#Somerset Coast

[dopescissorscashwagon]

Good Morning! Next on 'Soft pastels' week is a pastel sunset at the iconic Burnham-on-sea lighthouse on the north Somerset coast....

📸 by @garyholpinphoto

[freddieardley]

Porlock Weir XPan

Photographed by Freddie Ardley

[thisisengland]

Burnham-on-Sea, Somerset.

[nerdie-faerie]

ace..... arent you britisg? how do you not know the uk??

Listen just because I'm British doesn't mean I know shit I just live here, for better or for worse and generally against my will

I'm gonna level with you I didn't know where my uni was until I was no longer there sure I knew it was in Scotland but where exactly? No clue. If you'd handed me a blank map of Scotland and told me to point to where I thought it was I would've been wrong. I only found out this summer when I was looking at new unis in comparison to my old one on the map and one of the unis I was looking at this summer I had previously thought was Scottish city until that point. In my defense it was historically a Scottish city (sort of) at some points but like..... Not for centuries

I've always been better at history than geography and I can't drive so I don't need to know where things are when I can just hop on transport and hope to get there. I'm judging based on vibes only here

Thanks for the ask hun

[chloesomeone]

New York Wine Cellar Inspiration for a huge eclectic travertine floor and beige floor wine cellar remodel with storage racks

[saywhat-politics]

When former President Joe Biden first took office, the winds were clearly blowing in the right direction for the offshore turbine industry — and the Italian cable manufacturer Prysmian Group saw an opening.

The company, expecting the new administration to finally build long hoped-for wind turbines off the coast of New England, announced plans in December 2021 for a factory in Somerset, Massachusetts. The plant would make electrical cables to connect the windmills to the town’s grid infrastructure, which had connected to New England’s largest coal-fired power station until it shut down in 2010.

Last Friday, just days before President Donald Trump returned to office and halted all new offshore wind projects with the stroke of a pen, Prysmian pulled the plug on the $300 million project, which would have created hundreds of jobs.

“The decision was not tied to any political developments,” the company said in an emailed statement.

Vowing to pursue “a policy where no windmills are being built,” Trump’s executive orders Monday paused any new permitting of offshore wind projects in federal waters and threatened lawsuits to revoke existing licenses. That dealt what analysts said was a crushing blow to the industry Prysmian’s factory hoped to serve.

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

Rating Austen’s first lines (this is a rating of the lines, not the books) (rated based on my thoughts of when I read them for the first time, unaware of what happens later)

1. Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her. — Emma

Iconic. Makes you wanna be her in just one paragraph.

2. No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine. — Northanger Abbey

I love this one, I don’t know why

3. A gentleman and a lady travelling from Tunbridge towards that part of the Sussex coast which lies between Hastings and Eastbourne, being induced by business to quit the high road and attempt a very rough lane, were overturned in toiling up its long ascent, half rock, half sand. — Sanditon

Pulls you right in.

4. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. — Pride & Prejudice

It’s a classic.

5. The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. — Sense & Sensibility

Straight to the point.

6. The first winter assembly in the town of D. in Surrey was to be held on Tuesday, October 13th and it was generally expected to be a very good one. — The Watsons

I hope it was.

7. About thirty years ago Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet's lady, with all the comforts and consequences of an handsome house and large income. — Mansfield Park

Good for her.

8. My dear brother,—I can no longer refuse myself the pleasure of profiting by your kind invitation when we last parted of spending some weeks with you at Churchhill, and, therefore, if quite convenient to you and Mrs. Vernon to receive me at present, I shall hope within a few days to be introduced to a sister whom I have so long desired to be acquainted with. — Lady Susan

Not the worst.

9. Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somerset, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs, changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. — Persuasion

Didn’t ask about Sir Walter Elliot’s passion for monarchy.

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Evelyn Preer

Evelyn Preer (née Jarvis; July 26, 1896 – November 17, 1932), was an African American pioneering screen and stage actress, and jazz and blues singer in Hollywood during the late-1910s through the early 1930s. Preer was known within the Black community as "The First Lady of the Screen."

She was the first Black actress to earn celebrity and popularity. She appeared in ground-breaking films and stage productions, such as the first play by a black playwright to be produced on Broadway, and the first New York–style production with a black cast in California in 1928, in a revival of a play adapted from Somerset Maugham's Rain.

Evelyn Jarvis was born in Vicksburg, Mississippi, on July 26, 1896. After her father, Frank, died prematurely, she moved with her mother, Blanche, and her three other siblings to Chicago, Illinois. She completed grammar school and high school in Chicago. Her early experiences in vaudeville and "street preaching" with her mother are what jump-started her acting career. Preer married Frank Preer on January 16, 1915, in Chicago.

At the age of 23, Preer's first film role was in Oscar Micheaux's 1919 debut film The Homesteader, in which she played Orlean. Preer was promoted by Micheaux as his leading actress with a steady tour of personal appearances and a publicity campaign, she was one of the first African American women to become a star to the black community. She also acted in Micheaux's Within Our Gates (1920), in which she plays Sylvia Landry, a teacher who needs to raise money to save her school. Still from the 1919 Oscar Micheaux film Within Our Gates.

In 1920, Preer joined The Lafayette Players a theatrical stock company in Chicago that was founded in 1915 by Anita Bush, a pioneering stage and film actress known as “The Little Mother of Black Drama". Bush and her troupe toured the US to bring legitimate theatre to black audiences at a time when theaters were racially segregated by law in the South, and often by custom in the North and the interest of vaudeville was fading. The Lafayette Players brought drama to black audiences, which caused it to flourish until its end during the Great Depression.

She continued her career by starring in 19 films. Micheaux developed many of his subsequent films to showcase Preer's versatility. These included The Brute (1920), The Gunsaulus Mystery (1921), Deceit (1923), Birthright (1924), The Devil’s Disciple (1926), The Conjure Woman (1926) and The Spider's Web (1926). Preer had her talkie debut in the race musical Georgia Rose (1930). In 1931, she performed with Sylvia Sidney in the film Ladies of the Big House. Her final film performance was as Lola, a prostitute, in Josef von Sternberg's 1932 film Blonde Venus, with Cary Grant and Marlene Dietrich. Preer was lauded by both the black and white press for her ability to continually succeed in ever more challenging roles, "...her roles ran the gamut from villain to heroine an attribute that many black actresses who worked in Hollywood cinema history did not have the privilege or luxury to enjoy." Only her film by Micheaux and three shorts survive. She was known for refusing to play roles that she believed demeaned African Americans.

By the mid-1920s, Preer began garnering attention from the white press, and she began to appear in crossover films and stage parts. In 1923, she acted in the Ethiopian Art Theatre's production of The Chip Woman's Fortune by Willis Richardson. This was the first dramatic play by an African-American playwright to be produced on Broadway, and it lasted two weeks. She met her second husband, Edward Thompson, when they were both acting with the Lafayette Players in Chicago. They married February 4, 1924, in Williamson County, Tennessee. In 1926, Preer appeared on Broadway in David Belasco’s production of Lulu Belle. Preer supported and understudied Lenore Ulric in the leading role of Edward Sheldon's drama of a Harlem prostitute. She garnered acclaim in Sadie Thompson in a West Coast revival of Somerset Maugham’s play about a fallen woman.

She rejoined the Lafayette Players for that production in their first show in Los Angeles at the Lincoln Center. Under the leadership of Robert Levy, Preer and her colleagues performed in the first New York–style play featuring black players to be produced in California. That year, she also appeared in Rain, a play adapted from Maugham's short story by the same name.

Preer also sang in cabaret and musical theater where she was occasionally backed by such diverse musicians as Duke Ellington and Red Nichols early in their careers. Preer was regarded by many as the greatest actress of her time.

Developing post-childbirth complications, Preer died of pneumonia on November 17, 1932, in Los Angeles at the age of 36. Her husband continued as a popular leading man and "heavy" in numerous race films throughout the 1930s and 1940s, and died in 1960.

Their daughter Edeve Thompson converted to Catholicism as a teenager. She later entered the Sisters of St. Francis of Oldenburg, Indiana, where she became known as Sister Francesca Thompson, O.S.F., and became an academic, teaching at both Marian University in Indiana and Fordham University in New York City.

Still from the 1919 Oscar Micheaux film Within Our Gates.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Canary Media:

Three days before President Trump took office, an undersea-cable company abandoned plans to build a plant that would employ up to 350 people in Somerset, Massachusetts. Media outlets were quick to spotlight the loss as a specter of what’s to come for the offshore wind industry that Trump put on ice with the stroke of a pen last week.

It’s a reminder that Trump’s attempts to kill the offshore wind industry threaten not just the decarbonization plans of a few states, but job opportunities for a wide array of Americans. In fact, over 64% of the offshore wind manufacturing and supply-chain investments made or announced are in Republican congressional districts, according to data from industry group Oceantic Network.

The 64% statistic describes mostly private investment into offshore wind but also includes some public investment, including money flowing in from the Inflation Reduction Act, the Biden administration’s cornerstone climate law and a favorite target of Trump. In total, $3.4 billion has either been invested in or pledged to Republican districts to build a domestic offshore wind supply chain.

“Who’s benefiting? It’s the entire United States,” said Liz Burdock, president and CEO of the group, which previously went by the name Business Network for Offshore Wind.

But Trump last week signed an executive order that paused the approval of leases, permits, and loans for both offshore and onshore wind energy pending a federal review. The freeze will likely impact projects in earlier stages of development while the nine commercial-scale offshore wind projects that already have federal permits in hand appear safe.

It could also ripple throughout the emerging U.S. offshore wind supply chain. Developers have signed nearly 2,000 supply-chain contracts with manufacturing firms in 40 states, including some that are hundreds of miles from a coastline, like Ohio and Wisconsin.

For example, said Burdock, Italian shipbuilding firm Fincantieri is building customized offshore vessels in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, which is part of a Republican congressional district. And in Houston, Texas — which she called the ​“engine” of offshore wind manufacturing — multiple companies are adapting technologies used for the region’s offshore oil operations to accommodate offshore wind.

America currently has 73 gigawatts of offshore wind capacity in various stages of development, according to the latest data collected by the American Clean Power Association. Before Trump returned to office, the industry group estimated that offshore wind would support 56,000 jobs by 2030. About a third of those would be operation and maintenance jobs while the vast majority would be direct construction jobs, at least in these early years of the sector.

Only one commercial-scale U.S. offshore wind project is in operation today, but at least five more are under construction, all off the coastlines of Northeastern states.

In addition to the money flowing to manufacturing projects to support these installations, Oceantic reports that offshore wind has spurred $1.8 billion worth of direct investments into updating 21 shipyards and across 12 states, like the St. John’s Ship Building shipyard in Palatka, Florida, which sits in a district that’s been represented by a Republican since 1989.

Thousands of workers are also helping to update 25 ports across the East, West and Gulf coasts that will store massive wind components and safely load them onto vessels that can then carry them miles out to sea for installation. Oceantic reports that a recent revitalization project at a Connecticut port created 400 construction jobs and sourced components from Texas.

[blueiscoool]

Gigantic Marine Reptile Fossil Found by 11-Year-Old Girl and Father

A massive jawbone found by a father-daughter fossil-collecting duo on a beach in Somerset along the English coast belonged to a newfound species that’s likely the largest known marine reptile to swim in Earth’s oceans.

Scientists consider the blue whale, which grows up to 110 feet (33.5 meters) long, to be the largest known animal ever to exist on the planet. But it’s possible that the 202 million-year-old reptile, known as an ichthyosaur or “fish lizard,” may have rivaled it in size.

The ichthyosaur’s jawbone, or surangular, was a long, curved bone at the top of the lower jaw just behind the teeth, and it measured more than 6.5 feet (2 meters) long. Researchers believe the creature, named Ichthyotitan severnensis, or “giant fish lizard of the Severn” in Latin, was more than 82 feet (25 meters) long, or the length of two city buses.

Justin and Ruby Reynolds, who live in Braunton, England, recovered the first pieces of the jawbone in May 2020 as they looked for fossils on the beach at Blue Anchor, Somerset. Ruby, 11 at the time, spotted the first chunk of bone, and then she and her dad found additional pieces together.

By Ashley Strickland.

[scotianostra]

September 10th 1547 saw the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh.

Fought along the Firth of Forth near Musselburgh, southeast of Edinburgh, this battle is also sometimes called the Battle of Falside.

It marked the beginning of a new phase in the Rough Wooing, the sustained English attempt to compel the Scots to accept a marriage between their queen and the English king. The overwhelming English victory destroyed the main Scots field force, allowed the English to establish garrisons across southern Scotland, and brought the French into the war on the Scottish side.

When the Scottish Parliament refused to ratify the Treaty of Greenwich in December 1543, Henry VIII launched successive invasions of Scotland to force acceptance of the main provision of the treaty, the marriage of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, to Prince Edward, the future Edward VI. At Henry’s death in January 1547, the Scots remained defiant. Because of the king’s youth, control of the English government passed to Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, who, as the king’s eldest uncle, assumed office as lord protector. In Scotland, the government of the even more youthful queen was headed by James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, who worked in uneasy partnership with a pro-French party led by the queen mother, Marie de Guise.

In late August 1547, while massing a force of more than 16,000 on the border at Berwick, Somerset issued a proclamation to the people of Scotland reminding them of the 1543 agreement and of the history and geography they shared with the English. His army, he claimed, was coming not to threaten Scotland, but “to defend and maintain the honour of both the princes and realms” sounds like a previous King eh?!

Crossing the frontier on 31 August, the English marched along the coast toward Edinburgh, supported on their flank by a fleet under Edward Fiennes de Clinton, Lord Clinton. Moving swiftly, the English seized castles along their line of march and dispersed harassing bands of Scots. On 9 September, Somerset encountered the main Scottish force, 20,000 in number, holding a strong position along the river Esk.

Next morning, Somerset ordered his right wing to assault the Scottish line, thereby shifting the entire army toward the Forth and the protection of Clinton’s guns. Arran, in command of the Scottish force, misinterpreted the movement; he believed Somerset was trying to avoid an engagement by taking his men to the coast for embarkation on the fleet. Arran accordingly ordered the Scots to leave their well-prepared defences and attack.

Seeing the Scottish movement, Somerset halted his army and formed line of battle. The Scots, far inferior to the English in cavalry, had no cover for the flanks of their pikemen, the same bristling formations of spearmen that James IV had used so ineffectively at Flodden Field. Slowed by cavalry charges and broken by artillery, the Scottish formations disintegrated, and the battle degenerated into a slaughter as the English infantry pursued the fleeing Scots to the gates of Edinburgh.

While English losses numbered 500 to 600, the Scots, figures vary from 6 to 15 thousand, over 2,000 were captured.

Organised Scottish resistance ceased, and Somerset spent the following months securing southern Scotland by seizing strong points and establishing a web of English garrisons centred on the fortress at Haddington.

Thanks to French inducements- Arran, who was given the title Duke of Chatelherault-and the efforts of the queen mother, the Scots turned in this emergency to their ancient ally, France.

Concluded in July 1548, the Treaty of Haddington promised the Scots French military assistance in return for the marriage of their queen to the eldest son of Henri II. In late July, Mary was spirited into France, there to be raised at Henri’s court. Although a victory for English arms, Pinkie was a defeat for English policy, opening a decade of French dominance in Scotland and ensuring that the Scottish queen would become Catholic in religion and French in sympathy.

Pinkie Cleugh was the last pitched battle between Scotland and England. The Memorial to the battle is at Salters Road near Wallyford.

Members of the Old Musselburgh Club with the Pinkie Cleugh Battlefield Group will,as we I post this,, led by a piper, walk along the battlefield trail, starting from the Roman Bridge in Musselburgh. and meeting at the memorial stone in time for the commemoration at 1pm, where the laying of floral tribute and speeches are made.

Ian Wood, club treasurer, will read 10 of the names out of the 10,000 who lost their lives in the conflict, which will be followed by an act of remembrance.

Pics include a wood cut depiction of the battle from not long after it happened, “The Raising of The Fire Cross for the Assembly of the Highland Clans before the Battle, a depiction of the battle and two of the memorials to the battle, the second is a relatively new one showing two soldiers in combat.

[guinevere-of-smiths]

TUH: Home Front

Book: The Unexpected Heiress

Words: ~6000

Rating: M

Pairing: John Somerset x f!MC (Celeste Hayes)

Warnings: Discussion of War (World War I), discussion (but no depiction) of air raids

Summary: Spring 1916, London. World War 1 has been raging for more than 18 months and Lieutenant John Somserset returns to London on home leave, never expecting to hear that his wife Celeste is not only in London, but that for all the propaganda of 'fighting to keep England safe' to make men enlist, the home front is far from untouchable.

John was too tired to even feel the trepidation he usually returned to England with these days. It was difficult to dissect how unreal his homeland’s normalcy felt compared to the blighted landscape he had left behind while all he longed for was a warm bed.

Yawning, he trudged up the steps of the terrace house Francis had moved into while their family’s townhouse did its bit for King and Country and rung the bell. A few minutes later, the door was opened by an elderly lady in a dark dress. “Yes?” She stared at him for a moment, taking in his mud-spattered uniform, then blinked. “Oh, Lieutenant Somerset, it’s you.”

She immediately opened the door wide enough for John to slip inside. He nodded at her. “Good afternoon. Mrs. Gilbert, if I recall?”

“Are you here to visit your brother?” She eyed him critically, and there was no doubt in John’s mind that she was seeing every clump of mud clinging to him, from his shoes up to his greatcoat, and calculating how many of them he was likely to leave behind in her hallway. He had hardly slept during the train ride to the coast or the Channel crossing, never mind sparing the time to shave or wash himself; dirty clothing had been the least of his worries.

He nodded again. “Is he in?”

“I’m sorry, I suspect he’s still at the Office. But I can go upstairs to have a look.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll wait for him. Would I inconvenience you greatly if I asked for a cup of tea in the meantime?”

She assured him that no, of course it wasn’t an inconvenience, but she insisted on first ascertaining that his brother truly wasn’t home. John did his best not to fall asleep standing up while waiting at the foot of the stairs. At least he didn’t have to wait long, but was soon ushered into the sitting room, where he first let her take his coat and then gratefully sank down onto one of the couches. It would probably be best to spend the night at Francis’ and return to Windcroft the following morning. As much as he longed for home, for Celeste and their little girl, he didn’t think he would be able to motivate his leaden bones to move into an upright position again anytime soon.

Only the blink of an eye seemed to have passed when Mrs. Gilbert returned with a tray, laden with a tea pot, crockery, as well as some small jugs and tins. She glanced up while she poured his tea. “Are you here on leave, sir?”

“Yes. I plan to travel on tomorrow.”

“You will want to see the rest of your family, I’m sure. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I would like to rest until my brother returns. I’d be thankful if you could be patient about coming to collect this.” He indicated the tray.

She only hesitated for a moment. “Of course, sir.”

Soon after that, she left, allowing John to finally close his eyes and lean back. If he was lucky, she would actually stay away until he rang for her or Francis returned, and he’d be able to sleep for an hour or two. He took a deep breath, listening to the sounds around him; besides the ticking of a clock, distant street noise and a creaking wood floor, the flat was absolutely quiet. Eerily quiet, after the booming of the artillery, the squealing train and the crowded streets. His every nerve was waiting for the whistling of a grenade or the crack of a gun, any sign to take cover, but of course, there was no such sound. He was in England. He was home. Everything was fine. And yet, nothing was fine.

He almost believed he could hear all of it, the whistling, the thundering, the sharp sounds of a gun, but he knew those had to be hallucinations. He was so sleep-deprived that it wouldn’t surprise him. Rubbing his face with both hands, he forced himself into some semblance of an upright position to drink his tea before it got cold.

The pleasant warmth spreading through his chest while he drank, combined with the tea’s bitter tang, served to wake him enough to wash and change out of the dirtiest of his clothes before curling up on the sofa. He was half asleep before his head hit the pillow.

.

.

.

„John?“

Someone put a hand on his shoulder. Within a moment, before he even realized that the someone had also used his first name – and that the voice was suspiciously familiar – he was sitting upright and looking around until he spotted Francis, who had taken a step back, his hands raised. “Beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He blinked, trying to orientate himself. There was still light coming in from outside, but if had become dimmer than before. Already late afternoon, then, if not evening. “It’s alright”, he muttered and cleared his throat when he realized that his voice sounded like a grinding stone. “Hello, Francis.”

His brother had obviously just come in; he was still wearing his overcoat and hat and was looking at him with an expression that said that the few hours of sleep had only improved on his appearance to a point. “Mrs. Gilbert would have prepared the guest room for you if you had said anything.”

“To be honest, that was simply too much effort to my liking.” He rubbed his face and looked around for a clock. “What time is it?”

“Almost half past five.” Francis took off first his hat and then his coat and hung both neatly on the hall stand. “When did you get here?”

“Three, four hours ago? I don’t remember exactly.” Little by little, he was at least starting to feel decently awake. “I’m sorry, I would have sent a message ahead, but I was given very short notice for my leave.”

“How long do you have?”

“Two weeks. I was intending to travel on tomorrow, but I thought I’d call on you on the way.”

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you were looking for a place to sleep and that my flat lent itself”, Francis responded drily, but there was no censure in his words. Quite the opposite, his brother even allowed himself a tired smile. “It’s good to see you again, John.”

Alive and on this side of the Channel, you mean. “I hope I haven’t interrupted any plans for your evening.”

Francis shook his head and sat down in one of the armchairs. It was only now that John noticed the briefcase standing next to it, or the tired expression of Francis’ eyes. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that was exhausted. “Nothing that can’t be postponed. Have you come directly from the front?”

No, from a vacation at the beach. “From where else? I didn’t want to waste time lingering anywhere. The sooner I’m home, the better.” No matter what he did, the time he had with his wife and daughter wouldn’t be enough. He wasn’t sure Terry would even recognize him, even if Celeste was as diligent in telling their girl stories as she claimed in her letters. He hadn’t seen her since last autumn. Half a year was a long time for a child not even two years old.

He pulled himself together when he noticed Francis staring at him with his brow furrowed, as if he could guess what was going on inside him, and cleared his throat, this time to break the uncomfortable silence. “How are things in the War Office?”

“Chaotic, like always.” Before Francis could say more, the door opened, and Mrs. Gilbert bustled in with a second tea tray. Francis continued speaking while she put the first one aside and poured fresh tea from the new one. “Are you staying for dinner, John?”

“I had hoped I’d be able to stay until tomorrow. Is that inconvenient?” In the past, staying the night in Francis’ flat had never been a problem. As much as John longed for his family, it wasn’t as if seeing his brother after months at the front didn’t do him good. Francis and he might have their problems with each other, but the evenings he spent here tended to be very quiet.

His brother gave him a confused look. “No, but I would have thought you…” He paused. “When did you last get a letter from Celeste?”

The question caught John so much by surprise that he tensed instantly. Everything but bad news. “A few days ago, maybe a week”, he replied and couldn’t help sounding suspicious. “I didn’t tell her that I’d come here, if that is what you mean.”

“I mean that you probably can’t know that she’s here in London, then.”

“Pardon?”

“Your wife is here in London”, Francis repeated. “She has been for about a week now. I have been wondering why you’re here and not with her, to be honest, but I suppose that explains it.”

“Celeste is in London?”

His flummoxed tone teased a smile out of Francis. Or possibly it was the unnecessary repetition, but apparently his tired mind wasn’t quick enough to process the news that he could have seen his Celeste hours ago. “She is”, Francis confirmed, unnecessarily. “She has been staying with Aunt Maude for a few days to attend a number of charity events.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” The words came out more accusatory than he had intended them, but before he could say anything more, Francis was already frowning.

“You mean since I’ve learned five minutes ago that you’re even in the country?”

John forced a smile. “I’d have thought that your all-important work at the War Office has been teaching you quick reflexes.”

“I fear you’re confusing something”, Francis said drily. “Be that as it may, I can understand that you’d prefer Celeste’s company to mine.”

John supressed a smile, an honest one this time. “It’s nothing personal.”

“That’s what I thought.”

It felt bizarre, almost surreal, to be sitting in a warm sitting room with his brother after months at the front, with an old landlady serving them tea and without the consistent rumbling of the artillery. There was nothing but quiet street noise. He wondered how his platoon was faring in this moment. He could only hope that the front was calm and that he wouldn’t return to find his men half decimated – or worse.

He pushed the thought aside. He himself was safe, and he should savour that, no matter how guilty he felt in doing so. “I hope you won’t think me rude if I go over to Aunt Maude’s as soon as possible, given the circumstances.”

“Before you leave, there’s something you should know about.”

John had already risen to gather up his necktie and his tunic, which he had draped over the armrest of the other armchair. Francis’ sober tone of voice made him freeze and his hackles rise.

“Yes?”

Francis sighed and rubbed his hands. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Gilbert. I think you may go.”

Not before the eyes of the servants, then. Nothing was secret at the front, so John should have been glad of the privacy, but in that moment, the gesture only served to worsen his anxiety. In their circles, people seldom paid attention whether servants were present or not; they were too omnipresent in their lives for it to be worth the effort. And still, Francis waited until Mrs. Gilbert had left the room before he spoke. That couldn’t bode well.

His brother took a deep breath before he spoke. “Firstly, I want you to stay calm throughout all that I’m about to tell you. Everything is fine.”

“Did something happen?”

“You could say that. Did you pay attention to the newspapers on the way here?”

He shook his head and sat back down on the sofa.

“As I said, everything is fine, I don’t want you to be upset, but…There was a bombing attack by the Germans on Aunt Maude’s neighbourhood last night.”

This news, his tired brain didn’t struggle to parse. Probably a side effect of the adrenaline that had flooded his veins further with every second Francis had dallied in getting to the point. “Celeste?”, was all he could get out.

“She is unharmed, as is Aunt Maude. Their house wasn’t hit.”

“Oh, thank God.” He was almost faint with relief; he buried his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and took several deep breaths. In that moment, he didn’t even care that his brother was sitting in front of him or that there was that voice in the back of his mind, useless as it was, telling him that an officer wasn’t supposed to be this obvious in losing his nerves. He had seen enough destruction to know the harm German bombs could do. He didn’t want to imagine Celeste, his Celeste, even close to that. She was in England, far away from the battlegrounds on the continent. She was supposed to be safe.

It was his own fault, really, that he had still carried hope like that, after Europe had already gone mad years ago.

He allowed himself two deep breaths before looking up at Francis, who, to his credit, was diligently acting as if preparing his tea was the most intriguing task in the world, all to give him time to collect himself. “Was anyone injured? Killed?”

„At least two dead and several wounded”, Francis said soberly. “I don’t know the exact numbers. I only learned of it when a colleague told me. I called Aunt Maude’s telephone post-haste. Celeste is understandably shaken, but they were far enough away from the impact site that aside from the noise and the tremor, they didn’t notice anything at first.”

“You spoke to her?”

“Yes, but only for a few minutes. Apparently, the house of an acquaintance of her aunt’s was hit. Maude’s acquaintance and the others in the house were out that evening, but she and Celeste have spent the day helping them bring their affairs in order.”

His amusement wasn’t enough to make him laugh or even smile, but immediately throwing herself into helping others sounded so much like his wife that it made him feel a smidgeon better. Or maybe the wish to laugh in a situation like this was a sign of hysteria. It discomforted him how little able he felt to tell the difference.

To keep his fingers occupied, he began re-tying his tie, as he had intended before. “Thank you for checking on her.”

Francis lifted a brow. “Of course I did. You’re not the only one in this family she means something to, John.”

“Certainly, but…” He didn’t know what else to say. “Either way, I’ll go to her at once.”

He was done with his tie now and pulled on his tunic. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Francis that Celeste was alright, but he still wanted to see her for himself. His wife was resilient, but he could picture only too well how much living through something like this had to have shaken her. It was frightening, knowing you were alive due to nothing but luck. The knowledge that her beloved aunt could have been a victim had to weigh on her, as well, and…”

Although he had been in the process of getting up, he sank down on the sofa again. Francis gave him a worried look. “John?”

“Do you know if she’s taken Theresa to London with her?”

He saw the moment Francis realized the extent of the horror that had gripped him so suddenly. Facing how close his wife’s brush with death had been was cruel enough, but his daughter? He forced himself to stay calm, while his brother frowned and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t asked. I’d assume she didn’t, but I can’t tell you with certainty.”

“It didn’t cross your might to maybe ask if your niece is alright?”, he asked incredulously, knowing he was being unfair without caring about that fact overmuch.

“It was only a short phone call”, Francis defended himself. “I’m sure your wife would have mentioned Terry had she been there.”

“Perhaps”, John muttered and attempted to rise, but paused when Francis sighed.

“At least drink a cup of tea, John, and try to calm yourself. If you rush into that house like a man chased, that won’t make the situation any better, after what Celeste and Aunt Maude have already been through.”

He gave his brother a sourly look that he hoped made sufficiently plain what he thought about that idea. “That I’m – justifiably, I’d say – concerned for my dearly beloved wife doesn’t mean I don’t know how to behave myself, Francis.”

“I’d still suggest that it’s advisable to call ahead and give notice of your coming. And in the meantime, I’m sure we can find some refreshments in addition to the tea. I assume you didn’t eat anything all day?”

.

.

.

Death was Celeste’s constant companion.

The sentiment was quite possibly – if not certainly – overly dramatic, but sometimes, her life felt exactly like that. Her mother had died when she had still been a little girl; her sister had been murdered; her husband had nearly died before he had been able to become exactly that. She would never forget Lady Hunsbury’s hateful gaze when she had pointed that gun at herself and Effie, ready to pull the trigger, and not even a year after her wedding a war had broken out. There was hardly a day now that she didn’t go to bed wondering if she would wake a widow. Her brother-in-law had lost a sister, her husband his mother.

All that considered, the fact that only a few streets had separated herself and her aunt from becoming casualties of war shouldn’t surprise her, really. And yet, all day she had found herself thinking about how easily she could have died, especially when there had been nothing left to do to keep busy. What would become of her daughter if she wasn’t here to take care of her anymore? Who would write to John? Sie didn’t want to think about it.

And then Aunt Maude had informed her that Francis had called ahead to tell them that he would pay them a visit – and, more importantly, that John would be with him. At first, she had been sure that her aunt had to be joking, but Maude Leighton, for all her joie de vivre, wasn’t that cruel.

So she was once again standing before the floor-length mirror in the hall in an effort to neaten her hair and to check the fit of her blouse and skirt. Aunt Maude strolled over, shaking her head.

“My sweet cherub, you look lovely. Not that I think that that is what your John will care about.”

“It’s a better alternative than pacing, aunty. This way, at least I won’t be drenched in sweat.” She wondered if there was enough time to run upstairs and change her clothing. Her dark skirt didn’t show the dust and dirt the debris she had sorted through had left, but the sleeves of her cream-coloured blouse told a different story. Wouldn’t it be better to put on a jacket?

Her aunt snorted, amused. “Ah, young love. One could think you were seeing each other for the very first time, what with how nervous you are.”

No, but for the first time in half a year. Intellectually, Celeste knew that John wouldn’t give a damn how she looked – she didn’t care either, after all. But she had to do something to keep herself from perching by the window and keeping watch for him. She had her pride, after all.

But by God, she missed John so much. She wanted to run towards him, but that would be both useless and embarrassingly close to the stereotype of the yearning wife. Which didn’t change the fact that now that she knew that her husband was in London and on his way to her, it was hard to keep still.

“Celeste?”

“Hm?” She turned towards her aunt, who was looking at her expectingly. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Her aunt gave her a slight smile. “I suggested going into the drawing room to wait there. I know you won’t be able to concentrate on that novel you’ve been reading, but you could help me make sure that I haven’t forgotten anything I need to take care of before my departure.”

“Certainly, Aunt Maude.” Celeste straightened her skirt one more time before following her aunt – not without another look at the door, whose bell remained silent despite her gaze. It was far too early for John and Francis to be here already, but she couldn’t help herself.

Her aunt had settled into one of the room’s armchairs when she came in, her list and pencil in her hand. Celeste sat down on the couch across from her, the C.L. Pirkis novel she had been reading before Francis’ call on the coffee table between them.

Aunt Maude tapped her pencil on the upper edge of the book she was using as a writing support. “Do you know, it’s dreadfully kind of your parents-in-law to take me in after this shock”, she said thoughtfully. “But I don’t think I’ll be taking advantage of their hospitality for more than a few weeks.”

Torn from her thoughts, it took Celeste a moment to digest the meaning of her words. “Are you sure? After what happened…” She shuddered. Seeing her aunt’s friends’ ruined house had really made her realize how real the war’s dangers were, even in London. She didn’t want anything so much as to be back in the countryside with her daughter, far removed from anything that could interest the Germans as a target.

Aunt Maude shrugged, still smiling. “The safe, conventional option was never my choice.”

“Aunty…”

“I feel like I can be of greater use here. Soldiers like your John put themselves in far greater danger every day. Which doesn’t mean that I don’t understand that you would rather be with Terry.”

“There are a lot of ways to help out in the country, too”, Celeste argued. What did her aunt think she was doing most days? “We have enough veterans, injured soldiers and widows and orphans in need of help around Windcroft.”

As always, Aunt Maude didn’t allow anything to dampen her mood. “Let us discuss this another time, sweet cherub. For now, I’m coming with you, and we’ll see how quickly I’ll get bored after that.”

Celeste couldn’t help but grin. She never could when she sensed a challenge. There was little she enjoyed more. “You’ll see. Give me two weeks and you won’t want to leave.”

Her aunt laughed quietly. “I’m on tenterhooks. So-”

They were interrupted by the sound of a stopping automobile. Without thinking, Celeste jumped to her feet, ran over to the window and pushed the drapes aside – her hope to see John again was too violent to allow another reaction. It only made her disappointment greater when she looked outside. “Only the neighbours”, she announced, dropping the drapes.

“It won’t be long now until you’ve got him back.”

Yes, for nothing but a few days. She shook of the ungrateful thought. A few days every few months were more than many other wives got, even those whose husbands were still alive. John was an officer, after all. A few days he was with her, safe, would be heavenly. She forced herself to smile.

“You’re right, of course. So, we were planning to go over your list of preparations?”

After she stopped looking at the clock every few seconds and started focusing on her discussion with her aunt, they made quite decent progress. Aunt Maude might try to make her believe differently, but she, too, was shaken by the night’s events and had readily accepted Lady Ashbourne’s invitation to stay at Windcroft Manor for the foreseeable future. She would stay in London for a few days to help her friends and get her affairs in order, but after that, she would travel out to Gloucestershire to stay with them. Celeste, for her part, was planning to return to Windcroft the next day; she had been away from her little girl for far too long. She hoped that John felt the same, because she would certainly not be leaving without him.

She looked up when a car stopped in front of the house, but forced herself to stay seated this time, fingers buried in the fabric of her skirt. She held her breath, looked towards the door and couldn’t rise fast enough when the bell rang. She reached the entrance hall only a moment after Aunt Maude’s chauffeur-butler, hovering in the doorway while he opened the front door.

Knowing that her husband was in London after only exchanging letters with him one or two times per week was one thing. Seeing him walk in the door, in a dirty coat and lean, but gloriously alive left her unsure how to feel for a moment. He only had to look around a moment to spot her, and she knew that the only thing brighter than his smile was probably her own.

She only absently noticed Francis following his brother into the house; she was far too preoccupied by John walking towards her with long strides. It was hardly a moment before she found herself wrapped in a tight embrace, as if he never wanted to let her go again. She had no complaints about that. She shoved her hands under his trench coat and hugged him as tightly as she could. All her tension of the last few hours, if not months, fell away under his warm, familiar presence.

It wasn’t the first time she saw John again when he came home, injured or on leave. That didn’t dim the breathless relief to have him back in her arms in the slightest. It never would, probably.

He pressed his face into her neck for a few seconds before lifting his head without letting her go. “I heard you’ve managed to get yourself into trouble again?”

This was so unexpected that she had to laugh. “You know me. I wither when I don’t have enough excitement in my life.”

This time, he did step away from her, just enough to reach up and push a lock of hair back from her forehead. It must have come loose while she had pushed her face into the rough fabric of his uniform. “And I see that your sense of dramatic timing hasn’t diminished. You shouldn’t have done this just for me.”

She smiled. “You have far too exalted an opinion of yourself, Lieutenant.”

“My superiors would say the same thing.” He stroked her jaw, studying her face attentively. “But to be serious: are you alright?”

“As alright as I can be, given the circumstances.” She took a deep breath and looked up into his face. He looked tired, but alright, for a man that had spent the winter at the front. “I won’t pretend it hasn’t shaken me, but it could have been much worse.”

“Still, for my peace of mind, I’d ask you to desist from such things in the future. It’s enough that one of us has to dodge artillery.”

She raised a brow, smiling. “I’ll leave it to you to tell the Germans, the next time you meet one of them.” Slowly, she realized that she and John weren’t alone in the foyer and that Francis and her aunt had probably spent a good while pretending not to see them. With an embarrassed cough, she rose to her toes to kiss his cheek before carefully disentangling herself from him. “And I want to hear all about how you are in a moment, but first…Hello, Francis.”

Her brother-in-law had indeed been studying a painting but couldn’t help but chuckle now. “Hello, Celeste.”

“I’d apologize for that passionate reunion”, John said, “but I’d have to be sorry to do that.” One of his arms was still slung loosely around her waist, and he pulled her close to him for one last moment before letting go for good. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Then you should see how much my dear niece has been fretting”, Aunt Maude announced pleasantly, sauntering into the foyer. “She almost left a trail in my floor, that’s how upset the poor girl has been.”

“Aunt Maude!” Her cheeks were glowing with heat, but her aunt merely laughed.

“I’m just kidding, little cherub. I’m happy to see your husband, too.”

“Thank you for taking me in so spontaneously, Maude.” Now that the first relief of seeing each other safe and sound had passed, John appeared far more composed, even while keeping close to her side. He handed his coat over to Ingram, her aunt’s butler. “Especially given the circumstances.”

“Nonsense”, she said firmly and enveloped the hand her had offered her to shake with both of hers. “You know you’re always welcome. All the more because it’s advantageous for my niece’s peace of mind.” She laughed. “And it isn’t as if I need to have an additional room prepared!”

Francis, who had taken off his coat and hat as well, cleared his throat. “It’s good to see that last night’s events haven’t affected you too badly.”

“One has to take life as it presents itself”, Aunt Maude responded with a shrug. “It was frightening, I’ll admit that much, but what would I gain from sinking into despair now? But now, come along into the drawing room. We’ll be far more comfortable waiting there for dinner.”

Glad as she was to have John with her again, Celeste didn’t want to take her eyes off him, and much less move away from this spot. One heard so many terrible things about the war that it was a mystery to her how anyone could return from the front in one piece – especially her own husband. Thankfully, he didn’t seem inclined to follow the others into the drawing room, either. Quite the opposite: he took her hand in his to keep her from moving.

“Would you excuse us for a few moments?”, he asked, addressing Francis and Aunt Maude. “I’d like to talk to my wife in private.”

The expressions their relatives regarded them with after that couldn’t have been more different; while Francis studied his brother with knitted brows (which only garnered him an expressionless look) Aunt Maude only smiled.

“But certainly”, she cooed. “I’m sure that you have a lot to discuss.” With a wink, she ushered Francis into the drawing room. He, for his part, gave his brother another look over his shoulder, but sighed and followed his hostess.

Although they were left alone in the foyer, John led her a few steps away from the door into an alcove between wall and stairs, where they were better hidden from curious stares. Neither of them said anything, but John let go of her fingers to instead cup her face in his hands, stroking her cheekbones before leaning in to kiss her; softly, tenderly, sweetly, more a caress than the passion of a lover that hadn’t seen her for months. And yet it was everything she wished for in that moment; she closed her eyes, hands flat on his chest, and allowed herself to enjoy the warmth flooding her body. Even after he pulled back to learn his forehead against hers, they stayed standing like that for a moment, breathless.

“I missed you”, John said quietly.

“I missed you too.” She opened her eyes and looked up into his dark brown ones. “How long can you stay?”

“Twelve days, then I’ll have to head back.” He kissed her again. “I was planning to go to Windcroft tomorrow. To you.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I’m happy to have taken that step for you.”

“I’m not sure how happy I am about it.” He met her eyes briefly before looking away again. “I saw what’s left of the houses that were hit on our way over. When Francis told me what happened…or almost happened…I don’t want to imagine.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing worse than what you live through every day.” Her voice was quiet, but she wasn’t sure if she had been able to keep all her grief out of it.

“That may be true, but it’s still not a pleasant feeling to come home and find out that my wife has been through something like this only the night before.” He took a deep breath. “But the important thing is that you are alright.”

“I am. I swear it.” She regarded his tired, a little stubbly face – apparently, he hadn’t had the time or the will to shave on his way home. News of her adventures of the previous night probably hadn’t done anything to improve that – her heart bled imagining how anxious he had to have been on the drive over. “How are you?”, she asked, straightening his tie, which was slightly crooked. “We have only talked about me so far.”

“I’m looking forward to a night’s rest in a proper bed”, he told her honestly. “But other than that, I can’t complain about anything right in this moment.”

That wasn’t what she had meant, but she let the issue rest. John didn’t owe her any more honesty. She knew very well herself that no matter how much good will she invested, she would never be able to truly understand what he lived through at the front, and it would be cruel beyond measure to force him to try make her understand anyway. So she only gave him a short kiss of her own and took his hand.

“Then it’s just as well that we can go to bed right after dinner. And tomorrow, we’ll go to Windcroft, where no one will throw bombs at either of us.”

“Wait.” He held her hand tightly, but didn’t move an inch when she, assuming he had really only wished for a private moment for a few kisses, tried to move towards the drawing room. “I have one more question.”

“Yes?” Her anxiety, just soothed, stirred again when she saw how serious he looked and how much he struggled to clothe his question into words.

“Theresa”, he managed to say, finally. “Is she here?”

“Terry? She’s at the Manor, with your parents. I didn’t intend to leave her behind for so long, but initially, my stay here was only meant to be for two days, and…John? What is it?”

At her words – her first words in this torrent of speech – he had closed his eyes and sagged against the wall with his back. “Oh, thank God”, he murmured. “I feared the worst.”

“You thought…Oh, John. She would have been just as safe as me.” She tried to sound optimistic as she said it, but hadn’t she herself said a silent prayer of thanks that her daughter was far away and safe this morning?

John forced a smile. “Of course. You’re right.” But she hadn’t imagined his relief. It was probably similar to what she felt when she saw him again during one of his leaves from the front. Somehow, she had learned to live with knowing that she could lose her husband forever any moment – there were too many war widows to not look that reality in the eye. But she couldn’t imagine going on without him and without Terry. She didn’t think she’d survive a loss like that. Not after everything she had already been through.

“I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed to see you again.”

“If she even recognizes me.”

“She will. And even if she doesn’t, she knows who you are. I tell her about you often enough.” Truthfully, Celeste wasn’t so certain herself. Her daughter was barely more than a year old, and the last time she had seen John had been late summer. For a child that small, a few months were a long time.

“Then I’m relying on your judgement.” He kissed her forehead one last time. “And now, we shouldn’t let the others wait any longer. Elsewise, we’re giving your aunt too much time to speculate.”

[walker-bait-1973]

We Ain't Dead Part Three

A Daryl Dixon x Y/N Fanfiction

18+

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Swearing

Authors Notes: Glenn and Maggie have disappeared. Daryl and Y/N volunteer to go search for them.

Masterlist

Part One

Part Two

Chapter 9: Woodbury

One Week Later

It was getting late; Glenn and Maggie hadn’t returned from another trip out. Rick and Hershel were talking quietly alone. Hershel was beginning to panic. Rick looked over at Daryl and Y/N concern covering his face.

“Glenn and Maggie aren’t back,” Rick said hushed. Daryl frowned.

“How long have they been gone?” Y/N asked.

“Since this morning.” Hershel answered.

Y/N rubbed her face, pulled her map out of her pocket, and laid it on the table.

“Which direction?” she asked. Rick traced the path they’d gone. Y/N traced it out with a red marker.

“Let’s go,” Daryl said, grabbing his crossbow. Y/N grabbed her bow, and her pack.

Beth pleaded desperately, “Please find my sister! I can’t lose her!”

“We will.” Y/N squeezed the teenager’s shoulder and smiled, “We will.”

They jumped into the old blue pickup truck, Daryl kicking it into gear. Rick and Michonne yanked the large gates apart just in time for the pickup truck to barrel through, kicking up rocks, dirt, and dust in its wake.

Y/N traced the path on the map.

"Where 'm I goin'?" Daryl asked, swinging the truck to one side to avoid a group of Walkers. Y/N continued to look at the map.

"Right… we'll pass through the small town of Parkland in about four more clicks and ten miles from the outskirts of Parkland will be Somerset. That's where we need to be. That’s the last place they’d have gone.” Daryl gave a quick nod before shooting through Parkland like a bullet.

He began to slow down in speed as Somerset came into view. Downshifting, he brought the truck to a stop just off main street, behind an old TV repair shop. It was getting darker.

"We stick together," he whispered. Y/N nodded. As they looked around for signs of Maggie and Glenn, Daryl spotted a box full of formula and baby supplies. The green car they'd taken was parked across the street. Daryl quietly crossed the street, Y/N in tow. The search continued as they poured over the car, finding a story in the footprints around it.

“They were taken,” Daryl said scowling. Y/N nodded, flashing a light on the road and saw skid marks.

“That way,” he pointed. They got back in the truck heading in the proper direction, but Daryl kept the truck at a slower speed. They weren't even sure what they were looking for. No signs of Maggie or Glenn were to be found.

"I think the tracks are heading over there," Y/N muttered looking up ahead through binoculars.

"Stop!" She said as she watched out the window, "I can see some steel doors from here. I think there's men on top keeping guard. Do you think maybe they’d been taken there?"

“We gotta check,” Daryl answered, “It’s the only thing around here.”

Y/N tapped his shoulder and pointed to a place to park. Daryl turned off the truck letting it coast into a bank parking lot before pressing the break.

"What's the plan then?"

“On foot,” he answered, quietly exiting the truck. Daryl and Y/N followed the road a little further towards the buildings she’d seen. They pushed their bodies tight against the abandoned buildings, keeping out of sight from the men manning the top of the gate. The large steel gate was indeed surrounded by piles of dead Walkers milling about. The guards had heavy artillery guns.

"Where did they get the military weapons?" Y/N asked as they huddled together behind a burnt up frame of a car.

Daryl squinted, looking through the binoculars. He grimaced, "been a few choppers downed. Maybe from them," he continued to look around, "some military men might be there…" He handed the binoculars back.

She searched.

"Woodbury," Y/N read aloud the sign up over the gates, “there’s ten men on that gate.”

“Shit,” Daryl muttered as one shot a walker dead in the street.

Y/N pointed toward a pile of cars. They snuck in that direction. Y/N set to moving along the wall, her trained eyes searching for any weaknesses in it. When she did find a gap between the building next to the edge of the wall, she tapped Daryl’s chest, and pointed. Daryl shimmied through first before motioning her in. Y/N tied her loose shirt tight around her waist before shimmying through the gap. She had more trouble fitting through with her weapons and decided to leave her bow there. Moving in the shadows, looking around for any sign of where Glenn and Maggie might be, they began to move over the first few doors, peering into windows.

Noticing how quiet it was, “Where is everyone?” Y/N whispered.

Daryl shrugged. Suddenly, they heard yelling, so they dipped into an open door. Daryl peered out the curtain while Y/N went to a window in the back. Her eyes grew, she whistled to him. Daryl rushed over to look outside. A large crowd in rows of stadium seats surrounded a circular arena on the ground in the middle. Walkers were chained there, with two men who fought between them. It was some sort of sick show.

“What the hell?” Y/N uttered, “that’s pretty twisted. What's worse is the crowd is cheering."

“Hell naw!” Daryl exclaimed. Y/N covered his mouth, pulled him to the floor to squat.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Merle.” He hissed.

“Who?”

“My brother,” he responded, lifting his head to look out the window again. Y/N didn’t see any resemblance between Daryl and either of the two man in the middle sparring. 

“Metal arm,” Daryl said, his lips tightening until they were white. She looked more carefully. The older man with a flat face, thinning hair, and a big mouth had a metal arm.

"That's your brother?" Y/N asked in awe.

“Yeah, lost him at the quarry. Rick had chained him to a damn roof. Look at him out there!”

 “Come on, we don’t have time for this,” she urged him back to the door, “we have to find Glenn and Maggie.”

Daryl nodded, “You’re right. First things first.”

They traveled from door to door, checking inside each building when they happened upon a locked door.

“This one, ‘s gotta be it,” he whispered.

Y/N knelt down and picked the lock, and followed him in. They went down a narrow hallway. A man blocking a door lifted his gun to fire, but Daryl threw a knife into his shoulder. He dropped the gun, screaming out in pain. Y/N grabbed a hold of him, slit his throat and stabbed him through the ear. She threw him down into the pool of blood. Daryl looked at her surprised. He’d never seen her kill a man. She picked the lock, drew back the door. Daryl had his weapon up.

“Maggie!” he whispered, seeing one of the two they'd been searching for. Y/N followed him inside. Maggie was topless, only in her bra, gagged and tied to a chair. Y/N rushed over and ungagged her. She was sobbing. Y/N smoothed back her hair, picked up her shirt off the floor and as Daryl cut the ropes, Maggie grabbed the shirt and threw it on.

“Glenn’s in the next room over,” she sobbed. Daryl touched Y/N’s arm.

“Stay with her.”

She nodded. Y/N tenderly consoled Maggie.

“The Governor, he’s an evil man,” Maggie was shaking as she hugged her.

“The Governor?”

Maggie sucked in a ragged breath, “He runs this town.” She stammered. Y/N eased her out of the chair.

Daryl ran into the next room, and discovered Glenn, laying in a bloody pool.

“You bit?” Daryl asked, checking him over.

Glenn, relieved to see them shook his head, “no. Have you seen Maggie?”

Daryl nodded, yanking Glenn to stand. Supporting him, he moved him into the hallway.

“We gotta go, now!” Daryl yelled into Maggie’s room.

“Where’s Glenn?” Maggie demanded.

“Now!” Daryl yelled.

When they got into the hall, Glenn was waiting. Maggie went to him. He was bruised up pretty bad, blood all over his shirt. They were searching each other's eyes, sobbing, whispering back and forth, kissing.

“We have to move!” Y/N said, pushing them toward the door. As they stepped out, a spray of bullets surrounded them. She pulled Daryl back in. They hit the floor.

“Come out!” Someone yelled.

“That’s h-h-him,” Maggie cried. Glenn covered her mouth.

Y/N pulled something out of her pack.

“Daryl,” she whispered, holding up a homemade flash bang. He grabbed it, lit it, and threw it into the street. When it went off, smoke went up.

"Let's move!" Daryl said, motioning everyone out. He waited until they'd all gone ahead, he followed up the back. The group ran into the smoke, staying close together.

“Where did they go?” Someone yelled.

"I thought they went over there!" Yelled another loudly.

“Span out!” The Governor commanded, barking like a large dog.

Daryl and Y/N got Glenn and Maggie out the hole in the fence.

“Wait a second, little brother?”

Daryl stopped, recognizing Merle’s voice. Y/N looked back.

“As I live and breathe, it’s my baby brother!” Merle continued to approach, stepping out of the lingering smoke.

“Daryl!” She exclaimed, yanking on his arm, “come on!”

“Come give me a hug, won’t ‘cha?”

“Why you here” Daryl yelled, “with these assholes?”

“Why are you out there, with those assholes?” Merle retorted. Merle held his arms wide open, "I said, come give me a hug, boy."

Y/N grabbed the sides of Daryl’s face to look at her, “Daryl… come with me.”

“You gonna listen to that little bitch? She got you whipped. Big pussy…” Merle continued to saunter in their direction.

“Shut the fuck up, Merle!” Daryl yelled back.

“Don’t listen, just come with me,” She said, smiling at him. He snapped out of it and followed her through the narrow passageway.

“Come back here, pussy!” Merle yelled, trying to fit through the hole. He was too big, "Fuck! They're gettin' away!" he yelled, "Daryl! Daryl! Get your pansy ass back here!"

The Governor whistled, “Get the trucks!”

The four ran as fast as they could into the woods. Daryl and Y/N managed to get Glenn and Maggie safely back to their car in Somerset.

Daryl nudged Glenn to the car, “move!"  He jumped into the car. Daryl leaned against the open window, "stay safe, ya hear? We'll be right behind ya."

He nodded, giving him a quick smile before backing the car up and speeding away.

Headlights appeared over the horizon, getting larger by the second as it neared.

“C’mon!” Daryl pulled Y/N into the gutter to hide. He shoved her head down and lowered his own. A searchlight started moving along the edges of the road. Y/N gasped, when the light cast a different direction, she yanked Daryl into the woods.

“We’ll have to go back for the truck!” She exclaimed, running into a Walker. She shoved it hard. Daryl shot it through the head with an arrow, pulled the shaft out as they ran by. She pulled her spears out, slashing one’s legs out from underneath it. Daryl coming up behind smashed their heads with the butt of his crossbow. She jumped over a jutting root, looked back, and saw Daryl do the same.

They grabbed each other’s hands as they hit a marsh. Y/N sputtered out murky water, but they continued to move as fast as they could. Suddenly she went under, a Walker had grabbed her leg beneath the surface. Daryl shouldered his crossbow, and dove under, blinded by the dark and muck, reaching his hands out searching. His hand touched something, which he knew was a Walker’s shoulder. He stabbed at it, connecting with the head.

He felt movement in front of him. He grabbed Y/N’s waist and pulled her upward. She reached down with her knife and cut the Walker's arm off. They swam to the opposite shore. Heavy, wet bodies dragged up onto that shore. She coughed up more water, rolled onto her side gagging. Daryl patted her back roughly until it all came up. They laid there for a moment, catching their breath. Daryl stood and assisted her to stand. Her feet squished in her boots.

“Let’s go,” he urged her on, even though they were exhausted. She ran with him, zigging and zagging through more woods. As the prison came into sight, they began to feel a glimmer of hope. However, without warning, a large boom was heard, and a cannon ball went through one wall of the prison. The ground shook under their feet.

“No!” Daryl screamed, Y/N pulled him down, covering his mouth. Tears streaked his face. A searchlight whisked over the trees. The two stayed as low as possible, practically kissing the dirt. Another cannon ball hit the prison. Guns were fired. Walkers marched into the fields surrounding the prison.

Y/N pulled Daryl away. 

“We gotta go,” she said lowly, pushing her pain over their people to the back of her mind, trying to keep a clear head, “Daryl, we gotta go!”

Daryl desisted, trailing her deeper into the woods, away from the prison.

They ran until they fell down bone weary. Daryl yanked Y/N to him, behind a tree. They both had their knives in their hands, but eventually passed out.

…

Daryl woke up with a start. Y/N forced herself to stand, her back aching. She double-checked her spears and put her knives in their sheaths. She tried to swipe off dried mud from her jeans.

“Daryl, come on.” She held out her hand.

He squinted, looking up at her, “Where we goin’?”

“You were right. We have to go back.”

“There ain’t nothin’ left!” he pushed her hand away.

“We have to try, there may be someone left,” she insisted.

“Naw! Ya saw it!” he stood up and pointed as he paced, “it’s all gone!”

“Daryl…” she started.

“They’re… gone!” he cried out. He fell to the ground, tears streaming down his face. She got to her knees and wrapped her arm around him in support.

“We won’t know unless we check,” she whispered into his hair, “we have to.”

She held onto Daryl until he regained some composure.

After some time, they picked themselves up, and put themselves together. Daryl cleaned mud out of his crossbow, firming up his resolve.

“C'mon. Let’s go.”

She nodded while walking with him now. They marched on, avoiding the swamp, killing walkers in their path.

By the time they got to the fence of the prison, their shoulders slumped forward. It was worse than they’d imagined. Walkers were all over. They’d been attracted by all the noise and the fires left behind. Daryl looked for a possible path to the desecrated ruins. Y/N reached for her gun.

“Where do we go?” she asked. Daryl chewed on his lower lip as he scanned the area.

“There,” he pointed, “alongside the edge. Up n' over.”

Y/N slid the gun in its holster.

“Okay,” she took a deep breath, “I’ll go first.”

Before she went through the broken fence, he grabbed her wrist. She turned to look at him. An inexplicable, unspoken emotion passed between them. She touched his cheek, turned back, and went slowly in. He came in behind, as she glanced back one last time at Daryl and pushed forward.

Y/N stabbed a walker as she passed, running along the fence. Daryl sped forward to keep up. She was quick. He shot one with an arrow that was close to her and reloaded. He came up with his knives out, crossbow slung on his back.

When Y/N would knock one down, he’d stab it in the head. Y/N was drawing on one large walker, and she didn’t see the other one coming from in front. Daryl grabbed her by the waist, nabbed one spear using it to stab it in the chest. She kicked it over. They moved again, and soon; they were at the wreckage. Y/N coughed through the smoke. Some things were still on fire. Daryl wrapped his bandana around his mouth. He reached for Y/N’s arm so she wouldn’t get lost. Her hand gripped his as they attempted to search for life. Somehow, they managed to get to what remained of cell block C. It was in powder and pieces. Daryl ran to the cell where Rick and Judith slept. Her makeshift crib was collapsed in and burned, Carl’s stuff in ashes.

“Carol!” he screamed. Y/N shook her head. The upstairs was gone. Y/N's dry eyes began to tear up.

She started feeling the fear she'd held in bubbling over the top, she sobbed over the loss of the people she’d considered friends. Y/N hugged her arms around her body, trying to collect her thoughts, pull herself together. Slowly, she returned to the cell block, finally sitting down on the only remaining step to the upper level rubbing her plaster powdered face.  

When Daryl came out of the dust, she closed her eyes. He sat down and put an arm around her as she buried her face into his shoulder. He smoothed her disheveled, dirty crusted hair, his lips against her forehead.

“There’s no one,” she whispered. Broken concrete fell behind them. Daryl quickly lifting on her arm, leading her away.

“We can’t stay here,” he said, “c’mon!”

They gathered a few cans of food from the wreckage and headed down through the tunnels to the back of the prison. Still, no signs of life. They passed through an emergency escape. It was there she noticed the horse being devoured by a pack of walkers. Daryl covered her eyes, “Keep movin’,” he told her. Y/N walked drudgingly next to Daryl, forcing her feet forward. They made their way to the line of trees where the woods began near the south fence.

"Wait, a Walker," he said dryly, his throat parched from all the plaster and dust.

They continued their trek towards the woods, weapons at the ready as they neared it.

The Walker’s throat gurgled.

"Great it's a woman," Y/N sighed.

"I'll do it," Daryl sighed, brandishing a knife.

"Uhnn…" the Walker moaned.

Daryl was closer to the Walker now. Y/N’s throat closed as she recognized the person the Walker had once been.

"Daryl! It's Beth… oh god, Beth's turned!" She felt sick to her stomach. Her feet felt as if swallowed by quicksand as she tried to move forward toward the girl.

"Stay put!" he shouted, looming over what used to be Beth. His eyes teared up as he said, “I’m so sorry, Beth.” He pushed a knife through her skull, killing her instantly. Daryl bike wasn’t far from the body.

“She must’ve tried to get away on this,” he remarked. They walked together, Daryl pushing the bike out to the road. A truck came speeding down the road in their direction. Daryl turned the engine on, Y/N jumping on behind him and he pealed out.

They’d been spotted. The truck increased its speed barreling forward. Gunshots ricocheted around them, bouncing off the road. Y/N winced. The shots were getting too close for comfort.

Daryl kicked it into overdrive, directing the vehicle in a serpentine fashion, his boot dragging on the pavement while drifting around a sharp corner. The truck took the corner too fast, flipped, exploding. Walkers surrounded it. Y/N lay her head against Daryl’s back. He rubbed her arm gently, squeezing her wrist as he did so. She tugged on his hand, “Daryl, we have to stop,” she called out.

“What?”

“We have to stop,” She told him, wincing in pain, “I’ve been shot!”

Daryl screeched to a halt, “You’ve been shot?” he repeated as she got painfully off the bike.

She nodded seething, “in my shoulder.” She turned around, “Daryl, is there a hole in the back of my shirt?”

“Yeah. I see it.” He looked her over more closely to see if she had anymore wounds, “That’s the only one.”

“Okay. Good, I have an exit wound. Can you start a little fire?” She asked as they got off the road. He soon had one going. Y/N laid one of her knife blades in the hot coals.

“What are you doin’?”

She looked up at him, “I have to cauterize the wound, otherwise I may get an infection.” She turned from him and slid out of her shirt, a few curse words escaping her mouth as she did so. She wrapped the shirt around her chest and turned back around. When she lifted the knife, the blade was iron hot, glowing red.

“Do you want me to do that?” he asked kindly. He didn’t want her to suffer any more than she had to. 

She nodded gratefully, holding out the knife with a shaky hand, “please?” She shoved a stick into her mouth to bite on and Daryl pushed the side of the blade against her flesh. Smoke rose, a sickening sizzle, with the smell of burnt flesh filled their nostrils. Y/N’s muffled scream echoed around them.

“One more,” Daryl sounded apologetic as he stuck the blade back in the fire. When it was hot she turned around, “Okay Daryl… do it.”

He held the knife for a moment before pushing it against her skin. She bit down on the twig so hard, she snapped it in two.

“Dammit!” she seethed, tears streaming down her face. The pain was so severe, she thought she might pass out. Daryl grabbed the rag out of his back pocket, ripped it into strips and wrapped it around her shoulder, up under her armpit and tied it off. She touched his hand before he let go.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He nodded as she slid back into her shirt.

Chapter 10: First Stop, Parkland

It wasn’t long before the bike was out of gas. They hid it under some garbage and started walking, both mute.

Finally, Daryl said, "there." They were close to the small town of Parkland again. The truck had chased them from the prison all the way back there. The sound of vehicles coming closer resounded off the buildings.

"We gotta hide!”

"Last I knew the department store was clear," She spoke up, her throat dry from panting, "and it's the closest building."

"Let's go," Daryl walked to the door. Daryl banged on the glass with his fist.

They waited for a brief moment. Nothing.

"Seems to still be cleared," Y/N said.

"We gotta take our chances in there,” Daryl said opening the door just wide enough for them to pass through. They watched through dirty windows as the other trucks sped by, heading back to Woodbury no doubt. Y/N barred the door, and before long they'd accumulated a few more cans of food.

Daryl put a small fire together back in the storage room where they felt safest. Y/N rustled up some shipping blankets.

"I can't believe I found a couple cans of broth," Y/N said, opening a can. She tossed some rice into each and stuck them in the small flames.

Daryl was checking his crossbow for repairs needed. They ate in silence, hungrier than they realized. Y/N yawned, rubbing her smoke-filled eyes, "I'm going to go fill our water bottles," she said, collecting Daryl’s and the one from her pack. She headed off toward the restroom. Daryl removed his saturated boots, flipped them upside down and set them next to the fire. Y/N returned with the bottles, handing one to Daryl. He  poured a bit into the can of his finished soup, swished it around, and shot it back into his throat, capturing a few grains of rice and vegetable pieces. Satisfied, he lay back on his blanket, his feet near the fire warming. He'd spread his vest and jacket close by, draped over a rusty old chair. He pointed with his chin.

"Might wanna take your stuff off, 'Fore y’all  get sick."

Y/N looked down at her clothes. Her jacket was still soaked, her boots as well. She popped the boots off setting them up by the fire, dragged another chair over and draped her jacket. She removed her socks before saying, "there were flannel clothes in here before. Want something clean?"

He snorted, "nothin' wrong with these." He looked down at his shirt, rubbing his bare arms. She reached over and felt the front of it.

"It's still really damp, Daryl…"

"Naw.”

She sighed, "I'm bringing you back a new shirt, don't argue with me." She padded out of the room.

"Watch yer feet!" he yelled after her.

Daryl looked over the flames. He put the tools away he'd used to adjust his crossbow and tested the tension again. Once that was done, he retrieved a whet stone from the pack. He spat on it before sharpening one of his knives. Enough time had gone by when he considered Y/N should've been back. When she wasn't, he decided to go look for her.

Down the dark rows he slowly crept toward the clothing department. He kept his crossbow up and at the ready, pointing it from left to right, occasionally looking upwards at the top of the shelves. His keen hearing listened for any noises. As he neared the clothing, he passed through the women's. No sight of Y/N. He entered the men's department and heard rustling around. Maybe they'd missed a walker. He followed the noise, and spotted Y/N, trying on different shirts. She'd set her flashlight on the shelf next to her and removed one shirt to try on the next. He studied her scars again, this time a little more closely as he had more time. Seeing them consciously reminded him of his own. He swore he could feel each one being given to him all over again. He lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. He waited for her to get a shirt completely on. When she turned around, fully clothed, he approached.

"Takin' a while. Thought I'd come look for ya."

"Yeah, I dug around four piles to try to find shirts that would fit. Most of the ones left are extra and double x large." She held one out to him. 

He took it quietly, "c'mon… let's get back to the fire."

They grabbed a few more items of clothing, before returning to the storage room. Daryl ripped the sleeves off his new shirt and tossed them into the fire.

"I'll take first watch. You  sleep."

Y/N nodded, lying down. She fell asleep unusually quickly, exhausted from the horrific day.

Chapter 11: Daryl

Daryl stoked the fire again, checked his boots and clothes. He observed Y/N as she slept, unable to stop thinking about keeping her safe, protecting her. She was all the family he had left.

His thoughts strayed to Rick, Carol… Baby Ass Kicker & the rest as he chewed his thumbnail. He'd lost them all in one night. Rick was his true brother and losing him was almost unbearable. Then he thought about Beth, and how he’d had to put her down. He sniffled. Judith and Carl were never going to grow up now. Maybe it was better that they were gone. He began to cry, sniffling as the tears pooled in the corners of his deep-set eyes. Quickly, he got to his feet and began to walk the store, taking inventory of what was left.

He wondered if old Merle had made it out alive. He knew he shouldn't care, but he still did. He wasn't sure if that was out of love or guilt. The kindness the group as a whole had shown him in the past several months was more than his brother showed in most of his life. He couldn't remember a time when Merle had hugged him or said a kind word to him. He was always calling him a pussy, or worse, and knocking him down, bullying him if any of his friends were around.

Daryl didn't have much in the way of friends growing up, so he'd adopted Merle's. They weren't very positive influences, taking and running drugs, shooting up places to steal, knocking up loose women.

Daryl's first encounter with a woman was a hooker his brother hired to take his virginity. He had dragged Daryl to a whorehouse, Daryl around nineteen. It was an uncomfortable first experience for him. Being a young man, still in that awkward phase, unsure of who he was, and what he should be doing. The woman wasn’t too bad looking and was quite talkative for a while to ease his anxiety before finally fucking him into manhood. He hadn’t understood much of what was going on or why he even needed to do it.

After that, Daryl shut down, keeping within himself any feelings other than hate, anger, and the strong need to please his brother. He followed him blindly around, stealing and running with the wrong crowd. He didn't have to think for himself, he let Merle do it. It just seemed easier.

As far as relationships with women, he'd had none; dysfunctional at anything close to dating, and unable to relate to the subjects of daily conversation that people usually could carry on. And sex was something that didn't seem of importance, especially if it was always going to be like his experience with the hooker. Other things took the drive for it away.

He'd no money to speak of, no property or sum of belongings worth anything. He and Merle couch surfed from one place to the next, staying with Merle's friends, drug dealers, hookers, and at cheap hotels. The only thing that ever meant anything to him was his motorcycle, even though it was a used hand-me-down piece of shit. But he'd taken really good care of it, keeping it in the best shape he could. He'd always been envious of Merle's Harley, and now that was gone too.

But how things had changed. When they joined the Atlanta Survivors at the quarry, his brother had planned to steal from them, and of course, Daryl had no objections. Until Merle got locked on that roof. Daryl realized now that helped him get to the way he was today. Without his brother's influence he was learning about himself. People looked up to him. He was needed, appreciated. He had a sense of belonging. But that too had been torn from him.

When he returned to the fire, he set a bunch of stuff down he'd collected on his walkabout through the store. He watched as Y/N stirred, rolling to face the fire. Her eyes opened, squinting in the bright orange glow.

She could smell a cigarette burning, and relaxed knowing Daryl was close by. She pushed off the dirty blanket and crawled over to sit next to him.

"How long was I out?" she asked.

Smoke billowed from his nose, "couple hours. Sleep some more."

"I can't," she said, wiping her eyes, "I slept like shit anyway. May as well sit up. Why don't you get a few winks?"

"Naw. I'm okay."

"You're not going to be okay when we're moving again and you're tired out."

"I said, I'm okay…" he turned to look at her, his lips taught.

She smirked, playfully nudging his shoulder. He held a small smile in.

"Stop," he hissed. She nudged him again. He swatted at her hand. She swatted back.

"Will ya stop it!" he said a little louder, his forehead wrinkled, eyebrows knit together in frustration.

"Okay, I'll stop," she whispered, "just trying to keep things light."

"Got a lot on my mind," he said, tucking his knees to his chest. He flicked the rest of the butt of his cig into the fire.

"Anything that you'd want to talk about?"

He shook his head.

"Ok, I understand. I'll go find some more stuff to burn then. I think I saw some pallets."

"I can get 'em," he stood as she did.

"Daryl, will you just relax?" She touched his arm as he tensed, "I can do this.”

"Not a problem, I'm gonna get the wood."

"Come on then," Y/N said sighing, "let's both go break pallets. Maybe we should think about getting out of here.”

"Could take another day," he said, rubbing his chin, "work a real plan out."

"Have we got enough food for another night? I can check the shelves again. I might have missed something," Y/N volunteered. Daryl looked around with his flashlight. They walked together. 

“Maybe there’s a generator or something… do you think the freezers might still be on?” 

Daryl shrugged, “I have better chances of growin’ a third ball then them freezers bein’ on.”

However upon inspection,  one freezer had a little power light still going on it. He looked at Y/N. She was smirking, “are you going to try to grow a third ball now?”

He snorted before sliding his bandana on to cover his nose. Just in case.

He pushed the latched handle opening it. Cold air blew out. Daryl turned his flashlight this way and that way, searching inside.

"Looks empty…" he said before saying, "hold on…" he walked to the back, Y/N held the door. Daryl came forward quickly, carrying a few things.

"Steak? Pork Roast?" he handed her a wrapped product, "there's ham n' turkey too."

“Someone could’ve  hid this stuff," Y/N's stomach growled. She didn't realize how hungry she truly was, constantly convincing herself when there was very little food, whatever she had to eat was enough.

"Settles it, we stay," Daryl said, "pick somethin'."

Part Four

[yoshihashismattebum]

End of year asks: 9, 20, and 22!

9. Best month for you this year?

Honestly, 2024 has been a rollercoaster of a year for me. The start was pretty shite: I had a bit of a mental health relapse, mainly brought on by the soul-crushing tedium of job-hunting. But then I finally got a job, which I started in August, and things have picked up since. So I'd probably say September? That's when I really started to find my feet I think. Plus that's when I had a lovely weekend away playing DnD with friends, which is always a highlight of my year.

20. What’s something you learned this year?

2024 has been a big learning year for me tbh – a real journey of self-discovery in many ways. I could give a serious answer, like "I learned that I'm more capable of adapting to new social situations than I previously gave myself credit for". Or "I learned to be at peace with the fact that I'm someone who functions better in a structured environment".

But those are boring, so let's go with a fun one! I've learned a lot more about DDT this year! It's rapidly becoming my favourite promotion. I stopped watching AEW weekly TV this year, as I realised it had started to become more of a chore than a pleasure, so it's been very refreshing to watch some shows that just breeze past. Even when matches aren't anything special, they're generally still fun. It's a real variety show as well: there's a healthy mix of comedy, drama, and men slapping each other very hard – and all of those genres are treated as equally important. Plus, it's one of the few major(ish) companies that does intergender wrestling properly!

22. Favorite place you visited this year?

I didn't manage to go abroad this year, which I'd been hoping to do, but my partner and I did manage a couple of short breaks to Northumberland and Somerset.

My favourite place from those two holidays has to be Bossington in West Somerset. It's a tiny village on the coast that looks like something out of a fantasy novel – thatched cottages, beautiful gardens, and a path out of it that crosses a stream and winds up through a forest. I took this path up to an old lifeguard tower on the headland above the village, which has incredible views over the bay. On my way up I'd bought some fresh apple juice from an honesty box by the side of the road, so once I'd reached the top I drank it while looking out to sea. Just idyllic. I don't think my photos quite do it justice, but I'll post some anyway.

[roastie]

guys the whole north somerset coast is gonna get swept away