#Columbus Ohio Visit

[lesoreillesouvertes]

Vendredi 15 mars, de Détroit, Michigan à Columbus, Ohio

Evolution du paysage depuis cette ville immense, légèrement à l'abandon vers les plaines de l'Ohio. Je peux dire plaines parce que vraiment, c'est tout plat. Des champs immenses, des maisons isolées avec leur grange rouge et plein d'engins agricoles autour, quelques arbres et surtout, des pick-ups, plein de pick-ups, une majorité de pick-ups !!!

Evidemment, les chapeaux vont avec la musique country à la station service.

Et je suis arrivée chez un nouvel hôte couchsurfer : Bito. Il vit avec un couple ukrainien et un turque je crois. Personne n'était à la maison à mon arrivée, alors j'ai pu voir la confiance que Bito a dans le couchsurfing. Il m'a donné le code d'entrée et j'ai pu faire comme chez moi bien avant qu'on me fasse visiter. Cela dit, je ne fais pas la maline dans les maisons d'inconnus puisque beaucoup d'américains ont des caméras même à l'intérieur de leur maison. Ca devient un réflexe de les chercher... Mais il n'y en a pas chez Bito et je me retrouve à boire un whisky avec lui à son arrivée, avant qu'il me montre mon canapé au sous sol. Du vrai couchsurfing, simple, cool, humain :-D

[tradersquestco]

I just got back from home.... cle to columbus, ohio. I had dimsum

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

[dmercer91]

OH MY GOD

adam always talking about blakc cat reader in columbus, and how much he loves his brothers girlfriend

but when he shows their texts or soemthing, (i’m using blakenburg as an example)

nick is like “are you sure she doesn’t hate you?”

and then when they (black cat and luca) actually come down to visit adam, black cat, and luca all cling to eachother in their own special way

he does not shut up about her when he’s in columbus

i picture adam showing nick and kj pictures from his draft day and then he’s like oh!! and look!! she misses me :)

and this is the convo he shows

from, ads ☺︎; you’re coming to ohio w luca, right?

to, ads ☺︎; yes

from, ads ☺︎; im excited to see you

from, ads ☺︎; been too long since i’ve messed with your bangs before a game :)

to, ads ☺︎; lol

from, ads ☺︎; gotta go, miss you

you loved ‘gotta go, miss you’

they’re both like…. she typed a total of 6 letters.

and adams like ok and for you she’d type zero leave me alone abt it

and then you actually get to columbus

unexpected first impressions | opposites attract au, lf63 + platonic!af11

your arms were wrapped around lucas bicep as you walk into the blue jackets practice arena, most of the guys already making their way out of the dressing room

you recognized kent and nick from campus and parties during your freshman year, as well as in the background whenever you’d call adam, and clearly they’d recognized you, because they shared a look of confusion at the way you were wrapped around luca

and then, adam came from the dressing room and you practically teleported into his arms with how quickly you’d walked over.

he smiled, squeezing his arms around you while your head rested on his chest.

“hi, y/n/n,” he murmured, giving an extra squeeze to your waist.

“hi, ads,” you replied, gripping onto his hoodie so he couldn’t pull away from you.

luca came over to the two of you after greeting nick and kent, smiling ear to ear at his two favourite people hugging close.

“can i say hi to my brother, pretty?” he chuckled, ruffling your hair as you hummed in response, inching to the side and leaving room for luca to join the hug.

when you’d turned so that your hug with adam was a side hug, his arm around your shoulders and your head knocked against his, you were met with looks of confusion from the old wolverines

“what’s up with those two?” you mumbled to adam, earning a smile and a laugh from him, but no explanation

nick tilted his head, pointing at you “this is the same girl that replied ‘lol’ to you telling her you missed her and couldn’t wait to see her? not a fucking chance,” your confused look softened into a smile as you realized why they were so put off

“i don’t like texting,” you stated, shrugging your shoulders and turning back into adam, shoving your face into his chest

“ok. she doesn’t like texting. sure, yeah,” kent shook his head to himself, the brothers smiling to themselves.

[determinate-negation]

What about Atlanta, Miami, Houston, Austin, Dallas, Portland, Seattle? Those all seem like good cities to live. Also New Orleans, Pittsburgh and Minneapolis. People who like Ohio are big fans of Columbus and Cleveland.

But tbh I currently live in a "city" in a state that borders the great Canadian province Manitoba so like everything seems like the cradle of civilization in comparison

Sorry for the long list lol, don't you think they have their charms?

im in new orleans right now 🤠 its been really nice to visit but i just cant imagine living here. i was born in atlanta so i love it but again its not a city like nyc is. not been to many of the others but im just not really a fan of this country tbh. and its kind of surprising that anyone would consider pittsburgh a desirable place to be lol

[mikedfaist]

okay but now that you’re writing for mike… I cannot stop thinking about him dating a pop girly. like we all know he’d rather be home in ohio rather than anywhere else but like I know he’d be so supportive (yes this thought is sponsored by the pop girls, specifically sabrina and dua, dating cute actors <3)

You know what? It’s funny you say that because I imagined (in my head version story) he be with this rock girl, but does acting too. Just a jack of all trades. He’d go on tour with her for a little bit, being her “groupie” as she puts it. Living the tour bus life, bringing Austin along. He actually quite loves it. (Both Mike and Austin). Travelling the US, visiting cities and towns, making memories, but he also gets to see his girl rule that stage at night. He has all her merch, even specially made stuff. She’ll even get merch made for Austin. Little bandanas and dog shirts. He typically stays backstage for the shows, not really wanting any attention if he can help it, but maybe at the shows that are in Columbus, ones his family attends, he’ll be in the crowd for those.

[mikefaistslut]

anything for you

chapter 1:

(A mike faist fanfic set in spring 2023, as mike is headed to london for the summer to star in Brokeback Mountain. He meets a girl on the plane there, Emma. He falls in love with Emma instantly. Read more to see how their story unfolds. <3)

Disclaimer: this is entirely a work a fiction and has nothing whatsoever to actually do with mike faist.

Rolling out of bed at what I thought was around six in the morning, I began to get dressed and prepare myself for how anxious the airport was going to make me. I’d never been a good flier, especially on flights that lasted longer than a couple of hours. Today, I was set to leave on a 9 hour and 50 minute flight from Columbus, Ohio to London at 10am. This trip was my gift to myself. I’d always wanted to go to London and do every lame tourist activity that I’d always seen in the movies. I wanted to stand outside the gates at Buckingham Palace, attend a service at Westminster Abbey, take a ride on the London Eye, maybe even fall in love with an adorable English man and never go back home to Ohio. I’d been saving for this trip since I got my first job at fifteen. I’d imagine what it felt like to walk through Hyde Park and see a play on the west end while I scooped an ungodly amount of ice cream for strangers.

The hardest part is surviving the flight there. I made sure to get up insanely early and have some me-time before the flight to try and relax myself as much as possible. After fixing myself a cup of coffee and scrolling through my phone for a solid 15 minutes or so, I decided to take a hot shower. This would be an everything shower, seeing that there's no way I could bring along my arsenal of bath products. But I let myself take it slow. After I finished washing and conditioning my hair, I shaved, scrubbed, and exfoliated every inch of my body. I loved the way it felt to be clean and smooth. Especially clean. I had to be clean to feel like my best self and I had to feel like my best self to be relaxed enough to not have an absolute meltdown on this almost ten hour flight I was scheduled to be on. 

By 7:30, I was all ready to go with an uber waiting outside to take me to the airport. I had two weeks worth of clothes, my favorite blanket and pillow in my carry-on, and most importantly, my anti-anxiety medication for when I inevitably begin to panic as soon as the plane door shuts. I was anxious, but also so overwhelmingly excited. I wasn’t going to let my anxiety stand in the way of the trip I’ve been fantasizing about for almost ten years. Not when I was so close. 

Flying wasn’t a new experience to me. There’d been plenty of times when I was a kid that I went on flights with my family, mostly to visit my grandparents in Florida. But this was different. This was around the world. Flying to London also meant going through customs, which was an entirely foreign concept to me. But I was there and I was ready. First things first, I thought to myself as I made my way to my gate after going through TSA, a snack. I bought a latte and a ridiculously overpriced bag of chips and made my way back to my gate to get comfortable. I still had about 30 minutes until my flight was supposed to begin boarding, so I put on my headphones and played some soft music on my phone. Everything was going to be okay, I kept telling myself. It is so incredibly unlikely that my plane is going to crash, I just need to keep myself distracted and everything will be just fine. 

Those 30 minutes went by faster than I expected, and it was time to board. I gathered my things and made my way to the gate. 

“Excuse me! I think you left this behind.” I turned around to the most beautiful face I think I’ve ever seen. Beautiful blue eyes, thin, almond-shaped eyes and a jawline that was so perfectly sculpted. In a hurry to board, I’d left behind my carry-on bag that contained all my essentials. Phone charger, comfort pillow and blanket and anti-anxiety meds. 

“Oh, thank you so much!” And then I thought about it. “How’d you know it was mine?” I asked the handsome stranger. 

“Oh, it just seems to match the rest of your luggage, I guess.” I had a sense that he’d maybe looked my way a couple of times while also waiting to board the plane. Even if I was being totally delusional, it was a nice confidence boost to assume that’s what happened. 

“Right! Well thank you. You boarding this flight too?” 

“Yeah, actually. After you.” He motioned in the direction of the gate attendant waiting patiently for us both to present our boarding pass and board the plane. Without looking behind me, I walked past the gate and down the long hallway to board the plane into business class to find my seat. I splurged a little and went one step past economy class. I had a lot of time to plan and save, you see. As I settled into my seat, I popped an anti-anxiety pill immediately. If I needed to later, I was also going to take a sleeping pill to hopefully make the flight go as fast as possible. As I was taking my pillow and blanket out of my bag to get comfy and settle in for the long plane ride ahead of me, I looked up to see that gorgeous stranger again. 

“Looks like we’ll be getting to know each other a little better.” He smiles as he sits down in the seat right next to mine. He’s so close I can smell his expensive cologne and I wonder how I got so lucky. 

“I’m Mike, by the way.”

[hollowboobtheory]

there's this guy i follow on tiktok who's from brooklyn and he's visiting columbus ohio. and the people of columbus are all swarming his videos and trying to convince him that there's no difference between columbus, ohio and brooklyn, new york. all he did was ask where's a good place to eat

[glass--beach]

playing pikmin bloom on the last tour was so fucking funny. the pikmin always want to go to places you’ve recently visited but we were traveling so much that we’d be in nebraska and they’d be like “i’m going to columbus ohio rq brb 👍”

[starry-hughes]

christmas traditions (kent johnson)

day 9 of star’s ficmas event

kent johnson x caroline hughes (au)

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas played loudly throughout Caroline’s room. Her roommates were gone for winter break and she was packing her suitcase to get ready for Kent to pick her up. Kent had offered to drive to Ann Arbor to pick her up after she had returned from her brothers’ game in Vancouver. 

Caroline and Kent had a Christmas tradition. Between finals and hockey games, the two always had a movie night. Christmas movies and cookies were involved and Caroline looked forward to the event yearly. The Hughes girl threw some more clothes into her suitcase and made sure everything was in her backpack. She sent a text off to her family, telling her parents and brothers that she would be leaving for Columbus any minute now. 

As if on cue, Kent knocked on the door. He had a key but he still knocked. Caroline almost slipped on the floor as she ran to let Kent in. “Hi,” Kent said as his girlfriend shoved herself into his arms. “Missed you too,” he chuckled. “Let me get my shoes and phone and we can go!” 

Kent didn’t mind driving up to Michigan to retrieve his girlfriend. She had her own car but Kent had a day off and thought it would be fun to make the drive up to her, visit their favorite lunch spot before driving back to his apartment in Ohio. “What did you need to pack Caroline? This suitcase is so heavy!” Kent complained as he dragged it down the hall. “I had to bring clothes for my whole break! And for Jersey!” The girl was planning to travel with the Blue Jackets to New Jersey where Kent would give her to her brothers for the holidays. 

After grabbing lunch in town, Kent and Caroline started the drive down to Columbus. “Are we really going to listen to Christmas music for three hours?” Kent groaned. “Yes, yes we are.” 

Kent had decorated the apartment for Christmas before going to get Caroline. He knew it would make her happy to get there to a decorated apartment. His fridge was stocked with store bought cookie dough and cookies to throw into the oven. “Kent! You decorated!” Caroline squealed. “Just for you.” 

The two changed into the matching pajamas that Caroline had bought. While the oven was preheating, the two made out on the couch, soaking up their time together. “What movie are we watching this year?” Kent said as Caroline started making cookies. “I’m thinking Frosty the Snowman and we can decorate cookies while watching Love Actually,” Caroline suggested. It was the same two movies that they watched every year. Kent pressed a kiss to the side of her head, “Sounds perfect to me.”

Kent swiped some cookie frosting onto Caroline’s cheek as they watched Love Actually and smiled at her as he wiped it off. “Aw babe,” Kent joked. After they decorated cookies, Caroline snuggled into Kent’s side on the couch, Caroline mouthed the words as the movie played. Kent could also quote the movie. He never got tired of the same two movies they watched every year. 

“Caroline,” Kent shook her as she had dozed off to sleep toward the end of the movie. She always hit a sugar crash toward the end of the movie, it was like clockwork, part of the tradition. He carried her to his bed, and he was sure she was just pretending to be asleep so she didn’t have to walk to his bedroom. “Kent,” she mumbled as she got comfortable into his sheets and comforter. “Yeah baby?” 

“I love this day every year.”

[bitchinbarzal]

Was Ethan there for Tate’s labour? Or how did he meet Tate?

“Alright boys, let’s play some hockey!” Nolan announces, walking into the locker room.

“Moyle, not that I’m not happy to see you… where’s Nick?” Jack asks and Nolan smirks.

“y/n went into labour about three hours ago so he got a pass for the game to be with her as dumbass Ryan won’t be”

Everyone started hollering and Ethan text you

heard she’s making her world debut! good luck, you’re going to be great

“So let’s win this game for our girl, okay boys?” Nolan urges and they all agree.

The game was won by a mile, the boys all on a high from the win coming back into the locker room was topped off by Summers announcing

“text from blanks! He says she’s here, all went well and we’re all welcome to meet her tomorrow morning during visiting hours” with a smile.

“I wonder what she named her?” Kent asks out loud.

“Tate” Ethan mumbled.

Everyone looks at him “Huh?”

“Um, Tatum she wanted to name her Tatum James” he brushed off, continuing to undo his laces.

“Cute name, I could see them calling that in the draft” Luke jokes “Tatum James to the devils”

“You’re funny hughesy, she’d be going straight to Buffalo that’s where all the elite Michigan alum go” Owen jabs and fist bumps Erik.

“Um… Columbus?” “Nobody wants to go to Ohio by choice Kent”

The next morning Ethan was first up, waiting for everyone else to go to the hospital.

The nurse got a shock at the sheer amount of visitors you had “Someone’s popular”

They were told they had to come in small groups into the room.

“Can- can Ethan come in first actually? Like alone?” You asked, Nick nodded “Yeah whatever you want I’ll go grab him”

Ethan came in smiling “Hey”

“Hey Eddy”

He walked over to the bed and stood next to you, peering down at the little girl in your arms

“She’s beautiful y/n”

“Yeah, she is” You agreed, still staring at her “you wanna hold her?”

He nodded, sitting down on the chair next to your bed and holding his arms out for her. She squirmed a little when moved but slowly fell back asleep and cuddled into his hold.

Ethan gave her a watery smile “Hi Tate… you’re so much cuter than I thought you would be. I’m so glad you look like your mom and not your dad”

You laughed at that

“I have a feeling we’re gonna be best friends T… friends for life. I’m always gonna protect you princess — you and your mom”

You had tears gathering in your eyes — blame the hormones.

“Hear that Tate? Eddy’s gonna be around forever”

He looked at you then

“If you’ll let me”

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Hello!!! Would you please be able to write 141 with a reader from Ohio? Like they ask her where she's from and she tells them Ohio and they're like 👁👄👁

Yeah! I’m from West Virginia, so I wonder what they would think about there too lol

A reader from Ohio in the 141

“Where?”

They have no idea where Ohio is or what Ohio is they are lacking in the geographical information about the American Midwest

If you tell them it’s hell they’ll probably believe you

Price might say it isn't that bad but when he visits you he retracts his statement

They all get pissed about the traffic and about the constant construction

You took them to Columbus and they liked it, especially when you took them to the zoo

They’ve never seen so many corn fields in their life and they never wish to see them again

You also took them to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland one time, they all liked that

If you asked them to stay they’d stay but only because it’s you, otherwise they probably wouldn’t even have considered it

A/N: I realized writing this that I’ve only ever been to Columbus and Akron. Never been to Cleveland before.

[eptodaytommorowforever]

Events In The History And The Life Of Elvis Presley Today On The 25th Of June In 1977.

ELVIS PRESLEY'S SHOW AT THE RIVERFRONT COLISEUM IN CINNCINATTI OHIO.

Elvis Presley performed at Cincinnati’s Riverfront Coliseum ( Now The Bank Arena) for his next to last concert.

Cincinnati fans were among the last to see the Elvis Presley perform. His show at Riverfront Coliseum (now U.S. Bank Arena) on June 25, 1977, was his next to last concert, just seven weeks before he sadly died.

It was Elvis Presley’s fourth visit to the Queen City. He had only made it as close as Dayton and Columbus back in 1956. After a decade as a Hollywood star, he returned to touring in the 1970s and finally came to Cincinnati.

A few days later in Cincinnati, Elvis Presley suddenly checked out of the Hilton Netherland Hotel, complaining of inadequate air conditioning, and set out across downtown streets in his blue Drug Enforcement Agency jogging suit and sunglasses, trailed by his security.

All that was forgotten as soon as Elvis Presley stepped on stage to the theme from “2001: A Space Odyssey.” The crowd screamed. Instamatics flashed like strobe lights as he posed in his Mexican Aztec Sundial jumpsuit for each corner of the arena.

“No performer, 20 years after attaining stardom, receives the response Elvis Presley does,” The Enquirer’s Cliff Radel wrote in 1976. “If audience adulation was the determining factor, his title to the best entertainer showman there is. and ever will be can never be equalled there is only one Elvis Presley head and shoulders above the rest of them Elvis Presley is in a league of is own. Rare Live in Action! Elvis Presley Candid Photo's Taken Here At This Show Venue by Fans And Audience Members.

[aintashes]

— get to know astraea !

what's your phone wallpaper: my lock screen is a compilation of affirmations that i made, and my actual wallpaper is my husband's sweet face ♡

last song you listened to: i'm literally so taken with wonder eye by little moon right now, it's absolutely criminal that emma doesn't have more listeners because this song fucks so hard

currently reading: does it count if i say my mutuals writing on the dash ??... i need to pick up another book LOL

last movie: idk if it counts but i had one of my absolute favs, iron giant, playing in the bg recently :')

what are you wearing right now?: the sexiest comfy t-shirt-and-shorts pajamas combo you've ever seen

how tall are you?: 5'4" !

piercings / tattoos?: yes, and i'm currently planning more ! right now i have 4 tattoos and a nose ring.

glasses / contacts: yep, and while i do love my giant orange 70s specs, i wish i didn't need them LOL

last thing you ate?: a sandwich !

favorite color: i love so many colors... purple is always my go-to answer, but pink and yellow are close seconds !

current obsession: you can always assume that i'm currently obsessed with daryl LOL but other than him ?? i've been listening to a couple of new albums and eps lately and they're all so good i can't stop listening. if anyone's interested, here's one, and another, and another.

do you have a crush right now?: my husband is my forever crush, he still gives me butterflies ♡

favorite fictional character: oh lordy... how many times can i say daryl's name before i pass out ?

last place you travelled: i went out to columbus, ohio to visit friends for a few days ! it's so cute out there. cool little college city with lots of interesting spots.

tagged by: @innerwar tagging: my newer mutuals ! tag me so i can learn more about you !

[benandstevesposts]

A Black Man Was Holding A Sandwich and Keys When An Ohio Deputy Shot Him Repeatedly, Killing Him!

The gun the deputy said Casey Goodson Jr. was waving when he was shot in the back multiple times was found in the man's kitchen with the safety on.

COLUMBUS, Ohio — Prosecutors say a gun that a former Ohio sheriff’s deputy said a man was waving at him when he fatally shot him in the back in 2020 was found in the man’s kitchen with the safety on.

In his opening statement Wednesday in the murder case against Jason Meade, special prosecutor Gary Shroyer shared publicly for the first time where 23-year-old Casey Goodson Jr.’s handgun was discovered. Goodson, who fell when he was shot six times with five shots hitting in the back, also had a gun holster with no strap around his waist.

Meade, who is white, has pleaded not guilty to murder and reckless homicide in the death of Goodson, who was Black. The sheriff’s deputy shot Goodson as he entered his grandmother’s house, police have said.

Former Ohio deputy charged in murder of Casey Goodson Jr.

DEC. 2, 202102:02

The jury hearing the case was seated Tuesday, and testimony was expected to start Thursday. Jurors made a brief visit Wednesday afternoon to the scene of shooting.

Shroyer emphasized numerous times on Wednesday that Goodson was holding a bag of sandwiches in one hand and his keys in the other at the time he was shot. He also had his Airpods in his ears, Shroyer said. Neither he nor Goodson’s family have ever disputed that Goodson could have been carrying a gun, but note that he also had a license to carry a firearm.

Based on Meade’s aiming at “vital organs” and shooting of an assault style rifle, Shroyer said Meade’s actions meet the criteria for knowingly and intentionally causing Goodson’s death.

“Casey did not pose a reasonable threat to him or anybody else when he pulled the trigger,” Shroyer said.

Meade’s defense team maintained Wednesday that Goodson waved and pointed a firearm at Meade from his vehicle as Meade drove by and that Meade pursued Goodson to his grandmother’s home. Meade previously said that Goodson turned to lift his gun before entering the house and aimed it at the deputy, prompting Meade to fire.

“Casey did not pose a reasonable threat to him or anybody else at the moment when he pulled the trigger,” Shroyer said.

Meade’s defense team maintained Wednesday that Goodson waved and pointed a firearm at Meade from his vehicle as Meade drove by and that Meade pursued Goodson to his grandmother’s home. Meade previously said that Goodson turned to lift his gun before entering the house and aimed it at the deputy, prompting Meade to fire.

[galaxywarp]

I’m in Columbus a lot to visit my best friend and Cincinnati to see my sister I am truly all over Ohio