Italian trains are so paradoxical that my train was late but I got to university earlier
Trenitalia aesthetic:
– they announce a delay but then the train arrives exactly at the same hour as usual
– they do not announce a delay but the train arrives ten minutes later than usual
– Ticket inspectors who exist only for the first two days of the month and then magically disappear
– the announcer’s voice that becomes shrill by saying that one random word of the phrase, terrifying you, and than returns normal
-friendships born due to the disperation / anger at the announcement of the (umpteenth) delay
– the Angry Nostalgic Old Man ™ that “wHE the DuCE waS hEre The TRains Were PunctUAL”
– but the rest of the station is super calm bc they are blatantly used to delays
-first and second class interchangeable
– “how this window is supposed to work”
– the announcer that “the train will arrive with 30 minutes of delay” and then “no wait 25″ “40″ “15″ “100″ “60″ “120″ “the train is cancelleD”
– “we are sorry for the inconvenience”
trenitalia gothic
– a train arrives. it’s 90 years late. you notice that the passengers inside are ghosts of people who lived in the 1920s, listening to jazz music
– you are not sure this train stop existed before
– you are not sure this railroad existed before
– you were sure that a train had to stop at the station by this time but it disappeared
– why is the train stopping in the middle of nowhere?
– passengers in your wagon are now starting to open the train windows. it’s really hot inside. a kind of anxiety lingers in the air: no one knows exactly where we are and what time it is
– suddenly the air is chilly again. oh no, everyone is freezing. everyone rushes to close the windows
– as the mysterious staff members are announcing that you are currently approaching the end station, you notice that you haven’t actually moved at all from your first station. looks like a circular journey, but staring out of the window you can see something odd, the place anyhow doesn’t look familiar anymore…
@catholic followers: can we please relish the fact that apparently the trump’s family idea of ‘appropriate outfit to wear when meeting the pope’ turned out to be ‘have watched too many sophia loren films and subsequently dressed up for a funeral in southern italy sometime around 1965’, because i’ve been snickering since this morning and still can’t stop
for visual reference:
someone on facebook photoshopped this picture to look like an ad for a funeral business and i am LIVING!
please everyone tag yourself i am the pope
look there’s ppl saying that’s vatican dress code protocol but i can guarantee that it’s NOT, they’re just cosplaying mid 20th century italian villagers in mourning!
seriously that protocol stopped being enforced in the 80s (americans just haven’t gotten the memo, michele also wore black + veil but her faces were much less unfortunate) and nowadays if u dress like that for a vatican state visit NOT ONLY you’re not gonna get any points but u WILL be mocked. case in point: me
looks like the old rich sicilian grandfather died and his second wife, younger and pretty, is trying to hard to look sad when she’s actually just happy because she’ll get his money, her daughter isn’t even trying to look sad, because she’s the one who killed him, his brother, who was having an affair with the now widow, is smiling at relatives to greet them, but he’s actually the only sad one. the pope knows what has happened but can’t say anything, he’ll insert some phrases that will scare the murderer in the sermon tho.
i can get on board with ivanka as the killer.was it a mafia death? this is the only mafia AU i could actually get behind
if there are only dementors and prisoners in azkaban then who makes the food??? is there a dementor in the prison kitchen wearing a kiss the cook apron and making pancakes for the inmates? jkr explain yourself
you, about italian summer: aesthetic, beautiful people walking at dusk holding hands on the beach, reading a book by the shades of a tree, falling in love with the first italian person you meet, orange palette colours
me, an intellectual: sweating from every pore, too much heat, tree shades won’t save your weak soul, sunscreen cream PROTECTION 100, bugs, mosquitoes, MOSQUITOES EVERYWHERE, you look like you’re ill of chickenpox for all the mosquito bites, Divieto di Balneazione™, “COCCO BELLO COCCO”, people completely drunk and wasted on August 15th, when even the tiniest bit of wind rises people cheer and sing hallelujah all together
you: aw, I’m so jealous, I wish I could spend the summer in italy
me, emerging from my darkened living room at 2pm on a july afternoon like some kind of swamp demon, my hair a mess and my skin nearly bioluminescent from the mosquito repellent I just bathed in: you have no idea what you’re talking about
italian summer aesthetic: tv newscasters warning you about The Exodus. beware, they say. but you cry. you know you can’t escape it.
More aesthetic: StudioAperto saying is the hottest summer of the last 800 years( *war flashbacks from 2003). Towns looking like ghost cities in the Old Wild West from 12 to 5. Radio is still playing Sotto I Raggi del Sole by Brusco. Kids playing football on the beach IO VE LO BUCO QUESTO PALLONE MI INSABBIATE L’ ASCIUGAMANO
sun dried corn fields and scalding asphalt from the summer of 2003 are my default post-apocalyptic aesthetic
That guy on the beach who sells bracelets and summer equipment that you never buy but you’ve befriended him anyway
*sees new character on a show that I watch and the actor/actress playing said character looks vaguely familiar*
*has to immediately press ‘pause’ to google who it is and where I know them from before I can watch the rest of the show in peace because otherwise my mind will keep nagging me about it for the whole 45 minutes instead of paying attention to the plot*
Jane Austen: The slowburn writer to end all slowburn writers. Has a mild case of purple prose syndrome. Sets you up to think she’s using a really lame trope or cliche, but then pulls the old BITCH U THOUGHT. Gets in fights with commenters who completely miss the point of her work.
William Shakespeare: Where dick jokes meet feels. Recycles old plots that have been in the fandom for years, but always manages to put a new spin on it. That said, he’s better known for good character writing than good plots. Kind of problematic, but people love him anyway. Laughs at and encourages commenters who completely miss the point of his work.
The Brontë Sisters: Their fics get lots of comments but they never reply. They never leave author notes, either. They share an account, and there are talks of a collab fic coming soon. Write fics for OTPs of questionable healthiness and consent. Only ever write darkfic. Like, REALLY dark. …People are getting kind of worried about them.
Edgar Allan Poe: Also only ever writes darkfic, but at this point, people have moved past being worried about him and have just accepted that he’s weird, he’s morbid, and we love him. Channels his feelings about his ex into his writing. It results in really good stories but everyone’s sort of like, “…Dude.”
Charles Dickens: Trying to set the record for highest wordcount on ao3, and it shows.
Victor Hugo: Currently holds the record for highest wordcount on ao3.
Oscar Wilde: Only ever writes M/M. Has a BAD case of purple prose, but it’s worth it if you manage to get through. His stories are either hilarious or soul-crushing. Or somehow both. People love him but know better than to disagree with him publicly, lest he destroy you with one of his infamous subtweets.
L. Frank Baum: Wrote one really well-loved story that’s among the most famous in the fandom, and it’s literally all he’s known for, and it pisses him off. His popular story became a multichap against his will because it’s the only one of his stories anyone actually reads. He keeps trying to end it so he can work on other things, but always ends up coming back.
Arthur Conan Doyle: Feels L. Frank Baum’s pain. SO much.
James Joyce: Has fascinating ideas, but takes forEVER to get to the point in his stories. Also a stoner, and it shows.
Lousia May Alcott: Writes stories for her unpopular OTP (that’s a NOTP for most of the fandom) and breaks up everyone’s favorite ships, mainly out of spite. Also kills everyone’s favorite characters, less so out of spite.
Mary Shelley: Writes incredible stories, but publishes under her boyfriend’s account because she’s banned from ao3. …Again.
persephone's corner 