#Tensioned Netting Solutions

[mtandtgroup-blog]

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Discover cutting-edge construction netting systems, including safety netting, engineered for high-rise projects. Explore our innovative WEB Net® solutions. As a high-rise construction netting system, typical deployments of WEB Net® would be construction projects, the underside of bridges, pipe racks, conveyor systems and associated infrastructure. surface preparation and coating application, masonry & concrete repairs, pipe-work installation, and inspection.

[catsteeth]

Turn Your Cloak - Pt. 3 (parts 1 and 2) FINALE

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x reader 

+:✿ Request ✿:+ 

Request: “Humbly requesting Benjicot and Velaryon Fem Reader. Benjicot, ever the romantic, manages to attack and 💀 Aemond and as a gift, he brings reader (and by extension, rhaenyra and Jace) his head. Honestly I just need to see Benjicot turning into Bloody Ben and Reader matching his freak. Feel free to add whatever else you want (smut is welcomed but not required)” CW: MDNI, drunk sex, p in v sex, unprotected, afab reader, alcohol consumption, mention of arranged marriage, canon typical violence, mention of death, war.  A/N: You said smut welcomed and I threw a welcome home party. 

Word Count: 11K

The threat of war loomed closer, and the tension in the air grew more and more with each passing day. 

You grew so anxious you could not sit still. Pacing the floors of your chamber all day and night long. 

You tried your hardest to find a solution that somehow no one had thought of yet. Perhaps if you thought long enough on it you’d find it. But of course, you couldn’t. The only solution you could find, and all the members of your mother's council could conjure was one. 

War.

In a council meeting many months ago, you sat beside your betrothed as your mother heard the advice of the lords within her cabinet. 

Lord Corlys had thought of a plan. Daemon would set out on Caraxes toward Harrenhal. His departure would be publicly announced to scatter all squatters who remained there during his absence. Aemond wanted Daemon dead more than any other of the Blacks. Should Daemon fall dead, all the lords who backed Rheanyra would turn their cloaks out of fear. So Lord Corlys would give Aemond the opportunity he wanted. But the real plot would be that Lord Corlys would lead a troop of men from Dragonstone to Harrenhall in secret as battles raged on in surrounding territories. 

But they would not waste their occupation of the Riverlands. Whilst they would have men near the surrounding forestation of Harrenhal, they would have their troops scatter the Riverlands, while leaving Harrenhal seemingly unoccupied. They would wage brutal and vengeful battles across the Riverlands whilst they waited for any sign of Vhagar near Harrenhal.

Once Vhagar was seen, the troop would take advantage of the tree's coverage and use hooks, arrows, weighted nets, and catapults to bring the beast down. Reinforcement from Hugh and Ulf would be used to aid in the killing of Vhagar. Once it was done, Aemond would be executed for his crimes. 

Without Vhagar and the Prince Consort, the Greens would be lost. King’s Landing and the realm would be in the hands of the rightful Queen Rheanyra. 

The council decided it was their best option. 

You wanted to volunteer your effort, volunteer your dragon. But, you remembered how Benjicot got onto his knees and begged you to simply consider otherwise. If he begged you to simply consider it, you didn’t want to know how he would react if you did enter battle. So you sat silently in the council chamber. Simply acknowledging that the plan was a good one and the best one you had. 

So, your grandfather began gathering his best men for the troop. Many were of his own ship crew, many rivermen, many northern. But the one man who you cared for the most was Benjicot. He volunteered almost immediately once he had the chance to. 

You weren’t thrilled with his choice you were nearly devastated. But, you remembered what he said to you. 

“I’ll go to war. Kill every green I see. I’ll roar and rampage in the name of your revenge.” His eyes were wide, he was desperate, “I’ll bring Kings Landing to your feet.” He vowed to you, “I’ll never command you to do anything, never forbid you to do anything. I’ll give you my own sword to ride your beast into battle. But, I keep thinking of it. Being in battle and looking up to see you overhead on your beast. I am overcome with pride and admiration but should the greens shoot you down, or Vhagar prevails- I have to beg you selfishly. You’re the only woman I want, the only one I’ve ever loved, the only one I’ll ever love. If you are harmed, or worse I will burn all of Westeros to its soil and me with it.”

You knew this was necessary for him. To protect you, to attempt to heal you. This was what he wanted, what he needed. 

So reluctantly you sent him off to battle with a lock of your hair, your favor, and a kiss. 

He was marching toward arrows, swords, blood, and fire and yet he was the happiest he’d ever been. He was not nervous, for he knew if he kept you in his heart he would prevail. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The days since Ben had left were long and torturous. Your only solace was his letters that he sent to you. 

His letters were romantic and gentle. Each would detail little of the war, he didn’t want you to know all that he was doing. He feared it would scare you. But you found out through the reports of the troop's progression through the Riverlands. A complete opposite of his own letters.

Benjicot surprised everyone in the troop, especially your Grandsire. He wrote to your mother and her council of his brutality. The sounds of Ben’s war cry was comparable to a hysterical laugh. One that struck fear in his enemy. It was clear he had no fear in him as his unpredictable and brutal fighting. He alone had more confirmed deaths than the rest of his troop combined. He was often covered in a mixture of dry and fresh blood. His sword and his body never tired of bloodshed. 

It was only in one letter that he did hint at his bloodlust. The last letter he wrote to you. 

𝕸𝖞 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊, 

𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖆𝖘 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓. 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗, 𝕴 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖙𝖔 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊, 𝕴 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖊 “𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕭𝖊𝖓”. 𝕴𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗. 𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝕴 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖉, 𝕴 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕾𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖞 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊. 𝖀𝖓𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙, 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖞 𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘.

𝕸𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊. 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕴 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗. 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖈𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊. 𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖓𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑, 𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖎𝖙. 𝕴𝖋 𝖓𝖔𝖙, 𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌.

𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖘𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖑𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖘 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚, 𝕴 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕴𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘. 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖔 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉. 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖑𝖞 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖕 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖜 𝖉𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖉𝖎𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉. 

𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖎𝖙, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝕴 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖆 𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗. 𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖔 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕴𝖋 𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖎𝖊, 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖜𝖊’𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗, 𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊. 𝕴𝖋 𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖎𝖊, 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉, 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉. 

𝕬𝖛𝖞 𝖏𝖔𝖗𝖗ā𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖓 (I love you)

𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 & 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗, 

𝕭𝖊𝖓���𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖙 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

His words haunted you. His devotion touched you but his admission of his mortality shook you. 

Since he had left things at Dragonstone became more and more complicated. The dragon seeds had made off with Seasmoke and Vermithor. Leaving your plan in a compromising position. As you sat at your mother's council table you ignored the words of the lords who sat around it with you. You toyed with your fingers as you were lost in thought of Ben. You interrupted whatever conversation was being had as you asked, “Any news of the Lord Corlys’s men?” You asked finally bringing your attention back to the council, “They’ve been making progress toward Harenhall, has there been any news in regards to Vhagar?” You clarified.

Your mother looked at you with sympathetic eyes and nodded to the maester. The maester looked to you, “Nothing concrete, Princess.” He said with a shake of his head. 

“Rumors then?” You said picking apart his words confidently. 

“Plenty.” He nodded, “Though it is not wise to heed to them.”

Before he could continue to speak of something else, you spoke again, “I am too young to be wise.” 

The maester silently debated whether he should or should not tell you the truth. “Some of the men rumored it… Vhagar has been seen near Harenhall.” 

Your eyes widened in shock. “This seems like a rumor to heed mind to!” You said as you sat up in your seat. 

Your mother raised a hand to you to calm you, “Lord Corlys has not seen it. Nor has Benjicot, or I suspect he would have written such news to you.” 

“Some soldiers report seeing merely an end of a tail, or the smell of dragon. The sleep-deprived and frightened mind can think up such things.” The maester said in an attempt to ease your mind though it did the opposite. 

You scoffed, “Or perhaps these men have seen such things, perhaps they have smelt dragon.”

“We know nothing yet.” Your mother said dismissively. You knew she was blinded by her want to protect you and Jacaerys. But you also knew you were now their last hope at taking on Vhagar and preserving your plan.

“And yet we have too much to risk. Daemon’s dragon is just one.” You said nearly pleading for her to open her eyes, “You must let me ride out Mother.” 

“No.” She said quickly with a dismissive shake of her head. 

“Mother!” You nearly shouted, regaining her attention and silencing the rest of the men at that table. “We are out of options.” You said standing, “Send me to Daemon. Vaghar cannot take two dragons at once.” You placed your hands on the table and leaned towards her, “He has taken my brother, my grandmother, I will not let him take my husband.” You shook your head slowly and maintained your eye contact with her. “I won’t let him take victory.” 

Rheanyra felt her eyes tearing up. She knew you were right but she couldn’t allow herself to admit it. “What then? You’ll fly out on Silverwing and face Vhagar as Arrax did?”

“Yes.” You nodded confidently, “Lucerys was not ready. Aemond took advantage of his youth and inexperience.” You looked at her with confident and strong eyes, “I am ready.” You said with a nod, “Without Vhagar, the Greens are lost. You cannot afford to lose Caraxies.” A silence hung in the air for a nearly uncomfortable time. The lords at the table did not dare offer their advice in either direction. They knew better than to come between a mother and daughter dragon. Soon, reluctantly and hesitantly Rhaenyra nodded though she immediately regretted it. “I’ll show you what loyalty looks like.” You said as you pushed yourself away from the table and marched out of the chamber doors. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Thousands of miles away, Benjicot sat at a table in a tavern within the Riverlands. He wrote on a piece of parchment, being sure to keep his words hidden from the drunken men around him. He was writing to you, of course. 

“Oi, Bloody Ben!” A rowdy soldier called out toward Ben. 

Ben folded the paper and shoved it into his shirt. He looked toward the man at the bar, “Aye?”

The man approached him with two women in his arms, “I’m paying,” He said with a drunken smile, “What say you? Which lass you take?” He asked as he looked over at the women with a lustful grin. 

Ben huffed, “Fuck you.” He said with a tired scowl. 

The man looked at Ben with an angry gaze, “The fucks your problem-” 

Before the man could finish the strong hand of Lord Corlys took hold of the man’s shoulder. “The Lord of Ravenhall is a loyal man.” He said as he pushed the man away with a single shove. Lord Corlys looked toward Ben, “I respect that.” He then looked toward the barkeep “A round of brown ale for me and the Blackwood.” He commanded and the barkeep nodded. 

Ben stood out of respect, “Lord Corlys-”

Lord Corlys did not pay attention to this, he simply raised a hand for Ben to sit as he sat across from him. “My granddaughter is restless in Dragonstone,” Ben said, immediately and completely consumed by his words. He had heard nothing of how you were. Only from the letters that you sent and he knew you would not tell him all of your worries. “She wonders and paces the halls waiting for ravens from you.” 

Ben sighed with heartache, “I write every moment I am granted.” He wished he could have done more. He looked up to Lord Corlys, “Is she safe?” He asked with desperation. 

“Of course.” He said quickly, “She worries for you endlessly.” He said as the ale was sat on their table and he began to drink. 

“I wish she wouldn’t,” Ben said shaking his head, ignoring the ale. 

“She has requested to ride out on Silverwing to relieve our troop's efforts,” Corlys said, somewhat curious as to how Ben would respond.  Ben’s eyes widened for a moment as he looked at Corlys. “How does that make you feel?” He asked bringing the cup of ale back to his lips. 

Ben thought for a moment, “I’ll never prevent her from what she wishes.” He then shook his head, “Though I wish she’d keep safe.” 

“As do I,” Corlys said. He could see Ben’s anxiety through his words. “But Silverwing is a large and formidable beast.” He said trying to ease Ben’s anxieties, “Larger than Moon Dancer, Vermax, Syrax, Caraxies, Seasmoke, Maelys-”

“But not larger than Vhagar.” Ben interrupted. He was imagining his worst fears. 

Corlys sat his cup down and leaned toward Ben, “Aemond is overly confident in his abilities. He is not as talented a rider as he claims.” Ben looked at Corlys taking in all his words, “Vhagar is too large a beast to hold a true hold of. It fights as an animal does.” He sat back in his seat, “My granddaughter has a true hold of her beast. She is a talented rider, and she is clever. Aemond is hardly clever.” He shook his head, “She will not run into a battle she won’t win simply because hotter blood prevailed over her better judgment.” 

Ben sat in silence for a moment, “She’s mentioned nothing of flying out in our letters.” He was trying to brush off Lord Corlys's well-informed words for rumors. 

“Well, she’s not been granted permission by the Queen.” Little did he know, you now did. “Though her council has been pushing her to. And armor has been made for her.” Ben felt his heart sink into his stomach, “She didn’t lie to you, just didn’t tell you. She probably wishes for you not to worry.” 

Ben’s eyes fell onto the floor, then returned to Corlys. He had the same predatory gaze he had on the battlefield, “I’ll not allow a man to bring harm to her.” He said darkly. 

Corlys sighed weakly, he could see the devotion he once had for his late wife in Ben’s eyes. Though he could even see that Ben’s devotion seemed even stronger. He knew if something were to happen to you, not even the Gods would be able to heal whatever damage Ben would bring. “We are men who love our family. But Believe me.” He warned, “You cannot stop what other men wish to do.” Ben knew of what Corlys spoke of. “And you cannot stop your wife from doing what she wishes to do. Our wives were born with fire in their hearts.” 

“I know.” Ben nodded, “I love that fire, but it-”

“Infurates you.” Corlys said with experience, “I know.” He nodded with a smile. Finally, Corlys took hold of his cup of ale and stood, “My granddaughter cares for you deeply- loves you. Do not allow me to find you with a whore.” He said as he left Ben at the table. 

“Never,” Ben said with a shake of his head.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben continued to worry for you just as you continued to worry for him. 

You sent a letter to the Riverlands, to Ben’s encampment. You told him you would be flying out into battle. You had to be honest with him though you worried how it would affect him. 

He would have appreciated it, though the letter never arrived. 

Since you were enrolled in your mother's war, the battles in the Riverlands grew heavier. 

In the Riverlands, Benjicot roared and rampaged with bloody satisfaction. Killing and slaughtering tens, of hundreds, of thousands of men. Laughing and enjoying each fatal swing of his sword. 

In Dragonstone, Your armor was being readied, polished, and finely tuned. As you waited for the silversmiths to fit you into your armor, you sought out Silverwing. 

The dragon keepers placed an armored saddle and chains onto Silverwing. As they did the weight of what you were flying into sank in. You may never see this home again, you may never fly on Silverwing again. 

Your mother's eyes were filled with concern and sorrow. She did not wish to sacrifice another child for the crown. “Māzigon arlī naejot nyke. (Return to me safely.)” She spoke to you softly as she held your face in her hands. 

She found the sight of you alone to bring pain. She could not bring herself to stop you, but could not stay any longer. She turned away, painfully and reluctantly. 

You turned back to Silverwing. You smiled softly at the silver beast. Even if you died in battle, at least you died with her. Bonded for life and death. You ran your hand along her snout, “Īlon vīlībagon hēnkirī, uēpa riña. (We fight together, old girl.)” You said with a melancholy tone. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The Greens had brought more and more knights to the Riverlands. 

Ben thought he had killed the last of them as he stood up from the battlefield covered in blood. He looked at the horizon as he saw more green banners coming their way. “Green cunts.” Benjicot swore through gritted teeth and lowered harsh eyes as he stared at the coming knights. “Kill them all!” He declared before raising his sword and running head-on into the frye.  

As he ran in his sword diced through men like tallow, laughing and roaring all the while. 

However, it was becoming clear that their troop was quickly becoming overwhelmed. Ben didn’t let up. 

As he saw some black soldiers giving into exhaustion he grabbed hold of their collars pulled them up and threw them back into the battle.

Suddenly Ben’s bloody focus was disturbed. Benjicot could feel a pull of his heart. As though it were directing him to something. 

His intuition would be proven correct when he heard a fellow man shout, “Dragon!” 

The battle nearly fell silent. Eerie and still, as all looked above and saw the shadow of a large beast above the clouds. 

The Greens and Blacks alike waited in anticipation and fear. Would this dragon be salvation or death? 

As the dragon began descending towards the battlefield at an alarmingly fast pace, it was clear who it was. 

“Silverwing Above!” A knight shouted, “It’s the Princess!” Another shouted. 

All ducked and coward as you dived low near the ground, getting as close as you could to the battle while staying airborne.

Ben’s eyes instinctually found you in the sky. And as you flew past his eyes he saw you for a brief moment and yet he captured your image in enormous detail. 

You on top of your armored beast flew forward clad in armor that gleamed like forged moonlight. The breastplate was a masterpiece of polished silver and steel, etched with ornate marine patterns and crowned with a three-headed dragon motif that seemed to radiate power and authority.

The pauldrons jutted backward, adorned with razor-edged fins that gave the appearance of wings. Jagged and sharp, they seemed designed to evoke intimidation as much as protection. Underneath your pauldrons and over your shoulders, a cape of fine, interwoven links of chainmail glinted with every movement. Its texture was as fluid as a stream, softening the harsh precision of the armor. The belt at your waist bore a fishtailed dragon. 

The helm was a crowning glory, a sculptural marvel with its aerodynamic curves and horn-like crests that rose defiantly from the crown. Its silvered steel sculpted to mirror the fierce elegance of a dragon. Silverwing in fact, the Helmet was made to resemble the beast. The crown of the helm arched upward and backward into two long, curved horns that spiraled back like the crest and horns of the beast, Slender slits for the eyes hid your gaze, imbuing the figure with an aura of mystery and menace. Though your eyes were hardly visible, Ben could have sworn your eyes bore into his soul. 

Along the sides of the helmet, delicate filigree hinted at the visage of the predatory beast, its essence captured in cold steel. With an aura of predatory grace. It was not merely a piece of armor—it was a testament to the bond between knight and beast, a symbol of the strength and majesty they shared. It was a statement, you were not a dragon seed but the dragon. The dragon to which each Green should fear. 

The Greens scattered as Silverwing's nasally roar crackled through the air like thunder.

“Dracarys!” You commanded confidently. 

Silverwing obeyed with no hesitation. Her flames enveloped hundreds of Greens within minutes. 

Benjicot stood in amazement as he watched you. His eyes then looked onto the carnage that you brought. The bodies had turned in ash and clay just before his own eyes. Ben let out another laugh as he began swinging his sword again. 

“Your princess has joined you in battle!” Ben shouted with pride and adoration as he motivated the men, “Any man who lets her down dies by my hand!” He shouted once more before diving back into the frye. 

You heard a familiar screeching roar. 

As you looked over your shoulder you saw Caraxiess. With Daemon, your stepfather atop of him. 

You knew now was the time to follow your plan. 

“Ruaragon. (Hide)” You commanded. Silverwing dodged any of Vhagars attempted assaults as she flew up into the clouds. She took advantage of the thickest clouds, blending into the grey and silvers of them. Silverwing was a talkative dragon. She often purred or chirped as she flew, but never when she hid. It was a trick you had taught Silverwing for battle. She was a breeding dragon, not fighting class. Or so that’s what the dragon keepers told you. So you took it upon yourself to teach her. 

You looked down beneath the clouds to see Vhagar. Finally, you thought. You felt the anger rise in your stomach. “Nābēmagon. (Attack)”  You said with some hesitation. 

Silverwing dove rapidly through the clouds and flew over the head of Vhagar. As she circled back you could see the shocked expression on Aemonds face. 

Silverwing’s jaws clamped down onto the wing of Vhagar. Tearing her already damaged wings. 

Vhagar roared and attempted to spew fire at you and Silverwing. 

It made Ben gasp, and nearly lose his focus, but you managed to dodge the attack immediately. 

You watch as Caraxes took hold of Vhagars throat, but it wasn’t enough to kill the large beast. 

As you circled back once more, you knew you had only one option, “Jikagon syt se ȳrgos! (Go for the neck!)” You shouted, 

Silverwing’s jaw clamped onto Vhagar’s throat. Hot blood poured out of its wounds and fell upon the soldiers below. Burning them, greens and blacks alike. 

You held on as tightly as you could to your saddle as Silverwing’s talons clawed at the sternum of Vhagar, piercing its heart. 

As Vhagar fell limp in Silverwing’s jaws, she released its lifeless body. As did Caraxes. 

You and Daemon watched as Vhagar’s body fell into the lake below. 

You breathed heavily and petted Silverwings scales as she breathed exhaustedly. “Gīda, gīda riña...  Sȳrī gaomagon. (Steady, steady girl… Well done.)” You praised her as she flew on, taking in the sudden peace. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

What you nor Daemon saw was that Aemond did not perish in the fall. 

Vhagars body met the water before Aemond. He has untethered himself to Vhagar and swam to the shore quickly. 

The only person to have noticed through all the chaos was Ben. 

He chuckled to himself as he followed after him. He wasn’t going to allow him to survive. 

He killed thousands of greens, thousands of men just to fill the hole that Aemond left in you. He couldn’t let the man who brought such pain to you and your family live. 

Benjicot went into the forest after Aemond. He walked for what seemed like hours into the surrounding woods. Soon however he found what he was looking for.

A mournful Aemond sitting by a small stream. 

Aemond looked over his shoulder to see Ben standing there. Looking at him with the eyes of a predator. “You found me,” Aemond said tiredly, slightly irritated, and without fear. 

Benjicot remained silent for a nearly uncomfortable amount of time. Just staring at the man with dark and low eyes. “Do you know who I am?“ Ben finally spoke. His mind was running rampant with ideas of how he would draw as much pain out of the arrogant one-eyed prince. 

Aemond’s eye trained over Ben’s face as though he were looking through him. It didn’t take much to figure out who he was. Ben was covered in blood, more blood than any other knight on the battlefield. “You are betrothed to my bastard niece.” 

Ben took steps closer to Aemond, his eyes low. Staring at him as if he were a wolf spotting prey. “I am betrothed to the Princess of Dragonstone.” His voice was harsh and deep.

“Another whore of Dragonstone,” Aemond spoke cooly and calmly. His words sent hot rage through Ben’s already scolding hot blood. His eyes did not lighten, they remained dark and hateful. “An exciting prospect for a lord of a small and meaningless house I would wager. A chance at power.” Aemond stood on his tired legs and turned to Benjicot. “All you have to do is marry a bastard.”

Ben’s expression didn’t shift, stayed as hard as it was before. “You took something from her.” He said as his grip on his sword tightened. Aemond noticed the blood-covered sword in his hand. “Something you can’t give back.” 

His eye went from the sword in Ben’s hand to Ben’s dangerous gaze. “Is that why you’re here? You want to prove your worth to an illegitimate half-breed?” Aemond’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. 

“I’m not proving anything.” Ben shook his head slowly, “I want you dead because I have seen the pain you’ve brought to her.” He took a few more steps forward, biting his tongue out of anger, “And your words do not serve you well.” 

Aemond smirked slightly, “I am the prince, son of Viserys Targaryen.” He said as he withdrew his sword, making Ben grasp his tighter and move into a defensive stance. “I care nothing of that bastard's pain.”

Ben chuckled lowly, “You are no true prince. Craven cunt.” His laugh faded and his eyes returned to bloodlust, “I want you for myself.”

“Craven cunt?” Aemond questioned, “And yet- you fight for a bastard’s cunt.” Aemond said with amusement. 

With his vulgar remark toward you and your sex, Ben raised his sword toward him. Sneering at Aemond as he did so. 

The clash of steel echoed across the forest, punctuated by the sharp hiss of labored breaths. Ben’s bloody longsword flashed in the dim light, arcing through the misty air toward Aemond Targaryen, who met the blow with the cold precision of one who had honed his craft to a deadly art. Sparks leaped as their blades met, the force of the collision reverberating through their arms.

Ben pressed forward, his strikes wild, unpredictable, but purposeful, fueled by the searing fire of grief and vengeance. His footwork was aggressive, his movements as much a storm as the one that had claimed Lucerys Velaryon. 

Aemond moved like a shadow, his single eye gleaming with cruel calculation. His swordsmanship was a thing of grace and cruelty combined—every parry and riposte was a lesson in control. He danced around Ben’s fury, exploiting the openings left by raw emotion, testing him with feints and punishing counters.

The fight churned across the uneven ground, boots kicking up loose soil and grass. Ben’s blade grazed Aemond’s shoulder, tearing fabric and drawing a thin line of crimson. “That’s for her tears,” Ben said. 

Aemond retaliated in kind, his blade carving through the air toward Ben’s ribs. Ben twisted away, barely avoiding the fatal blow, his chainmail ringing out as the sword glanced off it.

They circled each other like wolves, each looking for the moment of weakness that would tip the scales. Ben feinted a low swing, then brought his blade upward in a desperate arc. Aemond was faster, stepping to the side and slashing at Ben’s thigh. The blow struck true, and Ben faltered, a growl of pain escaping him as blood darkened his leg.

But Ben did not stop.

Ben lunged with renewed ferocity, his sword crashing into Aemond’s with such force that both men staggered. The Targaryen’s smirk twisted into a grimace as he was driven back, his boots skidding on the wet grass. Ben pressed the attack, his movements now fueled by sheer willpower, his injured leg threatening to buckle with each step.

Aemond stepped inside Ben’s guard, their swords locking, the screech of steel-on-steel cutting through the air. Aemond twisted, forcing Ben’s blade aside, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to be still.

Then Ben’s superior strength prevailed as he pivoted, his off-hand clutching a dagger pulled from his belt. “For her heartache,” Ben said through gritted teeth as the blade darted upward toward Aemond’s neck, narrowly missing the prince’s jugular. The blade was lodged halfway up into Aemonds jaw nearly piercing into his mouth. 

As he pulled away Aemond retaliated with a savage thrust, his sword piercing through Ben’s side, the blade slick with blood as it withdrew. “For my annoyance,” Aemond said, blood trickling out of his mouth. 

Aemond grasped the underside of his jaw, attempting to stop the heavy bleeding of his wound. 

Ben dropped to one knee, his vision swimming, but his gaze locked onto Aemond’s. Even in defeat, his eyes were defiant, a refusal to let his fury die with him. 

To Aemond’s surprise, Ben stood again. He fought with all his might, with all his love. 

The two men stood in silence, both equally damaged. Breathing heavily, in an attempt to regain whatever energy they could. 

All that could be heard was the sounds of the small stream flowing down the hillside. 

Ben’s eyes looked at Aemond, filled with anger and vengeance. “Come at me,” Ben hissed, raising his sword at Aemond once more, “With everything you have.” He sneered, his voice was wavering, but it was still deep and harsh. 

Aemond smirked despite the blood pouring from his neck, a grim mask of arrogance and malice. He steadied himself, raising his sword once more, but his movements were slower now, his footing less sure. Ben noticed the subtle shifts in his opponent’s stance, the faint tremor in his grip. Aemond was faltering, even if he refused to admit it.

Ben's injured leg screamed in protest as he stepped forward, forcing himself to ignore the pain. "I said come at me!" he growled, his voice carrying over the rush of the nearby stream. 

Aemond lunged, his blade flashing toward Ben’s chest. But this time, Ben was ready. He sidestepped, using the momentum of his dodge to pivot behind Aemond. Before the prince could recover, Ben swung his longsword in a brutal arc, the edge slicing across Aemond's back. Aemond cried out, his voice a mix of fury and pain, as he staggered forward, blood soaking his tunic.

Ben didn’t let up. He closed the distance, his sword coming down in a powerful overhead strike. Aemond raised his blade to block, but his strength was waning. The clash of steel reverberated again, but this time, Ben’s strike forced Aemond’s sword from his hand, sending it clattering to the ground.

Aemond fell to his knees, his breaths ragged, blood dripping from his wounds. His single eye glared up at Ben, defiant to the last. "Do it, then," he spat, his voice hoarse. "Prove yourself."

Ben’s chest heaved as he stood over Aemond, his sword poised to strike. For a moment vengeance—pressed down on him. 

“For my wife,” Ben whispered. With a swift, decisive motion, he drove his sword into Aemond’s chest, the blade piercing through armor, flesh, and bone. Aemond gasped, his defiance crumbling into shock as his body went limp and fell to the soft ground.

Ben pulled the sword free, the weight of his vengeance lifting slightly but leaving behind a hollowness he couldn’t yet name. Aemond collapsed to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him. 

But, once more, fury ran through his blood. 

Ben swung his sword down once more onto Aemond’s neck. Decapitating the one-eyed prince. 

Ben staggered back, dropping to one knee as the exhaustion and pain overcame him. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood. But he was alive. Against all odds, he had survived.

The stream whispered in the silence that followed, carrying away the echoes of their battle. Ben lifted his gaze to the sky.

In the distance, Ben would hear Silverwing’s nasally chirping. He smiled softly, and then, with the last of his strength, he rose to his feet, grabbed Aemond’s head by his long silver head, and began the walk back to the encampment. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Meanwhile, the war had come to a halt. Greens were lost, and the Blacks had prevailed. 

While men combed the fields for their dead, you combed with them in a desperate attempt to find Ben.  

“If he’s not here, are we to believe he coward away?” Daemon asked Lord Corlys as the men continued their search.

“He’d never do such a thing!” You said defensively. “Ben has never proven to be craven.” 

“Then where is he?” Daemon questioned pointedly. 

“We better direct our attention to Aemond.” Lord Corlys said. 

You huffed and rolled your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about such a thing. All you could care about was Ben. “Where is he?” Corlys continued.

“At the bottom of the lake with the ugly beast.” Daemon with an irritated sigh.

“Or perhaps they are both closer than we think,” Corlys said as he looked across the field.

Confused you turned to see what Corlys saw.

That's when you saw it. Ben, was bloodied and sweaty. His hand clinging to his wounded side. His other hand, dragging along the severed head of Aemond Targaryen. 

You turned around to see him stumbling weakening across the battletorn field. “Ben?” You asked as though you couldn’t believe your eyes. Pure disbelief. 

“Fire,” Ben said painfully and exhausted but he’d never felt such relief to see you alive. 

His words verified that you were not seeing a vision, but he was real, “Ben-” You said as you began running toward him. 

“I’m bloodied-” Ben said, not wanting to frighten you. 

You shook your head as you continued running toward him, “I like you bloodied-” You wrapped your arms around his neck and began kissing his bloodied cheeks frantically. You’d never been so happy, “The Gods are real!” You said with a smile as you held his tired and bloody face in your hands. 

Ben’s dirty and bloody hands held your face in return, “Let me look at you-” Ben said, his eyes heavy and his voice hoarse. He took in the vision of you. Shiny and chrome, dangerous and graceful, a warrior and a princess. “I have waited so long to look at you.” He said before wincing in pain, 

You looked down at Ben’s wounds. “You’re hurt.” You said. Though the blood that was his and the blood that was not was hard to distinguish between, It was a foolishly late realization.

Ben smiled weakly at you, his eyes still soaking in the sight of you, “I can’t bring myself to care right now.” He said despite beginning to collapse to the ground. His body gave in to the pain and blood loss. 

You pointed to a squire, “You- Get the maester!” You demanded. You dropped to the soil, holding Ben closely. You ran your hand through his dark hair, attempting to keep him awake, “I’m not leaving you.”

Ben still had a smile on his face as his eyes finally shut. 

As he did, your heart pounded, your tears welled and fell from your eyes. And Silverwing let out a roar so loud it shattered every window left in Harrenhal. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben was taken to the Maesters in Harrenhal.

You lay there beside Benjicot as he lay there motionless and wheezing. You held his hand as you looked up at him with desperate eyes. Desperate for him to make a noise, any kind of sound at all besides the sounds of labored breathing. 

You washed his exposed skin with a rag soaked in warm water. You were sure to speak to him, read to him, and you even sang to him. He always loved to hear you sing to yourself, you caught him eavesdropping on you many times. 

It was memories like that that made you hold out hope for him.

Finally, one day, as you laid cuddled into his side. Your hand resting on his chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath. You heard a sound, “Mmm..” Ben finally let out a noise as his eyes began to flutter open.

You looked up at him, then finally sat up and held his face, “I’m here, I’m right here. I will be right here.” You said as if you were cooing a child. 

Ben’s eyes finally steadied, he looked at you with longing eyes, “You flew.” He spoke weakly.

You exhaled sharply, and shook your head “I am sorry.” You closed your eyes and looked down in shame, “I know you did not want for me to see battle, but I could not sit by while you faced Vhagar alone.” You stammered. 

He squeezed your hand tightly, “You’re the bravest woman I have ever met.” You finally looked back to him, “I’ve missed you.” “When I saw you in that sky I thought I’d died, gone to the heavens.”

“You nearly did.” You said placing a gentle hand on his bandaged side, “We’ve been here for a day and a night.” He took notice of how you said ‘we’, and he placed a hand on your cheek. You looked at him, your eyes inspected his face. His eyes looked nothing like the man you saw two days ago carrying your uncle's head. “You killed Aemond.” You said with a strange lightness, your eyes lighting up and the corners of your mouth threatening to lift into a smile as you thought of his head Ben carried. 

Ben however didn’t hide his pleasure. The corner of his mouth pulled to a smirk as he spoke, “I never promise things I can’t keep.”

You felt adornment rush through your body, making you smile as you looked at him. You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I’ve missed you so.” 

You kissed his lips, the first kiss you’d shared since he departed. Ben’s lips were hungry, wanting more and more of you. 

You stifled a giggle as you lifted off of him and got off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Ben asked, almost whining. You looked back at him as you walked toward the pot hanging on top of the flames in the fireplace.

“Nowhere,” You said as you poured a bowl of stew you had ready for this very moment, “You must eat.” As you sat by his bedside once again, you said, “We need you well-rested for your trip home.” Holding a spoonful of the stew to his lips. To which he gladly ate after days of nothing but war.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You stayed with Benjicot in Harrenhal until he was well enough for the ship to return to Dragonstone. Never leaving his side.

By the time you had returned, the war was fought and won. It was easy enough without Vhagar and Aemond. 

When you stepped foot on the island you could hear the voice of your mother calling out to you.

“(Y/N)?” Your mother called out, looking at you as if you might be a mirage, “(Y/N)!” Rhaenyra shouted as she saw you approaching. She rushed toward you.

Your mother tightly wrapped her arms around you, “I am fine.” You said trying to calm her.

“Your grace,” Benjicot said, redirecting Rhaenyra’s attention. “The realm is yours.” He said with a stern demeanor that spoke of devotion.

As he spoke, a squire held out a wooden chest. Rhaenyra looked at it curiously, “What is this?” She asked approaching it. 

“I have brought you Aemond Targaryen,” Ben said, in some way attempting to warn her. 

Rhaenyra looked at Ben with suspicious eyes. 

As she opened the box, her expression seemed stone-like. 

She looked at the sight with a mix of emotions. All of which were sudden and overwhelming. As she looked upon the brutality before her, the memory of her son, Lucerys, rose unbidden—his laughter, his earnest eyes, the boyish joy he had brought to a mother’s weary heart. And then the vision shifted, darkened, to that fateful day when Arrax had fallen, torn asunder in the stormy skies over Storm’s End. A part of her whispered that she should rejoice. Her son's death was avenged. Aemond’s dragonfire was extinguished, and with it, one of her bitterest enemies. But Rhaenyra found no solace in vengeance.

Her voice cracked, raw with grief and fury. “Aemond’s death is but a hollow victory. Blood spilled for blood, and still, the price is never paid in full.” Rhaenyra gathered herself quickly. “You have served me and the realm well. Done for us an invaluable service.” She spoke to the two of you. Trying her best to sound as enthusiastic as she could. But for Rhaenyra, there was no justice in it. Only a strange hollowness. 

Rhaenyra closed the chest. 

She turned to you with a somber smile, holding you by your shoulders, finding her true victory in the sight of her child safe and alive. The queen would feel her emotions coming onto her again. So she smiled once more at her daughter before taking her leave inside the castle.

Jacaerys walked toward the chest, opening it once more for a brief moment before shutting it. Aemond’s face and sapphire eye were engraved into Jacaery’s mind. And now, it was before him once more, lifeless and still. He felt a dark satisfaction unfurl in his chest, a cold flame that burned brighter with every heartbeat. He then stepped toward Benjicot, “A grizzly display of loyalty.” He said with a stoic tone. Jace then nodded, “But a display nonetheless.” 

Jace gave Ben a firm nod, a bow of his head, before he too followed after his mother.

Ben looked at you, and you smiled at him. 

You took Ben’s arm under your own, guiding him into the Castle and allowing him to lean on you. “I believe he accepts you.”  You spoke softly to him with a girlish smile

Ben stifled a chuckle through his nose, “I only want him to know my intentions with you are honest.” He said with a sweetness unbefitting of a brutal warrior as he. 

You huffed as you and he passed the threshold of the castle, “You needn’t prove anything.” You said defensively in his honor. 

As you guided him to his chamber you looked at his tired and weakened body. It made you feel an even more tender adoration for him. 

Once you had arrived at his chamber door, Ben was hesitant to go in and rest. He stood there refusing to let go of your hand. You smiled as you looked at him and sighed, “You must rest.” You said softly as you ran your fingertips through his hair lightly. 

Ben shook his head, “My body might be fucked but my eyes are not. I have waited too long to be with you.” He was always stubborn. 

You looked down the hall to see if anyone was there, when you saw you were alone you pulled Ben in close and kissed his lips. He was again- hesitant to let go, trying to taste as much of you as he could. “Rest.” You insisted, pushing his back playfully. “You must be well enough. Do not forget to have a wedding to attend in a fortnight.” You said before slipping from his grasp. 

Ben watched as you walked down the hall. Smirking, he bit his lip as you looked back at him once more. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben did indeed rest and was well come that fortnight. 

The wedding would be remembered by all who attended. 

The skies above Driftmark were streaked with hues of fiery red and deep violet as the sun descended, bathing High Tide in a glow as resplendent as the day’s occasion. It was a union of houses steeped in ancient Valyrian tradition, yet now bound to the Riverlands by the presence of Benjicot. The ceremony itself took place beneath a grand arch fashioned from driftwood, bleached white by years of sea and sun, entwined with silver ivy and pale fire blossoms from Dragonstone. A brazier of Dragonfire burned at its center. 

Benjicot stood at the end of the aisle, his heart pounding beneath his chest as though it sought to break free and meet you before you could take a single step closer. The young lord had faced death more times than he could count during the war fought in your name, had led men into battle with your image burned into his mind—a guiding star, his unwavering purpose amidst the chaos. Yet, here, in the stillness of this sacred moment, he felt a fear far greater than anything he’d ever felt.

Would you know the depth of his devotion? Could you see it in the way his dark eyes followed your every movement, in the reverent stillness of his hands as they gripped the pommel of his sword? He had fought for you, bled for you, and yet it was your love—freely given, not won on the battlefield—that had undone him completely.

The veil cascaded over your crown like delicate waves, woven from the finest lace and embroidered with a constellation of pearls. Each raw pearl gleamed softly, their iridescence catching the light as though imbued with whispers of sacred devotion. Marine motifs swirled intricately through the fabric, threads flowing like seaweed of ivory and blue silver. The veil seemed alive, a tender masterpiece that wrapped her in a reverent glow, as if shielding her in the quiet embrace of centuries-old tradition. It framed her face with a serene beauty, a living ode to the grace and purity of the sea.

The gown was spectral and a relic of an ancient past, its ivory lace flowing with an ethereal grace. The bodice, structured yet soft, embraced the form with regal elegance, while the long sleeves and cascading skirt swept downward, pooling into a train that seemed to melt into the floor. The accompanying veil draped over your head, mirroring the gown's delicate intricacy, its lace and pearls shimmering faintly in the muted light. Together, they conjured an image of timeless romance, a fleeting glimpse of a bride from a bygone era, suspended in eternal reverence.

Your beauty inspired great emotion in a brutal and merciless man like Benjicot. He felt tears beginning to well in his eyes as he looked at you. You were the most beautiful woman- no- the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You were more beautiful than even his dreams dared to conjure. His throat tightened, and for a fleeting moment, he doubted whether he was worthy of you— You a woman of Valyrian blood and otherworldly grace who had chosen him, a mortal man tied to the soil and shadow of the riverlands.

As you stepped toward Ben and the Septon, you smiled at Ben, who smiled back. He sniffled and attempted to hide his tears.

Ben took you by the hand, as you both looked at one another. When she reached him, and they stood face to face, Benjicot felt a strange, overwhelming calm. Your hand slipped into his, cool and soft as a sea breeze, and with your touch, he found his home. No words passed between them as the Septon began to speak the ancient rites, yet he felt as though they were speaking volumes. His love for you surged within him, fierce and boundless, as he swore silently to himself that no harm would ever come to you, not while he still drew breath.

Ben’s gaze did not stray from you as the Septon began to speak, “You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” 

To which, Ben did without hesitation. The black of his cloak contrasted beautifully with the ivory of your gown. 

Though you’d not take the name Blackwood, you’d take him as a Husband. That was all he needed in this life.

The Septon continued, “We stand here, in the sight of the Gods and men. In thanks and praise, to join two souls as one. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” Your eyes drifted from the fire to Ben’s gaze. “Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Hear now their words. Look upon one another and say the words.” Your eyes never left one another's hold.

You spoke your vows, softly, earnestly. You wanted him to know you meant every word. “I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days, whatever may come.”

And Ben recited his, “I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days, whatever may come.” Ben’s grasp on your hand tightened for a moment. His other hand held your cheek gently and he looked upon you with loving and caring eyes. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” His vow was not mere words. They were words spoken for centuries by a million men in a million different ways. But his were sacred and were heavy with duty and honor. 

You tried your best to hold in your tires, “And I take you as my lord and husband.” Your voice was soft, gentle, and weakened from emotion. 

“And I take you as my princess and wife.” He looked into your eyes, his voice steady as he repeated the vows, but beneath the surface, his body was filled with fire. 

The High Valyrian rite began, you and he both placed your hands above the brazier’s flame, uniting fire and flesh in a silent pledge of courage and loyalty. Then, in Velaryon tradition, a vial of seawater was poured over their clasped hands, 

“Se perzys zaldrīzoti se iēdar hen embar, ivestragī bisa sagon. (By the fire of dragons and the waters of the sea, let this union be eternal.)” The septon recited. “Then in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim you both, man and wife. Vala se ābrazȳrys, mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se syt ry jēdaone, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who seek to tear them asunder..” 

He was hers entirely, and for the first time in his life, Benjicot felt that he had found his place. The love between you and him was so profound no one, not even the Gods could touch it.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

The wedding feast was a spectacle to rival the ceremony. Tables laden with exotic Valyrian delicacies sat beside platters of hearty Riverlands fare, symbolizing the joining of your two worlds. Roast swan stuffed with figs and honey, spiced eel pies, and bowls of dark red wine were served alongside savory venison and blackberries.

Ben held you tightly as you and he danced around the Driftmark throne room. Ben looked at you adoringly, “Have I told you how breathtaking you look?” He asked sweetly. 

You giggled girlishly, “Every hour it seems.” You said as he spun you around the floor.

Ben’s eyes trailed over your body, “I damn well better ‘ave.” He said with a lustful grin making you blush. 

Ben danced you around the ballroom floor. As though he was proudly displaying you. You stifled another giggle and rested your head on his shoulder, “I don’t want this to end.” You said softly.

Ben ran his hand over your head, and hair, “It won’t.” He whispered in your ear, “I’m right here. I will be right here.” You raised your head from his shoulder and looked at him, realizing he recited the words you spoke to him as he woke in Harrenhal. 

“Pardon my intrusion.” Lord Corlys’s deep voice cut through the dreaminess of that moment, making you quickly realize his presence. Ben seemed as startled by his presence as you did. “No intrusion, my Lord,” Ben said loosening his intimate hold on you in the presence of your Grandsire.

Lord Corlys smiled pleasantly to Ben, “May I have a dance with my granddaughter.” 

Ben smiled in return and nodded, “Of course.” 

As your hand abandoned his and placed in your Grandsire’s hand, Ben spoke, “I want ‘er back.” He said in jest before leaving the two of you to speak privately. 

Corlys amused by jest smiled as he turned his attention to you, “He is a good lad.” He said confidently, “He stayed loyal and steadfast the whole of the war.” 

Your thoughts turned to the ones you had during those months of isolation, “The Gods blessed us by returning you and him safe.” You said with a still heavy heart from those days of waiting for letters and news. 

Corlys smiled down upon you warmly, “Your father would be proud of you. So would your grandmother.” 

“I wish they were here.” You said with a melancholy smile.

He sighed in return, “You have so much of your grandmother in you. Fire and blood.” As he spoke, you looked down. Feeling once again displaced. But he could see through that. Your grandsire held your chin up high as he spoke once more. “And salt and sea.” 

Your smile returned to you, “Thank you, Grandsire.”

As the sun set and stars began to glimmer, dragons circled overhead, their cries echoing across the sea. A grand pyre was lit on the beach, and as its flames soared skyward, Benjicot and his Velaryon bride danced beneath the stars. The music of pipes and harps wove a spellbinding melody, and the laughter of their guests mingled with the roar of the sea.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once the night had slowed to a halt, Benjicot wasted not a moment.

The two of you, fairly drunk from honey wine, rushed off to your now shared chamber. 

Benjicot caught up to your pace, and picked you up, carrying you the rest of the way to your chambers. 

You couldn’t help but giggle and laugh as he kicked the door to the chamber open. 

You threw off your long and beautiful veil, too drunk to care what happened to it. 

As Ben set you down you felt his strong hands wrap around your waist tightly, and his nose trail against your skin. Along your shoulder to your neck, breathing in your sent. “Benny.” You said in a breathless whisper.

You could feel the heat from his breath on your skin. “No man on the battlefield would call me that,” Ben said softly into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin. You could hear the smile on his face.

“No.” Your hand tangled in his hair as you felt his kisses grow more and more desperate against your skin, “Out there you’re Bloody Ben.” You whispered seductively, “But I am your woman and In here, you’re my husband.” 

His lips abandoned your skin, and he took off your chin making you look at him, “I’m always your husband. Bloody or not.”

You smirked at him, “Don’t forget that.” You said with a sweetly seductive tone.

Ben’s brows narrowed, “How could I?” He asked, looking into your eyes, yearning, “You’re beautiful.” He said shaking his head.

You shook your head and stifled a laugh, “You’re drunk.” You said dismissively as you removed yourself from his grasp. 

Ben grabbed hold of you once more. You giggled and squirmed, enjoying the feeling of being at his mercy. He placed you onto the bed and loomed over you. “And you are beautiful,” Ben said as he looked at your face admiring each and every bit of you.

“Benny?” You asked softly,

“Yes?” He responded, playing with the fabric of your delicate dress.

You took hold of his hand, “Will you tell me something honest?”

He looked at you a bit more seriously, “Always.”

You looked down, unsure of how to ask what you wanted to do, “I’ve heard vulgar rumors of war camps.” Benjicot looked at you, intrigued as to what you were going to say next, “Women throw themselves at knights and soldiers.” You looked up at him, “You were gone for so long, I’d not hold it against you if-”

“No.” Ben interrupted you, “No, I did not.” He said with confidence and earnestness you knew was true. “I did not lie in my letters. You consumed all of my thoughts. And how could you not?” He said as his hand ran over your face gently, “Every time we saw the ocean I watched the waves and felt you with me.” 

You felt silly for suspecting such a thing. But fortunate to have a husband who would remain faithful to you, and honest to you. And not be angered when you question him. 

You took his hand that ran over the side of your face and kissed his still bruised knuckles. Then kissing his palm, and then his thumb, then finally taking his thumb in your mouth as you sucked on it. 

Ben groaned as you did so. He leaned down, and gently removed his thumb before he began kissing your lips once again. 

He kissed you softly and gently until his hunger couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled your tongue into his mouth as he sucked on it. 

Once your kiss broke, you felt flushed. “Benjicot.” You said breathlessly, running your hands down his well-dressed exterior,  “I’ve waited for this for so long I don’t know where to start.” 

He ran his hand through your hair, shaking his head, “Just let it come.” He said assuring you. 

“Kiss me.” You demanded and he obeyed without hesitation. Kissing you feverishly, with such passion you never knew was possible. He bit and sucked on your lips as though he was trying to consume you. You felt your body shake with anticipation as you felt the heat between your legs grow. As the wetness became more and more intense, you pushed Ben off of you, “Unlace my gown.” You demanded, and once again, he happily obeyed. 

As he unlaced and unbuttoned your gown more and more of your skin became exposed to him. Never had he seen so much of you, his cock was already embarrassingly hard for you and all he could see was your back. 

His hand ran over your exposed skin, “You’re so soft.” He said softly. 

You turned around, letting your beautiful gown fall to the ground, pooling around your feet. Your body was fully exposed to him, finally. He had dreamt of this moment for so long and yet you were all the more beautiful than he could have anticipated. 

He wanted to ravish you like a hungry and angry man in battle. But, he didn’t want to scare you. 

His eyes trailed all over your body, yearning, longing. He licked his lips as he placed one of his hands on the small of your back, pressing you against his chest. His other hand held your face as he kissed. 

His lips mingled with yours in an eternal dance, and his hand began uncontrollably roaming all over your body. Making you moan sweetly into his mouth. His hardening cock rocked against your thigh. He couldn’t help it. The feeling of your bare breast in his hand, the feeling of your hardening nipple in his grasp, and the goosebumps that crawled against your skin from his touch, nearly drove him mad. 

You grabbed a hold of his overcoat, gripping it so tightly the fabric threatened to rip. “I want to see you.” You moaned against his lips. 

Benjicot looked at you hesitantly for a moment. He was not an insecure kind of man. But the war was not kind to his body. He’d collected many scars during his time in the war. 

But you bore yourself to him, and he wanted to bear himself to you. He began stripping layers away. You admired all parts of him, damaged or not. 

His toned chest and stomach were ridden with scars big and small. Each only showed you all he had done for you. A trail of hair from his belly button that led into his still-clothed cock made you clench your thighs together. 

You ran your hand over the tenting bulge in his trousers making him groan.  “I will not jest.” You said, assuring me before he pulled himself out of his trousers. 

Ben chuckled lowly as he finally discarded them, “I hope not, you’re stuck with it til the end of your days.” His cock was halfway hardened, and still, it was larger than you had envisioned. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “I am blessed til the end of my days.” You said softly.

The scars on his body felt lighter now, their pain a distant echo, because every wound had been a mark of his loyalty, proof that he would stand against the world itself to protect you.

Ben looked into your eyes, “I love you.” He spoke with devotion. 

Your hand ran down his scared chest, over his stomach, “I love you.” You affirmed. 

Now, the two of you, naked to one another. Ben laid you down on your now shared bed softly and gently. He looked down over your body with lustful and predatory eyes, “I’ve got to get you good and ready.” He said as his hand ran down your sternum, “I can’t hurt you.” He said as his hand continued to travel further and further down. 

You smirked, “I’ll not protest.” You said before you gasped at the feeling of Ben's fingers sinking between your folds. 

Ben was practically drooling as his fingers found your clit making you clench your thighs together around his wrist. Ben chuckled lowly at your sensitivity. “Velvet.” He said softly. Your moans only excited him more and made you seem all the more appetizing. “Can I taste you?” He asked with a hint of desperation in his voice. 

You siffled a giggle, “You have before.” You said thinking back to your first night in Raventree Hall.

Ben smirked, and shook his head, “Oh, but I want to eat you.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “How?”

With his lustful and menacing smirk, he began slowly lowering himself on you. He kissed his way down your body, kissing your breasts, sternum, and stomach, until he was between your thighs. Ben looked up at you, “Is this alright?” He asked sweetly.

You nodded, beginning to understand his meaning. 

His rough calloused hands spread your legs apart. 

You could hear your heart beating in your ears. You’d never felt so vulnerable. Not even in war. And yet you never felt so safe. His hands offered sanctuary. 

He kissed down your thigh, making small animal-like groans as he did. As if he were taking each fiber of his being to not ravish you right there. 

His desires slipped from his grasp for only a moment. Making him bite down on the soft skin of your inner thigh. It made you gasp and shutter, which only encouraged him.

As his lips kissed against your slit, you felt a surge of passionate lust you’d not felt ever before. And as his tongue slipped past and between your folds that passion was only further ignited.  “Ben, awhhh-Ben!” You moaned as you held onto his dark hair. 

Your legs shook and pressed against the sides of his head as he drank you in. Lapping up all that he could. 

His nose rubbed against your sensitive bud as his tongue pushed in and out of your entrance. It was nothing you’d ever had before. Not even by your hand. You could feel a tightening in your stomach, which was only wound tighter and tighter before it snapped. 

Ben drank in your release with a moaning pleasure. 

As he lifted his head he smirked at you. “Sweeter than honey wine.” 

Your chest rose and fell with each panting breath. You grabbed a handful of his hair and forced him to crawl over you. 

He kissed you passionately, and you could taste yourself on his lips. It felt vulgar and sinful, but in the same breath, it was ecstasy. 

You wrapped your legs around him, inviting him into you. 

Ben pulled his kiss away from you, looking at you with serious eyes. “Are you sure? You do not have to.” 

You nodded, “I know.” You nearly whispered. 

Ben hesitated for a moment. Not because he didn’t want to- he did,- more than any man could ever want anything. But because he wanted you to want it just the same. “If you wish to stop, say the word.” He reminded you.

He waited for you to nod before he began to ease himself inside of you. 

The intrusion at first was foreign. You’d not taken anything near as big as him before. You gasped and moaned softly as he slowly and gently slid his way in. Until he was completely and fully inside of you, he looked at you, “Is that alright?” He spoke attempting to not moan. 

You nodded, and Ben’s head dropped to the crook of your neck, “Thank the Gods.” He groaned.

His hips moved against your own. Grinding himself inside of you, again, and again, and again. You moaned as his lips fell onto your neck. Smothering your skin in kisses. 

You caressed his head, and closed your eyes, relishing in the pleasure he was driving into you, “You feel so good,” You whimpered.

Ben lifted his head and looked at you. You could see the fire in his eyes, the same fire he had in him when he fought in battle. “You like it?” He asked in a growl, there was nothing that could have brought him more pleasure than the fact he made you feel like this. 

You nodded frantically. You used locked your legs around him, forcing him to fuck you deeper and deeper as you said, “I need more. More-more-more-more-” 

Ben groaned like an animal, “Fuckin’ hells.” He rasped, “You keep sucking all of me in.” He said with a growl.

You held his face closer to yours. His forehead pressed against yours as you looked into his eyes. “Harder, Ben.” You demanded, and he obliged obediently. He used the same strength he did in the war to plunge himself hard into you. “Ooh, f-fuck-” You moaned, the pleasure so intense you never knew such pleasure could exist. 

Ben looked into your blown pupils, desperate and needy. “Tell me, Love.” He groaned. 

“It feels,” You began, but struggled to finish your words. Your next release was coming, and soon. He could see it in your eyes plan as anything.

He nodded, looking at you with loving eyes, “I know.” He said, his pace not letting up but increasing. Wanting to draw as much pleasure from your lips as he could. 

Your cunt kept squeezing him in, tighter, and tighter. It was ecstasy, euphoria, better than any wine, ale, or opium there was. 

As his moans grew more and more animalistic, his movements grew more and more erratic. 

Your cunt clenched so hard it didn’t release, squeezing as much of him as it could as you came around his leaking cock. “Awh!” You moaned, hands grasping the bedsheets by your head as tightly as you could. It was all he needed before you felt his hot seed spreading through your belly, “Ben!” You moaned,

He caressed your face. “I’ve got you.” He said, holding you close as he thrust into you once more, making sure none of it got away. “Always have you.” He said, his energy weakening, and his breathing slowing. 

Ben looked down at you. Cheeks flushed pink, and your lips swollen. Your eyes were relaxed and the sweat from your body made you glisten in the candlelight. Ben panted looking at such perfection “No painter, nor sculptor could ever capture such beauty.” He said smiling at you. Ben laid down beside you, pulling you close to him, rubbing your back running his hands through your hair. “How do you feel?” He whispered to you as he kissed your temple. 

“Perfect.” You said with a smile, running your fingers through his dark hair.

Ben chuckled lowly to himself, “Aye, you are.” He said softly before pulling you in by your jaw to kiss him once again.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to commission a personalized letter from a comfort character or any other custom writings please check out my ko-fi :) Xoxo, Bambi

[desifemininewoman]

Amazing facts we were never told growing up that will absolutely blow your mind and hopefully empower you a bit too.

Menopause Is Rare

We all know that every species is main purpose, speaking in evolutionary terms, is to reproduce. So, if we really think about it, then why does menopause exist?

Humein bachpan se directly or indirectly yahi sikhaya jaata hai ki we women are only good for breeding. Our main purpose is baccha paida krna. Especially in our society, we are still expected to not continue our jobs, not continue studying, basically drop everything and be a housewife and push out babies.

But guess what? Only 5 species in total experience menopause. And the theory for that is that menopause is the nature's way to slow you down. To limit reproduction. So that women can pass down knowledge and caregiving. This is linked to evolution of intelligence, culture and complex society.

So, the next time someone says ki ladkiya toh baccha paida krne ke liye hoti hai, hit them with this.

Sperm Quality Affects Pregnancy Outcomes

Sperm isn’t just about fertilization. It affects placenta formation, embryo development, and the immune response of the pregnant person’s body.

Poor sperm quality has been linked to higher miscarriage risks, preeclampsia, and even developmental disorders later in life.

AND! Men’s age affects all this—just like egg quality declines, sperm does too. We just don’t talk about it.

We were always told that the whole child-rearing process is solely ours. Bss 2 minute ka kaam hai ladko ka and that's it. The child grows in our belly and the whole process is something only we have to go through.

WRONG!

This just takes out responsibility from the men. In reality, just like we have to go threw the whole 9 month period of growing a baby in our womb, men have to take care of themselves before pregnancy. The whole pregnancy depends on the quality of sperm. Jitna dhyan humein rkhna padhta hai during pregnancy, men should do the same before pregnancy. Cause their sperm health determines how smoothly the pregnancy would go and also the baby's health.

Male and Female Bodies React Differently to Diseases and Medication

I guess most of us know this one. But medical research has mostly been done for male bodies, even for conditions that affect women more. This is why, till date, we have no proper birth control pills or better solutions for PCOD/PCOS and other female related issues.

If you search the net right now, it will still say that all these diseases are incurable which is untrue. No one has bothered to actually do proper medical research on women.

The pills that they give us for such issues does more harm than good in the long run but we are just never warned about it.

Male Birth Control Exists—But Was Stopped Due to Side Effects Women Face Daily

This one just blew my mind man. There has been a lot of tries with male birth control pills. And one was so damn successful also. 320 man were taken for this study. The sperm count went down significantly when they used that pill but it was stopped because some men reported they faced acne, mood swings and fatigue.

Meanwhile, these are side effects women have endured for decades on the pill.

The Uterus Can Contract in Response to Emotional Stress

That pain during anxiety or heartbreak? Real.

Emotions trigger physical responses in the uterus—like tension, cramping, and bloating. That’s why stress can delay or worsen periods.

So, that's all on my facts bomb train for today.

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter 9 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV. 

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

As I delicately dab the gauze against Nick's left eyebrow, I can feel it nearly slipping from my trembling hands. The tension is palpable as I firmly grasp his stubbled chin, forcing his gaze to meet mine for just a moment before his eyes dart back to the action unfolding across the ice. 

It all went down so fast.

In a flash, Sanchez slung the puck past the goalie and into the net, eliciting a roar from the crowd. But the celebration was short-lived, as the clash of bodies around the goal quickly turned chaotic. The Bruns defense swarmed Sanchez, shoving him roughly, while another player trips up Ruffilo in a blatant display of aggression. And then, as Nick is getting to his feet, one of the opposing players "accidentally" strikes him across the face with the sharp end of his stick, drawing blood and a collective gasp from the onlookers. It takes the quick action of Dominick leaping over the boards, and the restraint of Sebastian, to keep Karlsson from pummeling the offending player then and there. 

With a few deft motions, I managed to clear away the blood, Ruffilo's injury was not as severe as it had initially appeared. Relieved to see that no stitches would be necessary, I turned my attention to Jack, giving him a reassuring thumbs up. Jack responds with a curt nod, his gaze shifting towards the ice as he silently communicated his readiness to get the game back underway. Taking the cue, I reached out and gave Nick a firm pat on the shoulder, prompting him to swiftly leap back over the boards and rejoin his teammates on the rink. Turning back to my makeshift medical station, I set about the methodical task of cleaning up the scattered gauze pads and securely closing the saline solution. 

Noah has been skating past my post repeatedly today, each time i've tried to ignore his presence, it's been a mere two weeks since our fateful universal date. Since that night, we've been utterly unable to keep our hands off one another, our bodies drawn together by an irresistible magnetic force that threatens to consume us both. 

Although we've managed to keep our situationship secret for now the ever-present anxiety of being discovered hangs over me like a dark cloud. The thrill is intoxicating, yet the guilt gnaws at my conscience. I know deep down that what we share is wrong, taboo, a flagrant flouting of the rules - and yet, in his presence, all rational thought seems to evaporate. 

The way he moves, the way he looks at me, ignites a fire within that I find impossible to extinguish. 

 The words breach of contract. Misconduct. All flash in my brain when I think about it, but they vanish shortly after his hands touch my skin. One misstep, one slip-up, could shatter the fragile web we've woven - and the consequences of that are almost too terrifying to contemplate.

I’m no longer the only nurse on the team. McGuirre joined us last week, he is smart and funny. Recently divorced from his husband he took the job for a fresher start. Since then, each time Noah has needed a look over or some small injury, I have him handle it instead. The exchange of care helps quell the anxiety in my chest.

But it doesn't stop my heart from racing every time he looks my way.

  This game is falling apart and it's putting both the fans and the players on edge. The players have already engaged in a staggering five fights. We are down by three points, and the frustration is etched on each of their faces. Lawrence, has already broken two hockey sticks, cracking them across his knee with roaring yell. Karlsson, has found himself in the penalty box twice, forced to sit out crucial moments due to his overzealous play. In contrast, Noah, though not directly involved in any altercations, has been an aggressive presence, getting in the faces of multiple opposing players, unwilling to back down from the challenge. 

Even my father is visibly on edge, his cheeks flushed not from the chill of the rink but from the sheer tension of the moment. Up in the visitors' box, a group of recruiters from the Olympics, accompanied by the team's public relations manager, have their eyes trained intently on the game, focusing particularly on the standout players, Ruffilo and Sanchez. With each impressive play made, the recruiters can be seen pointing and discussing animatedly. 

As the final buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game, the dejected players trudge off the ice, their shoulders hunched and their faces etched with frustration. The heavy footfalls echo through the empty halls, punctuated by the occasional angry muttering or the slamming of a door. Once inside the cramped, dimly lit locker room, the pent-up emotions finally erupt, with players hurling their sweat-soaked jerseys and slamming their fists against the metal lockers. The cacophony of crashing gear and furious shouts creates a chaotic symphony. It doesn’t take me long to put away the supplies and gather my keys and phone from my locker. Heading out quick.

As I aimlessly scrolled through my phone, the bright glow from the screen casting an eerie blue light across my face, I was completely oblivious to the looming presence approaching from the side. I’m tired and just want some late night dinner and trashy TV. Utterly absorbed in the mindless distraction of social media, I failed to notice the large, imposing figure drawing nearer until a sudden, vice-like grip seized my arm, yanking me forward with surprising force. Startled, I glanced up to find myself staring at a towering, sulking, Noah. His fingers, still damp and wrinkled from what was presumably a recent shower, dug painfully into the soft flesh of my bicep as he roughly dragged me along, his broad shoulders and thick neck tight with frustration. The pungent, earthy scent of his body wash, a musky, woodsy fragrance, assaulted my nostrils, his shoulders red frome the heart of his shower. 

We approach the storage closet, my head instinctively swivels around, scanning the empty hallway for any prying eyes that might catch. The coast is clear, and with a gentle nudge, he guides me through the doorway, clicking the door shut behind us. The small, enclosed space is dimly lit, barely holding all the storage let alone two human bodies.

“You’ve been ignoring me, little fox.” The dark, brooding intensity in his eyes is intense as he stalks towards me, his lithe, predatory movements leaving no doubt about his purpose. Droplets cling to the silky strands of his bangs, which sweep alluringly across his sharp cheekbones. I feel my back press against the sturdy wooden shelves behind me, the practice cones and sports gear rattling slightly from the contact.

Trapped, I try to stammer out a weak explanation, insisting that this is "nothing personal, just professional." But the tremor in my voice betrays the growing arousal I feel pooling between my thighs. As his hungry gaze rakes over my body.

 As he inhales sharply, a low, rumbling growl escapes his lips, further stoking the fire within me. “Turn around.”

My heart is hammering in my ears and I can barely register to move. “Wh-what?”

"Turn. Around." he commanded, his voice low and gruff. Slowly, I pushed off from the shelf, my eyes fixed on him as my body turned. He was impatient, taking my hips in his strong, calloused hands and spinning me the rest of the way around, pulling my backside firmly against his hips. I could feel his throbbing cock pressing against my ass, and a needy whine escaped my lips at the thought of him filling me up once more.

With one swift, powerful thrust, he pushed me into the shelf, I braced, pushing some of the gear aside as my body jolted forward. It still wasn't enough - I wanted more, craving the delicious, almost painful sensation of being stretched and dominated by this man. 

His breath hits the shell of my ear as his long fingers grasp my hair and pull my head back to meet his lips. “Say it,” he growls, “Say you want me to fuck you.” I whimper, it's all my brain can do, my ability to form words is short circuiting. “Speak words, little fox.” He says tugging my hair, causing just a quick nip of pain at my scalp.

“Please, Noah,” I beg, it's enough. Noah's free hand swiftly tugs down my pants and underwear, exposing me. Kicking my legs apart, he decisively slides his hand up the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, zeroing in on the throbbing center of my arousal. Without hesitation, he presses a long, skilled finger directly onto my sensitive clit, gently massaging the slick, swollen nub in firm, circular motions. The sensation is electric, and I can't help but gasp as he suddenly plunges that same finger deep inside me, filling me to the knuckle. I can feel the cool metal of his ring as it grazes my most sensitive walls, and he pulls back only to push forward again with more force. My body responds eagerly, clenching and fluttering around his intrusion as white-hot pleasure radiates through me. The combination of his confident touch, the fullness within me, and the intense stimulation on my most sensitive spots has me teetering on the edge of ecstasy, my breath coming in short, needy pants.

As his hand slowly withdraws, he carefully cups a portion of my glistening wetness between his fingertips, savoring the delicate texture and warmth. Releasing his grip on my hair, I turn my head just in time to witness him hastily shoving down his sweats, his throbbing cock springing back to meet the taut skin of his abdomen. With a deliberate motion, he coats the swollen tip and rigid shaft with my own arousal. My eyes roll back and I bite down hard on my lower lip, enthralled by the erotically charged sight. Bracing myself against his hip, I can feel him guiding his pulsing length to my entrance, sinking in the moment he finds the perfect spot. There is no hesitation, no gentle buildup - he simply begins driving his hips forward, the slapping of skin against skin echoing through the charged atmosphere as he grips me tightly by the hips.

Rising up on the balls of my feet in a desperate bid to feel him buried within me to the absolute hilt. The overwhelming, all-encompassing need to be ripped apart, to be used and claimed with utter abandon, pulses through my veins like molten desire. He answers my frantic, wanton movements with grunts and pants, his grip tightening around my waist until I can feel the sharp crests of my hips pinching under the sheer force of his grasp. 

I arch my back, grinding myself against him with wanton abandon, lost in the ecstasy of being utterly possessed. 

The intense sensations are almost overwhelming, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me as he continues his relentless pounding. I can barely catch my breath, whimpering and gasping in a desperate attempt to hold back the screams that threaten to escape. My fingers claw at nothing, grasping for something, anything, to anchor myself as my body is wracked with one earth-shattering orgasm after another. The backs of my thighs burn from holding myself up on my toes, but I refuse to give in, needing to feel every inch of him filling me, stretching me to my limits. 

His large hands grip my backside, kneading the flesh as he pulls me forward to meet each of his powerful thrusts. I can imagine the lewd sight of his glistening cock disappearing inside me, leaving me raw and thoroughly claimed. The only sounds that fill the air are his grunts, growls, and heavy panting as he takes what he needs, completely consumed. 

Deep within, I feel a stirring of something more profound - a dawning realization that he is claiming me, body and soul, in a way no other man ever could. With each punishing stroke, he is staking his indelible mark, making me his and his alone.

In what feels like an eternity but is mere moments, he lets out one last guttural groan, his hips surging forward in a final, forceful thrust. I can feel the tension in his body as it quivers and strains, every muscle going taut before finally releasing in a shuddering wave of relief. Collapsing over me, he pants heavily, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. We stay locked together, suspended, my legs trembling as I slowly lower them to the floor. The warmth of his release coats my insides, the sensation both foreign and familiar as it seeps into every sensitive crevice. Time seems to stand still in that hazy, blissful moment, the world narrowing down to just the two of us. Finally, reluctantly, we begin to part.

He helps bring my pants back up as I fix the hem of my shirt. His arms wrapping around my waist as he pulls me in head tucking over my shoulder. He doesn't say anything. Just lets out a shaky breath before kissing the side of my neck and turning around to leave.

As I reluctantly bid farewell to Noah, a profound sense of melancholy washes over me, shaking my entire being more intensely than the passionate encounter we had just shared. The tender goodbye lingers, its emotional weight far exceeding the physical intimacy we had experienced. Glancing down, I notice my phone and keys strewn haphazardly on the floor. I can't even recall the moment I dropped them. 

Steeling myself, I step out of the closet, turning to my left only to witness Noah vanish back towards the locker rooms. In that instant, I'm painfully aware that I'm not alone - Ruffilo and Karlsson stand in the hallway, their eyebrows raised in a silent expression of surprise and judgment as our eyes meet. My cheeks flush with a deep, burning crimson as I spin on my heel, heart pounding, and quickly make my way down the hall towards the parking lot, desperate to escape the prying eyes and the weight of the moment.

[mitigatedchaos]

"Every fancy romantic dinner or night out on the town with friends can be fairly precisely measured in dead children. Wait, solutions to suffering and social instability in the underdeveloped world? What are you, some kind of liberal sentimentalist idiot? No, I'm just advocating for torturing and killing everyone who's ever experienced any modicum of joy, in order to enact omnicidal revenge. I see that 'making the whole world blind' thing as aspirational. Hate and violence on the planet Earth."

The idea "every romantic dinner can be measured in dead children" is something that can weigh heavily on someone's conscience if they aren't aware of a counter-argument to it.

I'm just pointing out the thread that runs in the other direction, so that it can be correctly interpreted as under tension.

We allow other people to hurt themselves because the alternative is controlling them. Sometimes, this may not be the people themselves, but their parents, or their governments.

If you try to shoulder all the suffering of the world, you will break yourself, and help no one. You're a human being, not a vampire. For the most part, existing in the developed world is not the thing that is causing others suffering.

Buy the bed nets. Burn the self-hatred.

[andreablog2]

What do you do? Do you have a career that contributes to the sovereignty of the country? Your work is anti imperialist? Your comfortable salary is undesirable? Aren’t you in medical or at some company that does nothing? I’m not trying to be rude. Software engineers can all be like baristas

I don’t really have a comfortable salary and my job doesn’t “do nothing” or is just medical it’s like a structural job. My job doesn’t uphold any nation & it kind of rode the wave of the whole progressive company vibe and hasn’t entirely shifted which I respect it for.. it’s like a rogue multinational organization that is in tension w the us government rn for acting in its own interests actually….i don’t really like it or think it’s ethical. But the claim that a socialist utopia includes having baristas make a living salary is shortsighted and imperialist. I mean look at Sweden, it can afford its social safety net for its own citizens due to its external exploitation. It’s very selfish to demand a soft labor job that has a pre req of multiple kinds of hard labor…to be paid on par w skilled labor…like fuck this country but this is also s country where you can get an education or develop skilled labor to earn a living. Even in the most ideal situation, a communist utopia, where all jobs on the supply chain for luxury services, like a made to order latte, would are paid “livably”….that would undoubtedly lead to a tragedy of the commons and the “barista” position would evolve into something much higher status and it would be more exploitative than it is now. I’m not proposing solutions.

[chashupak]

That one BG3 fanfic deleted scene where pre-orb Gale falls physically instead of metaphorically

Ongoing Fanfiction Link: [The Starfall Gambit]

Why Scrapped: CPR cliche included in final scene with more fear and mortality applied. Tone shift from humorous to grit with beauty

Chapter I.6 Surface Tensions (Alternate)

Gale broke the surface with a gasp, water burning his lungs as he thrashed toward the air. Strands of his once-immaculate hair clung to his face like seaweed, dignity drowned somewhere beneath them.

“By Mystra’s weave, what madness was that?!” His voice cracked, composure shattered.

Lyanna treaded water a few feet away, already measuring distance to shore Moonlight caught in the pearl droplets streaming down her face, transforming rage into something almost ethereal. Almost.

“That,” she spat between controlled breaths, “was me not dying. Until you got involved.”

The pond water between them glowed faintly with industrial runoff, magical waste from Upper Sharn’s elegant spires staining Lower Sharn’s waters with prismatic toxicity. Beautiful poison. Just like everything else in this city.

“Or more accurately some sort of suicidal stunt.” Gale flailed. Waterlogged silk robes dragged him down—his finery, his anchor. “I couldn’t just let you—“

He cut himself off. Realizing midway how such sentiments might sound. He groaned.

“Tell me, Miss Lyanna. Are all your survival instincts this catastrophically flawed?”

“I had a plan.” She threw out her arms, water splashing in angry arcs that caught the moonlight. “And it didn’t involve getting tackled mid-air by some invisible lunatic!”

Gale narrowed his eyes, slapping her arms away. Water scattered like broken spells. “Well, pardon me for assuming the reasonable response.”

Their voices echoed through the garden, scattering birds from nearby trees. They took flight in panicked formations, shadows cutting across the face of Sharn’s dimmed landscape.

“Oh, and what would your grand plan have been, oh wise and mystical one?” She asked, treading water with the ease of someone who’d survived worse. “Politely ask them to let me go? Summon a chair and start negotiations?”

“A TELEPORTATION SPELL!” Gale practically shrieked. His voice bounced off ornate stonework, designed to carry music through the garden, now amplifying his indignation instead. “A perfectly rational, safe, magical solution instead of—of that!”

“Not everyone has teleportation at the ready!” She turned away, swimming toward shore with powerful strokes.

“Then perhaps don’t tail dangerous crime syndicates!”

“What I do is none of your business. I didn’t need some invisible hero helping me!”

“Oh, by all means, let’s do it again, then!” Gale followed, his wet robes now a prison weighing him down. “Just spring back up there and take another go at it. I’ll wait.”

Lyanna smirked, heaving herself onto the muddy shore. Water streamed from her clothes, pooling beneath her like shed armor. “Maybe net time I’ll just let you handle it all, huh?”

“Oh yes, what a privilege,” Gale muttered, dripping and miserable as he dragged himself to solid ground. His waterlogged boots squelched with each step, the undignified sound of a dignified man undone.

The Central Garden stretched around them. A public space created back when the city still pretended to care about uniting its stratified citizens. Now, it served as neutral territory—somewhere the upper classes could admire nature without venturing too far down, somewhere the lower classes could glimpse beauty without climbing too high.

Lyanna collapsed on the grass, eyes fixed skyward. Water pooled beneath her, reflecting fractured starlight. Nearby flowers released their sweet perfume, intensified by moisture in the air. Arcane motes drifted between exotic blooms—maintenance enchantments responding to their presence with confused patterns, brightening and dimming as if unsure what to make of these unexpected visitors.

Night insects resumed their chorus after being briefly silenced by the splash. Their humming created a strange percussion to accompany the distant laughter from a pavilion where late revelers gathered, oblivious to the drama unfolding in their scenic backdrop.

Gale plopped beside her. Every breath stabbed through newly-bruised ribs. The immaculate Chosen reduced to something human, something breakable. Real.

His gaze drifted back to her.

Her chest heaved with every breath. Brown curls framed her flushed cheeks, her usual braid undone by violence and water. Survival looked different on her than on him—familiar, worn-in, like a coat she’d donned too many times before. Wet clothes, of earthy shades and leather accents, clung to her figure. Slivers of exposed skin revealed a map of old scars, hints of stories untold.

“What?” she snapped, eyes still on the stars.

Gale paused, pushing down the flush that crept up his neck. “You know… I had a perfectly good Teleportation spell.”

The water hit his face before he saw her move, a rough splash that caught him mid-smirk.

"How mature," he muttered, wiping droplets from his eyes with exaggerated dignity.

Her expression flickered with brief satisfaction—a small victory claimed in a night of defeats. She watched as he peeled away his outer robes with theatrical care, the soaked fabric releasing its hold reluctantly.

His undershirt clung to him, rendered nearly transparent now. Gale was acutely aware of how he looked—another kind of armor he’d cultivated as carefully as his spellcraft. The moonlight was kind to him, catching the defined lines of his physique in ways that weren’t entirely accidental in their display.

Her gaze flickered over him, assessing or perhaps appreciating. He pretended not to notice, though a knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“What?” He echoed, feigning an innocence that fooled no one.

Lyanna pushed herself upright, taking her time to wring water from her hair instead of answering his question immediately. She met his eyes as if that had always been the destination. “Just thinking that for someone so clever, you make remarkably poor decisions.”

“And yet.” He smoothed back wet hair with one hand. “We both survived. One might even call

"And, yet," he replied, smoothing back his wet hair with one hand, "we both survived. One might even call that rescue a rousing success."

She scoffed, but there was less bite than before. "Don't flatter yourself. I've fallen from higher."

Gale arched an eyebrow. "I don't doubt it for a moment."

A momentary silence settled between them—not comfortable, exactly, but no longer crackling with hostility. The arcane motes of light drifted closer, drawn to the magical residue that clung to them. They circled them briefly before dispersing, their programmed behavior confused by him: his all-powerful magical signature at odds with his shattered decorum.

The distant chaos of the warehouse seemed impossibly far away.

"Malcolm," he said finally, the name falling between them like a stone. "He's more dangerous than I anticipated."

Her expression sobered. "Yes, He is."

“However, that doesn’t exactly explain your involvement tonight.”

Her fingers paused. Lips pursed as if weighing the cost of indulging him. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

He leaned back, resting his arm on his knee. “Neither does it explain your presence at Tibbles’ workshop today.”

“Nope, doesn’t explain that one either.” She shrugged.

A coolness settled between them as Lyanna stared up at the stars, deliberately avoiding his gaze. She flicked a wet strand of hair from her face. Her fingers trailed over one of her many pouches—checking, cataloging what remained after their impromptu dive.

"You know," she said finally, her voice almost too casual, "for someone obsessed with finding a Netherese tome, you've been looking in all the wrong places."

Gale went still. He turned toward her slowly, his studied nonchalance betrayed by the sudden intensity in his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Netherese tome. The one with all those fancy sigils you were drooling over at Tibbles' place." She met his gaze then, a challenge in her storm-gray eyes. "That's what you're here for, isn't it? Probably some sacred mission from Mystra?"

His expression hardened. "And how exactly would you know about that?"

"The books you read, the people you talk to. People have their ways." She pursed her lips and peeled off a pouch. With a quick shake, she poured out its contents: broken glass and blood red liquid. A potion shattered in the dive.

"Just like how I know the merchant who purchased it three days ago from a very nervous artificer who probably had no idea what he was selling."

"Three days—" Gale stopped himself, recalibrating. "You've been tracking it."

"It’s a useful hobby. But either way, I know where it is."

"Why?" His voice dropped, sharp with suspicion. "What possible interest could you have in Netherese magic?"

Lyanna sat up fully now, drawing her knees to her chest. She seemed to debate with herself, weighing options against risks. When she spoke again, there was none of her usual flippant charm.

"Not the tome itself," she said. "What I need is information about the Whispering Blades."

Recognition flickered across Gale’s face. The same question from the balcony, where fine wine had temporarily softened their edges.

"Ah, so we return to this," he said, his voice measured. "Your mysterious blades with a mind of their own."

"Not just a mind," she said, her fingers curling against her palm as if holding something precious. "A soul."

Despite himself, Gale's scholarly interest stirred. "Soul binding is dangerous magic. Far beyond mere sentience in a blade."

"Which is exactly why I need someone who understands it," she countered, leaning forward. "Someone with access to knowledge beyond ordinary reach. Someone like Mystra's Chosen."

Her last words carried the faintest hint of mockery, but there was something else beneath it. Desperation, perhaps. Or determination.

Gale's eyes narrowed. "So that's your game. Information for information. The tome's location for what I know of these blades."

"Is it really that unreasonable of a deal?" Her gaze held his.

"I could simply extract the location from your mind," he said, his fingers tracing a small arcane pattern in the air between them. "A simple spell would suffice."

To his surprise, Lyanna laughed—a sharp, genuine sound that cut through the tension. She caught his hand and pushed it aside.

"Could you? You couldn't even spot that your devoted student was an assassin trailing your every move for two tendays." She gestured vaguely toward the warehouse looming in the distance. "Not exactly inspiring confidence in your powers of perception, Wizard."

The barb struck home. Gale’s jaw clenched, pride warring with pragmatism. "A momentary oversight," he said stiffly. "One I won't repeat."

"Of course not." Her smirk returned, knowing and sharp. "Just like I'm sure you've already located the tome on your own and are just humoring me now."

Silence stretched between them. Finally, Gale sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant acceptance.

"Very well," he said. "Let's assume, for the moment, that your information is valuable—"

"It is."

"—and accurate—"

"Also true."

He shot her a quelling look. "Then I would be willing to consider an exchange. But not simply a location for what I know of the Whispering Blades. That's hardly equitable."

Lyanna tilted her head. "What are you proposing?"

"Your assistance." Gale's eyes gleamed with calculation. "Not just the location, but your help in acquiring the tome. Your... particular talents may prove useful in retrieving it without unnecessary complications."

"You want me to help you steal it," she translated, amusement dancing across her features.

"I prefer 'recover,' given that it rightfully belongs to Mystra." He adjusted his still-damp sleeve with practiced dignity. "But semantics aside, yes."

She considered this, her fingers absently tapping against her knee. "And in return?"

"After we've secured the tome, I'll share what I know of the Whispering Blades." He met her gaze, his expression serious. "But understand this: I won't be manipulated or deceived. One false step, one hint that you're not dealing honestly, and our arrangement ends. Immediately."

The threat hung in the air between them. Lyanna's expression remained carefully neutral, but something shifted in her eyes—a flicker of respect, perhaps, at his firm boundaries.

"Fair enough," she said finally. "Though the same applies to you, Chosen. I'm not one of your adoring followers, hanging on your every word. We work together as equals, or not at all."

Gale inclined his head, a gesture both gracious and reserved. "I believe I can accommodate that."

"Then it’s a deal." She extended her hand, water still dripping from her sleeve.

Gale hesitated only briefly before taking it. Her grip was firm, her palm calloused where his was smooth. A study in contrasts, yet in that moment, strangely complementary.

"So," he said as they released the handshake, "where is this tome?"

Lyanna's smile widened to something genuine and mischievous. "The Midnight Market. And you, Chosen One, are going to need a better disguise than those fancy robes if you want to blend in there."

"The Midnight Market," Gale repeated, his voice a mix of intrigue and wariness. "Of course it would be there. Nothing is ever simple, is it?"

"Where's the fun in simple?" She rose to her feet, wringing her coat one last time for good measure. "Besides, I thought you enjoyed a challenge. Wasn't that what you said in Elturel? Something about 'true mastery requiring worthy obstacles, approached properly and methodically'? Who lectures a stranger for helping close a portal anyway?"

"You remember my words with surprising accuracy," Gale observed, standing as well.

"Only the particularly pompous ones," she replied with a wink. "They're just too good to forget."

Despite himself, Gale felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Whatever complications lay ahead—and there would undoubtedly be many—at least the journey wouldn't be dull.

"The Midnight Market it is, then," he said. "Though I warn you—if this proves to be another of your games, you'll find I'm not nearly as accommodating the second time around."

Lyanna's smile didn't falter. "Of course, you’ve got a reputation to uphold after all. Mystra’s Golden Boy and what not."

Around them, the garden hummed with night insects and the gentle rustle of leaves. Above, the towers of Sharn loomed like sentinels, impartial to the unlikely alliance formed in their shadow.

[girlactionfigure]

🔵THURSDAY morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

🔸MORE DEAL NEWS..

.. ALIVE?  Israel estimates only 33 hostages remain alive, although this is said only quietly.

.. HERE’S WHAT THE US IS TRYING TO CONVINCE ISRAEL.. American officials:  Israel achieved everything it could on a military level in Gaza.  (Therefore no choice but to do a deal, right?)

.. THIS IS NEW.. The US, German and British ambassadors in a joint statement:  "Our first priority is to find a solution to free the abductees and do it now.” (First time hearing that, until now it has all been about humanitarianism for Gazans.)

.. ANALYSIS.. (The Arab Desk) A blitz of fakes mixed with an American pressure press on Israel to influence the talks. The USA is putting pressure on Israel from all directions. All the  pressure from home and from outside are aimed at one person, the Prime Minister of Israel Benjamin Netanyahu.  You can literally see in the Arab channels as if they received an instruction sheet.

.. IRAN OR NOT?  The Iranians officially announced yesterday that they are not involved in the talks.  An Arab source reveals, the Iranians are involved behind the scenes.

.. OPPOSITION MK SA’AR ATTACKS IDF CHIEF HALEVI.. on Halevi’s public statement on the (IDF staying in control of the) Philadelphi corridor (Egypt border) which is contrary to the Israeli position that should remain on the axis - "stupidity and lawlessness for its own sake.”

.. RUSSIA AND TURKEY? Senior Hamas official in an interview: We asked to add Russia and Turkey as mediators - but Israel refused.

🔹US MEDIATOR LEBANON.. A Lebanese official who attended the meeting with Amos Hochstein says: “To be honest, we didn't understand what he brought, since he didn't have a clear answer about the progress of the negotiations, and he didn't have any information about the latest announcements that came out. He acted like someone who came to have a PR party."

▪️DID THE US RELEASE NAMES OF MOSSAD AGENTS TO IRAN?  Jerusalem Post: The US revealed to Iran the names of Mossad agents who were involved in the elimination of Hamas leader Haniye, in an attempt to calm tensions.

▪️HUMANITARIANISM.. Today Israel facilitated the transfer of 11 Gazan children to Jordan for medical treatment.

▪️EL AL.. reports that the company's revenues in the second quarter of 2024 amounted to approximately $839 million, net profit amounted to $147 million dollars.

♦️COUNTER-TERROR - BALATA.. Shechem, DRONE STRIKE!  Terrorist killed in the drone strike was released from Israeli prison for the hostage return in November.  2nd one attacking Israel and killed in the past week.

⭕5 rounds of HEZBOLLAH ROCKETS and SUICIDE DRONES at northern towns overnight and this morning, including 1 BARRAGE.

⭕2 rounds of a HAMAS ROCKET at Kissufim, near Gaza.

[mtandtgroup-blog]

Explore tensioned netting solutions like WEB Net™ for bridges, conveyor systems, & maintenance. Enhance safety with stable netting for various applications.

[mariacallous]

Almost one in five Americans over age 65 are unable to manage basic activities of daily life—bathing, dressing, eating, toileting—without assistance. Among those over age 85, the proportion is closer to half. Friends and family members can and do help out, but even so, about half of people reaching the age of 65-years of age will use paid long-term services and supports (LTSS) at some point. Most Americans do not have enough income or savings to cover these costs. The private long-term care insurance industry has never worked well despite many creative efforts to fix it and to encourage enrollment. The Federal Medicare program covers only short spells of home care after a hospitalization and does not provide coverage for long-term support. That leaves Medicaid. Medicaid offers a critical long-term care safety net for people who get their healthcare primarily through Medicaid—but it isn’t a good solution for most Medicare beneficiaries as it doesn’t align with the system that manages their care and pays their providers. Moreover, eligibility for Medicaid is restricted to those with very low incomes and few assets, so few older adults qualify. It is well past time to add a universal home care program to Medicare itself.

Prior efforts to move in this direction have been stymied. Some proponents have called for a universal, open-ended benefit. Critics have argued that any universal home care benefit would be a budget buster. These tensions are ubiquitous in social program design. An additional tension in designing a program that serves people towards the end of their lives is that public funds should be focused on expanding access to necessary care rather than protecting the ability of people to leave large bequests to their children. Designing a fiscally responsible, universal benefit that does all that is a challenging task—but we believe it is not an impossible one. In this post, we describe some design options for a Medicare home care benefit that could be dialed up or down depending on the priority assigned to program generosity or fiscal feasibility. 

Several features make designing a universal home care benefit challenging.

The need for home care is based on measures of functioning, not lab tests. A program must have simple and reliable ways to measure who needs care and how much care they need.

Most people report a preference for care in their own homes over that in nursing homes or other institutional settings. This is because, unlike medical care, which is often unpleasant and painful, home care typically provides support, comfort, and a degree of safety for beneficiaries. One consequence of these preferences is that a home care benefit would be susceptible to overspending. The program will need to have measures in place to avoid overuse.

Income alone is a poor indicator of how much Medicare beneficiaries can afford to pay for home care. For example, beneficiaries who are renters may depend on their incomes to afford housing; other beneficiaries may have very large, non-liquid assets but limited incomes, leaving them ineligible for Medicaid programs while unable to pay for care. Program design will have to address the importance of assets in this population.

Much LTSS is provided through informal care. Beneficiaries often prefer care provided by family members, but paying for informal care raises the potential for overspending, fraud, and exploitation of older adults.

State Medicaid programs currently cover the cost of home care for 4.2 million people, according to KFF, though eligibility and costs vary considerably across the country. Medicaid would continue to provide home and community-based services for people who are not Medicare beneficiaries. Some of this spending could be redeployed by states to improve the quality of nursing home care and for home and community-based services for people who are not eligible for Medicaid. The federal share of Medicaid savings could be used to defray the costs of a new Medicare home care program.

None of these challenges can be ignored—but none of them are damning either. As with any program, policymakers will need to make tradeoffs across these challenges to design a program that provides the maximum benefits consistent with their budget appetite. The good news is that the current landscape of home care financial protections is so limited that even a modest program that made conservative choices across these parameters, with costs we estimate at around $40 billion annually, would make many people who currently lack services much better off. Turning the dials more generously would, of course, cost more—and it would extend more benefits to more frail and vulnerable Medicare beneficiaries. 

What might such a very-conservatively designed universal program look like? Eligibility for the program would be restricted to people who independent clinical reviewers determined were unable to perform two activities of daily living (e.g., bathing, toileting, or eating). That’s the standard that many State Medicaid programs already use, and it could be assessed annually during the initial implementation period to further develop and monitor the uniformity of functional assessments over time. Second, the program would include cost-sharing that varied according to people’s means. Medicare beneficiaries with high income and assets would receive modest assistance from the program to defray a portion of the costs of home care; those with fewer assets and less income would pay much less. Third, beneficiary contributions to the costs of their care would depend on both their current income and their accumulated assets, but through cost-sharing rather than a strict cutoff. For example, at the cost listed above, we could allow all qualifying Medicare beneficiaries to fully retain income up to 150% of the poverty line ($22,600 in 2024) and assets up to $30,000; beyond that limit, individuals would still qualify but would pay cost-sharing out of their resources to defray taxpayer costs. Fourth, only care provided by formal caregivers associated with home care agencies would be covered. Hours of support would be based on need, but provider agencies would be subject to a population-based hours of service budget. The combination of resource-based copayments with population-level budgeting will ensure that the costs of this program will not explode. Finally, Federal Medicaid savings from shifting home care benefits from Medicaid to Medicare would be used to defray the costs of the program.

The program we’ve outlined tightly focuses benefits on the most vulnerable people who currently have little eligibility for care, and few means to pay for services. But many others could also benefit from a new home care program. People who have impaired functioning that does not meet the two activities of daily living standard may also need assistance. Lower cost-sharing for middle-class people would leave them more resources to make the most of their lives. The tradeoff is simple: at a higher cost to the federal budget, more people would get more protection. We can’t define where the lines should be drawn—that’s Congress’s job—but our analysis suggests that there are programmatically tractable, fiscally feasible ways to add a home care benefit to the Medicare program.

[centrally-unplanned]

The Gaza floating pier plan is an odd one, I was doing a bit of research & thinking on its logic. Like obviously you can get more aid in Gaza right now, its just Israel (and also Egypt, who buck-passes on this constantly) refuses to in turn increase aid or admit that aid is being truly slowed. Though also its a function of the fact the demand for aid is much higher than before, both through destroyed stocks, loss of domestic agricultural output (which Gaza had a little of pre-war), and supply needs for the occupation forces. And its not like the US right now really wants to get more involved in this issue, its net losses for the US as far as the eye can see. So it puts a bit of a permanent stake in a situation one would rather not, to solve a problem whose cause is tangential to this solution.

But on digging I do see the logic in it - essentially its a sign of the US - or lets the say the Biden admin, good to be specific - losing faith in not only Israel's conduct in the war, but also its goals for the war at all. It symbolizes that not only does the Biden admin expect them to not overly budge on the blockade issue, but they still will not be overly budging on it several months from now. But that this isn't a part of some Grand Strategy on their part, a strategic play to idk pressure Hamas to come to the table or even like weaponize suffering to cause legitimacy collapse. They just can't get around to a coherent end-state vision here, and things like aid restrictions are just strategy theatre run amok, "can't let in the ~weapons oh no" thoughts running on autopilot while Israel fights with itself over its goals. You can tell this because they are letting the port happen! They could just say no, if Lebanon tried to do this they would bomb it.

But of course while the Biden admin is less than thrilled about increased involvement, it (primarily) knows how badly this issue is damaging rep in the middle east given its stuck with its wedded ally, (secondarily) generally is opposed to famine and human rights crimes in any context and needs a strong reason to ignore them (which, to be clear, does happen sometimes, but this the baseline), and (tertiarily) doesn't love the domestic tension the issue is generating. And it no longer trusts Israel to fix its own mistakes in this regard. So it wants to "take it out of their hands" - now the US can set the tempo of aid deliveries, and Israel can't really stop it. (Like sure if they truly throw down they can block aid, they are going to cooperating on security for the pier, but it would be big leap in spiting the US for them to do that) It bypasses their dysfunction, which they expect to be ongoing. ~2 months from now the US can make sure if/when things have continued to go badly it can start mitigating harm and also control the narrative better.

This is cold comfort for any of the ongoing problems today, which are legion. But the other message of the pier is that those aren't changing. Israel isn't budging, and hey we haven't mentioned em yet but Hamas isn't budging either, they scuttled the latest round of cease fire talks and know that their demand of a permanent cease-fire at this point is a non-starter so I think that shows status quo reigning. Hey, maybe we will see what comes out of Doha in the next few days, but I bet it won't be too surprising (a short term hostage exchange is possible but that won't relieve the big issues). I am low certainty on this but if I am Hamas I think so far this is "going according to plan", certainly they wish they were inflicting more causalities on the IDF but they have a track record of realism on this one, they knew this would happen and politically things have been going well for them. And Israeli's political dysfunction seems stable as long as no elections are called, which is the smart money right now (Unless the Orthodox Jewish Freerider Problem blows the coalition up). So for the Biden Admin, the overton window for immediate action is very small, which means that they think plans that have longer time horizons make sense.

Idk it could just be them flailing and trying to look like they are Doing Something, but generally their track record on this front is pretty solid, Biden FP has been grounded (not the same as universally effective, though I think its been good overall). And Doing Something only works if it isn't a boondoggle, 2 months from now isn't after the election after all. Incompetence is possible, sure, but given their track record not my baseline, and I think the logic here does check out. Time will tell...

[doubledamian]

I promoted chatGPT with, “ It’s ironic that wealthy capitalists claim the moral high ground for their philanthropy when they both caused the problem they are solving and the efforts they make are wildly insufficient and only small fractions of their wealth. Discuss.” and the following was generated:

You’ve touched on a powerful critique of philanthropy in the context of wealth inequality, often referred to as “philanthrocapitalism.” This term highlights the tension between the systemic exploitation that creates vast wealth and the moral framing of charitable giving as a solution. Here’s a detailed discussion:

1. Wealth Creation as a Source of Problems

• Exploitation and Inequality: Many billionaires amass their wealth through systems that exploit labor, natural resources, and tax loopholes. For example:

• Low wages for workers in supply chains.

• Environmental degradation in pursuit of profit.

• Avoidance of taxes that could fund public services like healthcare and education.

• Hoarding Wealth: By accumulating vast sums of money, billionaires contribute to global inequality. This concentration of wealth often exacerbates the very issues (e.g., poverty, lack of access to resources) that their philanthropy seeks to address.

2. Philanthropy as Insufficient and Performative

• Small Fractions of Wealth: Billionaires often donate amounts that are minuscule relative to their net worth. For example:

• A $1 billion donation sounds enormous but may represent only 1% of a $100 billion fortune.

• Wealth continues to grow faster than it is given away, meaning the donor often becomes richer even while “giving.”

• Tax Benefits and Image Management:

• Charitable donations often come with substantial tax breaks, allowing billionaires to reduce their obligations while enhancing their public image.

• Philanthropy can serve as a public relations tool to distract from criticism of how wealth was accumulated.

• Control Over Solutions: Unlike democratic systems of redistribution, billionaire philanthropy often reflects personal priorities rather than collective needs (e.g., funding pet projects like space exploration over housing or food insecurity).

3. The Irony of the Moral High Ground

• Framing Themselves as Heroes: Wealthy individuals often portray their philanthropy as a benevolent gift to society, ignoring their role in creating systemic inequities. This narrative shifts the focus from structural solutions (e.g., fair wages, progressive taxation) to individual acts of charity.

• Creating Dependency: Philanthropy can perpetuate a cycle of dependency, where the systemic issues remain unaddressed, and society relies on the whims of the wealthy rather than sustainable, democratic solutions.

• Undermining Public Systems: Wealthy philanthropists sometimes direct funds toward private initiatives, bypassing public systems and accountability, which can weaken those systems in the long term.

4. Systemic Solutions vs. Philanthropy

• Redistribution of Wealth: Progressive taxation and fair labor practices would reduce the need for philanthropy by addressing inequality at its source.

• Investment in Public Goods: Strengthening public systems like healthcare, education, and social safety nets is a more equitable and sustainable approach to solving societal issues.

• Accountability for Exploitation: Wealthy individuals and corporations should be held accountable for the harm caused in their pursuit of profit, from environmental destruction to worker exploitation.

5. Moral Hypocrisy and Public Perception

• The Savior Complex: Wealthy philanthropists are often lauded as saviors for addressing problems they helped create, which obscures the systemic changes needed to prevent those problems in the first place.

• Public Distrust: Many people recognize this hypocrisy, leading to growing criticism of “billionaire philanthropy” and calls for systemic change rather than reliance on individual generosity.

Conclusion

Philanthropy, when practiced by wealthy capitalists, often serves to uphold the very system that allows extreme inequality to exist. While charitable giving can provide immediate relief, it is no substitute for structural reforms that address the root causes of societal problems. True moral high ground would require dismantling exploitative systems, ensuring fair distribution of resources, and prioritizing collective well-being over personal wealth accumulation.

[antipestsolutions1]

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The Pitfalls of DIY Installation

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[crest-of-gautier]

EVP 999 reached on bone rattle arena! this makes my third gold map badge (my other two are jammin salmon junction + gone fission hydroplant!). i'm really happy to have been able to get this badge, it took 50 jobs starting from EVP 300 to get here.

the short of my thoughts is that it's important to take lots of breaks! but i have some other things related to salmon run and my journey with it in the past year that i want to share, so i'll put that under the cut 👍

i've only really grinded salmon run "seriously" since march 2023, and i only really attempt pushes on map rotations that i find favorable (it's important to have fun and having weapons you like help a lot!). and trying to get these map badges is a lot like a marathon, meaning that it's important to pace yourself appropriately.

i could go on about salmon mechanics that are important to learn. but salmon run at it's core ultimately tests your ability to quickly assess situations and make judgment calls. and the most important judgment call, to me is knowing when you need to step away from the grind because you've hit a skill wall.

the challenges i've faced with SR have changed over time as i've accumulated more experience with the mode. but generally speaking, i find that hitting a wall is characterized by repeatedly reaching a certain hazard level/wave, but not being able to completely clear it. i know i certainly found it annoying to reach wave 3 but not meet the quota.

when i started doing these pushes in 2023, i used to throw myself back into the queue because "we were just 1-2 eggs off! we'll get them next time!" and uh. here's the general gist of how that went:

(we failed again)

(i get increasingly irritated)

(my performance starts dropping from irritation)

(i get irritated that my points are dropping because there's only so many hours in a rotation)

("i need to keep playing otherwise i'll be stuck with the not as experienced players!!!")

(the cycle continues and i get a net loss of points)

fortunately, i don't do this anymore because it's largely unhelpful. it took awhile for me to get over the idea that throwing myself into another shift would get me back my points but. i did eventually!

these days i find that it's much more effective (and healing!) to take a 15-20 minute break (and sometimes an hour or longer!) whenever i notice signs of agitation or tension... any shifts that i do afterwards are MUCH easier.

the other reason why i think breaks are so important is because time away from the game helps you ask yourself better questions on what went wrong.

generally speaking if you can pinpoint why your shifts go to shit (thank you video footage and clips), you should be able to figure out a solution for that. and isn't that what learning is about?

i think a lot about how many shifts it took for me to get from EVP 300 -> EVP 999 on gone fission (124 of them). and when i think of that experience, i'm grateful that i learned the power of breaks since it took like half the jobs for me to get to 9's on bone rattle 💪

i definitely think that it's important to remember that getting through shifts will gets easier as you accumulate more experience. this is easier said than done but i think that if you can find ways to take note of your improvement, no matter how small, it will be easier to stay motivated!

i find this most noticeable with eggstra work... while i've only scored within the top 20% and never top 5%... i have gotten closer to the scores of the top 5% (i <3 marooners bay + jammin salmon junction eggswork) than i did at the start!

scoring aside, i cringe a lot at my spawning grounds eggstra work video, these have to be some of the most abysmal gameplay decisions ever and i'm happy to say that i wouldn't make that these days 💀! so if you've ever cringed at your old gameplay do not fret... it is natural and it's a sign of improvement!

anyway that's my lizz talk. while this is about salmon run i technically think this can expand to other pursuits in life. like creative hobbies. and sports! or maybe something else i didn't think of. learning is so wonderful and cool!

as a bonus, here's a notebook spread i made about golden rotation when i needed a break from the game... (did you know i really like my notebook... it's so fun)

[ausetkmt]

Homelessness in the United States presents a complex and multi-faceted societal challenge, reflecting deeper issues of economic disparity, housing instability, and insufficient social safety nets. As of the most recent reports, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) estimates that on any given night, over half a million people are experiencing homelessness across the country. This figure encompasses individuals living on the streets, in emergency shelters, or in transitional housing programs. The causes of homelessness are diverse, ranging from economic factors like job loss and unaffordable housing to personal issues such as mental health and substance abuse.

The concept of criminalizing homelessness has emerged as a contentious response to this issue in many U.S. cities and states. This approach involves the enactment of laws and ordinances that effectively make it illegal to perform life-sustaining activities in public spaces, such as sleeping, eating, or panhandling. These laws are often justified as measures to maintain public order and safety, but critics argue that they merely punish the visible symptoms of homelessness without addressing its root causes. The criminalization of homelessness raises significant ethical and legal questions, particularly regarding the rights of the most vulnerable populations in society. It also leads to a cycle of arrests, fines, and jail time for homeless individuals, which can exacerbate their situation and make it even harder to secure stable housing and employment.

Denver, Colorado, presents a particularly illustrative case study in the criminalization of homelessness. In recent years, the city has implemented various urban camping bans and other ordinances that target public activities commonly associated with homelessness. These measures have sparked significant debate and legal challenges, highlighting the tensions between urban development, public space management, and the rights of homeless individuals. Denver's approach reflects a broader trend in American cities where rapid urban development and rising housing costs often collide with growing homeless populations, leading to contentious policy decisions and public debates.

The situation in Denver and other U.S. cities underscores the need for a more nuanced and compassionate approach to homelessness. While the criminalization of homelessness might offer a short-term solution to the visibility of the problem, it fails to address the systemic issues that lead to homelessness in the first place. This approach also raises critical concerns about the rights and dignity of homeless individuals, calling for a reevaluation of how society and policymakers perceive and respond to this complex issue. Ultimately, the case of Denver highlights the challenges and controversies inherent in addressing homelessness in urban America, serving as a microcosm of a national issue that demands thoughtful, holistic, and humane solutions.

Understanding the Criminalization of Homelessness

Understanding the criminalization of homelessness requires delving into the legal and societal mechanisms through which individuals experiencing homelessness are penalized for their status. This criminalization is a process where activities necessary for survival in public spaces - such as sleeping, eating, or begging - are legally prohibited, leading to penalties that range from fines to imprisonment. It represents a legal approach to homelessness that prioritizes public order and aesthetics over addressing the underlying causes of homelessness.

At the core of this criminalization are various laws and ordinances enacted by city councils and state legislatures. Anti-vagrancy laws are one of the oldest forms, traditionally outlawing the presence of people perceived as 'vagrants' in public spaces. Modern versions of these laws might target behaviors like loitering or sleeping in parks. Anti-panhandling laws restrict begging or soliciting in certain areas, often justifying these restrictions as necessary for public safety or to prevent fraud. Laws against sleeping in public spaces, sometimes referred to as "urban camping bans," prohibit sleeping, resting, or storing personal belongings in public areas. Cities might also enforce sit-lie ordinances, which make it illegal to sit or lie down on sidewalks in certain parts of the city during specific times.

The rationale behind these laws often revolves around concerns for public health and safety, maintaining the aesthetic quality of urban spaces, and supporting local businesses that might be affected by the presence of homeless individuals. Proponents argue that such laws are necessary to prevent public spaces from becoming unsanitary or unsafe, and to ensure that commercial districts remain attractive and accessible to shoppers and tourists.

However, public attitudes towards homelessness and these laws are deeply divided. On one side, some view these laws as necessary measures to maintain order and protect the rights of the broader community. They argue that the presence of homeless individuals in public spaces can lead to increased crime, decreased property values, and a general deterioration of the neighborhood quality.

On the other hand, critics of these laws see them as inhumane and counterproductive. They argue that criminalizing homelessness does not solve the problem but merely pushes it out of sight. By penalizing behaviors that are a direct result of being homeless, these laws make it more difficult for individuals to escape the cycle of homelessness. Paying fines or serving jail time can be particularly challenging for someone without stable income or housing, and having a criminal record can make it even harder to find employment or rent an apartment.

Additionally, these critics highlight that criminalization often ignores the systemic issues that lead to homelessness, such as lack of affordable housing, inadequate mental health services, and systemic poverty. They advocate for a more compassionate approach that addresses these root causes, providing support and services to help individuals transition out of homelessness.

The criminalization of homelessness reflects a tension between maintaining public order and addressing the needs of the homeless population. It raises significant ethical, legal, and practical questions about how society chooses to respond to this complex social issue. While the goal of maintaining clean and safe public spaces is understandable, the methods of achieving this through criminalization are increasingly being scrutinized and challenged. The debate continues as communities grapple with finding the most effective and humane ways to address the persistent challenge of homelessness. 

Historical Context of Homelessness in the United States

The history of homelessness in the United States is a tapestry of socio-economic changes, policy shifts, and evolving public attitudes. Tracing its roots, one can observe that homelessness as a widespread issue became particularly noticeable in the late 19th century, coinciding with industrialization and urbanization. However, it was the Great Depression of the 1930s that brought the plight of homeless individuals into stark relief, as massive economic downturns left many without jobs or homes. This period saw an unprecedented number of Americans experiencing homelessness, leading to the establishment of transient camps known as "Hoovervilles."

Post-World War II America witnessed a period of economic prosperity that somewhat mitigated the homelessness crisis. However, this was not to last. The deinstitutionalization movement of the 1960s and 1970s, aimed at reforming mental health care, inadvertently contributed to a new wave of homelessness. Many patients, released from psychiatric institutions, lacked adequate community-based support and resources, leading to increased rates of homelessness, particularly among individuals with mental health issues.

Economic factors have also played a crucial role in the history of homelessness in the U.S. The late 20th century saw significant changes in the economy, including deindustrialization, a shift to service-based jobs, and rising housing costs. These changes disproportionately affected low-income individuals, making housing unaffordable for many. The 1980s and 2000s economic recessions further exacerbated this trend, leading to spikes in homelessness. Additionally, urban renewal projects often led to the demolition of affordable housing units, replacing them with developments out of reach for low-income individuals.

Social policies have had a mixed impact on homelessness. The federal government initially took a welfare-oriented approach, with programs in the 1960s and 1970s aimed at providing housing and support services. However, in the 1980s, there was a significant policy shift. The federal government reduced spending on affordable housing and welfare programs, leading to a reduction in available resources for those at risk of homelessness. This period marked a gradual shift from welfare approaches to an emphasis on law and order, culminating in the criminalization of homelessness.

This shift to criminalization became increasingly prominent in the 1990s and 2000s. Cities across the U.S. began enacting ordinances that targeted homeless people, penalizing activities such as sleeping in public, panhandling, and loitering. These laws were often justified as necessary for public safety and urban cleanliness, but they did little to address the root causes of homelessness. Instead, they led to a cycle of fines, arrests, and incarceration for many homeless individuals, exacerbating the challenge of re-entering society and finding stable housing.

The history of homelessness in the United States is marked by a complex interplay of economic upheavals, social policy changes, and shifting public attitudes. From the welfare-oriented approaches of the mid-20th century to the more recent trend of criminalization, the nation's response to homelessness has evolved, reflecting broader societal values and economic realities.