#Dire Glacier

[nugothrhythms]

"Dire Glacier" by Vancouver, Washington-based quirky darkwave act This Cold Night off of 2023 album Restrospective XXIII

[nowanderers]

xavier x reader —ੈ✩‧₊˚

warnings: smut, oral (f! receiving), thigh fucking, cum on panties

wc: 1.2K

tagged: @luckylittlepaw

artist note: i needed a change of pace after what i wrote for sylus. ones written for the other men can be found here.

things did start off innocent. 

you’d both planned for a nap, drained from last night’s mission and the 2 am return home. you’d both yawned through the afternoon. declarations of sleepiness passed both of your lips— though for xavier that’s typical. 

those sleepy intentions died the moment his cock poked your ass. your bedroom, now anything but a quiet environment suitable for sleeping. the incessant squeak from your bed frame and xavier’s light gasps overshadow the swishing of the smooth bed sheets beneath your frenzied movements. 

warm puffs of jagged, short breaths tickle your bare skin as you feel xavier’s head rest against the back of your neck. caught between two strong arms, you press your hips into him while he ruts against you. his cock feels hard and heavy tucked between your plush thighs. the fat tip firm as it rubs along your damp, thin lace panties in wanton need. 

he’s holding you close to his chest so lovingly– contrasting the depraved way he rolls his hips. when xavier’s pace picks up your body floods with more heat. you pant in dire need of cold air to fill your lungs, feeling parched. skin on fire under the thick blanket that conceals you both. tearing it off, you shiver from both his teasing cock and the cool air nipping at your skin. your sweaty bodies stick together like glue as you move in tandem. you push back into him, hips tilted as you chase after the tiny ghosts of friction that torture your clit. pussy undeniably sopping wet with need– ready for more than this.

xavier’s gentle hands move away from your waist in favor of touching your stomach. his fingers softly caress their way to your chest, sending a flurry of energized butterflies straight to your cunt. he covers your tits with his large hands and he gives them both a squeeze that has your eyes rolling back. he’s close. his slowly bruising and ravenous grip on you is the leading indicator.

the man only ever got rough with you minutes before cumming. his fingers dig into your skin as he uses your chest as leverage while he fucks your thighs. every sound he let out sent you reeling. his labored breaths build until he’s moaning so softly in your ear. the wet slide of his cock between your legs becomes sloppy as his hips buck and stutter into a desperate rhythm. you feel the heat against you before you realize he’s cumming. spurts of his cum hit your thinly clothed center and you mewl from the hot sensation. he ruins the sheets and your underwear, smearing his load all over the lace fabric.

eventually, xavier’s breathing evens out. you’re still snuggled together in the middle of your bed, cum trickling down your thigh. “what happened to feeling sleepy?” you ask with a lazy smile stretching on your lips as his arms coil around your waist. he kisses along your neck and draws you closer into his hold– as if he could get any closer to you at this moment.

“i couldn’t sleep,” he answers simply, voice dulcet as the words brush against your skin. shifting, he lets go of you while he continues further. “i read somewhere that helps.” 

you feel the mattress dip and you turn to see him moving farther down your bed. “what are you doing?” you ask, catching his attention. finding your cluelessness kind of cute, xavier smiles and reaches for your hand, giving it a tender squeeze thereafter.

“helping you fall asleep.” 

xavier settles between your legs without another word. he gives your hand another loving squeeze before leaving it to lie alone on top of the cold sheets. your gaze follows his movements as he adjusts you until your thighs flank either side of his head. 

pretty, glacier-blue eyes gloss over your body with a fleeting glance before lingering on the messy scene at your entrance. his steady hands spread your legs wide, exposing more of you to him. sticky and cum soaked, your panties clung to your center. they outline your pussy so hotly that his eyes burn with desire. slowly, he slides the fabric to the side. you watch with bated breath as he leans down and licks a teasing fat stripe through your delicate folds. he sighs against you, saturating your dewy pussy with his spit as he repeatedly drags his skilled tongue through your cunt. he groans at the taste, pausing to savor the sweet essence on his lips before diving back in for another lustful lick that has your toes curling.

xavier doesn’t do the same thing long enough for you to get used to it. he flicks his wet tongue across your clit before sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, teasing every nerve ending on its surface. after he pulls a string of shaky moans out of your chest, he slides the warm muscle all across your pussy, cleaning up every bit of your wetness with the eager slurp of his lips. enjoying himself, his eyes fall closed and he releases a peaceful hum that strokes all the sensitive points within you. he laps at you keenly, trying to work out what you needed most– the answer was all of it.

with every deep, lingering lick across your slippery wet cunt, you sink further into a bliss so heavenly. warm, fuzzy, and gingerly carving you out from the inside. 

xavier has such a sinfully drawn-out way of eating you out. slow, sinuous, but impactful, like he had all the time in the world. he moans against you, languidly shaking his head back and forth along your folds while he sucks your clit between his lips, tongue flicking against it in his mouth. 

“oh.” you whisper.

he always got this into it. the sensation ravaging your body with every sound that’s muffled into your cunt. his fingers bite into the skin at your thighs as he presses his face closer, using them as handles while he sloppily makes out with your sweet pussy. he groans again, rendering you speechless. all you can do is shake loose the mangled syllables that catch in your throat as his mouth pushes you closer to the edge. the sounds flowing past your lips want to be words, instead settling for half-formed pleas and whines that stretch on into oblivion. 

xavier brings all of his focus to your throbbing clit, swirling his tongue around the aching bud nonstop while you hold his head firmly in place. you can’t help but cry out as his ministrations successfully shut your body down. a couple of deliciously rough licks later, your cunt trembles through a gushing wet orgasm– lips framing his name through a debauched noise that’s hard to categorize. loud. uncontrolled and erotically charged. the love child of a moan and a scream.

you’re walked through your high by the subtle drag of xavier’s tongue. the heat of it ebbs and flows, coursing beneath your skin before all the raw pleasure in your body fizzles out. until you’re left with this mind-numbing sleepiness that has your eyes half-lidded. 

you remain splayed out, breathing through deep inhales and exhales while he lays soothing kisses along your inner thighs. his lips travel up your torso and across your chest. even now, you can feel the emotions that he’s able to wake up within you with each kiss he presses into your skin. you smile weakly at the love that flourishes in your chest. the thick blanket from before covers your body once more. 

one last gentle kiss is placed on your forehead and soft words that you can’t discern barely reach your ears. far too sleepy as you near the precipice of a phenomenal nap.

[richardlawson]

The End

After a few years away from that particular couch, I started seeing a new therapist at the end of last year. It had been long enough, I sagely determined, after I was felled by a series of really nasty panic attacks—one happened while I was doing a Q&A on stage with some filmmakers. They didn't notice, nor did the audience, nor (most importantly) the publicists. But it was happening. Me contemplating running off stage, into the Soho afternoon. It was a terrible feeling, and eventually feeling terrible starts to be a drag, so I found, after a fair amount of searching, someone new.

He is in his late 50s and has a kind, open comportment. He's much more giving and lean-in-and-nod than my last therapist, a sort of prim and watchful gay guy who retired to Florida. I like this new gay guy, I think. Or, I am warming to him. At first, I thought his platitudes and constant quoting of various people were corny. But I have resisted such sentiment for so long, and lack of sentiment hasn't cured me, so maybe I should try the earnest stuff. He has me meditating for one minute a day. The panic attacks went away.

For a little while, anyway. They've been creeping back, when I least expect them, and when I most do. I am afraid of what I am afraid of, I hate what I hate, I feel increasingly indifferent to what I love. Winter hardens care. Do I like movies anymore? Do I like a play, seen on some chilly Saturday afternoon? Maybe it's just seasonal. Or it's media malaise in a time of such austerity. They're trying to lay off the best people while the worst people watch, safe as houses. They're trying to take the whole thing apart and replace it with nothing. I have worked in my business for 16 years, well over a third of my life, and for the first time it now feels truly dire and terminal and like I need to start making other plans for what to do with the rest of my time here in the waking, working world.

Something I talk about a lot with my therapist is inertia—I use the word constantly. Why can't I just, why can't I just, why can't I just. I know something's in me, latent under my lazy skin, but it never makes its way to the surface. At least not yet.

Which causes panic, this stasis. I am scared of the drugs that might help, and am resistant to other concrete life changes that might make this better. (I like a glass of wine too much; I'm a fan of my vape.) I have tried avoiding things, I have tried not avoiding things.

I guess it's not circumstance, really. I have panic attacks when I'm home at night, Andrew asleep in the other room, me watching some murder show or YouTube video (same thing) and suddenly a feeling hits me, the conviction that a blood clot or some other lurking thing is making its way up my body and that this is my sorry, lonely little nighttime end. Here it is, the moment when I'm carried off, when I disappear, when I slip away into nothing.

My parents just finished a cruise, a lifelong wish fulfilled, in South America, hooking around Cape Horn and then exploring the fjords and inlets of Chile. All the reports were good. They had the best time. I had worried about my mom itching for her work email, about my dad being newly 90 years old and maybe feeling exhausted by all the activity. But it seems they managed well. They saw Patagonian cities, they saw mountains rising out of the sea, they saw the shy, retreating edges of glaciers, so quiet and demure in their dying. My mom sent us pictures and I thought most about the glaciers, those last cracking murmurs of a time before. When I was in Alaska for a wedding, years ago now, we went to a park of some kind and the visitor's center that was once built over a glacier then stood cantilevered over dry land. The ice had crept much farther up the mountain, winking goodbye.

How awful. And yet, in the depths of my hypocrisy, I relish an unseasonably warm day. Whatever lifts me out of winter, I guess. Whatever can drag me out of the feeling that everything is indeed going to ruin—a career, a life, a liver, a future. My best friend moved out of my neighborhood recently, which is sad. But it also affords us the opportunity to explore new territory, to find backyard bars with good deals where we can huddle in forgiving late-winter winds and make uneasy escape plans, where we consider what parachutes could ever be made of.

It's not always enough, of course. I too often have nights, far too late, when I go pacing around the living room, circling the coffee table in a weird sort of marching step in my underwear, shaking my hands to get the dread to go away. My new therapist has urged me to find what centers me. To think of all that is known and steady.

I try to gather myself and remember the people I have, arrayed across the planet. Andrew, in restless sleep down the hall. My sister in her Los Angeles canyon, surrounded by trees. I walk the room, knees high and somehow defiant, chest straining with worry. And I see my parents, on a boat at the tip of the world, dreaming of lost things.

[typhlonectes]

The oceans have hit their hottest ever recorded temperature as they soak up warmth from climate change, with dire implications for our planet's health.

The average daily global sea surface temperature beat a 2016 record this week, according to the EU's climate change service Copernicus. It reached 20.96C (69.73F) - far above the average for this time of year. Oceans are a vital climate regulator. They soak up heat, produce half Earth's oxygen and drive weather patterns. Warmer waters have less ability to absorb carbon dioxide, meaning more of that planet-warming gas will stay in the atmosphere. And it can also accelerate the melting of glaciers that flow into the ocean, leading to more sea level rise. Hotter oceans and heatwaves disturb marine species like fish and whales as they move in search of cooler waters, upsetting the food chain. Experts warn that fish stocks could be affected...

[jacquesdor-poesie]

Ecrire avec l’ombre des mots

la solitude invisible

des cœurs aimants

Sentiment endormi

La pluie aussi

Et à l'intérieur de chaque larme

Le petit incendie d'un chagrin

Qui aimerait sécher au soleil

"Je vous aime"

Mots si douloureusement épique

Quand ils restent lettres mortes

Ou deviennent champ de tournesols calcinés

Écrire avec de la cendre

Un amour impossible-mais-vrai

Son comique vague à l'âme

Ses rivages de paradis sans issue

Seuls les rêves

Soie de sa peau

dans le miel de ses gestes

Seuls les rêves

Dire alors "je vous rêve"

Pour ne déranger aucune pénombre

N'émerveiller ni ne décevoir

La moindre attente

Le moindre cauchemar

Du silence garder le trésor

Sa cachette est sous l'escalier

Votre beau visage à la fenêtre

Que fixe l'étoile polaire

Belle transparence de ses paupières

Qu'on imagine

Que dire de ses lèvres

Quand elle observe le ciel

On dirait le murmuré des pensées

Un mystérieux insecte serti dans un sourire

Sans ailes la neige

Partition blanche et nue

Vole aussi bien que la lumière

Bras grands ouverts

J'aimerais être le fil

Du funambule et vous y voir arpenter

Le durable périmètre de ma mélancolie

Celle que j'ai aujourd'hui

Car demain elle aura fondue en totalité

Avec les glaciers

Les déserts

Les vies rêvées et le sentiment profond

D'une absence abyssale

Imaginaire peut-être

Mais avec laquelle je suis né

jacques dor

[trigunwritings]

Hey! Saw your new blog! Lovely layout! Anyway, if your accepting requests can I please have a request of vash traveling with a time traveler that claims they are from 21st century earth but are now stuck on Norman land? Maybe she tells him stories of all the wonders of the world?(huge trees that touch the sky, thousands of flowers of different colors, all the different types of donuts that exist, water that comes from the sky in such huge amounts it could flood a valley, volcanos that spew hot lava and giant glaciers of ice that float in giant pools of water) they just tell each other stories of their adventures on their respective planets while vash also teaches his time traveler buddy all the stuff about Noman land. Much thanks!

Vash's eyes fill with glittering awe as the words of home continue to fall from your lips. Of Earth. What had once been idle conversation to fill the awkward and empty air quickly became stories of things that had, at least at one point, been completely normal to you. As normal as things could be to a person who had been whisked away from everything familiar and safe in the blink of an eye. Even weeks after the fact, you still clutch onto the dire hope that you're simply dreaming a fantastical, horrifying dream.

"So you're telling me it could rain so much that it could fill up this entire gorge?"

The man's tone had not faltered from childish disbelief for a moment since deciding to tell him of the various wonders of Earth—it is so different from this... place, this No Man's Land of endless desert and scorching heat.

The fact that anyone could even survive upon such an inhospitable planet is beyond understanding.

Your eyes glance from one side of the rocky landscape to the other, then up towards where the edges of the rocks jut into the amazingly bright sky. Several meters high and several more wide at least. Idly, you wonder what could have happened in the history of this planet to create such a formation if rain was not the maker.

Nonetheless, you nod and look towards him again. "Easily," you say with a smile nearly forced. "There are plenty of places on Earth where the rain would fall so quickly that the ground can't absorb it quick enough—even in the desert. I think they were still called flash floods."

"Would it rain like that everywhere?"

"Oh no, not everywhere," you say, tapping a finger to your chin. "Lots of places didn't get so much rain that it washed everything away. There were forests and jungles, meadows and mountains—have you ever even seen a tree?"

"A tree?"

The blonde looks utterly befuddled by the word, though there's a thin veil of... recognition? He doesn't offer anything besides a look of genuine interest as that expression fades away, and you're not sure if you had simply misread him, and merely nod.

"A tree. It's tall and full of bright green leaves usually—Earth had all sorts, some were so huge you couldn't see the top, others grew fruit like apples and oranges."

You take a moment or so before glancing down towards your feet. There isn't even a tuft of grass, a sprig of green; dead or alive, there isn't an inch of plant growth to be found.

"Trees and grass... and bushes and flowers—never thought I'd be this desperate to even just see weeds or some cactuses."

Vash blinks, looking both as if he understands and doesn't at the same time, but before he can say anything the ground suddenly starts to shake beneath your feet. Not hard; it feels like a gentle rumbling as opposed to anything else, but fear rolls down your spine all the same.

"What-" you say, trying desperately to figure out if the shaking is coming from something large moving outside of what you can see within the valley of the gorge. "What is that? An earthquake?"

"Earthquake?" Vash sounds too amused, but lays a hand on your shoulder to steady you—perhaps more emotionally than physical. "That's just a sand-worm. Big one, I bet. They don't tend to surface in rocky places so I don't think we need to worry about anything."

A dozen questions immediately surface about nearly every word that came out of the man's mouth, but you shove them down so as to nod in silent acceptance of his answer. The rumbling continues for at least a minute before eventually calming down, leaving the ground beneath your feet still once more.

Vash removes his hand from your shoulder and adjusts himself, flashing a grin that looks almost stupidly energetic on his face.

"See? Nothing to worry about."

You simply remain silent, brows furrowing just enough over your downturned eyes that the stress must have looked obvious enough; your traveling partner quickly makes a noise to get your attention and gestures widely with his hands as he talks.

"Look, we're way too small to be considered any kind of good eating to a sand-worm like that—those things mostly eat tiny bug that live deep in the dunes out in the open sea anyway."

What?

"Sea?" The confusion grabbed you so quickly that there wasn't a moment to be concerned over the horrible way Vash had described such a monstrous thing—humans were too small? You narrow your eyes at him and tilt your head to the side. "What do you mean sea?"

He meets your confusion with some of his own, echoing the expression across your face.

"I mean... the open sand," he explains with a useless wave of his hand out towards the end of the gorge the two of you had entered from, where the sand dunes rolled on for miles upon miles. "No town for days, just dunes and stuff."

"That's...a desert."

Vash only looks more confused as you try to clarify his choice of words. It leaves you wondering if, perhaps, there's been a defined shift in what he means from your use of the language.

"A sea is a large body of water," you finally explain, uselessly trying to conjure up flashes of memories in your mind as if that would help you describe it perfectly into words he could connect with. "Like, huge. They're hundreds of miles wide at the smallest and deeper than anyone could ever swim. They have dolphins and whales and squids—"

"Are you sure you're not making some of those words up?" Vash asks with a chuckle, but you ignore him in favor of trying to finish your thoughts.

"—and we'd have huge ships that could sail across them, sometimes people would spend vacations on fancy cruises or— or scientists would find all sorts of new animals we never knew existed! They were huge and deep and filled with water and not sand—"

As your words turn less explanatory and more frantic, you swear that the world starts to shake just a little bit. Or maybe that's just you shaking, brain unable to wrap around the fact that this never-ending desert is not home, it's not Earth, and you are far, far away from anything even remotely familiar to you.

To this, Vash finally seems to take a step towards you, face empty of humor and instead filled with a look of soft concern.

"Hey hey hey—" his hands fall on your shoulders just hard enough that the pressure snaps your mind out of its whirlwind of worry. "Don't start thinking too much about it. I promise I don't think you're lying, not at all."

Your eyes meet his own for several long seconds. Even through the tint of his glasses, you can't help but feel comforted by the soft blue-green of the man's eyes, mirroring a perfectly clear sky and filled with an assurance so strong you couldn't help but feel calmed at least a little.

"...I miss it," the words gently mumble past your lips. "All of it. Earth."

"There's nothing wrong for someone to miss home," he whispers in return, soft tone nearly lost in the wind blowing through the gorge and whistling its lonely reminders. "And I'll do everything I can to make sure you go back to it, okay?"

Your face bounces with a nod after a few seconds, temporarily comforted from the anxiety biting at the edges of fragile thoughts.

"Please," you say, gentle and firm, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Vash is silent for a moment. At first you think he's going to say nothing and merely change the subject or hurry the two of you to keep moving before the day turns too hot—but instead, the grip of his hands on your shoulders grow tight and hard, just short of uncomfortable.

"Don't worry." The words are simple, and there's a smile on his face. "I won't."

It's a painful, honest smile.

[holycatsandrabbits]

On this day in 1767, hunter Jean Chastel rid the world of history's most well-documented werewolf, the Beast of Gevaudan.

With a body count of up to 113, the Beast of Gevaudan terrorized France for three years. Occasionally hunters, many sent by the king, would slay the wolf and display its body as proof— and then more people would be killed, until Chastel and his lucky shot.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t actually unusual at the time for people working in fields and tending cattle to be killed by wolves. But the Gevaudan attacks were especially frequent, and thus sparked some supernatural rumors. The wolf was said to be as big as a horse, strangely colored, and sometimes walked on two legs. It could be seen in two places at once and it appeared to defy multiple attempts to kill it.

I think it’s important to point out here that things like so-called “mass hysteria” and the spreading of frightening rumors are perfectly natural human reactions to terrifying phenomena with no easy explanation. Yes, this was undoubtedly the work of normal wolves. But here we are hundreds of years later, still telling stories about it.

Today we are going to look at the main theories about the Beast of Gevaudan, and provide some writing prompts for anyone looking to keep the story going.

Check out the blog post for the whole story and some beastly writing prompts, such as:

The Dire Wolf. (Best name for a cryptid ever.) The Dire Wolf, which was a real animal back in the Ice Age, is now a type of cryptid (unknown animal rumored to exist) known as a relic, which means an isolated example of an animal thought to be extinct. 

This is where you get the Yeti as a surviving Gigantopithecus or Nessie as a Plesiosaur. (Also, technically, the Dire Wolf was in North America, so for Gevaudan you’d be talking about some type of Pleistocene Wolf, but that doesn’t have as cool of a name. Or it could be some form of Mesonychid, which looked kinda like a wolf, but was actually related to giraffes.) Anyhow, if you’re going the relic route, you’re going to need an explanation for the survival of the relic and the fact that it’s gone undiscovered (that is: no bodies, no babies, no spoor, no impact on the food chain). And if you’re in the forest, you’re not going to be able to use “the ocean is really big, who knows what’s down there.” It’s the forest, we know what’s in there.

But this is fiction, so it can be done! One of the coolest theories I’ve heard for Bigfoot is that he’s from another dimension and only visits ours once in a while, leading to the sporadic sightings. Other relic explanations include time travel (humans go back in time or wolf comes into the future), as-yet-undiscovered vast cave networks or unknown islands that could sustain a relic population, cloning of extinct animals, or, since we’re talking Ice Age beasties, melting glaciers with frozen wolves that can be revived.

DannyeChase.com ~ AO3 ~ Linktree ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Resources for Writers 

Image credit

[selidren]

Automne 1923 - Champs-les-Sims

6/7

Comme mes filles, votre Lucien est un garçon fiable, même si il semble manquer d'ambition. Non pas que ce soit un mauvais trait de caractère, mais il me fait l'effet d'un jeune homme posé. A t-il envie de faire des études ? Je sais que ma Cléo veut aller à la Faculté de Lettres dont lui a parlé Antoine, et je pense que cela lui correspondra. D'ailleurs, elle est tellement motivée à y aller qu'elle redouble d'efforts en latin et en grec alors qu'elle n'aime pas tellement ces matières et qu'elle n'est pas très douée. Je ne sais pas si elle pourra réussir, mais je soutient sa décision, de même que Constantin. Sélène se destine au sport de haut niveau et Marc Antoine parle également de l'Ecole libre des sciences politiques. Jean-François veut suivre les traces de son père. Noé est à la meilleure des écoles avec Adelphe. En tous cas, notre rôle est bien de les aider dans les choix qu'ils font.

En revanche, il me parait dommageable que Jules ne soit pas prêt à prioriser les études de son fils. Tant mieux pour lui si il n'en a pas envie, mais tout de même, décréter que cela ne sert à rien ! Voilà une remarque avec laquelle Constantin n'est absolument pas d'accord. ("C'est tout simplement honteux ! Un gouffre de dépenses inutiles... Comment peut-il affirmer une chose pareille ?") Constantin fulmine derrière-moi et n'en démord pas. ("Il ne faut bien entendu pas dénigrer les formations de terrain, mais le terreau universitaire est primordial ! Sans lui, il aurait sans doute un ami de moins, moi ! Scandaleux, honteux !"). Ne le dites pas à Jules, mais il risque de ne pas recevoir de courrier de la part de Constantin avant un bon moment.

Transcription :

Cléopâtre « Ne t’inquiète pas. Personne ne t’as vue. »

Arsinoé « De quoi tu parles ? »

Cléopâtre « Tu es une sacré bonne actrice, si je n’étais pas sure de ce que j’ai vu, j’aurai presque pu croire à ton innocence. En tous cas, je t’ai couverte, tu n’as pas à t’en faire. Reviens me voir quand vous voudrez vous voir en douce, je m’occuperai de tout. »

Arsinoé « Merci Cléo… Pourquoi tu me couvre comme ça ? »

Cléopâtre « Bon, je l’avoue. Quand je t’ai vue te faufiler et rejoindre un beau rouquin derrière la barrière, j’ai été très jalouse ! Puis je me suis laissé prendre par le romanesque de la situation. La jeune princesse, timide et obéissante, mais si consumée par les flammes de l’amour et tant grisée par la passion qu’elle risque tout, ne serait-ce que pour un regard de lui. De quelle couleur sont ses yeux d’ailleurs ? »

Arsinoé « Hum… verte. »

Cléopâtre « Oh, un bel Adonis à la chevelure de feu et aux yeux verts vivant un amour secret avec une naïve Perséphone aux cheveux de blé et aux prunelles bleues comme les glaciers… C’est d’un tel... »

Arsinoé « Tu n’en fais pas un peu trop ? »

Cléopâtre « Je n’en fait jamais trop. La vie ordinaire est si barbante, si insipide et banale. Sélène qui aime son Berto le joueur de tennis, Maman qui a rencontré Papa dans une librairie, sans compter tous les habitants de ce village qui épousent le fils du voisin ou leur amie d’enfance… Regarde, je baille rien que de le dire ! Mais toi, ce que tu vis, c’est si intéressant, si intense ! Comme Cousine Emma avec son châtelain déchu, qui on sombré dans l’amour au détour d’un pré... »

Arsinoé « S’il te plait Cléo. Ce n’est pas drôle, c’est grave ce qui leur est arrivé. »

Cléopâtre « Tu es bien placée pour le dire dis donc ! Tu fais exactement pareil… ou plutôt vous l’auriez fait si tu n’étais pas si… toi ! »

Arsinoé « Mais non… pas du tout...  Je veux dire… à part un baiser… »

Cléopâtre « Mais c’est merveilleux ça ! Navrée de te taquiner comme ça, j’ai menti je suis extrêmement jalouse ! Mais tu as de la chance Noé, avec cette vie, tu n’as pas eu beaucoup d’occasions de t’amuser. Alors c’est le moment. Crois moi, tu dois absolument en profiter avant que Grand-Mère te trouve l’époux qui te sera le mieux assorti, c’est à dire ennuyeux à mourir. »

Arsinoé « Heu... »

Cléopâtre « Oh c’est sorti tellement de travers, pardonne moi ! Je veux juste te dire que quoi qu’il arrive, je serai là pour t’aider ou te couvrir grande sœur. Vas-y et amuse toi ! »

[ekman]

– Et vous, vous êtes dans quoi au juste ? – Dans le réchauffement. – Ah c’est bien ça, non ? Ça a bien le vent en poupe cette histoire-là, non ? – Vous parlez de vent ? Nous, c’est tornades et typhons ! On n’a pas une minute à nous : fonte des glaciers par ici, stress hydrique par là, El Niño qui tempête dans le Pacifique, les ours polaires qui se noient dans l’Atlantique... La puissance éditoriale tous formats, les images en boucle... vous n’imaginez pas le boulot.

– Ah oui, quand même. Et vous Madame ? – Moi ? Oh moi je gère les épidémies mondiales. – Attendez... le … c’était vous ? – Oui, Monsieur. – Ahhhh, alors là… Chapeau bas, Messieurs ! Nous avons avec nous la personne qui a mis le monde sous cloche pendant deux ans ! – Vous me gênez. Le dossier était fort bien préparé, je dois dire. Un cas exemplaire de collaboration public/privé au niveau transnational. – Vous parlez le Mandarin alors ? – Oui, mais avec un fort accent texan.

– Et vous, Monsieur ? Vous êtes sur quel type de dossier ? – Moi ? Comment dire... c’est un peu dilué au début, mais ça finit généralement en apothéose. – Vous nous cuisinez, là ! Allez ! Dites tout ! – Tout ? Mais vous voulez ma mort ! Bon. Alors il s’agirait plutôt de faire bouger les gens sur des thématiques sociétales au début, et puis on redessine une carte politique à partir de quelques incidents, un peu de corruption, deux ou trois bavures bien mises en scène... bref, de quoi reprofiler les institutions en contrôlant progressivement la liberté de mouvement, d’expression, de transaction. – Je l’ai ! Vous, vous êtes dans les révolutions de couleur ! Un fond de CIA, quelques graines de Sorros, une bonne dose de LGBTQ+ et hop, c’est parti ! – Oui, c’est un peu raccourci mais je reconnais qu’il y a de cela. Et des dossiers pédophiles aussi – je me permets de rajouter cette info car c’est déterminant et ça dépasse mon seul champ de compétence opératif.

– Et vous jeune homme ? Vous ne dites pas grand chose. Quel peut bien être votre pré carré ? – Oh moi ? Je suis une compétence transverse. – “Transverse” ? C’est une nouvelle orientation sexuelle ? – Certes non. Je travaille un peu pour vous tous en fait.  – Voyez-vous cela ! – Je m’occupe principalement des médias. De leur contrôle, pour être précis. L’intitulé du poste que j’occupe est “Régulateur des Pressions”. Nous avons à notre disposition divers leviers que nous actionnons plus ou moins, isolément ou de façon groupée. Tout dépend du résultat recherché. – Des leviers dites-vous ? – Oui, c’est cela même. Pour vous donner des exemples, nous avons le levier “viols et attouchements” pour les vieux journalistes un brin trop rigides. Nous avons aussi “fraudes fiscales et revenus dissimulés” pour les patrons de chaîne qui se croient intouchables. Ou alors “bashing racial et harcèlement social” pour les présentatrices indisciplinées. Quand vous les contrôlez, vous avez un œil sur tout. – Je suppose que vous avez également la main sur les financements ? – Oui aussi, mais c’est une collègue qui s’en occupe. Les financements publics, les dettes effacées, les rachats convenus, c’est son truc ! – Eh bien nous vous remercions pour votre soutien zélé ! Franchement, vous nous aidez bien ! – Quand on peut rendre service... 

J.-M. M.

[thebusylilbee]

"C’est une procédure inhabituelle. Vendredi 19 juillet, le collectif No JO 2030 dépose une demande en caducité auprès du Comité international olympique (CIO). Dans ce courrier, que Mediapart a pu consulter, les opposant·es à la tenue des Jeux olympiques (JO) d’hiver dans les Alpes demandent au CIO de considérer la candidature française comme caduque, c’est-à-dire périmée. [...]

Ils dénoncent l’illégalité de la candidature française, qui aurait dû, selon eux, faire l’objet d’un débat public, compte tenu des impacts des aménagements sur les écosystèmes. Et alertent sur les destructions environnementales et les dégâts climatiques que causeraient ces Jeux dans le milieu désormais très vulnérable de la montagne française.

« Cette candidature est dans une impasse. Il faut en sortir par le haut : on efface tout et on recommence », dit Pierre Janot, membre du collectif, élu au conseil régional et avocat de métier. [...]

C’est au nom du climat et de l’impératif écologique que le skieur de fond Stéphane Passeron s’oppose aux JO de 2030 dans les Alpes. Athlète de haut niveau, membre de l’équipe de France pendant vingt ans, puis entraîneur de l’équipe de France de ski nordique handisport aux JO de Vancouver en 2010, il est aujourd’hui moniteur dans la vallée du Champsaur. Il fait partie de la délégation qui demande à être entendue par le CIO et explique à Mediapart pourquoi il appelle à en finir avec les grands événements sportifs et culturels.

Mediapart : Que demandez-vous au Comité international olympique ?

Stéphane Passeron : On demande le retrait de la candidature de la France. Elle n’est simplement pas soutenable au vu des finances, au vu du climat, au vu de la situation politique, et au vu du déni démocratique. On n’a jamais demandé l’avis de personne. Renaud Muselier a été élu à la région Paca pour faire barrage au Rassemblement national. On a tous voté pour lui, y compris à gauche et chez les écolos. Et il lance une candidature aux Jeux olympiques sans demander l’avis d’aucun parti de gauche. Alors que sans nous, il ne serait pas président de la région, ce serait le RN.

On s’adresse au CIO pour que le comité se rende compte qu’il y a un problème en France. Parce qu’ils n’arrêtent pas de dire au CIO que tout va bien, que tous les Français veulent ces Jeux olympiques. Alors que de nombreux sondages indiquent que ce n’est pas vrai. Et on veut expliquer aux Français que les montagnes s’effondrent et que donc, on n’en est plus à faire ce genre d’événement.

Pourquoi les JO d’hiver sont-ils incompatibles avec la situation climatique selon vous ?

En juin, en Isère, juste à côté de la barre des Écrins, un vieux village, La Bérarde, a disparu sous les cailloux. La pluie, ajoutée à la fonte des neiges, a formé un lac sous un glacier qui a craqué et est venu raser le village. Ce hameau était très connu parce que c’est un lieu de départ d’escalade. C’est l’un de ces moments où, quand on nous demande pourquoi on ne veut plus de JO, on répond : regardez autour de vous, tout s’effondre.

On ne peut plus faire de grands événements comme ça, au vu de la situation climatique mondiale, que ce soit la Coupe du monde de foot ou même le Tour de France, avec ses 2 500 voitures, ses dix hélicoptères et ses trois avions. Il y a une problématique entre nos constats environnementaux et nos choix de société. Le sport est hyper impactant au niveau environnemental. [...]

Le Vercors n’avait pas eu de neige de l’hiver. La Transjurassienne, qui est une épreuve de ski de fond très connue, a été annulée. Il n’y a plus de neige. Et on ne peut pas dire que c’est une surprise puisque le Giec [Groupe d’experts intergouvernemental sur l’évolution du climat – ndlr] nous l’annonce depuis longtemps. J’habite une toute petite vallée. Tous nos sentiers de randonnée ont été abîmés et il y en a même qui ont disparu. Il y a un refuge au fond de la vallée : la piste pour y accéder a sauté. En bas de la vallée, ça fait deux ou trois fois cette année qu’il y a eu un énorme éboulement qui nous a coupés de l’extérieur, parce que ça dégèle au mois de janvier maintenant.

Il n’y a plus que les grosses stations qui arrivent à s’en sortir, celles qui sont très hautes. En bas, les stations sont toutes à la neige artificielle. Cela a un coût énergétique et financier monstrueux. Pour les dernières épreuves de la Coupe du monde au Grand-Bornand, en Haute-Savoie, il a fallu transporter la neige avec des camions. Parce qu’il n’y avait pas un gramme de neige. Et c’est là qu’ils veulent faire les Jeux olympiques ?

Ne suffirait-il pas que les JO de 2030 s’adaptent et s’organisent dans ces stations de haute montagne, là où il y a encore de la neige ?

C’est ce qu’ils feront pour les sports alpins, qui n’utiliseront peut-être pas de la neige artificielle. Mais il y a tous les autres sujets : le CO2, les infrastructures à construire. Ils imaginent faire une 2x2 voies dans la vallée de la Durance pour monter sur Briançon, vu qu’ils y prévoient un pôle freeride et snowboard. Il y aura aussi des canons à neige, des parkings, des hélicoptères.

Ils disent qu’ils utilisent 95 % des infrastructures existantes, mais le tremplin de saut de Courchevel n’a plus la bonne longueur, il faut tout refaire. À Nice, ils ont prévu de faire une patinoire de 13 000 spectateurs sur un terrain où il était prévu de construire des logements sociaux. [...]

Et en plus, ils vont être hyper pressés, parce qu’on est déjà en 2024, et que les JO d’hiver, c’est en 2030. Ils ont cinq ans pour tout construire. Ça va être un délire. Mais le plus grave, c’est que ça nous empêche de faire de la résilience.

Pourquoi ?

Parce qu’ils font croire à la population qu’on peut continuer comme avant. Alors que non, on ne peut plus. C’est juste ça. Et c’est là où ça dépasse le cadre de ces Jeux olympiques. [...]

Pensez-vous qu’il faut abandonner l’idée des JO d’hiver?

Pas que les JO d’hiver : il faut abandonner les grands événements. Je vous raconte une anecdote. En 2010, je suis dans l’avion qui m’emmène à Vancouver, aux Jeux olympiques.

J’avais fait ma carrière de skieur et j’étais devenu entraîneur de l’équipe de France en handisport. Dans ma tête, ça travaillait déjà. Je commençais à n’être pas bien. J’avançais dans une autre direction. Je retapais une maison dans le Champsaur en me disant que j’allais venir me mettre au vert parce que le monde va mal. Mais, en même temps, je ne lâchais pas le morceau. Et dans l’avion qui m’emmène, ils mettent sur le petit écran le film d’Al Gore [ancien vice-président des États-Unis – ndlr], Une vérité qui dérange. Et là, le clash. Je me suis dit que j’emmènerai l’équipe aux JO, car je suis quelqu’un qui tient sa parole, mais que le lendemain j’arrêterai et je ne prendrai plus l’avion.

Je pense que tout grand événement, même les grands concerts de rock et les grands festivals, il faut le questionner. Ce sont des tonnes de watts dépensées à chaque fois. Si on ne fait pas entrer dans les têtes des gens qu’on ne peut pas continuer comme ça, on n’y arrivera pas. Le groupe Shaka Ponk a décidé d’arrêter ces tournées. Ça commence à bouger un peu chez les sportifs aussi. [...]

J’ai passé des super moments à faire des événements comme la Coupe du monde. Je ne dis pas que ce n’était pas bien. Je ne vais jamais dire que ce n’est pas génial, les JO. J’y étais, je vois l’ambiance, l’adrénaline que j’ai eue au départ d’une Coupe du monde. C’était des moments extraordinaires. Mais juste, on ne peut plus continuer et je le dis de manière très triste.

Le déni, il est partout. C’est très dur. Aujourd’hui [jour de l’interview, mercredi 17 juillet – ndlr], il y avait le Tour de France qui passait à Gap. Les gens y vont car ils peuvent toucher du bout des doigts un truc exceptionnel. J’entends, je le comprends, je l’ai ressenti, je l’ai vécu. Mais juste, on ne peut plus. Si vous aimez vos enfants, si vous aimez la vie, il va falloir arrêter ça, c’est tout.

Jade Lindgaard

[transtundras-fr-archive]

Surprise Glacier for @dire-vulture , one of my favorite bears on the site :,)

[onewolfaday]

I'm scared to share Wolf Fun Facts because I'll feel stupid (or like im treating you like YOU'Re stupid) if you already knew the fact 😓 here goes nothing...

it's actually a Not wolf fun fact but in early 2021 genetic analysis suggested that the "dire wolf" may closely match gray wolves anatomically because they just so happened to both evolve that way... independently of each other.

To note: the average "dire wolf" was the same size as the bigger subspecies' of gray wolves today-- their size is greatly exaggerated in fantasy. They didn't have identical proportions to wolves however; with larger skulls, thicker necks, and smaller paws.

"Dire wolves" and ancient gray wolves were not related-- the "dire wolf" is not even of the genus Canis.

Its updated name is Aenocyon dirus, which was actually proposed but largely rejected as its name 100 years before its recent revival and acceptance, and multiple subspecies have been identified. Its closest living relatives are African jackals, and many paleoartists color and pattern Aenocyon dirus similarly due to their apparent shared niche in warm regions.

They preyed upon a few select megafauna, whereas gray wolves hunted a variety of animals that were usually not as large and were more omnivorous-- this is regarded as the reason for the skeletal (and presumably muscular) differences between the two species.

This is also regarded as one reason as to why wolves survived the ice age and Aenocyon did not-- they were better able to adapt with the mass extinction of megafauna as the last glacier period receded because they were already more flexible in their diets. Skeletal evidence demonstrates increasing malnutrition in "dire wolves" over time.

Locations and frequencies of fossils, alongside the close anatomical match, still suggest that "dire wolves" lived similar lifestyles in similar social structures to gray wolves, though in larger packs, despite differences.

Their closest common ancestor evolved in the Americas around 6 million years ago-- for reference on how far removed that ancestor is, the oldest known Aenocyon fossil is 0.25 million years old. One population migrated to Eurasia and the other remained in America. The Eurasian population came to yield the ancient gray wolves from which the modern gray wolf is descended. The American population, meanwhile, gradually gave rise to the "dire wolf".

One (1) "dire wolf" fossil has been found in Asia, suggesting that a very small population of them migrated from the American continents.

A population of the gray wolves eventually migrated to the Americas and lived in loose competition with Aenocyon until the latter went extinct.

Also, another canid called Xenocyon entered North America just before the emergence of "dire wolves" and was the same size, but their fossils on the continent are rare, suggesting Aenocyon very quickly outcompeted them. Xenocyon would later bring about dholes and African painted dogs in Eurasia and Africa.

here's to hoping you didn't know at least something here because much of it is very recent 🥂

!!! i didnt know ANY of that! woah!! convergent evolution is awesome. i always just assumed dire wolves were ancestors of grey wolves. awesome fact ty for informing me!!!! *_*

[mojave-pete]

A Climate Conversation

Climate Change.  It’s daunting, confusing, and worst of all…it’s political. In our polarized society it’s hard to separate fact from fiction, especially when the consequences concerning our planet can seem so dire. In the face of this confusion, Kim Monson, host of The Kim Monson Show, will lead you on a brief but extensive overview on the various climate challenges and topics that adorn the headlines the world over.  A Climate Conversation cuts through the rhetoric and propaganda to ask the simple questions that many times go unanswered.   From melting glaciers to natural disasters this documentary seeks to uncover the truth concerning our changing planet.  Grounded in science and free of political cheap-shots, A Climate Conversation seeks to remove the shroud of mystery and misdirection from one of the most important topics facing our civilization.© 2023 Proxy Films LLC

[handoverthekawaii]

We Go Together | Homelander x You | Chapter 27

Taglist: @theaudacitytowrite @hom3landr

“Good morning, New York,” says the woman on the TV. “Coming to you live from an undisclosed location, this is the news desk of Viridi Aurora.”

“Viridi Aurora?” you ask aloud, unconsciously repeating her words in your confusion. Viridi Aurora, as in, the ecoterrorist group?

“They must have highjacked the airwaves,” says John, snatching the remote from the countertop and beginning to surf the channels. Just as he predicted, the woman’s cold eyes stare out from the display at every frequency, the picture only stuttering slightly from one feed to the next.

“Our feature story this morning should come as no surprise,” the woman continues. “Despite dire warnings about the catastrophic impacts of climate change, global leaders and everyday citizens alike continue to turn a blind eye.”

As she speaks, a montage of clips begins to play in one corner of the picture. The visceral images of roaring wildfires and cleaving glaciers cause a feeling of familiar horror to wash over you, followed closely by a cold tendril of dread. An ominous thought fills your mind — What the hell are they up to?

“Our stance is unequivocal,” the terrorist declares. “Humanity itself is the perpetrator of these grievous crimes against nature. All people, in all societies, in all nations bear the burden of guilt.”

“Recognizing this, Viridi Aurora has long petitioned for acts of personal responsibility. Every individual must ‘do their part’ to cut out the cancer — the human cancer — from the body of Mother Earth.”

“But how have our exhortations been repaid?” She is getting more agitated now, slamming her hands on the table to punctuate her words. “With ostracism!” Slam. “Hatred!” Slam. “Apathy!”

“No more.” Your eyes dart over to John at this veiled threat. One of the woman’s hands disappears under the table, reappearing a moment later holding a gun.

“The United Nations General Assembly was called to order fifteen minutes ago,” she says. “And fifteen minutes from now, Viridi Aurora commandants will drop ten tons of weaponized anthrax from a cargo plane into the skies above Manhattan.”

[continued on AO3]

[ditesdonc]

Le toit du monde

Souvenir de voyage par Catherine Vincetti

Il y a des évènements de notre enfance qui nous marquent pour toujours. C'est ce qui s'est passé quand au CP, notre institutrice nous avait emmenées assister à une conférence de Frison-Roche "la migration des caribous en arctique". Je me souviens très bien, c'était à la salle Rameau à Lyon. Ces images m'ont transportée et je me suis dit: un jour, tu iras là-bas.

C'est comme cela qu'en 1992, je me suis retrouvée sur un kayak, dans l'Isfjord, au Spitzberg, l'île sur le toit du monde. Un bateau nous a déposés au pied d'un glacier, nous étions 6, et il devait venir nous récupérer à un autre point 12 jours après. Ce fut un enchantement permanent. Le silence qui n'en était pas, puisqu'il y avait le bruit de l'océan, les oiseaux, le bruit du vent sur la glace, le son des icebergs qui se détachaient des glaciers. Nous avions décidé de dormir à la belle étoile, si l'on peut dire, puisqu'il n'y avait pas de nuit. Et quel bonheur d'ouvrir les yeux le matin sur toute cette beauté!

Alors, quand le ciel est devenu sombre et angoissant, que l'océan s'est déchainé, que nous n'étions pas sûrs de pouvoir accoster, les vagues nous emportant vers le large, je me suis dit que peut-être, j'allais mourir là.

Mais peu m'importait, j'étais allée au bout de mon rêve.