#truer truths have never been spoken
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the only hsr ship that actually matters is argenti x train fern.
#if u take this seriously I will take u out back and#shake u until u pass out but still#truer truths have never been spoken#ooc.
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Edward Cullen's Mate
Edward Cullen/ Afab!Reader
cw: SMUT 18+ MDNI, oral f receiving, unprotected p in v sex, edward breaks the headboard hehe, and edward is completely enamored with you.
(I need to get this out of my system, been thinking about him a lot recently...)
this was supposed to be a short drabble but i just couldn't shut up
reader pov.
Being with edward has been nothing but a beautiful and slightly chaotic ride. With finding out he wasn't human instead was a hundred something year old vampire along with the rest of his family. And then as your relationship grew as did the romance between you too, and that grew tenfold when the magnetic pull you felt for one another was because you were mates.
Fated to be together, equals, crafted for one another, you both completing one another and that never felt truer than now.
Body underneath his stony one, feverishly chilly lips leave a scorching trail of kisses from your neck to your bare chest. edward inhales your scent, and scent that didn't have him craving your blood like he was supposed to instead it calmed and aroused his body in a tantalizing mix. His eyes flick up to yours, pupils nearly completely dilated leaving behind a dark amber ring at the edge of his iris. Love and lust in his gaze has your body warming, and you knew that your gaze mimicked his.
"So beautiful. I'll never get enough of you my love." his word are spoken with nothing but truth. Leaving your shared gaze he continues his journey down your torso, soft hands caressing your hips squeezing the plump flesh before leading down your thighs to the backs of your knees. Mouth leaving behind love-bites upon your skin, each one sending jolts of heat straight to your core, evidence of your arousal staining the insides of your thighs.
Going lower with each kiss pulling your legs apart allowing him to sink further down, mouth right above where you need him most. A blush covers your cheeks and the tops of your breast, "Edward- you don't have to do that."
His gaze snaps up to you, and the sight of his head between your thighs with the full intention to bring you pleasure has you holding back a shiver. "I want to, God you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. Can I ?" Why would you ever deny that? Nodding your head edward goes back to staring at your weeping cunt.
Hands tighten their grip on you before he's pushing them further apart and up, completely baring you to him. You watch as his mouth descends until you feel his tongue lick up from the bottom to your clit. softly wrapping the bud with his lips gently sucking on the bud, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. A moan falls from your slightly swollen lips, seeing your obvious satisfaction edward continues his ministrations. Swirling his tongue a sucking in your clit, body lighting up in euphoria as a ball of pleasure settles into the pit of your stomach. Shaky breaths leave you as your gaze stays locked onto edward’s head, vision blurring around the edges as your mind begins to wholly submit to him.
Then his mouth is leaving your clit all too soon, but you don't have to wonder for long where he's going next. His tongue delves straight into your cunt, mouth covering the bottom half of you. Your eyes widen before rolling back into your head at the mind-numbing sensation of his tongue massaging your walls, pushing in and out of you. Then one of his hands is leaving your thighs and begins to swirl your forgotten clit between his fingers.
Your breathing is uneven breast rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. Heart racing as your body becomes so pliant and warm under his devotion. Your moans and cries of his name bounce around the room, hands going to his soft hair to tangle themselves within them, hoping to keep yourself grounded. The knot within your belly only tightens with each moment that passes. Your mind lagging behind as it gets lost within this pleasure, you realize a little late that edwards tongue has left you but his cool fingers have entered and taken the spot where his tongue once was. Curling up sweetly rubbing into your g-spot, a near-cry of pleasure leaves you at this.
The ball of pleasure that had settled within your core tightened and then you where cumming, as your cunt milked his fingers as they continued to abuse your g-spot. With your high fizzling out of you, thighs shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes open looking down to see edward leaning his head against the one thigh he still had a grip on, fingers still buried within you and a smirk of satisfaction upon his face.
"You look so gorgeous when you cum." giving the inside of your thigh a sweet kiss before he starts to sit up, wrapping your legs around his waste. Face rising up to yours, his mouth comes down giving you a kiss that leaves you breathless. "Do you want to keep going?"
"Yes-yes, please." no shame, your words are full of need and edwards smirk brightens. "Of course my love, I am at your whim."
Reaching down taking edward by surprise, you grip his hardness, a groan leaves him at your soft hold. Lining him with your cunt you let him slowly sink into you. Your head falls further into the pillow as edward grits his teeth hoping to keep himself in control.
He stretches you out just perfectly, filling you up with no space left and your walls wrap so beautifully around him, so warm and wet and oh so welcoming to his cock. You were both made for one another as you slot together- bodies entwined with one another. "Move, Edward please." as your words leave you, he is obeying.
With near flawless movements he starts a slow yet deep pace, bottoming out to the hilt. Each thrust has you keening in utter ecstasy body lit aflame. But his pace begins to pick up speed as your cunt continues to push him to his limits by squeezing him, and with every pull out of you, your walls are trying to suck him back in. God he never knew he could feel like this, so wholly enraptured, this was his new drug and Edward knew that he would never want to part from it.
Your thighs tighten around his waist, arms leaving the bedsheets to latch onto his back. Nails digging into his stony muscle, as your head buries into his neck where his scent is strongest. Your sounds of pleasure are right by his ear, the most beautiful song he's ever heard. His arms leave your waist in favor of the headboard, harshly gripping onto the mahogany. Edward moans along with you as he tilts his pelvis down and up, kissing your g-spot with the tip of his cock. And with his pelvis hitting your clit with every thrust back into your cunt.
Your arousal leaks out staining the fronts of his thighs along with the sheets beneath you, your heady scent filling the space around you two. Edward feels the head board snap then crumble within his grasp and not a moment after that does he feel your cunt quiver as you cum, walls milking him as a gush of your arousal stains his thighs. An unfiltered moan falls from edward, completely in shock at this sensation pace becoming frenzied as he pistons into you with the sole intention to cum within your cunt. Your head has fallen back into the pillow body buzzing in overstimulation as your third orgasm nears.
"Edward-please, please, I need it." words broken up by moans as you barely get them out. Edward's body hunches over yours, hands coming down from the shattered headboard to the sheets beside your head before quickly wrapping around your body. Pulling your chest against his, a hand against the small of your back the other at the base of your head.
His body trying to get as close to you as possible, trying to bury himself within you. Cock bullying your overstimulated and weeping cunt that continues to welcome him in with every thrust, pace now rougher and faster. Each time his cock bottoms out reaching the end of you your moans are punched out of you, mind having turned to mush. Your ears are hypnotized by the heady squelching sound of your cunt along with edwards moans of pure pleasure.
Edward feels the painfully tight knot of pleasure in his pelvis snap, cock swelling as he empties himself within you, eyes closing from the heavy orgasm. That orgasm grows tenfold with you cumming again, walls milking his cock in an attempt to ring him completely dry. Slowing down his thrusts as you both come down from your highs, coming to a stop as you are both left in the aftershocks of your orgasms. Gently bringing you back down to the bedsheets, turning to the side with you still within his embrace. feeling your racing heart against his chest.
Ever so softly he begins to place chaste kisses upon your skin along with 'I love you's, soon your body is lulled into unconsciousness, as edward continues to give his worship to your body. As you rest he lays protecting and watching over you and with every moment that passes does he fall more and more in love with you.
His mate, made just for him.
---
*not edited*
#x reader#fluff#smut#reader#edward cullen x you#edward cullen smut#edward cullen x reader#edward cullen fanfiction#edward cullen fanfic#edward cullen#edward cullen x y/n#edward smut#edward cullen imagine#twilight smut#the twilight saga#twilight#twilight edward#twilight saga#drabble#smut drabble#afab reader#twilight x reader#twilight x you#twilight x y/n
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I really like all these jokes about Qenna and Harkuf, and his hostility towards them seems funny (especially according to noble MC's thoughts)But there is a grain of truth in these thoughts. After all, Harkuf served as vizier to three pharaohs, which is already quite a long time and he has known Narmer since the days when he was not yet a pharaoh. Therefore, I think he has been working with Qenna for a long time and definitely knows them very well due to his skills and experience. So if he is against Qenna as the spouse of his child, then it must be justified for serious reasons. Lol, he even objects to them being in the same room with his child,🤣 I think it burns a lot. And perhaps MC will have to learn more about Qenna further in history.
Truer words have never been spoken, Anon. I salute you for reading between those very muddy lines. The Qenna romance is NOT gonna be an easy one.
Also, don't trust everything that the mc thinks and says. The mc doesn't know nearly as much as they think they know, especially about Qenna.
Thanks for the message! ✨
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(Been wanting to get this lore out here for a while. Consider it... a Dream Sequence epilogue of sorts)
Hard Truths
For all her beliefs that the House of Restoration would make for a valuable point of contact amongst her fellow witches, it has taken Finala a remarkably long time to actually set foot in the place herself.
She never was one for the city, even after the Restorer deposed of his predecessor, and the sweeps have changed her little in that regard. Still, a call from Weaver was not something to ignore. Finala was more than happy to make the trip for her former flame, and one glimpse of the young godling was enough to answer any pressing questions she may have had.
This conversation was going to require a more delicate touch than even Weaver could provide.
Father Roatus was content to set aside a room for them when she arrived, his trust in Weaver enough to negate any concerns he may have had about her. Finala suspects he did not have many, though. The man seemed a remarkably good judge of character, and she has always liked to think herself good-natured enough.
Settled in a small workroom with the woman, Finala watches her animated companion flit about the table in hopes of earning a smile from his creator. She gives him one freely, and the witch suspects this is a currency she is not reluctant to dispense.
“Lady Dreamcatcher,” Finala begins, twinkling voice pulling the goddess’ attention from her familiar. “May I call you Nymira?”
Nymira nods eagerly, folding her hands in her lap.
“I am told you are divine.”
“Yes,” she answers slowly, the burden of her role seeming quite heavy on such delicate shoulders. “I am… the bridge between worlds.”
Finala smiles warmly at her, though the edges twinge with sympathy. “Truer than you realize, starlight.”
Nymira hesitates, uneasy to be spoken to in riddles after such a lifetime of deception. The older woman extends her hands across the table, eyes kind enough to smooth her discomfort, and the goddess places her fingers in Finala’s.
“I am a witch, Nymira. There are many places one can draw power from. But I prefer the stars. It is a magic that finds its strength in belief. I draw on constellations, clusters of energy that hold no meaning apart from those we give them. But when enough eyes turn to heaven and see a bear amidst the sky…”
She withdraws one hand to twirl it through the space between them, fingers plucking out some invisible melody. Slowly, a vision begins to manifest, an ethereal, star-studded paw condensing itself into shape around her palm. She flexes her fingers, moving each claw, then tosses her hand as if to wave the thing away and dispels the image she has conjured.
“Belief can be made manifest.”
Large black eyes bore into hers, so full of delicate hope and swirling uncertainty that Finala feels a pang of guilt tug at her heart. This is not an easy truth to share.
“You are not a goddess,” Finala admits, returning her grasp to Nymira’s and giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “But you will be.”
Once again, she peers into those shiny eyes, this time swarming with both confusion and relief, and the witch reaches for every soothing magic strand she can follow to weave into her words.
“Your… family,” she says, hesitating to use such a word on the duplicitous things that have so distressed such a gentle soul, “could not have believed you a goddess when they found you. You were not hatched one.”
As difficult as it is to speak, it is harder still to hear, Finala reminds herself. She owes it to the child to press on.
“But… They were convincing. They farmed belief. Whatever you began as, you are well on your way to ascension, my little godling. I know it does not erase the deceit. But I hope that, at least, is some solace. You are something more than mortal. Your identity remains.”
Nymira says nothing, staring at the table as she processes the claim. Her companion throws himself upon her hand, a hug as large as he can muster, and looks to Finala with worry.
Finala does not break the silence, waiting patiently for the godling to speak.
When at last she does, her voice is shaky. “I don’t… That can’t be true. What you are describing, your stars, surely our–– their congregation could not have been large enough.”
“I would be inclined to agree, truthfully. But I can see it in you, dear one. Some of us are more inclined towards matters of divinity, I am sure.”
“Then he could have… Father could have sensed this in me, surely? This does not make it… It was not all built on lies.”
“I suppose that could be possible, yes,” Finala concedes. To further dash the poor thing’s hopes would serve only as pointless cruelty. To ensure they are not left room to lie to her again, though, is a matter of safety. “But I do not know that he was ever aware of just how far you evolved. I do not know that he ever expected as much.”
Nymira blinks, struggling to stave off the inky tears now welling in her eyes. “This was not… Destiny, then. This was not my purpose.”
“I expect not.”
Once again, there is a silence, another question forming on the godling’s lips. Her voice comes out impossibly small. “Do I have a purpose?”
“I do not believe so. And that is a gift more beautiful than anything.”
#short-ish by my standards#subdued reaction form nymira but suffice it to say it's gonna hit her real hard once she processes it fully#nymira writing#finala writing#dream sequence arc#dream sequence curated#writing
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"Breaking your faith in humanity "... Truer words never spoken. There is knowing the true horror that was done to innocent civilians and being horrified by it. But then there is the ultimate sadness in how some people act now. How are people criticizing Paltrow for speaking the truth. Rape is not resistance!!!
Even on a mundane level, I can say as I first found you because of Buddie, I almost have no joy for it coming back. I'm almost grateful there were no shows this fall because it would have felt icky for me. But it still does even now. It feels vapid to find joy in something knowing how people suffered and are still suffering. I, of course, don't judge others who find solace in it. I will watch it and hope. I just find it hard to go back to a normal thing like shipping a fictional couple.
As always, I hope you're staying safe and sane. I hope you feel ok and maybe have the house situation figured out . xoxoxo
Hi darling!
I hope you're well. *hugs*
It's insane to me that the sentence, "Rape is not resistance" is something that actually needs saying. People who are truly against rape, are always against rape. They don't need convincing not to make Jews an exception. I have NEVER heard in any other context people saying, "Well, I'm against rape as an idea, but this specific case is okay."
If you're okay with some rapes, you've never truly been anti-rape.
But the fact that so many of those who say it, who supposedly justify it as anti-colonialist, are actually colonizers living on colonized land, is even more deranged, because it means either they're saying they're okay with they themselves, their families and fellow colonizer friends and colleagues being raped as well (I doubt that's what they mean), or they're applying this "notion" of rape being resistance in a discriminatory way, where rape is resistance so long as it's done to Jews living in the Jewish ancestral homeland. Which is not anti-colonialist at all, IS hypocritical and IS antisemitic. HOW can they take this stance, and not see how harmful to Jews it is? They're being pro-rape and anti-Jewish, while claiming they're motivated by empathy and concern for human rights!?
I'm so happy you found me thanks to my Buddie content, and I endlessly appreciate what an incredible, real ally to Jews you are. I'm generally very grateful for every 911 fan, who actually implements the show's notions of compassion, which include listening to marginalized groups about their own experiences (and Hamas' massacre, the motivation behind the war, the pain over the loss of so many Israelis and Jews by a nation which has survived a genocide, and still carries an inter-generational trauma because of it, the sense of betrayal over the rise in antisemitic incident on Oct 7 already, while the terrorists were still inside Israel, butchering, raping, beheading and burning people, these are OUR experiences. Ignoring us when we talk about them or telling us we're only motivated by bloodlust, an antisemitic trope, when we explain that we're much more concerned about liberating our hostages and preventing another massacre, that's speaking over us. Arguing with us on what is and isn't antisemitic, that's speaking over us, rather than listening to us. It's antisemitic in itself, and it's not something that's done to ANY other marginalized group).
I can't believe we're at the point where Jews have to beg people to just listen to us, listen as if we're human beings, and not caricatures of vampiric villains (again, a classic antisemitic trope), cruelly interested solely in destruction and death. But in response so many people just look at us, knowing there's a rise in antisemitism, and still go... "No."
When people in every fandom go around, not just blocking Jews and Jewish allies who believe a Jewish state has the right to exist in the Jewish ancestral land, but they're also telling others to block us, to silence our voices, to act like there is no pain and there are no victims on the Israeli and Jewish side of this conflict, it is hard to be enthusiastic about any fandom.
At the same time, I KNOW I'm living through a major trauma, the worst Jews have experienced since the end of the Holocaust. I've seen my maternal grandmother never really recover from the trauma she went through in the Holocaust. I've never seen her laugh without a touch of sadness and pain being there, she never went through one celebration without slipping aside for at least one moment and crying. After my paternal grandmother died, I discovered that her sister never had kids because of the Holocaust, and actually ended up taking her own life (up until our grandmother's passing, my sis and I were told she died of cancer). So I know how persistent trauma is. I know that the Holocaust did not end in May 1945, and I know that Oct 7 didn't end when Israel was freed of the 3,500 terrorists who invaded it that day. Oct 7 probably won't end even when the current war does. That's why I recognize how important it is to hold on to every bit of normalcy I can, to not let the trauma take over. And that's what fandom is in a sense. A semblance of normalcy.
Except fandom isn't normal anymore, not after I've seen incomprehensible amounts of hate and hypocrisy, including from people I trusted and liked, and thought liked me. My belief in the kindness of people (especially when it's people who love a show that is all about celebrating kindness) has been shaken to the core.
Which is why I currently honestly don't know what I'll do once s7 premieres. I'll watch it, obviously. And I am excited about some stuff I've seen. But will I write and gif? I don't know the answer yet. It's not a certain yes, it's not a certain no. I guess I'll see how I feel at every given moment. I'm not putting any pressure on myself one way or another. But I promise you that whether I post my Buddie content or not (let's be honest, if I watch 9-1-1, you better believe there will be Buddie content alive and kicking in my mind), I will never stop loving them, or thinking they're the ultimate battlefield boyfriends, and sweetest little family unit with Chris. :) And I know that if I do post, it would be an honor to be in this fandom with you, and those like you, who care about my people, and actually listen to Jewish voices (all of them, not just the few they can tokenize).
So... THANK YOU. I can't say that enough. And yes, I've moved into my new home, though it's not quite what it needs to be yet. But I'm getting there! Tiny steps still count, right? I'm sending you massive amounts of love, always! xoxox
#israel#antisemitism#terrorism#anti terrorism#antisemitic#antisemites#jews#jew#judaism#jumblr#frumblr#jewish#buddie#911 abc#personal#ask#daphnesvalley#fandom love#kindness#thank you!#<33333
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Snowy Sea Rescue!
Most of the time, Brendam Docks was quite busy with many dockmen shouting out orders, cargo being lifted and loaded on to ships to and fro, trucks being shunted by Salty as he bantered on with Cranky or even Carly like usual.
But in winter, it was significantly more busy than ever with the Christmas rush, so there are fragile and brittle gifts being held in multiple boxes that are carried out to sea.
Salty's driver's wife had presents which were amongst many gifts that arrived by boat to the docks, and his driver was eagerly anticipating its arrival until today...
____________________________________________
"Fourth cargo ship coming up! Get ready lads... and lass!" The Dock manager called out.
The three dock cranes were hard at work, unloading multiple crates of different gifts on to flatbeds. Salty was also hard at work, shunting as many flatbeds as possible to the right places.
Carly groaned "ANOTHER one?! That's the eighth one today!"
"It's the Christmas rush, Carly. It's a normal thing around 'ere..." Cranky creaked "Anyway, why are YOU complaining? Haven't you ever had a Christmas rush back in Southampton?"
Carly sighed "Yes, but...ugh, I never had to multitask unloading FOUR boats at once! Even a couple years back, it wasn't THIS intense!" She panted, sliding over to another boat. Down on the rails, Salty cackled at the portal crane's groaning "Hahar, sounds like ye are a wee bit rusty in the joints, lassie!" He said.
Big Mickey chuckled quietly "Trust me, you two. Be glad we aren't at Tidmouth Harbour. Over there's probably twice as busy compared to here, since it's the biggest harbour on the island!"
"Couldn't 'ave spoken truer words, me hearty. We'd ALL be tired out if we worked thar. Har....though, t' be truthful, it be takin' it's toll on me as well" Salty admitted a sigh, the work had been a bit straining with Porter away for his big sleep. Cranky and Carly exchanged nervous wide-eyed glances before silently going back to work. They couldn't bear the thought of being at Tidmouth.
Salty's driver poked his head and looked over at one of the ships "Oi, mate! Are there any red crates over there?" He yelled. One of the dockmen securing the crates looked back "Nah, can't say there are any. What about it, pal?"
"It's for me wife!" The driver yelled. Salty's interest peaked when he heard that "Did ye get a present for yer wife, driver?"
His driver smiled "Yep, four rather large ones to be precise. M' hopin' she'll like 'em"
"Oh I'm sure she will" the Dockside diesel chuckled. Just then, a chilly breeze swept through the docks, causing Salty to shiver, his frame rattling. Salty's driver exclaimed and kept a tight grip on the handles "Woah, ol' boy! Easy!"
Salty grunted "I get cold, driver. We diesels don't 'ave fur like the steamies!"
The diesel driver sighed and patted Salty's cab "I know, it's not really your fault. It's the winter! Everythin' around you gets as cold as ice, even the sea!"
Carly shuddered "Couldn't have said it better, Chuck! I took a dip in the water to find fish this morning, and it was freezing! My fins felt really numb and sore!" She said, flapping one of her fins "My operator had to hand-feed me fish"
Everyone murmured in agreement, including the Dock manager who was there to listen. The manager then walked over to Salty's driver with a schedule board "Alright, your crate should be here very soon"
"Hmph! It was supposed to be here yesterday!"
"Sorry. Bad sea conditions were causing the delay, I'm afraid" he shrugged before turning heel and leaving. The driver groaned, shaking his head "This damn weather" He muttered under his breath.
Salty let out a small dog-like whine at hearing his driver's dismay. Christmas Eve would be coming soon, so it made sense why the man was grumpy about it "Don't worry, driver. It will be here soon..."
___________________________________________________________
It was around 2:00 when the workload had thankfully died down, there were less ships coming in to the docks, and Salty had significantly less flatbeds to shunt. So, the cranes were able to get longer breaks and so did Salty, which was a relief! Working was ok, but admittedly a bit harder being one shunting engine short. But other than that, at least they could rest.
However, the peace and quiet was disrupted by a loud ear-splitting BANG!
Salty's whole body arched upwards like a frightened cat, and he even shrieked like one. Cranky, Carly and Big Mickey all nearly screamed at the loud noise, their poor sensitive ears!
"Flare spotted!" Big Mickey's operator yelled, pointing out into the ocean. Everyone immediately looked to where he pointed, and they all gasped in horror – it was a sinking cargo barge, and its crew were waving frantically for help and shouting.
"They're sinking!! Call the bloomin' Search & Rescue centre! Anyone!" The Dock manager barked from his megaphone. A workman spoke up "We can't! It'll be half an hour until they get 'ere in THIS weather! Those men will be down under by that time!"
The Dock manager was silent for a moment before looking up at the cranes "Do you think one of you three could get over there?"
"We would, chuck! But we're all sensitive to icy water! I got all numb and sore from a swim this morning! I was only in for a few seconds too!"
"Well, we need to get those men out of there somehow !"
Everyone murmured uncontrollably, no one knew what to do...except Salty.
Salty hummed thoughtfully to himself "Hmm...it be dangerous" He thought. Even if it was dangerous, SOMEONE has to risk it! Those crew members' lives were on the line. That's it. He MUST do something.
Salty's driver was on the diesel's footplate, nervously squeezing his handle bars when Salty suddenly jerked him off "Wha–?! Salty!" He exclaimed, landing on the ground with an oof.
Everyone watched with surprise as Salty jumped off the rails and went into his beast form. The monster diesel snarled and darted towards the ocean before jumping off the edge with a big SPLASH!
"Salty?!" Cranky and the diesel's driver gasped, the cranes spinned around to see him swimming towards the sinking boat. Salty wheezed and shivered as he paddled through the water, he was going to save those men no matter what!
His three pairs of limbs ached and clawed at the water, his finned tail giving him a boost. The crew on the sinking barge noticed the engine swimming towards them and all cheered and waved for his attention. Salty grunted and growled, trying to shake off the exhaustion as he reached the barge and its crew.
"Climb aboard, mateys!" He shouted hoarsely, the cold water had seeped into his vents. The crew didn't need to be told twice! They all crawled on top of Salty and held on tight as he bobbed about. Once he made sure everyone was one, Salty was about to leave until something caught his eye – something red.
It was the red crate his driver spoke about, floating on a single, small wooden platform. Conveniently, it was right next to him. Salty's eyes widened and without word, he quickly pulled it towards his buffers and pushed it along as he paddled towards the harbour.
Everyone from the docks watched in amazement as the diesel shunter rescued the whole crew "Salty's doing it!" Big Mickey cheered, and everyone followed suit. Salty's driver smiled "Go on, ol' boy". Despite how things looked from their perspective Salty panted tiredly, his body was numb and aching from all the paddling and the workers' small, but added weight along with pushing the crate was not helping.
Finally, the dockside diesel reached the harbour and found a ladder for the crew to climb. As soon as they all got off, Salty was wheezing and straining his breath, the cold was NOT good for him. Black spots were clouding his vision, along with a mild dizzy sensation, the struggle to breathe properly worsened from the water getting through his vents. It was then he soon realised it – this may be the end.
But he didn't fret, he instead smiled and chuckled wearily "Well, at least I did somethin' brave afore I go... har"" then in a flash, everything went black. The muffled yells from above silenced, and everything went numb...
He hoped everyone was safe.
____________________________________________
The darkness seemed it would go on forever. The silence was nearly deafening. But Salty wasn't afraid.
"Do...do you think he'll wake up, Sir?" Someone piped up. They sounded worried
"I can't say for certain, I'm afraid. We'll just have to wait" someone sighed. They sounded a little anxious, but they were also trying to remain calm.
The darkness then got brighter, big and small blobs taking form. Salty winced and watched as the smallest blobs were shuffling about, their shapes soon gathering more detail as the minutes went on.
"Wait...I think he's waking up..!" One voice exclaimed.
"Thank the lord for that..." another sighed, sounding relieved.
"Well? Step back, all of you! Give Salty some space!" The same voice from before boomed. Finally, Salty's vision fully returned, he could finally see where he was;
Salty was in the Dieselworks! A dim light shine over him. Surrounding him were the employees, and in front of him were none other than his driver and Sir Topham Hatt. Both were relieved to see him awake, as it seemed.
"Salty, ol' boy! Thank God you're awake!" His driver cried as he jogged over. Salty smiled "Ahoy, driver..." he replied tiredly, his driver then scratched under the dockside diesel's chin. Salty purred in response and leaned into the affection, his tail softly thumping against the ground. As soon as that was over, Salty asked "So, uh...wha' happened t' me?"
Sir Topham Hatt then stepped forward "You were a really brave and useful engine, Salty. You fainted right after getting those men back on land! Luckily, you were escorted to the Dieselworks as soon as Carly pulled you out, and the employees here spent 3 hours trying to clear out the water from your insides"
Salty's eyes widened "Well, blimey..." he then looked to his driver, and it was then he remembered the red crate. He didn't remember it being pulled up before he lost consciousness "But...I didn' save me driver's crate o' presents fer his wife..." he said in a quiet, guilty voice. Sir Topham Hatt's gaze softened and he looked to Salty's driver, who said "But you did"
"Aye?"
"After you were taken here, Cranky fished out the crate. I can't thank you enough for getting it..." he explained with soft smile. In return, Salty smiled back.
"Salty...." The Fat Controller began "For your bravery, you will be repainted into a colour of your own choice!"
"Oh, thank ye sir!" Salty said happily.
____________________________________________
A day later, Salty returned to the docks in a clean new red livery that would definitely get James feeling jealous. His buffers still had their oil weathering, but he didn't mind at all.
The cranes and dock men welcomed him back, and all congratulated him on rescuing the crew men.
Salty was very glad that day that he saved the crew, and his driver's crate of gifts. But asides from that, he was just happy to be by the sea, no matter how chilly it could get.
"Ooooh.... don't take me away from the sea, boys! Oooh....doooon't take me away from the sea! Harharhar!!"
#thomas and friends#thomas the tank engine#monster engines#ttte salty#ttte cranky#ttte carly#ttte big mickey#short story
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Promise of Destruction Pt. 2
Caer Oswin
Cassandra Masterpost Previous: Locate the Missing Seekers
The party makes their way to a fortress in Ferelden.
Cassandra: Caer Oswin. Odd that the trail should lead us here. Bann Loren is a pious, unassuming man. What has he become involved in?
Dialogue options:
General: It might not be by choice. [1]
General: Everyone’s going crazy. [2]
General: It doesn’t matter. [3]
1 - General: It might not be by choice. PC: He might simply be a victim as well. [4]
2 - General: Everyone’s going crazy. PC: He’s involved in “crazy,” just like everyone else these days. Cassandra: Truer words have never been spoken. [4]
3 - General: It doesn’t matter. PC: We’re here to look for the Seekers. [4]
4 - Scene continues.
Cassandra: Let’s see what lies within.
They continue inside, and are immediately attacked.
Cassandra: Promisers. I should have known. The Order of Fiery Promise is a cult with… strange beliefs about the Seekers. They’ve hounded us for centuries.
5 - Dialogue options:
Investigate: What strange beliefs? [6]
Investigate: Why not deal with them? [7]
General: Can they be reasoned with? [8]
General: “Cultists” don’t sound good. [9]
General: They’re not that tough. [10]
6 - Investigate: What strange beliefs? PC: What kind of “strange beliefs”? Cassandra: They believe they are Seekers—the only rightful ones. They say we robbed their powers long ago, preventing them from ending the world. PC: Ending the world? Cassandra: The only way to truly eradicate evil, in their eyes. “The world will be reborn a paradise.” It’s all nonsense. [back to 5]
7 - Investigate: Why not deal with them? PC: Why haven’t the Seekers dealt with them? Cassandra: We have. Many times. They simply reappear after a time, like weeds. Nobody knows how. [back to 5]
8 - General: Can they be reasoned with? PC: Is it possible to negotiate with them? Cassandra: They’re fanatics, drunk on whatever forbidden magic they can find to make themselves “true” Seekers. [11]
9 - General: “Cultists” don’t sound good. PC: Cultists? Why am I not surprised? [11]
10 - General: They’re not that tough. PC: We dealt with those few easily enough. Cassandra: They are less formidable than they are deranged. [11]
11 - Scene continues.
Cassandra: This explains why the Seekers might be here, but not the connection to Corypheus.
They find a corpse further in.
Cassandra: A Seeker. Did they torture him to death? The Promisers will pay for this.
The party enters a courtyard, where they fight more Promisers. Cassandra picks a letter off one of the corpses when the fighting ends.
Cassandra: “As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effect of red lyrium, the Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care. Reclaim you destiny, and know that the Elder One expects your devotion as repayment.”
Cassandra (sided templars): Signed by Magister Calpernia, leader of the Venatori. Cassandra (sided mages): Signed by Lord Samson, commander of the red templars.
Cassandra: Does Corypheus not realize the Promisers wants the world to end? What use are they to him?
Dialogue options:
General: He sold the Seekers to them? [12]
General: He’ll betray them first. [13]
General: They belong together. [14]
12 - General: He sold the Seekers to them? PC: So Corypheus sold the Seekers to these cultists? Cassandra: And they leapt at the chance, of course. [15]
13 - General: He’ll betray them first. PC: Corypheus will probably betray them before they get their chance. Cassandra: But after he gets what he needs out of them. [15]
14 - General: They belong together. PC: Sounds like they’re perfect for each other. Cassandra: I suppose it does. [15]
15 - Scene continues.
Cassandra: But this doesn’t explain how he captured the Seekers in the first place, or what’s been done with them. We must keep looking.
16 - Dialogue options:
Investigate: Why are Seekers “resistant”? [17]
General: You’re worried. [18]
General: Do you really want to know? [19]
General: We’ll find them. [20]
17 - Investigate: Why are Seekers “resistant”? PC: The letter said Seekers were resistant to red lyrium. Cassandra: Our abilities grant us many gifts, but a resistance to red lyrium’s corruption? That seems strange. Although it would explain why none have numbered among the red templars… And thus Seekers would be useless to Corypheus. He would have no leash to hold us. [back to 16]
18 - General: You’re worried. PC: You sound worried. Cassandra: I am. The Seekers are my family. Cassandra: You must think me inhuman. Of course I am. [21]
19 - General: Do you really want to know? PC: Do you really want to keep looking? What we find might not be pleasant. Cassandra: I do not shy away from unpleasant things. I must know. [21]
20 - General: We’ll find them. PC: We’ll find them, Cassandra. Cassandra: I know we will. One way or another. [21]
21 - Scene ends.
Next: Fate of the Seekers
#dragon age inquisition#dai transcripts#dragon age#dragon age transcripts#dragon age dialogue#dai#long post#dai dialogue#cassandra pentaghast#cassandra#promise of destruction
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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.
#it is currently 5:05 am#its official#this fic has driven me to the point of insanity 😛#fanfiction#bridgerton#polin#weepingfromacedartree#fanfic#ao3#ten milestones#penelope x colin#penelope featherington#colin bridgerton
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How many winds of doctrine we have known in recent decades, how many ideological currents, how many ways of thinking. The small boat of thought of many Christians has often been tossed about by these waves - thrown from one extreme to the other: from Marxism to liberalism, even to libertinism; from collectivism to radical individualism; from atheism to a vague religious mysticism; from agnosticism to syncretism, and so forth. Every day new sects are created and what Saint Paul says about human trickery comes true, with cunning which tries to draw those into error (cf Ephesians 4, 14). Having a clear Faith, based on the Creed of the Church, is often labeled today as a fundamentalism. Whereas, relativism, which is letting oneself be tossed and 'swept along by every wind of teaching', looks like the only attitude acceptable to today's standards. We are moving towards a dictatorship of relativism which does not recognise anything as certain and which has as its highest goal one's own ego and one's own desires. However, we have a different goal: the Son of God, true man. He is the measure of true humanism. Being an 'Adult' means having a faith which does not follow the waves of today's fashions or the latest novelties. A faith which is deeply rooted in friendship with Christ is adult and mature. It is this friendship which opens us up to all that is good and gives us the knowledge to judge true from false, and deceit from truth.
- Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI
Never were truer words spoken than by this misunderstood and much maligned great theologian and staunch defender of the Christian heritage of the West against the forces that seek to weaken and destroy it from within.
RIP Joseph Aloysius Ratzinger (1927-2023)
#pope emeritus pope benedict XVI#catholic#church#religion#western society#society#values#secularism#christianity#papacy#joseph ratzinger#icon
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Truer Words Have Never Been Spoken Vegapunk
You spitting truthful words and commentary as much as Doflamingo.
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Good Omens 2 EP5-6 SPOILERS
Spoiler time!
😂😂😂
Aziraphale is one of a kind.
Crowley is a husband material and husband material only. Have you seen him, lady?
That's heartbreaking. Crowley is so traumatised by that.
But now Gabriel is just a baby, and he doesn't understand Crowley's anger.
Aww, irritated dancing... 😂😂😂
What OUTFIT is this?! Gabriel, come on! No wonder nobody believed him.
Aziraphale and Crowley are so so so married.
This is the sexiest being:
Thanks for the educational value, Good Omens 2!
Great quotes by Gabriel: "Nah."
Ahhhh, that's what Gabriel meant. Those assholes...
Said with the same tone as "YOU WHAT?!" (GO1, the "didn't you have a flaming sword?" scene)
Well, Gabriel and Beelzebub definitely look cozy together.
Great quotes by Gabriel: "Instead of Armaggedon, what about... no Armaggedon?"
The second Heaven+Hell couple in the making.
THESE GENEROUS DEMONS! Aziraphale, keep up and offer Crowley a place to stay!
The proud smile of Crowley when he was looking from the window at his irritated angel? Beautiful.
Once again, the generosity of Crowley. He is offering THEIR SPOT!
They are asking if they have done anything wrong. That is... I have no words. That's what happen when somebody blindly follows instructions.
A DATE. A DATE AT THE RITZ
Anxious Crowley being a good househusband? THE BEST HUSBAND MATERIAL EVER
Has.... has Nina just called Maggie an angel?
OH MY GOD ARE THEY GOING TO CONFESS???????? WAIT WAIT I'M NOT READY YET *wheezing*
OH MY GOD, AZIRAPHALE, THEY'VE BEEN AUTHORISING KILLING OFF KIDS FOR A BET! Where is the truth in that?
This is so beautiful and emotional. Wow. WOW
Truer words have never been spoken.
Nooo!!! No! Aziraphale, you idiot...
That certain night, the night we met, There was magic abroad in the air, There were angels dining at the Ritz And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. (link to wiki)
No nightingales...
WHAT!? THERE'S KISSING??? They made it an official love story, not just covering with bromance! There's one thing I didn't expect - this:
Do they have to destroy me like this? What is happening? They love each other! 😭😭😭 I don't understand...
I am shocked, sad and don't know what to think.
Is this really going to be how they part ways? Come on. Come on!
Crowley's waiting for him despite everything. Come on! Aziraphale! You know better!
No. Nooo! Don't let it be the end!
That's not how I was hoping it to end.
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Chapter 13
you are telling me that man didnt make pancakes in 800 years
“Body studies? Ohoho so you are going to see boobies later?” Taehyung raises his eyebrows and blinks at you. the (wo)man was too stunned to speak
ITS TIME TO WATCH TWILIGHT WITH HIM HHAAHAHAHH
“Do you want to eat me?” He blinks. “Excuse me?” the (wo)man was too stunned to speak pt 2
“I was a doctor for a few centuries and sometimes when no one was looking I used a little vampire magic to heal my patients. I LOVE MY POOKIE
you are telling me witches and warlocks exist BUT NOT WEREWOLF THATS A CRIME EXCUSE ME?? WTF??? RELEASE THEM CRAZY SCIENTIST AND MAKE ONE
“I always wanted to ride a flying broom. Do you think I could ask her if I could ride hers?” *deepens voice, You are beyond adorable, my love
“Do you need to like…poop?” ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS
“I’ve never seen someone hornier than you”, my love, have you seen queen sibi's citizens??
“Perfectly capable”, Hoseok scoffs, “dude you’re already talking like him.” ngl thats so true 😭😭😭
He gives them a bow of his head. ... “Uhm… you too, dude?” HOBI PLS HE IS S FUNNY 💀💀
Taehyung bids his farewells, strutting down the hallways and greeting people in the process, who all seem as flabbergasted as Hoseok and Seokjin. wow she broke him fr, he is really smitten
“Broski what did you do to him?” Hoseok asks MY STOMACH HURTS
Are you guys vampires or something?” you tease back, just to see their reaction. They exchange a panicky look. Hoseok laughs far too loudly. SHE IS REALLY EVIL OMG JUST TO SEE THEIR FACES HAHAH
wtf was that all about yoongles poongles??
WTF IS GOING ON ?? TAE PUNCHING JOON??? THAT TOO WITH FANGS OUT??? IN PUBLIC????
I’m not in the mood to delete a fifty more memories.” haha poor yoongi
oh shit everything is coming back to bit his ass fuck
you are telling me that man didnt make pancakes in 800 years
man is SPOILED S P O I L E D I am telling you 😭
“Body studies? Ohoho so you are going to see boobies later?” Taehyung raises his eyebrows and blinks at you. the (wo)man was too stunned to speak
jsdjfs she is so awkward fjadj I love her
ITS TIME TO WATCH TWILIGHT WITH HIM HHAAHAHAHH
YES I AGREE FNFNFN he'd thirst so hard over half of the adult characters JFJADSF
“I was a doctor for a few centuries and sometimes when no one was looking I used a little vampire magic to heal my patients. I LOVE MY POOKIE
HE IS JUST A POOKIE <3
you are telling me witches and warlocks exist BUT NOT WEREWOLF THATS A CRIME EXCUSE ME?? WTF??? RELEASE THEM CRAZY SCIENTIST AND MAKE ONE
OKAY BUT WHAT IF HE ISN'T TELLING THE WHOLE TRUTH LIEKEK
“I always wanted to ride a flying broom. Do you think I could ask her if I could ride hers?” *deepens voice, You are beyond adorable, my love
I NEED HIM BIBLICALLY
“Do you need to like…poop?” ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS
fjdjsfjsa no but DO YOU??
“I’ve never seen someone hornier than you”, my love, have you seen queen sibi's citizens??
JFJASDJF truer words have never been spoken fansdfn
“Perfectly capable”, Hoseok scoffs, “dude you’re already talking like him.” ngl thats so true 😭😭😭
fjasdjf are you trly friends if you aren't roasting each other?
He gives them a bow of his head. ... “Uhm… you too, dude?” HOBI PLS HE IS S FUNNY 💀💀
JFADSJF I LOVE HIM SO MUCH
Taehyung bids his farewells, strutting down the hallways and greeting people in the process, who all seem as flabbergasted as Hoseok and Seokjin. wow she broke him fr, he is really smitten
LIKE HE IS LITERALLY SO IN LOVE !!!!!!!!!!
“Broski what did you do to him?” Hoseok asks MY STOMACH HURTS
JFASJDFJ I forgot he calls her Broski fajdf this is so funny to me
Are you guys vampires or something?” you tease back, just to see their reaction. They exchange a panicky look. Hoseok laughs far too loudly. SHE IS REALLY EVIL OMG JUST TO SEE THEIR FACES HAHAH
HAHAH I LOVE HER CHAOTIC ASS
wtf was that all about yoongles poongles??
he is so scary (i need him carnally)
WTF IS GOING ON ?? TAE PUNCHING JOON??? THAT TOO WITH FANGS OUT??? IN PUBLIC????
LIKE THE CHAOS IS GOING DOWN FOR REAL
I’m not in the mood to delete a fifty more memories.” haha poor yoongi
jfjasdfj he is TIRED. T I R E D
oh shit everything is coming back to bit his ass fuck
honestly? deserved JFJADSJF
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Knight Hob/Prince Dream WIP
Hob smiled. It was a new expression on his face, and almost new entirely. Dream was not used to people smiling easily in his presence. He liked seeing Hob’s lips curved up like that. “Be my first knight, Hob,” he said, surprising them both. “Be the first man loyal to me. Not to my blood and title, but to me.”
Hob’s eyes widened, and something resembling a blush appeared on his cheeks, highlighted by the warm light of the fireplace. “Many people in this Kingdom are loyal to you, my Lord,” he said humbly. “But I would be honoured to be the first one sworn to you.”
Without prompting, the soldier fell to one knee. He pulled his sword from its sheath at his waist and placed it into Dream’s hands. It was a beautiful weapon, most likely custom made. It must have cost a fortune or been a reward for some great act. Dream could see that the soldier took great care of the weapon, and he knew that putting it into another man’s hands was a gesture of trust to Hob.
“Look me in the eyes,” Dream commanded, and this time, he did not sound like his father. He sounded like himself. The yet unbroken Prince, Dream of the Endless. “Tell me who you are loyal to.”
Hob would not be tested, he would not be made to swear his loyalty to the wrong person again. “I am loyal to the people of this Kingdom,” he said proudly. Not to the King, not to Dream, but to the people. Hob would make a better king than either one of them, Dream thought minutely.
“And who is your king?” Dream asked, resting the tip of the sword on Hob’s left shoulder.
“You are, Dream of the Endless,” Hob replied, voice a bit lower, secretive. “You are my King and my Kingdom. You are the people that I swear to protect.”
Dream shivered. He had not known loyalty or protection in what felt like eons. And here was a man of pure heart giving him both, and he only asked Dream stayed true to his own heart in return. He moved the tip of the sword to the soldier’s other shoulder and asked the final time.
“Do you swear to only ever speak the truth to me? Do you swear to keep your heart pure of hatred, greed and pride? Do you swear not to lose yourself in fear, loneliness or boredom, always remain loyal to your cause?”
“I swear, my King,” Hob said, looking into Dream’s eyes, the truth written all over his face. Honesty, devotion, determination. A truer oath had never been spoken than the one that had been whispered in the Prince’s chambers tonight.
“Stand up, Hob Gadling, First Knight of the Dreaming. Remember this night. May it inspire you and give you strength in the battles we will face together. Until this realm is free of the Old King’s terror.”
#dreamling#medieval au#my writing#yet another wip I know I can't help it#this is the worst kind of writers block#I can write but I hate it and can't finish it
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followed you for your "boyking, blood freak uhhhhhh boypussy" post because truer words have never been spoken. i will not be putting this on anon. i am living my truth and i will not be silenced
i'm so glad you get me
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PJO S1E2:
"You drool when you sleep" being the first thing Annabeth says to him is so fucking funny.
knows who Dionysus is the moment she lays eyes on him, even from a distance
Percy is so gullible 🤣
Dionysus and Chiron banter is the best.
Oooh, curly-haired Luke. Sucks that he's evil.
Ooh, nymphs.
Grover describing a human getting crushed like "an old banana." 😂
"The truth can be very dangerous if it isn't handled carefully." Truer words have never been spoken. People deserve to be told the truth, but never at the wrong time.
The Voice is definitely Kronos trying to manipulate him.
Luke's two actors have portrayed him so similarly it's amazing.
WE GET CLARISSE. I forgot how much I hated her at first.
"...Should I try again?" "No!" 🤣
Okay, the food offerings were one of my favorite things about the books. They really didn't skip out on anything with this show, I love it. They better do more seasons of the other books.
Percy praying to his mom >>>>>>>>>
The heartbreak of Percy talking about "real friends" and meaning Luke, and knowing what Luke's going to do-- He is just so precious and doesn't deserve any of what happens to him.
Hah, take that! You just tried to toilet-dunk the wrong kid, Clarisse.
Also. Rip bathroom.
"I can explain." "No, you can't." Heh. Their dynamic is great already.
Watching Luke tell Percy about Thalia and forbidden kids, whilst none of them know that Percy is a forbidden kid.
Percy and Annabeth actually being on the same team this time around as opposed to the movies.
Omg, the use of magical items in CTF includes Annabeth's hat. Hah, didn't think of that. But she's obviously gonna spy on him with it and then steal red's flag.
"...first few hours" ????????? How long do their CTF games last???
Annabeth seriously put him straight in Clarisse's territory. Seriously?
Oooh, Percy broke Clarisse's spear. She should've known better than to go after him.
REVEAL TIME, REVEAL TIME, REVEAL TIME!
Meet Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon. The reveal is really cool no matter what form- be it book, movie, or the show. (I will admit to actually having enjoyed the movies. But I do understand why they gave up on them and created the show.)
"I am Sally Jackson's son!" 😭
Ayyy, gotta love Grover disobeying orders for his best friend's greater good. Remember what I said earlier about telling the truth at the right time?
OOH, MEDUSA COMING UP NEXT EPISODE.
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"Trying to hide the truth from the world will eventually kill us all."
Truer words have never been spoken. Rip James.
Ain't that the truth
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