#turning this conversation into a misogynistic rant is fucking ridiculous

[sunfudge]

This man should not be allowed to discuss the public perception of serial killers both in the past and present

[duskamethyst]

attitude.

a/n: i had to edit this so many times for a month.

word count: 2.1k

genre: smut, nsfw

warnings: dubcon kinda, daddy kink, masturbation, semi public, slight exhibitionism, slight sexism, degradation, slight dacryphilia, angry fucking

pairing: ukai x f!reader

you open the door to the shop, greeted by the guy you knew too well, only that his whole face is hidden behind the newspaper, obvious that he is smoking a cigarette from the smell that stings your nose and the smoke around him. you aren’t having the best of days so naturally, you begin to rant about the hard ass professor from your class. you glance at your boyfriend mid-rant, who still has his nose stuck on the article.

“he didn’t like my proposal and he had the audacity to say some misogynistic shit like, the amount of makeup i wore to class and all that shit.” you continue, but the other party only hums in response. 

“like, what does that have to do with my work? he probably thinks that i’m some kind of a bimbo. it’s ridiculous– keishin, are you even listening to me?”

ukai puts out his cigarette on the ashtray and flipped through the paper and nods, “yeah, i hear you.”

“well, you could’ve said something to make me feel better.” you grunt, crossing your arms across your chest as your eyes glare through the papers in search of ukai’s face as if you have the ability to see through objects. 

“don’t look at me like that.” he replies all too knowingly though not even bothering to spare you a glace ever since you step inside his store. 

“then what did i say?” it’s stupid to ask such question. you’re willing to bet that he isn’t actually listening nor interested to partake in the conversation. it happened sometimes and it drives you nuts and upset altogether.

ukai shrugs and turns the next page, “something about your professor.”

“…..and?” you tap your foot on the floor, starting to lack in patience.

“and, i’m just not good in multitasking so i couldn’t really listen to you while reading.”

“you fucking asshole,” you cuss. “i worked my ass off day and night, sometimes it doesn’t work out and when that happens, i really hoped that you would be there and cheer me up but now you just decided that you won’t even spare a few minutes to put down the paper and listen to me? hell, this happened a lot of times already. are you also stressed out like me? from sitting in front of the fucking register and smoking all day?” 

“you probably should tell that to your professor instead,” he answers nonchalantly which annoys you even further. “jeez, and i probably should’ve dated someone my age.” he says lowly under his breath, but just enough for you to hear it clearly, even from behind the newspaper.

“excuse me?” you can’t believe what you heard, your fists clench on your sides and your breathing quickens. if the fact that he was not listening to you is the final straw, this takes the whole damn cake.

“yeah, maybe you could try. no one around your age would date you– not with this shitty job you have. at this point, i just wonder when the fuck are you gonna get cancer.” you snap. “at least i know there are tons of guys in my class that would want to date and fuck me. but nooo, i chose you instead. so, fuck you, keishin. just–fuck! you!”

as you are about to turn your heels around and storm off the store, ukai’s chair screeches as he stands up and grips your wrist from behind the counter, causing your body to yank backwards. ukai presses your cheeks together with his other free hand and tilts your head up to force you to look at him. his eyes are filled with ire– they are so cold and filled with rage at the same time, it’s actually sending chills down your spine. 

“is it my fault that you have daddy issues? is it my fault that you like older men like me?” he sneers. 

a pool of tears are slowly beginning to form in your eyes. it isn’t because you are remotely afraid but more of a natural reaction when you get furious.

“oh now you’re gonna cry?”

the thought of your black mascara running down your face together with your salty tears delights the man himself and you know this too well as you can see it in his face. giving in to that would be a mistake and you would hate to give him the pleasure.

“who taught you to speak to me like that?” 

you turn your face away to the side to release from his grip and shoot him a murderous glare with all the courage instill in you, “you deserved it, asshole.” 

ukai raises his brow, unsatisfied. his grip on your wrist tightens more as you struggle to pull away.

“let go.”

“i don’t think so,” he chuckles sardonically as he slips out from his apron. “that mouth is good for one thing and one thing only,” ukai turns to walk out from the register and stands intimidatingly tall in front of you, “and you know what that is.” 

“well, i don’t know. like, eating, talking?” you blurt out. maybe if you annoy him more, he would let it go– seeing how he is not putting up with your shit earlier, you don’t think he would take this any further either. 

however, he scoffs hearing your witty answer because you are actually pushing his buttons instead. “wrong answer, brat.”

ukai forces you down on your knees by the wrist and quickly unbuckles his belt, dropping down his jeans and boxers together at just the right length to only be able take out his cock. he grabs you by the hair and yanks you forward, “now, suck.”

“w-wait–”

“did i fucking stutter?” he warns as he tugs your hair tighter and it stings you a bit.

you think it is best to quickly oblige so you take his cock in your hands, your tongue teasingly licks the bead of precum on the tip. ukai breathes out a mixture of a frustrated and relieved groan at the tease, causing him to push your head closer while he bucks his hips forwards to shove more of his throbbing cock inside your mouth and causing you to gag a little as he hits the back of your throat.

“fuck– that’ll make you shut up. come on. show me what that pretty little mouth can do.” you bob your head faster along his cock, your hand fondles his balls while the other presses on his length to add pressure. he throws his head back and grips your hair tighter each time he lets out a breathy moan.

a lewd pop sound slips out from your mouth as he pulls his cock away. ukai’s lips curls into a grin as you look up at him with glassy eyes and your mascara a bit smudged. beautiful, he thought, just the way he likes it.

“get up, slut.”

you comply submissively, slowly getting back up and let him push and bend you against the counter. ukai lifts up your skirt, smirking as he sees a dark patch formed on your panties, he can’t help but to tease your wet slit by circling his fingers against the thin fabric.

you feel a wave of anticipation at the soft touch that your breathing begins to hitch. you glance at the clock on the wall, 20 more minutes before the shop closes. what are the odds that people will still come in at this hour?

“so fucking wet already. what am i gonna do with you?” 

you want him to take you right there and then but you want him to stop at the same time, in fear that customers might still come into the shop and the thoughts are colliding with each other.

“kei– there’s still a few minutes left…” by the look of your face, your half-lidded eyes, ukai knows that you actually want this.

“and what about it?” he teases as he pulls your panties to the side and slips one finger inside your sloppy cunt. “wouldn’t you like it if people see you being fucked so hard like a little whore?” his finger is pushing in and out repetitively before putting in another finger and continues fingering you mercilessly. 

having ukai to finger you like this in public feels so good– actually better than you imagine. the thought of not trying to get caught having your legs spread out for this man is giving you a rush of excitement as you try to hold your moans down your throat. 

unfortunately, ukai is not happy about it and begins to rub his thumb on your clit. “let me hear you, baby. you didn’t seem to mind when you were shouting at me earlier.”

“i’m– ah– sorry..” you begin, between breaths.  

“sorry what?” you shut your eyes close as your hips subconsciously buck towards his fingers, only to have him pull them out instantly. with his other hand, he presses your cheeks again and forces you to look at him. 

“i’m sorry, daddy.” you plea.

“you look so pretty like this, princess. but your attitude displeased me.” he loves having control over all of you and keeping you grounded. “you wanna cum?”

“please.”

“do it yourself.” ukai steps back and watches you sit up on the counter with trembling legs and struggle to make yourself cum only from pumping your own fingers inside your wet cunt. 

“you’re so wet, princess. i don’t think you need my cock for that.” he continues with prying eyes as he watches you with lustful eyes, one of his hand pumping his hard cock as your body arches and trembles in front of him, trying to push yourself to edge but with no avail.

“daddy, i want to cum.”

“and how am i supposed to do that?” he coos. 

“please, daddy. i need your fat cock inside me.”

with one swift movement, ukai pulls down your panties and lifts one of your legs up to his shoulder, spreading your thighs apart. just as much as he likes to make you wait and begging for his thick cock, how could he not fuck you immediately? he can’t make himself wait either.

the shop begins to be filled by your restricted moans, careful not to let any possible people outside the shop to hear you as ukai fucks you shamelessly. you have your elbows to support your uncomfortable posture but you pay no mind to it as his cock fills every inch of you, reaching for the very place that your own fingers can’t. the both of you start to hear faint chatters from outside and you hope that they are just passing by.

however, ukai takes this chance to quicken his pace.

“let me hear you, baby. tell everyone– ah– how good daddy makes you feel.” he says between grunts while he starts to rub and press down your clit with his thumb. 

“daddy, please, please, please–” you whisper, fists clenching to nothing, toes curling in your shoes. your eyes glances towards the door as the chatters and footsteps outside start to become gradually louder with each passing second.

“look at me,”  ukai spanks your thigh, “wanna give them a show?”

“no..” you mutter through soft moans. though the thought of getting caught red handed is humiliating, it’s also arousing to you and your walls start to clench tighter around his cock.

“god, you’re getting tighter– you like that huh?” he hisses. “such a fucking slut.”

you can feel your juices dripping down his length as he adjusts his angle before giving you more intense thrusts that just hit the right places at the right pace. your legs are trembling and you can feel that you are getting closer to an orgasm and at this point, you can’t be bothered to worry anymore as your mouth lolls open to chant his name in a chorus. 

you can feel that ukai is also getting close as you are as you feel him throbbing inside you. having his teeth nibbling on your thigh is enough to push you over the edge and your mouth opens in a silent scream as you cum hard. he smirks proudly and gives a couple more thrusts before he also winds up to a state of euphoria himself with his hot ropes of cum filling up your cunt. 

panting, ukai waits for a second to finish before pulling himself out and puts on his pants before helping to adjust your clothes. 

“you’re an idiot.” you push yourself off the counter and lightly punch him on the chest, earning a small chuckle from the male– the first time you heard today.

“call me that again and we are gonna have round two, brat.” 

“coach!” an orange-haired boy beams as he opens the door, sending a jolt of surprise to the two of you. from the looks of his face, you manage to conclude that he didn’t hear or even had the slightest clue about what happened. you sigh in relief. 

“what? shop’s closed!” ukai quickly says before ushering the poor boy out. 

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

[ettadunham]

A Buffy rewatch 7x18 Dirty Girls

aka gotta have faith

We did it, guys! We made it to the last season! Also, hello if you’re new, and stumbled upon this without context. As usual, these impromptu text posts are the product of my fevered mind as I rant about the episode I just watched for an hour (okay, sometimes perhaps two). Anything goes!

And in today’s episode, our secondary villain is finally revealed made of pure misogyny, and Faith is here to make everything better.

So... Dirty Girls. We really are in the finish line of the season now.

This episode opens with two scenes that I’m not sure were intended to have the connection I made, but let’s do it anyway. In the first, we’re introduced to Caleb, a priest with extremely misogynistic views of women, who is revealed to be an agent of the First. And one who’s been pulling a lot of its strings in our world at that, like blowing up the council, or organizing the Bringers.

I guess Caleb hates humanity as a whole - he is aligning himself with the First after all -, but he directs pretty much all of that hatred onto women. He calls the Potential he picks up with his truck a ‘whore’ and ‘dirty’, and from his fantasies of his past, you get the idea that he specifically targeted young women using his authority, seduced them, and then turned it around and punished them for it.

Misogyny as a theme happens a lot on the show of course, Buffy fights the patriarchy after all. But when it comes to overt depictions of it, it’s often a bit… well, overt. You want to cheer Buffy for punching the douchebag in the face, but you’re also aware of how it’s an exaggeration of reality, made to get that fistbump reaction out of you.

And actually, that’s something that I think is worth re-examining too. A few years back, when the Supergirl TV show was about to premiere, there were a lot of discussions around this type of overt feminism. When I watched the pilot, I experienced some of these cringe moments myself. But, despite some of the many actual problems of the show and its feminism at the time, it also got me thinking.

Why? Why do I actually feel cringey about this?

And the answer that I found was that I was imagining watching the show from a perspective other than my own. Kind of like watching the 1992 Buffy movie back in the 90s with my brother made me hyperaware of its many faults, instead of giving me a chance to enjoy its culty ridiculousness.

So, while considering other perspectives can be essential in forming critical thought of your media, there’s a difference in trying to understand a minority perspective for instance, and feeling the need to put yourself in the shoes of the dominant culture, and base your opinions with that in mind.

But that’s a tangent inside a tangent.

Disregarding all that, imo the show’s most successful and impactful depictions of misogyny arguably come from characters who don’t always act like monsters. I actually like the bad guy from Reptile Boy for instance. He acts charming and nice to lure Buffy in, and only reveals his true nature, once he holds all the power.

Caleb in that sense then, is the show’s best and most horrifying example of that type of misogynistic evil.

(And yes, we could also talk about the Trio here, but trying to fold them in would be yet another tangent, and it’s time to talk about the actual episode at this point.)

Caleb says to the First that he doesn’t lie... but that’s a lie. He does lie. By wearing the symbol of authority, of someone you can confide in, he tells you that he can be trusted. And yes, there is very much a commentary here about the evil of religion and Catholicism, but the point being is that for someone in that community, Caleb’s appearance signals no threat. And Caleb uses that assumption to his advantage.

He only gradually reveals his true nature to Shannon at the beginning. First by calling her a whore. Because hat that point, he knows that he holds the power in their interaction and that he doesn’t need to pretend to be anything but the monster he is in order to lure her in. Shannon’s guard is down, and he knows that she can’t escape.

Caleb’s misogyny is disturbing because it’s still believable in all of its overtness. He does what he does because he knows that he can. He has the power, and that power reveals all of his deepest darkest thoughts with nothing to keep him in check.

And right after this scene, you get Xander’s dream. Where he dreams about two Potentials coming onto him in a threesome situation (and specifically with the two women also getting it on with each other in front of him, because I guess fetishizing lesbians is still a thing that Xander hasn’t internalized despite his best friend being one), while the rest of the girls are having some sexy pillow-fight in the other room.

So… I guess we’re pairing up scary misogyny with “”fun”” misogyny?

Of course, since this is a dream, we can argue that Xander can’t really be held responsible for it. We don’t have power over our dreams after all. It’s where our subconscious works through stuff, and that doesn’t reflect our persona wholly.

Except then the question still remains – why is this scene here? Why would someone write this scene in, especially in an episode full of these themes? When Xander wakes up, he’s immediately faced with the reality, where his role is to fix the toilets. It’s supposed to be funny. Look how powerless he actually is, compared to the girls.

But then he also gets the big speech moment in the very same episode, supporting Buffy, and then loses an eye to Caleb. How are these things connected? And if they’re not… why is that scene at the beginning there?

I mean, you could interpret Caleb removing one of Xander’s eyes as a punishment for Xander having these ‘urges’… Except Caleb’s comment before doing that doesn’t reference that. It references Xander’s speech from Potential, where he’s telling Dawn that he sees a lot by being underappreciated.

So, that’s probably not what they were going for. And it’s a stretch of an interpretation. In the end, there’s little to no reason for that scene to be there, and therefore I’m left with the impression, that the writers weren’t even aware of the misogynistic angle of Xander fetishizing all these young women in his dream. They just thought it was funny.

God, I wrote 1k workds already, and I haven’t even got to Buffy’s storyline in this.

This episode is setting up the pre-finale twist of everyone turning against Buffy, which I kinda hate. And that bleeds into my thoughts of Dirty Girls, unfortunately.

Like, I get it. Everyone kept telling Buffy that this was a trap, that it was a bad idea to bring the Potentials to confront Caleb without knowing more, and she ignored them. And that got a whole lot of them injured. At least two of them dead. It was a bad call.

On the other hand, didn’t Giles keep telling her in the last episode that she needed to make these hard decisions? That she needed to think big picture, and accept that there would be losses? And now, when he advises her against action, and she makes the damn ‘hard choice’ and ‘acts like a general’ I guess it’s still her fault, huh.

I swear, nothing Buffy ever does is good for these people. And maybe that’s the point we’re making, that leadership is lonely and hard and whatever the fuck, but I’m tired and I kinda hate it.

Buffy fucked up, yes. Okay. But instead of dealing with that, instead of having an honest conversation where we can explore these things, we just vaguely hint at how this is driving a wedge between her and the rest of the group.

Thanks, I hate it.

But hey, at least Faith’s here! The way Eliza Dushku delivers this line in particular is an absolute highlight:

SPIKE:  “Not all that tension was about you. Giles was a part of a plan to kill me. For Buffy's own good.” FAITH:  “Well, that makes me feel better about me… worse about Giles...kinda shaky about you.”

The show also addresses the fact that no one told Faith about what the fuck was going on. Which… is a bit of a problem, and paints each and every character on Buffy in a pretty bad light? Willow’s whole explanation about how, well, Faith was in prison and they thought she was safe there falls pretty flat (especially since Faith was in fact attacked in prison due to this), and the characters know it. More than anything, it just feels like they all forgot about Faith, and how this whole plan of the First to murder the Slayer line affects her.

And yet, to be honest, I couldn’t help but feel like it was the writers that actually forgot? Or at the very least, thought that it was inconvenient to share this information with Faith, before both shows came to a point where they could integrate her character into the story again?

Anyway, whoever you blame this on, it’s kinda bad.

Overall, Dirty Girls is still chilling and effective, and Faith is a breath of fresh air in this final stretch of the season. I’m just not a big fan of where we’re taking Buffy’s arc here before the big finale, and that shows.

Next up: Wine mom and vodka aunt fight over the kids’ love.

[envision-fandom]

Reputation

Peter Pan and Felix Fanfiction

What if Peter Pan and the other lost boys had been transported over to Storybrooke when Regina set off the curse and had lived an almost ordinary life growing up there? And what would that mean for you and your online pen pal?

Peter Pan was your childhood friend, next door neighbour and most recently your arch nemesis. 

You had been brought up together in the small town known as Story Brooke and you were inseparable as children. But now that you were older, and had more sense, you knew to keep him as far away from you as humanly possible.

You see Peter had created a type of reputation for himself since you both began high school four years ago and he was now the most feared boy in school, and in fact, the whole town. 

He had gathered a group of followers ‘The lost boys’, consisting of the meanest, largest, nastiest bunch of guys in school and to your confusion, the most gorgeous guy you had ever laid your eyes on- Felix. 

The Lost boys always got themselves into unholy situations, such as underage drinking, drug use, sex, stealing, but most of all fighting. By God did they all like to fight. 

It came to no surprise anymore when they would walk through the halls, covered in cuts and bruises or even on the odd occasion blood and you had grown so used to it, you would find it unusual to see them without a black eye or busted lip. 

They were the centre of attention and rumours spread about them everyday like wildfire, which would always leave you rolling your eyes and sighing at the absurdity of high school life. 

You swore you were the only one who wasn’t obsessed with the lost boys, or at least not all of them. 

But Felix was so much different compared to the rest of them. 

He was tall and skinny, with just the right amount of muscle. 

His long, wavy blonde hair always looked like perfection and his sharp jawline and shy smile was enough to make you drool. 

He had perfect grades and hardly ever took part in the crazy schemes Peter had come up with and yet for some strange reason, he was selected as second in command, which meant his popularity instantly shot through the roof. 

You had liked him since your first day of school, when he sat beside you in class and borrowed you a pencil. 

He had seemed like the most kindest and generous guy you had met and soon enough you had fallen in love with him. 

So when Peter had taken him away from you to join his ridiculous gang, you were furious and swore your hatred towards Peter, making him your arch nemesis. 

From that day forward you tried to ignore Pan and keep him and his gang as far from you as possible, but of course that only meant he wanted to annoy you more.

You always found yourself at the forefront of his childish pranks and although he never put you in any real danger, he had threatened your reputation as a moral student and you were sick of the mistreatment against you.

All you wanted was a normal high school life. Not to be followed around and embarrassed constantly in front of the boy you liked by a misogynistic asshole like Peter Pan. 

Thankfully, you were able to release your stress to your secret online Pen pal. Who goes by the username ‘Neverland99′.

You had met on the school’s chat line, when you were looking for information on an English playwright and he had come forward and provided you with a bunch of useful information. 

After that, you had begun talking ever night after school, which then lead to Good morning texts and even a few cheeky messages during the school day. 

Both of your identity’s still remained secret, but you knew almost everything about him. All except his name. 

He is in the same year group as you and his dream is to study poetry at college- which is a secret he has never told anyone before. 

You felt so connected to him and you easily found yourself revealing your secrets to him too, which lead to you becoming an emotional support for each other and he was always there for you when times were tough. 

You dream about him a lot and even though you have no idea who he is or what he looks like, you always pictured him with Felix’s face and just prayed that maybe your mysterious Pen Pal was him. 

You were thankful it was the weekend, as it meant you wouldn’t have to be pestered by Pan and his minions. 

You got up early and headed into work at Granny’s diner, excited to see your best friend Wendy. 

She attended the girls private school next to yours, which meant you never got to see her much. But you were glad you both worked together, as you could rant to her about your awful week and your dislike for Peter and like for Felix. 

You were just beginning to tell her about your late night messages with your pen pal, when your phone buzzed in your pocket. 

You glanced down to reveal a message from him saying ‘Are you working right now?’, which sent a smile straight to your face. 

Wendy lent over your shoulder and laughed “Speak of the devil.” She joked and you playfully hit her on the arm. 

“Nothing could ruin my mood right now.” You tell her and you instantly curse your words, because Peter and his lost boys had just walked in. 

“Ahh Y/N, my oldest friend!” Pan declares, as he sits down at the bar in front of you “How about you serve me a sandwich love?” A few of the lost boys laugh at his mocking tone and you are forced to refrain yourself from punching him right on his smug face, not wanting to risk losing your job. 

You take in a deep sigh, before meeting Pan’s eyes “Sure, what would you like on it?” 

You hated how his smirk widened and the way and evil glint flashes in his eyes “Surprise me.”

You turn on your heel and head to the kitchen to begin making his sandwich, slightly glad to be away from his intense stare- it had always sent a shiver down your spine. 

You buttered the bread and then smiled darkly to yourself, beginning to plan the best revenge. 

Being ex best friends with Pan meant that it did have it’s perks and growing up with him, you had noted the exact foods that he loved, as well as the one’s he hated. 

You placed pickles, mustard and tinned sardines on the bread, which he hates and then covered them up with layers of lettuce and cheese, which he likes. 

You took the sandwich out with your brightest customer service smile on your face, which you used to get more tips and placed the plate in front of him. 

You were slightly shocked to see him in deep conversation with Wendy and the fact that he was making her laugh. But you didn’t dwell to long on this, as you were excited to see the shocked look on his face when you “Surprised” him with his sandwich. 

He glances over at you and knots his brows in confusion at your bright smile, “Cheese and Lettuce.” You state and he nods in response, clearly he was expecting you to be pissed off for having to wait on him. 

“Thanks, you remembered what I like, what a good little servant you are.” He mocks and you roll your eyes, before glancing over at Felix, just to make it seem less conspicuous and if you had to look somewhere, it may as well be at the guy you like. 

You returned your eyes back on Pan, just as he took a bite of the sandwich and his reaction did not disappoint.

His face went as green as the pickles and he certainly didn’t look as attractive spitting out his food, on the verge of throwing up. 

He ran out of the diner, his followers chasing after him. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud that your plan had worked, but you instantly stopped when you noticed Felix still in the doorway, watching you. 

Your smile faltered as you stared at each other for a while, before he winked at you and left, leaving your heart beat pounding in your chest. 

You couldn’t believe Felix had winked at you and you were still flushed, even after returning home after work. 

You ran up to your bedroom, wanting to replay the moment in your head and revel in your victory, but stopped dead in your tracks as you swung your bedroom door open. 

Peter was lying down on your bed asleep. 

You sighed in disgust, it had been years since he had broken into your bedroom. 

He used to climb his way up onto your balcony every night and would sometimes stay the night, but that was before he became a complete asshole. 

You stood over his sleeping body and hated how attractive he looked not snearing at you. You shook him vigorously, wanting to get rid of him as soon as possible and hating the fact that for a brief moment you admitted he was attractive. 

He looked up at you with gentle eyes, before pulling you down onto the bed and hovering above you, his hands pressing against your wrists, preventing you from breaking free “Welcome back love, hard day at work?” 

You look up at him and smile “Actually it was quite pleasant after you had left.” 

He glared at you and the sight of his dark green eyes caused your body to shiver “You know I didn’t appreciate you making a fool out of me in front of my friends.” 

You try and push him off, but you are unable to move “Well now you know how it feels!” You spit back, annoyed at his arrogance. 

“Oh Y/N, you know I can make your life a whole lot worse. What I do to you, it’s child's play. I could turn your whole world upside down.” 

You glare back at him, shocked at his threatening behaviour.

“But I won’t...” He continues “If you help me out.” 

“Why should I help you?” You ask, curiously. 

“Because, as I just said, I could make your life a whole lot worse and you’re the only one who can help me...” He trails off at the end and finally lets go of your arms. 

You sit up questioningly, intrigued that Pan would come to you for help “What do you need help with?”

He stares out of your window awkwardly “Well, truth be told. There’s this girl I like- your friend Wendy.” He finally looks back at you with pleading eyes “I was hoping you could help set me up with her.” 

You laughed mockingly “You can’t be serious. As if I would help sadistic fuck boy like you, get with my innocent best friend! She’s way too good for you.” 

You stand up and gesture to your balcony “So you won’t help me?” 

You sigh, annoyed that he didn’t take your obvious hint for him to leave “No I won’t, now can you go?” 

You weren’t sure what would happen when you refused to help Pan, but it wasn’t what you were expecting. 

He simply lay back down on your bed and closed his eyes. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask. 

He opened one eye to look at you and shrugged “I’m staying here until you agree to help me.” 

You raised your eyebrows at him in response “Seriously? You’re going to resort to these childish games?” 

He ignored you, so you sighed in defeat and headed to your bathroom to get changed out of your work uniform and ready for bed. 

You were hoping Pan would be gone when you returned, but of course he was in the same position as when you left him. 

You were exhausted after work and wanted to sleep, bu couldn’t because he was taking up all of the room on your bed. You began to make a makeshift bed on the floor for yourself, when finally an idea popped into your mind. 

“Peter?” 

“Yes?” He responded almost instantly. 

“I’ll help you... only if you help me in return.”

He turns to face you and rests his head on his arm “I’m listening.” 

You cough awkwardly “I will help you with Wendy, as long as you help me with Felix.” 

He raises his eyebrow at you and smirks darkly “You like Felix?”

You could not believing you were about to admit your feelings to Pan, but you felt you had no other choice “Yes. Yes I do.” 

He laughs mockingly, before reaching his hand out towards you “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

[carriecourogen]

‘Exile in Guyville’ at 25: Still, if not more, relevant

It feels like we’re living through the ‘90s all over again right now. Everywhere you look, reboots of shows like Twin Peaks and The X-Files, slip dresses and Dr. Martens in Urban Outfitters, and reunions of bands like the Breeders and Smashing Pumpkins dot the current pop culture landscape. This is not unusual; we’ve found ourselves in these throwback eras before (think the ‘70s obsession with the wholesome ‘50s, or the ‘90s homages to the swinging ‘60s). Pop culture is cyclical, and when faced with uncertainty and turbulence (which we have in abundance), recalling “simpler times” of decades past provides some sort of semblance of familiarity and comfort.

And so, in the midst of this ‘90s resurgence, Liz Phair’s explosive and divisive 18-song debut Exile in Guyville turns 25 years old. The album came at the right time and place: in the midst of the (mostly male) rise of indie rock and trailing on the riot grrrl movement. Nearly three years in the making, it emerged as a fully-formed articulate, confident, and cutting concept — a track-by-track response to the Rolling Stones’ 1972 tome Exile on Main St. — paired with unpolished and imperfect vocals and instrumentation. It was an enormous “fuck you,” as Phair once recalled in an oral history on its making, to “people say[ing] ‘you can’t do this, you aren’t good enough to do this, you don’t know what you are doing’” giving Phair “enough rage in me to say, ‘I have as much of a voice as anyone.’”

Guyville topped the Village Voice’s esteemed Pazz and Jop poll the year of its release and thrust Phair into the role of an artistic wunderkind, even though she never thought of herself as a one, much less as a serious musician. “I was just a neighborhood kid who wanted to show the boys I could do it, too,” she told Mojo in 1994. In the decades since its release, the album has served as both a boon and a ball and chain: a critically-lauded record most artists dream of making, but one all of her subsequent work would be unfairly measured against.

Marking its anniversary is a new, expanded box set and short U.S. tour that will revisit the series of demo tapes that informed the album’s sound and concept. Revisiting emblems of pop culture from years past, and celebrating their milestone anniversaries, often drips with rose-colored nostalgia. But Exile in Guyville’s anniversary is different. To revisit Exile in Guyville in 2018 is to reckon with something that is not nostalgic, but something that strangely still feels current and all too relevant.

Exile in Guyville is a coming of age album, one that grapples with what it’s like to be a modern 20-something American woman: supposedly liberated, but not much better off than her mother, facing an insurmountable amount of societal pressures to look, act, and think a certain way. Phair wrote the majority of the album in ‘90s suburban Chicago, which the band Urge Overkill had previously deemed “Guyville”: a wasteland of “alternative” bros who, for all their feigned enlightenment, made it more than clear that, even though women were, in theory, their equals, in practice, in they would never really be their equals.

What if, in the 25 years that have passed, Guyville didn’t change or even get better? What if it just moved and grew? Women face just as many threats as they did in the early-90s. Guyville still very much exists in 2018, only now it’s come to encompass other gentrified, creative communities, be it by geography (like Bushwick) or industry (like the studio film system), or even digitally (like Twitter) — pockets where women are oppressed in some way or another.

“There’s a million Guyvilles,” Phair told the Washington Post this April. “‘Guyville’ could be a catchphrase for any oblivious community that has no idea that they’re shoving people to the side. I don’t know where it isn’t.”

Listening to Exile in Guyville today, I constantly have to remind myself that this album is almost as old as I am. It is not lost on me that I’m the same age as Phair was when it was released. Its words feel like they easily could have been written by me, by a friend, by other young, female artists coming up today, like Angel Olsen, Snail Mail, Soccer Mommy, or Frankie Cosmos — all musical daughters (or maybe younger sisters) of Liz Phair. For me, and perhaps for many young women my age, Exile in Guyville is one of those albums that feels more fitting now than ever before.

Phair recently compared her album-making process to creating historical documents. “I’m doing these things to log on to history,” she told The Cut. “Like, ‘A woman lived in this time, and this is what it was like for her back then.’”

While Exile in Guyville does carry the weight of its time in some senses, its tie to a specific period lies mostly in the details: the paper map in “Divorce Song,” the stereo in “Help Me Mary,” the tight blue jeans styling of the titular “Soap Star Joe.” For the most part, Exile in Guyville seems to resist the trappings of history. Her words still sting, the taste of hurt and disgust and shame and anger in all of her words remain vivid, prescient, even. Art that both defines an era and transcends it is rare and worthy of discussion: What does that sort of status say about the art itself? More, perhaps, what does it say about our collective society?

In her 2014 book on Exile in Guyville for the 33 ⅓ series, critic Gina Arnold wrote: “Phair’s record brought out the uglier side of the indie rock scene, in the process highlighting the way that women artists, both there and elsewhere in the popular music world, are often undervalued as both listeners and consumers.”

Exile in Guyville pointed out that these problems existed then, but listening to the album now, I’m still hit with a stream of remembrances of offenses — some big, some small microaggressions that add up — that have come with being a woman in the music scene today.

I think about the conversation I once had with a male music writer who had just earlier asked me on a date. He ranted about why I was wrong to dislike a prolific male musician with a history of misogynistic behavior: “Most musicians are huge dicks,” he said. “Just put your gendered prejudices behind you.”

I think about the record store clerks who ask me if I’m looking for something “as a gift for my boyfriend.” The guy behind the counter at a used shop who rolled his eyes and told me to “just order a reissue at Urban to go with your Crosley” when I asked if they ever sell Sonic Youth.

I think about all the music dudes I meet at concerts, in record stores, and on dates, who always seem to test me, the ones who ask me what the rarest vinyl I own is, tell me that if I’ve never heard this or if I like X over Y, then I’m not serious, and I don’t know what I’m talking about. The ones who try to make me feel like I don’t belong.

I think about one of the most recent shitstorms of male @s I’ve brought upon myself on Twitter — the ones that happen every now and then when I casually denounce specific men or say simply that their art does not excuse their bad actions. Instantly, I recall the grown man telling me that a heavily researched piece I wrote wasn’t valid because I’m a woman, and that he saw my agenda as playing the victim card: “I get it. It’s the era of #MeToo and righting wrongs from 30 years ago. Getting justice for all those slighted for being female in a male world.”

“I was so disrespected,” Phair told Rolling Stone in 2010. “Being a woman in music back then, at least the level I was, was like being their bitch. Sit there, look pretty, bring us drinks and we'll talk about what music is good and bad. And it was almost understood that women's taste in music was inferior. [...] I was so angry about being taken advantage of sexually, being overlooked intellectually.”

Did Phair know something as a 25-year-old then that those of us living out our mid-20s now still have yet to figure out? A way to rise above her situation, maybe? Did she think that calling it out then would maybe lead to a change for now? How many of us girls listen to her today and wish we could wrap our arms around her like a friend and say, “Oh, but Liz, things are going to get so much worse”?

They make rude remarks about me / They wonder just how wild I would be / As they egg me on and keep me mad / They play me like a pit bull in a basement, and for that / I lock my door at night / I keep my mouth shut tight / I practice all my moves / I memorize their stupid rules

It takes Phair barely over three minutes on Exile in Guyville before she rips into the types of men who have tried to keep her in her place in “Help Me Mary.” They’re the ones who overrun her home — in her case, Wicker Park’s indie scene — and trap her, reducing her to a mothering role. Their ridicule is just barely above that of a schoolyard “you can’t play with us” taunt, nagging her with “you can’t do this” and “you don’t belong here” to her face incessantly. Instead of biting back, she swallows her anger, internalizes it and uses it as a fuel to learn their game, to get so good at it that she ends up besting them in the end. But can she really best them in the end? No matter how good Liz Phair got, she is still, at the end of the day, a woman.

In a recent essay on the prominent gender biases present in music criticism for The Outline, critic Leah Finnegan argues that perspective when writing about art matters: “How does the journalist see the world, and how do they place art in it? If you’re paying attention, an article will reveal those biases. It will sometimes tell us more about the writer than what the writer is writing about.”

Early criticism of Exile in Guyville and profiles of Phair were primarily written by men who missed the point entirely. Rolling Stone’s initial review lumped it in with PJ Harvey’s not-really-all-that-similar Rid of Me, describing both as albums by angry women exacting a strange sort of revenge, exploring “the toxic consequences of intimacy with lacerating explicitness [...] relationships don't just end, they splatter. Yet listen closely, and you'll hear these women laughing under their breath.” Meanwhile, Spin pushed their criticism further, calling Phair a “well-off Winnetka, Illinois brat” who wrote an album of “songs about all the boys she’s fucked and how soon they fucked her over.”

Attempting to follow an album that had set such a high standard would be difficult for anyone. Yet while many of Phair’s later records — Whip-Smart, whitechocolatespaceegg, and Liz Phair — were solid works, full of tender, piercing, tough, and smart songs about being a woman in this world, each faced subsequently fading reviews that placed more emphasis on her looks than her music — mostly written by male critics. Her career withered.

“Men can make middling, maudlin art and be celebrated, and women artists face harsher scrutiny while doing the same thing, and usually better,” Finnegan wrote in the same Outline piece. I can’t help but wonder how Phair’s career could have been altered if more women were writing about her back then. Women who understood what she was talking about, who didn’t reduce songs about complicated issues we face to maudlin drivel or the shallow venting of a girl who is simply angry.

But more distressing than the theme of how female artists continue to be mistreated is the theme that life as a young woman in America continues to be, more or less, the same. Maybe even worse.

Whatever happened to a boyfriend? / The kind of guy who tries to win you over. / Whatever happened to a boyfriend? / The kind of guy who makes love ‘cause he’s in it. / I want a boyfriend. / I want a boyfriend. / I want all that stupid old shit / Like letters and sodas / Letters and sodas

In 1968, Virginia Slims famously began marketing their cigarettes to women with a tagline “You’ve come a long way, baby!” The strides Gen X’s mothers had made for women’s liberation in the ‘60s and ‘70s had allowed women of the ‘90s to boldly own their sexuality as something casual, their wants and desires equal to a man’s. Except it wasn’t that simple, and on the song “Fuck and Run,” Phair laments the disposable turn that dating life had taken. Had we really come a long way? Hardly.  

Twenty-five years later, on an unusually warm April night, a friend and I were explaining Tinder to two parental figures over dinner. This was not the first time we’ve had to break down the State Of Meeting Men in 2018 to people who are our elders, but the first time I was struck by how exhausting it is, how demoralizing, how my resigned, yet defensive, argument that this swiping and scheduling our way to hookups thing just is the way it is makes no sense.

“Guys don’t talk to us in real life,” I insisted. Sitting back in my chair, I dropped my fork on the plate in front of me as defeated punctuation. “The only way to meet a guy now is on an app, and they pretty much all just want to have sex and nothing else.” They looked at us incredulously.

Millennial women share a desire planted by Baby Boomers and driven home by Gen X: That we can be independent women who don’t need men in our lives. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t times when independence becomes tiring; times when you know that even though you can do it all by yourself, you don’t really want to. Millennials are 48 percent more likely to have sex before even going on a first date with someone, even though we’re 40 percent more likely than Boomers to think sex is better with an emotional connection. Virtually having access to sex at any time is making us feel increasingly more hollow.

Sitting across from a couple who had been together for nearly half a century, Phair’s “Fuck and Run” lyrics came to mind. We both find ourselves wanting what the women who came before us have and had: stability, a relationship, affection, love. That admission terrifies us, in a way. It makes us feel like we’re betraying our generation and the freedoms we’ve earned, when, really, we’re just allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, allowing ourselves to be human.

So don’t look at me sideways / Don’t even look me straight on / And don’t look at my hands in my pockets, baby / I ain’t done anything wrong

In “Never Said,” Phair’s powerlessness against pervasive gossip and doubts recalls the strains of #MeToo. While Phair centers the track around adamance that nothing happened and #MeToo is focused on the insistence that something happened, what they both share is the painful sense that being a woman and being a person believed to be telling the truth are, at times, mutually exclusive.

When faced with doubts, both Phair and women today are forced to aggressively defend themselves as they see their reputations ruined. Past actions are called into question, personality traits turned against us, and our repeated insistences — done to keep our names “clean as a whistle” — are seen as lies or exaggerations, at best, admissions of guilt, at worst.

A recent study from the Pew Research Center found that a frustrating number of people think women are making false #MeToo claims: 31 percent categorized false claims as a major problem; 45 percent called them a minor issue. Do we really still think that women lie more often than not?

Why does it seem that men are believed unequivocally, but when women tell the truth, they are wrong until proven right? Why do we have to work extra hard to fight suspicions? It’s a frustrating sticking point. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. We’re not always seeking justice against aggressors, not always seeking revenge, as Phair may have been in “Never Said.” Sometimes, all we want is to be heard and accepted.

But for all its anger — and Exile in Guyville is an album full of a specific form of women’s rage — it still holds quiet moments of vulnerability. Its songs still depict evergreen, nuanced feelings so specific to this strange time period of delayed adult womanhood. The reflections on the city in which you live, the uncertain hope for a relationship with someone better than what you’re used to, the growing pains of doing and being what you want versus what is expected of you, and the encounters with the more realistic, perhaps sadder, side of elders you once considered heroic — all of those complicated situations live in the softer in-between moments of the album, from “Stratford-On-Guy” to “Shatter”, “Canary” and “Flower” to “Explain It To Me.”

It’s in these ebbs and flows that Exile in Guyville resonates. Guyville helped to usher in the transition between punks like Debbie and Viv and Siouxsie, who reached the bedrooms of young girls listening and made them feel like they weren’t so alone in their emotions and their anger, and alt-girls like Alanis and Fiona and Shirley, who built upon that rage, but let listeners know they, too, sometimes felt strange and misunderstood and were still struggling to figure everything out.

Listening to the album today can, on certain occasions, feel like listening to what the inside of your brain sounds like over the course of 24 hours, the rollercoaster of rushing thoughts and feelings that go through it. Angry. Excited. Sad. Hopeful. Complicated. So, maybe not much has changed in 25 years. Maybe being a 20-something girl still sucks in so many ways. But there’s a silver lining: At every step, we have this album in our ear, there to tell us that someone else, who is now older and wiser than we are at this moment, has been through all of this before and knows exactly how we feel.

[loavesofoaves]

GOT 7 x 06 rant

Got busy and didn’t write a recap, but basically everyone with common sense has already dragged this episode through the trash, so do I really need to heap my two cents on top? I guess the thing that I find the most SHOCKING is how many people I know—people who have read the books, who consider themselves feminists, who read a lot in general—are still salivating over GoT and excusing its gaping plotholes and poor characterization. I honestly think everyone is so in love with the meme culture and hype that surrounds the show that they don’t want to actually have to think about it.

So yeah, I am salty and bitter. I’m salty and bitter that one of the greatest fantasy deconstruction novels has this shit show of an adaptation. I’m salty and bitter that D&D can get away with their lazy, poorly planned, misogynistic agenda. I’m salty and bitter that this show receives little to no scrutiny while well-written, feminist, lbgtq-friendly, thoughtful shows get picked apart or cancelled. My beef isn’t that GoT is popular; I’m bitter that it wins Emmys and is considered high-brow television. It hasn’t been for years.

Shoving aisde the ridiculous logistics of this episode (which everyone has already picked apart) [like how fast it took Gendry to get back, how Daenerys got a raven and was there in only a matter of hours, how only the red coats and Thoros died, how Jon survived and didn’t got hypothermia]...

I guess here are the top 5 things I’m most mad about:

—What they have done to my beloved Stark sisters is unwatchable. Arya has turned into an asshole dudebro from the westeros.org forums who blames Sansa for everything because of one letter written under duress that even Cat and Robb knew was forced. “I would’ve let them kill me.” BITCH YOU WERE TYWIN’S CUPBEARER. It’s not that this will never happen in the books that has my raving (although it certainly won’t), it’s that this subplot doesn’t even make sense by the show’s canon. Also, did Maisie Williams forget how to act this season? She just walks around with that same asshole tone with her hands behind her back and I’m like, this isn’t Arya???? And I actually laughed out loud when she had a bag full of rubber masks from the Halloween store. Like my mind is blown on how stupid and contrived this subplot is. Let’s just kill Littlefinger and be done with this pain. You girls deserved better then an entire season of arguing over petty things. And I deserve better than to hear how this show “empowers” women when it gives its female characters bullshit storylines like this one.

—Jonerys. Just. Jonerys. Mark my words, between this and D&D romanticizing Jaime/Cersei, there will be a rise in incest, or at least the idea that it should be socially acceptable. But from a purely narrative standpoint, I just cannot suspend my disbelief that based on a few conversations over the course of three episodes that this is a love story. Plus, it doesn’t help that there’s no chemistry and this relationship has to be proven by other characters making it happen. I’m not mad that Jonerys is happening (I fully expect it—or Dany x Aegon—to happen in the books); I’m mad that people think that this is the ultimate love story in this show when these characters barely know each other. I think people just wanted it to happen so badly they’ll accept whatever, even if it’s poorly developed. (Guilty as charged when it came to NaruHina in Naruto.)

—God does this show love to shit on my boy Sandor Clegane or WHAT. I had my hopes up because he had one of the few in-character and watchable scenes of this season in episode 1, but it’s so sad that such an interesting character has been reduced to comic relief. Between invalidating Gendry’s trauma over being sexually assaulted, having no respect for Thoros’ death, spending a scene talking about DICKS with Tormund and just being an idiot in general like WHO is this asshole and WHY is he here. Also wtf at him responding to Tormund by saying “I hate gingers.” Like, is ginger even a CONCEPT in Westeros? As Tormund himself put it, it’s called “being kissed by fire” (and was it just me or was he hitting on Sandor? I could be behind that as long as it got him to STFU about Brienne. Yet ANOTHER ship that everyone needs to stop blabbing about when it has no development beyond Tormund being a fucking creep. But I digress.) But more importantly, saying he hates gingers is a LIE (hello Helga Pataki?). Oh and can we talk about how his fear of fire seems to fluctuate based on whether D&D think it will be “dramatically satisfying” or not?

—Why was GENDRY even there? Bringing this character back has had even less payoff than Sandor, especially when neither of them have mentioned their relationship with the Stark sisters. And why is he known to be the fastest all of a sudden? He just really didn’t develop in any way, so it begs the question on why he was brought back at this time.

—And speaking of thankless roles...Benjen. Joseph Mawle must be so confused but whatever, it’s a paycheck. Not only was his coming out of nowhere to save Jon so contrived and ridiculous, but his death had no meaning because he is just a plot device at this point. Fucking Viserion has had more screentime and development. And no time for Jon to reflect “my uncle who I’ve been looking for for YEARS is actually alive (sort of) but then he died” or for Daenerys to reflect on her baby dying because SEXY INCEST. Ugh. Gag me.

One more episode but at this rate, season 7 is even worse than season 5 imo.