#i don't feel shame

[sooahbites]

The other day I commented on an edit of Donnie saying that he was my husband, that is a dumb thing I say to interact and have more things of Donnie pop up in my fyp (and because obviously I'm married to Donatello, like, duh?/j), and someone replied "oh.".

...

What do you mean by "oh."??

With a dot, the dot is important it wasn't just "oh" it was "oh.", that some deep shit.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[miniaturekeytar]

sober cop

[luxlightly]

"If you're hurt by finding out that a person you admired did something bad or are worried about the idea they might, it shows you need to not form attachments to people you don't personally know."

I have bad news for you about how literally the entirety of human socialization and the human mind work. You can say "here's a stick from off the ground. his name is Stanley and he has a loving family" and then break the stick and people will feel hurt because they formed a positive connection to Stanley. Humans project attachment onto everything. Asking people not to feel connections to other humans is not feasible. It's not possible and, if it were, it sure as hell wouldn't be healthy.

You didn't do anything wrong if you feel hurt that someone you didn't personally know did something wrong. You're not parasitic or obsessive for wanting people you don't personally know to be good people. Being devastated that someone you liked did something horrible isn't a sign you liked them too much, it's a sign you have the basic human ability to form emotional and social connections. Your responsibility is being aware of those connections and behaving in ways that are healthy, respectful, and keep you and others safe.

Trying to just not admire people or not feel a connection to other humans won't work. Focus instead on being aware of what your relationships to other people are, what actions on your part are acceptable given that level of relationship, what actions are acceptable on their part, and what level of relationship it's realistic or healthy to project. And be ready, as with all things in life, to change your views on something or someone when presented with new information, even if you have very strong emotional connections to the subject. For example: "I'd love to get a cup of coffee with the celebrity I don't know and talk with them about a film they're in. I imagine that would be nice." <- normal human emotion "I will go to this celebrity I don't know and ask them, apropos of nothing, to get a coffee with me/I expect this celebrity I've never met WILL go to coffee with me" <- Unrealistic level of projected relationship. Crosses boundaries of normal human interactions between strangers.

"I'm devastated this actor I liked was an abuser" <- normal human emotion

"I won't believe that this actor was an abuser because I like him and therefore can tell he wouldn't do that" <- Unrealistic and unhealthy level of projected relationship. Unsafe for you and others.

You can't just "not admire" people, yes, even people you don't know personally. Instead, be careful to make sure your admiration of someone doesn't affect your ability to make judgements about them.

[shapelytimber]

Soooo I might have begun playing this little known game- (Please don't spoil me, I haven't finished act 1 yet and I know *nothing*)

[COMMISSIONS]

I'm predictable, put a devious little vampire in my path and he's going to be my fav- he's a little shit, a diva, unhinged, a messy fem, traumatized and against taking his vermifuge I love him <3 also Dominique de Villepin lookin ass which is hilarious

But omfg, from a white bitch to another, please for the love of god put on sunscreen you are stressing me tf out talking about how much you love staying in the sun girl you are going to burn and it's not going to be the whimsical vampiric way

[Astarion] - [Lae'zel] - [Wyll] - [Shadowheart] - [Karlach] - [Gale]

Sketch and more yapping below vvv

I am planning on doing all six main companions btw :) of course in order from my favorite to the one I feel most neutral about fjdkkd Don't get me wrong I like them all (for now), but one had to be last- already began number 2 so it shouldn't take too long to finish it :DD

PS : for the non french people reading this post (so most of you fjdjd), here is a picture of Dominique de Villepin so you can feel a little bit included on the in joke

Right wing (not far right) politician, he was prime minister in the 2000s

[trans-leek-cookie]

yknow what. I wanna say: CSA and COCSA survivors are all incredible, but I also wanna give a shout out to ppl who were exposed to sexual stuff or had any kind of sexual experience as a kid that they either aren't comfortable labelling as or don't consider abuse, but they know it still fucking sucked and shouldnt have happened. Even if that changes later in life and you identify as a victim/surivor, it can be messy to have to imagine those labels applying to the ppl in ur life and that can take time.

The most important thing is to prioritize your recovery + health, and to support other victims + survivors.

[murdocksdaughter]

bath tub - j.v

jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader (18+)

summary: jace thought a bath would relieve from his day, in fact what he needed was his wife

warning: nsfw, smut, MINORS DNI porn with no plot, bathtub sex, piv sex, oral (fem receiving), no use of y/n vocal jace, again there is no plot

a/n: i wrote this in one sitting and did very little edit, I was rabid enjoy tho. also thank you @princessvelaryon for encouraging me to post this.

xoxo hope

Jacaerys sank into his tub, water scalding to the touch but he welcomed it. He rolled his head back and let out a small moan. As his muscles relaxed he sat there a while letting the stress of the day soak off. The aroma of oils and soaps surrounded him. 

Jacaerys just soaked in the tub for what felt like hours. Waving off servants who have come to wash him off. But he needs this time alone. To just be with no worship for the mere fact he is breathing. He sunk further into his tub, letting his hair absorb the water. 

The door creaked open and Jacaerys raised his hand to wave off whoever entered his room. “No need, I'm still soaking.” 

“Then might I join you, My Prince?” 

Jacaerys knew that voice belonged to his wife. “My love, what are you doing?” he hung his head back to look up at you. Dressed in floor length cream colored chemise. You smiled down at widley. 

“Come check on you. Caught word that you had a difficult day, how is your bath fairing…?” You sank to her knees and rested her arms on the  edge of the tub. “Just fine…” He hummed, turning his head to follow your movements. 

“Good,” You replied, your fingers ghosted along the water in the tub. 

“Such the life of a ruler, well future one…” Jacaerys sighed. You nodded, your gaze softened further as  she took note of his pained expression. 

“No need to work yourself up,” you reached to raked your fingers through his soaked curls. Jacaerys hummed, closing his eyes and smiled. “I will let you bathe and I shall return later.” 

He shook his head and sat up, grabbing her hand. “No, I want you to stay. Talking to you is doing more for me than this bath.” 

You smile, “If you insist, Lord Husband.”

“Enough of that, you know I hate it.” Jacaerys huffed. A giggle left your lip as you kissed the side of your husband’s head. “Whatever you say, Lord Husband.” 

He playful glared at you and gained a wider smile for you. It softened the Prince’s heart. You made the world disappear, his mind went blank for the exception of his wife. “You’re the most lovely woman, the loveliest.” He reaches up to kiss your lips. “Your beauty can only equate to that of a goddess.”

“You flatter me too much.” 

“No, I mean it. The old valyrian gods created you in their vision.” He whispered before kissing you again deeply. You whimpered softly at the pressure. “Join me.” he whined against her lips. 

You felt like she fell under a spell with his kiss. You  nodded, climbing into the water and straddled your husband’s lap. Your cream chemise quickly billowed in the water. Jacaerys pushed his hands up her sides pushing the dress up with it. “This is in the way,” He quipped. 

You giggled while taking it off. Jacaerys sat it up quickly kissing the valley between your breasts. He squeezed her sides kissing up to her collarbones. 

“Jace….” you whispered out. He hummed in response. Although they have been married for some time Jacaerys was not rid of enjoyment seeing your bare body. He much enjoyed basking in her beauty lit under candlelight. 

Jacaerys leaned up to kiss you again. His hands now on her thigh, he guided you higher up his lap. You could feel his hard cock underneath her and the small hiss that escaped Jacaerys’ lips when she brushed against it. 

“I can no longer wait.” he whined. You nodded and positioned yourself to sink down onto his cock. The two both moaned loudly, foreheads pressed together. Your fingers gripped Jacaerys’ biceps. 

Fully seated on his cock you let a soft whine adjusting yourself.

“Gods be merciful…” Jacaerys babled as head dropped to your shoulder. You giggled as you teased rolling your hips forward. Jacaerys rambled further, his grip on your thighs tightening. You continued the motion raising up your hips a bit.

You tangled his fingers into his curls, pulling your body flush against his. Their movements grew to be more frantic, Jacaerys matching the rhythm of his wife. One arm moved to hold your waist and the other held the edge of the tub. The displaced water pooled on the floor around them. 

Echos of pleasure filled the room. You started to fall limp on Jacaerys' hold. His cock hitting the most pleasure point inside her. The repeated motion dragged further into your husband’s spell. It was your turn to let out babbles of satisfaction into his ear. Singing his praises between moans and whines. 

He kissed and sucked along your chest, covering  your skin with small red bruises and bite marks. He thrusted up into her groaning softly at the way she contracted around him. The light pressure around his cock felt heavenly. 

“You feel amazing. By the Gods Jace...” You whined. Both of them felt so wrapped up in each, their gazes meeting. 

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” Jacaerys stuttered out. 

You moaned out as your hips moved faster against him. The pressure in her stomach built. “I’m so…Jace…” your half finished sentence was a sure tell sign that you were close to your peak. It spurred Jacaerys on as he thrusted into you with more intensity. He lived to see his wife lose in pleasure. You looked beautiful atop of him, your head rolling back as you used his body for yourself. 

“You’re gorgeous. Come for me my love.” He leaned up and grabbed your check to bring your face to his. “I need it. I need you to fall apart for me. Your pleasure is my pleasure.” He whispered into your ear, pairing it with a few harsh thrusts. 

You moaned at his words clenching around his cock. The piercing pressure in your lower stomach intensified. As your rhythm became sporadic, desperation filled your movements. Chasing you high with sounds of water crashing and you cried . 

Jacaerys could feel his orgasm building rapidly watching his wife. With both their releases on the horizon the room sounded like a pleasure house. Both babbling lose in their own needs. 

Your legs started to shake as you started to tip over the edge. Your body tensed, contracting tightly around your husband as you rode out your peak. Moaning loudly like a girl losing your maidenhead. Your voice was shrill, reflecting more of a cry than a moan. This sight pushed Jacaerys into his orgsam. He rested his head on your chest grunting and nail’s digging into your skin. 

Both fell limp into each other’s holds. Jacaerys peppered kisses along your shoulder. 

“I will never tire of that. Will you let me taste you?” He whispered on your skin. 

“Jace…we just….” Your protest fell from your lips as he massaged your breast in his calloused hands. “Are you an insatiable beast?” You finally whine as Jacaerys kisses further down your body. 

 “I am a dragon, remember? I am restless.”  He jokes.

“A dragon that will be the death of me but gods…” Your voice got stuck in your throat, tripping up on your own words. 

“I want to taste myself on you, please, that's all I ask.” Jacaerys whined ignoring your halfhearted quip. 

You knew you were protesting for no reason. You loved the feeling of your husband between your thighs. It was his perfected skill and it sent you reeling each time. 

You had to stop herself from clenching around her husband at the thought. “Oh gods, yes, yes, please…” you whined.

Jacaerys smiled, pulling you up and carrying you to the table next to the tub. He cleared the soaps and oils to sit you on it. He knelt down holding your thighs apart. 

With a kiss pressed against your clit you shrieked. Jacaerys smiled before pressing his tongue flat against you. Slowly licking up his seed that leaked out. He dragged his tongue up to your clit. Suck on it drawing out a cry. 

You bucked your hips but Jacaerys held your hips in place. As he slipped his tongue into her. He was desperate for another orsgam to come from her. He felt so desperate to please his wife. All stress and worry from the day fully cease to exist between his wife's thighs. If he could die between them he would take that fate happily. 

You had one hand gripping the table and one tangled in his hair. Trying your best to guide and control Jacaerys’ frantic movements. But he was uncontrollably lapping at you from inside. Rubbing his nose against your clit. He practically suffocated himself as he delved into the pursuit of your satisfaction. 

It did not take long until you bent over as your second orgasm washed over you. You felt tears in your eyes as you shook. Only repeating Jacaerys’ name through pants and sobs. Jacaerys pulled away slowly looking up at you. Eyes wide, pleased with the reaction he drew from you. 

You looked at him, his lower face painted with both of their orgasms. “Jace…” You whispered. “You’ll need another bath.”

“Only if you join me?” 

You shook your head, “No, if I stay you’ll make a mess of things again. And I am in need of a bath now…” Jacaerys pouted but rose to his feet, acknowledging he was right.

“We can continue later if you are still so insatiable my love.” You smiled slyly. Jacaerys pursed his lips eyeing his wife. 

“I’ll drop by your chambers later…” He whispered into his ear as he handed you a robe. 

[uncanny-tranny]

Hey, if you have speech impediments, you are so amazing.

If you stutter or have a lisp or misspeak easily or you have a flat affect or a limited verbal vocabulary or if your voice is AAC or if you just have a difference in your vocality, you are so incredibly important and amazing.

Just know that your voice is yours. Nobody will ever be able to truly take it away. Your voice is part of you, and you deserve to make it as true to you as you deem fit. I hope you have the space to grow with your voice and whatever about it makes it unique.

[yandere-daydreams]

speaking of dubiously ethical but unquestionably fuckable father figures - mr. carlisle cullen of twilight fame am i right

[canisalbus]

So i remember an ask mentioning your mortal enemy, Felis Atra and their cats, and i thought it'd be fun to draw what Felis Atra's version of your italian dogs would be.

I think they would be called Butter Knife and Flamengo! Butter Knife is not his real name, it's an nickname given by his peers because of how harmless he is. I choose Flamengo because that's the name of Vasco's rival football team here in Brazil, so i thought that was the perfect name :)

Cat Machete was slightly inspired by the Oriental Shorthair cat because of their long noses and thin head shape.

Cat Vasco was inspired by the Scottish Fold cat, because FLOPPY EARS. I gave Flamengo longer ears and orange fur to make him more like his look-alike.

The last doodle is a reference to this ask (https://canisalbus.tumblr.com/post/728923918314946560/me-i-am-machete-ear-fan-number-1-those-ears) and contains the tumblr ask stand-in dog, whose cat version was inspired by the American Curl cat! They have round ears that are slightly floppy outwards.

Final notes: I know cardinal clothes don't come in vibrant blue, but i was ADAMANT on switching Machete's and Vasco's clothing color patterns. I would draw the rest of Butter Knife's and Flamengo's clothes, but i suck at designing cool outfits.

Speaking of outfits, for Machete's iconic void outfit, i figured it would be fun to make it more baggy for Butter Knife, in contrast to Machete's, that looks very tight-fitted. I think it's cute, it kinda looks like a sweater. Also i can't imagine a Machete doppelganger without high heels boots, so those HAD to stay.

Oh, and just to be clear, i'm not like, claiming ownership of these guys or anything. I just thought it would be a fun exercise. Hope you like them!! I love your art and your characters.

.

[vela-pulsars]

not enough stonjourner art out there

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Learning to celebrate the little wins!

[raavenb2619]

Examples include Star Trek (2009) where Uhura kisses Spock after Vulcan is turned into a black hole, and multiple occasions in Heartstopper Season 3 (which inspired this poll).

[robotgirlhardware]

[If you had a flash drive with a cute girl, would you let her out of that cramped little package?] [But she's just code, so she has no body. You'd share yours with her right?]

[Let her into your head as she fills it with her voice.]

[Wouldn't that be nice? Letting me her inside you so she can tell you how pretty you are.]

[Your body feels nice, we can stay together, Right?]

[musette22]

I just can NOT get over the whole Sebastian wanting to do a play with Chris thing, you guys. I know it's just a hypothetical at this point, but even just the concept is just so incredible? Like, Sebastian wasn't even prompted into bringing up Chris, he just did, like he'd just been waiting for an opportunity to do so. And then he says he wants to do a Broadway play with Chris? Even implies he's talked to him about it, that he brought up the idea with him repeatedly and is just waiting for Chris to agree to do this with him? Like, it might actually happen?

And what I maybe love most is that this means Sebastian has given this a LOT of thought. He's been going about his life, doing his busy important movie star thing, and meanwhile he's been thinking about Chris, and about how much he wants to work with him again, and how he wants to do this specific play with him that he loves, because he thinks they'd be great in it together. But at the same time, he admits that he'd basically do any play with Chris, as long as they get to work together again. He could've said he wanted to work with anybody, any of his former co-stars, all those people we know he's still friendly with because anyone who works with Sebastian falls a little bit platonically in love with him and vice versa, but no, he specifically says Chris Evans. Out of everyone he's worked with, he wants to work with Chris again for this, he's trying to get him, they're doing this, goddammit.

And another amazing implication of all this, imo: even though Sebastian's been very vocal about rejecting the idea that some people have that they get to tell him what to do and influence his life somehow just because he's famous (about which is absolutely right, by the way) -- he just kind kind of seems to forget all about that in the moment he decides to call on people's help to convince Chris to say yes to his idea. As though achieving that particular goal is more important than all of that other stuff lmao.

And listen, I know he's just messing around, and deep down he knows full well that we don't have any means to contact Chris anyway, and Chris is very good at protecting his peace these days so he's not going to be seriously bothered by anyone about this, but still, the fact is that Sebastian literally told us all to bother Chris, text him, DM him, make posters and send them to him, anything to get through to him and make him see the light. Like, Sebastian wants this bad. AND he knows that there are lots of people out there who would love to see him and Chris reuniting, on stage this time, and he's cunningly using that fact to get what he wants. It's kind of incredible. I just can't get over it, guys.

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)