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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

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: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I��m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

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

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sanajeh1909 · 1 year ago

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Pairing : Chamber x F!Reader Word Count : 1709 Warnings : Violence, Flirting, Romantic Tension, Mild Sexual Content (it gets suggestive on some parts i think), Mission Scenario, Slow Burn (?) POV : 3rd Person One Shot A/N : Sorry for my poor English, its not my native language. Chamber can be a bit OOC. Gif doesnt belong to me. I tried my best and i had hard time to think response to every flirty sentence. Yellow is for Chamber, Blue is for Reader. I hope you enjoy it. ✧༺♥༻∞ ✧༺♥༻∞ ✧༺♥༻∞ ✧༺♥༻∞ ✧༺♥༻∞ ✧༺♥༻∞ ✧༺♥༻∞ Bullets were buzzing from above. Agents has taken cover. The mission was to get the new member of the Protocol, but enemy wasnt backing down. You had taken cover on backsite. The enemy were pushing on the site with all their utilities. There he was, Chamber, on heaven. He was so charismatic, suave, nonchalant, smug comedy. Its the type of guy you would want to flirt shamelessly. The battlefield, all the chaos didnt stop you two from flirting with each other when worked together.

As you both traded playful jabs and flirted with one another, the two maintained their professionalism and skill. Their abilities weren't hindered even by the distractions. Chamber smirked when he landed the first kill, the winning shot. He turned to his partner. I could get very used to working with you. He looked his partner up and down, grinning. You wouldn't be a bad looking trophy either. He raised an eyebrow seductively.

Be careful, the trophy bites. You speak playfully with narrowed eyes and small teasing smirk on your lips.

I'm a good tamer, just for you. He gave you a wink and a charming smirk. You turn your head and you raise both of your eyebrows in both awe and confusion. Wow. He left you speechless.

Just a warning. His voice is a little softer than normal, as he jumped down from heaven to come closer to you. I'd kiss you, if it wouldn't leave me open for a headshot. He whispers teasingly into your ear, giving you the briefest graze with his lips.

You take his collar between your two fingers and you graze it slowly. You have to learn how to be patient, then. You get your rifle and shoot to the B-Long.

I'm patient, just not when it comes to you, baby. He walks next to you as you shoot into the B site. He flashes you another wink. You'll get your kiss, just wait and see. I dont remember asking for a kiss. You smirk at him teasingly. He looks at the round timer, noticing it's nearing 1:30. We should push, you know. You look at the enemy and answer. Yes, lets push.

You don't ask for a kiss. You demand one. Chamber smirked back, shooting two enemies as they peeked their heads into the site. You'll get yours, just watch. He flashes another wink, and peeks into the site, shooting some more.

Oh, dominant woman is your type? You ask teasingly as you peek and get one kill with your Spectre.

Who doesn't want a beautiful woman in charge of them? He smirks as he peeks into the site, landing four consecutive shots from his Operator. Let's hope you can handle a man with strong convictions. He winks teasingly at you, reloading while he can cover your flank.

You smirk at him widely with teasing demeanor. A little challenge is never bad. I know how to handle my man. Your tone drops a little bit as you speak teasingly.

I hope, for your sake, you can handle my convictions. He finishes reloading his Operator. He walks over to you and stands next to you, his smirk widening a bit. I'm a man with, very… firm… beliefs. His voice is raspy and sultry, like velvet.

Im intrigued to know what are your firm beliefs. You speak playfully as you peek to elbow.

I like to take control, and I like to be dominant. His smirk continues. He switches to a Sheriff shot, clearing the an enemy on elbow. But I'd prefer it if you fight against my dominance with your strength. I'd like an equal, not a submissive. It's much more interesting that way. He shoots another two enemies, then takes cover.

Hmmm, you are up for some challenge, i see. You smirk at him, then you peek flank to check for enemies.

I love a woman that can fight back. He smirks. There's something really hot about a woman who can hold her own. He shoots with Sheriff more, then takes cover again. He switches back to his Operator.

I will keep you on your toes. You smirk at him playfully, your tone is teasing.

I wouldn't want you any other way. He's still looking at you, his smirk growing even wider as he makes his way to the middle of the site. He's standing behind the spike, looking at you. He looks you up and down. His look changes from a devilish smile to a more serious, slightly flirtatious expression. He runs his eyes up and down you again. His voice is a little bit lower. What's your name, beauty? He asks you, softly, like he's whispering seductively in a restaurant booth.

Your worst crush, dear. You speak velvet-like voice in low tone, smirking playfully. Your tone drops to seductive one. The answer you gave testing his patience.

What a naughty, little brat. He responds in a deeper voice, almost a purr. You've got a name that's sweeter than that, though. He leans closer, his eyes still on you. Why don't you tell me your name, darling? Don't make me ask again. His tone is still playful, but with a dominant undertone.

You take his chin between your fingers and lean towards him. There is inches between your faces. You can learn my name on your own, darling. You chuckle teasingly, then you crouch down to defuse the spike as he protects you from attacks coming B-Long.

Oh, I will. I always do. He smirks. His eyes look deep into yours. What if I'm impatient, though? His eyes shift to your lips briefly, then back to yours. He winks teasingly, covering you while you defuse.

Oh, you will be patient. You smirk at his way as you stick to defusing.

Oh yeah? I don't like being told what to do. He says it teasingly, his smirk only getting wider. Maybe you should make me, sweetheart. He whispers teasingly. His voice is raspy, a little husky. It's hot. He's clearly enjoying this.

Dont doubt about it~ You sing the words out playfully and your tone has dropped a bit. Then you finish defusing the spike. The mission is successful.

A little too cocky for my like, sweetheart. But I love it. He smirks, walking up to you and leaning against the wall, crossing his arms and looking at you. He's still enjoying this, but there's a bit of seriousness to him too. What's your name, darling? He asks again, still speaking with his soft, raspy and sultry voice that's full of seduction.

You walk in front of him, your hips sways as you walk. You stand in front of him and you touch his tie with your fingertips, then you pull him down slightly. There is little distance between your faces. You smirk at him playfully. You raise your chin up a bit. Sultan, your queen. Oh, you little… He's silent for a few seconds, his face getting completely red. He's enjoying that, however. What does he do now, though…? He's enjoying her flirtation and teasing. He's playing along with it. Does he call her a nickname? No. He can do better. I'll call you my Sultana, sweetheart. He smiles widely, enjoying the interaction. His tone is seductive, raspy, but still playful. I'll keep your name to myself, for now. You chuckle deeply, playfully, as if mocking him. You let go of his tie and straighten yourself. He stands back up straight. as you let go of his tie. You turn back and walk to the Vulture where KAYO landed it.

You're gonna tease me the whole mission, aren't you? He watches you get closer to the Vulture and he follows you. He puts his hands in his pockets. You're a very naughty girl. His tone is like that of an older man admiring a younger woman, flirting with her, seducing her. He's enjoying himself and he'll make sure you know that. He doesn't leave your side, and stays close to you, looking at you.

You grin widely, giving him side eye. Then you turn to your front and walk to the Vulture in front of him. The mission ended successfully and now we all are retreating to headquarters.

You should be careful, sweetpea. His tone is gentle, his eyes and his body language are very inviting. I might just end up liking you a lot, and that would be a disaster. For the both of us. He chuckles softly, his eyes shifting from yours to your hips, and back. It wouldn't be good to like you, though. So, be careful. He gives you another playful wink, then he looks at you head to toe. His face drops and now he's more serious. There is something I have to say, however. You stop on your tracks and turn back to him. The playful smirk on your face remains with a raised eyebrow. You are amused, the entertaintment you got from the flirting and teasing back and forth satisfied you more than you expected. You tilt your head slightly as you wait for him to speak.

He stops in front of you, looking down at you intensely. The flirtatious back and forth between us just now? That was nice. I liked it. He looks at you, his voice dropping a little bit lower. He raises a hand out to your chin and strokes it, his thumb gently brushing over your chin slightly. But I have a strict policy. No office romance. He gives you another soft, sultry grin. This has to be professional, or else it ends here. He lowers his hand, placing it back in his pocket, looking ahead. He's waiting for you to speak.

Ah, darling~ Did you really think that i would lose my professionality? You chuckle softly, you were playing with him. You really dont know me so well. You smirk playfully then turn back with smooth movement. You walk back to Vulture as you wave your hand on air to him without turning back. Oh, I would never doubt your professionalism, sweetheart… He watches you walk away. Your hips sway seductively again. He's enjoying this little bit of banter. The flirting, the tease, the challenge… it's fun. You're fun. He looks at you while he watches you walk away before he follows behind.

#valorant vincent fabron #valorant fanfiction #valorant chamber #valorant chamber x reader #valorant x reader #vincent fabron #chamber valorant #chamber #chamber x reader

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danbusler · 1 year ago

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picturesbytodd · 2 years ago

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strategic-social-media · 5 months ago

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zaewriteshere · 1 year ago

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Guardian of the Protocol

Protector

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

AO3 Link

Masterlist

You ducked as you saw the enemies who immediately shot at you, trying to pierce your cover, to no avail, thankfully.

The mission you were deployed on went sideways, again.

You were sent to the same abandoned city, but this time, with a full team : you had Yoru, Skye, Chamber and Astra, the last 2 you weren’t very acquainted with. Though Vincent, if you remembered the sentinel’s name, was slowly getting on your nerves with his flirting.

You’ve been told he was into Sabine, not you.

You could tell that Kirra and Ryo felt the same way. However, you did your best to keep things professional by not answering to his advances… Though the duelist didn’t think like you did, and once again, they were arguing with each other, clogging the comms.

You sighed.

You really appreciated your friend’s protectiveness, but there was a right and a bad time.

This was a bad time.

You noticed something out of the corner of your eye, or rather, someone.

The little you could decipher in the flash of blue.

Neon ?

Not, not your Neon, you realised with horror.

Theirs.

And she was headed straight to your friend’s position, who was still very angrily arguing with the french man.

He didn’t notice her.

So, you went out of position and cover, under the indignant cry of Efia, who immediately came back from her Astral Form to try and catch you.

You needed to be a distraction, or Ryo was gonna get seriously hurt by the mirror agent.

And so you were.

Now way out in the open, every enemy near – which meant the last 3 remaining on the battlefield – were now shooting at you as you ran to another position.

You got shot in the arm and thigh, and you almost fell to the ground, crying in pain.

Not the wisest decision you’ve had in your lifetime…

But you had to keep on going.

Now hiding behind an old car, you finally started firing back to the most dangerous threat to you, which was Sova. A simple headshot with your phantom was enough to drop him dead, however.

You looked back at your friend’s previous position, and was relieved to notice that he repositioned, and that he stopped arguing…

“Nice shot ! Bravo,” Was heard in the intercom, and you were so close to just disconnecting yourself. You finally replied :

“Chamber, I’m sure you’re great and your dick’s very big, but there is a bad and a good time for flirting, and this is a very bad one. So if you could just shut your mouth until the end of the mission and stop harassing me, I’d appreciate it.”

Everyone fell silent, and you sighed in relief.

You noticed Ryo running to your direction, thinking it was clear.

Your stomach dropped when you heard the dreaded voice of Raze using her rocket.

He didn’t have any teleporters left.

You knew that, because he used both of them earlier in the fight.

You got up, ignored the pain, and ran to help him.

Or at least get him out of the way.

You tackled him, barely dodging the actual rocket fuse, but you weren’t out of the blast radius.

Your body took most of the damage, if not all, protecting your friend and therefore achieving your goal.

You felt so much pain however.

Whimpers escaped you, and you tried to shut your mouth, not liking how weak and pathetic you sounded. Tears clogged your vision, and you tried to blink them away, but they just kept on coming.

You heard more gunshots, bodies falling to the ground, and for a moment you were worried that your teammates were the ones getting killed, so you tried standing up.

You couldn’t.

Not because you had no strength – okay, maybe because of it, too – but because you were forced down by a pair of gentle but cold hands.

Ryo ?

“I’m here, I’m here.” He spoke, coming into your line of sight, but he sounded like a mix of weakness and agitation.

“Are-are…” You struggled to talk, and even though he tried shushing you, you kept on trying. “You… O-okay-y ?” Your bloody hand reached out to him, wanting to pat his shoulder and his body.

Instead, he took your hand and gently put it on his cheek.

The tears falling from his eyes made your open wounds sting.

Wait.

Tears ?

“R-Ryo ?”

“I’m okay, I promise. Y-You saved me,” he choked out, and he called out to Skye, hurrying her over to you.

You knew her healing wouldn’t be enough to save you, however.

As he shifted, you let out a whimpering sob, realising that you were on his lap.

You saw Kirra, and you felt her trying to heal you, to save your life. The pain alleviated, ever so slightly.

Lynn was there, too.

You sensed that they were preparing themselves, as soon as you would drop, they’ll be here to save you.

You knew that your ghost would do their best, but there was no guarantee that it could work.

You tried communicating with them.

They all shushed you however, telling you to keep your strength to stay alive.

You tried taking off your helmet by yourself, however you felt a pair of hands do it for you, as gently as they could without hurting you.

You still had to hold back another cry, though, especially since Skye’s healing ran out at that moment.

What about the mission ?

Did you win ?

They all nodded in unison.

Ah, you were speaking your thoughts out loud, weren’t you ? What a dumbass.

That earned a couple of chuckles, pained and watery ones, but it still made you smile like an idiot.

“No tears. Only smiles,” You spoke, barely above a whisper. “It was worth it, anyways,” You continued, looking at Ryo, who was trying his damn best to not ugly cry.

His face made you laugh, but it rapidly turned into sobbing when the pain of your sides hit you mid giggle.

You knew it was coming, though.

Sooner or later, you were gonna die, since you always prioritised someone else’s life over your own.

You were sad over the fact that it was so soon.

“Ryo…” You called, slowly feeling your strength leaving you.

“Yes ?”

“Please try and stop… being an ass to everyone at HQ… While I’m gone ?... You’re a fucking great guy… and shit…” You asked, no, begged him.

He deserved so much love.

More than you could give. He deserved a great partner, a good friend group, and to heal from whatever happened to him.

They all seemed surprised by your request, but the concerned nodded, more tears falling out.

You noticed that he was by far not the only one crying.

You would’ve never imagined, not in a million years, that your death was going to be sad to anyone, much less some people you met barely over a month ago.

It warmed your heart.

“Crybabies,” You jokingly said, which took everyone off guard. “C’mon, y’all barely know me. Why are you crying ?” You weakly chuckled, but soon started to cough, tasting more of your own blood.

God this was a painful death.

“You’re a great friend,” Admitted Yoru, which made your eyes widen. He wasn’t done, however. “You’re patient and kind, forgiving, worrying over the most silly little things…” He chuckled, watery. “You understand people who can’t communicate for shits, and your wit is great.”

That left you speechless.

Was he like this because you were on the brink of death ?

Or were you imagining these things being told to you, out of desperation ?

It didn’t matter to you.

Your death was hurting a lot more than you’d imagined.

You were glad it was an heroic one, where you saved someone’s life at the cost of your own.

And that you weren’t alone, you were with people who liked you – as far as you knew, at least.

It was nice, the feeling of being loved again.

You closed your eyes, your last bits of strength leaving you, the voices of your squad becoming muffled, until everything faded into nothingness.

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #x reader #gender neutral reader #valorant #yoru x reader #yoru x you #destiny 2 #gotp #long fic #slow burn

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