man with a guitar

On The Road To Nowhere

Title: On The Road To Nowhere
Rating: M/E (for later chapters)
Pairing: Twelve x Clara
Summary: When a strange man with a guitar stumbles into her diner one night, Clara Oswald has no idea that her life is about to take a wild turn. John Smith is running from something, but so is she and together they embark on a journey that they swear will lead them nowhere. No getting attached, no talking about the past, just two lost souls living for the moment. But the past has a way of catching up… Rockstar!AU, Diner!AU, Road Trip!AU.

The man who entered the diner seemed clearly disoriented or drunk and he staggered forward, a heavy looking guitar and a single bag slung across his back, until his feet suddenly stopped. Clara guessed that he was in his 50s, as the grey, curly amount of hair on his head showed, and she had half a mind to throw him out immediately. She wasn’t in the right mood to deal with a drunk person, but then the man looked up and his face instantly changed her mind. He seemed to have been crying and he had several cuts and bruises all over his face. Only now did Clara notice that his clothes were dusty.

“Can I help you?” she asked, but the man didn’t reply. Instead he stared at her for a very long time through his sad eyes, not moving except for a light swaying that she blamed on his inebriated state. After a while Clara started to assume she wouldn’t get an answer out of him at all.

“A hotel,” he slurred eventually.

“There’s one right across the street,” Clara told him. The man, however, didn’t seem to pay any attention to her answer as he sank down on the nearest seat.

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‘The old gods are dead’ they tell you.

You smile and nod and wipe out another glass. Your eyes dart to the old man in the corner booth. You never see him come, but you always see him leave. Each night a new young lover on his arm.

You pretend not to see his wife watching with jealousy blazing in her eyes and peacock feathers printed on her dress. Her sharpened nails tap, tap, tapping a beat you can hear over the din.

'If they were still around, where are they?’ They continue with a wild wave of their arm. The man next to them looks up and grins and raises his glass at you in a toast and buys them another round. It’s only after he’s turned away you realize his teeth were too sharp and that the glint in his eye was something more than delight.

On the stage a young man sings. He’s there every night with his golden guitar and his golden skin and his golden hair. He sings of love and loss and boys who fly too high, only to fall. You know the song, he plays it almost every night.

His sister stands in the corner, watching, on edge. You keep half an eye on her. She seems constantly in motion yet when you focus, she is still. Last week she broke a man’s arm. You never saw her move.

'The old gods are dead.’ They say with finality.

You look around the room and meet old and tired eyes in hungry faces.

'Maybe,’ you begin and pause as the room seems to go quiet, holding its breath. 'Maybe you aren’t looking hard enough.’

-gods never die

…as I sit here in Seattle watching the line of fans filter into the venue, I think about our fans as individual people. Some of them are young, some old. Some have moved onto the next thing, and might throw our older records on to remember a specific time in their life. Some are still fighting the good fight with us every day. Every fan has their own story. How they discovered us, how we made them feel, what our band means to them…

Jared Monaco/



I just want to make the best music of all time with my best friends.

You are, Chris, believe me. You’re so selfless that even on your own birthday you gift us, your fans, with more amazing music. Thank you. It’s hard to believe the world has been graced with someone as sweet, as humble, as down to earth, as talented and as positive as you (let’s not forget funny), yet here you are proving time and again that good people do exist and that we should no take them for granted. I’m proud to say I’m your fan and I’ll always love you and the music you wake along with the boys. Happy 40th birthday, you man-child Chris! Hope you never lose your spark.