(wheeze)

just some 20 year old shit posting about buzzfeed unsolved

[ghost-proof-baby]

@queenborhaplovergirl @emilysunflowers @mikeywilliamday @whatever-imty-blog @inactive151738582 @616-bucky @crispybaguette @badyulya-klaral08uws8 @kochubeevcvo3yj5 @rugidewatkins21278 @anastasiya1jdh-blog @tomstoast @youcanfollowmyvoice @itsvan33zabitch @zihumidly @cathylolz98 @fictionpadfanfiction-blog @elyixon @optimalz @lashtonlosers-blog @foliesmokespatrick @stevens4 @dammit-lucas-blog @pizza-buddha-blog @sunsetsniall @babe182 @secretzella @myworthlessdream @flyawayfromzayn @sliencemeanseverything @thephantomdank @suchdreadfullittlethingsweare @1dx5sosxsexuals-blog @mermaidtittiess @world-of-caos @explodingbrits @justanotherbeekeeper @leave-your-mxrks @lives-in-the-year3000 @depressed-suicidal-cutter-blog @styliinsobbingfics @blondiebearrawrs1 @simply-august @howdoesmyhairlook @sashaaxposed @veryberryniall-blog @brandeefaith @curlymedic @hold-on-till-squidgy @famous-lemons 

Ray-Ban Sunglasses

[jennyhoelzer-deactivated2016120]

[humdrumhootenanny]

Are your nipples sensitive?

Yeah they don’t take criticism well

[p-eachbeam]

concept: @wearewatcher's puppet history and @screenshotsofdespair

[iamonlyperson]

This is so funny hahahah

[daryldixans]

[aintittho]

[vanessagillings]

A few resources to help, learn, and promote:

TO HELP AND DONATE:

Black Lives Matter carrd with info, petitions, donation sites they recommend, and readings they suggest

President Obama’s List of orgs to help, things to read, and ways to get engaged

Black-led LGBTQ+ Organizations posted by Alexis Michelle

TO LEARN AND UNLEARN:

5 Ways to Take Action for all non-black people by The Conscious Kid

10-Steps to Non-Optical Allyship by Mireille Cassandra Harper 

How to Be Actively Anti-Racist by Good Good Good Co

Victoria Alexander’s recommendations on Anti-Racist Literature

TO SUPPORT AND PROMOTE:

Abelle Hayford’s #drawingwhileblack Directory of Black Creatives to hire

Author Oge Mora’s List of Children’s Books by Black Authors - also check out Oge Mora’s beautiful books!

A Twitter Thread from Melissa See on Black YA novels

Karina Yan Glasser’s 100 Must-Read Children’s Books by African-American Authors

10 Black-Owned Online Bookstores to buy all these lovely books from!

Bookshop.org’s List of Independent Black-Owned Bookstores 

[pawnees]

criminal minds without context {part three}
the spencer reid edition

[danger]

[ghost-proof-baby]

nights like these (joe mazzello x female reader)

She could only love him when he let her. 

He was peculiar, in that sense, and it had always been that way between the two of them. And she couldn’t complain; he had warned her from the beginning that he wasn’t capable of permanence. He’d show up on her doorstep without calling, she’d let herself find a home between his crooked smiles, and he’d be gone by morning light. It was their routine. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Sometimes it was during the months between films and projects. He’d find himself in her kitchen, laughing at the cupcakes they had attempted to bake for their friends, and his guard had fallen without warning. She was sly; she took notice, but didn’t let him know. She’d simply stand a little closer, laugh a little louder, let her hand brush his bicep more times than intended. It was subtle. But it was enough, in a kitchen bathed in afternoon sunshine and a mess of flour, icing placed expertly on the tip of his nose. It was hard to not love him like that. She felt her heart falling in time with the sprinkles he’d chaotically shook across the treats, colored all shades of red and green with Christmas ornaments in the mix because they just taste better, y/n, trust me. And so she did. 

Other times it was during their monthly movie nights over facetime. She knew it was late for him, she would insist they could reschedule, but he was headstrong. Hellbent with a cause, he’d force them to time up their pirated versions of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade because she hadn’t seen it, and that was a federal crime in his opinion. She’d find herself watching him crash and burn, a victim to unruly sleep schedules, and convinced herself that no crusade was ever more important than the one of counting delayed breaths over the speaker, each one shortly following the rise of his chest. Even his snores didn’t bother her, drowning out and over Harrison Ford’s voice. He was thousands of miles away, but when she closed her eyes, he could almost be right beside her. Almost. 

Then there were the times when everything wasn’t so serene.The voicemails left at 2 AM of his drunken rambles, mumbles about the way she was so pretty and how no one would ever make him quite as happy. The whiskey would tell her he’d be home to her soon, whispers of a promise she knew would be broken or denied in the sober morning. Most times she wouldn’t answer to avoid the unnecessary heartbreak, the prospect of something that wasn’t hers to keep. Sometimes, though, she would. She’d always regret it immediately. Every slurred syllable hit her in her gut and twisted a knife she’d stabbed herself with. But she could imagine wide, glossy eyes, the fumbles in his steps that matched up with his hiccups as he would recount his night in pauses to her. It was a reminder that maybe some whiskeys were sweeter than others. 

And then, there are nights like these. Nights where it’s too quiet, the city asleep while the two of them stayed tangled in comforter and socks already half-way off. The window, wide open and welcoming in the smell before the storm to mingle with the candles they have lit. She has her ear pressed to his chest counting every heartbeat, and he traces novels on her shoulder about all the words he wish he could say to her in that moment. She’ll tell him about her day, terribly mundane, and he’ll tell her about the latest script, terribly hopeful. She doesn’t know if he’ll still be in her bed in the morning, but she wishes he would be. They debate their favorite breakfast foods and his lips weigh down her shoulders with kisses she can’t return. Her hands wrap themselves around him any chance they get, clinging to what she wants more than anything. And they both fight the fatigue, pressing noses into crooks and giggling into delirium. She doesn’t even remember falling asleep. But she does, waking up briefly several hours later to heavy sighs. And the city is still quiet, and the storm has nearly passed, and he is still in her bed.

She could only love him when he let her. But that was enough. 

[ghost-proof-baby]

apologies in advance but I'm gonna post fanfic on here lmao

[rachel-weisz]

[n-haught]

not to be a downer but your twenties are super hard and super lonely and tv lied and it’s not glamorous at all and if you are having a hard time it’s ok and it’s normal and you’ll be ok

[iamnotawomanimagod]

Do you love Buzzfeed Unsolved?

Ryan Bergara, Shane Madej, and Steven Lim have officially launched their new, independant channel, Watcher. There’s two videos available as of now (1/10).

Just like with The Try Guys, this is a huge opportunity for some very funny, talented dudes to break away from their restrictive production company and form their own, which will give them greater creative control, more freedom, and hopefully, higher paychecks.

That will only happen if we support them, however. Unfortunately, I just don’t think enough people have heard the news.

Spread the word, watch the videos, and make sure to subscribe!

[eyesvvvideshut]

I SAY I HATE YOU MORE THAN I SHOULD, or “if this leaks im screwed”

original poem // not fan fiction

It’s ironic that I write this where I am.

The bench I picked,

Randomly, 

Is dedicated to someone named *****.

Part of me is disgusted by 

The act

Of writing this. 

It’s a lot of effort

To go through

For someone like you.

But, the words in my brain come out like chicken scratch.

I need to make sense of it all.

The why.

When I first saw you,

I didn’t think much at all. 

Some older guy. 

Didn’t pay attention to your the way

Your hair fell. 

Or your stupid grins.

Superficially?

The curls are pretty.

Americana smiles make my chest bleed.

Especially when,

You catch my eye,

As you’re speaking to someone else.

And sometimes you’ll wink.

Your cologne invades in my mind.

Sometimes I’ll smell something similar,

And I jump.

A Pavlovian response.

Maybe I’m old-fashioned.

But so are you.

You know what you’re talking about.

Always.

You have an opinion on everything.

Even me.

And your words envelop me,

Like embraces we’ll never have,

Except for that one night,

With too much wine.

When we talked like,

No one was watching.

You’re safe.

That’s a big one.

Security.

Stability.

You know who you are.

You aren’t searching for answers.

I feel like,

I’m the only one my age,

Who’s already got most of themselves figured out.

I know what I like.

What I want.

You do too.

And I like that.

You’re mature.

My parents are old.

I feel ancient sometimes.

Jeopardy and crossword puzzles.

Only ever made me feel

Closer to you.

I want dates to be at those restaurants

In downtown Manhattan.

The ones whose names I don’t know yet.

But you have memorized.

Wining and dining.

Fancy.

Classier.

Sure, I’ll have no money after.

But I crave that experience

More than I need forty bucks.

Everyone I know just

Goes to dining halls.

The movies if I’m lucky.

Maybe a mall?

I want to see the finer things in life.

Museums. Art. Plays. Late night walks. City life. 

And I think you do too.

All your stupid private clubs. All your Brooks Brothers suits.

They say sophistication.

Even if it’s a bit tacky.

And I want that.

Your humor?

It’s pathetic.

You’re like a dad,

Waiting around for his barbecue apron and kids.

They’re lame. Sometimes amusing. But lame.

But I love to laugh at them.

I’ve giggled enough for

Seven years.

Being around you.

That’s the thing.

I love to laugh around you.

I love laughing with you.

At someone else.

At something else.

At you. 

Today I noticed

That I smile,

The deepest smile I can,

Whenever I’m with you.

Everyone tells me

The time isn’t right. 

What an anachronistic insult

To this injurious summer.

Maybe one day, 

It will be ripe?

But I’m not the type to linger.

Why do you think I always just head to the office 

When the train gets in early?

I can’t wait.

But nothing will happen now.

So I might just stow you away

Like all those emails

I archived,

In the back of my mind.

Hoping that one day,

When I take an aimless walk to Central Park,

It’s with you.

By my side. 

Holding me tight.

Keeping me safe.

[neonprotagonist]

“ive connected the dots” “you didnt connect shit” “ive connected them” is by far the best thing to have come out of buzzfeed unsolved it is so incredibly funny. the poses. the confidence. i can feel the tone. its incredible. 

[schizophrenicarchivist-remade-d]

poetic cinema