#second smaller covid

[baejax-the-great]

Did yall know that rebound covid was a thing? Because I did not

[taiyeoki]

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘? | 𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐎

↳ Kashimo + Reader

Genre . Smut

Warning . 🔞Minors do not interact | Contains breeding/impregnation, face fucking, nipple play, fingering, cancelled orgasm

Synopsis . Kashimo doesn't always show vulnerable emotions but when a man comes around fancying you, his wife, that wall comes crashing down with the simplest jealousy. Now he just wants to fuck you till tomorrow. Maybe putting a baby in you will make sure you're his.

A/N . This was supposed to be finished way sooner but I got too caught up with some other work, causing me to sleep at 4-5am for weeks straight and it physically affected me so I got body ache and inflammation. Turns out I got covid. And then afterwards, which is currently, I'm focusing a lot on art lmao.

You had no plans today but to lay around on the couch all day long. Kashimo didn't mind since he's used to the woman staying at home during his time period anyway. The only difference now though is that you weren't even doing any chores. He never forced you to do them though, but seeing you sprawled out on the couch with a bag of chips next to you had him pushing you to get up.

Which is why you were here now, going into stores around the city. No way is Kashimo Hajime going to let his wife laze around all day. He cared about his wife's wellbeing and he knew the negative effects of being cooped up at home. However, this time he wasn't one bit pleased at all. He just regrets taking you out in the first place.

Your husband held a scowl on his face. He always looked fierce to begin with but this was different. You could feel his stare boring holes into the back of your head.

Going to the counter to order takeaways, the cashier held a rather innocent looking expression. The bright smile and friendly service wasn't fooling Kashimo though. He knew the cash register's true intentions weren't just to serve you.

"That'll be $15.70 ma'am," the man's smile widened in an attempt to be 'friendly'. It felt so disgustingly fake to your husband though. You replied with a polite "thank you," as you took your food, smiling in return but Kashimo saw how he purposely brushed his hand onto yours when serving you your order. He knew that you were too kind for your own good so it wasn't your fault for reciprocating the polite gesture but it pissed him off how anyone would try to fancy his wife.

Unfortunately for him, the cashier initiated a little conversation with you.

"I hope you enjoy your food. You've got great taste based on what you ordered. As expected from a woman such as yourself," his eyes darkened with intent staring at your frame, the smile he held wasn't going to fool Kashimo though.

"Do you come here often? I would love to help serve you again," his tongue darts out to lick his lips, almost as if he's moistening his lips to prolong more conversation.

"Oh, thank you. I guess I'm starting to become a usual customer here huh?" Chuckling, you replied noticing that you do come here more often than you think, appreciative of his kind offer.

"Great! That gives me even more reason to come to work," he laughs a bit at his joke but keeps his eyes on you. It was even more apparent now that he's leaning closer to you, close enough that he could take in your sweet scent which was supposed to be reserved for Kashimo only.

"Aren't you here to do your job? Or are you being paid to flirt with customers?" A smooth, velvety voice cuts in. Kashimo swiftly moves in front of you before you can pay for the food. He wasn't going to let this man touch you a second time, dropping the cash on the cashier's hands without even an inch of being near him so he wouldn't have to touch this 'thing'.

"T-thank you. You must be—"

"Her husband," Kashimo scoffed, a smug smile tugged on his lips handsomely. His agile movements snaked his arms around your waist, wrapping you right next to him to show who exactly you belong to.

Kashimo's presence only made the man look smaller than he was with your husband's dominating height towering over him. At least he wasn't dumb knowing how much more muscular your husband is compared to the guy working behind the counter trying to flirt with a married woman. His eyes zero in on Kashimo's strong hold on the small of your back and it was clear how possessive he got. You aren't bothered, leaning into Kashimo to envelope yourself in his comforting scent. The sight only made the man nervous with fear. He knew you were taken seeing from the beautiful blue ring that decorated your soft finger, both you and Kashimo having matching rings. Just by the looks of it he could tell how expensive it must've been and yet he still had the confidence to try and sway you— right in front of your husband too, who surely made more money than him with his part-time cashier job.

"Come on hun, let's go," Kashimo glances softly at you and his tone is gentle. Much different compared to this stranger who's just grateful that your husband decided to stay civil for the sake of his wife. He wears the look of horror when Kashimo turns around to face him once more.

"We'll be leaving now. I wouldn't expect a guy like you to be keeping their job for long if this is how you work."

Arriving home only meant that you had to deal with the little ordeal that happened, inquiring Kashimo about it. "What was that about? You didn't have to be rude you know."

Your beloved husband only scoffed when you reminded him of what happened. Seeing the sour expression on his face told you how annoyed he was, plus the deep scowl on his lips presented how pissed he was too. He pushes you against the kitchen counter, caging you between his strong arms as his lips latch onto your neck, kissing aggressively. You whine softly from how rough he's being, sucking on your supple skin creating hickeys everywhere while your fingers intertwine with his cyan locks. Your breaths are labored, he knows your body better than you do. He knows your sweet spots and your favourite positions, how you like it done and the perfect pace to do it.

Letting go, his saliva connects to your now bruised skin and he admires it.

"Pretty little mark. Should give you more don't you think?"

"Hajime, were you jealous?" You teased, giggling but your smirk is taken away when you feel his rough hand unclasp your bra, the other pulling your shirt up right above your breasts. Your sensitive skin exposed to the cold air causes your nipples to harden more than it needs to. Seeing this has blood rushing down to his cock as he flicks and tugs on your erect nipple, twisting it with the perfect pressure of his thumb and playing with your tits. Your head tips back with a moan, holding onto the kitchen counter for support while your husband ravages your body as he please.

Suddenly you feel his hot breath against your sensitive mounds. His lips wrap around your hardened nipple, sucking sensually producing lewd sounds from the wetness of your skin. His right hand continues to give attention to your left breast while he sucks on the other. You could feel Kashimo's calloused hand massaging your chest, the roughness of his thumb causing more friction against you as he twists and presses your nipple. God— his hands are too good. The man is skilled in pleasing you, he knows the perfect amount of pressure needed to have you over the edge.

Kashimo's free hand pushes your panties down, rubbing your already wet folds to get you prepped. He pushes a prodding finger against your walls, curling his finger just enough to hit the right spot. The sensation of his long finger abusing your sweet spot while his thumb circles your clit has you instinctively opening your legs further for more. Both his hands working you and his mouth sucking and lapping on your erect mounds already has you feeling like you're about to explode.

Your thighs shook in excitement as Kashimo's fingers slid inside of your already drenched cunt, and you moaned loudly, fingers scraping on the table under you with how your body is attacked by all this pleasure. Kashimo could feel your walls tighten around his digits. He knew whenever you needed to cum but as cruel as he is, Kashimo removes himself from your pussy, walls aching to release the familiar buildup in your abdomen.

You whined from the loss of sensation, feeling empty without him. "Hajime, why'd you st—"

He cuts you off, putting his pussy drenched finger inside of your mouth. "Lick it clean," His smooth, husky voice demanded. You couldn't deny how that turned you on more, sucking and lapping on your own juices off of his finger, making erotic sounds from it.

"There you go, see? Not so hard being a good little slut now right?"

He was enjoying the sight of your pretty lips wrapping his fingers, tasting yourself from it. Now his head was full of perverted thoughts on how you would look if you had your lips wrap his dick instead. If he had you sucking and choking on his fat cock.

Kashimo removes his finger from your mouth, too impatient to have you gagging on his dick. He kept his cyan eyes down on you while he licked his own fingers clean and it made you feel small and honestly inferior, submissive to him.

"Kneel down."

He had a mix of dominance and lust, greed hinted at the edge of his voice. You did as he said, kneeling down for your knees to take the weight while your face is in front of his crotch. Kashimo cupped his hand around the growing tent of his pants, rubbing it as his veins throbbed from the blood rushing south to his erection. "Go on. You know what to do," Kashimo had a smug smirk decorating his lips, eyeing down on you in front of him.

You gulped knowing what he wanted, the thought of his dick springing out of its restraints has you dripping wetter than before. Your hands pulled down on his pants slowly, earning a grunt from him at how you were taking your time in this. "Shit hun, stop teasing already," he grabbed a fistful of your hair and you moaned softly from how good it felt, forcing you to do as he say, rushing you more. Kashimo's left with his boxers on but you wanted to prolong your teasing. The tip of your tongue lapped at his clothed bulge leaving a damp spot, receiving labored breaths of sigh from him.

You continued your ministrations, licking his clothed shaft with the tip of your tongue like a needy slut until you yelped when he gently yanked on your hair, "what'd I say about teasing huh?" Your little fun of taking control was instantly stripped away when he forced you to stop. Pulling down the last of his restraints, his thick cock sprung out, tip leaking with precum.

Scrambling on your knees obediently, humiliation washed over you with your husband still gently grasping your hair. Kashimo's fingertip taps on his cock, smearing the pre-cum around the tip and then on your face.

"Pretty face would look better with my cock fucking into your mouth yeah?" He muses, moist tip rubbing up against your soft lips wanting to enter and just violate your face. You're practically drooling, tongue sticking out and he places his shaft flat onto it. You drag your tongue underneath him in a long and slow pace earning a low moan.

Your husband smoothly slides in his cock deep into your mouth, unprepared by his size even though you've already been married for years. You gagged a bit before adjusting to his length, drooling a bit onto his shaft and gripping on his thigh. His cock pushes through your lips, hitting the back of your throat while you try to breathe through your nose.

"Y'know you pissed me off. Just wanted to make me jealous huh?"

You couldn't respond. Cock deep in your mouth, you could only muffle in denial. It was true though, you didn't mean to make him jealous. What started off with you teasing him about it turned into him face fucking you. His smoothly styled cyan hair falls out of place, bangs sticking onto his face from the sweat forming on his forehead and his buns turning messy.

"Shouldn't my wife apologize? Use your big girl words and say you're sorry," the room resonates with his groans, his girth making it hard to breathe as you try and say sorry.

"Mmph- soh-wee—"

It was all you could say after all with a meaty cock in your mouth, nose brushing against his hair as he keeps you in place with the firm grip he has on your locks. A sadistic smirk curled onto Kashimo's lips as he watches, beginning to quicken up the pace. You hate and love how determined Kashimo is, once he sets his goal on something he'll do whatever it takes to achieve it. At this moment though, he's determined to have his wife deepthroating him.

The friction of each thrust has his dick tattooed in a darker red, grunting at the wet cave that's going to send him to heaven. His movements get sloppier and grow desperate, balls slapping against your chin with each thrust.

"Ah— fuck!" With a final thrust he spurts all his cum down your throat, pushing you right against him to keep you in place as his little cumdump and making sure to leave none behind. "Swallow," he demands, hot seed slides down your throat as you try and swallow while his dick is still in your mouth.

With a huff, Kashimo lets go of your abused throat to let you breathe. Gasping for air, your hand rubs your sore neck but you could see how his dick still stays standing despite how satisfied he was with jizzing in his wife's mouth.

Looking up at him, your husband's lips held the seductive smirk, palming on his wet, still-hard cock in front of you. Standing on his full height, he grabs your waist and pulls you up, laying your belly side on the kitchen counter behind you.

"You want this? Your pussy's drooling for my cock but you're not speaking clearly enough. I'm gonna need my little slut to speak. We can't have my wife suffering now can we?"

"Please.." you pleaded, his firm hand spanks your ass receiving a whine.

"Cute."

Kashimo slides inside with ease from how wet you were from your cancelled orgasm, cock stretching out your plush walls as your thighs shook in excitement. Moaning against your sleeve, you start fucking yourself on his dick. Kashimo doesn't hesitate in helping you, picking up the pace and fucking hard into your drenched cunt. You could feel every inch of his dick, pussy memorizing every pretty vein on him, how it feels like you two were made just for each other while his tip easily abuses your sensitive spot.

Your body glistens with sweat, shoulders littered with hickeys with Kashimo leaving bite marks on you, his teeth biting on your skin just hard enough to draw out pleasure without hurting you. You moaned as his fingers rubbed your clit in circles

Kashimo gets the perfect view of where your bodies are connected, every thrust from your squelching cunt creating a white ring of both your arousals. Your trembling legs were proof of how much you were enjoying it, toes curling and fingers gripping the smooth surface of the table with a muffled squeal.

"Fuck- gonna cum inside, gonna make you pregnant,"

He claws against your waist, the euphoria of him filling you up while your hardened nipples rubbed against the counter from each thrust's friction. Your mouth hung open but no noises escaped your pretty swollen lips. Kashimo loved the idea that his cock was making you feel so good that your brain couldn't even react to it all the while his tip kisses your womb with every push, hitting you in your fucked-out state.

"Can't even speak now? Wanna be a mommy huh? You like that idea?"

You tried reaching back to grab his arm, whimpering to signal that you were about to cum with the familiar coil tightening in your abdomen. Your husband leans down to give you kisses though they were more possessive than caring, giving sloppy french kisses with more tongue than lips. The sweat forming at your skin caused you to slide against the counter with every thrust, trying to grab on to anything for support.

The thought of your belly round with a baby and your fuller breasts being sensitive was enough for Kashimo to cum.

Teeth sinking into your neck to muffle his groans, his hot cum spilled inside of you making sure to paint every inch of your walls white. Spurts of his load fills your belly and he stays there cockwarming until it softens, pulling out.

Your husband's digits went down to spread your lower lips, watching how his cum oozed out of you. He curls his fingers to scoop up his orgasm and pushes it back into you, making sure his beloved wife is full of his hot seed.

"Hajime—"

"Sorry hun, I got too rough didn't I? I was just jealous but I'll make it up to you. I just love you so much," he plants a tender kiss on your back, massaging your sore hips.

Giggling at how he peppers soft kisses all over you, you reassure him. "It's okay, I had fun."

Chuckling, Kashimo nuzzles into your neck, still rubbing your sore flesh and promising to give you a full body massage.

"But hey, you'll make me such a happy daddy."

[alexanderwales]

My Very Brief Time as a Korean Rice Farmer

When my wife had been working at her company for ten years, her boss offered her a two week trip anywhere in the world she wanted to go. It was a small company, maybe thirty people, and she'd been one of the first employees, when they were even smaller.

We had wanted to go to Japan, but this was 2022, and they were still closed for COVID when we were making the plans. We decided on South Korea instead, which was my personal preference over Japan anyway (kimchi and k-dramas and the Joseon era!). I used Duolingo to learn Hangul (the script) and not all that much actual Korean.

We went to Changdeok Palace early in the morning on our second day in Seoul, getting there just before it opened. It's a huge place that's right in the city, surrounded, as most things in Seoul are, by other buildings. The Palace is actually a number of buildings built by a number of kings from the Joseon era.

Right when we came in, we were quickly approached by a guy in a blue hanbok. "Hanbok" is a word that means "traditional clothing" or something like that, so it's not actually descriptive, but it was powder blue and looked fancy. He had glasses and a slightly uneasy smile on his face, and approached us from far enough away that I had time to wonder if he was approaching us, and if he was, what he wanted.

"Excuse me, how long were you going to be here today?" he asked.

"We don't have plans," my wife said. "We were going to be here all day, long enough to see everything."

"Would you like to participate in a festival?" he asked.

We looked at each other and told him sure, and then followed him as he talked. (We passed a group of thirty children who had just been admitted with their teacher, and they seemed excited to see foreigners, so they kept yelling "Hello!" to us, which was probably the only English they knew. We waved and said "annyeonghaseyo!" back to them.)

What I thought was going on at this point was that we were getting upsold on something. I figured that we were going to see something special and extra, and then get charged for it. Whatever, we were on vacation, I was fine with that. We hadn't been in Korean long, and I thought "maybe they just station guys like this by the gate to rope people in". It was weird, but we were in a place where we didn't understand all the customs or speak the language, and my policy had been "just roll with it".

I did think it was weird that we were hoofing it across the palaces, and thought it was more weird when we went past a gate and into a place where no one else was apparently allowed. Our guide spoke good English, but when he'd been talking it had always been "the festival" or "the event" and "you'll be there most of the day" and "we'll make sure you have what you need". We were not clear on what was going on.

He mentioned that there would be a rice harvest, which I thought was weird since we were in a historical park in the middle of Seoul.

He told us that he'd give us a tour, because there wouldn't be time later, so he guided us through the Joseon-era gardens and temples. There was no one around, because that part of the grounds wasn't open until later in the day, so we got to see everything and ask whatever questions we wanted to ask, which has got to be the best possible way to experience a place. I was mostly struck by how much work it must have taken to make all this stuff and had lots of "down with the monarchy" feelings. There's a huge pond that's in the shape of the Korean peninsula, and god damn must that have taken a ton of time without a backhoe.

We were eventually taken a small place where they were setting things up, with a bunch of people milling about, and it was only then that we saw the rice: a small plot of it, no more than twenty feet to a side.

The rice was, in historical times, planted there so the king would have some understanding of what the crop yields would be like, since rice was the lifeblood of the country. It was harvested and inspected and whatnot to get some sense of the agriculture of the country, because anything that happened to the rice in these conditions was probably happening to rice all over the kingdom.

This rice harvest wasn't something that they just do with tourists every now and then, it only happens on this single day in the entire year, and me and my wife were two of the five people who would be doing it. The other three were all Korean government people of some kind.

They took us to a building and got us changed in our hanbok. "Hanbok" means "traditional clothes", and usually is associated with a nice and historical outfit, like someone in England dressing up in Regency era clothing. Here, it just meant "traditional farmer clothes".

Problem: I am six feet tall, which is quite tall for a Korean.

This woman was trying to dress me, and both because I was a bit overweight and quite tall, it was just not going well. My wife thought it was hilarious.

The other part of the kit was some orange rubber boots, which were not traditional but did prevent us from getting covered in mud. This is the most that I have ever looked like a goose.

When they were ready for us, we were handed tools to cut the rice. The ideal motion was to grab it around the base, move the hand up, then cut at the bottom. I am pretty sure that the thing we were handed was a sickle.

We got warned five or six times that they were extremely sharp, meant for slicing through the stalks of grain, and because there was a bit of a language barrier, the guy handing them to us kept nodding as he tried to make sure we understood that there was no small amount of danger.

My wife, five seconds after being handed her sickle, lunged at me with a "Hiya!" like she meant to stab me in the stomach. I jumped, five or six Koreans around us jumped, and my wife laughed and laughed. (My wife is great.)

When the photographers got there, we went into the muck and began harvesting. There were what felt like fifty photographers taking pictures of us while very loud drums played a traditional song and some people danced around us. We preened in front of the cameras, trying to take direction as best we could, and tossing the harvested rice off to the side so that two men with giant hammers could pound on it and make it into something like mochi (I think called tteok, but there was a lot of Korean happening).

After the photographers had gone, we had a little break, then were made to harvest rice in front of a group of Korean people, most of whom were, I think, either government functionaries or personalities or something. The drums were going again, I was sweating in my hanbok, and left hoping that my glasses wouldn't fall into the mud.

A third rice harvest was done for tourists, and the drums started up. I think this was the weirdest one for me, because I was a tourist on display for other tourists.

After the last of the rice was harvested, we had an interview with the largest English-speaking TV station in South Korea. All the questions were casual chit-chat questions, and I figured that only five or ten seconds would make it on air for a puff piece (which is what happened, with my wife hogging all the screen time).

When we had finally changed back into our normal clothes, we were given gifts by way of thanks, two wooden cups that we now use in the bathroom to hold toothbrushes, along with a pound of rice each (though not the stuff we'd harvested, which was made into tteok and we did get a chance to eat).

Our guide was super nice to us, answered some questions about what it's like to live in South Korea, and talked to us about places for us to visit. Over the next few days, we were able to find a few puff pieces on the internet, all in Korean.

I'm pretty sure they do this every year, always with token foreigners, and I hope some day I'm telling this story to someone and they say "oh yeah, that happened to me too".

[emilykaldwen]

High in the Halls

Ship: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (OC) Written for the @hotd-bigbang

Rating: Mature

Summary: Aegon Targaryen, the last true Valyrian Warlord, rattles at the machinations of his mother who tries to play Andal politics when he wants nothing more than to be left alone. A chance meeting of a maiden in distress in the Riverlands changes everything.

AKA the Old Valyria AU!

Notes: This is chapter one! Of what will probably be two chapters? I just didn't have the time to finish this, I'm so sorry.

Art by: @the-common-cowgirl / Beta: @vampire-exgirlfriend

Read on AO3

Author's Note: It's the old Valyria AU I've been hinting at for ages! It was a rough summer y'all, and this thing got finished while I was dying from Bronchitis (but before I got Covid) so I wasn't able to finish it. But this is absolutely a universe I want to have fun in and play with from time to time. I hope you enjoy it with me!

Sunfyre’s scream pierced the air, sending seagulls frantically fleeing from the battlements of Dragonstone, crying out as they took to the sky in an explosion of gray and white. The deep pink frills along the back of the dragon’s neck stood high, his head rearing back, snout vivid and wet with the blood of the sea beast he had dragged ashore for him and little Dreamfyre to feast on. His little sister’s dragon was twice the size of a horse, and the dead beast was at least two of her. The pair of them crouched around the great beast on the black sand beach, the waves crashing and little flits of multi-colored light caught in the air every time they broke against the rock of the harsh inlet.

Syrax hissed in response, her head rearing back in offense at being denied, but she eventually turned away, for Sunfyre was twice her size, and the smaller dragon was no match.

Aegon’s half-sister, on the other hand…

“Where is father?”

Aegon tilted his head, looking over his shoulder to where Rhaenyra, stood in the archway that led down to the stables. Her long, silver hair was tied back in a thick braid that fell to her waist, woven with charms that tinkled when she turned her head. The harshness of the style made her look more like Lord Viserys than her own mother, Lady Aemma, whose features were soft like his own mother.

He stayed silent, dragging his thumbnail along the near imperceptible groove of the stonework he leaned against. Did she think he was a servant? Did she think they were as close as their sire liked to pretend they were?

She arched her brows when he didn’t answer, her black boot tapping on the black stone. Before Aegon could open his mouth, there was movement behind Rhaenyra, heavily accented Valyrian answering for him.

“Helaena had another dream last night.” Lady Alicent met Rhaenyra’s eyes as she approached, silent maidens swathed in red following her. She was father’s second wife, taken in marriage when Lady Aemma could bear no more children. Even after all these years, she wore her long green gowns in the style of the continent: square necked and deep sleeved, a heavy, gold chain looped about her waist, her auburn curls held back a net of onyx and emeralds. Next to Rhaenyra in her dark gray riding leathers chased with crimson, Aegon thought his mother looked like a queen.

Rhaenyra ran her tongue over her teeth behind her lips, nodding curtly, and spun away with a swing of her long hair and vanished into the stronghold, vengeful and beautiful in the low light. Helaena’s dreams had changed fate for their family and Aegon did not know if it were better or worse. Some days, in the black of night, he wished he had gone down with the rest of their people in ash and flame. Others, he relished the freedom from politics that had plagued his earliest years. The fearful whispers of assassins, the way Uncle Daemon raged that they did not need to taint their blood to gain the Hightower gold—these things haunted him.

Mother pursed her lips, watching Lady Rhaenyra leave before her large, dark eyes met his.

“You cannot hide from me forever,” she told him in the common tongue. Aegon scoffed and looked back out at the rocky outcropping below where Sunfyre and Dreamfyre continued to devour the salt beast. He didn’t move as she approached, startling only a little when her hand combed through his shoulder length curls. “We must talk about this.”

“Must we?” he snipped, refusing to look at his mother. He kicked the toe of his boot against the stone and resisted crossing his arms to rest his head against them like a petulant child. Aegon was, in fact, acting a little like a petulant child, but he’d grown exhausted of the conversation that had circled for the past three years. “Go speak with Aemond about it. He’ll be more than glad to cross blades with Daemon and Rhaenyra- ow!”

His mother pinched and pulled at his ear to pull his face towards her and Aegon jerked from her grasp instinctively. Alicent Hightower’s lovely features were severe, delicate brows furrowed, pouty mouth pressed into a firm line.

“You are Viserys’ eldest son.”

“And Valyrian law dictates that Daemon inherits as his dragon is older-”

“Valyria is gone,” Alicent spat, her voice grating like the screech of kitlings or claws against stone. “If by chance you’d forgotten in your cups of strongwine, foolish boy. Valyria is gone, to fire and ash these past three years. Their laws of inheritance do not matter. The custom here, Aegon, is that of the eldest son. Sons before sisters, and all before uncles.”

“Then disown me,” Aegon snapped, pulling from his mother’s grasp before she could claw at him further. “Aemond will become your eldest and he shall eagerly fight with Helaena at his side. She could present it as a vision: Aemond inheriting Dragonstone with their children to carry his legacy on.” He clapped his hands together, smiling, although the gesture held no true joy. His smiles rarely did.

Aemond would relish at the opportunity to prove himself, to be more than what his position allowed him. Ever since their first son, Maelor, had been born, his younger brother had strutted about, speaking of his virility, dangling his son, and then soon after, their daughter, Daenys, in front of their father who so loved his grandchildren. Filling the hole that Rhaenyra left when her new family moved out of the fortress to the island of Driftmark, Viserys had indulged his grandchildren and Helaena was expecting her third soon.

The space between them grew as his mother drew back, her mouth pinched so tight that her lips had gone pale. Aegon loathed the way her gaze scraped at his insides and he resisted wrapping his arms around himself protectively, instead focusing on maintaining his languid, distant posture. To show weakness within the obsidian halls of Dragonstone was to be a death sentence. His mother was not of Old Valyria, but of these strange shores that he was more familiar with than the Freehold. She chafed at the ‘strange customs’, sick at the prospect of her children intermarrying with one another to keep their Valyrian blood pure. She misliked his lack of ambition, or how he preferred to spend his time in the brothel in the little fishing village while Lord Viserys lamented not being able to introduce him to the Ruby Palace and the most divine pleasure slaves the Freehold could have offered.

Lady Aemma misliked his father speaking so, although she was better at hiding her frustrations with her tender, tired smiles. His mother also did not care for the time Aegon spent in Lady Aemma’s solar, where they indulged in honey cakes together and she expected nothing from him, letting him lay his head in her lap while she combed her fingers through his hair when his mother’s anxieties turned her vicious.

If his own mother despised so much of him, then why was she so insistent to have him named heir?

“Aegon.”

He could not bear the anguish in his mother’s voice or on her soft features; the way it coalesced with the frustration like how the blood from the carcass on the beach turned the foaming ocean surf as pink as Sunfyre’s wings. Her shoulders that had bowed in on herself straightened, her breathing evening, and her delicate hands smoothed along the richness of her gown. “We will not indulge in such foolish things,” she said with an abrupt shake of her head. “You will be married at the end of the season.”

It felt like she’d punched him in the throat, the air rushing from him like a wheezing carcass. “I have no sisters to marry,” he rasped out, the blood rushing in his ears. Sunfyre’s call from below was a questioning one, and he saw his dragon lift his bloody face to peer up at him.

“One of the River Kings has need of a son in law,” she explained. “He is well known to our family, with only a daughter and the other river kings are circling. In exchange for you to protect his holding and claim his title upon his death, he will ensure that his armies are yours when the time comes.” She sniffed, twisting the ring on her right hand. “Which will be sooner, I think, than we all expect.”

Well known to their family? The Hightowers. The power that family held was ancient and worthy enough of Valyria, their origins a tightly guarded secret, but his father had said the Hightower blood was a special thing, and how lucky he’d been to snap up the daughter of so much power.

Aegon felt strangled and overheated, a pain coursing through his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Does he know?” There was something guttural and full of warning running through Aegon’s words, and it vibrated through him. For a moment, he thought he tasted salt and metal, satiating and repugnant along his tongue, and he spat on the ground to rid himself of the taste of his dragon’s kill.

She sniffed again. “He has allowed me freedom to do with my other two children as I please, and Daeron is eager to become a Maester and not claim a dragon for himself. He will serve you well when his education is completed.”

Something cool and wet slapped against Aegon’s cheek and he blinked, tilting his head up as a fine rain began to fall. His mother hurried back inside, arms wrapped around herself, but Aegon ignored her insistent call to follow him. He stood there letting the rain hit his too hot, too tight skin, wondering if it would sizzle the way it sizzled against the dragons. A fine hiss of steam had surrounded Sunfyre as he continued to eat, Dreamfyre tucked beneath his wing, protecting her in the ways that Aegon was unable to protect Helaena himself.

Of course Daeron didn’t want a dragon. He knew nothing else but what he learned of on the ground.

“You’d barter me to some little king for the power of my dragon!” Aegon shouted, his voice heavy with rage, an anger that he’d rarely let loose coming to the forefront like the storm surge. The heat in his throat was a dragon’s flame - he’d spit fire if he could.

Rage was Aemond’s domain, was Rhaenyra’s, was Daemon’s. But Aegon was just as fearsome when he chose to be.

“Aegon-”

“You had no right!” His hands ached for something to throw, to bend and break and shoving over the brazier on his way inside would have to suffice. The coals hissed and bounced along the stone, the metal clanging loudly along the ground. Mother jerked away at the sound like something skittish, a doe perhaps, or a mourning dove, dark eyes wide at the display. Perhaps she did have reasons to mislike him. “You had no fucking right. Daeron, you can barter around, but I, in case you’ve forgotten, am a Warlord. My mount is not some overgrown horse, but fire incarnate, and should I ever so choose, I could turn your precious Oldtown to ash, and the rest of this land if the whim took me.” His nostrils flared as he breathed, wishing he could snag his mother and shake her until sense rattled in her head once more.

But she misliked him enough that he didn’t, the notion settling like a stone in his gut as he skirted her and followed the ghost of his elder sister. Mother shouted his name, but he ignored her, striding down the dim corridors that snaked through the fortress. Torchlight illuminated the slick walls and made the obsidian shine like some living, slimy thing.

Trilling, melodious and haunting, echoed down the corridor, but Aegon could hear the shifting in Sunfyre’s tone. ‘Bite? Attack?’ the sound seemed to question. The Dragonkeepers along the dock gripped their pikes, shouting for Sunfyre to settle, to calm, but the golden dragon would have none of it. He called, concerned, and it grated and echoed along the cave that housed the stable, boiling saliva and blood dripping from his maw and onto the black stone. Another cry shook dust from stone as Sunfyre made as if he were to scramble his bulk up onto the dock. The Dragonkeepers shouted once more, Keeper Arrax looking at him imploringly.

Aegon met his gaze briefly before approaching, tugging his riding gloves on from his pockets. “Lykirī!” he called up to him, but there was little command in the words. Sunfyre rumbled low in his throat, eyes flicking above Aegon and past him for whomever had caused such upset within his rider. It was only as Aegon lifted a hand to his bloody maw to scratch gently along his nostril, did Sunfyre relax, albeit with extreme annoyance at not having anything to attack.

The dragon snorted and settled, lowering himself enough that Aegon could make his way up the curve of his wing to the saddle. There were no words exchanged. None were needed. Him and Sunfyre were as one; the envy of the last Dragonlords.

The further west Aegon flew, the lighter the clouds became. There was something deeper within that, he was sure, and he could only imagine what poetic waxings his father would engage in had Aegon asked. Aemond would huff and let out the most annoyed of sighs and simply say, ‘Clouds move, you nitwit,’ and whatever obscure and esoteric insults from the books in their father’s library.

The breaking of the clouds revealed the lush green of what his mother’s people called the Riverlands. He’d flown over Crackclaw point and up the river that flowed into the Bay of Crabs, the great mountains of the Vale majestic and snow capped in the distance. The rolling green hills and dense forests were cut through with snaking slashes of blue and marked with weirwoods like drops of blood unfolded beneath him, a tapestry of a world he did not understand. His memories of the Freehold were fuzzy. The villa they’d lived in had been large, and he remembered the palanquin draped in the blacks and reds of their house as he made his way to the Dragonmont to claim Sunfyre. And then Helaena’s dreams had entranced their father and here they came.

Dragonstone was more home than Valyria had ever been, but even so, the obsidian fortress in the shadow of the mountain felt like a cage.

Out here above the Riverlands, Aegon breathed in the crisp air, the scent of the storm they’d passed through untainted by the smell of sulfur and salt that permeated the air of his home. These creatures of mud and root were meant to be subjugated. They were unworthy of the gift of flight, Aegon’s blood was a pure, magical thing, not something to be bartered to such a thing.

But his mother was of these people, and he loved his mother. Her blood flowed through him. She was just as fierce as his sister even if she lacked wings. His Uncle Daemon sneered and called him and his siblings half-breeds, shocked that they were able to claim dragons as they did.

Aegon shook his head, damp hair stuck across his forehead, and urged Sunfyre lower to better make out the land before him. Here, he could see the frightened sheep moving in a great herd as the shadow of the winged predator loomed over them. Sunfyre rumbled his desire and he tugged on the reins.

“You’ve had your fill,” he reminded the dragon, and the beast grumbled his annoyance. They swooped lower now, so Aegon could make out the details of the sheep and their startled herders, and hear the distant barking of the herding dogs that accompanied them. Aegon turned south, crossing over the Trident and soon they came upon Castle Derry nestled in the hills. His brow furrowed and he circled about it curiously. Was this where his bride resided? On the shores of the Ruby Ford?

Aegon flew further out still, towards the lush wood, settling his dragon down by a grove of bone white weirwoods, their crimson stained faces bearing witness to his sulking and self-pity. The forest floor was damp and gave beneath his boots as he approached the heart tree. The smell of petrichor clung in the air from the storms that had passed through; the scent of rich earth, of the pine scent of the evergreen trees that hugged the red grove a physical thing.

It was only the red sap that gave the look of bloody tears against the bark. That’s what the maester had said. Helaena, who received dreams from the gods, said they were the tears of those their visions could not help. Even though theirs were Valyrian gods - the fourteen flames that dragons like Syrax and Caraxes and even little Vhagar bore like badges of honor. Aegon had never felt close to the gods of his people, for they were angry beings that threw the Freehold into a melted, smoking husk and destroyed everything that they’d come from. The places in his hazy, childhood memory, the people who had visited, who had bustled in the forum below, were all gone, as were the multitude of dragons that had filled the sky from the other families, not to mention so many along the empire, and the many who had been unclaimed, roosting in the fissures of the volcanos.

Sunfyre rumbled behind him and Aegon waved a hand. “Go on,” he told him, Valyrian words feeling strange to speak in front of the tree. Sunfyre gave him a long look, as if assessing Aegon’s intent before his legs bunched up and he took off with a gust that nearly pushed Aegon from his feet. He ran his fingers through his hair before resting his hand on the pommel of his sword and looking around. Mayhaps he’d go for a swim. Climb a weirwood and fall asleep in the boughs. He could pilfer some clothes and dye his hair and vanish into the mists of the Riverlands, become something new and unseen. He could -

The scream that ripped through the forest was full of terror and anger, the words distant and shrill, but he could just make out the ‘NO!’ through the cacophony. Alarm took over and Aegon’s head whipped around trying to figure out what direction it came from. Another scream for help and he shifted direction, darting through the weirwood grove and bursting into the firs and evergreens of the rest of the forest.

‘Don’t stop screaming,’ he thought to himself, blood pumping in excitement for a fight. A dragonlord’s first weapon was fire and wing. His second was the blade, and Blackfyre hung reassuringly at his side - the gift his father had bestowed upon him on his twenty-second nameday. Next to fucking and drinking, he relished most the clang and scrape of metal against metal.Aemond could roll his eyes at his lack of finesse, but Aegon loved a good fight; blade, teeth, a punch to the face, all were ideal.

He slowed on approach, darting behind the thick trunk of a red oak large enough to seat his whole family for a meal. There were four men just past the trees by the stream, their horses lingering, pawing at the ground, perhaps from Sunfyre’s presence earlier. Three of them wore simple brown tunics and leggings, tabards of black and yellow with a sigil of eerie yellow eyes peering back at him. Aegon knew little of the houses of the area to know which this was. From the finer cut of cloth the fourth man wore, he was their liege. Tall, with dark blonde hair and broad shoulders, the leader of the group was clad in a tunic of black, his tabard half black, half yellow, edged with golden cording.

“Hush now, you’re safe,” he crooned to the hissing, spitting maiden clutched in his arms. She was a slight thing, her kirtle a deep, forest green, the skirt split over a pair of leggings, elegant embroidery visible across her gown. Aegon’s eyes darted around, looking for her horse, but none was to be found. A noble lady from the looks of it, but the oddity of her being alone in the forest was not his priority.

“Let me go!” she snarled, eyes wide and frightened, and she reached up to claw at the man’s face. Her little hand struck true, raking across his handsome features, and he yelled, striking her hard against the face in retaliation and sending her to the ground.

Sunfyre growled low in Aegon’s chest and before the man could reach for her again, he made himself known, unsheathing the Valyrian broadsword idly, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

“Is this how you Westerosi whelps treat your ladies?” he asked, brow furrowed in feigned confusion as his lilac gaze darted from man to man. “I confess, I’ve only been here for a little time, but from what I’ve been taught, there are laws among your people that frown on such things.” A lie of course; he could care less what laws Westeros had, but the woman was distressed, and he was doubtful any of these men owned her. Why he cared about her distress at all was something he would dissect later.

Aegon’s gaze raked over the men before lingering on the maiden still on the ground. The damp of the earth soaked into her skirts, her copper curls a frizz around her soft, tear streaked face. The ring her assailant wore had cut into her mouth, streaks of blood welling up and smeared across her chin. Her eyes met his in that singular moment, so vivid and bright, an endless blue. Aegon forgot to breathe at the sight of that frightened gaze that looked at him so full of terrified hope, his stomach twisting and pulling, wanting to drag him towards her.

How could he deny such a desperate plea? How could he deny her anything when she looked at him like that?

“Be gone with you, stranger,” the leader of this little band sneered, unbothered by the glint of Valyrian steel in the shafts of light that struggled to cut through the trees and clouds above. Aegon’s gaze met his and he smiled, lazy and unbothered. The creak of leather signaled the unsettled movements of his companions.

“Prince Ed,” one of them said, all nervous hesitation that pleased Aegon. “He’s one of them.” Fearful and othering, but he should fear him. Aegon was not some mortal clawed from mud. He was nearly a god himself, and the dragons were of the gods. Sunfyre purred deep in his chest, feeling Aegon’s amusement. He knew the dragon was approaching, and Aegon could buy himself some time and entertainment. Three against one wasn’t terrible odds. He’d been in brawls like that before, but rarely with a blade, and the swordmaster’s cautious words ran in the back of his mind to be cautious of how he picked his fights.

Sunfyre would be there before things got too out of hand.

The prince narrowed his eyes in Aegon’s direction and took in the languid stance and the Valyrian steel blade. There was a flicker of unease on his face before he set his jaw. “Are you sure?” he laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think they touched the ground, let alone come down from their mountain, too busy fucking their sisters and fathers and probably their dragons.”

There was a nervous titter of laughter from his group and Aegon joined in, his own manic giggling not quite reaching his eyes. He moved deliberately yet continued his easy stance before he stabbed forward, a flash of polished steel to slide across the arm of this prince of mud. Aegon smiled as they shouted and pulled their blades.

“She’s mine now. Be off with you. I would spare her from witnessing your rolling heads.”

The supposed prince spat at Aegon’s feet, drawing his inferior blade. “A daughter of the Riverlands will not be taken by an inbred Valyrian bastard,” he declared with all the mock chivalry and hot air that he’d been blowing. As if Aegon hadn’t just come upon them attacking the maiden. She’d been backing slowly away as Aegon had held their attention but she froze now as the man’s gaze shot at her. “Marvyn, grab her. I’ll slay this imp abandoned by his beast.”

He was brave. Aegon would give this so-called prince that much. Brave and exceedingly stupid, which often went hand in hand; Aegon would know, having been called such by his mother. The clang of steel against steel rang through the clearing and the shriek of the woman joined them as she lobbed a rock at Marvyn in her attempt to evade their reach. His opponent relied on strength, on the advance and powerful swings, and Aegon knew the type. He ducked low and got behind the oaf, kicking the man in the ass and sending him stumbling forward. With the space cleared, Aegon turned and shoved Blackfyre through the back of Martyn and removed the blade without catching any bone. Blood sprayed against the damp earth as he fell to his knees and Aegon spun the blood streaked blade, eyes on the third who had hold of the maiden’s arm, and back to the prince.

Aegon smiled brightly at him, all teeth and mirth and the feral edge of the dragon beneath his skin. “Shame about Martyn,” he said with a pitying shake of his head. “But at least it’s a first course.”

Above, a great, winged shadow appeared, blotting out the watercolor sun and casting them in momentary dim. The gust of wind from Sunfyre’s wings shook the tree, a few small branches falling to the ground from sudden and turbulent wind.

“Prince Edmund,” the other man’s voice cracked with fear, and his wide, sunken eyes focused upon the forest canopy, hand still clutching his sword and the other dropping from the maiden’s arm. Another shriek filled the sky and the trees filled with the frightened lowing of woodland animals fleeing, the birds shaking the remaining branches as they took off.

“Don’t be frightened,” Aegon laughed, shaking the damp curls back from his forehead. “Sunfyre is just having a little fun before he feasts. We’re both rather famished.” He opened his arms wide, the blood dripping from the dark steel of his blade. The clearing was quiet except for the low wheezing of Marvyn’s death rattles. He looked to the frightened man who was backing away before his gaze traveled back to this prince, taut and tense and gripping his useless sword with both hands. “What was it you were saying about inbred Valyrians abandoned by their beasts? There were four of you, weren’t there?” Aegon looked around again, and there was neither hide nor hair of the fourth companion, who seemed to be the only one with good judgment.

Sunfyre’s cry shook the forest once more. The horses had already fled in fear.

“Just leave,” the maiden said, finally finding her voice as she stumbled to her feet, her eyes like blue fire as she glared at the leader of her assailants. “Leave and take the gift of your life.”

She trembled with fear but her fists were curled into her skirt, her shoulders squared as she stared the man down. Her voice lilted, softly and strangely, neither melodic nor grating, but something altogether new to Aegon. The common tongue was not her mother tongue, and it gave a dulcet quality to her tone that those brutes lacked.

Aegon’s smile broadened, his teeth flashing as he looked at the prince. “Begone, you mud stricken thing.”

The two men fled, leaving the corpse of their friend behind, and Aegon watched their figures disappear into the trees. Sunfyre’s melodic trill echoed above and he chuckled, reaching down to wipe his tunic on the corpse of the man he’d stabbed. No need to stain his own clothes with such inferior blood. Sheathing his blade, Aegon Targaryen, eldest son of Viserys, the last Dragonlord of Valyria, straightened before the maiden he’d rescued. He knew she would be in awe of him, perhaps even frightened. That was certainly alright. He would reassure her, comfort her, and promise that he would bring no harm to her.

“My lady,” he said with the utmost courtesy. She stood there, several feet away, her arms wrapped around herself, her brilliant blue eyes wide and wild. There was a gentle, cracking sensation between his ribs as he took her in properly. She was a mess from head to toe, the skirts of her riding clothes soaked and stained. She was slight, shorter than he was, and fear had given her soft features a delicate quality that drew from how pale she was, how stark the blood and dirt looked across her face.

It took everything in him not to just reach for her and lick the blood away from her swollen mouth. To swallow her fearful cries away and replace them with precious little moans. She looked like she would make sweet sounds. The fight had his blood pumping with fever and the thrill of the win only increased the potency. He meant what he said: she was his now. He’d claimed her and sealed it through combat.

“Come,” he said, fingers wrapped around her wrist. Aegon was startled at how fragile the bones felt beneath his touch. He made sure he was gentle with it, not wanting to frighten her further. “We’ll fly back to Dragonstone and you’ll be given all that you desire.” The slap of her little hand against his cheek surprised Aegon more than it hurt, but still he reared back at the sting of it, looking down at the maiden with wide eyes. “I saved you!”

“From men who wanted to steal me to make me a bride against my will! You’re trying to do the same thing!” She yanked at the hold he had on her wrist, but he would not let her go, not now that he had found her.

“I’m not going to make you my bride,” he snapped, bewildered at the very thought of it. “You will be my concubine. Then if you prove yourself, I might wed you.” Bride? What a silly idea these Westerosi had. Not that the idea of tying this girl to him wasn’t appealing. To drag her at the foot of the Dragonmont, to sip wine and taste the blood on her mouth with the blood on his, it was an appealing vision. And it was his own choice, not one where he was sold for his precious dragon and his mother’s clawing attempts to change the succession. If Alicent Hightower wanted him to marry a Westerosi so much, Aegon had found his own choice.

From the furrow on her brow, to the flush that filled her lightly freckled cheeks, it was too late to realize those words would not entice her. A sharp pain radiated from his shin from where she kicked him.

“I will not be your concubine, you stupid dragon whelp.”

“You are precious when so angry,” he giggled with amusement and dodged out of the way of her attempt to rake her nails across his face. Abruptly, he released her, and the girl went stumbling back, breathless. He lifted his hands in surrender before clasping them behind his back. “I won’t touch you-”

“Go raibh maith agat,” she muttered and Aegon blinked.

“Did you sneeze?”

She huffed. “I was saying thank you. I will not have uppity Valyrians accuse me nor my people of being discourteous even as you are high handed.”

Aegon snorted. “It was your Westerosi brethren that sought to kidnap you, if I’m not mistaken.”

Her eyes were nothing short of vivid; such a brilliant, cobalt blue like the endless sky, rimmed red from tears and smudged black from lack of sleep. The softness of her vulnerability at his statement was unmistakable and she did not have a snip or barb for him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and did not meet his gaze. At a loss for words now after she spent so many. Gods, she was a mess. Dirt on her cheek, her soft, molten red hair a mass of curls tied in an unkempt braid. Her wool kirtle was no better, torn along the sleeve and neckline, though it did little to detract from how fine a garment it was—or had been.

The twist of pressure in his chest was uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and Aegon did not know where to put it.It snaked through the pulsing arousal through his blood, the aching desire he had for her. “How long have you been out here?” he asked her, voice gentler this time, as if she were a skittish mare.

She desperately looked around, her lower lip trembling before her teeth caught at the ruined flesh. Blood welled up in the wound once more from the broken clot. The desire to lick it rose in him once more. Instead, Aegon tugged his handkerchief from inside his sleeve and handed it to her. The linen was carefully embroidered with golden beetles by Helaena, who’d been bedridden during her last pregnancy.

It hung between them, Aegon’s outstretched hand with the offering. Tear filled eyes met his before flicking down, eyeing his hand with all the wariness of a little rabbit before she whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as softly, if a bit ashamed. Aegon looked down at the corpse that still lay near them and he carefully stepped between it and her gaze, gently herding her away from the sight and towards the weirwood grove he’d come from. He let her lead the way, keeping a distance between them, his eyes darting about for either horses or those fools. Sunfyre warbled above them and Aegon knew he was keeping an eye out before the ground shook at the dragon’s landing. The maiden stumbled and Aegon caught her elbow before she could fall.

She did not jerk away from him this time and he did not grab her roughly, the idea of further scaring her making him uncomfortable.

“What is your name?” It was a polite question and one Aegon should have asked her before telling her he was going to carry her off to Dragonstone. No matter; he could make up for it now.

She did not look at him and Aegon noticed how she trembled, likely from the come down after the fight. His own hands were shaking lightly, but he’d been well trained to manage it. He cursed under his breath and looked towards the clearing where Sunfyre landed. There was a cloak in his saddlebag he could give her.

“Abrogail.” Aegon looked at her, dark lashes shading her eyes, her pink tongue darting out enticingly to wet her lips as she dabbed at her mouth. “My name is Abrogail.”

Oh. “That’s… that’s a lovely name. Abrogail.” It even tasted lovely on his tongue. “I’m Aegon. Targaryen. Of House Targaryen.” How foolish he sounded.

Her mouth twitched with a promise of a smile and warmth bloomed in his chest. “I gathered as much… Aegon.” Gods help him, he loved the sound of his name on her tongue. Adjusting his course of action seemed to be working as the tension eased a little in her slim shoulders and her sweet face. The pulse of desire flooded through his veins once more and Aegon exhaled, looking up at the red leaves and white boughs of the weirwoods they had come to. The light was dimming as the clouds grew heavy with moisture and Aegon could smell the oncoming rain; petrichor and ozone and the promising crack of lightning. Could he make it back to Dragonstone to stay the night?

“Are you far from home?” he asked, the words ashen in his mouth. It was the right thing to do, even when all he wanted to do was bundle her up and take her away with him. She was meant to be his now. He had claimed her, won her in combat.

“Not overly far,” she said with a strange tone. Aegon looked down at her. Abrogail’s gaze had darkened, turned inward in her contemplation. “I left for my own reasons… and I find myself without my horse. I am not,” she paused, pushing a finger into his chest with fierce, flashing eyes, a kitten arching her back, “Saying I would come with you as your concubine.” She spat the word out with a wrinkled nose.

Aegon grinned at her, all bright teeth and amusement, a mad sort of giggle spilling from him. “Oh, you’ve made yourself quite clear, my lady. I promise not to make you my concubine, but I can offer you a ride away from here.” ‘To Dragonstone,’ he thought. She was escaping something, she said, and he could provide her anything she could want. All he’d ask for in return was a taste.

Abrogail tilted her head, rosebud mouth pursing in her wariness but the curiosity was easing her features.

Several tastes, perhaps. If she insisted on looking so appetizing.

“Your dragon?” There was a nervousness in her tone, but oh, that curiosity. Aegon nodded and held his hand out to her.

“Come,” he said softly. “You can meet Sunfyre.”

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think! If you're looking for more Aegon and Abby, check out The Maiden and the Drowning Boy! and of course, be sure to check out the other stories being posted for the big bang <3

[onenicebugperday]

ASKS AND SUBMISSIONS ARE OPEN AGAIN YAY. TIME FOR LITTLE GUY BOMBARDMENT (this was gonna be a submission cuz i have SO MANY PHOTOS but they do not appear to be working.. AH WELL THIS STILL WORKS) (very long ask ahead i apologize)

firstly. this wonderfully fuzzy carpenter bee and a little Bug Friend i saw and photographed a couple years ago!! they're holding hands :3

second: spider guys from outside! the second is very blurry but still a lovely friend.

third: a baby. i saw someone else submit black swallowtails a short while back and it inspired me to share the story of my family's parsley plant, which i at one point counted 36 BLACK SWALLOWTAIL CATERPILLARS ON just standing in front of it. they were going to TOWN. i now know distinctly what each stage of black swallowtail caterpillar-hood looks like because of these guys (though sadly this was the only photo i still had)

fourth: this absolutely ENORMOUS woman on my staircase, and a little tunneling fellow who has build his house on my mailbox, right next to a recent shed!

and last of all: this absolute ATOM of a little guy that crawled across my phone literally like ten minutes ago and then onto my blanket. you can barely see him because he was literally smaller than my pinkie nail and FAST and the lighting in my room sucks right now but i thought you would appreciate him anyway

no IDs needed on any of these; they are simply for your enjoyment :> (and on that note, augh i hope u recover from covid soon and dont have any long-lasting complications :( rest up and take care of yourself ❤️)

Thank you, I am feeling better now and no lasting effects. Anyhoo great group of friends here! I believe that male carpenter bee and the ailanthus webworm moth are actually best friends. How beautiful. 36 black swallowtails is so many! Hope they enjoyed your parsley. That might be the fattest recluse I've ever seen btw

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

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On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.” 

“No hay problema.” 

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.” 

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake. 

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude. 

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

----------

There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder. 

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm. 

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.  

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.” 

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.” 

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge. 

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.” 

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are. 

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

----------

A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[struckd0wn]

Nobody talks about Shy tops and their equality shy bottoms enough so I will write it myself 😈

𝐒𝐡𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐩!𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 × 𝐒𝐡𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Smut and some fluff ig, kinda sappy LOL :3

18+, mdni

Both of you are too shy to initiate intimacy so it gets awkward when you're both in the mood but both to scared to make a move until eventually you both just explore

You and Tomas sit side by side on your shared sofa. You're both visibly antsy and desperate for one another but both of you are to scared to just reach out. Your eyes leave the television screen, examining your boyfriend's face. His strong jawline shifts as he clenches his teeth, watching you watch him from the corner of his eye. Eventually Smoke turns to look at you, catching your eyes. His face lights up bright red and you assume your cheeks are burning as well. The eye contact last a couple of seconds before the both of you collide roughly, leting out all of your pent up energy out.

Asking for thing is also difficult for the both of you. Mumble out a request, blush covering their face, only for the other to not hear. Repeating their selves, blush worsening as they see their partner blush at the suggestion.

"Hey love, Can I... eat you out." You look up to him from your phone, asking him to repeat himself as you didn't quite hear him. Tomas's face is bright red and his blue eyes refuse to meet yours. "Can I eat you out." The elder tells you again, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. You're almost speechless, taking your turn to blush a dull pink over your cheeks. You nod your head and your lover lights up immediately, dragging you along to the bedroom.

During Intimacy it's not to bad, the two of you are usually too caught up in the pleasure to feel embarrassed, but sometimes it's inevitable.

Tomas groans softly, his calloused fingers run through your hair as you bob up and down on his swollen cock. He opens his eyes, averting his gaze down to you in between his legs. The sight of you is almost to much to handle, your puffy lips on his erection, smaller hands wrapped around his shaft, tear filled eyes looking back up at him. Smoke burns, turning to look away, bashful and in a bit of disbelief at how good you look. You burn too, embarrassed as he watched you shamelessly choke down his length like it was nothing.

The aftermath is the most embarrassing part for the both of you, unsure of what to say or how to continue after such sinful activities.

Tomas leans over you, huffing heavily after finishing inside of you. Your legs quiver around him, eyelids drooping at your sudden tiredness. Your lover watches you from above, one hand holding him up and the other softly caressing you cheek. You stare back up at him, quickly feeling more embarrassed by the second, pulling up the blanket to cover your reddening face. Smoke laughs nervously, leaning down to hide his own face in the crook of your neck, turning both of you on your side to cuddle for the rest of the night.

a/n: sorry I've been gone so long LOL, kinktober burned me out horribly but I'm back >:3, I'll get to my requests soon I promise. I was sick and had covid the last 2 times I wanted to write the universe DID NOT WANT ME WRITING SMUT. anyways, I'll try to write more I promise :D!!!

[covid-safer-hotties]

Patients With Long-COVID Show Abnormal Lung Perfusion Despite Normal CT Scans - Published Sept 12, 2024

VIENNA — Some patients who had mild COVID-19 infection during the first wave of the pandemic and continued to experience postinfection symptoms for at least 12 months after infection present abnormal perfusion despite showing normal CT scans. Researchers at the European Respiratory Society (ERS) 2024 International Congress called for more research to be done in this space to understand the underlying mechanism of the abnormalities observed and to find possible treatment options for this cohort of patients.

Laura Price, MD, PhD, a consultant respiratory physician at Royal Brompton Hospital and an honorary clinical senior lecturer at Imperial College London, London, told Medscape Medical News that this cohort of patients shows symptoms that seem to correlate with a pulmonary microangiopathy phenotype.

"Our clinics in the UK and around the world are full of people with long-COVID, persisting breathlessness, and fatigue. But it has been hard for people to put the finger on why patients experience these symptoms still," Timothy Hinks, associate professor and Wellcome Trust Career Development fellow at the Nuffield Department of Medicine, NIHR Oxford Biomedical Research Centre senior research fellow, and honorary consultant at Oxford Special Airway Service at Oxford University Hospitals, England, who was not involved in the study, told Medscape Medical News.

The Study Researchers at Imperial College London recruited 41 patients who experienced persistent post-COVID-19 infection symptoms, such as breathlessness and fatigue, but normal CT scans after a mild COVID-19 infection that did not require hospitalization. Those with pulmonary emboli or interstitial lung disease were excluded. The cohort was predominantly female (87.8%) and nonsmokers (85%), with a mean age of 44.7 years. They were assessed over 1 year after the initial infection.

Exercise intolerance was the predominant symptom, affecting 95.1% of the group. A significant proportion (46.3%) presented with myopericarditis, while a smaller subset (n = 5) exhibited dysautonomia. Echocardiography did not reveal pulmonary hypertension. Laboratory findings showed elevated angiotensin-converting enzyme and antiphospholipid antibodies. "These patients are young, female, nonsmokers, and previously healthy. This is not what you would expect to see," Price said. Baseline pulmonary function tests showed preserved spirometry with forced expiratory volume in 1 second and forced vital capacity above 100% predicted. However, diffusion capacity was impaired, with a mean diffusing capacity of the lungs for carbon monoxide (DLCO) of 74.7%. The carbon monoxide transfer coefficient (KCO) and alveolar volume were also mildly reduced. Oxygen saturation was within normal limits.

These abnormalities were through advanced imaging techniques like dual-energy CT scans and ventilation-perfusion scans. These tests revealed a non-segmental and "patchy" perfusion abnormality in the upper lungs, suggesting that the problem was vascular, Price explained.

Cardiopulmonary exercise testing revealed further abnormalities in 41% of patients. Peak oxygen uptake was slightly reduced, and a significant proportion of patients showed elevated alveolar-arterial gradient and dead space ventilation during peak exercise, suggesting a ventilation-perfusion mismatch.

Over time, there was a statistically significant improvement in DLCO, from 70.4% to 74.4%, suggesting some degree of recovery in lung function. However, DLCO values did not return to normal. The KCO also improved from 71.9% to 74.4%, though this change did not reach statistical significance. Most patients (n = 26) were treated with apixaban, potentially contributing to the observed improvement in gas transfer parameters, Price said.

The researchers identified a distinct phenotype of patients with persistent post-COVID-19 infection symptoms characterized by abnormal lung perfusion and reduced gas diffusion capacity, even when CT scans appear normal. Price explains that this pulmonary microangiopathy may explain the persistent symptoms. However, questions remain about the underlying mechanisms, potential treatments, and long-term outcomes for this patient population.

Causes and Treatments Remain a Mystery Previous studies have suggested that COVID-19 causes endothelial dysfunction, which could affect the small blood vessels in the lungs. Other viral infections, such as HIV, have also been shown to cause endothelial dysfunction. However, researchers don't fully understand how this process plays out in patients with COVID-19.

"It is possible these patients have had inflammation insults that have damaged the pulmonary vascular endothelium, which predisposes them to either clotting at a microscopic level or ongoing inflammation," said Hinks.

Some patients (10 out of 41) in the cohort studied by the Imperial College London's researchers presented with Raynaud syndrome, which might suggest a physiological link, Hinks explains. "Raynaud's is a condition of vascular control or dysregulation, and potentially, there could be a common factor contributing to both breathlessness and Raynaud's."

He said there is an encouraging signal that these patients improve over time, but their recovery might be more complex and lengthy than for other patients. "This cohort will gradually get better. But it raises questions and gives a point that there is a true physiological deficit in some people with long-COVID."

Price encouraged physicians to look beyond conventional diagnostic tools when visiting a patient whose CT scan looks normal yet experiences fatigue and breathlessness. Not knowing what causes the abnormalities observed in this group of patients makes treatment extremely challenging. "We need more research to understand the treatment implications and long-term impact of these pulmonary vascular abnormalities in patients with long-COVID," Price concluded.

[simplysoniferous]

Assignment counter: 4/6

Completed two presentations and one learning program - just a set work analysis and HASS learning program to go. I’m so cloooooose!!!!

Assignment counter: 1/6

[verdemoun]

I'm still thinking. Hosea is a grandfather. A grandpa, if you will. There's Isaac, the boy he barely saw before timewarp, the boy he actually *watched* grow up. And Jack. Oh, Jack. (I am so normal about him.) The bright boy running around camp, turned into this. Just as emotionally fucked up as John and Arthur were at his age. And then there's timewarp kids, and then he figures out Jack had a younger sister. How does he handle THAT???

yes. y es i thought abt jack and hosea. because yes i fuckinf think jack would happily put up with hoseas bs. that is his grandpa and grandpa loves him.

oh fuck you you can't attack me in the feels like that and not expect an immediate reply covid has your brain cOOKING. sorry john + abigail jack is actually my son my baby my blorbo

If dad Hosea is intense, papa Hosea is willing to resort to the lowest honor tactics to protect his grandbabies. Like mama grizzly bear to the extreme: he might look the part of sweet old man but he will murder someone with his bare hands if they even LOOK at his grandbabies wrong.

He actually prefers being called Uncle Hosea because he loathes reminders of how old he is (even though growing old is something he is very, very grateful for). Isaac looked him dead in the eye when Hosea tried to correct him and said 'no I am calling you Pa and that's that'. He also calls Bessie Meemaw. Everyone else calls him Uncle Hosea but Isaac has that Morgan stubbornness.

Also Isaac is finally old enough for the 'yeah your dad was an outlaw and all those strange timewarp people are fellow gang members' and is immediately eyes sparkling. Knows outlaw bad but also how cool is that?? He will excitedly sit at Hosea's feet to hear stories about the old days and of course Hosea loves telling very true and not exaggerated tales of their adventures.

Between having no understanding of modern currency and economics and also the excitement of having a grandchild he gets to see whenever he wants because not running for lives anymore, Hosea is the worst when it comes to spoiling his grandbabies second only to Bessie.

Isaac, going from being raised by a 90% of the time solo parent to having such a massive family in the gang, loves all of them so much. Suddenly having grandparents for school events and those dumb family tree assignments. Isaac also inherited the theatrics genes. He's doing a video interview about Hosea's career and of course Hosea is just telling stories about scams and cons he ran but Isaac's in full old timey interviewer garb newsie cap on microphone and clipboard.

Isaac slamming the door at Arthur's fuck you I'm going to Pa's house when he's grounded. Arthur calling to say he's grounded do not spoil him send him home asap and Hosea merrily agreeing only to cut to Isaac getting cake and coffee while they play dominos. Hosea blindly agrees that Arthur is taking him getting suspended a second time far too seriously.

Old man bawling getting to hold baby Maeve. Sean trying to tell him to stop because he's going to wake her up but Hosea is the softest bastard when it comes to babies.

Emotionally ruined to find out Jack has a younger sister but also she was the first Marston to die and so young. He is always the first to offer to babysit and it was a very common occurrence to find her sitting on his lap drifting off as he reads to her. Practices her reading with her and plays tea parties with actual tea and does voices for different characters obsessed with playing with his smaller grandkids.

BUT HOSEA AND JACK. Hosea has been through the emotionally fucked teen outlaw gig so many times he is an expert. He knows when Jack needs space or to talk or company before Jack does.

As easy as it is to focus on that damage all that trauma and emotions and just darkness Jack carries with him, Hosea still sees their little prince.

The sheer emotion of knowing how much reading came to mean to Jack. The hurt but comfort of knowing that Jack, even if he didn't remember Hosea as clearly as Hosea remembers him, held onto something Hosea helped him with and gave him so tightly. How he read so much Abigail teased him despite how proud she was of the life he was going to have before everything turned to shit.

When Jack is still adjusting and understandably awkward and also mentally not coping, Hosea showed him their expansive private collection of books and saw the way Jack's eyes lit up. They both finally have someone to talk to books about.

Not only Jack lighting up a little like a candle being exposed to oxygen again but actually laughing as Hosea starts stacking books he recommends in his arms. Hosea being excited to talk about books without spoiling them also also just so excited to see that bright little boy is still in there.

Catching Jack curled up on what is usually his reading chair, book still in hand but fast asleep. Remembering the first times Arthur, and John, and Tilly and all those troubled young outlaws they picked up along the way felt comfortable enough to sleep around him, and knowing deep down Jack is going to be okay.

[concorp]

MCYT Eras Concept

For a long time, I've thought of MCYT as divided into different eras. I've finally decided to refine the idea and write it out. I feel it's a good way to define things, rather than just "old school" and "modern", as the bar for each of those have shifted drastically over time. Please do note that a lot of how I describe these eras is mostly from my own perspective, but I do think the overall divisions work well for MCYT as a whole!

Era 1 - The "OG" Era (2009 - 2011)

The beginning of Minecraft and MCYT. Much content at this point was traditional lets plays, simple tutorials and showing off early innovations in redstone.

Era 2 - The "Classic" Era (2012 - 2014)

This era encompasses what is often considered the peak of many iconic "old school" groups and series. Team Crafted, Mindcrack, the various Yogscast Tekkit series, and many, many more.

It's difficult to describe everything that made up the classic era in a succinct manner. It was the true rise of SMPs, Adventure Maps, Minecraft Animations, Parodies, Mod Reviews, MCRP, and so, so much more. Minecraft was unavoidable on YouTube back then.

Era 3 - The "Gap" Era (2015 - 2017)

The "gap" era is named for the lull in MCYT's popularity. In this period of time, it was seen more as a niche, compared to the massive popularity it saw before and after.

This era saw the "death", or at least massive dips in popularity to many formerly wildly popular groups and ccs, as viewers interests changed and moved onto other things.

Many series came and went during this era, but weren't properly appreciated until after their time.

Era 4 - The "Revival" Era (2018 - 2019)

This era, due to a combination of many factors, was MCYT's return to mainstream. Many people returned to both singleplayer series and servers. Episodic SMPs old and new such as Hermitcraft and Truly Bedrock, began experimenting more with the lines between gameplay, story and improv.

This era also saw the rise of streaming based series, such as SMPLive, SMPEarth, and Minecraft Monday.

Era 5 - The "Lockdown" Era (2020 - 2022)

Much of this era is defined by the new heights reached during covid lockdowns. This era kicked dozens if not hundreds of the careers of those who grew up watching MCYT during the OG and Classic eras.

This era is admittedly very defined by the DSMP, rocketing MCYT and specifically MCRP into a level of popularity unseen before. Second, and as just as important to this era is MCC, bringing together so many personalities from all over the MCYT sphere who otherwise would likely have never interacted on a monthly basis.

A massive innovation in this era was also the introduction of the Simple Voice Chat mod to many servers, now a staple of most multiplayer content.

Era 6 - The Current Era (2023 - Present)

Unnamed as of yet, as it is still ongoing, the current era of MCYT has so far been defined by not only the continued rise of many smaller, younger MCYTs. But largely, and undoubtedly, by the QSMP.

Not only has it redefined what an SMP can be through its gameplay. It has brought the international MCYT community is closer together now than ever, crossing language and cultural barriers previously rarely touched.

---

This concept of mine isn't fully solidified, and is up to be more refined. I would love to hear y'all's thoughts and feedback about these divisions and the idea overall!

[blahahala]

What are you on? ROP was filming throughout the pandemic, following filming covid guidelines. That's why they had limited extras.

I was talking specifically about season two, which was filmed late 2022 through mid 2023 and I am unaware of Covid restrictions pertaining to it, though I could be wrong!

Regardless, I’m not asking to see thousands of background actors in one scene, I’m asking to see a few shots establishing people going about their day-to-day lives in these locations. To me, the second season feels much smaller in scale when it comes to showing the populations of various settlements in Middle-earth than the first season did. 

For example, last season in Numenor the show did a nice job of showing some different groups of people and taking us around the city so we got a taste of the culture and the political climate; I loved seeing the main characters interacting with normal Numenoreans. It gave the viewer a sense of the scale of the city. 

Khazad-dum does this fairly well in both seasons - we get a chance to see how its people are affected by the king’s actions and this in turn influences Durin’s actions. 

This season in Numenor felt more limited in scale. It would’ve been nice to have seen some more background characters discussing current events - nothing drawn out, but just to establish that what is going on is affecting not just the main characters but all of the citizens. I liked the scene with the Faithful in episode 5 for this reason.

Ost-in-Edhil is particularly frustrating because I really wanted to connect with this city and its people. We don’t get a chance to really see any snippets of life outside of the forge and that one courtyard before the siege starts. I would have loved to have seen just a few shots establishing some of the culture of that city in particular - markets, people at work, restaurants etc. Or perhaps watch some of the main characters walking around the city having a discussion and encountering some normal people. Seeing this can help grow the viewer’s sense of relation to the general people of the city as their world is turned upside down. 

I think these small scenes can add a lot to a show and can help to better demonstrate the scale of a settlement and show who stands to be affected by any choices made by the main characters and/or imminent destruction. 

[iamthekarmapolice]

like this hr lady, who i've thankfully never had the displeasure of dealing with until now for four (4) days of sick leave, wants a doctor's note AND my blood report that says I had dengue??? bitch are you fucking serious? i have a mostly spotless attendance record!! my manager who i work with every single day had no problems taking me at my word!!! when you employees like they've already done something wrong even when they literally havent, thats a toxic management style babe

like my big consolation is that their 'get back to office' thing is tanking because i know this woman is shitting and pissing herself crying everyday that she can't be this awful to people in person

my manager tries god bless him. could take 4 days off work no problem. but now im officially applying for leave and HR, whose mission it is to be as anal as possible wants "medical proof"??? besties this is why you have high turnover this is why people are quitting

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Paul Blumenthal at HuffPost:

With a month and change to go before the election, Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump and his allies are already laying the groundwork to contest the results of the 2024 election if he loses by engaging in a false campaign around the threat of noncitizen voting.

Trump and Republican leaders, from House Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) to GOP secretaries of state who oversee elections, have pushed the narrative that the 2024 elections are being intentionally corrupted by mass noncitizen voting. Noncitizen voting is “a clear and present danger,” Johnson claimed at a May press conference announcing federal legislation mandating proof of citizenship to register to vote. In his debate with Vice President Kamala Harris last month, Trump took things further, falsely claiming that Democrats allow immigrants into the country to get them to vote illegally. “They can’t even speak English. They don’t even know what country they’re in, practically. And these people are trying to get them to vote, and that’s why they’re allowing them into our country,” Trump said.

Meanwhile, GOP secretaries of state, including Ohio’s Frank LaRose and Alabama’s Wes Allen, and Texas’ GOP Gov. Greg Abbott, made headlines announcing purges of supposed noncitizens from their voter rolls. Texas has also mobilized law enforcement to crack down on voter registration activities by Latino activist groups, raiding their homes and intimidating them from engaging in politics. This strategy has been led by Trump and his allies in Congress and around his campaign. It has been joined by high-profile conservative voices like billionaire Elon Musk and former Fox News personality Tucker Carlson. And it has been organized by election deniers through the conservative election denial group Election Integrity Network, run by Cleta Mitchell, a conservative lawyer who backed Trump’s effort in 2020 to steal the election.

Now, with just weeks to go in the election, the noncitizen voting allegations have entered the courts. Beginning in August, the Republican Party, a Trump-allied legal nonprofit run by his adviser, Stephen Miller, and a grassroots election denial group filed a string of lawsuits seeking massive purges of voters they claim to be either noncitizens or otherwise illegitimately registered to vote while suggesting that elections cannot be certified if they don’t get their way. These lawsuits are not only riddled with unsubstantiated claims of noncitizen voting and faulty data analysis claiming mass voter fraud — they all seek a remedy that is illegal. Federal law prohibits election officials from removing registered voters from the rolls within a 90-day blackout period prior to an election, a period that began on Aug. 7. Courts cannot order voter purges after that date. These lawsuits could have been filed earlier in 2024, when a court could order officials to review voters’ citizenship status or other potential registration errors and remove them from the rolls. But the groups filing these suits all waited until this remedy was impossible. Instead, these lawsuits appear to be part of a concerted public relations campaign to cast doubt on the outcome of the election if Trump loses again, as well as provide a post-election justification to local officials to refuse to certify the vote.

[...]

The Lie

In 2020, Trump and the Republican Party pointed to election law changes enacted due to the COVID-19 pandemic that made it easier for voters to cast their ballots without appearing in person to claim President Joe Biden’s win was fraudulent. Trump’s “big lie” caused a chaotic rush following the election as he sought to toss out the valid votes of millions of Americans, culminating in the attempted insurrection on Jan. 6, 2021, Trump’s second impeachment and his indictment on multiple felony counts. Trump continues to embrace the lies about 2020, and Republicans have largely followed suit. More of them trust Trump’s word over government certification of election results, according to an Associated Press poll conducted this year. With no pandemic voting changes to rely on, Republicans are now hanging their hat on the issue of noncitizen voting to provide the narrative structure for false post-election fraud claims. Of course, like the lies around voting in 2020, Republicans’ claims of mass noncitizen voting are entirely made up. Noncitizen voting is already illegal in all federal and state elections under multiple laws. It is also vanishingly rare. A database maintained by the conservative Heritage Foundation, which has been promoting falsehoods about noncitizen voting, lists just 68 legal actions taken against noncitizens for voting in federal elections going back to the 1980s. Meanwhile, a study by the progressive Brennan Center found that election officials across 42 jurisdictions in 12 states found just 30 cases of suspected noncitizen voting following the 2016 election. For perspective, that accounts for 0.0001% of the votes cast in those jurisdictions. Even Trump’s own election fraud task force failed to find any evidence of systematic or widespread fraud, including involving noncitizens in elections.

[...] County clerks provided the board with lists of registered voters who claimed to be noncitizens to be excused from jury duty in August, according to Gannon. The board then compared those lists with state voter registration records and found a total of nine voters who matched. Those nine people will be checked against state and federal databases to see whether they are citizens. If they are indeed noncitizens, the board will send them letters inviting them to cancel their registrations. This is the process the board must follow because of the 90-day blackout period prohibiting voter purges so close to an election. [...] United Sovereign Americans is a grassroots group promoting the idea that every election across the country is effectively illegitimate due to its claims of corrupted voter rolls. It was founded in 2023 by election denial activist Marly Hornik, whose canvassing effort aimed at proving election fraud in the 2022 New York state elections led the state’s attorney general to issue a cease-and-desist letter. The group now claims that upward of 10 million votes cast in the 2022 elections across 20 states were illegitimate and should not have been counted. Its lawsuits in Colorado, Florida, Michigan, North Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania and Texas all make similar claims that the states’ voter rolls contain error rates that exceed the level allowed by federal law and that they should therefore not be certified. The group explicitly states that the number of lawsuits it has filed is in an effort to get their claim before the Supreme Court before the 2024 election.

[...]

A New Road To The Same Goal

When Trump lied about election fraud in 2020, it was only the first part of his push to overturn the election. He also sought to exploit the process for counting electoral votes, first by producing alternate slates of electors from key swing states, then by pressuring former Vice President Mike Pence to use those alternate slates to deny Biden the vote in states he won. Finally, when none of that worked, Trump incited a violent mob on Congress to derail the counting of those votes. This half-baked plan did not work — and it would be impossible to do again in 2024. Harris, not Pence or another GOP official, will preside over the counting of the electoral votes. Meanwhile, Congress has since reformed the Electoral Count Act to make it impossible for states to submit alternate electors. It’s also unlikely that any GOP electors would want to follow Trump’s plans after 35 of his fraudulent electors were indicted for their actions in 2020.

Instead, as the United Sovereign Americans lawsuits make plain, any effort to contest the outcome of the election this year would run through efforts by local GOP election officials refusing to certify the election. “[Certification] is the lever that election conspiracy theorists see as the best opportunity if they don’t like the choice the voters have made,” said Ben Berwick, head of litigation for Protect Democracy, a nonprofit that counters election denial. Election deniers first took aim at the certification process in 2020, when two Republican members of the four-member canvassing board in Wayne County, Michigan (which includes Detroit), initially decided on their own to refuse to certify the county’s election amid a flurry of false claims of voter fraud fueled by Trump.

[...]

First, it’s illegal for local officials to refuse to certify election results. In each previous case, courts have stepped in to force wayward officials to certify in no uncertain terms. And if those local officials still refuse, they can be indicted and prosecuted, as happened to two officials in Cochise County, Arizona. “We’ve got a little bit of a hammer here in Arizona in that we’re kind of operating under the FAFO rule — mess around and find out,” Fontes said, using an acronym for the phrase “fuck around and find out.” Second, county-level certification refusals do not impact state executive decisions to certify the statewide results, meaning states could go ahead and confirm their electoral votes no matter what the county officials choose to do. Third, the Electoral Count Reform Act details instructions for courts to hear cases involving certification that occur after the Dec. 11 deadline on an extremely expedited basis, giving officials yet another path to confirm the results despite opposition stalling. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Trump-backed election deniers who ran for key offices overseeing elections in swing states in 2022 all lost.

Democratic and Republican officials across the swing states of Arizona, Georgia, Michigan, Nevada, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin adamantly assert that they will fight certification refusals in the courts, seize the power to certify county election results if necessary and honor the actual winner of their states. Of course, Trump’s efforts to steal the 2020 election were laughable at the time — until they weren’t. Any attempt to illegally overturn the 2024 election could yet again cause chaos and violence where unlikely things can transpire. Still, election experts expect the dam to hold. “While their strategy will fail, there’s no line they won’t cross,” Becker said. “The period after the election could be very volatile, but I’m 100% confident the winner will have their hand on the Bible on Jan. 20.”

HuffPost’s Paul Blumenthal has an excellent report on how Donald Trump is pushing the bogus “noncitizen voting” issue to set up challenges to the 2024 election results if he loses in a redux of 2020.

See Also:

The Guardian: Republicans’ non-citizen voting myth sets stage to claim stolen election

Read the full story at HuffPost.

[louisupdates]

LOUIS TOMLINSON BROUGHT HIS FAITH IN THE FUTURE TOUR TO THE ARENA 1 IN SAN MIGUEL, PERU ON MAY 26TH, 2024.

May 30, 2024

International Concert Reviews

by Ricardo Choy-Kifox Photographer / Chronicle written by Arianna Choy – Kifox

English singer-songwriter Louis Tomlinson came back to San Miguel, Peru on May 26th of 2024, after two years of his solo debut concert, for his second album tour Faith in the Future, and even though the place where he played was smaller this time and the field was divided into only two zones, the euphoria, adrenaline, and excitement irradiated from the Arena 1.

There was something different for me too. In 2022 I went as a writer to the venue, so yes, I didn’t have to wait in line to get in but I stood the whole concert in the audience, as a fan, inside the closest zone to the stage, without personal space, with a mask (because of Covid) and a lot of girls pushing each other around me. Basically, I was like one of the sardines in the buses of Spongebob Squarepants, sweating, barely breathing, and without being able to move… but really excited for the show. I still have a toddler face as I mentioned in my previous review but, this time, I upgraded myself, yes man, I got in as part of the press and they let me be in the pit with the rest of the photographers, so I could take photos too, but I saved them for myself, sorry. I’m kidding, but this was my first time doing this, so my dad’s pictures are way better.

The doors of Arena 1 opened at 5:40 pm, but there were fans waiting in line way before that time, some of them camped outside of the Arena weeks before, and a couple of ones spent 7 months outside, wanting to be the first ones to get in and be at the front row. When I arrived at the venue, I saw all the parents sitting in the tents outside the doors, some of them alone, others doing social life between them, while their daughters were already waiting in line to get inside. I always get surprised by the power that an artist can have on their fans (and their parents) to make them do that… and the amount of free time that some people can have. One by one, the security let the fans get in, in a line, to have them controlled and asked them not to run… and obviously, all of them listened. They got in so fast that they pushed the drinks of a seller who was standing in the middle of the field but I think the woman didn’t care, she kept selling her half-empty cups as full ones.

At 8:00 pm the special guest for the Faith in the Future North and South American Tour, the German indie-rock band came onto the stage with a variety of songs from their albums How have you been? and Rookery to their EP New State. For 40 minutes Frederik Rabe, Finn Schwieters, Luca Göttner, Jonathan Wischniowski, and Finn Thomas did an awesome job at warming and hyping up the audience with their energetic presence and really moving music. I could see their frontman Rabe going from one side of the stage to the other and switching instruments from guitar to keyboard to drums; which showed the talent and versatility of this band for making every one of their songs special and having the crowd jumping with them. At their final song, the band and all the Peruvians in the crowd were shouting “Somebody like you” mixed in one single voice.

At 9:00 pm, Louis was supposed to go out on stage but the producers didn’t allow them to start the concert because the audience was out of control. One came out to the stage, twice, to say: “The concert is not going to start until all of you take two steps behind”, while everybody was being pushed and security was carrying girls out of the audience, cause they were crying for air and couldn’t move straight, even some of them were throwing up on the way to the infirmary. I was happy on one side of the field watching all this from afar, with the rest of the press, because now I’m 25 and not in the mood for fighting people for my personal space.

Minutes before the show started, his tour manager took all of us to a side of the stage to give us instructions of how everything was going to work. “You only have three songs for taking pictures inside the pit and you are not allowed to record nor use your phone for any reason”. Don’t worry man, my phone was stolen three days ago in a store, so there’s only my eyes, my camera, and my 25-year-old self trying to control the emotions of my inner 10 old self for not ending up jumping on the stage once I see Louis getting in, everything is totally fine. After that, we started walking to the pit. I could feel the adrenaline and excitement (and importance) pumping through my veins, I felt like outer space, I never experienced being this close to the stage to take pictures of an internationally powerful artist. I was probably the only fan-press standing in the pit, cause everyone else was really chill, so I tried to put on my poker face and pretend that I was a grown adult who had been doing this for years. It didn’t work out though, my dad turned to me and laughed cause I was smiling so big like a little kid. Who let the toddler of 25 years old get here? Suddenly the lights went down, all the band appeared, white reflectors turned on and the silhouette of Louis came to the stage with the music intro of “The Greatest” and the audience went wild. My photographer mode switched on and started to take pictures with the rest. In theory, three songs are not enough for taking pictures, they aren’t even half of the concert, but I felt like the time passed slowly. I was less than one meter away from Louis and being considered as one more photographer, life was good. For the second song “Kill My Mind”, the stage turned red and it had the same vibes as the music video of the song that came out in 2019. The stage was different from the one in 2022. It had moving lightning bars and a lot of hanging medium screens facing different angles. It showed a variety of visual effects, such as black and white motion graphics and the live image of Louis from the stage and the members of the band in black and white and slow motion. By the third song, “Bigger than Me”, I noticed that something with the way I was doing this was probably wrong because everybody was moving together to one side of the pit while I was on the other side alone. That’s when I realized they were following Louis and turning to the side that he was heading towards too, while I was just moving on the same spot, but it was a great first experience anyway. The song finished and all of us headed out of the pit to stay in the crowd, with “Holding onto a Heartache” in the background.

“Lima, you’re so fucking loud!” were some of the words that Louis said, welcoming us to the show and he wasn’t wrong. At times, it was hard for me to listen to and recognize the song he was playing until the chorus because every single fan was screaming really loud and singing with him. For this tour, the setlist had 20 songs. Most of them were from his latest record Faith in the Future but he also sang “We Made It” and “Walls” from the previous one; non-album songs like “Back to you” and “Copy of a Copy”; a couple of covers like “Chemicals” from Post Malone and “505” from Arctic Monkeys and of course a couple of his songs “Night changes” and “Where do broken hearts go?”. The fact that he sang these last two was really special for all of us Directioners, because they never got to play that album here in Peru and, just so you know, it is really hard to jump and freak out with a camera and a telephoto lens hanging on your neck but not impossible.

At the end of his final song “Silver Tongues”, the most awaited thing in his concerts for all the fans in the first row (probably the reason why everybody is so desperate for that spot), Louis got off the stage and came down the stage to greet and hug all the fans, I couldn’t say it myself but I bet security had a pretty hard moment. Fortunately, after that, Louis returned to the stage complete and alive to do the final goodbye. With this being one of the last concerts left of his tour, Louis Tomlinson once again had all the Peruvian fans under his spell for probably two hours and made them lose control from even before the concert began to the last second of it.

[Many photos are on the website.]

[howlingwolf23]

So there's this post about how customer\employee relationship has gotten worse since Covid. And I do believe that but it's also like that but in other areas, it has also become more of this "me vs everyone" in areas we might not have noticed yet.

A big one for my city is driving.

I live in a small college town so the occasional bad drivers from out of town was no surprise but that was usually the number one complaint of "stupid out of towners" or "damn college kids" don't know how to drive around here.

But post Covid? Holy shit! It seems like it has gone mad!

Nobody goes when the light goes green because so many red light runners. And i don't mean that usual prick, last second, squeezing in.

No.

I mean the light has been red for several beats, it has been green the other way for a beat and half where even the slow trucks\sunday drivers\slow reaction people can be half way into the intersection and there is still a red light runners coming through.

So now everyone waits like 2 or 3 solid seconds before moving just in case that asshole is around and guess what? there usually is.

On top of that, I have seen someone do this, in front of a cop. Fucker did nothing. Not even a flash of the lights warning.

Or people in the wrong lane but they need to turn, they are one just lane over, so they will just turn anyways even if there is already cars in the turning lane, even if their is 1 line to turn on to.

Or the road merges, everyone knows this road goes from 2 to 1 lane so zipper merge but not this asshole, they have to gun it to get 1 more car length ahead in bumper to bumper traffic just to slam on their brakes and turn at the first street.

People flying through school zones, not even slowing down, just keep doing the regular speed limit.

Pedestrians too, just walking anywhere they like, crossing the road like there's no cars on 3 lane wide roads, just walking, taking their time as cars have to slow down, sometimes stop or on smaller, residential streets, just walking in the middle of the road and refusing to move left or right for traffic.

It's just madness sometimes driving through town, and that's ignoring the other major issues you'll see when driving through the town.

I think it's 2 parts, 1) people got used to the more empty streets and now feel like they, personally, own the streets, and others are now invading their space 2) something about Covid just really did a number on everyone, not sure if it was the isolation that made people forget to be kind\general rules of society or if it the Mask Wars that started the "us vs them" mentally people seem to have post-covid.