weapons of self destruction

Well, it was a long day. I had to cheer myself up so I grabbed my (dying) graphic tablet.

The quote is from Robin Williams’ stand up from 2009 (Weapons of Self Destruction). Best pickup line EVER! Robin, thanks for putting a smile on my face. The world misses you so badly!

I Didn’t Know There Was A Place Past Rock Bottom

I remember when you had whole galaxies in the smallest parts of your eyes and when the stars burned beneath your skin, tell me how does it feel to be so full yet so empty? I reach for you and I find nothing. All I wanted was to collide with you, to make something bigger than the both of us. But I think the stars in you died a long time ago because I can’t find the ones that guide me home anymore. We used to sip bleach from fancy glasses and pretend it’s the wine we were too afraid to steal from the kitchen late at night. And we carved into our bodies like the dead trees we used to carve young love’s initials. We wore ripped jeans and shredded hearts and we popped pills like candy all while they said “it’s just on your head” and people used to wonder why we wanted to die so bad.

When I am mad I destroy everything within my reach including you. I collect my anger in my finger tips and on the tip of my tongue then use it to tear you apart because I can’t reach the part of me that I hate the most. I know these must be my hands but I can’t remember what they do. And this is a heartbeat or an attempt to escape a body that does not feel like my own. And she thinks I’ll hurt her but I swear to you my darling the only heart I’ve ever broken is my own.

I don’t write to heal. I don’t write so that you can fill the empty space between my words with the belief that they are written with the purest intentions. I write to destroy. I write so that I can find a sick satisfaction in making you hurt like me. Let me break your heart just to punctuate it with a period. Let me make your stomach drop and call it art. Let me use my words as weapons of self-destruction, words like a razor to the wrist, words like a pill to the lips. Do you hurt like me yet? Do you understand?

I am broken open for all to see. I am cracked wide so you can see my inside. I’ve got to pull my pieces together so I can show you, I’m getting better.

I still catch myself thinking about you. Not just at night, even in the daytime. Sometimes you are my first thought in the morning. This has happened since forever. No I have not forgotten you. That seems impossible. And for a fact, I know it is. But I promised myself I will make space for my future. Which doesn’t involve you, no matter how much I want it to happen. I guess this is why love has always been a weapon of self-destruction.
—  Excerpt from a book I will never write #1107 //  @coffeeinmyvein
You Just Never Saw It

Pairing: Balthazar x Reader
Word count: 1,357 (Before lyrics)
Warnings: Fluff.
Request: ( Anonymous ) Ok… so i was wondering if u could do a DeanXreader to the song, “I’d Lie” by Taylor Swift? And possibly make it where dean and the reader end up together? #ThanksInAdvance. On the request “I’d Lie” i meant Balthazar.

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So here’s an idea dump for a theoretical Alter Gawain:

Draws on his memories of both failing his King and the loss of his entirely family at Lancelot’s hands (his three brothers were killed by him as were, in some sources, all of Gawain’s sons when Lancelot rescues Guinevere from her execution and then flees). Thus is want for revenge becomes a driving force causing him to be summoned in the Avenger class as an Alter.

His desire to serve a good king becomes a painful obsession. He will serve his King (or Master in this case) near blindly and put his all into crushing their enemies. Fear of death or injury has fled him completely. He is a weapon to be used in service of his Lord.

His view of himself as nothing more than a destructive weapon is manifest in his capability to injure himself to increase his own potency in battle as the fire in his blood runs over his weapon.

Beneath his self-destructive and hollow nature there is an endless pit of grief and despair. A broken man who sees his only recourse left as dying in service to his King.

Title: Heir of Rage

Character Traits: Anger-Management Issues but Genuine and Friendly (Most of the Time)

Path to Ascension: An Heir of Rage would ascend very peacefully, during a quiet moment in the game. The calm before the storm, if you will. Since Heirs inherit their aspect, after ascension they’d suddenly gain AAAALLL the rage. It will be fearsome and terrifying, able to rip people apart with their bare hands. This is why Paradox Space let’s them ascend peacefully; gives them a quiet moment before the Anger approaches.

Powers: An Heir of Rage inherits all the Rage. All of it. All with 8 a’s. What they do with it after that is their choice. They can use it themselves and tap into it to fly into a berserker-like rage that is fearsome to behold. They can amp up the terror even more by adding rage upon rage if they so felt like it. It’d be a truly piss-your-pants moment seeing someone glowing purple and clearly angry fly over the horizon. The rage gives the player extra speed and strength the bash aside everyone in their way. Another thing they can do with Rage is give it to others and make THEM rage. Oh my god you could make a berserker army! Other interesting things they can do with rage include turning into flying rage and float around people or through them, causing them to get angry. Heirs of Rage can literally turn into Rage auras and float around for fun. Yayyyy! That’s not all though, Heirs of Rage have the ability to get inside others heads, find the thing most precious to them, and destroy it or otherwise deface it to make them fly into a rage- but this rage is destructive and causes them to make disastrous mistakes. MWAHAHAHAHA! *ahem*

Strengths: These players make fearsome opponents in battle. With a never-ending rage behind them, they can basically obliterate the competition. (Depending on what weapons they have) They also make loyal soldiers and can make opponents self-destruct in a series of terrible strategic decisions fueled by rage.

Pitfalls: There is so much that could go wrong with these players. They’re extremely dangerous and should be watched carefully. They could rage against friends, turn friends against each other, cause the leader to make terrible decisions, and generally make the team self-destruct in anger. The best possible moirail is advised with these players. Maybe even a matesprit. One thing to note is that the Heirs inherit their aspect, which means an Heir of Rage should NOT be approached immediately after ascension. They will be imbued with the power of a thousand enraged gods. Do NOT approach them until the dark purple aura disappears. This means they have gotten the anger under control and are safe to approach. Psychologically, anger is their enemy. Too much anger can permanently alter their mind and cause sever psychological trauma. Again, an astounding moirail is strongly advised.

Inverted Title: Mage of Hope

anonymous asked:

now that I think about it, the designers would have to be complete idiots to create a Jimin controller and leave it lying about for anyone to get. It's kind of like those villains who for some reason create a 'self-destruct' button for their weapons and creations. :000 BUT IF THEY DID MAKE ONE THEN IN THE LONG RUN JIMIN COULD EITHER BE DEACTIVATED OR DEACTIVATES HIMSELF AS SUICIDE BECAUSE HE LEARNS TO FEEL AND SOME SHIT MIGHT'VE HAPPENED TO HIM. ALL THIS BECAUSE SOME NUTJOB MADE A REMOTE FOR IT

This is the most depressing thing omfg. I may be evil but im not THAT evil hahaha

His emotional capability and understanding is going to be v important in part 3

yet another TFLN meme

[text]: I can’t trust your balls anymore

[text]: According to the arrest report, I shouted “no, YOU put some pants on” at the cop. Downhill from there.

[text]: Stop it. You know what r&b does to my body

[text]: I feel awful. The bartender added me on facebook and there’s chips all over the bathroom floor

[text]: Baked goods and tits. Hard to go wrong there.

[text]: He drunk texted me what I think is two snails fucking on a mushroom. Is “you sick bastard” too mild a rejection?

[text]: A party without a pinata is not a party I want to attend.

[text]: I can insert a female catheter, but I cannot grill a cheese.

[text]: Only you would consider your best friend fucking your boyfriend to be a sign of everlasting friendship

[text]: I’m glad you don’t care about kids. That’s one of your better qualities.


[text]: He’s far too busy staring into my soul to touch my tits.

[text]: Decided to stop by the store on my walk of shame. I must really look like shit, a six year old girl just walked up to me and said “my mommy wanted me to tell you Jesus loves you.” Thanks kid.

[text]: Do you remember telling the Uber driver that “his cologne makes you want to bone”?

[text]: I can’t open my mouth wide enough to make full use of this snapchat update

[text]: Costco™. Making alcoholism affordable!

[text]: shut up and let me use my vagina as a weapon of self destruction in peace!

[text]: I’m making myself the patron saint of bisexuality

[text]: Someone needs to fuck me in my slutty pumpkin costume, and I would ideally like it to be you

[text]: Apparently today is power bottom appreciation day. Consider urself appreciated

[text]: I don’t know why I bit your face last night but I’m sorry.

[text]: I have drunkenly angered a family of raccoons. Please send help immediately.

[text]: I’m sorry for getting drunk and throwing a robo-bird at you.

[text]: I’ll meet you in hell with unlimited boxes of wine though

[text]: i’m gonna crowd surf you onto his dick

A Harvard mathematician reveals how algorithms are making police and the courts more biased

Cathy O'Neil, a self-proclaimed math nerd and author of “Weapons of Math Destruction” explains how police data leads to bias in the criminal justice system. Following is a transcript of the video.

O'NEIL: We don’t actually collect data on crime, we collect the data that the police collect. I’m Cathy O'Neil. I’m a math nerd, data scientist, and author. When you think about algorithms in the criminal justice system, you have to really think about the data and how the data is built.

So the way predictive policing works is they take the data, they look for crime data and they really don’t have crime data so they use … their best proxy for it which is usually arrest data which means that police are basically sent back to the same neighborhood where they’re already over policing. And in particular they’re not sent to neighborhoods that have crime but aren’t — those crimes aren’t found. Now if you think about what that means for the algorithms where you’re looking for crimes based on the location of previous arrests, or previous convictions, or even previous reported crime, that kind of algorithm is intrinsically biased.

And then there’s another kind of algorithm that is a little downstream from the predictive policing algorithm. It’s called the recidivism risk algorithm. Recidivism risk algorithms are used by judges to determine how long to sentence a defendant. And the higher risk of recidivism, which is the risk of returning to prison sometime in the future, or even just getting arrested in the future, the higher risk, the longer someone gets sentenced And what ProPublica found was the compass model which is one version of a recidivism model made mistakes by sending people to prison longer, that kind of mistake, twice as often for African-American defendants as for white defendants, at least in Broward County Florida.

And if —  there’s another kind of mistake you can make which is: you look like you’re not coming back, you look low-risk but you actually do come back that kind of risk that kind of mistake was made twice as often for white defendants as for African-American defendants.

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Vanquish Loneliness - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky Barnes helps you deal with your depression

A/N: I’m so very sad right now and I don’t know what to do so I’m trying to write out my feelings and also treat you because you guys liking my writing is the only thing I really have going for me anymore.


The tears wouldn’t stop falling, why wouldn’t they just stop fucking falling? Your eyes burnt, they were weighed with the water that slipped passed the barrier created by your eyelashes. But these weren’t just simply tears. Tears were easy to let out, sometimes they were just the embodiment of a bad moment, and sometimes they were the embodiment of a great occurrence in your life. The tears that fell from your eyes though, they were so much more sinister and evil, they were weighted by the loneliness that burned in your chest and demanded an end.

A permanent end.

Three words, a permanent end. Even those seemed heavy, and they were just sounds, not an object.

It was the loneliness that got to you. Since you could remember, it had always been the loneliness that got to you, no matter where you were, or who you were with, the loneliness sneaked its way down your throat and onto your heart. It would remain there for days on end and stay, it would build a home around your heart and that house would be made from your ribs. Once the ribs were gone there was no way for you to stand up, all you had left to do was stay in bed and cry out your pain. And that’s what loneliness wants. It will eat you alive and swallow every ounce of hope you had spare. It will feast upon any happiness you have left and leave behind an empty carcass. It takes your heart into its claws, squeezing out every bit of life you had circulating throughout your opaque veins. It craves for you to suffer a life without any warm hands embracing you, or any shoulders to go cry upon. No, this beast wants you to only feel their cold fingertips tracing your soul, getting close to you, yet leaving in the end.

It is a lethal weapon created by your own self-destructive mind. Not just an emotion, anyone who thinks that is just naive. Loneliness is a beast that is something you should be afraid of because you have no power over it.

How long had you even been crying? Minutes? Hours? Days? That’s another thing loneliness takes away from you, your sense of time.

A knock came from the doorway and you ignored it, which seemed weird considering your problem right now was loneliness. And really, it’s inexplicable, there is no way to understand why you feel so lonely even if you’re in a room full of people talking to you and being friendly. And it’s because of that feeling remaining that you have now chosen to just ignore those people, they provided you with no healing, and you would only provide them with sadness.

The sadness split from every pore in your body, it was expressed on the deep set frown on your lips, and seemed to leak from your weak touch. It was difficult for you to even stand anymore, because every time you did get up, something would just remind you of how barren your existence truly is and your legs would collapse like jello, a thousand pound weight pushing against the bottom of your belly.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was like a siren call to you, it made you look up from the tear stained pillow. You still didn’t say anything. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Please go away,” the words felt separate from you, it must be the loneliness speaking again. You were too weak to fight it anyway, so why not let it do your fights for you. There was still a semblance of you in the voice as it came out weak, the tone shifting constantly much like your emotions. “Please.”

You heard a shuffling outside of the doorway but he hand’t left, he was simply getting into a different position. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” that was you who said that, the loneliness had actually permitted you to vocalise your own feelings.

Bucky’s response was silent, and for a moment you wondered if he had actually left. To make sure, you pushed your body out from under the blanket you’d hidden under. It remained wrapped around your shoulders as you slowly, almost cautiously, exited the bed and walked over towards the door. “Steve and Falcon made me watch a movie today, I think it was called ‘Mulan’.”

Your eyebrow raised as you contemplated over what he was doing, had he not heard you when you practically begged him to go away? Though the three more steps sapped your energy, you arrived at the doorway. “I’m familiar with the movie.” You whispered. You’re not sure why you had whispered your reply, you think a part of you is hoping that he’ll leave you to die slowly and alone in your darkened bedroom, whilst another part of you is silently begging for him to do something and stop this madness from reaching a finality in your brain.

“What did you think of it?” He asked, his voice casual as though this was an everyday conversation. As though you weren’t stood behind the door contemplating ending what you were perceiving to be a worthless life.

After a moment you collapsed against the door, sliding down until you were sat with your knees placed against your chest. “What did you think of it?”

There were more shuffling sounds from the other side of the doorway and you felt the door shake against your back, suggesting that he had sat down too. “I really liked it, the story was pretty good. I… uh… I actually quite enjoyed the music.”

“Did you like ‘Be A Man’?” You asked with a small smile appearing on your face as you could just imagine him in the role of Shang, though you weren’t sure if he’d be that great of a singer. “You know the whole ‘be a man, you must be swift as a coursing river’ blah blah blah?”

“You know the lyrics?” His voice raved a few octaves and you could tell from that, that he’d gotten rather excited and impressed.

You nodded your head even though he couldn’t see you, “yes,” you quickly said after realising that he couldn’t see you, “I know all the lyrics to all the songs. I’m a huge disney fan.” By now your small smile had grown bigger, it wasn’t from ear to ear, but it was a smile. You couldn’t believe that what Bucky was doing was actually working, but you suppose it not only helped distract you from the dark thoughts that hovered over your mind like a storm cloud. But it also made you feel like you were wanted, despite the uncomfortable depressing aura that wrapped around your body, Bucky was still just having a casual conversation. And it was working.

“Would you sing for me?” He asked.

“God no,” you responded instantly, “not unless I was very drunk and having a disney marathon, with snacks.”

“I feel like I could probably make that happen, you up for doing it now?” He asked it like the actions that would follow were going to be simple for you, but you think he actually knew what he was asking from you.

He was asking you to abandon the sadness you’d taken home in. “Bucky…” You stood up, taking those three steps back and away from the door. Your room was so dark, and the only light was coming from around the edges of that door. It looked so appealing, but the loneliness told you it was a lie, that even out there in the light there were plenty of dark things. Being surrounded by it is the only way to keep you safe, loneliness said.

More shuffling, he’d stood up and was now pressing his arm against the doorway. “Y/N, please just tell me what’s wrong.” He begged, “it’s me.”

It was enough, all Bucky had to do was ask and you would tell him anything he wanted to hear because you loved him so much and would never want to lose him. But it was the loneliness that wanted this, that wanted the destruction of your life. You felt as though maybe you could find a way around the loneliness, like, maybe you could find a loophole. “It’s heavy.”

“I know,” he whispered back at you, “I know Y/N that it is heavy, and overbearing, and a monster. I know. And I know that you want help but don’t at the same time, and I know that there’s no solution and no way out and no end. I know.”

“Then why won’t you leave me alone?” The tears started to fall once more and you hated it, mainly because you never learnt to cry with style, silently, the pearl-shaped tears rolling down your cheeks from wide luminous eyes, as on the covers of True Love comics, leaving no smears or streak. At first they were gentle as you’d been trying to hold them back but the weight of everything just hit you once more, with the added bonus of your feelings of letting Bucky down making another weight appear atop the others.

You crashed down to the ground as the violent storm raged war within you, you started to cry as though your brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of your every pore. From your mouth came a cry so raw that the sound of it had made even Bucky’s eyes suddenly wet with tears. You grabbed onto the end of your bed so that your fall wouldn’t be too damaging to your body, and from your eyes came a thicker flow of tears.

It was awful, everything just felt awful.

Light flooded the room quickly, but it was quickly covered once more when something hovered in front of you. And then there were arms wrapped around your curled up and shaking figure. You had been hugged before, but it had never felt like this. There was something so warm, something that felt right, smelt right. You let your body sag, your muscles becoming loose. He gave you the respect of an equal but cradled you like a cherished child. In that embrace you felt your worries loosen their keen sting and your optimism raise its head from the dirt. Perhaps the hope had been there all along, but without some love it was trapped, like crystals in a stone. You felt him brush your hair back with his adamantium fingers and kiss the top of your head gently.

“And I also know,” he continued, “that there is still going to be a tomorrow if we want it. If there’s anything I’ve learnt is that there is another day, that there will be another time when I feel sad. And another time when I fell happy, another moment when I don’t think of the bad, when I’m just living in the happiness. And normally those times are with you.”

The biggest step you ever took was embracing Bucky back, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close against your body. Taking in everything you could about him, because he was there. “I am not alone,” you said almost too quiet for him to hear, “I am not alone. I am not alone. I am not alone.” You repeated the words over and over again, and they never lost meaning.

“You are not alone,” he said.

The reassurance was beginning to shine through. Your heart swelled with the love radiating from Bucky and soon enough your organ was too big for the loneliness to keep its claws in your heart, his house fell apart and the bones returned back to your ribs. As you breathed out a long breath of relief, you felt the black waves that formed loneliness’ body be blown out as well. 

He was gone, though you were still damaged, there was plenty of medicine that could help fix that, and the medicine would come in the manifestation of a Disney movie marathon that included alcohol and snacks and Bucky. 

Winchester Jr.: Part VI

Prompt: Heyy could you do fanfic where the reader is Dean’s daughter from the future and she somehow end up in the past and meets Dean and Sam?

Word count: 2,821

Warnings: I’m evil.

Author’s Note: As promised, the complete chapter in Dad!Dean’s POV. There’s probably one more part after this one, so let me know if you want it in the Reader’s/Daughter’s POV or same as this one. And let me know what you think, please?

[Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5]

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I had a terrifying thought after seeing this photo (which probably won’t happen but still).

Set in the season 10 finale

The Mark still glows angrily on his arm, demanding and hungry for more blood. Dean, still standing on his knees in a puddle of blood, looks around at the scattered corpses. 

Cain had been right. There was no escaping from his fate. Dean realizes belatedly when he looks down at Crowley’s, Castiel’s and Sam’s lifeless bodies. The time stops, the world around him cracks and shatters, raining down on him in burning, acid form. The first blade in his hand shakes. One by one Dean unclenches his bloody fingers and the deadly weapon clatters to the floor. As the universe around him self-destructs, Dean begins to scream. But there’s no one who can hear it. They are all dead. His screams become louder and hysterical, ripping up the skies above. 

His hand reaches out for the first blade once again, to raise it one last time and sink it deep inside his heart. The blade blazes wrathfully under the dying sun’s light and with a hoarse shout Dean brings it down to end his now meaningless life. Then everything goes black…


A muffled groan.


Dean tries to open his sore, stinging eyes, sticky from sweat and welled-up tears. This voice. He can recognize this voice from billions of others. 

“Cas,” the older Winchester wheezes out.  "But how? I killed you all.“ 

"Dean, look at me.”  

A strong hand helps the hunter sit up and Dean feels himself leaning against something thick and solid. It’s a tree trunk. As his vision clears up little by little, the first thing he sees is Castiel, who’s wearing a muddy and ripped trench coat. He looks dirty, exhausted and with a one month-old beard. 

Wild fear creeps up his body, sending chills down his spine, as realization hits Dean hard.

“Cas…this place…are we…” Dean looks around the forest, for it’s where they are. He hears a distant growling and yelping, suspicious rustling in bushes. 

“Yes,” the angel nods.  "We are still trapped in Purgatory. We never managed to leave it.“


in heathens when tyler says:
“just because we check the guns at the door doesn’t mean our brains will change from hand grenades”
I originally thought it must have some connection to guns with hands. and I think I have an idea on that. I think he’s saying that even if you take away everything that someone could use to kill themselves doesn’t mean their thoughts are no longer self destructive. you can take away the weapons but the thoughts are still there. it relates to guns for hands because it’s that idea that it can be a part of you… like something thats yours that’s can’t be simply taken away. but not in a good way.