#covid-19 situation

[ifwebefriends]

Y’all I actually can’t remember if COVID-19 is canon in the Sherlock and Co universe

[arctic-hands]

I spent FOUR DAYS in an E.R bed because there were NO beds open anywhere in the hospital proper. I get discharged after a week of being dangerously dehydrated despite the constant heavy duty electrolytes being pumped into my veins round the clock and in the third worst pain of my life, only to watch on the news at home a report about the days-long wait times in hospitals and hear that the reporters have the audacity to wonder why hospitals are overcrowded again

It's covid. Stop being wilful idiots

[desolatehands]

Hi! I hate to have to make a post like this, but I am in some need of assistance. I'm a disabled individual living on VERY limited income and most of my income has been going towards moving expenses as I am leaving this current housing situation in two months. I have already spent most of my paycheck on mailing off valuables to my next location. The next step is to get my furbaby the things he needs to travel comfortably with me.

The goal is to have him with me in the cabin to help not only him, but myself too with my anxiety. It's difficult traveling alone as an autistic individual, so my cat is my best bet in keeping cool without turning to opiates as a one day prescription.

Here is the amazon list, if anyone feels like helping.

And here are a couple photos of Steven hard as a rock Stone. He's a very sweet and loving cat. But, I am in a very poor state financially.

My roommate is not the best and has 'forgotten' about the cash I have given her to purchase specific things for the cats in the house. Instead using that money to buy cigarettes.

While I don't feel comfortable talking about too many details, I can comfortably say I live with a hoarder, that I am blamed for things out of my control ( like the bills she should be paying w my rent ), so on and so forth.

I'm incredibly sorry to ask for this help, but my hands are kind of tied. It's been insanely difficult to get out of an abusive situation while being disabled.

[dreamly]

i agree with a lot of music fans and journalists/critics/artists that “lockdown”/“pandemic”/“quarantine” albums usually aren’t great and also don’t do very well, but i do think there is one truly incredible (at least in quality i haven’t looked at numbers and tbh i don’t really care) and maybe not the most obvious exception (well maybe it is obvious but i don’t see this album talked about a lot since like the month it came out and i don’t think i’ve seen it talked about in the conversations about art inspired by covid-19/lockdowns). anyway can we play a little game where you guys guess what album it is (this might help me find more good music or at least music you think i’d like as well as be [hopefully] fun!)

[tweedfrog]

Ok gang how do you tell someone you love them and miss them and want to talk to them more in a way that isn't clingy or desperate :')

[spookysalem13]

My close long distance friend, calls me Panda 🐼, this completely looks like me in a GIF haha 😄!

This is my energy right now. I'm still stuck in bed with covid-19, being immune compromised, my body is having a rough time fighting off this virus.

My chronic migraines are really bad today. I'm laying in the dark with ice on my head 🫠.

I laid down today expecting to take a thirty minute nap. When I wound up sleeping 💤 for 4 hours 🙃!

Today is not my best day. But I'm going to make the best out of it.

I have my friend texting me, keeping me company. I have my kitty 😺 who has been very cuddly today. ☺️ However her screams are a bit much for my migraine today 😅. I don't know why she likes to scream bloody murder as she talks to you... I have a weird cat. She's very loud!

I have my electric heated blanket, I'm comfortable in bed. I have social media to keep me entertained. My friend may go on Tiktok live later tonight, so I'll be able to watch and talk to him there.

I have yummy soup, all I have to do is heat it up when I'm ready to eat.

My parents are being very kind and are coming in to regularly check on me. 🥰

It may be another uncomfortable day. But I'm not mad about it. My body is taking the time it needs to get over this virus 🦠. And I hope soon I will be back at work.

I hope to do more of these daily GIF life updates.

[fredhugesfan]

Wed. 8/31/2022

Currently, I find it difficult to concentrate and focus on tasks, even if they're not particularly significant. I wonder if this struggle stems from the influence of Social Media™ on my attention span, or if it could be related to an undiagnosed mental illness like ADHD, or perhaps it's due to insufficient sleep, or some other factor I'm unaware of. Being constantly attached to my phone certainly doesn't aid the situation; it feels like my only refuge at times. My current situation, living without a job and in a remote location, exacerbates these feelings. Access to transportation is limited, relying heavily on others for mobility as there are no nearby buses. Utilizing Lyft or Uber proves costly for simple errands like going to Walmart or Target, easily amounting to $20 to $30 per trip. While I share living space with two others, their leisure activities tend to be sedentary, revolving around screen time, walks, and puzzles. Though I understand the need for caution due to COVID-19 and rising gas prices, it doesn't alleviate the sense of stagnation. However, there's a glimmer of hope on the horizon; I'll be relocating to Arizona around October, where I anticipate better accessibility with public transportation and amenities within walking distance. Despite this prospect, I remain uncertain about fully committing to the move, as I hold no aversion to living in Minnesota or Washington State.

[pandemic-info]

"Any chance we're wrong about Covid?"

It's a valid question many people earnestly think about — even the very cautious.

'it becomes important to ask: "what does the data actually say?"'

Quoting a few good answers from a thread:

"Covid left me disabled in 2020. I know with 100% certainty that I am not wrong about Covid. I live with the proof every minute of every day for the rest of my life."

"The insurance companies and government statisticians care, or rather they have taken an objective interest." > https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/LNU01074597 > https://insurancenewsnet.com/innarticle/insurance-industry-coalition-forms-non-profit-to-study-excess-mortality

"There are parallels between how governments are responding to COVID-19 and how they responded to tobacco back in the day. “it would be a mistake to assume governments would automatically protect people from a public health threat in the face of more immediate economic considerations…there would be resistance to change that might be costly until evidence to justify it was overwhelming.”" > https://johnsnowproject.org/insights/merchants-of-doubt/

"I suspect most of us entertain this thought from time to time, especially when it’s this absurdly difficult and lonely to maintain a Covid Conscious lifestyle. But it’s important to remember that history is littered with people making terrible choices en masse: with handling past pandemics, the holocaust, slavery, witch burnings, etc. Hell pretty much everyone used to smoke and putting lead in everything was A-ok. Just because a lot of people believe something doesn’t mean they’re right. So it becomes important to ask what does the data actually say? The research and the statistical data on this subject paint an ugly but fairly quantifiable picture by which we can gauge our understanding of the situation and our choices in response to it. Read the science. Look at the data on things like Long Covid. There are also many of us who have already had our health absolutely ravaged by this virus or lost loved ones to it etc., and everyone in that position has first hand evidence for how dangerous this virus is. It’s tremendously difficult to swim against the current like we are and self-doubt is natural in those conditions, but that’s when seeking out factual information on the subject is the best course of action."

"But what it all comes back to for me is - say we're wrong, and covid is a big nothingburger and lockdowns are the root of all evil. Ok, well, what I'm doing is acting on the best information available to me at this time to protect my family. I can't regret that. I will always be able to look my kids in the eye and say "I did my best with what I had."" ... So if we're wrong - well, we wore masks, changed our social habits, reduced our consumerism and our contribution to the destruction of our planet, and reduced how often we got sick. None of those things are bad. If they're wrong, they and their kids are screwed. I'd rather err on the side of caution.

[covid-safer-hotties]

(From 2023)

(From 2021)

(From 2024)

(A study)

This is not new information, and the complete lack of connection made by the media and public health communicators is creating a new epidemic of diabetes through ignorance. Mask up. Protect yourself and others from long-lasting disease induced by this virus.

[thewackypegasus]

COVID-19 AU???? haven't we suffered enough? 😭

Human AU, Modern AU and Covid-19 have got to be all around the worst fucking AU tags you can see on any fanfiction

[reasonsforhope]

"Millions of Australians just got official permission to ignore their bosses outside of working hours, thanks to a new law enshrining their "right to disconnect."

The law doesn't strictly prohibit employers from calling or messaging their workers after hours. But it does protect employees who "refuse to monitor, read or respond to contact or attempted contact outside their working hours, unless their refusal is unreasonable," according to the Fair Work Commission, Australia's workplace relations tribunal.

That includes outreach from their employer, as well as other people "if the contact or attempted contact is work-related."

The law, which passed in February, took effect on Monday [August 26, 2024] for most workers and will apply to small businesses of fewer than 15 people starting in August 2025. It adds Australia to a growing list of countries aiming to protect workers' free time.

"It's really about trying to bring back some work-life balance and make sure that people aren't racking up hours of unpaid overtime for checking emails and responding to things at a time when they're not being paid," said Sen. Murray Watt, Australia's minister for employment and workplace relations.

The law doesn't give employees a complete pass, however...

"If it was an emergency situation, of course people would expect an employee to respond to something like that," Watt said. "But if it's a run-of-the-mill thing … then they should wait till the next work day, so that people can actually enjoy their private lives, enjoy time with their family and their friends, play sport or whatever they want to do after hours, without feeling like they're chained to the desk at a time when they're not actually being paid, because that's just not fair."

Protections aim to address erosion of work-life balance

The law's supporters hope it will help solidify the boundary between the personal and the professional, which has become increasingly blurry with the rise of remote work since the COVID-19 pandemic.

A 2022 survey by the Centre for Future Work at the Australia Institute, a public policy think tank, found that seven out of 10 Australians performed work outside of scheduled working hours, with many reporting experiencing physical tiredness, stress and anxiety as a result.

The following year, the institute reported that Australians clocked an average of 281 hours of unpaid overtime in 2023. Valuing that labor at average wage rates, it estimated the average worker is losing the equivalent of nearly $7,500 U.S. dollars each year.

"This is particularly concerning when worker's share of national income remains at a historically low level, wage growth is not keeping up with inflation, and the cost of living is rising," it added.

The Australian Council of Trade Unions hailed the new law as a "cost-of-living win for working people," especially those in industries like teaching, community services and administrative work.

The right to disconnect, it said, will not only cut down on Australians' unpaid work hours but also address the "growing crisis of increasing mental health illness and injuries in modern workplaces."

"More money in your pocket, more time with your loved ones and more freedom to live your life — that's what the right to disconnect is all about," ACTU President Michele O’Neil said in a statement.

The 2022 Australia Institute survey... found broad support for a right to disconnect.

Only 9% of respondents said such a policy would not positively affect their lives. And the rest cited a slew of positive effects, from having more social and family time to improved mental health and job satisfaction. Thirty percent of respondents said it would enable them to be more productive during work hours.

Eurofound, the European Union agency for the improvement of living and working conditions, said in a 2023 study that workers at companies with a right to disconnect policy reported better work-life balance than those without — 92% versus 80%."

-via GoodGoodGood, August 26, 2024

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSTARVE AND DIE * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　when Nick and Matt test positive for covid and Chris has to go into lockdown to prevent catching the virus, who will look after them?

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　covid-19, sickness.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Y/N sighed as she turned off her car, preparing herself for the long days ahead, not that it was a burden for her to take care of her boyfriend and best friends, almost brothers.

Matt and Nick tested positive for Covid-19 two days ago, and the first thing Chris did upon receiving their test results was send a quick text to Y/N saying that they both had the virus and that he and his brothers would have to be in lockdown for at least five days.

He sent many texts asking her to not worry, as his brothers' symptoms weren't much more than the flu, and that he was fine and would stay in his room so he wouldn't run the risk of catching the virus too, but who said she listened?

Y/N knew that Chris wouldn't have the patience to make healthy food at least three times a day for him and his brothers, and she knew how afraid he was of getting sick too. Y/N didn't have that worry, being a medical student and a resident at LA's main private hospital, she knew very well how to deal with all of this and wouldn't spare any energy when taking care of her family.

The girl was grateful that her boss had empathy and gave her a few days off work.

With that, Y/N prepared herself the day before, going to the nearest pharmacy to buy some boxes of covid tests and a new box of disposable masks, since the one she had at home was running low, and then went to Target, buying several healthy snacks, fruits, vegetables and chicken to make several soups and light food dishes, not intending to make anything heavy or fatty with fear of making the boys' situation worse.

Today, before leaving the house, Y/N prepared a backpack with a few extra changes of clothes, without overfilling it due to having more than enough of it at the triplets' house. Furthermore, she took a purse and put everything she would need: masks, tests, food and some medicines that are allowed during covid to alleviate some symptoms.

Before getting out of the driver's seat, Y/N grabbed the mask she had ready next to her, putting it on her face and finally getting out of the car. Y/N closed the door and opened the back seat, grabbing her backpack and purse, quickly locking the car and walking to the front door. The girl searched the pocket of her Fresh Love sweatpants, soon finding the spare key to her boyfriend's house.

After unlocking the door, she opened it carefully, not wanting to make too much noise, already knowing that one of the boys had a headache, if not all of them.

The girl walked to the kitchen and placed her things on the counter, before going back to the door to close and lock it.

Before Y/N started her first task, she walked to Chris's room, seeing the door closed. She knocked twice lightly, opening it slowly and seeing Chris under the covers staring at the ceiling, in the dark, with only the light from his TV illuminating the space, the girl held back a laugh knowing that her boyfriend was probably losing his mind for staying locked in his room alone for days.

Chris quickly raised his head with the sound, taking a few seconds to realize that Y/N was there, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Babe, what are you doing here?" He asked, getting up quickly and walking towards her, asking with his eyes if he could get closer and the girl rolled her eyes, nodding.

"I came to take care of you three idiots." She mumbled against the mask, closing her eyes momentarily as she felt Chris's arms around her, never wanting to let go.

"I told you not to worry, I had everything under control." Chris murmured, pulling away to look her in the eyes.

"Of course, so much so that you were lying there staring at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world." She let out a laugh when she heard Chris snort. "I'm sure you must be starving, when was the last time you ate some real food?" Y/N questioned, seeing Chris shrug.

"You talk as if I didn't show up at the hospital almost everyday with lunch for you." Chris snapped like a child, crossing his arms.

"Lunch that Nick made." She argued, laughing loudly when Chris huffed, frowning. "I'm kidding, baby, I love it when you show up at the hospital with lunch for me." Y/N said, approaching and planting a kiss on Chris's shoulder behind the mask.

"By the way, weren't you on duty today?" Chris asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he took his phone out of his hoodie pocket and double-clicked the screen, checking the date.

"I did, but I asked my boss for a few days off so I could take care of you and she gave it to me." Y/N said smiling big, and Chris couldn't help but smile back as he saw his girlfriend's eyes shrink from her happy expression, without being able to see her smile directly.

"Well, since you're already here, I think I'm a little hungry." Chris joked, running his hand over his belly and giving her a mischievous smile.

"Alright little kid, I'm going to cook you something and you're going to stay here in your room and look pretty." The girl said, pushing Chris lightly, blowing a kiss and closing the door behind her.

Y/N walked to the kitchen again, not containing her goofy smile.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N lifted the lid of the pan, taking the wooden spoon and quickly tasting the chicken soup (here in Brazil we call it canja, and it works miracles when you're sick, and it's delicious), letting out a sound of pleasure for the flavor. She turned off the heat, taking three plates from the cupboard and the spoon, distributing the soup on each of the plates, sprinkling some leek on top before taking three spoons and placing them inside the plates.

The girl took three glasses and added fresh orange juice, which she made minutes before, and took two pills of the only headache medicine allowed during the virus.

Y/N opened one of the cabinets and took three trays, placing them side by side on the counter and arranging on top of each one the plate of soup, the glass of juice and the medicine pill.

She quickly grabbed the first tray and walked carefully to Matt's bedroom door, bending down and placing the tray on the floor before knocking on the door three times.

"Matt?"

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" Y/N heard Matt's voice, feeling in his voice the pain the boy was feeling.

"I came to take care of you three, I made some soup and juice, they're in here." She replied, hearing the boy move around inside the room before walking away and returning to the kitchen, hearing the sound of the door opening and closing a few minutes later.

Y/N took the second tray and walked to Nick's room, hearing his voice behind the door, assuming he was on a call with someone or recording a video. The girl bent down and placed the tray on the floor again, knocking firmly on the door to make sure Nick heard.

"What are you doing outside your room, Chris?" Nick shouted from inside the room, making the girl laugh. "Y/N?!" He asked in surprise before quickly opening the door and Y/N applauded herself for wearing the mask. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be working?" Nick asked, holding the camera in one of his hands, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I took a few days off to take care of you three. And I made real food!" Y/N repeated the same sentence for the thousandth time, pointing to the tray, smiling when she saw the taller's eyes light up.

The boy bent down, picking up the tray with one of his hands and straightening up, raising the camera again and smiling wide at the lens.

"Guys, Y/N brought food for us, the hungry ones. Everyone say "thank you Y/N"." Nick spoke into the lens, smiling widely at the girl before closing the door after seeing her turn to go back to the kitchen.

Finally, the girl took the last tray and walked to the last room, her boyfriend's, where she would stay for the rest of the days, knowing that the boy was free of the virus.

"Honey? Open here for me, please." Y/N asked from behind the door, entering the room after Chris quickly opened it with a smile on his face, staring at the soup on the tray.

The girl let out a laugh, placing the tray on the boy's computer desk and sitting on his bed, pointing at the food.

"Bon appétit, my love."

"What would I do without you?" Chris asked, approaching the computer desk and sitting in the chair.

"Starve and die." She replied, laughing loudly behind her mask as she saw Chris shove a spoonful of soup into his mouth as he nodded quickly, without actually hearing her.

© vanteguccir

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Alex Samuels at Daily Kos:

President Donald Trump announced Friday that he pulled federal security protection for former top U.S. health official, Dr. Anthony Fauci, making him the latest casualty of Trump’s revenge tour.  Fauci, who retired from government service in December 2022, served as the nation’s top infectious diseases expert amid the COVID-19 pandemic. He was protected by federal marshals, and later by a private contractor, that was paid for by the National Institutes of Health, according to The New York Times. Sources close to the situation also told CNN, which first reported the move, that Fauci’s detail was abruptly terminated on Thursday evening. This past June, Fauci said he and his family still receive death threats, in part, because right-wing figures like Trump repeatedly promoted baseless lies about the efficacy of the COVID-19 vaccine.  “It’s a pattern,” Fauci told CNN, adding that when someone in the media or Congress “gets up and makes a public statement that I’m responsible for the deaths of X number of people because of policies or some crazy idea that I created the virus— immediately you can, it’s like clockwork—the death threats go way up.” In May 2022, for instance, a West Virginia man pleaded guilty to sending Fauci and other federal officials emails that threatened to kill them. Given that, and the public-facing role Fauci played during the pandemic, he’s now hired his own private security that he’ll pay for himself. During a press conference in North Carolina on Friday, Trump defended the move as a natural progression that comes once officials no longer serve in the federal government. He also suggested that Fauci has more than enough money to pay for his own security detail.

[...] This is the latest move in Trump’s revenge arc. Earlier this week, he yanked security detail from his former national security adviser, John Bolton, who sharply criticized the president in his memoir, “The Room Where It Happened.” Trump cited the memoir as one of his reasons for revoking Bolton’s security detail. [...] In addition to Bolton, Trump also moved to end security details for former Secretary of State Mike Pompeo and former State Department official Brian Hook. Both men were granted additional protection because they faced threats from Iran. At least, in Fauci’s case, Trump might not be able to retaliate against him personally. Former President Joe Biden preemptively pardoned Fauci on his last day in office, citing concerns about politically motivated investigations into the doctor, who had served for decades as the nation’s top infectious diseases expert.

Pettiness in action by Tyrant 47.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 9: Some Days He Feels Like Dying]

A/N: Below are your guesses...let's see how you did!!! 🥰😘

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Extraordinary Girl” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Let’s go back to the beginning of the end of the world.

On the big-screen tv in the Liberty Center at Saratoga Springs, Wolf Blitzer is saying: “We are receiving confirmation of additional outbreaks of the so-called Florida Fever, the first cases of which here in the U.S. were reported in Miami a little over one week ago. Concern is now growing nationally, especially as the modes of transmission, symptoms, and treatment options remain unclear. Let’s go across the country to Natasha Chen for the latest information. Natasha?”

“Hi, Wolf. I’m here outside the UC San Diego Medical Center where early this morning, two individuals suspected to be suffering from the illness were admitted. I’ve been informed by hospital staff that both patients are currently in stable condition, but there is still so much confusion and conflicting information regarding this ‘Florida Fever,’ and of course that uncertainty is leading to fear, rumors, and honestly a bit of hysteria. Even how to refer to the sickness is controversial, with no official name having been decided upon by scientists. Cases in Australia are known as Ragepox, the U.K. has dubbed it the 21st Century Sweat after a mysterious disease from the 1500s, and Russia is calling it the Ukrainian Flu while Ukraine has opted for the Russian Red Rot, inspired by the skin lesions that some patients experience.”

“Can you tell us what we do know, Natasha? Are doctors classifying this illness as a virus, or as a bacterial infection more akin to tuberculosis or meningitis?”

“At this time, what I’m hearing is that doctors are fairly certain it’s a virus, as patients do not seem to respond to antibiotics when they’ve been explored as a potential treatment. But there’s truly very little information at this early stage, and I think we’re all being reminded of those first days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when no one really knew how to best to avoid contracting the virus or what the long-term effects would be both nationally and globally.”

“There are absolutely some similarities, Natasha, which I’m sure is contributing to the unease surrounding the situation. What precautions are doctors currently recommending?”

“Wolf, doctors are urging the public not to panic, and to exercise common sense measures like avoiding crowded spaces, sanitizing surfaces, and staying home if they’re feeling unwell. Suspected cases of the illness should be reported to primary physicians or local hospitals. Typical symptoms appear to include headaches, fever, gastrointestinal upset, skin discoloration and blistering, and unusual bleeding, as well as behavioral changes, particularly disorientation, aggression, and even violence in some patients…”

“That ain’t what it is,” Rio says. He jabs his index finger at the tv from where he sits on the couch beside you. “Snowflake wasn’t sick, he was dead. He was motherfucking dead, flatline, code blue, crossed the rainbow bridge, he was gone. He was dead and then he woke back up, and he wasn’t a person anymore. He was…something else.”

“Dumbass, people don’t come back from the dead,” Mike says from the ping pong table. People are milling around pretending to play pool, darts, chess, poker, Monopoly, Uno, Parcheesi, but really you’re all here for the same reason. You want to know what’s happening.

Rio turns to you. “Wasn’t Snowflake dead?”

“He definitely seemed dead,” you reply, knees tucked to your chest and still watching the tv. Wolf Blitzer’s voice is calm, but his pale blue eyes have a manic sort of light to them, too large and too rattled.

“Man, fuck Florida,” says Desmond, a utilitiesman born and raised Trenton, New Jersey. “Nothing but psychos and alligators. Saw them off of Georgia and just let them float away.”

“What was that?” Tyler replies combatively. He’s from a trailer park in Tallahassee.

“Ty, why do you care? You’d be fine. You’re already up here. You can stay.”

“They’re lying,” Rio mutters, meaning Wolf and Natasha on CNN. “When the corpsmen called the hospital, they said to be prepared to restrain Snowflake and that he might try to bite us. Why aren’t they warning people about that?!”

Kayleigh, a steelworker from Oklahoma City, looses a frenetic sort of laugh. “Because there’s no non-panic-inducing way to say: Hey, go buy some duct tape and bungee cords to tie up your loved ones, because they might try to fucking eat you.”

Rio doesn’t frown often, but he is now; he slips his phone out of the pocket of his camo pants and types out a WhatsApp message to Sophie. You only know her from photos and quick hellos via video chat, a sweet diminutive woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to fill up half her face, as fragile as Rio is overwhelming. She likes baking and romance novels and elephants; whenever Rio finds elephant-themed souveners, he ships them home to Oregon for her, refrigerator magnets and wallets and scarves and snow globes. Sophie wears a lot of long flowing skirts and hand-knit sweaters, and offers strange suggestions when she and Rio discuss baby names: Sage, Fox, Laurel, Coral, Juniper, Karma, Rune, Otter. Otter?! Rio had exclaimed. Babe, if you name our kid Otter, even I’M gonna have to bully them.

“I’m telling Sophie to stay with my parents,” Rio says to you. “They’ve gotten super weird with all the off-the-grid stuff, but they have years’ worth of supplies and grow most of their own food now, and they’re thirty miles from the nearest town. And no one knows how to defend themselves like doomsday preppers.”

“Good idea,” you reply, watching the tv. Now Wolf Blitzer is talking about tornadoes in the Midwest, and you could almost believe the world is normal again.

A few days later all major social media platforms begin censoring content related to the so-called Florida Fever, and then the internet goes down completely, and then the power turns off and on and off again, and finally quits like a car driven to its last mile. The combat units are moved out of Saratoga Springs—never to be heard from again—and the construction projects paused indefinitely, and one of the master-at-arms that Rio is friends with (Rio has a lot of friends, surely you aren’t so remarkable) relays information that he shouldn’t: tales of planned missions, impossible plagues, overrun cities, innumerable deserters in every branch of the U.S. military.

“Hey,” Rio whispers, shaking you awake one night, moonlight streaming through the windows and the pops of distant gunfire you aren’t supposed to ask about. “If I leave, will you come with me?”

It’s a big commitment; it could be a lifetime. You fear he might just be trying not to hurt your feelings. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Rio says. “I’m not leaving without you. Are you going to Oregon by choice, or should I tie you up and throw you in the back of the Humvee?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a young one, maybe a teenager, little buds for horns and only weighing a few hundred pounds. This is good; if it was any heavier, Cregan and Rio wouldn’t be able to drag it back to the ranch. You’re still in Red Desert, Wyoming, and the bison are grazing just off I-80, an asphalt artery that cuts through an endless steppe of sand-colored rocks and tall grass. They gaze lazily in your direction with bulbous dark eyes, perpetually chewing, not terribly intelligent. The Colt pistols of the men who found you at the RV had been loaded with 9mm bullets, the same caliber your Berettas take; there weren’t many, but enough to fill both of your clips, something that feels like winning the lottery. You are lying on the rocky, dusty soil and lining up the shot. If you miss, the herd will scatter, and you’ll watch dinner vanish beneath a blue sky—pale like Aemond’s eye, a weak shallow blue—and rough white scars of cirrostratus clouds.

“Feels kind of wrong to kill a baby,” you murmur. Daeron, Luke, Baela, Helaena, and Ice are back at the house. Aemond, Rio, Cregan, Rhaena, and Aegon are here on the ground with you; Aegon insisted upon being brought along, and Rio agreed to carry him. Aegon had never seen American bison outside of the Oregon Trail computer game, those pixelated brown blobs migrating across the screen no more material than unicorns or faeries or basilisks.

“If the baby didn’t want to get killed, it shouldn’t be made of steak,” Aegon points out. He’s on a lot of Vicodin, the only narcotic Aemond could find back in Ogallala, Nebraska.

“No pressure, Chips,” Rio says, chewing on a long blade of little bluestem grass. “If you miss we’re just going to have to eat each other like the Donner Party.”

Aegon wrinkles his nose in confusion. “The what?”

“She won’t miss,” Aemond says, and Rio snickers to himself and gives you a quick wink that no one else notices.

“I don’t think one 9mm bullet will do it,” Cregan mutters. “Cows got thick skulls, I figure bison are the same way. You’ll have to hit it a few times, and before it can take off and disappear on us.”

Aemond casts him a patronizing glance. “And you’ve killed a lot of cows?”

“Oh yeah. Worked in a slaughterhouse for a while before I got hired by the power company. Hated it, went home and could still smell the blood and brains on myself no matter how many times I showered. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Aemond looks like he regrets asking. Rhaena frowns worriedly at the bison. “Will they charge if someone shoots at them?”

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

You squeeze the trigger five times in quick succession, hit the calf thrice, tiny puffs of scarlet mist that spring from its woolly head. It flops over as the rest of the herd jolts into a gallop, kicking up dust and fleeing across the steppe.

“Yes!” Rio booms as everyone applauds. “We’re in business! We’re having ribeyes tonight! Cregan, my good sir, I take mine medium rare.”

“You’re getting well done,” Aemond tells him. “Everyone is. Just in case the bison has parasites.”

Rio groans. “You’re ruining my life, man.” Then he and Cregan trot over to grab the baby bison, each of them taking one of its back hooves.

“So,” Aegon says dreamily. “Now that Rio is preoccupied, who would like to assist me in returning my disgusting, debilitated body to the ranch? Anyone? Anyone?”

Rhaena turns to you. “When we have more bullets, could you give me shooting lessons?”

“Sure,” you reply, a bit startled. “Really? You’re interested?”

“Well…” Rhaena hesitates. “Baela’s always been the brave one. At home, at school, when we were shopping, even when restaurants would mess up my order, Baela would do the talking and make sure I was alright…and I would literally hide behind her waiting for her to solve all my problems. And now…with the baby, with Jace…it’s been really different being the one to help her for a change, and I don’t think I’m very good at it yet. But Baela deserves to have people to lean on, just like I’ve always had her. And…when I stabbed that guy in the RV…I kind of liked it.” She titters nervously when she sees the shock on your face. “No, not like that! Not the killing part, or the gushing blood, that was all super gross. But the fact that I helped protect Baela and Luke? The fact that I wasn’t useless in that situation? That was a good feeling. Baela is clever, and she’s courageous and caring and funny, and she’s always been better than me at everything, and I never minded because she…she was like my own personal superhero, you know? But now I feel like I need to start learning how to do things myself so I can help her. Even if Baela is still better at everything, and probably always will be.”

Aegon grins toothily and pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know how you feel. It’s pretty impossible to look heroic next to Aemond.”

“Stop,” Aemond says, but he’s smiling, and a bloom of bashful pink blood appears in his cheeks.

“You already took over the driving,” you tell Rhaena encouragingly. “That was a big help.”

“Yeah,” Rhaena replies, a bit pensive. “Let’s hope I can keep that going.” Between the gas Aemond found in Ogallala and what was siphoned from the would-be attackers’ GMC Yukon, you got enough fuel in the Tahoe to take it halfway across Wyoming; but now the gauge is not just at but venturing below the E, and it can’t have more than five or ten miles left. That might not even get you to the next ranch, let alone a proper town. You need a working vehicle. There are nearly a thousand miles between here and Odessa, Oregon.

Aegon is pawing at Aemond like a cat. “Come on, hero. Help me up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is why we’re friends,” Rio tells you as he shovels forkfuls of bison steak into his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. Cregan gutted the bison and butchered it, then you helped him cook the steaks—not very uniform in size and shape, yet no one is complaining—on a pan heated in the woodstove. You fed the fire with books you found in the house, mostly religious in nature. “You convince me not to commit suicide when we’re stranded on a transmission tower, you share your Cheddar Whales, you’re good at shooting things…”

“How did you two become friends?” Baela asks. You are all arranged around the dining room table; there are just enough chairs for everyone. Ice lies beneath it mauling on bison bones that Cregan set aside for her. The room is illuminated by flashlights. Baela looks great: in good spirits, glowing, alert, wearing a loose cotton dress that Helaena found in an upstairs closet for her. Baela napped most of the day, something she rarely allows herself to indulge in, and the benefits are evident.

Rio says nonchalantly: “I talked to everybody and she barely talked at all. So of course I had to investigate and figure out what that was about. Turns out she’s kind of cool. You know the Wheel of Fortune game at arcades where there’s like a hundred little lights in a circle you have to press the button when the one that says Spin Zone lights up? She’s a freak, she can hit it almost every time. Can’t sink a basketball or sing karaoke to save her life, but you know, we all have flaws.”

Aegon looks up from his map, which he is scrutinizing as he eats his bison steak. “Do you realize that if we could just stop at gas stations like back when everything was normal, we’d be in Odessa or the Bay Area in fifteen hours? Literally less than one day. Fucking unreal. And yet here we are trapped in yee-haw country, freaky giant animals, no civilization but Jesus billboards everywhere, hell on earth.” He holds up a palm. “No offense, Cregan. You’re okay.”

Cregan smiles mildly. “None taken, Fried Foot. You know you’re a little well done yourself these days.”

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

“We’ll find gas tomorrow,” Aemond says. He sounds confident because he has to; he’s not allowed to panic, to give up. He’s seated at the head of the table like a patriarch. His steak is the smallest and the most ragged. He wouldn’t accept any of the others.

You ask Baela: “Have you decided what to name the baby?”

“Kind of.” She rests both hands on her belly, a globe like a full moon. Helaena glances over at Baela, frowning and preoccupied. “If it’s a boy, I’m going to name it after Jace. We had already picked out Theodore…and Teddy for short, isn’t that cute? But now…I’d want him to have that connection to his father. The baby won’t have any pictures of him, or videos, or memories, or papers he wrote in school, or ties or rings or cufflinks, or…anything. But he could have Jace’s name.”

The rest of you nod, eyes downcast and feeling terribly sorry for her. “I really like that idea,” Luke says quietly.

Now Baela is thinking, her gaze traveling around the room as she chews on a cube of streak. “I’m not sure what I’d call a girl. Maybe something naturey like Violet, Rosemary, Ivy, Indigo, Fern…”

“You should name it Otter,” you say, and you and Rio erupt into raucous laughter. Aemond smiles as he watches you.

Baela is grinning uncertainly, trying not to be insensitive. Perhaps people named their kids stuff like Otter where you came from. “Um, sorry, what?!”

“That was one of the baby names on Sophie’s list,” Rio clarifies. “I vetoed it. Or at least…I think she agreed to cross it off…? Oh my God, imagine I finally get to Odessa only to find out my firstborn child has been named Otter.”

“You’d have to turn right back around,” you say. “Total abandonment would be the only honorable choice. We’d have to start over someplace else. I’ve heard Texas is nice.”

Aegon snorts. “You can’t live in Texas. They don’t even have legal weed there.”

Rhaena squints at him. “I don’t really think that’s a concern anymore, Aegon.”

Aegon smacks his forehead theatrically. “Oh no, I forgot about the apocalypse again!”

“So Cregan,” Baela says. “You were planning to vote for Trump.”

Everyone at the table groans. “No politics,” Aemond says.

“They’re all dead now, so it doesn’t matter,” Rhaena adds. “Biden, Kamala, that insane Kennedy brain worm dude, Trump…”

Aegon says: “If I was a zombie, I wouldn’t eat Trump.”

“I just found that interesting,” Baela continues, looking at Cregan like she’s expecting him to explain himself. Rhaena and Luke exchange a nervous glance. Daeron reaches under the table to pet Ice; you can hear her tail thumping cheerfully against the hardwood floor.

“I was a Trump voter, yeah,” Cregan replies between bites of steak. Aemond is studying him uneasily, but Cregan’s baritone voice is calm. “That doesn’t mean I approved of a lot of the things he did and said. I’m not a monster, I don’t believe in mocking people or all that January 6th stuff. But he was good for the economy. Back when Trump was president, groceries were more affordable, and houses were cheaper, and more companies were hiring. If I had tried to move out of my parents’ place in 2023 instead of 2019, there’s no way I could have done it. And I really needed to get out of there. A lot of people feel that they don’t have the luxury of voting for the nicest candidate, or the candidate they agree with on social issues. Something abstract like climate change isn’t even on the radar. They have to vote for their basic necessities.”

You and Rio understand what he means, you’ve both met plenty of people with the same perspective; everybody else seems shellshocked.

“But I don’t want y’all to think that I’m…” Cregan looks around the table, his eyes catching—interestingly—on Helaena, who observes him with a fully present attentiveness that you’ve learned is rare for her. “You know, like a sexist or a racist or that I hate foreigners or anything. Because I’ve never felt that way, and now I’m very happy to have found you guys, and I respect the hell out of you. And I want to be allowed to stay.”

“You can stay, Cregan,” Helaena reassures him.

“Yeah,” Rio says. “Especially since we’d probably starve without you.”

Cregan beams, clearly grateful, and there are chuckles and the tension breaks; and Baela is placidly skating her palm over the arc of her belly, and now that you’ve eaten all you can, Rio is spearing the remaining chunks of your steak with his fork and gobbling them down. He doesn’t ask before he does this; he knows you don’t mind. You’ve never understood why he’s given you so much over the past nearly five years. You are eternally offering him atonement.

Suddenly, Baela asks you: “What would you name a baby girl?”

You have to think about this before you answer. “Well, if you’re looking for something related to plants…I had a friend when I was growing up named Briar, and I always thought that was pretty.”

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

“It means bramble, like a thorny shrub where blackberries grow. I remember her telling me that her mama wanted it to be a reminder that people go through rough patches and that life gets hard sometimes, but you have to keep going, and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“Briar,” Baela repeats. “Yeah, that’s kind of neat. I’ll add it to the list!”

“And you’d have the same first initial,” Rhaena says. “Baela and Briar. Isn’t that adorable?”

Baela smiles. “And a few Rs thrown in there too. For Rhaena.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Hey Honey Bun, if you had to name your kid after a plant, what would you name it?”

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

Now it’s an hour later, and Aemond is examining Aegon’s burned leg on the living room floor, Helaena holding a flashlight and you and Rio standing by for moral support. Underneath the bandages is a wasteland of red, weeping flesh…and yet there are spots where the skin seems to be hardening into white islands of scar tissue. Rhaena and Luke are keeping watch by the windows, Baela is passed out in one of the bedrooms, Cregan is showing Daeron how to put his wavy blonde hair up in a man bun.

Aemond points to a blackish patch on the top of Aegon’s foot, only a few inches from his ankle. “I have to debride this part here,” he says like an apology.

Aegon is afraid to ask. “What does debride mean?”

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

“It’s getting infected. I have to remove it or it will spread to the rest of the foot and you could get sepsis. I might even have to amputate the whole leg.”

“Okay, cut the dead stuff off,” Aegon swiftly agrees.

Aemond doesn’t have any more injectable morphine. He gives Aegon as much Vicodin as he dares and then begins working, carving away layers of dark disease with his scalpel and scrubbing the area with disinfectant. Aegon clutches your hand, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones might crunch, shrapnel-like splinters of marrow-stained organic glass beneath your skin. Rio has Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman—once owned by Ava—and takes one earbud while giving Aegon the other. They sing along to Sean Paul songs together, laughing as tears stream down Aegon’s sunburned cheeks:

“Well, woman, the way the time cold, I wanna be keepin’ you warm

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

Oh Lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on

And girl, I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom…”

Now you’re curled up in bed, your arms crossed over your belly as you struggle to fall asleep. Aemond comes to bed late now; each night he waits until Baela is sleeping and then teaches Rhaena about childbirth and recovery: what to expect, what could go wrong. She is a good student, borrowing Helaena’s spider notebook to take notes and asking detailed questions. She wants to know everything she can so she can help when Baela goes into labor.

At last, the bedroom door opens. Out in the living room you can hear Rio asking: “Do you have Wagon Wheel? I love that song.”

Aegon scoffs. “No, of course I don’t have Wagon Wheel. Shut up and listen to your Enrique Iglesias.”

“You are so racist, man…”

Aemond sees that you’re in agony, rummages around in his medical kit, and gives you an oval-shaped white pill to wash down with the can of orange Sunkist on the nightstand; Helaena found a case of it in the pantry. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t want to take any Vicodin from Aegon or Baela. They’ll need it more than me.”

“Your pain is as real as anyone else’s.” Aemond’s weight shifts the mattress as he crawls into bed beside you, his arm settling protectively around your waist, his hand covering yours where it rests on your lower belly. “If the Tahoe runs out of gas, will you be okay to walk tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about me. I had three periods during basic training, I honestly thought I might die. After that I can power through just about anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” You feel the soft smile on Aemond’s lips as he kisses your temple. “Do you want quiet, or do you want to talk?”

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

Aemond wastes no time. “Do you like kids?”

“Well, since birth control doesn’t exist anymore, I’d hope everybody does.”

Again, he is smiling; you can hear it in his voice. “Okay, but do you intend to have your own?”

“Yeah, I always envisioned myself having kids. I wanted a normal family and figured I’d have to make one myself, DIY it, you know? I don’t think the plan has changed. Gotta repopulate the earth somehow.”

“I wouldn’t try to sway your decision one way or the other. It’s a burden you should only have to endure if you actively choose it. But if you want to have children one day, I’d help you.”

You giggle in the dim orange glow of a single flashlight. “How self-sacrificial.”

“No,” Aemond says, laughing. “Not like, the making them. I mean, I’d help with that too, that aspect would be fun. But I was talking about the delivery, and recovery, and taking care of a newborn. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. I could help you get through it. So that’s an option I want you to be aware of, if…you know.” Now he pauses. “If you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you should,” Aemond murmurs; or at least that’s what you think he says as you lose consciousness, plummeting into sleep as if falling from a great height.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe runs out of gas just east of Tipton—not a city, not a town, just a collection of service roads linking sprawling ranches to I-80, the only continuous route across southern Wyoming—and Rhaena guides the SUV as it coasts to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. You hike about a mile to the nearest ranch house: Luke carrying the siphoning hose and empty gas can in case you can find fuel, Rio carrying Aegon on his back, Baela walking slowly and with great effort, Ice panting as she lopes across the dusty earth. You can’t spot any cattle or horses behind the endless strings of barbed wire fencing. Perhaps they are in a different pasture, or escaped or were stolen, or died of thirst without being tended to, or were consumed by a wandering hoard of zombies, never sleeping and always hungry. The house at the end of the dirt driveway is modest, old, and painted white. The front door is open; the screen door bangs in the wind.

“Rock Springs is the next real town,” Aegon says when Rio drops him to the ground, reading his map.

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

“Great,” Rhaena says. “What’s the plan, to fly there?”

“Yeah, start flapping your wings, little bird. You’re light enough, you can make it.”

“No car in the driveway,” you tell Aemond. “Nobody home, maybe?”

He’s scrutinizing the house, his blue eye narrow. “Maybe.”

A thought occurs to Aegon. “Do you think ranchers have golf clubs?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Aemond snaps. Rio is now on the front porch and pounding the butt of his unloaded Remington shotgun against the doorframe to see if anyone appears. Daeron is nocking one of his makeshift arrows as he trots around the perimeter with his compound bow.

Luke, peering through his binoculars, points to a large cylindrical aluminum structure about a hundred yards from the house, by a small red barn. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a grain bin,” Cregan says. “Full of feed for cattle.” Ice whimpers at his feet, and he twirls his axe in his large, calloused hands. “Are we clearing the house or not? Something’s in there.”

“We are,” Aemond answers tonelessly. “Luke, Rhaena, stay out here with Aegon and watch for trouble. Daeron, you too.”

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

“Can I go inside?” she asks. “Please, Aemond. I’m so sick of sitting around feeling useless and exhausted. I want to help. I want to do something, I’m going insane.”

“Fine,” Aemond agrees. “It should be an easy one.”

It is easy, but it’s not pleasant. The house smells like dark, sickening decay. In the living room are the skeletal remains of two bodies, both children judging by the size; the maroon-stained bones are notched with indents from gnashing teeth. Cregan shadows Helaena as she searches through closets and drawers. She takes no clothing—it would have absorbed the stench of death—but fills her burlap messenger bag with matches, lighters, batteries, pills. She gives you a bottle of Advil before you can ask her for it.

“Thanks,” you say, a bit startled, as you tuck it away in your backpack.

It is not until Ice leads you to the final room, the bedroom at the rear of the house, that you hear the familiar, blood-chilling hissing and moaning of a zombie. It is in the closet, and emerges one limb at a time: one arm and then another, one leg long like a spider’s, streaked with a thick soup of rotting organs that spills from a gaping hole in her belly like the mouth of a mineshaft. Something has happened to its other leg; it is missing, and the corpse that was once a thirties-something woman—a soccer mom, perhaps, with a minivan and propensity to make meatloaf and fish sticks—drags itself across the fawn-colored carpet towards you, slow and pathetic. Ice growls and barks. Rio raises his Remington.

“Wait,” Baela says. Her hammer is in her right hand. “Can I do it?”

“Of course, be my guest,” Rio says; though you can tell he’s slightly disappointed. He loves clubbing things.

Baela approaches the yowling zombie—jaws snapping, claws swiping—and grimaces down at it, this one of millions of monsters that ended the world, that killed Jace and stole all the rest of her life from her too, all those normal things she was supposed to have, all those strings of fate that the plague cut through like a razor and sent floating aimlessly out into the void of the universe. Then with a scream, Baela swings her hammer and a catastrophic impact crater appears in the side of the zombie’s skull, and it crumples to the floor, its mindless brains spilling out onto the carpet.

“Nothing good?” Aegon asks when you reappear in the driveway, popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

“No,” Aemond replies grimly. “No gas, no bullets, no food, nothing to drink.”

“I knew it would be lean pickings once we got out here,” Cregan says, and Aemond looks like he could kill him.

“Well, fortunately, Luke might have some good news for us,” Aegon says with a grin.

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

“I saw a truck out there,” Luke says, using his binoculars to gesture to the grain bin. “It’s parked between the barn and the grain thing, I can just see the very front of it sticking out. And if there’s a truck, there might be gas.”

Aemond ruffles Luke’s fluffy dark hair. “Good job, kid.” And Luke lights up like how cities used to look at night, back when the power was on: Washington D.C., Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae. Rio stoops down so Aegon can hop on his back, and all of you trek together across the field.

“Nothing,” Cregan announces as he squeezes the little pump on the siphoning hose after opening the gas cap of the ancient Chevy Silverado and threading the hose inside. “Not a drop.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon sighs from where he’s slumped on the ground. His eyes are glazed; he’s pretty stoned. He gazes pitifully up at you; you pat his shoulder sympathetically. You and Rio have already checked the barn, dilapidated but perfectly devoid of zombies. The roof has caved in; one of the two front doors are missing. “What now?!”

“We can go back to the interstate and walk until we find the next ranch,” you say, looking absentmindedly at the grain bin. It’s much larger up close, and rusty in spots. A ladder runs up one side to allow access to the roof. Ice isn’t whining or nudging anyone’s hands, but she’s sniffing the air as if she’s detected something interesting, unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” Luke replies miserably. “We can walk another five or ten miles and then maybe find a safe place to spend the night.”

Rhaena shades her eyes as she peers up at the sky. “It’s past noon already. Maybe we should just stay here.”

Rio barks out a sardonic laugh. “In a house with no supplies and that reeks of dead people?”

“Cregan, go kill us something to eat,” Aegon commands.

He chuckles in his deep, gruff voice. “It’s Miss Chips who is good at the killing, I’m just the authority on butchering at the moment.”

Aemond is watching Ice, his forehead furrowed. “What’s she doing?”

Cregan whistles. “Hey, princess, you okay?” Ice ignores him, still sniffing, her grey ears straight up in the air. Then it appears from behind the barn: a tiny brown creature, a baby bear.

“Aww, it’s so fuzzy!” Aegon squeals, stretching his arm out to pet it. Rio yanks him away; everyone else is backing up towards the grain bin. A second bear cub has now arrived, padding clumsily along, large cartoonish eyes and a little pink tongue poking out from its muzzle.

“Don’t touch them!” Aemond shouts to everyone. “Get away from them! If there are cubs, there’s probably—”

And around the barn comes the mother, a grizzly bear of 400 pounds. She bares her teeth and snarls, saliva dripping in long gluey strings. Ice is barking viciously; Aegon is shrieking and scrambling onto Rio’s back.

“Baela!” Aemond says because she’s closest to him, urging her towards the ladder of the grain bin. She gets the idea and begins climbing. Then Aemond reaches for you. “Come on, you next!”

“Rhaena, go,” you say instead, and she clambers up the ladder after Baela. Cregan is brandishing his axe; Rio has his Remington in his hands, Aegon still clinging to his back like a baby opossum to its mother. Now Helaena is climbing up the ladder, and Daeron nocks an arrow. You whip one of your M9s out of its holster, aim for the bear’s head, and pull the trigger.

Your bullet hits its skull, Daeron’s arrow pierces its chest; and the mother bear does not die but roars and rises up onto her back feet—taller than Rio, taller than Cregan—and then drops back down and charges towards you and the grain bin. Cregan blocks the way, swinging his axe. The bear reluctantly pauses, testing him with swipes of her claws that he evades. Rio is just a few steps behind Cregan, waving his Remington around hostilely. Aegon is screaming and holding on for dear life.

“Don’t shoot!” Cregan yells. “9mm isn’t big enough, you’ll just make her more angry!”

Aemond finally gets a grip on your wrist and drags you to the ladder. You obey and climb until your feet are several rungs off the ground, then you turn to see what’s going on below. Aemond, Luke, and Daeron are at the bottom of the ladder, their backs to you. Cregan is still wielding his axe.

“Fuck off, Mama Bear!” he bellows, standing as tall as possible and swinging his axe above his head. Rio follows Cregan’s lead and holds his Remington aloft. Ice is barking; the baby bears are fleeing in terror. Aegon is sobbing hysterically and saying he’s going to die. “You don’t want us and we don’t want you! Go on! Go get your babies! I’ll put this blade right between your eyes if you don’t change your stupid mind right quick!”

The bear pounds the earth with her front feet and growls, a beastly subterranean rumble, but she seems to be losing her nerve. The rungs of the ladder creak and groan; you see rust like blood-hued moss around the bolts.

“Get out of here!” Cregan shouts. “Go, you hairy old bitch! Go back to your babies!”

The bear glances back to see her cubs vanish behind the barn. Her mouth is open and panting, spittle gleaming on her pointed teeth; her black eyes are uncertain. As you hold onto the ladder with one hand, you have your M9 aimed at the bear’s left eye, just in case. Aemond is watching Cregan; on his scarred face a sharp severity, fascination and resentment and fear.

“Go on,” Cregan says firmly. “Leave us alone. You belong in the mountains, not down here. Go eat something that’s already dead, a nice easy dinner. You don’t want us. We’ll fight you.”

The grizzly bear shakes her head—flopping ears, shaggy fur filthy with dust and pieces of grass—and whirls, lumbering off to find her cubs. When she rounds the barn, Cregan waits a few long, tense, silent minutes and then turns to the grain bin.

“Alright y’all, we oughta hurry up and leave. I don’t think she’ll come back, but she might.”

From the top of the ladder, approximately forty feet off the ground, Baela begins to laugh. “Did that really just happen?! That was insane! Cregan, buddy, you can vote for whoever you want to. You and I are cool forever.”

He smiles up at her, wincing in the bright afternoon light. “I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Rio sets Aegon down on the ground and stretches his back; it must be hurting him. Aemond is taking your hand and helping you off the ladder, and you are reminded of the transmission tower where he found you in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, one of those middle-of-nowhere places like Tipton, Wyoming. As Helaena climbs down, you go to Rio and—with as much force as you can manage—knead the small of his back with the heel of your hand like you know helps him.

“You okay?”

He sighs loudly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Oh, wow, that’s good. Harder…oh yeah…”

There is a snapping sound, metal squealing as it breaks, and by the time you turn to look she’s already falling: her cotton dress billowing around her, her arms wheeling helplessly. It happens too quickly for her to scream—for her to understand what is going on and what it means—but there is a stunned gasp and then she hits the ground, and you hear a muffled crunch of bone—skull?? spine??—and she is completely, unnaturally still as she lies on her back, no pain, no words, nothing.

“Baela!” Rhaena shrieks, and she rushes down the ladder and runs to her sister. You are all gathering around Baela, petrified to move her—to make it worse—but pleading for her to wake up, examining her with terrified eyes. Baela’s own eyes, dark and glassy and serene, are open only a sliver like obsidian crescent moons. Aemond is asking Helaena for a flashlight and then prying them wide, checking Baela’s pupils.

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

“What does that mean?!” Rhaena cries. “Aemond? Aemond?!”

“She’s…she’s…” He’s in denial; he’s in shock. He’s feeling for a pulse on her carotid, he’s digging his fingernails into her forearm to try to get her to respond to pain.

“Aemond?” you say softly.

“She’s gone,” he tells you, like he doesn’t believe it, like he’s waiting to wake up.

“The baby,” Rhaena says. “Try to save the baby.” And then, when Aemond doesn’t immediately understand, she grabs his backpack and begins ripping it off so he can get the medical kit inside. “The baby, Aemond!”

Now he knows what he has to do. He pulls the scalpel out of his kit as Rhaena moves Baela’s sundress to expose her belly. She was wearing biker shorts beneath, lavender, cute, something you might have picked out in a store. In less than a minute they will be soaked with blood. Cregan leads Daeron away, and he’s telling him that they need to keep watch in case the grizzly bear returns, but you think it is an act of mercy more than anything else. Ice goes with them. Helaena, her face pale and grave, is shining the flashlight on Baela’s belly, just beneath her navel.

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need people to help hold open the incision once I make it. I have to be able to see the amniotic sac so I can cut the membrane without harming the baby.”

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

Aemond presses the blade of the scalpel to Baela’s skin and draws a semicircle from the top of one hip to the other. There is blood, but it is slow-moving and thick and dark; it is the blood of a dead woman, not a living one. Immediately, Aegon hooks his fingers under layers of fat, skin, and muscle, and opens the wound as much as he can. You and Rio reach in too, and you do this without thinking, without allowing yourself to feel the horror of it until the work is done.

“I can’t see,” Aemond is murmuring. Rhaena gets another flashlight and helps Helaena illuminate the area. Luke is on his knees with both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes glistening with dread and disbelief. Aemond is slicing, pausing to probe around with his fingers, cutting again. Then his arm plunges into Baela’s abdomen up to his elbow and, with some difficulty, pulls out the gore-covered baby by its feet, a girl, large and limp and silent.

Rhaena sobs, equal parts grief and joy, a smile appearing on her face. “Is she okay? Aemond? Is she…why isn’t she crying? Aemond?!”

Rio yanks off his shirt and uses it to wipe blood and gelatinous clumps away from the baby’s eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Then Aemond takes the shirt and wraps the baby in it, warming her, rubbing her lifeless little limbs. When she does not stir, Aemond lays her on the earth and begins CPR: compressions with two fingers on her tiny heart, two breaths down the airway she’s never used. There are no sounds except his efforts. There is no crying when the baby wakes, because she never does.

Enough, you are thinking, as if from very far away: an island in the Indian Ocean, the Appalachian mountains in eastern Kentucky. Enough, enough, enough.

Aemond stops trying to revive the baby. He picks her up and holds her against him, and no one says anything. There is only the barrenness of the Wyoming steppe, an anemic blue sky, tall dry grass that bows in the breeze, black vultures that are landing atop the barn and the grain bin.

Aegon jolts out of his paralysis and reaches for his brother with bloodied hands. “Aemond, hey, Aemond, listen to me, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? Are you listening? Aemond, man, you did everything you could. You gave them a chance. You didn’t give up.”

But Aemond doesn’t respond; he only kneels there beside Baela’s butchered body, her dead baby girl in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alys?” he calls, seeing that she never came back to bed. He is lying on his stomach, tangled in red sheets damp with sweat. It’s hot, too hot, and there is no humming of the air conditioning. When Aemond picks up his iPhone from the nightstand, it’s still plugged in but only at 87% battery. The power must have gone out.

He gets up, rubs the damp skin by his temple—headache, dehydration—and lifts open the nearest window. It’s odd: there is shouting, distant and indistinct, like the sound of a carnival or a concert. There are car alarms too, and sirens, and horns blaring, all too far away for him to see. It must be because of the power outage, traffic signals thrown into chaos, neighbors relaying the latest information back and forth. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Alys?” Aemond says again, groggy but with increasing curiosity, concern, guilt.

She started to feel sick last night, a pulsing in her skull and chills and powerful nausea. The possibility of it being the so-called Florida Fever barely registered in his mind. Alys gets migraines, and tofu is a migraine trigger, and he took her to a Thai restaurant (maybe he should have known better) and the curry Alys ordered ended up having tofu in it, and by the time she paid the check (as Alys always did) she was swallowing an Imitrex from the box in her snakeskin purse. She said she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom for a while so she wouldn’t wake him if she spent the next few hours dashing to and from the bathroom, a likely outcome, and if he was honest with himself about it, Aemond would admit he was relieved.

He shuffles to the bedroom door—black boxers, bare feet, century-old hardwood floors—and opens it. Now he can hear thudding, like someone tenderizing meat with a mallet. “Alys? Baby, you feeling okay?” There is no answer, only that rhythmic hammering. He realizes that it is coming from the guest bedroom, a door at the end of a long hallway still fuzzy through his half-awake eyes.

It had never felt right, but it had felt good: good in the body when she touched him, good in the soul when she told him he did something right. But lately—especially here, in the vast creaking historic house she shares with her husband and her children, who are presently sailing in Cape Cod—Aemond cannot shake the feeling that this entanglement is a surrender rather than an aspiration, something he fell into and now rests at the bottom of like a swimming pool or the sea, the cold weight of it threatening to pour into his lungs and drown him.

“Alys?” Aemond says, now with profound and inexplicable dread. Outside an ambulance or police car zooms by, sirens blaring. The pounding on the door of the guest bedroom grows faster.

I want to go home, Aemond thinks suddenly. At home, in the Federal-style townhouse his parents rented for him (Criston picked it out, a safe and quiet neighborhood in Beacon Hill, and Viserys paid), Daeron is visiting from California and watching golf tournaments with Aegon on the living room couch, pretending to be interested when Aegon describes the different types of clubs. Helaena, pursuing an Entomology PhD, is researching the Mediterranean mantis, clicking around on her MacBook Pro from the garden in the backyard. Jace and Luke live there too, and so Baela and Rhaena have all but officially moved in, keeping their apartment in Seaport only to have somewhere to retreat to when the Targaryen chaos becomes too much…and so the baby can have its own room. Baela bought a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, a dresser, and about a million unisex onesies, mostly space-themed. Baela is studying Aeronautics and Astronautics, after all. Maybe one day she’ll work for NASA and fly rockets to the moon.

The door is rattling on its hinges. Aemond’s hand closes around the knob. On the other side is something terrible, and he knows this. But he cannot just leave her. Aemond is not someone who abandons people; he is not someone who turns away from responsibilities.

He opens the door of the guest bedroom, and immediately she is staggering towards him, limp dripping hair and naked like she was interrupted mid-shower: blood bubbling from her gaping mouth and the whites of teeth peeking through the crimson, necrotic skin hanging in strips from her fingers, eyes misty like steam on a mirror.

“Alys, stop! Alys! What’s wrong with you?!”

She’s alive but she’s dead. She’s yowling and clawing at him, but her flesh is the rotting swampland of a corpse. He’s pushing her away; his palms sink into her, places he once noticed and then fantasized about and then at last—euphorically, ashamedly—touched, held, borrowed but never kept. She’s trying to bite him. She’s trying to kill him. None of this is possible, and yet it’s true.

Aemond flings her away, and the woman who was once Alys stumbles backwards and down the staircase, sick wet thumps all the way to the ground floor, bones splitting through dissolving grey skin, organs sloshing around until they spill out. He can hear her still hissing, flailing, trying to get up again.

Without thinking—slipping seamlessly into what he learned during his psych rotation is called automatic action—Aemond races down the steps and grabs her by the skull, cracks it against the antique hardwood floor she once extoled the value of as he fucked her on it: shipped east from Oregon and laid in 1912, the year the Titanic sank. When she lurches up to try to bite him, he slams her head against the floor again and again until she is still.

Then Aemond kneels there alone for a long time, sirens shrieking outside, far-off strangers screaming for help, putrid black blood clotting on his hands.

[misfitwashere]

ROBERT REICH

MAR 14

Friends,

It seems as if the horrendous Trump news doesn’t end — and it doesn’t. We’ve barely endured just over seven weeks of his scourge and every day brings new awfulness. 

But the worse it gets, the more Trump, Musk, and the rest of the oligarchy reveal themselves. And the more they reveal themselves — the more they abuse their wealth and power, side with Putin, trample civil liberties, and ride roughshod over the Constitution — the stronger the backlash against them will be. 

Here’s this week’s summary of 10 reasons for very modest optimism.

1. The Trump slump is worsening.

The first reason for very modest optimism is the current bad economic news. Americans voted for Trump because they thought he’d fix the economy. Many are now suffering buyer’s remorse. 

On Monday, in retaliation for Trump’s tariffs on Chinese imports, China began imposing tariffs on a range of American farm products, including a 15 percent levy on chicken, wheat, and corn. This is already beginning to hurt the Farm Belt — mostly Republican states and Trump voters. 

On Wednesday, after Trump’s 25 percent tariffs on all aluminum and steel imported into the U.S. went into effect, the European Union announced retaliatory tariffs on about $28 billion worth of products, including beef and whiskey — also mostly produced by Republican states (think Kentucky bourbon). Europe is also slapping tariffs on Harley-Davidson motorcycles, made in the Rust Belt.

In response this morning, Trump threatened a 200 percent tariff on all alcoholic products from EU member states. As a result, Trump voters — largely working-class — will be paying more.

Canada also announced new tariffs on about $21 billion worth of U.S. products.

What does this all mean for the economy? 

In a Fox News interview that aired Sunday, Trump did not rule out the possibility that his policies would cause a recession. That possibility is growing by the day. 

The stock market has continued to plummet. Yesterday, the S&P 500 fell 1.4 percent; the index is now down 10.1 percent from its peak reached less than one month ago and in a “correction” — Wall Street slang for when an index falls 10 percent or more from its peak and when investors worried about a sell-off gathering steam.

Other major indexes, including the Russell 2000 and the tech-heavy Nasdaq Composite, were already in correction territory.

The rest of the economy isn’t far behind. 

Last Friday’s jobs report showed employers adding 151,000 jobs in February — half as many as in November and December. Leisure and hospitality jobs have declined in the past two months, suggesting that consumers are pulling back on discretionary spending.

The labor force participation rate also fell 0.2 percentage points, to 62.4 percent, mostly due to declining employment among men. The number of workers employed part-time who wanted but couldn’t get full-time work increased by 460,000 to 4.9 million, the most since spring 2021.

CEOs’ assessment of American business conditions is the lowest since the spring of 2020. The New York Times monthly consumer survey finds households feeling gloomy about their year-ahead financial situations. 

The Federal Reserve Bank of New York reported Monday that Americans are increasingly worried about the state of their finances. The perceived probability of missing a minimum debt payment over the next three months climbed to its highest level since April 2020, when the economy was in a Covid-19-related freefall.

Egg prices, an emerging symbol of America’s affordability crisis, jumped 10.4 percent last month after a big rise in January.

2. Trump’s support continues to tank.

The consequence of all this for Trump’s political support? It’s tanking. In the latest Emerson national poll, 46 percent of voters say his policies are making the economy worse rather than better, while 28 percent say the opposite (the rest had no opinion). 

In a new CNN/SSRS poll, almost three-quarters of Americans view the current economic conditions in the U.S. as poor, 51 percent of the public say they think Trump’s policies have worsened economic conditions, and just 28 percent say that his policies have improved things. 

In the same poll, the share of Americans saying they expect the economy to be in bad shape a year from now is up 7 points since January, just before Trump took office.

Fifty-five percent of Americans surveyed say they fear Trump’s cuts to federal programs will negatively affect the economy, and just over 50 percent say that they will negatively affect their own families or local communities.

In a new YouGov poll, 48 percent of Americans think the economy is getting worse, up from 37 percent at the start of Trump's second term. Forty-seven percent expect higher inflation in six months — more than twice the share six months ago.

In the latest Quinnipiac poll, 54 percent disapprove of Trump’s handling of the economy; only 41 percent approve.

In a new CNN poll, 56 percent of voters disapprove of Trump’s handling of the economy — higher than at any point during his first term. In addition, 61 percent disapprove of tariffs.

I don’t have huge trust in polls but when all major polls show the same thing, there’s reason to believe them. 

3. Musk’s claimed savings don’t exist, and his businesses are going down the toilet. 

Musk continues to claim big savings from his DOGE effort to take a chainsaw to government. But so far, the actual savings have proven to be tiny. 

Soon there will be no way to tell, because Musk and DOGE have just stopped providing identifying details about the cuts — so there’s no way to fact-check them. Not only is this a major step backward from Musk’s promise that he’d be “maximally transparent,” but also it makes his claims of savings nothing but unverifiable propaganda. 

DOGE has refused to answer Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) requests from journalists and watchdog groups. On Monday, though, a federal judge ruled that DOGE is likely subject to the FOIA — a win for journalists, watchdogs, and researchers who have demanded greater transparency. On Thursday, another judge ordered Musk and DOGE to turn over records and answer questions in response to a legal complaint filed by Democratic state attorneys general. 

Meanwhile, Musk’s growing political power and his shift to the political hard right are damaging his businesses. 

Consumers are boycotting Tesla. More than a dozen violent or destructive acts have been directed at Tesla facilities. Tesla’s stock has fallen by more than 35 percent since Trump’s inauguration; it’s down 50 percent since December. 

Musk is so alarmed by this that he got Trump to hold a White House promotional event for Tesla this week — where Trump essentially read a Tesla sales pitch and lied that consumer boycotts are “illegal.”

In Germany, sales of Teslas plummeted 76 percent in February compared with a year earlier, according to figures released Wednesday. 

Antipathy to Musk is also denting sales of his Starlink satellite internet business. 

Musk raised alarms this past weekend when he wrote on X that Ukraine’s front line “would collapse” against Russian forces if Starlink were shut off. 

Radoslaw Sikorski, Poland’s foreign minister, suggested that his country “will be forced to look for other suppliers” if Starlink is “unreliable.” Musk later told Sikorski to “be quiet, small man.”

Andrius Kubilius, the European Union commissioner overseeing defense and space, talked of quickly replacing Starlink if necessary.

Italy is having second thoughts about awarding a $1.6 billion contract to Starlink. 

Over the past week, shares in Eutelsat — the French rival to Starlink — have more than tripled.

4. The FBI is moving to criminalize groups like Habitat for Humanity for receiving grants from the Environmental Protection Agency under the Biden administration.

I’m including this as a reason for optimism because it so clearly demonstrates just how absurd and extreme the Trump regime has become.

On Wednesday, Citibank revealed in a court filing that it was told to freeze Habitat for Humanity’s bank accounts, at the FBI’s request. The reason? The FBI alleges that the group is involved in “possible criminal violations,” including “conspiracy to defraud the United States.”

Habitat for Humanity, you may recall, is the group that builds low-income houses in America’s communities. Jimmy Carter worked with them for decades. What did they do to earn the FBI’s ire? They received a climate grant from the Biden administration’s EPA. 

Other nonprofits also being targeted by the FBI for receiving climate grants include the Appalachian Community Capital Corporation, the Coalition for Green Capital, and the DC Green Bank.

Yet these groups’ applications for government grants for environmental work were fully reviewed and accepted by the Biden administration’s EPA. 

This is not fraud. It’s targeted harassment. And it will be viewed that way by most Americans. 

5. Trump’s “beautiful bill” is stranded. 

Trump apparently believes that fees from his tariffs when added to savings from Musk’s budget cuts will enable him to finance another large tax cut mainly for big corporations and the wealthy. 

Even if he’s correct (which seems extremely doubtful), those tariff fees are financed by American consumers who will be paying higher prices for imports and who’ll also be losing services because of Musk’s cuts. They are are largely working-class Trump voters. Talk about reverse Robin Hood. 

Meanwhile, Republicans in control of the House and Senate are divided over the size of spending reductions that should accompany their pending tax cuts, which budgetary yardstick they use, and whether a debt-ceiling increase should be attached. 

The Senate still hasn’t agreed to the House strategy to pass one bill that would address the fiscal matters along with border security, after months of debate over whether to split Trump’s priorities into two or even three party-line bills.

Until these questions are resolved with an agreement between House and Senate Republicans, Congress can’t unlock the door to the fast-track “reconciliation” process that circumvents Senate Democrats. And until they unlock that door — which could take weeks or months — Trump’s “one big, beautiful bill” is stranded.

6. Bernie is rallying the Democrats

On Friday night, Bernie Sanders drew a crowd of 4,000 in Kenosha, Wisconsin, in what he calls his “Stop Oligarchy Tour.” On Saturday morning, another 2,600 in Altoona, Wisconsin, a town of less than 10,000 residents. Then 9,000 in suburban Detroit, where United Auto Workers President Shawn Fain introduced him.

Each stop has been in a swing House district represented by a Republican.

Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez will join Bernie on the road in the coming weeks. She’s also planning solo appearances in Republican-held congressional districts in Pennsylvania and New York and other districts where Republicans have declined to hold in-person town halls because they might face protests.

Elizabeth Warren and Greg Casar headlined a 3,500-person rally in Austin,Texas — the heart of Musk’s business empire. 

Tim Walz and many House Democrats will host town halls in GOP districts where their Republican congressmen are avoiding town halls.

Bernie is showing Democratic lawmakers and prospective candidates how hungry Americans are for a strong counteroffensive against Trump and Musk — in contrast to Democratic political operative James Carville’s suggestion that Democrats “roll over and play dead,” and Minority Leader Chuck Schumer’s willingness to surrender to Republicans on the budget resolution. 

7. A coalition of 21 Democratic attorneys general has sued Trump, and the federal courts are becoming even more active in stopping him. 

On Thursday — two days after the Education Department fired more than 1,300 workers, purging people who administer grants and track student achievement across America — a coalition of Democratic attorneys general sued the Trump regime, saying that the dismissals were “illegal and unconstitutional.”

The coalition is seeking a court order to stop what it calls “policies to dismantle” the department. 

Meanwhile, Judge Beryl Howell of the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia condemned Trump’s executive order punishing law firms that have had Democratic clients, such as special counsel Jack Smith — denying their attorneys access to federal buildings and stripping them of government contracts. 

On Thursday, U.S. District Judge William Alsup ordered federal agencies to rehire tens of thousands of probationary employees who have been fired by Trump. Judge Alsup described the mass firings as a “sham” strategy by Trump’s Office of Personnel Management to sidestep legal requirements for reducing the federal workforce.

Alsup ordered that probationary employees across DOD, Treasury, Energy, Interior, Agriculture, and the VA be hired back “immediately.” Alsup also lashed out at the Justice Department over its handling of the case, saying Trump lawyers were hiding the facts about who directed the mass firings. 

Another federal judge has blocked the deportation of Columbia University graduate student Mahmoud Khalil, whose green card was voided by the Trump regime and was then imprisoned for his political views. 

8. Oligarchs are revealing themselves for who they really are.

This week further revealed how the American oligarchy is using their wealth to curry favor with Trump. Some examples: 

Jeff Bezos has decided to stream all seven seasons of Trump’s former reality show, “The Apprentice,” on Amazon Prime. Trump was an executive producer and is likely to receive royalties from the agreement. He even plugged the deal on Truth Social. 

Bezos’s Amazon is also paying $40 million for a documentary about the life of Melania Trump. According to The Wall Street Journal, she’s set to make $28 million from the deal. 

Bezos has also washed his Washington Post clean of any op-eds critical of Trump (leading to the resignation of some of its top opinion writers, such as Ruth Marcus) and refuses to carry ads critical of Trump. 

Meanwhile, Musk, the wealthiest person in the world, who spent more than $250 million to help elect Trump, is donating an additional $100 million to help further Trump’s agenda. 

9. Other nations are uniting against Trump, and the global right is losing ground.

It’s also become apparent this week that Trump is, ironically, the great unifier of Europe. Trump’s policies have helped leaders who were struggling with stagnant economies and rightwing opponents. Facing down American tariffs and drawing together to confront an ally that is behaving more like an adversary has proved to be good politics.

British Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s whirlwind of diplomacy — trying to marshal a European peacekeeping force for Ukraine while also working to salvage the alliance with Washington — has won him praise across Britain’s political spectrum. Starmer’s poll numbers have bounced back from what was a dismal first six months in government.

In Mexico, President Claudia Sheinbaum has won praise and stratospheric poll numbers for her coolheaded handling of Trump’s tariffs. Mark Carney, a former central banker, was catapulted to the leadership of Canada’s Liberal Party with 86 percent of the vote on the belief that he can manage a trade war with the United States.

Carney’s party, which lagged the Conservatives by double digits under the premiership of Justin Trudeau, has recently closed the gap, putting the Liberals within striking distance of a victory in an election that Carney is expected to call soon. The Conservative leader, Pierre Poilievre, has struggled to regain momentum, and Liberals have been quick to paint him as a Canadian Trump.

10. Americans will soon feel the effects of the Trump-Musk chainsaw.

Most Americans don’t care terribly much that government workers are being axed, but they do care about government services being axed. They’re about to feel those effects very soon. This is also cause for modest optimism because the sooner most people feel those effects, the stronger will be the backlash against the Trump regime. Consider, for example: 

— Weather. The National Weather Service produces lifesaving forecasts, but Trump is cutting 20 percent of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration — hobbling weather forecasts. 

— Food stamps. Millions of poor families, many in red states, rely on Supplemental Nutrition Assistance — food stamps — to have enough to eat. The Trump regime is making substantial cuts and wants states to make up the difference. Most red states cannot. 

— Veterans benefits. Over 9 million veterans depend on benefits from the Veterans Administration. But Trump’s cuts at the VA have disrupted medical treatment, ended studies involving experimental treatments, forced some facilities to fire support staff, and created uncertainty amid the mass cancellation of hundreds of VA contracts. The VA serves a constituency courted heavily by Republicans. Veterans, including Republican-leaning vet groups, are fighting back against Trump’s VA cuts.

— Measles. With lower rates of vaccination against measles and a vaccine skeptic at the helm at HHS, we’re witnessing significant measles outbreaks in Texas and New Mexico that have infected more than 250 people — many of them unvaccinated school-age children — and claimed two lives; a flu season that led to record numbers of hospitalizations; and the potential for a bird flu epidemic. 

— Tuberculosis. Americans are vulnerable to communicable diseases that exist in other nations, such as tuberculosis, which kills more people worldwide than any other infectious disease. But since Trump ordered the freeze on USAID, the entire system of finding and treating TB has collapsed in dozens of countries across Africa and Asia.

— Education. On Tuesday, Trump and Musk fired half the Education Department, purging people who administer grants and track student achievement across America. Education cuts will hurt red states in particular: States that voted for Trump last November, on average, use more federal funding in their education apportions than states that voted for former Vice President Harris.

— Social Security. More than 100 million Americans depend on Social Security. But Musk’s DOGE is now combing through Social Security databases to flag suspicious payments. Musk describes Social Security as rife with fraud and repeats the conspiracy theory that Democrats have used it as a “gigantic magnet to attract illegal immigrants and have them stay in the country.” Earlier this month, he referred to Social Security as “the biggest Ponzi scheme of all time.” 

This week, DOGE tried to eliminate Social Security’s phone customer service, only to scrap the plan after massive public backlash (although DOGE is still cutting phone options for direct deposit changes).

***

I offer you these reasons for very modest hope not because I want you to deny the awfulness of what’s occurring, but because I want you to see we are not necessarily doomed. Not all is lost. There are reasons to believe that the vast majority of Americans are catching on. And if that’s the case, the scourge will be over. We may even be stronger for having gone through it. 

[aaronsrpgs]

The Quickstart. The Home Game.

My biggest enjoyment of RPGs comes from running games for people who have never played before. It's what I did for years before covid, and it's why I started designing games. It's something I'm actively starting to do again after a long hiatus. So it's time to make a new home game.

USE CASE The home game is not the perfect game. It's not my desert island game. It's something I am primed to run with minimal friction for new players, where we start playing fast and get a lot done in 60-120 minutes. Some key factors for that:

no rulebook or other external reference needed

basic rules fit on one side of one sheet

customization fits on a small selection of cards, which can be chosen, dealt randomly, and/or traded

rolls lead to interesting choices and big changes

THE SCAVENGING The home game isn't a game I designed. It's a game I stapled together from Apocalypse World, The Veil, and some of my own work. Here are some of the big features and why they were chosen.

- Feelings as Stats: Before every roll, the players have to decide how their character feels. One might worry that this slow things down, but in practice, I've never seen the decision take more than a few seconds. Encourages players to think about the situation emotionally.

- Plain Language: As much as I love powered-by-the-apocalypse games, "moves" and "+1 forward" and other language that lives in the genre isn't very intuitive. So I took a page from Belonging Outside Belonging games and just put "You Can Always…" above the basic moves. And I tried to give them clear, plain-language names.

- Limited Starting Choices: I love playbooks, but passing them around, choosing one, reading the whole thing, and choosing a playbook move can take a while, especially with anxious players who struggle with choice paralysis.

Here there are only 19 moves (mostly called "specials," more clear language), and I tried to pick ones that appeal to the main player types I see:

emulates a trope (warrior, wizard)

asks NPCs for help

befriends animals

chaos monster

And if the game goes past one session, you can add more moves, including from other games, to zero in on a genre. (Someday I'll write a long post about how PbtA doesn't NEED a genre and that it actually rules to mix and match playbooks and moves from different games.)

FINISHING TOUCHES People like cards and little gewgaws, so the specials all fit on cards, and I bring along character cards from Shadowlord!, an old Parker Brothers game, for players who struggle with picking a name or vibe. The leftovers become my NPCs. If I were doing sci-fi, I'd probably find a cheap copy of Coup; I always thought those character cards were beautiful.

A WORK IN PROGRESS I laid this out and printed it the other day, but I've already decided to cut two basic moves (Sway and Ultimatum) because they can get a lot of that info from Read a Person. And I'm going to turn the money move into something closer to Blades in the Dark's quantum inventory. ABC (always be changin) your home game (YHG).

MORE MORE MORE Check out The Ostrichmonkey Hack by Josh Hittie @ostrichmonkey-games and Home Game by Adam Vass.

Get PDFs of my home game from this Google Drive link.

This whole thing is probably related to my Worksheet Manifesto.

What's your home game?