#it's that they're taking work without permission

[ghostlyferrettarot]

──★ ˙🎸 ̟!!The 8th House in the signs and our sexy side ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!!

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

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💿Masterlist💿 💿Masterlist 2💿

♈️──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Aries: Having Aries in the 8th House makes your sensuality so intense that sometimes you can't even contain it. There's something urgent about your desire, something that doesn't wait, that gets to the point, that doesn't hide. You seduce through action, through impulsiveness. Through that fire that doesn't ask permission. You can seem intimidating without meaning to, and sometimes you don't understand why someone wants you so much if you didn't even realize what you did. But your presence radiates that "I take what I want" vibe, and that, deep down, is crazy.

♉──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Taurus: There's something about you that calms and simultaneously generates desire. As if your body spoke another language. As if your hugs were a place where everything stops. You seduce with the way you walk, the way you touch, even the way you breathe. You're so connected to pleasure, to the senses, that people want to stay there. Your sexual energy isn't loud, but it's persistent. It creeps in slowly until it can't be released. You take your time with desire, but when you do it, you do it like a queen.

♊️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Gemini: You're curious, mentally restless, and that translates into a playful, ever-changing, almost unpredictable sensuality. People don't always understand why they're so attracted to you, but it's because you connect with them from places that aren't obvious. You speak to desire through ideas, laughter, unexpected questions, and perfectly timed changes of subject. You educate more with conversation than with a body. More with a knowing glance than with an obvious gesture. Your sexy side isn't constant, but when it appears, it's a bombshell of stimulation. Because you make the other person think, feel, and get lost.

♋️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Cancer: Having Cancer in the 8th House means experiencing desire as a deep emotion that transforms everything. Loving you (or simply wanting you) isn't easy. Because your love doesn't stay on the surface. Your sexual energy blends with your wounds, and that creates a magnetic attraction. Your sexy side is lunar: it changes, it hides, it appears when you want it to. But when you show it… oh my. It feels like returning to your body after years away from it.

♌️──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Leo: Having Leo in the 8th House makes your sensuality brilliant, passionate, and very, very hard to ignore. There's something about you that seduces even when you're not trying. It's that confidence you radiate, that way you move as if you know someone is watching you, even if they aren't. But the sexiest thing isn't that you show off, but that you open up honestly. You love with everything. You desire with fire. And you want to be chosen, admired, desired as if you were a work of art. Because you know you are. Your sexual energy has something theatrical about it, but it's not fake. You want real intensity.

♍️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Virgo:Having Virgo in the 8th House means having a desire that observes, that analyzes, that enters slowly but deeply. Your sensuality is one of those you can't see coming. At first, you seem controlled, measured, until someone realizes that beneath it all lies a fierce intensity. You seduce from the details, from what others don't notice. From the way you place your hand, from the way you read the other person's body as if it were an open book. Your mind is always connected to desire, even if you don't say it out loud.

♎️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Libra: Having Libra in the 8th House means having a sensuality that disguises itself as charm, but hides storms behind every smile. You seduce unintentionally, just by existing. Because you know how to be. Because you create beauty in every gesture. But be careful: you're not superficial. What you want is real, aesthetic, and emotional connection. You love harmony, but you're also turned on by the play of desire, sustained gazes, hands that barely touch. Your sexual energy is elegant, yet intense. Sometimes you don't notice how much you desire until someone manages to confuse you a little.

♏️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Scorpio: You are literally pure sexual energy. You don't need to speak to generate desire. Your gaze says it all. You seduce with emotional intensity, with silence, with the depth with which you love or desire. You touch places that hurt, that heal, that transform. Your mere presence can make someone rethink everything. And yes, it can be scary. Your desire doesn't seek simple pleasure, it seeks fusion. And whoever surrenders to you… never comes back the same.

♐️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Sagittarius: Having Sagittarius in the 8th House means experiencing desire as a constant search. Like an adventure that begins in the body but doesn't end there. You seduce with your enthusiasm, with your humor, with your mind that never stops exploring, your charisma in general. You have something wild and sweet at the same time. As if you were kissing with the desire to know the other person's universe, not just their skin.

♑️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Capricorn: Having Capricorn in the 8th House means having a sensuality that feels like a contained storm. You seduce with your mere presence, with your steady gaze, with that "I know what I'm doing" that is as reassuring as it is erotic. Your sexual energy is rooted in stability, but that doesn't mean it isn't deep. Quite the opposite. You truly love. You truly desire. You just don't show it right away. You tend to show it with actions, with commitment, with silent dedication.

♒️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Aquarius: Having Aquarius in the 8th House means desire turned into rarity. You seduce with what is different. With what is unexpected. Because it doesn't fit, and precisely for that reason, it fascinates. You don't seek possession. You're not interested in sex as something repetitive. You're excited by what breaks the mold, by what stimulates the mind before the body. And although you sometimes seem distant, your sexual energy is intense, electric, unforgettable. You seduce through the conversation that no one else dared to have.

♓──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Pisces: Having Pisces in the 8th House gives a very special style for experiencing sensuality. You don't just jump in for physical desire, but rather need to feel emotionally and spiritually connected to the other person. You have a gentle, dreamy, and very empathetic energy, you pick up on what the other person is feeling, sometimes without being told. In intimacy, you give yourself completely the other person, not only body to body, but also soul to soul. You can have an inner world rich in fantasies and a very romantic, even somewhat idealistic, way of loving.

[thebroccolination]

TEAM TAM TAKES A STAND [EPISODE 5 EDITION]

THE DEFENSE FOR MY CLIENT TAMTAWAN HAS ARRIVED.

I need to rewatch this episode eighteen more times to get my head more fully around it, but I wanted to talk about how I thought the main point of this episode was done very well. Namely, showing the audience that Tam has had reason to believe that Phi has been careless with his heart and his feelings in the past.

The very first thing we get as the episode starts is this flashback in which Tam reminds Phi of the promise they made before this visit: since Tam's mother is arriving on Saturday (which is presumably the next day) they're not going to do anything physical; they're only going to work. I got the impression from this that Tam's mother didn't know about their relationship, but either way, what matters is that Phi made Tam a promise.

This is immediately followed by a sequence of sexy flashbacks confirming that they did not, in fact, only do work.

And we also know from later on in the episode that Phi started it and broke his promise to Tam:

["key did you just make this post to post these screenshots?" NO I AM GOING TO MAKE A SEPARATE HORNY POST ON MAIN LIKE A RESPECTABLE CREATURE OF BASE INTEREST THANK YOU VERY MUCH]

Like, Tam does totally go along with it, so it's not like Phi forced him. That's not the point I'm making. It's just important to note that Tam asked Phi not to do anything three times:

1) Before they got to the house 2) Before they went into the house, and 3) Literally while Phi is making moves on him

I think Tam went to those lengths because he knew himself well enough to know that if Phi did start something, he wouldn't be able to tell him no. After all, look at that last frame! Phi asks him, "Can I do this a little?" while kissing Tam's neck. He is technically asking permission, and Tam doesn't tell him no, but this is after Tam has already asked him not to three times!!!

So it seems like the narrative is showing us a particular flaw in their previous relationship: that Tam often gave in and let Phi have whatever he wanted, and Phi was happy to take and take from him, probably without even noticing he was doing it.

Until…

HE TOOK IT TOO FAR, YOUR HONOR.

When Phi came back from grocery shopping, he left the door open:

I was sitting there with cat roommate senses like, "Close the door, close the door, close the door, close the fucking door!!!" wondering if it was a production mistake or if the characters just didn't care.

But then…

Tam notices mid-kiss that the door's still open and starts to panic that Sosay's gotten out.

Phi, less fond of the cat and more interested in making out, makes the point that Sosay was a stray and she can handle herself.

Let's break down the whole argument, shaaall we? :D

Phi says, "She'll come back. Let's keep going." Assuming the flashbacks are linear, they've already slept together (at least) once, so Phi's going for another round. Another round after the one Tam asked him not to pursue!

When Phi keeps pressing him, Tam snaps at him, and crucially, Phi looks confused.

Tam is basically like, "I am no longer thinking about sex, I am thinking about my missing cat."

To which Phi is all,

"She's a stray, she can take care of herself. Why are you so worried?" Or, translated: "But I want to have sex with my hot boyfriend."

And Tam is correctly like, "Cool, you don't care about my cat, but you also don't care about me since I am visibly distraught about my cat. Also, you keep trying to sleep with me when I told you that was off the table."

Critically, even though Phi broke his promise, it was only this time when Phi left the door open and Sosay got out that Tam actually stopped him. And I think the reason he loses his temper like this is because he was telling himself he should have stopped him before.

Like, this is definitely Turned On but I detect a bit of annoyance there, too.

Also, check out this subtle moment!

This is the same night they found Sosay! (Or Sosay found them.) Tam finishes working on whatever they came to work on, and Phi gives him a massage. Notably, Tam thinks Phi being sweet and accommodating is weird.

And, tellingly, Phi isn't actually doing it to be sweet and accommodating. Moments after making Tam beam so happily, Phi goes in to bite his ear and kiss his neck and bulldozes past Tam's reminder of the promise he made.

Tam thought Phi was giving him a massage to be kind.

Phi was actually doing it to get laid.

But again, what makes this a really good conflict is that one could assume that from Phi's perspective, Tam isn't making it super clear that this is a boundary he doesn't want crossed. You can almost see in Tam's face when he tells himself it doesn't matter. That what he asked Phi for wasn't that important, really.

But isn't it kind of heartbreaking to watch that moment of Phi cradling Tam's face in his hands and think maybe Tam believed this was a simple act of kindness. That Phi really did just want to give him a massage and tell him he did well.

That for all he does for Phi day in and day out, he got some affection that stayed within the night-long boundaries he asked Phi to respect?

Perhaps from Phi's perspective, he was just being affectionate. No one was actually home, after all. He probably didn't think Tam was going to be upset and hurt when he pushed him for sex. We can see he didn't take the promise super seriously even at the start of the episode where he salutes in the adorable way he does. It's a very, "Sure, sure, I promise. Wink~"

Like, if you haven't watched Singto's solo MV "Consent" from Tam's perspective, absolutely go give it a watch, because it's very clear that Tam has an extremely different perspective of their relationship. (Also, Singto has the sweet and mellow voice of an angel and he does not get enough love for it.)

Phi's greatest grievance in his song is how Tam left him.

But Tam has specific complaints from their actual relationship.

Obviously, the best thing to do when one has issues in one's relationship is to talk about the issues with one's partner, but if characters did everything right all the time, then we wouldn't get stories about ex-boyfriends who squabble and then have sex about it.

I think Phi's not getting Tam's breakup reason because there's some piece of it Tam can't tell Phi yet, but I think we're not getting the reason because the narrative put us squarely on Phi's side in the first episode, and now it's gradually showing us that Phi wasn't an angel.

Think about how much we knew about Phi from the start: his job, his condo, all his possessions, his colleagues, his boss, his reputation, his fanbase, his university days, his ex-boyfriend, his award, his billboard, etc.

Now think about what we knew about Tam in episode one: he studied abroad in Australia. He dated Phi. They broke up. He's really hot. He came back because Yong said, "If you still love him, come back."

We spent all of episode four with Phi's mother.

It's only in episode five that Tam's is mentioned.

And I think this is all very intentionally and cleverly laid out. Because Phi already knows a lot of what we're going to see, but his perspective is going to change. Like in this episode, he relives the night Tam adopted Sosay, which was also a night they fought and Phi went out to find Tam's cat to make amends.

We're literally seeing that Phi's capable of changing for the better when Tam tells him directly what he wants or needs. I think that could be the lesson Tam needs to learn.

Hard to say without the second half, but that's the impression I'm getting from the setup we have so far.

Anyway JUSTICE FOR TAM MY SON IS BEAUTIFUL AND HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE.

The defense rests.

[desertduality]

writing prompt! Ad Astra Scar talking or reminiscing about his past with zombies in TCD. Or it doesn’t even have to be Ad Astra, or in the ‘present’ day, but TCD!Scar yes!

I'm always up for some TCD :D I don't know if this is exactly what you had in mind but it's what ended up happening so I hope you enjoy!! <3

Word Count: 1923

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At the time, Grian had hardly thought about it. It was something Cub had said in passing to make a point, something he clearly had no intention of elaborating on without Scar’s explicit permission. There had been much bigger fish to fry, and no space in his mind to wonder. Every bit of focus he'd had had been dedicated solely to figuring out how to reach Scar, how to bring him home. So, he’d hardly thought about it.

(“He grew up in a hardcore world,” Cub had said. And then, firmly: “You’ll have to get the details from him. Not my story to tell.”)

Grian, at that point, had been drowning in hopelessness and guilt, unable to spare any energy towards curiosity. The next weeks had been a blur of failure and success, a whirlwind of heartache and triumph that ultimately ended with Scar right back where he belonged, injured but healing. For all intents and purposes, he forgets about Cub’s odd comment entirely. 

Almost entirely.

Then Scar makes an offhand quip about childhood trauma, and Grian starts to wonder. A question takes root in his mind and grows. He’s never asked about where Scar had come from. It’s not the type of thing that the hermits tend to ask about; it was a generally understood rule that if someone wanted you to know something, they would tell you. Many of the hermits had been running from something or other when they’d first joined the server. It was considered polite not to ask. 

But Grian has known Scar for years now. They share a bond that would be acknowledged on a cosmic level. They're a bit beyond the awkward pleasantries of getting to know each other. So.

He’s on a park bench in Scarland, the sun high in the sky. It’s spring, and Scar is planting flowers. The ones that had been there before had all died in the cold of the winter months, and Scar had decided that some simple gardening would be the perfect first project to ease himself back into building. Grian, as he’d been doing quite a lot recently, had decided to keep him company. They’d been bantering on and off for most of the morning, but had since settled into an easy quiet. Jellie is sleeping on a rock, and Sunny is scratching at the loose dirt Scar’s been working with, searching for bugs. 

It’s a scar on the back of Scar’s neck that brings it to mind, old and faded, barely visible. Entire decades old. It takes a lot, to get a scar. It’s nearly impossible — unless you’re in a hardcore world. 

“Can I ask you something?” Grian asks abruptly, shifting anxiously where he sits. 

Scar looks up, dirt smudged on his cheek and hands, face slightly red from the sun. He gives him a half smile, mismatched eyes crinkling slightly in confusion at Grian’s obvious nerves. 

“Sure,” Scar replies, wiping his hands on his pants. He stretches, wings spread wide, a birdlike noise escaping his throat as he does so. “What’s up?”

Grian picks at a thread at the bottom of his sweater, frowning slightly as he tries to figure out how to word it. Really, he should have thought further ahead.

“Cub said something to me once,” he starts, watching Jellie’s ears twitch in her sleep. “It was— something about how you grew up in a hardcore world?”

Scar freezes. Grian watches as several complicated emotions flicker across his face, clearly taken off guard. His mouth opens slightly, and then closes again, mouth twisting subtly as his expression lands on something pensive and anxious. Grian’s gut flips. 

“Cub said that?” Scar asks, voice unreadable. Next to him, Sunny perks up, and Grian could swear that the chicken narrows her eyes at him accusingly.

“It was while you were gone,” Grian explains, voice dipping into something somber. It’s still hard to think about those weeks. “I was…struggling. Cub was trying to get me to stop blaming myself. It came up.”

Scar nods slightly, gaze drifting to the side as he frowns thoughtfully. Grian can practically see the thoughts running rampant through his mind, and he forces himself to wait patiently. The flowers Scar is planting are bright and vibrant, a multitude of different colors and shapes. The way they’re placed seems completely arbitrary to Grian, but he knows that Scar has placed each plant with the utmost care. 

When people first meet Scar, they see what he presents on the surface; clumsy and clueless. And while he certainly has his moments, Grian has learned to look deeper. Most everything Scar does is very intentional. His builds especially, but in other things, too — like what he chooses to share. Grian still only knows the bare bones of what it was like for him to be at the Watcher’s mercy. What he does know keeps him up at night. 

Eventually, Scar’s gaze flicks up to meet his, eyebrows pinched in a nervously assessing way. It’s a moment that feels heavy, and Grian just stares back, hoping that some of the love and concern and support is visible in his eyes. Finally, Scar inhales shakily - stands up from the ground to sit next to Grian on the bench. 

“Yeah, Cub was— Cub wasn’t lying,” Scar says. “I did grow up in a hardcore world.”

“You did?” Grian asks softly, because as much as he'd believed Cub, hearing it confirmed still stings. 

Scar hums in assent, staring ahead at the flowers he’d planted, gaze distant and haunted. Grian feels a little nauseous. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Grian says, stretching his wing to brush against Scar’s. 

“I think… I want to tell you,” Scar says, turning back to him, looking faintly surprised by his own words. He quirks a strange little smile, almost a grimace. “Are you, uh, sure you want to know?”

Grian is not sure. He nods anyway, and Scar’s smile turns a bit more genuine, soft and resigned. He visibly steels himself. 

“It was a zombie apocalypse,” Scar says simply, head tilted as he squints at the sky. “And I’m pretty sure I was the only human left, at the end.”

Grian’s stomach plummets.

“Zombie apocalypse?” he repeats, the words shaky. 

“Yep. But not like, normal zombies, of course,” Scar says dryly, shaking his head. “They still looked like— like people. They didn’t burn in the day, and they were fast. They could chase you for miles.”

God. Grian’s throat goes tight, and he swallows. 

“There were… some teenagers, I think, at the beginning. We lived in this— windowless bunker. Tons of food and water and supplies. Meant for a bunch of people, probably. But it was just us,” Scar continues, eyes going hazy as he remembers. “They’d started teaching me how guns worked, and I— I think they taught me how to read. I don’t know how else I would have learned. 

“Then they left one day and never came back. I was five, maybe?” Scar chuckles a little, glancing at Grian with a glimmer of humor in his eye. “Is now a good time to admit I genuinely have no clue exactly how old I am?”

Grian blinks, momentarily startled out of his mounting horror.

“I just always thought you were being vague on purpose,” he says faintly. Scar laughs, wings shaking behind him, and then there’s a pause. 

Jellie stands and stretches, primly making her way to the bench with a trilling meow, jumping up onto Scar’s lap and curling up. Scar scratches behind her ears, an absentminded gesture as his brow furrows in thought. Grian waits patiently, watching Dishwasher the chicken swallow a bug whole. 

“I didn’t leave the bunker for a few years,” Scar continues, the tone a little more serious than before. “And then I… I ran out of crayons, so. I left. Packed a bag and a gun and started exploring.” He picks at the woodgrain of the bench, staring down at Jellie in his lap. “Eventually I got comfortable enough to leave the bunker behind for good, once I started finding new places. Never did find more crayons, though. Had to make due with pencils.”

The worst part is, Grian can imagine it. A young Scar with a baby face and a backpack half his size, alone in the world and looking for something to give it color. Carrying a gun. 

“A lot of my scars came from that world, but most of them have faded by now, I think,” Scar says, scanning his skin as if there’s wounds only he can see. “Ins— Injuries worked differently there. It’s hard to explain. There was— I had to do blood transfusions on myself. I learned how to inject morphine so I could keep running when I was hurt.”

Scar’s rambling now, like some dam has burst and everything he’s ever kept inside is rushing out of him. Grian should maybe interrupt him, but his tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth. He can’t start talking any more than Scar can stop. 

“You’d think I got my name from my scars,” Scar says, smiling in a way that looks painful. “I named myself after my gun. I don’t even remember if I had a name, before that. I didn’t really know what names were. I found Jellie and she liked jelly so I named her Jellie. It made sense in my head.”

Jellie perks up at hearing her name, bumping her head into Scar’s trembling hand. Grian finally finds the strength to open his mouth. 

“Scar,” Grian says hoarsely. “Stop.”

Scar meets his gaze, something desperate and tired etched into his face. His eyes carry the wild quality of someone who knows what survival truly means. It makes him look ancient. It makes him look very, very young. 

“I let myself die,” Scar admits quietly, eyes glistening. “To get out of there. I let them get me.”

Grian closes his eyes, chest aching. “How old…?”

“Nineteen, I think,” Scar says. “I counted the winters. Always celebrated my birthday on the first snow day.”

Grian doesn’t want to know what that celebration would’ve consisted of. He’s seconds away from breaking down sobbing as it is. Wordlessly, Grian extends a wing and rests it across Scar’s back, feeling the other’s wings relax in response. 

“I’m sorry,” Grian says in a wavering voice, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. “I’m sorry that— that happened to you.”

Scar hums, eyes closing briefly. 

“When I made the deal with the Secret Keeper,” Scar says, “I wasn’t really… I just figured that I could handle it, being alone there. Because I’d done it before.”

Grian swallows, heart squeezing in his chest. It’s like grief, almost, but he’s not sure what he’s grieving. 

“It was different, though,” Scar continues, glancing at Grian with a sad smile, eyes watery. “I knew what I was missing.”

Scar, reliving his childhood alone in an empty world, missing his friends. Longing was an open wound, and the Watchers were sharks in the water. They’d probably loved it. Grian, not for the first time, has the urge to go back there and kill a few with his bare hands. He wants them to hurt. 

Grian tips his head over to lean it on Scar’s shoulder, a silent show of support, and for a while they watch Scar’s flowers sway in the wind. He tries to remember that they won. They’re safe. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Grian says, soft and aching. 

“Yeah,” Scar says, leaning into him slightly. “Me too.”

[poisonvdhonvy]

"Twenty years? Try twenty minutes. They're already in charge, we just haven't figured it out yet. Mochi's basically my landlord at this point." She takes another sip of her drink, thinking about how her cat literally controls her entire schedule. Wake up at six because Mochi demands breakfast. Work around her nap spots on the couch. Can't even use her laptop without permission anymore. "I swear they've got this whole elaborate plan. Like, they let us think we're the smart ones while they manipulate us into giving them everything they want. Food, shelter, entertainment, medical care. And we just go along with it because they're cute."

this conversation wasn't like any other she had with any of the other bar goers and she was admittedly amused. giovanna liked that this conversation wasn't as serious as most of the ones that she experienced while bartending. "i'm telling you. give them twenty years and they're going to be running things." and she wasn't sure she hated the idea of them being in charge. after all, they were pretty smart animals. "they definitely know what they're doing. i think they're smarter than we actually realize."

[necro-hamster]

ppl defending ai art by completely ignoring the genuine major issues that people have with it and pretending like ppl r just mad because they're Art Elitists and think that art should only be made through Suffering instead of being easy are some of the most embarrassing ppl tumblr has been recommending to me lately

[captain-ultimat-doggo]

Humans entering space and realizing we are so small. We are mice compared to these giant races with their advanced machinery and technologies and experiences beyond us- except that we're humans. And our engineers dive into the new tech and once we learn the principles we also soon realize how Inefficient everything is. Their "microchips" are the size of cars, their storage drives are basically buildings, and they somehow store less data than ours. So, human companies take advantage, and tech starts rolling out. Massive and there's a lot of wasted space so that it can be managed with larger hands/pincers/claws/tentacles, but also so much more efficient than anything the galaxy has seen before.

Human technicians start hopping ships and upkeeping the general maintenance, the stuff that most aliens put off or don't notice because they never access the crevices of their ships. As human companies become more popular and lead the tech world in everything from warp cores to game stations ("it's so compact! How are the graphics so good?" Says a 60' tall grimbleback, holding a new VR headset that has all of its components included because it's so BIG by our tech standards), soon many things have accessibility ports for humans to be able to use as well. This means that these shiprats hoping ship to ship cause such a huge improvement in everything running smoothly, and there's a huge downtick in pests on ships because those "pests" are not only big enough and aggressive enough to bite a pitbull or a person in half, they're invasive to so many planets and humans hate nothing more than dog killing planet overrunning monsters.

All the while, from the Aliens perspective, humans are an elusive race that don't fraternize much with them. You almost never see a human as most places aren't exactly safe for the little things to run around in. They do export so much stuff though, and the custodial staff at the Central Galactic Outpost insists that there's more humans around than any other race if you just know where to look.

And sure it's somewhat known that some of the little daredevils hop ships and help out in exchange for room and board, usually without permission, but that can't be that common, can it?

Maybe your ship is running better this cycle ever since you stopped at the last station, that just means that tuneup was better than you thought. And maybe for some reason that program you were working on last night is finished when you wake up, but you're so tired maybe you finished it before you passed out. Somehow that faulty light in the galley has fixed itself as well, which is odd, but maybe the Engineer finally got to it. You'd know if there was someone else on your ship.

Right?

... You leave a little bowl of berries out as a thank you, just in case. You're not sure what humans like but you've heard they have a sweet tooth.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

The Exotic Animal Photo Reference Repository is live!

You can find it at: https://www.animal-photo-references.com!

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Artists creating derivative or transformative works (without AI) have blanket permission to use these references. Yes, even for work you're going to sell.

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There will never be a paywall on the site - I believe resources like this absolutely must be free for everyone to access. So please, please, please support the repository if you use it. Want sneak peeks at photos, cute videos I take, or to help choose what I photograph and what gets posted first? You can do that through Patreon (and there's a free trial on the most interactive tier!) If you'd like to just drop a tip, I've also set up a Ko-Fi.

I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks of the repository.

To whet your thirst for cute photos, here's an Indian rhinoceros contemplating a goose.

[hoothootmotherf-ckers]

can people please stop filming the entire fucking world around them for public consumption? and especially random fucking strangers who you did not ask???

I work at a park and man the front desk. and I'm photographed and filmed a lot. I'm talking easily 20+ times per day. most of the times, it's parents filming me swearing in their kids as junior rangers. which. they're intending to film their kids. what they get is me and the back of their kids' heads.

there's this recurring problem that like. people forget we're real people? like yeah you're filming your kid, but you're filming me interacting with your kid. I could count the amount of times someone has asked me permission to do this in the past year on one hand. and sometimes that's after they already start filming.

Like, I'm not an actor. I did not agree to this. You could be a dick and make the argument that I'm a public figure, but I'm not. This is not a persona and my uniform is not a costume. I'm a person trying to do my job and help people and teach them about science and history. And you know what makes it harder to do that? The knowledge that anything I say or do could end up shared with thousands of people. The fact that if I fuck up the wording of this kid's junior ranger pledge, or I sneeze, or make some basic mistake, it's not just a funny or embarrassing moment for me and this one family. It could end up on tiktok.

And okay, those are the people intending to film their own kids and not thinking or caring about the collateral. What's worse is the people who film everything. A few times a week some guy walks into the visitor center, phone already horizontal in front of their face, narrating what they're doing and seeing. They come up to the desk and ask me questions, phone in my face. They take wide establishing shots of the visitor center and every visitor in it. None of us agreed to this! None of these people consented to be in your youtube video! We are not the fucking set dressing of whatever travel instagram story you're making!

I don't know where I'm going with this. This is really only the tip of the iceberg. Sometimes people ask us to repeat what we just did - swear in their kid, or explain a detail, or hand them a fucking map - so they can get a second take, and they're already filming so if we say no we look like the asshole. Sometimes we're asked innocuous things like to point out a landmark, and next week there's a photo of us in the 15,000 member Rangers Pointing at Things facebook group (yep, real thing). One time my entire 45 minute evening program was filmed without my permission and I was informed after the fact. This happens all the time, and I'm giving park ranger examples, but this happens to so many people in service work or public positions every single fucking day.

I guess just, next time you go to film in a public space, take a second. Think about who you're about to film, if they agreed to that, what might happen if a video of them went viral. there's a reason I'm not out as trans at work. And then, maybe. don't. or at least fucking ask.

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[ms-demeanor]

I don't know how to say it so that people will listen, but if you work at a business you should just accept that *unless your literal job is being the only one who handles wire transfers and you are professionally engaged ONLY in verifying that money is being transferred correctly* any request to wire someone money is a scam.

Our client is working with a company called (anonymized for internet example purposes) "Anaheim Sales" and have been communicating with them at their email, which is, deeply unfortunately, anaheimsales@aim.com

Client has been told by Anaheim Sales to send a check in the mail. They put the check in the mail, then get an email from anahiemsales@aol.com requesting a wire transfer instead. They cancel the check and they wire the money.

Now. A huge part of this is Anaheim Sales' fault. Buy a domain, dipshits. Your business email shouldn't be going to a gmail aim yahoo outlook whatever ass address, it should be going to YOURNAME@YOURDOMAIN.COM because it's a lot harder to scam your clients when you have to purchase YOURDOMIAN.COM than it is to scam them by setting up YOURNAAME@aol.com.

But also. They never should have wired the money. Even if it HAD been from bobsmith@anaheimsales.com, Bob's email could have been compromised. Even if it's in an industry where wiring money isn't something that happens only once in a blue moon.

If you are working at a business and you get a request for a wire transfer, you NEED to make sure that you speak to someone from the requesting business who you either know personally or who you reached by calling a known number for that business (KNOWN NUMBER from your vendor/client records; not from an email signature, and not from their website). If I were allowed to make all the rules, you wouldn't be allowed to make a wire transfer without a notarized request from the accounts payable department of the vendor.

This will slow down the transfer. It will make things take longer. But nobody doing legitimate business with you is going to be pissed if you take a couple extra hours to verify that they are actually making that request before you send them tens of thousands of dollars. If someone is yelling at you that you need to send the money NOW, that is actually when you need to stop and back away and escalate to your boss or get someone else from the requesting company on the phone.

"They said the contact I knew was out sick" cool don't send the money, if your known contact is not available you require a notarized request from one of the company's officers.

"They said they'd cancel the contract if we didn't get it out by this afternoon" then let them cancel you can re-sign a contract, even with a penalty, but you can't get that money back.

"They said that THEIR business was tied up and they couldn't do anything because they didn't have the payment and the check would take days to clear" sounds like a them problem; unless you get a signed, notarized request for a wire transfer you will not be sending a wire transfer.

And if you are a business owner you need to give your employees unlimited permission to say "yeah this sounds like bullshit I need to verify before I move forward" to anything that is even slightly suspicious. Your employees should NEVER be worried that they'll get fired if they say no to wiring money. You should give them a fucking bonus if they cause a delay in getting a *legitimate* wire payment transferred because they needed to get confirmation.

Wire transfers need to be a last resort, and you need to have policies in place that make them extremely cumbersome to use. The fact that wire transfers are immediate, efficient, convenient, and irreversible is WHY they're such a common way to scam people.

Also ffs please please please just set up a real website for your business there are cheap and easy ways to do it that will mean your clients are less easily targeted by scammers because they know that your email address isn't at *AOL INSTANT MESSENGER DOT COM*

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader (18+) summary it wasn’t uncommon for you to seek each other’s presence after the sun was tucked away—for company, for comfort. but there’s something more consuming about tonight [post-outbreak, fluff, soft smut, 3.3k] a/n they're in love.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

There always had been something about the night. Something singular about its ability to take the most tightly wound days and coax them undone. Like the silken ribbon of a worn bow that had grown weary of holding its shape.

For quite some time now, your nights have belonged to each other. After years of going to bed alone, even Joel realized how good it felt to end the day next to someone who reminded him just how sweet life could be. 

Everyone's deserving of good company—you’d spoken those words to him in the face of his independence. Thankfully, with time, they’d worked their way into his spirit. Like vines, like air itself. He no longer feels wrong for craving care as tender as yours, even though his hands have made ghosts out of many men. 

Earlier tonight, it was you who came to him. 

Three muffled knocks had roused him from the beginning of a light sleep. Given he didn’t have to entertain Ellie tonight, he figured he’d turn in a little earlier than usual. He’d answered the door with fluffy hair and squinted eyes. There was an undeniable softness about his rumpled pajamas and the sight of his bare feet against the hardwood. Few words were needed between you as he helped you out of your coat and led you upstairs to his bedroom. 

It’s quiet where you lay now, tucked beneath sheets that smell faintly of earthen pine. You’ve draped one arm over Joel’s waist while your nose remains tucked between his shoulder blades like it belongs there. 

During the day, while out in the commune, you remained cordial and unassuming around each other. You weren’t exactly hiding from the attention of others but were protecting the bond forming between you. 

In due time, you’d allow the familiarity and intimacy of the night to bleed over into the day, but for now, this nighttime ritual is sacred in its newness. It had been a couple of months since your patrol partner didn’t show, and Joel stepped up to take his place. 

As it turns out, spending six hours with the right person in the cold can change your life. 

Joel holds his breath on an inhale when he feels your fingers begin to toy with the hem of his shirt. They slip beneath it a moment later, almost shy as they trail along his waistline and brush through the thin hair beneath his navel. Joel’s hips tilt just so. 

He swallows around a low sound as your hand ventures up his chest with featherlight curiosity. Exploring, cataloging. Past his ribs and to his chest to graze the pads of your fingers over his nipples, making something stir low in his gut. 

Your hand then drifts back down to splay over the small pudge of his stomach as if to center him again. 

“You’re so warm,” you murmur. 

If he were braver, he’d say it was by virtue of your touch alone. Your hands had wandered over each other's bodies, but never quite like this. This time, your touch doesn’t seek to soothe or ground but to evoke. 

Joel rests his hand over yours with a hum. It covers yours whole. 

“Your hands are so big.” Your voice dips into a purr. “And strong. Capable.”

Joel chuckles a low, flustered sound. He’s not sure what to do with these compliments or if that’s what they’re meant to be. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you then say. “Fix my mailbox.”

Of everything you could’ve mentioned, he wasn’t expecting that. It was an easy task he’d knocked out earlier this afternoon. It took him no more than fifteen minutes. 

“Nothing to it,” he assures in a low drawl. 

Except, there was something to it. The fix meant Joel had been listening when you mentioned it broke. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something for you without asking for permission. Joel Miller is a man of action. If he sees a problem or a need, he doesn't hesitate. That strong sense of initiative had yet to steer him wrong. 

It’s lovely to be seen and heard by someone like him, especially in a commune where it wasn’t hard to slip through the cracks at times.  

A half-restrained shiver rolls down Joel’s spine when you press a kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair curled there tickles the tip of your nose. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Welcome—” His voice catches when you pepper more kisses to his nape. His hand stills yours when he feels your attempt to trail your touch downward from his stomach. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes, a little wary. 

“Yes?” you lilt. 

The sheets rustle as Joel turns over to face you. He can only make out a few of your features in the glow of the moonlight slipping into the room. The rest, his mind fills in. You cup his stubbled cheek with a gentle hand. 

“Makin’ me hot.” His voice is soft and honest, a little frayed around the edges. A pleasant buzz has settled beneath his skin. 

Maybe you wanted him to burn. 

You scoot that much closer to press your lips to his. When the initial surprise dissipates, they move, slow and easy, against your own. Almost tired if you didn’t know any better. But even in the shroud of the night, he’s wide awake. For this. For you. 

A low sound rises in his throat when you take his lower lip between your teeth and gently tug until you’ve fully pulled away. 

Joel hadn’t realized his hand had drifted to settle on your waist, but suddenly, it’s not enough. He needs to feel you entirely. A need rooted so deep he aches with it. There’s no more denying the swell in his pants, where the brunt of his desire has made itself known. 

Restraint looks good on Joel, but there always has been an air of allure around the notion of him surrendering. Of what it looked like for him to partake and be partaken of. It’d been some years since he’d allowed himself to open up in this way, and anyone he shared himself with in the past was long gone. You wanted to demystify it all and come to know that side of him for yourself. 

This time, when your hand begins to drift lower, he doesn’t stop you. Not when your fingers slip beneath both his waistbands. Or as you wrap them around the base of his warm, rigid length. A pleasured shudder courses through him as you pull upwards in a reverent tug. At the top, your thumb encircles the velveteen head to spread the small, wet bead of eagerness.  

Joel starts to move upright but trembles back into place when your loose grasp descends, mapping back down each snaking vein before gently massaging the rounded fullness that hangs beneath. 

“Love the feel of you already,” you murmur. Joel’s face warms as his arousal kicks up under your ministrations. 

In an unexpected display of agility, he repositions to hover above you, pushes down his pants and boxers, and braces himself as he kicks them away. His movements are so seamless that your touch isn’t disrupted for long. 

You spit into your hand as best you can and reach out for him in the dark, knowing exactly where to find him as he bobs towards his stomach. 

Joel’s more interested in gripping your pants, and you place your feet flat on the mattress to lift your hips for him to shuck them off. The cool air of the room registers against the slickness between your legs as you clench. Joel lowers a finger to trace along your entrance, spreading the moisture upwards as he circles your budded nerves. 

He continues paying careful attention to the spot, even as your hand distractedly falls from him to curl into the sheets. Your exhale is shaky when he stops. 

“Just a second,” Joel rasps. 

He braces himself further up your body, one large palm splayed near your head. As the mattress shifts, you realize he’s reaching toward the nightstand. You move your hand to play between your legs to ease the throbbing ache lazily. 

A faint click sounds, and a flame sparks to life, balanced on the crooked wick of a candle. The light casts a dim, golden radius in the room. 

“Can’t miss this,” he explains as he returns to his original position. 

“Need to see you.” In a testament to his words, his arousal kicks up on its own accord yet again. 

You selfishly take him in. His intense gaze. Broad shoulders. Thick thighs. The straining, desirous region of him that your hands had come to know before your eyes ever did. A thatch of unruly dark curls rests at the base of him. 

Joel pulls his shirt over his head to reveal his last covered portion. His arms are toned and firm. A thin dusting of hair spans over his impressive chest. New and old scars pepper the expanse of his torso. The faint indents of a v-line remain even with the pudge of his stomach from age and finally eating good meals again. 

Now it’s your turn. Joel helps you out of your shirt and tosses it aside with renewed urgency. As you finally lay bare, his dark eyes admire your chest as if this first chance is the last chance he’ll get. He extends a careful hand to cup one of your breasts, gaze flicking to your face to watch the way your brows furrow in approval. 

“Christ,” he grouses in an air of disbelief. 

You suck in a quick breath when he leans down to kiss along the side of your neck. Goosebumps arise in the wake of his lips as he continues downward like it’s a path he’s traveled before. Over your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, straying to gently peck a pebbled nipple before returning to the centerline of your torso. 

In the process, he shifts himself further down the mattress, your legs propped like two mountains along either side of him. 

His kisses turn into toothless nips when he reaches the lower portion of your stomach. That sensation, paired with the scratch of his beard, makes your abdomen twitch and flex. It isn’t until he makes it beneath your belly button and strays toward your hip bones that your chest finally shakes with a laugh as you squirm. 

Joel stills you with a steady hand and peeks up at you with a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. He’s cataloging every shift and sweet sound. 

As his shoulders force your thighs to splay a little wider, you bite your lip both out of anticipation and to keep your lingering smile at bay. In seconds, he’s made a live wire out of you. 

Every other breath you take catches. You find yourself swallowing more than you had all night. But suddenly, there’s no urgency about him at all. You’ve slipped into an unspoken purgatory where your release looms on hold. 

He’s drawing things out, taking his time, ignoring the throb of his own need as he tries to pick you apart. 

Joel bypasses where you’re spread open and pulsing and delivers a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mere inches from where you crave him. You shift, hoping he’ll reroute, but he pretends not to notice. 

You try again, attempting to twist and present your core as an alternative to the fluff of your thighs. 

An exasperated huff escapes you. “Just…”

You let your sentence trail off as you attempt to give him your best pleading look. It almost works. They’re the eyes he’d steal the moon for, but he wants to relish this moment a little longer. Wants to hold out on you while you’re both safe to be these needy versions of yourselves. 

“Just what, sweetheart?” he coaxes. 

Your mouth opens a couple of times. “Do something. Touch me,” you murmur, cheeks warm. 

“I am touchin’ you.” He smooths a calloused palm along your leg to prove it. 

“Like you were before,” you specify, voice smaller now. 

Your stomach flips when he starts to move back towards your hips, and flustered, premature giggles bubble up your throat because he’s got you so on edge, and you just know he’s about to do those maddening little kisses again. 

“Not that,” you whine. “C’mon Joel, I need you.” The earnestness of those words sends a jolt toward the apex of his thighs. 

You’ve got him now, so you press further. “Please? Wanna feel you.” You make your voice softer. “Been wanting to feel you all night.”

Joel caves and runs a heavy finger through your folds, then gently spreads you open to press a kiss to that small, swollen part of you. His lips are so delicate you’d think he was kissing a rose bud. A helpless mewl escapes as he replaces his lips with the firm press of his middle finger and begins drawing tight circles. 

The touch stirs faint, premature flutters that make you tilt your hips into his hand. “I gotcha,” he assures. 

He did have you, not just in this way, but in every sense of the word. He’d proven that from the day he met you, ready to be the supply to your demand when it came to all manners of your needs. Even the ones you didn’t realize you had. The thought alone makes pleasure knot in your stomach all the more. You clench around nothing but the idea of taking him. 

“Joel,” you breathe. 

His eyes lift from your core to your gaze. Your eyes sparkle with candlelit desperation. Still taking his time, he runs his finger back down and just barely breaches your entrance with a curious probe. He’s wet with your slick and knows he’d slip right in. 

“Need you,” you murmur again. It’s different this time. 

Joel withdraws his touch and crawls back up your body, muscles shadowing as they shift. You open your legs wider so he can slot himself between you, bracing a forearm near your head. He’s close enough that your chests brush. That your breaths mingle.  

He takes himself in his hand and guides the tip to the warmth of your center. The gentle touch soon turns into a glide that bumps your clit with every upward pass. You place your hands on his shoulders because your fingers are shaking, and you don’t know what else to do. 

Like a locksmith with a key, he notches at your entrance with delicate intentionality. Both of you shudder, and he briefly touches his forehead to yours. The world stills as he slowly begins to push inside of you. You welcome each new inch with the same steady, heated snugness. Not once does your body flinch or hesitate. You welcome him in even through the dullest ache until he’s burrowed.   

Your joint groans just barely register on the outskirts of your consciousness as the blinding haze of pleasure becomes one with reality. 

Joel grants you a quiet moment of acclimation before he pulls out a little and eases himself back in. A hum vibrates through your chest. This time, he pulls back a little further, then finds his way back inside the encompassing warmth of you. 

“You’re the warm one,” he counters your earlier statement. “Taking me so well,” he praises. 

He withdraws a little more each time until his thrusts become fuller, and he finds an easy rhythm. You encourage his movements with the dig of your heels at the back of his thighs. 

He tucks his head down to place open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and graze down his back. 

“You feel so good,” you admit in a frantic sigh. “So so good.” 

Joel nearly comes from hearing that alone. 

There is no reprieve from the pleasure, no moment that allows you two to fully gather your bearings or muster up a semblance of composure. Every sound that slips past your lips is helpless, a little gone. They join the tiny squeaks of the mattress and the sticky, rhythmic contact of skin meeting dewy skin. 

“Faster,” you breathe. Joel listens in a heartbeat, continuing to meet that dense, tender place within you that has your toes curling. “Oh god—” you choke out, a mix between a moan and a whimper. 

Before you can find your breath again, Joel cups your breasts, switching from one to the other and running his thumb along your nipples. The sound that escapes you almost sounds pained, but your face scrunches in the prettiest, rawest way. Joel’s hips drive forward in an involuntary thrust of force.

One of his hands slips between your bodies to rub over that still-pulsing part of you. A dreamy sound falls past your lips as you writhe and arch. The tightness builds. The sea swells. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to keep it all at bay and prolong the moment. 

“Open your eyes, angel,” Joel encourages in a rasp. 

You don’t listen and silently pray that he gives up. 

“Lemme see those pretty eyes,” he tries again. 

You whimper as his finger rubs faster circles, his thrusts remaining intense. 

Joel’s voice takes on a waver, cracking around the edges with something fragile and desperate. “C’mon, baby, please?” 

You realize then that he needs it. 

When your eyes flutter open, a few rogue tears run down the apples of your cheeks towards your ears. Joel catches them. It’s too much. The newness of it all, the warm weight of his body moving above yours, making you his. There’s a glisten on his forehead, in the divot of his sternum. The way his muscles flex with his thrusts is living art. You’ve never met a more gorgeous man or had the pleasure of knowing and becoming one with someone who made you feel this whole.

“There she is,” Joel hums. 

In an instant, your body jolts against the mattress as you come undone beneath his frame. Your walls flutter around him in strong pulses of pleasure that radiate outward and leave you floating. If it were light instead, you’d be a shining star illuminating the room. 

Joel’s seen fewer sights that have struck him at his core. 

It takes every ounce of decency and strength within him to override the recklessness of pleasure, and pull out of you in a swift drag. Away from your swollen, pulsing warmth. Away from one of the few places he could confidently say he belonged in this fallen world.  

Through dazed eyes, you watch as Joel wraps a hand around himself and begins stroking. He’s slick with you, and the veins in his forearms pop. 

He spills onto your stomach in seconds with an earnest, shuddered groan. Each pulse of his release grows duller, resulting in shorter spurts until there’s nothing more than a pearly dribble running down the sides of him. 

You reach out with a weak hand to take over and coax him through the last few waves. Joel twitches in your grasp but lets you continue. Another shudder courses through him as he grows sensitive and begins to soften. 

“That’s all of me, baby,” he says, voice low and soft just for you.

You hum in a daze as you withdraw your touch. The last thing you remember is the kiss Joel presses to your forehead, the dip of the mattress as he gets out of bed, the gentleness of his hands, and the warm towel as he cleanses you.

There’s something special about the following morning. Something soft, aglow, and singular as pale sun rays slip into Joel’s room. They coat the cozy space like a seal. It’s as if the events of last night had carried over and been made manifest into something warm, and lovely, and beautiful. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[lay-z]

Simon Riley appreciates a healthy routine.

Neither Gaz nor Soap can quite tell what is stranger their Lieutenant declining to go for a pint after touching ground back on base or the sight of him furiously typing away on the cracked screen of his phone since they got some proper cell service.

They keep sitting in their respective seats on the plane, quietly observing Ghost and Captain Price for the past hours like they're some nearly extinct animals they shouldn't dare to startle; trying to gauge the latter's reaction, though that hint of a knowing smile barely hidden behind a coarse beard is only confusing them more.

It's as if Price has found the answer to a riddle that his Sergeants aren't even fully aware of.

Almost immediately, they lose sight of the sneaky Lieutenant as soon as the plane lands on the tarmac and once the tired soldiers receive permission to sign out for a long weekend after spending the last eight weeks deployed, travelling places no one else wants to go.

And of course, the lads think that Ghost has simply had enough of their bullshite, that the naturally aloof man is feeling too agitated and overwhelmed to linger, even though the mission was finished successfully. Perhaps he made arrangements with some working lady to get it out of his system (Soap's words, "Who else would the bloody geezer be textin' to, eh?"), or perhaps he's already being called in for a single op by Laswell.

They don't see the signs their Captain has picked up on a while ago when it comes to the closed-off Lieutenant.

The hushed phone conversations behind a closed office door, the more frequent rummaging for a phone that he usually didn't spare a glance at for hours on end, a spring in his step after suddenly spending more weekends off base, eating homemade biscuits from a Tupperware box that surely isn't his while doing his paperwork, pushing himself harder at the gym with a kind of natural energy that comes with higher testosterone levels, humming on his way back from a terrible training session with a squadron of rookies.

Yes, the signs are all quite obvious to a happily married man like John Price, because he remembers the honeymoon phase with his wife in the beginning of their relationship all too well.

Meanwhile, Simon manages the one hour long drive from base to your flat downtown in 37 minutes, and he takes the fact that he got caught speeding in stride. And what if he loses his driver's license? He's broken much worse laws in his lifetime than driving without legal documents.

The spare key to your home that you've gifted him with, feels heavier than all his tac gear combined as it rests in his jeans pocket heavy with meaning and responsibility, a reminder that he's found a new purpose in his life.

He sheds and leaves his gear and dirty fatigues in his truck, and he takes three steps at once as he rushes upstairs to your flat with single-minded focus, excitement and adrenaline equally coursing through his veins as if he's about to seize a hostile target by himself.

The familiar front door closes behind him with a soft click, and then he's greeted by peace and quiet.

Instead of finding fear or annoyance, Simon is met by raw happiness and adoration as he watches your eyes light up once you notice his presence all curled up and cozy on your couch.

"Hi!"

His socked feet make no noise as he approaches you over the carpeted floor.

"I didn't expect you for another hour," you tell him, even though he very well remembers what time he'd told you he'd arrive, though he had added two hours to that time frame just so he wouldn't disappoint you if he didn't make it.

"Your dinner is ah!"

Simon picks you up with practiced ease, and your little shriek of surprise dissolves in a fit of melodic giggles. Bulky arms wrap around your body and cradle you to his chest bridal style as he carries you towards the bedroom with simmering urgency.

The words he mumbles as explanation come out gruff and harsh, oafish even, but you can't help and feel utterly smitten by them: "Bed. Now."

You're dropped onto the mattress without warning, and the way you laugh again makes Simon's chest hurt with how hard his bloody heart flutters.

And then you're already reaching out for him right when he joins you, mattress dipping beneath his added weight as he drapes himself over the full length of your body; slotting his meaty thigh between your legs until he can lay down more comfortably on top of you like a weighted blanket.

"Can you rub my shoulders? Please?"

His voice is muffled as he nuzzles his flushed face in the crook of your neck. Sometimes, it still feels forbidden to ask for something so mundane from the person he would die for.

"Yeah, sure. Can I take off your mask?"

You can carve out his heart with a butter knife if you'd like, but he chooses to keep that to himself for now while the fact that you're asking for his consent again makes his head feel fuzzy and his arms tighten around your warm, welcoming frame reflexively.

Simon nods. "Aye, take it off f'me."

The cloth is gently removed when he manages to lift his head up before letting it drop back into the crook of your neck, and then your fingers card through his short, disheveled strands of dirty blonde hair; blunt nails scratching lightly at his skull until a full-body shudder runs along his spine.

It's heavenly.

It's more than he ever wanted and everything he never even dared to wish for.

It's a routine he's managed to build up with you from scratch.

Strangers to lovers, and he will never let you go now that he's sunken his sharpened claws into your willing flesh.

Yet he is but a tamed kitten in your tender embrace. Just a man enjoying and craving the simplest and purest form of affection right in this moment, stripped bare from his demons as you keep them off his back with your sheer, golden presence.

"You're safe now, Si. I missed you so much, baby," you coo into his ear, and his brain fills with cotton while he noses along your pulse point, breathing in your calming scent.

Then he feels the gentle press of your lips against his temple while your warm palms stroke and rub along his back, and he melts into a vulnerable puddle, exhausted eyes finally fluttering shut.

"Missed ya, too, pet," he murmurs gruffly, chapped lips brushing over your sensitive skin. "M'not gonna move f'a while, yeah?"

And Simon barely registers your answer when he's already drifting off into a dreamless slumber, allowing himself to cling to your body like a needy child while soaking up the warmth and comfort you're giving him oh so willingly.

He's home.

[harbours-lighthouse]

here's pt. ii !

Jason caught it in the corner of his eye. Sitting in the parking lot beneath your apartment, was a gleaming Yamaha MT motorcycle. Spotless. Clean.

It's a naked model, he thinks, as he can see the engine clearly. It's black, with accented colours streaked along the sides.

Jason glances around the parking lot, eyes sweeping along the shadows and cement pillars. No one else is here. It's only him.

With muted curiosity, he ambles towards the bike with his hands shoved in his pockets. He knows you won't fuss too much if he's a minute behind his schedule (which was simply messaging you about three minutes ago, saying he's arrived at the complex).

Circling the bike, he takes it in. It's a nice model. Sleek. Expensive. He wonders who owns it, because it isn't the smartest idea to keep such a bike out in the open.

Especially in Gotham.

But as he looks down at the tires—that look brand new—he notices three locks wrapped around one of the suspensions. Huffing in amusement, he sees they're connected to the metal guard rail behind him that's been pushed up against the wall.

"Not bad," he mumbles beneath his breath. Steam puffs into the air.

It's cold, and the numbness of his nose makes it to the forefront of his mind again.

Sparing the bike one last lingering, appreciative glance, he crosses the parking lot with long strides, and slips into the elevator when the doors slide open.

When they open again, he's greeted with a long, carpeted hallway. The lights are dim. They flicker. He searches for the woodgrain door with the number 208 painted on the front.

Finding it and feeling his heart flutter in his chest at the thought of you, he knocks on the door. He waits, leaning on his left leg.

There's a muffled commotion inside, a faint 'ow' that makes him frown.

Then your voice calls out, "One sec, I'm coming—damn it!"

Jason's head dips with a hidden smile; he imagines you struggling with something. Maybe the cat got underneath your feet again. Or maybe you were hurrying to put something on, and couldn't get your head through the t-shirt—

The door swings open, and you stand inside the frame with an almost frazzled look about you.

Jason perks a brow. "Hi."

"Hey," you say breathlessly, smiling.

"You, uh...you okay?"

"....I got tangled in my blanket and tripped."

Well, at least you're honest. Jason shakes his head with a soft grin. He steps into your apartment and curls his arm around your shoulders, guiding you with him.

"How you’re not dead with the things you manage to do is beyond me," he murmurs close to your ear.

You groan quietly, "I'm not that bad."

"Babe—"

"I've seen how Tim is. Now he's the definition of clumsy."

"Fair point."

You slip out of Jason's hold, not without kissing his cheek, and move to the kitchen.

Jason, feeling at ease, drops himself on the couch. The TV is still on, frozen on a scene in a movie. It's your favourite movie. Or 'comfort movie', as you've said before.

He hears the clink of glasses in the kitchen. The shuffle of your footsteps.

"How was patrol last night by the way?" you call out to him. "I know you weren't able to drop by 'cause you had to go back to the Manor this time."

Jason runs a rough hand down his face. "Yeah, it was fine. Tiresome, but fine."

He doesn't want to really talk about it. Not here in your warm apartment. Not with you and the normality you give him.

Outside, the traffic hums. He hears the roar of an engine—he remembers the bike.

"Hey, babe?"

"Hm?"

"Who owns that Yamaha bike in the parking lot?"

You come around the corner, holding two mugs of steaming coffee. Your eyes lock with his.

"Oh. It's mine."

"What?"

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[piistolstar]

LIKE A GODDESS

⧼ warnings :: smut, hair pulling, service top!james, cunnilingus, whipped!james

pairing :: james potter x fem!reader

exams. so many exams, you were slaving over and studying for weeks. all day every day, it’s all your poor boyfriend saw you do. it nearly stressed him out as much as it did you, not knowing how to help and make it easier. despite the times you reassured him that him being there helped.

but finally, it’s all done. and tonight you can finally rest peacefully, laying in james’ bed, spooning him without a worry in the world. james shifts, turning his body around to look at you. "are you okay?" you bite your lip in thought, letting your hand go to his hair.

"i’m better," you sigh, twirling his hair between your fingers. "but i still feel a little on edge'." james huffs out a breath, not knowing what else to say. you hear him hum when you tug his hair slightly, causing a smirk to rise on your lips. you tug a little harsher and you feel his hand come up to yours.

"stop that," he whines into your neck, attempting to pull your hand away.

"that's not how you repay me." you joke back, recalling the reward he had promised you after all of your hard work. you kissed his cheek before letting go of his hair and there's a bit of silence before he's shuffling off the bed. you hear him maneuver himself to your side before turning the lamp on.

you gape at the sight before you, your pretty boyfriend on his knees. looking up at you, hands inching towards you. "is this better?" you shift so your lower half is off the bed and your right above him. his hands find purchase on your thighs and he looks up at you hesitantly.

"you know..." his hands travel further until they're at your waist. "i really should reward you." he shrugs and one hand goes to tug at the waistband of your pajama pants. "you did so well on your exams."

you just watch as he marvels over you, taking in every bit of you like it's the first time he's seen you. "you’re so beautiful." with your permission he tugs your pants off, “like a goddess.” he kisses up and down your legs before finding his way to your stomach. “i want to worship you.”

he nudges you so your back hits the mattress, slow, messy kisses trailing up your abdomen. "let me make you feel better?” you let out a breath and nod your head, his gaze focused on you before he presses his lips against yours, a kiss that's both gentle and passionate at the same time. he brings one hand to your chin, and another to your cheek to caress the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. you can feel how nervous he was, making all the decisions.

he lets out a soft groan, as an arm slips around your waist and pulls you closer, moaning against your lips. he presses his thigh between your legs, satisfied at the noises of pleasure you let out. james smiles into the kiss and pushes his body further into you. his hands run along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body, appreciating every part of you.

he slowly tilts your head to the side and his lips begin to trail kisses down to your neck, leaving nips and bites along your collarbone. his hands slide down to the sides of your thighs and he grips them. his lips keep their focus on leaving marks all over your neck, his hips grinding down on your leg.

"what if someone sees those?" you tauntingly ask him. he pulls away from your skin with red cheeks. he hesitates, letting his hands go up and down your body slowly.

"let them," he shrugs nervously. "i don't care, i want to worship you. i'll be happy if they know." you stare at him for a moment before threading your fingers through his hair. you dip your head down to his neck, littering butterfly kisses on his skin.

a soft groan slips from his lips but it's quickly covered up with a breathless laugh. the feeling of your soft lips against his skin is just so good. he closes his eyes and hums, leaning back to brush his nose gently against yours. his thumbs rub your hips, as he looks at you intently, his gaze taking in everything about you.

he's so infatuated with you, completely at your mercy. his hands slide underneath your top, caressing your skin. he pushes the fabric up a little higher as he presses a heated kiss to your lips. his hands travel higher and higher until his breath catches in his throat.

his face flushes again when he realizes where he's touching you, his thumb gently stroking over your chest in slow, teasing circles. his eye is locked on you as he does so. he feels you tug at his hair, making his body shiver slightly. soft sighs and gasps escape him and he lets out soft moans from time to time. the feeling of being so close and touching you with the soft caresses of his hands has him reeling.

he bites his lip nervously, "can you take it off?" his pretty, glazed over eyes are now avoiding yours. his shyness gives away what he wants and you reach back to unclasp your bra. he doesn't waste any time sliding your bra off to leave your entire upper body exposed to him. he can't help but stare for a moment, as he always does. taking in your body and appreciating the sight in front of him.

"you're so pretty, angel." he murmurs, still a little breathless. you let out a small laugh before sliding your hand up his shirt, leaving ghost touches along his abdomen. he lets out a groan at your touch, his body twitching in excitement. a shiver of pleasure ripples through his body when your lips nip at a sensitive part of his skin.

with a whine he pushes your body back down, "this is about you, not me." he places his lips on your skin again, inching lower and lower with every one he places. they trail from your collarbone, to your chest, down your torso, and landing right above the waistband of your pants.

he looks up at you as if awaiting your commands, causing you to giggle. "thought you were gonna worship me? you get to decide what to do then." he stutters before shutting his mouth and nodding, hands shakily sliding your pants down your legs.

he kisses along your thighs, breathing heavily at the sight before him. you're clad in just your underwear, you're piercing eyes trained on him while you wait for his next move. his kisses come back up until his breath is making contact with the fabric of your panties.

he presses a small kiss to your clit thought your underwear, unable to bite bad a prideful smile when you hum out of pleasure. he pushes your underwear to the side and he slides his tongue through your folds.

he moans when your hand tugs at his hair again, harsher this time. he judges his nose against your clit. he can't get enough of your taste, hands snaking around your thighs to hold them in place around his head.

he feels your hand push down, attempting to control his head. with a soft groan he lets you use his face to get off. the vibrations his noises make has you squirming, your own moans getting louder and louder when a finger slips into you.

your noises turn into tired pants and your hand falls to your side. you lazily grind against his face and he holds your thighs down. you feel yourself getting close and you let out a sigh before tugging his head up by his hair.

he looks dazed and his fingers continue to work inside you, "i'm close, you're doing so good." the praise has his head spinning and his movements quickening. he leans up to capture your lips in a kiss, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you.

he pants into the kiss, his desperate hips grinding into the mattress. he feels your body spasm before you're cumming around his fingers, biting down on his lip and leaving him whimpering.

he stops and lets you catch your breath, face inches from yours. you go to praise him some more when your eyes catch on the wet spot on his pants. "did you really..." he whines before you could finish your sentence, burying his head in your neck.

"don't say anything, please."

[riki-dazed]

Making out with Nishimura Riki 🍒

suggestive · wc: 371 · Requested

Riki would be so touchy, even during the softest of makeout sessions.. He'd need to have his hands on you at all times. Whether that'd be in the form of smoothing them over the small of your back, having his fingers dig into your hips... He just needs to be touching his baby.

Playful make-out sessions with bf!riki.. Both of you giggling between kisses, him showering your face with soft pecks, him just being so smitten over you, and vice versa.

He'd love making out with you during cuddle sessions..

Imagine making out with him as Every Kind Of Way plays in the background.. He'd be so perfect. It'd be so sensual, yet so soft with how loving he is.

I can see him being such a messy kisser.. If he's not leaving a quick peck against your lips, he's devouring them with his own. His kisses would be so wet, dripping with desperation and need..

We all know how pretty his lips are.. God, they'd feel so soft against yours. They're just so perfectly plump, the perfect size, just perfect. He'd love it if you were to take his bottom lip between your teeth, it'd leave him a whiny little mess for you.

Having you in his lap would be one of his favourite positions to make-out with you in. His hands kneading at your ass, your chest pushed up against his, he'd be in heaven.

Body worshipper subby riki... Like that's your babyboy. Your needy, passionate, overly-hungry-for-your-lips babyboy.

The most delicious sounds would fall out of his mouth mid make-out session. Breathy moans against your lips, his quiet whines mixed in with the sounds of the wet kisses you'd share..

Another position I can see him enjoying kissing you in would be where your back is pressed up against his torso, preferrebly whilst he's sat with his back against the headboard of a bed or something. Your head would be turned to the side, him kissing you over your shoulder.. You being in-between his legs like that would allow his hands to further roam your body. He's just so big, he'd have easy access to everywhere.

He would never be able to get enough of you and your lips.

...

Copyright © 2024 riki-dazed. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED | Do NOT edit, copy, translate or repost any of my work without permission.

[hrrtshape]

why do people who don't believe in shifting or don't know about shifting still shift — how can i be one of them?

because belief is not the cause. awareness is not the cause. effort is not the cause.

conscious attention has never been the mechanism.

you shifting has nothing to do with what your conscious mind is doing. shifting is a default function of consciousness itself. it's like blinking. or breathing. or rerouting a dream. people who don't ‘believe’ in it or don't ‘know’ about it shift anyway because it has nothing to do with having the language or the framework. the human mind is always selecting realities. 99% of the time it just does it passively, via emotional assumption or unconscious focus.

those people shifted because their state of consciousness naturally entered a dominant assumption or immersive focus. no method, no faith, no affirmations. they just slipped, like how you can lucid dream without trying to. or how a child can dissociate so completely they form entire inner worlds with continuity. this is not evidence against shifting, it proves that it's innate. you do not need to know about shifting to do it. you just need to exit the state of monitoring it.

so. the reason so many people don't shift after learning about it is because now they're trying. now they're watching themselves. now they're adding thirty-step techniques and waiting to feel something specific. they've left the natural, permissive flow-state and replaced it with a checklist.

they've moved from consciousness to supervision.

and that's the disconnect.

people who shift accidentally aren't better or more special. they're just unbothered. they're not in the loop of: is it working? what does this mean? am i good enough yet? they don't audit every state like it's under border patrol review. they drift. they imagine. they believe something lightly or not at all, and it stabilises anyway, because consciousness doesn't gatekeep itself.

the more you analyse the process, the less you're inside it.

and it IS annoying. you already do shift. all the time. but you don't count it, because it doesn't match the scenario you planned. so you say: “i'm stuck.” when really, you're shifting to a version of you who believes they're stuck.

so what do you do now?

you stop tracking your stats like this is a loyalty card. you stop waiting for proof. you stop narrating “trying” like it's a process that builds up credit. shifting is not a job you get promoted at. it's a door you decide is already open.

here's what works:

law of assumption. or at least it worked for me, and i’ve shifted, so idk take this however you want.

not because it's cute or because it's easy. but because it's the only thing that matches the structure of reality as self-reflecting consciousness.

law of assumption = you experience what you assume is true.

it's not positive thinking. it's not wishful delusion. it's literally how reality renders, based on your internal state being mirrored outward.

your reality does not respond to your effort. it responds to your baseline conviction. not what you want to be true. not what you hope to manifest. what you accept as the structure of your life, your identity, your world.

when you say “i am in my dr,” and then wait to feel something, that's not law of assumption, that's law of evaluation.

when you say “i'm going to shift soon,” and then search for signs, that's not law of assumption. that's law of limbo.

when you say “i hope this method works,” and treat it like a pass/fail exam, you're not assuming, you're surveilling, and worst of all, not understanding your full potential.

assumption is full saturation. it's not hopeful. it's done.

you shift when you decide that you already did. not when you “feel like it.” not when your body tingles. not when the method checks out.

you shift when the state becomes final.

you shift when the inner narration stops waiting for outer evidence.

you shift when the thought becomes law.

so here's how to shift:

declare it as done, not affirm like a question, affirm like a fact. “i'm in my dr. this is done.” no waiting. no checking. no conditions.

no “if this works,” “once i shift,” “after i shift,” “when it feels real.” drop the qualifiers. stop building futures that assume the present isn't it, you're either in or you're not.

sustain the state - not with force, but with the refusal to contradict it. if the thought “what if it's not working” shows up, ignore it. if you feel normal, say “ok, i feel normal in my dr.” stop letting your interpretations collapse your decision.

if you want to know how to set an assumption and make it come true, read here.

belief is acceptance. just let the truth sit. don't poke it. don't prove it. don't fix it.

law of assumption or shifting isn't a religion. it's not something to “have faith in.”

it's how consciousness works. it's not asking you to be worthy. it's not asking you to trust it. it's just asking you to pick something, and stay picked.