Tag: hate

Cassie and Pritkin and Mircea

So, this may make me unpopular BUT…I don’t know who I want to see together.  There are plenty of reasons to hate both the men in Cassie’s life. They are each manipulative.  And Pritkin, well he’s actively trying to kill her for a really long time.  And then trying to sacrifice himself for her, because he doesn’t know how to live without her.  Mircea isn’t  always perfect and there is some hidden conspiracy involving the pythian court.  But Cassie wouldn’t have made it through all the trials and tribulations of being Pythia without BOTH men.  And Mircea loves her.  He send her lots of family members and despite the power dynamic being fluid, he is always supportive.  And when he finds out all the stuff that’s been happening–well vampires don’t do fear well.  And yet, he loves her and doesn’t apologize for it.  Pritkin may get there, but he isn’t used to living at all.  Mircea has been the one left behind-by his mother, and by Dorina’s mother.  He has struggled to raise a child alone and with no help.  So he tries to protect Cassie, is that so bad?  But he also keeps her out of the political shit too.  He hasn’t turned her over to the consul, or ordered her away from Vegas.  

And I gotta be honest, even when Pritkin is “sacrificing” for Cassie its pretty self serving.  And yet…He’s got that tragic hero vibe.  But I think Mircea gets a bad rap.  He is off trying to keep Cassie safe by staying away.  Cassie and Mircea could be a power couple.  I just don;t know where I want it to go…

“Fertile females are like gold in Faerie, Dory—rarer even. And the fey can smell them coming. It’s like…bees to honey. You haven’t seen it—I have.” “Well, so what? They’re all adults. If they want to—” “ Fertile females.” “Oh. Oh ,” I said, finally getting it. “ Is that what you’re—” “Yes! I know what it’s like to be caught between worlds. I wouldn’t wish that on…well, certainly not a bunch of helpless children!” “But even if…I mean, the fey are notoriously infertile, right?” “With their own women, yes. These are not their own women! ” “Okay, Claire, okay. Calm down,” I told her, feeling a little strange because that was her line. “You’re their commander’s I’ve kept them so closely confined? Why Heidar has? They’ll just sneak out tonight when I’m asleep. It’s like babysitting twelve randy teenagers, and I can’t watch them all the—” “So why not get ’em some condoms?” Ray piped up. Claire stopped. And then turned to look at him. “I…don’t think they know what those are,” she said doubtfully. “They don’t have them in Faerie. The birth rate is low enough as it is; there’s no reason to develop something to lower it even further.” “Well, it ain’t rocket science,” he pointed out. “They could learn, right?” Claire was nodding, obviously liking this new idea. “Yes. Yes, they can.” She looked at me. “How many condoms do you have?” “What?” “Condoms, condoms! You must have some!”“Why must I?” I didn’t think sex once a decade warranted it. And anyway, the only guy I was into at the moment wasn’t the type to need them. Not that we would have anyway, considering that I’d spent much of the last two weeks recuperating. And that probably wasn’t going to change, since it would only make it harder when— “Dory!” “I’m fresh out,” I told her. “Well, go to the store,” Claire said, grabbing her purse and shoving it at me. “I—I’ll take the food out. They’ll have to eat first. And by the time they’re finished, you’ll be back.” “With the condoms.” “Right.” “For the giant orgy you’re convinced we’re about to have in the backyard.” “Dory! Just go!” “I’ll go with,” Ray said, getting up. “I need a snack.” Which was how I ended up condom shopping with a vampire. the house in my old Firebird. “No. She’s just…under a lot of pressure right now.” “What pressure? Her kid’s okay, right?” I nodded. Actually, I had no idea what Claire’s problem was. Maybe it was just residual. In about a year, she’d gone from underpaid auction-house employee to fey princess to new mother to woman on the run with her endangered child, who also happened to be the heir to the Blarestri throne. It was enough to put anyone on edge. But Aiden really was okay, with the conspiracy that had threatened his life over and the instigator dead. And he was now in possession of a talisman that pretty much ensured that he’d stay that way, even if someone managed to get past the wards, the phalanx in the garden, and the tense, half-dragon mother. Frankly, I didn’t fancy anyone’s chances. “She’ll calm down eventually,” I told Ray. “So what are you doing here again?” “Living,” he said, which I’d have taken for a smart remark, except he sounded pretty emphatic. But I didn’t have time to follow up on it. The nearest store was only a couple blocks away, and we’d already arrived. Sanjay, brother to Bawa of the world’s deadliest curry, ran it, but he went home at six and some new girl was on duty. We skirted the aisles of Ramen, cards of press-on nails and towers of hairspray that constituted daily essentials in Brooklyn, and finally located the condom aisle. It also housed the diapers and the baby food. I wasn’t sure if that was random product placement or brilliant advertising, but either way, there was a good selection. “So what kind are we talking about here?” Ray asked, surveying a neatly stacked display. “I don’t know. Just pick one.” “Well, there’s a lot of choice. I mean, you got your flavored, your ridged, your pre-lubed, your thin, your super-ultra-thin, “It says it glows in the dark.” “So?” “So what use is that to anybody? I mean, what am I supposed to do? Write her name in the air with it?” “I’d rather not think of you doing anything with it,” I said honestly. “Besides, the fey already glow, so you gotta think it’s a waste of—” “Ray!” I glanced around, but there was nobody within earshot. “Well, excuse me if I’m not used to buying condoms for aliens,” he said more softly. “They’re not aliens.” “Well, they’re not human. I mean, they could have anything under those tunics, you know?” “Like what?” “Like…I don’t know. It could be barbed or something.” “Barbed?” “Well, I don’t know.” He slanted me a glance. “Do you?” I just looked at him. “No, of course not. You’re too uptight.” “I am not uptight.” “You’re the definition of uptight. I bet you and Mr. Muscle Bound haven’t even done it yet.” “Okay, enough with the personal—” “Nailed it.” He nodded. “You wouldn’t have freaked out on him this afternoon otherwise. ‘Oh, no, somebody’s in my head for five seconds, even if it did save my life—’” I scowled. “You don’t get it. He’s not supposed to be able to do that.” “He’s a senior master. They got skills.” Ray shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. As soon as a baby and that he better toe the line. There’s the senior vamps in the family, checking out the new talent, just in case they want to recruit him for one of their cliques later on. There’s the slightly older babies, trying to dig up some dirt to make sure he stays on the bottom of the heap, and so on. And they never shut up . Yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak. It drove me crazy for years.” “Is that what happened?” “But I got used to it. So will you.” “Maybe I don’t want to get used to it,” I muttered, examining a box that promised to vibrate. I thought that was my job. I put it back. “Oh, you want it, all right,” Ray said. “The two of you practically melt the walls every time you get within three feet of—” “That’s not the same thing,” I told him irritably. It wasn’t the sex that worried me. I’d had sex; I’d never had a relationship with a vampire unless you counted Mircea, and look how well that had turned out. If I couldn’t even manage the usual father-daughter stuff, how was I supposed to handle something much more complex with someone I didn’t know half as well? Relationships weren’t my best thing. They never had been. Even the easy ones. And nothing about Louis-Cesare was easy. “It is when you’re dating a master. You gotta take the whole package, you know?” Ray said. And then he stopped, and turned to look at me. “Hey, that’s it, isn’t it?” “What is?” “You never dated a master before.” “I’ve been with vampires.” “Yeah, sure. Any regular old vamp—I can see that. I mean, you’re stronger than him; you’re the one calling the shots; you’re the one who says when you’ve had enough and it’s time to head out.” the door. He blinked. “Well, that oughta do it.” I grabbed the basket o’ condoms and went to wait in line, ignoring the looks from a couple people ahead of me, who were apparently not used to seeing someone buying twenty boxes at once. Ray went to lean on the counter, supposedly enthralled by an awesome display of toenail clippers, but in fact snacking on the salesclerk. And, predictably, my stomach curled into a knot. It was one of the things—one of the very, very many things—about dating a master that wasn’t going to work. Ray made it sound so easy, like this was just some kind of tug-of-war, some weird power play, that I needed to get past and I’d be fine. Like all the other humans who eagerly lined up to attach themselves to the great houses. Mircea probably turned away fifty a month, and those were just the ones arrogant enough to try. Louis-Cesare, as the longtime darling of the European Senate, could hardly have attracted any fewer. Ray probably thought I should feel honored to have caught his eye. That I should feel grateful. That I should feel…whatever those other humans felt. He forgot one thing. I wasn’t human. There had always been a love/hate—okay, mostly hate—thing going on with me and the vampire community. I’d tried to stay away; I’d spent years trying. Like Claire said, there were other things to hunt and most of them were much less likely to hunt me back. But there was nothing that made my blood sing, my senses reel, my heart pound quite like chasing my natural prey. to me; they never had been. There was this weird kind of yearning underneath it all, and resentment and jealousy and a bone-deep ache that I didn’t understand. Not completely. I just knew that, every once in a while, the craving got too deep and it was either fight or fuck, and mostly it was the former but sometimes…sometimes it had been the latter. Just long enough to get it out of my system, to keep myself from going crazier than I already was. And then, yeah, I moved on. Why the hell wouldn’t I? If I stayed around, it always ended the same way, and crazy or not, I didn’t particularly like the idea of staking a former lover. No matter how much a few of them had deserved it. But this wasn’t a one-night stand. This was…well, I didn’t really know what this was, since I’d been avoiding discussing it. Talking about it meant facing the fact that this weird little interlude or experiment or whatever the hell I thought I’d been doing had run its course. Because how could you care about someone when his very means of existence made your stomach hurt? Not that Louis-Cesare needed to snack on random clerks when he probably had a whole stable lined up and eager to be used. I knew that. But still. It was what he was . And I killed what he was. “What size you think they take?” Ray asked. I looked up, blinking, to see that it was my turn. “Does it matter? We have plenty.” “Well, yeah. But they’re all different sizes,” he said, piling boxes on the counter. “And what if the—what if they need something like extra small? You got enough extra smalls?” “They’re not extra small,” I told him irritably. “They don’t need extra smalls.” “I thought you said you didn’t know.” “They’re seven feet tall!” “Don’t matter,” he argued. “Plenty of big guys got a Tiny Tim. it counts, the ladies know. You don’t gotta advertise.” The mocha-skinned clerk, who could easily have made two of Ray, snorted. “Well, there’s no way to know,” I told him, “so we’re just going to have to chance it.” “You could call her and ask.” “Call—” I stopped. “You mean Claire?” “Well, it was her idea.” I had a sudden flash of Claire’s face if I called to ask what size condom her fiancé took. It was kind of breathtaking. “You want me to ring these up or not?” the cashier asked. “If they don’t fit, can we bring them back?” “No refunds on condoms.” “Just call her,” Ray said. “I am not calling Claire and asking…I’m not calling Claire.”“Okay by me. I mean, I don’t care. But you get ’em too small and they pop off, and you get ’em too big and they slide off, and either way, it’s pointy-eared babies all ar—” “Ray!” “I mean, I guess they’d go over pretty well at a Star Trek convention, but the rest of the time—” “All right! Stop it! All right!” “It’s not just Claire who’s a little tense,” he said, as I dug around for a cell phone I didn’t have, and then commandeered his. I didn’t waste time trying to figure out how to phrase this because some things are better just winged. “If you’re not buying anything, you gotta get out of line,” the cashier told me. “There’s nobody else in the store.” “Don’t matter—there’s rules. Somebody could come in, and I’m the only one on.” “Start ringing things up, then. This won’t take long.” “Why not those?” She glanced at Ray. “’Cause if that’s your man, I’d say you can leave these off,” and she pushed the three biggest sizes to the side. “Oh, no, you didn’t,” Ray said. “It’s your own fault,” I told him. She might have thought it, but she probably wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t been snacking earlier. But that sort of thing puts some people in a bad mood—usually those with enough magical blood to recognize the theft but not to name it. And the anger tends to resolve itself into a generalized dislike of the vamp in question. And then someone picked up. “Oui?” Damn. I thought about hanging up, pretending to be a wrong number, as cowardly as that would have been. But I guess he recognized my breathing or something—which was disturbing enough right there—because he said, “Dory?” “What are you doing there?” I asked, harsher than I’d intended. “I was about to ask you the same. Where are you?” “Buying condoms,” I said, watching the salesclerk ring up a box of mediums and hand them to Ray. “Why?” “Is there more than one reason?” I asked, because “we have a garden full of randy fey” wasn’t on the approved-conversation list. There was silence on the other end of the phone. “What’s this shit?” Ray demanded, looking at the salesclerk. “Honey, truth hurts, but ain’t no way you’re a Magnum.” “Well, I ain’t no medium!” The clerk smiled. “Yeah, but I was being generous.” “Dorina,” Louis-Cesare finally said. “You do realize…I thought you had been with our kind before.” “I have.” voice had changed. “Who are they for?” “What are you doing?” the cashier demanded, as Ray grabbed another box. “I ain’t rung those up yet.” Ray pulled out a foil package and tossed the box back on the counter. “So ring it up.” She arched an eyebrow, but didn’t bother, maybe because she was watching him unbutton his fly. I caught his wrist. “What are you doing?” “Proving a point.” “Not in the middle of the store, you’re not.” “Ain’t nobody here,” the cashier reminded me, grinning. “And ain’t no way he’s filling that thing out.” “Dorina?” Louis-Cesare’s voice was loud in my ear. The one I had squeezed against the phone, which was squeezed against my sore shoulder, because I was using both hands to keep Ray’s point in his pants. “The fey, damn it!” I told him. “They’re for the fey!” “Which one?” Louis-Cesare asked, his voice going velvety soft. “All of them— No, Ray! Ray, cut it out!” “ All of them?” “No, that’s not what I—”

#Karen Chance, Fury’s Kiss
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the interminable wait for book _______

So, here’s the thing.  I am a reader.  And with the advent of new technology, I can have my phone read to me while I do a gazillion other things…So, due to the fact that I had a speed reading class in high school and …well I consume books.  And quickly.  It makes Tuesdays my favorite day.  And I have a lot of series I follow.  So Karen Chance is one among the many for me.  And at first I was Seriously mad at the delays and changing publication dates.  

But in the last year, I have come to realize that my book’s are a coping mechanism.  They give me something to hold on to.  Something to talk about.  Something to occupy the 60% of my brain that keeps screaming this can’t be my life.  And to let me be somewhat calm, and positive.  At least I’m not being chased by monsters, only creditors!  And yes, I am a widow with two beautiful teenage daughters.  Which means that I am scared to bring any man home because I am very careful about my blue eyed, blonde haired beautiful brilliant children are exposed to.  And I had a great husband which means I am not willing to settle for anything else.  So I read a lot of very explicit series cause that’s my only sexual release.

So I read Laurell K Hamilton and lots of others.  But here’s the thing.  We have to support our authors.  The publishing business is hard.  And they create these amazing worlds and characters we all.love.   And for them the creation process is amazingly complex with first drafts and then edit after edit.  Some people get really nasty about these amazing works of creation.  And I understand that, too.  I love the main characters in my books.  They are like friends who I visit with every time I read the book.   And I hate some of the things that happen.  In a way even the violently negative feedback is a compliment to the author.  But why should they keep spending 6-8 hours a day writing for us if we just bitch about it.  Why do the work of edit after edit?  

I am making a stand.  Laurell K Hamilton won’t publish when her next book will be out or which series it will be.  Why should she? Her fans will wail and whimper.  If she just publishes it and tells us after the last draft is finalized, she gets to bypass all the people mad when she misses a date!  And poor Karen Chance, who keeps trying to put out book 8-but the book is too long for paperback.  And then there’s the other stuff she writes.  Freebie’s that are hard work for her but taken as though they are due to the readers.  Ever since Karen published Book 7, with delays, she has been working hard to give us a good book 8.  And what do the readers do? Some of us go back and reread.  Look for all the nuances we keep missing in the race to find out what happened.  And then another group gets vocal-and trashes Karen Chance for missing publicized release dates.  Rather than doing that, I’m doing the opposite.

I am going to support my favorite authors.  I don’t care how long I have to wait for the next installment.  I’m going to send them messages, asking questions about the books I have.  I’m going to reread, and laugh and cry and scream and yell.  I’m going to write new reviews, new FAQs, new posts.  I’m going to do whatever the hell I can to make sure I get to know how the stories end.  I will write petitions.  I will beg,  plead and cajole.  I will help the next Kit Colbana book be made by sending money on Patreon.  And I will appreciate the freebies, the alternate POV, the deleted scenes.  I am doubly supportive of the authors I love who have prepublished schedules and put out surprise books too! I love Jenna Black and Lauren Dane and Seanan Mcguire and Kelley Armstrong and Christine Feehan.  But I will keep on supporting everyone…

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Forget Your Team: Your Online Violence Toward Girls and Women Is What Can Kiss My Ass – The Official Website of Ashley Judd

Forget Your Team: Your Online Violence Toward Girls and Women Is What Can Kiss My Ass – The Official Website of Ashley Judd

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chasin-thegoodlife:

appropriately-inappropriate:

hermionefeminism:

aneurysmsandanalogues:

the-courage-to-heal:

When I first encountered the literary classic Lolita, I was the same age as the infamous female character. I was 15 and had heard about a book in which a grown man carries on a sexual relationship with a much younger girl. Naturally, I quickly sought out the book and devoured the entire contents on my bedroom floor, parsing through Humbert Humbert‘s French and his erotic fascination for his stepdaughter, the light of his life, the fire of his loins — Dolores Haze. I remember being in the ninth grade and turning over the cover that presented a coy pair of saddle shoes as I hurried through the final pages in homeroom.

Although I remember admiring the book for all its literary prowess, what I don’t recall is how much of the truth of that story resonated with me given that I was a kid myself. Because it wasn’t until I reread the book as an adult that I realized Lolita had been raped. She had been raped repeatedly, from the time she was 12 to when she was 15 years old.

As a young woman now, it’s startling to see how that fundamental crux of the novel has been obscured in contemporary culture with even the suggestion of what it means to be “a Lolita” these days. Tossed about now, a “Lolita” archetype has come to suggest a sexually precocious, flirtatious underage girl who invites the attention of older men despite her young age. A Lolita now implies a young girl who is sexy, despite her pigtails and lollipops, and who teases men even though she is supposed to be off-limits.

In describing his now banned perfume ad, Marc Jacobs was very frank about the intentions of his sexy child ad and why he chose young Dakota Fanning to be featured in it. The designer described the actress as a “contemporary Lolita,” adding that she was “seductive, yet sweet.” Propping her up in a child’s dress that was spread about her thighs, and with a flower bottle placed right between her legs, the styling was sufficient to make the 17-year-old look even younger. The text below read “Oh Lola!,” cementing the Lolita reference completely. The teenager looks about 12 years old in the sexualizing advertisement, which is the same age Lolita is when the book begins.

And yet Marc Jacobs’ interpretation of Lolita as “seductive” is completely false, as are all other usages of Lolita to imply a “seductive, yet sweet” little girl who desires sex with older men.

Lolita is narrated by a self-admitted pedophile whose penchant for extremely young girls dates all the way back to his youth. Twelve-year-old Dolores Haze was not the first of Humbert Humbert’s victims; she was just the last. His recounting of events is unreliable given that he is serially attracted to girl children or “nymphets” as he affectionately calls them. And his endless rationalizing of his”love” for Lolita, their “affair,” their “romance” glosses over his consistent sexual attacks on her beginning in the notorious hotel room shortly after her mother dies.

This man who marries Lolita’s mother, in a sole effort to get access to the child, fantasizes about drugging her in the hopes of raping her — a hypothetical scenario which eventually does come to fruition. Later on as he realizes that Lolita is aging out of his preferred age bracket, he entertains the thought of impregnating her with a daughter so that he can in turn rape that child when Lolita gets too old

Lolita does make repeated attempts to get away from her rapist and stepfather by trying to alert others as to how she is being abused. According to Humbert, she invites the company of anyone which annoys him given that the pervert doesn’t want to be discovered. And yet, he manipulates her from truly notifying the authorities by telling her that without him — her only living relative — she’ll become a ward of the state. By spoiling her with dresses and comic books and soda pop, he reminds her that going into the system will deny her such luxuries and so she is better off being raped by him whenever he pleases than living without new presents.

Given that Humbert is a pedophile, his first-person account is far from trustworthy when deciphering what actually happened to Lolita. But, Vladimir Nabokov does give us some clues despite our unreliable narrator. For their entire first year together on the road as they wade from town to town, Humbert recalls her bouts of crying and “moodiness” — perfectly understandable emotions considering that she is being raped day and night. A woman in town even inquires to Humbert what cat has been scratching him given the the marks on his arms — vigilant attempts by Lolita to get away from her attacker and guardian. He controls every aspect of her young life, consumed with the thought that she will leave him with the aid of too much allowance money or perhaps a boyfriend. He interrogates her constantly about her friends and eventually ransacks her bedroom revoking all her money. Lolita is often taunted with things she desires in exchange for sexual favors as Nabokov writes in one scene:

“How sweet it was to bring that coffee to her, and then deny it until she had done her morning duty.”

Lolita eventually does get away from her abusive stepfather by age 15, but the fact that she has been immortalized as this illicit literary vixen is not only deeply troublesome, it’s also a completely inaccurate reading of the book. And Marc Jacobs is not alone in his highly problematic misinterpretation of child rape and abuse as “sexy.” Some publications and publishing houses actually recognize the years of abuse as love.

On the 50th anniversary edition of Lolita, which I purchased for the sake of writing this piece, there sits on the back cover a quote from Vanity Fair which reads:

“The only convincing love story of our century.”

The edition, which was published by Vintage International, recounts the story as “Vladimir Nabokov’s most famous and controversial novel” but also as having something to say about love. The back cover concludes in its summary:

“Most of all, it is a meditation on love — love as outrage and hallucinations, madness and transformation.”

“Love” holds no space in this novel, which details the repeated sexual violation of a child. Although Humbert desperately tries to convince the reader that he is in love with his stepdaughter, the scratches on his arms imply something else entirely. Because the lecherous Humbert has couched his pedophilia in romantic language, the young girl he repeatedly violated seems to have passed through into pop culture as a tween temptress rather than a rape victim.

Conflating love or sexiness with the rape of literature’s most misunderstood child is dangerous in that it perpetuates the mythology that young girls are some how participating in their own violation. That they are instigating these attacks by encouraging and inciting the lust of men with their flirty demeanor and child-like innocence.

Let it be known that even Lolita, pop culture’s first “sexy little girl” was not looking to seduce her stepfather. Lolita, like a lot of young girls, was raped.

Source: http://www.mommyish.com/2011/11/16/lolita-novel-sex-rape-pedophilia-541/2/#ixzz3N4PFEyex

I was going through this at age 11 when i got my hands on the book, and i never read it as sexual. I cried and related to her on such a deep level. Anyone who thinks lolita is a love story is gross.

Too real. Lolita means so much to me, because I was raped by an older adult man when I was 15 and years later when I came forward about it people said it was my fault because I flirted with him. A friend of his even teased me with the comment “weren’t you his little Lolita?” Lolita. Is Not. A love story. The continuous sexual abuse of a teenage girl is not love.

What chaps my ass is that NABOKOV didn’t see it as a love story. He found Humbert repugnant and went out of his way to make him so.

He hated that people saw it as romantic when he’d meant to write a fucking horror novel.

I hate when people call themselves Lolita or that fucking Lana del Rey song.This book is about a little girl being raped constantly and they make it seem like a seduction or tease.Please people read this article or read what the book really is this story makes my gut churn.I was being molested as a kid and had mental games played on me.Please Please Please to save another persons life stop romanticizing this story let people know this isn’t no old century love this is rape

Rape is never ok.  Nor is a relationship between an adult and a child.  I read a lot but it is imperative that this be a truth of our age.  Too many people refuse to stand up to protect that truth.  Many of my favorite heroines were abused as children.

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Ok, so how do I answer this without spoilers

So, I have gotten 3 people to read the Cassandra Palmer series in the past week (go me!) but they are close friends so obviously they want to discuss it…and they all hate John Pritkin, which makes sense at the end of Book 1 cause he’s an ass!  But, I know where its going…and I’m stumped!  2 of my friends moved on to discussing other books because of my vague hes not so bad comments…I know there are a lot of people here on tumblr who want cassie to be with pritkin so help me!

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