#sensitive pornograph icons

[romanceyourdemons]

martin scorsese’s taxi driver (1976) is simultaneously a love letter to a city in a style layer used by wong kar-wai and a striking psychological thriller. in the latter category, of course, falls the film’s presentation of the character of travis bickle, a directionless taxi driver who descends into obsession with the impurity of new yorkers and seeks to remedy it with his fixation on machismo, guns, cowboy boots, and assassination. in the former category falls the film’s rich cinematography, depicting with loving richness the new york travis decries as irredeemable filth. the film braids these two strands together with its take on the oft-discussed and ever-relevant topic of urban isolation and alienation. this film shows that alienation as so profound that travis and the audience are progressively alienated not just from other people, but from reality itself. the film’s dialogue, which is incredibly and perhaps even hyper-naturalistic in both scripting and delivery, provides a strong sense of realism, but it also distances the reality of the film from the “reality” of the films within the film, the pornographic films and soap operas that seem to form travis’s only hobby before his descent into obsession. with that descent into obsession—first with betsy, then with palantine, and finally with iris—travis moves himself from the hyperreality of his world to the scripted reality of the world in his head, a world that works much more like his soap operas and pornographic movies. from his rambling and eminently quotable diary entries, read in voiceover in an echo of the voiceover narration of film noir, to his famous “are you talking to me?” monologue, delivered to himself in the mirror, to the iconic appearance he takes on at the end of the film with his mohawk, military jacket, and cowboy boots, virtually all of the most iconic, memorable, and narratively satisfying parts of the film were explicitly curated by travis himself in order to manifest into his reality the fictional reality where he is a hero dying to protect the only good and pure thing in the city. what that only good and pure thing is, he has a difficult time deciding: at first he thinks it is betsy whom he must defend from palantine, and later he thinks it is iris whom he must defend from matthew, but in both cases the women in question do everything in their power to puncture his fantasy. like many urban isolation films, this film ends when travis is finally able to make a real impact and a real connection with the people around him. it is a negligible connection when compared with the grand acts of heroism he had had in mind. however, as the film subtly argues through its many depictions of the vastness and complexity of new york, no one act of grand heroism could really affect the city as a whole; one small connection is all that can matter. although what scorsese does in taxi driver (1974) is far from unique to the film, he does it powerfully, sensitively, and with a loving eye to the vastness and beauty of new york, making this an excellent film that i would highly recommend

[cockasinthebird]

Prompt 212! I hope it's a good one, but it's your writing so I'm sure it'll be fantastic! Congrats again on 500!! 💕😊💖 -opaldraws

@opaldraws yeah I’m also tagging your other blog, what about it 😌💕

212. “Did you just call to get off to my voice?”

Now, I haven’t written it a lot, but I absolutely L O V E phone sex fics, and for the sake of it, I’ve written this a bit into the future; not quiet a modern day au, but more of an... early 2000′s au, because I wanted them to have phones, but not something modern and smart, so for the sake of the prompt, imagine that they both have that super iconic Nokia 3310, you know exactly which one 😂😂🤣

Also this includes mechanic Billy, another of my favourite aus

Thank you again so much for prompting me, babe!!!! I think it’s fantastic, so, for your pleasure, 1.7k words, enjoy~

-

Steve rolls around in sheets that still smell of Billy. He stretches out with a grunt, naked and lazy blissful, the clock on his side of the bed says 10:13 am, on a typical Tuesday morning. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and stares at a water stain in the corner of the ceiling, one which Billy claims that if you squint, it looks like a voluptuous woman. 

To think, three months they’ve lived here now, a shitty little one bedroom apartment down on mainstreet, walking distance from the workshop and Family Video, yet Billy insists every day on driving the camaro, revving the engine and showing off in front of his envious coworkers. 

Three months since they became official, three months since Neil kicked Billy out, three months since Steve’s father cut him out of the will. 

Three months they’ve spent every night together, yet, as Steve presses his face into Billy’s pillow, inhaling the musky scent of his sweat, he still yearns all the same as he did back in high school. The same old desperation and neediness fills him just at the mere thought of his boyfriend. And he’s hardly to blame, being naked in their bed, in their apartment. 

He breathes in deep again and sighs contentedly into the fabric, raising his hips to allow for a hand to slip beneath, fingers grazing gently across hardening flesh.

Their schedules don’t always align, Billy being off on weekends, Steve on, leaving the poor brunette home alone Tuesdays and Thursdays. And he misses him already, as needy and pathetic and clingy as that might be, making him anxious and doubtful, but Billy calls it cute and sweet and that, “I miss you, too, baby,” so maybe someday Steve will learn that this kind of behaviour and thought is ok when you’re in love, and won’t get pushed away for it.

Billy never pushes him away, no he holds him, kisses him, loves him. Tells him every day with the sweetest kisses. In the mornings when they’re rushing off to work because they stayed in bed for too long. In the evening when they’re cooking dinner and eating together by the little round table. In the night when they’re pressed together soft and slow, rough and fast, skin on skin on skin.

Steve closes his hand around his full dick and strokes at a far too slow pace, enjoying the pleasant sparks that spread around his lower abdomen and thighs, not enough for release, but enough for him to moan lightly into Billy’s pillow. He runs his other arm beneath it to hug it tighter against his face, wishing to be as close to Billy as he can right now.

God he really needs Billy right now… Billy Billy Billy… If he closes his eyes and focuses hard enough, he can almost imagine that it’s Billy’s hand stroking him now, calloused and worn from work, strong and firm, he tightens his grip, thrusting into his fingers with jittery and impatient hips.

He turns his head to look at his phone on the bedside table, thinking, tempted to call. And he only really wastes a few brief seconds convincing himself, before he’s reaching for it with his free hand, the motion of his other hand becoming lackadaisical as he finds Billy’s phone number on his phone.

The ringing like a drum solo, his heart beating hard and loud in tact. 

“Hey honey,” Billy says with a voice pure with adoration, and Steve’s heart calms down immediately, feeling his dulcet tone embrace his heart.

“You’re up early,” he teases.

“Yeah, I…” Steve trails off, not really sure what to say, just really wanted to listen to Billy talk. “H-how’s work?”

“Oh you won’t believe what I’m looking at!” the eagerness in his voice palpable, “This old couple comes in with the most gorgeous Cadillac from the 70s! Says they’re taking retirement ‘on the road’, but it’s been sputtering an awful lot lately, so now,” he pauses for the sake of dramatic effect, “I get to clean this old gals engine! New spark plugs, cleaning the carburetor, and an oil change on the house.”

Even if Steve doesn’t know what any of that really means, he gets a near second-hand thrill from how excited Billy is. Also it paints a perfect picture, Billy with his jumpsuit tied around his waist because he loves to show off those arms, covered in oil and grease and sweat, the dirty, white tank top, hair tied back.

There’s a longer pause before Billy asks, “What are you up to?” something in his tone that might imply he knows exactly what Steve’s doing.

“I-I’m still in bed,” Steve responds with all the self-control he has, albeit not a lot of it.

“Oh yeah?” Billy’s voice deep and raspy all of a sudden. “And what are you doing in bed? Because it doesn’t sound like you’re sleeping.”

Steve rolls on to his back and looks down at where his prick has started leaking; the pre helping with the dryness as he swipes his thumb over the head. 

“Come on, princess,” Billy drawls when there’s no response, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I-I- ahh…” Steve moans gingerly before biting down on his lip. “I’m touching myself.”

“Thinking about anyone in particular?”

The obvious answer being, “You.”

His phone nearly vibrates when Billy chuckles like rolling thunder. “So… did you just call to get off to my voice?”

“Yes,” Steve says without a filter, lust slowly pulling him apart as he jerks a bit faster to the sensuous tone of Billy.

“That’s awfully naughty of you.”

A breathless, “Fuck,” escapes him as he screws his eyes shot to picture Billy again.

“Calling me like this, in the middle of my work day… Do you know how hard that makes me? Listening to you pant and moan like that? Making it impossible to focus on my work, baby.”

He leans into the phone, moans a bit louder, unadulterated, let’s out a slight, “Billy…”

And Billy laughs. “Oh that’s so unfair, you saying my name like that when I can’t do anything about it. When I come home later, I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The echo of a lock comes through the phone and Steve blinks open.

“What are you doing?”

Next he hears just a light clink of a belt.

“I’m in the employees bathroom, taking a break. You didn’t think I’d just let you get off on your own, did you? Don’t be so selfish.”

“Billy, are you-”

“I am,” he sighs with satisfaction - a roughness to the edge of his voice.

A sigh and insinuation that gives Steve all the right clues for the perfect picture of Billy, sitting with his legs spread out, cock out through the hole in his boxers to stroke it, making Steve’s own kick and drip more. He slides further down their bed as he raises his hips into his fist, closing his eyes again to focus on Billy’s breathing, his words.

“Mmmh, when I get off from work, when I get home in 4 hours, you better be naked, waiting for me as I step through the door.”

Steve imagines it just so, listening to Billy like he’s being told a story- a promise. 

“We won’t make it to the bedroom - I can’t wait that long to touch you again.”

“Billy,” he whines and runs his hand a bit too fast, chasing an all too soon release.

“I’m gonna have you bent over the dining table, eating you out till you’re begging me to finger you open. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck-” 

Each word sending static shivers through his entire being, making him buck his hips harder, thrusting with abandon into the whimsical motion of his hand. He presses the phone between his face and the pillow, to allow his left hand the freedom to go down, squeezing his balls tenderly, pressing and massaging his taint beneath.

“God, shit- arrh- listen to you, princess, so obedient and willing… Getting so wet just from my voice, hmmm…” his deep, carnal humming vibrates through the phone. “And once you’re all stretched out and ready from four of my fingers, I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be on the verge of tears, all sensitive from my big cock.”

“Please, Billy,” he whines, oh so close, the fuse burning quickly at the speed of his hand.

“Fuck I love it when you say my name like that, all needy and horny and pliant, begging for me to pound your ass, fuck- ah-”

“Billy,” Steve whines and really milks it for all it’s worth, drawing it out into a full moan. “Billy I’m so close.”

“Let me hear you cum, baby,” Billy growls out, rugged with laboured breathing.

“God, fuck- fuck, a-ah-” And Steve doesn’t keep quiet, opens wide as he arches his back, lifts his hips high into the air as he pumps himself with fervor, cum spurting from his throbbing cock and onto his chest, a splash reaching his throat from the raised angle. Billy has, on numerous occasions, called it “pornographic,” says that Steve gives a better performance, riding on his dick, than any of the actors on tape.

Billy grunts and groans on the other end, struggling to keep his own euphoria down no doubt, but it is clear to Steve that his boyfriend is right there with him, and listening to him cum gives him a deep rooted thrill, an incredible sense of satisfaction that can almost rival his own orgasm.

They pant and gasp for air together, Billy sounding more like he’s been diving too deep for too long, but chuckles all the same.

“Mmmmh glad you called, bambi,” he hums deep and satisfied and happy.

A joy that brings such elation to Steve’s own heart.

“Me, too,” he laughs back, short and utterly exhausted. He could absolutely go for a nap now.

“Now, you have…” a pause as Billy no doubt looks at his wristwatch, “three hours and about twenty minutes to get cleaned up, regain your energy, and drink lots of water, because when I get home, I’m gonna have to punish you for this.”

[1830sromanticist]

Ok weighing in on this whole Tumblr NSFW purge for a moment: It’s both the concept and implementation that is concerning. As you all know, I do not reblog or upload sensitive material that is pornographic in nature, and Tumblr swears that artistic use of nudity or other such ‘sensitive’ themes will be protected, however as of right now post that have been flagged on my blog include:

Viktor Vasnetsov’s Shroud of Christ, painted 1901

Jean-Baptiste Mauzaisse’s Time Showing the Ruins that He Causes and the Works of Art He Brings to Light, painted 1822

James McNeill Whistler’s Sketch for “The Balcony”, painted 1870 and so abstract that I cannot fathom how it has been tagged as NSFW

The post collecting some of Franz Stuck’s mythical scenes

The post collecting some of Franz Stuck’s portraits of Classical figures

A detail from John William Godward’s Mischief and Repose, painted 1895

Joseph-Désiré Court‘s Achilles Introduced to Nestor, painted 1820

Sir Edward John Poynter’s Diadumenè, painted 1893

Laszlo Neogrady’s Witches scene, painted 20th century

Any system that sees art like this as obscene to an almost puritanical degree is nothing more than the officious state censor, even if it is accidental and regardless of if these issues will be fixed later. If a Orthodox icon of Christ from early 20th century Russia is too erotic for Tumblr, I suppose education and interest in art history and material culture has no place on this website. 

[rawiswhore]

Triple H/Shawn Michaels x Fem Reader- “Honeymoon in Paris”

The reason I put Triple H/Shawn Michaels instead of either Triple H or Shawn is you can imagine you got married to either Triple H or Shawn Michaels. 

________________________________________________________________

It's maybe around 2:00 AM, circa February 2004.

A few months before this night, on a special WWE Raw show one night, Triple H/Shawn Michaels proposed to you in the ring with a ring.

A wedding ring, to be precise.

And the audience and the people watching this at home, didn't know whether or not if he was proposing to you for real or if this was all scripted.

And on a night circa February 2004, turns out, you and Triple H/Shawn Michaels really did get married, and this wasn't scripted, they really did want to marry you.

And you married him a beautiful church in Paris, France.

You had thought of getting married in a WWE wrestling ring, although not with hundreds of wrestling fans watching this in the audience, but your family members as well as some WWE and even some wrestlers during the WWF in the seats, but getting married in a wrestling ring isn't so romantic.

Also, as much as you love Triple H and Shawn Michaels, was it necessary for them to propose to you on live television, considering so many wrestling fans watching this are like "Is this for real or is this scripted?".

After having a wonderful night that night, now it's time for an even more exciting and romantic night...your honeymoon!

You and Trips/Shawn were spending your honeymoon in a romantic, expensive, lavish hotel, one you found online on Google.

The two of you were now both stark naked, sitting in a bathtub together.

Shawn/Triple H was sitting right behind you, his arms wrapped around your breasts, holding you.

He was taller than you are, and because of him being bigger and taller than you as well as being right behind you, he could smell the hairspray sprayed atop of your head.

Not the best smell in the world.

But don't worry, you'll wash your hair once you wake up from sleeping with him.

Some warm water was soaking your legs as well as his, whereas foamy, frothy bubbles were swarming the entire bathtub, so much, the bubbles were shielding your body and his body from being viewed.

Some rose petals were scattered in the bathtub for a more romantic effect, but hopefully these rose petals won't get inside your pussy or your asscrack, or up his ass crack, for that matter.

While the lights were turned off in the bathroom as well as the hotel's bedroom, some candles were standing in the bathroom's sink, giving the room some light.

He suddenly dunked his hands in the water, his palms scooping up a mixture of water and bath bubbles, and placed those hands on your breasts.

He then began caressing your breasts, running the palms of his hands around in circles over your breasts over and over again.

His palms brushed on your areolas and nipples, and your areolas and nipples were very sensitive.

"You like this?" he whispered in your ear, his voice raspy and warm, like the water the two of you were bathing in.

"Yes" you responded, whispering the word.

His nose inhaled and smelled a bit of the perfume you were wearing spritzed on your neck, which just so happens to be your own perfume you released last year.

You sprayed a bit of that perfume on your neck before taking a bath with him, that way he could be all over you.

And speaking of which...

He decided to spice things up a bit in the bathtub.

He buried his face into your neck, where his lips gave little kisses on your neck and your shoulders.

He let his breath out of his mouth, where you felt his hot, warm breath on your shoulders and on your neck.

His breath was almost has warm as the water you were bathing in.

You reclined your head on his shoulder like it was a pillow, your eyelids shut your eyes, this felt so good.

"Ohhhhh, more please" you moaned and pleaded for him.

He was still massaging your breasts while he was kissing your neck.

Your breasts began looking shiny thanks to the soap and water mixture, courtesy of Triple H/Shawn Michaels caressing your breasts in those things.

"Am I making you feel good?" Shawn/Triple H purred in your ear.

"Yes" you whined and whimpered, not in an annoying voice, but in a "while someone's dick is thrusting in and out of your pussy" kind of whine.

Even though this is a wonderful night, you want to make love to him in the bedroom later on that night, where his cock is thrusting in and out of your pussy, he eats your pussy and you suck his cock, his lips suck your breasts and brush down your torso.

And you're scared that when taking a bubblebath with him, he'll taste the soap bubbles on your body and on your breasts.

While he was caressing your breasts, his index and middle fingers were rubbing your areolas up and down.

He knows how sensitive your areolas are, and you love it when men play with your areolas.

Your eyes were closed while he was doing this to you, this feels so good.

"Ohhhhhhh, yes" you moaned quietly, "that's it, baby, that's it".

"Just relax with me, baby" he whispered in his raspy but sexy voice.

One of your knees poked out from the bubbles, and he'll probably wash your legs pretty soon.

"Y'want me to massage your shoulders?" he asked you.

While it does feel good while he's rubbing your areolas, guess he should give your shoulders a bit of a rub too.

"Sure" you responded.

He then moved his hands towards your shoulders, your shoulders sitting in between his thumbs and his fingers, where he began massaging your shoulders.

Your shoulders were tense from some of the stress you went through during your wedding, as well as from being tired, and having a sexy man massage your sore shoulders with his warm hands and fingers felt so good.

Some of the water from his hands and fingers was dripping down your chest, shoulders and back, the water warm and hot.

This water was also taking away the stress and tenseness on your skin.

"Ohhhhhhh, this feels so good" you moaned. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm"

What you were saying sounds so orgasmic and pornographic.

"Y'like that?" he asked you, his breath close to your ear and his voice warm and husky.

"Yes" you whimpered.

Your eyes were closed and your mouth was partly open.

Even though his fingers and hands were taking the tenseness of your shoulders away, you also want to make him feel good too.

He took some time massaging your shoulders, you letting out these quiet, slight orgasmic moans, but he doesn't want to make you cum yet, that's for later on tonight when you're in bed!

You want to massage him now, it's his turn.

Suddenly, you turned your body over, where you assembled the upper half of your body up and sat up straight.

Your face was right in front of his face and your breasts were pressed against his chest.

You were sitting on his lap, straddling his lap.

The two of you were both naked, you hope he doesn't have a boner right now because you're afraid his penis will enter your pussy, and you don't want that yet. Not now.

This shocked him, his face going from having no emotion to his eyes suddenly widening and his mouth dropping.

"Don't worry" you coaxed. "It's your turn to be massaged".

A smile suddenly broke out on his mouth, relieved at what happened.

Though, he figured maybe it's his turn now to be massaged.

Although, before you massage him, you want to do some other things to him.

You placed one of your hands on the side of his jawline.

"You're so sexy" you purred to him, brushing your thumb on his cheek. "You're so much sexier without facial hair".

If it's Triple H you're fantasizing of in this fanfic...

You know about Triple H and his iconic big nose, and you wanted to do something to his nose.

Your face pulled closer and closer into his face, until your nose touched his nose.

Once your nose touched his nose, you began moving your nose back and forth across his nose, giving him an "Eskimo kiss".

Triple H noticed you doing this to him.

Wonder if you were doing this to him on account of his big nose?

But he didn't mind it, in fact, he also began moving his nose back and forth across your nose, joining you in your little "Eskimo kiss".

A smile broke across his face while you did this to him, and you were smiling as well.

And speaking of kisses and smiling.

His eyes noticed the lipgloss on your lips.

That night, you wore some M.A.C. lipglass (yes, I meant to say "glass", not gloss) on your lips, the same lipglass you wore when you became a Viva Glam M.A.C. spokesperson last year.

Your lips were shiny that night and looked so kissable, and you actually applied another layer of lipgloss on your lips so he could kiss you in the bathtub.

Speaking of kissing, that's exactly what he wanted to do to you.

You might've been "eskimo kissing" his nose, but that doesn't involve mouth to mouth.

He then pulled his face into your face, where his lips landed and crashed on your luscious lips.

Your eyes suddenly shut and your lips kissed him back, the two of your lips fitting on top of one another.

Your lips didn't really taste all that well smothered in that lip gloss, but your lip gloss sadly isn't flavored.

The two of you began kissing each other for a while, your lips making lip smacking sounds when they parted, only to join again, where one of your hands directed itself behind his head, your fingers weaving through his long hair.

He also wrapped his arms around the small of your back, pulling you in closer for a kiss, your wet breasts were pressing on his chest.

Surprisingly, he didn't put his tongue in your mouth, but maybe that can be for later.

Although, now when you were kissing him, your lipgloss will end up transferring to his lips and he'll be wearing your lipgloss!

Speaking of chests, you may as well start massaging and washing his chest now, maybe you can even do it while you're still kissing him.

One of your hands plunged below the bubbles next to you, where your hand fished out w where your palm scooped up some water as well as bath

You opened your left eye while you did this, hoping to get some water and bubbles on your palm, but you could feel the water on your palm.

Your fingers were closed together so the water and bubbles wouldn't slip from out of the spaces of your fingers.

Your palm was holding the bubbles and water, trying to balance it so it won't slip away.

You actually broke the kiss between the two of you so your eyes could keep an eye out on the palm of your hand, that way the water and bubbles wouldn't slip out of your hand.

He noticed you breaking the kiss between him, his eyes opening and looking at you.

Your palm suddenly splatted this water and bubbles on his chest, which he most definitely felt.

While you didn't splat his chest hard with your hand, your hand did touch his chest, where some warm water and bubbles was now on his chest, some of it dripping down his chest.

"Sorry" you apologized to him, your eyes looking at his face. "I wonder if I should massage you while we kiss each other"

"Sure" he replied. "That would feel wonderful".

Your face and his face pulled into each other, where your lips met and locked with one another.

Your eyes and his eyes shut once they pulled into each other.

While you were kissing him, your hands moved up and down his chest, caressing his chest in warm water and bubbles on his chest.

His body was also tense, between getting married that day as well as this being such a long day, so his body and shoulders were aching a bit.

This felt really good for him, really good, so good, he could nearly orgasm from this, but right now, he was busy kissing you.

Speaking of tenseness, your hands crept up from his chest to his shoulders, where you began to gently massage his shoulders.

His shoulders were aching a bit, and having you do this to him was such a relief for his shoulders.

"Does this feel good?" you asked him, whispering what you said.

"Yeah" he replied, smiling back.

He could almost have an orgasm at this, letting some little moans, groans and grunts from his mouth, he was tired.

But he managed to control himself.

The pads of your fingers were dragging up the skin behind his shoulders, only to bring the pads of your fingers down, with his skin in tow.

"Y'want me to try kissing you?" you asked him.

He doesn't know how to respond with this.

"Nah" was his response from his mouth. "I'll kiss you later".

Ooooooooooh.

There is one part of the body he hasn't rubbed, and that's your legs.

Your hands left his shoulders, where you then flipped your body around, sitting how you were originally sitting, with your back pressed against his chest.

This shocked and astounded him yet again, but you could explain.

"There's a part of my body you haven't washed" you said to him. "My legs".

You then lifted one of your legs up from the bathtub, your legs smothered in bubbles, your calves dripping with water.

Some rose petals were even stuck to your legs and some rose petals even were falling from your legs back into the water.

You have such long, beautiful legs.

Stacy Keibler, eat your heart out.

He can't resist caressing and rubbing your beautiful legs.

His hands reached down into the water, where they lifted out of the bath holding water and bubbles in the palm of his hand.

Much like you, he was trying to balance and keep the water and bubbles in the palms of his hands and not let it slip out, his fingers being closed together.

Although, was it really necessary for him to fish for some water and bubbles with his hands considering your legs were already drenched in water and bubbles already somewhat?

His hands clasped on both sides of your calves, where he began rubbing and caressing up and down your calf, as well as some of your thigh, but mostly just your calf.

That wasn't the only thing he wanted to do to you.

"You have such long, beautiful legs" he purred, his voice smoky and husky.

He has such a perfect soothing raspy voice.

Triple H honestly sounded a bit like he did when he was trying to seduce Katie Vick's corpse in that infamous storyline/moment.

Your calves looked so shiny in the light thanks to the candles as well as the water and bubbles combo.

"Thanks" you responded to him.

"You're welcome" he replied.

"Y'know" you said. "Was it necessary for your palms to scoop out some water and bubbles when my leg was already coated in those things?"

He chuckled a bit, his chest bouncing up and down, only for after he stopped laughing, his shoulders lifted up and down quickly, shrugging.

"Guess not" was his response.

"Should you scoop some water and bubbles out when I lift my other leg up?" you asked him, moving your other leg lying down a bit.

"Ehhhhhh, nah" he replied.

You then let your leg sticking up in the air down, where it drowned and fell down in the water, being blocked by foamy, frothy bubbles.

You then lifted your other leg up in the air, where there was some bubbles sticking onto your leg as well as water dripping from your calves.

And again, some rose petals were sticking your leg.

Triple H/Shawn then put his hands on your other leg sticking out, where he began caressing your calf up and down, rubbing and caressing bubbles on this leg.

If you fantasize about Triple H in this fanfic...

"Do you remember how back in, like, 1996 and 1997, when I worked as your valet, I was addicted to drugs?" you asked him.

"And I promised you how if you got of drugs, I'd marry you?" was his response.

"Yeah" you replied.

"I remember" he said.

"I did get off of drugs and alcohol and whatnot for you" you said. "And while you were proud of me for getting off of those things, you didn't propose to me or anything"

"I know" he sighed. "I regret it now"

"That would be so wonderful" you expressed. "Getting married to you in 1997 or early 1998 when you had that long, flowing blond hair, when you were in DX, not that it isn't wonderful now, but..."

Looking back, you regret being addicted to drugs and alcohol.

You got addicted to them because you were a stupid teenager who wanted to experiment, but you regret it now.

Why?

Because you wish you could remember the 90's, and while you do remember the 90's and have a lot of fond, wonderful memories of the 90's, you can barely remember some things about the 90's thanks to drugs.

Plus, drugs, alcohol, promiscuous sex, and cigarettes kill you, and you were basically committing suicide with those things.

You love life, way too much, and now you wish you hadn't done those things.

Now, after having a ring around your finger, you're no longer cheating on your man and no longer having any promiscuous sex with other wrestlers.

Triple H is proof you can turn a ho into a housewife.

And while you and your man did spend some time in the bathtub together, the night wasn't over yet, oh no...

Try to guess what happened after this little bubblebath, and it isn't just him drying you off.

________________________________________________________________

I actually wanted to submit this fanfic on Valentine’s Day but didn’t, I guess because I had a busy day that day.

Tomorrow I’ll hopefully submit a fanfic I also wanted to submit on Valentine’s Day and even wanted to ask my mom if what I’m typing is Valentine’s Day-esque.

[the-snatcher]

To celebrate the upcoming anniversary of the game (and this blog) I’ll be holding a Halloween fanart and fanfic contest. Winners will get one of these hand made stamp pins based on the ingame icons on Death Wish Mode.

How to enter/rules:

Draw or write fanart and/or fanfic involving the characters in the game in a Halloween theme.

Fanfic and Fan art will be judged separately meaning if you enter both a fanfic and fanart, you get two chances to win! So those of you who can’t draw well still have a chance to turn in some stories!

Fanart and Fanfics must be safe for work (mild blood, horror, and gore is fine but nothing pornographic or extremely sensitive in nature seriously I shouldn’t have to say it)

Send entries by simply sending me a link of your post or Google drive file, etc by Private Message.

Deadline is Oct.28th 12am EST, results will be posted on October 30-31th.

(If, you have any questions, feel free to send me ask/message.)

[bitakalla]

my tumblr is saying that your entire blog is sensitive media so now I can't see your blog and your icon is censored and I can't change it I'm gonna fight @staff I mean it's not like your blog is pornographic so I don't understand

Yeah! Idk whats the problem. I know that tumblr added the safe mode option. But when i go to general settings there is no filtering nor safe mode option. I think it might be something to do with this. If tumblr @staff would fix this that would be great. But thanks for messageing me. It was very helpful.😄

[moodyblueangel]

Broadchurch - series finale

Firstly, I don’t know if I got all the wrap up I wanted, there’s still quite a few questions (non concerning Trish’s case) that weren't answered. However, I like how a lot has been left open to interpretation. Gives me faith that maybe it might not absolutely be the end forever...and even if it is, well then I can make up my own mind.

I just thought it was the sweetest thing that Hardy gruffly turns down Ellie’s offer of going to the pub, but is fully prepared to just sit on a bench with her, out of work hours. Pub is what other work colleagues do, to be sociable and get to know their work mates better in an acceptable environment. I love how they have their own little bench, their own space and environment and they don’t need a catalyst climate for convergence. They have an atypical relationship and a connection based on absolute trust and honesty. Saying all that, you just know that Ellie is by hook or by crook going to get him down the pub at some point!

As with the rest of the season, Trish’s case was dealt with sensitively as we finally found out what happened. The reveal was horrific as Twine Boy turned out to be more that just a “swaggery little shit.” Although, house points to Miller who’s instincts about him were bob on from the start, right through to the eye roll inducing sob story last episode. Not only was his view and treatment of women sickening, but the discovery that he had groomed another young man to treat women like objects and possessions rang all too true. I think having the perpetrators be so young was a powerful decision. As a teacher I am unfortunately aware at how young some boys nowadays can be that are accessing pornographic imagery. Even if most parents keep a close eye on their children’s access to such content, all it takes is one child. Then they can show their phone to others on the way home, pass around content on memory sticks etc. Not enough education is done in schools. This isn’t the fault of the schools or teachers, but of the government who do not prioritise this as part of the curriculum. It’s all very well teaching a child how to use a relative clause, but ignoring the fact that they treat women like shit and will grow up doing this in their professional or personal life. Broadchurch has stood out in representing this issue. It’s taken the lead, now others must follow.

My heart cries for the Latimers. I do however feel that all their storyline should have been in last week’s episode where it wouldn’t have been rushed. The scenes between Mark and Beth were lovely, but all through them I was thinking about how it needed to go back to Alec and Ellie, as they were on the verge of solving the crime.

Right so I refuse to believe Broadchurch is over (I’m in the strong denial stage), but I think this episode has plenty of scope from spin-offs

1) Holy Water - Mark and Paul the vicar are both leaving Broadchurch. They team up together in a plumbing/prayer business by day and solve crime at night!

2) Hardy and Miller - This has to be done! I’m happy just watching them sit on a bench in silence for an hour. Trish’s case seems to be the only one they were working on for a few weeks. That suggests that the crime rate in Broadchurch is rather low. So, what exactly are they going to be doing? I want a series just focused on them solving the most minor of crimes with the same passion and tenacity that they do with a murder or assault.

Hardy - *slams fist on desk* “Don’t play coy, Jones! We know you stole that KitKat. You were in the area at the time, forensics have your DNA all over the chocolate shelf, CCTV shows you leaving the premises in question, we’ve got eye witnesses and background statements from your employers from the last five years that will state in court that you’ve shaken vending machines to try and get some free chocolate. Silver foil traces were found in the glove compartment of your car. We know you did it! 

Miller - *stares witheringly at suspect until they confess and then pulls a KitKat from her bag*

3) Daisey and Chloe - They can just have a show where they go around and slap all the swaggery shits in town upside their head.

Well, whether this was the last episode ever or if it reappears in years to come in some form, it’s been one hell of a great ride. Olivia Colman and David Tennant are extraordinary talents and as great as the writing was, they really kicked this show up a gear. They had you caring and interested from that very first meeting on the beach. Hardy and Miller have become an iconic tv duo and that’s no easy feat.

I’ve loved each season in it’s own way. Season one was an excellent ‘who dunnit’ that showed the cracks behind a perfect facade. I personally adored season two as well. It was like watching a smashed vase trying to be out back together. Everything and everyone was broken and it created this beautiful disjointedness and questioned everything.Season three tried to break down barriers and really hold a mirror up to our world and say ‘Do we really think this is acceptable?’  I suppose it’s a good thing that the show is going out on top and leaving the audience wanting more. But, I just feel that another season would have been worth the risk. 

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

(1/3) Now that some of my anger has passed I wonder if I was too harsh on Jensen. But I cannot reconcile myself with him reacting like that to a question- given that this is not the first time this has happened. I know he's a nervous person in general and tends to be very curt, but a little bit of prep can help here. Just some non-committal statement he can use for questions he will not answer. People will keep asking these questions, we can't police them.

(2/3) What hurts is seeing a young fan humiliated like that. If something I had asked got torn apart like that i'd be in tears and I'm nearly 30. And that's not the end of it, all the hate she's probably getting from BOTH sides of the fandom. It's awful. But maybe if he had a neutral sounding answer the backlash might not have been as bad for her. I'm not saying he is responsible for how other people react but.. Just a little bit of effort can undercut it in a major way.

(3/3) And the wildness of his response always makes me feel bad about being not straight, though it shouldn't. I don't really need to get validation from an actor about what I am, but for younger, more vulnerable people- I can see why it hurts. I don't expect Jensen to pander to anyone or anything he doesn't want to, just a little sensitivity is enough. If he's kinder, more accepting of differing views in the fandom, maybe some people will stop claiming he 'approves' of the hatred and divide.

I see your points. Can Jensen do better - yes. But honestly I can’t bring myself to be particularly hard on him. Yes, his reluctancy on talking about queer-related topics has allowed a portion of the fandom to project their homophobia and effemiphobia on him and use him to support their views, but we can’t forget that he does not have good experiences with the fandom on that front. I don’t think you need to be homophobic to feel uncomfortable by the existence of pornographic fanworks about you and your friends and costars, or by vocal tinhatting that reaches you and the people around you; some actors aren’t bothered by the porn written/drawn about their characters or themselves (or maybe all do but hide it), but some are and they have a right to be. I remind you that when Jensen hears about shipping and ships, that’s what comes to his mind. Together with the literal harassment of people close to him because of shipping reasons. He’s wrong in thinking that shipping is limited to that; but I can’t blame him for not being motivated to make research on the topic.

At the end of the day we don’t know Jensen. We only know a very limited part of himself he shows us in public settings and glimpses of his personality beyond that that we can see from his interactions with his friends and family. We see the product of his work, mostly - a work in which he pours a lot of himself, and that gives us little glimpses of his personality too, but all we’ve got is nowhere near a full picture of who Jensen is.

We know he loves his queer aunts. We know he put the rainbow icon on twitter and tweeted his condolences for the Pulse shooting, which doesn’t really mean much because a lot of people have done that because everyone was doing it, but we also know that Jensen never uses his social media accounts to express social or political views (grieving the death of queer people shouldn’t be a socio-political view, but sadly it is in our society). And of course we know he is really close to Misha, who, let’s be real, doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d become such close friends with a bigoted person. Jensen and Misha care about each other deeply, it’s quite obvious even if we don’t know them personally. Honestly I kind of doubt that Misha would be particularly invested in someone radically different from himself when it comes to social views.

I am appalled at the wave of hate towards Jensen that is happening these days - there are even people deploring that Jensen will grow his children to be bigoted and homophobic and whatelse. We have no right to make assumptions of this sort. Maybe it’s true, but we don’t know that and it’s disrespectful to attack him over assumptions that, if they’re not true, are hurtful.

[clearlyfuturistickingdom-blog]

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[nuttytimetravelqueen-blog]

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[ccinthecity]

Brick Lane: The Power, Role, and Interpretation of Communal Art

By S. Brenneman, R. Brown-Campbell, C. Chapman, S. Faruzzi, A. Fritz-Muller, & C. Ramdhanie at the University of South Florida

In the boroughs of East London, across from the glistening towers of the business district on Liverpool Street, among the sweet-smelling vendors and merchants of Banglatown and the sparkling shopfronts of Spitalfields market, lies a forty-some year old relic of a culture constantly in a variant state of growth and change. It could be said that the streets themselves are the backdrop upon which such a strong community culture has grown, as there is no necessary permanence to the work there; but all the same, it remains integral to the identity of Brick Lane. Graffiti and street art are the medium of expression for artists in this community--inspired by hip hop culture, and reminiscent of similar movements from the 1970’s in New York and other American metropoli, it not only represents the landscape upon which it was sprayed, spread, or scribbled, or the individual artist’s social experience, but also is an indicator for the creative scene and differing community to come.

    East London is not definitively a part of the City of London proper, but rather the area historically outside of Aldgate, on the ancient city’s borders. Although growth was slow, by the nineteenth century, a steady population had arisen in the area, due to industrialisation. The closest borough to City of London, Tower Hamlets, soon became known for its overpopulation and poverty, and concentration of minority groups, especially European Jews. Unfortunately, the neighbourhood faced more hardships in the turn of the century, in waves of crime (notably, the murders of Jack the Ripper), and mass bombings during the world wars that demolished a majority of infrastructure. Movements were made to rebuild, and, relocate—the docks and industries that provided interest in the area before had since deteriorated. The area did not receive any special interest again until the 1970’s, with an influx of Asian immigrants, and the development of docklands (to the business district known today as Canary Wharf) a decade later8. This is the height of the graffiti movement, and in an historically overlooked, ethnically diverse, and relatively economically disparaged neighbourhood, disenfranchised youth would find an outlet.

    Tony Porter explains the struggle of inner city (and especially black) male youth in this similar situation: when placed in stressful social parameters, they run into the issue of the “Man Box”—a phenomenon of conflicting ideas of what it means to truly be a man, in relation to your surroundings and community9. In interest of pandering to masculine status, perhaps subversively doing so, these young men, like the young men in the states, turn to Graffiti, which acts as a kind of outlet of expression.

    The Graffiti community is not simply about proving oneself worthy of being  a man, but too, adversely, an artist (the pinnacle of sensitivity). Josh, (a graffiti tour guide) recalls his experience as a young man in the streets of East London, becoming an artist: “You have these young men, finding themselves in their adolescence, and hip hop culture, the arts, start to play a role,”. Once intrigued by graffiti, proving ones work is integral to belonging in the community. “If you can’t hang with the big boys, then you just have to work harder,”.

There is a system of respect and pride in skills. Like in any traditional art movement, each artist has their own style, preferred media (spray paint, stickers, chalk, crayons, etc) and pseudonymity, and plays into the changing piece that is the neighbourhood. Interaction is casual: pieces don’t need to remain (and rather, have an expiration date), so it’s okay to paint over other artists older or scrap pieces, bonus points to tag places harder to reach or where it might be illegal, and if a statement really needs to be made, an artist may simply scrawl a phallus over a piece (or artist, establishment) they dislike, eliciting the universal message of “fuck you,”.

    To be a graffiti writer is to, as in any underground subcultural movement, exist in this semi-permanent margin of adolescence and adulthood, expression and dissidence. Unfortunately, the dissidence and adult aspects hold more weight in the systemic evaluation of the graffiti community, and artists are likely to be prosecuted for their (mostly illegal) craft. If an artist is identified in a particular act of defamation of property, depending on the degree of damage, an artist can receive a maximum of 10 years in prison if at age of majority, and up to a year in prison if a minor, according to the Criminal Damage Act of 1971, section one10. Although an outlet, graffiti writing, as a practice, is still a relatively risky art to get into.

    However, through the years, with the ever-growing presence of social media and technology, significant impacts have been made to neighbourhoods like Brick Lane, and to artists who once painted their pseudonym on the backs of buildings for fun—the normalisation and fascination with urban art forms, as explored by popular artists in the later decades of the twentieth century (like Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat) brought hip-hop culture and its coexisting forms (including graffiti) into a new age of overt expression. ‘Street Art’ became the new colloquialism for ‘graffiti’ and related arts, and gained attention, not only on the streets, but in museums, art schools, and oddly enough, the business world. Although not all graffiti writers are street artists, the transition from one to the other made more than sense—as street art became accepted, so did their work. As it became lucrative, so did their trade. On Brick Lane in particular, street artists have risen to a kind of local fame (this time, not only among their peers) in that they are allowed, if not commissioned, to paint pieces—portraits, murals, and otherwise—in the very spaces (shops, businesses, etc.) that once looked down upon the art form. The rise in aesthetically pleasing pieces, in combination with the historic reputation of the area, and the current societal obsessive trend with street art, wear (and to be quite blunt, appropriation or adaptation of street culture), has led to the creation of tours, which capitalise upon the fascination with the art form.

    It’s a completely different culture than that of the London Graffiti of decades prior—instead of having expiration dates, pieces are digitally commemorated and effectively memorialised. A tourist posting a picture of a piece, whether it is illegal or commissioned/pardoned, contributes to a new culture of respect and reverence for not necessarily the artist, but the piece itself—a piece may even be furthermore curated in collections of now, culturally significant or emotionally/politically/artistically evocative pieces3. It’s not necessarily against the original intents of the artists involved—whereas graffiti writing was at its roots rebellious and political, street art has more flexible foundations: many artists paint murals, posters, or stickers for the sake of creating artwork, some to make a name for themselves, some to express a political message. Dreph, an artist hailing from East London, paints enlarged portraits of significant or up-and-coming black contemporary figures, and uses social media, especially instagram, to make his work known outside of the places he paints (and has gained a rather large following, as well as a commission from the black arts festival, AfroPunk). Stik, another London artist based out of Hackney, also ties in pseudo-political themes in his work: “the figures that I draw are representing marginalised communities,”5.

    Really, the divide between that which is purely pretty and starkly, somewhat consciously offending is steep, and all the more present due to the increased hype (and ensuing pressure) in and around the landscape of Brick Lane. In Star Yard, for example, satiric caricatures of Donald Trump, posters with the words “HOMO RIOT” and a pornographic scene overlaid with imagery of iconic graffiti artists can be found adjacent, if not on top of, sunset-coloured faces, stickers of traditional-style tattoo roses, and simple displays of incredible artistry. It’s a clash of old and new school, in an environment flourishing with the movement, yet facing its potential extinction.

    Gentrification is a more threatening issue for Tower Hamlets, Brick Lane, and doubtlessly other areas where graffiti and street art make up the urban landscape. The growth of financially endowed districts, socioeconomic groups, and chains directly impacts how street art and graffiti are interpreted, as an aspect of the community. As street art is commodified to fit the needs of the incoming groups and conform to a middle class ideal, its role as a subversive form of political and creative expression is changed to one of decoration, less of a statement, and more of a “statement”—less a community, more for the consumption of society, under the surveillance and capitalisation of systems that seek to remove the art form (and its participants) from its original surroundings entirely. Not everything fits into that system, perfectly. Although street art can somewhat easily be commodified and repurposed, graffiti, which is not meant to have a clear, singular, or universally understood message, is harder to take in, especially when the movement itself is meant to defy authority and express the frustrations of the artist in a system that so influences their place.

Where Stik is commissioned time and time again to retouch a piece on Princelet Street, “SONY” is quickly tagged in a metallic aerosol paint, alongside “joon” “krass”, and others, not as disrespect to the artist, but instead as an indirect affront to the sensationalist culture that, although is meant in earnest appreciation, inherently contributes to the threat against street art on the whole. It’s an insidious battleground, between the more powerful businesses that seek to gentrify and “clean up” the history of the area,  slowly making it more difficult for less privileged groups to remain, and the prevailing artists that refuse to relinquish their canvas and community.

References

Akbar, A. (2008, July 15). Graffiti: Street art – or crime? The Independent. Retrieved from http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/art/features/graffiti-street-art-ndash-or-crime-868736.html

Aulette, J. R., & Wittner, J. G. (2015). 1. Introduction, 3. Socialization and the Social Construct of Gender, 6. Work, 11. Popular culture, media, and the spectacle of sports. In Gendered worlds. New York: Oxford University Press.

Bell, B. (2016, December 16). Street Art: Crime, Grime or Sublime? Retrieved from http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-38316852

Jeavons, J. (2017, July 12). Excerpts from Graffiti tour (Alternative Tours London) - Brick Lane [Personal interview]

Lynskey, D. (2015, August 11) “Street Artist Stik: I felt invisible it was my way of showing I’m here” https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2015/aug/11/street-artist-stik-interview

Maric, B. (2014, September 25). History of Street Art in The UK. Retrieved from http://www.widewalls.ch/history-of-street-art-in-the-uk/history-in-the-making/

Merrill, S. (2015). Keeping It Real? Subcultural Graffiti, Street Art, Heritage and Authenticity. International Journal of Heritage Studies, 21(4), 369-389. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13527258.2014.934902

Oakley, M. (2013, July 15). The History of London's East End. Retrieved from http://www.eastlondonhistory.co.uk/

Porter, T. (2010, December). A call to men. Lecture presented at TEDWomen 2010, Washington, DC. Retrieved from https://www.ted.com/talks/tony_porter_a_call_to_men

Criminal Damage Act 1971, c-48 s. 1 Retrieved from http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1971/48

[awesomejovialstudentpainter-blog]

Online manga sensitive pornograph

ReadManga.eu - Sensitive Pornograph - Chapter #4 Be More Honest

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