my thoughts and opinions on "lovely writer": criticizing the critic

tw for discussions of age gaps, rape, and sex

before i turn into the mean and constantly dissatisfied archer that we all know and hate, i just want to say that i liked this show. i think it's great, actually! gene and sib are appropriately cute, the premise is nice, and the attempt at criticizing the industry is... well, an attempt, which is better than nothing. moreover, "lovely writer" came with gifts because it gave me my new favorite character, so you can't go telling me i'm trying to completely obliterate it or something.

besides, this specific post isn't going to get into analyzing the show as a whole anyway. i won't be talking about any irrelevant plot points, cinematography, sound design, or anything like that, though i could probably write a post just as long as this one about that side of things as well. however, i am here to specifically look at the problematic things that were both criticized by the show and included in the show without any criticism. i'm going to talk about the more serious side of things here, which means i'm going to get serious. and i'm going to be harsh. very harsh.

gene and nubsib: yes's and no's

overall, the relationship between gene and sib was a fair attempt at showing something complex, yet ultimately quite healthy, which i appreciate. there were some things i was especially glad about. the fact that sib dated other people before settling on getting together with gene, for example, makes the whole situation a little less codependent. however, as much as this show prides itself on not wanting to romanticize problematic relationships, there are at least two major problems with genesib.

the age gap (and why it was not needed)

i've tried my very best to give this entire concept the benefit of the doubt. at first, i was convincing myself that they were simply close childhood friends, then i was trying my best to believe that even though sib did have a sort of crush on gene (which sometimes happens to little children), gene only saw him as his younger brother, but eventually, the show gave me no choice, but to deem the entire storyline problematic, because they did their best to romanticize that relationship - from gene's dad seeing the "early signs" to the counting and kissing the cheek turning to counting and full-on lip-locking in the last episode.

i could go into how this could all easily be mended if little sib was shown as kind of obsessed with his older friend, but gene was shown as not being anywhere near interested in the kid. but the real question is - why was the age gap needed at all?

i've researched the age of the boys during the flashbacks to the best of my ability and it seems that gene is 11 and sib is 6 or 7. if sib was the same age as gene (or maybe just one year younger, but not any more than that), not only would none of it feel weird, it would also be quite appropriate to explore that first glimpse of romantic feelings some of us experience exactly around that age. i don't think it's necessary for sib to be much younger than gene (children can be just as impressionable at 11 as they are at 7, and as for gene being surprisingly nice and helpful and the other kids not wanting to play with sib, he could have easily been - for example - bullied by his peers instead, which would have the same effect).

moving forward to the present, i don't think the lack of an age gap would affect the storyline that much either. even if they desperately needed sib to be a university student, they could have that one-year difference i've talked about before, which is not as significant. sib could be in his last year of uni, while gene could have easily written his very first novel during his university years, which would actually make more sense (since that guaranteed him employment and freedom to write after he finished uni; and i would rather believe that he had time to write his first novel in-between classes than in-between shifts at work, which he would surely need to have if he started writing after finishing university).

so that brings me back to my initial question - why was it needed? and much like the show often does, i will leave this one up for your interpretation because i do not have any sensible answers myself.

the issue with sex and consent

"but archer!" - i hear you exclaim - "lovely writer is known for explicitly denouncing rape romanticization in bls, how could there possibly be any problems with consent here?" and i hear you, my dear reader. and you aren't incorrect, "lovely writer" is indeed very explicit at calling out bls for having rape scenes (and i do appreciate that). however, as i'm sure you know, there are different ways in which consent can be taken from a person, and there are different non-consensual acts that someone might perform. for example, there are many different forms of coercion, such as the person being persuaded until they feel like they have no other choice, but to say yes. touching someone or kissing someone without asking for permission are also non-consensual acts. i can go on and on, there are many examples outside of what so many people consider rape.

now, what if i tell you that though there (thank the gods) has been no rape present in "lovely writer", not all scenes with gene and sib are consensual? well, that's what i'm telling you because it's the truth. both the first kissing scene and the scene where gene and sib "try out different poses" have clear coercion in them. the entire "joke" of the scene before gene and sib's first time is literally built upon the concept of "a person is trying to run away from someone, who wants to have sex with them" and it is NOT funny. the later reveal of gene actually looking up how to have sex seems to be there on purpose, to show that everything that's happened is "ok" because gene was thinking about it. as a sensible person, i will only accept actual enthusiastic consent and not someone possibly maybe probably considering it. not to mention that right before having sex, sib asks gene one last time if he is sure, which is great, except it is immediately followed by "i'm not going to let you change your mind anymore", which - daily reminder - you are allowed to stop having sex at any point during the act if you start feeling uncomfortable with it. that's absolutely normal.

now the problem that we seem to run into here is that "lovely writer" appears to think that it's ok to push someone to the limit until they either finally agree or confidently and loudly disagree. the drama has repeatedly shown us that actually forcing someone to have sex is not ok; however, persuading and otherwise coercing someone, as well as taking an approximate guess of them wanting to have sex based on some marginally related factors, is ok. i would like to once again remind everyone that all of that is not ok.

one more issue i want to bring up in connection with sex is something i wish was common knowledge: it is NOT supposed to hurt during your first time. whether you are planning to have vaginal or anal sex for the first time, it should not hurt. and if it does, something has definitely gone wrong and you need to stop. you are not supposed to experience any pain or discomfort during sex, including your first time (outside of desired and therefore intentionally inflicted pain, but that's not what i'm talking about here). i have seen this misconception brought up many times in bls along with the other person "thanking the person who got hurt for bearing the pain to bring them pleasure" and absolutely none of that is normal. stop. please, just... stop.

criticism of the BL industry

there are certainly quite a few things i liked about the way "lovely writer" criticized the many problems that surround bls. i think they dealt especially well with the fan aspect. the breaches of privacy that are considered normal, the toxicity of social media that encourages people to comment on other people's personal life, harass and stalk them - all of that was shown in its full glory (or rather horror) and clearly condemned. it was also interesting to see how easily everyone around sib fell into the routine of having to hide genesib's relationship, just because "that's what's supposed to be done in these situations" - even tum did that without thinking twice.

however, i have not spent the past three years hating gmm for a show trying to criticize the industry not to focus on criticizing the production company and everyone professionally involved with the making of bls. don't get me wrong - they didn't completely overlook that side of things, but i found the way they approached it dissatisfying.

like yes, tum fights with his sister (aka sib's manager) and calls her out for her terrible actions, and the publisher (bua) eventually apologizes for what she did, but all of that feels a bit too... personal. i do not care about these individual stories. i care about you saying that the whole system is broken because it very much is. i wanted manner of death but with the bl industry, and instead, i got an "uwu the fans are demanding we do this, and our hands our tied" (which is a lie) and "uwu i'm just trying to make money" (which i mean... if you feel ok milking even more money than you already have by doing something unethical and immoral, then be my guest, but also go fuck yourself). besides that, i didn't see any criticism of tabloids or exploitative celebrities either (both of which we had examples of in the show), and that was kind of disappointing.

coming back to the fans for a moment, i also think that the criticism of real people shipping was entirely unsuccessful. we basically mostly got an "oh, what if this person's partner thinks they are actually dating", which... if a bunch of people on the internet who do not know your boyfriend personally and make all their judgments from screenshots and their imagination can convince you that your boyfriend is cheating, i've got some bad news for you and also a number for a therapist. partly i know why it was so complicated for them to get into it properly - the issue with real people shipping is an issue of privacy, boundaries, the perception of celebrities, acceptable interests, and many other complex topics. however, it's better to not criticize something than to criticize it badly and inaccurately (because the latter usually leads to even more encouragement of whatever you were attempting to criticize).

aey: the flamboyant villain

aey certainly starts as a promisingly complex character, but the farther we go from his backstory and his family, the less complex and the more evil he gets. eventually, the trauma he goes through is no longer enough to give him a get-out-of-jail-free card, and he loses all remaining sympathy after sexually harassing gene and pretending to drug sib. and i did start this post by saying that i am not to analyze any plot points or characters from the show here; however, i'm saying all this to prove a point that aey is a clear villain in the show. this is further cemented by the fact that by the end of the show he loses the only two people who cared about him, and the very last moment with him in the show is literally just him crying for about 3 minutes. there was no redemption arc, no pity, no revenge - he was left alone and broken, clearly punished by the narrative. and i've got a bone to pick here as well.

one of the first things that we find out about aey is that he is gay, and quite openly so. he is repeatedly described as very feminine by many characters, he flirts with men, he talks about being good in bed, and his entire character is built upon being gay (half of it directly, and the other half due to the fact that his entire backstory and therefore personality is also built upon the fact that he is gay). he is - for the lack of a better term - the gayest character in the show and the only one who is loud about being gay not because he is in love but simply because it is a part of him and he doesn't want to hide it. and he is the villain. not the disgusting publisher or the terrible manager - no, this guy was specifically chosen to ruin everyone's lives. and i can't say i'm particularly happy about that. *british voice* seems a bit homophobic love

not quite queer enough

as i said, aey is openly gay. gene and sib also eventually say that they are gay, gene's father teep is queer, so are tiffy and mhok. but it just doesn't seem to come up as much as it would in real life. the only time anyone has a problem with any of the characters being queer is when we deal with the parents. but knowing actual queer thai actors in real life, we are all aware how hard it can be for them, but it has not come up even once for aey, gene or sib (with genesib only being a problem because they are a "non-shippable couple"). being queer is far from being a non-issue in the industry, and i found it incredibly weird that it was never brought up (and i would also prefer if they brought that up instead of showing the unaccepting parents plot for the millionth time).

same goes for the lack of conversation around queer people on set. i think we all have a wonderful example of how much better a bl can get simply when it involves a queer director and/or screenwriter (gods bless p'aof), gay actors, etc. i also thought it was a missed opportunity that gene being a gay man writing a bl novel was never highlighted. if anything, everyone made a big deal out of him being a man writing a bl - never mind that he is a gay man that is far more qualified to write bls than a straight woman.

in conclusion, there are simply not enough queer issues talked about here for a show that is about queer people facing difficulties while making a queer drama.

tiffy and tum: the good, the bad, and the ugly

overall, tiffy and tum are quite cool. outside of my own personal feelings, i really liked the clear reversal of gender roles they have going on: he knows lots about make-up, she knows nothing about it, he knows how to sew, she knows how to repair a car, etc.

tiffy is also a nice addition to the precious few queer girls we have in bls. however, the way her being bi is executed... it isn't great. when she first talks about dating girls to tum, she says things like "even though i look like this" (implying queer girls have a certain look?) and "maybe it seemed normal because i was at an all-girls school" (which wtf does that even mean?). i think the worst thing, though, was when she assumed tum was gay. my best guess is she thought so because she initially thought that tum and gene were a couple; however, she should be the first person to know that just because he likes men, it doesn't mean that he doesn't like women or any other gender. even though there was nothing explicitly leading me to make this conclusion, this whole thing did kind of feel like the old "flipping the switch" stereotype (meaning, she used to like women, but now she likes men, and both of them can't happen simultaneously).

make it make sense

i think i've never been more confused in my entire life than when i found out that the director of "lovely writer" also happens to be the director of "th*arnt*pe". and if at first, i was asking a lot of questions about this peculiar individual, who went from working on the worst rape-romanticizing show we have ever had to a show that explicitly states that rape is not normal. but the more i thought about it, the less i was interested in him, and the more i was interested in whoever made the decision to hire him. there are dozens of different directors that have worked specifically on bls, and even more that haven't. yet out of all those, you decided to choose this one. the dude, who before your show has only directed the show with the biggest rape-y vibes. that casts a particular kind of shade on the entire show that i simply do not like.

conclusion

at the end of the day, i think what "lovely writer" tried to do was very interesting. it succeeded in some ways and failed in others. frankly, i think this show could have easily been made better if someone queer was involved in making it. that's always true, but especially so, when we try to talk about the issues of making a queer drama. either way, it's certainly a good start to this conversation; however - as i said - i'm still waiting for my manner of death but with the bl industry. this was unfortunately not it.

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 1

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo... a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - mentions of a verbally abusive relationship

Author’s note: Happy November 1st! Here is chapter one of December Magic. I am so so grateful for how many people have asked to be part of a taglist/enjoyed the prologue. It makes me so happy. If you want to be tagged in future parts please let me know! Enjoy x

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER ONE - NEXT

Waking up on December 1st, you had no idea what was in store for you. You had no idea how the coming month would change your life forever.

It was that time of the year again. Your favourite time of year, and boy were you a sucker for tradition. Any excuse to light your cinnamon and pinecone scented candles and wear the cosiest wooliest sweaters you could find. The time of year where you would search around in storage for your favourite cashmere gloves, tartan scarf and faux fur hat. It was the time of year where you had to have your car defrosted every morning. The thought of your peppermint mocha warming your hands as you did your Christmas shopping was something to look forward to all year round.

The crisp cool air hung above your shoulders. Washington DC felt bigger than life when you were amongst the bustling December crowds, city life filled with people running around trying to get sorted in time for Christmas. The whole city was painted in thick layers of white snow and an abundance of glittering fairy lights. WHAM’s new Christmas song was a number one hit and the catchy melody filled up the department store on every main street corner. But this year was different to any other.

“You can’t pay, you can’t live here. You have three days to box up your stuff before you’re evicted.” Your landlord, Tristan, said sternly, his voice completely monotone and with no empathy whatsoever. You knew it was coming. You had determined that this was your karma.

“Please, it’s Christmas and I’ve just been laid off from my job. You know my family don’t live in the state and-”

“Not my problem,” Tristan snapped back, a small smirk playing on his lips. He had a habit of interrupting you, but doing so at this very moment irked you like no other time. “You’re a big girl. Figure it out.” And with that, he slammed his door in your face.

You stood there momentarily trying to process the confrontation that had just occurred between not only your landlord, but also ex-boyfriend, Tristan. You consider yourself lucky to have a place as nice as your apartment. It was located right in the centre of Washington DC, a two bedroom, one bathroom, with an outstanding view of the city. You always admired how it looked at night, with eccentric tall buildings lighting up the skyline. But now you were essentially made homeless, and you knew for a fact that Tristan was getting a rise out of making you suffer like this.

That’s exactly why you broke up with him. He liked to have power over you, and everyone else he met. He wanted to be the top man. He wanted to be feared; and by the rest of the people in the building? He was. But by you, not so much. His attempts to make you scared were foolish and you wouldn’t stand for it. You’d think for someone who made a living from robbing people of their hard earned money, they would be able to afford a better anniversary dinner than Pizza Hut— but no. The two of you sat in the restaurant and you were lazily dipping your nachos into the cheese sauce when he came out with something preposterous. 

“I’m thinking about upping rent,” Tristan informed you with his signature smile. “By forty percent.”

You almost choked on your food. “Forty percent?!” you gasped, covering your mouth as you coughed slightly. “You can’t do that!” You knew that you could get out of paying it because, girlfriend privilege. But you were also aware of the financial status of your neighbours. The family of five who could barely afford to put food on the table, and the teenage boy who had to drop out of school to work and make an earning so he could provide medication for his sick mother. They were already struggling and with a rent rise, you just knew they wouldn't be able to take it.

“And why not?” Tristan raised an eyebrow quizzically, taking a bite of the floppy slice of pizza. You scrunch your nose up as you watched him eat with his mouth open, bits of cheese falling out and onto the table.

“Because it’s not fair,” You told him. “It’s greedy. If you need extra cash you could always look for another job. Even if it’s just part time! I heard Black Gold Cooperative are hiring and you just know the pay will be good-”

Tristan slammed his fists on the table, making you jump at his sudden movement. A few heads turned to face you both and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Black Gold Cooperative?” He snarled. “And work for that self righteous asshole Maxwell Lord? I don’t think so, sweetie.”

You sighed at his audacity to call anyone else self righteous before giving the chance to check his own behaviour.

“It was just a suggestion.” You mumbled, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Right, because you don’t think being a landlord is a real job.” Tristan said nastily. His tone of voice sent a shiver down your spine. He was doing it again. He was speaking down to you because it was the only way he could exert power over you. “Says the girl who pours coffee all day and only works twenty hours a week and barely makes enough to avoid a goddamn bowl of pasta from Pizza Hut.” He pointed at your bowl of nachos that you had selected from the Starters menu.

You were getting really sick of his attitude. “It’s dishonest work.” You growled back at him. “You overcharge families and people who can barely get by just so they can have a roof over their head! Don’t you see how immoral that is?”

“Someone has to do it.” He shrugged cooly, taking a sip of his red wine.

“But you’re going about it the wrong way!”

“Right.” Tristan stood up and grabbed your arm. He pulled you out of your chair and dragged you outside of the restaurant. 

“Let go of me!” You cried out, yanking your arm out of his hard grip. You rubbed where his fingers had dug into your skin and had no doubt it would leave a bruise.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is the broke ass barista telling me how to do my job? You’re the one to talk. You’re nothing. And you’d be nothing without me. Look at yourself,” Tristan scoffed, and suddenly he was making you feel very self conscious. “You were foolish enough to think you could move to DC and make something of yourself. You have ambition but you don’t know how to use it. And the way you tried to embarrass me during our anniversary dinner…” He was doing what he always did. Villainsing you.

“I never want to see you again.” You spat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Your voice was shaky but you didn't want to break down in front of him. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

“That’ll be hard since we live in the same building,” he rolled his eyes and tried grabbing your hand again but you flinched away, fear prevailing in your eyes. “Oh come on baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” You said through gritted teeth. “I’m calling a cab. And don’t bother calling me. See you around Tristan.” 

And that was the last time you had seen Tristan, until today— talk about bad break-ups. 

You shuffled upstairs back to your apartment and slumped against the door trying to figure out how you were going to find a new place to live in three days. Maybe if you found a job you could persuade Tristan to let you stay a little longer. You knew that's what he wanted. Everything he had done, everything he said, was to scare you. But Tristan was attached and despite threatening to evict you, he didn't want to see you leave.

You wanted out. Your apartment was filled with bad memories and maybe this was your opportunity to start fresh. This could be your calling. But judging from your current situation and the time of year, you figured you’d be lucky just finding a roadside motel to spend Christmas day in— and you really didn't want that. You grabbed the phone book from under your coffee table and walked over to the dial up phone hung by the kitchen door. Locating one of the most popular property marketplaces in central DC, you dialled up and found your fingers twirling in the telephone wire.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hello!” an older sounding lady chirped on the other end of the line. “How can I be of service?”

“I um, I gotta find a place to live— and fast. I’m getting evicted and my budget, well, I don’t have a lot-” your eyes scanned the living room as you weighed up possible things you could sell for just a little more cash.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. We’re shut for the holidays and there's no place in DC that will help you find a place before new year,” She said sadly and you couldn't believe your bad luck. No place at all? “It really is a shame that you're being evicted, but if you drop into our store after the new year, I’d love to help you find a place that is suitable for you and your budget!”

You were left rendered speechless. “I- I’m going to be homeless.” you said to yourself, the fact finally dawning on you. You knew that you wouldn't ever be truly homeless and that Tristan would be more than happy to let you stay with him during the holiday season but the thought of having to go back to him knocked you sick. You’d rather freeze on a street corner than feel his embrace once more. You wondered if you could travel back home to see your family. “Hey, are there any train trips or flights to Oregon?” you asked.

“Nope,” the lady popped her p and she sounded far too cheery for your liking. “Tickets have been sold out for months. I could get you a flight for January 12th?”

“No.” you mumbled. “My car broke down… but what are the chances I could get a cabbie to Oregon?”

“You want to get a cab to Oregon?” The woman on the other end laughed in disbelief, and you supposed that could be justified. “You can't be serious. Besides, Astoria bridge has been closed down due to last week's snow storm and I can't see it reopening until after the snow has cleared. Heaven knows when that will be.”

Tristan had really caught you in a loop. “So there is no way I can find a place to stay, nor travel to Oregon, at all, this month?”

“I’m sorry dear.”

“Okay, well thank you for your help.” You said wistfully, feeling dread forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Merry Christmas and have a hap-” You hung up on her.

You weren't ready to give up hope just yet. If there was one thing you always clung on to, it was faith. Your belief that everything happens for a reason and everything is sure to work out for the best in the end. You figured you could go job hunting and then tell Tristan you would be able to pay him double once you got your first paycheck. No, it wasn't ideal but what other choice did you have?

You grabbed your jacket and purse before leaving your apartment. Did you have a plan? No. You didn't even have your resumé with you.

You plodged your feet through the snow, your socks dampening even through your boots but finally made it to the bustling main street. You looked in the windows of all the different department stores and in desperate search for hiring signs, even going inside and inquiring with members of staff— but there were no positions available.

Just then, you found yourself outside of Black Gold Cooperative and you remembered that they were hiring. Granted, you didn't know what the position was, and figured you almost certainly didn't have the qualifications to work for such a prestigious business.

You looked up at the tall building, always feeling like an overwhelmed tiny insect when you stood next to it. It sparkled a sleek black and in a large, gold, cursive font BGC was displayed so high it looked over the whole city. It was certainly the tallest skyscraper you had ever seen with your own pair of eyes. In that moment, you almost backed down. But this wasn't a choice anymore and you had to shoot your shot. Just roll with it. You told yourself.

You were able to take a peek at the lobby in the double door entrance. Everything was marble with gold embellishments. If you hadn't known any better, you would've thought it was a palace. Trodding over the red carpet, you were stopped by a man’s arm, not allowing you to enter. “Name and business?" He asked, his voice rough. You looked up at him. Tall and broad, no hair and dressed in all black. A doorman that looked like a nightclub bodyguard. If you weren't intimidated you would've laughed.

“Sorry?” you asked, trying your best to sound as innocent and polite as could be.

“Name and business.” He repeated, his tone of voice the same. He didn't budge— still standing there with his arms folded against his chest. You weren't even sure if he was looking at you, with his black sunglasses hiding his face.

“Uhm,” you stood on your tip toes and took a glance at the clipboard which was pressed between his forearm and chest. Names that had been typewritten were printed on the page and most of them had been crossed out— bar one. You read out the name. “Barbara Minerva.” you said confidently. He looked at you for sure this time and pulled his glasses off, narrowing his eyes. He took the clipboard and checked for your fake name and sure enough, there it was.

“You’re Barbara Minerva?” he beckoned, raising an eyebrow.

“The one and only.” you lied with a charming smile. “And my business is…. actually I'm here for a job interview.”

“Oh!” the man grinned, like something had clicked in his mind. He scribbled out Barbara's name on your clipboard and ushered you inside. “Mr Lord’s office is on the top floor. Best of luck Ms Minerva.”

When you entered the lobby, warmth washed over your body and you couldn't help but smile. It was all lit up with yellow fairy lights and an enormous twelve foot Christmas tree in the centre. The tree was decorated with red and golden baubles. It was simply magnificent and looked like it was straight out of a catalogue.

You walked over to the elevator and pressed the button. No way would you be walking up 22 flights of stairs to the top floor. You really couldn't believe you were even granted access to the building, nevermind the fact you now had an interview with the self acclaimed and prestigious mutli-billionaire Maxwell Lord. A feeling of dread filled your stomach. What if he caught on? What if he figured out you weren't this Barbara woman? Could you go to jail? You tried your best to shrug the feeling off and remain confident. To be honest, you'd rather spend Christmas locked away in a cell than with Tristan. You promised yourself that this would be worth it.

The top floor was sleek, a long and wide corridor with an office at the very end. Marble statues were dotted around, and the walls were filled with oil paintings bordered with solid gold frames. At the front, not too far from where the elevator had dropped you off, was a help desk. Three women with sleek hair and matching pencil skirts scoped you out, almost glaring at you. You were sure you noticed one of them stifle a laugh. But you were too mesmerised by your surroundings to care. Everywhere you looked was just so magnificent.

"Can I help you?" one of the ladies snapped you out of your thoughts. Your head bolted in their direction.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, pulling off your faux fur hat and sliding the gloves off your fingers. You shoved them hap-hazardly in your coat pocket. "I'm Barbara Minerva," you introduced yourself with the politest smile you could muster. "I have an interview with Maxwell Lord?"

The three girls gawked at you in silence. It was like you had grown a third head. "You have an interview with Mr Lord?" one of the women raised her eyebrows. She flicked her blonde long ponytail and settled a hand on her hip.

You hesitated, considering her rude attitude for a moment. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

The three girls started at you for just a beat too long before one of them, with the sleekest ebony hair you had ever seen, handed you a document. "You need to sign this NDA." she said simply, rolling a pen over to you.

Your eyes scanned the document which just so happened to be very vague. "Why the need for a non disclosure agreement?" you beckoned. "It's just a job interview."

The blonde girl snorted and the ebony haired girl slapped her arm. "Yeah, just a job interview." The blonde assistant rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her lips. "We don't make the rules, Mr Lord does. And we know better than to question him."

This was really odd. You wondered if it was really worth it but you had already come this far— you couldn't just walk out now. You sighed and signed your name over the NDA. The blonde girl let out a cackle.

"Is there a problem?" you questioned, stone faced and unamused.

Your heart was racing. These ladies were so pushy and you were certain that if it was going to go wrong at some point— it would be now.

"No, not at all," a girl with chestnut hair smiled. "That's just Stephanie being a bitch as per usual." The blonde girl, who you now could identify as Stephanie gasped.

"I am not a bitch!" Stephanie cried.

"You kinda are." The ebony haired girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Shut up Amanda!" Stephanie spat. Amanda rolled her eyes and blew a bubble of gum before analysing her nail beds.

"Brittany started it." Amanda accused and before you knew it, the three girls began to cat fight each other.

"I- I'm just going to take a seat over there." You said, trying to speak over the girls who were shouting at each other.

"Amanda you know Mr Lord hates it when you blow bubbles with your gum!" Stephanie accused, narrowing her eyes.

"She does it because he still won't let her blow him." Brittany cackled.

"That is not true." Amanda gasped again, shaking her head.

You felt yourself waver out of their little argument, truly taken by surprise at how unprofessional they were being. You expected higher standards from people who were employed by Maxwell Lord. You shuffled into the black leather sofa, trying to get cosy when the double doors to his office opened. You adjusted yourself, watching as a young looking girl walked out. She didn't make eye contact with anyone, her movements were almost robotic.

"How do you think she coped?" You heard Stephanie whisper.

"Look at her," Brittany replied. "She's a mess. I better go check on Mr Lord."

"No, I'll check on Mr Lord."

"NO, I'll check on Mr Lord."

Once again, you muffled out their argument and paid close attention to the girl. As she neared you, you saw her lipstick was smeared to one side and her cheeks were tear stained— black kohl eyeliner smudged just as much as her lipstick. Had she been crying? You felt your nerves increase and you picked up on the fact that she was walking with a limp. Noticing the three girls race to Maxwell's office, you took the chance to approach the young girl. You stood up and held your hand out.

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked her, taking a compact mirror out of your purse and handing it to her. She shook her head, rejecting your sentiment. "What- uhm, what's he like?" You asked her hesitantly.

"He's just the way you imagine him to be." She told you with a shaky exhale. You rolled your shoulders back as you contemplated her words. You hadn't really thought much of Maxwell Lord. Of course, everyone in the world knew who he was. For generations, the Lord family had shares in the oil drilling enterprise, but Maxwell Lord IV made a name for himself when he bought out 90% of the oil fields around the world; his father only owning a measly and yet still impressive 15% before him. The front page of Forbes magazine three years in a row— practically the face of 80s television with his cheesy infomercials being broadcast on every channel, every time of the day. Everyone knew his face, they knew his voice, they knew Maxwell Lord. Stories about him graced the tabloids, speculating who his latest lover was, whether or not there had been a new strain on his family and what his financial earnings looked like circa 1984. "He's just getting cleaned up now," the girl informed you with hazy eyes. "Maybe do yourself a favour and bring yourself tissue."

"That bad huh?" you bit your finger anxiously.

"No, he's amazing." the girl swooned. "I just hope I get a call back."

Okay, now you were really confused. "Well, good luck." You offered her a warm smile but she just bit her lip and continued limping to the elevator. A few moments later, the three girls who manned the main desk approached you. Stephanie took a step forward, offering you quite possibly the fakest smile you had ever seen.

"Mr Lord will see you know."

Taglists: [comment or drop me an ask if here if you would like to be added]

December Magic: @goth-topic (im so sorry it won’t let me tag you) @kiwi-the-first​ @100layersofdaddyissues​ @mrschiltoncat​ @honeymandos​ @thisisthe-way​

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @ah-callie​ @luvzoria​

I loved that Jeonghan CEO smut could you please do a part 2 💕😭

↳ requested | 1.6k words

↳ ceo!jeonghan smut | pt 1 here 

a/n: thank you! i hope you enjoy! 

you have to admit, it’s awfully cramped beneath jeonghan’s desk, a bit dark and dusty too, but you aren’t so obliged to complain when his hand tightens unforgivingly through your hair and suddenly his cock is easing into your mouth. there’s a pleased moan that hums in your throat. you’ve been thinking about this unholy moment for an eternity, and now it’s blossoming into fruition. 

your hand wraps around the area that you can’t quite reach with your mouth, squeezing him lightly while your tongue laves along his hard underside, coating him with sticky, wet saliva. jeonghan’s hand relaxes only marginally in your hair, though it never falls away. he’d been signing documents inside his office before he beckoned you, claiming he had some files that needed organizing.

but you learned astonishingly quickly that it was a rouse. not that you cared. the sound of his pen scribbling across the paperwork glitched abruptly after you attempted to take him deeper. inhaling through your nose, your shiny lips were just ringed around his engorged head before you sunk down as best you could. a glossy sheen started to glimmer in your eyes at the overwhelming sensation.

his tip was stuffed to the back of your throat. you were so incredibly close to gagging, feeling the spit yearn dribble onto your chin. 

“fuck,” you heard jeonghan’s breathless curse. it emboldened you, and with the little composure you had, you attempted to swallow around him. 

his grip in your hair immediately tightened, almost keeping you pressed down as the warm, confining pressure of your mouth surrounded his cock.

“a-aren’t you so good at this, sweetheart?” jeonghan chuckled. he then took in a sharp breath. “you want my cum that badly, huh? such a dirty girl you are.”

the sensual nature of his voice persuaded your thighs to squeeze together. it was a painful ache that drummed between your legs, one of lust and utmost neediness. you could only whine around his cock in response. tapping his knee, you signaled that you needed some air. jeonghan lessened his strength on your scalp you and pulled off his length, saliva glinting on your swollen mouth.

there was a glazed, hazy expression painted to your face as you started to stroke him, smearing your own spit with the cum that was beading at jeonghan’s tip. it was a distinct sound, so undeniably wet and immoral as your wrist worked fervently along his cock. you leaned forward, darting out your tongue and licking slowly at the flushed, purple head, your hand still pumping.

suddenly - there was a knock at the door. a hot blade of fear cut through your flesh and you froze beneath his desk.

“just relax, honey.” jeonghan coaxed you. “don’t move too much.”

then, you heard jeonghan clear his throat and shout, “come in!”

the door swung open and then clicked shut quietly. your heart was beating in your throat as the footsteps stopped a few feet from jeonghan’s desk. 

“i don’t mean to bother you, sir. but, has your assistant been around? we were supposed to take notes for the board meeting this afternoon.”

it was soonyoung. he was new to the office and didn’t really have a good grasp on everyone’s name yet. you had completely forgot about that stupid meeting too. jeonghan tapped his pen against the desk, probably putting on a show of pretending to intensely think and ponder. you were starting to calm down a bit. 

“she left my office after organizing some files. haven’t seen her since.”

“o-oh,” soonyoung stumbled, “okay– it’s just that, we have this meeting and–”

“i know about the meeting, soonyoung.” jeonghan stated firmly. “i’m sure she’ll turn up beforehand. if she doesn’t, i’ll page her. alright?”

you weren’t really sure why you did it, but you were intrigued to poke out your tongue and collect the little pearl of cum that was going to drip down jeonghan’s cock. as quietly as possible, you etched forward and wrapped your soft lips around his head, beginning to suckle gently. he was clearly impacted by your ministrations, as he jolted slightly in his chair.

“are you alright, sir?” soonyoung questioned, taking another step toward the desk.

you smirked and decided to graze the top of your teeth up his sensitive cock. jeonghan seemed to shiver, and you couldn’t have been more pleased at the reaction. his grip grew exponentially taunt against your scalp, a fierce sting plucking the tears forth from your eyes; however, you were too consumed by your little game to stop. you rubbed your tongue against his slit and he barked.

“i-i’m fine! i’m fine, soonyoung. i just got a cramp in my leg… is that everything you wanted to ask me?”

soonyoung piped up shyly. “well, actually, i have a question about tab–”

“that’s great,” jeonghan interrupted him, clearly not interested in his question even though he was responsible for prompting it. “thank you for stopping by. i’ll see you around later.”

“oh… okay… see ya.” soonyoung mumbled awkwardly before shuffling toward the door. 

once the room was just shared between the two of you, jeonghan rolled back his chair slightly to gauge you under his desk. your palm had returned to the base of his cock, and you blinked up at him with rounded, innocent eyes, your pink tongue circling sticky strands of spit and his arousal around his head. the contrast between your sweet face and your lewd behaviour made him growl.

jeonghan wanted to be mad at you, but his anger was already diffused. 

“will you give me your cum, sir?” you decided to wind him up even tighter. “i want to swallow it, all of it.”

his length twitched at your imploring words. you had never seen such a wild darkness in his eyes. then again, you had never sucked him off beneath his desk before. jeonghan brushed the loose ends of his hair back, a smirk carefully blooming up his mouth. there was a fleeting, fond moment where jeonghan cupped your cheek, stroking his thumb across the warm, soft skin.

“you don’t deserve it after what you pulled back there with soonyoung.” he attempted to reason. you pumped him with a miserable frown.

“i’m sorry, sir. i just… i thought–”

“shut your mouth, sweetheart.” jeonghan ordered. “just because i can’t completely deny you, i will give you some satisfaction. get out from under the desk.”

it wasn’t long before you realized jeonghan’s malicious plan. after removing your tight work pants, you were bent over his desk, underwear pooled down to your ankles, legs spread widely apart. a silent gasp twisted your entire face as jeonghan settled the tip of his cock between your wet, slippery folds. then, he began to rub himself up and down your pussy, coating himself in your slick.

you chomped down on your fist to stop the moan that threatened to burst from your chest. he pushed his swollen head into your clit, using the hand wrapped around his cock to guide himself in languid, torturous circles. every so often, jeonghan would just brush the head against your slit, pushing in only by a tiny sliver before dragging himself back out. you whined out pitifully.

“sir, p-please, m’sorry–”

“be quiet, honey.” jeonghan warned you while getting lost in the filthy sight of his cock rubbing between your thighs. “this is your own wrongdoing.”

there was another knock at door. your head flew up from the desk and complete terror scorched your blood.

“not a good time!” jeonghan shouted. 

a voice sounded muffled from the opposite side, “mr. choi is here to see you!”

“fuck.” jeonghan cursed under his breath. “tell him i’ll be out in five!”

lucky for jeonghan, he was already extremely close to his climax. one hand tautly gripped your hip while he continued rubbing the flustered head of his cock between your infinite slick. the pleasure jolted through you like electric currents. it wasn’t long until he allowed himself to let go, his length pulsing as he came just at the opening of your slit. not enough to enter you, but to leave his release dripping thickly down your legs.

“i’ve made a mess of you, sweetheart.” he sounded delighted. “your pussy looks so pretty like this, covered in my cum.”

you mewled sharply as jeonghan got down on his knee behind you, his tongue then swirling into your clit and prodding along the edge of your opening, concocting a taste of your arousals mixed together. he must have decided to toss you a bone, because he licked passionately at you until you came, your chest heaving against the desk and a dim, fuzzy glow in your eyes.

pushing yourself up from the uncomfortable wood, you watched jeonghan secure his pants back on and attempt to straighten out his hair. 

“you can use the bathroom in my office to clean yourself.” he stated as he walked briskly toward the door. 

“thank you, sir.” you replied, nodding meekly. 

jeonghan gave you a particularly fond smile, one that you had never seen before, especially not when he was at work, acting cold and staid. it made something deep within your chest begin to shake.

“when i’m not fucking you against the window or eating you out on my desk, you can just call me jeonghan.”

a dense heat flooded your entire face. your lips parted in embarrassment and slight surprise. jeonghan had already left the room, though his head poked in shortly after to remind you about the board meeting you were to take notes at alongside soonyoung. 

that was something you most definitely hated, especially as soonyoung kept shooting you peculiar glances from the corner of his eye. 

Murder at Cripple Creek

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

A boomtown swimming with ghosts Dead eyes can't hide Their hedonist living Drinking, debauchery and sinning Scarlet ladies having babies But a whorehouse is not a home Trading flesh for coin Tempting patrons, at the sacrifice of your boy Little Charlie grew up in the hellish dark The sins of the mother Scarring the son's heart Murder brewing in this simmering fleshpot Oh Hateful Harlot, Mother Manx Is is to your neglect and bitter thanks Your baby boy, molested, and you can't protect Your little dreamer from the wicked world you wrought for him Blood on a beautiful boy's hands But the only thing murdered here Is his innocence. Sending his rapist and that lustful bitch Back to hell Charlie, Charlie you're not a villain You had to save yourself.......

Is...... anyone alive out there? It's been days, and I'm still sobbing, my heart desolated by the roiling emotional turmoil, my ignited rage murderous. I don't know about you guys, but...... I'm an absolute wreck. WHY are you DOING this to me, NOS4A2!?!? After the brilliant turn of last week, the sleek sophistication, and glamourous entrapment, "Cripple Creek," was a backhand strike, a blatant violation that I never saw coming, and I spent the entire episode, quivering, sobbing, pleading desperately behind my hands plastered over my face, watching between my fingers, helpless to stop the punishing abuse My Charlie suffers in two different timelines, his bruises of an abused childhood mingling with the fresh wounds of now, as he is tortured, beaten and berated by Bing Partridge!!!

I hated this episode. I HATED it. There, I said it. But I think you're supposed to, I think that was the sole purpose of this traumatizing ordeal. However, as far as Bing (GO TO HELL YOU FILTHY BASTARD) is concerned, the writer's motivation seems drastically convoluted. If this was supposed to be Bing's Big Epiphany, his "redemption," (Ughhh seriously?) This episode fails miserably in accomplishing that. And if this episode was meant to do, what I had predicted back in Season One, cement him as the actual villain of NOS4A2, making him the more immoral evil, be his rise in notoriety, his coming of age as it were, into the monster he was always going to be, giving Charlie and Vic someone to unite their hatred against, it fails to do that too. The biggest misstep of the series, after so elegant a triumph, I'm going to drown my sorrows in ice cream, and try to forget that any of it ever happened. Close your eyes, and think of Christmasland........

I audibly groaned when we opened onto Bing at the Lake House. After so much needless repetition in an otherwise FLAWLESS episode, I REALLY did not want to relive Bing's point of view of the siege, unless it was him getting shot by white knight Chris McQueen over, and over, and over........ Thankfully, the rewind didn't last too long, but I was having NONE of his, "Are you there, God, it's me, Bing Partridge," moment!!! On his knees in the graveyard, (Why...... why are we in a graveyard?) Bing appeals to the heavens, proclaiming his own innocence, asking God to show him what he should do next. I snickered coldly, the whole thing melodramatic, and absurd, as he cries, "I've been so good!!!" Secretly, I was fantasizing about Buffy SLAYING his creepster ass in the graveyard, beating him bloody, before staking him in the heart with a witty saying like, "It's been a gas, Bing, but I get the last laugh!!!" Alas, alack, no such luck. His appeal to the heavens was answered not in divine intervention, but with bird droppings splattering in his mouth, which of course, translated in Bing-A-Ling Logic to, "Kill the FIRST person that tries to help you, bury him in the freshly dug grave, and take his keys!!!" It's PRAYING Bing, you dolt, not preying!!!

While the side quest FINALLY explains how Bing was able to catch up to Charlie and Wayne, after previously believed to be on foot, not to mention shot, which would have been IMPOSSIBLE, supernatural car not withstanding, it's altogether unnecessary. It was the less than scenic route to get to last week's blood-curdling cliff hanger, and I really think we could have done without all the maudlin hullaballoo, and picked right up from there. Also, it creeped me out BIG TIME hearing Bing Partridge say, "Hidey holes," because that's what I called them last week, when Charlie was adorably telling Wayne about his hiding places. "Look at you with your hidey holes, Babe!!!" Needless to say, Bing has ruined that phrase for me FOREVER!!!

"Charlie, Charlie, telling lies, soon he will be crying cries......" A chilling foreboding that was like ice in my veins........ I was definitely crying cries...... I literally WEPT with this horrid little rhyme, and even still I was so naïve, unprepared, for the gut-churning horror that waited in the shadows of a broken little boy's murdered childhood, and the degradation of the beautiful soul that survived it. It's one of the most grueling, and disturbing things, I've ever watched, and like my Darling Boy, strapped to the chair, enduring forced interrogation by gassing, brutal beatings by Bing's homicidal, ham-fisted punches, and some....... deeply unsettling sexual innuendo, I felt like I was the one getting tortured.........

I did utterly enjoy Charlie's feigned relief, as he uses that silver tongue, in valiant effort, to slip his way out of this sickening predicament. "Bing, My Dear Fellow, thank the stars! I thought you had been done in by those wretched McQueens!!" Charlie gasps, thankfully, knowing full well he'd left Bing behind to die, and for good reason. Any other time, this would have worked, Charlie would have used his coaxing charm, and Bing's oafish gullibility, twisted them into a breathtaking manipulation, weaving the lie that he had no choice but to leave him behind, and Bing would have eaten it out of the palm of his hand, because he wants that badly for it to be true. But Bing watched it happen, his face falling, as Charlie sped off without him, and he's DONE playing. Charlie's pleas fall on deaf ears, as Bing drugs him for answers, revealing the fatalities of every single one of Charlie's former accomplices, and with the finality of one apocalyptic truth....... Bing descends into a frenzied, foaming madness.

"Cripple Creek," is the double edged sword that none of us were meant to survive. Switching between the stabbing scenes of Charlie's withering assault, his lifeline to The Wraith, cruelly severed, and the slicing violation of his childhood self, his innocence massacred before our very eyes, our bleeding hearts never stood a chance. I always knew that Charlie's childhood was going to be horrid, downright Dickensian, devoid of magic and light, unloved by his drunk, whore mother, but I had no idea the HELL this beautiful boy endured at so tender an age, forever scarred, betrayed by the one person he trusted, respected, desperately in need of a father figure, only to be exploited in the most heinous way. It's a MIRACLE My Precious Love can even function as an adult, much less still manage to find wonder and beauty in the world, clinging, clawing to hold onto his ember, his remnant of pure light that persevered in a life of darkness.

The inexplicable joy at seeing a young Charlie Manx, aged 11 or 12, tapdancing on stage, along with the giddy marvel that this young actor looks just like our leading man in miniature, is short-lived, as a stranger takes an uncomfortable interest in him....... I don't know how, maybe it was the intent way he watched him dance, or the way he touched his shoulder a little too long, but I knew........ I KNEW this man was going to sexually abuse Charles, I felt it gnawing in my stomach, instantly unnerved, and I hoped with all my heart, my first instinct was wrong....... I'm devastated to say........ it was not.

Not only does this manipulative pedophile Son of a BITCH molest my baby, he first uses him to persuade other boys to flock to his house, knowing full well how much the young ones look up to Charlie, as their leader. He wins Charlie's favour and trust by befriending him, and giving our little darling the one thing he wants more than anything else. Escape. Escape from the vulgar, gratuitously sexual environment, that no young boy should have to endure, a chance to make money, have an honest, respectable living. A chance to have a father figure, a man to look up to, learn from, and take him under his wing. The shop owner offers all of that, with a crooked smile, the charade falling dangerously away, as he knocks back a shot glass, eying our boy, and then says in the cruelest, most chilling voice. "You've earned yourself some fun........"

Thankfully, NOS4A2 was not overly graphic in this lewd portrayal, but the innuendo was enough to make me ugly cry, and seethe, as this sweet child is violated by someone he admires so much, realizing in horror, that he led all of his friends to be mishandled in this same disgusting manner, like lambs to the slaughter. But our brave little Manx was NOT going to let this sin go unpunished, and I clapped, cheering him on, as he uses his sled, now tainted by its means of acquisition, to kill the shopkeeper, dark fire flashing in his eyes, blood splattering on the shot glass, and I've never been so happy, or nervously relieved to see someone die.

His mother comes to him, and instead of crying, and taking her boy in her arms, stroking his dark curls, soothing his fear, and assuaging his guilt, she just scoffs at his accusation, the picture of apathy, and places the blame back on him. "You knew too, Charlie!!!" You WHORE-ABLE Mother!!! Your son was just sexually ASSAULTED, and YOU DARE make it his own fault, like he'd turned a blind eye, and therefore deserved to get raped!?!? Charlie might not have killed her, if she'd actually had a maternal bone in her body, if she'd done SOMETHING, shown any sign of regret or compassion, but she doesn't, and I feel nothing but proud as he finishes her off too. Her death was surprising, given the admonishing way Charlie talks about his mother, creating the impression that she'd been a bane on his existence his entire life, and yes, as a writer, I wanted to see more of a direct conflict between them to make that defining moment that much more satisfying, but as a viewer, I was just grateful she was dead, and Charlie was free. The only murder perpetrated, the only death I mourned at Cripple Creek, was that of Charlie's innocence, his childhood slaughtered.

Meanwhile, Bing continues to torture Charlie in the present day, my chest shuddering with every thrown punch, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. What was the deafening truth spoken that sends Bing Partridge into a flailing rage, you ask?

"Christmasland is for children. We are special...... That's why we can't go......."

Charlie was never going to take Bing to Christmasland. All that this poor dope had lived for, dreamed of, for eight years, amidst his conning his way into dentists' offices, and offing mothers, and it was always a lie. I had suspected it the entire time, especially after the mention of a, "special feast," but what SHOCKED me the most, was the unimaginable heartbreak of Charlie's own deepest secret coming to light, and as Bing draws it forth, it's like drawing blood. In spite of being the architect of his lifelong dream, and greatest solace from a life full of abject misery, Charlie doesn't think he deserves Christmasland, because he sees himself as ruined........

I broke down sobbing, that pain, that anguish, that he's so long carried with him, ripping through me, and I'm tearing up even as I write this, remembering....... Charlie denying himself his own dream, seeing himself as a ruined article that might profane its pure vision, is a tragedy that I can't come back from. It's a sorrowful, aching confession, and yet somehow it explains so much, and in this, his greatest pain, his darkest secret, I felt intimately closer to him. At last........ we see why Charlie never stays long in his Christmas kingdom, why he's so focused on the next child, and the next, sacrificing time with his own daughter, because they deserve Christmasland, and he doesn't. Always the courier, never the partaker. Christmasland is for children, and Charlie Manx never got the chance to be one.

The searing pains of his past still guide so much of who he is today, placing a strict emphasis on propriety in every aspect of his person, in manner, speech, and dress, because he was robbed of his dignity as a child. I also, FINALLY, after two seasons, understand why he turns the children into vampires, a contradiction to his love of them, that has remained frustratingly elusive to my grasp. Charlie's childhood was taken from him, brought to a vulnerable, violent end, and by turning the Lost Children, theirs becomes eternal. They never have to grow up, and lose that purity, that innocence. I also realized, that by giving them their bite back, they are able to defend themselves, meaning no one can ever hurt them again.......

There was so much awful going on, so much inflicted misery, and disorienting chaos, that I was sure I'd heard wrong when Bing decides on an even more dehumanizing method of torture. Did Bing just...... call Charlie a BITCH!? I shook my head, but there it was again, and at this point I'd HAD it. Somebody give me a GUN, I will WASTE this SICK BASTARD myself!!! The skeevy sexual threat against Charlie felt like overkill to me, utterly ridiculous, a cheap shot at adding dramatic effect, especially in the face of his childhood shame. Bing has exhibited absolutely no inclination of...... swinging that way, as it were, before, and yeah they kind of threw in last minute that he'd done this to Mike's father, offscreen, but I don't know WHY he would do that, especially given his particular affinity for Mike. Charlie, himself, pointed out that there was no indication in the Graveyard of What Might Be that Mike needed saving, or that his father deserved punishing. It's awkward, and disturbing, and there seemed to me no method in this madness.

"If I'm a monster....... who deserves to die....... You deserve so much worse." BAM. Hell yeah, Babe!!! Thank GOD, Charlie's quick enough to convince Bing that he too is a monster, and we are spared any further asinine innuendo. Bing, after these series of unfortunate events, beating, berating, and threatening Charlie with rape, suddenly, deus ex machina-esque has a change of heart, and an epiphany that comes a LOT TOO LATE!!! We're both monsters, we BOTH deserve to die....... What we're doing is WRONG. Was I happy when Bing urged Wayne to go, and tell a police officer that his mom is Vic McQueen? Yes. Do I believe he did it out of the goodness of his heart, and has finally seen the light? Freaking HELL NO!!! Bing, after losing Christmasland, has nothing left to live for, and this is his way of giving up. If I can't go to Christmasland, Wayne can't go...... and he decides a bizarre murder/suicide in The Wraith is his final act of redemption.

Before they even showed the car crusher, I was already sobbing profusely, losing my freaking mind, because I had figured out exactly where Bing had taken Charlie.

"There's going to be two less monsters in the world........"

Meaning to crush them both, and kill the Wraith irrevocably, Bing puts on his mask, and presses the button. At first Wayne laughs, and thinks it's a game, his inner vampire child coming out, but when it hits him that Charlie's in actual danger, he realizes he has a choice to make....... Save Charlie Manx, or let him die, and go home safe to his Mom and Lou.

"No, My Boy, this isn't a game, it's time to play, Save Father Christmas!!!"

Charlie calls out frantically, coaxingly to his young charge, and I loved that so much, my heart overwhelmed with emotion. Yes, Wayne, PRETTY PLEASE save Father Christmas!!! A lot of people despised him for what happened next, screaming at Wayne for his choice, even calling him a stupid kid, but I, myself, felt even more love in my heart for that already dearly cherished little lad, as he smiles, and slams down on the button, halting the crusher, and saving Charlie from imminent death.

It's a profound moment, the abductee choosing to save his kidnapper's life, and many cried out strongly against it, but you have to understand....... Charlie Manx has become so much more to Wayne than the scary face in his mother's paintings. Here is a man that has shown genuine interest in his life, his hopes, his dreams, who has treated him gently, fussed over him, concerned, and who has come to love him like a father. Couple that with The Wraith's effects on Wayne, slowly tying the two of them together, it makes perfect sense to me, how this unexpected bond has formed. Yes, had Vic been there, herself, he would have chosen her over Charlie in a second, but when faced with the reality of letting Charlie die, our tender-hearted Bats just couldn't do it.

"Do think of me at Christmastime, won't you?"

CHARLIE. LIKE. A. BOSS!!!! The single greatest moment, and brightest scene in an hour of plunging darkness, is definitely Charlie, snapping back into his delectably dark, unrivaled perfection (although, I must say I still found him incredibly dashing in his distinguished grays) charging Bing Partridge, murder striking in his wild, smouldering eyes, stabbing him, with a reveling whisper, twisting the knife, with this most PERFECT line, that gave me wonderous, reverberating chills!!! I also LOVED how Charlie glowers in his lumpy face and says, "You were never special." DAMN that's HOT!!! My only grievance with an otherwise ENTHRALLING moment, was that inexplicably, yet again, CHARLIE DIDN'T KILL BING!!! Charlie has KILLED for so much less, and while he did offer a vague explanation about prison being so much worse for Bing than hell, it felt like hell frozen over that Charlie would ever let Bing live. I know this is the writers wanting to keep Bing around to creep another day, but MY GOD, hang that Partridge from a pear tree, and HAVE DONE already!!!!!

This was an especially dark episode, but there were flashes of some really beautiful, albeit fleeting moments, first with Wayne and Craig, and then with Millie and Cassie, though the reoccurring theme, the common thread, did seem to be Innocence Lost. I was startled with the The Wraith's sneaky trick of causing a child to forget their parents the longer they are in the car, and BLESS YOU, Craig for helping your son remember his mother, and fight the transformation!!! He tells Wayne that Vic's favourite movie was Jaws, and Wayne tells him that her favourite holiday is the 4th of July. (Which is really cool, because it's my favourite too!!!) This slows the Wraith's effects on Wayne, and becomes a very special moment between father and son, as they fight to keep Vic's memory alive.

"How do you know my mom?"

"She was my best friend."

More overwhelmed sobs, because apparently I haven't cried enough this episode!!! Craig decides not to tell Wayne that he's his father, but our little Bats is ingeniously clever, and I think he's going to figure it out before long!!! Another mini heart attack comes with a second lost tooth. The suspense of Wayne's slow turning, mirroring the tender emotion in this scene was fantastic.

Millie and her mother have a similar moment, and I thought that was BRILLIANT of her to introduce Vampire Millie to her former human self. The two play with dolls, and human Millie talks about how she can't wait to go on a date, and have adventures when she grows up! It's such an endearing scene, and also incredibly sad, as the pale, gaunt shell of Vampire Millie envies her bright, and bubbly human counterpart, seeing the hope and innocence that she's so long been bereft of. "She's me...... Who I'm supposed to be." Cassie explains that her father's sad fantasy is depriving Millie of the gift of growing up, and explains that there's nothing Charlie Manx fears more than a woman with her own mind, and that's the LAST thing he wants his beloved daughter to become. A woman that would eventually leave him. More tears. Poor Millie. Poor Charlie!! Can I just give everybody a hug!?

"Cripple Creek," lingers like BAD Dream, and all I want to do right now, is curl up with Charlie Manx, hold him in my arms, stroke his cheek, soothe him with the tenderest hands, and softest words, tell him he's beautiful, and that he deserves Christmasland, and the world, that he's not ruined, but PURE!!! This was my least favourite episode in the entire series, and just like, "The Gas Mask Man," will be skipped indefinitely in the re-watch, but like I said, it endeared Charlie even more to my heart, and I feel fiercely protective over him, over that goodness that still glows in his dark eyes, despite lifetimes of feeling unloved, and in ever-present pain. All I ever wanted in Season One, was a glimpse into the past that crafted my mysterious and refined vampire chauffeur, and this entire experience, My Darlings, is an exercise in, "Be Careful What You Wish For..........."

The Outlaw and the Treasure Hunter - Chapter 6 - Business as Usual

Arthur rode into the camp, at horseshoe overlook. It had been a while, since he had been back. He'd intended to return, the day he'd first encountered Izzy, in the store. But his new endeavour, had kept him away. He felt rather pleased with himself. He had a decent amount to put in the box. It would still leave him with a reasonable amount, to pocket for himself.

He hitched his horse, and sauntered into the camp. He'd pick up a change of clothes whilst he was here, as well. He didn't intend staying to long. He still had to see to Elizabeth Pickett, and return to Valentine, to keep an eye on his little treasure hunter.

First things first. He headed over to Dutch's tent, and the camp box. He deposited Eight hundred dollars in the box, and entered it, into the ledger. After he had done that, he headed back to his tent, to sort out a change of clothes.

Dutch Van Der Linde, saw Arthur return. He'd been away from camp, longer than usual. He'd also seen him putting something in the box, and filling in the ledger. Dutch, opened the ledger, and scanned the last entry. He frowned. That was a lot for one person to have made, in such a short space of time. Not that he wasn't pleased, that the money was coming in. But he'd heard a few rumours, around the local town. About a stranger, killing folk, for only a few dollars. It concerned him, that it might be one of his people. They didn't make a habit, of randomly killing people, that were just trying to get by. Greedy people, who maybe had more than they needed, yes. But normal folks, that kind of went against the grain. What worried him more, was that the rumoured stranger, may well have been Arthur. Who was more like a son to him. Well to him, and Hosea.

Dutch saw Arthur, coming out of his tent.

"Arthur, son!" he called out, and beckoned him over.

Arthur grunted, when he heard his name being called. This was only supposed to be a flying visit. There were still places, he needed to be. He wandered across to Dutch's tent, huffing as he went.

"Arthur, where have you been," Dutch chided.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "bringing in money," he huffed, "It's what you wanted, ain't it?"

Dutch frowned, "sure, son. Its just, well that's a helluva lot of money, in one trip!"

Arthur sighed, "since when did you complain about the amount, I bring in. Thought you'd be pleased."

Dutch looked at Arthur, concern in his face, "It ain't that son, its just, well, I hope you ain't doing anything immoral, to come by such large amounts."

Arthur laughed, "we're outlaws Dutch, ain't that what we do. You can hardly rob people nicely." he hesitated, "anyway, wasn't killing that woman on the ferry, a touch immoral?"

Dutch glared at Arthur, "You know that was an accident. It ain't like we make a habit of killing innocent folk. I'm just worried about you son," he sighed, before continuing, "you've changed since Blackwater, got hard. I just wanna make sure, your not drifting in the wrong direction."

Arthur scratched his head, "Don't worry Dutch, I ain't doing nothin' bad. Hell I ain't even killed anyone in the last couple a days," he scoffed, as he turned and headed back to his horse.

Dutch watched Arthur walk away. He shook his head, something wasn't right.

He looked over to the campfire, and saw John. Catching his eye, he beckoned him over.

"Dutch!" John grunted, as he approached the gang leader.

Dutch lowered his voice, "listen son, I need you to do me a favour?"

John nodded, "Sure, Dutch. What d'ya need?"

"I want you to follow Arthur, just see what he's up to?" He whispered.

"What!" John exclaimed. "Why?"

Dutch sighed, "Please, son. Just humour me, something just don't feel right, I just wanna know what it is." He hesitated, "oh and John, don't let him know that you're following him."

John nodded, and headed to the horses, quickly mounting, as he saw Arthur heading out of camp.

Arthur headed to the cabin, where he had left Elizabeth Pickett. Completely unaware, that he was being followed.

He needed to sort her out, with food and water, before he went on another treasure hunting foray, with Izzy. It was going, so much better than he expected, apart from nearly loosing her over the side of a crevasse.

He also wondered what her mother was up to. The sort of stuff, that they had retrieved. The Picketts, should have been living like kings. It also seemed a little odd, that Mrs Pickett, would go all the way, to St. Denis, to sell the stuff. Especially when Seamus, was so close. Even if he had cheated her a little, she would still be getting a decent amount for what she was selling. It seemed a little suspicious. He was sure he could get the truth out of Elizabeth Pickett, with a little 'persuasion'.

Arthur arrived at the cabin and hitched his horse outside. When he went through the door.

Elizabeth, was at first startled. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you were going to leave me here, to die," she cried.

Arthur smirked, "its always an option, Mrs Pickett. You and I need to have a little chat, if I don't get the answers I want, then it might just happen!"

John saw the cabin, at the top of the hill, and Arthur's horse, hitched outside. He hitched his horse, in a clump of trees, at the bottom, and continued to the cabin, on foot.

Glancing through the window, he was shocked to see, a woman shackled to the bed, and the derisory look on Arthur's face.

He crouched, under the window, hoping to hear, any snippets of conversation.

Arthur glared at Elizabeth Pickett. "So tell me, where is the rest of the money, from Izzy's treasure hunting, 'cos it sure as hell ain't at your little homestead, in Valentine?"

Some of the colour, faded from Elizabeth Pickett's face, "I...I don't know what your talking about," she stuttered.

Arthur pulled his knife, and took a step towards her, pointing the blade at her throat, "I know what she finds, at these little treasure sites, and I also know what they're worth. So you better start talking! Unless you want you, or your pretty little daughter, to be cut up some!"

Elizabeth whimpered, "Please, don't hurt Izzy. I've been keeping some money in St. Denis."

Arthur withdrew the knife. "I'm guessing you're daughter ain't aware of that?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "once the treasure sites are spent, there'll be no more income."

Arthur sneered, "so once you've finished putting your daughter in danger, you'll head off, and leave her behind."

Elizabeth, shook her head, "its not like that, by the time it runs out, she'll be wed. I still need to live, with no husband, or other source of income."

Arthur stood, looking at Elizabeth Pickett, in disbelief, "and they say I'm the evil bastard, and the crook," he hesitated, then continued, "have you any idea, how dangerous it is, what your daughter does? She would have died today, if I hadn't been there."

Elizabeth stared blankly "It is, what it is."

Arthur laughed, "you couldn't care less about her. Was it your idea, for her to become a treasure hunter?"

Elizabeth sneered, there didn't seem to be any point in trying to hide the truth any more, "Yes, it was. Her father was against it, well the hunting. He was happy for her to learn about the maps. She would sit with him, in his study, when she was about fifteen, learning all about maps. It got to a point, when she could read the maps, better than him," she scoffed. "He was weak, I knew it wouldn't be long before he died, one way or another. So on her eighteenth birthday, I persuaded him, to take her hunting. After that, he started to teach her. She started to become better at it, than him."

Arthur picked up the empty jug and refilled it with water, and chucked some salted beef and biscuits on the bed.

"When I come back Mrs Pickett, we'll be taking a trip, to St. Denis, to collect your stash. Your lucky you got a stash, 'cause if you didn't, I'd leave you here to rot." He snarled.

By this time, John had heard enough. He crept away from the cabin, and back to where his horse was tethered.

A few moments later, he saw Arthur, leave the cabin, and mount his horse.

He guessed he was heading to Valentine, to go back to this woman's daughter. He decided to follow Arthur, to Valentine, to see where he had the daughter, then report back to Dutch.

Arthur, arrived in Valentine, just as the sun was beginning to set. Giving everything an orange glow.

He hitched his horse, next to Izzy's. Unlocked the front door, and closed it behind him.

John, who had still been following, at a distance, looked at the house. He doubted he would be able to glean much more information. At least he knew where the house was now, and likely the woman's daughter, was inside somewhere. Deep down, he felt like barging in, and asking Arthur what the hell he thought he was doing, but he decided, to do as Dutch had asked him. So he headed back to camp, to provide Dutch with the information, he had obtained.

Arthur climbed the stairs, and headed to Izzy's room.

As he went in, he was pleased to find, Izzy, still tied up. He was, however, surprised to see that she had been crying. Tears still glistening on her cheeks.

Arthur took out his knife, and cut the cords, that bound her ankles. He helped her to sit. He gently touched her face, and wiped the tears away with his thumb. "What's the matter princess, did you miss me?" he smirked.

Izzy, not wanting to look him in the eye, looked down, "I...I thought, you weren't coming back." she stuttered.

Arthur reached behind her, and cut the cords, on her wrists. They'd already started to cut in, and had left red friction burns, on her wrist.

He gently held her wrists, on in each hand. Rubbing the sore spots, gently, with his thumb.

After a while, he put his hand under her chin, and gently tilted it up, so that she was looking at him, "I told you, princess, I'm gonna look after you, and I will." he whispered.

Izzy blinked, not quite sure what to make of the man. One minute, he was rough and aggressive, the next soft and sensitive.

Arthur let go of Izzy, and stood up. "C'mon" he said gruffly, "get downstairs." He delved into his satchel, and handed her the map, that they had retrieved from the falls. "I want you to check that out, or look at the others you have. We'll head out again tomorrow."

Izzy slipped off the bed, and headed downstairs, closely followed by Arthur. She was quite surprised, when he didn't follow her, into her fathers study.

The maps were still scattered across the desk, where she had put them, the night that Arthur broken in. She quickly put them back into the drawer, with the exception of the map she had been working on, and the new one.

She was pretty certain, that the map she had been working on, was referring to Cotorra Springs. She put it to one side, and took a look at the new map. She frowned, then looked at the large map of the five states, concentrating on an area in the Grizzlies.

She was so engrossed in the maps, she didn't notice Arthur walk into the study.

Arthur stood there, watching Izzy, pour over the maps, first looking at the treasure map, then taking a magnifying glass, and looking at the map, that was spread out on the desk.

He put his hand on Izzy's shoulder. Izzy gasped, in surprise.

Arthur squeezed her shoulder, "well? Where are we heading?"

Izzy wanted to shrug, his hand of her shoulder, but she new better, than to do that. She handed him the two treasure maps. Which made him release the grip, so that he could take them.

"One of them points towards Cotorra Springs, the other O'Creagh's run." She stated.

Arthur nodded, and handed the maps, back to Izzy. "We'll head to Cotorra Springs, tomorrow, now you better have something to eat, C'mon."

Izzy stood up and walked through to the main room. She was surprise to see, there was hot food, already prepared on the table.

She looked at the food, then looked at Arthur.

Arthur pointed at the food, "Eat!" he grunted.

Izzy sat down, and started to eat, suddenly realising how hungry she was. She'd had nothing since this morning.

Arthur sat down opposite, and ate the food that he had prepared. Glancing over at Izzy every so often.

After Izzy had finished, she took a deep breath, "Mister Morgan, may I go to bed now?" she asked, knowing the last time, she'd try to go somewhere, without asking, he'd become very Irate.

Arthur stood up, and walked around the table, until he was standing behind her.

He traced the tips of his fingers, from her neck, down her arms, feeling the skin through the fabric of her shirt. Once his fingers reached her hands, he held them tightly, so that his arms, were pressing against hers. He leaned his head, into the side of hers. She felt his stubble, graze her cheek. Izzy drew in a stuttered gasp, as her heart, thudded in her chest.

Arthur sniffed, deep. Taking in her scent, like a wolf. He gently kissed her neck, "goodnight, Princess," he purred, "and remember the rules, no locked doors!"

He released his grip, and slowly stepped away from the table, smirking.

She nodded, as she felt a shiver down her spine.

Izzy quickly left the table, and hurried up the stairs. Once she was in her room, she quickly closed the door. She decided tonight, she would sleep in her clothes.

Verifying a list of “hateful feminist quotes”. (From S to Z + groups and anonymous individuals)

Final part of my rebuttal at all those lists that are supposed to show how feminism is evil, but in practice shows how anti-feminists rely on an extremely inaccurate (and, in some parts, deliberately lying) list.

"Colored people are like human weeds and are to be exterminated."

Margaret Sanger

False.

"The most merciful thing a family can do to one of its infant members is to kill it."

Margaret Sanger, founder of planned parenthood

True, but extremely edited; not hateful. I’ve bolded the parts that anti-feminists didn't bother to include in the list:

"Thus we see that the second and third children have a very good chance to live through the first year. Children arriving later have less and less chance, until the twelfth has hardly any chance at all to live twelve months."

"This does not complete the case, however, for those who care to go farther into the subject will find that many of those who live for a year die before they reach the age of five."

"Many, perhaps, will think it idle to go farther in demonstrating the immorality of large families, but since there is still an abundance of proof at hand, it may be offered for the sake of those who find difficulty in adjusting old-fashioned ideas to the facts. The most merciful thing that the large family does to one of its infant members is to kill it. The same factors which create the terrible infant mortality rate, and which swell the death rate of children between the ages of one and five, operate even more extensively to lower the health rate of the surviving members."

(Yeah, anti-feminists cut out a LOT.)

Also: she was talking about using birth control to deal with unwanted pregnancies. Not about using infanticide to kill already-born children.

“I do want to be able to explain to a 9-year-old boy in terms he will understand why I think it’s OK for girls to wear shirts that revel in their superiority over boys.”

– Treena Shapiro

Unverifiable.

“In general, I support a girl’s right to offend any member of the opposite sex who happens to cross her path. In fact, I’d much rather see a little girl wearing a shirt that mocks boys than one that turns them on.”

– Treena Shapiro

Also unverifiable. In fact, I think it's not even hateful at all: it points out a double standard where there's a lot of men's shirts that mock women, while a lot of women's shirt are designed to look "seductive" to men - and the reverse doesn't happen.

(Small diversion: while I tried to look for this quote's source, I found this ebook. The 2-3 pages I read sound like a book version of these "List of hateful feminist quotes" lists.)

[insert literally any quote from the SCUM Manifesto]

Valerie Solanas

I won't give a different rating to each individual quote, given how these kinds of lists tend to have many, many, so fucking many quotes from Solanas. I'll only give a general rating.

Usually, in these "hateful feminist quotes" lists, all of the Solanas quotes are true and hateful, and come from the SCUM (Society for Cutting Up Men) manifesto she wrote in 1967. However, I’m doubtful that they count as “quote by a famous feminist”, considering that:

SCUM was never founded - it stopped at its manifesto;

Feminists’ opinion of SCUM at the time was divided between “What is wrong with you, Valerie?” and “This is satire in really bad taste”;

Feminists’ opinion of SCUM today is divided between “What is wrong with you, Valerie?” and “Who the hell is Valerie Solanas?”;

Absolutely nobody, feminist or not, condoned Solanas’ attack on Andy Warhol; and

Solanas's attack on Warhol wasn't motivated by her feminist beliefs.

“We are, as a sex, infinitely superior to men.”

– Elizabeth Cady Stanton

True, possibly hateful. But I want to point out something: this quote is from 1890. This is what anti-feminists believe modern feminism to be? Really? Haven’t they heard of how feminism isn’t a monolith, how there have been various discussions, schisms and revolutions during feminism's history, how there’s a lot of positions and criticism - oh, right, I forgot, feminism is evil and has always been the same since the dawn of time, duh. (# sarcasm)

“The more famous and powerful I get the more power I have to hurt men.”

- Sharon Stone; Actress

Almost 100% false. It also seems that Sharon either wasn’t a feminist during those years, or chose to not display her feminist beliefs back then. In either case, Sharon Stone cannot be considered a significantly important feminist by any stretch of the word.

"If the classroom situation is very heteropatriarchal--a large beginning class of 50 to 60 students, say, with few feminist students--I am likely to define my task as largely one of recruitment...of persuading students that women are oppressed,"

Professor Joyce Trebilcot of Washington University, as quoted in Who Stole Feminism: How Women Have Betrayed Women.

Hm, this is an interesting one.

It’s unverifiable. Yes, AGAIN. No, it doesn’t count that it’s (supposedly) in Christina Sommers’ book “Who Stole Feminism” - she still needs to source the quote. As far as I can tell, Sommers mught've just made that quote up and falsely attributed it to Trebilcot.

Not only that, but the quote  looks like it has been truncated. Considering the level of this list, I’m quite suspicious every time I see some ellypsis.

By the way: Sommers? Really?

“Men are animals. Don’t you think so?”

– Ireen von Wachenfeldt, radical feminist leader in Sweden

True and hateful, apparently (given that she quoted SOOOLAAANAAASS). Here's the link to the Wikipedia page on her - you'll have to run it on Google Translate or similar, though.

On another note: of all the quotes in anti-feminists' lists of "hateful feminist quotes" that are actually hateful quotes, it's noticeable how many of those come from Solanas alone. It’s almost as if anti-feminists focus excessively on her, and use her as the base that forms their opinion of all feminists.

I wondered if the woman married to a pig had read this ... Did that mean that all over the globe, in all innocence, women were marrying beasts? ... Why are so many men really beasts? "

Jeanette Winterson "Oranges are Not the Only Fruit" 1993, pp.71 -76

Fictional. The novel is about a lesbian girl growing up in a Pentecostal community. At one point, various religious people from that same community take the main character and her girlfriend, and subject them to exorcism.

In response to a question concerning China’s policy of compulsory abortion after the first child, Molly Yard responded, “I consider the Chinese government’s policy among the most intelligent in the world”

(Gary Bauer, “Abetting Coercion in China,” The Washington Times, Oct. 10, 1989).

Unverifiable. There is no trace of the quote in the "Washington Times", but I think that I found the original source: the American Life League, an evidently anti-abortion group. You'll forgive me if I treat that source with all the respect it deserves.

...

We aren't done yet, though! Here's some more quotes from organizations or unknown individuals!

"We are taught, encouraged, moulded by and lulled into accepting a range of false notions about the family. As a source of some of our most profound experiences, it continues to be such an integral part of our emotional lives that it appears beyond criticism. Yet hiding from the truth of family life leaves women and children vulnerable."

Canadian Panel on Violence Against Women.

Unverifiable and not hateful. It sounds like they’re talking about how a lot of assumptions and myths about “proper” families have lead women to believe that abuse is a “normal” part of a relationship.

MALE: represents a variant of or deviation from the category of female. The first males were mutants...the male sex represents a degeneration and deformity of the female.

MAN: an obsolete life form... an ordinary creature who needs to be watched...a contradictory baby-man...

TESTOSTERONE POISONING: ... ‘Until now it has been though that the level of testosterone in men is normal simply because they have it. But if you consider how abnormal their behavior is, then you are led to the hypothesis that almost all men are suffering from "testosterone poisoning."

From 'A Feminist Dictionary; ed. Kramarae & Triechler, Pandora Press, 1985

Unverifiable. The book DOES exist. What does NOT exist, is scans of it. Nor are there extensive citations of it - the only ones around are the same ones anti-feminists uses, same ellipsis and all. And, frankly, whoever first wrote this list has done such a sloppy job fact-checking this list that, by this point, I don’t trust them if they said that the sky is blue.

"Women have their faults- men have only two: everything they say and everything they do."

Popular Feminist Graffiti

Goddammit. Yet ANOTHER joke from a collection of jokes. No indication whatsoever this was from a feminist.

"Men, as a group, tend to be abusive, either verbally, sexually or emotionally. There are always the exceptions, but they are few and far between (I am married to one of them). There are different levels of violence and abuse and individual men buy into this system by varying degrees. But the male power structure always remains intact."

Message on FEMISA, responding to a request for arguments that men are unnecessary for a child to grow into mature adulthood.

Oh, now you’re just grasping at straws - misattributed. This quote is not from the FEMISA staff; it's from an e-mail sent to FEMISA. Come on - I thought this was a list of hateful quotes from *relevant* feminists - not from any random anon down the street!

"Clearly you are not yet a free-thinking feminist but rather one of those women who bounce off the male-dominated, male-controlled social structures. Who cares how men feel or what they do or whether they suffer? They have had over 2000 years to dominate and made a complete hash of it. Now it is our turn. My only comment to men is, if you don't like it, bad luck - and if you get in my way I'll run you down."

Letter to the editor, signed: "Liberated Women", Boronia Herald-Sun, Melbourne, Australia - 9 February 1996

Unverifiable. Once again, the only places where this quote pops up are lists of “hateful feminist quotes”. And judging by the quality of this list, that isn’t nearly enough.

“The simple fact is that every woman must be willing to be identified as a lesbian to be fully feminist”

(National NOW Times, January, 1988).

Unverifiable (supposedly written in 1988). There’s a lot of citations for this particular quote (many from copies of this list), but no image of the original.

“We identify the agents of our oppression as men…….ALL MEN HAVE OPPRESSED WOMEN…..We do not need to change ourselves, but to change men……The most slanderous evasion of all is that women can oppress men.”

–The Redstockings Manifesto

True, but out of context. Once again, anti-feminists have deliberately cut out various parts of the original manifesto. Here's the full quote (the bolded parts are the ones anti-feminists cut out):

"III    We identify the agents of our oppression as men.  Male supremacy is the oldest, most basic form of domination.  All other forms of exploitation and oppression (racism, capitalism, imperialism, etc.) are extensions of male supremacy: men dominate women, a few men dominate the rest.  All power structures throughout history have been male-dominated and male-oriented.  Men have controlled all political, economic and cultural institutions and backed up this control with physical force.  They have used their power to keep women in an inferior position.  All men receive economic, sexual, and psychological benefits from male supremacy. All men have oppressed women."

"IV    Attempts have been made to shift the burden of responsibility from men to institutions or to women themselves.  We condemn these arguments as evasions.  Institutions alone do not oppress; they are merely tools of the oppressor.  To blame institutions implies that men and women are equally victimized, obscures the fact that men benefit from the subordination of women, and gives men the excuse that they are forced to be oppressors.  On the contrary, any man is free to renounce his superior position, provided that he is willing to be treated like a woman by other men."

"We also reject the idea that women consent to or are to blame for their own oppression. Women's submission is not the result of brain-washing, stupidity or mental illness but of continual, daily pressure from men.  We do not need to change ourselves, but to change men."

"The most slanderous evasion of all is that women can oppress men.  The basis for this illusion is the isolation of individual relationships from their political context and the tendency of men to see any legitimate challenge to their privileges as persecution."

So, to sum it up:

Systemic sexism is caused by men.

All men benefit from this oppressive system.

Various people have tried to shift the blame for systemic sexism on "the institutions", which wrongly implies that both men and women are equally affected by sexism, and that men have no choice but to act as oppressors.

Various people have also tried to shift the blame on women, falsely claiming that sexism exists because women deliberately "consent" to be subjected to sexism.

Various people fail to see sexism as a systemic problem; instead, they wrongly paint it as a collection of individual acts that have no relation with each other.

When an oppressive system is challenged, the privileged group does not see that as "the dismantling of an unjust system"; instead, it sees that as "unjust persecution, and an attempt to upturn equality".

This is pretty accurate, and isn't hateful.

“We regard our personal experience, and our FEELINGS about that experience, as the basis for an analysis of our common situation. We cannot rely on existing ideologies as they are all the products of male supremicist culture.”

– The Redstockings Manifesto

True, but not hateful. Oh, no, feminists dare to talk about all their personal experiences about sexism and how they feel about it; and they also dare to reject existing sexist explanations of why sexist gender roles are just "natural". How dare they.

Also, why is "feelings" in all-caps like that? Is this the usual jab that women are emotional and therefore "inferior" to the logical men? Because that jab is shit.

FMS stands for: Full of Mostly (Bull) shit; For More Sadism; Felons, Murdereres, Ssumballs; Frequent Molesters Society

From a February 1995 handout at the "Stone Angels" satanic ritual abuse conference in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada. The conference was supported financially by the Ontario Government

Unverifiable. And frankly too ridiculous to be true.

"All men are good for is fucking, and running over with a truck".

Statement made by A University of Maine Feminist Administrator, quoted by Richard Dinsmore, who brought a successful civil suit against the University in the amount of a $600,000.1995 settlement Richard had protested the quote; was dismissed thereafter on the grounds of harassment; and responded by bringing suit against the University..

Unverifiable. It IS true that Dinsmore sued the university due to, in his own words, “man-hating feminists”; HOWEVER, there’s no mention of the quote itself.

"Masculine sexuality involves the oppression of women, competition among men, and fear of homosexuality." "Rape is the end logic of masculine sexuality." "Male sexuality is negative."

Introductory texts for Women's Studies Courses at UCLA including: "More Power than We Want: Masculine Sexuality and Violence" by

Bruce Kokopeli and George Lakey [Cited in TNV]

Unverifiable.

And that’s it. The VAST MAJORITY of quotes are either not-hateful once we actually see the context (and paste back all the parts that anti-feminists censored behind ellypsis); or, their origin cannot be verified (and therefore we can’t be sure whether they actually came from feminists). Some quotes came from works of fiction and were spoken by fictional characters; they aren’t statements that the author personally made and supported. Of the remaining quotes that are both verified and hateful, a GIANT chunk of them is comprised entirely of Valerie Solanas - which isn’t held in much regard by modern feminists. In fact, I’m pretty sure many don’t even know about her.

Being bullied for your hobbies

I didn’t experience any kind of teasing or bullying for my hobbies in school until my second year of middle school, which is, ironically, the same year my Pokemon fandom began. Unfortunately I went to a private and snobby middle school, and none of my classmates shared my interest in it. One reason could be that I got into Pokemon at an older age than most kids at that time; the majority of kids getting into it were around 7-10 years old while I was 13-14. So many of the younger boys at my school were into it, so of course, being in middle school where peer pressure is rampant, you were considered a nerd if you were older than them but liked the same things. All the girls my age were into boys, glamour, dating, the latest hit movies and TV shows, and other teenager stuff. So liking Pokemon and cartoons at my age was out of the question! As far as actual incidents of bullying, there was one girl in particular who would always mock my Pokemon obsession. She wouldn’t attack me directly per se, but she’d do it by making subtle comments in my presence. For example, she had a 6 year old brother who also liked Pokemon and one day when I brought my Poke-Dex toy to school, she said something like “Oh, my brother has that, but he’s 6 years old…the right age.” And another time when I brought a magazine to school that had Pokemon fan art drawn by artists in their late teens and I showed it to her, trying to prove to her that older teenagers like Pokemon too, she said “Well, they must have no life.” Then another time when I took a Pokemon book out of my locker, she tried to take it away from me and give me a fashion magazine instead.

There were countless other incidents like that with her, and a few with other students too. When we were talking about going to high school one day in class, and this other girl found out I like Pokemon, she was like “You’re going to high school? Drop the Pokemon” (wish I could tell her now how Pokemon is what helped me make friends in high school!) Then I remember another time Pokemon somehow came up in the topic the teacher was discussing and some boy blurted out “Isn’t Pokemon for preschoolers or something?” and the whole class laughed while I just sat there feeling awkward. I even recall a couple of my teachers saying Pokemon is stupid, and one time, when I had brought my Pokemon Red version to play on the bus when we were on a school trip, one of my teachers noticed it and, after confirming that it was Pokemon I was playing, he asked the girl next to me “You like Pokemon too?” and she said “No, I hate Pokemon!” Then he turned back to me and said, “Hear that? She HATES Pokemon!” I don’t think I responded at all and just continued to feel bad.

As you can see, compared to extreme bullying cases you hear about, this is pretty mild. I wasn’t being verbally or physically abused and no one was vandalizing my stuff or anything like that. It was just a lot of hurtful remarks which, at that impressionable age, inhibited my self-esteem and made me keep thinking something was wrong with me for not being like everyone else. Luckily I had a couple of friends outside of school who liked Pokemon and I could share my hobby with.

Thankfully I went to a public high school with thousands of students, so there were plenty of “nerds” like me who liked anime and video games. That, together with the fact that during those years, anime was becoming more well known as a form of entertainment for adults too, with anime DVDs becoming available everywhere and anime airing on TV via Adult Swim and Toonami, so that helped make it more acceptable to like by the time I got to high school. Surprisingly, despite covering my school notebook in anime pictures and wearing anime shirts to school, I don’t recall being put down about it at all. Everyone just ignored it, or, if they were anime fans too, they’d compliment my stuff. That’s how I made a lot of friends in high school actually. It was also around this time that I started learning how lucky I was in terms of having a mom who supported my anime fandom and didn’t put me down for liking so-called childish things. A couple of my friends in high school weren’t so lucky and were constantly being harassed by their parents for liking “cartoons” at their age. While my mom was always buying me the anime stuff I wanted, it baffled me how my friends’ parents would never buy them anime stuff for their birthday, Christmas, etc., even though that’s what they really liked. Some years later when I was in college and I was telling one of these friends how my other friends who like anime got accepted to these prestigious universities, she said she had to tell her mom about that – that she had to prove to her mom that you could be an anime fan and still be smart and do well in school. It made me sad to think that people were that ignorant.

Luckily my only account of bullying in school was when I was into Pokemon in middle school, and luckily I never had any family members put me down about liking the stuff I like either (since my family is basically just my mom and she has total respect for it, and the 2-3 other family members I have I’m hardly in touch with, but they don’t mind either). But besides school and home, there is another place where you have no choice but to interact with people who might not approve of your tastes: the workplace. At my first job at a greeting card/gift store, a few of the girls working there would tease me about liking anime, insisting that it was all hentai and I was watching perverted stuff. Of course I would try to tell them that not all anime is hentai, but they wouldn’t listen. I would even fantasize about how I would someday get up the nerve to tell them about the stories of good anime series I was watching at the time, like Nana and Fullmetal Alchemist, so they couldn’t keep saying all anime is hentai and may even get interested in watching it themselves (I never did get up the nerve though). But it wasn’t anything serious, just a few remarks here and there, and unlike being teased for liking Pokemon as a kid, I was an adult by then and I didn’t let it get me down at all. It was just a little annoyance.

Looking back on these incidents now, I have to say that it’s true that people act differently as a group than by themselves. Back in middle school, most of the girls acted alright when it was just me and them. Even that one girl who always teased me about Pokemon acted nice to me when it was just me and her. I remember we used to both get dropped off early to school before most of the other kids and so we’d hang out together and I’d be playing Pokemon and she wouldn’t have any snide remarks. Sometimes she’d even talk to me about it in a friendly way. But once the other girls were around, she changed her tune. Another girl even went so far as to act like she liked Pokemon too when it was just me and her, saying how she would have certain Pokemon cards I would tell her about. But then she’d make fun of it as soon as the other kids were around. And even among the adults at my first job, they wouldn’t make any hentai comments when it was just me and one of them, only when they were in a group. It really is interesting how people can be persuaded to act differently than they normally would when they’re in a group and they don’t have enough self-confidence to overcome peer pressure. Which is why I’ve always felt that “I like individuals, but not people so much.” Unless the thing that someone likes is immoral and by taking part in it they’re causing actual harm to others, I don’t think anyone should be put down for the things they enjoy.

Anyway, I guess I’m lucky that my mom always respected my hobbies, and once I got away from that snobby middle school, I met a ton of fellow anime fans throughout the rest of my school years, many of which I’m still friends with today. And at my last job and the one I’m currently at, I haven’t had any teasing. In fact, I’ve met many coworkers with the same interests. I even have a group of coworkers from my old job that I get together with sometimes outside of work to play Pokemon and talk about anime. And at my current job, I completely decorated my office desk with Disney, Pokemon, and other cartoon/game pictures and figures and nobody cares – most of my coworkers think it’s cool actually =) I really feel that during the past several years it’s becoming more and more acceptable for the adults of the new generations to like these kinds of things. If that’s the case, I’m very glad for it ^_^

*This is a revision of a previous post I wrote on my old anime blog. You can also comment on the revised post here*

*Crossposted from my main blog, Yume Dimension*

Impractical Vengeance

Arabella Evans, Patient 2413. Arabella, isn’t it lovely to the tongue and even more innocent to the eye? Innocent I was far from. I always knew I was far from the norm; I never once was able to fit in anywhere. My father, ah dear old dad, always used to tell me I was special. And special I was. Never did I meet a child quite like myself, I was the only one. Not that I gave a rats ass to even begin with. Special in a way a child would not wish, nor would a parent wish such a thing. It was not uncommon for a child to develop what I had been diagnosed with—schizophrenia, though uncommon at such an early age and this is why I was special. Unable to process any such psychological feelings of awareness, feeling or motivation, but yet, I felt so strongly. Often, I would sit and cry, silently watching the tears escape from tear ducts, how free they had become, and how free of this I wanted to be, to be me again and not just the girl with the disorder that no one was able to understand, just the one that had something wrong with her. Staring out in to the night, I prayed to the skies above to free me of this curse, of course my prayers were never answered and still I lived this way. It seemed so far, so out of reach; would I ever really know what freedom felt like? If I was not being controlled by the side effects of the many medications, my father would assume this position. His actions were solely fuelled by love of me, but still, I wished for freedom. Time, time here moves so slowly, a constant tick-tocking, but it wasn’t always like this, no. Time once did soar. But always on the weekends, when my mother was no longer with us, called to numerous work meetings in the next town over, or that time she had to visit Venice, but I was not without her, every night at 7 o’clock she would call, “Arabella have you taken your pills, sweetheart?” Of course I had, though I was certain they were unnecessary and I did not need them. I didn’t mind much, father assured me they would make the voices go away, and truth be told? I had never noticed any, perhaps this was down to the medication I was made to religiously take every day, feelings of drowsiness always ensued, so therefore I was dependant on my father, he worried so, constantly feared that without him by my side some tragic accident would take place. One night, after my bed time, my father slipped in beside me, his cool coarse fingertips began to caress the exposed skin where my night shirt had ridden up, for fear of percussion I did not question his motives, instead allowed him to wield me to convey the actions he wanted, nor did I want to open my eyes to reveal the situation at hand, though I complied with the demand told. Locking my gaze with this, I couldn’t help but notice a fiery passion highlighting his usually dim irises. What had caused this? Reassuring me that all was well, and only special girls received this kind of treatment, he continued to perform his actions with precise nature, removing his penis from the confines of his boxers and inserting it in to my prepubescent cunt, not that this bothered him in the slightest, pleasure never was absent. Crying in to the material of my pillow, I wished this to end. Why was he doing this? Had I done something to upset him and this was my punishment? No. It was my ‘reward’. To my surprise, more often than not he would caress my cheek and wipe away the tears that fell. “Ssssh, ssssh, my special girl, be a good girl for daddy.”  A glimpse of a smile played at my lips, it was simple, if I was a good girl this would stop, surely. How wrong I had been, this continued for the next thirteen years of my life; the same routine over and over, a secret never to be told, a secret to take to the grave. By now I was old enough to make my own decisions, I was eighteen. And with this new found power of my own, I decided I would no longer continue to take my pills, they were not needed and I knew this. This my father did not agree with, he persisted that without them I would not be able to live a decent quality of life, albeit, in actual fact it was he that would not be able to live decently if he did not have control over me. Stuck in a loveless marriage he was to coward to end, now at a loss as he no longer could control his daughter for his satisfactory needs. Observing him for the weeks, I weened myself off my pills, it became obvious. There was nothing wrong with me, I had no disorder, I became the control he needed and no more would I live like this, disenfranchised of my freedom and rights for far too long. Used as an object at the very earliest of my time. I was smart, and perhaps, a little too methodical in my approach to gain revenge, an act of atrocity. Those with corrupted souls, and immoral wrongs that festered in the abyss of minds could obtain such happiness from such malevolent acts. Perhaps, it drives us to embrace who we truly are, and which leads me to convey this disastrous act. Dragging the very point of the knife in hand against the wall in the hallway, I caught my reflection in the shine of the blade, my eyes glistened with an undying excitement and my heart raced at the sheer anticipation. It was perfect; I would execute my plan with precise precision. They would never know what hit them, some part of me did pity the end my mother would come to, she had never been one to hurt me, and she had always treated me fair. I was the apple of her eye. But this is how it had to be, she had to meet the same fate as he. Maybe I really was crazy, inside niggled a faint whisper coaxing me to finish the deed I set out on, the devil on my shoulder, but I was sure not even he was capable of what I was about to do. Silently, and without noise I crept upon them, first I would take my mother out, I had to make that bastard of a man suffer, and what better way of doing so would be the witnessing of his wife brutally murdered by his special girl. Sliding my tongue over the blade to begin with, I brought it down to slash across my mother’s throat, relishing in the shower of crimson I did not stop there, I hacked until her head came away completely, and there I stood, with my fist tightly entwined in a clump of her hair, and her head hanging freely, never had I heard my father scream with such terror before, and oh boy did I enjoy it. Turning her now decapitated head to face me, I spoke. “And what a shame, you came, to face, the merciful act set upon him.” Mounting her head atop the low hanging beam, I proceed to slice her abdomen, just enough to pull her innards out, all the while I sang the lullaby I so vividly remember her singing to me as a young child, I paid little attention to my father, I was far too busy constructing my masterpiece. I rather enjoyed art, and this art was about to come alive, or rather appearing alive. Licking her blood from my fingers, a contented moan slipped free. Oh how this was turning me on, making me wet. Finally, turning on him, he stood rigid, tears stained his cheeks and pleas fell free. Pathetic; pathetic man, like any apology would save him from the fate he had secured long ago. “Reap what you sow.” Was all I spoke, inching my way closer, he flinched however did not move, the horror that gripped at his every fibre rendered him unable to move, this I was glad of. Forcing him to kneel beneath the makeshift cross I had made out of my mother, I slid the blade across his cheek, and how he would suffer at my hands just like I had suffered at his. Cackling as the blood from the wound on his cheek stained his collar; I leant to press a kiss to his head. My intention was to torture every single pint out of his body, but upon reflection and the obvious request in his gaze, persuaded me otherwise. No longer could I deal with his pathetic existence any longer. He was to meet his end, driving the blade in to his jugular vein, I cheered as his blood began to squirt, it was like rain and I was soaked. Christmas had come early. Prompting his now lifeless body to stay upright was a task I had not anticipated, but with every success comes failure. This was not the case. Wiping what blood stained my hands, I stood back to admire my masterpiece. There my mother hung like some spectacular statue, and there my father rest, upon his knees, praying. He better pray, pray that heaven would allow him access, he had already encountered Hell and he was not fond of it. Ah, memories. Weren’t they spectacular? Not as spectacular as the night I had committed my revenge I so sought, but nevertheless, even the memory was able to bring me immense happiness. That is what landed me here, in this godawful house with the nut-jobs, the senile, and the paranoid. Even today I congratulate myself on my well executed plan, it had been two years and still the FBI were unable to pin point even one potential suspect. I was in the clear and forever would I stay this way.