#fossil rim

[tigerleopardlion]

This young lady is turning 18 years old! 😾 This makes Naia the oldest living black-footed cat in the U.S. population, and possibly the oldest in the world! She is, however, shy of being the oldest recorded BFC by 6 months. So here is to good health Naia!

Black-footed Cat | Fossil Rim Wildlife Center

[paranormal-taters]

genuinely how do you STOP being the kind of person who accidentally makes eye contact for half a second too long with a kind and beautiful person and immediately envisions a future with them 😭 how do you stop being so utterly enchanted with someone in a barely-there moment that you spin that moment into a lifetime in your mind because at this point it's embarrassing. i need to become more jaded immediately.

[sarikaposts]

The Dinosaur Capital of Texas

Hi...Hope you all enjoy reading this blog and soon plan to visit this beautiful place.

[herpsandbirds]

Attwater's Prairie Chicken (Tympanuchus cupido attwateri), male, fully charged and showing off!, family Phasianidae, order Galliformes, found on prairie on the Gulf Coast of Texas, USA

CRITICALLY ENDANGERED.

Now found in 2 locations in the coastal area of TX, this species was once found in grasslands all along the coasts of TX and LA.

photograph by Fossil Rim Wildlife Center

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗙 lewis hamilton x  fem! genz! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . You never meant to fall for a man twice your age, but somehow, Lewis Hamilton makes thirty-something age gaps feel like background noise. In a world of fast cars and faster headlines, you become the softest scandal on the grid—his controversially young girlfriend (2.3k words)

( my master list | more of lewis hamilton ) ( requests )

You spot him across the room like a plot twist in a book you didn’t mean to start reading—one of those late-night, one-more-chapter choices that end with your sleep schedule in ruins and your heart a little dented.

He’s standing by the bar like he owns the concept of cool, leaning one elbow against the counter, glass in hand, dressed like he just got off a jet and into a Vogue spread. Chunky rings flash with every movement. A silver chain rests on his collarbone like it was born there. Sunglasses inside—normally a red flag—but on him? It’s working. Unreasonably well.

He doesn’t look real. He looks curated. Like someone who’s used to being watched. Someone who doesn’t have to try to be interesting, because the world already decided he is.

And the weird part? You don’t know who he is.

Which makes him fair game.

You down the last of your drink like a dare, swipe your thumb across your bottom lip in case there’s gloss out of place, and march toward him like the protagonist of your own little fever dream.

“Hey,” you say, voice dipped in confidence, grin hooked to one corner of your mouth. “Quick question. Are you this hot all the time, or is it just the lighting in here doing community service?”

He turns his head slowly, like he knows he’s about to be entertained. Looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses with those lazy, almost amused eyes. Then lowers them altogether, letting you see the full scope of his expression.

Blink. Slow blink. Smile.

Then—laughter.

A warm, surprised kind of laugh. Like you just opened a window in a room that hadn’t been aired out in a while.

“You don’t know who I am?” he asks, head tilting, eyebrows raised.

“Nope,” you chirp, popping the ‘p.’ “But judging by that look, you clearly think I should. Celebrity? Secret agent? CEO of Hot Men, Inc.?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he lifts his drink to his lips. It’s whiskey, neat. Of course it is. “I like you.”

“Obviously,” you reply, deadpan. “So, what’s your name, mysterious man with excellent bone structure and suspicious levels of swagger?”

“Lewis,” he says. It rolls off his tongue casual and smooth, like he’s said it a thousand times to people already impressed.

You repeat it slowly, like a sip of something expensive. “Lewis. You got a last name, or are you trying to stay mysterious on purpose?”

“I’m trying,” he says, smirk tucked behind his glass. “But now I’m curious. How old are you?”

You narrow your eyes in playful suspicion. “Why? You tryna check if I need parental permission to flirt with you?”

He laughs again, and it’s even better this time—less surprised, more like he’s starting to settle into the rhythm of you. “Just making sure I’m not getting arrested.”

“Relax, officer,” you reply, pressing a palm to your chest with mock innocence. “I’m twenty-four. Legal, unproblematic, and only occasionally unhinged.”

But his smile shifts—just slightly. A flicker of something cautious flashes behind those honey-brown eyes.

“Damn,” he mutters, not unkindly. “I’m too old for you.”

You arch a brow. “You can’t be that old.”

He gives you a small shrug. “I’m forty.”

There’s a beat.

A pause long enough to pour another drink in.

Your jaw drops. You step back, press a hand to your mouth in mock horror.

“Wowe,” you gasp. “You’re a fossil. How were the dinosaurs? Did you ride a pterodactyl to school?”

He throws his head back and cackles, catching the attention of the bartender and a couple people nearby. It’s not just amusement—it’s delight. You got him.

“Ruthless,” he grins at you.

You shrug, unapologetic. “What can I say? I like my men aged like wine and slightly traumatized.”

He raises his glass. “Well. You might be in luck.”

You clink your empty glass against his full one, eyes never leaving his.

Somewhere in the background, a bass-heavy track starts to play. But the real beat is in the space between you—charged and golden and humming with the promise of something very, very interesting.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in the paddock. Not wearing borrowed sunglasses and an oversized McLaren jacket that smells like someone else's boyfriend. Not sipping on a bottled water like you belong, casually trying not to gawk at multi-million-dollar cars or the people walking around like they own oxygen.

But you’re here.

A friend’s plus one, a last-minute invite when her PR-boyfriend flaked on escort duty. So you tagged along—because hello, free food, hot people, shiny cars, and maybe the chance to flirt with a driver or two. You figured worst-case scenario, you'd leave with a selfie and a new screensaver.

What you didn’t expect was to see him again.

Lewis.

Mysterious Lewis from the bar. GQ-cover Lewis. Ring-wearing, chain-glinting, forty-year-old fossil Lewis who made you laugh so hard you almost forgot your own name.

He’s walking through the paddock like he’s parting the sea. Everyone moves around him like he's made of something sacred—crew nodding, fans whispering, someone with a camera backing up just to get the shot. He looks… different today. Like he’s not just dressed cool, but armored in it. Like confidence stitched into a race suit.

Your jaw almost hits the gravel.

You don’t even think—your feet just move.

“Lewis!”

He turns.

Sunglasses again, of course. But when he spots you? That smile. Slow, warm, like he knew you'd show up eventually.

You grin, planting yourself right in front of him, toe to boot.

“Okay,” you say, breathless but smug, “you cannot turn me down this time. This is clearly fate.”

He laughs. It rumbles in his chest, head tilting like he’s trying to drink you in without making it obvious.

“You really didn’t Google me, huh?” he says.

You raise a brow. “Should I have? Wait, are you, like, a famous pit crew guy or something? The energy drinks guy?”

He just smiles. The kind of smile that hides a hundred secrets and a thousand wins.

“I gotta go,” he says, stepping closer for just a second. “But I’ll see you on the podium.”

You blink. “What podium?”

But he’s already walking away.

Helmet under one arm, swagger turned up to eleven, disappearing into one of the Mercedes garages like some kind of very sexy magician.

You look to your friend. “What podium?!”

Your friend is pale. “You don’t know who that is?”

“Should I???”

“That’s Lewis Hamilton.”

You snort. “No it’s not. His name is just Lewis. He didn’t even give me a last name.”

“BECAUSE HE’S LEWIS HAMILTON. SEVEN-TIME WORLD CHAMPION. THE GOAT. LITERAL SIR.”

You freeze. Fully buffer. Brain spinning like a car on slick tyres.

Cut to three hours later, and you’re in the Mercedes unit, watching on the big screen as the man you once called a fossil overtakes two cars and wins the freaking British Grand Prix like it’s casual.

The crowd explodes.

Your heart does too.

You're on your feet, half in disbelief, half in awe. You just watched a man drive like a myth, and all you can think is: he told me he was forty and I made a dinosaur joke.

And just as you start contemplating crawling into a hole forever, he finds you again.

Post-race glow. Hair half-flattened from the helmet. Fireproof suit half-unzipped to reveal that chain you remember from the bar. Sweat and champagne still clinging to his skin like stardust.

He looks at you with that same grin.

“Still think I’m someone’s manager?” he teases, voice low, eyes shining.

You gape at him. “You won. Like, you—won. Your name’s on the trophy. That podium. That—your home race??”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Must be fate. You show up, I win. Gotta say… you might just be my lucky charm.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I—I called you a fossil.”

He laughs. Full, delighted, Lewis-laugh. “And you humbled me before I got cocky. We make a great team.”

You bite back a grin, cheeks burning. “So… you celebrating tonight, or what?”

“Obviously,” he says. “You’re coming.”

it’s supposed to be a quick trip. A flash visit, blink-and-you-miss-it, in-and-out kind of thing. You’ve been swamped—deadlines, drama, flights rerouted like bad karma—but something in you ached to be there. For him. For Lewis.

So you made time. You chose time.

And now? Now you’re stuck in Austrian traffic, inching toward the Red Bull Ring in a car that’s doing more idling than moving, hair frizzing in the heat and hands white-knuckling your phone.

You press it to your ear. “I swear to god, if I miss your race because a literal cow is blocking the road—”

Lewis laughs on the other end, warm and fond. “A cow?”

“A cow, Lewis. Just standing there. Living her truth. Meanwhile, I’m two bad songs away from losing it.”

“You sound stressed, babe.”

“Gee, what gave it away?” you snap, then sigh. “Sorry. I just wanted to be there before lights out. Front row, proud girlfriend, full ensemble.”

His voice softens. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

“Barely.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still my lucky charm. Even if you’re watching from the parking lot.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Go win something, fossil.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gets P2.

You watch the final laps on your phone screen, pressed against the parkinglot gates, heart in your throat and hands half-numb. The crowd erupts. Flags wave. You swear you can hear the champagne pop all the way from the parking lot.

And then—

There he is.

Striding out from the gates like he owns Austria, still in his suit, curls damp under his cap, smile already loaded like a secret.

“Hey,” he calls out, just loud enough for you to turn.

You do. And then you forget how to breathe.

Because Lewis Hamilton kisses you like the cameras aren’t watching. Like the whole world doesn’t know his name. Like you didn’t just call him a fossil two weeks ago and now you’re wearing his hoodie like a badge of honor.

You pull back, dazed and pink. “That was… public.”

“Could’ve made it more dramatic,” he teases. “Want a dip next time?”

“You’re so cocky for a man who came in second.”

He grins. “I’ll take second if it means I get to see that blush.”

You're about to fire back—something witty, something flirty—when someone from Mercedes runs up, breathless. “Lewis, mate. You need to come back to the unit. Now.”

He frowns. “Everything alright?”

The guy looks between the two of you, eyes wide. “George got disqualified.”

You both blink.

“What?” you say, at the same time Lewis mutters: “No way.”

“Track limits. Deleted laps. It just came through.”

Which means—

“You’re P1,” you whisper, eyes wide.

Lewis turns to you, slow and stunned. Brows raised. Smile blooming like he knew.

“Guess you really are my lucky charm,” he says, low and gleaming.

You shake your head, biting back a grin. “I didn’t even see the race.”

“Didn’t have to,” he murmurs, already pulling you into his arms. “Just had to show up.”

Thursdays are usually soft-launches. Media day. Press conference drip. Everyone pretending they’re not sizing each other up, that they’re not itching for Sunday, that they’re not clocking every outfit and wink and subtle little flex.

But this Thursday?

You walk in and the whole paddock blinks.

Because Lewis Hamilton—Sir Lewis Hamilton—is already waiting by the entrance like a man on a mission. Like the sun rises wherever you land. And he’s dressed like a dream dipped in platinum, silver shirt half-buttoned, rings glinting, pants tailored within an inch of heaven.

But it’s the way he looks at you that melts reality a little.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs as you reach him.

You grin, a little breathless, fixing the collar of his shirt even though it’s perfect. “You’re overdressed.”

He eyes your outfit—slick and sharp, Prada shades and knee-high boots like you own the grid—and hums, “Nah. We’re matching.”

And you are. Silver and black, sleek and dangerous. A walking power couple with zero subtlety. Someone snaps a pic. Then another. Cameras start clicking like popcorn.

He slips his hand into yours. Casual, confident. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

And then the tweets start.

You scroll a few of them while waiting outside hospitality, phone buzzing like a feral bee. You snort-laugh at the “get it grandpa” one. Lewis peeks over your shoulder and raises a brow.

“They’re obsessed with you,” you say, smirking.

“They’re obsessed with you,” he corrects, tugging you closer by the waist. “You okay?”

You shrug, leaning into him. “I mean, people think I’m either your niece or your mid-life crisis.”

He snorts. “You’re my win.”

Your smirk falters—just for a second—because god, he’s so earnest. So warm. Like a damn sunbeam with abs.

You recover quick, flicking your sunglasses down. “Damn right I am.”

He laughs loud, head tipping back. “There she is.”

All day, people stare.

Team members smile politely. Fans whisper behind phones. Media pretends not to mention it while asking if you're enjoying your "first F1 paddock experience" (you’ve been to three, thank you very much).

You pose for a few pics. Kiss Lewis on the cheek when he heads into the garage. Sip your overpriced iced coffee like nothing rattles you.

But every so often—when it’s quiet—you hear the whispers again. About the age gap. The headlines. The way you don’t look like you belong next to someone as legendary as him.

So when you catch your reflection in the hospitality glass—twenty-four and glowing but clearly young—you take a breath.

And then you smirk at yourself. Flip your hair. Take a selfie.

Caption it:

“idk i just think i’m a slay.”

And Lewis? He reposts it.

voice notes 🔊. . . ( im so writting a p2 for this when he moves to ferrari and the disqualifying in china )

[invoncible]

♡ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ... ! (CECIL VER.) cw. suggestive towards the end

— as requested. i've gotten a few asks for some cecil, conquest, and nolan stuff so i'm gonna make this a mini series! the next part will probs be conquest ? i imagine you're controversially young for them in comparison. because lets be real these guys are fossils. — i probs got him ooc IM SORRY

cecil is a private man. nobody knows about your relationship, and that's how he liked it.

you were a secretary at the pentagon, a well-to-do front line desk worker that loved your low maintenance job that allowed you great pay, easy hours, and lots of benefits. 

the first time you met, he came in to work grumbling as usual about all the shit he had to deal with... until he saw your bright smile over the counter. 

"hiii!" you sprung up from your seat, offering him a coffee. "director stedman, good to see you today."

his name and 'good to see you today' rarely coincided. being the guy that made all the hard decisions didn’t leave much room for camaraderie—no one got buddy buddy with the guy in charge (except donald). 

he accepted the coffee on autopilot while scrutinizing you. you were a new face, at least to his knowledge. first day, maybe? wanting to make a good impression on the boss?

"thanks." he muttered, taking a sip and trying to hide his surprise when it was made just how he liked it. he was too picky for it to be a lucky guess, so you probably asked around... for information on him... interesting. he had to be careful with you. 

he caught your eyes over the rim of the cup; you were watching him with an equal intensity, searching for any microexpressions that would affirm you did a good job. your lips quirked up in a smug little smile when you managed to pull approval from his facade, smoothing down your pants as you dropped into your seat again. 

"have a good day, sir." you hummed, eyes flickering up to him as he walked away. 

"yeah." he cleared his throat, more confused than anything. 

he brushed it off as a fluke—again, he thought you were new and wanting to make a great first impression. which you did, by the way, but his intrigue grew when you just didn't stop.

every morning without fail, you had his coffee ready, a sweet little greeting, a warm smile. it became a comfort for him, but he didn't even allow himself to go down that road of ... affection. because you were you and he was him. 

"so, how about that secretary, sir?" donald asked him one day. 

"what about 'em, donald?" cecil sighed, but he was itching to talk about it, too. his thoughts drifted to you more often than he’d like, and it was becoming a biiit of a problem. 

“nothing.”

“you brought it up. clearly you had something to say.” cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. “so talk.”

donald’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “are you aware they only prepare coffee for you?”

no, he wasn’t aware. it’d become so normal that he hadn’t even considered that. he might as well be hyper-aware, now. breaking people down to their innermost desires and principles were his trade, and his analytical mind was not lost on you. and so, every morning without fail, he talked a bit. went beyond the ‘have a nice day’ thing you’ve both grown comfortable with.  

you perked up in your seat upon seeing cecil walk in, another thing that endeared you to him. “director—”

“how do you like your coffee?”

you blinked, thrown off by the change in routine. “um… i like to try something different each time, i guess..?”

“if you had to choose.” he murmured, delicately accepting the warm cup from your outstretched hand. “humor me.”

that was where it started. from then on, he showed up with your coffee, performing an amicable exchange of sorts (he had ulterior motives, of course) and while you two sipped on the hot invigorating brew, you talked about how you ended up here, what you did outside work, places you’ve traveled… emphasis on you because he wasn’t going to spoil this slice of heaven with his troublesome past.

“it’s a good deal, you know?” you hummed, swirling the cup in your hand. “nice desk all to myself, easy admin work, no one annoying to handle for the most part.”

“for the most part?” he inquired, leaning over the counter. 

you waved him off as you sipped from your cup. he frowned and chucked his empty cup in the garbage behind your desk. 

“tell me.”

you laughed softly, tossing your cup along his, licking your lips of the residual taste. “mm. you have bigger things to deal with, director. things that needed your attention…” you trailed off, glancing at your screen. “what, an hour or so ago?”

“is it the end of the world?”

“no.”

“then the team can handle it.” cecil’s lips parted in a smug smile, his words holding a finality you couldn’t help but listen to. you couldn’t suppress the warm feeling pooling in your gut. “tell me. that’s an order.”

“oh?” you reacted verbally, your eyes widening, the firm command making your heart flutter. “since when do you give me orders?”

“since i care about harassment in my building.” he shot back before allowing himself to be impressed with your audacity. since i care about you. 

you giggle softly and he takes a moment to commit the sound to memory. 

“i’m just kidding,” you stand and jog your papers against the desk surface, preparing to make your rounds with the freshly printed documents. “you are my boss, after all.”

yeah… he is your boss. but with you, he often felt like you were in charge. 

you’d be lying to say this wasn’t your plan all along. you saw him when you came in for your job interview and decided to try your luck. you didn’t expect it to work, much less work well. you had him wrapped around your finger! at first, it was just a fun way to pass the time at your desk; now it was something you looked forward to everyday.

“it’s just some analyst from upstairs that comes to bug me.” you shrug with a roll of your eyes. “just stands there and talks for hours.”

“isn’t that what i do?” the question left his mouth before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted it. the more he talked to you, the less of a filter he had, rarely thinking things over before speaking and impulsively saying what’s on his mind. 

your lips spread in a small, mischievous smile, a glint in your eye. “you’re different. i like you.”

you’d become more and more forward and it was getting harder for him to dismiss the hints you dropped. the man’s been around, and he wasn’t so dumb to be blind to what you were doing. what you were trying to get him to feel. although considering that he was your boss, he was simply content with the song and dance you had right now.

he watched you walk away until you disappeared from his sight with a heavy sigh.

side note, you never saw that analyst again. 

there was one day you weren’t at your desk, and your absence rang some alarms in his head. he’d been sneaking looks at your records and would know if you requested time off. more than that, you would have told him.

he was about to walk off when he heard the doors behind him burst open and the rapid clack clack clack of shoes racing across the floor. 

he turned to watch you, looking deliciously disheveled might he add, with a raise of his brow. “y/n—“

“i’m sorry!” you stop in front of him to catch your breath. “i didn’t get your coffee today—“

“that’s fine,” cecil said lowly, his expression amused. “you run a fucking marathon or something?”

“—i got up late and… and… damn, that’s the first time i’ve sprinted in a while. fuck.” you bent over your knees, panting. “there was traffic and a whole line at the coffee shop—someone knocked it out of my hand when i was leaving—“

“hey.” he set your coffee down on the counter behind him, putting his hands on hips. “you don’t have to apologize. it was nice you even started to do that in the first place, doll.”

your eyes snap to the cup he got you, a frown tugging on your lips. “but you—“

“don’t worry about it.” 

“okay, but—“

“i said don’t worry. that’s an order.”

you huffed a breathless laugh as you straightened up. “i’m beginning to think you just like telling me what to do.” (he did.)

your odd relationship with the director came to a head at a workplace get together. a rare moment of respite which was really a space for the entire department to wallow in their misery together rather than alone.

cecil never came to these things until he knew you’d be at them. he figured he’d drop in just to scope things out, and he wasn’t sure what he expected but he definitely did not expect you, and many others, to be piss drunk. 

you recognized him through the dim light, brightening up as you usually do. you stumbled over, jostled by the packed bodies pushing and pulling you through the crowd.

“easy.” cecil murmured, coaxing the glass out of your hand. “damn, you’re wasted.” he commented more to himself than you, a short incredulous laugh slipping through his lips. 

“mhmm.” you slurred, head thumping into his chest. 

“okay.” he whispered, downing the rest of your glass and setting it aside to free up his hands. can’t let good wine go to waste. a thought passed through his head as he swallowed the beverage: this must be what you taste like right now. pump the brakes, loverboy.

he propped you back upright by your shoulders. “how ‘bout we lay off the drinks?”

“whatever you say, boss.” you hummed, a buzzed smile on your lips.

“you want a ride?”

your clumsy hands wrapped around his tie, pressing into him and tugging him forward by the loose fabric. “you offering?” 

holy shit. his eyes flickered to your delicate fingers, the same ones he’s watched type away at a keyboard, walk up and up and up his red tie. “no.” he said curtly.  

“‘nd i don’t mean a car.” you hiccup.

he paused, wondering if you realized you were talking to him, not some other co-worker. “i know.” 

you sigh dramatically, leaning into him. “you should give me your number.”

cecil groaned, shaking his head. now he knew you needed to get some water in you and sleep your intoxication off. you were saying nonsense. “let’s get you out of here, kid, i’ll call you a cab.”

“no. m’serious,” you pushed, lips pursed in a pout. “i want your number.”

his steely blue eyes narrowed at you, searching your face even as you swayed from side to side. “no, you don’t.” 

you scoffed and knocked your head against his shoulder, clinging to his arm for support as he walked you out of the gathering. “whyyyy…” you mumbled.

cecil dialed someone on his phone, holding it up to his ear as it rang. “you’re drunk, y/n. you’re not thinking straight.”

“i am!” you retorted petulantly, tugging on his arm and pulling the phone away from his head. “i’ve wanted it for a while, just took a little liquid courage to ask…” you trailed off, eyes drooping. “we have coffee dates all the time, what’s so different if—”

“woah, woah, woah.” he stopped you, “dates?” he echoed incredulously. 

you bite your lip, peering up at him while his response buffered in your inebriated mind. after a moment, you nodded. “uh-huh.”

“those aren’t dates, kid.” this bitch was lying through his teeth. he considered them dates, too, but anything to keep a semblance of control over the situation. 

“might as well be. ‘nd stop calling me that.” you scrunched up your nose in distaste. he’s never called you ‘kid’ before this and you’re beginning to think it’s his way of putting distance between you. 

“i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want.” he snapped, growing defensive. he liked your little game, the fun will-they-won’t-they thing you two had going on, but now that it was becoming real to him… now that you were forcing him to confront the feelings he knew he had for you, he had to build his walls back up again—even if it pushed you away in the process. 

“yeah? cuz you’re my boss?” you managed to shoot back, still gripping onto him for support. 

“look at that, you got it. was that so hard?” he scoffed, turning away from you to prevent himself from caving. your shiny eyes in the darkness and tinted lips from the drinks made him want to throw caution to the wind. “i know you think you want something from me… trust me, sweetheart, i’m doing you a favor.”

you roll your eyes. “cuz you’re so noble like that.”

cecil’s eyes narrowed, getting into your space. he walked into you, unintentionally guiding your back into a wall. “mock me all you want, doll. the moment you lie in bed with me is the moment you’re erased from existence. i won’t allow anything to happen to you, and i’ll do everything to prevent that from happening.”

“okay?” 

he put his hands on his hips. “i don’t think you understand. i don’t do anything half-assed.”

you giggled drunkenly. “and that’s supposed to be a threat?”

“you know i love when you talk, but shut up for a second,” cecil closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself. you always had a knack for undermining his authority. but in retrospect, he made it way too easy to do so. when he looked at you again, something had shifted.

“this isn’t a game to me,” he muttered, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you blinked up at him, suddenly realizing how close he was—not just physically, but in a way that made your heart stutter. you were finally on the precipice of what you’d been building up to since you met him. 

cecil exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face like he was trying to keep himself in check. “i’ve spent months convincing myself i should keep you at arm’s length.” his hand curled around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “if you push me…” he trailed off, leaning in closer… and closer… his nose brushed against yours and that singular touch sent a jolt of clarity into him. 

he pulled back, stepping back and shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “this is reckless.”

“cuz you’re my boss?” you offered, finally finding your voice, your mind no longer occupied by his proximity or the scent of his cologne. 

“uh-huh. and i can’t be your boss if i’m with you like that.” cecil adjusted his tie and shirt. “also. you’re drunk.”

“i’m not that drunk.” 

“drunk enough.” he shot back with a raise of his brow. 

“cecil.” you step towards him, reaching out to him. your heart swelled when he didn’t try to evade you. your hand fastened around his wrist. “i’m telling you i’m not. scrub me from your records for all i care. keep an eye on me. i know you do that already, anyway. the only thing that’s changing is that we’re both getting what we want. i don’t want you to just be my boss.”

he groaned, turning away from you despite the tether you had on his arm. “don’t say that shit.”

“what? that i want you?”

“will you stop?” cecil turned to you, a scowl on his face. 

your lips split into a grin. his instructions never really worked on you. “do you want me to?”

cecil rolled his eyes. obviously the answer was no. “...fuck.” he cursed before dragging you outside, storming across the parking lot.

he stood next to his car. “last chance to back—”

“fuck no.” you scoffed with that stupid grin of yours and cecil wasted no time ripping the back door open and shoving you into the back seats. he quickly followed you inside. 

his breath hitched as you clambered onto his lap, hands landing on your hips. for a brief moment, he hesitated—just a fraction of a second before he kissed you. 

it was rough and desperate and months in the making, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he couldn’t pull you in fast enough. his hands slid down the curve of your ass, pulling you up further on his lap as he let his legs shift apart. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him deeper.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” he growled against your lips, his grip tightening around you contrary to his declaration. 

you laughed brightly. “you're taking me to coffee tomorrow. but for now... still up for that ride?”

© invoncible

[typhlonectes]

Mmmmm, The Smell of Fresh Antler

Our animal care staff will place natural items, like antlers, that our wolves might encounter in the wild. Our carnivore staff will even bury items for the endangered Mexican wolves to uncover; this encourages the wolves to investigate for what they’re smelling.

via: Fossil Rim Wildlife Center

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

Sorry if you've already covered this, but I was scrolling socials and saw that the San Antonio zoo got a large donation to expand their savanna habitat. The only thing that jarred me as I read through their expansion plans was apparently they're going to be outfitting some 'safari' vehicles so guests can be taken into the habitat to feed and interact with the animals (from within the vehicle). I was always under the impression that this kind of interaction wasn't necessarily good for either the humans or the animals-- is there a way it can be done ethically?? Anyway, I just thought it was interesting!

Ooo, okay, your question aligned with a thing I've been chewing on for a while, so let's talk ~ethics~ and ~philosophy~ aka this is gonna be a bit long. I do promise I'll answer your question, though!

The first thing I want to note is that you're really asking about two different things, which are almost always conflated these days when it comes to talking about animals: welfare (is the animal happy / healthy / safe) and ethics (is what's happening good / moral / acceptable). It's really important that we distinguish between the two, because welfare is an objective measure of physical and mental wellbeing, and ethics are a human construct that involves subjective interpretation.

A useful but highly oversimplified example of this is the bothering of cats for online videos. Pestering a cat to get a funny reaction once in a while may not impact their overall welfare. Welfare is the cumulative impact of an animal's experiences, which means that single acute moments may not weight heavily on the entire balance. If the cat is healthy, fed well, enriched, and has a good and positive bond with their humans, those momentary irritations for videos might not matter much. That doesn't mean that you or I, as viewers, might not still find bothering an animal for internet clout ethical. We can believe that humans shouldn't ever unnecessarily put their pet through negative experiences, and we can think that doing so just because it brings the human money or fame is distasteful. But! We have to recognize that as used in this example, those ethical stances aren't inherently tied to the animal's welfare state. Many people I know who dislike cat-bothering don't care if the animal has good welfare outside of that situation - they don't like that the situation occurs at all, ever.

So, back to your question. You're wanting to know if it's okay for a zoo to have a drive-through aspect of an exhibit where people get to feed the animals. You're asking if it's safe for the humans and for the animals (which is a welfare question) and if that type of interaction is ethical. I could just tell you that of course it's fine, San Antonio is an AZA zoo and their accreditation only allows them to do "good things" but that's now how it works here (nor is it the reality of accreditation).

The safety aspect is one I'm not worried about. It's actually a pretty common thing for reputable facilities to do some sort of vehicle tour in savanna habitats, whether in the guest's vehicle (safari parks) or on a hay-ride type vehicle (zoos). Many of those allow guests to feed out specific parts of their animals' diets. Offhand, I know Tampa and Fossil Rim both have feeding tours like this in a staff-driven vehicle. It's not specified from the zoo's press release, but I can guarantee you that guests will not be driving those vehicles - which means the interactions will be proctored by staff and what people are feeding out will be carefully regulated. The habitat is going to have rhino, giraffe, zebra, ostrich, and antelope/gazelle, and I'd guess that the drive-through is going to stick to those latter two and maybe additional species. Those are animals where a car is an appropriate safety barrier.

As to if it's ethical to do? It's spiny question, because it depends very directly on the ethical perspectives of the person you're asking. I think it's fine - you may not. Let's break down the different things that come into consideration on the ethical side, and my responses:

"The zoo is commercially exploiting animals by letting people pay to get closer." If the issue is that people paying to get closer to animals is using them for money, well, that's the business model of a zoo (non-profit or not, they still need revenue to operate). So IMHO it's not like it's "less ethical" than anything else the zoo is doing, using that framing.

"Zoo animals should be allowed to be wild and undisturbed by guests driving in their habitats." Zoo animals aren't wild, and their entire lives revolve around humans and the human work schedule. As long as a vehicle entering the habitat doesn't have a negative welfare impact (e.g. they're not scared of it), it's not very different from the rest of the routine of managed care.

"Feeding zoo animals will encourage people to try to feed wild animals." Thanks to obnoxiously viral content creators, people are going to try to feed wild animals no matter what. Doing it in a proctored situation where a staff member can try to do some education at the same time is probably the best possible scenario.

"People just do those tours to get close to cool animals." People are always going to want to touch the animals. If being able to pay for a tour keeps them from jumping the fence to try to pet a rhino, great.

There's one more that I want to talk about separately, because I think it's where a lot of confusion gets generated. It's this idea that "Humans shouldn't be interacting with animals at all, any interaction is unethical and bad for the animals." This is a welfare crossover, but not one actually informed by welfare science in a captive situation. And I think it's because the internet lacks nuance. Yes, it is absolutely correct to say that with wild animals, you should never ever try to feed a deer out of your car (or similar). It is incredibly harmful to those animals on both an acute and chronic timeline. But thanks to the rage-bait algorithms on social media and people endlessly justifying doing stupid, dangerous, bad things (and getting pushback for it), there's been a lot of bleed between the public's understanding of what wild animal welfare is and what captive animal welfare is. Combine that with the reality that captive animal welfare cannot be assessed or diagnosed from a single context-less clip, and that people with strong beliefs and no practical experience with the field/species/individual will pass judgement loudly to their audiences...

The result is almost a reflexive believe in many sectors of the internet that any human-animal interaction that isn't couched as a "rescue" is inherently unethical, for reasons people often can't articulate. Which is why, I think, so often people want to support certain aspects of captive animal management but feel guilty for doing so. I see this a lot in the questions the blogs gets, and I'm glad people feel comfortable asking, because it's important to think through not just the individual instances but the patterns leading us to question them.

So yes, I'd say that a staff-led experience in a vehicle chosen for safety is an ethical way to proctor an interaction between guests and certain savanna species. It will vary by facility - I'm always more wary about guests driving, although many drive-through safaris are fine - and by setup. I think what San Antonio is doing will be fine, though, and will be interested to see / hear about the setup when they start up.

If you've got a question about ethical captive management, I'm always happy to talk about it - but I'd invite you to poke around in your head a little and send me not just your question in the ask, but your thinking about why or why not something might be concerning. It's great practice for understanding why you relate to animal ethics the way you do, and where those beliefs come from.

[rabotimagines]

"New tricks" GN BOT READER × Sunstreaker + Sideswipe

Summary: Sunstreaker catchs reader slipping during a spar and doesn't hesitate to jump at the opportunity to get one over on them.

Warnings: Dubious consent (but reader is horny and 100% willing), MDNI 🔞

G1 characters: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe

Genre/Theme: Smut! 🔞 Scenario

Notes: This is based off of older reader who uses petnames which you can find here. Reader bottoms and gets their valve used. The twins think Reader is fragging the other autobot officers. (They aren't)

Pronouns: You, your, yours, they, their, them.

Sunstreaker was trying for the frag he didn't even know what attempt to get one over on you in a spar.

And then it happened. Sunstreaker found an opening. You'd already knocked him onto the floor a good ten separate times today so maybe you got sloppy- but Sunstreaker wasn't going to miss the opportunity. He knocked you to the ground and wrestled until he had you pinned on your front. Him leaning over the back of you using his frames weight to keep you still. Both your arms were pinned to your own back by one of Sunstreakers servos.

You only chuckled even with your faceplate resting against the floor. "Wow Sunny, guess you finally won huh?" Sunstreaker clicked his glossia, the warmth having long bubbled into an actual fire and into a burning inferno of frustration. Every little smile, every little glance, every little stupid repetition of "Sunshine" from you- Sunstreaker was sick of it. And now he had you pinned and at his mercy and you still. Wouldn't. Say. His. Designation.

Sunstreaker was going to frag his frustrations right into you.

Sunstreakers digits dug into the edges of your modesty plate trying to find the manual release. Sunstreaker was going to get you to call him his designation- he's shoving your helm harsher against the ground, "Hey now-" You squirmed against his hold "You saying you're interested in my valve? A fossil like me? Sunny you're a pervert!" You laughed again and it's still so light and it only makes Sunstreaker more heated because that's not his designation on your glossia yet. You still aren't taking him seriously-! But you allow your modesty panel to pull back before he can claw at it again leaving your array open for Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker takes a quick look at your valve before shoving two digits into you. He crooks them and next slide forward he's knuckle deep in you. You're wet- so wet that your opening up further for him fast. "You calling me the pervert?" Sunstreaker crooks his digits deeper and then scissors them watching how your valve opens easily under the action. "You're the one already getting off on this." Sunstreaker hisses out, ignoring his own spike that was currently throbbing hard against his own modesty panel.

"What- Ha- ah-" Sunstreaker pulled at the rim of your hole with his digits and bit his bottom derma when your valve obediently stretched with his light insistence. "What can I say? Ha- been a while since I've overloaded- Can't blame a bot for being bent up? Can you?- Agh-" Sunstreaker pulled his digits out and his servo curled around your spike instead and jerked twice languidly.

Your spike immediately started spilling pre lubricant all over itself. Sunstreaker scoffed "What-? like you expect me to believe you're not bending over for any of the other officers? Jazz? Ironhide? Optimus?" It was only a rumor based on your own flirtatious nature but the fact that you don't respond to him only makes Sunstreakers spike press harder against his panel. So Sunstreaker let's it open and his spike pressurizes properly.

Sunstreaker huffs and puts his full weight on your back again, and he lines his spike up against your valve. The head of his spike kissing your valve entrance "Say it." Sunstreaker grounds out against your audial his one free servo gripping the metal of your hip hard. His other still pinning your wrists to your back.

You're quiet for a moment, as if considering your options and then you start again. "Sunny-" Wrong! Sunstreaker snapped his hips and buried his spike inside you in one solid motion. You coughed a vent and clenched around his length. Sunstreaker didn't wait to start slamming into your valve, every snap of his hips hitting your aft caused an audible sound.

You hadn't given up yet! You were still fighting him! "Say it- say it!" Sunstreaker hissed through his clenched denta. Sunstreaker working harder to pound you into the training room floor. He pushed his chasiss down on your back, forcing you against the floor even further. You're grunting and groaning while Sunstreaker continued to pound your valve. "Fragging say it!"

"Sunstreaker-" Frag! There it is! There it is-! Sunstreaker only growled his engine revving of its own accord. His servo released your wrists and moved to grip your hips tighter. Sunstreaker began physically dragging you backwards to meet him harder when he bottomed out inside you. You groaned and apparently accepting your lose, you continued rewarding him. "Sunstreaker- Sunstreaker! Sunstreaker-" Frag! Frag- your valve was squeezing his spike just right and your taking him and taking him- Sunstreaker was going to overload right in your valve- he's gonna stuff you full right here on the training room floor-

"Sunstreaker!" Frag yes- Sunstreaker bottomed out and pressed you harder against the floor. His hips rocking forward through every rolling wave of his overload with a heavy groan. The heat behind his helm slowly shimmered down the more transfluid he pumped into you. Sunstreaker eventually relaxed his jaw with gasping vents. The aftermath of his own overload trickling up his shivering plating.

The only sounds in the training room were both your rapid vents.

Then you laughed the way you did when you were teasing one of them. "Primus, Sunshine... was that worth it?"

Your words only light that fire back into his chassis. Sunstreaker slowly pulled back like he was going to pull out. Only to bottom back out aggressively, reveling in the choked gasp you gave in response. Sunstreakers servos tightened back on your hips with a scowl. He was gonna get it through your thick helm what his designation was!

Even if he had to frag right into you!

-

Sideswipe was minding his own business when Sunstreaker simply Commed him "Help me." To which Sideswipe obviously asked "With what?" And then their bond, which was tight for the whole day, opened wide. And Sideswipe almost tripped when the hot charge of arousal and another frame running along his plating was felt distantly. Which only made Sideswipe deadly curious on who was Sunstreaker fragging- Sideswipe demanded "Who? And where?" Only to get the where, and now he was booking it to the training room In his alt mode. He was a bit too hot and bothered to care about the tire tracks he'd left on the ark floor from peeling out.

Sideswipe barreled into the training room in root mode, the door sliding shut behind him and he saw Sunstreaker on top of a familiar frame.

Oh frag yes it was you. Sideswipes optics brightened just a bit in excitement.

Sideswipe grinned and wondered over. "Well, well Sunny. Finally got one over on 'em?" Sunstreaker pulled back and sat on his aft, dragging you along with him as he moved. Your back was against Sunstreakers chassis and you were huffing in vents. Your optics were brighter then Sideswipe had ever seen them before. And it made Sideswipe want to see if he could make them even brighter.

"They got sloppy." Sunstreaker remarked before hooking his servos under your knees. Sunstreaker then pulled your legs open from behind. Fully exposing your interface array for Sideswipes optics. Your spike was still hard against your own plating and twitching occasionally. Your own transfluid was splattered on your own front, while your valve was dripping Sunstreakers transfluid onto the training room floor.

"Definitely not the only thing sloppy huh? Sloppy seconds?" Sideswipe knelt down between your thighs, his servos immediately trailing along your legs.

"Sloppy thirds actually." You muttered, leaning your helm back against Sunstreakers pauldron. "Hi, Sides'" you smiled rather lazily at him and it made Sideswipes optics brighten a bit more.

Sideswipe glanced at the transfluid still spilling out of your valve. Yeah Sunstreaker definitely stuffed you twice. ...How about Sideswipe stuffed you a third time? "Hey- So feel like playing nice, old timer?" Sideswipe could tell that's what Sunstreaker wanted help with. Seeing if they could maybe "break you in" and have you so well fragged you'd be more... inclined to listen to them. Since it was after Sunstreakers spar attempt Sideswipe could only assume it was about the obvious. You're little pet names for them.

You only huffed in amusement. "Can't say I am... What can I say? it's a bit hard to teach an old cyberhound new tricks."

"Hm- Hear that Sunstreaker? Gonna have to break them in a bit more to make 'em listen." Sideswipe let his modesty panel pull back and his spike pressurize.

Sunstreaker just pulled your legs open further giving Sideswipe better access. "Help train 'em then Sides."

Sideswipe lined his spike up and pushed forward. His spike slid inside you effortlessly after two rounds with Sunstreaker. Your own valve lubricant and Sunstreakers transfluid only made it slicker. "Slag-" Sideswipe cursed when you clenched around him, his pelvis pressing against your own when he bottomed out. "Nice valve- What? You used to taking spike like this?"

"Sorry a bit out of- ha-" You gasped when Sideswipe pulled back and started lazily rolling his hips. "Bit out of practice actually."

What so you weren't actually fragging any of the other officers? That was... surprising? But Sideswipe just buried himself back inside you and his servos found your frame. Servos running over your chassis. Sunstreaker leaned over your pauldron, making you tilt your helm to see and he locked derma with you. His brother hadn't hesitated to shove his glossia into your mouth and start making out with you.

"Sunny! You said you'd help me get them to call me something else!" You couldn't exactly do that with Sunstreakers glossia in your mouth!

Sunstreaker broke the kiss to huff out "Never said that." Only to shove his glossia back into your mouth. Sideswipe could hear you chuckling against Sunstreakers mouth, your chassis lightly shaking in laughter.

"You implied it!" Sideswipe scowled and curled his servos around your waist to pull you down to meet his thrusts. Sideswipe looked back up to watch you kiss Sunstreaker. You easily kept up with Sunstreakers enthusiasm even while Sideswipe was fragging you. Sunstreaker actually pulled back a touch when you tilted your helm at an angle and nipped at his bottom derma. Sunstreakers groan caught in your mouth and you chased him as he pulled back only forcing your glossia back into Sunstreakers mouth. Oral lubricant spilled down the side of Sunstreakers jaw. Out of practice Sideswipes aft... you could say you used to be a part time pleasure bot and Sideswipe wouldn't even reset his optics.

Sideswipe stopped thrusting and instead stayed where he was buried inside your valve. While one of his servos wrapped around your spike. You twitched at the touch and Sideswipe started stroking you off slow but steady with his servo. The longer Sideswipe jerked your spike off the more you slowly started to squirm under his touch. Your hips finally bucked against his and Sideswipe smirked as he watched your plating start to twitch.

You finally broke the kiss with Sunstreaker to turn to Sideswipe "What- c'mon babe give it to me."

Sideswipes engine jumped and he pulled out and thrust back in you and smiled again. "What was that?"

You huffed, one servo digging into Sunstreakers thigh while the other was on Sideswipes waist. "C'mon baby give it to me-" your optics half shuttered and you bit your bottom derma lightly as you stared at Sideswipe. Your optics were oh so bright- yeah this memory was gonna be Sideswipes go to self servicing material for a long time.

Sideswipes engine revved and he pulled back and started fragging you how he had wanted to. Fast and deep. You arched up when Sideswipe started jerking your spike again in time with his own thrusts. You clenched down on him every time Sideswipe bottomed out inside you- frag you were too good at this. You were totally sleeping with the other officers- you had to be! Sunstreaker locked derma with you again and pressed his glossia back against your own. You groaned against him and your spike started throbbing in Sideswipes grip- frag- Sideswipe was gonna overload right in you. Gonna stuff you even more-! "Frag!" Sideswipe grit his denta when his overload rocked into him. He kept jerking his servo and watched as you arched up and started shooting heavy ropes onto your own chassis. You clenched down on Sideswipes spike and practically milked his overload out of him. Sideswipe could only laugh at the dirty haze of it all.

Sunstreaker kept kissing you through your own overload and even while you were winding down. Eventually Sunstreaker pulled back, a string of oral lubricant spilt down your own throat and both your derma were a touch swollen from the heavy make out session. You were venting harsh, optics still very bright. Slag it all, Sideswipe kinda wanted to go again. But he started pulling out because he wanted to see his own transfluid spilling out of you.

You only grunted when Sideswipe pulled out. "Who said you can't teach old cyberhounds new tricks? Huh Sunny?" Sideswipe asked. The wet squelch of your transfluid stuffed valve sounded when it started pouring out of your fragged open hole. Sideswipe smirked at the sight, satisfaction running deep in him.

Only for the sound of the training room door opening making Sideswipe tense all over. "What in the- Get up!" Ironhide biting out an order had Sideswipe cringing and slowly lowering your thighs, closing his array, before standing. Sunstreaker did the same after untangling his frame from you as well. You however stayed on the floor, huffing in vents with your array still wide open for anyone to see with their transfluid still spilling out of you.

You just waved a servo at Ironhide dismissively and continued to vent. "Give- give me a klick Ironhide... still recovering from three back to back stuffings of transfluid."

"Three?" Ironhide looked up from you to both of them and sighed "Who went twice?"

Sideswipe immediately pointed a thumb at Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker slammed his pede into the back of Sideswipes knee making him almost fall over. Sideswipe cursed and turned ready to latch onto Sunstreaker but Ironhide just latched onto both of them instead, each servo around one of their arms. "None of that! You done fragged your superior officer on the training room floor! Cafeteria duty for a week! Starting now!"

"Wha- but!- They-" Sideswipe tried to object- you'd let them frag you after all! Well- maybe it was the fact they did it in the middle of the training room... in the middle of the day... when sideswipe was supposed to be not here. ...yeah that was probably it actually. Sunstreaker hadn't even bothered to say anything so he knew it too. Sideswipe finally just sighed and rolled his optics. "Fine. Later-" Sideswipe waved to you and you just saluted him with two digits. Ironhide released them and they both headed out the door.

Once the training room door closed behind them Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chassis. "So- Now we're fragging them?" Sideswipe asked aloud.

Sunstreaker just hummed. "If they call me 'Sunshine' again I'm gonna drag them somewhere and spike them till they remember my designation."

Oh hot. That was definitely a fun little idea. Sideswipe had only used your valve... Maybe Sideswipe could ride your spike next time you tried to call him "Pookie". Sideswipe grinned at the thought.

They were definitely gonna have some more fun with you.

[alphynix]

Tachypleus syriacus was a horseshoe crab from the late Cretaceous (~100-95 million years ago) of what is now Lebanon.

Closely related to modern tri-spine horseshoe crabs, it displayed a similar level of sexual dimorphism. Females grew to at least 25cm long (~10"), with rounded front edges to their carapaces and shorter rear spines, while males were around 30% smaller with a scalloped shape to the front of their carapaces.

One recently described female specimen also preserves distinctive nodules around the rim of its carapace, which may represent some sort of sensory structure.

This particular specimen is also unique for preserving a coprolite in the process of being expelled from the horseshoe crab's body – that's right, it died while pooping.

———

NixIllustration.com | Tumblr | Patreon

References:

Bicknell, Russell DC, et al. "A unique example of the Late Cretaceous horseshoe crab Tachypleus syriacus preserves transitional bromalites." Alcheringa: An Australasian Journal of Palaeontology (2024): 1-6. https://doi.org/10.1080/03115518.2024.2348748

Bicknell, Russell DC, et al. "On the appendicular anatomy of the xiphosurid Tachypleus syriacus and the evolution of fossil horseshoe crab appendages." The Science of Nature 106.7 (2019): 38. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00114-019-1629-6

Lamsdell, James C., and Scott C. McKenzie. "Tachypleus syriacus (Woodward)—a sexually dimorphic Cretaceous crown limulid reveals underestimated horseshoe crab divergence times." Organisms Diversity & Evolution 15 (2015): 681-693. https://doi.org/10.1007/s13127-015-0229-3

[doffyslittledove]

Get to know mutuals 💞

tagged by @bankaizen ily so much ex-hubby

What’s the origin of your username? it started in the server where i believed 'little dove' would be one of doffy's go to pet names for his darling, then it morph into an oc for him named dove. basically i've made loving donquixote doflamingo my whole personality

OTP(s) + shipname: i'm more of an oc/canon shipper nowadays BUT bege/chiffon, frobin, zorobin, zolu, zolaw, are all GREAT ships

Favourite colour: PURPLE!!! and black of course

Song stuck in my head: How Bad Do U Want Me by Lady Gaga. i've been obsessed with it tbh

Weirdest habit/trait: i literally never stop picking my fingers. it's more than a nervous habit bc i do it even when i'm not nervous. it's why i use fake press on nails religiously bc it is the only thing that actually deters me from completely picking my nails to the point i draw blood

Hobbies: singing, gaming, reading, want to pick playing guitar back up too bc i haven't in a long time

If you could have any job you wish what would you have? i really don't YEARN any particular career any longer bc i'd rather just... not BUT i have always wanted to work in a museum or just anything having to do with fossils. as a kid, i always wanted to be a paleontologist

Something you’re good at: my job 💞 even when i feel like i'm not doing a good job i always get a pat on the back for a job well done

Something you hate: peanut butter, shit is fucking DEESGUSTIN

Something you forget: i forget to call my parents sometimes and i always feel so bad bc i don't get to see them that often anymore

Your love language: words of affirmation to the EXTREME. pls tell me you love me and that i'm pretty and that you need me and that you love me and that i'm pretty and-

Favourite movies/shows: ONE PIECE!!!! best thing i've ever decided to watch. my fave movies of all time are jurassic park, pacific rim, and aliens. basically big monster movies my beloved.

Favourite food: PASTA. and also burgers.

Favourite animal: PENGUINS!!!!!! and also hippos, horses, and foxes

What were you like as a child? attached to my mom at the hip. i did not want to be around anyone else tbh.

Favourite subject in school: english and probably science

Least favourite subject: math and pe literally wanted to die bc i was a fat kid and couldn't keep up so i got made fun of a ton for it

What’s your best character trait: i'm a fierce friend, i don't do a lot of defending for myself, i usually just brush things off, but if my friends are upset i will LEAP and defend them and FIGHT for them if i need to

What’s your worst character trait? i constantly feel like everyone hates me far too often, and i can't stand the feeling of being left out. it consumes me that everyone is just doing better and happier without me, and i let those thoughts become my reality and i operate as if everyone truly believes the things my brain came up with

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? i might take college a little more seriously and actually gone for something that could have made me more money but.... then i never would have met my soulmate that i've spent a decade with so... i truly believe everything happens for a reason

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? i honestly don't have a great answer lol

tagging: @shinjihirakos @mandiemegatron @nina-ya @shanalikeanna @physics-of-one-piece @eussstasss

[girl-detector]

If you detect yourself what would you detect

Horseshoe crabs (Limuluidae sp.) are an ancient form for arthropods to take. Although there are currently only four extant species, but 4 is more than disappearing from the fossil record like trilobites did

The extant ones spawn on full moons during the summer (i forget if it's one specific full moon or if it's the ones during the summer) and on beaches along their range

Their sharp tails are more often used for turning upright if flipped by currents, and is not a good place to hold them. If one needs to be relocated to reduce the chance of it getting injured, it's advised to carry by the rim of the frontmost portion of the shell (i forget if it's solely by the rim or by the rim and supporting the body)

As you can see, they are also capable of hosting sessile organisms such as barnacles

[shituationist]

The political importance of the oil and gas workers has not declined with the number of oil and gas jobs. We can still find conservative appeals to these workers despite the fact that they make up a mere tenth of a percent of the workforce in the state (whereas they used to make up five tenths of a percent at their peak magnitude). For example, Grand Isle’s Martha Charmaine Griffin penned a letter to the editor of nola.com stating “Louisiana’s economy depends on oil and gas”, and citing a number of jobs that “the industry supported” of “nearly 250,000”. She argues that “burdensome regulations” and “political rhetoric” (whose, might I ask?) will be “pushing this vital industry away”. She states that Louisiana should pursue “policies that encourage, not punish, investment”, as if the profits from the exploitation of our state’s finite mineral dowry and underpaid workforce weren’t encouraging enough to the capitalists who undertake these projects, and they need policies that flatter them to really make it worth their while.

The number 250,000 was pulled out of thin air by Ms. Griffin. However, a couple weeks before Ms. Griffin penned her letter to the editor, Louisiana’s fossil fuel trade association, the “Louisiana Mid-Continent Oil & Gas Association”, delivered an “economic impact study” of a sorts which provided an even larger number, finding 306,750 “energy jobs” supported by the sector. These researchers, who are on the fossil fuel industry’s payroll, invent these numbers by massively inflating the actual number of people employed by the fossil fuel industry in the state. In the LMOGA report, for example, it is argued that oil and gas extraction in Louisiana employs 28,394 people, which is almost 6 times as many as are actually employed in that sector, about 5,300 as of March 2025. Note that both of these readings are taken from the same source, the BLS’s Quarterly Census of Employment and Wages. It’s not clear to me how LMOGA arrived at their tally, as their methodology is rather opaque.

The researchers claim to use a RIMS model to estimate the total employment level and contributions to state GDP. The RIMS-II user guide published by the Bureau of Economic Analysis provides caution for interpretation of results from these models when used for this purpose:

Interpreting the results of a contribution study is a bit nuanced. Even though results show an industry’s current support of a certain level of economic activity or a certain number of jobs in the region, it is unclear what this economy would look like if the local industry truly did not exist. Many workers in the industry would likely have been employed by other industries. Many intermediate inputs purchased by the industry would likely have been sold to other industries.

It’s also not clear that the researchers really avoided double-counting, despite claiming to. Because the code and data used to tabulate these numbers are not published alongside the report itself, this is not a matter I can easily speak to. The disparity between the numbers publicly available for employment in the oil and gas sector and those presented by LMOGA strongly suggest that their numbers are fudged, and the fact that this is a report from an industry association with an intended audience in the state legislature strongly suggests an incentive to fudge the numbers.

Furthermore, economists recognize limitations of RIMS models when used to estimate an industry’s contributions to a regional economy, the type of thing LMOGA is doing here. Researchers at the Bureau for Economic Analysis caution (italics mine):

RIMS II multipliers are created to estimate the total impacts resulting from incremental changes in final demand. Because the model is based on existing industry relationships, RIMS II multipliers are not well-suited to estimate the total contribution of an existing industry to a local economy.

Indeed, it is preferred to take the direct reading, as I do:

Instead of using multipliers to estimate an industry's contribution to a local economy, simply researching the earnings and employment associated with an industry in a local economy may be a better alternative. Albeit conservative, this alternative also provides information regarding the importance of the industry to the local economy.

So the 250,000-300,000 number is worse than an overestimation. It is the result of a dishonest use of an economic model, with the explicit aim of misinforming voters and state law-makers of the actual economic impacts of the fossil fuel industry.

The roughly 2,000 drilling workers in the state should by now be well aware that the biggest threat to their jobs is not environmental regulation, but the over-exploitation of fossil fuel deposits and the relentless march of automation. Thousands of Louisiana oil and gas workers did not lose their jobs over the last decade and a half because Louisiana suddenly started enforcing environmental laws (even under Democrat governor John Bel Edwards, the government was positively obsequious towards fossil fuel interests). Other industries, like commercial fishing, directly support a substantially greater number of jobs. Commercial fishing itself, which is directly threatened by pollution from fossil fuel extraction, is said to support over 18,900 jobs by Southwick Associates in a 2019 report for the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries, greater than nine times the number of jobs supported by oil and gas drilling according to the BLS.

[concavenator-with-a-keyboard]

What's your favorite dinosaur? (Hawks x OC one shot)

Hi hi! I wanted to make a little one shot of my OC, Serina, and Hawks meeting for the first time. For a bit of context, her quirk is dinosaur. She can turn into a Coelophysis for an extended period of time. Downsides are that the longer she's in that form, the harder it is for her to think on a human level and eventually she will just be reduced to animal noises and much slower thinking. The other downside to her quirk is that she had to learn everything there was to know about Coelophysis, barring integument covering and color, so she thought she didn't have a quirk until she actually got into her degree and career (paleontology). She transferred to a Japanese museum from America and uses her dinosaur form to give kids tours when she isn't working on more important things! That's it about her hope you guys enjoy :)

No one wanted to know Keigo Takami. All anyone ever wanted from him was Hawks, the winged pro hero with the looks and carefree attitude to make anyone swoon. Hawks was what the people wanted and, more importantly, what the Hero Commission wanted.

So he became what the people wanted him to be, even if he didn't really want to be Hawks all the time, even if he just wanted to be Keigo some days.

-

These thoughts really didn't need to be running through his mind while he worked. It was a simple mission, just checking up on the local science museum after an attempted robbery. He really didn't have much to do besides watch as a group of school kids gathered for their museum tour. As long as he could get through this little tour and check back in with the director of the place, he'd be set to grab lunch and fly back to his agency.

"Alrighty kids, are you ready to see some cool stuff?"

The jovial voice cut through the chatter, gasps from the children causing Hawks to turn towards the commotion.

A fluffy... thing jumped up from the counter, landing silently on the ground in front of the students. It was barely taller than the young children, the long neck the fluffy creature sported giving it just a little height over them.

"We'll be starting on our first floor, where you'll be seeing a bunch of space stuff! I'm Serina Deering, but you can just call me Ms. Deering. I'll be your tour guide," oh, it was a woman, not an it. Hawks felt a little embarrassed now.

He could hear the whispers from the little kids, hear the wonder in their voices as Ms. Deering spoke again, her long tail swishing as she did.

"I know I look weird, but that's because I'm using my quirk to give you all the full experience. My quirk allows me to transform into one dinosaur, a Coelophysis, for a certain period of time. Just enough time to give this tour actually! So, why don't we get started?"

Her brown and white tail swayed as she walked, leading the children into the dimly lit space exhibit.

Hawks let his gaze linger until the white stripes of her fluffy tail disappeared in the little sea of children. The director called him over, pulling him away from the wonder and back into the real reason he was here.

Maybe he'll take a look around on his own once he was done. Surely he would have time to kill after it was done and over with.

-

Hawks was right about how quick this mission would be. All he had to do was talk with the director and give the public there a little security that there were heroes around to protect them.

He stared up at the long neck of the dinosaur in front of him. It was massive, the neck and tail circling around the giant room full of other, smaller fossils that were on display.

"How did they even get that big..." Hawks found himself muttering.

"It's actually really cool if you want to know," he turned to face the source of the voice.

The woman was shorter than him, brown hair held back by a claw clip and green eyes shielded by large wire-rimmed glasses. Her voice was the same as the one that emanated from that Coelo-whatever lady from that tour.

"Actually," the pro hero glanced back up at the tiny head at the end of that giant neck, "yeah, I do want to know."

He could see the light in her eyes as she smiled at him.

"They had a system of air sacs that ran through their bodies, making holes in the bones and making their bodies lighter as a whole. Sauropods already have hollow bones, so those air sacs clearing out even more bone made it even easier for their bodies to get as big as they did," she explained, raising a hand to point out the hollows of the vertebrae where those air sacs had apparently ran through.

"Modern dinosaurs, birds, have these air sacs too, though they're used for more than just making birds lighter. They use them as part of their respiratory system too, letting them have a near constant flow of fresh air as they fly."

The woman turned to him, "though I'm sure you know more about flying than me. It's not often I see people with bird-like quirks."

"Uh, yeah. They're not super common," Hawks doesn't think he's ever felt this awkward talking to a civilian.

"I saw you earlier, giving that tour to those kids. You've got a pretty cool quirk yourself," her dangling earrings caught his attention for a moment, the gold catching the light just right.

She flushed, "oh, that? It really isn't useful for much outside of giving those tours and conducting studies on dinosaur locomotion. Really, it's just something I like doing for little kids. Every little kid likes dinosaurs."

The woman turned back to the bones in front of them, observing the pillar-like limbs of the sauropod, "so, what's your name? I'm Serina."

Hawks inhaled, taking a moment before he responded, "Hawks."

Serina seemed surprised, turning to him with a chuckle, "oh, I didn't ask about your favorite hero, but Hawks is a good choice. I asked what your name was!"

There was no way she didn't recognize him.

But still, he decided he'd take that chance.

"My name is Keigo, nice to meet you," he stuck his hand out to her, giving a firm handshake.

She grinned at him, "nice to meet you too! Now I have to ask you another question because I always ask this to every new person I meet, what's your favorite dinosaur?"

Did she really not recognize him?

It didn't look like she did, every word out of her mouth was genuine, down to the way his name rolled off of her tongue.

Keigo couldn't help but feel a warm tingling in his chest.

"Don't know, never really thought about it," was Keigo's reply, his hand reaching back to scratch at his neck.

He watched as Serina took a step back, hip cocked and hand brought to her chin in thought. She hummed and looked him up and down before she replied to him.

"You seem like a ceratopsian kind of guy, but I think we could find you something funner than just triceratops," she finally spoke before pointing behind herself with her thumb, "we have a really nice ceratopsian display if you haven't already looked at it. My favorite is Styracosaurus."

For some reason, Keigo couldn't help the blush that dusted his cheeks, "if you say so, you want to show me?"

Keigo decided he really liked how she lit up as she led him further into the room.

--

I kinda wanted to explore a headcanon someone had made about Hawks having trouble actually knowing who he is outside of being Hawks and I liked the idea of him getting with someone who absolutely does not keep up with anything hero related (me, I do not keep up with celebrities at all. The most famous man on earth can walk into my store and I would be none-the-wiser lmao)

I also feel like he never really had the time to be a kid and have something like a favorite dinosaur, so yeah

I had fun writing this and thank you for reading!

[sweeterthanmydreams]

I'm Team Crystals for Art Fight 2025~!

Please check out my 1-Page Comic Hit List!

Recreating the Crystals font was delightfully fun. If you're a mutual who's also doing AF this year feel free to drop a comment! If you see I've mentioned wanting to draw a type of OC and you want to tell me that you have that type of OC, drop me a comment! (esp. Mechs & idols.) I still haven't picked targets for my yearly team-themed chibis so if you have a fossil-core OC or a crystal-core OC you can drop me a comment!

If the site goes down, you can find my OC's references on RefSheet or below the cut.

Select OC profiles (Top 6, New for 2025, & some favorites) below. Almondine & Rim O are Dust Dragons (original species) which have a connection to gem stones/crystals. Miyuki likes dinosaurs, which is as close to fossils as my ocs get.

[scarletsoldierr]

The Moon Haunts You (pt. 1)

marc spector x oc

warnings: angst, fluff, implied trauma, night terrors, anxiety, POC FRIENDLY OC (described with black hair

summary: Marc needs to learn how to love, but however much he tries to get those thoughts out of his head, the moon still haunts him.

oc: Teresa Bucai - 33 - journalist - black hair

word count: 1.7k

divider credit

Scars. The permanent reminder of his past, forged into his skin forever, and his mind. if it hadn’t happened to marc, would he still be the collection of mistakes and personalities that formed him into the man he was? The utmost trauma can break a man for the better or worse, but affection can surely do the same.

He traces his thumb on the rim of his whiskey glass, his reflection mocking up at him, teasing the trace of booze on his lips through his pitiful demeanor. Washing away his sorrow through alcohol could only hold for so long, until the thoughts caught up to him. He wasn't really him. He was an amalgamation of people, an heir of Khonsu’s wrath, that should make him strong, shouldn't it? No. He thought of himself as a weak man. Strong men aren’t scared to go to sleep, not knowing if they are going to wake up the same person. Strong men don't allow fear to hang over their head, instead they concur it. But at this moment in time, Marc couldn't really face himself, let alone his fears. He sighs, dropping a few dollars onto the tabletop as he nods to the bartender.

Marc enters the nearby museum, courtesy of Steven, and starts to pace back and forth. The sudden shift of loud bar ambience, to the quiet and thoughtful museum made his ears ring. Peace and serenity made his heart heavy, longing for a way to make this feeling last. “Couldn’t you just feel like this all the time? Why must I stress so much?” he thinks

“Excuse me?” A light voice interrupts his thoughts as he shifts his eyes to the source. “May I please get your input on the renovations of the fossil exhibit?” The lady asks, her black hair contrasting her cool toned outfit. Her voice might have been the loudest thing in the building, but her soft demeanor somewhat relaxed Marc, and God… she was gorgeous. Her delicate fingers hold onto her clipboard, patiently waiting for an answer as her eyes flicker over him.

“Uhm. Oh. It's… Nice…” Marc replies, her eyes pulling him into a trance. He fiddles with his wallet, trying to shove it back into his pockets.

“Anything else?” She asks, tilting her head as an invitation to reply.

“Uh… No.” He sheepishly replies, blood rushing to his cheeks. “Shit.” he thinks. He’s never this awkward around people, let alone pretty girls.

“Alright, that's completely fine!” She pulls out an index card from her satchel. “Call me or email me if you have any more insight.” She says as she puts her clipboard back into her arms, clicking her pen.

Marc watches as she walks away, her hair slightly flowing under the museum's air conditioning. “How could she talk to me, a stranger, just like that?” He blinks out of his thoughts, shaking his head.

“Nice going.” Jake sneers in the back of his mind, metaphorically flicking the back of his neck with his words.

“Shut the hell up.” Marc bellows, his knuckles turning white in his fist. A few people turn their attention towards him after his remark, his face returning to the red hue it once possessed. “People probably think your bat-shit crazy.” Jake scoffs as Marc turns to the door. He pulls out the business card the girl gave her, caressing the cardstock as the lettering gleams in the overhead chandeliers.

Teresa Bucai

Journalism Head of the London Historic District

020-246-0169

Teresabjournalism@lhd.org

Organized, interested and professional. All the things I wish I could be. Steven used to be the head curator of one of the historic branches, but was fired over Marc's impulsive behavior, or to put it simply, Khonshu’s power. Steven wanted to live a normal life, away from Marc, away from Jake, and away from Khonshu. Marc tries his best to push Steven and Jake down, away into the filing cabinets of his mind. Marc wanted a life of his own, and most of all, he wanted to share his life with someone he loves. But God, he did not expect to fall head over heels for some random journalist.

“She’s one catch.” Jake tickles Marc’s ears with his words, he shivers at the thought of her voice. Marc subconsciously nods in agreement, his jaw hung open as he continues down the sidewalk.

His flat is covered in empty bottles as the candles he had lit (and forgot to blow out) illuminated the brick cell of a house. He opens his dingy laptop and types her name. Teresa Bucai. Hundreds of reviews she had curated popped up, interviews of historians with her and so. Many. pictures. Was she some sort of model for her side job? The gallery of photos under her name was like an art museum. Ancient Greek sculptors carved her out of marble, the sort of beauty only a muse would possess.

He pulls up an email draft, typing in her email address.

“Let her know about your thoughts on the newly imported pottery.” Steven chimes in.

“I know jack about that, Steven. Don’t make me look like an idiot.” Marc sighs. He hesitantly types some bullshit on the new vase display, rewriting the words too many times to count. “Jesus. I hope she humors me about my lack of vocabulary.” He mumbles. He waits a few beats before sending the email, pushing his laptop to the side, leaving only the hum of the heater to soothe him.

Marc jolts up, hitting his head on the backboard of his bed. He groans in pain as sweat beads up on his forehead, leaving a slight wet blob where his back was. The ambience of his flat mixed with a few cars passing through the wet pavement outside. His window was fogged up, the only light being a few tabletop lamps scattered around his room. He unbuckles the shackles that bound him to his bed frame, couldn’t trust himself to not spontaneously get up, let alone let Jake infiltrate his life. Marc grabs the lukewarm glass of… whiskey? For all he cared, it could have been rubbing alcohol and he would still drink it. He allows the drink to slip out the creases of his lips, the liquid seeping down from his neck onto his white undershirt. He lets out some sort of groan as he places the glass back down, slowly getting up from his mattress and glancing at his slightly open laptop.

From: Teresabjournalism@lhd.org

Hi Marc! Thank you so much for this wonderful summary of the pottery display! I will definitely use this for my upcoming project. If you wouldn’t mind possibly coming by my office so I can record some voice memos? Possibly tomorrow at noon?

Thanks,

Teresa Bucai.

Next thing you know, Marc is up and at 'em looking for a somewhat formal pair of pants to go with his very unique array of white button ups. “Don’t you think she would want me to dress up?” He thinks out loud.

“It’s not gonna be of your face.” Steven chirps in the mirror.

“Yeah but… I need to make up for my lack of formality when we first met.” Marc replies, shooing away Steven’s reflection. He shoves his wallet and phone into his pair of black jeans.

“Yeah. Black jeans, very formal!” Steven shouts out as Marc passes the full-body mirror.

“Says the one who’s friends with a fish!” Marc retorts, shoving his feet into his one good pair of shoes.

“Well… uh… At least I have friends.” Steven sneers as Marc slams the door.

Marc seemed to skip to the address that was on her business card, whether that be from giddy excitement, or from pure fright.

“May I help you?” The front desk secretary spits out, not once looking up from her computer.

“Uh.. yes, hi. I'm here to see Ms. Bucai.” he fumbles over his words. Now, back in the day, or let’s say before Steven and Jake came into play, Marc was quite the ladies man. Well, as much of a “Ladies Man” a guy who reads comics can get. Ever since his father died, leading up to… Khonshu, Marc’s life seemed to fall to shit. Having night-terrors like a little kid was so embarrassing to him, and not being able to know what is him or not drove him mad. Drowning out his depression through alcohol could only last long enough till he was shipped back to the looney bin, or until it interfered with his… work.

“Marc? Hi!” Teresa says enthusiastically, ushering him inside her office. “So glad you could make it with such short notice!” She smiles, her teeth glistening from the overhead lamp.

“Yeah, it’s nothing!” Marc scratches the back of his neck, trying to rub away any signs of nervousness. Marc follows Teresa into her office, sitting down on the leather chair in front of her desk.

“If you could just fill me in on your opinions, that would be great. Could you state your name for me into this mic?” She hands him a small clip-on mic.

Marc has known about Steven and Jake for a good time now, but adjusting to the new sense of identity that came with being the Fist of Khonshu may be something he will never overcome. Teresa’s walls were covered with plaques, some sort of ancient scrolls and a picture of a man caricatured in an ancient Egyptian style with a head of a bird. Underneath the drawing laid encrypted writing. You would think Marc would pick up on some Arabic, or be able to decipher hieroglyphics with his time in Cairo. His eyes run over every detail of the piece, the buzzing in his head growing louder and louder.

“Thoth. Practically a brother of mine. Messenger of Ra.” A tall, boney figure appears in the corner behind Teresa. “We both harness the power of the moon, Marc. Let this woman guide you.” The figure disappears, turning into sand as it blows out the creak in the window.

“Marc? You okay?” Teresa repeats, gesturing the microphone towards him. Marc turns from the drawing, facing her as he waits for a beat.

“Have you ever been to Cairo?”