#Campervan Writer

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Actually, yeah I’m still stuck on the rug that Eddie is trapped under. Eddie trapped under a rug half on a couch and trapped by a fridge.

So we have a couch which we know is the metaphor for both family  and romance. We have fridge theory which is tied into family, dynamics how they change and how they grow. The fridge theory is also about love, love being found in the fridge and or on the fridge. Fridge theory connects into food is love and preparing meals for your family.

And then we have Eddie trapped under a rug by these two items - literally trapped by these two metaphors that are so clearly about family - about building a family. Eddie who hasn’t uttered a word about the will and what it means for him, for Buck, for Christopher and the three of them as an entity since he was shot. Sweeping it under the rug might have worked so far in the not having/ wanting to talk about ‘because that means facing up to and reckoning with his feelings about Buck’ game but Eddie is going to have to come out from that rug in order to save himself and save others. He’s at risk of being caught up in an explosion from the propane canister that is leaking - an unintentional bomb which is active and on a countdown and off Eddie runs out of time the explosion would take out more than just himself.

[doukeshi-kun]

imagine visiting stalker!Kolya before a show, staying with him inside his campervan. Could it be painting his nails, trying makeup on him or just playing with his hair as reader and him cuddle?

I love domestic scenarios ☹️🤍 (plus, I developed an obsession for stalker!Kolya)

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙚𝙧!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙘𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨

replies ⨳ nikolai is supposed to be obsessed with us, not the other way around ( ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ) btw thanks for pulling me out of writers block lmao enjoy this short drabble gshdjsh

notes ⨳ stalker!nikolai series

contents ⨳ fluff, obsessive thoughts, fem!reader

Nikolai is nervous.

His brain is short-circuited and he cannot stop staring at you. He has around five more hours before he has to leave for a show, though he still has some paperwork to review. And yet here he is, on the bed, with his girl lying against his body, carefully painting baby blue nail polish on his nails.

He found out—through... interesting method—about your sudden interest in nail arts. He even bought a complete set of manicures for you, intended to surprise you with the set once he visited you. But you came to visit him instead, and thus he decided to just give you straight away.

“Do you want a small flower?” your question snaps him out as he glances at his blue nails. Your hand is holding his, checking whether his thumbnail is dried or not. Nikolai swallows hard. His skin flares when he realises how close you two are, how he could smell you, how he could feel you. His finger twitches when he sees your skin is touching his.

Too much. Too much. You're too much.

Even after so many months, you're still too much for his poor heart.

“I-I do,” Nikolai says, smiling softly at you. You turn your face towards him and he almost gasps by how close your faces are—I could kiss you right now. I really want to kiss you. Please, I really want to kiss you. May I, love? I'll be good. Just a kiss, please, little dove.

“You okay? You seem to be... out of it,” you ask, reaching for a small packet of nail ornaments.

“Can I kiss you?”

You raise your eyebrow. It's rare for Nikolai to ask permission to kiss. He doesn't even ask permission to invade your house while you're sleeping and yet here he is, with puppy eyes, baby blue nails and a beige sweater, asking if he can kiss you. You nod slowly and Nikolai giggles happily before he leans forward, kissing your lips. shortly.

“Haha! I'm happy!” he exclaims before he kisses you again. You cannot help for a smile crook on your lips at his childish reaction.

“Ooh! You smile! How adorable!” Nikolai cups your face with his hands, pulling both your cheeks together so that they pucker your lips. “I'm gonna fucking eat you, I swear to God,” he whispers.

Whatever he means by 'eat' —whether literally or sexually, you do not really want to know.

“F-Funny....” you mutter before you tap his arm. “Let me go or you won't get a flower on your thumb,” and Nikolai is quick to obey you, pulling his hands away and offering his painted thumbnail. You glance at him for a second—noticing his gaze is darkened. You decide to ignore it for now. You may have an idea of what Nikolai might be thinking, but he is one unexpected guy. Everything he does seems spontaneous even when he has planned for it long beforehand.

As you're sticking the daisy charm on his nail carefully, your phone rings. You reach it and Nikolai leans forward, trying to listen to your conversation just because he can. You shoo him, pushing him by his chest to give yourself a personal space because he is invading almost every one of your spaces. Pouting, Nikolai huffs and stays on his spot as you answer the phone.

But Nikolai is not giving up. He leans just slightly, enough to see the name on the screen. A common name for men. And he finds his heart races faster when he hears a faint masculine voice talking to you on the other side. Nikolai frowns—well, this enthusiasm doesn't seem nice.

He could barely hear what's the man babbling about, so he depends on your facial expression to figure out what's happening. He could hear muffled, jumbled words like 'work', 'rejected', 'apply', 'coffee', 'out', 'free time', 'help', 'together'—

No.

“That would be wonderful. Thanks. Yeah! Okay, see you there. Thank you so much.”

You end the call, finally looking at Nikolai who is now quiet. You sigh, knowing he probably listened to chunks of your conversation with the hiring man. “Kolya...” you call softly as you scoot closer again to him. Your hands tangle themselves in his fluffy hair, caressing his soft white strands.

“You goin' on a date?” Nikolai pouts.

“It's for work, Kolya... He'd help me to secure another position I've applied for. It's not a date.” you explain carefully. It's not that your current job at the cafe is bad, but you need a more stable financial source. Though Nikolai has offered to take care of you fully, you still want to work for yourself.

"Hm~ I know." Nikolai leans closer, exhaling softly at the way your hand caresses his head. He finds himself getting more possessive and easy to get jealous when it comes to you. He needs more time to think rationally when it comes to keeping you around with him.

“I trust you. You won't—” he hugs you tighter, closer. “—leave me, right?”

Your bodies are embracing one another. You bury your face in his chest as your hands caress his hair and face and neck and shoulder and chest.

“Don't you leave me,” he warns. He makes a large step forward and grabs your arm tightly. “You do not leave me. I love you so much. I love you to the Hell and Heaven. I will not let you leave. We are meant to be together, love, we are meant to be! I need you in my life. I need you, to be my freedom. You and I, we complete each other, little dove.” his mouth is forming a deranged smile as he begins to get impatient.

A distant memory rushes past your mind. You stay still before a soft nudge of his knee against your stabbed thigh pulls you out of that lane of memory. You tug on him tighter and look up at him. You hold his face, kissing his lips slowly, once again making sure of yourself. He moans lowly and smirks against your lips. His hand holds the back of your head as he returns your kiss.

Words aren't enough to describe your declaration to him. It's enough to just—I won't leave you.

©doukeshi-kun 2023 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[welcometololaland]

Hello Lola! This your nice ask week ask! I want to know the origin story of you as a fic writer! What was it that drove you into this life? And I'd also love to know: A someone who collaborates with other writers, what is it like to develop a story and work on it with someone else? How is that organised and scheduled? Not to get too col and corporate about it, but I was to know the strategy lol

hey cig, you know there's nothing i like more than corporate catch phrases, so i couldn't help but circle back to this ask 💜

i started writing fic when i was about 14, although none of those stories exist on the internet anymore (thankfully). truthfully, i've dabbled in creative writing my entire life - i remember sitting out the front of my parents' campervan on holiday and scribbling stories as a six or seven year old - so fic writing was a natural extension of that.

as for co-writing fic - i'd encourage everyone to give it a go if you haven't already. imo it's an incredibly rewarding experience (way better than group projects at school or team building games on corporate retreats). i think the number one thing to remember is that co-writing requires more flexibility - you have to give up any timing expectations and some creative control. but if it works, if the vibe is good, you'll end up with something even better than you could have written yourself.

one of my favourite parts of the experience is bouncing ideas back and forth and getting increasingly ridiculous. seeing the original aquarium rock disaster idea come to life in the rainbow fish was one in a long line of incredibly fun moments writing with jen (@strandnreyes). similarly, the owen strand fire safety agenda in (un)professional services was something that rae (@rmd-writes) and i laughed over for DAYS and kept bringing back in as we wrote successive parts. i also count all my rosie (@dustratcentral) fics as co-writes even though she will fight me (cursed is a state of mind, the ring-in, phonography, the morning (part 2), carlos and the baby c- omg sorry, spoiler) because writing someone else's brilliant idea is a task in itself and i'm so lucky that she lets me do that from time to time 💜

i think the easiest way to do it is to each pick a pov and go from there. a structure/outline will definitely help you, which is most commonly established by dumping all of the ridiculous messages from a chat into a google doc. then it's a matter of writing, reading what the other person has written and constantly checking in to make sure that you understand where the fic is going.

to be honest, every finished co-write i've done (and some are fleeting and don't quite get off the ground and you have to be okay with that) has been very, very easy. i actually think that they're easier to write than solo fics (but that might just be me). something about the shared experience really gets me going!

if anyone else has any experience, please feel free to jump in!

thanks for the ask, cig 💜

[panelshowsource]

To the anon who asked about Susan Calman books, I have read Sunny Side Up and Cheer Up, Love - her autobiographical works and even though I read the kindle edition I could hear her voice clearly. She has also written a Doctor Who short story in The Day She Saved the Doctor. Would really recommend them 👍. I love Susan Calman in her campervan when she travels around the country in Grand Days Out.

PS. panelshowsource thank you for all the hard work you do with this blog 👍

thank you for the message!

omg doctor who short stories are really a underrated way to find some of the really fun and creative writers working in the uk! ingrid oliver just wrote her first one recently which has been so sweet. just a little tip for people who still aren't on the doctor who train 😇

and grand days out is something anyone can easily snag off of reddit! (my faq)

[radical-revolution]

Dear fellow beings,

In yet another of our human narratives, we’ve labelled the old year as finished. And therefore, the old year must inevitably be followed by a “new year”. With those man-made categories, along comes something even more ludicrous called a “new year’s resolution”.

These new year’s resolutions require looking “back” and looking “forward”. When we do that, we see that things in the world haven’t been too easy in the recent past. And from the way it’s all going, it looks like the future won’t be easy either. Ecological destruction is one big reason. Another is that the old lords and masters are so threatened by newbies who want to be just like them and particularly by those who are managing to achieve that.

But we’re caught: How can we stop a billion Chinese wanting to clean their butts on the toilet seat the way a few million Japanese clean theirs? And how can we deny the aspiration of a billion Indians to water their lawns and dry their clothes with automatic dryers the way Americans do? The pain felt by those who were once lords as they watch the rise of subordinates is splendidly captured by none other than the great Satyajit Ray in his beautiful film Jalsaghar.

And if all the wannabes do get what they want, like a billion Indians and Chinese getting their own cars, taking holidays in campervans or on Mallorca and Aruba, and a whole lot more, which they surely deserve as much as those who presently have all that, then what? Surely that will not only accelerate ecological destruction but may well lead to global warfare as the former lords and masters use all their might to cling to their old privilege and control.

So, in the big picture, it’s hard to make an upbeat new year’s resolution for the world from anyone’s point of view. All I can do personally myself, is re-resolve to follow what Gautama taught.

I came to this resolution because the only way I can liberate myself from the delusion of expecting a perfect society is to follow this man Gautama. And because the only way I won’t be caught in the games of the dream is to wake up from the dream, not by adding even more systematic dreams in the name of politics, the economy, science, technology and the rest.

I also want to put effort into letting other human beings know what Gautama taught. I have come to realize that the only reason why people like Gautama, Lao Tzu and Mahavira are not widely known today is because of colonial and neocolonial might that has convinced itself that its own modernity is “the end of history” and convinced the rest of the world that westernization and modernization are one and the same.

That is why Obama quotes Kant and not Mahavira, why Deng Xiaoping quotes Karl Marx and not Gautama, and why people in the larger world only know about Kama Sutra not Arthashastra. I have read philosophers like Aristotle, Kant, Hegel and Marx, though of course not thoroughly. But I have also not read the Buddha’s teachings thoroughly. Still, I’ve so far not found any insight into so-called reality that these western writers have said that the Buddha has not said, and I’ve found so much that the Buddha said that those writers have not even begun to say.

It's one thing for traditions to die out if they are archaic, useless, or harmful like female infanticide, genital mutilation or forced enslavement. But the degeneration of genuine wisdom traditions into nothing more than objects of anthropological interest is a grave and even dangerous loss to humanity.

So I ask those who share my concern and aspiration to join me in this or a similar resolution. May this year bring you wakefulness and cheerfulness. And in doing so, may that bring us confidence and free us from panic and anxiety.

— Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse

[picnokinesis]

i saw your campervan ask. emotional burnout can be rough, bro. you take care.

i'm a writer too. when i was in a low phase, a more experienced friend told me: "the writing will begin again. it always does."

it's been true.

Thank you, my friend 💜💜💜 Also you're SO right about that - every single time I've been through burnout it feels like I'm never gonna be able to write again. But I always do! It always comes back. Sometimes it just needs a little more time than normal

[qnewsau]

Watch Miriam Margolyes take a road trip around New Zealand

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/watch-miriam-margolyes-take-a-road-trip-around-new-zealand/

Watch Miriam Margolyes take a road trip around New Zealand

Actress, author and international treasure Miriam Margolyes is heading out on another Oceanic road trip docuseries on ABC on Sunday night.

The outspoken British-Australian documentarian charmed us all in her previous two ABC docuseries Almost Australian, Australia Unmasked and Impossibly Australian.

In those series, she took a minivan across the country to meet Aussies from all walks of life. All three series are streaming on ABC iview if you haven’t seen them.

Now the ABC has announced Miriam Margolyes in New Zealand will screen on the ABC on Sunday night (January 12). The first episode will screen on ABCTV, and both episodes will be streaming on view on Sunday night.

Miriam explained that she was working in New Zealand for the first time on a new film.  The upcoming film Holy Days, from writer-director Nat Bolt, will see Miriam playing one of three elderly oddball nuns who join a broken-hearted boy on a journey to New Zealand’s South Island. Miriam will star alongside Jacki Weaver and Judy Davis.

“I’m learning my lines for a role in a new film [Holy Days] playing an elderly nun,” Miriam explains in the new ABC seires.

“In a first for me, the film will be set in New Zealand. I’m very excited about it. But even though it’s just three hours from my home in Sydney, I don’t know anything about New Zealand.”

So Miriam is taking a campervan on a road trip across the north and south islands.

“It seems unforgivable to be so ignorant about a country that’s always been Australia’s closest friend and ally,” she said.

“Before I play a New Zealander, I’ve got a campervan to tour the country’s two main islands.

“I want to find out how being a New Zealander is different from being an Aussie. What sets our two countries apart?

“I haven’t got a flying fart of an idea. I need to learn, what is the identity of New Zealand?”

Miriam Margolyes gives candid health update

Miriam Margolyes, known for her acting roles in Harry Potter and Call the Midwife, has been a British-Australian dual citizen for over a decade.

She’s been with her Aussie partner Heather Sutherland since 1968.

In July, Miriam gave a candid update on her health, saying that she knows she “hasn’t got long to live”.

The 83-year-old underwent heart surgery to replace her aortic valve last year. Miriam also shared she’s living with spinal stenosis.

The condition impacts the lower back or neck when the spinal canal narrows and puts pressure on the spinal cord and nerves.

“When you know that you haven’t got long to live – and I’m probably going to die within the next five or six years, if not before – I’m loath to leave behind performing. It’s such a joy,” she told UK’s Telegraph.

“I yearn to play roles that don’t confine me to wheelchairs, but I’m just not strong enough.”

More on Miriam Margolyes:

Expert storyteller Miriam releases her second book

Miriam kikis with Broken Hill drag queen Shelita Buffet

Miriam goes to her first ever Pride parade in Tasmania

Cover girl Miriam Margolyes poses nude in first Vogue shoot

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[scots-gallivanter]

TWENTY

I’ll sing of a river I’m happy beside

The song that I sing is a song of the Clyde

Of all Scottish rivers, it’s dearest to me

It flows from Leadhills all the way to the sea

KENNETH MCKELLAR, The Song of the Clyde

SCOTLAND HAS SOME mesmerising scenery, most famously in the Highlands and Islands: panoramas that move something inside you. It’s a feather in the cap of the Firth of Clyde, therefore, that in 2022 Glasgow to Largs was the only Scottish route to feature in the UK’s top 10 most scenic bus journeys, as voted by SunLife customers. The ‘Clyde Flyer’ came third in Britain. It runs regularly through Greenock, Gourock and Wemyss Bay en route to Largs.

The views you enjoy to the north and the west, to Arran, the Cumbraes, the Cowal peninsula and the Kyles of Bute, are indeed phenomenal – alpine in grandeur. The Gazetteer of Scotland (1847) declared: ‘No parish in the west of Scotland, and few in the Highlands, can surpass Largs in the beauty and romance of the landscape which stretches along its own area, or is hung out within view of both its uplands and its plains.’

In his 2013 guidebook, Gourock to Largs Coast Through Time, Bill Clark writes: ‘…the distance from Gourock’s eastern boundary at Cardwell Bay to the ‘Pencil’ memorial just south of Largs, is a mere 16 miles. The road that tracks the land’s edge between these two points, however, allows the traveller to experience one of the finest scenic journeys in the land.’ (The Pencil monument was erected in 1912 to commemorate the Battle of Largs in 1263, in which Scotland repelled a Viking invasion.).

These sublime views, of course, are what discerning daytrippers have always seen as they sail ‘doon the watter’, that age-old practice of travelling to Rothesay, Dunoon, Millport, Largs, Girvan, Saltcoats and other coastal resorts during Glasgow Fair holidays. Following the coronavirus pandemic, marketeers have americanised such trips around the Clyde coast as ‘staycations’.

Largs once hosted a huge annual horse and cattle sale to celebrate St Colm; and it attracted thousands of farmers and crofters from all over Scotland. There was no pier, only a jetty for landing passengers. The beasts were thrown overboard to sink or swim ashore. Travel writer John Lettice observed that the fair continued for several days. The vast concourse of people, who flocked there on foot, on horseback, in carriages, and in boats, almost covered the plain next to the sea:

‘All was movement, animation, clamour and din; and to have regarded this motley, and tumultuous scene in undisturbed quiet, from some of the neighbouring heights, must have been highly gratifying to a curious, or contemplative mind.’

As campsites were few and far between in the Largs area we pitched tent next to a busy flyover, near the shore and next to a couple of campervans from which Bon Jovi competed with The Carpenters into the small hours. In the morning a woman out walking her two Snautzers apologised for waking us up but we were already up with the larks. We were unable to use the toilets at the yachting club 50 yards off as a special code was required to access them and their undoubtedly hot showers.

TWENTY-ONE

The coast at this place, as it is with a few exceptions along the whole course of the Frith, is bounded at a short distance back from the shore with a range of hills, sometimes rising in gentle slopes, and at other times in abrupt rocky precipices, from which is to be had a continued succession of beautiful and varied views.

JOHN LEIGHTON, Select Views on the River Clyde (1830)

THE CLYDE Flier bus takes us past sheer sandstone rocks, honed and honeycombed on their well-wooded heights, out of whose crevices gnarled trees thrive. On the other side are the fairytale landscapes of the firth. We alight from the bus for the boat to Bute in an architectural theme park. With its Georgian-style timber frontage, its Chinese pagodas, and turrets; its Queen-Anne-style Italianate clock tower, and its soothing curved design, Wemyss Bay railway station is a glorious A-listed building. It has a pleasing feel, thanks to a group of volunteers who rescued it from dereliction. Now a vibrant place with a colourful community garden, book shop, museum, and multiple hanging baskets, this miracle of glass and metal architecture and engineering won the World Cup of Stations cup in 2023. It is a masterpiece from the golden age of rail, with a rare curving walkway that takes you down along a winding wood and glass ‘tunnel’ to the old steamboat terminal.

You get the notion that Wemyss Bay folk are rightly very proud of their station, but there are several other architectural wonders in the area that have not been so lucky. Beneath one of the picturesque precipices stood Ferncliff, a splendid villa built in 1851 that, along with the similar homes of very wealthy businessmen, earned Wemyss Bay the nickname New Glasgow. It was the home of the Danish consul in the 1870s and, in its heyday, was called Seaside Heights. It became the Rothmar Hotel in 1924; a convalescent home for miners in the 1940s; and a ‘Christian guest house and conference centre’, a Baptist church and then an evangelical centre from the 1970s until the 1990s. One of its rooms was known as ‘The Prime Minister’s Room’ after Clement Attlee stayed there. It was demolished in 2001 to make way for flats.

Kelly House was another country house not far from the station. Enriched by the slave trade in the West Indies, John Wallace, a distant relative of William Wallace, bought the ‘Kelly Estate’ in 1792, and built a gothic mansion with tall chimneys, ornate turrets and sprawling landscaped gardens. An earlier building, Kelly Castle, had burned to the ground in 1740.

Wallace’s son and heir, Robert, who became MP for Greenock, had ambitious plans for a marine village containing 200 luxury villas; a hotel, a school; three churches, terraced walks with a fountain and grass promenade; a harbour and quay for steamboats; a curling pond, a bowling green; heated baths, and a reading room and billiards room. However, he went bankrupt after slavery was abolished. In 1871 the estate came into the hands of James Young, the inventor of paraffin. Young was a friend of David Livingstone, the explorer, and he built a replica of his African mud hut in the grounds. It is long gone.

The house, revamped in the 1880s after Young’s death, was destroyed by arson in 1913 and the site was cleared during the war, when the Forces moved to the area to train for the invasion of Sicily. There is speculation the fire was the work of suffragettes unhappy with the house’s association with the slave trade, but no culprit was ever charged. It is now the site of a caravan park.

Castle Wemyss was the village’s pride and joy, a fascinating place with rare sea views, built by developer Charles Wilsone Broun in 1850. He also built 32 villas nearby, only one of which (Mansfield) remains.

The Cunard tycoon, Sir John Burns, later Baron Inverclyde, bought Castle Wemyss in 1860. It had a badminton court, a pier, greenhouses, Roman baths, and a monk’s cell. It was of great historical value as a fashionable destination for V.I.P.s, among them Henry Morton Stanley, U.S. General Sherman, Lord Shaftesbury, Anthony Trollope, Peter II of Yugoslavia, Emperor Haile Selassie, and various members of the royal family.

Trollope wrote some of his novel Barchester Towers during one of his stays, and it inspired him to write of Portray Castle in his book The Eustace Diamonds.

The fourth and last baron was renowned for his parties, some of which according to local gossip, included midnight ‘skinny dipping’. He was briefly married to a daughter of the millionaire owner of the Sainsbury chain. Alas, however, wealth would appear to be transitory. He died in 1957, childless; and his heirs couldn’t afford to maintain the estate. His title came to an end. The estate went to a developer, and Inverkip Power Station was built on part of the grounds. The castle itself crumbled, and the roof was ripped off to avoid housing rates. It was bulldozed in 1984, and a housing estate was built on the site. A flight of steps and a flagpole are all that remains of a priceless and elegant mansion, and gardens likened (in a biography of George Burns) to the Babylonian gardens of Nebuchadnezzar. The powers that were even removed an age-old monkey puzzle tree that stood at the entrance to the drive (‘for safety reasons’).

I had a look in Wemyss Bay station bookshop for anything by a writer who spent her last years in nearby Skelmorlie, and who set almost half of her many children’s books along the Clyde coast. Dorita Fairlie Bruce’s work was incredibly popular from the 1920s to the 1940s. In her Springdale series she renamed Ayrshire, Brigshire, and called Largs, Redchurch.

I pick up a copy of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists instead, bringing my tally to four of them; I have a peculiar habit of giving them away.

I walk around the station waiting for the next boat and come across the bronze statue of a boy. There’s a far-fetched story that Wemyss Bay was named after an 18th-century boatman called Bobby Wemyss. It seems unlikely but it didn’t stop marketing folk calling the statue Bobby. It stands in the station for the world to see – without the mask that was placed on its face during COVID.

 

[safereturndoubtful]

On St Ninian’s Beach

26th June 2023

I had booked the most basic accommodation on the overnight boat from Kirkwall to Lerwick, a reclining seat. But I had hoped not to use it, preferring the illegal option of staying in my van bed. I had researched on the internet and read that it was something truckers did do. An article from an incident in January of 2006 was easily found, when in stormy conditions three trucks had toppled over during the crossing. On arrival in Lerwick it was found 6 drivers had stayed in their cabs, one stuck there until he was rescued.

Northlink stresses how dangerous it is, yet they are quite happy to let my dog stay there.. do they value his life any less than mine? By circumstance rather than choice, I boarded last, and had to reverse on with the studious attention of all the boarding crew. At the appropriate moment I disappeared behind the curtain. They either didn’t see, or weren’t bothered. Before the boat sailed I was in bed, waking at 7:15 am as drivers returned to their vehicles. The coach driver next to me gave me a knowing nod. It was clear he had done the same.

By 8 am I was at St Ninian’s Beach, about a half hour drive away, in heavy rain and just 9C. Roja and I had breakfast, and I read while Roja dozed and the rain eased, and by mid-morning the cloud cleared and the sun emerged.

This is my second visit of the year to the Wild Atlantic coast, the first being the Costa del Morte in Galicia in February, equally impressive.

The first photo is of the ruin of St Ninians’s Chapel, which dates back to the 12th Century. Before that it was an Iron Age Burial Ground. It’s other claim to fame is that in 1958 a local schoolboy found a wooden box on the site, which contained 28 silver objects of Pictish treasure.

St Ninian’s Isle is quite a spectacular sight from the car park, with its jagged rock cliffs, strikingly green pasture, and it’s shell-sand tombolo, the finest example of one in Western Europe. It is occasionally breached, in storms and at high tide, but today it was at its best, a superb wander though Roja chose not to use it and swim alongside for most of the way.

The perimeter of the Isle is about four and a half miles, but most who walk as far as the island, then choose shortcuts. As with most of the ocean facing coasts here, the south and west headlands are the wildest and most spectacular. There were a few other visitors. I met the couple in the other campervan at the carpark, from Durham, and prior to that at Dentdale, and we chatted for a while.

We were back at the van for 2 pm, and spent the afternoon with the dramatic backdrop trying to concentrate enough to attend to a few business matters.

Last week here was the Shetland Noir Book Festival, attended by writers such as Martin Edwards, Val McDermid, Ann Cleeves and Elly Griffiths. They even had a session here at St Ninian’s Beach. Cleeves write the Shetland series, that has now been adapted for television. It strikes me that the literary body count here on the tranquil Shetland Islands is bigger than most places, with the possible exception of Midsomer.

These rocky outcrops put me in mind of Chris Cameron, who is currently mid-way through his 60 day record attempt for the longest stay on a remote uninhabited North Atlantic rock, on Rockall, 200 miles west of St Kilda, and 300 miles from the mainland. It says a lot about the teaching profession that a guy has to go to such lengths to get a peaceful break. Maybe he won’t return to his post, and stay on Rockall.

Roja seems unbothered by the various dive-bomb attacks from the sea birds he receives. They concern themselves with him rather than me thankfully. With my untrained eye, those who bombed him include, the Fulmar which comes off the cliffs and hovers in the wind, the territorial Curlew with its recognisable squeal and curved beak from the scrub land, and the much rarer Arctic Tern from its slumber in the grass.

And a ‘spot-the-van’ pic..

[guardianseries]

#SilentSunday A Girl and Her Campervan #Beddgelert

#SilentSunday A Girl and Her Campervan #Beddgelert

When I booked a week in Wales for March I wasn’t expecting to be so lucky with the weather! As usual, I took a gazillion photographs but here’s a small sampling of my fabulous campervan trip to Beddgelert. Beddgelert A sunny pitch Feeling inspired! A hearty camper breakfast Gelert’s Grave Wasn’t expecting to paddle! Pitched alongside the West Highland Railway Snowdon in the glorious…

[fromrusttoroadtrip]

Not every day on the road can be an adventure. We need rest days, van repair days, life admin days.⁣

Days where we just chill, where we sleep in late and sip coffee gazing out of the back doors. Days where we clean the van from top to bottom or catch up on our work. Rainy days spent cosied up under blankets trying to catch the various leaks in our roof.⁣

Contrary to our little highlight reel on here it’s not all epic roadtrips and new discoveries; for every day of exploring there’s a down day closely following behind (or two, or three...). Constant motion is exhausting; travel sometimes overstimulating. We need time to process and digest just as much as we crave new experiences and changing scenery.⁣

As with everything in life it’s all about balance, and the days spent sipping coffee in bed are just as important as the days we’re out scaling mountains.

[littlegreenadventure-blog]

never let fear muzzle your wild

[oknowkiss]

fic post: in between two tall mountains

PAIRING: DRARRY (past Harry/Ginny & Harry/Pansy, background Ron/Pansy, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Harry/Ron) RATING: E (semi-public masturbation, general fucking) WORDCOUNT: 8.2K

READ ON AO3 HERE!

TAGS: Magic Historian Draco pines amongst the pines, Magically powerful bisexual DILF Harry Potter, the mind-rending HORROR of kissing your crush, Drarry in a campervan on the Oregon coast, Shipwrecks & Treasure Hunting, Climbing a mountain only to have big feelings at the top, Falling in Love in your 30s, despite all evidence to the contrary it’s a happy fic I promise 

SUMMARY: In the shadow of a mountain on the Oregon coast, there may or may not lie a shipwreck, on which there may or may not be a magical relic, lost hundreds of years ago. Harry's been tasked with finding it, and Draco is there to take notes, and they're stuck in a campervan pretending to be married, and it's all going to be just fine. That's what Draco's gotten rather good at telling himself, anyway.

happy birthday @sweet-s0rr0w​ !!!  i’m so glad life has worked in such a way that has allowed us -- despite a distance so grand that you’re probably having a nice post-dinner vino while i’m sitting here having my morning tea -- to be friends. 

you are a gem that shines through everything, and it would be my honor to spend the rest of my life screaming at you on discord, convincing you that you’re a fucking genius (seriously y’all, wait until you see what sweets has coming up next. it’s taken over my mind). 

not only are you an incredible writer (THE dron masterpiece she wrote with @tackytigerfic​, for example. and who could forget nor all that glisters!! but also seriously just read everything here) but you’re a brilliant reccer as well. your collaborative sex and romance lists, and drarry around the world in particular, are such perfect resources for this fandom -- and a testament to how blessed we all are by the collective talent on display here, gawd -- so i knew i had to send the boys in a little trip in your honor. 

and thank you a million times over to @sorrybutblog for really spitshining this into something pretty for our dear sweets, who deserves all the baubles. you are a genius and so patient with me and my runaway commas and asides.

happy happy happy birthday sweets, and here’s to many more!

[seasonsofeverlark]

A Hard and Holy Road

Author: @juxtaposie​

Prompt: Everlark roadtripping/camping in a campervan for the summer. Where do they go? What do they do/see? What memories are made? Can be tied to a holiday. Writer's choice :) [submitted by @daydreamsandcaffeine]

Rating: M for sexytimes

Summary: Katniss just wants to take a roadtrip with her boyfriend, but when a bad day and her own complicated feelings threaten to ruin the best thing that's ever happened to her, she does the only thing she can think of - she pulls away

Luckily for her, Peeta is up for a chalenge. 

Author’s Note: There's a part two of this coming soon. Enjoy! Wordcount: 1073 _______________

“So the wedding is on the eighth,” Peeta said, his eyes fixed on the Google map open on his laptop. 

Katniss nodded. “Right.”

“And you want to leave on the second.”

She nodded again. 

“And you wanna see five national parks in six days?” he pressed, his voice skeptical. 

“I’ve never been out west before,” she protested gently.

He laughed and squeezed her knee. “I’m not saying no. I just think we need more time. Like another week.”

She made an unhappy noise, laying her hand over his. “I don’t think I can afford to take two and a half weeks off of work.”

“A problem that would be solved if you’d just move in with me.”

She pulled her hand away. “You’ll probably be sick of me after a week.”

_____

She took three weeks off. She hadn’t wanted to accept Peeta’s offer to help her pay her bills that month, but in the end the draw of the outdoors - of actually being able to hike, and sightsee - had won out. They’d even added another park to the end of their trip.

She’d sworn up and down that she would pay him back, that it was just a loan so they could make the most of their first vacation together. They’d been dating almost a year, and between their siblings and roommates they’d never had more than a weekend alone together. She wanted to spend more time with him, and more than that, she wanted to do it in the most beautiful natural places the country had to offer - places her dad had talked about, places he’d promised to take her before he’d died. 

It hurt her heart in the most profound way, to think of hiking up Angel’s Landing without him, but now that the chance to make that hike was within her reach it hurt her more to think of not going. 

She would have given anything to have her father with her, but she would take Peeta in his stead and love him the best she could for as long as he stayed with her. 

_____

“Never?”

Peeta shook his head, smiling at her from the driver’s seat. 

Katniss couldn’t contain her disbelief. “Not even once?”

“Does summer camp count?”

She laughed. “Not usually.”

Peeta’s smile slipped a little, and he turned his face away from her to check the mirrors as he drove. “My mom,” he said, “she was never big on the idea.”

Katniss didn’t know what to say to that. It was the worst kept secret in town that Mrs. Mellark was a joyless, soul-sucking Bible-thumper who was responsible for the bruises her youngest son wore to school every Monday. CPS had been involved more than a handful of times, but nothing had ever come of it. There was no doubt in her mind that Mrs. Mellark had never wanted anything to do with a vacation as unglamorous as camping. An all-inclusive five-star resort would have been much more her speed. 

“Well,” she said finally, “I think you’re going to like it.”

_____

“You were right,” Peeta said, his eyes glued to the gentle bounce of her breasts as she rode him. “I like camping. I really like camping.”

Katniss laughed, breathless. “You’ve said that every single time we’ve had sex on this trip.”

Which had been a lot. Every night, most mornings, and once just off a trail in the Great Smokeys when she’d been so perfectly content that she’d decided she couldn’t wait until they got back to the car. 

His hands skimmed over her ribs to palm her breasts, then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down against him. The air mattress squeaked alarmingly as he dug his heels in and began to thrust up into her, his pace just edging on brutal. “I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true,” he panted, his breath hot on the damp skin of her neck.

Any reply she might have made was lost in a long, drawn-out moan as he held her to his chest and fucked her, and after - after she’d come so hard the wetness had run down her thighs - she snuggled into his side, laughing, and said, “I love camping. I love you.”

_____

Things started to sour when they hit the Texas border. It was almost 12 hours from Texarkana to Big Bend, and it had been pouring rain when they’d broken camp. They’d argued over where to stop for breakfast, then again when it was time to stop for lunch. The miles seemed to wear on, especially once they left Fort Worth and the land turned flat and brown. They picked at each other the whole day, arguing over everything from where to stop for gas to whether or not lying was ever morally justifiable (a real sore spot for Peeta, who’d lied so convincingly to Child Services that he’d been allowed to stay in a home with a woman who’d taken her every frustration out on him). By the time they’d checked into the Chisos Campground, they hadn’t spoken in almost an hour. 

“I’m so glad this day is over,” Peeta said, once they were safely nestled inside the truck bed tent. He was laying on his back beside her, taking up most of the room on the air mattress with his broad shoulders and splayed legs, and for the first time in her life Katniss was annoyed with that too. 

It was still easy to let Peeta pull her in against his side, easy to rest her head on his shoulder, drape her leg across his hips, and tuck herself into his side. 

But sleep eluded her. Her mind was racing, replaying every argument and concocting new ones for them to have later - maybe hiking the next day, maybe a week from now at Finnick and Annie’s wedding. How many little arguments would they have to have before the big one that sent Peeta running. 

And he wanted her to move in, to rearrange her entire life for something that was only going to end.

By the time the sky began to lighten, she was exhausted and heartbroken. She dressed as quietly as she could before grabbing her pack and climbing out of the tent. She shot Peeta a quick text to say she’d gone hiking, that she would be back before lunch, and took off on foot for the closest trailhead.

She just needed a minute alone.

[alicentflorent]

okay obx writers ya need to know that nothing about these Pogues is heterosexual. I mean these kids be driving around in a vintage campervan called the TWINKy for gods sake, they aren't exactly subtle when it comes to queerness. So, let me break it down - JJ Maybank and Sarah Cameron are bisexual, Kiara Carrera is pansexual, Pope Hayward is gay, Cleo is a lesbian and John B is the one token straight friend. FACTS.