#why should I give you the luxury of responding to your inanities?

[renegadepisces]

Bright Imagine: Kandomere accidentally meets your family part 3

Fandom: Bright

Pairing: Kandomere x reader

Tags: slow build, fluff, eventual nsfw

Note: also on AO3 as Serendipity & Caffeine 

Dread wasn’t quite the right word for how you felt about Friday’s dinner. You could never dread seeing your sibling and their family. Your family wasn’t the issue. 

It wasn’t Kandomere’s fault though, you chided yourself. Your sibling and their spouse had invited him. He was more than welcome to attend. 

And the problem wasn’t necessarily that you didn’t want him to attend. You didn’t dislike him. In fact, he’d grown on you since you’d run into him while out with your family. As intimidating as he was - he had to intimidate to do his job - he clearly had a soft spot for children. He’d taken not only to stopping by your desk on his way to his office in the morning and asking how you were, but asking about your family too. 

No, your family wasn’t the issue. Neither was Kandomere. You were stunned on Wednesday when you shared the time and location of the gathering and Kandomere assured you he’d attend. It wasn’t his assurance that shocked you, or his willingness to spend a prime Friday night eating lasagna with a suburban family of 5 (6, counting you), or even the professional uneasiness of going to a family dinner with your superior. 

You felt relief when he said he’d be there. A strange flutter rose in your chest when he insisted he’d pick you up and drive you home too. He offered a practical explanation of course - one car is better than two and all that. It finally dawned on you that you wanted to Kandomere to come. 

And that was the problem confronting you when you slipped through the door of your apartment on Friday afternoon and prepared to tackle the absurdity of your evening plans. It was a familiar dance. You did your hair, freshened up your face, agonized over what to wear, and finally paced through your living room while stealing fervent glances at the digital clock displayed on your ancient coffee pot as you waited for Kandomere to pick you up. 

It felt too much like a date. The careful choices for your appearance, the waiting anxiously by your phone, the hoping that your family would like him - these were date rituals. These were boyfriend rituals. 

But Kandomere was not your boyfriend. Kandomere was a walking, talking, sneering elf gorget-wearing visual definition of the word unattainable. Having a crush on your coworker was stupid. Having a crush on your stupidly handsome elvish coworker? That was delusional. 

You’d consoled yourself over the telenovela-level disaster you’d somehow gotten yourself into by baking. You liked baking in general and often overindulged in the hobby during particularly stressful periods. You found something therapeutic in kneading bread dough and whisking cake batter. 

You’d baked something every night since your sibling invited Kandomere to dinner. Two dozen blueberry-lemon-poppyseed muffins on Tuesday, your favorite coffee cake with cinnamon bun glaze on Wednesday, and a layered chocolate cake with dulce de leche buttercream icing and mocha drizzle on Thursday. 

Okay, you’d meant to make the cake. You always brought desert to family dinners and this one was your sibling’s favorite. You’d deposited the muffins in the breakroom at work early enough that no one knew who’d brought them. Overhearing the steady stream of compliments whenever you made another cup of coffee or refilled your water bottle had been uplifting, even if you didn’t take credit. You’d kept the coffee cake for yourself at home. The dulce de leche cake was neatly and securely packed in a portable cake stand, waiting on Kandomere to pick you up. 

Your heart leapt into your throat when you heard a knock at the door. You’d expected the innocuous buzz of a text message, but the sound of knuckles tapping lightly against the door pierced the tense silence of your apartment like a dart.

Cautiously, you crossed the living room and pressed your eye to the peephole. Kandomere, continuing to astound you in all the worst ways, stood in the harsh fluorescent lighting of your apartment corridor. It wasn’t a bad place to live - certainly nicer than a lot of other complexes in LA - but Kandomere still looked equally out-of-place and breathtaking. 

“Sir,” was the best greeting you could come up with as you stepped out into the hallway.

“So formal,” he said, his eyes sweeping across you appraisingly before settling on the cake carrier clutched in your hands. 

“Dessert, I assume?” 

“By my sibling’s personal request. I hope you like chocolate,” you teased. 

“Not your nephews’ choice? I didn’t expect you to miss a chance to spoil them.” he said, gesturing toward the end of the corridor, where the elevator was, in an obvious invitation to get going. 

“I make whatever cake they want for their birthdays and any time I babysit. The younger one comes up with some weird flavor combinations and I’m waiting with baited breath to see what he asks for this year.” 

“A boy after my own heart.” Kandomere chuckled, “I have a horrible sweet tooth.”

You hadn’t meant to tell him more than he asked. The words just slipped out. You liked talking about the boys. More alarmingly, Kandomere seemed to like listening to you talk about them. Why else would he stop by your desk and make small talk about what school they attended and if their hobbies kept you busy on your days off?

The drive to your sibling’s home was mostly quiet. You traded inane details about cases you were working on and swapped MTF office chatter until Kandomere’s GPS brought you to your destination - one of those cookie-cutter suburban starter home communities. It was nicer than your apartment complex, but not nearly as luxurious as what you were sure Kandomere was used to.

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have bothered knocking, but you wanted to give your sibling and their spouse some warning before you brought a guest into their home. Your hand never made it to the door though. 

It jerked inward, startling you and throwing you off balance as the solid surface you were reaching for fled from your outstretched hand. A hand gripped you by your shoulder and steadied you before gently pulling you back to your feet. Kandomere, with the lightning fast reflexes and grace common among elves, had kept you from falling face first into your youngest nephew.

“Are you supposed to answer the door by yourself?” you chided him gently. 

Completely unfazed by your correction, he looked up at you and Kandomere and asked, “Why are you holding hands?”

Your face burned as you realized you’d brought your hand up to your shoulder when Kandomere kept you from falling a few seconds before. Instinctively, you both pulled your hands away, breaking the contact. 

Your sibling burst into view, holding your niece in their arms and telling their middle child not to be rude and keep you and Kandomere standing outside. 

As you suspected, everything was perfect. The lasagna was already on the table and had cooled to the point that it could be eaten without scorching your tongue. Kandomere had brought flowers as a gift instead of wine, not knowing if your niece was breastfed. She was, and your sibling and their spouse appreciated his thoughtfulness. Your nephews even ate most of their vegetables without needing to be pestered. 

Kandomere had been positively gregarious all evening, so it didn’t surprise you when he complimented you on your cake. You were a good baker after all, and knew a few secrets to making boxed cake mix taste like it was made from scratch. Covering it with heaps of homemade buttercream icing was one of them. 

“This is truly excellent. I never knew you were so accomplished y/n,” he praised. 

“Oh this isn’t even their best cake recipe. Y/n, you should bring your coffee cake into the office some time.” your in-law said.

“I should have known your best work would feature coffee.” Kandomere laughed. 

Before you could respond, the baby monitor crackled to life in your sibling’s hand. Your niece had slept through dinner peacefully, but now wanted attention. Your in law started to get up from the table, but you stopped her. 

“Let me get her. Sit down and eat your cake,” you insisted.

They didn’t argue. You’d done just about everything that babies required with all three of their children. From diapers to vomit, you’d handled it. Besides, Kandomere seemed to be having a good time. You wondered what embarrassing stories your sibling might try to tell him and if their spouse would them. 

Your niece was working herself up into a sobbing tantrum when you tiptoed into her room. She screeched indignantly when you picked her up and fisted your shirt in her chubby hands. You didn’t smell anything that pointed to her needing a change, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

You noticed her onesie was wet near the neck and touched your finger to her mouth. Now you had a sneaking suspicion as to why she was so irritated. Quietly, you retreated to the kitchen and reached into the freezer. Clutching your prize in one hand and holding your niece on your hip with the other, you returned to her room. Hopefully her teething ring and a few lullabies would get her back to sleep. 

By your second refrain of Frere Jacques, her sobs were quieting as she sucked almost hungrily at the cold teething ring. You sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star until you saw her eyelids drift closed. If she could make it through a round of Danny Boy, you could be sure she was asleep and put her back in her crib.

“And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me. . .” you crooned the final line, looking down at her for any sign of stirring. 

She was sound asleep. 

In the hallway, Kandomere’s ears twitched as he caught the sound of your lullabies. You didn’t have a great singing voice, but it was soothingly steady and soft. Clearly, it was good enough for the kids because even the oldest of your nephews was nodding off in his seat. 

It seemed that your lullaby affected the whole house, because you hadn’t been out of your niece’s nursery long before the process of saying goodbyes began. First the boys, who needed to go get ready for bed. Then your in-law, who always left you and your sibling alone together at the end of these nights. Your sibling always walked you to your car and waited until you disappeared from sight before turning out the lights and joining their spouse in bed. 

This all made it incredibly strange to experience your sibling walking you and Kandomere to the door. It only got weirder when you remembered that Kandomere had driven you both there and would therefore be driving you home. The whole affair seemed so intimate. You’d dated men who didn’t meet your family even after months, and yet he had met them less than a week ago and was already eating lasagna and getting goodbye hugs from your nephews. 

“I didn’t think you’d be so good with kids.” you blurted out, motivated equally by curiosity and desperation to break the mounting silence filling the car. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you assured him, “I just mean that most people who do that well with kids have experience. Either they grew up in a large family or they have kids of their own. I didn’t think either was true of you, so I didn’t expect you to be so good with my family. I meant it as a compliment Kandomere.”

He remained silent far longer than you liked before answering. 

“Elves usually don’t have large families. Most of us are only children and plenty of us don’t have children at all. Growing up, I always wanted a large family.”

“Well, you can still make that happen.” you said, and you regretted it as soon as the words came out your mouth. It sounded like you were flirting. You definitely hadn’t meant for that to sound like flirtation.

“With our hours? I’m not holding my breath.” he scoffed. 

“Oh come on. You’re an intelligent, attractive elf in LA. There are plenty of people who would date you. You just don’t meet them because you practically live at your desk.” you retorted. 

“Alright then y/n, why are still you single if you’re the expert?” His tone was playful, and his lips parted just enough for you to catch the glint of his sharpened canines through his smile. 

“Well, this may surprise you but the number of sane, available men attracted to human female cops with a background in martial arts and behavioural profiling is a statistical aberration.” 

You both erupted into peels of laughter. The mood in the car shifted suddenly, dispelling the tension as the suffocating silence fled in the wake of your laughter. You found that carrying on a conversation in such an intimate and personal setting as Kandomere’s car came much more easily when he was smiling at you. 

“And my family doesn’t like anyone I date. Not a single one.” you said, “Though they seem to like you.”

“Your nephew did tell me you were single.”

Your eyes widened in shock and you choked back a startled noise. You were tempted to ask which one, but were silent for the rest of the ride to your apartment. Your face burned in embarrassment. 

Despite that, now that you faced the possibility of ending the night, you hesitated. As much as you hadn’t looked forward to tonight, it had been pleasant.

It had been a while since you’d asked a man up to your apartment. And that wasn’t really what you were going for. You wanted Kandomere to come up with you but not like that. 

Fuck it, you decided as he puled up to the curb.

“Would you be up for a second dessert course Kandomere?” you asked. 

You heard his breath hitch. The dim light of your complex’s parking garage and the inscrutable curtain of his lustrous hair made it impossible to gauge his reaction. 

“I happened to make that coffee cake my in-law mentioned on Wednesday night. You said earlier that you have a sweet tooth.”

Silence welled up around you like a rising tide. You were about to give up and get out of the car when he seemed to make a decision. Kandomere turned his crystalline eyes toward yours, and shifted the car into park. 

“I’d love that.”

As nerve-wracking as having Kandomere in your sibling’s home had been, inviting him into your tiny apartment was even worse. You kept it tidy thankfully, but you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about your modest lifestyle. 

He didn’t betray the faintest hint of judgement though. He seemed genuinely more interested in the promised coffee cake than scrutinizing your home. You had a stovetop espresso pot, and quickly set it to work on producing two cups of liquid caffeine. You’d worked with Kandomere long enough to know he never said no to coffee regardless of the time of day. 

Somehow, he looked less out of place on your couch than he had in the corridor at the beginning of your evening together. Maybe, you thought, it was the way he looked with his suit jacket removed, or the way he reclined into the plush cushions of your oversized second hand sofa. 

The coffee pot sang, signalling that it was time to cut the cake. It still looked and smelled as good as it had the night you’d made it. You brought the plates of cake and cups of steaming hot espresso to the coffee table and took a seat beside him on the sofa. 

Kandomere glided a dainty forkful to his lips, passing the fork between his perfectly white, pointed teeth. You watched him savor the bite like it was a gourmet morsel from some elftown patisserie. He even closed his eyes, as if to focus more on the taste. 

“I’m not complaining. I truly appreciate your talents y/n,” he said around a mouthful of cake, and your heart plummeted through the floor as you prepared to hear what you assumed would be a critical review of your very best cake. 

“But I have to know: why did you bake so much this week?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, not following his logic. He should only know about two desserts. Unless-.

“The muffins in the breakroom on Wednesday morning. Outside of the breakroom, the smell was strongest at your desk but I never saw you eat a single one. So the smell must have gotten on you a different way, like when you brought them into the breakroom.”

Sometimes you forgot he was a real federal agent with impeccable deductive reasoning skills and enhanced senses.

“Listen,” you blurted as your brain hastily tried to piece together a narrative that would adequately explain the situation without embarrassing you even more. It failed. 

“Oh, I am.” he said, smirking and leaning forward. 

“I had no idea how to handle tonight. It’s fine but it’s weird right? You’re not my direct supervisor but you are a senior agent and I work with you but we’re not close. But you’re invited to my sibling’s house for a family gathering and you have to understand that I have dated men for months who have never met my sibling’s kids. And I bake when I’m stressed, so I just kept baking things. I wasn’t even done after the dulce de leche cake. I’ve got dough in the freezer-”

Suddenly, his hands darted to your shoulders and pulled you toward him. You were cut off by his lips crashing against yours. You closed your eyes, leaning into the kiss. As one of his hands roamed upward from your shoulder to settle at the nape of your neck, the other wound itself in your hair, pulling you even closer.

You shuddered as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. The pressure of his teeth followed shortly behind, gently worrying your flushed and steadily swelling lips. He painted featherlight, teasing strokes against the roof of your mouth with his tongue, earning him a low, breathy moan.

He broke the kiss as quickly as he’d begun it. His hands and lips - along with their giddying warmth and attention - withdrew sharply as he tore himself away from you.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, snatching up his jacket, “This was a mistake.”

He retreated into the corridor, not casting even a split-second glance behind him as your front door slammed shut.

#bright #netflix bright #bright imagine #kandomere x reader #reader insert

[scintillating-galaxias]

beneath the doorway

Aziraphale wanted to kiss Crowley very, very badly. The thing is, he just can’t bring himself to do it. He’s determined to change that tonight. (read it on ao3!)

-

Aziraphale wanted to kiss Crowley very, very badly.

They’d been… involved in a romantic sense (dating, Aziraphale sighed to himself, but he couldn’t make himself say it yet) for just short of a year now. Midnight tonight would be their anniversary, actually. They’d spent the entire day cuddled up on the couch together, planning the whole day out, and it was going to be one of the best days Aziraphale would ever have. He could tell just by the endless amount of knowing giggles and the daring whispers they’d shared.

But something was missing. And Aziraphale knew precisely what it was. Despite the time they’ve known each other, how long they’ve been together, despite their enthusiasm, despite everything, Aziraphale and Crowley have never once kissed. They held hands at restaurants and linked arms at St. James’ and cozied up together on Aziraphale’s couch, but they did not kiss.

No… No, that wasn’t true. Crowley loved to pick up Aziraphale’s hands and murmur promises into his knuckles and palms and wrists and—the point was, it wasn’t true. A correction was in order. They’d never kissed each other anywhere on their faces. No, that wasn’t right either. Crowley would frequently kiss Aziraphale’s forehead in lieu of a goodbye before he left the bookshop to cause some mischief. Yet another correction was needed.

Aziraphale had never kissed Crowley. He wanted to, with everything in his heart and soul, God did he want to kiss him. Countless hours were spent creating plan after plan, agonizing over the utmost perfect moment to do it. And then, when he finally thought he’d figured it out, he backed out at the last possible second, furious with himself. He didn’t understand why he did it. It wasn’t shyness, it wasn’t unpreparedness, and it certainly wasn’t some inane fear of rejection. Crowley wanted him to do it too; it was easy to tell when he perked up when Aziraphale drew near with a particular hesitancy in his smile and when he tried to hide his slump of disappointment when Aziraphale inevitably retreated into himself. 

It’s okay, angel, Crowley soothed while Aziraphale seethed. I get it. Seriously. You don’t have to push yourself for me. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.

Together, he and Crowley had set fire to the plans of Heaven and Hell’s War, humiliated them in their attempts to silence him and Crowley permanently, and ultimately carried on in the luxury of living on a perfectly intact Earth. They’d totally rejected Heaven and Hell in their vast entireties.

Almost.

Crowley claimed he was used to rejecting premeditated concepts of what he should and shouldn’t do because he’d been a demon for so long. But Aziraphale still had difficulty entirely moving out of the mindset Heaven expertly crafted for him to live in for his entire life. He’d gotten closer to leaving in the past year than he’d ever before; the place was empty of all loved items and furniture, the boxes were packed and ready to go. Still, Aziraphale hesitated in the doorway, staring through the open door at—what? Sentimentality? Nostalgia? It couldn’t be; there was nothing left for him in this place but blank walls. 

It was nearing midnight now. Most of London had already settled down for sleep but a few drunks and late-night clubbers. Aziraphale felt unusually tired, but in the warm, satisfied way one was after a good day. And today had been a good day, indeed.

“—and make sure to get those little lemon ones, yeah? Those are good.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale. They had just finished up creating a packing list for a very overdue picnic. Giddiness was already threatening to take over Aziraphale’s good sense. “Oh, my dear,” he continued breathlessly, squeezing Crowley’s hand, “I’m terribly excited. I’ve been looking forward to this for ages.”

“The sentiment’s mutual, angel.” Crowley squeezed back and then sighed regretfully. “But if I don’t get going, I’m never going to get my stuff together, and I refuse to have a half-arsed picnic.”

Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “I know,” he said.

Gently, Crowley began to extract himself from their shared mess of tangled limbs, a task unashamedly hindered by Aziraphale as he kept dragging him back to hold him for just a little while longer. Eventually, though, Crowley’s tugs became less playful, and a more insistent, so Aziraphale reluctantly let him go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, angel,” Crowley said, a fond twinkle sparkling away in his eyes. Aziraphale pouted. “Oh, come off it. You’ve gone years without me before. You can survive for a few hours.”

“I guess,” huffed Aziraphale, which made Crowley chuckle.

“Alright, I’m off.” Crowley turned away and began to stride for the door. Aziraphale watched his retreating back, something unnamable pushing up through his chest.

Now!

Aziraphale called, “Wait!”

He stood up as Crowley’s body made a reappearance in the door. An odd little smile played across his lips. It seemed to know something Aziraphale didn’t, but he was curious to find out.

“Yes, angel?”

“It’ s—Tomorrow then?” Aziraphale took a short little step towards Crowley with each word, hands clasped together behind his back. “At noon?”

“Yep.”

“You’ll be there?”

Crowley peered at him over the top of his sunglasses. “You’re acting funny. When have I ever stood you up?”

Aziraphale chuffed. “It’s just nerves, my dear. I’ve never done this before. And to answer your question, well, never, I suppose. You’ve always been rather… selectively chivalrous, shall we say.”

He was in front of Crowley now, one hand resting on the doorway, the other discreetly wiping sweat off on his pants. That fond little smirk hadn’t faded.

“Soo, what’s up? Is there something you want to add to our list?” Crowley said with a small gesture. Aziraphale realized he’d been standing there and smiling gently without actually saying anything.

“O-oh. Just one thing.” Aziraphale blew out a short breath and moved his hand from the doorway to rest delicately on Crowley’s chest. His heart raced beneath Aziraphale’s trembling fingertips, and it stumbled as the beat became that much quicker. 

Go on then. He wants you to. You want to. What’s stopping you?

Aziraphale didn’t give himself the time to answer—then he might actually answer, and who knows what would happen if he did that. He stood on his toes, tilted his chin up, and kissed the very outermost corner of Crowley’s mouth as the old grandfather clock in the corner began to chime.

For a moment, a blaring alarm of no! froze him. And then he melted as he felt Crowley’s smile grow beneath his lips. When he settled back onto flat ground, he made a conscious effort not to let the joyful glow inside of him start to literally buoy him up and off of the earth.

“That’s all I wanted to add,” he said softly as a silly grin spread across Crowley’s blush stained face.

“D’ya think you could add one more?” Crowley asked eagerly. Aziraphale ducked his head to hide his laugh.

“Tomorrow,” he responded breathlessly, eyes glittering, “when I see you in the morning.”

“I—yeah! Yes! M-morning, angel.”

“It’s getting quite late, actually,” Aziraphale teased. “Good night, my dear.”

“G’ni—Wait, what—”

Chuckling, Aziraphale went to close the door. Crowley quickly pulled it back open. Never one to be outdone, he stooped and brushed a light kiss on the tip of Aziraphale’s nose, just barely grazing his upper lip. 

“Oh!”

“Was that alright?” asked Crowley, rushed. “I—Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“I think it was,” said Aziraphale, who was waiting on the harrowing daunt of shame and fear to fill him, the same one that’s stopped him hundreds of times before. It never did—there was no room spared for it beside the golden, bubbly sensation very nearly lifting him off of his feet. A delighted smile spread across his rosy cheeks. “Yes. Yes, that was fine.”

Crowley’s eyes flashed brightly. “Oho, fine, he says!” 

“Wonderful, even!”

“Whoa, don’t get too ahead of yourself there, angel.”

Their eyes met, and they laughed, naturally coming to each other to meet beneath the doorway. Aziraphale lightly bumped his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder, hiding his growing smile. 

I love him, he thought dazedly, Lord, do I love him.

He wanted to stay here beneath the doorway forever like this, tucked under Crowley’s chin with his arms wrapped around his shoulders. But he couldn’t. With a fond sigh, Aziraphale separated himself, but only just enough so that he could see all of Crowley’s glowing face. “Good night, darling.”

“Good night, angel.” Crowley pressed another kiss to his forehead, then finally began to separate himself. His hands lingered on Aziraphale’s sides even as he took a few steps back, until he finally began to saunter back to his car. Aziraphale waved as he opened the door to the Bentley. Crowley waved back and got in, the car’s door slamming shut with a finality that echoed down the quiet street. Just before he began to drive away, Aziraphale swore he saw Crowley fist-pump the air.

Giggling as the Bentley’s lights disappeared around a corner, Aziraphale finally shut the door. He leaned back against it, pressing his hand against his heart and grinning up at the ceiling. It thrummed beneath his fingers, reminding him of how grateful he was to be still alive and experience the sheer joy of being in love.

All of a sudden, he couldn’t stop laughing, these tiny bursts of pure elation that bubbled up from his chest and filled the quiet air of his shop. When he regained his composure, his smile had not faded in the slightest. Reverently, he touched his fingertip to his lip. With the closing of the car door, another door had also finally shut. No more looking back. He could finally walk away from that place, away to where Crowley was waiting for him.

With a happy sigh, Aziraphale bustled off into the shop. After all, he had an anniversary to get ready for.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #fluff #super fluffy #first kiss #good omens fanfic #my writing

[ehstarwar]

flesh stays no farther reason (3/6)

Absent his post, their lives would have never collided. Rey had no place in his life.

And yet… he kept talking to her. Kept asking for more time. How do you tell someone that their attention is killing you while simultaneously being the only thing keeping you alive?

-

Five times Ben looks for Rey and the one time she finds him.

-

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

ur lying

I’m not, actually.

u have to be bc if ur not lying then i can never fuck u again

Okay, then I’m lying.

you don’t read any fanfic?? like ever?

Why bring yourself more pain?

um fanfic TAKES AWAY the pain

i stg the only reason i still watch Galaxy Battles is bc

the fanfic authors are so fckin good

Rey smiles at her phone for what feels like the thousandth time that day. Plutt’s already yelled at her twice about being on her phone in front of customers, but, no one is in the shop right now and Plutt went home. There’s only 10 minutes to close, so Rey keeps herself occupied with closing procedures and tries not to get too worked up about her and Ben’s conversation.

In the two days since they last saw each other, they hadn’t stopped talking. They talked all day about inane things or cute pets that she saw on her way to work or societal issues and if Ben had the technology to rig the election so the orange ball of racism would be decidedly removed from office. Not yet, he’d said, but believe me, I’m trying.  

Their latest discourse about Galaxy Battles had started when Rey admitted to creeping on his other Reddit post, including one of how the original trilogy would forever be superior to either the prequel or sequel trilogy. He was wrong of course, but somehow Rey berating his views of the evil emperors return from the grave had devolved into a discussion on Ben’s fan fic reading, or lack thereof.

imma send you some links to some works you

HAVE to read

honestly they changed the way i view

galaxy battles

but you HAVE to kudos and comment on them

after you read them

its fanfic etiquette

While that does sound fun, I can think of something

slightly more useful to do with my time.

um actually u can’t

but enlighten me anyways

See you again?

I’m off work for the next 36 hours if you’re free.

Rey stopped dead in her tracks.

Yes, her heart screamed, go to Ben!

No, her brain declared, you’ve already gone too far with him.

For someone she’d only met twice, Ben was occupying a lot of her thoughts recently. Everything Ben had done thus far in no way indicated that he was going to ghost Rey. Except, of course, the posting on reddit to find someone to fuck sans feelings. Which was hard the second time and would be damn near impossible the third.

If she met up with Ben, they would have sex. It was the very base nature of their relationship. Not that he would want it to be called a relationship at all. He would be sweet and fuck her so well, not even her wildest fantasy would hold up. He would buy her food and let her sleep in a comfy bed. Then, when their time was up, he would go work at his high paying job and schmoozing with the Coursant elite and she would go back to work at an Auto shop that was listed as a laundromat in the yellow pages.

Absent his post, their lives would have never collided. Rey had no place in his life.

And yet… he kept talking to her. Kept asking for more time. How do you tell someone that their attention is killing you while simultaneously being the only thing keeping you alive?

Don’t do it, her brain whispered again. Protect yourself from the hurt; it’s what you’re good at.

But something about Ben made it very hard for Rey to listen to reason.

sure, i’m free.

-

Ben is a foot taller than anyone else on the sidewalk. He glowers over everybody else, most people giving him a wide berth of space. He’s frowning down at his phone, typing so furiously that Rey is almost too scared to say anything.

“Ben?” She hazards, after a moment. Ben’s head instantly snaps up, and the frown dissipates. It’s replaced by a soft half-smile that makes something flutter in Rey.

“Rey,” He says, looking at her, up and down. Last time, Rey had chosen not to change when coming from work, this time she did not have that luxury. Even if the pair of overalls she was currently sporting were slightly newer than that pair, it was still a potato sack in comparison to Ben’s designer suit.

“Sorry… I, uh, didn’t expect to be doing much after work,” Rey says sheepishly. Ben looks confused, so she clarifies. “I would’ve changed, but…”

“I think you look perfect,” he simply states. She gulps. After a terse minute, Rey rolls her eyes and playfully slaps his arm, hoping to move on from this with some self-deprecation; a superpower of hers.

“Oh whatever. So, should we head to the hotel, or did you have something else in mind?” She asks.

“I’ve made the mistake of not feeding you beforehand twice now, it’s not an error I’m willing to make again. I thought we could have dinner first before.” Ben gestures to the restaurant on the other side of the street. The windows are blacked out, and the valet is wearing gloves. The hostess stand alone looks like it cost the same as a year’s worth of Rey’s rent.

“That’s a lovely idea, but… I can’t go in there.”

“Do you not like their menu? I could have the chef prepare something better, if you-”

“You really don’t see why I can’t go in there?” Rey asks, flabbergasted.

“No,” Ben simply states.

Rey has attempted, her entire life, to make as little of a scene as possible. Some may confuse this for timidness or meekness, but Rey knows better. Her ability to go though life making the least trouble possible for herself is one of the only reasons she’s been able to make it this far. It’s not shyness or second-hand embarrassment that holds her back (god knows she’s faced that enough in her life); it’s the desire to go on living life without creating trouble. Ben, it seems, does not understand that.

“Ben, regardless how you feel I look, the people in the restaurant will balk if they see someone like me, looking like this, walk into a restaurant that serves one dish that is more expensive than my apartment. I can’t go in there.”

“Why do you do that?” Ben asks, looking terse and unhappy. “First at the hotel, now here. You act like you don’t belong somewhere.”

“I don’t belong here.”

“You do. You’re here, so you belong here.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be, if you wanted it to.”

Rey sighs. This isn’t a conversation she’s willing to have with him, certainly not on the sidewalk during rush hour on a Thursday, and there’s a sinking feeling in her gut that Ben will not drop this without creative thinking on Rey’s part.

She scratches the back of her neck, looking anywhere but Ben. He’s stare at her, waiting for her to respond, giving her his undivided attention. It heats her cheeks.

“You know, I actually had a restaurant I was really looking forward to eating at for dinner; why don’t we just go there instead? If you really want to eat your… fancy food stuff, I can just meet you back at the hotel.” Ben’s frown falls slightly, replaced with a  look of neutrality, and Rey represses a sigh of relief.

“I don’t care about eating there, Rey, I want to eat with you.”

“Okay, then Waffle House it is.”

-

It was comical how large Ben looked inside. The harsh, bright lighting made his hair look shinier than Rey had ever seen it, and he barely even fit in the small booth covered in yellow linoleum. When he grabs a laminated menu off the rack, Rey chuckles.

“Is it safe to assume you’ve never been to a waffle house before?” She asks, head cocked sideways. He shoots her a dirty look.

“I’m not entirely uncluttered, you know. I frequented the local waffle house plenty of times in undergrad.” Ben holds up the large plastic card in front of his face.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t need to look at the menu.” Rey pulls the menu down to the table and gives him a sweet smile. He softens at that.

“In my defense, it’s been a while,” He shrugs.

“Well, nothings changed. I’m pretty sure these were the same menus they used in the eighties.”

Ben inspects the menu carefully before putting it down. A older server comes over, giving them drinks (an orange juice for them both, Ben begrudges), and taking their order before leaving them. For the first time since she’s met Ben, the silence is uncomfortable.

“How was your day?” He asks after a moment. Rey is still looking at her chipped fingernail polish when she answers.

“Fine… long, I guess. It was my ninth day in a row,” She tells him. His gaze darkens.

“That’s criminal.”

She shrugs. “I get the next two days off so, it’s not totally unexpected. How was you day?”

“Busy. My bosses boss is visiting in a few weeks, so the office is in a state of chaos.”

“And yet you somehow stumbled upon 36 hours off?”

“An imposition from HR. I’ve accumulated enough sick leave to last a few lifetimes. When my boss got the memo, he sent me home. Told me to rest up for the weeks ahead.”

“Someone who’s accrued that much sick leave must have worked a lot more than nine days straight,” She taunts. “That’s criminal.” Ben rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch.

Another moment of silence passes, making Rey squirm in her seat.

“I think I need to apologize, for earlier,” She says. Ben looks confused. “It was sweet of you to ask me out to dinner in your limited time off. I should’ve reacted… better.”

One of his large hands reaches the short distance across the table to grip hers. Her hands are dwarfed by his, so she stares down at them instead of looking up at him.

“I’m sorry, too. I can be… callous when it comes to others feelings. I should’ve warned you instead of thinking you’d blithely go along with my plans.” When Rey finally looks up, Ben is looking at her with the sweetest and softest expression.

Okay, her brain concedes, this is nice.

“I do have to admit,” he continues after a minute, “my intentions are not entirely virtuous.”

“I certainly hope not,” Rey grins, “because neither are mine.”

-

He brings her to a different hotel this time. Something much more modern and cool. None of the employees are wearing outfits too ostentatious, but Rey has a sneaking suspicion that the level of service is probably the same. The valet seems to be expecting them, despite Ben having made no calls during or after their meal, and hands Ben the keys to the room.

Only when they’re in the elevator, away from prying eyes, does Rey mention anything.

“Why the change of venue?” She asks.

“The views from here are better. You can see the skyline much more clearly from our floor,” Ben tells her. Rey scoffs.

“Plan on spending a ton of time looking out the window, are we?”

Ben quirks a brow down at her. His eyes turn predatory and Rey can feel her cunt throb. He slowly backs her into the wall of the elevator, pressing his front flush with hers, arms going out to cage her in.

“I think it’ll be a nice view for you when I fuck you against the window.”

Heat licks up her spine. His face is only a few centimeters away from her, but he keeps his lips to himself. He traces the side of her jaw with his nose, letting his lips skim across her skin, but never stopping.

“You told me once… that I deserved a bed…” her voice is unsteady when she uses it. Ben pulls back slightly, and brings his wrist up to check his watch.

“We still have about 34 hours left,” He replaces his hand and looks back down at Rey, “I think we can fit a few places in.”

His lips have only just brushed hers when the elevator chimes that they’re on their floor.

-

“You like this,” He whispers in the shell of her ear. “Being held up, open for any and all to see…” His cock drags inside her once again and Rey gasps. The glass is cold against her hand, and she can see her breath fogging up the window. Ben tightens his grip on her hips as he slowly pulls out of her again, making her whine.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that, baby.” He says, pressing a wet kiss to the top of her shoulder.

“Please, daddy…” Her hands clutch at the glass. “Faster… please,” She begs. She’s rewarded with a few quick thrusts. Her head lulls back, making him kiss at her throat.

“Good girl… asking so nicely,” He murmurs. Rey can feel a twitch of an orgasm approaching her.

“Gonna… make me… come, daddy…” She breaths. Ben snakes a hand downwards, until it finds her clit. He rubs her with soft strokes, flaming the fire within her. She tries to grind down on his hand, but Ben thrust into her harshly again keeping her where she it.

“Come on, baby…” he mumbles, “come all over me… above everyone…” His thrust move in time with the strokes on her clit, and the air in her lungs is sucked out as she tumbles into an orgasm. She’s boneless as he works her through it, still stroking her and pounding into her. She can feel the control slipping from his hands, the movements becoming erratic.

Rey can feel his muscles straining against her over-heated skin. Their bodies are sweaty, only adding to the sound of wet skin slapping against each other. It feels like she’s floating when coming down from her high. Ben grips her tighter as he begins to come, putting fresh bruises in her skin with his fingertips.

His mouth finds the back of her neck, and she can feel his teeth clenched as he comes. He grunts into her skin as his cock twitches within her; she can already feel the warmth of his come seeping downwards. Ben holds her hips flush with his as he continues to pump her full of him. He puts one hand on the font of her lower abdomen, and instinctively, she places her hand over his.

“I can feel myself… like this,” he says, mouth still against her neck. “I can feel myself inside of you… fuck…” he whispers. She strokes the back of his hand with her thumb as Ben regains his breath; trying to comfort him for reasons she didn’t understand.

His breath is hot against her neck, but she loves it. Love the feeling of him alive and hot against her. It fills her with a fuzzy feeling she’s unused to.

-

“Do you think that’s enough?” He asks, dryly. Rey ignored his comment and continued filling the ridiculously large tub with even more bubbles. The bottom of the tub is hard beneath her knees as she waddles her way over to the faucet, pouring the remaining soap underneath, filling the air with lavender.

Ben sits on the other side, arms stretched out of the tub, one knee just above the surface of the bubbles. Even though his comment was sarcastic, the expression on his face is soft. It makes Rey want to melt.

When she finishes adding every soap that was on the counter to the boiling hot water, she scoots herself in between his open legs. Her back leans onto his chest, head cradled on his shoulder, while his arms come down to wrap around her midsection, hands resting on her thighs.

“I don’t get to take baths like this. I think it’s only fair I add whatever soap I want to,” She says, once she’s comfortable. Ben only hums in response. He traces his nose on her wet hairline, lips brushing her skin every so often. If the plastic of the tub weren’t so hard on her ass, Rey would’ve fallen asleep.

After their tryst on the window, Ben had ushered her into the bathroom to clean her up. Ben notices as soon a her eyes landed on the tub that took up a solid quarter of the room, and silently obliged to bathe with her.

Ben’s hands begin massaging her thighs, so she does the same. Her hands seek him out, and land on the thick, corded, muscular tops of his thighs, hands tickled by the sparse hair there.

“Mmmm…” She mumbles, while feeling him up, “I want to ride your thighs later.” She feels him smile against her skin.

“Okay,” He says, voice low. She feels it rumble from his chest and sinks further into him. She can feel his cock, already half-hard again, against the small of her back, but Ben does nothing to indicate that he wants to move any time soon, so she ignores it.

His hands come up to caress her torso, fingers brushing just on the underside of her breast as they work in a rhythmic pattern. Her skin feels hyper-sensitive everywhere he’s touching her; against her back, his hands on her torso, his legs against hers. She wonders, idly, if he’s as unused to this kind of intimacy as she is. It’s not a secret that the two of them need to physically feel each other whenever they’re together. Rey is curious if this is one of the few ways he experiences intimacy, as it is for her.

“Ben?” She asks. He hmm’s against her, nose still tracing the side of her face. “You don’t… do this… with other people, do you? I don’t think you do, but… I’m curious.”

To his credit, Ben doesn’t really falter in his movements. There is a slight pause as soon as the words escape out of her mouth, but he resumes so quickly, Rey isn’t even sure the hesitation happened.

“Would you be jealous if I said yes?” He asks.

Her entire body stiffens. The water, hot against her skin, suddenly feels like ice.

“I don’t,” Ben says quickly, clearly attuned to the change in her demeanor. She relaxes again, but keeps slightly on edge.

“Why not?” She prods further, “It’s not like there’s anything holding you back.”

She feels him sigh beside her. His hands suddenly wrap around her hips, twisting her until she’s facing him and seated in his lap. The steam from the bath has formed sweat all over his skin, so he’s practically glowing in the yellow light. He looks like a greek god; full of imperfections that suit him perfectly. Her mouth goes dry at the sight.

“Do you want me to have… this, with anyone else?” He questions. Rey has to bite her lip from screaming absolutely fucking not!

“Does it matter what I think?” She counters. His eyes narrow at her.

“It does to me.”

Rey softens. Her hands come up to trace the features of his face, down to the hard planes of his chest that peak above the water.

“We’re treading in dangerous water, Ben,” She says before looking up at him. He smirks lightly.

“I think there’s a little too much soap in here, but I hardly think that makes it unsafe,” He jokes, playfully looking around the tub. She splashes him with soapy water, giggling in his lap. He holds her tighter, then bringer her closers to him to kiss her.

Kissing him is many things at one; it’s hot and sweet, promising yet daunting, full of emotion that words can’t convey, but above all, it feels so, so good. The kind of goodness that Rey has searched for in every person and yet to find. It’s terrifying, but she does it anyway.

They make out for a while, hands roaming over pruny bodies, until he’s fully hard again and Rey is wet enough to sink right onto him. They both loose their breath at the sensation, lips still touching but not quite kissing. After a minute, she begins to move, working herself up and down onto him in an unhurried pace. It makes the stretch of him even more pronounced and hot.

His hands guid her hips, and she complies, moving in any direction he so chooses. They only break from each others mouth to kiss at different part of skin; both going for the neck. She leave bites and bruises and he does the same. I hope they’re purple and huge, she thinks; I hope they last forever.

After a while, he whines into her mouth, needy and desperate.

“There is nothing… like coming in you… take me so well… such a good girl…”

She grind down harder on him, liking this desperate, pleading thing hie’s become.

“Wanna make you… full of me… mark you with… my come… would you let me? Let me- fuck- let me fill you… over and over… until you’re mine? Would you?”

She nods against him, telling him “Yes… yes… I’m yours.”

-

“I have tomorrow off, too. I don’t know if I mentioned that,” She tells him once they’re dry and in bed. She didn’t exactly plan for this, so she has no clothes of her own to change into, but Ben seems more than happy to let her snag his white undershirt from earlier. With no panties, of course.

“You did,” he mumbles against her stomach. She’s lying on her back with Ben’s head on her stomach, kissing her skin through the fabric. Rey had one hand brushing though his silky hair, the other holding her phone up as she text Rose.

hey, I won’t be home tonight, Ben called me again

i don’t think i’ll be home tomorrow either, but i’ll

keep u posted

…

are u sure its healthy to be spending this much

time with him?

wasn’t it supposed to be a one night stand?

yeah but the sex is good so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

why don’t u invite Finn over since u have

the place to urself??

don’t try and divert. I’m worried about u

I don’t want u to get hurt, regardless if

the dick too bomb

Rey doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know how to. She wants to accuse Rose of having a secret mic into Rey’s inner most thought and using them against her, but even she knows that’s crazy. Instead, she puts her phone down and luxuriates in the weighted blanket that is Ben.

They’ve been asleep for hours, but it’s still dark out. Rey is secretly thankful for the stormy weather outside, like it gives her an excuse to stay in this bubble with Ben. He’s still snoring softly, head buried between her shoulder and neck. She thinks of their second conversation when he told her he lean’s towards domination. Defiantly a switch, she thinks. Ben has wrapped himself around her, practically suffocating her with his embrace.

Rey loves it.

-

His face is buried in her cunt. So much so that she’s worried he’ll never resurface. He licks with sure, hard strokes, noes rubbing at her clit. It’s a cataclysmic rush of sensations that has her mewling and writing above him. She can see from the corner of her eye, him bucking his hips into the mattress beneath them. And she’s fucking jealous of it. A mattress.

“Ben…” She whines, high pitched and needy, no real message to convey, just liking the way his name feels rolling off her tongue. He grunts against her and sucks her clit.

Her hands tug his hair, trying not to be too rough, but knowing that he liked to be pushed a bit. His teeth graze her labia as a warning, but she pays it no mind. Rey tries to wedge a leg under him, so that she can feel the hardness between his legs and maybe even give him some relief. Ben obliges, using a hand to guide her leg under him, so that his cock brushes against the back side of her calf when he thrusts.

The threat of orgasm is imminent, marching towards her quickly and not giving her time to even breath. Her fingers find the shell of his ear, and Rey remembers how endearing she found it when they got red after sex. Her thumb caress his ears, hands covering them.

Ben looses his mind.

His bucking becomes more wild and his tongue more sure. Rey is stung into her orgasm when his teeth gently nip at her clit, either purposefully or not, and she can feel the hot come from Ben coat her leg.

It’s an overwhelming rush of sensations.

His come spurting out onto her skin and the sheets, his face now sopping with her juices, one of his hands holding her stomach down, the other holding her leg so that he can empty himself on her.

He’s gasping against her as his body shudders. She feels the last few gentle twitches of his cock against her calf before he stops moving and basically melts on top of her.

“Sorry… it was- my ears are- it was so good…” he says, still breathless. Rey makes an experimental stroke of her thumb along the shell of his ear once more, causing Ben to whine but not asking her to stop. She wonders how quickly he could come again, maybe just like this, but decides to save that hypothesis for a later date.

Instead, she holds him as he weakly climbs up to be closer to her.

-

Rey groans when she rolls over to an empty bed. Her stomach drops and suddenly her whole body is alert, immediately shaking off any remnant of sleep. She sits up quickly, panic running down her spine, mouth already open and dry with fear.

Thankfully, she spots Ben right away.

He’s sitting at the desk, typing on a computer, face illuminated only by the light from the screen. He looks so focused and Rey hesitates for a moment, considering weather or not to disturb him from his work. Screw it, she thinks, I only have him for a few more hours; his work can wait.

She gets up on unsteady legs, taking a moment to peak from behind the blinds. It look early out, even in the grey pouring rain. She slowly makes her way over to Ben, who still hasn’t noticed that she’s awake. She shuffles her feet, trying to make more noise as not to scare him before placing her hand on his shoulder.

Ben’s back straightens, and he looks up to Rey, who is pulling his rolling chair back and climbing into his lap with no resistance from him. He’s naked still, she notes, and so is she. She straddles his lap and brings her hands to his biceps. His mouth seeks hers out instantly, pressing wet kisses against her lips.

“Why are you… not… in bed?” She questions between kisses, trying to to sound too petulant. Judging by his chuckle, she’s clearly failed.

“I had some work to wrap up,” He tells her, hands now roaming her bare back. She glances at the clock, flashing a bright 6:43.

“You still have… 24 hours of… your weekend left… no work,” She says, sighing into his mouth. He pulls back, and her mouth instinctively goes to chase it, but stops when she sees him slightly smiling at her.

“You were asleep; I figured I could multitask. After all, you’ll need your strength for everything I have planned for today,” Ben tells her, voice going low. Rey surpasses a shiver.

“Plans?” She questions. He nods. “Care to enlighten me on these plans?”

“Well, you mentioned something about riding my thigh earlier, and I figured if you’re going to ride that, my face might feel left out so we should add that to the list,” Ben says, making Rey chuckle. “Then my cock might feel neglected also, so you should probably ride that at some point too. And I did have a dream about what my come might look like on your tits, so, I think today would be a good day to find out.”

Rey throws her head back laughing and Ben adjusts his hold on her, squeezing her tighter to him.

“So, as you can see, you’ll need your strength if we’re going to get through all of that today, Ms. Niima,” He taunts. Rey brushes some hair behind his ears, fingers purposefully ghosting them and making him shudder.

“That sounds like an excellent plan, Mr. Solo. What should we start with first?” She questions, already feeling his cock twitch where it rests between the two of them.

“Anything you want, Ms. Niima; I’m yours for the taking.”

Rey considers him for a moment, even though she’s already made up her mind. She squirms in his lap before settling her self firmly on one of his tree-trunk legs and begins grinding down. Her cunt is still puffy and slightly sore from all their… activities, but the feeling of his muscles beneath her is too delicious to pass up. She grinds her self until she is slick and wet against him. Ben drops his head to her shoulder, breathing deeply. She thinks of how much his words affect her when he’s the one talking, so she decides to give it a try.

“One of the first things I noticed about you… was your thighs,” She starts. “They’re so fucking strong, even in your pants. I didn’t know how to ask for it, that first night. But I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

Ben’s hands go to grope her ass, squeezing, as he breaths heavily against her sternum. His thigh is covered in her now, and she moves with a sicking wet sound that fills the room.

“I tried everything, after that. I humped pillows, tried to get off on the edge of my bed, even considered buying a sex doll just to recreate what your thigh would feel like,” She admits, voice becoming breathless as her movements pick up. Ben’s cock is red and twitching now, leaving a drop of precome on his stomach where it bumps against. Rey works faster now, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, no doubt leaving red slits in their wake.

“I thought about messaging you every night, trying to come up with some eloquent way to beg you to ride your thigh into oblivion. Even if it’s all you would give me; I wanted you dripping in my come like I’m covered in yours.”

“Rey,” he warns. She can feel herself approaching orgasm, so she readjust her hips to get her clit to hit his skin with every stroke. She gasps and feels Ben’s teeth on her neck.

“Want you… to wear my come… all day… soak it into your skin…so it stays,” She moans out, finding it harder to speak the closer she gets.

“Yes… yes, please…” Rey hears him beg. She can feel his cock so hard against her, but he’s brought no relief to himself in the form of his hand. She resist the urge to grab him and jerk him off, deciding it’ll be much more satisfying to see him come without her even touching it.

She moves quicker now, searching for that peak, and finds it so fast it scares her. Her orgasm wreaks through her body, sizzling down her spine and making her cunt clench and drip onto his thigh. Her hand goes to grip it, holding Ben’s thigh someone even closer between her, and letting her juices flow onto him. Ben comes too, with a cry into her skin. His cock twitches desperately as the white fluid spurts out of him, coming up to coat her abdomen. A rouge stripe of come lands on his shoulder where it’s bent to lean down onto her, and she licks it up without hesitation.

They sit together, not moving for a moment, catching their breath. Ben breaths heavily onto her skin as she licks up the sweat beads that have formed on the side of his throat. She whispers sweet endearment of good boy and thank you for coming for me. She uses a hand to trace up his spine to the back of his head, feeling Ben become putty in her embrace.

It’s a power trip unlike anything she’s experienced before.

Rey doesn’t tell him then, but she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they will be doing that again.

-

“Tell me what your childhood was like.”

She doesn’t know why she asks him. They had been silent for a while, but the conversation preceding the question had nothing to do with that topic. But still, the words bubble and spill out of her without a chance for Rey to begin them in.

She’s lying on top of Ben, listening to the soft thudding of his heartbeat, while some old Galaxy Battles that just happened to be on TV is playing. His hands a tracing her spine, occasionally dipping lower to kneed at her ass. His hands have stoped, midway down her back, but resume quickly.

“It was… loud,” He says, prompting Rey to push herself up to stare at him. “My mother is… popular, you could say. There was always something going on at our house. Meetings that turned into dinners that turned into parties that turned into more meetings. There was always so many people around that I didn’t know. But my father…” Ben trails off for a moment. “He didn’t like it either. So he’d leave for weeks at a time. Sometimes I think my mother didn’t even notice. God knows she didn’t notice me.” Something bitter traces his voice so Rey hums against his skin. “I was… not considered much, when I was with them. An extra bag they needed to pack whenever they went away.

Rey nuzzles her face into his chest, wanting to skin within his skin and give his heart a hug.

“I left home when I was 18 and didn’t speak to either of my parents for 10 years. The only reason I even started speaking with my mother again is because…” Ben takes a moment, and Rey lets him. “My father died.”

Rey doesn’t breath, unwilling to even move slightly and disturb whatever trace Ben seemed to be in.

“I was the first person my mother called to tell. That had never happened before. It was… strange.” She feels Ben shift beneath her, but his eyes still remain closed. “Our relationship is still awful, but we talk more now. Mostly her berating me for my career choices or asking for grandchildren, but… it’s talking.”

Rey hugs him. Squeezes him so tightly she’s worried he’ll bruise, but Ben doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m an orphan,” She offers, after a moment. “My parents dropped me off at a fire station when I was two. Or… they think I was two. All they left was a piece of paper that said ‘Rey.’ Supposedly the state searched for my parents for a while, trying to track them down, but I’m not really sure that’s true. I was sent to Jakku when I was five and I grew up in a junkyard there. That’s why I’m a mechanic. I learned how to spot parts that were salvageable since I was a pre-teen. It’s the only thing I was ever good at.”

Her quiet admission hangs heavy in the air.

Slowly, she feel’s Ben roll them over so that he’s above her and her back is on the bed. His eyes are sad when they look down at her, and suddenly Rey realizes her eyes have tears in them too. Ben kisses away her tears, lips soft against her skin.

“You’re good at so much, Rey. More than even I know. So, so good. Don’t ever say that again, please.”

Ben’s plea pierces her heart with such a sharp precision, it feels like she’s been shot.

All at once, every fear that Rey had before meeting Ben comes rushing back. The feeling both of them were trying to avoid, crash around her like an avalanche, and Rey is stuck in the cold, hard ice. Somehow Rey knows that this was meant to happen. That she was meant to be on that Reddit page and refresh just in time to see his post and meet him in that fancy bar and fuck him in that gaudy room and do everything they’ve done together.

Ben kisses her as she realizes that there will be no soft break from this. That wherever this ends will hurt. It’ll break her even. But, even scarier than that, Rey is more than willing to let Ben do that.

-

“Don’t leave.”

It’s morning. Almost 7. The sun is just starting to peak behind the curtains. The bed is warm where they’ve laid and fucked and made love and held each other all night. The sound of a cart being placed outside of their door is the only besides the fan and their breathing. His hair tickles her face. His arms have wrapped around her so tightly she’s not sure she’ll ever break from his embrace.

“Don’t leave,” She whispers again.

He’s still snoring. He can’t hear her. She says it again anyway.

“Don’t leave me.”

-

The bacon is still hot by when Ben pulls the breakfast cart in. It’s full of wonderful looking food that Rey would gladly devour on any other day. But she can only bring herself to nibble at the fatty bacon that drips grease down her hand.

Ben is all but ready to go, his suit jacket hanging on the other side of his chair and shoes still waiting by the door. He’s go Rey in his lap and hands digging into the cup of greek yoghurt. He hasn’t stopped touching her since they’ve woken up. They showed together, he ate her out, she brought him off with her hand, they had to re-shower, and now they were enjoying a quiet breakfast. Her hair was still wet and dripping into his discarded bathrobe. She refused to wear her own, and Ben had happy obliged when she asked to put his on after he took it off.

He kisses her neck sometimes and she tries to take inconspicuous sniffs of his hair.

It’s nice outside, if a bit hot. Ben has to be at work in an hour. Rey still has today off. He’s got a busy few weeks ahead. She’s got the same monotonous tasks ahead of her for the foreseeable future. He offered to extend the room reservation so that she could keep it tonight. She declined. He extended it anyways.

She’s met him three times. They’ve talked about some of the deepest trauma any person can go through. They’ve argued about fan fiction. Ben is incredibly wealthy. Rey can’t afford her water bill this month.

Ben leaves her with multiple incessant kisses, each sweeter than the last. He tells her he’ll call, but maybe not for a while. He makes her promise to call if she needs anything at all. He kisses her again for good measure. Then her shoulder her forearms and her hands. Rey doesn’t cry until the door is closed.

She’s falling in love with him. (If she isn’t already.)

It fucking hurts.

-

come say hi on twitter!

#reylo #adam driver #daisy ridley #ben solo #kylo ren #rey #rey/ben solo #rey/kylo ren #fan fiction #star wars #sw #fluff #but mostly smut #and a dash of angst #my works #fsnfr #chapter 3 #ao3

[ccorneliast]

A Heart In Barcelona - Chapter 2: A Carrison Fanfiction

Rating: M Summary: Carrie and Harrison go on a weekend getaway to Barcelona during filming of The Empire Strikes Back in the late seventies. Something happens on that trip that changes their lives forever. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from my imagination and I’m not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). I did take some creative liberty on what concerns the timeline, so stuff that is mentioned/places they visit may not have existed in the seventies, I apologize in advance; I do use/paraphrase some parts from Carrie’s books, as a way of making it feel more like them.   A/N: The second chapter goes to space sister Jazz ( @kyberheartford ), for her excitment and for her love of harrison character development. Such big thanks to Maria ( @rosesjedi ) for editing this for me at midnight lol u rock boo. 

On AO3

I hope you enjoy this new story of mine and don’t forget to reblog and tell me your opinion!

Their cabbie pulls over on Passeig de Grácia, a large thoroughfare where every shop is inscribed with an expensive name: Dolce & Gabbana, Yves Saint Laurent. Yet, amidst this luxury, shines an actual gem: Casa Milà, or as it is commonly called, La Pedrera.

Carrie and Harrison dash below an awning and squint through the blinding sunlight, across the intersection, at its interesting stone facade.

“Did you know,” Carrie reads from her very informative brochure: “That a wealthy man called Milà commissioned Gaudí to design the building?” she explains.

“It’s beautiful.” He exhales, in awe.

“Your first Gaudí!” she exclaims, excitedly. She clutches his arm like a proud girlfriend: “How do you feel?”

“Like I said,” he repeats, still fixated on the frontage. “It’s unbelievable.”

Its grandiose structure is made up entirely of waves and curves, there not being a single straight line of construction. It was the home of the Milà family, as well as several other renters, but most of the locals despised it as eyesore – exactly how the same generation of Parisians felt about the Eiffel Tower.

“I wonder how it would’ve felt back then,” Carrie confesses. “I’d like to think I would’ve been one of those people who understood this was special.”

“You have an eye for special things, kid,” he states, matter-of-factly. He probably didn’t even think twice about his comment, he just said it. Like most of the things he does, he does them very true to his character, without thinking twice whether they’re hurtful or meaningful. This time around, Carrie cautiously rejoiced in his words. She knew there was a possibility that he just blurted it out without feeling it, but nonetheless, she’d record those words in her mind.

“Nice roof,” Harrison says. “But mine in London is better.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. She nudges him, and he nudges back.

La Pedrera’s rooftop is notorious for its weird, bulky chimneys: some shaped like medieval armory, others imitating soft-served ice-cream. The waves of tourists go up and down the Escher-esque stairs, around the chimneys again and again, like an endless ocean of dissimilar people.

“Harrison, stand right there,” she orders, hurriedly.

“Here?” he motions to the empty space in between tourists and chimneys.

“Yeah,” she pulls out her disposable camera and swiftly snaps a shot. “Smile for me, baby,” the pet name escapes her mouth without a warning. Thank God for the camera hiding her face. He obliges, surprisingly, and she takes the picture. “Perfect.”

“Let’s go?” he rushes, noticing of the amount of people surrounding them.

“Yeah, you wanna visit the other house?” she offers.

“Aham,” he’s already descending the stairs, a strange mixture of nervousness and fear.

“Harrison, wait for me!” She shouts, without being able to keep up with him.

She reaches the bottom and he’s waiting for her amongst the trees.

“What was that?” she asks, partially annoyed.

“What was what?” he asks back, impassive.

“That! Up there! That whole scene!” she’s still rather out of breath, trying to keep up with his fast pacing.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s already half-way into the subway station. She notices its name in yellow: Metro, oh-so-different from its brother in London.

“You’re infuriating sometimes.” She presses, taming her disheveled hair.

“Same could be said about you, dear.” His back is still turned to her while they await the metro that’ll be taking them to Casa Batlló.

“What is that supposed to mean?” her tiny frame manages to jump up to his shoulders, grabbing his attention.

“Carrie, stop.” He warns, his tone somber. His eyes still don’t look at hers.

“No,” she jumps again, this time grabbing a hold of his shoulders, making him tumble backwards.

“Stop, I mean it.” This time, his face is turned towards her. It’s dark and… wet? She doesn’t remember hearing his voice breaking from crying, nor does she remember to actually see him cry. She always imagined a specimen like Harrison Ford was not capable of any emotion, much less sadness. If any, he’d be able to feel empathy or lust, but not sadness. A form of male animal like him feeling anything other than that was scary. She chose him because he was safe, because she was sure he couldn’t feel. Then, a frightening thought came to mind:

Carrie couldn’t help but wonder, if Harrison cried so easily like this, though she still didn’t know why, then… could he feel other inane things like love?

 “You wanna see something cool?” he pokes her chest.

“I’m looking at it.” She teases, biting her lip. It takes all of his strength not to start making out with Carrie in the middle of the crowded street.

“Shut up,” he laughs. “Turn around for me, dear.”

They’re standing across the street from Casa Batlló, another Gaudí masterpiece. The surface is covered in ceramic-shard mosaics – aqua and cobalt, rusty orange and yellow gold – in rough, skinlike patterns. As if that wasn’t enough, the rooftop is another force to be reckoned with, with an animalistic arch of metallic tiles that’s curved like the back of a mighty dragon.

“I like this one even more, huh?” she says. His eyes widen with speechlessness.

“This one is more you,” Harrison tries. “It’s the bright colors, I think.” He smiles his signature crooked smile.

“Look at us, we look like we’re shopping for houses together.” She jokes, bumping his side. He doesn’t laugh, though. In fact, he doesn’t react at all.

“Next?” he asks, glancing at the watch on his wrist. It’s a little bit past one in the afternoon.

“Should we eat?” the scalding sun feels like it must burn through her pale skin.

“If that’s what you want.” His tone is monochroic, yet he smiles momentarily.

They hop on a bus en route to the Gothic Quarter, in hopes of freshening up and eating a late lunch at the market. Carrie switches to a baggy shirt and a flowy, thin skirt. Changing was practically a requirement with such unbearable heat.  

“That’s the one!” she exclaims as they turn left at Las Ramblas and enter a huge agglomerate of people. The scent of fresh food and organic produce fills the air. Harrison immediately gravitates towards the charcuterie section, promptly getting a chorizo sandwich. Carrie follows suit. The two actors sit down on the sidewalk outside the La Boqueria market and eat in silence. After a while, Carrie asks: “Where should we go next?” impatient to cut through the awkward atmosphere that was threatening to set.

“The guy at the front desk gave me this,” he hands her the map of Barcelona, with the major tourists’ spots circled. “While you were changing, he showed me that.” He explains, succinctly.

“Sagrada Família?” Carrie tries. It sure is famous.

“I was thinking more of Parc Güell.”

And off they go.

As soon as they enter the subway for a very long trip to the edge of Barcelona, it’s quite evident that, with the number of tourists in the same situation as them, there is sure to not be a seat for them to rest their feet for a while. They hold on to the railing for a few stops, chatting sparingly. Then, someone gets off the subway and Carrie nudges him. Then, she sprints as effectively as one can sprint inside a crowded subway and snatches the seat. He laughs.

“You’ll never be as fast as Princess Leia!” she shouts, annoying the people around them with their childish antics.

“What was that? I’ll never be as fat as Princess Leia?” he jokes, winking at her.

She melts.

“Shut up.” She retorts with a shaky voice. Then, she says. “Your feet must be killing you.”

“They’re fine, Carrie.” He responds.

“No, sit here.” She gets up to offer him the seat.

“You’re crazy, sit down.” He insists.

“Harrison,” her tone is harsh even. “Sit down.” He obliges, how could he not?

“We’ll share it, then.” He moves to the side and gives her a tiny portion of the seat.

“Okay.” She answers, giggling. This had been her plan all along.

She sits down next to him: “I’m falling, Harrison.” Someone beside them laughs.

“Just sit back a little.” And she does. She sits further back until she’s blatantly sitting on his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind as his arms wrap around her waist and his head burrows on the crook of her neck. She lets her head fall back, settling on his shoulder, until they’re a mesh of limbs on a public transportation. The vibration of the tracks lulls them to a blissful state of reverie. Even if she tried, she realized, she just couldn’t get him out of her head.

 They emerge into a neighborhood that’s emptier and dirtier. No one exits the station with them, and there are no street signs for their destination.

“Is this the right place?” she asks.

Harrison scratches his head. “I think so. Let’s try up there, sweetheart.”

He points towards an area that looks less barren. They hike up the streets, their hands brushing as they go. Everything feels abandoned as they reach a long hill with several sets of stairs and escalators. Escalators. Carrie’s never been happier to see escalators in her life.

As they ride the rickety steps, the sun gets brighter and brighter. When they reach the top of the hill, worn out and sweaty, the sky clears. Pleasant sunshine.

There’s another, smaller hill across the street. “The park?” she asks. He nods, encouragingly.

Then, with a burst of energy, Harrison scoops her up over his shoulder and runs towards it. Carrie screams with laughter. He shouts in mad glee. She pounds his back with her fists, yet Harrison doesn’t show signs of letting go. Only when they’ve gone through the gates and are on the summit does he let her down. He throws up his arms in triumph: “Now who’s the strongest, sweetheart?” he snickers. Then, he buckles like a weak hinge. “I’m dying.”

Carrie grins. “Serves you right.”

Harrison lifts his head. “You think so, baby?” And then she sees his expression change as he notices what lies behind Carrie. She turns to look. Their bodies straighten in amazement.

They’re not on just on top of the final hill. They’re on top of Barcelona.

 In the far distance, they can see the turrets and sculptures that Gaudí designed for the park – and its accompanying crowds – but, up here, everything is trees and serenity. A landscape of Mediterranean greens sprawls across to the horizon, with sprinkles of yellow, pink and blue tiles throughout – Parc Güell.

“Come and sit here,” she motions to a secluded area, off path. Suddenly, her heart beats faster.

The air smells of mountains and pines. There is a crazy number of trees here: cypress trees, olive trees, palm trees and just mystery trees with plump red berries.

Their bodies clash on the ground. They sneak through the foliage. She leans in and their lips meet, her body on top of his. He unbuttons her shirt, and his hands are around her back, caressing her smooth skin. But as quickly as their making out begins, he pulls away, gasping.

“Never mind, we can’t do this. If we go any further, the stopping part will be excruciating.” He looks at her through his eyelashes. “It already is.”

“You wanna go back to the hotel?” she reaches out to touch him, but he rolls away.

“Don’t you want to see the park?” he questions.

“We can come back later.” She proposes.

“And climb all of that again?” he grins.

“You’re right, Mr. Ford.” She says.

They sit in silence for a few moments, immovable.

Then, the sun dips below the treeline, and suddenly, Harrison is backlit by a stunning golden light. He looks so dashing even when he’s sweaty and dirty. She wiggles upward until she reaches his lips. They kiss, heavily, until Carrie can’t handle it anymore.

“Take that off.” She tugs at his shirt and he, surprisingly, indulges.

Now, a woman is playing the guitar, strumming the strings beautifully. The famous lizard is directly below them, they have the perfect view to look at it. The entirety of Barcelona in all its glory is given to them in a silver platter.

Yet, the only thing they can focus on is each other.

Her hands tentatively touch his abdomen, feeling every bump, every curve, almost like he’s La Pedrera himself. Her nails graze his scruff, her lips enveloping his skin in a leisurely manner. Why bother? They have the city to themselves.

His fingers get lost on her brown locks and his hazel eyes latch on to hers. His plump lips explore her chest, the soft, sensitive skin of her breasts. Her heavy breathing propels them to a more serious, less teasing, kiss. Their lips meet in a fusion of passion and desperation, their bodies never being close enough. The grass beneath his skin tickles and the sun on her bare back burns, but all that truly matters is her skin on his mouth and her hands on his neck.

“I didn’t bring any, Carrie,” he manages to breathe. “They’re all at the hotel.”

“What?” she murmurs, while she licks his earlobe, teasingly. “How could you not have brought any?”

“Well, this wasn’t exactly on the tour guide.” He chuckles at his own remark. She doesn’t stop though, which alarms him.

“Carrie, are you on the pill?” he asks, praying to God that her answer is affirmative.

She nods. And the heavens explode.

#a heart in barcelona #carrison #carrie fisher #harrison ford #carrison fanfiction #carrison rpf #carrison trash #tita writes

[zinktronic]

Our Ever-Changing Climate

The global warming argument has some fundamental inanities, and I worry because of the duplicitous way the global-warming arguments are presented that at the core of the movement someone knows this — or else there is some sort of naturally co-ordinated “conspiracy” involved.

To be clear: Human prehistory starts hundreds of thousands of years ago, so this could possibly be extended beyond the end of the last glaciation, but —

Ten thousand years ago there was some fairly rapid global warming. The ice sheets covering the northern hemisphere continents went away and humanity spread to fill the newly exposed territory. Humanity had been burning shit for millions of years but they had not yet started the modern program of cutting down all the trees so that they could plant fields of wheat or lakes of rice. They had started cutting down trees to build structures, but I don’t understand exactly how many trees we’re talking about there. Through most of human history it’s the cutting down of trees — and eventually burning them or letting them decay — that is the primary anthropogenic contribution to climate change. Combatting Anthropogenic drivers are the “natural” drivers which are many and generally weak, except for the super-volcanic contributions which are immense and sudden, but generally seem to fade after only a few years or a decade.

All through these 10,000 years of human history and massive global warming there has been a regular cycle of warmer and cooler periods which have had a drastic and evident, and well-documented, effect upon humanity and human-behavior on the societal level. When the poles get warmer the water levels rise and when the tropics get warmer precipitation increases. When the poles get cooler sea levels fall and when the tropics get cooler precipitation decreases. These cycles last for hundreds of years and because that span exceeds the personal memories of humans the current moment always seems to be normality, though they give old people great opportunities to say, “when I was a kid the river froze over every year”, or “when I was a kid we could harvest three bushels of wheat from that field, what’s wrong with you?” The consequences of these warming and cooling cycles are easy to predict and exactly as expected:

Global land-masses are disproportionately northerly, hence Eurasia and North America are the regions with a walkable path from polar to temperate regions, which plays a role in the following. Eurasia has the most well-understood prehistorical records going back to the glaciation, so it’s just easiest to talk about. Presumably similar patterns are visible everywhere that large-scale migration is possible. In Eurasia during cyclical warming periods precipitation increases, temperate growing seasons become longer and farm and hunting yields rise. Populations increase to track increased food supplies. Vast empires form in the most hospitable regions. At the northern edges independent tribes rejecting civilization push and are pushed further north into previously too difficult terrain. This situation progresses for hundreds of years, then it starts to cool.

During cooling periods farm yields fall and empires need to reduce their populations in order to prosper. Of course this doesn’t happen. Instead the typical citizen (or whatever) of the empire becomes poorer, hungry, and desperate. The excess productivity of the empire decreases and thus the political elites who harvest the excess productivity need to reduce their demands — which had been slowly growing for hundreds of years. Of course they do not do this and therefore the empire becomes ripe for rebellion, fragile and unable to respond effectively to sudden and acute challenges. At the same time the northern wastes which we mentioned were inhabited by independent tribes — generally referred to as “barbarians” — become more difficult and the barbarians are forced to move south, where they encounter weakened empires unready for violent highly-motivated assault and then next thing you know Visigoths are sacking Rome, etc.

The next time someone shows you a historical chart of global temperatures, see if it starts around 1890. That’s a weird and distinctive time to start a chart: it’s not some even number of years ago (like 1918 or 1868), nor some obviously even year, such as 1900 (though you’ll see that a bunch too, because it’s close enough). The reason is pretty simple: the northern hemisphere experienced a prolonged cooling, probably cause by humans, that lasted from 1450 until 1890. Before that was a warming period that was probably also caused by humans. Most (but not all) of the warming since 1890 has been a reproduction of that earlier warming process, a reversal of the human-caused cooling that preceded 1890 which is sometimes called “The Little Ice Age”. Charts of global warming generally start in 1890 because they aren’t willing to be honestly compelling, they feel the need to be super-compelling.

Rising water levels caused by polar warming play a role in increased evaporation (greater surface area) and hence increased precipitation, but tropical (and sub-tropical) warming plays a much more significant role. Strangely, tropical warming plays a slight role in rising water levels, because water expands when it warms, but most rising sea-levels are due to polar warming.

When sea-levels rise coastal cities flood and move further uphill. When sea-levels fall they spread down to the new shore, especially as ports develop (ships become more capable) and falling sea-levels impede access to the older ports.

Except for myths of Atlantis and the Flood — which may be related to entirely different phenomena — we never hear anything about global sea-level changes through history and recent pre-history, so you may be forgiven for not comprehending their extent. If you want to find the trace of the shoreline from ten-thousand years ago — where, presumably, the first post-glaciation shoreline cities would have been located if any existed — you will need some serious scuba gear because it is more than 100 meters — more than 300 feet — more than the length of a football field — under the current sea-level. The first known cities post-date the first major rise in sea-levels, some of them very closely, so if you want to imagine them settled by refugees from the great atlantean cities of the floodplains now several hundred feet underwater, their locations lost, well: there’s your story.

If humanity has survived numerous cycles of warming and cooling and a three-hundred foot rise in sea-levels already, why do some people expect it to be in so much trouble from more modest increases in the future? No wait, that’s a question I’ll get back to. The first question will be to beg that question: Why will it be in so much trouble in the near future?

The best answer to this question is probably, “Ouch.” But let me add more detail:

There was no real reason for Rome or any other historical empire to fall to the Germanians or Visigoths or whatever through history. Instead they chose to be defeated, or more precisely they chose not to not be defeated: they chose to do nothing appropriate as conditions changed. As the north polar regions cooled the tribes would move south: this was inevitable. The Romans had three obvious responses: They could welcome the barbarians as climate refugees into their empire, bribe the armies away from their leaders with free and easy food and hence reduce the threat to something tolerable — but this would require increased taxes and privation for the citizens; They could build a wall and staff it strongly by paying additional soldiers sufficient to kill all the barbarians starving in front of the gates — but this would also require increased taxes; or they could move away — though obviously that option was not even on the table, since they had such nice buildings where they were. They ended up choosing a mixture — more of an alternation — of the first two options, both of which carried the latent threat of increased taxes. Unfortunately tax yields (which were mostly realized as a fraction of crops) were falling and after centuries of increasing the tax-fraction to compensate for falling crop yields the ordinary people had little left for themselves and were on the brink of starvation. There’s an obvious step to take — reducing the by then incredible luxuries enjoyed by the upper classes who also made the rules, but they were naturally reluctant to make a rule making themselves poorer and they didn’t and therefore lost everything. If they had distributed their wealth to the masses the masses would have been more willing to defend them and there would have been no singular wealthy target to attract the barbarians — the barbarians would have instead found people little better off then themselves and could have been induced to participate in society instead of burning it.

Fast forward to the twentieth-century, ignoring global warming for the moment, there are already innumerable people starving across the globe especially in third world countries and oddly the United States. This is not because the globe does not produce enough food: on the contrary countries like the United States annually destroy enormous amounts of food simply to maintain demand for crops so as to keep income up for (mostly foreign) farmers. There is so much excess food that enormous fertile regions formerly devoted to food production — such as Silicon Valley — are now transformed to other purposes, such as vegetable oil production or luxury items like Coca.

The word for that process which forces some people to starve even though plenty of food is available is “Politics”.

Now let’s imagine a world where global warming is a reality and absolutely nothing is done to combat it:

Every time farmers encounter a new climate productivity is low until they find the appropriate methods and rhythms and then yields eventually rise. So it should be no surprise that any “global warming” or “global cooling” or migration will temporarily lower farm productivity. This will not be a cause of hunger — as previously mentioned, having plenty of food is no bar to hunger so long as governments want hunger to be present.

Throughout human history rising temperatures — and especially rising CO2 levels, which are great for plant growth — have increased crop yields (after farmers adapted to the changes) and there is no reason that the “ominous” futures depicted by all the various models will be different. Simply opening up vast regions of tundra and Antarctica for farming will immensely increase arable land and hence food supplies. We will re-engineer structures to withstand the greater force of storms — as we have done through cycle after cycle in the past — we will change our growing seasons, we will continue to refine our techniques, we will change which land is farmed and which is not farmed.

Every model which predicts “food shortages” in a warmer climate is one which imagines that farmers will not adapt to changed conditions or that politics will intervene in its usual way.

Rising water levels will of course make current coastal regions uninhabitable and current inland regions coastal, which means millions of people will be displaced. Assuming governments don’t just murder them, they will move — i.e. migrate. It’s up to us whether that migration is orderly, or we just push that issue down the road until it is a crisis. The people in lowland Florida should move north to Georgia, and everyone in the US and Canada could move a hundred miles north to compensate. Or the displaced Floridians could just board a train and move directly to the newly arable Tundra of northern Canada.

But, you may say, “Florida is not a part of Canada, why would Canada let this happen?” And that’s exactly the point. Global Warming is not a disaster, Politics is a disaster. Legacy National Borders are a disaster. I don’t expect China to have such a problem with the new reality: they have a truly National government which legislates on a national level, and they already hold territory that stretches from the current coast to the underfarmed North. I don’t expect Russia to have a problem. The countries of Europe are going to have to get over themselves but the EU is already the first step in that — the people of Holland at least are probably going to need new homes. Mexico is going to need to be light on its feet: it’s likely that increased precipitation will play to its benefit, but all that is very iffy at the moment. Any country that is currently a net food exporter and is not primarily lowlands is likely to be okay, at least for a long while.

That’s the reality of unchecked global warming, which given the nature of governments and the realities already evident is really the way to bet. It’s the Tragedy of the Commons, and nothing is more “in common” than the globe. Of course I did leave open the question of whether global warming even exists, whose fault it is, and whether we could actually do something to reverse or stop it, questions that some people seem to consider worth debating. 

“Global Warming” is a stupid and irrelevant name someone picked for the concept of climate change. If we had a mixture of polar cooling and tropical warming — possible in various models, ask a scientist — then precipitation would increase even as sea levels fell. The “Global” sum might be up, might be down, but would always be irrelevant. There are many other combinations of course. Furthermore individuals and individual nations have no real reason to care about the Globe as a whole — they will always care about what happens to themselves — that’s why we see the constant references to violent winter storms as a contradiction of “Global Warming” in American politics. Try to contradict “Climate Change” with more violent winter storms!

“Who caused Global Warming?” is just finger-pointing. It really doesn’t matter and of course there isn’t a single cause. You could easily argue that the failure of the Earth to provide enough of the right sort of volcanoes as the “cause” — after all, if it *had* then we would be experiencing global cooling — which always causes hunger and migration — and burning fossil fuels in quantity would be saintly behavior.

Furthermore it’s likely that humans have been contributing to and possibly driving all those millennia of cyclical warm-cool periods I started my essay discussing. It’s an interesting question, but only in an Academic sense. It doesn’t affect anything.

That leaves finally the question of whether we can reverse or stop it — though if it turns out we can, that only leads to the question of whether we even should. 

The primary mechanism for anthropogenic climate change in previous millennia has been the planting or cutting down of trees (and also depopulation allowing farmland to become fallow and overgrown with trees). We live in an era when satellite surveillance means that the cutting down and regrowth of trees can be almost individually tracked. We live in an era when genetic modification means that we might be able engineer trees or other large heavy growths to live in currently uninhabited and unforested parts of the world such as tundra or oceans or even glaciers. We already know how to remove carbon from the atmosphere and convert it to fuel. We live in an era where access to space and advanced robotics allows many even more radical options for reducing global temperature such as sunshades or mimicking the cooling effect of volcanoes. And at the rate politics is improving we may yet get to test the theories of nuclear winter.

All of the above is without reference to and without need for any change in the way we handle excavated hydrocarbons — a problem which will of course likely resolve itself eventually through the extermination of buried supplies, and likely cannot be resolved any other way. Let’s consider: in a world with National Politics every nation must remain “viable” or it will surely be absorbed into a neighbor. Every nation must produce sufficient energy to remain viable. And every nation, no matter how well-intentioned, will eventually paint itself into a corner where that energy must come from the most easily available source — and whether that’s trees, oil, or coal: it will warm the Globe. Of course it’s very easy to manufacture arguments about how we’ll all co-operate, but there is no actual evidence that such cooperation is possible: it certainly has never occurred. Nations agree easily, and the best of them merely cheat effectively.

In any case reducing excavated hydrocarbon emissions to zero globally would not stop global warming without massive changes in the way farming and other human activities are accomplished. Reducing all CO2 emissions to zero beyond humanity’s needs involves killing all other animals: that actually seems possible if not likely. Reducing non-respiration related CO2 emissions to zero is not only implausible, it would have to be completed without some corresponding change in behavior that undercuts it.

It’s easy to be overly optimistic. Carbonated beverages obviously release CO2 as they fizz. Where does that CO2 come from? One could easily imagine them derived from atmospheric carbon. Actually, of course, bottled CO2 comes from the incineration of excavated Carbonates — usually limestone. We are at the end of an industrial era during which the generation of excess “harmless” gases was never questioned and incentivized. Our production is therefore unsurprisingly limitless. There’s a huge financial benefit to emitting a gas into the atmosphere — you don’t need to dispose of the waste some other way. Alternatives to such emissions only become viable when they are equivalently profitable, and they only become profitable when they involve the likewise “free” disposal of waste — whether into the air, into streams, or into aquifers.