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mylancap1 · 11 months

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CINTA BERSEGI (CHEATING EPISODE): FAZRINA, BAKHTIAR'S LOVER (PART III)

2 episode lepas aku dah story pasal 2 figura yang selalu jadi bahan aku lenjan. 1st Shakira, 2nd Tasneem adik Shakira. Sekarang aku nak story 1 lagi figura yang jadi top material untuk aku fapping. Aku rasa 90% fappers tegar akan kenal dia. Fazrina ada pakej lengkap untuk dapat award di kalangan fappers. Dari hujung rambut sampai hujung kaki ada something yang ada kaitan dgn sexual based.

Aku follow Fazrina sama lama dengan aku follow Shakira & adik dia. Kebetulan aku suka EPL football dan Shakira & Fazrina pun obses dgn football jgk. Girls yang layan EPL memang aku letak dia top materials sikit dari yang lain.

Fazrina ni sangat attractive gila bagi fappers yang sukakan beauty & sexy with brain. Sapiosexual gitu. Faz memang termasuk dalam preference aku sebab dia budak cerdik, study medic sampai Russia. Lepas tu, unik lagi sebab dia based dekat Borneo. Geng sumandak. Big bonus kat situ. Tapi lebih utama aura sex dia mencecah maximum level. Macam aku cakap, hujung rambut sampai hujung kaki, perfecto. Apatah lagi, sapa yang ada chance tengok dia freehair masa mood notty dia datang. Cuma ni sangat jarang dia belanja. Dia so far maintain hijabista atau lagi tepat hijaboobs. Lol.

1 anugerah besar yang ada pada Faz ni of course boobies dia. Bagi pencinta boobs, aku tak berbelah bagi akan rating full marks. Tak jumpa ruang weakness kat sini. Even dia pakai outfit paling sopan pun tetap tak boleh nak cover aset padu dia. Gedabak sial tetek Faz di sebalik baju kurung modern or blouse or dress yang dia pakai. Fuck. 1st impression aku dah buat aku khayal dengan dia.

Pakai la casual or trendy or fancy, semua takkan menjatuhkan level & aura sexual Faz. Dengar macam exaggerate kan, tapi yeah fappers tegar boleh nilai sendiri. Bila dia dah tayang sideboobs, dick yang tegang dah start precum & kalau tak control dah boleh dapat 1st cumshot. Damnnn. Kalau Faz live, 5 minute dah tak boleh manage. Terus rasa nak terpancut dengar voice Faz yang sexy tu.

Arghhhh, bila mood black & white Faz datang, lagi aku tak keruan. Lepas 4-5 round lenjan dia, dick aku boleh tegak balik untuk fapping round seterusnya. Dengan bibir yang bold color, ala ala gothic ahhhh sapa pun akan tewas dengan fazrina. Sideboobs dia fucking shit... tak ada perkataan aku boleh explain. Beyond perfect. Besar, solid, terpacak, shape dia damn nice.

Paha dia yang gebu montok, lips yang terletak, body cutting dia ahhhh tak tahan aku tengok. Fazrina kalau make love takkan passive, sumpah. Dia akan starting her 1st move. Dia akan buat partner tak keruan. Masa partner tidur pun dia akan blowjob & deepthroat sampai partner terjaga dan lenjan dia balik. Kalau dia cowgirl on top partner, sapa yang tak tahan akan terpancut tak sampai 2 minutes. Faz akan ride sekuat-kuatnya sampai deep ke dalam, sambil rubbing her own clit. Moaning kuat & sexy gila. Dengan boobs yang bergoyang up & down. Visual yang memang menakjubkan. Boobs yang besar dan solid turun naik. Dengan nipples tajam mencanak. Fuck you Faz. Shittttt... sampai la dia tak boleh nak tahan, dia akan kejang dan rebah di pangkuan partner. Masa tu dia dah khayal & masuk ke dunia orgasm tanpa sempadan. Partner yang bijak akan terus cabut dick dan fingering Faz sampai sentuh gspot. Faz akan ressist dan tak suka tapi partner terus asak dan asak. Faz akan halang tapi akhirnya dia tewas. Faz dapat rasa pengalaman squirt, the ultimate orgasm. Ahhhhh...

Now, aku nak reveal. Ni la membuatkan Bakhtiar yang selama ni lenjan Shakira setiap hari cheating dan dirampas oleh Fazrina. Bakhtiar dah rasa Shakira best gila tapi Fazrina ada something to offer him. Dua-dua girls suka Messi. But Shakira ada sedikit kelemahan berbanding Faz. Apa lagi kalau bukan boobs. Amat-amat jarang Malaysian, to be exact Malay girls yang ada natural boobs yang dipunyai Fazrina. So yeahhh, bermula la affair episode. Bakhtiar lenjan Faz sepenuh nafsu. Libido yang tak bertepian dengan athletic body cukup untuk mereka berdua tenggelam dalam dunia sexual. Semua techniques dah cuba. From basic to extreme. Amateur to proffesional. Shakira memang dah advanced, dah notty habis. Tapi Faz ada level dia sendiri. Shakira cuma fantasy nak lenjan dick European macam Messi. But Faz... she's done with Russian guy. Selama ni dia tengok porn macam mana Marcus Dupree from Russia lenjan girl very hardcore. Dan Faz dah cuba.

Itu la yang dia apply masa layan Bakhtiar. Kalau European guys dia boleh layan, apa sangat Malay ni. So yeah, both dah buat semuanya. Dua-dua into kinky & hardcore stuff. Lagi sakit lagi extreme lagi best. From mish to anal. Every day. Kalau Bakhtiar terpaksa outstation terpaksa la Faz guna machine untuk puaskan her high libido. Masturbate berkali-kali sampai cum. Selalunya guna Hitachi magic wand.

Arghhh, specky & not specky, semua nampakkan Faz too slutty. Ahhh bitch! Susah nak move on kalau dgn Faz. Seriously speaking.

RATING

Face 10/10

Sapa yang kenal aku akan tau aku bukan layan face at 1st. Tapi ada pengecualian pada girls tertentu. Faz ni termasuk kategori pengecualian ni. Too hard to resist. Tengok muka dia either make up or not, dia buat muka natural or notty... semuanya tunjukkan 1 benchmark. Very sexy & notty tahap paling maximum. Tasneem bagi aku lagi padu part muka tapi muka Faz ada ciri-ciri sexy yang different. So yeah. 10/10.

Boobs 10/10

Sapa yang boleh tahan layan boobs Faz? Aku terpaksa surrender part ni. Sumpah boobs dia antara yang perfect aku pernah tengok. Bukan busty yang terlalu over sampai nampak fake. Bukan kecik macam guli. Lebih dari average. Means sangat besar. Senang cakap naturally very busty. Besar, solid, perfect shape... tak confuse or dilemma... 10/10.

Butt 9/10

Satu weakness yang aku realize dekat sini. Faz sangat jarang belanja & show off her butt. Aku pernah nampak beberapa kali dia tayang bontot dia. Not bad. Tapi maybe aku rasa dia busy dengan her study. Kalau dia workout, pergi gym, buat squat... aku akan bagi full marks jgk. But macam korang kenal aku, sangat kedekut nak bagi rating dan aku kena jujur. Butt bukan keutamaan Faz. Bagi aku dah cukup padu, cuma ada beberapa aspects yang dia kalah berbanding girls lain yang padu dekat butt. So, 9/10 tu sangat fair. Kalau dia belanja lebih, boleh 9.5 aku rasa.

Body Cutting 10/10

Body cutting bukan melibatkan body je aku nilai. Tapi cara dia jalan, posture, etc. Aku ada sikit dilemma part ni. Nak bagi 9 or full marks. Tapi bila aku tengok balik, aku letak dia full marks. Sebab dia kategori yang tak skinny tapi tak chubby. Badan dia montok, best nak hug & foreplay. Pinggang dia fuhhhh sangat slim. Muka sampai tetek sangat terletak. Selalunya tetek besar akan buat simetri tu nampak senget sikit tapi not Faz. Boobs dia terletak dan tak saggy. Pinggang sangat slim dan bontot yeah tak lentik habis, tapi lebar & still boleh buat aku turn on.

Sexual Attractiveness 10/10

Okay, apa lagi nak explain part ni? Godaan perfect, dia tidur pun boleh buat aku turn on, belum lagi dia show off her body. Cara dia cakap memang confirm buat fappers tegang. Kalau dia dirty talk, memang macam dia dah foreplay. Macam dia boleh sentuh dick tanpa pegang apa-apa. Cukup dengan her voice only. Damn hot. Dia advanced, kinky. Suka explore. Sampai tahap layan make love dekat balcony etc.

Others

Lesung pipit dekat muka dia. Arghhh ni bonus part sangat. Jarang la Malay girls ada combo package macam ni seriously. Dia tayang lesung pipit buatkan aku yang tak layan sangat face pun akan cumtribute. Nak lepaskan cumshot aku berkali-kali dekat muka dia sampai meleleh sperm.

OVERALL RATING

9.5/10

Arghhh baby. Wanna you so bad Faz. Fuck me harder. Fuckkkk. Okay, aku dah cum. Frankly speaking, aku dah betul-betul cum. Sorry tak boleh manage. Damn.

So guys, dah sampai Part III.

Kita ada Shakira yang obses Messi, yang couple dengan Bakhtiar. Boobs kecik tapi kelebihan dia very notty & clingy. Aura sex tiptop. Pandai buat 1st move & menggoda partner. Suka explore new stuff. Suka strong animals macam horse. Turn on dengan athletic body. Dia adore dgn girls yang ada huge boobs. Teringin nak dapatkan boobs besar. Education dia okay, tapi tak la setinggi yang lain. Plus point, notty dia sampai tahap from hijabista ke freehair now.

Ada Tasneem, adik Shakira yang boobs kecik tapi aura sex above par. Muka memang speciality dia. Underrated sebab aku perasan bontot dia pun very nice. Dia dah kawin dengan her hubby, Amin yang nakal jgk. Got hitched kejap je terus preggy. Btw, dia lawyer. Kategori pandai.

Now, ada Fazrina. Full combo. Perfect package. From head to toe. Unique Sabahan. European taste. Size does matter. Tak suka dick yang kecik. Malay okay tapi kena open minded macam European. At last, dapat rampas Bakhtiar from Shakira.

Bakhtiar, model yang ada athletic body. Very high libido. Open minded. Boleh layan various girls. Means dia tau macam mana nak handle girls yang different sexual taste. Ada darkside.

Amin, Tasneem's hubby. VIP's son. Open minded. Boleh layan various girls jgk tapi terpaksa layan demand from family yang a bit conservative. Means kalau suka girls tu, cepat-cepat marry her. Ada darkside sebelum married. Now stop kejap. Cuma ada time triggered bila teringat his darkside.

So, apa yang korang expect?

Hmm what about lessy scene? Shakira + Faz? Walaupun memang conflict sebab macam cinta tiga segi tapi yeahhh, why not? Macam scene Kayden Kross, Manuel Ferrara's wife & Dana Vespoli, Manuel Ferrara's ex wife. Dua-dua ada conflict tapi damnnn, aku masih letakkan scene dorang top 1 kalau lessy scene. Too hot. Part Kayden Kross picit her sexy nipples sampai keluar milk dekat muka Dana Vespoli tu still aku tak boleh move on sampai sekarang. So, why not Shakira + Faz?

Or 3some? Shakira + Faz + Bakhtiar? Masa ni la masculinity Bakhtiar teruji. Sebab nak tengok macam mana dia handle 2 girls in conflict dalam situasi sexual. Banyak research cakap, kalau tengah marah or in conflict lepas tu make love, dia punya mood sangat lain. Boleh dapat top orgasm berkali-kali. Sebab tu, in Europe popular make up sex. So, Shakira + Faz + Bakhtiar?

Or hmm 3some jgk tapi Shakira + Tasneem + Bakhtiar or Shakira + Tasneem + Amin? Scene ni akan hot sebab including siblings. Kalau porn, aku memang susah move on kalau ada siblings yang dalam scene. Macam Ava Rose + Mia Rose beraksi serentak. Bila tau dia siblings, susah untuk aku explain. Dia ada mood yang different.

Atau boleh masukkan Tasneem + Faz + Bakhtiar/Amin? Maybe masa ni Faz nak rampas Amin pulak. Nak test Amin's energy. Atau Tasneem nak try Bakhtiar as a hotwife? Ahhh, very taboo but bila imagine, memang turn on sial. Both ada kekuatan tersendiri. Lelaki pulak tetap lelaki, so... nice jgk scene macam ni kan. Btw, jangan lupa siapa yang sapiosexual atau yg tertarik secara sexual dgn orang pandai boleh rasa aura dalam scene ni. Tasneem as a lawyer vs Faz as a doctor. Arghhh hot scene.

Okay, damn... aku dah 2nd cum. Bersambung...

#fazrina #reviewmylancap

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feralrabidcrow · 5 months

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I'm sure all of us are familiar with what happened to Heavy and Medic in the TF2 comics, particularly, comic #6.

They reunite after spending 6 months apart following the mercenaries being fired. Heavy has been living back in Russia with his family, and Medic has joined the TFC team, which has gone horribly.

Their reunion is in a less than ideal situation as Heavy is interrupting Cheavy from tearing Medic into pieces. Cheavy kills Medic, and Heavy completely loses his shit. He is determined to kill the man who killed his Doktor. To a degree that doesn't seem like avenging a friend, almost more like avenging a partner. Someone he loves deeply.

But then Medic comes back, and Heavy is just... weirdly casual about it. He goes from complete rage mode to "Ah Doktor it is good to have you back." No hug, no tears, just accepts that Medic is alive again. It almost feels like there is an awkwardness between them.

From a logical standpoint, this is just TF2 being TF2. The emotional moments in the comics are often quickly switched to a comedic tone.

But my Red Oktoberfest obsessed brain has latched onto this hard, and I have a headcanon that is now deeply ingrained into my worldview.

Heavy and Medic broke up when the team disbanded.

As much as I like the idea of Heavy and Medic keeping things going long distance and writing letters to each other, it doesn't make much sense to me logically.

This is something I've thought about a lot, to the point where I'm considering writing an angsty little one-shot about it.

I believe that when Gray Mann took control and fired the mercenaries, Heavy and Medic were left in a complicated situation where their interests no longer aligned. Heavy wanted to go back home to Russia and take care of his family. Medic wanted to look for a new job to continue his medical mad science endeavours. No matter what, if they were to stay together, someone would have ended up dissatisfied. After trying and failing to come up with a compromise, they decided the best thing was to go their separate ways.

But it didn't change the fact that they still loved each other. They went on to their new situations, with feelings of lingering regret and wondering what could have happened if they had stayed together.

When they reunite in the comics, this is the first time seeing each other since their painful break-up. They still care deeply for each other, hence Heavy instantly becoming protective of Medic when he sees him in danger. And when Medic dies, he snaps completely. He has thought about this man constantly since returning to Russia, silently hurting over the loss of the only real relationship he ever had. And now that man is dead. Of course he's going to lose it.

But when Medic comes back, he's confronted with the fact that Medic technically isn't his partner anymore, not at this point, anyways. In comes the awkwardness. He isn't sure how to approach this now. He and Medic have barely even spoken to each other at this point, much less talked about their feelings or their break-up.

I like to think shortly after the 6th comic ends, or sometime off-screen, they talk things out, resolve their issues, and maybe even share a lovely little reuniting kiss. But hey, that's just a theory! A game theory!

#tf2 #team fortress #team fortress 2 #tf2 comics #medic tf2 #heavy tf2 #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #heavy x medic #medic x heavy #heavymedic #redoktoberfest #red oktoberfest #tf2 red oktoberfest #tf2 headcanons #tf2 fanfiction

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 month

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 9: Some Days He Feels Like Dying]

A/N: Below are your guesses...let's see how you did!!! 🥰😘

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

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

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Extraordinary Girl” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

Let’s go back to the beginning of the end of the world.

On the big-screen tv in the Liberty Center at Saratoga Springs, Wolf Blitzer is saying: “We are receiving confirmation of additional outbreaks of the so-called Florida Fever, the first cases of which here in the U.S. were reported in Miami a little over one week ago. Concern is now growing nationally, especially as the modes of transmission, symptoms, and treatment options remain unclear. Let’s go across the country to Natasha Chen for the latest information. Natasha?”

“Hi, Wolf. I’m here outside the UC San Diego Medical Center where early this morning, two individuals suspected to be suffering from the illness were admitted. I’ve been informed by hospital staff that both patients are currently in stable condition, but there is still so much confusion and conflicting information regarding this ‘Florida Fever,’ and of course that uncertainty is leading to fear, rumors, and honestly a bit of hysteria. Even how to refer to the sickness is controversial, with no official name having been decided upon by scientists. Cases in Australia are known as Ragepox, the U.K. has dubbed it the 21st Century Sweat after a mysterious disease from the 1500s, and Russia is calling it the Ukrainian Flu while Ukraine has opted for the Russian Red Rot, inspired by the skin lesions that some patients experience.”

“Can you tell us what we do know, Natasha? Are doctors classifying this illness as a virus, or as a bacterial infection more akin to tuberculosis or meningitis?”

“At this time, what I’m hearing is that doctors are fairly certain it’s a virus, as patients do not seem to respond to antibiotics when they’ve been explored as a potential treatment. But there’s truly very little information at this early stage, and I think we’re all being reminded of those first days of the Covid-19 pandemic, when no one really knew how to best to avoid contracting the virus or what the long-term effects would be both nationally and globally.”

“There are absolutely some similarities, Natasha, which I’m sure is contributing to the unease surrounding the situation. What precautions are doctors currently recommending?”

“Wolf, doctors are urging the public not to panic, and to exercise common sense measures like avoiding crowded spaces, sanitizing surfaces, and staying home if they’re feeling unwell. Suspected cases of the illness should be reported to primary physicians or local hospitals. Typical symptoms appear to include headaches, fever, gastrointestinal upset, skin discoloration and blistering, and unusual bleeding, as well as behavioral changes, particularly disorientation, aggression, and even violence in some patients…”

“That ain’t what it is,” Rio says. He jabs his index finger at the tv from where he sits on the couch beside you. “Snowflake wasn’t sick, he was dead. He was motherfucking dead, flatline, code blue, crossed the rainbow bridge, he was gone. He was dead and then he woke back up, and he wasn’t a person anymore. He was…something else.”

“Dumbass, people don’t come back from the dead,” Mike says from the ping pong table. People are milling around pretending to play pool, darts, chess, poker, Monopoly, Uno, Parcheesi, but really you’re all here for the same reason. You want to know what’s happening.

Rio turns to you. “Wasn’t Snowflake dead?”

“He definitely seemed dead,” you reply, knees tucked to your chest and still watching the tv. Wolf Blitzer’s voice is calm, but his pale blue eyes have a manic sort of light to them, too large and too rattled.

“Man, fuck Florida,” says Desmond, a utilitiesman born and raised Trenton, New Jersey. “Nothing but psychos and alligators. Saw them off of Georgia and just let them float away.”

“What was that?” Tyler replies combatively. He’s from a trailer park in Tallahassee.

“Ty, why do you care? You’d be fine. You’re already up here. You can stay.”

“They’re lying,” Rio mutters, meaning Wolf and Natasha on CNN. “When the corpsmen called the hospital, they said to be prepared to restrain Snowflake and that he might try to bite us. Why aren’t they warning people about that?!”

Kayleigh, a steelworker from Oklahoma City, looses a frenetic sort of laugh. “Because there’s no non-panic-inducing way to say: Hey, go buy some duct tape and bungee cords to tie up your loved ones, because they might try to fucking eat you.”

Rio doesn’t frown often, but he is now; he slips his phone out of the pocket of his camo pants and types out a WhatsApp message to Sophie. You only know her from photos and quick hellos via video chat, a sweet diminutive woman with white-blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to fill up half her face, as fragile as Rio is overwhelming. She likes baking and romance novels and elephants; whenever Rio finds elephant-themed souveners, he ships them home to Oregon for her, refrigerator magnets and wallets and scarves and snow globes. Sophie wears a lot of long flowing skirts and hand-knit sweaters, and offers strange suggestions when she and Rio discuss baby names: Sage, Fox, Laurel, Coral, Juniper, Karma, Rune, Otter. Otter?! Rio had exclaimed. Babe, if you name our kid Otter, even I’M gonna have to bully them.

“I’m telling Sophie to stay with my parents,” Rio says to you. “They’ve gotten super weird with all the off-the-grid stuff, but they have years’ worth of supplies and grow most of their own food now, and they’re thirty miles from the nearest town. And no one knows how to defend themselves like doomsday preppers.”

“Good idea,” you reply, watching the tv. Now Wolf Blitzer is talking about tornadoes in the Midwest, and you could almost believe the world is normal again.

A few days later all major social media platforms begin censoring content related to the so-called Florida Fever, and then the internet goes down completely, and then the power turns off and on and off again, and finally quits like a car driven to its last mile. The combat units are moved out of Saratoga Springs—never to be heard from again—and the construction projects paused indefinitely, and one of the master-at-arms that Rio is friends with (Rio has a lot of friends, surely you aren’t so remarkable) relays information that he shouldn’t: tales of planned missions, impossible plagues, overrun cities, innumerable deserters in every branch of the U.S. military.

“Hey,” Rio whispers, shaking you awake one night, moonlight streaming through the windows and the pops of distant gunfire you aren’t supposed to ask about. “If I leave, will you come with me?”

It’s a big commitment; it could be a lifetime. You fear he might just be trying not to hurt your feelings. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Rio says. “I’m not leaving without you. Are you going to Oregon by choice, or should I tie you up and throw you in the back of the Humvee?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a young one, maybe a teenager, little buds for horns and only weighing a few hundred pounds. This is good; if it was any heavier, Cregan and Rio wouldn’t be able to drag it back to the ranch. You’re still in Red Desert, Wyoming, and the bison are grazing just off I-80, an asphalt artery that cuts through an endless steppe of sand-colored rocks and tall grass. They gaze lazily in your direction with bulbous dark eyes, perpetually chewing, not terribly intelligent. The Colt pistols of the men who found you at the RV had been loaded with 9mm bullets, the same caliber your Berettas take; there weren’t many, but enough to fill both of your clips, something that feels like winning the lottery. You are lying on the rocky, dusty soil and lining up the shot. If you miss, the herd will scatter, and you’ll watch dinner vanish beneath a blue sky—pale like Aemond’s eye, a weak shallow blue—and rough white scars of cirrostratus clouds.

“Feels kind of wrong to kill a baby,” you murmur. Daeron, Luke, Baela, Helaena, and Ice are back at the house. Aemond, Rio, Cregan, Rhaena, and Aegon are here on the ground with you; Aegon insisted upon being brought along, and Rio agreed to carry him. Aegon had never seen American bison outside of the Oregon Trail computer game, those pixelated brown blobs migrating across the screen no more material than unicorns or faeries or basilisks.

“If the baby didn’t want to get killed, it shouldn’t be made of steak,” Aegon points out. He’s on a lot of Vicodin, the only narcotic Aemond could find back in Ogallala, Nebraska.

“No pressure, Chips,” Rio says, chewing on a long blade of little bluestem grass. “If you miss we’re just going to have to eat each other like the Donner Party.”

Aegon wrinkles his nose in confusion. “The what?”

“She won’t miss,” Aemond says, and Rio snickers to himself and gives you a quick wink that no one else notices.

“I don’t think one 9mm bullet will do it,” Cregan mutters. “Cows got thick skulls, I figure bison are the same way. You’ll have to hit it a few times, and before it can take off and disappear on us.”

Aemond casts him a patronizing glance. “And you’ve killed a lot of cows?”

“Oh yeah. Worked in a slaughterhouse for a while before I got hired by the power company. Hated it, went home and could still smell the blood and brains on myself no matter how many times I showered. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Aemond looks like he regrets asking. Rhaena frowns worriedly at the bison. “Will they charge if someone shoots at them?”

Cregan shrugs. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!”

You squeeze the trigger five times in quick succession, hit the calf thrice, tiny puffs of scarlet mist that spring from its woolly head. It flops over as the rest of the herd jolts into a gallop, kicking up dust and fleeing across the steppe.

“Yes!” Rio booms as everyone applauds. “We’re in business! We’re having ribeyes tonight! Cregan, my good sir, I take mine medium rare.”

“You’re getting well done,” Aemond tells him. “Everyone is. Just in case the bison has parasites.”

Rio groans. “You’re ruining my life, man.” Then he and Cregan trot over to grab the baby bison, each of them taking one of its back hooves.

“So,” Aegon says dreamily. “Now that Rio is preoccupied, who would like to assist me in returning my disgusting, debilitated body to the ranch? Anyone? Anyone?”

Rhaena turns to you. “When we have more bullets, could you give me shooting lessons?”

“Sure,” you reply, a bit startled. “Really? You’re interested?”

“Well…” Rhaena hesitates. “Baela’s always been the brave one. At home, at school, when we were shopping, even when restaurants would mess up my order, Baela would do the talking and make sure I was alright…and I would literally hide behind her waiting for her to solve all my problems. And now…with the baby, with Jace…it’s been really different being the one to help her for a change, and I don’t think I’m very good at it yet. But Baela deserves to have people to lean on, just like I’ve always had her. And…when I stabbed that guy in the RV…I kind of liked it.” She titters nervously when she sees the shock on your face. “No, not like that! Not the killing part, or the gushing blood, that was all super gross. But the fact that I helped protect Baela and Luke? The fact that I wasn’t useless in that situation? That was a good feeling. Baela is clever, and she’s courageous and caring and funny, and she’s always been better than me at everything, and I never minded because she…she was like my own personal superhero, you know? But now I feel like I need to start learning how to do things myself so I can help her. Even if Baela is still better at everything, and probably always will be.”

Aegon grins toothily and pushes his neon green plastic sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know how you feel. It’s pretty impossible to look heroic next to Aemond.”

“Stop,” Aemond says, but he’s smiling, and a bloom of bashful pink blood appears in his cheeks.

“You already took over the driving,” you tell Rhaena encouragingly. “That was a big help.”

“Yeah,” Rhaena replies, a bit pensive. “Let’s hope I can keep that going.” Between the gas Aemond found in Ogallala and what was siphoned from the would-be attackers’ GMC Yukon, you got enough fuel in the Tahoe to take it halfway across Wyoming; but now the gauge is not just at but venturing below the E, and it can’t have more than five or ten miles left. That might not even get you to the next ranch, let alone a proper town. You need a working vehicle. There are nearly a thousand miles between here and Odessa, Oregon.

Aegon is pawing at Aemond like a cat. “Come on, hero. Help me up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is why we’re friends,” Rio tells you as he shovels forkfuls of bison steak into his mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. Cregan gutted the bison and butchered it, then you helped him cook the steaks—not very uniform in size and shape, yet no one is complaining—on a pan heated in the woodstove. You fed the fire with books you found in the house, mostly religious in nature. “You convince me not to commit suicide when we’re stranded on a transmission tower, you share your Cheddar Whales, you’re good at shooting things…”

“How did you two become friends?” Baela asks. You are all arranged around the dining room table; there are just enough chairs for everyone. Ice lies beneath it mauling on bison bones that Cregan set aside for her. The room is illuminated by flashlights. Baela looks great: in good spirits, glowing, alert, wearing a loose cotton dress that Helaena found in an upstairs closet for her. Baela napped most of the day, something she rarely allows herself to indulge in, and the benefits are evident.

Rio says nonchalantly: “I talked to everybody and she barely talked at all. So of course I had to investigate and figure out what that was about. Turns out she’s kind of cool. You know the Wheel of Fortune game at arcades where there’s like a hundred little lights in a circle you have to press the button when the one that says Spin Zone lights up? She’s a freak, she can hit it almost every time. Can’t sink a basketball or sing karaoke to save her life, but you know, we all have flaws.”

Aegon looks up from his map, which he is scrutinizing as he eats his bison steak. “Do you realize that if we could just stop at gas stations like back when everything was normal, we’d be in Odessa or the Bay Area in fifteen hours? Literally less than one day. Fucking unreal. And yet here we are trapped in yee-haw country, freaky giant animals, no civilization but Jesus billboards everywhere, hell on earth.” He holds up a palm. “No offense, Cregan. You’re okay.”

Cregan smiles mildly. “None taken, Fried Foot. You know you’re a little well done yourself these days.”

“That’s ableist,” Aegon replies.

“We’ll find gas tomorrow,” Aemond says. He sounds confident because he has to; he’s not allowed to panic, to give up. He’s seated at the head of the table like a patriarch. His steak is the smallest and the most ragged. He wouldn’t accept any of the others.

You ask Baela: “Have you decided what to name the baby?”

“Kind of.” She rests both hands on her belly, a globe like a full moon. Helaena glances over at Baela, frowning and preoccupied. “If it’s a boy, I’m going to name it after Jace. We had already picked out Theodore…and Teddy for short, isn’t that cute? But now…I’d want him to have that connection to his father. The baby won’t have any pictures of him, or videos, or memories, or papers he wrote in school, or ties or rings or cufflinks, or…anything. But he could have Jace’s name.”

The rest of you nod, eyes downcast and feeling terribly sorry for her. “I really like that idea,” Luke says quietly.

Now Baela is thinking, her gaze traveling around the room as she chews on a cube of streak. “I’m not sure what I’d call a girl. Maybe something naturey like Violet, Rosemary, Ivy, Indigo, Fern…”

“You should name it Otter,” you say, and you and Rio erupt into raucous laughter. Aemond smiles as he watches you.

Baela is grinning uncertainly, trying not to be insensitive. Perhaps people named their kids stuff like Otter where you came from. “Um, sorry, what?!”

“That was one of the baby names on Sophie’s list,” Rio clarifies. “I vetoed it. Or at least…I think she agreed to cross it off…? Oh my God, imagine I finally get to Odessa only to find out my firstborn child has been named Otter.”

“You’d have to turn right back around,” you say. “Total abandonment would be the only honorable choice. We’d have to start over someplace else. I’ve heard Texas is nice.”

Aegon snorts. “You can’t live in Texas. They don’t even have legal weed there.”

Rhaena squints at him. “I don’t really think that’s a concern anymore, Aegon.”

Aegon smacks his forehead theatrically. “Oh no, I forgot about the apocalypse again!”

“So Cregan,” Baela says. “You were planning to vote for Trump.”

Everyone at the table groans. “No politics,” Aemond says.

“They’re all dead now, so it doesn’t matter,” Rhaena adds. “Biden, Kamala, that insane Kennedy brain worm dude, Trump…”

Aegon says: “If I was a zombie, I wouldn’t eat Trump.”

“I just found that interesting,” Baela continues, looking at Cregan like she’s expecting him to explain himself. Rhaena and Luke exchange a nervous glance. Daeron reaches under the table to pet Ice; you can hear her tail thumping cheerfully against the hardwood floor.

“I was a Trump voter, yeah,” Cregan replies between bites of steak. Aemond is studying him uneasily, but Cregan’s baritone voice is calm. “That doesn’t mean I approved of a lot of the things he did and said. I’m not a monster, I don’t believe in mocking people or all that January 6th stuff. But he was good for the economy. Back when Trump was president, groceries were more affordable, and houses were cheaper, and more companies were hiring. If I had tried to move out of my parents’ place in 2023 instead of 2019, there’s no way I could have done it. And I really needed to get out of there. A lot of people feel that they don’t have the luxury of voting for the nicest candidate, or the candidate they agree with on social issues. Something abstract like climate change isn’t even on the radar. They have to vote for their basic necessities.”

You and Rio understand what he means, you’ve both met plenty of people with the same perspective; everybody else seems shellshocked.

“But I don’t want y’all to think that I’m…” Cregan looks around the table, his eyes catching—interestingly—on Helaena, who observes him with a fully present attentiveness that you’ve learned is rare for her. “You know, like a sexist or a racist or that I hate foreigners or anything. Because I’ve never felt that way, and now I’m very happy to have found you guys, and I respect the hell out of you. And I want to be allowed to stay.”

“You can stay, Cregan,” Helaena reassures him.

“Yeah,” Rio says. “Especially since we’d probably starve without you.”

Cregan beams, clearly grateful, and there are chuckles and the tension breaks; and Baela is placidly skating her palm over the arc of her belly, and now that you’ve eaten all you can, Rio is spearing the remaining chunks of your steak with his fork and gobbling them down. He doesn’t ask before he does this; he knows you don’t mind. You’ve never understood why he’s given you so much over the past nearly five years. You are eternally offering him atonement.

Suddenly, Baela asks you: “What would you name a baby girl?”

You have to think about this before you answer. “Well, if you’re looking for something related to plants…I had a friend when I was growing up named Briar, and I always thought that was pretty.”

“Briar,” Baela echoes, intrigued.

“It means bramble, like a thorny shrub where blackberries grow. I remember her telling me that her mama wanted it to be a reminder that people go through rough patches and that life gets hard sometimes, but you have to keep going, and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“Briar,” Baela repeats. “Yeah, that’s kind of neat. I’ll add it to the list!”

“And you’d have the same first initial,” Rhaena says. “Baela and Briar. Isn’t that adorable?”

Baela smiles. “And a few Rs thrown in there too. For Rhaena.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Hey Honey Bun, if you had to name your kid after a plant, what would you name it?”

Aegon says without hesitation: “Marijuana.”

Now it’s an hour later, and Aemond is examining Aegon’s burned leg on the living room floor, Helaena holding a flashlight and you and Rio standing by for moral support. Underneath the bandages is a wasteland of red, weeping flesh…and yet there are spots where the skin seems to be hardening into white islands of scar tissue. Rhaena and Luke are keeping watch by the windows, Baela is passed out in one of the bedrooms, Cregan is showing Daeron how to put his wavy blonde hair up in a man bun.

Aemond points to a blackish patch on the top of Aegon’s foot, only a few inches from his ankle. “I have to debride this part here,” he says like an apology.

Aegon is afraid to ask. “What does debride mean?”

“It means I have to cut it out.”

“Cut it?!”

“It’s getting infected. I have to remove it or it will spread to the rest of the foot and you could get sepsis. I might even have to amputate the whole leg.”

“Okay, cut the dead stuff off,” Aegon swiftly agrees.

Aemond doesn’t have any more injectable morphine. He gives Aegon as much Vicodin as he dares and then begins working, carving away layers of dark disease with his scalpel and scrubbing the area with disinfectant. Aegon clutches your hand, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones might crunch, shrapnel-like splinters of marrow-stained organic glass beneath your skin. Rio has Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman—once owned by Ava—and takes one earbud while giving Aegon the other. They sing along to Sean Paul songs together, laughing as tears stream down Aegon’s sunburned cheeks:

“Well, woman, the way the time cold, I wanna be keepin’ you warm

I got the right temperature fi shelter you from the storm

Oh Lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on

And girl, I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom…”

Now you’re curled up in bed, your arms crossed over your belly as you struggle to fall asleep. Aemond comes to bed late now; each night he waits until Baela is sleeping and then teaches Rhaena about childbirth and recovery: what to expect, what could go wrong. She is a good student, borrowing Helaena’s spider notebook to take notes and asking detailed questions. She wants to know everything she can so she can help when Baela goes into labor.

At last, the bedroom door opens. Out in the living room you can hear Rio asking: “Do you have Wagon Wheel? I love that song.”

Aegon scoffs. “No, of course I don’t have Wagon Wheel. Shut up and listen to your Enrique Iglesias.”

“You are so racist, man…”

Aemond sees that you’re in agony, rummages around in his medical kit, and gives you an oval-shaped white pill to wash down with the can of orange Sunkist on the nightstand; Helaena found a case of it in the pantry. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“I didn’t want to take any Vicodin from Aegon or Baela. They’ll need it more than me.”

“Your pain is as real as anyone else’s.” Aemond’s weight shifts the mattress as he crawls into bed beside you, his arm settling protectively around your waist, his hand covering yours where it rests on your lower belly. “If the Tahoe runs out of gas, will you be okay to walk tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about me. I had three periods during basic training, I honestly thought I might die. After that I can power through just about anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” You feel the soft smile on Aemond’s lips as he kisses your temple. “Do you want quiet, or do you want to talk?”

“Talking would be a nice distraction.”

Aemond wastes no time. “Do you like kids?”

“Well, since birth control doesn’t exist anymore, I’d hope everybody does.”

Again, he is smiling; you can hear it in his voice. “Okay, but do you intend to have your own?”

“Yeah, I always envisioned myself having kids. I wanted a normal family and figured I’d have to make one myself, DIY it, you know? I don’t think the plan has changed. Gotta repopulate the earth somehow.”

“I wouldn’t try to sway your decision one way or the other. It’s a burden you should only have to endure if you actively choose it. But if you want to have children one day, I’d help you.”

You giggle in the dim orange glow of a single flashlight. “How self-sacrificial.”

“No,” Aemond says, laughing. “Not like, the making them. I mean, I’d help with that too, that aspect would be fun. But I was talking about the delivery, and recovery, and taking care of a newborn. I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. I could help you get through it. So that’s an option I want you to be aware of, if…you know.” Now he pauses. “If you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you should,” Aemond murmurs; or at least that’s what you think he says as you lose consciousness, plummeting into sleep as if falling from a great height.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe runs out of gas just east of Tipton—not a city, not a town, just a collection of service roads linking sprawling ranches to I-80, the only continuous route across southern Wyoming—and Rhaena guides the SUV as it coasts to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. You hike about a mile to the nearest ranch house: Luke carrying the siphoning hose and empty gas can in case you can find fuel, Rio carrying Aegon on his back, Baela walking slowly and with great effort, Ice panting as she lopes across the dusty earth. You can’t spot any cattle or horses behind the endless strings of barbed wire fencing. Perhaps they are in a different pasture, or escaped or were stolen, or died of thirst without being tended to, or were consumed by a wandering hoard of zombies, never sleeping and always hungry. The house at the end of the dirt driveway is modest, old, and painted white. The front door is open; the screen door bangs in the wind.

“Rock Springs is the next real town,” Aegon says when Rio drops him to the ground, reading his map.

“And how far is that?” Rio asks.

Aegon deflates. “About fifty miles.”

“Great,” Rhaena says. “What’s the plan, to fly there?”

“Yeah, start flapping your wings, little bird. You’re light enough, you can make it.”

“No car in the driveway,” you tell Aemond. “Nobody home, maybe?”

He’s scrutinizing the house, his blue eye narrow. “Maybe.”

A thought occurs to Aegon. “Do you think ranchers have golf clubs?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Aemond snaps. Rio is now on the front porch and pounding the butt of his unloaded Remington shotgun against the doorframe to see if anyone appears. Daeron is nocking one of his makeshift arrows as he trots around the perimeter with his compound bow.

Luke, peering through his binoculars, points to a large cylindrical aluminum structure about a hundred yards from the house, by a small red barn. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a grain bin,” Cregan says. “Full of feed for cattle.” Ice whimpers at his feet, and he twirls his axe in his large, calloused hands. “Are we clearing the house or not? Something’s in there.”

“We are,” Aemond answers tonelessly. “Luke, Rhaena, stay out here with Aegon and watch for trouble. Daeron, you too.”

“Got it.”

“Baela—”

“Can I go inside?” she asks. “Please, Aemond. I’m so sick of sitting around feeling useless and exhausted. I want to help. I want to do something, I’m going insane.”

“Fine,” Aemond agrees. “It should be an easy one.”

It is easy, but it’s not pleasant. The house smells like dark, sickening decay. In the living room are the skeletal remains of two bodies, both children judging by the size; the maroon-stained bones are notched with indents from gnashing teeth. Cregan shadows Helaena as she searches through closets and drawers. She takes no clothing—it would have absorbed the stench of death—but fills her burlap messenger bag with matches, lighters, batteries, pills. She gives you a bottle of Advil before you can ask her for it.

“Thanks,” you say, a bit startled, as you tuck it away in your backpack.

It is not until Ice leads you to the final room, the bedroom at the rear of the house, that you hear the familiar, blood-chilling hissing and moaning of a zombie. It is in the closet, and emerges one limb at a time: one arm and then another, one leg long like a spider’s, streaked with a thick soup of rotting organs that spills from a gaping hole in her belly like the mouth of a mineshaft. Something has happened to its other leg; it is missing, and the corpse that was once a thirties-something woman—a soccer mom, perhaps, with a minivan and propensity to make meatloaf and fish sticks—drags itself across the fawn-colored carpet towards you, slow and pathetic. Ice growls and barks. Rio raises his Remington.

“Wait,” Baela says. Her hammer is in her right hand. “Can I do it?”

“Of course, be my guest,” Rio says; though you can tell he’s slightly disappointed. He loves clubbing things.

Baela approaches the yowling zombie—jaws snapping, claws swiping—and grimaces down at it, this one of millions of monsters that ended the world, that killed Jace and stole all the rest of her life from her too, all those normal things she was supposed to have, all those strings of fate that the plague cut through like a razor and sent floating aimlessly out into the void of the universe. Then with a scream, Baela swings her hammer and a catastrophic impact crater appears in the side of the zombie’s skull, and it crumples to the floor, its mindless brains spilling out onto the carpet.

“Nothing good?” Aegon asks when you reappear in the driveway, popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

“No,” Aemond replies grimly. “No gas, no bullets, no food, nothing to drink.”

“I knew it would be lean pickings once we got out here,” Cregan says, and Aemond looks like he could kill him.

“Well, fortunately, Luke might have some good news for us,” Aegon says with a grin.

Aemond perks up. “Really? What?”

“I saw a truck out there,” Luke says, using his binoculars to gesture to the grain bin. “It’s parked between the barn and the grain thing, I can just see the very front of it sticking out. And if there’s a truck, there might be gas.”

Aemond ruffles Luke’s fluffy dark hair. “Good job, kid.” And Luke lights up like how cities used to look at night, back when the power was on: Washington D.C., Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae. Rio stoops down so Aegon can hop on his back, and all of you trek together across the field.

“Nothing,” Cregan announces as he squeezes the little pump on the siphoning hose after opening the gas cap of the ancient Chevy Silverado and threading the hose inside. “Not a drop.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Aegon sighs from where he’s slumped on the ground. His eyes are glazed; he’s pretty stoned. He gazes pitifully up at you; you pat his shoulder sympathetically. You and Rio have already checked the barn, dilapidated but perfectly devoid of zombies. The roof has caved in; one of the two front doors are missing. “What now?!”

“We can go back to the interstate and walk until we find the next ranch,” you say, looking absentmindedly at the grain bin. It’s much larger up close, and rusty in spots. A ladder runs up one side to allow access to the roof. Ice isn’t whining or nudging anyone’s hands, but she’s sniffing the air as if she’s detected something interesting, unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” Luke replies miserably. “We can walk another five or ten miles and then maybe find a safe place to spend the night.”

Rhaena shades her eyes as she peers up at the sky. “It’s past noon already. Maybe we should just stay here.”

Rio barks out a sardonic laugh. “In a house with no supplies and that reeks of dead people?”

“Cregan, go kill us something to eat,” Aegon commands.

He chuckles in his deep, gruff voice. “It’s Miss Chips who is good at the killing, I’m just the authority on butchering at the moment.”

Aemond is watching Ice, his forehead furrowed. “What’s she doing?”

Cregan whistles. “Hey, princess, you okay?” Ice ignores him, still sniffing, her grey ears straight up in the air. Then it appears from behind the barn: a tiny brown creature, a baby bear.

“Aww, it’s so fuzzy!” Aegon squeals, stretching his arm out to pet it. Rio yanks him away; everyone else is backing up towards the grain bin. A second bear cub has now arrived, padding clumsily along, large cartoonish eyes and a little pink tongue poking out from its muzzle.

“Don’t touch them!” Aemond shouts to everyone. “Get away from them! If there are cubs, there’s probably—”

And around the barn comes the mother, a grizzly bear of 400 pounds. She bares her teeth and snarls, saliva dripping in long gluey strings. Ice is barking viciously; Aegon is shrieking and scrambling onto Rio’s back.

“Baela!” Aemond says because she’s closest to him, urging her towards the ladder of the grain bin. She gets the idea and begins climbing. Then Aemond reaches for you. “Come on, you next!”

“Rhaena, go,” you say instead, and she clambers up the ladder after Baela. Cregan is brandishing his axe; Rio has his Remington in his hands, Aegon still clinging to his back like a baby opossum to its mother. Now Helaena is climbing up the ladder, and Daeron nocks an arrow. You whip one of your M9s out of its holster, aim for the bear’s head, and pull the trigger.

Your bullet hits its skull, Daeron’s arrow pierces its chest; and the mother bear does not die but roars and rises up onto her back feet—taller than Rio, taller than Cregan—and then drops back down and charges towards you and the grain bin. Cregan blocks the way, swinging his axe. The bear reluctantly pauses, testing him with swipes of her claws that he evades. Rio is just a few steps behind Cregan, waving his Remington around hostilely. Aegon is screaming and holding on for dear life.

“Don’t shoot!” Cregan yells. “9mm isn’t big enough, you’ll just make her more angry!”

Aemond finally gets a grip on your wrist and drags you to the ladder. You obey and climb until your feet are several rungs off the ground, then you turn to see what’s going on below. Aemond, Luke, and Daeron are at the bottom of the ladder, their backs to you. Cregan is still wielding his axe.

“Fuck off, Mama Bear!” he bellows, standing as tall as possible and swinging his axe above his head. Rio follows Cregan’s lead and holds his Remington aloft. Ice is barking; the baby bears are fleeing in terror. Aegon is sobbing hysterically and saying he’s going to die. “You don’t want us and we don’t want you! Go on! Go get your babies! I’ll put this blade right between your eyes if you don’t change your stupid mind right quick!”

The bear pounds the earth with her front feet and growls, a beastly subterranean rumble, but she seems to be losing her nerve. The rungs of the ladder creak and groan; you see rust like blood-hued moss around the bolts.

“Get out of here!” Cregan shouts. “Go, you hairy old bitch! Go back to your babies!”

The bear glances back to see her cubs vanish behind the barn. Her mouth is open and panting, spittle gleaming on her pointed teeth; her black eyes are uncertain. As you hold onto the ladder with one hand, you have your M9 aimed at the bear’s left eye, just in case. Aemond is watching Cregan; on his scarred face a sharp severity, fascination and resentment and fear.

“Go on,” Cregan says firmly. “Leave us alone. You belong in the mountains, not down here. Go eat something that’s already dead, a nice easy dinner. You don’t want us. We’ll fight you.”

The grizzly bear shakes her head—flopping ears, shaggy fur filthy with dust and pieces of grass—and whirls, lumbering off to find her cubs. When she rounds the barn, Cregan waits a few long, tense, silent minutes and then turns to the grain bin.

“Alright y’all, we oughta hurry up and leave. I don’t think she’ll come back, but she might.”

From the top of the ladder, approximately forty feet off the ground, Baela begins to laugh. “Did that really just happen?! That was insane! Cregan, buddy, you can vote for whoever you want to. You and I are cool forever.”

He smiles up at her, wincing in the bright afternoon light. “I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Rio sets Aegon down on the ground and stretches his back; it must be hurting him. Aemond is taking your hand and helping you off the ladder, and you are reminded of the transmission tower where he found you in Catawissa, Pennsylvania, one of those middle-of-nowhere places like Tipton, Wyoming. As Helaena climbs down, you go to Rio and—with as much force as you can manage—knead the small of his back with the heel of your hand like you know helps him.

“You okay?”

He sighs loudly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Oh, wow, that’s good. Harder…oh yeah…”

There is a snapping sound, metal squealing as it breaks, and by the time you turn to look she’s already falling: her cotton dress billowing around her, her arms wheeling helplessly. It happens too quickly for her to scream—for her to understand what is going on and what it means—but there is a stunned gasp and then she hits the ground, and you hear a muffled crunch of bone—skull?? spine??—and she is completely, unnaturally still as she lies on her back, no pain, no words, nothing.

“Baela!” Rhaena shrieks, and she rushes down the ladder and runs to her sister. You are all gathering around Baela, petrified to move her—to make it worse—but pleading for her to wake up, examining her with terrified eyes. Baela’s own eyes, dark and glassy and serene, are open only a sliver like obsidian crescent moons. Aemond is asking Helaena for a flashlight and then prying them wide, checking Baela’s pupils.

“There’s no reflex,” he says numbly.

“What does that mean?!” Rhaena cries. “Aemond? Aemond?!”

“She’s…she’s…” He’s in denial; he’s in shock. He’s feeling for a pulse on her carotid, he’s digging his fingernails into her forearm to try to get her to respond to pain.

“Aemond?” you say softly.

“She’s gone,” he tells you, like he doesn’t believe it, like he’s waiting to wake up.

“The baby,” Rhaena says. “Try to save the baby.” And then, when Aemond doesn’t immediately understand, she grabs his backpack and begins ripping it off so he can get the medical kit inside. “The baby, Aemond!”

Now he knows what he has to do. He pulls the scalpel out of his kit as Rhaena moves Baela’s sundress to expose her belly. She was wearing biker shorts beneath, lavender, cute, something you might have picked out in a store. In less than a minute they will be soaked with blood. Cregan leads Daeron away, and he’s telling him that they need to keep watch in case the grizzly bear returns, but you think it is an act of mercy more than anything else. Ice goes with them. Helaena, her face pale and grave, is shining the flashlight on Baela’s belly, just beneath her navel.

“Aegon?” Aemond says.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need people to help hold open the incision once I make it. I have to be able to see the amniotic sac so I can cut the membrane without harming the baby.”

“I get it, I’m here, I’ll help.”

Aemond presses the blade of the scalpel to Baela’s skin and draws a semicircle from the top of one hip to the other. There is blood, but it is slow-moving and thick and dark; it is the blood of a dead woman, not a living one. Immediately, Aegon hooks his fingers under layers of fat, skin, and muscle, and opens the wound as much as he can. You and Rio reach in too, and you do this without thinking, without allowing yourself to feel the horror of it until the work is done.

“I can’t see,” Aemond is murmuring. Rhaena gets another flashlight and helps Helaena illuminate the area. Luke is on his knees with both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes glistening with dread and disbelief. Aemond is slicing, pausing to probe around with his fingers, cutting again. Then his arm plunges into Baela’s abdomen up to his elbow and, with some difficulty, pulls out the gore-covered baby by its feet, a girl, large and limp and silent.

Rhaena sobs, equal parts grief and joy, a smile appearing on her face. “Is she okay? Aemond? Is she…why isn’t she crying? Aemond?!”

Rio yanks off his shirt and uses it to wipe blood and gelatinous clumps away from the baby’s eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Then Aemond takes the shirt and wraps the baby in it, warming her, rubbing her lifeless little limbs. When she does not stir, Aemond lays her on the earth and begins CPR: compressions with two fingers on her tiny heart, two breaths down the airway she’s never used. There are no sounds except his efforts. There is no crying when the baby wakes, because she never does.

Enough, you are thinking, as if from very far away: an island in the Indian Ocean, the Appalachian mountains in eastern Kentucky. Enough, enough, enough.

Aemond stops trying to revive the baby. He picks her up and holds her against him, and no one says anything. There is only the barrenness of the Wyoming steppe, an anemic blue sky, tall dry grass that bows in the breeze, black vultures that are landing atop the barn and the grain bin.

Aegon jolts out of his paralysis and reaches for his brother with bloodied hands. “Aemond, hey, Aemond, listen to me, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? Are you listening? Aemond, man, you did everything you could. You gave them a chance. You didn’t give up.”

But Aemond doesn’t respond; he only kneels there beside Baela’s butchered body, her dead baby girl in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alys?” he calls, seeing that she never came back to bed. He is lying on his stomach, tangled in red sheets damp with sweat. It’s hot, too hot, and there is no humming of the air conditioning. When Aemond picks up his iPhone from the nightstand, it’s still plugged in but only at 87% battery. The power must have gone out.

He gets up, rubs the damp skin by his temple—headache, dehydration—and lifts open the nearest window. It’s odd: there is shouting, distant and indistinct, like the sound of a carnival or a concert. There are car alarms too, and sirens, and horns blaring, all too far away for him to see. It must be because of the power outage, traffic signals thrown into chaos, neighbors relaying the latest information back and forth. That’s the only logical explanation.

“Alys?” Aemond says again, groggy but with increasing curiosity, concern, guilt.

She started to feel sick last night, a pulsing in her skull and chills and powerful nausea. The possibility of it being the so-called Florida Fever barely registered in his mind. Alys gets migraines, and tofu is a migraine trigger, and he took her to a Thai restaurant (maybe he should have known better) and the curry Alys ordered ended up having tofu in it, and by the time she paid the check (as Alys always did) she was swallowing an Imitrex from the box in her snakeskin purse. She said she was going to lie down in the guest bedroom for a while so she wouldn’t wake him if she spent the next few hours dashing to and from the bathroom, a likely outcome, and if he was honest with himself about it, Aemond would admit he was relieved.

He shuffles to the bedroom door—black boxers, bare feet, century-old hardwood floors—and opens it. Now he can hear thudding, like someone tenderizing meat with a mallet. “Alys? Baby, you feeling okay?” There is no answer, only that rhythmic hammering. He realizes that it is coming from the guest bedroom, a door at the end of a long hallway still fuzzy through his half-awake eyes.

It had never felt right, but it had felt good: good in the body when she touched him, good in the soul when she told him he did something right. But lately—especially here, in the vast creaking historic house she shares with her husband and her children, who are presently sailing in Cape Cod—Aemond cannot shake the feeling that this entanglement is a surrender rather than an aspiration, something he fell into and now rests at the bottom of like a swimming pool or the sea, the cold weight of it threatening to pour into his lungs and drown him.

“Alys?” Aemond says, now with profound and inexplicable dread. Outside an ambulance or police car zooms by, sirens blaring. The pounding on the door of the guest bedroom grows faster.

I want to go home, Aemond thinks suddenly. At home, in the Federal-style townhouse his parents rented for him (Criston picked it out, a safe and quiet neighborhood in Beacon Hill, and Viserys paid), Daeron is visiting from California and watching golf tournaments with Aegon on the living room couch, pretending to be interested when Aegon describes the different types of clubs. Helaena, pursuing an Entomology PhD, is researching the Mediterranean mantis, clicking around on her MacBook Pro from the garden in the backyard. Jace and Luke live there too, and so Baela and Rhaena have all but officially moved in, keeping their apartment in Seaport only to have somewhere to retreat to when the Targaryen chaos becomes too much…and so the baby can have its own room. Baela bought a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, a dresser, and about a million unisex onesies, mostly space-themed. Baela is studying Aeronautics and Astronautics, after all. Maybe one day she’ll work for NASA and fly rockets to the moon.

The door is rattling on its hinges. Aemond’s hand closes around the knob. On the other side is something terrible, and he knows this. But he cannot just leave her. Aemond is not someone who abandons people; he is not someone who turns away from responsibilities.

He opens the door of the guest bedroom, and immediately she is staggering towards him, limp dripping hair and naked like she was interrupted mid-shower: blood bubbling from her gaping mouth and the whites of teeth peeking through the crimson, necrotic skin hanging in strips from her fingers, eyes misty like steam on a mirror.

“Alys, stop! Alys! What’s wrong with you?!”

She’s alive but she’s dead. She’s yowling and clawing at him, but her flesh is the rotting swampland of a corpse. He’s pushing her away; his palms sink into her, places he once noticed and then fantasized about and then at last—euphorically, ashamedly—touched, held, borrowed but never kept. She’s trying to bite him. She’s trying to kill him. None of this is possible, and yet it’s true.

Aemond flings her away, and the woman who was once Alys stumbles backwards and down the staircase, sick wet thumps all the way to the ground floor, bones splitting through dissolving grey skin, organs sloshing around until they spill out. He can hear her still hissing, flailing, trying to get up again.

Without thinking—slipping seamlessly into what he learned during his psych rotation is called automatic action—Aemond races down the steps and grabs her by the skull, cracks it against the antique hardwood floor she once extoled the value of as he fucked her on it: shipped east from Oregon and laid in 1912, the year the Titanic sank. When she lurches up to try to bite him, he slams her head against the floor again and again until she is still.

Then Aemond kneels there alone for a long time, sirens shrieking outside, far-off strangers screaming for help, putrid black blood clotting on his hands.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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mbbsstudyinrussia · 6 months

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Yaroslavl State Medical University Russia

Yaroslavl State Medical University Russia, established in 1944, has a long-standing reputation for excellence and is widely recognized by the Ministry of Education and Science of the Russian Federation. In addition, it is also listed in the World Directory of Medical Schools, further solidifying its position as a top-tier institution. The university’s commitment to providing high-quality education is evident through its diverse range of undergraduate, postgraduate, and doctoral programs in various fields of medicine. One of the key strengths of Yaroslavl State Medical University is its faculty, who are highly qualified and dedicated to imparting knowledge to the students. The university’s modern infrastructure, which includes well-equipped laboratories, classrooms, and lecture halls, enables students to engage in hands-on learning and research opportunities. Moreover, the university’s medical clinic and hospital provide a unique and valuable practical experience for students, as they have the opportunity to treat patients under the guidance of experienced doctors, further preparing them for their future careers in medicine.

Furthermore, the university’s collaborations with these international institutions offer students the chance to participate in exchange programs and research initiatives. Through these partnerships, students can broaden their understanding of global healthcare systems and gain valuable insights into diverse medical approaches. This exposure to international perspectives can greatly enrich their academic experience and prepare them for a globalized healthcare environment. Overall, the university’s strong international connections offer students a unique and enriching educational experience that extends beyond the classroom.

Yaroslavl State Medical University emphasizes the importance of practical training and hands-on experience for its students. The university has modern laboratories and simulation centers where students can gain practical knowledge and skills in various medical procedures and techniques. This practical training is essential for the students to become competent and confident medical professionals. Furthermore, the university also encourages its students to participate in extracurricular activities and events to develop their interpersonal and leadership skills. There are student clubs and organizations that organize various events, workshops, and seminars, providing students with opportunities to enhance their communication and teamwork skills. In conclusion, Yaroslavl State Medical University Russia not only focuses on academic excellence but also strives to provide a holistic learning experience for its students. The combination of research activities, well-equipped facilities, practical training, and extracurricular opportunities makes the university a well-rounded institution for aspiring medical professionals.

A-222, Kabir Nagar, Shahdara, New Delhi — 110093 9540302883, 9953971904, 7011714220, 0120–4327792 [email protected]

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matan4il · 6 months

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Israel Has Created a New Standard for Urban Warfare. Why Will No One Admit It? | by John Spencer

The Israel Defense Forces conducted an operation at al-Shifa hospital in the Gaza Strip to root out Hamas terrorists recently, once again taking unique precautions as it entered the facility to protect the innocent; Israeli media reported that doctors accompanied the forces to help Palestinian patients if needed. They were also reported to be carrying food, water and medical supplies for the civilians inside.

None of this meant anything to Israel's critics, of course, who immediately pounced. The critics, as usual, didn't call out Hamas for using protected facilities like hospitals for its military activity. Nor did they mention the efforts of the IDF to minimize civilian casualties.

In their criticism, Israel's opponents are erasing a remarkable, historic new standard Israel has set. In my long career studying and advising on urban warfare for the U.S. military, I've never known an army to take such measures to attend to the enemy's civilian population, especially while simultaneously combating the enemy in the very same buildings. In fact, by my analysis, Israel has implemented more precautions to prevent civilian harm than any military in history—above and beyond what international law requires and more than the U.S. did in its wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The predominant Western theory of executing wars, called maneuver warfare, seeks to shatter an enemy morally and physically with surprising, overwhelming force and speed, striking at the political and military centers of gravity so that the enemy is destroyed or surrenders quickly. This was the case in the invasions of Panama in 1989, Afghanistan in 2001, Iraq in 2003 and the failed illegal attempt by Russia to take Ukraine in 2022. In all these cases, no warning or time was given to evacuate cities.

In many ways, Israel has had to abandon this established playbook in order to prevent civilian harm. The IDF has telegraphed almost every move ahead of time so civilians can relocate, nearly always ceding the element of surprise. This has allowed Hamas to reposition its senior leaders (and the Israeli hostages) as needed through the dense urban terrain of Gaza and the miles of underground tunnels it's built.

Hamas fighters, who unlike the IDF don't wear uniforms, have also taken the opportunity to blend into civilian populations as they evacuate. The net effect is that Hamas succeeds in its strategy of creating Palestinian suffering and images of destruction to build international pressure on Israel to stop its operations, therefore ensuring Hamas' survival.

Israel gave warning, in some cases for weeks, for civilians to evacuate the major urban areas of northern Gaza before it launched its ground campaign in the fall. The IDF reported dropping over 7 million flyers, but it also deployed technologies never used anywhere in the world, as I witness firsthand on a recent trip to Gaza and southern Israel.

Israel has made over 70,000 direct phones calls, sent over 13 million text messages and left over 15 million pre-recorded voicemails to notify civilians that they should leave combat areas, where they should go, and what route they should take. They deployed drones with speakers and dropped giant speakers by parachute that began broadcasting for civilians to leave combat areas once they hit the ground. They announced and conducted daily pauses of all operations to allow any civilians left in combat areas to evacuate.

These measures were effective. Israel was able to evacuate upwards of 85 percent of the urban areas in northern Gaza before the heaviest fighting began. This is actually consistent with my research on urban warfare history that shows that no matter the effort, about 10 percent of populations stay.

As the war raged on, Israel began giving out its military maps to civilians so they could conduct localized evacuations. This, too, has never been done in war. During my recent visit to Khan Yunis, Gaza, and the IDF civilian harm mitigation unit in southern Israel, I observed as the army began using these maps to communicate each day where the IDF would be operating so civilians in other areas would stay out of harm's way.

I saw that the IDF even tracked the population in real time down to a few-block radius using drone and satellite imagery and cell phone presence and building damage assessments to avoid hitting civilians. The New York Times reported in January that the daily civilian death toll had more than halved in the previous month and was down almost two-thirds from its peak.

Of course, the true number of Gaza civilian deaths is unknown. The current Hamas-supplied estimate of over 31,000 does not acknowledge a single combatant death (nor any deaths due to the misfiring of its own rockets or other friendly fire). The IDF estimates it has killed about 13,000 Hamas operatives, a number I believe credible partly because I believe the armed forces of a democratic American ally over a terrorist regime, but also because of the size of Hamas fighters assigned to areas that were cleared and having observed the weapons used, the state of Hamas' tunnels and other aspects of the combat.

That would mean some 18,000 civilians have died in Gaza, a ratio of roughly 1 combatant to 1.5 civilians. Given Hamas' likely inflation of the death count, the real figure could be closer to 1 to 1. Either way, the number would be historically low for modern urban warfare.

The UN, EU and other sources estimate that civilians usually account for 80 percent to 90 percent of casualties, or a 1:9 ratio, in modern war (though this does mix all types of wars). In the 2016-2017 Battle of Mosul, a battle supervised by the U.S. that used the world's most powerful airpower resources, some 10,000 civilians were killed compared to roughly 4,000 ISIS terrorists.

And yet, analysts who should know better are still engaging in condemnation of the IDF based on the level of destruction that's still occurred—destruction that is unavoidable against an enemy that embeds in a vast tunnel system under civilian sites in dense urban terrain. This effects-based condemnation or criticism is not how the laws of war work, or violations determined. These and other analysts say the destruction and civilian causalities must either stop or be avoided in an alternative form of warfare.

Ironically, the careful approach Israel has taken may have actually led to more destruction; since the IDF giving warnings and conducting evacuations help Hamas survive, it ultimately prolongs the war and, with it, its devastation.

Israel has not created a gold standard in civilian harm mitigation in war. That implies there is a standard in civilian casualties in war that is acceptable or not acceptable; that zero civilian deaths in war is remotely possible and should be the goal; that there is a set civilian-to-combatant ratio in war no matter the context or tactics of the enemy. But all available evidence shows that Israel has followed the laws of war, legal obligations, best practices in civilian harm mitigation and still found a way to reduce civilian casualties to historically low levels.

Those calling for Israel to find an alternative to inflicting civilian casualties to lower amounts (like zero) should be honest that this alternative would leave the Israeli hostages in captivity and allow Hamas to survive the war. The alternative to a nation's survival cannot be a path to extinction.

John Spencer is chair of urban warfare studies at the Modern War Institute (MWI) at West Point, codirector of MWI's Urban Warfare Project and host of the "Urban Warfare Project Podcast." He served for 25 years as an infantry soldier, which included two combat tours in Iraq. He is the author of the book "Connected Soldiers: Life, Leadership, and Social Connection in Modern War" and co-author of "Understanding Urban Warfare."

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argroup005 · 9 months

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Embark on Excellence: AR Group of Education's In-Depth Guide to MBBS Admission in Russia

Make your MBBS dreams come true

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Our commitment is not only to make sure you get in, but to see you thrive in an environment that nurtures excellence and innovation. We believe that your learning environment is integral to your success, and we strive to provide you with the best resources available.

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masked-men-fantasy · 4 months

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Ask about their manhood size Headcanon (Rainbow Six Siege)

Headcanon for my beloved masked men from Rainbow Six Siege. What have they got for us?

NSFW Content. MDNI.

Tachanka

"You know I always come with my LMG, right? One thing you don't realize is that I do not have just one LMG with me." He said it with a heavy Russian accent.

And by LMG, he really meant it, not just metaphorically.

Probably because of his genetics, Mother Russia does give him a satisfactory size of 8 inches in length with a 5 inch girth. The tips or his cock slightly bloomed, with some pre-cum oozed out.

You know that it is definitely huge when you find him naked, and his shaft does not look small, despite the fact that his body is already crazy muscular.

"What, моя принцесса (my princess)? Like what you see down there?" Although he still wears his balaclava, his eyes do tell that he smirked at you playfully while he said that.

Kapkan

"Hunters never let their prey know any information about them," Kapkan said while his cold eyes met yours. "If you want to know, you must step into the lair first."

By lair, he means his own bedroom.

You know he can be edgy, but you are not ready for such a level. You don't hate that, though. In fact, it is what makes you like him.

He will sit at the edge of the bed, tie both of your hands behind your back, and blindfold you. Then let you do your work while he opens his legs.

His hand grips your head and pushes your face to his crotch. You can feel his hardness on the thin fabric. After you let your lips guide through, Kapkan should have at least 6 inches of length.

Unfortunately, your brain cannot process anything further. The scent of his manhood is so intoxicating. It is not a bad or musky smell, but it is a unique scent that works so well, just like aphrodisiac.

Let curiosity aside for now, and let nature's instincts guide your body to please this hunter in front of you.

Deimos

To be surprised, the old Rainbow protocol required keeping very detailed medical information. This, of course, included Gerald's penis size.

Nothing special—7 inches long with a little curve up.

"Now that you know my secret, you need to die." Deimos just appeared behind your back, whispering with his strong voice. And with that tone, he must really mean it.

You begged for your life and promised that you would destroy the remaining documents for him.

"But you still know about me." He said while stroking his chin and looking at you, "I guess I have to destroy you, too."

Oh...

Yes, yes, please destroy the hell out of me.

#r6s deimos #rainbow six siege #r6 #r6s #tachanka x reader #kapkan x reader #deimos x reader #x male reader #tachanka x male reader #kapkan x male reader #deimos x male reader #Tachanka #kapkan #Deimos

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the-book-gnome · 2 years

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Is that so?

Word count: 5.5k

Pairings: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, slight mention of blood, p in v, fingering, creaming, multiple orgasms, pain implied, praise kink, belly bulge, penetration, unprotected sex, f!reader, petnames (sweetheart)

18+ only ! minors do not interact !

You always wished you were more of a private person. More shielded and not as easy to read. But unfortunately for you, that was not the case, and now everyone knows. You didn’t even say anything about the matter but people could easily tell by the way you acted around him. At first, they thought you were just nervous being around someone so dangerous but after they caught on to the fact that you couldn't meet his eyes and every time he spoke you blushed.

You were fine with other people knowing, you never actually told them so they were just assuming but then soap had just so happened to accidentally tell Ghost. When Soap told you you just drugged and told him it doesn't matter because you don’t have feelings for him but Soap didn’t look at all convinced.

You had been doing everything in your power not to go on the next mission, making up excuses or lying. You got out of the last one but you were ordered to be on the next. You were one of the most experienced medics on the base and they needed you.

———

The task force was sent to Russia for a mission. There was nothing to do but wait until it was light out, so everyone was sitting inside one of the tents. There were a few battery-operated heaters placed around but that hardly did anything to keep everyone warm. The only person who seemed to be unaffected by the cold was Ghost.

Perhaps he didn’t hear when Soap told him about how you felt, he treated you the same as before, which was upsetting. The only time Ghost spoke to you was when he needed help with his injuries and even then he only said a word or two. A part of you had hoped he would acknowledge you more, but of course, he didn’t.

The men were talking in a huddled circle when soap said something that caught your attention. “Yeah it’s blows, I guess you and I are sleeping together,” Soap slapped Roach on the shoulder, flashing him a sly smile.

Roach rolled his eyes at the comment, “I still can’t believe we have to double up, we could be here for a week and they didn’t think to bring enough tents for all of us.” You're hoping to be paired up with someone quiet, Soap was a loud snorer so you weren’t the least bit sad that he already picked a partner.

You decided to wait until someone asked you to partner with them, it would be far too embarrassing to ask and then be denied, you’d rather wait. And wait you did, it had been about 2 hours since that conversation, no one had doormen to you and you were starting to get worried. What if all the tents were already full, where were you going to sleep? It wasn’t until a dark shadow fell upon you that you looked up from your book.

You were shocked to see Ghost standing there. What could he want? Was he bleeding or something? You quickly glanced around his body checking for any wounds but found none. “We will be sharing a tent, I’m going to bed now so either come with or don’t come at all, I don’t want to be woken up by you tripping over things and making noise.” He then walked away towards the exit of the tent.

It wasn’t until his body disappeared through the flaps of the tent that you scrambled after him. You couldn’t figure out why he had chosen you as a partner, he doesn't even like you. A blast of cold hit you as you stepped out of the tent. It was a blizzard out here and you could hardly see 2 feet In Front of you. A gloved hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you further into the high. You were already shivering, tripping every now and then over small piles of snow. The only thing keeping you from falling on your face was his hand.

“There’s no heater in here so we’ll have to stay close to each other,” Ghost's rough voice filled your ears as the two of you stepped into the tent you’d be sharing. When your eyes adjusted to the darkness your mouth fell open. Not only were there not enough tents but there was also a shortage of beds apparently. In the middle of the tent was a medium-sized cot. The right size for Ghost but for both of you? There was no way you wouldn’t be falling off every five seconds. “Is there a problem?” His state was intense. You could feel your body tingling as he stared at you.

You shook your head, there was no point in complaining to him it’s not like it was his fault. You unlaced your boots and set them aside, Ghost did the same. You both kept all your clothes on including your coats, the blanket will keep you a little warm but not warm enough. You expected him to take his mask off but he didn’t, instead, he walked over to the cot and sat down. Ghost motioned for you to go to him and of course, you listened. “There’s not enough room to lay side by side. You’ll need to lay on top of me, is that alright with you?” You let out a breath and nodded, not trusting your voice.

Ghost laid down on his back, he let out a deep groan as his head hit the pillow, he must be exhausted. He draped the blanket across his body and then lifted half of it, “Come.” You were so grateful that it was dark, there was no doubt that your cheeks were bright red. You kneeled on the cot next to his body, not quite sure what to do next. Ghost let out an annoyed grunt and pulled you into him. Your back laid against this broad chest and your legs were placed in between his. God, he was so warm.

You could feel the bottom of his chin resting against the top of your head. It took a few minutes until you were able to relax against him. The steady sound of his heartbeat easing you.

Both of his hands were wrapped around your waist, his legs tangled with yours. It was surprisingly warm, but that could just be from how flushed you were. You started drifting off into sleep as Ghost drew small shapes on the waistband of your pants. It was very relaxing and it felt good to be touched by him.

———

It had only been a few weeks since that first night in the tents. The mission went quickly and the team only had to stay there for 2 nights. Everyone was back at the base waiting for the next mission. You were currently sitting in the med bay spinning in a chair. You were bored out of your mind, there were no patients and the man who was currently in charge of you for the day wouldn't let you leave. Not even for lunch, you had to sit there and eat. It was miserable and if the camp so happened to be bombed at that moment you wouldn't mind very much. Death seemed more exciting than this shit.

That was until a certain tall, large, muscled man walked in. God he was beautiful, you couldn't help but stare at him. You bit on the pen that was hanging from your mouth. A blush formed on your cheeks as you thought of all the ways he could touch you. He was massive compared to you, the top of your head only reached just above his pecs. Your eyes lower to his muscled thighs. He could snap your neck without even straining a muscle with those. And his hands were fucking gorgeous. The few times he wasn't wearing his gloves you made sure to study very intently on them. The veins were prominent and their size could bring you to your knees.

When your eyes reached him, you spit the pen out and hit your knee against the underside of the desk you were sitting at. You cursed as a rush of pain shot through you. “Enjoying yourself?” Ghost spoke from where he was standing. His arms were crossed and his gaze didn't leave you. You didn't really have anywhere else to look since his mask covered everything but his eyes. You could feel the burning in your cheeks as you met his gaze.

Deciding to ignore his words you sat up in your chair and asked, “Is there something you need sir?” Does he like to be called sir when he fucking someone? You wouldn't mind if he did. His voice drew you out of your dirty thoughts once again.

“I need this stitched up,” Ghost held up his forearm showing you a deep gash on the outside of his arm. You hopped out of your seat and rushed over to him. Gently grabbing his arm to inspect the damage.

“Come with me,” You led him to one of the beds, he sat on the edge while you sat in a rolling chair and grabbed all of the needed materials. You grabbed a numbing cream from one of the draws, only to be stopped when he grabbed your wrist.

“I won't need that, just stitch me up as quick as possible,” your brows furrowed, there was no point in making this hurt more than it already has. “I'll be fine, it would just be a waste.”

You nodded and put it away, after cleaning the wound you started seeing it back together. Ghost didn't even flinch. That surprised you, even Price flinched and he acted all strong and tough all of the time. A wave of sadness washed over you as you realized none of this was an act. Ghost truly didn't trust anyone and you had a good feeling he didn't feel much either. Physical or emotional. “How did this happen?”

“Training with soap,” Ghost's response was brief, perhaps he wasn't in the mood for talking. But in truth he never was.

“Oh,” You didn't often see Ghost without his tactical gear on so seeing him with just a normal t-shirt on was strange. It gave you the chance to see his tattoos though. “I like your tattoos, do they have any meaning?”

“No,” Ghost didn't look away from you, you could feel him staring at you but you did your best to ignore him and just keep working. “Why me?” The confusion was evident in his voice.

You immediately knew what he was talking about. You were hoping that he would just pretend Soap never told him. That was what he had been doing for weeks so why bring it up now? “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I don't like liars, you know that,” Ghost's voice sent shivers down your spine. He rarely used his authoritative voice on you but when he did it made you fuzzy. “You don't have feelings for me, you don't even know me. You're probably just confused or lonely.”

You scoffed at his audacity. Your embarrassment faded away as you grew angry. Did he truly believe that you were just so lonely that you latched on to the first man your eyes fell on? You took your hands off of him and glared at him. “First of all lieutenant, people can develop feelings for one another regardless of how close they are and secondly I'm not lonely or confused. I'm perfectly happy with my social standing and I find it insulting that you think that my feelings for you are some desperate attempt to fill a void of loneliness, which by the way doesn't exist.”

Ghost raises a brow at your words. This was the first time you had ever spoken to him with so much confidence. He liked it. “Is that so? Then tell me what exactly you like so much, and why do you make it so obvious to everyone.”

Your eyes narrowed, why is he such a prick? “I don't make it obvious to anyone, just because people think they know things doesn't make that a fact.”

“So you're telling me you feel nothing towards me? I thought I told you I didn't like liars.” He flexed his hand, bringing your attention back to stitching his arm back up. You rolled your eyes at him and went back to your work. But before you could make much progress his other hand grabbed your chin and forced you to look back up at him. Ghost tilted his head slightly, his grip was gentle yet firm. “Don't roll your eyes at me,” the way he said those words almost seemed like he was challenging you. Egging you on.

A tiny smirk grew on your lips, “What are you gonna do if I do? Punish me?” you couldn't tell how he was feeling, he kept his face a perfect mask. Ironic given that he was also wearing a mask.

“Acting like a brat now are we? I'm surprised at your newfound confidence. I can't say I mind it too much,” Ghost's words caused you to grow warm. You clenched your thighs together to ease the ache at the peak. His eyes showed that you weren't very subtle. “Lust then? I'm sure there are plenty of other men that deserve your time much more than I do sweetheart.” he released his grip on you and motioned for you to finish his stitches.

Your mouth had fallen open and when you closed it just fell open again. You couldn't think of anything to say to him, it was like your brain short-circuited. You let out an annoyed sigh and went back to his arm. Why couldn't he just accept the fact that you had feelings for him? Did he think he was incapable of being cared for?

You finished a few minutes later, after you cleaned up the remaining blood, he thanked you and got up from the bed. As he started walking away you abruptly stood from your seat, “Simon,” you called for him. The sound of his name stopped him in his tracks. His head turned slightly, waiting for you to say whatever it was you wanted to say. “People are capable of caring about you. You don't have to make up some excuse for them thinking they're lonely or deprived, from… from experience, I know someone cares for you, whether you will let yourself accept that, that's for you to decide but don't think that my feelings are not real.” He stood there for a moment, taking your words in. A moment later he walked out of the med bay.

———

He hasn't spoken to you in two weeks. Two weeks since the conversation in the med bay. Two weeks since he's even looked at you. Perhaps you overstepped, but it's not like you could apologize, he made sure the two of you were never alone together. On the bright side you could still watch him like you use to, it felt different now that he knows why you watch him.

You had gone to bed early not wanting to deal with Soap and Ghost bickering, at first you thought it was funny but now it just annoys you. It was just getting dark, the camp was always hot though so you usually only used a sheet to cover up with. You were drifting off when you heard a gentle knocking at your door. You couldn't think of who it could be, or what they wanted at this hour. They knocked again and you threw your covers off and slowly made your way to the door.

You unlocked the door and then opened it quickly, hoping to get rid of whoever was on the other side as quickly as possible. You were shocked when you saw your lieutenant waiting patiently for you. His eyes raked down your body, taking in every exposed inch of you. The only thing covering you was an oversized shirt that slipped off your shoulder and the hem only made it halfway down your thighs. Simon's eyes stared at your thighs a little longer than the rest of you. There was nothing to cover up with so there was no point in trying.

“Is there something you need sir?” When he looked back up at you, you saw the frustration in his gaze. Instead of saying something he just pushed past you and entered your room. You stared at him, an awkward feeling resting between the two of you. After shutting the door, you walked over to your bed and sat down, “is everything alright?”

“No, you can't just say the things you said and act the way you did and then go back to how you used to be, it doesn't work that way,” It was clear Ghost was angry, you didn't know why though. He was the one who left. He was the one who started ignoring you. He clenched his hands, balling them into fists where they rested at his side. “Did you mean it?” He almost looks scared. Worry flooded you, did you scare him somehow?

“I…Simon, what's going on, are you okay?” You wanted to make him feel better, but he was right, you didn't truly know him. No matter how much you watched. You stood up and slowly approached him. He watched your every step. Not taking his eyes off you for even a second.

“Please…please just answer the question.” You took one of his hands in yours. He was freezing and shaking. You covered his hand in both of yours and looked back up at him. “I meant every word I said, Simon. I wouldn't lie about something like that, especially not to you.”

“Why, I don't understand,” Simon looked genuinely confused about how you could care for him. It didn't make any sense, he's killed and tortured people. He's never been very kind to you and he doesn't pay much attention to you either. “What have I don't to earn that?”

You tilted your head at him, a small smile craving your lips. “It has nothing to do with what you've earned. You don't trust people, and rightfully so. But I do believe you want to. I think you're lonely. And confused,” you three his own words back at him, but this time they were true. “You don't have anyone you can count on. You're completely alone and I hate that. I know there's nothing I can do to make you trust me, but I am here, even if you just want to sit in silence now and then. I care about you because I think you're a good man. You've done a lot of bad things in your life but so have the rest of us.” You took a step closer to him. His heavy breaths fan the top of your head. You leaned against him while looking up.

Simon stared at you, his eyes roaming over your face trying to see if you were lying or not. When he realized you weren't he brought his head now to yours. He kissed your forehead through his balaclava. “Can…can I sleep in here tonight?” His words were soft and his eyes were tightly closed.

“Of course, come,” Stepping away from him and turning around you led him into your bed. You say him down on the edge and then rested your knees against the floor in between his legs. You unlaced his boots and pulled them off of him, once you were done, you stood back up and the two of you laid down together. He pulled the sheet over you and pulled you into his chest. Ghost was being vulnerable, with you. Just the thought of that made your heart squeeze. You were proud of him for this. Who knows how long it's been since he was able to relax like this?

“You were wrong, I do trust someone” he murmured into your hair, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. “You.”

———

The next few weeks went by quickly, the team was sent out on another mission but that only lasted a few days, and to your disappointment, there was not a shortage of beds.

When everyone was back at the base, Simon usually stayed in your room for a few hours. Sometimes you two would talk but he usually just sat there in silence while you read a book.

Tonight was no different than the others, you were sitting on your cot with your back pressed against the wall and Ghost was sitting across from you on the floor. His arms were resting on his knees while he stared at you. When you asked him why he was starting he just told you to keep reading. You listened, not wanting to risk upsetting him and making him leave. About two later he started talking.

“Is it alright if I come and sit on the bed with you, the floor is hurting my ass,” Simon shifted uncomfortably? IYou let out a small laugh and patted a spot next to you. When he sat now next to you, his weight caused a dip in the catch which caused you to slide closer to him. He didn't seem to mind though. “What are you reading?”

“A book,” You smiled up at him and watched as he rolled his eyes at you. You set your book on your nightstand and lay down on your back, throwing your legs over Ghost. “So I have a very important question for you L.t.”

“Yeah? What would that be,” Ghost laid a hand on your knee, and the other was placed higher on your thigh.

You glanced down at his hand, “When was the last time you've don't anything sexual? I mean like with another person, doing things by yourself doesn't count,” Ghost looked at you with an incredulous look in his eyes. “What? I heard Soap talking about how it's been months for him and I was curious,”

Ghost shook his head and rested it against the wall. “When was the last time you did anything sexual?” He threw your question back at you. Which was rude and even more so when he pinched your thigh causing you to yelp. “If you answer then so will I, otherwise you can keep being curious.”

You let out a defeated sigh, there was no way in hell that you were going to answer it so you accept your defeat, “Fine, I guess I'll stay curious then.”

“Answer the question,” Ghost demanded. You shook your head at him, if he wasn't going to answer first then you weren't going to say a word. It's not like it really matters anyway. “As your lieutenant, I'm ordering you to answer.”

“You can force me to answer a question, that's not how it works,” You rolled your eyes at him and then closed them. A second later Ghost pushed your legs off of him and paced a hand by your head, holding himself above you. You flushed as you opened your eyes, he's never been this close to you before. His knee was positioned in between your legs, making it impossible to close them. “Never.”

Simon's eyebrows furrowed, “Never what?” he rested on his forearm while his other hand gently rested on your waist.

“I've never done anything sexual…well besides with myself but I already said that didn't count, though I have kissed a few guys but that was agile ago.” Your cheeks were bright red. It wasn't that you were specifically waiting for marriage or anything but you wanted your first time to be with someone you trusted. In your line of work, most of the men here are complete assholes who only want a quick fuck. So you had given up trying years ago. Simon didn't say anything, he just stared at you which seemed like his favourite thing to do at this point seeing as that's what he's been doing so much of. “What?” Your voice was hardly above a whisper yet he had heard you just fine.

“I can't say I'm surprised,” Simon brought his hand up to his face, slowly pulling down the balaclava, only exposing his mouth. His lips were plump and looked very soft. You didn't realize you were staring at them until they started to move. “So you've never done anything before?”

You shook your head, looking back up into his eyes, “People are vulnerable when they're exposed. I wanted it to be with someone I trust.”

Simon made a sound of approval. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” You didn't understand why he would ask that until he brought his lips down to yours. You were shocked at first, not knowing what was happening. Once you kissed him back, all of your worries faded away. His lips felt heavenly and his cologne filled your senses. The kiss was gentle, yet it was filled with passion. You've never been kissed like this before. You felt his tongue move along the seam of your lips, the second you parted your mouth for him his tongue dived in. You let out a shaky moan at the feeling, doing your best to keep up with his movements.

While you let him explore your mouth you felt his hand moving down to your thigh, he lifted it and wrapped it around his waist, settling in between your legs. Another moan sounded from your lips as he ground into you. You whined when he broke the kiss, causing a smirk to grow on his lips. He moved his hand over the waistband of your shorts, “May I?” You nodded at him but that didn't seem to please him. “I need you to use your words sweetheart.

“Yes please.” At that, he slowly slides the material down your legs, your underwear with it. Simon started kissing a trail down your neck, you moved your head out of the way exposing more skin to him.

“Such a good girl,” It was almost a growl, his hot breath sent shivers down your spine and straight to your core. You whimpered when he sunk his teeth into your skin, the shape pain was quickly followed by pleasure as he used his tongue to soothe the ache. “Fuck your soaking,” you cupped your sex with his palm, his touch hands scaling against your clit. You bucked up into his hand trying to give yourself more pleasure. “Such a needy little thing aren't you sweetheart?”

“Simon please,” you begged. You didn't know exactly what you needed from him but you did know you wanted to feel more. Giving in to your plea, Simon started rubbing your clit with his thumb. You grabbed onto his shoulders, digging into his flesh. Your breaths grew into pants as he started moving his thumb faster. You felt a finger prod at your entrance, you whined at him which caused him to give you a small laugh in return. Your back arched as he slid his finger inside of you. Starting with slow pumps, your walls clamped tightly around him.

Simon's slow pace was starting to annoy you, you didn't want to do this slow. You met his slow stroke, grinding into his hand as fast as you could. “Easy sweetheart, no need to be in a rush,” His lips caught yours again. The lack of air and pleasure causing you to feel hazy. It felt wonderful, you couldn't remember when you'd ever felt this good, and this was only his fingers. Your mouth fell open as he added a second finger, the stretch felt unbelievably good. Ghost didn't stop kissing you, he called every moan and whine like he was a starving man.

His fingers moved faster, the only sounds in the room were his fingers thrusting in and out of you. You felt your release quickly approaching, “cl-close,” you whimpered into his mouth. Ghost pulled back slightly, your eyes were half closed and your mouth was hung open.

“You're doing so good for me, so fucking good,” He curled his fingers inside of you, you let out a loud moan and your head fell back onto your pillow. Ghost watched as you came around his fingers, but not stopping until he worked you through your whole orgasm. “Atta girl, that's it.”

Ghost sat up on his knees, a satisfied smile on his lips. You watched as Ghost pulled his fingers out of you. You let out a breath when he opened up his mouth and started sucking your release off of his fingers. He let out a pleased hum at the taste of you. When he was finished he let his hands fall to his sides. “We don't have to continue if that makes you uncomfortable.” Instead of answering him you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off of you. Leaving you completely bare. “Fucking hell.”

“I don't want to stop.” Ghost mimicked your action and pulled his shirt off, throwing it to the side. You had never seen him shirtless before, he was absolutely beautiful. His skin was smooth, with a few jagged scars here and there. You reached out to run your hands down his abs. His hands were busy undoing the button and zipper. He pulled down his pants and boxers at the same time. His dick slapped against his stomach. Once his pants were off, he took a hold of your face forcing you to look up at him. You were panicking and he could see it.

“Just relax okay? If you want me to stop, just say the words.” Simon's voice was gentle. It eased some of the anxiety but you were still scared.

“There's no way that's going to fit Simon, it's too big.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, you could feel his dick resting on your pelvis.

“Well make it for sweetheart, don't worry,” Simon moved his hand down to stroke his dick, sliding it up and down your folds. When he asked if you were ready you nodded. “Use your words.”

“I'm ready,” Simon moved his other hand to hold onto, while also holding himself up. The gesture made your heart swell. No matter how emotionless he may act, he was still kind. You bit your lip as he started sinking into you. Only going an inch or two before pulling out and repeating the process. The pain was manageable but it still hurt, the size of his cock, was stretching you out more than what you were used to. He let out a grunt as he bottomed out. Your eyes were squeezed shut and you were taking deep breaths.

Thankfully Simon was true to his word and the pain subsides after a minute or two. His fingers were tracing your face, it was so light you could hardly feel it. “You can start moving now,” He squeezed your hand as he pulled out of you, leaving only the tip in, only hurting a little. Ghost kept his eyes on yours, not looking away for even a second.

After a few thrusts, it started to feel good, really good. “Fuck, so fucking tight, sweetheart,” Gost grunted, your cunt gripped onto his dick tightly, not used to having something so big inside. The sound of skin slapping against each other filled your room. Ghost did his best to keep you as quiet as possible, not wanting to deal with people knowing about what was going on inside your room. You squeezed his hand, the other balling up in the sheets beside you. The stimulation almost felt like too much. Like you were on the edge of a cliff about to fall off.

Your back arched, the position causing Simon to go deeper. His cock pistoning in and out of you at a fast pace. You could feel his dick throbbing, he must be close too. “Oh fuck, Simon!” Your loud moans forced him to clamp his hand over your mouth. Loose enough so you could breathe but it muffled the loud noises you were making.

“I know sweetheart, I know, holy shit,” Simon looked down at your bodies and watched himself thrust in and out of you. When you looked down there was a thick white ring around the base of his cock, along with the print of his dick in your skin. He slowed down for a moment, watching how your body took him in. Each time he trusted inside of you a bulge would form.

At that sight you finally tipped over the edge, your orgasm gushing around his dick as he kept on fucking you, your vision went white and everything went blurry. You heard his moans as he released inside of you, making sure every drop of his cum stayed where it belonged.

Ghost slowly stopped his movements. You whimpered as he pulled out of you. You felt exhausted, all you wanted to do was curl up and pass out. Luckily for you, Simon flipped onto his back next to you, he gently moved you into his arms, stroking your hair and telling you how good you did for him. “You're not going to start ignoring me again are you?” you mumbled into his chest. His heartbeat was still beating fast.

“Never again Sweetheart.”

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