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moonlight-chi77 · 3 years ago

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Hi love! Idk if you are accepting requests 👉👈 (ू•ᴗ•ू❁) But I wanted to do a reaction request for Got7 where they are dating a Afghani and Pakistani s/O (like me) and hears her either on the phone or just her accidentally slipping into her mother language like pashto, farsi or urdu. I recently broke my leg and have been a bit down and wanted to read something fluffy˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

First of all I'm sorry that your leg has been broken and also that I only wrote it so late that it isn't anymore. However I hope this is what you wanted, if not you can message me💕

P.s the translations are only approximately

Jay B:

Your Korean was really good and even though you're foreign Jaebum never really heard you speak in your native language. So when you got into a fight you haven't had troubles arguing against him. However you never knew that you could get so mad that you would speak in your mother language. "I saw you with my own eyes!" he screamed at you "!آپ بہت تنگ کرتے ہو. بکواس بند کرو" / "You are so annoying. Shut up!" you shouted back and were just as shocked as Jaebum "What did you say?" his voice gone back to normal due to the surprise. You were happy that he calmed down "That we should stop fighting and talk it out." he laughed and nod "You sound amazing speaking your mother language.".

Mark:

He actually heard you speak urdu before, because you were asking your mother for help after he got sick. But due to him being sick he couldn't even remember said event and thought that you never spoke urdu or weren't comfortable enough with him. So when he came in into you on your phone with your mother and heard a foreign language he was shocked. "میں واقعی ٹھیک ہوں۔ وہ میرا خیال رکھ سکتا ہے۔" / "I really am fine. He can take care of me." was what he said as he came in "You can stay, I'm finished" you smiled and ended the call. "I've never heard you speak urdu but now I'm in awe." your smile grew bigger "You actually did but forgot I guess." he was shocked but neither the less enjoyed hearing you speak such a beautiful language.

Jinyoung:

You were in the kitchen, trying to surprise your boyfriend that had enough stress for two due to his ongoing drama. The filming was fun and he enjoyed doing what he loved but there was no lie when he said that it also is too hard sometimes. So being the good girlfriend that you are, you tried to help and support him with all that you could. However sometimes you could be a burden to yourself because cutting onions really got the best out of you "مجھے تم سے نفرت ہے! بدصورت سبزی ، مجھے رونا بند کرو۔. / I hate you! You ugly vegetable, stop making me cry." was what you were saying as Jinyoung came in laughing softly, his mood already lifted from the sight of you getting angry at a vegetable.

Young Jae:

To your defence you really though that you were alone with Coco. You were trying to get her to learn some new tricks even though she barely ever listened to you. At this point you sometimes even hated being alone with her due to her being extremely moody with you, however today she seemed nicer so being your competitive self you tried to teach her. "تم ایسے کتے ہو۔. اگر آپ انسان ہوتے تو آپ بدترین ہوجاتے۔. / You are such a dog. If you were human you would be the worst." she seemed to understand you because she now was crying while you only sighed because you once again failed with her.

Bam Bam:

He annoyed you, of course you loved him but there was no way that you wouldn't want to kill him at least sometimes. It even got to a point were you wouldn't speak with him for a whole day because you were afraid of slipping out a compliment after he did a show where he basically praised himself the whole time. And you loved that, you loved that he was confident but the teasing you got for pushing his ego even more annoyed you too much. "Are you really not going to say it back?" he asked after you ignored his tenth 'I love you' "میں اب بھی آپ سے پیار کرتا ہوں یہاں تک کہ اگر آپ بہت زیادہ ہو۔ / I still love you even if you are too much." he smiled, not even knowing what you were saying but the euphoria of hearing you speak your mothers tongue made him forget.

Yugyeom:

You were currently talking to your mother(or any other relative) as Yugyeom came into your shared bedroom "Are you finished?" he asked but you just continued to talk so you wouldn't angry your mother: "ہاں میں اسے بتاؤں گا۔. میں ماں کو جانتا ہوں۔. / Yes I will tell him. I know mom" was what you said, while rolling your eyes. He smiled knowingly, laying down by your side so that he could enjoy listening to your voice. "Your eyes sparkle in a different way when talking to her." he said not knowing if it was your mother or the language that made you that happy but he made it his goal to make your eyes sparkle the same.

#kpop reactions #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #got7 scenarios #got7 request #got7 reactions

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thewidowsghost · 4 years ago

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Fox - Chapter 29

Previously on Fox:

"You're really good with a sword," Natasha comments as the two walk back to the house Sam had where their stuff was. "I saw you flick the sword out of the scabbard, that takes skill."

"I got into sword fighting after I graduated from college," (Y/n) explains. (Y/n) opens the door to the house and walks into the bedroom and grabs her uniform out of the closet and folding it and placing it into her suitcase.

The two finish and grab their stuff, and walk out to the Quinjet to go back home.

3rd Person POV

A year had passed since Natasha and (Y/n) had met, and it was hard to tell if either of the woman had ever been happier.

Natasha gazes affectionately at (Y/n) as the woman hurries around the room, throwing clothes haphazardly at a drawstring bag, her (H/C) hair fluttering behind her. (Y/n)'s had let her hair grow out over the year and it was about an inch lower than the small of her back.

The redhead grabs the clothes and folds them, placing the clothes into the bag.

(Y/n) turns around to fold the clothes and then smiles sheepishly at Natasha, who was sitting next to the bag, folding a shirt.

"Thanks, Nat," (Y/n) says.

"It's okay, you weren't prepared," Natasha says, placing the shirt in the drawstring and closing it, picking it up and handing it to (Y/n). (Y/n) takes the bag, a sheepish expression still on her face. Natasha pulls her girlfriend into a hug and (Y/n) relaxes into the shorter woman's arms.

"I love you so much Nat," (Y/n) murmurs tiredly and then she realizes what she said when Natasha tenses. The two hadn't yet said those three words, just showing it by their actions and looks. "I'm sorry, it slip -" Natasha cuts her off by kissing her passionately. After a moment, Natasha pulls away, resting her forehead on (Y/n)'s.

"I love you too," Natasha says, meeting (Y/n)'s gentle - but exhausted - gaze.

In the time after the two had come home from (Y/n)'s old military camp, Fury had had the (H/C) haired woman working from 6:00 AM to 8:00 PM on some sort of new flying base that was, as Fury had told her multiple times, classified. She wasn't even allowed to tell Natasha what it was.

The two women stand there for a little while, just enjoying being in each other's embrace when (Y/n)'s phone rings.

(Y/n) sighs before pulling it out of her pocket. "Hey, Dad. Yes, I had to pack. I'll be there soon." (Y/n) pauses for a moment, a look of confusion spreading across her face. "I guess so," (Y/n) looks down into Natasha's gaze, the redhead almost laughing at the confused look on her girlfriend's face. "Okay. Okay. Yes. I'll be there soon. Bye Dad."

(Y/n) ends the call, shaking her head and Natasha laughs, and (Y/n) leans down, kissing her softly again. "I'll be back soon," she promises. "Should be back by the end of the week."

"I'm coming with you to the airport," Natasha says and (Y/n) goes red with embarrassment.

"I knew that," (Y/n) murmurs, and Natasha laughs.

"Let's get you on that plane so you can come home sooner," Natasha says, grabbing (Y/n)'s hand and pulling her out of the room and down the two flights of stairs.

"Nat, that's not how that works," (Y/n) says, almost tripping down the second flight of stairs.

It's Nat's turn to looks embarrassed now but she hides her face as she pulls on her Nike's and (Y/n) pulling on hers. The two stand up, (Y/n) pulling her drawstring onto her shoulders and Natasha shyly takes her hand.

"Even after all this time, you still become shy when holding my hand?" (Y/n) teases, as Natasha closes and locks the door, pocketing her set of the keys.

Natasha grumbles something (Y/n) can't make out and (Y/n) stifles a laugh.

The two girlfriends walk to the airport instead of taking a cab so they could spend some more time together before (Y/n) had to leave.

"I'm leaving you the Quinjet in case you have to go on any surprise missions while I'm gone," (Y/n) tells Natasha, the two standing outside Tony Stark's private jet.

"(Y/n), you ready to go?" Pepper's voice comes from behind (Y/n). The (H/C) haired woman sighs and turns around.

"Just a minute, Pep," (Y/n) calls before turning back to Natasha.

(Y/n) wraps her shorter girlfriend in a hug, and whispers, "I love you, see you soon."

"I love you too," Natasha murmurs. "Don't blow your cover," she adds as an afterthought.

"I wont. I'll be back soon," (Y/n) pulls out of the hug, and walks backwards, waving to Nat before walking into the jet.

About two hours later, Pepper and (Y/n) land in Malibu and (Y/n) waits at another jet with her honorary uncle, James Rhodes, her hands clasped behind her back.

After about half-an-hour, her father arrives.

"Sorry, guys," Tony says. "Car trouble."

"I've been standing here for three hours!" Rhodes complains, (Y/n) practically seeing the steam coming out of his ears. "What the hell?!"

"Rhodes, didn't you hear?" (Y/n) asks in a sarcastic tone. "My father had car trouble."

The three board the plane and sit for a while, waiting until they arrive in Afghanistan, (Y/n) keeping her head down as the flight attendants pole dance and whatnot.

(Y/n) catches the conversation between her father and his old friend though as they sip their drinks comfortably.

"You don't get it," Rhodey explains. "I don't work for the military because they paid for my education, or my father's education. Don't cheapen it like that."

"All I said was," Tony says, "with your smarts, your engineering background, you could write your own ticket in teh private sector - on top of which, you wouldn't have to wear that 'straight jacket.'"

"'Straight jacket?'" (Y/n) asks, a frown on her face as Tony and Rhodes look up. "It means something. A chance to make a difference. A chance to do something right."

"She's right man," Rhodes agrees. "You don't respect that, because you don't understand."

Tony motions to one of the flight attendants with a nod. "See that on? Her I understand. Croatian. Hot-blooded, I'm serious. Must be those winters in Zagreb."

"You're not listening to a work I'm saying," Rhodey says, a frown on his face now.

"I am listening. I'm changing the subject. It's the same litany, every time you've had a thimble of alcohol. Drink one: reflections of the New American Century and related topics -"

"Something's seriously wrong with you, man," Rhodes responds.

"Drink two: a history of World War II and the Tuskeegee Flyers," Tony continues, ignoring Rhodey.

(Y/n) sighs loudly, rolling her eyes and pulling out her phone, and starts texting Nat.

(Y/n): Hey, what's going on at home?

Nat ♥: Nothing much

I'm bored 😣

(Y/n): I'm sorry 😞

I wish I could be there, you won't believe what I'm dealing with here.

When should best friends fight for no reason over drinks? Like what?

Nat ♥: I don't know. We fought that one time.

(Y/n): Well, that was my fault, I kept driving. Anyway, I can't wait to come home. Dad is driving me insane over here. 😒

Nat ♥: I'm actually dying over here 😂

"(Y/n), come on, we've got to go," Tony says, and (Y/n) looks up.

"Okay," (Y/n) stands up, sending Natasha one quick text.

(Y/n): I've got to go 😑

See you soon

Love you! ♥

Nat ♥: See you! Love you!

(Y/n) smiles, slips her phone into a secret pocket in her leather jacket near her heart and walks off the plane with her father.

Tony exits the plane, fired up to greet the waiting press, (Y/n) reluctantly shaking their hands after Tony.

Then Rhodes exits the plane in his ABUs, weary, squinting in the stinging sun. He pulls on his sunglasses over his bleary eyes.

Three missiles are on a flatbed which had been unloaded from a military jet. They are brought under heavy guard, waiting for a convoy.

Tony is firing a N.R.F. 425 machine gun while the Generals, (Y/n), and Rhodes are sitting on folding chairs behind a safe-zone of Hescos and sand-bags. Afghani soldiers and Air Force security men patrol the perimeter.

The billionaire puts down the machine gun down next to the other weapons, and struts before the Generals like a carnival barker. "The age old question: is it better to be feared or respected? I say, is it too much to ask for both?"

Tony nods at the Jericho missile, which is sitting on a mobile launcher.

"With that in mind, I humbly present the crown and jewel of Stark Industries Freedom Line. It's the first missile system to incorporate my proprietary Repulsor Technology. They say the best weapon is the one you never have to fire. I prefer the one you only have to fire once..." Once Tony finishes this part of the speech, the Jericho roars into the sky from the launcher.

"That's how Dad did it, it's how America does it, and so far its worked out pretty well," Tony continues. "Find an excuse to fire off one of these and I personally guarantee the enemy is not gonna want to leave their caves."

The Jericho divides from a single missile, into tons of mini-missiles.

(Y/n) looks up and watches as her father raises his arms as he continues, "For your consideration, the Jericho..." (Y/n) flinches a little as the mountains behind his outstretched hands explode, the shock-wave blanketing everyone with dust.

(Y/n) shakes her head as her father adds, "Now there's one last creation I haven't shown anyone yet. You might be interested..." He opens a silvery case, ice-smoke curling out. A bottle rises from inside the case along with drink glasses. As Tony pours, the Generals, (Y/n), and Afghani military officials exchange awkward glances.

Tony Stark raises his glass, "To peace, gentlemen, (Y/n)..." (Y/n) rolls her eyes. "And with every purchase of five hundred million, I'll throw in a free one of these."

After a little bit, the Generals get into their own Humvees and depart towards the east. (Y/n), Tony, and Rhodey walk to their waiting convoy, pointing west.

Tony's phone rings and Obadiah Stane pops up on the video phone.

"Hey, what are you doing up?" Tony asks.

"Sleeping," Stane asks, (Y/n) feeling uncomfortable. She had never been a fan of Obadiah Stane. "How did it go?"

"I think we got an early Christmas coming," Tony answers.

"Sounds good."

"Hey," Tony asks accusingly, "why aren't you wearing the PJs I got you?"

"I don't do monograms. I'm hanging up now, bye-bye." Stane hangs up.

"All right, who wants to ride with me and (Y/n)?" Tony asks. "Jimmy?"

"Me?" Jimmy asks, psyched.

Dazed, Jimmy and the others jump into the lead Humvee, (Y/n) waiting for Tony.

Sorry, Rhodey," Tony says as his old friend walks up, "no room for my conscience in here. Or that dog look," he raises his glass. "See you back at base." Rhodey shakes his head and heads for a different Humvee.

Tony gets in the Humvee before (Y/n), the (H/C) haired woman leaning her head against the window.

The United States military convoy worms through the barren vista of Afghanistan, rock music swelling in the Humvee that (Y/n), Tony, and three younger people.

After a while of silence, Tony speaks, "Oh, I get it. You guys aren't allowed to talk. Is that it? Are you not allowed to talk?"

One of the Airmen grins, fidgeting with his orange New York Mets watch.

"No," Jimmy says. "We're allowed to talk."

"Oh," Tony says, glancing at his silent daughter for a moment. "I see, so it's personal."

"I think they're intimidated," Ramirez, the one in the passenger seat in front of (Y/n), says.

"Good God!" Tony exclaims. "You're a woman!"

(Y/n) frowns as the other try to stifle a laugh.

"I, honestly, I couldn't have called that," Tony says, and after a moment of silence, he continues. "I would apologize, but isn't that what we're going for here? I saw you as a soldier first."

"I have a question, sir," Jimmy says.

"Please."

"Is it true you're twelve for twelve with last years Maxim cover girls?" Jimmy asks.

"Excellent question. Yes and no. March and I had a schedule conflict but, thankfully, the Christmas cover was twins. Anyone else? You, with the hand up?"

"It's a little embarrassing," warns Pratt, the man sitting beside Tony on the left side.

"Join the club," Tony says.

"Can I take a picture with you?" he asks.

"Are you aware that Native American believe photographs steal a little piece of you soul?" Tony asks, and (Y/n) shoots him an incredulous look. "Not to worry, mine's long gone. Fire away."

Pratt, excited, poses as another Airman takes the photo.

A second later, a massive explosion rocks the truck. Through the windshield, (Y/n) straightens, seeing the Humvee in front of them erupt into a fireball.

(Y/n) is flung aside and she sees through the side mirror, the Humvee behind them exploding.

Pandemonium erupts as the Airman are instantly in battle mode. (Y/n) wants to help, but Fury had told her not to blow her cover. No one could find out about her powers until Fury said it was okay.

The three Airman scramble out of the Humvee, shutting Tony and (Y/n) inside.

The father and daughter look at each other, (Y/n)'s eyes wide.

Then she pulls out her phone and calls Natasha, placing the phone back into her secret pocket, hoping Natasha would track the call.

Another explosion sends (Y/n)'s window blowing in, (Y/n) covering her face as glass and shrapnel showers over her.

Tony opens the door and (Y/n) is forced to jump out, (Y/n) taps the Bluetooth thing in her ear, hearing Natasha's frantic questions and flinching at her girlfriend's tone.

"Something's happening!" (Y/n) cries as the Humvee she and Tony were crouching behind blows up. Before it can land on them, (Y/n) pushes Tony out of the way, (Y/n) rolling with the momentum.

"(Y/n)!" Natasha's voice comes from her ear. "What's going on?!"

"We're under fire! Track the call!" (Y/n) tells her, keeping an eye on her father as he moves on, catching sight of an M-16, but the weapon is too hot and he drops it.

"I've got it!" Natasha yells.

"Good, send some -" (Y/n)'s cut off by a loud ping and it thumps into ground beside Tony.

It detonates, throwing Tony back into some rocks, shredding his suit and revealing his body armor underneath.

"Okay, that's not cool," (Y/n) darts over to Tony, his vision flickering in and out. (Y/n) places an arm under his shoulder and pulls him to his feet. "Shit!" (Y/n) curses as another ping sounds and she turns Tony away from the little bomb and (Y/n) gets blasted a couple of feet away, shrapnel embedding itself into her back.

The Bluetooth piece falls out of (Y/n)'s ear and she lands on her front, the impact ending the call.

(Y/n)'s vision fades in and out and she drags herself over to her father, finally passing out next to him.

About an Hour Before

Natasha is lounging on the couch, watching some random movie on Netflix. Sighing, she stands up go go grab something from the fridge, leftovers from the night before. (Y/n) had made burgers and had made a few extras to have some other time.

Taking her burger into the living room, she sits on the floor, her mind wandering over the last few hours.

"I love you so much Nat," (Y/n) murmurs tiredly. Natasha smiles at the memory and her phone buzzes.

(Y/n): Hey, what's going on at home?

Nat: Nothing much

I'm bored 😣

(Y/n): I'm sorry 😞 I wish I could be there, you won't believe what I'm dealing with here. When should best friends fight for no reason over drinks? Like what?

Nat: I don't know. We fought that one time.

(Y/n): Well, that was my fault, I kept driving. Anyway, I can't wait to come home. Dad is driving me insane over here. 😒

Natasha laughs, shaking her head slightly.

Nat: I'm actually dying over here 😂

(Y/n): I've got to go 😑 See you soon Love you! ♥

Natasha smiles at her girlfriend's words. The redhead feels her heart swell as she stares at the two words she thought she would never hear or see from another human being.

Nat: See you! Love you!

Natasha relaxes into the bottom of the couch, a soft smile on her face and she pulls her plate into her lap and hitting the play button on the remote. About forty-five minutes, Natasha is finally getting invested in the movie, when her phone rings.

Feeling a little confused at seeing (Y/n)'s name, Natasha hits the answer button and her eyes widen at the sounds of explosions.

"(Y/n)! What's going on?!" Natasha asks frantically.

"Something's happening!" (Y/n) exclaims over another explosion.

"(Y/n)!" Natasha asks again. "What's going on?!"

"We're under fire! Track the call!" (Y/n) tells Natasha. The redhead darts downstairs and into (Y/n)'s lab, sliding into the desk chair and typing in the password and plugging in the phone in the call tracking app that (Y/n) had installed onto her laptop for emergencies.

"I've got it!" Natasha yells after a moment.

"Good, send some -" (Y/n)'s cut off by a loud ping that even Natasha could here, and a thumps into ground. It detonates, and Natasha's eyes widen in fear, hoping that the worst hadn't happened. "Okay, that's not cool," (Y/n) says, grunting and Natasha is able to breath again.

"Shit!" (Y/n) curses as another ping sounds and then the call ends, with Natasha staring at the phone in shock.

Natasha pulls her phone off the plugin and takes a picture of the call's origin, and dials Clint's number. "Clint, we've got a problem?"

Clint freezes at the distress in Natasha's voice. "Nat? What is it?"

"(Y/n)'s been kidnapped!" Natasha answers. Clint's eyes widen in horror, Laura turning to stare at her husband, the brunette having heard since the phone had been on speaker.

Word Count: 3225 words

Well... Here you go...

Was this the father / daughter time y'all were asking for?

No? Sorry...

I promise I'm not heartless...

Anyway, I've got to go on to work on another book now.

See y'all!

Love - Did you catch that scene at the beginning?

Kaitlynn ❤😍

Imma tag peoples now: @confusinggemini612, @gay-disaster826, @thelastavenger-3000, @osugahunnyicedtea, @night-howl199, @minicastle, @happilyeverafterfantasybooks, @billiebanner, @me-and-sweatpants, @scottjudah, @scarlet-raccoon, @whore-for-charlynch, @nyx-aria, @night-howl199, @brittanyrenne2004, @juegamiri29, @minicastle, @peggycarter-steverogers, @gay-disaster826, @guitargodme, @avengers-avenging, @natashadeservedbetter2

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wyattrowley1-blog · 4 years ago

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How Give Up Marijuana - Overcome Cannabis Addiction For Quite Some Time!

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mrsq8geek · 5 years ago

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Advice for an aspiring author hoping to write lgbt muslim characters?

Hi, thanks for your question! This is quite the rabbit hole, so I can't cover everything, but I did my best. Some general guidelines and then my own view:

1. Do not write this story unless it is from personal experience or with the direct express written permission from the person it’s based on, and I hesitate with that second one. Like many other experiences, this story hasn’t been told all that often, so unless you’re one of the above, you don’t have many points of reference and will probably get it wrong and, I suspect, as ‘exotic’.

That said:

2. Start by examining yourself. One of my favourite resources is @writingwithcolor, which has many great references for this. At this point, we're asking questions such as "Why do you not want to represent us?" and "Why do you need to tell this story right now?" among others. Do check it out.

3. Please, please don't write an apologetic acceptably assimilated model minority. I don't know where you're from, or where you intend to set the story, but we're all influenced by American media, so I feel it's important to mention. We generally don't have positive feelings towards those characters, let alone relating to them, at least not to the aspects where they're supposed to represent us.

(My personal pet peeve example is Abed Nadir from Community, a Muslim enamoured with Christmas and is an all-around Acceptable Arab... played by an Indian actor. It's extra irking because the show was touted as being Better Than Big Bang Theory, and it seemed okay addressing many other nuances, but when it came to this? Think of it this way: why didn't they cast an Asian actress to play Britta or Annie and called her white? Or, indeed, an Indian actress to play Shirley and called her black? Because clearly they believe the audience can't tell the difference? Arabs are black or white but not brown, guys. Not all Arabs are Muslims and vice versa. Some Muslims are (gasp!) white.)

Anyway, the point is Abed, and others like him, are non-threatening. They reject their own identity and are desperate to be Just Like Us Default White People. While this is definitely the case for some people, 1. it's not the case for most people, 2. it's just a really tired trope especially in current times, and 3. the other side of this trope’s coin is that in order to be acceptable for The West, they have to rebel against their character’s original identity, which is just as tired.

But I digress. You already know by asking this question that it’s controversial. Why not play it straight instead? Pun unintended. Do your research, whatever way you choose to go.

4. Speaking of doing your research, do. your. research! Muslims are a diverse group of about 2 billion people*. There are two major sects and many smaller ones. In the major ones, homosexuality (etc) is a sin, haram, full stop, end of sentence. Any level of presenting like the opposite gender is not only haram, it’s cursed. Yes, there are many people coming up with exceptions and loopholes, or just doing what they want regardless, and if you want to write about them, that's your prerogative, but:

* so Kamala Khan, for example, is completely unrelatable to me. (See: 9)

5. You know what else is considered haram in majority Islam? Extra-marital sex. Pork. Alcohol. Drugs, yes including cannabis, in fact even nutmeg. People do all that anyway! Especially in non-Muslim-majority countries where the laws don’t make it harder for them, or in poorer Muslim-majority countries where people don’t get educated in religious matters, or indeed all over everywhere because not all people of any religion actively practice that religion. It's a non-issue by this point.

5A. The only reason LGBT Muslims is An Issue, and it’s An Issue Now, is because America’s making it one. It’s no different than, say, modern white feminism. They stir the pot, we deal with the mess.

5B. Muslims are people, and people aren't perfect. We know this, and we've addressed it as nauseam… and that’s just it, we’re allowed* to talk about these things because we know ourselves and our experiences. It’s more acceptable coming from us to us because we have a common ground to start discussing things.

* I wrote allowed, but it really depends on the situation. Sometimes you’re not allowed simply because you don’t want to make it an issue, and that’s okay too.

5C. Since you’re asking, I’m assuming you’re not a Muslim yourself, and that puts a layer on scrutiny on you. We don’t know where to begin to talk to you, and it’s worse if you represent us in any controversial way or in any way less than perfect. Less than perfect by whose standards? It depends. Nobody knows! (See: 3)

5D. Examine yourself, research the topic, and know just what you’re trying to say.

6. That said, here’s my personal take on it that I’d love to see someone do, but haven’t so far. I don’t know how people arrive at their sexuality, whether it’s by nature or nurture, but they do end up there one way or another. When it comes to Islam, you’re highly encouraged to (heterosexually, to be clear) marry and reproduce. You’re discouraged from sex outside that framework. If you are unable to marry for whatever reason, you’re supposed to find a way to deal with it. Fasting is often recommended.

And the way I see it, finding yourself not being attracted to the opposite gender is just one reason to not marry. “So I NEVER get to have sex?” Yes, just like your straight brothers and sisters who realize they can never marry for their own reasons. Maybe their health prevents them. Maybe they have family depending on them, especially financially, and they realize can’t add a husband or wife into the mix. Maybe they’re incompatible with the person they wanted.

The West worships Romantic Love (also money, but that’s another thing), but it really isn’t everything in life*. Just see any post here on tumblr dot com discussing the different kinds of love the Romans acknowledged and wrote about extensively. Yes, it’s a powerful drive, but again, it’s not the only thing in life, and coming to that realization is its own journey.

* (Something something Harry Potter)

I am so, so sick and tired of characters who don’t practice their religion (“hi, I’m Muslim/Jewish/Christian/Hindu/Buddhist/whatever, but I will have that pork, that beef cheeseburger, whatever”*), and equally tired of characters who are the personification of their religion (“hi, I’m religious, hear me act out my stereotypes”). Don’t get me started on characters who exist just so the authors can bash that religion.

* a recent disappointing example was the show Crazy Ex Girlfriend. When Rebecca is first introduced, I was excited to learn the show was about a Jewish character, finally a religious character portrayed as practicing! But it was quickly revealed they were focusing on the cultural aspects, and not only is she non-practicing, she doesn’t even believe any god exists. Snore. In contrast, see: Shepherd Book from the show Firefly. Not just a practicing Christian, an actually interesting character in his own right. Not a perfect person by far, but someone who’s doing his utmost to live his life and still maintain his faith.

I want a Muslim character who finds themselves attracted to whomever, someone from the same gender or whatever you want, or feeling like they want to present as not their birth gender, and then proceeds to do what so many of us real-life Muslims do: find ways to deal with it and come to terms with it. Acknowledge it and make peace with it. Make the choice, the conscious decision, to remain faithful to their beliefs and maybe not pursue a romantic relationship with the other person… and instead interact with them like a human being they care about. Help them reach a goal or achieve a dream, keep them safe from harm, something. Maybe focus on the traits of the other gender that are accessible, or fight the toxic effects of the patriarchy, something. Writing like “a happy ending == they end up together”, and any and all other outcomes are Bad and Tragic and Void, is boring and unrealistic.

Just as a black woman being soft and feminine is a rebellion against the mainstream, a religious character sticking to their faith above all else is way more interesting than yet another character breaking the rules.

Addendums:

7. “But Islam is homophobic?” No, Islam has rules against intentionally engaging in specific behaviors. You’re not faulted for having low alcohol tolerance, you’re faulted for the act of consumption. You’re not faulted for being addicted to drugs, you’re faulted for making the decision to try it the first time, or if you were tricked into it, for not trying to get clean once you’re there. However! People, all people, hashtag not just Muslims, often try to enforce rules by creating fear and hatred around them. It’s a convenient societal shorthand, even if the consequences can be different than intended. It’s the same mechanism that leads to “abstinence = zero sex ed” in the US. Abstinence isn’t the issue, people trying to enforce it by making information around sex opaque are the ones causing problems.

So some Muslim people end up homophobic, and some Muslim people go all in the other direction, because the balance is delicate and difficult to find.

8. “LGBT stories aren’t just about sex, what about asexuals, transsexuals, etc?” True, but most LGBT stories tend to go in that direction, and I’m keeping it as broad as I can here.

9. Even if your character is Muslim but not Arab, it’s probably going to come up, in your research if not in your story. Although the most populous Muslim nation is Indonesia and the most famous “Muslim” terrorists are Afghani, the most prominent Muslim sites are in Saudi Arabia and Palestine. The branding is there. With that in mind, required reading is the film Reel Bad Arabs, and any primers you can find on Orientalism, Colonialism, and Imperialism.

***

Honourable mentions:

Check out the Saudi series Masameer by Myrkott on YouTube, many episodes have subtitles. They recently made a movie and it's on Netflix internationally! You can't escape American Imperialism any more than you can escape British Colonialism*, but we're all way past being enamoured by them. The Emirati series Freej is also in Youtube, sans subtitles, though the DVDs have them, and I’ll leave it at that. Hashtag quarantine let us catch up on shows? Stay safe, stay home.

* she said, in English.

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chaletnz · 6 years ago

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Barcelona Walking Tour with Jimi

On my last day in Barcelona I had a big buffet breakfast with Przemek and then we headed out together on the metro. He went home to his girlfriend's place and I carried on into the city to go on my walking tour with our half English half Peruvian guide Jimi. He started off with a brief history of the city of Barcelona and its founding father Wilfred the Hairy. We walked to the Gothic Square where we saw buildings made from tombstones from the Jewish cemetery. Jews were killed for poisoning the water supply although it was later determined that it had become poisoned as a result of the Christians burying victims of the Black Plague in soft soil that then contaminated the water. We visited the Catedral de Barcelona next which is the seat of the bishop. Thanks to an old legend of an argumentative writer that had protested killing people based on their religion there are now 13 geese that live inside. Originally there had been 13 doves - one for each year of their heroine's age, and to match the legend that when she was beheaded instead of blood spurting out a dove flew out of her neck. But the doves made a mess of the church and were eventually replaced by geese. Next Jimi pointed out the Spanish flags versus Catalan flags draped patriotically over balconies and windows in the main square. Apparently as the tale goes Wilfred the Hairy was stabbed and the Frankish king dipped his fingers in the wound and painted lines of blood on his golden shield - I'm not sure I believe it but it was an entertaining story! Finally we had reached the street art part of the tour and saw a gallery (that was closed) and some pieces by Connard, a slightly more legitimate story followed of how he was caught and fined €1000 but he couldn't afford to pay the fine so he ended up going to jail for graffiti. Now that he's back out he paints his trademark popsicle everywhere to somewhat stick it to the man. Our halfway point in the tour was held in a small cafe where we could use the bathrooms and get a drink or whatever else. I got chatting with a girl from the US who had also lived in Israel previously but then she decided she was too cool to talk to me anymore and went back to her friends. Then I ended up befriending a fellow Kiwi (Afghani born) Sabira and she turned out to be much nicer company. After the break Jimi took us to a small courtyard known as the Silent Square, perhaps ironically as it is in front of a school, and also full of tourists as it has a fountain that was featured in the film Vicky Christina Barcelona and an Evanescence music video. The walls of the square were damaged heavily by bombs in the Spanish civil war and one dropped here actually killed 42 children. Our last stop on the tour was a church down by the sea that had been built entirely at the citizens expense without any government assistance. Each brick had been carried in from the outskirts of the city to the site where the church stands today. After its completion the government donated two small bronze figures that are attached above the doorframe. We all went our separate ways after giving Jimi a tip and getting our last directions. I ended up going to get a chicken baguette for lunch with Sabira. We noticed a long queue at a small sandwich shop so we figured that the food must be decent and got ours to takeaway and sat in the sun to eat. We then took the metro together to La Sagrada Familia which was as busy as expected, but also as architecturally incredible as expected. Sabira took some photos of me in front of it, then we shopped for a few last minute Barcelona souvenirs before also parting ways. I picked up my bag from the Hilton and took my next train 500km southwest to Spain's centre city Madrid, arriving late in the night to a rather decrepit old hostel where I'd be spending the next three nights of my adventure...

#Spain #Barcelona

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zhugkp · 6 years ago

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Exile story

Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. The Rolling Stones didn’t invent the formula. But they lived it like no other band in history. And when the rapacious taxmen of England came demanding more cash than Mick Jagger and Keith Richards — not to mention bandmates Charlie Watts, Bill Wyman and Mick Taylor — had or cared to pay in the spring of 1971, the Stones moved their party to the South of France.

When they couldn’t find a suitable French Riviera studio to record their 10th album, the Stones set up in the basement of Villa Nellcote, Richards’ rented 16-room mansion on the coast in Villefranche-sur-Mer. All marble and wrought iron, Richards said it looked like it was decorated for “bloody Marie Antoinette.”

He also liked to recount its history as a Gestapo headquarters, where Nazis did nasty things in the same basement the Stones used to jam all night. The hallways still had swastika-shaped air vents. “But it’s all right, we’re here now,” he assured recording engineer Andy Johns.

By making the record in Richards’ own house, band members figured they could get the famously ramshackle guitarist to show up for the sessions. They were wrong. And Richards wasn’t the only one living on the edge. For a six-month stretch, the Stones swapped partners, ingested every available drug, set fires and nearly drove each other mad while crafting rock’s most decadent record, 1972’s “Exile on Main Street.”

On May 16, Universal is reissuing “Exile” in several forms: an 18-track CD; a deluxe edition with 10 previously unreleased songs; and a super-deluxe package with vinyl, a 30-minute documentary DVD and a 50-page photo book.

The Post got an early copy of the music and the “Stones in Exile” documentary, which will premiere Friday on “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon.” From these, fresh interviews and Robert Greenfield’s “Exile on Main Street: A Season in Hell with the Rolling Stones,” we assembled the most debauched stories of sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll from the people who actually lived in “Exile.”

SEX

Gone was the Stones’ usual stream of adoring female fans. For six months, the groupie-gobbling rockers were housebound with significant others. Jagger even got married to Nicaraguan girlfriend Bianca, then pregnant with daughter Jade, during the stretch. Richards shacked up at Nellcote with Italian actress Anita Pallenberg, close pal of Marianne Faithfull and former flame of late Stones guitarist Brian Jones. Fresh from rehab, she arrived with their toddler son, Marlon, in tow.

While the recording went on, she managed to fool around with Jagger and have half-conscious, stoned sex with drug dealer Tommy Weber on a Louis XIV bed while Richards was passed out next to them.

“It was like a royal court where the nobles were sleeping with each other’s women,” says Greenfield, who spent two weeks living at Nellcote — and a third just hanging around — while on assignment for Rolling Stone that May. He wasn’t the only one to notice the band’s exploits.

“Everyone screwed everyone else’s wives and girlfriends,” Johns says. “That’s just the way it was, and you didn’t think too much about that.”

After Jagger married Bianca, Pallenberg did her best to break them up, even starting grade-school-style rumors that Bianca was born a man. Pallenberg got pregnant, too, but kept using heroin. She sought a secret abortion, not because of the drugs, but because she thought the child was Mick’s.

Richards, meanwhile, wasn’t interested in sex at the time, probably due to his heavy drug abuse. One studio regular recalls Pallenberg complaining, “All he wants is the wanking — he never f – – – s me!”

The Stones weren’t the only ones fooling around. Their sidemen were kept busy, too.

“I didn’t mind living between Nice and Monte Carlo, didn’t mind that a bit,” says Bobby Keys, the Texas-born, libertine sax man famous for honking on “Brown Sugar” and every Stones record from 1969 to 1974. “I didn’t mind all them pretty girls around the countryside. Yes sir, buddy! That’s when you’re sh – – – in’ in tall cotton!”

DRUGS

Fueling the excessive behavior at Nellcote was a huge stash of drugs, many smuggled in by Weber, a former Formula One racer turned Afghani hash runner. That May, Weber traveled from England to the Cote d’Azur via Ireland — “in case he was being followed,” Greenfield says — with a pound of coke strapped to the waists of his preteen sons, Charlie and Jake. At age 7, “my function in life was [to be] a joint roller,” says Jake, who grew up to star in the CBS drama “Medium.”

Everyone who visited the house seemed bent on self-destruction. John Lennon threw up at the foot of the stairs one day while touring the premises with Yoko Ono. Richards blamed it on too much sun and wine, but it was more likely the ex-Beatle’s methadone habit.

As Richards was picking up Marlon’s toys in the living room one night, Greenfield watched him grab a mystery pill off the floor. “Bam! He throws it down his throat,” Greenfield says. “Who knows what he put in his mouth, but that’s Keith. Could have been a vitamin, but I don’t think so. Not in that house.”

Jean de Breteuil, the so-called “dealer to the stars” who supplied Jim Morrison with a lethal dose, bought his way into a two-week residence with a toot of ultra-pure pink heroin from Thailand. Richards snorted it from a gold tube he wore around his neck and promptly passed out. Later, Richards paid $9,000 cash ($50,000 today) to a couple of cowboy boot-wearing dealers known as “the Corsicans” for more of the pink junk.

The smack arrived in a plastic bag the size of a two-pound sack of sugar, Greenfield writes, and was so potent it had to be cut with three parts glucose — hence its nickname, “cotton candy.” It lasted a month.

“With a hit of smack,” Richards says, “I could work through anything and not give a damn.”

One night, Richards passed out upstairs after “putting Marlon to bed” — his code for getting loaded. Johns found him with the needle still in his arm, blood spattered on the walls. The studio whiz poked the rock legend to see if he was still alive.

“Of course he picks up the guitar, which he was in bed with, goes, ‘Oh, yeah,’ and starts playing,” Johns says.

Another time, a chauffeur had to pull Pallenberg and Richards, naked and unconscious, from a bed they’d accidentally set on fire. But the rest of the help wasn’t so useful. The couple’s errand boys, local hoods they called “les cowboys,” were suspected of stealing at least nine vintage guitars and Keys’ engraved saxophones when drug debts went unpaid.

By December, French authorities caught wind of the scene and charged the Stones and their pals with heroin possession. As a bonus, Richards and Pallenberg were issued warrants for trafficking. But all of the Stones had high-tailed it to LA a month earlier.

Jagger, Taylor, Wyman and Watts eventually returned to France to face the charges, but a combination of fame, luck and bribes got them freed with mere slaps on the wrists.

Richards and Pallenberg were banned from France for two years, but they had no plans to return, anyway. They’d fled Nellcote in such haste that they abandoned Marlon’s toys, Pallenberg’s wardrobe, Richards’ record collection, a speedboat, a Jaguar E-type sports car and two pets, Boots the parrot and Okee the dog.

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atplblog · 3 days ago

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jiskblr · 3 years ago

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Though, TBF, there is a good point in favor of Forever War here. The withdrawal is a catastrophe for actual Afghanis. It was probably always going to be a catastrophe for actual Afghanis. If we were still there in sixty years like Korea and then withdrew, it might still be a catastrophe for actual Afghanis. The cost of Forever War would be paid by Americans, both soldiers and taxpayers, and it’s not small - but the cost being paid by the people we are no longer defending is also not small.

America being World Police is not good for us or for the world, but... there’s indisputably blood on our hands for this withdrawal. Granted, there was blood on our hands every year we stayed, too. How many years of that are going to come all at once right now? More than one, that’s for sure. But more precisely than that I don’t know, I really doubt you know, and the only people who I think maybe do know are the CIA and DoD, who have clear incentives to misrepresent it. You could ask someone else’s intelligence agencies, but that’s not much better. The Mossad and MI6 probably know, but they’re not going to be any more honest with us than the CIA is. China and Russia’s foreign intelligence agencies are probably sufficiently capable, and they will be differently dishonest with us. Are France and Germany’s intelligence agencies good enough to have a clear picture? I doubt it, and they probably wouldn’t be fully honest anyway.

This is a hard problem and we have to do something. And it’s politically unpopular to spend the blood and treasure of US to save the blood and treasure of THEM, but that does not make it morally right to stop. It’s a much easier decision to say “don’t get involved, don’t start wars”, because invasions are clearly bad - both morally and practically. But once we’re there, maybe the moral calculus actually does say “On guard forever, you broke it you buy it, tough luck but withdrawing is an atrocity”.

This week I have learned that my girlfriend’s ex-girlfriend is ethnically Afghani. And she has a lot of family stuck in the country, trying to figure out how to get to an embassy and an airport and claim refugee status. (Previously I thought she was Persian, i.e. from a family who went through this same thing 40 years ago when the Shah fell.) I don’t even like her, she refuses to acknowledge the existence of anyone else who dates her ex... But it does mean that the cost is very real. They’re terrified, she’s terrified, there’s going to be some corpses in Kabul who were three degrees of separation from me, probably pretty soon. And should we really be weighting the lives of people a couple fewer degrees of separation so much more highly? I don’t think there’s any defensible, coherent code of morality that says we should.

After Afghanistan, there are no news sources left

I've alluded to this a couple times before, but for years I was the guy sticking up for the media. Not network/cable news, they've always sucked, but at least the big print publications. The last few years gradually ground away at my standpoint, and forced me to lean on more and more hollow-sounding justifications, especially on the topic of the conflict with Silicon Valley. "Well, this is bad, but a lot of the people criticizing it aren't exactly doing so in good faith and have a lot to gain by eroding trust in the media, so..."

Last year the SSC fiasco at the New York Times was the straw that broke the camel's back. I cancelled my subscription (and it has only gotten worse since then, e.g. the thing with Taylor Lorenz and Marc Andreessen. I hate Marc Andreessen, do you realize how bad you have to screw up to make me defend Marc Andreessen?). The Intercept put Lee Fang on thin ice for the hideous crime of interviewing a person with an Unauthorized Opinion. Then it turned out that Vox-- which was always a delicate balancing act between the thoughtful multifaceted analysis and the brainless progressive slop-- needed Klein and Yglesias as the load-bearing beam holding it all up, and the moment they left it went straight to shit (Kelsey, you're still doing good work, keep it up).

I had to be dragged kicking and screaming into admitting it, but there's something deeply wrong with the mainstream media. Freddie de Boer-- who, just so we're clear, is a Marxist-- says it best, but even so, I had to apologize to a bunch of people on the right of me who were saying all along that the MSM was fucked.

And now I need to apologize to the people to the left of me as well: you guys have said since forever that the media was pro-war and pro-American Empire, and I always thought there was some truth to that, but that you were kind histrionically overstating your case. It wasn't that bad, I said, they're more liberal now than ever and they've learned from their mistakes in Iraq.

Well, I humbly apologize. You were right and I was wrong. The sheer volume of complete bullshit coming out of the mainstream media re: Afghanistan, and their naked longing for Forever War, has left my naïve viewpoint in tatters. In the last ten days I've watched publications I never imagined would suck natsec dick so hard-- The Atlantic, Politico, Axios, and more-- so uncritically accept the obvious lies of the Blob that I thought I was in 2003 again.

You can't even rely on the so-called contrarians who are opposing all of this, because they're just as bad. People often cite Glenn Greenwald as the antidote to all the myriad faults of the media, but Greenwald is just as full of shit as the bluechecks he rails against. Remember a few months ago when he was making tons of noise about how Trump didn't actually tear-gas protestors so he could make a speech in front of a church? That was perfect Greenwald bait: "the media lied to make Trump look bad, and only I'm telling you the truth!". Except he was lying and doing his usual thing of being highly selectively-credulous about LE accounts of what happened when it gives him a chance to own the libs. Other similar figures like Taibbi are the same: sometimes they say the things that have to be said, other times they're happy to lie through their teeth if it helps their crusade.

So with all this in mind, the other day I sat down and tried to make a list of "who's left?". The publications and personalities I mentioned above are all out. The Wall Street Journal has decent news but a ghastly editorial section. Bloomberg completely botched the BS "Chinese spy chip" story and just keeps doubling down on it. The Guardian is just Gawker if you dialed the insufferable smugness and eagerness to smash thoughtcriminals down from 10 to 9.5. The BBC appears to be getting dismantled by Bojo and his goons. And even if I were willing to grit my teeth and read explicitly right-wing sources, none of them any of them actually do any reporting: National Review, TAC, The Spectator, Quillette etc. only do opinion pieces. Which I guess is fine if that's what you want, but where am I supposed to get beat reporting? Same goes for Substack, even though there are some good ones. I guess ProPublica is still alright, although frankly they seem to be in the position Vox was in a couple years ago and I don't trust them to hold the line against the new college hires who complain on the workplace Slack that any heterodox reporting "makes them feel unsafe".

And the thing is, I don't like making this post. I hate edgy, everyone-sucks nihilism. I want to be going, "Don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good, news is necessary so we have ". It's not my fault they've fucked up so badly that even that stance is no longer defensible.

So what do I do, when there are no news sources left?

#afghanistan #war #death #conquest #slaughter #probably also famine because why not complete the set of Horsemen

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ellentng8214744 · 4 years ago

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Rick Simpson Prepares To Lead The Hemp Movement

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florenemcpherso · 4 years ago

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Is There A Drug Type Persona?

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kootenaygoon · 4 years ago

Photo

So,

Niles was on crutches, watering his garden.

It was late Tuesday afternoon, and we’d just put the Wednesday edition of the Star to bed. Despite the fact it was mid-October, the weather was still summery, with a light wind rustling its way up the valley. The Slocan River had a magical sheen in the distance as my RAV broke out of the trees. Brutus was running laps of the yard with a dog I didn’t recognize, too busy to bark at my arrival, so I followed the driveway around to the barn unmolested and parked beside a mud-spattered, half-deconstructed Jeep. Niles had invited me over to discuss his latest manuscript submission, which was over 100,000 words long. It sat hefty and dog-eared on my passenger seat, riddled with highlighter and scribbled notes, alongside a six-pack of Blue Buck. I wasn’t looking forward to this feedback session, because I wasn’t sure if he was mature enough to hear what I had to say.

“We’ve got the house to ourselves tonight, Goon. I’ve got the second season of Fargo queued up, plus I’ve acquired some fabulous Afghani Kush that will blow your hair back,” Niles said, his crutches squelching in the mud as he clopped over to my side door.

I lifted up his manuscript, which was called The Fox and the Fawn. “Did you forget about this?”

Since my arrival in Nelson I’d been keeping a small roster of three to five students, helping them develop everything from a fictional account of the Rwandan genocide to a fantasy novel about an autistic teen adventuring through an alternate dimension. The trouble was, I was starting to feel like an imposter. My repeated attempts at finishing Whatever you’re on, I want some hadn’t resulted in the fame and glory I was imagining, and now I was wondering if I’d been kidding myself this whole time. Yeah, I had my Master’s, but so what? Could I really be a writer? And if not, was I really worthy of being a teacher? Who was I kidding?

“I figured you would’ve burned that thing the moment you realized what a gargantuan turd it is,” Niles said, his blond hair hanging limply around his dishevelled face. He wasn’t looking healthy.

I climbed out and shut the door. “I read some of it to my new roommate Mika, actually. We had a little reading in my living room.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah, she wanted to hear the sex scene.”

Niles roared with delight. That’s what he was always looking for, an audience to the lewd reality of his existence. As far as he was concerned, he was the best kind of criminal — the kind that never gets caught. The Fox and the Fawn was a fangirl tribute to himself, to his gangster exploits as a Slocan Valley weed king. With legalization finally here, he felt it was time to tell his story. The manuscript was Bukowski mixed with Kerouac, demented and perverse and shockingly violent. At one point he even casually admits to date rape, including a scene where his girlfriend rages at him for taking advantage of her while he was drunk.

“I didn’t know you had a new roommate,” he said. “What happened to Brendan?”

“Nothing. I just found a new place, levelled up. Teamed up with this girl Mika who works at my pot dispensary. She’s got a pet rabbit.”

“You’re still getting your shit from there? Why aren’t you coming to me?”

Niles was wearing a brown bathrobe. He opened his front door, told me not to worry about my shoes, then handed me the crutches while he hopped on one foot up the carpeted staircase. He grunted and sighed with each step, muttering swear words under his breath. I’d never seen him like this. When we reached the top I gave him his crutches and the beer, and he motioned for me to take a seat in the living room. As I passed by the familiar John Cooper paintings, I noticed that he’d hung the self-portrait I’d given him as a present a month earlier. I’d painted it with Natalya.

“You hung my painting upside down?”

He laughed, opening the fridge. “Yeah, I dunno why I did that. Just seemed to me like it looks better that way. I get a kick out of it.”

I shook my head. For the past month I’d been painting furiously, and it felt like a swirling green portal had opened up inside my brain. My writing may have stalled, but this was a way to channel my creativity into something other than journalism. I was getting sick of the Star, getting sick of taking the same pictures of the same fundraiser events, getting sick of the constraints. My relationship with Ed and Kai was strained too, as they were tired of my entitled laziness. Maybe they knew I was stoned every day, slumping into the office uninspired and half-assing my stories. I felt like the universe was wasting me, but painting had become a soothing therapy, something I did exclusively for myself. I was giving myself permission to be sloppy and flamboyant and outrageous, slathering my canvases with dribbling glitter and chaotic streaks of inspiration. This painting I’d given Niles was my first.

As he banged around in the kitchen, I walked over to the living room window and looked out at the Slocan Valley. The trees were the colour of flames, red and orange and electric yellow, and they matched the darkening sky. Lately I’d been feeling a subtle dread, like the magic was slowly draining from my surroundings. Winter is coming. I hated being single, hated being a chronic stoner, and hated how much of my life I spent stressing out about money. In university I’d become so convinced that I had life sorted out, that I was on a consistently upwards trajectory, that it was only a matter of time before I would be rewarded with creative success and lifelong fulfillment. Now I wasn’t so sure. It was easy to blame Paisley and all the drama she’d brought to my life, but she’d been gone for over a year now. At some point I would have to address my own shit without using her as a scapegoat.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, man.”

Niles scuffed back into the living room holding our beers. “This?”

“The Kootenays. The Star. I got into a bit of a scrap with Kai and Ed today, in the newsroom,” I said. “Over our coverage of Me Too.”

He laughed, sinking into his recliner. “You’re too radical for them?”

I shook my head, crossed to the couch. “I’ve just been seeing all these posts, right? Women sharing their trauma, men self-flagellating, but the discourse isn’t actually going anywhere. It’s not actually accomplishing anything. But I wanted to do something tangible, so I interviewed the superintendent and a bunch of principals about how they’re responding to it. Just to get it official, on the record, how they plan to change things.”

He snorted. “I’m sure they loved that.”

“So I hand in this 1200-word behemoth of a story, with all these different angles and perspectives, and they told me it didn’t have any teeth. They said it’s just a bunch of talking heads. I tried to argue, you know, that it’s important to be holding these people accountable and that their words are powerful, but they weren’t hearing it. They said if I’m going to write a story about sexual assault then I need a real sexual assault.”

He frowned, shrugged. “So what’re you going to do?”

I felt myself getting worked up. For the past few days I’d been endlessly scrolling through Twitter and Facebook, feeding on the outrage and vitriol. It was bringing everything up, Trent and Galloway and my strange obsession with crucifixion. The topic of sexual violence was like an intricate bomb I was trying to defuse with nothing but a screwdriver. As far as I was concerned, the conversation had to move beyond the rage to solutions. Men had to own their complicity, with more than just empty words, and propose tangible solutions. I was determined to prove Kai and Ed wrong, to show that my journalism had real teeth.

“Well, I’ve already started writing a column about it. About my personal feelings on the subject. And I’m going to illustrate it with a picture of my face with the words ‘Part of the Problem’ scrawled across my forehead.”

Niles laughed. “That should piss off the right people.”

“Not only that, I’ve found two girls who are willing to go on record about their assaults. One who was a student at Elephant Mountain Secondary, and the other from Selkirk College. If I do this right, this could be the most powerful story I’ve written since coming to the Star. Like, I think it could be a really big deal.”

“Well, Goon,” he said. “I think your saviour complex is alive and kicking.”

Eventually we pivoted to discussing his manuscript, and I flipped through it on the coffee table as I took him through my notes. All of his female characters came off as interchangeable, he had a tendency to summarize scenes rather than depict them, and by the end of the narrative he came off as completely unlikeable. Being self-deprecating is one thing, but it was like he was going out of his way to shock the reader with his shitty behaviour. It felt like he was daring his audience to hate him. At times it reminded me of the memoir A Crowbar in the Buddhist Garden, by Stephen Reid, so I recommended he check it out for inspiration. I felt Reid struck a fine balance between owning his mistakes and aspiring to be a better human being.

“That’s the bank robber?”

“Yeah, they made a movie about him. Point Break.”

“That surfer movie with Keanu Reeves?”

“I think they fictionalized it a bit. The point is, there’s a guy who has actually grappled with his own soul. That takes balls.”

He nodded. “A Crowbar in the Buddhist Garden. I like that.”

Once we were finished with notes, Niles padded off into his bedroom and returned with an elaborate dragon-themed bong. As we smoked together I thought of the caterpillar from the animated version of Alice in Wonderland, asking in his condescending tone “Who are you?” That was the sort of question that was getting harder to answer all the time. Thinking about rape culture all day had me hating myself to the point where I felt physically sick, but at other times I was convinced of my own prophethood, my special destiny to save the world somehow. If I could tackle this Me Too story from exactly the right angle I knew it could have a legit impact. Everyone was encouraging women to speak while men listen, but I had been listening. And now I had something to say. I leaned back in the couch and examined the light fixture in the ceiling, composing my column in my head.

“Here,” Niles said. “You want another hit?”

The Kootenay Goon

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