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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what’s he saying?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Green.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

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

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

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

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

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

“I love that whole album.”

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

“I’m not asking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. People.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m the best shot.”

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

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

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

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

“Now get back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

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

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, we definitely don’t.”

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

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

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

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

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

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

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

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

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

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

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

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

“I told you to run.”

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

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

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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romanstheory · 3 months

Text

Midnight Flowers a Damian Priest One Shot

Warnings: language, smut, public sex, drinking

Word count: 1,630

Inspired By: Midnight Sky & Flowers by Miley Cyrus

The music in this club vibrates through me, I can feel it in my bones. The intoxicating boom on the base through this place always leaves me wanting more. My skin tight black dress leaves very little to the imagination as my hips sway to the beat of the music. Eyes closed, head back, enchanted. I've been single now for a month, and damn it's been the best month of my life. No begging for attention, no worrying about if he's sleeping around, no crying myself to sleep. I broke things off with Luis... Damian last time he was home from being on the road a month ago. I spent 4 years shackled to him just trying to hold on to see if it would get better.

Stupid is what I was because it never did get any better. The beginning was like magic, something you read about in a book but then he got a push from WWE and it felt like he himself had changed. He had tunnel vision on what he wanted and I became an afterthought. But none of that matters anymore, i can be free by myself. No him, no WWE, no crying myself to sleep or wondering if I'm enough. Because I am more than enough, I always was. I buy myself the flowers he wouldn't, take myself on the dates he thought were stupid, watch the shows he ignored.

He was the perfect partner until he.... Wasn't and I realized that I deserved more, I DESERVE more. So I ended it and I walked away before he could respond or I could take back what I had just done. I walked away and I never looked back. I cried myself to sleep that night, my body ached in every way possible, my heart shattered. "It's for your own good" I told myself over and over again until I believed it. Now I believe it as I dance in this club freely belonging to no one. The song switches which is the only reason I break from the trance the music hold over me. Slowly I open my eyes before going to the bar for one more drink. "I'll take a lemon drop and my tab!" I say sweetly to the bartender, he gives me a nod in return.

I hear people around me gasping and talking amongst each other, but I choose to scroll on my phone and sip my sweetly bitter drink. Someone sits next to me, again I choose to ignore it, probably just a sloppy drunk man ready to shoot his shot. Though I wouldn't blame him I am painfully uninterested in entertaining anyone tonight least of all a sloppy drunk man I'll have to baby and care for. "I'll just take whatever beer you have on draft" A deep voice rumbles next to me. Is it... no, it couldn't be right? It's been a month since I've seen him, surely this isn't a random pit stop. "You look good" The voice rumbles again. I peek out of the corner of my eye, refusing to face him, and of course there he is in all of his asshole glory.... Damian Priest.

"I know" I reply cooly before taking a big sip of my drink. He chuckles before shaking his head "Nice to see you too". I roll my eyes before gulping down the rest of my drink, I'm about to need it. "You never told me why you broke up with me" Damian says before drinking deeply from his glass "You just kind of dipped out". Anger burns deep within me before my head finally snaps over to him. Beautiful, he's so fucking beautiful I hate it. His hair is slicked back in a bun, his beard freshly trimmed, and he smells masculine with some hints of floral nodes. "I didn't think I needed to, my reasons seemed pretty in your face".

"Why are you here?" My voice dry and monotone "I was having a great time until you got here". His eyes catch my breasts before moving down to the rest of my body, and back up again to my face. Chugging his beer until the glass is empty he holds my stare again "I had some extra time, thought I could find you here so I came". Damian's mouth opens before closing again as if he's trying to figure out the words he wants to say "Can we go on a walk?". I stare at him for a long moment before replying "Pay for my tab and I'll walk". A nod is Damian's response before paying for both of our drinks. My head sings with the sweet buzz of alcohol, enough to make me okay with this stupid ass walk I'm about to go on.

The summer air brushes against my exposed skin as we begin our walk. Our stupid ass walk. "So?" I ask, refusing to look him in his stupid beautiful face. "So..." He replies. Oh fuck me... Here we go with this again. "Why are you here anyway? Why choose tonight to ruin my night?" Anger laced with sadness fills my gut. Sharply exhaled through his nose "I just... wanted to see you is that okay? Does it even matter?". Abruptly I stop walking "Yeah it fucking matters! I haven't seen you since I broke up with you Luis" My voice amplifies with every word. "Damn wanna be a little louder? I don't think they can hear you down the block" Damian's jaw twitches with what I assume is embarrassment.

"Why didn't you fight for me? Was I just not worth fighting for?" The words pour out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Was our relationship not worth fighting for?". Truthfully, by the time I ended things there was not relationship left to fight for. But that didn't stop me from wanting him to say... something... anything. "You were always worth fighting for. I just didn't see it until you were already gone" His hands lay loose at his side like he's awaiting defeat. "I know" My voice is just above a whisper because that's the only way my lips will allow it to escape. "I know I was always worth fighting for but you convinced me I hadn't been... And now I know I don't need you to be loved".

His head hangs in defeat for only a breath before his long legs close the distance between us, before he pulls me into an alley. "Luis what the fu-" His lips meet mine before I can finish. Melting, I'm fucking melting into the kiss. Oh I hate him but my body aches for him, leaning deeper into the kiss. "I know you don't need me, I'm glad you don't but I need you... Right now I need you" His voice is so deep it rumbles like thunder against my lips. "If you won't accept my apology then let me fuck you so you know I mean it". My body sings with excitement. He may have not been a good boyfriend, but he fucks like his life depends on it, and I am more than willing to allow it even in this alley.

"You better fuck me good, and fast before somebody sees us" I purr into his ear. That was all he needed, he was pulling at his belt and lifting my dress before I could take my next breath. Sliding my panties to the side he pushes his thick hard member against my entrance. Damian plants soft bites along my jaw and neck forcing soft moans out of my mouth. Damian grips my my thighs, putting my back against the cold brick wall before pushing into me with one stroke. A yelp escapes me "Shhh mami don't get the fun cut short" He purrs into my neck

My legs tighten around his waist as I bite my bottom lip to keep another moan from escaping me. Over and over again he pushes his long thick length into me, massaging every inch of me. "I missed this, missed you" He purrs again "Nobody feels like you, mami" His accent sends my head spinning, his grip on my thighs tighten, fingers digging in so rough I'm sure it'll leave a mark. "Nobody fucks me like you" I whisper, the words seems to be ammunition for him because he pounds into me harder, faster, deeper. I squeal again "Mami tranquila, you'll ruin the fun" A devilish grin spreads across his stupid face.

He sucks on my neck, leaving red marks behind, is he trying to make his territory? Do I care? Does anyone else? My climax is imminent, but I don't want it to end. I rock my hips back and forth edging myself on, our hips colliding over and over again. A low grumble escapes him before he throws his head back. "Fuck" He groans low. Over and over I rock my hips into him, massaging my sensitive space. Warmth fills me before my body is in pure ecstasy. Light flashes and my vision blurs before he pushes into me deeply, growling like some sort of wild animal, releasing his load deeply into me. Quickly he puts my down and we fix ourselves still panting like wild animals. He looks at me, those once lust-filled eyes now coated with thick sorrow and longing. "I really am sorry" He says after a long pause. "I know" I say before walking away, leaving him in the alley alone. I don't belong to anyone not even Damian Priest... Luis... whatever the fuck he wants to be called. I fix my hair as I walk down the sidewalk, a smirk smeared across my face. Damn, that felt good.

#damian priest fic #damian priest one shot #damian priest #wwe #wwe fic #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction #judgment day

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solefae · 6 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 “𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑“ ☆ 𝐉𝐞𝐲 𝐔𝐬𝐨

pairings; jey uso x fem!internent personality!reader

faceclaim; scotlynd ryan

summary; Scotlynd's life turns upside down when wrestling star Jey Uso starts liking her posts. Fans are quick to judge, branding her a homewrecker. Little do they know, Jey's marriage ended months ago-a truth hidden from the public eye.

notes: this is my first post everrr so this might be trash 😒 and yess imma use her real name fa this bcuz I couldn’t think of a fake name 😭 + I love scotty y’all so I hope some of y’all don’t take these “insults”? a lil TOO seriously 🫣

scotlyndryan

liked by trinity_fatu, uceyjucey, and 798,578 others

scotlyndryan Gave em the blues over this Aqua 🪼🌊🥶💙🩵

view all 57,358 comments

trinity_fatu 😍😍

scotlyndryan all u trin😘

jonathanfatu mane all this flirting with my wife gotta stop

scotlyndryan boy shut up 😒

user 😍😍

user the baddest

themercedesvarnado ugh u too perfect 😫

scotlyndryan girl pls u too perfect

user scotty with the body 😍

scotlyndryan liked this comment!

user NOW why tf did jey like this? 🤨

user SAME THING I SAID 😂

user ain’t he married ?

user YES

user y’all always do this 😒 just be putting dating allegations on anybody, they prolly just friends

user I hope I’m not the only one seeing that jey liked 😳

user jey liking this knowing he married is CRAZYY

user jey WILDINNN😂😂

user onm 😂

user he hitting that on tha low 😂😂😂

user they js friends

user how yk?? u friends wit em??

user why jey liking my girl post? 🤨

user she do NOT know you bro 😂

user these comments weird asfc…

user right

user frl tryna start rumors 🙄

user ain’t she already messing around with that one married dude that made baddies ?

user chile she don’t want lemon pepper, she want some of that samoan d 😭😭

ilovepostingdrama

liked by user, baddieseasttea, and 789,246 others

ilovepostingdrama girl js can’t leave the married men alone huh? 😂😂

view all 600 comments

user she’s a homewrecker. period.

user this man is married to his high school sweetheart and she wanna come in and ruin that?? 🤦🏽‍♀️

user THE ARIANA GRANDE 2.0 tweet got me crying 😭😭

user FRL 😂

user 😂😂

user are they wrong? 👀

user rumor. IT’S A RUMOR SO THAT MEANS IT’S PROBABLY NOT TRUE 😒

user girl this is most definitely true she slept with lemon pepper, who is also married 😂

user and he got kids omgg🤦🏽‍♀️

user she got no respect

user THE ARIANA TWEET IS TAKING ME OUT😭😭

user RIGHT LIKE THEY AIN’T HAVE TO GO THAT FAR😂😂

gossippagee

liked by user, baddieseasttea, and 378,356 others

gossippagee Baddies East Scotlynd Ryan sleeping with WWE Superstar Jey Uso? Rumor started back in December of 2023 when Scotlynd started liking and commenting on Jey’s posts and since then, the rumor keeps spreading more. 😳

view all 348 comments

user so based off her liking his pictures and commenting, they dating automatically? 🤨 GOODBYE this ain’t true, he’s happily married 😘

user you might not wanna say that…

user girl she literally messed with a married man before, what makes you think she won’t mess with a another one? 🤨

user jey too loyal to mess with a homewrecker, he know better

user ur delusions is getting the best of u, homegirl is definitely messing with him

user so married men is her type? 🤨

user WITH KIDS TOO!!

user ig so 🤷🏽‍♀️

user right like why can’t she find someone who’s single ?? 😒

user WHY ARE YA’LL NOT WORRYING ABT THIS MF AGE GAP!? she’s 27 and he’s 38, UHM HELLO!? 😳

user she prolly like older men 🤷🏽‍♀️

user RIGHT LIKE HE’S ALMOST 40!!

user age ain’t nothing but a number

user jey too fine to be messing around with her

user DAMN 😂😂

user I’m not calling her ugly but she’s too young and she’s a homewrecker 😂😂

user RIGHT

user don’t do scotty, she fine asfc

a/n: thank you for reading! lemme know what y’all think about this series start off 🤍✨

#jey uso #jey uso x reader #the bloodline #main event jey uso #wwe x reader #instagram au #joshua fatu #jey uso fanfiction

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livfastdieyoung69 · 6 months

Note

hi!!! love your work. was wondering if you could write a randy orton x fem!reader where the reader gets real sick before a big PPV and has a main event match at the PPV, so she gets stubborn and tries to wrestle anyways but randy keeps telling her otherwise? would love some fluff, but angst can also be sprinkled in <3

A BITTERSWEETNESS TO THE AIR

The royal rumble is a huge deal for the entire roster of WWE, no matter which part of it you were on. Everybody wanted to be in it, because anybody truly had a chance to have their Wrestlemania moment, something everyone in the entire wrestling industry seemed to yearn for.

This year, you had gotten a spot- a good one too, number 22. Also this year, you seemed to coincidentally come down with the worst cold to have ever graced this earth the night before.

Racked with shivers all night- thank god Randy had been on Smackdown the night prior and had to go on a different plane, landing in an airport halfway across the state. By the time your sore throat forced you up, Randy was already driving to the arena in the cheapest rental car available. And with no Randy, that meant no one to hold you accountable for bad decisions. Not that he made very good decisions all the time, but at least he usually stopped your bad ones.

So here you were, driving to the arena- shaky hands, tired eyes and all. Luckily it wasn’t much of a drive, you had booked a pretty close hotel to the arena, but not close enough for it to be expensive. Pushing out of the driver's seat of your own cheap rental and slamming the door shut, blurred vision and congested sinuses quickly making you stumble and pause for a bit in your spot, gripping onto the side of the car for support. After the small pause, you unlock the trunk and heave the couple duffle bags with much more difficulty than you should’ve had.

With a tight smile, you thank the staff members holding the door open with a raise of your hand.

”Ready for a long night?” The staff member asked from behind you, still standing by the door, now closed. Surprised by the sudden voice, you turn back and raise your eyebrows in their direction. Your ears ached and ringed as they repeated their question.

”Oh, yeah! Yeah, definitely. Long but worth it.” You answered, voice much more nasally than usual as you smile at them. They were quick to become concerned at the sound of your voice, asking if you were all right. You nodded quickly.

“Just a small cold- some warm tea and lemon, and I’ll be alright.” With another tight smile and nod, wishing them luck in their work for the night, you followed the arrows directing you to the lockerrooms.

“Hey!” A voice cheerfully calls, your name sounding after. With a want to do nothing else but sit down for even just five seconds you reluctantly turn from the door, shoulders dropping as you put on a small smile for the sweet, smiling girl.

”Hey, Molly.” You say, trying not to sigh through your words. Much like the former staff member, Molly Holly seems to notice your sickness as soon as you talk.

“Oh Jeez, are you sick? But you’re in the rumble!” She exclaimed, somehow still happy through all of her worry.

“I’m fine, promise. Really.” You ramble off the same excuse used on the other staff member, but it didn’t seem to work as well on Molly Holly. She reluctantly nodded, taking a step back from you.

”…Alright. Y’know Randy’s here, I just saw him a second ago! I can grab him if you want?” Before Molly was even able to finish, you were rapidly shaking your head, eyes grown wide.

“Oh, no no no,” You shook your hands out in front of you, an awkward chuckle falling from your lips. “No, that's ok. He’s-hes busy and I gotta get ready and…stuff.” With another awkward chuckle and a stumbled, quick goodbye you pushed into the locker room, leaving Molly very confused in the hallway.

Sitting in the first available spot that met your eyes and beginning to rummage through your duffle bags, your other fellow superstars looked on anxiously at your state. With much trouble, you began the hard process of ring gear (specially made for the royal rumble and even more troublesome than usual) and just about gave up halfway through before declaring it was time to take a break, half dressed.

Falling back against the lockers you sat against and closing your eyes with a sigh in your half-clothed state, the door practically rips from the hinges.

”Randy!”

”You can’t be in here, what the hell!”

”Oh my god!!”

Screams tore through the locker room, all of which Randy seemed to ignore. He marched his way towards your form, now leaning up on your elbows and trying your best to look up at him through sore eyes.

“May I help you there?”

“Yes,” He stated, quite aggressively, tagging your name on. “You can. Why the hell did you not tell anyone you’re sick?” Rolling your eyes with a groan, you sat up against the back of the locker.

”Randy, I think I can make it through a cold for a chance at a title at Wrestlemania.” Looking up at him with a snarky look as he moved a bit closer, gently taking the back of your neck in one hand and holding the palm of his other against your forehead, he exclaimed your name.

”You’re fuckin’ burnin’ alive, baby, christ!” He pulled you in closer to him, resting your head to his stomach. The relief of all of his cold against your warm face, your eyes close with the first good sigh of the day.

“You’re just cold from walkin’ around in a speedo all day long, weirdo.” You mutter (even though you also have no pants on), leaning into his warmth. The hand on the back of your head starts to stroke your head, your own hand moving to rest of his leg. Randy ignores your comment, shaking his head down at you before he starts to speak, starting with your name in a warning tone.

“We’re going to go see the medics.” You look up at him with a glare but he gives you a scornful look with raised eyebrows, stopping you from speaking.

“And you’re going to take some medicine. Then I’m going to go talk to someone and get you out of the rumble.” Randy spoke as softly as it seemed he could, knowing how much it would suck to be in your position. Unable to find any words you only close your eyes again and rest your forehead back against his stomach.

“Okay?” He asks. You nod against him, whispering an okay back. He plants a soft kiss to the top of your head before moving away and grabbing the pair of sweatpants you had just taken off to help you put them back on. He walks you down the halls as you sulk, rubbing your shoulder through the itchy material of the top of your ring gear.

The doctor was quick to declare you not healthy enough to compete (as if it wasn’t already obvious) and moved onto their next patient from the match that had just ended quite shortly, leaving you to sulk further on top of the cushioned table.

“I’m telling you this with all of the love in my heart,” Randy started, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you to him. Your head finds his shoulder with a soft bump, breath meeting his neck. “You wouldn’t have won in the condition you’re in. You could barely walk here, you’ve got the highest fever I’ve ever goddamn heard of. You wouldn’t have won.” He pauses, holding you close to him. “But next year,” With another pause he puts his hands on either side of your face, bringing your forehead to his. Noticing the glare of tears framing your eyes, his hands grasp softly at your head, giving you a small, playful shake. “Next year, you’re gonna rock them out of the fucking park, baby. You hear me?” He asks with a little smirk. With a wavering smile and a couple sniffles, you give him a small nod, barely noticeable. He pulls you back into his chest with a hand moving to hold you close once more. With a choked sob, you bury into his shoulder with hands grasping at his back.

“I know.” You muffled into his shoulder, the both of you rocking back and forth. “I know, this just sucks. So fuckin’ much, n now I have to wait a whole ‘nother year, n I’ve already waited so, so fucking long, Randy.”

He pulls you from his neck, placing your head to his, cheek-to-cheek. He nods, almost forcing you to do the same against him. “Yeah. Yes, it's terrible, but this is just the universe saying not yet. And next year, you’ll be better, and nothing will ever stop you. Nothin’, so let's get this cold gone, okay?” Randy pulls away from you for the final time to help you off the table with an offering hand.

Taking his hand in yours, you walk back to the locker room to grab your stuff with your head held high and a small smile but tear-filled eyes. Laying against a disgusting and sort of scratchy sofa somewhere backstage, Randy leaves you to compete in the royal rumble very bitter sweetly, and you try to sleep with many thoughts clouding your mind- to find a way to be better, to be the best, to grow as an individual outside and inside of wrestling. A smile graces your face with one final thought- these people better be fucking ready next year, cause they sure as hell weren’t this one.

look at me go! sorry this took me so long but also i used you instead of y/n for the first time and i feel like my frontal lobe has developed (it absolutely has not) and omg not molly holly ratting you outttt

Set in 2004 idk y i just chose a year and i felt like that one ig

Techincally gender-neutral bc everything I write is, but a bit of a nod to being afab with randy not being wanted in the locker room.

#randy orton x reader #liv writes;*!#randy orton #wwe #wwf

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