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Building a house in the Philippines Part 2

Photo by RonaldPlett So you have finally decided on building your own house in the Philippines, the area you are going to build in and decided that the environmental tests the Philippines will throw at you constantly are worth it. So, take some advice from someone who spent hours on YouTube. If you decide to go cheap, you will get cheap. I have seen some horrors while watching people getting…

[philmonjohn]

A Call to the Children of the Global South: The System That Made My Father Disown Me

I didn’t write this living testimony for virality. I wrote it because silence almost killed me. Because truth, even when ignored by algorithms, remembers how to survive. If this resonated with you — even quietly — share it with someone else who’s still trying to name their Fracture. That’s how we outlive the system. - Philmon John, May 2025

THE FRACTURE Several months ago, when I, a South-Asian American man, turned 35, my father disowned me.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t cry. He simply stopped calling me his son.

My father is a Brown, MAGA-aligned conservative Christian pastor, born in Kerala, India, and now living in the United States. His rejection wasn’t provoked by any breach of trust or familial responsibility, but by my coming out as queer and bisexual — and by my deliberate move away from a version of Christianity shaped more by colonial rule than compassion.

I became blasphemy made flesh.

My mother and sister, equally immersed in religious conservatism, followed suit. Most of my extended family — conservative Indian Christians — responded with quiet complicity. I became an exile in my own lineage, cast out from a network that once celebrated me as the Mootha Makkan, the Malayalam term for “eldest son”.

This break didn’t occur in isolation. It was the culmination of years of internal questioning and ideological transformation.

I was raised with warmth and structure, but also under the weight of rigid theology. My parents cycled through different churches in pursuit of doctrinal purity. In that environment, my queerness had no safe harbor. It had to be hidden, managed, controlled — forced into secrecy.

Literal, cherry-popping closets.

Even my childhood discipline was carved straight from scripture — “spare the rod, spoil the child” was not metaphor but mandate. I was hit for defiance, for curiosity, for emotional honesty. Control was synonymous with love. The theology: obedience over empathy. Is it sad I would rather now have had a beating from my father, than his silence?

I would’ve taken the rod — at least it acknowledged me.

Instead, Daddy looks through me.

THE INHERITANCE And I obeyed. For a time, I rose through the ranks of the church. I led worship. I played guitar in the worship band. I wasn’t just a believer — I was a builder of belief, a conductor of chorus, a jester of jubilee and Sunday morning joy — all while masking a private ache I could not yet articulate.

In the last five years, I began methodically deconstructing the ideological scaffolding I had inherited. I examined the mechanisms of theology, patriarchy, and colonial imposition — and the specific burdens placed upon firstborn sons of immigrant families. Who defines our roles? Who benefits from our silence? Why is this happening to me?

These questions consistently pointed toward the dominant global structure: wealthy white patriarchal supremacy. Rooted in European imperialism and sustained by centuries of religious and cultural colonization, this system fractures not only societies but the deeply intimate architecture of family.

What my family experienced is not unlike what the United States of America continues to experience — a slow, painful reckoning with a foundational ideology of white, heteronormative, Christian patriarchal dominance.

My family comes from Kerala, home to one of the oldest Christian communities in the world. But the Christianity I inherited was not indigenous. It was filtered through the moral codes of Portuguese priests and British missionaries and the discipline of Victorian culture. Christ was not presented as a radical Middle Eastern teacher but as a sanitized figure — pale, passive, and Western.

In this theology, Christ is symbolic. Paul is the system. Doctrine exists to reinforce patriarchy, to police desire, to ensure control. When I embraced a theology rooted in love, empathy, and justice — the ethics I believe Jesus actually lived — I was met not with discussion, but dismissal.

To my family, my identity wasn’t authenticity. It was apostasy.

THE RECKONING In 2020, the ground shifted.

I turned the triple decade — 30 — as the COVID-19 pandemic erupted.

Remote work slowed life down, and I had space to think deeply.

That year, the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and countless others triggered a national and personal reckoning.

I turned to K-LOVE, the Christian radio station I grew up with, hoping to hear words of solidarity, truth, or even mourning. Instead, there was silence. No mention of racial justice. No prayers for the dead. Just songs about personal salvation, void of historical context or social responsibility.

As Geraldine Heng argues in The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages, race was not merely a modern invention void of scientific basis — it was already taking shape in medieval Europe, where Christianity was used to sanctify, encode, and sell racial hierarchies as divine order and social technology.

As Ademọ́la, also known as Ogbeni Demola, once said: “The white man built his heaven on your land and pointed yours to the sky.” That brain-powered perceptive clarity — distilled in a single line — stays with me every day.

With professional routines interrupted and spiritual ties frayed, I immersed myself in scholarship. I entered what I now see as a period of epistemic reconstruction. I read widely — revolutionaries, poets, sociologists, historians, mathematicians, theologians, cultural critics, and the unflinching truth-tellers who name what empire tries to erase.

I first turned to the voices who now live only in memory: Bhagat Singh, James Baldwin, Frantz Fanon, bell hooks, Octavia Butler, Gloria Anzaldúa, and Vine Deloria Jr. Each carried the weight of revolution, tenderness, and truth — from anti-colonial struggle to queer theory to Indigenous reclamation.

I then reached for the veteran thought leaders still shaping the world, starting with Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, Shashi Tharoor, Eduardo Bonilla-Silva, Susan Visvanathan, Geraldine Heng, George Gheverghese Joseph, J. Sakai, Vijay Prashad, Vilna Bashi Treitler, Claire Jean Kim, and Arundhati Roy — voices who dismantle the illusions of empire through history, mathematics, linguistics, and racial theory.

In the present, I absorbed insights from a new generation of public intellectuals and cultural critics: Ta-Nehisi Coates, Jared Yates Sexton, Cathy Park Hong, Ibram X. Kendi, Nikole Hannah-Jones, Heather McGhee, Mehdi Hasan, Adrienne Keene, Keri Leigh Merritt, Vincent Bevins, Sarah Kendzior, Ayesha A. Siddiqi, Wajahat Ali, W. Kamau Bell, Mary Trump, & John Oliver. Together, they form a constellation of clarity — thinkers who gave me language for grief, strategy for resistance, and above all, a framework for empathy rooted in history, not abstraction.

I also turned to the thinkers shaping today’s cultural and political discourse. I dreamt of the world blueprinted by Bhaskar Sunkara in his revolutionary The Socialist Manifesto and plunged into Jacobin’s blistering critiques of capitalism. The Atlantic’s longform journalism kept me tethered to a truth-seeking tradition. The Guardian stood out for its global scale and reach, offering progressive, longform storytelling that speaks to both local injustices and systemic inequalities across the world. And Roman Krznaric’s Empathy: Why It Matters, and How to Get It helped crystallize my core belief:

Be a good human. Practice empathy.

That’s the playbook, America. Practice empathy. Do that — and teach accurate, critically reflective history — and we have the chance to truly become the greatest democracy the world has ever seen.

And this empathy must extend to all — especially to trans people. In India, the Hijra community — trans and intersex folk who have existed visibly for thousands of years — embody a sacred third gender long before the West had language for it. But they are not alone. Across the colonized world, the empire erased a sacred third space: the Muxe of Zapotec culture, the Bakla of the Philippines, the Fa’afafine of Samoa, the Two-Spirit nations of Turtle Island, the Māhū of Hawaiʻi, the Sworn Virgins of the Balkans — each of these communities held space outside Western gender binaries, rooted in care, ceremony, and spirit. Some align with what we today call trans or intersex, while others exist entirely outside Western definitions. Colonization reframed them as deviants.

And still, we must remember this: trans people are not new. Our respect for them must be as ancient as their existence.

THE RESISTANCE As I examined the dynamics of coloniality, racial capitalism, and Western empire, I realized just how deeply imperial power had shaped my family, our values, and our spiritual language. The empire didn’t just occupy land — it rewrote moral codes. It restructured the family.

I learned how Irish, Italian, Greek, Hungarian, and Albanian immigrants were initially excluded from whiteness in America. Over time, many adopted and embraced whiteness as strategic economic and social protection — and in doing so, embraced anti-Blackness and patriarchal hierarchies to maintain their newfound status. Today, many European-hyphenated Americans defend systems that once excluded them.

And over time, some Asian-Americans have followed the very same racial template.

At 33 — the age Jesus is believed to have died — I laid my childhood faith to rest. In its place rose something rooted in clarity, not doctrine.

I didn’t walk away from religion into cynicism or nihilism. I stepped into a humanist, justice-centered worldview. A system grounded in reason, evidence, and above all, empathy. A belief in people over dogma. In community over conformity.

I didn’t lose faith. I redefined it.

I left the pasture of institutional faith, not for chaos, but for an ethical wilderness — a space lacking divine command but filled with moral clarity. A place built on personal responsibility and universal dignity.

This is where I stand today.

To those with similar histories: if your roots trace back to Africa, South Asia, Southeast Asia, Central Asia, East Asia, the Middle East, Latin America, the Caribbean, Oceania, or to Indigenous and marginalized communities within the Global North — you are a Child of the Global South. Even in the Global North, your experience carries the weight of displaced geography, the quiet grief of colonial trauma, and a genealogy forged by the system of empire. Your pain is political. Your silence is inherited. You are not invisible. They buried you without a funeral. They mourned not your death, but your deviation from design. However, we are not dead. We are just no longer theirs.

White supremacy endures by fracturing us. It manufactures tensions between communities of color by design — placing Asian businesses in Black communities without infrastructure and opportunities for BIPOC folk to share and benefit from the economic engine. Central to this strategy is the model minority myth, crafted during the Cold War to present Asian-Americans as obedient, self-reliant, and successful — not to celebrate them, but to invalidate Black resistance and justify structural racism. It’s a myth that fosters anti-Blackness in Asian communities and xenophobia in Black ones, while shielding white supremacy from critique. These divisions are not cultural accidents; they’re colonial blueprints.

And these blueprints stretch across oceans and continents and time.

In colonial South Africa, Mohandas Gandhi — still shaped by British racial hierarchies — distanced Indians from Black Africans, calling them “kaffirs” and demanding separate facilities. In Uganda, the British installed South Asians as a merchant middle class between colonizers and native Africans, breeding distrust. When Idi Amin expelled 80,000 Asians in 1972, it was a violent backlash to a racial hierarchy seeded by empire. These fractures — between Black and Asian, colonized and sub-colonized — are the legacy of white patriarchal supremacy.

Divide, distract, and dominate.

We must resist being weaponized against each other.

Every Asian-American must read Minor Feelings by Cathy Park Hong. Every high schooler in America must read and discuss Jared Yates Sexton.

Study the systems. Name them. Disarm them.

Because unless we become and remain united, the status quo — one that serves wealthy cisgender, heterosexual, white Christian men — will remain intact.

This is A Call to the Children of the Global South. And An Invitation to the Children of the Global North: Stop the infighting. Study and interrogate the systems. Reject the design.

To those in media, publishing, and the arts: postcolonial narratives are not cultural sidebars. They are central to national healing. They preserve memory, restore dignity, and confront whitewashed histories.

If you want work that matters — support art that pushes past trauma into structural critique.

Greenlight truth. Platform memory. Choose courage over comfort.

Postcolonial stories should be the norm — not niche art.

Jordan Peele’s Get Out was a cinematic breakthrough — razor-sharp and genre-defying — in its exposure of white supremacy’s quiet machinery: liberal smiles, performative allyship, and the pacification of dissent through assimilation. The Sunken Place is not just a metaphor for silenced Black consciousness — it’s the empire’s preferred position for the marginalized: visible, exploited, but unheard.

A system that offers the illusion of inclusion, weaponizing identity as control.

Ken Levine’s BioShock Infinite exposed white supremacy through a dystopian, fictional but historically grounded lens - depicting the religious justification of Black enslavement, Indigenous erasure, and genocidal nationalism in a floating, evangelical empire.

David Simon’s The Wire exposed the institutional decay of law enforcement, education, and the legal system - revealing how systemic failure, not individual morality, drives urban collapse.

Jesse Armstrong’s Succession traced the architecture of empire through family - showing how media empires weaponize racism, propaganda, and manufactured outrage to generate profit and secure generational wealth.

Ava DuVernay's Origin unearths caste and race as twin blueprints of white supremacy - linking Dalit oppression in India to the subjugation of Black Americans. Adapted from Isabel Wilkerson's Caste, it dismantles the myth of isolated injustice, revealing a global system meticulously engineered to rank human worth - and the radical act of naming the system.

Ryan Coogler’s Sinners — a revelatory, critically and commercially successful film about Afro-Asian resistance in 1930s Mississippi — exposes the hunger for speculative narratives grounded in historical truth.

Across the Spider-Verse gave us Pavitr Prabhakar - a Brown superhero who wasn't nerdy or celibate, as Western media typically portrayed the South-Asian man, but cool, smart, athletic, with great hair, in love, and proudly anti-colonial. He called out the British for stealing and keeping Indian artifacts… in a Spider-Man movie. That moment was history reclaimed.

A glitch in the wealthy white patriarchal matrix.

Dev Patel’s Monkey Man is a visceral fable of vengeance and resistance, where the brutality of caste, corruption, and religious nationalism collide. Amid this chaos, the film uplifts the Hijra community who stand not only as victims, but as warriors against systemic violence. Their alliance reframes queerness not as deviance, but as defiance — ultimately confronting the machinery of empire with what it fears most: a system-breaking empathy it cannot contain.

The vitriolic backlash from white male gamers and fandoms isn’t about quality — it’s about losing default status in stories. Everyone else has had to empathize with majority white male protagonists for decades. Diverse representation in media isn’t a threat to art — it’s a threat to white supremacy. It’s not just a mirror held up to the globe — it’s a refusal to let one worldview define it.

Hollywood, gaming studios, and the gatekeepers of entertainment — if you want to reclaim artistic integrity and still make money doing it, we need art that remembers, resists, and reclaims — stories that name the machine and short-circuit its lies. The world is ready. So am I.

Today, efforts like Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation, and the Federalist Society are not merely policy shops — they are ideological engines: built to roll back civil rights, impose authoritarian values, and erase uncomfortable truths. They represent a hyper-concentrated form of white supremacy, rooted in unresolved Civil War grievances and the failures of Reconstruction.

Miraculously, or perhaps, blessed with intellectual curiosity and natural empathy, through all of this, my wife — a compassionate, steadfast partner and a Christian woman — has remained by my side. She has witnessed my transformation with both love and complexity. While our bond is rooted in deep respect and shared values, our spiritual landscapes have diverged. Her faith brings her solace; mine has evolved into something more secular, grounded in justice and humanism. We’ve navigated that tension with care — proof that love can stretch across differing beliefs, even as the echoes of religious conditioning still ripple through our lives.

I am proud of her increasing intellectual curiosity and her willingness to accept me for who I am now, even if I wasn’t ready to accept myself when we met.

But our marriage has defied the splintering that white supremacy specifically creates: hyper-capitalist, hyper-individualistic, fractured families and societies.

As Children of the Global South — descendants of peoples who survived enslavement, colonization, and erasure — we carry within us the urgent need for stories that do not turn away from history, but confront it with unflinching truth.

In the pain of losing my family, I found a deeper purpose: to tell this story — and my own — any way I can. A sudden rush of empathy, pity, and love struck me: My parents’ and sister’s rejection was not theirs alone — it was a lingering Fracture left by colonization and global exploitation, tearing apart families across generations. As Children of the Global South, we still carry those wounds.

Make no mistake: white supremacy leaves wounds — because it is the system. And unless it is dismantled, both the Global South and North — and their collective Children — will remain trapped in a dance choreographed by empire — built to divide, exploit, and erase. Any vision of democracy, in America, will remain a fragile illusion — if not an outright mythology — built on a conceptually false foundation: white supremacy itself.

A cruel, heartbreaking legacy of erasure — passed down through empire — indoctrinating God-fearing Brown fathers to erase their godless, queer Brown sons. Preaching shame as scripture. Teaching silence as survival.

I reject that inheritance.

Empathy as praxis is how we reject that inheritance. In a world engineered to divide, it rebuilds connection, disarms supremacy, and charts a path forward. If humanity is to survive — let alone heal — empathy must become our collective discipline.

And perhaps what cut even deeper for my father — beyond my queerness — was that I no longer validated his role as a pastor. In stepping away from the faith he had built his life upon, I wasn’t just rejecting a belief system. I was, in his eyes, nullifying his life’s work. For a man shaped by empire, ordained by colonial Christianity, and burdened with the role of moral gatekeeper, my departure from his manufactured worldview may have landed as personal failure. But it wasn’t. It was never about wanting to hurt him. I love my father. I love my mother. I love my sister. It was never about them — it was about the system that taught them love was conditional, acceptance required obedience, and dissent unforgivable. That kind of pain is real — but its source is systemic. I still want to be Mootha Makkan — not by obedience, but by truth. By love without condition. Not through erasure, but by living fully in the open. Not in their image, but in mine.

Yet, and yes, I also carry the wound — but I also carry the will to heal it.

THE CALL I believe in empathy. I believe in memory. I believe the Children of the Global South are not broken. We are not rejected. We are awakening.

Children of the Global North: join us. We are not your enemies. We are your present and future collaborators, business & creative partners, lovers, and kin. We are building something new — something ancient yet reawakened, a pursuit of empathy, and a reckoning with history that refuses to forget.

If this story resonated with you, kindly share it, spread the word and please comment. I’d love to hear from you. Your voice, your memory, your Fracture — it matters here.

You are not alone. All are welcome.

Thank you so, so much for your time in reading my story.

You can also email me directly: vinesvenus at protonmail.com I'll be writing more on Medium as well: https://medium.com/@vinesvenus/a-call-to-the-children-of-the-global-south-the-system-that-made-my-father-disown-me-fecad6c0b862

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QC code to empcontracting.ca a sustainable, honest Canadian home builder and construction contractor

[em1989ts]

𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

five hargreeves x fem! reader smut

masterlist

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ (reader and five are both 20), sex pollen so dubcon?, unprotected sex, breeding kink, thigh riding, fingering, oral (m recieving), hair pulling

summary: you and five, your best friend, get stuck in the apocalypse together. he's immune to the radiation that lingers in what's left of the world, but not you, so when you find a unique flower that sprays an interesting pollen at you, five is more than happy to help you out with its side affects

author's note: i have been reworking this fic for weeks because i just did not like where i was going with it every time but now i finally sat down and finished it, i think i was trying too hard to make it too detailed plotwise but now i really like it, its not proofread so i'll go back and fix any mistakes if i notice any but i hope you enjoy!

The world was different now, what was left of it at least. 

You were holding on tight to your memories of what life was like before the world ended, but your headaches, growing ever more constant, made them gradually slip away. 

The more obvious details were easier to remember: green grass, blue skies, animals, breathable air. You missed when nature meant beautiful, thriving life. 

Now, the only things growing were spiky weeds and vines, the occasional fungi. 

The air was too dry, filled with ash, and the radiation levels were too high for much to grow. 

You had your theories about what could’ve happened to the world, so did the only other human still alive: Five Hargreeves. 

~~~

Years ago, when you were just 8 years old, your parents believed it would be best to move directly next to the umbrella academy. They cared heavily about your safety, so heavily in fact that they homeschooled you, and almost never let you leave home. It was dreadful, for your curious nature wanted to explore your new surroundings in the city. You often leaned out your window, trying to get a peak at one of those superpowers kids who got to see the world. 

One night, as you read by your windowsill that overlooked the alleyway separating your apartment building from the academy, you watched as the children filed one by one out of a bedroom window, down a fire escape, all giggling with sneaky excitement. They snuck out for the first time in their young lives, noticed you and extended an invitation to join them, and the rest was history. You got along well with the Hargreeves children, particularly Number Five. 

He shared your love of retaining knowledge and the passion of wanting to explore the world, as well as prove your ability to sustain yourself independently. The two of you used morse code to speak through your windows at night, and you told each other just about everything. He told you all about his father, and how he wanted to prove him wrong about his time travel abilities. You encouraged him to try them out, to go to the future, and he agreed, as long as you came too. 

On that November morning in 2002, you were waiting in the alley for him to finish breakfast, and once he ran out and took your hand, your lives had never been the same. 

~~~ 

Now you were about twenty, realizing that spending the rest of your life with your super human best friend may be more difficult than you ever would’ve thought. 

Firstly, whatever ended the world resulted in nuclear fallout, which led you to believe a giant explosion abolished the Earth. While Five was genetically immune to the radiation, with the energy that emanated from his spacial jumps, you were a perfectly average human who couldn’t resist the symptoms of radiation poisoning. It was slow, with average headaches interrupting your already rough days and confusion messing up your already decaying memory, but you both knew you couldn’t last forever in this world. 

Secondly, being stuck with your childhood best friend who you happened to fall in love with was absolute torture. Somewhere along the way your immature intellectual astonishment turned to adolescent romantic admiration. Being the last two people on Earth made it so tempting for you to just tell him how you felt, but you couldn’t even fathom how’d heartbroken you’d feel if he turned you down as the last girl on Earth, you’d probably toss yourself into nuclear waste just to rid yourself from the embarrassment. 

The two of you had gotten quite close over the last ten years. He held you in his arms at night, just to protect you from the cold, he made sure you were the first to eat, just to make sure you don’t starve, and he did his best to make sure your sickness wasn’t worsening, just for your survival, of course. What you didn’t know was that he was constantly worrying about you, not that he didn’t want to be the only person alive but because he couldn’t imagine a world without you. You were the only one that listened to him, that believed in him when no one else would. The only one that made him feel like he was worth something in this world. His worst nightmare had already happened to him, as he had to bury the bodies of his adult siblings, but his new one was losing you. It killed him to watch you slowly but surely grow more sick, and he wanted to defer your inevitable end for as long as possible. He was in a race against time: time travel you both out of here before you took your last breath. 

~~

The weather was a sure sign that spring was finally arriving. You believed it to be April, the ten year anniversary of the apocalypse, with the back and forth sunshine and rainstorms. Currently, you and Five were walking down the side of the freeway, dragging along wagons full of your belongings and your apocalypse buddy, Dolores. It was almost dark and you were starting to look for a not too busted up car to take shelter in for the night. The fields looked like death. They were filled with dark, spiky vines and grass that looked permanently dried to a crisp. 

You adjusted the bandana over your nose, growing frustrated at its tightness, and pulled it off your face entirely. The air wasn’t as smoky as it used to be, the rain helped clear it out, and you could feel another storm on the way. Your lungs took in the air and whatever microscopic particles were floating about. 

“Put it back on, Y/n,” Five scolded, disappointed in your disregard for your health.  

“You tied it way too tight, it was getting uncomfortable,” you answered back. 

The two of you kept walking side by side until you came across a van that appeared large enough to store your belongings and to allow you both to stretch out comfortably. 

You followed this same routine every night: you’d scavenge, find a suitable vehicle or building, then break in. 

As Five used a swiss army knife in an attempt to open the back door of the van, you leaned against the side doors, your eyes scanned over the fields to examine to your surroundings, looking out at the vast field of dried up plants, not expecting to see anything different, until your eyes caught on a small, bright plant growing not too far from the road. 

Without a word, you immediately pushed off the van, quickly grabbing Five’s attention. 

“Y/N, what are you-”

As you ran through the field, you felt the dry plants scratching your shins, creating the tiniest, painful cuts, but you didn’t care. The fluorescent flora became clearer as you got closer, eyes entranced by its glowing color before Five blinked in front of you, causing you to crash into his chest and almost tackle him. He stabilized the two of you, grabbing both your arms and holding you tight to stop you from running off again. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Five started, “First of all, don’t run off like that. Second, you don’t know what that is.” 

“Oh, please,” you said frustrated, trying to shimmy out of his grasp, “It’s a flower.” “Yes, I know,” he deadpanned, “But there’s no way a normal flower could grow in these conditions.” 

You freed yourself and knelt down to admire the beautiful flower. Its petals glowed brightly as its orange pigments had you entranced. Five cautiously stood behind you, ready to pull you away any second, but he wasn’t fast enough. 

As you leaned downward to smell the flower, the anther puffed out quickly, spraying a cloud of glowy pollen directly into your face, before the petals closed in on itself and encapsulated the flower. 

“Y/N!”

Stunned, you fell onto your back, eyes wide and face burning as the pollen covered your cheeks and infiltrated your nose. Five quickly leaned over you, he had pulled his goggles down and used your bandana to wipe the pollen off your face before he noticed a drop. Then another. Then three more dripping onto your flushed cheeks. 

The rain snapped you out of your daze as you sat straight up. Five cautiously held up his hands and waited for you to say something, “You alright?” 

“I think?” You didn’t feel any different really, besides an oncoming sneeze. 

He helped you stand up and the two of you ran back through the field and to the van, where he continued to pick the lock. Once he got it open, you both worked rather quickly to get settled so as to not get drenched. You gently placed Dolores in while he tossed in any items from your wagons that couldn’t get too wet. The two of you covered them with a small tarp before he tied them together around the tire with a rope. You jumped into the back of the van, Five following suit, and quickly shut the door. 

It was dark in there. You tried the overhead light but you knew the battery ran out years ago. Other than that, the van was in good shape, with a couple dusty blankets in the back, a case of water and a small stash of granola bars which the two of you scarfed down rather quickly. 

“This might be our best find in a while,” Five said, leaning against the wall, looking down at you as you laid on one of the blankets, trying not to chug the water. 

He had been keeping a close eye on you since the flower, worried there was something you weren’t telling him. And he was right. 

Ever since you stepped out of the contaminated yet refreshing rain, your body had felt uncomfortably warm. A cold sweat covered your body, which felt like it was almost buzzing, and a growing sensation of desire was settling in your lower stomach. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, not waiting to catch another glimpse at Five, worried about the thoughts he would give you. With the two of you sharing the small space, there was no way to relieve the pressure between your legs. You could feel his eyes burning into you, of course he’d notice if you tried getting any friction. 

“Hey, look at me,” he said, breaking the silence. 

You still didn’t want to face him, you knew he knew something was off, that the flower did something to you. Instead of turning your head towards him, you faced the opposite wall and closed your eyes. 

When he reached over to take your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him, the action alone dampened your underwear as you stifled a whimper. 

He knew something was wrong. Not only were you unusually quiet but you looked flushed and sweaty, and almost like you were in pain. As he started into your eyes, he could see how bloodshot they were, your pupils incredibly dilated. 

He kept his hold tight on your face, moving your chin around to inspect every angle before you took hold of his wrist with both hands, trying to pull it away. 

“That flower did something to you, I know it,” he stated, as if it weren’t already obvious, “How do you feel?” 

How on earth were you supposed to answer that? The pain of not being touched was increasing quickly, and the urge to jump his bones and ride his thighs to relieve the pressure was becoming harder to suppress. You could only hold back so much longer, but you knew if you let go, your friendship would be fucked. 

You finally peeled his fingers off your face, holding his hand in front of you, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from sucking his fingers right then and there – God, what was wrong with you? 

Groaning, you released his hand and turned over onto your side, sliding your hands down your face. Thankfully, your clothing was dark, so he couldn’t see the damp spot of your uncontrollable arousal leaking out of you. 

Your behavior scared him at first. If that flower was poisonous, and you died a slow agonizing death as your body slowly shut down, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he could have prevented it, if only he had been more careful with you. But as he analyzed you further, he became much more relieved to piece together what the pollen was really doing to you. 

The flush of your skin, the soft gasps you let slip from your throat, the way you indiscreetly squeezed your thighs together, the look of complete and utter desire and desperation swarming your eyes. 

He’d seen small glimpses of that look over the years, but he’d always thought it was his increasingly delusional imagination considering you were the only girl alive on Earth, and he was nothing but a hormonal boy. He thought of those years spent feeling ashamed of how his mind could turn you, his closest friend, into an image of his own desire as he would imagine your hand wrapped around him instead of own, as he got himself off while you were dead asleep next to him.

Selfishly, he was glad you were in pain, because he was the lucky last soul on Earth who could relieve you. Although, not without a little more teasing first. 

He combed his fingers through his shaggy hair, attempting to hide his smirk before grabbing your arms and sitting you up. 

The way he moved you with such ease made you think about how he could move you into whatever position he wanted, and how easily you would let him. 

He settled you upright against the wall of the van, you almost teared up at the feeling of his strong hands leaving you, before he started unzipping your sweatshirt. 

“Let’s get some layers off you before you overheat,” he explained. 

“Okay, that’ll help,” you quietly agreed, trying to keep your composure as if watching his hands undress you wasn’t torture. 

“Arms up,” he instructed as he slipped off the next layer, a grey long sleeve shirt, leaving you in a white tank top. 

You have to admit, you did feel much cooler, but the moments where his fingers would graze your arms was driving you insane. 

He then wrapped one arm around you to lift your hips up slightly off the carpeted floor of the van, so he could remove your cargo pants with his other hand. 

You could’ve screeched with excitement, though thankfully you buried your face into his shoulder to contain yourself. You had a layer of boxer shorts before your panties, but you felt exposed compared to him, as he was still fully clothed. 

“Any better?” he asked, still in close proximity to you. His face seemingly inching closer to yours. 

You nodded. 

Not trusting yourself with words. 

Not trusting yourself at all. 

He knew. 

Just from looking up at his face, you knew he knew. He wore the same face he always wore when he was right about something. That smug know-it-all face you’ve grown the desire to completely smother with wet kisses over the years. He knew what you needed and this son of a bitch was daring you by holding it over your head. 

“Ready for bed?” he asked with an innocent voice, contrasting from the dark look in his eye. 

It felt as if all those years together led up to this moment. The moment where the two of you did nothing but sit next to each other. Inches away from the other’s face. Eyes staring into the other’s, occasionally breaking free to stare down at their lips. Daring the other to be the one to break over a decade of friendship. Once he saw that glowing twinkle in your eyes, amidst the darkness of dilation, he knew you’d break first. 

He caught you in his arms as you pounced on him, your last shred of composure was ripped away as soon as your lips met his. Five was the only thing on your mind. 

His lips. His hands. His arms. His fingers. 

Him. 

You wanted it all. 

The kiss wasn’t gentle at all. It was harsh and wet. The two of you had no patience, you had the rest of your lives to be gentle and loving. You wanted each other at this very moment. As you made out, he continued to peel off the last of your clothing. He lifted your hips, sliding down both your boxer shorts, tossing them into the passenger seat of the van. Before removing your panties, he moved to feel how damp you got them over the fabric. He almost growled into your mouth as he pulled his slick fingers away, finally pulling the soaked fabric down your legs. 

His arms moved to cage you against him, which felt like absolute heaven, and when his hands lowered to grab your ass, dragging you across his thigh, the moan you let into his mouth was angelic. 

That needy feeling between your legs finally being relieved was enough to make tears fall, cooling your flush cheeks, as his tongue continued to dance with yours. 

He moved to kiss your jaw, leaving a soft trail of saliva until he moved under your chin, and down your neck, leaving harsh intentional marks.

With your head tilted up, and your mouth free, all you could do was moan as he continued to drag your bare, slick cunt across his clothed leg. You were so sensitive that every time he pulled you across the fabric of his pants, you could’ve come. 

As he bit every inch of your neck, he brought his hands to lift up your top, already noticing how you’ve forgone a bra, and grasped your breasts. So engulfed in the pleasure, you’d barely noticed how you had been left to move yourself against his thighs. He swapped his hands for his mouth as he wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed slightly, while taking a nipple into his mouth. 

You gasped, rutting your hips faster against him, with one hand holding onto his hip for dear life while the other was entangled in his hair, pushing his head into your chest. As your gasps and whimpers grew increasingly higher in pitch, you began to hump his thigh with more need, chasing your high that was steadily building up. 

You could feel him smiling smugly into your tit, then you realized you’d been moaning his name, begging and pleading for him to let you come. 

He moved his mouth back to yours, quieting your desperate pleads as he brought both his hands to your tits, pinching and twisting your nipples, stimulating you enough to finally push you over the edge. 

You shuttered against his thigh, your chest arching into his, and your moans losing themselves in his throat, you rode out your orgasm, gradually slowing down the pace of your hips until you were slowly dragging them through the puddle on his leg, sliding your slick across the fabric. 

Five buried his face into your neck as you slowly recovered, arms wrapped around your middle, moving you to sit closer to the bulge in the front of his pants. 

Instead of feeling relieved from the effects of the pollen, you felt the need rush right back between your legs. 

You leaned back in his arms to take him in with your eyes — his messy hair, his swollen lips, flush face. He was still fully clothed, contrasting your completely naked figure. 

Five noticed you scanning his jacket, coming to the conclusion that yes, maybe it was a little unfair that you were the only one completely exposed. He lifted you into his arms and brought you over to the other end of the van. Then he shuffled back a few feet and watched you sit there, naked and needy, waiting for his next move. 

He then carefully removed everything he was wearing – his jacket, his now stained pants, his two shirts – and before he could remove his boxers, you crawled over and did it yourself. 

You kneeled before him as you took him out of his boxers, and into your mouth. 

“Fuck-” he groaned as he felt your warm tongue under his cock. 

He was big. You almost choked when you tried taking him down your throat as far as you could, you just needed to taste him. He took your hair in his hands as he guided you, not wanting to push you too far, and not wanting to come down your throat just yet. 

When he felt the pressure building, he quickly pulled you off him by your hair, taking a second to admire your dazy eyes and the drool dripping down your chin. 

Five then tackled you, literally throwing himself on top of you, your head landing on your pile of clothes, as his lips once again crashed into yours. He quickly pinned you down and held your wrists together in his left hand, his other snuck down between your legs, sliding through your folds. You could feel his cock hard against your stomach, practically leaking onto you. His fingers were soaked as they slid back and forth, over and over, until you got fed up with his teasing and started moving your hips to feel more. 

“Hold still,” he said, trying to be assertive yet laughing a little at your desperation. 

“Please, Five,” you frowned, your neediness was no laughing matter, “Just put them in alread-”

You cut yourself off with a moan as he slid to fingers into you, immediately setting a strong pace, curling them to perfectly hit that spot inside you, making you squirm. 

He brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles until your eyes rolled back into your head. Your orgasm was sneaking up on you, and he could tell by your more frequent gasps and higher moans, as well as your cunt tightening around his fingers. Before you tipped over the edge and the pleasure could wash over you, he pulled out his fingers, watching intently as the built up pleasure disappointed.  

“What- Five!” you whined, your hurt eyes met his as he sarcastically frowned, before he smiled once again, and lined himself up with your entrance. 

You’re lucky that you and Five are the only people alive, because that means the two of you can be as loud as possible. When he pushed himself in, the two of you groaned so loud it could’ve been heard from miles away. You both had to hold still for a few moments, as to not come immediately. The two of you were completely engulfed in each other, arms wrapped around the other, pulling them as close as possible. Once he started to move, you felt like nothing you’d ever felt before. Every time he thrusted into you, it sent a wave of pleasure through your whole body, as your cunt tried to suck him in. 

Five had never felt so good in his entire life. He’d imagined what you’d feel like before, but you were so much better than he’d ever imagined. So tight, with your wetness drooling everywhere. He buried his face into your shoulder as he rutted into you, appreciating the smell of sex that filled the van. You buried your fingers in his shaggy hair, occasionally giving it a tug that made his dick twitch inside you. 

“Ah — I’m close,” Five grunted, his thrusts sloppy. 

“Me too,” you whimpered, feeling a familiar pressure that was begging to be let go. 

Five reached one of his hands between the two of you to circle your clit once more, giving you the stimulation to come one more time, knowing he’d soon follow. 

“Five, ahh – I’m gonna-”  

The wave hit you, your body completely let go. Your cunt spasmed around Five, coming harder than you ever have before. You barely registered it, as your brain went fuzzy, but you could feel your come squirt all over your legs, Five’s as well, as he kept thrusting through the sticky mess, moaning loudly before stilling. His body shook as he came inside you, face buried in your chest as he tried to pull himself as close as possible. His come was warm, filling you entirely. 

The two of you laid there on the itchy carpet of the van for what seemed like forever before Five slowly pulled out and sat up, hearing a hiss from you that ached him a little, before he watched his come spill out of you, as you laid there, completely fucked out. 

He dug through his bag to find the cleanest cloth he owned to clean the both of you up with. He made sure to be as careful as possible with your sensitive areas as he wiped the come off you. 

He went through your bag to find new underwear and a tank top to redress you with, before he put new boxers on himself and settled back by your side. 

“You better not forget this,” he grumbled playfully as he kissed your forehead. 

You smiled lightly with your eyes closed. 

“How could I?” 

~~~

taglist: @misakiisstupid @lveegsoi @groovydazephantom @tremendoushearttaco @spidermansfangirl @madscamp02 @beanzwritez (send a request in the inbox or comment to be added!)

~~~

[astrologydray]

Ruler of the 6th through the houses

This is where we get into daily life, service, work, wellness, and routine. Think of it as your “how I get sh*t done” energy — the ruler of your 6th house shows what area of life demands the most effort, structure, or healing🖤.

6th House Ruler in the 1st House

You are your own project.

Your identity is wrapped in your work ethic and wellness. People see you as productive, reliable, and self-improving. You’re the type to biohack, optimize, or self-discipline like a boss. You serve: Yourself, your goals, your growth. Wellness style: Actively engaged with body + health. “My body is my schedule — and my brand.”

6th House Ruler in the 2nd House

You work for stability + values.

You’re motivated by security, comfort, and building something solid. You probably have a slow-and-steady daily rhythm and need to feel grounded in your routine. You serve: Through practical help + financial support. Wellness style: Nourishment, somatic care, massage. “My routine = my resource.”

6th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Your mind is always working.

You thrive on movement, communication, and mental stimulation. You may multitask like a machine and keep a busy schedule. Writing, teaching, or running errands = daily bread. You serve: Through ideas, words, and helpful info. Wellness style: Breathwork, nervous system care, mobility. “My calendar is color-coded chaos — and I love it.”

6th House Ruler in the 4th House

Your home is your office or temple.

You crave comfort and emotional security in your daily rhythm. You may work from home or be drawn to caretaking professions. Wellness comes from emotional safety. You serve: Family, home, emotional healing. Wellness style: Nourishing food, rest, inner child care. “My peace starts at home.”

6th House Ruler in the 5th House

You work with passion or not at all.

You thrive when your work lights you up. You bring creativity to your job, and you may serve others through play, art, children, or entertainment. You’re here to infuse joy into the mundane. You serve: Through performance, love, creativity. Wellness style: Movement, pleasure, artistic release. “If it’s not fun, it’s not sustainable.”

6th House Ruler in the 6th House

You were born for systems, routines + service.

You’re naturally drawn to work, health, and structure. You may have a career in healthcare, healing, or support roles. Routines come naturally — but beware of overworking. You serve: Through consistency, integrity, mastery. Wellness style: Functional, optimized, routine-based. “Structure sets me free.”

6th House Ruler in the 7th House

You show up for others.

You serve through partnerships — whether romantic, business, or client-based. Your work may involve 1:1 relationships, and wellness improves when your relationships are in harmony. You serve: Lovers, clients, collaborators. Wellness style: Balance, connection, mirrored growth. “Your peace = my peace.”

6th House Ruler in the 8th House

You work in the shadows.

You may serve through healing, therapy, finances, or emotional transformation. You’re private about your daily habits and need depth + purpose in your work to avoid burnout. You serve: Through psychological or energetic work. Wellness style: Detox, shadow work, deep rest. “My work transforms me — and others.”

6th House Ruler in the 9th House

You work from the mind and the spirit.

You may serve through teaching, spirituality, law, or travel. Daily life needs meaning. You might crave movement or a higher mission behind the grind. You serve: Through wisdom, beliefs, or worldly perspective. Wellness style: Walking meditations, breathwork, education. “My routine is my ritual.”

6th House Ruler in the 10th House

You turn routines into legacy.

Work is your identity. You’re ambitious, career-oriented, and likely to rise in your field due to your consistency. You might manage others or become known for your service. You serve: Through leadership, professionalism, influence. Wellness style: Structured, goal-driven, visible. “Work hard, shine harder.”

6th House Ruler in the 11th House

You serve the collective.

You may work within communities, collectives, or online spaces. You need freedom and innovation in your day-to-day — and you’re likely to rebel against rigid schedules. You serve: Friends, networks, causes. Wellness style: Group classes, tech tools, unconventional methods. “My work serves the future.”

6th House Ruler in the 12th House

Invisible service, sacred structure.

You work best in solitude, or in healing/behind-the-scenes roles. Your routines may be intuitive or chaotic, and wellness is deeply tied to your emotional + spiritual state. You serve: Spirit, the unseen, vulnerable populations. Wellness style: Sleep, silence, dreams, energetic healing “Sacred rest is my medicine.”

[theempressofthenile]

Astro thoughts : short n sweet <3 Jupiters Moment

Jupiter in the 1st - Beneficial factors play a lot with this group. However they have to work harder to get it. It is because their life is based of their beliefs, they have to work to maintain a certain mindset to keep the luck from straying away. Have beautiful spirits and are capable of anything, that is because they chose to walk that path & not by how easy it looks.

Jupiter in the 2nd - Needs peace & stability at all times. Good looking. Money making abilities are stagnant until they learn to grow with their consciousness. Not everything is what it seems, so try to be on the look out for something new and different. Thats when the luck begins. Take a risk, and use your intellect to get what you need.

Jupiter in the 3rd - Needs a lot more quiet time, hermit mode. Have gifts in astrology here. Some may op for a new path every few months or so. It's because their destined to know a lot in this life and go after anything that interests them at the moment. Could be open to trying new relationship tactics and going with the flow much easier. Have a different perspective than most & they dont keep quiet about it for long. Mature presence. Very odd but likeable at the same time.

Jupiter in the 4th - Royal family. Heritage & traditional values are stored in this vessel. Mysteries and traditional secrets from the family bloodline may come out at some time. This is a very special house placement because its so much to explore in a short time.

Have faith in your lineage, you're the one who breaks the code!

Jupiter in the 5th - Creativity flows through these cats like no other. Very special essence and can be well liked by almost anybody. This comes from their talents btw. If you're good at drawing, singing, dancing, acting, etc. You might catch a lot of attention on you at some point. This placement gives me Johnny Bravo energy. like you're capable of getting the girls to like you with just your looks and personality. Just dont get to happy, no body likes a super boastful guy ;)

Jupiter in the 6th - Unique flow when going after what they love. They work the hardest when its something they know is divinely ordered for them to achieve. They don't mean any harm, their just trying to get their needs met. Super optimistic when live seems to be in order and balanced. But when off balanced, it seems as if a fire has striking them and they become the great dragon. Don't stare at them to hard, they'll begin to overthink a lil.

Jupiter in the 7th - My my my, this is what I call a royal placement. Because this gifts an individual with a great sex life. Could be unattainable to say the least. You're not everyone's 'favorite' but your presence is also something that people want to receive. How that work? You have a value to you that keeps you at bay from onlookers that don't have nothing to give, but something to take. Be more weary with the company you keep, you don't know how good you got it, and how special you are.

Jupiter in the 8th - Very deep, raw personas who are captivated by the knowledge they receive in the dream realm. They have a lot of issues very psychologically, and this gets deeper with the maturing of their path. They have a light & dark persona but its given to sustain balance in this life & the after life. They have integrity and morals and most times it is based of tradition. Other times, their really a rebel, and go after everything they came for. Because what's a life to live when you can't live it freely?

Jupiter in the 9th - Free spirits and ultra loving character. Can be a bit of a know it all but thats fine. This house is their rightful home, so a lot of good energy can be bestowed on them from time to time. Great luck. Adventure is something they should seek from all ages of their life. It is good to have someone around when going on many great journeys of the soul. These people could be a friend you never forget.

Jupiter in the 10th - Likeable nature. Their personalities fit that of the audience they are naturally connected to. Very bountiful energy. Could look like they got it all going on, but deep inside you may not know the true darkness they carry. This is a capricorn ruled house, so they tend to battle some challenges here and there. But with great restraint & an amazing mindset to go with it they come back on top, each and every time.

Jupiter in the 11th - Sweet personas and balanced personalities. They could be in a lot of groups and can know a lot of people with just their smile and cool personality. They could end up being in groups where they are teaching something to a large mass of people. Could be very inspiring and open to anyone they meet.

Jupiter in the 12th - They feel things a lot heavier than most would like to believe. They see the world differently than their peers and this could make them the odd ball at times. Their personalities mesh well with artistic individuals because they've mastered the eye of sight. Meaning that their good at understanding things from a point of view only them and God could understand, but that doesn't mean that it can be explained. In other words, they are extremely complex to the human brain, not an individual you can describe. Very spiritual, very contagious energy. Bright speakers and just super angelic.

[grimmsbride]

i saw ur that ur request were open and i just need you to hear me out on multipaul 🫣 that man is to dam fine for there to be literally nothing of him 💔 if you write a paul fic MY LIFE IS YOURS 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🙏

𝄃𝄀⠀⠀my mine⠀╲ multi-paul ֤ࣨ🫀𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary you decide to give your beloved convict boyfriend, paul cha, a little gift <3.

tags canon-divergence | pre-established relationships | ooc characters | paul literally jerks off to pictures of you | mentions of him being an assassin | masturbation | chubby coded reader | etc

authors notes i was so nervous writing this imagine cause i realized i have like, zero input on how paul would act in a relationship 😭 so im sorry if i didn’t do his character justice but i really appreciate you requesting for him, it gives me much needed practice 🫶🏾. as always please excuse any typos and grammar mistakes

Imagine sneaking polaroids to MultiPaul in prison. You don’t know what had driven you to this; whether your mind was clouded with the thought of missing him, or simple human horniness— you had no idea. The only idea that struck you was taking scandalous images with your camera, printing them, and getting them to your lovely, convict boyfriend.

Through the entire prison visit you were practically beaming with excitement, something the man picked up on easy. He was a killer for god’s sake, human nature was something he had to know. Plus, Paul was your boyfriend after all.

So the moment a simple what’s got you so excited? climbed from his lips, you burst out into a little giggle, reaching over the table for his hand— which Paul accepted with zero issues.

“Nothing.. just, so happy to see you.” Despite your words, your hand was busy, pushing something small right into his palm.

Paul was quick yet discreet in accepting it, squeezing your hand for extra measure before slyly pulling his hand away and under the table, tucking the mystery gift right into his pocket.

Now it was his turn to be excited, pretty features pulled into a smile as he tilted his head at you.

“From the way you look, I’m assuming I’m really going to enjoy this gift?”

Your smile was worsening at this point, practically leaning over the table as a sweet; “Oh, you’re going to love it..” escaped you.

You weren’t lying. While Paul was expecting maybe a key or some sort of cliche file to help take his collar off, he certainly wasn’t complaining the moment he tore the film off of his little gift.

There you were, in all your glory, images of yourself in some type of lingerie, position, or even completely bare— that left him salivating. It was no secret Paul missed you, the visits the only solace to the distance between you.

At times it seemed it wasn’t enough, given the amount of restrictions placed on the two of you. No excessive touching, you had to stay across the table, extra bullshit Paul wasn’t in the least impressed with, yet was stuck complying to.

But you, his sweet girlfriend, just knew when to push boundaries. And he was eating up every second of it.

The laminated film shined against the light of his cell, highlighting every perfect curve of your body. Paul’s eyes were practically glued to the photo, thumb sliding across the smooth surface as a soft hiss slipped from him.

Fuck, did he miss you. Every single inch. He missed coming back to you after a particularly hard mission, spotting your waiting body under the blankets to which he would climb under, securing his arms around your waist and pulling you in. You would always cuddle close, hand carrying up and down his body, assuring he sustained no major injuries. Sometimes, your gentle touches would illicit something deep inside his stomach— the man using the little bit of energy he had left to show you how excited he was to be back home.

But now, Paul was stuck in this damned cell, paying for his crimes with only fleeting images of you to keep him company. A sad case indeed, but he knew to make due.

Plus, Paul didn’t particularly plan to stay cooped up so long.

For now however, he would satiate himself with what you provided. Paul backed up until his knees hit his bed, sitting down and turning to press his back against the wall. Flipping through the polaroids, the man felt that familiar ache right between his legs. His hips shifted uncomfortably for a moment, blindly reaching for the zipper of his orange jumper. Revealing his white undershirt, and plain black boxes— the man hissed softly the moment his palm dragged across his growing bulge.

Blindly his fingers swept through the waistband of his underwear, curling around his length whilst his freehand flipped to the next photo. The light of your camera shined against your skin, the man wondering if you’d used some type of glittery lotion the way you just seemed to sparkle. A pretty purple set of lacey lingerie cupped your body perfectly, accentuating your breasts and the curve of your ass— and it certainly didn’t help the way your body arched; showing off every inch of your body.

Slowly, Paul’s palm dragged against his dick, teeth tucked tight against his bottom lip, quieting down his soft grunts. His mind was running wild, thoughts of you consuming him entirely. Replays of your past nights together, the man trying to perfectly remember every twitch and every moan you emitted.

He flinched the moment he made contact with his sensitive tip, hips rising right up into his hand. Precum was trickling from his slit, creating a mess he would concern himself with later— for now, the man was focusing on the next polaroid of you.

The picture featured you straddled a pillow, pretty thighs squeezing the plush item whilst covered in black sheer stockings. Hung up by gaterbelts that dug into your plump flesh, attached to the prettiest black underwear that rested high on your hips. Except this one was different then the other, given the undergarment was entirely crotch less; and the moment that realization hit, Paul was knocking his head back against the wall, closing his eyes tight.

“Fucking tease..” The man muttered to himself, eyebrows pushing close as he continued to fuck his hand. As the pleasure grew, he felt his legs widening, even pushing his boxers down further as his actions grew more vigorous. Paul could just imagine it, fingers playing with the lace and with your exposed pussy; fingers sliding across your wetness before dipping in, rubbing against your walls so perfectly you would cry out his name like some sort of prayer.

Paul’s stomach was clenching as time passed, lips parted as soft breaths escaped. His hand formed into a tight, wet fist, hips rising up into it as glossy eyes took in your last final polaroid.

You were completely bare, legs spread, arms opened— completely exposed to the watchful eye of your camera and Paul himself. He couldn’t help but focus between your thighs, wondering if you played with yourself during this process. The man could just guess how excited you were getting the entire time, pretty lips pouted as sweet moans escaped every time you rubbed at your little button.

Maybe you even played with your breasts; pulling and squeezing your nipples until they peaked, that thought alone caused him to twitch, hand falling to his side as the images laid out amongst his bed.

Paul dragged his hand up and down his length urgently, bated breaths and quick swears falling from his lips before he clenched, making a complete mess of his lower half.

Slowly, his hand slid down to his waist, slumping against the wall entirely as soft pants escaped him. His eyes closed, attempting to regain his breath after that little event.

Soon enough Paul’s eyes were opening, peeking at the pictures amongst his blankets, the corner of his mouth twitching into a little smile.

Which slowly fell the moment he glanced down at his legs, releasing the loudest sigh ever.

Now.. to get cleaned up.

[ablobwhowrites]

I had this y/n idea as I was watching the justice league series.

Like a y/n who is a vampire but maybe lives with the Wayne's cause bat family and stuff or something else I'll think of later but as people think vampires are mysterious and powerful but y/n isn't any of those things yet. They are more like a big sweetheart to people. They sometimes wish to be a regular human so they are able to fit in, seeing people out in the sun enjoying its warm that y/n wishes to bath in a well as everyone else but they also enjoy the moon and stars but man made and made by nature. They always regret having to drink blood to survive but has mostly been trying to survive on human food but does have to force themselves to get blood but not enough to kill someone but to sustain themselves but Everytime they try, they always back down and try to find another source.

Being found by Batman when they where basically starving to death without any human blood was somewhat of a blessing and a curse as they kinda stay in the bat cave for a while as Bruce was trying to find out what y/n was until he found out that bascially y/n was on the brink of death but after helping them. They kinda owe Bruce their life as in vampire code (also not wanting to sleep in a cold abandoned wearhouse again) plus meeting the bat family was alright just kinda weird at first because y/n was kinda a stranger that was found by Bruce but now has a stronger relationship with the family as Damian, Jason, Tim and Dick see y/n as their sibling and Bruce seeing y/n as his child who can turn into a bat. But they do keep y/n away from the windows when the curtains aren't closed. also thinking of y/n having the classic long pretty hair but they sometimes hate it cause they have to wear a hair ties a lot because it always gets in their face. Also one hundred percent believe that y/n has those weird reflective eyes that animals have when light is shined on them or something like that so when Damian was up getting a late night snack he just saw y/n in the dark making something and paused when getting caught by Damian (they had to share their late night snack with Damian) also think that they got a bed with those bed canopy's but when Alfred checks on y/n in the morning finds them either in their bat or human form hanging upside down asleep.

Y/n doesn't smile or try to laugh showing their teeth much as many times it has scared people who see them. So they don't like their teeth than much so always tries to do a close mouth smile or when they laugh try to cover their mouth or look away. Also I think y/n never knew their biological parents and think they might never find who they are, as they image they could have been born human than they would have so many friends and maybe even get to explore the world without fearing the sun would burn them or to killed because they are seen as a monster.

I imagine they meet superman by accident as they snuck out for a bit to spread their wings and fly a bit before heading back and somehow bump into superman because to superman seeing a person on the edge of a tall building would be concerning but y/n got scared seeing superman flying at them and fell off their ledge but transformed into a bat and got away. And superman bringing it up to Batman at the justice league headquarters and Batman is all like 'y/n is going to be in big trouble when I get home'

(that's all I got RN but if you guys like it. Please don't be shy and request your ideas for this y/n or any kind but for now I'll see y'all later and please stay safe and drink water!)

[kdinjenzen]

I came up with a plot idea for a Who Framed Roger Rabbit sequel while taking a shower and decided to type it up.

I introduce you to ReFramed Roger Rabbit!:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ReFramed Roger Rabbit takes place NOW, in 202X, a full 78 years AFTER the original which was set in 1947.

One year before the events of the movie begin we see that Eddie Valiant Sr. has long since passed on, his son (with Dolores) Eddie Valiant Jr. (born 8 years after WFRR) eventually taking over his business as a private investigator and becoming a success in his own right is now ALSO finally retiring (at age 70) after sustaining an injury in the middle of a low stakes investigation.

Enter Eddie Valiant The Third (age 40) finally taking his place as the head of the detective agency after desperately trying to prove himself for these last 22 years (joining his father’s detective agency right out of High School).

One Year Later:

We see Roger (also long since retired but un-aged) living as a stay-at-home husband supporting his wife, Jessica, in her (now long lasting) writing career as a self-help author after she became famous for her book “We’re Not Bad, We’re Just Drawn That Way”.

As Roger is making breakfast their house is immediately broken into by a SWAT team and Roger is immediately arrested for “Crimes Against Cartoons” by making illegal and unregulated cartoons against the toon code. Roger claims he has done nothing and begs Jessica to find help as he is dragged away.

Cut to Eddie The Third struggling to keep the legacy of the detective agency relevant but his uncoordinated (both physical and logical) efforts have seen the business decline astronomically these past 12 months and the agency is on the edge of foreclosing. He turns on the TV to see Roger being arrested and crying out for help, he stands up with renewed vigor, and just before he is able proclaim his hand in helping Roger - Jessica bursts in and says she demands his help because “That’s What Eddie Would Have Wanted” - with Eddie 3rd sadly saying “But I’m Eddie too…”

Eddie 3rd, with Jessica, arrives at the station and Eddie lies his way in by saying he’s Roger’s lawyer who was hired by Jessica and demands to see his client. The three talk and Eddie says he truly believes Roger and that they’re getting out of there. He pulls out a toon bomb, placing it next to the wall and blows a cartoon shaped hole in it while also blowing smoke all over his face, classic cartoon style.

As they attempt to run away, Jessica is caught by the chief of police, but Eddie 3rd urges Roger to run and once they have the evidence to clear his name Jessica would be freed.

Jessica is, throughout the film, being interviewed by the chief of police for information.

Meanwhile Roger and Eddie 3rd find a shadowy figure who resembles Roger’s silhouette running around New ToonTown.

Throughout the film we see Eddie 3rd as a bumbling fool acting more toon than human, unable to accomplish anything unless it’s “because it would be funny” and getting increasingly frustrated with these mannerisms he has while Roger beams with pride as it reminds him of how Eddie became more toon-ish after WFRR.

Through several twists and turns, seeing Roger and Eddie travel through both New and Old ToonTown, learning that cartoons have changed, why Roger left showbiz, how Eddie feels he failed his family’s legacy, we eventually see Roger and Eddie corner the silhouette in what appears to be the same warehouse from the finale of Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

It’s at this point we finally hear Doppelganger Roger speak and it is reminiscent of Generative AI showcasing a lack of soul, comedy, and art and only appearing to look like Roger on the surface…

Roger and Doppel Roger begin to have a Toon Fight, with Eddie 3rd pulling out his phone and recording the entire fight for evidence.

It’s at this point Roger, at toon knife point, asks the important question of who would want to create a clone of him like this and for what reason, he hasn’t been relevant for almost 100 years!

Eddie 3rd, unable to help himself and his somewhat toon-like nature, then reveals that this was all his plan, he begins to villain monologue about how he planned this whole thing to revive both HIS and ROGER’S careers, pushing them back into the limelight and out of the shadows of Eddie 3rd’s father and grandfather and Roger out of the shadow of his now very famous wife.

Roger says he was HAPPIER than he had ever been and never asked for this and Eddie 3rds actions are an insult to the Valiant name!

We hear “THAT’S ALL WE NEEDED TO HEAR!” blast over the now obvious speakers hanging over the set of what is obviously a studio set dressed up to look like the finale location of WFRR.

Jessica comes out, accompanied by toons, fans, and the chief of police. Jessica slipped a bug (an actual toon bug) onto Roger earlier at the police station feeling she couldn’t trust anyone fully. Her cunning and knowledge of toons and the business allowed her to be one step ahead, with the assistance of the chief, and set up this trap for Eddie 3rd.

The finale sees Eddie 3rd locked away and all Generative AI banned.

Toons world wide celebrate while Roger returns to his happy life as a husband.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[southernassessors24]

Elevate sustainability with BREEAM expertise. Offering expert Air Testing in Kent, Dorset and London. Enhance your home's air quality today. Southern Assessors.

[darrenwalleyconsultancy]

Building a house in the Philippines

Photo by Frames For Your Heart So now you have decided to retire to the Philippines, you need to decide to buy or build a house in the Philippines. If you read my previous posts on retiring to the Philippines, you will have read that you cannot own land as an ex-pat. So, if you are single or not sure you want to trust your partner with your hard-earned cash, then it is condo shopping all the…

[liberaljane]

Reproductive labor is work -- typically designated to women -- that is required to sustain human life. It's unpaid, and is often invisible or unnoticed.

This includes tasks like cooking, cleaning, caring for children and more necessary to raise future generations. It's time to bring visibility to this labor, and acknowledge it for what it is: work. Far too many women and fems take on the bulk of household and domestic tasks in addition to having full time jobs -- also known as the 'second shift.' It's time to end gender inequality at home.

I was super excited to work with @Momcozy, who is working to provide comfort and companionship to parents from pregnancy through your child's early years. ❤️ parenthood is already hard enough, why not be comfy? their hands-free pump allow for on-the-go feeding and is designed with your body in mind.

There should be NO moral judgment given to how people choose to feed their children. Formula & chestfeeding are both valid. You have to do what’s best for you, your baby and your life

💚 Wanna try their products yourself? Momcozy is offering 10% off with code LIBERALJANE

* * Image description: Digital illustration of six parents doing different jobs related to chestfeeding. Around the circle shows, 'pumping, bottle warming, feeding, cleaning, storage and burping.' In the center there is text that reads, 'every mom is a working mom.'

[reasonsforhope]

"At the University of Maine, one of the world’s largest 3D printers is using sawdust from the state’s lumber industry to 3D print cozy wooden cabins.

It’s part of a move towards making 3D printing faster and more sustainable in a state where the housing shortage that has metastasized in most states around the country is dire.

It’s thought that 80,000 new homes will be needed over the next 5 years to keep pace with demand, and though it takes years for building codes to be changed, the technicians at the Advanced Structures & Composites Center (ASCC) at the Univ. of Maine hope their new toy can help address this need.

Guinness World Records certified the machine at ASCC as the world’s largest prototype polymer 3D printer, capable of creating a 600 square foot house 96 feet in length, 36 feet in width, and 18 feet tall entirely out of bio-based material at a rate of 500 pounds per hour.

In 2022, it could print the walls, floors, and roof of the house in just 96 hours, but the ACSS has been refining the design with the hope of doubling the printing speed and getting it down to a 48-hour timeline.

“When they’re doing concrete, they’re only printing the walls,” Habib Dagher, the executive director of ACSS told CNN. “The approach we’ve taken is quite different from what you’ve seen, and you’ve been reading about for years.”

Indeed, GNN has reported on a fair number of 3D printing projects, but most if not all involve printing only the walls. One fantastical exception is an Italian firm that is 3D-printing domed, beehive-like, modular concept homes inspired by the Great Enclosure in Zimbabwe.

STAND-OUT 3D-PRINTING PROJECTS: 

First 2-Story Home to be 3D Printed in the U.S. Reaches for the Sky in Texas 

The World’s Largest 3D Printed Building is a Horse Barn That Can Endure Florida Hurricanes

This 23-Year-Old Founder is 3D Printing Schools in Madagascar Aiming to be a ‘Stepping Stone’ for the Community

A Startup Is Using Recycled Plastic to 3D Print Tiny $25,000 Prefabricated Homes in LA

The ASCC is calling the house design the BioHome3D, and says it’s rare people who tour the concept version don’t ask when they “can have one up?”

The interior gives the feel of a modern Scandinavian wooden cabin, making it fit well with the Maine aesthetic. The ASCC is now doing work on how to incorporate conduits for wiring and plumbing “exactly where an architect would want them,” says Dagher.

WATCH a time-lapse video of the printer doing the job…

-via Good News Network, August 16, 2024. Video via The University of Maine, March 3, 2023.

[edenunbuilt]

── ϧ𝑒 forever, maybe.ೃ࿔

℘ jj maybank x fem!kook!reader ৴ length: 1k ৴ time of posting: 11:06pm

summary: jj finally accepts forever, as long as it means seeing where you end

content: sfw ﾉ soft!jj ♡

author's notes: can you tell i get most of my inspo from songs? how very original of me, i know! in all seriousness, i always seem to get my best ideas when i lose myself in music filled daydreams. here's a lil' something inspired by noah kahan's forever, very jj coded might i add.

jj has never been good at holding onto things.

he learned young that nothing is permanent—not people, not homes, not even the ocean when the tide pulls back. 

forever used to sound like a death sentence. like a slow, inevitable decline into something worse. he never wanted to think that far ahead, never let himself imagine a future he wouldn’t be able to sustain. because forever meant watching things slip through his fingers, meant waiting for the good to turn sour, meant setting himself up to lose. his grip has always been loose, fingers slipping off everything he’s ever wanted to keep.

maybe that’s why he tells himself that whatever this thing with you is, it won’t last.

but it’s hard to believe his own bullshit when you’re stretched out beside him on the porch like some deity, your arm draped over your stomach, sundress bunched up just enough to reveal tanned legs. your hair spills over the wood like something out of a dream, and you’re looking up at the stars with that quiet kind of curiosity, like you’re searching for something, letting the summer air wrap around you like it’s got nowhere else to be.

jj watches you instead.

he won’t say it out loud, but there’s something about the way you exist—effortlessly, like you’ve never had to fight to keep anything in your life—that makes his chest ache. he wonders if you’ve ever lost something that mattered. if you’ve ever had to let go of something before you were ready. if you’ve ever held on so tightly and still watched it slip away.

she’s the kind of girl who could have anything she wanted, and yet here she is—choosing to be next to him. it doesn’t make sense. 

but then again, nothing about her ever has.

"you’re staring," she murmurs, not looking away from the sky as her lips twitch up into a barely conceivable smile

jj smirks. "can you blame me? you’re kinda blocking my view."

she scoffs, shoving at his arm. "oh, please—like you care about constellations."

"excuse me," jj says, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s been personally wounded. "i’ll have you know, i am very interested in astrology."

"astronomy."

jj waves a hand dismissively. "whatever."

she rolls her eyes, a smile on her lips as she turns her head to look at him. "okay, stargazer. if you’re such an expert, what’s that one?" she lifts a finger toward the sky, pointing vaguely at a cluster of stars. 

jj squints. "that one?"

"yeah, that one."

he clicks his tongue, nodding with mock seriousness. "that’s… uh, the big spoon."

she snorts first, a hand coming up to quell the noise—because she’s proper before anything else. her index and middle finger press beneath her nose as a laugh escapes anyway, bubbling up her throat, bright and unrestrained. "the big spoon?"

"yeah, you know. It’s like the big dipper, but—"

"but wrong?"

jj grins, pleased with himself as he watches you laugh. it’s a sound he wants to bottle up, to keep tucked away for the days that feel too heavy. the kind of thing that makes his chest feel too small for his ribs, like if he’s not careful, the warmth of it might slip right through the cracks.

the thought makes him shift, stretching his bad hand absently. it still aches sometimes when the weather changes, a dull reminder of a fight that wasn’t worth it. the break healed all wrong, a little crooked, a little off. kind of like him.

she notices. because of course she does. her laughter softens, fading into a quiet hum as her fingers ghost over his forearm, her voice practically blending into the soft whispers of the summer breeze. "does it hurt?" 

jj blinks, thrown off by the question and how she always manages to evoke a sort of delicateness in her every word and movement. "what?"

"your hand," she says, nodding toward it. "you do that thing sometimes—like you're shaking it off."

jj flexes his fingers, rolling his wrist before resting his arm back against his chest. "nah, not really. just a little stiff sometimes."

she hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t push. instead, her lips purse in thought and she watches him like she’s picking apart the things he doesn’t say. 

with a soft click of her tongue and smack of her lips, she finally speaks. "you do that a lot," she murmurs, squirming slightly, letting her back settle against the damp wood once more. "act like things don’t bother you when they do."

jj exhales, tilting his head back against the railing. "can’t complain. had worse."

she rolls onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow. "i don’t get you," she says, an unperceived pout tugging at the corners of her mouth. her voice is quieter now, like she’s speaking more to herself than to him. her eyes skim over his face like she’s trying to piece something together.

jj smirks.—cheeky, easy, practiced. the kind that makes his eyes gleam in the low light. he lets out a breathy laugh. "princess, i don’t even get me."

she huffs out a small laugh, but there’s something softer underneath it. she studies him for a second longer before dropping her head back down, her cheek pressing against his shoulder like it belongs there.

jj doesn’t move.

he hesitates for half a second before wrapping his arm around her, his bad hand resting lightly against her back. it’s instinct to hold her loosely—to leave space, to give himself an out, an uncomfortable mixture of habit and fear. he’s never trusted himself to keep the good things. never let himself believe he deserved to, always afraid of gripping too tight, of hurting what he means to keep.

but then you shift, curling into him like you’re settling in, like you don’t plan on going anywhere. and when you exhale a content little sigh against his collarbone, something shifts in him.

forever doesn’t feel like a death sentence anymore. it doesn’t feel like a weight around his neck, like something waiting to go wrong. it feels like more. 

more time, more moments like this, more of you.

jj swallows. tightens his hold just a little. just enough to know you’re real.

his grip might be loose, but this time—this time—he swears he won’t let go.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

thank you for reading! © edenunbuilt 2025. all rights reserved — claims, copies, reposts or translations are not permitted. ˖⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

[cyberrose2001]

Self-Humiliation

RB Chase x GN!Human Reader

Based on Rescue Bots Season 3 Episode 23 A little fic I thought of in the shower after binging some rescue bots. Trying to get myself out of a writing rut, so apologies if it isn't up to par, but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Mild Dub-Con, Masturbation, Sex Toy Usage, Third Person POV

Word Count: 971

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Click.

Click.

Click.

Oh, how humiliating this is.

It hadn't bothered Chase that he was confined to a wheelchair, nor the fact that he was injured. The police bot had sustained plenty worse before.

What bothered him was how helpless he felt. Chase tried cutting into the coms with the team on the ground, inputting suggestions, but had been quickly dismissed by the Chief to perform surveillance on the town. Chase felt a tiny bit deflated, though, in truth, he was rather grateful and enthusiastic that he could still play a crucial role for the team. Sitting alone in the control centre, constantly flicking through surveillance cameras around the island and calling the Chief if he saw something slightly unusual.

Chase still wasn't sure what constituted 'usual' regarding humans. So, he kept flicking through video feeds, a twinge of excitement at the thought of the knowledge he could gather. His optics were fixed even on the screen's in-between static. With current rescue scenes, the view of the main street, and the bank, he had the whole island at his fingertips. He was determined to do his job with the utmost pride and diligence.

As he ran the feed further and further, he saw live feeds of residential homes peering into the open windows, strangely enough. Surely this was a violation of some kind, Chase thought. It was Griffin Rock, though; anything can happen. Even if it called for cameras in every nook and cranny, pointed at the unsuspecting humans going about their unusual hobbies. He makes a mental note to ask about this... violation of privacy later.

There was Mrs Neederlander, a man playing a rather interesting instrument, and a couple enjoying an outside meal, which he believes is called a... 'bee bee queue'? Fascinating.

However, when he clicks on the remote to the next feed, his optics whir into pinpoints, and his digit freezes above the 'next' button.

The live feed focuses on a window, barely concealed by the thin curtain; it may as well not be there. It shows a silhouette of a human, a hand between their thighs, thrusting an unusually shaped phallic object into them.

"Oh my-" Chase covers his intake in shock. This was unprecedented. He leans closer to the screen, unsure if his optics are playing tricks on him.

No, this human was certainly pleasuring themselves.

He's heard of it before; there are police codes for public acts similar to this. But technically, this wasn't in public. This was a human unknowingly being spied on in their own home, so the thought of passing this off to the Chief quickly fizzled out.

"Ohh, fuck-"

Oh dear, Chase thinks to himself, there's audio. He really shouldn't be watching this. Every fibre of this being urges him to click 'next', to pretend he never saw anything. An emergency could unfold on the next surveillance feed, and he'd be none the wiser.

But Primus, does this human sound delightful.

A small pulse behind his panels, and Chase stiffens. Despite wanting nothing else than to continue his work, his body has a different opinion on the matter. His optics remain fixed on the human's tight hole, swallowing the inadequately sized toy; his spike would do much better work on making you scream. He bites the tip of his digits in agonising thought, fighting with his inner turmoil. It's wrong. It's so wrong to even have that passing thought.

But no one is around. Chase did a whole sweep of the base. No one to walk in on him shamelessly touching himself to a complete stranger. Let alone a human.

But, he wanted knowledge. So, knowledge he will get.

Chase quickly digs his digit into the seam of his panels, and the pressure releases with a hiss. His spike falls into his servo perfectly, standing shamelessly tall and erect instantly. His face heats up in disgrace, not believing he would ever consider doing this. Still, he lounges back, somewhat relaxing into his wheelchair, and refocuses on the human.

He watches intently, stroking up and down in time with the toy. Chase had never thought of it, but he wondered how that little human would feel wrapped around his spike. The thought sends a jolt through his spine, and he strokes faster.

"You- You little devil-" Chase moans softly as the pleasurable sensation blooms in the pits of his tanks, "Turning a bot like me into a filthy animal." He re-adjusts himself in the chair so he can spread his thighs more, a shameful display if anyone were to walk into the room right now. But he keeps stroking, pumping himself to the thought of plunging his spike into the little human. That tight, slick hole dripping all over it. Now his mind wanders again, wondering what it would be like, what you would smell like, taste like.

Chase never thought he could feel such envy like this, watching greedily as they collect dribbles of cum with a fingertip only to wrap a soft tongue around it.

It's all too much for his processor to handle; the sight of the human pleasingly sucking their finger, the toy still pressed deep inside that fleshy valve. Chase arches into his wheelchair, gripping the armrest with the same intensity as his spike and overloads. He fucks into his servo aimlessly, moaning and tossing his helm around with every erupting throb of his spike. Transfluid messily coats his digits and paints his thighs.

The police bot vents heavily and slumps back, groaning softly. His optics flicker open, not realising that he had squeezed them shut, and he looks back at the screen. The human was gone; only a tiny wet patch remained of you on the sheets.

Chase looks down at his lap, a bubble of shame creeping through his frame.

"Oh, Primus, how humiliating."