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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 4: Read Between The Lines]

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 here unfortunately.

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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It is your first week of basic training at Great Lakes on the north side of Chicago, and as you lie in the top bunk of your assigned bed you wonder what the hell you’ve done. You enlisted right out of high school, eighteen, no driver’s license, no work history, never been more than fifty miles outside of Soft Shell, Kentucky. The drill sergeants are always yelling and you’re bad at push-ups; you can’t understand the recruits from big cities like Los Angeles, Miami, Las Vegas, Detroit, Houston, and they don’t seem to get you either, and aren’t interested enough to try. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t signed that five-year contract, but where would you be if you weren’t here? Home is not words but textures, colors, fumes that still burn in your sinuses: cigarette ash on rose pink carpets, red embers glowing in the wood stove, Hamburger Helper and Mountain Dew, coffee creamer in Hungry Jack potatoes, laughter and heavy footsteps and slamming doors, scratch-off games, dogs barking, collecting coins from couch cushions for gas money, scrubbing clothes in the bathtub when the washer quits, Mama taking gulps from her favorite cup—plastic, Virginia Beach, filled with equal parts Hawaiian Punch and vodka—when she thinks no one is looking, blue shows flickering on the television, Family Feud, Maury, Good Morning America, WWE SmackDown. For as long as you can remember you’ve known you couldn’t stay. Now you’re getting out, but nothing in life is free.

You are at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, and even though it’s hotter than some noxious, volcanic hellscape—Mercury, Venus, Io—you are beginning to like it. You taste the salt of sweat when you lick your lips, sugar in the sweet tea they serve in the chow hall. There’s a magic in building something where there was only empty space before, in patching roofs and painting walls. Here being quiet and watchful is exactly what they want from you: head down, hammer striking nails, measurements and angles and long hours under the sun with no complaints. You’re not just running away anymore. You are creating something new.

You are sitting beneath swaying palm trees and a full moon on Diego Garcia, draining cans of Guinness with Rio, and he’s telling you things he shouldn’t, too personal, too honest: Sophie wants to try for a baby next time he’s home on leave, and part of him wants that too but he’s terrified. As thunder rumbles in the distance and raindrops begin to patter on the waves of the Indian Ocean, you tell Rio you think he’d be a good father. He wonders how you figure that, and you say because he’s not like any of the men from home. He gives you one of his crooked smiles—a flash of teeth, knowing dark eyes—and doesn’t ask what you mean.

But of course, when you swim up from the inky currents of sleep you are in none of these places. You are curled up on the floor of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio, cheap worn black carpet peppered with stars and swirls in neon green, pink, blue. You stretch out with a yawn. Someone has left a Lemon Tea Snapple within reach; you twist it open and guzzle it, hoping to extinguish the pounding in your skull, a rhythmic thudding of warm maroon, half Captain Morgan and half misery. The music isn’t helping. From the green Toshiba CD player, a man is singing in Spanish. Aegon and Rio are sitting at the nearest table and playing Uno.

Aegon says as he ponders his cards: “You know Enrique Iglesias, right Rio?”

“You are so racist.” Rio puts down a wild. “And the new color is red. Racist.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“Aegon, buddy, I told you, I was born here. My grandparents came over in the 60s. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You can’t understand any of it?” Aegon is skeptical. He plays a skip, a reverse, and a seven. “My dad never taught me a word of Greek but I can recognize plenty of phrases. Vlákas means idiot. Spatáli chórou is a waste of space.”

Rio sighs, relenting. He puts down a two. “The song is called Súbeme La Radio, Turn Up The Radio For Me. Bring me the alcohol that numbs the pain… I don’t care about anything anymore…You’ve left me in the shadows…”

“Damn, now I’m sad. Draw four, bitch.”

“When the night comes and you don’t answer, I swear to you I’ll stay waiting at your door…” Rio studies his cards. “What’s the new color?”

“Green.”

“Yes!” Rio slams down a skip. “Fleeing from the past in every dawn, I can’t find any way to erase our history…”

Everyone else is awake already. As muted late-morning daylight streams in through the small tinted windows, Aemond is weaving between tables, pointedly checking on each person. He glances at you, says nothing, turns around and walks the other way.

“That’s tough,” Rio says sympathetically, popping open the tab on a can of Chef Boyardee and shoveling ravioli into his mouth with a plastic fork.

Aegon gives you a smirk. “You want to fake date now?”

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

Helaena appears, a prairie girl vision in a modest blue sundress and with her hair tied back with a matching scarf. She reaches into her burlap messenger bag and offers you a choice between a ranch-flavored tuna pouch or a silvery pack of Pop-Tarts. “Strawberry,” she tells you.

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

Helaena gives them to you and then shakes a bottle of Advil. You’re so groggy it takes you a few seconds to figure out what she wants, then you obediently hold out a hand. Helaena lays two tablets in the center of your palm and moves on, soundlessly like a rabbit or a spider.

You wash the pills down with Snapple. As you nibble half-heartedly on a Pop-Tart—trying not to look at Aemond, multicolored sprinkles falling down onto the carpet—your eyes drift to the tattoo on the underside of Aegon’s forearm. It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You’ve spotted it before. Only now do you remember where you recognize the lyric from. “Is that Green Day?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says, enthused that you noticed. “Letterbomb.”

“I love that whole album.”

“Me too. I could sing it front to back if you asked me to.”

“I’m not asking.”

Aegon cackles and resumes his Uno game with Rio. Baela is wearing denim shorts and a crop top, slathering her belly with Palmer’s cocoa butter from Walmart as she chats with Rhaena and eats Teddy Grahams. Daeron is waxing the string of his compound bow. Jace is gnawing on a Twizzler as he scrutinizes Aegon’s map, annotated with Xs and circles and arrows in sparkling gel pen green.

“I’m going to be a thousand years old by the time we get there,” Jace mutters.

Aegon hits the table with his fist. The discard pile collapses and cascades, an avalanche of Uno cards. Rio, undisturbed, continues contemplating his next move. “You know what, Jace? The cities are full of zombies, the interstates are blocked by fifty-car pileups, if we bump into anyone else who’s still alive they’re just as likely to rob and murder us as want to be friends, and on top of all that I’m trying to do you the favor of preventing you from getting so irradiated you turn into Spider-Man. If you have a better route in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Spider-Man…? You’re such a dumbass, what are you talking about?!”

Luke says from where he stands by a window: “Aemond, someone’s outside.”

“What?” Aemond stares at him. “Zombies?”

“No. People.”

Aemond bolts to the doors, the rest of you close behind him. Rhaena turns off the CD player. You, Rio, and Aegon squeeze together to peer out of one of the windows. There are men—three of them, no, four, all appearing to be in their forties—passing by on the main road through town. They are armed with what are either AR-15s or M16s, you can’t tell which.

Rio whistles. “If you get shot by one of those, the exit wound will be the size of an orange.” Everyone looks at him. This was not an encouraging thing to say.

You elaborate: “Thirty-round magazines. Semiautomatic, assuming they’re AR-15s for civilian use. I guess they could have gotten ahold of M16s somehow. Those have a fully automatic setting.”

“So regardless, we’re out-gunned,” Jace says.

“If they know how to use them. Some men think guns are wall decorations, like deer heads or fish.”

Aegon recoils. “Fish?! What the fuck. I’m glad the colonies left.”

“Maybe they’ll keep walking,” Daeron says hopefully. One of the men stops and points at the bowling alley, saying something to his companions. They laugh and begin crossing the small parking lot. They are less than two minutes from the door. “Oh, great…”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back,” Baela says.

Aegon snorts. “Yeah, that we stacked about twenty boxes of bowling pins in front of to zombie-proof.”

“We won’t be able to get out before they hear us,” Aemond says. Then he abruptly orders: “Grab your guns, let’s go. Helaena, Baela, Rhaena, you’re staying here.” Aemond’s remaining eye—briefly, reluctantly—skates over you as Rio, Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Daeron scatter to obey him. “You too.”

“But I’m the best shot.”

“I don’t want them to know we have women with us.”

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

Aemond rips his Glock out of its holster, pointing it at the floor. His frustration is palpable, an electric shock, heat that refracts light rays until they become mirages on the horizon. “You’re going to stay here, and if a stranger comes through those doors you’re going to kill them. Okay?”

His urgency stuns you; his eye is blue-white summer storm lightning. “Okay.”

“Now get back.”

You soar to the nearest table, duck under it, reach for your Beretta M9 and double-check the clip, fully loaded. You click off the safety.

“Aemond, wait, let me go first,” Aegon is saying by the door. “I’m better at de-escalation, I’m less…uh…intimidating.”

“Less socially incompetent, you mean,” Jace quips.

“I’ll lead,” Aemond insists. “Aegon can talk. Rio, you’re up front with me.”

Rio pumps his Remington 12 gauge. “I’d be delighted.”

Jace is amused. “I’ve been demoted, huh?”

“He’s bigger,” Aemond replies simply, then opens the door and vanishes through a blinding curtain of daylight. The others follow closely; Daeron, the last one out—his compound bow in hand, the strap of his Marlin .22 slung over his shoulder—shuts the door behind him.

Very faintly, you can hear Aegon: “Hey, guys! What’s happening? How’s the apocalypse treating you…?”

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are under the table with you. They deserve to have options. You tell them: “If you want to go hide behind the lanes or try to get out the back door, now’s your chance.”

Helaena shakes her head, clutching your t-shirt: black, Star Wars, pawed off a shelf at the Walmart. “I want to stay with you.”

“Same,” Baela says determinedly, gripping her Ruger. She barely knows how to use it, but she’ll try. Rhaena is shaking, her eyes filling up her face, small fragile bones like a bird’s.

You can’t hear voices from outside anymore, but there are no gunshots either. You keep your M9 aimed at the doors, your breathing slow and deep, your heart rate low. Your hands are steady. Your eyes hunt for the slightest movement, for the momentary shadow of someone passing by a window. Against your will, your thoughts wander to Aemond. I hope Aegon is on his left side. Aemond can’t see there.

“Rhaena, get your gun out,” Baela says sharply. “Come on. Turn the safety off. What if you were alone right now? What if we weren’t here to protect you?”

Rhaena nods, fumbling to free her revolver from its holster. “I’m sorry…I’m trying…”

Now there is a stranger’s voice, gruff and deep. He must be just beyond the door, the farthest one to the right. There is a creak of hinges, a sliver of sunlight. “That’s just too damn bad, fellas. You got a nice little hideout here, and you’re gonna have to share it—”

The door opens. Two unfamiliar faces, too shellshocked to raise their rifles in time. You close an eye, line up your sights, fire twice, and that’s all it takes: one headshot, one in the throat, blood like a fountain, spurting scarlet ruin, thuds against the carpet strewn with neon stars, gurgling and spasms as their brains send out those final electrical impulses: danger, catastrophe, apocalypse. Rhaena is screaming. Helaena is covering her ears with both hands.

You run to the doorway; there are more booms of gunfire out in the parking lot. You cross into the late-morning light to see the other two men on the pavement: one with an arrow through the eye, the other with a gaping, hemorrhaging hole where his heart once was. Rio is admiring his work, holding his shotgun aloft. He scoops a handful of Cheddar Whales out of his shorts pocket and shovels them into his mouth.

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

“Oh, that was awesome,” Aegon says, wan and panting, hands on his waist. “Yeah, that was…that was…” He bends over and vomits Snapple and Cool Ranch Doritos onto the asphalt.

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

“Yeah.” Behind you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are stepping through the doorway. Your thoughts are whirling sickly: I killed someone. I killed someone. “They wouldn’t leave?”

“We told them the bowling alley was ours,” Aemond says, not looking at you. “We asked them very politely to keep moving. They chose to try to intimidate us into letting them stay. They weren’t good people, and these are the consequences.”

You click on the safety and re-holster your M9. You’re wearing Rio’s on your other hip. They seem to weigh so much more than they did ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be a killer. I’m a builder.

“Aegon, are you okay?” Daeron asks, a palm on his brother’s back.

Aegon retches again. “Shut up. You can’t even buy fireworks.”

“Zombies.” Luke is peering through his binoculars. “Not many, just two. Way up the road.”

“There will be more.” Baela’s cradling her belly; you don’t even think she’s aware of it. “They heard the gunshots, the sound carries for miles.”

“We’re leaving,” Aemond says. “Right now. Everyone get your things.”

As backpacks are hastily zipped and Daeron and Aegon stand guard in the parking lot, you kneel down beside the men you murdered and check their rifles. They are M16s, either stolen or illegally purchased: there’s a little switch by the trigger to choose between semi-automatic or the so-called machine gun mode.

“They barely had any bullets left,” you tell Rio. Just like us when we were trapped on that transmission tower.

“Yeah, same story for the other two guys. Four bullets in one magazine, a half dozen in the other. But it only takes once. We don’t have any ammo that will work with M16s, do we?”

“No, we definitely don’t.”

“Fantastic. Well, we’ll throw them in a Walmart cart and take them with us just in case.”

You’re staring down at the man you shot through the head. His eternal resting place is a puddle of blood and brains in a bowling alley in rural Ohio; surely no one deserves that. “He was a real person,” you say, dazed. “Not a zombie. Just a person.”

“Hey.” Rio grabs your shoulders and spins you towards him. From where he is helping Luke gather up the remaining food, Aemond’s head snaps up to watch. “You hurt him before he could hurt us. You did the right thing.”

“Sure.”

“I killed a dude too. I blew his heart right out of his chest. You think I’m going to hell for that?”

“No,” you admit, smiling. “And if you’d be there with me, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Rio grins, wide and toothy. “Well alright then. Let’s finish packing.”

The ten of you depart from Shenandoah, Ohio heading northwest on Route 603 just like Aegon marked on his map, Jace chauffeuring Baela in one shopping cart, Rio pushing another loaded high with food and M16s.

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

Everyone else peers up into a clear, cerulean sky, wondering what she means.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re a few miles north of Shiloh when the storm rolls in, cold rain and furious wind, daylight that vanishes behind dark churning thunderheads, jagged scars of lightning in an opaque sky. The road is only two lanes, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and ravaged crops and untilled earth; it would look like the patchwork of a quilt if you were gazing down from an airplane, but of course the FAA grounded all flights over a month ago when the world went mad: Revelations, Ragnarök, the fabric of the universe unweaving as death burned through families, cities, nations like a fever, like plague.

“Maybe we should cut across one of these fields,” Jace says, pointing. He is soaked with rain; it drips from his curls, runs into his eyes. Baela is in her cart again; each time she tries to get out and walk, she’s gasping and can’t keep up within half an hour. You’ve all taken turns pushing her, much to Baela’s dismay. She’d be humiliated if she wasn’t too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

“Here, let me do it,” you offer, and Jace gratefully relinquishes the cart. Baela gives you a frail wave of appreciation.

“We stay on the road,” Aemond insists, flinching as rain pelts his scarred face. “Farmhouses have driveways and mailboxes, we’ll pass one eventually. If we lose the road, we might not be able to find it again. We’ll end up wandering around in circles in the woods.”

“Just like the Blair Witch Project,” Aegon says glumly, his Sperry Bahama sneakers audibly soggy.

“There!” Luke announces, spotting something with his binoculars. “Up ahead on the left. Past the bridge.”

You can’t see what Luke does until there is an especially brilliant flash of lightning: a farmhouse, old but seemingly not derelict, and with a number of accompanying buildings, guest houses and stables and barns and towering silos.

“Home sweet home!” Rio says. “And I don’t care if I have to kill a hundred of those undead bastards to get in, it’s mine.”

“Well, hopefully not a hundred,” you reply, in better spirits now that a sanctuary has been found. Aemond keeps glancing back at you as you push Baela’s cart. If he wants to say something, he’s doing a good job of resisting the temptation. “We don’t have that much ammo.”

There is a concrete bridge over a river, probably unremarkable and only five or ten feet deep normally but now torrential with rain. Water rushes by beneath, a muddy incline on each side as the earth rises back up to meet the road. A reflective green sign proclaims that you are only two miles from Plymouth, which Aegon plans to skirt along the edges of. It’s a decent-sized town; he thinks you might be able to find a car to steal there, something with gas in the tank and keys on a hook just inside the house.

“I call the master bedroom,” Jace says craftily, rubbing his palms together. You’re near the center of the bridge now, another ten yards to go. “Nice big bed, warm cozy blankets, and I was up for half of last night keeping watch so tonight I am off duty, I am a free man, it’s going to just be me and my girl and eight glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep—”

Rhaena shrieks, and then you hear it over the noise of the storm, pounding rain and rumbling thunder: moans, growls, hisses like snakes. Not one zombie. A lot more than one. They’re crawling up from under the bridge, from the filthy quagmire at both ends. There was a hoard of them waiting, aimless, dormant, almost hibernating. But now they are awake. They are grasping for you with bony, dirt-covered claws. They are snapping with jaws that leak blood and pus and bile as their organs curdle to a putrid soup.

“Get off the bridge!” Aemond is shouting. He has his Glock in his right hand, a baseball bat in his left. He’ll shoot until he’s out of bullets, and then, and then…

Rio helps you get Baela out of the cart, then opens fire. His Remington doesn’t just pierce skulls, it vaporizes them. When he’s out of shells—there are more in his backpack, but no time to reload—he yanks the M16s out of the other Walmart cart and empties each of them, mowing down zombies as the rest of you scramble across the bridge. All around you are explosions of gunshots, thunder, lightning, zombie skulls crushed by bullets and blunt force trauma. Baela is firing her Ruger as you half-drag her, one arm hooked beneath hers and around her back. When the last M16 is empty, Rio starts clubbing zombies with the butt of it. You’ve all reached the north side of the bridge, except…

“Fuck off, you freaks!” Jace is screaming. They’ve backed him up against the guardrail, a swarm of ten or more. His Remington shotgun is out of ammo; he’s swinging it wildly, but he doesn’t even have enough room to maneuver. There are still more zombies emerging from under the bridge. You can hear them snarling and groaning. You swipe an M9 off your belt and put a bullet in the brain of a zombie as its fingers close around your ankle, then you start picking off the ones mobbing Jace. You aren’t fast enough. As they lean in to bite him, teeth gnashing at the delicious throbbing heat of his jugular, Jace throws himself over the barrier and into the surging water below.

“No!” Baela cries. She careens off the road and into the field, running parallel to the river as swiftly as she can. You are helping her, steadying her, firing at any zombies you have a clear line of sight on. The others are here too: slipping in the muck of the flooding earth, shouting for Jace. He surfaces through the frothing current, flails pitifully, disappears beneath the water again. You glimpse a white hand, a shadow of his dark hair, a kicking shoe. There are more zombies on the opposite side of the river, trailing after Jace, lurching and slobbering viscous, gory saliva. They cannot swim, but they can follow him until he washes ashore.

Jace bursts up through the waves, gasping. “Help! Aemond…Aemond, for the love of God, help me…” He blubbers and then is dragged under. Aemond and Luke are continuing frantically after him. Baela is hysterical, sobbing, trembling with adrenaline. Aegon is yowling as he swings at zombies with his bloodied golf club. Helaena is darting around almost invisibly, always cowering behind Daeron or Aegon or Rio.

You glance north towards the farmhouse, growing not closer but farther away. We can’t leave shelter. We can’t leave the road. You lock eyes with Rio. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Aemond, we have to go,” Rio says, but in the midst of the rain and the turmoil it barely registers.

“Jace, we’re coming to get you!” Aemond swears. The ground is increasingly sodden, deep, difficult to trudge through. Jace resurfaces, coughing and sputtering.

“Jace!” Aegon wails. He caves in the skull of a zombie who was once a registered nurse as Helaena crouches behind him. “Jace, I’m sorry! I’m gonna miss you, man!”

Jace splashes in the rising river, his arms flailing helplessly. He is being swept away far faster than any of you can move on foot. “Aegon, you dumb bitch!” Jace manages, then slips beneath the water and doesn’t reappear.

“Where is he?!” Baela is saying. “Aemond, where…?”

You are trying to soothe her, to bring her back to reality. She was always so pragmatic before; you have to wake her up. “Baela, listen, we can’t stay here, he would want you and the baby to be safe—”

“Aemond! Aemond, we have to go!” Rio catches him, wrenches him around, roars into his face as driving rain pummels them both: “We have to go, or we’re going to die here too!”

It hits Aemond all at once; he understands, horror and agony in his sole blue eye. “We have to go,” he agrees. And then louder, to everyone: “Get to the farmhouse!”

Baela collapses into the mud, howling, tears flooding down her face. “No, he’s still alive, he’s still alive, we can’t leave him!”

You and Rhaena are trying to haul Baela to her feet. Now Aemond is here, pulling you away from her—his fingers tight and urgent around your wrist—as he and Luke take your place. “Go,” he commands. “You run. Don’t wait for us. Rio?”

“I got her,” Rio replies, grabbing your free hand with an iron grip. Gales of wind rip at you; every millimeter of your skin is soaked with rain. As you flee across the fields towards the farmhouse, dozens of zombies pursue you. More are still staggering along the banks of the river, swept up in the hoards chasing Jace and the promise of his waterlogged corpse when it reaches its final destination. Daeron has run out of arrows and is shooting with his .22, which is very much not his preference. Aegon trips, getting covered in mud as he rolls, and Rio stops to help him. While he is distracted, you look back at Aemond. He, Luke, and Baela are moving quickly, but not quickly enough. A drove of zombies is closing in on them. You have a spare few seconds at last. You yank your backpack off, grab a box of ammo inside, and reload your M9.

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

He knows you well enough to listen. The world goes quiet as your finger settles on the trigger. There’s a rhythm one slips into, an impassionate lethal efficiency. It’s easier to keep going than to stop and have to find it again. You fire over and over, dropping eight zombies. You sheath your M9 and whip Rio’s out of your other holster, the sights finding grotesque decaying faces illuminated by lightning. You pull the trigger: blood, bones, brains, corpses jerking and convulsing as they fall harmlessly to the mud. Aemond is here; when did he get here?

“I told you to run!” he’s shouting through the storm, furious. He’s shoving you towards the farmhouse. You resist him.

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

“Go! Now!” Aemond orders over the clashing thunder, and then sprints with you all the way to the front porch to make sure you listen. Everyone else is already there. Helaena has fetched a spare key from under the doormat and is turning it in the lock.

Daeron observes her anxiously. “We don’t know if it’s safe in there, Helaena.”

“Not in,” she says, insistent. “Through.” Through this building, and maybe through the next one too. The average zombie is not terribly clever. If they lose sight of you, without the benefit of the momentum of a hoard they are lost. Helaena opens the door. The living rush inside, and she locks it behind you. As you are bursting out the back door, you can hear zombies pounding their rotting palms against the front one. You soar through a stable full of dead horses and donkeys, leaving the doors open; this should keep the zombies distracted if they make it this far. Then you race to the farthest guest house. Luke, swiveling with his binoculars, spies no zombies approaching as you steal inside. There is no spare key this time; Rio punches out a first-floor window for you to climb through. Once everyone is inside, he and Aegon move a bookshelf to cover the opening.

You all stand in the living room, gasping and shivering, dripping rain down onto the rug and the hardwood floor. The air is dusty but clean of any trace of vile, swampy decay. Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the lightless house. The sky is so dark it might as well be nightfall. Baela sinks to her knees, clamping both hands over her mouth so she won’t sob loudly enough for a zombie to hear. Rhaena and Luke are beside her, both weeping quiet rivulets of tears, trying to comfort her in whispers. Helaena is rummaging around searching for candles; she has already taken a lighter out of her soaked burlap messenger bag.

“Daeron, bro, come over here,” Aegon chokes out. He embraces Daeron, clutches him tightly and desperately, doesn’t let go. Rio is reloading his Remington 12 gauge.

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

Aemond says to you, his voice low but seething: “What the fuck was that?”

You blink the raindrops out of your eyes as you stare at him, bewildered. “You needed help.”

“I told you to run.”

“I’m an asset, I have skills that can keep you alive, why am I here if I’m not going to be useful—?”

“You’re not in the fucking Navy anymore!” he hisses. “When I tell you to run, you run, you don’t stop, you don’t look back, because I can’t worry about you and take care of everyone else.”

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Aemond,” Aegon pleads, waving him over. Aegon’s plump sunburned cheeks are glistening with rain and tears. “Man, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now. Please come here.”

“I’m going to clear the house,” Aemond says instead.

Rio raises an eyebrow at you—this is one fucked up guy, Chips—and then pumps his shotgun. “Me too.” He sweeps with Aemond through the main floor and then vanishes up the staircase.

Helaena is lightning candles she found in the kitchen and arranging them around the living room. Daeron starts gathering food from the pantry. Rhaena and Baela are murmuring to each other softly, mournfully. It doesn’t feel like something you should intrude on. Luke is peeking out of a window with his binoculars, vigilant for threats. Aegon sniffles, wanders over to you with large, sad, shimmering eyes, pats your shoulder awkwardly.

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Me either.” Then he flops down on the hideous burnt orange couch and lies there motionless until Daeron brings him a can of Dr. Pepper. Aegon pops the tab, slurps up foam, and then begins singing to himself very quietly, a song so old you can remember your grandfather saying it was one of his favorites as a boy: A Tombstone Every Mile.

When Rio comes back downstairs—heavy footsteps, he can’t help that—you meet him at the bottom of the steps. “The house is good,” Rio says. “And Aemond’s in the big bedroom on the right if you’d like to go up there and talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“I could not disagree more,” Rio says with a miserable, exhausted smile. Then he goes to the couch to check on Aegon.

You pick up one of the flickering candles, white and scentless, and ascend the staircase. You find Aemond in the master bedroom, the same accommodations that Jace laid claim to when he was still alive. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, at nothing. Tentatively, you sit down beside him, placing the candle on the nightstand.

“Aemond…what happened to Jace…it wasn’t your fault.”

“Criston said I was in charge, that’s the very last thing he told me. They might be the last words I ever hear from him, and I just…” His voice breaks; he wipes the rain and tears from his face with open palms. “I really wanted to get everyone home.”

“I’m so sorry about what I said at the bowling alley,” you confess, like it’s a dire secret. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aemond, I…I want to help you. I can see what you’ve done for everyone here, me and Rio included, and I believe in you. I want to be a part of this.”

He nods, an acceptance of peace, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can we start over? I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I wasn’t trying to guilt you or upset you or anything. I should have just dropped it. I overreacted. And I understand why being with someone like me maybe wouldn’t be…super appealing.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Aemond wrings his hands, shakes his head, at last turns to you, golden candlelight reflected in his eye, his scar cloaked in shadows. His words are hushed, clandestine, soft powerless surrender. “I’m already so afraid of losing you.”

He cares, he hopes, he wants me too? “I’m here right now, Aemond. I don’t know what else I can say. I’d promise you more if I could.”

He reaches out to touch you, to ghost his thumb across your cheekbone, wet with rain. Then he kisses you, so gently you cannot help but imagine the wispy borders of calm white summer clouds, the rustle of leaves as wind blows down the Appalachian Mountains. You don’t have to ask him what he’s thinking, what it feels like. You can read it in the startled, firelit wonder on his face.

You taste like the beginning of something, here at the end of the world.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n

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simmerianne93 · 4 months ago

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🌞Endless Summer🌞[Simmerianne93]Children_poses_02

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Hello everyone! How are you today?

It's July 7th and as such, it is my turn to show you my part in the 🌞 Endless Summer Collab 🌞!!

This is the second year I've done a collab for summer. Last year I did a similar collab but a little smaller with 3 incredible simmers in a pool day (you can check that collab right here), but this year I wanted to go one step further and do not do a pool day, but A SUMMER WEEK!... 🌞 Endless summer 🌞 is the result of that tought and I can't thank enough to my 6 talented mates who decided to accept and join.

It has been an incredible week with unmatched talent and I'm not sure if I'm filling the shoe to end this collab on a high but here you have my part!!

When I thought about this pack, I couldn't help but remember those moments when my father, when I was a little girl, taught me to swim. I was 5 years old and I was on vacation in Miami, the only time I was able to travel outside my country... and how much fun I had!!

Certainly, since I was just a little girl, my memories are vague, but the mere fact of remembering it fills my soul.

I wanted to recreate that feeling in these little poses that I bring for all of you. And yes, I was 5 years old, I was just a "toddler" but I decided to use the age of "child" to recreate that moment because I think it can help in storymaking, so that your "children" don't just enter the large pool and magically know how to swim.

I really hope you like this little but funny and cute posepack!!

----

But before going to the descriptions of the pack, I leave you the social info of all my collab friends and a link to their work for this collab (click on the name):

---- And this is the end of the collab... or it isn't??? Maybe we have another surprise for you tomorrow!!! .... So stay tune for one last surprise in this

🌞 Endless summer 🌞!!

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Now, about the pack:

---

What is on it?

12 dúo poses for an adult sim and a kid sim in a pool + 4 all in one.

--- What do you need?

Andrew poses player.

Teleport any sim by Scumbumbo.

Instructions in the original post.

——

TOU

Do not claim my creations as your own.

Do not re-upload or modify my creations.

Do not make money of my creations.

Do not include my creations in Mods folders to download.

Please follow my Term Of Use.

——

Download it now here:

PATREON — [FREE FOR EVERYONE] Alt download: SFS | MEDIAFIRE

——————

If you want to support me: Patreon | Ko-fi

All my poses overview: Pinterest | Wix | Tumblr

More in-game preview pics of all my poses: Instagram

My socials: Twitter | BlueSky | Instagram | Tumblr

Lives and videos: Youtube

——————

I really hope you like them and I will say in advance: Thank you so much for using them.

@ts4-poses

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cheriladycl01 · 7 months ago

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Miami Waves - Logan Sargeant x NewZealandOlympicSurfing! Reader

Plot: Miami boy wants to see if his Olympic surfing girl can keep up with the Floridian waves and you end up getting to know his colleagues more in the process

“Thank you for coming and being here with me” he smiles, his parents had been wanting to meet you for a while. You’d started dating when he first got into F2 and was put under the Williams Young Driver Programme.

“You knew I wouldn’t say no. I’ve been wanting to meet them just as much!” You exclaim. You were a little nervous to meet them, as in your mind Logan was it for you, this was the boy you wanted to marry and have a family with. And even if he didn’t feel the same way right now, that was okay. Not that you knew if he did as you’d never discussed your guys future.

But if you had, he would have told you he felt the exact same way.

Meeting his parents was so much fun, and you got to meet his older brother who teased the both of you relentlessly.

You were used to surfing in Australia and New Zealand. They were the closest to you, and there wasn’t quite any waves like their were on the Australian Coastline. That’s actually where you’d won, one of your first ever championships in surfing. Two years later and you were a Silver Medalists.

“Well my family love you. I’m pretty sure they wanted you to move in” he laughs, Logan lived at home all through his career in F2 and he still visited often as he always said how he felt like an outcast on the F1 grid.

Alex helped but he’d drifted apart from Oscar and had to watch him form a really strong bond with Lando.

He still talked to his friends from his days in Prema as well but everything but you felt so disconnected lately.

So spending those two weeks with his family and you in Miami in the beach villa you'd all rented was vital for the both of you. You felt like you'd been so busy running around, travelling the world with Logan all the time, surfboard rentals at every new place you went so you could train and sometimes travelling for your own championships.

You spent the two weeks doing the most mundane stuff, like cooking together with Logan, building sandcastles, teaching him how to paddle board before showing him the intricacies that came with surfing, which you thought considering his concentration and hand-eye coordination in an F1 car he'd be good at but he couldn't stay on the board once.

Your favourite thing was his family getting really excited to show your their favourite local restaurants in Florida.

You were currently sat on your surfboard with your legs in the water and hands on the middle part of it, watching everything in the neck high water below you.

The water's were crystal clear and you could see the little fishes swimming around playing through the sand. You were swaying a little bit where the quieter, unrideable waves were lapping over your board and sending you in random directions.

You were peacefully watching everything go by, until that peace was ruined by Logan, coming running into the water in his basketball shorts making you look over to him in shock.

"Logan?" you asked as he swam up to hold into your board, you scooted back so that he could haul himself up and sit opposite you on the board.

"Erm, so ... kind of last minute but you about to meet Oscar, Arthur and Freddie" Logan said, trying to give you his cute teddy bear smile, but all that was running through your body was shock.

It was a bit strange but you hadn't actually met his friends, you were very very busy with training for the next Olympics and another set of Championships in New Zealand when Logan was in F2, so you didn't see him in the paddock as much as you do now, and if you did you were nervous and kept to yourself.

"No, stop. I'm basically naked!" you exclaim looking down at your cleavage that wasn't well covered up by your bikini.

"Come on, lets go meet them. And get you a cover-up because I don't trust them" he laughs, placing a hand and the side of your neck before pulling you into a passionate kiss. You guys moved closer to each other to the point where you were basically sat on his lap. A wave a little to large came and toppled you both off the board making you both come up sputtering in shock.

You swim to where the water is knee deep and see three boys watching you.

"Oh" you mutter, knowing exactly who they were.

"Baby, these are my friends" he offers, grabbing your coverup and handing it to you so you could chuck it on.

"Yeah i gathered" you chuckle.

You spent the day with the boys, Oscar was the only one that could surf and you found yourself getting on with all of them, Oscar the most who became like a sort of Oceanic brother to you, being from Australia.

Arthur and Freddie were a whole other story, constantly flirting with you to try and get a rise out of Logan which you couldn't help but giggle at but always grab his hand, arm of leg in a comforting way to let him know none of it was affecting you.

"So, how are you feeling about the Paris Olympics?" Freddie asks as you were all sat around a bonfire, telling stories.

"Yeah confident, I'm excited to be able to participate in it for a second year running! Going for Gold and all that..." you grin.

"Well... we will all be there to watch you, right Logan?" Arthur grins, making you shake your head again.

y/user

Liked by logansargeant, arthur_leclerc and oscarpiastri

y/user: Missing NZ P1🇳🇿🥝 but Miami and Hubby are treating me well P2-4 🇺🇸🦅

Tagged One Person

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logansargeant: Out of all the pictures you could have used of me on the beach … 😩

-> y/user: baby, I had sunburn in all of our ones 💋

-> logansargeant: but you make such a pretty tomato 🍅

-> y/user: outside for you tonight

-> logansargeant: arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, frederickvestiofficial I’m in the dog house boys, help me out!

-> arthur_leclerc: sounds like a you problem, Y/N looking radiant as always 🌸

-> oscarpiastri: maybe you shouldn’t have called your girl a tomato? You hit those Miami waves Y/N 🏄🏼‍♀️🌊

-> frederikvestiofficial: Y/N deserves better 🫣🫶🏼

williamsracing: incredible stuff from you! 🦋💙

Instagram Story Caption:

I prefer the Miami sunsets 🌅

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

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1234567ttttttttttt · 1 month ago

Video

youtube

Model Spotlight: Aniyah Samuel | 5+ Minutes | Miami Swim Week - The Shows

#youtube

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panelrank · 5 months ago

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From Yachts to Runways: Ellie Dubaich Rocks Black Tape Project’s Miami Swim Week Show

Ellie Dubaich, affectionately known as “Ellie” on Below Deck Mediterranean, recently made a sensational shift from the high seas to the high fashion runways of Miami Swim Week. As a featured model for the Black Tape Project, Ellie showcased her fearless spirit and versatility, captivating audiences as she walked the runway in nothing but intricately designed body tape.

The Black Tape Project: Innovation in Fashion

Star-Studded Event

The event was one of the highlights of Miami Swim Week, attracting a star-studded audience that included celebrities such as Kendall Jenner and Hailey Bieber. Their presence added to the glamour and prestige of the show, making it a must-see event for fashion enthusiasts and media alike.

Ellie’s Empowering Experience

“Stepping onto the runway in nothing but tape was initially daunting, but the energy and support from everyone involved made it an unforgettable experience,” Ellie shared. “It’s about celebrating the female body and expressing confidence and empowerment.”

Ellie’s runway appearance wasn’t just about modeling; it was a powerful statement on body positivity and self-expression. Her participation in the Black Tape Project highlighted her confidence and reinforced her belief in the beauty of the human form in its most raw and artistic expression.

From Below Deck to Fashion Icon

Media Buzz and Industry Attention

The Black Tape Project’s show was among the most talked-about events at Miami Swim Week, drawing significant media attention and captivating fashion enthusiasts. Ellie’s involvement added a unique twist, making the show even more intriguing and memorable. Fashion critics and fans alike praised the innovative designs and Ellie’s confident performance, which contributed to the event’s overwhelming success.

Inspiring Journey

Ellie Dubaich’s journey from the decks of luxury yachts to the glamorous runways of Miami Swim Week serves as an inspiration for many. Her ability to embrace new challenges and excel in different fields is a testament to her versatile talent and unyielding determination. Ellie’s story encourages others to pursue their dreams fearlessly and to celebrate their true selves.

Future Ventures and Social Media Presence

Ellie Dubaich’s sensational appearance at Miami Swim Week for the Black Tape Project underscores her fearless nature and dedication to breaking boundaries. From her impactful role on Below Deck Mediterranean to her bold ventures in the fashion world, Ellie continues to captivate and inspire. Her story is one of resilience, empowerment, and unwavering determination, making her a true rising star in every sense.

For more updates on Ellie Dubaich and her journey, follow her on Instagram at @thebulcanbiscuit and stay tuned for her upcoming projects.

#internet personality #celebrities #adult model #ellie dubaich #black tape project #below deck mediterranean #model

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bikiniswimwearandlingerietv · 5 months ago

Video

youtube

PRISCILLA RICART x MODA MINX Bikini Swimwear Show | Miami Swim Week 2024...

#youtube

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desitrap · 1 year ago

Video

youtube

Tantalizing Miami Swim Week Runway Secret Night Show One of American fashions sexiest nights during Miami Swim Week 2023, featuring a dozen of Swim Week's sexiest swimsuit models and glamour models. Music summer bop Ratata by Toronto rapper Shah @dayofshah

#youtube #sexy swimsuit swimsuitmodel swimsuitmodels bikinimodel bikinimodels miamiswimweek glamourmodel glamourmodels swimsuitbae shah ratata dayofsh

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lsvdw-blog · 2 years ago

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Drained (4/?)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings; Rating: Brief mention of mast**bation, Angst; 18+ (to be safe)

Premise: The aftermath of Ethan finding out Serena is leaving.

Author’s Note: Y'all asked so you shall receive!! Happy holidays, everyone!! Sending all of you so much love, light, and joy 💖💖 Also, lol I'm so sorry for this chapter. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖

Serena turns on her heels and power walks out of the office, Ethan hot on her tail.

"Don't you walk away from me!"

Every staff member looks up from their task at hand, heads whipping to the sound of Ethan's voice reverberating through the hallway.

"I effectively just handed you my resignation; therefore, you are not my boss anymore and can't tell me what to do!"

Serena is blazing down the corridor, her white coat catching the breeze she creates, her back to Ethan.

"I'm not done talking about this!"

Serena whips around, coming face to face with Ethan, causing him to stop on a dime.

"What else could you possibly have left to say?"

"My apologies, I wasn't aware that you going after something meant our relationship would become collateral damage, that you would throw us away!"

Serena throws her hands up in the air and spins in a circle, exasperated beyond belief.

"You are one to talk! What about Miami?! The Amazon?! Your precious reset?!"

They're practically screaming at each other now and the entire hospital has gathered on the floor to watch the golden couple of Edenbrook hash it out.

"How convenient that it absconds you from any consequences when it's your idea, your moral compass lighting the path; but when I follow suit, I'm cold and heartless!"

"I did those things for you! Which is more than you can say about your act rooted in pure selfishness!"

"I wish I had some popcorn right now," one of the staff members whispers.

"I have gone over this with you, again and again, Ethan! You're not listening!"

"I'm liste—"

"No! You may be hearing me, but you're not listening! You say I'm throwing away our relationship, but there is no relationship, Ethan! Not since you became Chief. You left me to sink or swim as Head of the DT, both professionally and personally. It's like you expected me to grow wings mid-air and learn to fly before I fell, but what I really needed was your guidance. But when I came to you for that, you were either too busy to listen to me or dismissed me as immature and incapable.

"A relationship should constitute supporting one another and rooting for each other's success. But you dropped me off in the Diagnostics office and never looked back.

"Nowadays, we are always Dr. Harlow and Chief Ramsey. You are constantly in your home office, you miss gatherings, cancel dates, and I can't even count how many nights I went to bed alone, waiting for you!

"You have become so utterly consumed by this role that it's clear I pale in comparison."

"That is not true! I love you!"

"Where?!" Serena flails her arms. "Where?! You say these words, but I can't see them and I certainly don't feel them anymore.

The ink has dried; it's done; there's no going back, Ethan."

With that, Serena turns and walks away, leaving Ethan standing alone. He doesn't miss the way he's being gawked at by everyone who had gathered to watch the show.

"All of you, back to work. Now!"

Everyone scatters and scurries away, while a furious, and deeply hurt, Ethan storms back to his office.

~~~~~~

In the heat of the moment, consumed by white hot rage, and betrayal, both Serena and Ethan said words they didn't mean, words they regretted.

Words as sharp as knives, intended to pierce the heart.

Blood dripped from their egos, shards of their broken hearts scattered around them, digging themselves deeper at every mention and longing glance.

In her remaining weeks, Serena distracted herself by ensuring a smooth transition of the team to Tobias and packing up her life, getting all of her affairs in order.

On her last day, fifteen minutes before her shift ended, she entered Ethan's office, signed resignation letter in hand.

It's empty and she lets out a sigh of relief. She gently lays the letter down on his mahogany desk, fingers trailing along the grain.

All of the little moments they had shared surround her: the harmony of their laughter, the unspoken conversations through a charged look, the ecstasy they had chased.

She knows in her heart of hearts that she's doing what is best for her, but she is sorry for how everything went down, a sad smile blooming across her face.

What she doesn't know is Ethan is quietly watching her from around the corner, the glass walls finally good for something. He swallows over the lump that has taken permanent residence in his throat in the past few weeks.

Too wounded to make amends, they just miss each other, walking in different directions, one on either side of a chasm widening ever further between them.

~ 1 Month Later ~

Ethan blazes through the corridor, hell-bent on what? No one really knows, but they can make an educated guess.

Ever since Serena left, Ethan's usually grumpy demeanor turned into straight hellfire. His lectures now veering on tirades, the smallest things setting him off, nit-picking anything and everything concerning the hospital.

As soon as the familiar sound of his dress shoes clicking against the linoleum echo through the halls, everyone makes themselves scarce, diving into any nearby crack and crevice, hoping against hope that he isn't looking for them.

His tough exterior has grown impenetrable, walls as high as a fort.

But what they don't see is the mask slipping every single night when he returns home. How he can't go anywhere in his apartment without being reminded of her.

How she'd curl up with Jenner on the couch, decompress with her phone on her side of his bed, wrap her arms around his neck right after spraying her perfume.

The last time she'd made dinner in his kitchen. Where things went straight to hell.

All of these images, and more, play on repeat in his mind, the only things numbing the pain being Jenner, scotch, and slumber, when he's lucky enough to actually fall asleep.

He sits shirtless, propped against his headboard, a crystal tumbler in hand, and looks out his bedroom floor-to-ceiling windows every night.

But the view no longer looks the same; it's now dull and noisy and the windows themselves are a different type of hell. A constant reminder of the first time he touched her, tasted her, felt her.

Their bare skin touching, sliding across one another, their eyes conveying more than words ever could, their moans and groans intertwining together as they made love.

More often than not, the memory turns him on, and he's reduced to reaching down his boxers to take care of himself.

But nothing will ever come close to the real thing. To her.

The way she always has them laughing in the afterglow, planting loving kisses across his chest, her head over his heartbeat, and their fingers interlaced.

A wave of self-loathing always follows. He doesn't need to do this - he could go out to any bar in Boston and come home with any woman he wanted.

But he doesn't want anyone.

He wants her.

He needs her.

And knowing that he played such a pivotal role in driving away the person he loves most in this world, suffocates him.

#dr ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan fic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey fic #ethan ramsey x mc #choices fanfic #open heart fanfic #open heart fanfiction #open heart #ethan ramsey open heart

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