#I love that the number increases exponentially as the years go on

[judicent]

Yeah, I did fill 4 sketchbooks in 4 months so far this year. Huh? Am I gonna post even an ounce of it? Well, you see, I am allergic to my phone, so you will have to come CATCH ME

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #14

(Had this idea on the brain as soon as I woke up this morning. This prompt is basically going off of the idea that the ghost zone is the dimension that connects all dimensions.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

✦

Living in Technicolor

When Danny gets zapped by the portal and brought back half alive, his vision is forever changed. He doesn't know what caused it, just that ever since the accident, his sight has been split into three different perspectives.

1. His home dimension

2. The ghost zone/invisible spectrum

3. Another dimension entirely

He had originally been able to peer into more than three perspectives directly after his accident, but that resulted in his brain more or less short-circuiting from all the extra information and putting him in a week long coma. Still, even with the decreased load, the amount of information that's being filtered through his eyes and into his brain from three different plains of existence leaves him legally blind in his original reality and needing the help of either a cane or his service dog, Cujo.(1 & 2)

It isn't until his powers start appearing that he learns something interesting. If he concentrates enough, he can shift/manifest his own existence into whichever perspective he's focusing on the most when he transforms, singling his vision down to one perspective for the duration. He has to be careful though, otherwise he could get stuck in-between, which scrambles his vision to an even more nauseating degree. That or he could cause himself to blackout just from the amount of stress it puts on his mind.

He's basically his own dimension hopping portal though.

The only thing is, he never hopped over to the other dimension that seemed to exist alongside his own and the Ghost Zone, content to just travel between his dimension and the Infinite Realms. That doesn't mean he wasn't interested in it or didn't take a more concentrated peek into it from time to time though. Cause let's be honest. A world full of superheroes defending the Earth from a multitude of threats? He'd be lying if he said he didn't use the opportunity to observe and learn from a few of the professionals when it came to his own defending of the ghostly variety.

It isn't until long after he becomes the Ghost King that he is approached by Clockwork, the Ghost of Time. He reveals he knows of Danny's ability to peer into the multiverse like the time ghost can, although greatly limited in comparison. He offers to make Danny his apprentice and to teach him what it means to see through the veil into different universes and timelines, and perhaps increase the amount of perspectives he can handle at once now that his power has increased exponentially. He is King of the Infinite Realms after all. He needs to properly oversee his domain and everything connected to it if he wants to be a good monarch. However, the only way to increase the number of perspectives he can handle is by experiencing each one first hand.

The first step? Shifting into the dimension he has yet to visit, the one he's been peering into and learning so much from over the years.

✦

Notes:

(1) Here, Danny gets Cujo before he becomes a security dog/a ghost.

(2) He eventually creates some specially designed glasses with color changing lenses that help him filter out the extra perspectives when he's older, but they're far from perfect. Red for home reality, Green for the Ghost Zone, and Blue for DC Universe/other universes.

ALSO, while this is technically a dp x dc crossover prompt, I wanted to keep it pretty open for any other crossover ideas. There's infinite possibilities here and I'd love to see what people come up with!

[katy-l1988]

Chapter Two: The First Deal

Over the years, humanity multiplied immeasurably, resulting in an exponential increase in the number of souls ascending to both heaven and hell. However, in the Silver City, the understanding of the workings of the underworld was limited, and most inhabitants were only familiar with what they called the Ring of Pride. In this realm, Lucifer reigned over sinners and fallen angels, seemingly free to receive the supposed punishment they deserved. Lilith, with her indomitable spirit and musical talent, emerged as a source of hope for the forsaken of the underworld. Using her voice and music as weapons, she rallied the oppressed against those who had assigned them such a desolate fate.

Amidst the growing turmoil in the underworld, Sera, concerned with maintaining celestial balance, sought solutions to control what seemed to be an imminent uprising. She summoned a total of two angels, Carmilla and Adam, the latter of whom, despite being relatively new to that realm, already held an important position.

"My idea is simple and effective," Adam declared firmly. "Let's kill them all! We'll eliminate the threat, and when they reappear, we repeat the cycle."

Upon hearing this suggestion, Carmilla couldn't contain her indignation.

"But that's…That's inhumane!" she exclaimed vehemently. "How can you propose such atrocity, Adam? How can the progenitor of humanity wish to be so cruel to his own descendants?"

"It seems someone here has their emotions in a frenzy," Adam replied with a petulant tone and a mocking smile that disregarded Carmilla's indignation. "But what did you expect from a woman like you, dear Carmilla? Always so melodramatic and sensitive. It's no surprise you don't understand the logic behind my proposal. After all, feelings are for the weak, aren't they?"

"There are other ways, like dialogue," Carmilla insisted.

"Since when does the angel of war refuse to fight?" Adam retorted.

"The use of force is the last resort, and I will not order a massacre if I can avoid it," Carmilla replied firmly.

"But what other options are there? If they're down there, it's because they deserve it, plain and simple, they're beasts," Adam argued disdainfully.

"They're human souls, not beasts," Carmilla contradicted with determination.

"Look, sweetheart. I am the father of humanity. The first man created by God," Adam continued, seeking to provoke Carmilla. "I think I have the right to decide what happens to them, don't I?"

"You're despicable. You're not…!" Before Carmilla could finish, Sera raised her hand to silence her. "You can't take him seriously, dad..."

"Dad left me in charge, and it's me who must make the decision," Adam declared, showing not a hint of empathy towards his younger sister. "Adam, you'll take 100 angels with you to initiate the Extermination. Carmilla, you'll go with him to supervise."

Adam celebrated childishly, causing Carmilla to leave annoyed, slamming the door loudly before heading to her room.

"That lady sure knows how to kill the mood. She'll ruin everything," commented Adam.

"I know, and that's why you're going to fix it," Sera replied coldly.

After retreating, Carmilla needed a break, a moment to escape the tension and injustice she had witnessed in the celestial meeting. She decided to seek solace in the art she loved most: ballet. In a private space, away from prying eyes, Carmilla surrendered to the grace and beauty of dance. Her fluid and elegant movements filled the room as she danced with an expression of liberation on her face.

However, her peace was suddenly interrupted when Adam appeared in the doorway, without his usual mask. Surprise and confusion reflected in Carmilla's eyes as she abruptly stopped her dance.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, frowning at Adam.

He whistled, admiring the spectacle he had just interrupted, as if it were something worthy of his attention.

Adam's reaction sparked a flash of indignation in Carmilla. She hadn't noticed his presence before, but now, seeing him without his mask and watching her with disdain, she felt a surge of anger and contempt.

"What do you find so amusing?" she inquired, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, nothing in particular. I just thought it would be interesting to see a seraphim dance so…sensually," Adam replied with a smirk. "Why don't you take off some clothes? I'd like to see one of God's finest creations naked."

Adam's words were even more provocative than Carmilla expected, and his disdain for her as a seraphim became even more apparent.

"You insolent pervert," Carmilla exclaimed, her voice resonating with contained fury. "You should show me a little more respect."

Adam, far from showing remorse, only widened his smirk, as if he enjoyed Carmilla's indignation.

"Oh, come on, Carmilla. Don't be so narrow-minded," he responded, with a lascivious look in his eyes as he stroked her silver hair. "Don't you know pleasure?

"Pleasure? All I feel when I see you is disgust," Carmilla replied incredulously, sharply pulling away Adam's hand from her hair. "You're unworthy of heaven, and I fear Sera is too indulgent in allowing you to be here."

Before she could articulate a protest, a sensation of numbness enveloped her, as if a thousand ice needles ran through her body, paralyzing her completely. Her senses slowly faded as what she believed could be poison took its nefarious effect. The last image she managed to grasp before plunging into darkness was Adam's sinister smile.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself enveloped in the unsettling darkness of the underworld, disoriented and stunned by the poison still coursing through her veins. She tried to move, but an overwhelming pressure on her back kept her immobilized. Then, a firm hand grabbed her hair and pulled her neck, causing a stabbing pain that made her gasp in anguish. A sense of helplessness and despair engulfed her as she struggled to understand how she had ended up there and what fate awaited her in the depths of hell.

"What do you think you're doing?" Carmilla asked with a heavy tongue, struggling to maintain clarity amidst the pain.

"I'm just following my boss's orders," he replied coldly, firmly grabbing one of her wings and exerting pressure that made her writhe in pain.

"Agh!" Carmilla let out a cry of agony as she felt her skin seem to peel away from her bones. "Please, stop!"

"It's too late to beg, bitch. By refusing to cooperate with the cause, you become our enemy," he said disdainfully, gripping the wing bone even tighter. "Your sister told me you loved your wings; let's see how you fare without them."

"No, please, don't…" Carmilla pleaded, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

With each tug, each tear, Carmilla felt as if her entire being was being ripped apart, fragmented into pieces. Agonizing screams escaped her lips as tears streamed from her eyes, soaking her face bruised from previous blows. Adam's mocking laughter, full of malice, echoed in her ears like a drum. Amidst her thoughts, the memory of the moment she ended Miguel's life, her mentor, surfaced. Now, as she suffered the loss of the most beautiful gift her father had given her, she convinced herself that this was punishment for her sin. The physical pain created a perfect storm threatening to consume her entirely. Amidst her screams and sobs, Carmilla clung to the hope that someday, somehow, she would find the strength to rise again. But in that moment, in the overwhelming darkness of hell, all she could feel was rage.

When Adam finally tore off the last wing from her back, he dropped it to the ground disdainfully, as if it were little more than a pile of refuse. Carmilla, weak and bleeding, writhed on the ground, feeling life slipping away with each beat of her heart. With her vision blurred by tears and pain, she turned upward only to see Adam and the exorcists walking away, leaving her behind to die in the darkness of hell. Fury flooded her as she watched helplessly as her tormentors walked away; did her Father truly care so little? With what little breath she had left, she crawled to lean against the wall of a building, vowing that someday, somehow, she would confront those who dared to humiliate her.

As she lay bleeding in the abyss, Carmilla felt her eyelids growing heavy again, enveloped in the growing darkness threatening to consume her entirely. In her state of weakness, amidst the shadows dancing in her blurred vision, she glimpsed a tall figure slowly approaching her. Carmilla's heart pounded as the figure drew near, her mind struggling to stay awake, but just before she could react, she fell into a deep unconsciousness from the pain.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a luxurious armchair in an elegant room, with a wide window letting in a reddish light. An imposing desk occupied the center of the room, delicately carved with peculiar symbols. She brought a hand to her forehead, trying to remember how she had ended up there, though the ache prevented her from thinking. As she moved, she felt the pressure of an improvised tourniquet around her chest, abruptly bringing her back to reality as she felt her wings missing. Cautiously, she sat up, feeling a slight stabbing pain with each movement.

"It's better if you stay still, dear," a deep voice spoke. She turned her head to her right, seeing the same silhouette that had picked her up. "It's me, Carmilla."

"Zestial?" She looked at him closely, still able to distinguish his green eyes amidst his darkened skin. "You saved me? Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?" His response was unexpected. "We're in the same boat after all."

Before she could ask another question, a familiar voice resonated from the desk, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Hello, sis…" From the shadows of the chair, a pair of red eyes revealed themselves. "We have much to talk about."

"L-Lucifer," she barely managed to pronounce, fearing that Sera's stories about the corruption of souls were true. "Why did you bring me here? What do you want from me?"

For a moment, fear invaded Carmilla's heart, fearing the worst as she found herself face to face with Lucifer. However, instead of violence or reproach, Lucifer stood up and encircled Carmilla with his arms.

"How did you end up here? You should be in heaven, you should be safe." When she looked into his eyes, she could see the changes that darkness had wrought upon him.

"Sera ordered Adam to bring me here. They were displeased with me for not supporting their absurd extermination plan." She sat carefully, putting her sore feet on the carpet. "How are things down here? I see… you have been some changes."

She couldn't take her eyes off Zestial, who among the two angels, was almost unrecognizable. He had once been such a beautiful being; his skin seemed as sweet as chocolate, and his scent was just as exquisite. His eyes were two green valleys, full of life and peace. And his voice, as deep as the sound of a cello, yet so warm. Now, although his appearance had changed, his essence remained intact.

Zestial had been a safe haven for Carmilla. His embraces were the sanctuary where she could find peace and comfort, an oasis amidst the disaster. In contrast, Miguel, with his fierce temper and relentless focus on war, often left Carmilla feeling exhausted. Her encounters with Miguel were like facing a violent storm, while being with Zestial was like watching a swan glide on the calm waters of a serene lake.

"Things are complicated," Lucifer replied, breaking the silence that had settled in the room. "We're stuck down here as you can see, and everything is governed by the law of the jungle. Lilith took control for a while, but we can see now that her work didn't yield the fruits she expected."

"Wait, are you saying she's the one who caused all this mess? I thought you were the ruler of hell, why didn't you set her straight?"

"Oh, Carmilla. That woman scares me more than I do."

"I hope you're not talking about me," Lilith entered then.

Carmilla observed Lilith cautiously as she entered the room, feeling a twinge of tension in the air. Their gazes met, and in that moment, the world seemed to stop, as if time itself had frozen around them. In Lilith's eyes, Carmilla could see a flash of defiance, a spark of power that reminded her why she was the ruler of hell. On the other hand, in Carmilla's eyes, Lilith detected a mixture of determination and distrust, a silent warning that intimidating her wouldn't be easy.

For a moment, neither woman looked away, each assessing the other with an intensity that could be felt in the air. It was as if they were in the midst of a silent duel, each seeking weaknesses in the other as they prepared for the inevitable confrontation that would surely come.

"Do you remember my sister?"

"Of course, she's the one who saved my beloved husband," Lilith said as she caressed Lucifer's head. "And tell me, did you misbehave again, little angel? Who did you kill to finally be sent to this hole?"

Carmilla kept her gaze steady, resisting the urge to stand up and confront her.

"I haven't killed anyone without reason," Carmilla replied firmly, meeting Lilith's penetrating gaze. "My actions are justified."

Lilith smiled with a mix of sarcasm and superiority, as if she were enjoying the power play between them.

"That's what they all say, isn't it? But words are cheap, dear. Everyone who comes here carries their sins."

Carmilla clenched her fists, feeling the rage bubbling beneath the surface. She wouldn't let Lilith make her lose control.

"It's worth it if I can protect the ones I love," she said with determination, her voice resonating with

a strength that surprised even herself.

"I would be disappointed if it weren't so," the blonde woman approached Carmilla cautiously, knowing that even weakened, she could fight. "Come, we need to fix you up a bit. A face as sweet as yours won't be well-received on the streets."

Carmilla nodded, aware that she didn't have many options at that moment. Although she distrusted Lilith, she knew she needed her support. She got up from the armchair carefully, feeling the sharp pain with each movement. Lilith offered her a supporting arm, and together they left the main room towards a long hallway filled with portraits. Silence reigned between them as they walked, each step echoing in the corridor's emptiness until they reached an imposing door adorned with golden details. Lilith opened it with a fluid movement, revealing a luxurious room decorated in dark and opulent tones. Black velvet furniture and red silk curtains created a theatrical atmosphere, while an imposing mirror occupied one wall, reflecting Carmilla's battered image with ruthless clarity.

Without saying a word, Lilith led Carmilla to the bathroom, where water ran in a black marble bathtub. With gentle but sure movements, she helped Carmilla undress, feeling her skin shudder as she touched the bruised and wounded areas.

"Ow, ow, ow…" Carmilla moaned as Lilith helped her into the shower, feeling the hot water hitting her battered skin. "It's… boiling."

"Stop complaining, girl. You need to clean those wounds," Lilith responded impatiently, adjusting the water temperature until it was more bearable.

"Don't talk to me like that. I'm older than you."

"For a day."

Carmilla gritted her teeth as the hot water began to soothe her tense muscles, but she couldn't help but sigh with relief when the pain began to ease a bit. It was then that Lilith took some shampoo, and Carmilla felt a shiver as she felt Lilith's cold fingers on her head. Instinctively, she recoiled, fearful of any unexpected contact after all she had been through. However, Lilith stopped her movement and looked at Carmilla with a compassionate expression in her eyes.

"I shouldn't have done that," Lilith said softly. "Let me wash your hair, blood is hard to remove. Besides, those wounds need to be disinfected and bandaged before the flesh becomes contaminated."

Carmilla hesitated for a moment, struggling against the feeling of vulnerability that invaded her. Finally, she relented, realizing she needed to set aside her pride at that moment.

"Okay," Carmilla whispered, nodding her head and allowing Lilith to continue with her task.

With delicate movements, Lilith began to massage the shampoo into Carmilla's hair, working carefully to clean each strand and remove any trace of blood and dirt. Despite her initial caution, Carmilla began to relax under Lilith's gentle touches, feeling the tension slowly dissipating.

Once Carmilla was clean and dry, Lilith set about finding a suitable dress among the garments she had in the wardrobe. As she searched through the elegant fabrics, she mentioned casually:

"These dresses are a bit long for you; we'll have to go see Rosie once you're ready." Carmilla raised an eyebrow.

"Rosie? Who's Rosie?"

Lilith smiled knowingly as she selected a short skirt dress.

"She's the best seamstress in hell. If you need anything tailored, she's the one to go to. You'll love meeting her."

Carmilla tried on the dress Lilith had chosen for her: a daring design with a plunging neckline, short skirt, and striking red color. She looked at herself in the mirror and couldn't help but frown, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of wearing something so different from what she was used to. This was paired with a black velvet shawl and white boots.

Lilith watched her with a smile, leading Carmilla in front of the mirror, skillfully taking her hair to create two locks that simulated horns. When Lilith finished, she took some makeup, and the angel began to transform into something darker. The lashes that once stood out with a bright blue now looked dull and lifeless, while her lips, once full of vitality, now appeared pale and expressionless. The gaze returned by the mirror no longer reflected the spark of determination and goodness that used to illuminate her eyes, but rather a shadow of uncertainty and resignation.

Then, the Queen of Hell handed her a black mask, ensuring that no sign of her true nature would be visible to the sinners. Carmilla watched this with doubts, her hands trembling at the mere idea of ​​giving up everything she was. What would her father think if he saw her like this? How would he feel if he saw her renounce her identity?

"I know it will be hard for you to get used to at first, but in hell, you must learn to hide your weaknesses if you want to survive."

When the angel looked up to see Lilith's reflection, she could notice a malicious gleam in her eyes.

"And speaking of hiding things." She turned, ready to fight if necessary. "Tell me once and for all what you want from me. I know your games, one favor for another."

"Nothing escapes you, does it?" She took a seat on her bed. "I want to propose a little deal."

"What kind?" Carmilla frowned, feeling she was entering dangerous territory from which she didn't know if she could emerge unscathed.

"Manufacturing and selling weapons, dear." Lilith's response was direct, without hesitation. "Your expertise as the Angel of War makes you the only one capable of carrying out this project."

"And how would you benefit from that? I doubt you'd put me in charge of a company without asking for something in return."

"Oh, Carmilla, always so astute." Lilith smiled enigmatically, not revealing her true intentions. "Let's just say the benefits would be long-term."

After weighing the pros and cons, Carmilla decided that Lilith's deal was convenient. Although she distrusted the hidden motivations of the Queen of Hell, she recognized that this partnership could offer her a unique opportunity to establish herself in her new and forced home. Plus, she didn't want to depend entirely on Lucifer for her sustenance; she preferred to take control of her destiny and forge her own path in the underworld.

"All right, I accept the deal," she said. "But consider that my soul will always be mine, and I will never answer to your family's commands."

Lilith nodded with a satisfied smile, apparently pleased with Carmilla's response.

"Of course, the last thing I want is your soul. You will always have your own will."

Carmilla extended her hand to Lilith, who took it firmly in a handshake; the deal had been sealed.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

I stumbled upon Fuegoleon slander today, so can I request comforting fluff with Fuelara, please?

We don't tolerate Fue slander in this house! So YES

I took my time, but this was very overly self-indulgent to write, and I just might make it be the most of a chapter of The Vows We Made once I get there. Anyways! I hope you enjoy! ^^

Pairing: Fuegoleon x Solara Fanfic type: Oneshot Genre: Fluff/romance Length: ~3.1k Contains: sleepy Fue, mentions of their twins, mentions of Salamander, maybe some possessive themes if you squint??? (The idea of "my family, I need to protect it", does that count??), just pure fluff, they're in love, and go to sleep There is a mention of "Ms. Rose", who is Briar Rose belonging to @/koneko-pi !

The long, quiet corridors of the castle that lead into an office, among a lot of things, which were lined by large windows that faced the courtyard. One could almost see the trees and the bushes, flowerbeds planted in there, but from this height, one would have needed to walk closer to the sheets of glass. And thus, it was only the faint light of the moon that could be seen coming from the outside. Just the sight of the dark blue autumn skies; the sunset had gone already.

Even the servants had gone home, or the bed, for the most parts already. Only the guards outside of the castle walls were awake to keep an eye; even though keeping an eye open was difficult both outside and inside of the castle walls.

Solara could swear that he steps must’ve wobbled ever so slightly as she made her way down the halls, lit by the light of the moon that cast shadows at her feet. The shadows she barely saw as she struggled to keep her eyes open from the state of fatigue she was feeling. The weight of it that she felt had increased exponentially over the last few years.

It’s only age, she told herself, though she was barely past 30, not yet closing in on 40, even if that decade in her life loomed somewhere in the horizon. Not that the number bothered her. It was more so just that she could feel herself getting tired more easily.

She couldn’t keep up with the kids, who wanted to stay up all night long. Or so they said, and still dozed off at 9 the latest. Which was good. They needed their rest.

It was only that the twins had been restless during the last couple of days. The last of the baby teeth would be coming out, which was the cause of the poorly slept nights lately. This night included.

But now they were finally asleep; in their rooms, safely tucked in with Salamander by their side. Or, Sal’s basket by them to be more precise.

The Great Spirit of Fire had assumed a smaller form while living in the castle, and preferred to sleep in his small little wicker basket nestled in a blanket. But the basket needed to be in the common room that joined the bedroom of the twins, so that it could be equally close to both of them.

Solara had reasoned to herself that it was partially a wish of Sal, and partially Fue’s wish amplified in the dragonic spirit. The wish to keep safe. To protect. Make sure that his family was being looked after. The sentiment of ‘my family’.

And it would allow Fue to stay up to date via Salamander, though their communication was what it was. Limited to kinds of hunches. Feelings. That was still the idea how Solara understood it. That it was a non-verbal connection, which didn’t allow for that complicated discussion as with some other spirits might. It was just the nature of Salamander. He was a non-verbal creature, and his methods of communication were limited.

But she didn’t mind. She didn’t think any of them minded. It was just how it was.

A way in which father could be with the family, while working; he could keep an eye on the kids, while having to perform his duty. Even if from behind a desk. And there was no reason to lock the kids, or the family, into a sitting room next to his office.

No... life was out there. It was in the blades of grass, in sunshine, the glimmering of stars, in the frost bites and sweet drinks and the smile of those you hold dear. Life was never meant to be confined within the walls of an office decorate with motifs of grandeur.

The things he says... she mused to herself with a slight shake of her head. And still he very much confines himself into that office... her eyes fell in a slow blink, as her gaze and attention were directed somewhere far, far away, but her steps knew the way nonetheless. It was inscribed into her bones by now; she didn’t need to think about it. All for the sake of the people, he says... she smiled to herself, even if the smile bore a veil of melancholy over it. While trying to make it into every little event, to be there during bed time, read to Leon and Cyra, even though he’ll need to go back to complete something more... always something more...

Her chin lifted as she thought about it. All those moments when he had emerged from the office, with eyes that seemed to bear the weight of the world. But as the kids would go running to him, the weight would subside, he’d pick them up, and tell them how much he missed them.

He doesn’t-, I know that he wouldn’t need to come to us while he’s still working. To take a break to do that. And most wouldn’t. They’d just... complete whatever is on their desk and come home when it’s time for it. And I know... I know that he tries *so hard*. To be everywhere. To come home for a while, chat to the kids, maybe play with them for a while during the busy work days, and then it’s “off to bed, I’ll read a story to you”, she smiled at the thought. The precious moments during the hardest days.

Because during the good days, those that he had off, as much as he can have them off, he’d spend more time with Cyra and Leon. Give them as much attention as he could. Be as good of a father as he could.

But... she couldn’t claim that it wouldn’t be hard for the two of them. Because between work and the kids, there was very little time for the two of them. Which... it just made things a bit difficult. Not that they could claim there to be a real problem, but sometimes they would have liked to just spend time with each other. Cuddle and kiss and... perform spousal activities... maybe sleep a little longer... all the things for which there didn’t seem to be time or energy.

All the things... well... maybe after some time... The first 2 years are the most difficult, or so they say. And then it’ll ease up on sleep at least.

She sighed to herself as she reached the door. The large wooden door which was decorated with some carvings and a golden handle. To signify that it wasn’t just any door. Or at least that it wasn’t a cleaning closet out of all the things. Not that she could imagine anyone mistaking it for one in the first place. Not in this part of the castle.

Her hand landed onto the cold metal surface, without a knock. After all these years, there was no knock.

She wasn’t sure how many times he had had to tell her that she was among the few people, who wouldn’t need to knock when it came to him. That she’d always be welcomed, no matter what.

And how many times had it taken that she hadn’t believed? That she had still knocked. Maybe not waited for a reply, but had still knocked.

During day time she still would.

A silly little thing. She deemed it with a smile.

Just a small thing that amused her. Perhaps amused him too. A kind of a game for them to play. As foolish as it might have sounded. Him having to tell her with a smirk that the door was open, and how it’d always be open for her. And how she’d argue back with a grin of her own, telling him that she couldn’t know what he was in the middle of. That it was courteous. A little game of cat and mouse. Or maybe just two cats play fighting.

Perhaps the latter would be more fitting.

Perhaps that was why when she opened the door, there was no sound. Quiet as a cat.

But when her eyes were granted an image of the room from behind the wooden surface of the door, she stopped.

Just stood there with her hand on the door handle, and looked at her husband. Sleeping over the desk. A single candle lighting the room on his desk.

His mana hand wasn’t manifested, but his left arm was under his head. His chest was rising and falling, and there was the sound of steady, heavy breathing flowing through the air. It wasn’t quite a snore, nor did it sound forced. Just a very... intent way of breathing. Maybe due to the position he was in.

A hum broke through the steady sound. It vibrated through the air, speaking of how it must’ve risen from his throat, as a faint frown appeared on his brows.

But it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

A small smile tugged up the corners of Solara’s lips as she looked at him. Poor thing... he must be exhausted...  

She took a few steps forward, closer to the table, with feather light steps, careful not to wake him.

Bed would be more comfortable... and if he stays in that position he’ll have a sore neck tomorrow. He’s bound to, even though his exercise routine keeps him in good shape and his muscles open. For the most part at least, she chuckled under her breath. But... since he is tired enough to have fallen asleep there, maybe I shouldn’t wake him up... at least for a while... Let him rest for some time and then... then wake him...

Her eyes turned to the door of the sitting room that was next to the office. There’d be a closet where there were blankets and a few extra pillows. Which might have been unconventional for a sitting room, but... they had deemed it better to have them, in case of such situations. An afternoon nap.

Perhaps there lied a danger too. Because since they had blankets and pillows close by, a nap would be more tempting.

A terrible danger, really.

Another amusing thought.

She looked at her husband, still sleeping over the desk with a neutral expression.

Stay there, she thought, joked to herself, before making her way to the sitting room and to the closet from where she found a blanket. A part of her was thankful that they oiled all the hinges of the doors so well, and made sure that no floorboards were creaking.

Yes, of course, it made sense to make sure that it all was in the best condition, but... sometimes such little things could me missed. Especially if you’re only moving around during daytime, when small sounds such as those didn’t seem quite so apparent. While during night time, they were as if amplified. Which was why she was mindful to close the closet, and the door, as silently as possible, before tip-toeing to him.

Don’t nap for too long, she thought while opening the blanket in her hands. You’ll get a sore neck if you do...

She placed the blanket over him, around his shoulders with as little movement as possible, and leaned over him.

But as soon as she did, his eyes begun cracking open and a groggy hum left him.

“Mm... What time is it?” He asked, while trying to gather his senses. His tone was quiet, nearly distant, like he was trying to grab onto reality while still being partially asleep.

“Almost two..” she whispered back before leaning closer and pressing a tender kiss onto his temple. One that was warm and comforting; that held a promise of a soft, warm bed where he might rest with a smile on his face. And the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in the world. That he had someone with whom he could share his smiles and his sorrows just the same.

“Mmm...” he hummed again before taking a deep breath and leaning back in his seat. “Maybe I should call it a night...”

“Maybe,” she half teased, half smiled before placing another kiss on top of his head.

“Did the kids fall asleep?” He asked as he pushed back his chair and stood up, making a dragging sound, wood scraping against would, break through the otherwise silent room.

“After a while,” she replied with a hushed tone, almost as if she was still trying to be careful not to wake him. “I have the monitor with me, just in case too.”

“The monitor?” He frowned while looking at her. “Oh yes, yes,” he continued before pinching the bridge of his nose. “The device Ms. Rose of the Research Department gave us...”

“Yes,” she gave a small nod, during which her eyelids fell in a slow blink. “She is a good friend.”

He hummed in agreement while pushing his chair under the desk.

His expression was neutral, as if there were no thoughts running through it. Which was probably true from his state of fatigue.

“Ready for bed?” She suggested, half asked, while reaching for his hand.

“Yes,” he uttered, while taking her hand into his, and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll take a quick shower first.”

She gave him a nod, while taking a step back to lead him towards the door.

“I’ll keep the bed warm meanwhile,” she assured him while squeezing his hand.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he smiled to himself as his steps followed hers, easy and natural, like the flow of a river.

Like this was the only course he should take. As if this, squeezing her hand and following her to rest, was just like drawing breath.

As if the way back to their room was no journey at all, despite the winding, twisting and turning corridors of the castle where one could get lost in. Plenty of people did. And even him, admittedly, sometimes needed to think what might be the quickest route from one place to another. Still, after all these years of living there, he still needed to think from time to time.

But these steps, over which the silvery moonlight cascaded; the way it reflected from her hair, and embraced her form, as if she was some divine being brought to him in sleep rather than a mortal just like him... It felt like no time passed, as he followed her.

Time didn’t exist.

It was just the two of them.

It was just him, trusting that she’d lead him to the sanctity of their bedroom, where it was soft, warm and safe.

As if he wouldn’t have known the way.

But perhaps he would have stumbled in his drowsy state.

Perhaps, perhaps not. None could tell. For it was left in the sea of possibilities.

The sea that wasn’t important; that lost all meaning as they reached their room, as if in a dream.

The door was closed behind them, and he stopped, but didn’t let go of her hand as she tried to continue further into the room. But the stop created a tug, and the tug made her turn around with raised brows and hum out a question. A simple: “Hm?”

It was only then that he took a step closer, as if to step into her embrace, and pressed a kiss onto her forehead.

“Go to sleep, my love,” he whispered against her skin, letting the words glide over her like a river of warmth and tender affection. Like something so soft and gentle he couldn’t name, even if given a millenium to describe it. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he promised.

He always promised, and he always kept that promise.

“I can’t promise to stay awake for ten minutes,” she partly teased, partly joked, but mostly she told the truth.

“I’m not expecting it,” he hummed with an amused smile while pressing his head against hers. “You should sleep, if you’re tired,” he told her. “I’ll find my way to you.”

She smiled to him with closed eyes, not making a move to make her way to the bed.

“I always will,” he promised again. Yet another promised he intended to keep. Another promise he had always intended to keep. One that felt like it was a promise that he had made so many times before that he couldn’t count.

But would he need to? Count them? He didn’t deem it necessary.

“Go on, my love, I’ll be there soon,” he nudged her head with his, before slipping into the bathroom. And she slipped into bed in the meantime.

The covers were soft. A bit cold, but they’d warm soon enough.

She rolled onto her side, towards his pillow, and resisted the urge to pull the pillow closer so that she might bury her nose into it and breathe in his scent. Just like she resisted the urge to shift onto his side of the bed. Just like she resisted the urge to gather his side of the covers into her arms, so that she might feel him close to herself again.

All the things she resisted. And yet she could feel her consciousness slipping away.

Little by little, she was drifting into a sea of dreams.

But then again, she hadn’t promised to wait for him to get to bed. She trusted that he’d some soon.

Within ten minutes.

Even if those minutes felt like an eternity.

Or maybe one fifth of it.

A fraction.

The bed shifted next to her.

She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt heavy. Too heavy to open fully, but still her hand reached closer.

There was another kiss on her temple.

“Thank you for warming up the bed,” he whispered. But she could hear him loud and clear; his voice vibrated to her through her heartstrings, or perhaps the golden threads of fate that had spun into ropes. “I loved you,” he whispered again.

She smiled, must’ve smiled. Her hand took a hold if his. Fingers intwined together with his into a secure hold.

“[I love you],” he professed again, sounding a little more drowsy than a moment before.

“[And I love you,]” she replied with a hushed tone. “With all the days I have left,” she continued, not sure if he was still on the brink of the twilight zone, or already within a dream. “And even beyond it...”

She wasn’t sure if he’d hear, but she was sure that he knew. He knew, but still she needed to tell.

She’d always need to tell him. To remind him.

That she loved him too.

She’d always need to tell...

And through the darkness, her drowsy state, she could feel him squeeze her hand back.

[hit-song-showdown]

Year-End Poll #31: 1980

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: Blondie, Pink Floyd, Olivia Newton-John, Michael Jackson, Captain & Tennille, Queen, Paul McCartney, Lipps Inc, Billy Joel, Bette Midler. End description]

More information about this blog here

From here on, I know that the number of people who follow this blog who were around to see these songs on the charts will increase exponentially. To be honest, I am very intimidated. Please be nice to me.

The 1970's exists in a weird time in pop culture history, because it really feels like an island. Any decade that begins with the Beatles breaking up and ends with the murder of John Lennon is going to exist in a strange place culturally. Combine that with the previously mentioned decline of disco, the simultaneous rise in inflation and unemployment, and President Carter's declining popularity leading to Ronald Reagan's landslide victory. It was clear that whatever the next decade was, it wasn't going to be like the 70s.

But during this year, Reagan wasn't in office, so I don't have to talk about that yet.

Musically, you can see the last bits of the 70's clinging on. Disco, despite being famously "killed off" still has its place on the charts. Funkytown, for example, is often brought up in pop culture mythology as being the "last big disco song". I'm mostly bringing it up because I feel bad that I had to crop the song's composer, Steven Greenberg, out of the banner. The one good thing about the charts moving away from orchestras and ensembles is that I don't have to worry about cropping people out.

But in addition to the endings, the dawn of the 1980's also comes with its new beginnings. For one, Michael Jackson's solo career will take him from the standout star of the Jackson 5, to the king of pop music itself.

I talked a bit about the rise of punk rock in the 70's, but I didn't go into that much detail because the scene didn't have much presence on the charts. The Clash may have been "The Only Band That Matters", but that wasn't the case to the data compiling the Hot 100. However, while punk rock has seen little mainstream success on the charts, several of its descendants will come to define this decade. Most notable here is Blondie, kicking off the decade with one of its first new wave hits. This movement will only continue to grow from here, especially when we get to the second British Invasion, as well as pop music becoming more image-focused during the MTV era.

Which means I will no longer struggle to find pictures of the artists features in these polls.

[sf-images]

Earth Day 2024

April 21, 2024, update: . . . " the average global temperature on Earth has increased by at least 1.2° Celsius (1.9° Fahrenheit) since 1880 (it increased 0.4° Celsius since 2016). There is only 0.3° Celsius of increase left before we hit the first tier of cataclysmic thresholds, according to environmental scientists.

According to an ongoing temperature analysis led by scientists at NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies (GISS), "the average global temperature on Earth has increased by at least 1.2° Celsius (1.9° Fahrenheit) since 1880 (it increased 0.4° Celsius since 2016). The majority of the warming has occurred since 1975, at a rate of roughly 0.15 to 0.20°C per decade. . . . . The data reflect how much warmer or cooler each region was compared to the base period of 1951-1980. (The global mean surface air temperature for that period was 14°C (57°F), with an uncertainty of several tenths of a degree.)"

Adding to this is the growing number of methane sinkholes, each releasing several gigatons of gas per day. This growing phenomenon is changing all the current climate projections. Indeed, we might already have reached the climate tipping point.

There was a time when we believed that we were the center of the universe and that we should have dominion over the Earth. But then Copernicus came along, who asserted that the Sun is indeed the center of our solar system, the Moon being the only body that revolved around the Earth. I'm sure you know that this resulted in a bit of an uproar. As for the dominion idea, our use of resources, overhunting, and factory farming of animals has contributed to climate change and the current sixth extinction. Watch Marvin Gaye's video, Mercy, Mercy Me (The Ecology), released in 1971.

The following two photos show a contrast between Greenland's Tunu Glacier in 1933 and 2013. This melt-back is characteristic of ice all around the world, though melt-back varies widely, depending on location.

Source:

The Greenland Ice Sheet - 80 years of climate change seen from the air.

/ Bjørk, Anders Anker; Kjær, Kurt H.; Larsen, Nicolaj Krog; Kjeldsen, Kristian Kjellerup; Khan, Shfaqat Abbas; Funder, Svend Visby; Korsgaard, Niels Jákup. 2014. Abstract from 44th International Arctic Workshop, Boulder, Colorado, United States.

It wasn't so long ago that Carl Sagan and climate scientists started sounding the alarm that we were going down a dangerous path. Subsequent climate data has revealed that those early projections vastly underestimated what was happening, since we now know that climate change is not a linear but an exponential process. That is, it happens faster and faster over time.

Via Voyager 1 (click to enlarge)

The now famous photograph of Earth as a pale blue dot was taken on February 14, 1990 by the deep space probe, Voyager 1, from a record distance of about 6 billion kilometers (3.7 billion miles). The more recent

Via Cassini

photograph was taken by the deep space probe, Cassini. Though more striking with Saturn in the foreground, it also shows how Earth is but a spec in the cosmos. As Sagan said in his book: Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. (Carl Sagan, The Pale Blue Dot, 1994)

People often say we have to save the Earth. Not so! The Earth will go on just fine without us. The issue is preserving the current biosphere that supports us and the other higher vertebrates. There will always be life on the planet so long as there's liquid water. As I present every year, here is my fictionalized account of our worst scenario. Let's do better!

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, day 14: Double Kirk

What if transporter malfunctions... were sexy?

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

Engineer Scott’s voice crackled over the comm. “Mr. Spock, we’ve got him, but ye might want to come down here for a moment.” 

Ice trickled down Spock’s spine. He did not hold the same fear of transporters that the good doctor did, but McCoy’s insistence upon bringing up the statistics surrounding transporter malfunctions had been unfortunately trapped in his memory. 

“Mr. Sulu, you have the conn,” Spock said, and departed the bridge with as much stoicism as he could muster. 

☆☆☆

Spock arrived in the transporter room, bracing himself to administer immediate medical attention to his Jim or support to McCoy. He was not prepared to find two Jims and a Mr. Scott talking casually by the transporter controls. Spock halted and straightened. 

“Captain,” he said to the nearest one. Then he turned to the other. “Captain.” The further one laughed. 

“Mr. Scott, I thought you fixed this issue twenty-three months ago.” 

“Aye, Mr. Spock. But something must have come unjiggered in the refit, and, well…” He gestured to the captains. “Obviously it will need to be fixed again. It will take less time than before, since I know what to do, but it’ll still be a good hour or so.” 

“I see.” Spock considered. “The appearance of two captains disturbed the crew the first time. I do not believe it wise to repeat the experience.” 

“I would agree, Mr. Spock,” one of the Jims said. “Would you mind escorting me to my quarters?” 

“Certainly, captain,” Spock said, and turned to Mr. Scott. “Thank you, commander. Will you inform us when the transporter is ready for returning Captain Kirk to his standard form?”

“Aye, Mr. Spock,” Mr. Scott said. “Apologies, captain.” 

“None necessary, Scotty,” the two captains said. Mr. Scott shuddered. Spock ushered them out into the transporter before he could unsettle the engineer to distraction. 

☆☆☆

Spock sat across from the Jims in his preferred armchair, a chess set mostly ignored between them. “I am intrigued, captain. The last time this occurred, the personality difference between the two yourselves was quite stark. Yet both of you seem reasonably aligned with your standard person.” 

One of the Jims grinned, and the flash of his teeth in the semi-darkness reminded Spock of a wild animal. The other Jim said, “The difference, I think, is not one that most besides you would recognize.” 

“What difference is that?” 

The Jims looked at each other, and Spock realized that the number of schemes that Jim could percolate on his own had increased exponentially. Two of himself, in alignment, without the cognitive dissonance and unhappiness that had marked the first separation, seemed like a dangerous equation. The tension in the room shifted, and Spock felt an involuntary pilomotor reflex raise bumps over his skin. 

One of the Jims reached across the table, fingers extended, and Spock met them with his own. The other said, “Spock, you know that you are my only love.” 

Spock could not prevent himself from quipping, “Aside from the Enterprise, captain.” One Jim outright laughed, and the other smirked. 

“Sure,” Jim agreed. “But I mean that our relationship is monogamous.” 

“This is true,” Spock said. His predictions for where this conversation had been going were now all incorrect. He and Jim were monogamous, yes, but he was unsure what that had to do with the two Jims in front of him. 

“And I was your first,” Jim said. Spock inclined his head. “So you’ve never been with more than one person at once.” 

“You know this also to be true, Jim,” Spock said quietly. His lack of experience did not come up frequently, and after almost a year of being together he was unsure why it was relevant now.

“Would you be interested in learning what that felt like?” 

Spock blinked. The concept of group sex had not factored into his predictions whatsoever. He was aware of the idea, but the sexual aspect had not appealed to him before Jim and the group aspect had become unappealing after Jim. “I am uninterested in intimacy with anyone but you,” he said. 

“I know,” said Jim. His smile was sweet and loving. “You wouldn’t have to be with anyone but me.” Spock’s eyes widened. One Jim stood up and walked behind him, and he felt Jim trail his fingertips up his arm, over his shoulder, and trace the pointed line of his ear. The other Jim approached Spock, pushing the coffee table out of the way. That Jim knelt at Spock’s feet, resting his hands on his knees, as the other wrapped a hand around his throat from behind. 

“You’re the only person that knows both of us right now,” the kneeling Jim said, voice warm and quiet. 

“The difference between us,” the other Jim said, applying gentle pressure to Spock’s throat, “is that one of us wants to be dominated, and the other wants to dominate you.” Through the contact of both of their hands, Spock felt the different headspaces that he had come to love from Jim. There were times when Jim needed Spock to be in control; needed someone to take control from him so that he could shed the weight of responsibility, be cared for and controlled, so that he no longer had to be the captain. Then there were times when Jim needed to control Spock, needed to have unfettered access to every inch of him and utter control over contact and arousal and orgasm, to have the physical proof of Spock’s faith and trust in him in his hands. 

“I…” Spock said, and he trailed off. Jim (both Jims) consented. He was asking what Spock wanted. Spock was not opposed to threesomes, as a rule: merely to sharing Jim with others. As a scientist, he had not made a habit of saying no to new experiences.

A threesome with two Jims would mean that he could experience group sex without having to allow others into his relationship. It would also mean twice as much Jim: more hands, more tongues, and more opportunities to make Jim climax while screaming Spock’s name. In the end, it was only logical to agree.

The kneeling Jim pushed his legs apart and he let his thighs spread as Jim nuzzled at him through his pants. Standing Jim pushed harder on his throat, pulling him backwards against him, making Spock arch up off the chair. 

“God, you’re so pretty with your mouth open,” the dominant Jim said, staring down at him. “Get undressed. I don’t want us to run out of time.” 

☆☆☆

Spock was on his back with his hands tied down, head resting on one Jim’s thighs as the other meticulously removed every layer of his control with his fingers and mouth against his cock. The seated Jim ran fingernails over Spock’s palms and down his fingers, sliding his own fingers into Spock’s mouth. 

He was on his knees in front of one of them. 

He was fucking into one while the other watched. 

He was on his back, being fucked, while the other watched. 

He was sliding between them, lips against his back, lips against his, Jim’s thigh sliding between his. He was grinding between them both as they teased his hands, stroked his hair, touched him, loved him, until he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.

☆☆☆

The psychic and physical overstimulation had driven everything but Spock’s desire to feel Jim against him far from his mind, and when he heard the comm in Jim’s wall buzz he snarled at it. Jim laughed at him, and one of them rolled out of bed, out of his grasp, to answer the message. 

“Kirk here.” 

“Aye, captain. Sorry for the delay, but the transporter’s all fine now. Should be able to get you fixed up in a jiffy if you head down.” 

“Thank you, Scotty. We’ll be down in a moment. Kirk out.” He looked over his shoulder to where the other Jim and Spock still lay tangled in Jim’s sheets. 

“Well, Mr. Spock? Any commentary on the situation?” 

“I am unwilling to see it to end, captain,” Spock said, and he reached out from the edge to grab the other Jim and tug him back to bed. Jim acquiesced, and for another moment he lay between them, feeling their heartbeats against his skin on either side. As his critical thinking skills returned from wherever Jim had convinced them to hibernate, he breathed in the smell of his Jim and sat up. He brushed a hand over one’s cheek, then the other’s hair, before sliding out of the bed to put his clothes back on. “No matter the number of bodies you find yourself split into, captain, all of you is mine.” The Jims slid back into uniforms, smoothing their hair down and tugging boots on, before coming up to Spock and wrapping their arms around him. He put one arm on each of their shoulders and held them tightly to him before letting them go. 

As they stepped into the hallway, he said, “What was the memory transference like last time? Do you maintain everything?” 

“I do, Mr. Spock,” one of the Jim’s said, and the other winked. They arrived at the transporter room and the Jims stepped onto the pad. 

“See you in a moment, gentlemen,” one said, and the other smiled. Mr. Scott sent the Jims away, and when he brought them back, there was only the one. 

But he was still Jim, and when Mr. Scott left to attend other matters Jim kissed him and within him Spock felt multitudes.

[reality-inflicted]

À la recherche des crises perdues.

How do you feel, really? 

This is not a rhetorical question, I am genuinely interested. If you read this text I’d love it if you left a comment, it would be interesting to hear your thought regarding all the crises that surround us daily and the impact they have on you. 

Earlier this morning (Sunday, February 5, 2023) I noticed a headline in the Swedish newspaper Aftonbladet about (yet another) emerging diplomatic crisis between USA and China. This time in the aftermath of the US shooting down an alleged ”spy balloon” launched by China. Now, I found this interesting as I thought I’d noticed a similar crisis just yesterday, that time in connection to the fact that the balloon was where it, at the time, were.  

This got me thinking about if crisis is relative or static, I mean – is a crisis only a crisis in relation to itself, or can a specific crisis be a part of a larger crisis? Or are crisis fundamentally exponential? I mean, looking at how the word ”crisis” is commonly used and the meaning with which it is loaded that seems to be the case: a small crisis, a crisis, a local crisis, a regional crisis, a big crisis, an enormous crisis – the ”holyfuckweareallgonnadie!”-crisis seem to imply a situation where the imminent level of Crisis in any given instance of crisis seem to increase in relation to itself. 

I decided to do a quick investigation regarding how ”crisis” have been reported in Swedish newspaper media over the last 60 years. I went to do a search in a Royal Library database that index newspapers as far back as the year 1600 (if you want to check it out, go to Kungliga Biblioteket) and i found the embryo of what could be an interesting trend: the progressive escalation of Crisis. Starting from todays date i did a search covering a period of eight days starting in 1963 and ending with 2022. The only word is used was ”kris” (Swedish for crisis). The results came back as follows:

1963-01-27 – 1963-02-04: 51 hits 1973-01-27 – 1973-02-04: 69 hits 1983-01-27 – 1983-02-04: 122 hits 1993-01-27 – 1993-02-04: 233 hits 2003-01-27 – 2003-02-04: 84 hits 2013-01-27 – 2013-02-04: 314 hits (2020-01-27 – 2020-02-04: 952 hits) 2022-01-27 – 2022-02-04: 463 hits (2022-07-27 – 2022-08-04: 874 hits)

The dates within (parenthesis) were made to 1) the start of the Covid pandemic and 2) to include the Russian war in Ukraine which began after the initial search of 2022, in order to simulate a possible usage of crisis for 2023 that is not yet available to search in the Royal library database. 

 Removing the outlier (2003) there is a clear trend indicating that the number of crisis have increased over the last 60 years. Even if we remove some of the hits, during 1973 some of the hits were in relation to the artist Kris Kristofferson, and during 1993 some were in relation to Swedish comedians (and I use this word in the loosest possible meaning) Stefan and Krister. Also, in astrology the star sign Sagittarius, for an undisclosed reason, seemed to be in a state of crisis.

When we talk about emotions we often mention empathy. As the word is commonly used it has become a sort of mix between two closely related words – empathy and sympathy. Empathy is the ability, or ”emotion” that allow you to understand the way another person thinks and feels and connect with them whilst still keeping your own emotions separate from the interaction. Basically, empathy is ”understanding what someone feels”. Sympathy, on the other hand, constitutes a form of active participation in the emotions of the other person and tying them, in a sense, to oneself. Or to put it a bit clearer: ”I feel what you feel”.  

Personally I’ve noticed that I to quite a large degree have lost the ability to care, especially in relation to crises as reported by media. I connect this in part to the fact that we are living in a state of permanent crisis, a state that keeps intensifying. Why should I care about something that will be over with and replaced by something else tomorrow? The problem with this ”blunting” of emotions is that they are not confined to crisis in the media. I find it increasingly difficult to muster any sense of real emotion in situations that really should trigger an emotional response. Intellectually I can understand and relate to what is happening in, for example Ukraine and Iran, ideologically and morally I can relate to what is right and wrong in a given situation – but I am struggling with the emotional and sympathetic aspects of this. It takes a conscious effort to react accordingly. I don’t feel the suffering of others, which don’t mean that i don’t understand that they are suffering.  

During the 60’s and 70’s there were more space in society to share in the suffering of others – often with underlying political purposes. The anti-war movement and the emerging environmental movement originated in a time where the number of simultaneous crises were relatively few, allowing them to grow to a scale large enough to drive political and personal engagement. Today, in the state of constant crisis, this space no longer exist. The sympathy has been replaced with empathy for good and for bad. 

On the empathic level I can understand that the anger and fear of  the threat of a looming climate disaster would drive people to super glue themselves to roads or throw baked beans on a work of art, but I lack the sympathetic ability to share this anger and fear. I don’t think that it require any wider experience within the fields of psychology or sociology to reach the conclusion this deficiency in me might in part be related to the current media state of perpetual crisis. And at the same time the opposite is true – that the perpetual crisis lead to a state of increased stress and a loss of wellbeing for a lot of people around the world. 

Most people can handle the stress that arise in relation to news events. They see the causes, analyse what is going on and move on with their lives. For others it cause increased levels of stress, stress that if left to itself can slide into worry about the self and the future. This worry might in turn lead to fear which can lead to anger. And anger, as any fan of Star Wars well know, can lead to the Dark Side.

I am not saying that the news alone are to blame for this development, and especially in relation to me. That I am ”the way I am” depends on a whole bunch of things, most of which are related to me (it would be strange otherwise). Another is the rise of new and more efficient ways to share events as they take place around the world. But regardless of this, I would think it very interesting to see if there is a connection between the constant state of crisis in media and a loss of the ability to really care.

I mean, one just get so tired of it all.

p.s I’ve decided to open an account on buymecoffee, in case anyone would like to follow me there. Naturally, this will be my main page, but I will try to post some longer pieces of writing there eventually both to reduce ramblings here and to perhaps get increased interaction with those of you that don’t consider my ramblings to be irritating at best. :) just click here to get to my page. I just created the page, so please bear with me, I’ll get some perks set up as well. I just have to... do... some stuff... first. //Jimmy 

[dominickeating-source]

DREAMWATCH Issue #111 (2003)

As the revamped third year of the newly retitled STAR TREK:ENTERPRISE gets underway, DOMINIC KEATING offers his verdict on the season's opening episodes and tells dreamwatch what it's like to be Lieutenant Malcolm Reed in the middle of a struggle between the Xindi and the Enterprise crew. Words: Ian Spelling

REED ALERT!

Dominic Keating likes the new direction Enterprise is taking. Sending Captain Archer and the crew into the Delphic Expanse, adding commando-like troops known as MACOs to their number, introducing the mysterious Xindi, and increasing the action have resulted in what he feels is a better show, especially judging by season three's opening episode.

'I've been very, very pleased by all the changes and the results,' says Keating, who's back on board the Enterprise as Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. 'I thought our first episode back, The Xindi, was great. I probably shouldn't say this, but I'm not really a great fan of action, visual effects entertainment. It's not the sort of thing that generally floats my boat, to be honest. But I've got to tell you that I was really excited by The Xindi. I loved the incarnation of the foremen [Stephen McHattie] we encountered when we tried to find the Xindi prisoner. I thought he was an absolute revelation. When i went in to do the looping [audio recording] and saw what he'd done I called [co-creators/executive producers] Rick Berman and Brannon Braga and said, 'More of that, please!' The episode had fantastic sets and was beautifully lit and it kept me on the edge of my seat - and I knew what was going to happen.

'The second episode [Anomaly] wasn't quite as extraordinary, but for those who love visuals I thought some of the special effects - the coffee floating in the air, the warp drive fritzing and the electrical waves sparking out - were extraordinary. It was a nice episode for setting the audience up for the kinds of anomalies we're going to meet in this Delphic Expanse.

'Episode three is Extinction. That's a good show. We had a lot of fun making that,' he says, referring to the episode which sees Captain Archer, Hoshi and Reed transformed into members of an alien race. 'As actors, it was terrific to devise whole physical and vocal characteristics on the spot. It was quite a bonding experience for me, Scott [Bakula, Captain Archer] and Linda [Park, Hoshi]. I know there were some worries about how it was going to look, but I saw [director] LeVar Burton and he was very pleased. I haven't seen the final episode, but I think I'll like it. The make-up was murderous, mate, but I have to say it was very effective. I hated the prosthetics. I get very claustrophobic and have very sensitive Irish skin which doesn't like the solvents that take all the glue off. After five days my poor face looked like a blob. I look at [Phlox actor] John Billingsley with all new respect.

'So, all things considered, we're in good shape,' he notes. 'The ratings haven't been extraordinary, but they've been robust and healthy and better than they were, especially given that we don't enjoy a lot of promotion.'

Fighting Fit

Malcolm Reed hasn't changed much at all as a result of the revamp. He remains the same character who played key roles in the show's first season episodes Shuttlepod One and Two Days and Two Nights, and season two's Minefield, The Communicator, Singularity and The Crossing. And despite the introduction of the MACOs, Reed remains the ship's tactical officer and still likes to blow stuff up - although now he does get to blow more stuff up!

'I've had a lot more action and running around with guns and stuff since the changes were implemented,' he says. 'We're all there at Paramount more than we ever were. My workload has gone up exponentially. The days have been longer and I've had less time to pick up my dry cleaning, go to the gym, go to the bank and do other things. It's a lot of hours. And that's because it takes longer to do an action scene than a talking scene. There's more shooting involved. There are more camera moves. You shoot action scenes, usually, in smaller pieces and the scene is put together in the editing room.

'We're about to shoot an episode that's like a Western [North Star], and we're going over to the Universal backlot to do that one. But what I'm doing hasn't changed so much. It's not like they've overhauled Malcolm or taken him to another level. There's just been more for me to do. I think I have an episode coming up in which I'll be infiltrating the Xindi Council, so that should be fun.'

While the introduction of the MACOs initially looked set to be a continual source of conflict between Reed and their leader, Major Hayes [Steven Culp], Keating reports that the dispute has been downplayed during the new season's opening instalments. 'There is a little tension. I don't think Malcolm's particularly happy in some respects,' he explains. 'But I think professionally he understands that they need to be there.'

Naturally, Enterprise's overhaul has been widely interpreted as a sign that the show is in trouble. When asked if he felt the changes were necessary, Keating pauses for thought before responding.

'It probably was, all things said and done,' he admits. 'I do think that somewhere in the second season, out of the 26 episodes there were four or so that weren't very good. And it only takes four or so that aren't very good to cause a problem. Scott and I had a big conversation about this, and I don't mean to give myself any airs and graces, but we talked about the nature of episodic television and the challenge of wrapping up an episode each week neatly and happily within an hour's confines. That's tricky, particularly after so many years of writing Star Trek stories. So I think they were right to think of a season, at least, where each episode is joined and has an arc, so there's a story for the audience to follow. It's in the nature of 24, and ER has had major arcs at times that are like this.

'I think putting us in the Delphic Expanse and having us chase the Xindi is a clever move for keeping an audience interested. People don't mind missing an episode or two or even three if they know it's just a particular episode. But if they miss an episode in an arc of episodes that has a story that interests them and has got them on the edge of their chairs somewhat, then they're missing something any time they miss an episode. So, when you've got a high stakes arc, they'll be more inclined to make sure that they watch it. And, hopefully, they'll watch us.'

To Boldly Go On?

In the wake of Star Trek:Enterprise's revamp, Dominic Keating feels a renewed sense of enthusiasm about the show's future. He also reports that the mood on the show's set has lifted tremendously this season.

'I can't say there wasn't a kind of quicksand feeling for a while,' acknowledges the actor. 'I'm a bit of a worrier, definitely, and I got a little worried. The seven-year contract we signed was not as secure as it seemed when we signed it. I started thinking, "Bloody Hell!"

'I think we are going to run. I can't see Viacom letting this just dribble down the drain. I go to conventions and talk to the fans. There's such a groundswell of support for this show. Yeah, they bitch a bit about continuity and stuff that niggles them, but all in all if you ask them, "Do you want to have a show or don't you want to have a show?" they'd rather have a show.

'Right now, all of us on Enterprise are feeling OK. The [US] ratings for The Xindi matched the ratings for [second season finale] The Expanse. The ratings for the second episode were up there too. I don't want to get too much into the politics of the franchise and its relationship with the network because these are conversations I'm just not privy to. We just want to do the best work we can and hope people will tune us in.'

Source: www.dominickeating.com

[i-write-hurt-not-comfort]

i finally updated my diabolik lovers character tier list!! 

so first of all, this was my previous one, which i made juuuust over a year ago. 

but obviously my opinions change as i read different routes, think about characters more/less, and the way in which i write them and the depth i explore their relationships and issues also shapes my favourites list. AAAAAAND here’s my new one. 

some ramblings about my choices under the cut: 

- kou always gets his own category, and it would take a lot to knock ruki out of my number 2 spot

- reiji has gone up the most because honestly?? i used to not be too fascinated by him but i have very slowly seen his character in more and more depth, his lost eden and chaos lineage really changed me, youngblood made me think about him, and the way i’ve written him and ruki soooo much has also allowed me to explore his character. so i’ve become really obsessed with reiji and i think about him like, daily 

- i am also FIERCELY protective over azusa now, his chaos lineage also Changed me and i’ve really come to love him, i’ve had a lot of fun writing him too. i think azusa is quite a special character compared to everyone else as well, i find myself really quick to defend him 

- i’m really sorry for knocking subaru out of my top 3, especially when i love subakou so much but i can’t say i go out of my way to find subaru content on his own like i do with reiji, ruki and azusa

- i feel like ayato and yui sit really nicely there, i appreciate them both a lot and i love writing ayato especially

- it’s a shame laito dropped so many places but his routes are really lonely, i went through a MAD laito phase, wrote that 36k words, 10 chapter drug addict fic of him and i’m glad i did, but the amount that i think about him has definitely dropped 

- i’m sorry that shu and yuma are always so low, my love for them increases exponentially when i think about them together and in the context of reiji aka the arson trio 

- yes, shin is now loved. azushinkino has helped me, and reading shin’s lost eden and chaos lineage was the best decision i ever made 

- i still hate kanato and carla, sorry not sorry 

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Seen Part III

Mary Sue woke early Sunday morning to her cell phone ringing; not the landline. She’d stayed up into the wee hours of the morning talking landline to landline with Joe Saturday after their magical reunion Friday. She jumped to answer the ringing despite her meager three hours of sleep, hoping it was Joe. It wasn’t. Joe wouldn’t cost her minutes when the odds were she was home. He’d always try home first. It was Steven. She expected to never hear from him again, and was disappointed he’d failed to meet those expectations. She briefly considered letting it go to voicemail, but was afraid he’d just keep calling if she did that, so she picked up. He didn’t let her say, “Hello.”

“OK, Ems. You made your point. I can’t believe you haven’t called at all since Friday.”

“Why’d you call the cell number?”

“No idea where you’d be.”

“At 7:30 on Sunday morning? I’ve barely slept. You’re burning minutes for me here.”

He ignored her concern with the potential increase in her monthly bill and continued, “I can’t believe you walked out on me over five bucks for bums.”

“I can. I wish I’d done it sooner. Way sooner. And did it ever occur to you that you abandoned me Friday night over a five dollar donation? You just...left me downtown alone because I did something pretty minor you disagreed with. What if something had happened to me?”

“That’s why I’m calling now.”

“I can feel the love, Steven. I thought it was clear enough Friday, but since I guess it’s not, it’s over. Don’t call me again. We’re not going out together anymore. Over.”

“What?!”

“Pretty sure ya heard me and again...tick tock on the minutes here. I’m hanging up...”

“Don’t! Please! I...I...”

“You what?”

“I’m...s-sorry? I...please don’t do this, Ems. What am I gonna say to Rodney and Clint and Mom and Dad and…?”

“Say whatever. They all don’t care about me at all anyway. Who cares? Goodbye.” She huffed and tossed and turned for a few minutes, unable to settle, and stared at the cradled cordless instead of her cell. “Don’t,” she said out loud to herself. She rolled away from the temptation but it still called to her. “He’s sleeping,” she said again, to her empty apartment. “I’m sure he’s sleeping. It’s intrusive and inconsiderate to call now,” she argued with herself as she scooted closer to the nightstand and grabbed the receiver. She looked at the alarm clock and excused herself somewhat. “It’s almost eight,” she conceded, dialing.

“Hmm? ‘Searly onna off day,” Joe’s groggy sleep-voice mumbled as a general answer on the third ring. She felt disgusted with herself that she’d woken him for essentially no reason besides she was awake and thinking about him.

“I’m sorry, Joey. I...”

“Rice Chex?! You alright?!” he asked, exponentially more alert. Worried.

“I’m...fine. I just...woke up early and...now I can’t go back to sleep and it was really dumb and selfish to call you but...I did. And now you’re...”

“I’m glad you called.”

“You are? But I woke you up. I mean...”

“Was thinking about you.”

“You were sleeping.”

“That doesn’t normally stop me from thinking about you. Seriously though? Was gonna call you...y’know a little later than this...and see if you wanted to do Sunday dinner at Nanna D’s. With me. Today.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah. Is that...am I cutting too many corners here? Like...I’m counting the four years. To me, this isn’t day three. It’s day like...2500...”

“No, me too. I’m...cut the corners. Should I bring something?”

“Just you and an appetite for actual Italian food.”

“Well...done. This is...ok? Does your family even...like me still?”

“Uh...yes.”

“Did you tell them…? What did you tell them? Am I crashing Nanna D’s Sunday dinner?!”

“I talked to Mom yesterday before I called you and I said I might be bringing a date today. I didn’t tell her it’s you. I wanna surprise everybody.”

“What did she think about you bringing a date today when you mentioned it? Also...might?! You might be bringing a date? The hell, Joey?!” she laughed.

“I didn’t know if you’d wanna come, so I didn’t wanna give my mom anything without a ‘might.’ She was horrified about me bringing somebody, by the way. I’m sure all my aunts and cousins and Nanna D are melting down about it chopping tomatoes for Sunday gravy right now.”

“I thought you said...”

“They love you. They’ve always loved you. Mom was upset because...I...I haven’t brought anybody to Nanna D’s for dinner in four years.”

Mary Sue’s breath caught in her throat, supremely touched by what he’d said. She wanted to eloquently profess love for him back, but the only words she could form were, “Oh, Joey.”

“I can’t really...y’know...wine and dine you like you’ve probably been for...whatever, but I can take you with me to Nanna D’s. Food’s better. And free. And you’ll make Nanna’s...year. And Mom and Dad’s. And probably John’s. And...definitely mine. You’ll make my life.”

“Mine too. I kinda miss Nanna D.” Joe’s Nanna’s house was one of the few places Mary Sue had ever gone that felt like home. Home the way Paul Simon sang about it; the way instant coffee and long distance calling company commercials and Norman Rockwell paintings portrayed ‘home.’ Nanna D’s house was warm and welcoming and soothing like hot soup on a cold day. It always smelled like basil and oregano and fresh lemons and Nanna D hugged the same way Joe did. She probably taught Joe how to hug. She remembered one of her first dates with Steven when she’d arrived back here, so close to her past but still so far away, stressed out about really finishing a doctorate program; really getting on a tenure track to become a literature professor in college; really making something of herself. He’d taken her to see some movie where police officers pulled up in front of a downtown rowhouse with bright green outdoor carpeting up the five front stairs and covering the small square concrete block porch at the top, separating the steps from the entry door. A wave of comfort washed over her and she remembered the charge of happiness and connection. ‘That’s just like Nanna D’s house,’ she cheerfully noted to herself maybe a second before Steven began laughing. “What a trashy place. That’s not real. Nobody really puts astroturf on the front porch,” he snarked. Another time she should have just ended things with him. ‘Nanna D has astroturf on the front porch. That’s my home. That’s my family. That’s my Nanna,’ she thought in quiet rage, but of course she never said anything. Because in a way, Steven wasn’t wrong. The point of the movie scene was to show that it was a trashy place. Some run down, older, working class hovel in Detroit or Chicago or New York City...some harsh and believable ‘inner city-bad neighborhood’ setting for the privileged class to consume another violent crime drama. But it wasn’t a bad neighborhood to Mary Sue; it was Nanna D’s house; it was where she ate spaghetti and meatballs on Sundays with Her Joe and got all those hugs and heard all those loud, bawdy laughs from his big, loving family who loved her too.

“All the Disibios miss you. They’re gonna...my mom might cry. Be ready.” He yawned loudly.

“I should go and let you sleep...”

“You should call me when you think of me. Every single time. I’ll be happy every single time because you’re thinking about me. I don’t care if you’re panicked or proud or you don’t even have a reason. Whatever it is, I’ll be happy. Happy to help. Happy to listen. Happy to share what you wanna tell me. Happy to just hear your voice. I’m awake. I won’t go back to real sleep now, even if you let me go and I close my eyes in bed again. I’ll just think about you until it turns back into dreaming.”

“That’s...something to say,” she said breathlessly.

“I held it all in last time. That got me nowhere with nothing. I’m saying it now.”

“I’m gonna say it now too.”

“I’ll come get you at about four...”

“I’ll come get you. It’s silly for you to drive here and then drive all the way back to...”

“You’re not coming here to my place.”

“You’re serious about that? So it’s small and older. Who cares? I don’t buy ‘bad neighborhood.’ My neighborhood is probably full of drugs and sex offenders too. It’s right off a college campus and sometimes you can hear the stupid parties from Greek Life houses. You’re not ashamed of where you live now after all the shit we’ve already been through with…?”

“No. And now I don’t want you at your place alone either, honestly. I know you...I don’t want you coming here. Especially not without me with you. I’m happy to come pick you up.” It seemed like a small difference; Joe’s insistence on keeping her safe; taking care of her; looking out for her, but it wasn’t small.

“Okay. I’ll...I’ll cook for you maybe. Soon. Tuesday? Monday I assume will be...exhausting for us both at work since...”

“I’ll be there Tuesday. And at four. Don’t know why you’re up, but you need more sleep for Nanna D’s. It’s gonna be a lot. Think you could take a nap now before four if…?”

“Can you?”

“I’m kinda eager to.”

“I’m so sorry I woke you up. I knew it was...”

“I’m not sorry you woke me up. Will just make getting back to that dream more vivid.”

“I see,” she coyly replied. “Yeah, I can probably take a nap.”

“Sweet dreams, My Rice Chex.”

***

“Look who I found playing music on the street at night with my punk friends, Mom...” Joe tormented his mother, moving aside to display Mary Sue upon arrival at his grandmother’s house.

“Omigod, Joey! Is that our girl?!” his mother squealed. “Ma, it’s our Mary Sue! Look at her! Johnny, look at her!” she called to Joe’s grandmother and his father in separate parts of the house.

“I see her, dollbaby,” Joe’s dad replied with a satiated grin to his wife, who, predictably, had begun to cry. She hugged Mary Sue and then stood back at arm’s length and put her straightened fingers out to cradle Mary Sue’s chin.

“Look at you,” she said.

“It’s...it’s so good to see you,” Mary Sue sniffed, softly crying and wiping rogue tears from her cheeks before they touched Joe’s mother’s hands.

“Don’t you cry, sweetheart. Omigod. Joey, you evil little shit. How do you not tell your mother you’re bringing Mary Sue to dinner? Ma is gonna...”

Nanna D shuffled out of the kitchen with a dishtowel on her shoulder. She looked Mary Sue over with a Mona Lisa smile. “This is heaven for my Joey, I know,” she murmured into Mary Sue’s ear, engulfing her in one of those Nanna D hugs. “How is it for you, love?”

“Better than that, Mrs. Disibio.”

“Why would you call me Mrs. Disibio?”

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“The words.” Nanna D’s smile grew and she patted Mary Sue’s face. “You’re not being that big old word, love. Are you in town to see your family?”

“She’s living by the college, Nanna. Graduate school. Is here now. She’s gonna be a professor. Of books. In like a year or so. Now the studyin’ is really her writing a big...I mean, book, almost, right? About books?” Joe explained to his grandmother, but really his whole family, beaming with pride and turning to Mary Sue for authentication.

“Yeah, that’s about it, Nanna,” she sighed.

“You shouldn’t miss anymore Sundays, then,” Nanna D gently commanded, with the clear implication that she considered the previous four years of absences as Mary Sue being unfortunately and unavoidably busy.

“I won’t miss anymore if Joey wants me to be here.”

“He definitely does,” Joe said.

They spent the evening with the Disibio family, Mary Sue soaking up the timeless feeling of home and Joe having his patience and loyalty validated, looking at her snapping right into the void in his heart perfectly. All the people he loved the most were in the same room while they ate big plates of carbonara and ravioli with Nanna D’s slow cooked red sauce, just like they had been five years in the past, when Joe felt like his life was the best. Only it was more now; better now. Now Mary Sue wasn’t obliging him, and she didn’t feel trapped, and she was on her own way. She just steered so his family was a frequent stop; so he was part of the journey; maybe he was even the destination. After eating, Mary Sue went into the kitchen with the Disibios to clean up and then out to what Nanna D called ‘the family room’ to sit next to Joe. He couldn’t stop looking at her with wide, dancing eyes; couldn’t help reaching out to comb through the ends of her hair or hold her hand, or stretch an arm around her, or rest his palm on her knee. She tired a bit, from so much social connection after years of stagnation, and a big carbohydrate loaded meal, and rested her cheek on his shoulder. That’s when Joe’s mother started digging in her purse.

“Aw, Jesus, Mom. No. Not the camera,” Joe begged.

“We don’t have any photos of you with Mary Sue. We didn’t have a camera and then...and you look just like when...except you need to get rid of the scruff on your face but…” Joe’s mother didn’t want to say her entire thought process and motivation out loud, but Joe could figure her out. She wanted a photo in case it was the last time. She didn’t even have a photo from the last ‘last time,’ and she didn’t want that to happen again. It was an insurance policy. Instead she continued to Mary Sue, “Joey and John got me this fancy camera last Mother’s Day and now they both lose their shit whenever I try and use it. It’s so nice, Mary. It shows you the pictures on this screen right after you take ‘em. And if somebody sneezed or blinked or somethin’, you can just delete it and take it over. A do-over. Ya didn’t useta get those with takin’ pictures. Lemme get one-a you with Joey there. Your pretty face. See if you can get ‘im to shave that beard...”

***

“Sure you don’t wanna go out?” Joe asked as he shrugged off his jacket inside Mary Sue’s apartment door upon his Tuesday night arrival.

“I’m actually pretty sick of going out.”

“Shit, you used to wanna go out as much as you could.”

“That was Old Mary Sue. Now I’ve been out. It’s all...not worth it. I’m excited to hang out with you here. Make dinner and just...have you here. I’d so rather be on the roof of your truck, pirating a live baseball game, than anything I’ve done out in the past four years.”

“I loved doing that with you. And Nanna D’s dinners. And working at the chili parlor. And just hanging out in Jen’s mom’s basement. Doing...nothing. But I thought you hated it.”

“I thought I did too, but I really loved it. That last guy? We always went out with some of his friends and they all told all these glory days stories about concerts and beach trips on spring breaks and ski trips on winter ones and shit. And they’d razz me until I eventually just stopped talking altogether because all my stories were sitting in someone’s car in a parking lot or sitting in someone’s basement or having dinner at someone’s house. Like connection didn’t count to them unless it was out in public for other people to see, spending money. But it dawned on me that they weren’t connecting doing any of that shit. It was stuff to buy and do with their time to feign or avoid connecting. They do stuff so they can say they did it to someone else. It’s like they don’t actually experience anything. They just go places to collect ticket stubs and take pictures to prove they were there. I miss just...being with you. Seeing you. I love talking on the phone with you and all, but now I just...wanna see you all the time.”

“I wish I could say that could be arranged, but I gotta work, and so do...you? I assume you’re working. Right? You gotta be to live here and not back with your folks, commuting. And you made quiche for dinner...”

“I get my grad school candidate/assistant professor’s stipend. That’s what pays for all the luxury you see,” she kidded. “And I don’t think I could move home. Like I don’t think Mom and Dad would...this was the goal of their life. For me to not live with them anymore. Right? Also, quiche is just scrambled eggs with cheese and chopped up leftovers baked in a grocery store frozen pie shell. All those country clubs and snooty restaurants with dress codes and shit are actually kinda cheaping out. Telling you. Rich people are cheap unless they think they’re impressing somebody by spending.”

Joe felt a little ache for her, talking about her parents not wanting her living back home. They’d never been as close as his family, and Mary Sue often tried to shield him from the darker parts of her life at home, but he knew enough to know there were dark parts. She liked to say how much her family loved her, but he was fairly certain she was saying it to convince herself it was real. They only showed up for her when she did something to fulfill some big expectation they had of her. Her family was the origin story of why she was always working so hard to prove herself; worthy, deserving, good, better, more. The only pleasure Joe ever saw her get from connection with her own family was when she did something they could point at and use to prove they were worthy, deserving, good, better, more, because they had to be if she did that thing; they made her, after all. He answered everything she’d said except that part, because he didn’t have an answer. “You joke, but you have an actual thermostat. I have steam heat and a window A/C unit. And maybe the ingredients are common, but I am damn near certain I’d fuck up a quiche. It kind of is luxury. And they’re paying you to go to school?!” he laughed, hoping for playful banter instead of heavy thoughts about her family.

“If you go to school long enough and are pretty good at it, they start paying you to go.”

“I’ve heard something like that about community college. Go long enough they make you the teacher. But...” He was relieved for the wisecracks, and took a seat at her tiny dining table and dug into his dinner as soon as she sat down too.

“Oh, it works that way with all college, actually. Just with a traditional university, you either have to develop an anxiety disorder trying to keep a scholarship, or shoulder like a hundred grand of debt for...most if not all of the rest of your life in order to get paid enough to live in this apartment.”

“So My Smarty Rice Chex won’t have the debt cloud because of the scholarship. And when the thesis is finally finished, then you’re a what?”

“Hopefully I get an associate professorship in American literature.”

“Associate Professorship. Professor Rice.”

“Doctor Rice. Just not that kind of doctor.”

“I’m prouda you. You really...did it.”

“Almost.”

“No, it’s gonna happen. Why would you...you sure you wanna...with me?”

“Joey. Of course I’m sure. I...um...are you...not sure about this?”

“I’m still kinda scared I’m not enough. I don’t have plans to become...anything more or better...than me.”

“Good. I like My Joe as is.”

“Before...”

“I was really really wrong before. I’m different now. I know what more and better is. I know if you want more and better, it’s not somewhere else. You can’t go out and find it. You make it at home.”

“That’s...something to say.” He wiped his hands and mouth on his napkin and smiled across the table at her.

“Told My Joe I was saying it now.”

“And you are.” She stood to clear dishes and clean up and he hovered around her to help, but she refused him.

“Just go...I dunno. I’ll clean up. And then I’ll come out and… You wanna...stay tonight?”

“That’s...wow, Rice Chex, you’re really saying it now,” he nervously chuckled from her sofa.

“You...don’t wanna…?” she stuttered with obvious disappointment and embarrassment.

“Oh, no. That’s not...I like...incredibly a lot want to. It’s just...I gotta go to work in the morning and you probably do too, and if I start...if we...uh...I can see me making some unwise decisions about tomorrow if I stay here tonight.”

“OK. Not tonight. I get it. I guess.”

“I honestly can’t even believe you asked,” he snickered.

“Well, fortune rewards the bold.”

“Is that what it does? What book’s that out of?”

“It’s an old Latin translation that’s been quoted all over the place for centuries. It’s probably in a few books. It means...”

“I know what it means. It means Mary Sue Rice ditches rides to tip street trumpet players and then asks them to spend the night with her.”

“And then she gets to talk to the trumpet player every day and see him a lot and has a little prospect off on the horizon in the distance that he’ll stay all night. Someday. Hopefully soon. Maybe someday he’ll even...just...never leave. Ever.”

“That’s bold alright.”

“Those are some impressive rewards.” He smirked at her, his ego inflated.

“Maybe someday, he will just never leave.”

“Maybe someday, he’ll get a house with me that has a carport or a garage to park Ol’ Cherry in and he’ll play La Vie En Rose on that trumpet at two o’clock some Saturday afternoon. And no one will care. Except her. She’ll care. She loves that song. She loves hearing him play it.”

“That sounds like a nice someday. Sounds like he’s getting the rewards for her being bold.”

“So? Maybe she thinks he deserves a lot more rewards than he gets. Maybe someday in that house, he’ll teach their kid to play La Vie En Rose on the trumpet at two o’clock some Saturday afternoon...”

“Alright on that one? No.”

“No?” The smarting letdown showed on her face until he diagrammed his reasoning.

“If I got lucky enough to have a someday that gives me ‘our kid?’ Our kid gets real music lessons. I’ll work two, three jobs if our kid wants to play music. So they can have real lessons. Learn how to read music. Sit right. Alla that.”

“Just because you didn’t get the formal education doesn’t make you...less...Joey. Believe me, I know without a doubt that formal education doesn’t make anybody more or better. That’s probably the most important thing I learned in college.”

“Formal education gets you options. If our kid wants to make a life outta music, formal education gives them that option. I’m not mad I didn’t get it. It wasn’t something my family...but...our kid will have that option. Our kid won’t have to drive a forklift. Or wait tables at the chili parlor. They can. But they can also be a college book professor or first chair at the Cincinnati Symphony playing...something. Or maybe they’ll play the trumpet in the Great Funk Revival of 2025 or something. You aren’t the only one who learned important stuff while you were in college.”

She’d finished in the kitchen, putting things away and wiping up mess, and joined him. She briefly thought of sitting on his lap but suddenly got shy. “You know...if there’s a someday where we get ‘our kid?’ I’m...I mean, part of that someday is that I’m a tenured literature professor. And that means...you wouldn’t have to work two or three jobs. You might not even have to work one.”

“What did I ever do to deserve that kinda someday?”

“You’re My Joe.” He shook his head and closed his eyes and threaded his fingers into her hair to kiss her. They reclined, him over her, a tangle of limbs and racing heartbeats. “If you’re not gonna stay, can I see you again tomorrow?” she daringly panted.

“You really…?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come over after work. I’ll bring over...”

“You. I’ll figure out food. Just bring over you. Your face. Your voice. Your hands. You.”

“I can do that.” He smiled, gratified and eased.

“And Thursday.” They adjusted to a more wholesome version of enmeshed with one another and she crinkled his tshirt in her fists, under his unbuttoned flannel shirt.

“Thursday I gotta bring something. Fried chicken from Guster’s? Burgers?”

“I don’t think I’ve had Guster’s fried chicken in...”

“Four years? Yeah, that’s Thursday then. Before you say Friday, I can’t. Will’s trying to collect some money to buy an engagement ring for his girl, so we’ve been...I promised like five Friday nights and two Saturday’s in the next six weeks. I can’t just...”

“Of course you can’t skip that. You can’t skip it for you. You have to play. I’ll be alright.”

“It’s not like we won’t see each other again. Right?”

“Right.”

***

“That smells so goooood,” Mary Sue moaned opening the door to Joe with hot fried chicken and biscuits.

“None of the college guys brought you Guster’s? None of them? Amateurs.” They each took seats and hungrily grabbed the food from the paper bag, devouring it with their eyes and noses before getting it into their mouths.

“They were amateurs,” she said as daintily as possible with a mouthful of chicken thigh. “But even if they would have known the ground they could gain with Guster’s fried chicken, they wouldn’t have brought it here. None of them have even been inside the apartment.”

“What?!” Joe nearly choked on his mashed potatoes.

“The only men who’ve been inside the apartment are my dad and Andy. I guess you can count Andy as a man now that he’s eighteen.”

“Didn’t you say you went out with whatsisface for like two years? He never came to your apartment? Ever? How’s that even possible?”

“I drove to his place and then we’d go out. He still lived at home with his parents. In a goddam mansion. Like, they would never call it a mansion, and his parents complained about the neighborhood and the upkeep on the house and shit, but like...it was a mansion, Joey. Six bedrooms, four baths, four car garage for three people. They had this...you know that cobalt blue blown glass chandelier over the information desk at the art museum?”

“Yeah...” Joe had been to the Cincinnati Art Museum about a hundred times; every time with Mary Sue. It was free with donation. Mary Sue put dollar bills in the box when she had them and counted found change when she didn’t. He loved the museum because it was one of her favorite places to be. Somewhere they could go and talk and be together and look at beautiful things people throughout history created without being expected to buy something with money they didn’t have.

“His house has a chandelier that big in the foyer. First of all they have a foyer and they call it a foyer without even thinking it’s strange they’re using the word foyer. But past that, they have this huge fucking crystal chandelier hanging in it. So the first time I go in there, I said, ‘Wow,’ out loud, because like...wow. Right? And Steven starts in on how much of a pain in the ass it is and they have to hire this specialty company to clean it twice a year. The cleaning bill was five thousand dollars. Just the cleaning bill. For the chandelier. Which they paid two of in a year. So that’s ten thousand dollars...”

“If I added up the vehicles of all my immediate family members, I think it’d still be less than ten grand.”

“Exactly. So I’m gonna invite that guy to my apartment? He shit on my car. He shit on my clothes...”

“Your clothes?! How…? You look...well you look like you don’t belong with a schmuck like me; that’s for sure...”

“You’re not a schmuck. He is though. He shit on taking me to the art museum. Both because it’s technically free and also because only nerds who are trying to hard to impress people actually go to museums. Liking and appreciating anything at all seemed to be a reason to make fun of me.”

“Your folks ever meet that guy?”

“No way! My place is nicer than their place!”

“But your parents...”

“’Whatever it takes to fit in there, Mary Sue. Make something of yourself...’”

“So they’re fine that you’re dating some dumb fucker who left you downtown without a ride as long as it means maybe someday you can live in a house that has a chandelier that costs more than my Nanna’s entire house? That’s...like...it’s pissing me off, Rice Chex.”

“I get it, obviously. It pisses me off too, but it’s...it’s not worth you getting...who cares? About...any of them? They don’t care about me. They think sending me into that world and making me feel shitty for ever coming back home is somehow the best thing they could have done for me. You’re here. You’d never leave me downtown. You’re...proud of me.”

“Of course I am. I think they’re all idiots for making you feel like...you feel. You don’t have anything to prove to me, Rice Chex. You never have, you know? I already knew in tenth grade you were better than all the rest of these shitheads.”

“I just wanna be good enough for you.”

“You passed that up a long time ago. You started out too good for me. That scares the shit outta me all the time I’m with you now.”

“You’re better than all the rest of those shitheads. I wasn’t smart enough to know that in tenth grade, but I know it now.” She licked the grease from her fingers and crumpled up a couple of napkins, turning abashedly away from him.

“Oh no, I brought dinner this time, I’m cleaning it up. It’s not even any work,” he said, crunching chicken bones and trash into the emptied bag and tossing it into her kitchen wastebasket. She remained at the dining table, her knees curled to her chest in the chair, closing herself in with folded arms, and staring again at the center of the table. “Hey,” he said, lifting her chin to look him in the eyes after he washed his hands at the kitchen sink. “I’ve never felt anything but lucky that you were ever a part of my life. You’ve done nothing but make my life better. With or without college. Whatever you drove. Wherever you lived. Even when we weren’t even… You’re My Rice Chex. And if somebody...anybody else thinks you need to...well, they’re just fucking wrong.”

“I really wish you were staying tonight.”

“I do too. I got a long day tomorrow though. Work then...y’know...”

“Yeah, I know. La Vie En Rose.”

***

Mary Sue flipped through endless basic cable channels, wholly dissatisfied with the offerings. She didn’t wish she was out; she wished Joe was in with her. Then it would cease to matter what was on television; even if it was all garbage, they’d have fun watching it together. Or not watching it together. She used to judge people she knew for moving in with partners too quickly. What if it didn’t work out? How can you trust them? Is the break in expenses really worth the potential future damage? But she wanted to ask Joe to live with her now, after what substantially amounted to a week together to anyone on the outside of what she was in. She didn’t care about what was on the outside anymore. She felt as though she’d spent her whole life on the outside, except with Joe. And the four years outside with him were more than enough for a lifetime. She wanted back in. She wanted in forever. She wanted to be inside, with Joe, forever. But right now, she accepted that he was out.

She closed her eyes and imagined him setting up on Main and 9th to play; his long legs and heavy boots sprawled wide, his shoulders touching the top of the flimsy chair back, slunk to the edge of the seat to camouflage his height, his feet stationed around the money. She saw those nimble hands holding the trumpet to those strong, soft lips to play. She sighed. She’d seen him play outside once, and for most of her observation she didn’t even know it was him, and she’d already tattooed the imagery of him into her head to study in fantasy. She loved his hands; she loved his lips; she loved those long legs; his shoulders; his everything. She returned to his fingers and lips. He really had such gorgeous lips; slender, powerful fingers. She wanted them on her now, but he was playing music now, so she reanimated the past. She rewound the goodbye kisses she’d received since the previous Friday night and then rewound further to when they’d gone further when they were younger. Joe was the only man Mary Sue ever wanted to touch her. She’d allowed others to, but they were always fumbling and hurried, and either coarse and stingy or too faint and fearful and delicate. Joe was her first and her best, which she knew was rare when it came to lovemaking, especially when first wasn’t also ‘only.’ But that was Joe. First and best and rare. Anyone could see the kind of lover he was if they paid attention to how he handled any instrument he played. Careful and relaxed and strong and gentle, but the best part of Joe was his instincts, fed by a keen ear. He listened. He saw. He paid attention. And without needing to read the notes and timing, he could expertly play all the songs she wanted to hear. She thought of their first time together and how careful he’d been without being faint and fearful and delicate. She thought of every time they were together. She lost herself for probably a few hours, in a nebulous liminal space between being awake and asleep, dreaming of Joe and his lips and his fingers and his legs and shoulders and voice, and the way he touched her and held her, and her thoughts were so lively and real, she could almost feel him there with her when he wasn’t.

She lunged for her phone. It startled her. She’d been fairly zoned out and nearly asleep on the couch with the television on. “Can I see you? I know it's late, but can I see you...tonight?”

“Where are you?” she chirped, full of butterflies that it was Joe. She began pacing in front of the couch, too wired from her reverie and hearing Joe’s voice to hold still any longer.

She started for her bedroom to find suitable attire for a date when she heard an abrupt knock on her door. She eyeballed the peephole. It was Joe on his cell phone. He looked great. More than great. Better than great. She looked terrible. She was watching Seinfeld reruns on cable in faded pink sweats and bunny slippers. She opened the door anyway. They simultaneously hung up their phones.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Been missing you. Come in, I guess. Even though I look like this now.”

“You look lovely,” he said, walking purposefully too close to her, making sure he touched her. “La Vie En Rose.”

“You're a liar.” She closed the door and started back to the living room.

“It's never mattered what you're wearing. You're still the best thing in the room to look at. Did you really miss me?” he said, facing her. He brushed her messy hair away from her face.

“Yes, I did,” she replied, pressing her hand over his on her cheek. She placed her other hand gingerly to the side of his face. “You shaved your beard,” she gratuitously stated. She skated over his newly smooth skin with her fingertips. He looked more familiar, like Her Joe, but somehow also brand new without the beard. He smelled good. She liked the way he smelled even straight from a day of warehouse work, because he was Her Joe, but this was a clean good. A freshly showered and shaved good.

“Better to see me with, my dear. Are you seeing anyone right now?” he needlessly asked.

“Just you.”

“I didn’t mean extremely literally...”

“I know. There’s just you. You’re the only...I haven’t had much luck seeing people.”

“I can't really understand that, actually. I don't understand why you're home on a Friday night. Home alone, anyway. You were out last weekend...”

“Well, it was stupid of me to be out last weekend. Stupid people. Stupid place...”

“I’m glad you were. You made it not a stupid place. If you’re there, it can’t be stupid. I missed you too, Rice Chex. Honestly thought I’d never see you again.”

“Here I am. You’re seeing a lot of me now. And I'm not home alone anymore. You're here, keeping me from falling asleep on the couch with my bunny slippers and my old sitcoms.”

“The bunny slippers are making it kinda hard to control myself.”

“You showing up here is making it hard to control myself. Was...was...thinking about you. A lot. Before you called.”

“Were ya now? I was thinking about you a lot while I was playing tonight. I wasn’t thinking about the bunny slippers though. Those are...man. I’d have probably made some sour notes or maybe even forgotten where I was if I knew about those,” he kidded. “What were you thinking about me?”

“How much I love your lips.” He blushed, and a rascally, open mouthed smirk painted his face. He quite deliberately ran his tongue across his lips. “And you’re...you look like...never seen you look like this before.” He was wearing what seemed to be a tailored three piece suit, still no tie, though. And classic wingtips, shined to a high gloss. And a thick leather strap over one shoulder.

“You like it?”

“I mean...yes. It’s probably...similar to your bunny slippers problem.”

“I can clean up. Wanted to show you I can look like I belong...with you. Wherever you go.”

“Did you wear...this...to play with...you wore this out to play on the street?”

“No. I wore this to come see My Rice Chex.”

“What's that for?” She nodded suspiciously toward the instrument case slung over his shoulder. She felt her face flush and her body hum. Just being that close to Joe was arousing, but he’d purposefully come for her. With the guitar. The extravagant, wasteful, impractical...romantic...guitar.

“You're gonna suck all the romance out of this, huh?” he playfully asked as he took the guitar out.

“Watch how loud you strum that thing. I live an apartment just like you, you know. We’re not out on the corner of Main and 9th right now.” She attempted a stern scolding but it came out in a nervous, thrilled chime. “Tell me, do you think it'd be alright,” he began singing, quietly, just as she asked. “If I could just crash here tonight? You can see I'm in no shape for driving, and anyway, I've got no place to go. And you know, it might not be that bad. You were the best I ever had. If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago, I might not be alone...” He could tell she wanted to say something, so filled with unusual optimism, he just played and stopped singing.

“You’re here. You’re here and I can’t believe you’re singing to me and...”

He started singing again, “The past is gone, but something might be found to take it's place, Hey Jealousy!”

“Joey, please,” she said over his quiet guitar playing.“Stop.” She stretched her fingers over his guitar strings, making the notes go flat.

“I thought about this every day since last Friday night. Every time I hear this song, I think about you. Practically since fucking 1992 when it came out, even though you didn’t even kiss me until 1995. I really miss you.”

“This is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me. I mean, except for last Friday. Which was you too. I’m the one who ruined everything...selfish and short-sighted and...fucking...” She shook her head at herself because she was unable to come up with the right Future Literature Professor synonym for ‘uppity asshole.’

“We'll make it work this time.” He carefully placed the guitar back in its case and reached out for her hand with confidence.

“It's late. And I messed up so bad then. And you're so...way too good for me now...”

“What?! Uneducated hometown boyfriend here. You’re about to become a university literature professor and you got real furniture and glass glasses and shit in your apartment...”

“From IKEA...”

“Still. You DO have more. And better. Like...that was...correct...and...Rice Chex I think you got everything backwards here. But that’s fine. Be backwards. We can still make it work. It'll be different now that you're almost out of school and you’re...here. You’re choosing...me. On purpose. I won't have anything to be jealous about.”

“You weren’t jealous.”

“I was. You were right. I was jealous and scared I’d lose you, so I just went and made sure it happened. Like a fool.”

“Well, you were right too, though. You were right first, actually. I was ashamed. Of my family, where I came from, of the school I went to, my situation...of myself...like...why do you always have to be RIGHT?” she asked after a long, cumbersome lull. He smiled and rested his forehead against hers.

“To piss you off.”

“Well you are SO good at it. Still!” He cracked a bigger smile.

“Rice Chex, let me ask you something...”

“OK. Go ahead.”

“If I woulda sang 'La Vie En Rose' instead....”

“Oh, I’d have gone right to bed with you,” she teased.

“You hurt me,” he replied with humor and sarcasm in his voice, but sincerity in his heart. He closed his eyes in a deliberate blink and flinched a little, like he was really taking a hit, but kept smiling.

“Hey?” She elbowed him softly in the ribs.

“Yes, Miss Rice?” He returned her familiar with counterfeit formality.

“You can crash here tonight.”

“You gonna go to bed with me anyway?” he chuckled.

“Yeah. Unless that was just...exaggerated musical romance.”

“I definitely meant it. You’re not ashamed to tell people you’re with a warehouse worker-slash-street performer? That he’s your high school flame? From your working class neighborhood? Roping you into an ordinary life that might end up right back where you started?”

“Of course not. I’m not ever gonna be ashamed again of what makes me happy. Of what I love.”

“You love me?”

“Always have.”

“I love you too, Rice Chex. Always have. But what about me could make you happy?”

“You see me.”

[sasquatchsightings]

Adding my two cents:

On the one hand, I get that they need to make the game approachable for new people. You don’t want characters spouting off proper nouns all over the place without proper context. And with it being a decade later, there are some choices that can be negated or left out as not being important. I’m not denying that. (I will set aside how many people I’ve seen streaming the series on Twitch and posting vids of their first playthrough on Twitter, due to comparisons to BG3, but I feel like there are plenty of newbies who are CURRENTLY in the process of becoming fans who are going to be very salty when they get their shiny new copy of DATV.)

Plus I feel they want to create as much of a clean cut as they can from the original trilogy to avoid what I’m calling the Pokemon Problem. Pokémon’s issue with its premise is that if each game is in a new area and new areas necessitate new characters (ie the Pokemon) to interact with as the main gameplay mechanic, then they can either make each region totally separate or constantly add about 100 new ‘mons to the roster every generation and have to juggle an exponentially growing number of possible team combinations. Dragon Age logistically can’t keep giving us ever more complicated branching paths for an ever increasing number of blorbos without spending a huge amount of dev time trying to write just those paths and how to give players an update on all those quantum characters.

But to give us so little to tie over when responsiveness to player choice has always been a key aspect of the series is bonkers. The excuse I keep seeing is “it’s 10 years later and we’re in the North, so nothing we did matters.” Excuse me, but the Waking Sea isn’t a fucking Iron Curtain. Orlais is a political powerhouse who trades with literally everyone, and the legacy of Queen Asha of Antiva ensures that all the ruling families are both connected by politics and by blood.

And to say those choices don’t matter means we won’t so much as get a Codex entry or an NPC conversion about what happened in regards to our choices without it being written in the most neutral, passive language. Like, if we’re in Nevarra, it would be pretty conspicuous for no one anywhere to comment on their neighboring country if a war hawk is on the throne or if they’ve radically changed their stance on elves.

Not to mention that “the North” isn’t just Tevinter. Antiva, Nevarra, and allegedly Rivain are all part of the SOUTHERN Chantry, so who is Divine still applies. You can’t tell me that a softened Leliana reacted to the invasion of Qunari in Antiva and responded in the exact same way as she would have had she been hardened, and in the same way as Cassandra AND Vivienne. And you can’t tell we spent all that time getting her elected only for her to abdicate the throne in under 10 years. 

The Morrigan thing, I can see how they can bend the lore to make the Well not matter, if maybe the effect was temporary due to Flemmeth dying, but it still would beg the question how Morrigan gained all her knowledge. If she doesn’t drink from the Well, she never becomes fluent in elvish. If she does, that is what gives her the ability to turn into a dragon, so if she does that in a world where she didn’t drink, that will be odd. And many people have brought up how she is going to be “surprisingly involved” in the story, so that also begs the question of where is Kieren.

And another thing! One of the choices is who you romanced, but there isn’t anything about their fate. This is probably fine for a few of the romance options, but several of them have the chance to end in tragedy, especially Bull, Cullen, and Blackwall. Plus Cassandra can be a romance option AND the Divine. If we meet the Inquisitor and they talk about loving Cassandra, is no one going to bring up that “Hey, Cassandra Pentaghast? Isn’t that Divine Victoria’s proper name?” To me, the only way of squaring this is that the romance option question is stealthily just asking “did you romance Solas: yes or no?” And I get that he’s popular in the fandom, but people who haven’t been rabidly talking about the egg for the past decade probably just remember him as the nerdy elf who turns out to be the guy who started all the bad stuff in DAI, because his romance is locked behind a subset of a subset of a subset of the players. So making two of the three choices exclusive to his story is…a choice.

Folks, I gotta be real with you: Yes I too am disappointed that there aren't more choices carrying over in The Veilguard from the last three games, but I think the current fandom rage is a little over the top. It's not the end of the world. Can we just take a breath for a second and remember that this new game is set in Northern Thedas, where 99% of decisions made in Southern Thedas ten or more more years ago of course aren't going to matter, if you think about it? And on a meta level, I imagine the goal is to make this game as friendly as possible to brand new players, not out of spite towards existing fans.

[wristbandsblog]

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[radiant-reid]

The Gingerbread Competition

Summary: A gingerbread competition gets serious at the Reids

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (fluff)

Word Count: 1.1k

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Like many families, the Reids have traditions. They have the normal ones, like the birthday boy or girl gets to pick whatever they want for dinner, but they also have... unique ones.

It would be easy to see the annual gingerbread decorating competition as a normal tradition. It's pretty typical for families to do, but like everything about them, the tradition is odd.

"Which kid are you picking?" Spencer asks, walking into the bedroom to see his wife pulling on a Christmas-themed sweater.

It's only 8 am, but the game has begun. And it's a serious game. It started years ago when they first got together. Spencer felt like he wasn't bringing enough to the relationship with his minimal familiar traditions, so he made her a gingerbread house, just as she was making her own for him.

As naturally competitive people, a contest broke out, and the bragging rights and accolades exponentially increased.

It's Y/n's turn to get the first pick this year, and she's been training the troop of children to ensure she wins, and takes the crown from Spencer. "Morgan." She decides.

It's a quick choice. Outperforming her siblings by age and the smallest number of legos put in her mouth this year, Morgan Reid brings dedication and competitiveness to the table. Plus, she's interested in chemistry like her dad, perfect for a baking challenge.

"Who's your first pick?" She prompts, stepping closer to him so they're toe-to-toe in the middle of the bedroom.

"Toby." He chooses.

As expected. "Oh, I know all about your secrets, Reid." She says, pointing a finger at his chest. "Getting him that bridge building set for his birthday, training up your own gingerbread structural engineer."

Spencer doesn't deny it, knowing he's been caught. "Yes because I know you would pick Morgan, so I figured why not build my own secret weapon?"

She laughs at his description of their sweet five-year-old boy. "I'm taking Eden."

He gasps, recoiling in mock shock. "Ouch. That's low, Reid. Taking my little baby."

"You call them all your little baby." She reminds him, although she knows what he means. In her three Christmases, Eden has been on Spencer's team every time. Even for her first Christmas, at four months old, she was on his team.

"Still, in your attempt to cause me emotional distress, you've left me with Toby and Aspen. Twins. They are unstoppable together. It usually freaks me out when they work out of the same brain, but it's a double threat."

She shakes her head slowly and menacingly. "You know what else they do well together?" He shakes his head. "Argue. Morgan's so good with Eden."

He groans, throwing his head back. "Shit, I knew we split them up for a reason." He recalls. "Can we swap?"

"Do you think this is wrong?" She wonders, clenching her teeth. "Drafting our kids so we can compete?"

Spencer wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her body into his. "No. They don't know, and we don't love any of them more or less."

"Yeah, okay." She acknowledges what he's saying. "Now, let's get out there so I can destroy you."

He chuckles. "And our five-year-old twins."

She grins, moving out of his grip. "You're all going down." She hums happily, gesturing downward with her index fingers. "Prepare to be defeated."

He grabs her hands before she can leave, pulling her body right back to him. "Not yet." He hums, leaning down to kiss her. She deepens the kiss with her tongue sliding into his mouth before pulling away quickly. "Tease." He moans, trying to draw her back in.

"Come on, loser." She says, dragging him out of their bedroom. "It's time for you to lose."

They walk out to the kitchen hand-in-hand, announcing the teams to the four kids sitting around the kitchen island, who are eager to compete and completely unaware they've been drafted by their parents.

Then the baking and decorating starts, complete with trash-talking and heavy flirting between Y/n and Spencer. There's some sabotage, of course, and what Spencer calls chemical warfare because of an intelligent move on Y/n's part to 'accidentally' switch the labels on the red and blue food coloring.

"Okay, are you guys done?" Y/n asks team Nobel- named that because of Spencer's influence, not the twins'- as they put the final details on their houses.

Eden and Morgan made great teammates, and team Winner's gingerbread house is, in their opinion, a winner.

"To win? Yeah." Spencer says, pushing their house forward.

"Okay, sit behind them." Y/n directs the kids into the camera view. They sit on the bar stools with wide smiles as they wait to have their picture taken.

Spencer stands next to her out of the frame. "Smile." He cheers. "Then a silly one."

Both pictures get taken and then sent to the official judge to determine a winner. "Can we eat it now?" Toby asks, smiling hopefully as all four of them watch the gingerbread in awe.

"Hmm, I don't know," Y/n says, looking up at Spencer with mock thoughtfulness. "What do you think?"

"I think yes." He decides, snaking his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder.

The four of them dive in, breaking the houses down as they grab a piece to eat. "This one's better." Eden determines.

"They're made with the same recipe, little one." Spencer reminds her.

"No, our one's better, daddy." Morgan backs her little sister up.

He pouts behind Y/n as he walks them closer to the countertop, picking some gingerbread up to feed to her. "It's pretty good." She agrees with what Morgan's saying.

"That was ours," Spencer informs her.

Before she can tell him off for tricking her, her phone chimes. "Oh, we have a decision." She says mysteriously, stirring up excitement as she takes her phone out. They wait eagerly for the answer in silence.

Spencer reads the text message over her shoulder: My sweet godchildren! I miss you all so much even though I saw you yesterday. And you know I hate this job since I'm going to upset half of you so please tell everyone that I adore both of the houses the same amount. However, I am slightly leaning toward the one on the left. Have an amazing Christmas, wonderful Reid family xx

"Aunt Penelope says we won!" Y/n tells Morgan and Eden, who cheer happily.

"But she loves both of them," Spencer adds.

They walk around the bench to hug the four of them, each picking up two of their children and embracing in one big family hug. "Go team Reid." Y/n and Spencer say in unison, leaning forward for a quick kiss while they celebrate the perfect moment.

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[erin-bo-berin]

hello! like everyone else I’ve been totally glued to your Steve fics lately. your take on his character/mannerisms are perfect!!

I have a request, if you’re interested: reader’s horny as hell and it’s all Steve’s fault. (personally I’m a sucker for future dad Steve/pregnant reader but if that’s not your vibe feel free to come up with another reason why we’re blaming him). Anyway, normally Steve would love nothing more than to help you out but today he’s actually working at his desk on some project due tomorrow morning so you’ll just have to wait until he’s done before he can attend to your needs. But that’s not going to stop you from trying your best begging/teasing techniques throughout the day, saying things that rile him up, touching him, blaming him for the situation, and appealing to his very deep need to take care of you.

After a long day putting up with you/attempting to stay strong, you finally say or do something that sends Steve over the edge. (He actually knocks over his desk chair as he mauls you.) But Steve’s going to have to pay you back for all the teasing you’ve unleashed on him all day by taking his damn time.

smut city, pls!

Ooh now THIS is appealing! But yes I’m all for having horny pregnant reader. I mean good lord if I had that to look at every day, I’d be popping out kids every year because I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him 🤣

Let’s pretend this is how Steve looks after a good fuck 👀

All Your Fault

Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Smut (lots of smut, it gets pretty filthy I’m sorry), Pregnant Reader

You thought you knew what to expect during pregnancy.

Morning sickness, cravings, weight gain, fatigue, you get the drift. You even knew to expect mood swings throughout the pregnancy.

What you didn’t expect was to be as horny as a wild animal in mating season.

You were nearing the end of your fourth month of pregnancy. The nausea had dissipated, your energy had increased some and you felt better than you had in weeks. Your body was growing and changing daily, making room for the life that was growing exponentially fast with each week passed.

You’d finally made it through the stage where you no longer look bloated, but we’re starting to sport a small, noticeable bump. Most likely it was going to double in size by the end of next month, but for now, you treasured the baby bump, knowing you and Steve’s baby was growing like he or she should be.

You were taken back at first by how high your sex drive was at this point in pregnancy. You craved him as badly, if not more than the snacks and treats you’d been consuming lately.

Usually, Steve was more than happy to help you out. You were sure he was even more thrilled than you were about the extra intimacy. But this lately was wild, almost animalistic, lust-filled sex. Ironically enough, you hadn’t had much of that since the night you likely conceived.

But today, Steve had to be an adult. Or well, he had work to do.

Keith had unfortunately—much to your dismay—tasked Steve to do the inventory numbers at Family Video, leaving the task until last minute. Thus, he gave the annoying job to Steve, who had been hunched over his desk, hard at work all day, trying to finish the job before they were due in tomorrow, at the beginning of the month.

“Steeeeve,” you whined, “Can’t you take just a tiny break?”

“Baby, you know I’d love to,” he sighed heavily, pushing his hair out of his face, “But I still have a ways to go if I want to finish this before tonight.”

You sighed dramatically, flopping on the couch across the living room from him. You rubbed your belly soothingly.

“Daddy’s being mean to us, baby,” you pouted.

“Daddy’s also trying to get this nightmare of a project over with,” he mumbled in return, “Also, mommy is being over dramatic.”

“It’s your fault I’m like this,” you huffed.

“I think it’s more like the hormones from pregnancy, not me.”

“Is it possible to die from horniness?” you asked, dead serious.

“Babe, if it was, you would’ve killed me years ago,” he responded, his back still turned to you.

You stuck your tongue out at his back playfully, telling yourself you were going to concentrate on the game show that was on TV, but it didn’t last long at all.

Your eyes returned to your boyfriend, watching him. Your eyes slid along his back, knowing the feel of the muscles in them moving under your fingers as he moved above you. You could see the faint sign of his leg bouncing through the loose, gray pants he wore.

His butt looked amazing in those pants somehow, but so did his dick. It was amazing how they seemed to be loose fitting yet hugged the parts of him that you really shouldn’t be thinking of right now.

Then your mind wandered to his thighs. Ones you liked to perch yourself on, sometimes you rode them, getting yourself off by just a thigh alone. The delicious friction of it against your throbbing clit.

You really did have to stop your train of thoughts before you got yourself in a worse situation than you were currently in.

That was when you got the wicked idea to tease him. You were gonna make him sorry for leaving you in such a desperate state.

•

Lunchtime came and you fixed him a sandwich, bringing it into him, knowing he wouldn’t stop working to eat if you didn’t.

“Thanks sweetheart,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist, patting your side, hand resting dangerously low on your ass.

This son of a bitch really was pushing your buttons at this point.

“No problem,” you smiled sweetly.

You looked over his shoulder at the paperwork in front of him, spread out on the desk.

“Not done yet?” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind, hands gliding down his chest.

It was a delicate balance; trying to be purposely sensual but playing innocent as if you weren’t trying to seduce him at all.

“Nope.”

“That’s a shame,” you pouted, kissing his cheek, lips hovering near his ear, “How about a short lunchtime break? Let you bend me over this desk and have your way with me, hmm?”

You bit his earlobe softly, feeling him shudder under your touch.

“You know I can’t,” Steve said, surprisingly more firm than you were sure he felt.

“Hmm. Suit yourself. I think I’m going to take a bath, wash up really good. Over my chest, my legs. Lather up the ladies real well,” you said, motioning to your boobs, which had grown fuller over the last few months.

He was blinking at you like an owl, unable to say anything.

“T-That’s fine,” he cleared his throat of the rasp that’d come out, “You go ahead, I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Well you know where you find me, if you need me,” you winked, sauntering off towards the bathroom.

The bath wasn’t that great, honestly. It was fine, refreshing, but all you wanted was Steve to strip naked and join you. You groaned, stepping out when you were done, draining the water.

You needed to up the ante if you wanted results.

•

The soft, silky bathrobe you donned was tied loosely at your waist. One tug and it could easily pull right open to expose your naked body underneath.

You carefully arranged the neckline of it so it showed the perfect amount of your cleavage. Where he could see your chest heaving from your labored breath, could access your neck where your pulse was spiking—symptoms of your intense desire for him.

He’d barely moved from where you’d left him.

One of his hands was in his hair, head resting in his hand, arm propped on the desktop, his fingers clutching a pencil and scribbling. Occasionally he would pause, punch some numbers into the calculator next to him and then resume writing.

The plate next to him was empty save for some crumbs. At least he’d eaten, that was something.

You stopped at the edge of his desk, rapping your knuckles against the desktop to get his attention.

“Can I get you anything else to eat?” you asked, motioning to the plate when he looked up at you.

“No, that was enough. Thanks for fixing it for me,” he smiled.

“Not a problem,” you replied, casually.

Purposely, you reached across the desk from where you were standing to grab the plate, making sure he had the perfect view of your cleavage. When you pulled back, one shoulder of the robe had slipped, exposing even more skin.

You might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking straight at him, but you saw Steve’s eyes flicker downwards then back up to your face, looking glazed. Then he blinked and was back to normal.

You let the disappointment settle internally and immediately went on to your next plan.

“Let me know if you want anything else,” you called in a sing-song voice as you headed towards the kitchen with the dirty plate.

You could’ve sworn you heard an answering grumble come from behind you.

•

Steve turned when he heard movement behind him.

“What are you doing?”

You looked up from where you were organizing the books on the small bookshelf you had in the living room.

“Just doing a little cleaning. Don’t let me bother you.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Steve, I’ve gotta burn off this excess energy somehow,” you responded, turning back to where you alphabetizing the novels.

You made sure he was still looking when you bent over, as if peering closer at a certain book, making sure he got a full view of your ass in the tiny lounge shorts you decided to don.

You heard a creak behind you and turned to see Steve had turned back to his work.

You groaned inwardly. You were going to get him to fuck you if it meant you had to walk around naked.

•

As tempting as that thought was, you decided to forgo the walking around naked part. You were desperate, but you weren’t quite that desperate yet.

“How goes it?” you asked, walking in the room.

You’d spent the last few hours sitting in the kitchen reading your book and snacking on some strawberries. Just because you couldn’t have one of the things you were craving didn’t mean you were going to deprive yourself of your current food craving.

“Well I’m closer to being done than I was, if that tells you anything.”

“Steve, you’ve been at that desk nearly all day,” you frowned, “You must be stiff and sore.”

He groaned, rubbing at his neck and shoulders as if the power of suggestion was enough to make him realize just how sore he really was.

“Here, let me rub it for you,” you offered.

You put your hands on his shoulders, massaging gently, thumbs pressing into soft circles of his neck, kneading the knots out of his muscles.

He moaned softly, heading falling forward.

“That feels amazing, Y/N,” he complimented.

He was just asking for it at this point.

You leaned forward, breasts pressing against his back as you kissed his cheek, seemingly innocently.

“I know how else to make you feel amazing,” you purred, “And make you moan even more than you already were.”

His throat bobbed at his obviously hard swallow. One peek down at his crotch and you could see his cock was all aboard for the idea.

“I could suck you off, then let you get back to work,” you whispered, your voice as tantalizing as your words, “Let me wrap my lips around that pretty little cock of yours, make you moan so loud the walls rattle.”

He turned to look at you and you took the opportunity to press your lips against his. Your mouth purposely moved tantalizingly slow against his.

He hummed when you pulled away, his eyes still closed.

“You taste like strawberries,” he whispered.

“I know,” you smirked, your hands once again running down his chest.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Y/N,” Steve said, giving you a stern look, removing your hands gently from him.

“And what’s that?” you blinked innocently.

“You’re trying to get me to cave because you’re honey as fuck,” he said blatantly.

“I can’t help that I want to jump you,” you groaned, “But I know, I know, I’ll wait.”

“I don’t have much more to do, then I promise, I’m all yours,” Steve promised, kissing your cheek, turning back to his work.

You decided to give in to defeat at that point and just try to be patient, even if you did already feel like jumping out of your skin.

•

“I’m amazed you’ve been patient this long,” Steve said casually.

It was nearing late afternoon, three o’clock soon to be turning into four.

“Believe me, it’s not been easy,” you mumbled, resting against one of the stuffed chairs, watching him.

“Especially when my brain decides to turn every little thing you do into some sexual.”

He chuckled, amused.

“Like what?”

“You just writing for example. All I could think of is your hands and how they feel on my body, how your fingers feel tracing every curve, how they feel inside of me making me beg you to cum,” you groaned, “Sorry, I’m getting carried away again. I oughta just have gotten myself off. At least have one good orgasm imagining it was your hand instead of mine and—”

You jumped, hearing a loud crash. Without realizing it, Steve had hurled himself out of the desk chair, knocking it over. You gasped when he was on you, pulling your weight away from the chair you were leaning against, pressing your body into his. He kissed you hard, hungrily, making you moan into the kiss.

He was already moving you by the time you’d parted, breath heavy from the intense kiss. He backed you up against the edge of his desk, his body holding yours there with his own.

“There is no way I’m letting you get yourself off when I know I can do it and better,” he practically growled in your ear, pressing his crotch into you.

You felt his cock straining in his pants and you moaned, eager already for it.

“Fuck, if I knew that’s all it would’ve taken to get you to pay attention to me, I would’ve done it so much sooner,” you laughed a bit breathlessly.

“I was trying so hard to resist all day so I could get my work done,” he groaned, kissing you again.

“Not the only thing that was hard was it, big boy?” you giggled, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Don’t think you’re gonna get away with your little tricks,” he smirked, pushing all the contents of his desk on the floor.

You gaped at them, surprised.

“I’ll worry about that later,” he muttered, “I’ve got a gorgeous girl to tease.”

He grabbed your hips roughly, setting you on the desktop so you were at the same level as him. Before he did anything else, he practically tore your shirt over your head, groaning at the sight of your breast, nipples hard.

His hands grabbed them firmly, massaging them roughly in his large hands as his mouth moved against yours. You groaned at the wonderful feeling of his rough palms against your peaked nipples. You had never been as turned on as you were right now, your clit throbbing painfully, your panties soaked so thoroughly you wouldn’t be surprised if you left a puddle on his desk.

“Steve,” you whimpered, his mouth moving over your jaw and neck, sucking harshly in certain, random spots, “Can’t we just forgo the teasing this once?”

“Nope. Gotta give you a lesson you won’t forget,” he smirked, lowering his mouth to your chest.

Your breasts were still a tad sensitive and the feeling of his mouth on them practically made you salivate.

“Oh god,” you groaned, back arching into his mouth, his tongue and mouth sucking and licking at your nipples, giving them plenty of attention.

“See this is why I’m constantly horny,” you chuckled weakly, his lips moving back upwards towards your jaw and lips, “You’re too damn good at this.”

His hands had slid from your waist to your outer thighs, squeezing them as if to emphasize his next words which just so happened to be breathed over your lips.

“It’s because I love making you moan.”

God, not only his touch, but his words alone could like make you cum.

Your mouths connected again, his hands grabbing your ass roughly and pulling you into him as he ground his hips into yours. Your hands while tangled in his hair, quickly got on the same track as your brain, moving to his shirt to tug it off.

If he was gonna rub his dick against you like that and expect you not to act like a sex starved being, especially in your condition, then he was sorely mistaken.

He pulled away from your touch, causing you to scowl, but you were relieved to see he was just shedding his shirt. You were awarded with the glorious sight of his bare chest and stomach. If only he’d let you have a minute to just kiss and suck and lick the entirely of his naked upper half…

Much to your disappointment, he didn’t return to your lips, he stayed where he was, pulling off your shorts, cursing at the sight.

“I didn’t think you were wearing underwear when you pulled that bending over stunt,” he grunted.

You smirked, a bit proud of yourself.

“You sure stared long enough.”

“Yeah because all I wanted to do was take you, bent over like that,” Steve ground out.

Your thighs clenched, another pool of warmth gathering between them.

He tutted, like scolding a child as he once again pushed your thighs apart, readying you for his next level of teasing. He was on his knees before you before you could protest, his lips leaving a gentle kiss against your inner thigh.

“I’ve been so wet all day because of you,” you moaned, your desperation already showing.

You really were screwed if he had too much more teasing planned because you were already so desperate for him to have his way with you.

“And now you’re gonna learn how to be patient, aren’t you baby girl?”

He trailed his fingers along your entrance, gathering your slick.

“Yes, Steve,” you nodded eagerly.

You’d probably agree to anything right now as long as made home do something.

A finger pressed against your clit with just enough pressure to make you hiss through your teeth. Then came his tongue, licking a slit all the way up your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed.

His touch left you, his tongue taking over the job. With a few gentle laps at your clit, he moved on, tongue thrusting in and out of your entrance.

You moaned louder, entire body arching, your hands on his hair, wanting to keep him there forever. It never failed to amaze you that he knew just how to kiss, suck and lick every inch of you perfectly.

His fingers rejoined the performance, gliding in and out of you with ease, twisting and curling in perfect time with the coil of your building orgasm. His lips sucked on your clit, only adding to the bliss.

You were out of control, you’d never felt on fire like this before. Your hips were grinding against his face, body arched and hands squeezing your boobs, pinching your nipples. He was going to send you to an early grave. He was definitely going to send you to heaven during this orgasm.

“I’m close,” you whined, thighs squeezing at the sides of his head.

He held your thighs in one hand and did the worst possible thing.

You were seconds away from shattering completely when all contact was gone. His fingers were gone from you and so was his mouth.

“No, no,” you whined, “Steve, what the fuck?”

“Patience, darling,” he smirked that infuriating smirk.

He was soon forgiven when he started back up, your orgasm closer and stronger than it previously had been.

When he stopped a second time, right at the last second, you didn’t know whether to cry in frustration or slap him.

Apparently, your mouth decided on anger before your brain could catch up.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Harrington.”

“How bad do you want to cum?”

The gleam in his eyes was wicked, the desire driving him almost as wild as you’d been acting. By this point, your brain was shut off and your mouth was saying whatever. If anyone else were to overhear, they might’ve mistaken you and Steve for an actual porno.

“So bad, so bad,” you whimpered.

“Say please,” his grin was as wicked as his stare.

“Please, Steve, please.”

You were actually going to combust when he was through with his teasing. You were actually going to explode into a million little pieces and float towards the earth like ash raining down. Not that you cared less. You welcomed it.

The second time he resumed, his fingers moved quicker, licks and sucks harsher as he was determined to let you finish this time. Maybe there was something to this science because the building knot was even stronger than the previous two times and you were sure you were gonna make a mess all over Steve’s face.

You were squirming inadvertently on the desk, hands holding his head right where you wanted him because over your fucking dead body was he going to quit before you could cum.

Your moans filled the room the only other sound your labored breathing and whines.

“Oh, fuck!” you partially screeched, a long moan laced with your words.

Your orgasm hit and your entire body trembled with the strength of one you’d never, ever felt. The journey had been pure torture, but damn if the pay off wasn’t worth it.

The aftershocks were just as powerful and you whimpered, trying to push him away as your entire lower half had become too sensitive for more at the moment.

Steve sat back, chin still glistening with a satisfied grin on his face. Wiping his chin on his shoulder, he stood, taking your face in his hands.

“Holy shit,” you have groaned, amazed just by him.

“You okay? We can stop now if you need to.”

“Oh hell no,” you laughed, still trying to catch your breath, “Just give me a moment.”

You leaned forward and kissed him again, one hand bypassing his pants and boxers, reaching in to grip his now throbbing cock, firmly. You pressed a kiss to his chest as his eyes fluttered closed at your touch.

You pumped him slowly, your wrist turning slowly, teasing him now.

“I thought this was your lesson,” he groaned, resting his forehead against yours.

“I happen to like hearing you moan,” you smiled, devilishly.

“I don’t want to cum unless I’m inside you,” he breathed.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You removed your hand, pushing his pants down his hips, his boxers going as well.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you in for another kiss.

In the midst of the kiss, your hand wrapped around his cock once again, guiding him to your entrance. He pushed into you, mutual moans of pleasure coming from both of you.

“So good, fuck you’re so good for me, Y/N,” Steve mumbled hand on your cheek, giving you another quick kiss as he started moving at a slow, languid pace.

You didn’t complain at the moment, just enjoying the feeling of him moving in and out, his hard length gliding and running against you in such a pleasant way.

“Come on Steve,” you provoked, “I know you can do better than that.”

He growled, gaze boring into yours as he grabbed your ass, lurching you for in one swift, hard motion as he thrust into you roughly, making your head loll back.

“Jesus,” you moaned, gripping his shoulders, suddenly short of breath once again, “Yeah, that’s m-more like it.”

Just as your hips were getting used to the rougher pace, he pulls out of you completely leaving you aching and shaking, left wanting more.

You let out a protesting whine, but he shushes you.

“I wanna try something different, is that okay?”

You nodded, letting him manipulate your body like he wanted it.

He turned you around, bending you over the desk, wrapping one arm protectively around your abdomen, protecting your vulnerable bump, so it wouldn’t hit the edge of the desk.

The small gesture makes you smile and you turn your head, kissing the shoulder of that arm.

Your smile fades quickly into your mouth dropping in pleasure as he thrusts back into you, the angle allowing you to feel him so deep, it automatically has your body shaking.

“I got you, I got you,” Steve mutters against your shoulder as he thrusts roughly into you, holding onto your front firmly, aiding you in your own backwards thrusts of your hips.

“Fuuuuuck, fuck, fuck, fucking hell, Steve,” you’re a moaning, babbling mess, fully drunk on him and his cock buried in you.

Your hair is wild in your face and you push it back, your body rocking back against his and you reach out to grip the edge of the desk. Your other hand hasn’t moved from where it rests over his, as if double protecting the growing baby inside you.

“Is it as good as you imagined all day, baby? Shit,” he grit his teeth, moaning the curse at the end of his sentence.

“Better,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So much fucking better.”

He’s repeatedly hitting a spot so deep with you that your eyes might be rolling back in your head. His hair brushes your cheek as he bends over you, reaching down between your legs.

His thrusts are becoming erratic and you know he’s dangerously close and trying to hurry you to your climax. You’re unintentionally squeezing around his cock, your muscles quivering and contracting from your own pleasure.

He finger circles your clit frantically and the pressure starts building inside you again, signaling your impending orgasm is near. His hand’s frantic movements matched his hips frantic pace.

“Wanna cum,” he moaned lowly, “Wanna cum so hard in you, baby girl.”

“Do it,” you begged, “Fuck, Steve, please. Make me a mess. Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your mouth was forming and releasing words that you had no comprehension of, you were so close and with every thrust, he got you closer.

Another mind blowing orgasm hit you and you moaned his name repeatedly, clutching on to him and distantly you heard your own name falling from his lips. You could feel his body that was now slick against yours, tense and shudder as his own body was wracked with his own ecstasy.

You were spent by the time he slid out of you, your entrance sensitive and dripping from your combined releases. You would’ve fallen forward against the desk due to your wobbling, unsteady legs, but he balanced you in both arms, scooping you up in them.

The exhaustion was heavy in your limbs. Pregnancy sex was mind blowingly amazing, but the exhaustion afterwards was twice as bad.

“Your papers,” you mumbled weakly.

“I’ll worry about them later,” Steve answered, “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He carried you to the bedroom, laying you on the bed while he went to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth, wiping your thighs clean and running it gently between your legs, knowing you were still incredibly sensitive.

You open an eye when he returns from discarding the rag.

“You know, it won’t be too much longer before I’ll be too big for us to do that,” you said, motioning to the doorway, meaning your precious little escapade.

“Then we’ll just have to enjoy it while we can,” Steve smirked, laying down next to you.

“By the way, I’m thankful it’s all your fault I’m so horny because you sure deliver,” you mumbled, already half asleep.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he chuckled.

You were out before he finished his sentence.

[sf-images]

Earth Day 2023

April 20, 2023 update: A just released IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) report says we are going in the wrong direction on climate change, but there is still a narrow window left to avoid a complete catastrophe to our biosphere, and that includes us.

According to an ongoing temperature analysis led by scientists at NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies (GISS), "the average global temperature on Earth has increased by at least 1.1° Celsius (1.9° Fahrenheit) since 1880. The majority of the warming has occurred since 1975, at a rate of roughly 0.15 to 0.20°C per decade. . . . . The data reflect how much warmer or cooler each region was compared to a base period of 1951-1980. (The global mean surface air temperature for that period was 14°C (57°F), with an uncertainty of several tenths of a degree.)"

Adding to this are the growing number of methane sink holes, each releasing several giga tons of gas per day. This growing phenomenon is changing all the current climate projections. Indeed, we might already have reached the climate tipping point.

There was time when we believed that we were the center of the universe and that we should have dominion over the Earth. But then Copernicus came along who asserted that the Sun is indeed the center of our solar system, the Moon being the only body that revolved around the Earth. I'm sure you know that this resulted in a bit of an uproar. As for the dominion idea, our use of resources, over-hunting, and factory farming of animals have contributed to climate change and the current sixth extinction. Watch Marvin Gaye's video, Mercy, Mercy Me (The Ecology), released in 1971.

The following two photos show a contrast between Greenland's Tunu Glacier in 1933 and 2013. This melt-back is characteristic of ice all around the world, though melt-back varies widely, depending on location.

Source: The Greenland Ice Sheet - 80 years of climate change seen from the air. / Bjørk, Anders Anker; Kjær, Kurt H.; Larsen, Nicolaj Krog; Kjeldsen, Kristian Kjellerup; Khan, Shfaqat Abbas; Funder, Svend Visby; Korsgaard, Niels Jákup. 2014. Abstract from 44th International Arctic Workshop, Boulder, Colorado, United States.

It wasn't so long ago that Carl Sagan and climate scientists started sounding the alarm that we were going down a dangerous path. Subsequent climate data has revealed that those early projections vastly underestimated what was happening, since we now know that climate change is not a linear but an exponential process. That is, it happens faster and faster over time.

Via Voyager 1 (click to enlarge)

The now famous photograph of Earth as a pale blue dot was taken on February 14, 1990 by the deep space probe, Voyager 1, from a record distance of about 6 billion kilometers (3.7 billion miles). The more recent

Via Cassini

photograph was taken by the deep space probe, Cassini. Though more striking with Saturn in the foreground, it also shows how Earth is but a spec in the cosmos. As Sagan said in his book: Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. (Carl Sagan, The Pale Blue Dot, 1994)

People often say we have to save the Earth. Not so! The Earth will go on just fine without us. The issue is preserving the current biosphere that supports us and the other higher vertebrates. There will always be life on the planet so long as there's liquid water. As I present every year, here is my fictionalized account of our worst scenario. Let's do better!