#now me without that and searching for it myself. i really applaud those who created the resource packs bc you are godsends

[beels-burger-babe]

The Day Out

GN!MC Summary: MC and Solomon spend the day out enjoying the wonders of the Devildom. The problem with this? They never told the seven Lords of Hell that they’d be gone for the day.  TW: Torture (Not to the MC or the bros tho), Injuries, Murder (Again, just an unimportant Background Character) When the Wise King Solomon asks you out of nowhere if you would like to spend a day exploring the Devildom with him, some hesitancy is to be expected. We’re talking about an ancient wizard who is notoriously sketchy in every way and who seems to always have some kind of personal agenda that he uses for everything.  But the fact in the matter was that you had just survived and grueling two weeks of exams at RAD, and the stress of always being passed around between the demon brothers to partake in their various schemes and problems was really starting to wear on you.  So a day out, relaxing, and finally getting to explore Devildom in its entirety, regardless of the company, actually sounded pretty good.  Solomon had asked you to meet him outside of the House of Lamentation just before dawn. He stood there now, looking as collected and secretive as ever, with a satchel strapped over his shoulder.  “Ready to go and enjoy the company of another human?”  “More than ever! What’s with the bag?”  The wizard shrugged held out his arm to you. “I thought I might collect a few potion ingredients if I happen to spot any. The Devildom is home to a number of special rarities after all, and it would be horrible not to take advantage of my time down here to collect some of them.” That was fair. You took Solomon’s arm and allowed him to pull you close to his side before the two of you took off onto a trail in the woods. 

*** Later that morning  Mammon frowned as he approached his human’s room. You hadn’t been at breakfast, and he hadn’t heard from you all morning. This was weird. More than weird, it was worrying. It seemed like ever since you had arrived in the Devildom, the second born had a hard time getting you to leave his side, and sure it was annoying at first, but he had come to appreciate the warm presence that you exuded and found himself feeling strangely cold without you there.  He knocked on the door. “MC! Ya gonna missed breakfast! Wake up, ya lazy bones. Just because it’s the weekend, doesn't mean ya get to hold up in ya room all day like Levi!” He smirked at his own insult and waited for your inevitable retort.  Instead, he was met with silence.  Mammon’s frown made a quick reappearance. “Oi! Don’t go ignoring the Great Mammon! Beel’s gonna eat you’re share and I don’t wanna hear ya complainin’ that you’re hungry all day. Now wake up!”  Again, silence.  He growled quietly to himself in frustration as a knot of concern began to tighten in his stomach. “MC, open the door and get over here or I’m comin’ myself! This ain’t funny, human!” When he was once again met with no response, the demon cursed under his breath and went to open the door; to his surprise, it was unlocked. He threw the door open and glared inside the room. “That’s it human! Up and at it! I’ll drag ya down to the dining room mysel-” He cut himself off as he noticed the room was empty. “MC?” Mammon looked around, noting your unmade bed and window being propped slightly open. He chuckled worriedly and began to look around a little more frantically. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. What? Ya plannin’ to jump and scare me? Ain’t gonna work, so ya might as well come out now. Seriously, MC. This ain’t funny.” The knot pulled tighter as he realized he was talking to himself. He began to search every nook and cranny of the room, hoping to Diavolo that maybe you were just really dedicated to this prank and was still hiding, but paled as he realized you were nowhere to be found. “Shit!” He cursed aloud and sprinted to the dining room where the rest of the brothers still sat.  “MC is missing!”  *** You gasped and ran ahead of Solomon as the two of you walked through the forest. You crouched down and looked at a patch of glowing blue mushrooms, eyes wide with awe. “It’s so beautiful,” you gasped and glanced over your shoulder. “I can’t believe I’ve been in the Devildom for nearly a year and never came out here.”  Solomon chuckled at your child-like wonder. “The forest can be quite dangerous to those who don’t know what to look out for. For example, those beautiful glowing mushrooms?” he gestured to the fungus in front you, “Those are called the Ardentes Mushrooms. They explode on contact and create a poisonus gas.”  You’re eyes widened as you quickly scrambled back from it. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me that before I got close?”  The wizard shrugged and put a hand on your waist to pull you close to his side, as he handed you a cloth. “Like you said, you’ve been here for nearly a year and haven’t seen much because those demons have gotten quite protective of you. I thought you might enjoy observing and learning about the wilds of the Devildom. Put the cloth over your mouth and nose, and watch.”  You did as instructed. Solomon smirked before putting a cloth mask over his own face. With one hand holding you close to him, a safe distance from the mushrooms, Solomon picked up a long stick and gently poked one of the fungus.  With a small poof it quickly became engulfed in azure flames aned small glowing flecks danced and sparkled in the air around you. You held back a gasp from behind the cloth as you watched in amazement, and Solomon simply stood there holding and watching you.  *** The Seven Avatars of Sin stood in the lounge anxiously. They had searched the entire House of Lamentation inch by inch and there was no sign of the human that had been entrusted under their protection.  Lucifer sighed and leaned against the table. “If they’re not in the manor, we have to consider other possibilities. Has anyone had any luck reaching them?” He looked over at Levi, “Could you potentially trace their D.D.D. if we aren’t able to reach them?”  Levi solemnly shook his head and placed the mentioned device on the table. “Found it in their room,” he ran a hand over his face in frustration. “They know better than to go out without their phone! This isn’t like them!”  “Maybe they didn’t go willingly.” All attention snapped over to Satan, who was looking at the D.D.D thoughtfully with a hand on his chin.  Mammon paled as his hands gripped tightly onto the chair in front of him. “Y-Ya mean ya think someone took them?”  The aura in the room darkened as Satan nodded. “Levi’s right. They know better than to leave without one of us and even if they had to, they would at the very least take their D.D.D. They may be reckless sometimes, but they’ve been more careful about their safety ever since-” he paused and glanced at Belphegore before clearing his throat. “But that’s besides the point. Their window was unlocked and open as well. A demon could’ve very easily gotten in through there and took them while we were all asleep.”  Asmo let out a dramatic gasp and threw himself onto Beelzebub’s arm. “Oh the poor dear! They must’ve been so frightened being taken advantage of like that!” Beel looked down at Asmodeus both disturbed by his brother’s antics, but also distraught by his words.  Belphie rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “But there wasn’t any signs of foul play in the room. No signs of struggle.”  Satan hummed in thought. “MC is a human with no particular means of defense. They’re weak enough awake,” a spark of wrath flared behind Satan’s eyes as he clenched his jaw. “I imagine that asleep, they wouldn’t even have the chance to become fully conscious before a demon, even a lesser demon, could knock them out.”  Lucifer growled lowly. “We’ll find whoever did this, get MC back, and make the perpetrators responsible for this regret their very existence.”  In that moment, the brothers had never appeared more frightening or demonic, as the room filled with eyes glowing with the promise of death, snarls of anger at the knowledge that someone dared to touch what belonged to them. In that moment, they truly were the Lords of the Devildom. Satan grinned a wide, murderous grin, “It seems, for once, we agree, Big Brother.”  *** You peacefully continued to gather the flowers and mushrooms that Solomon had pointed out to you and verified were “safe for human contact” as the mid day sun beamed lazily through the tree branches of the forest.  You quietly hummed to yourself and glanced occasionally over at Solomon who was collecting some of the more dangerous samples to observe later on.  You smiled at the wizard. It wasn’t often you got to see him so relaxed. It seemed like every time you saw him, he was prepared for at least ten different scenarios and was weaving the strings of manipulation before his victim could even blink.  But out here, where there were no prying eyes and no other tasks to follow, Solomon looked open and the most human that you’ve ever seen him.  “You really like it out here, huh?”  He glanced back at you with a raised eyebrow, and made quick work of putting his current sample into a storage bottle. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”  You rolled your eyes and went back to picking mushrooms as you spoke. “I just mean that you seem so calm and...loose out here. Like you’ve finally dropped that act that you always put on and are finally allowed to be yourself.”  Solomon was silent as he looked at you with a strange glint in his eyes. As after a moment or two, he smirked and chuckled softly as he looked away. “For a human with no magical talents, I have to applaud your skills of observation. I think I can understand how it was you, and only you, that was able to see through the brothers as you have.”  You shrugged and attempted to hide the blush dusting over your cheeks. “It’s nothing. I just want to-”  You cut yourself off as a low growl fills the air not far from you. You slowly look up to see what appears to be a mix of a bear, a rat, and a skeleton, standing only a few meters from you. It’s beady red eyes were glaring directly at you. Your breath caught in your throat as you froze, “S-Solomon?”  “MC, listen very carefully. What’s in front of you is an Iacis Rat. They are extremely hostile, and considering their hibernation period has just ended, I imagine they are very hungry. I need you to back up very slowly and carefully. Avert your eyes, and hunch low to seem unthreatening. Keep it in your peripheral vision,” his voice was low and calm but firm with a sense of urgency. You took a shaky breath and slowly began to do as Solomon instructed. You got five steps in before you heard something snap beneath your foot.  The giant rat let out a horrendous roar that you could feel vibrate in your bones as it suddenly swiped at you. Your cry of pain pierced the air as it sliced open your arm and threw you back several feet. Another snap; only this time it was the fragile bones in your other arm breaking, not a stick.  You could hear Solomon shouting a series of spells, before he quickly scooped you up and began to run. You whimpered as he picked you up and jostled your arm. “We’ll get that taken care of in a minute MC, for now, we need to run.” You glance over his shoulder and see the rat surrounded by a series of warding walls and swatting at a few crackling balls of arcane energy that prodded at it and flew around its head.  The two of you managed to get away. You found yourself sitting on near a cliff, panting heavily as you looked out on a view of all the Devildom, with the sun just beginning to set. It would’ve been beautiful if you weren’t bleeding and in pain.  Solomon crouched beside you and inspected the gash on your arm and your broken bones the moment he had deemed that you were both safe once more. After a few silent moments of observation, he had set up a small fire and began to brew some kind of potion. You watched closely as he worked, and within an few, agony filled minutes the wizard was holding out a small cup to you.  “I am so sorry you got injured. In all honesty, I had forgotten about the Icais Rats post-hibernation season, and foolishly believed that we would be safe today,” He sighed and shook his head. “Regardless, this potion should heal all the injuries on your person. Though I should warn you, this will hurt...quite a lot actually. You can hold my hand during the process if you’d like.”  You took a shaky breath and took his hand into yours. The wizard smiled softly at you and pressed a kiss to your fingers before handing you the potion. “Whenever you’re ready.”  You eyed the red liquid in the cup before bringing it to your lips. Before you could change your mind you quickly downed the potion and squeezed tightly onto Solomon’s hand.  You tensed waiting for the pain to kick in... but nothing happened.  You frowned and looked over at Solomon. “I don’t feel any worse than I did before. Are you sure this thing-”  You were cut off as a fiery hot pain suddenly shot down both your arms and your head began to throb. Your loud piercing scream could be heard all throughout the forest as the pain began to overwhelm you.  Solomon pulled you into his lap, and held you tightly with one hand as the other ran his fingers through your hair. “I know,” he whispered softly through your screams. “It’ll be over soon. Just a couple minutes. You can do this MC. It’ll be alright.”  You sobbed as waves of pain hit you over and over again, until a sudden cool, sweet, numbness began to trickle over you. A gasp escaped from you as you stilled in Solomon’s arms.  The wizard chuckled, “Growing back your bones isn’t very fun. I’m sorry you had to go through that. You should be feeling better now.”  You looked down at your arms, and sure enough, the gash on your arm was gone with no sign of it having ever existed and the bones in your other arm had mended. You sniffed and wiped away the tears that had begun to appear in your eyes and looked over to Solomon. “Can you take me back to the House now? I think I’d like to take a nap.”  He smiled sadly at you. “Of course.”  *** A loud agonized scream rang off the walls of the House of Lamentation, causing Belphegore and Satan to grin. Their victim hung by their hands, chained to a wall while they slowly carved into its flesh.  “You know neither of us are exactly known for a patience...” Belphie drawled as he slowly brought a claw down across the lower demon’s chest. “So this is your last chance; Tell us where MC is.” The demon sobbed openly as it shook it’s head. “I’m telling you! I don’t know where they are! I swear! Please, let me go! Please, I don’t know anything!”  Satan tsked as he polished a knife and approached the demon. “Really? Because I know for a fact that you have been following them around and watching them at RAD lately,” he points the knife against the demon’s throat. “You wanted them, didn’t you? You were figuring out their routine so that you could take them for yourself. Admit it!”  The poor demon sobbed even louder as it’s body trembled. “No! I admit, I-I was following them around! But not because I wanted to- to- kidnap them or anything! I swear! I-” the demon’s face turned red, “I find them attractive and I-I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to them! That’s all!” It made eye contact with Satan, it’s expression pained and desperate. “Surely you guys understand that! I-I mean all of you brothers like them, right? That’s why you’re always following them-”  The demon didn’t get a chance to finish before Belphegore growled and snapped the demon’s neck. Satan rose an eyebrow at his younger brother, causing Belphie to shrug in response. “He didn’t have anything we needed, and was just babbling. It was annoying.”  Satan rolled his eyes and looked back at Lucifer, who stood in the back of the room, going over stacks of papers, maps, and occasionally checking his D.D.D. “Another dead end.”  The eldest brother scowled and crossed something out on a piece of paper. “Right. That’s it for possibilities at RAD then. We should start with the list of possible suspects from The Fall and the people Mammon’s indebted to then. They’ll be harder to get a hold of, but some of them would definitely have a strong motive.” Just as he finished, the House doors swung open and Mammon and Levi came marching in with the angels in tow. “We got them,” Mammon stated the obvious as he unnecessarily pushed the two in front of him. “They’d just gotten back from RAD. We haven’t told them anything yet.”  Simeon gasped at the sight of the tortured demon still hanging dead on the wall in front of them, and quickly drew Luke against him, hiding the younger angel from the sight. He glared over at Lucifer. “What is the meaning of all of this?”  Lucifer ignored the question and frowned when he noticed there was only two out of the three exchange students. “Where’s Solomon?”  “Chihuahua says that he’s been gone all day gathering ingredients for some potion. Based off of the stuff missing from his room, and the feed from the security cameras, it checks out,” Levi explained.  “Luke is not a chihuahua!” Simeon loudly defended, surprising all the demons in the room, as the little angel hugged himself closer to Simeon. The elder celestial scowled at everyone. “Now will someone please explain to us exactly what is going on and why you all are acting like a bunch of mindless, feral, demons, when we all know you are more intelligent and civilized than that!” Lucifer gave him a flat look as he crossed his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut of by a hiss of pain as a sharp, agonizing, burn suddenly swiped over his upper right arm. Not too long after, an even stronger twinge filled his entire left arm. A quick look around the room told him that his brothers were feeling the same thing; meaning this could only be one thing: MC was hurt.  Mammon snarled as he grabbed the front of Simeon’s robes. “Look, we ain’t got time to mess around. MC’s been taken, and is currently being hurt. That’s all ya need to know. What we need to know is if you got any ideas in that feathery, “holier-than-thou”, brain of yours who might’a took them or where they are! If ya can’t help us, than ya useless, and you can just get the hell outta our way while we actually do something about it!”  Simeon’s eyes widened as he felt Luke stiffen against him. The elder angel glanced over Mammon to Lucifer, “MC is missing? For how long?”  The second-born growled and harshly shoved the angel away from him. “Did ya not hear anything I just said?! We ain’t got time for stupid questions! Now do ya know where they are or not?!” The angel opened his mouth to speak, when Lucifer’s ring tone suddenly cut him off. The demon quickly snatched it up and put the call on speaker. “Asmo, report. Any sign?”  “Beel and I didn’t have any luck downtown, so we were headed back to House. We were passing the woods, when Beel... Beel thinks he’s picked up the scent of MC’s blood. We’re following it now.” Simeon shivered as he felt the demonic power in the room quadruple in strength and could practically feel it’s energy crackling in the air around them. Mammon’s face paled, as the second-born cursed and rushed towards the door. Satan, Leviathan, and Belphegore weren’t far behind him; all four brothers were already shifted into their demon forms. Lucifer’s expression became absolutely murderous as he swung his cloak over his shoulders and moved past the angels to follow his brothers. “Keep track of the scent, and describe to me where you are. We’re all coming to-”  Suddenly, all the brothers cried out in shock and pain, some of the younger ones even stumbling from it, as their bodies felt as though they had been filled with white-hot needles. Even more painful, however, was the distant, familiar, scream that could be heard on the other side of the phone call.  “Th-that’s MC,” Beel grunted out through the pain. As suddenly as it came, the pain vanished as was replaced with a chilling, numbness that filled the demon’s with dread as the screams also ended.  Levi froze and looked around at his brothers. “D-Does that mean...Are they?”  Satan swallowed thickly and shook his head, but there was a hint of uncertainty and fear in his eyes. “No. If they were dead, we’d feel the pacts break. We’d know. R-Right, Lucifer?”  The first born merely scowled and charged forward, leading the group towards the woods. “Let’s go find Beel and Asmo. We’re getting our human back now.”  *** Solomon kept an arm wrapped around you as the two of you slowly made yourr way back down the trail to get home. He watched you carefully, keeping an eye out for any unexpected side-effects of the potion. “You’re sure you’re alright then?”  You smiled weakly at him and nodded. “Yeah. Only side effect I’ve noticed is it’s made me quite tired. Other than that, I’m all better now, thanks to you.” You looked out at the trail ahead of you, “I’m sorry our day had to end on such a bad note.”  The wizard waved a hand in dismissal. “Non-sense. It wasn’t something neither of us could control. Though perhaps I should’ve been more cautious before taking you out here,” he chuckled in thought. “Imagine what the brothers would say if I returned you beaten and broken from a giant rat attack.”  You laughed and shook your head. “I doubt Lucifer would let me leave the House again! If I got hurt, it would be damaging to the program after all.”  Solomon frowned at your words. “Do you truly think that is the only reason why he, or any of the others for that matter, would care if you get injured?”  You shrugged and notably avoided the wizard’s gaze. “What other reason would they have for caring for me? Their the Demon Lords of the Devildom. I’m just MC. A defenseless human with no magical powers and nothing that makes them special.” Solomon stopped walking and grabbed you by the shoulders. He looked down at you with his stern silver eyes as though he was attempting to see straight into your soul. “You are MC. A descendent of the Angel Lilith, Master of all seven of the Avatars of Sin, and one of the kindest most observant individuals I have ever had the great fortune of knowing. You are not just some defenseless human, MC. You are special; and I know the brothers see that too.”  You’re heart fluttered in your chest at his words, as a light warmth filled your chest. You opened your mouth to respond, when suddenly the calm forest air was filled with the sound of the Icais Rat’s roar and several battle cries. The two of you frowned and glanced at each other before cautiously making your way towards the commotion.  There, in the middle of the same field you had been attacked in earlier, was all seven of the demon brothers, decked out in their demon forms, as they viciously brutalized the wild beast, that looked as though it had been killed within the first hit.  Your eyes widened at the sight as you took several panicked steps closer to them. “Woah! Guys! Stop! What are you doing?!”   You flinched back as you were suddenly being looked at by seven sets of manic eyes gleaming with danger. Solomon came up behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder, he began to quietly whisper the beginning of a protection incantation. You gulped and held up your hands defensively. “Easy boys. It’s just me. It’s MC.”  Asmodeus was the first one to fall out of whatever daze the brothers all seemed to be under. His demon form instantly dropped as tears lined his eyes. “MC!!!” He sprinted over to you and was about to pounce, but found himself smacking into an invisible wall as Solomon threw his hand up. The demon rubbed his nose and gaped over at the wizard in shock and betrayal. “Solomon?! You’re the one that took MC?!” The vicious hue that surrounded the brothers while they were attacking quickly returned as they set their sights on the wizard. Lucifer growled, his eyes remaining fixed on the hand that the wizard kept on your shoulder. “I knew we couldn’t trust him. Solomon, we demand that you let MC go, now.”  Your eyes widened as the demons began to surround you in a notably offensive position. You could feel Solomon’s hand tighten on your shoulder as he glared at them. “Not until you all calm down enough, that I feel that I can lower these protective walls without MC being maimed to death.”  Levi squawked in offense. “Us hurt them?! You’re the one that kidnapped and tortured them!!!”  “Wait what?!” You and Solomon exclaimed in sync.  You shoved Solomon’s hand off your shoulder and stood between the wizard and the demons. “Alright, everyone calm down for a minute. I think there’s been a big misunderstanding. Why do you think that Solomon kidnapped and tortured me? That’s insane!”  Satan eyed you analytically. “He’s probably given them a potion to manipulate their memories to make them think they’ve come willingly and have them be more submissive,” a few growls filled the air from the statement.  Mammon moved as close to you as he could with the invisible wall still up, and looked at you desperately. “MC, you’ve been drugged. But we’re gonna get ya home! Solomon broke in through your window this mornin’ and took ya from us. We know that he’s hurt ya, but we’re not gonna let him hurt ya any more,” his eyes hardened as they shifted to Solomon. “That’s a promise.”  Solomon sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t do any of that! Earlier this week, I invited MC to accompany me today as I gathered ingredients to give them a chance to see more of the Devildom. They agreed and came with me this morning.”  You nodded and held up a bag of mushrooms as proof. “Exactly. We’ve just been out here exploring the woods all day. That’s all.”  Belphegore raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Then how come you didn’t tell us, or leave a note? Why was your window open and your phone left behind?”  You’re eyes widened as you felt your stomach drop in realization. “Oh, boys, I am so sorry. I completely forgot! We left so early that I was a bit out of it, and I must have forgotten to make a note. I figured there wouldn’t be any reception in the woods, and I had Solomon there with me for protection, so I didn’t take my phone. I promise this really is just a misunderstanding.”  Belphie’s eyes narrowed, clearly still not fully buying the story. “And the window?”  You chuckled and scratched the back of your neck. “It was hot last night. I opened it too cool off. I must have forgotten to close it too,” you could feel guilt course through your heart as the brothers all glanced at each other with caution and uncertainty. “I’m really sorry guys. I promise I’m okay. Really!”  Beel growled lowly as he moved closer to you. “Then what about the blood that we found in the woods? What about the pain we felt you go through? I know that was real! You were hurt MC! Solomon hurt you!” his voice dropped dangerously low on the last line as his eyes began to glow once more and he punched the invisible wall; trying to break it down by sheer force to get to you.  You flinched back, as you realized just how bad this must have seemed to all of them. “We weren’t careful, and we were surprised by that Iacis Rat that you found. It scratched my arm and threw me causing me to break my other arm. Once we got away, Solomon gave me a healing potion, that unfortunately has a pretty painful process,” you looked at Beel sympathetically. “I’m alright, see?” you moved your arms around, and took off your coat to show the undamaged skin on your arms. “No injuries. Just a plain, old, healthy, MC.” You sighed and looked over at the others. “I am so so sorry for worrying you all. I swear I didn’t mean to. If I get Solomon to lower the wall so that I can hug you, do you promise not to attack him?”  There was a notable hesitance in their response as they eyed the two of you and seemed to exchange a silent conversation between one another, before one by one, they all dropped their demon forms.  Taking that as confirmation, Solomon dropped the warding walls, and within moments you were engulfed by the arms of six of the brothers.  “Stupid human” Mammon grumbled and he held you tightly to his chest, “What were ya thinkin’?”  “Don’t ever pull that normie crap again, okay?” Levi nuzzled his face into your hair, blushing deeply. “I-I missed a raid because of you!”  “You’re not allowed to do stuff like that. You had Beel all upset. You know I don’t like it when Beel’s upset.” Belphie muttered, causing Beel to wrap his arms around the group of you tighter.  “You really had us all worried MC,” the gentle giant whispered. “We...We thought you had gotten killed or something. Thought that we lost you.”  “Urgh! All this stress has been terrible for my skin!” Asmodeus complained as he pulled away from the group hug. “You owe me a full spa day, darling. I don’t wait want to hear any arguing about it either, because it’s happening. It’s the least you can do after everything you put us through.”  Satan pulled away in front of you and frowned as he flicked your nose, like an owner would to a misbehaving dog. “Your actions today were reckless. You know the dangers of the Devildom. You should’ve told us where you were going and took your D.D.D with you. Do I need to remind you of just how wrong today could’ve gone even with Solomon by your side?”  Lucifer, standing away from you looked down at you with a carefully drafted gaze of indifference. “We’ll need to make sure that what happened today does not happen again, and ensure that you don’t ‘forget’ basic Devildom safety once more. There will be consequences that we will discuss once we get home. Am I clear?”  Strong waves of guilt, shame, and regret washed over you as each of the brothers spoke. You shivered at Lucifer’s words, and his tone which promised that these consequences would not be pleasant, and nodded in response.  “Good. Let’s get you back home then, shall we?”  As you were to be lead back down the forest path in Levi, Mammon, and Beel’s arms, you glanced over your shoulder and waved at a notably concerned Solomon. “Bye Solomon! Thanks for taking me out today. Next time, we’ll both make the proper preparations and have an even better day, yeah?”  Solomon smiled softly at you and nodded. “That’d be lovely MC. It was great being able to spend the day with just the two of us.” The moment you weren’t looking, the brothers all snapped their glares back at Solomon, causing the wizard to flinch back. The message was clear: he would not be taking you for a day out ever again.  ***This was meant to be just a funny little drabble, but I accidentally went a teeny bit serious with it...woops. Oh well, hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for reading! Love, B 🐝***

#obey me fic #shall we date obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me belphegor #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me main character #gender neutral main character #gn!mc #The Day Out #crack taken seriously #fanfic #devildom #worried demon brothers #demon form #No one touches MC and gets away with it

[army-of-mai-lovers]

Re: misogyny in atla fandom post. I’m a butch/gnc woman and there’s so few representation for women like me. I really relate to toph and admire her for being androgynous and masculine but still being a woman. She shows that there’s no “wrong” way to be a woman and that you can reject gendered expectations and still be female. She’s the only character I’ve ever been able to relate to for this. I feel like it’s kind of misogynistic when people HC her as a trans guy or non binary with they/them pronouns. I’m all for HCing characters as trans, but with toph it feels weird.

She’s constrained by the expectations put upon her for being a girl in a patriarchal society and also being disabled, and how those two intersect. But her acceptance of being disabled & and a girl and breaking the stereotypes pushed upon her for those facets of her identity is the whole point! And as a disabled gnc woman, I feel like stripping her of her womanhood bc she’s masculine/androgynous is the same as stripping her of her disability because she’s strong. Idk

This is a really interesting perspective, anon! Outside of tumblr, I’m a prospective gender studies minor, and in my gender studies classes we have this practice called situating. Basically, I explain who I am, so you know where I’m coming from. Esp wrt things like race, gender, and sexuality, you can read and learn and listen to other people, but you’ll only ever truly know your own experience, and it’s important for people to know that’s where your perspective on a certain debate is coming from. So, hi, I’m Arthur, I’m an afab nonbinary person who uses they/them pronouns, my gender expression is very much in a period of flux because I don’t have the ability to socially or medically transition as much as I’d like, so, at least for right now, most people interpret me as a sometimes gnc cis woman. Because I’m most often interpreted as a cis girl, even though that is not who I am at all, I experience misogyny, and that is unfortunately part of my trans experience. That doesn’t give me the authority to speak over women at all, but I do think it was a large part of me noticing the misogyny in this fandom and deciding to write what I did (and I’m so glad it resonated with you!) All of that colors the way I view gnc characters, as well as trans/nonbinary characters, and misogyny, within fandom and without. 

So, now that you understand where my thoughts are coming from, here they are. I definitely think it’s transphobic to hc Toph as a trans guy if you are not transmasc yourself. I’ve never seen trans guy hcs for Toph, but the idea of cis ppl equating this canonically cis girl character to someone who is unequivocally, indisputably, a guy, makes me super uncomfy. If there’s a trans guy out there who really relates to Toph and wants to create and develop that hc in a way that works for you, be my guest, but I do not have the authority or the desire to make trans guy Toph hcs. 

As for the nonbinary thing... I will admit, they/them Toph hcs make me feel seen, probably the same way you feel seen by Toph as an unapologetically androgynous/masculine cis girl. I answered some asks a couple weeks ago about lesbian hcs, and in that I talked about how since both lesbians and bi girls are underrepresented in media, hcs that might make one group feel seen and valued are gonna make another group feel erased, and I’m not really sure how to resolve that. The same goes for hcs around androgynous afab characters: butch women and afab* nby folks have so little representation that hcs that make one group feel seen are going to make another group feel erased. As a afab nonbinary person who uses they/them pronouns, who has never connected with any concept of womanhood despite sometimes having a pretty femme gender expression, I do relate to Toph a whole lot. I’ve also had to navigate (and am still navigating!) a minefield of gendered expectations in a patriarchal society, and talking and listening to and reading about other trans people, it seems to be a pretty integral part of the trans experience (not that there is one sole trans experience, we’re all very different, but that’s a topic for another time). The gender binary is, after all, a central feature of Western white supremacist patriarchal constructions of gender, and if you deviate in any way, whether it’s through being gender nonconforming, or through being trans/nonbinary, you’re probably going to have to fight really hard to exist and survive and feel confident in your body and your expression, because society is constantly sending you the message that you are deviant and thus not worthy. And it’s nice to think of your favorite character as having some of the same experiences you do. 

I will say, I see they/them Toph headcanons more often than I see they/them Katara or they/them Yue, and I’d encourage people to really dig deep and think about why they’re more comfortable hcing an androgynous character as being nonbinary than they would be a more obviously feminine character (especially since nonbinary folk come in all gender expressions). I also would just love to see more transfem hcs! People for whatever reason seem way more comfortable hcing male characters as trans guys than they do hcing female characters as trans girls (and the reason is transmisogyny--Mae @transtenzin made a post about this a couple months ago about how most transfem atla hcs are characters like Smellerbee, while transmasc hcs can center around more major characters like Zuko or Sokka--a wonderful post that I would link to if tumblr’s search function weren’t absolute shit.) 

But at the end of the day, I am going to have to disagree with you on thinking of nonbinary Toph hcs as misogynistic, because I know as a disabled afab nonbinary person myself, I’ve dealt with a lot of the same struggles that Toph deals with in the show, and I’m sure there are a lot of other afab nonbinary folks who feel the same way. However, I understand feeling frustrated by people hcing a canonically androgynous female character as nonbinary. I hope what I’ve said here can offer you a little insight into the other side of this, and I so appreciate you offering me insight into your side. 

Another thing to note: while I haven’t seen trans guy Toph hcs, I have seen people hc Toph as a he/him lesbian. He/him lesbians are of course a valued part of our community, and I applaud any and all he/him lesbian Toph hcs. Pronouns =/= gender. 

Tl;dr don’t hc Toph as a trans guy unless you are a trans guy and even then I would tread lightly, gender and transness and representation is complicated and I’m not entirely sure how to resolve conflicts between different groups of marginalized people who are trying to find rep in opposing hcs of the same character, and imo hcing Toph as nonbinary is not misogynistic (but my opinion is not the final word on any subject!) Also, we stan he/him lesbians. 

*amab nby folks of course also receive very little rep, probably even less than afab nby folks, and that is a very important conversation to have, but seeing as 1) this ask was about hcs for an afab character, and 2) I am not amab and therefore very unqualified to lead a conversation about hcing certain characters as amab or the larger field of amab nby rep, I thought it best to focus on afab nonbinary people in this post. 

#technically I am gone but this ask tickled my gender philosophy bone so we're answering it #anons #replies #transphobia #transmisogyny #swearing tw #discourse

[starship-imzadi]

S5 E12 Violations

This opening immediately brings to mind the "repressed memories" craze in psychology in the 1980's and 1990's. The "fad" has since become regarded as incredibly harmful and dangerous as human memory can be quite malleable and undependable. A lot of people were treated to believe they had repressed memories of horrible abuse and sexual trauma in their childhoods, made horrible accusations, for events that never actually happened. Not only do these fabrication create real trauma and ruin relationships, they also delegitimize the actual trauma and abuse others have suffered and very much remembered from their childhoods.

Now, that isn't quite applicable to this episode, but this episode has some heavy moments and perhaps the worst abuse, out of all the abuse, Troi suffers through the series, and I want to address it the best I can.

"father, you know you're not supposed to probe someone's memory unless they've given you permission."

A.k.a. you have to get consent

"you are right, but sometimes with a beautiful woman I cannot help myself."

Red flag?! But not the red flag we're looking for. (Still: not appropriate) Beverly's laugh doesn't seem like acceptance to me, rather it's the socially acceptable way for women to cope with remarks that certain men think are flattering but are actually creepy. In a post #metoo world my hope is that as a society this is understood better than when this episode aired. I'm sure for many women it's just as evident as it ever was.

To be clear, this memory reading isn't sexual. What it is, is intimate. For whatever reason no other type of telepathy in Star Trek is depicted as a high form of intimacy, except for the now forgotten telepathic link that Troi and Riker have (which was formed because of the closeness of their relationship). But, to have access to someone's mind would be an incredible vulnerability, the sharing of one's mind a great intimacy, and the invasion of one's mind a great violation. A strong analogy for these is sexuality.

I want to make this distinction because there are violations and intimacies that are not sexual, and I think allowing for a broader analogy makes this a stronger story.

This conversation between Geordi and Data about memory feels like exposition to explain the concept to the audience. But, it seems to misrepresent some of the finer points, like how human recall and triggering recall actually works, how neurological structure and age factors in, how trauma effects memory, or in fact how humans encode specific memory or general concepts (like remembering the layout of your childhood home.)

"perhaps you would like to resurrect solve memories"

Is Beverly flirting with Picard? Or just teasing him

This scene with Troi brushing her hair and drinking hot chocolate is.... incredibly frustrating. Because of the "on again off again" or complete neglect of the story between Troi and Riker's relationship. Why have we never seen this part of their relationship before? Where does it fit it? I've seen people question at which point the memory becomes manipulated, wondering if Riker would ever force himself on Troi...which I would categorically say: no he would not.

"imzadi we can't, not when we're serving on the same ship"

"have you stopped thinking about us, just answer that" "I can't stop thinking about you"

They're clearly on the Enterprise, and Riker has a beard, and it could feasibly be somewhere in the past three and a half seasons. As the audience we are not privy to the original memory free of Jev's manipulations.

"Do you know what she was doing when this happened?" Riker's voice is so gentle.

Beverly's little smile as she walks in and sees Riker talking to Troi is exactly how I feel. "I miss you. Please don't stay away too long." Is so sweet and a bit heartbreaking.

Now, we see an apparent memory of Riker's. Troi's memory seemed to be hazy and pink like an old romance filter might be in black and white, but Riker's memory is distorted and stretched, and both have distorted and slowed audio. By contrast, Keiko's memory had no visual or audio distortion at all. Riker's apparent memory is feasible like Troi's.

Troi's assault is what almost everyone focuses on, because the "violation" of the episode is seen as an analogy to rape and because this element is inexplicably used again in the film Nemesis. However, I would like to point out that the two memories shown up until this point are both memories of vulnerability. The memory with Troi isn't just about sex, it's about the intimacy she has with Riker, a relationship they both want but don't feel like they're allowed to have. Riker's memory is of vulnerability of those under his command, as he has to actively make a choice that will kill a crew member to save the rest of the ship. His crew is ultimately his responsibility, their lives are in his hands, and he has to carry the responsibility of their deaths under his command.

Now we see Beverly's apparent memory. Her's is also a clear instance of vulnerability: seeing her dead husband's body. This memory is most likely of the three we see to have some reality to it. We do know that her husband died and Picard was the one to tell her and Wesley of his death. (It's mentioned in the pilot episode and in "The Bonding")

Rethinking the search parameters is incredibly clever on Geordi's part and he deserves more credit for it. It's almost... intellectually refreshing to see rather than a simple solution, and I applaud the writer who wrote this bit.

If Riker wasn't still in a coma he would be right by Troi's side.

"I'm remembering something from a few years ago" so, it is a memory, they're all actual memories, up until a point. "It's not Will, sombody's taken his place." when the person in her memory is hurting her the face isn't initially shown, we can't see who it is. But, before when the memory was safe and positive, we could see Will's face.

(the background soundtrack is a little too much and the whole sequence of Troi in pain makes me really uncomfortable.) And Worf and Picard.... don't react except Picard, very conservatively, places a comforting hand on her shoulder. Which fits with his decorum and all things considered is really, really sweet.

"A perverse source of pleasure perhaps. A need to exercise control over another." Even though Troi's memory was romantic or sexual in nature and through Jev's manipulation has the strongest direct parallel to literal sexual assault, rape is ultimately about power, the assertion of power, domination without consent. It is in direct opposition to intimacy, sexual or non sexual. intimacy is vulnerability plus trust and safety, regardless of what that vulnerability is.

I just realized the Ullian coats remind me of paper snow flakes.

I've seen some people confused that after everything that has happened why Jev would jeopardize himself by going to Troi. He seems to honestly like Troi, in whatever way he can, but at the same time is not in control of his impulses and desires, and whatever he likes about her is warped into his sick desire to overpower her. It's fantastic to see Troi fight back; Jev talks about how fragile she is, and it's important that we see that she is in fact NOT how he sees her.

"this form of rape" here is the first time the word is specifically used BUT I want to reiterate that Troi, Riker, and Beverly have all been subjected to this trauma.

It's good, and nice to know, that they will be getting counseling and help to process through what has happened. It's not always but on occasion TNG acknowledges that its characters have suffered with potential long term ramifications.

[phantomwarrior12]

Intensify

Prompt: Confronting Chuck

Word Count: 2,157

Warnings: Blood, swearing, creepy vibes, and some fluff at the wayyyy end

Summary: Confronting God himself isn’t easy, but one must be bold for that which they hold dear.

A/N: Hey folks!

Ah yes, finally finished this one from a lovely anon. This chapter was prompted by @gabriel-spn-bingo​‘s square: Confronting Chuck. It was also partially inspired by @idabbleincrazy​‘s recent challenge and the mood board I was given, so thanks for that, hon! :)

Please leave a like/comment to let me know your thoughts! Also, I am open to prompts (especially the ones up on the bingo card), so send me prompts if you’d like to see one of these!

Enjoy!

~Phantom

-----------------------

You've been careful, systematically procuring the ingredients needed for the spell. You tell him they're to help ward the cabin, to make sure Castiel couldn't get in again--some spells you'd picked up from Rowena.

He's not entirely convinced, but he's just hopeful enough to indulge you. It goes on for another few months and all the while, things grow more complicated on Earth. He hasn't taken over, merely allowing his ghost army to run wild and unchecked throughout the states. All this time, he's been more concerned with winning your adoration to care about furthering his plans for humanity. Even after Rowena closed up hell and took away his army, he was unbothered. It's that, more than anything, that grants you hope--a fleeting prayer that your archangel is still in there somewhere and you can still get him out.

A prayer that all but vanishes when Chuck makes his presence known, tracking Gabriel on one of his escapades back to Earth and rather firmly reminds him of his duty. Gabriel had argued, Chuck hadn't approved and the archangel was beaten until his Father realized his unwillingness to unleash chaos. It became clear just how intent Gabriel was to regain the touch he aches for. In a fit of frustration, the Creator had chosen to threaten you.

From there, things had escalated. Somehow, it'd all led to this. Somehow, you're kneeling over Gabriel. Somehow, Castiel and Balthazar had come to your aid but--

"What are you waiting for?" Questions the voice behind you. Patronizing. Expectant. Insistent.

Crimson seeps from the wound in Gabriel's shoulder, cascading down the cool metal of the archangel blade your hand is wound around and you're inches away from brilliant whiskey. There was a time you'd lose yourself to the honey flecks, the glimmering gold that stared back at you with a warmth that bore into your very soul.

But not now.

Now he's battered and slouched against the wall with nothing but defeated hatred in his eyes. To your right, Castiel is slowly coming around from the beating he's taken from the archangel. To your left, Balthazar is splayed across the floor in an unconscious state.

And behind you, you hear God himself applauding in a slow, rhythmic clap that sets ever nerve on end. You steal a glance over your shoulder, almost afraid to meet his gaze as he paces closer.

"Archangel blade to the shoulder? The way you slashed his thigh and side to rescue dear, poor Castiel? Oh, I couldn't have written that final showdown better myself. A divine romance ending in a tragic act of self-preservation. I'm so proud, I could cry." He stops just beside you and your gaze shifts to Gabriel's limp form, whiskey darting between his Father and your uncertain eyes as Chuck continues, "Don't stop now, Y/N. It's the climax! You gotta finish it once and for all."

"I won't kill him."

"You don't have a choice. He's nearly killed Castiel and, oh, Balthazar is close to his second death. He's out of control, a menace. He's corrupted. You want to save them, don't you?"

"Not like this," you whisper, staring at Gabriel with a mixture of apprehension and fear.

Chuck's shoulders sag in a show of exaggerated dramatics as he rolls his eyes and kneels beside you, inspecting your tense frame, "You really are like those boys, aren't you? Sam's pitying nature, Dean's stubborn defiance, you're like a mini-Winchester." He heaves a sigh and shifts his gaze to your trembling hand on the archangel blade, watching the red liquid stain Gabriel's clothes before he looks at the youngest archangel, "Oh, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe...how's that corrupt grace working out for you?"

"Fine," Gabriel returns shortly, scowling up at his father with nothing short of contempt.

"Thought that might make for a good plot twist. Couple of angels get to come back from the dead, but surprise, the strongest isn't on your side." Chuck grins, gaze darting between you and Gabriel for a reaction. When your features don't shift beyond a glare, the grin falters with a resigned sigh as he stands, "What do I have to do to get a dramatic conclusion around here? Come on, Y/N! You're making this ending anti-climactic."

"We're not done," you bite back, fingers falling away from the blade and you can feel Gabriel's eyes on you in confusion.

Chuck scoffs, "Not done? Did you forget who you're talking to? Alpha, Omega, all that jazz? This is the end. I decide the ending, Y/N, that's part of being God."

"What kind of God puts his creations through something like this? You're not God. You're a cosmic asshole looking for cheap entertainment because you've lost the capacity to recognize the value of life. How many worlds have you done this to? Hundreds? Thousands? You got so wrapped up in your ability to create and destroy life that you never stopped to consider if you should."

Chuck doesn't appear fazed by your tirade, merely tilting his head with another overzealous shoulder sag, "Are you done? Because, great appeal for humanity, very touching. Very free-will-esque. But it doesn't change the ending to this story." The amusement fades and you shy away as he leans down, "You. Sam. Dean. Your angels and corrupted celestial pet are doomed. I could snap you all away without a second's hesitation, but I want this final battle to be worth all the sniveling and whining I've had to endure from you people. Though, I'm afraid you won't be around to see it. You see, if you won't finish off Gabriel, you can die together."

Chuck raises his hand to snap, cut short only by a cry from Gabriel, "No!"

A rush of air and suddenly you're kneeling over Gabriel in the beach house he'd trapped you in all these months. One breath. A second. A short third before you look down at Gabriel as he jerks the blade out of his shoulder and looks up at you.

"What--what happened?" You look around in confusion, chest heaving, heart pounding in a steady thrum echoing in your ears.

He tosses the blade to the side and gently pushes you off of him so he can stand on uncertain legs. You stare at him, noting the twinge of pain flashing across ordinarily veiled expressions.

"Gabriel?"

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Now you're worried about my well-being? You stabbed me, Y/N. Three times."

"You were going to kill Cas. What did you expect me to do?"

He narrows his eyes and starts towards the door. You could swear you notice a faint glow along his thigh, torso and shoulder, but a glimpse is all you catch before your mind shifts back to the more pressing issue. "Why doesn't he just smite us all? It'd be faster and he can't lose--"

"He can't." Gabriel secures the door and rifles through one of the book case drawers, "Despite what he claims, he's not strong enough. Whatever tweedledee and tweedledum did to him, he's weakened. He has to do this the old fashioned way." He locates the chalk and sets to work on warding sigils - not that they'll do much against God himself, but it's something.

A shadow of a smile tugs at the corner of your lips at the fragment of familiarity: what you'd call his terms of endearment for the Winchesters. It sparks hope. It sparks a warmth you haven't felt around him since before he died. "Gabe?"

He doesn't answer, moving to another wall in a whirlwind of concentration and panic.

"Gabriel?"

Still no response and you shift to your knees, summoning what strength you have left to lift yourself from the floor, "Gabe--"

"What?" He bites back, throwing his hands up and turns to face you, "What's so damned important you're interrupting my efforts to save both of our asses?"

Some part of you cowers, the rest clings to the shards of his former self. But when you open your mouth, you can't speak. The fear you've fought to ward off nags like a heavy weight in your chest and your eyes drop to the space between you, "Never mind. I'm sorry."

"You damn well should be. I can't protect you if you won't let me."

"Why do you want to protect me?" A spark of indignation forces you to gather your courage, lifting your head and staring back at him with a flame you'd thought you'd lost, "Why am I so damned important that you risk everything to save me?"

"Isn't it obvious? I've made it as obvious as I can by now." He turns back to the wall, sketching another sigil and you lean on the arm of the couch.

"All you tell me is--" Your fingers touch your ribs gingerly, "For my own safety. Important, emotionally attached, protect--" you look up at him, "It was never about being queen. I'm your last tie. I die and you're doomed to darkness. That's why you brought me here. That's what you couldn't tell me."

"What? No."

"It is." You slide off the arm of the couch, slowly making your way towards him, "Subconsciously, you hate what you've become. You knew I was the last tie and you couldn't lose me. That's why you hid me here--no enemies, Chuck couldn't find me."

"Stop it." He warns, fingers bearing down on fragile chalk until it snaps in his hand.

"Gabriel--"

He wheels and grabs your shoulders, "I said enough."

Your eyes lock with sharp whiskey, "I'm not afraid of you, Gabriel. Not anymore. I finally know what this is all about and I," y/e/c searches glittering gold, "I finally understand."

There's a flare of surprise in his eyes as your hand lifts, cautiously pressing your palm again his cheek, cradling his cheek with a warmth he's ached for all this time. The fury fades and his eyes sag shut, inclining his head into your touch.

"I know," you whisper, the pad of your thumb stroking his skin softly, "I'm here. I understand. You wanted a way out, but you couldn't do it on your own."

"I never meant--" he stops himself, jaw flexing for a brief moment before his eyes open and lock with yours. "I'm sorry."

Your nod is slight, a subtle downward tilt of your head as you offer a warm smile. "It's all right. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He's cautious in his movements, hands ghosting over your waist before one ventures to your jaw, "You better not. I can't...you're the key, sugar. I can't do this alone."

"And you won't. We'll find Sam and Dean, they'll help us--"

"No. Not them. After everything I've done - no."

"I can talk to them. It'll be okay, Gabe.  When this is all over, we can cleanse your grace." Your fingers smooth over his hair, tucking golden locks behind his ear.

"And if you can't?"

"We'll find a way. I found a spell and after we beat Chuck? You'll be back to your old Trickster self." You assure him with a stern look, forcing the concern and apprehension from your gaze. Every nerve ignites beneath his touch, endings firing in a way that isn't wholly relief nor entirely fear. Somewhere, there's a faint alarm and yet a looming sense of comfort that strives to silence blaring crimson lights in the back of his mind. His touch is tender, his eyes mesmerizing and every ounce begs to remain in his embrace.

Is this real? Is he real?

With Chuck pulling so many strings - how many Gabriels, how many yous? How many times have you done this dance? You used to believe your celestial relationship was unique - unheard of entirely - but now? Are the two of you Chuck's 'favorite couple' now? You always find your way back to one another, not even death can part you.

So is it real?

You half expect him to speak, to disregard boundaries as he had before and know your every thought. You half expect a spiel about how all of this is real - the affection, his touch - but judging the conflict consuming whiskey, you know the same questions plague his mind.

After all of this, is it all worth it if you don't know if it's real?

It's a question you'll have to answer on your own when all is said and done. For now, now you find the Winchesters and plan your next move. For now, you allow your head to rest on the corrupted archangel's shoulder for the first time since his return and he gathers you close, cradling your frame with a tenderness you've missed.

It may not be entirely him, but he is Gabriel and that, in and of itself, inspires more hope than you could have ever imagined. Maybe, just maybe, you can have your angel back.

So, it's time to go home.

-----------------------

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[pickledchickenetti]

So I’ve had something on my mind for the last week or two that I’ve been trying to figure out how to best start a post about and coming up short. We all know that I have a tendency to be long-winded, and some of this post is going to be stream of consciousness, at least moreso than my usual longer posts, which I usually wait to start until I have a pretty solid idea of what I want to say and how I want to say it. I may go back and edit this some at the end, I may not, probably depends on how it comes out. (Edited at the end to add: I’m not editing anything. It’s long and I’m not expecting anyone to force themselves through it, but thanks to those who do!) Since this is partially me using my blog as a place to ruminate on some things, I’m going to put it under a read more for those who don’t want to have it clogging up their dashboard. 

Lately I’ve had a lot of mixed feelings regarding social media and what voices and mindsets I allow to be a part of my everyday life. I put a lot of effort into carefully treading the line between taking unnecessary negativity out of my social media feeds and creating an echo chamber where I only see people who agree with me. Most of the time, the decision comes down to the tone and intent. If someone is consistently rude, angry, or condescending, with very little useful contribution to any conversation I unfollow them. This applies to people on Facebook who constantly use slurs, post hateful things about people with opposing beliefs or political stances (even if I generally agree with that person’s beliefs or stances) with little attention to facts, and it also applies to people here are just needlessly rude with no real contributions to the overall conversation. 

The older I get, the more I find choosing kindness to be a priority in my life. I’m not perfect; I fully admit there are still times when I’m rude or condescending. Sometimes this is an accident, and unfortunately sometimes it isn’t. I don’t like this, and I try especially hard not to be intentionally condescending. Kindness is a choice, and progress takes time. 

As I’m sure most of you know, I am often very critical of @kristagay‘s posts. I still stand by many, possibly even most, of the opinions I’ve shared. Kindness is important to me, but it’s also important to me to not let other people’s hurtful words or actions go unchecked when I have the ability to say/do something. (This applies to everyone in my radar, not just Krista.) I have very strong opinions on a number of subjects, but it’s especially important to me to speak up in defense of others in the LGBTQA community as that’s a community I belong to and those struggles are more personal to me. 

A little while back, I got a string of anons (many were answered, some were deleted) that made it seem like someone was trying to create some sort of feud between me and Krista. As I said in one of the posts at that time, I was under no illusion that Krista was reading any of my posts that didn’t tag her directly, and had no interest in any sort of feud. Krista does not follow me, and in general does not seem to interact much on Tumblr beyond asks to her and posts she is directly tagged in (or reblogs/comments on her posts of course). I would likely be the same way if I stumbled onto a community of people discussing every little detail of people I was friends with in real life. I would want to set the record straight and defend my friends while also respecting their privacy, and as a result I doubt I’d interact much anyway. I respect her choice to not discuss them at all, even the things seen on TV, and hope she will continue to make that choice no matter how annoying people asking her for info might get. (And to Pickles and anyone else who has crossed the line and sent her intentionally inflammatory messages/questions about the Duggars or hate for the sake of hate, please kindly delete your accounts and learn how to interact with actual humans in a respectful way.) 

When I got the string of anons asking me about Krista, I took a step back and tried to objectively examine why I followed Krista, why I continued to devote energy in responding to her posts, and if it was worth my time and emotional energy to continue doing so. The difference I found between Krista’s posts, which do often frustrate me, and posts from others who I have chosen to unfollow and/or block is the intent and context behind the posts. 

At the end of the day, Krista and I are very similar. We were both raised in very conservative families/churches, who had different plans for us than the lives we’ve chosen to pursue. We’ve both come to believe differently about God than the churches we were raised in. And we both know what it’s like to have to keep up appearances, especially online, in order to not destroy (or majorly hurt) relationships with people in our lives offline who it’s still important to maintain a relationship with. 

There are a couple big differences between us. First of all, I’m gay. I came to believe differently than the church I was raised in largely because I’ve had to just to be who I am and not feel depressed and suicidal all the time. When you grow up gay in a conservative family, life gives you two choices: shut off who you are and spend your life convincing yourself you are who you were told you were supposed to be or do major amounts of soul-searching to figure out who you are and how to accept yourself. When you’re already evaluating one major aspect of who you are and what you believe it becomes nearly impossible to not do that same evaluation on the other beliefs you were raised in. Because of this process, I’ve come to see a lot of hypocrisy and downright lies in the belief system I was raised in. This has pushed me into developing a pretty strong set of opinions, beliefs, and political stances that stand in stark contrast to my family and lifelong family friends. 

As a cisgendered straight woman, Krista did not have this huge thing forcing her to do major soul-searching. Despite this, she has done soul-searching, and seems to still be doing it. (It’s really a lifelong process, after all.) She has stepped out into a world that she likely didn’t consider being able to live in as a little girl. She’s pursued an educational and career path that’s impressive for even women who were raised being encouraged to focus on education, so for someone in her church and belief system to get to where she is is monumental, and for that I applaud her. So while I definitely disagree with her beliefs on a number of subjects, and will continue to say so (with thoughtful responses, not just complaints) when I feel her posts call for it, I am doing my best to remember that no one was born perfect, and she is still learning just as much as the rest of us are. I’ve said many times that I really do believe her intentions are good, and I stand by that belief. She’s learning. She’s trying. She may be one of the more conservative voices in our tumblr community, but many of us have admitted we used to be worse than we are now, and she’s come a long way from who she once was too. 

The other big difference between us, at least as far as tumblr goes, is that she has chosen to attach her name and face to her posts on here, and I have not. Many of you know who I am, follow me elsewhere, etc. That doesn’t change the fact that publicly, all you see is a food-based username and (currently) a photo of Jana Duggar on a boat. I share my first name, my age, and my general location. While someone who knew me offline could likely piece together my identity if they paid enough attention, I am careful to not overly-identify myself. This relative anonymity grants me the privilege of speaking freely online without worrying about offline consequences. Krista has not granted herself that same anonymity. I’m honestly a little embarrassed that I had never considered before the fact that she likely does not feel she can speak freely on Tumblr. I am very careful what I post on my other social media platforms. When my name and face are attached, I pretty much never mention LGBTQA issues for fear of outing myself and losing family members I’m not ready to lose. I don’t post about the abuses found in many Baptist churches or the lasting harmful effects I feel from my overly-religious childhood. This is partially to avoid a can of worms with a widespread ripple effect and partially out of respect for my parents and their desire to not have to defend me for believing things they don’t even agree with themselves. For Krista, the things she says here can and likely do affect her life offline, and it’s something that’s important to keep in mind when reading her posts. 

I don’t say all of this to say that Krista gets a pass for hurtful things she says. We all are still accountable for the things we say, and she has chosen to put herself in the position of having to choose between saying things that will hurt her offline life, censoring herself, or staying silent. There are topics I still wish she would just address openly or not at all. But at the end of the day, she has the same right to censor herself here as I do elsewhere, and I will be trying to keep that in mind going forward. When interacting with her privately, she’s only ever proven herself to be kind and open to hearing what I have to say. In the future, I may give her the same respect I often give my offline friends where I just send her a DM to clarify her intent of a seemingly rude or hateful post instead of just calling her out publicly. We’re all learning, Krista included. 

Social media, especially Tumblr, has given in to a dangerous mindset that’s often referred to as “cancel culture”. There are times when it is absolutely the right choice to “cancel” someone. Like I said at the beginning of my post, we have the right to choose what voices to allow into our feeds. We should all take advantage of that right and do what’s best for our mental health. I just think we should also be more mindful of context and intent when deciding whether or not to “cancel” someone. We all say we want young girls (and boys) in fundie communities to get out of that lifestyle and find better beliefs, but getting out doesn’t happen overnight. Many of us have the benefit of getting here after shedding many of our toxic beliefs. For those who aren’t there yet, I hope we will just remember to choose kindness and respect and do our best to be open to educating them without being hateful or derogatory. 

[eliserunsboston]

Growing Like a Wildflower

A Wildflower

    “A flower of an uncultivated variety or a flower growing freely without human intervention.”¹

“Wildflowers find themselves growing anywhere. They grow in the most unlikely of places, even in the darkest of night. They find any cracks and crevices that will allow them to sprout up, and they do just that. They grow despite everyone’s belief that they never would. They allow the rain to heal them, not drench them.”²

There is a toughness and simultaneous beauty to wildflowers that I have grown to admire. They grow in the most unlikely of places and resiliently find a way to blossom in the most challenging of circumstances. It’s science.

What I love most about the characteristics of a wildflower is that it grows freely, resiliently and untamed wherever it is planted.  It is even able to grow in the unlikeliest of places – in cracks, in crevices, in forgotten fields – and they bring beauty to the space that they inhabit.

There’s a quote that keeps popping up on my Pinterest feed and popping into my mind at moments I need the most reassurances, and it is this by Morgan Harper Nichols, “And somehow, after everything, she still bloomed in the way she was meant to.” (It might also be my phone background.) Morgan Harper Nichols is an artist, a writer, and a storyteller. In 2017, Morgan started a project where she invited people to submit stories to her website. From there, she began creating art inspired by the stories her readers submitted and then sent the person who submitted their story the artwork at no cost. Her words and artwork are illustrative of hope. I am in awe of her talents and the way in which she uses art to build a human connection to bring hope and reassurances to the world. It’s incredible.

“And somehow, after everything, she still bloomed in the way she was meant to.”

When questions start to come up that I don’t yet have the answer to, I refer to this quote. I feel like this unearths the hope that lies within. It’s the reassurance that no matter what detours or winding turns that feel as though they’re pulling me off course come my way, the experiences have grace within them. I feel like she created those words for me.

This season of my life is about growing and learning to listen to my intuition again. It’s a season of looking at the world in a relaxed, matured lens. It’s teaching me patience and to appreciate the fruits and blessings I currently have in the now. It’s having me take a step back from looking at the future and the next step and focusing on appreciating the here and now, in order to know more clearly what I want the picture of my future to look like. It’s also creating a space to let in a rush of gratitude, because when you take the time to pause and reflect, you can’t help but pull out of that place of unfulfillment and count the things that you do have that maybe you didn’t have years ago. It’s allowing me to look at the twists and turns of decisions I’ve made with an objective lens and learn a lesson from it. Giving yourself the space to turn an ordinary, plain moment into a significant pause of reflection to appreciate how far you’ve come is renewing. It’s hard to slow down in a society that elevates and applauds productivity. It’s hard to slow down when my mind is comfortable operating at a heavy pace and my fingers itch for a  distraction often found in mindless apps on my devices. It’s tough to turn off the outside world – full of opinions and misplaced directions and decisions – and come into my own body and listen to my mind, my thoughts.

Lately my happiness hasn’t matched my picture of what life would look like by now. The timeline is off. Dreams deferred, along with befuddled expectations are all funky. That’s my technical term for it. Funky. They’re criss-crossy and tangled and difficult to follow and unexpected. It doesn’t match my picture.

But it’s my story.

And that, my friends, is beautiful in and of itself.

Because you’re unique, lovely and hand-made with not one being the same to make up this fabric of the world. So embrace those qualities and sink more into your unique, one-of-a-kind gifts and find your people that have those similar qualities too. And get together and make great shit happen, so that you can share your beautiful, wildflower story of how you overcome. I hope that you fill up your day with words of love and wisdom and reassurance and hope. And that you truly believe you have a wildflower heart within you, meant to blossom in the hardest and darkest of times because you bring beauty to this world simply with your story.

“You want to be happy, Doc? Change your picture. Or change your life,” said Wade Kinsella from Hart of Dixie on Netflix (the full quote is beautiful and located on Pinterest) to his love interest Zoe Hart as played by Rachel Bilson (shoutout to all my Gossip Girl fans!). Please go watch it if you haven’t. It might be my favorite, weird, lovely love story. And I think Wade Kinsella had some wisdom when it came to leading a happy, satisfied, contented life. He was a wildflower, learning to grow in the toughest of places, but he was resilient. He was kind to himself.

In this season of growing, I’m learning to embrace the beautiful and the tough sides of me, to be kinder to myself, to give myself patience in this place of grace and rest.

I came across this quote as I was searching Morgan Harper Nichols’ blog and I’ll leave you with this:

TRUTH ABOUT GRACE

Here’s the truth about grace:

It probably won’t look like you expect it to.

It probably won’t even really make sense to you,

because it’s glorious unmerited favor,

and nothing else really works that way.

There are so many things in life that say to you:

“You are not worthy, and you will never be worthy

unless you can prove it to me.”

But grace says something else.

Grace says:

“I see where you are,

and I know that you have been lost out here,

but there is still a way Home for you.

And you are free to carry on

on that journey,

even before it makes sense to you.”

– Morgan Harper Nichols

Dictionary.com

The Odyssey Online article Have a Heart Like a Wildflower

  Growing Like a Wildflower was originally published on Elise Kovi

#grace #health and wellness #learning to grow #rest #seasons #wildflower

[mjayms-blog]

cigarette smoke & sad thoughts // ii

as smoke drags across my face and up my nose, I wishfully reminisce of better days. days when the sounds of birds chirping delighted my ears. days when the thought of creating social experiences with people peaked my interest. days when depression was just an ideology I thought would never affect me.

now it seems these days are long past without sign of return. the sounds of early morning birds now deafens me, the thought of interacting with people disgusts me; making me want to vomit, and depression has engraved itself so deep inside of me I have become the demon I was once haunted by.

however I am content:

content with the endless tears I harbor inside, content with the screeching for loving embrace but never relenting just one second of my being to attempt to form such horrific connections.

people tell me I need help and that I should really consider going to therapy to discuss and conquer my chaotic darkness but to those I have a question for you:

are you not open to embracing such darkness?

for most, happiness is the ultimate feeling to be felt. I have felt happiness. it is soulful, bright, and fillls you with such warmth that the surface of the sun itself would burn at the touch of a truly happy person. it gives you the energy of a thousand solar panels, and has the momentum of a thousand locomotives.

but for me I cannot say that is the case. I once felt happiness but it was stripped away from me from the one who gifted it unto me.

and I was left with darkness; i have sinced gathered a craving for the cold touch of this darkness.

the painful sensation of emotional suffering and screeching of demons inside my mind has become my peaceful muse. I relish in the thought of victory through defeat, self defeating myself in the face of success. I feel pure ecstasy when those who try manipulate me and those who wish to toss me aside once they have had their way with me.

some may call me crazy... but who are you to judge my obsession with sadness and the abyss when you yourself our equally obsessed with happiness and joyous recollection?

are we both not obsessed with an intoxicating feeling that rejuvenates us and makes us feel whole?

are we not just simply searching for our own way to successfully complete this absurd journal of existence?

to anyone out there that understands where I am coming from, I applaud you. I applaud you for not calling victim to suicide’s loving embrace and applaud you for finding the core which hides in the darkness.

when others choose to look for light in the darkness, we have chosen to brave the darkness and travel to depths that most are not able to surpass and endure. we have chosen to live life in the face of absurdity and do with grace and courage.

we have chosen to be warriors and ambassadors of darkness, depression, and anguish so those who are afraid of the dark may still flourish in the light of joy and happiness.

#writing #depression #darkness #light #thoughts #cigarette smoke #writer #tumblr #excerpt from a book i'll never write #excerpt from a story i'll never write #writeaway #writeblr #happy #thinking #think about it #judgement

[atthebackofmyhead]

LITTLE DEATHS: CHRIS CORNER OF IAMX AND UNFALL SUBMITS SINISTER SEVEN Q&A

Halloween is just around the corner and this album seems like it would be a great soundtrack for a spooky dance party. Some of the track titles on Unfall are quite evocative (first single “Little Deaths” along with “Tick Tick Tick,” “Hysteria,” and “The Disease to Please”). Did the titles come before the songs themselves? If not, what inspired the titles? IAMX has always been a psychological terror journey. I’m a human behavior junkie and along with this search for purity and truth, there’s an endless well of darkness in us. The war, the power, the sex. That’s what drives my desire to create, to reflect myself and the world in a visceral, open way, with all the grimy hypocrisy and evil and all the extraordinary beauty and turn-ons. These titles came when the tracks revealed themselves to me. Their characters yearned for these names.

Is it intimidating or scary to release something without singing, when so much of your musical persona is associated with your powerful, unique vocal style? No, it’s a fucking relief, actually. IAMX songwriting can be an awful struggle, technically and emotionally. There’s so much more responsibility and baggage that comes with a vocal message and “normal“ song structure. For years, I’ve wanted to just get lost in a self-indulgent tech world. It’s a huge part of my production process anyway, but without vocals my energy becomes more playful. It’s actually much more fun making instrumental music and it gives me a well-earned break from the endless loop of my own voice inside and outside my head.

Speaking of fear, several years ago you were very candid about your struggles with mental health, particularly chronic insomnia. As someone who has struggled with insomnia since childhood, I applaud your candor. How do these struggles inform some of the tracks on this album? I really left most of that turmoil with the previous album Metanoia. That’s where those feelings belong. It’s a huge privilege to have a vessel through which to vent. Given the squirming chaos of the artistic mind, the art itself must always have some therapeutic consequence. With Metanoia, it was basically a cognitive behavioral therapy journey. With Unfall, it’s the rhythms that get me. It’s a tribal connection getting lost in heady dance music: the music as a drug to transform and free the body and mind. And the geeky elegance and intricacies of electronic music can be very calming. It’s overthinking but with a positive edge.

Despite being an electronica album – something many people associate with a sterile, otherworldly sonic palette – there are a lot of organic, almost terrestrial sounds on this album. How did you achieve that balance? I love anything that is good. I don’t care if it’s organic, electronic, cool, or embarrassing. I’m interested in obscuring sound, making alien and indescribably sounds, but using the power and warmth of the analog palette. People that say electronic music is sterile are lazy. If it’s a dog banging on a dustbin and it sounds good it’s worth something. There’s plenty of cold, meaningless, sterile, organic music. In fact, in this cynical, meaningless, piecemeal, awkward, entitled pop culture we witness, there is endless banality. Leftfield and obscure is the last sanctuary of good music.

Jane Wiedlin (of The Go-Go��s) provides some seriously creepy vocals on “The Disease to Please.” How did this collaboration come to fruition? We had social media interaction over the years and we really connected over mental health issues. She was a big supporter of IAMX. I wanted some very sweet, innocent-sounding vocals to twist and sonically bastardize and she seemed perfect, particularly with her history with The Go-Go’s. She threw some lines into her phone and sent them. I loved the lyrics.

You recently directed Gary Numan’s video for “My Name is Ruin.” How is the creative process for filmmaking similar to the process for making music? There’s a technical similarity and a sheer “will to see it through” similarity, as well as a control freak similarity. I adore video. There’s so much scope that music and visual together can achieve. I’ve always painted with sound and had strong images in my head when I made music, so moving into video was natural. I shoot and edit, so it is a slog. There’s more that can go wrong because you are dealing with schedules and unpredictable issues like weather, light, and humans, but it’s rewarding on a different level than music.

There is a new IAMX album scheduled for early next year. What can you tell us about it? Did you work on that simultaneously with the Unfall album? Do these albums share any specific attributes? Unfall was a way to get all the tech out of my system. Now as I write I find myself turning to a very symphonic sound. I’m tailoring a subtle softness that I’ve touched on before but never totally seen through. The beats are moving to the background with the vocal, strings, guitars, and pianos to the front. But the organics I treat again in an otherworldly way, with lots of reverb and filters and a muted, brooding spine of electronic underpinning it all. That’s where I am right now.

#iamx #chris corner #interview #iamx7

[will--reece]

Day One

For some time I had thought about creating a blog as a means for artistic expression. I had planned it to be a daily musing of what I find beautiful, or inspirational, combined with a photograph either taken by myself or someone with an artist's eye; and then came cancer. That idea fell to the back of my mind.

Three years later, I sit in my kitchen with my coffee writing what you are now reading. The idea of this blog has completely changed because, frankly, I am not the same person as I was three years ago. This blog is created for a means to ask hard questions, seek the truth. Find our own personal truths, and hopefully, answers. This blog will not judge a person for their means of finding those things for though we are all human beings, we are each wild creatures uniquely individual.

After cancer, I underwent a total loss: of identity, of faith, of belief, and purpose. I began the search to "find" me again though I didn't know that I had totally lost myself. I began with the basics, but the books I had once loved were hollow, documentaries that had inspired meant nothing, movies, even music were void; everything had changed. Even my friends, something had happened between us. There was a, a foreigness that felt insurmountable. And in this change I believed that all of these things were signs that perhaps I should have died, that I didn't belong here anymore. And for a while, I waited for the end; for cancer again. It hasn't come. I continued to plummet, questioning everything. I didn't ask why me, but I did ask what am I.

I began searching books, blogs, everything that I could find with people who had shared or were sharing a similar experience. I found none. That isn't to say that there aren't books or blogs about this. What I'm saying is that there always seemed to be a slant. Whether it was forced upon them by a publisher for book sales, or by their faith out of guilt or fear, that slant was always there. I didn't need a rosey ending. I needed a shared experience. And I'm not discounting those of faith. I applaud them for their strength and the ability to overcome through their faith. But what I needed, what I really needed was the dirty truth. As I said, I found nothing. So I decided to create this blog in hopes to find something, to share, to be that place where the ugly side of post cancer can be freely discussed without judgement. And just perhaps, this blog can help others who have not had cancer but find themselves in a similar place.

So, here you will find someone trying to discover their way in life again. I want meaning, passion, and purpose, and the hard questions on God and faith will be honestly explored. Questions not meant to offend others, but merely share questions that have come to me. Questions without answers. What you will find, along with my story, is the truth. I will not sugar coat cancer, or it's even more horrific aftereffects on your mind, your body, your life, and yes, your soul. But hopefully, together, we can find our way.

#cancer #survivor #life #inspiration #truth #help #honesty #purpose #self help #identity #meaning #soul #god #passion #happy #disease #ostomy #cancersupport #cancersurvivor #cancersux #spiritualawakening #lost #seakers #seaking

[readerdye]

@farseersfool tagged me in this wonderful questionnaire! Thank you so much!

RULES: Answer all questions, add one question of your own and tag as many people as there are questions. (I can’t tag anyone today, but please do this if you’re interested!)

Long post after the cut

1.      coke or pepsi: After that commercial the other day, Coke.

2.      disney or dreamworks: Dreamworks, I think. They have How to Train Your Dragon and Kung Fu Panda and Shrek! But if Disney keeps creating stuff like Moana, I might have to switch.

3.      coffee or tea: Coffee, probably, but I can’t drink it. If I do, I’m wired and bouncy and awful. So I’m trying to switch over to tea. 

4.      books or movies: Definitely, definitely books. I can manage movies sometimes...but only if I can fidget and talk straight through it. Even TV shows are hard to sit through for me.

5.      windows or mac: Windows, because I can play more games.

6.      dc or marvel: Okay, so the Captain-America-Nazi thing was ATROCIOUS. But Marvel has those tiny, cute franchises like Patsy Walker AKA Hellcat and Squirrel Girl and nonviolent superheroes, and I like that trend. So I’ll go with Marvel, provided I don’t read any of the big-names anymore.

7.      xbox or playstation: PlayStation for life. (Sadly, though, I don’t have a PS4 and am therefore behind the times. RIP Horizon Zero Dawn)

8.     dragon age or mass effect: Dragon Age, definitely. I haven’t gotten around to playing Mass Effect.

9.      night owl or early riser: Being a night owl is the Worst Possible Thing for a depressed kiddo to be, and yet. I’m trying to switch to early bird, but it’s not working for me.

10.  cards or chess: Cards, definitely. There’s a lot more variety in what you can play, and I just like the feeling of shuffling.

11.  chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla. Not a huge chocolate fan.

12.  vans or converse: Ahahahahahaha you think I buy name-brand shoes. That’s hilarious. I’ve been wearing the life out of the same pair of sneakers for two years, and I don’t even know what brand they are. Payless brand.

13.  lavellan, trevelyan, cadash, or adaar: Oooh. I feel like Lavellan is more central to the plot and can interact more meaningfully with Inquisition’s setting, but I really, really loved playing an Adaar.

14.  fluff or angst: Fluff fluff fluff. Too much stress and I have to put the book down and step outside to breathe.

15.  beach or forest: Beach, and now I’m landlocked. (sigh)

16.  dogs or cats: Cats. Dogs are cute, but they don’t know when to leave you alone. Cats get personal space and kind of live their own lives.

17.  clear skies or rain: I loved the torrential downpours back in Houston, but now that I’m in Colorado, clear skies are SO nice. Not too warm, perfect for relaxing outside (I say from my computer chair).

18.  cooking or eating out: I order way too much take-out, I’ll admit that. I really love and miss cooking, but it’s hard to muster the energy.

19.  spicy food or mild food: Spicy! Well, it depends on the type. If you’re just chopping up 85 jalapenos for fun, then no thank you, but an Indian curry will get me every time. 

20.  halloween/samhain or solstice/yule/christmas: Solstice/Yule/Christmas is more family-and-friends-ish, so I like it a little better. I’m not a very spooky person.

21.  would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot: I’m guessing this is excluding the possibility of wearing jackets or short sleeves to correct for temperature, right? Eesh. I’m rarely ever too hot, so I guess too cold, since at least I’m used to that.

22.  if you could have a superpower, what would it be: Shapeshifting yes please! I’m with you, Rowan.

23.  animation or live action: Animation. It’s just fun! And the art choices are so interesting to me (I can’t draw a stick figure, but I like seeing other people who can).

24.  paragon or renegade: Haven’t played Mass Effect, but my understanding is that Paragon is kinda the lawful good choice and Renegade is more chaotic, right? I’m sadly lawful good. So paragon. (And I’ve also heard that renegade is racist, so no thank you. Although I’ve also heard that renegade is passionate about defending their friends...)

25.  baths or showers: Baths are my relaxing “calm down everything’s okay” treat to myself. 

26.  team cap or team ironman: Um...as far as Superhero Rules go, I really loved Ta-Nahisi Coates’ article about this: Iron Man is the logical choice. Right? You can’t have superheroes running around exempt to all rules. But Cap is the heart-choice, because if you knew a rule would hurt your best friend in all the world, and you didn’t feel he deserved that punishment, you’d fight. In my head, Iron Man, because giving superheroes free reign is a recipe for disaster. BUT I think situations have changed: for better or worse, Marvel is very America-centric. So the one registering the mutants would probably be our president. Which would be Trump. So now I’m Team Cap. (Don’t get me wrong. Both superheroes are intolerable.)

27.  fantasy or sci-fi: Fantasy...but it’s a tough call! I love my cyborg-futuristic-alternate-planet-space-operas SO much that I might have to switch that answer soon. Some really cool things have been happening in sci-fi lately.

28. do you have three or four  favourite quotes? if so what are they: “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.” - Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

"If the ocean can calm itself so can you. We are both salt water mixed with air.” - Nayyirah Waheed, “Meditation”

29.  youtube or netflix: Netflix. There’s more of a quality guarantee.

30.  harry potter or percy jackson: Harry Potter. I really love the diversity in Percy Jackson, but I hit them too late to appreciate the jokey style of humor.

31.  when you feel accomplished: When I write and everything flies around and connects inside my head. It hasn’t happened for a long time.

32.  star wars or star trek: I’ve been told I’d like Star Trek more, especially old-school philosophical Trek, but I don’t know enough about it to say. 

33.  paperback books or hardback books: Paperbacks are my preference, but I get so many hardbacks from the library that my preference is switching.

34.  horror or rom-com: They’re both actually really tense (interpersonal conflict stresses me out!). But maybe rom-com, since I can sleep afterwards.

35.  to live in a world without literature or music: I get to pick? I’m actually going to go with a world without literature, because then we could all return to oral storytelling and ballads, and because if I couldn’t hum then I’d never do the dishes.

36.  pastel colours or dark colours: Dark, but actual colors: not just black, but maroon and plum and navy blue and the like. 

37.  tv shows or movies: Movies...? TV shows are doing such marvelous and interesting things, but I never, ever finish them, because I can’t binge-watch to save my life and I always find something else that needs doing.

38.  city or countryside: I grew up visiting my grandfather’s land, and I loved getting up early in the morning when the sky was all misty and the world was quiet. Then I moved to a Tiny Country Town and realized exactly how wonderful-but-awful that kind of place could be. I’m glad my still-there friends are turning it into a better place, but now I prefer the city. 

39.  if any other zodiac sign could describe you, what would it be: I remember everyone posted the What Zodiac Thingamajig are You lists for a while, and Virgo was always something like “glaring over your spectacles,” and Pisces was “You’re a nice fluffy bunny who daydreams too much and flakes out and sometimes cries because flowers can’t sneeze.” So Pisces, I guess? 

40.  if you could only listen to one album for the rest of your life what would it be: ahahaha, you think I listen to albums. 

41.  cinema or theatre: Theatre! Much more interactive, especially tiny theaters where the performers are right near you. I can’t focus on movies (the screen maybe?), but I just end up staring at theater slack-jawed.

42.  if you could be any fictional character’s best friend, who’d you be: So many of my favorite characters have such difficult lives. 

43.  smiling or smirking: Smiling? I can’t really smirk.

44.  are you an ‘all or nothing’ type or are you more consistent: All or nothing. I’m trying to develop consistency.

45.  playlists or your whole library on shuffle: Whole library on shuffle! My mom swears by playlists, but I want to always be surprised.

46.  travelling or staying at home: I like traveling. Really truly honestly: I’m used to uncomfortable sleeping situations, and for some reason all of my road trips have ended up being bizarrely in-depth and soul-searching. Plus I like seeing new places. 

47.  books or fanfiction: Books, but I still love fanfiction and applaud those who write it!

48.  If you could live in a fantasy world, what world would it be: One of those integrated-fantasy worlds, where it’s just like ours only fey creatures and divergent multicultural myths have been added in. I’d really love to wait behind a centaur at Starbucks.

49.  your favorite cartoon: Steven Universe, but I just discovered Phineas and Ferb and it’s delightful. 

50.  name the weirdest five songs on your itunes, current or past: Let’s see. “The Pirate Ninjas from Dino Island” was egregious. Mrs. Burch’s science songs (please tell me someone remembers). Some bagpipe cacophony. Everyone says “No Blue Thing” was weird but it was my favorite for YEARS. And there’s this song from Amelie that starts with aysynchronous piano notes, tosses in a bunch of snapping and whistling, ties in accordion music, and ends on a music box. I don’t remember the title, but that one was odd.

51. a favorite song that starts with the same letter as your name: Last name work? “By Yon Bonnie Banks.” 

52. the last inanimate object you named: my House Squid! Its name is Herman.

Thank you for this again! I won’t tag anyone this time...I’m still too sporadic on Tumblr, so whoever wants can do it. But thank you again!

#reader writes #long post #thank you!

[avaliveradio]

Sirens and Shelter talks about connecting with people through music on behind the music

I have very little interest in the music business. For me, creating, releasing and performing music is about connecting with people, not the number of likes, downloads, views, streams or sales. I take pride in my work and that will always trump trying to “make it”, whatever that means.

Band Name: Sirens & Shelter All music by Scott Mallard

Song name: Carried Your Weight

Music Genre: Rock & Alternative

I live in... Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, though I was born and grew up in Gravesend in Kent, England.

Link to play: https://open.spotify.com/track/4gEQpqaDGln8zbSMY60XmY?si=lPsmdVcwQMm8ZeBzV4snZQ

 https://sirensandshelter.bandcamp.com

In the summer of 2018, I moved to Malaysia and, without meaning to, continued to write songs.

‘Carried Your Weight’ is quite simply a release of frustration at a situation back home which I felt powerless to influence or help resolve; I could only observe from afar.

Living 7000 miles away from your family and friends has its difficulties, and feeling the distance is definitely one of them. This track is personal and I think you can really hear that in my vocal takes.

The music...

It’s difficult to explain why I create, but I’ve definitely used my time away from family and friends as a source of “inspiration”. I’m not particularly good at answering questions or expressing myself under pressure; taking time to write songs helps me reflect and articulate things in a way that I struggle to, ordinarily. 

Aside from this, after releasing two acoustic full-length records, I just really wanted to make some noise and get loud!

How do you think this release represents your current direction?

‘Carried Your Weight’ is a very significant release for me, as it represents a new beginning and direction for my music. As I mentioned before, my previous releases have been acoustically driven, but I’ve found that by adding additional instruments and starting a “band”, I feel I’m able to express myself in greater depth. 

I worked with a wonderfully kind and talented producer and a drummer called Paul West at Awesome Source Recording. He has helped me capture ideas that shaped this song, and I’m incredibly grateful for his help.

What most inspires you?

I’ve spent the last few years living abroad and this has given me some great memories and also some incredibly humbling experiences. I love writing songs because it challenges me to communicate and capture these memories and experiences. Everything I write tends to be quite emotionally charged; I wouldn’t want to release music that wasn’t genuine. 

Writing songs is incredibly enriching when you achieve something that you’re proud of. It takes me a long time to write music because I want to achieve balance, meaning, connection and musical ideas that resonate with me. There’s a lot to consider and many important decisions to be made with every song.

Website & social media links: https://m.facebook.com/sirensandshelter https://youtu.be/P59SOsqVpM0 www.instagram.com/sirensandshelter

Comments:

Jacqueline Jax I totally agree with Scott. Music shouldn't be only about the number of likes, it should be about the connection with those who hear you.

Percival Ngidi one,as long as you reach someone's heart

Greg Godovitz You only need two followers... in my case it was my Mom and Dad who never tired of telling interested strangers that I was their son... Xoxo

Theo Starr None... if you have influenced someone for the better that's all you need

Joe Ausmus I've heard to strive for 1000 fans that will spend $100 per year on music, merch, tickets etc.

Jamie Lee Fisher If you create music fluently and can express your emotions than you are a successful musician

Kendall Hollinger 0. But you need a whole lot of friends & listeners haha!

Victor Kanmelu i dont think followers online really matter you know. i believe your real follower or followers must be that person that is committed to your success. i dont really believe in having huge follower base to make an impact, i believe in one being a majority like example one man can change the world, one follower can buy all your merch , one follower can buy all your c.d, one man in the bible prayed and the heavens ceased of rain. i dont believe having so much followers result to a musicians success. its even risky in a way security wise.

Squigee Mango Depends what you mean by successful followers and likes can be bought so how many can you afford......

Thomas Craymer Both sides are somewhat valid (: having computers does make it much easier for independent artists (such as myself) to record more songs without having to pay overpriced studio prices.... Though with all the artists starting up, talent alone is not enough to get oneself noticed, but a good image for a target audience, and a lot of luck is also needed....

Ryan Kirkpatrick It isn't all negative though. I'd just encourage artists not to fall into the trap of believing success is predicated upon a metric, number or algorithm. Music and art are about tangible, substantive connections and emotional commonalities. I guess you have to prioritize what's more important, money, or matter. You still have to get out, take your message and art to the people. I still believe that most of those who are searching for something, aren't finding it on a device screen. Make it personal. It matters. Cheers!

Steve Wilkins With all I’ve done online so far, I’ve been much more successful busking, playing shows, and selling CDs to people at work than I have been promoting online. So for me I would say it’s not easier.

Chris Franz Its easier to promote yourself but the numbers you are required to have on all social media platforms restricts a lot of new talent from even a shot at becoming big. For example the model country music uses now for new artist is to not only get them touring but also get them on a radio tour as well. Of course the artists must foot the bill but its really the only way to get near the charts. You dont have to be number 1 on the charts to get noticed but you need to on the chart. Social media becomes a marketing tool but ultimately you need to increase your fan base the old fashion way. Playing the gigs and getting the fans.

Jacqueline Jax Hi Chris. So true. But I had to build my business every stage of the way and if I wanted to make music my business, I would treat it just like that. Invest in your product and the marketing. Have a good plan and push forward. But at the end of the day, it’s very hard work and many artists just don’t have what it takes to stay dedicated.

Victor Kanmelu You must have real skills , internet is just to have presence and marketing but tell me whats presence and marketing without quality content my queen? infact when i get to where God is taking me to you shall not see me online anymore, i shall relegate all duties to my manager because i shall be busiest on the field. one more thing am gonna impact my spirit into my manager so he/she wouldnt be posting whats not me

Slam Dunk Theres nothing easy about being a music. Otherwise everybody would do it. but its a great trip.

Vern Peterka I think the internet has nothing to do with “becoming” a musician. It might have lessons to learn and a means to show the world what you do, but becoming a musician is something that is in us, in our hearts. The majority if my music making happens in my studio with no internet connection happening.

Prin Sielski I get what your saying. It matters, because your music and creative projects need to be heard. I know for myself, there was nothing more discouraging than people in my family and friend circles knowing I was working on musical projects and sort of shrugging things off. People are aware of the physical, financial, mental, and emotional investment there is when creating music and the very low return rate on any profit, and yet, they are willing to like, share, comment on posts of trendy or famous people, but not their own creative family and friends. So yes, likes, comments, and all that social media stuff matters, because that is how people hear anything these days. Without an active social media base, there is no one to hear your music. Also, I’ve known people who have a large following and when something gets put out, like an album or a simple single, almost none of those social media followers will even spend the blessed $1 it takes to support the person lol ... oy! So you can’t even say having active followers guarantees anything! AhhhhH!

Thomas Craymer Very, as I am still starting.... so far, my favourite comment was from a friend Ron.... he said "Take the psychedelic path less travelled, and you'll find Thomas Craymer".... I have included that comment on my Spotify bio (:

Johnny Travis Yeah too many cheeky fkrs Some need a slap lol

Karisa Kay Support is important but most important is “that song helped me” that is why I do it!!

Gregory Boyce Halls I value comments because they tell me what people feel but i applaud your perspective.

#Sirens & Shelter #UK #Rock

[virginiamurrayblog]

Years Before #MeToo, Outing a Powerful Man for Bad Behaviour Nearly Ruined My Career

(Photograph: iStock)

Of the many mantras Oprah, Bruce Springsteen and Louise Hay have taught me, the one I’ve repeated most often, I cooked up all on my own: I don’t deserve this. Those four words loop around my brain like an uninvited earworm, chipping away at hopefulness I’ve felt for everything from personal relationships to my career.

I didn’t always feel so unworthy. This started because, while freelance writing full-time five years ago, I tried to do the right thing. In case my name reminds you only of macaroni or Madonna Ciccone, I wrote that salacious xoJane article about Jian Ghomeshi’s predilection for subverting the personal space and safety of women, years before anyone else came forward publicly about his conduct and a criminal trial that ensued. In the article, I talk about a terrible date I went on with the former radio host, during which he aggressively touched my body without invitation. I wanted to warn other women about him, but after it was published, I was what they call “shamed”—which really felt more like career exile.

Although it was only five years ago, the overall feeling in 2013 was that you deserved what you got for speaking out against powerful men online. No one stood up for you publicly, detractors verbally bullied and threatened you, and the powers that be at social media platforms were even worse than they are now at dealing with online harassment.

What I loved about writing for xoJane—a site started by legendary Sassy founder Jane Pratt and which called itself a place “where women go to be their unabashed selves, and where their unabashed selves are applauded”—was the idea that women could talk about the things we, at the time, still weren’t really supposed to talk about in public, or at least on mainstream media platforms. There was a freedom to the content that made it exciting, and I took full advantage of the opportunity to write about everything from upper lip hair to past abusive relationships. But that unbridled freedom came at a cost, and when articles blew up in a negative way, writers were often left to deal with the consequences alone. There was no support from my editor, who at the time refused to change both the very long and very bad title given to the Ghomeshi piece and the editing errors within it, and I was attacked from all angles—Canadian media, social media and even within my inner circles. Nowhere felt safe.

Despite their mistreatment, I kept writing for xoJane. Weird, right? Not really. My self-worth had been reduced to 140-character or less insults from Ghomeshi enthusiasts and men’s rights activists. I was doing the only thing I thought myself worthy and capable of. One trusted magazine editor reached out to me—someone I had written for in the past—and told me I ought to be more selective with what I was putting online. She seemed embarrassed for me. After that, I didn’t bother reaching out to editors from other pubs to pitch stories because I was sure no one wanted anything else to do with me. I felt barely worthy of xoJane.

During the backlash, I also started behaving in ways that *would* embarrass most people—drinking often and a lot and getting into situations with men, women and strangers that could have easily turned dangerous. I also gave the universal signal of a lady going through some shit: I cut my hair off and got bad bangs.

“People can sometimes respond to trauma by engaging in reckless or self-destructive behaviour, or by acting paranoid, jumpy, irritable or aggressive,” Dr. Ellen Hendriksen, a psychologist and author of How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety, tells me over the phone while we are discussing the fallout from this period in my life. “You’re trying to manage your feelings of being betrayed or unsafe, so there’s this sense of falling apart or being damaged or broken.”

Before this happened, I had a downright plucky approach to my career. After working an editorial job at a city magazine in Calgary, I moved to Toronto in 2011 and tried my best to hustle my way through the big city and line up media work, without a clue how to do that—or the implications of being a woman trying to do that. But after that encounter with Ghomeshi in the summer of 2012, which I had gone into with networking in mind, I started to doubt the resolute approach that had gotten me where I was.

***

It takes a lot of willful passivity to protect inexcusable conduct from people in power positions. It seemed to be a laughable open secret in Toronto media that this man regularly violated and hurt women. Even a former friend of mine, who happened to be an equally powerful player in Canadian media, responded to a text about whether he was friends with Ghomeshi with, “Yeah, why did he try to fuck you? Lol.”

After writing the xoJane article and dealing with the resultant online shaming, I went from hungry to hunted, and I barely had the confidence to apply to positions I was more than qualified for, let alone boldly put myself out there. Toronto, in my mind, had become an unsafe place.

“Trauma generalizes,” says Dr. Hendriksen, “Instead of one terrible man and a few untrustworthy people, the entire city becomes evil.” Despite this, my solid experience as a writer and producer landed me a handful of interviews.

Unfortunately, more than a few of the people I interviewed with stoked the flames of my career fear. Over the phone, one woman briefly asked me about my background and qualifications, then said, “So was it true? The article. Did that really happen?” She later let me know that she couldn’t see me working at her tech company but thought that the piece was entertaining. Another potential employer had me in for an interview and asked if I planned to use my professional experiences as fodder for more pieces like the xoJane one. He also wanted to know if there was more to the story that I didn’t write—seemingly hoping for hot gossip. A different man in a one-on-one interview asked if I regretted writing the piece, and after I told him no, he patted me on the back and said, “Well, good luck.” No callbacks.

After a series of dead-end interviews and leads in Toronto, I decided to move across the country to Vancouver to write copy for a yoga pants company. It was a contract gig, and I relished the opportunity to write inconsequential words in a place where people didn’t seem to know or care about the xoJane story. When I returned to Toronto in the winter of 2015, it was long after the news broke about Ghomeshi, and the city seemed less threatening than it had before. My job search came to a sardonic pinnacle later that year, when I was invited to interview for a music writer gig at CBC Radio. Ghomeshi was out of the building by then, but CBC—and Q especially—hadn’t fully come to terms with their part in actively supporting Ghomeshi’s problematic behaviour for years.

I made my way to the interview with a strong need to prove that I still had some nerve. CBC’s Toronto HQ, which I was familiar with from working there on a contract three years before, has the tree house from Mr. Dressup on display in one of its hallways. Thoughts of Casey and Finnegan served as a comforting reminder that this company could still be and do good. I would ace this interview, get back on track in my career and everything would be ok. But when I walked through the front doors and saw red chairs in the lobby, I was reminded of Q and promptly began to hyperventilate.

I didn’t get the job—because I had a panic attack and performed terribly—but I did stay in Toronto long enough to watch the Ghomeshi trial unfold. I decided to write an essay for Chatelaine about my experience, marking a return to personal writing after over a year of silence. It was cathartic in some ways and re-traumatizing in others, because of course, I still had a great deal of detractors. Since the comments were left on, many of those detractors got to share their opinions right below my article.

Although it started out as a redemptive opportunity for his victims, the Ghomeshi trial turned out to be a permanent stain on the Canadian legal system that will forever be an example of everything wrong with the way we try sexual assault cases. The star got a slick lawyer and his accusers got the Crown. They were woefully underprepared for what would ensue. It was disorienting and painful to watch these brave women share their experiences and be torn apart for it.

It is scary as hell to call a bad man out on his bad behaviour, especially when others won’t. Before #MeToo created a movement out of believing and supporting women, those who came forward were routinely disbelieved, cast aside, laughed at, harassed and abused. Many of us are still dealing with the impact of that trauma. In fact, a common theme among of those who develop PTSD is that they often get negative reactions from those they initially share their stories with. “Regardless of the kind of trauma you’ve gone through, your first responders can make all the difference,” says Dr. Hendriksen. “If you are believed or not, or supported versus rejected, can really set the course for whether you heal naturally or develop PTSD.”

Since finding out I have PTSD, which to be honest, I genuinely didn’t know I had before I started this essay, I’ve been able to process the impact the past five years has had on my life and career in a much calmer way. I’d been struggling, even at contract gigs, to adjust to office culture—based largely on the fact that I’d been telling myself I wasn’t worthy, likeable or good. Realizing that I wasn’t always this paranoid, and that this behaviour came as a result of going through some shit, has been a relief.

I’m now freelance writing again, and currently in therapy to move on from PTSD and help build my confidence back up, career-wise. Dr. Hendriksen recommends seeking out positive experiences with people in media, to replace the negative ones I’ve had. The editors from various publications that I’m writing for have been incredibly kind and supportive, and they’re helping me shape a new, non-threatening idea of what it means to be a woman working in media. Freelancing comes with its stresses, but I’m now open to the possibility of a thriving career, which was a dream I had all but given up on a few years ago. I’ve stopped telling myself I don’t deserve a good life. It’s also probably time to revisit my beloved mantras. I’ll leave you with one from Oprah: “Self-esteem comes from being able to define the world in your own terms and refusing to abide by the judgments of others.”

Related: Eight Men and Women on Dating in the #MeToo Era Shitty Men, CanLit and the Legal Ramifications of the Whisper Network Why Margaret Atwood Is No Longer a Millennial Hero

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[thoughts-writing-film-art]

A Slammin’ Time at Firecreek

A Slammin’ Time at Firecreek

As a lover of literature and all things pertaining to writing, I adore poetry. I find poetry to be the most honest and cathartic form of writing, as it gets down to core of emotion and the human experience. The poetry I write ranges from being visually stimulating to deeply personal pieces of writing about my experiences and innermost thoughts. I always thought I would never show a soul the plethora of poems I had stored in the note section of my phone or hidden away in the pages of my moleskine journal; however, that all went out the window. Once I arrived in Flagstaff my first priority, besides excelling in my classes and making friends, was to attend and read one of my tucked-away poems at a poetry slam. So after finding all my classes and doing all the mandatory chores for being a Lumberjack, I went to the internet to search, “Poetry Slam Flagstaff”.  The Firecreek Cafe was the first place to pop up on my web browser.  

On Firecreek’s website there is information offered about numerous literary and musical  events that the cafe hosts weekly. To my excitement, Firecreek holds a weekly poetry slam, on Wednesdays free to poets and two dollars to people who just wanted to sit and listen. Firecreek’s poetry slam is a friendly competition in which members from the audience vote on every poet’s work and those who make the top three win one to three free drinks at their cafe and bar.

The slam is held in the back room of the cafe and bar which is adorned with art and photography showcasing local artists. The ceilings are tiled with rustic-gold ornate carvings of flowers resembling the zinnias. The stage measures around twenty feet in width and ten feet in length, on stage sidewalls eight maroon-velvet soundboard hang from gold rods in order to absorb unnecessary noise. The back wall of the the stage is a dark sky-blue and above the stage six small rectangular windows allow moonlight to flood the room. Giant speaker and a five foot tall adjustable microphone remain on the stage at all times. The stage is where all the magic happens, where people exchange ideas, thoughts, writing, music, and experiences. This little back room holds a story in it’s walls, a rich history of art, poetry, music, and culture.

I set out to experience Firecreek for myself my second week living in Flagstaff on August 29th, arriving an hour and a half earlier than the slam started. At 7:30 pm sharp,  I signed my name down as one of the competing poets. I could not contain how eager I was to read one my poetry aloud, on stage, in front of the mic, before an audience of people who are just as passionate about poetry as I am. Firecreek is a literary safe haven for poets of all different writing capabilities where they can join the tradition and culture of slam poetry while they share their work without judgement in front an accepting and enthusiastic audience of like-minded poetryphiles.

The traditions of Firecreek Slam Poetry invite people in with open arms to share their writing. After a reader signs up to share on stage, all the poets meet around the coffee and bar area in an unorganized group circle, introducing themselves, as every name is drawn from a glass bowl as to make the order is random. Most people prefer not to go first, so to relieve the pressure, a practice poem is read by the organizer, who is by now a seasoned pro. It is also a tradition, and part of the overall manner, that when a poet walk up onto the stage, the audiences claps until they reach the mic. It was exhilarating to have an entire audience applaud me as I worked up the courage to go on stage, stand under the spotlight, and share my personal writing.  

As I and fourteen others projected our poems to the room, many people would react and  snap if they resonate with what the poet said. I think that tradition creates a feeling of solidarity among poets, a way for us to relate, validate, and interact with each other. Many of the poems I heard were very compelling, diving into the emotional experiences of the writer. The vulnerability of sharing a poem was a lot less intimidating because the audience was so open and expressive. It made the fear and of it significantly smaller,  and almost comfortable. I felt the sense of community instantaneously because I was truly able and encouraged to express myself. Many of the poets and listeners came up to me after the show sharing how eager they were to hear more of my writing.

Proceeding every reading, judges, which are selected from the audience, rated each poem on a scale of one to ten. As the rating are being called, the audience was encouraged to express whether they  agreed or disagreed that the rating was deserved. For poems that were rated far lower than they should have been rated we were encouraged to boo and cuss. For poems that could have been rated higher but the score was mediocre we sighed in disagreement, “ Eh, that’s okay...”, and for ratings of poems that I and others in the audience loved that got got well deserved high scores we all cheered, wooed, whistled, and yelled out, “Fuck Yeah!” My poem got scored around a six, so to hear people in the audience disapprove with my lower rating showed  me that a lot of people really liked and appreciated what I had to say. It relieved the feeling of disappointment that I did not score higher.

Though slam poetry is a competition it is not about who is the best poet or who has the best ideas, it’s about revealing the common struggles and joys that come along with being human. On the other hand the competition aspect inspired me to continue to write, write, and write, and write some more because, alike every person in that room, artistic expression is essential to who I am as a person. I am overjoyed to how found such an amazing emotional and creative outlet. I encourage anyone fond of poetry, eager to read, or content to listen, to venture down to  Firecreek on the corner of Historic Route 66 and San Francisco Street to be apart of the community of poetryphiles.

-Hallie Nicole Pahl

#aslammintimeatfirecreek

[virginiamurrayblog]

Years Before #MeToo, Outing a Powerful Man for Bad Behaviour Nearly Ruined My Career

(Photograph: iStock)

Of the many mantras Oprah, Bruce Springsteen and Louise Hay have taught me, the one I’ve repeated most often, I cooked up all on my own: I don’t deserve this. Those four words loop around my brain like an uninvited earworm, chipping away at hopefulness I’ve felt for everything from personal relationships to my career.

I didn’t always feel so unworthy. This started because, while freelance writing full-time five years ago, I tried to do the right thing. In case my name reminds you only of macaroni or Madonna Ciccone, I wrote that salacious xoJane article about Jian Ghomeshi’s predilection for subverting the personal space and safety of women, years before anyone else came forward publicly about his conduct and a criminal trial that ensued. In the article, I talk about a terrible date I went on with the former radio host, during which he aggressively touched my body without invitation. I wanted to warn other women about him, but after it was published, I was what they call “shamed”—which really felt more like career exile.

Although it was only five years ago, the overall feeling in 2013 was that you deserved what you got for speaking out against powerful men online. No one stood up for you publicly, detractors verbally bullied and threatened you, and the powers that be at social media platforms were even worse than they are now at dealing with online harassment.

What I loved about writing for xoJane—a site started by legendary Sassy founder Jane Pratt and which called itself a place “where women go to be their unabashed selves, and where their unabashed selves are applauded”—was the idea that women could talk about the things we, at the time, still weren’t really supposed to talk about in public, or at least on mainstream media platforms. There was a freedom to the content that made it exciting, and I took full advantage of the opportunity to write about everything from upper lip hair to past abusive relationships. But that unbridled freedom came at a cost, and when articles blew up in a negative way, writers were often left to deal with the consequences alone. There was no support from my editor, who at the time refused to change both the very long and very bad title given to the Ghomeshi piece and the editing errors within it, and I was attacked from all angles—Canadian media, social media and even within my inner circles. Nowhere felt safe.

Despite their mistreatment, I kept writing for xoJane. Weird, right? Not really. My self-worth had been reduced to 140-character or less insults from Ghomeshi enthusiasts and men’s rights activists. I was doing the only thing I thought myself worthy and capable of. One trusted magazine editor reached out to me—someone I had written for in the past—and told me I ought to be more selective with what I was putting online. She seemed embarrassed for me. After that, I didn’t bother reaching out to editors from other pubs to pitch stories because I was sure no one wanted anything else to do with me. I felt barely worthy of xoJane.

During the backlash, I also started behaving in ways that *would* embarrass most people—drinking often and a lot and getting into situations with men, women and strangers that could have easily turned dangerous. I also gave the universal signal of a lady going through some shit: I cut my hair off and got bad bangs.

“People can sometimes respond to trauma by engaging in reckless or self-destructive behaviour, or by acting paranoid, jumpy, irritable or aggressive,” Dr. Ellen Hendriksen, a psychologist and author of How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety, tells me over the phone while we are discussing the fallout from this period in my life. “You’re trying to manage your feelings of being betrayed or unsafe, so there’s this sense of falling apart or being damaged or broken.”

Before this happened, I had a downright plucky approach to my career. After working an editorial job at a city magazine in Calgary, I moved to Toronto in 2011 and tried my best to hustle my way through the big city and line up media work, without a clue how to do that—or the implications of being a woman trying to do that. But after that encounter with Ghomeshi in the summer of 2012, which I had gone into with networking in mind, I started to doubt the resolute approach that had gotten me where I was.

***

It takes a lot of willful passivity to protect inexcusable conduct from people in power positions. It seemed to be a laughable open secret in Toronto media that this man regularly violated and hurt women. Even a former friend of mine, who happened to be an equally powerful player in Canadian media, responded to a text about whether he was friends with Ghomeshi with, “Yeah, why did he try to fuck you? Lol.”

After writing the xoJane article and dealing with the resultant online shaming, I went from hungry to hunted, and I barely had the confidence to apply to positions I was more than qualified for, let alone boldly put myself out there. Toronto, in my mind, had become an unsafe place.

“Trauma generalizes,” says Dr. Hendriksen, “Instead of one terrible man and a few untrustworthy people, the entire city becomes evil.” Despite this, my solid experience as a writer and producer landed me a handful of interviews.

Unfortunately, more than a few of the people I interviewed with stoked the flames of my career fear. Over the phone, one woman briefly asked me about my background and qualifications, then said, “So was it true? The article. Did that really happen?” She later let me know that she couldn’t see me working at her tech company but thought that the piece was entertaining. Another potential employer had me in for an interview and asked if I planned to use my professional experiences as fodder for more pieces like the xoJane one. He also wanted to know if there was more to the story that I didn’t write—seemingly hoping for hot gossip. A different man in a one-on-one interview asked if I regretted writing the piece, and after I told him no, he patted me on the back and said, “Well, good luck.” No callbacks.

After a series of dead-end interviews and leads in Toronto, I decided to move across the country to Vancouver to write copy for a yoga pants company. It was a contract gig, and I relished the opportunity to write inconsequential words in a place where people didn’t seem to know or care about the xoJane story. When I returned to Toronto in the winter of 2015, it was long after the news broke about Ghomeshi, and the city seemed less threatening than it had before. My job search came to a sardonic pinnacle later that year, when I was invited to interview for a music writer gig at CBC Radio. Ghomeshi was out of the building by then, but CBC—and Q especially—hadn’t fully come to terms with their part in actively supporting Ghomeshi’s problematic behaviour for years.

I made my way to the interview with a strong need to prove that I still had some nerve. CBC’s Toronto HQ, which I was familiar with from working there on a contract three years before, has the tree house from Mr. Dressup on display in one of its hallways. Thoughts of Casey and Finnegan served as a comforting reminder that this company could still be and do good. I would ace this interview, get back on track in my career and everything would be ok. But when I walked through the front doors and saw red chairs in the lobby, I was reminded of Q and promptly began to hyperventilate.

I didn’t get the job—because I had a panic attack and performed terribly—but I did stay in Toronto long enough to watch the Ghomeshi trial unfold. I decided to write an essay for Chatelaine about my experience, marking a return to personal writing after over a year of silence. It was cathartic in some ways and re-traumatizing in others, because of course, I still had a great deal of detractors. Since the comments were left on, many of those detractors got to share their opinions right below my article.

Although it started out as a redemptive opportunity for his victims, the Ghomeshi trial turned out to be a permanent stain on the Canadian legal system that will forever be an example of everything wrong with the way we try sexual assault cases. The star got a slick lawyer and his accusers got the Crown. They were woefully underprepared for what would ensue. It was disorienting and painful to watch these brave women share their experiences and be torn apart for it.

It is scary as hell to call a bad man out on his bad behaviour, especially when others won’t. Before #MeToo created a movement out of believing and supporting women, those who came forward were routinely disbelieved, cast aside, laughed at, harassed and abused. Many of us are still dealing with the impact of that trauma. In fact, a common theme among of those who develop PTSD is that they often get negative reactions from those they initially share their stories with. “Regardless of the kind of trauma you’ve gone through, your first responders can make all the difference,” says Dr. Hendriksen. “If you are believed or not, or supported versus rejected, can really set the course for whether you heal naturally or develop PTSD.”

Since finding out I have PTSD, which to be honest, I genuinely didn’t know I had before I started this essay, I’ve been able to process the impact the past five years has had on my life and career in a much calmer way. I’d been struggling, even at contract gigs, to adjust to office culture—based largely on the fact that I’d been telling myself I wasn’t worthy, likeable or good. Realizing that I wasn’t always this paranoid, and that this behaviour came as a result of going through some shit, has been a relief.

I’m now freelance writing again, and currently in therapy to move on from PTSD and help build my confidence back up, career-wise. Dr. Hendriksen recommends seeking out positive experiences with people in media, to replace the negative ones I’ve had. The editors from various publications that I’m writing for have been incredibly kind and supportive, and they’re helping me shape a new, non-threatening idea of what it means to be a woman working in media. Freelancing comes with its stresses, but I’m now open to the possibility of a thriving career, which was a dream I had all but given up on a few years ago. I’ve stopped telling myself I don’t deserve a good life. It’s also probably time to revisit my beloved mantras. I’ll leave you with one from Oprah: “Self-esteem comes from being able to define the world in your own terms and refusing to abide by the judgments of others.”

Related: Eight Men and Women on Dating in the #MeToo Era Shitty Men, CanLit and the Legal Ramifications of the Whisper Network Why Margaret Atwood Is No Longer a Millennial Hero

The post Years Before #MeToo, Outing a Powerful Man for Bad Behaviour Nearly Ruined My Career appeared first on Flare.

Years Before #MeToo, Outing a Powerful Man for Bad Behaviour Nearly Ruined My Career published first on https://wholesalescarvescity.tumblr.com/

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Years Before #MeToo, Outing a Powerful Man for Bad Behaviour Nearly Ruined My Career

(Photograph: iStock)

Of the many mantras Oprah, Bruce Springsteen and Louise Hay have taught me, the one I’ve repeated most often, I cooked up all on my own: I don’t deserve this. Those four words loop around my brain like an uninvited earworm, chipping away at hopefulness I’ve felt for everything from personal relationships to my career.

I didn’t always feel so unworthy. This started because, while freelance writing full-time five years ago, I tried to do the right thing. In case my name reminds you only of macaroni or Madonna Ciccone, I wrote that salacious xoJane article about Jian Ghomeshi’s predilection for subverting the personal space and safety of women, years before anyone else came forward publicly about his conduct and a criminal trial that ensued. In the article, I talk about a terrible date I went on with the former radio host, during which he aggressively touched my body without invitation. I wanted to warn other women about him, but after it was published, I was what they call “shamed”—which really felt more like career exile.

Although it was only five years ago, the overall feeling in 2013 was that you deserved what you got for speaking out against powerful men online. No one stood up for you publicly, detractors verbally bullied and threatened you, and the powers that be at social media platforms were even worse than they are now at dealing with online harassment.

What I loved about writing for xoJane—a site started by legendary Sassy founder Jane Pratt and which called itself a place “where women go to be their unabashed selves, and where their unabashed selves are applauded”—was the idea that women could talk about the things we, at the time, still weren’t really supposed to talk about in public, or at least on mainstream media platforms. There was a freedom to the content that made it exciting, and I took full advantage of the opportunity to write about everything from upper lip hair to past abusive relationships. But that unbridled freedom came at a cost, and when articles blew up in a negative way, writers were often left to deal with the consequences alone. There was no support from my editor, who at the time refused to change both the very long and very bad title given to the Ghomeshi piece and the editing errors within it, and I was attacked from all angles—Canadian media, social media and even within my inner circles. Nowhere felt safe.

Despite their mistreatment, I kept writing for xoJane. Weird, right? Not really. My self-worth had been reduced to 140-character or less insults from Ghomeshi enthusiasts and men’s rights activists. I was doing the only thing I thought myself worthy and capable of. One trusted magazine editor reached out to me—someone I had written for in the past—and told me I ought to be more selective with what I was putting online. She seemed embarrassed for me. After that, I didn’t bother reaching out to editors from other pubs to pitch stories because I was sure no one wanted anything else to do with me. I felt barely worthy of xoJane.

During the backlash, I also started behaving in ways that *would* embarrass most people—drinking often and a lot and getting into situations with men, women and strangers that could have easily turned dangerous. I also gave the universal signal of a lady going through some shit: I cut my hair off and got bad bangs.

“People can sometimes respond to trauma by engaging in reckless or self-destructive behaviour, or by acting paranoid, jumpy, irritable or aggressive,” Dr. Ellen Hendriksen, a psychologist and author of How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety, tells me over the phone while we are discussing the fallout from this period in my life. “You’re trying to manage your feelings of being betrayed or unsafe, so there’s this sense of falling apart or being damaged or broken.”

Before this happened, I had a downright plucky approach to my career. After working an editorial job at a city magazine in Calgary, I moved to Toronto in 2011 and tried my best to hustle my way through the big city and line up media work, without a clue how to do that—or the implications of being a woman trying to do that. But after that encounter with Ghomeshi in the summer of 2012, which I had gone into with networking in mind, I started to doubt the resolute approach that had gotten me where I was.

***

It takes a lot of willful passivity to protect inexcusable conduct from people in power positions. It seemed to be a laughable open secret in Toronto media that this man regularly violated and hurt women. Even a former friend of mine, who happened to be an equally powerful player in Canadian media, responded to a text about whether he was friends with Ghomeshi with, “Yeah, why did he try to fuck you? Lol.”

After writing the xoJane article and dealing with the resultant online shaming, I went from hungry to hunted, and I barely had the confidence to apply to positions I was more than qualified for, let alone boldly put myself out there. Toronto, in my mind, had become an unsafe place.

“Trauma generalizes,” says Dr. Hendriksen, “Instead of one terrible man and a few untrustworthy people, the entire city becomes evil.” Despite this, my solid experience as a writer and producer landed me a handful of interviews.

Unfortunately, more than a few of the people I interviewed with stoked the flames of my career fear. Over the phone, one woman briefly asked me about my background and qualifications, then said, “So was it true? The article. Did that really happen?” She later let me know that she couldn’t see me working at her tech company but thought that the piece was entertaining. Another potential employer had me in for an interview and asked if I planned to use my professional experiences as fodder for more pieces like the xoJane one. He also wanted to know if there was more to the story that I didn’t write—seemingly hoping for hot gossip. A different man in a one-on-one interview asked if I regretted writing the piece, and after I told him no, he patted me on the back and said, “Well, good luck.” No callbacks.

After a series of dead-end interviews and leads in Toronto, I decided to move across the country to Vancouver to write copy for a yoga pants company. It was a contract gig, and I relished the opportunity to write inconsequential words in a place where people didn’t seem to know or care about the xoJane story. When I returned to Toronto in the winter of 2015, it was long after the news broke about Ghomeshi, and the city seemed less threatening than it had before. My job search came to a sardonic pinnacle later that year, when I was invited to interview for a music writer gig at CBC Radio. Ghomeshi was out of the building by then, but CBC—and Q especially—hadn’t fully come to terms with their part in actively supporting Ghomeshi’s problematic behaviour for years.

I made my way to the interview with a strong need to prove that I still had some nerve. CBC’s Toronto HQ, which I was familiar with from working there on a contract three years before, has the tree house from Mr. Dressup on display in one of its hallways. Thoughts of Casey and Finnegan served as a comforting reminder that this company could still be and do good. I would ace this interview, get back on track in my career and everything would be ok. But when I walked through the front doors and saw red chairs in the lobby, I was reminded of Q and promptly began to hyperventilate.

I didn’t get the job—because I had a panic attack and performed terribly—but I did stay in Toronto long enough to watch the Ghomeshi trial unfold. I decided to write an essay for Chatelaine about my experience, marking a return to personal writing after over a year of silence. It was cathartic in some ways and re-traumatizing in others, because of course, I still had a great deal of detractors. Since the comments were left on, many of those detractors got to share their opinions right below my article.

Although it started out as a redemptive opportunity for his victims, the Ghomeshi trial turned out to be a permanent stain on the Canadian legal system that will forever be an example of everything wrong with the way we try sexual assault cases. The star got a slick lawyer and his accusers got the Crown. They were woefully underprepared for what would ensue. It was disorienting and painful to watch these brave women share their experiences and be torn apart for it.

It is scary as hell to call a bad man out on his bad behaviour, especially when others won’t. Before #MeToo created a movement out of believing and supporting women, those who came forward were routinely disbelieved, cast aside, laughed at, harassed and abused. Many of us are still dealing with the impact of that trauma. In fact, a common theme among of those who develop PTSD is that they often get negative reactions from those they initially share their stories with. “Regardless of the kind of trauma you’ve gone through, your first responders can make all the difference,” says Dr. Hendriksen. “If you are believed or not, or supported versus rejected, can really set the course for whether you heal naturally or develop PTSD.”

Since finding out I have PTSD, which to be honest, I genuinely didn’t know I had before I started this essay, I’ve been able to process the impact the past five years has had on my life and career in a much calmer way. I’d been struggling, even at contract gigs, to adjust to office culture—based largely on the fact that I’d been telling myself I wasn’t worthy, likeable or good. Realizing that I wasn’t always this paranoid, and that this behaviour came as a result of going through some shit, has been a relief.

I’m now freelance writing again, and currently in therapy to move on from PTSD and help build my confidence back up, career-wise. Dr. Hendriksen recommends seeking out positive experiences with people in media, to replace the negative ones I’ve had. The editors from various publications that I’m writing for have been incredibly kind and supportive, and they’re helping me shape a new, non-threatening idea of what it means to be a woman working in media. Freelancing comes with its stresses, but I’m now open to the possibility of a thriving career, which was a dream I had all but given up on a few years ago. I’ve stopped telling myself I don’t deserve a good life. It’s also probably time to revisit my beloved mantras. I’ll leave you with one from Oprah: “Self-esteem comes from being able to define the world in your own terms and refusing to abide by the judgments of others.”

Related: Eight Men and Women on Dating in the #MeToo Era Shitty Men, CanLit and the Legal Ramifications of the Whisper Network Why Margaret Atwood Is No Longer a Millennial Hero

The post Years Before #MeToo, Outing a Powerful Man for Bad Behaviour Nearly Ruined My Career appeared first on Flare.

Years Before #MeToo, Outing a Powerful Man for Bad Behaviour Nearly Ruined My Career published first on https://wholesalescarvescity.tumblr.com/