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A Message from your Personal Demons.

Hello, my dear. You do not know who I am, but I know you. I am one of the three demons that were assigned to you at birth. You see, some people in this world are destined for greatness, destined to live happy, fulfilling lives. You, I am afraid, are not one of those people, and it is our job to make sure of that.

Who are we? Oh yes, of course, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce us:

Shame is my younger brother, the demon on your left shoulder. Shame tells you that you’re a freak; that those thought you have are not normal; that you will never fit in. Shame whispered into your ear when your mother found you playing with yourself as a child. Shame is the one who makes you hate yourself. Fear sits on your right shoulder. He is my older brother, as old as life itself. Fear fills every dark corner with monsters, turns every stranger on a dark street into a murderer. Fear stops you from telling your crush how you feel. He tells you it is better not to try than let people see you fail. Fear makes you build your own prison.

Who am I, then? I am the worst of your demons, but you see me as a friend. You turn to me when you have nothing else, because I live in your heart. I am the one who forces you to endure. The one who prolongs your torment.

Sincerely,

Hope.

Survive

I was going to jump.

I’d weighed the options. I wasn’t about to go out and buy a gun, and I’d developed enough of a tolerance that I couldn’t be certain pills would work. Plus I’d always had an aversion to hanging and I’m too much of a coward to slit my wrists.

So I was going to jump.

I’d settled on the common idea that if one, just one person smiled at me on the way I’d turn around and try to get help. If anything, I suppose it was the last little part of me that held some semblance of hope for the future. Naturally, I received no smiles the entire way to the bridge.

So I was going to jump.

As I peered into the waters below, though, I saw a face. Not a fish, and not quite human either. But a face nonetheless. A face that stared back at me with an unusual smile. A smile that, far from the kind I’d imagined I’d see from any passerby, held a sort of joyous contempt.

See, I was going to jump.

But something about that smile wound up saving my life. Because it seemed to suggest, “go ahead, I can’t wait to meet you.”

Buzzfeed CEO: I did the right thing by making Ryan the host of 'Buzzfeed Unsolved'.

Shane: You fucked up a perfectly good Ryan Bergara is what you did. Look at it, it’s got anxiety.

Orange Seed

I swallowed an orange seed

When I was a child.

It lodged in my belly

And there it grew wild.

It unfurled its shoots

And began to entwine

‘Tween the bones of my ribs,

'Round the length of my spine.

Leaves grew up through my throat

As I choked on a shout.

Sprouting deep in my skull

'Til my eyeballs popped out.

Roots grew into my legs

And they took me away

To a misty green field

Where they forced me to lay.

When my body met earth,

I felt horribly strange.

With a cry and a scream,

My flesh started to change.

Branches burst from my skin,

A trunk grew from my brain,

Until just an orange tree

Stood alone in the rain.

The years come and they go,

A whole lifetime, it seems.

My humanity lost in

My dark, secret dreams.

I don’t miss my old life,

Its suffering and toil.

I’m much happier now

Fertilizing the soil.

Can you tell what's wrong with this picture?

I’ve framed the photo. It sits in my cubicle in the same spot it has occupied for the last two years. It’s a reminder for me to work harder. A reminder of all the pain that was caused by moving too slow.

Seventeen kids went missing that summer. Snatched from their bedrooms without a trace of who had done it. This case cut deeper than any I worked on before. Every day another parent would come to me and ask “why haven’t you found my baby yet?” And I would have to say “I’m trying. I promise.” After the sixteenth disappearance, we got a photo in the mail. There was writing on the back. Two words.

“clocks ticking”

If you didn’t know better, you might think the picture was kind of beautiful. It’s of an old gravel road that winds delicately up a hill. The picture is taken from the middle of the street, the lens aiming up its path. One side of the road is lined by a patch of bright autumn leaves that look like they’ve recently fallen. The leaves are matted down slightly, as if by a heavy rain. In the center of the road there is a small basket. The camera is angled so you can’t see inside of it. On either side of the road there are gigantic pine trees that cast crisscrossing, haunting shadows.

Our department was able to find this location but there was no evidence. No basket in the street. Nothing in the woods. They dismissed as a false lead, but something about the photo got to me. I kept it on my desk for the next year, just trying to figure out what it meant. All I wanted was to tell those parents what happened to their kids.

There was just something off about the picture. Something that felt really unnatural about it. I thought about it all the time. The basket. The leaves. The pine trees. Then one day it clicked. Fallen leaves and pine trees. Pine trees don’t have leaves. They have needles. Needles don’t turn those colors and they don’t fall off in the fall. The pile of leaves wasn’t natural.

After a year of staring at the picture, a year of telling parents that I couldn’t find their kids – I finally figured it out. I dug a hole where the leaves were in the photo. There was a basket buried underneath the dirt. It held a child’s skull. Dental records matched it to Michael Blasters. One of the children who had gone missing.

I ordered an excavation of the area. The other kids were buried nearby.

Only one complete skeleton was found. It was a child that disappeared only a few days before we got the photo. Unlike the rest, her body was in a coffin.

There was a note pinned to the front of her dress. The same handwriting as the photo.

“48 hours of air – you could have saved her.”

The Prettiest Girl in School

Beneath decorations of pink, red, and white, girls danced with their sweethearts. My sights, however, were set upon she who sat alone at one of the tables, her chocolate brown eyes scanning the crowd. Between her thumb and index finger she twirled a pink rose. Her name was Vanessa, and she was, without a doubt, the prettiest girl in school, not just because of her looks but also because of her sweet, innocent disposition. From the moment I first saw her, I was lovestruck, though I could never muster up the courage to tell her how I felt. At least today I could leave her a Valentine’s Day gift.

“Did your date stand you up?” I asked, approaching her. “I guess.” she sighed. “I don’t even know who it is, only that they left this rose at my locker. It has this card tied to it that says, ‘To the prettiest girl in school’.” “Ooh, sounds like you got a secret admirer.” I teased, nudging her shoulder. She smiled timidly, her cheeks turning red. “Punch?” I offered, holding out one of two cups. “Thank you.” she said, taking it. We continued conversing, all the while watching others dance to the music that played. After about fifteen minutes, Vanessa began to grow disoriented. “Hey, are you alright?” I asked as she slouched over, head in her hands. “I…I’m not sure.” she groaned. “I feel…lightheaded all of a sudden.” “Here.” I said, helping her up. “Let’s get you outside for some fresh air.”

Outside the gymnasium, I knelt by Vanessa as she tried to regain her composure. “I think…I need to go…home now.” she managed to say. “I’ll call my parents; I can’t…drive like this.” “Well how about I bring you home?” I suggested. “Are you…sure?” she asked. “I don’t…wanna be a…burden.” “I have nothing better to do.” I answered, shrugging. “Well…okay.” she mumbled as I guided her to my car and buckled her into the passenger seat. As I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, my heart pounded with excitement; I was looking forward to bringing the prettiest girl in school home…with me anyway. “Thanks again….for…helping me.” she slurred before her eyes fluttered closed. “Anything for my favorite student.” I replied.

The sting still hurt.

“Stay near me, Yanny,” I said, trying my hardest to keep my voice calm. The soft echoes rebounded around the massive cavern. My scythe was poised for battle, gleaming with the blood of the demons felled. “We’re almost at the gates.”

Yanny nodded. The journey had been taxing for her; mentally, she was not a very strong girl. “Please,” she said weakly, almost whispering, “protect me.”

On cue, a massive red scorpion sprung up, stinger slamming straight into where Yanny would have been, had I not shoved her out of the way. “Run!” I shouted at her, and engaged the demon.

My scythe flashed as it spun through the air, hissing wherever it found a chink in the beast’s armour. From the corner of my eye, I saw Yanny running blindly away from us. The Gates were a few hundred metres away, a welcome conclusion at the end of a thirty-day odyssey.

I slashed off a pincer, ignoring the shriek of the monster, and raced towards Yanny.

“We’re almost there!” she screamed, half-crying, half-laughing. Most of them end up like this at the end, torn between accepting their fate and fighting for their destiny. I had always admired this about mortals - with a life so short, they could only fight for their destiny. Us, we’ve seen fates longer than time, endings where beginnings have yet to start. There was no destiny for us.

We were twenty seconds from the gate now. Fifteen. Te-

A huge pressure slammed into me from behind and I was pinned against the wall of the cavern. Grimacing, I grabbed on to a rock, trying to resist the pull of the scorpion.

“Help me!” I cried to Yanny, who had frozen from the shock. My scythe, which had fallen by her feet, captured every bit of fear in her eyes. “Cut off its pincer!”

The scorpion was now positioned to sting. Murder was evident in its eyes; with a stinger that size, it didn’t even need poison. I might be Death, but wounds were still wounds.

Yanny took one last look at me, then said the one thing that always haunted me no matter how many times I heard it.

“I’m sorry. Thank you.”

She turned and ran towards the pearly white Gates, towards the urgently beckoning winged angel that stood there. The pressure around my midsection released as she made it through, never even turning around to look at the one being who had protected her throughout the journey.

I picked up my scythe and sighed, watching as the Gates chained themselves shut and slowly bled to red. I recognized the screams of Yanny. I recognized the screams of all the other people who had abandoned me to the scorpion, who had already regrown its lost limbs and was happily escorting me back to the entrance. When a happy ending is in sight, few would risk themselves to save another.

Selfish. Selfish, the whole lot of you.

I'm a Guardian Demon

Yeah, you read that right. We’re by no means requested as much as those feathery dick-muffins, but we take our job just as seriously. ‘Course, we’ve gotta go about it a bit differently. No sense in doing the same damn thing - we’re summoned for a reason.

Guardian angels work pretty much exactly how you think. They look out for you, having you trip on the sidewalk to avoid getting hit by a car and whatnot. They love tangling with the threads of fate, plucking a string here and tying a loose end there. And while they’re great at predicting things short-term, they suck donkey balls long-term.

So for every time someone’s told you “you must have a guardian angel looking out for you!” after narrowly dodging that falling AC unit, that same snobby urinal cake won’t do jack shit about that crushing heartbreak. “They need to learn,” they’ll say. “Now they’ll appreciate the next one more,” they’ll say. Fuckers have a circle jerk on their high horses while you suffer. Moral code my ass.

But that’s where we come in. Demons ain’t got the same definition of “helping.” We torture people for eternity, and we’re damn good at it. We’re clever. We’re patient. And we love revenge stories as much as you people all hate us for it all.

Guy who cheated behind your back? Boom, chlamydia. Snot-nosed nephew hit you in the nuts? Introduce his ice cream to the ground, mother fucker. But our favorites - what we’re known for - is the waiting game.

That teacher who always graded you most harshly? Guess who’s the only casualty of the most recent school shooting. The bully who stole your lunch money every week? Now he smokes two packs a day and can barely make ends meet. The pastor who fondled you and said God wouldn’t want you to tell? I feed him lava every Tuesday downstairs. What goes around comes around, and we’re the ones coming around.

So the next time you get it into your tiny mortal skull that demons are the bad guys, remember we’re the ones dishing out the karma. We’re the ones putting the smile on your face when your ex’s new boy toy runs out on her after knocking her up. We’re the ones getting your boss fired for using company funds on hookers and blow. Oh look at who got promoted! Such surprise, much wow.

You’re fucking welcome.

“Why be subtle when you can be offensive instead?”

-Draco Malfoy, probably

If you’re having a bad day just imagine toddler age Scorpius and Albus playing with Harry’s invisibility cloak

Albus hysterically crying when Scorpius crawls under it and disappears and rushing to get his dad and try to explain to him that he’d somehow lost his best friend

Harry shaking his head in intense bemusement and whisking the cloak off a shell shocked Scorpius who immediately begins crying and waving his little arms, his blonde hair sticking up on end

Albus wrapping himself around his bedraggled friend and cuddling him fiercely, glaring at the invisibility cloak and crying when Harry attempts to get it near him again

‘My Scorpius! No! NO!’

Albus and Scorpius spending the rest of the day cuddled up together, Albus not ever going more than a few feet away from Scorpius and always returning to pet his little friend’s hair and give him reassurance

Draco picking Scorpius up later that day and seeing his son practically smothered by Albus, his face smeared with paint and his hair being put in bunches by the giggling Potter

Draco turning to Harry with the driest and most exasperated of expressions

'I left him here for five hours and he’s already married your son- I can see it in his eyes. Merlin help us…’

Harry shrugging and grinning widely, full of only love for his son and his new found friend

'I call dibs on being the cool father-in-law’

Metamorphmagus!Draco

I have a lot of feelings about this headcanon and I really need to talk to you about this. Okay? Okay, good.

We all know that the metamorphmagus gene is in the Black bloodline, right? I mean after all Tonks was a metamorphmagus and her dad was a muggle, therefore she had to inherit the gene from Andromeda, who’s a Black.

Now, what if DRACO had inherited the gene?

THERE IS A LONG ASS MOTHERFUCKING POST UDNERNEATH THE CUT.

ENJOY.

((tagging some drarry squad members! @mxlfoydraco @svlvzvr @julietsemophase @sectumsemprat @pretentious-git @shewhomustnotbenamed @themalfoymanner @drarryismylife101 @drarrylocked @potionbooksandcookies @fangirl383 @hvlf-blood-bitch @actuallydrarry @harpyholyheads @theultimateslytherin))

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Draco: If you were a spell, you'd be Stupefy.

Harry:

Draco: Cause you’re stunning.*wink wink*

Harry: Will this ever stop, Draco?

Draco: Fine, Mr Avada Kedavra. Kill the fun, will you.

Heeey, Heey Baby! (Hu, Ha!)

*drunk Harry and Ron under Draco’s balcony*

Harry: HEEEY, HEEY BABY! 

Ron: HU! HA!

Harry: I WANNA KNOOOOOOW IF YOU’D BE MY BOY?!

Draco: Harry? Are you wooing me?

Harry: YES! *throws him a rumpled bouquet onto the balcony*

Draco: Harry, are these the mean neighbour’s flowers? You know, Mrs Prickletosh? The exact same lady who hexes children for merely smelling her roses?

Ron: *looks very alarmed*

Harry: *eyes wide with fear whispers* Oh my goddd! Your neighbour is Mrs Prickletosh too??!!!

Draco: Potter! For fuck’s sake! YOU LIVE HERE! WE’VE BEEN TOGETHER FOR YEARS, YOU BLOODY TIT!

I’ve been meaning to write a dialogue version of this little ficlet since I first posted it, so here goes. Inspired by the song Hey Baby by DJ Otzi

imagine an au where childhood friends Person A and B part ways during high school but instead of them wistfully missing each other trying to move on from each other they skype and text each other every damn day and it’s just them screaming, ‘holy fuck the people here are fucking idiots’ and ‘please save me i need someone of an acceptable intellectual level to talk to and you’re the only one left why the fuck did you leave me here like this’ and at the same time ‘fuck you, i don’t need you around who the fuck do you think you are, my mom?’ their relationship is based off banter, banter, banter and highkey dirty flirting and when they meet again Person A storms into the airport looking for B and when they do they’re hollering, ‘THERE YOU ARE YOU BLOODY WANKER ABOUT FUCKIN TIME YOU GOT HERE’ and Person B just gives them a dirty smirk and a middle finger to high heaven.

So imagine that one day Harry and Draco are arguing in an abandoned corridor (like they always do) and Draco has Harry shoved up against the wall and they’re breathing heavily and Harry just says offhand, “What are you gonna do, Malfoy? Kiss me?”

And to both their surprise, Malfoy lunges forward and does just that. It’s rough. It’s desperate. But after a moment they stop. And they’re just standing there glaring at each other. Like their both so pissed that they did that.

Harry shoves Malfoy off of him and says, “Always knew you were a poof” and Malfoy snarls back, “Like you weren’t begging for it, Potter.” They walk in opposite directions and don’t talk about it again.

A few days later Malfoy is reading a Potions textbook in the eighth year common room and Harry flops down on the sofa beside him and proceeds to lay his messy, unwashed, fresh-from-Quidditch-practice hair on Malfoy’s lap.

Everyone around them stops what they’re doing to see what will happen. But neither Draco nor Harry make any comment and act like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Harry closes his eyes and acts like he’s gonna fall asleep. And Draco keeps reading his book.

After about five minutes Draco finally snaps, “When was the last time you washed your hair, Potter? I’ll have to throw these trousers out after this.”

And Harry, without opening his eyes, yawns and says, “Anything to get you out of them, Malfoy.”

“Look who’s a poof now.”

“Says the one with a hard on from just my head in his lap.”

“Git.”

“Prat.”

“Fuck off, Potter.”

Then Harry yawns again and Draco turns back to his book.

And then Harry legit falls asleep still with his head in Draco’s lap.

In Charms later that week, Malfoy insists on being Harry’s partner. They fight and say the nastiest things to each other the entire time. After class, they’re still fighting, but holding hands all the way to the Great Hall for lunch. When they part ways, Harry scowls and makes an obscene hand gesture while Malfoy gives him his best derisive sneer.

A few nights later, Harry wakes up to find Malfoy cuddled up to his side, fast asleep.

“Malfoy.”

No response.

“Malfoy.” he whispers a bit louder.

He prods the other boy’s shoulder who then wakes up with a start and immediately looks pissed.

“What.”

“How long have you been here?” Harry can’t help asking.

“Does it matter? Go back to sleep. It’s two in the morning for fucks sake.”

Malfoy lies back down, curling himself around Harry again, and closing his eyes.

Harry rolls his eyes, but then looks down at him for a moment. He can’t see too well in the dark and without his glasses, but Malfoy’s blonde hair and pale skin almost seem to glow. He can just make out the peaceful look on his face and for the first time ever, he sees Malfoy as Draco. An 18-year-old kid.

“Wait.”

Malfoy looks up, thoroughly annoyed. But before he can say anything, Harry catches his lips in a deep kiss. It’s open. It’s hot. It gains speed quickly. But all the while, still soft. And sweeter than Harry would have ever thought anything could be with Draco Malfoy.

Harry pulls away suddenly and lays his head back on his pillow. Slightly breathless and with a small smile on his lips he whispers, “Fuck.”

Malfoy snorts and says, “You wish.”

In the mound.

For years, we had listened to my grandfather. Do not go near the mound. Put milk and bread out every night. Wear the bits of iron around our necks. Safety. That’s what he said it was all for. And of course, we believed him.

When I was ten, my cousin visited. He was from the city, and he laughed when we put out the milk and bread. So we did it for him, in his name. Grandpa would have been proud. We hid iron in my cousins shoes, with a sprig of holly from by the front porch under the left sole so he could never lose his way coming home. We tried so hard.

But then he pushed my sister, called us mean names. He said he wanted the mound people to come. He was 12, he didn’t believe they were strong enough to do anything, he could beat them up. We tried to apologize. We put sugar on the bread to sweeten their minds. They didn’t care.

Our milk was curdled, rotten and stinking in the morning. The bread was black and hard, and my grandfather said the cows wouldn’t milk and all the chickens eggs had had their inners sucked clean. He asked us if we had remembered to do what was right, and we told him that we had. We didn’t tell him what our cousin had done. We didn’t want to get in trouble for letting him say it.

The next morning our cousin was gone. His room was covered with little handprints, little feet on the walls and windowsill. At the bottom of the window was some footprints, but they were much bigger. My grandfather muttered about the leipreachán, the brownies, the pixies. He never named the mound folk, but he knew. We all knew that they had taken my cousin.

My grandfather went to the mound later that day. He cut a lock of my sister and mines hair, braiding it round a sprig of holly. He carried an ash staff and an iron knife, old country iron and bronze at his wrists and throat. He took gifts, because you never went to the mound without them.

He was gone for three weeks.

Grandma fed us, always saying he would come home. And he did, with something that he said was my cousin. The were both dirty and bruised, and my grandfather had aged. My cousin said he had snuck out and been lost in the woods, and had been found by our grandfather by the river. He still swears the mound folk aren’t real.

But his eyes are green instead of blue. And at night, he sits on our windowsill and eats bread and milk, singing soft songs while he winks at us, asking us to take off our iron.

we opened at 11 this morning. i watched an old man literally pry the fucking sliding doors open at 10:43 and stand there just staring into the empty store and my coworker & i were like sir. for the love of fuck

Roommate left me on my own seriously ill, new friend totally got revenge for me.

Freshman year college, roommate and I HATED each other, long story, not relevant. But the week before Thanksgiving I started getting sick, ignored it, got alot sicker very quickly. She’s packing to go home for the holiday and bitching to someone one the phone that I’m faking it, not really sick etc. Meanwhile my fever is skyrocketing and I’m starting to hallucinate. I remember telling her that I needed help, needed water, practically begging. She laughs and says ‘if you die can I have your stuff’, and left. I managed to get to my cellphone and realized that the battery is gone (never did find it, she swears she never touched it, so…) Pretty much spaced out after that.

A guy I’d been dating for all of three weeks came by the room to see why I was ditching classes and avoiding him, heard what turned out to be me knocking a lamp over, and broke down the door. One trip to the ER and a week in his apartment (side note, he had the BEST roommates in the world, two guys and a girl welcomed me without hesitation and really took care of me) and I come back to the room. She’s packed up all of my stuff and shoved it into a corner.

My revenge? she had a huge crush on a guy… guess who? yep one of my new boyfriend’s roommates. I told him, also told him she was working up the nerve to approach him. End of semester we’re at a party and she walked up to him and started talking. He’s acting all in to her (Award winning performance) then stopped and really loud “wait aren’t you Mouse’s roommate” and started telling random people there “dude she totally left Mouse to die in that room”. She’s trying to blow it off, saying we’re such good friends. He just gave her one of those 'scrape it off your shoe’ looks and says “Bullshit. She’s MY friend and I wouldn’t date you if your nipples dripped brew.” He’s a bit loud and by the next semester I think he told everyone on campus the story.

Three years later and I can still remember the look on her face when he said that. Especially once the other drunk partiers started in on her. Moreso when she realized I was there and listening to it all. I’m now engaged to that 'new boyfriend’ (he kicked down a door for me, how could I not) and his friend is going to be his best man. Roommate? Transferred after freshman year ended. B-bye now.

Petty Revenge: Internet`s best petty revenge stories are here. | source

Ruined my stepsister's birthday and got her banned from all clubs in town.

(warning: long story)

BACK STORY: When I was 12, my mom got married to a halfway decent guy. He’s not bad, but he’s not great either, but he made my mom happy and that’s all that I cared about. In fact, I cared so much about her happiness that I was willing to endure 6 years of living under the same roof as his self-obsessed, obnoxious, spoiled daughter, Amy. The entire time we lived together, she would project all of her insecurities onto me in the form of insults. Being young and wildly insecure about myself, these daily insults well and truly cut me to the core and just continued the cycle of crippling insecurity.

When I started “talking to” a boy for the first time, Kyle, she all of a sudden developed an intense infatuation with him and told me I was forbidden from communicating with him from then on. I was insecure but I was not a pushover. When I didn’t listen to her demands, she took it a step further and told Kyle I had ongoing relationships with several other boys (untrue), which he unfortunately believed. I was completely crushed. She then swooped in and took every opportunity to rub it in my face that she “won” him (i.e. inviting him to my birthday parties at home, inviting me out with her only to later reveal I would be thirdwheeling on their date, making him compliment me and then gloating about how she had such a nice boyfriend, etc). This sort of thing happened countless times, not with just boys but with friends and even workplaces! They ended up dating for two years and, although they had a nasty breakup, Kyle and I remained on good terms, which drove her up the wall. She would constantly ask me, “So did you guys hook up behind my back yet?” while claiming to have moved on already.

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Sometimes the customer is wrong for unrelated reasons.

Due to the well of my friends’ “def not an axe murderer” date recommendations drying up, I have turned to that most sacred of modern relationship institutions: online dating. As a very busy person trying to get it in with other very busy people, I prize honestly and directness above all else when it comes to profile creation. I include full body shots in my photos, try to minimize the use of MySpace angles in selfies, and write at the very top of the summary/caption/profile that I am fat. Not “curvy,” not “thick,” not “lots to love”–I’m f*cking fat. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also known that weight is a dealbreaker for lots of people. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.

About a year ago I met “Evan” via Tinder. We exchanged friendly messages for a few hours one night and agreed to meet up for drinks the following evening. I waited for a full hour past the designated time, and just as I was getting up to leave, the texts started rolling in.

“I can see you sweating from here.” “How long does it take you to roll out of bed every morning?” “Is there an earthquake or are you just getting up for more pretzels?”

Really idiotic, juvenile shit. Four separate numbers, commenting on things like my clothes, which clued me in that the senders were nearby. This went on for 15 minutes before I finally saw Evan, trying to hide in at a corner table and giggling with a group of buddies. I made eye contact, saw that he saw me, and then walked out. The texts kept up until I blocked the numbers a few hours later.

I ran into Evan about 3 weeks later. We got on the same elevator, and he tried really hard at being super interested in the emergency phone instructions. I just confronted him, and he admitted it was just some “game” that him and his friends play. He knew I was fat before agreeing to meet up; they all did, because that’s what they do. Match up with fat women, then either ghost them or “troll” them at the meet-up. It was also kinda obvious he’d never seen any consequences from this bullshit, as he was sweating pretty hard and looked more humiliated than I felt. I just said whatever and walked out, expecting to never see him again.

About a month ago, some local foodie wrote a great review of the restaurant I own, and we’ve been slammed ever since. In the past, I stayed mostly in the kitchen, but I’ve been doing more and more front-of-house stuff lately, and Valentine’s Day I was working a bit of a split between the two.

I saw Evan just as he was pushing in his date’s chair. My name isn’t on the restaurant, and he didn’t see me. I checked the section up at the hostess stand and saw that one of my favorite old-timers, Nan, was going to be his waitress. I went to the bar till, took out $400, put it in her hands, and said, “This is going to be your only table for the rest of the night. You are going to make this the worst date he has ever been on.”

She spilled every single thing she brought out to the table, all over him. I was waiting for him to blow up on Nan, but he bottled it up, obviously trying to make a good impression on his date. She seemed like a perfectly lovely lady; I told Nan to make sure everything was good for her and terrible for Evan.

She poured ice water on his d*ck. She smacked the back of his head with the edge of a tray. Spilled soup on his shirt. Dropped every fork he asked for. I personally oversalted his food, used the shit liquor for his drinks, used flour instead of sugar on his dessert. To be honest, I don’t know why he didn’t just walk out. He must have really wanted to f*ck this woman.

Finally, he cracked. Demanded Nan find the manager and bring her out. I was only too happy to emerge from the kitchen with my chef’s coat and say what, I’m not ashamed to admit, I’d been planning out all night.

“I would have said hi earlier, but I didn’t want the earthquake to disturb your dinner.”

I will savor the look on Evan’s face for the rest of my life.

He was a little too flummoxed to explain, so I pulled a chair up to the table and introduced myself to his date, Amanda. Told her how I met Evan. Showed her some fun old messages. Then I told gave her a voucher for a free meal on her next visit and told Evan to get the f*ck out and never come back.

He deleted his Tinder profile.

I've been using the revenge roulette button for two hours now and I can't get enough

Revenge roulette button is really addicting and it gives you a different story on every click! :))

It took me 12 years... but I finally got my perfect petty revenge.

Let’s travel back 12 years to my year as a second grade student in public school. The current recess-fun trend? Yugioh cards.

Everyone brought their decks to school. We would trade, battle, gloat, you name it. As a petty grade two, I did not yet have a large assortment of good cards, but I did have my favourites: Dark Magician, Blue Eyes, and I’ll be honest I forget the third but rest assured it was very important to me at the time. I always kept them at the top of my deck.

This particular recess, a group of grade three students were attempting to chase me and steal my good cards. A different grade three, I’ll call him Jason for the sake of anonymity, offered to keep my cards safe for me until the end of recess. Naturally, I did not trust him, so he offered to let me hold on to three of HIS best cards as a sort of safety deposit, his cards were far better than mine. Looking back now, this makes little sense as the older kids could have just stolen his three cards from me but nevertheless this is how it went down. Feeling comfortable with this deal I agreed.

At the end of recess I met back up with the older student, Jason. I handed him his cards and he handed me mine… face down. Stupid me at the time did not question this, I let him set the cards face down on the top of my deck and we parted ways. After recess, I checked the cards…and they were not mine. He had given me three shitty low star cards that were incredibly common.

To this day I cursed this person. As we got older this guy, Jason, was attempting to start a rap career. I never saw much of him after public school other than on social media until one day at work… his resume popped up. We were indeed hiring, and it is a pretty good job to have if I do say so myself. I looked at my boss and said “Don’t hire this guy”. He asks why… now keep in mind my boss is quite chill and likes to joke around. I say “In grade two… he stole my f*cking Yugioh cards.”

Boss narrows his eyes. “Yeah f*ck him then”, he says.

Finally. Over a decade later I have my revenge. No job for you, Jason, good luck with your rap career.

Petty Revenge: Your daily dose of the best petty revenge stories. | source

do you ever get mad at yourself because youre not even good at the things you thought you were good at

Friendly reminder that the Death Eaters had a seating chart. 

Like, they all had specific spots in the circle and when some of them were missing they left spaces for those people because they knew exactly where their spots were. 

Just imagine Voldemort pouring over that thing like “Dammit. I can’t put Alecto next to Crabbe or she’ll spend the whole time staring at his biceps… And speaking of Crabbe, he and Goyle really should be next to each other, so that they can help each other follow everything. And maybe I’ll put Nott next to them just in case. Nott’s patient enough with them… And Black is dead so I can just put Avery’s boy in that spot. Should I give away traitors’ spots? That seems like bad luck. Maybe I should just close the ranks there and open up a new spot… Hm… Rodolphus and Bella have been next to each other in the circle for years, but they’re getting married. Should I separate married Death Eaters? No, Rod and Bella will be fine. But if I keep them together, does that mean I have to keep all married couples together? No. I never said that I’d be fair with them. But Rabastan! I can’t put Rabastan next to Barty or they’ll never stop talking…”

Imagine Voldy keeping a paper-copy of the circle in his pocket and studying it before meetings because everyone’s going to be wearing a mask and he can’t risk forgetting someone’s name or mixing two people up. 

I just… Death Eater seating chart.