#embankment station

[haxanbroker]

Bakerloo Line northbound platform, Embankment station. London, July 2015.

[dubmill]

View from Albert Embankment, London; 3.12.2018

[hairtusk]

train rides through the yorkshire countryside in the sun...

[londiniumlundene]

Lost London: Walking the Covent Garden Drainage Ditches

With apologies for the slightly unappealing title – the watercourses that drained the area we now know as Covent Garden may not have ever been rivers or streams, hence it feels inappropriate to definitively categorise these as lost rivers. However, they definitely carried water to the Thames, may once have been streams that have been rechannelled, and still exist in a culverted form, with some small traces to be found at street level.

This is a walk in three parts, starting and finishing at the Thames, following first the Bloomsbury Ditch, followed by the Cock and Pye Ditch, and finally the St Martin’s parish sewer.

Part 1: The Bloomsbury Ditch

This drainage channel, also referred to in some sources as the Southampton Sewer, took water from the Cock and Pye Ditch and other surrounding marshy areas between Covent Garden and the Thames. Its outfall is no longer visible, having been channelled into the main sewer of the Victoria Embankment, which was completed in 1870. The closest one can get to it nowadays is Temple Place, the original line of the riverbank. A good place to start the walk is the rooftop section of Victoria Embankment Gardens, above Temple tube station; this has recently been transformed into an outdoor art space, but it also provides a good view out over the Thames.

Leaving the Thames behind (for now), the route of the Bloomsbury Ditch can be traced along Strand Lane, a dead-end road that cuts between buildings of King’s College London’s Strand campus. Strand Lane climbs steadily upwards, bringing the walker to the fake “Roman” baths (previously featured on this blog), which are supposedly managed by the National Trust, though have never seemed to be in particularly good condition on any of my previous visits. The (gated) steps up to Surrey Street by the baths show how much lower Strand Lane is, suggesting this was indeed once the drainage valley.

Doubling back and then around to Surrey Street (due to the aforementioned dead end and gated steps), passing the closed Aldwych station, and crossing the Strand by St Mary-le-Strand church, the best way forward here is Melbourne Place, as the ditch runs under Bush House, which formerly belonged to the BBC, and is now also inhabited by King’s College. The route then takes the walker across Aldwych, which was recently changed over to two-way traffic, the latest chapter in the saga of transport improvements associated with Aldwych and adjoining Kingsway.

Getting back on track, the course of the Bloomsbury Ditch can be picked up again along Drury Lane, which rises gradually uphill towards Covent Garden. Drury Lane is probably best known for its theatres and/or as the erstwhile residence of a muffin man, though this walk passes a few other places of interest, including the former burial ground of St John’s Church (now a children’s playground) and the Peabody Building, once the Lambert and Butler tobacco factory.

Sources are vague on where the Bloomsbury Ditch and Cock and Pye Ditch meet (some even treat them as the same ditch). However, a good place to stop with this leg of the walk would seem to be outside the Gillian Lynne Theatre, looking across to a dark alley that leads into the heart of Covent Garden…

[j4gm]

They’ve put up these ghastly memorial portraits all over the London Underground but today I was going through Embankment Station and I discovered an ULTRA RARE RADIOACTIVE LIZ VARIANT.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Zealous Movement

John hates it, Sherlock loves it. 

“Too many people. Crowded. Hateful,” John grumbles.

“Yes, to the amount, no to latter. It’s fascinating,” Sherlock tells him.

John huffs and holds on to the sleeve of Sherlock’s coat when the train comes rushing into the Embankment station.

“Don’t even try to get rid of me,” John hisses when Sherlock tries to wrestle his arm free from John’s iron grip.

Sherlock looks at John and realises that perspiration is coating John’s forehead, and his eyes have something reminiscent of panic about them. He moves closer to John, interlacing their fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock murmurs in John’s ear. 

John relaxes and exhales shakily when they walk through the doors to the carriage. Ever since Sherlock came back from the dead, John’s been dreading being apart from him, particularly when they’re taking the tube. In a flash, Sherlock may vanish again, deliberately or not, but John has a hard time coping. He tries, but today is not a good day for it.

“Come here,” Sherlock says, manhandling John to stand beside the opposite doors.

He crowds in on John, shielding him from the other passengers with the Belstaff, creating a cocoon for the two of them. John holds on to the lapels of the great coat and takes steadying breaths to calm himself. Sherlock’s low murmurings help too.

“I’m here, John. Safe. Home. With you. Always. I love you.”

John’s on the brink of tears and leans his forehead against Sherlock’s chest, listening to the steady heartbeats.

“Alive. Safe. Home,” John whispers to himself.

The train is loud and fast, racing through the tunnels of London’s underground. Steady, like heartbeats. Reliable when there’s no strikes or other obstacles. 

John understands why Sherlock loves it. After all, he’s always on the move himself. Even when he’s lying on the sofa at Baker Street, his brain is running the halls of his mind palace. 

Before the Fall, John thought nothing of taking the tube. He did it all the time, though he did prefer a proper train. The speed felt slower, and there wasn’t a rush to get off and change lines. And you were mostly overground. Things to look at. Less crowded.

Screeching brakes bring John back from his reverie. He’s still enveloped in Sherlock’s embrace, his smell, his even breathing, his reassuring heartbeats.

“This is our stop,” Sherlock says softly. “Ready?”

John looks up into cerulean eyes that are concerned, worried. He cradles Sherlock’s cheek and nods.

“Let’s do this,” John says confidently. “How hard can it be?”

“Well, if anyone would know, it’d be you, John. You did after all invade Afghanistan,” Sherlock quips and kisses John’s palm.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @safedistancefrombeingsmart @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @raina-at @gregorovitch-adler @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @7-percent @ninasnakie @peanitbear

[cuubism]

I would love to hear about the math verse AU and/or the physical therapy AU and/or Dreamling shibari for the wip game 👀 and no I cannot choose just one! xo @hardly-an-escape

posted a little bit of Math Verse, here's a tiny snippet of Physical Therapy part 9 that i wrote... today, alas there is not much of that chapter yet

--

Even if Hob doesn’t say it aloud, it’s okay. Dream knows that Hob loves him. He shows it. He doesn’t need to say it. Dream’s ex-lover had, after all, said that he loved him frequently. “Come on, you know I love you.” But where had it shown up? That was not love. It was the opposite of love. So he doesn’t need Hob to say it back, it is enough that he— “Hey, Dream?” Hob says, interrupting his thoughts. His smile is warm, successfully banishing any hope of Dream finding his line of thinking again, as sunlight does to shadows. “I love you.”

--

and Shibari, another damn thing that's so close to being finished XD light nsfw

--

This time, when he makes to do so, Dream lets Hob take his shirt off by hand. Hob himself is already shirtless, as he was before, and Dream takes a moment to run his hands down his chest, over his belly, luxuriating in the feeling of his skin. Slow, he thinks. One mistake of last time. Hob kisses the hollow space under his ear, and his jaw, and his throat. He pulls Dream close by his hips so their bellies touch, and he can feel Hob’s arousal pressed against him. Normally Dream takes a more active role in their lovemaking, but this time he lets Hob direct him, tips his head when Hob’s hand goes to his jaw, opens his mouth to Hob’s tongue. Hob takes his time in exploring him, tracing the curves of a now-familiar river, its embankments and erosions. Unbuttons Dream’s jeans without looking, pulls them down and lets Dream balance on him as he steps out of them. So physical, and almost awkward for it, for while Dream is fluid as air in the Dreaming, he always feels just a bit wrong in the waking, liable to disjoint and slip the bounds of his skin, the way dreams can fracture when hit by sunlight. He must concentrate. He must imagine himself a thing of the waking world. But Hob. Hob is a master of his body. He has had so long to learn how to use it, and he has applied it to so many different things in that time. As Dream stands, Hob brings him in close again just by leaning into his space, like he’s pressuring a skittish wild thing, loops him in with one strong hand wrapped around his upper arm. His body is surety and dominance and Dream is utterly in his thrall. When Hob turns him, steps behind him, as he had done last time, Dream is dropping to his knees already before Hob can lay a hand to the back of his neck. Hob’s sharp intake of breath catches in Dream’s chest, and Dream smiles, just a small twitch of the lips in satisfaction. He is in Hob’s thrall, but so is Hob in his, for submission is its own form of power. “You want to be good for me, love?” Hob says, stroking his fingertips up the back of Dream’s neck and into his hair. “Or do you just have something that you want?” “As you say,” Dream says, noncommittally, and delights in Hob grabbing a firm grip of his hair. “That,” Hob says, “is not quite good enough.” Hob pulls his head back, a sharp, firm tug admonishing him for his response. Dream resists automatically and Hob’s grip only tightens. Dream is not so easily overcome by sensation as he was in the immediate aftermath of his escape, the first time he had knelt for Hob. In some ways it has been a disappointment to slide back towards equilibrium. But he sees now that it has its benefits, too. The strength of Hob’s grip in his hair that would then have been too painful to tolerate now sends sparks of pleasured agony through him. Dream’s spine curves. His neck strains. Hob is immovable. It’s instinct to resist his pull, to clutch to station and power and kingship, but when he yields and lets Hob tip his head back, bares his throat, it feels like sinking into a soft bed. Hob will move him and use him but he won’t wrench him apart. And all Dream has to do is… let him. Each letting is an exhale. His eyes flutter shut.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Teeth

Part 15

Masterlist

Warnings: Canon typical violence and gore, implied torture, kidnapping of a minor, very intense predator vibes, angst.

Billy could feel the sweat rolling down his back.

Though the midnight air of the forest was cool, the gear wrapped around his body trapped the heat, and didn’t make it easy for Billy to be comfortable, especially with the additional adrenaline running through his system.

He ignored it, years of marine training meant that he could bury his body’s signals of discomfort, he remained focused on the task at hand. 

He was hunting.

Frank’s youngest had been missing for five hours. 

Billy had hit the ground running, setting up monitoring stations at every entry and exit point in the state. It wasn't perfect, but it was all he had for right now.

If this was who Billy and Frank suspected they were, they wouldn't be using any official pathways anyway. 

Billy finds the spot Frank Jr. was last seen and starts there, he follows the scent, the footsteps on the forest floor, a boy happily running through the woods he's grown up in.

He'd been chasing fireflies, Frank had told him, wanted a jar of them to come home with. It had taken around an hour for them to notice something was wrong, searched for another hour before beginning to panic. Frank had found the spot where the boy’s tracks had interacted with two larger adult footprints in the dark of the night, and had immediately hiked out of the forest and to a phone.

Billy had gotten here as fast as he could, starting his search, knowing he only had a few hours left before kidnappers would make it to whichever edge of the forest they were going to and get out.

Billy had to be faster.

He would be. Panthers were arguably better trackers than bears, quieter too. Frank had made a good choice to call him when he did.

Even if it had pulled Billy away from you.

He shakes his head, can't afford to get distracted by you right now.

He adjusts the rifle in his hand, taking a deep breath of the forest air to clear his head. If he focused, he could still smell the scent of you on his skin.

It gave him peace, made his body burn even hotter at the reminder of you, of why his hands smelled the way they did. He didn’t even get a chance to write a proper note, only a hasty one of apology placed on the pillow next to you. He’d left his phone at his place to avoid it being traced here. He knew he would have to do a lot of apologising when he got back.

.

He loses the trail at the river.

Large volumes of water rushing past him and heading into the far off ocean, Billy pauses and thinks. He hears the crunching of dirt under Frank's boot as he approaches.

"I lost the scent here." Frank says.

Billy nods, moving closer to the river, eyes scanning the embankment, searching for scuffs in the rocks, anything to show him where they would have crossed.

At one spot, he finds the dirt has been disturbed.

"He fought back here." Billy points out, "Must have realised that crossing water meant you wouldn't be able to find him."

Frank's breathing is laboured.

They find a shallow spot to cross. The water is frigid, biting, and he knows that he's running out of time to find them.

On the other side, he notes that one boot print has gotten deeper.

"They picked him up… here, probably knocked him unconscious." Billy voice is calm, calculated.

He hears the air leave Frank.

When he finds that the footprints have split off into two groups, he makes a split second decision, pulling his gun off and tossing it in Frank's direction, his gear follows next.

"I'm shifting." Billy says with finality, “Follow those prints,” Billy points to the lighter steps, “They probably take you out of the way for a little, but they have to reunite with these,” he points to the heavier ones, “at some point.”

Frank doesn’t argue.

The predator comes to him easily, ready to protect his family. Billy grunts quietly as he shifts, feels his bones dislocate and realign. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he’s looking through the eyes of the panther.

The panther can see so much more, a wider field of vision, better darkness adaptability than his human eyes can. He takes off running in the dark forest, doesn’t stop, his paws barely making a sound as he leans away from the controls and allows the panther to guide his movements, letting instinct take over and make split second decisions.

Nearsighted in his panther form, his brain can hyperfocus on the little things, able to observe the smallest indications of the kidnapper’s presence and direction. Half footprints, the pattern of disturbed grass, the size and depth of his gait giving an indication of their size, Billy finds that he learns more about the mysterious people as he hunts them. 

He’s temporarily disoriented when the scent he was following is drowned out by something overpowering. Lavender oil dumped hastily to deter anyone with sensitive noses from following. Billy huffs angrily, circling in the dark of the forest to relocate the scent lost.

It’s not there, and when he looks around, he notes two sets of tracks, one of which has most likely been faked to throw him off. The panther huffs angrily, moving between the tracks, trying to look for any sign that one is fake.

It takes him a moment, before he sees it, a button, pulled from the sleeve of the younger Frank’s shirt dropped and half buried in the dark foliage of the forest, a sign that the young boy was coming back to consciousness, showing Billy the path to him.

He takes off running again, adrenaline coursing through his veins, telling him to move faster, to protect his pack, to bring young Frank home safe to his father.

The hunters most likely wanted a young shifter they could train, brainwash into killing their own, fighting fire with fire, was most likely their reasoning for such a dangerous excursion in the first place. If they couldn’t train him to kill for them, they’d experiment on him, testing weapons on him that they could use to hunt the rest of his kind. It made Billy run faster, the knowledge that a little boy like Frank was in that much danger.

The panther huffs again, trying to keep Billy focused so that he doesn’t think about his own misshapen past. Remembering his own unique traumas would not help here.

When he reaches the cliffside, he realises the plan of escape. The kidnappers intend to escape with a boat, making it harder for Billy to track them. 

He won’t let them get that far ahead.

He stays in the tree line, looking for signs of human life when he finally catches what his eyes have been searching for- movement.

Two men, busy uncovering a small boat, dressed in very detailed, forest camouflage. 

Billy watches them for a long moment, analysing both figures in the dark of the night. The men wear night vision goggles, and hearing aids to raise the sensitivity of their human sight and hearing. The problem with these technologies was that there was an inability to filter out too much stimuli, which made it difficult to focus on one sound. Billy knew that one good flash grenade would take both men out. 

Still, he had yet to find Frank Jr.

They had probably taken great care in hiding him, the most valuable thing to them now. The panther knew, just like Billy did, that the hunters would rather kill the young shifter, than let him slip from their grasp.

So he had to pick the right moment to strike.

Billy moves quietly, paws padding on the forest floor so softly that no trace of his movements can be heard, not the brush of the leaves on his fur, not the scrape of his claws on rocks as he’s forced to climb down from his vantage point.

The only time he freezes, is when an owl hoots somewhere behind him, and one of the hunters turn to look.

The figure doesn’t speak, they know better, know a single word would be heard for miles. They were trained for this, seasoned and experienced.

And yet still, they wouldn't expect him.

He finally senses the young boy when he’s closer, covered under a shroud that’s been designed to look like foliage. Billy can hear his heartbeat, the soft breathing of an unconscious boy. He feels the anger of the predator inside of him sharpen. 

He stalks closer.

He’s hidden right beside them now, the very items used as strategic cover now works against them, allowing Billy to get very close.

These hunters were only anticipating bears, they would never see the panther coming.

.

When Frank finally gets to them, Billy shifts back into human form. He takes the shirt and pants hastily tossed his way, and watches Frank kneel beside the shroud covering his son.

Billy looks over, pausing as he puts on his shirt to assess the boy, same as Frank.

Breathing, unconscious still, a red bruise on his cheek where someone might have slapped him aggressively. It makes Billy angrier, wishing he’d made the hunters suffer longer. He’d torn them apart too fast for his liking.

Frank scoops up his son, trying his best not to wake him, most likely to avoid him witnessing the carnage left behind by the predator, sprays of blood and body parts scattered- it had been surprisingly silent throughout- no screams because Billy had torn out their vocal cords first.

 “Thank you, Bill.” Frank murmurs, his arms full of his son.

Billy only nods, glad to have been able to help keep his family safe.

They only make it a few steps, before Billy hears the sound of branches snapping. 

He only has a second to act, lunging at Frank and knocking both bodies out of the way as someone opens fire.

The sound echoes through the forest, as Billy and Frank take cover behind a rock. It only takes a moment to figure out where the sound is coming from, before Frank turns, placing his son into Billy’s arms.

“I want this one alive.” Is the last thing Frank says, before grunting loudly, his clothes tearing as he shifts.

And then he disappears.

Billy wants to help his friend, but he also understands that Frank Jr’s safety holds much more priority. 

In any case, he knew who would be winning this fight anyway.

.

He’s holding Frank’s son in one hand, and dragging the unconscious hunter by the ankle along the forest floor when Maria finally spots him.

She runs up to him, he can smell the salty flavour of her despair in the forest air.

“He’s alright.” Billy reassures as she makes her way to him, “Just asleep.”

She takes the sleeping boy from his arms, cradling him closely, a little sob slipping from her lips. He drops the hunter’s foot and pulls them both into his arms. 

He breathes in her flowery smell, presses his cheek into her hair.

They were safe.

“Where’s Frank?” She asks after a moment, looking up at Billy.

“He’s behind, making sure the forest is clear.” Billy explains, “You got a place to put this bastard?” He follows up with, inclining his head to the unconscious man beside him.

Maria nods, turning to show him the way.

.

Billy waits outside the little backyard shed for Frank to step out. He’s spent the last few minutes listening to Frank beat the man bloody. Frank doesn’t even ask any questions- just getting all of his residual anger out.

Billy’s not surprised to see the state of Frank’s hands when he steps out, covered in blood with splashes on his shirt.

“Have at it.” Frank says in a very rough voice, the anger too potent inside of him to get any further words out. Billy watches him grab a rag from his back pocket and begin wiping at his hands. He knows the darkness raging inside of the man, can almost taste it in the air. More than anything, Frank needs his family now to get back into a more stable headspace.

Billy doesn’t speak, only nodding, before opening the wooden shed door to do a little bit of interrogation.

The smell of blood and sweat is heavy in the air. The predator perks up at the atmosphere, scratching at the edges of Billy’s mind to give this pathetic man exactly what he deserves.

“Can you talk?” Billy says calmly, tilting his head at the man, watching the blood drip from his mouth.

The man doesn’t respond, simply eyeing Billy warily from his spot tied to the wooden chair.

“Would you like some water?” Billy follows up, grabbing a clean cup from one of the little shelves and filling it with water from the tap. He moves to stand in front of the man, his boots thumping on the wooden floor, tilting the cup toward him with eyebrows raised.

The man only gives him a bloody smile, his face illuminated by the lone incandescent bulb hanging above them.

“What is this?” the man rasps, “Bad cop- good cop? You think you’re gonna get anything out of me?”

Billy grins, laughing along with the man for a moment, before angling the cup upwards and dumping the cup of water on his head.

The man doesn’t flinch, though he knows that the water stings at the open cuts and scratches on his face.

He tosses the cup aside, walking to the far wall of the shed and examining the tools on the table carefully.

“I’m just making sure you can talk because I want some answers.” Billy responds, tracing his fingers along the hunting knife on the tabletop- deciding against it because it was too sharp.

He pauses on the wireless drill for a second, before deciding that cleaning that up would be too much of a pain.

“I’m not saying shit. So you might as well kill me.” The man responds.

It makes Billy laugh again, fingers pausing on the pliers. He tilts his head, deep in thought before reaching for them.

“I am going to kill you,” Billy clarifies, walking back around to him, “How quickly is up to you.” 

He raises the pair of pliers in his hands, clicking it open and closed twice for emphasis.

“Now why don’t we start with who exactly sent you?”

“Fuck you.” The man spits.

Billy grins.

.

Like Frank, Billy is wound up and agitated when he finally steps out of the shed a few hours later. Having surrendered to the whims of the predator for too long, it’s not easy regaining control.

Frank’s waiting for him outside, eyeing him steadily.

Billy nods at Frank, silently telling him that even though he’s not at his best, he’ll get there.

“Hungry?” Frank asks, and the absurdity of the question is not lost on either of them. Truth is, they’ve both been desensitised to violence, the wars they’ve been through, the things they’ve seen makes this small event easier to handle.

“Starving.” Billy answers, watching Frank’s mouth pull up in amusement.

Frank might not be blood related to Billy, but they were brothers, in every way that mattered.

.

When Billy finally gets back to New York, it's almost 9am. He only has enough time to shower and change and get to work, a small pile of concerns having been built up in the three days he's been gone.

He can't wait to see you, to apologise for his absence, to make amends for such a hastily scribbled note left behind on the pillow beside your head and a soft kiss to your cheek. His heart is beating so fast in his chest that it might as well as be a vibration at this point. 

Except he doesn't get a chance to see much of you at all. He only catches a solitary peek of you when you're heading to the elevators during your lunch break while he's standing at Katerina's desk deep in conversation.

"You should go get something to eat." Kat says, interrupting his long stare at the elevators.

"What?" He asks, not even paying attention.

"It's lunch time, and I think the cafeteria might have something you like."

He blinks, turns to look at her. She's giving him an expression of complete understanding.

He takes a slow breath.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" He asks softly.

She nods.

"I don't want you to starve."

Why he was trusting Katerina, was a question beyond his scope of thinking at the moment. Maybe he wasn't trusting her at all, maybe she had just given him the nudge he was looking for.

He heads toward the elevators, and presses the down button. 

He waits.

He torments himself. Why was he doing this? He didn't need to- he could just send you a message to ask to talk to you like a normal person, instead of whatever he would subject himself to in the cafeteria. 

He turns away, officially changing his mind.

The elevator doors pull open.

"Hello, Mister Russo." You say behind him.

His heart stops.

He turns.

He's held in place by how stunning you look, the way your hair falls and the gloss swiped onto your soft lips.

Lips that he kissed.

His stomach knots as he says your name in greeting.

If you have any indication of how frozen he is, you don't show it, barely meeting his eyes before looking away.

"Enjoy your lunch." Is all you say before you turn and walk away, never even sparing him a proper glance. 

When he replays the little interaction in his head, it's only then that he realises that you addressed him by his last name.

He was no longer Billy, and had once again, become only your boss.

He swallows, a sour feeling in his stomach, acid swelling inside of him until it devours everything. 

He doesn’t know what to do, so he turns, and walks back to his office.

“I’m not all that hungry.” He says to Katerina when he notices her studying him, doesn’t like how small he feels in that moment, wants to hide, and not be seen again, maybe take Frank up on his offer to live with him in the woods.

He lets his office door close behind him, before he’s taking a deep breath in an attempt to soothe his emotions.

The panther is hurt too, your indifference is like a sharp knife to his sternum, where he’d been craving heat, he only gets frostbite.

He sits in his chair, moves on autopilot, and doesn't focus on anything for the better part of an hour. He tries to reason with himself, tries to figure out how to fix this gaping wound that has opened up.

Worse yet, he’s afraid to go talk to you. Afraid of your rejection of him, that you’ve looked at him, and decided that you do not want him.

He hides instead.

.

.

.

[goldenshornyjail]

People mistake wanting to fuck a character with them being a canonical bottom so anyways uhhh can i get stupid sexy terrorist catsuit blake getting railed into oblivion

When I originally read this, I was so excited to write a blurb for it. Unfortunately, every time I came back to it, my brain just went "Nah... I'm not feeling it." Well, I got the juices flowing now! I'll say Yang is wearing her volume 5 outfit.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

On an SDC train approaching Vale.

Terrorist!Blake: (wearing skin tight, leather shorts with fishnets and thigh high, black leather boots, black leather corset with deep purple and red accents, black jacket with red stitching and a purple belladonna flower on the back, and a Grimm mask. An earpiece and microphone receiver are placed in her ear and around her neck in a collar)

Blake: (finishes planting the last charge on the dust storage door and presses a button on the receiver) Final charge has been placed.

Adam: Nice job, Darling. I knew you could handle it. Make your way to the last car so we can ditch the train and blow the whole train sky high.

Blake: Yeah, I don't need you calling me "Darling" anymore.

Adam: What was that?

Blake: (walks out to the car connection and flips a switch on a spare bomb) Consider this a breakup. Not that it was much of a relationship to begin with.

Detonator beeps and Blake steps back into the train car just in time for the bomb to explode, sending the rear car careening off the tracks and down the embankment.

Huntress!Yang: Well, I never would have figured you to be the type to abandon a partner.

Blake: (smirks) Ex- partner. (turns towards Yang and pops her hip) I'm not a fan of being in a relationship with a manipulative abuser.

Yang: (crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe leading into the train car) Yeah, I think you brought that up a few times in this little game of tag of ours.

Blake: (saunters up to Yang and drags the tip of her nail under Yang's jaw) I appreciate you not saying "game of cat and mouse".

Yang: (watches Blake's hand diligently but gives a warm smile) I figured that would be inappropriate, even if it is true.

Blake: I hope you don't think you're the "cat" in this situation~ (trails her nail across Yang's lower lip)

Yang: Maybe at the beginning of this. (gently grab's Blake's hand and gives a teasing nip to the tip of her finger)

Blake: (breath catches in her throat, but she manages to hide her reaction)

Yang: But I know better by now. (releases Blake's hand and rolls the tension out of her shoulders) So! How are we going to do it this time? We fight a little bit before you find a way to distract me just long enough to escape? We fight and I actually capture you this time to bring you to "justice" for your crimes?

Blake: Or you could just let me go. (drags her nails over Yang's breasts, down her stomach, and stops just above her crotch)

Yang: (grunts softly) Sorry, Blake. I can't exactly do that.

Blake: Awww. You remembered my name.

Yang: Of course I did. It's a pretty name. A pretty name (reaches up and pulls the Grimm mask away) for a beautiful woman.

Blake: (blushes slightly but keeps smirking) Well, how about we enjoy the little time we have left before the train pulls into Vale Station? Then we can make a decision.

Yang: (rolls eyes with a smile) I feel like that's a bad idea.

Blake: (continues to rub the front of Yang's pants until there's a prominent bulge) We've made plenty of those already, Yang. What's one more?

[bolters-and-rivets]

I'm probably going to build a micro garden reailway in the near future, but first let me explain to the non-railfans who follow me what a garden railway even is because I need to infodump about something.

What is a Garden Railway?

Put it simply, a garden railway is a blend of two otherwise seperate hobbies, railway modelling and gardenning.

Typically, railway modelling is about the persuit of historical and technical realism on a small scale with regards to anything involving steel-wheeled vehicles running on steel rails. That said there are those who simply run trains straight from the packaging on track placed straight on the floor and that's fine.

With a garden railway, the focus shifts away from an almost sterile realism towards a more impressionist's view of a railway running through a landscape, whith emphasis on the landscape being alive.

more than anything I think it's about embracing the joy of enjoying one's hobbies in the great outdoors

So how am I, a queer, unemployable person on benefits going to build a garden railway, especially when all the examples I've used are so grand and spacious?

let me tell you about a little something called scale and gauge

out of the diagram above, Gauge 1 (1:32 scale/45mm track) is the most popular size for garden railways, both historically and current. O scale (1:43 scale/32mm track) is probably the second most popular, being the smallest practical scale for live steam, that's real working steam engines on a sminiature scale.

OO scale (1:76 scale/16.5mm track) the most popular scale all around in the UK, has a fringe use in garden settings, but can create some spectacular scenes if sweeping views of main line cuttings and embankments are your thing.

I'm going with OO scale, but I'm not modelling standard gauge, instead I'm using a narrow gauge standard called OO9. that is to say 1:76 scale trains running on 9mm track, for a scale track gauge of about 2 foot 3 inches (686mm).

a 6 foot by 2 foot raised planter will be all I need for a sizable circuit of track with a branchline and two stations, there's also space to play with hight by having the branchline finish at a lower level than the main running line. the first image is the planter I have lined up, the second image is the rough track plan I've made so far, using the theoretical maximum inside dimensions of the planter as the space I've got to work with.

I already have one starter pack of OO9 track, which contains a full loop and a bunch of straight sections plus a couple of points, which is a decent portion of the costs taken care of. The planter itself is £100, which is also affordable for me.

The unknown for me at this time is what plants to use. It'll probably be figured out as I go but I'm drawn towards alpines because small trains should run through small plants, however I also want flowering plants to encourage pollonators in the city I live in.

I'm also drawn to the idea of a small pond situated by the end of the branchline with the main circuit running directly over the water via a trestle bridge. I'm tempted to look at aquatic plants to help take care of the water but I need to do more research on this front.

all going well I should be able to start work on this after september, and unlike other projects I intend to see this through to the end.

[haxanbroker]

Embankment station. London, September 2016.

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co Locations

Location, location, location. Are you like me and not a native Londoner? Are you also like me wondering how to visualize a place or, perhaps more importantly, how long does it take to get from 221B to the various locations and how much they're spending on tube fare?

Well then look no further! This is my masterpost with links to each location described in detail in each post made on those locations. Each post gives a bit about how far from 221B it's located (depending on travel method), how much it likely cost them to get there, photos of the location, and a bit of the location's history.

Every time we get a new locale I'll add a post and link it here. :) Lmk if I miss any and I'll add them. If you see a location and it has no link then either the link broke or I haven't made the post yet, but logged the location.

Cheers!

The Criterion Bar

221B Baker Street

Brixton

The Volunteer Pub & Restaurant

Regent's Park

Hampstead

Thor Bridge (Upney Ln)

Walthamstow (Morgue)

King George's Hospital

Barking/North Barking

Fortnum & Mason

Paddington Station

Hilton Green/Chatham

Berlin (John's Vacay Spot with The Boys)

Heathrow Airport

Hotel Cosmopolitan

Bailey's Street

Shoreditch

King's Road

Chelsey

44 Cross St., Croydon

Chiswick Flyover

The Fox (the swinger's pub)

Hanwell/Ealing/West London

Islington Tunnel

Eltham

Blackheath Common

"GAIL'S Bakery"

The Strand

'Saxe-Coburg Square'

Pinewood Studios

Embankment

Charing Cross

Opera House (?)

Barking Station

Walthamstow

Waterloo Bridge

Bank of England Museum

Camden Town

Living Room Club Cafe

'Gloria Scott' (Oil Rigs)

Ramack/Kosovo

St Dunstan

Little Venice

Satalfields

Brick Lane

Neal's Yard

South Kensington (Ice Rink)

[theworldofwars]

Railway Dugouts Cemetery is 2 Kms west of Zillebeke village, where the railway runs on an embankment overlooking a small farmstead known to the troops as Transport Farm. The site of the cemetery was screened by slightly rising ground to the east, and burials began there in April 1915. They continued until the Armistice, especially in 1916 and 1917, when Advanced Dressing Stations were placed in the dugouts and the farm. They were made in small groups, without any definite arrangement and in the summer of 1917, a considerable number were obliterated by shell fire before they could be marked.

[pedritomosquito]

Unmute (Ch 1)

Summary: Joel's journey to find Tommy is interrupted by a girl who needs help. A whole lot changes for both of them when she ends up tagging along.

Pairing: No Pairings, just Joel & Ellie

Word count: 3,339

Warnings: SA recovery, Ellie was SAed, canon-typical gun violence, Mute character

A/N: My first tlou fic! I live for Joel and Ellie. I wanted to watch how Ellie's character would grow into the one we know and love if she started off mute. Heed the warnings, loves! Have a safe read 🥰

Joel had no one. 

He swore to himself he would never get attached, that the world was different now and he couldn’t afford to. 

Yet Tess was gone. And hours later he found that Bill and Frank were too. 

If he swore he wasn’t attached, then why did he feel the void inside him growing?

The only thing left was getting to Tommy. He needed to believe Tommy was alive. It was naive and uncharacteristically optimistic of him to assume that nothing had happened to him; that his radio silence didn’t mean he was gone too. 

Joel had to believe Tommy was alive or the last part of himself that remained would die too. 

Now he had a car and a mission.

He’d driven through the night, wanting to put as many miles behind him as possible. Each hour he would pull over to fill the truck’s tank, bleary eyed as he cut through Bill’s supply. He’d only made it this far west of the Boston QZ a couple of times, but he knew his next stop would be a gas station on route 70. It was an interstate rest stop with enough abandoned cars and pumps to find some gas to siphon.

The gas pedal meeting the floorboard cued Joel to realize he fucked up. The truck was only rolling along at twenty miles per hour.

“Shit,” He muttered.

The quality of gasoline seemed to deteriorate by the day now and fuel gauges could never be trusted.

He pulled off of the road, coasting down the embankment and into the trees. He had enough momentum and fuel to drive just far enough into the woods, out of sight.

He hung his head, hands braced against the steering wheel. Maybe this was a sign. His eyes wandered to the rifle sitting beside him.

He exhaled the idea, shoving the door open instead. 

He’d passed a sign only a minute before that said the rest stop was seven miles away. That meant he was probably six miles away now and a two hour walk each way. 

Grabbing a backpack and slinging the strap of the rifle over his shoulder, he set off back towards the road with a gas can in hand. He trailed alongside the fractured pavement, staying hidden in the treeline. 

The gas station was just as he remembered it. One large building created its center with a food court and bathrooms. Sixteen gas pumps sat in clean rows of two outside. The overgrowth of weeds and vines had crawled further across the rooftop, fingers dipping into the boarded windows.

The pumps were long emptied, so Joel headed over to a derelict Nissan Pathfinder. Bigger car, bigger gas tank. He pried the metal cover off and unscrewed the gas cap. He pulled out the tubing from his backpack and threaded it into the tank. It came back wet with fuel. 

He was setting up the can next to him when a gunshot roared, whistling through the steel of the car.

“Fuck,” he darted behind the SUV for cover. He peered through the crosshairs of his rifle as two more bullets flew past him from different directions. He could just barely make out the barrel of a gun sitting in the gap between a couple of wood boards. He fired and was satisfied by the unmistakable sound of bullet finding flesh.

There was shouting inside and then a barrage of gunfire pelting the car, still from two different angles, one of them new. He calculated at least three men, one already down. He leaned out, firing at a shadow. Another hit.

A long moment of silence followed. A lone gunman finally replied with several shots. Joel couldn’t get an angle on him and ran for cover behind another car.

It was a clear and easy shot through an uncovered patch of a glass door.

The glass shattered and the man’s body hit the floor before the last shard had even fallen.

The quiet pause lasted this time and Joel carefully advanced toward the doors in smooth, long strides. He kicked open the door, sweeping his rifle over the room. 

Sets of tables and chairs were strewn about, some overturned. Moss leached along the cracks in the black and white floors, now coated in dirt. The bodies of the three men became fixtures, like they had already become part of the ground itself. 

Between a pair of toppled tables, he made out the toe of a green shoe. He tightened his grip. 

“Don’t you fucking move,” he warned, circling in a wide arc. 

His eyes landed on a naked girl under the table, tucked tightly in a ball. 

Sarah’s age. 

His grip faltered. 

She wore only torn remnants of a shirt and she desperately tried to cover the rest of herself with her hands. Her eyes were blown wide in terror, the dirt on her face streaked with tears. 

She looked him dead in the eye and gave him a tiny nod. 

Please. Do it.

His brow furrowed.  

“Are you bit?” He asked lowly. 

She shook her head. 

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment. He wanted to be distrustful–needed to be, really–but her fear was so genuine it was almost overwhelming. He averted his gun’s aim off to the side.

“Stand up,” He directed quietly.

She stayed frozen, her face beginning to crumple.

He followed her train of thought.

“No, no, I’m not–” He tried to explain but couldn’t find the words. “I just gotta see if you’re bit.”

She hesitantly unlaced her arms from around herself and emerged from betweens tables, getting to her feet.

Joel had turned his head away from her, just his eyes reluctantly scanning over her. 

He noted a full spectrum of bruises across her skin, mostly around her wrists, neck, and legs. Some dried blood blotted the inside of her thighs. She turned around slowly, showing him her back, before returning to face him. She slipped her arms around herself again, her eyes never leaving the filthy linoleum at her feet.

With decades between Joel and life before the outbreak, he liked to consider himself fully numb at this point. The child in front of him was making him waver as outrage swirled uncomfortably in his stomach. He glanced at the dead bodies around him and wished he’d made them suffer more. Death was far too kind.

He shrugged off his flannel.

“Put this on,” he said as he held it out to her.

She looked between him and the shirt fisted in his hand. She slowly stepped forward but hesitated when she reached for it. 

Joel nodded in encouragement. 

As her fingertips brushed the fabric, it was like a visceral need shot through her. She quickly grabbed it, spinning away from him as she shoved it on. It was just long enough to cover her completely. She began to work on buttoning it up.

He wondered what the hell he was supposed to do with this kid now. 

“Where did you come from?” He asked. 

The girl just continued to fumble with the buttons.   

“You from the Pittsburgh QZ?” He tried. 

Her eyes bounced up to him for a moment. 

“Okay, so the Pittsburg QZ,” he deduced from her glance alone. “I’ll bring you back there if—“

He’s interrupted by her outright panic, frantically shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. 

Goddamnit. He sighed. 

“FEDRA wants you,” he assumed in defeat. She fiddled with a sleeve regretfully. 

The rumbling of an approaching car cut them off. Joel pushed the girl back into her hiding spot behind the tables and crouched down beside her, training his gun on the door. 

The engine cut off and the footfalls of several people crunched in the gravel. 

“Pat?” A voice outside called as it approached, “Shawn?”

The door swung open and Joel fired, striking the man through the chest. Chaos descended upon the room. 

The back door burst open and Joel pivoted, shooting the intruder and covering the girl. He immediately returned his aim to the front door at the sound of a gun cocking. 

Joel managed to fire once before ducking behind the table as bullets sprayed back at them. He left the girl’s side, moving further back and using a booth as cover to divert the gunfire. 

He leaned out and took three more shots. Over the explosions of gunpowder, he didn’t hear the fourth man enter from the back. 

A boot collided with Joel’s head, knocking him and his gun to the floor. Joel reached for the weapon but another pair of hands gripped the barrel. 

They both grappled and fought for possession, the heavy weight of the man pinning Joel to the ground. The man wrenched the gun up to his neck and pressed it tight down against his throat. Joel tried to push back, to allow any bit of air to slide into his lungs, but the man’s weight was too much. 

His hearing started to fade. Black ash plumed in his vision. 

A muffled gunshot rang in his ears and the weight above him suddenly shifted, collapsing onto the floor next to him. 

He saw a blurred figure in his green flannel, crouched off to his side, gun still pointed at the man now lying on the floor. 

She instantly turned as the man at the front moved towards them and she fired a clean shot. His body thudded onto the tile. The chaos was gone and the only sound in the room was the wounded man’s frantic breathing. 

The girl stood slowly, shaking, the gun still in her hand.

Joel sat up and watched wordlessly as she walked forward. 

Shattered glass popped like thin ice under her worn rubber soles with each step.She came to stand over the bleeding man. 

His fingers twitched feebly to reach the pistol laying by his side and she kicked it away. 

She raised her chin as she raised her gun, hands shaking but certain as she looked down at him. 

And she fired. 

The kickback made her startle and her cheeks were soaked with tears, but she kept her eyes on him even as the gun fell from her hand. 

When she moved, she made her way over to one of the other men and leaned down. She reached out and searched through his pocket for a moment before withdrawing. The quiet sound of metal jingling echoed in the room.  

Finally Joel staggered to his feet and picked up his rifle, strapping it to his back. The girl returned to him and said nothing, simply holding out a pair of car keys.

He looked at her, but the girl refused to bring her eyes up from the floor.

He carefully took the keys dangling from her fingertips. 

“Okay,” He nodded, “Let’s get out of here.”

—--

Joel aimlessly fidgeted with the steering wheel, rolling his grip on it. The girl was an unexpected obstacle–cargo with no real destination. She was undeniably an extra weight to carry and ultimately just an extra mouth to feed, but he still didn’t see any other options. 

She sat quietly in the back seat, pulling the hem of her shirt down as far as she could. 

He pulled up behind Bill’s truck, throwing the gear into park.

“Come on,” He said a bit begrudgingly, “I think I can find something for you.”

She hesitantly got out of the car and trailed behind him over to the truck. 

Joel rifled around in the backseat for a minute. In one of the bags, he found an extra pair of Frank’s jeans. Although Frank had become much smaller as his health deteriorated, Joel knew the pants would be ten sizes too big all the same. He found the first aid kit and pulled out the bandage scissors. He knew he'd have to sacrifice his belt for the cause as well and began to undo the buckle, sliding it off.

The snapping of twigs brought his attention back to the girl. He saw her slowly backing away, eyes flitting between the belt in his hands and an escape route.

“Shit, no, I’m just–” Joel rushed to explain, pulling the folded jeans out of the car into her view, “For you, see?”

He held it out toward her. This barely seemed to calm her down. He slowly walked to the hood of the car between them, a neutral ground, with one hand up in surrender. He carefully set the peace offering down. 

“Put ‘em on,” He offered gently before walking back to the truck.

A minute later, the girl appeared to the side of him. He pretended not to be unnerved by her stealth. 

The ill-fitting pants at least got the job done as she stood fully clothed before him. Her sleeves and pant legs were rolled a hundred times over, bulky and unraveling. 

He placed the bandage scissors on the tail bumper.

“Trim them,” He nodded towards the pair of dull blades.

The girl regarded him suspiciously before quickly swiping the scissors and finding a rock to sit on. She busied herself with cutting the denim and flannel. 

Joel popped the hood of the newly-inherited car, inspecting it. It was newer and had better fuel efficiency than Bill’s truck, so he made the decision to switch out the supplies. He started carrying loads between the cars, stocking it up.

The girl returned in clothes that were at least no longer a tripping hazard.

Joel just nodded in approval and reached to take the scissors from her. She stepped back and hugged them close to her chest. Watching her cling to them like safety–he couldn’t bring himself to take them away. It would be good, he reasoned; she would be less of a burden if she had a way to defend herself.

He sighed in defeat.

“I better not find those in my back,” He muttered.

She slipped them into the pocket of the oversized jeans and silently picked one of the bags from the backseat. She slung it over her shoulder and walked it over to the other car.

 ——-

Joel cranked the key in the ignition, the engine turning to life. 

The girl climbed into the passenger seat, curiously scanning the space around her. She poked at the air vent and spun its dial experimentally. She found a square button on the dashboard and pushed it. The glove compartment fell open into her lap, making her jump. 

Joel watched, feeling impatient, even if admittedly a bit amused. 

“Never sat up front before?” He assumed.

She looked in his general direction for a moment. She picked up papers that sat in the compartment and froze when she saw a small black pistol beneath it.  

“I’ll take that,” Joel immediately reached over and plucked it out, unloading the cartridge and barrel in two swift motions before tucking the gun in the side of his door. 

She pushed the glove compartment shut and reached up to the rear view mirror, tilting it. 

“Don’t touch that,” he said, adjusting it back to its proper position. 

Her hand slowly reached back up as she still stole a look at him. She extended a singular finger and gave the mirror a tiny, gentle poke. 

“Christ,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes and a sigh. “Seatbelt,” he directed. 

The girl glanced at him and looked around a bit blankly. 

“It’s—“ Joel started to reach toward her but froze when she flinched, leaning away from him. “Ok,” he backed off, re-calculating his explanation. He pointed to her far shoulder instead. “Behind you?”

She looked and found the strap, running it between her fingertips and then looked back to see him demonstrating with his own seatbelt. 

“You just pull it across, and buckle,” he explained as it clicked in. 

Her face grew troubled, looking between the buckles and the latch in her hand. Fear crept into her expression again. 

“You just push the button to undo it,” he assured her. 

This assuaged her doubt a little, but she continued to side eye him distrustfully. Faster than he could object, her hand flew down to the red button next to him, jabbing it hard before jumping away. 

Sure enough, Joel’s belt popped out, just as he said it would. 

He caught the latch as it slid back across him, looking at her with his eyebrows raised.

She seemed satisfied, buckling her own seatbelt and staring straight ahead through the windshield.

“Okay,” Joel concluded, beginning their drive out of the forest and to the main road. 

As much as Joel thoroughly enjoyed having a quiet commute, he couldn’t help but wonder about his passenger. It had been two hours of silence and sunset was nearing.

“You got a name?” He finally asked, watching the endless country road feed itself to the tires of the car. 

More silence. 

“Or a reason you got the aim of a sniper?” He got no response so he continued. “Or why you don’t talk?”

Nothing. 

“Do you know how to talk?” He prodded. 

He looked over and saw her offended expression. 

“Well you’re not giving me a lot to go off of here, kid,” he reasoned. 

She adjusted in her seat to look out the window.

“Fine,” he gave up. “That’s enough for today,” he decided, pulling off of the road and into the woods, “We’ll stop here and get back on the road in the morning.”

It occurred to him that the girl had no idea where he was headed or why. It didn’t seem to matter to her. 

He found a patch far enough into the woods for his liking and dropped anchor. He started to set out a sleeping bag, tossing the girl one as well. She caught it easily and Joel detected a bit of light in her eyes as she admired the rolled bedding in her hands. Simple pleasures.

Daylight had just about faded when Joel finished warming up a couple of 20 year old chef boyardee’s. The girl looked confused when he pushed a can towards her.

“You’re no good weak,” He said simply.

She hesitantly took the can, her face unreadable. 

He started to eat but was quickly distracted by the sound of the girl, who was eating like she hadn’t been fed in days. He realized that might actually be true–lord knows when she’d eaten last.

“Slow down,” He commented despite knowing he’d probably be ignored. And he was.

—-

Joel laid his rifle down beside his sleeping bag, ready to get some rest. He looked over at the girl and saw a half-shredded book he’d never seen before in her hand. There was almost a slight pull at the corner of her mouth, something like a smile, as she read by the lantern light. 

“Where’d you get that?” He asked, his voice startling her. 

She closed the book and slid it into the sleeping bag, nodding towards the car. 

Joel just hummed in response. 

He reached to turn off the light and the girl flinched hard, her grip on the sleeping bag white knuckled. 

He paused, debating why he always felt so guilty when she was scared, why he cared at all. 

“Listen,” Joel began, trying to articulate his thoughts as cautiously as he could. “What those men did to you. It was wrong, okay? I don’t want… that… from you. I will never want that from you. Understand?”

The girl just stared at the dirt. He couldn’t be sure in dim lantern light, but it seemed like her eyes were pooled with tears. 

She suddenly turned over, facing away from him. 

Joel cursed himself for being so bad at this. He tapped the light off with a small sigh and laid back, looking up at the weave of leaves looming tall above him. 

“Ellie.”

Joel’s head shot up, looking at the outline of the girl through the darkness. He surely didn’t hear that, did he?

Her voice was small but definitely there. 

Ellie. 

Her name was Ellie. 

He rested back down on the sleeping bag. 

“Joel.”

Ch 2

[batnbreakfast]

@kindworldsword asked me what I'd recommend for someone visiting London for the first time.

This has gotten quite long, so I'm putting everything under a break. Nevertheless I've likely have forgotten something I love doing while in London.**

Honestly though, most of the times I just walk around the city, go to the theatre, and eat lots of food, so the most important recommendation is: Take a good pair of shoes and an appetite. (If you would like restaurant recommendations, message me.)

Have a great time!

Things to do in and around London

Take a walk along the river

This is my go-to walk. I do this when I'm back in the city. I do this when I'm stressed out and need to clear my head. I do this when I've got some time left before leaving.

Start at Embankment, cross the river on the right bridge to get a view of the House of Parliament and the London Eye. Continue to walk eastwards along the river - you'll see quite a few famous landmarks like the National Theater*, the Tate Modern, the Globe Theatre. Take a break at the Tate (the perks of free entry) and have a look at the Rothko room or join a free guided tour. Continue along the river - you can take a detour along Borough's Market for food and drink or skip that part and just walk until you're at Tower Bridge. Is it a touristy spot? Yes, it sure is. It's also a great spot for some people watching and catching a bit of sun sitting on the lawn in front of Bridge Theatre.

*National Theatre

There's a viewing gallery at the Dorfman Theatre, so if you're around there before their matinee show: Go along the left side of the building, walk past the stage door, up to the Dorfman entrance. The indoor walkway will take you past the costume designer's working space - which is well worth the detour.

Book a free ticket for the Horizon22

Not as touristy as the Shard or Sky Gardens, and even better: It's free. The Horizon has the highest viewing platform in the city right now and you'll have a spectacular view of the city. Most people working there are up for a chat about the view and really knowledgeable. It's near Liverpool Station and you can also try and book a ticket via QR Code at the entrance door.

Buy a theatre ticket

Go online or visit the TKTS boot at Leicester Square. If you're lucky you can get fringe theatre tickets or seats further back in the more famous theatres for little money. The Globe theatre offers standing room tickets for 5 GBP. If a play is sold out lots of theatres offer last minute tickets in the morning, but you might have to queue. (Cate Blanchett's play came with queueing from 3am until they opened at 9am.) You can message me about theatre recommendations during your stay if you like. 

Covent Garden

While I don't care for the actual shops in the market building, I like watching the buskers in front of St. Paul's. If you need a break from all the hustle and bustle, take a side entrance to the church yard on Henrietta or King Street. The actor's church offers free lunch concerts and benches to sit out in the sun. There's a church cat - wouldn't recommend trying to pet him though. 

Walk along the small courts and yards north-west of Covent Garden. Find the house were the Phytons lived together on Neals Yard and the Bambi Mary Poppins stencil. 

Museums

Yes! Most of them are free and there's plenty of them. I love the Wallace Collection, I'd recommend the National Gallery, I already mentioned Tate Modern, and of course there's the V&A (soooooooo good), the National History Museum, the Wellcome Collection, the British Museum, the Museum of Home, the...

I often sit on the stairs of Hintze Hall at the National History Museum next to Hope their whale skeleton. I love the ceramics at the V&A. I have three favourite paintings at the National Gallery. Often you can take part in a free tour, and if you don't want to spend a whole day at a museum: Don't. Just pop in, have a look around, and go your merry way.

Thames walk towards Rotherhite:

Start at the Tower Bridge and just follow the walking way along the river. At one point you'll have to take a detour around a huge industrial estate, but you'll be able to return to the river quickly. Time your walk to have either lunch or dinner at The Mayflower in Rotherhite - one of the oldest existing river pubs with excellent pies & mash and a superb sticky toffee pudding. Take the underground train to the other side of the river or a bus back to London Bridge.

Richmond

Go to Richmond (by train from Waterloo Station) and walk along the little streets south of the Green. The Sandman and Ted Lasso have been filmed here (among others), so if you watched either one of these shows, you'll recognise the area. You can go down to the river and then either walk or take an ebike to Kew Bridge.

Trafalgar Square/Chinatown/Soho

Go, sit on the edge of one of the Trafalgar Square fountains. Watch people from all over the world, hear the buskers in front of the National Gallery. If you need food, Chinatown isn't far away (Cafe TPT or Misato are my go to places) or you could go for cake & tea in the crypt of St Martin-in-the-Fields. Walk along the streets in Chinatown, cross over to Soho, walk along there. If you need coffee, go into the Algerian Coffee Shop on Old Compton Street, they are doing a great espresso. London's only queer women's club She Soho is also on Old Compton Street. 

Markets

Are they touristy? Sure, but I love them. Portobello Road on Saturdays and Brick Lane on Sundays are my favourites. I don't care about Columbia Road too much, because it's always way too busy. 

Street Art around Brick Lane

Go and have a look around Brick Lane if you like street art. Walk around the area and explore, there's always something new to see. Look out for broccoli and eggs.

Book a London Walk

The original London Walk company has already been around when I first came to the city around 1990. They offer a wide range of walks - I can recommend their street art tours in Whitechapel or their ghosts walk. If you do an evening tour, the walk will likely end up in a pub, so you can have a drink with the other attendees.

Walk along the canals

You can walk either from Paddington or King's Cross to Camden - you'll see a lot of houseboats, the London Zoo, and end up in Camden, where you'll have plenty of food stalls available. I feel like Camden Market as such is a bit overrated these days.

Barbican & Barbican Conservatory:

If you like Brutalism and history, this is the place to be. You can see remains of the London Wall, sit by the artificial ponds, and visit he botanical gardens. It looks like something straight out of a end-of-the-world film with huge plants covering concrete. You might have to book a ticket, even though it's free. It only opens on Friday & Sunday as far as I remember.

And if you need a break from London:

Take a day trip to Brighton

I just love the city. If you like to be by the sea - the train from London Bridge only takes about 90 minutes. Walk along the Northern Lain area for lots of lovely shops, great food, and drinks. Go visit the pier and eat some donuts. Watch the sea. Visit the Royal Pavillion.

[gamebird]

Murderathin Rec List

As compiled by the denizens of the New Tideland MB/G channel! The greatest hits of TMBD's most popular frenemy ship - the fics that got us into it, and the fics we made because of it. "PR" are quotes from us as we talked back and forth about what was awesome about the fic, or from AO3 comments. All works are complete except Enemies, Closer.

The Long Emergency by murderbot Words: 56,866 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Trapped on the survey planet when the last emergency beacon fails, Murderbot and the PreservationAux team scramble to survive deadly fauna, cruel weather, scarce resources, and GrayCris's armed hunting parties. In a grueling ordeal spanning two planetary years, Murderbot becomes closer to its humans than it ever thought possible. PR: “the absolute ur-Murderathin fic”, “an absolute stunner”, “that’s the one that got me into the ship”, "This fic is amazing! Murderbot's voice and everyone's characterizations were so on-point, and all of the details of their survival on this planet and the action scenes were so well-fleshed out.", "The first MB/G fic on AO3!"

Recollection by murderbot Words: 30,753 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: SecUnit and Gurathin agree to be married, temporarily, for ease of travel during an assignment. After a violent encounter and a bad wormhole jump, they crash land on a habitable planet and discover their entire ship is suffering from amnesia. Nobody remembers anything from their past. The ship's records are badly scrambled. The planet is too far for anyone to reach safely. When Gurathin and SecUnit find the record that indicates they are married, they build a life together as marital partners, not knowing their union is based on a lie. PR: “I love pain”, “It absolutely broke me”, “still haunts me”, “wonderful”, " I'm so full of bittersweet emotions", "I was this close to crying for a few chapters, and the ending was perfect."

Enemies, Closer by Abacura, Gamebird, IHopedTheredBeStars, opalescent_potato, Rosewind2007, theAsh0 Words: 104,478 (WIP) Rating: Teen and Up Summary: When a Combat SecUnit with identical genetics to Murderbot is sent to Preservation Station to commit a massacre, the delicate balance between Murderbot, ART, and Dr. Gurathin shifts, putting all four of them on a collision course. PR: “a wonder and a delight”, “my favorite one”, "Rock-Paper-Scissors dom dynamics in which ART is the secret fourth option, Dynamite", "Can't wait for more!", "A monumental collaboration!"

Boots by opalescent_potato Words: 5,762 Rating: General Audiences Summary: Murderbot learns a little more than it wanted to about Gurathin's mysterious past. PR: “such a great, quiet study in emotional intimacy and shared trauma. Also has an absolutely amazing Oh. Oh no moment.”, "this feels like the realest depiction of poverty trauma I've ever seen in fanfic", "Info dumping as a love language. Learning self care from the most particular human."

Boots by gnomeskillet Words: 2,797 Rating: General Audiences Summary: "I'm going to fix your boots," he explained, talking to me like I was a small human child that didn't know anything. At least he kept his eyes on the floor while he did it. "They're a mess and if you want them to last longer, then you need to take care of them." PR: “this entire fic got me", "Omg who knew shoe shines could be so full of tension??", "This was sort of in kink no man's land, in between the barbed wire embankments of desire and fulfillment."

No Peace/No Rest by IHopedTheredBeStars Words: 4,363 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Though Dr Gurathin eventually accepts the addition of SecUnit a.k.a. Murderbot to PreservationAux, and even assists in its recovery & rehabilitation after the corporate gunship debacle, he never warms up to it like the others do—at least according to our unreliable narrator, Murderbot itself! Let’s assume Murderbot is right this time. So what’s up with that?? This story takes place (chronologically) after Fugitive Telemetry and just before Network Effect. PR: “an excellent MB&G fic”, "So many fantastic ideas in here", "This is such a great look at grappling with the guilt of having taken a life, and being stripped of that comforting denial that it wasn't a person."

Mutually Trusted Network Affiliates by Gamebird Words: 16,517 Rating: Explicit Summary: Murderbot finds itself in a dilemma. It has discovered Gurathin likes it and decides it has to do something about this. This one's for the shippers. PR: “a cornerstone Murderathin fic, but it low-key requires reading pretty much the entirety of the Gamebird cinematic universe”, "MB a chapter ago: Ew, no! We didn't have sex! MB now, gazing derisively at Gurathin's sex toy suggestions: What is this shit? Are we fucking or are we fucking?", "using these characters to explore alternate modes of sexuality and explore what intimacy means, as itself, when divorced from the usual biological drives and cultural frameworks is brilliant"

Gurathin’s Side of the Story by Gamebird Words: 51,849 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: A retelling of The Murderbot Diaries from Gurathin's point of view. PR: “An incredible character study that adds so much depth to Gurathin. The reader falls in love with him every step of the way (and Murderbot does too)”, "There are so many moments where this story just drop-kicks me with how real it is.", "a lovely view into Gurathin‘s CR background, augments, and his soft belly under that armadillo shell."

It Was Only A Kiss by Gnomeskillet Words: 2,102 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Frustrated and desperate, Murderbot hauls Gurathin into an alleyway and makes out with him in order to avoid Station Security. Hey, it has a 100% success rate in media! PR: “excellent”, “Incredibly sexy and very sweet.”, "Dom Murderbot absolutely wrecking Gurathin while not really knowing what the hell it's doing is my favorite flavor"

Pressing Down On Me, Pressing Down On You by Gnomeskillet Words: 1,061 Rating: Not Rated Summary: I was just thinking about MB pressing down on Gurathin's augments like how ART presses down on MB in the feed, and I like thinking about MB being tsundere about taking care of its least favorite augmented human. It doesn't LIKE Gurathin, he's just less annoying this way. PR: “ahhh yes this one was absolutely one of the ones that made me go OHHHH. It made me so invested in their relationship”, "Poor Gurathin doesn't know what he's getting into, good thing Murderbot is so nice XD", "I love the idea of cuddling in the feed."

Just to Suffer the Pressure by Chyoatas Words: 2,113 Rating: Explicit Summary: He was already out of breath when he let his hand press to his throat. (That hadn’t been in the original plan. This was already too close- too fraught. It was already embarrassing enough (and hotter for it, but he wouldn’t admit it.)) PR: “Okay we were all thinking it. There are not nearly enough fics where Murderbot erotically asphyxiates Gurathin.”, "this is insanely good holy shit", "unhinged screaming I can't form words, this is everything I want it to be"

Murderathin NSFW Zine Comic by Chyoatas Words: 1,069 Rating: Explicit Summary: My NSFW comic from the Murderbot Diaries NSFW Zine! Alternative text description of the comic is embedded in the images. PR: "So hot!", "sweet, naughty, and snarky", "So much thought went into this. The closer I look, the more details pop out at me!"

Purr by Rosewind2007 Words: 3,448 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: I saw a post by someone saying: “Wouldn’t it be nice if humans could just purr, like cats. You could let people know you were happy without talking about your feelings or anything...” And I thought: it’d be nice if Murderbot could purr. So, here you are. PR: “Ah yes, my favorite trope. Murderbot purring when it's happy!”, "MB your friends care about you!", "This was adorable and I loved it"

Sex Pollen by Rosewind2007 Words: 7,240 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Atypical human and para-human courtship behaviors and coitus triggered by xeno-floral microgameteophytes Abstract: Twenty four (24) subjects were exposed to xeno-floral microgameteophytes (XFM). Atypical behaviors were recorded by all but two (2). PR: “the yearning”, “I love watching Murderbot and Gurathin dance around each other in this. Both trying so hard to be normal and just internally yearning to be close to each other. The longing is so palpable!”

Bundling by Rosewind2007 Words: 18,348 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: It was a stupid accident. We’d identified the presence of space debris in this sector, including pieces large enough to deflect the course of a small transport; but my Risk Assessment Module was happily burbling in the low teens (it really needs replacing, but I’m quite fond of its optimism now) and ART had calculated the risk of an actual collision as approximately 1 in 159,753. But of course we were that one. And of course the client I was with would be that one.  PR: "And thereby, Murderbot, SecUnit, discovered it loved itself.", " A wonderful story", "That last line is just so perfect"

The Corporate and the Construct by beeayy Words: 87,919 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Bots and constructs have taken over the Corporate Rim. When PreservationAux is captured sneaking into AI-controlled space, someone must stay behind with the sophisticated bot-pilot that remembers a lot less than it thinks it does, and the rogue SecUnit with more anxiety and depression than anyone knows. PR: “my favorite AU”, “fantastic”, “An amazing AU. Great marriage of Fairy Tale elements with Robot Overlords.”, "This fic was such an amazing ride", "I had emotions and cried at the last chapter. Good job!"

I Hate The Way I Don’t Hate You by beeayy Words: 53,345 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Murderbot hates Gurathin, though the reason changes on a daily basis. PR: "I love this whole thing", "These two ridiculous assholes *always* end up meeting in the middle", "I love fake marriage fics  especially when it's enemies to lovers."

Maintenance Protocol by Abacura Words: 5,762 Rating: Explicit Summary: I’m worried about SecUnit. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught it making a face that looks like it's in pain. I worry that it isn’t taking care of itself, that without a cubicle, it needs maintenance that it isn’t telling us about. I wish it would tell me. I wish it would let me take care of it. I could take such good care of it. PR: “smoking hot, I wholeheartedly recommend”, "The maintenance was so perfect and then it was done and I figured so was the fic but holy fuck (literally)", "This is the good stuff. This is perfect."

Fuckboy Strategy by The_Onion Words: 6,203 Rating: Not Rated Summary: 'Can you know you don’t like something without trying it?' I'd texted Ratthi. He responded, 'Sure! But trying things out is always a good idea :D' which I am sure he would not have said if he’d known what I was talking about. // Murderbot explores idioms, the ethics of ghosting, and its own sexuality. PR: “Ah yes, my favorite trope. Murderbot being an absolute bull in the china shop of Gurathin’s heart.”, "so good and so funny i am beside myself", "made me laugh out loud"

Construct, Social by kiwisson Words: 1,852 Rating: General Audiences Summary: Late-night human behavior discussions with your favorite deadly weapon. PR: “the vibes are really good”, “Perfect tag is perfect: You Jerks Talk A Lot For People Who Hate Each Other”, “a fascinating example of the first tagged MB&G which shows many themes already emerging!”

Imperfect Reactions by xianvar Words: 1,324 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: It’s a normal evening with friends – easy laughter, Bharadwaj stopping by to chat, Gurathin and Murderbot sniping at each other, Murderbot letting Gurathin tease it… wait, what? PR: “exterior POVs are always SO good”, "there's so many little characterizations in this fic and its really delightful!", "Adorable!"