#i am listening to a sad cartoon by loathe

[im-pure]

When its so romantic its erotic and when its so erotic its romantic

[pizzaboat]

Camileda and its young Camileda at that, because there's barely any content of them on their own.

————

They're mortal enimies, that's how it was meant to be.

When they first saw each other it was loath at first sight.

No one had fueded as hard as them, not in the history of the school.

To Eda, Camila is the jackass that always gets in her way.

To Camila, Eda's the thorne in her side; someone hell bent on destroying her life.

So what happens when they form a truce? Not good things that's for sure..

————

"Am I supposed to be scared now, Clawthorne?"

Camila stared defiantly up at the taller girl. She refused to be intimidated by the amber eyes that bored holes through her skull.

"Yeah, you are Noceda." The red head snarled back, "mind your damn business and stay the hell outa my way."

"Stay out of your way?" Camila scoffed, "you're the one causing problems, you're the one that messed up band practice!"

"Aww did that make you sad?" Eda sneered,

"does that make you wanna cry? jeez, it was funny, learn to take a joke!"

"It wasn't funny!" Camila seethed, "some kids were really allergic to that itching powder you put in the costumes!"

Eda hesitated loosing some of her steam.

"Ok Fine." Eda conceded, "that part wasn't as funny, but the rest was hilarious, I've never seen that dork, Alador run so fast."

"Because he was being chased by a flock of geese!" 

"You say that like I shouldn't laugh, but when you say it outloud, it's had not to" Eda chuckled.

Eda mimicked Aladors crys for help, and then flew into a fit of laughter.

Camila couldn't believe this was who she was stuck in detention with; Sure Alador was a dick. But that didn't make what Eda did to the rest of the band right.

Eda calmed down, and as quickly as she'd started laughing, the humour had left her.

"But I meant what I said princess,"

camila cringed at the nickname while Eda continued;

"Stay out of my way."

"Listen, tough girl. I'd love to never see your pretty face again–nice black eye by the way–

"–Yeah, thanks for that." Eda spat.

–and I'd love to never have to endure our special talks, anymore; but you keep starting trouble, and I'm not going to let you ruin my life just so you can get your kicks!"

"I'm not ruining your life, you're just obsessed with me."  Eda crossed her arms, "You haven't been able to leave me alone since day one!–"

"–And yeah ok, there'll always be someone to rat me out and mostly I don't mind, even if it is annoying, but it's always you, I don’t have to wonder who screwed me over because I always know its gonna be you. Every time. Takes the fun outa of guessing."

Eda sat on a desk behind her and sighed looking to the sealing, "you're consistent though, I'll give ya that."

Camila stood up and was relieved to find her stomach didn't hurt anymore. She'd never been punched in the gut before earlier and she wasn't eager to relive the experience, But still she had to say;

"I'm not going to leave you alone until you leave me alone. If you do that then we'll be fine. Also, stop roping other people into your pranks too, I don't care what you do to the teachers or the likes of Alador, but my friends aren't your collateral damage."

"When did this become a negotiation?" Eda snorted.

"Well, do you want to continue on the way we were before? It's simple, I won't step on your toes if you don't step on mine." 

Eda eyed her suspiciously with her good one, considering the offer. A moment later the girl made up her mind;

"Fine." She smirked and stuck out her hand, "you really annoying though, you know that?"

Camila smiled back, "that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

She then frowned, " ..Miss Jenkinmires not coming back is she?"

Eda went and slipped her school bag onto her shoulder;

"Nope" she said with a pop.

And then she disipeared out the classroom door.

[gentleoverdrive]

After the frenetic struggle faced by the two jogging buddies Alm and Lucina, the first weekend after the school term arrives. As Saturday breaks in, Ephraim finds himself an unlikely breakfast buddy. Will he be able to consume his tacos? And what of his carefully constructed image?

Saturday Morning: At Little Chalphy’s kitchen. (9 AM) Sitting at the cozy table within the kitchen, a young man was trying to help himself to the delicious treats two of his earnest dorm-mates helped prepare for the weekend. Thanks to the efforts of his twin sister and a certain Zofian boy, the tortillas Ephraim McFadden stuffed with delicious spit-grilled pork meat were a feast for a hangover that seems bent on haunting his morning. He felt, however, that the woman keeping him company was most definitely harshing his mellow with her prim and proper demeanor. Something had to be done and, heavens help him, he might have to be the one to do it. “Y’know, teach? If you keep coming here every single day, I’m pretty sure Cory ain’t the only one that’s gonna end up hating you” A delicate, dignified chuckle escaped her lips with the smallest of efforts. “Oh, you are such a joker, McFadden. Why would you dare suggest that my cute little sister does not love me back?” It felt like someone had sprinkled dusted jalapeño directly into his eyes. He absolutely doesn’t have the fortitude for this so early in the morning. “Because it’s Saturday morning, I’m trying to watch my breakfast and eat my goddamn cartoons, that aforementioned cute little sis of yours locked herself in her room and I’m pretty sure you have like 3 classes today in as many campuses. Now can I go back to my tacos?” “A young man eating by himself is just such a sad, sad sight to witness” “Aaaaannnd of course you’re not listening to me. Fantastic” Ephraim put his taco down and got off his seat. “Look, you might want to reconsider this whole endeavor of going after the one guy who managed to kick your ass; like I’m positive he already has his hands full being Anthiese’s super butler or whatever” He added, while looking for something within the fridge. “Plus, carving up his face seems like a very unintuitive way to net yourself a date, if we’re being honest” “Oh? And what would a dating master of such renown like yourself might suggest I do to hone my approach?” “Well, maybe try approaching that person you fancy like an equal? If you say something extreme as ‘Be mine!’ or putting them people in a pedestal, of course that’s gonna turn people off. We’re talking about a person with an agenda of their own, teach; if you treat that person you fancy like they’re either a prize to be earned or a mindless hunk of meat, of course the cold shoulder is the logical result” He grabbed the milk and a banana off the fridge. “Then again, some men love that, so what do I know?” “And yet he has remained every bit the polite gentleman towards me” Ephraim let out a drawn-out sigh while looking at the top shelves right next to the fridge, when he finally happened upon the bowl he was looking for. “That’s just common decency. Now tell me: Has he treated you any differently than he has literally anybody but Anthiese? Because she’s the one that gets the super duper, big, fancy, bells, cowbells and whistles pimped-out special deal, and I’m like… 90% sure that’s not just because she’s his employer” Ephraim placed the milk, banana and bowl right in front of Camilla before quickly moving to the opposite shelves. Slightly bemused at his seeming restlessness, she started following him around with her eyes. “Whatever do you mean? I see no such difference in the treatment he has given me at all when compared to his mistress” It was at that moment that Ephraim bumped his forehead against the bottom edge of the shelf. “D’ah! F—damn!” He briefly complained while rubbing his forehead, before finally chancing upon the thing he was looking for: chocolate-covered cereal; which he quickly placed in front of Camilla. “Are… owwwww… are you one hundred percent sure that you don’t see any difference, whatsoever, in how he treats you, your little sis, yours truly and the rest of the dorm plus however many peeps he interacts outside of here and how he treats the girl that walks with a skip in her step to school and sometimes even does a little happy dance whenever she so much as talks to him early morning?” “I sure wish I had the attention to detail you have” “Oh, for f— how is that information a secret to you?! You’ve been coming here for the past three days to stalk / harass Alm without fail. How—” A slam on the table interrupted him. “I. Am not. Harassing. Him” She closed the distance between them in a second as she grabbed his shirt’s neck, but Ephraim remained unfazed beyond raising his left eyebrow in mild surprise. “Sure, whatever” Suddenly, Ephraim jumped out at a realization. “Ah! You need a spoon and knife” “I don’t care what you think about me” Camilla’s usually easy-going expression had taken a turn for the sullen. “Psshyeah you do” He snorted after saying as much. He quickly made for the lower shelves this time and found a smaller-sized spoon, placing it to the left of the bowl while he looked at Camilla’s right eye. “Takes one to know one, after all; and you, Camilla Krakenberg, are so darn starved for the bare-assest of interactions and basic affection now that your little sis is out in the world on her own and benched your ass, that you’ve been harassing a kid whose only folly on this whole thing is that he interrupted you from unleashing the murder fury on some rapey idiot. Yes, I’m completely on your side in that said shithead probably had it coming. But why did you think that harming the him, not to mention THE CROWN PRINCESS OF A HALIDOM THAT REPRESENTS A CONTINENT THAT’S JUST FINALLY RECOVERING FROM A DEVASTATING WAR WAS A GOOD IDEA?” For a second, Camilla’s right eye betrayed no emotion… until Ephraim’s words found its target. She covered her mouth with her right hand, letting out the faintest of gasps as she slowly lowered her head, looking down at the table and suddenly looking back at her actions in a new, disturbing light. “Oh” “Oh indeed. Hell, you’re so desperate for interaction that you’re allowing a complete jackass to dress you down and smack your emotional ass all up in this bitch” If Ephraim was good at using his self-loathing for something, he wasn’t precisely subtle about it. But sometimes subtlety needs to take a rain-check. “You don’t know me at all” Even with how aggrieved Camilla sounded, hearing her spout that hackneyed phrase only reinforced Ephraim’s stance. “Perhaps I don’t. But this front you’re putting up? This commodity? It ain’t gonna do squat for you in the long term. Worst of all: I’m not telling you anything new, am I? Someone has trotted this out to you, if not verbatim, then at least more or less something similar to this spiel in the past, isn’t it?” In truth, nobody had given Camilla this kind of talk before. Now Camilla was looking down for the count, and Ephraim realized his words’ true weight almost right away. ‘Oh my gods, this is the first actual time she’s been given a ‘talk’ on this level, hasn’t she? Ugh, fuck my life’ His thoughts were now the real mess. ‘Now, whatever you do next, don’t try to comf—’ “Uh… wanna hug?” He spoke before further articulating that last thought. “… I’d like that” Her response blindsided him. ‘NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! You idiot! You absolute moron! YOU BIG. FUCKING. PALOOKA! Stop that shit right now. You stop it. StopItStopItStopItStopItStopIt—’ His head was going haywire, even as he tried to play it cool externally as he opened his arms. ‘No! Don’t Open Up! WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS, YOU DUMBASS?!’ Alas, it was too late. Now Camilla was letting out choked-out sobs as she buried her face on his right shoulder while her arms found firm comfort around his back. Meanwhile, Ephraim’s left hand patted her head, while his right one rested chastely on her mid-section. “There. That’s fine” When he briefly looked in the direction of the living room, he saw his sister, Corrin and Lucina staring dumb-founded at his current situation. ‘Are you ok?’ Eirika used sign language when she realized she had her brother’s attention. Since Ephraim had one of his hands in a somewhat compromised position, he had to improvise, so he gave his sister a thumbs-up, a wink using his right eye, and finally a combination of both his eyes and forming a rather awkward arrow with his left hand letting them know that the coast was clear and to head for the door. Eirika returned the thumbs up which she followed by tugging Corrin’s shirt so that they could get a move on. Lucina mouthed off a ‘Thank you!’ while Corrin simply waved at him. Once they left, Ephraim let out a sigh of relief. Coming to terms at Camilla’s hold on him not showing signs of stopping any time soon, the normally blunter of the two McFadden twins decided he might as well go the full nine yards and properly hug Camilla Krakenberg. ‘Well, whatever! Let this be my good deed for the day’ With his thoughts offering a respite, Ephraim grinned, not seemingly caring about the fact that his breakfast was getting colder.

Meanwhile… Outside Fjalar Rentals. (10 AM) Hector tried to get himself comfortable at the Rental Agency’s waiting lobby. “Man, these seats just plain aren’t designed for anybody with an actual ass” “Did I hear that just now? Is Hector Kormorane actively complaining about his resilient, powerful body in plain sight? Please, say it ain’t so” “Spare me the dumb quips, Eli” While deadpanning wasn’t his forte, Hector’s stink-eye game was strong indeed. “So, whaddya got there?” “Lemon-flavored and peach-flavored soda” Eliwood revealed two cans of soda. “So, which one’s gonna be?” “Hmm…” Hector deliberated for a moment before shrugging. “Eh, whichever one you don’t want is fine with me, man” “Fair enough” Eliwood hands his brother from another mother the Lemon-flavored beverage. “Pfft!” Hector was barely able to keep himself from guffawing. “Really now” The snickering was rather uncommon for a man who so often appeared like an open book to those closest to him. Eliwood’s eyes often did a lot of the talking for him, and in this case they showed a barely repressed need to smack his best friend upside the head. “So, why are we getting another rental car?” But more important that his need to visit a physical comeback was the query he just made. “Because” Hector’s cursory retort felt like he was dodging the topic. But Eliwood wasn’t having any of that. “Hec, Miss Eirika and Ephraim literally have a car that we can borrow whenever we need to, even if it’s for going on foolish errands; all we need is to do is let them know beforehand” “Dude, they were just being polite. They don’t actually expect us to ask them to borrow their car for reals in the first place” “Are you sure?” “I don’t know, Eli! I’m just saying. Do you think Miss Eirika’s gonna be all hunky dory with the potential prospects of either you or me getting busy in her car?” The quick back and forth between the Lycian league boys left one of them with much to think of. “... maybe?” Or perhaps not, it seems. Eliwood Faeris was, first and foremost, an idealist. “See? That’s your problem, Eli: You’re too much of an optimist” Hector was quick to latch on to that in order to try and get his best bud to be on his guard more from time to time.

“Hello, dears” As the voice that came from behind was a rather unfamiliar one, they both appeared unsure as to know how to react.

“See, I don’t think that’s a pro—AAAAAH!” “Dude, what’s your—G’AAAHHH!” They both went with their gut. An ungraceful result, all things considered. “Calm down, would you? She don’t bite or anything” “Not to be a douche nozzle or anything Ephs, but I think we’re within our rights to be spooked at seeing Teach Krakenberg with you on our day off” “Well, ya’ gotta start rolling with the punches better, then!” Hector slicked back the bangs off his forehead while looking at the person that, earlier in the week, had made an attempt on the life of two of his dorm mates, sighing once he was done fixing up his bangs properly. “I’ve held back my tongue due to Alm asking us to not be too hard on you. Little dude is a fucking trooper” “He is quite the catch, is he not? Hmmmmm… I wonder what will it—” “I was not finished” Hector slapped his left knee. “I’ve only known him and Luci for a little over a week, so I’m not gonna say that ‘oh! Best Friends Forever!’ or any of that sappy-ass nonsense. But I’m starting to get friendly with them; yes, Lucina is a pest of a girl whose constant curiosity drives me nuts, and yes, I sorely wish she would stop putting her foot in her mouth non-stop, but deep down she’s an OK kid. Hell, she very much feels like a little—” “AHHH, found it!” And before Hector could finish his sentence, his friend cut him off. “Dammit, Eli! I am pouring my heart out h—wait, what did you find?” “Remember when I told you that Ms. Anthiese looked familiar?” Hector’s eyebrows spoke volumes for him. “Whaddya mean?” He still felt like inquiring further, however. “Peep this right here” Eliwood shared his phone with Hector and the Ostian youth quickly found out what his oath brother meant. On the screen, a video played, with Anthiese herself appearing to hold a snow-white cat in her arms. Before long, both Ephraim and Camilla were hovering over them. Noticing this, Eliwood quickly rewound the video back to the beginning. The video description read… 366 likes / 5.2k reproductions ZofianCatLover ‘The cute cats of Sailane! Cannot miss it for anything in the world!’ #Traveling #Silesse #Sailane #Weekend #ZofianCatLover #OnePettingAtATime 2 hours ago. “Alm! Look at this plump little boy here!” Meanwhile, the video put her affectionate tones out in front when dangling her fingers above the aforementioned feline, which were rather odd for all three boys to see, especially given how composed the Zofian heiress behaved herself among them. “Isn’t he handsome?” “He sure is!” Even with the less-than-stellar audio, all 4 of them could recognize that voice immediately. For a few seconds after the video looped back to the beginning, everyone kept silent. “Whoa. WHAT? Is that the same ‘ice queen’ Riky has tried to get chummy with?” Among the currently present, nobody could buy just how sweet Anthiese Lima really sounded. Her calm, dignified disposition contrasted so badly with her current actions and tone on display. The biggest surprise, however, happened when the video got to the part where she reached with her right hand at the direction of the camera to grab the device; after a few seconds of shaky movements, Celica had stabilized the camera’s focus while her free arm found itself around the neck of a familiar young man. Alm himself looked supremely awkward standing around with Anthiese’s arm around him. The goofy and somewhat twitchy smile he was sporting while also holding the white cat in his arms spoke of the fact that he was probably the regular behind the camera lens in these videos. All hell broke loose, however, when she rested her head against Alm’s shoulder. “Oh my” While Camilla’s subdued response was expected… “NO WWWAAAAAYYYYY!”  Ephraim, Hector and Eliwood’s exclamation fetched a lot of stares from the people around them, especially so when they synched up their respective expressions of astonishment. Camilla looked somewhat askance by the juvenile outburst demonstrated by the trio of students. “Duuude!” “SWEET!” “You better believe!” Ephraim raised both hands up, which both the Lycian league youths immediately capitulated by high-fiving him. “So, what are the odds that they’re actually dating?” Eliwood’s query did not have a specific recipient. “That’s a 10/11 right there. No-brainer” Yet Ephraim felt confident enough replying to his junior. All of a sudden, Camilla felt even more out of place than before. “Why are you so invested in Alm and little Anthiese being an item?” “Because we’ve been here for a week and in that time we had—drumroll please Señor Ephraim” Ephraim obliged Faeris’ request by using Hector’s shoulder as a makeshift snare drum, while Eliwood and Hector took a deep breath. ♪ “4 insult challenges” ♫ “3 DC probations” ♫ “2 Cook-offs” ♪ “1 bungled kidnapping” In that moment, the trio stopped singing and alternated between tap-dancing and stomping around for a cool 5-second interlude. When their brief dance number came to an end, all three opted to strike a pose, using their left arm to motion a jazz hand in Camilla’s direction. ♪ “And a foiled muuuuurrrdeeer aaatteeempt!” ♫ Camilla was rather miffed at being reminded of the actions she performed a couple of days ago. Since she decided to be a good sport, however, the martial arts instructor decided to indulge the trio by offering a few claps for their attempts. “Riveting”   Before long, however, they were all interrupted by a man tapping on Hector’s shoulder. “Are you Hector Kormorane?” “Indeed! Whaddya got for me, buddy” “Well, given your previously stated satisfaction and user review from your first rental, we’ve thought… well, if you look to your left, you’ll see” Upon chancing a glance at the new rental they were being offered, both Eliwood Faeris and Hector Kormorane very loud, unbridled expressions of shock rendered them speechless for a spell. “It’s—” “A TRUE BEAUTY!” Both 3rd years ran towards the car, feeling as though it was a mirage bound to disappear before they could reach it. “Uh—” The rental agency employee was left feeling understandably stumped at both kids making a mad dash, especially with the key component still being in the palm of his hand. Luckily, one person remained with his feet down on earth. “It's fine, I’ll take the keys” And Ephraim did just that.

[bojacktherapy-blog]

Is Bojack’s Depression keeping me Happily Depressed?

Do you ever look at your life and see you have a codependency to your depression? Like you’re fully attached to this feeling and the consistent presence it promises that you become comfortable in it. I’m currently on the last season (as of now) of the Netflix original series, Bojack Horseman. I just now realized that this is the final season and soon I won’t have this feeding my depression. I won’t have this constant reaffirmation of my constant negative thoughts. Bojack Horseman takes a more realistic approach on how people feel about themselves. How a lot of people feel about themselves. Whether you see yourselves as an unappreciated overachiever, like Princess Carolyn. Or a self-loathing narcissist, like Bojack. Every character is relatable in someway. With a lighter meta vibe the show makes for a fun who’s who of the fictitious, Hollywoo. With interpersonal anecdotes, real life scenarios, and creative/trippy animations Bojack Horseman makes for a low key stoners perfect sad girl binge.

For the past few weeks, give or take months, the depression has been on high. Even getting a job to assuage my boredom hasn’t taken up enough space in my mind. So I had to find something else. Something that wouldn’t take too much effort. Upon perusing the myriad of streaming services, I passed up my usual go-tos. Broad City and Seth Rogen movies for a show I had attempted to start multiple times before.

Bojack Horseman. A series of self described misfortunes is the life that Bojack Horseman would say he lives. A washed up 90s sitcom actor grasping on the remnants of his life. Bojack lives a life where he is the victim. If only people were smarter, funnier, kinder. If people weren’t terrible. If people would just be different than who they are, then and only then would they be acceptable for Bojack. With a line of quirky side characters with equally as appealing and addictive personalities who hold on to their own self destructive tendencies, the Netflix original used my insecurities against me to follow a misfit bunch on a series of wacky adventures for 5 seasons.

While I try not taking life advice from cartoons, Bojack Horseman gives out a lot of helpful anecdotes that have made me realize, I’m not happy and I don’t know when I will be or if I even want to be. Let me explain. For all the ‘what do you mean you don’t wanna be happy?’ commentators getting their fingers ready. Of-fucking-course I want to be happy. I want to walk outside and look at the sky and be glad to be alive. I want to be a person who thanks God for giving me another day to live and then posts about how grateful I am on Facebook. I want to smile at people, not because I’m afraid they’ll see how sad I am if I don’t but because I really want to just...smile.

So, what did i really mean when I said, ‘I don’t know if I wanna be happy.’ I meant more along the lines of I don’t know if I want to give up my comfortability to be happy. I’m going on my 4th (5th?) year with doctor diagnosed depression and anxiety. That’s 1,460 days. That’s 2,102,400 minutes. That’s 126,144,000 seconds. Seconds I have gotten used to. Seconds I have gotten comfortable in. Seconds where I agonized over hating myself, my body image, my ‘daddy’ issues, and my abandonment issues. Seconds where I had set alarms in my brain for mental bashings. My mind would rest up and only really turn on when it was time to make a fool of me. When it was time to call me names and tell me no one loves.

It’s funny before Bojack i didn’t really watch sad shows that called me out on my bullshit. I tried to keep it light. Especially when smoking. When I was ready to turn my brain off I always tried to keep the mindless entertainment to shenanigans and good times. I tried to keep the storylines tight and the chances of having a happy ending with a clean resolution even tighter. But Bojack Horseman isn’t my usual. It made me realize that not only do I have hundreds of self destructive tendencies I don’t have the support system to deal with any of the problems I think I have. I feel like watching B.H, was a one sided therapy. I listened and then used the 5 seconds before the next episode and the 10 seconds of theme song to try and rationalize how I felt about myself. 

I know it’s not so crazy to think that Bojack’s depression is keeping me happily depressed because his depression did the same thing to Diane’s depression when she left Cordovia and didn’t tell Mr. Peanut Butter and decided to crash on Bojack’s couch for six months. Diane was so comfortable in the uncomfort of her depression because Bojack did it every day. And his life wasn’t too bad...was it? She was feeding her anxiety and her depression with Bojack’s feelings of depression and anxiety and maybe even PTSD. And when you keep something fed, it’s bound to grow.

Season 2 episode 12, titles Out To Sea, ends with Bojack Horseman pushing himself to jog up a hill by his house. Once he jogs up he collapses and stares at the sky. A baboon that had been jogging up and down the hill for most of the season comes into view and says, “Every day it gets a little easier… But you gotta do it every day — that's the hard part. But it does get easier.”. This was the first time I felt not alone. Or better understood. And I wasn’t even explaining myself to anyone. The wise baboon simply applied his stupid general knowledge to my life and I ran with it. He definitely meant just running but I had applied that meaning to my intentions on being happy. Being intentional about my happiness was going to be hard. But it was going to get easier. Everyday I did it. The hard part, was the fact that I would have to be intentional every day.

I read a tumblr post years ago, not sure if it was real or fake but I’ll use it as my closing piece because in all honesty who’s going to read this and who’s going to even give a shit? Anyways on the post a woman is talking to her younger girl family member, not sure about the relationship. But the younger girl tells the woman that she wants to be an astronaut. The older woman tells her that in order to do that she’ll have to go to school, go to college, train, and apply herself or something like that. The girl ponders the information for a minute and then responds. She says, “well that doesn’t seem too bad that’s only 4 things.” Now of course because i’m not a fucking child and I know what each indiviual thing holds i know, it’s technically 4 things with a hell of a lot of sub lists. (i.e. 1a...1b...2a...3d...) But when i remember reading the post, I remember thinking wow. The things we really want to accomplish are truly only a short list away. Being intentional everyday about my happiness is literally 1 thing. It’s all I truly need to do. But I’m so hung up on the sub points. About the things that stupid little girl wouldn’t think about. I shouldn’t call her stupid. She’s not stupid she’s hopeful. Or confident. Or whatever positive forward thinking term we have out right now. I don’t know if at the end of Bojack Horseman if I’ll find my one-step intentional happiness program but I do know something will be there.

Back in the 90’s I was in a very famous t.v. show...

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Waking Up in Vegas--Ch. 13

Chapter 13: Information Overload

That Weekend

Mera, Late Morning, 10:47 AM

           I couldn’t remember the last time I had been this exhausted. There had been the drive from Southern California back to Las Vegas to drop Dean’s car at the house. Then, there was the struggle of getting a straight shot flight from Vegas to Orlando on short notice. The last twelve hours had been a rush of movement and travel with hardly a moment of down time. And I hadn’t had a comfortable moment of sleep either.

           My entire body ached as I pulled my suitcase from the luggage carousel. Dean grabbed his bags and started piling them together like Tetris blocks. I stood nearby, nearly dead on my feet, trying desperately to stay upright.

           He glanced at me, something flickering in his cornflower eyes. “C’mon, Mera,” he said softly, reaching out to take my hand. “Let’s get you home. You look like you could use a nap.”

           I let him lead me through the terminal toward the taxis lined up outside. Silence settled between us making me feel guilty. I was grumpy and tired. Traveling so much was so out of the norm for me that it made me want to scream to think about doing all this again in two days.

           Dean packed our luggage into the trunk of the taxi as I climbed inside. I gave the driver my address and leaned against the window, wishing desperately for my own shower and my own bed. When he climbed into the seat beside me, Dean pulled me gently into his arms, settling me against his chest. As we left the airport, he pressed a kiss against my hair. “Go to sleep, darlin’. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

 Dean, Late Morning, 11:18 AM

           Mera looked so miserable that it broke my heart. She’d gotten a few hours’ sleep in the car on the drive back to Las Vegas, but that was it. By the time we’d gotten our laundry taken care of, luggage packed, and flights booked, she was on edge and unable to relax. The trip hadn’t been easy on her, and I felt guilty for begging her to fill in for the road AT. I’d wanted to keep her with me, to enjoy a few more days of the bliss that I felt when she was nearby, but I hadn’t thought of how unaccustomed to the road schedule she might be.

           She curled against my side, head lolling against my shoulder as we drove. It didn’t take long for me to recognize where we were headed. Most of the people who worked at the Performance Center lived in the outlying areas. Some of the medical staff lived in nicer areas closer to the building, while most of the talent lived in cheaper places with one or two other people. Mera lived in the Ballencia Apartment complex. One of the nicer areas. Better than the rathole I lived in when I first came to Florida.

           When we pulled up at the address, I was loathe to rouse her from the first sleep she’d had in nearly a day. I half thought that I might get the driver to bring in the bags while I carried her into the apartment, but I didn’t know which one was hers and had no clue where she’d packed her keys.

           “Mera, we’re here,” I whispered, shaking her gently. “Help me get you inside and you can go to bed.”

           She grunted angrily but sat up, thrusting her wallet at me. Her finger jabbed at me, then at the driver. I took it to mean she wanted me to pay him with her card or the cash she had inside. Instead, I stuffed it in my pocket and dug my own wallet out of my pocket. I handed over some cash—ten bucks over the price on the meter—then got out to grab the bags.

           “You get the keys and go inside. I’ll bring the stuff.” I brushed my fingers against her cheek and smiled. “Just tell me which one it is.”

           She dug a set of keys from the front pocket of her suitcase and pointed to the bottom left apartment. As she trotted off, I hauled the luggage from the trunk. I swore, the sticky heat reminding me why I preferred Vegas to Orlando. The temperature I could handle. The humidity killed me.

 Mera, Midday, 12:04 PM

           Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

           I tossed my keys on the coffee table, shed my jacket and threw it over the back of the chair, kicked off my shoes somewhere by the door. All I wanted was my bed. I didn’t care that I felt sweaty and gritty from the plane. Sleep was all that mattered.

           Once in the bedroom, I tugged off my jeans and bra. I flipped back the covers and crawled beneath in nothing but my t-shirt and panties. The air conditioning buzzed lightly in the background, the white noise and cool air lulling me quickly into sleep.

 Dean, Midday, 12:04 PM

           I pushed the door closed behind me, made sure that it was locked. Her apartment was small, beige painted walls and wood laminate floors. There were accents of Mera everywhere I looked. I wondered how long she’d been there, how much of this place was somewhere for her to hide from the things that had happened to her.

           I left the bags by the kitchen counter and rounded in to get to the fridge. I tugged it open, grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it down, enjoying the cool air that poured out from the AC.

           Only then did I go in search of my wife.

           There weren’t many places to look. I found her in the bedroom, curled up in a cocoon of blankets. She looked so blissful, finally in some comfort with the ability to rest for a few well-earned hours. I smiled as I tossed off my jacket and kicked off my jeans before crawling in beside her.

           She shifted toward me, burrowed against my chest and tucking an arm over my stomach. I closed my eyes, letting my lips linger against her forehead, promising deep in my soul that I would never give her cause to cry.

 Mera, Afternoon, 2:26 PM

           Jet lag found me as I roused from sleep. It took me a few moments to realize that I was at home in my own bed. Sitting up, I stretched, caught sight of the jacket hanging off the doorknob. Noise filtered in from the living room. It was the sound of the television and someone talking over it. When Dean’s voice registered, I couldn’t help but smile.

           I rolled out of bed and padded out into the living room. Dean was standing at the stove in just his jeans, a towel thrown over one shoulder, a skillet on one burner sizzling with bacon and another frying eggs. There were cartoons on the television—something about a panda, a polar bear, and a brown bear.

           “Are you watching cartoons, Dean?”

           He turned toward me, a sideways smile on his face as he waved a spatula in my face. “Hey, don’t trash We Bare Bears. Ice Bear gives some good advice.”

           I slid into place beside him, my fingers brushing the small of his back. He wrapped one arm around my head, pulled me in and gave me a kiss on the hair.

           “There wasn’t a whole lot in the fridge, but I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up. And I didn’t know where your take-out menus were.”

           “This looks perfect,” I murmured, leaning against his side.

           A shadow passed over his face, something that made his easy-going smile turn sad and melancholy. I frowned, fingers reaching up to touch his cheek. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

           With a sigh, he sat the spatula on the counter and turned toward me. His hands wrapped around mine, thumbs skimming over my knuckles. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

           “What’re you talking about?”

           He pulled me close, holding me with tender care. “You were crying in your sleep.”

 Dean, Afternoon, 2:27 PM

           Mera watched me as if I’d discovered some horrible secret. I felt the tremor go through her body, an ache that seemed to shatter her ability to stay on her feet.

           “You’re exhausted, darlin’,” I soothed, drawing her against my chest, trailing my fingers through her tangled hair, separating the soft curls from their knots. “You’ve had a wild week.”

           A soft smile crossed her face. It was heartbreaking in its beauty and its sadness. I let myself sink into the promise I’d made her—the oath that I would do everything I possibly could to help her find happiness and peace, to be by her side through every step of her life. My lips ghosted along the top of her head, her brow, along her cheeks.

           “I can hold it together pretty well most of the time,” she mumbled. “But sometimes…”

           I rocked her gently, trying to find the right words. There was so much that I didn’t know, so many quiet fears and specters that I couldn’t anticipate. I wanted to protect her from every pain or terror that might seep into her world. She was the beat of my heart, the breath in my lungs, the very thing in my soul that kept my body in motion. What more could I do to the goddess of my life than to protect her with every ounce of strength I possessed?

           “Whenever you’re ready,” I breathed against her hair, “whenever you decide you want to talk, I’ll listen. It’s us together now, remember? Whatever burdens you carry, whatever pain you have, I want to carry it with you. However you want me to.”

Tag List

@bethany99stuff-blog @xbutterflius-effectusx @houndsofjxstice @mother-forker

[aerynwrites]

Writer Questionare

Short stories, novels, or poems?

For writing: short stories are a must for me. I have the attention span of a three year old so it’s almost impossible for me to write anything longer than a few chapters.

*Fun fact time!* - I actually did write a chapter fic when I was in late middle school about a YouTuber I like and he actually fucking read it on his channel. I was just cringing so hard I wanted the void to swallow me whole. Most people would love for their fic to be read by said person, but nope. Nuh-uh. That was not supposed to be seen by him and I hope it ever sees the light of day ever agin.

What genre do you prefer reading?

I prefer reading Scienc fiction or thrillers for sure! Anything post-apocalyptic or something that gets me thinking and my heart racing is just such a joy for me!

What genre do you prefer writing?

Fiction and Sci-fi.

Are you a planner or a write-as-I-go kind of person?

Can I be a little of both? Like I never have anything fully planned out with a beginning, middle, and end. It’s usuallu just one of thos pieces or a certain quote or scene I have stuck in my head and I know I want to get to that point, but everything else just happens. I’ll st down and just let whatever happens happen.

What music do you listen to while writing?

This is going to sound weird, but....I don’t? Music never had and probably never will be a big or imperative thing in my life. I only listen to music when I’m in the car and then very rarely, I’ll listen to the a Spotify acoustic station when I am doing homework or working on my art. I find music distracting when I write.

Fave books/movies?

Get ready y’all. Buckle in. Because this is gonna be a good sized list. I love movies and watch way too many, as well as read too much haha.

Movies:

Wind River - By far probably one of my favorite movies. Stunning film work, amazing actors, heart wreanching and eye opening story about the struggles and dangers the Native Americans face in Reservations.

Sicario (1&2) - wonderful camera work and filming, definitely on the darker side but with a good message and story about the corruption of the American gov’t operations and such.

Oblivion - TALK ABOUT PLOT TWISTS! Post-apocalyptic, keeps you on your toes!

Forrest Gump - A classic. Also, Tom Hanks. I love that man.

Pretty much all the marvel movies but I wont go into detail about that.

Bird Box - A newbie to the film world, but so worth the watch, I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen and I felt many emotions through out the entire movie.

Books:

My English major is going to show lol.

The 5th Wave series

The crucible

Hunger games

Of Mice and Men

Desiree’s Baby (a text I read in college but I fucking love it so much)

Paradise Lost

1984 (a classic that is starting to become eerily similar to todays America 0.0)

The Lord of the Rings

Any current WIPs?

Nope. I can’t write anything in pieces. If I write something I get it all done in one sitting.

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

Easy. Skinny jeans, with sneakers or my doc martens, and a simple t-shirt or long sleeved shirt

Create a character description for yourself:

Hi, I’m Aeryn, I am very plain (no make-up or anything) with shoulder length dark brown hair that doesn’t know what the fuck it’s doing, so I just straighten it all the time. I wear glasses because I’m blind as a bat. I am an extrovert when I want to be but most of the time socializing wears me out so I tend to star introverted and stay to my self a lot. I will get very deep with conversations very fast so be warned. Also I get very heated about the things going on in society and pollution for some reason?

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

Not really. I incorporate aspects of them though. Like their characteristics or mannerisms, but not the people themselves.

Are you kill-happy with characters?

Depends. If I’m in a fluffy happy mood, they are safe. If I am in an angststy mood ERRY BODY GONNA DIE.

Coffee or tea while writing?

Neither.

Slow or fast writer?

Fast. Too fast. I can bust out 2-3 pieces a day if I wanted too and had enough free time.

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Mainly my own head. I think if random scenarios all the time and then usually apply that to my writing. But if not that then defiantly the other talented and fantastic writers on this website!

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

Idk what I would be to everyone else, but I would love to be a wood elf. (Super specific I know lol). But I love the outdoors, and the idea of being like one with nature and such. I also do archery competitively so I have that going for me.

Most fave book cliche? Least fave book cliche?

I love the whole like dense characters don’t know they each like one another until the end of this story cliche. Such a good one lol.

NOW. I absolutely LOATH, the absence of communication trope. Like JUST FUCKING TALK TO EACHOTHER PEOPLE!!! Oh you saw me kissing this boy at a bar? Why would I tell you my side of the story instead of brokenly saying random words until you storm off and then brood in misery? LIKE WHAT??? It bugs the SHIT out of me when characters problems could be fixed with like one, 2 minute long conversation but they just don’t do it.

Fave scenes to write?

Angsty, sad, pining, just sad scenes.

Most productive time of day for writing?

Eh. Whenever I have time. It’s usually afternoon or evening though.

Reason for writing?

Mainly because I like to do it! I love fan fic because I love the idea of making about her person’s world your own and making he ending YOU want. It’s nice and therapy I to just get stuff of my chest and onto paper!

Sorry for ant spelling errors, it’s late and I gott work in the morning lol.

I tag: @writerscavity @deviantsupporter @that-one-kermit-blog @self-indulgent-authorship @landofmisfitfics

[allonsysilvertongue]

Anchor

Hello everyone! I was recently listening to Next To Me by Imagine Dragons and couldnt help but feel that this song is about hayffie so here you have it, a songfic! Just know that timeline is not in order.

Anchor

Something about the way that you walked into my living room Casually and confident lookin' at the mess I am But still you, still you want me Stress lines and cigarettes, politics, and deficits Late bills and overages, screamin' and hollerin' But still you, still you want me

Haymitch squinted.  The bright glare of the sunlight streaming through the curtain someone had clearly parted open was making the throbbing in his head worse. He tried to speak – to demand that the curtain be pulled shut – but his mouth was dry and he couldn’t form words. There was a cloud over his head, one he couldn't shake free to think.

He moaned instead, reaching out blindly to look for something – a blanket or cushion or a soiled shirt – to cover his face but his hand connected instead with something soft, warm and bony.

Haymitch blinked, trying to form coherent thoughts but it was a slow process. He glanced up and all the misery he felt vanished at the sight of her.

“Sweetheart,” he slurred and he was sure he was grinning.

She wasn’t. Her lips were pursed into a thin line and her jaw was set, but her eyes… She looked sad. His fingers that were curled around her ankle tightened.

“Haymitch,” she sighed, freeing herself from his grip. She stood over him and surveyed the mess he made. “This simply won’t do.”

Then just like that, she was going around his living room cleaning after his mess. She threw empty bottles into a black trash bag; she fluffed old cushions and arranged them on the sofa; she discarded dirty clothes into the hamper and plates into the sink.

He could only watch as she moved around with the familiarity and confidence of someone who knew where things should be and ought to be. When she was done, she returned with a glass of water and a pill to help with his headache and sat next to him on the floor with her back against the sofa.

“I do not like seeing you like this,” she told him.

He fumbled but managed to cover her hand with his own. Clumsily, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, silently trying to temper her anger and soothe her.

“It’s who I am,” he shrugged.

“It’s not,” she argued. She shook her hand free to reach for her cigarette and lighted it up right there in his living room. “You need to learn to live.”

He chuckled.

If only it was that easy…

He felt lost after the war, as if he had no purpose. For years, his life had been building up to the Rebellion; to help find the right spark and when the spark turned out to be one of his charges, he vowed to protect her and the boy because they were his to protect. Now it was all over and he did not know the role he should play.

Haymitch figured that sooner or later, Effie would be tired of this; she would be tired of coming to Twelve to find him passed out somewhere with his house in a mess; she would be tired of having to clean so it would be habitable for the entire week that she was visiting; she would be tired of them spending the week, depending on their mood,  fucking and making love before she headed back to the City where she worked for President Paylor; she would be tired of waiting for him to tell her that he wanted something more instead of them acting as they were before the war; she would be tired of them arguing about inane things and her words falling on deaf ears.

He figured she would leave one day but he would always find her there, month after month after month.

Oh, I always let you down You're shattered on the ground But still, I find you there next to me

She trusted him.

He knew that and yet, he couldn’t even secure a passage for her to District Thirteen. He was a fool to think that she would be safe here in the Capitol. He was a fool to trust Plutarch and his equally banal associate.

He should have trusted his gut.

Haymitch brushed her hair away from her face, taking in the pale skin blotched with various bruises, the multiple bandages covering her wounds and the cast on her ankle. She might never be able to walk with heels again and while he thought that was a small price to pay for being alive, he knew she would still be upset.

The hours ticked by and between running to check on Katniss, Peeta and Effie, Haymitch was exhausted. He didn’t realise he had fallen asleep on the armchair until he felt a weight settled on his laps. His eyes flew open and his breathing quickened, a thousand horrible thoughts crossing his mind.

“Stupid,” he muttered. “You know to never do that. I could have hurt you.”

She gazed up at him, looking helpless and loss.

Haymitch sighed but wrapped an arm around her and slowly, she rested her head on his shoulder. He had picked the smallest hospital gown for her and still, it hung off her frame. If that wasn’t evident enough of the tremendous amount of weight she had lost, he barely felt a thing even with her now settled on his lap.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

“Feel better this way,” she answered, pressing her cold nose against his neck.

He couldn’t understand how she could still seek solace from him when he had let her down and disappointed her. She was looking at him to pick up her shattered pieces and that thought alone shook him.

I got no innocence, faith ain't no privilege I am a deck of cards, vice or a game of hearts And still you, still you want me

“I’m a monster,” he spat in her face.

“So am I,” she retorted, standing her ground. “Do not come and tell me you have blood on your hands because I do, too. Do you want to see which one of us is the bigger monster, then?”

He stomped away, not that he got far because she grabbed his arm. He yanked it free.

Effie side stepped him to block his path, shoved him back against the wall and kissed him hard.

“You are a difficult and silly man,” she said, biting down on his lower lip. “But you are not driving me away with that drivel about being a monster. We are all guilty of something, Haymitch, but we are also loved by someone somewhere. Do we not deserve it?”

Was he deserving of that?

He didn’t know. All he knew right then was that his fingers digging into her waist would leave a mark tomorrow.

“I got nothin’, sweetheart. Nothing to offer you,” he managed say in between kisses. “I’m just an old drunk with no more faith for the future left.”

“You saved Katniss and Peeta. They lighted up the hope in you that you thought was long gone. Let me in, Haymitch,” she begged. “Believe in me, in us. We’ll teach each other to feel alive.”

He stared at her, this impossibly stubborn woman. She deserved far better and he couldn’t understand the reason she kept coming back to him.

Shared history, a voice whispered.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had recently stopping wearing the wigs, and even if they were no longer some bright, obnoxious colours as they were before, he still preferred her this way with her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She had let it grow over the months and she was beautiful.

“We need to get inside. Annie should be cutting Finn’s cake soon,” she sighed, stepping out of his embrace.

He lamented the loss of her warmth almost immediately.

But when she slipped her hand in his and tugged him forward, he followed. He should realise by now that despite the occasional self-loathing that he felt on bad days, it could never drive her away.

Oh, so thank you for taking a chance on me I know it isn't easy But I hope to be worth it

“Sweetheart?”

The house was quiet which shouldn’t be the case, not with two children in the house. Haymitch unwrapped his scarf and shrugged off his coat to hang them on the hooks by the wall that he had only put up two weeks ago after Effie’s nagging had become too much to bear.

He poked his head into the living room only smiled at the sight.

The eight year old Finn was sprawled on his back on the floor with the television still turned on to one of his favourite cartoons. Effie was curled on the sofa with little Willow Mellark tucked safely by her side.

That would explain the peace and quiet.

To get the children to take an afternoon nap was a difficult thing to do on his own but this was Effie so he shouldn’t really be surprised. She could accomplish anything she sat her mind to.

Depending on when they took the nap, he figured he would at least have another hour or so before one of the children wakes up.

He deposited the grocery on the kitchen counter and started on the snacks. He had prepared it with Effie a few times now to know what to do. When he was done, he brought the plates laden with cookies, fresh milk and hot tea out into the living room.

Haymitch kept away the toys, stack the books nicely on the coffee table and folded the blankets that he had used to make a fort with Finn earlier.

“You’re back.”

“Hey,” he greeted. He walked over to where she was slowly stretching to press a quick kiss on her lips, “cookies and milk for the brats, strawberry tea for you all on the table.”

“Oh, Haymitch,” she smiled. “I made you take the trip to Town -”

“I even cleaned,” he said proudly.

“Oh, you did!” she marvelled.   “And you prepared snacks for them all by yourself….”

“I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you.”

“Is that so?”

“They’re lucky I’m fond of their grandmother,” he shrugged.

She laughed and pulled him down for a kiss to thank him for all his efforts. She didn’t have to, not when he should count his lucky stars to have her with him. Effie was always there in nearly every chapter of his life and his only desire is to make it worth for her.

[moss-sauce]

pardon my french but tonight fucking sucks ass. sorry for writing a small novel but i just want to go lay in the road and wait for a car to pass by

“feels like the world is against you” yeah but you know what blows chunks? when urself is against u. when ur actively trying to get better but part of you is constantly nagging “listen to that song you know will bring up the past. read old conversations. look up these stories of people that went through with things. put yourself in that situation, because you can’t avoid it” and i know i shouldn’t and it’s like i don’t WANT to but suddenly there i am, alone in my room, listening to the same song i listened to that put those thoughts in my head.

 like 2016 okay i had high school and shit worrying me and taxing me. early 2019 i was in two hard college classes and a lot of things were going on. but what now? literally nothign. oh no, the family is bickering. oh no, i feel like my friends are getting bored and/or tired of me so they’re moving on just like everyone else has. oh no, i’m being faced with the reality that i am going to be alone to deal with this at some point and i know i’m not going to be able to stick through it. and it’s like fuck man. it’s been like what. 4 years now. maybe 5. of this. of this shit damn near every waking day.

man i don’t LIKE arguing with myself. i dont LIKE feeling like there’s two different people going on in one stupid person. one person is trying to be kind and gentle and loving to everyone around them and would never ever turn those harsh emotions on anyone else, and the other is targeting everything that’s left at themself. like all that hatred and self-loathing and worthlessness and hopelessness and despair and frustration and just general Fuck Sad Idiot Bullshitness is all funneled into one cannonball that’s shot point blank at myself.

i look in the mirror and i go “well what the fuck is that thing” when i see myself. i don’t fuckin. idk. see what other people see. that’s cliche but that’s how it be. i don’t see a kind and caring and gentle and loving and smart person. i see someone who can’t be left alone because they’ll harm themselves. i see someone that’ll fuck up their arms to take anger out and then scramble for ways to hide it so it doesn’t attract attention even though everyone thinks that’s why it happens in the first place. i see someone that’s tried to take the easy, coward’s way out twice now. i see someone that’s so fucking terrified of being like...known and interacting with people face-to-face that it’s the reason why i’m so dead lonely now. someone that has to hoard tissues back in their room because they go back there to hide away from people to simmer in this kind of feeling and cries so much they get sick and blame it on the heat or whatever. someone who literally has nothing to look forward to except the next psychiatrist/therapist appointment because that’s the only thing that goes on.  i see someone that isn’t a good person. i see someone that gives up and is too guilty to face it

you know what the tl;dr of this is? the world isn’t the biggest dang factor in this. its my damb self. like you know in cartoons where there would be the lil angel and the devil on a dude’s shoulders? to me it’s like rational brain vs fuck brain. except rational brain is really really trying but is about the size of a gnat with just as much voice and fuck brain is the size and weight equivalent of a fucking bulldozer with just as much volume and force.

[flightandsurvival]

To pass the time.

Let’s start with you: How are you?: I am feeling very under the weather. Yesterday afternoon I started to notice some post-nasal drip and by bedtime I had to chug nyquil to get to sleep because swallowing hurt me. Woke up to a tender throat, stuffy and runny nose, and a sinus headache... so things could be better, but they could also be worse. 

What motivates you to get up every day?: Sunlight. If there is no sun, there is no motivation and it’s the biggest struggle to roll myself out of bed. 

Do you have a true best friend?: I don’t have a “best friend” because I have a handful of best friends... whom I trust wholeheartedly. I think limiting my love to just one “best friend” would be a waste of my affections. 

Do you see yourself as a sensitive person?: Yes, absolutely. 

Have you been upset recently?: Nope. I’ve been really good lately. 

Do you still leave/receive voicemails?: Yes... I want to make sure that people know that I have called and that its not a huge emergency but I want to touch base. I don’t call others often though... 

Do you live in your hometown?: No. 

Are you a festive person? Do you enjoy holidays?: I’m not super festive, I both love and loathe holidays. I’ve got complicated relationships with all of my immediate family, with the exception of my dad. 

Did you/Will you attend college?: I attended Queens College and am enrolled in the University of New England presently for my masters. 

How many alarm clocks do you use?: My phone. 

Do you consider yourself to be an open-minded person?: Absolutely. 

Do you eat fruit?: All the time. 

What is your favorite subject to learn about?: Psychology, psychopathology, trauma. 

How many meals a day do you typically eat?: It depends... I often forget breakfast. 

Music, eh?

Have you seen any live shows?: Yes. 

Name three of your favorite bands/artists…: Lizzo, Demi Lovato, The Avett Brothers. 

How big of a role does music play in your life?: I am always listening to music. 

Can you play any instruments?: Nope. 

You’re feeling down - do you listen to sad music or happy? Both, either. 

If you’ve ever been to a concert, how old were you and who did you see?: I’ve seen NoName, All Time Low (more than once), We The Kings, Hey Monday, Underoath, LIGHTS, Lake Street Dive, Xavier Rudd, Trevor Hall, Highly Suspect, Ashlee Simpson, and a handful of others.  Do you prefer music to be meaningful and deep, or purely for dancing/fun?: Either. Depends on my mood.  Is there a song or artist that you secretly enjoy, but don’t want to enjoy?: Taylor Swift. The bish makes catchy music. 

If you could only listen to music from one decade, which would you choose?: 90′s. Has your parents taste in music in any way affected what you like?: Definitely. My dad has always been a downloader of music and movies, he would have a very eclectic selection and I had full access.  You’re looking for some new music - what’s your preferred way to discover?: Through the “other artists you may like” section of apple music or listening to different playlists.  Do you still own any CD’s/records/tapes?: Not on purpose.  Do you ever hear a new song on tv that you like and find it?: Yes.  Speaking of television… (look at that smooth transition!) Do you watch a lot of television? Whether that be shows, news, movies etc.: I watch a lot of netflix and hulu.  Do you watch the news?: No.  What about the weather channel?: No.  What’s your favorite holiday movie?: I’m not sure. Elf maybe.  What hooks you to a television show? Light and funny or really dark and intense.  How do you feel about adult cartoons?: They’re alright. Not my preferred genre.  Talk shows - boring or entertaining?: Can be entertaining when I’m bored out of my mind... but overall boring.  Do you prefer cable, satellite or streaming?: Streaming.  Have you come across any new shows you like this year?: The Act. Super fucked up, super intense, and super thought-provoking.  Do you still watch shows that you grew up watching?: No.  What about movies that you grew up with?: No.  Are you subscribed to any streaming services?: Hulu.  Reality shows - entertaining or horrifying?: Entertainingly horrifying. Vanderpump Rules is a must watch.  What is the first movie you ever saw in a cinema?: I don’t recall.  Let’s talk about what you don’t discuss at Sunday brunch Do you identify with any organized religion?: I would say I lean heavily toward Buddhism.  If so - is it how you were raised, or have you found your own?: I was raised without an ounce of religion discussed. I had friends who went to church but if they asked me what religion my family was I wouldn’t have known the answer. My mom grew up Jehovah's Witness and subsequently did not want to push religion on to her children in any way. My dad is super atheist and never directly discussed religion with me.  Do you think that marijuana should be legalized?: Absolutely. It’s less destructive than alcohol. It can be used for SO MANY things. Marijuana is good.  If so, would that be for medical use only, or recreational?: Both. Medical cards are expensive af and they have to be renewed every year. Pay 200+ every year for medical access (plus the cost of the weed) or just buy recreational without that 200+ yearly fee...  Pro-life or pro-choice?: Incredibly pro-choice. I do not know if I would get an abortion myself, I’ve never been in that spot, but I do know its not a single bit of my goddamn business if someone has an abortion. I am truly a supporter though, my sister had had two abortions and if she hadn’t those children would have been all sorts of fucked up because she was on all sort of drugs.  Have you ever protested or been on strike?: I have done Women’s marches and I also stood outside a planned parenthood to escort women into the clinic and shield them from the insane and really mean pro-life protesters.  Is gun control necessary or no?: That shouldn’t even be a question... do people get shot needlessly or no? Are you happy with the political state where you reside?: I am perfectly happy with Massachusetts and their political state (well, everything can improve in one way or another...). I am not, however, proud of the political state of my country. Our president is a huge baby and the people, in general, are so extremely divided and on really chaotic ends of the political spectrum right now.  Have you read the book 13 Reasons Why or watched the show?: Yes and yes.  Should shows like this be available to everyone or could it be a trigger?: I think that this isn’t an easy answer. I believe that the making it available for public consumption did a really good thing for society- shed light on suicide and all of the contributing factors as well as emphasizing how confusing and messy the lives of young people can get, regardless if we see it or not. However, it was also something that was triggering for some people and it did borderline romanticize suicide without really hitting home that if you kill yourself you don’t get to see how much others care and you don’t get to see how hard others will fight for you.  Okay, let’s simmer down. Back to happy things. Do you like animals?: Yes.  If so, do you have any pets?: Dog and cat.  What is your favorite day of the week and why?: I don’t have one really because I have a revolving schedule and classwork due regularly.  Do you have a favorite season?: Fall.  How do you enjoy nice scents? Uhh... breathing?  Do you live in a large city or small town?: Medium town.  Are you happy with that or would you like to change it?: I think it’s fine.  Do you have any children?: No human children.  Are there any colors that you think compliment you?: Orange, yellow, blue.  Do you enjoy cleaning or find it to be a chore?: I enjoy it for the most part.  What is your absolute favorite food?: Sushi. 

If you were any color, what would you be?: Lavender.  Do you spend a lot of time on social networks?: No, I have cut down immensely. I deleted FB and I limit myself to 2 hours per day. 

[geek-girl-with-ptsd]

Being Shielded

The man that raised me was a wonderful man. He took on 3 children that were not his own and raised them as such. I never felt like he didn’t love me and I even called him Dad. 

To me, he was my Dad. He may not have given me life, but he taught me to ride a bicycle. Paid for doctor bills when I was diagnosed with migraines from a car accident that messed up my neck. It took them months to find out what was wrong with me so you can imagine that stack of doctor bills. 

The biggest thing of all was he let me have a cat in the house. That man HATED cats with a passion. Loathed them to the core. However, he knew how much I loved them. That was when I got Marla, my deaf cat. 

He was a saint to me, though I know now as an adult he had his faults. As do we all. He was young and got thrown into the middle of 3 children and a woman who was a bit of a problem. 

Now for the sake of my healing and such, I am only going to refer to this woman as D from now on. I do not associate her with being a mother figure and as much as it pains me, I never really had one. So the woman that birthed me will be referred to as D. 

Sometimes it is hard for me to recall parts of my childhood. I remember Big L taking me to softball practice, I was shortstop. I loved playing. Then I remember Batton, where Big L made sure I got to all my practices. He was always there. 

I even joined Jr. Cheerleading because I wanted to be like my sister. He made sure I got to camp for it and took me to anything I needed to be at. D only took me to a few events and usually complained. She would tell anyone that would listen, Big L MADE her pay for everything when it came to us kids, and that was not true. He paid for the majority. She blew her money on clothes and recreational drugs. 

My childhood from 4-10 was not bad at all. There were clearly moments I should have known D was a psychopath. One time she “cleaned out” my room and rounded up a bunch of my toys and then she threw them in the burn barrel and lit them on fire. 

I had to watch as she did this. I was holding a stuffed animal I had gotten from my Father in prison. I loved that Teddy Bear and I practically took it everywhere I went. It was taken out of my hands and thrown on top of the fire. I was probably 7 or 8 at the time. It was devastating for me. She took the one thing I had that connected me to my father. Not just that she lit my toys and things on fire in front of me. Who does that? 

I grew up in a bar. After I was diagnosed with Migraines, D would take me to work with her if I had them during a school day. Of course, you could smoke in bars then, so not exactly a great atmosphere for someone with a migraine. Really children should not be in bars anyways. 

I remember laying on bar stools and watching cartoons until lunchtime. When the lunch rush came in the patrons would sometimes allow me to continue watching cartoons. Just depended on who came in for lunch. These were things that were normal for me. 

Big L also kept it hidden from everyone how D would cheat on him. He kept taking her back because he didn’t want to lose us kids. I did not find out until I was an adult. I had to ask the hard questions, and I always get the hard answers. If you don’t ask, you’ll never know. 

It got to the point that D would skip work and go to men’s houses and Big L finally having enough drove to one of their houses and got in the car and cut up all the credit cards the two of them shared. He didn’t want to do her any favors, plus she had a spending problem she hid relatively well. 

This was really the beginning of the end, and she ended up actively dating a totally different man from the ones she was already sleeping with. She really was a busy beaver. 

Christmas Eve came the year I was 10. We woke up and had a nice Christmas morning with Big L and D. This was the one time of year D was not usually in a foul mood until after we were done with presents. Think it is one of the reasons I still to this day enjoy Christmas. One of the only holidays she did not ruin for me completely... well kinda of. 

Big L went off to his family’s Christmas and D took us kids to our Grandma’s Christmas. This was a bit abnormal, but we all knew Big L and D were fighting about something. As kids, we did not know what exactly, just that they were. So we enjoyed the day with family and then came home. 

When we arrived home D told us to grab some clothes and said we were going to spend the night somewhere. I thought it was weird and protested saying I wanted to see Dad, Big L. I am pretty sure my brother did as well, but she got angry and ended up grabbing clothes on her own. 

She put everything into a picnic basket. Not even luggage. I thought that was weird, but what was I supposed to do? Question D? I had already learned not to do that by 10. Get hit, I would. She drove us to the city and to a man’s home. We actually were moving out of our childhood home and had no idea. 

This was where we stayed now. Big L had no idea we were moving out, D never told him. He, of course, figured it out, but my brother and I called him a lot and cried we wanted to go home. I didn’t like her boyfriend and all they did was sleep together, argue, and do drugs. Such a healthy place for children. Big L would have gladly kept us if she had let him. 

Though this is the problem with Narcissists. They may hate their children, but they need their supply. Children give you 18+ years of supply. Especially if they don’t break ties with you. So as inconvenient as we were, she NEVER would have allowed us to go stay with someone who loved us and would take care of us so she could party like she wanted. 

It did not take us long to realize how much Big L had shielded us for so many years. I had to quit all my sports because she would never take me or get me there on time if she did. I would call and call after practices and she would never pick up and I would have to resort to walking home. It was ridiculous. 

I became her little slave. If I did not clean the home to perfection every day, I would get beat and she would belittle me. It was the standard of living now. Something I would have to get used to. I was the whipping boy if you will. 

My brother was the son of “the love of my life” as she would call him. She barely knew the man she cheated on my Father with. So yea... I believe that. My sister also had her father in the picture she would go see. She knew if she did most the things she did to me, to her. Her father would take her away from D. 

My sister did have to babysit a lot, which she hated. She was the closest thing to a mother I had after we moved out of Big L’s house. I, of course, did not like it, she is my sister and shouldn’t be bossing me around. My brother was babied beyond belief. 

Though having a favorite child happens a lot with Narcissistic Mothers. A lot more than you would think. I don’t harbor any bad feelings towards my brother. Even with being the favorite, he had a lot he dealt with especially after I moved out. 

The man she moved in with started hitting her and was starting to go after us kids. I stood up for myself on more than one occasion and protected my brother. I hit him in the head with my skateboard and told him he would never touch me or my sibling or D again. He did stop the physical abuse after that. Nobody likes falling on their ass by someone who was only 12ish at the time. 

The cops got involved and he would disappear for a while, but D would keep letting him back into our lives. I honestly think she was making him crazy. To this day, I fully believe it. He twisted that poor man’s mind. There was nothing bad about him for over a year and then BOOM like a flip switched. 

Leads me back to my father, no one would believe he could murder someone. So if she could drive a man to murder, why not one to being an abusive stalker. Especially when you tell him you hate him one day and want nothing to do with him and then invite him over for sex and drugs and then kick him out again? 

Soon after we moved out of his home, D started what my sister and I referred to as “The Parade of Men.” We questioned if she was a prostitute, drug dealer, and so many other things. What kind of mother brings strange men into her home where her children sleep? 

The sucky part about this was, my brother would go stay with Big L while my sister would go to her Dad’s. I always wanted to be at Big L’s with my brother, but D manipulated me into staying with her. She didn’t want to be alone. 

Yea, so you leave me in the house while you sleep with random men, doing drugs and I am supposed to just clean up the house and be unsupervised and ignored and mistreated. As a 12-year-old, I just accepted it willingly. I felt bad for her, she played the victim well. 

The sad part was that it put me in bad situations with random men in the home.

[nicemango-feed]

Islam & Creativity: Lamenting the Loss of Art that Could have been...

As a person of Pakistani Muslim background who dabbles in... art stuff, I’ve long been aware of the limitations imposed upon visual artists and creative types of every sort, in my motherland. 

I see the precautions and risks Pakistani film-makers take, just to film documentaries, especially if they touch on religion and extremism. 

Actors in Pakistan, once had to make sure their clothing passed ridiculous modesty standards before they could appear on TV. 

During the reign of religio-maniac dictator Zia ul Haq, women on TV were required to have headscarves on at all times, and if there was a death scene, or drowning scene, their heads simply wouldn’t be shown, to avoid the immodest picture of a woman without her headscarf. 

Unacceptable… even in death. 

Things are better now, TV wardrobe-wise, but the underlying sentiment of curtailing the imagination has not changed. 

This leashing of creativity spans the Muslim world, in varying intensities, but its everywhere in it’s uniquely oppressive, Islamic way.

I grew up in Saudi, art was pretty much non existent there…aside from a few painters in the malls who were always painting landscapes, fruit arrangements or a picture of The King. 

From Getty images, painting by Ralph Cowan

Things started to change as I grew older, and the world grew smaller through tech. With smart phones, the internet and satellite TV it was harder to control what people read, what shows they watched (words related to “royal” “prince” “king” were often muted even in cartoons when I was younger), or what music they listened to (words were commonly erased or blacked out from album covers, female singers were covered in black marker). 

Image from http://ift.tt/2iFnCar

In my last year there, I attended an “art” exhibit somewhere…something incredibly novel at the time for Saudi life. Of course all the artists being showcased were male. 

There were no figures, only geometric shapes, landscapes and Arabic calligraphy. 

“It’s a start" I thought. 

There was a time when simply having a camera out in the open in Saudi was taboo. I remember my dad having to get out of the car and hurriedly, covertly take some photos for my class project on buildings in the old part of town. 

The contradictions were so many, taking photos in the open was taboo, but there were photo developing places on every corner. Drawing figures was frowned upon as it was considered “idolatry” but the men hired to stand in malls and paint The King, over and over, were considered ok…nay, they demanded a form of idolatry from the 'loyal subjects'.. in that regard. 

It was utterly bizarre for a young questioning mind to grow up around this. I don’t regret it though, the strangeness of Saudi Arabian life has made me who I am today. I have a mixed loathing and affection for it, which i’ve discussed before, some warm fuzzy feelings of nostalgia when I hear Arabic, and also feelings of terror as I remember the morality police screaming at me. 

***

My Pakistani relatives who lived in Pakistan always looked down on life in Saudi...in terms of ‘freedom of expression’. Yes, there is no morality police there (other than the public itself), yes there are women allowed on TV without Burqas (but the burqa is revered and glorified), Yes some creativity is allowed (with many restrictions)...

But who are we kidding here? 'Freedom' is not a thing associated with the Muslim identity, unless you are lying to yourself. The more staunchly Muslim you get, the less freedom you have. Yes, this could be said about any religion...but the orthodoxy Islam commands in the average adherent is unmatched today. 

from www.kiblat.net

It is a religion more recent than the other big ones…so, it had the opportunity to plagiarize build upon already established frameworks of oppression. Coming later, gave it the chance to be more nit-picky, more controlling and more hateful than some already pretty hateful ideologies. 

***

Last year In Pakistan we saw Qandeel Baloch, a rising youtube celebrity, who simply didn’t abide by modesty codes of any sort…She was just a young person having fun, something most of us wouldn’t think twice about in the west. 

Her life was was taken, brutally, in an honour killing by her own brother. 

Before that, in 2014, we saw an iconic, elite, Pakistani popstar-turned-mullah Junaid Jamshed, be accused of blasphemy himself… for having a casual tone and 'poking fun at Ayesha', the prophet Mohammed's wife (in an albeit sexist manner, but the sexism is not what pissed the stauncher mullahs off).

The irony... of someone who's a critic of secularism himself, a proponent of hardline Islam, being accused of blasphemy.

It just goes to show that this blasphemy-beast isn’t satisfied, no matter how religious you are. It is flawed in its humaneness obviously, and strategically...in the sense that it can be turned around and used against anyone -even those who favour and defend it. 

There will always be someone more religious to look down upon you.

Sadly, Junaid Jamshed died late 2016 in a plane crash…and even the way Pakistanis wanted to remember him was judged, monitored and Islamized. 

Request to TV channels- Pl don't show Junaid Jamshed's music life that he had left many years ago. Remember him as a  preacher of Islam.

— Ansar Abbasi (@AnsarAAbbasi) December 7, 2016

He was a huge 80s pop icon once. 

Yes, we lost his creative mind to religion later in his life, but he was just one more, silenced. 

Preacher later in life or not, this was no reason to control how people remembered him. 

To demand their memories of him as a singer be wiped clean, and he be remembered only as a 'holy man' not as a ‘disgraceful entertainer’ is absurd. 

He died as a preacher. But shameless pak media will try to portray him a music star@AnsarAAbbasi

— Mazhar Khan (@shanglians) December 7, 2016

The depths religion wants to get its claws into is frightening. They even want to rewrite history, to satisfy the faith, and they have the media power to do so.

***

Taher Shah, unintentionally hilarious Pakistani singer, was also forced to leave the country because of threats. I'm not sure how he's even controversial. He's like one of those singers you see in the auditions of America's got Talent, that don’t make it through… but they’re so bad….it’s good. 

The Mullahs, they won't even let us have cringeworthy stuff.

Art-policing transcends geographical borders too, it has affected many religious communities… 

But none quite like the muslim community. 

Salman Rushdie, Charlie Hebdo, and countless other examples...The most recent of which is anger and offense directed towards 'The Real Housewives of ISIS'

…a comedy bit specifically mocking *terrorist group* ISIS, is seen to be offensive to Muslims by many. It's sad, really. 

This type of reaction over something like the mockery of ISIS is disheartening and depressing. What kind of place are we in if people of Muslim background cannot partake in and enjoy skewering extremists, especially in the political climate of today, where Muslims are under scrutiny, where they are at times unfairly generalized as extremists…why would you want to blur those lines further…? 

http://ift.tt/2jw68hK

Its time for us…specifically people of Muslim background to laugh..to ridicule the parts that need to be ridiculed. It is our voices that will hold more weight than any other…it will be our voices that can change the narrative, convince children of tomorrow not to go down that path. 

***

Maybe someday, we can have our own Book of Mormon - and hopefully everyone will get to keep their heads afterwards! 

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A special thanks to Vladimir, Ritchie, Rob, David, Charlie, Peter, Sean & Ruthless.

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