atrocities

You Can’t Keep a Secret If It Never Was a Secret to Start: Thoughts on the Epidemic of Sexual Abuse in Mainstream Emo

As My Chemical Romance’s Gerard Way once said at a show in 2005, “Ladies, there ain’t nothing to do backstage but smoke cigarettes, hang out with assholes, and talk about Star Wars.”

While the sentiment is largely true, there was in fact more going on backstage than we imagined as pre-teens in the early 2000s. These bands, namely Brand New, touted themselves as tormented, broken-hearted love bugs. The kind of boys who “aren’t like the other boys.” The anti-jocks. The faceless barrage of sweeping haircuts and skinny jeans that marched along the fence lines of Warped Tour and Bamboozle.

Jesse Lacey, pretty boy and worshipped “emo king” has been accused of sexual misconduct with not one, but two minors. The curtain behind the stage of mainstream emo is beginning to be pulled back. It’s only a matter of time before your favorite band is pulled from their pedestal and revoked of their music-playing privileges. Thank the gods. Let them hang. Good fucking riddance. 

In the time it took for Jesse Lacey to shamelessly masturbate on webcam in front of underage girls, he was writing lyrics hoping that his ex-girlfriend would die in a plane crash, because how dare she study abroad in England (see “Jude Law and a Semester Abroad”). In the time it took for him to ask for nudes from another underage fan, he was penning songs about encouraging a girl to drink more booze and then having sex with her in a parking lot (see “Me vs. Maradona vs. Elvis”).

Older male rock critics can take a seat for this conversation, because it does not involve their opinion. We don’t need it right now. We’ve had enough. The fact is simple: it is young impressionable women who made up the fanbases of these monstrous emo bands we once worhshipped.

We contributed the most money and the most fanship than any other demographic in the scene. We were at the shows. We were buying the constant flow of merch and CDs. We were at the meet-and-greets, hoping and praying to get a photo with our favorite member of the band. Not because we thought they were “cute.” It was because we thought we found a place we could call home.

Many of us found solace in the lyrics that put mental illness in the spotlight, and we were able to identify with the despair that so many of these bands wrote about. We sat on the edge of our seats each time a new album came out, and we could be found sitting in our bedrooms, CD booklet in hand, pouring over lyrics and swooning over precious melodies, most of the time alone.

Jesse Lacey of Brand New, just one example of the cesspool of garbage people that ruled the scene, was the broken messiah of an entire online community of confused and overwhelmed young women.

In the current state of the world, where women are now finding the courage and the guts to finally speak out about the atrocities that men like Jesse Lacey have inflicted upon them, it’s safe to say that the honeymoon phase of mainstream emo is officially over. Let it die. Quick and sudden.

It’s time for us, as a collective, to start analyzing these lyrics and to stop making excuses for the already-powerful proletariat force that is mainstream male-centric emo. We need to stop idolizing the men who write lyrics romanticizing the abuse and violence against women. The same women who pay for their records. The same women who attend all the shows and know all the words to their shitty, watered down, and fucking desparable songs.

The next time you see a young girl wearing a Used t-shirt sitting outside a venue at 4AM, because she wants to be front row to see her favorite band perform, do not shame her. Do not make her feel lesser than you. Do not think for one second that you are any better than anyone at a show, regardless of their gender.

At the end of the day, we’re all trying to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. In the lyrics we sing, in the beats we dance to, and in the communities we find that embrace us for who we are and what we love. If there’s anything we can take away from the resurrection and crucifixtion of Jesse Lacey, it’s this: Women are here, and we refuse to take your shit. We are heaven-sent. Don’t. You. Dare. Forget.

Write that in your fucking diary, Jesse.

Catherine Dempsey is starting a campaign to replace all male-centric emo bands with teenage girls. You can follow her on Twitter.

Diva Origins

It was a quiet, almost lazy morning at the communal ego home. No gunshots, no screaming, no attempted murder. Just comfortable silence only broken by quiet breathing and quiet whispers of movement through the home. Some of the egos lazed in the common room, books and laptops in hand. Others strolled through the garden outside, and others still stayed safely within their rooms content to spend their day in solitude.

Nearing towards lunch was when this peace was broken, when the Host sat upright as if shocked and slammed his book shut. The sudden noise startled the other egos in the room, all of them jumping from their various spots around the room. “Something large and powerful barrels towards the house, it’s howls startling the rest of the house to the living room to investigate.” The Host’s monotone voice hid a hint of strain.

Just as he had narrated, loud reverberating howls started to shake through the house and the egos that weren’t already milled inside the living room filed in like a flood. All of them demanded at once to know what was going on, their overlapping voices and cries echoing so loud that they almost drowned out the unceasing howls. That is until Dark stormed in from his office and shouted one word, “Enough!” It was enough to quiet them all in paralyzed fear.

Dark turned to the Host, the only one still speaking, albeit quietly as he narrated under his breath the events of that were transpiring. “What is going on,” he demanded none-to-gently to the blind man.

The Host didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just continued to stare at the wall as he rambled on. “The Host does not know and tells Dark such, explaining that a large beast of unknown origins is coming to the home with the power to destroy all the egos. The gathered egos gasp at the revelation. The Host is frustrated at his inability to glean much information about said beast but can garner that it has a strong connection to Dark, one that he is feeling now as the Host is speaking.”

Indeed, as the Host as spoken, Dark had felt a small tug on him, not physically but almost deep within his mind. “How close is it to the house?”

“The Host states that the animal is within a few quarter miles of the home. The animal howl again and the egos flinch in response, many reaching for their weapons.”

“Why don’t we just shoot it?” Wilford piped up, gun in hand and audibly clicked off safety. He got a round of affirmations from Ed and Google, but Bim and the Jim twins cried out in outrage and a new round of arguments started up between the egos.

Dark ignored the fighting, instead tugging and pulling on this new nugget in his mind, trying to find his way around it and get the right key to fit it. The Host’s voice became a monotonous drone in the background of the chaos until finally, Dark’s rumbling voice shook through their skirmish and caused fists to stop midair. “All of you stay here. I’ll go.”

“Bu-t if i-i-i-t does want to kil-l us the-n we sho-uld all go.” Google glitched.

Dark growled harshly. “I said I’d go and that’s final. Stay here. I’ll have the best chance to subdue it anyway.” No one noticed that he didn’t say ‘defeat it’. They just bristled and indignantly agreed. Wilford and Edgar were raring for a fight though and caressed their guns as Dark teleported out of the house to meet the threat head-on.

The demon cracked his neck once he was outside, scanning for the large beast. He felt the tug in his mind grow stronger, drawing him towards a small ravine. As he walked towards it, a large beast easily as large as him jumped out of it, cyan and red light blazing from its fur. Dark dodged backwards just in time to avoid being crushed under the massive weight of it.

As he did he was able to see that it was a dog, a rather large one, with blonde fur and large fangs–

The dog bounded forward and lunged in Dark’s moment of hesitation, trapping him under it’s paws. Dark felt fear like he’d never felt before course through his undead veins, that gaping pink maw came down closer and closer to him and at the last second Dark screwed his eyes tight in wait of the inevitable.

Only to feel something wet lick his face profusely. Dark opened his eyes to find the dog’s big brown eyes staring at him not with malice, but with playfulness and mirth as it’s tongue continued to lick his face and chest.

Eventually Dark was able to regain his wits and get out, “Hey hey, get off me!” while pushing the dog’s head away. With some initial resistance, it finally jumped off of him and allowed Dark to breathe fully. That dog was fucking heavy. It bounded around and wagged it’s tail, obviously unaware that Dark was still trying to regain his wits and breath, but at least it wasn’t attacking him.

While he was given his reprieve, he was able to really look at the dog and with a start he realized that it was the spitting image of Mark’s dog, Chica. Which would mean that this dog was probably a girl. Dark would check later, when he wasn’t trying to figure out the bigger mystery of 'what the fuck is going on’.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asked to himself, not even realizing he said it out loud.

Play! You! a loud shout seemed to come from her direction, even though her mouth didn’t move, and Dark immediately drew up his aura into an offensive formation before realizing it was from the dog.

“You…talk.” A sharp wind swept through the field, sending Dark’s hair and clothes askew and rippled through the…Dark Chica’s blue and red tinged fur. Dark shivered and wondered how long he’d spent here. He should head back soon.

She didn’t answer him, just yelled, Play! again.

He sighed as another wind shrieked past them. Then an idea sparked in him. “I know a place where you can play. There’s a lot of other people you can play with too.”

Her ears perked up and she wagged her tail and ran up to him. Play play play!

He started to walk to the house, and she ran after him, then in front of him. Then she stopped and ran back to him and behind him and circled around him before running ahead again to chase a rabbit that had chosen the wrong place to be at. A chuckle escaped him before he could clamp it down.

Dark Chica growled from ahead of him, having lost her prey, but barked happily when she found a stick and bolted back to Dark. Once again a slight course of fear as a five foot mass of muscle and fur was headed for him, but it was smaller now compared to earlier. She stared at him expectantly, as if telling him to throw the stick. Dark went to take the stick but then Dark Chica swerved and Dark grabbed at air.

He made another grab for it, this time bluffing her by going one way but instead switching the other way and catching her when she swerved. He held the stick with both hands and pulled hard. She tightened down the clamp of her jaw and he couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips. Dark let go of the stick with one of his hands and grabbed the other side sticking out of her mouth so that he had a hold on both sides of her head. Then he gave one sharp twist to the right with a hard pull so that the stick slid a little from her grip and then he twisted it to the left again and it popped from her mouth.

For some odd reason Dark felt pleased with this little achievement of gaining the stick from the dog. But it was short lived as he immediately threw it down the field, Dark Chica bolting down after it. As she ran after it, Dark teleported to where the stick landed. She didn’t seem fazed that he was there, instead picked up the stick without stopping and continued to run past Dark.

The rest of the walk transpired like this, with Dark wrestling a stick away from the dog and throwing it for her to chase as they made their way back to the house. When they finally made it back both were out of breath, though Dark hid it better than the dog.

He threw open the front door and Dark Chica wormed her way past him and into the living room, earning loud shrieks and yells from the gathered egos. Dark causally followed after the fluffy mass. Inside the the living room, Dark Chica stood in the center, the other egos either pressed against the wall or on furniture with weapons raised. Except for the Host, who had not moved from his spot off-center in the room except to tilt his head and listen to the new arrival.

“What…happened to your suit Dark?” Bim cried, his momentary fear of the animal overridden by his horror of the atrocities done to Dark’s clothes. Dark looked down to find his usually impeccable suit covered in dog fur, grass stains, drool, and dirt. Some blades of grass were still stuck to him and in his hair. He just shrugged and nodded to the dog currently being petted by the Host. “She happened. Don’t be too scared, she won’t hurt you. She just wants to play.”

Play? Her ears perked up and she bounded back over to Dark and jumped up, placing her paws on his shoulders. Play play play!

“Yes play. You can play here. Just please get off of me.” Dark half groaned under her weight. She did drop down from his shoulders but ran around him and back and forth to the Host and to him. The other egos gave each other confused looks as they slowly got down from their spots.

“Dark why’re ya talkin’ t’ the dog?” Ed asked as he reluctantly put away his gun.

It was the Host who answered him. “Dark can hear Dark Chica speak through their connection. If Dark Chica wanted to and if she was more mature, as she’s currently a puppy, she could direct this connection to anyone. Wilford walks forward and pets the dog…”

Wilford ran his hands through Dark Chica’s fur, causing the dog to flop on her stomach and give him access to her stomach which he immediately began to rub. “You should name her Diva, it’s a lot less of a mouthful than Dark Chica.”

Dark grunted, “I’ll consider it.”

There was a small quiet only broken by Diva’s contented barking and the Host’s soft narration. Then Google piped up, his voice glitching a little as he stated dryly, “So now we have a dog.”

“No, I have a dog,” Dark smirked, leaning down to rub Diva’s head. “Do well to remember that.” Dark could have sworn that she barked in affirmation.

~~~

THIS TOOK SO GODDAMN LONG ENJOY MY FLUFFY DIVA

@snowelfxx @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @jimprotectionsquad @slim-jims @bitten1ce @punknerdmusings @modcarbz @alliedoesstuff @ironwoman359 @danandphilsmom @xdamienplier @damien-iplier @hamsterbrine @winchestersinthetardisin221b @kellyplier @the-host-will-answer @splatoon-jim @darkiplier-support-group I hope I’m not missing anyone

 So I chose not to watch last night’s episode because I was concerned by the writer’s inability to write a healthy sexual dynamic and feared the worst. I was more or less correct. 

I’ve seen Hales’ and Fong’s tweets in defense of their writing. Gothel is a villain. She did an act of evil similar to murder or genocide that we’d seen countless times before. And in-universe, that’s correct. But the OUAT universe doesn’t live in a vacuum. It is media to be consumed by the masses, and has to therefore acknowledge reality.

As a society, we generally accept that murder is bad. Genocide is bad. Those are considered atrocities. However, what constitutes as sexual assault and rape is murky at best. Over the past month, we’re seeing dozens of both men and women coming forward with their stories about sexual assault. Some victims are embraced. Others or not. Some perpetrators are shunned. Others are not.

What I’m trying to say is that we live in a society where the writers should have known to handle this issue sensitively. Especially considering their absolutely abysmal track record regarding the issue, of which they’ve been made aware many, many times. 

In short: they really should have known better.

Me: Yuri on ice is such a captivating and beautiful story that has amazing representation in love and life and I am grateful to have been alive to appreciate the creation of this show Me at 2 AM: *doES THIS* OKAY BUT WHAT IF-

(Inspired by crowzperch on instagram)

nothing is funnier to me than the universal phenomenon of people telling stories of classmates who wronged them years prior but addressing those people by like, their entire name every time. as if they’re an old nemesis whose name hasn’t been uttered in thousands of years. people will recall to you in excruciating detail that time in the third grade that fuckin katie hughes pushed them off the swing during recess and you’d swear by the vigor and hatred in their eyes that this katie hughes girl is still out there to this very day, still tormenting other helpless people her age, still pushing them off of swingsets, and that she will never, ever be forgiven for the particular atrocity that she committed on that playground all those years ago

9

Lawful, implying honor and respect for society’s rules; Chaotic, implying rebelliousness and individualism; and Neutral, being the middle ground between the two extremes.

Good, implying altruism and respect for life; Evil, implying the absence of altruism and no respect for life; and Neutral, the middle ground between the two.

I am from the UK and I was going to say that I am lucky enough to live in a country that has strict gun laws, but that would be a lie.

It is not down to luck. 

Almost 22 years ago on the 13th March 1996 a man killed 16 children, a teacher and injuring 15 others before committing suicide in Dunblane Primary School. 

It was, and still is, the deadliest mass shooting in British history. 

People were obviously outraged by the atrocity and by the next year it was illegal to own handguns (basically any gun not barrell loaded) unless they were of ‘historical importance’ i.e. made before 1919.

Owning a gun legally in the UK is hard. You must get a 5 year licence i.e. a background/capability check (yup it runs out), you must give a valid reason for needing a gun (i.e. the humane slaughter of animals/vermin); self defence is not a valid reason for owning a gun. You must be subjected to an inspection of your home where you have to show police where you are keeping the guns and ammunition, these must be kept in separate locked containers, and if you are needing to move the guns you must show that these containers can be moved whilst the guns are locked away.

Through all of this we have one of the lowest gun homicide rates in the word and last year only 26 people died in a gun related incidents (this includes air rifles and imitation guns), and most of these are from illegally obtained guns. It’s got to the point that if someone does die of a gunshot wound it is on the national news.

This being said we have a healthy National Rifle Association in the UK, but instead of demanding people be allowed to own weapons they teach marksmanship (traditional and modern) and promote shooting sports like clay pigeon shooting, which is very fun and we often have it at village fêtes.

The fact that gun control is still a debate in the US is astounding to me. 

The fact that Sandy Hook was 5 years ago and there is still a debate on whether gun owners should be subjected to background checks is astounding to me.

The fact that someone can get an automatic or semi-automatic weapon and shoot hundreds of innocent people from the 32nd floor of a hotel is astounding to me.

The fact that each year we hear on the news that there has been the ‘deadliest mass shooting in American history’ is astounding to me.

How is this even a conversation?

Call your senators, your representatives at all layers of government, tell them you want stricter gun laws, tell them that this can’t keep happening.

The best thing you can do to honour the victims in Las Vegas is to make sure something like this can never happen again.

I feel like Fallout has become one of those pieces of media that has gone/ is going the Fight Club way, where it is starting to attract the type of people who support the thing it originally critiqued, in this case, Authoritarian capitalist regimes.

Like, the terror that drives fallout isn’t its gritty post-apocalyptic aesthetic, it’s the atrocities of the culture that led to the war in the first place. All those personal stories you find buried in the pieces of lore you stumble across. It’s the blind nationalism and xenophobia, the internment camps, the mcarthyism, the bloated military industrial complex, the systematic dismantling of corporate regulations to the point where companies could perform psychological and chemical experiments on the public consequence free, etc etc etc.

I wish you had the option, when prompted, to talk about this shit as the Sosu, considering you were alive to experience it. You should be able to counter Piper, for example, when she asks you to compare Diamond city to the life you knew, asks you to essentially say the world is a shadow of its former self. Because it isn’t, not really. It’s just the stepford-smile artifice is finally gone.

  • Deadpool, sitting cross-legged in the fridge in the middle of the night: Gray morality can be an effective storytelling technique, but it should not be considered a necessity in order to tell a good story, because when handled wrong it carries the implication that atrocities are justifiable as long as they're committed in the interest of fulfilling an ostensibly noble goal, and it is so often handled wrong.
  • Wolverine, staring in horror while holding a carton of orange juice: Who are you and how did you get in my house.