#and sometimes they road trip to the west coast in a day

[zeziliazink]

I am LIVING for how many Stranger Things fics have our young Indiana heroes casually prepping beans on toast and/or putting on the kettle. I LOVE IT. Not a Froot Loop or store-brand Poptart in sight, just the last can of beans and slabs of butter on the bread.

I know some Brits feel annoyed about Americans writing HP/Sherlock/Who/etc and getting the details wrong but I can tell y’all my midwestern ass is just really delighted by all the beans

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what’s he saying?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Green.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

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

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

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

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

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

“I love that whole album.”

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

“I’m not asking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. People.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m the best shot.”

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

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

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

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

“Now get back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

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

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, we definitely don’t.”

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

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

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

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

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

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

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

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

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

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

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

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

“I told you to run.”

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

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

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

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

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

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

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

[pinksturniolo]

Biggest Fan: Part One

Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Summary: The one in which a fan gets rear ended in a car accident by none other than Christopher Sturniolo during her stay in Los Angeles.

A/N: This is my first series I will be publishing on here! There will most likely be 3 or 4 parts. I hope you like it and I’m really excited to share with you all. :)

Content Warnings: smutty smut, oral receiving/giving, penetration, slight degradation, fingering, teasing, overstimulation, swearing, brief mentions of blood, head injuries, mentions of a car accident

side note: there is no smut in this part, but it will be coming soon I promise! ;) It's pretty long because this is part of a series so I like to develop the plot and use a lot of dialogue, but I will be doing shorter stories, like one shots in the future as well! enjoy <3

word count: 3,076 😮‍💨

I was inspired by this song:

𐮙ღ✰☾✿ღ𐮙

Summer 2023

Your toes sink into the sand, the warmth of the sun beaming down on your skin, as you take a cold sip of the cheap wine cooler you bought before you came to the beach. You and two of your closest friends from college decided on a whim to take a road trip from your hometown to Los Angeles, California. You all had the next week off for summer break and getting drunk and sunburnt on the West Coast sounded like a pretty great idea. You watched dozens of people walk along the coastline, several enjoying the water and others playing in the sand, some groups playing volleyball. You can’t remember the last time you went to the beach or even on a vacation. The last two years, you have been completely immersed in your studies, barely having time to relax, let alone have any time to yourself.

Los Angeles was the perfect getaway. Tonight, you had all agreed to splurge and go out to eat at a restaurant in Hollywood, just to get the full experience. Maybe even spot a celebrity or two. Your mind briefly thought of the idea of running into the Sturniolo Triplets, who you were obsessed with recently (which your friends were painfully aware of). But of course, that was delusional and the odds of seeing them were one in a million.

After a couple hours of enjoying the sun and sand, you headed back to your hotel to get ready for dinner. You chose to wear a pair of cute mom jeans, a tube top and cardigan, and a nice pair of sneakers. You didn’t want to dress up too much as you already felt tired from the beach and planned on crashing out in your bed right after dinner. You all went to eat at a gorgeous Italian restaurant, thoroughly enjoying the night, laughing and talking over good food and wine.

Once you got back to the hotel, you told your friends goodnight and went to your separate room, immediately hopping in the shower and changing into a comfortable pair of flannel pajama shorts and an old band t-shirt. You had talked about going out to a club or bar but you felt exhausted. This was your first day of vacation and already you had been stressing about your classes. Your friends forced you to leave your computer at home so that you weren’t tempted to do some extra credit for your school work. Sometimes you found it hard to just relax and take a break. You were trying to learn to simply live in the moment and stop thinking so hard about what to do next. Still, your mind raced as you lay in bed, attempting to sleep. Rain pelted the window of your room as it started to storm outside. You loved when it rained, the calming sound of thunder and raindrops on the roof usually coaxed you to sleep quickly. But tonight, you couldn’t stop tossing and turning. You were wide awake. You had the sudden urge to get up and do something – anything – to entertain you that hopefully would tire you out enough to finally go to sleep.

You got out of bed and slipped on your converse, not bothering to change your pajamas. You had decided to just go to the drive through and get an ice cream. A midnight snack would be just the thing you needed.

These were the events that had led up to you now in your car halfway down the street from the Wendy’s you stopped at, vanilla frosty in your hand, the other hand on the steering wheel as you stopped at a red light. The radio played softly as you ate your ice cream, streetlights illuminating the dark streets. There were only a few people on the road being that it was nearly one in the morning. The palm trees swayed slightly with the breeze, rain still coming down although not as hard as before. This is nice, you thought. This is my vacation. There is no time for stress. Once I get back to my room, I’ll get some rest. Tomorrow, me and the girls will go out sightseeing. Maybe even go to the–

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang behind you as you felt your body jolt forward harshly, you frosty dropping out of your hand, vanilla soft serve spilling all over your lap and steering wheel. Your air bag went off, a piece snapping painfully against your forehead. It happened so quickly you barely had time to register it. After a good thirty seconds, you realized you had just been rear ended. Great. You thought. This is the last thing I needed. You looked out of your rear-view mirror to see a Kia attached to your bumper. The culprit, from what you could see through the tinted window, looked to be a boy around your age with long brown hair. You sighed in frustration, leaning your head back against the headrest. You hated confrontation, especially in situations like these. Not to mention you’d have to file this with insurance and that was another headache in itself. Reluctantly, you opened your door, stepping out into the wet street.

Fuck. You didn’t have an umbrella with you. Talk about the fucking cherry on top. Luckily the rain had significantly got lighter than earlier, and it wasn’t thunder and lightning anymore. You closed the door, walking towards the other car but stopped dead in your tracks once you recognized the person that had crashed into you.

There was absolutely no way. Had you actually fallen asleep in your hotel room and were currently dreaming? Because there was just no way that you were standing in the middle of the street, rain currently soaking through your pajamas which were also sticky with ice cream, staring at Christopher Sturniolo who had rear ended your car. Who also happened to be in a yelling match with Matt and Nick at the current moment. You had to be dreaming.

Your feet were frozen to the ground as you stood there, physically unable to move. How does one even go about approaching them? Oh, hey funny to see you guys here. I know you just crashed into my car but don’t worry about it. I’ll just be on my way back to the comfort of my bed so I can completely avoid this insane situation and also avoid making a complete idiot of myself….

“Chris, are you fucking serious?!”

“This is the last time I ever let you drive, you’re obviously incapable.”

“Will both of you shut the fuck up! I can’t find my phone; I think it went under the seat.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious. He just hit another car and the kid is worried about his phone.”

“I’d be more worried about the insurance and how much we’re gonna have to pay for this!!”

“Oh my God! I said shut the fu-“

They didn’t seem to even notice you, too caught up in their bickering as you had slowly walked closer, your voice quiet and timid.

“Uh, hey… Don’t worry about insurance or anything. If you don’t wanna claim it, I’m cool with that.”

You interrupted, trying to hide your visibly shaking hands and crossing your arms.

All three boys halted their conversation, turning to look at you with wide eyes as if they almost forgot there was another human being inside the car they had just hit.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Excuse my brother, he actually has half a brain and apparently the inability to drive.” Nick said, an apologetic look on his face and then turning to glare at Chris.

Chris glared back at him, finally finding his phone from underneath the seat. He made eye contact with you, his glare turning into a sheepish look. He ran a hand through his hair, his mouth opening to speak to you, but Matt stepped in front, approaching you.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m actually the one who owns this car and I have great insurance so I promise it will all be taken care of.” He says, with a nice smile. You smile back politely, still holding onto your arms and trying not to freak out at the fact you’re actually conversing with these people right now.

“Are you sure? I mean, the damage isn’t that bad. I wont mind just forgetting this happened and calling it a night.” You laugh nervously, glancing at the busted bumper on your car. In all honesty, it actually wasn’t too bad. You would need a new bumper for sure, which might put a dent in your wallet but at the current moment you wanted nothing but to get the fuck out of there.

“No way! It wouldn’t feel right if we just walked away from this. Matt will get all the details and take care of it.” Nick chimed in, an identical smile to Matt’s on his face that made you feel just a little more comfortable.

Meanwhile Chris leaned up against the car, unusually quiet and with a look of stress over his features, stealing glances at you every now and them. He definitely felt guilty for causing the accident and he knew he would never hear the end of it from his brothers. He stared at his shoes and tucked his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, waiting while you exchanged information with Matt.

You typed your insurance information into Matt’s phone handing it back, while he handed you yours. You suddenly felt a twinge of pain on your forehead and winced, reaching up to touch it. It was then that you noticed there was about a 2-inch gash from the airbag snapping in your face. It didn’t feel too deep, but it hurt. Matt and Nick both noticed and Nick instinctively reached out to grab your arm. “Are you okay? It looks like its bleeding.” He said in concern. Chris then snapped his head up, his attention fully on you now. He walked over to Nick and Matt, a look of pure terror on his face as he stared at the cut on your head.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’ve had worse, I promise. I just need to get back to my hotel and clean it up.” You say reassuringly. But they were not buying it.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should call an ambulance? I really don’t want anything bad to happen.” Chris says.

“An ambulance? Don’t be dramatic, Chris. Maybe she just needs to sit down for a while.” Matt responds quickly. He looks at you like you’re an injured puppy, concern filling his eyes.

“Yeah, I agree. Let’s have her sit in the car for a bit. It’s not helping that we’re also standing in the rain like idiots.” Nick quips, guiding you to the back seat of their car.

You laugh nervously again, taking a seat. They crowd around you, looking at you like you might fall dead to the ground.

“Look, I really appreciate that you guys are being so helpful. But I’m not gonna lie, I’m freezing right now, my clothes are wet, and I just wanna get back to my hotel and go to sleep. Also, no offense, but I know you guys from your YouTube videos and this is a very awkward situation for me.” The words spill out in a rush, and you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“Oh! I’m such an idiot. Here, take my hoodie. I have an extra one in the back.” Chris says, seeming to completely ignore the fact that you admitted you knew who they were and reaches around you to grab his dry hoodie from the back seat. He hands it to you, and you hesitantly take it, your eyebrows raised in confusion at his nonchalant response. “So you can at least warm up a little.” He smiles, trying to make you feel more comfortable. You do nothing but grip onto the soft hoodie and look over at Matt and Nick who also seem to not care a thing about what you just said. Matt says, “I’ll go look at your car if you don’t mind and make sure its safe for you to drive and then once you warm up, you’ll be free to go!”

He makes his way towards your car and Nick climbs in on the other side of the back seat next to you. “Sorry again for everything. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t how you expected your night to go.” He says. You then find yourself genuinely laughing for the first time tonight and start to pull the hoodie on, grateful to feel something warm over your wet clothes. “Yeah, definitely not what I expected.” Chris climbs into the passenger seat, turning back to look at you. “This is where I normally sit.” He states with a cheeky grin and you giggle, feeling a slight blush creep onto your face. He really was just as attractive in person, if not more, you realize as your nerves slightly settle down. “But I guess you already knew that.” He adds, his grin turning into a smirk. “Yeah and it’s gonna stay that way, you idiot.” Nick interrupts, making you erupt into more giggles as Chris’ smirk turns into a glare. “Shut up.” He mumbles, turning back around in his seat as Matt walks back towards their car, opening the driver door and getting in. He has a serious look on his face now, turning to look at you in the back seat.

“So… there’s an issue. It looks like Chris’ dumbass rear ended you so hard that your rear tire is flat. And I really doubt any tow truck is going to come at this time of night. Even if it does, it will take a while. And I wouldn’t feel safe letting you go alone. It looks like the best option is to drop you off myself at your hotel and have them tow your car in the morning. We can push it to the side of the road so there’s no issues.” Matt says, your heart sinking and you lay your head in your hands in frustration before he even finishes his sentence. Nick frowns and sighs, putting another reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. We’ll pay for all of it, I swear.” He says. You look at him with a smile and turn to Matt, ready to just agree with him so you can be done with this night already before Chris interrupts you. “Why don’t we just take her to the house? It’s literally 5 minutes from here and we don’t know how serious her head injury is.” He suggests.

Chris knows this is a crazy suggestion. First of all, you’re a fan, and you just met not even 30 minutes ago. You could be a psycho killer for all he knows. But Chris likes to believe that he has a strong intuition, especially when it comes to people and he just knows you’re not the type. To be quite honest, he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since he first saw you. Even with the rain completely drenching you and what looked like to be some sort of frozen dessert staining the front of your shirt and shorts, he thought you were beautiful. He already felt horrible for fucking up your car and causing you bodily harm. The least he could do was take you to his house and attend to your wounds. Only to make sure you didn’t drop dead on some random hotel carpet. Right?

Everyone looks at him like he has three heads. His brothers exchange concerning glances, awkward silence filling the car. Since when did he just invite random strangers into his house?

“Uhh.. Are you sure? I mean, how do you feel about that..?” Matt asks, looking at you with hesitation. You didn’t respond just yet, still adjusting to the fact Chris Sturniolo is voluntarily inviting you to their home.

“I don’t know…. I think I agree with Chris. I don’t wanna be responsible if you go back to your hotel alone and end up with a concussion or something. No offense.” Nick adds, shrugging his shoulders.

You scoff, extremely surprised at the fact that they’ve taken it this far. “No no no, look. You three have been really nice to me over this whole thing, but its just a little cut. I promise I’ll be fine. My hotel isn’t that far either. I don’t want to intrude and-“

Chris suddenly reaches out and lightly touches your forehead, blood still trickling out and starting to run down the side of your head. You wince in pain and recoil from his touch, your head starting to throb. “See? It’s not just a little cut, is it? You’re actively bleeding, and it obviously hurts. I know you’re just being modest, but I promise I just – we just- want to make sure you’re okay.” He says, his eyes trailing down your face, admiring it briefly, his fingertips ghosting over your jaw before he pulls his hand back. You remain frozen in your seat, butterflies swarming in your lower abdomen from the light touch he left on your face. “Unless you really do feel uncomfortable, then I understand. We can take you to the hotel. But like Nick said, we just don’t want anything bad to happen.” He added softly, turning back around, raking a hand through his hair. Nick and Matt exchange looks again, noticing the obvious tension.

You take in a deep breath and pull Chris’ hoodie tighter around you. “Fine. I guess I see your point. You can take me to your house but once I get this stupid cut on my head cleaned up, I’ll call my friend to come pick me up.” You finally say, buckling your seat belt. You can’t help but notice a small, smug smirk on Chris’ face through the passenger side mirror.

Once they pushed your car to the side of the road, Matt takes off with you in the backseat, your head leaned against the window.

I must be dreaming right? I’m definitely in my bed right now and this is not happening. You think to yourself, the intoxicating smell of Dior Sauvage cologne filling your nose, as you press the sleeve of Chris’ hoodie to the throbbing wound on your head.

[joelalorian]

WIP wednesday thursday friday

Imma bout to just call it WIP day. Thank you so much for the tag, my dear @burntheedges!

Being the phasical (is that even a word? idek) person that I am, I've been struggling to write much and my attention turned to playing Tom Clancy's The Division 2 for way too many hours. I'm finally getting bored with that game (again), so it's back to writing :) I have two things - one is a story that I'm 5 chapters into already and the other is just an idea so far:

Untitled stepdad!Dave York x f!reader - still rough draft form, so forgive any glaring mistakes, please. This one will likely launch around the new year.

“Sure, honey. You can come stay for a while,” your mom assured you. She sounded excited even though it wasn’t a call you wanted to make, not at this point in your life, but what other options did you have? “You can see the house and meet your new stepdad!”

Dead air. It took you a moment to process her words. “My new WHAT?” your voice rose toward the end in utter confusion. You didn’t even know your mom was dating anyone, let alone someone serious enough to fucking marry! “Oh, honey, his name is Dave and you’re just gonna love him,” she replied with a lovesick simper. You’d never heard her voice do that. She must be really into the guy. Enough to marry him without even inviting you to the god damn wedding? She’s still chatting away, explaining how they met – at work – and how it was such a whirlwind romance that they got carried away on a work trip to Vegas and decided to just tie the knot without telling anyone. Okay. That, actually, didn’t surprise you. Your mom was super smart but could be a total a flake sometimes, leaving you to wonder who the adult was on more than one occasion while growing up. She had you really young and never quite matured. “That’s great, Mom. I can’t wait to meet him,” you finally replied after twenty minutes of listening to her gush over this Dave guy. “But I’m not calling him Dad.” She laughed. “Of course not, honey. He’s too young to really be your dad anyway.”

2. Suddenly Snowbound - Joel Miller x f!reader holiday fic inspired by the Hallmark movie Love You Like Christmas. Coming December 2024.

Joel owns a ranch and sells the finest Christmas trees in the state during the holiday season. On a road trip to find a fresh start on the west coast, a blizzard leaves you stranded in the small town near Joel's ranch. Calamity and, dare I say, love ensue.

NPTs - always late to the party, apologies to anyone who's already been tagged/done this and i missed it - @baronessvonglitter @kyberblade @sirowsky-stories

@grogusmum @thundermartini @pedges-world @thesummerpetrichor @aurorawritestoescape

[vee-beeee]

(Part one) Robo Road Trip

HIIII

This is PART ONE BABY (edit I FINISHED COOKING right here)

Okay the last dbh post was KINDAA giving depression so heres a FLUFFY fluffy one thats been bouncing around my brain for a couple days, part one as im going to make a continuation that shows what camping is like with the boys.

Premise: Road Trip to the West coast with Conner, Nines and Sixty

Imagine those roads with trees surrounding them, thats the vibe

Also first time writing for SIXTY whoooo hope im not trash, he acts like a smug dramatic guy so idk

Conner, Nines and Sixty x reader

I believeee this is around 3k lol i went ham

Warnings: maybe a bad word because sixty, fluff with a capitol F, part one

I also recommended listening to ANY Lord Huron song while reading this, that is basically the road trip music

(Hey sidenote, I know some of the ecosystem is TRASHED in dbh but lets pretend thats not happening LOL)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were so happy to get out of the city.

And into the car for a 35 hour drive.

You really wanted to show your boys the mountain you would always camp at when you were on the West Coast. They all hadn't been outside of Detroit, being made to do one job IN Detroit, but now they were all deviant.

And you wanted to show them a taste of the outside world.

It took a while for you all to get packed, the droids really wanted to try experimenting with their wardrobes on this trip. They sought to explore their inner human as much as possible.

You all needed the appropriate gear, so you guys went on a little shopping spree to find a tent and basic camping stuff. Hank had actually tagged along to coach you guys on what to get, having gone camping a couple times himself. (he mostly talked with you and Conner while sending glares to Sixty and Nines)

You ended up getting a pretty fancy tent that was big enough for all of you, and some essential equipment for cooking and cleaning. You also snuck in some board and card games, even though you knew they would beat you. But you could probably win ONE time...

Right??

After buying the gear, you guys got planning. You could only stay camping for 5 days, as the station didn't necessarily enjoy losing 4 cops. Especially 3 of the 4 being advanced detective androids. But it had worked out, (the boys having saved an astronomical amount of sick days) and you planned on going sometime in the fall. You decided on a week and you remember hurriedly running to your calendar and circling the date and also drawing a bunch of small doodles around it. The boys had all watched you fondly, getting excited themselves.

It all lead up to this moment, where Conner sitting next to you in the driver seat and was setting the location in his new GPS, Nines and Sixty where packing the car, and you were making a road trip playlist. (Hey that's very important!)

"Hey Conner?" He hummed in response and didn't look at you, too busy trying to figure out a new gadget he got for his car.

"Do you like Lord Huron?" You were trying to decide what the perfect music to play was and realized that Lord Huron existed. You weren't really sure how androids experienced music so you thought of asking. He huffed out a sigh directed at the troublesome device and turned to look at your phone, where you also had your eyes glued.

"I don't really listen to music as such, but Hank has introduced me to heavy metal. Is it like that?" You giggled remembering Hanks music taste

"No its more gentle, relaxing. It reminds me of walking in the woods." Out of the corner of your eye Conner looked away, LED blinking amber and blue. He looked back at you with a soft smile and this time you met his gaze.

"That sounds delightful, my dear. Perfect for this occasion" You flushed at the nickname, and he chuckled seeing your reaction. He leaned in and kissed your cheek before exiting the car, hearing Sixty's call that they were almost done. You sat in the vehicle, skin heating, and raising a hand to graze the place he kissed you. You loved when he did that. A steady knock at the window startled you and you whipped around to see a familiar face (sixty) smirking at you, seeing that you were flushed. You stuck your tongue out at him and he reciprocated, sticking his tongue back at you.

"If you two would stop behaving like children, we would be done much sooner." A booming voice cut through your contest with sixty, and you watched him roll his eyes and face an annoyed Nines. You got out of the car to go help the RK900 with what he was carrying. He was still grumpy so you smiled softly at him and mouthed an apology. He relaxed slightly, but still shot a glare at sixty, who chuckled and went back into the apartment and get more bags. You then took the time to appreciate Conner's awesome Bat Mobile car. It had a huge trunk that managed to fit all of your stuff, tent included. It was truly a miracle machine.

You walked over to the car and gave the suitcase to Conner who situated it nicely in a perfect space. You were also lucky to have android boyfriends who were amazing at managing tight spaces and fitting things into them.

After a couple of minutes, Sixty emerged with the last of the bags. He informed you all that he locked the house up and engaged the security systems. The final step. You were really going.

You all piled into the car, both Nines and Sixty insisting you take the front seat. You accepted, but promised to swap with them when you got to the next stop. Most rest stops would be for you, needing to get food or use a restroom. The droids didn't need anything but told you they needed to get up and stretch their legs once in a while ( but you think that was just their excuse so they could follow you around and make sure you were safe at suspicious gas stations.)

After a while of driving through the city, Conner was getting on the highway when you announced that you would be playing a Lord Huron song and see how everyone liked it. You turned on "Meet Me in the Woods" and leaned back to look out the window.

"I took a little journey to the unknown,

And I've come back changed I can feel it in my bones

I messed with the forces our eyes cant see

Now the darkness got a hold on me

Oh, the darkness got a hold on me"

You had closed your eyes and started to quietly sing along, and realized you should see what the others thought about it. You turned your head slightly to Conner staring out at the road ahead, his LED blinking yellow and blue. He had a soft, lingering smile on his face and his posture was relaxed.

Sixty had his eyes closed, leaning his head all the way back on the seat and seemed to be absorbing the music.

Nines was also leaning back, arms crossed. He was staring out the window with his LED a soft, stable amber. He turned slightly to just catch the end of your gaze and his lips twitched in a cute, endearing way. It was a Nines smile. You smiled back at him and turned around to look out the front windshield. It was raining slightly, and you were just leaving the city and into the unknown. It was perfect.

After the song had finished, you tore your eyes away from the road

"Did you all like it?" you hopefully gazed at each individual and noticed they all looked at peace. Conner spoke first

"Do you have more music of that energy? I think I enjoyed it."

"I agree. More please"

"Indeed"

You looked around to see everyone nodding their heads and you beamed. And so, your playlist made it past the android enjoyment test. You settled in as it started the next song, feeling content. You could totally do 35 hours.

(4 hours in)

Update: why would you do this to yourself. 35 hours? Were you crazy? You loved road trips as much as the next guy, but you were dying. You guys were currently stuck in traffic, and the boys had gotten involved in a pretty intense "dad stuck in traffic" fight.

"Nines, going on I90 would have taken us to the heart of Chicago, do you want more traffic?"

"No it wouldn't if we took the round about. Whose the more advanced android here Conner."

"Woah, low blow"

"Be quiet Sixty"

This started as Nines getting mad at Conner for taking them down a road that had high traffic at that hour, and Conner defending himself. Sixty had no argument, he just liked being included.

"I took 294 because I knew it would keep us out of the worst of the traffic. No matter what, traffic is inevitable."

"It could have been avoidable had you followed my instructions"

You were sitting in the passenger seat, eyes squeezed shut listening to them argue. It was infuriating.

So you did something.

"Guys I'm going to jump out of the car and sprint down the street like a crazy person if you don't stop arguing. I'm dead serious" You snapped and stared them down. Or a least you tried, because your face betrayed you and you broke out into a smile giggle.

Conner looked guilty at first, but saw your grin and started chuckling, envisioning you running down the street like a madman. Nines bristled, still annoyed. Even if your giggle made his lips quirk. You made eye contact with Sixty and he was smirking at you, taking out his coin to mess around with.

You eventually sighed, a couple minutes having passed. You turned around to address Nines.

"Traffic was inevitable" then you turned to Conner "No arguing". You took Conner's hand in yours and held it. Another smile broke out onto his face and he turned to look out on the road. You felt a hand graze your neck and you twisted around to see Nines reaching out. He moved forward to peck your temple and then quietly apologized to Conner.

Mission Successful.

But that was mission one. Mission two was figuring out how to go to use the bathroom. Because you were currently stuck in traffic. That wasn't great. After a couple minutes of fidgeting your legs, Conner took his hand away from holding yours and looked toward you. His gaze was steady, as his LED blinked and you knew in the back of your head that he was scanning you.

"Do you have to use the lavatory?" You gasped and shoved his shoulder, watching him bite back a laugh, and then started sinking in to your seat.

"Conner! That's so embarrassing."

"Did maybe someone tell you to go before we left? Oh wait, that sounds like something I would say" Sixty spoke up from the back of the car. You turned around to gape at him, and he just sat there looking smug. You could hear Conner and Nines subdued chuckling behind the music that was playing.

You ended up holding out, absolutely refusing to go in the woods by the road, insisting that someone would see you. Conner pulled over at a gas station and you all but flew out of the car and bolted through the store until skidding to a stop right outside the bathroom.

When you got out, Sixty was buying your favorite snack and you saw Conner and Nines fueling up the car out the window. They were seriously so thoughtful.

After Sixty was done paying, you came up behind him and hugged his middle. He laughed and held your hands still on his middle, and spun you. You squeaked and he laughed harder. He stopped and unwrapped you to kiss your head and hand you your prized snack. You pecked his lips and left, both of you saying good day to the amused employee working there.

(17 hours in)

It started getting really late so you guys stayed at a motel for the night. You guys all relaxed on a fluffy bed, all party's included were happy to stretch their legs. You and Nines had been switching front seat and back seat, and Sixty had repeatedly old you he was fine where he was. Nines had revealed to you later that Sixty just wanted to sit next to you.

You got up from the bed first, eager to get ready and sleep. When you came out 30 minutes later, Conner was laying still under the blankets, staring at the celling. Nines was also under, and had rolled over to face the window. And Sixty had apparently, at some point while you were in the bathroom, been knocked off the bed. He was currently face down on the floor. You giggled and nudged his side. He rolled over, clutching his heart.

"They, (fake coughing) their so mean. They shoved me off the bed" you shook your head and leaned down on your knees to kiss his cheek. He accepted and rolled back over on his face. Conner then spoke up from the bed

"I wouldn't kiss his face, this floor is filthy." You stood up and laughed, making your way to the bed and crawling over him to slip between him and Nines. Nines stiffened until he got comfortable, and Conner wrapped his arms around you to spoon you.

"Just say your jealous she kissed me Conny" came a voice from the floor. Conner scoffed and replied with another rhetorical comment hidden in a nice tone. Nines joined in just when you started slipping into sleep, and the last thing you heard before you left to dream world was Conner whispering goodnight into your ear.

In the morning you woke up covered in androids. Very snugly droids. You all then got packed up and set off. During the drive, You found out Sixty had crawled into bed after you and shoved Nines off when he was in rest mode. Nines woke up very alarmed, and decided to continue his rest in one the the chairs in the room the motel provided. You had felt so bad afterwards, but he insisted it was fine.

You guys were driving through North Dakota today, and you were currently knitting. The boys were discussing a case that was giving them a hard time. You would have joined in but you believed in not talking about work on your precious vacation time. You were sitting in the back seat now, Sixty at your side, and it was very domestic. You felt a hand wrap itself around your knee and you smiled, continuing your stitch.

(30 hours in)

You were totally knocked out. The boys wanted to continue driving to beat traffic, and were currently talking through their android Verizon service (using their minds) as to not wake you up.

But you still accidently woke up with a start when Sixty had rolled his shoulder, unintentionally dropping your head off him. You had apparently drifted off resting your face on his soft puffy jacket.

To which he did NOT mind.

You squeaked awake, being surprisingly shoved off your pillow. Sixty immediately said a quiet apology, but it was too late. 2 angry droids turned there seats around to glare down the accused RK800.

"We told you to stay still" they said that almost in synch

"I was reaching for a blanket! I didn't know a small movement would wake her!"

You sleepily giggled at their little argument and passed out against him once again.

When you woke up for real, you were informed that you guys were almost three hours away. You breathed a sigh of relief, but still begged to pull over so you could get some air. You were in a beautiful parts of the woods and you desperately needed a stretch after sleeping on Sixty. No offence, but snuggling with androids is like snuggling with a very sturdy pillow. Your happy for it, but its not very squishy.

Nines had chuckled at how desperate you looked and obliged. You popped out and basically ran halfway down the road and back. You were huffing when you came back to the car. Conner rolled his window down, eyebrow raised. You wheezed

"Sorry, needed to run" He nodded in understanding, and actually got out himself to stretch his android joints and put on his cute little beanie. Sixty got out and straightened his tie, and Nines choose to stay in the car and work on coordinates. Sixty walked around the car to join you and Conner, and looped his arms around your waist. You yelped as he picked you up slightly to sling you back in forth.

"How are you enjoying the road trip?" He punctuated each word with a swing of your body. You were laughing when you responded "Good, but I'm excited to get there" Conner had been watching you fondly when he stated

"Nines says its 3 more hours, but we might get delayed depending on traffic." you nodded and Sixty set you down. You then went up to go hug Conner, making sure he wasn't missing any affection.

After more standing and stretching, you got in the front seat with Nines next to you, setting the car to auto drive. Conner and Sixty were sitting in the back, playing one of the card games you brought and starting to get very competitive with each other. You beamed and turned back to look at Nines. His eyes weren't on the road, however. He was staring at you with an expression of absolute love. You both sat and stared at each other until he leaned over and grabbed the back of your head, threaded his fingers into your hair, and kissed your temple. You shivered as his fingers rubbed your scalp and he grinned against your temple.

(5 minutes away from campsite)

You were bouncing off the walls excited. It had been years since you visited this spot, having been to far away after moving to Detroit. The boys had been enjoying the scenery outside the city, but now the were enthralled. The woods were huge, and the air was fresh. Moss hung from the arms of the trees and you could see your mountain peeking over the top of the forest. You guys were waiting in line at the entrance of the campsite to check in, and you were gushing about how pretty your spot was. It was nestled in the corner of the campsite, leading into a trail into your own personal forest. Complete with a little stream.

The androids were amused watching you talk about the park, but they were almost as excited as you. When you were sleeping, all they talked about was this new experience, and how happy they were to share it with you. It was interesting seeing all the new environments and experiencing what its like outside of the city. Detroit was so advanced, and they had never really been deep in the woods.

After patiently waiting, you finally got all checked in and remembered to buy some firewood.

Then, you were off.

Starting your very first camping trip with your wonderful android boyfriends

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART ONE YALL

Hope its okay, had to really crack at this one to fit all my ideas in. Its also hard to write the dynamic between 4 people LOL

Hope I managed to capture their personalities okay

Part 2 is all about them camping so stay tuned

It might take a bit so hang on and let me cook 🔥

Sorry for plot holes or if this has been done beforee

[justforbooks]

Long before Dave Myers, one half of the TV duo the Hairy Bikers, was hairy, or a biker, he was a cook. While still a child, he prepared family meals when his mother, a former shipyard crane driver, became so debilitated by multiple sclerosis she was scarcely able to leave her bed. “Dad and I became Mam’s carers, muddling through each day,” said Myers, who has died aged 66. “Sometimes I got out a cookbook and made a pie or a stew out of whatever ingredients we had in.”

His mother had been “a fabulous cook and was often preparing food while I played at her feet”. His father, the foreman of a local paper mill, would put little Dave on the saddle of his motorbike so he could pretend to ride. “I loved the smell of oil and machinery and rubber; just one whiff would set my pulse racing.”

But it was only half a lifetime later that Myers, after many years of working as a television makeup artist, managed to make an onscreen career by combining these two childhood passions. In 2004, when he was 45, Myers and his friend Simon King, a locations manager on the Harry Potter films, pitched their idea for a TV show focusing on motorbikes and food to the BBC. “It was midlife crisis time and you can’t have more of a midlife crisis than going off on a motorbike,” said Myers.

The show’s premise was that two burly, hirsute motorcyclists would visit foreign locales, often getting off their bikes to cook by the roadside. In the first episode of The Hairy Bikers’ Cookbook (2006), the pair motored through Namibia, stopping off to cook crocodile satay and oryx rolls.

This culinary travelogue ran across three series, taking them to Portugal, Vietnam, Turkey and Mexico, and became such a hit with the viewers that a memo circulated the BBC praising the two men for winning over “a difficult-to-reach audience”. “Basically a ‘difficult-to-reach audience’ translates as ‘normal people’,” said King.

The two self-taught cooks had a disarmingly unpretentious love of food and easy on-screen banter redolent of Keith Floyd, if less bibulous, or Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Paterson, if less posh. In a sense, Myers and King were the male northern riposte to the Two Fat Ladies. What’s more, their two fat lads were refreshing fare in the age of telegenic cooks such as Nigella Lawson or angry chefs like Gordon Ramsay.

Spin-off shows followed, including The Hairy Bikers’ Food Tour of Britain (2009), The Hairy Bikers: Mums Know Best (2010), The Hairy Bikers’ Mississippi Adventure (2012) and The Hairy Bikers’ Asian Adventure (2014), along with allied cookbooks and a 2015 memoir, The Hairy Bikers Blood, Sweat and Tyres.

What was the secret of their success? “We are mates, it’s not something that’s been manufactured,” said Myers. “We’re not snobby about food. We’re very happy with egg and chips, as long as it’s very good-quality eggs and good-quality potatoes. About 95% of good cooking is good shopping.”

They met by chance in a Newcastle pub in the 1990s when Myers was working there as makeup artist and prosthetics technician on an adaptation of Catherine Cookson’s The Gambling Man starring Robson Green. King, an assistant director on the project, was at the bar ordering a curry. The barman told King that if he ordered two curries he would qualify for a special offer: four poppadoms instead of one. “I just stepped up and said, ‘I’ll have the other curry’,” Myers said.

The pair cemented their friendship with road trips up the west coast of Scotland, travelling with a pan, a single-burner stove, some butter, a lemon and some brown bread. “We’d go up round Loch Assynt, up by Lochinver, and catch wild brown trout.” The idea for the television series was born from these trips.

But, while the Hairy Bikers became celebrated and their cookbooks successful, some worried that their recipes were unhealthy. Their banana French toast recipe, consisting of brioche, bananas, peanut butter and cream, was ominously dedicated to Elvis Presley. One critic suggested that their full-English shakshuka, featuring sausages, lardons and black pudding, “looks as if it should come with a diagram on how to administer CPR”.

Indeed, as their fame expanded, so did their waistbands. By 2012, Myers recalled, he was taking tablets for high blood pressure and to lower his cholesterol, and both he and King were diagnosed as being morbidly obese during a medical. He weighed 17st 12lb, with a 49in waist, while King weighed in at 19st 6lb, with a 50in waistline. “I was prediabetic; human foie gras, basically,” Myers said.

The diagnoses pushed them to make the series The Hairy Dieters: How to Love Food and Lose Weight. Both men lost 3st 7lb during filming and published their most successful series of books afterwards under the general title Hairy Dieters. “Doing it publicly was the thing that encouraged us to make it work. People admired the honesty. We sold about 1.3m copies of our first book. We learned an awful lot from it.”

The following year, 2013, Myers appeared on Strictly Come Dancing, performing a “Tartan tango” to the tune of The Proclaimers’ I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) with his dance partner, Karen Hauer, and becoming, in the words of the show’s judge Len Goodman, “the people’s champion”, winning the weekly popular vote despite sometimes low marks from judges and armchair critics deriding his “ungainly boogying”. He didn’t win, but the Hairy Biker received the longest standing ovation for, fittingly enough, a Meat Loaf-themed paso doble.

Myers, the only child of Jim and Margaret, was born in Barrow-in-Furness ( then in Lancashire but now in Cumbria) and attended the town’s grammar school for boys, where an inspirational teacher, Mr Eaton, encouraged him to develop his artistic skills. He took a fine art degree at Goldsmiths, University of London and a master’s degree in art history.

His first job was as a trainee makeup artist at the BBC. He worked there for 23 years, including a stint on Top of the Pops, before the Hairy Bikers got together. While filming the show in Romania, Myers met Liliana Orzac. “In our hotel there was a striking woman on reception. Nudging Si, I whispered: ‘I fancy her!’” They married in 2011.

In 2022, Myers announced on the podcast Hairy Bikers – Agony Uncles that he had been diagnosed with cancer. He and King made a moving return to the screen in The Hairy Bikers: Coming Home for Christmas in December 2023, in which they discussed his illness and treatment; and had filmed a new series, The Hairy Bikers Go West, which is currently screening on BBC Two, and which King described as “a celebration of a joyous and creative friendship”.

Myers is survived by Liliana and her children, Iza and Sergiu.

🔔 David James Myers, chef and television presenter, born 8 September 1957; died 28 February 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[bikepack]

#33

26 days and 1250km. That’s was my little Tasmanian holiday. Approximately 50km a day. It wasn’t about the distance though. It was similar daily distance to my America trip where I did 5000km over 88 days.

I’m glad I decided to do Tasmania. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to visit til I landed in Aussie and saw that there was an affordable ferry over.

I had a good sleep, used the showers again then hung about town waiting to board the ferry. I stocked up on goodies of all kinds for the 12 hour ferry journey ahead. I found a delinquent hangout spot, kicked some dust, and by then the ferry was ready to board.

I was greeted onto the ferry by Jason. He was super interested in my travels and asked about 100 questions which was really refreshing. I was happy to talk with him for 10 or so minutes since I’d barely had social interaction since leaving Johns place. I suppose in the greater scheme of things what I’m doing is unique but sometimes, to me, life on the road can almost be dull at times.

I mentioned John above, I gave him a call today to let him know I had survived the west coast and that I was leaving Tasmania. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when I said I wouldn’t be coming back to work at the paper mill (atleast not in the near future).

The boat ride back across Bass Straight was pretty smooth and I got a good amount of sleep.

[winterpinetrees]

(the gap years part 2)

This is 1500 words. Tumblr is infectious and the symptom is “write about your ocs and post it online”. I don’t think I’m even using consistent tenses, but it exists. @caliburn-the-sword and @lokiwaffles, this is for you and also your fault.

………..

There was no way that the computer on the table was making it to the end of the road trip. Sierra has her (heavily modified, like the car) laptop on open to a google map of West Coast highways. The rich kids have been arguing over it for half an hour. In that time, their acquaintance had (re?) introduced himself. His name was Martin, his family was somewhere in the elaborate network of power that the boys had grown up in, and details weren’t important. The important thing was where they were going next.

“We should go south to Los Angeles, and then west. That way we’ll be in the desert for the solstice and have the most hours of daylight.” That was Clay’s plan. He had a goal to visit as many national parks as possible.

“If we do that, we’ll be in the desert for the hottest part of the summer! We go north on route 101 and follow the ocean all the way to the Canada border”. Brian explains for at least the fifth time.

“You only want to follow the ocean because you’ll die if you go a summer without surfing” Clay replies.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. We can go to Redwoods!”

“We live in San Francisco. We have been to Redwoods a dozen times”.

“And they rock! Those trees are thousands of years old. We can drive the car through a tree.”

Martin speaks for the first time in a while. “The hottest part of the summer isn’t the solstice. It’s a few weeks after that. Anyway, the Mojave desert will be miserable until October. You want to go north”. They’d almost forgotten he was there. It was a little shocking. The boy carried himself with confidence that didn’t feel like it should be ignored.

Clay immediately yields. “Fine. We go north to Redwoods.”

The boys put away their things and walk outside. Martin -Marin, whoever he is- follows behind them. Telling him to leave was unthinkable. Literally, the thought never crossed their minds. They walk down smaller, empty streets. Oddly empty. Well, it isn’t good weather, and that mild earthquake two days must have everyone a bit nervous. That must be the reason. Brian keeps looking over his shoulder though, especially as the fog grows and their visibility drops.

Sierra fidgets with the zipper of her sweatshirt. “Why is the fog so thick? It’s the afternoon?”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but there was also movement, and lights down a side street. Sierra’s vision flashes electric blue. She knows that humans sometimes see blue light when exposed to high amounts of radiation (It’s called Cherenkov Radiation, but where would it come from?) but she also remembers a rumor that a strange glow might be your only warning if supernatural danger is near. She reaches for Brian. The taller boy has already stepped away to stare down their strange acquaintance, but Martin looks even more afraid than they do. He swings the messenger bag off of his shoulder. “I’m sorry I dragged all of you into this. You need to run”.

Brian takes another step towards him. “Dragged us into what?”

Sierra finally grabs his arm. “I think I know. Run.”

By this point, Clay is already fifteen feet away from them. Brian does not run. Instead, he and his friend watch as -somehow- Martin reaches an entire arm into his small bag. He spins on his heels and draws an entire quarterstaff. His ears grow pointed, his hazel eyes begin to glow, and as if waiting for that signal, four figures step out of the fog.

They are from a different genre. That’s the only explanation. The soldiers around them hold glowing guns and shining blades and wear helmets that completely cover their faces. Lines of colored light run underneath the silver plates of their armor, which seems made for speed instead of true protection. One, tall and thin and wearing the electric blue that Sierra recognized, dashes at Clay fast enough that they are only visible as a blur. They have the human boy in a chokehold within a second. Another, more broad and colored pale yellow, turns to Martin and yells something in a language that is very much not English.

He throws his messenger bag at the remaining humans. “Grab the gun and turn the dial all the way to the left. We win or we die!”

Martin turns back to his attacker and snarls a reply in the same language. He drops into a fighting stance and briefly flickers like a hologram. Brian catches the bag and they finally run, ducking behind a car parked on the street. He passes the bag to Sierra, who puts the entire top half of her body inside, “It’s bigger on the inside! ...wait”. (She refuses to die making a Doctor Who reference).

The bag is at least the size of their car. She hears the sci-fi sounds of guns firing outside and pulls the rest of her body in. Sierra grabs a gun, hopefully the one Martin told him to, and crawls back out. The gun is pretty big, more like a rifle than a phaser, and she needs both hands to aim it. It’s a difficult task. The five elves in the fight are all moving faster than they should, and her acquaintance (ha) keeps blinking in and out of sight. Sierra checks to make sure that the dial is to the left (Is that the stun setting or the kill setting? What is she about to do?) and fires the moment one of the faceless soldiers pauses for breath.

A blast of emerald green energy shoots out of the gun and nearly misses the figure. Instead, it hits the soldier just above the elbow and all but takes off their left arm. They fall to one knee, then disappear with a faint pop and a bit of cobalt blue light. Simultaneously, the kickback sends Sierra to the ground. Brian picks up the gun and fires a useless shot. He manages to stay standing, at least. Three enemies remain. The speedy blue soldier who knocked out (Brian can’t let himself think about the alternative) Clay, the yellow leader, and a short cyan one that has raised its gun at- oh no. Brian ducks back behind the car and reaches back into the bag as light sears the air right above his head.

The boys hiding behind the car look at eachother and reach a silent agreement. Sierra takes back the gun. Their inhuman ally seems to be winning, at least. He’s impossibly fast and is keeping up with all three opponents. With the cyan one distracted, Martin takes the opportunity and does something magical that leaves the soldier on the ground. They vanish with a pop, and unlike Martin, don’t come back. Clay, thank god, starts moving again. He makes eye contact with Sierra just as the blue soldier knocks Martin’s staff from his hands. The prince looks towards the humans behind the car. He seems terrified. The leader charges at him, holding their shortsword in a backward grip. They say something again, quietly, and Martin doesn’t respond. He tries to vanish again, but some magical pulse from the leader reveals his location. A blue blur knocks Martin to the ground and points its gun at his head.

Sierra tosses her own gun at Clay, and Brian vaults over the hood of the car towards the fight. He is still holding the bag in his left hand. The leader notices the 6’3”, adrenaline-fueled teenager running at him and turns away from Martin. Wild humans, even untrained ones, are very dangerous. Brian pulls something heavy from the bag as a sword swings at him. He dodges the weapon on instinct and feels the edge of a blade skim his chest. He lifts whatever it is he’s holding. A club? A crowbar? Brian holds it in both hands like a baseball bat and swings like his father is watching. The bat connects. He brings twenty pounds of pointed steel down with arms that can hit a baseball at 100mph. The armor over the soldier’s chest cracks- and so do the bones. They gasp and their armor begins to glow far more brightly. Brian is close enough to see two blindingly bright eyes behind their dark faceplate. Then a bolt of energy hits the soldier in the back and the light fades. They sway for a moment and fall with their sword still clutched in their hand. Clay glares at the body over the barrel of his gun. He adjusts his glasses without blinking.

The blue soldier is gone as well, also having been shot while Brian charged his enemy. The street is quiet again. The fog begins to lift. All four of them cautiously move towards the fallen leader lying face down on the pavement. Whatever these soldiers are, they bleed red just like humans do.

[brendannichols]

BASIC INFO

Full name: Brendan Alexander Nichols

Nickname(s): Bren, B

Age: 26  

Birthday: February 14th, 1997

Hometown: Fairford, Washington

Zodiac big three: Aquarius Sun, Aries Moon, Scorpio Rising

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Residence: Mountainside

Occupation: Writer & sometimes Photographer at Fairford Daily

PERSONALITY

Brendan has always been known as somewhat of a loner. He learned from a young age to expect disappointment, thanks to his unstable family dynamic. He resorts to drug and alcohol use to ease the pain and cope with life. He's not always the most pleasant person to be around, thanks to his sharp tongue and putting his walls up as a defense mechanism. Though if you take the time to understand him and see his walls drop down, you'll see that he's actually just a softie who just wants to be loved.

BIOGRAPHY

TW: Alcoholism

Mark Nichols had thought he met the love of his life with his first wife. Shortly after their marriage they went on to have two sons within a few years apart of one another. He worked as a truck driver, traveling across the entirety of the west coast for stops and deliveries. His job entailed long stretches of time being spent away from home, which put a strain on his marriage and family. Only a few years into their marriage, his wife had served him with divorce papers and custody of the boys. Mark was devastated and found comfort within whiskey. It was the only thing that seemed to numb the pain of the emptiness in his life. That was, until Claudia entered his life a few months later. She forced him to clean up his act and get sober. By December of 1995, the couple was married and gave birth to their son, Brendan Alexander Nichols on Valentine's Day of 1997.

By winter of 1997, the honeymoon phase of their marriage was already coming to a close. The couple started to slip into unhappiness and Mark reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels to numb the pain. He knew Claudia had been cheating on him with another man while he was away on the road. Part of Mark couldn't even blame her, as he knew he hadn't been the most present husband throughout their relationship. By the beginning of 1998, the couple had taken the pathway to divorce and Claudia moved out and moved on with the other man she had been seeing. Brendan was left with his father, growing up in a double wide trailer in a small trailer park on the edge of Mountainside. Within the next few years, Brendan's mother had gotten married and had two children, one boy and the youngest a girl, with the man she had left Mark for.

Brendan grew up visiting his mother and his younger half-siblings, but he always felt out of place and like he didn't belong. Part of him resented his mother for leaving him behind and starting a new family of her own. Leaving him behind with his alcoholic father who was absent half the time thanks to his job. It left him feeling abandoned and like he had never been good enough for anyone or anything his entire life. He strolled through life feeling like a loner with no real place he belonged.

This attitude stuck with him all throughout middle school and high school. While he had a few close friends he hung out with and started casually dating a few girls here and there. He never did much to excel in school, instead always scooting by with the average C's and occasional D's. For the most part, Brendan succeeded in keeping his head low and sticking to himself. However there were a few bullies around school who picked on him. They referred to him as "trailer trash" and occasionally even called him "trailer boy". He tried to ignore it at first, hoping they would tire themselves out and go away. It wasn't until one day at lunch when they pushed him just a little too far. Brendan swung in their direction, which resulted in an immediate trip to the principal's office, one week's suspension, and another two weeks of detention. It wasn't his proudest moment, but it gained him the reputation of somewhat of a "bad boy" and was the key to those bullies leaving him alone.

By the time college rolled around, Brendan had applied to a community college in Portland, Oregon. He was desperate for an escape from Fairford and a fresh start. He picked up a part-time job as a server at a local restaurant and saved up enough to afford a small apartment with a roommate. He and his roommate began hosting parties at their apartment and inviting their classmates or anyone else the word of mouth got to. This was the start of Brendan's own alcohol addiction. It wasn't a problem until he started staying up all night drinking, only to be completely wasted and unable to attend his classes by the time they rolled around. He did his best to get his grades up, but he only passed by the skin of his teeth.

Halfway into his sophomore year, Brendan met a girl in one of his classes and instantly became smitten. He had never really been in a serious relationship, as the previous ones had all been casual and fizzled out after a few months time. He wasn't sure if he could even commit to an actual relationship, given his trust issues and fear of abandonment. All his life, he had seen and heard about nothing but rocky relationships on both his mother and father's side. Why should he put his heart out on the line just to have someone throw it back at him as they walked out the door. Any time a girl would catch feelings or want more than a casual date or a hook-up, Brendan would completely ghost and move onto something less serious. But when it came to this girl, she had Brendan wondering if he was even capable of being in a committed relationship. The walls he always built up when it came to everyone else, started to fall around him the more he got to know her. Everything between them had been going smoothly for a few months. But when it came time to define the relationship and put a label on what they were, Brendan did what he does best...he screwed up.

He found himself at one of the popular bars in the area, got completely wasted, and went home with another woman. He woke up the next morning with angry text messages waiting for him from the girl. Apparently one of her friends was at the same bar and saw him leave with this other woman. Brendan knew she was better off without him in the long run. She deserved to find actual happiness and someone who could give her all the things he never could. Even if there was a small sting of pain that came with the lingering thoughts of what could have been, Brendan numbed it with the familiar burn of alcohol.

By his junior year, his dependance on alcohol worsened. His grades began to slip further and he began failing the majority of his classes. He was left with no choice but to drop out. When his mother found out, she begged him to move back home to Fairford and set him up in a special treatment center. He went through the motions to make this mother happy, even though he had no intentions to quit. Once released from the treatment center, Brendan still couldn't learn how to curb his addiction. If anything, he just got better at hiding it from everyone around him. His first effort to get back on his feet came in the form of landing a job as a writer and photographer at Fairford Daily. He had studied both journalism and photography across the course of high school and college, which came as the perfect training for this position.

Just last year, Brendan enrolled in Fairford's Community College to finish up the last few credits of his degree. It was yet another step to prove to those around him that he was fine and no longer struggling. His mother seems to think it was just a phase he went through in college and that the rehab facility "healed" him. The fact that she only rarely checks in on him helps keep up the facade that everything is fine.

[cariantha]

What is Erhan and Sawyers routine when they publicly get together? Do they stay with the roomies? Ethans place? Do they go on little dates?

Hi there!

Before going public, Sawyer spent a lot of time at Ethan's, but they were more strategic to keep up appearances with the roommates. But after the gala, Sawyer was at Ethan's place for a nearly two weeks straight. Every time she mentioned that she should go back to her apartment, he insisted she stay just one more night. Sawyer finally told him she really needed to go back to her place. She loved staying with Ethan, but it wasn't her home (yet). When she stayed with him, it sometimes felt like she was sleeping at a hotel. She missed the comforts and convenience of home and having access to her things. She also had commitments to help the roomies with chores. Plus, she still craved a little privacy to talk with her family and BFF and gush about her boyfriend.

They settled into a 60/40 schedule where she spent just a little more time at Ethan's. Ethan was really great about making room for her things so she felt "at home" when she stayed over. He didn't want her to have to pack a bag to come stay with him.

It was rare that Ethan stayed over at the roomies apartment given the lack of privacy. But on days when Sawyer was off and Ethan was working, she stayed at her own place. They'd text on the days apart from each other just to check in. Surprisingly, Ethan would usually initiate those. If she ever mentioned she had the place to herself, Ethan would suddenly have a very important lunch meeting.😏 On those nights apart, they also Facetimed before bed to talk about their days, discuss their plans for the next day/night, and say goodnight.

For the weekdays, Ethan and Sawyer were mostly homebodies. They fell into a pretty domestic routine of dinner, conversation, then relaxing that turned into cuddling that often turned into you know, then bed. Ethan loved having someone to cook for, and Sawyer absolutely took advantage. She loved to hang in the kitchen and watch him work. She found it super sexy the way he rolled up those sleeves and threw that kitchen towel over his shoulder. He loved talking with her while he worked, but in the beginning she was always standing in his way of a cupboard, or a drawer, or the spice rack. One day he got frustrated. He lifted her up on the island and said "Stay." After that she automatically assumed her position each night, hopping onto the island and waiting for Ethan to pepper her with appetizer kisses while things boiled or baked.

They do go out to eat a couple times a week. During opera season, they go to a show almost once a month. They go to Providence a couple times a month for Sunday dinner with Alan. Sometimes they stay overnight if Ethan has promised to help with his dad a project around the house.

At least once a month they took a road trip to somewhere along the East Coast. Sometimes it was just a day trip to a beach town, other times, they spent the whole weekend down in NYC or at a B&B in the country. Being from the west coast, Sawyer wanted to experience as much of the east coast as possible, and Ethan liked being her guide. And the further away from the hospital they were, the more relaxed Ethan was, especially with PDA.

If they weren't out of town, they hit the local farmer's market or took walks along the Seaport. They have a couple favorite cafes, coffee shops and bookstores they like to frequent.

They still sometimes work out together at the hospital gym. Ethan prefers a mix of cardio and weights, but Sawyer prefers to be outdoors as much as possible. So she'd rather jog around Boston Common or the Seaport. And it's good for them each to have some me-time.

Though they were not hiding their relationship anymore, they still kept things private at work. Well, at least they kid themselves into thinking they did.🤭 One of them was always touching the other's ass, or giving the other a quick peck, because it just became second nature. They didn't even realizing they were doing it.

I hope that answered the question and I didn't get too far off track.

[shadowfromthestarlight]

So many people are still talking about wanting to change their lives and I’m wondering whether I even need to. My life is pretty awesome. I’ve never lost a loved one suddenly or unexpectedly. I didn’t even lose a grandparent until I was 17. I’ve never been hospitalized. I’m in good physical shape with no major medical conditions. I’ve never been uncertain that I’d have my next meal or a roof over my head. I’ve never been unable to buy food or clothing or necessary supplies. I’ve never had a huge family issue with family members hating or not speaking to each other. I count my parents, my sister, my grandma, and my cousins among my best friends. I’ve never been hugely betrayed or cheated on or abused. I’ve never been a crime victim. I graduated from college and have an advanced degree. 

I’ve been to over 30 countries, over 30 U.S. states, and 27 U.S. national parks. I’ve been to some of the most recognizable cities in the world, including Sydney, Tokyo, Beijing, Singapore, Paris, Rome, Prague, New York, Chicago, Seattle, Las Vegas, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Dubai, Madrid, Miami, Philadelphia, Washington D.C., Venice, and Athens. I’ve watched the sunset from New Caledonia and Aruba and the middle of the Mediterranean. I’ve ziplined through the Costa Rican rainforest. I’ve walked over the border from Thailand to Myanmar. I’ve taken road trips in Europe where I’ve been to 4 countries in one day. I’ve hiked in Patagonia. I���ve dodged traffic in Hanoi. I’ve seen the sunrise over Ankar Wat. I’ve ice skated in the biggest mall in the world on my birthday. I’ve watched New Year’s fireworks in Brisbane, Queensland and Cusco, Peru. I’ve stopped for lunch in Lake Como. I’ve stood on the Great Wall of China. I’ve ridden a train through the Candian Rockies. I’ve been to the place I consider the world’s most beautiful - Glacier Point, Yosemite - 4 times. My family owns property in Florida and the Hamptons so I have a beach getaway about 10 times a year. 

I have an apartment with my own washing machine and dishwasher. I have a job I can work remotely whenever I’m sick or otherwise need to be away from the office. I have coworkers I actually look forward to seeing. I have a cat who loves me. I live about 30 seconds away from a bakery, ice cream shop, Mexican restaurant, pizzeria, and bagel shop, and within walking distance of three grocery stores. It takes me about 4 minutes from my door to the train platform to get to work. I say this just to point out that my day-to-day life is almost absurdly easy. 

Some people would look at my life and think there are still things missing from it; I don’t have my own house, I don’t have kids, I’m not married, I have very few friends who aren’t from work or family, I don’t have my own car, I don’t make six figures, I’m still just an “associate” without a prestigious job title or ranking within my firm. But I still have a lot that most people don’t. I need to remind myself of that at times, because sometimes I even feel unsatisfied. I never feel like I’ve learned enough; I’ve never read enough books or watched enough movies or practiced enough hobbies to please myself. I often feel happy doing activities alone, but sometimes I wish I had a close friend my own age to hang out with just once a week or so to make things more interesting. I live somewhere convenient, but there are trade-offs; it’s loud, there are too many lights obscuring the sky at night, it’s crowded, it’s not where I want to be forever. I haven’t even figured out whether I’m serious about doing some of the things I say I want to do; move to the West Coast, open my own law office or other business, conduct research and write articles, buy my own house where I can have chickens and a root cellar, climb mountains. Maybe I’m just too complacent a person deep down? I fear that. I’ve found that a decent life can be a trap; if things are good enough, you can start to genuinely wonder if it’s worth it to work any harder or take any more risks to make them better. Let this be a reminder that nobody’s perfect, I guess; I have a lot that’s enviable but I still don’t have all the answers.

[thnxforknowingme]

My fic year in review 2022

Copying @forabeatofadrum because I like to talk about myself and this seems like a fun end-of-year reflection. If any other writers see this and want to do it, please do!

Fics I wrote:

True Colors

The Feeling's Plain to Me

In Orbit

these bodies are hoping to get addicted to sound

Miles To Go

Courting Royalty

Cohabiting

Confluence

Connecting

Peaches

Roots

Babysitting

A Matter of Distance

Texts With Benefits

The Some Kind of Summer series

A World to Rediscover

The Mattress

Naughty and Oh, So Nice

Questions and thoughts below:

Best/worst title?

I hate titling stories, so honestly I'm not totally satisfied with any of my titles. Courting Royalty is probably my most clever - it's thematically relevant, a pun, and isn't just a lyric or literary reference. The worst title is these bodies are hoping to get addicted to sound because it's SO LONG WHY DID I DO THIS?

Best/worst summary?

I'm pretty happy with the summary for Miles To Go, because I feel like it gets at the tone and plot of the story without giving too much away:

In the wake of Finn’s death, Kurt struggles to keep up with schoolwork at NYADA or engage with his life in general. He finally finds purpose again when he decides to spend the summer venturing west, to scatter Finn’s ashes in the Pacific Ocean. The road trip is long and lonely and challenging, but Kurt’s luck starts to turn around when he meets a handsome man named Blaine, who’s heading to California for his own reasons. After crossing paths in Colorado, they decide to travel together. As they get closer to the west coast they start to let down their walls, learning more about each other and revealing what they’re really seeking on this trip.

The worst summary is probably The Feeling's Plain to Me, because it's so nondescript and boring, but I feel like I can get away with it because it's a sequel:

Ficlets set in the same ‘verse as It’s Who I’m With. What did Kurt and Blaine get up to in between Christmas and St. Patrick’s Day?

Best/worst first line?

If I have to pick a best, it might be Confluence, because I feel like it packs a lot into one sentence:

Charades and fishbowl were the first-choice games to get drunk during in the Bushwick loft, but sometimes the roommates wanted a quicker avenue to intoxication - in which case they played King’s Cup.

This is kind of cheating because Courting Royalty really opens with a magazine article, but the first line of narration is probably my favorite opening:

When Rachel had told Kurt that she was secretly a European princess, he was 100% certain that it was a scam.

I don't have anything that stands out to me as "worst" - just a few pretty mediocre ones.

Best/worst last line?

I'm gonna say that the best is True Colors, because it's decently long and interesting:

But she smiled at her reflection - pink hair and ratty clothes and eyes bright with the sheen of intoxication - because she was free, and she was excited to figure out who the hell this new self was.

I think worst is probably Confluence. Not because it's particularly bad, but because I realize it's the second time this year I ended a fic with "Blaine follows Kurt out of bed for post-sex showering," and this ending line is the less interesting version of that:

“Ours,” Blaine agreed, and then pushed himself out of bed to follow his breathtaking naked fiancé to the shower.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

Way more! I feel like I was constantly writing this year. I did not expect to both have so many ideas and be able to deliver on so many of them.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

Uhhhh I mean I never expected to write a Kurt/Blaine/Sam threesome, let alone multiple fics about it, let alone spark a whole impromptu fest about it. This started as one sort of silly idea - the observation that both Kurt and Blaine had crushed on Sam and then ended up living with him - that other people took and built on, inspiring me and others to keep writing more.

Relatedly, I also didn't expect to write real actual smut, but we'll get back to that later.

What’s your favourite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

Ooof. I mean, I don't publish anything that I'm not proud of, and it's hard to pick my favorite child. If I had to choose one story that I'm the proudest of (saying it makes me happy is a little weird, although it does), it's probably Miles To Go. I know I've talked a lot about it elsewhere, but I think it's the most impressive work I've made this year, and there are so many scenes that I just love (the WHOLE Vegas sequence, man, I love myself for that).

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

By pretty much any metric, it's In Orbit. I'm immensely surprised and pleased that so many people enjoyed it. It meant a lot to me, and god was it fun to write.

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

This year it looks like it was True Colors, which has existed for just under a year and has 50 hits. I get it - it's a gen fic, a character study of Quinn - but I'm really proud of that story. It was one of those delightful creative exercises where I got to dive into the weird complexities of what characters might be going through emotionally, giving a little more weight and reality to the high-drama insanity that is Glee.

Story that could have been better?

I think it's Courting Royalty. I adored that prompt, and was so happy to write for it. I think it could have been a much more expansive story - there's so much to explore in the idea of surprise teenage royalty, and honestly it could have used more humor and hijinks. But I knew going in that I had to keep the scope pretty limited. I had just finished writing Miles To Go, which was 35k that I wrote in like, 2 months? I was tired, and on a deadline for the bang, so I kept it pretty succinct while still telling a complete story. I have some vague ideas for a sequel, so hopefully I can return to that world someday and expand on it.

Sexiest story?

Gotta be Confluence. It wasn't the first E-rated fic that I wrote, but it was the most like..."this is just a story about sex" fic that I wrote. I still kind of can't believe I did it.

Saddest story?

Miles To Go. It's about grief, and loss, and figuring out how to move forward from that. I'm happy with how I portrayed that, and if I did my job right I made some readers cry.

Most fun?

Maybe these bodies? It was sexy and fun, I got to throw in a little Kurtbastian to a Klaine story, and there was something very entertaining about Blaine's mix of immense guilt and immense horniness.

Story with single sweetest moment?

I don't think I write terribly treacly scenes. What comes to mind is the end of In Orbit - because the boys had been through a lot, so the epilogue was pretty damn sweet.

Hardest story to write?

Probably Naughty and Oh, So Nice. I was SO not inspired for this one. I wanted to write a Kublam Christmas fic - because, I don't know, there was something there about the warmth of the holidays mixed with the excitement of seeing old friends mixed with the dizzying possibilities of "seeing" old "friends" wink-wink-nudge-nudge. But then I was just not in a sex-writing mood but I needed to get it done by Christmas. The first draft of this was so bad, y'all. It had sentences like "and it felt amazing and then they both came." I still don't think it's as good as my other smutty fics (and I don't know how personal I wanna get in order to justify that lol), but thankfully several heroes from the Lima Bean Discord server helped me punch it up.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

Oh this is kind of how I answered the previous questions about these bodies, but I'll also say that In Orbit was a joy to write. There were some parts that were a little tougher to figure out, but overall I was just building the story ahead of me as I went, and it was a delight the whole time.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

I really enjoyed examining both Quinn and Sam in the stories they were featured in this year - both of which I started doing a little last year, too. Writing the Some Kind of Summer stories was also a fun way to examine an alternate backstory for Sebastian. It's usually so accepted fandom-wide that he's a trust fund baby, so making it so that his stepdad was the rich/notable family member and he actually came from humbler roots was a fun avenue to explore. How does that recast Sebastian's personality and actions?

Most overdue story?

Definitely the Some Kind of Summer series. I had this image of Kurt and Sebastian being next-door neighbors and meeting on the roof outside of their bedrooms YEARS ago. Like, Glee-was-still-airing years ago. So I'm super glad that I finally got the chance to write that.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Firstly I would just say that writing smut is a writing risk that I didn't expect to take. I think I have some old post where I say smut writers are braver than US marines and I can't imagine doing that - but, bit by bit, I worked my way up to the stuff I've written this year. It's challenging in a new way, but it's been interesting to play with and fun to bring some of my sexier ideas to life.

Secondly, I participated in collaborative fandom events, and working with an artist was a new and totally delightful experience for me. I can see how nerve-wracking that kind of collaboration could be, but I was fortunate to work with people who were great teammates and made some incredible art to go along with my stories!

Somewhat relatedly, I also became an admin for a fandom blog, and we hosted an event for the first time. We didn't get a ton of engagement, but we did get some, and I'm so grateful and astounded that anyone at all wanted to participate. I'm also really happy with the stuff that I wrote for that event. I don't know that it taught me much about writing, but running a fandom blog has definitely been a learning experience, and I hope we continue to grow and get better as we try more events.

This year’s theme and the story that demonstrates it most:

I cannot think of a cohesive theme for everything I've written this year (beyond the reality that it's all written by me and so it has my interests and experiences and hangups throughout). Honestly I'm happy with the variety, though.

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

I want to make progress on and start posting Disaster Boys (working title) (and also hopefully finish it, God I hope that doesn't take a whole year). I also have a whole list of other fic ideas I'd love to make headway on - most notably my Mediator AU, which I MUST WRITE but still have to work out so many plotting kinks before I can truly start drafting.

Overall, this was a shockingly productive and creative year. According to AO3 I published 164,797 words in 2022 (which is inflated because In Orbit was actually mostly posted in 2021). It's the first full year of fic writing I've had since getting back into fandom. I'm pleased that I still have so much that I want to work on.

[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.

 

[delicatestrawberry-me]

I have $300 and a Prius, I have to make a 2,800 mile trip from New York to Los Angeles. After carefully planning my itinerary, I hit the road with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. With my trusty Prius and a meager budget of $300, I embark on this cross-country journey. I hit the road early in the morning, driving at a moderate speed to conserve fuel as much as possible. My Prius, known for its excellent fuel efficiency, allows me to cover long distances without having to stop too often. I take regular breaks to stretch my legs and refuel with simple but nutritious food. As the days go by, I pass through breathtaking landscapes—the rugged mountains of the Midwest, the endless plains of Texas, the majestic deserts of the Southwest. At each stop, I marvel at the diversity and beauty of America. My tight budget forces me to be creative with my accommodations. I alternate between wild campsites, highway rest areas and cheap motels. Sometimes I ask for hospitality from acquaintances or carpool to reduce my costs. Despite the challenges, I keep a positive attitude and fully enjoy this adventure on the roads. I meet fascinating people, discover unexpected places and soak up the unique atmosphere of each region I pass through. As I get closer to Los Angeles, I feel a nervous excitement rising inside me. After days of driving alone, I can't wait to discover my final destination and immerse myself in the vibrant energy of the West Coast. When I finally cross the limits of Los Angeles, exhausted but full of unforgettable memories, I feel an immense sense of accomplishment. This road trip has transformed me, allowed me to push my limits and fully appreciate the diversity and beauty of my country.

[onlinemexicaninsurance]

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Contact your Mexican auto insurance company and report the accident. You should be able to find their number on your insurance papers or online. Keep your insurance documents close since you will need to tell them your policy number, your name on the policy, and your car's details. When you call, tell the claims representative about your situation, and ask what documents are needed to support your claim.

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[jacobgdavis-blog]

RECAP OF TRIP TO FRANCE

Thursday, May 23 thru 29, 2024

DAY 5 - Mont St. Michel, Tuesday, May 28, 2024

This day would be an entirely different vibe than the American and WWII-history-heavy devotion of yesterday. Mont St. Michel was somewhere I visited on a whirlwind tour of Europe 21 years prior during a study abroad program. The site occupies a near-mythical status for me in my mind.

Located on a sometimes-island just off the coast of northern France, when the tide comes in, the hilltop fortress becomes a true island only accessible by a modern bus & pedestrian bridge. Over a dozen parking lots were stacked along the coast. Free shuttles were available but the long pilgrimage to the island on-foot across the bridge as the fortress on the horizon got closer and closer was an experience all unto its own.

Two decades prior, I only have a vague memory of Mont St. Michel feeling like a magical place that I promised myself I’d come back to someday. It’s honestly more touristy than historically significant, but the Medieval cobblestone roads and ancient structures at the top are 100% real. I was worried the visit wouldn’t live up to the hype in my own head, but to my absolute pleasure, it did… and then some.

The day-trip also had some complicated logistics. We had set out west from Caen for 1.5 hours only to know we’d have to come back to Caen later that evening to gas up our rental van, return it to Enterprise, and catch a 2-hour train ride back to Paris for our last evening in France. We managed it though, and it all worked out.

The whole exercise of the day-trip to Mont St. Michel is pretty much the same for everyone: Arrive in the morning, climb to the top to tour the abbey (if you can make the very non-handicap-accessible climb; The massive crowds certainly thin out as you get closer to the top) and then back down thru the cobblestone streets with unmatched views from the top along the ramparts. Numerous gift shops, coffee shops, and casual-to-fine-dining restaurants are available throughout the trek up or down. The island’s cuisine is most famous for its omelettes with oldest continuously in-business restaurant (specializing in omelettes, of course) allegedly being open since 1872.

When we got to the top, we got to hear a church service in the abbey which consisted of nuns and monks chanting and singing their liturgies. I got very emotional at the service, not really for religious reasons as a much as just taking inventory of all we had done in the week and in light of my now ever-present circumstance with a Stage 4 cancer diagnosis. It was a good thing I had sunglasses on because I was a bit of a mess. I had been looking forward to this trip for 5+ months after dreaming it up but not executing 7 years prior. We had finally made it happen. It was everything I had hoped for, and it was coming to an end. I guess to some degree, besides my family life which is most important to me, this trip gave me some purpose amidst the hardest last 9 months of my life, a life I love living and that was potentially wrapping up too early for my and my family’s liking. I was feeling relatively good health-wise since the new year and on this trip particularly, despite having had a chemotherapy treatment the day before departure.

I got separated from the group at the top thinking they had started to make their descent, but they were really just lallygagging in gift shops. 😉 With bad cell reception in such a remote place, it was hard to communicate, and when texts actually would go thru, the place was such a maze that it was hard to describe exact whereabouts. I was already emotional, and I was starting to get upset that I’d be potentially experiencing the scenic descent down the ancient pathways alone which is the opposite of what I envisioned. Danny came and found me, and I’m not too proud to say, I broke down and let it all out with him, swearing him to secrecy that I couldn’t keep my emotional shizz together. I ended up pulling myself together after about 5 minutes, having been lost but now found! We all met back up and ended up having a leisurely lunch on the way down at a cave of a restaurant toward the top.

We walked all the way back to the van, covering an unbelievable amount of ground. Danny drove back, hitting rush hour traffic in Caen on the way back. He was a pro having drive his band’s tour van all over the U.S. multiple times and having just navigated Spain with Kelsey via rental car the weeks prior. The only real fiasco occurred when I was turning in the rental and dropped an entire bottle of red wine on the ground. The French workers at Enterprise were actually incredibly gracious to me, a clumsy American, as they mopped up the wine and broken glass off the tile. We made our train in time, and were back in Paris just after 9pm. What a day.

We had one last night in France, and we spent it grabbing souvenirs, taking solo walks, and having dinner in separate groups. Ben, Grant, my dad, and I unwisely, but perhaps desperately, stopped at a place called Broadway Cafe which was Paris’s idea of what NYC was like. We had some very subpar Neapolitan pizzas while Jed got his kiddos trinkets, and Danny ate some mediocre escargot at a restaurant near our hotel. We joined up briefly after dinner, and said our goodnights to Grant and my dad as Ben and I joined Danny and Jed for one last night of local beers (Kronenbourg 1664 on this evening) and oysters. We finally retired exhausted, 2-to-a-room instead of 3-to-a-room this time on this solo night in Paris at Jardin Le Brea Hotel located in a more upscale part of town. The hotel was very nice, if not extremely compact in the most Euro-ways (e.g. one-person elevator barely able to accommodate luggage), but we had little time to enjoy it minus a really good shower and a quick 7am breakfast before our car transfer to the airport at 7:15am the next morning.