Royce's Random Thoughts

I Definitely Have a "Type"

Sun, 07 Sep 2025 08:15:21 GMT

So, looking back on my stories, especially my kink related ones, there are definitely archetypes and pairings that seem to show up repeatedly.

The Bastard and the Innocent: This pairing is mostly from my earlier works, notably Unexpected Diversions and The Dragon's Companion. Tez and Philosopher are by any objective measure utter bastards and far too dangerous to have a relationship with, both suffering from Protagonist Centered Morality. Meanwhile their partners are both fairly chaste women who while they might be powerful in their own right, aren't as powerful as their male partners and lack the depth of experience (and are also fettered somewhat by conventional morality.) After reading a lot of criticism of the Twilight books, which have a similar and even more toxic dynamic, I finally recognized what I was doing and my taste for this sort of pairing died off.

The Mentor Dominant and the Wounded Submissive: This shows up a lot in my pairings. Dominique and Minerva from Meeting Dominique, Midnight and Rollie from Prisoner of Midnight, and it's also an undercurrent in my Angie and her Boy stories as well Melanie and Rolas' relationship. The Mentor Dominant may or may not be more physically powerful than the Submissive, but they again have a depth of experience in kink than their partner lacks. Meanwhile the Wounded Submissive might be physically stronger, but they've suffered enough emotional knocks in their life that their ego has been thoroughly crushed. The Mentor inevitably takes them under their wing, shows them how to let go of their anxieties while simultaneously letting go of their freedom. Compared to The Bastard and the Innocent this type of relationship usually between equals (Meeting Dominique being a notable exception), and I try to make sure that Safe, Sane, and Consensual practices are followed.

The First Person Snarker: Okay, this is straight from TV Tropes. I like good character dialog, and I'm fond of cheerful cynics who aren't afraid to let their opinions be known to the reader, especially when I'm writing from a 1st Person POV. Marty Greycoat is the most obvious contender from my original stories, but it's also why some of my most popular fanfics are from The Martian, and The Murderbot Diaries.

I think that's about it. Did I miss anything, Dear Reader?

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Meeting Dominique: The Last Seven Days

Thu, 24 Oct 2024 10:52:41 GMT

We're in the home stretch with the campaign. Please consider supporting us by snagging one of the four remaining YCH slots to push us over the top!

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Now Live! Meeting Dominique Kickstarter

Tue, 01 Oct 2024 10:14:24 GMT

Please consider supporting us to make this project happpen!

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Meeting Dominique: Now Live on Kickstarter!

Thu, 26 Sep 2024 07:28:39 GMT

Okay, this is a big announcement. I've been workign with my good friend Naziha Zahed to create an illustrqated edition of one of my recent erotic stories Meeting Dominique. Now we're ready to run a kickstarter to pay for publishing the story with full interior art and some nice goodies besides. Please follow and share the link to the project so we can reach as wide an audience as possible.

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Writing Update

Sun, 04 Aug 2024 21:27:04 GMT

Meeting Dominique: Completed! Now I'm working on editing, and considering a Kickstarter to pay for interior illustrations.
The Exchange Student: On hold while I try to firm up the plot in my head.
Someday Never Comes: Ditto.
Stealing the Phoenix: Just started. Plotting should be easier, since it's just Craig Thomas' cold war thriller Firefox, except with Gant being replaced by a female Chinese-American red panda.
Hydragon vs. Alinadar: Working title (obviously). Outlining. Mel and Rolas's out of favor teenaged daughter is exil--, er, sent to visit her aunts on Greenholme, just as the production team for the long running Hydragon vs. kaiju film series is getting ready to film on the foxen colony. Will their daughter learn personal responsibility and gain redemption? Will Ali's fangirling drive Salli up the wall? Will letting a hundred meter tall robot kaiju prop with a janky remote control system walk through a beach resort have any negative consequences? We'll find out!

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Conservatives Can't Stand Comedy

Sun, 28 Jul 2024 07:54:15 GMT

Okay, about the JD Vance couch thing.

Is it true? Likely not. Is it important to point, laugh, and make memes about it? Oh, hell yes. And here's why.

Here's the thing about modern conservatism. You can call them a bunch of monsters for their racism, misogyny, and degradation of the rule of law and voting rights, and they don't mind. Because like any abuser they revel in insults like that. It makes them feel powerful.

But MOCK them? Call them "Weird" or "Bizarre?" That they can't stand. Because THAT makes them look weak. Comedy is all about making fun of the disconnect between words and actions, and the entire conservative ethos of "Rules for Thee, Not for Me" paints a target on their backs for that kind of humor

You can't feel threatened when you're laughing at the guy making the threats. That's why TFG threatened to sue Saturday Night Live during his presidency, because their relentless mockery reminded everyone that not only didn't the Emperor wear any clothes, the tailoring was absolutely awful.

The proper response to being mocked is to laugh it off. "Let's go Brandon?" Here, Biden will sell you a t-shirt with the phrase and his laser eyes smiting his enemies. Obama sold coffee mugs with his birth certificate on it. Meanwhile the TFG threatens to jail comedians, because "humble" and "self-depreciation" aren't words in his vocabulary, and his massive ego demands that any insult be attacked, lest he be perceived as weak. Which in turn guarantees that the jokes will continue, because hey that guy *really* doesn't have a sense of humor, amirite?

Because at the end of the day, the Devil cannot abide being mocked.

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RVA: The Exchange Student, Chapter Three

Wed, 22 May 2024 11:08:45 GMT

( In which Willah is an Official Problem, and encouters a clash of ideals )

[2] Steven Miller [birth-death], eventually became head of NMC’s Theatrical Studies program, serving in that position for fifteen years. -Ed.

[3] Roughly: Human torsos are shorter, and their legs are longer than foxen. In addition, human pants lack the need to accommodate our much higher ankle joints, given their plantigrade stance. -BB

[4] Social Media is a concept that is difficult to explain within the restrictions of this narrative. Imagine ordinary Commoners having the ability to transmit information instantaneously and with the reach of a newspaper or wireless broadcast network, but with no filters to prevent the propagation of harmful or misleading ideas. As horrifying as the concept sounds, for the more academically minded that are interested in studying the concept, I suggest looking up Professor Colonel Angila Blackrock’s paper entitled Promise and Peril of New Means of Information Transmission, Green River Academic Press. -BB

[5] How little I knew at the time what this suggestion would lead to… -BB

[6] Suffice it to say at that point in her life Lt. Bookbinder was a product of her time. It would not be until the Library Wars some fifty years later that her attitude would change to a more open way of thought. -Ed

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RVA: The Exchange Student, Chapter Two

Tue, 21 May 2024 08:52:18 GMT

( Relevant points: I make several errors in judgement. I am welcomed by new friends.Read more... )

[2] Prior to the adoption of the Universal Stellar Credit system, “cash” on Motherhome was usually represented by small metallic polyhedrons, originally cast in precious metals, and later in sturdier and cheaper alloys. Their resemblance to the traditional dice used in human board and roleplaying games was cause for some amusement among early human visitors. -Ed

[3] The most accurate translations of the Mother Tongue and Arabic phrases are actually “I thought the idea was beautiful” and “I thought it was going to work” but we can forgive Lt. Bookbinder’s favoring the spirit over a strictly technical rendering of the phrases. -Ed

[4] Yes, I realize now that sundown in Houston meant the sun had set hours before in Westminster. In my defense I was genuinely beginning to panic, and the North American Union is ridiculously large compared to the Mother Country. -BB

[5] Translation: Success! Though there are several suspects among the Human Federation consulate on Foxen Prime and the crew of the Columbia, it has yet to be determined who taught Lt. Bookbinder to speak Klingon. -Ed.

[6] Though mostly superseded by more efficient reactionless thrust transport systems, for those interested in the subject, several maglev lines are maintained by transportation heritage groups on Humanity Prime, most notably by the North American Corridor Transportation Museum and the Trans-Pacific Railway Museum. -Ed.

[7] “States” in the vernacular of the North American Union are similar to a Mother Country district, though lacking the continuity of a ruling countess and her heirs. -BB

[8] Duels of honor were still legal, if uncommon, in the Mother Country at the time of Lt. Bookbinder’s journey to Humanity Prime, though the last was on [DATE], a good fifty years prior to them being outlawed. -Ed

[9] While (as far as scholars have been able to discover) Bookbinder was never formally instructed in Latin, no doubt she picked up the word whilst learning English. Please see the famous Nichols quote as to the reason why. -Ed

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RVA: The Exchange Student, Chapter One

Mon, 20 May 2024 09:20:03 GMT

Hi, I'm not dead.

Honestly I'd almost forgotten about my Dreamwidth account, but given the mess on certain other social media platforms I should post here more regularly. So here's the start of a little story I've been working on set in the early days of my RVA universe, inspired by cozy works like Travis Baldree's Legends & Lattes and more directly by rix_scaedu 's The Travels of Anadrasata Nearabhigan which I strongly recommend you support on her Patreon .

So without further ago, please enjoy The Exchange Student. And if you like this story, please consider supporting me on my own Patreon.

***

( In Which Our Heroine Arrives at an Alien World )

[2] Here we see a hint of why Bookbinder became such an extraordinary diplomat, and one of the driving forces in the creation of Galactic Basic. As her Mandarin teacher Pin Quinya noted during Bookbinder’s education, “She has a ferocious intellect when it comes to learning languages, even ones utterly lacking in cultural context to her own.” -Ed.

[3] To the Home of the Humans, by Alorain Greenfields is perhaps the most accessible primary source available in Galactic Basic. -Ed.

[4] 2.5 meters. -Ed

[5] “Dragons” are a race of beasts from human mythology. Though they seem to vary wildly in human culture, they are generally very large and very greedy. Which I fear is a pernicious insult to wazagans in general, as all the ones I met aboard the Columbia were of a generous nature, as you will soon discover in my narrative. -BB

[6] Captain, later Commodore Huy Nguyen (Birth-Death), was an experienced starship captain, and commanded the Columbia when it delivered the first Terran Confederation diplomatic team to Foxen Prime two years after Endeavour returned to Earth. -Ed.

[7] Viscount Shanang Blackfang (Birth-Death) eldest son of Countess Tanara Blackfang. He served as an assistant diplomatic attaché at the Motherhome Embassy in Geneva for next twenty years, eventually rising to the rank of Senior Ambassador the final two years of his Terran career. -Ed

[8] This was of course prior to the discovery of the Shinzen-Mohammad Principle, allowing the creation hyperspace beacons that permitted vastly improved superluminal navigation and dropout transitions much closer to planetary bodies. -Ed

[9] As was common in days before advanced superluminal drives and improved stellar navigation, Humanity Prime had several wazagan enclaves, small homesteads or neighborhoods where the accommodations were built sized to be comfortable for the larger aliens. Similar enclaves for humans near Wazaga Prime were confined to orbital space stations, as most humans avoided living on the surface due to Wazaga Prime’s high gravity. -Ed

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For Your Safety and Immersive Storytelling

Sat, 11 Jun 2022 23:49:40 GMT

So recently I've been watching THX 1138 and it got me to thinking about how to apply that film's immersive storytelling techniques to the For Your Safety universe.

For those of you who haven't seen it, THX 1138 is George Luca's other science-fiction world, first appearing as a short student film made when he was at UCLA, and then expanded into a feature film starring Robert Duvall and Donald Pleasance. Duvall play THX, a worker in an underground dystopia, where everyone is bald, most of them are drugged out of their minds, and laws are enforced by silver faced androids dressed like motorcycle cops.

There isn't much plot to the film. THX's roommate sabotages his supply of sedative pills, and shortly she's killed (offscreen) and THX finds himself in a white void of a prison, until he escapes with Pleasance, and eventually reaches the outside world at the climax. Not very different from a hundred similar films, except in the rather unique way Lucas films it.

If you're not young enough to remember when Star Wars came out for the first time, back when it wasn't even A New Hope, back when this single film was all that we knew of the Star Wars universe, it's hard to understand how weird this film was. Aside from the opening crawl nothing is established, and there's none of the "lore" which nerds like me spend entirely too much time arguing over. After the attack on Princess Leia's cruiser, for a good quarter hour the movie focuses on two robots, plopped into the middle of a desert, and coming upon Luke and his family. And we know next to nothing about the world. Who are those weird short people in the brown robes collecting junk? No idea. What's a moisture farmer? Ain't got a clue. Why is the milk blue? I'd rather not think about that one. But it sucks us in, because while we don't understand how this world works, the characters in it do, and we are willing to go along for the ride until makes sense.

THX 1138 works on the same principle, but it's for a 90 minute movie. Nothing is explained, no empires are toppled, there is no "Big Bad," but it's plainly obvious from the start that something has gone wrong in this place, and it's holding together only by inertia and the fact that everyone is too numb to do anything about it. Indeed, the one time a character physically confronts one of the cop androids, it topples right over without a fight. We're drawn in by the extraordinary sound and image montages, overwhelming the audience with information but offering no context, so all becomes a blur and we're swept along in film like THX is swept along by his circumstances.

And if For Your Safety ever became a film, I'd like it to be something like THX 1138. Explain nothing. Just show one character going through their day in a world that sorta makes sense, but is obviously alien in a way the character can't recognize but the audience can. Think how amazing it would be the first time a character casually walks outside, and the camera just pans past the Earth hanging nine times as large as the Moon in the sky, and no one but the audience realizes how wrong that is.

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Fanfic: Defenses

Wed, 22 Sep 2021 13:33:10 GMT

This was one of those Should Be Obvious facts, but SecUnits are not normally invited to parties. And SecUnits, especially rogue SecUnits with hacked governor modules, are rarely (as in “never”) made the guest of honor at a party. But this was Preservation, where are the humans and augmented humans are almost suicidally idealistic, and entirely too many of them think of me as a friend.

So here I was on Preservation Station, in a conference room crowded with too many people (okay six, including myself) with food and drink along a side table that I can’t consume, and several boxes wrapped in brightly colored paper which I was dreading having to open.

They even made me a cake. I don’t know why, they just did. It had “Congratulations, SecUnit” written in large letters on it. Below that in much smaller letters it said, “We know you don’t care, but we do.” I suspect Dr. Gurathin put that in. I don’t know.

It was a double occasion. One, I had finally been officially recognized as a citizen of the Preservation Alliance. Which meant I was, very legally, a person. Which meant if I went around doing my job (ie: murdering anyone threatening someone I was hired to protect) I could be arrested for it instead of broken down for spare parts. Oh, and I also had what passed for Preservation’s government backing me up, which was actually kind of nice. I don’t know, it was complicated.

The other occasion was that I was going to be leaving on a Preservation transport tomorrow to rendezvous with Perihelion, aka ART, and its crew, to help them on a “research project” which was totally about charting a supposedly empty star system, and definitely not about beating certain corporations trying contacting any abandoned corporate colonies there, making sure the colonies had paperwork showing they had always been legally independent, so they couldn’t be taken in and made involuntary employees of whatever corporation found them.

But just in case someone got mad about it, ART and its crew wanted me along. Because the only thing more dangerous than a SecUnit doing its job, was a rogue SecUnit that actually cared about doing its job right.

Anyway, the party was incredibly awkward as everyone made chit chat and tried to be friendly while simultaneously not making eye contact with me. I used the conference room’s cameras to keep track of everyone. Dr. Mensah was there of course, as was Ratthi, Gurathin, Pin-Lee, Arada, and Mensah’s daughter Amena. They all kept glancing at me, then glancing at the boxes, and then back to me, and it was enough that I was considering writing a program to give canned responses when anyone tried to talk to me so I could safely start watching an episode of The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon without being rude. Not that I cared about being rude. Ever.

After three subjective centuries and fifteen actual minutes, Dr. Mensah cleared her throat, and everyone started to quiet down. When the room was quiet, she began, “SecUnit, it goes without saying that we’re glad that you chose to join us here in Preservation. If you hadn’t been there for us, at the right moment in a time of crisis, everyone in this room would be dead, some of us several times over.” Which was true, but everyone knew that. I don’t know why she had to point it out. At least she left out the bits where I screwed up anyway.

“It’s even more impressive given the fact that you were often protecting us without the vital equipment you were designed to use,” Dr. Mensah went on. “With you leaving us shortly to travel with Perihelion, we would like to correct that.” She made a gesture towards the boxes.

I stood there frozen for a moment, until Dr. Gurathin popped in helpfully on the feed to state, You’re supposed to open them, idiot. There were three of them, two about the size of small shipping containers, and the other very large, about the size of a crate I would have been shipped in to one of my old assignments. I started with one of the smallest ones first. It was a box of two dozen surveillance drones, standard issue for any SecUnit. Except on just a visual scan I could see they weren’t standard issue. They were a unit design I’d never seen before. I wondered where Mensah had gotten them. Drones weren’t normally used on Preservation, and previously Dr Mensah has to specially order the ones I’d been using on the station.

The second box was an even bigger surprise. These were combat drones, another two dozen of them. Normally combat drones weren’t used by SecUnits, only by dedicated CombatSecUnits. And if surveillance drones were rare on Preservation, combat drones were unheard of.

“I know these must be a surprise to you,” Dr. Mensah said. “But given the sheer number of violent incidents you have been involved in, I thought it prudent you have to option to have them, if you needed them.”

“Both the surveillance and combat drones are unique designs,” Amena interjected. “They were all manufactured here on Preservation Station and have no corporate patented elements.”

“Most importantly the code controlling them was written by Pin-Lee and myself,” Dr Gurathin added. He sent a packet to me in the feed and I opened it. It was controlling software for both sets of drones, and as he’d said, none of it matched the standard architecture the company had used, or anything else I recognized. “I’m not going to say it will make them hack proof,” he continued, “But anyone trying to wrest control of your drones away from you would have a much more difficult job.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. I was having a serious emotion right now. Amena, Pin-Lee, and Gurathin had gone to a lot of trouble to build these drones for me. I could do my job without drones, but these would make it a lot easier. And knowing they were mine, built especially for me. Well…

This why I hate having emotions. My efficiency rating was dropping into the low 90’s and I wasn’t even being shot at. But the worst was yet to come.

“Open the big one!’ Amena demanded. So, I started pulling the wrapping paper off. I don’t why humans insisted on covering boxes with the stuff. It just opening them more difficult. I pulled the top off and…

Inside was armor. Nice, normal looking armor that any SecUnit would use. It was colored grey, with darker grey at the joints, and the design was again unique. It wasn’t company armor that was for sure. Company armor would be dinged up, scratched, obviously used and probably patched in areas a client wasn’t supposed to see. Company armor was cheap. This… wasn’t… It was brand new, shiny, and didn’t smell of dirt, blood and leaking fluids.

“Again, this is unique,” Ratthi explained. “For one thing, with your body’s modifications, you actually don’t fit standard SecUnit armor any more, or at least it wouldn’t be very comfortable for you. This set is custom fitted for your unique body type. Also it has several features that aren’t standard.”

“The armor is thicker by several millimeters than your old company armor,” Dr. Mensah said. “I’m told it was a tradeoff between maximum protection and running the risk of slowing down your reflexes. It’s most noticeable in the chest and back, and your helmet.”

“Given the number of times you’ve been whacked in the head and forced into an involuntary shutdown, that seemed like a good idea,” Gurathin added. Given it was Gurathin, that was said sarcastically, but I think he really meant it.

“The helmet has an enhanced senor suite to complement your drones,” Ratthi added. “In the back of armor is a small drone hive, which can recharge and repair your drones as needed, and can also be used to manufacture unique, mission specific modules for the combat drones, replacing their weapons with whatever you think you might need.”

“As you can see, there are no logos on it. Not even for Preservation,” Amena said. “We… we thought that would be important to you.” She went on, “It does have a programmable surface on it though. So, if you want to show off Preseration’s logo, or set it to a camouflage pattern, or whatever, you could.”

“It is important to me, yeah,” I said, before I could think better of it and keep my mouth shut. Yeah, I was having a big emotion right now, and I was hating it, even as I fought the urge to strip off my hooded jacket and put the armor on right now.

“Bear in mind this is a prototype,” Ratthi said. “Once you come back from your job with Perihelion I’m sure you’ll have a dozen suggestions for improving it.” He sent me the armor’s full specs on the feed. If I gave them to ART, I’m sure the big research ship could make me a brand-new set from its manufacturing unit. Though ART would probably also snark about how it could have made an even better design if I’d just asked it.

“There is one last thing,” Mensah said. “It would have to wait until your returned from your mission with Perihelion, but I thought it would be another gift you would appreciate.”

“What?” I asked. I hoped that I didn’t sound ungrateful. The drones alone would have been a gift I could never pay them back for. I couldn’t imagine what else they could give me when you included the armor.

“I have been talking with our engineering and medical personnel,” Mensah said. “I know that the company logo is something you hate intensely, to the point of editing it out of your memories. But it is part of you, literally etched into your structure.” She reached out to not quite touch my arm. “We can’t remove the logos in your structure, but we believe it would be possible to cover them. We would add a micro-millimeter layer over your existing structure, to erase the logos, to point they wouldn’t be visible even on a scanner.” Mensah paused then asked tentatively, “Would you like that?”

I… was having an emotion again. The biggest, worst emotion I’d felt since I thought ART had been murdered. Except it wasn’t bad, it was just overwhelming. I couldn’t answer her. I couldn’t even think. All I could do was watch as my performance rating freefalled as I stood there like an idiot, everyone staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

Then, one by one, Dr. Mensah, Ratthi, Ping-Lee, Gurathin, Arada, and finally Amena turned away from me to look at the walls, look at the useless food on the table, look at the armor, look at anything besides me.

Because they were my friends, and they knew I hated parties, and they knew I hated being stared at, and they knew especially how I hated having emotions. And that was okay because they understood.

It was still too much. I had to step outside into the hallway. After a few moments my performance level began to rise again, and I was able to ping Mensah and tell her, I’d like that.

Thank you, SecUnit,she replied over the feed. I’ll let everyone know. You don’t have to come back inside if you don’t want to.

I didn’t.

And that was okay. Because she and everyone else understood me.

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I Fought the Claw and the Claw Won now free on Amazon!

Mon, 01 Mar 2021 09:59:45 GMT

With "Stuck in the Middle with You" going live on March 6th, I'm offering the first story in Marty's misadventures "I Fought the Claw, and the Claw Won" for free on Amazon, beginning today and ending March 5th. Go grab yourself a copy today and spread the word.

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"Stuck in the Middle with You" is now available for pre-order!

Mon, 22 Feb 2021 08:53:46 GMT

"Stuck in the Middle with You" my latest Red Vixen Adventures story and a direct sequel to "I Fought the Claw, and the Claw Won" is now available for pre-order through Amazon.

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Cheesy Title Needed

Mon, 08 Feb 2021 23:58:10 GMT

Okay, so I've finished putting in my beta reader's corrections to my latest Marty Greycoat story, which had the working title Marty 2: The Search for Pants. Which was pretty lame and is supposed to be just a placeholder until I came up with something better.

The problem is the "Come up with something better" part.

My beta reader pointed out that the first story I Fought the Claw, and the Claw Won was a pun on the song title I Fought the Law, and the Law Won and was also related to the plot (which involved Marty taking on the Scarlet Claw and... er... losing.) 

So, another song related pun would work well. So far all I have is Smoke on the Station, a Fire in the Stars which works vaguely (the plot does involve tracking down a drug that can be smoked on a station.) but it isn't grabbing me. So any better ideas would be welcome.

Some plot points to consider.

Marty starts still indentured as he was at the end of the last story.
His "owner" is a Wazagan (a humanoid alien) who runs a brothel.
Alinadar and Sallivera show up.
Something is going on with the space station's owner, a feline alien.
Marty and Ali reluctantly team up to investigate. With Ali literally holding Marty's leash.
They find out about a drug smuggling ring.
The climax involves a great deal of water and electricity.
Marty admits he's a more responsible person than he wants to be.

Anyone got any ideas?

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The Max Headroom Rewatch: Blipverts, Part Two

Wed, 06 Jan 2021 01:48:25 GMT

We return to the show with Edison laid out unconscious in Bryce’s lab, with Grossberg laying out to Bryce that they need to know what Edison found out about the Blipvert incident. Bryce decides to use his new brainscanning technology to copy Edison’s neural network into a computer (don’t worry! He already tested it on his parrot!)

And onto the computer screen appears the one, the only M-M-Max HEADROOM!

“Is something going on with my ratings?” Max asks. “I seem to have an audience of two.”

Bryce quickly figures out that Max isn’t just a static copy of Edison’s memories, the construct is actually learning and reacting to his environment. The bad news is, this means they don’t need Edison anymore…

Grossberg contacts Breughel and Mahler, everyone’s handy cadaver picker-uppers, to haul Edison to the local body bank for disposal. They’ve already transporting the dead body of Edison’s old Controller, Gorman, but Breughel doesn’t mind. “It’s just a carryout. It’s on the way.”

(I don’t know why, but for an episode that’s built on black comedy to start with, Breughel’s utterly stoned delivery of that line is just the funniest/creepiest thing in the script.)

Breughel’s sang fiord is tested when he tries to get payment for dropping off Edison. Evidentially, even with him being a celebrity, he’s only worth an extra 20 points in credits.

Theora, searching frantically for Edison, finally gets a police report that Edison has been killed. Tracing him to the body bank, she talks to the night porter who’s quite agreeable to sell Theora Edison’s carcass. “You want him alive or dead, honey?” the porter asks.

“He’s alive?!”

Back at the Network 23 boardroom, Grossberg introduces Max to the board as “The first computer generated presenter.” The great news is, Max is charming, funny, and a ratings hit. The bad news, he’s still got Edison’s memories. Including the fact that Grossberg is responsible for the Blipvert program….

(after Max is introduced to the board of executives)

“Exec-exec… Oh, you’re the people who execute audiences!”

Edison wakes up in Theora’s apartment, which is very pink and for reason had a Studebaker parked in the corner. No one knows that she found him alive, so she agrees to guide him back into the building to try and get back the tape with the Blipvert info.

Edison gets in, and spots Max on Bryce’s monitor. After surprising Bryce and getting the low down on Max, Theora realizes they just have to get Max to recall the memory of Edison seeing the Blipvert death tape, and record it on Edison’s camera.

Meanwhile Grossberg is getting ready to hold a press conference to announce Edison’s untimely death to the public. While that’s going on, Murrary informs Ben Cheviot of Theora and Edison’s plan to reveal Blipverts to the world. Ben gives him an answer, and we see that he’s now sitting in the head of the board’s room, in Grossberg’s former position.

“What should I do, Mr. Cheviot?”

“Do what you have to, Murray.”

Grossberg begins his mealy mouthed eulogy praising Edison. Only to be interrupted as Edison barges in, camera giving a live feed to the world.

“This is Edison Carter, very much alive and direct, asking Chairman Grossberg about his knowledge of blipverts, and their dangerous and lethal effects.”

Cue Edison returning triumphantly to the news room to receive a round of applause and a hug from Theora. And Max appearing on screens through the wasteland surrounding the city…

NOTES

The plot mostly follows the original Twenty Minutes Into the Future tv-movie, but there are significant differences.

· The death of blipvert victim uses the footage from the tv-movie, but cuts away just as his body explodes, while we see bits of him flying everywhere in the original version.

· Edison escapes on his own from the body bank, and Theora finds him already in her apartment, where they end up making love. Thankfully this was cut from the Blipvert pilot ep, giving them a more professional relationship.

· Bryce Lynch’s characterization is softened quite a bit. In Twenty Minutes he was an outright sociopathic villain, not giving a damn about the blipvert death. Here, he comes across as, well, a 15 year old kid, more naïve than uncaring about the consequences of his actions.

· Blank Reg and his wife Dominique are nowhere to be found yet. In the original pilot they came into the possession of the case holding Max’s memory core and held onto it, implying they were the ones broadcasting The Max Headroom Show to the world.

Also in an interesting case of executive meddling, in the original broadcast of “Blipverts” Max has a little monolog as the credits start to roll, including the joke, “How can you tell when a network executive is lying? His lips move!” In subsequent broadcasts, the line was rerecorded to “How can you tell when OUR network executive is lying?” Evidentially someone at ABC wasn’t amused with the broad brush of the first line…

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The Max Headroom Rewatch: Blipverts, Part One

Tue, 05 Jan 2021 01:42:56 GMT

Got Shout Factory's Complete Max Headroom collection for Christmas, and I rewatched the first episode last night.

To put this show in perspective, the original 1985 pilot "Max Headroom: Twenty Minutes into the Future" was a Blade Runner-esque tv movie intended as Max's origin story, to explain why the Max Headroom music video show (remember those?) had a bizarre "computer generated presenter" (actually Matt Frewer in a latex prothesis on a CSO background).

From that came the Max Headroom series, which produced 14 episodes (only 12 of which aired in the original run) that ran on ABC in 1987. The first episode "Blipvert" was a remake of the original TV movie, again featuring Matt Frewer as intrepid reporter Edison Carter, Amanda Pays as Theora Jones his Controller (ie: Voice With An Internet Connection), and later episodes bringing back veteran character actor W. Morgan Sheppard as the over the hill punk Blank Reg.

So this show appears on a major TV network, in the middle of Ronald Reagan's 2nd term as president, satirizing network television in general and the rise of "Infotainment" and reality TV in particular, not to mention all those lovely corporations enjoying the fruits of Trickle Down economics.

And GOD it was weird. It was a cyberpunk black comedy that sounds like something only Netflix would greenlight. The fact that it appeared for even just a season on something like ABC was amazing.

Our story starts with Edison hosting his show "Edison Carter Live and Direct", carrying his own camera as he infiltrates an apartment building where Metrocops are investigating the violent death of man. Before Carter can interview the man's wife, she's sedated by the cops, and the someone at Network 23 orders the story pulled even as Edison is reporting it. Edison's current Controller, Gorman, kills Edison's feed, and Edison barely escapes with his life when the Metrocops realize he's no longer transmitting and start beating him.

Understandably pissed, Edison demands a new controller from Murray, the show's producer (a pre-Arrested Development Jeffrey Tambor). Murray finds him Theora, but warns him off pursuing the investigation, noting the order to spike Edison's story came from "Very high up."

Meanwhile, we discover the "Very High Up" is Network 23's current CEO Ned Grossberg, who is chairing a board meeting about the disastrous rollout of Blipverts, which caused the apartment dweller's death. Invented by Bryce Lunch, Network 23's resident kid genius, Blipverts stuff 30 seconds of advertising in just 3 seconds. With the unfortunate side effect of occasionally making particularly slothful viewers spontaneously explode, due to a build up of unused electrical nerve impulses in their body.

Board member Ben Ceviot thinks the blipverts should be pulled immediately, but that would cause a serious rift with 23's major advertising client the Zik Zak corporation. Another board member is dismissive of Ben's concerns, noting "The only people affected would be the poor, the sick, and the unemployed. I mean, who really cares?"

(subtle, this show is not)

Edison, ignoring Murray's advice, gets a lead when Theora infiltrates the security feeds inside Network 23's building, catching a conversation between Ceviot and Grossberg that guides him to Bryce's lab in the building's secret Floor 13. Edison gets into Bryce's lab and find the videotape (!) of the incident that was recorded by the camera in the apartment's TV (because of course it would have one).  After seeing the victim literally expand like a balloon and then explode (really pushing the boundaries of 80's broadcast TV) Edison is discovered by Bryce's lab security and has to run for it. After being chased all the way down to parking garage he steals a motorbike and tries to escape, only to crash. The last thing he sees is a vehicle barrier printed with the warning "MAX HEADROOM 2 METERS", just before he smashes right into it.

COMMERCIAL BREAK. TBC

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2020 Publishing Roundup

Fri, 01 Jan 2021 09:20:30 GMT

Okay, so 2020, aside from being a plague infested trash fire, was reasonably good for me writing wise. While my sales and overall profit took a significant dip compared to 2019, I had a couple more anthology publications, some free advertising courtesy of the Voice of Dog Podcast, and I finally published my long gestating Red Vixen prequel novel The Visitors.

Subtracting expenses, I made an overall profit of 222.11, which is a 1/3 drop from 2019's $333.15.

Notably, the only thing I self-published this year was The Visitors, which comprised approximately 30% of my total sales and 40% of my profit. As always it's a situation of "publish or perish" with my whatever my New Thing is being my biggest seller. Though that does prove I have a small but loyal fanbase that does look forward to my stuff. Notably my second biggest seller was The Complete Red Vixen Adventures which made about 20% of my overall profit, despite being several years old. It doesn't hurt that CRVA is also my thickest, and therefore most expensive, book. Also while The Rise of the Ring's sales dropped a lot, it still was in third place overall. Perhaps the most surprising drop was the two Prisoners books, which only sold two copies, despite being a significant part of my sales last year.

All told I sold 105 ebooks in 2020, compared to 155 last year, 2 paperbacks instead of 11 last year, 11,485 KENP pages read compared to 14,071, and 3 audiobooks compared to 8 in 2019. So much reduced, though I'm unsure if it's because of reader disinterest, or because of the general economic downturn due to COVID-19 reducing my readership's spending money.

Things accomplished:

1. "With One Hand Tied Behind His Back" published in Fanged Fiction's erotic anthology Give Yourself a Hand.

2. "Gently Kept" published in Thurston Howl Publication's Howloween erotic horror anthology.

3. Self-published The Visitors.

4. "At Prayer" and "To Catch the Lightning Part One" and "Part Two" read by Khaki on his Voice of Dog podcast.

5. Submitted "A Leopard Can't Change His Spots," a sequel to "Silence and Sword," for John Robey's The Reclamation Project: Year Two anthology.

5. Submitted "Snug and Tight" to Armoured Fox Press' Mamano Menagerie anthology.

Things in the Works:

1. Still working on "Marty 2: The Search for Pants" (working title!), my sequel to the RVA side story "I Fought the Claw, and the Claw Won." After sitting moribund for a while, I finally seem to have gained some momentum on this project, and I'm hoping to finish it and send it out to beta readers before the end of January.

2. Began work on an untitled Big Eyes, Small Mouth RPG supplement, to be published under their Open Gaming License. I intend this to be a mashup of the Red Vixen Adventures and For Your Safety universes, letting the Groupmind be the setting's big mystery, while the PC's fight space pirates, unscrupulous Kinis businessmammals, and help romantically tangled foxen.

This is going to be a big project, and I'm likely going to be running a small Kickstarter campaign once the manuscript is finished to pay for the illustrations, and so I can hire a proper copy editor and someone who knows typesetting better than I do to make sure it meets Dyskami Press's standards.

3. Untitled story for Thurston Howl's Furmiliar Spaces anthology. I'm signed up to provide a story for the "Beach" setting, though everything is still in the early planning stages.

4. At the encouragement of Thurston Howl, I submitted The Visitors and The Complete Red Vixen Adventures to The Furry Book Review for, er, a review. Hopefully they'll have something nice to say about them both.

Disappointments:

1. My Patreon. I lost several high value patrons, and I honestly can't blame them for ditching me, given I struggled to provide content for them. I'm still getting a few bucks a month, so I'm trying to keep it going, but it's never going to be a significant source of income.

2. Armoured Fox Press still hasn't completed editing on their Swordmasters anthology, where "To Catch the Lightning" awaits its formal debut. Given, well, 2020, I'll have to give Tarl some slack on this.

3. Also thanks to Covid, my hopes of having Tarl buy more of my paperbacks, especially The Visitors, to sell at AFP's table at the Fur, Eh? convention were dashed. Maybe I'll have better luck in 2021.

4. Reviews, or lack thereof. While The Furry Book Review has some kind words to say about the stories I had published in several anthologies, I've only gotten two reviews this year of my self-published works on Amazon. In particular I've received no reviews of The Visitors despite it being my best seller this year.

In Summary:

Overall, not my best year in terms of sales, but I've continued to publish on my own and have stories bought and published for anthologies. We'll see if I can improve things in 2021.

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RVA: In Her Lair, Conclusion (Mature)

Fri, 27 Nov 2020 08:52:24 GMT

This story originally appeared on my Patreon Page. Please consider supporting me there to see stories like this and other works at least 30 days in advance of the public.

***

Habebti led the vixen back to her office. There were three couches, one sized for Habebti, the others for smaller guests. Abstract tapestries hung from the walls, and thick carpeting softened the marble floor. The lighting was warm, encouraging intimate discussions. Habebti lay herself across her couch, while Leesa stood in the center of the room, keeping as much distance between herself and the tall wazagan as her leash permitted.

“Why are you here?” Habebti repreated.

“I told you…” Leesa started to say, then yelped as Hebebti flicked the leash once, making the cord around the vixen’s throat jiggle.

“You’re stalling,” Habebti said coolly. “You know what you want, but you’re afraid to say it aloud. You’re ashamed.”

“Yes…” Leesa whispered, eyes downcast.

( Dreams fuffilled )

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RVA: In Her Lair, Part One (Mature)

Thu, 26 Nov 2020 11:14:09 GMT

This story originally appeared on my Patreon page. Please consider supporting me there to see stories like this and other writings at least 30 days in advance of the public.

***

“Night” was an abstract concept at best aboard Darktail Station, as it floated in the void near a convenient nexus of hyperspace navigation points. The docks ran non-stop of course, but all of the Six Races generally were most comfortable with a defined cycle of rest and labor. Which is why everyone outside of the docks tended to follow a ten-twenty pattern, ten hours of work, twenty hours of rest, based on an average of the day-night cycles of the Prime homeworlds.

Given the services that Habebti’s Sophistications offered, it tended to work closer to a twenty-ten pattern, with enough shifts that none of Habebti’s boys and girls had to labor more than ten hours at a time. The nature of their work demanded that they be enthusiastic, not weary. As was her habit, Madame Habebti herself made her usual appearance in the early “evening,” after the doors had been open long enough for a nice grouping of customers to gather.

And there were so many customers these days. The shift from pirate outpost to legitimate shipping port had been rather eventful, but Sophistications had weathered it with patience. Not only had the number of customers increased, their attitudes had mellowed considerably compared to the older, rougher crowd.

So Habebti, dressed in her usual flowing white dress and heavy gold and emerald jewelry, accented by a pair of golden rope belts at her waist, had stepped into Sophistications’ public lounge. She was a striking figure, a Wazagan, with that draconic race’s height of nearly two and a half meters, her toned muscles flexing under a skin composed of thousands of tiny blue scales. Her thick curly hair was dyed green, to match her eyes and the emerald earrings she wore.

The boys and girls working the room all stood, even the ones attending to patrons, to give her a respectful bow as she lay herself on the lounge set on a raised dais at the back of the room. Habebti’s kingdom was small, but she was mistress of all she surveyed, and under her eyes it prospered.

( Discontent in the Kingdom )

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RVA: Foxen Martial Arts for GURPS

Sat, 14 Nov 2020 10:24:48 GMT

This article originally appeared on my Patreon Page. Please consider supporting me there to see other such articles and stories at least 30 days in advance of the public.

Fang and Claw

8 Points

Arguably the most violent martial art on Foxen Prime, fang and claw is a purely hand-to-hand combat system, utilizing a foxen’s natural weapons to attack their opponent, with an emphasis on targeting the face, particularly the eyes and ears. Usually an initial attack involves trying to partially blind an opponent, either by slashing with their paws or kicks to the face. Next the attacker will move for a grapple, in order to try and get in a biting attack on the throat.

Though variations on the basic system have been around almost before foxen civilization, the formal martial art was first codified only one hundred years prior to First Contact, used by Mother Country commandos when raiding Gerwart targets.

There isn’t much in the way a cinematic tradition for this martial art, though it’s common in entertainment media to portray practitioners as being able to maim or kill in one mighty blow, while taking massive damage themselves.

Skills: Judo, Karate.

Techniques: Aggressive Parry, Axe Kick, Back Kick, Counterattack, Ear Clap, Eye Poke, Eye Rake, Head Lock, Jump Kick, Kicking, Neck Snap, Uppercut, Wrench.

Cinematic Skills: Flying Leap, Immovable Stance, Power Blow.

Cinematic Techniques: Eye Pluck, Lethal Kick, Lethal Strike.

Optional Traits

Advantages: Combat Reflexes, Damage Resistance, Fit, Hard to Kill, Recovery.

Disadvantages: Bad Temper, Berserk, Bloodlust, Duty (military unit).

Skills: Body Language, Tactics.

Swordmastery

5 Points

Certainly one of the most romantic combat systems in foxen history, swordmastery was used by elite personal guards of the Mother Country countesses, who served as both bodyguards and intelligencers. It had been thought that the specific techniques had been lost to history, as swords became obsolescent with the invention of rapid-fire gunpowder weapons. However, a recent discovery in the Longlake District archives of a training manual written by one of the last of the swordmasters, has inspired historical reenactors to revive the system.

Swordmastery attempts to make its practitioner a one vixen army, using acrobatic rolls and tumbles to dodge attacks and get in close to a group of opponents, forcing them to hold their blows less they strike one their comrades. Typically, a swordmaster will engage one opponent their weapon, while using their free hand to punch or elbow strike other opponents out of the way.

The philosophy of swordmastery also makes a distinction between what constitutes an opponent worthy of lethal force, such as armed guards and soldiers, and opponents who are merely innocents doing their job, such as constables who only deserve disabling blows. This does tend to give swordmasters an “honor before reason” reputation, but whether that is historically accurate or merely the product of fanciful tales is up to much debate.

Cinematic depictions of swordmaster combat appeared almost as soon as the art was developed, usually involving more implausible acrobatics, such as Chambara style wall walking and chandelier swings.

Skills: Acrobatics, Brawling, Broadsword or Rapier,

Techniques: Acrobatic Stand, Bind Weapon, Breakfall, Close Combat, Counterattack, Disarming, Evade, Elbow Strike, Feint, Retain Weapon, Reverse Grip.

Cinematic Skills: Flying Leap, Immovable Stance, Power Blow.

Cinematic Techniques: Dual Weapon Attack

Optional Traits

Advantages: Combat Reflexes, Daredevil, Fit

Disadvantages: Code Against Killing: Cannot Harm Innocents, Code of Honor: Swordmaster (Only use lethal force against armed opponents)

Skills: Acting, Body Language, Detect Lies, Savior Faire (nobility), Tactics

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Sat, 14 Nov 2020 10:15:35 GMT

This article originally appeared on my Patreon page. Please consider supporting me there to see this and other items of interest at least 30 days in advance of the public.

Description: A middle-aged, statuesque wazagan female, 8’2” tall, 300 lbs. with dark blue scales, green eyes, and thick curly hair dyed green. Usually wearing flowing white dresses and heavy gold and emerald jewelry.

Background: Mistress Hebebti arrived on Darktail station some thirty years ago, and proceeded to set up Hebebti’s Sophistications, a remarkably elegant, clean, and discreet “personal entertainment” business. Holding court in Sophistication’s marble paneled and flower bedecked greeting chamber, Hebebti provides visitors with physical pleasures of all types. From massages both relaxing and erotic; to the heightening of the senses with food, drink, scent; and yes, pleasures of the flesh, Sophistications has something for all genders and species. Privacy and discretion are guaranteed.

That’s the public face of Sophistcations. Even more private and discreet is its use as a front for Mistress Habebti’s other career as an information broker. She has feelers not only throughout Darktail Station, but in several nearby solar systems, taking disparate threads of data and coming up with a remarkable picture of the political, social and financial landscapes. Even more remarkable is the fact that she does so without using her Sophistications employees as spies, taking notes when their clients are most vulnerable. Everything is on the entertainment side of things is kept clean and separate, the better not to put her “boys and girls” at risk.

Personality: In person, Habebti charming, sophisticated (ahem), and always happy to listen to someone’s troubles. Her habit of lounging draped across a couch tends to minimize her massive height advantage over non-wazagans. When she does stand up and make her presence known, however, people notice.

For someone with such a prominent reputation on Darktail Station, however, Madame Habebti is remarkably reticent about her past. Why she left Wazaga Prime remains a secret she isn’t selling, and there are clients who have offered a high price for it. What is known is that she very rarely leaves the station, or Sophistications, at all, even as rundown as it became in the days prior to House Darktail’s purchase.

Of course, the one remarkable thing about Habebti running a place like Sophistications is her complete disinterest in sex as the mammalian and Gliten species practice it. Which is why her business runs offers a wide variety of pleasures to be found aside from physical. Habebti greatly appreciates pleasure in general, in all of its forms. On occasion, she’ll even provide erotic services to valued clients personally, taking pleasure herself in how much pleasure she is able to provide for them.

That aside, Habebti takes motherly interest in keeping her employees happy, figuring that the happier her boys and girls are in their line of work, they happier they’ll make Sophistications’ patrons. Which is one reason why they were so rarely harassed back in the days that Darktail Station was a pirate trading post. Pirates who entered Habebti’s establishment to harass or hurt her employees were rapidly removed. Pirates captains who made a fuss about this tended to have quite unexpected, coincidental, and usually fatal encounters with their rival pirates or the Stellar Patrol.

Campaign Use: Habebti is set up to be both a valuable resource for GM’s wanting to give their players hints, and a minor mystery herself. Why did she leave Wazaga Prime? Why doesn’t she ever leave the station? What information could she have possibly had on the likes of Bloody Margo that even that monstrous pirate would leave her alone? Taking a good look at Habebti’s skill list should clue the GM in that the madame’s information gathering skills may have come from professional training. It’s not just coincidence that she’s bought off the wazagan Easy to Read disadvantage…

Skills-wise, Habebti is a charisma monster. Any PC attempting to charm her is in for an intense, if remarkable polite, battle. She’s unlikely to be persuaded to give anything up for just money. Providing her with equally valuable information in trade for what is being requested will open many doors however.

Attributes: ST 14 [36] (-10% for Size +1), DX 12 [40], IQ 12 [40], HT 13 [30]

Damage: Thrust 1d6, Swing: 2d6

Secondary Attributes: Size +1, HP 14 [0], Will 13 [5]. PER 13 [5], FP 13 [0], Basic Speed: 6 [5]. Basic Move: 7 [5].

Social: Beautiful Appearance [12], Comfortable Wealth [10], Fashion Sense [5], TL 9 [0], Culture: Wazagan [0], Human [1], Kinis [1]. Reputation: Smart Businesswoman (Darktail Station residents, all the time) +3 [5].

Languages: Arabic (native) [0], English (accented) [2], Galactic Basic (accented) [2], Kinis (accented) [2], Southern Wazini (native) [4].

Advantages: Acute Hearing/2 [4], Acute Vision/2 [4], Charisma/2 [10], Contacts (various, Skill 15) x3 [6], Double Jointed [15], DR 2 (tough skin) -40% [6], Empathy [15], Language Talent [10], Night Vision/2 [2], Peripheral Vision [15], Sharp Claws [5], Sharp Teeth [1], Voice [10].

Perks: Deep Sleeper [1], Penetrating Voice [1].

Disadvantages: Charitable [-15], Code of Honor: Madame (Never cheat or abuse customers or employees, maintain a safe and comfortable working environment) [-5], Dependent Group: Employees (friends, 25% of base, appear 12-) [-10], Extra Sleep/2 [-4], Pacifism (self-defense only) [-15], Phobia: Open Spaces [-10], Slow Riser [-5].

Quirks: Careful [-1], Prays daily [-1], Prefers to lounge, not sit [-1], Won’t speak of her past [-1].

Skills: Acting 14 [4]*, Administration 13 [4], Autohypnosis 12 [2], Carousing 15 [2]*, Connoisseur (tea) 11 [2], Connoisseur (singing) 11 [2], Current Affairs (business) 12 [2], Current Affairs (regional) 13 [4], Diplomacy 14 [8]* **, Erotic Art 18 [4]@, Escape 16 [2]@, Fast Talk 15 [2]* **, Flail/Cat o’ Nine Tails 12 [4], Hypnotism 11 [2], Intelligence Analysis 12 [4], Interrogation 13 [4], Intimidation 15 [2]* #, Knot Tying 14 [4], Leadership 15 [2]** %, Merchant 12 [2], Observation 14 [4], Performance 16 [4]* **, Professional Skill (Madame IQ/A) 14 [8], Savoir Faire (high society) 15 [4]%, Savoir Faire (mafia) 15 [4]%, Sex Appeal 20 [4]* **, Singing 15 [2]**, Streetwise 14 [2]*, Teaching 13 [4], Theology (the Faith) 12 [4], Whip 13 [4], Wrestling 12 [2].

* +1 for Smooth Operator, ** +2 for Voice, @ +5 for Double Jointed, # +1 for Size, % +2 for Charisma.

Point Total: 350

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So This Has Been a Good Day.

Sun, 08 Nov 2020 02:13:57 GMT

Let’s just bask in the schadenfreude for a moment, shall we? Trump, who spent months railing against the idea of mail in ballots, gets beaten because the other side embraced them. Republican legal reps tried to stop the count where it went against him, and in every single case, whether the judge be a Republican or Democratic appointee, threw them out as being without merit. Ending with Giuliani trying to stage a press conference at the Four Seasons Hotel, having it in the parking lot of the Four Seasons hardware store thanks to a colossal FUBAR, and then seeing the press drift away as news of Biden cinching the last electoral college votes came in.

Trump responds to the situation by retreating to the golf course for four hours, coming back to release yet another unhinged, all caps tweet, insisting the election was stolen, that he was the winner, that he’d been cheated. Because no one in his inner circle has had the guts to stand up to him yet and tell him that the unthinkable happened. That he’d lost

He is now the thing he despises the most.

A Loser.

[Jim Carrey Voice] LlllllllloooooOOOOooossssseeeerrrrrrr!!!!!

And yeah, I’m enjoying it right now. There’s going to be a lot of work to be done in the next 74 days to prep the Biden presidency, especially given the outgoing administration is probably busily deleting emails and incinerating papers even as we speak. But for now I’m basking in the victory.

Biden’s job is going to be difficult for the next few years, especially if the chips fail to fall the right way in GA and we don’t regain control of the Senate. But at least I can celebrate and look forward to the next four years, instead of weeping in despair.

And I’m sure Biden’s tweets won’t feature all caps and triple exclamation points…

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Feeling Much Better Now

Thu, 05 Nov 2020 08:36:32 GMT

Biden will likely cinch NV this morning, and looks to have GA and PA by the end of the week. Trump as usual is blustering and trying file legal actions, but his losses in MI and MN are by larger margins than his wins four years ago, and Chief Justice Roberts likely won't touch any of Trump's complaints with a 10 foot pole (Roberts is vile, but he at least tries not to tarnish the reputation of the Supreme Court.)

I wish the Democrats had taken back the Senate. With Moscow Mitch retaining his seat, the Senate is going to basically deadlock the Biden administration completely. But at least the repairs to Federal agencies can begin, and we'll have a competent administration handling the Covid 19 crisis.

Yes, I wanted a blowout that would repudiate Trump. He was elected on the strength of being blustering racist, who gave cover to other racists to publicly air their views. The only reason he won in 2016 is because our increasingly non-sensical Electoral College system allowed it. We did not get the repudiation that the Republican party deserved.

But we've won, and in a bit over two months Trump will be gone. For now that's enough.

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It's 4 AM

Wed, 04 Nov 2020 09:03:16 GMT

It’s almost 4 AM and I can’t sleep, I can’t stand this. It’s all boiling down to the write-in votes. It’s all boiling down to two counties in PA, if Biden loses WI and MI. It shouldn’t have been THIS damned close, this late.

If Trump wins again, I personally will not be affected much. I’m a cis white male in a heavily Democratic state. But I will be weeping anyway, for my gay friends and relatives, for my friends and co-workers of color, for my Chinese born daughter. For the rule of law, for America’s tarnished standing in the world.

For the idea that enough people looked at all the madness in the past four years, and said, “Yes, Trump is still our guy” and elected him again. Because they care more for hatred, anger, and self-aggrandizing ego than for someone who has a chance to bring stability and hope back to our nation.

In four more years my daughter will be of age to vote. And I’m terrified thinking what American will have sunk to when she finally gets the chance.

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Fic: Angelica, The Accident

Sat, 03 Oct 2020 16:58:38 GMT

Dommes are human too.

This story originally appeared on my Patreon page. Please consider supporting me there to see this and other stories at least 30 days in advance of the public

It was an accident, but try telling Angelica that.

It was a late fall weekend. Temperatures were going to be in the low fifties, with clear, sunny skies. Perfect biking weather, especially if you were a pair of pervs like Angie and me.

Which was why before hopping onto the back of her Harley, Angie made me dress for the weather. In my case that meant a one-piece black leather biker suit, heavy leather boots, leather gloves, and a full-face helmet. Standing still in it I’d sweat to death inside five minutes. Get up to speed on Angie’s bike with a sixty mile per hour breeze and it was more than comfortable. Angelica was dressed similarly, except she wore separate leather pants and jacket, and a t-shirt I’d gotten for her birthday with “If you can read this, my husband fell off” printed on the back.

Which she never wore again.

Angie was the daughter of Cuban exiles, and drove a Harley, a forty-year-old Electra Glide that she’d bought from her uncle, which she kept in mint condition. After myself, it was her most prized possession, which somehow made what happened all that much worse. I got into my usual position, snugged in tight behind her, arms around Angelica’s waist, as she revved the bike’s engine. The we peeled out of our driveway and onto the road, heading towards our favorite back roads that ran along the Appalachians near our home.

It was a beautiful day. The leaves were turning, bursting in reds, oranges, and browns, as we zoomed along the old state route, almost empty of traffic since the new highway was built. It was getting on to about noon, and I could tell Angie was getting hungry, because she was edging up past the speed limit as we neared the mom and pop restaurant we usually grabbed a bite from along this route.

So we were doing about fifty-five, ten miles above the posted speed limit, when I felt my thoughts begin to drift. That wasn’t so bad. Having the Harley humming between my legs as I held onto Angie’s waist was plenty to distract me.

It was when I felt my arms and legs begin to tremble that I realized, too late, that I was in trouble. I’d taken my medication this morning before we’d begun our ride, and I was due another dose at lunchtime, but that didn’t help now as the seizure started. As I tried to raise my arm to tap Angie’s helmet in a signal to pull over, I felt my grip slacken completely and I fell off the Harley onto the pavement.

My one saving grace was that I was pretty much boneless at that point. My shoulder hit the asphalt and I was suddenly tumbling across the road, my helmet’s faceplate bouncing once against the ground as I rolled, until I came to a rest face up. I heard the Harley’s tires squealing faintly through my ringing ears, and a moment later Angie’s face entered my field of view, distorted through the cracked plexiglass of my helmet. She pulled her own helmet off, her long curly black hair falling across her shoulders, her tanned face looking sick with fear.

“Oh, shit,” she breathed. “Baby, can you hear me?” She reached down, fingers touching my helmet briefly as if to remove it, before she thought better of it. Instead she flipped the faceplate up and asked, “Seizure?”

“Yah,” I managed to get out. She nodded and reached into the inner pocket of her jacket, pulling out my bottle of emergency solutabs. She slipped one between my teeth, then yanked out of her phone to dial 911, giving her name, badge number, and a quick description of our location and my physical description.

“Where’s it hurt worst?” she asked, hanging on the phone with the dispatcher.

“Right shoulder,” I said, the seizure easing. They rarely lasted more than two minutes, but Christ they hit hard when they did.

“Can you move your toes?” Angie demanded.

“Yeah,” I replied. “And my fingers.” I raised my left arm to demonstrate, but she pushed it back down.

“No moving!” she ordered. “Or I fucking cuff your good arm.”

“Think it’s a sprain, not broken,” I huffed. “Doesn’t hurt much worse than when we’re doing impact play.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“That’s what the helmet is for,” I pointed out.

“Don’t. Fucking. Argue with me,” Angie breathed, tears running down her face. She gritted her teeth and spat out, “That’s an order.”

I shut up then, my fingers intertwining with Angie’s as we waited for the ambulance. It got to us in 10 minutes, which wasn’t bad given how far off the beaten track we were, but Angie was cursing every minute it took.

Things went quickly after that. The EMTs arrived and got a cervical collar around my neck before easing my helmet off and getting me onto a stretcher. Then Angie followed the ambulance on her bike as I was taken to the county hospital for x-rays. By the time we got out it was past seven in the evening. One of Angie’s biker buddies had answered her emergency call and arrived with his pickup truck, to carry her Harley with us as he drove us back to our house.

I sat in the back seat with Angie, my sprained arm in a sling, leaning up against her as we drive through the darkness. Her arm was wrapped around my waist, her face pressed against my cheek.

“Sorry,” she whispered into my ear.

“For what?” I asked, a bit loopy from the painkillers I’d been given.

“Should have pulled over earlier to make sure you could take your meds,” Angie said.

“It wasn’t time yet. I thought I was okay,” I replied. “I’ll have to talk to my doctor tomorrow about upping my dosage.”

Angie frowned, and she tightened her grip on me. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” she asked.

“It could have been a one-time thing,” I countered.

“You weren’t dosing as high as you are now when we graduated college,” Angie noted.

“No,” I admitted. “But anti-seizure meds are getting better all the time. I may just have to switch to a new prescription. Let’s not borrow trouble, huh?”

Angie frowned again as I tossed one of her favorite phrases back at her. Stronger and more confident than I ever could be, she rarely let things in life worry her. Today was one hell of an exception. “Fine,” she agreed. “But from now on, you don’t ride with me.”

“What?” I shifted in my seat so I could look her in the face. “No!”

“If you fell once, you could do it again,” Angie said firmly. “No more bike rides for you.”

“Angie, come on,” I said. “I love riding in the country with you.”

“And I love riding with you,” she replied. “But I like you being alive and in one piece a lot more. I’ll sell the Electra Glide and buy myself, I don’t know, a hatchback or something.”

“You, driving a hatchback?” I asked in disbelief. Tall and leggy, I doubted she’d even fit in one. “You’re not getting rid of your bike.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, esclavo,” she warned.

Now it was my turn to frown, as I spared a glance at the beefy biker dude sitting in the driver’s seat. Angelica normally only called me that when we were at home, conscious of not freaking out the neighbors. Yes, she was my mistress and I was her happy slave, but we didn’t flaunt that part of our relationship in public, and as she pointed numerous times, I wasn’t her doormat either.

“Look, there are alternatives,” I pointed out. “We can get helmets with wireless headsets so we can talk to each other more easily.”

“Not good enough,” Angie said.

“You could cuff my wrists around your waist, so I’d be sure not to fall off,” I said, half joking.

“That wouldn’t stop your feet from slipping off the pegs, and then you’d fall over the side and drag me with you. Then we’d both be taking an uncontrolled spill with maybe 800 pounds of motorbike falling on top of us,” she pointed out. “Don’t be an idiota.”

“I’m not an idiot,” I said, “and you can’t lock me in a box filled with pillows either.”

“I’m not, I’m not…” Angelica let go of me for a moment, clutching her frazzled, helmet sweaty hair. “I’m just scared.”

“I know,” I told her.

That was when the dam broke, and all the suppressed terror she’d held back released itself, and as she sobbed into my shoulder. Angelica was my dominant, but she was my wife too. Sometimes it was my turn to be strong.

I took hold of her hand, giving it a squeeze. Her hard grip in return was just short of breaking bones, but I didn’t flinch. “I’m not going anywhere,” I told her. “Maybe I’m not as healthy or as strong as you, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not after I leash you in the house,” she muttered, easing her clutch on my fingers to wipe her eyes.

“There’s a solution,” I teased.

Angie snorted a laugh. “You’d like that too much,” she accused. After a moment, she sighed and said, “I’m going to miss riding my bike.”

“You could ride by yourself,” I pointed out.

“Too lonely,” she objected.

“Or with your biker buddies.”

“They aren’t the ones I want to ride with,” Angie declared.

I thought for a moment. “Well, there’s one other thing we could do,” I told her.

It took two weeks to find a used sidecar that fit Angie’s bike. Harley Davidson stopped making them when trikes became popular. But that weekend we drove out again, me sitting safely in my seat beside Angie, close enough to reach up and squeeze her hand.

It was a compromise, but it worked.

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