#italy you will never be forgiven

[partybarty]

do you cry watching sports or are you a loser

[weepingfromacedartree]

Ten Milestones: Living Together

Hi friends! New chapter up for anyone interested

CW: alcohol consumption // COVID // toxic family dynamics // mentions of illicit drug use

Living Together

Contrary to what Colin may claim, Penelope honestly doesn’t want to argue every one of these points. Though she may have found this game tedious at best and nonsense at worst when they first started playing about an hour ago, her opinion on the matter has since shifted.

She likes this game. She’s rooting for their shared victory. She wants to go through each one of these milestones and discover that they’ve already done all the dirty work of dating — that they’re ready to get married. 

She wants them to win so desperately that she has willingly pushed past many of the technicalities and shortcomings of the previous milestones. So when Colin reads the next one aloud, she has to remind herself that there is only so much you can stretch the truth before you break it completely. 

“Number Seven: Living Together. Cohabitation is arguably the best compatibility test for a relationship. Living in a shared space with your partner will undoubtedly bring out parts of yourselves that remain hidden when spending so much time apart — bad habits, quirks, routines, secrets, and more. Seeing if you can stand living in such close proximity to your partner is essential in determining if you two can share a life together.”

With a disappointed half-laugh caught in the back of her throat, Penelope says, “I suppose we should have seen this one coming.” 

At her words, Colin lifts one confused brow. 

“Everyone says you can’t really know a person until you’ve lived with them,” she goes on to explain, more confused than disappointed now.

Why isn’t he —

“It’s a good thing I lived with you and still want to marry you.” 

She tilts her head at his words. Not in confusion — she instantly knows what he is referring to. 

“That was basically a sleepover.” 

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

Three Years Earlier: March 11th, 2020

Relationship Status: Cohabitants

꙳

Day 0

“When does your flight leave, dear?”

“In about two hours,” Colin mumbles into his phone, nearly choking on a piece of apple strudel in the process. 

He’s eating breakfast on the edge of his already-made bed. As he finishes swallowing, he glances around the hotel room he’s inhabited for the past six weeks. It’s very quaint. Refurbished furnishings that are meant to look original. A small kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. Beige features, everywhere the light touches. 

Colin was supposed to remain in this quaint, beige, uninviting room for seven weeks total, but something came up. 

“I’m about to check out, then I’ll head over to the airport.” 

“Oh. Good.” 

Violet’s voice is stilted and soft. So soft, that Colin can practically hear his mother’s hands wringing together through the phone. 

“Mum, don’t worr—”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home early? I was just watching the news. They say cases are skyrocketing in Italy and —”

“I’m not going to Italy, mum,” he reminds her, trying his hardest to keep his tone light. He understands why she worries… But he has other, more self-serving matters on his mind. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll always worry, dear. When you have children of your own, you’ll realise truer words have never been spoken.”

Colin silently thanks god she hadn’t facetimed him. He’s not sure he would be forgiven for the eye roll he just committed. 

“You make parenthood sound so delightf—”

“Have you spoken to Penelope yet today?” Violet interrupts, her voice a pleasant tone that remains fringed with worry.

He can’t help the crooked grin that breaks apart his lips. 

“Yup. I just got off the phone with her. She’s about to leave, too.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The first time Colin arrived in Paris was in 2015, a few weeks before his twenty-third birthday. Like so many before him, he had entered the city with high expectations. Too high, he eventually realised. 

During his weeks here, he enjoyed many of the individual aspects of the trip. The food, the art, the skyline, the wine… All of those things were good. And yet, when he ultimately left the city, he could not help but feel as though the sum of his experiences never succeeded in meeting his otherworldly expectations. 

There’s a term for that feeling. “Paris Syndrome.” It isn’t exclusive to this particular city — it can apply to any place you enter into with expectations so high that they could never be met here on the ground. Colin has experienced that feeling a few times over the last four years, nine months, and two days. But during all of those trips, he did his best to prevent any disappointment from bleeding through in his articles. After all, you cannot blame a city for failing to achieve the perfection that was thrusted upon it. 

When Penelope called two weeks ago to inform Colin that she was coming to Paris for work, any lingering disappointments he felt towards the city instantly vanished. When she asked if he could meet her here, his schedule instantly cleared. 

Now, at twenty-seven, Colin steps through the city with new expectations. He could eat hot garbage and drink sewer water the rest of the week, and none of it would deter his mood. Not with Penelope by his side. 

He’s late to meet her. Four hours late, to be exact. His flight was a mess, as was seemingly every other flight out of Václav Havel. But in spite of the initial chaos, Colin has finally arrived at his intended destination. 

She doesn’t see him when he walks in. She’s sitting at the bar, legs crossed beneath her, emerald green peacoat draped over the back of her stool. She has a glass of red wine in one hand and her phone in the other. She’s wearing a black shift dress and red lipstick, the latter of which he can barely make out while she remains turned away from him. She —

She looks perfect, he thinks in those last few seconds before capturing her attention. 

“Sorry, but is this seat taken?” 

She turns so quickly that her red curls nearly whip him in the face. Her blue eyes are bright and round, but he barely gets the chance to look at them before she jumps off her stool and hugs him. 

“Hi,” she says into his shoulder, a few seconds later. The word is barely audible; he can feel it more than he can hear it. 

“Hey, Pen,” he says into her hair. It smells like honey. 

“How was your flight?” 

“Delayed,” he grumbles, then takes the stool beside hers. He signals for the bartender to get him whatever glass of wine Penelope had ordered for herself. “How was the train?”

“Good,” she answers, in a tone that doesn’t match her sentiment. Her eyes cast down to her phone for a split second before continuing, “The stations were pretty hectic, though. A lot of trips were cancelled at the last minute.” 

Colin nods and grimaces, remembering the scene he left behind at De Gaulle. In hindsight, he should be grateful his flight took off at all. 

When Penelope raises her drink to her lips and takes a rather long sip, Colin cannot help but notice the conflicted look that passes on her face through the glass. 

“You don’t think it was a bad idea to —”

“No,” Colin interrupts decisively. He nods to the bartender in thanks as she hands him his drink. “Don’t worry about that. If it was dangerous for you to be here, they wouldn’t have let you on that train.”

“True,” Penelope says, still not sounding so sure of herself. But then she scrunches her nose, and the look that settles on her face afterwards is absent of worry. 

“I can’t believe we’re in Paris,” she notes, smiling. 

“Believe it,” Colin orders with a smile matching hers. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The night air is warm — for March, at least. Penelope is bundled up in her oversized peacoat, while Colin’s jacket sits on the bench between them. Although it certainly wasn’t intended as such, that pile of brown leather acts as a barrier between their bodies. 

It’s not actually that warm, even for springtime. But Colin’s body feels warm — particularly in his chest and on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

Must be the wine.

They’re sitting on the edge of the Champ de Mars, waiting with hundreds of strangers for midnight to strike and cause the tower in the distance to illuminate the darkness with twinkling lights. Penelope is talking with so much excitement that her body is practically vibrating. She’s telling him all about her article on the Notre Dame fire and her plans to visit the reconstruction efforts later in the week. Colin, in spite of his buzz from the bar and the literal, incessant buzzing originating from the phone in his back pocket, is doing his best to remain an attentive listener. Listening to Penelope speak is usually one of his favourite activities, but right now…

Right now, he finds it to be an impossibly difficult task. It’s difficult to pay attention to words spoken from such perfect red lips. Lips he would very much like to be kissing right —

“Colin?” 

Clearly, he was not acting as an attentive listener, for he has no idea what question Penelope is prompting him to answer. 

“Hmm?” 

“Oh, I —” She laughs. “Thank you, again, for meeting me here.” 

Colin shakes his head, instinctually opposed to the notion of accepting thanks for such a self-serving act. But instead of arguing with her, he simply says, “Thank you for finally taking me up on that offer to run off together.” 

Penelope doesn’t argue against his words. She doesn’t say anything. She simply turns her attention forward, towards the structure in the distance, still lit with a flat yellow gleam. 

Like it so often does, a comfortable silence falls between them. The thing about comfortable silences, though, is that there are always uncomfortable distractions around, threatening to break them. Like the truly incessant buzzing from Colin’s phone (undoubtedly caused by some inconsequential but extremely common argument in the Bridgerton family group chat). Or the group of teenagers walking past, moaning about something in a language Colin could only understand before his third glass of wine. Or that invisible force that keeps pulling him towards the woman he loves so dearly. Or whatever it is that appears on Penelope’s phone and draws a gasp from those perfect red lips. 

“Oh my fucking god,” she whispers, ultimately breaking that comfortable silence of theirs. Her words tumble out in one hurried breath. 

“What?” 

Colin’s gaze travels from Penelope’s lips to her eyes. He doesn’t dare drop it, even when the faintest glimmer of twinkling lights appears in his peripheral vision.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 1

Their trip ended the very moment the word “pandemic” fell from Penelope’s lips. 

In a more literal sense, it ended the next morning when they received calls from their respective bosses ordering them to return home as fast as humanly possible. Penelope received that call from Danbury. Colin received his from both Anthony and Violet.

They spent the morning on Penelope’s balcony, munching on room service pastries as they scoured the internet for tickets to London. For all his experience securing last-minute transportation, Colin felt wholly unprepared for the plight of booking passage home during a pandemic. Flights, trains, and buses everywhere were getting bought out or cancelled before he could add the tickets to his cart. It was madness. 

Eventually, Penelope found two open seats on an Easyjet flight. They had less than an hour to get to the airport. Once there, they sat in a terminal for six hours due to a series of delays and rebookings. 

Eventually, they boarded their plane. She sat in seat 24A, he in 31E. Due to the full flight and their unfortunate seating arrangements, Colin could not witness Penelope’s reaction to their liftoff. He didn’t know if her hands still shake when the engines rumble to life, or if her teeth clench down when the plane lifts into the air. He was not there to offer her comfort, if comfort was what she needed in that moment. 

Eventually, they arrived back in London. At first, Penelope had briefly considered returning to her own flat in Hyde Park (and risk passing along potentially life-threatening germs to her roommate). In the end, though, it only took a few passing words for Colin to convince her to choose the far more responsible, CDC-advised option of quarantining in his flat for the next two weeks. 

Now, they’re sitting in traffic in the backseat of a cab. 

Now, he’s placing a hand over hers, silently urging her to stop picking at her own fingernails. 

Now, her head is falling on his shoulder, exhausted by the events of the last 24 hours. 

Now, he’s regrettably pulling her back into the realm of consciousness and out into the cold.

Now, he’s holding a door open for her. 

Now, he’s carrying their luggage into a lift. 

Now, they’re home. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 3

When Penelope packed her suitcase Tuesday night, she had packed for five days in Paris. For walking along the Seine and marvelling masterpieces and conducting interviews at the Notre Dame restoration. She had not packed for fourteen days in Colin’s flat.

There are exactly two sets of pyjamas that Penelope deems comfortable and appropriate enough to wear in his vicinity — everything else has been banished to her luggage, where it will remain for the rest of her stay here. Thankfully, Colin, the ever-dutiful host, offered her a variety of alternatives from his own closet upon their arrival. 

His t-shirts are okay, but tend to sit too snuggly on her chest to meet the “appropriate” requirements of her self-appointed dress code. His flannels are better — loose and soft and always a nice shade of blue or green. His jumpers are her favourite, though — even if the weather creeping in from outside is slightly too warm for such attire.

(She doesn’t have much choice when it comes to bottoms. Even when rolled up three-fold, his sweatpants and pyjama bottoms are too much of a tripping hazard. She’ll be wearing basketball shorts for the remainder of her time here, it seems.) 

She’s wearing his burgundy jumper today — the same one she wore yesterday. Like yesterday, she’s spent almost all of her time on the big blue couch in his living room, watching the news, distracting herself with a movie, and/or doom-scrolling on her phone. Colin has been on the other end of the couch through most of that time, but he currently happens to be in the kitchen. From the faint sounds carrying in from down the hall, she can tell that he’s putting a kettle on and has Benedict on speakerphone. 

It isn’t until this very moment that Penelope realises that Colin is the best distraction of them all. As soon as he left her line of sight, her mind began to wander to everything she cannot see, but worries deeply about. 

Like her three-week-old niece, Poppy. Her sisters. Her mum. Getting an unexpected call from her mum. Getting an unexpected call from her editor. Her article. Whether or not she’ll have a job by the time the world returns to normal. The world, whether or not it will ever return to normal. Hospitals. Doctors. Nurses. Children. Little Auggie and even littler Blair. Daphne. Eloise. Colin. Herself. The ever-tenuous state of their friendship. The likelihood that it will survive the next fourteen —

“Pen.” 

She literally jumps from her spot, having been too consumed by her thoughts to hear Colin walk back into the room. He’s standing before her with a cup of tea in his hand and a humorous look in his eye. After passing her the mug, he asks where her head just was. 

“Everywhere,” she jokes. Even if it isn’t exactly a joke. 

“I —”

“Did you get any information out of your brother?” she interrupts. This is closer to a joke. 

A few days before the pandemic was officially declared, Benedict saw the warning signs and fled the city to stay with a “friend” in Southampton. Beyond that, the details of his current whereabouts are unknown. (Despite his siblings’ incessant interrogations on the subject.)

“Nope.” 

“What’s the current theory? New girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Colin chuckles into his mug. “The jury’s hung,” he tells her. “But whatever type of friend they are, knowing Benedict, there are benefits involved.” 

Preemptively hiding the blush that is surely about to appear on her cheeks, Penelope raises her cup and takes a sip of her tea. Milk and honey, just the way she likes it. 

“Well, wherever he may be, it was nice of him to lend me his room to sleep in while he’s gone.” 

Colin doesn’t say anything to that, but nods his head lightly in agreement. 

When a palpable quiet settles between them, Penelope realises that Colin had turned the news off while she had been lost in thought. Instinctually, her free hand wraps around the remote control sitting on the coffee table in front of them. Before she can hit the power button, though, Colin’s hand appears out of nowhere and plucks it out of her grip. 

“Let’s not,” he says dismissively. He then tosses the remote onto the armchair in the back corner of the room. 

“Why —”

“The news is so depressing. Let’s take a break and properly enjoy our tea.” With that, he clinks his mug against the one Penelope’s barely hanging onto. 

“What difference does it make?” she asks, standing to retrieve the discarded remote. “Everything is depressing. One cup of tea isn’t going to change that.” 

Usually, Penelope is not so quick to voice such blatant negativity aloud (especially in Colin’s presence), but these are unprecedented times. 

Just as her pointer finger hovers over the little red button, the remote slips from her grasp once again. Standing now, Colin slides it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Though these may be unprecedented times, there is nothing in this world that could deliver Penelope the confidence (or madness) to try and retrieve it from there. Instead, she sits back down with a huff. 

“Sit in silence, then?” 

Lowering himself to the cushion next to hers, Colin begins to chuckle — an act Penelope deems wildly inappropriate, given its time, place, and irritated audience. 

“What are you —”

“What exactly, Pen, is so depressing about your current situation?” 

She looks at him wide-eyed and gaping, needing a moment to answer such an obvious, impossible question. 

“In case you forgot, the world is falling ap—”

“No. I didn’t ask what’s wrong with the world. What’s so depressing about your life right now? What’s troubling you, Pen?” 

She needs another moment to answer this question, but instead of staring at Colin, she turns away. She takes note of her surroundings. 

She’s sitting on a big blue couch with her favourite person. She’s safe, healthy, and teetering on the edge of insanity. Knowing all the misery happening in the world outside this flat…

She shrugs. “Nothing, I suppose.” 

Colin barks out a singular, disbelieving chuckle. “Well that’s not true.” 

“I have empathy, Colin,” she shoots back. “I’m allowed to be upset about the state of the world, even if I’m not personally impacted.” 

“What do you mean you’re not ‘impacted?’ The whole world shut down, everyone is impacted.” 

“I know, but…”

It’s only after her voice trails off that Colin continues, “We were supposed to be in Paris today. Now we’re stuck in my flat and fighting over whether or not to watch the incredibly depressing news. You are allowed to be troubled, Pen.” 

After a few seconds mulling over his words…

“Being stuck in a flat in London is different than — you know — dying from a mysterious illness that didn’t exist until a few months ago.” 

“I know,” Colin insists, humour finally wiped clean off his face. “But you don’t have to be in active peril to be sad about your current circumstances. You selflessly refusing to moan about a missed holiday won’t resolve anyone else’s suffering.” 

She doesn’t quite know what to say to that. “Are you sad about your current circumstances?” is what she eventually settles on.

He takes a moment before responding. His eyes roam, seeming to point in every direction but to her own. 

“Mixed. I’m sad about our trip getting cut short so abruptly. I would prefer to be in Paris than London today. I’m happy I get to spend more time with you than originally planned.” 

Resisting the urge to fester on the last part of his statement for a single second, Penelope simply says, “I thought you didn’t like Paris.” 

From his spot one cushion over, Colin squints in that way that makes his blue eyes look grey. 

“I don’t remember telling you that.” 

“I don’t think you did,” she realises out loud. Absentmindedly, she places her mug down on the table. “But, you know… I edited every single one of your pieces back then. I suppose it just stuck out to me at the time, how it seemed less…” 

She tilts her head upward, searching her brain for the right word. When she glances back to Colin, his eyes are round and blue again. 

“It just, um, seemed less enthusiastic than your writing on other destinations.”

“I —”

“Not that it was any less lovely to read,” she adds with a quiet, nervous laugh. “Just different in tone.” 

“Regardless…” He sighs, and the corners of his mouth tick upward just a little. “I was excited to revisit it. And to see you see it for the first time.” 

“I’m sad about missing Paris, too,” she finally admits. “Even if being with you here instead of there isn’t so bad.” 

Before she can process that it’s even happening, Colin is hugging her. His arms are wrapped around her back. Her lips are pressed into his shoulder. Her heart is beating so quickly that she fears he can feel it against his own chest. 

“Paris will be there when this is all over,” he mumbles into her hair. “We can always go back.”

She wants to tell him how hard that future is for her to imagine. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything, answering instead with a tiny nod against his shoulder. When her nose brushes against the fabric of his t-shirt, she’s reminded of the true reason why she loves his jumpers so. 

For as long as she can remember, Colin has always smelt the same. Like fresh grass, “unscented” bar soap, and the faintest hint of sweat. Like home. 

That scent tends to stick around on jumpers like the one she’s been wearing for the past two days. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 5

Eyes too alert to find sleep, Colin turns his gaze from the ceiling to the alarm clock on his left. The bright red display informs him that it is just after midnight. 

Turning towards the wall and away from those taunting numbers, Colin thinks over the last few days. He thinks of Penelope’s stay here. He thinks of the good — the talking, the closeness, the making up for lost time. He thinks of the not-so-good — the world outside, the worry that keeps creeping up her face, his inability to keep his desires at bay while she remains so close. 

That last point weighs the heaviest on his mind. It’s the reason he’s currently awake and restless in bed. 

On that night in Paris, he came so close to acting on his physical desires for Penelope. He was seconds away from kissing her in the moonlight, he realises in hindsight. He was so close to risking it all while drunk on wine and the perfect curve of her lips so close to his. Then, like a sign sent directly from God (or perhaps the CDC), the world came crashing down around them. 

Now, Colin can’t risk it all. He couldn’t possibly put Penelope in that position — not when she’s forced to remain here with him for the next nine days. But having her so close to him at all times of the day…

It’s difficult. It’s good in so many ways, but it’s also difficult. There’s no escaping your feelings for someone when they are never more than a few footsteps away from you. Penelope is wearing his clothes every day and sleeping on the other side of his wall every night. Colin is growing restless, but as much sleep as he may lose over his desires…

He can’t risk it all now. As much as he wants to. 

After a few more minutes turning over and over in bed, Colin lifts his head from his pillow. He hears something new emanating from the darkness. 

Footsteps. 

He listens as the tentative creaking noises get louder and softer, walking past his bedroom door, then away from it. Curious and alarmingly awake, Colin extricates his body from his sheets, pulls the first t-shirt he can find over his head, then heads in the same direction as those footsteps.

Penelope is in the kitchen. Her body is turned away from him and towards the kettle on the stove. The room is dark; her figure is outlined by the stove light that’s illuminating next to nothing. She must have not heard him coming, because she literally jumps around when he whispers her name from the doorway. 

“Oh — Colin! Sorry,” she sputters out. She points her thumb behind her, towards the kettle. “I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to — Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” He steps across the precipice, leaning against the sink so his body stands about a metre away from Penelope’s. “I would have needed to find sleep to begin with for that to be possible.”

“Is there a lot on your mind?” 

Colin doesn’t know how to answer that question truthfully. Yes, there was a lot on his mind keeping him awake tonight. No, not in the way Penelope had intended the question. 

(She had not intended to ask if he had been too horny to fall asleep tonight.) 

In the end, he simply shrugs and blames “the usual bout of insomnia” for his presence in this dimly-lit kitchen.

Penelope mumbles something that sounds like, “I thought that was my thing,” before turning back to her original task. As she pulls out two mugs from the cabinet, Colin clears his throat. 

“What was keeping you up tonight?”

“Oh. You know…” 

She doesn’t expand on her words. She keeps her eyes pointed on the kettle, patiently waiting for it to whistle. Colin lasts about 10 seconds before opening his mouth again. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Pen. Even if the circumstances that forced you into my flat aren’t ideal.”

He’s not exactly sure what prompted him to say that. When Penelope finally turns to look him in the eye again, he can tell that she shares his curiosity. Before she can ask, though, he continues on. 

“I feel like we’re making up for lost time. You know… After spending 90% of the last five years on separate continents.” 

“Oh, Colin,” she says, and Colin cannot recall ever hearing two words uttered so sadly in his lifetime. “There is no ‘lost’ time to make up for. Not when we spent nearly every day of those five years communicating in one way or another.”

“That’s not the same,” he insists. “And after putting up with all of the emails and voicemails and other random shit I send you on a daily basis, I think this was long overdue.”

Penelope breaks their eye contact, shaking her head lightly as she turns her gaze downwards. With her voice barely above a whisper, she says, “I don’t ‘put up’ with anything.” Then, louder, “But while we’re on the subject, I did want to ask you about those emails.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he needles, feeling cheekier than he has since stepping foot into this room.

“Yeah. It’s just… Between your articles and those emails, when do you have the time to actually go out into the world and gather material for them? It seems like all you do is write.”

“It’s quite simple, really. I experience the world during the day and write about it at night.”

“When do you manage to sleep, then?”

“Oh. I don’t.” He raises his arms in gesture to the darkness around them. “That’s the trick.”

Penelope’s laughter coincides with the kettle’s whistle. After handing him his mug, she takes a step back — a step further than she was just a moment ago. 

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about being away from home so often,” she tells him. “For me or for anyone. Travelling — that’s your passion. You’re lucky to have found it at such a young age. You should hold onto it with both hands.”

Suddenly feeling at a loss for words, Colin nods into his cup. The water is hot, and yet his sip is long. 

He can’t recall a single time over the last twenty-seven years that he has ever disagreed with Penelope as strongly as he does in this very moment. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 7

“Go fish.”

“Christ, Penelope. We’re friends — could you drop the poker face, just once?”

She laughs into her remaining two cards. 

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.” 

They play for a few more minutes before Penelope secures her third win of the night. When Colin flips his remaining ten cards over and discards them on the coffee table, she can’t help but notice that they’re all hearts and diamonds — red cards, only. 

Standing suddenly, Colin rakes a hand through his hair and walks over to the cabinet on the other side of the room. “Let’s switch to a game that I actually have a chance at winning,” he mutters, his back turned towards her. 

As he searches through a pile of board games, Penelope fishes her phone out of the couch cushions behind her. In the time it had taken for them to play three rounds of Go Fish, she had received several notifications. 

One text from Eloise, asking if Colin has driven her mad yet. A few news updates with death tolls, outbreak reports, and other awful, unimaginable statistics she’s now receiving on an hourly basis. At least a dozen messages from her family group chat, the last of which came from her mum, about a minute ago. 

It’s awful. Being stuck in this giant house all by myself.

“Scrabble?” 

Penelope’s head whips up to find Colin presenting the big burgundy box in the air. 

“Oh, um… I don’t know. Perhaps another night?”

After throwing her a sarcastic scowl, Colin puts the Scrabble box away, walks over, and plops back down on the spot on the rug opposite Penelope. 

“Something wrong?” he asks her. 

Without meaning to, her eyes dip down to her phone screen. 

“‘No,” she lies. “It’s just… Doesn’t it feel kind of weird to be playing games right now?”

“Now? As in… The end of the world?”

“I wish you would stop calling it that.” She sighs. “But yes.” 

“I quite literally cannot think of a better time to sit around playing games.” 

Penelope can’t help but roll her eyes slightly, because of course he can’t. 

“I don’t know.” Her gaze unconsciously drops to the phone in her lap again. “It just feels sort of… wrong. Like I can’t have a bit of fun without being reminded of how awful it is for everyone else in the world.” 

When she eventually summons the strength to look up again, Colin’s face is marked by concern. His eyes bear into hers. 

“I —”

“Pen, you cannot hold your own happiness hostage for the sake of others. There’s no good that can come from forcing yourself to be miserable.”

Not for the first time in her life, Penelope is struck by how good Colin is at making life seem so much simpler than it really is. But while her instincts typically lead her to either challenge his revisionist view of reality or simply brush his words away, right now, she’s tempted to believe him. She’s tempted to buy into his bullshit. 

“You’re so wise for someone who just lost so badly at Go Fish.”

“Thanks, Pen.” He laughs, then picks up the deck of cards still sitting atop the table between them. “Rematch?”

Tossing her phone out of sight somewhere on the couch behind her, Penelope smiles. 

“Your funeral, Bridgerton.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 9

“What are you watching?”

Penelope’s eyes dart from the TV to Colin, then back to the TV. On the screen, Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal are walking through Central Park on an orange Autumn day. 

“You don’t know what movie this is?”

Plopping down on the cushion next to hers, Colin shrugs and shakes his head. Penelope can instantly tell that he isn’t being facetious, but after growing up with four sisters, she can hardly believe he can’t name this movie. (Though she may claim otherwise, even Eloise enjoys the occasional romcom.) 

“You really don’t know When Harry Met Sally?” 

Colin shrugs again, an eager smirk now rising on his lips. 

“Should I?”

After pausing the moving, Penelope turns to give Colin her full attention. She’s about to say “Yes,” and inform him of just how ridiculous it is that he’s never seen it before. But at the last second, she hesitates. 

“I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’” he echoes, clearly baffled by her sudden lack of conviction. 

“Well, I love this movie, but I can’t claim to be unbiased. I grew up watching it. If I were to watch it for the first time now… I don’t know. I think I might find the premise a bit…” 

She quickly glances away from Colin and towards the ceiling, searching her brain for the right word. 

“Outdated.”

“Outdated?”

“Yes. And perhaps a bit… sexist.” 

“Good god,” Colin laughs. “What exactly is this amazing, outdated, sexist about?”

Penelope's lips remain sealed tightly shut for a moment, simultaneously fighting off a nervous laugh and a deep red blush. 

“Well…” she finally manages to get out. “Perhaps ‘sexist’ isn’t the right word. It’s about two people — Harry and Sally — who meet and eventually become friends and eventually fall in love. And it’s a great movie — really. But the film revolves around this idea that men and women can’t be friends. Which is,” she gulps, “obviously not true.”

“Why can’t women and men be friends?” 

“Well, obviously they —”

“According to the movie, I meant.” 

Her lips stitch shut again. She simply cannot bring herself to voice aloud the movie’s thesis statement — that sexual attraction will always get in the way. Even if that statement is outdated, sexist, and objectively not true for the average opposite sex friendship… 

It’s not exactly irrelevant in this friendship. 

“Instead of having me explain the plot summary to you for the next 90 minutes, why don’t we just watch it? You know — so you can form your own opinion on the matter.”

“I happen to like it when you explain the movie to me. But fine.” He sighs with great, dramatic force. “Let’s watch it.”

Exactly ninety-five minutes later, Colin agrees that while it may be a fantastic movie, the premise is bullshit. 

“I mean — if you and Benedict weren’t such good friends, you might not have had a bed to sleep in this past week.” 

“Yeah.” Penelope forces out a quick laugh. “I don’t know where I would be without my best friend, Benedict Bridgerton.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 10

Despite sharing this flat with Benedict for over two years, due to their respective chaotic schedules, Colin hasn’t actually spent much time living here with another human being. That’s why he didn’t realise just how thin his walls are until about ten days ago. 

Now, ten days into Penelope’s extended stay here, Colin has developed an automatic response to the sound of her phone ringing. Unfortunately, he can’t always find his headphones quick enough to avoid accidentally eavesdropping on those conversations. Like when his sister rang.

“God, El. Stop being so dramatic. I swear I am here on my own free will.” 

…

“Well, I’m sure his hygiene has improved since you last lived with him.”

Or Penelope’s editor.

“She licked a toilet seat? Well, that’s um — That’s certainly interesting. But I struggle to see how we can frame that as an actual piece of news.”

Or her mum.

“It’s fine. No, I —” 

… 

“It’s only temporary, mum. I’ll come home soon. Once it’s safe.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 12

Twelve days into lockdown, meals have taken on new meaning for Penelope — a way to mark the passage of time. 

Time itself has lost nearly all meaning. Seconds last for an eternity. Hours pass by like nothing. Days bleed into one another with no substantive markers. Fridays feel like Tuesdays. Everyday feels like Tuesday, actually. 

Meals are now the only markers of time that feel real to Penelope. But as the food in Colin’s fridge and pantry starts to dwindle, the separation between breakfast, lunch, and dinner are becoming blurred. 

Tonight, they’re eating eggs, baked beans, and a single microwavable pizza for dinner. 

“You know…” Colin mumbles, chewing incessantly on his crust (which in Penelope’s opinion, has a texture similar to that of her leather purse). “In two days, we can venture back into the land of the living and get some proper food.” 

Penelope mumbles something in agreement, pushing around the beans on her plate with the prongs of her fork. Her mind is wandering elsewhere. 

Do you want to be a burden, Penelope?

“Pen?” 

“Hmm?” Her head whips up suddenly, eyes finally meeting Colin’s after several minutes of focusing downward. 

“Is something wrong?”

Yes.

“No.”

Colin isn’t buying her bullshit. She can see it in the look he throws her now. 

“I’m just —” She sighs, mulling over her own words. “Just thinking about what’s going to happen in two days, when our quarantine period is up.” 

“Oh,” Colin says, shoulders visibly relaxing. “Well, Benedict isn’t coming back to the city anytime soon. And Lord knows my trip to Kyoto isn’t happening anytime soon. You can stay here as long as you like.” 

Penelope opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. There was a weight on her chest before. It’s lighter now, but still overwhelming. 

Filling the interim silence between them, Colin leans back in his chair and chuckles softly. 

“I mean, you can go back to Hyde Park and kill the endless expanse of time sitting around doing nothing with your roommate. But wouldn’t you rather sit around here and do nothing with your best friend?” 

Not ready to address the main bit, Penelope smiles, crinkles her nose, and says, “Don’t let Eloise hear you claiming yourself as my best friend. I don’t need another Bridgerton bloodbath on my hands.”

He barks out a laugh. 

“We can speak freely here. She doesn’t have my flat bugged.”

“That you know of.”

“Regardless… Can you really deny my claim?”

His words are delivered casually enough, but they don’t feel that way to Penelope. Not after spending so much of her life struggling to attach those two words to Colin in her mind and in her heart. Even if she probably should. 

Best friend. There’s nothing that comes after that. 

Penelope scoops a fork-full of beans into her mouth.

“I would… If I didn’t know any better. You two are so competitive. And you both seem to be under the incorrect assumption that a person can only have one best friend.”

Still chewing on that pizza crust, Colin’s eyes suddenly narrow. 

“You call Eloise your best friend all the time,” he says simply. He doesn’t sound quite as casual as he had a moment ago. His voice is edged with annoyance. 

Penelope scoops up another fork-full of beans. She’s stalling for time, trying to think of a better excuse than, “It’s easier to call someone your best friend when you’re not also madly in love with them.” In the end, she lands on… 

“You know how annoying you get about this subject? Eloise would be a thousand times more annoying if the roles were reversed.”

He shrugs at that, because while it may be a dirty excuse, it’s also 100% true. 

“Regardless… The world isn’t going back to normal in two days. If you have to be stuck somewhere, selfishly, I hope it’s in this flat.” 

Penelope’s eyes turn away from him again — towards the clock on the stovetop that means so little to her these days. She can feel the blush rising in her cheeks. She can feel it in her chest and in her heart. It’s hard to really accept his words, though, as her mother’s voice still echoes through her mind. 

Do you want to be a burden, Penelope? 

No. Of course she doesn’t. 

“I don’t want to impose,” she tells him, her eyeline unable to raise any higher than the stubble on his chin. 

“You wouldn’t be.” 

He sounds less humorous, less charming than he had just a moment ago. His voice is serious, which — despite the very serious events unfolding in the world lately — is a rare occurrence these days. 

“You could never. Not with me.” 

Just like that, the subject is dropped. Neither one of them picks it up again when the official 14-day quarantine endpoint comes and goes. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 17

After getting off a nearly hour-long phone call with Benedict (an ultimately fruitless endeavour to obtain the details of his brother’s extended stay in Southampton), Colin exits his bedroom with the intention to join Penelope on the big blue couch. 

She doesn’t notice him walk into the room. She’s faced away from him, back against the armrest, headphones blasting music loud enough for him to hear it from his doorway. Her laptop is resting precariously on her knees, her fingers rampantly dancing across her keyboard. She barely looks up when he plops himself on the cushion next to hers. 

“Hey,” she says half-heartedly, pulling one earbud out. 

“What are you working on?” 

“Work.” Just as quickly as the word leaves her mouth, she shuts her laptop. 

“Did you ever decide on a narrative for your Notre Dame article?” 

“Oh. God no.” She laughs lightly, scrunching her nose. “That article was shelved the second that the pandemic was declared.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “But there are more important things for people to read about these days than reconstruction efforts on some old church.” 

Colin scoffs. Literally.

“Did you just refer to the Cathedral of Notre Dame as ‘some old church?’” 

“You know what I mean. Public concern has shifted over the last few weeks. That story isn’t exactly relevant anymore. Plus, I never even got to see the restoration efforts firsthand.”

“Okay…” Colin shuffles in his seat, raking a hand through his hair as he considers her words. “Even if it isn’t ‘relevant’ right now — what about when this is all over? That ‘old church’ survived over 800 years before this for a reason. People will always care about Notre Dame. There will always be a story to tell there.” 

Penelope shrugs again. She’s wearing his green cable knit sweater, arms crossed in front of her with just the tips of her fingers peeking out of the sleeves. She’s tucked into the corner of the big blue couch, looking like she’s about to disappear into it. 

“Maybe one day. But right now, it’s hard to imagine everything going back to normal.” 

Colin considers her words for a few seconds. 

“Well, maybe not everything will go back to how it once was, but the important things will. The things meant to last will last, even through fires and viruses and other disasters.”

 From her spot in the corner, Penelope’s eyes narrow. “When did you get so wise?” she asks, only half sarcastically. 

“Always have been,” he gloats, a smile overpowering his lips. “Took you long enough to notice.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 19

After several minutes (possibly hours) staring at a blank screen, Penelope shuts her laptop with a huff. She blinks several times, practically feeling the blue light still stinging her eyeballs. She scrunches her eyes shut completely, needing at least a few seconds of calming darkness. 

For as long as she can remember, writing has offered Penelope an escape. Writing a story — gripping a pen in her hands and deciding what came next — offered her a sense of control in times when she felt no such thing in her real life. That control is an addiction of sorts — one most would be wise not to stake their careers around. Thankfully, Penelope’s career has yet to take away her passion for it. 

She loves being a writer, but it’s hard on days like today when the words just don’t come. When both the escape and the control slip away from you, and the only thing you can blame for that loss is your own brain. 

At least she has a different distraction readily available to her these days. 

When she opens her eyes, she finds that Colin is still staring at his laptop screen on the other side of the couch. He isn’t doing much typing, though, so she doesn’t feel too bad about interrupting him.

“Hey.” 

She nudges his bare shin with her sock-clad foot. He smiles softly as he pulls his headphones out and meets her gaze. 

“Are you busy with something?”

“Too busy for you? Never.”

With that, he shuts his laptop and practically throws it onto the coffee table next to hers. 

“God,” Penelope mutters under her breath, almost caught off guard by his charming ways after all these years. 

“Nothing. Just… bored.” 

Colin’s smile turns to a flat out smirk. 

“And you want me to do something about that?” 

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, fighting off a blush. “Can you tell me a travel story? One I haven’t heard before?” 

Humming, Colin looks up to the ceiling, seemingly racking his brain to find such a thing. Then, he looks to the window. Then, to the coffee table. Then, finally, back to her. 

“I don’t know if there are any, Pen. I think you’ve heard all of my stories already.” 

“What about Prague? Anything you left out of your emails?” 

“No,” he says softly, eyes still darting back and forth, searching for some memory to dig up. “On my way to the airport, my Uber got rear ended.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Penelope breaks into a fit of giggles. “I was on the phone with you when it happened. I could hear them arguing in Czech in the background.” 

Colin begins to chuckle. 

“Oh, right.” 

“Okay… So if I already know everything about your old trips, maybe you can tell me about your future endeavours. Any plans for when the end of the world ends?” 

Penelope expects Colin to continue chuckling. She expects him to say something like “Greece” or “Kyoto.” But he doesn’t. 

He frowns. 

“I don’t know, honestly.” He looks away from her for a few seconds, towards the window. “I don’t see myself travelling for a while.” 

Penelope nods sympathetically, suddenly annoyed with herself for asking such a silly question. 

“That makes sense,” she says, voice tentative. “They said this would be all over in two weeks, but —”

“No, not because of COVID. I’ve actually been ready to pause my travels for a while.”

He says those words so casually. A few seconds pass before they fully register in Penelope’s brain. When they do, it feels as though all of the air has been sucked from her lungs. 

“What?” is all she can manage to get out in her current breathless condition. Colin, for his part, remains casual. 

“Japan was the last trip I had planned, and that certainly isn’t happening anymore, so…”

They sit in silence for a moment. Penelope waits for him to expand. Colin waits for her to ask him to. In the end, it’s she who loses the game of chicken. 

“Why didn’t you plan anything past Japan?” 

If she recalls correctly, he was supposed to remain in the country for approximately three months. She’s seen his calendar; he usually plans out his calendar a year in advance. 

“Well, that trip was meant to end in June, which also happens to be the five-year mark for my travels abroad.” He shrugs innocently. “Five years seems like a good marker for change. I was thinking about maybe taking a year off travelling.” 

“A year?” Penelope mutters dumbly, not really meaning to. The notion seems impossible to her. Between Eton, Cambridge, and his travels…

Colin hasn’t lived an entire year in London in over a decade. Not since he was sixteen and she was fourteen. Not since they were two completely different people. 

“Yeah. I love travelling, but it’s also fucking exhausting. Especially at the rate I’ve been doing it the past five years. I…” He takes a breath. “I just need to stay put for a while. I’m sick of spending more time away from home than in it.” 

When he goes quiet, Penelope nearly jumps at the chance to fill the air between them with her words. But something in Colin’s eye tells her that he’s not quite finished. That he has something else that he desperately wants to say. 

“I don’t want my life to continue running parallel to the lives here at home.” 

“Oh, Colin,” she says, her miserable words spilling from her mouth before she can stop them. Her mind is elsewhere, recalling something she said a lifetime ago on a night in December. 

Those people who made up your entire world when you were younger are still there, but their lives aren’t intertwined with yours like they used to be. It’s more like they’re running parallel.

“I —” she starts, but Colin interrupts. His face looks lighter than it had a moment ago. 

“Don’t be too sad about my indefinite return home for longer than usual, Pen. This —”

“I’m not! I —”

“— was always going to happen. A man can’t travel forever.”

“I — I know,” she sputters out. “But the — the parallel lines thing… You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself about not living in London full time. I mean — look at your family! Eloise and Francesca are both in Scotland now. Daphne practically lives in Hastings year round. Benedict spends even less time in this flat than y—”

“I know, Pen.” 

Before she can say another word, Colin moves from the edge of the couch to the cushion right next to hers. She remains wedged in her corner as he raises his hand and gives her shoulder a gentle, familiar squeeze. 

“It’s not like I’m never going to travel again. I just can’t keep up with the constant state of being away. I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. I want to be here. I don’t want to miss another holiday or be that uncle that Auggie and Blair only see one a year. I —”

His words stop impossibly short. He gives Penelope a long, wavering look before continuing.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?”

It takes her a moment to find her voice. Eventually, she says something that sort of sounds like, “Of course.”

He sits in the silence an extra moment, as if still debating whether or not he wants to actually share his secret aloud. It’s an unnerving site for Penelope to behold on Colin’s face, of all things. But as a lifelong expert in bullshit… 

She understands. 

“My dad died almost eighteen years ago. Which is really fucking weird to think about at twenty-seven, knowing that I’ve spent more than two-thirds of my life without him there. But even knowing that…”

He takes a breath.

“At every major life event — every wedding or birthday or whatever — I just keep waiting for my dad to walk through the door and join the rest of us. Like he’s supposed to.”

 His lips part to let out something that sort of sounds like a laugh. 

“Is that strange?”

Although she feels at a complete loss for words, Penelope pushes herself to say anything aloud. To sit in this silence would be too painful. 

“No. Of course not.”

“I just — I don’t want anyone to feel that way about me. Not while I’m alive, at least.” 

Penelope literally gasps. She can’t stop herself.

“Colin —”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “That was dramatic.” 

“No, I — That’s not —” 

Penelope shakes her head slightly, trying desperately to make sense of everything Colin told her in the last few minutes. To find the proper words to respond to them with.

“If you want to make this change for yourself, then you should do that. You should do whatever it is that makes you happy. But if it’s just for your family, or for —”

“It’s for me, Pen,” he interrupts. “Trust me. I — I’m tired of feeling homesick.” 

Penelope begins to nod. She tries to muster up a smile. She uses these brief seconds of quiet to mull over his words again. To actually envision a reality where Colin isn’t away from her most of the year. She tries not to get too excited. She tries not to get too overwhelmed. 

“What do you think you’ll do with all the time you usually spend travelling?”

“Ideally, I would like to get started on a book.”

Penelope smiles at this. Colin laughs. 

“Sounds strange to say that out loud.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Colin.” 

“Yeah?” he teases, his smirk suddenly making a reappearance. “You don’t think my plans are a bit mad?”

“A bit.” She laughs softly. “But that’s the best type.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 21

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope sees her mum’s name and picture pop up on her phone. She turns the screen over — out sight, but not out of mind — by the second buzz. Turning her attention back to the TV screen ahead, she sighs.

Before Sunrise was probably not the wisest choice of movies to watch with Colin tonight. But she had never seen it before and the plot sounded intriguing, so she was willing to put herself in the uncomfortable position of watching a romantic movie with her platonic friend. (After all, they made it through When Harry Met Sally last week relatively unscathed.) She had not expected it to be this romantic, though.

When her phone starts buzzing again, Penelope clears her throat. 

“Have you ever done anything like this?” 

“What?”

She nods her head towards the screen ahead. Towards the two young lovers sitting on the steps of a statue in Vienna. 

“You know… Met a stranger on a train and ran off to explore a city together.” 

Colin reaches forward to grab the remote control and pause the movie. When he turns to look at her, his expression is made up of disbelief.

“No,” he says, with the same tone someone would use after being asked if they’ve ever sprouted wings and flown to the moon. 

“This —” He points a finger towards the screen. “— only happens in movies. If I asked a woman on her way to Paris to get off with me in Vienna, she’d have me thrown off the train.”

“My question was not that ridiculous,” Penelope contends. “You spend more time on trains than anyone else I know. You’re certainly better at making friends out of strangers than anyone else. I think this —” She shoots her index finger towards the screen. “— is the exact type of situation you would find yourself in.” 

Colin shakes his head, then settles his gaze on the TV again.

“Those sorts of ‘friends’ don’t compare to the real kind. From my experience, you need to know a person a long time before you can stay up until sunrise talking about nothing together.”

Before Penelope can say anything else, Colin hits play. She doesn’t speak again for another seven minutes. Not until the lovers part and a gentle melody fills the room. 

“What was Vienna like? In real life, I mean.” 

“Beautiful,” he answers, after some thought. “Also very cold, but I suppose that was my fault for visiting it in December.” 

“You think?” she teases.

“Yeah.” He chuckles, wiping his brow with the palm of his hand in boyish fashion. “I think I’d like to go back one day, in a warmer climate.” A beat passes before he tells her, “I think you would like Vienna.” 

Penelope feels a sudden rush of longing in the core of her chest. An image of the Eiffel Tower sparkling at midnight flashes before her. 

“I think I’d like to go anywhere,” she says, sounding more glum than she had intended. It isn’t until the words leave her mouth that Penelope realises just how badly her words could be taken by Colin.

“Not that I’m not enjoying —”

“Come on,” he interrupts, standing up from the couch with his hand extended towards her. Penelope can only stare at his fingers for a moment. 

“What — what are you doing?”

“Come on,” he says again. This time, he doesn’t wait for her to listen or react to his words. He takes her hand into his own and pulls her to a standing position. “Let’s act like we’re in Vienna. Or Paris. Or — wherever, as long as it’s not this little flat in London.” 

“I —” 

Somewhere in the background, movie credits start to roll and a more upbeat song starts to play. 

“Come on,” he says a final time, pulling her around the coffee table so they stand together in the middle of his rug. 

They’ve danced together a few times before. It’s far from a common occurrence, and yet, they’ve picked up a sort-of routine over the years. Unlike most dance routines, there are no specific steps or choreography for them to follow — it’s the speed and distance that’s become so familiar over the years. 

It starts fast — two pairs of feet finding their footing to a song they’ve never heard before. It starts disconnected — their bodies joined only by their intertwined fingers. But then Colin drops one hand and spins her around with the other, and the routine shifts. 

It’s slower now — two bodies swaying together to the beat of the music. It’s less disconnected too — her chest is pressed to his abdomen, one of his arms is snaked around her back. It’s different than it used to be, when they were teenagers and this felt more like a clusterfuck than a routine to Penelope. It’s easier now. More comfortable. 

It’s still silly, but that doesn’t bother her like it used to. 

After several moments staring into his chest, Penelope looks up. Colin was already looking down, but he quickly shifts his gaze to the side, towards the TV. 

After clearing his throat, he asks if she liked the movie. 

Penelope nods. 

“Yes. You were right — it’s a bit of a fantasy. But I like fantasies.” 

When Colin looks back to her, he has the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. 

“I liked Harry and Sally better,” he admits. “I’m not a big fan of ambiguous endings. It feels like a cop-out, leaving us wondering what happens next.”

Penelope furrows her brow, considering his words. 

“I think there are times when ambiguous endings are fitting. But perhaps you should watch the next movie before you make up your mind on this story.” 

“There’s a sequel?!”

Penelope cannot help but giggle. 

“It’s a trilogy. Did you really not know —” 

“Shh… No spoilers. I want to be surprised.” 

Caught off guard by another round of giggles, Penelope unintentionally leans forward, even further into Colin’s chest. Her next words are nearly muffled by the cloth of his jumper. 

“The last movie is when the zombies finally make an appearance.”

“Pen!” 

They dance for another minute or two. As the music fades to nothing, Penelope swears she can hear phantom sounds of a phone buzzing. She does her best to ignore them, though, breathing in Colin’s scent one last time before letting go. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 24

Three weeks into sharing a flat with Penelope, Colin has become quite familiar with “the usual bout of insomnia.” Which, while troubling for several reasons, does have its perks. 

Like all the late night tea breaks they’ve shared over the last three weeks. 

When Colin hears the faint sounds of footsteps outside his door at 12:21 AM, he smiles. He pulls himself out of bed. He throws on his nearest shirt. He follows those footsteps down the hall. 

Penelope must have heard him coming. There are two mugs sitting on the counter when he walks into the kitchen. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, leaning against the sink. 

“Nope.” 

She isn’t quite looking at him. She’s staring at the kettle like she’s willing it to whine. 

“Something on your mind?” 

She shrugs at that. She turns to look at him for a split second. She offers him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, as if that tiny gesture will ward off the question he’s about to ask her. 

(It doesn’t.)

“Pen, are you o—”

“I’m fine,” she answers prematurely. “Just the usual bout of insomnia.” 

Suddenly, Colin finds himself at a loss for words. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep he’s accumulated over the last three weeks. Perhaps it’s due to him ignoring so many of his other (more physical) instincts during that time. Perhaps it’s for some reason that Colin can’t pull out of the darkness right now… But he suddenly finds himself at a loss for how to act around Penelope. 

He knows she’s lying to him. He knows there is something not fine going on with her. But Colin doesn’t know if he should push her on her secret or let it be. 

While he stands there silently flailing, the kettle finally begins to whine. When Penelope hands him his mug, she’s standing taller than she was a moment ago. She’s looking him in the eye again. 

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?” she asks, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Though Colin still feels rather speechless, he somehow manages to mumble out an “Of course.” 

Before she speaks again, a complicated look passes on Penelope’s face. It’s hard for him to read, with her face lit by nothing more than the tiny bulb on his stove, but it looks apprehensive — like she’s suddenly unsure of the secret she is about to confess. 

“It’s just — It’s a family secret.” She laughs a little. “One I’ve never actually discussed with my family before, but…”

The mention of her family instantly raises alarm bells in Colin’s mind. In all their years of friendship, he has never known “family” to be a particularly happy subject for Penelope. But the last thing he wants to do is dissuade her from confessing what is so clearly weighing on her mind, so he tries to keep his face neutral. 

“Your secrets are safe with me, Pen. Always.” 

After one last moment of contemplation…

“My father didn’t actually die of a heart attack.” 

What the fuck?

“Pen —”

“I mean — technically speaking, I suppose he did die of cardiac arrest. But I don’t think it’s exactly true to say someone ‘died of a heart attack’ when they also happened to have a few grams of cocaine in their system when they dropped dead.”

There are a million words currently running through Colin’s head — none of which he can string together into an appropriate response to the bombshell Penelope just handed him. But every millisecond that passes without response kills him. As his mouth hangs open, her eyes grow wider, and the silence between them gets louder, Colin feels it critical to say something. Anything. Anything but this silence. 

“Did you say you’ve never discussed this with your family before?” might not have been the best thing to say… But it certainly was something.

Penelope shakes her head. 

“On the morning that he died, mum told us it was a heart attack. And now that I think about it, no one’s really brought it up again in the last six years. But, um, right after he died, I overheard her whispering about it with Varley. After the funeral, I snuck into his study and found the autopsy report. And um…” 

“Pen, that’s —”

“Bad. I know.” She laughs again, an awful sound. One that does not help the nausea currently building in Colin’s gut. “Saying it out loud, it sounds…” 

She laughs. Again. 

“Crazy.”

“It’s not crazy,” Colin says quickly. “It’s just — I don’t think that’s the sort of thing you should keep to yourself for six years. I —”

“I know,” she interjects, sounding more tired than anything else. “I think I stored it away in some hidden part of my brain for most of that time, though. It was surprisingly easy to ignore. For a while, at least.” 

Colin still doesn’t quite know what the right thing to say is. But he says, “I’m glad you told me,” anyway.   

They move to the big blue couch down the hall after that, sipping tea and talking about everything and nothing well into the hour of 2 AM. When he notices Penelope yawning for the third time in two minutes, he regrettably decides to wrap things up. 

“Anything else you want to get off your chest? One member of the Dead Dads Club to another?”

“No.” She laughs for the final time that night. It’s so soft that it’s nearly inaudible, but at least it’s real. “You’ve done more than enough listening for one night. Thank you, Colin.” 

He wants to tell her not to thank him for such a thing. He wants to tell her he would forgo sleep forever, if it meant he could stay awake listening to the sound of her voice. He wants to say so much, but before he can utter a single word, Penelope hugs him. It’s all shoulders and hands. It’s over too quick. 

Without another word, Penelope disappears into Benedict’s bedroom. She shuts the door behind her. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 25

The last two days had been good. 

Colin spent much of those two days waiting for Penelope’s good mood to shift suddenly. For her to frown at her phone or innocently ask if she can tell him a secret, only to reveal one of the most devastating pieces of information he has ever heard in his life just a moment later. But no. 

The last two days had been good. 

Colin made sourdough bread from scratch. Penelope won Scrabble twice. She also succeeded in uncovering the name of Benedict’s new friend in Southampton (Sophie). They watched Before Sunset. They watched When Harry Met Sally again, after Colin declared that he did, in fact, like that movie better. 

The last two days had been good. So good, that Colin has finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. So good, that he doesn’t anticipate the utter gut punch he receives from Penelope now, at approximately 11:52 PM, when she utters eleven words into her mug.

“I’m going home, to my mum’s place, for a few days.”

For longer than he realises, Colin stands silent, tea already growing cold in the mug in his hand. Her words come back to him bit by bit. 

Home.

Mum’s place.

A few days.

 It’s April 5th — for the next few minutes, at least. In a few days…

“Your birthday,” Colin says dumbly, as if those three syllables provide a sensical response to what Penelope just said. Thankfully, she seems to catch his meaning. 

“Yeah.” She shrugs, then forces a half-hearted smile onto her lips. “Mum and I will watch a movie or something. There will almost certainly be red wine involved. It might actually be… fun.” 

Though her words reek of positivity, the look on Penelope’s face tells Colin that she posses about as much faith in that last word as he does. 

(None.) 

“We were gonna do that Zoom thing with my family.” 

“I know,” Penelope mutters, a mix of guilt and regret flashing on her face. “We can still do that, just…”

“Just with me as one of the little faces on your screen?” 

An inaudible, tragic gasp escapes her lips. 

“Col—”

Belatedly hearing how needy he sounds, Colin takes a breath and rethinks his strategy. 

“Sorry,” he interrupts. “I just — I know that you haven’t stayed at home in forever and I…” He takes another breath. “I don’t want you to have to go there, if you don’t want to.”

Lit by barely any light at all, Penelope’s eyes change as she keeps her gaze set on Colin. She looks sad. Almost angry. When she finally speaks, her voice is bizarrely calm. 

“Philipa’s in Kent with the baby. Prudence ran off with her boyfriend in Bristol. No one else is here and…” 

She takes a breath, one that threatens to break Colin’s resolve and bridge the one metre gap between them. It’s over before he can lift his left foot, though. 

“I don’t want my mum to have to be alone right now. The past few weeks here have been… perfect. And I really can’t thank you enough for convincing me to stay here in the first place. But I think it’s time for me to go home.” 

Penelope goes quiet, patiently looking up at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he can’t. There’s one word echoing in his mind too loudly for him to conjure up anything even remotely sensical.

Home. 

For Colin’s entire life, “home” meant a lot of things. The house on Grosvenor Street. Aubrey Hall. His parents. His siblings. The light at the end of a long journey.

“Home” meant a lot of things to Colin over the years, but the word has always been inextricably linked to happiness. After growing up together, after witnessing her avoid Grosvenor Street like the plague since she left for Cheltenham, after hearing her voice crack on that last word…

It kills him, but Colin knows “happiness” is not something Penelope has ever associated with “home.”

Penelope opens her mouth to say something. Anything. Anything to just break the silence. But Colin beats her to it. 

“Please, don’t thank me for stealing you away from the rest of the world the last few weeks. Whatever you do next…” 

He takes a breath. 

“You deserve to be where you’re happy. If that means going back to your flat in Hyde Park, staying here, staying with your mum, stealing my car and driving to Scotland to see El…”

Another breath.

“Whatever it is, I just want you to —”

“This is what I want, Colin,” she promises. “With everything that’s going on right now, I just keep thinking about my father and…” 

When her voice trails off, Penelope seems to notice the mug in her hand for the first time in several minutes. She takes a sip before continuing. 

“I know it’s a bloody awful thing to say out loud, but I keep thinking about what would happen if my mum dropped dead tomorrow. I think it would kill me to know that I never even tried to make things better between us.”

Colin desperately wants to ask her if Portia Featherington is really someone worth trying for, knowing all the pain she has inflicted upon her youngest daughter over the last twenty-five years. But in the end, he holds his tongue on the matter. He doesn’t know what he can say to make anything better. 

“So, uh… When would you be leaving?” 

Penelope shrugs, lifting her mug to her lips again. “The morning after next, I think.”

Colin looks down at the mug currently gripped in his left hand, not wanting to look straight ahead anymore. When he raises it to his lips and takes the first sip, the tea is just barely holding onto its warmth. 

“Right,” he says, eyes still cast downward. 

She excuses herself to find some sleep shortly after. It isn’t until Colin watches her walk out of the kitchen and into the darkened hallway that it really hits him. That, not 36 hours from now, Penelope will leave his flat. That he has no idea when she’ll be back. 

He can feel that revelation sinking in, upending his nerves and wrenching his heart. If the last 25 days have taught him anything, it’s this. Penelope is home to him, and that he’s fucking tired of feeling homesick. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 27

When Colin’s eyes first open Tuesday morning, his bedroom is still shrouded in darkness. He supposes it could still be the middle of the night, but when he turns on his side and catches those red, taunting lights, they inform him that the day is about to begin.

6:16 AM.

Groaning, Colin exits his sheets. He throws on the closest set of clothes (grey sweatpants and a burgundy Cambridge sweatshirt). He exits his bedroom with the intention of running straight to the fridge. But as soon as he swings open the door, his sluggish footsteps stop short. 

Penelope’s sitting on the couch with her back turned to him. She’s looking out the window in wait for the sunrise — waiting for the grey London skyline to bleed into a slightly lighter shade of grey. After a few seconds of him silently standing in his doorway, she turns her head to look at him.

She smiles. 

“Good morning.” 

“Morning,” he echos, stepping over to where she sits on the big blue couch. He plops down on the cushion next to hers. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

They sit in silence for a little while, twiddling their thumbs and flicking their eyes between the window and each other. When the room settles into the brightness of daylight, Colin turns his full attention on Penelope. 

He has resisted many instincts over the last twenty-seven days. This morning — Penelope’s last morning here — he doesn’t even consider resisting his instinct to pull her in close. His arms wrap around her back and her chin settles on his shoulder.  

Unprompted, he whispers “We’re gonna be okay” into her hair, which smells of honey. He hadn’t intended for those words to come out as a question, but he can’t help but hear them as such once committed to air. 

Whether it's an answer or a concurrence, Penelope immediately nods into his shoulder. 

“If you want to come back, Pen… The door is always open.”

“I know,” she mumbles into his sweatshirt.

Forty-seven minutes later, Colin watches Penelope walk out of his flat, leaving him alone for the first time in weeks. Leaving him with a sinking feeling that nothing will ever change between them. 

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

From the other end of the rug, Colin shoots Penelope an all too familiar look. His chin is tilted downward. His eyes are squinting slightly. The edges of a smirk are creeping up his lips. 

He’s priming her, about to smooth talk his way into getting exactly what he wants. He’s expecting another battle. Another argument. A debate. 

He’s wrong, of course. At this current moment in time, Penelope wants nothing less than to discuss the merits of another technicality. 

“It —”

“Yes, fine. It counts,” she interrupts, hoping her words don’t deceive her interests too transparently.

“Really?” Colin asks, face breaking out into a full on grin. 

“Yes. I mean, when a couple actually moves in together, at least they have the option to leave during the day to get away from each other. We were stuck in an 800 square foot box together for nearly a month straight — that has to count for something.”

“I like the way you think, Featherington.” 

With that, Colin picks up his phone again.

[hetalia-club]

I just have to spill my thoughts here for a second about my personal life for my own sanity. feel free to happily ignore and scroll by.

Good news everyone :D I just dumped my toxic emotionally abusive boyfriend. Terrible News everyone! :DDDD He was also my best friend and childhood best friend so isn't that great!? :)))

We were supposed to go to Sicily together in May...Why did I DO THAT!? I spent 2k on my plane ticket...the room is reserved... Do I like just not go to Italy now? Do I say F it and just go by myself? Do I try and quickly beg someone else to go with me who's okay with spending at least 2k on a plane ticket? Which would be no one in my life, maybe my parents would but idk what they got going on. I really wanted to go. Why could I have like just not waited until after that? We share a friend group and they are all more his friends than mine. So I just like isolated myself for no reason.

Sorry to dump this here and no I don't expect any of you to have the answers or do anything with this information.

These past few weeks for me have been really rough and I just made it somehow worse.

He distanced me from all my former friends who have all like moved on and have families and whatever and who I have not spoken to in five years so all I have right now is my family and work 'friends' I don't even like. I'm going to have to live with my parents for who knows how long because it was his house he had all the money in our relationship. He convinced me to quit my good desk job with benefits to work part time as a barista so I could clean his house and cook for him. But he also put up with all my weirdness and was fine with it.

Like when I say I have no idea what to do I truly mean that.

again I don't want anyone to feel responsible to do something about how I royalty screwed up my life. It's no ones fault. I shouldn't have let him isolate me so much from my friends and former life but TOO LATE NOW! I just need to stop being with men who have brown hair and brown eyes but are objectively terrible.

My only silver lining is that I was the one to end it. Which if anything am proud of myself for that because I have never broken up with anyone before and I normally just deal with whatever people do to me no matter how terrible and mean they are. I just have always forgiven him and everyone else.

But when some dude bro sits you down and asks you to "List reasons why you deserved to be loved by him" it was just too much. Like that might seem petty but I am sick of being the 'pretty girlfriend' I am so tired of having to dress to the 9s to go out and be expected to be perfect even if we're just going to a F*ng dive bar where I get stared out for dressing like I'm going to a club. Where he gets to look like a diarrhea stain who can't be bothered to wear a shirt that's not wrinkled or shave his scraggly beard. Why he thinks I should make a list of MY worth as a human being in his eyes. When he is average at best!? Like I'm not a 10 I'm not perfect I'm not delusional, I don't think I'm the hottest girl in the world or gods gift to man kind. But I'm out of his league, I do know that!

I always tend to cling to Hetalia harder when my life is falling apart around me because that's sort of just what I've done since I was a teen. I've never been in a healthy relationship with someone who actually likes me and Hetalia has always been there for me. Which is why I have been making a lot of content lately, it's been a distraction and I'm sorry if I've been bugging people with how much I've been posting. That's not been my intentions its just my coping mechanism and it's better than drinking...

This is the only social media I have that he's not on. I don't hate him enough to block him. I do still want to try and be his friend at some point if that's possible. I love his family and they love me and it's going to be so upsetting to see them again from a different perspective.

I'm okay...It's just been really rough lately...And I somehow just made it worse.(No I'm not going to hurt myself or anyone, don't even worry about that.)

[luxvenura]

Scars of Solemnit || Prologue

This is the cover, I drew it myself! :3

. Title: Scars of Solemnity . Genre: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Eventual Smut . Summary: Caught in the crossfire of the second Wizarding War, a girl finds herself in the precarious middle ground between two opposing forces. One hunger for power; the other seeks its destruction. Yet, despite their conflict, both sides share one singular, chilling goal: Luxanna Black's demise. The reason for that was a secret once hidden deep between the branches and leaves of her most ancient family tree. A family she never knew about until she was six, a family she was thrust into, a family whose formidable expectations she might never meet, a family whose scars she will forever bear in solemnity...

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗 Memory I ― Sophie Hutchings

    𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃 amongst each other in the dark sky, causing loud vibrations and flashes of lights, making out a young couple coming hastily out of a grim-looking building in a dark street in London. The young woman tugged her raincoat's collar to her neck while the rain poured over their heads, tangles of light blonde strands slipped from her hood as she rushed to the man's open arms for him to hold her to his chest, embracing her as though it was their last.

    Perhaps it was...

    "Must you stay?" the woman wept, her voice barely a whisper.

    "Yes," he said firmly, breaking their embrace to gaze at her pale eyes, drenched with worry. He continued, "There's something left Regulus and I must do."

    "But what if something bad happens to you? How can you tell me to go back to Italy for safety while you're here risking your life, Cepheus —"

    "Carina, please... you and I both know that I won't leave my little brother to do this mission alone. He's only eighteen, he needs me."

    "But what about —"

    "Listen to me!" Cepheus yelled, taking Carina by her shoulders. "This is not just about Regulus and the Dark Lord. It's about myself too. I've done a terrible thing, and this is the only way I will atone for it."

    Carina didn't dare speak. The message was clear and she understood fully well the meaning locked behind Cepheus' words, but it didn't make the burden any easier to bear. She shuddered, taking a silent moment to recall the tragedy that struck their family on that day — the day that it happened.

    "You might have forgiven me, Carina, but I still can't. So please, go back to Italy and stay safe until everything ends. If not for you... do it for our child." Upon uttering the last words, he slid his hand to Carina's belly, caressing it tenderly.

    Silence befell the young couple as tangible as the darkness engulfing them, heavy with the weight of their worries. The sound of the heavy raindrops on their shoulders and the lightning illuminating their warm embrace was the only sound to be heard on that moonless night. Then a cracking sound of a window made their heads look up towards it, revealing an 18-year-old boy leaning over the window as the rain began to wet the dark strands of hair falling over his face.

    "Cepheus!" The young boy called. "It's time. We need to prepare to leave."

    "Alright, Regulus, go back inside. It's dangerous. I'll be right there."

    Regulus looked at him one last time knowingly before closing the window and retreating back inside. The young couple stayed silent for a little while before Carina broke it first, "So, this is it?"

    "It won't be the last time you will see me, love."

    "I know..." Said Carina, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice, conveyed by a single tear that slid down her cheek, to be masked by the raindrops.

    With a last longing glance, they untangled their hands and Carina set off into the long evening, leaving Cepheus by the doorstep, gazing after his wife's silhouette as it faded into the shadows.

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲, 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓 Mystery of Love ― Sufjan Stevens (instrumental reverb)

    "Let's go over it another time tesoro, what is this in English?" Carina asked her six-year-old daughter, her carbon copy, seated beside her on the dining table. The warm light of the afternoon sun poured open from the doors overlooking the villa's garden and onto their faces.

    "Pitcher?"

    "It's 'Picture', and yes, but a picture of what? What's this animal?"

    "It's a Niffler!" Her daughter cheered, a huge smile forming on her lips, happy to get the animal's name right in the foreign language Carina insisted on making her learn.

    "Bravissima, Lux! You're doing great!"

    In the remainder of Carina's little lesson, She noticed how Lux didn't stop averting her attention outside, and she was no longer focusing on the images of different magical beasts Carina lay on the table. Lux clearly got bored with the lesson, and now wanted to go play again in the gardens. Carina took out her wand and made the images vanish from the table.

    "Alright, we're done for today. You may go."

    Carina watched her little daughter jump down from her seat and run towards the open glass doors to disappear behind the bushes. Lux was her bundle of joy, and she was growing so fast and turning into a beautiful girl day by day. Carina watched her daughter running between the bushes, smiling and laughing on her own. She wished Cepheus was here beside her watching their daughter grow together. It's been six years since she'd last seen him, and four years since he stopped replying to her letters, saying it was dangerous to do so due to the risk of the owls being intercepted. Carina missed him so much. She never dared to talk about him to Lux, afraid she'd break into tears in front of her.

    "You're still teaching her that language?" A firm old voice from behind her interrupted her thoughts. Carina turned around to see her mother, Teresa Volpi, coming down the stairs from her chamber after a long-needed after-lunch nap. "You still think he'll come back for you? He's dead for all we know, just forget about him. Lux is better off studying here at Giubiana."

    "Mamma, we spoke about this. Lux is going to Hogwarts and don't you ever say that Cepheus is dead... please."

    "Oh Giubiana mia, don't you read the news? It's been four years since that dark lord of theirs has been vanquished!"

    Teresa went to the living room next to the stairs and picked up a copy of La Gazzetta Dell'Oracolo; the Italian wizarding newspaper. She approached her daughter and threw the newspaper in front of Carina with a huff. Carina turned her gaze to the paper, and read.

BRITISH DARK WIZARD VANQUISHED

MAGIC YET UNHEARD OF

A BOY OF ONE, HARRY POTTER, PUTS AN END TO BRITAIN'S REIGN OF TERROR... BRITISH MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT ARE UPHOLDING A SEARCH FOR THE FLEEING CRIMINALS... FIVE OF THE DARK SUPPORTERS ARE ALREADY CAPTURED AND BEING HELD IN THE HIGH-SECURITY PRISON: AZKABAN, AWAITING PROSECUTION... REST ARE YET TO BE FOUND. 1981.

    Carina's hands shook as she read the words, her eyes scanning over every letter as if unable to ensure herself that the news was indeed true, news that didn't even make the headline of l'Oracolo. She looked at the date of the newspaper — it was in 1981. That was the year Cepheus stopped sending her letters, and that could only mean two things. Neither of which was good.

    This article was the last drop to flood the cup. Carina couldn't hold her tears any longer and burst into sobs, her cries growing louder and louder. Her biggest fear materialised: Cepheus was either dead or in prison forever for what he'd done.

    "Now that you know, I hope you stop teaching my granddaughter that silly language,"  Teresa grunted, leaving Carina alone in her misery.

If you want to read the rest feel free to check the fanfiction on AO3 or Wattpad! I would love to read your reviews on it!!

Happy reading!!

[dweemeister]

June 18, 2023

By Daniel Taylor

SAN MARINO (The Athletic) — It ends, like it almost always does, in the familiarity of defeat. What else would you really expect when, in the only occupied stand, there is a group of fans named Brigata Mai 1 Gioia? Translation: the “Never One Joy Brigade”.

When you are a supporter of San Marino, officially the worst international team in the world, it can be useful to have a sense of humour.

They came up with this name in 2012. Two years later, when a goalless draw against Estonia ended a decade-long sequence of defeats, the manager, Pierangelo Manzaroli, made Brigata Mai 1 Gioia produce a new banner saying Brigata Mezza Gioia (“Half a Joy”).

Manzaroli’s eyes twinkle when he remembers the euphoria of not losing. “People in other countries don’t understand what it is like,” he says. “It was an incredible moment… the same feeling as when my daughter was born.”

Mostly, though, it is a well-established churn of joylessness.

San Marino, an enclave within central Italy with a population of 33,700, lose football matches. Sometimes they lose football matches spectacularly. In the worst times, they take such a tanking you could be forgiven for wanting to end the game early and give them a good cuddle...

... Since playing their first official games under the recognition of FIFA and UEFA in 1990, this tiny republic has been involved in 195 fixtures. There have been 186 defeats, eight draws and 830 goals shared out — 28 for San Marino, 802 for the opposition.

[vro0m]

vro0m’s rewatch - 142/310

2014 Italian GP

Welp. So last GP was absolutely insane in terms of narrative. Let's see how this one goes. I guess we'll get the final words on what happened last time around but I already explained all that in my last review so I might not go into details here, except if there's new information.

But first : quali report. Raikkonen was out in Q2 because of a lock up, he's 12th. Alonso is only 7th, the highest placed car without a Mercedes PU. Both Mclaren on the third row. Williams filled the second row, while the Mercedes locked the front row. And this time, it's Lewis on pole. 

We get a Lewis interview. This is his first pole since Spain. It's been a long time. He's enjoyed it, he says, but it's a long way to go the next day. She says he's been more chill than she's seen him in a while. She asks if it's experience or age? He hopes it's not age, "cause… I'm definitely noticing that". He does think it’s through all these experiences, he's matured, and he'll continue to make mistakes "and do and say the wrong things" but it'll make him grow. He thinks this year with all the pressure and everything that's gone on, he's learned to recover quicker.

The journalist says since Spa Mercedes has backed him and supported him a lot and said all the right things in public and she asks how big of a conversation there was between him and the team and between him and Nico. He says it wasn't that big of a thing. He came to Italy with some friend early in the week and literally as he got there he received a message that he had to be at a meeting the next day in the UK.

And so he asked if they couldn't do it on Skype and they were like "no, we need you here" so he went and first it was just Toto, Paddy and him, and it was just a normal meeting and very relaxed but very serious, and then they had a collective meeting but again it was pretty relaxed "and the end result was 'so we'll leave it to you… to race' and I'm like… 'and you called me all the way here to tell me that?'" he jokes. "Like I could be chilling sipping piña coladas man!" He reiterates it was relaxed even though it's a serious matter as they have the potential to be one of the most successful teams. She asks about his trust in Mercedes and whether he's always felt supported this season or if there were times when he doubted if they would back him. I love her for asking that question because it feeds directly into what I was talking about in the previous review. It's the key point.

"I've never ever felt that… the team hasn't backed me," he says. "I've felt… I'm sure back in Monaco, felt a bit… weird, it was almost like irony, there's only me that's a certain way and… everyone else is a different way but… it's okay we've moved on from that but generally the team has just been… fantastic. I've never felt so good in a team."

(Note the hints of paranoia again, whether based or not. During his answer about Monaco we're shown images of the GP but once we go back to him he's taking his hand off his ear and we've already established that this is his tell. He might not have moved on as much as he says.)

She reminds us the stewards didn't see a problem with what happened in Monaco, and they didn't see a problem with what happened in Spa either. She asks if he sees a problem with these or if he's forgiven Nico for these situations. He doesn't take a moment to think before he answers.

"It's not a case of forgiving, it's in the past, there's nothing– there's no point dwelling on these things. Can't go back and change it so all I can do is shape the future so that's what I'm gonna try and do."

She asks if he trusts him going forward. He says again it's not really the question. Of course on track you need to be respectful and hope the others will also be. He says he's had incidents in the past and you can't go into the next race worrying about what will happen if you're next to the same guy again. You have to go into it thinking it's not gonna happen again and it's gonna be a good race. She straight up asks who's stronger on track. OK girl. He says (very smart answer) : "That's for you to decide, and for the fans to decide. I mean, it doesn't really matter what I think. I do my talking on the track and that's what my dad has always told me to do." She says then that presumably if she asks him who's stronger mentally he'll give the same kind of answer. He talks over her to say Nico is very strong mentally. She says he is and they tend to think about him as being much more emotional. He doesn't agree. He says he thinks having handled "hopefully not too badly" all the things he's gone through and being 30 points behind and still fighting and still thinking he can win, "it hopefully shows some of that strength". (He's right, it does. And being strong has little to do with being or not being emotional.) She asks what it's going to come down to, winning the championship. He says reliability, it's what he's been struggling with, and yes, mental strength. He says he now has to do what he did this weekend (getting on pole) every weekend. And every weekend he has to do what he hopes, what he plans to do during the race.

DC says Lewis is a changed man compared to last year, much calmer, much more confident. He says Nico tried to race like him and failed and got chastised and the public didn't like it so Lewis knows he has him beaten in every wheel to wheel situation from now on. "Psychologically he just knows he's the better racer."

On the grid Niki says the mess has been sorted out and they had a good driver meeting in the morning. "The message is very simple : race against each other… but USE YOUR HEAD."

It's time for the race!

Formation lap. 

And they're racing! 

Terrible start from Lewis! A few meters off the grid he's already lost two places. What the fuck. I thought it was Nico at first, wow. Lewis what the absolute fuck. So now it's Nico in the lead then Magnussen, then Massa, then Lewis. And now his recovery systems won't work. Oh apparently it's race start mode rather than recovery system (they're saying RS over the radio everyone is confused about the meaning). Massa overtakes Magnussen for P2. And… yes! Lewis overtakes him as well. Ted says the team confirms it's the start mode that fucked up hence the terrible start. Now he's back on the pace and matching Rosberg. And Chilton is beached in the gravel and DNF. Lewis says his rear tyres are going but he's absolutely flying. OH! Nico locked up and went straight on at the end of the straight! He has to slalom between blocks and he loses a bunch of time! He's still in the lead though. He's lost 1.8 seconds. It could have been way worse. 

Lap 10. Nico, 1.9 seconds ahead of Massa, 0.3 seconds ahead of Lewis. Then 5 seconds down we have Magnussen, Seb, Jenson, Alonso, Perez, Bottas and Raikkonen in P10. Lewis catches up in the pit straight and goes round the outside in the first corner which gives him the inside line in the second corner and he is ahead! P2! Now it's all about the chase. He's been chasing all season, not much of a change. The gap is 2.2. Now 2. 1.6. 1.2. 

Lap 20. It's not a fascinating race. Nico, Lewis +1.1. Then Massa 7 seconds down, Magnussen, Valtteri, Jenson, Alonso, Raikkonen, Daniel and JEV. The pit stops are starting which explains why Seb disappeared from the top 10. Massa pits from 3rd. Rosberg should come in soon as per radio comm. "It's hammertime." Nico pits. Valtteri pits. Lewis comes in. He's still 1.5 behind Nico. Daniel pits. Bono tells Lewis he'll need the tyres at the end but Lewis sets the fastest lap anyway, and then also sets a fastest first sector, so Crofty and Brundle agree that he's clearly ignoring him. And he's already down to 0.6 behind. Imo he knew he had the pace to pass him now instead of waiting for the end of the race and he's going for it. AND NICO GOES DEEP AGAIN IN THE SAME PLACE! AND LEWIS IS AHEAD! Let's gooooo! And there's yellow flags out, Alonso has stopped. 

It's lap 30. Lewis sets another fastest lap. Now it's Rosberg's engineer telling him he has to look after his tyres to attack at the end. Lewis is already 2.6 seconds ahead, a lap and a half after he's taken the lead. I'm bored, which hasn't happened a lot this season. The gap is now 4.3. 

It's lap 40. There's really not much happening, even down the field, very few overtakes. Lewis is still 4.3 ahead of Nico, then we have Massa, 15 seconds down, and Seb 18 seconds down on him. After that it's Valtteri, Magnussen, Perez just overtook Jenson for P7, Ricciardo, and Raikkonen is P10. And Daniel overtakes Jenson for P8, and then Perez for P7. Jenson overtakes Perez for P8, but he fights back and gets his place again. Nothing else is happening. 

10 laps to go. Daniel attacks Seb for P5. Seb defends but can't hold him off too long. 5 laps to go. Nico is not closing that gap. Suddenly Lewis locks up badly and it's down by a bit but that's not even threatening. 3 laps to go. 2 laps to go. Kvyat went straight in the chicane and hit one of those blocks. He's fine and still going. Final lap. 

And it's the end of the race.

Well that was a good ol' boring one but at least Lewis wins! Nico is P2 and Massa P3. That's 238 points for Nico vs. 216 for Lewis. 

"Nice work Lewis, get in there pal! Beautifully recovered mate, beautifully recovered," says Bono. 

Lewis isn't too expansive in his body language as he gets out of the car. Very tuned down. Just a thumbs up. 

While Massa and Lewis congratulate each other and talk joyously, Nico swears in Italian with the Mercedes representative for some reason. Lewis is just hanging out with a towel on his head.

Forever hiding his hair. It's such an insecurity to him. He turns around asking if they have the caps. Rosberg talks to Massa in Italian as well, he answers in a Latin mix of languages. When it's Seb there he often talks to him in German. Sometimes I wonder if he does it on purpose to keep Lewis out, but I don’t know. Crofty comments on Lewis hiding under the towel. "Doesn't he like his hairstyle at the moment?" he asks. "No idea," says Brundle. "But I'm not one to talk about hair." Yeah you both just stay off the subject, it'll be better for everyone.

I personally love his baby curls, he's so cute.

Idk who the guy doing the interviews is (it’s actually Alesi lmao) but he asks Lewis if he likes to complicate his own life. The crowd is a mix of cheering and a little bit of booing I think. Lewis thanks them anyway and comments on how big the crowd is. Doesn't answer the question. The man moves on to Nico. Some people in the crowd have huge poles and one of them gets theirs to him on the podium and there's a marker tied to it and Nico takes it to sign his flag but I think he doesn't do it in the end as he gets interrupted by the interviewer. He gets booed significantly more than Lewis as well. The interviewer asks a question I can barely hear and then turns to them and says "Ragazzi, no!" Nico says Lewis deserved the win and thanks the crowd in Italian, saying the atmosphere was fantastic. He gets more cheers now. Lewis grabs the pole/pen/flag to sign it. Then Nico signs it as well. Someone in the crowd has a Freedom For Lombardy flag which. Okay. The crowd reacts wildly to Massa. Loads of noise. Both the question and the answer are in Italian. He says there's no better place to be on the podium. He thanks the crowd. He says he's not red anymore but he's with them always. The man goes back to Lewis and Nico and says he needs to talk to them but can't do it very loud because it's a secret. "Are you friend again?" Lewis goes "huh???" and the man repeats the question. Nico has his arms crossed. Lewis says "of course" and touches his back briefly.

"We are teammates" (which isn't the same thing) "and we always will be so…" The guy interrupts him to say it's the best picture to see when they are friends because they've raced all their life together and they like the way they drive and the way they fight so they are very pleased to hear that. "Grazie a tutti !" Lewis says. That was awkward. The man goes back to Massa. He tells him he has to say something in English as well. So he says some normal pr stuff in English. He gets cheered loudly. 

Lmao. So the post race content is from BBC again while the race was Skysports and both broadcasters have the same conspiracy theory : that mistake Nico made was so weird, was that the undisclosed penalty for Belgium? Jordan is crazy enough to ask Toto. Toto says "You mean whether we told him to miss the braking, go through the chicane and let Lewis pass?" with a smile on his face because he knows exactly how insane that sounds, especially when Lewis was supposed to be in the lead as he was on pole. Jordan says "I'm just asking a questi–" "No," Toto cuts him off. Then he laughs. "Sure?" asks Jordan. "Sure," he answers. "100%. I mean this for the drivers' world championship, it's very tight, he was under pressure, this is what you could see." He also says Lewis wanted the win and you can't take that away from him, his pace was amazing. He confirms the start issue was technical and on their side.

Lewis has a big smile. He says it was another hard day but he loved every minute of it. He says initially when he had issues and knowing how fast Nico would be he thought he wouldn't be able to make it but you can't get stuck in that kind of thinking. He says the issue at the beginning has to do with engine mapping and goes into an elaborate explanation that isn't very interesting to write down here. Anyway he had to floor it and he was grateful he didn't lose too many places.

She asks about Bono telling him to play the long game and him not listening.

He smiles as she asks the question. He says he has a great team working with him and guiding him during the race and what they're telling him is advice not orders and they work it out together. (Somewhat interesting that there was a whole issue last GP about him being able to trust his team or not and this time he decides to not listen to them and do his own thing instead.) He felt he had the pace and a good balance and had to seize the opportunity because in the first stint he caught up but couldn't overtake him on his old tyres. "I put pressure on him… you know I did it a couple of races ago and… he doesn't seem to like it so I try to do that always now," he smiles mischievously.

She says he's brought the gap down to 22 points. He says he still has a long way to go but one step at a time. He's more serious now. He talks of the fan support and his family being incredible so he's gonna take that energy and try to move forward. She asks if he feels like he's regained some control over the events. He hums. "I don't know, we'll see in the next race but… I just gotta take it as it comes, you know? You never know what's gonna happen, I mean, today I still had a problem. But to be able to be successful with that problem is a great feeling, it's even more empowering than perhaps starting from pole and just winning from there so… but I hope– I'm still looking for that weekend which… you don't have any problems."

Maybe next time? 

I read on Wikipedia Lewis said he was uncomfortable with the public booing Nico.

[a-bunch-of-bees]

Time-Traveling Gossip

Tara eased into the hot water with a gasp, slowly crouching until the water hit her buttocks, then sinking with a heavy splosh.

The other ladies in the bathhouse had watched her with interest, nevermind the fact that she was in the nuddy.

"Ee, you got lovely smooth legs, in't ya?"

The lady in the tub next to hers leaned over with interest, her generous bosoms slosh-sloshing in the agitated bathwater.

"Oh aye," said Tara, "totally hairless."

That got the attention of a few more dames and crones, and a particularly sweaty young woman said "How'd you do that then? Did you shave? Was you born wi' it?"

"Oh no," said Tara, leaning back and letting her head rest on the cloth pillow. "'Twas a witch what did it."

"No it were never!"

"This'll be a laff. Tell us, then!"

There was a collective swishing as the ladies adjusted to better take in the tale. Tara stretched her delicately depilated legs, rested one on the edge of the bath, and began her tale.

"Well y'see, I've been travellin'," she said, and a few ladies murmured. Tara had not long arrived, but she'd been here long enough that word had spread of the strange lady who came from who-knows-where. She continued, "I went travellin' to far off places, and in one of 'em, Italy, I met a witch."

Tara looked around for effect with a grave expression.

"And this witch, well, she told me this story. Some years ago now, there was a minor noble who lost a lorra money to poor seas. His trades were all sunk, but he 'ad his title and he 'ad his son and his son weren't a bad looking lad really. So he said to his son, he said, it's high time you were married. And his son said alright, so that was that.

"Now it just so 'appened that there was in the lands nearby a pleasant enough girl, who was the daughter of a rich gentleman who'd had better fortunes on the seas, and she was also about t'right age to marry. So he goes off - the son, y'know - he goes off and he starts to court this young lady.

"Now 'course she 'ad to 'ave a chaperone an' it just so 'appened that her dearest confidante was a young lass who'd grown up on the lands. Daughter of a groundskeeper or some such thing. And this lass was beautiful and kind and all the right sort of things a lad would want in a lady.

"So our young gentleman went back to his father and said, 'Father, you must let me marry this girl. She's got no money, but she's an 'eart worth an 'undred gold and more.'

"Well the father, he weren't best pleased. 'My son', he says, 'I sent you out with one job! To find a good-lookin' lass to restore our fortunes. You can't marry the girl and that's that.'

"Well, the son weren't to be put off that easy, because he were head over heels in love. So he stole off with this sweet lady and married her, all secret like, and brought her back to his father who couldn't help but love her, with her kind ways and her gentle smile. So all were forgiven!

"Except that our lady's friend, the wealthy one, well she were irate. She 'ad a pleasant enough face and a nice enough disposition and enough wealth to drown yourselves in gold, but she couldn't bear the thought o' bein' snubbed like this!

"So, she went out into the village, to find our witch - that's right, the one at the beginning of the story! - well, she finds our witch and she says 'I want revenge on a young woman who stole my man,' nevermind that t'were never her man in the first place. And she paid the witch 'andsomely for a potion t'make all your hair fall out and never grow back.

"She took this wicked potion and mixed it with fine oils and expensive perfume, and sent it to our lass, the sweet one, as a wedding present. With strict instructions to use it daily on the 'ead!

"Well what does our sweet lass do? But apply this poisoned perfume to her hair? She puts it on each day and her 'usband tells her how beautiful she smells. Not a fortnight passed but her hair falls out. It starts slowly at first, but all of it were gone within a week.

"The rich girl, she'd been waiting all gleeful-like. She waits at home for a letter, to tell her of the tragedy and mayhaps of our 'andsome noble boy having all sorts of regrets at his poor luck. But the days pass and the weeks pass and no such letter comes. So what does she do, but take a carriage to visit them?

"She waited with trepidation at the door. She were greeted by the servants and instructed to wait for the mistress. By now, she's fuming on t'inside! She thinks to 'erself that the witch 'ad her for a fool and sold her nought but a vial of sulphur-water.

"But just then, the lady of the house comes down. Sure enough, our sweet lady is completely bald. But as soon as she smiled t'were like the sun come out! Hair or none, she was a lovely lass with cow eyes and rosy cheeks. And by the looks of it, her husband were even more in love with her than the day they met.

"So our villainess, she fled out t'door without even a good day. She ran home and cut off all her hair! It didn't help her find a suitor, I can tell you. But it did help me.

"I said to this witch, 'Ee, I'll have some of that concoction.' And I paid six shillings for it! Not an 'air on me legs ever since."

One of the ladies in the bathhouse snorted and called out, "If that's true then I'm a blind billy-goat!" to giggles all round. The ladies in the bathhouse shifted as if from a spell and a hubbub rose as they argued whether a magic, hair-removing potion might really exist. Tara, sinking her now-cold, lasered leg back into the water, sponged her arms with a small smile.

[moved-accts]

Winx lore

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 .

(This is heavily inspired by Madoka magica,kill la kill and sailor moon)

❁ recruiting process❁

Magical girls will be recruited by a somewhat omnipotent entity named Sol, they do this by taking the form of an animal or pretending to be a human friend, preying on mostly unstable young women and girls, girls that are so desperate to be away from their human life that they aren’t as hesitant as other humans are when sol offers them the chance to become a magical girl in return for a planet star, a stone with magical properties that can grant wishes they almost always except sooner or later.

In the beginning of the relationship sol starts of by covertly training the girls to fight enemies by creating monsters, if they don’t use the planet star immediately sol will try to slowly manipulate them into using it by creating an enemy too strong for them to fight. Before they run out of time and they have to go

Sol usually does this to multiple girls at a time, so when they all finally forfeit their planet stars to live he takes them to miara (killing them in the process), the place where magical girls live to be judged by the high council and forced to join their own magical girl group

Note- sol can traverse different timelines so when all the girls meet, they are almost always from different times and countries

(Cho hee is from 1996 Korea, Hyo is from 1730 Russia, Luisa is from the Philippines in 1478, sorella is from Italy in 1810, luana if from the Dominican Republic in 1991, Colette is from France in 1794, viva is from America in 2005, xiao hong and xuilan are from 587 BC, halina is from Poland in 2040, Kimiko is from Japan in 2065 )

❁magical girl society❁

What happens to you after death completely depends on weather you were 'impure' in the time you were alive:

If you lived a 'pure' life you can be sent to become a 'Reigning souls', basically magical girls that are the strongest and lead armies of 'Solider’s' who they instruct to do the most work finding soul threads. The strongest of them lead the government along with sol

Soul threads are used to create one star(10% soul threads), two star(20%), three star(30%), and four star (100%)magical wear (magical girl outfits) Descended’s wear one stars, prophets wear two stars, prophets wear two stars and reigning angels wear three and four stars (members of the government)

Solider’s are people have committed countless sins and live in  universal districts, where they are work for a type of military (working to supply life fibers) and live in poorly built areas,all infested with 'sins'

(Note- Solider’s aren’t all bad people, just people who did bad things as a result of the misery surrounding themselves on earth, no matter how much they atone for their actions, even if they did in the human world they are never forgiven for remorse alone)

Solider’s that ignored the rules of a high class angel or where disrespectful to them and were therefore turned into ghosts. Solider’s that have been turned into ghosts can sometimes remember things from when they were a fallen angel, however they still have aggressive instincts that will end up killing everyone around them if the other descended’s don’t kill them immediately, they would eventually end up attacking them.

❁Arc❁

Arc is a group of ruling soul rebels that where once apart of the government but believed that they had the right to impose their way of life on the surrounding planets of the cynis but the majority disagreed

To protest this decision, a group of ruling souls formed arc, turning both ‘bad’ and innocent people into ghosts, significantly stronger than the ones on earth and made from corrupted enchantments

Ghosts created by arc aren’t always prone to aggression nor do they always change physical conditions, some simply gain powers and use them to do evil (corrupted enchantments are able to corrupt the brain, akin to drugs)

Ghost can either be killed or pacified by an enchantment to release a either a normal enchantment or a planet star, people with planet stars are always pure hearted people, which is why the government is so adamant against

❁cynis❁

Cynis is the area surrounding miara, it hosts other planets with living people including earth, only poeple with 4 star magical girl wear can leave miara to go to anyone in cynis

❁enhancements❁

Enhancements are charms magical girls can collect to become even stronger or even raise the rank of magical wear, they often take the form of various accessories.It’s illegal for anyone except for reigning angels to have these.

Corrupted enchantments are made purely for the use of turning ghosts in

❁Winx original timeline❁

Winx where recruited the usual way except for the fact that Alis was able to keep her planet star by unexpectedly winning all her fights because sol underestimated her, however once sol gives a planet star to someone, they have a limited amount of time before they can send them to miara

In an attempt to stop ARC the high council made the Winx girls ‘ascended prophets’ making them prophets but with 4 star magical wear

After attempting to revolt against, both arc and the high council, the high council used their one planet star to stop them from winning power over them by killing two thirds of Winx, who where the most powerful members of the revolution and effectively making the revolution impossible, the remaining girls (sorella, alis, daisy and halina) used Alis’ planet star to turn back time.

❁Winx timeline 2❁

Adhs- Alis, daisy, halina and sorella

Cckx- Cho-hee, Colette, Kimiko, xiao Hong

Llvx-Luana, Luisa, Viva, xiulan

Adhs wake up back in their normal life, but notice that they still had a few enchantments around their beds.

A few weeks go by and all of the Winx girls are at some point approached by sol, and while llvx and cckx seem interested (llvx the most)

Adhs completely ignore sol and use their enchantments to communicate with the other girls, warning them not to become magical girls in short cryptic messages,llvx don’t heed their warnings and end up falling victim to Sol’s manipulation. Cckx end up being more cautious of sol

Llvx begin their first few missions, sol tells the other girls in an attempt to weaken them, but adhs were not close to them in the first timeline so they decide to abandon them.

Unfortunately, sol decides to trick the remaining girls by putting cckx into dangerous situations, forcing them to become magical girls and then immediately making the situation more dangerous, making sure they would at least need another magical girl to fend off the threat.

Sol then cckx’s suffering to adhs in a dream, telling them to wake up and save them by becoming magical girls.

[frozencapybara]

Happy Eurovision Semifinal 2! (reminder to block the tag "capy watches eurovision" if you don't care!)

Overall this felt like the weaker semifinal by far, but there were a few standouts. Unfortunately several of them stood out on the "why" side.

On the other hand, at this point I have forgiven Sweden for beating Finland last year, even if it was the wrong result. They're having a lot of fun with the hosting - and we got Käärijä!

My semifinal 2 rankings, in tiers this time because I had a hard time picking a clear winner: Tier 1: Switzerland, San Marino (DNQ, boooooooooo) Tier 2: Netherlands, Estonia Tier 3: Armenia, Austria, Czechia (DNQ), Norway

Full commentary:

Malta (did not qualify): It’s fine. A solid pop entry, not memorable.

Albania (did not qualify): It’s also fine. A solid ballad entry. Not memorable. 

Greece (qualified): An otherwise decent pop entry but the Instagram-live framing is GRATING. I grant that this is probably a me problem but I HATE it. Please never use Insta Live framing non-ironically it is the worst. 

Switzerland (qualified): OK, this I like. It’s fun, it’s poppy but not the same pop song as everyone else. I  hear this is getting good odds in the final and I am not mad about it.

Czechia (did not qualify): I liked this a lot but it felt like it was missing something? Like it’s great but I wanted more, there wasn’t a lot to set it apart. 

Austria (qualified): Staging is a 90s laser school portrait (affectionate). It’s fun and I’m here for it. Not my top pick but I want to see it in the final.

Denmark (did not qualify): DON’T YOU KNOW THE STAGE CREW HAS TO SWEEP THAT GLITTER UP. This song needs about 40% more lyrics. Great voice though?

Armenia (qualified): Well somebody’s got to bring the modernized folk music, and I guess it’s Armenia’s turn this year. It’s fun! I like it. 

Latvia (qualified): Bald man in a circle. Blue Man Group stars in Gladiator, but only the non-action bits. Cirque du Unmemorable Entry. 

San Marino (did not qualify): YESSSSSSS. This isn’t beating out Ireland or Croatia, but I think it’s my third pick overall so far. (and then it didn’t qualify, BOOOOOOOOOO)

Georgia (qualified): As look-at-my-butt entries go, this sure needs some work on the dancing front. 

Belgium (did not qualify): He was wearing spikes and a hat with metal-band-font in the intro and then it’s a fucking ballad. In English. I feel lied to. C for the song, D- for failing to meet expectations.

Estonia (qualified): The other updated folk music. This one SLAPS.

Israel (qualified): all I’m gonna say is that this should have been DQ’d on multiple fronts and otherwise I’m not getting into it. ...ok I'm also gonna say it's a mid song at best and if it wins because of [*waves hands at europe*] I'm gonna be big mad about it.

Norway (qualified): Much like Czechia, I really like this, but I feel like it could have been better? Could have been at least 43% more metal. I'm glad it made the final though. 

Netherlands (qualified): PEAK EUROVISION NONSENSE. Yes please!

Bonus Pre-Qualified:

Italy: As look-at-my-butt entries go, this is pretty peak. It’s catchy and fun and I like the staging. It is aggressively Italian.

Spain: Song is fine. Staging is BUTTS er I mean GREAT. Keytaurs, men in corsets, butts, what’s not to love?

France: The Lewis Hamilton We Have At Home. That giant step away from the mic was hell of a flex, but otherwise the song was pretty forgettable.

[deepartnature]

A week with the worst international football team in the world

“It ends, like it almost always does, in the familiarity of defeat. What else would you really expect when, in the only occupied stand, there is a group of fans named Brigata Mai 1 Gioia? Translation: the ‘Never One Joy Brigade’. When you are a supporter of San Marino, officially the worst international team in the world, it can be useful to have a sense of humour. … San Marino, an enclave within central Italy with a population of 33,700, lose football matches. Sometimes they lose football matches spectacularly. In the worst times, they take such a tanking you could be forgiven for wanting to end the game early and give them a good cuddle. ...”

The Athletic (Video)

[spectaculardistractions]

From Salvador Dalí New York [April 1939] WRITE TO ME, for God’s sake, don SIMÓN! Señor don Simón, life is fleeting… What greater pleasure can there be than to tell one’s dying FATHER he’s an arsehole. QUEVEDO (Spanish classic) My dear little son, Delighted with the songs you sang in your letter, I shall reply in an orderly fashion. First, no divorce from Gala; on the contrary, our mutual understanding is absolute, and we’ve never been as happy together as we are together now, but as I’ve just spent four months at Chanel’s (with Gala) in Monte Carlo, the inevitable potins mondains rituals have arisen. You know I don’t believe in World War. We may well be experiencing some moments of objective danger, but I’m convinced that in under two months we’ll see an abrupt change (already arranged and decided). France and Italy will sort themselves out, and once the Axis is disbanded, Stalin will agree to Hitler consuming the juicy roast rib of the UKRAINE. At that point, Japanese imperialism will automatically feel threatened (Russia-Germany), and conflict will break out in the United States. I have to go and spend two weeks in Monte Carlo working on my spectacle, it will be at the Paris opera in June then, immediately afterwards, in London, so says the sacramental bread of Tristan. Oliwood has always interested me in theory, but as my economic situation improves by the day and I don’t need to go, I’m investing all my prowess in waiting and rejecting all offers until the day (which will inevitably arrive due to the acceleration of my prestige and popularity) when they make me DICTATOR. So many dollars to make whatever fucking film I want in however many days I want is the only contract I shall even consider, and this would be impossible were I to accept anything provisionally. You see the rub now? Your new approach seems far more realistic than your old Marxist idealism. As a piece of friendly advice from Dalí of Toledo, disinfect yourself of every Marxist thought because Marxism, philosophically and from every other perspective, is the most moronic theory of our civilization. It is all wrong, and Marx himself was probably a paragon of abstract stupidity. It would be terrible if you stopped being a political Marxist and carried on thinking like a Marxist in all other ways, because Marxism blinds you to the phenomena of our age. A really wonderful young science: ‘morphology’, the meeting of morphology with psychoanalysis, even older, even more beautiful, with one of the most melancholic smiles the world has ever seen! Good day to you, write to me, and if you do come to New York we shall meet up at once. Love, Dalí St Moritz on the Park 50 Central Park South PS The end of the Negrins and the Pasionarias has turned my stomach a bit. Couldn’t they have got themselves killed? Or made peace two months before the fall of Tarragona? The apotheosis of mediocrity. Never to be forgiven! Another thing, my individualism is now exacerbated, and I work with furious intensity on whatever comes into my tête; so, it would be impossible for me to work with anyone else. Gala is the only person I listen to, for she has mediunique gifts, objective CHANCE, and the paranoid interpretation of fortuitous events needed to follow the thread of my frenetical-critical activities. A good day indeed, one incredible thing after the other is happening here. The reds put my sister in prison in Barcelona for three weeks (!) and martyred her, she’s gone mad, she’s in Cadaqués, they have to force feed her and she shits the bed. Imagine my father’s tragedy; they’ve stolen everything from him and he’s living in a boarding house in Figueres. I am sending him dollars, of course; he’s turned into a fanatical admirer of Franco, sees him as a demi-god, mentions our glorious leader, on every line of his delirious letters (they saved all my things from the Cadaqués house). The revolutionary experiment has been such a disaster that everyone prefers FRANCO. It’s incredible: life-long Catalan loyalists, federal republicans, die-hard anti-clerical activists write to me over the moon with the new regime! At least they can eat, sleep and not worry about being robbed or murdered; it has to be said the left made a real mess of it.

Jo Evans & Breixo Viejo, Luis Buñuel: A Life in Letters

[frost-queen]

Can I request a Natasha trace x fem reader fic that would be about how the entire team (Jake,maverick,Bradley,Phoenix,Bob,payback and coyote) goes on vacation to Italy and Phoenix meets the reader who is jakes sister (she’s not apart of top gun) and as they start getting to know each other they both start to form feelings and the team starts teasing Phoenix about it when Phoenix and the reader are hanging out in a area around a statue the reader tells Phoenix about the history behind the statue and Phoenix is like “is there anything you don’t know” and the reader responds with “I know nothing Phoenix” and there’s clearly a lot of tension between the both as Phoenix responds to the reader “well clearly you know more than anyone around here” then the reader slowly responds with “if you only knew how little I know about things around here” and Phoenix is like “what things that matter?” The reader teasingly responds to Phoenix with “you know what things” (this represents the reader making her feelings known by saying “things” and Phoenix is confused on why the reader is telling her this and the reader responds with “it’s because I thought you should know” then the reader takes her bike and drives off to a secret area with Phoenix following her confused and shocked by what the reader said as Phoenix catches up with the reader she sees her laying on the sunny grass by the lake and joins her as they lay down talking about stuff and then Phoenix gets up abit and starts teasing the reader as she is lying down and then the reader gets up and still there’s a lot of tension between the both and they start kissing each other with a lot of feelings and the whole thing is encountered by Jake and Bradley happy to see Phoenix and the reader together and Jake jokingly makes a remark saying “If you break her heart trace you’ll never be forgiven!” Which causes the girls to be shocked. (I’m sorry if this is long I recently rewatched call me by your name and I can’t help by imagine Phoenix in this scene with the reader it just makes me fangirl so much)

Sure you can ^^ it is indeed a long req but okay. To be honest I have never seen or have intentions to watch the movie Call me by your name so I will give it my own twist without being influenced by the movie

[kaunisbaby]

🔥BLIND CHANNEL+LOST SOCIETY GIG REPORT SOMEONE ACTUALLY ASKED FOR🔥

(please bear in mind that i was running on 1.30 hours of sleep and a full week of extremely severe anxiety before this damn night)

my friend and i took the train at 8 in the morning but since we're in italy we arrived two hours behind schedule 👍🏻 we got to the venue at around four i think?? where we met the lovely @maryonacross-mp3 and @braindeadfern hiii babes i love you 😭😭💕💕💕💕💕💕

so. the meet and greet. i was very nervous about it. i didn't have any questions prepared and no gifts because i had been so sure i couldn't have uttered a single word. turns out the guys are not intimidating at all, i felt so at ease during the whole thing! a girl asked joonas what he had for lunch (no we italians will never not be outraged by the fact they had sushi the last time they were here. we're a food based culture im sorry) and he said pasta with tomato so i guess he's forgiven 🙄🙄 some other questions were if they knew some italian musicians apart from måneskin and they said eros ramazzotti (🤨 unexpected) and laura pausini (joel said the first and aleksi the latter, which is vital information if you ask me). also a girl asked olli to sign her bass and i think it was super cool, i wonder where she put it during the show though 😅

the most fun part was where some fans made them play a game they prepared. basically the band (we were tight on time so only joonas, aleksi and olli participated) had to pick a card with an italian tongue twister written on it and the one who read it correctly would win a prize (the prize being the cake in santeri's stories!). olli won with the best pronunciation 😅 aleksi had the longest one and for some reason he thought we read double L like in spanish 😂😂 this part was exhilarating honestly

during the group photo i asked aleksi for a hug 🥺🥺 he's so damn sweet, even the way he says "sure" when you ask him for a picture or a hug is super soft. the hug felt amazing 🥺 god im in love

i would've asked joel for one too but he was far away from me and i felt like i was taking too much time, since many other fans were still in line!

now on to showtime: i ended up first row in the center. i tend to try and not go apeshit with support bands generally (my body is starting to rebel against my reckless singing/dancing/headbanging/jumping) but lost society were just so fucking good i couldn't restrain myself. samy was standing right opposite of me and we locked eyes often. i was singing at the top of my lungs and he seemed pleased with it, so much so that at some point he held his microphone to my face as if to make me sing but i was like DUDE WHAT 😂😂

blind channel were fuckin amazing, but if you're reading this then you probably already know 😌 i had the time of my life!! let myself lose all control!! some highlights would be locking eyes with joel and him widening his eyes at how enthusiastically i was singing 🥰 and getting to hold both joel's and niko's hands during/after dark side!!

(also very personal but autopsy felt just as cathartic as i thought it would)

then!! my friends and i decided to stay at the venue to eat and drink something (the venue had a bar outside) just minding our own business (i was telling them about the m&g 👀) and then we saw the band get out 👀👀👀

we and some other fans gathered around them by the bus, joel was talking to fans with a glass of white wine in hand 😂 i asked him for a picture and he was extremely sweet 🥺 then i turn around and suddenly niko is opposite of me like 😳😳 hi hello, and we took a picture together as well 🥰 then my friend drags me over to aleksi and she tells him "here she is, im sure you remember her" (she meant the hug from the m&g i had been screaming about 😅) and like it was only slightly embarrassing because he was actually so cute about it, and we got another picture 🥰🥰🥰

and this is it i guess 😅 it was an amazing experience and i loved every second i spent in the proximity of/inside the venue. im extremely happy about how everything went, the guys were amazing in every sense of the word and im still vibrating 💕💕💕

[acollectionofficsandshit]

Sneak Peek! Three Of Us

Max Verstappen x Reader (Single Dad AU)

September 1st, 2018- Monza, Italy

Italian Grand Prix, the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza

“We could go see Daniel’s car for a minute if you want, I’m sure no one would mind if we’re quick about it. What do you think?” All you get by way of a response is another shrug, but Kaia appears to have perked up, her gaze trained on something across the garage in the direction you had pointed, her blue eyes wide and unblinking, utterly fixated on whatever it was that had snagged her attention. 

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t wriggle about in your arms in the sudden desire to be free like some toddlers were apt to, she doesn’t even seem eager to do anything more than sit and wait and watch. You had an inkling of what it was, or perhaps more accurately, who it was, that had Kaia so entranced, in fact you’d go so far as to call her transfixed, before you even looked over. 

“I should have known,” you roll your eyes at Daniel, who has a smug, playful grin unfurling across his face, his eyebrows arched in bemused, intrigued interest, and eyes bright, as if alight from within by the bevy of yet unasked questions that are already taking shape. 

You can practically see them all from here, simply piling up inside his mind, the stack growing higher and higher, threatening to spill topple over and spill out all over the floor, interrupting the neat, painstakingly painted red and navy lines of his and his teammate’s name and number that decorate the otherwise inconsequential, unremarkable concrete beneath your feet. 

“Well, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes?” Daniel waves both hands, turned palm side up, at the pair of you, the gesture redundant when out of everything going on around your little trio, the only component out of the entirety of this weekend’s particular brand of chaos and of that always brought on by qualifying, all of which he’s seen a hundred and one times, is the sudden appearance of you and Kaia, but you refrain from going so far as to point this out. 

“A beautiful woman with a baby in her arms? The cameras are focused on the wrong thing if you ask me.”

Daniel is still dressed in his racing suit despite the fact that he’d been out of his car since the end of Q1, by no fault of his own, and yet he appears to be in no hurry to change out of his attire, and no doubt especially not now that he has something far more compelling to garner his attention. Kaia, to her credit, is absolutely unfazed by the new arrival, her attitude more that of an interested but wholly impartial observer. 

“Every time I think I’ve gotten used to the things that come out of your mouth, you never hold back when it comes to taking me down a couple of notches.”

“Hey, you don’t just love me for my perfect hair or my god like good looks, you also adore me for my personality, which you should because it is utterly flawless,” Daniel says with untenable certainty, though the remark has an air of diminutive dismissal clinging to it, already classifying itself without much consideration at all as nothing more than a cheeky throwaway response, made more out of habit than any actual, true intent. 

“You better watch it, Dan, if that head of yours gets any bigger it won’t just be your big fucking ass,” you mouth the words, trying to at least conform to the standards you intended to hold everyone else to when it came to swear words when Kaia was around, “that the mechanics struggle to find room for in that monocoque.”

“Oh, bite me, you know that’s a sensitive topic in the garage,” Daniel wrinkles his nose, putting on a show of good-natured frustration, “I’m still completely convinced the mechanics haven’t forgiven me for that whole situation.”

The beginnings of a crude gesture take shape before he evidently remembers himself, eyes going wide momentarily as Kaia tilts her head slightly to one side, doubling down on her silent but no less in-depth assessment of him, and all plans for his plans for giving you the finger or verbally expressing the same sentiment crumble to ash where they stand.

“Whatever,” Daniel says with a long suffering sigh, “I thought we’d been over this before.”

“Over what? You’ll have to be more specific than that, we’ve been over a lot over the years,” you reply, not even looking at him as you speak, endlessly more invested in watch Kaia, who seems to be gaining confidence in herself, with her death grip around your neck loosening by degrees, her head now on a permanent swivel as she takes in the hustle and bustle happening around her.

“That if you wanted a baby, all you had to do is ask me for one.”

“First off, don’t even start and second off, don’t get ahead of yourself because this absolutely is not like that at all, not even in the slightest.” 

“Then she’s- who’s baby- Wait, hold on, hold on,” Daniel looks utterly delighted, his face lit up like he’s six years old again and this latest revelation is the biggest gift under the tree on Christmas morning 

“She looks like- did you- bullshit,” he waves away your sigh in frustration at his slip of the tongue, too wrapped up in his little mental game of connecting the dots to care about anything else, “You sneaky fuckers!”

“Language!” You remind Daniel, more out of habit than any real hope that the correction will have any lasting effect on his vocabulary. 

If you were to be entirely honest with yourself, you’d written him off as a lost cause from the very start, already too accustomed to his pattern of speech and more than well aware of how deeply seated swear words were in his personal vernacular to fool yourself into thinking that could ever be changed. 

“Did you? you and Verstappen?”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over, that’ll happen,” you’re so startled by the conclusion that Daniel has come to that you’re entirely uncertain of what to say next, “why would you- how did you even- what? 

“What?” Daniel says defensively, but clearly enjoying the reaction he’s incurred so deftly.

“He can’t even look at me, let alone have a baby with me,” you’re itching to smack Daniel for that and likely would have if not for Kaia in your arms. 

The very premise of the idea is beyond laughable at this point, all but flagrantly dancing on the border between having been an astronomically cheap shot on Daniel’s part, one which he’d taken at an old wound that he knew refused to heal, even a year and a half on, and just bald faced flirting with the impossible, ridiculous possibilities that, at their very nature, were the height of sheer ludicrousness.

“I think you’d be surprised by the things Max wouldn’t hesitate to give you if given half the chance.”

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

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[lacelynpage]

Meeting your parents~ Sherlock preferences

A/N: credit for this idea goes to @bandshirts-andbooks they sent in a request that i broke up into two pieces. Part 1 here.

Sherlock:

Sherlock meeting your parents was… interesting. You landed in Inverness Scotland in the evening on Christmas eve. Sherlock hated flying so he was already tense when your mom pulled up the car to get you. It was a happy reunion and Sherlock was kind enough but you knew he was uncomfortable. When you got back to their house you said hello to your dad then headed upstairs, partly to change and wash your face and partly to make sure Sherlock was alright. After a short conversation and a good loving hug he was a bit better, okay enough to agree to go down to dinner. Hand in hand you went down to eat and everything went smoothly. Well as smoothly as they can with Sherlock. Your parents worried that he was a little blunt but over the short stay they saw through him a little, enough to see that he loved you and you loved him. They weren't so keen on his line of work, fearing you were in danger but Sherlock made sure they knew he would protect you. 

John:

From the moment he walked in the door your parents loved him. You had driven up to your hometown about three days before Christmas. They had insisted that you stay with them instead of at a hotel, which you had been a little nervous about but ended up working perfectly. John was a sweetheart as always. He helped wash dishes after every meal and talked with your dad about their shared military backgrounds. Describing how he helped Sherlock presented a unique set of challenges but they had seen enough on the news to recognize who Sherlock was. It turned out your sister was a fan of his blog and would not stop asking him questions when she came over on Christmas day.  

Mycroft:

Your parents were apprehensive about Mycroft at first. When you asked if he could join your family on the Christmas getaway they jumped at the chance to meet your rather elusive boyfriend. They had always been worried that he didn't make you a priority. There had been several canceled lunch plans between Mycroft and your parents so they never really got to meet him let alone see how caring he was. They met you in the restaurant attached to the resort, giving you time to freshen up after the flight. It was lovely. Mycroft knew this was important and put his best diplomatic foot forward. He apologized for all of the previous missed dates and was forgiven without question. It took them a few days of knowing Mycroft to get used to him but they thought he was lovely by the end of the trip. 

Greg:

Greg was terrified to meet your family. Honestly you weren't sure why, he was an amazing guy with a good job and great personality. He had nothing to worry about. When you arrived at your mothers house around noon on Christmas day Greg was bombarded by your army of nieces and nephews wanting to hear all about him being a detective. He was wonderful with kids and you loved watching him with them. He was kind as always and helped wherever he could. He was still his nervous and slightly awkward self but everyone loved him all the more for it.

Moriarty:

You wished you could introduce Jim to your parents but it just wasn't in the cards. Your life had made it impossible to see them again. You weren't that broken up about it, you loved your life and especially loved your life with Jim. You spent Christmas sipping expensive wines by the pool in a private villa in the south of Italy. You got to sing classic rock songs with him at the top of your lungs as you drove your car up the winding loads. It was the height of luxury and freedom and you would trade a second of it.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

So after Paranoid Bella defects to the Volturi, what do Edward and Alice tell the rest of the Cullens (not the truth, surely) and how do they react?

I imagine they're in a state of dazed denial.

Neither of them saw this coming. Edward, perhaps, can be forgiven as he could never read her thoughts. How was he to know? Alice though, how did this happen?

The sad truth of the matter is that Bella was so convinced this was the only path to her survival that Alice only, mostly, saw Bella going along with everything and acting like she was in love.

This is because when Bella thought about making any other decision, those paths led to her death, so Alice never paid them much attention.

Regardless, I imagine the pair convince themselves that something's not right here.

One option is what they saw, Bella actually hated Edward and the Cullens this whole time and was terrified out of her mind that, if she didn't feign romantic interest in Edward, he'd devour her.

Well, this means Bella would have been faking this for months, for the entire time that they knew her, and no one noticed. Not Edward, not Alice, not... Jasper did say something this one time but Alice told him he didn't know what he was talking about.

Regardless, Bella can't tell a lie to save her life, and would she really think so poorly of the Cullens even after getting to know them? Edward always offered her a way out, that he would leave and never see her again if she said the slightest word. She had to know that she was safe (or mostly safe), right?

The other option is the Volturi did something nefarious. Edward may have caught wind of Chelsea's gift in various thoughts, Alice may have had visions involving Chelsea entering the room and using her gift, the point being Chelsea is an option. Maybe the Volturi, somehow, in those few seconds convinced Bella that she hated the Cullens. They gaslit her, warped her memories somehow, and made her believe that Edward hated her.

Not helped, of course, by Edward's method of breaking up with Bella which he now dearly regrets.

By the time Edward and Alice get home they have decided that the Volturi are to blame. They've gaslit Bella into believing the Cullens are fiends in order to gain her gift for themselves.

The Cullens are extremely confused by this and everything else (it's been one hell of a day). First, Bella supposedly died (and now she's not dead somehow), then Edward ran off to kill himself, now Edward's back but Bella's alive and joined the Volturi and apparently thought they were going to eat her this whole time.

They're not really sure how to take that.

All of them feel... mildly bad about that, as they terrified this poor girl out of her mind. Rosalie especially feels very strange as, it turns out, she and Bella probably did agree on everything but Bella thought Edward was so liable to eat her that she never said a word about it.

Now Rosalie just feels kind of shitty.

But then you have Edward insisting that, no, no, you don't understand, that part was all real but the Volturi have now brainwashed Bella to join them.

Nobody... really believes this. Especially not Jasper, who always suspected something along these lines.

Edward wants to plan a rescue party, or at least get Carlisle to go and try to get Bella back from Aro. Well, Carlisle doesn't really have much of a choice, the least he can do is go check (though he has a very strong feeling Edward is sorely mistaken). As it is, Carlisle should probably thank Aro anyway for Edward's survival.

Carlisle goes to Italy, thanks Aro for sparing Edward and Alice, and brings up the Bella thing. And oh, oh no, does Aro have news for him. Sit down, Carlisle, your son is one dearly messed up individual.

Carlisle... doesn't know how to take that either.

He now has both Aro and Edward pointing fingers at each other and calling the other an utter madman.

Regardless, Carlisle gets a chance to talk to Bella, and she makes it absolutely clear that Edward is to stay as far away from her as possible. Bye Carlisle, go home, have fun with Victoria.

Carlisle goes home sans Bella and tells Edward that she really doesn't want to see him. He's sorry, Edward, but it seems it did not work out.

Edward... does not take that well.

I imagine Edward plans a raid on the Volturi, it goes poorly, this time he probably is sentenced to death as there's no talking Caius (or Bella) out of it.

Victoria's army is cleaned up rather swiftly as Carlisle actually does keep in contact with Aro during all of this madness. More, without the sparing of Bella, Caius is less liable to take his own desperate action.

Bella stays in Volterra.