#prehistoric gold

[thesilicontribesman]

Shropshire Marches Prehistoric Gold Sun Pendant, 1000 to 800BCE, 'Gathering Light: A Bronze Age Golden Sun' Touring Exhibition, The Collection, Lincoln.

"Found in the Shropshire Marches in May 2018, the gold pendant dates between 1000–800 BC and includes a rare depiction of the sun not previously seen on objects found in Britain.

Solar symbolism was a key element of mythology and belief in the Bronze Age, which lasted from around 2150–800 BC in Britain. This pendant celebrates the life-giving power of the sun during the time of the earliest metalworkers, revealing the importance of the sun in people's lives and its centrality to their beliefs in this period.

The pendant also marks the end of an era as one of the final expressions of an art style and belief system that lasted for almost 1,500 years. Deposited intentionally in a wetland landscape of bogs and ponds 3,000 years ago, it provides a starting point for discussions about the role of both water and the sun in ancient history."

[morggo]

Artwork made exclusively for my enamel pin set Kickstarter, launching July 20th. Follow the project here to be the first to know when it launches!

[reginaldubel]

gets real

[eucanthos]

Cretan Drinking Vessel

Soapstone rhyton (drinking vessel) from Knossos, Crete, circa 1500 B.C. Heraklion Archaeological Museum, Crete

Photograph by AKG/Album

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/history/history-magazine/article/minotaur-in-greek-roman-mythology?cmpid=org%253Dngp%253A%253Amc%253Dcrm-email%253A%253Asrc%253Dngp%253A%253Acmp%253Deditorial%253A%253Aadd%253DHistory_20191007&rid=C3E6DD5B5201C1D7A8337B00EBD32293

[sixteenseveredhands]

Gold Lion Figurine from Georgia (South Caucasus), c. 2300-2000 BCE: Georgia contains one of the oldest prehistoric gold mines in the world, dating back to about 3400 BCE; researchers also believe that the Greek legend of the "Golden Fleece" was inspired by the goldsmithing traditions found in Georgia

The peoples of Georgia (the country, not the state) have been extracting and processing gold for many thousands of years. Georgia is even home to the oldest known gold mine in the world -- a site known as Sakdrisi, where there is evidence of gold mining operations dating back to about 3400 BCE (roughly 5400 years ago).

Sadly, the prehistoric gold mine at Sakdrisi was damaged (and largely destroyed) in 2014, after a Russian mining company (RMG Gold) was given permission to resume its own mining venture on the site. The full extent of that damage has yet to be determined.

The Tsnori Lion: this figurine dates back to the Bronze Age in Eastern Georgia; it is one of the many artifacts that have come to represent the history of goldsmithing in this part of the Caucasus

The goldsmithing traditions of Georgia also continued to flourish during antiquity, and the ancient Kingdom of Colchis (in what is now Western Georgia) was renowned for both its wealth of gold and its skilled goldsmiths. To the Greeks, Colchis was also known as the homeland of the fabled Golden Fleece -- the treasure sought by Jason and the Argonauts during their mythical voyage into the Caucasus, as described in the Greek Argonautica.

It's believed that the legend of the Golden Fleece may have had at least some basis in reality. Ethnological and historical accounts indicate that the peoples of Colchis/Georgia traditionally used sheepskins to sift for gold in the rivers of the Caucasus; during that process, the fleece would slowly become encrusted with tiny particles of "gold sand," until it eventually took on the appearance of a "golden fleece." Additional research has confirmed that the rich alluvial deposits found within the region certainly would have been sufficient to have produced this "golden fleece" effect.

Researchers believe that those customs may have given rise to the Greek legends about the Colchians and their Golden Fleece -- legends that ultimately evolved into the story of the Argonautica.

The unique goldsmithing traditions of Georgia played an important role in the cultural/political development of the South Caucasus, and those traditions are reflected in the wealth of golden artifacts that have been found throughout Georgia (and elsewhere).

The Location of Modern-Day Georgia: as this map illustrates, Georgia is nestled right at the crossroads between Europe and Asia, with the Black Sea located on one side and the Caspian not far from the other; it is bordered by Russia to the North and Turkey, Armenia, and Azerbaijan to the South

Sources & More Info:

Quaternary International: A modern field investigation of the mythical “gold sands” of the ancient Colchis Kingdom and “Golden Fleece” phenomena

Archaeo Sciences: Bronze Age Gold in Southern Georgia

Britannica: Archaeologists uncover traces of Bronze Age gold workshops in a cemetery near Tbilisi, Georgia

BBC: Artefacts from the world's oldest gold mine

UW Jackson School of International Studies: Georgian environment, heritage at risk as RMG Gold exploits Sakdrisi

UTA Department of Slavic & Eurasian Studies: Ancient Georgia - crossroads of Europe and Asia

Atinati: The Golden Kingdom of Colchis

The Past: Georgia's Treasures: from the Land of the Golden Fleece

National Geographic (Georgian): Golden Lion from Kakheti

Smithsonian: Why this Ancient Civilization Fell Out of Love with Gold for 700 Years

National Geographic's "Out of Eden Walk:" Treasures of the Caucasus

Democracy & Freedom Watch: What was lost when a mining company destroyed the ancient Sakdrisi site?

[sadsongsandwaltzes]

Now I know dirt turns to gold

I washed it off but it stayed down in my soul

[bunnygirl678]

The gotcha gods smiled upon me this morning, pulled him on the first try

Hi daddy ❤️

[pppaperwork]

Cultural Patrimony and the War in Ukraine

I have been looking into the repatriation of artworks like the Parthenon marbles, and Benin Bronzes. It has been eye opening to see how many artifacts have been stolen or looted from their countries of origin, especially by Britain and the U.S.

Earlier this month when I began writing this post it was going to be focused on a marauder-style looting of Scythian Gold from art museums in Melitopol and Mariupol, Ukraine by Russian forces in April of this year. But, just two weeks ago at the beginning of November there was yet another tremendous raiding at the Kherson Art Museum in Southern Ukraine. The Russians destroyed many businesses, churches, homes, and cultural sites in the raid where much of the loot was found as Museum staff and community members tried to preserve it. As aforementioned, this is not the first strike Soviet forces have made on Ukrainian Art and Cultural institutions, those who understood the cultural significance of the items tried to save them. The museum was home to hundreds of paintings dating back to the 17th Century. Shortly after the raid, Soviets withdrew from the Southern Ukrainian city of Kherson in retreat with vans full of thousands of priceless artifacts.

These stolen paintings and artifacts are a part of a larger, darker tactic to scrub Ukrainians, Belarusians, Poles, and other Eastern Europeans of their cultural heritage and independence. Art is only the tip of the iceberg unfortunately, this month's raids included the vandalism and removal of 200 year old holy remains from their resting place in one of the 250+ Orthodox and Christian churches destroyed since the war began. Not to mention the homes, businesses, technology, national monuments and written history that have been lost. This is Ethnic cleansing and it is a war crime, these pieces must be returned to Ukraine.

The Scythian gold is one of the more pressing issues of this Museum theft, though. We're talking about approximately 198 solid gold artifacts, jewelry, ornaments, weapons, armor, and sculptures dating back over 2300 years, stolen, and not because they were just stumbled upon either. Similarly to how the staff at the Kherson Museum tried to hide and preserve the artwork, the staff at the Melitopol Museum tried even harder. In a New York Times interview in April, Museum Director Leila Ibrahimova describes hiding the Scythian Gold in cardboard boxes in a cellar or basement at the first signs of Russian Militarization in Melitopol back in February. About a month later, Ibrahimova recounted being kidnapped from her home with a black bag on her head for hours of intense questioning by Russian forces. She did not give in and was released, promptly fleeing Melitopol for somewhere not under Russian control. It was another month after that when a different museum employee was put at gunpoint for the Scythian Gold, she did not lead them but they found the boxes anyway.

The next day, in Kyiv, the Mayor of Melitopol gave an enraged press announcement that Ukraine's Scythian gold was gone with the Russians and no one had its whereabouts any longer.

Scythian Gold describes a type of gold sculpture or artifact from the 7-3 Century BCE, made by Scythian or nomadic people in a geographic "band" across the Pontic-Caspian Steppe from around Romania, west through Siberia. This is one of the most sought-after collections of artwork by museums throughout history, known for its rich origins and cultural backgrounds. Scythian gold is also said to be the purest gold there is, and it has disambiguations in the context of alchemy, mythology, and religion as well. It has been reported by multiple sources, although not confirmed, that select pieces of Scythian gold that were stolen from the Melitopol Museum have hit the stolen art market online and underground for bidding. All I can say is it's a shame and I am feeling very sorry for those living in Ukraine and the generations of war, violence, natural disasters, and ethnic cleansing they have faced.

In that initial research into stolen ancient art I mentioned, I noticed that most of the articles and hot-button issues coming up were focusing on Western European countries (UK, Spain, France), stealing from prehistoric cultures around the world. It's interesting to me as a student who had weekly field trips to LOCAL (Northeastern U.S. ) art museums and saw plenty of ancient "tribal" art and cultural and religious artifacts from across the globe, that the U.S. apparently acquired all of it ethically. I digress, I just thought it was worth mentioning that a suspiciously small amount of info on stolen art in the Americas was available.

[styllwaters]

KNIGHT DEITIES

It's been a hot minute since I posted Vivere 44 art. Been intensely busy with school for the past few months but now that I've graduated I've got a lot of time to kill! Since the Knights post surpassed 1k notes I figured I may as well elaborate on them more. I'm so blown away by how much love they're getting already! Thank you all <3

I'm gonna talk a bit about Mountain and Plains Knight religions, mythology and a snippet of evolutionary history. I will cover Polar Knight religions in another post. The focus is on two gods in particular, Uwet-Jana and Kiraiarik.

_______

Uwet-Jana is the demigod of good health, vitality, and inner balance. In some regions they are also the god of fertility. The name of their Host is Uwetsil, and their Helmet is Serrjana. Mainly worshiped by Mountain cultures, Uwet-Jana takes the form of a Knight whose Host and Helmet are physically merged into a singular being.

Kiraiarik [pronounced ki-rai-ah-rik] is the personification of the host-helmet symbiotic relationship. They are the god of symbiosis, rebirth, and love. Kiraiarik was the name given to two immortal partners, a Host and a Helmet, who began as a singular being born to the sea in Ettera’s prehistoric era. Ettera decided to make them Two, one half (the Helmet) ruling over the sea and the other (the Host) having domain over the land. The story goes that in every form they take, they try to find each other - for their body remembers being One.

Both gods have lots of lore to their name. Further information below!

UWET-JANA

Uwet-Jana's Host body has long spines and red stripes like a Pike, and long fingerlike paws like a Helmet's manipulators. The Helmet section sports two long horns and elegant facial markings. Uwet-Jana has an iridescent sheen on their golden fur, catching the rays of the sun in a shimmering glow.

The story of Uwet-Jana is as follows: Both Uwetsil and Serrjana were born as runts, in a dark time when sickly Knights were seen as curses and not worth caring for. Their Order, believing them to be bad omens, cast them out to wander the tundra alone. They believed that the natural forces of Ettera (the Knight’s homeplanet) would quickly end them. However, Ettera took pity on the castaway, sending them three blessings. The first gift was a bone with marrow inside that ensured one is never hungry or thirsty again. Then, Ettera sent a warm, sweet wind into Uwet-Jana’s lungs which warded off all sickness and disease. Finally, a sun shower fell, the rains cleansing them and blessing them with a coat made of ivory and gold.

Transformed into a demigod with a hybrid body, Uwet-Jana was offered a place among the deities in the sky - but they refused, preferring to stay on the ground to share their gift with the mortals. Unbeknownst to them, their Order who had exiled them was struck by three curses from the Gods to mirror Uwet-Jana’s blessings: all the rivers in the area dried up and all their hunts were unsuccessful, leaving them with no food or water. Infections and diseases picked them off one by one, and a great storm ravaged the land, destroying their home and all remaining survivors. Uwet-Jana now blesses Knight Orders who take care of their sick and ailing members, and ignores those who don’t, leaving them to the wrath of the Gods.

Although they are nomadic and always on the move, many Mountain Orders will refuse to leave any sick members behind. They may also keep ivory statues of Uwet-Jana in their bags as a token of good fortune. Sometimes these statues are filled with bone marrow, or have holes which make a whistling sound as wind passes through it as a reference to Ettera’s gifts. Occasionally Pike Helmets are born with an extra long ‘horn’ spike, and are considered a child/reincarnation of Uwet-Jana. Additionally, whenever it rains while the sun is still shining, it is seen as a blessing from the demigod.

_______

KIRAIARIK

Kiraiarik's Host is depicted as a small creature with a striped pelt to mirror its ancestral form, and the Helmet as an aquatic beast with long, trailing red fins. It is frequently shown twisting around the Host, sharing its blood. Kiraiarik is also often simplified as two disembodied eyes looking at each other. (And yes, the artstyle is a nod to medieval depictions of heraldic beasts!)

To understand Kiraiarik, one must be aware of how much Plains religions are intrinsically tied to concepts of evolution and paleontology.

Digression on the origins of Etteran symbiosis: 

Large stretches of Plains Knight deserts and scrublands were once submerged beneath the sea. As a result, there are countless fossil hotspots which have been unearthed over the centuries. These high concentrations of fossilised remains have lead to Plains cultures basing their religions around said discoveries. Although many features have been warped, the general timelines are strikingly similar.

For instance, a mass extinction event occurred on Ettera millions of years ago, caused by a series of catastrophic volcanic eruptions on a worldwide scale. This event is known in Plains culture as The Remaking, traditionally interpreted as the planet shedding its skin. Many species were decimated, but some groups survived; these happened to be phyla who possessed an exposed ‘Interfacer’ organ, a precursor to the specialised Integrator organ which connects the Host’s brain to the Helmet’s. Before The Remaking, there was no prior record of the deep symbiotic connection which Knights possess (scientifically deemed ‘Hyperadvanced Mutualism’). The Interfacer organ was used in the phyla for species to communicate simple stretches of data to each other, such as health and reproductive status. After the extinction, populations of these species were dwindling. To ensure their survival, an odd phenomenon occurred in which many individuals began to interface with different species who possessed the same organ - strangely enough, some were able to successfully exchange information. These individuals survived and passed on the practice to their offspring, eventually culminating in what would be discovered as a very primitive form of mutualism. Host and Helmet ancestors (pictured above) were some of the first species to achieve this.

As the planet recovered and populations increased, the relationship continued to solidify and become more complex, with symbiotic species sharing memories, emotions and complex thought. In modern times there is now an entire class of organisms on Ettera which possess an Integrator organ for Advanced Mutualism, including Knights.

Kiraiarik is said to be a manifestation of this relationship. After The Remaking, their two halves finally managed to find each other again, eternally locked in a joyous dance of love. (Side note: the love in question is not platonic nor romantic, but a deeper kind which is indescribable and not easily understood. Due to their intricate nervous systems, Knights have a higher degree of emotional intelligence and can experience sensations we would consider alien). When a Plains Knight is experiencing inner turmoil, they will often pray to Kiraiarik to restore a healthy connection. The god’s blessing is also called upon when an infant Host and Helmet first Assimilate.

Note: Many Plains ‘saints’ and deities have palindromic names which can be read both forwards and backwards, an indicator of holiness. Fun fact, the word Kiraiariku means “Your heart and mine are very old friends.”

Thank you for reading! More Knight content coming soon ;)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 7: Tell Me That I Won't Feel A Thing]

A/N: Hello besties! Thank you for voting in the poll for Chapter 7. Below are your predictions...let's see how you did! 🥰

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

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

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Give Me Novacaine” by Green Day.

Word count: 9.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

Billboards ask you as the Tahoe flies across the flat emerald sea of Iowa: Have you heard the good news? Have you been saved? Where will you spend eternity? Are you struggling with same-sex attraction? Do you regret your abortion? Do you fear the Lord? Do you want to end up in Hell?

Aegon snickers, gnawing on a Slim Jim. The sun glare turns his wild hair to gold, etches crinkles into the ruddy skin around his eyes, murky like deep water, oceans you recognize from other corners of the world. “I thought I was already there.”

Jace’s Honda Rebel 300 is left on the shoulder of the highway with its fuel tank uncapped, drained to feed the Tahoe, prehistoric combustion, bottomless mechanical hunger. Rhaena takes over driving so Baela can sit with Jace, touch him, inhale him, convince herself he’s real. Aegon climbs into the passenger’s seat and skips songs on the CD player until he finds the one he wants: In Da Club by 50 Cent. The miles roll by so soft and so infinite that you can’t imagine ever feeling trapped again, warm July air unfurling down the darkest corridors of your lungs, hawks on lifeless power lines and fields dappled with white-tailed deer. And you think: Everything will be better now.

You cross the Missouri River and into Nebraska at Plattsmouth, which—according to a plaque mounted on the outskirts of town—the Lewis and Clark Expedition passed through over two centuries ago. Rhaena follows Aegon’s directions to cut between Lincoln and Omaha, avoiding the roiling wastelands of the cities and keeping well north of Cooper Nuclear Station, where in the absence of a successful manual or computerized shutdown before the power grid collapsed, rods of uranium are melting down and irradiating the surrounding area, anemia, cancer, heart disease, radiation sickness, an affliction that eats you alive.

Rhaena takes Nebraska State Route 66 north and then Route 92 due west, lush fields of corn and soybeans and sorghum planted before the dead began to walk, bones of devoured livestock. You stop for the night in a town called Broken Bow, the sky turning the colors of fire and rust and blood, the Tahoe exsanguinated like a man with a slit throat. Every vehicle you pass already has its fuel cap unscrewed; the farther west you go—the scarcer the resources, the longer it’s been since the world began to end—the less the earth will yield to you: less guns, less gasoline, less food, less human settlements scattered across what was once called the frontier. You commandeer a two-story house: white wood, wraparound porch, a long gravel driveway that winds like a snake. There is a small cornfield and a barn, both of which you sweep for zombies before making yourselves at home. You try not to think about what happened to the family that used to live here.

Helaena lights candles, Luke and Rhaena distribute bowls and silverware, Aemond and Rio gather kindling for the woodstove, Daeron keeps watch on the porch, Aegon picks all the Twizzlers out of a mixed bag of Hershey’s candy for Jace. There is a 12-pack of Ramen noodles in the pantry, gallons of water in the cellar, and a pot large enough to cook it all in one batch. Cregan takes Ice and disappears into the cornfield for half an hour at dusk—something none of the rest of you would ever consider—and reappears with an opossum that he’s nearly decapitated with his axe. He butchers it and you brown cubes of meat in a sauté pan placed directly on the glowing embers. The others are horrified and won’t eat a single bite until you do. It’s the first real food you’ve had since you left Saratoga Springs, and you feel satiated in a way you had forgotten existed.

In honor of Jace’s resurrection, some revelry is in order. There are bottles of Grey Goose vodka in a kitchen cabinet, and Aemond allows a two drink maximum for anyone eligible to participate: Baela is too pregnant, Daeron is too young, Aemond himself is too vigilant, too self-sacrificial, too indoctrinated into the religion of his own martyrdom.

“Daddy loved his screwdrivers,” Cregan says. “I remember being five or six and taking a big gulp of one thinking it was Sunny D or Tang or something. Lord almighty, was that a shock!” He guffaws, then inspects the pantry, scratching at the dark stubble on his cheeks. “We ain’t got nothing like orange juice though.”

“Mama made hers with Hawaiian Punch.” You point: there are several jugs of it on the floor between boxes of Pop-Tarts and Welch’s Fruit Snacks and Cheddar Whales, red like crushed blackberries or fresh blood.

Cregan grins at you over his brawny shoulder. “That’ll work, Miss Chips.”

Luke and Rhaena have first watch, Rio and Aegon will take the second. You are blessedly unburdened tonight. This house is big enough for you to get your own room; you climb the staircase with Grey Goose vodka burning in your throat, your head warm and dizzy, a sensation like freefalling as you lie down on the bed.

I left them, you think, the walls spinning around you, echoes of Mama’s voice through the phone as Rio stood there nodding, encouraging you to hang up. I left them and I never looked back. Can someone commit such an act of ancestral betrayal without incurring a curse?

You are still considering this when you feel Aemond’s weight on the mattress and fold into him, the world going dark and hushed and harmless.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I think it’s safe,” you tell Aemond between sighs, his lips on your throat, his hand between your thighs. Late-morning sunlight slants in through the bedroom windows; goldfinches and blue jays flap by chirping blithely. The dead pillage the misfortunate beasts of the earth, but creatures of the air and water are spared. You can hear geese honking from a distance, and the breeze through the cornfield, and calm indistinct voices beneath the floorboards. You can smell pancakes turning from white to gold in a pan sizzling with Crisco. Cregan must be cooking breakfast in the woodstove.

“How sure are you?” Aemond murmurs, his breath warm on your neck, those small teeth he’s always hiding nipping playfully, and if he leaves marks like stains of ballpoint ink you don’t care. He’s whisked every scrap of your clothing away. Beneath him you are bare and helpless and needing more.

“Like…eighty percent sure.”

“I’ll pull out.”

“Like Jace did?”

He laughs and kisses your mouth, not just ravenous but wild like a storm, and all the rest of the world goes quiet. Your ankles are linked around him, his hips rocking with yours. He is wearing only his boxers, black plaid from a looted Walmart, apocalypse chic. “Hopefully better than that.”

“Just try your best. I trust you. I’m willing to risk it.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s worth it to me.” I could be dead in nine months, he could be dead in nine months. I’m not wasting the time we have left.

“It’s your decision. You would be most affected by the consequences.” He draws away and glances down. “I want to look at you.”

“Ohhh.” You stall. “I’ve been trimming with scissors by candlelight. It’s a hack job.”

“I won’t mind.” He grins. “You don’t mind my hack job of a face.”

“I love your face,” you say as you skim your fingerprints down the length of his scar. And then, when he raises an eyebrow roguishly: “I didn’t break any rules. I didn’t say I love you, just your face. I’m totally using you for your face. Your personality is terrible.”

He snickers, kisses you goodbye, retreats to your hips and pushes your thighs apart as you cover your face and whimper, nervous, exhilarated. And then his lips are on you and the trepidation melts away, puddles pooling and then evaporating, and you have a vision of being home again, shivering and dripping in front of the crackling flames of the woodstove after playing outside in the snow and waiting for the fire to take the cold away. Now the fire is growing over you like ivy, tendrils snaking through veins and leaves opening in your lungs, bones vanishing, muscles turning pliant and weightless. You can feel Aemond’s fingers pushing into you, a fleeting second of tension and discomfort, and then a fullness that is delectable, irresistible, maddening.

“Come back,” you plead, and when he does you clasp his face with both hands, kissing him deeply as his fingers remain inside you, thrusting and bathed in your wetness. You’re finally ready for him, you have to be, you need him so badly: like you’re dying of thirst, like you’re running out of air. “Now, Aemond, please. I want all of you.”

And he wants it too. His boxers are gone and he’s positioning himself between your legs, his tongue in your mouth, one hand cradling your jaw as the other guides his cock to where you are slick and aching and aware of an emptiness that has never felt so dire.

He’s so big…

But you are determined to take all of him. You don’t care if there’s pain, if there’s fear. You want to feel what it’s like to be with him before it’s too late.

Aemond presses himself against you, rolls his hips cautiously…and nothing happens. He is a bit more forceful. There is immense pressure, then the beginning of a stretching that is sharp, searing, dreadful, unfamiliar in a way that is completely disorienting. You gasp before you can stop yourself; a wince ripples across your face too quickly to camouflage. Aemond shakes his head and climbs off you, settling beside you on the bed.

“Fuck,” you exhale in frustration, slapping a palm down on the mattress. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why…why I’m like this…”

“Shh,” Aemond soothes, kissing you. “It’s okay, it’s fine. I’ll help you finish and then we can try again later.”

“Why isn’t this easier?”

“You’re just nervous,” he says gently, smoothing your hair back from your face, like it’s no big deal, like he’s pointing out a bird or a rabbit or the shape of a cloud.

“I don’t feel nervous.”

“It’s not always conscious, sometimes the body reacts without the mind even being aware of it. You tense up and things become…more challenging. But fortunately for us, the treatment is very enjoyable. We just keep messing around and working up to it until one day you’re so aroused and so relaxed that I can glide in without any discomfort whatsoever, and then your body adjusts to this glorious new experience and you aren’t so nervous anymore.”

“Can’t you just…you know…sorry, this isn’t very romantic, but like…shove it in?”

“I could, sure,” Aemond says. “If I was a horrible person. And then you’d learn to associate sex with pain, which would just exacerbate the situation.”

“The problem, you mean.”

He smiles patiently. “You aren’t a problem. We’ll figure it out, we have time.”

Do we? You stare morosely up at the ceiling, shadows of clouds, shades of wings. “I should have hooked up with that Marine at Corpus Christi. Then I’d have practice. I was so afraid of giving a man the power to hurt me or get me pregnant or otherwise ruin my life, but I didn’t know I’d meet you one day. And now I just want everything to be easy for us, and it isn’t.”

“Hey.” Aemond turns your face towards his. “For me, you are…” He struggles to decide on the words, his eye drifting to the window, sunlight turning the blue of his iris to a shallow, glass-clear river. “You’re like an island, and everything else is a sea of poison, and violence, and catastrophically fucked up situations, and when we’re alone together it all goes away for a little while. The world gets quiet. It’s never been like that for me before. I don’t mind if it takes time for us to figure this out. I just want to be with you.”

“What happens when we get to Nevada, and you’re supposed to turn south for the Bay Area while I go north to Oregon?”

Aemond shrugs, but his expression is contemplative. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe we’ll all stay together and go to one place, then the other. If Odessa is safe, I can bring my parents, Criston, and Grandfather there. If it isn’t, we can bring Rio’s family south and live in California in that beach house on the cliff.”

“I never thought I’d set foot in a mansion.”

“I never thought I’d eat opossum.”

You laugh and curl up against him, resting your head and a palm on his chest. “How was it?”

“Not too bad, actually. Kind of like dark meat chicken. A little gamey, but I like lamb and venison, so that’s fine with me.”

“Just wait until you try bear.”

“Bear?!”

There is a knock at the bedroom door. Luke’s bashful voice is muted through the wood. “Aemond?”

“Yeah?” Aemond replies impatiently.

This was not an invitation, but Luke doesn’t seem to know that. He opens the door, and as he does Aemond throws the blanket over you so you’re covered, leaving himself completely exposed.

Luke begins: “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, but…” His eyes go wide. “Oh, you’re like, all the way naked.” He turns and stares at the wall to be polite. “If it’s a bad time, I could come back in five minutes. Do you need more than five minutes? Wait, that was rude, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sure you can last way longer than five minutes…um…”

Aemond sighs. “What’s wrong, Luke?”

“Jace is sick.”

“Sick?” Aemond sits up straighter, his eye narrowing. “Sick how?”

“He’s been puking since he woke up.”

You and Aemond exchange a startled glance as you clutch the edges of a blanket patterned with wild horses. Illness, virus, plague, curse.

“He hasn’t been bitten or anything,” Luke says quickly. “So it can’t be…you know…that. And he and Baela don’t seem that worried. But you should probably take a look at him.”

Aemond nods, less alarmed now. “I agree. Can I get those five minutes first?”

Luke smiles. “Yeah. See you downstairs.” He leaves and shuts the door behind him.

You look to Aemond. “Why—?”

He yanks the blanket away and drags you towards him. “I said I was going to help you finish,” he says, grinning, a hand slipping between your thighs.

You bite at his lips when he kisses you and tease: “I don’t need your help.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. But it’s better when I’m here.”

And he’s right; it is.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daeron is out on the front porch sharpening sticks into arrows and using goose feathers for fletching, attaching them to the wood with a tube of Gorilla Glue that Helaena found for him. Helaena herself is presently floating through the house—soundlessly, ethereally, traceless like a ghost—and partaking in what you all call “apocalypse shopping,” pilfering the clothes and accessories of the former occupants. She seems to know everyone’s sizes without needing to ask. Aegon, Rio, and Cregan are sitting in the living room and eating pancakes off paper plates, carelessly spilling Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup on hideous 1970s couches ornamented with scenes of pheasants and autumn leaves. Down on the Turkish-style area rug, Ice is merrily chomping her way through a stack of burnt pancakes.

“So Cregan,” Rio says, his bare feet propped on the coffee table. “What did you do before the whole zombie situation?”

“I was a lumberjack.”

“No way!”

“Yes sir. I cut down trees for the power company.”

“What a coincidence,” Rio says around a mouthful of pancakes. “I was an electrician!”

“Well how about that? We oughta go into business together once the world straightens itself out. Where’d you work?”

“All over. Wherever the Navy sent us.”

Cregan sets his fork down on his plate. “You were enlisted?”

“Yeah, me and Chips both. That’s how we met.”

Cregan, much to Rio’s surprise, seizes his hand and shakes it soberly. “Thank you very kindly for your service.”

“No problem,” Rio replies, then turns to Aegon. “No gratitude from you, huh?”

“I showed my gratitude when I let you have the last pancake, you ogre…”

In the only bedroom on the first floor, down a hallway and towards the back of the house, Jace looks worse than you expected. He is heaving into a reusable plastic popcorn bucket, gluey ropes of saliva dangling from his lips; his skin is pale and bloodless, his dark curls damp with sweat. Baela is perched beside him on the bed and holding a wet washcloth to the back of his neck. Rhaena and Luke are loitering anxiously in the doorway, watching Aemond to determine if they should panic.

Jace casts you a bitter glance. “You poisoned me with your poor people food.”

“There’s nothing wrong with eating opossum,” you say, somewhat defensively.

Aemond feels his forehead. “That wouldn’t give you a fever. And everyone else is fine.”

“Maybe I’m extra sensitive. My digestive system has higher standards. I’m built different.” Jace resumes retching into the bucket.

Baela tells Aemond: “He can’t keep anything down. There’s nothing left in him, but he’s still so sick…it has to be a stomach flu, right?”

“Who would he have caught it from?” Luke asks, and Baela doesn’t have an answer.

“Stand up,” Aemond orders Jace when his wave of nausea abates. “Strip down.”

“Aemond, he wasn’t bitten,” Baela says. “I saw his whole body last night. He doesn’t have any scratches or bruises or anything.”

“Fine. But I want to see for myself.”

Jace stumbles out of the bed, pushing away Baela’s hands as she tries to stop him. “Okay, Nick Fury. If you wish to gaze upon the goods, I won’t deny you. I’m not shy.” Aemond rolls his eye. You turn around to give Jace privacy. “What’s the matter, Chips? The only dick you’re interested in belongs to Mike Wazowski over there?”

“Jace,” Baela says, but she’s chuckling. Amused, you stare at a picture on the wall—a haloed Jesus guiding a flock of lambs—as Jace sheds his clothing and follows Aemond’s instructions: lift your arm, turn around, show me the bottoms of your feet.

“No bites,” Aemond confirms, deep in thought. “But the symptoms…”

“It’s not that, Aemond, I’m telling you,” Jace insists, rasping breaths between each clause. “Listen, I got sick when I was alone, before I found you guys again. My stomach, my head. Maybe it’s the same thing now. It didn’t last long, and I thought I was over it, but I guess not.”

“People don’t get better and then worse again after they’ve been bitten,” Rhaena observes softly. “They just get worse.”

Jace lies back down on the bed, his face crumbling with pain. Baela uses the wet washcloth to cool his cheeks and neck. “My head hurts so fucking bad…”

“Because you’re dehydrated,” Aemond says.

“Helaena brought pills, but every time I try to take one I throw it up before it can start working.” There is a gurgling sound in his guts, and then a horrified expression. “Baela, I gotta get outside again.” She and Luke immediately swoop in, grab one arm each, and usher him out of the bedroom, through the back door of the farmhouse, and into the cornfield to allow him some semblance of dignity.

Rhaena gives you and Aemond an awkward smirk. “Helaena found Jace a 24-pack of Angel Soft toilet paper in the basement. So there’s some good news.”

“He needs electrolytes,” Aemond says. “We can’t let him get so dehydrated that his kidneys shut down. IV fluids aren’t an option. Pedialyte would be the next best thing, Gatorade or Powerade if that’s all we can find.”

“We passed a pharmacy on our way here,” Rhaena recalls. “It’s only a mile back, I think.”

Aemond nods. “Then that’s where I’m going,” he says, and walks out of the room.

You say as you follow him: “I want to go with you.”

“No.” Aemond points to Rio, who is now playing Uno with Aegon on the coffee table in the living room. “You and I are going to a pharmacy to get Pedialyte for Jace so he doesn’t die.”

“Cool,” Rio says, standing and fetching his Remington shotgun from where he propped it against the wall. “What’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know. Maybe food poisoning.”

Aegon says, a hand pressed to his heart: “Personally, I loved the opossum.”

You stare defiantly up at Aemond. “If Rio is going, I have to go too.”

“Aww, so you can protect me?” Rio teases fondly, patting your back with one monstrous palm, an unintentional battering.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Rio looks at Aemond. Aemond looks at you, touching his chin agitatedly. “You are stressing me out.”

“I’m the best shot. I want to be there in case anything happens.”

“Fine, okay, whatever you want. Just stay near Rio.”

“That’s the idea.”

“A pharmacy?” Aegon asks excitedly. “Can I go?”

“No,” Aemond snaps, and continues out onto the porch. In the gravel driveway, Cregan and Daeron are kneeling by the Tahoe and inspecting the front tire on the driver’s side. “What’s wrong now?” Aemond asks, exasperated.

“Got a flat,” Cregan says. “The little fella here noticed it.”

Daeron is mortified. “Please don’t call me that.”

Aemond peers around mistrustfully, out at the road, into the cornfield. “Someone sabotaged us?”

Cregan shakes his head and taps the tire. “Naw, we just ran over a nail yesterday. You can see it right here. A big one too, a masonry nail, I suspect.”

“Can you fix it?” Rio asks.

“I think so. I saw a jack and a lug wrench hanging up on the wall in the barn, now I just need a new tire, a real one. A spare wouldn’t do us much good, not with all the weight we’re carrying. It’d pop in twenty miles.” Cregan gestures to the main road, but westward, the opposite direction from the pharmacy. “Don’t remember seeing a tire place on our way in. Figured I’d try the other direction. I’ll walk ‘til I find a shop or a truck with the right kind of tires to steal from, whichever comes first. Can’t change a tire on gravel, though. I’ll have to drive the Tahoe out to the road and fix it there. I’m gonna need Rhaena’s keys.”

There is an uneasy lull as Aemond studies him. You, Rio, Daeron, and Aegon—who is lingering on the front porch, not yet ready to admit defeat—glance between them apprehensively. Ice is rolling around in the gravel, coating her grey fur with dust. “How do I know you won’t take off without us?”

Cregan’s face goes dark. His brow, heavy and furrowed, settles low over his eyes. “Look buddy, I’ve done a lot of things for you and your people that I didn’t have to. And now I’m fixing the Tahoe so it can take you west, someplace you decided we’re going. If you don’t trust me, do it yourself. Kill your own opossum. Change your own flat tire. But you can’t, can you? Just like I can’t shoot a zombie straight through the eye or tell you how to cure that sick boy in there. We’ve all got jobs here. Let me do mine.”

Aemond glowers at Cregan, knowing he’s right. Daeron averts his eyes; Rio, grinning, eats a handful of Cheddar Whales from a pocket of his cargo shorts. You lay a palm on Aemond’s forearm. “Aemond…he’s trying to help.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies crossly.

“You want collateral?” Cregan says. “Take my dog.” He whistles, and Ice scampers to his side. He points to you. “Go on, princess.” Ice obediently trots over to stand with you, shaggy ash-colored fur, bestial amber eyes like a rattlesnake’s. “She’ll look after you on your way to the pharmacy and back. And if the Tahoe and I have mysteriously vanished upon your return, you can eat her for dinner.”

“You don’t want a warning if you’re about to run into zombies?” Rio asks.

Cregan chuckles as he picks up his axe off the gravel. “Don’t you worry about me. We haven’t heard a peep since we got into town, and I’m just going a little ways up the road. Any less than ten of those abominations, and I can take care of myself.” He gives you and Rio a parting salute and strides into the farmhouse to collect the Tahoe keys from Rhaena.

Aemond turns to Daeron. “Stay here, keep watch. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Daeron nods, glancing to where his compound bow rests on the front porch. “Got it.”

“Aegon will help you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says. “I want to go to the pharmacy too.”

Aemond is losing what remains of his patience. “No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Then can you at least bring me something back?”

Rio is confounded. “What do you need?”

“You know…” Aegon gestures vaguely. “Percocet, Vicodin, Oxy, maybe some of that cough syrup with the codeine in it—”

“Grow the fuck up,” Aemond flares, and Aegon falls silent. “You’re thirty years old. Take some goddamn responsibility for something, for anything. I have to go to the pharmacy, Cregan has to fix the Tahoe, someone has to stay here with Daeron to help protect Jace and Baela, and Luke and Rhaena, and Helaena too. Just shut up and do the right thing. You have to start acting like an adult. Who do you think is in charge if I get killed? I’ve never for a single day of my life had the luxury of making selfish choices, and now I feel like I’m not even allowed to die. Leaving everyone else with you would be like leaving them with nobody.”

Aegon gazes up at him, not offended but childishly, mortally wounded. His oceanic eyes are huge and glistening. “But you’re not going to die before me.”

“That’s not the point,” Aemond pitches back, cutting, caustic. Then he starts down the long gravel driveway towards the road. You give Aegon a small, apologetic half-smile and then follow after his younger brother, Ice loping alongside you.

Rio thumps Aegon encouragingly on one shoulder. “See you soon, Honey Bun.” And Aegon watches the three of you disappear, standing in the dazzling midday light with his arms folded over his chest and his hair in hie face, kicking at the gravel with the Sperry Bahama sneakers he once wore on yachts and golf courses.

“Please try to be nice to him,” you tell Aemond when you’re far enough away to be out of earshot. Rio is humming a song you don’t immediately recognize—probably Enrique Iglesias—and acting like he’s not listening. “You don’t know how much longer any of us have. And if that was the last thing you ever said to him, you’d feel awful about it.”

“You have no idea what it was like being his brother. Since I was born all I’ve done is try to plug the holes he blasts into ships. But there’s always water on the floor, I’m never done bailing it out. He needs to learn how to do things for himself.”

“Yes, he does. But he loves you, and he wants you to be happy. He would never intentionally take anything from you. He’ll grow into his purpose, whatever that is.”

“He needs to do it faster,” Aemond says harshly, and you walk the rest of the way without speaking, listening for snarling or lurching footsteps, hearing nothing but birdsong and wind whispering through leaves.

The pharmacy—a diminutive family-owned business, not a chain—has been ravaged. The glass of the large bay window has been broken out and the shelves looted, empty containers and wrappers littering the floor, crystalline shards threatening to gash, stab, infect.

“Stay out here with the dog,” Aemond tells you. Ice is panting calmly, her ears relaxed, her strange yellowish eyes taking in the scenery without any concern. “If she gets her paws sliced up, Cregan will have yet another accusation to levy against me.”

“You’re going to have to get used to him.”

“Not much of an adjustment for you, it seems,” Aemond says, then steps through the shattered window, glass crunching beneath his shoes. Rio gives you a wink and goes after him. They rummage through the remaining merchandise, strewn about randomly and interspersed among trash. Aemond peeks behind the counter where pharmacists once filled prescriptions and climbs over it, searching for any bottles or boxes that were left behind.

“Sorry guys, no condoms,” Rio announces, then laughs at his own joke.

“Be careful,” you urge from outside. “Look underneath, check the bottom racks. Rio? Rio, down low, check them!”

“Relax, ain’t nothing going on in here. It’s silent as the grave.” He laughs again. “Get it? As the grave.”

“Aemond?”

“I’m fine,” he tells you as he squints to read medicine bottles.

“Okay, okay,” Rio says, squatting to examine the shelves closest to the cluttered floor. “I’m checking all the racks. There’s nothing scary under the racks. Happy now?”

“Very. Helaena said something that freaked me out.”

“She can be a bit of an enigma,” Aemond admits. He is taking a tiny box from a drawer to keep.

“Oh, we got Pedialyte!” Rio says, yanking a jug of pink fluid from a pile of debris. “You think Jace likes strawberry?”

Aemond hurries over to help him hunt for more. “Yeah. It’s like a Twizzler, right?”

Ice noses your hand and whimpers softly. You look down at her. “What?”

She whirls and canters around the side of the pharmacy, then returns to make sure you’re keeping up. You go after her, slow and wary, a hand on one of your Beretta M9s. There’s nothing of note to be found in the narrow, shadowy alleyway other than an overflowing dumpster and two skeletons stripped of every shred of fabric and flesh; even the bones were licked clean.

You turn to Ice. “Did I need to see this?” She whines and shifts her weight from foot to foot, ears perked up. Something else? You look down the alleyway. Far behind the pharmacy and the shops that surround it is a church on a jade green slope, old-fashioned, white wood and a belltower. There is a cemetery beside it, and amidst the small grey blurs of headstones are… “Oh,” you breathe. “So that’s where the rest of the town is.”

The graveyard is full of limp, swaying figures that can only be zombies. You are far away and draped in shadows; you retreat back to the pharmacy without any indication that you’ve been spotted, Ice trailing close behind. Aemond and Rio are climbing out of the window just as you arrive. They are each carrying three jugs of Pedialyte in various flavors.

“Where the hell’d you go?” Aemond says; but he sounds more relieved than irritated.

“There’s a church about an eight of a mile away. And there are a lot of zombies in the cemetery.”

Rio sets his Pedialyte down on the sidewalk and reaches for the Remington 12 gauge hanging over his shoulder by its leather strap. “Okay, let’s go clear them out.”

“No, I mean a lot. Like a hundred.”

He freezes. “Oh.”

“We should leave town,” you say.

“While Jace is puking and shitting everywhere? You want to be stuck in a car with that?”

Aemond is thinking, toying with the little box you saw him pick up earlier. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

“What’s that?” you ask him.

He shows you the label. “Injectable morphine. All the pills were gone, but I found one vial of this, and I have syringes in my medical kit. It doesn’t need to be refrigerated. It should still be useable.”

“For Baela?” For when she delivers the baby?

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Just in case.” Then he looks at both you and Rio meaningfully. “Don’t tell Aegon I have this.”

“We won’t,” Rio promises. And Ice begins trotting back towards the farmhouse, as if trying to rush you along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe is at the mouth of the long gravel driveway, still up on a hand-cranked scissor jack. The tire appears to be new, but the lug nuts haven’t been tightened, and the wrench is nowhere to be found.

“Cregan?” Rio says uncertainly, peeking through the cornstalks as they bend in the wind. “Hey, Cregan? Aemond’s sorry he was a bitch to you earlier. He wants you to return ASAP and do manual labor for him.” Aemond grimaces; Rio beams in reply. But Cregan does not appear.

You can hear them long before you reach the farmhouse, muffled chaotic chattering, raised voices and rushing footsteps. As you ascend the steps of the front porch, Rhaena bursts through the door.

“Thank God you’re back,” she says; there is blood on her hands. “It’s Jace, he…he…come look at him. Aemond, you have to do something. He’s sick, he’s really sick. He’s bleeding.”

“From where?” Aemond asks, urgent, bewildered.

“From everywhere,” Rhaena replies, and beckons for him to follow.

The bedsheets Jace is swathed in are blooming with crimson, flowers of doomed gore. Blood drips from his nostrils and his eyes; when he retches into the popcorn bucket, clots of pink and red spew out. Everyone is gathered around him and speaking at the same time, except Helaena. She is crouched on the floor of the hallway just outside his room, her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her face stricken. Ice curls up beside her.

Above the other voices, Baela screams at Aemond, a desperate horrified moan: “What’s wrong with him?!”

Aemond pushes by the others and feels Jace’s forehead, then grabs his wrist to measure his pulse. As Aemond’s fingers tighten, Jace’s skin rips beneath them, the top layer sliding off and leaving only glistening, raw pink. Jace howls, tears of blood streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t know,” Aemond says, his voice unsteady.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?!” Baela shouts back. “You’re a doctor! Fix him!”

“It hurts, Aemond,” Jace gasps, fresh blood on his teeth. When Baela touches his hair, locks of it fall out into her hand.

“He’s turning, right?” Rio says to you. “This is what happened to Snowflake, the blood and the skin and everything—?”

“He wasn’t bitten!” Luke insists, positioned in front of Jace’s bed as if he’s guarding it.

“I don’t care if we can’t find a bite mark, he’s decomposing for Christ’s sake, what the fuck else could it be?!”

Daeron returns with more blankets and towels. Aegon grabs a strawberry Pedialyte out of Rio’s grasp and tries to help Jace drink it. Cregan is muttering: “I ain’t never seen anything like this…”

Decomposing, you think dizzily. He wasn’t bitten, but he’s falling apart…what else does that to a person?

Baela cleans blood from his lips, a towel turning from snow to rubies. “Jace, baby, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to help you…”

“Could it be rat poison or something?” Cregan is saying. “Rabies? Mad cow disease? Ebola?”

“How the fuck do you think he got Ebola?!” Aemond exclaims. “You think he took a jet to sub-Saharan Africa when he was on his own? Use your brain.”

“I’m just trying to come up with ideas here, doc, and I don’t see you with any bright ones!”

He’s decomposing. He’s decomposing.

And then you remember. You kneel down beside the bed so you can look into his face, so you can make him pay attention. “Jace, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” he replies faintly. He coughs, wet and gurgling. Fresh blood paints his lips. There are blisters beginning to form up and down his arms, you see now, the skin bubbling and separating.

“Jace, do you remember Three Mile Island?”

“What the fuck.” He is baffled, dismissive. “Three Mile what? Huh? What are you talking about…?”

“You’re upsetting him,” Baela says fiercely, tears glittering in her eyes.

But you are determined. “Outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, after we left Fort Indiantown Gap. There were these huge concrete cooling towers. We saw them from the Wawa parking lot.” But he wasn’t there when we talked about radiation. He was still inside searching for guns. “Remember, Jace? Do you remember?”

Now Aemond and Rio are looking at you, petrified, realizing what you must be thinking. No one else understands yet. After a long pause, Jace nods feebly. “Yeah. I remember the towers.”

“Good,” you say, smiling to encourage him. “Okay, this is important. After we lost you at the river, before you found us again, did you see anywhere that looked like Three Mile Island?”

“Yeah,” Jace murmurs as he stares back at you with glazed, bloody eyes; and Rio sighs and shakes his head. “I drove right by it on the Honda. The sign said Byron.”

And it’s been over for him since that moment.

“Alright, Jace.” You want to touch him, to embrace him or cup his cheek. You know it will only make his suffering worse. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to ask.” He begins to gag again, and Baela hurries to place the popcorn bucket so it can catch his liquefying organs. You turn around and walk through the doorway.

“What’s happening?” Aegon asks you, hushed voice, frantic eyes. He has followed you to the living room, along with Aemond, Rio, and Cregan. You nod to Aemond. He knows.

“It’s radiation sickness,” Aemond says, low and bleak.

“What?!” Aegon gapes at him. “I mean, are you sure…?”

“It fits all the symptoms. He was in close proximity to a nuclear power plant, something the rest of us have intentionally avoided. If there was a meltdown, there are miles and miles that are poisoned with radiation. Passing by on a motorcycle could definitely result in a lethal dose.”

“Poor guy,” Rio says. “Not a good way to go.”

“No,” you agree. It isn’t.

“So how do you treat something like that?” Cregan asks Aemond.

“It can’t be treated,” Aemond replies tersely. “Not here, not by me, not by anyone. Not even if the world was normal again.”

“What do you mean it can’t be treated?! Everything can be treated nowadays! Cancer, heart attacks, diabetes, hell, my cousin got testicular cancer and he was fine a month later, he even got to keep one of his balls!”

“Radiation sickness can’t be treated. He’s going to die.”

“But how is that possible when—?!”

“I need you to try to not be stupid for five minutes,” Aemond snaps.

You say quietly: “He’s not stupid, Aemond. He just doesn’t know about this.”

“You are always defending him.”

“Because not going to med school isn’t a character flaw.”

Cregan asks mildly, looking at Aemond: “Could you explain it to me?”

“It’s pennies in a jar, man,” Rio says. “Radiation stacks up and at a certain point it kills you. It destroys your DNA and your body falls apart. You can get it just by going near someplace contaminated, and you might not even feel it happen. And there’s no way to undo the damage. The pennies never leave the jar.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at Aemond. “Was that so difficult?”

Aemond ignores him. “We have to tell Jace,” he says instead.

Back in the bedroom—a mineral stench in the air, coppery blood and the salt of sweat—Aegon sits on the edge of the bed and takes one of Jace’s swelling, blistering hands carefully in his own.

“Don’t hold my hand, you loser.” Jace mumbles, and Aegon respectfully releases him.

“Jace,” Aegon begins. “We think you have radiation sickness.”

Jace blinks up at him, wincing and disoriented. “Which means…?”

“Which means, um, it’s going to be…not great.”

“Why are you the person explaining this?”

“You’re right, I really shouldn’t be explaining it. Can someone else explain it…?” Aegon glances around hopefully.

“Jace,” Aemond says. “Those cooling towers you drove by were part of a nuclear power plant that melted down when the power grid collapsed. You received a fatal dose of radiation. It’s the only thing that explains what’s happening to you.”

“Fatal…?” Daeron ventures.

Rhaena gasps and reaches for Luke. Baela’s face is a mask of numb shock. Jace stares up at Aemond for a long time before he speaks. “Aemond, fix me.”

Aemond’s words are brittle and fracturing. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking around, man, you’re a doctor. You can fix me. I know you can. You’re a genius. You’re a total freak but you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Give me the pills, give me the shots. Cut me open if you have to. I won’t scream, I promise. Fix me. I trust you.”

“Jace, I can’t do anything. No one can.”

“I have to meet the baby, Aemond,” Jace whispers, scarlet tears bleeding down his cheeks. “I have to be here for Baela and Luke. Fix me, man. I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

“Jace,” Aemond says, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I can’t help you.”

Jace looks to Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and at last back to Aemond. “How long?”

“Not very. A few days, maybe.”

“Days?” he echoes, dazed. “What happens?”

Aemond shakes his head. You don’t want to know.

“Yeah I do. Tell me.”

Aemond can’t respond; clear silent tears snake down the right side of his face. Rio answers for him. “You continue to bleed out of every orifice and the rest of your skin falls off. And eventually you die.”

Jace breaks down in sobs. “I was trying to find you guys.”

Suddenly, Baela turns to you and Rio and Aemond, wrathful, hissing. “This is your fault.”

Aemond pleads: “Baela, please don’t—”

“You made me leave him at the river. I knew he was still alive, but you forced me to leave him. If he’d been with us, this never would have happened. But he was alone, and it was because of you. You did this to him. You stole him from me.”

Rhaena tries to console her. “Baela, no one meant to—”

“I just got him back!” she screams, and then shelters Jace in her arms as he clings to her, the skin of his fingers and palms flaking at the pressure, holding onto her anyway. No one knows what to say; everyone has tears burning in their eyes and embers in their throats. “Get out,” Baela demands. “Leave us alone. This is the last time I’ll ever have with him and it’s your fucking fault. So get out.”

And you leave them to their final moments, failing flesh in a dying world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Only Luke and Rhaena flit in and out of the bedroom, carrying soiled linens and the plastic popcorn bucket to be periodically emptied. The rest of you are engrossed in a grim, thunderstruck deathwatch in the living room. You discuss the inevitable in hushed murmurs. It is cruel to let Jace suffer; it is unspeakably horrible to let Baela witness it. Ice alternates between receiving scratches from Cregan, Helaena, and Aegon, never trying to enter Jace’s room. You can hear Jace and Baela talking in there, his retching and groaning, her sobs.

It is not until dusk that Rhaena summons Aemond. Luke is weeping as he paces back and forth in the bedroom. Baela is still sitting on the bed with Jace, resigned now. She does not apologize, but she doesn’t have any more venom to spit either. The rest of you watch from the hallway, keeping a respectful distance. Ice nudges your hand with her nose, but you ignore her. Jace’s bloody eyes roll to Aemond.

“I’m keeping you here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Aemond replies. There’s no point in lying.

“And I don’t need to feel myself melting like this for days. I get the idea.” Jace looks at Aemond for a while. His voice is anemic but calm; there are fresh blisters on his face and neck. “What can you give me?”

Aemond opens his medical kit and shows Jace the vial of morphine. “I found this at the pharmacy today. It would be painless, like going to sleep and never waking up.”

“Why do you have that?”

“I was thinking a small amount might help Baela during labor.”

“Is it the only morphine in your kit?”

“Yes.”

Jace nods. “Save it for Baela.” His gaze drops to the Glock in the holster at Aemond’s waist. “Can I borrow that?”

Rhaena stifles a dismayed yelp. Baela closes her eyes, but does not protest. Aemond says: “I don’t think you want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Cyclops,” Jace says, smiling. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“It’s heavy,” Aemond warns. He clicks off the safety and gives the Glock to Jace. “Are you able to use it by yourself?”

“It’s a very simple two-step process. Barrel to skull, finger on the trigger. I think I’ll manage.”

Again, Ice bumps her nose against your knuckles; again, you barely notice. Baela kisses Jace on the mouth, her lips coming away bloody. Rhaena says goodbye to him, then Luke, whispered parting words you don’t try to listen to. Before Aemond exits, Jace grasps his hand.

“Take care of my family, Aemond.”

“I will.”

“Don’t let the zombies eat me afterwards.”

And then it becomes real. Aemond’s composure falters. “Jace…I’m so sorry…”

“Go,” Jace urges him. Then there is a coughing fit, fresh blood and pieces of stomach and lungs. “Right now. Before I lose my nerve.”

Baela is the last one to leave the bedroom; she shuts the door behind her. Almost immediately afterwards is a deafening bang. Baela sinks to the floor and wails, one hand on her belly, the other embracing Rhaena and Luke when they rush to her. Ice is whining and pawing at the floor, her nails screeching on the hardwood. Aemond alone returns to Jace’s bedroom and reappears with his Glock. He places it back in his holster, his scarred face vacant. There’s blood on his fingers, you see. Jace’s blood, the last he’ll ever shed. Aemond hasn’t noticed yet.

You reach for Aemond’s hand; he flinches away. You ask him, pained: “Do you think if you don’t touch me, it won’t hurt you when I die?”

“Please don’t say that,” Aemond responds in a hoarse, splintering whisper.

Ice yowls, and Cregan is abruptly aware of her. “Oh shit, the Tahoe is still up on the jack. I’ll go get it.” He opens the front door. Under the moonlight, there are upwards of a hundred zombies stumbling down the long gravel driveway. Everyone begins screaming. Cregan slams the door shut and shoves one of the couches in front of it. “What now?!”

“We go through the cornfield,” Aemond says as you are all frantically gathering your sparse possessions. “It will be more difficult for them to see us. We kill as many as we can and we make our way to the Tahoe. Cregan, how long will it take you to get it ready to drive?”

“Maybe a minute. But I’ll need someone to spot me while I tighten the lug nuts.”

“Sounds like my kind of job opportunity,” Rio says, pumping his Remington. Helaena gives you a flashlight. Cregan secures the lug wrench under his belt and picks up his axe. Rhaena has her Ruger out and is telling Baela to breathe, to stay focused, to let her and Luke lead the way.

Aemond comes to you and leans in close so the others can’t hear. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Not enough. Maybe fifty.”

“Do what you can. Stay near Rio.”

“I’ll try.”

Now there are zombies at the front windows, beating their spongy swamp-colored palms against the glass. Baela, Rhaena, and Luke are leaving through the back door with Daeron; you can hear the whizzing of his arrows and the sick soft sound they make when they pierce rotting meat. Under the weight of so many hands, one of the living room windows pops from its frame and clatters against the floor. You open fire, bullets exploding skulls and spraying brains, corpses jolting and then diving to the ground. You shoot until both M9s are empty, then pause to reload, boxes of bullets that Cregan gave you back in Iowa.

“Let them in,” Helaena says.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Aegon shouts at her. He’s firing his Marlin .22 beside you, quite poorly; Rio and Aemond are in the backyard killing any zombies that find their way towards the cornfield. “We’re not letting them get through the house!”

“Not through,” Helaena says placidly. “In.”

“Oh.” Aegon understands. “Oh! I get it! Trap them inside!” He races to the kitchen and tears the remaining bottles of Grey Goose vodka out of the cabinet, then begins spilling them onto the wood floor. “Helaena, give me a lighter.”

She places one in his outstretched palm and then leaves with Cregan as he escorts her away, leading her by her fragile hand. They vanish together into the cornfield, Ice on their heels.

“Time to go, Chips!” Rio booms; he can’t be far behind Cregan.

“We’re on our way!”

Zombies are pouring through the front of the house; another window has given way. You pull the trigger over and over again as you move with Aegon towards the backyard, his clear river of vodka drawing a path from one end of the house to the other. You hit the grass before he does, then wait for him by the edge of the cornfield. Aemond and Rio are shouting for Aegon to hurry up. He crosses through the threshold, flicks the lighter to life, and throws it into the house. His plan works—the farmhouse is abruptly aflame, cooking zombies like long-spoiled hams—but he neglected to realize that in his haste, he had also accidentally doused his own left leg and Sperry Bahama sneaker. The fire licks up over Aegon’s skin and blazes there radiantly. He shrieks and falls to the ground. Rio yanks his own shirt off and uses it to smother the inferno, then throws Aegon over one shoulder to carry him.

“Go to Cregan!” Rio tells Aemond, shoving him in the direction of the Tahoe. Rio will be slower now, but no one else could still run with Aegon’s added weight. “You and Daeron spot him until I get there!” When Aemond is gone, Rio glances back at you.

“I’m fine,” you say, felling zombies as they round the house. “Get Aegon to the car!” And Rio listens to you like he always does, vanishing with Aegon through the cornfield.

You weave through the leafy stalks, investigating each growl and rustling with the beam of your flashlight. Grotesque, fetid faces plunge through the greenery, and you demolish them. You’re in the rhythm now, wheeling for a target and locking in, squeezing the trigger and watching ghoulish faces disappear. And then you spy a zombie lurching towards you from fifteen feet away, a twenty-something in a red Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt making her way down the dirt aisle between two rows of corn; and when you pull the trigger, there is only a dry click in reply. Your other M9 is already empty. You’ve used all the ammo Cregan gave you.

“I’m out of bullets,” you say, but no one hears you; you are alone. Aemond always told you to stay near Rio and you never did. Too late, you realize what an oversight that has been. “Rio? Aemond?!”

There are human voices and gunshots, but reverberating from a distance. Far closer are snarls and groans of the dead. You click off your flashlight, drop to the earth, and crawl until you are as far under a row of corn as you can be, long leaves tickling the back of your neck and damp soil in your nostrils. Clumsy, lumbering footsteps trod by you. From the road, you hear the Tahoe’s engine start with a rumble.

They’re leaving.

You shake your head, here with no one to see you in the dark. Still, the thought persists.

They’re leaving. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Chips, stay where you are!” Rio shouts. “We’re coming back, we’ll find you!”

You wait until they are within ten feet of you, Rio cracking skulls with his Remington—he must be out of bullets too—and Aemond firing his Glock. “I’m here, I’m here!” you cry, and they are lifting you up from the dirt and dragging you towards Tahoe, and Aemond puts his pistol in your hand knowing you can do more good with it. You fire ten rounds before the Glock is empty, and you think with terror: Do any of us have bullets left?

Then you are being helped into the Tahoe, and the second all the doors are shut Rhaena floors the gas pedal, heading west on State Route 92.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I got my drugs after all,” Aegon rasps as Aemond injects him with morphine on the floor of a laundromat on the edge of Merna, Nebraska, far enough to escape the zombies, not so far that the Tahoe risks running out of gas before you reach the next town. His left leg is burned from the knee down, and burned badly: skin, fat, muscle, blood-red scorched ruin. Even through the modest dose of morphine—Aemond is terrified of accidentally killing him—Aegon can still feel what has happened to him. He knows it’s bad. He knows it could be the last mistake he ever makes. “I’m so thirsty…”

“I got you, Honey Bun,” Rio says, and then uses the butt of his Remington to bust open the vending machines and bring him bottles of Powerade. Baela is sobbing in the corner with Luke and Rhaena. Helaena is shining a flashlight on Aegon’s leg so Aemond can see. Daeron and Cregan are keeping watch by the entrance. You don’t even know why. All the bullets and arrows are gone, Aegon can’t walk, the Tahoe’s gas tank is nearly drained. If you are descended upon now, what will you do?

Aegon sobs and clutches for you, links his arms around your waist, rests his head in your lap. You hold him and comb your fingers through his unruly hair over and over again, like a compulsion, like a ritual. You are so afraid to let go of him. You are terrified he’ll disappear.

I wish I knew what to say. I never know what to say.

He’s shaking uncontrollably as Aemond cleans his leg: peeling away dead skin, wiping down the raw flesh with disinfectant. Aegon’s eyes are wide and glassy. There is blood on the white tile floor, pinkish lymph fluid, bits of charred skin. Ice is whimpering, her muzzle propped on her paws and her eyes darting around the room. Aegon manages through the pain, a reedy, gasping whisper: “Tell me about all those places you went when you were in the Navy.”

You can see it like the miles-deep blue of his eyes: the Indian Ocean, the jewel-tone equatorial sky. “On Diego Garcia, they have these birds called red-footed boobies—”

Aegon barks out a weak laugh. “They do not. You’re making that up.”

“No, really, I swear! They’re like seagulls, but they have blue on their face and bright red feet, hence the name. They’re extremely stupid, and one night a few of us were hanging out drinking Guinness and playing pool, and a booby flew in through an open window. We panicked, it panicked, and then it was flying in circles and couldn’t get out. We opened all the doors and windows, and the booby still just flew around banging into the walls. And of course the whole time it was shitting and bleeding and getting feathers everywhere, we knew it was going to take hours to clean up. After thirty minutes of chasing this idiot bird around, Rio snapped, took off his boot, and smacked the booby with it. He was trying to fling it out the window, like hitting a tennis ball with a racket, but he accidentally hit the bird too hard and murdered it. Its beak literally separated from its body and flew across the room. None of us could believe it, we didn’t even know that was possible. Rio felt so bad he started crying. We took the booby—and its beak, of course—out to the beach for a Viking funeral. We made it a little raft of coconut tree leaves, set it on fire with a lighter, and pushed it out into the waves.”

Aegon is cackling. “Bryan Osorio, terrorizer of the homicidal undead and boobies!”

“What else?” Baela says, and you look over at her, startled. The flashlight incandescence turns you all to ghosts, phantoms, half-shadows. At first you don’t know what she means. “What else did they have on Diego Garcia?”

“Oh, tell them about the coconut crabs,” Rio prompts you. He’s settled down beside Aegon and is resting one broad hand on his trembling shoulder.

“Coconut crabs?” Rhaena asks you, wiping tears from her cheeks with her delicate, small-boned fingers.

You are abruptly aware that you have an audience. You can feel yourself shrinking beneath their gazes. “Rio should tell the story. I’m not good at it.”

“Sure you are,” Rio says, smiling kindly beneath dark, wet eyes. “Go on. Tell them.”

So you do.

[thesilicontribesman]

Iron Age Netherurd Gold Torc Terminal, 1st Century BCE, National Museums Scotland, Edinburgh

This terminal for a gold neck ring and two gold coins are all that remain of a large hoard of gold coins and neck rings found at Netherurd in Peeblesshire. The coins were minted in Gaul in the 1st century BCE, while the terminal fragment is an East Anglian type.

[unlikelypandahologram]

Reasons to ship every single version of MegOP

since Very Dumb Discourse™ exists about whether or not certain versions of this ship are valid, this is going to be THE most positive post about all versions of MegOP. refer back to this post for reasons to ship your favorite version of MegOP if anyone gets weird about it with you. now let us begin!!

G1: goofy '80s faction dads fighting each other in a denny's parking lot every week LET'S GOOO, that shit is fun as fuck. orion pax also totally had a celeb crush on megatron before megatron ruined that and shot him and his pals 😔 and there's a lot of angst you can add with megatron becoming galvatron and optimus coming back to life to see how much he's changed!

BW: it's the sheer fucking comedy gold factor of a newly minted college graduate and a terrorist dinosaur IMMEDIATELY singling each other out on a prehistoric rock and deciding to call their daily gang slap-fights the BEAST WARS, what iconic drama queens LMAOOOO. also, megatron made his final body in BM look like optimal optimus SPECIFICALLY to fuck with him, and that's just...incredible

UT: the fact that megatron CANONICALLY acted like a grieving widower over optimus after he died in armada is. amazing. never forget their absolutely insane obsession with each other that they can never EVER give up on played a direct part in unicron nearly ending the world <3

Bayverse: this is the one continuity of all fucking things that gave us the lore about megatron being prime's lord high protector. absolute galaxy brain writing from the tie-in comics. also these two would ABSOLUTELY have the messiest, nastiest, most brutal hate sex imaginable, and that's beautiful. <3

Animated: optimus being a rookie washout underdog and megatron being a super scary much older warlord is a really interesting and underrated fresh take on their dynamic! lots of fun to be had with exploring what their relationship would be like after megatron finally acknowledged him as his archnemesis, lol. also...age AND size difference ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Prime: do i even need to say anything, i'm pretty sure that one flashback still of orion and megatronus being friends is responsible for birthing a million shippers for this pairing alone LMAOOOO. the bitter ex-boyfriends energy was TRULY off the charts in this show, it's a damn shame megatron never appeared in RID15

Cyberverse: same bitter ex-boyfriends energy but this time with dates at maccadams. megatron also dies encouraging optimus to beat the unhinged alternate dimension megs AAHH THE ANGST

IDW1: they're both depressed gay war criminals in this one who CONSTANTLY live in each other's heads rent-free and that's amazing, lmfao. also, megatron becoming an autobot means this is one of the VERY FEW continuities where it's not nigh impossible to figure out a way to give these two a happy ending together in fanon

IDW2: space date space date SPACE DATE. they were falling together and everything. megatron also LITERALLY tells optimus to open himself to him...to give him the matrix...yeah megs my dude i'm sure that's the ONLY thing you wanted from optimus "opening" himself. toootally positive, lol

G1 Marvel: megatron was SUPER fucking pissed and weird as shit about the time optimus died over a video game. it counts

Dreamwave: their first fight had megatron urging optimus to join him AND they disappeared together in a space bridge explosion once which is like, a fanfic-esque setup for them to be alone. also i'm pretty sure this is the continuity where optimus accidentally gave megatron a lobotomy, so...uh...potential for angst is to be had

SG: mirror universe!! evil crazy villain optimus with noble goody-goody hero megatron has so much potential for absolute chaos. bonus if you also bring in the normal versions somehow through multiverse shenanigans <3

KP: the only way this version of prime can redeem himself from the creepy underage human girl bullshit is if he gets a good hard dicking from megatron. next

Prime Wars: huge "ex-husbands go on a road trip with their disgruntled daughter" energy here. megatron also LITERALLY says "oh optimus, if only you could see me now" <3

Earthspark: again...need i say why? they're pals and working together from the get-go, what's not to ship??

Skybound: optimus literally wears megatron's arm. truly beautiful <3

TF One: it's not out yet but give it time. the entire movie is going to be about orion and d-16 being madly in love and tragically breaking up, baby!!

[redr0sewrites]

If you're doing Eris x reader requests pls pls can you do jealous smut 😇🥰

loooorddddd does the acotar fandom know how to request. love yall!!!!

🥀Cw: smut, gn reader but use of the word minx, jealousy, rough sex, like one slap, dirty talk, soft and fluffy aftercare

🥀minors dni

🥀word count: 3k

how boring...

you sigh, searching the crowd for those familiar eyes of pure amber. yet again, here you were, stuck in the only uncrowded corner at an autumn court ball with no entertainment, and no Eris. some lords had wanted his attention on a political matter, leaving you to handle the awkward conversations, polite smiles, and laughter that was encompassed in the ordeal of hosting these events. it had been hours since the ball had started, and despite knowing it would probably end in an hour or so, you so desperately wanted to be alone with your mate.

Beron, the prehistoric asshole, forced most of the planning and stress of these gatherings down his sons' throats while simply relaxing and enjoying the gratifications and fruits of their labor. you had watched Eris worry for weeks on end about this particular gathering celebrating the autumn equinox, and you know how important it is to him.

despite the stress that was entailed, the ball was quite beautiful. a sweet melody lofts from a nearby stage, where a few fae play enchanting songs on intricate instruments. as far as the eye can see, accents of gold shimmer in contrast against the bright autumnal color scheme that made the courtyard feel alive. various fae were scattered about, all dressed to the nines in elaborate gowns and suits.

with a smile, you remember how well-dressed Eris had looked when you both were getting ready. he looked twice as regal as his father, dressed in a maroon suit with gold cuffs and details akin to autumn leaves. his waistcoat was also red, adorned with gold buttons that were a stark contrast to his black collared shirt. upon seeing him, you had wanted nothing more than to tear off all of those extra layers and mark every inch of his freckled skin, yet Eris encouraged you to be patient. "you'll get your prize soon, my darling," he had cooed, gently cupping your face as he whispered in your ear. "i'll treat you wonderfully tonight, my beautiful mate. as soon as this damn equinox is over, i'll make this a night to remember..."

Eris turned away immediately after, leaving you alone in your bedroom. you were flustered from his teasing, but you finished getting ready in time to join him at the venue before guests had even started arriving. you had expected to deal with his teasing all throughout the night, yet you hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since he had been whisked into the crowd by some Night Court diplomat.

a tap on your shoulder startles you from your thoughts and bringing you back to the present, where you turn to find a male fae standing besides you. he stood about an inch taller than you, average for fae height but much shorter than Eris. unlike your lovers regal, defined beauty, this fae looks far more rough around the edges, with a light stubble and a sinister glint in his eye. you immediately recognize him as the son of one of Beron's advisors, and you tense as he steps uncomfortably close. you can feel his breath against your skin as he stares at you like a wolf stalking its prey. with a glance towards the crowd, you see no sign of Eris, and you send a light pulse through the bond.

"now, what's a pretty thing like you doing all on your own, hm?" the male purrs, looking you up and down before licking his lips. you give him a forced smile, not wanting to cause a scene, especially considering how important tonight was to Eris. "i'm doing well, thank you," you drawl, slowly backing away. "now, if you'll excuse me-" you were cut off by the man's barking laugh, cringing as he stepped back into your personal space. "your a shy one, aren't ya? c'mon sugar, i'll buy you a drink." the man continues, and you feel a twist in your gut. you send another pulse down the bond, yet again with no response. where the fuck was Eris?

"i'm afraid i'll have to decline your offer," you say firmly, restraining yourself only for the sake of not causing a scene. "you see, i'm already taken-"

"do i look like a give a fuck?" the man snarled, and a few heads turn towards you both. you feel a questioning tug through the bond, to which you only reply with a frantic pulse. "i told you, i'm not interested. now if you'll excuse me, i need to go find my mate." the man chuckles darkly, grabbing your arm and preventing you from walking away. your skin crawls from the contact, and you yank your hand away. "so you're mated, huh? that's what every fucking slut says. whos the big, bad mate who's gonna stop me, huh?" spit flies from the man's mouth as you back away. you thank the cauldron that there aren't a lot of fae nearby, most are centered around the dance floor and festivities and not paying attention to the two of you. "c'mon, tell me," the man hisses, and you swallow hard.

"what's going on here?" a familiar voice makes your heart skip a beat as Eris places a hand on your shoulder. the fae in front of you stiffens, his face paling a little. "ah, Eris! what a surprise, heh. i was just asking this lovely specimen for a drink is all, no harm done." Eris arched a brow, hand moving to rest on the small of your back. "oh? is that all?" Eris sneered, and you relish the fear in the man's eyes. "i'll have you know that they are taken. by me. now, with that knowledge in mind, would you care to continue your pursuits?" the man splutters for a second before turning away, red faced. you watch the fae turn away and disappear into the crowd, letting out a sigh of relief as his figure leaves your line of sight.

"y/n. you're coming with me." Eris says sternly, and your heart drops. you barely begin to open your mouth before you find yourself being winnowed into your bedroom. "Eris, i swear i wasn't-" he cut you off with a kiss, one of his hands finding purchase on your waist while the other grabs the back of your neck. you sigh into the kiss, relief flooding your body as you feel a soft tug through the bond. Eris slowly pulls away, a thin trail of spit still connecting your lips as you take a shaky breath. Eris' hand trails from behind your neck to cup your face, his thumb gently ghosting over your lips before settling on your cheek.

"i know, darling. i just..." Eris huffed, and you wrap your arms around his neck. his lips lift into a small smirk as you both begin swaying to a silent rhythm, your hearts beating in tandem. leaning in to whisper in your ear, Eris rasps, "i hate the way he was looking at you". he kisses your jaw, traveling back towards your lips and stopping just before giving you a real kiss. "i hate it too," you say, your breaths crossing. his lips were so tantalizingly close to yours, and you could feel his warmth inviting you into his embrace.

"just think," you murmur, swaying against your lover and taking the opportunity to whisper in his ear. "when you're high lord, we will rule side by side, and that fool will be nothing but our subject. i'm yours, Er, and i always will be." Eris groans softly, leaning down to kiss your neck. you can't help but arch into his touch while his hands roam your back.

"how mad would your father be if we didn't go back..?" you ask, pulling away and gently running your hands through Eris' hair, not wanting to mess it up too much. Eris chuckles, and gives you a quick peck on the lips before replying, "he already left a half hour ago." his scent is coated with playful arousal, and you smirk wickedly. "well then, isn't this going to be a night to remember, my lord?" Eris curses, picking you up in one fell swoop before dropping you unceremoniously on the bed. you kick off your shoes, not wanting to dirty the bed while Eris does the same.

"cruel, beautiful minx", he hisses, tossing his boots to the side and joining you on the bed. the mattress dips slightly from his weight and you giggle as he pins you down. your giggle melts into a moan as his thigh slides between your legs, applying pressure to where you need him most. his mouth captures yours in a needy kiss, and you whine against his lips.

pulling apart, you tug on Eris' jacket, desperate for more. "off... i need this off," you curse, and he chuckles before tossing the coat to the side. he makes quick work of his clothes and you do the same until your stripped down to only your undergarments.

"fuck", Eris whispers sensually, warm hands moving to caress your thighs as he kisses you again. this kiss isn't nearly as sweet, all teeth and tongue and full of burning lust. your tongue runs across his bottom lip, begging for entry, but Eris denies you. he pulls away yet again, chest heaving. his hair is mussed, his lips are flushed from your kiss, and his face is warm, yet in your eyes he has never looked more handsome.

"fuck, your so pretty Er," you whine, arching up against him as he chuckles. "if i am pretty, than you are gorgeous. that man will never get to see you like this," he murmurs, kissing your chest, right above where your heart lays beneath your ribcage. you let out a needy, wanton moan as his lips trail lower and lower, leaving hickies and kisses in their wake. right now, you don't care about the nips and bite marks you'll have to hid tomorrow, only about Eris' mouth on you.

"he will never get to hear you", Eris continues, reaching your pelvis and stopping with a smirk. "and," he pauses, gently gliding his hand over where you want him most. "he'll never get to taste you." Eris' mouth latches onto your throbbing sex, and you feel all of the air flood your lungs as he works wonders with his tongue. you thank the cauldron for your mates skills at giving head as he makes you see stars, and before long one of your hands finds purchase in his hair.

"Eris," you moan, hips rolling as he sucks on your throbbing sex. "fuck yes, say my name," Eris purrs, licking an intentional stripe before sucking a deep hickey onto your inner thigh. "i want this whole court to know who you belong to by the end of the night." you feel the coil in your abdomen tightening, and you fumble for the words to warn Eris of your incoming orgasm. "hnghh Eris- 'm gonna- s'too much," you gasp, and Eris chuckles against your cunt/cock. "c'mon bunny, give it t'me," he slurs, his tongue working wonders as your eyes roll back.

the sight of you so close to your high makes Eris feel nearly feral, the lust burning beneath his skin making it impossible for him to not grind against the mattress below him. your pleasure always comes before his, but that doesn't stop him from humping his throbbing cock against the mattress as you reach your own orgasm. your thighs clamp around his head as your back arches, your mind going perfectly blank as Eris swallows your cum. with a cry, you throw your head back against the pillows, coming down from your high. Eris crawls up towards you, gently cupping your face as you nuzzle into his neck.

"fuck, Er, that was..." you trail off, slowly rubbing up and down his back as you catch your breath. "mhm," he mumbles, still hovering over you. "Eris."

"yes, y/n?" he rasps, and you can practically taste the scent of your own arousal filling the air. his voice makes your stomach flip, and you swallow hard before replying. "i want you to fuck me." Eris chuckles, your boldness only amuses him. "oh, and is that all?" he sneers, but you catch the slightest hint of excitement in his voice. "oh, tired out already? what a shame, i thought you could last longer than that," you coo, and Eris growls. "maybe i'll go ask that man from before-" you didn't even have the chance to finish your sentence before Eris was manhandling you, flipping you over onto your stomach.

your back arches instinctively as your thighs spread in anticipation. "fucking brat," Eris hisses, wasting no time as he grabs some lube from the beside table. you turn over your shoulder to watch him, practically drooling at his bare form as he pumps his cock a few times before coating himself in lube.

you arch even deeper, displaying your assets as Eris aligns himself with your hole. you wiggle your hips slightly, desperate for friction, and Eris slaps the swell of your ass. not hard enough to truly hurt, but the sting causes a soft moan to bloom from deep inside you.

"i shouldn't let you cum because of that statement alone," Eris whispers, his cock teasing your entrance as his hands find purchase on your hips. "is my pretty mate so desperate for cock that they'll slut themselves out for an advisors son? oh honey, you know i'm the only one," with a harsh thrust, Eris slid into your aching hole. within seconds, he set a brutal pace, giving you no time to adjust. "who can make you cum."

you moan, lips parting as Eris thrusts deeper and deeper into you. rough, warm hands grip your hips so hard you can feel them bruising, and it only excites you more. he leans down, sucking a deep hickey onto your shoulder. with each thrust of his hips, you can feel his dick thrust deeper and deeper inside of you. one of his hands moves from his hips to rest on your stomach, pressing down on the bulge in your abdomen.

"y'feel that?" Eris slurs, and you babble incoherently as he presses down harder. his cock is practically fucking you dumb from how deep he is inside you, and the realization makes your eyes roll back and your hole clench. "its like you were made for my cock, suckin' me in so deep," Eris' voice is slurred and rushed as his thrusts grow slightly sporadic. you can tell he's growing just as desperate as you are, and you decide to fully give into your carnal desire.

"ff-fucnghh- Eris please-" you claw at the mattress as his hand dips lower, toying with your clit/cock. the added stimulation makes your tongue lull, drool pooling at the edge of your lips as his cock hits places inside you that make you see stars. a particularly deep thrust makes your brain turn to mush, and Eris starts rubbing your clit/cock even harder. "o-oh, fuuck-" you gasp, babbling incoherent moans of his name as the coil in your abdomen tightens.

"hngh-" Eris pants, moaning into your ear as his chest heaves. you can feel his abs clenching against your back as he fucks into you, and your thighs tremble as you begin to stumble into the realm of overstimulation. your peak is so, so close, and Eris can feel it too. "fuuck, 'm not gonna last with you squeezing me like a vice," he gasps, hips stuttering.

"m-me either, gonna cum-" you whimper, tears streaming down your face as your eyes roll back. you can feel your peak approaching, and with one final roll of his hips and a swift thrust of his fingers over your throbbing clit/cock, your high washes over you harder than ever before. a heavy string of cursed fall from Eris' lips as he cums in tandem to you, his body collapsing against yours in a sweaty heap. he lazily pulls out, watching his cum still dripping from your leaking hole. Eris rolls to the side while you recover from your post-orgasmic haze, and melt into his embrace.

"how do you feel?" Eris asks softly, his voice hoarse from moaning. you give him a lazy smile and peck him on the lips before replying. "lovely, as always. perhaps a bit sore". Eris smirks at your admission, and you slap him lightly on the chest. "that," you murmur, "was for slapping me on the ass."

"you deserved it," he replies, throwing an arm over your body. "you cheeky minx". your body slots perfectly against his, your chests pressing together as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. "y'know i didn't mean it, right?" you ask, voice lofty from sleep. "i'm only yours, Er. always and forever." Eris sucks in a breath at your confession, and a freckled hand traces up and down your spine.

"i know, and i love you because of that," he murmurs, kissing the top of your head as you giggle. "and i am yours as well. wholy and truly, my heart belongs to you, and you may do with it as you please. just know, it is yours and yours alone." taken aback by his honesty, you pull away to look him in the eyes, and upon seeing nothing but sincerity in his gaze, you pull him into a gentle kiss. "would you like to go get cleaned up?" Eris asks, but you note the tiredness in his voice. "can we just stay here like this?" you whisper, and he nods, knowing damn well that you both weren't going to rise until morning. "goodnight, little fox," Eris whispers, and you smile lazily against his skin. "goodnight, Eris. i love you."

"i can always assure you, i love you more, y/n."

i am being 100% serious when i tell you Eris is my favorite character of all time. like genuinely, honest to god, he's character that ive been hyperfixated on the longest (a year and a half now with some minor interests in between, hut i always circle back to him) and he was the reason i got a tumblr blog in the first place (bc tumblr is the ONLY place on the internet that actually seems to like him and i desperately needed Eris fanfiction). i also tried to make this as gn as possible but its SO HARD to write gn smut so im sorryyyy 😭ANYWAYSSSS HOPE U ENJOYED!!! ive been getting back into the acotar fandom a LOT lately soooo yayyyy!!!!

[blueiscoool]

Britain's Oldest Gold Coin Hoard Discovered

The oldest hoard of gold coins in Britain, dating back 2,173 years, was discovered by a metal detectorist.

The 12 Iron Age artifacts were discovered by Stephen Eldridge while scouring fields in Buckinghamshire.

They were built in 150 BC by a tribe in what is now Picardy, France, according to experts at the British Museum.

According to speculation, the coins were likely transferred to Britain in return for Celtic mercenaries who were sent to Gaul in western Europe to fight the Romans.

A hoard from this date is extremely uncommon, even though individual gold coins from this era have been discovered before.

The coins will now likely sell for £30,000 when they are put up for auction at London's Spink & Son.

In November 2019, Mr. Eldridge, 68, discovered the coins in the Buckinghamshire community of Ashley Green.

The Catuvellauni tribe first settled in the region about 150 BC, and during the ensuing century they grew to become the most dominant tribe in Britain.

Mr. Eldridge has put the coins up for auction with London-based coin specialists Spink after going through the treasure process.

The coins' roughly 75% gold content with an alloy of silver and copper was validated by scientific x-ray fluorescence analysis, indicating the economy in which Britain's first gold coinage were circulating.

The coins are now expected to sell for £30,000 when they go under the hammer at London auctioneers Spink & Son

Gregory Edmund, of Spink & Son, said: “Whilst individual gold coins of this period have been recorded across south east England, it is incredibly rare for a trove of this size or date to be uncovered. Contemporary local coinage was simply cast base metal issues called 'potins'. Whoever successfully imported this trove of gold coins would have undoubtedly wielded influence in the region.

They would have been exported, probably in exchange for mercenaries, equipment and hunting dogs to fight the Romans or other tribes in Belgium. Twenty or thirty years after they were deposited we started to get the first British coins in the same style. These coins were in the wealthiest part of the English kingdom. A hoard of this size and period is unprecedented in the archaeological record. There was one other hoard from this period of three coins found. These coins have been well used, it is very clear they are not fresh when they are put in the ground, but still retain remarkable details of a seldom-seen Iron Age art form.

It is often speculated that the portraiture of this coinage was deliberately androgynous despite being modelled on the classical male god Apollo. The feminine styling is probably a reflection of the political significance of women in Iron Age society, that enabled such historical figures as Cartimandua and Boudicca to rise to prominence and our now national folklore. It is incredibly satisfying to assist in the proper recording, academic analysis and now sale of these prestigious prehistoric relics.”

Following the coroner's inquest, the British Museum made the decision to disclaim the coins, which means they now belong to the finder.

The landowner will receive a portion of Mr. Eldridge's earnings.

[barbucomedie]

Jewellery from Chauchitza, Greece dated between 800 - 600 BCE on display at the National War Museum in Edinburgh Castle, Scotland

While digging trenches in the Macedonian region of northern Greece during the First World War, British troops uncovered arcaheological remains. Robert Gaddie, an amateur archaeologist from Edinburgh, excavated this assemblage of bronze armlets, spiral brooch, pendant, beads and gold mouthpiece at a site called Chauchitza. The discovery sparked the first prehistoric excavations in Greece.

Photographs taken by myself 2023

[ozzgin]

Professor Payne reacting to finding pickles daughter in the salt with him. Also his reaction to the daughter hunting and bringing back an unconscious Katsumi back to her father. P.S what would the daughter be called?

Professor Payne would most likely be excited to see an ancient human in a different stage of life from Pickle. Having a sample of both adult and juvenile variations (especially male/female) allows one to determine the growth rate, development, differences in biology and many more things. From a scientist’s perspective he’s hit a gold mine. Instead of vague guesses and statistical hypotheses about the evolution of prehistoric humans, he has the concrete possibility of a longitudinal study that’ll give him most answers. Another advantage of a child specimen is that - at least in the case of modern humans - language acquisition is at its peak. A child’s brain will absorb lexical structures like a sponge. While Pickle might struggle to accommodate and require years of training for articulate speech, his daughter could master it in half the time or less. It’ll definitely remove some of the barriers in communicating with the Jurassic guests.

As for the latter scenario…I’m going to assume that Katsumi was caught off guard or was already in a vulnerable state. Pickle and his daughter are strong alright, but I wouldn’t go as far as to have Katsumi defeated into unconsciousness by a literal child. The poor man has his pride and value. Let us give credit where it’s due. Dr Payne would most likely have his sedating team on standby in case Pickle actually goes along with the offering, but I suspect Dad might not enjoy having to be fed by his own daughter. He’ll express his praise, but reassure her that she can rely on him still. She shouldn’t hurry to grow up. There’s a time for everything and for now she can allow herself to be spoiled by her dad.

I remember @rottmntrulesall discussing her name ideas for Pickle’s children and (Y/N) and I liked the suggestions, so I might leave the creative process to her (or anyone else interested for that matter). What would be a fitting name for Pickle’s daughter?