#besides the bloomsbury announcement

[fideidefenswhore]

This was a marriage that convulsed not just a nation, but a whole continent.

Drawing on new archival documents, startling artefactual discoveries and reinterpretations of long-misunderstood sources, John Guy and Julia Fox unearth the truth of these two extraordinary lives and their tumultuous times. They pay particular attention to the formative years Anne spent in the French courts while Henry learned how to be king among English courtiers – and dispel any lingering assumptions that a sixteenth-century woman, even a queen, could exert little to no influence on the politics and beliefs of a patriarchal society [...] a sumptuous retelling of one of the most consequential marriages in history and a startling portrait of love, lust, politics and power.

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By closely examining the most recent archival discoveries, and peeling back layers of historical myth and misinterpretation and distortion, Guy and Fox are able to set Anne and Henry's tragic relationship against the major international events of the time, and integrate and reinterpret sources hidden in plain sight or simply misunderstood. Among other things, they dispel lingering and latently misogynistic assumptions about Anne which anachronistically presumed that a sixteenth-century woman, even a queen, could exert little to no influence on the politics and beliefs of a patriarchal society. They reveal how, in fact, Anne was a shrewd, if ruthless, politician in her own right, a woman who steered Henry and his policies, often against the advice he received from his male advisers--and whom Henry seriously contemplated making joint sovereign.

Hunting the Falcon sets the facts-and some completely new finds-into a far wider frame, providing an appreciation of this misunderstood and underestimated woman. It explores how Anne organized her "side" of the royal court on novel and (in male eyes) subversive lines compared to her queenly predecessors, adopting instead French protocol by which the sexes mingled freely in her private chambers. Men could share in the women's often sexually charged courtly "pastimes" and had liberal access to Anne, and she to them--encounters from which she gained much of her political intelligence and extended her authority, and which also sowed the seeds of her own downfall.

[weepingfromacedartree]

Ten Milestones: Travelling Together

Hi friends!!!

New chapter up for anyone interested! (It's a big one.)

CW: alcohol // drinking to excess

In an instant, Penelope knows that this one will be good. (Or even more likely — bad.)

Colin’s smile gleams with the reflection of his phone screen. He’s practically giddy when he recites the text in front of him. 

“Number Five: Travelling Together. Nothing tests a relationship quite like taking it out of its typical environment. Just like marriage, there will be many highs and lows on your first trip as a couple. For as fun and exciting as a vacation may be, there are a million things that could go wrong during your time away from home. A holiday away with your partner will test how you handle communication, problem-solving, compromise, and more. If you are with the right person, even the most disastrous trips will be worth it.” 

At those last few words, Penelope cannot help but laugh. 

“Too bad I’m dating a seasoned traveller who always handles our holiday plans perfectly. If only something went wrong on one of our trips; now, we’ll never know how we react to disaster abroad.” 

“Yeah.” Colin rolls his eyes, giddiness already abandoned. “If only.” 

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

Five Years Earlier: June 6th, 2018

Relationship Status: Not Dating

꙳

Day 0

Over the course of the last three years, finding Colin Bridgerton in a London pub has become an exceedingly rare feat. He spent most of that time in cities with different time zones than this one, and even his brief trips home left him little time for leisurely activities. This particular break from his travels, though longer than usual, has been as busy as ever. 

He arrived back in London on April 7th. He was actually meant to remain in New York for two more weeks, but changed his plans at the last minute. This choice was fueled by a variety of reasons, one of the most salient being his fears of missing his first nephew’s birth, had he come early. In the end, Auggie showed up two days late, but Colin couldn’t complain about having the extra time at home. 

The last two months were busy. Colin and Benedict found a flat together in Bloomsbury. (Colin needed somewhere other than his mum’s place to stay during his trips home. Benedict needed out of a toxic roommates-with-benefits situation he had found himself in.) Francesca graduated from Edinburgh. Penelope completed her postgraduate degree at UCL. Colin signed a freelance contract with a local travel magazine. Simon announced his upcoming Parliament campaign. Hyacinth starred in a surprisingly bloody musical production of Carrie. Just last night, Anthony informed Colin and Benedict of his plans to propose to his girlfriend Kate later this summer. (Gregory had been excluded from that conversation due to his abysmal track record at keeping secrets.)

Life in London has been so busy these last two months that this particular trip to the pub had to be rescheduled three times. But they’re here now, and Colin supposes that’s all that matters. 

“I don’t have to get a beer, do I?” 

Penelope is standing right beside him, and yet she has to practically scream in order to be heard. For noon on a Wednesday, the pub is surprisingly packed. 

Colin looks around, taking in the pub’s antique style and limited selection of bottles and taps on the back wall.

“Honestly? I don’t know. Even water might be out of the question.” 

Penelope doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, she pulls a face expressing her disappointment. A distinctive “V” forms in the centre of her forehead, at which Colin can only laugh. 

“Why would you choose this place if you loathe the taste of beer? We’re celebrating you, in case you forgot.”

Penelope keeps her eyes trained forward, as though she’s searching for something in the darkest corner of this room. With a deadly serious tone, she tells him, “They have the best fish and chips in Mayfair. If I go thirsty, so be it.” 

Colin laughs again, but nods in agreement. She has a point.

While away on his travels, he misses his family and friends more than anything else. He would be lying if he said proper fish and chips wasn’t a close third. 

Penelope opens her mouth to say something else, but shuts it when she sees the hostess re-emerge before them. She beckons them to follow her, then leads them to a particularly dimly lit booth in the back of the room. 

“What can I get ya both to drink?”

Penelope opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Colin clears his throat.

“Do you have anything other than beer available? Sorry — I know. I just loathe the taste of it. It always tastes like grass to —” 

His words stop short when the tip of Penelope’s trainer collides with his shin. When he looks over, he finds that her eyes are verging on vengeful; he has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from giggling. 

“We got vodka,” the waitress supplies skeptically. With knitted eyebrows, she looks to the bar over her shoulder. “I think.”

“Brilliant. Two vodka sodas, then.” 

Penelope still appears cross when he looks over to her again. Thankfully, her frown is all but abandoned by the time the waitress returns with their drinks. 

“To UCL.” He raises his glass. “And to those determined and lucky enough to survive it.” 

After huffing out a single laugh, Penelope rolls her eyes. 

“I graduated. I didn’t survive the Great War.” Before he can think up another quip, she taps her glass against his. “But thank you.”

“So, now that you’re free from the constraints of higher education… Any plans for the summer?” 

Penelope shrugs, raising her glass to her lips. 

“Not really. Just figuring out what to do next, now that uni’s over.”

“Next?” Colin echoes, genuinely confused. “What happened to working at Danbury’s magazine?” 

“That’s not a done deal.” She shrugs again. “My final interview was yesterday, and I haven’t heard back from them yet. If I don’t get it —”

“You will. Obviously.”

Penelope picks up her glass, and Colin watches as her eyes roll from over the top of it. She takes a sip that drains about half her cup. 

“Not necessar—” 

“Pen, they would be mental not to hire you. The job is yours for the taking.” 

Something new passes on Penelope’s face for a moment. Doubt, maybe. Or maybe it’s curiosity. In a brighter light, maybe Colin would be able to read her better. 

“And what makes you so confident in that conclusion?”

“Because you’re accomplished, brilliant, and perfect for the job.” He takes a sip of his own drink, short and syrupy sweet. “Plus, you’ve known the CEO since you were born. That always helps.” 

Penelope snorts in spite of herself. 

“I pray nepotism is not the determining factor in their decision.” 

“We both know you’re more than qualified. Does it matter what the determining factor is in a foregone conclusion?”

Penelope answers his question with nothing more than a simple shrug. 

“And what of your plans for the summer?” she asks in a shameless attempt to change the subject. To take the spotlight off herself. “It’s unlike you to stay grounded at home this long.” 

“Disappointed in the sudden lack of content on my blog?” 

That statement was meant to be lighthearted, but when spoken aloud, Colin can’t help but detect an edge of bitterness to his own voice. If Penelope hears it too, she doesn’t let on. She laughs. 

“No. As much as I love your updates, I can’t say I’m ‘disappointed’ in having you home a little longer than usual. I just thought you would be restless by now.” 

“A bit. But you know… That’s inevitable.”

Penelope’s face shifts again. Even in the shadows, Colin can tell she does not know what he means. 

“After three years of doing it nonstop, I’ve come to realise that the best parts of travel are the coming and the going. Arriving in a new location is always exciting and full of a million different possibilities, but inevitably that excitement fades away. No matter how fulfilling your experiences are in that place, there will always, inevitably come a time when you’re ready to leave. When you’re reminded that the place you’re in isn’t home — that your time there is up. Then you return home, and it’s refreshing and comfortable, and then it’s not. Life gets tedious and you grow restless and that inevitable cycle starts anew.”

Colin looks down at his drink, already growing watery due to the surplus of ice cubes in the cocktail. When he looks back up at Penelope, her eyes have grown even softer than usual. 

“But I have spent far too much time away from home these past few years. I can stand a bit of restlessness for a little while longer.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Especially if it means having these sorts of conversations with you in a pub instead of over voicemail.”

Penelope doesn’t say anything in response to that. Her lips twist into a sort of smile, scrunched together and pulled to the side. When her lips finally part, she asks, “So when are you going again?” 

Colin grimaces, suddenly struck by the fact that the date of his next flight is not all too far away. And due to the new contract, he couldn’t delay it even if he wanted to. 

“About two weeks. Venice first, then I’ll be travelling around Italy for the rest of the summer.” 

“That sounds exciting,” Penelope offers. There’s a far less complicated, albeit noticeably reserved smile on her lips. 

“Yeah. Of course.”

It grows quiet between them for a second longer than Colin deems comfortable. He jerks his head to the side, glancing around the increasingly overcrowded pub. Though the room around them remains quite loud, he can clearly hear the growl of his own stomach above the chaos.

“Where the bloody hell is our food?” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Thirteen minutes later, two orders of fish and chips arrive at their table in the back of the pub. One minute after that, Penelope nearly chokes on a piece of beer-battered haddock when her phone starts buzzing in her pocket. Seven minutes after that, she hangs up and looks over to Colin. His smile is even bigger than hers. 

“I fucking told you, Featherington.” 

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, an unconscious attempt to wipe the grin off her face. Her happiness is so overwhelming that it feels as though it’s pouring out of her. 

“When do you start?” 

“Two weeks,” she barely manages to get out between taut lips. 

“That’s —” Colin lets out a shaky, happy breath. “We should celebrate,” he tells her after a moment. 

Penelope barely registers his words before letting out another laugh and raising her empty glass. 

“We’re already celebrating, in case you forgot.” 

Colin raises his own drink (also empty and awaiting a refill) and clinks it against the one aloft in her hand. 

“In case you forgot, we’re celebrating your graduation. Landing your dream job deserves its own celebration.” 

Finally, Penelope’s smile begins to drop. Her eyes dart to the bar on the other side of the room.

“We already ordered another round. We can make another toa—”

“No, Pen. A proper celebration.”

“Wha—”

“You’re the newest columnist at Queenmaker Magazine. This is amazing — fucking massive, Pen! We should do something big to honour it.”

Penelope looks away from him again. This time, to the phone that has been gripped in her right hand ever since she accepted her dream job. She sets it face down on the table before meeting his eye again.

“And what ‘big’ thing do you have in mind?” 

A few seconds pass before Colin answers her question. In that time, his lips form into a troubling smirk. 

“Let’s leave. Take a trip out of the city. Or better yet, the country.” 

Penelope also takes a few seconds to respond.

“What?!”

“I said, w—”

“I heard you, Colin,” she interrupts. “I just don’t understand. Didn’t you just say you want to stay rooted in London until your Venice trip?”

Colin considers her words for a few seconds, breaking her gaze to stare up at the ceiling in recollection. 

“That’s not what I said at all,” he eventually replies. “Do —”

“Colin, I —”

“— you want me to call up Danbury and tell her how unfairly her promising new journalist just misquoted —”

“I’m being seri—”

“I’m being serious, Pen! You’re willfully ignoring my po—”

“There’s no time to plan a —”

“You just told me that you have no plans for the next few weeks. You know, save for landing the job that you just landed. Now that your summer is free, you can finally —”

Penelope has argued with Colin before. Not as often as she does with Eloise, but this is far from their first dispute. Usually though, he will at least let her get a full sentence in before interrupting. Usually, he is not quite this vexing. 

“Good god, Colin! You’re leaving for Venice in two weeks. Which — in case you forgot — also happens to be the same time I start working at the magazine. Temporarily ignoring the fact that you just told me you want to stay in London in the meantime, there is no time for us to plan out — or actually go on — such an impromptu trip. It’s impossible.” 

It’s only after Penelope successfully gets all her intended words out that she realises Colin’s demeanour has completely changed. The tips of his ears are tinged red. His left hand is covering the lower half of his face. He’s barely holding in a laugh. His eyes are round and darting to the side. 

When Penelope follows his gaze, she finds that their waitress has returned. Wide-eyed, she silently sets down two glasses (a Guinness for him and another vodka soda for her), then disappears back into the crowd. Once she’s out of sight, Colin bursts out laughing and Penelope takes a generous gulp of her cocktail. 

“As I was trying to tell you,” he continues, once the laughter has left his system, “I did not say I want to remain planted in London for the next two weeks. If anything, I was torn between my desires to stay and to go.” 

Colin’s lips stop moving. It takes Penelope a few moments to realise that means he has graciously given her the floor to speak.

“I understand that,” she says slowly, as if speaking to a child. “I also understand that you decided to stay in the end. That you’ve spent too much time away from your family as it is.”

Colin laughs — short and sharp. 

“Wrong again. Given your line of work, I would expect you to pay closer attention to people’s words, Pen.”

Penelope opens her mouth, then shuts it just as quickly. If she says anything, it will undoubtedly be delivered through a scream; she doesn’t have enough alcohol in her system to justify doing so in such a public setting.

“I didn’t say anything about my family,” he reminds her. “The only person I mentioned wanting to stay in London for is you.” 

And just like that, something new rises in Penelope’s chest, swiftly killing the annoyance that burned inside of her. She doesn’t have the words to try and name it. She feels at a loss for words entirely; her lips remain paralyzed as Colin watches her in wait. 

It only takes him a few seconds to realise she has nothing to say.

“At some point in the last hour, the scales have tipped towards leaving. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe you have any plans tying you to London over the next few days. So, if I am correct and there is nothing stopping us from leaving… Let’s go.”

Penelope doesn’t think there is a single person on this planet that she knows as well as Colin Bridgerton. After all, she spent the first sixteen years of her life studying him with the same insistence and fervour that a nun does a bible. (And the last seven inspecting him with the same shame and compulsion that an addict does their vice.) And yet, there are still times when he surprises her. 

No. ‘Surprises’ isn’t the right word. She knows Colin has a talent for making the world around him appear far simpler than it really is. To bend the light in such a way that makes you see the world that way too — even if just for a moment. 

There are still times when it overwhelms her. 

“You make dropping everything and skipping town sound easy,” she eventually manages to say. 

“Because it is. Do it once and you’ll realise just how easy it is. Especially when you have an expert like me involved in the planning.” 

Something about that last sentence sparks a realisation in Penelope’s brain. 

This is a game. Or, it could be.

Penelope sits up and sets her shoulders squarely. 

“Fine. But I have a few rules.”

“Go on,” Colin encourages, clearly intrigued.

“1) I can’t be gone for the next two weeks. I need to be back by early next week. 2) I don’t want to leave the continent, so no surprise trips to Antarctica. 3) You have a max budget of £500 for transportation and housing — for each of us. If you can find something that fits my requirements, we can go on a trip together.”

Wasting not a single second, Colin whips out his phone from his back pocket. His smile gleams with the reflection of his screen. Excitedly, he mutters, “‘If’ I can meet your requirements? It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

But Penelope does know Colin. She knows he loves these sorts of challenges. That he thrives under this sort of friendly pressure. And while she could certainly afford to spend more than £500 on travel and a hotel, she’s intrigued to see what he can come up with when given such a budget. (And fears what he might come up with when given anything more.)

As Colin stares intently at his phone, Penelope feels her own demeanour start to shift. Before, she had been too distracted by the perceived impossibility of the offer to give it a second thought. But when she does…

It’s tempting. It’s almost certainly a bad idea, but it’s tempting for all the same reasons. 

Though they speak on a daily basis, Colin and Penelope have spent so little time actually together over the last seven years. Even during his hiatus at home over the last two months, they spent more time talking on a phone than they did in person. To spend a few days with Colin and only Colin…

It’s tempting. It’s almost certainly a bad idea, but —

“Booked,” Colin announces, maybe 30 seconds after picking up his phone. 

“What — already?”

“Yup. £497 each. We leave tomorrow and fly home on Monday.” 

“‘Fly?’” she echos. Unsure if she should be more excited or scared, she asks, “Where are we going, exactly?” 

“Costa Brava.” Colin says these words casually, in the same way Penelope would expect him to say “Brighton.” 

“Costa Brava… as in Catalonia?”

“No, the Costa Brava in Wales.” 

He laughs sarcastically. Triumphantly. 

“Yes, Catalonia.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 1

Penelope Featherington doesn’t have much experience with airports. She flew to Ireland a few times when she was a kid, but those trips fell off right around the time she started secondary school. She’s met or dropped off Colin at Heathrow a few times over the last three years, but rarely stepped inside on any of those occasions. She could count the total number of times she’s been in or around an airport on two hands. 

Well, usually she could. Right now, her hands are too occupied wringing together incessantly to count imaginary numbers. 

She is standing by a wall of windows, body facing the planes taxied outside. Her head is turned to the side, towards the man who dragged her here today. (Metaphorically. Literally, he got them both an Uber.) 

Colin is by the stewardess desk, talking to the two women stationed at the gate. He’s just out of earshot, so Penelope can’t tell what it is that he’s saying. But whatever it is, it’s charming. She can tell by the way both women’s lips curl as he speaks to them. 

Penelope doesn’t know why she’s so nervous. She’s flown on planes before — a decade ago, but still. 

She shouldn’t be nervous about a two-hour plane ride. She shouldn’t be nervous about a few days in paradise. She shouldn’t be nervous about how so much can change in — she checks her phone — 22 hours. 

She should be more like Colin; he’s never nervous about anything. 

“Good news,” he tells her, walking up with two freshly printed tickets. “I got us a free upgrade.”

“Really?” she asks. Although really, she should have known. He got them two roundtrip tickets at the last minute for £97 each. Suffice to say, they were not very good seats. Penelope couldn’t have cared less, but Colin…

Before he can so much as nod, she steals one of the tickets from between his fingers. She gasps.

“How the hell did you manage to turn two middle economy seats into two first class seats?!”

“Jesus Pen, calm down,” he orders through a laugh. “We’re on holiday, remember?”

Before she can let out another huff, Colin mumbles something about being a “frequent flyer,” then turns his attention to the phone in his hand. Though Penelope would love to press him further on the subject, he magically receives a phone call from his mum and steps away to take it. He only hangs up when the flight attendants announce that it is time for them to board. 

“Did your mum —”

“Come on. Don’t want to miss our flight, now do we?” 

“Wha—”

With that, Colin puts away his phone and grabs the carry-on at Penelope’s feet. 

“You don’t have to —”

“I got it, Pen,” he says nonchalantly. Then, without warning, he grabs her left hand and drags her towards the gate. 

This is far from the first time that Colin has grabbed her hand over the course of their friendship, but this specific occurrence strikes Penelope as strange. His whole demeanour suddenly seems off; she would ask him about it, if he weren’t hauling them towards the plane like it’s threatening to take off without them. 

His strange behaviour doesn’t cease as they continue forward. He practically pushes her past the flight attendant as soon as their tickets scan. His grip on her left hand only tightens as they walk down the boarding bridge. She tries to pull out of it when they step onto the plane and make their way through the cramped corner with the other flight attendants, but he just won’t let go. Through it all, she feels like a dog on a leash. 

Colin only drops her hand after they find their seats, requiring both his hands to place their baggage in the overhead bins. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Penelope hisses once they settle in. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, out of Colin’s reach. 

“Hmm?” 

He shoots her a pleasantly oblivious expression, as if he genuinely cannot fathom why she would question his behaviour. 

“You’re acting weird.” 

“No, I’m acting excited. We’re on hol—”

“Holiday,” she interrupts. “Yes, I remember.” 

“Good.” He smirks. “I was beginning to think you forgot.” 

Penelope almost makes a kidnapping joke, then remembers that she’s currently sitting in a first class cabin and thinks better of it. Instead, she pulls a book out of her purse and ignores Colin completely. She reads three pages before he starts acting weird again. 

Keeping his eyes suspiciously pointed at the front of the plane, Colin leans over and whispers, “Okay I may have lied a little bit.”

“What —”

“Well, a little to you. I lied quite a lot to the flight attendants.” 

Penelope remains quiet for a moment. She really, really doesn’t want to ask, but…

“What the hell did you do?” 

He meets her gaze again. His eyes look just as guilty as they do blue. 

Dropping his voice to a whisper, he says, “I may have implied that we’re on our honeymoon.”

For a moment, Penelope doesn’t know if she heard him right. There’s a sudden ringing in her ears, but surely —

“What?!” she practically yells. “You ‘implied’ that we’re married?!”

“Yes.” There’s a sudden edge of annoyance in his voice and in that look in his eye — a reaction Penelope cannot even begin to fathom is warranted from him under the circumstances. “Then I remembered that I’m not wearing a wedding ring and that our two random middle seats in the back of the plane might be a bit of a red flag. So —”

“You think?!” Penelope cannot help but interrupt. 

“Yes. So I clarified that we’re technically on our way to Catalonia to elope and —” 

His words stop short and his eyes cast downward. They land on her left hand. Just as one could expect from a chronically single 23-year-old, it is quite bare. 

“You don’t happen to have anything that could pass for an engagement ring, do you?”

“No, Colin. I do not happen to have an engagement ring on me. Seeing as I am not engaged!” 

Though she tries to keep her words at a relatively low volume, she can tell that the boarding passengers to their left are not allowing their argument to go unnoticed. A small child snickers at them as he walks past. 

“I’m sorry,” Colin whispers, but there’s a petulance in his voice that undermines any attempt at an actual apology. “I just wanted to see if they could switch our seats so we could sit together. I didn’t expect them to upgrade us — certainly not to first class. But apparently there was an actual newlywed couple that cancelled at the last minute. Now…”

When his voice trails off, Colin’s eyes shoot to the front of the cabin again. 

“Now I fear they’ll kick us off the plane if you don’t go along with the bit.”

Penelope, who has apparently lost all ability to whisper, shrieks: “The ‘bit?!’”

Another small child passes them in the aisle. This one looks more scared than amused.

“We’ve come this far, Pen,” Colin whispers, seemingly unperturbed by her increasing panic. “Let's not risk it all now.” 

Penelope bites down on her lip. She fears what she might say if her teeth ever unclench. 

All of this is risky behaviour — starting with his proposition at the pub and ending with this fucking “bit.” And Penelope has gone along with all of it up until now. After so many years of carefully keeping him at a distance (both physically and emotionally), she had agreed to a trip she knew would entail more time by Colin’s side than she could handle. She knew this was risky from the start. She had braced herself for disaster. But this…

This is overwhelming. Pretending to be engaged to the person she loved, let go of, then — despite her best efforts — continues to love so ardently… 

It’s too much for her to —

“Shit.” 

Colin’s whispered expletive brings Penelope out of a thought spiral of massive proportions. Her teeth unclench. Her eyes look to him, then to the spot where his are pointed. The flight attendant who had scanned their tickets at the gate is walking over with two champagne glasses in hand. 

“Shit.”

“Just follow my lead,” Colin whispers, then covers her left hand with his right. It takes everything in her to resist the urge to interlock their fingers and sink her nails in deep. 

The flight attendant congratulates them on the wedding and hands them the little plastic flutes. Penelope (who had taken Colin’s instructions to mean “just sit there and let me do the talking”) extends her right arm across her body and silently accepts the champagne. If the flight attendant notices the awkwardness of her gesture, she doesn’t let on; she’s likely too distracted by whatever charming nonsense Colin is currently feeding her to push them past any remaining red flags in their story. 

Penelope pours the entire flute down her throat before the woman disappears down the aisle. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Penelope promises through a whisper. Her words don’t have any bite left in them, though. She simply sounds tired. 

Before Colin can say anything, Penelope tunes him out with the headphones she had stashed in her purse. She doesn’t make it through the first verse before he pinches the little white cord and tugs the left bud out. 

“Why are you so mad at me?” he asks, his voice equal parts annoyance and concern. “I apologise for putting you on the spot, but I don’t see why it is such a big deal. Am I really so awful that just pretending to be my wife could warrant this level of disgust?”

Penelope’s teeth sink down on her bottom lip yet again. 

She wants to scream. She wants to point out his hypocrisy — to say it out loud. That he can announce to an entire party that he would never date her in a million years, but she can’t complain about being forced to play his pretend wife for the sake of a stranger. 

But she can’t say any of that out loud, now can she? Not without unravelling everything else — the fragile net she has spun to maintain their friendship these last few years. 

Pouring all of the willpower left in her body into a single smile…

“Don’t you mean your pretend fiancée? According to the backstory you crafted, I am not your pretend wife yet. I could still leave you at the pretend altar and live the rest of my life with a prince in the Catalonian mountainside.” 

Thankfully, her facade seems to work. Colin laughs.��

“I suppose that’s your prerogative. I don’t know how many princes are left in Catalonia these days, though.” 

“Plenty of pretend princes, though.” 

Penelope puts her headphones back in. She doesn’t hear the flight attendants’ instructions on what to do in the case of disaster. She ignores Colin’s sidelong glances when they begin to taxi. She closes her eyes when the engines rumble to life and the wheels below them pick up speed. She feels the plane lift into nothingness and tries her hardest to forget where she is. She moves her hand, intent on wrapping her fingers around the cool, silver divider between her and —

Suddenly, Colin’s hand is in hers again. Not covering it. Just holding on. 

Any anger left in Penelope melts away. She squeezes the palm in hers gently. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 2

“I never knew the ocean could be this blue. Not in real life.”

In the past 24 hours, Penelope has made some variation of this comment to Colin at least a dozen times. In fairness, the water is insanely blue here. The weather is perfect. Everywhere you look, there’s something breathtaking and unimaginable to comment on. And like he always does when they’re together, Colin hangs on to her every word. 

Right now, they’re walking along the edges of the Ruins of Empúries — a site Colin recommended they visit due to its history and beautiful views. To their left lies the ocean, as blue and breathtaking as it ever was. To their right lies the ruins — the archaeological remnants of two ancient cities. For the last hour, Colin has been playing the part of tour guide, filling the air with random pieces of trivia on the Greek and Roman settlements. 

(Thankfully, Penelope doesn’t seem to mind the noise.)

“The name comes from the word ‘emporium,’ which means ‘market.’ Before the Second Punic War, the Greek traders thrived here. They set up ports on the beaches, then sold all sorts of goods here for about 300 years.”

Penelope stops walking and pulls out her phone. She points the camera in the direction of a nearby stonewall, then chuckles.

“What?” Colin asks after a moment, desperately wanting to be let in on the joke.

“Nothing.” She places her phone back in her pocket. “It’s just crazy to think about all that time. In 200 BC, someone laid these stones down in this particular way, just so I could take a picture of them with an iPhone two thousand years later.” 

Very suddenly, a laugh hits Colin so hard that he has to place a cautionary hand on Penelope’s shoulder, so as not to risk doubling over and destroying this piece of history forever. 

“Thank god for the Greeks,” he says through a giggle. “Building such an innovative, thriving marketplace, just so Penelope Featherington could take a picture of its carcass two millennia later.”

Penelope laughs too, though hers is more embarrassed than unrestrained. 

“That came out wro—” she starts, but her words are interrupted by the sound of something high-pitched behind them.

Colin turns around. Penelope jumps. A teenage girl with hair the colour of butter stands behind them, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. 

“Oh Christ, sorry! I just —” The girl’s eyes settle on his, squinting. “Are you Colin Bridgerton?”

Thoroughly confused, Colin gives the girl a quick once over. She has pink-tinted Ray Bans resting on the crown of her head. She has a gold chain around her neck with the letter “L” dangling off it. She’s wearing a burgundy “Oakham Hall” t-shirt, which is tucked into her jean shorts. He’s searching for any little detail that might clue him in on this girl’s identity; he comes up empty. 

“Um, yes. And, sorry — who are you?” 

“No one. I mean —” She laughs. “My name is Hermione. I just meant that you don’t know me. I’m a huge fan of yours, though. I, like, love your Instagram.” 

Instantly, Colin’s eyes glance down and to the side, because of course this would happen with Penelope standing right next to him. 

Over the last three years, Colin’s work has accumulated more of a following than he could have predicted at the start. Between his blog, Instagram, and occasional freelance work, he has built somewhat of a recognizable name for himself. However, given the type of content he produces, his face is not quite so recognizable. 

Not once in three years has a fan picked him out of a crowd in public. Until now, of course.

“Lovely to meet you, Hermione.” Colin leans forward and offers his hand for her to shake. Though he is thoroughly baffled by this encounter happening in the first place, he does his best to not allow such skepticism bleed through to his voice. “It’s so nice to hear you enjoy my stuff.” 

“Oh, I do! You go to the most wonderful places and write about them so beautifully! I never get to travel. Well —” She laughs. “Except now, of course. But usually, I just live vicariously through your posts.” 

Colin, suddenly filled to the brim with an emotion he can’t quite name, does not know how to respond to the teenager’s words. His first instinct is denial, but Penelope speaks up from beside him before he can open his mouth to express such a thing. 

“I’m the same way. I’m not sure I would have made it out of uni with my sanity intact if it weren’t for his blog. Sometimes, a bit of escapism is key.” 

Hermione smiles at Penelope’s words, but as soon as she stops speaking, the girl’s eyes go wide.

“Oh! How rude of me. I just realised I never asked for your name.” 

“Oh, please,” she chuckles softly. “Don’t apologise. My name is Penelope.”

The smile returns to Hermione’s face. Her eyes dart back and forth between him and Penelope. Before she has the chance to ask… 

“Pen and I have known each other forever. She edits all of my posts, actually. So if you enjoy my stuff, you should really be thanking her. She’s more miracle worker than editor. I mean — you should see the bullshit I type up before she spins it into something readable.” 

Penelope glances up at Colin with a wry smile on her face. Through gritted teeth, she says, “I’ve never known you to be so humble.”

Colin laughs just as Hermione asks, “Oh! Do you two always travel together? I never really thought about it, but I suppose I assumed that you travel solo.” 

“No,” Colin answers. “I’m always trying to get Pen to abandon her responsibilities and run off with me somewhere, but you know…” 

When he looks down to Penelope, there’s a very confusing look on her face. 

“I, um —”

“You assumed correctly,” Penelope cuts in, setting her gaze back on the girl in front of them. “He always travels alone. This trip is an exception.” 

Before Colin can say anything else, Penelope steps away from him and towards Hermione. “I can take a picture of you two together,” she offers the girl. “If you like.” 

“That’s so nice, thank —” Hermione cuts herself off and looks back at Colin. “If that’s okay with you, of course.” 

“Yes. Of course.” 

He nods his head to indicate that Hermione should stand next to him. She does, and just as Penelope lifts the phone to take their picture, she chuckles nervously and says, “Sorry for being so weird. I live in the middle of nowhere; I never see famous people out in public like this.” 

At the same exact moment that Penelope presses down and takes their photo, Colin unwittingly pulls a face. (How else is he supposed to react to someone saying that?) Thankfully, Penelope notices and, stifling a sudden plight of laughter, continues snapping photos until she gets something acceptable. 

When Hermione receives her phone back, she seems pleased with the results. Smiling, she looks over to Colin and thanks him for the photos. Then, without a single ounce of hesitation…

“Do you want me to take one of you and your girlfriend?” 

Though that last word may be incorrect, Colin doesn’t see the point in correcting a random stranger on such minor terminology. But at the very same moment that he answers “Yes” to the question that was asked, Penelope answers “No” to the one that wasn’t. 

“We are not dating,” she clarifies at the very same moment that he says, “We would love a photo, thanks.”

Before she can say another word, Colin hands Hermione his phone and pulls Penelope into his side. 

After so many years of friendship, there are certain routines that naturally form between two people. Movements that flow between them, automatic from so much practice over time. For example, when Penelope and Colin take a picture together, his hand always goes to her side while hers always goes to his back. Always. 

Until now. 

While Colin’s hand does land on Penelope’s waist, both of hers twist together down her front. Where she usually leans into him, she stands straight. And while she technically has a smile on her face, it’s not the one he’s used to seeing in their photos together; it’s strained at the edges. 

When it’s all over, Penelope removes herself from the embrace, Hermione says goodbye, and Colin wonders what the hell just happened. He briefly considers brushing it all aside and just resuming his tour guide responsibilities, but can’t seem to find the words. 

He’s too annoyed. 

He’s been annoyed since the moment Penelope said “No.” Since she said that word in that emphatic, decisive way — as if clarifying the true nature of their relationship to a stranger was the most important thing in the world to her. As if being mistaken as his girlfriend was a fate worse than death. As if —

“So…” Penelope says suddenly, her voice noticeably lighter than it had been a moment ago. “How does it feel to be ‘famous?’”

With that, she steps back onto the path and resumes their trek forward. As he always tends to do, Colin follows close behind. 

“Don’t start with me, Featherington,” he warns, trying his hardest to match her tone of voice. 

“Oh, come on. She was sweet.” 

“I didn’t say she wasn’t sweet. She simply misspoke about the ‘famous’ bit.”

“Well —”

“I’m serious, Pen. That has literally never happened before. Not once in three years has anyone ever recognised me in public. I mean — she probably only noticed me because of you.”

Still walking right beside him, Penelope cranes her head and throws him a confused look. 

“What are you talking about? She didn’t know who I was.” 

“Well, no. But…” Smirking, Colin reaches over and flicks a strand of red hair off her shoulder. “This tends to get people’s attention. I, on the other hand, am rather unassuming. It’s —” 

Penelope scoffs, interrupting him. 

“You are not ‘unassuming.’ You’re so… tall. I find it hard to believe you go unnoticed in a crowd.” 

Colin shrugs. He tries to examine another strand of her hair, but Penelope swats his fingers away. 

“Agree to dis—”

“Regardless of how she noticed you — she still recognized you. Even though your entire Instagram feed is sunsets and food. It’s —” 

“Hey, that’s not strictly —”

“— cool that she recognized you,” she interrupts, looking up at him again. “Isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he supposes. “It’s nice to know my work has had an impact on someone. You know…” He looks down to her again. “Someone who isn’t biased because they’ve known me their entire life.”

“I can be unbiased,” she claims with little confidence in her voice. 

“You —”

“Have you decided on a narrative for your story yet?” she asks him, providing no context for the swift change in subject.

“What story?” he asks after a few seconds. 

“The Catalonia story.” 

“Oh,” he says after a few more seconds. “I’m not writing one.” 

After throwing him a bewildered look, she asks, “What wouldn’t you write a story about this place?”

“I’m on vacation. Why would I work?” 

“Well… That logic might apply to someone whose job doesn’t require them to go on vacation, but —”

“Excuse me,” he interrupts, mock offence heavy on his tongue. “My profession requires me to travel. Even travel writers need a vacation every once in a while. A break from having to spend each waking moment of my day constructing narratives and meeting deadlines and memorialising every little detail of my experiences.” 

Penelope nods sympathetically at his words, but is quick with her response.

“What about your two-month hiatus at home? Wasn’t that supposed to be your break from paradise?” 

“Yes — but this is an extension of that break. And in case you forgot, we’re only in Catalonia because of you and your accomplishments.” 

A scoff that nearly sounds like a laugh escapes her mouth. 

“I seem to recall the planning of this trip very differently than you do.” 

“Agree to disagree.”

“Getting back to the point… Don’t you owe it to your readers to write about this place? To memorialise just a little bit of paradise for those who aren’t lucky enough to experience it themselves?��� 

Feet still propelling him forward, Colin takes a moment to consider her words. He thinks of Hermione. He thinks of the little black and white follower count attached to his Instagram. He thinks of his dreams. He thinks of Penelope on that night in December. 

Something to propel me forward and set me free.

“No,” he tells her. “I think that’s bullshit.” 

Penelope gapes at him, clearly caught off guard by his bluntness. 

“Pardon?”

“The more time you spend worrying about what you ‘owe’ the world, the more you risk losing sight of what matters to you. I’m elated to know that people enjoy my work, but I can’t let that pressure me into becoming a slave to my purpose. I can’t let it stop me from running off for a weekend with a friend just to enjoy myself.”

A moment passes by with no words between them. It’s not silent, though; the ocean is too loud. When Penelope finally speaks, the crashing waves nearly drown her words out.

“I thought the only reason we came here was for me. I don’t remember your enjoyment being a factor in this at all.” 

Colin can’t help but laugh. 

“Yes, well… I suppose my pleasure is an added bonus.” 

Penelope laughs, too. 

“Even then… What if you wrote something just for yourself? So twenty years from now, you can remember how the water reflects the sun here . Or how you spent an hour describing the differences between the Greek Empúries and the Roman Empúries.”

Stifling a laugh… 

“Technically, the Roman settlement was called ‘Emporiæ.’”

“Regardless,” she murmurs. “Maybe you can write a different kind of story. One that isn’t meant for anyone’s eyes, except your own. I mean — twenty years from now, wouldn’t it be nice to have a written account of this stunning place? To hold onto moments like these,” she raises her hands towards the scenery around them, “long after our feet carry us away from them?” 

Colin considers her words for a moment. A very brief moment. 

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary for this trip.” It’s only after Penelope throws him a questioning glance that he continues, “If I were alone, then sure — I might worry about forgetting certain details about this place and be tempted to jot them down. But I’m not alone. If I want to come back to this moment twenty years from now, I’ll just talk to you about it.” 

When Colin looks over to Penelope again, he finds that her cheeks are burning a bright shade of pink. He would blame the sun, if it weren't for the colour’s rather sudden appearance on her skin.

“Are you —” he starts, at the very same moment that she blurts out, “Do you ever get lonely on your trips? It just — it seems like a lot of time spent by yourself.” 

Involuntarily, Colin’s lips twist together — as if his body is preventing him from answering such a complicated question too quickly. 

In truth, he does get lonely on his travels, but that word doesn’t have the sting it once did. There’s an inherent loneliness to this job — especially for someone like Colin, who cannot focus on things like narratives and deadlines and details unless free from distraction. This particular trip has made that abundantly clear; he hadn’t even thought about writing until Penelope brought it up just a moment ago. 

For Colin, finding success over the last three years also meant finding a way to live with the loneliness. To turn it into something good. 

“Sometimes,” he finally answers. “But it’s a necessary evil. Writing, travelling, returning home — those things make the loneliness easy to live with. For now, at least.”

“For now?” Penelope echoes, suddenly sounding far away. 

Colin shrugs. 

“A man can’t travel forever.” 

Just as those words leave Colin’s lips, the two of them reach a fork in the road. They could turn to the right, towards the ocean. They could turn left, towards the ruins. They could even turn around, back to where they began. 

Penelope decides for them both in the end, her feet walking to the right. As he always tends to do, Colin follows close behind. 

Their footstops halt when the pavement meets the sand. Both sets of eyes point forward, towards the breathtakingly blue water. 

“You know, if you’re so worried about our feeble human memories being unable to do this place justice, you could always write about it. Last time I checked, you’re also —”

“No,” she interrupts. “You were right. I’ll remember this.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 3

The most difficult part of being in love with your dearest friend, Penelope has come to realise, is having to look at them. When she and Colin are apart — separated by school or a job or Penelope’s better judgement — being his friend is easy. It’s easy for her to be his friend over an email or a voicemail or even a Skype. It’s easy to keep her true feelings below the surface when their only connection is through a screen. There are times when it’s easy to trick herself into thinking friendship is not so different from (or inferior to) a romantic relationship. But when they’re separated by nothing more than a bit of air…

It’s difficult. Especially on days like today. 

Today was a beach day. They’ve been here since breakfast. Penelope spent much of that time hiding from the sun under the safety of a giant beach umbrella, unwilling to risk showing up to her first day of work with a sunburn the same shade of red as her hair. But (unsurprisingly), Colin had coaxed her out of the shadows more times than she could count today. 

Today was a test of Penelope’s strength of will. And her ability to keep her eyes trained upwards (an especially difficult task, given that her eyeline just so happens to fall directly on his bare, tan, surprisingly hairy chest). 

Now, she is back in the shadows, pretending to read a book while Colin is a little further down the beach. He’s playing volleyball with a group of strangers who just so happened to need a sixth player. He’s shirtless, just as he has been all fucking day. He’s serving the ball. He’s laughing with a teammate. He’s running a hand through his hair, his —

Fucking hell. Are his biceps larger than they were yesterday?

Shaking her head, pushing her oversized sunglasses even closer to her skull, she looks down at the book uselessly sitting open in her lap. In hindsight, The Scarlet Letter was far from an optimal choice for a beach read. But still… 

She should be able to get through a single line without her eyes wandering off to places they shouldn’t go. 

When she looks back up, she finds Colin scoring yet another point in his impromptu game. He’s laughing with that familiar, carefree refrain that always falls so naturally from his lips. He’s flexing muscles she didn’t know he had. He’s shining like gold beneath the sun’s reflection. He’s looking up towards the sky, a frown suddenly marking his otherwise pleasant face. He’s walking away from his new friends. 

He’s six metres away. Five metres. Four —

Fuck.

Once again, Penelope tilts her head down and pretends to be enthralled by the book in her lap. If Colin had noticed her staring, he doesn’t say anything about it when he closes the distance between them. 

“It looks like it’s about to rain. You want to head back to the hotel?”

Suddenly struck by just how dry her throat is, Penelope only manages to smile and nod in response. It isn’t until she and Colin are halfway back to the hotel that she realises how long it’s been since she’s said anything at all. 

“I can’t believe I slept through sunrise again this morning.”

Colin laughs in that easy, reassuring way that practically makes Penelope’s blood boil after her day under the sun. 

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he says. “Under normal circumstances, a 6 AM wake up call is difficult for an insomniac such as yourself. Taking into account that your body still thinks it’s an hour behind back in London…”

You have no idea what my body thinks, she wants to say. But she doesn’t say that. Obviously. 

“Perhaps,” she says instead. “But we have such a prime view of it from our rooms. It would be a shame not to see it with my own eyes at least once.” 

“Well, I have faith that you can manage it.” 

“Thank y—”

“And when you do, perhaps you can bang on my wall a few times so I can enjoy the sunrise too.” 

Feeling much lighter than she had just a moment ago, Penelope giggles. “Perhaps,” she says, picking up her footsteps. They remain light the rest of their trek, even when the rain inevitably pours down around them, transforming their walk into a run. 

When they arrive back at the hotel, Colin immediately turns left towards the elevators. But Penelope, suddenly brimming with a very good idea, turns right towards the reception desk. 

“Good afternoon,” she says to the woman behind the desk, an older lady with a cherry blossom tucked behind her ear. Isabella, her name tag reads.

“Hello,” the woman says brightly. “What can I help you with, dear?”

“Can I order a wake up call for tomorrow morning, please?” 

(If ten alarms can’t wake her at the crack of dawn, perhaps the terror-striking sound of a phone call will.)

“Certainly! I just need your room number.”

“Of course. It’s 301.” 

As the woman types away at her computer, Penelope turns towards Colin. He’s leaning against a pillar, a few feet back. He’s smiling. There are undoubtedly puddles forming in the soles of his sandals at this very moment, but still, he’s smiling. 

Penelope can’t help but smile back. 

“There you are,” the older woman says beneath her breath, just loud enough to bring Penelope’s eyes forward again. “So Mrs. Bridgerton, what time should I schedule your call for?” 

Penelope doesn’t register the second half of Isabella’s question, her mind suddenly overcome with the sounds of alarm bells. 

Mrs. Bridgerton.

Mrs. Bridgerton.

Mrs. Fucking. Bridgerton.

“What?!” 

The word shoots out of her mouth before she can stop it. She regrets it immediately. This kind woman doesn’t deserve such displaced aggression. That aggression should be aimed directly at the man standing behind them both. 

“I’m sorry, dear. I was saying —” 

“No, I’m sorry, truly. I just —” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m not Mrs. —” 

She takes another breath. She says a prayer. She pretends to be a normal person — one who would have no reason to crack under the sheer irony of being mistaken as Colin Bridgerton’s wife.

 “I don’t need that wake up call anymore, but thank you so much for your time. Sorry again.” 

When she turns around, Colin isn’t smiling anymore. 

“A word?” she hisses as she stomps past him on the way to the elevator. 

“Pen, what are you do—”

She stops short in the middle of the lobby. So short, in fact, that Colin nearly runs right into her. Thankfully, Penelope has a lifetime’s worth of practice getting out of other people’s way; she dodges him at the last second.

“What did you do, Colin? Did you tell them we’re on our honeymoon, like you did at the airport?” 

She tears her eyes away from his to quickly glance at the room around them. 

Their hotel is gorgeous. It used to be a historic Spanish villa, but was renovated and transformed for lodging just a few years ago. It is not the type of place you can snag for just £100 a night (especially with the views they have from their rooms upstairs). Penelope realised this fact the very moment they walked into this lobby Thursday night, but after the stressful flight and initial pretend wife debacle, Penelope had chosen to overlook it then. Suffice to say, that instinct has long since left her body. 

“Is that how you were able to get us this place for so cheap?” 

“No. I didn’t do that.” 

Colin’s eyes don’t look away from hers as he speaks. She knows that he isn’t lying, but…

“How the fuck did you, then?” 

She doesn’t yell, but she doesn’t disguise her words with a whisper, either. Colin doesn’t make any attempt to disguise his emotions, either. He’s looking down at her with a disbelieving, bitter look — as if he is the wronged party here. 

“I —”

“And why did she call me ‘Mrs. Bridgerton?’” she interrupts. Her voice is neutral in volume, but biting in its tone. 

Colin takes a breath and wipes that bitter expression off his face. (For now, at least.) 

“I know the owner,” he admits. His tone reeks of a nonchalance that Penelope feels is unwarranted, given the present circumstances. “I didn’t even make the reservation. He probably put my name down on both rooms and the receptionist got confused.” 

“You know the owner?” she asks, incredulous. 

“Family friend,” he clarifies, stunning Penelope back into silence. 

After twenty-three years of living in such close proximity to the Bridgertons, she should be used to this by now. She doesn’t need to be reminded of the family’s seemingly infinite web of connections or be surprised at their ability to pull from them to get whatever it is that they want or need. But even now, it’s difficult for her to fully grasp. 

At her silence, Colin decides to change tactics. Smirking, he continues, “I mean — how would I even pull that scheme off? We have two adjoining rooms. That would be a rather large red flag for a supposed honeymoon.” 

Much quieter than she was a moment ago (but just as vexed), Penelope tells him, “I have faith in your ability to get around such minor details. If it means getting what you want.” 

“Hey — if you didn’t want me to use any special discounts on this trip, you should have stipulated that in the rules of the game.”

After cringing at his use of the term special discounts, Penelope decides to give up. Turning her body towards the nearest elevator, she tells him she’ll “remember that for next time.” Before she can step away though, Colin stops her with a hand gripped tightly around her elbow. 

When she looks up, she finds that bitter expression has returned to his face. 

“Tell me, Pen,” he whispers, leaning in close. “Which has been the most painful blow to your ego — being mistaken as my girlfriend, my fiancée, or my wife?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Penelope feels as though she’s outside of her own body; she isn’t sure if she whispered those two words aloud or simply screamed them into the deepest caverns of her mind. It must have been the former, though. Colin’s eyes are wide. 

“Honestly, Pen? It’s a bit upsetting to know that my best friend would raise hell before allowing a random stranger to think that we might be —” 

He pauses for the briefest, longest second of Penelope’s life.

“Involved.” 

Penelope stands silent for several seconds. What is she supposed to say to that? What platonic explanation is there for that?

You’re being a hypocrite. You’re being cruel, she wants to say. But she can’t say that. Obviously. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles instead. Then, she slips her arm from his grasp. “I — I’m just in a bit of a mood. I think it’s the sun.” 

Her words reek of utter bullshit. They both know it. But at least Colin has the grace to let the issue go.

“Come on.” 

His hand quickly finds its position around her elbow once more. This time, his grip is loose. Five tentative fingers tethered to her skin. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 4

“What the hell are you doing?”

Given the notable height difference between them, Colin always has to be mindful of where his eyes land when standing right beside Penelope. But when crammed into small spaces like the elevator they’re currently sharing, his eyes inevitably start to wander. Now, they’re pointed at her phone screen. (Which is an invasion of privacy. Which is bad, but the lesser of two evils, given his current perspective in relation to his best friend’s shirt.)

She looks up at him, but only after setting a 25th alarm. 

“Tomorrow is our last morning here. I am not missing that sunrise.” 

She looks down again, resuming her all-important task. By the time they reach their destination and the elevator doors swing open, she has set at least ten more alarms. Her eyes remain locked on the screen as she steps foot into the lobby. 

They’re on the way to the hotel bar, a suggestion Colin made after an unusually tense 24 hours between them in paradise. 

Well, tense might be too strong of a term to describe the atmosphere between him and Penelope. But still, the atmosphere has been different ever since he let his ego get the better of him in the hotel lobby yesterday. Different enough to scare him. Different enough to prompt him to call in the big guns to set things right again. 

(Alcohol.) 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Two tequila shots into the night, Penelope is not having a good time. 

She had spent the entire day trying her hardest to force a smile on her face and keep her bad mood at bay until they land back on English soil. This had proved to be difficult — not just because of the insistence and intensity of said bad mood, but also because of Colin’s not-so-subtle attempts to uncover the true reason for her outburst the day before. (And the day before that.) (And the day before that.) 

His line of questioning has only become less subtle since walking into the bar. Logically, this realisation should have prompted Penelope to make one final toast then go hide in her hotel room, but… 

Alcohol has a tendency to make good ideas sound bad and bad ideas sound good. The latter is why she’s currently standing at the bar waiting for another round.

Maybe another drink will make us both forget what happened. 

“Here you go, miss.” 

On the other side of the bar, the handsome bartender slides two clear glasses with lime green liquid sloshing inside. Penelope unconsciously licks her bottom lip at the sight. 

Only after securing the glasses in each hand does she realise that she never technically paid for either drink. 

“You can put these on 301,” she shouts over the music. 

“No need,” the bartender answers in a low voice that somehow cuts clear through the chaos of the room. He winks at her. “Those are on the house.”

“Oh! Um. Thanks!” 

With that, Penelope turns on her heel. The abrupt motion causes one tiny stream of syrupy tequila to trickle down her fingers and onto the floor. 

Determined not to spill any more of her free drinks, Penelope walks to the table in the back of the bar with an abundance of caution. During the treacherous journey across the room, she keeps her eyes pointed intently on the glasses in her hands. When she finally looks up, she’s shocked by what she finds. 

In the chair beside Colin sits the most beautiful woman Penelope has ever seen with her own two eyes. The two of them are turned towards each other, talking about something Penelope can’t hear from where she stands not four feet away. She stands there awkwardly hovering above the table for a few seconds before Colin notices her return. When he does, he shoots her an aggravatingly endearing smile. 

“There she is!” He turns back to the girl on his right. “Paris, this is Penelope. Pen, this is Paris.”

God. Even her name is beautiful. 

“Lovely to meet you, Paris,” Penelope says, taking the seat directly across from her instead of the one facing Colin. 

Paris, in turn, throws her a smile that could rival Colin’s. Even in this dim corner of the bar, it manages to catch the light. 

“You as well, Penelope! Colin and I were just bonding over our most harrowing solo travel stories.” 

She’s American, her voice betrays. 

“Do you travel much?” Penelope asks after taking a long, greedy sip of her drink. 

“Not as much as I’d like to,” she admits, sighing a little. “But I had a few weeks free before my grad program starts, so I decided to say ‘fuck it’ and booked a flight over here.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope sees Colin open his mouth to say something. Before he can manage to, she leans towards their new, very beautiful friend and says, “That’s amazing. Where else have you been?” 

Over the course of the next few minutes, Penelope practically forgets about Colin and the unresolved tension between them. She’s too busy listening to their new, very beautiful, remarkably interesting, extremely funny, perfect friend Paris. (While also finishing her two free drinks.)

“Enough about me,” Penelope’s new favourite distraction eventually orders. She flicks her eyes from Colin to Penelope and back. “I meant to ask before, but how did you two meet?” 

Penelope opens her mouth to answer, but Colin beats her to it, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. Still grinning… 

“You know, that question is surprisingly hard to answer. We’ve always just known each other.” 

His response is the most infuriating string of words Penelope has ever heard uttered aloud in her life. Across the table, Paris looks as though she’s about to melt. 

“Awwww, that is so —” 

“I believe what Colin meant to say is that we grew up across the street from one another,” she interrupts, just barely able to keep her tone pleasant enough to not scare away Paris. “His sister is my best friend.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope watches as Colin’s grin finally drops. She nearly looks at him  for the first time since sitting down, but then her new friend says something that immediately dislodges the impulse from her mind.

Specifically, Paris delivers the funniest joke Penelope has ever heard in her life. 

“You two are childhood sweethearts? That is so sweet!”

Penelope snorts. Her reaction is so loud and unladylike that she fears her mother will be able to sense it all the way back home in London. 

“No! We’re —” 

She snorts again. Somewhere in the distance, she thinks she hears someone say her name like a warning, but it barely registers. 

“We are not dating,” she continues, just barely able to keep in another round of giggles. She keeps her eyes trained on Paris, who suddenly looks rather wide-eyed in her seat across from Penelope. “I mean — my god! Colin would never.” 

She hears her voice called out in the distance again, but refuses to heed its warning. She can’t stop now. She’s too close to the punchline.

“You know, he said that once. Literally. That he would never date me. Not in a million years!” 

“Pen!” 

Finally, she hears him. Her eyes snap to Colin. His face is made up of an emotion she’s never seen there before. 

Betrayal? No, that’s not —

“A word?” 

Before she can even register that he has moved from his chair, Colin stands above her. His hand is on her elbow. He’s pulling her out the nearest door. 

The breeze outside is bitter. Though the nearest beach is at least a half-kilometre away, Penelope swears she can feel little bits of the sea spraying on her cheeks. Neither of those sensations are cold enough to distract her from the warmth wrapped around her elbow. 

“What was that, Penelope?” 

“I…” she starts, with no intention of finishing the sentence. 

“What were you talking about at the end?” 

The first question had been delivered to her with fury. The second, concern. The next one that falls from his lips…

Misery. 

“What did you — what did I say? I don’t — I don’t remember…” 

All night, knowingly or not, Penelope had been using alcohol to fuel the pyre of her own misery. But seeing it reflected on Colin’s face now…

“It was nothing,” she lies. “Just forget —”

“No. Whatever it is, it is not ‘nothing.’ 

“Colin —”

“Pen, please,” he begs. “Just tell me.”

Penelope wants to summon the strength to be honest. She wants to destroy her disposition towards bullshit and tell him the truth. She’s not certain if that’s a strength she possesses, but she knows for a fact that she won’t be able to summon it with Colin tethered to her skin. 

Stepping backwards, Penelope untangles herself from his grip. She crosses her arms in front of her chest before he can attempt to take hold again.

“Honestly, Colin, it was nothing. It happened years ago — before you even left for Cambridge. At that party at Fife’s house, I overheard you talking with some of your friends. They must have seen us hanging out all night and got the wrong idea about us. They — they asked if we were dating and you told them we weren’t, that we would nev—” 

She sucks in a breath. She chances a prayer. She tries her hardest not to bullshit. 

“You were just correcting them. That’s all.” 

Colin doesn’t say anything for several seconds. He stands before her with twisted lips, like he’s desperately trying to hold something in. Then, he parts them.

“Kind of like how you were ‘just correcting’ that girl inside?” 

“Yeah,” she says, speaking 100% truthfully for the first time since they stepped outside. Honesty is hard, but his comparison is too apt to even try to deny it. 

When Colin takes a step towards her, Penelope takes another step back. The motion is enough to make her dizzy and, thus, remind her of the tequila currently sitting in the depths of her stomach. 

“Pen, I’m so sorry. I —” 

“No,” she interrupts, her voice definitive. “Don’t apologise. For anything. I was being rude inside, but you — you were just being honest that night. You didn’t even know I was there — that I could hear what you said. You —

“I hardly think that mat—”

“You should not have to apologise for simply speaking your mind.”

“That’s bullsh—”

“Colin! It was forever ago, can we please just leave it be?” She takes a breath. “Can we forget about this whole mess?” 

“How can you say that? It’s been —” 

Raising his hands into the air between them, he uses his fingers to count off imaginary numbers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six… 

“Seven years! Seven, Penelope. I can’t even remember saying it, but I —” He takes a breath. “I wish I could. If for nothing else, just to properly apologise to you for being such a dickhead.” 

“Col—”

“But you remember. And after what just happened in the bar — after what’s been happening all week — don’t you dare try and pretend like it’s nothing. If it was truly nothing, you would not be holding onto it seven years later.” 

That look — the one that appeared out of nowhere following her outburst inside — appears on his face again. The lighting is a bit brighter out here due to a nearby streetlamp, but it doesn’t make it any easier for Penelope to identify that emotion. It’s not betrayal. It’s not quite guilt. It’s —

It doesn’t matter.

Resisting the urge to drop her gaze from his, Penelope finally accepts that there are some things in life that defy definition. One of those anomalies is currently staring right through her, and there’s nothing she can say to make him see her. Bullshit or otherwise. 

“Fine. Apology accepted.” 

She turns to leave, needing the conversation to be over. But yet again, Colin’s hand wraps around her elbow.

“Can we please just talk about this like adults?”

“What is there left to say?” He opens his mouth, but she isn’t done. “You were right. I was hurt, but now I’m choosing to let it go. Seven years is far too long a time to take issue with a few words overheard at a party.”

“That is not what I meant, Pen.”

“I know. But it’s the truth.”

“Pen —”

“It’s late, Colin,” she interrupts, turning her back to him as she begins to step away. “Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?” He’s already beside her again, footsteps in line with hers. 

“Back to my room,” she huffs. “I wish to be alone.” 

“You’re not seriously suggesting I let you run off by yourself right now, are you?”

“Yes —”

“Pen, you’re drunk.” 

He certainly has a point but…

“You say that like you are not also drunk.” 

“Yeah, well…” He runs a hand through his hair, then promptly finds her elbow again. “At least I’m not as drunk as you.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

On the way back down to the bar, Colin takes the stairs. 

After ensuring that Penelope got back to her room safely, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his own bed and end this cursed day once and for all. But when he fished out his wallet to retrieve his roomkey, he realised that a different card was missing. That his credit card was sitting behind a bar downstairs, along with an unpaid tab. 

He takes the stairs slowly, step by reluctant step. His mind is elsewhere, unwittingly replaying the night over and over again. He’s trying to make sense of it all. Of any of it.

Not in a million years!

He said that once.

He doesn’t doubt it. But god — he doesn’t remember it either. He remembers that night. He remembers sitting on the roof with Penelope, then dancing with her in the back garden. He remembers laughing. He remembers drinking. He remembers being eighteen. He remembers what a massive arsehole he could turn into when surrounded by other arseholes like Fife. 

He doesn’t doubt that he said it — but he can’t quite explain it either. Lord knows he can’t justify it. The words just sounded wrong, especially when repeated back to him from Penelope’s lips. 

That he would never date me. 

Not in a million years!

Even in his own head, Colin struggles to explain why those words feel so wrong to him — why they reek of such potent bullshit. His dilemma is not made any easier by Penelope or anything she said tonight. 

Fine. Apology accepted.

The way she looked at him when those words left her lips…

It was like she disappeared. Her eyes didn’t leave his, and yet it looked as though she was suddenly staring at something far in the distance. Like she was staring through him. Like —

“Can I help you, mate?” 

Colin blinks three times, taking in his surroundings as he comes back to reality. His feet must have been on auto-pilot the last few minutes; he’s back at the bar. 

“Mate?” the smug bartender repeats. 

Not in the mood to dignify that with a response, Colin mimes a pen squiggle in the air. Thankfully, the man takes the hint and disappears down the bar to retrieve his check. Before he can return, someone on a barstool clears their throat. 

It’s the girl from before. The American. The one who sat at his table to make small talk, then unintentionally fucked up his entire night. (And possibly his entire friendship with Penelope.)

Brooklyn? No, that wasn’t it.

“So… What the fuck was that before?” she asks, her voice teetering somewhere between faux-enthusiasm and genuine annoyance. “Some weird foreplay between you and your girlfriend?” 

“No. We’re not…” 

He could finish that sentence, but he doesn’t see the point. This stranger has already received a lecture on the true nature of his and Penelope’s relationship — what else needs to be said? 

The girl rolls her eyes, dropping the fake enthusiasm entirely. 

“If you two aren’t dating, why did you tell me your ‘girlfriend Penelope’ was grabbing drinks from the bar when I first sat down?”

“No, I —”

His voice trails off again. This time, his mind is kicking into overdrive, desperately attempting to relive that moment of the night. Surely, he didn’t —

“No,” he says again, this time more sure of himself. “I said she was my ‘good friend,’ not my ‘girlfriend.’” But as the words leave his lips, Colin’s short-lived confidence crumbles. 

Good friend. Girlfriend.

The bar is loud and he’s consumed quite a bit of tequila tonight. Maybe he did misspeak. 

Good friend. Girlfriend. Good friend. Girlfriend. Good friend. Girlfriend. 

“Whatever,” the American says, pushing herself off of the barstool. “I hope you and your good friend can work out your issues.”

Colin gulps, because Lord knows that he hopes for the same. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 5

The first alarm goes off at 5:50 AM. Colin was technically asleep before it wrung out, but restlessly so. His body never fully settled into sleep that night, so it’s quick to wake when those artificial bells drift over from the wall behind him.

Another alarm starts at 5:51, then stops just as quickly. From his own bed, Colin can’t help but picture Penelope muting said alarm with her eyes scrunched shut, hungover and still 90% asleep. For the first time in what feels like ages, he smiles. 

At 5:52, another alarm rings out as Colin sits up, wide awake. He runs a hand across his face as memories and realisations from the night before come back to him with startling clarity. They fit together in his mind like evidence for a cold case he didn’t realise was a mystery until yesterday. A few more alarms ring out as he pieces everything together. 

Seven years ago, Colin left for Cambridge and Penelope left for Cheltenham and, for two years and three months thereafter, their friendship wasn’t the same. In those two years and three months, he lost the one person he could always and truly be himself around. Throughout those two years and three months, he assumed the shift between them had been an inevitable part of growing up and growing out of their younger selves. But now…

Now he can see it all clearly. 

Seven years ago, Colin invited Penelope to a party, occupied her time all night, then claimed that he would never date her in a million goddamn years. He said those words in a crowd full of people — so crowded, in fact, that he couldn’t tell that she had been there to witness it all firsthand. 

It all seems so obvious now. Of course she heard him. Of course the shift had been intentional — on one side, that is. 

At 6:05, another alarm rings. Colin barely hears it, his mind occupied by the question that had been plaguing him all week. 

Why is Pen so put off by the prospect of us being a couple? 

He knows the answer now, but it’s of no comfort to him. 

At 6:06, a new question rises to occupy that space in his mind. 

Why aren’t I put off by the prospect of Pen and I being a couple?

Perhaps that is the question he should have been asking himself from the start. At no point during any of the many misunderstandings that occurred this week had Colin ever been put off by the titles others had thrust upon them. Strangers seeing Penelope as his girlfriend, his fiancée, his wife…

None of it put him off. 

The 6:07 alarm seems to rewire his brain. More questions come to him. 

Is it normal to be enraged by the idea of dating your best friend? Is it more or less normal to find the idea… nice? 

At the 6:08 alarm, Colin asks himself another question. One he should have been asking himself for several years now. 

Is it normal to be so preoccupied by the sight of your best friend’s cleavage?

At the 6:09 alarm, long after assuming Penelope would miss her final chance at viewing the Catalonian sunrise, he hears something new from the next room over. 

“Siri, cancel all alarms.” 

After that, he hears the faintest evidence of movement from her end. Rustling sheets. Footsteps. A barely audible “Fuck.” 

By 6:10, Colin stands stiffly, inches away from their adjoining door. By 6:11, he actually knocks on it. 

It only takes a few seconds for her to swing it open. 

“Hi.” 

Penelope is looking up at him with the eyes of someone who had four shots of tequila last night. Her hair has been twisted into a long red braid down her side. She’s wearing a matching set of pink and white chequered pyjamas and slippers in the shape of little white rabbits. Colin can’t help but smile.

“Morning.” 

Without another word, she nods her head to the side, signalling for him to follow her out to the balcony. 

The sky is navy blue, save for the thin streak of maroon rising up from the edge of the world. It’s still dawn. It will be dawn for another few minutes, until the sun inevitably rises. 

Colin and Penelope stand side-by-side, hands on the railing, pinkies inches apart. Without a word spared between them, they watch as twilight bleeds into daybreak. As red turns to pink. Pink to orange. Orange to yellow. 

The sea reflects it all like a mirror. Colin sees it all with his own two eyes. 

“Is it everything you thought it would be?” 

“More.” 

When quiet falls between them again and yellow bleeds into blue, Colin can’t stop himself from asking and answering a new question. It’s the one that’s been hiding in the shadows of his mind for most of his life. 

Am I in love with Pen?

Yes, you fucking idiot. Of course you are.

The realisation doesn’t come with any amount of shock or denial. It just feels… 

Inevitable. 

This was always going to happen. He was going to reach this conclusion sooner or later. 

Tempting fate, Colin lifts his left arm and places it across Penelope’s back, hand settling gently on her shoulder. Both of her hands remain locked on the railing. 

As much as it consumes him inside, Colin cannot bring himself to voice his inevitable revelation aloud. Not after last night — after realising the pain he has obliviously inflicted on Penelope over the years. Not after this week — which had been planned in celebration and is currently teetering on disaster. Not after an entire lifetime of getting it all wrong. 

He can’t bring himself to voice his revelation aloud. Instead he asks a simpler, albeit similarly difficult question. 

“Are we going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Penelope says, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Of course.” 

Colin isn’t sure he believes her. He isn’t sure things will ever be the same.

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

“You know, Catalonia is beautiful this time of year. Perfect destination for a honeymoon.”

“Don’t skip ahead,” she orders, while also making a mental note on the topic in the back of her mind. “What’s next?”

[nikethestatue]

Maybe an unpopular opinion but I think bloomsbury won’t make Azriel the focus of ACOTAR 5 marketing just to play into the hype. I think if they make it about Azriel, it will be because the book itself is Azriel focused over Elain. Hoping it doesn’t come to that, but I feel like bloomsbury has been… relatively fair in marketing. They haven’t done anything actively to ignite the ship war (besides their silence, which yes in itself ignites the ship war… lol). I’ve seen some books where there isn’t even really a love triangle at all but the publisher markets the shit out of a love triangle, only for it not to be in the book. I don’t see bloomsbury doing that. When they posted that there would be a Nesta, Azriel, and Bryce bonus chapter, and then they posted a Nesta, Azriel, and Bryce teaser for HOFAS, I thought they were appealing to Azriel stans. But it’s more clear now that there is just a shit ton of Nesta and Azriel in HOFAS. Should they have announced the next ACOTAR main character a long time ago? Sure. But I think they were silent because ACOTAR was MIA for so long. I think (hope!) that now that ACOTAR 5 is written and is about to be marketed, they will be more fourth right and just post a damn clear synopsis!

I actually dont know how this will be marketed.

It might be a book centered on Elain (maybe, I am no longer convinced, but let's assume) but in terms of marketing it, I think BB know that Elain isn't popular or liked.

It's better now, but you still get 5 posts daily on Reddit about how much people hate Elain and how boring she is. Therefore, I think that marketing-wise, they might play up Azriel more, because he is super popular. They might even play up Lucien? because sweet ginger prince has a weird stronghold on this fandom?

They need to get people excited about Elain and her book NOW. Not 3 days before the book is published. Again, the lost opportunity of Elain setup in HOFAS is criminal. SJM couldn't have given her a part in a bonus???

BB hasnt done anything actively discourage the ship war, so I dont put much trust in them. I think they threw out the Nesta/Az/Bryce Bonus teaser first because they knew that Az would be the hook. They played up the crossover, like it was bigger than it actually was.

I guess we'll have to see. We have PLENTY of time. LOL

[violetflowerswrites]

Always Been This Way

Summary: Chrissy and Eddie have been secretly meeting up in the woods afterschool to get high together. One afternoon, their meeting gets far steamier than either of them had expected.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham

Disclaimer: mentions of drug use, allusions to trauma. Soft, silly, and insecure Eddie. Kissing, touching, and consensual oral sex (female receiving). Some swearing. This is pretty freakin smutty so 18+ for explicit smut and language. No spoilers for Stranger Things 4.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I am still not over the ending of Stranger Things 4 and then I saw all of the  beautiful artwork by @bloomsbury​ (the one that inspired this fic got taken down by tumblr - link below!) and I couldn’t help but imagine what it might have been like if Chrissy and Eddie could have gotten together if everything else didn’t happen. This is just my smutty smutty brain trying desperately to make this ship real! Hope you guys like it! 

“You’re not what I’d thought you’d be.”  

“A freak?”

…

Chrissy threw her head back in ecstasy, her fingers tangled in Eddie Munson’s mess of curls, and his tongue buried deep in her slick center.

As she panted for breath, moaning her pleasure, Chrissy thought back to how they got here in the first place.

She remembered the clock chiming 4 times, haunting her with a living nightmare. That is, until Eddie showed up in the middle of the woods, carrying nothing but a box of weed and his signature charm. With him, the feelings of fear washed away like standing in the middle of a rainstorm and letting the water run down the ends of your fingertips.

So she kept coming back.

And coming back.

And soon, that turned into more. Like, way more than she or Eddie could have ever imagined.

It started with sneaking a joint afterschool a few times a week, at their secluded picnic table in the woods. Eddie liked to call it “Lothlórien'' after the elven kingdom in Lord of the Rings.

“Welcome back to Lothlórien, Chrissy.” Eddie announced, perched precariously on the edge of the table, his bare knee exposed through his ripped jeans.

“What?” Chrissy replied, confused.

Eddie gasped in mock shock. “You don’t – you’ve never…? Chrissy, I am offended!”

“What! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Chrissy laughed, her blue eyeshadow-clad eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Lord of the Rings? The Shire? Lothlórien? Elves?” Eddie gestured wildly in the air before rubbing a hand down his face as Chrissy shook her head.

“Okay, today’s lesson is gonna be on the Lord of the Rings. And you, Chrissy my dear, are gonna be an expert by the end of this. Or, should I call you Galadriel?” Eddie declared.

“Gala…who?” Chrissy took a seat beside Eddie, her hip bumping into his on the table. Eddie glanced down at how close she was next to him, and quickly decided not to mention anything. Nothing in the world was going to make him move now.

“Galadriel. The Queen of the Elves.” Eddie explained.

“You think I’m a queen?” Chrissy giggled.

“Well, you are the queen of Hawkins High aren’t you?” Eddie retorted.

“Then, what does that make you?” She asked instead.

“I don’t know? A hobbit? A dwarf?” Eddie joked.

Now it was Chrissy’s turn to gasp in mock shock. “Oh, I think you’re much too cute to be a dwarf. Even though you’ve got the hair for it.”

Eddie turned to face her, a blush creeping into his cheeks. Did she just call him cute?

Meanwhile, Chrissy was looking right at him, her big blue eyes searching his face, her expression open and inviting and…mischievous?

Eddie started to lean closer to her, just as she tilted her head up to him and before either of them could think twice, they shared a tentative kiss.

“Chrissy, what are we doing?” Eddie whispered, his head pressed against her forehead after he broke the kiss.

“Eddie, make me forget. I’ll be your Galadriel or whoever you want. I just…I wanna forget about everything today. With you.” Chrissy admitted in a rushed breath.

Eddie grabbed the sides of her arms and pulled her in once again, kissing her deeply. Little did she know that ever since that damned Hawkins Middle School Talent Show, he’d had the biggest crush of Chrissy freakin’ Cunningham. And he couldn’t believe that right now, in 1986 on a random afternoon in the middle of the woods, he was sitting here, kissing her.

“Can I…?” Eddie began, too nervous to finish his sentence.

“You can do whatever you want to me, Eddie.” Chrissy panted, her chest breathless from that second kiss.

Eddie didn’t need any further invitation. He hopped off the table and desperately clawed off his jean jacket, the buttons and pins and zips on it rattling as he finally got it off his body and laid it on the wood.

“M’lady, if you please.” Eddie bowed and waved an arm towards the impromptu blanket, grinning to hide all of the uncertainty bubbling up in his stomach at what he was about to do.

Chrissy thankfully sat down on his jacket, and took off her own. Before he lost his nerve, Eddie bent down again and kissed her waiting pink lips, which she quickly returned. While one hand caressed her cheek, the other slid down her left arm, before gently lifting up the edge of her skirt, and pushing against her inner thigh. To Eddie’s surprise, Chrissy immediately let him open her legs in a silent confirmation that yes, she truly meant that he could do anything he wanted to her.

Anything.

So, Eddie let his fingers explore Chrissy’s body, his hand quickly finding her cotton-clad core, and he swiped up, briefly. Gently. Lightly.

But Chrissy still jumped. And said nothing. She simply smiled into the kiss, and continued to let her lips do all the talking against Eddie’s.

So Eddie did it again. And again. Until Chrissy was moaning aloud and finally, she pushed Eddie back and braced herself on his shoulders, looking down at Eddie “the freak” Munson’s hand disappearing underneath her green cheerleader skirt. She flicked her head up, her bangs flopping messily onto her forehead.

“Eddie…can I have more?” Chrissy requested, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked up at him with those big doe eyes and Eddie melted on the spot.

He nodded rapidly, his hair becoming a tornado around his head. Eddie planted himself on the bench, his face directly across from Chrissy’s waiting center, and he was just about ready to make Chrissy forget her name, her address, her problems–everything– when she suddenly said…

“Wait.”

Those four letters were enough to make Eddie freeze and he was sure it was over. Every sexual fantasy that he’d had about Chrissy Cunningham, which were somehow miraculously coming true today, were gonna be stopped in their tracks. He knew it was too good to be true. Chrissy was too good. Too good for him at least. He was too much of a freak, an outsider. Chrissy was a cheerleader for Christ’s sake and who was he? A DnD addict who sold drugs from his Uncle’s crappy trailer and couldn’t graduate from high school for the third time in a row. Yeah, that was it. Chrissy realized she’s too good for him and this was all a huge freakin’ mistake.

But what happened next surprised him. It surprised the shit out of him.

Chrissy simply reached up and pulled the green scrunchie off of her ponytail and gathered Eddie’s hair in her hands, tying it up neatly at the back of his head.

“There. Now you can keep going.” Chrissy smiled sweetly down at him, admiring how she could see his cute face better with his hair pulled back.

Eddie looked up in awe, watching as Chrissy’s gorgeous strawberry blonde now cascaded down her shoulders, the afternoon sunlight catching the golden strands of her hair.

It was at that moment that he knew he was a goner for Chrissy Cunningham.

So he pulled down her panties and ate her out like she had never experienced before. His tongue dove as deep as it could into her center, licking lines up and down her folds. Her right hand clutched Eddie’s jacket on the table, twisting the fabric as he kept his assault on her sensitive flesh going.

Eddie’s hands gripped Chrissy’s soft thighs as tightly as he could, bringing her legs up over his shoulders so that he could bury himself inside her as much as possible. She tasted salty and sweet at the same time, and her juices dribbled down his chin in the sexiest way he could have ever imagined.

In fact, this was far better than anything he had ever imagined. Far better.

Because he couldn’t have imagined the way Chrissy would sound, her soft whimpers and quiet gasps filling the silence of the forest.

He couldn’t have imagined how beautiful Chrissy would look, with her head flung back and her loose hair getting tangled by the breeze as she trembled with pleasure.

And he definitely couldn’t have imagined how he would feel her hand tangled in his hair, pulling not so gently on it. And that he decided he quite liked having a little bit of pain with his pleasure.

Eddie’s lips soon found Chrissy’s sensitive nub and she let out a yelp when he finally pressed a soft kiss to it. Knowing that he had struck gold, Eddie licked circles around Chrissy’s clit, her core throbbing at his touch. He knew she was close when her thighs started to shake in his vice-like grip and she mewled underneath him. His face was smothered in her skin and his mind was filled with nothing but the scent of her sex and the single goal of making her cum.

When Chrissy came, she let out a single scream, followed by both of her hands digging into Eddie’s shoulders so hard that they bruised. Her whole body shuddered as orgasm traveled through her small frame from head to toe. Eventually though, she crumpled on top of Eddie, her fingers pulling at the hair at the base of his neck until he lifted his head up and smacked a sloppy wet kiss onto her lips.

Their breath mingled in warm, shallow pants as they both fought to calm down after that hot as fuck exchange. But the panting turned into giggling and the giggling soon turned into a fit of laughter.

“Chrissy– holy shit, Chrissy that was…” Eddie tried to speak in between giggles.

“Hot.” Chrissy laughed.

“Yeah. Hot. Sexy. Crazy!” Eddie returned her laughter. “What if I call you Chrissy CUMMINGham from now on?”

Chrissy gasped in surprise and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “EDDIE! You’re insane!”

“Every day, Chrissy. Every day.” Eddie replied, laying down on the wooden picnic table, totally spent.

Chrissy fell back with him, her hand folding into his as naturally as if it had always been this way.

[bookofmirth]

very curious anon that loves watching drama from the outside but never gets involved-

so, both elriels and gwynriels are completely certain they're right, and they make so many theories and long posts and all that jazz but... eventually the book will come out and then we'll see who got it right... and i'm just so curious about how the fandom will react!! obviously some will celebrate and post "told ya" and some will go ia for a while or bitch about it, but what about those accs that made in depth analysis? like yours for example, there's not that many accs that do it but some of y'all (on both sides) really seem to know your stuff yk.

and i guess that in my head i can see the stans that make a few comments and for the most part just shit-post get over it easily, but the ones that got really involved, either emotionally or intellectually (that's not the word but you get what i mean) ... looking forward to see how that turns out.

anyway, i just think it's funny that i'm more interested in how the "losing" side will react than the actual result haha.

no but for real i think it's fascinating and someone should make a study on fandom culture and shipwars🤭

I think that people already do study this stuff! (I just did a quick search in my university library website for the word "fandom" and it came up with 27k results.)

I don't think that people understand the lack of my caring about what happens in canon. The thing about this fandom that has been increasingly annoying is the way that everyone is OBSESSED with canon.

And when it comes to shipping, I almost could not care less. Literally nothing will happen in canon that will make me ship e*riel. If it becomes canon and they end up fucking for 800 pages, I will hate every single second of it. Then again, I also hate lysaedion, and it took me forever to get on board with elorcan, I am kinda meh on feysand after acosf. Nessian is pretty good. Rowaelin is OTP. I still finished the books and enjoyed other aspects of them besides the ships I didn't enjoy so much.

The things that I post are analysis of the book content that we know is canon, that we can analyze. I was an English major. I know literary criticism. I put that knowledge to use in fandom. GAH I still need to finish my post about how to do that in fandom. But I can guarantee you that not a single course I took asked me to analyze what would happen next in a series that was not yet complete. Not a single professor asked me to find "foreshadowing" in a book without having read the entire book or series first.

Personally, the fandom has driven me to make statements that I wouldn't have ordinarily. Y'all can ask @aelin-godkiller and @rayonfrozenwings, both who have known me in this fandom since early 2017. I have never liked theories because they are a shot in the dark. But now, everyone is SO OBSESSED with being right that it's driving me crazy. A few months ago someone asked me for proof that elucien would be endgame, and I said no. I'd still say no. I have very strong feelings in one direction, but I also know that sjm is going to do whatever the fuck sjm wants to do and we are just an unpaid part of the Bloomsbury marketing team.

I like meta. I like literary analysis, aka the analysis of the content that we have and that we know is true (in the loosest sense of that word, since we have to account for reader interpretation.)

I can predict what will happen when the next book is announced and/or comes out! There will be people saying "this was OOC!" or "sjm doesn't know her characters!" or "sjm wrote this for fanservice!" It's just a page from the fandom playbook when things don't go people's way.

[cartoonjessie]

Sunday #5 - It’s been over a full month now since the first time I saw TLJ, and a few hours since I saw it for the 5th time! 

A few things have happened in fandom this week. Star Wars made a Reylo joke on Twitter - asking for favorite ships, but saying Rey and Kylo didn’t count. 

@arbutus-blossoms had the nice idea to make January 17th Reydar day, in celebration of the 2-year-anniversary of the famous Matt the Radar Technician skit on SNL. If you haven’t seen it since, you’re missing out on a lot of jokes, so watch it! I am curious about the art this day will provide. :-) I love Reydar stuff.

Beholding the Golden Globes, many fans noticed Ewan McGregor was growing his Obi-Wan beard, and this had lead to many of them (and me) hoping he would reprise the role in a few years. Ewan himself says that he doesn’t know more about it than we do - but I don’t believe him. :-P 

In the upcoming week, I know I’ll post another artist promo for the Reylo Artist Commissions, but if you are an artist who would like to contribute, please do! I’m slowly running out of submissions and I want to continue the promo’s another week or two! 

Besides that I’ll be posting more “Reylo Fandom Ideas” - just small ideas on how to make the fandom even better than it already is. Those will provide hints and tips for your online fandom experiences, but also topics for discussions so we can get to know one another better. :-) 

My own posts/commissions:

Reylo Fandom Ideas #1 - basically a small rant about why blocking anti’s is a good thing for the Reylo fandom. 

My experience with watching TLJ in 4DX today.

Reylo Commission Spotlights for: ectothermicrorganisms - littlechmura - lilithsaur - heavenrose150

tiny announcement for my Reylo Viking AU fanfiction

Some posts worth checking out by other folks:

@dearmisskitty finished her wonderful Reylo NSFW comic called “Forgive Me” - she worked on it for 2 years and it’s sooooo long to read and very sexy. Check it out, but be warned - very nsfw. 

@ninjapancake314 drew a wonderful Reylo comic called “Stand With Me” which explores a confrontation between Rey and Kylo in episode IX - it’s gorgeous! 

Beautiful Reylo drawing by @elithien - of Kylo and Rey holding hands after a sparring session. 

@bloomsbury drew a very cute picture of shirtless!Kylo hugging Rey and it lost me 3 followers but it’s awesome so check it out. XD 

Hux has a very bad day - it’s because of Reylo - a hilarious comic by @kiddohah

Reylo Song of the Week:

You Matter to Me - Sara Bareilles + Drew Gehling

[All Star Wars Sunday Posts]

[advocatewrites-blog]

Into the Unknown Part 2 Chapter 4

Into the Unknown

Fandom: Undertale, Coraline (book), Over the Garden Wall, Paranorman, Gravity Falls (season 2)

Characters: Frisk, Norman B., Dipper P., Mabel P., Coraline J., Wirt, Greg, the Cat, the Frog; Sans, Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Asgore,; the Other Mother, the Beast, Agatha P., Bill Cipher, Asriel D., Chara D.,

Pairings: Not the focus. Alphys/Undyne, with mentions of Papyrus/Mettaton, sans/Toriel/Asgore, and Wirt/Sara. Due to the nature of Undertale and the dating segments, there is also interpretable Papyrus/Wirt, Undyne/Mabel, Alphys/Dipper, Napstablook/Norman, Mettaton/Norman, Mettaton/Mabel, Sans/Dipper, Sans/Norman, and Sans/Greg.

Rated a high +K for violence, mild language, horrific elements that may be disturbing to younger readers,  mentions of child abuse and bullying, character death that is sometimes permanent, and mentions of suicide that may be triggering. These elements remain relatively unchanged from their source material, which most all are for children, but discretion is advised nonetheless.

Disclaimer: Undertale was created and owned by Toby Fox. Coraline was created by Neil Gaiman and owned by Bloomsbury and Laika. Over the Garden Wall was created by Patrick McHale and owned by Cartoon Network. Paranorman was created by Sam Fell and Chris Butler and owned by Laika. Gravity Falls was created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Any other work mentioned or homage are property of their respective owners. This is a fan-made, nonprofit work that only seeks to entertain. Please support the original franchises.

Start from beginning / Previous chapter / Next chapter (soon)

Chapter 4

“I didn’t expect a laboratory in a place like this,” said Greg.

“What?”

Wirt was pulled out of his thoughts as he looked up. A building sat in front of them, plain except for the words “LAB” printed on its side.

“Oh,” said Wirt. “Well, maybe we should go around then.”

“I’m not sure if we can,” said Greg. He pointed to the rest of the road, barely a cliff left from where the lab ended.

“Then we’ll run in,” said Wirt. “And we’ll be very polite and we won’t stick around long enough for them to figure out we’re human.”

“Sounds like a plan. Lead the way, Spuds McKenzie!”

The frog croaked and hopped towards the lab. Two automatic doors slid open and the three walked in.

There was only one light source in the lab, a monitor that filled the room with an eerie blue glow. There was no one around, Wirt realized. The light hum of machinery felt a lot louder than it really was.

“It’s you!” Greg said, and pointed to the monitor.

Wirt turned. His reflection stared back.

“We’re going,” said Wirt as he pushed his brother through.

They were not halfway through the hallway when the lights snapped on, startling Wirt to a stop. A door opened beside him as a small dinosaur monster walked out. Its eyes instantly fell onto the two.

“Hello!” said Greg.

“Oh. My God.” It breathed. “I didn’t expect you to show up so soon! I haven’t showered, I’m barely dressed, it’s all messy and…”

It stopped its pacing and took a deep breath.

“Uh…h-h-hiya! I’m Dr. Alphys, King ASGORE’s royal scientist,” it said. “B-b-b-but I’m not one of the bad guys! Actually, since you stepped out of the Ruins, I’ve been, uh, been ‘observing’ your journey through my console.”

“We noticed,” said Wirt.

“I-I was originally going to stop you,” said Dr. Alphys “But there’s something about watching people on a screen that really makes you root for them. So I want to help you.”

“I think we’ll be fine,” said Wirt.

“But Wirt!” said Greg. “We could be famous!”

“She’s the only one watching us!” said Wirt. “And that’s weird!”

“A-a-actually, uh…” said Dr. Alphys. “T-t-there is a problem of…that. A long time ago, I made a robot named Mettaton. Originally, I built him to be an entertainment robot. Uh, you know, like a robotic TV star or something. Anyway, recently I decided to make him more useful.  You know, just some small practical adjustments. Like…uh…anti…anti-human combat features? And, uh…now he’s an unstoppable killing machine with a thirst for human blood?”

Wirt’s blood ran cold. A set of heavy thuds filled the room and echoed about.

“So what you’re saying is,” said Greg. “We’re going to be on TV?”

“OH YES!” A highly processed voice rang out through the lab.

The child was not there when the Cat awoke. Neither was Beatrice. The Cat could not help but think these two were related.

“ �|ҁ�w6 ,” said the man who spoke in hands.

“I believe they mentioned they can do that,” said the Cat. “Is that why you want me to follow them?”

“ �|ҁ�w6 ?”

“Hardly,” said the Cat.

“e �|?”  said the man, a tease in his voice that the Cat could not quite figure out. “ st-font-�|ҟ�  ҏ� �|Ҏ RESETTING� w6 ?”

The Cat said nothing. He was right of course, and he did not want to admit it out loud.

““,” bri"," MERCY�|Ҍ� w6 ,” said the man. “eigh�|Ҏ �w6.  MERCY “,” reast-theme3|�v�w6 .”

Frisk was the first true visitor to Aunti Whispers’ cottage in a long time. Most visitors just got eaten.

“There’d be no point to eating you, of course,” said Aunti Whispers in a tone that was probably supposed to be jokingly. “You would always just come back. It’d be a waste of perfectly good spices.”

The tea was served by a young woman who was more dust than skin. It was made of golden flowers. Aunti Whispers ordered it especially for them. It was a rare plant in the Unknown, but Frisk recognized the bright colors and sharp fragrance of that in the Underground.  It felt familiar, and not just because of that. It smelled like the Mr. Dad Guy that the Other Toriel had created. It reminded them of the flowers that had broken their fall when they first fell down, and again in the Dump.

“Now go rearrange the bones of the past visitors,” Aunti Whispers said to the servant girl.

“I already have, Aunti Whispers,” the girl said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then clean the floor. Our guests have tracked in quite a bit of mud.”

Frisk couldn’t help but feel a wash of shame as the servant girl’s shoulders slumped and she resumed to her chores. They cocked their head to the side, a quiet indication of confusion.

“It is best that Lorna keeps to her chores,” said Aunti Whispers. “Working will keep the beast within her at bay. Now then, child, what brings you to the Unknown?”

Frisk started to sign.

“I’m afraid I do not know the language of hands,” said Aunti Whispers. She did not say it cruelly, but it was still disappointing. Frisk fetched the paper pad and pen.

How did you know I could Save?

“You are not the first person to enter the Unknown and use the powers of your Soul.” said Aunti Whispers. “A few of them are downstairs now.”

I didn’t know I could do it, wrote down Frisk. They don’t write down the part where they found out they could do it.

Aunti Whispers hummed in thought. “Lorna! Fetch me a book from my bookshelf. Mysteries of the Soul, Volume One. Think it’s by some fellow named Faux.”

“Oh no…” Alphys said.

“OH YES!” Mettaton announced as he popped over the kitchen counter. “WELCOME BEAUTIES AND GENTLEBEAUTIES TO THE UNDERGROUND’S PREMIERE COOKING SHOW! COOKING WITH A KILLER ROBOT!!! PREHEAT YOUR OVENS, BECASE WE’VE GOT A VERY SPECIAL RECIPE FOR YOU!”

“A cake?” Greg asked.

“RIGHT YOU ARE, MY LOVELY ASSISTANT!!!” Mettaton said. “GO AHEAD AND GATHER THE INGREDIENTS. THEY’RE RIGHT ON THE COUNTER BEHIND YOU!!!”

“We’re not going to be a part of any cooking show,” said Wirt.

“It’s just a cake, Wirt,” said Greg. “And the audience is counting on us.”

“LET’S GIVE THEM A HAND FOR ENCOURAGEMENT!!! Mettaton said.

A confetti cannon exploded from behind the kitchen set, covering Wirt.  Greg clapped along before getting to work. He dropped off the eggs on the counter, dropped the sugar on the eggs, and the milk in the sugar.

“PERFECT!!! GREAT JOB BEAUTIFUL!!” Mettaton said. “NOW WE JUST NEED OUR SECRET INGREDIENT!!”

“Love?” Greg asked.

Mettaton held up a chainsaw.

“A HUMAN SOUL!!!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Wirt said. “Don’t you have a substitution or something?”

“WHY WOULD I EVER NEED ONE WHEN THE REAL THING’S RIGHT HERE?” Mettaton asked.

“Well, what if someone’s….vegan?”

“VEGAN?”

“Well—”

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA, SWEETHEART!!!” Mettaton said. “ACTUALLY, WE DO HAVE AN OPTION ON SET!! MTT BRAND COMVENIENT HUMAN SOUL SUBSTITUTE!!!”

Mettaton pointed off the kitchen set and out of the room. A wooden cabinet with a jar sat in the corner.

“That looks suspicious,” Wirt said.

“YOUR IDEA, BEAUTIFUL.” Mettaton said.

“I’ll get it! I’m a lovely assistant!” Greg said.

Greg ran off the set. The cameras followed him. No sooner did he lay a hand on the counter did it shoot up into the sky, taking Greg with him.

Wirt let out a series of panicked noises he could not quite form into words.

“OH DEAR. WHAT A TRAGEDY,” said Mettaton. “WELL, WE’RE ON A SCHEDULE, SWEETHEART. IF YOU CAN’T GET THEM BACK IN ONE MINUTE, WE’LL HAVE TO MOVE ONTO THE ORIGINAL PLAN!!!”

The phone rang.

“I know this looks bad,” said Alphys. “B-but I think I have an idea. S-see that button on your phone that says JET PACK?”

Wirt looked down at the phone.

“Press it,” said Alphys.

Wirt knew exactly where this was going.

“TIME’S RUNNING OUT, SWEETHEART!” Mettaton reminded.

Wirt swallowed, looked up to Greg so he wouldn’t have to look at the phone, and pressed the button.

He was a good twenty feet in the air before he could process his feet left the ground. He was not much higher when Mettaton began to throw things at him. The sense of vertigo faded as his attention shifted to dodging puffs of flour, eggs, and cups of sugar.

He had passed Greg by the time he was actually able to get his bearings. He looked just in time to see the jar that Greg had tossed it start to fall. Neither of them could catch it in time. It collided to the ground in a mess of glass and red goo.

“HUH,” said Mettaton. “HOW ABOUT WE GO TO A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS, AND WE’LL FINISH UP WITH THE CAKE WE MADE AHEAD OF TIME!”

Mettaton flew off closer to the real set. Wirt managed to catch himself and fly down as the dresser coiled back into himself.

“That was fun!” said Greg.

“That was terrifying!” said Wirt.

He pulled Greg closer to him, stopping him from going back to the set. Mettaton was talking to his cameramen, and wouldn’t see if they left.

“How about we leave before he notices we’re gone?” Wirt asked.

“But I wanted to try the cake,” said Greg.

It took Lorna a minute to find the book. It was old and musty, with binding falling apart at the seams and pages nearly yellow with age. It was big enough that it hit the table with a thud, regardless of how carefully Lorna put it down. Aunti Whispers turned the page carefully, leaning in as she read. Frisk tried their best to read over her head. They could only make out vague shapes; heats in different colors with pigment that faded over time, and carefully sketched triangle patterns.

“Souls hold a type of power,” read Aunti Whispers. “It holds their owner together and shapes their personality, no matter what they may go through in life. Bravery, Justice, Kindness, Patience, Perseverance, Integrity…the strongest of these, Determination. The power is rare, but its powers are innate. The ability to persist after death, or rewind time. To fix what went wrong, or what went right.”

I thought it was like a video game, wrote down Frisk. Every time I felt determined, it was like I was saving the game.

Aunti Whispers made a face of confusion. Frisk supposed she did not understand what a video game was.

“I will admit my knowledge of how Souls work is lacking,” she said. “That was not the kind of magic I work with. If you truly want to find the powers of your Soul, you should try to look within the Kingdom of Monsters.”

Frisk perked up.

That’s what I want to do! They wrote. Do you know how to get there?

“There is a way,” said Aunti Whispers. “But I do not know it. How did you end up in the Unknown in the first place?”

Another wash of shame overcame Frisk as they started writing. I reset.

Aunti Whispers studied them carefully, eyes cold with something Frisk could not read. “Were you here before?”

Frisk shook their head. They started to write things down, that they were in the Underground at first and then the Other World, but Aunti Whispers spoke again.

“The other ones that used Determination were much older than you, you realize. They were much more in control of what they could do. If you came about the power recently, you may not be well-equipped to use it. One small slip, and you may have traded places with someone.”

Frisk nodded.

I know I have, they sign. That’s why I want to go back. But not before I fix things.

Aunti Whispers did not understand.

Lorna did not fall asleep until well into the night, as her body finally collapsed from exhaustion. Frisk did not fall asleep until after that. Though Aunti Whispers had proven she had no ill will towards them, her house was not exactly comfortable sleeping in.

When they woke up, Lorna made them a small breakfast of things they couldn’t quite eat and more tea. Aunti Whispers only emerged to give Lorna more orders and give a final warning to Frisk.

“Beware my sister, Adelaide. She lives in the pasture. She must not be trusted.”

The Cat was waiting for them outside the house, curled up in a tree.

“I was wondering when you’d step out,” said the Cat. He sounded like he did not care. “I take it that little trick was how you ended up in the Other World, yes?”

Frisk nodded.

Didn’t mean to, they signed. You were in danger.

The Cat watches them carefully, as if looking for a sign they were lying. His sign reading was not too good, but he could ready body language.

“I don’t believe Beatrice will be joining us again,” said the Cat. “Do you know the cause of that?”

Frisk nodded. They didn’t want to say, and the Cat probably would not understand them anyway.

The two of them head off into the unknown.

Author’s Note: I am so sorry for the late update! I drank too much eggnog and lost track of time! Hopefully this should be the last of it, and the good news is I’ll post the next chapter tomorrow since it is rather short.

[leah-jeffries]

There are very few things that I plan far in advance and look forward to all year long (besides Christmas and Chinese New Year, that is) and one of them is Book Expo/BookCon. A convention completely dedicated to the love and appreciation of books? Surrounded by publishers, authors, and books? I love it. It’s pretty much the place I would want to be 365 days a year. I believe that earlier last year, ReedPop and Book Expo made an announcement that their selection process for bloggers would be narrowed down so that publishers could better concentrate on forging relationships with industry professionals like booksellers and librarians. I know that this announcement put a lot of potential attendees off (that and a huge sum of $300 to attend) which is understandable. I was concerned that because BookCon was being hyped up and beefed up with lots of high-profile guests that BookExpo would be lackluster.

Neither of us decided to attend Wednesday because there was a lot to do before we would go on Thursday. And to be honest, I think we needed to prepare ourselves for what was about to go down go down during Book Expo. For the most part, we wanted to spend our time on the show floor since that’s where a lot of the fun is for the both of us. So in the early morn of June 1st, we got up at 4:30 and were on a train by 5:30AM to make it over so we could pick up our badges since we didn’t do it the night before. It was also our aim to score tickets to Cora Carmack, Leigh Bardugo, and Maggie Stiefvater. While we were waiting in line, we made a few friends and saw some old ones, which I think is what is so great about being in the book world – you can easily align your interests and create friendships around books. It’s something we all have in common. Unfortunately, it seemed that with the Avid Reader Pass Program and others who seemed to be there since 3/4AM, Leigh Bardugo tickets were long gone. I’d been disappointed because I was dying to get my hands on THE LANGUAGE OF THORNS sampler which, yes I know – why am I so fussy over a sampler? Well, even as a sampler, it’s beautiful. Plus, I’d read that she might be giving our her SIX OF CROWS playing cards which is probably one of my biggest searches for.

We obviously navigated our way through the show floor since the layout was different than other years and grabbed all the totes (my one goal was to score the SHE PERSISTED tote from Penguin Random House in support of Chelsea Clinton that weekend) before going over to Maggie’s signing area. I have to say that I haven’t read any of her previous books. I’ve heard a lot of mixed reviews about both her SHIVER and RAVEN CYCLE series and I just don’t like delving into books that are really volatile. But ALL THE CROOKED SAINTS seemed so interesting and we had a ticket for it, so why not? After that, we just roamed the show floor to see what all the booths had to offer and we both had the consensus that Book Expo was very low key and relaxing for the most part. I know that so many were discouraged from coming, but it made the experience for those that did more pleasurable. Yeah, there were a lot of people, but we had no major mishaps.

By the end of the day, the pair of us got most of the books we wanted (with Kristen’s wonderful schedule and timing skills) and we were pretty exhausted by the time we got back home. I was determined to be selective about the books I brought home because when we first attended the convention, I made the mistake of grabbing anything and having no room for most of the things I didn’t care for – so I wasn’t as tired as Kristen was (whom had gotten a lot of books she wanted).

The highlights of Thursday were meeting Cora Carmack and Leigh Bardugo (I know! I got to meet her!). I was delighted to see a finished copy of Cora Carmack’s ROAR which I had the opportunity to read as an ARC. It is a beautiful, beautiful book in my opinion and definitely has a unique and fresh take on fantasy stories. I will be posting my review soon for it so be on the lookout! Plus, she was such a delightful person to talk to and just overall lovely (pretty much all the authors we met were lovely).

So by happenstance, I got to meet Leigh in the Autographing Area and my goodness, her hair color was gorgeous. I’ve met very few people who could pull off the dark gray/silver look and my gosh, can that woman pull it off. She was surrounded by her Macmillan team and they were all rather kind. I was not there to get THE LANGUAGE OF THORNS because Fiercereads was promoting Grishaverse in the Crystal Palace for most of the convention so they had copies there for the taking! I had read that her book had won the Teen Choice Book Award and had wanted to congratulate her on that. Leigh Barduo never ceases to impress me with her humility and surprise over these sorts of achievements. I did bring my French SIX OF CROWS in the hopes that she would sign it (which she obviously did because she’s just so dang kind).

Day one of Book Expo was a success to say in the least. We had decided to approach Friday with less of a plan, but we definitely had our list of things we wanted, but didn’t necessarily NEED if we couldn’t get them. Fortunately, the ones we wanted (WARCROSS and BEASTS MADE OF NIGHT), we received previously. In terms of ticketed authors, we wanted to aim for Colleen Hoover and Marissa Meyer. I knew that if we didn’t get Marissa Meyer, it wasn’t a huge ordeal since it was a sampler and RENEGADES will be out within a few months. Nevertheless, I would have loved to say hello to Marissa once more. We managed to snag Colleen Hoover and Neil Patrick Harris (which we later gave away because it was later in the day and we just couldn’t fathom staying much longer after little sleep and 12K steps) so it was another day to the show floor for us! What I really loved was watching the interaction between attendees and the exhibitors – particularly the contrast between the smaller and big five publishers. It’s obviously a stark difference, but at the same time – it’s nice to think about how the big five were small once and look where they are now.

As every book dragon does, we snagged the books that we’d been hoping to get on our list (though, not the end of the world if we didn’t) and the biggest (and most competitive) event of the day was Leigh Bardugo’s WARBRINGER from Random House. We were rather guilty of hovering around the pillars near Penguin Random House, but the one good thing about Book Expo was that the attendees seemed to get along much better and there was very little hostility, if any at all. Somehow, against all odds, those who wanted WARBRINGER banded together to create a pretty calm and collective line. There were people in line, wonderful people, who understood the fairness of who had been there the longest and wanted to keep order. In this line, I saw some really great compassion and organization spring out from nearly everyone. Once the signing started, it went by quickly and everyone seemed relatively happy. We were rather happy to be part of such a collective group that showed that type of maturity. I imagine that if Book Expo hadn’t decided to screen its attendees this year, it would have been a different story.

When Friday and Book Expo came to a close, I was sad, but excited because BookCon would be starting the next day. Out of my bounty from Book Expo, I think I was really looking forward to:

Reign the Earth by A.C. Gaughen (Bloomsbury)

Wonder Woman: Warbringer by Leigh Bardugo (Random House)

Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust (Harlequin)

Wild Beauty by Anna-Marie McLemore (Macmillan)

Cruel Prince by Holly Black (Hachette)

The Hearts We Sold by Emily Lloyd-Jones (Hachette)

All the Crooked Saints by Maggie Stiefvater (Scholastic)

This Mortal Coil by Emily Suvada (Simon & Schuster)

 Zero Repeat Forever by G.S. Prendergast (Simon & Schuster)

And had we not gotten them before the convention:

Warcross by Marie Lu (Penguin)

Beast Made of Night by Tochi Onyebuchi (Penguin)

To be honest, there were a lot of books and that meant a lot of blurs, but nevertheless, everyone seemed to find something they really wanted at Book Expo.

One regret I do have is being unable to start relationships with publishers. I love going to these things because it means meeting the writers who have built such wonderful words, but in hindsight, I lose the opportunity to meet with the professional book pushers themselves. I really admire them for all that they do for their authors (include surviving BookCon) and know that I should really set some time aside to talk with them and just stay in touch. I, myself, am somewhat socially awkward at times and never want to bother professionals when they’re actually working, but it’s always nice to see that they’re open to chatting with people if they wish to do so.

Book Expo…to say in the least, was just so…chill? Sure, there were times where anxieties were heightened and patience was on edge, but overall, there’s nothing stopping me from wanting to attend next year. It seemed like there was a lot of more space and walking space which was nice. I do feel like the shift in where the booths usually were threw me off and therefore, I seemed to visit them less than I would have liked (this was more so about HarperCollins…they just seemed so far away from everyone else!). My experience with ReedPop events have always been good and I love that they host them at the Jacob Javits Center (which is a BEAUTIFUL location).

So I’d have to say that Book Expo 2017…you were a success. Let’s make 2018 a good one, too!