and your own misery


I Can’t Think Straight (2008)

Context: Leyla, a Muslim British-Indian woman, is coming out to her mother, telling her “I’m gay.” Her mother reacts with horror and disgust, telling her “You’re up to your neck in sin” and going so far as to ask “Who did this to you?”

But it’s this scene that sums up the reality of LGBTQ+ desi youth. Our parents may very well love us and want the best for us, but the absolute bottom line is: our parents do not want us to be happy. They want us to be appropriate, to be respectful, to have children and well-earning careers, to fit into the mold of heteronormativity and gender roles, to be religious and pious. But no, they do not want us to be happy. Happiness doesn’t fit into it. To them, happiness is indistinguishable as a separate characteristic because according to them, doing all of these things should already be making us happy. The ideal created for desi children is that they shouldn’t strive to do what makes them happy, but what makes them “good.” Unfortunately, under this context, good is defined as anything that isn’t seen as immoral or out of the norm. 

A woman who is not straight is rejecting her role as a wife, and to a lesser extent, her role as a mother. She is rejecting the notion of subservience to men, of obedience and inferiority. Under our current system that is hugely patriarchal, a woman who does not submit is a threat. 

Now, I’m not saying desi parents are bad parents or hate their children because it’s pretty clear this happens in nearly every other culture in the world. But I am saying that desi parents do not make their children’s happiness a priority, they make their children’s success a priority: successful careers and marriages and children = successful lives. So if you ask a desi parent “do you want your kid to be happy?” they’ll immediately say “yes, of course.” But if you add on “do you want your kid to be gay if that makes them happy?” the answer will be a lot less positive.

This movie tackled Leyla’s sexuality and coming out to her parents absolutely head-on with no coyness about it. She goes straight up to her mother and admits that she’s a lesbian. But her mother’s reaction is really the thing that most “coming out” stories try to gloss over, or sugarcoat, or just in general avoid. Her mother admits with frank and brutal honesty the truth that all LGBTQ+ desi kids know: our parents would rather see us miserable and straight than queer and happy.

I recently read in the book My Stroke of Insight by brain scientist Jill Bolte Taylor that the natural life span of an emotion—the average time it takes for it to move through the nervous system and body—is only a minute and a half. After that, we need thoughts to keep the emotion rolling. So, if we wonder why we lock into painful emotional states like anxiety, depression, or rage, we need look no further than our own endless stream of inner dialogue.

–Tara Brach

No but seriously louis is such an angel of a boy, the sweetest most caring and loveliest human being who lights up the whole room with his presence he doesnt deserve any of this fucking shit I don’t care how /strong or smart/ u think he is, he is human of course it’s gonna hurt him, when is it gonna end when are they gonna end this fucking bullshit stop using him as a punching bag for your own misery and frustrations thats fucking weak and pathetic. Just stop

Everything is Shady, and Nothing Makes Sense: Why the Fuck Am I Still Here- the official guide to being a fan of One Direction in 2016.


This is the official guide to being a tinhatter who insist to ignore/dismiss/alter reality and then react very surprise and confuse when reality keep contradicting their conspiracy theories.  

you know how when you start shipping two someones together, it feels like their life is better for it? like being together makes their existence more bearable, happy even? that they get each other on the level no one else will get them, they erase each other’s past hurts, and every day they save each other in the most menial of things, and it’s all kinds of beautiful?

and then you return to canon, or read an angst-trap of a fanfic, and you remember that no, wait, that didn’t happen, they are so very alone, and it sends you into the land of heartbreak because they could have had it so much better if only they were together?

can i just say that the playthroughs that get this:

break me

‘cause if you do not marry donnic and aveline in Act 2,
in Act 3 he despises her, almost hates her. practically the entire city guard resents the fact that she’s their captain,

and aveline’s toughin it out, like, yeah i don’t care, let them hate me as long as they’re alive to hate me, and casualties are down, so i’m fine with that, with what i’ve done for these men. 

and then that bizzare moment at the end of her personal quest where donnic says “you’re a bitch! but you’re ours”. and you’re listening to it all, and you freaking KNOW that god, they could have LOVED her, and she could have been not fine but HAPPY, GLAD, and HE could have loved her. and instead this is what she has, and she thinks that yes, it’s the best she can get, but it’s not. it could have been AMAZING.

yur welcome bye.


A Shot in the Arm

“Please god, let me live.”

Sherlock Holmes didn’t mean to snort derisively, but that snuff of air drawn sharply in? Derisive.

“Mr. Holmes?”

As they’d been doing for the last hour, everyone in the therapy group turned toward Sherlock. The newest in their small group of five, most kind of welcomed his annoying interruptions. Because sometimes you lose patience with your own misery, and foisting your pique onto an irritating stranger? It does make for a nice change.

Sherlock blinked at the therapist and this time didn’t say oh, by the way Mr. Weepy over there is also a kleptomaniac. No, Sherlock held his deductive tongue about the failings of his fellow therapy participants. This time. Instead he just blinked and waited for the therapist’s inevitable follow-up question (even her statements had rising inflection).

“What did you want to say to Yvonne?”

Sherlock huffed out the breath he’d so recently snuffed in. He smiled ingratiatingly and replied, “Use your imagination?”

John Watson is an exceedingly patient man. John’s seriously, bloody well, off-the-mother-fucking charts patient. But— “That’s god damn it.”

John rose so sharply his chair skidded backward. As if on a string Sherlock stood, too. Five other sets of eyes went wide.

“Apologise you arrogant shit.”

Sherlock grinned, like a child given a sweet.

“I mean it mate, you tell her you’re sorry or…” John closed his eyes, counted to five, unfisted his hands. Unfortunately these did not help, no matter how often the therapist said they would. “…or I’ll tell everyone what you’re so afraid of.”

Sherlock slow blinked, flipped up his coat collar, shoved hands in pockets, a six foot wall. “That would be tremendously ambitious of you, Dr. Watson.”

John barked a laugh. “Yes, exactly, that’s it, do you see?” More laughter but it sounded like breaking. “I’m a doctor. A nosy doctor who did something he very much shouldn’t, who got so curious about the new guy, the so-smart one, the one I thought was beautiful…got so curious that I found stuff out.”

Sherlock stood lance tall, tugged woolen armour tight, hooded eyes going hard as any helm.

“You wouldn’t tell us why you’re here, not last week, not the weeks before.” John started unbuttoning his shirt. “I thought it must be awful, what happened to you, because you’ve been so awful to us.”

John tugged until his scarred shoulder was bare. “For the longest minute of my life I believed in god. I prayed the same words Yvonne did, exactly the same. ‘Please god, let me live.’ But I’m not elegant like she is, I kept going, a babble of promises, things I would do, wrongs I would right.”

Right about this point John should have tugged his shirt back up, hidden his scars away again, but he didn’t. And that? That more than anything is what changed everything.

“Misery loves company,” John said softly, “not because we wish one another ill, but because being sad is a lonely business.”

No one, not one of them, realised John had slowly moved through their small circle and right up to Sherlock.

“You got shot, Sherlock Holmes, that’s what I learned at St. Bart’s when I went looking. It hurt so much, didn’t it? I know it did because it says in your records that you wouldn’t stop moaning about the pain, about the blood, you were babbling they said, that’s the word written in the file: 'babbling.’ I can see it clear as day, the bullet dug away some of that fatty bit of your shoulder and it bled so much, too much, more than you thought it could. But the worst part…as you watched the red run through your fingers you waited in that alley for the next bullet, because that’s all you could do, all your body would let you do with legs gone to lead and the mercy of disassociation telling you all of it was happening to someone else.”

No one, not one of them except John, realised Sherlock had moved until Sherlock almost touched—then didn't—John’s bare shoulder.

“I was right. What happened to you was awful. But it didn’t happen the night you were shot in the alley. It was a long time before that, when you decided you’re not enough. And what you’re afraid of now, more than anything, is that you’ll never be enough, not for anyone, and so every day you go about the busy business of making sure that that’s true.”

Symbols matter, which is why humans make them, and anything can be a symbol. As a scientist Sherlock believed in formulas, but as a human being he’d just learned he believed in signs and portents, in the rightness of a man because that man bore a scar like his own. And though those scars weren’t alike, not really—the bullet that got Sherlock wounded only muscle and flesh, not bone—it was still a symbol, one that meant they were alike right where it mattered.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said again and he kept saying it and they let him keep saying it and saying it until he ran out of pain to fuel him, then ran out of arrogance to protect him, until he could finally shut up…and start talking.

It wasn’t after that session, nor the one following that Sherlock lingered, but the time after that one? That was the one where Sherlock waited patiently, so patiently outside that therapy room, and he asked John if he liked Chinese, and he told him he knew a place, a good one, he could always tell by the lower third of the door handle and…

…and John said yes, sure, and then oh really, and they went and they ate, and they talked. Oh how they talked.

 Previous: Escort | Next: The Fiery Sword

I don’t know where this one came from. Sometimes you just don’t.

#76: Goodbyes

Niall: “This is not forever, ya know”, he chuckles lightly, his hand pressed to your cheek as he tries wiping away that little tear gliding down your cheek. Smile spreads over your own lips, as you fail in laughing away your own misery. “C'mon, you’ll see me again in like… a month?” he says failing at convincing himself in the clarity of his words. “Yeah, I know, it’s just…” you try saying, that small smile fading away. And he wastes no time encouraging you, but lets you fall into his arms; last hig before leaving.

Zayn: “C'mon, no tears”, he says, a single finger gliding over the wet spot that adorns your cheek. “I’m okay”, you convince him, but those simple words come out as an encouragement you make to yourself. “I know”, he shrugs, smile curling the corners of his lips. It’s weird how it feels, somehow awkward and you manage to feel emptiness even though he’s right in front of you. One last kiss is exchanged before he pulls you deeply to his chest, your chin finding its place on his shoulder as he buries his own into your neck. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

Louis: “Bye?” you chuckle at the boy stood in front of your front door, his body weight constantly gravitating from one foot to another, anxiously so. “It’s still not goodbye”, he says, a light smile curling the corners of his lips. You smile yourself, the glimmer his eyes contain manages to light up the entire night. His next action takes you by surprise, the boy you barely know catches hold on your forearm, pulling you slightly as he pushes his own head a bit further, just enough for his lips to fall onto your. “Now it’s goodbye.”

Liam: “Don’t go”, he cries out, a single whimper leaving his parted lips tearing your ears. “I-I have to. It’s for the best, I think”, you manage to stay calm, all of the anger washed out of your mind as soon as you see the way his mood changed, a single tear coming in place of rage. “No, please. It can be better, I promise. It will be better”, he cries out, not aware of the times he said the exact same thing. “No. This is a goodbye.”

Harry: “I already miss you”, he whimpers into your neck, a chuckle building up your chest. “I’m still here if you didn’t notice”, you try joking, but he ignores it, the ends of soft curls tickling the side of your face as he buries his head further, both of his arms encircling around your waist. “It’s just a month ‘till we see each other. Maybe two… You won’t even notice”, you try encouraging the sadder one, but failing at even convincing yourself. “I love you. I love you so much”, he says one last time praying for those words to wrap around you, but it hurts him to think that it’s not what will keep you warm at night. Your last goodbye.

Thanks for reading! You can also read it on Wattpad!

In Those Arms That Aren’t Mine ~ Sehun x Reader

A/N: Just a little drabble I came up with before I went to bed because I’m a sucker for angsty fluff.

Summary: You wanted more than someone who didn’t believe in true love (or what you thought)

Constant phone vibrations at the other side of the bed at three a.m kept Oh Sehun awake, also making his heart melt; not in the good way. Sehun knew who you were texting and who you were talking to, has he ever brought himself out of his misery and into your own by bringing it up?


Sehun blamed himself, he blamed himself for all of it; for introducing you to his friends and most of all Kim Jongdae, the one who knows how to swoon girls with a twist of an upwards lip. Sure, you were fairly good looking and certainly the world and beyond in Sehun’s eyes but all of his friends should know that when it comes to girls, then back off. 

Yes, sure Sehun told you he didn’t believe in true love before but he knew that felt more than little ‘I love yous’ when he was around you. Now his feelings are over whelming and he just wanted to curl his arms around you, but the sudden thought of his best friend’s arms being curled around you made him shudder and shake his head into his pillow. 

It was times like this when all he wanted to do was watch old, shitty K-Dramas, eat tubs of ice cream to himself and cuddle with Vivi,

Unknown to the young boy though, you were actually complaining to Jongdae about how you felt like there was no love in the relationship between yourself and Sehun. Especially since he said that he didn’t believe in the concept of it. 

Jongdae would offer hospitality but you would deny, telling him over and over that you and your boyfriend hadn’t gotten into any arguments, it’s just something you need to talk through.

You were getting stressed and turned your phone off, setting it onto the floor beside the bed before taking a deep inhale and settling yourself into bed properly. Next to you, shuffling from Sehun could be heard and you knew he was awake; he was facing you and looking straight at you in all sincerity.

y/f/n, I believe I’m in love with you.

About time, Oh Sehun.” 

Hope you crazy beautiful bunch enjoyed!
~ Admin Kai xo

“I’m sorry”- me

“No, I’m sorry Ashley. I’m sorry that you hate yourself so much that you sabotage your own happiness. Enjoy your hard earned misery.”- my best friend

He’s not wrong. I’m so broken.


Everyday Misanthrope is a wonderfully wicked choose-your-own-misery simulation in which you must aim to spread as much misery and ruin as many lives in a day as possible!

Taking the form of a choose your own adventure, with you given a choice of misery inducing actions, then you watch with glee as they play out.  You must be strategic with your actions though -  different actions require different amounts of ‘Misery Tokens’, of which you only have a certain amount of to use in the day.  You don’t want to blow all your Misery Tokens too early, far better it spread them out over a full misery-filled day.

With a play-through lasting 5-10 minutes, Everyday Misanthrope certainly warrants multiple playthoughs as you try different actions and see how they play-out with misery-inducing effects.  The way your actions affect others certainly rises a smile - especially when you get a full breakdown of the lives you’ve ruined at the end.  It’s surprisingly good fun being a miserable git!

Play The Full Game, Free (Win, Mac & Linux)

A Groucho Marx’s quote for each MBTI type

INFP: “A child of five could understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.”

ESTJ: “While money can’t buy happiness, it certainly lets you choose your own form of misery.” 

INTP: “I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book.”

ISTP:  “When you’re in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, ‘Damn, that was fun’.”

ENTJ: “Learn from the mistakes of others. You can never live long enough to make them all yourself.”

ENFP: “Humor is reason gone mad.”


ENFJ: “Military intelligence is a contradiction in terms.”

ESFP: “If you’re not having fun, you’re doing something wrong.”

ISTJ: “I’m not crazy about reality, but it’s still the only place to get a decent meal.

INTJ: “I am free of all prejudices. I hate every one equally.”

INFJ: “If a black cat crosses your path, it signifies that the animal is going somewhere.”

ISFJ: “If I hold you any closer I’ll be in back of you!”

ISFP: “Age is not a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough.”

ESTP: “Die, my dear? Why that’s the last thing I’ll do!”

ESFJ: “If you’ve heard this story before, don’t stop me, because I’d like to hear it again” 

Let’s Make a Deal

Request: Hii I really enjoy reading your Divergent Eric imagines, could you write one where ‘Y/N’ (or you can give her a name) is a transfer from Amity and she is quite bad, so When Eric teases her about it she gets really sassy, it makes him kinda angry. He makes her stay back after training and the rest is up to youuu. Could you put some fluff and a lot of teasing and name-calling stuff. Thank youu

Word count: 734

The punching bag barely moves. You laugh at your own misery, trying hard not to regret your decision. Leaving your family and friends behind was the hardest you’ve ever done. But Dauntless was an old dream, and now you struggle to pass the first stage of this stupid initiation. Well, maybe you’re stupid, thinking that you’re good enough or strong enough to pick Dauntless.

“No. I will make it. I will.” You whisper, noticing Four stopping beside you.

“C’mom, initiate. You’re better than this.”

“I’m trying, ok? Can you please leave me alone?” It’s not that you don’t like Four, he’s a nice guy actually, but when Four talk to someone, Eric quickly follows him. You don’t know why, but you do know they hate each other. And now, guess what? Eric is coming your way. You take a deep breath, cursing Four between teeth.

“Hey, Four. How’s our ‘banjo strummin’ softie’ ?” Eric stopped behind you, and you can tell that he has that idiot smile on his face.

“I’m not in Amity anymore, so shut up.”

“Are you mad, (Y/N)?” His voice is low, but it’s enough to make everyone freeze and stare at both of you. “You better get back to work right now, initiates!” Eric screams and everyone jumps. Not you. You won’t let him scare you.

“I’m not mad. But I’m sure you’re blind since you’re calling me ‘banjo strummin’ softie’ when I’m wearing black.” The punching bag slightly moves, making Eric laughs. He grabs your arm, forcing you to look at him. Four is gone, that bastard.

“I am your leader and you will show me some respect.”

“I’ll show you respect when you do the same.” With a violent push, you’re free, turning back to the punching bag.

When the day is over you follow your new friends out of the training room, but just when you reach the door, Eric calls your name. Twice. Rolling your eyes you stop on your tracks, waiting for everyone to leave.

“I’ll be outside. Scream if you need me.” Four says in a low voice when he walks by you.

Slowly you turn around, making your way to Eric, who’s standing near the punching bags. When you reach him, you notice that he’s looking at your hands. They’re bleeding, but you pretend the pain it’s just a ghost.

“Do you miss your trees, Amity?” He breaks the silence.

“If you called me to say this, I’ll leave right now.”

“I’m your leader, you’ll do as I say.”

“No, I won’t. Sorry if I’m not scared of you like everybody else.”

Eric grabs your wrist when you give a step back. You gasp thanks to the sudden pain, as he pulls you to a corner, the darkest place in the training room. Failing completely to get rid of him, you’re pinned against the wall, feeling Eric’s breath on your face.

“Pay attention, (Y/N), I won’t say it again.”

“Let me go right now. Four is out there and he’ll come to beat the shit out of you!” Despite the fear, you manage to keep a confident voice  

“Oh, really? I don’t give a damn. You won’t get through initiation.”

“Oh, really? Then why don’t you just kill me already?” You can barely see his face in the dim light, but it’s more than enough light to notice how handsome he is.

“Two options. I can kill you or kiss you. Choose.”

“You would kiss a ‘banjo strummin’ softie’?” Ignoring your heart beating against your chest, you tiptoe, so your lips are touching his.

“Who would guess? I do.” Eric leans closer and kisses you roughly, but you pull away immediately. “What?”

“Let’s make a deal. You help me get through initiation and I’ll pay you with kisses.” You smirk in the dark, your fingers caressing the tattoos on his neck. If he wants to kiss you, so be it. Your secret crush on him won’t be a secret anymore.

“For an Amity girl, you’re way too sassy.”

“That’s why I left.”

“Every time you win a fight you’ll spend the night with me.” He leaves sweet kisses on your neck and you let a moan escape your lips.

“Dauntless leader Eric wants to fuck an Amity girl.” You finally push him away, smiling, making your way out of the training room.

“No, babe, you’re Dauntless now.”

“See you tomorrow, handsome.”

“Goodbye, beautiful.”

A/N: Sorry for any grammar mistakes, English isn’t my first language. Hope you like it.