#Mediterranean party islands

[yachtchartermediterranean]

Step into the realm of extravagance in the Mediterranean as you immerse in the vibrant nightlife of the legendary islands, Mykonos and Ibiza.

[ceesimz]

when we two parted

part two here!

This fic is based off the poem When We Two Parted (hence the name, and see a section of it above) as well as a song called Strange by Celeste. I think this fic is a result of the romcom movie marathon i did last week whilst recovering from concussion so make of that what you will. If it's wanted, I can do a part two!

A house party in Menorca was hardly a place to fall in love. Or so Alexia thought.

To some, the end of the season was a welcome break to completely switch off and relish in their life outside of football. For others, or rather, for just one, it wasn't a very enjoyable time, more of a nuisance really. But when Alexia had been invited by Mapi to go to Menorca, where the Zaragoza local had escaped to many times before and talked about it for hours on end everytime when she got back, Alexia couldn't say no this time. They'd be joined by a few of their other teammates, but Mapi had informed them that they would be welcomed by her many friends on the small island and invited to enough endeavours to keep them entertained.

That's how Alexia found herself waking up on the sofa of a beautiful Mediterranean house on the second morning of the vacation. The previous night, she'd partied with her teammates and Mapi's friends, having a few drinks here and there but never passing the line of tipsy. But, when the time came to leave, she had no money on her, a dead phone, she couldn't find Mapi or her teammates, and even if she could ask someone to get her back to the villa they were at, she didn't know the address either. Which is why she's waking up on a random couch on an island she doesn't know, now with a working phone thanks to the phone charger she found (and stole) in a drawer beside the sofa.

It was a little before 7am, way too early for any of the people who had drank the night before to be awake, and that's why she was drawn to the kitchen on her way towards the front door.

Coming from the room was quiet, calm music as well as a soft voice singing along. The voice belonged to a woman clearing the counters from the cups and bottles from the previous night, this young someone lost in her own world as she swayed to the melody ringing out. And when she turned a little so that her features were visible to Alexia, the midfielder couldn't help the smile that graced her face.

This unfamiliar woman was beautiful. It was clear to see and simple to say, she was ineffably gorgeous. Alexia didn't recognise her from the previous evening, as much as she tried to piece the night's events together, she couldn't recall meeting her. She stood there for a few silent moments, admiring the woman in front of her. Dressed in running gear, a tan to her skin and a peaceful smile on her face.

But when the woman in question cursed at the sight of Alexia, not expecting anyone to be lingering in the doorway, the Catalan couldn't help but chuckle quietly.

You were deathly embarrassed by the yelp you let out and the reaction you had to the seemingly harmless party-goer some feet away, caught red-handed in a day dream whilst cleaning the kitchen.

“I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in.” You apologised with a grimace, yet the blonde just smiled.

“No, it is okay.” Alexia brushed it off.

The footballer didn’t quite know what to do. She felt drawn to the person across the room from her, but you were complete strangers to each other. The only thing she knew was that, from the few words spoken so far, you spoke English without an accent like she did.

“Um, per- perdóname? Mi español es muy pobre.” You stumbled through the limited Spanish you knew, and it was nothing but endearing to Alexia. “I mean, I can understand it if... if you speak slowly, but…”

“Hablaré más despacio por ti.” Alexia answered, surprising herself. “I can understand English, I am not good at talking.”

“Well, that's us sorted then.”

You internally cursed yourself for being so awkward in the moment, but honestly you weren’t expecting anyone to be up and about at this time, nevermind the most attractive woman on the island. You had no idea who she was, where she came from, or even what her name was, but the intrigue was there and it was burning wildly through you. 

She didn’t seem to mind your awkwardness, instead she met it with some of her own and stood rooted to the ground with the same smile that seemed to only grow bigger the longer this interaction carried on.

“Estas limpiando?” She wondered, stepping a little closer.

“I'm, uh... oh! Yes, I'm cleaning, thought I would get a head start with it.” You gestured loosely to the room before going back to clear the clutter off of the sides again.

“Puedo ayudarte a limpiar, si quieres?” Alexia asked without any second thought, not really sure why she was offering to clean a stranger's house at the crack of dawn. 

She was feeling exactly the same as you did. Confused, but weirdly interested. Alexia was in the same position as you, too; she didn’t know your name, who you were, all that she did know was that you were beautiful and, to her knowledge, frustratingly not from Spain.

“No, that's okay, you're a guest. You're free to go home.” You tried to wave her off, but she wasn’t stepping down so easily.

“No, insisto. Como puedo ayudar?”

Alexia stayed firm in her offer, and before she knew it, she was busying herself with any bit of cleaning she could see. Wiping down the counters, mopping the floors, taking out the trash, she even found herself washing the piles upon piles of dishes that had accumulated. Unbeknownst to the other, you both individually felt like you were caught up in some kind of hallucination, or a fever dream at least. You, stood with the biggest footballer of women’s football (not that you knew that yet), having her clean your friend’s house. Alexia, tidying up at sunrise for a woman she was fastly growing a crush on.

“You are English?” Alexia questioned as she washed her hands, looking over at where her cleaning partner was sorting through a pile of jackets that the party guests had thrown over a loveseat in the corner of the room.

“I am. English and very ashamed at how bad my Spanish is.” You laughed in spite of yourself, pulling a face as you lifted up a random, single high-heel from the never ending pile before dropping it to the ground with a grimace.

“Why?”

“Well, considering I live in Spain and have done for some months now, it should be better than it is. I just have a hard time keeping up with my online lessons.” Hm. She lives in Spain too. Alexia was nothing if not infinitely more intrigued by that new fact. “So, do you live in Menorca? It's a beautiful island.”

“No, Barcelona.”

“Oh, no way!” Alexia looked up at the quick burst of excitement from the person she still didn’t have a name for, chuckling when the woman in question blushed and cleared her throat before speaking. “I live in Barcelona too.”

Alexia's eyebrows shoot up at the new information she had just learnt, a shy smile on her face. She nodded once before turning back to the sink, goosebumps raised on her arms that, when paired with the eruption of butterflies that had just occurred, signified she was in trouble. Rather, her heart was in trouble.

“This house, es muy bonita. Yours?” She steered the conversation away, not wanting to dwell on the sensations flooding her body. She was still talking to a stranger after all.

“No, it's a friend's house, they let me stay for the week and said I could invite people over.”

“Mm. Bueno, gracias por la fiesta, fue divertido. I did not see you?”

“I wasn't at the party, no. My friend María told me she would keep an eye on everything.” Alexia shook her head as she turned to lean back against the counter, her eyes tracking your movements around the room.

“Mapi no está aquí.” She revealed, to which you froze on the spot and groaned.

“That little... ugh. I knew I couldn't trust her.” You complained, cursing under your breath as you threw a beer cap in one of the bins. “Do you know where she is?”

“No. She leaved early.” Alexia grimaced. “Nunca confíes en María cuando se trata de fiestas.”

“Well, I've learnt my lesson now.” You grumbled, Alexia laughing quietly. Quickly glancing around the room, you decided you were happy with its semi-replenished state and stopped to take a breath before turning to face Alexia. “You're friends with María then, I'm guessing? One of the girls she invited?”

“Sí, muy buenas amigas. Demasiado bueno, diría yo.” Alexia said, mumbling the last part in an exasperated tone. You hear it though, and despite it taking a few moments to translate it, you giggle at it.

“I know that feeling. I've known her a while and she still gets under my skin. Like when she abandons her care-taking job for a house that isn't even mine.” You responded, Alexia nodding and chuckling. “I’ll stand her up in the morning so that she can’t go on her beloved boat trip that’s under my name, we’ll see how she likes it.”

“You are on the boat tomorrow?” There was a hopeful lilt to her voice that shouldn't have sparked as much excitement in you as it did.

“I am. That's if I don't get arrested for assault before I get there.” You huffed, the woman before you grinning again. “Shouldn't you be getting back to your villa now? I've kept you long enough.”

“Um. I do not know the, uh, dirección.”

“Oh, that's alright. I think I have it, I don’t have my phone on me at the moment but if you grab a pen and paper from beside you then I can write it down.”

“Ah, sí. Gracias.”

Alexia did as she was told and picked a pen from the stationary pot along with a small square of paper from a very organised corner of the kitchen counter. There was a sly grin on Alexia’s face as she handed both items over to you. With pink cheeks that can’t really be excused by the run you went on before you arrived, you jotted down the address of her Airbnb with slightly shaking hands before signing your name along with it too. Then, for reasons you’re not quite sure of, you drew a random, squiggly smiley face beside it. You gave the note to her and waited for her to notice with an even darker shade to your face than before, to which she laughed quietly at the drawing. It was cut short though when she glanced at your name. She said it quietly to herself, before looking back at you and humming.

“Do I get to know your name?” You wondered with a playful smile, head slightly on a tilt and a hopeful glint in your eye.

“Ale.” She said after a moment of brief hesitation. You picked up on it, but were sure she had her reasons, so let it slide.

“Es un placer conocerte, Ale.” You held your hand out and, with a coy smile, Alexia deftly took hold of it and shook it gently.

That handshake, one small and common gesture, was the start of something much bigger than the both of you.

—

You lay in bed that night, a book beside you waiting to be read and the bedside table lamp on, with a question mark lingering over you. It was just after midnight, and despite the luxury of the house and the grand size of it, you’d chosen the smallest bedroom to stay in during your time. No one ever wanted it, it was always the last choice, but it called to you for some reason everytime. Your friend joked that there should be a plaque with your name on it at this point on the door, saying it was your room and yours only. Maybe you pitied it, maybe you knew how it felt. But it’s just a room, the walls aren’t alive no matter how much they speak to you, and as quick as it arrives the thought leaves. 

The question mark that hangs shrinks suddenly, redacting down into your right hand. Your eyes follow it, moving from the ceiling above you to the palm that fuzzes in an attention-seeking nature. It’s the one that had been held so delicately by the woman that had quietly interrupted you that morning, and before you know it there’s a familiar heat to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the late night warmth of the Spanish weather. It does have everything to do with her.

There was still everything that you didn’t know about her. She was from Barcelona, her name was Ale, and you both shared a mutual friend in María. And if you pieced together things you knew about your good friend, there was other information you could gather about Ale too. María played football for Barcelona’s football club, and they were fairly successful. Though you wouldn’t know a thing, you hadn’t been to a game before nor had you even watched one. The only sides of María you know is the laid back, relaxed version that dismisses any talk about football on vacation, and the party animal you had first met. Football wasn’t your thing, and María wasn’t one to force that upon anyone. She kept that separate from you, and the closest you came to being interlinked with the sport was when she invited her teammates along to join your friend group for whatever social occasion she had organised, both here and back home in Barcelona.

So perhaps Ale played football. Or, at least, worked for María’s team. She did look quite athletic, to say the least. That was probably the most polite way to phrase it. Regardless, Alexia had never appeared at any dinners or club night-outs that María had organised, you would remember if she had.

To the world, Alexia was an enigma. She is to you, too, but for entirely different reasons. The world had known her for twelve years as she performed at the highest standard in football, a role model on and off the pitch to every boy and girl, old and young. You had known her for less than twenty-four hours, but you were struck with the sense that knowing her for a lifetime could be a gift untold by any literature.

Your book doesn’t get opened that night. Thoughts of a certain someone are enough to lull you asleep. And some miles away, that very person ends up in the same scenario.

The shy smiles you greeted each other with bright and early the next morning at the boat charter desk subconsciously notifies you both that there are strangely similar butterflies making a home for themselves in your stomachs. 

For the first half of the day, the pair of you don’t really come together again. Rather, you stick with your usual friends, but Alexia would be lying if she said her eyes didn’t drift over towards you any chance she could get. You’re the same though, but when you’re caught out by one of your friends, you deny it with a blush and try to shove Ale to the back of your mind.

Until everyone decides they’re bored of tanning and relaxing, and they all jump into the ocean the second the boat is anchored. You, as someone not entirely comfortable in the water, decided to stick it out for now and stay on the boat. Considering how hot it was, you would have thought everybody would have jumped in to cool down. But not everyone.

“Hola.” A voice said from behind, before they came to lay beside you at the front of the boat.

“Morning. I don’t have any cleaning for you to do, I’m afraid.” You teased, linking your hands together over your eyes to avoid them averting to other places. Oh, and to block the sun too.

“Thank you, señorita.” Alexia grinned, adjusting her sunglasses as she turned to look at you. “Qué tal?”

“I'm very well, thank you. Y tu?” 

“I am good also. You do not like the water?” She wondered, hearing it call her name but when she saw you alone, she couldn't resist.

“Not really.” You replied sheepishly, and the smirk that built on Alexia’s face after that was a little unnerving. “You can get in, if you want. You don’t have to sit here with me.”

“Hm, no. Y si te caes del barco? I will be your… salvavidas.” Before you registered what you were doing, you scoffed and lightly hit her forearm. The Spaniard laughed at your horrified expression afterwards, waving you off before you got the chance to apologise.

“I don’t need a lifeguard on dry land.” You grumbled, crossing your arms petulantly. 

Alexia hummed in amused agreement, and the pair of you fell into comfortable silence. There was far worse company than that of an enticing Spanish woman, whose idea of relaxation was apparently similar to yours. For some time then, she was content to lie beside you in the heat of the sun, her sunglasses and cap keeping her face protected from the UV… and your gaze. 

You tried, albeit not very hard, to keep your eyes on the words of your book in front of you, but every so often they glanced over at Ale. She was the embodiment of peace, with her hands behind her head and a hint of a smile on her lips. It was your intrigue about her that grasped your attention; out of everyone on the boat, all of her close friends and the others she could have chosen to get to know instead, she was here beside you. That didn’t happen to you very often.

Your solitude was something you valued, though it wasn’t entirely out of choice. Things happened, good and very bad, to get you to this point, and it all made you into the person you are now. People rarely ever gravitated to you like Ale had. More often than not, you were just a fly on the wall. And, really, that was why you weren’t at the party the other night. They weren’t your thing, not just because of the noise and chaos, but because you weren’t really a drink and dance kind of person. You were a sunbathe and read person. 

Being a part of the crowd wasn’t something that appealed to you anymore. For years, you had tried to fit in, but after one too many interactions with the worst half of humankind’s people, it was better to stay in your shell. Some days, you pondered if you had just convinced yourself if solitude was the better option as a result of your own failures, or if it was something you genuinely enjoyed. It was a dichotomy that you didn’t often like thinking about too much.

“You are reading.” Alexia stated simply, meeting your eyes when you turned to look at her with a laugh.

“Yes, I am. Congratulations.” You grinned at her, the other woman rolling her eyes.

“You are reading, but the water is there.” She sat up and rested her elbows on her knees as she glanced around at the glassy ocean that stretched on into the horizon. 

“Do you want a medal for that, Captain Obvious?” You replied without looking away from your book, although the words weren’t really registering anymore.

There was a snarky reply on the tip of Alexia’s tongue at that, but now wasn’t the time to spoil the whole facade she had built up around you. To you, she was just Ale, nobody else. Was it wrong for her to want to relish in the ease that brought for her? Possibly. The life you lived was so different to the one she had, it was nice to remember the simplicity that her world once held.

“Do you not read on vacation? There’s no better time to do it.” You continued whilst she got stuck in her thoughts, glancing at her as she stayed silent. With a gentle nudge against her ankle with your foot, you brought her back down from wherever her mind had floated off to.

“Sí, I do. But there is more fun things to do. What is that phrase? Algo sobre el pelo…” She mumbled to herself, with a scowl and a frown as she jogged her memory that you found way too endearing considering the fierceness it possessed.

“Let your hair down?” You provided, giggling when she briskly turned to you and nodded whilst snapping her fingers.

“Sí! Let your hair down, get in the water. Conmigo, juntos.” She tried to transfer some of her excitement over to you, and you hated to admit it, but she was quite convincing.

“I’m alright here. You go, you don’t need me.” Apparently, the Spaniard wasn’t one to back down.

“No, venga, you are coming. The boat has, uh, those silly chaquetas. You will have one.” She stood up abruptly, bored of sitting still, and held her hands out expectantly. 

“I’m not wearing a life jacket! That’s embarrassing, Ale.” You laughed, though you sat up and took her hands to stand up, trying not to stare at the skin on show that passed your eyeline as you did.

“No, está bien! You, you want to sit aquí and be muy aburrido? No! Diviértete! Vamos.” 

With far more confidence than she actually had deep down, Alexia kept hold of your hand and led you through the empty boat to where she had seen some life jackets earlier. You were a giggling mess behind her, staring at her muscular back and all the artwork that decorated it. Her hand was warm and almost entirely encapsulated yours, a fact you would have to ignore for now. 

You had known her for hardly a day, yet here you were jogging hand in hand and laughing like teenagers. It was… refreshing. And so unusual to anything you had ever known in your life. You were a reclusive person that liked routine, familiarity. Not life jackets and treacherous water. Well, maybe not treacherous, the clear ocean was as still as could be, but that’s besides the point. 

This woman, Ale, barely counted as an acquaintance. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel extraordinarily enticed to dive right in, even if it went against every single one of your instincts. Not in that sense though, only in a metaphorical way.

“Ale, I’m not doing it.” You cowered away from the edge of the small platform at the back end of the boat, whilst Alexia sat beside you with her legs already in the water. Despite your earlier grievances, there was now an embarrassingly neon yellow life vest strapped around your torso that screamed ‘I’m English and terrified of water!’

“Jump! Es bonito, créeme.” She urged you with an enchanting smile that was a little hard to resist. 

In an all too distracting fashion, she whipped her white cap off and sat up straight to tie her hair into a bun, and you had to avert your eyes away from her once more. She caught you already, if the crimson to your cheeks was anything to go by and the awkward nature you adorned anytime she moved. 

“If you’re so sure, why aren’t you getting in?” You challenged her, only for her to smirk.

“Porque no soy… a pussy.” 

At that, she lowered herself into the warm sea with a smug look on her face, whilst you stared at her in shock at how such an innocent seeming woman who claimed to know no English just insulted you in such a way. All she did was turn onto her back and gaze up at you with a knowing grin. The way she looked so effortlessly relaxed floating on her back did seem like fun. But you weren’t so easily convinced.

“Venga, cariño. In.” She waved you over with one hand, smiling coyly as you sighed but sat down on the edge nevertheless. “Sí, step one! Now in!”

“Alright, alright! You’re like a pushy swim coach, let me do it in my own time.” Her teasing demeanour softened then, and she swam the short distance back to where you stood. She held onto the platform with one hand whilst she offered the other out to you.

“I will be here. It is okay, lo prometo.” 

Alexia’s smile wasn’t mocking or exasperated, it was bashful and welcoming. Her eyes and her hand were inviting, and you had a feeling that there was some kind of foreshadowing underlying if you didn’t let her guide you into the warm water around. Like the ones you see in the movies, in the books you read. Whether it was that weird, nagging feeling that had you sitting at the edge and fearfully lowering yourself in or if it was Ale’s carefree nature that you had wished for all your life, you had no idea.

“Ves? Te lo dije.” The blonde had to suppress her laughter at the terror in your eyes that you tried to hide, but that laughter was easy to ignore due to the overriding joy she felt at such a simple event. She just hoped this wasn’t the last she saw of you.

“Sure, sure.” You mumbled, your legs flicking aimlessly to tread the water, when in matter of fact it was your vest doing most of the work. “Okay, it isn’t too bad, actually.”

“Te lo dije, cariño! Ahora, on your back. Arms like an angel. Like, with the snow.” Her instructions were a little skewed, probably due to the language barrier, but you gathered what she was saying. A moment later, you were floating on your back in the water like she had been doing a few moments ago. It was pretty relaxing. “Ahh, sí. Podría hacer esto todo el día.”

“And you say reading is boring on vacation.” You mumbled, gasping when she splashes at you.

“This is better, do not lie.” Alexia shrugged as best as she could considering her current situation.

Little did she know, she had started a war.

Feeling somewhat cocky with your handy floatation device, you awkwardly paddle closer before forcing a wave her way. Immediately after you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter at how it borderline water-boarded her. Once she had wiped her eyes, she looked over at you with revenge burning in her eyes. You were done for. 

Considering you were both adults, the childish fight went on far longer than expected of you both. There were more than just your eyes on each other, the commotion had caught the eyes of a few of the others. One person in particular had a pleased grin on her face. On the surface, of course she was happy to see two of her closest friends get along so well. Deep down, however, she wanted nothing more than to see it develop into something better. 

She had been there to witness things she never wanted to see for the both of you. And as a result of the individual difficulties experienced by each of you, there were some wounds left over that she believed could be healed by something right in front of your eyes. The purity that lived in your hearts which, once comfortable with another, could be so clearly seen on your sleeves was something Mapi believed would do wonders for every aspect of your respective lives.

Alexia’s soul had been stamped on by past relationships and her flame had simmered to a dim glow, her chest a hollow and desolate place. You had stomached countless blows, many that would’ve taken the average person out, and yet you were stronger for it. You’d made a life for yourself, sure. An outside glance would show a successful woman at the height of her career, loving life abroad with enough friends around the globe to fill up a village. Should anyone get a look inside your mind, they’d see it was void of love, of true joy. Like Alexia, your personality had been broken down and shoved into a closet, for no one to see or have the privilege of truly getting to know. 

Mapi knew, in an ideal world, you and Alexia could find yourselves in a relationship that would take you so high on a personal level. Except, it’s not an ideal world, it’s a cruel one that had gotten you both to this shattered point anyway. She could only hope that the road to get there wasn’t a long, arduous one that neither of you would deem worth it. 

“Alright, alright! Truce!” You shouted, desperately trying to swim away from Alexia and her lethal attacks. 

“Ah, I won!” She cheered, throwing her arms in the air in celebration, only for her to sink down. Laughter bubbled out of you before you could stop it, and if the water hadn’t taken her breath away, the sound you made sure would have. “I get a prize, no?”

“What? No! If I had known there was a prize, I would have tried harder.” You rolled your eyes, only to be met with a cheeky grin when you looked back at her.

“No, te equivocas. Lo gano todo, siempre.” Apparently, in every turn of life, Alexia’s competitiveness had no qualms with showing itself.

“Ah, so you are a footballer.”

It meant to come out in a teasing way, but it didn’t quite land right. Alexia’s smile faltered, a dejected look forming in her eyes. Dread washed over you; this happened every time. Just as you were getting somewhere with a person, you said something that would erase all your progress. This time had the chance to hurt a lot more than all the others, even after just a day.

“I am.” Alexia nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes like the others you had seen.

“I’m sorry for saying that, I didn’t mea-”

“No, no, no te preocupes. You… I was going to tell you pronto, pero…” She trailed off and glanced away, shrugging slightly.

“You wanted to do it in your own time. Get a break from that part of your life.” You finished her sentence for her, and just like that, she was gazing at you again with admiration in her eyes.

“Yes.” She whispered with a nod, her eyes wide but not unnerving, rather they were almost full of awe.

Everyone in Alexia’s life questioned why she didn’t relish in the glory and popularity that being who she was brought. Her closest family understood of course, but everybody else thought it was strange. Why work so hard for something and not reap the rewards? She didn’t see them as rewards, that’s why. The eyes, the photos taken without her knowledge, the strangers coming up to her in the street and heckling for her to sign something or take selfies when she’d rather disappear off the face of the earth- she didn’t see why anyone would find joy or pride in that when it’s everything she’s ever hated. 

She knew it was a symbol of her achievements, but was it worth it when she would get followed to her apartment, to her family home? Or around the world, like when there was paparazzi on her private vacation the summer before this one? 

And yet, you understood it. You didn’t know her, or the extremes of her job, or the attention she got, but somehow it just clicked. 

It wasn’t some kind of superficial, fairytale moment of ‘soulmate understanding’ for you, Mapi had informed you on the struggles of rising fame a while ago in the midst of the national team struggles when she had escaped with Ingrid to the very island you were on now, which you happened to be on at the same time. You had some level of understanding, only a little, but that was more than enough for Alexia.

“I get it. We don’t have to talk about it.” You told her softly, to which she sighed in relief. “Can we get out of the water now though? I’m thirsty.”

Just like that, the awkward moment had passed.

—

The rest of the day on the boat passes in a flash, and before you knew it, it was pulling up at the docks whilst everyone waited to get off. Each person was just as exhausted as the other as everyone piled off one by one across the tiny plank that everyone secretly feared, especially in such a tired state, but with no casualties, they all went their separate ways. Mapi was coming with you for dinner that night, just the two of you, but she was trailing behind on facetime to Ingrid, so you were walking on your own. Until…

“Hey!” Alexia jogged up to you and gently halted you with a hand on your forearm, coming to stand in front of you with a smile that lost its confidence as soon as you met her gaze. “Oh, um… this is for you.”

As quick as she came, she was gone. All that was left was the note she thrust into your hands before she walked back towards wherever she was initially headed.

In utter confusion, you turned to watch her leave, laughing at the way she scurried away. With a shake of your head, you opened the note and felt your heart rate pick up at just a few words.

Me debes un premio, ¿no? Ven a cenar conmigo mañana por la noche, estaré en el restaurante cerca de tu casa esperandote. Espero verte allí. - Ale

Her handwriting was messy, like a spider had fallen in ink and scampered across the paper, but from what you could make out of the Spanish words… she had asked you on a date. Tomorrow. At the restaurant near your friend’s house that you were staying at. 

Luckily for you, there was only one restaurant that fit Ale’s description - your favourite restaurant out of all the places in the world you had travelled to. You had brought it up with her earlier that day, and apparently this woman had a stellar memory. It was an off-handed comment you made, describing it exactly as ‘the restaurant near your house’ during a random, filler conversation you had had with the Spaniard as you dried off after going in the water again. 

If that was the prize she wanted, it would be rude not to entertain that.

“Qué quería Alexia?” Mapi asked, interrupting your internal gushing.

Alexia. Her actual name.

“Um, well…” You started, only to trail off as your cheeks turned a crimson colour. With words failing you, out of embarrassment or wonder, you weren’t sure, you handed Mapi the note.

“Qué es esto…” Mapi cut herself off as she read the words in her mother tongue, before looking up at you with her jaw to the ground and her eyes popping out of her head. “Dios mío!”

“María, be quiet!” You shushed her urgently, snatching the note back, only for her to do the same as she read it again and again. “If you rip that, I sw-”

“Ale moves quick! Damn!” She burst out into giddy laughter, grabbing your shoulders and shaking them excitedly. “You have a date!”

“I should never have told you, for god’s sake.” You muttered, turning and walking away from her. She cheered wildly behind you before running to catch up.

“I think it goes without saying that I am happy for you.” She stated, a lot more toned down than she was a moment ago.

“Yeah, you think?” You huffed, crossing your arms as the defender slung an arm around your shoulders. “How long have you known her?”

“Ale? Uff, a very long time. I knew her a tiny bit from international camp but when I joined Barcelona, we became good friends. Whether she likes it or not, I am her best friend.” She hummed. It was hard to ascertain if this was her normal behaviour or if she was a little buzzed from the drinks supplied on the boat. 

“So she plays for your team?” 

“Alexia is Barça. She is Barça, Barça is her.” 

You didn’t quite understand what she meant by that, but it sounded… important. 

It was that reply from Mapi that stuck for the rest of the evening. You thought about it on the way back to your place, throughout dinner whilst the aforementioned woman spoke basically with herself, and as you got ready for bed that night. 

However, it was as you took out your earrings in the bathroom mirror of the tiny en-suite of your favourite bedroom, that you realised there was something under the surface of that comment. There would likely be one true meaning of what that meant for Alexia, but the possibilities were endless for your overthinking mind. 

Was the way she was towards you just an act? What was her true persona? Who really is Alexia?

—

She was just a girl, is what you learn as you walked into the restaurant the next day. 

You had no place to question her based on another person’s comments, even if those words were from her best friend. It would be hypocritical of you, after being on the receiving end of such events all your life, to judge someone before you knew them. 

She was just a girl, nervous to go on a date. That much was clear when you saw her from the doorway, tapping her foot anxiously as her hands fidgeted with the rings she wore whilst waiting for you to show up. She had no idea if you would or not, she didn’t have any way to contact you at all. You could never reject her though.

“Ale, hi.” You said as a waitress led you over to the table, stifling a giggle as Alexia’s chair screeched loudly as she stood up to greet you.

“Hi!” She replied, before clearing her throat and hastily wiping her hands on her trousers. She was dressed relaxed, but suited to the occasion, in a soft cream polo shirt and a darker shade of linen trousers. Her hair was in a half-up, half-down of sorts with two strands at the front out to frame her face, and it was hard not to gawk at her. “You look… so beautiful. Really.”

“Thank you, you look amazing too.” You beamed shyly, gladly accepting the hug she offers and blushing a little at the kiss she leaves on your cheek.

“Sit, sit. We need, uh, menus, where ar-” The blonde’s nerves were evidently on show as her eyes looked around frantically, and though yours weren’t quite so obvious, it’s reassuring to know she felt just the same as you. 

You often kept things built up inside, buried deep down to hide or deal with later. Alexia also did that, typically, but there was something about you that made all her habits and inhibitions fly out the window. It scared her, but the larger part of her took that as a sign that you weren’t someone to lose. She would have you in her life in any capacity, friend or partner, and if she screwed up then she didn’t think she could forgive herself. 

“Ale, Ale, calm down. We have all night, relax.” You gently took hold of her hands and brought her back down to this moment, to which she nodded and breathed in deeply. “You’re nervous, it’s okay. I am too.”

“Lo sé, lo sé. I haven’t been on a date in so long, cariño, I do not want to mess this up.” She sighed, looking across at you with honesty in her eyes and her soul on show, and it took your breath away a little. Maybe this woman in front of you was everything you had longed for all these years. Someone whose whole being was built with the same foundations as yours, with the same outlook on life and the same values. The same simple, peaceful ideation of what life with love could look like.

“You won’t mess this up, Ale. Just be yourself, the woman I was with yesterday, and you won’t mess this up.” You told her, and she nodded a lot less desperately afterwards. Her facial features and her whole entire body softened then, you saw it and felt it in the way it travelled throughout her and into her hands. Of which, took yours in return, raised them to her mouth, and kissed each individual knuckle. This was a date, after all, as her actions then had so kindly reminded you.

“Thank you for coming. I was worried that I may have been too, uh, cocky?” She grimaced at the English word on her tongue, only making you smile. 

“No, not cocky at all. I appreciate you being honest and forward, it’s rare nowadays and… if I’m honest, I don’t really like the process of getting into a relationship. Everyone is all hard-to-get and mind games, it’s not for me.” You’re rambling already, not used to this scenario, and you already feel embarrassed. “Oh, god, I’m sorry, I’ve totally made myself look like an idiot, I’m s-”

“No!” She cut you off abruptly, shaking her head as you turned your attention back to her. “I think that also. But you, I think that… you are different. Good different. That is why I asked for a date. We do not know each other a lot, but I really want to.” 

You smiled at her. 

“I do too.” 

From there, things are peaceful. Simple and tranquil, just like you both hoped. It’s easy being with each other, because there’s a deeper understanding that’s by some magic naturally there. Nothing is forced, nothing is awkward. Well, that’s a lie, there’s a little awkwardness but you’ve come to learn that that’s just a thing between you both. Perhaps it’ll go away with time, but there’s only one way to find out.

After a bit of back and forth, it’s decided that Alexia will pay for the dinner, her rule of thumb apparently since she asked you, and the drinks seem to never end. A mix of alcohol and normal drinks, but as the evening goes on, neither of you want to leave. That damn cliche phrase that you had thought could never be true was in fact the perfect metaphor, no matter how much that grates your teeth; the world does go away when you’re together. The lives you individually lead fade into the background with the room around you, and rather than learning the basic facts about each other, for hours you spill detail after detail of countless personal stories that create a summary of you both that are far more detailed and honest than first date small talk could ever do. 

It all comes down to that basic understanding that was there from the first day in the kitchen. It’s inexplicably hard to comprehend the fact it’s hardly been three days since that initial meeting, but there is serenity at the surface level that is built by the roots below which seem to have intertwined, between two countries in one continent, to provide the foundations of what could be. Years, centuries, of history and alignments have set the standards of love, now it’s up to the both of you to live up to the possibilities that have been placed down for you.

It’s something you don’t necessarily understand, which is ironic, but you’ve got your whole life to think about that. This isn’t a moment to miss or pass up on by overthinking. For once in your life, you're not going to do that. Not when your future could be staring you in the face.

“Your English is not as bad as you told me it was.” You stated, folding your arms on the table and gazing at Alexia who had just finished her second glass of wine of the night, already having had a cocktail and some water before it.

“Thank you. I get nervous to speak, I think.” Alexia replied with a shrug that wasn’t as nonchalant as she thought it would be; it was a little revealing of the insecurity she just stated.

“Well, I like hearing you speak it. It’s very endearing, it’s cute.” You told her with a sly smile. Alexia smirked and nodded, seemingly thinking for a moment before she leaned in slightly.

“Y el español? El español es ‘cute’? Creo que es mucho mejor que el inglés. Pero, sabes, depende de ti, amor. Lo que prefieras.” She purposely lowered her voice, meaning it was a little raspy and wonderfully addictive, especially in her second preferred language. You rolled your eyes affectionately, pretending that the goosebumps on your arms and the back of your neck weren’t there.

“I suppose that’s quite… nice, too.” You admitted a moment later, the footballer grinning at you as you blushed behind the hands that covered your face in faux embarrassment. “Your English is better than María’s.”

“No, no, no. Serio? La mencionas aquí en la cena? Estamos en una cita, dios mío.” Alexia descended off into a ramble about her friend, specifically to hear you laugh, which you did. “A date I am paying!”

“It was a compliment!” You argued with a beaming smile, one that Alexia matched instantly as you played along.

“Lo que sea.” She rolled her eyes, reaching for the bottle of wine that had been ordered after the main meal, now nearly empty. She poured a glass each, which was only a quarter full, but it was a sign that this part of the evening was coming to an end. What came afterwards, neither of you were sure. It seemed you weren’t the only one that didn’t want it to end, and to be honest it’s a wonder that it’s only now the filler topics start. “You had a dinner date with Mapi last night, no? How was it?”

“It was good, it was good. Um… kind of embarrassingly, actually, she wouldn’t stop talking… about, uh, you.” 

Wrong thing to say?

“Oh. You told her about tonight?” There was a hint of a frown tugging at her lips, which made your stomach drop.

“Kind of. A little. She was just teasing me, mostly, you know what she’s like.” You laughed nervously, glad to see it put a smile on Alexia’s face as she nodded in agreement. It went quiet for a moment, and it was clear you were stuck in thought as you traced your finger around the bottom of your wine glass. “She was really happy for us, actually. Couldn’t stop gushing about it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like, she was so happy that it was all she wanted to talk about. Something about how her two best friends dating would be ‘the best thing in the world’, so… yeah.” You shrugged, kicking yourself for bringing it up. Not for long though.

“It could be.” Alexia hummed after a moment. You glanced up from your glass to see her staring at you openly, and not put off by the topic at hand. “It could be the best thing in the world. We do not know until we try.”

All you could do at that was nod, because it caught you so off-guard. So you did nod, a little gormlessly, at which Alexia laughed quietly, and it snapped you back to reality.

“You’re right. We don’t know until we try.” You agreed, Alexia humming again and nodding. 

The silence after that didn’t need to be filled, unlike the last one. In fact, it wasn’t.

You both drank the last mouthful of your wine, sharing a knowing glance over the glasses, before they clinked down against the table and you both stood up. Alexia waited for you as you grabbed your bag, and all you could think was thank god this wasn’t some American movie where you had to pay the cheque after dinner. You shook that thought away, physically, to which Alexia pulled a confused at, only for you to shake your head and grab her hand. 

There was a sense of urgency about the situation now, felt by the both of you. On the way out of the restaurant, Alexia could barely drop a ‘gracias’ to the waiting staff before she was dragged outside the quaint building by you. But, when you step foot outside, you didn’t know where to go from there. You didn’t know if Alexia wanted the same thing you were hoping for in that moment, and if she didn’t, it might have killed all the excitement for you.

Out on the street, bustling with the night life of the summer evening, you turned to her, a little awkwardly, and searched her eyes. All you found was contentment, and a hint of the desire you felt. Still, you didn’t want to assume anything.

“So… what are you thinking?” You wondered. The blonde maintained eye contact with you, and you felt compelled to hold it, despite the awkwardness you harboured. Then, a moment after, she chuckled under her breath with a shake of her head. “Wha-”

In a split second, her lips were on yours. They didn’t move, they were delicate, and it took you a slow moment to catch up. Just as you kissed her back, her mouth was gone. She stood facing the road again like she hadn’t just thrown everything you thought you knew on its head. You gawked up at her, out of confusion and adoration for what you had just experienced, then turned to face the street as well. There was no emotion on her face, just stoicism and a seemingly total lack of care for what had happened. You clasped your hands in front of you, a frown beginning to form. 

Yet, just as it did, there were a pair of warm hands encapsulating your cheeks and the same pair of lips from before back on yours. You got up to speed much quicker this time; the kiss was soft and seamless, moving at a slow pace as the warmth in your heart far outweighed the warmth of the Spanish climate around you. 

You didn’t kiss on the first date, but apparently that was just a rule you had made after going on too many dates with the wrong people. Because this, well, this was so much better than preserving some stupid rule you had stolen from all the books you read.

Your arms reached up to wrap around Alexia’s neck as the kiss deepened a little, perhaps much more outside your comfort zone considering you were on a public street, but that was the thing about Alexia.

This woman was constantly pushing your boundaries, but not in a panic-inducing way. She did it in a way as if she had peeked inside your mind and picked out all the boundaries that you loathed, and instead replaced them with memories you could have only ever dreamed of. That day in the kitchen, if it had been anyone else standing in your doorway, you would have definitely turned them away. It had taken one look in her eyes, and you knew she was going to change the entire trajectory of your life in the most unexpected way.

“Do you, maybe, want to come back to my place?” You whispered, a little breathlessly, with your forehead resting against hers.

“Sí, me encantar-”

Her phone’s ringtone interrupted her.

It rang out from her pocket, and she groaned as she grabbed it, intending to decline the call. However, along with it she saw a barrage of texts she had unknowingly received throughout the night. At the sight, she had no choice but to answer it.

You stifled a frustrated groan as she brought it up to her ear and answered whoever it was in Spanish, taking a few steps away. With a moment’s peace, you dug your own phone out of your bag and frowned at the first notification you saw.

María: Please forgive me for what I have to do!!

Hardly a minute later, Alexia came back over with the same frustration you felt written all over her face.

“Mapi just rang. One of my younger teammates has got very drunk. I need to go and care for her tonight.” She revealed with a sharp breath out, slotting her phone back into her pocket and shaking her head down at you.

“It’s okay.” You told her with a reassuring smile, frowning again when she shook her head.

“It is not. I am sorry. I wanted to… to spend the night with you, not with-” She cut herself off with a groan, both hands coming up to rub at her face in annoyance. 

“Ale.” You murmured, gently pulling her arms back by her forearms, before your hands slid down her soft skin to hold her hands between you both. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m just happy I spent the evening with you today. I really enjoyed it. I think I needed it.”

The anger inside her melted away as a result of your admission. She nodded and brought you in for a hug, which you happily indulged in.

“I will make it up to you. I promise.” She stated firmly, pulling back from the hug to gaze down at you. It took her barely time at all to convince herself to kiss you once more. And in it, she conveyed every feeling and emotion she would have shown you that night, had she been able to.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow anyway, at the dinner, remember?” You reminded her of the next day's event, something you were both invited to once again. She nodded, and at that, you parted ways.

That day, you didn’t end up speaking much about your current life, or hers, and you never found out what María meant by her statement the night before, because quite frankly it wasn’t on your mind. It doesn’t matter to you. You learnt all you needed to know that you were in love with her, even if it had been just three days.

—

Despite the previous night's perfections, there was one fatal flaw that you had failed to make known so far. It would bite you in the ass as much as it would hurt Alexia.

After the dinner with everyone that had come along on the trip, including yourself and Alexia, you would be going back to the house you were at to pack for your flight only a few hours afterwards. Tonight was your final night.

In your bag, there was a surprise that would hopefully make it somewhat less painful than it could be. That might be wishful thinking though.

Most people were there by the time you arrived at the idyllic restaurant, a laid-back vibe to the place with fake plants and vines covering the walls and vintage bulb lights strewn across the ceiling. All of that was at the back of your mind; there was, realistically, only one reason you agreed to this dinner tonight. 

“You're here.” Alexia whispered in your ear as she took a seat beside you, once again choosing you in a room filled with many more interesting people.

“I am.” You turned to her with a smile, a certain fluttery feeling in your stomach as a delicate hand landed on your knee. 

“I am so happy to see you.” She admitted, glancing around to see everyone else busy with greetings, so she looked back at you and quickly ducked down to place a kiss on your shoulder. “I have waited all day for this, for you.”

“That’s a pretty big compliment, Ale.” You said sheepishly, cowering back into your seat and feeling a little out of place in such a large group.

“It is true. I swear it.” She beamed, and that alone was all the persuasion you needed to stay. 

And you did, no matter how much your skin crawled with the amount of people and conversations and extroversion on show, you stayed. 

Everytime you got a wave of anxiety or unbelonging, there was a steady presence beside you that remained there at all times. It was strange, having so much trust in what most people would class as a stranger considering the time frame of it all, but for you she was like a shelter in the storm. 

It’s just a shame that you had a cloud of dread looming over you all night, and she was soon to be the victim of it. 

At one point, after the main meal, you managed to sneak away from it all. You slipped out quietly, without a fuss or a fanfare, having perfected the Irish goodbye during all these years. You could be found at the rooftop bar just above, your guilt not allowing you to head home just yet due to the one person who you had told to meet you there when she was ready.

For much less time than you expected, you nursed a single mocktail, at peace with your solitude once more, even with the Menorcan nightlife booming all around. But, as you had learnt within the last few days, there was one person that could always pull you out of the anxious pit you thought yourself into.

“Hola, cariño.” Alexia slid onto the stool across from you at the small, intimate table you had chosen by the railing, with an incredible view of the surrounding area. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine.” You brushed her off with a tight-lipped smile, one Alexia could see through instantly, as one hand anxiously clasped your glass and the other scratched the back of your neck. 

“No, you do not look fine.” Alexia frowned, delicately resting a hand on your forearm.

“That’s kind of you.” You laughed, but it was humourless.

“No, you understand what I said. You do not seem yourself.” She said, a little softer than her last words. You shrugged and averted your eyes to the scenery to your right. Her hand squeezed your arm, trying to gain your attention again. It didn’t work, “You can talk to me. I will listen. I am good at that.”

“You are good at listening.” You smiled at her then, to her relief, falling deeper and deeper into her eyes everytime she grinned at you. “It really doesn’t matter, Ale. It’s… it’s silly.”

“Not to me. Venga, talk. Off your mind.” 

Pushing your boundaries, again. Not to laugh at you, or mock you, or cause years worth of emotional anguish. She was doing it simply because she cared. There was no double meaning to it. It was just who she was.

“I guess those kinds of things, the dinner with everyone, just aren’t really… my crowd.” You met her eye nervously, just to be met with earnesty and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on. “I feel out of place there, I always do. I just wish I could be in the background, but at the same time I want to be a part of it. Everyone looks so… free of their burdens, and I just carry them around with me like chains dragging me down and I don’t know how to get out of that mindset.”

The silence that met your rambling was deathly unnerving, and part of you was considering hopping on a flight right this second, to anywhere that’ll have you. Somewhere cooler than this heat, off the grid, with no one around… Alaska? Somewhere in Canada? Or perhaps a place in Chile, or Peru, or-

“You were never in the background to me. Never.” Alexia stated honestly. “You can be like them. But I like your quieter qualities too. Who you want to be one day, I think I will like her anyway.”

For a moment, they were precisely the words you wished to hear all along. Then that passed. In its wake, the same sense of dread from earlier. Almost as if you were already going through the heartbreak that would surely come.

“I have something else to tell you, Ale.” You mumbled. She nodded, emphatically, more than prepared to take on board any more of your insecurities, worries, anxieties, anything. “I’m going home tonight. My flight is at five in the morning.”

“W…what?” Alexia murmured, hoping, praying that she hadn’t heard what she was sure she had.

“I have to leave soon, to get ready for my flight home.” You repeated, expecting her to pull away or to get angry. She didn’t. But you could see the melancholy swirling in her eyes, no doubt drowning her heart too.

“Why did you not tell me sooner? I thought we had more time.” She said dejectedly, her grasp on your arm a little firmer than it was before. It was clear to you she wasn’t ready to let go yet, and that made it all indefinitely worse. Much harder than you expected.

“I-” Your voice cracked over the short syllable. “I’m sorry, Ale. I didn’t really know how to tell you.”

“Do not be sorry, and do not cry, please. It will hurt more if you cry, then I will cry, it will be a mess.” You laughed at her words, and she managed to crack a smile too. “When do you have to go?” 

“Soon. Soon.” You answered, sniffling and wiping your eyes before the tears fell. Then you remembered. “But I have something for you! It’s in my bag, just for you.”

Alexia chuckled at how you frantically looked through your bag for the item you were looking for, pulling it out not a moment later. She took it from you gently, like it was some kind of ancient relic she had to handle with care, knowing how much it meant to you.

“Your book?” She smiled softly at you, this one object worth so much more to her than anything she possessed, just due to the sentiment of it.

“My favourite book. I think you’ll like it. It’s in English though, so that might put you off.” You teased, but instead of playing along, she shook her head and tore her eyes away from the gift to gaze at you with nothing but unabashed amazement exuberating from her. 

“No, I will read this. Thank you, for giving a piece of yourself to me.”

“Here, let me write something in it for you.” 

You rooted through your bag for a pen you knew was in there, finding it in a heartbeat. Alexia slid the book over to you and watched you with great intent, only for you to turn the cover over so she couldn’t see what you wrote on the first page. She rolled her eyes and looked away, entirely missing the way you flicked through to the final page and scribbled something down quickly. The click of the pen brought her attention back to you, and she went to take it back before you slammed your hand down on the cover.

“No, don’t read it while I’m here. Wait until I’m gone.” You demanded. With a sigh, she gave in, knowing she would let you lead her off of a cliff if you just said the words. She went to speak again, only to be stopped by a ringtone, yet again. “I’m sorry, Ale. That’s my alarm. I need to go.”

Goodbyes were the worst. No amount of preparation and acceptance could force away the onslaught of emotions that built up merely at the idea of them. You found yourself grasping for the right words, but you knew deep down that none can appropriately capture the magnitude of what you’re feeling. It’s a blur, that sacred moment, and it feels awfully final. Though you know that life, with all its beauty, will cross your paths again some day, there’s no certainty in anything. 

And that thought, as you pull away from her arms and take it step by step across the bar, constricts your heart tightly, as if it’s still her hand holding it and refusing to let go. You feel the ache of her absence already, though you still share the same air, and the tears on your face glimmer in the warm light of the fairy lights above you.

Alexia hadn’t quite felt heartbreak like it. She had known love, she had known loss. But never had she felt so sick to her stomach at the idea of someone walking so simply out of her life. Still, she had no way to contact you, only knowing your first name and that you lived in Barcelona. Yet, at the same time, she knew everything about you. In your opinion, there wasn’t another human on earth that so deeply understood the essence of your being. But she couldn’t do anything about it. You were out of her reach now. A face in the distance. 

In secret you both met and in silence you will now grieve, because no one could understand how deeply intertwined you had become with each other’s souls in such a short time.

Isn't it strange, how a few fleeting moments can change every hope and dream about the future. And yet, in the glimpse of an eye, it can disintegrate into a past memory before we even know it.

—

Part two? because what if i said, theoretically, i already have the whole entire plotline figured out for it🌝 let me know what you think :)

[mammonscheeks]

demon brothers + dateables as destinations in the human world

✎ a/n: these are my opinions! i'm south and west asian, so i am most knowlegeable about those countries, please correct me if i've said anything incorrect!

LUCIFER

new york city, usa. he likes the cold, industrial corporate feel of nyc. it helps him avoid his feelings.

anywhere in germany. he likes their no-nonsense culture and unspoken social rules.

MAMMON

las vegas, nevada, usa. he always begs mc to take him there. the flashy lights and casinos are right up his alley.

dubai, uae. he loves the luxurious feel of it, and how its the center of celebrity gatherings, vacations, and parties.

LEVIATHAN

tokyo, japan (especially the akihabara/electronic district). he's always updated on pop culture and the newest technology/games.

seychelles island, africa. he likes swimming, but not socializing on the beach. that's why he likes isolated islands.

SATAN

london, england. he's interested in their medival history and seeing the places that inspired novels like harry potter and the sherlock holmes franchise.

cat island in japan, or any mediterranean country where cats freely roam.

ASMODEUS

paris, france. he'd love paris fashion week. he also just seems french to me, idk.

seoul, south korea. he'd adore seoul's culture, everything from the modern sappy kdramas to traditional dresses, like hanbok. he would bring an empty suitcase to stuff it with beauty products.

BEELZEBUB

mumbai, india. this metropolitan city in india offers so many different kinds of food. he would love to eat his way through the city, if not the entire country.

every city in mexico. he'd try the regional cuisine, but also hang out at the beach with his brothers and mc (so cute).

BELPHEGOR

cairo, egypt. he was once fascinated with humans, and often watched them build civilizations from heaven when he was an angel. he would enjoy the historical wonders of egypt.

reykjavic, iceland. idk why he just gives me iceland vibes. life there can be slow and cold, and it often gets less light than other countries.

DIAVOLO

transylvania, romania. he loves its breathtaking castles and culture, and is intrigued with all the pop culture references of vampires.

petra, jordan. this is a significant place in abrahamic religions, known for being haunted by demons, or jinn. diavolo would be fascinated by this history, whether its actually haunted or not. i know he'd eat up those scary ghost tours (insert fic about that here) and even probably try and scare a few tourist groups, despite barbatos advising him against it.

BARBATOS

istanbul, turkiye. istanbul has well-maintained structures from the byzantine empire, the ottoman empire, and even "newer and hip" neighborhoods. barbatos, being able to see the past and future, would appreciate the blend of it all here, like he's walking through time.

kathmandu, nepal. he'd enjoy the peace of monasteries and mountains, which are as old as the earth itself.

SIMEON

tuscany, italy. he'd enjoy the vast fields, heavenly sunsets, small towns and historic churches. he would find tuscany a peaceful place to write, but appreciates the community feel of small italian towns. would definitely be so friendly he'd get invited to eat dinner at a random family's house.

thessaloniki, greece. he would absolutely love seeing all the greek orthodox churches there, with their blue and white colors and dome roofs. he is just amused to see the religious structures humans have created. he'd also probably be interested in greek mythology, even though he's an angel.

LUKE

cape town, south africa. he would be so excited to see penguins at the beach and would enjoy the burst of color south africa offers. he'd also enjoy the modern bakeries and desserts in south africa.

lyon, france. the country is known for desserts. luke would probably take a baking class there to learn how to bake more things.

SOLOMON

salem, or just any small town in massachusetts. as a sorcerer, he's intrigued with their history of "witch hunting" and the paranormal.

lalibela, ethiopia. being old, he's intrigued with how ancient cities like lalibela have changed since biblical times. he also probably enjoys learning about different cultural practices and what they have in common with his sorcery. he also wants to learn how to cook more dishes from different countries, but fails miserably

[thelastofhyde]

ii. santorini.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. tensions are high as you and joel spend your first day together exploring the popular island of santorini. back on the boat, joel gets a glimpse at more than he bargained for. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. mild smut ( female masturbation, mentions of oral sex + piv sex ), bickering, alcohol, mild angst, so much cheese it'll turn you lactose intolerant!! btw joel hates santorini and he makes that known, but none of his opinions reflect my own ( please don't be mean to me over things characters say <33 ) word count. 7.9k hyde’s input. the majority of this chapter was written with a mixture of medicine flowing through my veins, it's a miracle it's even intelligible. apologies for the wait, the holidays and health issues got in the way <3 as always, i hope you enjoy, comments an dreblogs are always appreciated !! previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

It is a known fact that your name and late rarely exist within the same sentence.

The mere thought of being late fills you with a sickness you cannot cure. The extremes you’ll go to avoid it know no bounds. From arriving four hours before a flight, to waiting in your car a whole hour before entering a lecture hall, adulthood is a phase in which you’d sworn to repair the damage of a childhood worth of not arriving late.

Late to school, late to birthday parties, late to dentist appointments.

It wasn’t that you were a particularly difficult child, running rampant around the house as your mother tried to dress you, or your father tried to feed you. Quite the contrary, really. Often, it was little-you who chased around after them, and who waited by the door, school bag in hand, tapping your foot with every second that ticked by on the clock. You were too young and hadn’t the ability nor the empathy to understand that your parents were held up with sorting through things directly influenced by your existence, like cleaning up the messes you left at the breakfast table, or fixing the doorknob you and your sister broke in an intense game of hide and seek.

Nowadays, you can count on one hand the times you’ve been late.

First, you were late to your own surprise birthday party, but that was down to you getting stuck an extra hour at work. It was out of your control.

Then, there’d been your graduation ceremony. Your father missed an exit and ended up taking you on a mystery tour of the city, trying to find the next turn that led to your campus. Again, out of your control.

The third time is the one you remember panicking over the most, knee bouncing uncontrollably with nerves as you sat squeezed between two strangers on a plane. Your sister, barely halfway through her third trimester, had gone into labour, and where were you? Stumbling around drunk on a private beach in Cancún, mumbling along to the lyrics of some early 2000s classic you forget the name of. Your niece, all 4 and a half pounds of her, had decided now was her time to shine and there was nothing, not even the 4 weeks she had yet to grow in utero, that was going to stop her. By the time you arrived, mascara smudged eyes and with the stench of tequila still on your skin, she was laying peacefully in her incubator, the tiniest little fingers clenched into fists and a name tag around her wrist. This too was out of your control.

But the fourth time you’re late, as you stride urgently across the wooden decking of the ship, weaving in and out of lounge chairs and polo-neck wearing crew members, it’s completely within your control.

Yet, it’s not entirely your fault.

An alarm that never went off. A game of hide-and-seek with your purse. An unfortunate slip on bathroom tiles adding another bruise to your knees. An elevator that refused to travel faster than the speed of a snail. It’s as though Lady Luck had set out in favour of being against you, doing her utmost to ensure you arrive exactly seven minutes past your deadline. His deadline.

Best be on the deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’m dockin’ without ya.

Your head whips from one side to another, eyes finding a familiar figure amongst the few passengers meeting their own private guides. It’s the same man from yesterday, out on the balcony, the memory of him cheering his champagne and shooting a tipsy smile your way replaying. Only now he’s clad in plaid, with a frown etched into his forehead as he stares at his watch. There’s another man, hanging off his arm, fusing with the collar of his shirt.

“She’s late,” you overhear him say, voice firm and leaking with annoyance.

“Maybe she just slept in!” The man next to him is cheerier, tired eyes full of optimism, even as he turns his head and stifles a yawn. “Give her a few minutes.”

“What kind of shitty tour guide sleeps in?” Balcony-Man huffs, and you can’t help but think of your niece and her pouty face whenever she fails to get her own way. “Does she think I’d not rather be asleep too? Lazy c-”

“See? This is why I told you to eat that damn croissant before we left.” The taller of them seems to snap, rolling his eyes. “Brighten up, Bill, or so help me God you’ll be leaving this boat a divorcee.”

Trying to tune their voices out, as the guilt of prying crawls its way into your bones, your gaze points down at your feet. The very same heels you’d worn last night, pretty as they may leave you, have you cursing at the Sun and the Moon. If you’d have just worn your sneakers, maybe you could have ran up the stairs instead of taking the snail-evator.

Joel, tour guide, Signore Miller’s voice- though your imagination can’t quite reach his level of arrogance- rears its irritating head through your mind, recalling his words from last night. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. That had been enough to awaken that stubborn mule inside of you, hell-bent on proving him wrong.

But now, late, and with him nowhere in sight, your heels seem to have had the opposite effect. They’ve proved him right.

Which leaves you here, moping so pathetically you’re incapable of appreciating the shine of a rising sun over the horizon of aqua blue water.

Five minutes, you decide. That’s how long you’ll allow yourself to dwell in self-pity. Then, you’ll trek your way over to the Excelsior lounge, hit up the breakfast buffet, and await the general disembarking time.

Who knows, maybe you’ll get a call to say there’s a miraculous spot opened up on one of the tour groups.

If not, you’ll be fine! You’ve travelled alone before, you’ve got an all-inclusive data plan on your phone and you’re pretty well-acquainted with the less-than-accommodating features of Google Maps. You don’t need help, or a tour guide, much less one as blood-boiling, skin-prickling, irritating as Joel Mil-

“Wasn’t sure how ya like your coffee, but you look like a milk, two sugars kind of girl to me.”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Or, in this case, think of him.

Turning a little too fast, you stumble a step or two back, and, sure enough, there he is. A tight fitting, dark grey t-shirt stretched over the swell of his biceps, a pair of washed-out denims, and two well-worn running shoes, one on each foot. Trailing up the swell of his tanned neck, you count the freckles up to his eyes, and find there’s bags under them. The growth of hair on his face is just as unkempt as yesterday, yet already it seems to have grown longer, making the litter of greys stand out more. The hair that sits atop his head is damp, and the strands that have managed to dry are being messed around by the morning air. He’s still got that ever-present frown stamped into his forehead, yet his mouth doesn’t seem to curl into a snarl as he calls your name.

You must stare a moment or two past his comfort level, for he clears his throat and nods down at his hand. Two to-go cups, the smallest streams of steam floating out the hole in each lid.

He’s extending one out- the one in his right hand- towards you. “If you’d rather black, you can take min-”

“No!” You snap back into your own body, all too quickly and all too volatile. Clear your throat, and then try again, this time with a little less of that im being held at gunpoint shake in your voice. “No… Thank you. It’s fine- Milk is fine.”

It’s more than fine.

In fact, he’s gotten it spot on. Down to the number of sugars you take.

But, still stubborn, you yearn to not give him the satisfaction of being right so early in the day, and instead settle for accepting the coffee out his hand. You welcome the golden warmth eagerly, eyes unable to resist slipping shut as you take your first sip. When they reopen, you find Joel watching you, intently. Purposefully, as though you’re something to be studied.

Clearing your throat, you glance to the side and spot Balcony-Man and his partner greeting an apologetic woman.

“Thanks for the, uh,” his stare is intimidating your nerves, setting you on edge of something you’re all to eager to jump off. “Coffee. Yeah. You didn’t have to… I mean, I actually thought you’d, you know, uh-”

“You thought I left without ya.” He states. All you can do is nod. “I could’ve. I did warn you not to be late.”

“You did.”

“I also told you to wear somethin’ other than them heels.”

“I know.”

“Yet here you are, late and in heels. You’re not very good at following orders.” He exhales something akin to a chuckle, as devoid of humour as it may be, and you swear he’s suddenly closer than you remember, knuckles brushing against your own as he bumps his paper cup against yours. “Just what am I gonna do with ya, huh?”

For a moment, you swear your heart has leaped from your chest and up to your throat, threatening to choke you with the beat of it. There’s no sense you can make of it, this reaction he rouses, a heat you can’t control creeping down your loins as you drag in a whiff of some manly cologne, the kind you’d usually turn your nose up at for being too overbearing. Yet, on him, it’s not. On him it’s just right, like he was born with pine soaked skin, and a tobacco stained kiss, and-

Before you can think of pulling in another breath, Joel’s stepped back, allowing a cool breeze to pass between you and get a hold of your senses.

“C’mon, we’re slotted in for the first tender that leaves for shore.”

“Oh my God.”

You’re half certain Joel’s growing sick of hearing those three words roll off your tongue. He’s likely felt this way since it first left your mouth, feet struggling to safely step out onto the dock as your mind became enchanted by the picturesque view in front of you. Only the burn of his hand meeting your lower back, nudging you ahead to make space for himself and the other passengers to step off the tender boat, was capable of dragging you back into your own body, the wanderlust that had gripped your soul yearning to be free to explore every building that sits carved into rock, every water-taxi that flows idly on cristaline water, every step that winds up and up and up the island’s cliff where, at the top, civilisation seems to lie.

The port you’ve docked on is rather small, with naught more than two docking strips and a walkway of shops and confection stands, with boats that find no space along the docking strips tying themselves to any safety they may find over the expanse of the walkway. It is no wonder the cruise floats safely out in deeper waters, alongside several other cruise lines, with no space for such large vessels. And, yet, the port is alive with something. The ground seems to pulse, like a beat of a heart, and the air, as fresh as the grass after heavy rainfall, almost dances its way down your lungs. Voices swim all around you, tourists scrambling past each other, fighting in a race towards something you’ve yet to identify.

“So this is Gialos, also known as the Old Port of Fira.” Somewhere, behind you perhaps, Joel’s voice pipes up, a speech so rehearsed and robotic, a part of your wonders how many times he’s recited it, how many people he’s recited it to. The other part of you, however, is much too fixated on the stairs ahead to pay him true attention, eyes following as two men and several donkeys descend. “That, up there, is Fira, the capital of Santorini. We’re going to need to take a cable- Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes!” You’re quick to react, a defensive rise in your voice. He meets it with a deadpan look and the crossing of his arms over his chest, which quickly becomes something you wish he wouldn’t do as you watch the tight fabric of his shirt stretch itself thin over the bulge of his arms. “No. Sorry, I’m just… Wow.”

You hope he appreciates the restraint you show towards repeating those three dreaded words again.

“You have all day to stare,” his words trip over his own irritated scoff, and you bite back a question of why he’s a guide if he seems to hate it so much, fearful he’s too honest to not tell you a truth that may hurt your fragile feelings. A truth where it is not so much his job he dislikes, but rather, your presence and all that it brings. “Right now, we need to move. Don’t wanna spend all day waitin’ in line now, do ya?”

This need for speed that hooks the other tourists seems to filter over into your guide, who’s forcing you forward, that heat of his palm now hovering inches away from your lower back. It’s enough to lead you where he pleases. As a pair, you weave in and out small clusters of people, till the space between you both and the large gathering crowd slowly diminishes. It is there where his once telepathic leading fails, with Joel turning left towards it as you stray right, over to the ascending pathway of stairs.

“Where are you going?” His tone is offended, almost, as he comes to a halt and watches you fail to do the same, to notice the space between you both and correct it like some puppy who’s been called to heel by its master.

“Where am I going?” The question, at first, is one you mistake as rhetorical. Staring back at him with an equaled confusion, you gesture to the stairway, as though it is the most obvious answer. Because, well, where else could you have been heading? He said so himself, that up there is Fira, the capital of Santorini, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to see it. “Where are you going?”

“To the cable cars, that’ll take us up the island.”

Above the crowd of people, hanging over doors of small businesses, lay several signs. CABLE CARS - 6€ ! stands out, impossible to miss. Symbols you scarcely recognise sit beneath it, in smaller text, and you assume it’s Greek. In the distance, you spy the movement of the mobile boxes, people being carted up the length of the cliff at a speed that promises them a journey of mere minutes.

“Oh.” So, perhaps his option makes more sense than your own far longer, more tiring one. Still, stubborn as a mule, you double down on your decision to take the scenic route, inching closer towards the first step. Your guide, still in the face, refuses to move, daring eyes willing you to continue. “You want us to take the lazy man’s route? You go ahead, I’ll take the stairs and meet you at the top.”

You press one foot up onto the first step, weary of where you rest the point of your heel.

Glancing a few steps further up, there’s the unmistakable sight of a mound of brown substance, no doubt excreted out of one of the donkeys that walk ahead, tourists mounted on their poor backs.

“I don’t think you understand,” he finally inches closer, if only slightly, hands clenched at his side. “There’s five hundred and eighty-eight steps until you reach the top.”

The number is more daunting than you expect, and you pray he can’t read this on your face. “Only? I’ll be up in no time then!”

You feel more than see the way Joel’s eyes travel down the expanse of you, stuttering almost over the curvature of your chest, the dips at your hips, till they rest at your feet. The question hangs loose between you, unspoken yet evident.

In those heels?

“Listen, Joel,” taking a second, third, and fourth step, you aim for a literal higher ground, staring down below as he continues to drift closer and closer towards the stairway. “If you’re not fit for the task, or the climb’s no good for your knees, you can just say it, there’s no shame. Like I said, I’ll meet you at the top. Promise I won’t even report the fact my private guide abandoned me in favour of his own comfort.”

Defeat has never come easy.

Well, to phrase it better towards the truth, acceptance of defeat has never come easy.

There was always something more to be said, another excuse to be given for any of your shortcomings. When you’d been turned away from the school’s soccer team, you’d told yourself it was because you were a girl- ignoring the fact three girls in your year made the cut. When you’d lost an arduous game of Monopoly, you’d sworn you’d caught your sister sneaking notes out of the banker’s pile into her own. When you’d been beaten, round after round, by your own niece at Mario Kart, you’d stuck your tongue out at her and told her you let her win out of pity.

All that had been before, of course, back when you still roamed school hallways, when your sister sat across from you at the dining table, when your niece still laughed freely, wildly, celebrating her own victories with an over-the-top, uncoordinated dance around the living room.

As changed as things may be, defeat is still your foe.

It is that reason alone that you bite back a complaint.

You’d enjoyed the initial moments of your trek. Maybe it was the salty air in your lungs, or the beautiful views of your surroundings, or the idle grumbling coming from Joel, a few paces behind you, kicking up dirt under his feet with every step he travelled up. Whatever the reason, adrenaline had been flowing, into your heart and through your veins, covering every square inch of your body, a tingling of nerves from the tip of your toes to the top of your spine.

But, by the 10 minute mark, a dull ache forms in your feet. Each step of your heel feels more life threatening than the last, as the stairs grow slippier, dustier, and well-worn the further up you advanced. By stair who-knows-how-may, you take a near fatal tumble backwards, the crunch of crumbling rock threatening to be the last thing you hear. Till he appears behind you, fast as light, huffing out a breath as you smack down against his solid chest.

“Mind your step.” From anyone else, you would mistake it as a sign of care. From Joel, you know better than to think it’s anything beyond a humourless taunt.

You try to keep count of the steps, from then on, an effort to motivate yourself to move faster with each ten-pace you count. By 50, you lose your place and begin counting all over again.

The journey is difficult in other ways, too, with the constant passing of donkeys who obligate you to stand aside and make way for them. And the distant movement of cable cars, firing up and sliding down more times than you can keep track of.

When a particular step proves itself too steep, you can no longer hold back and, finally, a hiss slips out between your clenched teeth as pain shoots up your ankle, the leather of your shoe rubbing even harder into your brittle skin, threatening the promise of a blister yet to fully swell. Pushing the pain down, alongside a complaint, you take another step. Hiss. Then another, hiss. You can fight it no longer, bending at the waist to slip off your heel and examine the irritated skin.

Sure enough, it’s been rubbed raw, broken and spilling a small pool of blood.

Behind you comes an exasperated groan and, before you can straighten yourself to even register what’s happening, Joel barges past you and the figure of him up ahead slowly diminishes the faster he climbs up hill.

“Hey!” You call after him, hobbling to slip your shoe back on, but it’s to no avail.

He’s long gone, growing further and further out of your reach with each passing minute.

Cursing him under your breath, you decide to hell with the no complaints of his preferred regard for his own comfort. He’s abandoned you, injured and hobbling up the steps, all because he has the patience of a toddler who’s been waiting far too long to go potty.

“Wear somethin’ a little more sensible…” You’re bound to seem deranged to any passers by, half hopping up the steps, mumbling to yourself in a mockery of his deep voice “Yeah, right, how bout I shove somethin’ a little more sensible up your ass. Oh, what’s that? There’s no room up there with the massive stick you’re already carryin-”

“A local man warned me bout ya, on my way back down. Said there was some no-good girl casting out bad juju.” You freeze, foot stopped in mid-air. Shifting your gaze up ahead, you find Joel there, skipping a step every so often as he grows closer and closer. At his side, dangling from two fingers, sits a plastic bag. “Told him it ain’t no juju or curses you’re casting, just throwin’ a little tantrum.”

Like a fish out of water, all you can do is stare at him, wide eyes and mouth agape.

Joel pays your silence no mind, almost delighting in it. With a pop and a crack from his knees, he crouches down before you, holding out the palm of his hand.

“C’mon,” he mutters, pointing towards your injured foot. “Lemme see.”

You’re hesitant, at first, but ultimately lift it and let him curl his grip around it, holding you in place as the shoe slips off you. A tut meets your ears as his eyes meet the bloodied mess, and you watch how he contemplates, for a moment or two, before wetting his thumb with his tongue and swiping it over your broken skin.

It stings, like salt in a wound or a bee’s stinger through skin, and you try to flinch back, retract yourself from his hold. But Joel’s strong, resilient, nails biting at the flesh of your ankle to keep you in place. His free hand digs into the plastic bag he’d discarded at his side and pulls out a white box. Fiddling with it for a short period, he manages to open it at last and slips out a bandaid. He rips that open a lot quicker, using his teeth, and slips it over your open wound perfectly, thumb and pointer finger smoothing it around the curve of your heel.

“D’ya see now why I told you to not wear those things?” You feel like a child at his words, reprimanded like you once were for touching your mother’s curling iron. “And why I said we should take the cable car?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you refuse to meet his eyes. But he just won’t let you be, craning his own neck to infiltrate the space you stare off into. There’s a pleased look on his face, smugness pulling at the right corner of his mouth. Alarmingly, you think of how it’s the closest you’ve gotten to seeing him smile.

You continue your pursuit of silence, repeating a mantra of how you don’t care that he’d tried to look out for your comfort, or how he’d then tried to save you the effort of an uphill battle, or how his hand, big and warm and rough at the fingertips, is still holding your foot in place, absentmindedly rubbing your ankle in a circular motion.

“Look at ya, gone all quiet on me,” that corner of his lip curls higher. You register the rustling of the bag, his hand digging back inside it. “Ain’t one for bein’ put in your place, are you?”

Out comes his hand once more, though this time it’s not a box of bandaids. Now, resting firm in his grasp, sits a mixture of navy blue dyed cotton, stitched atop a flat, thick layer of a straw-like material. A slip-on canvas shoe. Joel doesn’t await permission, nor does he even ask for it. He simply takes charge, slipping it onto your foot, mindful as he straightens out the back to lay against your heel.

“Other foot, up.”

Switching feet, you stumble as your weight completely shifts onto your injured side. Your hands, reaching out to stabilise your swaying body, are quickly directed by his own to rest atop his head, curls of brown threading between your fingers. You contemplate asking what products he uses to achieve locks so smooth and shiny, then rethink it as soon as you imagine his reply of a disinterested grunt and a snarky ain’t use anythin’ but dirt water and a splash o’ whiskey.

“How’s it feel?”

Soft, you almost reply, then realise he’s asking about the shoe.

With a wiggle of your toes, you tell him it’s fine, and leave it at that. He doesn’t need to know they’re surprisingly comfortable.

Joel rises with a bit of a struggle, yet refuses the help you offer. Rough hands scoop up your discarded heels, tossing them into the bag, and then he straightens his back, lets out a noise of discomfort, before nodding up ahead.

“C’mon, only got a hundred or so to go. We’ll be up in no time.”

The sun sits high in the sky when you reach the city of Fira.

Crossing over that last step, 588 painted in white across it, you huff out a sigh, exhaustion aching you out of any enjoyment of your victory over the stairway from hell. Before you can even utter a word of your thirst, Joel is already reaching into his bag of wonders, unscrewing the lid off a bottle of water and passing it to you. Grateful, you take a sip, and lament the few drops that spill down your chin.

At least they don’t go to complete waste, cooling your skin ever so slightly.

It’s a shame to see Joel start moving again, moments before you’re even ready to gain back your breath, but you follow after him, nonetheless, mindful to not press your foot too hard down. Through streets he winds, past shopkeepers he walks. Eventually, after a few minutes, you ask him where you’re both heading.

“To catch a coach,” his hand moves quickly, tugging you closer as a bicycle shoots past behind you. Your own find themselves against his chest, and realise it is nothing like his hair. Solid, warm, wide. It’s almost a shame to lower them back down to your side. “Less you think you can walk from here to Oia, too.”

Truth be told, you don’t know where Oia is.

But you do know your walking for the day is over, happy to follow Joel onto the coach. You take the aisle seat, he’s by the window. Across from you both sits a couple, young and giggling into one another’s ears, as though the sounds of their joy is sacred to none but them. A pang of envy thumps your soul, and you quickly turn your face.

Only to find that Joel’s is grey.

Not the hair that lines it but, rather, his whole face, paled and blood-drained. It’s a sickly image, and one that’s quick to get your heart racing.

“Are you okay?” Any thought of keeping your composure becomes mute as you hear your own voice, a treacherous shake to it that gives your panic away. “You look…” There is no word kind enough for you to use to relay the image of him, so you lock your lips.

It takes a few seconds for you to get a reply, as your hand moves up to feel his forehead. It’s sweaty, warm, and you move to pull your hand back when he’s holding it firm in place, eyes slipping shut. “‘S cold. You’re cold,” seems to be his explanation. “I’m fine, it’s just- Carsick.”

“You get carsick, yet you work on a cruise.”

“Not the same. Ship’s big, somethin’ bout the size and my own visibility, ‘s what stops me getting seasick.”

You sit like that the rest of the coach, your hand pressed to his forehead, his eyes slipped shut.

“What’s your favourite stop on the cruise?”

As it turns out, Oia is exactly what you’d pictured Santorini to be.

White washed houses, deep blue domes for rooftops, turquoise waters, all for as far as the eye can see. Joel complains, more than tells you, of the rise in tourism over the years, of how it’s turned the beautiful village into a party-town for idiots abroad, disregarding the clean environment, shamelessly blocking paths to snap a frame-worthy shot, raising prices to the ceiling. When you ask him if he thinks he’s in part to blame, if people like him are to blame- running tours, bringing guests onto the island, earning a wage off the visiting of such a place- he grumbles out something about missing breakfast, needing lunch.

So you find a cafe. Or, more, Joel leads you to one. He greets the doorman, with a wave and a pat on the back, before sauntering his way through to a back terrace, overlooking the whole village, the water perfectly framing it. Stepping out and sitting down, the view robs the very breath out of your lungs.

It’s like sitting inside a postcard.

Joel asks if you like Greek food.

You tell him you’ve never had it.

He orders for you both, a mixture of different plates, and swears he’ll find something you’ll like.

It turns out you’re rather fond of baklava.

“Florence.” Joel’s taken his time to answer, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. Disbelief more than fear in his eyes, you have to wonder if it’s the first time someone’s thought to ask him, in all his years as a guide. Naturally, this leads you to wondering how many years that is. “It’s a real site. Full of history, a real story to be told.” He tilts a ceramic dish your way, eyes glancing down in an offering. You follow them, and spot olives. Shake your head, no, then smile, thanks. He shrugs, more for me, and pops two into his mouth. “There’s this…” he pauses to chew. “This library.”

“A library?”

“‘S not just a library.” He slips out the olive’s pip and raises another into his mouth. You try not to think about how thick his fingers look, rolling the remaining briny green pebbles around in the pot. “There’s a cinema built inside it. Plays some classic films. I always- or, I try to go whenever we dock.”

It’s hard to picture Joel inside a cinema, something about the setting too busy, too loud to place his scowling face in. Would he be the kind to have a favourite seat, perfectly picked to optimise the sound quality? Does he speak animatedly, excited any time he recognises an actor? Or is he a shusher, the kind to roll his eyes when someone dares to even clear their throat?

A part of you wants to ask him if your tour involves a trip to this library.

Something tells you it’s not a place he likes to share, though. It’s his own little corner, safe to sneak a moment of selfish indulgence amidst a week of catering to another’s needs.

“A cinema inside a library?” A waiter interrupts you, asks if everything’s alright. Joel orders another serving of baklava. “Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

“Yeah.” For a moment, you think you see a smile creep across his lips. “Suppose it is.”

Another interruption comes in the form of your ringtone, rippling the water in your glass as your phone vibrates upon the table. You’re well aware of how Joel spots the word Mum displayed across your screen. Just like you’re aware he sees how you swipe down on your screen and switch on aeroplane mode.

Before he can ask any questions, or the sudden silence can become too deafening, you throw out another question. “And your least favourite?”

“Least favourite stop?” You nod, affirmative, and he needs no time to reply. “Here.”

“Here?! How come?”

The baklava arrives, as if on cue, and you point down at it, as though it is reason enough to be enamoured with the island. It seems to do little to convince him, his hand reaching out to push the plate closer to you, inviting you to indulge yourself.

“Compared to the other stops, Santorini’s bland.” He says it when your mouth is too occupied to protest, stuffed full with layer after layer of pastry. “Kind of like a diamond, y’know? Real pretty to look at, empties your wallet, and, at the end of the day, ain’t much you can do with it.”

“People propose with diamonds.” You point out, and cough as a flake of pastry hits the back of your throat.

Joel’s already passing you your glass of water before you even think to reach for it.

“People propose with rings. Diamonds are just custom, not a guarantee.”

Sunset arrives with no warning, a hue of fiery orange melting down into the calm waters on the horizon. It’s Joel who makes the call to head back, one glance at his watch enough to tell you the last chance to catch a coach is nigh. It’s only as you go to call for the bill that he tells you it’s covered and you realise his earlier trip to the bathroom had been a ruse to go pay.

The trip back is calmer, quieter, with the coach full of sunkissed and heat exhausted tourists.

Again, you take the aisle seat, and Joel, the window.

Keeping an eye on him is easy, switching your gaze towards the approaching darkness of the night sky calling upon the street lights anytime he meets your eyes. When you notice the increase in breaths and the paling of his skin, you wordlessly unscrew the cap off a bottle and slot it into his hand, inviting him to finish off the last sips of your water.

Skipping out on a trip down memory stairway, you quietly follow him into the cable car and, when you reach the Old Port, you try your best to block out his smug remark of how easy and fast the ride was. A feat which becomes easier as you stumble halfway up the dock and turn back.

Like hours before, as you first stepped off the tender, your mouth falls agape. Only, this time, wider. The view of the island lit up in all its glory is enough to leave you breathless, hands scrambling to fish out your phone, open the camera and-

“You gettin’ on or what?” Joel calls out from behind, and you find him waiting on board one of the tenders, hand held out towards you.

It’s a demand, more than it is an offer, to hurry up. The collective of other passengers are watching the interaction, and a feeling you’ve come to know all too well crawls its way into your veins.

A burden, holding them all up, that’s what you are.

The feeling follows you back, as you slip into a damp seat and watch as the boat carries you further and further from the island, it’s lights twinkling in a way that chokes you up, drains you out, eyes stinging from more than just the salty air. You’ll love it, I swear! The memory plays out in your head, those words gushed at you. Hands squeezing your cheeks, a smile blinding you under its brightness. Just wait till you see it at night, the lights shine over it like stars!

You blink.

A tear pools at the corner of your eye.

“Here, look,” something nudges you. It’s Joel, inching his phone into your view. Through blurred sight, you glance at it. And find yourself, centre frame, lit only by the moon. In the back lies the whole skyline of Santorini, lights reflecting down onto the waters below. “Best view you can get, the whole island in one shot.”

Afraid to hear your own voice, you smile.

He answers by pointing his phone back at you, snapping another photo.

Back on the cruise, the two of you part ways, with Joel telling you to meet him in the same bar, same time as the night before.

Dinner had been part of your plans. With a glance over the listed restaurants on board, the ache in your tired bones asks you to stay in bed and make use of the room service. You listen, order something light, easy. It arrives in under 10 minutes and your hunger is satisfied sitting out on the balcony, watching the dark waves roll past.

Phoning your mother is the next port o'call.

Unlike with your food, that takes longer than 10 minutes. Much longer, and involves you countlessly reassuring her that yes, you’re okay, and no, you don’t need her to fly out and meet you in Naples.

“I’m a big girl,” you even throw in a laugh, hoping it’ll ease the worry lines you can picture splayed over your mother’s face. “I think I can climb up a mountain without my mum’s help.”

“Honey, you know that’s not what why I’m worri-”

“Did you know you can get carsick but, at the same time, not seasick?”

You hang up shortly after, with a promise to try your best to answer when she calls tomorrow, instead of hours later, when she should be fast asleep.

The time on your phone tells you there’s still forty minutes until you need to meet Joel. The image of that grandiose bathtub flashes before your eyes and, in record timing, you’re sinking into scalding waters, a complimentary bath bomb dumped in and granting you the childish gift of bubbles.

You try to relax, at first.

There’s no need to wet your hair, so you indulge yourself. Lay your head back, close your eyes. Feel your muscles loosen with the warmth, ignore the sting of soap in your blistering heel. Your hands struggle to find a resting place, until they meet your thighs. They sit still, for a moment or two, before one slips down, inching into the crease of where your legs meet.

Something stirs in your core, comes alive as you think of how long it’s been since you last felt someone. A few months, it has to be. A fellow graduate, if you remember correctly, that stupid robe still on his shoulders as he let his mouth come down on you.

Your hand is soon on your core, before you really notice, mind on a mission to recall the hazy encounter. When you think of his tongue, messy yet eager, your finger’s already on your clit, pressing against it with a tease of pleasure. When you think of his cock, uncut and thicker than your ex, splitting you open on his bedroom floor, your hips cant up against yourself, chasing friction. When you rewind how soft Joel’s hair had been between your fingers, your free hand grips one of your breasts, fingers pinching at your nipple.

Your eyes snap open.

Joel’s hair.

Joel.

Something you should not be thinking of right now, hand buried between your thighs.

You wait a few seconds, remind yourself of the graduate’s face.

His blue eyes, your fingers roll over your nipple.

His blonde hair, your legs spread wider.

Joel’s solid chest, your fingers dip inside your cunt.

Your breath is shaky, Joel’s annoyed groan echoes.

The shame of it, of thinking of him, is almost as tantalising as touching yourself, fucking your own hole full with as much of your fingers the angle will allow. It’s a one time thing, you justify. You just need to get it out your system. One and done, cum and done. No more of Joel Miller between your thighs, this is the closest he’ll get.

Someone knocks at your door.

You nearly miss it over the sound of your breathing, the pounding of your heart.

“Who is it?” You don’t like how weak you sound, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Another knock.

“Can I come in?”

A hand still between your thighs, orgasm titering on the edge, body fully submerged in lukewarm water. “No!”

“Ain’t safe to leave your door unlocked. Anybody could walk in- Jesus!”

You’ve never screamed louder.

Joel takes up most of the bathroom doorway, same clothes save for the shirt that’s got two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. You’re pressed right back into the bathtub, as physically far from him as you can get, knees pressed up to your chest, ankles crossed over.

In Joel’s defence, he’s quick to turn away, presenting you with a view of his back. A hand runs through his hair.

“Why are you in my room?!” You inch even further back, the water suddenly dropping several degrees.

“I asked to come in!”

“And I told you not to!”

“Well obviously I didn’t hear that!”

“Why are you in my room?” You’re back to your first question, eyeing up your towel.

It’s across the room, on the bathroom sink. No way for you to reach it without the risk of him seeing you reflected on something.

“You were late. Came to check if ya tripped on them heels and broke your neck.”

“I,” you’re not sure what time it is with your phone sitting by the bed, charging. That's now five times you've been late in adulthood. “Didn’t realise the time. I can meet you at the bar in ten minutes.”

He nods, and you watch him take a step, then immediately pause. “You know, I’ve heard a few things from passengers…” You may not see his face, but you swear there’s that half-smirk, smug look upon it. It’s practically dripping off his words. “The shower head, fourth setting. Seems to get the job done for most ladies on board.”

Grabbing the closest thing in reach- a bar of soap- you launch it and watch it bounce off his irritatingly wide shoulders. “Get OUT!”

You make it to the Tipsy Byson in 15 minutes.

Dressed more appropriately than the night before, your flared jeans and crop top garner less stares. It’s just as busy, if not busier, yet it’s not hard to spot Joel on a barstool, nursing a glass of something syrupy looking. Behind the bar is Luke, head thrown back at something Joel says.

They’re an interesting pair to observe, you realise as you make your way over. With Luke, so tall, so lanky, so bright-face, his energy warm and inviting, and Joel so- well, Joel.

“There she is,” Luke cheers, a little too loudly, calling attention to you as you slip into the stool next to Joel. “My new favourite customer.”

“Thought I was your favourite,” Joel’s yet to look at you, and it’s a relief. He’s looked at you enough for one day, one week, one lifetime.

“Sorry but she smells better than you, Joel,” the barman winks at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “ Plus, she’s a hell of a lot nicer to look at.”

Joel scoffs, you giggle.

“Not sure about the whole smelling better thing,” your response comes minutes later, after Luke’s already served you a glass of wine and turned away your cash, telling you he’ll put it on Joel’s tab. “But thanks!”

Unprompted and uninvited, Luke bends over the bar and takes an exaggerated sniff. “I don’t know, smell alright to me.”

“Really? I’m not even wearing perfume, I forgot to pack any-.”

“Yeah! Go on Joel, give her a whiff, tell her she smells fine!” There’s resistance on his end, but Luke’s adamant, hand clamped on the back of Joel’s head, shoving him face first into your neck. Joel’s nose brushes against you. You hear him inhale. Exhale. Inhale again, then the urge to cross your thighs begins to nag at you. “Well?”

“Yeah, smells nice- Fine. Ya smell fine.”

“Be still my beating heart! Someone alert the press that Texas said something other than-”

Joel interrupts Luke’s dramatics, scowl on his face. “Don’t you have a job to be doin’?”

Only once the bartender is down the other end of the bar, engrossed in a heated discussion over what beer pulls a better head, does Joel speak again, sipping on his drink. Whiskey.

“So I noticed somethin’, when I was checking your bookin’ info.” You nod, urge him to continue, and take a sip of your own drink. Some country song plays over the speakers and you notice a sudden shake in Joel’s knee, his foot tapping to the beat. “Says there should be two of you in my guide team.”

“Oh,” the lump forming in your throat falls safely back into the pit of your stomach as you take another drink of wine. “Must be a printing error. You know how technology can be, always complicating things.”

“Hmm,” it’s easy to write off the awkward energy between you with the excuse of earlier events, and it’s the first bright-side you find to him walking in on your intimate bath. “Well, you know the drill for tomorrow. 7 am on that deck or I’m-”

“Docking without me, I know.”

You finish your drink first. When Joel orders himself another glass, you smile politely and turn it down. Yawn, then tell him you best head to bed.

Before you can slip out the entry, someone calls your last name. Loud enough to turn more than just your own head.

It’s Joel, approaching you, effortlessly parting crowds through the lively bar as though he is knife and, the people, butter. The loud music seems to ring louder in your ear, impeding you from hearing the words that leave his moving lips.

“What?” You call out, hands clasped over your mouth in an attempt to amplify the volume of your voice.

His response is to step closer, hands holding you in place by the waist as he leans down. A hot breath on your neck, the smell of whiskey on his breath, the soft brush of lips against your ear.

“It’s your turn to bring the coffees.”

series taglist. @auteurdelabre

[oolhan]

Too Many Beds (Part 3)

wow, okay so I had been inactive for awhile (by inactive, I mean just scrolling through and reblogging all sort of everlark stuff). But surprise! We're now on part 3 of this reversed-trope au. Another surprise: I'm adding another chapter because I couldn't wait too long to share the first part of part 3. You can read part 1 and part 2. Without further ado, first scene of part 3:

Travel journals that have to-do lists prior to the travel itself tends to be on the idealistic side, like cruising for 7 days in a Mediterranean island or bumping into a famous celebrity. Katniss knows this for sure, so when she made a bucket list to check off for their European trip, she notes the most mundane things she wants to do. Realistic things that can easily be checked off.

Wishing longevity in front of Sagrada Familia (With Peeta)

See a street flamenco dance (With Peeta)

Collect post cards and stamps (Send to Prim’s apt)

She wrote the list with Peeta two days before they depart for Madrid, and looking at her journal now, she’s pissed off how every to-do had ‘with Peeta’ beside it. She’s also pissed off at how she can’t enjoy tasting an authentic Italian pizza in front of her because written on her journal is: True Italian pizza with Peeta.

And she’s barely eating it with Peeta.

He’s sat at the right end of the long table conversing with Madge across him while she’s beside Johanna on the left end, not obviously far from him.

Finnick and Annie decided to have a small dinner party at a fancier restaurant near the bridge where they were engaged and though Katniss can barely keep it together, she knows she must appear happy and excited and tries very hard not to give away a signature scowl. After almost ruining Peeta’s moment in capturing the proposal photo, she decided not to talk to him for the night and tag along with the others.

She glued herself to Johanna to signal him she doesn’t want to talk about it. For now.

So Peeta talks with Madge.

The pizza is really good, actually. It’s worth the price and all, yet it feels sand on her tongue as she thinks about the loaded question he shot her with before Finnick knelt on one knee.

Is it really about them sleeping? Is that why she feels miserable since yesterday? But they just slept together again last night, so…

She thinks it is the sleeping, but she can never admit that.

But why can’t she just admit it?

She lets an exasperated sigh and downs her beer even though she prefers champagne right now, or maybe something with vodka. She just doesn’t like to upset the accommodating old local waiter who insists on serving the pizza with beer.

“Okay brainless, after dinner you really have to spit it out,” Jo whispers beside her after calling for another beer.

“Spit what out?”

“I heard you arguing with Peeta a while ago and you suddenly made me your favorite person in the world to cling to. I bet Gale’s ass cheeks it’s something to do with Madge,” Jo’s smirk is taunting, and Katniss starts to cringe at how someone actually overheard them.

Not like they’re yelling.

“Well, we sorta bet. I bet 20 it’s something about you two sleeping,” Gale interrupts, leaning over Johanna’s shoulder and swinging a glass.

“You’re ridiculous. I don’t want to talk about this right now,” She thanks the waiter and quickly downs her second bottle for the night. She really wants something stronger than shitty Italian beer. She’s in Italy for god’s sake, why isn’t she devouring wine right now?

“Okay, just tell me if it’s Frenchie or cuddling,”

“you’re both sick.” Katniss spat.

They suddenly turned their heads as Finnick clears his throat and gather everyone’s attention. He was at the head of the table, left hand clinging to Annie’s.

“So, uh,” he turns to Annie for confirmation. “So, you whole lot luck out, I guess. We-uhm, wow, okay I’ll leave it to Annie.” He chuckles nervously.

Annie laughs, “Well, since most of our best friends are present here at this very table, Finnick and I decided to have an intimate wedding in Greece.”

There are surprise gasps and girly shrieks. Congratulations and questions thrown. Despite Katniss’ mood, she smiles at her friends’ sudden news.

“Since we’re in this trip together and Greece is our next stop, then why not make it official in front of you guys?” Finnick’s smile will tear his face in half.

“Yes, and gramma Mags also lives in Lindos right now, so we’re sending her a message to prepare,” Annie confirms, nodding to Finnick and the rest of the group.

Delly and Madge can’t contain their excitement and babble on about wedding matters of what to wear and what colors match the Greek Isles and what food to eat.

“Oh! Oh! Let’s go shopping for dresses before we leave,”

“Cinna has a designer friend here in Venice, I think—”

“Ladies! I think we should all toast first before diving into details,” Johanna stands up, beer in hand ready for toasting.

“To Finnick and Annie, may you always pleasure yourselves quietly through all your nights, because I’m one more Annie’s moan away from putting a gun in my mouth,” Johanna teases and gets exasperated sighs from everybody. Katniss tried not to snort.

“Jesus, Jo,” Finnick chuckles through.

“She’s not allowed to toast at our wedding,” Annie playfully spats.

Gale stands helping Jo out. “What she meant to say was, to Finnick and Annie, whose knots are tied even before time began and lives crossed. We all knew this day would come, so just be in love forever and,” Gale can’t help it and glances at Katniss, whom he knows every scowl by heart. He knows what’s been going on.  “Here’s to a lifetime of open hearts and honest confessions! Cheers!”

Katniss gulps from the implication and glares at them both.

“Hear, hear,” says Thom, the sound of clinking glasses resonates merrily through the table.

“To honest confessions,” she hears Peeta repeats at the end of his table which made her slide her eyes to him, only to find he’s staring right through her.

She pulls her eyes away from the tension and downs her beer.

Still shitty.

anddd read the rest of it here on ao3. See you for part 4😉

[softandsleepyboy]

Good Agere Games for Switch:

❤️ Little Kitty, Big City

Will you make your way home or will you explore what the big city has to offer first? I mean, getting home is obviously your main priority. Obviously. Well, it's one of your priorities. Maybe more of a guideline... It's definitely on your To-Do list somewhere! But first? Exploration!

🧡 Layton's Mystery Journey

Progress through the story while walking around town, chatting with local residents looking for clues, and solving puzzles and mysteries with the heroine, Katrielle Layton!

💚 Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion

Play as an adorable, yet trouble-making turnip. Avoid paying taxes, solve plantastic puzzles, and take on massive beasts in a journey to tear down a corrupt vegetable government!

🩵 Cat's Cosmic Atlas

Gaze upon the stars and other celestial bodies. Cat’s Cosmic Atlas takes you through the Southern and Northern skies. Experience the most beautiful sights and learn a thing or two about the vast universe that surrounds us.

💜 Snug Finder

Snug Finder is a beautiful hidden object game. Become a finder and try to find all the objects, but be careful, sometimes it’s not that easy.

🩷 Teacup

You play as the titular Teacup, a shy and introverted young frog who loves drinking tea and reading. The day before she is to host a tea party at her house, she realizes she is completely out of tea, and thus must venture into the woods around her to find the herbs she needs to restock her pantry.

❤️ Haven Park

Be Flint, who is doing his very best to keep his grandma's park up and running and make it a place for the campers to enjoy. Learn the camper's wishes and build whatever their hearts desire to attract even more quirky characters and look forward to whimsical conversations and quests.

🧡 Under Leaves

Relaxing music, amazing scenery, peaceful gameplay—all this will make you slow down. Let your thoughts flow freely as you collect items for your next animal.

💚 Smushi Come Home

Smushi Come Home is a cozy exploration adventure game where you play as a tiny mushroom who's trying to get back home! Play as Smushi, who was taken from its home unexpectedly and dropped into the middle of the forest. Lost and confused, you must journey through different areas of the forest and find your way back with the help of your new tools and fellow forest creatures!

🩵 My Time at Portia

Restore your Pa's neglected workshop to its former glory by fulfilling commissions, growing crops, raising animals, and befriending the quirky inhabitants of this charming post-apocalyptic land!

💜 Melatonin

Melatonin is a rhythm game about dreams and reality merging together. Harmonize through a variety of dreamy levels containing surprising challenges, hand-drawn art, and vibrant music without any intimidating overlays or interfaces.

🩷 Alba: A Wildlife Adventure

Join Alba as she visits her grandparents on a Mediterranean island. She is ready for a peaceful summer of wildlife exploration with her friend Ines, but when she sees an animal in danger, she realises she needs to do something about it!

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Long Time, No See: Cole Cassidy x Mechanic!Reader (Implied NSFW)

No matter the stenches that linger through the air, the whole watchpoint always seemed to smell of the ocean. It was understandable, you were all surrounded by it on the island. Nestled somewhere in the Mediterranean sat the long forgotten Overwatch base from the Omnic Crisis, that was, until Winston and a few other agents had sought refuge here. It was here that Winston had sent out the call for Overwatch to reform and it is here where you all are currently residing.

Only a few had answered the call right away, most terrified of it being some sort of trick from Talon and some not even believing that it was real at all until the stories had started to take the internet by storm about Talon uprisings and Omnics going rogue again.

You were one of the few Winston had sought out after right after he sent out the call. Ex-Blackwatch mechanic picked up by Reyes somewhere down the line of chaos that was the Omnic Crisis, you were the only one Winston could think of short-notice who could help Lena with transportation of Overwatch agents and getting the watchpoint back in working order.

You had heard something coming from deep within your garage. You had felt sick hearing the noise, it sounded like a transmitter far back inside of your garage; with your Blackwatch uniforms and other bullshit. Actually, it was all Blackwatch stuff, some Overwatch stuff too.

You had pulled open the door to the garage, the collapsing door rising with a slam of each slat folding in on each other until you were met with the wall of failed contraptions and old items you tinkered on when Blackwatch and Overwatch disbanded almost a decade ago.

When the door opened, you jumped a bit out of your skin as you were met with a very much deactivated E54 model from the crisis times. The tall rectangular light cracked and dimmed the gray of a passed omnic. You had forgotten it was there along with most of the contents inside. You don’t know why you kept the damn thing, you had failed years ago to get it working again.

Various guns were gutted and tossed around in different crates, old uniforms from both sides folded with an inch of dust covering them, hell you even had wings of an old small transport ship.

You suddenly heard the noise pop up again, the back of the garage turning a light blue from the glow of something. Little bells dinging away for about a minute before it stopped. You had pushed your way through most of the forgotten junk and painful memories until you had reached what hurt the most. Your workbench with all of your Blackwatch stuff and memories piled neatly, your old weapon setting fractured on the flat surface with a photo of you and… Cole. You picked up the frame and blew off the caked on dust, your eyes never leaving his face. His smile was so bright and his eyes were so warm. He had his arm draped over your shoulder at some party, for Jack you think judging by the glimpses of a ‘Happy Birthday Ja-’ banner behind you both.

You felt tears prick your eyes at the pained memories, the photo frame shook in your rattling hands.

You heard the dinging again, your eyes suddenly hurting from the sudden flash of blue light from before you. Once your eyes had adjusted, you glanced down to your old uniform sitting folded, a small disk sitting on top with a hologram floating above it.

Your heart had dropped, it was the Overwatch symbol.

Frantically you snatched up the disk and fiddled with it, unsure on how to answer the call anymore until you heard a grumbling from the other end.

“(Y/n)? Is that you?”

You tossed the screwdriver back on the workbench and sat on the rickety old barstool with a sigh of relief. You glanced at the small transport ship sitting beside you ready for use by dozens of agents. You wiped the sweat off your brow and glanced to the pile of other ships exactly like the few you had just put back together and wanted to scream. You couldn’t wait for Torbjorn to arrive (with Reinhardt in tow), you didn’t know how he could keep up with Overwatch when you could barely keep track of the four other members of Blackwatch. You were thankful for the extra room as Winston and another member had taken the majority of the small ships out.

You hadn’t left your little “garage” since two days ago, wanting to fix as many as you could for Lena returning with dozens of agents in tow on her transport. It was sometime today that they would arrive, and judging by the alarm clock blaring angry red numbers at you stating it was already growing towards evening, you wouldn’t be surprised if they had all landed already.

You nudged the ship away from you until it was floating about a good five feet from your workbench and powered it off, allowing it to gently rest its underside against the linoleum floor before you returned to the tattered barstool. You had opened several drawers in search for certain tools when you heard footsteps approach your “garage.” It was anything but a room underneath where Winston had sent out the call big enough for you to work (and sleep to the dismay of Winston and Lena who had found you slumped over the workbench on more than one occasion).

A sharp knock rang on the metal door to which you didn’t turn around, adamant on finding the tools you needed.

“Come back in like an hour, I’m busy,” you stated as you turned over tools and such.

“Now ain’t that a way to greet yer friend,” a southern drawl rang out from behind you.

You had dropped the pair of pliers you had picked up and swung around to face the man now standing in your doorway.

And there he was; tall, broad, tanned and handsome - as handsome as the day you left him.

“Cole?” you whispered.

“Ya know it, darlin’.”

You couldn’t believe your eyes, you thought you were seeing a ghost. You knew Cole made it out of the explosion albeit hurt, but you never thought you would see him again.

His hair had grown shaggy and so had his beard. You remember Reyes telling him to keep himself clean and shaven countless times and how Cole would always scoff and spit back sarcastic comments as if Reyes were his father. He kept the whole cowboy attire right down to the spurs and red serape draped over his arm. It was then you noticed he was using it to hide something, but you caught a glimpse of a metal hand.

Almost as if he knew where your eyes had landed, he pulled his mechanical arm forward from its covering and revealed a dented and sparking arm. Cole smiled at you sheepishly, just as he always did when he was hurt and refused to go to Moira for help.

“I like the way you spin the bandages,” he always stated with a wink.

“Couldn’t keep yourself out of trouble, could you Cole?” you smiled back.

“Heard the best mechanic I know was here, wanted to pay 'em a visit, ask 'em somethin’ too.”

You pat the workbench space next to you, nodding your head to the other barstool in the corner by him. Cole dragged it over and sat close to you, very close to you. Close enough for you to feel him warmth, close enough for you to smell his cologne and the faint hint of cigars and whiskey, close enough for you to blush ever so slightly.

You two had fooled around in the past but nothing could ever be serious with Reyes around and Jack being the top dog (even though you both knew they were fucking in broom closets when they could). And here he was, sitting next to you as you both had done a decade ago.

You gently took his dented arm in your hands and began fiddling around and fixing it. The entire time, Cole would not take his eyes off of you until you had finished. It was just a few torn wires and a bent plate, nothing you couldn’t fix quickly.

As you had finished putting away the little screwdrivers, Cole cleared his throat and retracted his arm.

“How’d you like to show me around? Tonight?” he purred at you, his big brown eyes looking right into your soul.

“Why not? I’ve been cooped up in here, could use some fun.”

“Sounds like a plan, darlin’.”

You had only gotten to show Cole the outskirts of the island that Overwatch had yet to build on before. You were by the shore, rocks blocked the view behind you both to the rest of the base. Waves crashing drowned out sounds around you. It was nice and private.

Cole had pulled you aside just to make sure you both were out of the camera’s view and slammed you up against the nearest rocky wall and captured your lips in a rough kiss. His human hand reached up and grasped at the side of your face to bring you in closer as his metallic one slammed palm-first into the stone behind you, cracking it with ease.

Your hands latched onto Cole’s flannel shirt behind the serape and yanked his body closer to yours, the man before you now has you pressed flushed against the rocky wall behind you and his solid form before you. You could feel everything before you, especially the hard proding towards your lower waist.

Cole pulled away for a second to look wildly into your eyes, teeth grit as he started breathing heavily.

“I’ve waited years to do this again,” he growled lowly at you. Your sudden gasp ran short and he snatched at your thighs and lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and still keeping your back to the wall. His fingertips dug into the meat of your thigh as he got in your face a bit. “I ain’t waiting another damn minute.”

Your lips connected again in a wild and fiery kiss, your hands went to snatch at his broad shoulders to his shaggy brown locks to even scratching down his back. Cole kept you up with just his metal arm as his human hand went to grab at you, tugging at your clothing and caressing your skin. Whenever you both would pull away for a brief moment to breathe he would like to whisper dirty little things to you until even he lost his fleeting patience.

“I missed the way you felt darlin’,” he growled in your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“Cole, please,” you whisper back, sinking your nails into the back of his neck.

It always drove him nuts.

Cole dropped you for a mere moment only to catch you before you both fell onto the plush, soft grass beneath you both as time seemed to melt away.

[onboardsorasora]

As my last gift for 2023, here is a scene from my new Dewis obsession WIP 3 Roses.

“What are you doing for summer break?” Lewis asked, stroking Roscoe’s head as he snored loudly in his lap. They were at Lewis’ place in Monaco, it was always easier to hook up at home. Plus Daniel’s building wasn’t that far away. They spent enough time together otherwise that Daniel's presence in Lewis' home wasn't that out of the ordinary.

“I dunno, I was thinking to just fuck off to Ibiza for a week or two.” Daniel spoke around a yawn, he stretched his limbs releasing a groan as he did so. Lewis watched his thighs, as the muscles spasmed and strained under his tattoos.

Lewis didn’t have anything planned for the break this year. Not anymore. There was supposed to be a family vacation to the Caribbean but his sisters pulled out at the last minute and then it all got rescheduled to winter break. A couple weeks on a party island sounded like a great time, he could even call up his captain and have the yacht off the coast so they wouldn’t have to get a room anywhere.

“Want some company? We can stay on my boat.” He suggested and Daniel hummed.

“I’m dtf, as long as you’re ok with like spending at least two days with the boys.”

“I’ll call up Miles and we can make it a whole thing. We can party on the boat. I’m gonna fuck you all over the place.” Lewis promised while tapping on his phone, he didn’t see Daniel’s shiver of want or how his eyes hooded. Lewis was too busy imagining how Daniel would look laid out on the walnut flooring surrounded by the blue blue waters of the Mediterranean.

“Yeah? I’ll suck your dick in the captain’s chair.” Daniel promised huskily and Lewis looked up to see dark eyes watching him hungrily.

“You should suck my dick right now instead.” Lewis lifted Roscoe’s dead weight carefully and put him down on his comfy dog bed in the living room before pulling the patio door shut, there was no need for his baby to see the naughty things his dad wanted to do to Daniel.

Daniel was already kneeling in front of his seat when Lewis came back, and he reclaimed his spot spreading his thighs so Daniel could shuffle comfortably between them. Daniel gripped Lewis’ shirt and pulled him forward for a filthy wet kiss that had them both groaning. He pulled Lewis’ cock out of his shorts and gave him two teasing strokes, smiling into the kiss when Lewis hummed.

Lewis pulled back with a grin and a raised brow. Daniel rolled his eyes at him. He got to work however, teasing the head with a few light kitten licks before swallowing him down as far as he could go. He was still working on deepthroating all of him, Lewis was big and the first man Daniel was having consistent sex with. His cock was by far the biggest that Daniel’s had in him.

Lewis groaned a guttural sound, his head flopped back onto the cushions behind him and his hand rested in Daniel’s curls. He gripped lightly, pressing Daniel’s head down further as he bobbed up and down his cock. Daniel hummed and then choked and Lewis let go, fighting his hips from thrusting upwards to follow the heat.

“Fuck, so good.” Lewis bit his lip when Daniel looked up at him with watery honey eyes. He fought the instinct the press him back down and fuck into his throat. Daniel cupped Lewis’ balls into his mouth and licked and sucked at them while stroking Lewis’ leaking cock.

Lewis thrashed a little, toes curling. Daniel was a menace, a fucking sexy menace with an amazing mouth. Finally when Daniel took him back into his mouth, Lewis gave into the urge. He pressed at the back of Daniel’s head and rutted his hips up up up. Daniel choked but didn’t pull back, he clenched his hands onto Lewis’ thigh as he fucked his mouth.

Lewis groaned as he came, his back bowing even as his hips canted upwards. Daniel felt the first ropes hit the back of his throat and he pulled off, closing his eyes tightly as the rest of it hit his face. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of Lewis’ jizz. He swiped at the come on his face, smearing it on his shirt before opening his eyes. Lewis eyed him with a fucked out smile.

“Cmere.” Lewis dragged him up for a kiss, shoving his hand in Daniel’s shorts. Daniel whimpered into his neck as Lewis jerked him off, he was whispering all sorts of lewd things in Daniel’s ear.

“Gonna come for me Danny? Can’t wait to fuck you in Ibiza, I bet you’ll look so fucking good bent over the railing of my boat.”

Daniel threw his head back with a shuddering gasp and his orgasm flowed through him. Fuck, he wanted that. He wanted all of that. He sagged onto Lewis’ thigh while he came down from his own high.

“Are we still meeting Seb for dinner?” Daniel asked lazily, Lewis giggled at the puffs of air against his neck.

“Yeah, he said 7.”

“I’m gonna need a new shirt then, and knickers. Fancy dressing me up tonight?”

Lewis groaned playfully, “don’t you dare become a closet thief.” He warned and Daniel huffed a laugh.

“Waaay ahead of you mate.” Daniel teased, “I’ve got my eye on that Gucci set with the flowers. Ooh, hmm and maybe that St Laurent jacket that I have not seen you wear.”

“Maybe I’m waiting for a special occasion!” Lewis complained, hands resting comfortably on Daniel’s hips.

“Or maybe you’re just not like into it like you claimed you were when they gave it to you.” Daniel said matter of factly. “I for one am into it. It would look good on me– ace, stellar, tens across the board.”

They dissolved into breathless giggles before Lewis eased them up to go get ready to meet with Seb.

In the end, Daniel did get to wear the Gucci party shirt. Lewis rolled his eyes while Daniel posed in front of the mirror but his fond smile was impossible to ignore.

“Are you going to wear it crushed or do you want me to iron it?” Lewis selected a tan tshirt and a houndstooth oversized jacket.

“I mean it doesn’t really need it does it? I’m gonna keep the jacket on anyway– nobody can tell.” Daniel complained looking at Lewis through the mirror. He sighed exasperatedly when Lewis motioned for him to take off the shirt and give it to him.

Daniel watched as Lewis ironed their shirts in just his jeans. It felt domestic in a way and he walked back that thought immediately. They were not domestic. This was not a thing. Lewis was just weird and liked to iron.

It wasn't a thing that they shared Lewis' hair products or Daniel's toothbrush was the green one to be opposite coloured to Lewis' purple. It wasn't all that domestic when you thought about it.

Determined to put some space between the man he was fucking and his wayward thoughts, Daniel walked out of Lewis' mega closet to the living room to put on his shoes and find his phone. Lewis walked out just as he finished double knotting the unnecessarily long shoelace and chucked the still warm shirt at his head. Daniel's eyes tracked him as he went back into the closet with a giggle.

The pair of them walked into the restaurant to see Sebastian already nursing a glass of wine at their table. He raised an eyebrow at them when they sat.

“Daniel, that shirt is hideous.” Seb made up his face, the loud pattern offended him in the exact way it endeared itself to Daniel.

“Thanks mate!” Daniel chuckled, knowing how atrocious Seb thought his fashion sense was.

“Hey!” Lewis complained at the same time. He quite liked that shirt.

The three laughed their way through dinner, enjoying each other's company. Daniel ignored Seb’s eagle eyes cataloguing every extra touch, smile and look he shared with Lewis. It wasn’t like Seb didn’t know what was going on anyway.

They were in a private part of the restaurant so Lewis’ hand stayed mostly on the back of Daniel’s chair, the back of his neck or his thigh when he wasn’t eating. They were casual touches at a glance, especially since Lewis didn’t lose his comfortable slouch the entire night. Even as Daniel got extra animated in his conversations, reaching over the table to grab Seb’s hand to use in his diagram about how best to take a dirt bike jump over a lake.

Lewis chimed in here and there but seemed content to let Daniel run this conversation. They’d already talked about it before, in Daniel’s motorhome. Daniel had his dirtbikes in the storage cabin and Lewis had ribbed him about it a little. It eventually became a bit of a dirt bikes are better than motorcycles argument. Not to be outdone, Lewis had fought back; defending his beloved bikes. They argued until laughing retorts became moans and they fucked their impasse.

Daniel excused himself from the table and Sebastian leveled Lewis with a speaking look.

“You two?” he leaned casually against his chair, pointing to Lewis and Daniel’s empty chair lazily.

Lewis rolled his eyes, body not losing its lazy demeanor, “c’mon man.” he scoffed. “We’ve talked about this already.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything. We’re having fun and it's chill, man.”

Sebastian said nothing more, only gulping at his wineglass when Daniel returned

[steddieunderdogfics]

Hello! I'd like to recommend a story for the theme weekend ‘enemies to lovers’! It's '23 AU-gust: Joker (shipwrecked)’ by medusapelagia

23 AU-gust: Joker by medusapelagia

@medusapelagia

Rating: Teens and Up

2,009 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: AU-gust | August Writing Challenge 2023, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Rich Steve Harrington, Enemies to Lovers

Summary

Eddie fucking hates tourists, especially the young Americans that come to his country throwing around their money as if it was nothing. The last group almost ruined his yacht and all they did was say that they were sorry and gave him some money so they could resolve all his problems! It’s fucking August and he needs the yacht to sail around the little islands that tourists love! Thank god his uncle could repair almost everything, so his yacht was back to business in no time, ready for more arrogant wealthy boys who love spending their parents' money. Eddie always loved the sea, and the Mediterranean is his favorite. It’s like a huge swimming pool, not as scary as the ocean but always full of surprises. This time he is hosting the son of one of the richest men in the world and his friends. He fucking hates them, they are obnoxious and more interested in party hard than sailing. He doesn’t know why they choose to book a yacht for two weeks if they are almost always on the islands drinking and partying. They have thrown up on his yacht more than once and he had to clean after them. Obviously. [written for AU-gust Writing Challenge 2023]

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Enemies to Lovers.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[justforbooks]

Sir John Boardman

Archaeologist who became a leading authority on the history of Greek art, with a particular interest in gems and finger rings

As a student, John Boardman, who has died aged 96, was able to recite by heart texts in Attic Greek, the form of the language used in ancient Athens. But while studying classics at Magdalene College, Cambridge, he encountered two archaeologists whose work encouraged him to apply that flair to the study of classical objects: Charles Seltman showed him coins, and Robert Cook vases.

To these he added carved gems, sculpture and architecture, on all of which he became a leading authority, and the author of more than 30 books.

On graduating in 1948, he took Cook’s advice not to study for a doctorate, but to go to Greece and do some research there. At the British School in Athens for the next two years, as well as travelling to destinations including Crete and Smyrna, he worked in the depths of the Athens National Museum on vases from the island of Euboea (the modern Evvia).

The diagnostic pot shape that he identified enabled later archaeologists and historians to track the paths of Greeks and Greek culture to the east – Al Mina in Syria – and the west – Pithecusae, today’s Ischia, in the gulf of Naples – and at many points between.

The Greek islands and the diaspora around the Mediterranean came to be recurring themes in Boardman’s work. In 1964 he published two books, The Greeks Overseas: Their Early Colonies and Trade, and Greek Art, both of which went on to further editions.

On his first visit to Greece he met Sheila Stanford, an artist, and after he had completed his national service in the Intelligence Corps (1950-52) they married in Britain. He then returned to the British School as assistant director (1952-55), and was given his own dig, on the island of Chios.

His party of excavators and helpers there included Michael Ventris, the architect who shortly aftewards announced his decipherment of the Linear B syllabic script as an early form of the Greek language, and Dilys Powell, the eventual film critic of the Sunday Times.

Back in Britain, Boardman served as an assistant keeper at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (1955-59). Its Cast Gallery, containing plaster casts of some 900 Greek and Roman sculptures, became his preferred academic home base, and he published a catalogue of its Cretan collection (1961).

Working on another, private, collection of art objects in the 1990s gave him ideas about world art, its interconnections and aims. This led him to distinguish three main “belts”: a northern one, running from Siberia to North America, where nomads favoured small items, often depicting animals; an urban one, from China to central America, more given to monumental architecture; and a tropical one characterised by human forms, notably of ancestors. He explored these ideas in The World of Ancient Art (2006).

Other publications included Greek Gems and Finger Rings (1970); handbooks on Athenian black-figure and red-figure vases (1974 and 1975); a lecture series given at the National Gallery of Art in Washington and published as The Diffusion of Classical Art in Antiquity (1994); Persia and the West (2000); The Archaeology of Nostalgia: How the Greeks Re-created Their Mythical Past (2002); numerous catalogues, particularly of gem collections, including the royal one at Windsor Castle; and excavation reports from Chios and from Tocra, in Libya.

After the Ashmolean appointment came university posts at Oxford, as reader in classical archaeology (1959-78) and then Lincoln professor of classical archaeology and art (1978-94). As professor emeritus, he continued to work from offices first in the Ashmolean and subsequently the classics faculty’s Ioannou Centre.

In 2020 he produced his autobiography, A Classical Archaeologist’s Life: The Story So Far. The last of its three parts focuses on a field of “minor” art that he showed could be anything but: Greek and Roman gems and finger rings. Called simply “Gems, Bob and Claudia”, it details the work that Boardman did first with the photographer Bob Wilkins and later an archivist of the Beazley Archive, in Oxford, Claudia Wagner. With her he co-authored Masterpieces in Miniature: Engraved Gems from Prehistory to the Present (2018).

Born in Ilford, Essex, John was the son of Clara (nee Wells), who had been a milliner’s assistant, and Arch (Frederick) Boardman, a clerk in the City. The family was not academic, but John was impressed by what he saw at the Victoria and Albert Museum and the British Museum when he visited them with his father, who died when John was 11.

While at Chigwell school, John experienced second world war aerial bombardment, of which he later had vivid memories. He found the study of Greek to be “magical”, and the school’s headteacher encouraged him to apply for a scholarship at his former Cambridge college.

Though his own career developed at a time when a doctorate was not obligatory, Boardman went on to supervise vast numbers of graduate students, scattered over several continents. He had an extraordinarily acute and retentive visual memory, was prodigiously efficient and well organised in his teaching – his lectures on Greek architecture and sculpture were a revelation – as in his research and writing, and welcomed the assistance provided by digital technology.

I first met him in his Ashmolean office, in 1969, keen for him to be my doctoral supervisor. Almost the first word he uttered was “Sparta”: not long before, he had published an account vastly improving on previous understanding of the sand, earth and relative dating of the artefacts found at the Artemis Orthia sanctuary site there. Like many others, I appreciated his meticulous standards of archaeological observation and historical interpretation.

Boardman once wrote that he felt more at home intellectually outside Oxford, indeed outside Britain, and he was involved with and recognised by institutions in Ireland, mainland Europe, the US and Australia. For almost three decades he was on the board of the Basel-based Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (1972-99).

His activities in Britain were still considerable. He edited the Journal of Hellenic Studies (1958-65) and was a delegate of the Oxford University Press (1979-89). At the Royal Academy in London from 1989 onwards he occupied what had originally been Edward Gibbon’s seat of professor of ancient history. He was made a fellow of the British Academy in 1969, and knighted in 1986.

While ready to express a view in serious academic controversies he was resolutely apolitical. Nonetheless, he took the view that Lord Elgin’s dubiously acquired collection of sculptures from the Parthenon and other structures in Athens purchased by the UK in 1816 should remain in its entirety under the curation of the British Museum Trustees.

He received a lot of support from the publishers Thames & Hudson, and his very last publication came in the month of his death, in their Pocket Perspectives series. John Boardman on the Parthenon is a lightly illustrated repackaging of the lively text he had composed to accompany the black and white photographs of David Finn in the same publisher’s The Parthenon and Its Sculptures (1985).

Sheila died in 2005. He is survived by their children, Julia and Mark.

🔔 John Boardman, archaeologist and classical art historian, born 20 August 1927; died 23 May 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[runwayrunway]

No. 13 - condor

Condor Flugdienst is a German airline which operates medium-to-long-haul scheduled and charter flights with a specialty in flights from Europe to locations associated with vacation and leisure, such as the Mediterranean. They’ve been doing this for 70 years now, but in April 2022 they unveiled an overhaul of their livery. They would get a quick start on rolling it out, as they very confidently ordered 59 new planes to paint it on!

Oh boy.

The worst thing about this livery is that it’s not a thoughtless choice. It’s very intentional and very thought out, and that makes me sad because I’m about to angrily insult someone’s earnest hard work. In fact, they have an entire webpage dedicated to their inspiration and thought process. It will be the source of all images and quotes used in the remainder of this review.

Vacations are striped. And Condor is vacation. Umbrellas, beach towels, ice cream shops..who doesn’t love them and the stripes will make you smile. They stand for easiness, freedom to experience the world, for the gentle breeze in your hair, sunshine on your face and now for Condor. In the future our fleet will also be in this new design.  For decades, stripes have had meaning in our way of life. Timeless, elegant and recognizable – just like us.

I hate to say it, but they’re right (despite the fact that the paragraph is written pretty jankily). That’s a really clever association that’s clearly been thought out and is very recognizable. Like, in isolation I really like this idea. It just sucks that it’s very ugly? 

I mean, it really doesn’t help that they picked a colorway that blends right into this picturesque island landscape for this particular shot, but I think what I’m angriest about is that despite committing to this absolutely vile candy cane look they didn’t even extend it to the wings and nacelles, which would have really hammered home the beach blanket look! Also, the black text is practically invisible and looks super out of place. It feels like they have this vision but they get so wrapped up in it that they mess up all the details and forget to make it good. 

But the green is very purposeful, too. 

Our five colors: Sunshine, Passion, Sea, Island and Beach. Colors are not only found around the globe on holidays, they also stand for the fact that our world cannot be defined by a single color. Therefore our “Fleet” is looking forward to a new design, visibly striped and colorful in Sunshine (yellow), Passion (red), Sea (blue), Island (green) and Beach (beige).

I really really like these! This feels really nice, the rare airline livery with an explicit meaning that reflects what it doesand isn't just vague corporate jargon about how the color blue somehow reflects Scandinavian identity. If you’re going to do a jellybean livery this is how you should do it - every aspect of the livery swapped, visible at a glance, bright and exciting, everything intentional and explicit in its purpose. 

I love the idea and it makes me angry that it looks hideous. 

Like, it could be good. They could have tried horizontal stripes, maybe, even diagonal stripes, or some sort of wave pattern to them. I don’t know. With how much care was put into the idea surely someone could come up with something better than I have. 

My friend @elyvator's (who took the above photograph) mother recently flew on a condor flight. There's something so surreal about seeing this big garish thing parked in a miserable soggy grey airport next to tarmac and a jet bridge and concrete.

You could miss the text entirely if you weren't looking for it. The stark white engine adds to the perception that the wing doesn't even look attached to the fuselage - like it's floating away. This doesn't belong here, and not in a good way. This isn't a plane that screams 'I might be on an awful rainy airport apron but I'm going to take you to a magical faraway beach', this is a plane as seen by someone still half-asleep after a party with a throbbing head while they're going downstairs to get a glass of water. And it had so much potential to not be that, to be something good. They came up with a great idea and then made every possible wrong choice in implementing it.

I can at least work up a bit of ironic affection for it, a sort of charm in its ugliness. It’s not the planes’ fault, and they wear it as well as they can. They’re still fundamentally cute to me. But that’s not what I’m here to judge. I’m sorry, airplanes. I'm sorry they did this to you.

This...this hurts me. It really does. 

condor is getting Runway Runway’s first ever grade of F.

I love the thought process. I love everything about the idea. This could have been so fantastic if only they didn’t make it ugly.

AN ADDENDUM

I still agree with everything I have said here. However, I have since slightly reframed condor's standing. To fully understand how I feel about this airline, I recommend this as a sort of part two to this post.

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: I just had to use a Hercules GIF i love that movie sm -Danny Words: 2,694 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Vida La Vida' -by Coldplay

XIX: The Son of Olympus

First impression of Heracles: Hot. He's a god, so of course he'd look the part. He kind of reminds her of Percy, if Percy were a Gym-bro.

Piper's the first to speak. "Hello."

"What's up?" Hercules replies.

"Uh, not much." Piper glances at Ara, and the girl encourages her to keep going. "Well, actually, a lot. I'm Piper. This is Jason and Ara. We—"

"Where's your lion skin?" Jason blurts out.

Piper elbows the boy. Luckily, Hercules seems to find the outburst funny. "It's ninety degrees out here. Why would I wear my lion skin? Do you wear a fur coat to the beach?"

"I guess that makes sense." Jason pouts. "It's just that the pictures always show you with a lion skin."

The god glances at the sky with annoyance. "Don't believe everything you hear about me. Being famous isn't as fun as you might think."

"Tell me about it," Piper mumbles.

"Are you famous?"

"My dad... he's in the movies."

"Don't get me started with the movies! Gods of Olympus, they never get anything right. Have you seen one movie about me where I look like me?"

"I'm surprised you're so young," Piper agrees.

"Ha! Being immortal helps. But, yes, I wasn't so old when I died. Not by modern standards. I did a lot during my years as a hero... too much, really." He eyes Jason. "Son of Zeus, eh?"

"Jupiter," Jason corrects.

"Not much difference," Hercules shrugs. "Dad's annoying in either form. Me? I was called Heracles. Then the Romans came along and named me Hercules. I didn't really change that much, though lately just thinking about it gives me splitting headaches... At any rate, if you're Jupiter's son, you might understand. It's a lot of pressure. Enough is never enough. Eventually it can make a guy snap."

He looks at Piper. "As for you, my dear, be careful. Sons of Zeus can be... well, never mind." He locks eyes with Ara. "You're the newest Olympian sensation, aren't you?"

"Ara Jackson," she considers shaking his hand, but she doesn't want him to feel how much she's shaking.

He tilts his head. "Who was your godly parent?"

"Aphrodite."

Hercules burst out laughing, making Ara want to punch his nose. "Has the quality of heroes decreased, or are Aphrodites more sturdy than in ancient times?"

"We've always been sturdy," she scoffs.

"So the quality decreased," he muses. "That sucks."

"You su—"

"Lord Hercules," Piper intervenes. "We're on a quest. We'd like permission to pass into the Mediterranean."

Hercules turns to her, still chuckling. "That's why I'm here. After I died, Dad made me the doorkeeper of Olympus. I said, Great! Palace duty! Party all the time! What he didn't mention is that I'd be guarding the doors to the ancient lands, stuck on this island for the rest of eternity. Lots of fun."

He points at the pillars.

"Stupid columns. Some people claim I created the whole Strait of Gibraltar by shoving mountains apart. Some people say the mountains are the pillars. What a bunch of Augean manure. The pillars are pillars."

"Right," Piper replies. "Naturally. So... can we pass?"

"Well, I have to give you the standard warning about how dangerous the ancient lands are. Not just any demigod can survive the Mare Nostrum. Because of that, I have to give you a quest to complete. Prove your worth, blah, blah, blah. Honestly, I don't make a big deal of it. Usually I give demigods something simple like a shopping trip, singing a funny song, that sort of thing. After all those labors I had to complete for my evil cousin Eurystheus, well... I don't want to be that guy, you know?"

"Appreciate it," Jason nods.

"Hey, no problem," Hercules continues, eyeing Ara. "But I kind of want to see the little one in action."

"Call me little again, and I'll use you as the demonstration dummy," she says dryly.

The young god snorts. "So what's your quest?"

"Giants," Jason explains. "We're off to Greece to stop them from awakening Gaea."

"Giants. I hate those guys. Back when I was a demigod hero... ah, but never mind. So which god put you up to this—Dad? Athena? Maybe Aphrodite?" He glances at Piper with a sly smile. "As pretty as you are, I'm guessing that's your mom too."

Ara senses the danger, but Jason thinks she's about to snap and acts faster. "Hera sent us. She brought us together to—"

"Hera."

The air around Hercules changes, and Piper tries to fix it. "We hate her too. We didn't want to help her. She didn't give us much choice, but—"

"But here you are," Hercules glares at them. "Sorry, you three. I don't care how worthy your quest is. I don't do anything that Hera wants. Ever."

"But I thought you made up with her when you became a god," Jason frowns.

"Like I said, don't believe everything you hear. If you want to pass into the Mediterranean, I'm afraid I've got to give you an extra-hard quest."

"Man, c'mon!" Ara complains. "You know I'm forced to follow orders!"

"And yet you wear that mantle with pride."

"But we're like brothers," Jason insists. "Hera's messed with my life, too. I understand—"

"You understand nothing. My first family: dead. My life wasted on ridiculous quests. My second wife dead, after being tricked into poisoning me and leaving me to a painful demise. And my compensation? I got to become a minor god. Immortal, so I can never forget my pain. Stuck here as a gatekeeper, a doorman, a... a butler for the Olympians. No, you don't understand. The only god who understands me even a little bit is Dionysus. And at least he invented something useful. I have nothing to show except bad film adaptations of my life."

"That's horribly sad, Lord Hercules. But please go easy on us. We're not bad people," Piper uses her charmspeak, but it's hard to sweet-talk a god.

Hercules's eyes harden. "On the opposite side of this island, over those hills, you'll find a river. In the middle of that river lives the old god Achelous."

"...and?" Jason frowns.

"And I want you to break off his other horn and bring it to me."

"He has horns," Jason pauses. "Wait... his other horn? What—?"

"Figure it out! Here, this should help." Hercules tosses a tiny book at Piper. "Bring me that horn by sundown. Just the two of you. No contacting your friends. Your ship will remain where it is. If you succeed, you may pass into the Mediterranean."

"And if we don't succeed?" Piper scowls.

"Well, Achelous will kill you, obviously. And I will break your ship in half with my bare hands and send your friends to an early grave."

"Touch my ship," Ara warns him, "and I'll stick my sword up your—"

"Couldn't we just sing a funny song?" Jason pleads.

"I'd get going," Hercules says with disinterest. "Sundown. Or your friends are dead. And you," he summons a chair for Ara. "We should talk."

Ara shouts a lot of insults that make Piper and Jason look back in alarm as they walk away, but either Hercules finds her amusing, or he's not allowed to hurt a child of Olympus, because he lets her yell until she tires out.

He makes two drinks appear. "Grape. Non-alcoholic for the crybaby."

Ara scowls at the glass. "I'm not a baby."

Hercules sets his club next to her. Ara's barely a head taller than the weapon. "You sure?"

She kicks the club and snatches the grape juice. "I knew you were a jerk, but I didn't know you were petty too."

"Children of Olympus are all petty," he sits down. "Blend too much free time and excessive egos, and you get one of us. We're provoked easily, and we have a talent to incite."

Ara looks back at the ship. Someone's on deck staring in their direction, probably Leo. She's stuck here with Mr Simpathy, so why not employ the time for something useful?

"What being a son of Olympus entails..."

"Do you know what it entails?" He interrupts her.

"Well... I serve the gods."

"Until you die," he pauses. "Although they could promote you to some other thing if they like you. But basically, your life is theirs."

She shrugs. "I don't mind being put to use."

"Because you don't understand what it means," he drinks his wine. "This isn't a reward, kid. You're a threat to all mortals."

"That was before," she argues. "I'm not like you."

Hercules raises a brow. "Then why do you hold that sword? And wear my cloak?"

"I fought a war, and been to dangerous places, all just to keep my loved ones safe. I am not you."

Hercules rolls his eyes. "You pledged your life to Olympus, and you did it for one reason only—You're starving," His words resonate within her unpleasantly. "Have you done something about that hunger, or has it done nothing but grow?"

Ara replies quietly, avoiding his eyes. "I don't know..."

"How long have you been a daughter of Olympus?"

"A year."

Hercules frowns. "How old are you?"

Ara keeps her eyes down. "I'll be fifteen in a few days."

"You're younger than Achilles and I when we were chosen..." his voice sounds different now. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you turn into this?"

She clears her throat. "I got tired of burning shrouds. If the gods won't help us, then I will."

Hercules's demeanor changes, he looks pitiful. "We don't help people."

"Maybe you didn't, but I will."

"We're killers. That's what the gods will ask of you, to take out the trash so their home is clean. We'll never be role models."

"I don't want praise," she replies defiantly.

"You say that now," Hercules shrugs. "Get a couple more blessings and see if the treatment doesn't start to feel a little unjust."

"I might die soon, so it doesn't matter," she says bitterly. "Might as well do something good with the time I have left."

He tilts his head with interest, like he's listening to something Ara can't. "Ah... yes, I see it," He smiles and looks to the horizon. "I know the story—Oenone swore Paris would regret leaving her. He'd never get his ideal life with his ideal woman. The nymph then killed herself out of guilt, as the unstable creature she always was."

The girl doesn't even bother to ask how he knows all this, she assumes gods have their ways to poke around a mortal's business. "Well, according to Aphrodite, this life will be no different if I don't do something."

"That's wishful thinking."

"The fates chose us to be part of this prophecy—Two souls in the right place, and right time."

The god shrugs again. "How do you break a centuries-old curse?"

"I don't know. Might be tied to the Mark of Athena—"

Hercules snorts. "You're not a child of Athena, so I doubt it."

"Janus said one of my paths was threading in that direction."

"It can't be the Mark of Athena," he brushes it off.

"Then what is it?" She asks with irritation.

Hercules makes a face. "Do I look like an oracle? I don't know. The price you'll pay has to be high, equal to the value of your curse. They won't set you free otherwise."

"There is no real freedom in a world ruled by prophecies," she scowls.

Hercules can't hide his amusement. "You're so intense. All children of Olympus die by their doing, you know? Honor, power... what's your poison?"

"That's it, I'm going back to my ship now, this is useless!" Ara stands up from her chair. "You won't treat my work as a worthless effort."

"You are fourteen," he corrects her calmly. "No one's saying you're worthless, you're a kid."

Ara blinks. "What?"

He finishes his wine and tosses the goblet over his shoulder. "You're drowning, and what for? You're a child that acts like a child and you tricked yourself into thinking that's wrong. Your ambition, little dove, it's eating your youth away."

Ara stares at him. She likes being young... or she did before Percy brought all these grown-up situations, and she had to catch up with him so he didn't leave her behind. Her brother was her entire world for a long, long time, and at some point, they grew apart, just like she'd always feared. Ara's solution was to force her way into the spotlight so she wouldn't be ignored ever again.

"Let's see, you have..." Hercules examines the embroidery on her cloak. "Six blessings? You're burning out faster than Achilles and I ever did."

Ara's too angry and confused to process what's been said to her, but Hercules keeps going.

"You know why the gods don't give all the blessings? Above ten would be a VIP pass to things a human can't handle," Hercules sighs. "You won't be here for long, and they've always liked playing safe."

He says it like Ara is the most recent doll in the market, and soon she'll go out of fashion and the gods will forget she was even there, just like Helen.

"Any advice?" She asks.

"Yeah," he leans back on his seat. "Watch your mouth. You're young, and there are forces out there that won't hesitate to put you in your place. Teach yourself to be scarier with no symbols of power that announce it to your enemies. And one more thing..."

He looks back at the ship, Ara turns and spots Leo leaning on the railing. When she looks at him, he waves effusively and blows a kiss in her direction.

"Achilles stepped into this role and lost Patroclus," Hercules says absently. "I lost my mind... you will lose, Ara Jackson, and that will be the beginning of the end. The path you chose is nothing but sad and lonely."

"It was bound to be that way no matter what," her voice quivers.

Hercules glances at Leo again. "Yes... you better get used to it. That boy can start over if he survives, you cannot."

Ara nods and adds weakly. "Is it better than being mortal, being a god?"

He responds thoughtfully. "Being a god is... slow-paced. Nothing new happens, nothing old ever comes back. If you interact with mortals, you forget their faces as soon as they leave—if an immortal reaches out, it's meaningless."

"By that, you mean..?"

"Immortals, they don't even look at you. Might as well be hallucinating those meetings."

"Cool," Ara replies dryly. "Well, uh... I have nothing else to say."

Hercules laughs. "I could talk you to death... I'd never known a demigod like you, let alone a daughter of Aphrodite," he looks at the small figures approaching. "But your friends are back."

Ara approaches them anxiously. "Gods almighty—You okay?"

"All good," Jason nods.

"Good," Hercules hums. "You got it. In that case, you are free to go."

"You heard him. He gave us permission," Piper nudges Jason's arm. "That means our ship will be able to pass into the Mediterranean?"

"Yes, yes. Now, the horn," the god demands impatiently.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"Achelous was right," Piper lifts the horn as if it were a bazooka. "You're his curse as much as he is yours. You're a sorry excuse for a hero."

Ara and Hercules share a look as if saying. "Are we hearing that right?"

"You realize I could kill you with a flick of my finger," he raises a brow. "I could throw my club at your ship and cut straight through its hull. I could—"

"You could shut up," Jason continues. "Maybe Zeus is different from Jupiter. Because I wouldn't put up with any brother who acts like you."

Hercules's face gets purple with anger. "You would not be the first demigod I've killed."

"Woah!" Ara steps in. "Let's not throw death threats around, okay?" She turns to Piper and mouths 'What the hell?' but her sister ignores her.

"Jason is better than you. But don't worry. We're not going to fight you. We're going to leave this island with the horn. You don't deserve it as a prize. I'm going to keep it, to remind me of what not to be like as a demigod, and to remind me of poor Achelous and Deianira."

"Do not mention that name!" Hercules snaps. "You can't seriously think I'm worried about your puny boyfriend. No one is stronger than me."

"I didn't say stronger, I said he's better."

Piper lifts the horn a little higher, and from it bursts out a wide variety of fresh food and baked sweets—a whole godly feast. Piper pulls Ara away from the mountain of edibles. "Go!"

Jason seizes them, flying back to the Argo II.

"Kill!" Hercules screams in anger, crawling out from under the food.

Everyone seems to know what's happening except Ara. Leo flies the ship away without asking questions, and Percy summons a huge tide to keep Hercules from throwing coconuts at them.

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh

[useless-catalanfacts]

This week we've had to say goodbye to Manolo Miralles, one of the most important and iconic musicians in the Catalan Countries' history, founder and member of Al Tall.

He was born in 1952 in Xàtiva (Valencian Country). He taught himself music, focused on traditional Valencian instruments. In the 1970s, together with Vicent Torrent and Miquel Gil, they founded the band Al Tall, which became the soundtrack to the fight for the fall of the fascist dictatorship and everything that came after.

Al Tall played traditional songs and wrote their own songs following the traditional genres and instruments, with their lyrics in the Valencian-Catalan language. Coming from a long fascist dictatorship that had banned and persecuted Valencian-Catalan language and culture to impose the Spanish ones, shaming particularly the expressions of traditional culture, Al Tall brought Valencian music back as a valuable musical tradition with a rich variety and history, and their songs and their versions of traditional songs quickly became popular and very beloved. Manolo Miralles and all of Al Tall always showed their strong compromise in favour of Valencian/Catalan language, culture, history and antifascism.

Manolo Miralles' death comes at a time where this legacy is particularly challenged. In the last elections, the right-wing Spanish nationalist parties PP and Vox have won in many places, including the Valencian Country and the Balearic Islands. In many cities, their first attacks have been against Valencian-Catalan language and culture. It also happened when it comes to Al Tall: since 2016, the public concert hall of Vicent Torrents' hometown was named after him, but the new Valencianophobic/Catalanophobic government has quickly changed the name: they don't want a homage to one of the best musicians in the Mediterranean because of his implication in the rights of Valencian-Catalan people and antifascism. There were demonstrations asking to maintain the name, but the City Council seems resolute in their decision.

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: November 1, 1998

Lyrics:

… I don't want to be a bus driver

All my life

I'm gonna pack my bags and leave this town

Grab a flight

Fly away on Venga airways

Fly me high

Ibiza sky

I look up at the sky

And I see the clouds

I looked down at the ground

And I see the rainbow down the drain

Fly away on Venga airways

Fly me high

Ibiza sky

… Whoah! We're going to Ibiza

Whoah! Back to the island

Whoah! We're gonna have a party

Whoah! In the Mediterranean Sea

… Far away from this big town

And the rain

It's really very nice to be

Home again

Fly away on venga airways

Fly me high, Ibiza sky

… Whoah! We're going to Ibiza

Whoah! Back to the island

Whoah! We're gonna have a party

Whoah! In the Mediterranean Sea

… Whoah! We're going to Ibiza

Whoah! Back to the island

Whoah! We're gonna have a party

Whoah! In the Mediterranean Sea

… Whoah! We're going to Ibiza

Whoah! Back to the island

Whoah! We're gonna have a party

Whoah! In the Mediterranean Sea

… Whoah! We're going to Ibiza

Whoah! Back to the island

Whoah! We're gonna have a party

Whoah! In the Mediterranean Sea

… Whoah! We're going to Ibiza

… Whoah! We're going to Ibiza

Whoah! Back to the island

Whoah! We're gonna have a party

Whoah! In the Mediterranean Sea

Songwriter:

Geraint Hughes / Jeffrey Calvert

SongFacts:

👉📖

Homepage:

Vengaboys

[totowlff]

chapter twenty-six — quan estem separats

➝ distance is painful for elisabeth. however, worse than that is the uncertainty about the future.

➝ word count: 5,1k

➝ warnings: slightly smutty talk

➝ author notes: finally, a new chapter for you! I hope you are as excited as I am for the sequel to the story of toto and elisabeth. always remembering that my askbox is open for feedback and requests (btw, I apologize if you sent something and I didn't respond; it means it's on the list to be written).

JUNE, 2016

The gentle breeze made her hair flutter. Sitting on the porch floor, leaning against one of the white pillars, she watched the horizon, deep in thought. The sun was shining brightly, illuminating the lawn stretched across the backyard of the mansion and the trees that covered the hills in front of the white houses scattered along the coast, right up to where the sands dipped and bathed in the deep blue of the Mediterranean.

This was Ibiza. Most of the world knew it for electronic music festivals and parties during the summer. It was one of the most popular destinations in Europe, especially for young people looking for sun, drink, and fun on the lush beaches and nightclubs that dotted the island.

For Elisabeth, though, Ibiza was simply home. 

Her affection for the island was her birthright. Her maternal grandmother, Elena, was a Spanish woman, and she loved it there. She often spent time in Ibiza with her husband, the Impressionist painter Robert Knaus. After the death of Elisabeth's grandfather in 1975, Elena decided to take up permanent residence in Ibiza with her two youngest children, Renate and Tilman, while her eldest daughter, Marlene, was building her modeling career on the mainland.

Shortly after the family moved to the island, Marlene went to visit her mother and siblings, to see how they were faring during those first few months without Robert. It was at that time that the family met Niki, who was a friend of Marlene’s — at least that’s what Marlene said. Of course, her mother did not believe a man who had traveled all the way from Vienna to Ibiza just to see her daughter was merely a friend, but she didn’t question it.

During those days under the Spanish sun, not only did Niki fall even more in love with Marlene, but he also fell in love with the island itself. Life in Ibiza moved at a different pace — everything was slower, more relaxed, warmer, tender. It was a harsh contrast to his normal schedule, driven by long bouts of travel, focusing on results, and the danger of his sport. It was as if Niki had been introduced to a whole new world, where he had found something new. It was normally something he avoided at all costs, for fear of it affecting his racing performance.

Happiness.

He and Marlene got married a few months later, in a registry office in Vienna, practically in the dead of night. A few months after that, they purchased a mansion on the island. It was built in the Balearic style and had a stunning view of the main city, with its white houses dotting the coast. Niki took refuge there after his accident at the Nürburgring. He had his children spend the first few years of each of their lives here as well, away from the spotlight and the media pressure that came with having a famous father.

Out of all of Niki’s children, Elisabeth had spent the least amount of time on the island, due to the fact that Lukas and Mathias were of school age at the time she was born, and their father insisted that they be educated in Vienna. However, this did not stop the youngest Lauda sibling from developing a special fondness for Ibiza, and making her own memories there.

Her childhood had been filled with walks on the beach, playing with Tasso and Luna on the front lawn, and riding lessons with Uncle Tilly on the pony he'd gifted her for her fifth birthday. There were escapades with her father, diving in the Mediterranean when they should’ve been at the market in Santa Eulària, running errands for Marlene. Elisabeth’s happiest memories all took place on that little piece of land, until a particular man stepped into her life and turned everything upside down.

Thinking of Toto gave Elisabeth a strange feeling in her chest, a feeling that she wasn’t used to any more after they’d been dating for nearly two years. It was the feeling of something she was lacking, like someone had stolen a piece of her.

After photos of him surfaced in Austrian tabloids with a “mystery woman”, the two of them agreed that they needed to lay low until the press lost interest in Toto, because he’d been targeted by the paparazzi more often these days. The only solution they could think of was to travel separately and to avoid appearing in public unless they were in the company of another person. 

It would even have worked… But, then they were spotted walking into Toto’s penthouse late in the evening after arriving back in Vienna after the Canadian Grand Prix. It was dumb luck that Elisabeth’s face was obscured in the pictures, covered by the hood of the team jacket she’d stolen when the chill of the Viennese nighttime caught her by surprise. It was dumb luck that shit hadn’t hit the proverbial fan.

Bradley emailed them both the next morning, requesting they consider a response of some kind. They both agreed that the best thing to do would be for them to remain apart for a while, just until the press’ fervor died down. They could do anything they wanted once things calmed down. Since the season was underway, it was agreed that Toto would stay in Oxfordshire, close to the factory, and that Elisabeth would stay in her apartment in Vienna. She was glad she hadn’t sold it yet, like she was considering for a while.

She hadn’t expected their period of separation to be so difficult, though. The first few days were easy. Her flat hadn’t been inhabited in a while, and things needed to be organized. Work took up a lot of her time as well. But after a few days, she became keenly aware of Toto’s absence, and started feeling lonely… almost empty inside. Elisabeth realized, while she was away from him, how important he’d become to her. He was an essential part of her life now. 

It wasn't like they didn't communicate via text and phone calls. Truthfully, they spent far too much time on the phone with each other, giving each other the most mundane updates about things that were going on. They even saw each other at the Azerbaijan GP in Baku, but they limited their contact to conversations in the garage, so other people would be around and nothing would look too suspicious. Being so close to him and so far away from him at the same time felt like torture to Elisabeth. Worst of all, there was no end to it in sight.

Niki seemed to notice Elisabeth's restlessness and suggested that his daughter come with him and Marlene to Ibiza for a chance to relax before July’s packed race schedule. It sounded wonderful, and Elisabeth would have jumped at the chance… If it weren't for the fact that her parents had invited her brothers as well.

The prospect of seeing Mathias again after everything that happened at Lenny’s birthday party gave Elisabeth pause. Since she and Toto had been kicked out of his apartment, she hadn't been in contact with her brother or sister-in-law. Even the news of the birth of her new nephew, Ellison, arrived through third parties, as Mathias did not make a point of even reading the WhatsApp messages she’d sent asking about the children. The idea of sharing a house with Mathias, even for a few days, seemed like it would be impossible.

After some jostling around a few dates and snide comments from her brother, it was agreed that Elisabeth would spend a few days on the island in June, and Mathias would come in July. That way, they could avoid any friction or fights, considering that their last argument had ended with her slapping her brother in the face.

Elisabeth’s first few days in Ibiza were filled with re-discovery. It had been almost two years since she had visited because of the frenetic routine of travel and meetings that her life had become. Visiting the places that were part of her childhood were special to her, and felt even more special when she imagined what it would be like to have Toto, Ben and Rosi there with her, exploring the island with her. It would be fun, she thought, to show them Ibiza through her eyes, telling them stories about spending time there during her youth. 

The sound of something buzzing pulled her out of her thoughts. Elisabeth glanced to the table next to her and realized that her phone was ringing. She picked it up and looked at the screen, smiling when she realized who was calling her.

— Hi, honey — she said softly.

— Hola, guapa — Toto greeted, in slurred Spanish, which made Elisabeth laugh — Como estás?

— You know that they don’t really speak Spanish here in Ibiza, right?

— But isn't it part of Spain?

— Yes, but they speak Catalan here, dear, not Spanish.

— Then correct me, Professor Lauda.

— You should have said “Hola bonica, com estàs?”.

He repeated the phrase carefully, pulling out some vowels in an exaggerated way, making her laugh again.

— We’ll work on it, dear.

— What matters is that you understood my question, and I'm waiting for your answer.

— I'm fine, Toto — Elisabeth replied — I would be better if you were here, of course. What about you?

— I'm fine too, baby. Lots of meetings, trying to solve some problems that popped up here that would have been fixed in five minutes if you were here.

Elisabeth smiled.

— Are things that chaotic in my absence?

— You know, trouble seems to respect you, Liesl. It's actually very funny — Toto laughed.

— Sounds like I'm going to have to fly straight over there to help you, Toto.

— Nothing would make me happier than that, baby. I miss you here.

— At the factory?

— No — he replied, in a low voice — Well, yes, that too, but I miss you here with me. I miss you being close to me. I miss having you by my side at meetings, supporting me. I miss having you at home, laughing while sipping your coffee in the kitchen. I miss you in bed, lying on my chest, your fingertips caressing my skin.

— I miss you too, dear — Elisabeth murmured.

— I miss your kisses. I miss the way you like to nibble on my neck and ears. I miss the way you sigh and moan. I miss your body. I miss you the way you twitch all over while I make you come in every way possible — Toto continued, his voice gaining a mischievous edge to it. It caused Elisabeth to press her legs together involuntarily as a wave of heat rose through her body.

— Toto — she sighed, feeling her cheeks heat up.

— Do you miss that too, Liesl? Do you miss me making you come?

She pursed her lips the memory of the last time they'd had sex coming to the forefront of memories. The way he'd taken all the time in the world to bring her to orgasm more times than she could keep track of had etched itself in her mind, and she missed it so much.

— Yes, dear.

— What do you miss? Tell me baby. I want to hear you say it.

Elisabeth took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tingling feeling low in her belly — an impossible feat, considering that Toto Wolff was muttering obscenities on the other end of the line. She quickly looked around to make sure that nobody was nearby, and brought the phone closer to her face.

— I miss your eyes locked on me, watching me. I miss you telling me that I’m your pretty little girl. I miss your hands squeezing my breasts, your kisses between them as you move inside me. I miss you pinning my arms above my head to gain leverage. I miss the way you leave me completely at your mercy. I miss the weight of your body on top of mine after you come inside me, the way you breathe, and the way your sweat mixes with mine — Elisabeth said. She could feel her heart start to pound as the memories of those moments were making her more and more excited. 

On the other end of the line, Toto sounded like he was out of breath.

— Did I go too far, dear?

— I'm seriously considering taking a flight to Ibiza right now.

— My father would say that you're crazy to show up for no reason.

— But… I have a good reason.

— You do?

— Yes. To hear you whisper in Spanish that you want me inside you.

She laughed, rolled her eyes. 

— It's Catalan, honey.

— Could you tell me the difference? — he asked, his tone teasing and malicious.

— No puc esperar per sentir-te dins meu, amor meu — Elisabeth spoke, pronouncing the words carefully. However, before she even heard Toto's answer, the sound of someone clearing their throat made her whip her head around, her eyes going wide.

Leaning against the doorway behind her, arms crossed, Lukas was staring at his sister with a raised eyebrow. Considering the way his expression was now twisting into an impish, gleeful smile, he had definitely heard what Elisabeth had just said. “Fuck”, she thought, not realizing that Toto was muttering something on the other end of the line. It was probably some equally dirty phrase in one of the five languages he could speak.

— I'll have to hang up, I'll talk to you later — she said quickly, her tone cold and businesslike. She didn’t wait for a response before she pressed the “end call” button on her screen.

Lukas walked over to Elisabeth slowly, sitting down beside her on the porch. Then, after a few seconds of silence, he looked at his sister.

— I really didn't expect you to have such a foul mouth, Elschen.

Elisabeth felt her cheeks burn, her mind searching for some good excuse as to why she was saying those things that didn't require her to mention Toto's name.

— It's not what you're thinking, Lukas — she said softly. She was a little nervous. Mathias' reaction to her relationship had been bad enough that she had prevented anyone else from finding out at all costs.

Lukas chuckled.

— Do you read minds now, Elisabeth? — he asked, the corner of his lips curled into a mischievous smile.

— No, I just know you well enough to know that you must be thinking the worst of me right now.

— Not the worst, Elschen. I was just thinking about who could possibly be on the other end of the line.

Elisabeth took out her cell phone and looked at the screen, making sure the call had ended.

— It was nobody — she muttered — Nobody important, I mean.

— He seemed important to you, considering you told him you wanted him inside you.

She clenched her jaw, casting her eyes to the ground. Her brother sighed.

— I thought you trusted me — he muttered.

Something tightened inside Elisabeth's chest. Despite Lukas being seven years older than her, and having the same rebellious tendencies as their father and Mathias, it hadn’t prevented the two of them from cultivating a deep affection for each other. It was reflected in the fact that whenever somebody asked who their best friends were, they’d each give each other’s names without hesitation. They each had the same personality and the same blue eyes, and they shared a lot of life with each other. Whenever either of them had a problem, they would turn to the other for advice, to vent, or to get comfort or encouragement as needed. Lukas was the first person Elisabeth told about her first boyfriend, and Lukas sought out Elisabeth to ask about how best to surprise the girl he liked when he was in university. Even after 30 years, that bond was still strong, even if the conversations weren't as frequent as either of them would have liked because of their maddening routines, with Lukas helping Mathias in his racing career, and her helping father manage the family business and his interests at Mercedes. Elisabeth wanted to keep their relationship close, above all else, even if it meant not telling him how happy and fulfilled she was with the man of her dreams.

She didn't want to lose another brother.

— And I do, Lukas — Elisabeth murmured.

— It doesn't seem like it, Elschen.

— I know, but I trust you — she said, looking at him for the first time since he sat down next to her.

— So tell me, who's the guy?

Elisabeth raised an eyebrow.

— How do you know it's a guy?

— You've only told me about guys before now.

— I could be bisexual.

— I think you would have told me that, Elschen — he countered, giving her a wink.

Elisabeth smiled a little, looking at the horizon. As much as she tried, she could never hide her feelings from her brother. Lukas could read her like no one else.

— Is it Toto? — he asked, after a few seconds of silence.

— What makes you think it would be him?

— You didn’t answer my question.

— You didn’t answer mine.

— I asked first.

— But your answer is important to mine — Elisabeth said, looking at her brother. Lukas smiled wanly at her. 

— Well, if you're so keen to know, I assumed it was him because I was with him and dad when you and Mathias were arguing in his office during Lenny’s party. As soon as we heard Mathias raise his voice, I noticed that Toto's posture changed completely. He looked worried and angry at the same time. As the two of you got louder and louder, he looked more and more irritated. His jaw got really tight, and he was gripping his glass of juice so tightly that I thought he was going to break it.

Elisabeth looked at her hands. She still didn’t say anything. She fiddled nervously with the ring Toto had given her after the Amira Air deal, the diamonds glittering in the Ibiza sun.

— Lenny started crying a few minutes later, because he got scared by the shouting. Claire asked mom to stay with him while she went to see what was going on. While all of that was happening, we heard something that sounded like a slap, and Toto dropped his glass on the table and marched straight into the office.

— I understand…

— But, I think the most obvious giveaway was when mom asked me to help her with Lenny. He was inconsolable. I tried talking to him a bit, trying to cheer him up, you know, so I took him over to the pile of his birthday presents and asked him which one he wanted to play with, and he asked for Onkel Toto’s red car book.

Elisabeth swallowed hard.

— I even asked him to repeat who the gift was from, because I didn’t think I heard him right. But, he said that Onkel Toto had given a book with a red car and that’s what he wanted.

— Did mom hear? — Elisabeth asked in a low voice.

— Did she… Hear Lenny?

— Yeah.

— No, she didn't.

She sighed, twirling the platinum circle on her right ring finger.

— So, Elschen, is it him?

— Yes.

Silence stretched for a few seconds between them as they looked at each other.

— If I said I was surprised, I'd be lying — Lukas muttered, causing Elisabeth to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

— What do you mean by that?

— When dad introduced me to Toto, during the New Year's party at his house, we talked for a while. I remember thinking that he seemed a lot like you, and that I would get along with him for that reason.

— Are we really that much alike?

— You both are focused, stubborn, and intelligent. You both have a similar sense of humor and a way of dominating an environment just by being in it — he replied, looking at the horizon — You make quite the striking pair.

— Thanks, I think — Elisabeth said, a shy smile on her lips.

— Is this a recent development?

— Not really.

— How long?

— Almost two years.

Lukas looked at his sister with wide eyes.

— Almost two years?

— Yes.

— And nobody knows?

— Very few people know.

— Who?

— His kids, his mother and sister, Bradley Lord at Mercedes… You. Mathias…

Lukas looked outraged at the mention of their brother.

— You told Mathias before you told me? I thought I was your best friend!

— I didn't tell him.

— But…

— He caught us in a… Compromising position in Toto's office last year in Spa.

Her brother was quiet for a few seconds.

— How compromising?

— Compromising enough that there was no hiding what we were actually doing.

His blue eyes widened. The impish smile returned to his face.

— Were you fucking in the motorhome?! — he asked. He was louder than Elisabeth would have liked to have been, so she slapped him on the arm.

— Lukas! — she exclaimed.

— What?

— Don't say that out loud — she scolded under her breath.

— Well, were you?

Elisabeth nodded, pressing her mouth into a thin line. Lukas laughed.

— I honestly didn't expect you to be that kind of girl, Elschen.

— Neither did Mathias, I guess — she muttered.

— Well… The thing about Mathias is that he’s completely oblivious to anything that’s not racing, Elisabeth. A few days ago he told me that Freddie Hunt asked him about you, and he didn’t understand why he would have.

— I guess you didn't tell him that Freddie and I…

— Nope.

— I’m glad. His reaction would be worse than it was when he caught me with Toto.

— What did he do when he walked in on you?

— Well, after practically dragging me by my hair to another room, he started lecturing me about how wrong it was, how I was crazy to have an affair with him, that I should be ashamed of myself for it. Oddly enough, it wasn't the worst thing he said that day.

— What else did he say?

— He threatened to tell dad about our relationship.

Lukas' jaw clenched.

— He did… What?

— Yes. He said that someone had to take dad’s side and that someone was him.

— And what did you do?

— I reminded him of when we helped him get back into karting and didn’t tell mom and dad, and that we gave him the money to do it. He couldn’t argue with that.

— So... Did he tell dad?

— I had to threaten him with his sponsors to keep him quiet.

Lukas chuckled.

— Oh, that makes sense…

— What makes sense?

— At the end of last season, he asked me to look for new sponsors and asked me to not tell you about it. I asked him why, and he said you were too busy with Mercedes things to handle it with the attention he thought it needed.

— That son of a bitch — Elisabeth muttered — Did you help him?

— I looked some things up, but you know, I don't understand finances like you do. I would have asked for your help whether he wanted me to or not.

She sighed. Things couldn’t go on like this - Elisabeth needed to find a solution to the situation she had gotten herself into with Toto.

— So, dad doesn't know? — Lukas asked after a few seconds of silence.

— No — she muttered.

— When are you going to tell him?

Elisabeth was about to respond when a female voice interrupted her.

— Tell what to whom?

Elisabeth turned her head and realized Marlene was standing behind them. Dressed in a crisp cotton summer dress, with her hair tied back in her iconic bun, she was standing in the doorway of the house, her face frozen in a serious expression. “Fuck”, Elisabeth thought.

— Nothing, mom — Lukas replied quickly when Elisabeth didn’t, realizing that his sister was completely frozen. However, the eldest son's words only served to make their mother even more suspicious.

— Nothing at all, Elisabeth? — Marlene looked at her. When her daughter didn’t answer she slowly approached where they were sitting — Lukas, could you give us a moment?

Elisabeth's brother looked at her with pity in his eyes, as if he knew that a difficult situation was about to get worse. Giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze, as if to say “good luck”, Lukas got up and walked back into the house. Marlene sat down in the spot recently vacated by her son.

— Elschen, you know you can trust me, don't you?

— Yes, mom — she murmured.

— So are you going to tell me?

— Tell you what?

— What are you hiding from me.

Elisabeth sighed.

— I’m… Dating someone.

Marlene smiled.

— That’s nice, dear. Is it someone I know, by chance?

— Yes.

Her mother gazed thoughtfully at the horizon.

— Would this person be a coworker of your father's?

— Yes.

Marlene looked at her daughter seriously.

— It's Toto, isn't it?

Elisabeth's eyes met her mother's.

— Yes.

Elisabeth fixed her gaze on the distance.

— Look, mom, I know it's not right, but I tried to avoid it, I swear I tried to avoid it — Elisabeth started talking quickly, trying to justify herself — I wanted to keep him away as much as I wanted to be with him, but he said he wanted me and I couldn't resist...

— Elschen…

— I know he's friends with dad, I know he's older, I know he has two kids, I know all of that, but I couldn't help but fall in love with him...

— Dear…

— And I'm willing to fight for what I feel for him. I love him, I want to be with him. And I'll fight for it because I'm tired...

— Elisabeth…

— I'm tired of pretending I don't love Toto. I'm tired of not being able to hold his hand, not being able to walk with him on the street, not even being able to take a boat ride without being afraid of getting caught with him...

— Elisabeth Renate Lauda, would you be quiet and listen to me? — Marlene snapped, her voice sharp. 

Elisabeth stopped mid-sentence, looking at her mother, her eyes filled with tears.

— A long time before you were born, I had come to Ibiza to help my mother and siblings settle here after your grandfather died. Then, one afternoon, I got a call from your father saying that he was leaving Vienna right then, and he was on his way here. I asked him why, and he said he would tell me when he got to the airport.

Elisabeth swallowed hard.

— He came in a Cessna 421 from Vienna to Ibiza. He got here at midnight. When he got off the plane, I walked over to greet him, and he kissed me — Marlene smiled — So I asked him why he'd come and he just said he missed me. My heart melted right away.

— I can imagine — Elisabeth muttered.

— I took him to your grandmother's house and introduced him as a friend I'd met at a party at Curd's house. She didn't question me, but I could tell that she was suspicious of both of us. The next day, I took him to see the island. After all, I grew up here. Of course, we didn't just walk around, we also hugged, kissed, even had sex once or twice on a deserted beach near Caló de s'Illa…

— Mother!

— What?

— I don't need details!

Marlene raised an eyebrow.

— You’re acting like you don't have sex, Elisabeth.

— That doesn't mean I need… Or want, for that matter, to know about your sex life with dad.

Her mother rolled her eyes.

— The point is, that night after dinner, your dad and I went out to sit on the porch, and we ended up kissing. Your grandma saw us. I will never forget the way she looked at me as she said that she knew the moment I arrived on the island that I was in love with someone.

Elisabeth immediately understood what she meant.

— Elschen, mothers know. They always know. I knew that Christmas Eve when you left the table to take a call. You, always disciplined, always toeing the line, breaking a rule? It needed to be someone very important. Someone you would drop everything for. Someone you love.

— Mom…

— Of course, I didn't immediately assume it was Toto. You know a lot of people, it could’ve been any one of them. But, you were very interested in going to the Prize Giving Gala in Qatar, and that made me realize who you were in love with. Hopelessly in love, judging by the photos I saw.

Elisabeth fixed her gaze on the trees, which were swaying slightly in the breeze.

— I will admit, I had reservations about him. I knew that he was a polite man who respected you deeply, but I wasn’t sure if he liked you as much as you liked him. But watching him run into that office after hearing you yell at your brother convinced me that he really does love you.

Elisabeth was silent, her throat tight.

— I just can't understand why you didn't say anything before, Elschen.

— I was afraid of your reaction. I was afraid you'd get mad.

— Why would I be mad, Elisabeth?

— Mathias did.

— And since when do you care about what your big-headed brother thinks?

— And there's the whole dad thing — Elisabeth replied, her fingers fiddling with the ring on her right hand — Toto is his friend, his only friend. And… I just fell in love with him. Falling in love with your dad’s only friend sort of feels off-limits.

— Do you remember how I met your father, Elschen?

— At Curd Jürgens' party —  she said.

— I was Curd's girlfriend at the time. When I met your father, I fell in love with him, even though I shouldn't have. When I realized it, I was on the edge of the cliff, with him by my side. Attraction is the path to the precipice that is love. And the moment you jump with someone, it's because the two of you trust each other enough to know you're going to fly. Your dad and I jumped. And you and your brothers are the results of this leap we've taken.

Elisabeth looked at her mother with tears in her eyes.

— I would never be mad at you for following your heart, my love —  Marlene said, putting an arm around her daughter’s shoulders — You are my daughter. My daughter, as well as your father’s. In the end, you are here because you father and I followed our hearts.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she leaned her head on her mother's shoulder. Elisabeth realized how exhausted she was from fighting the whole world to keep her relationship with Toto hidden. It was all too much — too much effort, too many lies, too many secrets, too much time. What they had was too beautiful to remain hidden within the walls of their Oxfordshire home.

— Mom — she sobbed.

— Yes, darling?

— Does dad know?

— If he does, he’s never said anything to me. I’ve never said anything to him, not least because I wasn't sure of anything, despite you two being very… Obvious, at least in my opinion.

— Do you think he'll be mad at me?

Marlene sighed.

— You won't know until you tell him, Elschen.

[pigeonflavouredcake]

Atlantis's connections to Antisemitism

CW: ww2 n4z1s, antisemitism.

I'm at the point where i'm writing up my grimore section on the dangers of conspiracy theories, I just finished my page on starseeds and now i'm on to Atlantis. I originally wrote this as just a point in a previous post but I wanted to share my findings here with y'all.

Atlantis's Origins

So in my previous post i labelled the topic as Atlantis origins in antisemitism, that was incorrect. Atlantis was first told as a story by philosopher Plato in 360 B.C as an analogy for hubris and served as a comparison to Athens. in the story, the city was founded by demigods and formed a utopia taking advantage of the abundant resources on the Atlantean islands and became a great naval power. The city eventually grew too powerful and it's people too arrogant; it fell out of favour with the gods and was then destroyed and sunk into the Atlantic Ocean.

A Dangerous Snowball

The popularisation of the Atlantis story in our current times came from the n4z1 group the Ahnenerbe during ww2 (who also popularised many other modern conspiracy theories like ancient aliens and the ice wall) but that's not where the snowball started.

In the 18th century, french astronomer Jean-Slyvain Bailey centralized the Atlantis myth to the, also, mythical continent of Hyperborea a reoccurring location in ancient Greek stories.

Helena Blavatski a Russian-German Aristocrat, theosopher and Neo-Platonist was inspired by this idea and reshaped it to fit into her book The Secret Doctrine (a pseudo-scientific book that was popular among occultist and esoterics, that also included N4z1s. This book provided the n4z1 party with mythical precedent for their ideology and became the foundation of the Ahnenerbe, founded by Heinrich Himler, the man directly responsible for orchestrating the death of 11 million people.

Also overseen by Richard Walter Dava the man who coined the whyte nationalist phrase "blut und bogen" (blood and soil) and Herman Wirth, author of another pseudoscience book: The Rise of Mankind: An investigation into the religion, symbolism and writing of the Atlantic nordic race. This book was about the pre-history of the fictional Atlantis but this time populated by a race of hyperborean nordic superhumans.

The Devastating Effects

This book formulated the idea between the Ahnenerbe group that when Atlantis was mysteriously destroyed the survivors went on to populate the continent of Europe and the Mediterranean. Those people then went on to develop the cities and architecture of Greece and Rome and Egypt etc.

The job of the Ahnenerbe then was to go around the world looking for evidence of this ancient "Aryan Master race" (aka begging the question) in order to justify the invasion of those countries.

Thousands upon thousands of people lost their lives during this time and hundreds of cultures lost parts of their history to the Ahnenerbe some of which were completely destroyed in raids.

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I think this information is important because Atlantis is such a popular tool in media we need to know what affect it had on our history.

Nobody is immune to antisemitism.