#motorway design
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rüttenscheider straße // essen rüttenscheid
colours, shapes, structures! part II
houses, advertising, noise barriers.
the stacked city.
#nrw#germany#essen rüttenscheid#rüttenscheid#h#photograpy#architcture#architecture photography#autobahn#motorway#motorway design#autobahn design#design#ruhrpott#ruhrgebiet#ruhr area#german design#german architecture
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the milton keynes driving experience
#personal crap#allegedly it's based on the way american cities are designed and if so i'm so sorry to all of you#and walking was even worse#i had to cross a motorway with practically a blind bend and hope i wouldn't get run over#bc they haven't heard of these crazy things called 'pedestrian crossings' in mk apparently
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1970s Welcome Break badge
Here's perhaps my favourite of the old badges in my collection. This is a badge for a relatively obscure diner chain that operated in the 1970s on A-roads in southern England. It was a chain called... Welcome Break.
Yes - this is a very familiar brand name around here as it's the name of the second largest chain of motorway service areas. But modern Welcome Break was formed in 1983, a while after this chain closed. So what happened here?
To start, original Welcome Break has interesting origins. It emerged as a result of the disastrous merger between Trusthouses and Forte - two huge hospitality brand names in the early 1970s. Charles Forte talks at length of his side of the story in his 1980s autobiography if anyone fancies a detailed reading of it, but to summarise and simplify the story: Trusthouses and Forte's management did not get on well together... at all. The two businesses had two completely different managerial styles which quickly caused rifts between the two sides. The whole situation got so severe that Allied Breweries, a similar big company, tried to buy out the merged Trust Houses Forte (THF) after spotting the group's increasing weakness. True to the situation, both sides disagreed immensely on whether to let Allied take over. Team Trusthouses wanted the merger, Team Forte did not. In the end, Forte's side won and Allied quit. As a result of this and the general unhappiness with the THF merger as a whole, a whole wave of Trusthouses staff left the company here. Two names of these leavers key to this story are Michael Pickard and Allen Jones.
Both men decided that they wanted to rival the company they once worked with. They both went to roadside catering, setting up their own chains to rival THF-owned Little Chef. Michael Pickard set up Happy Eater - and Allen Jones set up Welcome Break.
Original Welcome Break roughly operated from about 1972 till 1978. Little is documented on the chain, but it gained about 11 restaurants, many located within small villages on busy a-roads.
This badge was likely handed out at one of these sites as a promotional item, and like other badges shown on here recently it has a noticeable resemblance to the famous yellow badge of it's rival.
The logo of Welcome Break here is interesting - the chain's original name was to be Mr Chef and I wonder if this logo was designed for that name considering the overall design. Similarly, from a distance it looks an awful lot like a certain Chef rival's logo... or is that just me?
Allen Jones and Michael Pickard would strike a deal c.1978 to merge their two chains, and Happy Eater was chosen to be the unified chain's brand – ending the Welcome Break chain. The Welcome Break name would however remain owned by Happy Eater.
Happy Eater would be bought by big conglomerate Imperial Group in the early 1980s. It just so happened that at the same time, Imperial had recently gained control of food company Ross' four motorway service areas - and clearly looking for a new name, decided to reuse the former diner chain’s name for a new motorway service area operator. And thus modern @welcomebreak was created.
In a twist, both Happy Eater and new Welcome Break would be bought out by THF themselves in 1986, New Welcome Break was merged with their existing motorway service areas - with the whole chain taking the Welcome Break brand, in a way not dissimilar what had happened with Happy Eater and original WB nearly a decade prior.
#uk#britishroadside#graphic design#retro#badges#happyeater#little chef#motorway services#badge#welcome break#roadside#roadside restaurant
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Finally, here's the last of my new set of sticker designs. Definitely bring your vehicle to a complete stop if you encounter sauropods on the motorway.
#illustration#paleoart#paleontology#natural history#science#dinosaurs#sciart#vector illustration#dinosaur art#dinosaur#sauropod#brontosaurus
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General design and color of major motorways or highest level roads' symbols across European countries.
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Cité des Poètes, Gian Paolo Minelli.
The Cité des Poètes is a housing complex of some 900 homes within the suburbs of the town of Pierrefitte-sur-Seine in the Seine-Saint-Denis region near Paris. Part of the complex, the Georges-Brassens social centre and the Robert-Desnos apartment buildings, were designed by the architects Yves and Luc Euvremer, Jean Renaudie and Mila and Geronimo Padron-Lopez. The Robert-Desnos buildings are comprised of a series of blocks with intricate, extremely varied plan-forms and staggered sections which created tiered apartments many of which had their own cultivatable terraces. On the perimeter of the complex, the Georges-Brassens social center sheltered the blocks from the adjacent motorway.
The construction of the complex was subject to multiple delays, with construction onsite suspended for a year before 1981 and final completion not achieved until 1994. The complex suffered from maintenance issues and deterioration even before completion and was the subject of not a little controversy and adverse publicity. The planned social mix of tenants was never realised and the suggestions of several rehabilitation studies were never acted upon. Authorities considered partial demolition less than a decade after the project was completed.
In 2004 residents expressed their protest against the prospect of demolition, through a petition signed by 811 tenants. Architects also joined the chorus of protest; a coalition, including the French branch of Docomomo, drew up plans to demonstrate the economic advantage of renovation. But by 2010 the legal wrangles culminated in a court order to allow the proposed demolition work to proceed.
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people talking about how Miguel’s world looks too clean and polished and it doesn’t look dystopian at all so okay just listen to me, this
with the fucking Hyundai brand placement in the background alone is dystopian for the modern viewer
but more to the point, dystopian doesn’t mean something has to look grimy and disgusting, and since this entire movie has no throw away lines I’m compelled to find meaning in every artistic decision, so to me this world looks like a solar punk utopia on the surface but is probably fucking miserable to live in
a lot of it is uniform, the buildings barely have any colour, even their designs feel sterile, and so much of the open space is taken up by motorways instead of something functional/ enriching
when you compare it to Miles’ world, like take his portrait of uncle Aaron graffiti that’s on a brick wall
nothing in Miguel’s universe is made out of anything other than concrete, and then the cityscape of Miles’ Brooklyn
look at all the colours, and look at how close all the buildings are and how many people live there, how busy this city is, how much stuff happens there, how much variety and diversity exists there, and you can even make out a little patch of green on the bottom left, a sports court of some kind
the small piece of Miguel’s world doesn’t even look like all that many people live there, the buildings are so far away from each other - what happened? is this just the “best” face of his New York? is there an underbelly? (of course there is)
what little we see of New York on Earth-928 looks like a fucking airport, it looks like a spread from a nightmarish minimalist magazine you find on rich people’s coffee tables
so when people say that Miguel’s world doesn’t look dystopian, I just-
#shit post#long post#Spiderverse#Across the Spiderverse#Miles Morales#Miguel O'Hara#Spiderman#Spider-man#Spiderman 2099#Spider-man 2099#world building#gonna wait for more info on Miguel's world before I make my final judgements#but like I say I'm compelled to look for meaning in Spiderverse films
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Some story art that I will now explain in great depth
Guy is basically Elias’ apprentice who is about 22 but is very very determined to make a difference and dedicated to his work. He’s the one who’s there when elias gets stabbed and in that moment he has to choose between saving elias life and arresting the guy who stabbed him (and he chooses to save elias)
By letting the guy who did it go free he’s able to kill more people and eventually kidnap elias months later, all of which causes guy to become more and more guilty until it’s pretty much tearing him apart emotionally and he feels like he can’t live with himself anymore. When elias gets kidnapped he can’t take it anymore and decides to resign but not before doing what he thinks elias would do in the situation: put himself in massive danger for what he believes is right and he uses what he’s learned from the case to find a shop run by associates of the guy who he believes kidnapped him, and applies for a job there
This is very risky because since he was there at the stabbing this guy knows what he looks like and he gets lucky for a few days in that these associates don’t recognise him, until they spill some information in casual conversation and he rings eddie. They get suspicious, realise who he is and end up beating him almost to death and leaving him on the side of the motorway to die
He doesn’t die, but he misses the whole ending of the story where elias is found and his captor is arrested. This moment is probably rock bottom for him, and it’s kinda sad bc he realises over time that he worked hard to get that job because he wanted to make a difference to the world but it wasn’t that easy. His bosses treat him and his colleagues (and elias) like shit and he feels so guilty it’s almost as if he killed those people himself
Now the version of himself to the left I can explain. A small aside to the story that is not important but is occasionally the characters will dream of meeting a personification of their thoughts/mind (usually during a near death experience) the only two characters this actually matters for is Guy and Elias although since everyone has thoughts it’s kind of implied that everyone has them. Their designs and names are usually different to the character and reflect something about them whether it’s an idealised version of themselves or something that’s important to them. They can vary from being very similar (like Guy’s who is just him in his work clothes) or different (Elias’ is more abstract because he secretly wants to be an artist)
This concept has probably been done a billion times before but I don’t mind it’s just a part of the story
I could talk about this stuff literally forever thanks if u read this far!!! If you ever want to send me any questions about any of this I will try to answer 🫶
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I have decided that in the hypothetical future when I can afford an electric car, I am instead going to spend that money on having my current petrol car retrofitted with an electric engine
Since that way I will still have a car I consider road safe, and not the fucking deathwish bullshit current electric cars seem to be going for. My only theory is that no one who is designing these cars has ever fucking driven one.
Did you know the electric MG I was 'upgraded' to at the rental place does not possess front fog lights? And the rear fog lights - which you will presumably be trying to activate while driving in dangerous conditions ie fog - can only be activated by tapping a specific icon on a specific page of the 'infotainment' touch screen that has replaced all the dials and switches on a normal car central dashboard? This is apparently legal!
I basically decided I wouldn't drive anywhere at night (except up to the farmyard because it's like a minute's drive up an almost always deserted side road) because I legitimately did not consider it safe to do so. It obliterates my night vision seemingly ON PURPOSE and the (another fucking screen, ofc, brighter than the sun) dashboard is apparently designed to distract a driver flashing up all sorts of 'warnings' (it was apparently too badly coded to recognise the difference between the speed limit on a single carriageway (60mpg) , and the speed limit on a dual carriageway (70mph) and kept angrily flashing the national speed limit at me while I did 67mph on a three lane motorway).
It also came with 'driver assistance' which should really be called the 'attempted murder system' - at one point I nearly crashed because the lane assist literally took over steering when I was trying to change lanes to avoid a lorry.
It also apparently lacks reversing headlights, which was a fun discovery at 8pm in fucking Scotland 🙃🙃
I don't think there was a single actual switch in the thing beyond the gear knob thing. A handful of buttons, which appear to be the only things that don't have a backlight bright enough to be used on a runway, but nothing you can tell what the setting is on based on it's position.
These cars are hostile to human life and on top of that they are quiet! So much quieter than a traditional engine! I am genuinely curious to see the statistics for night time pedestrian accidents in particular, since it seems like that's what these cars are designed to achieve
I am honestly considering investigating how a random civilian goes about sponsoring legislation, because something has to be fucking done! It's particularly infuriating because you're legally not allowed to touch your phone while driving, because it's a distraction, but sure you can navigate through three different screens to turn on the air con
#electric cars#it's so annoying because i approve of electric cars IN PRINCIPLE#it just seems like they've all been designed by sadists
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Ten Milestone: Wedding Date
Hi friends! Chapter 13 is live 💛
CW: alcohol // loss of a parent (mentioned)
“Number Nine: Being Each Other’s Wedding Date. Before walking down the aisle yourself, attending another couple’s wedding can be an extremely enlightening experience. Consider it a trial run. Can you two survive the most stressful parts of a wedding schedule? Are you comfortable showing affection so publicly? Does your partner have two left feet? These are all questions to consider before you can commit to your own special day.”
For this particular point, Penelope chooses to hold her tongue on debating whether or not this milestone is actually an important precursor to marriage. Instead, she picks at the edges of a fortune cookie and asks, “So… Half a point then?”
“No,” Colin scoffs, indignant. “We’re nine rounds in. All of which — in case you’ve failed to realise — have only succeeded in proving my point perfectly. You cannot ask to introduce half points this late in the game. It is literally built on the principle of ‘all or nothing.’”
Penelope puts the little beige cookie in her mouth. She chews it mindfully as she considers his point.
“‘Perfectly’ is a strong word.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Six Months Earlier: October 22nd, 2022
Relationship Status: Best Friends (Always)
꙳
Colin Bridgerton does not get enough credit for his ability to share nicely with his siblings. Especially when he would much rather keep what he wants to himself. (Or at the very least, complain about said sharing openly, loudly, and explicitly.)
Benedict and Sophie married in a little church in Mayfair approximately 35 minutes ago. Now, Colin is sitting in traffic on the way to the reception with his designated wedding date, Penelope. She’s riding shotgun. In the backseat sits Penelope’s other wedding date, Eloise.
Objectively, Colin knows he has no right to complain about the current arrangement. Eloise, who had been fresh off a breakup at the time of their brother’s proposal, had secured Penelope as her wedding date fair and square. Colin could have secured his own date at some point over the last six months. Hell — he could have come here alone tonight, just like he did at Daphne’s and Anthony’s weddings. The problem is…
Colin really wanted to come to this wedding with Penelope. Once the idea was in his head, he couldn’t let it go. So he’s compromising. And not complaining about it.
He’s allowed to complain about other facets of today’s festivities, though. Like the costume mask he’s forced to endure for the entire night.
Benedict and Sophie met three years ago at a Halloween party in Camden. She was dressed as a fairy, he, a clown. In homage to the night they met (and accounting for the couple’s shared love of theatrics), they have turned their wedding reception into a masquerade. No guests shall be allowed on premises without a mask.
Still stuck in traffic, Colin, Penelope, and Eloise debate the merits of such a decision.
“It’s tacky,” says Colin.
“I think it’s romantic,” says Penelope.
The jury’s hung on Eloise. She has been uncharacteristically quiet on the matter ever since it was first announced. Now, she is literally biting her tongue in the backseat, torn between her love for her brother and her hatred of unnecessary, frivolous things.
“Just let Benedict have his fun, Colin,” she eventually settles on. “One night in a mask won’t kill us.”
“Don’t jinx it,” he grumbles, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. When they come to a complete stop on the motorway, he turns his gaze to the left. To Penelope. She’s fidgeting with the ribbons of the mask in her lap.
On any given day, Colin finds it a difficult task to keep his eyes off of Penelope. Today, it’s verging into impossible territories.
She’s wearing a green satin dress, which shares the same colour and radiance as the emerald pendant tied around her neck. Her skirt falls just above her ankles, save for the slit that rises up past her left knee. Her neckline dips low — not so low that it’s particularly dangerous from where he currently sits, but he knows he has to be careful where his eyes land when they dance together tonight. Her hair is down and falling over her shoulders in loose red waves. Her lips are painted a perfect shade of red. Her eyes…
Her eyes are squinting at him.
“Colin?”
He opens his mouth to respond, but no words emerge. “Hmm?” is all he can manage to get out in the end.
“The traffic cleared, moron,” Eloise informs him from the backseat.
Sure enough, when he looks forward, there’s an open stretch of road ahead. There’s also a cacophony of horns blaring behind him, but he tries his best to ignore those.
Without another word, Colin hits the gas.
꙳ ꙳ ꙳
It’s an October night in London. In other words, it’s freezing outside. Colin doesn’t mind the bitter breeze, though. He needed the fresh air. And a break from wearing that stupid fucking mask.
He pulls the dinner roll he had stolen inside out of his pocket. He picks off a piece and chucks it into the pond in front of him. He watches as a family of ducks fights over the fragment. In the end, the largest one swallows it whole.
Colin throws another piece into the water.
He wishes he had a cigarette. He’s been trying to cut down lately. He stopped leaving the house with a carton in his pocket, and now only smokes late at night after especially long days. He could have stolen a cig from Eloise’s purse, but the possibility of entertaining an argument with his sister was simply not a risk he was willing to take tonight. Even lung cancer doesn’t seem as pressing of an issue.
His family is probably looking for him back inside. Or they wouldn’t notice if he slipped away entirely and ended the night right now. It can go either way in a family with as many siblings as his.
“What are you doing?”
It’s Benedict’s voice that appears from behind him, loud and annoyingly jolly. Before answering his question, Colin rips off another piece of bread and throws it into the pond.
“Feeding the ducks.”
“I can see that.” Benedict stands right next to Colin. Together, they watch as the family of ducks fight for their meal. “But seeing as I’m the groom of the wedding located just about ten metres behind you, perhaps I could convince you to return inside? You know — where the other humans happen to be.”
Colin throws more bread into the water. When he doesn’t say anything, Benedict changes his tune to something a bit less jolly.
“Why are you so glum at your favourite brother’s wedding?”
“I actually found Anthony’s wedding quite enjoyable,” Colin shoots back, a half-assed attempt at sounding cheeky. “Certainly less gimmicky than yours.”
“Don’t act like the mask in your pocket is the problem here.”
From the corner of his eye, Colin watches as Benedict raises his own mask so it sits atop his head.
“Seriously — why didn’t you let me set you up with a bridesmaid? That surely would have been more enjoyable than sulking around by yourself all night.”
A pang of annoyance hits Colin in the chest, hot and fast.
“I’m not alone, I came —”
“Yes, I know. You have your ducks. But again —”
“No, you dimwit. I came with Pen.”
“Oh!” Benedict’s eyes flash wide in the moonlight. “Well that explains a few things.”
“What are you ta—”
“Wait. I thought Penelope was Eloise’s date tonight.”
“Yes, well…” Colin kicks the ground beneath him. “We double-booked her, it seems.”
He waits patiently for Benedict to fill the air with some sarcastic remark, but he doesn’t. A longer than expected silence passes between the two brothers before either of them says a thing.
In the end, it’s Benedict who speaks.
“I always thought you and Penelope would end up together.”
Contrary to what many of his siblings seem to believe, Colin Bridgerton is not an idiot. He knows that his siblings have picked up on his feelings for Penelope over the last few years. Their little remarks, knowing glances, and unsubtle metaphors have not gone unnoticed. They’ve simply been ignored.
Colin has only been able to ignore all prior attempts at meddling because none of his siblings or their spouses have ever had the gall to state their intentions so plainly. Until now, that is.
Picking off another piece of bread, Colin keeps his eyes forward as he says, “We’re just friends.” And though his eyes remain ahead, he can practically feel his brother’s eye roll on a psychological level.
“You’ve been friends for twenty-some years. Perhaps it’s time for a promotion.”
“She’s my best friend.”
“I just married my best friend.”
Now, it’s Colin who rolls his eyes.
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Sophie became your best friend after you two started dating. There was no risk involved there.”
“Risk?” Benedict echos. He’s searching for clarification, but Colin doesn’t quite know how to give it. After another long silence and two pieces of discarded bread, Benedict asks again.
“I didn’t mean it like tha—”
“I’m serious, Colin. What would you be risking by telling Penelope how you really feel?”
That isn’t an easy question to answer. It wasn’t easy any of the countless times Colin asked it in his own mind. It isn’t any easier now that his brother has committed it to air.
But maybe that’s the key to finding the answer, Colin finally surmises. Not keeping it all bottled up in his own mind.
“She’s my best friend,” he says again. “She’s always been there supporting me. Pushing me forward. Convincing me that my dreams aren’t stupid or silly. And I just — I love being near her. Spending time with her. Talking to her. She’s the only person I want to talk to when I’m at my worst — and the first when I’m at my best. She’s just — She’s the only person I can say anything to and not worry how she’ll judge me for it.”
After closing his mouth, Colin goes against his gut and chances a look towards his brother. He’s squinting.
“You can tell her ‘anything?’”
“Yes.”
It isn’t until after that word leaves his lips that Colin realises the irony of it. He watches as Benedict’s stunned expression melts into a smirk. He waits for him to point out the one subject that Colin — for the life of him — cannot bring himself to discuss with Penelope. But then…
“I caught you staring at her tits back inside. You feel comfortable talking to her about that?”
“Fucking hell, Ben!”
“What?” he asks, all too innocently. “I wasn’t the one staring at her —”
“I was not staring at anything! We were just talking.”
“With your lips, maybe. Your eyes seemed otherwise engaged.”
“I wasn’t — I —”
He stops short. He takes a breath. He rethinks his approach.
“Perhaps it looked like I was staring, but that’s just because she’s so short. When she’s standing right next to me, I have to look in the direction of…”
His voice trails off. He can’t finish that sentence. Not when Benedict’s smirking at him like that.
“Oh, cut the shit Colin.”
“I’m serious! I’m tall. She’s short. It’s an occupational hazard of our friendship.”
Benedict’s laugh is loud enough to scare away the ducks. Before he can think twice about it, Colin chucks the last little bit of bread into the water.
“Okay little brother,” Benedict finally manages to say. “Think about it this way. You and I are about the same height. What would you do if I told you that, for no other reason than my stature, I cannot help but stare at Penelope Featherington’s chest on a regular basis.”
Absent of any dinner rolls, Colin balls his hands into fists at his side.
“I’d call you a dickhead,” he admits.
Once again, Benedict laughs. The ducks flee the scene for good.
“I think you would be too busy punching me to say anything at all, but at least you seem to get the point.”
“And what point is that, exactly?”
Colin’s question is genuine. Any revelations he may have been on the cusp of now feel long gone. They were superseded by the aggravation he feels for Benedict’s unending laughter.
“That you don’t see Penelope as merely a friend. Not with those wandering eyes, anyway.”
“Ben —”
“All of those reasons you listed off before… They don’t sound like reasons not to act. Quite the opposite, really.”
This time, Colin thinks before he speaks. Just as Benedict opens his mouth to say something, he commits his words to air.
“You don’t get it. Pen has always been there. I don’t know what my life would look like if I didn’t have her in it anymore. And I don’t know if I can trust myself not to screw it all up, if...”
Several seconds after Colin’s voice drifts off, both men realise he has no intention of finishing that sentence. Then, Benedict clears his throat.
“And what of Penelope’s feelings?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you think she might feel the same?”
That last word — same — rings in Colin's ears for several seconds.
It’s not as if the question never crossed his mind. It has — countless times. But like all questions surrounding the subject, it is not an easy one to answer. (Or even ask himself.)
Penelope’s feelings for him could go beyond that of friendship. Those feelings could have existed ten years ago, then been chipped away slowly with every stupid, careless decision he’s made in all that time. She could have never loved him. She could love him still.
But god — even if she does love him, could her feelings really be the same as his? Does she love him in a way that breaks her? Is her desire for him coupled with the knowledge that no other person on this earth will ever compare? Does she want his everything, always? Does she deem their friendship sacred? Does she fear it might not be enough anymore?
Can two people feel all that and manage to keep it hidden from one another? That’s not an easy question for Colin to answer, but he has a hard time believing the answer could ever be “Yes.”
“I don’t know,” Colin says out loud.
“You ‘don’t know?’”
“I —”
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“No,” Colin answers. It was by far the easiest answer of the night.
“Too bad. I think that you and Penelope are both too close to the situation to see it clearly. I think you have blindspots for one another — ones that won’t be eliminated until you choose to do something about them.”
Benedict takes a breath. He sounds like he’s leading up to something very big. In reality, he’s leading up to something very simple.
“If you really want to know how she feels about you, just ask.”
Benedict goes on to say something along the lines of “You’re both writers, for fuck’s sake. Learn how to use your words!” but Colin doesn’t really hear it. He’s focusing on something else.
If you really want to know…
But Colin does not want to know. Or maybe it’s just that he fears knowing. That fact has been true for years, but he has never fully accepted it until now; the realisation hits him hard, squarely in the chest.
If the answer is no, it would kill him. If the answer is yes, he would find a million ways to fuck up that miracle.
The not knowing is what makes this all bearable. Having her in his life, but only as a friend. Talking to her about anything and everything, except for that one thing. Seeing the risk and calculating its cost and holding it in both his hands and not taking it. Never taking it.
Colin takes a step away from his brother, then turns so he can address him head on.
“You know, you have a bad habit of over-simplifying complex issues.”
“No. You have a habit of over-complicating simple issues.”
“What about this situation is simple?” Colin asks, feeling his annoyance and indignation building with every second.
“Tell her the truth and find out for yourself.”
Benedict waits for another snippy reply from Colin. When it doesn’t come, he simply sighs.
“I’m going to tell you this because no one else has the heart to. And because it’s my wedding night and mum will murder you if I have a black eye in any of the family photos.”
Taking one final step towards his little brother, Benedict claps a hand over Colin’s shoulder. He leans in close to deliver this all-important message.
“You need to get out of your own way.”
꙳ ꙳ ꙳
When Colin eventually finds his way indoors again, he spots Penelope right away. She’s by the bar with Eloise, a flute of champagne in hand.
When he approaches, neither woman seems to notice him at first. Eloise is ranting about some awful blind date Daphne set her up on while Penelope giggles so hard that she starts to hiccup. Suffice it to say, neither woman seems particularly sober.
“Eloise,” he finally manages to cut in. “Can I steal Pen away for a moment?”
His sister’s mouth falls open in disgust. “I don’t know — I don’t own her! Why would you ask me that when —”
“It’s alright, El,” Penelope insists, still giggling. She latches her hand onto Colin’s elbow and leads him away from the bar. When Eloise is just out of earshot, she looks up with a giddy smile and whispers, “She gets quite belligerent after a few drinks, doesn’t she?”
“As opposed to her usual even-tempered, well-mannered self?”
“Oh, stop,” she chastises him, still giggling. They take a few more aimless steps before Penelope seems to realise that he had approached her for a specific reason. She looks up and says, “Sorry — was there something you wanted to ask me?”
Colin feels a low level of panic shoot up and down his body (especially on the points where her body brushes against his). He still hasn’t decided on the answer to that particular question, so he delays the inevitable and poses a new one.
“Care for a dance?” He nods his head to the middle of the room where the other couples sway together. “As one of your designated pity dates this evening, I’m entitled to one of those, right?”
“It’s not a pity date. We’re just —” She sighs and shakes her head lightly, abandoning that sentence quickly. Her smile returns when she says, “Yes, of course. Let’s dance.”
When they step onto the dance floor, the band is playing a relatively upbeat song. But as soon as she folds her hand into his, one song bleeds into another and the tempo drops significantly. When the singer starts the first verse, Colin vaguely recognizes it as a love song.
He chooses not to turn his head and investigate which of his siblings was behind the sudden change. He doesn’t really care. Not with Penelope so close. Not with her looking up at him through that silly, perfect green mask.
“So��” she murmurs, swaying slowly to the music. “Are you giving a speech tonight?”
“Um, no. If every sibling gave a speech, we’d be holding the rest of the guests here hostage for hours. So we take turns.”
“Turns?” she echoes, eyebrows adorably raised. Colin can’t help but chuckle softly.
“Yeah. I gave a speech at Daphne’s wedding. Benedict gave one at Anthony’s wedding. Tonight, it’s Ant’s turn.”
“So by that logic, is Daphne set to give a speech at your wedding?”
Hearing the words “your wedding” fall from her lips sends another wave of panic across his body. With Penelope so close, it sort of hits him all over.
“Huh?” he breathes out before he can stop himself.
“Oh, you know…” Penelope blushes lightly as she smiles. “Anthony and Benedict are giving speeches at each other’s weddings. You gave one at Daphne’s, so…”
Once the panic starts to fade, Colin considers making a joke about Eloise reserving that right years ago. That she could not pass up the opportunity to freely roast him among an audience of their peers. In the end, though, he holds his tongue. He ends the discussion entirely by muttering something noncommittal beneath his breath. Having Penelope so close to him, hands intertwined and body pressed against his…
His future wedding is far too dangerous a topic to discuss right now. Instead, he goes back to complaining about the wedding they are currently attending together as friends.
“I love my brother, but this —” He uses his eyes alone to gesture to his mask. “— may be a tipping point for our relationship. I mean — why add an obstacle to drinking and eating? Those are literally the two best parts of attending these sorts of events.”
He had meant it as a joke (mostly), but Penelope doesn’t giggle like he expected her to. Instead, she juts her lower lip out in a gentle pout.
“You’re so grumpy tonight.”
“No. I’m —” he starts, but stops just as quickly. He can’t bring himself to finish such a patently untrue sentence. Instead, he simply mutters “Sorry” and hopes that will be the end of this conversation.
“You don’t have to apologise. I’m just surprised. Eloise is usually the one so fundamentally unhappy at weddings. I thought —”
She giggles suddenly, overcome by a humour that Colin cannot see from where he stands now.
“I always thought you were a fan of weddings. Tonight, I keep waiting for you to lean in and say —” She drops her voice about an octave to deliver: “‘You wanna get out of here and watch When Harry Met Sally?’”
The laugh that falls from his lips catches him off guard. For a moment, he forgets why he was in such a bad mood to begin with.
“Now that you mention it, that doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, Pen.”
“Why are you so grumpy tonight?” she presses further, clearly unphased by his sudden display of levity. She’s still smiling up at him, a light pink flush across her cheeks, barely obscured by the green lace mask pulled across her eyes.
Colin considers her question.
Stupid masks. Stupid siblings. Eloise. Benedict. You — kind of. Myself — definitely.
“These stupid masks,” is all he ends up saying.
“I take it that you have yet to come around on the theatrics?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I suppose there’s still time left in the night for you to lighten up. Perhaps make some happy memories of your brother’s wedding.”
Colin doesn’t respond to that. He suddenly feels very focused on an errant curl that has fallen over the edge of her mask. He thinks about pushing it back, but doesn’t in the end. That would mean taking his hands off of her, and he can’t fathom doing such a thing for even a second.
The two of them are so close, still following the routine of the downtrodden melody. Their arms hang around each other. Their steps are in sync. Her chest is pressed against his abdomen and her eyes are on his. The only barrier between them consists of a few fragments of clothing.
Colin and Penelope are so close, and yet they exist on two entirely separate planes of existence.
To Colin, this moment is everything. It’s perfect. It’s overwhelming. It’s twenty years in the making. Maybe it’s the scotch. Maybe it’s that look in her eye or the curl of her perfect lips. Maybe it’s because he heard his own bollocks uttered aloud for the first time. Whatever the reason, for the first time that he can recall, Colin feels prepared to take the biggest risk of his life.
To Penelope, this interaction means very little. To Penelope, this is their relationship. Laughing. Touching. Teasing. Flirting. Dancing around in circles. Always on the cusp of something more, but never quite crossing that threshold. After a lifetime on that precipice, she has lost all hope of their friendship ever turning into something more. She doesn’t have to remind herself by repeating silly words or digging up painful memories, she simply knows. It’s ingrained in her now.
She tried to abandon her love for Colin at 16. Then 19. Then 23. Then…
It doesn’t matter. By the ripe age of 27, Penelope has finally accepted that her love for Colin will forever remain unrequited — but also, that it will forever remain. And she’ll remain on this precipice forever, if it means having him in her life forevermore.
Though the distance between their bodies may be slowly dwindling, the rift between them is as distinct as it ever has been. Tonight, Colin decided he and Penelope are ready for the next stage of their lives together. All day, Penelope wondered how many more Bridgerton weddings she’ll have to attend before she inevitably watches another woman walk down the aisle and marry the man she has loved her entire life.
Right now, Colin feels an invisible force pulling him towards Penelope, begging their lips to meet in the middle. Right now, Penelope feels perfectly natural maintaining the limited distance between them.
When Colin moves his head an inch forward, Penelope moves hers an inch back. To her, the movement barely registers — it’s just another unconscious step in a routine they perfected years ago. To him, it’s the answer to the question that he didn’t want to know the answer to.
It’s the answer that kills him.
“Hey, Colin,” Penelope whispers, breaking their shared silence. Her words are barely audible above the band playing in the background, but Colin can hear her just fine. Her lips are still close enough for him to smell the champagne that lingers on her breath.
Then, Penelope does the unthinkable. She breaks a rule.
Removing her hand from his grasp, she lifts her mask so it sits on her hairline. Her face, happy and blushing, is fully in his view again.
“You know it’s me, Penelope, right?” She giggles, and it causes her nose to crinkle. “You know — under the mask and all?”
“Yes, Pen,” Colin whispers, trying his hardest not to let the crushing of his heart carry through to his voice. After removing his hand from around her waist, he reaches up and pulls her mask down again — if nothing else, just to obscure that adorable crinkle of her nose. “You almost had me fooled, though.”
He’s not sure if it’s good luck or absolutely terrible luck, but the band suddenly halts its tune to announce it’s time for the first dance between the bride and groom. Either way, Colin uses it as an excuse to step away from Penelope completely.
Without another word, he’s gone. Penelope blinks and suddenly she’s alone, head spinning on the edge of a vacating dance floor.
꙳ ꙳ ꙳
Three glasses of wine was too much, Penelope realises — perhaps too far into the night to do anything to help her state of mind.
Like she so often does on nights like these, Penelope has found herself in a shadowed corner. She’s leaning with her back against a massive white column. She’s mindlessly scrolling on her phone with one hand and nibbling on a dinner roll with the other. (Unfortunately, even the carbs aren’t helping much with her befuddled state.) She’s trying not to think about Colin or the strange, sudden absence of him following their dance. She’s going unnoticed by the other wedding attendees — or so she thinks.
“Ahem.”
Instantly, Penelope’s head shoots up and to the side. Her eyes land on someone who had escaped her notice up until this point tonight (meaning she almost certainly turned up here “fashionably late”).
Her boss. Her mentor. The absolute last person she wants to see with her head this dizzy.
“Good evening, Danbury,” Penelope says with a put on smile.
The older lady traipses forward, dragging her cane across the marble floor beneath her. She’s wearing a burgundy mask fitted with what appears to be actual rubies — an accessory Penelope would guess is worth more than two months of her rent.
“Enjoying the festivities, Penelope?”
“Of course,” she answers in an unconvincing tone. Danbury scowls at her statement, then laughs at it.
“Perhaps there is some fun to be had away from the shadows.”
Penelope flicks her eyes to a better lit area of the room. Simply looking at the movement of the dance floor threatens to stir up all the alcohol currently sitting in her stomach.
Sighing, Penelope turns back to the woman standing beside her. “Perhaps,” is all she says to her.
Danbury regards her for a seemingly long time before uttering another word. The weight of her gaze is heavy. Heavier than usual.
“Don’t count yourself out of the party just yet, Penelope.”
Before Penelope can fully register the words, Danbury turns on her heel. Then, just as quickly, she turns back.
“Oh. Before I forget — I wanted to check on the state of those notes you owe me.” She laughs at a higher pitch than Penelope believes she’s ever heard come from the woman’s mouth. “Don’t tell me you forgot about them.”
Wide-eyed, Penelope briefly glances around the room. She’s shocked Danbury would bring up work now. They’re at a wedding, for god’s sake. A crowded one.
“I never do. I’ll have them on your desk Monday morning.”
Satisfied, Danbury departs. Once alone, Penelope’s mind cannot help but return to him. She doesn’t know where he is. She can’t spot him from her current position — but maybe that’s for the best. Thinking about Colin Bridgerton has never made her head less dizzy.
After swallowing the last of her bread, she sighs and rethinks her strategy for returning to a (relatively) sober state. She needs something to focus on. Anything other than the alcohol sitting in her stomach and the man eternally on her mind.
Like she so often does on nights like this, Penelope falls back on an old habit to help center her mind.
(Eavesdropping.)
At a dinner table on the edge of the ballroom, Kate tells Edwina that it’s a miracle she managed to make it here tonight. Little Edmund is due on Monday.
By the door closest to the back garden, Hyacinth informs Francesca of her plot to prank Gregory by the end of the night. Frogs seem to be involved, somehow. Francesca looks like she would very much not like to be involved.
At the bar, Gregory approaches a bridesmaid with a smirk Penelope has seen on his older brothers’ faces a million times before. The girl is Sophie’s step-sister, if she recalls correctly. Judging from the look on her mask-clad face, Greg’s opening line is not an especially effective one.
By the entrance to the front hall, Amy Trowbridge slips what appears to be a hotel room key into the pocket of a young man. Though he may be wearing a mask, that does not hide the fact that he is decidedly not her Mr. Trowbridge.
When Penelope finishes her third lap around the room, she finds that her footsteps are steadier than they have been all night. (A truly impressive feat, accounting for how much time she has spent in those heels.) Though it defies logic, she finds that her strategy actually worked. She feels better. She feels fit to return to the festivities.
But just as Penelope decides to step out of the shadows, she hears something just peculiar and intriguing enough to keep her hidden there another moment.
Out of her view on the other side of a massive white column, Benedict and Anthony are discussing something. Penelope didn’t catch the beginning of it, but now she can clearly make out Anthony saying, “I’ll handle it. Like I always do.” He doesn’t sound annoyed or angry.
He sounds cocky.
Penelope waits several seconds with baited breath. She expects Benedict to make a joke. She prays either man will give an ounce of context as to what it is they’re discussing. But nothing comes.
After several more seconds, she peaks one eye around the column and finds…
Even more nothing. The brothers have disappeared into the crowd.
Begrudgingly, she accepts that she’ll never learn the truth behind Anthony’s cryptic words. In defeat, she walks towards the table where Eloise now sits with the Sharma sisters. She picks up two pieces of bread en route, for good measure.
“Enjoying the festivities, El?” Penelope asks, handing her best friend a piece of bread as she takes the seat beside her. From the outside, Eloise doesn’t appear any happier or more sober than Penelope had when Danbury had asked her the same.
“Yep,” she mumbles half-heartedly, not looking up from her phone. When Penelope leans in to see what has taken Eloise’s attention away from the festivities, she’s shocked by what she finds. She laughs.
“I think you may be the first person in existence to ever get drunk and read The Bell Jar at their brother’s wedding reception.”
“What can I say? I’m an enigma.” Eloise snorts, then places her phone face down on the table. “Also, you disappeared and I couldn’t find anyone to entertain a halfway decent conversation with.”
“I didn’t disappear,” she mutters, suddenly defensive. “I was with Colin.”
As soon as his name leaves her lips, Penelope’s eyes gaze over the ballroom. Still, she comes up empty. And her heart sinks.
Due to his sour mood all night and the abrupt manner in which he left her on the dance floor, she cannot help but wonder if Colin left early. It’s not the sort of thing he would usually do, but he hasn’t exactly been acting like himself tonight.
“El, have you seen —” she starts, but a noise at the center of the room redirects her attention.
Anthony has made a reappearance in the middle of the dance floor. He has a microphone in hand, but is currently only using it to herd drunken dancers back into their seats. He isn’t wearing his mask anymore, and — Penelope suddenly realises — neither is Eloise. In fact, at least half of the room (including the bride and groom) are maskless. Suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of her green lace, Penelope discards of hers as well.
Edwina moves to the spot beside Penelope as the table fills out with other Bridgerton and Bridgerton-adjacents. Not Colin, though. Penelope still has no clue where he is. Or if he’s here at all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Anthony announces into his microphone. “If I could have your attention, I believe it is just about time to toast the bride and groom.”
As the guests sit and the room settles into silence, he takes one final breath before launching into his speech. In that time, Penelope spots something out of the corner of her eye.
Colin.
He’s taking his seat at a table on the opposite side of the room. His mask is gone. He has a drink in his hand. His gaze is far off and not looking remotely in her direction. Penelope only tears her eyes away from him when Anthony clears his throat directly into the microphone.
“As everyone in this room is so keenly aware, we are gathered here tonight to celebrate the union of Sophie and Benedict. As I’m sure you all can guess, as best man, it is my duty to take up the next several minutes of your time babbling on and on about my dear brother and what a lucky bastard he is to call someone as wonderful as Sophie his wife. But before I carry out such a duty, I would be remiss not to first mention another very important family member of ours.”
Anthony pauses before jumping into the next part of the speech. His eyes seem to scan over the audience intently — almost like he’s looking for someone.
“To most in this room, I’m sure it is not a surprise to hear that Benedict and I lost our father when we were both teenagers. And while he may not be here tonight to celebrate with the rest of us, in many ways, it still feels as though he is here. I suppose that’s one benefit of having so many bloody children. Willingly or not, they tend to carry you around long after you go.
“Every day — but especially on days as important as this — I can still see my father in pieces. I see him in each of my siblings. In Daphne’s eyes and Hyacinth’s smile. In Gregory’s blind optimism and the way in which Benedict sneezes (always in bursts of twenty). Or — perhaps most astutely — in the words and phrases that have seemed to pass from one generation to the next.”
Anthony takes another pause. This time, he briefly looks to the ground before continuing.
“I’m sure that any of my siblings could attest that, while it may be easy to imagine him here with us tonight, it was an impossible task when he first passed. At the time, I remember being consumed by questions more than anything else. Questions that never occurred to me to ask while he was alive, but seemed so important once he was gone. What were his dreams when he was my age? What made him excited about becoming a lawyer? What on earth possessed him to have eight bloody children?”
At this, the other members of the table laugh in hushed tones and gentle smiles. Penelope doesn’t. She doesn’t have the breath in her. Something about Anthony’s speech has her on the edge of her seat.
“Over the past two decades, I have typically turned to our mother for such questions. And while she has always done her best in answering them, there was always a bittersweet understanding that I would never hear the answers in my father’s own words. In most cases, at least.
“A few years ago, when I was getting ready for my own wedding with my own wonderful wife, I couldn’t stop thinking about how my father must have felt when he was getting ready for his wedding with his wonderful wife. More than anything else, I wanted to know how he knew that mum was the one. How he knew their love was the type to hold onto forever. So I asked my mum those questions, and when she answered, I realised that I had already heard the answer before. I had heard it in my father’s own words, probably a thousand times throughout the time I had with him.”
Penelope leans forward in her seat, anxiously awaiting Anthony’s next words. But before they come, a smirk crosses his lips.
“Actually… I believe a bit of context is needed here. You see — my parents knew each other long before they eventually married. They grew up together, and like most people who do so, they spent much of those early years in and out of each other’s lives. They went to different schools. They had arguments. They lost touch. But through it all, there was always an understanding between them. That if and when they lost each other’s company, they would always be there for each other to come back to.
“‘The door was always open.’ That’s what my mum said to me then. That’s what my father had said to her at least a thousand times throughout their lives together. Not that she needed reminding once they were married and shared a hoard of children. But still, he said it. Repeatedly. Assuredly.”
Penelope’s eyes could be playing tricks on her, but it seems like Anthony’s gaze settles on her and her alone as he delivers the next few lines of his speech.
“‘The door is always open.’ That was how he told her that he loved her. And that he always would.”
The speech continues on. Anthony talks about the bride and groom and describes in great detail just how much of a lucky bastard Benedict is. Penelope doesn’t hear any of this, though; her ears are ringing loud enough to drown out the rest of the world, let alone this ballroom.
The door is always open.
How many times has Colin said that to her? A thousand? A hundred? A dozen? She can’t even begin to imagine a number, but the instances are coming back to her loudly and out of order.
The door is always open.
I know.
In truth, she had never thought much of the phrase before. In the back of her mind, she just assumed it was an artefact from their childhood. Something Colin said once, then said again enough times for it to become a thing. A phrase you use because you’ve always used it, not because —
Just so you know, the door is always open. Always.
I know.
Words don’t mean anything until you assign meaning to them. Just because their father meant it in one way doesn’t mean Colin means it in the same. Just because Anthony said… that does not mean Colin —
The door is always —
I know, Colin. I know.
She never knew —
I hope you know that the door is always open.
I know. Trust me.
He doesn’t —
The door is —
Ears still ringing, Penelope sucks in a shallow breath of air and turns her head to the side. To the point where she last saw Colin, what now feels like a million years ago.
He’s looking right at her. Mask off, scotch to the side, an unreadable look on his face.
The weight of his gaze is heavy, but Penelope can’t bring herself to turn away. As the seconds — perhaps even minutes — tick by, she feels herself growing self-conscious. She can’t help but wonder what her face looks like to him. What emotion he sees made up in it. Whatever it is — she imagines that, like him, she is rather hard to read right now. She can’t think of a single word to describe how she feels inside, let alone what is slipping through her cracks and cast into the light.
She keeps waiting for him to look away. To glance to Anthony or his phone or anything else in the room besides her. But no. In the end, it’s Penelope who shatters the stalemate.
She doesn’t do it on purpose. It’s just that her body is on edge and quick to react when the entire room erupts in applause. Within a matter of seconds, Penelope’s eyes dart from Anthony, to Edwina, to Eloise, then back to —
Colin is gone. The seat he was taking residence in just a moment ago is empty. His mask and scotch are still there, but Colin is gone.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
“That was so romantic,” Edwina mutters tearfully, using a napkin to dab gracefully at her eye.
“It was utter bollocks,” Eloise says defensively — quietly. She raises a single finger to her eye and attempts to wipe away a tear without notice. Penelope, who is usually in the habit of noticing such covert details, does not notice.
Her eyes are stuck on that blasted empty seat.
Where the fuck did he go?
-------------------------------------------------------------------
“That was a nice wedding,” Penelope contends. The memory of it draws a smile to her lips. A mere week ago, a different emotion — something far heavier and dread-inducing — would have accompanied her recollection of that night in October. But not tonight. Tonight, she feels light.
“It was tacky,” Colin still insists. “I am banning any gimmicks from our wedding.”
Penelope laughs. She can’t help it.
“What if I want our ceremony to be nautical-themed?”
“Oh, well then…”
Colin leans forward and places a sloppy kiss across her cheek. He places a few more as he continues, “You can have any gimmick you like at our wedding, as long as we’re getting ma—”
“Slow down!” Penelope insists, barely able to keep a straight face as she extricates herself from his grasp. “We still have one milestone left. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Smile persisting, Colin picks up his phone again.
“Fine, Featherington. Let’s see what’s last on our list.”
#bridgerton#fanfiction#polin#weepingfromacedartree#fanfic#ao3#ten milestones#penelope featherington#penelope x colin#colin bridgerton
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'This Church is a Quiet Place'
A thousand thanks to Lily, for cheerleading and proofreading this💖 TW at the bottom 🩷🩵🤍
-
The church is quiet. In Max's memory, there were always sounds. Footsteps and bells and whispers, a cacophony of worship compounded in one place.
Maybe the church her mother brought her to is different from this church. Maybe her memories as a child were simply elaborated on, made big and bright and alive by the passing of time.
This church is not softened by the sounds of the living. This church is silent, still. A breath held, a heartbeat not yet formed.
Light shines through the stained glass windows, and Max walks through the tinted air. Green, blue, red, orange.
The colours are as vibrant of God's love for you, her mother used to whisper, an arm wrapped tight around her slim shoulders.
God the Father, she'd say. In the name of the Father and the Son.
Promise me you'll keep your faith Max, she also said, voice a soft murmur as they sat side by side in the pews. Max nodded. It's important to pray. God listens to our prayers Max, he's our Father.
And Max had tried, to begin with. The first weekend, she asked Jos if they could visit a local church to light a candle. Jos' nose wrinkled.
What for?
Max felt her mother's promise whisper away. She shook her head.
I don't know.
Her dad gave her a look, lips thin. Your mother's after making you too soft. You're an adult now, not some child in need of fairytales.
Max nodded. She never asked again.
Her mother knew. She must've figured it out, that she stopped asking her opinion on the weekly sermon, stopped answering her questions on her faith.
It seems strange, to think she once believed in it all. She walks softly up the aisle, her footsteps a gentle cadence reverberating through the church. There's an elderly woman at the front, head bowed as her fingers worry a Rosary. A man behind, reading the Bible. And Max. The imposter.
She doesn't have the faith anymore. It disappeared somewhere on the never- ending motorways, the Sundays spent racing instead of praying, nights spent reciting strategies in the darkness instead of the blessings her mother used to whisper. Her fingertips grew blackened, dipped in oil rather than blessed water.
Max thinks faith is like youth. Once it's gone, it's impossible to get it back.
Daniel still believes. He pretends not to, but Max knows he does. She found a rosary once in the back of his bedside drawers. The beads worn smooth, colour long flaked away. She had sat and ran her fingers over the string of knots and wooden pills, imagining the countless times he must've done the same. In secret, hidden away. Counting each prayer off, voice nothing more than a whisper.
Daniel crosses himself before each race. Daniel bows his head whenever a funeral parade passes on the streets. Daniel has a tiny, inked cross on his ribs. Max found it, nestled amongst the other loud and brilliant decorations he's designed into his skin. She traced it, and Daniel had started as if Max had slapped him.
This is new, Max had said. He'd laughed, roughly tugging his shirt on.
No Max, it's always been there. You just haven't been paying attention. He tossed a smile at Max, easy and in love.
She finds the candles nestled in the corner, just beneath the altar. Three rows of darkened tealights, only one offering a feeble, dying flame.
'Donations only!!!' is scribbled over a money box, and Max digs in her pockets, fishing out all her loose change.
She feels wrong being here. A fake. Like a woman who's been caught having an affair, and is now returning, head bowed and feet dragging. Kneeling, fingers clasped, repenting.
Has she no shame? Her mother would ask. The summer before the divorce, her mother's side warm against Max's as they watched TV together. These women, they always take men like that back, she tutted, reaching for the popcorn Max was holding. You won't be like that, will you Max? You'll be better than us all. You'll stand your ground if someone wrongs you.
She shook her head. I won't ever get married, she replied. It's lame.
Her mother huffed a laugh, even though Max hadn't been joking. Just wait till you fall in love Maxy, then -
I won't ever fall in love either, Max declared, watching the woman on screen embrace the man. She wrinkled her nose. She had seen what love did; she wanted no part of it. Max's mother simply laughed again, running her fingers lightly through her tawny locks.
She should phone her, it's been nearly a month since they last spoke. Sophie is always happy to hear from her, but she's preoccupied now with other things. Managing her new boyfriend's fledgling company, helping Victoria with the kids. Her life is full and Max is not really a part of it anymore. Hasn't been for decades, since she turned twelve and barely lived in the same time zone as her, let alone the same house.
Daniel's close with his parents. He calls them every second day, time zones carefully navigated around. Up early, doing yoga on the terrace as he chats to his dad about the latest news. Evening, Max already in bed, listening to him laugh softly through the walls as his mother tells him the local gossip.
What can you even have to talk about? Surely you've spoken about every possible conversation point at this stage, Max said, only half in jest. Daniel laughed, wrinkles creasing around his eyes in a way she knows he hates but she loves.
They're my parents Maxy, he replied with ease, as if that's the only answer she needs.
He's over there now. With Grace and Joe and Michelle. Max feels distant from him, from the life he must be living. On the ranch, dust gathered in the creases of his skin as he worked under the sun. Going out with childhood friends to pubs where everyone speaks how he does. His nephew and niece, adoring their overseas uncle, returned.
She lights the first candle. The flame is strong, and she feels stupid for taking such stock in the image, as if the strength of the flame is akin to the sureness of her future.
She doesn't know how to do this. Whisper? In her head? Address it all to God, like a formal letter?
She suddenly feels very young. Her mother beside her, handing her the childhood book of Bible verses she received for Christmas. Pray, Maxy, she murmured, bowing her head.
Max looks up. The light is tinted blue and white, shining in through a maritime scene created in the windows. There's a framed painting hung on the wall. The Virgin Mary with Baby Jesus. A pale woman with dark hair. Arms wrapped around a bundle of dark blankets. A baby, pale and young and smiling, looking out at the viewer. Looking at Max.
She closes her eyes and prays.
-
Maybe some people aren't meant to be parents Maxy, Daniel had said after the twelfth negative test. 12. A year of trying and failing. Max isn't used to failing at anything; she doesn't know how to do it.
What? She twisted on the bed, staring at him. He just continued staring at the ceiling.
Maybe some people aren't meant to be parents, he finally repeated, tone soft.
She scoffed, turning back around. It hurt. It hurt a lot, and the stinging somehow grew, like when she was a kid and she had accidentally gotten some chemicals on her hands. Corrosive. Her dad had grabbed her, dragging her to the garage's sink and scrubbed at her red hands until the burning finally abated.
She sat up and then stood quickly. Sports bra, an old Nike shirt and her leggings. Burning, burning, burning.
Max, Daniel sat up too. Wait.
I'm going for a run, she told him without looking at him.
Maxy, he tried again. I just mean maybe we should -
She slammed the bedroom door on her way out. She thought he might follow her, but he didn't, and she tugged her shoes on roughly. The burn in her chest was spreading. It's corrosive, her father had told her. She had never learned that word before, and he had had to explain the meaning as he wrapped her palms with gauze.
-
Outside the church, the sun is beginning to weaken. Shadows length in the carpark, and Max stands against the church's wall, taking out her phone.
She asked him to leave. She needed a break, time to figure herself out. She thought he would fight her on it, and was irrationally hurt when he had just nodded, lips thin and brow pinched.
Alright, he said. If that's what you want.
She didn't want any of it. She didn't want a body seemingly incapable of life, didn't want the 12 pregnancy tests lined neatly in her memory, didn't want the empty study room next to their own bedroom that they both refused to ever address.
"Maxy," he picks up the first ring. He sounds happy. She doesn't know if it's because it's her he's speaking to, or if he's always happy, now he's home again.
"Hey," she says. "How are you?"
"I'm good," he says, and she can tell he's meaning it. "How are - are you outside?"
She looks at the birds above in the trees, singing sweetly. Their songs are getting picked up, listened to halfway across the world. "Yes," she says softly.
"Going for a walk?" He asks, sounding like he's walking somewhere too. She can hear his slightly laboured breathing, the vague crunch of his footsteps on the dried grass.
"I went to a church, " she tells him.
"A church, " he repeats, as if she's named some alien planet. "You went to mass?" Disbelief clear.
They're not broken up. She doesn't really know what they are now. Other than in love, of course, but that was never in question. She had asked him to leave and he had left. They still text every day, call a few times each week. She doesn't know what he told his family, and she's too scared to ask him.
"No, not mass. Church. As in, I went inside a church."
"Why, a horde of vampires were chasing you?" He asks. She can hear the smile in his voice. Longing fills her chest, the ache almost visceral.
"No, this is Monaco, not Transylvania. You are the one out of the two of us who needs to be worried about that," she tells him.
"It's too hot Maxy, all potentially murderous vampires would be burnt to dust before they'd get close to tasting this sweet, sweet blood. You know, today it was almost 40 degrees? Climate change is fucking us all up, but at least it means i can take a few hours off from the ranch because it's too dangerous to work outside in this heat."
Max hums softly. There's a nest in one of the branches - that's why the two birds were singing so loudly.
"You are having a good time then?" She asks.
"Yeah. It's always good to be back here." he pauses then, as if to weigh up his words. "I'm looking forward to being home, though."
She frowns. One of the birds slips into the brown mess of twigs, and sheep's wool balanced on the branch while the other is left outside; a guardian. "Why, are you not at the ranch right now? Where are you then?"
"What? I mean," he interrupts himself with a quiet laugh. "Maxy. I meant home. Home home."
"Home home," she repeats dubiously.
"With you," he adds, voice suddenly soft and vulnerable.
She looks away from the birds. She swallows. He's quiet, waiting for her to speak. The air is cooling down, dusk creeping closer.
"I miss talking with you," she finally says.
"We still talk. We talk nearly everyday. We're talking right now " he says softly, and she supposes she deserves this, him making her say it aloud.
"I miss you," she amends. "I miss... I miss you a lot Daniel."
He laughs. Not because it's funny, but because his happiness needs an outlet, needs to be vocalised and released in some form. Laugh or cry, Maxy, he used to tell her. Gotta be one of them.
"I miss you too," he says.
"You should come home," she tells him.
"I should."
"Home home."
"Yeah, home home."
They're quiet for a bit. She looks up, her gaze caught by a flutter of movement. One of the birds darts away, the other staying by the nest. She wonders if she concentrated very hard, would she be able to hear the chirping.
"I'm sorry," Daniel blurts out. Max frowns.
"For what?"
"I..." He pauses. He's definitely walking somewhere, she can hear his footfall over the terrain.
"I was wrong," he finally says. "About us... About... About what I said. About how some people aren't meant to be parents. I was thinking and... I mean, sure I wasn't wrong about that because some people definitely shouldn't have kids, but us, me and you, we should, I mean if you still want to, because we're, we would... we would be good, or I don't know, maybe we just are good, like good people and good partners and I shouldn't have said what I said, because it's not true, we'd be the best and coolest parents and -"
"Daniel," she interrupts him. He instantly goes quiet.
"I think so too," she says. He laughs, relieved and happy and excited, all melded into one.
"Because I've been doing some research," he begins again, words rushing into each other in their hurry to be spoken. "And there's a clinic we could try, or maybe -"
Max nods, letting Daniel's chatter wash over her like water, pure and clear and blessed. The lone bird sits above, and continues to sing.
(((TW: infertility)))
#its actually my birthday today#and i have covid lol#so please enjoy this double upload#girl!max forever🩷#will i ever rid my writing of religious imagery??? never#daniel walking because he's on his own little journey of realisation too :(((#his acceptance being the Holy Water she replaced for the oil of races as a child#therefore her inner child being healed by Daniel’s love and the knowledge she will be a better parent then her parents were to her#the lone bird singing signifying her and Daniel's future baby#all pale and round and chubby with dark curls and blue eyes :)))#my fic
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rüttenscheider straße // essen rüttenscheid
colours, shapes, structures!
the post-war architecture of the ruhr area meets modern motorway construction, explicitly the noise protection design.
colour vs. slate grey!
a wild dream in the urban sprawl!
#essen#essen rüttenscheid#ruhrpott#ruhrgebiet#moderne#nrw#germany#architecture#architecture photography#urban#urban photography#post war architecture#post war modern#autobahn#german post war architecture#german post war modern#ruhr area post war architecture#nachkriegsmoderne#nachkriegsarchitektur#deutsche nachkriegsmoderne#deutsche nachkriegsarchitektur#nachkriegsarchitektur rheinland#nachkriegsmoderne rheinland#essen nachkriegsmoderne#essen nachkriegsarchitektur#design#photography
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I am a Little Chef Badge (1970s)
This is a tiny badge for Little Chef, made sometime in the early to mid 1970s.
It was presumably handed out in restaurant as a promotional item, much like their famous lollypops. However, similar to the Kelly's Kitchen badge I showed here previously, this particular badge has a distinct similarity to a famous yellow badge made by one of Little Chefs rivals. But here, the recipient is instead dubbed a "Little Chef". Hm.
This badge is especially interesting when it comes to the version of the logo it uses. Charlie here looks rather different, and that is because this is an earlier version of the famous logo. Charlie here is a little wider and less defined than his later counterparts, and instead of staring at the viewer, he concentrates on his tray. Perhaps he's less confident in his chef abilities?
The familar LC logo would be introduced a few years after this badge was produced, with it first appearing in the late 1970s.
Producing own versions of the Happy Eater badge was, looking at it now, a common trend in the 1970s and 80s roadside restaurant industry. Infact this isn't even the last badge I have in my collection which has a distinct similarity. I suppose it demonstrates the power these badges must had back in the day - both as a promotional item and as an icon of the roadside.
#little chef#littlechef#uk#roadside#roadsiderestaurant#retro#badges#britishroadside#graphic design#motorway services#badge
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Hey you all might be able to help me. I once read a book that featured an entity that designed a really bad motorway, as it was the most efficient way to increase human suffering without putting in much effort. Was this 1) Good Omens (novel), 2) something from the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series or 3) something Terry Pratchett wrote? I can’t seem to figure out where that’s from.
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Seven people, including a child, have died after a crowded minivan driven by a suspected people-smuggler overturned in southern Germany, police say.
Twenty-three people were in the van, which is designed to fit nine.
The driver attempted to evade police at a road check before losing control near Ampfing in Bavaria, authorities say.
The accident happened amid a rise in people-smuggling which has led several Central and Eastern European countries to impose border checks.
Police say they tried to intercept the Mercedes Vito van at around 03:00 (01:00 GMT) on Friday.
The driver of the vehicle, which had an Austrian licence plate, accelerated to 180km/h (112mph) before rolling over several times at a junction on the A94 motorway, between the Austrian border and Munich. The driver has been arrested.
Police said the vehicle's overcrowding contributed to the high death toll. A six-year-old child was among the dead.
There have been a number of crashes involving people-smugglers in European countries in recent weeks.
A car with French licence plates thought to be smuggling migrants overturned in Hungary on Thursday, leaving two dead and six injured.
Last week, a vehicle crashed in the town of Burghausen, on the German-Austrian border, about 50km from the site of Friday's accident, injuring four people.
Several EU countries, including Poland, Germany and the Czech Republic, have reimposed border checks in recent weeks as a result of an increase in smuggling incidents.
Polish authorities say the heightened checks have succeeded in reducing the number of migrant crossings.
The A94 motorway in south-eastern Germany is considered a regular route for people-smugglers crossing the border from Austria.
Bavarian Interior Minister Joachim Herrmann said the tragic crash highlighted the need to strengthen border controls to stop smugglers from entering Germany.
First-time asylum requests in Germany rose by 78% in the first seven months of 2023. Police say the passage of about a quarter of migrants into Germany is facilitated by smugglers.
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alright. I’m tired. And stranded in the middle of Goulburn for some reason (dw I’ll make it to Melbs, timetabling just isn’t my friend rn). But the assignment is in! and so I’m gonna approach it from a more instinctive ?? common sense perspective bc i made sense for a whole 2200 words with proper grammar and that’ll do me.
you know how you get irritable in traffic or when transport is running late?? everyone does I swear I don’t think there’s a person alive who never does if they don’t sometimes it’s bc there’s some other thing they’re doing that they’re enjoying more. Anyway my point is that everyone’s got their own capacity at which point the stress builds up and impacts them: rest, relationships, general brain and nervous system ability to reset and feel at peace again (if you’ve ever felt it) and some dumb things that’shoukbrt exist like traffic are gonna wear down on it that’s how it goes. less time to balance that out with things that fill us up the less accessible those things are. and then things take longer if you’re poor or otherwise underprivileged or if you even make choices to exist outside the ways the city is designed to be most convenient around (think cars as one). add stress like financial and relational and you’ve got a recipe for burnout or for someone to snap. which might be a mental health crisis or might be losing some of their ability to relate to others without hurting them. cue people get hurt. what you wanna do is nip that cycle in the bud. you want to build systems that are the most convenient for the least privileged not the other way around. it’ll make waves when you do. don’t ask me how I’m too tired to think but I know. I meet people while I travel and I see how they’re living their lives and I know. I’m gonna have words for it someday
also like while I’m here are you studying anything?? I’ve got no idea what you do and what kind of background I’m contesting with, what you already do know etc
firstly, stranded in Goulburn at like 11 something at night?! Hopefully you’ve made it to Melbourne 😭
you’re so so right!! traffic just makes everything a little worse. getting into the cbd is just hell on earth whether your coming in from the trains or actually facing the traffic. the system we have isn’t convenient for anyone at this point. the motorways are insanely priced (shoutout wa for having free motorways) it’s like $10 per trip through the tunnels, maybe more, and it’s still beyond congested (coming at this from a sydney pov)
i am but a girl who lives in sydney (i’ve sat in enough traffic for a lifetime). the inner west has an unholy amount of traffic and the new rozelle interchange makes it worse getting into the city in the peak hour rush.
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