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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 7: Tell Me That I Won't Feel A Thing]

A/N: Hello besties! Thank you for voting in the poll for Chapter 7. Below are your predictions...let's see how you did! 🥰

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

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

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Give Me Novacaine” by Green Day.

Word count: 9.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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Billboards ask you as the Tahoe flies across the flat emerald sea of Iowa: Have you heard the good news? Have you been saved? Where will you spend eternity? Are you struggling with same-sex attraction? Do you regret your abortion? Do you fear the Lord? Do you want to end up in Hell?

Aegon snickers, gnawing on a Slim Jim. The sun glare turns his wild hair to gold, etches crinkles into the ruddy skin around his eyes, murky like deep water, oceans you recognize from other corners of the world. “I thought I was already there.”

Jace’s Honda Rebel 300 is left on the shoulder of the highway with its fuel tank uncapped, drained to feed the Tahoe, prehistoric combustion, bottomless mechanical hunger. Rhaena takes over driving so Baela can sit with Jace, touch him, inhale him, convince herself he’s real. Aegon climbs into the passenger’s seat and skips songs on the CD player until he finds the one he wants: In Da Club by 50 Cent. The miles roll by so soft and so infinite that you can’t imagine ever feeling trapped again, warm July air unfurling down the darkest corridors of your lungs, hawks on lifeless power lines and fields dappled with white-tailed deer. And you think: Everything will be better now.

You cross the Missouri River and into Nebraska at Plattsmouth, which—according to a plaque mounted on the outskirts of town—the Lewis and Clark Expedition passed through over two centuries ago. Rhaena follows Aegon’s directions to cut between Lincoln and Omaha, avoiding the roiling wastelands of the cities and keeping well north of Cooper Nuclear Station, where in the absence of a successful manual or computerized shutdown before the power grid collapsed, rods of uranium are melting down and irradiating the surrounding area, anemia, cancer, heart disease, radiation sickness, an affliction that eats you alive.

Rhaena takes Nebraska State Route 66 north and then Route 92 due west, lush fields of corn and soybeans and sorghum planted before the dead began to walk, bones of devoured livestock. You stop for the night in a town called Broken Bow, the sky turning the colors of fire and rust and blood, the Tahoe exsanguinated like a man with a slit throat. Every vehicle you pass already has its fuel cap unscrewed; the farther west you go—the scarcer the resources, the longer it’s been since the world began to end—the less the earth will yield to you: less guns, less gasoline, less food, less human settlements scattered across what was once called the frontier. You commandeer a two-story house: white wood, wraparound porch, a long gravel driveway that winds like a snake. There is a small cornfield and a barn, both of which you sweep for zombies before making yourselves at home. You try not to think about what happened to the family that used to live here.

Helaena lights candles, Luke and Rhaena distribute bowls and silverware, Aemond and Rio gather kindling for the woodstove, Daeron keeps watch on the porch, Aegon picks all the Twizzlers out of a mixed bag of Hershey’s candy for Jace. There is a 12-pack of Ramen noodles in the pantry, gallons of water in the cellar, and a pot large enough to cook it all in one batch. Cregan takes Ice and disappears into the cornfield for half an hour at dusk—something none of the rest of you would ever consider—and reappears with an opossum that he’s nearly decapitated with his axe. He butchers it and you brown cubes of meat in a sauté pan placed directly on the glowing embers. The others are horrified and won’t eat a single bite until you do. It’s the first real food you’ve had since you left Saratoga Springs, and you feel satiated in a way you had forgotten existed.

In honor of Jace’s resurrection, some revelry is in order. There are bottles of Grey Goose vodka in a kitchen cabinet, and Aemond allows a two drink maximum for anyone eligible to participate: Baela is too pregnant, Daeron is too young, Aemond himself is too vigilant, too self-sacrificial, too indoctrinated into the religion of his own martyrdom.

“Daddy loved his screwdrivers,” Cregan says. “I remember being five or six and taking a big gulp of one thinking it was Sunny D or Tang or something. Lord almighty, was that a shock!” He guffaws, then inspects the pantry, scratching at the dark stubble on his cheeks. “We ain’t got nothing like orange juice though.”

“Mama made hers with Hawaiian Punch.” You point: there are several jugs of it on the floor between boxes of Pop-Tarts and Welch’s Fruit Snacks and Cheddar Whales, red like crushed blackberries or fresh blood.

Cregan grins at you over his brawny shoulder. “That’ll work, Miss Chips.”

Luke and Rhaena have first watch, Rio and Aegon will take the second. You are blessedly unburdened tonight. This house is big enough for you to get your own room; you climb the staircase with Grey Goose vodka burning in your throat, your head warm and dizzy, a sensation like freefalling as you lie down on the bed.

I left them, you think, the walls spinning around you, echoes of Mama’s voice through the phone as Rio stood there nodding, encouraging you to hang up. I left them and I never looked back. Can someone commit such an act of ancestral betrayal without incurring a curse?

You are still considering this when you feel Aemond’s weight on the mattress and fold into him, the world going dark and hushed and harmless.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I think it’s safe,” you tell Aemond between sighs, his lips on your throat, his hand between your thighs. Late-morning sunlight slants in through the bedroom windows; goldfinches and blue jays flap by chirping blithely. The dead pillage the misfortunate beasts of the earth, but creatures of the air and water are spared. You can hear geese honking from a distance, and the breeze through the cornfield, and calm indistinct voices beneath the floorboards. You can smell pancakes turning from white to gold in a pan sizzling with Crisco. Cregan must be cooking breakfast in the woodstove.

“How sure are you?” Aemond murmurs, his breath warm on your neck, those small teeth he’s always hiding nipping playfully, and if he leaves marks like stains of ballpoint ink you don’t care. He’s whisked every scrap of your clothing away. Beneath him you are bare and helpless and needing more.

“Like…eighty percent sure.”

“I’ll pull out.”

“Like Jace did?”

He laughs and kisses your mouth, not just ravenous but wild like a storm, and all the rest of the world goes quiet. Your ankles are linked around him, his hips rocking with yours. He is wearing only his boxers, black plaid from a looted Walmart, apocalypse chic. “Hopefully better than that.”

“Just try your best. I trust you. I’m willing to risk it.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s worth it to me.” I could be dead in nine months, he could be dead in nine months. I’m not wasting the time we have left.

“It’s your decision. You would be most affected by the consequences.” He draws away and glances down. “I want to look at you.”

“Ohhh.” You stall. “I’ve been trimming with scissors by candlelight. It’s a hack job.”

“I won’t mind.” He grins. “You don’t mind my hack job of a face.”

“I love your face,” you say as you skim your fingerprints down the length of his scar. And then, when he raises an eyebrow roguishly: “I didn’t break any rules. I didn’t say I love you, just your face. I’m totally using you for your face. Your personality is terrible.”

He snickers, kisses you goodbye, retreats to your hips and pushes your thighs apart as you cover your face and whimper, nervous, exhilarated. And then his lips are on you and the trepidation melts away, puddles pooling and then evaporating, and you have a vision of being home again, shivering and dripping in front of the crackling flames of the woodstove after playing outside in the snow and waiting for the fire to take the cold away. Now the fire is growing over you like ivy, tendrils snaking through veins and leaves opening in your lungs, bones vanishing, muscles turning pliant and weightless. You can feel Aemond’s fingers pushing into you, a fleeting second of tension and discomfort, and then a fullness that is delectable, irresistible, maddening.

“Come back,” you plead, and when he does you clasp his face with both hands, kissing him deeply as his fingers remain inside you, thrusting and bathed in your wetness. You’re finally ready for him, you have to be, you need him so badly: like you’re dying of thirst, like you’re running out of air. “Now, Aemond, please. I want all of you.”

And he wants it too. His boxers are gone and he’s positioning himself between your legs, his tongue in your mouth, one hand cradling your jaw as the other guides his cock to where you are slick and aching and aware of an emptiness that has never felt so dire.

He’s so big…

But you are determined to take all of him. You don’t care if there’s pain, if there’s fear. You want to feel what it’s like to be with him before it’s too late.

Aemond presses himself against you, rolls his hips cautiously…and nothing happens. He is a bit more forceful. There is immense pressure, then the beginning of a stretching that is sharp, searing, dreadful, unfamiliar in a way that is completely disorienting. You gasp before you can stop yourself; a wince ripples across your face too quickly to camouflage. Aemond shakes his head and climbs off you, settling beside you on the bed.

“Fuck,” you exhale in frustration, slapping a palm down on the mattress. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why…why I’m like this…”

“Shh,” Aemond soothes, kissing you. “It’s okay, it’s fine. I’ll help you finish and then we can try again later.”

“Why isn’t this easier?”

“You’re just nervous,” he says gently, smoothing your hair back from your face, like it’s no big deal, like he’s pointing out a bird or a rabbit or the shape of a cloud.

“I don’t feel nervous.”

“It’s not always conscious, sometimes the body reacts without the mind even being aware of it. You tense up and things become…more challenging. But fortunately for us, the treatment is very enjoyable. We just keep messing around and working up to it until one day you’re so aroused and so relaxed that I can glide in without any discomfort whatsoever, and then your body adjusts to this glorious new experience and you aren’t so nervous anymore.”

“Can’t you just…you know…sorry, this isn’t very romantic, but like…shove it in?”

“I could, sure,” Aemond says. “If I was a horrible person. And then you’d learn to associate sex with pain, which would just exacerbate the situation.”

“The problem, you mean.”

He smiles patiently. “You aren’t a problem. We’ll figure it out, we have time.”

Do we? You stare morosely up at the ceiling, shadows of clouds, shades of wings. “I should have hooked up with that Marine at Corpus Christi. Then I’d have practice. I was so afraid of giving a man the power to hurt me or get me pregnant or otherwise ruin my life, but I didn’t know I’d meet you one day. And now I just want everything to be easy for us, and it isn’t.”

“Hey.” Aemond turns your face towards his. “For me, you are…” He struggles to decide on the words, his eye drifting to the window, sunlight turning the blue of his iris to a shallow, glass-clear river. “You’re like an island, and everything else is a sea of poison, and violence, and catastrophically fucked up situations, and when we’re alone together it all goes away for a little while. The world gets quiet. It’s never been like that for me before. I don’t mind if it takes time for us to figure this out. I just want to be with you.”

“What happens when we get to Nevada, and you’re supposed to turn south for the Bay Area while I go north to Oregon?”

Aemond shrugs, but his expression is contemplative. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe we’ll all stay together and go to one place, then the other. If Odessa is safe, I can bring my parents, Criston, and Grandfather there. If it isn’t, we can bring Rio’s family south and live in California in that beach house on the cliff.”

“I never thought I’d set foot in a mansion.”

“I never thought I’d eat opossum.”

You laugh and curl up against him, resting your head and a palm on his chest. “How was it?”

“Not too bad, actually. Kind of like dark meat chicken. A little gamey, but I like lamb and venison, so that’s fine with me.”

“Just wait until you try bear.”

“Bear?!”

There is a knock at the bedroom door. Luke’s bashful voice is muted through the wood. “Aemond?”

“Yeah?” Aemond replies impatiently.

This was not an invitation, but Luke doesn’t seem to know that. He opens the door, and as he does Aemond throws the blanket over you so you’re covered, leaving himself completely exposed.

Luke begins: “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, but…” His eyes go wide. “Oh, you’re like, all the way naked.” He turns and stares at the wall to be polite. “If it’s a bad time, I could come back in five minutes. Do you need more than five minutes? Wait, that was rude, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sure you can last way longer than five minutes…um…”

Aemond sighs. “What’s wrong, Luke?”

“Jace is sick.”

“Sick?” Aemond sits up straighter, his eye narrowing. “Sick how?”

“He’s been puking since he woke up.”

You and Aemond exchange a startled glance as you clutch the edges of a blanket patterned with wild horses. Illness, virus, plague, curse.

“He hasn’t been bitten or anything,” Luke says quickly. “So it can’t be…you know…that. And he and Baela don’t seem that worried. But you should probably take a look at him.”

Aemond nods, less alarmed now. “I agree. Can I get those five minutes first?”

Luke smiles. “Yeah. See you downstairs.” He leaves and shuts the door behind him.

You look to Aemond. “Why—?”

He yanks the blanket away and drags you towards him. “I said I was going to help you finish,” he says, grinning, a hand slipping between your thighs.

You bite at his lips when he kisses you and tease: “I don’t need your help.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. But it’s better when I’m here.”

And he’s right; it is.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daeron is out on the front porch sharpening sticks into arrows and using goose feathers for fletching, attaching them to the wood with a tube of Gorilla Glue that Helaena found for him. Helaena herself is presently floating through the house—soundlessly, ethereally, traceless like a ghost—and partaking in what you all call “apocalypse shopping,” pilfering the clothes and accessories of the former occupants. She seems to know everyone’s sizes without needing to ask. Aegon, Rio, and Cregan are sitting in the living room and eating pancakes off paper plates, carelessly spilling Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup on hideous 1970s couches ornamented with scenes of pheasants and autumn leaves. Down on the Turkish-style area rug, Ice is merrily chomping her way through a stack of burnt pancakes.

“So Cregan,” Rio says, his bare feet propped on the coffee table. “What did you do before the whole zombie situation?”

“I was a lumberjack.”

“No way!”

“Yes sir. I cut down trees for the power company.”

“What a coincidence,” Rio says around a mouthful of pancakes. “I was an electrician!”

“Well how about that? We oughta go into business together once the world straightens itself out. Where’d you work?”

“All over. Wherever the Navy sent us.”

Cregan sets his fork down on his plate. “You were enlisted?”

“Yeah, me and Chips both. That’s how we met.”

Cregan, much to Rio’s surprise, seizes his hand and shakes it soberly. “Thank you very kindly for your service.”

“No problem,” Rio replies, then turns to Aegon. “No gratitude from you, huh?”

“I showed my gratitude when I let you have the last pancake, you ogre…”

In the only bedroom on the first floor, down a hallway and towards the back of the house, Jace looks worse than you expected. He is heaving into a reusable plastic popcorn bucket, gluey ropes of saliva dangling from his lips; his skin is pale and bloodless, his dark curls damp with sweat. Baela is perched beside him on the bed and holding a wet washcloth to the back of his neck. Rhaena and Luke are loitering anxiously in the doorway, watching Aemond to determine if they should panic.

Jace casts you a bitter glance. “You poisoned me with your poor people food.”

“There’s nothing wrong with eating opossum,” you say, somewhat defensively.

Aemond feels his forehead. “That wouldn’t give you a fever. And everyone else is fine.”

“Maybe I’m extra sensitive. My digestive system has higher standards. I’m built different.” Jace resumes retching into the bucket.

Baela tells Aemond: “He can’t keep anything down. There’s nothing left in him, but he’s still so sick…it has to be a stomach flu, right?”

“Who would he have caught it from?” Luke asks, and Baela doesn’t have an answer.

“Stand up,” Aemond orders Jace when his wave of nausea abates. “Strip down.”

“Aemond, he wasn’t bitten,” Baela says. “I saw his whole body last night. He doesn’t have any scratches or bruises or anything.”

“Fine. But I want to see for myself.”

Jace stumbles out of the bed, pushing away Baela’s hands as she tries to stop him. “Okay, Nick Fury. If you wish to gaze upon the goods, I won’t deny you. I’m not shy.” Aemond rolls his eye. You turn around to give Jace privacy. “What’s the matter, Chips? The only dick you’re interested in belongs to Mike Wazowski over there?”

“Jace,” Baela says, but she’s chuckling. Amused, you stare at a picture on the wall—a haloed Jesus guiding a flock of lambs—as Jace sheds his clothing and follows Aemond’s instructions: lift your arm, turn around, show me the bottoms of your feet.

“No bites,” Aemond confirms, deep in thought. “But the symptoms…”

“It’s not that, Aemond, I’m telling you,” Jace insists, rasping breaths between each clause. “Listen, I got sick when I was alone, before I found you guys again. My stomach, my head. Maybe it’s the same thing now. It didn’t last long, and I thought I was over it, but I guess not.”

“People don’t get better and then worse again after they’ve been bitten,” Rhaena observes softly. “They just get worse.”

Jace lies back down on the bed, his face crumbling with pain. Baela uses the wet washcloth to cool his cheeks and neck. “My head hurts so fucking bad…”

“Because you’re dehydrated,” Aemond says.

“Helaena brought pills, but every time I try to take one I throw it up before it can start working.” There is a gurgling sound in his guts, and then a horrified expression. “Baela, I gotta get outside again.” She and Luke immediately swoop in, grab one arm each, and usher him out of the bedroom, through the back door of the farmhouse, and into the cornfield to allow him some semblance of dignity.

Rhaena gives you and Aemond an awkward smirk. “Helaena found Jace a 24-pack of Angel Soft toilet paper in the basement. So there’s some good news.”

“He needs electrolytes,” Aemond says. “We can’t let him get so dehydrated that his kidneys shut down. IV fluids aren’t an option. Pedialyte would be the next best thing, Gatorade or Powerade if that’s all we can find.”

“We passed a pharmacy on our way here,” Rhaena recalls. “It’s only a mile back, I think.”

Aemond nods. “Then that’s where I’m going,” he says, and walks out of the room.

You say as you follow him: “I want to go with you.”

“No.” Aemond points to Rio, who is now playing Uno with Aegon on the coffee table in the living room. “You and I are going to a pharmacy to get Pedialyte for Jace so he doesn’t die.”

“Cool,” Rio says, standing and fetching his Remington shotgun from where he propped it against the wall. “What’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know. Maybe food poisoning.”

Aegon says, a hand pressed to his heart: “Personally, I loved the opossum.”

You stare defiantly up at Aemond. “If Rio is going, I have to go too.”

“Aww, so you can protect me?” Rio teases fondly, patting your back with one monstrous palm, an unintentional battering.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Rio looks at Aemond. Aemond looks at you, touching his chin agitatedly. “You are stressing me out.”

“I’m the best shot. I want to be there in case anything happens.”

“Fine, okay, whatever you want. Just stay near Rio.”

“That’s the idea.”

“A pharmacy?” Aegon asks excitedly. “Can I go?”

“No,” Aemond snaps, and continues out onto the porch. In the gravel driveway, Cregan and Daeron are kneeling by the Tahoe and inspecting the front tire on the driver’s side. “What’s wrong now?” Aemond asks, exasperated.

“Got a flat,” Cregan says. “The little fella here noticed it.”

Daeron is mortified. “Please don’t call me that.”

Aemond peers around mistrustfully, out at the road, into the cornfield. “Someone sabotaged us?”

Cregan shakes his head and taps the tire. “Naw, we just ran over a nail yesterday. You can see it right here. A big one too, a masonry nail, I suspect.”

“Can you fix it?” Rio asks.

“I think so. I saw a jack and a lug wrench hanging up on the wall in the barn, now I just need a new tire, a real one. A spare wouldn’t do us much good, not with all the weight we’re carrying. It’d pop in twenty miles.” Cregan gestures to the main road, but westward, the opposite direction from the pharmacy. “Don’t remember seeing a tire place on our way in. Figured I’d try the other direction. I’ll walk ‘til I find a shop or a truck with the right kind of tires to steal from, whichever comes first. Can’t change a tire on gravel, though. I’ll have to drive the Tahoe out to the road and fix it there. I’m gonna need Rhaena’s keys.”

There is an uneasy lull as Aemond studies him. You, Rio, Daeron, and Aegon—who is lingering on the front porch, not yet ready to admit defeat—glance between them apprehensively. Ice is rolling around in the gravel, coating her grey fur with dust. “How do I know you won’t take off without us?”

Cregan’s face goes dark. His brow, heavy and furrowed, settles low over his eyes. “Look buddy, I’ve done a lot of things for you and your people that I didn’t have to. And now I’m fixing the Tahoe so it can take you west, someplace you decided we’re going. If you don’t trust me, do it yourself. Kill your own opossum. Change your own flat tire. But you can’t, can you? Just like I can’t shoot a zombie straight through the eye or tell you how to cure that sick boy in there. We’ve all got jobs here. Let me do mine.”

Aemond glowers at Cregan, knowing he’s right. Daeron averts his eyes; Rio, grinning, eats a handful of Cheddar Whales from a pocket of his cargo shorts. You lay a palm on Aemond’s forearm. “Aemond…he’s trying to help.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies crossly.

“You want collateral?” Cregan says. “Take my dog.” He whistles, and Ice scampers to his side. He points to you. “Go on, princess.” Ice obediently trots over to stand with you, shaggy ash-colored fur, bestial amber eyes like a rattlesnake’s. “She’ll look after you on your way to the pharmacy and back. And if the Tahoe and I have mysteriously vanished upon your return, you can eat her for dinner.”

“You don’t want a warning if you’re about to run into zombies?” Rio asks.

Cregan chuckles as he picks up his axe off the gravel. “Don’t you worry about me. We haven’t heard a peep since we got into town, and I’m just going a little ways up the road. Any less than ten of those abominations, and I can take care of myself.” He gives you and Rio a parting salute and strides into the farmhouse to collect the Tahoe keys from Rhaena.

Aemond turns to Daeron. “Stay here, keep watch. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Daeron nods, glancing to where his compound bow rests on the front porch. “Got it.”

“Aegon will help you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says. “I want to go to the pharmacy too.”

Aemond is losing what remains of his patience. “No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Then can you at least bring me something back?”

Rio is confounded. “What do you need?”

“You know…” Aegon gestures vaguely. “Percocet, Vicodin, Oxy, maybe some of that cough syrup with the codeine in it—”

“Grow the fuck up,” Aemond flares, and Aegon falls silent. “You’re thirty years old. Take some goddamn responsibility for something, for anything. I have to go to the pharmacy, Cregan has to fix the Tahoe, someone has to stay here with Daeron to help protect Jace and Baela, and Luke and Rhaena, and Helaena too. Just shut up and do the right thing. You have to start acting like an adult. Who do you think is in charge if I get killed? I’ve never for a single day of my life had the luxury of making selfish choices, and now I feel like I’m not even allowed to die. Leaving everyone else with you would be like leaving them with nobody.”

Aegon gazes up at him, not offended but childishly, mortally wounded. His oceanic eyes are huge and glistening. “But you’re not going to die before me.”

“That’s not the point,” Aemond pitches back, cutting, caustic. Then he starts down the long gravel driveway towards the road. You give Aegon a small, apologetic half-smile and then follow after his younger brother, Ice loping alongside you.

Rio thumps Aegon encouragingly on one shoulder. “See you soon, Honey Bun.” And Aegon watches the three of you disappear, standing in the dazzling midday light with his arms folded over his chest and his hair in hie face, kicking at the gravel with the Sperry Bahama sneakers he once wore on yachts and golf courses.

“Please try to be nice to him,” you tell Aemond when you’re far enough away to be out of earshot. Rio is humming a song you don’t immediately recognize—probably Enrique Iglesias—and acting like he’s not listening. “You don’t know how much longer any of us have. And if that was the last thing you ever said to him, you’d feel awful about it.”

“You have no idea what it was like being his brother. Since I was born all I’ve done is try to plug the holes he blasts into ships. But there’s always water on the floor, I’m never done bailing it out. He needs to learn how to do things for himself.”

“Yes, he does. But he loves you, and he wants you to be happy. He would never intentionally take anything from you. He’ll grow into his purpose, whatever that is.”

“He needs to do it faster,” Aemond says harshly, and you walk the rest of the way without speaking, listening for snarling or lurching footsteps, hearing nothing but birdsong and wind whispering through leaves.

The pharmacy—a diminutive family-owned business, not a chain—has been ravaged. The glass of the large bay window has been broken out and the shelves looted, empty containers and wrappers littering the floor, crystalline shards threatening to gash, stab, infect.

“Stay out here with the dog,” Aemond tells you. Ice is panting calmly, her ears relaxed, her strange yellowish eyes taking in the scenery without any concern. “If she gets her paws sliced up, Cregan will have yet another accusation to levy against me.”

“You’re going to have to get used to him.”

“Not much of an adjustment for you, it seems,” Aemond says, then steps through the shattered window, glass crunching beneath his shoes. Rio gives you a wink and goes after him. They rummage through the remaining merchandise, strewn about randomly and interspersed among trash. Aemond peeks behind the counter where pharmacists once filled prescriptions and climbs over it, searching for any bottles or boxes that were left behind.

“Sorry guys, no condoms,” Rio announces, then laughs at his own joke.

“Be careful,” you urge from outside. “Look underneath, check the bottom racks. Rio? Rio, down low, check them!”

“Relax, ain’t nothing going on in here. It’s silent as the grave.” He laughs again. “Get it? As the grave.”

“Aemond?”

“I’m fine,” he tells you as he squints to read medicine bottles.

“Okay, okay,” Rio says, squatting to examine the shelves closest to the cluttered floor. “I’m checking all the racks. There’s nothing scary under the racks. Happy now?”

“Very. Helaena said something that freaked me out.”

“She can be a bit of an enigma,” Aemond admits. He is taking a tiny box from a drawer to keep.

“Oh, we got Pedialyte!” Rio says, yanking a jug of pink fluid from a pile of debris. “You think Jace likes strawberry?”

Aemond hurries over to help him hunt for more. “Yeah. It’s like a Twizzler, right?”

Ice noses your hand and whimpers softly. You look down at her. “What?”

She whirls and canters around the side of the pharmacy, then returns to make sure you’re keeping up. You go after her, slow and wary, a hand on one of your Beretta M9s. There’s nothing of note to be found in the narrow, shadowy alleyway other than an overflowing dumpster and two skeletons stripped of every shred of fabric and flesh; even the bones were licked clean.

You turn to Ice. “Did I need to see this?” She whines and shifts her weight from foot to foot, ears perked up. Something else? You look down the alleyway. Far behind the pharmacy and the shops that surround it is a church on a jade green slope, old-fashioned, white wood and a belltower. There is a cemetery beside it, and amidst the small grey blurs of headstones are… “Oh,” you breathe. “So that’s where the rest of the town is.”

The graveyard is full of limp, swaying figures that can only be zombies. You are far away and draped in shadows; you retreat back to the pharmacy without any indication that you’ve been spotted, Ice trailing close behind. Aemond and Rio are climbing out of the window just as you arrive. They are each carrying three jugs of Pedialyte in various flavors.

“Where the hell’d you go?” Aemond says; but he sounds more relieved than irritated.

“There’s a church about an eight of a mile away. And there are a lot of zombies in the cemetery.”

Rio sets his Pedialyte down on the sidewalk and reaches for the Remington 12 gauge hanging over his shoulder by its leather strap. “Okay, let’s go clear them out.”

“No, I mean a lot. Like a hundred.”

He freezes. “Oh.”

“We should leave town,” you say.

“While Jace is puking and shitting everywhere? You want to be stuck in a car with that?”

Aemond is thinking, toying with the little box you saw him pick up earlier. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

“What’s that?” you ask him.

He shows you the label. “Injectable morphine. All the pills were gone, but I found one vial of this, and I have syringes in my medical kit. It doesn’t need to be refrigerated. It should still be useable.”

“For Baela?” For when she delivers the baby?

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Just in case.” Then he looks at both you and Rio meaningfully. “Don’t tell Aegon I have this.”

“We won’t,” Rio promises. And Ice begins trotting back towards the farmhouse, as if trying to rush you along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe is at the mouth of the long gravel driveway, still up on a hand-cranked scissor jack. The tire appears to be new, but the lug nuts haven’t been tightened, and the wrench is nowhere to be found.

“Cregan?” Rio says uncertainly, peeking through the cornstalks as they bend in the wind. “Hey, Cregan? Aemond’s sorry he was a bitch to you earlier. He wants you to return ASAP and do manual labor for him.” Aemond grimaces; Rio beams in reply. But Cregan does not appear.

You can hear them long before you reach the farmhouse, muffled chaotic chattering, raised voices and rushing footsteps. As you ascend the steps of the front porch, Rhaena bursts through the door.

“Thank God you’re back,” she says; there is blood on her hands. “It’s Jace, he…he…come look at him. Aemond, you have to do something. He’s sick, he’s really sick. He’s bleeding.”

“From where?” Aemond asks, urgent, bewildered.

“From everywhere,” Rhaena replies, and beckons for him to follow.

The bedsheets Jace is swathed in are blooming with crimson, flowers of doomed gore. Blood drips from his nostrils and his eyes; when he retches into the popcorn bucket, clots of pink and red spew out. Everyone is gathered around him and speaking at the same time, except Helaena. She is crouched on the floor of the hallway just outside his room, her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her face stricken. Ice curls up beside her.

Above the other voices, Baela screams at Aemond, a desperate horrified moan: “What’s wrong with him?!”

Aemond pushes by the others and feels Jace’s forehead, then grabs his wrist to measure his pulse. As Aemond’s fingers tighten, Jace’s skin rips beneath them, the top layer sliding off and leaving only glistening, raw pink. Jace howls, tears of blood streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t know,” Aemond says, his voice unsteady.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?!” Baela shouts back. “You’re a doctor! Fix him!”

“It hurts, Aemond,” Jace gasps, fresh blood on his teeth. When Baela touches his hair, locks of it fall out into her hand.

“He’s turning, right?” Rio says to you. “This is what happened to Snowflake, the blood and the skin and everything—?”

“He wasn’t bitten!” Luke insists, positioned in front of Jace’s bed as if he’s guarding it.

“I don’t care if we can’t find a bite mark, he’s decomposing for Christ’s sake, what the fuck else could it be?!”

Daeron returns with more blankets and towels. Aegon grabs a strawberry Pedialyte out of Rio’s grasp and tries to help Jace drink it. Cregan is muttering: “I ain’t never seen anything like this…”

Decomposing, you think dizzily. He wasn’t bitten, but he’s falling apart…what else does that to a person?

Baela cleans blood from his lips, a towel turning from snow to rubies. “Jace, baby, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to help you…”

“Could it be rat poison or something?” Cregan is saying. “Rabies? Mad cow disease? Ebola?”

“How the fuck do you think he got Ebola?!” Aemond exclaims. “You think he took a jet to sub-Saharan Africa when he was on his own? Use your brain.”

“I’m just trying to come up with ideas here, doc, and I don’t see you with any bright ones!”

He’s decomposing. He’s decomposing.

And then you remember. You kneel down beside the bed so you can look into his face, so you can make him pay attention. “Jace, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” he replies faintly. He coughs, wet and gurgling. Fresh blood paints his lips. There are blisters beginning to form up and down his arms, you see now, the skin bubbling and separating.

“Jace, do you remember Three Mile Island?”

“What the fuck.” He is baffled, dismissive. “Three Mile what? Huh? What are you talking about…?”

“You’re upsetting him,” Baela says fiercely, tears glittering in her eyes.

But you are determined. “Outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, after we left Fort Indiantown Gap. There were these huge concrete cooling towers. We saw them from the Wawa parking lot.” But he wasn’t there when we talked about radiation. He was still inside searching for guns. “Remember, Jace? Do you remember?”

Now Aemond and Rio are looking at you, petrified, realizing what you must be thinking. No one else understands yet. After a long pause, Jace nods feebly. “Yeah. I remember the towers.”

“Good,” you say, smiling to encourage him. “Okay, this is important. After we lost you at the river, before you found us again, did you see anywhere that looked like Three Mile Island?”

“Yeah,” Jace murmurs as he stares back at you with glazed, bloody eyes; and Rio sighs and shakes his head. “I drove right by it on the Honda. The sign said Byron.”

And it’s been over for him since that moment.

“Alright, Jace.” You want to touch him, to embrace him or cup his cheek. You know it will only make his suffering worse. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to ask.” He begins to gag again, and Baela hurries to place the popcorn bucket so it can catch his liquefying organs. You turn around and walk through the doorway.

“What’s happening?” Aegon asks you, hushed voice, frantic eyes. He has followed you to the living room, along with Aemond, Rio, and Cregan. You nod to Aemond. He knows.

“It’s radiation sickness,” Aemond says, low and bleak.

“What?!” Aegon gapes at him. “I mean, are you sure…?”

“It fits all the symptoms. He was in close proximity to a nuclear power plant, something the rest of us have intentionally avoided. If there was a meltdown, there are miles and miles that are poisoned with radiation. Passing by on a motorcycle could definitely result in a lethal dose.”

“Poor guy,” Rio says. “Not a good way to go.”

“No,” you agree. It isn’t.

“So how do you treat something like that?” Cregan asks Aemond.

“It can’t be treated,” Aemond replies tersely. “Not here, not by me, not by anyone. Not even if the world was normal again.”

“What do you mean it can’t be treated?! Everything can be treated nowadays! Cancer, heart attacks, diabetes, hell, my cousin got testicular cancer and he was fine a month later, he even got to keep one of his balls!”

“Radiation sickness can’t be treated. He’s going to die.”

“But how is that possible when—?!”

“I need you to try to not be stupid for five minutes,” Aemond snaps.

You say quietly: “He’s not stupid, Aemond. He just doesn’t know about this.”

“You are always defending him.”

“Because not going to med school isn’t a character flaw.”

Cregan asks mildly, looking at Aemond: “Could you explain it to me?”

“It’s pennies in a jar, man,” Rio says. “Radiation stacks up and at a certain point it kills you. It destroys your DNA and your body falls apart. You can get it just by going near someplace contaminated, and you might not even feel it happen. And there’s no way to undo the damage. The pennies never leave the jar.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at Aemond. “Was that so difficult?”

Aemond ignores him. “We have to tell Jace,” he says instead.

Back in the bedroom—a mineral stench in the air, coppery blood and the salt of sweat—Aegon sits on the edge of the bed and takes one of Jace’s swelling, blistering hands carefully in his own.

“Don’t hold my hand, you loser.” Jace mumbles, and Aegon respectfully releases him.

“Jace,” Aegon begins. “We think you have radiation sickness.”

Jace blinks up at him, wincing and disoriented. “Which means…?”

“Which means, um, it’s going to be…not great.”

“Why are you the person explaining this?”

“You’re right, I really shouldn’t be explaining it. Can someone else explain it…?” Aegon glances around hopefully.

“Jace,” Aemond says. “Those cooling towers you drove by were part of a nuclear power plant that melted down when the power grid collapsed. You received a fatal dose of radiation. It’s the only thing that explains what’s happening to you.”

“Fatal…?” Daeron ventures.

Rhaena gasps and reaches for Luke. Baela’s face is a mask of numb shock. Jace stares up at Aemond for a long time before he speaks. “Aemond, fix me.”

Aemond’s words are brittle and fracturing. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking around, man, you’re a doctor. You can fix me. I know you can. You’re a genius. You’re a total freak but you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Give me the pills, give me the shots. Cut me open if you have to. I won’t scream, I promise. Fix me. I trust you.”

“Jace, I can’t do anything. No one can.”

“I have to meet the baby, Aemond,” Jace whispers, scarlet tears bleeding down his cheeks. “I have to be here for Baela and Luke. Fix me, man. I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

“Jace,” Aemond says, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I can’t help you.”

Jace looks to Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and at last back to Aemond. “How long?”

“Not very. A few days, maybe.”

“Days?” he echoes, dazed. “What happens?”

Aemond shakes his head. You don’t want to know.

“Yeah I do. Tell me.”

Aemond can’t respond; clear silent tears snake down the right side of his face. Rio answers for him. “You continue to bleed out of every orifice and the rest of your skin falls off. And eventually you die.”

Jace breaks down in sobs. “I was trying to find you guys.”

Suddenly, Baela turns to you and Rio and Aemond, wrathful, hissing. “This is your fault.”

Aemond pleads: “Baela, please don’t—”

“You made me leave him at the river. I knew he was still alive, but you forced me to leave him. If he’d been with us, this never would have happened. But he was alone, and it was because of you. You did this to him. You stole him from me.”

Rhaena tries to console her. “Baela, no one meant to—”

“I just got him back!” she screams, and then shelters Jace in her arms as he clings to her, the skin of his fingers and palms flaking at the pressure, holding onto her anyway. No one knows what to say; everyone has tears burning in their eyes and embers in their throats. “Get out,” Baela demands. “Leave us alone. This is the last time I’ll ever have with him and it’s your fucking fault. So get out.”

And you leave them to their final moments, failing flesh in a dying world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Only Luke and Rhaena flit in and out of the bedroom, carrying soiled linens and the plastic popcorn bucket to be periodically emptied. The rest of you are engrossed in a grim, thunderstruck deathwatch in the living room. You discuss the inevitable in hushed murmurs. It is cruel to let Jace suffer; it is unspeakably horrible to let Baela witness it. Ice alternates between receiving scratches from Cregan, Helaena, and Aegon, never trying to enter Jace’s room. You can hear Jace and Baela talking in there, his retching and groaning, her sobs.

It is not until dusk that Rhaena summons Aemond. Luke is weeping as he paces back and forth in the bedroom. Baela is still sitting on the bed with Jace, resigned now. She does not apologize, but she doesn’t have any more venom to spit either. The rest of you watch from the hallway, keeping a respectful distance. Ice nudges your hand with her nose, but you ignore her. Jace’s bloody eyes roll to Aemond.

“I’m keeping you here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Aemond replies. There’s no point in lying.

“And I don’t need to feel myself melting like this for days. I get the idea.” Jace looks at Aemond for a while. His voice is anemic but calm; there are fresh blisters on his face and neck. “What can you give me?”

Aemond opens his medical kit and shows Jace the vial of morphine. “I found this at the pharmacy today. It would be painless, like going to sleep and never waking up.”

“Why do you have that?”

“I was thinking a small amount might help Baela during labor.”

“Is it the only morphine in your kit?”

“Yes.”

Jace nods. “Save it for Baela.” His gaze drops to the Glock in the holster at Aemond’s waist. “Can I borrow that?”

Rhaena stifles a dismayed yelp. Baela closes her eyes, but does not protest. Aemond says: “I don’t think you want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Cyclops,” Jace says, smiling. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“It’s heavy,” Aemond warns. He clicks off the safety and gives the Glock to Jace. “Are you able to use it by yourself?”

“It’s a very simple two-step process. Barrel to skull, finger on the trigger. I think I’ll manage.”

Again, Ice bumps her nose against your knuckles; again, you barely notice. Baela kisses Jace on the mouth, her lips coming away bloody. Rhaena says goodbye to him, then Luke, whispered parting words you don’t try to listen to. Before Aemond exits, Jace grasps his hand.

“Take care of my family, Aemond.”

“I will.”

“Don’t let the zombies eat me afterwards.”

And then it becomes real. Aemond’s composure falters. “Jace…I’m so sorry…”

“Go,” Jace urges him. Then there is a coughing fit, fresh blood and pieces of stomach and lungs. “Right now. Before I lose my nerve.”

Baela is the last one to leave the bedroom; she shuts the door behind her. Almost immediately afterwards is a deafening bang. Baela sinks to the floor and wails, one hand on her belly, the other embracing Rhaena and Luke when they rush to her. Ice is whining and pawing at the floor, her nails screeching on the hardwood. Aemond alone returns to Jace’s bedroom and reappears with his Glock. He places it back in his holster, his scarred face vacant. There’s blood on his fingers, you see. Jace’s blood, the last he’ll ever shed. Aemond hasn’t noticed yet.

You reach for Aemond’s hand; he flinches away. You ask him, pained: “Do you think if you don’t touch me, it won’t hurt you when I die?”

“Please don’t say that,” Aemond responds in a hoarse, splintering whisper.

Ice yowls, and Cregan is abruptly aware of her. “Oh shit, the Tahoe is still up on the jack. I’ll go get it.” He opens the front door. Under the moonlight, there are upwards of a hundred zombies stumbling down the long gravel driveway. Everyone begins screaming. Cregan slams the door shut and shoves one of the couches in front of it. “What now?!”

“We go through the cornfield,” Aemond says as you are all frantically gathering your sparse possessions. “It will be more difficult for them to see us. We kill as many as we can and we make our way to the Tahoe. Cregan, how long will it take you to get it ready to drive?”

“Maybe a minute. But I’ll need someone to spot me while I tighten the lug nuts.”

“Sounds like my kind of job opportunity,” Rio says, pumping his Remington. Helaena gives you a flashlight. Cregan secures the lug wrench under his belt and picks up his axe. Rhaena has her Ruger out and is telling Baela to breathe, to stay focused, to let her and Luke lead the way.

Aemond comes to you and leans in close so the others can’t hear. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Not enough. Maybe fifty.”

“Do what you can. Stay near Rio.”

“I’ll try.”

Now there are zombies at the front windows, beating their spongy swamp-colored palms against the glass. Baela, Rhaena, and Luke are leaving through the back door with Daeron; you can hear the whizzing of his arrows and the sick soft sound they make when they pierce rotting meat. Under the weight of so many hands, one of the living room windows pops from its frame and clatters against the floor. You open fire, bullets exploding skulls and spraying brains, corpses jolting and then diving to the ground. You shoot until both M9s are empty, then pause to reload, boxes of bullets that Cregan gave you back in Iowa.

“Let them in,” Helaena says.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Aegon shouts at her. He’s firing his Marlin .22 beside you, quite poorly; Rio and Aemond are in the backyard killing any zombies that find their way towards the cornfield. “We’re not letting them get through the house!”

“Not through,” Helaena says placidly. “In.”

“Oh.” Aegon understands. “Oh! I get it! Trap them inside!” He races to the kitchen and tears the remaining bottles of Grey Goose vodka out of the cabinet, then begins spilling them onto the wood floor. “Helaena, give me a lighter.”

She places one in his outstretched palm and then leaves with Cregan as he escorts her away, leading her by her fragile hand. They vanish together into the cornfield, Ice on their heels.

“Time to go, Chips!” Rio booms; he can’t be far behind Cregan.

“We’re on our way!”

Zombies are pouring through the front of the house; another window has given way. You pull the trigger over and over again as you move with Aegon towards the backyard, his clear river of vodka drawing a path from one end of the house to the other. You hit the grass before he does, then wait for him by the edge of the cornfield. Aemond and Rio are shouting for Aegon to hurry up. He crosses through the threshold, flicks the lighter to life, and throws it into the house. His plan works—the farmhouse is abruptly aflame, cooking zombies like long-spoiled hams—but he neglected to realize that in his haste, he had also accidentally doused his own left leg and Sperry Bahama sneaker. The fire licks up over Aegon’s skin and blazes there radiantly. He shrieks and falls to the ground. Rio yanks his own shirt off and uses it to smother the inferno, then throws Aegon over one shoulder to carry him.

“Go to Cregan!” Rio tells Aemond, shoving him in the direction of the Tahoe. Rio will be slower now, but no one else could still run with Aegon’s added weight. “You and Daeron spot him until I get there!” When Aemond is gone, Rio glances back at you.

“I’m fine,” you say, felling zombies as they round the house. “Get Aegon to the car!” And Rio listens to you like he always does, vanishing with Aegon through the cornfield.

You weave through the leafy stalks, investigating each growl and rustling with the beam of your flashlight. Grotesque, fetid faces plunge through the greenery, and you demolish them. You’re in the rhythm now, wheeling for a target and locking in, squeezing the trigger and watching ghoulish faces disappear. And then you spy a zombie lurching towards you from fifteen feet away, a twenty-something in a red Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt making her way down the dirt aisle between two rows of corn; and when you pull the trigger, there is only a dry click in reply. Your other M9 is already empty. You’ve used all the ammo Cregan gave you.

“I’m out of bullets,” you say, but no one hears you; you are alone. Aemond always told you to stay near Rio and you never did. Too late, you realize what an oversight that has been. “Rio? Aemond?!”

There are human voices and gunshots, but reverberating from a distance. Far closer are snarls and groans of the dead. You click off your flashlight, drop to the earth, and crawl until you are as far under a row of corn as you can be, long leaves tickling the back of your neck and damp soil in your nostrils. Clumsy, lumbering footsteps trod by you. From the road, you hear the Tahoe’s engine start with a rumble.

They’re leaving.

You shake your head, here with no one to see you in the dark. Still, the thought persists.

They’re leaving. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Chips, stay where you are!” Rio shouts. “We’re coming back, we’ll find you!”

You wait until they are within ten feet of you, Rio cracking skulls with his Remington—he must be out of bullets too—and Aemond firing his Glock. “I’m here, I’m here!” you cry, and they are lifting you up from the dirt and dragging you towards Tahoe, and Aemond puts his pistol in your hand knowing you can do more good with it. You fire ten rounds before the Glock is empty, and you think with terror: Do any of us have bullets left?

Then you are being helped into the Tahoe, and the second all the doors are shut Rhaena floors the gas pedal, heading west on State Route 92.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I got my drugs after all,” Aegon rasps as Aemond injects him with morphine on the floor of a laundromat on the edge of Merna, Nebraska, far enough to escape the zombies, not so far that the Tahoe risks running out of gas before you reach the next town. His left leg is burned from the knee down, and burned badly: skin, fat, muscle, blood-red scorched ruin. Even through the modest dose of morphine—Aemond is terrified of accidentally killing him—Aegon can still feel what has happened to him. He knows it’s bad. He knows it could be the last mistake he ever makes. “I’m so thirsty…”

“I got you, Honey Bun,” Rio says, and then uses the butt of his Remington to bust open the vending machines and bring him bottles of Powerade. Baela is sobbing in the corner with Luke and Rhaena. Helaena is shining a flashlight on Aegon’s leg so Aemond can see. Daeron and Cregan are keeping watch by the entrance. You don’t even know why. All the bullets and arrows are gone, Aegon can’t walk, the Tahoe’s gas tank is nearly drained. If you are descended upon now, what will you do?

Aegon sobs and clutches for you, links his arms around your waist, rests his head in your lap. You hold him and comb your fingers through his unruly hair over and over again, like a compulsion, like a ritual. You are so afraid to let go of him. You are terrified he’ll disappear.

I wish I knew what to say. I never know what to say.

He’s shaking uncontrollably as Aemond cleans his leg: peeling away dead skin, wiping down the raw flesh with disinfectant. Aegon’s eyes are wide and glassy. There is blood on the white tile floor, pinkish lymph fluid, bits of charred skin. Ice is whimpering, her muzzle propped on her paws and her eyes darting around the room. Aegon manages through the pain, a reedy, gasping whisper: “Tell me about all those places you went when you were in the Navy.”

You can see it like the miles-deep blue of his eyes: the Indian Ocean, the jewel-tone equatorial sky. “On Diego Garcia, they have these birds called red-footed boobies—”

Aegon barks out a weak laugh. “They do not. You’re making that up.”

“No, really, I swear! They’re like seagulls, but they have blue on their face and bright red feet, hence the name. They’re extremely stupid, and one night a few of us were hanging out drinking Guinness and playing pool, and a booby flew in through an open window. We panicked, it panicked, and then it was flying in circles and couldn’t get out. We opened all the doors and windows, and the booby still just flew around banging into the walls. And of course the whole time it was shitting and bleeding and getting feathers everywhere, we knew it was going to take hours to clean up. After thirty minutes of chasing this idiot bird around, Rio snapped, took off his boot, and smacked the booby with it. He was trying to fling it out the window, like hitting a tennis ball with a racket, but he accidentally hit the bird too hard and murdered it. Its beak literally separated from its body and flew across the room. None of us could believe it, we didn’t even know that was possible. Rio felt so bad he started crying. We took the booby—and its beak, of course—out to the beach for a Viking funeral. We made it a little raft of coconut tree leaves, set it on fire with a lighter, and pushed it out into the waves.”

Aegon is cackling. “Bryan Osorio, terrorizer of the homicidal undead and boobies!”

“What else?” Baela says, and you look over at her, startled. The flashlight incandescence turns you all to ghosts, phantoms, half-shadows. At first you don’t know what she means. “What else did they have on Diego Garcia?”

“Oh, tell them about the coconut crabs,” Rio prompts you. He’s settled down beside Aegon and is resting one broad hand on his trembling shoulder.

“Coconut crabs?” Rhaena asks you, wiping tears from her cheeks with her delicate, small-boned fingers.

You are abruptly aware that you have an audience. You can feel yourself shrinking beneath their gazes. “Rio should tell the story. I’m not good at it.”

“Sure you are,” Rio says, smiling kindly beneath dark, wet eyes. “Go on. Tell them.”

So you do.

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

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reasonsforhope · 8 months

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"A Ghanaian-English entrepreneur has designed an electric bike from the ground up that’s transforming short-range transportation in her home country, proving that problem-solving in Africa can be done in Africa, by Africans.

[Valerie Labi's] company, Wahu!, assembles each bike by hand, and they can travel up to 80 miles [128 kilometers] on a single charge. This means that a delivery rider for Glovo or Bolt can comfortably cover a whole day’s work without refueling.

Anyone who’s visited Accra, Ghana, in the dry season will remember the incredibly poor air quality. Poor roads mean that cars are stuck in second and third gears, and old cars traveling in second and third gears mean plenty of extra car exhaust.

Poor roads also mean exposed dirt, and exposed dirt means fine-grained dust. Combined with a lack of rain, the smog, dust, and car exhaust make the air in parts of the capital unfit for human health.

Wahu! bikes help alleviate all three of these problems, and despite her English nativity [Note: Super weird and unclear way to phrase it?] and education, the bikes were designed and manufactured in Spintex, Accra.

“By introducing electric bikes into Ghana’s transportation ecosystem, we’re not only providing a greener alternative but also offering speed and convenience,” Labi told The Mirror. “Our bikes are a testament to how service delivery can be seamlessly merged with environmental conservation.”

Valerie Labi is a true inspiration, and besides her transportation company, she got her start in the Ghanaian economy in sanitation. She holds a chieftaincy title as Gundugu Sabtanaa, given to her by the previous Chief of the Dagbon traditional area in the Northern Region of Ghana. She has three children, holds a double major in Economics and Sustainability from two separate universities, and has visited 59 countries.

Getting her start in Northern Ghana, she founded the social enterprise Sama Sama, a mobile toilet and sanitation company that now boasts 300,000 clients.

During her travels around the small, densely populated country, she also recognized that transportation was not only a problem, but offered real potential for eco-friendly solutions.

“It took us two years to effectively design a bike that we thought was fit for the African road, then we connected with Jumia and other delivery companies to get started,” she told The Mirror. “Currently, I have over 100 bikes in circulation and we give the bikes on a ‘work and pay’ basis directly to delivery riders.”

According to Labi, each driver pays about 300 Ghana cedis, or about $24.00, per week to use the bike, which can travel 24 miles per hour, and hold over 300 pounds of weight. The fat tires are supported by double-crown front/double-spring rear suspension.

The bikes are also guaranteed by the company’s proprietary anti-theft system of trackers. Only a single bike has been stolen, and it was quickly located and returned to the owner."

-via Good News Network, January 24, 2024

#ghana #africa #black excellence #black entrepreneurship #black girl magic #transportation #ebikes #bikes #delivery drivers #sustainability #air pollution #environment #good news #hope #btw want to say for the record that it is generally considered journalism best practice #to not use a person's name in the headline of an article unless they're already a public figure #partly for privacy reasons and partly because that way the title gives readers more info that they can usefully interpret #so not including her name in the article title isn't inherently a huge snub #though the fact that GNN forgot to include her name until like the 6th paragraph kind of is!#I looked into using the original article this is based on because of that but imho it wasn't as good #it was in interview format and the intro at the beginning had way less info on accra and the bikes/her company/her work

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alpaca-clouds · 1 month

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Walkable Cities vs Americans

Let me talk about this in more details, after I already brought it up on Monday.

I am very aware that most users of this wonderful hellsite are very much living on some stolen land in North America. And hence are used to urban sprawl and to not getting anywhere without using a car, because it is not really feasible.

I know this. I am from Germany, but I have spent about 3,5 months in the USA between 2013 and 2014.

Now, while living in Germany the longest distance I have ever lived away from a proper supermarket was about 12 minutes on foot. At the time we had moved into a newly constructed area and for the first two years the supermarket that was supposed to be build there was just delayed. Hence the next supermarket was a bit away. After that supermarket was build, though, we had one in just 5 minutes walking distance.

This is of course connected to the fact that I always have lived in towns and cities - and that the few years of my childhood where I lived in a village... That village still had a supermarket just at the end of my street. Yes, I do have a friend who lives in a very rural part of Eastern Germany, who has to drive 40 minutes by car to reach a supermarket, as she is basically living in the German equivalent of a food desert.

Technically I was lucky, too, when I lived in the USA. Because the dorm I was being housed in was right across the street of a supermarket. I learned how ever that said supermarket was a) expensive as hell, and b) did not have good food. So, after trying it three times, I opted to once a week take a handcart and make my way over to the next Amish market about three miles away.

But something I generally learned while there was: People look at you as if you are insane for walking. I still very much remember when I was walking through the city looking for the harbor and I asked some old ladies for directions. "Oh, yeah, that is just in this direction. But it is more than a mile. Are you sure you wanna walk that?" And I just stood there: *confused German stare*

In fact, when i arrived at the dorm, someone was like: "Oh, great. We should celebrate and get to the coldstone! Let's take the car." And then we took the car to drive like 300 meters. And again I was standing there like: *confused German stare*

But... It is a bit of a two-sided issue, right? Because yeah, American cities are build around cars. If there are sidewalks they are often not easy to walk on. And if you are disabled, then tough luck. Chances are the side walks are not accessible for you. Especially if you need mobility aids of some sort.

And suburbia is not really accessible without a car either way. Especially not safely, given there are often only few street lights for crossing the roads and such.

Sure, the city centers are a bit easier to get around in. But even there you often have to walk a good way. Of course, given that the zoning laws often keep housing from anything commercial. While over here in Germany we just have a supermarket in the middle of a housing district, or have shops on the ground floor of a building that is otherwise used for housing that is often not possible in the US. And I get that.

And still... I do feel that there also is a bit of an issue a lot of folks have with even trying to just not use the car. Again: Who the flying fuck uses a car for 300 meters? (Unless they are disabled.) And that is stuff I saw several times in the USA. And in that case there was a proper and even fairly wide sidewalk. So... WHY?! Just WHY?!

#walkable cities #15 minute city #solarpunk #lunarpunk #usa #car centric infrastructure

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dianawinchester03 · 4 months

Text

Season 2, Episode 3 - Blood Lust

Series Masterlist

Y/N's POV

The boys and I were driving down an empty road, the middle of the day in Deans newly refurbished car. Back in Black by AC/DC was blasting through her deck. Baby was fixed up to a mint, Quinn took some work but she's locked and loaded, ready to be ridden. But I decided to just tag along with the boys until I'm ready to ride my girl again, she needed a rest after what happened to her so I left her at Bobby's.

"Woo! Listen to her purr. You ever heard anything so sweet?" Dean exclaims excitedly, a large smile across his face. Me and Sam share an amused look in the rearview mirror. Chuckling, I lean forward between the boys from the backseat, "You know, if you two wanna get a room, just let me and Sam know" I quip jokingly. "Seriously, Dean. It's weird" Sam chuckles.

"Awww, don't listen to her, baby. She's just jealous" Dean caresses his steering wheel, flashing me a sly wink. I scoff along with Sam, as we all share a laugh. My heart warms to see Dean so happy for once. "You're in a good mood" Sam points out a bit surprised. "Why shouldn't I be?" Dean asks curiously. Me and Sam shrug, "No reason" We say in unison.

"I got my car. We got a case. Things are looking up" Dean smirks widely, his tone filled with excitement. "Wow. Give you a couple severed heads and a pile of dead cows and you're Mr. Sunshine" I shoot jokingly. Dean laughs along with Sam at my statement, "How far to Red Lodge?" Dean asks. "Uh, about another 300 miles" Sam answers.

"Good" Dean smirks, his foot went heavier on the gas. Speeding up down the empty stretch. Me and Sam held on for dear life as he flies down the road.

________________________________

Red Lodge, Montana

Sam, Dean and I were now in Montana, posing as reporters to the police sheriff in order to collect data on the case. They were dressed in suits and ties while I was dressed in a baby blue floral blouse and a black above-the-knee pencil skirt. We sat in his office, across from him as we questioned. "The murder investigation is ongoing. That's all I can share with the press." The sheriff says to us.

"Sure, sure. We understand that. But just for the record. You found the first, uh, head last week correct?" Sam asks professionally, pretending to take notes on a pad. "Uh-huh" the sheriff responds. "Okay, and the other, a Christina Flanagan" Sam goes to ask but the sheriff cuts him off. "That was two days ago, is there any-" The sheriff is interrupted by a knocking at the door.

"Excuse me, sheriff" A young blonde woman knocks at his door, tapping the watch in her wrist. Indicating times up, "Alright." He nods at her. "Sorry, gentleman and lady. Times up. We're done here" The sheriff dismisses, ready to get up. "Wait, one last question" I try to stop him. "What about the cattle?" Dean quickly asks.

"Excuse me?" The sheriff cocks his eyebrow. "You know, the cows found dead...split open, drained, over a dozen cases" Dean further says, giving the sheriff and knowing look. "What about them?" The sheriff scoffs. "So you don't think there's a connection?" I add. He turns to me confused, "Connection with...?" He trails off. "First, cattle mutilations...now uh. Now two murders. Kind of sounds like ritual stuff" I say superstitiously.

"You know, like satanic cult ritual stuff" Dean adds, shrugging a bit. The sheriff looks between all of us before bursting out laughing and pointing at us. We all roll our eyes at this, "You..." The sheriff laughs, it descends when he sees the serious looks on our faces. "You're not kidding" He says dryly. "No" Sam responds, shaking his head.

"Those cows aren't being mutilated. You wanna know how I know?" The sheriff asks firmly, clasping his hands infront of him. "How?" Dean asks. "Because there's no such thing as cattle mutilations. Cow drops, leave it in the sun...within 48 hours the bloat will split it open so clean it's just about surgical" The sheriff explains with a sarcastic smile.

"The bodily fluids fall down into the ground, gets soaked up because that's what gravity does" He talks to us as if we were 5 year olds. "But, hey, it could be Satan" He says sarcastically. "What newspaper did you say you work for?" He asks us suspiciously. Dean clears his throat awkwardly, "World Weekly News" Dean answers unsure. "Weekly World News" I correct.

"World-" Dean stutters. "Weekly World" Sam corrects. "World- I'm new" Dean chuckles nervously. The sheriff narrows his eyes at us, "Get out of my office" He says firmly.

________________________________

Later that day, the boys and I headed over to the Candler County Hospital Morgue. We threw over some lab coats we found in a supply closet to blend in. I swung the door open to the morgue, a young man sat at a desk looked up at me. I flashed him a coy smile before looking down at his ID badge to see 'J.Manner' with his picture.

"John" I guessed his name. "Jeff" He corrected with a wide smile, getting up from his desk. "Jeff. I knew that" I chuckle flirtatiously. From the corner of my eye I see Dean cocked his eyebrow before rolling his eyes. "Dr. Dworkin needs to see you in his office right away" I say urgently, to Jeff to get him out. "But Dr. Dworkin's on vacation" Jeff says. I come up with the first lie I could think of and say,

"Well he's back and he's pissed. And he's screaming for you, man. So if I were you I would.." I say quickly, letting out a low whistle so he could skedaddle. Jeff did exactly that, a look of horror on his face. "Nice job, Princess" Dean snorts, giving me a wink. I scoff chuckling, "Thanks, charming" I chuckle as Sam closes the door behind him.

"Hey, those Satanists in Florida, they marked their victims, didn't they?" Dean asks us, getting straight into work mode. "Yeah. Reverse pentacle on the forehead" Sam answers. "Huh, gross" I mutter cringing as Dean hands me a pair of latex gloves, along with Sam. "So much fucked up crap happens in Florida" Dean agrees as we snap on our gloves.

Sam opens the door to one of the body deal storage refrigerators, pulling out the tray with one of the victims body. The corpse was headless as expected and there was a large plastic container was at its feet, presumably it's head. "Alright, open it" Dean says to Sam. "No. You open it" Sam quips back defensively. I roll my eyes at this, "Jesus, you wussies. I'll open it" I groan, taking the container off the tray and resting it over on the table.

I could feel their glares at the back of my head, but I ignore it. "We're not wussies" Dean scoffs offended. "Whatever" I mutter. They come up besides me as I I take the lid off the reveal the mutilated head of a young girl, Dean flinches back in disgust as Sam grimaces. My heart gave out for her. "Well, no pentagram" Dean mutters. "Wow. Poor girl" Sam sighs heavily, I nod in agreement.

"Maybe we should, you know, uh, look in her mouth. See if those wackos stuffed anything down her throat." Dean suggests. "You know, kind of like the moth in Silence of the Lambs?" Dean pats me on the small of my back. I chuckle at his movie reference as Sam nods, "Yeah, yeah, go ahead" Sam agrees, pushing the container closer to Dean. He turns the container back to Sam, "No you go ahead".

Sam looks at him confused, "What?" Sam scoffs. "Put the lotion in the basket" Dean smiles smugly. I roll my eyes at them, "Oh for Christ's sake. And you have the gall to say you're not wussies" I huff, earning a snicker from Sam as Deans smile drops. I turn the container to me, taking a deep breath before clearing my throat.

Using my gloved fingers, I pry her cold mouth open. A chill running up my hands as I do so, my stomach began to churn as I stuck my fingers in her mouth searching. "Fellas, get me a bucket" I ask them quickly. Dean immediately gets the bucket near the mops and broom. "Find something?" Sam asks hopefully. "No, I'm gonna puke" I groan, gagging in disgust.

Sam gives me an unimpressed look, "Right, and we're the wussies" Dean snorts, resting the bucket next to me, a triumphant smirk on his face. "Would you like to stick your fingers in the dead girls mouth? No, I didn't think so!" I snap at him, his smirk dropped as I dug around in her mouth. I shook my head, taking my fingers out as they peered beside to me to take a look.

"Wait, lift her lip up again" Dean tells me. "What?" I scoff. "You want me to throw up" I groan, "No, no, no. I think I saw something" Dean defends, lifting her top lip up. "Yeah, I think I saw it too" Sam leans closer. My eyebrows shoot up to reveal what seemed like a hole in her gums. "What is that, a hole?" Dean questions, Sam then puts his finger behind it, pressing it slightly.

That's when a tooth came retracting and my stomach dropped. Vampire. "It's a tooth" Sam says. "Fellas, that's a fang" I point out, my mouth agape as Sam gasps. "A retractable set of vampire fangs. You gotta be kidding me" Dean groans, letting go of her mouth. "Well, this changes things" Sam mutters. "Ya think?" I quip sarcastically. The boys gave me a sympathetic look at my tone.

________________________________

The boys and I pulled up to a nearby bar later that night, we assumed it to be the vampires hang out spot in the area since it's near where the girl was killed. We all have each other a look before exiting Baby and heading towards the bar. Dean opened the door, gesturing for me to go in first all gentlemanly like. I flash him a sly wink before walking in, I'm pretty sure I felt his eyes on my ass so I added an extra sway to my hips.

Sam walked behind me into the crowed dark bar as Dean closed the door. We scoped our surroundings carefully, "How's it going?" Dean greets the bartender as we approach the bar, "Living the dream. What can I get for ya?" The bartender dryly responds. "Three beers please" Dean says, the three of us taking seats at the bar. Sam and Dean besides me, "So we're looking for some people."

Sam says to then bartender. "Sure. It's hard to be lonely" The bartender deadpans. Sam chuckles lightly along with me and Dean. "Yeah, that's not what he meant" I say in a coy tone, taking out a $50 bill I had stuffed in my bra. His eyebrows shoot up, along with Sam and Dean at my move as I slide it across to the bartender, he glances down at it intrigued before taking it up.

Sam clears his throat, "Great, so these people, they would've moved here about six months ago. Probably pretty rowdy, like to drink" Sam explains. "Yeah, real night owls, you know? Sleep all day, party all night" Dean adds, sipping his beer. I felt a weird sensation on my back, almost creepy. Almost as if someone was staring at me. I turnt my head to see an African-American man who was smoking a cigarette, his eyes trained straight at me and the boys.

"Barker Farm got leased out a couple months ago. Real winners. They've been in here a lot. Drinkers. Noisy. I've had to eighty-six them once or twice" The bartender says. The man breaks his gaze with me when he realized I noticed him, I got a strange vibe from him but I ignored it. Probably just some creep. The boys and I share a look before turning back to him, "Thanks" I say kindly before we all finish our beers.

We rest out empty beer bottles down at the bar and begin to head out. I made sure to look back in the seat where the man who I caught staring at us was, now empty. Gone. His mug still half full, the half finished cigarette crushed in the ashtray. "Wait, fellas" I stop Sam from opening the door. "What's wrong, y/n/n?" Sam asks me concerned.

"There was a guy in the corner, over there. He was staring right at us when we questioned the bartender" I whisper to them in a low tone, nodding my head towards the table. Their eyes flicker to it and then back to me, "You think he's still outside?" Dean whispers back. "I don't know, let's walk down the alley and see if he follows us" I suggest. They both share a look before nodding.

Sam opened the door as me and Dean walked besides him. I still felt as though someone was watching so I scanned my surroundings to make sure but no one was there. They both gave me a look that said, 'Ready?'. I nodded in response as we made our way down the alley, my father's machete tucked up my sleeve of my leather jacket.

The boys walked besides me as usual, me in the middle as we strolled down, we heard footsteps padding towards us as we bent the corner around the bar. We all quickly hide away in a dark corner, where he was sure not to see us. The footsteps stopped, so the boys and I took that as a go. Jumping the man in a sneak attack.

Sam and Dean both grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, "Smile" I grit my teeth at him, pressing my fathers machete to his neck. "Show us those pearly whites" Dean growls at him, slamming him harder against the wall Sam's help. "Oh, for the love of-" The man groans. "You wanna stick that thing someplace else? I'm not a vampire" The man tries to defend himself. We all still glare at him, not convinced.

"Yeah, that's right. I heard you guys in there" The man says smugly. "What do you know about vampires?" Sam growls. "How to kill them. Now seriously, sweetheart. That knifes making me itch" The man widens his eyes at me, I cock my eyebrows at him and tilt my head a bit. I give Sam a look and he slams the man harder into the wall, "Hey! Woah, easy there, Chachi" The man snarks at Sam before raising his hand up.

He lifts his upper lip to show us his gums. It didn't have a hole like the girls one in the morgue. "See? Fangless. Happy?" He grumbles. The boys and I share a look before slowly retracting. They let him go as I slowly draw my blade always from him. "Now, who the hell are you?" The man asks us.

We were now by Gordon's, the man who we almost decapitated, car. "Sam and Dean Winchester. And Y/N L/N." Gordon says excitedly, pulling out a side cabinet from his backseat with a load of blades. Sickles, machetes. You name it. "I can't believe it. I know I met your fathers once? Great guys, even greater hunters" Gordon says with a wide smile. "I heard they passed....I'm sorry" Gordon says apologetically.

"Not to pry. But is it true that a vampire killed F/N?" Gordon asks me. My eyes snap up to him, I just nod in response. "I'm sorry" He says genuinely. I just shrug at it. "That's big shoes. But from what I hear, you guys fill them. Great trackers. Good in a tight spot" Gordon says. I roll my eyes at his fake flattery.

We all give him a suspicious look. "You seem to know a lot about our families" I say in a dry tone. "Well word travels fast. You know how hunters talk" Gordon says causally. The boys and I share a look at this. "No, we don't actually" Dean says. "I guess there's a lot you dads never told you kids, huh?" Gordon says. "So, um. So those two vampires, they were yours, huh?" Sam asks.

"Yep. Been here two weeks" Gordon responds nodding. "You check out that Barker farm?" Dean asks. "Just a bunch of hippie freaks. Though they could kill you with that patchouli smell on them" Gordon chuckles. "Where's the nest, then?" I ask. Gordon chuckles again, scoffing a bit before retracting the cabinet back into his car.

"I've got this one covered." He says, I roll my eyes at this. "Look, don't get me wrong, it's a real pleasure meeting you guys. But I've been on this thing for over a year" He tells us. "I killed a gang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way over here. I'll finish it" He assures us firmly. "We could help" Dean offers. "Thanks. But I'm kind of a go-it-alone type of guy" Gordon narrows his eyes at us.

"Come on, man. I've been itching for a hunt" Dean tries to reason. "And I would love to hand it to those bloodsucking killers" I add pervasively. I notice Sam give us a side look at this. Gordon shakes his head, "Sorry. But, hey. I hear there's a chupacabra two states over. Go ahead and knock yourselves out" Gordon offers before getting into his car.

He locks the door before telling us, "It was real good meeting you, though." He smiles at us. "I'll buy you a drink on the flip side" He smirks, flashing me a wink. I cringe in disgust at this, not interested whatsoever. He then starts his ignition before driving off. The boys and I share a look at this.

________________________________

We decided to trail Gordon's car, eventually ending up at an old mill. We watched as he got out and entered. We waited a couple minutes before the roaring sound of an electric saw filled our ears. We all bolt into action and jumped out of Baby, running towards the sound in a hurry. We're met with the sight of Gordon being held under the saw by his neck on a ledge by a man wearing a mechanic outfit.

Sam hurried up the ledge and pulled Gordon out of the way, the man turns and flashes his fangs at me and Dean. Dean grabs an old spear and swings at the man, headfirst. I drew my feet back in a swift motion and kneed the vampire in his stomach, sending him stumbling back into Gordon's previous position under the saw.

Dean raised the spear over his head before driving it through the vampires gut, earning an animalistic painful roar from him. My eyes flickered to the saw and a nasty idea came across my mind. Vengeance, hatred, grief swirled around my noggin. Without thinking, I grabbed the saw and pulled it down onto the vampires neck.

Decapitating him in a slow painful manner. His blood splattered across my grim face, while glaring at him, I clenched my jaw as the vampire roared again in anguish. His head was finally off clean and went tumbling back. I got this sick feeling in my stomach after killing him, it wasn't nausea, that's for sure. I thought I would've enjoyed it more.

I turnt to the men to see Sam with a look of disbelief on his face, a proud almost lustful smirk plastered on Dean's lips and a impress look on Gordon's, his mouth agape. "So I guess I gotta buy you that drink now" Gordon says impressed. I don't answer, my bloodied face stoic.

________________________________

We're all now back at the barber we're at earlier. Dean and Gordon were hankering down a pitcher of beer, celebrating. My cigarette tucked between my lips as me and Sam sat upright in our seats, our eyes narrowed in Gordon's direction. My stomach was still churning from killing that vampire. It didn't feel as good killing that vamp as much as I expected. I relished in killing Kate, the bitch who took my father too soon from me.

But this time didn't feel as good. Gordon didn't rub me the right way at all. Now I know what you're saying. 'You barely know the guy, Y/N. Give him a break.' But something about this guy is already getting on my nerves. Blame it on my ESP thing or whatever you want, something isn't right with him.

A waitress approaches our table and rests down four shots. "Here you go" She says kindly, Dean goes to dig in his pocket to pay for them but Gordon stops him. "No, no. I got it" He says, handing the waitress the money. "Come on" Dean cuts in. "I insist" Gordon says firmly, shaking his head. "Thank you, sweetie" He smiles at the waitress. "You're welcome" The waitress responds sweetly before walking off.

Gordon picks up his shot along with Dean, "Another one bites the dust" He smirks. "That's right" Dean smirks back before toasting, both downing the shots. "Y/N" Gordon says before chuckling. "You have that big-ass fang one hell of a haircut, sweetie" Gordon smiles at me. I narrow my eyes further at him, simply nodding, crushing my burnt out bud in the ashtray in-front of us.

"Yeah, atta girl princess. You did good" Dean congratulates me, flashing me a wink. Normally I'd swoon at this but I wasn't in the mood at this time, it still made my heart flutter, his praising rising a heat in me. "Thanks" I responded softly. "That was beautiful, absolutely beautiful" Gordon continues to compliment. Both me and Sam scoff, rolling our eyes.

"You two alright? What's the matter, Sammy?" Dean asks us concerned, realizing we're on edge as he takes a sip of his beer. I make eye contact with Dean, trying to tell him with my eyes, 'I don't trust this guy'. But he doesn't pick up on it. "Yeah, we're fine" Sam answers for the both of us in a deadpan tone. "Well, lighten up a little, Sammy" Gordon tries to cheer him up.

My eyes widened slightly when Gordon called him Sammy. "They're the only ones that get to call me that" Sam retorts in a dry tone. Gordon's face drops, I notice Dean smirked proudly, "Okay. No offense meant. Just celebrating a little." Gordon says awkwardly. I'm not gonna lie, I had to hold back a laugh at this. I felt special because normally whenever we call him Sammy, he always groans 'It's Sam' or rolls his eyes unimpressed.

"A job well done by Princess Y/N over here" Gordon smirks at me, flashing me a sly wink. My nostrils flare, my eyes twitching at this. I couldn't help but notice Deans grip tightened around his beer mug. "Don't you dare call me that" I growl at him. "Woah, woah" Gordon puts his hands up in surrender chuckling, Deans eyes snap over to him in fury.

His eyes flickered between me and Dean before his mouth formed the shape of an 'O'. "Sorry, man" Gordon chuckles, patting Dean on his knee. "Didn't mean to disrespect you or your girl" He grins widely. Deans anger seemed to diminish, his eyebrow cocked. Normally, I'd feel pleasant or have butterflies in my stomach when someone mistakes me for Deans girlfriend.

But coming from this jackass, my eye twitched. My fists clenched in my lap, the table began to shake slightly. Causing Gordon to look confused and stunned. "What the fuck?" Gordon muttered, trying to not make all the beers fall over. Sam and Deans eyes snapped over to me in fear when this began to happen. "Hey, hey" Dean whispers to me, resting a hand on my thigh.

"Relax" He says calmly, caressing my thigh gently, a pleading look in his eyes. My stomach fluttered, my eyes snapping back over to Deans. My heart rate quickened, my anger slightly diminishing. The table then settled, the shaking stopping in an instant. "How the hell did you do that?" Gordon gasps, his eyes wide. Dean chuckles nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about" I shrug innocently, narrowing my eyes at him.

Gordon cocked his eyebrow at me, unconvinced. The whole time this was happening, Sam looked like he was holding back the biggest laugh. A wide smirk on his face. "Look, I'm not gonna bring you guys down. I'm just gonna go back to the motel, you coming Sammy?" I turn to Sam. "Yeah, let's go" Sam says, getting up from the chair along with me.

Dean sighs disappointed, "You guys sure?" He asks, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Yeah" I respond simply, following behind Sam. "Sammy, y/n/n." Dean calls out to us. We turn to see him shaking the keys to the Impala at us. "Remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you two later, alright?" Dean quipped, tossing me the keys. I quickly catch it, scoffing at the fact that he'd rather stay here and get shit faced with Gordon.

Sam gives Dean his classic bitchface as we walk out towards the exit. Sam then opens the door, gesturing for me to go first. A mischievous thought crossed my mind. "Wait" I stop Sam. "What?" He asks me confused, his hand still holding the door open. A smirk rises on my face, his eyebrows raised at my expression and then I focused my gaze on Gordon's beer mug in his hands.

In mere seconds, it suddenly slipped from Gordon's grip and spontaneously combusted mid air. The glass scattered across the floor along with the beer. "Shit! Ahhh!" Gordon yelps, getting up quickly. "How the hell did I drop it?! Waitress!" He exclaims, calling the waitress over to clean the mess up. Sam bursted out in hysterics, causing Deans eyes snap over to us.

His face dropped, shooting me an unimpressed look, shaking his head in disappointment. I smirk back at him, shrugging nonchalantly, "Now, we can go" I say to Sam smugly, who's biting his fist from laughing. I strut out the door, adding a sway to my hips. Sam followed behind me, still laughing as we exit. Closing the door behind us. Sam hunched over, his hands on his knees. "Dude, you gotta teach me that" Sam exclaims in hysterics.

________________________________

We entered the motel room, bad mouthing Gordon. "He's a snake I tell ya, something isn't right about that guy" Sam rambles as we strip our jackets off. "That's exactly how I felt! I mean; who the fuck does he think he is? Calling you 'Sammy' and me 'princess' " I agree, huffing as rest Deans keys gently on the table next to my machete. I grew a bit silent, my mind flickering back to the vamp as I sink on my bed.

Sam notices this, so he asks, "You okay?" He asks concerned, sitting next to me on my bed. "I don't know" I sigh, leaning back on the headboard. I cross my arms over my chest, relaxing a bit as I throw my feet up on his lap. "When we found out that that dead girl was a vampire. My dad came rushing back to my mind. And I was partially excited to kill some bloodsuckers." I admit.

Sam gives me a sympathetic look, "But then when I killed that guy. It didn't feel right, you know? I expected it to feel more satisfaction that I took away one more monster like I usually do whenever we gank em. But it felt....off" I sigh, shaking my head. A lump growing in my throat, "Hey" Sam says gently, resting his hands on my shins. My eyes meet his, tears ready to fall as my bite my lip.

"You did what you had to do. I might not like the guy, but he was gonna kill Gordon. And he might have killed us." Sam assures me, offering me a small smile. "F/N would've been proud" Sam says softly. I scoff back a chuckle, wiping the tear away from my eye before wiping my nose. "Have you met the man?" I ask sarcastically, chuckling. Sam chuckles, shaking his head in amusement.

"He would've found someway to complain about what I did wrong, probably would've told me I should've burnt the corpse too, just in case" I chuckle, shaking my head. "You got me there" Sam admits, chuckling along with me. He pats my shin, indicating for me to take my feet off his lap. I do exactly that, he then gets up and goes over to his bag. "What're you doing?" I ask curiously.

"Calling Ellen to find out about this Gordon guy" He responds, taking out his phone. He searches for Ellen's contact, sinking back next to me in the bed. He puts it on speaker and it rings a couple times, "Harvelle's Roadhouse" Ellen answers. "Hey, Ellen. It's Sam Winchester and Y/N L/N" Sam responds. "Sam, Y/N. It's good to hear from you" Ellen says happily. "You kids okay, right?" She asks us concerned.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine" I assure her. "We got a question though" I add. "Yeah, shoot" She says. "You ever run across a guy named Gordon Walker?" Sam asks. "Yeah, I know Gordon" She confirms. "And?" I ask for her to further continue. "Well, he's a real good hunter. Why you asking, sweetie?" She asks. "Well, we ran into him on a job and we're kind of working with him, I guess" Sam informs her.

"Don't do that guys" Ellen quickly warns us. Sam and I share a panicked look at this. "I- I thought you said he was a good hunter" I stutter. "Yeah, and Hannibal Lecter's a good psychiatrist." Ellen mutters. "Look, he is dangerous to everyone and everything around him. If he's working on a job, you kids just let him handle it and move on" She instructs us firmly. "Ellen-" Sam goes to say but she interrupts him.

"No, Sam, Y/N. You two just listen to what I'm telling you, okay?" She says firmly. Sam and I can't believe what we're hearing, we were right. "Yes ma'am" We both respond in unison, "Good, you kids stay safe okay?" She says in a mother tone. "We will. Thanks Ellen" I finish before Sam hangs us, scoffing as he tossed his phone aside. "I can't believe it. We were right" Sam shakes his head.

"We gotta call Dean" He goes to pick his phone back up to call him. "He won't answer, he never does when he's drinking. Unless it's him drunk dialing" I say, taking the phone away from him. He sighs, nodding in agreement at the fact. "When he gets back then, he needs to know" Sam says, getting up from the bed. "I'm gonna get a soda, want anything?" He asks me, walking over to the door.

"Yeah, a coke and if there's a vending machine. Get me some chips" I nod, reaching into my pocket to give him the money. Sam chuckles, waving it off, "I got it, coke and chips" He repeats my order, before opening the door to head out. "Thank you!" I call out as he locks the door. I sigh heavily, plopping back onto the bed.

A few minutes have passed and I was getting bored with my thoughts, so I decided to take a shower. I pick up my towel and toss it over my shoulder, headed to the bathroom. My ears perked up when the door opened, footsteps echoed through the room. Sam might be a giant, but I know damn well he doesn't have four feet. Luckily, I had my gun still in my jeans.

Thank you dad for always pestering me to be prepared even when in the bathroom. I pulled my gun from the back of my jeans swiftly before pressing my back against the wall. I heard a sniff come from the room, "I can smell her, she's in here" A familiar voice said, but I couldn't pinpoint who. Vampires. Fuck, I left my machete on the table. Great. I clenched my jaw before revealing myself, "Hey blood breaths!" I bellowed, shooting at them.

It barely grazed them, they grunted. Now bearing their fangs at me. I recognized one of the guys, he was the bartender we questioned earlier. I tossed my gun aside as my eyes nervously flickered to the machete on the table, with a wave of my hand. I summoned into my grip, I swiftly swung at the first guy but missed, he raised his foot and kneed me in my stomach.

I groaned painfully, gasping for air when the vampire shoved me into the wall. I went flying back and the machete slipped from my grip. He then picked up a phone to knock me out but I ducked, he ended up going headfirst into the wall. I swiftly dived to the ground for my machete, the bartender from earlier grabbed me by my feet, but I pulled back and kicked him off, causing him to stumble into the table.

With another wave of my hand, I sent the other man crashing into the nightstand. I swiftly did a kipup, charging at the bartender. He dodged my swing quickly. I didn't notice I had my gun in his hands, the last thing I saw was the butt of my gun going straight at my head before everything went dark.

________________________________

I groaned from pain in my head when my eyes flickered open. Everything was dark, I could feel my hands were bounded behind my back and something was over my head. Definitely a bag. "I swear, if anything happened to my little sister. I'm gonna kill you!" I hear a familiar voice growl angrily. His tone pained. It was Sam. "You're barely a couple months older than me dude" I mutter, my head still pounding from the gun butt.

Then suddenly. Someone pulled the bag off, my vision was still a bit blurry but when it readjusted, I opened my eyes to see the bartender who attacked me earlier in the motel room. "Oh thank god, I thought you were gone" Sam breathes out in relief. "I'm fine, just a little tied up" I respond dryly, moving my bounded hands behind my back slightly.

"Shut up. Both of you!" The bartender growls at us, bearing his fangs in our direction. Our eyes widen in horror at this as he snarls, inching closer to my neck. My heartbeat quickens in fear, but I keep my game face on because these suckers could smell fear. "No!" Sam screams. "Wait. Step back, Eli." A woman's voice orders the bartender to not sink his fangs into me.

He glares at her where she's stood in the doorway before backing away from me, retracting his fangs. His angry deathly gaze trained on me, "My names Lenore. I'm not gonna hurt you guys. We just need to talk" The woman steps in, introducing herself. Me and Sam scoff, "Talk? Yeah, okay. But I might have a tough time paying attention to much besides Eli's teeth" I snarked at her, my eyes flickering over to him and back to Lenore.

"He won't hurt you. You have my word" She assures me calmly. "Your word? Oh, yeah, great. Thanks" Sam huffs, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Listen lady. No offense, but you're not the first vampire we've met" Sam retorts with sass. "We're not like the others. We don't kill humans. And we don't drink their blood. We haven't for a long time" She explains calmly. "What is this? Some kind of joke?" I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"Notice you're both still alive." She points out. Me and Sam share a look at this, our eyes flickering over to Eli and back to Lenore. Sam chuckles ironically, "Okay, correct me if I'm wrong here, but shouldn't you be starving to death?" Sam counters. "We found other ways: cattle blood" Lenore tells us. This surprises us, "You're telling me, you're responsible for all the-" I say but she interrupts me,

"It's not ideal. In fact, it's disgusting. But allows us to get by." Lenore says. "Okay, why?" Sam asks. "Survival." She simply puts it before crossing her arms over her chest. "No deaths, no missing locals, no reason for people like you guys to come looking for people like us...we blend in" She continues to explain. That's not what I expected from a bloodsucker whatsoever.

"Our kind is practically extinct. Turns out we weren't quite high up the food chain as we imagined" She says calmly. This triggers a switch in me, my mind flashing back to my father. "Great, no need for any of you parasitic leeches running around killing innocent people, now would we?!" I growl at her, tugging at my bindings. I notice Sams face drop at my outburst, while Lenore's is taken back by my anger, a look on recognition on her face.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you lost someone dear to you by one of our kind, havent you?" She calls me out, I just narrow my eyes at her. My jaw clenching, "Not all of us are like that, we just want to survive" She assured me, a sympathetic look on her face. "Why are we explaining ourselves to this killer?" Eli spits angrily at me, cutting into the conversation. "Eli" Lenore says in a warning tone.

"We choke on cows blood so that none of them suffer. Tonight, they murdered Conrad and they celebrated" Eli growls in disgust, sounding grief stricken. "Eli, that's enough" Lenore snaps. "Yeah, Eli. That's enough" Sam sasses, "What's done is done" Lenore says to Eli calmly, before turning to us.

"We're leaving this town, tonight" She reveals to us. "Then why did you bring us here? Why are you even talking to us?" I quipped. "Believe me, I'd rather not" She scoffs honestly. "But I know your kind. Once you have the scent, you'll keep tracking us. It doesn't matter where we go. Hunters will find us" She says calmly, realization dawns on me. "So you're asking us not to follow you" Sam voices my thought.

"We have a right to live. We're not hurting anyone" She responds. "Right, so you keep saying. But give us one good reason why we should believe you" I scoff. Lenore then leans down, both hands on the sides of the chair I'm tied to. Her face inches away from mines, i hull fearfully, not daring to look her in her eyes. "Fine. You know what I'm going to do?" She says menacingly.

I don't answer, my jaw clenched, "I'm going to let you two go" This surprises both me and Sam. We share a stunned look, "Take them back. Not a mark on them" Lenore orders Eli. He smirks, inching towards us. Before placing a bag on Sam's head and then mines. I feel him grab me by the shoulder and begin to walk us out. I count the steps in my head as we walk,

I hear a door open before another set of hands grab me. A couple more steps and then a car door opens, the person tosses me in along with Sam. The bag stayed on as the ignition started. I began to count the second of the ride, making sure to take in mind every turn, left and right. Not too long after the ride, they untie us.

Tossing us out the car. We both hit the cold gravely ground in a thud. We pull the bags off of our heads to see we're back at our motel. I try to get the make and model of the car but I didn't get to see it in time. "What the fuck just happened" I mutter to myself, Sam then helps me up. "I have no fucking idea. Let's go" He responds as we dust ourselves off and make our way to our room.

We open the door to see Dean with Gordon at the desk. Deans eyes widen when he sees us, "Where have you two been?" He asks. "Can we talk to you alone?" Sam asks him in a monotone voice as I glare daggers at Gordon. Dean then turns to Gordon, "You mind chilling out for a couple minutes?" He asks Gordon. Gordon shakes his head and we all make our way out our motel room.

I lock the door behind me as Sam starts. "Dean, maybe we gotta rethink this hunt" Sam says to him. "What're you talking about? Where were you two?" Dean asks us confused. I sigh, "In the nest" I tell him. His eyes widen, "You guys found it?" He says in shock. "They found us, man" Sam tells him. "Wha- How'd you guys get out? How many did you kill?" Dean asks us.

"None" I tell him. Dean is in disbelief. "Well, guys. They didn't just let you go" Dean says. "That's exactly what they did, Dean" I stress. "Alright, well, where is it?" Dean asks a little too eager. "We were blindfolded. We don't know" Sam says calmly, giving him a weird look. "Well, you gotta know something" Dean presses. "We went over that bridge outside of town. But, Dean, listen. Maybe we shouldn't go after them" I tell him.

"Why not?" Dean cocks his eyebrow confused. "We don't think they're like other vampires. I don't think they're killing people" Sam tries to explain to him. "You're joking" Dean scoffs, not convinced. He looks between me and Sam, now realizing we aren't joking. "Then how do they stay alive or undead, whatever the hell they are?" Dean queries. "The cattle mutilations. They said they live off of animal blood" I tell him.

"And you guys believed them?" Dean asks a bit amused, probably thinking we're being naive. "Look at us, Dean" Sam gestures between me and him, letting out a nervous chuckle. "They let us go without a scratch" Sam points out. "Wait, so you guys are saying...? No man. No way. I don't know why they let you guys go. I don't really care. We find them and waste them" Dean shakes his head. Determined to kill them before walking away.

"Why?" I call out to him. He then turns to me, "What part of 'vampires' don't you understand, y/n? If it's supernatural, we kill it. End of story. That's our job" Dean says firmly. "No, Dean. That is not our job! Our job is hunting evil. And if these things aren't killing people, they're not evil!" Sam defends. "Of course they're killing people. That's what they do, they're all the same thing guys. They're not human, okay? We have to exterminate every last one of them." Dean argues.

I rub my head in frustration, "No, Dean. I don't think so, alright? Not this time" I try to remain calm. "Gordon's been on those vamps for a year. He knows" Dean says. "Gordon?" Sam scoffs. "Yes" Dean answers. "You're taking his word for it?" I scoff. "Yes" He answers again. "Ellen says he's bad news" Sam tells him. Dean raises his eyebrow at this, "You guys called Ellen?" He asks.

"Yeah" Me and Sam respond in unison. "And I'm supposed to listen to her? We barely know her. No, thanks. I'll go with Gordon" Dean rolls his eyes. "Right! Because Gordon's such an old friend" I snap back sarcastically, chuckling humorlessly. Dean looks offended by my words, "You know, y/n. I expected more from you" He scoffs disappointed before walking away again. I'm confused by this, "What's that supposed to mean?!" I call out to him.

He turns to me, "Nothing. Okay." He shrugs it off but I press. "No, talk your shit Winchester. Since you're so trusting of Gordon." I snap back, sarcasm seeping through my tone, crossing my arms over my chest as I wait for his response. He shakes his head, "You killed that vampire, no hesitation. What's wrong now?!" Dean argues. "I was saving our asses from getting killed! Just because I killed that vampire doesn't mean I trust Gordon!" I argue back.

Third Person POV

The argument between Dean and Y/N was getting heated, Sam looked on. His eyes flickered between the both of them nervously as their voice escalated, echoing through the empty motel parking lot. Feeling like a child of divorce, looking at his parents fighting for custody.

"For someone who went through what you went through, I'd expect you to hate vampires more!" Dean shouts.

"I do hate them. Trust me, I do but they're not killing anyone, Dean! I'm not gonna kill innocent people!" Y/N retorts back defensively.

"They're not innocent, Y/N!" Dean yells.

"So you trust you old friend Gordon but not us?! Your brother and your longest friend?! Why can't you just take our word for it?!" Y/N shouts back, frustrated at the fact that Dean was trusting Gordon more than her and Sam.

"Because you're being stupid!?" Dean retorts.

"Excuse me?!" She scoffs in offense, shouting enraged.

"A vampire killed your father and you're willing to leave a pack of bloodsucking monsters to run free because they claim to live in peace! He'd be disappointed in you, it's an insult to his memory!!!" Dean bellows.

The second he said that, he regretted it instantly. Y/N is taken back by this, her mouth snapped shut at Deans words. While Sam is agape in disbelief at the harsh words that left his brothers mouth. That was the last thing Y/N expected to leave his mouth. Her heart panged painfully, already feeling like she disappointed her father and now Dean had to go and confirm it.

Had it been anyone else, it wouldn't have bothered her as much. But coming from the man she loved, it stung like a son of a bitch.nA bubble of humorless laughter left her throat, the anger rising in her body. "Okay" She says calmly, before turning away. Y/N drew back her fist before right hooking Dean across his jaw. Deans head snaps to the side, grunting in pain, surprised from the punch.

Not expecting there to be such a kick from that. Dean might be Sam's brother but he was internally cheering on Y/N for punching his brother, he damn well deserved it from what he just said. And honestly, if y/n didn't do it. He would've done it for her. "Fuck you, you don't get to say that!" She growls at him enraged. Her nostrils flared with hot steam practically rushing out of it.

Dean nurses his jaw, his eyes wide when he notices Y/N's eyes glassed over to a ball of white. The only time he's seen this was when f/n died, and in the hospital when she saw him but he had no memory of it. Then with a wave of her hand., She sends him barreling back into the Impala next to them. "Woah! Easy!" Sam tries to hold her down, he clutched onto her but Dean was still pinned to the car.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT!" She screams at him, she loosens her mind grip on him as Sam holds her, trying to calm her down. Her eyes went back to her normal (e/c) ones. Dean peels himself from the car, "You can hit me all you want, princess. Toss me in the air or flatten me like a pancake. It won't change anything. I'm going to that nest." Dean says in a deadpan tone.

He knew what he said was crossing a line because Y/N would not only, never say something about like that John to him, despite not liking the man. Instead, she'd console him and comfort him. But being grief stricken himself, he allowed his anger to get the best of him. Hurting the woman he loved,

"We won't tell you where it is" Sam takes Y/N's defense. "I'll find it myself" Dean snaps back. He then gives y/n one last look, she didn't dare to look at him. Not allowing her eyes to meet his, his heart dropped. Scared that she'd never look at him the same, y/n's eyes were glued to the floor. Trying to take deeps breathes instead of letting her anger getting the best of her. She didn't want to hurt anyone, especially the boys.

Her newfound powers were getting the best of her, she barely knew how to control it and it only came in times of desperate need and anger. She was scared, scared of herself, scared she'd hurt someone else. Someone she cared about. Dean turns to walk back to the motel room.

"Dean, wait" Sam calls out to his brother. Following behind him. Y/N then follows behind Sam. Dean opens the door to see it empty, "Gordon?" He calls out for it but no answer. "You think he went after them?" Sam asks. "Probably" Dean answers. "Dean, we have to stop him" Y/N says panicked. "Really, Y/N? Because I say we lend a hand" Dean scoffs.

"Just give us the benefit of the doubt, would you? You owe me that" Y/N pleads. Deans heart pangs, guilt rising again. She didn't take long to use that one against him but he deserved it. He nods firmly, "I'll drive, give me the keys" He says to her calmly. Y/N goes to pick up the keys where she left them on the desk, when they came back from the bar. Only to see it now gone. "He snaked the keys" Sam gasps.

________________________________

"I can't believe this. I just fixed her up too" Dean grumbles in annoyance as he hotwires the Impala. The engine spluttered for a couple seconds before starting. Dean sighs, looking over to Y/N next to him in the passenger seat, her eyes were trained on a map along with Sam in the back with his own map.

Dean clears his throat awkwardly, "So, the bridge. Is that all you got?" He asks her gently. "The bridge was for and a half minutes from their farm." Y/N responds dryly, tracing her finger on the map. "How do you know?" Sam asks surprised. "I counted" She says, turning to Sam and then back to the map.

"Damn, should've thought of that" Sam grumbles to himself for not thinking in the moment. While Dean gives her a proud smile which she didn't acknowledge, his smile dropped as she continued. "They took a left out of the farm, then turned right onto a dirt road. Follow that for two minutes, slightly uphill. Then took another quick right and we hit the bridge" She explains, her finger tracing the trail on the map.

"Impressive" Sam chuckles, impressed by her tracking skills. "You're good." Dean commends her. "A monster pain in the ass....but you're good...with a mean right hook" He adds, smirking at her before putting the Impala in drive. Y/N scoffs, rolling her eyes as she held back a chuckle. Sam shakes his head at their version of saying 'I'm sorry'. At least they made up and aren't gonna fight, Sam did not want to get caught in the middle of that.

________________________________

The car was filled with awkward silences as they made out way down the stretch, headed towards the bridge. Dean would look at y/n with a pained expression when she wasn't looking, and she'd do the same when his eyes were on the road. Sam speculating the entire time, his lips tucked into his mouth as he looks between the two, praying for the awkwardness to subside.

After following Y/N's directions, they stumbled onto a house. Parked outside was the same car that Sam and Y/N was transported in back to the motel. Y/N didn't recognize it but Sam made sure to get a good look at it. "Look, that's the car they tossed us out of. This has to be the house" Sam points out. Dean then puts the car in park and they all jump out.

They made their way up the porch to see the door was wide open, they all shared a look at this before walking in. They entered the living room, stumbling upon Gordon and Lenore. Lenore was tied to a chair, blood dripping from open wounds as Gordon wielded his knife dripping with Dead Man's Blood, torturing Lenore. Gordon turned his head to the trio.

Sam and Y/N's eyes widen in terror at the sight. "Sam, Dean, Y/N. Come on in" Gordon greets them. "Hey, Gordon, what's going on?" Dean asks warily. "Just poisoning Lenore here with some dead man's blood. She's gonna tell us where all her friends are" Gordon responds as if what he's doing is casual. "Aren't you sweetie?" Gordon smirks at Lenore menacingly, who's choking on her own blood. Heaving from the poison.

Sam and Y/N clench their jaws, "Wanna help?" Gordon turns to Dean. "Look, man-" Dean begins a bit nervous. "Grab a knife. I was just about to start in on the fingers" Gordon days before slicing Lenore's wrist with the bloodied knife. Her arm seared from the poison, making her grow weaker. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, let's all chill out, huh?" Dean tries to ease the situation. "I'm completely chill" Gordon says calmly.

"Gordon, put the knife down" Sam says warily, taking a step forward but Dean and Y/N out their hands out to stop him. "It sounds like it's Sammy that needs to chill" Gordon smirks. "Just step away from her, alright?" Y/N tries to reason. Gordon turns back to Lenore who's choking weakly, and back to them. "You're right" He says to Y/N before dropping his knife on the table.

"I'm wasting my time here. This bitch will never talk" He says grimly, before taking up his machete, pulling the cover off of it. "Might as well put her out of her misery. I just sharpened it, so it's completely humane" He snarks at Sam and Y/N. "Gordon, I'm letting her go" Y/N says before taking a step forwards to help Lenore.

Gordon holts her in her actions by pressing the knife to her chest, "You're not doing a damn thing" He growls. Deans heart drops, Sam tries to reach out for Y/N but, "You take one step closer, I'll slice the bitch" Gordon threatens. Y/N puts her hands up in surrender, "Hey, hey, hey. Gordon, let's talk about this" Dean tries to get Gordon to take the knife off of her. "What's there to talk about? It's like I said, Dean. No shades of grey" Gordon retorts.

"Yeah, I hear you. And I know how you feel" Dean responds. "Do you?" Gordon cocks his eyebrow, his machete still pointed at Y/N's chest. "The vampire that killed your sister deserved to die. But this-" Dean tries to resin but Gordon chuckles darkly, cutting him off. "Killed my sister?" Gordon smiles darkly. "That filthy fang didn't kill my sister. It turned her. Made her one of them. So I hunted her down and killed her myself" Gordon reveals, his knife still against Y/N's chest.

They're all taken back by this, "You did what?" Dean mutters. "It wasn't my sister anymore. It wasn't human. I didn't blink. And neither would you" Gordon points the blade to himself, then to Dean and back to Y/N. "So you knew all along then? You knew about the vampires. You knew they werent killing anyone" Sam says in realization. "You knew about the cattle, and you just didn't care" Y/N scoffs.

"Care about what? A nest of vampires suddenly acting nice? Taking a little time out from sucking into innocent people and we're supposed to buy that?" Gordon chuckles. "Trust me. It doesn't change what they are" Gordon points at himself with the machete before turning to Lenore with a hate-filled gaze. "And I can prove it" He turns back to Y/N. He grabs her wrist in a flash, slicing it. Before gripping her in a chokehold.

Sam and Dean don't think. They just act, pulling their guns out and cocking it at Gordon. "Let her go!" Dean growls at him, enraged. "Now!" Sam yells. Y/N tries to break from it but he's too strong. "Relax. If I wanted to kill your bitch, she'd be on the floor already. Just making a little point." Gordon says calmly, his machete pressed to Y/N's throat as he held her arm dripping with blood out.

He then moved her closer to Lenore, holding her arm over the convulsing vampire's face. The blood then dripped from her arm and onto her face. Lenore bared her fangs, snarling for more, "You think she's so different now?" Gordon snarks at the Winchesters. "Hey!" Dean yells, "Still wanna save her? Look at her. They're all the same. Evil, blood thirsty." Gordon says menacingly.

Lenore retracted her face, "No, no." She says pleadingly. "You hear her Gordon?" Sam motions towards Lenore. "No, no" Lenore groans, trying to control herself. Gordon's grip loosens on Y/N, allowing her free. "We're done here" Y/N growls at him, "Sam, Y/N. Get her out of her" Dean orders the two younger hunters. "Yeah" They respond in unison.

They both help Lenore to her feet, wrapping each of her arm around both their shoulders. "Come on, hun. We've got you" Y/N says gently as they help her limp out of the room. Gordon goes to move but Dean still at his gun cocked at him. "Uh-uh. Uh-uh" He warns him to stay put. Gordon holts in action, putting his hands up in surrender.

"Gordon...I think you and I got some things to talk about" Dean says to him dryly. "Get out of my way" Gordon says. "Sorry" Dean smirks. "You're not serious" Gordon scoffs. "I'm having a hard time believing it too, but I know what I saw. If you want those vampires, you gotta go through me" Dean warns. Gordon takes a look at his knife before sticking it into the table besides him.

"Fine" He shrugs nonchalantly. Deans smirk widens, he then uncocks his hun before disarming the click into his hand. Stuffing it into his pocket. Gordon takes the opportunity to right hook Dean, who stumbled back but quickly recovered. Retaliating with his own right hook. Gordon then pulled his knife out from the table making Dean groan.

He tried stabbing Dean twice but he dodges before grabbing Gordon by his arm and throwing him into the wall. The knife was still in his hand so he head butted him twice, knocking his hand against the wall to disarm him off his knife. "What're you doing man? You're doing this for a fang?" Gordon groans as Dean held him by his throat.

"No. I'm doing this for my girl who's throat you held a knife to!" Dean growls back, right hooking him again. Gordon turned to Deans back was faced to the doorway. "Come on, Dean. We're in the same side here" Gordon pleads. "I don't think so you, sadistic bastard" Dean snaps back. Gordon quickly blindsided him, elbowing him before kicking Dean into a wooden table.

It crashed in impact, Dean shakes his head. Dazzled from the fall as he groans in pain. Gordon inches closer to Dean, "You're not like your brother. You're a killer like me and y/n." Gordon says. Dean quickly trips him but knocking him at the back of his knee. He then straddles Gordon, throwing punch after punch at his facts.

"Keep...Her..God...Damn...Name...Out...Off...Your...Fucking...Mouth!!!" Dean screams, punching Gordon with every word that left his mouth. He then grabs him by his shirt and throws him into a glass cabinet. Turning him around and then tossing him against the wall. Gordon tries to hit but he's too weak, Dean quickly grabs his arm. Putting it down.

Right hooking him again twice before holding Gordon under his arm as if he's gonna hit him a reverse DDT wrestling move, he drags him into the other room before 'accidentally' walking into the wall. Sending Gordon's headfirst into it, earning a groan from him. "Oh, sorry" Dean feigns a sarcastic apology.

He then places him on a chair and begins tying him to it. "You know. I might be like you...and I might not. Y/N is certainly nothing like your as" Dean tells him before leaning to whisper in his ear. "But you're the one tied up right now" He smirks, as Gordon glares at him.

________________________________

The sun has risen and Gordon is still tied to the chair as Dean paces the room Gordons knife. The front door opens and shuts, Y/N and Sam walk into the room to see Gordon tied up. Their eyebrows raised, "Did we miss anything?" Sam asks. "Eh, not much" Dean shrugs. "Lenore get out okay?" Dean asks them. "Yeah. All of them did" Y/N answers, glaring at Gordon.

"Then I guess our work here is done" Dean smirks at Gordon. "How you doing Gordy? You gotta tinkle yet?" Y/N taunts Gordon, earning chuckles from the boys. Gordon rolls his eyes not answering. "Alright" She snorts. "Well, get comfy. We'll call someone in two or three days, have them come out, untie you" Dean further taunts, walking over to the table. Sticking the knife into the wooden table.

"Ready to go, Dean?" Sam asks. "Not yet" Dean says, walking over to them. "I guess this is goodbye" Dean chuckles, fixing his hair. "Well, it's been real" He smirks, drawing his fist back before punching Gordon so hard. He chair went toppling back along with him to the ground. Sam grimaces holding back a laugh along with Y/N. "Okay, I'm good now" Dean clears his throat.

"We can go" He says simply before walking out. Sam and Y/N share an amused look before leaving the house. As they walk down the porch, Y/N turns to Dean. "Hey, Dean?" She says. "Yeah?" He answers. She preps herself, taking a deep breath. "Clock me one" She clears her throat. The boys look at her in disbelief.

"What?" Dean scoffs, "Come on, come on. I won't even hit you back. Let's go" She screws her eyes shut. Dean scoffs a chuckle as Sam shakes his head, snickering. Deciding to leave them be as he walks back to the Impala. "No. Im not gonna hit you, Princess. I'll never hit you" Dean shakes his head. She peeps one eye open, "Come on, you wuss. Put the your morals aside for a sec. And that's coming from a raging feminist. You get a freebie. Hit me. Come on" Y/N tempts him.

"No, y/n." Dean says firmly. "If I'm being honest, I deserved it" Dean admits, rubbing his jaw. Y/N sighs, "So did I" She admits. "What?" He's taken back. "You were right, dad would've been disappointed in me. Hell, I'm sure he's probably rolling in his grave right now" She bites her lips. "Are you kidding me?" Dean scoffs. "Y/N, you and Sam just saved innocent people. Sure, they were vampires. But you did the right thing. He would've been proud" Dean assured her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes flicker up to to his, "You don't know that" She holds back her tears. "I'm so sorry, princess. I should've never said that." Dean apologizes sincerely. She nods, accepting his apology. "I wish we never took this job. It's jacked everything up" She scoffs. "What do you mean?" Dean asks her, taking his hand off her shoulder. She takes a deep breath, "Think about all the hunts we went on, charming. Our whole lives" She begins. "Okay?" Dean says.

"What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing, you know? I mean, the way our dads raised us-" She sighs. "Y/N, after what happened to mom and then your mom....they did their best" Dean tried to reassure her. "I know they did. But they weren't prefect" Y/N says. Dean shrugs in agreement, "But the way they raised us to hate those things. And man I HATE them. I do, I miss daddy every single fucking day" She grits her teeth.

"When I killed that vampire at the mill. I didn't even think about it. I expected to enjoy it. I did for a moment but not the way I wanted to." She admits. "I just- I don't know how we do it" Y/N sighs. "Because it's in our blood. Every instinct told me to kill, Lenore. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill them all" Dean admits. "Yeah, but you didn't" Y/N points out. "That matters." She adds.

Dean gives her a soft smile, "Truce?" Y/N puts her hand out for a shake, "Truce" Dean smirks, taking her hand into his. Their eyes meet and in a flash Dean pulls her by her arm into a hug. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Y/N chuckles into the hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "You really are a pain in the ass, you know?" Dean jokes, his face buried in her neck.

"Guess I might have to stick around and be a pain in the ass, then" She quipped back, pulling away from the hug. His arms still around her waist while her arms are still around his shoulders. Her eyes flicker down to his lips, along with his eyes flickering down to her.

Meanwhile, Sam was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, watching the two as if they were a chick flick he was indulged it. "Just lean in, man. It's not that hard. Come on" Sam mutters to himself as the twos eyes pierced into each others. He rolled his eyes when he saw Y/N took her hands off of Deans shoulder and awkwardly cleared her throat along with Dean, who's face was flushed. "Wussies" Sam scoffs.

They then begin to walk back to the Impala, "Thanks" Dean genuinely thanks her as she opens the back door. "Don't mention it" She smiles softly, before jumping in. Dean takes a moment to recollect himself before jumping into the Impala. Putting it in drive and hitting the road for whatever awaits them.

________________________________

Authors Note: Ohhhh the angstttt ahahah. Hope everyone enjoyed!! And trust me when I say, this slow burn is killing me too LOL *cue villainous laugh* This chapter is unedited and I plan on coming back to edit.

@hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19 @deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur

Xoxo

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will80sbyers · 5 months

Note

Do you still have the list of movies that inspired ST4? I had a picture of it but I lost it and I haven't been able to find it since. Please and thank you in advance.

Yep!

Long post warning lol

300

2001: A Space Odyssey

47 Meters Down: Uncaged

12 Monkeys

28 Days Later

13th Warrior

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls

Altered States

Amelie

American Sniper

Analyze This

Annihilation

Aristocats

Armageddon

Assassins Creed

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Arrival

Almost Famous

Batman Begins

Batman V. Superman

Basket Case

Battle at Big Rock

Beauty and the Beast

Beetlejuice

Behind Enemy Lines

Beverly Hills Cop

Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

Billy Madison

Black Cauldron

Black Swan

Boondock Saints

Borat

Bram Stoker’s Dracula

Burn After Reading

Broken Arrow

Blade Runner

C.H.U.D

Con Air

Cast Away

Congo

Constantine

Children of Men

Cabin in the Woods

Crank

Casablanca

Carrie

Crimson Tide

Clueless

Dukes of Hazzard

Don’t Breathe

Death to Smoochy

Doom

Dark Knight

Dogma

Deep Blue Sea

Dreamcatcher

Drop Dead Fred

Die Hard

Die Hard 2

Die Hard 3

Don’s Plum

Dances with Wolves

Dumb and Dumber

Edward Scissorhands

Enter the Void

Ex Machina

Event Horizon

Emma (2020)

Forrest Gump

Fargo

Fisher King

Full Metal Jacket

Ferris Bueller

Fallen

Fugitive

Ghost

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Ghostbusters

Good Fellas

Girl Interrupted

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Get Out

Good Will Hunting

Hackers

High Fidelity

Hellraiser 1

Hellraiser 2

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Hidden

High School Musical

Hurt Locker

Heat

Hunger Games

Highlander

Hell or High Water

Home Alone

I am Legend

It’s a Wonderful Life

In Cold Blood

Inception

I am a Fugitive from Chain Gang

Inside Out

Island of Doctor Moreau

It Follows

Interview with a Vampire

Inner Space

Into the Spiderverse

Independence Day

Jupiter Ascending

John Carter of Mars

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

James Bond (All Movies)

Julie

Karate Kid

Knives Out

Kingsmen

Little Miss Sunshine

Labyrinth

Long Kiss Goodnight

Lost Boys

Leon: The Professional

Let the Right One In

Little Women (1994)

Mad Max: Fury Road

Magnolia

Men in Black

Mimic

Matrix

Misery

My Cousin Vinny

Mystic River

Minority Report

Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Neverending Story

Never Been Kissed

No Country for Old Men

Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

North by Northwest

Open Water

Orange County

Oceans 8

Oceans 11

Oceans 12

One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest

Ordinary People

Paddington 2

Platoon

Pulp Fiction

Papillon

Pan’s Labyrinth

Pineapple Express

Peter Pan

Princess Bride

Paradise Lost

Primal Fear

Prisoners

Peter Jackson’s King Kong

Reservoir Dogs

Ravenous

Rushmore

Road Warrior

Rogue One

Reality Bites

Raider of the Lost Ark

Red Dragon

Robocop

Shooter

Sky High

Swingers

Sword in the Stone

Step Up 2

Spy Kids

Saving Private Ryan

Shape of Water

Swept Away

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Superbad

Society

Swordfish

Stoker

Splice

Silence of the Lambs

Source Code

Sicario

Se7en

Starship Troopers

Scrooged

Splash

Silver Bullet

Speed

The Visit

The Italian Job

The Mask of Zorro

True Lies

The Blair Witch Project

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy

Tangled

The Craft

The Guest

The Devil’s Advocate

The Graduate

The Prestige

The Rock

Titanic

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

The Fly

Tombstone

The Mummy

The Guardian

The Goofy Movie

The Peanut Butter Solution

Toy Story 4

The Ring

The Crazies

The Mist

The Revenant

The Perfect Storm

The Shining

Terminator 2

The Truman Show

Temple of Doom

The Cell

To Kill a Mockingbird

Timeline

The Good Son

The Orphan

The Birdcage

The Green Mile

The Raid

The Cider House Rules

The Lighthouse

The Book of Henry

The A-Team

The Crow

The Terminal

Thor Ragnarok

Twister

The Descent

The Birds

Total Recall

The Natural

The Fifth Element

True Romance

Terminator: Dark Fate

The Hobbit Trilogy

Unforgiven

Unbreakable

Unleashed

Very Bad Things

Wayne’s World

What Women Want

War Dogs

Wedding Crashers

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Welcome to Marwen

Wet Hot American Summer

What Lies Beneath

What Dreams May Come

War Games

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Weird Science

Willow

Wizard of Oz

Wanted

Young Sherlock Holmes

You’ve Got Mail

Zodiac

Zoolander

#stranger things #ask #st4 #st4 movies

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afanofmanyships · 2 years

Text

Weird idea, but what if Billy, klarion, and Danny all decided to screw with the batfam by telling them a big lie about how Gotham came to be centuries ago only for it to be true in the end.

Batman eavesdropping around the corner: Phantom, Marvel, and Klarion 'recounting the old day’s':

P: “Ya know, Batman reminds of [insert name] when SHE was still Gotham”

C M: “I know right, she had people come all across the land to challenge her and kept the roads safer for travelers.”

K: “Then it’s a good thing she is gone.”

C M: “Says the one that dug a giant that went MILES into the ground and proceeded build a two story house on top of it.”

K: “Oh screw off!🖕”

P to M: “You’re just mad that she stated in her will to have ALL her possessions burned so that no one would be able to use them.”

C M: “If we’re talking about possessions, then who’s the one that made a tomestone that said 'Here Lies Gotham, You May Have Know her as [insert full name], a True Friend and Ally' in front of the house only for it to start trending everywhere.”

P: “In my defense that was how I honored many of my fellow ghosts. How would I supposed to know a passing traveler seeking refuge would come across the house, it was in the middle of nowhere!!”

K: “For decades, people were wondering who wrote those ‘strange symbols’ and if the land was cursed or not.”

Only for Danny retort to tease Klarion on how Gotham mothered him and taught him how to gain control of his powers that lead him to tleek, with Captain Marvel chiming in. Only to stop when they made sure that Batman was gone.

All three burst out laughing

P: “Y-you think he bought it?”

C M: “Probably with how he’s been trying to figure out my identity for years.”

K: “As entertaining as all of this is, who should we go after next?”

Danny (with hands calatps in front his face to hide his smile): “I know just the person.”

A few weeks later in JL Headquarters:

Nightwing, Phantom, and Captain Marvel walking side by side in the hallway, Nightwing does a stunt and Phantoms eyes gloss over with remembrance and a bit of sorrow. Nightwing then panics and asks if he’s okay only for him to say: “It’s okay child, you just remind me of my first student.”

Danny floats a bit ahead of them, trying and succeeding to not break character.

Marvel explains: “A decade after the passing of a dear friend, a traveler came across her tome. Enchanted by the symbols, the traveler spread the word of the symbols and became rich. With these riches came greed and with this greed came corruption that birthed Phantoms first student.”

Phantom continues: “Four decades after the passing of our dear friend, I decided to pay a visit to our friend and saw the most strangest thing. A four year old living inside the house Klarion built.”

Dick: “May I asked why that is strange?”

M: “After Phantom made the tomestone, me and Klarion created a spell that only allows people who have the same goal as [insert name] to walk past the tomestone. And if they do not, they would feel this overwhelming urge to not pass the tome when reaches a 100 feet of it.”

Dick: “Even if people couldn’t approach the tomestone or house, wouldn’t there be some kind of security?”

M: “The traveler had people build a small mansion 300 feet in front of the tome making people pay to just see the stone and cut down those who didn’t pay, foolishly believing that that would be enough to stop people from coming close to the stone and so he never bothered to check on it.”

P: “I decided to watch over the child for the day and found out something interesting. This child liked to soar through the trees at night, all though clumsy and falling off the trees she would always get back up the trees soar through the tree again with a smile on her face.”

M: “He then, almost, scared the ghost out of her by popping into existence and offering to help her perfect her soaring.”

Dick laughs

Danny starts to smile: “It was a fun time for both of us, soaring through the trees, unintentionally stopping a few robberies. The village folk even nicknamed her the Soaring Nightingale, she was so embarrassed and happy with that name that she never got the chance to change it. We were happy, until she turned 10.”

Phantom stops walking

Nightwing and Marvel also stop walking. Dick nervously asks: “What happened after Nightingale turned 10?”

M: “Children aging from 8-11 years of age started to disappear from the streets and homes. Only to reappear in random locations with no reelection of what happened and a new found fear of adults of who they know and don’t know.” Sighs “Phantom never seen anything like it before and called on me to help out.”

P: “Nightingale sacked him right into his sunshine smile face, tried to warn him not to pop out of nowhere.”

M: “Lier! You didn’t try to do anything.”

Dick trying to get them back on topic: “Did you find out who was behind the disappearances?”

P: “As it turns out, it was the traveler that was behind the kidnappings. He heard stories about 'The Soaring Nightingale' and wanted to know if she would be able to privately show him some of her 'skills'.”

Dick eyes widen: “You don’t mean…”

M(nods): “I have never seen Phantom wanting to murder a human being that badly in my life, before that day. It took both of us to convince Phantom to wait a month after we gather ALL the evidence to put the traveler and his associates down forever, for him to do anything he wanted to the traveler and those involved.”

P: “A month and three years later, we gathered all evidence and spread it as quickly and efficiently as we can.”

M: “It worked well with the combination of the traveler being a tyrant and the seeds of doubt that Phantom, pain stickily, sowed in the neighboring villages. Before we know it, their execution day was upon us.”

P: “That day was one to remember.”

M: “You possessed a skeleton, donned on a creepy black cloak, grabbed the biggest sith you can find, came to the execution sight, and pointed at them saying ‘I have come to collect your debt.’ Then you kidnapped them to do gods knows what, only to come back three hours later with them so that we could finish the execution.”

P: “Well I couldn’t let them off that easy after knowing what wanted from my student now can I.”

Dick, being so invested in the story, asks: “What happened after that day? Did she meet Klarion?”

P: “After that day, we slowly fell back into our old routine from before. Not without a few rough patches and changes along the way, of course.”

Marvel pretends to whisper to Dick: “When she turned 18, Nightingale met the love of her life and Phantom summoned an actual shovel to threaten her lover with.”

P: “Thank you, Cap! When she was 19, 'Gale married her lover. A year later she met Klarion and accidentally pied him in the face because she thought that it was her husband walking through.”

Dick winces: “Was she okay? Klarion didn’t do anything did he?”

M: “Contry to what you’re thinking. Klarion just stood there saying ‘You’re lucky that you have a little monster on the way or else you would have me to deal with.’”

Nightwing starts asking about the baby and if they were adorable only to be reminded by Barbra, over the comms, to get back on topic and gather more information: “Did anything else happen afterwards?”

P: “Over the years her family grew. When her children were old enough, Nightingale told them stories about her younger days and taught them how to soar through the trees like she did when she was a child.” A flash of happiness shows through his eyes. “By the time peace was once again restored, Nightingale was on her deathbed telling her children to go see what the world has to offer now that peace was upon them.”

M: “Me and Phantom decided to move Gothams gave deeper underground then buried Nightingale right next to her, made this small cave right above them, and wisely moved the tomestones underground so that that problem won’t happen again.”

Dick: “Did anything else happen afterwards?”

P: “Her children decided that they didn’t want any of their mothers possessions, except for the little gifts she gave them before her passing, saying that she’ll live on whenever they are flying,” smirks at Nightwing when he picked up that last word, “and requested us to burn down the mansion (the 300 feet one) as they didn’t want anything to do with it.”

M: “After they left, Klarion renovated the house and made it more spacious.”

All three decided to chat and walk down the hall to a meeting they no doubt missed or late to.

(M: “After him, how about we do two birds one stone or, in this case, three birds.”

P and K both agree

Billy starts smirking: “Alright! Here’s the plan-”)

A month later in Gotham (Billy wanted to wait at least 3 weeks but was out voted by two sadists who wanted to see the bats sworn in their seats):

Klarion is reported to be causing trouble around Gotham so the bats have to deal with him. Only to see Klarion and Marvel having tea and 'reminiscing' about the 'good old days'.

M: “The dynamic between Red Hood and Red Robin when they first met honestly reminded me of when the Scarlet Sisters reunited.”

K: “The amount of chaos those two created just by being near one another was incredible.”

M: “Only for you and Phantom who seemed to thrive on the same level as you. I had to do damage control.”

Klarion rolls his eyes: “That was exactly the reason why we went behind your back and created a makeshift portal.”

Marvel starts to smirk: “And because of that you gained a little SHADOW.”

Klarion slams his cup down: “IF I had known something like THAT would happen I-”

M: “wouldn’t have done anything because you cared about the kid.”

K:🖕

Clockwork behind the scenes decided: “Ah yes, let’s make this a reality.” And sends them back in time to make the stories believable.

#dc x dp #Danny phantom #young justice klarion #dc captain marvel

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toshio · 4 months

Note

I've been thinking about doing uber. How long do you drive for $200-$300 and usually what time of day? Any sage advice?

I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED (being serious)

i really do enjoy doing uber! however, like most jobs, no job is perfect, there are shitty moments that make you wanna unalive yourself after a shift and that's normal. there are moments where i'm happy as f*ck driving to different areas in virginia and sightseeing during my breaks and then there's stressful moments where you can't find the person to pickup at the airport because of a language barrier (happened to me recently, big yikes). here's my unsolicited experience/advice:

the best parts about doing uber: you can get paid instantly, so if you got rent money due before the month ends, and you make like $700 from uber in a week, then instantly deposit that. there's an uber debit card that you should get, i use that. all the money you make instantly goes there and i just use it as a separate checking account to buy drinks and groceries and stuff, completely separate from my main.

another perk of doing uber is...obviously nobody tells you what to do. there's no boss telling you to clock in, you can just do a shift whenever, skip a day, work all day, etc. besides like customer support if something bad happens. which i heard is pretty shit btw so good luck. i love the freedom that uber gives me. i decided to catch up on grinding in my MMORPG (maplestory lol) and take like 1-2 days off. i can just go back whenever and that's beautiful. i love being my boss.

you can do early morning shifts near busy shopping centers, airports, and get decent money. i personally avoid the airport though, but i have done airport rideshares. IMO do not do uber after the sun sets, obviously #1 if you're a young looking woman driving alone at night you're probably a target, and #2 it's just spooky and you should be tucked in at home playing video games when it's dark. it's hard to see the road at night, it can be dangerous. just do early morning, evening, but when you see that sun getting lower, drive home asap.

so you can choose from doing rideshares (driving people) or food deliveries, i personally do both. if you don't like people, you can just turn on food. you legit just go inside a mcdonalds or even a fancy 5 star restaurant in the city, and then drive to the person's house and drop it off. for food deliveries the tips are calculated like 1 hour later, so if you get like very little money after dropping off your first food order, just be patient and check back later. the most important thing is choosing good orders, don't do something that's like $5 for 10 miles. always do something that's like $10 for 5 miles. your car's health is very important, don't milk it too hard.

on that note, cars...you obviously use your car to drive people and food around. make sure your car is well kept. if you're driving a piece of garbage, it's honestly kinda good to "milk" it with uber until it finally combusts. while doing uber, there's a lot of risk you're putting yourself in. only sign up for the job if you consider yourself a good driver with 0 accidents in the past like 5 years or so.

idk there's a lot about uber, i don't wanna yap your ears off. if you're interested, go on youtube and type in uber driver stuff. there's nice youtube shorts of it, and full on youtube guides about uber/doordash/grubhub etc. they're all considered "gig" work so it's not like a 9-5 which is what i loathe and avoid doing in my mid 20s.

if you sign up, i'll give you some personal tips i made up:

keep a gallon of water or two in your car. snacks too, but they might melt if your area is hella hot during the summer. keep yourself loaded. you'll be driving a lot. i do tend to eat out at fast food restaurants or stuff like panera before, during, or after shifts.

calculate the distance (mileage) and the money $$$ involved when you get a request. do not take bad orders. bad orders are like, very little pay (customers tipping like shit) for HIGH mileage which is basically you just losing money. rule of thumb is like, 1.5x or 2x the pay for the mileage. for example, 5 mile food delivery for $10 total payout.

when picking orders, be aware that if you do a long distance trip (like 10 miles+) you're gonna end up in a different city or area in the state that you live in. do not drive too far away, because you eventually have to drive back home. and sometimes you end up in sketchy areas, so stay safe and make sure you know your state, the roads, and how to navigate. your GPS is your best friend.

#this is a lot i know #also one more thing #do not do uber as your main income source #just do it as a filler gig #i do uber currently because i find it fun but also because i already have money coming in passively #so uber is nice money but you'll get exhausted asf so just do it for shits and gigs y'know #also i rarely make $200 in one day because i like doing short shifts #it's not a consistent job at all #you'll have shit days #again uber is if you absolutely hate working for a company and being a slave to capitalism and nightmare scheduling #alsooo the taxes for uber are kindaaa #y i k e s

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makethiscanon · 4 months

Text

Forgotten WIP - 'Dead Lake'

To finish off Ojiro Day 2024, I thought I'd post another long forgotten WIP of mine. A much loved Mermaid AU. It is indeed a reader-insert, although the reader doesn't show up until much later.

Word Count: 1900

Rating: G

Characters: Tokoyami, Shoji, Ojiro, Mineta

Tags: Story Extract, Friendship, Adventure, Slice of Life, Humour, Mystery.

------

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

Tokoyami’s monotone voice came from the back of Shoji’s car as it trundled and spluttered through the great Japanese wilderness. Tokoyami's leg was hooked lazily across his knee as he watched the endless expanse of trees passing by beyond the window.

“We’re not.” Said Shoji matter-of-factly, his multiple arms holding the steering wheel at ten-and-two, nine-and-three, and eight-and-four. Despite the assurance in his voice, when Tokoyami failed to add more to the conversation, Shoji passed his passenger-seat navigator a sideways glance, just to be absolutely certain. “Right?”

“Hard to tell,” said Ojiro, blocking his own view of the road with an oversized map, his brows tenting as he tried and failed to pinpoint their location. “GPS cut out about four miles off the freeway. If we hit a fishing outpost in the next fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, then we’re headed the right way. If not, it’s anyone’s guess where we are.”

Mineta’s hand landed on Ojiro’s shoulder with a sarcastic pat, but he laughed all the same.

“A wonderfully reassuring speech from our navigator. Thank you, Ojiro.”

It was a glorious summer in Japan -- the best anyone had seen in years. It was the perfect time for four friends to catch up and reminisce about a time before life pulled them down different paths. The days of U.A. High were long gone, but their bonds of friendship were as strong as ever.

Tokoyami said, breaking his gaze away from the passing scenery to look pointedly at Ojiro,

“If you admit we’re lost, I promise not to eat you first when we inevitably resort to cannibalism from being trapped in the wilderness together.”

A shiver ran up Shoji and Ojiro’s spines, as neither could truly decide whether he was joking.

Mineta cackled, like he was determined to tempt fate. “Have a little faith. We’re only in trouble if the car breaks down.”

Shoji shook his head, patting the steering wheel affectionately.

“She’s managed 300 miles. The last thirty won’t kill her.”

Shoji’s worn-down 1998 Lexus LS was his pride and joy, and the unfortunate vessel in which they had decided to travel. It spluttered and popped, and the suspension was shot, but Shoji was adamant it could manage the 600-mile round trip. His friends had their reservations, but as Shoji was the only licenced driver of the group, there was very little other choice.

Some fifteen minutes down the road from where Ojiro had told them to watch for an outpost, the small hut finally came into view, much to everyone’s relief. It was their first and only indication that they were headed the right way.

“Right. Quick in and out. Shoji and me will buy the essentials.” Ojiro said, doing his best to fold the map back into a neat square as Shoji slowed down to pull into the layby. Mineta chuckled, playfully shoving Tokoyami’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been fishing.”

“And yet, I haven’t,” Tokoyami said, amused that anyone could doubt his lack of experience. It was difficult for him to imagine himself in fishing slacks, almost as much as imagining himself in a rainbow-coloured clown suit. Fishing certainly wasn’t his first choice of hobby, but for the sake of spending time with his friends he was willing to take up a lure and rod, and see what monstrosities he could unearth from the deep.

Once they were parked, the four boys stumbled from the car then took a moment to stretch out their bodies, as none had noticed until now how stiff they had gotten.

“Get a new car. Get a new car.” Mineta begged, rubbing his spine. Shoji tutted good-naturedly, stretching his arms high above his head. He splayed them out until the sunlight filtered through the wing-like membrane holding them together.

“Don’t fix something that isn’t broken.”

“My man, I doubt even a junkyard would want it for spare parts.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her.”

“My back disagrees.”

As Mineta and Shoji continued their debate on the state of Shoji’s car, the four boys headed inside.

The hut, although an outpost, was reasonably sized with two aisles of shelves, stocked with hiking and fishing equipment, and other camping essentials. While the others began to browse, Tokoyami went straight to the back wall, which was adorned with rows of fishing rods.

He looked at them for some time.

Eventually, he came to conclusion that if there was any significant difference between them, he could not see it. His choice was based purely from aesthetics, and that’s why he chose a rod that was black in colour with purple trim – a fishing rod fit for a prince of darkness, if ever there was one.

In the same amount of time, Ojiro and Mineta gathered bait, lures, hooks and spare fishing lines, then set them all on the counter to pay.

The old man behind the desk rang up their order, chuckling as he surveyed their supplies.

“You boys be aiming for this year’s Big Whopper prize, I take it?”

“Big Whopper prize?” Mineta asked, his eyes lighting up as he pulled out his wallet to pay. “What’s that?”

The man laughed louder, gathering the bits together to put them in a bag.

“Blimey. All this equipment and y’ner doin’ the Whopper.” He turned and tapped a faded poster on the wall behind him. “Biggest catch of the season gets a cash prize.”

Mineta’s eyes lit up even more.

“You’re kidding?” He turned to the others. “We’re in, right?”

Tokoyami observed his brand-new fishing rod as it went through the register, then Mineta’s eager expression.

“Perhaps I’ll leave that to you. Beginner’s luck does not often favour me.”

Mineta shrugged then turned to Ojiro and Shoji.

“How about you guys?”

Though Shoji nodded, Ojiro asked,

“Sounds fun, but doesn’t that mean we’d have to camp around the busy lakes where they have the biggest fish?”

He didn’t sound best pleased at the thought of spending their camping trip in a noisy, crowded area. Shoji asked the hut-owner,

“Can you recommend any spots that aren’t too busy?”

The hut-owner tapped his finger to his chin thoughtfully, then reached under the counter for a map of the National Park.

“Aren’t many spots quiet this time of year, especially if you’re after the prize. Stay away from here,” he said, pointing to the second largest body of water on the map. “It’ll be swarming with fish but swarming with people too. Best fishing spot on the map. If you don’t mind a smaller catch, you could try here or here,” he said, tapping on two smaller, secluded lakes. Shoji leaned over the counter, curiously drifting his gaze across the map as the man continued to recommend places. The hut-owner tapped a large pond in a definitive way.

“This here’s your best bet. Great for catching supper, and it’s been known to host some big game since it’s forgotten about most a’ the year. Might only find a handful of other people there.”

“Sounds perfect.” Mineta and Ojiro agreed, but Shoji looked closer at the map. He pointed to the pond, then to the body of water next to it – the largest lake on the map.

“Won’t a lot of noise drift over from the main lake?”

The man chuckled, slapping his palm on the counter enough to make everyone jump.

“You must be joking? No one goes to that lake. It’s called the Dead Lake for a reason. If you want to catch any fish at all, stay away from there.”

That seemed unusually ominous. Tokoyami perked up.

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“No one’s caught a note-worthy fish from that lake in over fifteen years. Many have tried. None succeeded.” He tapped the map again. “Though I suppose if you fellas are looking for a quiet place to camp, the Dead Lake might be the ideal spot. Set up along this side here, and it’s only a ten minute walk to the fishing pond. You’ll get the quiet beauty of the undisturbed Dead Lake, and enough fish for supper from the pond. A win-win.”

A win-win indeed. The boys paid for their equipment, thanked the hut-owner for his advice then decided to follow his suggestion. They loaded everything into Shoji’s rickety old car then set off through the National Park towards Dead Lake.

Sometime later, the road ended in a small carpark almost full to bursting with vehicles, so they loaded themselves up with all they could carry, Shoji carrying the lion’s share in his numerous arms, then walked the rest of the way to Dead Lake.

With Tokoyami navigating through map and compass, and the boys chattering about plans for the evening, it didn’t feel nearly as long as it was to reach the edge of the Dead Lake.

“Whoa,” Mineta commented breathlessly as they breached the edge of the trees, coming face-to-face with a scene straight from a postcard. An endless expanse of clear, green-blue waters lay before them, surrounded on all sides by evergreens and grass-covered bankings. Sunlight filtered down from above, creeping between the peaks of the park’s mountain-range, basking the whole lake in warmth.

Collectively, the four boys sighed at once, letting go of their equipment so they could reach out their arms to enjoy such a welcoming, peaceful atmosphere. A gentle breeze tickled their skin, bringing nothing but a refreshing taste of their long weekend to come. If the lakes around the rest of the park were busy with people, the noise did not reach here. It was a haven of birdsong and the tranquil rustling of leaves.

“I shall certainly get used to this,” Tokoyami mused as the feathers over his face ruffled approvingly from the warmth.

“What a find.”

Ojiro could hardly believe it. As far as his eyes could see, there wasn’t a single soul around the edge of the lake but them. Perhaps it wouldn’t last, but for now this peaceful haven was theirs alone. It was the perfect place for them to reconnect after months of living busy, separate lives.

While the sun was still high, the four made quick work of setting up camp, two pitching the tents as the others gathered dry wood for a fire. For the duration of the stay, Shoji would be designated camp chef. He enjoyed the chance to cook for his friends after so long, and as soon as the sun began to set, he lit the fire then prepared the meals they had brought for the first night – though Tokoyami held some of his back, doubting he would catch anything to eat tomorrow when he had absolutely no fishing experience.

“You'll be fine,” Shoji said, stirring a pot of curry as the others sat around him on logs, looking up at a sunset unmarred by light pollution. “I'm sure between four of us, we'll catch enough tomorrow to keep us fed.”

“Not if what that gentleman said about the lake is true.” Tokoyami muttered, taking his gaze from the sky to look along the expanse of the Dead Lake. “Perhaps we'll all starve.”

“Don’t you fret, my fine feathered friend,” Mineta declared, mimicking the action of casting his fishing rod. “I’ll go to the pond to catch us enough to eat.”

“And we’ll stay here. Me and Shoji can teach you the basics.” Ojiro added helpfully, smiling when Tokoyami's beak clattered to show his approval.

------

[WRITING MASTERLIST]

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sirmidezz · 9 months

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Rambo head canons

Except it's just me projecting

-had a hippie faze himself up until he got drafted. After that his entire perspective changed on them.

-calling him a sad shelter dog is a understatement. He is a soggy wet rez dog that trautman found on the side of the road and gave a hot dog to.

-John's sad puppy dog eyes are not only used for looking at things, but also to secretly hypnotize any waiter lady to get free appetizers.

-he can sing he just doesn't want to. (Let this man sing a Johnny Cash song and be prepared to fall in love.)

-knows so many insults but doesn't use them mostly because he is genuinely a nice guy and doesn't like hurting peoples feelings unless the other person deserves a good word with him.

-he can be mean and not think twice about it, but he chooses not to.

-want to watch a movie with him? He will fall asleep as soon as he sits down on the couch.

-hides candy in his sock drawer to feel in control of himself. (Same)

-he buys candy he doesn't even like just to hide it. (Same)

-don't ever ask John for money. He doesn't have anything to provide and will only give you his thoughts n prayers.

-"ur transgener?" John will understand, he doesn't judge anyone. He grew up around 2 spirited people.

-John will never understand a "deez nuts" joke so please dont make them around him he will only look at you confused and stare at you after you make the joke.

-he has a pair of dad glasses he uses to read any letter sent to him. You want to show him a meme? Watch him pull out a pair of glasses and not laugh at the meme.

-he doesn't want a pet but if you get him a pet he will treat the pet like his own baby.

-when he was younger he learned how to hoop dance. He doesn't know how to dance now which is honestly very disappointing. (Same but with another dance😭)

-unironically goes "hehehe" when he gets what he wants like extra jam on his toast.

-has that generational trauma on BOTH sides. (Got hit with a double whammy)

-looks Lana Del Rey, but is actually mitski.

-almost never cries, but when he does someone probably died. Like nothing else but loss (and his talking about his past) can make this man break down nowadays.

-if he were a line in a song it would be, "cause now I'm scared that everyone I love will leave me," (family line by Conan grey)

-if someone sat john down looked him in the eyes, held his hands and said, "your soul needs peace, you need to releive your anger not with violence, but with a gentle breath, allow yourself to feel for one last time." Then he will cry. Like full on ugly cry into your shoulder and let out pained groans and whimpers typa shit.

-he has big parental issues only he distances himself away from everybody he ever gets attached to in fear of being hurt again.

-he craves physical touch, only he gets so uncomfortable when someone hugs him.

-this man can deadlift 300. maybe even more, he can go walking miles without stopping once. hell he is a whole unit, but he will not go to the kitchen to get you a cup of water no matter how much you ask him.

-hates mushrooms.

-had a pet crawdad he accidentally lost. (It's still alive somehow, he just doesn't know it.)

-thugs it out on a daily. 💯💯 (I will pay for his therapy)

#john rambo #rambo #sly stallone #sylvester stallone #digital art #im so tired #i wanna kms #headcanon #bro i love him #native american #goofy ahh

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canoeing-the-north · 8 days

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I took a road trip today to a favorite spot a couple of hours away from home. This land was saved by the Lumberjack's axe and saw when surveyors in 1882 mistakenly mapped this area as being a certain lake which in fact was a half a mile away. The trees are between 300 and 400 years old and this land is now State owned. This is a true virgin forest. It's good to sit and listen to the wind in the trees and the birds. The squirrels were gathering their pine cones and stashing them while I watched....

my photos

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bellemorte180 · 1 year

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300 Miles of Good Road sneak peak

For WIP Wednesday.

Not for the first time, Rebekah and Enzo drove Klaus from his own home. They meant well, but their piercing looks of both pride and concern nearly did him in. The news that he ended his courtship with Lady Camille spread quickly through the Ton. While the reasons why were not openly discussed, something Klaus was certain Elijah had a hand in, there were whispers as to why Lord Mikaelson, the second son of a duke, would set aside a woman who would be considered a suitable match.

As he sat in his club, the cup of tea turning cold in front of him, Klaus ignored the looks of the gentleman around him. Instead, he scanned the paper, searching for a byline that belonged to Caroline. He couldn’t go to her, and even if he did, he knew that there was a chance she would refuse to see him. He has seen or heard very little from her, but he knew that Caroline was attempting to distance herself from him, to seal her heart from him in a way that he knew must be causing her pain.

At least she isn’t engaged to Lockwood. Klaus thought idly, reading through the latest article by Lady Davina Claire. Not for the first time, Klaus wondered if Caroline knew who the woman she allowed to write such radical notions in her paper was. She claimed that she didn’t but then, Caroline was always about putting others in front of herself, even if it meant being slightly dishonest. Knowing her, there was the chance that she just was protecting whomever the lady was.

Klaus could feel the eyes on him, watching as he turned the page of his paper and yet he couldn't care less. The news that he broke off his courtship with Lady Camille traveled quickly, the furious vile spewed from Elijah that moment he learned that Klaus had no intentions on marrying her. All of Elijah’s carefully laid plans for him were tumbling down and there was something rather joyous about it. While the pain of losing Caroline still felt heavy in his chest, there was something free about denying Elijah.

Yet the whispers persisted. Since Kol’s banishment from the family, the Mikaelsons have not had such a scandalous season, although Klaus wondered if it could be considered scandalous at all. They were men. If the roles had been reversed, their actions would cause such an uproar but Caroline was already painted as someone undesirable by the Ton and he would happily play the villain society’s eyes if it meant Camille had a chance to heal. He never wished her any harm, she just wasn’t Caroline.

So Klaus let them talk. He endured the whispers, caring very little for what was said between men because he no longer cared. What did their opinions matter in the grand scheme of everything? It was as though a veil had been raised from his eyes, the reality of the man he had been and who he surrounded himself with was becoming clearer with each passing day. When he looked in the mirror, peering into his unshaven face with his haunted eyes peering back at him, the society he had kept no longer seemed appealing.

#klaroline #300 miles of good road #work in progress wednesday

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therecordchanger62279 · 2 months

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MY 200 FAVORITE ALBUMS OF ALL-TIME

(Revised 2024 Edition)

To my way of thinking, a list of favorite albums changes over time. At any moment, there might be as many as 300 or 400 albums that are good enough to make a favorites list of 200. Where and how to cut is the question. I do a new list whenever the old one feels outdated to me. The criteria I use is pretty basic. I choose my favorite records to listen to, and those that get played more often are ranked higher. But my listening habits change from time to time, so when an album I love doesn't get played as often because I'm getting tired of it, it falls to a lower spot on the list, or disappears altogether. If I haven't played it in awhile, and it sound fresh to me, it goes back into regular rotation, and subsequently climbs higher on the list. I go through periods when I listen to one genre more than another, and that can also affect where the album lands on the list. Playability is the most important factor. That's why an album that has one great side that gets played all the time while the other side is ignored, won't rank as high as one that I enjoy playing from start to finish. And critics lists are things I often read, but completely ignore when it comes to doing my own. My list reflects my tastes, and my biases only.

This is my first revision since March of 2023. There are 28 new additions to the list this time marked with an asterisk. And, in case you're wondering, there were five artists that placed at least five albums on the list. They were The Rolling Stones (13), The Beatles (8), and The Beach Boys, Steely Dan, and Tom Petty each had five (though four of Petty's were with The Heartbreakers, and the fifth was a solo album). Here's my list, and I hope it encourages you to explore something you might not have heard, or to pull something out you may not have played in awhile.

1. All Things Must Pass – George Harrison (1970)

2. Revolver (UK) – The Beatles (1966)

3. The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle – Bruce Springsteen (1973)

4. Blood on the Tracks – Bob Dylan (1975)

5. Sticky Fingers – The Rolling Stones (1971)

6. Close to the Edge – Yes (1972)

7. The Dark Side of the Moon – Pink Floyd (1973)

8. L.A. Woman – The Doors (1971)

9. Surrealistic Pillow – Jefferson Airplane (1967)

10. The Who by Numbers – The Who (1975)

11. Help (UK) – The Beatles (1965)

12. A1A – Jimmy Buffet (1974)

13. Bitches Brew – Miles Davis (1970)

14. Kind of Blue – Miles Davis (1959)

15. Pet Sounds – The Beach Boys (1966)

16. A Tribute to Jack Johnson – Miles Davis (1971)

17. Pat Metheny Group (1978)

18. A Hard Day’s Night (UK) – The Beatles (1964)

19. Aftermath (US) – The Rolling Stones (1966)

20. The Division Bell – Pink Floyd (1994)

21. Heavy Weather – Weather Report (1977)

22. Bridge Over Troubled Water – Simon & Garfunkel (1970)

23. Sweet Baby James – James Taylor (1970)

24. Surf’s Up – The Beach Boys (1971)

25. Exile on Main St. – The Rolling Stones (1972)

26. At Fillmore East – The Allman Brothers Band (1971)

27. Born to Run – Bruce Springsteen (1975)

28. The Hissing of Summer Lawns – Joni Mitchell (1975)

29. The Doors (1967)

30. Highway 61 Revisited – Bob Dylan (1965)

31. Rust Never Sleeps – Neil Young & Crazy Horse (1979)

32. Let It Bleed – The Rolling Stones (1969)

33. Astral Weeks – Van Morrison (1969)

34. (Untitled) (4th) – Led Zeppelin (1971)

35. Teaser & the Firecat – Cat Stevens (1971)

36. The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967)

37. On the Road to Freedom – Alvin Lee & Mylon LeFevre (1973)

38. Tea for the Tillerman – Cat Stevens (1970)

39. The Complete Africa Brass Sessions – John Coltrane (1961)

40. Holland – The Beach Boys (1973)

41. Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs – Derek & the Dominos (1970)

42. Heartbreaker – Free (1972)

43. Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn, Jones, Ltd. – The Monkees (1967)

44. Beggar’s Banquet – The Rolling Stones (1968)

45. III – Led Zeppelin (1970)

46. Seventh Sojourn – Moody Blues (1972)

47. Forever Changes – Love (1967)

48. My Favorite Things – John Coltrane (1961)

49. Meet The Beatles – The Beatles (1964)

50. Can’t Buy a Thrill – Steely Dan (1972)

51. Beautiful Vision – Van Morrison (1982)

52. Days of Future Passed – Moody Blues (1967)

53. Setting Sons (US) – The Jam (1979)

54. The Captain & Me – Doobie Brothers (1973)

55. The Dream of the Blue Turtles – Sting (1985)

56. Willy & the Poor Boys – Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)

57. The Way It Is – Bruce Hornsby & The Range (1986)

58. One Fair Summer Evening – Nanci Griffith (1988)

59. The Beatles Second Album -The Beatles (1964)

60. Who’s Next – The Who (1971)

61. Idlewild South – The Allman Brothers Band (1970)

62. Beatles ’65 – The Beatles (1964)

63. Presenting the Fabulous Ronettes featuring Veronica - The Ronettes (1964)

64. Chuck Berry is On Top – Chuck Berry (1959)

65. First Circle – Pat Metheny Group (1984)

66. The Allman Brothers Band (1969)

67. Young Americans – David Bowie (1975)

68. The End of the Day – The Reivers (1989)*

69. Visions of the Emerald Beyond – Mahavishnu Orchestra (1975)

70. Will O’ The Wisp – Leon Russell (1975)

71. 461 Ocean Boulevard – Eric Clapton (1974)

72. Band on the Run – Paul McCartney & Wings (1973)

73. It’s Only Rock ‘N’ Roll – The Rolling Stones (1974)

74. Manassas – Stephen Stills & Manassas (1972)

75. Pretzel Logic – Steely Dan (1974)

76. Peter Gabriel (3rd/Melt) (1980)

77. Made in Japan – Deep Purple (1973)

78. Where Have I Known You Before – Return to Forever (1974)

79. Green River – Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)

80. Making Movies – Dire Straits (1980)

81. Rock ‘N’ Roll Animal – Lou Reed (1974)

82. Selling England by the Pound – Genesis (1973)

83. Heroes – David Bowie (1977)

84. Afro Blue Impressions – John Coltrane (1963)

85. Some Girls – The Rolling Stones (1978)

86. Diesel & Dust – Midnight Oil (1987)

87. Mysterious Traveler – Weather Report (1974)

88. Blues from Big Bill’s Copacabana – Various Artists (1968)

89. Modern Times – Jefferson Starship (1981)

90. Blow Your Cool – Hoodoo Gurus (1987)

91. Ram – Paul & Linda McCartney (1971)

92. Caravanserai – Santana (1972)

93. Odessey & Oracle – The Zombies (1968)

94. Black Market – Weather Report (1976)

95. Heart Like a Wheel – Linda Ronstadt (1974)

96. 12X5 – The Rolling Stones (1964)

97. Santana (1969)

98. In Concert: Live at Philharmonic Hall – Miles Davis (1973)

99. Bridge of Sighs – Robin Trower (1974)

100. Pirates – Rickie Lee Jones (1981)

101. Benefit – Jethro Tull (1970)

102. Madman Across the Water – Elton John (1971)

103. Countdown to Ecstasy – Steely Dan (1973)

104. McCartney – Paul McCartney (1970)

105. Yesterday’s Wine – Willie Nelson (1971)

106. Howlin’ Wind – Graham Parker & The Rumour (1976)

107. Voice of America – Little Steven (1984)

108. Out of Our Heads (US) – The Rolling Stones (1965)

109. Blow by Blow – Jeff Beck (1975)

110. Robbie Robertson (1987)

111. Gaucho – Steely Dan (1980)

112. Desire – Bob Dylan (1976)

113. Vol. 4 – Black Sabbath (1972)

114. Abbey Road – The Beatles (1969)

115. Aja – Steely Dan (1977)

116. Yessongs – Yes (1973)

117. Rickie Lee Jones (1979)

118. Bare Trees – Fleetwood Mac (1972)

119. Something/ Anything? – Todd Rundgren (1972)

120. After the Gold Rush – Neil Young (1970)

121. Physical Graffiti – Led Zeppelin (1975)

122. Rock ‘N’ Roll – John Lennon (1975)

123. Abraxas – Santana (1970)

124. Hard Promises – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (1981)

125. A New World Record – Electric Light Orchestra (1976)

126. Ghost in the Machine – The Police (1981)

127. The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys – Traffic (1971)

128. Dreaming My Dreams – Waylon Jennings (1975)

129. We’re an American Band – Grand Funk Railroad (1973)

130. Chicago Transit Authority – Chicago (1969)

131. What’s Goin’ On – Marvin Gaye (1971)

132. Don’t Cry Now – Linda Ronstadt (1973)

133. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road – Elton John (1973)

134. Jaco – Jaco Pastorius (1976)

135. Peter Frampton (1975)

136. Prisoner in Disguise – Linda Ronstadt (1975)

137. El Mocambo 1977 – The Rolling Stones (2022)

138. Document – R.E.M. (1987)

139. Harbor – America (1977)*

140. Love’s Melodies – The Searchers (1981)*

141. Doll Revolution – Bangles (2003)*

142. Learning to Crawl – Pretenders (1984)

143. Black & Blue – The Rolling Stones (1976)

144. The Yardbirds (Roger the Engineer) (1966)*

145. Lifes Rich Pageant – R.E.M. (1986)*

146. America (1971)*

147. Wildflowers – Tom Petty (1994)*

148. Aladdin Sane – David Bowie (1973)

149. Dusty in Memphis – Dusty Springfield (1969)

150. Everything – Bangles (1988)*

151. That’s Why God Made the Radio – The Beach Boys (2012)

152. Stephen Stills (1970)*

153. On the Border – Eagles (1974)

154. Baron Von Tollbooth & The Chrome Nun – Kantner, Slick & Freiberg (1973)

155. The Pretender – Jackson Browne (1976)

156. Under the Big Black Sun – X (1982)*

157. Stand Up – Jethro Tull (1969)

158. Let Me Up (I’ve Had Enough) – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (1987)*

159. London Calling – The Clash (1979)*

160. Live at The Star Club – The Beatles (1977)

161. The Joshua Tree – U2 (1987)

162. Eat to The Beat – Blondie (1979)*

163. One of These Nights – Eagles (1975)*

164. Scarecrow – John Mellencamp (1985)*

165. Live – Bob Marley & The Wailers (1975)

166. Tattoo – Rory Gallagher (1973)

167. Orange Crate Art – Brian Wilson & Van Dyke Parks (1995)

168. Damn the Torpedoes – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (1979)*

169. Hard Again – Muddy Waters (1977)

170. Valley Hi – Ian Matthews (1973)

171. In the Court of the Crimson King – King Crimson (1969)

172. One Live Badger – Badger (1972)

173. Automatic for the People – R.E.M. (1991)*

174. Trilogy – Emerson, Lake & Palmer (1972)

175. Sunflower – The Beach Boys (1970)

176. 80/81 – Pat Metheny (1980)

177. Moving Pictures – Rush (1981)

178. Blue and Lonesome – The Rolling Stones (2016)

179. You Broke My Heart So I Busted Your Jaw – Spooky Tooth (1972)

180. Quadrophenia – The Who (1973)

181. Go for Your Guns – Isley Brothers (1977)

182. Hearts of Stone – Southside Johnny & The Asbury Jukes (1978)

183. Get Happy! – Elvis Costello & The Attractions (1980)*

184. Long After Dark – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (1982)*

185. Master of Reality – Black Sabbath (1971)

186. Led Zeppelin (1969)

187. Sign O’ The Times – Prince (1987)

188. Ambient 1: Music for Airports – Brian Eno (1978)

189. Liars – Todd Rundgren (2004)*

190. Electric Ladyland – Jimi Hendrix Experience (1968)

191. Blonde on Blonde – Bob Dylan (1966)

192. Tattoo You – The Rolling Stones (1981)*

193. My Generation – The Who (1965)*

194. Going For The One – Yes (1977)*

195. The Tortured Poets Society: The Anthology – Taylor Swift (2024)*

196. Bloodletting – Concrete Blonde (1990)*

197. Fear of Music – Talking Heads (1979)*

198. English Settlement – XTC (1982)*

199. Brain Salad Surgery – Emerson, Lake & Palmer (1973)

200. Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols – Sex Pistols (1977)

#Top 200 Album List

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mountrainiernps · 2 years

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Autumn is not normally the time to see waterfalls at their biggest and best. In the Pacific Northwest, we don’t tend to get much rain through the summer, so waterfalls get smaller and smaller as the snowmelt finishes and rivers rely more and more on glacier melt. This summer was quite dry with barely a few traces of rain. So far, autumn has not yet brought its rains and storms to replenish the lands.

So why think about waterfalls and hikes? Because this is a great time to scope out possible trails for next spring and early summer. Those are the time of year when waterfalls are at their best. Planning now can put you on the trail next May or June for some good waterfall hiking.

One of the park’s eastside gems is Silver Falls. It can be hiked as a loop starting from the Ohanapecosh Visitor Center (now closed for the winter). Roundtrip the loop is about 3 miles with 300 feet of elevation gain. Starting from behind the visitor center in the day use parking, you can follow the trail up the Ohanapecosh River on the east side, hiking through the gorgeous, big trees that have found shelter in this valley. You’ll cross Laughing Water Creek a short distance before reaching the view point for Silver Falls. After crossing the wooden bridge over the Ohanapecosh River (with a great view), the loop continues south down the west side of the river. Returning through the campground, you cross the road bridge back to the day use parking.

Did you hike Silver Falls trail this spring or summer? When is your favorite time to visit Ohanapecosh? ~ams

Facilities at Ohanapecosh are already closed for winter. https://www.nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/hours.htm Please check before going to see what is available. The park and Washington DOT close State Route 123 during the winter at the park’s southern boundary. Check road conditions in the park https://www.nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/road-status.htm and with WSDOT https://wsdot.com/travel/real-time/mountainpasses before you leave home. For more information on the Silver Falls Trail https://www.nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/silver-falls.htm.

NPS/C. Roundtree Photo. Hiker on dirt trail through forest near wooden bridge over Laughingwater Creek on Silver Falls trail. June, 2018. NPS/Spillane Photo. View of Silver Falls during snowmelt from Silver Falls trail. May, 2019. NPS/E. Brouwer Photo. Ohanapecosh River running between rock-lined sides. June, 2014.

#encuentra tu parque #find your park #Ohanapecosh #waterfalls #trail #hiking #forest #national parks #mount rainier national park

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andrewseiner · 9 months

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I enjoy using work as a way to escape my left-leaning, anti-fascism, skeptical algorithm bubble. Firstly, I have a large number of coworkers with extremely right-wing opinions; and even though most of them have figured out that I'm better (and/or more stubborn) at arguing politics, religion et al than they are, I can get a couple bites of the more... Passionate ones. Secondly, I get access to a near clean Microsoft Start news page as the default home of the web browsers on all the computers as well as the daytime Network TV playing in the break rooms.

Anyways, all that preamble is tell a very specific story. While on break, not 30 minutes ago, there was some crap TV about Alaskan "homesteaders". Holy forking shirt balls y'all... The absolute gall of self-indulgent, libertarian, myth-making crap. The "Men-folk" coming on camera to jerk themselves about how their all just "living off the land" and "Struggling to build a simple chicken coop with the subpar lumber on their land"... the very next shot is a Hitachi track hoe lifting a log into a modern sawmill being powered with a Honda generator. With the "homesteader's" brand new Polaris ATV parked in the background.

Where'd you get the money for all that? Where's that replacement belt for your sawmill going to come from? Where do you get the gas to run the generator? Or to run the atv? Where do you buy new chains for that chainsaw you used to cut down that log? You got a Metallurgy degree and a forge in that backyard too?

The best part was the blatant misogyny. Guy talking about how he's being so brave and taking this big risk going bear hunting "just to put some meat in the freezer". I mean the bears are dangerous because they're fresh out of hibernation and thus very hungry. Then you've got six miles kayaking across a freezing cold Alaskan Lake... Then he picks up his dad in a $120,000 pickup truck; at least $5,000 worth of firearms, two satellite phones, 2 military grade GPS devices, and a brand new, two-person kayak. Then we cut to the guy's wife out on on the water and a dingy little fishing boat with an outbound motor that looks like lost to fight with a rust monster. The she goes "Yeah, if Frank and Dale don't bag a black bear, I'm the backup plan. I can usually catch enough fish to last us through the year in two or three solid weeks of work out here on the lake."

Now listen, I'm not saying she didn't have really nice fishing gear or a good GPS and/or satellite phone. But like. Seems like it'd be better to just go out and do the fishing, or hop in your brand new truck and drive the 300 miles to the nearest town and pick up 100 lb of beef and 50 lb of pork you clearly got money to buy some meat. But then you wouldn't be "manly" enough because you didn't go out there and fight a black bear with naught but a pocket knife or whatever.

That's the thing with libertarian thinking. It's all about not relying on "The Grid" until it's useful or even just convenient. Mine and everyone else's tax dollars paid for the roads the employees at the ammo factory took to work. All so you could jerk off about killing a groggy, starving black bear.

#libertarian #socialism #patriarchal society #Alaska #homesteading

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blackswaneuroparedux · 2 years

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Anonymous asked: I always enjoy posts about women explorers and travel. Can you recommend travel books written by women or about iconic women explorers? I think you would be better qualified than most armchair enthusiasts since you are well traveled, conversant in several languages, and a rugged mountaineer and hiker.

I don’t know about being qualified more than any anyone else. Traveling and exploring isn’t quite the same as hiking or mountaineering of course but I understand your sentiment.

I can say reading about pioneering women explorers and travelers has only inspired me to get off my arse and just go and do it. Perhaps it’s being raised overseas in several cultures and exploring those fabulous countries and regions that has always left with a travel itch to scratch.

Perhaps it’s the Norwegian or the military DNA on my Anglo-Scots side that I have a strong passion for hiking and mountaineering. These days if I do any serious hiking or mountaineering, I tag along with ex-army friends who are incredibly fit and accomplished climbers and hikers.

There are many books and each is a worthy recommendation but here are a few. It’s not an exhaustive list but a good start. I only hope they give you a sense of wanderlust as they continue to inspire me.

Eight Feet in the Andes: Travels with a Mule from Ecuador to Cuzco by Dervla Murphy (1983)

Dervla Murphy’s adventures are mind boggling, and she makes it sound so easy. Even in the mid ‘60s cycling alone through Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan was a bit dodge apart from the fact that there are mountains i.e. uphill cycling. This book is not her most famous one but it’s still worth a read. I put here because it brings memory of my time traveling with my father and elder brother and sister as a 10 year old in the Andes. In 1979 Dervla Murphy and her 9 year old daughter walked with their mule Juana from Cajamarca (northern Peru) to Cusco (far to the south) following as much as possible the Camino Real (the Inca Royal road) along the spine of the second highest mountain range in the world. It took them just over 3 months. Eight Feet in the Andes is a day by day journal of that incredible journey with all its splendour, risks and adventures. The Murphys travel light, most often camping in their small tent and not always sure where their next meal will come from. They endure blizzards, precipitous paths, bogs, heat, theft and find help when most needed and generous (if often taciturn) hospitality.

Reading the book years after I had done a similar trek I realised just how more luxurious our travel was in comparison to Dervla and her daughter who were more rustic in their trekking and hiking. That’s not say we weren’t hiking rough and hard (both my father and eldest brother did their stint in the army as officers) and so I had to keep up. But still, looking back I remember I had a comfortable bed to sleep in and I was well fed. I did have similar experiences of meeting amazing Andean people who are so different from urban Peruvians. The other thing that sticks out in this book is how prescient it is to realise that trekking 15-25 miles per day with the world's most uncomplaining 9-year old in tow would be considered child abuse today. I remember crying, getting blisters, and then toughing it out because I didn’t want to let the side down. So chapeau to Rachel Murphy for being so stoic and brave. As rough as the terrain was for them, there is undoubted warmth and humour in this book.

The Virago Book of Women Travellers, edited Mary Morris & Larry O’Connor (1994)

The Virago Book of Women Travellers captures 300 years of wanderlust. Some of the women are observers of the world in which they wander and others are more active. Often they are storytellers, weaving tales about the people they encounter. Whether it is curiosity about the world or escape from personal tragedy, these women approached their journeys with wit, intelligence, compassion and empathy for the lives of others. Because it’s a collection of women and their wanderlust, it’s not the kind of book you can read cover to cover or even in one sitting. It’s a good book to dip into as the mood pleases. As such it serves as a good introduction to how varied the experiences of women travellers and writers has been. I didn’t feel guilty about skipping certain parts because I found the writing turgid and boring, but that is the nature of an anthology, some you like and others less so.

In the introduction to this anthology, Mary Morris writes that “women’s literature from Austen to Woolf is by and large a literature about waiting, usually for love”. The writers selected here are the ones who didn’t wait: they set out, by boat or bicycle, camel or dugout canoe, and sought their own adventures. The collection covers some 300 years of travel writing, beginning with the extraordinary Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1689–1762), who had just - scandalously - made the journey from London to Constantinople alone, and finishing with the American writer Leila Philip, an apprentice potter in early 1980s Japan, learning the art of harvesting rice by hand with a sickle. The range, in terms of location, style and mood, is vast.

So we meet independent travellers and those on the road with family, women on long epic journeys or more focussed trips, famous names and obscure, mountaineers and motorcyclists, aviators and anthropologists, those treading well-kept routes and brave pioneers, young women and old, but all intelligent and good writers. Many of the women were traveling alone during times when traveling wasn't very easy and certainly wasn't something many women did on their own, and they were traveling to places all over the world. The majority of the essays are about Africa, Asia and the Middle East. Many of the women travellers are familiar such as Dervla Murphy, Rebecca West, Beryl Markham - and the other usual suspects.

There were a few about traveling to colonial America and one about traveling to the wilds of Ohio written by Anthony Trollope's mother that was hilarious. An extract from Frances Trollope’s Domestic Manners of the Americans (1832) demonstrates a satirical eye her son clearly inherited: “She lived but a short distance from us, and I am sure intended to be a very good neighbour; but her violent intimacy made me dread to pass her door”. Some other pieces are les scathing and more lyrical: M. F. K. Fisher brings Dijon to life through the battling scents of the city’s famous mustard, gingerbread and the fragrant altar smoke billowing from a church door; Vita Sackville-West conjures the fading light of a picturesque Persian garden at dusk.

Many of the women faced sexism along the way and had to fight to go certain places and some even face sexual harassment on their travels. But mercifully these experiences are few and far between. There were a few many wonderful writers I stumbled across of whom I’d never heard – such as Flora Tristan, Frances Trollope, Isabelle Eberhardt (whose packed and tragically short life is worth reading up on), and many others. Maud Parrish writes exhilaratingly about adventures in Yukon and Alaska, the intriguing Mrs F D Bridges (about whom we know little as she travelled in the shadow of her husband) describes nineteenth century Mormonism compellingly. Emily Hahn, I did know about as her writings I was familiar with when I was growing up in Shanghai. Hahn writes vividly about her opium addiction in China (one of a few women to focus heavily on addictions).

However uneven anthologies can be, they still can serve as a good starting place to discover further a favourite writer and traveler. And if it can do that then an anthology will have served its purpose.

Travels With Myself and Another: Five Journeys from Hell by Martha Gellhorn (1978)

Although Martha Gellhorn was principally a war correspondent but seems to have travelled widely for most of her life. Her book was originally subtitled Five Journeys from Hell, which provides a not very subtle clue about her travel experiences. It describes her journeys in China with the unnamed other (1941), the Caribbean (1942), Africa (1962), Russia (1972) and Israel (1971). She says that this is not a proper travel book – ‘I rarely read travel books myself. I prefer to travel’. And it’s clear that she spent most of her life travelling, with an impressive list of places she has visited. It’s a difficult book to categorise, and that’s perhaps also true of its author. She clearly had a strong spirit of adventure, and as someone who covered every major conflict from the Spanish Civil War to the American invasion of Panama in 1989, she cannot have lacked courage or determination.

The writing is excellent, with lots of very funny, self-deprecating, black humour, and witty observations about the pitfalls of travelling generally. Many things infuriated Gellhorn - injustice, cruelty, stupidity - but on a personal level, nothing made her more incensed than having her name linked with that of the man she was married for less than five of her almost ninety years, Ernest Hemingway. Although Travels with Myself and Another is subtitled as a memoir, the most famous of her three husbands appears in just one essay under the initials of U.C. (Unwilling Companion), probably only because he provides extensive comic relief for a writer “who cherishes...disasters” and is immensely fond of black humour.

The only trouble is that her accounts of her journeys focus largely on her feelings of boredom, fear, exhaustion, hunger, anger and so on, with rare uplifting moments between. She also seems to have little fellow feeling for the people she comes across, and there are flashes of racism and intolerance. As her companion in China says, ‘Martha loves humanity but can’t stand people’. Still Gellhorn relishes mishaps in her journeys because that is where the story lies--and since her journeys are invariably far off the map, mishaps are always there, waiting for her acerbic descriptions.

Of all the travels that she has chosen to relive, her journey to China in 1941 is easily the most hair-raising and hysterically funny. As someone who grew up in Shanghai as a girl, China in 1941 is still firmly etched into Chinese history and culture. The legacy of the Japanese war - the sheer brutality of it which many Europeans have blithely ignored - remains a ghost in the collective memory of the Chinese and is a regular staple as a setting for its many television soap operas.

Anyway, in this book, Gellhorn is determined to witness the Sino-Japanese War first-hand shortly after Japan joins Italy and Germany in the Axis. “All I had to do is get to China,” she says blithely, and as part of her preparations for this odyssey she persuades U.C. (Ernest Hemingway) to go with her. Embarking from San Francisco to Honolulu by ship, a voyage that “lasted roughly forever,” Gellhorn and U.C. then fly from Hawaii to Hong Kong, “all day in roomy comfort”, landing at an island where passengers spend the night before arriving in Hong Kong. “Air travel,” she says, “was not always disgusting.”

As a war correspondent for Collier’s, Gellhorn insists upon getting as close to the war as she can. Traveling by plane, truck, boat, and “awful little horses”, she and U.C. find the troops of the Chinese Army and their hard-drinking generals (who almost vanquish U.C. in their alcoholic prowess), Chiang Kai-shek and Madame Chiang (“who,” Gellhorn fumes, “ was charming to U.C. and civil to me”), and, through a cloak-and-dagger encounter in a Chungking market, Chou Enlai (“this entrancing man,” Gellhorn confesses, “the one really good man we’d met in China”). Although she and U.C. barely escape cholera, hypothermia, food poisoning, and the hazards of drinking snake wine, by the end of their journey Gellhorn contracts a vicious case of “China Rot,” an ailment resembling athlete’s foot that’s highly contagious. U.C.’s commiseration is heartwarming: “Honest to God, M., you brought this on yourself. I told you not to wash.”

On their last night, hot and steaming in the humidity of Rangoon, Gellhorn is overwhelmed with gratitude that U.C. has stuck with her through “a season in hell.” She reaches out, touches his shoulder, and murmurs her thanks, “while he wrenched away, shouting “Take your filthy dirty hands off me!” “We looked at each other, laughing in our separate pools of sweat.” “The real life of the East is agony to watch and horror to share,” Gellhorn wrote somewhat melodramatically to her mother. Years later, she concludes “I was right about one thing; in the Orient a world ended.” From Gellhorn’s sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued point of view, that ending was nothing to mourn. Gellhorn is captivating, bold, reckless, romantic, and deeply, powerfully, and hypnotically inspired to help the world despite her own personal flaws.

How to Climb Mont Blanc in a Skirt: A Handbook for the Lady Adventurer by Mick Conefrey (2011)

I had second thoughts about including this book but it is easily the most readable and therefore the most accessible introduction to women explorers and travellers….and yet it’s written by a man. Hmmm. Bear with me. I was given this book as a birthday gift and dutifully I read it and even I was surprised that there were some women explorers I hadn’t known about in amongst the usual suspects of Freya Stark, Gertrude Bell and Jeanne de Clisson. The book overviews female explorers and adventurers from the 1800’s through the 2000’s. It is a collection of short anecdotes, ranging between one paragraph and three pages in length.

There aren’t traditional chapters, but the book is sectioned off by different questions. The arrangement of the book makes reading straightforward and simple. I suppose there is no correct answer to questions like “why do women adventure?” and “how do women adventure differently to men?”. Conefrey is visibly careful not to generalise. However, he does compare them a lot. Some women appear only in tandem with their husbands, some feel like an offshoot of their husband and there’s an entire chapter comparing women adventurers to either their male expedition partner or the man who did the most similar expedition or adventure, usually before the woman did it. I did find myself wondering if we needed quite so many men in a book that’s supposed to be exclusively about women.

The majority of the women who appear were doing their adventures a couple of centuries ago, when vast swathes of the world were mysterious and unknown, when it was acceptable to hire or occasionally coerce fifty locals to carry your luggage or occasionally to carry you in a bath chair, when people routinely carried an entire arsenal with them, and yes, when women were doing this kind of adventuring in all sorts of skirts.

These are not then full biographies. Some names appear again and again. Freya Stark, Gertrude Bell, Mary Kingsley as well as other ones like Rosita Forbes, Mary Hall, Ella Maillart, Annie Smith Peck, and Jeanne de Clisson. Clearly bigger stories to tell about them. They went off to places women just didn’t go to in those days and did things women just didn’t do. But the book does serve as a jumping board to explore further any explorer that captures your attention. In the end it’s something to read on an idle rainy day and can be read in bedtime-reading sized chunks. Rather than a deep trek, it’s the equivalent of a well written jog through a brief explanation of the journeys and personalities of some rather interesting women.

The Living Mountain: A Celebration of the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland by Nan Shepherd (1977)

If you’re Scottish then you have no excuse not knowing who Nan Shepherd was - her face has been on the Scottish five pound note. As strange as it sounds, being Anglo-Scots on my father’s side, I first heard her name when living on the other side of the world. Only when I came home to see my family clan we would walk in the Cairngorms and her spirit would be invoked with reverence and awe. For a long time in Scottish arts and letters she was known only as a minor writer of the early 20th century Scottish Renaissance. Between 1928 and 1935 she published three modernist novels – The Quarry Wood being superlative - and one book of poetry. From then until her death in 1981, she published only one more, The Living Mountain. It was written during the latter years of the World War Two but, following advice of novelist Neil Gunn, left in a drawer. No publisher would take a punt on such an unusual book, he argued. In 1977, it was unearthed and Aberdeen University Press published it. This prose-poem about the Cairngorms quickly became a cult classic among wanderers and mountaineers, as important as anything written by WH Murray.

In this masterpiece of nature writing, Nan Shepherd describes her journeys into the Cairngorm mountains of Scotland. There she encounters a world that can be breathtakingly beautiful at times and shockingly harsh at others. Her intense, poetic prose explores and records the rocks, rivers, creatures and hidden aspects of this remarkable landscape. Reading it has become a rite of passage for anyone wishing to understand the Scottish mountains, the literary equivalent of a hillwalker spending the night under the Shelter Stone at the head of Loch Avon. Both pursuits are likely to keep you up all night. From its first sentence, "Summer on the high plateau can be delectable as honey; it can also be a roaring scourge”. The Living Mountain draws you in with the feyness of its vision, the lucidity of its prose and Shepherd’s refreshing philosophy that mountains are more than peaks to be scaled. In writing the book, her aim was to uncover the "essential nature" of the mountains, and understand her place in them.

Nature writing these days is as much about the person as the place. Refreshingly, Shepherd is not there as a personality, rather a human presence in the landscape, complete with roving eye and senses wide open. She understood nature’s ultimate indifference (it doesn’t care who you are), yet also how much she was a part of it. She had a keen sense of ecology, an understanding that to "deeply" know a place was to know something of the whole world. Her chapters, for example, move through every element of the mountains, from water to earth, on to golden eagles and down to the tiniest mountain flowers, like the genista or birdsfoot trefoil. Robert McFarlane, one of my favourite writers today, has argued that is why she is a truly universal writer.

Nan Shepherd spent a lifetime in search of the ‘essential nature’ of the Cairngorms; her quest led her to write this classic meditation on the magnificence of mountains, and on our imaginative relationship with the wild world around us. It is a very short book at around 100 pages but it can feel like a thousand when you immerse yourself in the beauty of her prose and wisdom. Bonus tip: the edition with has Robert Macfarlane’s introduction and an afterword written by Jeanette Winterson. What I love about this book is that you don’t have to travel to exotic far flung places to appreciate mountains or nature in general. For most of us it can be in easy reach from our door steps.

Gertrude Bell: Queen of the Desert, Shaper of Nations by Georgina Howell (2007)

If you follow my blog then you know I have made a lot of posts about one of my heroines, Gertrude Bell. I’m not going to rehash all that I’ve posted here. Just type in ‘gertrude bell’ into the search box.

Gertrude Bell is commonly referred to as ‘the female Lawrence of Arabia’ and that really explains in a nutshell how she’s been screwed over by history. If we could be more fair minded and reasonable, T.E. Lawrence would be called ‘the male Gertrude Bell’ and Gertrude would have the four-hour Oscar award-winning biopic that everyone would watch at Christmas time. But always no, and because of this, T.E. Lawrence is a household name and Gertrude Bell is a footnote in his story. To this day it ticks me off that Gertrude Bell gets no mention in David Lean’s magisterial Lawrence of Arabia. It’s one of my favourite films of all time but it grates that she didn’t even feature in one scene.

Suffice it to say, Gertrude Bell was one of those rare figures for whom the expression “larger than life” is too small. In an age when women were expected to stay close to husband and hearth, she explored uncharted deserts and ascended previously unclimbed mountains…in Edwardian skirts. Bell was full of firsts. She began marching to a different drummer at Oxford University, which was scarcely comfortable with women in the 1880s. A professor asked Bell and the few other female students for their reaction to his lecture. “Green eyes flashing, Gertrude retorted loudly: `I don’t think we learned anything new today. I don’t think you added anything to what you wrote in your book,'” Howell says. She was the first woman to get a First in modern history at Oxford.

As a highly respected archaeologist, she made important archaeological discoveries in an era when the methodology involved bribing local nabobs and packing a gun lest the natives not be friendly. A linguistic polymath, she translated the love lyrics of medieval Persian poet Hafiz. She was friends and colleague of T.E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia). She was every inch - and more - her colleague and friend’s equal in intellect and action. Bell was to achieve seniority in the British military intelligence and diplomatic service. The in-depth knowledge and contacts she acquired through long and arduous travels in then Greater Syria, Mesopotamia, Asia Minor and Arabia, shaped British imperial policy-making. More successful than Lawrence, she shaped the making of the modern east after the First World War. Indeed she ran Iraq when Britain, which won World War I, cobbled together that country out of bits and pieces of the Turkish Empire, which lost the war.

A daughter of the English industrial class, she fell in love with the parched landscapes of the Middle East and went native, albeit loading her caravans with fine china and formal gowns. She so mastered the language and culture of the Bedouins that members of the Beni Sakhr, a tribe not well-disposed toward outsiders, saluted her as one of their own. “`Mashallah! Bint Arab,’ they declared - `As God has willed it: a daughter of the desert,'” Georgina Howell writes in Gertrude Bell: Queen of the Desert, Shaper of Nations.

I could easily point you to her own book, ‘Letters of Gertrude Bell’ which are cherished part of my library. But that might not be the best entry point into the extraordinary life of Gertrude Bell. To date Georgina Howell has probably done the best biography of this amazing woman - Janet Wallach’s Desert Queen: The Extraordinary Life of Gertrude Bell is another one but Howell’s is better. Bell was constantly writing letters about her adventures, and Howell quotes them extensively throughout the book - which makes Bell much more dynamic. The scope of Howell’s book is also wider - while Wallach’s book focused mainly on Bell’s work in the Middle East later in her life, Howell seems to be trying to give equal attention to all the phases of Bell’s life

So my reservations about Howell’s book should be taken with a pinch of salt. Howell’s book certainly delves into the primary sources more head on. It’s a good book but the pity is that Howell’s literary skills are not always up to those of her subject. Yet such was likely to be the case no matter who her biographer might have been.

Howell doesn’t help herself by fretting about marginal issues like why Bell wasn’t more of a feminist. Honorary secretary of the Anti-Suffrage League, Bell organised a massive petition drive, which netted 250,000 signatures, against giving women the vote. Since Bell set so many firsts for her sex, why shouldn’t she also have been the Emily Pankhurst of her era?

Early on, Howell’s narrative gets bogged down in a recitation of Bell’s ancestors and social-set contemporaries. Many have hyphenated names bound to be lost on readers without ears trained since childhood for such aristocratic nuances. The great love of her life was Maj. Charles Hotham Montagu Doughty-Wylie of the Royal Welch Fusiliers. Friends called him Dick. When they met, he was married and she was a virgin,“For Gertrude, intrepid as she was, sex was the final frontier,” Howell writes. In her mid-40s, Bell couldn’t bring herself to cross that border with her beloved, though furtive attempts were made. He went off to serve and die in Britain’s ill-fated Gallipoli campaign, carrying only a walking stick into battle against Turkish gunners. Howell also doesn’t really address why Bell would want to take her own life. Also missing from the Howell biography is Bell’s early disdainful attitude for the Middle Eastern locals she encounters.

Overall Howell’s obvious fondness for her subject hampers her ability to construct a more objective and nuanced portrait of Gertrude Bell. Readers are, however, indebted to Howell for her decision to allow Bell to speak for herself by including quotations from many of Bell’s letters. Summing up the state of Iraqi affairs in spring 1920, Bell admits that events on the ground have overwhelmed British intentions. “We are now in the middle of a full-blown Jihad . . . Which means that it’s no longer a question of reason . . . The credit of European civilization is gone . . . How can we, who have managed our own affairs so badly, claim to teach others to manage theirs better?"

Passionate Nomad: The Life of Freya Stark by Jane Fletcher Geniesse (1999)

Like Gertrude Bell, I’ve posted a lot on Freya Stark (1893-1993). Again, one can search my blog for her posts. It has to be said that Freya Stark, much like Gertrude Bell, was not the most cuddliest women one could warm to. Both could be demanding and dominant with others by having an iron will determination that their way was best. And both were friendless with other women whilst also having the most tragic luck in their romantic lives. Needless to say both were fascinatingly complex and complicated women of renown. Ex-New York Times writer, Jean Fletcher Geniesse, makes a fine stab at giving us a biography worthy of Stark’s amazing life, warts and all. Her book is excellent and offers a psychologically astute chronicle of the adventurous life of this intrepid traveler of the Middle East.

Freya Stark lived a truly remarkable life. Born in Paris to an English father and an Italian mother of Polish/German descent, she was raised in Italy, chafing under the impositions of her vain, rather selfish mother who had left her husband to his bourgeois English life. Freya was largely self-taught, learning Arabic and Persian for fun, always fascinated by the Orient. Which was just as well as she had a miserable family life. her overbearing mother had left Freya’s father for an Italian count, who would later marry Freya’s sister. Geniesse describes this suffocating domestic atmosphere in vivid detail, arguing that it helped trigger Stark’s desire for a life of picturesque adventure.

At age 13, Stark was disfigured in a horrible industrial factory accident. Stark began studying Arabic in London and in her mid-30s. By 1927 she was on a ship bound for Lebanon. Stark immediately fell in love with the Middle East, becoming “fascinated by the ancient hatreds among” the region’s different tribes and religious sects. As an Arabist proud of her British heritage, Stark was in the difficult position of justifying British colonialism to the freedom-loving natives. During WWII, she worked for Britain’s Ministry of Information in the role of propagandist. She collaborated with native groups in Egypt and Iraq, drumming up support for the Allied powers. She quickly found she was very good at her double vocation, as intrepid explorer and eloquent letter-writer, then pursued and built on these skills through two glorious decades, achieving stellar literary fame, and moved effortlessly in the company of the high and mighty.

Stark would travel on foot, by donkey or camel into some of the most inaccessible regions of the Middle East, places that scarcely saw Westerners, let alone single Western women. She would infiltrate mosques and harems, climb mountains, uncover ruined cities, live amongst the simple people of the deserts, sleeping under the stars or in Bedouin tents. When Freya traveled, she liked to stay where the local people stayed, and ate their food, drank their water, and talked to them. She learned many different languages and dialects throughout her travels.

She was a mountain climber, scaling the Matterhorn, and other peaks. Since she didn’t take any precautions with food or water, she was constantly ill, and she survived many different diseases: typhoid, dysentery, and malaria, to name a few. Contrary to what many might think she wasn’t the best organised of travellers. She would often plan haphazardly and rely on her skill and luck to be at the place she wanted to be.

She wrote numerous travel books, becoming one of the foremost experts on Islamic history and peoples. Her early books on Yemen and the ancient cult of the Assassins won her plaudits from the public and the Royal Geographic Society. Indeed the published accounts of her travels quickly became the most popular reads of the day, not only for the thrilling adventures she undertook but also for her incredible writing. Freya Stark kept meticulous notes about her travels and the lands she explored, and these were instrumental in updating the maps used by the Royal Geographic Society and the British Government. Freya was also plagued by the same concerns as her contemporary, Gertrude Bell, and wrestled with contradictory feelings as a proud British citizen regarding the government’s policies toward a region she admired and even loved.

Despite her growing fame, her personal life remained unfulfilling. She fell in love with a British colonial officer who “brusquely rejected” her. After the war, at the age of 54, she married a minor colonial official who, after their wedding, revealed he was a homosexual (or rather, she could no longer pretend not to see it). Because of her factory accident as a child, she had a desire for love and to be beautiful, which lead to intense jealousy of younger and prettier women.

It’s a captivating book about one of the great English-language interpreters of the Middle East, and one in which draws on the huge and expressive bulk of Freya Stark's letters to paint a personal and professional portrait of rare accomplishment. This biography is no hagiography, exposing Freya warts and all - her bravery, independence, sense of adventure and fun is all laid out alongside her tendency to imperiousness, her habit of using people who could be helpful to her, her neediness and desperate longing to be loved. Geniesse successfully explores Stark’s fascinating psychological makeup, her mixture of insecurity and total fearlessness. Throughout, the author skilfully details the people, places, and ideas that shaped her subject’s life. Although Stark could be amazingly kind to Iraqi Bedouins or Druze tribesmen, she took the smallest slights to her dignity as personal affronts.

Freya Stark comes across as a fascinating person, a woman who never let convention stand in the way of what she wanted, a true traveller keenly interested in everyone she came across, but somehow a woman who, whilst comfortable in any kind of surrounding, was never truly comfortable in herself. In all, the evocation of a world only sixty years back but so removed from ours in its rhythms and its concerns - with the intense letter writing, the extended visits to country houses, and the imperatives of empire - will keep the attention of the reader.

Overall it’s worthwhile, stylish, and thoroughly researched biography of a fascinatingly complex, often exasperating woman. Dame Freya Stark started traveling at the age of 22 and didn't quit until she was in her 90s - perhaps no finer example of wanderlust.

Space Below My Feet by Gwen Moffat (1961)

Gwen Moffat is little known amongst the general population but to the wider mountaineering community she has a rightful place as one of Britain’s foremost female climber in the post-war world. She has the distinction of being Britain’s first female professional mountain guide and also a prolific writer of over 30 books. This entertaining memoir roughly covers the years 1945-1955, when Gwen was in her twenties. Gwen Moffat is unorthodox, uncompromising, honest, charming, and a born rebel. Moffat was an Army driver in the Auxiliary Territorial Service, stationed in North Wales after the end of the Second World War, when she met a climber who introduced her to climbing in the Welsh Hills and a bohemian lifestyle. As a conscientious objector she found the army was not her cup of tea. She especially found army life too stiff and constraining the more she climbed around Wales, where she was stationed.

From that moment her entire life unfolds against a background of mountains, and she takes us with her. We follow Gwen in her hobo existence in a shack in Cornwall, in cottages in Wales and Scotland, on a fishing boat or when the money ran out, she worked as a forester, went winkle-picking on the Isle of Skye, acted as the helmsman of a schooner, and did a stint as an artist's model. To keep alive and support her little daughter in the meantime she has followed a number of other trades, all with a mountain background except for a job in a theatre: running a Youth Hostel in Wales, driving a travelling store on lonely roads in the Scottish Highlands, acting as a maid of all work in a hotel in the British Lakes.

There is no deeper truth for Gwen, just a frugal, bohemian life singularly devoted to climbing crags and mountains. Most of the action is situated in Wales and Scotland and it helps to have a rough idea of the topography as the narrative is littered with exotic toponyms referring to the innumerable cliffs, buttresses and arêtes climbed by Moffat. A few chapters deal with her climbing adventures in the Alps (Chamonix, Zermatt, Dolomites).

She is a skilled writer as she is a climber. Anyone reading her will experience a novice’s thrills during her first climbs, bare-footed, on the Welsh slabs; we go through hairbreadth escapes, and the climbing goes on: difficult, severe, very severe. When we finally part from her and her husband on the summit of the Breithorn after 12 hours on the Younggrat, she is a fully qualified guide. From time to time we are taken for exciting adventures on the Continent, to Chamonix, Zermatt and the Dolomites. To this reader however, the most fascinating parts of the book are the descriptions of the mountains Gwen Moffat knows best, the Welsh and Scottish Hills, and the enchanting island of Skye. People of all sorts come and go in the pages, but they are secondary to the main theme of a human being and her endeavours in high places.

The great attraction of Space below my Feet is the writer’s power to conjure up mountain scenes, moods and weather and her own reactions to them. This is an intensely personal book and may be frowned on by those who like their mountains to be viewed objectively. Mountains are her passion: through them she found freedom and her true self, and she feels she can best express herself climbing among them. The objective mountain worshipper is often personally inarticulate; he or she dwindles into insignificance beside the beloved object and is rather guilt-stricken about obtruding their own feelings in descriptions of climbs. Gwen Moffat though can articulate the unspoken onto the page. It’s her searing honesty and vividness as a writer that makes this book well worth reading.

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