#65 years ago

[jillyb2004]

Happy (Late) 65th Anniversary to Sleeping Beauty!

Based on these images

[approximateknowledge]

once you learn enough about evolutionary biology you start seeing ghosts everywhere

[bigrobotbee]

How to see dinosaurs:

1.) Travel 66 million light years away from Earth.

2.) Look at Earth through a telescope.

3.) Dinosaurs.

[curlytheintrovert]

GUYYYS. I just watched 65…oof. Where are my Ben Solo fans at?! Mills will somehow heal a tiny bit of your heart, I promise.

Just watch it—you’ll thank me later!

He has a hard time expressing emotions, has a dead pan sense humor, is secretly kind and has a dash of ptsd. It really isn’t a stretch to say Mills is just Ben if he had survived TROS. The movie is straight forward and predictable but I really enjoyed it because of Adam’s performance. He’s such a cutie, and I really wish his potential as this character could have been realized in SW. This movie proves it. 💙

[bits-and-babs]

Would you possibly consider doing a sex pollen fic with Commander Mills and the ☁️ prompt 6? 💛💛💛 thank you

“𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭…”

pairing: Commander Mills x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+. Sex-Pollen, so Dub-Con by default. Oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, cumming in pants, lalala Jasmine’s a slutttt

mills masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist

Dread drips from your pores, manifesting in sweat. It should have been obvious not to touch the bright red petals of the flowers blooming from the bush in the forest. Red equals danger, after all- but it had been so pretty. 

Being childish, trying to bring a smile to Mills’ stern face, you’d pushed the flower into his ebony hair. He’d scowled at first, but kept it tucked behind his ear. 

The sweats had started not long after, heat blooming through your body and roasting you from the inside. Then the arousal. It crawled across your body, ripping you up internally. Fuck, you’d never been so horny, and Mills looked so fucking good— the perspiration settled in his clavicle called to you, tongue desperate for a taste. 

The aloof personality of the Commander had dropped away almost instantly, pushing you into the forest grass and undressing you with an animalistic force, seams of your cargo pants tearing. 

Tongue buried in your dripping cunt, Mills groaned loudly as he pushed his erection into the forest floor, grinding his hips for purchase. Each delighted hum from his chest vibrated against your cunt, and you came with a shriek of his name. Again. 

“Oh my god- ohmygodohmyghohhhhh-“ you ramble, falling into a pathetic wail of bliss as you push your hips up into his face, clit bumping his nose. He plunges his fingers deeper inside of you, tracing your g-spot with deft fingers. 

“Fuck,” he pants heavily, looking up at you through his lashes with those eyes, dripping like honey. His mouth is soaked, glistening in the sunshine. “Your pussy tastes so sweet…”

“Ugh-Hah-Hah- Oh fuck,” you squeal, feeling everything pull up tight. “I’m gunna fucking cum again, oh my god, ImgonnafuckingcumaGAIN-“

“C’mo-“ He cuts himself off, wrapping his lips around your cunt and swallowing you down, flicking his tongue over your clit viciously. When you cum, it rattles your bones. Rips through you like liquid heat that makes you sob loudly, body trembling with the force of your tears. 

“Hah- Oh shit-“ Mills’ shoulders stiffen beneath your palms, his hips rutting into the soil beneath him. He’s panting heavily, letting out pained groans and rambling to himself. 

“Fuck, Baby’s pussy is so wet, isn’t it? So fucking sweet and tasty. Could fucking drown in it- ohfuck,” he spit out, his hand splayed over your abdomen. “Just another taste. Just one more tas-“

You try to escape it, pulling your hips away from the overstimulation, but Mills swipes his tongue through your folds once more, body seizing up as he cums with a devastated groan, his nails digging into the flesh of your stomach. 

“Oh- Mills-“ you sob out, eyes rolling back into your skull as an orgasm rocks you again.

[sisterdivinium]

Now is the time to place your bets on whether or not this hyper self-indulgent doctor superion Vampire the Masquerade AU fic will or won't get to 100 handwritten pages...

[piglii]

Thinking about the time I was playing Runescape as a literal 9 year old and happened to meet a more experienced player in all black armor and a red cape who showed me good spots to mine and gave me a couple of good items for a new player. I remember we hung out and talked for a good long bit while they gave me some good pointers about the game. There's something that really touches me about people in multiplayer gaming spaces choosing to be nice to strangers for no other reason than to be kind. There are cathedrals everywhere for those with eyes to see

[fotos-art]

Double Arch seen through Cove Arch, Arches National Park, Utah, USA

© Jeff Foott

Minden Pictures

Picture a red horizon and bright blue skies. That’s how you’re greeted by Arches National Park in Utah! This unique landscape began forming 65 million years ago, when an ancient dry seabed occupied the spot where these incredible arches now stand. Over time, the forces of nature shaped the sandstone, forming mind-blowing structures. And there are quite a few! There are more than 2,000 natural stone arches, the largest concentration in the world. In today’s image, we can see two of them: Double Arch, framed by Cove Arch. The largest arch in Double Arch spans an impressive 43.9 metres and soars 34.1 metres into the air. In 1929, this natural treasure was protected as a national monument, and on this day in 1971 it officially became a national park.

[timothylawrence]

here i freaking go btw

[elitehoe]

No fucking way they have six summer shows booked in Dallas. Tony Khan I'm plotting your downfall as I fucking speak brother.

[plumdale]

I’ve been rewatching lifesimmer’s sims 3 generations lp and 😭😭😭 the nostalgia I get is indescribable. my childhood.. how I miss her </3

[fagdykebassboy]

most cis guy thing about me is how much i love fishing like ive been thinking about it for the last 30 minutes like half of my feed is just fishing content

[hide-your-bugs-away]

Where did you watch Don't Look Back (1964)? I've been wanting to watch it for a while now because I'm always itching for literally ANY Alan Price content but I don't know where to find it to watch it. I was wondering if you knew?

HELLO AAAAA THANK YOU FOR REACHING OUT TO ASK!! Dont Look Back is constantly playing on loop in my brain... my favorite movie of all time, no contest, and not just because the fruity and moody piano man who changed my life plays the comic relief and emotional linchpin (though, I could honestly write a huge analysis on the significance of his role in the film as a whole)... it's such a great time that perfectly encapsulates why I love that era of music so much - especially that snapshot-existence of early-'65. 🥹

(More under the cut because Connie starts rambling...)

Anyway, the place I originally watched the film was on YouTube (back in 2020!) A full, high-quality upload of the movie was on the platform (miraculously never taken down for copyright) for years... up until that stupid SESAC situation happened on YouTube a couple of months back. A lot of Bob's content was caught in the crossfire, and while most of the music and videos came back, those full uploads of Dont Look Back are all gone now for some reason. There is still one single upload of the movie on YouTube, however, it's AI-colorized and upscaled to... mixed results 😬 Putting aside my own feelings and negative bias towards AI tools being used in that way (especially because the colorization of films can be an expression of art in itself), it just doesn't look super good?? In my opinion?? It just superimposes a lot of oranges and browns to everyone's skin and hair and that's it,, not a lot of those truly striking colors that 60s London was known for, especially in the mod/beat scenes. Not to mention, like a lot of black and white movies from that time period, it honestly feels *best* to experience it the way that people 60 years ago saw it, because the choice to make it black and white in the first place was an artistic decision, in a lot of ways (along with being a practical choice on Pennebaker's part, no doubt).

All of that to say... I have both Dont Look Back and 65 Revisited saved to my Google Drive and I'd be happy to share it with you 👀 Alan's in only a bit of 65 Revisited, but it's the part in the Newcastle tie shop which is 10/10. I also have Snapshots from the Tour saved on my computer - it isn't saved on my Google Drive yet, but I can send it your way as well if you'd like 🙏 There's a great scene in that one where Alan's talking about blues music with Albert Grossman (Bob's manager) and Tom Wilson (Bob's record producer, later for the Animals as well after they ditched Mickie Most) and agghhhgGggh IT'S SO FASCINATING TO WATCH. ALSO. ALAN PRICE CIRCA 1965. AAAAAA. Freshly seperated from the band (and the Eric) who introduced him to that music in the first place... CRIES SO LOUDLY.

SO.... yes!!! Feel free to message me and I'll share that link with you!! 🥹 IT'S SUCH A GREAT AND FUNNY AND INTRIGUING MOVIE whether you're a Bob Dylan fan or Donovan fan or Alan Price fan or just a fan of that era of music in general AAAAA as I said before... IT CHANGED MY LIFE. ALAN PRICE HAS A MENTAL BREAKDOWN AND I HAVE NEVER BEEN THE SAME. /pos

[bits-and-babs]

🗝️ Some kind of a guide seems fitting for him and because it’s me, I always think he’s out guiding a team or just you and all hell breaks loose!

Trekking through the Sahara or the Amazon or the Himalayas. Summoning Everest or just going on a fun outing for a weekend camping. It all seems like such a good fit for a Mills AU because he’s so rugged! Anything you like would be amazing!

Thank you for sharing your talent! 💗

⋆𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

pairing: TourGuide!Mills x f!Reader

word count: 2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, references to slow-ish burn, yearning, 69ing, spanking, dirty talk (he talks you through it 😩)

summary: Heartbreak takes you on a tour of the Zambian safari plains, where you trip into a vacation romance- literally.

mills masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist

Waxing and poetic reviews of the ‘life changing’ tour of Zambia’s safaris had led you to book a flight at four in the morning while three glasses of wine into your ridiculous display of moping heartbreak following another failed tinder romance. Yes, the giraffes interested you, but you’d be lying if the reviews detailing how sexy the tour guide was didn’t sway your decision.

When Mills introduced himself to the group, you swore your jaw nearly hit the grasslands in shock. He was gorgeous, the golden sunshine melting his gilded irises and warming his face. You had mentally scolded yourself on the first day, because you swore you spent more time ogling his, frankly ridiculous, body than observing the herds of zebras that plodded along the dusty tracks.

Delusions set in by day three. Eating the fruits that were provided at the safari lodge, you were convinced he would glance up at you from his cereal, his eyes flicking back down to the bowl that his hands engulfed. Talking yourself out of the absurd notion only got harder when you eventually did catch him looking at you, distracted and enamoured by the mother elephant pushing her calf along with her trunk. His eyes had been warm, honey pots dripping with amusement as he absorbed your excitement, appreciating your interest in the animals he had clearly grown to love.

Day five is when shit hit the fan. In your defence, the sun was in your eyes and you’d left your sunglasses on your pillow back at the lodge— there was absolutely no way you would have noticed the fallen branch from the Baobab tree, even if you had been watching where you were going rather than ogling Tour Guide Mills’ ass. You trip over it unceremoniously, hitting the sun-baked ground with a sickening thud.

Tears spring to your eyes almost immediately, pain shooting up your ankle and catching you entirely off guard. You’re unsure if it was the sound of the impact or the agonised gasp that grabs Mills’ attention, but he’s over by your side in an instant.

“Are you alright?” He asks you, his voice both music and ridicule to your ears. Of course you would make a tit of yourself in front of him, karma loved to keep you on your toes-

“I’m fine,” you wheeze, but you are not. The stabbing pain in your ankle indicates you are far from fine, but fuck, Mills is. When you look up at him it almost takes your breath away, his long black hair tied into a bun to keep the heat of the baking sun off his neck. Strands have come loose in the breeze, framing his face as he leans close to look you over.

“You’re hurt,” he speaks plainly, and you wish a leopard would just launch itself from the bushes and carry your pathetic carcass up a tree rather than face the mortification of being the reason he had to stop the tour.

“It’s just my ankle, I’ll be oka-“

“Phiri,” Mills calls to his fellow tour guide, catching his attention with a wave of his gigantic palm, “Can you continue on your own?”

Phiri must nod, because Mills is scooping you up bridal style before you even have the chance to insist upon struggling through the rest of the tour. Your arms dart out quickly at the height he stands at when he rises effortlessly to his feet, a totally subconscious action that causes heat to swirl in your cheeks as he begins the journey back to the lodge.

It must only be fifteen minutes at the very most, but it feels like hours. Mills smells mind-numbingly delicious, a mixture of the perspiration drawn out by the sunshine and something earthy, woodsy. Soon, despite the fact you were doing nothing other than tremble in his arms, you’re sweating more than Mills is.

You can’t bear to look at him, but you can feel his eyes on you. There’s a rumble in his chest, one that sounds vaguely like a chuckle. Perhaps for the sake of not shrivelling up and dying while the vultures pick at your poor, humiliated bones, you elect to ignore the sound of amusement from him.

Hauling you into the doctor's office, Mills is a silent, hulking presence in the doorway as the doctor checks you over. The professional indicates it is most likely that you have mildly sprained your ankle, informing you that you should be back to normal within a couple of days. He concludes with a devastating blow: ‘You need to rest, though. Don’t walk on it.’

This piece of advice leads to Mills insisting upon carrying you to your lodge. This time, you find yourself leaning into the broad expanse of his shoulder, grasping the cotton of his khaki t-shirt and taking in the oaky scent that you swore if you breathed in any deeper you’d inhale the whole man.

“Here we are,” he says, the man of little words, as he moves to slowly sit you down on your mattress. You clocked the stupid fucking sunglasses on your pillow, just where you remember leaving them.

Mills, as much as he is absolutely not being paid for this, takes his time ensuring your comfort. He props up pillows for your back, your shades placed neatly on the bedside table. When you’re all settled, however, he doesn’t rush to pull away.

His eyes are dancing over the frame of your lips, flicking up to your eyes when he realises how long he has stayed in your personal space. You don’t complain.

“… How can I thank you?” You whisper. It comes out breathier than you plan, a lilt to your tone that makes it sound far closer to a moan than a steady question.

“Don’t mention it at al-“

It’s not him. It’s not you, either. You both crash into each other with insistence, moans of relief bleeding into each others mouths as you finally embrace after days of craving each other. It’s an oasis, whetting the insatiable lust that had clouded your concentration and judgement. There were only so many times you could pretend your fingers were Mills, and you had far surpassed that total only two nights into your trip.

“Hah-“ you gasp softly into the kiss as Mills’ hands wander over the tops of your thighs, squeezing at your hips and tugging your body slightly closer to him. He seems equally as needy, chasing your lips when they part from his for breath.

“Come here,” he orders softly, though it sounds more like a plea. You can’t deny him, delivering kiss after hungry kiss to his open mouth as your fingers fiddle with the hem of his cotton T-shirt.

It all happens so fast, without contemplation. He’s stripping you out of your clothes delicately, making sure to avoid your tender ankle as he carefully pulls the leg of your trousers over it. The groan of delight that rumbles in his chest when he sees your lacy white set beneath your safari garb makes your heart stop.

“Pretty Thing,” he murmurs, tracing your nipple through the lace of your bralette. It’s Mills, and the touch causes a shuddering exhale to creep from your lungs. “Here.”

That order again. It flips your stomach over, and soon Mills is moving you like a ragdoll, with such ease that it’s almost dizzying. Mills spins your body, facing you away from him before grasping your hips and pulling you back towards him.

When his mouth meets the soaked crotch of your panties, you’re arching back into his face without thinking, a loud sigh of bliss escaping you. At first he sucks at your clit through the fabric, but he loses patience and pushes the panties aside, delving into you and enjoying your taste as he laps at you with his tongue. Meanwhile, his hands explore the plains of your body, hands squeezing at the flesh of your ass and thighs. Without looking at them, they feel gigantic against your body, covering an expanse of your skin that puts the distance of the Sahara in the north to shame.

You don’t need prompting. Your hands are pushing the elastic waistband of his boxers down, his cock resting against his stomach as you push them over his thighs. Greedily, you take him into your mouth without even bothering to take in the view, desperate to taste him. The salt of his precum coats your tongue, and you both moan in unison.

“Fuck,” Mills breathes, his palm cracking against the curve of your ass. It’s not too hard, but the spank sends your heart wild, swallowing down his length and whimpering at how he stretches your throat and fills your mouth.

The veins on the underside of his cock pulse against the roof of your mouth, his hips jolting slightly as your tongue traces his frenulum. You’re so needy, letting him fuck your face despite the threat of a gag pulling at the back of your throat. It’s messy, the wet, sopping sounds obscene to your own ears.

Mills’ hands travel all over your body, up your waist, reaching forward and under to squeeze your tits. You’d wanted to make this some form of an appreciation for him carrying you across the safari-lands, but he’s insistent upon making you feel good too.

“Oh, shit-“ he gasps when you take him particularly deep into your throat, gagging around him. Mills’ head falls back onto the pillows, rocking his hips up involuntarily until your nose is pressing into his pubic bone. He’s rambling a sorry, the apology slurred and almost indiscernible over the sloppy sounds of you sucking his dick.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his hand moving between your legs to rub rapidly over your clit. You’re caving inwards at the sensation, hands grasping at the tops of his thighs as he talks you towards your orgasm. “You’re so fucking good. So hot—wanted to drag you into my room the minute you walked in here, giving me those ‘fuck me eyes’ all the time. Can you feel it coming? Huh? Your thighs are trembling. There it is- there it is.”

You cum with a whimper around his dick, mouth stuffed full of him and unable to make much of a sound— but fuck, it utterly obliterates you. Rocking back onto his fingers, onto his face, you sob as he juts his hips up once, twice. He cums down your through with a haggard groan, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your ass in an attempt to muffle the sound he makes.

It becomes a frequent pastime. A long safari ending with a quick, desperate fuck. You discuss what will happen when you return home, the two of you skirting around the fact this has become far more than a vacation hook up. He gives you his number, of course it’s a shitty Nokia phone, but it makes so much sense.

“One of the vervet monkeys took my iPhone,” he grumbles when you arch a brow at his brick phone.

For now, without the stress of leaving, Mills holds you in his arms, your hips slotted between his thighs and head resting on his chest. You’re exhausted, still recovering from your injury while enjoying as many safaris as you can— and fucking Mills every waking minute.

You feel Mills gently touch your shoulder, rousing you from the blissful sleep that almost had you. A whine creeps past your lips, eyelids heavy.

“What?” You mumble, pausing when you see Mills press a finger to his lips and point to the sliding glass doors that he had left open.

A baby giraffe, a few months old, peeks its head into your cabin. Its eyelashes flutter as it looks over the box room, blinking slowly. You can’t help but wake, a grin pulling at your lips as it slowly backs away, unamused by the lack of edible greenery.

“Wow,” you whisper, watching it begin its slow journey back to the herd, tail swishing behind it.

“Worth it?” Mills murmurs, brushing his fingers up your spine softly.

“Worth every single penny.”

END

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[six-of-ravens]

well, just got word that my dad, who has been stuck in his delivery truck behind a TWELVE PLUS CAR PILEUP since 2pm is finally moving. fingers crossed he can make it back to the city literally before he has to leave for work tomorrow morning