well known celebrity! This could include a hockey player, race car driver, senator, musician, other athletes, movie star, etc. Lately he has been all over the media and not for the right reason. He’s been out partying, getting caught doing drugs, with a new woman every night, and / or getting into fights. The press has been laying into him with each new circumstance and it’s starting to affect his career, badly. And what’s the best way to make everyone think he’s not a huge playboy? Get a serious girlfriend that makes it look like he’s calmed down just for her. She’s the one that keeps him out of trouble.
Bad part is, he doesn’t have that, but he does have money and with an app made for sugar babies he might be able to find the right girl to get his reputation back in line with.
OR
Our characters are both celebrities and needing a boost in publicity somehow. Their managers come together to make them into some super cute power couple. The only issue is that the two of them cannot stand each other when they’re not in front of the cameras or out in public. Even then that’s a hard time for them to get along.
Hey there! I’m female and 26 years old. I’m looking for someone to roleplay this plot (or the others on my profile) with me! This will be safe for work and done via discord. You MUST be able to write in third person. I would like at least one good paragraph to two paragraphs per reply and someone that can reply daily. I get that people get busy, but please don’t leave me hanging. I love drama and romance in my stories while also making friends out of character. I like to send tons of references ranging from pictures to quotes to Tiktoks. Please send a message or chat with your age, writing sample, and any ideas you have or what your character will be like!
submitted by rpkat to RoleplayPartnerSearch [link] [comments]
Partners and their characters must be AT LEAST 23 and no older than 38
Your character is a well known celebrity! This could include a hockey player, race car driver, senator, musician, other athletes, movie star, etc. Lately he has been all over the media and not for the right reason. He’s been out partying, getting caught doing drugs, with a new woman every night, and / or getting into fights. The press has been laying into him with each new circumstance and it’s starting to affect his career, badly. And what’s the best way to make everyone think he’s not a huge playboy? Get a serious girlfriend that makes it look like he’s calmed down just for her. She’s the one that keeps him out of trouble.
Bad part is, he doesn’t have that, but he does have money and with an app made for sugar babies he might be able to find the right girl to get his reputation back in line with.
OR
Our characters are both celebrities and needing a boost in publicity somehow. Their managers come together to make them into some super cute power couple. The only issue is that the two of them cannot stand each other when they’re not in front of the cameras or out in public. Even then that’s a hard time for them to get along.
Hey there! I’m female and 26 years old. I’m looking for someone to roleplay this plot (or the others on my profile) with me! This will be safe for work and done via discord. You MUST be able to write in third person. I would like at least one good paragraph to two paragraphs per reply and someone that can reply daily. I get that people get busy, but please don’t leave me hanging. I love drama and romance in my stories while also making friends out of character. I like to send tons of references ranging from pictures to quotes to Tiktoks. Please send a message or chat with your age, writing sample, and any ideas you have or what your character will be like!
2024.05.12 19:33 KK6321 [Thank You] April and May thanks! 💐🌷🌻
Also Happy Mother's day to anyone who identifies a mom! (US Holiday)
u/t3ctim - thank you for the postcard!
u/LateStartKSMama - thank you for the postcard!
u/LaCuntessa - thank you for the postcard and fun stickers!
u/Sufficient_Letter - thank you for the postcard and fun quotes!
u/CollenES - thank you for the cutest postcard!
u/Adoreible95 - thank you for the fun card! I love the stickers you used!
u/TyeDyeAmish - thank you for the Amish postcard!
u/PinkPenguin - thank you so much for the card! I miss my grandma and am also glad that she can be at peace.
u/ZKHG - thank you for the card! I laughed outloud reading about your luck with peperomia plants. Same with me! I've tried all varieties, they really don't like me for some reason. 😂
u/CSWL x2 - thank you for the fun cards! I like the question about charities. I agree with you that it would go a long way with a smaller one. Take care!
u/melhen16 x2 - thank you for the card and stickers! Glad to help you destash lol! Thank you for the postcard week card!
u/SNERDBOFF - thank you for the Obama postcard! I love this.
u/raspberrypoppyseed - thank you for the Coco postcard. It's one of my favorite Disney movies; highly recommend watching!
u/saucermagnolia - thank you for the super cute card! I love the stamps you used so much! Not sure I've seen them before.
submitted by KK6321 to RandomActsofCards [link] [comments]
u/t3ctim - thank you for the postcard!
u/LateStartKSMama - thank you for the postcard!
u/LaCuntessa - thank you for the postcard and fun stickers!
u/Sufficient_Letter - thank you for the postcard and fun quotes!
u/CollenES - thank you for the cutest postcard!
u/Adoreible95 - thank you for the fun card! I love the stickers you used!
u/TyeDyeAmish - thank you for the Amish postcard!
u/PinkPenguin - thank you so much for the card! I miss my grandma and am also glad that she can be at peace.
u/ZKHG - thank you for the card! I laughed outloud reading about your luck with peperomia plants. Same with me! I've tried all varieties, they really don't like me for some reason. 😂
u/CSWL x2 - thank you for the fun cards! I like the question about charities. I agree with you that it would go a long way with a smaller one. Take care!
u/melhen16 x2 - thank you for the card and stickers! Glad to help you destash lol! Thank you for the postcard week card!
u/SNERDBOFF - thank you for the Obama postcard! I love this.
u/raspberrypoppyseed - thank you for the Coco postcard. It's one of my favorite Disney movies; highly recommend watching!
u/saucermagnolia - thank you for the super cute card! I love the stamps you used so much! Not sure I've seen them before.
2024.05.12 16:15 PoisonedWhispers [Part 1][WARNING: Unnecessarily Long Effort-post] An analysis of the behaviour that leads to misinformation on the subreddit and in general; methods to curb this; and other malarkey.
Edit: o7
Or this submission which was just a screenshot of a Vaush video. This is similar to Example 5 in this main post, where no source is given, and no one is interested in watching the video itself. There is absolutely a problem here with folk not being accurate in their criticisms.
Toodles.
Ah, fuck, who let me cook? 😎
TL;DR: There is a noticeable pattern when it comes to the behaviour that leads to misinformation inadvertently being posted or spread by the pro-Israel crowd on this subreddit. This is not unique to the pro-Israel crowd, but comments and submissions by them will be the focus of this post. My intention with Part 1 and Part 2 is to identify why this happens and how to fix it.
My argument is not that the misinformation is never addressed; it’s that it ought to happen sooner, and hopefully a post like this will incentivize that behaviour.
The structure of Parts 1 and 2 is a self-introduction; a brief mention of some flaws in the subreddit; examples of misinformation being spread; I offer six prescriptions which, if followed, will reduce the likelihood of said misinformation being spread; explanations on the examples; and we close with the six prescriptions again.
Further, in Part 3, I offer a critique of 4THOTs two bans upon myself, the first lasting 30 days, and the second lasting “until Israel/Palestine is over.” Similarly, I hope to decrease the likelihood that this reoccurs in the future, whether against myself, or some of you poor, hapless souls if you’re still here. (Of course, this post might have the opposite effect. XD)
Ideally, I'm hoping that Destiny could offer clarification on an aspect of subreddit moderation that hasn't been discussed or critiqued yet: conditional bans that seemingly can’t be undone via the unban request form.
Finally, it would be, heh, splendid if Splemndid was unbanned. :)
Per the subreddit rules, I won’t be linking comments of mine on other subreddits, which unfortunately means I can’t demonstrate my consistency here, whether it came to debating tankies spreading Russian disinformation, or leftists inadvertently spreading misinformation on Ukraine. However, I do have a comment posted on this subreddit where I addressed Russian disinformation spread by RFK Jr. on Lex Fridman’s podcast, and it even received 4THOT’s seal of approval. Thanks mate! The comment talks about the “Boris Johnson sabotaged a Ukrainian peace deal” memes, which again is reiterated in a less conspiratorial manner on Lex Fridman’s podcast during Destiny’s debate against Ben Shapiro, and never gets addressed — understandably so as Ben talks for a while here. Unfortunately, the video was posted during the start of my “mini-ban”, ergo I didn't have an incentive to immediately write an effort-post on the peace deal memes which would be more fleshed-out, including some recent developments which I have a fair amount of notes on; and then I lost interest in doing the write-up weeks later.
Like you all, I’ve made all the usual comments making fun of Vaush, such as when he CONCLOODED a bit too early. Occasionally, I will take a moment to point out Hasan Piker's imbecility on Ukraine; I got irritated when he called Adamsomething a former Nazi; and my ability to predict his takes trumps even Destiny. I’ve even done what this subreddit does daily, which is post screenshots of dumb tankie tweets so that we can all circlejerk about how, well, dumb they are.
Anyways, without inundating you with too many examples where I make disparaging remarks about Twitter leftists, the point is that I’m a pro-establishment liberal, and any debates I had were not on the subreddit that I’m in general alignment with. Now I know what you’re thinking: “Fuck me, is this bozo just upset that the subreddit is pro-Israel?” Quite the contrary. I am, alas, a debate pervert, and I welcomed all the new pro-Israel folk to the subreddit. While I hate the pro-Israel/pro-Palestine dichotomy and I don’t adopt either label for myself, I am practically pro-Israel; the fact that I don’t believe Israel is conducting a genocide and I’ve supported Operation Swords of Iron throughout most of its progression (eventually settling on the same ambivalence that Lonerbox has) probably makes me some depraved, Zionist shill in the eyes of some pro-Palestine folk.
And, no, to get this out the way as well, this is not a post about “Hasbara” or “brigading.” On the latter point, in response to someone else thinking there was brigading from the pro-Palestine crowd, I made the following point:
We ought to:
Without further ado:
Per point 1, it may actually be the case that Mashal is that wealthy — but the process by which people arrived there was deeply flawed. As mentioned, the criticism is better directed (point 6) to the mere fact that he is ostentatiously wealthy, and there’s no need to commit yourself to figures that lack robust verification. Think back to Destiny's remarks about Breonna Taylor. Do you really want your argument -- the fact that Mashal is a reprehensible person who languishes in comfort while Palestinians suffer -- to be derailed?
This submission and comment is also an example of a charged topic: essentially, threads on highly contentious or egregious matters where emotions are running high, people are passionate, and there isn’t an immediate interest in calmly and rationally discussing the submission. The “nuance” tends to arrive several hours later.
Once again, the goal of this post is to incentivise more of a particular type of behaviour, not to say that said behaviour doesn’t exist anywhere in the subreddit or thread. In other words, the fact that the nuance is present further down in the thread, where someone links a Ryan McBeth video which offers some fair criticism, is good; all I’m saying is the good thing ought to happen sooner.
Whenever I see someone complaining about an NYT headline on some event in the I-P conflict, it’s basically a coins flip on whether or not the complaint is coming from a pro-Israel or pro-Palestine individual. It’s not only headlines, of course, the pro-Palestine complaints also include the language the NYT uses to describe violence from a particular side; which sources they choose to take direct quotes from; the disposition of their op-eds; and protests even flooded into the lobby of the NYT building earlier this year.
None of these complaints are exclusive to the NYT. BBC headlines will also catch their ire [23] [24]; it is the “most depraved genocidal propaganda rag in the world” (I think you can guess who that comes from without even clicking); they’re “absolute ghouls” because they didn’t mention who launched a particular drone strike in their headline; it was scandalous when they originally called Refaat Alareer (yes, that guy) a controversial writer; and so on.
Now, I’m not bringing this all up to make some galaxy-brained assessment where if it is the case that an outlet is receiving criticism from both sides in their coverage, then they must be doing something “right” — which is something the BBC themselves have mentioned is not the case. [25] The fact that the BBC receives a 50-50 split in complaints relating to its coverage of the Israel-Gaza war does not mean the complaints/criticisms are of equal merit. [26] [27]
What I merely wish to highlight here is that it can be challenging to comprehensively critique the coverage from an outlet if you’re not consuming their output on a daily basis, and thus you might only encounter instances where their reporting has been flawed. The BBC is not an outlet I regularly check for world news, and I’m not actively seeking out their reporting on I-P. I would imagine that also holds true for most of y’all.
What you might not hear about is when the BBC’s editorial policy director acknowledged they made a mistake when their UK outlet did not cover South Africa’s ICJ case in a balanced manner, where Israel’s defence was broadcast in full, but only clips were shown from the opposite side as important domestic news took priority instead. Hypothetically, imagine if this was the other way around; you probably would hear about this as it would likely be reported on by some mainstream outlet, and perhaps even posted to a subreddit — not that there would be anything wrong with that.
Depending on what online spaces you inhabit, you might find that the negative qualities of an outlet’s coverage have been so overemphasised that you ultimately end with a distorted, inaccurate view on what their output truly looks like — and that’s going to influence how you might engage with aspects of their output when you encounter it in the future. It can lead to some very uncharitable readings on headlines, articles, content, interviews, etc., where there’s criticism to be made, but it’s made in the wrong direction. In some cases, however, we’re not dealing with uncharitable readings, we’re wrestling with sloppy work.
[Redacted because Reddit is silly. Just click the hyperlink.]
submitted by PoisonedWhispers to Destiny [link] [comments]
>>CLICK HERE FOR THE SHORT VERSION. SAVE YOURSELF FROM THE ABYSS.<<
Click here for Additional Material if you so desire. Yh, there's more, mate. It's the schizo-post to end all schizo-posts.
Edit 2: Oh, and there's always more examples to give; there's plenty that I miss. I didn't even see this misleading tweet that was posted to the sub, and one user here correctly highlights the issue (not to mention OP's weird submission title). Point 3, OP's title makes this a charged thread, and few people are interested in a fact-check.Or this submission which was just a screenshot of a Vaush video. This is similar to Example 5 in this main post, where no source is given, and no one is interested in watching the video itself. There is absolutely a problem here with folk not being accurate in their criticisms.
Toodles.
TL;DR: There is a noticeable pattern when it comes to the behaviour that leads to misinformation inadvertently being posted or spread by the pro-Israel crowd on this subreddit. This is not unique to the pro-Israel crowd, but comments and submissions by them will be the focus of this post. My intention with Part 1 and Part 2 is to identify why this happens and how to fix it.
My argument is not that the misinformation is never addressed; it’s that it ought to happen sooner, and hopefully a post like this will incentivize that behaviour.
The structure of Parts 1 and 2 is a self-introduction; a brief mention of some flaws in the subreddit; examples of misinformation being spread; I offer six prescriptions which, if followed, will reduce the likelihood of said misinformation being spread; explanations on the examples; and we close with the six prescriptions again.
Further, in Part 3, I offer a critique of 4THOTs two bans upon myself, the first lasting 30 days, and the second lasting “until Israel/Palestine is over.” Similarly, I hope to decrease the likelihood that this reoccurs in the future, whether against myself, or some of you poor, hapless souls if you’re still here. (Of course, this post might have the opposite effect. XD)
Ideally, I'm hoping that Destiny could offer clarification on an aspect of subreddit moderation that hasn't been discussed or critiqued yet: conditional bans that seemingly can’t be undone via the unban request form.
Finally, it would be, heh, splendid if Splemndid was unbanned. :)
Who Art Thou?
What up, what up, some of y’all might recognize me, and if you do, hi 🙂. For those of you who don’t, I guess you could say that a few people took note of the fact that I’ve made successful — and sometimes unsuccessful — attempts to address misinformation propagated by the pro-Israel crowd on this subreddit. In the words of Wannabe_Sadboi from a past submission:Excellent post. In general, especially recently, I’ve been very impressed by the quality of posts I’ve seen from you, and admire both the dedication to fact checking and the desire to hold this subreddit to a higher standard.Thanks mate! I’ve also made a number of submissions with the intent of improving the quality of the discussions here when I observed a deterioration in said quality post-Oct. 7th. If there’s one constant in terms of my comments across Reddit, then it’s the fact that I’m vehemently anti-misinformation, and that predates Oct. 7th. For example, you might have read a post I did about the Twitter Files, some of which Destiny utilised during his debate against two journalists who had contributed to the Twitter Files, and also against Counterpoints (the timestamps here having been taken from my post). If you have doubts about my impartiality, then feel free to read this comment where I offer a rebuttal to the notion that "Israel has been siding with ISIS for years."
Per the subreddit rules, I won’t be linking comments of mine on other subreddits, which unfortunately means I can’t demonstrate my consistency here, whether it came to debating tankies spreading Russian disinformation, or leftists inadvertently spreading misinformation on Ukraine. However, I do have a comment posted on this subreddit where I addressed Russian disinformation spread by RFK Jr. on Lex Fridman’s podcast, and it even received 4THOT’s seal of approval. Thanks mate! The comment talks about the “Boris Johnson sabotaged a Ukrainian peace deal” memes, which again is reiterated in a less conspiratorial manner on Lex Fridman’s podcast during Destiny’s debate against Ben Shapiro, and never gets addressed — understandably so as Ben talks for a while here. Unfortunately, the video was posted during the start of my “mini-ban”, ergo I didn't have an incentive to immediately write an effort-post on the peace deal memes which would be more fleshed-out, including some recent developments which I have a fair amount of notes on; and then I lost interest in doing the write-up weeks later.
Like you all, I’ve made all the usual comments making fun of Vaush, such as when he CONCLOODED a bit too early. Occasionally, I will take a moment to point out Hasan Piker's imbecility on Ukraine; I got irritated when he called Adamsomething a former Nazi; and my ability to predict his takes trumps even Destiny. I’ve even done what this subreddit does daily, which is post screenshots of dumb tankie tweets so that we can all circlejerk about how, well, dumb they are.
Anyways, without inundating you with too many examples where I make disparaging remarks about Twitter leftists, the point is that I’m a pro-establishment liberal, and any debates I had were not on the subreddit that I’m in general alignment with. Now I know what you’re thinking: “Fuck me, is this bozo just upset that the subreddit is pro-Israel?” Quite the contrary. I am, alas, a debate pervert, and I welcomed all the new pro-Israel folk to the subreddit. While I hate the pro-Israel/pro-Palestine dichotomy and I don’t adopt either label for myself, I am practically pro-Israel; the fact that I don’t believe Israel is conducting a genocide and I’ve supported Operation Swords of Iron throughout most of its progression (eventually settling on the same ambivalence that Lonerbox has) probably makes me some depraved, Zionist shill in the eyes of some pro-Palestine folk.
And, no, to get this out the way as well, this is not a post about “Hasbara” or “brigading.” On the latter point, in response to someone else thinking there was brigading from the pro-Palestine crowd, I made the following point:
If they're dggers... then they're part of this community. Brigading typically refers to an active effort by a community to target an entirely different community, typically with some level of coordination. If a pro-Palestinian dgger likes to browse this sub, it's not brigading if they wish to partake in the discussions here.I would make the same comment about the pro-Israel dggers. Nor have I ever advocated for “purges” because, once again, the debate arena and all that jazz.
The Flaws
There have been a number of problematic behaviours on the subreddit that ramped up after the influx of new users, and folk have generally been receptive when I highlighted them in my attempts to curb it:- People taking screenshots of articles without posting sources. [1] Posting sources for the benefit of the subreddit is something I still do because people love to take screenshots of tweets from rubbish news aggregator Twitter accounts, and other moderators here have taken note of the fact that this trend continues to persist. Link your sources you bozos.
- Users who habitually blocked folk who disagreed with them, cultivating their own echochamber, and which can effectively lock you out of conversations. [2] This still occurs, particularly from users who only post comments and submissions on I-P (not that there’s anything wrong with only participating in one topic); but this is not a call-out post on specific users, which is why anytime I bring up a particular comment or submission in this post, I will always refer to the user who made it as “OP.”
- And the misinformation.
The Examples
Seeing as it's a perennial habit on this subreddit to post screenshots of tweets which received barely any engagement, [3] [4] [5] or random Discord servers, hopefully these comments that have at least a couple dozen upvotes will not be out of the ordinary. Do not be fooled by the upvote/downvote distribution here. As mentioned, the issue is not that it doesn't get addressed; the problem is that it doesn't get addressed sooner. The following is a list of some misinformation that I’ve addressed on the subreddit in chronological order. I’ll only be exploring a few of these cases in more detail, noted with an “E.”:- A submission where OP claims a thread on another subreddit had commenters saying that Gaza is a LGBTQ safe haven; naturally, no one was saying this. [6]
- A while ago (buried in some stream that I will never find), Destiny was trying to find a decent source that offered substantial evidence on the claim that one of the Hamas leaders was worth billions of dollars. Well, a couple months ago I saw a user was being heavily downvoted for correctly pointing out that the sources posted by other users here used to demonstrate the aforementioned claim either don't make that case, or are not credible. [7] E
- A claim where OP incorrectly stated that Ilhan Omar denies the Armenian genocide. [8] E
- The self-declared Israeli propagandist, who would make several comments with link-dumps supposedly demonstrating instances of Pallywood but were, in fact, false positives, and then blocked various folk who pointed this out. They were temporarily banned from the subreddit after the post (not that I requested it, and nor do I ever advocate for bans); they migrated to one of the large news subs, where they appeared in practically every I-P thread with highly-upvoted comments; and then they were eventually suspended by Reddit. [9] E
- A basic misreading of an article, where OP claimed that Human Rights Watch had accused Israel of committing a particular war crime, when they had not. [10] E
- A post where OP claimed there was a Muslim pride parade for Gaza. [11]
- A submission showing a screenshot of the title of a BBC YouTube video was made during my mini-ban, so I responded several weeks later as I thought it would make for an interesting case where not providing salient information can lead to misinformation. [12] E
- Another submission which, due to omission, doesn't accurately convey what Oxfam's full position was when it came to their initial opposition to US airdrops in Gaza, and thus can lead people to having a misinformed view. [13] E
- Finally, we have a truly bizarre comment that elevates to the level of disinformation, where OP spreads false information about an NYT article. [14] It was abundantly clear that folk hadn't read the mission report which I myself linked for the benefit of the subreddit. An example of a “charged” thread. E
- Process not the conclusion: A misreading of a Haaretz article. [15]
- A mild case of misinformation, but in an attempt to demonstrate “Twinkelstein citations” on a Wikipedia page, OP makes a couple errors in terms of how they’ve parsed the citations that support a particular statement, and no one was actually able to decently explain why. This is relevant to point 1 in the next section. [16]
- And various more examples that I will bring up when relevant later.
Prescriptions: The Six Points
The next bullet points are a list of points/prescriptions to keep in mind when going through the examples, and in general. Nothing here is ground-breaking. You’re not going to come away thinking, “Wow, I never considered that people have biases which means they won’t look at matters objectively. This is truly revolutionary stuff. Magnifico!” Nevertheless, sometimes pointing out “the obvious”, particularly when “the obvious” is still an issue, can go a long way in tempering the frequency in which it occurs.We ought to:
- Value the process just as much — if not, more — than the conclusion.
- Be wary of how the presentation of information or the omission of pertinent information can lead to the inadvertent spread of misinformation.
- Be aware of how “charged” topics/threads lead to poor reasoning that lacks dispassionate analysis.
- Be aware of how pre-existing beliefs about an individual or organization alongside the usual biases leads to a reluctance to fact-check, where claims are taken at face-value because they feel right.
- Link the article. Read the article. (Thoroughly.)
- Redirect criticism to areas where it will be the strongest.
Meat and potatoes: Explanations on the Examples
The examples should be self-explanatory, but I offer explanations in this section for further clarity. Between Examples 4 and 5, I offer some comments on headlines and media bias; this is not a comprehensive analysis, but I believe it provides some context for understanding the issue with Example 5.Without further ado:
Example 1 - Pallywood
I’ll begin with the post on Pallywood, where point 1 is relevant. Now, there’s much to be said about Pallywood, but I’ll mostly reserve the details for another post (if there's no hyperlink here, then I never found the time to make one). To cut a long story short, OP wished to provide evidence of Pallywood, specifically the instances where Palestinians attempt to fake injuries or trauma for propagandistic purposes; and instances where people take images and footage from other conflicts and misleadingly disseminate them as if they’re from the current Gaza war. (Personally, I don’t think the latter behaviour should be encompassed by the word “Pallywood”, but I’ll just grant it for now.) The only issue here is that much of the “evidence” provided was categorically not instances of this deception. In other words, while the fact that this deception exists in some capacity, the process by which they arrived there was flawed: the inadvertent usage of misinformation.Process, not just the conclusion
I am, once again, reminding y’all of Destiny's take on misinformation:It is stated that Breonna Taylor was killed in her bed or while asleep almost ubiquitously across social media despite this not being the truth. What happened to Breonna Taylor was wrong, and the police conduct that day deserves to be called into question. However, starting that discussion with an incorrect description of what happened weakens our arguments against those on the right that disagree with us. This is because we now have to begin by making concessions about lies or misrepresentations from people who purport to agree with us. Furthermore, it casts doubt about the truth of the rest of the argument for those in the middle who are unsure of where the fault lies.For you youngins, it was very common to hear folk chastise Destiny for being “pedantic” or “nitpicky.” You might even feel the same way about the misinformation I’ve addressed on the subreddit. Ultimately, I can’t force anyone to value the thought process, the evidence, the reasoning just as much as the conclusion. Glazin’ time: what I like about Destiny is that he values consistency when it comes to the application of principles. If Destiny places value on the methodology by which you arrive at your conclusion, he’s going to apply that ubiquitously, regardless of whether or not he agrees with the conclusion. The debate he had against Alex (PWF) exemplifies this, where Alex thought he could have a debate on the supply and distribution of humanitarian aid in Gaza, and he makes a series of dreadful arguments during this segment (emphasis mine):
D: I haven't even disagreed with the conclusion, I'm just showing you that I disagree with how you're getting there; I don't even know if I agree or disagree, we haven't gotten to that part of the argument yet. [17][...]
D: Anybody that starts off by quoting these organizations included by quoting to me trucks going out of the country, I'm instantly discrediting their argument. They might be correct in their conclusion like in an accidental way, but it's not worthwhile to me, I won’t even waste my time reading it.Notice the similarities here to OP’s comment in Example 1:
A: Even if you discredit my argument but you agree with my conclusion, that still wouldn't really necessarily change anything.
D: It changes everything.
A: If the conclusion is correct that there's mass starvation going on, Israel's blocking aid, even if the methodology isn't correct, but we get to the right conclusion, then what's actually the difference? [18]
some of which might not real as I said and repeating again, but the point stands. Lots of mad people not liking this and trying their hardest to disprove a single one of these as if it disproves the whole claim. I honestly do not have the mental capacity to engage in such delusions at the moment.Destiny would again make remarks about the salience of the methodology:
Also, just to be clear, even if information did come out that all of the reporting ends up being not true, I still wouldn't give Ryan Grim any credit for it because you don't give people credit for being right or wrong, you give people credit for the process that they used, right? And Ryan Grim, relying on the Gray Zone and Blumenthal, and the hacky tweets that they were going through to try to discredit those stories was bullshit, it was garbage; and the writing, the quality, the citations, and the sources were garbage. And the underlying information was garbage. So even if they end up being true, you don't get any credit at all for that. Like, you don't get credit for being right because you ended up like guessing a bunch of shit, and you know, broken clock, etc., etc., like no. [19]Hell, when RemTheBathBoi (literally neva eva wrong) absolutely annihilated Hasan during the “Great Streamer Drama Battle Royale”, he made similar points albeit focused more so on normative positions rather than descriptive ones. Fortunately, he wrote a post here that I can quote from:
Someone is morally lucky when they arrive at the correct position without any sort of critical thinking as to why it is correct.Remember: this post is a more focused on behaviour rather than the acuteness of the misinformation itself. Returning to the example, I didn’t link to them in my post, but as other users can confirm, OP had given this link-dump supposedly showing instances of Pallywood in several comments — and they hadn’t bothered to fact-check the links. I don’t care that at some point in time, Palestinians have staged a scene. How did you arrive at that conclusion? Did you take literally every tweet on the matter at face-value? Then, as Destiny mentioned above, if the conclusion ends up being correct, “you don't get any credit at all for that.”
Example 2 - Hamas and the billions
For the second example, points 1, 5 and 6 are relevant. I regret that I don't remember the stream where this happened, but Destiny also attempted to fact-check the claim, making similar remarks about the claim not being credible when he looked through the sources. The post that my submission is based on is when I first saw an indication that we were going to have a problem in terms of critical engagement with articles. The evidence that Khaled Mashal was worth $5bn all came down to what was tweeted by various Twitter accounts affiliated with the Israeli government. These accounts, in their eagerness to win the information war, will sometimes post misinformation. For example, the IDF’s Twitter account posted some footage from the Iranian missile and drone attacks against Israel; however, for some stupid fucking reason, whoever edited the compilation included a decade old clip obviously unrelated to those attacks.Per point 1, it may actually be the case that Mashal is that wealthy — but the process by which people arrived there was deeply flawed. As mentioned, the criticism is better directed (point 6) to the mere fact that he is ostentatiously wealthy, and there’s no need to commit yourself to figures that lack robust verification. Think back to Destiny's remarks about Breonna Taylor. Do you really want your argument -- the fact that Mashal is a reprehensible person who languishes in comfort while Palestinians suffer -- to be derailed?
Example 3 - Omar and the Armenian genocide
For the third example, points 2, 3, and 6 are relevant. The fact that Ilhan Omar denies the Armenian genocide is false, and OP omitted the rationale behind her vote, which leads to misplaced speculation on those who read the comment. Moreover, those who speculate won’t feel inclined to actually fact-check the comment as it is something that “feels right” based on their pre-existing beliefs on her. “Omar is a POS. This is a POS thing to do. It must be true.” Obviously, Omar is staunchly pro-Palestine, and she has an unsavoury history of making a series of controversial remarks about Israel [20] [21] [22], which many would argue rises to the level of blatant antisemitism. Regardless of whether or not you believe this is an accurate label, this is going to be the view held by many of the pro-Israel folk who come across OP’s comment, and that will influence the likelihood that they fall for misinformation. Curiously, despite addressing the comment when it had 60 upvotes, it continued to be upvoted. Finally, as I mentioned, the rationale for why she chose to vote in this manner can still be criticised, and that’s where the focus should be instead of relying on unsubstantiated claims.Example 4 - HRW
For the fourth example, points 1, 3, 4, and 5 are relevant. Clearly, no one read the article, and I have no doubt in my mind that I would have been one of the few here to actually click the article — which no one did as the claim was something that feels true, based on HRW’s long history in accusing Israel of human right’s violations. Per point 1, if HRW had accused Israel of committing a war crime over this, the article provided did not show this.This submission and comment is also an example of a charged topic: essentially, threads on highly contentious or egregious matters where emotions are running high, people are passionate, and there isn’t an immediate interest in calmly and rationally discussing the submission. The “nuance” tends to arrive several hours later.
Once again, the goal of this post is to incentivise more of a particular type of behaviour, not to say that said behaviour doesn’t exist anywhere in the subreddit or thread. In other words, the fact that the nuance is present further down in the thread, where someone links a Ryan McBeth video which offers some fair criticism, is good; all I’m saying is the good thing ought to happen sooner.
Headlines and outlets
Before I get to my next example, I need to talk about headlines. “NYT has been an utter travesty all the way through. Leading source of misinformation when it comes to Israel-Gaza.” If I asked you where that quote came from, you’d probably be tempted to say it was some pro-Israel individual or organization, rightfully irritated at the instances where NYT has dropped the ball in terms of their reporting — such as, quite infamously by now, their misreporting on who was responsible for the explosion at the al-Ahli hospital. The quote actually comes from Ryan Grim, an individual who, apparently, still believes that Israel was ultimately responsible for the aforementioned explosion.Whenever I see someone complaining about an NYT headline on some event in the I-P conflict, it’s basically a coins flip on whether or not the complaint is coming from a pro-Israel or pro-Palestine individual. It’s not only headlines, of course, the pro-Palestine complaints also include the language the NYT uses to describe violence from a particular side; which sources they choose to take direct quotes from; the disposition of their op-eds; and protests even flooded into the lobby of the NYT building earlier this year.
None of these complaints are exclusive to the NYT. BBC headlines will also catch their ire [23] [24]; it is the “most depraved genocidal propaganda rag in the world” (I think you can guess who that comes from without even clicking); they’re “absolute ghouls” because they didn’t mention who launched a particular drone strike in their headline; it was scandalous when they originally called Refaat Alareer (yes, that guy) a controversial writer; and so on.
Now, I’m not bringing this all up to make some galaxy-brained assessment where if it is the case that an outlet is receiving criticism from both sides in their coverage, then they must be doing something “right” — which is something the BBC themselves have mentioned is not the case. [25] The fact that the BBC receives a 50-50 split in complaints relating to its coverage of the Israel-Gaza war does not mean the complaints/criticisms are of equal merit. [26] [27]
What I merely wish to highlight here is that it can be challenging to comprehensively critique the coverage from an outlet if you’re not consuming their output on a daily basis, and thus you might only encounter instances where their reporting has been flawed. The BBC is not an outlet I regularly check for world news, and I’m not actively seeking out their reporting on I-P. I would imagine that also holds true for most of y’all.
BBC
You most likely heard about the BBC’s international editor acknowledging that his coverage of the al-Ahli hospital was “wrong” but that he doesn’t have regrets over the reporting — which is obviously a very foolish thing to say. It’s the sort of thing Israeli outlets are keen to report on, rightly so. You might hear about the Hamas official who stormed out of a BBC interview, which was similarly reported on by Israeli outlets.What you might not hear about is when the BBC’s editorial policy director acknowledged they made a mistake when their UK outlet did not cover South Africa’s ICJ case in a balanced manner, where Israel’s defence was broadcast in full, but only clips were shown from the opposite side as important domestic news took priority instead. Hypothetically, imagine if this was the other way around; you probably would hear about this as it would likely be reported on by some mainstream outlet, and perhaps even posted to a subreddit — not that there would be anything wrong with that.
Depending on what online spaces you inhabit, you might find that the negative qualities of an outlet’s coverage have been so overemphasised that you ultimately end with a distorted, inaccurate view on what their output truly looks like — and that’s going to influence how you might engage with aspects of their output when you encounter it in the future. It can lead to some very uncharitable readings on headlines, articles, content, interviews, etc., where there’s criticism to be made, but it’s made in the wrong direction. In some cases, however, we’re not dealing with uncharitable readings, we’re wrestling with sloppy work.
Traveling Israel
Traveling Israel is a staunchly pro-Israel channel, where the YouTuber has “butted heads” against Lonerbox on a few occasions [28] [29], but refuses to actually debate LB. I myself watched a video of TI a while ago, where he made a flawed analysis on a BBC headline. I will repost that comment:[Redacted because Reddit is silly. Just click the hyperlink.]
The fact of the matter is that most people who complain about some news outlet being "biased" are actually upset that the outlet is not biased enough to their side. These people also tend to focus on cherry-picking their examples, ignoring myriad examples where the coverage casts their side in a favourable light.I’ll amend the final paragraph here as saying “most” is too strong of a generalization, and my comment comes across as an indirect attack against those that are doing a worthy task in illustrating the egregious biases an outlet might have, such that some level of skepticism is warranted when it comes to original reporting. And, once again, for the reposted comment, remember point 1: If TI wishes to make the case that the BBC has the most anti-Israeli coverage in terms of international media, he’s more than welcome to do so, but the example he used to support his case is a poor one.
Click here for pain; also click here for part 2.
Alternatively, click here for a cute baby seal.2024.05.12 14:26 danceintherainn Do you have collections? And if so what do you collect?
I collect books mainly, physically and digitally. I’m limited right now with the space I have for books and I hate clutter so I’m saving for a new bookcase. I love digitally collecting things as I can avoid the clutter but I don’t get the exact same satisfaction as looking at a physical collection. I also have a digital collection of games in on my switch. I also have an extensive physical and digital movie collection.
I also digitally collect funny or cute memes and favourite quotes etc. I sort them all into folders on my phone.
Growing up I used to collect small statues and figurines. Plushies. Polly pockets. I had a rock collection and a shell collection. Tazos (if you remember them). Magazines. Lip smackers. Furbies.
I actually would like to collect more things again but I really struggle with that versus my hate of having clutter. And my need to stop spending money 🫣 I need everything very organised with its own spot and the apartment I live in isn’t very big. Like I would really love to start buying and building Lego because there are so many great sets these days but I do not have the space for them 😫
Edit: Thank you for all your responses here, I honestly love reading about all your collections 🥹 my newest favourite collection is all your comments 🫶🏻
Edit2: I also forgot to mention I collect stickers too. I also love anything Daisy related, I have a folder in my phone just of pictures of daisies. I also collect the bottle tops off this drink I love because it has this really cute character on it.
submitted by danceintherainn to autism [link] [comments]
I also digitally collect funny or cute memes and favourite quotes etc. I sort them all into folders on my phone.
Growing up I used to collect small statues and figurines. Plushies. Polly pockets. I had a rock collection and a shell collection. Tazos (if you remember them). Magazines. Lip smackers. Furbies.
I actually would like to collect more things again but I really struggle with that versus my hate of having clutter. And my need to stop spending money 🫣 I need everything very organised with its own spot and the apartment I live in isn’t very big. Like I would really love to start buying and building Lego because there are so many great sets these days but I do not have the space for them 😫
Edit: Thank you for all your responses here, I honestly love reading about all your collections 🥹 my newest favourite collection is all your comments 🫶🏻
Edit2: I also forgot to mention I collect stickers too. I also love anything Daisy related, I have a folder in my phone just of pictures of daisies. I also collect the bottle tops off this drink I love because it has this really cute character on it.
2024.05.12 12:41 ReflectionAbject6633 Hitting at rock bottom ; waiting for life to rescue.
Greetings, fellow readers! Welcome to my blog. I’m Isha Sharma. First of all, grab a cup of tea. Today I’m going to tell you all about myself while you all can enjoy the tea.
My name is Isha Sharma, and I’m a passionate reader just like you. I recently discovered my love for reading, right after dropping out of college. Yes, now you all know I’m a dropout. I was pursuing my BA Hons. in Economics from UPES, Dehradun. Dream City, right? I know, but what went wrong?
When I graduated from high school, I just wanted to get out of my city, Jaipur, or Pink City, as we say. The intent was to get my higher education at DU, but I didn't meet the expected criteria. Then a friend of mine suggested UPES. After researching the college, I found it to be a cool and nice place to study, and also far away from home, which was a win-win situation for me.
Studying in Dehradun turned out to be one of my worst decisions. Like Ryan Reynolds says, “When you have expectations, you are setting yourself up for disappointment." There, I was doing everything except studying. Partying till late, skipping classes, smoking marijuana and losing touch with my core personality. And not to forget my increased levels of intoxications. Those group sittings and puffing which many of you can relate. The peer group you find at college plays important role in your life ahead. Today, one in every 5 youth are influenced with weeds or something… I became one of them officially. Well,finally after wasting a year and a half, I came to my senses and decided to drop out.
I went back to my sweet birthplace, Jaipur. Another bomb came right up; my breakup happened that very same year, right after leaving university. That breakup left me feeling lost, shattered, and unsure of what lay ahead. So, what did I do after dropping out? What happened after the breakup? These things must be running through your mind, right?
Well, obviously, like every mindful person, I also made a road map. After dropping out of university, I wanted to start my own venture. I made the right plan in which field I wanted to go and what business I wanted to do, did the research, and everything was in its place except the most important thing, ‘FUNDING’. I had zero capital. I could not ask anyone to fund my venture.
Then I thought maybe I should wait and save some money first. I did my very first job as a sales executive for the U.S. process. They paid me fair money. The plan was to save some funds and then invest them in my venture. Disappointment hit, and money was never saved. I quit the job and did nothing after that; I was just postponing everything.
Life has a way of surprising us with unexpected twists and turns. I was going through a phase where nothing was working out; I dropped out of university, a breakup happened, and I was not focused enough to even start my dream venture. It was like standing in a dark tunnel with no light. I was hurting and gave up hope for everything.
Then 2023 ended, and I wished everyone a Happy New Year. While the thought was running through my head, What’s so Happy and New about this year? You could describe that feeling as a feeling of stagnation, where I perceived that this year would be a repetition of the experiences and outcomes of the previous year. But a long time ago, my sister made this quote for my phone wallpaper: “Right things happen when you least expect them."
2024 had a huge impact on me; it changed me completely. I did things I never thought I would do and stopped the ones which i thought i couldn’t. Like writing this blog or writing for the fact. Some people might be less expressive and less talkative. I was one of them; I would not let anyone know what was running through my head. For the first time, I wanted to talk and express whatever I was feeling. I wanted to say it all out loud. Sometimes, it's essential to let it all out and express ourselves. I think this way, we can experience the weight of our emotions and make room in our hearts for something new.
I am so glad to have such supportive people around me—my sisters and my buddies. During my dark phase, they were there, reminding me of my strength. Whether it was a late-night chat with my sisters filled with encouragement or an outing with my friends to eat my favorite comfort food, their gestures of compassion never failed to bring a smile to my face. They have been my constant supporters and good listeners.
Have you ever experienced a moment where you found hope again? Well, I was experiencing that moment where hope was finding its way back into my life. It's truly a beautiful feeling, isn't it? I started prioritizing myself. I enrolled in activities that bring peace and happiness, like cooking. I have always loved cooking, more specifically baking, I love to bake desserts; it calms my mind. Correspondingly, I enrolled myself in other activities as well, like yoga, meditation, and Hinge (a dating app). I know it was not my idea initially; we all know how friends are, but I am very glad to join Hinge. I met this very cute and like-minded guy. He has been the sweetest, most patient, and most compassionate man to me when I've needed him lately. His support has not only helped me through difficulties but has also inspired personal growth. It's a testament to the fact that even in the most unexpected places, we can find the support and love we need to navigate life's challenges. Ending of 2023 also ended a phase which was changing me for the worst. The decision to quit marijuana hit as instant as 1 January after 31 December. It’s been 5 months in 2024 and this Isha is clean as glass. This was one of the best feeling which made me pat my back, for myself !!
Through the healing process, I embarked on a journey of self-discovery. I reconnected with forgotten passions, explored new hobbies, and nurtured relationships that brought me joy. The breakup and failures became a catalyst for personal growth, pushing me to redefine myself and embrace the person I was becoming.
While I was healing and learning new things, an opportunity came knocking on my door: social media and digital marketing. Not coming from this background, I had no knowledge about it, but I was very curious to learn and couldn't wait to try my hands on it. I was feeling like a hungry wolf. There is this saying, “A wolf climbing on the hill is hungrier than the wolf on the hill." I just had this one thing running through my mind constantly. I want to make it. I want to chase this feeling of a hungry wolf.
I got my certification in social media marketing from HubSpot Academy. The HubSpot Social Media Marketing Certification is a complete course that includes video lectures and quizzes after each video lecture. They cover everything from how to do social media marketing to why a business needs social media marketing and understanding the dynamics of social media ads. It is a complete package course. It’s better to take baby steps and master that one specific area rather than try to do it all at once and fool yourself by doing nothing at all. Like Dan Millman says, “A little bit of something is better than nothing.” I’m trying my best to be my best potential version, rather than being pushed down and feeling like a loser.
My mantra for 2024 is ‘Striving high and performing on it.’ That’s my anecdote. Now you all know me well enough, I guess. Through my blog, I hope to create a society where we can relate to and learn from each other.
In wrapping up my self-introduction blog, let’s embark on this journey together, I invite you to share your own experiences and reflections in the comments below. Whether you've faced similar challenges or found inspiration in unexpected places, your voice adds richness to our community.
Let's connect, learn, and grow together. Together, we can transform this space into a vibrant hub of positivity and mutual support.
Cheers to new beginnings and shared adventures!
submitted by ReflectionAbject6633 to u/ReflectionAbject6633 [link] [comments]
My name is Isha Sharma, and I’m a passionate reader just like you. I recently discovered my love for reading, right after dropping out of college. Yes, now you all know I’m a dropout. I was pursuing my BA Hons. in Economics from UPES, Dehradun. Dream City, right? I know, but what went wrong?
When I graduated from high school, I just wanted to get out of my city, Jaipur, or Pink City, as we say. The intent was to get my higher education at DU, but I didn't meet the expected criteria. Then a friend of mine suggested UPES. After researching the college, I found it to be a cool and nice place to study, and also far away from home, which was a win-win situation for me.
Studying in Dehradun turned out to be one of my worst decisions. Like Ryan Reynolds says, “When you have expectations, you are setting yourself up for disappointment." There, I was doing everything except studying. Partying till late, skipping classes, smoking marijuana and losing touch with my core personality. And not to forget my increased levels of intoxications. Those group sittings and puffing which many of you can relate. The peer group you find at college plays important role in your life ahead. Today, one in every 5 youth are influenced with weeds or something… I became one of them officially. Well,finally after wasting a year and a half, I came to my senses and decided to drop out.
I went back to my sweet birthplace, Jaipur. Another bomb came right up; my breakup happened that very same year, right after leaving university. That breakup left me feeling lost, shattered, and unsure of what lay ahead. So, what did I do after dropping out? What happened after the breakup? These things must be running through your mind, right?
Well, obviously, like every mindful person, I also made a road map. After dropping out of university, I wanted to start my own venture. I made the right plan in which field I wanted to go and what business I wanted to do, did the research, and everything was in its place except the most important thing, ‘FUNDING’. I had zero capital. I could not ask anyone to fund my venture.
Then I thought maybe I should wait and save some money first. I did my very first job as a sales executive for the U.S. process. They paid me fair money. The plan was to save some funds and then invest them in my venture. Disappointment hit, and money was never saved. I quit the job and did nothing after that; I was just postponing everything.
Life has a way of surprising us with unexpected twists and turns. I was going through a phase where nothing was working out; I dropped out of university, a breakup happened, and I was not focused enough to even start my dream venture. It was like standing in a dark tunnel with no light. I was hurting and gave up hope for everything.
Then 2023 ended, and I wished everyone a Happy New Year. While the thought was running through my head, What’s so Happy and New about this year? You could describe that feeling as a feeling of stagnation, where I perceived that this year would be a repetition of the experiences and outcomes of the previous year. But a long time ago, my sister made this quote for my phone wallpaper: “Right things happen when you least expect them."
2024 had a huge impact on me; it changed me completely. I did things I never thought I would do and stopped the ones which i thought i couldn’t. Like writing this blog or writing for the fact. Some people might be less expressive and less talkative. I was one of them; I would not let anyone know what was running through my head. For the first time, I wanted to talk and express whatever I was feeling. I wanted to say it all out loud. Sometimes, it's essential to let it all out and express ourselves. I think this way, we can experience the weight of our emotions and make room in our hearts for something new.
I am so glad to have such supportive people around me—my sisters and my buddies. During my dark phase, they were there, reminding me of my strength. Whether it was a late-night chat with my sisters filled with encouragement or an outing with my friends to eat my favorite comfort food, their gestures of compassion never failed to bring a smile to my face. They have been my constant supporters and good listeners.
Have you ever experienced a moment where you found hope again? Well, I was experiencing that moment where hope was finding its way back into my life. It's truly a beautiful feeling, isn't it? I started prioritizing myself. I enrolled in activities that bring peace and happiness, like cooking. I have always loved cooking, more specifically baking, I love to bake desserts; it calms my mind. Correspondingly, I enrolled myself in other activities as well, like yoga, meditation, and Hinge (a dating app). I know it was not my idea initially; we all know how friends are, but I am very glad to join Hinge. I met this very cute and like-minded guy. He has been the sweetest, most patient, and most compassionate man to me when I've needed him lately. His support has not only helped me through difficulties but has also inspired personal growth. It's a testament to the fact that even in the most unexpected places, we can find the support and love we need to navigate life's challenges. Ending of 2023 also ended a phase which was changing me for the worst. The decision to quit marijuana hit as instant as 1 January after 31 December. It’s been 5 months in 2024 and this Isha is clean as glass. This was one of the best feeling which made me pat my back, for myself !!
Through the healing process, I embarked on a journey of self-discovery. I reconnected with forgotten passions, explored new hobbies, and nurtured relationships that brought me joy. The breakup and failures became a catalyst for personal growth, pushing me to redefine myself and embrace the person I was becoming.
While I was healing and learning new things, an opportunity came knocking on my door: social media and digital marketing. Not coming from this background, I had no knowledge about it, but I was very curious to learn and couldn't wait to try my hands on it. I was feeling like a hungry wolf. There is this saying, “A wolf climbing on the hill is hungrier than the wolf on the hill." I just had this one thing running through my mind constantly. I want to make it. I want to chase this feeling of a hungry wolf.
I got my certification in social media marketing from HubSpot Academy. The HubSpot Social Media Marketing Certification is a complete course that includes video lectures and quizzes after each video lecture. They cover everything from how to do social media marketing to why a business needs social media marketing and understanding the dynamics of social media ads. It is a complete package course. It’s better to take baby steps and master that one specific area rather than try to do it all at once and fool yourself by doing nothing at all. Like Dan Millman says, “A little bit of something is better than nothing.” I’m trying my best to be my best potential version, rather than being pushed down and feeling like a loser.
My mantra for 2024 is ‘Striving high and performing on it.’ That’s my anecdote. Now you all know me well enough, I guess. Through my blog, I hope to create a society where we can relate to and learn from each other.
In wrapping up my self-introduction blog, let’s embark on this journey together, I invite you to share your own experiences and reflections in the comments below. Whether you've faced similar challenges or found inspiration in unexpected places, your voice adds richness to our community.
Let's connect, learn, and grow together. Together, we can transform this space into a vibrant hub of positivity and mutual support.
Cheers to new beginnings and shared adventures!
2024.05.11 20:30 Violet-Flowersss Challenge 5: Results
 | Queens, this challenge allowed for a lot of creativity and innovation. Sadly, many of you played it safe. I had a difficult time judging - specifically, choosing a top three and bottom three. As such, this challenge, there is only a top two and a bottom four. submitted by Violet-Flowersss to MissFiggysDragRace [link] [comments] Raven Starfire and Tracy Martel, you are both safe. Tracy, B*tch gave you her Golden Fig, but since you are safe, it has no effect. That means, B*tch, Absynthe, Cali Rose, Liz Onya, Mistress Anna Conda, and Miz Erie, you all represent the tops and the bottoms of this challenge. The following critiques are a blend of mine and Kelege’s thoughts. Btch: Btch, I really appreciate that you went a cyberpunk route for this challenge. It’s definitely different and unexpected. Your look definitely looks man-made, like it was made from post-apocalyptic materials. But, I feel you had too many ideas here, and they just don’t all work together. The look itself is very busy; there’s not just one focal point so your eyes don’t know where to look. Part of that comes from the multitude of colors. I like that the dress and shoes are pink to bring in a feminine touch, but then the blue, purple, and burgundy tones don’t work as well. The blue hair is cute, but it’s the only blue in the outfit, so it sticks out like a sore thumb. The purple works well with the pink, but there’s too little of it to be an effective accent color. The same goes for the burgundy, maybe even more so since its so similar in shade to the black accents. I especially wish the shoulder piece was pink to blend with the dress better. As it is, it ruins the illusion of a one-piece dress. The editing of the flags is really nice, the shadows are gorgeous. But, there’s a big flaw in your editing when it comes to your left hand. The arm is not completely under or over the dress, its like its morphing through it. The bat is under the dress, though, so its just awkwardly floating there instead of being held. The same thing is happening with the wig; part of the googles are underneath the love machine wig, again ruining the illusion that its one piece. The concept is really great, and I very much appreciate your creative mind, but the execution is unfortunately messy. Absynthe: Absynthe, I’m totally obsessed with how you interpreted this challenge prompt. Your look is very much giving me Subnautica aliens, and I’m living for it. Even without knowing the brief, I know exactly what your serving, and I’m eating it up. The blend of the multiple pieces is flawless and creates a perfectly cohesive dress. The microchip detailing on the draping fabric is especially stunning. You’ve completely reworked this wig to fit this look and challenge, and with this wig, that’s extra impressive. With that, though, I wish you had gone the extra step to make the jewels on the headpiece and bottom lip silver or green, since there isn’t gold anywhere else in this outfit. The mismatched metals don’t feel intentional; it feels like you forgot about them. Similarly, I wish the stone on the bottom part of the dress were brighter to really sell the motherboard fantasy. There’s also a little bit of color outside of the lines on the dress. If you paid more attention to the details, you’d be unstoppable. While these small details could’ve been better, I still really love this look and the concept here. I definitely didn’t expect someone to do a microchip/motherboard look, but of course, you always surprise me! Incredible work this challenge. Cali Rose: Cali, I really feel like you played it safe this challenge, and that’s not what I’m looking for here. The concept of electroshock therapy could have been really cool, and great way to raise awareness. The story you told is achieved through the two looks, yet neither me nor Kelege were a fan of either of your looks. For your first look, the combination of pieces feels very uninspired. While the two rainbow pieces convey gayness because of their colors, it was such a simple and predictable way to portray an out gay person. I personally would’ve loved if you’d gone with a more understated look, since its pretty rare people go out wearing full rainbow outfits and a more understated look would have emphasized the cruelty of electroshock therapy by highlighting our humanity as gay people. The second look does a great job at conveying hopelessness and suffering, primarly because of the black and white filter. The makeup is also great and works to convey those feelings. I understand why you used the headphones, but the bag doesn’t make sense here, and I wish you had edited it out. While the dress somewhat makes sense here, scrubs or a straightjacket or something more hospital-ly would’ve been more effective. There's also a small dark dot in the background that’s really driving me crazy, and I don’t even know how it got there because you didn’t do much editing. The headphones add a touch of technology, but not enough to fufill the challenge prompt. Neither of these looks look mechanical or man-made. This is a story we’ve heard before, and while it is important and worth hearing multiple times, your looks don’t give us anything new. Had your second look been more over the top and played into the electricity theme more, that could’ve fulfilled the challenge better and given us something new. Liz Onya: Liz… you delivered, devoured, and demolished this challenge. To quote Kelege “Creative, innovative, forward-thinking, and out of the box are several words I would use to describe this look,” and if you know Kelege, you know what high praise that is. This is exactly what I want and hope for with every challenge. Without reading your description or knowing the challenge prompt, I know exactly what your serving, and thats a testament to your ability to tell a story through a look. The editing here is just phenomenal. The way you managed to take the heart out of the top and make it look like its springing out of your rest is incredible. I particularly really love the broken off arm, it really adds to the story, and the glimpse of metal peeking through the arm is the kind of detail I love. I challenged you to go beyond just pretty, and you’ve really taken that challenge to heart (pun intended). You are still beautiful, but in a haunting, innovative way. Another detail I greatly appreciate is the lips. You could’ve just left them as is, but you went the extra step to add oil and broken skin, and I’m so glad you did. Some framing around the glass panels on the skirt to enclose them would’ve helped define them, but that’s so so small. Looks like these are why I love judging, and I hope everyone else is taking notes from you. Mistress Anna Conda: Mistress, representing wires was a fun idea, and I love that you went for colorful wires. Unfortunately, that idea wasn’t fully conveyed with this look. The outfit gives rave rather than man-made or mechanical, which was the challenge prompt. The recoloring on the wig is really great, I’m sure that was super time-consuming. The bundles don’t really look like wires, though, just colorful hair. Had you added some frayed wire ends or done something else with the wig, it would’ve conveyed wires more clearly. I do applaud you for making this dress look good, that’s not an easy task. But, it feels like the rest of the outfit was an afterthought after editing the wig. I see what you were trying to do with the shoes, but it falls short because the straps also don’t look like wires. I would have loved to have seen the wire motif pushed further, with wires wrapping around you or electric detailing, just something else to give wires more. As is, this look feels too simple and falls short of the challenge prompt. Miz Erie: Miz, I gave you an extra hour for your submission, and it feels like you made this look entirely in that extra hour. Compared to the other looks that didn’t need extra time, this really falls short. A robot wife is not a very original concept, and the execution didn’t bring anything new either. You hoarded pieces that you didn’t use, which prevented others from using them, but also I was really looking forward to seeing how you’d use the Clockmaster wig. I think you originally had a different idea, and I wish you had given me that. As for the look you did submit, the color story is nice, although the blue bunny zipper sticks out like a sore thumb. Additionally, whenever robot wives are shown in media, they're so often pink, so a different color story could’ve been your way to reinvent robot wives. This skirt is also a very predictable choice for your concept. The asymmetry of the shoulder piece really bothers me; while I love a good asymmetrical moment, this isn’t one. I also have no idea why you went with roller blades for the shoes, they ruin the futuristic vision. Had you added to wheels to different shoes, that could’ve been really cool. The wig is nice and helps sell the story, and I do like that you added the antenna on top. Since full editing was allowed, there was a lot more you could’ve done other than just combining wigs. The hands are completely bare- you could’ve at least added nails, or dishwashing gloves, or some other handhold items to really hit the wife idea home. The detailing on the face was a nice touch, and helped sell the fantasy, but that should’ve been added all over. I know what you’re capable of, and I’m really sad you didn’t give me the Miz Erie experience this challenge. Absynthe, you are mother… board! You are safe. Liz Onya, your look made my heart pump out of my chest. Condragulations, you are the winner of this challenge!! B*tch, you let your creative mind run rampant this challenge, and it didn’t pan out. You… are safe. Cali Rose, Mistress Anna Conda, and Miz Erie, all three of you feel extremely short of the challenge this week. All three of you are up for elimination, but only one will be eliminated. Now, it is time to looksync for your life. |