#and the nudity and white cover parallels

[hawleywilby]

#maurice 1987 #maurice hall #alec scudder #looking at each other #the chemistry they have #is so incredible #and the nudity and white cover parallels #james wilby #rupert graves #the russet room #the hotel in town #otp forever #favourite ever #my set #*

[bungalowbear]

a winter morning with husband!nanami. not edited, though i feel it’s fitting for the setting of this piece hehe

cw: nudity, handjob in the shower, MDNI

wc: 1,515

The sun has yet to rise. The frigid air of a winter’s night lingers heavily in the bedroom. The thin crack between the curtains illuminates with the white light from the lamppost just below the apartment window.

Parallel to the window, pushed up against the wall, is the bed you and your husband share. Matching sheets with thin blue and white stripes for the duvet cover and pillowcases surround your entwined forms, havens to lay your heads and preserve the warmth your bodies accumulated overnight.

You lay with your head tucked into Nanami’s chest and an arm slung around his waist. His chin rests atop your head while his arms wrap around you and hold you close. Your breaths form in calm synchronization, the rising and falling of your chests the only movements detected so early in the morning.

That is, until the alarm sounds and you press your face into the crook of his neck with a groan. Nanami lets out a long sigh before removing an arm from around you and reaching behind to hit snooze. He settles on his back, making the covers drop slightly, and you fight the sudden chill by chasing his movements with your own. You grab the edge of the cover and pull it up, covering your entire head and up to your husband’s neck. You tuck yourself under his arm and cage his torso with your arms and slot your legs around his thigh. A groggy chuckle escapes his throat but you ignore it as you settle back into slumber to the rhythm of Nanami’s hand stroking soothing lines along your side.

Just as you’re slipping into another peaceful dream the screeching sound of the alarm brings you back to reality. You sigh, a deep and defeated sound, when Nanami silences the alarm clock. He pulls some of the cover down to uncover your eyes. His thumb brushes gently along the top of your right eyebrow.

It’s time to get up.

You tip your head up with barely open eyes. In the near complete darkness you can see his eyes are just as sleep ridden as yours. A pinch forms between your brows as you silently plead with him.

Five more minutes.

Fondness makes Nanami’s lips curve just the tiniest bit at the edge. However, your plea is in vain. Your husband is a diligent man and knows you well enough not to let your pretty face steer you both off track from your morning routine. At least not more than once, twice at most, per week. And yesterday’s near miss of the train cautions him to be firmly set in his resolve this morning.

Nanami sits up, hands rubbing along your shoulders. Your head rests on his firm thigh only a moment before he carefully slips out from beneath the covers and gets out of bed. You cocoon yourself once more but his hand finds the outline of your head and gives it two soft pats.

If you don’t join me soon, I’ll have to get started without you.

Your husband doesn’t wait for a response, and instead makes his way around the bed and toward the bathroom. You hear the light switch turn and then the twist of the knob before water begins to rain down from the shower head.

You count down a minute in your head, psyching yourself up to throw back the covers and brave the cold early morning air.

Three, two, one…

The warmth of your bed is invaded and you jump out, fighting the shiver that racks up your spine, and scurry into the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and slowly start to feel the steam from the shower warm your skin.

Nanami is already inside. Your eyes drop from his silhouette behind the curtain to the floor where his t-shirt, sweatpants, and underwear are piled on top of the clothes in the hamper. You remove your own pajamas, which is just a pair of sleep shorts and one of Nanami’s sweatshirts, and toss them on top of his discarded clothes and join your husband in the shower.

He’s rinsing out the shampoo out of his hair when you come up behind him and press the bare skin of your front against his back. Your arms wrap around his torso and you give a quick squeeze.

Good morning, Ken.

Nanami hangs his head as the last of the suds spill from the tips of his blonde hair. His hands come down to meet yours, fingers tracing a random pattern over the delicate skin of your wrist.

Good morning, darling.

You place a brief kiss between his shoulder blades before removing your arms and reaching for the body wash. Squeezing out a large dollop, you lather it up in your palms and begin to smooth your hands across the wide expanse of his shoulders. You work down his back and then start again at the top of his arms, fingers dipping along every curve of well defined muscle, until you finish at his hands.

When you arms reach around to the front, you feel him take in a deep breath. Your hands spread the soap along his chest. The heat of the water’s spray does nothing to keep his nipples from hardening when your thumbs carefully caress the sensitive nubs.

Your touch travels lower, down the hard planes of his abdominal muscles that clench beneath your fingertips. You relish in the way his breathing grows heavier the further down you wander.

First, you feel the hair at the base that’s starting to grow out of the neat trim your husband meticulously keeps. He’ll be grooming himself in the next day or two so you make a mental note to be sure that his trimmer is fully charged. Next, your right hand takes hold of the satisfying girth of your husband’s morning wood. Nanami releases a shuddering breath as you give one long stroke all the way up to his tip, where drops of cum leak out and fall onto the floor of the shower and swirl down the drain along with the soap and water. You take care to use tender circular motions when cleaning the sensitive glans as well as beneath the foreskin. Finally, your left hand travels lower to take hold of his testicles. The familiar weight of them is pleasant as you make sure you massage every inch of them with your soapy fingers.

Your hands work in tandem to complete their washing of your husband’s genitals until all of the suds have been rinsed away. But your touch remains as your pace speeds up and you take on a more rigorous rhythm.

Nanami groans as you pump him steadily, a sound you can barely hear over the running water. So you push your face into his back, widen your mouth, and bite down onto his skin just below his shoulder blade.

Louder. I want to hear you.

His large hand reaches back, gripping your hip tightly.

As you wish, my dear.

The hand around his cock quickens its pace and the fingers caressing his balls clench just a little bit tighter. You work him lovingly, expertly, as you’ve come to know him. Getting him to the peak of pleasure is the only goal on your mind, the only purpose your hands are given in this moment.

Nanami moans when your thumb strokes his tip at the same time you give his sack a gentle tug. The deep, rich sound echoes along the tile wall and it makes you ache between your legs. Your teeth sink into him deeper as you rub your thighs together and his moans only grow louder and louder the longer you work him over.

His body bends slightly at the waist when you feel him getting hotter the closer he gets to the end. His breath becomes shaky as his hips begin to rock into your fist. He braces a hand against the wall to steady himself when his sack tightens in your hold and his cock twitches when you give another firm stroke up his shaft.

A loud, satisfied groan leaves your husband as he goes rigid. With your thumb and pointer finger in a ring around his tip, you coax every last drop of Nanami’s spend out of him until he lets out one final sigh and takes the hand that holds his softening length and brings it to his lips to place a kiss to the back of it.

I love you.

Your teeth slowly withdraw from his back and you see the imprint you left behind. Your tongue traces along the small ridges of your making before you press your lips against them.

I love you, too.

Nanami turns and your hands fall to your sides. He leans forward and places a chaste kiss to your lips, when he pulls back you realize he now has the bottle of body wash in his hand. Your hand absently drifts to your wet folds as your husband looks at you with a smirk and a raised brow.

Your turn.

i do not have a taglist. please follow @bungalowbear-archive and turn on notifications.

#catalog #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #nanami smut #jjk #husband!nanami

[fortuna-et-cataclysmos]

Ms. Sans-Culotte and the obvious French Revolution symbolism

This episode is a field day for me, so I'll need to analyse it bit by bit. Let's first start with the obvious and less obvious French Revolution references in this episode. This will be especially obvious for French viewers, but I thought that it may be interesting for others.

Sans-culotte

I know that the term sounds funny to most, but sans-culottes are a key figure in the French history. Those were the commoners who revolted to the King and aristocracy, and undertook the French Revolution of 1789. As Mademoiselle Bustier explains in the beginning of the episode, the sans-culottes were called so because:

Contrary to rich aristocrats, they would wear simple pants.

So when Mlle. Bustier is akumatised, we see the following character design:

THE PANTS. Very obviously the pants. But there are more obvious symbols in this character design.

Marianne

Marianne is the national personification of the French Republic. She is very much synonymous with the free and republican spirit of France. Yes, that's also the name of Master Fu's girlfriend, and for good reason (she was a Résistance fighter during the German occupation of France!).

By the way this exact painting is in the background in the few seconds after Mlle. Bustier is akumatised:

Marianne is usually depicted with the following symbols:

the Phrygian cap

Greco-Roman clothes

Partial nudity

We see these signs in Mlle. Sans Culotte's character design.

Mlle. Sans Culotte's helmet has the unique shape of the Phrygian cap.

2. Mlle. Sans Culotte is dressed in a Greco-Roman armour. The usual depiction of Marianne is in flowy Greco-Roman clothes, but the helmet and armour really add to that fighter spirit of Mlle. Sans Culotte. Also, even though rarer, there are some depictions of Marianne with a Greco-Roman armour.

3. Partial nudity. Obviously they couldn't actually show that on a kids show. However, I think that the character design does hint to a type of nudity. The fact that the white of the French flag covers all of Mlle. Bustier's face and body make it seem like it is not actually her clothes but her skin. And other than the golden armour she wears, she has no other clothes on her.

The Guillotine

Mlle. Sans Culotte's weapon of choice is a freaking guillotine knife. This was a device used by the French revolutionaries to behead their opponents. To this day, it is associated with the violence of the French revolution.

Now to more implicit references:

Ça ira

When Mlle. Sans Culotte hits people, they turn into balloons that chant:

Ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!

Which is a song sang by the sans-culottes during the French Revolution (thanks to @2manyfandoms2count for helping out with this one!)

Other quotes and remarks

There are various quotes throughout the episode with a revolutionary lexicon.

Monarch: The power of Jubilation will help you show the people their dream of freedom, and as such gain partisans/supporters to your cause.

Monarch: To arms, citizens! Form batallions!

This one is especially striking for me, because it is very explicit call to violence (frequently used in French revolutionary history too).

Mlle. Sans Culotte: No one stops the revolution. Long live the revolution!

She quite literally says Vive la révolution. Seriously, it doesn't get any more obvious than that.

She literally runs head-first into a group of policemen, paralleling the Storming of the Bastille on 14 July 1789. And literally afterwards Chat Noir mentions this same event:

Chat Noir: It is not the 14th of July, my Lady. Do you think that this akuma victim wants to celebrate the Bastille Day early?

And later on:

Mlle. Sans Culotte: Ladybug, Chat Noir! Help the sans-culottes (plural!) to liberate Paris from its aristocratic Mayor!

Ladybug: Terror is not the solution!

Chat Noir: To get your voice heard there are the elections!

Ok, the word "terror" here is important. I had previously mentioned in my post on Felix's anarchist revolution that the French Revolution was followed by a period of violence where all those against the revolution were murdered. The name of the period is literally the Reign of Terror. We see that Ladybug's words is a reference to that.

Ladybug: (after receiving her lucky charm) Revolution, sans-culotte, and the Mayor of Paris who acts like the King?

The parallel is there. They're not even trying to be subtle. This is the retelling of the French Revolution.

Except that it doesn't turn out like the French Revolution. In the end, Mr. Bourgeois willingly steps down, Mlle. Sans Culotte rejects Monarch's powers (as in, she drops her weapons), so there is no revolution and no bloody reign of terror.

But still, the power dynamics end up shifting tremendously in the Miraculous Paris. How and why? I'll make a post specifically analysing this. Stay tuned for part two!

(Also, I have likely forgotten or omitted some other symbols, feel free to add them to the comments - if there are enough, I can make an addition to the post :))

#miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml season 5 #ml collusion #from fortuna #ml analysis

[jasper-pagan-witch]

All right, my friend. Recommend me a tarot deck or two! 😁

Good morning! I will take this moment to share some of my favorite ones!

The Manga Tarot - I am a sucker for neat decks, and this incorporates colors and seasonal kanji for further reading interpretation. Every card has also been genderswapped!

The Tarot of Oppositions - As a very amateur writer, duality and parallels are near and dear to my heart. Unfortunately this is also one of those "the cards are more thin plastic than actual card stock" decks, which may cause problems when shuffling (they sure did for me). It also doesn't feature much diversity.

The Tarot for Kids - These are very large and friendly cards that are very, very safe to use in readings for people who are uncomfortable with the nudity that follows a lot of the other RWS decks. But as I said, the cards are very, very large. Very diverse, too!

The Mermaid Tarot - This is a beautiful, beautiful deck that's very diverse and really emphasizes the elements of the suits. I feel kind of bad shuffling it because the cards are so pretty.

The Antique Anatomy Tarot - Did somebody say "vulture culture"? These cards are absolutely beautiful and haunting. Like the Manga Tarot, it draws on (unfortunately Western) color psychology, but much subtler and to a greater extent. This is one of those decks that I would pull out more if I didn't think it would spook people.

The Everyday Tarot - This is a beautiful purple, white, and gold tiny deck for if you're like me and you have small hands. The cards are thick, but they're also smaller than an average deck and they have GILDED EDGES. Azura called dibs on it immediately when I got it, actually.

The Kemetic Tarot - I'll be honest, I got this for Tehuti. It is not one of those cheap affordable decks, this is the big guns. Gilded inlays on the back, huge ass guidebook, average-sized tarot deck, bougie-ass bag that comes with it... It's elaborate, it's fantastic, it's beautiful, but it's expensive and I can't find it on Amazon anymore. There is, however, a new edition called the Veil of Aset edition, which includes the old deck and guidebook and bag, plus some new stuff.

The Dragon Tarot - It would be remiss of me to not include the deck that started it all for me. It could have more dragons and less (equal-opportunity) nip slips, but I love it so.

The Tarot of the Divine and Beneath the Moon book - Worldwide mythology rendered in a BEAUTIFUL and caring style. You can tell that a lot of care, honor, and love was put into it. My only complaint is that it includes the Rainbow Crow story and attributes it to the Lenape people, when they've said several times that it wasn't from them and was instead made up by a white person. It's a pretty card, just...wrongly attributed.

I also have some oracle decks that I recommend!

The Green Witch Oracle - I picked this deck up to help me learn about plants, and that was one of the best ideas I'd ever had. It's aesthetic as fuck, like an old field journal.

The Arcana of Astrology - I'm a Western astrology nerd, but only this deep. It covers planets, zodiac signs, houses, and comets, but none of the trickier things like aspects. This deck explains each of the categories in terms of both astrology and readings, along with keywords. Unfortunately I've found multiple wrong instances of "karma" in it, but if you Sharpie it out, it's a pretty good deck!

If you want any more suggestions, we've only gotten through 11 of my 39 decks!

~Jasper

#jasper post #answered #crazycatsiren #mutuals #tarot decks #oracle decks #divination #tarot

[whumpy-writings]

Fed and Watered

Masterlist

The story of 023, aka Henri, and Aldon continues. @thecyrulik asked if Henri's life was going to get better, so here is some comfort and fluff for poor Henri. This post is also dedicated to @whumpsy-daisy , 023's number 1 fan!

CW: Vampires, slavery, dehumanization, anxiety, starvation, disordered eating, mention of past physical and mental abuse, nudity (non-explicit/non-sexual), scars, (and fluff, I promise)

The last thing he remembered was Master telling him to breathe. Now the ground beneath him was soft.. No. Not the ground. A bed. Henri’s eyes flew open in a panic. Humans weren’t allowed on beds. He rolled to the side, falling off the bed and onto the wooden floor. Oof. He rubbed his sore nose, wincing. Henri looked around the room. It was large with dark wooden furniture giving it a sense of finery. The walls were lined with red tapestries which depicted various scenes from folklore.

Henri’s eyes stopped when they reached a small table. On the table was a bowl, and he could see the steam rising from it. Terror swept through him. Master had said it would be a couple days but apparently had changed his mind. Henri crawled over so he could clearly be seen from the door and knelt, heart pounding. Breathe, he told himself. In... out...in...out. His mind started to wander. This was his life, all he was was a meal for his betters. But sometimes… sometimes he still wished for more. He tried to push those thoughts away but they always came back, sneaking into the corners of his mind that weren’t completely dark. Thoughts of a life without fear. A life without pain. He jumped as the door opened, heart in his throat. Master stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders almost filling the entire frame. Master’s eyes fell on Henri, and Henri had to suppress the urge to flinch. A frown.

“You don’t need to do that here, Henri, you can stand up.” Henri rushed to get to his feet, a wave of dizziness hitting him. Next thing he knew, Master was next to him, grabbing his arm so he wouldn’t fall to the floor.

“Careful there.” Master glanced over to the table with the soup, a crease on his brow. “Why haven’t you eaten, Henri? You must be starving.” Henri looked from the soup to Master and back again, confused. He wasn’t allowed to eat yet. Henri tipped his head to the side, exposing his neck for Master.

“No, I don’t want that,” Master said quickly.

Henri let out a sob. He was so hungry, but he couldn’t eat yet. “Please Master, please I’m so hungry and I can’t eat until you have.”

…

Aldon froze, shocked. He had never heard of such a thing. “Was that your old Master’s rule?”

“Yes sir.” Aldon considered this, horror building in his stomach.

“How often did your Master feed?” he asked.

“Usually about three times a week, sir,” Henri replied quietly.

Aldon gaped. No wonder the human was so weak. Humans needed to eat at least once every day, much more often than vampires. Aldon took a deep breath, thinking of what to say.

“Here there is a different rule. I need you to be healthy, and eating three times a week is not going to accomplish that. You’re to eat everyday, whether or not it’s a feeding day. Anytime you’re hungry, let me know and I’ll get you some food.”

Henri looked at him in shock, big blue eyes huge. Then he started to cry. “Thank you for your kindness, Master.”

Aldon’s heart broke a little at being thanked for granting the bare minimum for survival. “Of course, Henri. Now why don’t you eat your soup? I’m going to go draw a bath for you.”

…

The soup was heavenly. It was warm, with potatoes and carrots and onions. There was a slice of bread too, which filled his mouth with yeasty deliciousness. Henri savored each bite. When he was done he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He was full. He hadn’t been full in… he didn’t even know how long.

...

Aldon felt the bath water. Not too hot, not too cold. He turned off the tap, drying his hands on the nearby towel. Time to get Henri. Aldon walked down the hall, gently rapping on the door before poking his head in. “The bath is all ready. Did you eat?”

Henri nodded vigorously, a ghost of a smile on his pale face. “Yes Master, Thank you Master.” He got out of the chair, hesitating for an instance. “Master…” he said, face going white, “I’m sorry for using the furniture without permission. Please forgive me.”

Aldon took a calming breath. Henri’s old master was certifiably, undeniably, an awful person. “No need to apologize Henri, you are allowed to use any of the furniture that you want.”

The relief was apparent on Henri’s face.“Thank you, Master.”

Aldon turned around hurriedly so Henri would not see the rage on his face. The ways some people treated their humans were just despicable.

“Come on Henri, let’s get you cleaned up.” Henri followed Aldon down the hall to the bathroom. It was small, with a white clawfoot tub and floors and walls covered in white ceramic tiles. This was one of the few houses in this part of the city that had the luxury of running water. Aldon turned back to Henri, only to find the man already undressed, pants on the floor. Aldon turned away immediately, cheeks burning.

“Is something the matter, Master?” Henri asked, voice filled with uncertainty and a tinge of fear

.

“No, I just was going to give you privacy to change. You’re allowed privacy here,” he quickly added.

“Oh,” a pause. “Thank you, Master,” Henri said quietly.

“You can climb in the tub now.” Aldon averted his eyes as Henri climbed in, then turned to the human sitting in the tub, bubbles up to his chest. “Would you like help bathing, or will you be able to do it on your own?” he asked carefully.

Henri considered this for a moment. “I would like a bit of help with my back and my hair, if you would be willing to. This hair is… a mess.” he said, gesturing to the greasy blond mop on his head.

“I can definitely help you with that.” Aldon knelt down next to the tub and picked up a cloth. He could hear Henri’s elevated breathing and could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “You’re okay Henri, how about we take a couple breaths?” Aldon led Henri through a couple rounds of deep breathing, until the human had calmed down.

“I’m sorry Master,” Henri said, staring down at the water, regret thick in his voice.

“Hey,” Aldon said, reaching out and taking Henri’s chin in his hand, gently making him look up at him. Henri’s blue eyes sparkled, threatening to spill tears. “I know this has been a big change for you. Anybody would be nervous in your place. I’m really proud of how well you’re doing.”

Henri blushed. “Thank you, Master.” he said.

“Of course, Henri,” Aldon said, picking up his cloth and dipping it in the water. He started to gently rub his back. Aldon pressed his lips together. Every single rib and vertebra was visible, creating deep ridges in the skin. Henri was covered in dirt and the water quickly starting to take on a brownish hue. Aldon paused when he glanced at Henri’s neck. There was a scar there, two actually. They were parallel to each other, running from the base of his skull all the way to the collarbone. Almost as if… someone had dragged their fangs down his neck. Aldon pursed his lips, fingers lingering on the scar. Henri froze, beneath his touch. “Henri, who did this to you?”

Henri didn’t respond for a second, and Aldon started to worry that maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it. Then finally Henri said, “Mas… Old Master” A pause. “I… I tried to run away.” Aldon cocked an eyebrow at that. Henri continued in a rush. “I know I shouldn’t have, that I should have been grateful for his protection. I didn’t make it far. This,” his fingers went to the scars, lightly tracing them “was my punishment. He wanted to make sure I knew who I belonged to. I’ll never try to run away from you, Master. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Aldon couldn’t see Henri’s face, but he could hear the sadness in his voice. Anger bubbled to the surface. How dare someone do that to another creature? Aldon pushed his feelings down. He would deal with it later.

“Thank you for telling me that, Henri.” There was silence for a while, Aldon moving on to Henri’s hair. It was matted with dirt and grease, tangled into knots. Aldon worked his fingers into the knots, slowly loosening them. After a while of working, he noticed that Henri was much more relaxed, his breathing steady. He smiled to himself. “Well, I think I’m done. Can you rinse your hair for me?”

Henri nodded, ducking quickly under the water. When he came up he was smiling. “Thank you, Master. That was wonderful.”

Aldon gave a quick nod, not trusting his voice. He cleared his throat. “You can finish up, and then get changed. There are some clothes for you on the table.” Henri nodded. Aldon left the room, quietly shutting the door behind them. Then he leaned back against it, head tilted back, and smiled.

Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy

#aldon the vampire #henri the human #vampire caretaker #recovering whumpee #vampire whump #whumpblr #pet whump #comfort #fluff #vampires tw #slavery tw #dehumanization tw #scars tw #disordered eating tw #starvation tw #anxiety tw #physical abuse tw #mental abuse tw #nudity tw

[agentrouka-blog]

@ ygritte hate post. In broad strokes, we agree Jon and Sansa are on parallel journeys, there is also plenty of parallels between Hound's sexual assault night with Jon and Ygritte (steel kiss, hand on face, and so on). (1/3)

Then Jon gets into it at the water pool, that is his "unkiss", no doubt. Notice though, the details about him getting riled up by sex red hair, she saying she is half-fish, debating fucking your own sister. I'm forgetting stuff of course. I'm sure that chapter is rife with that. (2/3)

Jonsa fans have speculated over Unkiss being a cover for another kiss (always with the cousins, the blood and fire cloak, and so forth). It could be that cave means much the same for him. Like said they are on parallel journeys and there's all those throwbacks to each other. (3/3)

So like Sansa, Jon is repressing something there. Something that happened in the winterfell pools. Bran remembers bathing with his sisters, but unlike Bran (who did saw OSHA getting out of one in that segment), Jon saw something that was a revelation. Like Florian when he saw Jonquil bathing with her sisters. Something red and then wanted to kiss, not downstairs but upstairs. Maybe he did... and maybe Ned caught him at it, because he later dreams of being caught there being innapropriate. (4/3)

In the dream he screams he will never father a abstard, he hates being one for they are lustful creatures born of lust and lies. Like lusting after their sisters. Its not like he is a Targaryen! Distraught, Jon decides to prove his nature wrong. He is not a deviant because he is a bastard lusting after his sister! So he decides to go to the Nights Watch, where he'll be chaste ever. Maybe. Kind of creepy but funny. It all comes together too, all those tidbits that are otherwise scattered. (5/3)

PS: Six maidens in the pool... Six Stark children. Not seven for once either way. And so Jon says in the show "we should have never left Winterfell" because it echoes the We shouldn't have left the cave. And Jon says they'll go back and Yggrite yaps You Know Nothing, but he was right. Jon will go back with the real redhead Sansa, back to Winterfell real pools. (6/3)

Thank you!! This ask really sent my brain whirring.

I already like the idea of the Unkiss drawing from a repressed memory, but I hadn’t noticed how the Ygritte memory-edit might interlock with that. 

We have this confirmation that they were fairly natural and relaxed about nudity among children:

"Might be there isn't." She grinned. "What are you staring at, boy? Never seen a woman before?"

"I have so." Bran had bathed with his sisters hundreds of times and he'd seen serving women in the hot pools too. Osha looked different, though, hard and sharp instead of soft and curvy. Her legs were all sinew, her breasts flat as two empty purses. "You've got a lot of scars." (ACOK, Bran II) 

Hundreds of times. We know Sansa associated hot water in a bath with Winterfell. 

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

So does Jon:

It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. (ASOS, Jon XII)

Then we have the image of the Water Gardens.

It was Daenerys who filled the gardens with laughing children. Her own children at the start, but later the sons and daughters of lords and landed knights were brought in to be companions to the boys and girls of princely blood. And one summer's day when it was scorching hot, she took pity on the children of her grooms and cooks and serving men and invited them to use the pools and fountains too, a tradition that has endured till this day." (…) 

As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. 

(ADWD, The Watcher)

And we know that the children of all ranks played together in the godswood, too. 

He had watched wistfully while the Walders contested with Turnip the cook's boy and Joseth's girls Bandy and Shyra. The Walders had decreed that Bran should be the judge and decide whether or not people had said "Mayhaps," but as soon as they started playing they forgot all about him.

The shouts and splashes soon drew others: Palla the kennel girl, Cayn's boy Calon, TomToo whose father Fat Tom had died with Bran's father at King's Landing. Before very long, every one of them was soaked and muddy. Palla was brown from head to heel, with moss in her hair, breathless from laughter. Bran had not heard so much laughing since the night the bloody raven came. (ACOK, Bran I)

It’s fair to conclude that the Jon and the Starklings may indeed have not just played but also bathed together in the godswood. 

There is an interesting association with Maidenpool, which is tied to the romance of Florian and Jonquil.

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool . . ."

"What are you doing?" Brienne demanded.

"Singing. 'Six Maids in a Pool,' I'm sure you've heard it. And shy little maids they were, too. Rather like you. Though somewhat prettier, I'll warrant."

(ASOS, Jaime III)

Jonquil bathed with ther sisters, when Florian first glimpsed her.

The pool becomes filthy and spoiled. Like Sansa’s bathwater, but also like the muddy Winterfell pools. Choked with corpses?

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red.  (ASOS, Jon VI)

The memory edit and the switch toward “love” in the cave is mirrored in this rather defiant dream, that recalls the pools at home, his father’s watching face, but also the laughter at home in the godswood. A pool in a sacred place spoiled with death. 

A memory spoiled by trauma.

Dany, who I would argue is a character strongly foreshadowed in Ygritte, has her own association with sacred pools.

They rode to the lake the Dothraki called the Womb of the World, surrounded by a fringe of reeds, its water still and calm. A thousand thousand years ago, Jhiqui told her, the first man had emerged from its depths, riding upon the back of the first horse.

The procession waited on the grassy shore as Dany stripped and let her soiled clothing fall to the ground. Naked, she stepped gingerly into the water. Irri said the lake had no bottom, but Dany felt soft mud squishing between her toes as she pushed through the tall reeds. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it. Goose pimples rose on her pale skin as the coldness crept up her thighs and kissed her lower lips. The stallion's blood had dried on her hands and around her mouth. Dany cupped her fingers and lifted the sacred waters over her head, cleansing herself and the child inside her while the khal and the others looked on.  (AGOT, Daenerys V)

This recalls Ygritte in the pools and Sansa in her filthy bath. But the presence of the blood of a horse slaughtered for her to eat its heart, the presence of the Stallion that Mounts the World, the prophecy and the things we know comes after... all that is ominous and the kiss of the cold is unlikely to be tender. 

"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it," he declared. "Waiting won't make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it."

"Kiss her?" Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

"A steel kiss," said Littlefinger. (AGOT, Eddard VIII)

or..

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech. (ASOS, Jon I)

or...

Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. (ASOS, Catelyn VII)

The layers in this… 

Anyway, there’s foreshadowing to Dany in the Ygritte mess, but it’s not exactly happy, while the Sansa connections in there tend to be positive. Sweet and foul all mixed up.

Sansa “remembering” the Unkiss in relation to kissing children (Margaery’s Girls, Sweetrobin) and with “awful” memories (Myranda’s wedding night)  has that same air of mixing something rotten with something that had been perhaps sweet but confusing. I.e. covering a traumatic event with something else. 

Then there’s another interesting association with the incest peach.

As she sat in the common room in her stupid girl clothes, Arya remembered what Syrio Forel had told her, the trick of looking and seeing what was there. When she looked, she saw more serving wenches than any inn could want, and most of them young and comely. And come evenfall, lots of men started coming and going at the Peach. They did not linger long in the common room, not even when Tom took out his woodharp and began to sing "Six Maids in a Pool." The wooden steps were old and steep, and creaked something fierce whenever one of the men took a girl upstairs. "I bet this is a brothel," she whispered to Gendry.

 (ASOS, Arya V)

Right after this they meet Gendry’s half-sister Bella, a “peach” at the Peach.

“I’m named Bella,” the girl told Gendry. “For the battle. I bet I could ring your bell, too. You want to?”

“No,” he said gruffly.

“I bet you do.” She ran a hand along his arm. “I don’t cost nothing to friends of Thoros and the lightning lord.”

“No, I said.” Gendry rose abruptly and stalked away from the table out into the night. 

Bella turned to Arya. “Don’t he like girls?”

While the bell recalls Dany, we should remember that 

Sansa plays “the high harp and the bells” (AGOT, Arya I) 

“Bella” translates to Beauty 

this scene is an unsubtle shout-out to Jon stalking out of the welcoming feast after Benjen teased him about fathering bastards and knowing a woman. After calling Sansa radiant. (AGOT, Jon I) 

So the Dany hints are joined by the Sansa hints. The Dany hints are negative (bells = battle), the Sansa ones positive (bells = music). Why are the Sansa hints there at all?

Before anyone goes “Jonrya!”, remember:

For half a heartbeat she forgot who she was supposed to be. She wasn't any peach, but she couldn't be Arya Stark either, not here with some smelly drunk she did not know. "I'm . . ."

"She's my sister." Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man's shoulder, and squeezed. "Leave her be." (ASOS, Arya V)

Arya is not a peach, she is a sister. Little sister. 

And there’s this:

He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all.  (AGOT, Bran II)

Jon only tastes the cold when silver-haired Val tastes sweetness in the air, but way up high the winter peach makes the air taste sweet, too. 

"Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones." (ACOK, Daenerys II)

But foul smells might cover sweet ones, too. The Unkiss covers a bitter trauma, but perhaps it was drawn from a more innocent kiss in the past.

The naked red-haired girl by the water might trigger a rewrite of Jon’s perception of Ygritte, but it might draw that from a different kind of confusion, surrounding the same memories that feed Sansa’s editing.

The godswood is certainly a stage for kissing:

As she stood there, all the memories came flooding back to her. Her father had taught her to ride amongst these trees, and that was the elm that Edmure had fallen from when he broke his arm, and over there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.

She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been — she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns. (…)

Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering whether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have.  (AGOT, Catelyn XI)

Memories that flood back, young children, innocent games that have consequences much later on, a specific Connection drawn to the Starklings and the Winterfell godswood.

More kissing:

 "I won't! I saw you kissing in the snow. She's just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood, but she never meant it, she never wanted you. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

and yet more...

Theon Greyjoy was no stranger to this godswood. He had played here as a boy, skipping stones across the cold black pool beneath the weirwood, hiding his treasures in the bole of an ancient oak, stalking squirrels with a bow he made himself. Later, older, he had soaked his bruises in the hot springs after many a session in the yard with Robb and Jory and Jon Snow. In amongst these chestnuts and elms and soldier pines he had found secret places where he could hide when he wanted to be alone. The first time he had ever kissed a girl had been here. Later, a different girl had made a man of him upon a ragged quilt in the shade of that tall grey-green sentinel. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

Starklings, kissing and the hot springs all in a paragraph.

I would say there is material here. If GRRM wants to write about Sansa and Jon sharing a memory that involves the hot springs, kissing and references to Florian and Jonquil, he will have planted the hints. It would certainly be a bit poetic if both of them used the same memory soup to create their trauma responses.

**

Before anyone tries to accuse me of hypocrisy when it comes to age gaps, abuse etc. I do not think this was a case of Jon perving on his young sister. Cat was 12 when she played kissing games with a much younger Petyr and Lysa, and I don’t think we are supposed to consider this a threesome. It’s child’s play. That’s my angle here. 

#jon snow #sansa stark #unkiss #anti-ygritte #kissing games #hot springs #pre-canon jonsa #mismemory #jonsa #asoiaf

[elysianslove]

all the little moments ; jason todd

synopsis; all the little moments between you and jason that ultimately lead up to the most important words you’ll utter to one another. 

pairing; jason todd x reader

genre; fluff 

warnings; hints at nudity towards the end

i.

in the frequent occurrence of a thunderstorm, you find tranquility. somehow, the relentless tapping of rain against your window, and the occasional rumble of thunder that's usually accompanied by a flash of a lightning bolt, set your nerves at ease. oppositely, they teeter jason on edge. with every boom of thunder that's sent from the sky to the earth below it, jason flinches. he's very obviously trying not to let it show, and with your head tucked underneath his chin, on his chest, you can't see the grimace of discomfort he wears on his lips. you can, however, feel the unruly beating of his heart beneath your ear, drumming loud and too quick.

a laptop is placed across from you on the bed, but you barely mind it any attention as the rain begins to lull you to sleep. you're minutes away from slipping away from reality when a flash of lightning illuminates the whole room momentarily, and jason sinks within the mattress deep, hiding a whimper in the crook of your neck. goosebumps riddle his skin, and a small shiver racks through him when you pull apart to sit up properly.

jason looks awfully like a small puppy at the moment.

he sinks lower onto your bed, turning onto his side and bringing a pillow above his head. he balances it with his arm, and with a muffled voice he tells you, "i can't take this shit anymore."

his tone is anything but scared, and the frustration laced in his words makes you laugh. you move to sit on your knees, legs parallel to his sprawled body, and you lean forward to move the pillow away from his face.

when jason had explained everything to you, about his past and especially about his death, he admitted that sometimes, breathing was a foreign concept to him. that he'd find himself holding his breath unintentionally while doing mundane tasks like grocery shopping or research for a case. that he wouldn't notice until he'd start to get lightheaded. it scared you when you awoke in the middle of the night to a silent jason: his chest wasn't rising and falling in speed with his breathing because he wasn't breathing. you had shook him awake with fright unknown to you, only to find him alive and well, only slightly dizzy. when he had moved the pillow to place it above his head, you notice through the movement of his chest that he'd been holding his breath.

you take the pillow into your own hands and set it aside. in response, jason twists slightly to face you, but remains on his side. his hair is ruffled from the pillow placement, so you shift forward and rest your fingers atop his head, carding them through the soft curls of his hair gently. instinctively, jason sighs, shutting his eyes. it's momentary, because not a second later does he jump up at the sound of thunder outside the window.

"hey," you softly say, bringing your hands to cup his cheeks. his attention turns to you fully, but you know his mind rests with the sky and its storm. "you're safe here, always."

he moves his head to press his lips on your palm, kissing it gently in gratitude. he breathes easier as your hands shuffle up back into his hair, brushing through it. "i ever mention i hate storms?" jason states, and you laugh again lowly.

"once or twice," you reply, shrugging. you briefly remove your fingers from his hair to lay by his side, facing him, when you bring your hands up to his face again. one hand gingerly rests at his chin, tilting his head to face you directly. "will kissing me make it better?" you offer.

he smiles smugly, tilting forward to press his lips against yours. the kiss is brief, but eternal in a way. jason always kisses you like it's the last time he ever will. always leaves the lingering taste of him your tongue. always leaves your lips tingling with the afterthought of him, forcing you to bite down. he always kisses you in a way that you won't forget, but will always crave for more. kissing jason todd is one of the many reasons you've found yourself falling in love with him, even if you’ve yet to say it aloud.

ii.

"which red is nicer?"

jason comes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle as he rests his chin atop your shoulder. he looks over to the two plastic tubes of lipstick you hold in your right and left hand. to be honest, both reds look the same to him, and the fact that you can see the difference only slightly scares him.

still, he lifts a hand up from your middle and points at the red in your right hand. maybe it's darker, or maybe his eyes are just tricking him. "that one," he answers you, and you continue to stare at the tubes in contemplation, before twisting your head to look at him.

"you don't know the difference, do you?" you tease, and he smiles sweetly at you shrugging. "i like the one you chose better anyways." you replace the other tube back, and throw the darker red into the small basket slung on your forearm.

jason watches you as you observe the aisles full of color, following behind you closely. you aren't blind, and neither is he, and the both of you can see the stares from the women and men towards him. you can't blame them. jason is beautiful, in a rough sort of way. he's tall and dark and handsome, and the facial scars along with the spontaneous white streak in his hair do him wonders. he dresses the same way he looks: mysteriously. it's always enough to draw out all the attention from a crowd.

you call him beautiful everyday. he never believes you. not even when all eyes are on him, like this.

"alright, i'm done!" you announce, stepping towards him. "let's go checkout," you tell him, and link your arm with his.

from miles away, it's obvious you two are a couple. even if it's not from the way neither of you can avoid the small, lingering physical touches — whether it's jason's hand brushing against yours or you sweetly reaching up to cup his chin with a hand — or the way the two of you talk in hushed tones like you're hiding a secret from the world. it's from the way jason glances back at you after surveying a scene: like you're his entire world, like you ground him to his spot on his feet, like you're keeping him from spinning away, like you're the only thing that matters, has ever mattered, and will ever matter. he looks at you with such unbelievable love and comfort and ease. like you're the only person he can envision himself running away with anywhere in the world.

so the girls and the boys look, but they keep their distance. even when you're at a distance from him, and especially when you're intertwine your fingers with his.

iii.

there's two occasions in which jason kisses you like you're the oxygen he breathes — he takes your lips in his and kisses you wholly, and so passionately and his hands are everywhere and his lips breathe you in so well and he tastes so good against your mouth, and he won't let you go until your gasping and begging for air, whether that be on your bed in the familiar comfort of your sheets or at a wayne gala in front of a very large audience.

the two occasions are a near death situation or he's just really fucking horny.

right now, it's the second one. it's obvious it's the second one because he's pulling at your clothes like they offend him, and his lips are latched onto your neck in a way that reassures you that you'll need to waste away a bottle of concealer. he's shirtless and breathless above you, covering your entire body with large frame. his hips grind down onto your yours, his skin burning with desire. your hands are traveling from his biceps up to his shoulders, towards his neck. your fingers find their way to his hair and you pull at the strands as the pit at the bottom of your stomach deepens with every move of his body and every kiss he places along your throat.

breathlessly, you say his name, but it's lost among the many gasps he emits from the back of your throat. he pulls away for seconds to push your shirt above your head, grinning as he lowers his open mouth to your chest when he finds you bare.

"jay," you plead when he kisses you over and over. he's relentless and unforgiving when he comes up to kiss you fully on the mouth. your hands travel to waistband of his pants and you tug down —

the phone rings, and jason freezes only for about three seconds before he decides he's going to continue to let it ring, opting to carry on with the ministrations on your lips and neck and chest. after a while it stops ringing, and your hands travel lower along his body. he moans into your mouth, losing himself in the taste and feel of you until the phone starts to ring again.

this time, you place a hand steadily on his chest, pushing him up and away from you slightly. you're completely out of breath when you speak — jason tends to have that effect on you — and reluctantly, you tell him, "jay, maybe you should see what that's about."

jason looks like he's contemplating, he even glances over at the phone resting on your nightstand. then he looks back down at you, and shifts until he's resting his elbows on either side of your head. you questioningly look at him, and his answer is in the kiss that swallows you whole. you're an honest person, and you're not going to complain at the way he's making you feel. not for a single phone call.

iv.

there's a lot of activities you and jason do together that he's inexplicably good at. baking is one. he always, always takes control in the kitchen. most of the time you just stand there and hand him the things he needs. it's basically the same with cooking, with the addition of him allowing you to taste test. it serves well that he isn't just good at cooking, but that he actually enjoys it. equally, you love watching him cook. he gets to enveloped within the action, like he's one with the herbs and the spices and the sauces. he's also one of those people that just know the measurements,

which is fairly frustrating.

there are lots of occasions in which you and jason prefer to stay in rather than go out. in all honesty, it's the majority of the time.

today is definitely one of those days, especially with the way he keeps yawning every five minutes. it ensures that neither of you will be leaving your home, let alone your couch. you're already placing your order for chinese takeout as jason flops onto the couch, sliding down low until he can rest his neck on the back of the couch. you walk around to where he is and seat yourself next to him, smiling sweetly when he glances your way.

"i ordered chinese," you tell him. he sighs gratefully, and the two of you say little as you await the arrival of your order. when it's finally here, you two eat it in silence, a replayed episode of how i met your mother playing on the tv screen before you while you group your noodles into your chopsticks' hold.

silently, as he always does, jason steals a piece of sesame chicken from your plate, and you yell loudly. your yell, however, is muffled by the food of your mouth and jason only laughs at you when he places your chicken in his mouth. when you swallow your food, you point an accusatory pair of chopsticks in his direction.

"i always tell you to get it but you never do," you say, shifting to sit further away from him. "suffer chicken-less now."

jason follows you across the couch, leaning towards your plate to try to take another piece of chicken. "please," he whispers in your ear, and you can see his pout from the corner of your eye. "you can have my spring roll," he says, his voice dancing suggestively in waves.

"you're a liar," you accuse him. "how many times am i gonna fall for that?"

as you turn to look at him, he quickly and sneakily steals away a piece of chicken. he tosses it into his mouth before you can object, and laughs again when he spots your expression. it's almost impossible to be angry with him when he looks like this: carefree in some sweatpants and a tee shirt, his hair a wild mess and his eyes tired, and his smile wide. he looks so much like any other man here; it's so easy to forget how just a little over an hour ago he'd been a completely different man, a really dangerous one. but here he is, with his heart on his sleeve, and the brightest laugh — all for you.

"you're staring at me, doll," he comments, and you shrug shyly. he leans forward to teasingly kiss your nose, then shifts lower to kiss your lips. as he's distracted, you move your hand slowly to hover over his plate and then you steal away his spring roll. you pull back from the kiss and quickly bite down on it, grinning victoriously as his mouth falls open in shock. "you cheated!" he mentions.

"so what?" you reply. "not like you took my chicken fairly."

"i'll never forgive you for this," he says, shoving his chopsticks harshly and dramatically against his food.

you roll your eyes at him, and begrudgingly, you take a piece of chicken and place it on his plate. "happy now, my love?"

he gingerly kisses your cheek. "always with you."

v.

jason trusts you. it's an understatement. sure, you haven't said the three magic words to each other, but it's there in the way he holds your hand as you walk the street, or in the way he hands you a special cupcake he made for you and watches as your face is overtaken by bliss the moment you bite down on the sweetness, or in the way he finds comfort in the crook of your neck, or in the way you're so good at making him feel good, in every possible way, whether it's a gentle goodnight or good morning kiss or whether it's a generous body massage or whether it's your naked body against his, losing yourself within each other.

sometimes, the trust he holds towards you and the unsaid love is in how he lets you put his head in your lap, and lets you use all your skincare products on him, however you'd like.

at your mercy.

"how many products have you put on my face?" he asks, his eyes closed. he'd never admit it out loud, let alone to you — he doesn't want you to know that this isn't just fun for you — but the way your hands or the brush glide along the skin of his face is so relaxing. and honestly, he's already feeling refreshed.

"i've only used a cleanser and a toner, jay," you reply.

jason frowns. "and how many more steps are there exactly?"

you pinch his nose slightly, causing him to scrunch it up and raise up his hand to brush away yours. "don't ask questions you don’t want answers to, mr. todd."

he sighs, and continues to let you work your magic. you pull out a container and a brush, and you begin to apply a face mask. the brush and the product are cold on his face, and he frowns and starts shifting, moving his facial muscles.

you smack at his shoulder. "you're so restless," you tell him, and he only smiles smugly up at you. you continue to apply the face mask. "jay," you begin. he hums out a response. "can i ask you a question?" he nods in your lap. "if you could change one thing about the past, what would it be?"

slowly, jason's eyes open. they don't meet yours, even as you're staring down at him while you apply the mask, but eventually they do when he seems to have found his answer. he breathes deeply, and replies, "i think a while ago i would've had a lot of different answers. like not go to that warehouse, or not even accept batman's offer to be robin. but, um, there's still good in what life i've made as the red hood, you know?"

you smile proudly down at him. "yeah," you agree. "like roy, and lian, and kori, and artemis and bizzaro —"

"and you," he cuts you off, pointedly looking you directly in the eye as he says it.

shyly, you nod. "and me," you repeat after him.

"i think," jason starts, but he's reluctant. you avoid looking him in the eye, knowing it'll only make him more anxious, and opt to looking for any spots you've missed. when he's ready, jason says, "i think i'm in a good enough place to say that i wouldn't change the past."

your eyes meet his again, finally. "everything led to this moment, right here," you say to him. "you, on my lap, with a pink face mask on."

jason's eyes widen. "it's pink?"

"what?" you wonder. "not masculine enough for ya?"

jason sighs. you take your phone from the desk near you, and swipe to the camera app.

"no pictures."

"too late, pretty boy."

vi. 

the water has cooled down by the time jason knocks on the bathroom door. he's fully clothed, completely opposite to you. you tuck your knees in at your chest and rest your cheek above them, looking at where he leans against the doorframe.

"hey, gorgeous," you greet him. you smile sleepily at him, lifting up your fingers to wave.

he chuckles lowly, stepping into the bathroom and towards where you sat in the bathtub. he sits on the edge, and brings his hands to your hair, beginning to brush and comb through it gently. you hum delightfully at the feel of his fingers, shutting your eyes. his fingers trail down to your neck, hovering over your skin before settling on the shoulder opposite to where he sits. he squeezes lightly, reassuringly, before leaning down and settling a kiss on the top of your head.

"join me, please," you ask of him, and he hums, smiling.

"my pleasure," he tells you, then stands up to rid himself of his clothes. he strips off the shirt first, slowly, allowing you to trail your eyes and follow with them the movement of his shirt as it reveals his skin underneath bit by bit. scars scatter across his hips, up to his chest that looks as if it was carved out by an artist of the 14th century. you can see the faint autopsy scar down the middle of his chest, but it's barely there. you've asked him before if it hurts sometimes, or itches, like scars tend to — it's all psychological of course.

he told you it hurts the most on april 27th.

he rids himself of the rest of the clothes: his shoes are disregarded followed by his trousers, then his socks, then his underwear until he's clad in nothing but his own human skin. he's bare before you as he climbs in behind you, settling in the space you've left for him when you scooted forward.

the water isn't as hot as it had been when you first started the bath, but it's still warm enough to soothe one's muscles. he sighs blissfully as he sinks lower into the water, his hands gripping the edges of the bathtub. for a moment, he sinks down deeper, submerging his entire body beneath the water, wetting his hair. then he sits back up and leans forward, capturing your waist in his hands as he pulls back against him.

in his arms, you feel even calmer. the nerves or the tension resting on your shoulders and the back of your neck drift off of your skin and sink into the water. his arms wrap tighter around your waist, bringing you closer to him, your naked back against his bare chest. it's quiet, the only noises sounding through the bathroom being yours and his steady breathing and the occasional slosh of water. jason's resting his chin upon your shoulder, his cheek against yours. your hand raises up to brush through his hair and he sweetly kisses your neck.

he breathes in, breathes out, then trails his lips upwards to steal a kiss from your lips. it's short lived, but momentous. you kiss him again, lasting it longer, before he pulls back. his eyes remain on your lips, which hover over his even as he speaks. and he says, "i love you," ever so quietly, ever so timidly. his arms grip your waist and hips tighter, afraid to let you go, afraid you'll vanish — as if those words are what will make you run away. he's never said them before, and he didn't even think before saying them, not long enough to decide what your answer or reply might be. not long enough to decide whether he should have even said them or not.

he doesn't realize he's holding his breath until you say, "i love you too, gorgeous," and then he breathes out in relief.

then he kisses you again, open mouthed, and he loses himself in his lover.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd reader insert #dc comics x reader #jason todd x you #batboys x reader #batfamily x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #jason todd drabble

[voltage-vixen]

A Reassuring Reminder----Part III (NSFW)

(This is featuring Gavin from MLQC) Part I   Part II

Gavin rolled off the bed, leaving a disappointed MC biting her lip in the annoyance of his warmth leaving her. He immediately noticed the look of discontent on her face and let out a small laugh.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. Gavin rummaged through the duffel bag and found her gingko leaf bracelet.

He sauntered back over to the bed and fastened the bracelet back on her frail wrist. Gavin placed a few soft kisses on the clasp and reached out to stroke her cheek.

“I want my bracelet to be the only thing you’re wearing,” the officer shyly admitted.

They glanced at each other, and both quickly looked away, trying to avoid the awkward eye contact. The meaning of his words had now hit MC, and she nervously began to ramble.

“Gavin, aren’t you still hurt from earlier? Maybe we should wait until you’ve had a chance to recover for a little while longer?”

Gavin could tell that MC was beginning to feel skittish. In an effort to help reassure her, Gavin cupped the sides of her face with both of his hands. Slowly, he witnessed the physical unwinding of her tense body, and his thumb stroked the side of her cheek.

“MC, I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re both fine. That’s all that matters,” Gavin comforted, trying his best to console the jittery woman. “If this is something you don’t want to happen, we can always stop right here. I would never pressure you into to participate in a situation you aren’t feeling comfortable with.”

Gavin and MC were locked into each other’s eyes, and MC knew that she didn’t want Gavin to stop. She latched her small hands onto the collar of his shirt, and lightly drew his face in, until he was directly in front of hers.

“I could never feel uncomfortable with you Gavin,” she affirmed.

Overflowing with conviction, MC yanked a tad more firmly onto his shirt, drawing him into her lips. She slightly puckered her mouth, and Gavin accepted her invitation by slipping his tongue around hers. Their tongues danced around, with Gavin’s soon finding dominance. The exploration of each other’s mouths was enough for MC’s breath to transform into sharp pants. A sudden tightness in Gavin’s pants initiated a newfound sense of desire within him. Judging by the heat that was emanating from her body, MC was experiencing that same drive of lust.

 Keen to witness this new side of MC, Gavin’s hands traveled to the bottom of his shirt to remove it, but was interrupted by MC nestling herself in between his parted thighs.

“Let me be the one to undress you.”

Stunned by her initiative, Gavin gasped when she felt her fingers trail across his fit body, while she removed the shirt. Once his top half was fully naked, MC chucked the article of clothing to the side, and his hand pressed into her back forcing her closer. Gavin slanted his head to ensure he was parallel to MC’s face. His teeth gently nipped at her neck, and slowly migrated to her lips, while his skillful hand focused on removing her nightgown.

Previously covering her chest, MC’s breasts bounced into plain sight, and she blushed at the sight of Gavin’s hearty gawking. Feeling self-conscious, MC hurriedly snatched the bed sheet attempting to cover her exposed assets. Gavin was quicker, and effortlessly plucked the sheet from her grasp.

“Hiding yourself isn’t allowed,” he murmured, “Concealing your beautiful body from me would be considered a crime, and as an officer, I would be forced to intervene.”

MC let out a small giggle in response to his lame joke, and felt herself relax as Gavin mildly nudged her onto her back. His efforts to ensure her comfort did not go unnoticed or unappreciated, and instead made MC’s heart for the evolver yearn even more.

Now staring up at the ceiling, MC felt Gavin’s tender fingers casually removed the white pair of underwear down her lean legs. A chill grazed over her nudity, and MC slightly quivered when she heard the shuffling of Gavin’s remaining clothing being discarded from his body.

Fully bare, Gavin propped himself in between her legs, and began to place tantalizing kisses on her stomach. MC sucked in a breath, when she felt him trail down lower and lower until-

“Ah! Oh my god,” she breathed

MC clutched chunks of his fine hair, while his tongue danced around the folds of her sweet glistening pussy. A sense of aching was resonating within her, and she instinctively bucked her restless hips into Gavin.

“Patience my love,” Gavin chuckled, while rubbing his nose against her clit. The vibrations from his hot breath, only made MC’s body hum in a sweet anticipation.

“We have all night, and the fun has only just begun.”

Being sure to keep a watchful eye on her reaction, Gavin slithered a finger into her dribbling arousal, and a delighted moan articulated from her lips. The blood rushed to Gavin’s full erection, as he watched the way her eyelashes fluttered in sync to the movement of his pumping digit. He omitted a grunt and shot her a pleading look with his eyes. MC frantically whimpered her approval, and Gavin wasted no additional time aligning himself with her entrance.

He braced himself by placing one of his hands by the side of her hip, and he intertwined his other hand into hers, and softly gave MC’s hand a promising squeeze. Gavin cautiously thrusted through her tightness, only to be met with a small resistance of her barrier.

A small whine of discomfort escaped from MC, and Gavin covered her face with butterfly kisses, in hopes of distracting her from the provisional pain. Gavin stroked her head, and patiently waited until MC gave him the nod to continue his conquest.

Gavin gradually kept pushing into MC, and a wave of relief washed over him, when he heard her sigh in pleasure. Following her cues, he began to oscillate his hips, and his hand reached out to fondle her supple breasts. MC’s groans lingered between them, and soon were flourishing into intense cries for more of him.

More than willingly happy to oblige to her every whim and demand, Gavin paused to lift one of her legs over his shoulder. This new angle allowed him to penetrate even deeper, which MC let out an elated scream in response to his frenzied movements. Gavin’s finger circled her sensitive clit, and MC instinctively groped the mounds of flesh on her chest. He rolled his lower body from side to side, which caused the pair to naturally reach their climax together.

Moaning in unison at finding their relief, Gavin collapsed down next to MC on the bed. Her breathing was labored, and Gavin wrapped her into his arms, letting her use his chest as a pillow.

“It’s alright,” Gavin whispered into her ear, “I’m right here. I’ve got you sweetheart.”

MC clenched onto Gavin’s arms, and found that she had regained control of her body again.

She glanced up at Gavin and saw the pure look of affection he held for her. There was so much MC wanted to convey and express to the officer, but her eyelids had betrayed her by growing heavy.

“Go to bed, MC. There’s always tomorrow, and I’m not going anywhere.”

MC was facing a deadlock. She wanted to stay awake, but the sound of Gavin’s soothing voice permitted her the reassurance to fall deeply asleep into his arms.

“Goodnight MC.”

Those peaceful words were the last she heard, before a restful sleep finally made it’s claim over her, and she felt a gentle kissed placed on the bracelet MC fell asleep with.

Part IV

@agustd54, @kuronekokot, @inukazoki, @bubblyblossomx, @roses-n-pandas, @thegrandduckmaster, @zavannahmj

#a reassuring reminder #mlqc #mlqc gavin #mr. love queen's choice #mr. love gavin #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mlqc smut #mlqc fanfic #gavin smut #mlqc bai qi #wip #multi chapter #love and producer smut #mlqc gavin smut

[illshowyourhurricanes]

He Loves Me

Here, you’ll get another glimpse into the life of one non-gold digger, Mr. Benjamin Greene, in the form of another series of little moments that all leads up to something much bigger. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Image prompt 10: Benjamin Greene x reader (requested by the lovely @breanime)

Rating: PG-13ish for mentions of nudity

Word count: 1712

Tag list: @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @logan-deloss @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @bicevans @maydayfigment @thisisparadisemylove @ladyofnaps @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes

Follower event tag list: @luminex3 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @witchygagirl @breanime 

If anyone wants to be added to/removed from my tag list, please just send me an ask!

Special thanks to @the-blind-assassin-12 for beta reading a little bit of this one!

This is related to all other Benjamin Greene x reader fics, which can all be found in my masterlist.

You woke up smiling. Eyes swollen from sleep, you rubbed at them with balled up fists, clearing morning residue from the corners. Reaching upward, you wiggled your fingers as you stretched your arms, feeling the overnight stiffness melt away from your fingertips to your shoulder blades. Your eyes were still adjusting to the sunlight streaming in between the slats of the blinds covering your windows. Pale yellow light decorated the floor in long parallel lines, breaking up the shadows. Benjamin’s soft snores as his chest rose and fell were the only sounds hindering the house from complete silence. It was tranquil. Perfect. 

Rolling onto your right side, you admired the beautiful bouquet of flowers Benjamin had surprised you with the night before. It was bright with spring blooms, pink tulips and pure white irises; pale peach miniature roses, striking orchids, and daffodils the color of the bright sunshine. Eucalyptus leaves and tiny blooms of sweet pea and chamomile as fillers, the arrangement was quite fragrant. It was colorful and different; definitely not the typical flower bouquet. 

“I chose them all,” Benjamin had told you just after bursting in the door, the bouquet wrapped in paper, all long stems and pops of color and a kiss in greeting. “Nothing pre-arranged said Y/N.” He offered the bouquet to you, a slight flushing of his cheeks as he did so. “You’re stunning and remarkable and an amalgamation of beautiful things all mixed perfectly.” He nodded to the flowers, tickling your nose with sweet aromas. “They suit you; they're mostly wildflowers.”

Your eyes shone with awe and the threat of tears. The wrapping around Benjamin’s hand-picked array crinkled as you carefully accepted them. “You’ve stolen my words,” you said as you glanced down at the flowers. You’d have time to admire them later, but for the time being you were entirely enamored with Benjamin. “Have I forgotten something? Is today significant?” Your brows knitted together in worry as you searched your mind.

“No,” Benjamin said with a chuckle. “Just a Saturday.” He regarded your face, the top knot you wore your hair in, your old oversized university t-shirt and boxer shorts. “You’ve been working.” It was more of a statement than a question. 

“Just finished,” you replied with a smile. “Thank you. Let’s get them in a vase, yeah?” You held out the flowers for Benjamin to take, freeing your hands so you could rummage in the cupboards under the sink. 

You climbed out of bed quietly, making an effort trying not to wake Benjamin. After making a cup of tea, you rummaged around making little to no noise until you found what you were looking for. Using your drawing board as a makeshift tray, you piled the remainder of your supplies on top: pastel paper, tape, and your collection of Prismacolor pastels, as well as colored pencils to outline. Your cup of tea was also precariously balanced atop; your mind had been so trained on your task at hand that you hadn’t thought about the clattering of the cup. Thankfully, Benjamin was a fairly heavy sleeper. 

Once back in the bedroom, you smiled at you peeled over at Benjamin, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Carefully, you placed your drawing board on the floor before sitting down beside it, first placing your tea to the side after taking a sip. Your pastels were put to the side, colored pencils placed in your lap, and you tore off four tiny pieces of tape to secure your pastel paper to your drawing board. Smoothing your hand over the paper, you paid attention to the way it felt beneath your palm, the toothy surface of the paper that was akin to the feeling of sandpaper, only finer. 

You gazed up at your bouquet. You'd all but memorized the way they were arranged in the case, which flowers had thicker stems, how bright the yellow of the daffodils were, how saturated the pink petals of the tulips, the shadows the larger blooms cast over the sweet pea and chamomile. Precariously, you opened the tin your pencils were arranged in, squinting your eyes as you regarded the flowers, then peering into your lap. Your pencils were just used for a rough sketching, an outlining of sorts that would be completely obscured by the pastels as you worked. It had been awhile since you’d  been inspired to play with color, the time to mull over saturation and warmth versus cool, to meticulously muck over the stark difference it was to shadow with pastels instead of charcoal. 

Your thoughts regarding color always started and ended with Benjamin’s eyes, the particular deep, warm brown of his irises, the chestnut undertones and flecks of gold within them. They were a color, you thought, that not even legendary artists could get just right. You loved the way they darkened even more with desire, when his mind was full of nothing except all the different ways he could devour you. 

After about five minutes of sketching later, you looked up from your work and over to Benjamin, who was very much awake, just watching you. You’d been so immersed in your work, you’d missed the change in his breathing. He smiled at you, creases forming at the outer corners of his eyes. “Good morning, love. You should come back to bed.”

Benjamin’s smile was contagious. Since the two of you had met, his smile had always drawn out your own; the expression held with it warmth, affection, and sometimes a bit of mischief. Your smile was broken by laughter at Benjamin’s invitation. 

“I’m working,” you said simply, still wearing a residual smile. Repositioning himself, Benjamin propped himself upward over the pillows. He glanced to the array of supplies around you, garnering that you were playing with color, and color had absolutely nothing to do with charcoal. He raised his brows just a shadow, yet you didn’t have to look up to witness it. You knew Benjamin Greene. 

“Congratulations on the new job, Y/N! Now, come back to bed and allow me to congratulate you properly.” And there was that smile, the one with a bit of mischief mixed in. 

Playing as if you were toying with the idea, you glanced longing over at your pastels, untouched as of yet. Without another word, you began clearing your lap of kelly green and sunshine yellow, candy apple red and tangerine orange. The pencils slid easily back into their tin container. You heard the rustling of bedsheets as you turned your back and bent to pile your things back into your old drawing board. 

You righted yourself back upward and stretched toward the ceiling, straightening your spine. You turned back toward the bed, but were captured by a pair of strong arms instead. You hugged Benjamin tight around his middle and your eyelashes fluttered against his bare chest as he placed a lingering kiss to your crown. 

“What are you working on, Ms. Kahlo?” Frieda, is it?” A warm breath of laughter followed the slight tickling of your eyelashes over his skin and Benjamin relished in those small, unconscious touches. He held you for a moment longer until you pulled back to nod toward your bouquet.

“Hand-picked flowers by a bloke called Benjamin… something-or-other. He has a good eye for colour, yeah? His name really should be renowned, the surname, too. Benjamin  is just too common a name, but so is Britney and everyone knows when the name is uttered, exactly who you’re talking about… oh, baby, baby.” 

Your impression left a lot to be desired, but that just added to the level of ridiculously adorable you’d hit without trying, and a loud timbre of laughter bounced off the bedroom walls. “I love you, Y/N.”

Your smirk was completely erased as your jaw dropped and your mind whirled. He...what did he just say? It couldn’t have been— he had never—

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden beat of silence throughout the house, just as it had been an hour before. He dipped his head in an effort to catch your eyes. You looked up to see his own, much darker ones, filled with worry. 

“That’s… that’s what the flowers were for, Y/N. I had a bit of… something prepared, just a rambling of things that have made me realize over time that…” His hands slid down your arms, around the curving of your hips and waist, down to the small of your back. “But I was late and I could tell you were working. You were beautifully smudged but I wanted you to hear it. To know. It just wasn’t the right time, and—“

“Benjamin.” Your voice was a whisper as your hands rose to gently press against his chest, but firmly enough for his hands to fall from your back as he took a step back. “Y/N, I’m—“

You turned to see the hurt in his eyes, as if his heart had been pulverized. Turning away, your own heart seizing in your chest, you clutched the frayed ends of your old t-shirt, fabric bunching between your fingers as you lifted it up and over your head. Your hair tumbled down and over your shoulders and you bent to rid yourself of the boxer shorts, pushing them down and stepping out of them. Finally, you slipped between the sheets, the cool material sending a pleasant chill over and under your naked body. 

“I think we have another thing to celebrate,” you spoke finally. Your eyes shined, not with tears but absolute awe. Benjamin blinked, one, two, three times as he strode to the opposite side of the bed and crawled in beside you. 

“You don’t—“

“Shhh.” You hushed him by lightly touching your finger to his lips. The man before you was simply exquisite. “I love you, Benjamin Greene. It's been for awhile now.”

Shock passed over his features briefly. Before he could say another word, you took his cheeks in your hands, meeting him halfway for a long, lingering, deep kiss. He smiled against your lips and pulled your body atop his own, skin to skin. Drinking you in with darkened eyes, he kissed along the curve of your shoulder. “Show me how much, Y/N.”

You never finished your sketch.

#dani's 150 followers event #drabble requests #image 10 #benjamin greene x reader

[gascon-en-exil]

Joining the Game Late: S2E5 “The Ghost of Harrenhal”

Synopsis

Renly faces death by CGI. Littlefinger and Margaery talk sense into Loras and get the measure of each other. Cersei plays coy about Stannis but is sitting on an arsenal of felfire wildfire. Tyrion gets called a demon monkey, and Theon gets no respect either but he does get an idea. Tywin is too perceptive for Arya. She also meets Chekov’s prisoner and orders a hit. Sam gets a history boner in addition to his regular boner. Bran actually understands how feudalism works, and Rickon understands...how to be a nutcracker. Dany witnesses a parlor trick by a blue-lipped illusionist and gets a marriage proposal that Jorah does not like and he is totally not jealous, shut up.

Commentary

This may be the first time that I’ve felt like too much has happened in an hour of this show to put down all my thoughts on it into 3-4 paragraphs like I’ve been doing. The pacing of this one is kind of exhausting, and I know as I start writing that I’m going to have to focus on at most two or three things or I’ll never be done.

Okay, so - Renly’s dead in the first scene. Seeing it previewed in YouTube videos did not prepare me for the knowledge that both Catelyn and Brienne would be witnesses and that his death’s impact on Brienne’s character arc would be this direct. Melisandre’s demon baby is positively loaded with religious symbolism as some kind of divinely conceived Antichrist figure (I assume this “birth” is unrelated to her earlier promise to give Stannis a son in the normal way, and the subsequent copulation), not to mention a touch of irony as getting a woman pregnant was something Renly couldn’t bring himself to do. The political fallout is immediate, but apart from Brienne’s grief the show doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on the personal ramifications. It’s a shame that Loras/Renly had so little screentime (and no real sex scenes or full nudity) to develop as a ship; normally I’m really into the gay lord/knight relationship as it often appears in Fire Emblem, but here there just wasn’t enough substance to go off. Admittedly there’s an interesting result to Brienne and Cat escaping together, with a scene of one woman swearing fealty to another, so there is that. Also worth noting how Brienne praises Cat for having “a woman’s courage” and the two of them are still in agreement that Brienne should get her violent revenge on Stannis, so gender and subversions of gendered expectations come into play on more than one level.

Let’s see...the ongoing murderous adventures of Arya now featuring one of the guys she saved back during the Gold Cloak raid, Tyrion’s investigation into a type of magical fire I can’t help but think of as felfire, the green demon-empowered fire magic used by warlocks in the Warcraft universe, Theon becoming the unloved captain of the Sea Bitch, more about Bran’s dreams, the Night’s Watch standing around in a blizzard looking constipated and not covering their heads while we get an exposition dump on Mance Rayder...ah, let’s talk about Daenerys. For the first time this season her storyline got more than one or two scenes, so it’s as good a time as any to give her the spotlight.

I’m not going to touch on the as-ever questionable optics of Daenerys the white queen surrounded by the only racially diverse set pieces in this show, or the suspect implications of, say, having her dress like one of the locals or her having to ward off her Dothraki followers from stealing everything in Qarth. I will say that her storyline might have read a bit better if they’d followed the logic that, with Valyria as this setting’s Roman Empire analogue, the Targaryens would have made more sense played by Italian or other southern European actors so they’d at least blend in better with the cosmopolitan faux-Mediterranean world that appears to comprise Essos - but perhaps that’s just me. I do like that Dany addresses the question I had last time about why Xaro would perform a blood oath to allow her into Qarth, and his drawn-out answer that he’s as ambitious as she is and has a political marriage in mind that he claims will benefit them both. Xaro also calls foul on Dany’s claims to care about the well-being of her khalasar and identifies her as a conqueror, which is entirely consistent with her motivations as restated in these same scenes. It makes me wonder again why so many people were shocked this past spring when she behaved like a conqueror in Season 8. I understand that the immediate setup may have been lacking, but the groundwork for a Daenerys concerned above all else with ruling the Iron Throne is already well-laid a season and a half in.

I’m going out on a limb here, but if I had to guess without having seen the seasons in between yet I would predict that it has to do with her fans getting too wrapped up in Jorah’s estimation of her “gentle heart” and her established hatred of slavery to pay much attention to scenes like those that finish off Season 1 or the one here with Xaro. Granted, Xaro is also perceptive enough to acknowledge that Jorah has his own biases; he’s romantically interested in Dany, and as such he’s less than thrilled with the idea of her getting what she wants by marrying another man. It’s too early for me to make this comparison in any depth, but if Edelgard from Fire Emblem: Three Houses took some design and characterizations cues from Daenerys (and, creator confirmation or not, I would say that there are enough similarities that it’s entirely reasonable to draw that conclusion), then that makes Hubert her Jorah equivalent. As it stands that’s an insult to both characters - Jorah has more than once functioned as a voice of morality but doesn’t have a ton of agency, whereas Hubert is delightfully evil and is doing all of Edelgard’s copious dirty work behind the scenes - but it’s still a notable parallel for a male retainer to a female ruler who has the hots for hers but is never going to get any. How this complicates Jorah’s ability to advise Dany going forward will be interesting to see.

#Game of Thrones #GoT

[twinktickles-blog]

Gym class was over, and the boys were ready to hit the showers.

Young Leo's eyes followed his classmate Brian's motions as he walked towards the locker room. Oh all the things he would give just to see they boy's body without all those clothes just once... To touch his skinny torso, his toned butt, his dick...

But he knew Brian, like all the other boys, was far too shy to shower naked, so he soaked up every moment of the sweat sticking Brian's gym clothes to his body and let his hormone-filled mind draw beautiful outlines to what his body must look like once he peeled off those cottons.

During the shower Leo made sure to get the shower parallel to Brian's, so he could admire the boy's body as the water washed down his tanned skin. "His swim trunks are kinda loose", he thought. "If only the water pressure was a little stronger I bet it would knock them right down to his ankles". But coach Tim didn't bother with the upkeep of the pipes for the past several years, so that wasn't going to happen.

There was nowhere private in the locker room, so in order to change into their bathing suits or back into their school uniforms after their showers, the boys had to tie a towel around their waist, strip naked underneath it and then put on their clothes. Leo couldn't help but stare when Brian was doing this, especially since he was standing right next to him. As Brian bent down pulling his wet trunks to the floor, his butt went right up into Leo's face, and the thought that all that was standing between him and Brian's privates was a mere towel, that one tug would let him see Brian butt-naked was too much to handle.

So he tugged.

Suddenly the white towel was in Leo's hand and giggles started erupting from the boys standing around them. The giggles turned to laughter as more boys came to see what was going on and found Brian totally naked in the middle of the locker room, a look of utter horror and embarrassment on his blushed face.

"Leo, what the fuck?!" He yelled, but Leo wasn't listening. The little red head boy was taking in every moment of this, he couldn't believe this was happening. Brian's body was so beautiful and he was so turned on. He wanted to touch him, but knew he couldn't just straight up squeeze his butt cheeks. The other kids would think he's gay. Suddenly he had a mischievous idea.

"Brian", he said with a grin. "You don't happen to be ticklish, do you?"

"WHAT?!" screamed Brian, but Leo wasn't even waiting for an answer. He stuck his fingers in Brian's armpits and started wiggling them around. As Brian's hands were too busy covering his crotch to fight back, he tried to wiggle out of Leo's grip, but the other boys wouldn't let him get away, it was too entertaining.

"Leheheho stahahap", pleaded Brian as Leo's fingers danced around his wet pits. But Leo was only just getting started. He tickled Brian until he fell to the floor, laughing and trying to escape the fingers. Leo thought his mind was going to explode as he watched Brian's cute butt wiggle around as he poked and prodded the boy's sides and waistline. "AHAHA!!" Brian screamed and rolled over the floor.

It wasn't long before the other boys joined in, first by pinning down his wrists and ankles, then by caressing his armpits, rubbing his ribs, poking his sides, squeezing his buttcheeks and turning the boy into a ticklish mess who could only squirm and scream with laughter.

The next thing that happened was that Leo's towel was snatched off his waist, allowing his wet, freckled skin to glimmer in the neon lights of the locker room in full nudity. Soon after more towels were snatched and flinged across the room, their owners starting to tickle each other to tears. The locker room turned into a huge naked tickle fight.

Suddenly someone grabbed Leo's boner, and started to pump his shaft up and down while another hand tickled his twinky ribs.

The sensation was increadible. The pumps sent fits of pleasure through his body while the other hands tickled his ribs, his pits, his butt, his balls. Brian's naked body squirming and laughing underneath him, now wet with sweat and not shower water... For a moment he was in heaven, and suddenly Brian was covered in warm, white liquid.

The tickling continued, but now the boys were tickling each other's butts, balls, and dicks. Laughter mixed with moans and shots of cum flew through the air all over the locker room.

None of them mentioned that day ever again.

#tickling #tickle #ticklish #tickle gay #gay

[woohooligancomics]

Webcomic Whimsy: Dogstar!

Welcome to the Woohooligan Weekly Webcomic Whimsy! If you're a webcomic author and would like a review, you can see my announcement and review rules here.

Title: Dogstar

Author: Brandon V. Williams

Site: ComicFury • Tapas (Brandon recommends this site.)

Genres: Comedy, Superheroes, Action, Adventure, SciFi, Anthropomorphic, DuckTales Justice League

Rating: PG (?)

Updates: Every other Saturday (for now -- previous schedule was weekly?)

My Starting Point (requested by author): Page 0

Synopsis (from Tapas): A mild mannered pilot/magician's life changes dramatically when he crosses paths with the world's most famous crime fighter. This sets him on a journey of many adventures, in which he grows into something far beyond his imagination.

For a sci-fi comic with a title like Dogstar, the opening seems a bit small scale. Here the five villains meet to discuss taking over... the galaxy? The world? The pacific northwest seafood restaurant market? Nope... one town called Beacon City.

After reading a bit further, it turns out that impression from the title was off-base and the story as a whole isn't a space opera, it's really a superhero story done in the style of DuckTales.

The jokes on the first page do a good job of setting the tone, with the pirate's hook-fingers, talk of brain stealing, and the mysterious evil overlord's mysterious silhouette cleavage.

The lettering on this first page needs work. The text isn't large enough to read comfortably and doesn't flow within the word balloons, leaving that incongruous feeling when a round balloon meets text with a straight left edge. It's like putting a sexy dress on the Iron Giant. Lettering on the latest pages shows marked improvement.

Writing does a good job of establishing the tone as not being Warner Brothers like I expected and instead being more Fritz the Cat. I doubt there will be displayed nudity or uncensored swearing, but dick jokes are definitely implied in what's obviously a champagne room.

Page two also commits some lettering sins that weren't on the first page. Dialogue balloons covering character art with plenty of empty "white space" left untouched is the big one. Panels 3-5 should have been close-up shots.

Ha! So the heroes' solution for a slow response from an agent is electroshock. That sort of thing is usually reserved for villains like Darth Vader's force choke. I guess if he's really insubbordinate he gets the hose.

Bullock Towers looks surprised! |8

Is it just me or is "Junk Jaws" a more intimidating name? Metal Mouth is literally how we used to insult kids in high-school if they had braces on their teeth. Spyke's trying to insult the guy, but he just makes him seem cooler. "Time's up, Ball Breaker! ... Actually, my name is Testicle Trasher, but now that you mention it I think yours is better, I'm gonna go with that..."

Wait... there are robots and cyborgs like Metal Mouth and he and his goons are still using tommy guns? "We could have had M-16s, but we're going for a prohibition era gangster look, you know, it's vintage!" I guess these villains are hipsters.

Nice visuals on that first panel... are the cop cars a photograph with a posterise filter?

Spyke McGruff apparently has the Judge Dredd gun... although glue-mode is new.

Panel 3 should have been close-up.

The extra space before the exclamation point drives me nuts... the font is too small, so every time it looks like an I in the middle of the sentence. "What a moron I he's using..."

Plus I sprang extra for the wax... but not the undercarriage, that's a rip-off.

He splits after one hit? Where'd all the confidence from the new jaw go? He never even tried to bite Spyke.

Just like a hipster... they can cloak a blimp, but they're still using tommy guns.

Oh, finally on page 11, the actual hero of the story! :P Oh, you thought it was Spyke? Psyche! Remember the synopsis said he's a mild mannered pilot, not a bombastic "secret" agent.

I guess you're just not extreme enough man... that's what real adrenaline junkies do, scope out the only two giant vertical poles in a hundred acres of open field just to perform a stunt that could get us killed. Barell rolls are for pussies!

Artistically, I feel like the presentation of the poles could have been better. I don't think anyone's going to be confused by the art here, but I think a shot from behind the characters' heads on approach, followed by a side-shot of the plane passing between the poles, (preferably with an exhaust trail), would have been a little clearer and more dramatic.

Is that other thing that's coming a beer? I don't always drive my business into the ground, but when I do, I prefer a Dos Equis hang-over.

You know what kids really love? Nearly dying in an airplane trick! ;D

What the hell was that? Pointy teeth and glowing red eyes?... It looks like some kind of Shit-Spider-Demon... It looks evil enough, maybe you should ask it for some help with the magic tricks.

The door was open, but property damage is how I get everything I need... I'm a hero!

That's SECRET Agent Spyke! You've never heard of me... psst... don't blow my cover while I demonstrate my SUPER-misogyny shutting up this broad witha face-full of glue... mmm, yes, "glue"...

Dialogue balloons in panel 2 are in reverse order... Daniel's dialogue needs to be at the top to read first, before Spyke's reply.

The best pilot but man he's the worst at everything else -- business, social skills, knowing when he's likely to be shot at.

What?! That last page looked like a direct hit... Gotta work on that perspective.

Pretty sure that's supposed to be light filtering in the corridor from the hatch, but it sure looks like the kind of glowing purple ooze that gives people superpowers... or mutates turtles.

Page 19 and here's that turning point where Daniel becomes the hero of the story... I have to say, of the comics I've reviewed so far, this is one of the few that's well paced. 20-24 pages is the length of a typical printed comic issue, and he's right on time to make Daniel the hero as the cliff-hanger for the end of the first issue. Nice work!

The name of the mad scientist who's obsessed with collecting brains is "Nobrainer". That's like if you invented the Richie Rich character, and named him "Deadbroke Deadbeat". :P

Okay, but can we talk about tha name? Because I'm pretty font of "axis"... you know, as a tribute. Why not? I mean... it couldn't be any worse than Confederate Monuments. :P

Yeah, man, like... you gotta be chill for High Leader... High Leader is chill, so just, y'know, get your bud on and chillax... Woah! Dude my hands are HUUUGE! Who's got the snacks?

Dialogue in the 5th panel is in the wrong order. Yes, left-to-right, however, top-down supercedes left-to-right. Think of the panel like it's a page of a book. So, put your thumbs over the art, you just have text on the panel wherever it is. Which do you read first? As a rule, people will read the first line at the top first, even if it's shifted over to the right, rather than starting on say line 4 or 5. So Dr Nobrainer and Captain Blackjack should swap Triforces.

The fair agent's condition is good.

Great!

No, good.

Wait, his condition is bad?

No, good.

What's the fair agent's condition?

Good, sir.

Yes, what is it?

What's what?

The condition.

I don't know...

NEAR MINT!

...

The words "Successful" and "Initiated" shouldn't be capitalized.

We control the vertical. We control the horizontal... so just chillax while commander mysterious-boobs pumps some of the good shit in the air for you, we're talking primo chronic, man...

Psst... High Leader... I think you might be a little too high, you forgot to issue any actual demands for people to comply with... like... bring me the mayor, hand over the key to the city, or call 555-2-surrender?

I think Daniel just discovered his battle cry... like the thing's "It's clobberin' time!"... Daniel rushes into the fight, "I CAN BEND THEM ALL!" Mostly it confuses the enemy and gets them off-guard.

Yeah, what were you thinking? Catching this guy is no job for a squad of cyborg-super-ninjas!

This is a job for a midget senior citizen!

You'd be amazed what drinking Ensure does for your reflexes.

Of course he doesn't have a choice... what's he gonna do? Punch out some old grandpa? That's not what heroes do... heroes cause PROPERTY damage... didn't we cover this already?

Best way to get a magician to tell you his secrets? Brutally murder him... by sawing him in half. They have to respect the classics.

Not sure why the robot suit looks like MODOK... He was building an evil Voltron and could only afford the head?

I guess the pink cockpit dome is supposed to make him look like MODOK's brain.

White motion lines in panel 5 would have been better contrast, easier to see.

I can't believe he used up all his brain-hostages... anything that's precious to the villain is leverage.

Oooh... Dogstar is like Skywalker... so... I'm guessing no space-opera elements like I expected from the title...

Doesn't Double-R still think Double-M stole a super-W? Doesn't destroying the blimp without securing the weapon leave it open to salvage by "the wrong hands"?

Caaaapers... <drool>

Doooouble entendres... <drool>

The juxtaposition of the angry MODOK face with Daniel's shit-eating grin in the first panel! Well done, Brandon!

Actually I'm fairly certain that dirigibles don't just careen into the ground when an engine goes out, because the gas in the envelope provides lift while engines are purely for maneuvering... even if an aerostat does require forward motion to stay up, the descent after an engine failure is likely to be a fairly sedate affair, not nearly as dangerous as an airplane crash (which has an over 95% survival rate).

But, y'know... Hollywood.

Plane should be in the lower-right corner of panel 5 (leave Daniel where he is), and in panel 6 the perspective is nice, but there should be ground below the plane, and the clouds should be perpendicular to the perspective, not parallel to it. And from that angle, there should be little to no gray on them, because you're seeing the water vapor from above, where the sun is hitting it.

I think it's fair that Bullock Towers looks surprised again. :P

Nice shot of the crash -- good job on the smoke and flames.

I think the plane in that last panel should be angled up and to the right -- or at least rolled so the wings angle the other direction. The position of the plane makes the wings line-up with the carriage under the blimp and creates a visual tangent. This one is called a "stolen edge" or "parallel". It makes the plane visually blend into the blimp, which is obviously undesirable for clarity unless you have a very specific reason to want something to blend in a particular shot.

I saw the job offer coming, although Spyke being a vindictive dick about someone else saving his life and completing the mission was a little unexpected... it doesn't seem entirely out of character, but I tend to expect government agents to be team players (Fox Mulder notwithstanding). It's not a bad twist, given that a lot of the first chapter was fairly predictable... and I think it's a good wrap for this first chapter overall, including the job offer -- tropes aren't always bad.

Overall I liked Dogstar. Decent art improves over time (though the six panel layout seems pretty rigid and I think you should experiment with some alternative layouts -- an occasional wide shot, etc). I think if you enjoyed DuckTales or DarkWing Duck, you should definitely give Dogstar a look! :D

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Thank you for sharing yourself with us! Sam

#review #scifi #superheroes #action #adventure #anthropomorphic #comedy

[timespakistan]

Theatre gone virtual | Art & Culture | thenews.com.pk Theatre as an experience demands engagement: mostly visual, at times physical, and depending upon the ideational tendency of the producer, a certain level of emotional immersion. The coronavirus pandemic has brought another dimension to these parameters in the form of virtual interaction, which may appear to be a stopgap to the ongoing performance praxis but is gradually emerging as a subgenre of drama. Now that the world has phased into pandemic-habitual state, the dramatic activities can be classified into different modes depending upon the available technology and digital convenience and appropriate and relevant means. What may have been initiated as a temporary necessity, has now turned into an innovative form of art. Whether it is aural drama, virtual performance skits, or Zoom Digital Theatre (ZDT), all modes of performative endeavours showcase a unique simulated experience where the theatre subsumes all levels of visual and psychological engagement, if not physical. Using web-based conferencing software, Zoom stages live theatre to a live audience. Its urgency and immediacy shun webcast of recorded activity thus making each moment, each action, and each visual palpable in spite of audience’s freedom to remain masked. An active participation in a real-time event is offered by giving the choice of turning on the mikes whenever desired by an audience. With hopes of gaining such an immersive experience, I became a part of Macbeth Project #6, an interdisciplinary performance made live through Zoom digital theatre. The project was conceived and initiated in 2017 with six parts, the last of which took place on December 4 this year, an eerily apposite time to promote digital theatre. The performance aimed to adapt and appropriate and subsequently collate Shakespeare’s Macbeth into different inter-media forms and ‘multi-sensorial’ experiences. By utilizing RSVP/Repere devising model, the practice-based research involved six performance cycles including ritual and group theatre, site-specific, solo-performance, performance design installation, augmented reality and live Zoom digital theatre, an online interactive performance. RSVP, the initials assigned to four components labelled as Resources, Score, Valuaction, and Performance, work together to promote a system of creative methodology for collaborations between researchers from various fields. This system helped the collaborators to simultaneously present the performance in front of different audiences, from perhaps all parts of the world, and acquire feedback and comments that helped in research documentation and enhanced the interdisciplinary and cultural impact of the production of Shakespeare’s work. Macbeth Project #6 performance was a creative collaboration between Centre for Interdisciplinary Performative Arts (CIPA) Royal Birmingham Conservatoire, UK and the award-winning, internationally acclaimed Brazilian company, Os Satyros, São Paulo, Brazil with Aleksandar Sasha Dundjerovic as the lead director and Stephen Simms as Macbeth and performance host, who appeared over Zoom before the actual performance to predict live audiences’ future with tarot cards. The inclusion of tarot cards created an a-temporal and spatially open virtual arena demanding from audience an equally open reception of the content in reserve for them. It was an interesting and unconventional opening, well suited to the structural openness of Macbeth, although appropriated to the collaborative creative process and digital means. A directly involved live audience cum participants, their queries and comments inundating the chat-box, and Simms’ provocations and amusing predictions with a keen eye on audience response turned out to be a unique and unanticipated theatrical experience. The impact of the psychodrama depicting a passive Lady Macbeth suffering from nervous breakdown enhanced the dream-like virtuality of the presentation. At the same time, it provided some funny, surrealistic and intriguing moments. What followed was aptly summed up in the description of the drama which defines it as “an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth and Sarah Kane’s 4.48 Psychosis.” Kane, an English playwright known for her experimental theatre, projected the most virulent form of on-stage violence during her short but active career. By adopting some of Kane’s extreme theatrical devices and anthropophagic performativity of Brazilian theatre, Macbeth Project #6 created an immersive experience which at times became too graphic to be viewed comfortably on-screen. Through a mix of varied images projecting blood covered daggers, digitally truncated bodies, gory murders, loud ritual incantations, cross-dressing, miniature setting against blown-out on-screen presence of actors, western dance movements and music, Macbeth’s story was transposed into a “contemporary” yet timeless setting. The ghastly and uncanny feelings of the original play were maintained through the elements of ritual drama. The question whether the performance was a migration, deconstruction or transformation of Macbeth is hard to answer because of the ubiquity of all levels of adaptation. The migration was radical in terms of trans-media transposition of the play text into a virtual space. The deconstruction was done at all levels of plot, storyline, characterization, dialogues, costuming and visual appeal. While the transformation happened with regard to both the method of projection and audience reception. The transposition of physical theatre space to undefined online space is an emerging feature in today’s performance praxis. However, along with convenience, creativity, and virtual cohabitation, arise the possibilities of missing the communal experience that comes through corporeal coexistence or what theatre lovers call “theatre’s intoxicating feeling of connection.” What perhaps compensates for this is the collective memory which is recorded, documented and stored to impact the future events that may take place in the same space. The use of non-theatrical space was managed through visual means such as simultaneous video projections. Juxtaposed with this openness was the confined and psychologically bounded life of Lady Macbeth, who remained detached from the murders, committed in Shakespeare’s Macbeth through her agency. Another parallelism was created through costuming; from Macbeth’s gradual stripping of his clothes, which were limited to a white fabric and white underwear, to complete nudity, which may correlate to Lady Macbeth’s deranged senses to the ultimate loss of her life. The performance and the other online platforms striving to keep the theatrical activities running, allow the audience a dual experience: one of proximity because of the visual engagement with the screen and the other of safety from the emotional intensity of the actions owing to the freedom to conceal one’s identity. The screen, thus, becomes the classic fourth wall with fringe benefits. Since Macbeth #6 was an outcome of research work, a post-performance discussion proved an immensely useful method of explaining the ambiguities and making of the performance. Those in the audience were empowered to keep their mikes open and share feedback as well critique the play. What ensued was an interactive session mostly focusing on the limits of experimentation in the creative arts. With new opportunities for experimentation, the online theatre has become an affordable platform for both theatregoers and artistes. For the latter, it has opened up opportunities to be their own cinematographers, sound and costume designers, make-up artists, and tech crew. Actors have also become extra creative in developing a connection with an audience sitting thousands of miles away and anticipating a theatre-like experience. Even the writing and staging of the script has been made compatible with the themes that match the virtuality of online media. Although an authentic and honest performance, Macbeth #6 remained an emotionally disjointed experience because of actors zooming in and out with clearly defined shifts. Only time will tell how far ZDT goes into making history in the dramatic arts and dictate the fate of the live-arts post-pandemic industry. It has no doubt changed the parameters of performativity and audience experience. The writer has a doctorate in Nigerian drama. She serves at the Department of English and Literacy Studies, University of Management and Technology, Lahore, as Assistant Professor and Chairperson https://timespakistan.com/theatre-gone-virtual-art-culture-thenews-com-pk/6249/

[queer-failures]

We're here! We're queer! We’re politely asking may we, please, have our rights?

My first intent for this blog post was to compare SlutWalk and #MeToo as both movements have distinctive online component and are part of anti-rape activism that resonated with the mainstream (whether in the media or film). As I read on, it became clear to me that the main contrast in Mendes’ account of the “slut walks” is tension between decency (ordinary folks protesting in everyday clothes foregrounded by the bloggers challenging the mainstream representation of the events) and indecency (girls in underwear who attracted the mainstream attention in the first place). This blog post is organized around the same contrast as it is present in Croatian Pride marches and polemics within activist circles that they often cause.  

 While an active gay and lesbian scene existed in major Yugoslav cities in the 1980s, the civil war and the rising influence of religion brought it to an abrupt ending in the subsequent decade. The early 2000s witnessed a revival of queer culture marked by (still problematic) arrival of the foreign NGOs and attempts to organize Pride parades in Ljubljana (successful), Belgrade (violence against activists was tolerated by the authorities and the march received a ten-year ban), Zagreb (also violent, but somehow able to sustain itself). Croatian LGBT activism gradually reoriented itself toward the right to marry and right to adopt, and Pride started reflecting this new direction: as writer and cultural critic Goran Duhaček wrote in 2017, decency became the governing parole of the organizers who, in their subsequently published speech, listed some general democratic values and warned participants not to engage in militarism as well as to cooperate with the police (despite its documented homophobic and dismissive behavior) instead. Not that there was an excessive amount before, but nudity also became unwelcome and Pride started attracting center-left politicians ready to woo liberal voters, professional activists using managerial speech and marketing tactics, and even some corporate sponsors.

In terms of media representation, there are some distinct parallels with coverage of “slut walks”: the conservative media foregrounds (the minority) donned in bondage gear or drag while liberal media and bloggers affiliated with/supportive toward current Pride organizers’ politics focus on casually dressed participants (and their propriety), families, pets, and increasingly mellow speeches. Moreover, Croatian LGBT activism, similarly to anti-rape activism, as shown by activist and columnist Ana Brakus, often reproduces already existing structures of exclusion and asymmetrical power distribution – it tends to favor requests of the middle-class white gays and lesbians (marriage and parenthood) over commitment to class solidarity, anti-racism, and radical intervention in state structures. While I see why “slut walk” approach to challenging rape culture is easily commodified (obviously, non-family-friendly aspects of queer culture can be included in the exceedingly flexible neoliberal paradigm too), I think that this new (2017 -) allegiance to decency and PG dress code by Pride organizers and participant leads nascent Croatian LGBT activism to constant subservience to the state and fruitless hope that it will grant some rights to, finally normal and proper, gays. While that occasionally happens (as it did when civil unions and access to fostering were legalized), these concessions are followed with a backlash against marginalized queers as evidenced by the government’s decision to stop covering top surgeries to trans* people while also sabotaging their capability to pay for it themselves (not that they should) by eradicating welfare state and possibility of stable employment.

Mendes, Kaitlynn. SlutWalk: Feminism, Activism and Media. Palgrave, 2015.

#pride parade #croatia #activism #blog post

[pomegranate-salad]

Seeds of Thought : Wicdiv #28

Oh wow, I am so incredibly late for this ! Courtesy of – you guessed it – law degree stuff. Also French elections. And possibly impending apocalypse. But hey, I made this one extra-long to make up for it. And since I managed to stick with these analysis pieces of mine for an entire arc, it’s opinion time ! Let me know if you liked reading them, if you found them helpful, if there’s a topic you’d like me to tackle… Basically, tell me what you think. Or don’t, and keep your mystery (that was the title of the pamphlet Christian fundamentalists gave away at the entrance of my high school back then. Yes, it refers to what you think it does and it remains the most hilarious thing I’ve ever read in my entire life).

Anyway, analysis and opinion under the cut, spoilers for issue #28.

FAIR GAME

 When the solicitations for Wicdiv issue #28 came out, I was intrigued by the fact that for the first time, the description came with a “mature themes” warning. Because, well, it was Wicdiv we were talking about : sex and violence have been tagging along since issue 1. Upon reading the issue, I’m not quite sure which of the depictions it contains are materially more graphic than the previous ones ; and yet, they definitely feel more “mature”, more explicit.

 And the reason, at least to me, is that if I had to describe this issue in one word, it would be “invasive”. Not just from a reader’s perspective, but also thematically. All throughout the issue, we see characters massively overstepping their boundaries.

The issue opens with Cass literally breaking & entering Blake’s home, then confronting Woden about his identity in public, to which Woden responds by referring to Cass’ pre-transitioning life. Cass oversteps again by mentioning Amaterasu’s dead father to her – as an orphan myself : don’t do that people, don’t psychoanalyze us, we’ve got it covered – then we switch to Persephone forcing Baphomet to talk to her, which leads to Baphomet mentioning the Morrigan’s controlling behaviour toward him. During the orgy scene, it’s visually that this violation of privacy manifests itself : nudity, sexual acts, up to the crude depictions of Sakhmet’s victims’ open throats. And we end with a look at Ananke’s letter, the content of which brings us very little in terms of plot but is still given to us in its entirety, because it wasn’t built to satisfy our need for information but to communicate with someone dear to her. Symbolically, we even get to see her without the lace mask that estranges her from the world.

 In my SOT for issue #26, I talked about the different way reveals about the characters were handled in this arc compared to the previous ones, and noted that our characters didn’t actually know that much about each other and that the heavy-handed feeling that accompanied each revelation were symptomatic of people getting to know and getting closer to each other. After all, isn’t it always how it feels to learn about someone at first ? Like a guessing game in which an infinity of answers is possible, in which each player tries to make themself look as good as possible to others, precisely because there’s not enough information to go around and anything is believable. This is how we form connexions : take in, hold it in, rearrange, and finally let in.

 However, in this issue, we’re in the other side of the mirror. In a move the Wicdiv team is decidedly fond of, this is where we assess the costs of getting close to someone : to get to know them is to get to hurt them. Even without necessarily having your privacy being invaded, allowing proximity of any kind makes you more vulnerable to someone’s words and actions. How many times has each of us ended up saying something hurtful in an attempt to figure someone out ?

This topic is mined explicitly in the issue : Woden warns Cass of the dangers of seeing others like “puzzles to figure out”. Because the gods are just starting to form a genuine group, it is unclear for each of them what can and can’t be said. Especially for someone like Cass, who’s not very good at being tactful, it can be tempting to get ahead of the curve and treat others like the sum of their personal information. But these pieces of knowledge each come at a cost for both parties : if you’re letting someone know about something, they might hurt you with it ; and if you’re let in on something, then you have to do with a degree of intimacy that you might not have asked for. Cass might not like Woden even the tiniest bit ; but when she invaded his life, she implicitly agreed to treat what she would find out with respect and decency, and even to be touched by his story.

 There’s of course a pretty clear meta quality to this subject. We’ve reached a point in the comic at which the fandom is self-sustaining. We know have our own codes, catchphrases and theories - it’s interesting to note that the majority of wheel title cards in the issue are inner references. We spend hours speculating about the intimate lives of the characters, and we do so openly because they are not real. But reading this issue feels like a direct message to the fandom nonetheless : if those were real people, what we’re doing would be massively inappropriate and hurtful.

 But Wicdiv characters being Wicdiv characters, they are no better at this than we are, and you’ll find no better illustration than this issue. And while it might seem anticlimactic to bring up such a topic at the end of an arc that’s all about the gods getting mad with power, it makes perfect sense : intimacy is power. And this issue does everything it can to link those themes.

Amaterasu’s gibberish threw me off for a little bit, but what I got from her “evil Muslims” line is that being responsible for something means you have power over it, a logic she inverts to conclude that it’s the people representing the biggest threat for something that would be the most efficient at protecting it. But that kind of responsibility for something is one you acquire by simple virtue of proximity. Having a relationship with someone, even a tenuous one, gives you power over them, the power to hurt them. Whether you do it or not is your responsibility, but is it inescapable.

The topic is even more explicit in Sakhmet’s mouth, when she compares the dynamic of human relationships to those of predator and prey. Of course, for Sakhmet it means that someone WILL get hurt, the only question being which one. It’s interesting to note that while Sakhmet’s characterization revolves around being so emotionally closed off you apparently cannot be hurt, Sakhmet herself doesn’t deny that she can be hurt ; she adopts the role of a predator because she knows she’s just as vulnerable as anyone else otherwise. Even more interesting is the turn taken by the issue with the orgy scene. Sakhmet being angered by not having been let in on the lie can seem offsetting for the long-time reader : we know she would have had no problem with Ananke’s murder being indeed murder. But once again, this isn’t about what we know of her : it’s about the weight of every relationship. Despite her best efforts, Sakhmet is still part of the group formed by the Pantheon. This infinitesimal relationship between her and them still give them the power to violate her trust. The rage she displays subsequently is a way to counteract this violation. The parallel drawn between Amaterasu “refusing to go down on her” and them being oblivious about including her is a little cringy, but still makes sense : just because the degree of proximity she offers is shallow doesn’t mean it’s worthless to her. We know she doesn’t care who gets killed, we know she doesn’t care who she sleeps with. But she’s still part of the group and she still let you go down on her. For someone as closed off as Sakhmet, these are pretty much the sum of her interactions with the world : she is a hedonist, part of the pantheon, and she will demand your respect on both accounts. It’s not important to us, precisely because typically our interactions with others run much deeper, but it’s important to her. If you’re part of the pantheon, or you want to have sex with her, then you’re part of her private life. You have the power to hurt her. You better not.

 But while this issue makes this point in a chilling manner, nothing is ever black & white in Wicdiv. Yes, it’s better to be respectful and even somewhat distant when you’re not completely familiar with someone. But sometimes things are more complicated. Sometimes there’s a duty to be invasive. When you find out one of your sorta-friends is the victim of an abusive relationship. Even if you end up doing harm, one thing you cannot do is quietly retreat, because the basis of abusive behaviour is to cut your victim from all interactions so they lose all standards of a normal degree of intimacy, something that’s crushingly explicit in Baphomet’s words when he says “this” is only about he and the Morrigan.

 And even without mentioning these extreme cases, in a way, aren’t all feelings for someone based on invasiveness ? Other people’s feelings is something that we didn’t ask for and that we still end up having to deal with. And it might be tempting to try and block all emotions so you gain the right to ignore those of others. But Sakhmet herself proves in this issue the futility of this attempt. Indeed, someone’s always going to get hurt. And if we weren’t the prey from time to time, we wouldn’t have such a strong need to be the predator. Human interaction is built on invading each other’s world with our own emotions ; at every moment, we are both predator and prey. And it’s this simultaneity, this reciprocity that saves us. The only way to make others’ intimacy acceptable is to make it so it goes both ways.

Here in France we give each other kisses on the cheek as a form of greeting. In high school I had a philosophy professor who explained to us the sociological meaning of this practice : by letting someone kiss us we expose our necks, one of our most fragile parts, as a sign of submissiveness. But by reciprocating the kiss, we re-establish equal ground : we both expose our weakness to the other. We build a link based on mutual vulnerability instead of mutual protectiveness. And humans are not the only species of expressing consented vulnerability by offering their necks ; so do big cats.

   WHAT I THOUGHT OF THE ISSUE

 Look, with so many stakes and such tension hovering above this issue, this was never going to be a perfect run.

 Issue #27 was such an impeccably constructed juggernaut of a tension-builder that it was left to issue #28 to tie up a dizzying number of plotpoints and planted twists. And the result, at least for me, is that some work and others… not so much. Moreover, this issue had to go over each of these plotpoints one of after the other while still building up the momentum to its “big finish”, which gives to this issue a bit of a “catalogue” feel. Granted, Imperial Phase (part I) as a whole gives out the same impression. This is the first arc that really revolves around an ensemble cast instead of a designated protagonist, where it be Laura or the rotating figures of Commercial suicide. I don’t need to have written comics to guess that ensemble pieces are hard to do, and I think it’s no accident that the best issue of this arc, issue #27, was the one explicitly using abundancy, superficiality and rapid succession as its main formal device.

I’ll try to dedicate a similar post to the arc as a whole, so for now I want to focus on each plotpoint of this issue and weigh on their effectiveness, because for once I think this issue is more its parts than its whole.

  Let’s start with the David Blake/Cass/Woden storyline. I’m in a particular position on that one, since I’m the person who came up with the “David Blake is Woden” theory. I can’t tell you how much it makes me smile to see more and more people supporting that theory right at the moment when it seems Wicdiv is confirming the “Jon Blake is Woden” theory. It’s really a testament to Wicdiv’s ability to fool us that any information they give us would make a plausible red flag.

Here’s the thing about my theory : even when I came up with it, I was never convinced that it’d be a good thing in terms of plot if I were right. I think it would be interesting, as it would make a good point on the danger of older men “taking on” youth culture, as well as the white male privilege of being able to maintain a childishness that’d prove deadly to another demographic. But on the other hand, we would lose the interesting conversation on the self-reproduction of sexism and male entitlement from the fathers to the sons, and more largely a good part of the stakes that’ve been building up around Woden’s character. One thing I dislike about modern media is its tendency to pile on plot twists until the story is so unnecessarily convoluted that all meaning is lost. Sometimes simplicity is the best way to get a topic across. And as we progress on the Woden story, I think the straightforward explanation of his character has gained enough interest on its own not to warrant an additional layer of meaning.

And it’s that same simplicity I liked in the “revelation” on the subject in the issue : the fandom has been dwelling on the “Blake’s son is Woden” theory for so long (to the point that weirdoes like me have created spin-offs of this theory) that there was no way of including it as a “revelation” without it feeling artificial. So the very offhanded, toned-down way they handled it seems to me like the right choice. What really amped this moment up is the inclusion of Cass in the storyline, as both a good researcher and yet one who cannot help looking a bit risible and arrogant when gloating about a finding the fandom’s been holding as semi-canon for more than a year at this point.

Oh, and David Blake could still be Woden I guess. But if that comes up, there better be a damn good layer of subtext associated with it to make up for what we’ll lose.

 And now I have to talk about Amaterasu. It’s weird to remember that everything in Amaterasu’s introduction in the comics seemed to destine her to be special among the cast : she was the first of the pantheon to appear, the first to perform, the first to be the object of the protagonist’s obsession… She was explicitly singled out by Laura as the best in term of “star power”. And yet, three arcs later, Amaterasu had completely slipped in the background, due to Luci immediately taking the stage and then Ammy being present only episodically. So it feels both logical and a bit surprising to see her suddenly come back to such a central position. Moreover, unlike most of the cast Amaterasu has seen no progression in her character : what we know about her – her father, her connexion to Japan, her immaturity, cultural appropriation – is still just as true, and unlike even the most stagnant characters like Sakhmet, Amaterasu doesn’t even look like she got worse. It simply looks like what she is now is what she always was, and only her lack of presence in the comic prevented us from seeing that. So having Amaterasu serve as a trigger for the deadly chain of events is a clever move ; we either expected her to keep pissing us off in a non-harmful way or to go haywire, but not necessarily to trigger something by the simple virtue of being annoying to the characters themselves. Speaking of annoying, I’ve long predicted that at some point one of the gods will get enucleated and I’m increasingly convinced that god will be Amaterasu, but at this point it may well be wishful thinking.

But yes, as a whole I love the whole concept of Amaterasu’s portrayal. Aside from the whole “desperate to find meaning in tragedy” aspect, which is nothing new, I like that it gives us something quite different in terms of having a character who’s… well, not very smart. While she does have a few lines here and there that clearly aim at using her lack of intelligence for comedic purposes, this is not the crux of her personality, or even necessarily what makes her dangerous or scary. Amaterasu is not smart, but she’s also driven, a grieving orphan, immature, narcissistic, profoundly spiritual. She’s a fully fleshed-out character with a certain level of intelligence, and she’s treated with exactly the same level of respect as the others.

As for the possibility that it all may be an act if it turns out she’s the one working with Ananke ? Well, once again, I think we would lose a great characterization in favour of a cheap plot twist. “Clever manipulative woman pretending to be dumb” has been done a million times. I’ve never seen a character like Amaterasu before.

 And for this issue’s most uncomfortable topic, we’ve got Baphomet and the Morrigan. You know, as a fellow goth, I’ve always felt kinda bad about not liking the Morrigan, because it’s not like we have a large amount of mainstream representation written by someone who actually knows what they’re talking about. But as it turns out, boy did I have the right idea. I’m sure there will be much to say on this storyline as it develops, but for now I’m going to focus purely on how “holy shit, the Morrigan’s straight-up abusing Baph” plays out narratively here. What I really admire about this whole scene is how it manages both surprise and obviousness. I don’t know if there were diverging opinions on this, but personally I’ve been holding the abuse for a certain fact since the chess scene in last issue, and yet when Baph dropped his glasses and I realized one second too late what I was going to see on the page turn, it still managed to knock me out. And I think the key to this success is gradation. The first time we heard again from the Morrigan was in the magazine issue, and in that she still presented that perfect picture of gothic romance ; nothing to see here, same old Morri. Then in issue #26, the new information was conveyed in a way that could find another explanation (Morri is simply trying to get him to show respect toward the dead) or could elicit humour (Morri is voting for him, ha-ha). Then in the next issue we jumped into something that would read as abusive only if you were already uncomfortable toward the whole relationship, and that scene was counteracted by another scene “showing” Baph cheating again with Persephone, painting him as a “bad guy”. So when we arrive at this issue, the fact that their relationship is abusive is something that one could have theoretically missed, denied or chosen to ignore.

Giving us such undeniable proof can seem sudden, and one can’t deny the pure shock value of Baph’s bruised face – the issue’s real Most Valuable Panel as far as I’m concerned – but the flagrance of this scene gets its strength from and reinforces the vagueness of the previous ones. Because after all, if we weren’t able to realize what was going on sooner, who can tell when the abuse really began ? Has this been going on only since Morri leaned of Baph’s infidelity ? Since she started suspecting it ? The beginning of the comic ?

However, for all this construction to work, we had to be able to believe Morri would actually do such a thing but not be able to anticipate it. The problem I had with the Morrigan from the start was her lack of personality beyond her premise and the fact that she didn’t seem to have any drives or goal of her own. And if the reason for that curious underdevelopment was that they intended knock it out of the park with this little bombshell… Well, I don’t really know what to make of that. On one hand, I want to say that if the reason a character development works is because you haven’t really given them any character prior, then there’s no glory in that success. On the other hand, I was the one who argued that Sakhmet’s lack of characterization worked because the deficit of information about her was in and of itself a characterization for it was of her own making. Could something similar be said of the Morrigan ? What I hated most about her was the vampirisation of her personality and storyline by her relationship, in a way that couldn’t be called a subversion of the trope. Does the evolution of her role in that relationship allow us read the relationship not as something hindering her characterization but as the mirror of her characterization itself ? I’m not sure. For now, the connexion I have to the character is too small for me to really feel it. She’s still essentially a cardboard for me, only one that has been painted with very scary colours.

In the end, this storyline works better from Baph’s perspective ; he’s the one holding its interest together because he’s the one whose personality has been explored at length in the comic, he’s the one we have a connexion with, even if many of us do not really like him. And because we possess that additional information, placing him in the position of a victim does not take away his agency the way it often does female characters in a similar position. Wicdiv doesn’t make the infuriating move of inciting us to side with the abuser to then try to make us feel bad about it when we get the full picture – as they did with Tara and yes I’m still bitter about that. No, when the information breaks out, we’re already on Baph’s side, may it have been ironically. And yes, there might be something to say about having the only abuse situation you’re depicting being a woman-on-man relationship when it’s by far the least common of all possible abuse situations, but hey, representation has to start somewhere for each of them. And as far as concepts go, having Baph’s aviator glasses, the very symbol of his perfectly constructed virility, serve the same purpose as the cliché inadequate sunglasses women wear to hide bruises in a billion TV shows is pretty amazing.

 Now while I did like all 3 three aforementioned storylines, it’s toward the end that the issue starts to lose me, because neither the Sakhmet finish nor the Ananke addendum really convinced me.

To start with, the juxtaposition of these two storylines is just a weird way to finish the arc.

They’d both work as individual closers, but they’re so different in their narrative construction I think they work against each other.

Let’s start with Sakhmet. Her rampage was pretty much everyone’s first guess to the question “what could go wrong at the party at the end of Imperial phase ?“

In fact, it’s a closer I’d dismissed as a possibility because it would have been too obvious – I had something even darker in mind, like maybe all the gods waking up the morning after to find their guests dead, but not knowing who among them killed them. But anyway, Sakhmet going haywire is something everyone had on their checklist. We just didn’t know when it would happen and why. And while I do think the trigger they chose made sense and is convincing from a conceptual point of view, I’m not sure it works in the context of the story. Sakhmet losing it because she wasn’t included in the Ananke cover-up was a complicated payoff to set up. Basically, the story could not ever remind us she’d missed this piece of information because the entire plotpoint relied on the gods – and us with them - forgetting about it. So they could only plant tangential information and reminders : the fact that Sakhmet doesn’t like to be mocked or lied to, the fact that she indeed ate her dad… But it didn’t make the payoff come more naturally and it only reinforced the absence of surprise when what everyone knew was going to happen at some point happens – only a bit sooner that we might have thought. I think that may have been their way of using the “cover-up” plotpoint without being too straightforward about it (the gods were so afraid of public reaction they didn’t expect the danger to come from inside the pantheon) but ultimately in my opinion this is still a cheap plotpoint, no matter how you turn it.

 As for the Ananke addendum… Well, the entire problem’s here, really : it feels like an addendum. Sakhmet’s storyline is still thematically connected to the issue and the rest of the arc. Promiscuity, isolation, increasing madness… This is an arc that sees the gods eating themselves up. Meanwhile, the Colombo-esque revelation that someone is still following Ananke’s lead comes out of nowhere in the bad way : the way that seems superfluous. It feels as if the creative team wasn’t sure how to finish off the arc and threw another revelation in fear that the Sakhmet closer wouldn’t be enough to maintain interest for the next two months.

Now despite its memorable surprise closer to Fandemonium, Wicdiv’s arc conclusions do tend to be somewhat expected. I wasn’t surprised by Luci’s death, as painful as it was, and I was awaiting Laura’s divinity, the announcement of Persephone’s return at the end of Fandemonium and Ananke’s death at the end of Rising Action. So it’s not like Wicdiv forcefully tries to surprise its audience. But they always found a way to compensate the expected ending with a twist of some kind. Luci’s death comes with Laura’s small miracle. Laura’s divinity comes with Ananke “murdering” her. Persephone’s comeback appears simple at the end of Commercial suicide to find a more complicated explanation later. Ananke’s death turns out to be straight-up murder. That’s clearly that kind of dynamic that issue #28 is trying to reproduce : the Sakhmet massacre is the logical climax of the arc while the Ananke revelation is the twist that makes the junction between this arc and the next. But this combination doesn’t work as well here because of the lack of connexion between its two elements. It ends up looking like a curious mix of previous arc conclusions, somewhere between Rising Action and Commercial suicide. By the way, is it intentional that the characters take centre stage in this issue in the exact same order as the Commercial suicide issues (Woden / Amaterasu / Baph & Morri / Sakhmet) ?

But while Commercial suicide was moody and nostalgic, Rising Action self-indulgent and ironic, this arc’s general mood has been more challenging to pin down, between vain and existential, tortuous and restless. Ending on Sakhmet’s bloodbath, on this desperately obvious conclusion to an arc that felt like it couldn’t wait to end and yet closed it eyes in fear wouldn’t have made the upcoming months of wait pleasant, but it would have been a fitting bitterness. No evitable cliffhanger – just the chronicle of a death foretold.

#wicdiv #seeds of thought #halle-fucking-lujah i've finished this

[therachelperspective]

BOOK ⎟ Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She's ‘Learned’ by Lena Dunham

For many people, a simple mention of the name Lena Dunham is enough to strike up an insane amount of disdain and loathing. And if you’re one of those people, you have either stopped reading at this point or scrolled past this post entirely. You’re mind is incredibly made up about her already. I understand.

But for those of you willing to read further – thank you. And let’s chat.

I often question what drew me to read Lena Dunham’s book, considering I did not follow her or her work in the media, save for the passing glance in entertainment news. I wasn’t a fan in the least. So why did I ask for and receive her book as a Christmas gift? After much thought (and years later, might I add), I think I’ve narrowed it down to these two things:

1] When it was released, it fell into the category of my innate curiosity and wanting to read about other people’s lives. Meaning, in short, I’ve been obsessed with memoirs and biographies for the last couple of years. She was (and at times, still is) being hailed as an important feminist and a “voice of the people.” Consider my curiosity piqued. 

But also, 2] I strongly believe in forming my own opinions. I’m one of those seemingly-naive people that refuse to believe the worst things about others without having experienced it for myself. Lena Dunham’s status included. 

I may not have kept tabs on her, but that doesn’t mean I was entirely disinterested.

Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She’s “Learned” was published in September 2014. It was named one of the best books of the year by multiple media outlets, and the book placed #2 on the New York Times Best Sellers list. Praise, advanced or otherwise, used the words “hilarious,” “wise,” “candid,” and “witty,” though my favorite comment from NPR said that “We leave more empowered than we came.” Based on these, my expectations and anticipations were pretty high going into this book; however, I was also very cautious due to the number of negative reviews in the years since. 

A recollection of stories from Lena’s life, spanning a slew of topics, NTKOG covers it all. Without even luring us in with any tales of her background, childhood, or family life, we jump right into the book with a section about “Sex.” Immediately I was fascinated. Not about the sex reports (which good lord there are so many in this entire book), but rather the choice of putting sexual encounters as the very first topic of a memoir. It’s obvious that Lena Dunham is no ordinary gal, and her candidness is clearly abundant in NTKOG. Followed by “Body,” “Friendship,” “Work,” and “Big Picture,” this non-chronological narrative covers just about everything a 20-something can discuss. And some things you wish she hadn’t. 

Very specifically, there are a handful of distinct scenarios in which Lena may have overstepped her bounds; you’ll find hoards of articles online discussing them and how they make Lena Dunham a seemingly horrible person. It is more likely they are scenarios that certain people blew entirely out of proportion with their own commentary. Simple Google searches for “Lena Dunham,” especially connected to NTKOG, will result in *MAJOR BOOK SPOILERS* articles discussing a rape accusation people believe Lena falsified, fierce allegations that she molested her sister when they were both children, criminalizing of a phrase she used to describe trying to win her sister’s affections (also at a young age), and the appalling way she also outed her sister to their parents. Of the incriminating things the populace condemns Lena Dunham for, I will say that I only truly agree with that last one.

What you learn about Lena Dunham in her book is that she is not a perfect human being, as well as the fact that she grew up in a very unique way. The Dunham household was a very open, non-conformist sort of place one would have with artistic parents that I don’t think many criticizers of her book completely understand. Lena’s childhood was a very curious and experimental one, in ways many others are not. But it seems those against her don’t accept “a child’s curiosity” as an explanation, nor do they take a phrase like “using tactics a sex offender would use” with a grain of salt [describing how she tried to get her sister to like her when they were children]. Not the best phrase for the subject matter, I agree, but are you going to deny the parallels? Also, the backlash regarding Lena’s college rape story is exactly the reason more people don’t speak out about such traumas. Because someone, somewhere will try to disprove it and thus say you are a liar, calling into question the matter of consent and turn it into a battle of “your word vs. theirs.” Rather than applaud her willingness to be so outspoken about incidents in her life, both in childhood and adulthood, Lena is instead incriminated for them. Even more so when quotes are taken out of context. 

Although the sociological issues within it bring up very important discussions, this is about Lena Dunham’s book. And despite what you think of her and the aforementioned topics above, Not That Kind of Girl gives insight into a very distinctive individual. When we see her today, we see a young woman importantly challenging the typical imagery of “Hollywood” both in life and in art (i.e. her body positivity while being larger than a size 2 and her comfort in nudity, plus her incredibly flawed character on Girls), while also being open about her own mental illnesses (anxiety and OCD). From reading her novel, we discover that she has been this sort of “different” her entire life so far. Her views of life have deviated from the norm since childhood, a divergence that surprisingly enough this reviewer can relate to. People say that she is not old enough to write a memoir; they say that she is narcissistic, entirely too self-involved, and self-indulgent. While I do think that the book is a hot mess and I question how much of it is truly real, the discussion about her life and her views is actually what makes it interesting. Anyone ripping NTKOG entirely to shreds for having no wisdom or insight were taking this book too much at face value. What memoir-writing celebrity is not self-involved? Once again, Lena Dunham is one of the few being condemned for it.

I’m not saying that I give this book 5 stars, because I don’t, nor am I entirely sure if I would recommend it. I'm not even going to agree that Lena Dunham is the “voice of the people” or the “voice of a generation.” But her book, and her perspective, is not entirely faulted. Maybe it’s just my ability to find insightful passages in literally every book I read. Or maybe, she really does just have her moments.

The reality is that, even if Lena is just a voice for herself and herself alone, her sentiments towards things like... 

Losing her virginity – “No floodgate had been opened. No vault of true womanhood unlooked. She remained and she was me.”

Her own attractiveness – “Not ugly enough to be repulsive and not beautiful enough to seal the deal.” 

Gaining weight as a child – “All of it was alien and alienating.”

Womanhood – “I consider being female such a unique gift, such a sacred joy[.]”

Being an Adult – “Soon you will find yourself in more and more situations you don’t want to run away from.”

... and other matters discussed in Not That Kind of Girl, well... they are not entirely out in left field. 

Despite the fact that her voice (and by default, her book) can be dripping with white feminism and privilege, equally so that a lot of her troubles spawn from her own creation, my notes for this book prove – at least to me – there is a smidgen of quality to her writing. Whether opposers like it or not, there are people out there that will still relate to her book, enjoy her book, and find value in her essays, no matter the flaws others may see in her. 

I ventured into Lena Dunham’s Not That Kind of Girl in order to devise my own opinions about a person so disliked by the masses. The truth is that I finish it almost as indifferent as when I started. I don’t love her, but nor do I hate her. I would say I simply understand her better, supported in part by identifying with the “weirdness” she encompasses. I personally know what it’s like to be different, and I think that is what contributed to my ability to, as some might say, even finish the book in the first place.  

Lena Dunham is the creator, executive producer, writer, director, and star of the critically-acclaimed HBO series Girls. She has been nominated for eight Emmy awards and has won two Golden Globes (including Best Actress) for her work on her show. She was the first woman to win the Directors Guild of America award for directorial achievement in comedy, and she has also written/directed two feature length films. Dunham is also a frequent contributor to The New Yorker. [from the book inside flap] Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham Random House | September 2014 | 265 pages MY RATING: ★ ★ ★ ✩ ✩  I still don’t know entirely how I feel about this book, to be completely honest. It was worth reading once, to strangely find comfort in the fact that there are weird famous people out there, who are pushing the status quo in more ways than one. But I completely understand where people can find this “too weird” and “unrelatable.” By Goodreads’ rating system, this book’s 3 stars means it was “good.” Which it was. To a certain point.

I don’t think she’s entirely strange and unusual because I too am strange and unusual (haha, sorry for that reference), but I also don’t say she’s the feminist idol people portray her to be either.  I am intrigued enough by NTKOG to watch Girls in the future, to witness the critical-acclaim for myself. But Lena Dunham to me is just... Strange Little Lena.  I feel like I want to like her because my gut tells me that I relate to her on quite a few levels, but I'm also just not sure that I do.

#book review #books #not that kind of girl by lena dunham #not that kind of girl #lena dunham #girls tv show #girls #HBO #hannah horvath #review #reviews