#modern sicily

[5style]

In between tranquil mediterranean waters in Sicily, all white cliffs. Stepping into the dreamy world of Villa Saraceni, created by Charlotte Taylor & Riccardo Fornoni.

[mifhortunach]

smth which i liked about the sopranos pilot there, is - and i’m sure this has been said a tonne of times - how quickly it situates itself as like, being about what happens when you live past the american dream

there’s the whole dreariness of the opening, and it also does it thru (obvs), tony’s statement of feeling like he came in too late, but also in (most fun to me!) how it interacts / converses / plays with the godfather as a text; “this isn’t anything like luca brasi!” - the mention of tony’s fave one being pt2, bc of the sicily flashbacks (lost good ol’ days!🤷‍♀️)

[akrasiaes]

tags.

[wisdomofthegecko]

Ok so I'm reading this book called Vestiges of Ancient Manners and Customs, Discoverable in Modern Italy and Sicily

He (John JAMES BLUNT) basically bitches about Italians the entire time, but right now he's bitching about the plays throughout Italy in the 1800's and is pissed about a play called Christ's Passion.

He's literally complaining about The Passion of the Christ!!!!! I want to give this man a time machine that only goes back to his time and the filming of the movie! I want to see his reactions!

[lostloveletters]

Give Me Shelter, The Night Is Dark (Vampire!Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Local superstition and a reclusive man offer you refuge when your parents grievously misstep in Sicily, putting your life in danger in more ways than one.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This incredibly self-indulgent gothic romance-esque idea came to me while I was half-asleep, and the time period is intentionally vague, but it’s not a modern setting (here's a little aesthetic tag for this fic). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Major canon divergence. Canon-typical violence. Emotional manipulation. Vampirism, including non-consensual blood drinking and compulsion (in the context of it being an ability vampires possess and can use on humans). Sexually explicit content involving elements of bloodplay. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

You couldn’t remember what had brought your family to the village of Corleone, only that your father had promised you and your mother an extravagant Sicilian vacation. Three days of beachside paradise in Mondello, eating fresh seafood cooked to perfection and entertaining the antics of handsome men with scars that stood out like bolts of lightning against their tanned skin were hardly enough to sate your voracious appetite for the weeks of bliss you were promised. 

Despite your attempts at bargaining to stay in Palermo on your own, your mother refused, insisting she’d be better off throwing you into shark-infested waters than alone with the men who came calling to your hotel. Some days of travel through the breathtaking Sicilian countryside later, you and your parents arrived in Corleone, a village that appeared all but frozen in time, as if decades had passed it by with no one any the wiser. 

To your dismay, you found the selection of eligible men to spend your time with far more limited than in Palermo. The working young men were too tired from their labor in the fields or their trades to engage in foolish antics with a vacationing foreigner. The rest were mafiosi, as you gathered from the veiled comments and numerous euphemisms the older villagers used. 

These elderly became your companions during your stay in Corleone, talking wildly with their weathered hands over coffee or wine. Filomena, a woman of nearly eighty years and fluent in English, lived in the house next to the one your family was renting. Her husband Gianni only left the house if absolutely necessary, and she considered him a burdensome hermit. Each morning, she fetched you to accompany her into town. Some days, you’d do little else than sit outside of a cafe on the sleepy main street, eating and drinking and gossiping. 

Your Sicilian improved immensely in the near month you kept up with their chatter. Those women always had their ears to the ground, as far as knowing more about your father’s business in Corleone than you did. The vacation he promised you was little more than a gesture of confidence toward Don Manusco, a man notoriously difficult to meet directly with. That your father achieved this naturally generated interest in the village, as no one knew of him. When pressed for more information about your own family’s line of work, you answered what you knew, that your father invested, mostly in stocks, but occasionally in new business ventures. 

You were privy to little else, much to the disappointment of your companions, who moved onto other topics of discussion. One woman’s son sought work in Milan and within three months of getting hired at a factory, married a Northerner, much to her displeasure. In contrast, Filomena’s daughter was cloistered elsewhere in the countryside, preparing to take her vows and become a nun. 

Their superstitions, however, intrigued you most of all. A curse and blessing existed for nearly every conceivable situation. The most striking tale they spun regarded an abandoned villa about a mile past the rental house. Foreboding and hostile, its faded facade peeking out from thorny vines, it was once the envy of the village. At one point in time, though no one could agree quite when, the Don of another family lived there. He took in a strange young man, reclusive yet polite, wandering the countryside with two armed shepherds as bodyguards. He married a local girl, but the marriage ended tragically soon after the wedding. In a sudden blaze of fire and betrayal, she was killed. The strange man vanished not long after, and anyone associated with the villa—including the old Don Tomassino—were soon found dead or had disappeared altogether. Thus, no one dared approach it for fear of the curse surely cast upon the place.

Some of the gruesome murders in the vicinity of the villa could have been attributed to the tradition of violence Don Manusco carried on following Don Tomassino’s death. It didn’t explain the livestock dying of unusual causes, an older woman interjected. Even the land surrounding it was cursed, and the local shepherds knew better than to let their flocks graze nearby, explaining the abnormally tall grass and overgrown foliage that surrounded the villa.

Yet another woman claimed to have seen a demon or ghost in the form of a man wandering the villa’s grounds at night. Of course, she didn’t get close enough to take a good look, instead uttering Hail Marys as she ran into the local church to take refuge until her husband found her some time later.

Your mind drifted to the villa sometimes, this forbidden and mysterious monument to grief and superstition that seemed to cast a longer shadow over the village than the mafiosos who ran it. Like Don Manusco, who your parents were joining for dinner one evening, and Filomena insisted you join her and Gianni instead of eating alone.

The scent of stewing summer tomatoes with garlic and mouth-watering spices invited you inside the house, its windows open for hopes of cool breezes moving through. Gianni offered you wine and a simple antipasto spread of cheese and oranges to snack on while Filomena cooked dinner. Despite his reclusiveness, he somehow knew that your father’s dinner with Don Manusco involved more business than a friendly visit, the final chance for your father to seal what he hoped would be a lucrative deal with the mafia boss.

Two hours later, you sat across from Filomena at the small wooden table in their kitchen, filling your plate with the delicious meal she prepared. You ate silence while Filomena spoke, bickering with Gianni every now and then. As the sun set over Corleone, unease crept over you, though you chose to attribute it to the heat of the day and eating too quickly.

Until a commotion erupted up the street, almost deafening as it approached, finally arriving outside of Filomena’s house. Frantic Sicilian shouting mingled with rapid pounding on the front door startled you into dropping your fork. Filomena and Gianni shared a worried glance before both getting up from the table to answer. 

Wailing. 

Screaming. 

Arguing. 

All you found yourself able to do was sit in confused silence. When they returned to the kitchen with a few other locals, panic truly set in.

“You have to leave!” Filomena cried, pulling you out of your seat by your arm.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Your father’s a fool–”

Gianni shook his head. “A dead fool–”

“Your father should have never brought you here if he were going to try to cheat Don Manusco!” an older woman said.

Another cursed. “Selfish bastard!” 

“Go! As far from here as you can!” Filomena implored.

A hard push toward the back door was the extent of the help you’d receive from the villagers of Corleone. 

Blood pounded in your ears, your heart beating in time with your feet against the uneven dirt path that nearly tripped you up in your desperate rush to the rental home. You opened the door, scrambling upstairs in a frantic half-crawl to reach your room.

You shoved clothes and essentials into a bag, hardly paying attention to what exactly you were packing, just knowing you couldn’t flee empty-handed and hope to rely on the goodwill of strangers. 

In the kitchen, you grabbed what you could from the pantry and shoved everything into a wicker basket. With just that and your suitcase in hand, you clumsily ran across the uneven countryside roads, hoping to find somewhere to take shelter for the night. Every rustle of leaves and animal cry sent chills across your skin. Just when you felt hopeless for a place to hide, you saw the abandoned villa's high walls, overgrown with vines and bramble in the distance. Superstition be damned, it was better than dying at the hands of a mafioso.

The iron gate was closed, but not locked. You held your breath as you opened it, sending out silent thanks to the universe that it didn’t release some otherworldly screech and announce your presence. Hardly visible in the dead of night, the villa peeked out from beneath the plants that had overtaken it. Even from a distance, it appeared as if the building were hollowed out somehow. It remained your best bet. 

Superstition offered you refuge, as masculine voices drifted above the villa’s high walls, the structure still sturdy despite the general state of disrepair.

“Should we go in?”

“You sound as much of a fool as that old man. That place is cursed. Even if she were in there, she'd be dead anyway.”

Their heavy, rushed footsteps against the rocky terrain fell silent after a few moments. You sighed in relief, allowing yourself to relax just the slightest bit. Until you glanced back at the villa again, a new sense of dread making your stomach turn at the prospect of having to go inside the place. While you didn’t believe all of the rumors you’d been told over the previous few weeks, being in its presence unsettled you.

Then again, feeling unsettled in an abandoned villa was preferable to whatever would happen if Don Manusco’s men got his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, you approached the shadowy building, hoping your luck wouldn’t run out when you got inside. 

To your surprise, the interior wasn’t as poorly maintained as the exterior. The furniture betrayed the wealth of whoever lived there previously, though they’d seen better days. Dark wood scuffed or splintered. Dull fabrics that must have been rich violets or crimson upon their initial purchase. 

You walked into the living room, freezing upon seeing lit candles around. Someone was living there after all. 

“Hello? Is anyone–” you gasped upon seeing a man standing on the other side of the living room, partially obscured by shadows.

Even in the cover of darkness, his features rendered you speechless as he approached. Handsome seemed too pedestrian of a word to describe him. His raven hair fell across his forehead with a deceptive boyishness. Brown eyes, almost black as the night itself bore into your own. His skin wasn’t nearly as tan as the villagers you’d met, but you supposed someone who lived in such a place was wealthy enough to not have to partake in the grueling manual labor typical of the area, the strong Sicilian sun giving its residents a healthy glow which he lacked. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“The men who were outside before—I think they’re going to kill me,” you said, panic overtaking your senses as his face remained unmoved by your explanation. “Please, I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

“Why do they want to kill you?”

“I think my father tried to cheat Don Manusco. I don’t know all of the details, but if they don’t want to kill me, then they’ll probably—“ Your voice caught in your throat. 

“You can stay.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow and find a way to get back to Palermo.”

He shook his head. “You have a vendetta out against you now. Getting back to Palermo so soon will be nearly impossible, especially if Manusco has allies there.” He watched in unreadable silence as hopelessness ate away at your resolve. “You can stay,” he finally repeated. “Don’t leave the villa. Not during the day, and especially not at night. You’ll be safe.”

“Thank you. I owe you my life.” You offered him your name, as a courtesy and as collateral. More valuable than anything else you carried with you, he could use it to betray you for his own gain whenever he wished. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“Michael Corleone,” he said.

“Like the village.”

He smiled the slightest bit, his dark eyes shining an almost betraying crimson in the moonlight. Ethereal. That was the right word for him. “Yes, like the village.”

Your host led you upstairs, helping you with your meager belongings despite your insistence you could handle your small suitcase and a basket of food, which you left on the console table in the foyer. The villa had certainly seen better days, its plaster walls cracked, crumbling in some places. You would’ve used caution going up the stairs if Michael hadn’t been so confident as he ascended them. 

He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing at each of the doors along the hallway. After a few moments, he seemed to settle on one, leading you to a dark bedroom, full of odd shadows that made you pause. It seemed otherwise better taken care of than the rest of the villa you’d seen up to that point.  

“It’s just me here. I’m afraid I’m not the best homemaker,” he half-joked in response to your hesitation to enter the room. 

“No, I’m sorry. It’s nice. I can’t thank you enough, Michael.”

He nodded. “I have insomnia, so you’ll see more of me at night than during the day. The cellar stays locked, but you can have the run of the place otherwise.”

You bid each other good night. 

When he shut the bedroom door behind you, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into your pillow, both from heartbreak and exhaustion, until you fell asleep. 

The following morning, you awoke to fresh bug bites on your arm–inflamed and itchy, though perfectly in line with each other, oddly enough. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and you supposed you’d rather deal with mosquito bites than whatever Don Manusco and his soldiers had in mind for you. 

True to his word, Michael was nowhere to be found when you went downstairs to eat a breakfast of bread and hard salami. Again, not ideal, but you’d make do with what you brought with you. For the rest of the day, you explored the villa, acquainting yourself with your new albeit temporary home.

You found yourself with little to do to pass the time. Venturing out onto the surrounding grounds of the villa was hardly an option, most of it so overgrown you couldn’t take a proper walk. There were a few books in the house, but often you found your mind drifting to your parents, what their fate looked like and what could await you if Don Manusco found out where you were hiding. By the time you’d finally see Michael around in the evenings, you’d force yourself to stay up as long as you could to be in his company. Soon, your schedule nearly matched his nocturnal one.

Over the following weeks, you got to know Michael. At times, you couldn’t help but stare at him, but sometimes it felt as though you couldn’t do much else if you tried. He was a gracious host for how you imposed on him, showing concern for the bug bites you tried to hide from him. A good thing he noticed, as he brought you a cup of tea, a deep maroon color that he explained was a natural remedy from the village for the discomfort you were experiencing. A common occurrence that you’d been fortunate enough to avoid since arriving in Corleone.

“You’re not from around here either,” you said one night. “I can tell from your accent.”

“I’m from New York, but my father was born here,” he explained. “My last name is a mistake from when he immigrated.”

“Do you miss it?”

He was silent for some time, lost in thought before answering with a soft, “Terribly.”

“But you can’t go back.”

“No, I’m very sick. I wouldn’t survive the trip.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your curiosity getting the better of you when you asked, “What do you have?”

“What I have is incredibly rare, there’s no word for it. Sunlight puts me in excruciating pain, and my appetite is abnormal.”

“How long have you been sick for?”

“Years. More than you’d believe.”

“You know, everyone in the village thinks this place is cursed. If you just talked to them, then they’d understand what was going on and maybe be able to help.”

“I can’t be around people. It’s not safe for them.”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you contagious?”

He hesitated. “Not how you’d think.”

“No matter what you have, it’s not good to be alone,” you argued.

“You’re here now.”

“Only until it’s safe for me to go to Palermo and leave Sicily.”

He shook his head. “You won’t be able to leave. Not when a man like Don Manusco has a vendetta out against you,” he said, his intense gaze boring into you. Your chest grew tighter as he spoke. “This villa is the only place you’ll ever be safe.”

“Michael, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just know what he did to your parents…he and men like him have done to many others on this island, too.” Your silence perturbed him. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them gently, though his eyes seemed to blaze with fury. “I’m keeping you safe here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice nearly catching in your throat.

“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, as long as you stay here.”

“I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed dismissively, not bothering to acknowledge your statement. You soon excused yourself to go to sleep, a sudden uneasiness settling in your stomach.

You awoke late into the afternoon the following day, judging by the amber sunlight that streamed through the broken shutters. Still, your limbs felt heavy, and your head pounded as if you’d hardly slept at all. A quick glance at your arm revealed twin bug bites on your wrist again, this time darker than the previous ones, leaving your skin tender to the touch. 

Dizziness turned the room over when you sat up from the bed, and you nearly considered going back to sleep, if it weren’t for the hunger that ached in your bones. 

You ventured down into the kitchen, relieved to find a pot of tea sitting out. You didn’t even bother reheating it, though the consistency was odd, thicker in its room temperature state. The texture didn’t deter you, as the more you drank, the better you felt, your dizziness and aches gone as the tea overflowed from the corners of your mouth and dripped down your chin, insatiable until there was nothing left. Wiping off your face, you went back up to your room and fell back asleep.

A knock on the door woke you up in the pitch black some hours later. You lit the candle on your bedside table before getting up to answer. You knew it was Michael, concerned about why you hadn’t joined him yet. 

Just as you got up to answer, he opened the door, letting himself into your room–except it wasn’t your room. It was his, and you supposed he could enter whenever he wanted. 

Frozen in place by his gaze alone, you stood still and silent as he approached, demeanor darker and more intense as his presence filled the room, as if his essence somehow intermixed with each breath you took. A citrusy sweetness with a bloodcurdling undercurrent of violence filled your lungs. Despite this, you felt no fear, but rather anticipation when he finally reached out and caressed your cheek, his hand freezing against your warm skin.

“Michael,” you whispered.

“Don’t fight me, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t. Not even if you tried. His eyes took in your face with a softness that betrayed his fondness for you. His lips pressed against yours, a chaste kiss to start, but it proved to be insufficient for him, as he claimed your mouth with the fervor of a man long starved for affection. His desire for you tangible as you kissed him back, allowing his hands to roam your body above your nightgown until his fingers brushed your thighs, pushing the hem up to your hips. 

He laid you back on the bed, ridding you of your panties and slipping his fingers between your folds. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, his lips against your skin. “Tell me everything.”

Before then, you would have died rather than admit it to him, but at his urging, the dam broke. Of course your thoughts of him weren’t always innocent. Some nights, when you were sure he was elsewhere, you touched yourself to the thought of him. The confession slipped from your mouth so quickly that shame couldn’t catch you, not when Michael pushed his fingers inside you, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, denying you any sensation but absolute pleasure. 

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he whispered, pressing desperate kisses into your neck. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me not to–”

Your whine interrupted his train of thought, and a knife-sharp pain jolted through you when he sunk his teeth into your throat, breaking the fragile skin. His fingers curled inside you, a moan clawing its way out of you as you came, ecstasy pulsing through your limbs in waves that threatened to drown you in it. Spots clouded your vision and breath evaded you, the poignant scent of copper mixed with your sex made your head spin. 

“Michael, I–” You passed out, though you awoke later, curled up next to him, your body sore and more fatigued than ever. You winced when you tried to move your head, a dull ache coming from your neck. “What did you do?” you mumbled.

“Sweetheart?”

“To my neck.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, petting your hair. “I got carried away. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“Me either,” you admitted. 

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. From then on, he was ravenous, and like a woman possessed, you gave in to him every time. Nights with him blurred together as thoughts of escaping Sicily and the danger that waited for you outside of the villa walls were almost nonexistent. 

Some time later, though you’d largely stopped keeping track of the days by then, you realized your food supply was running low. Michael would go out at night and get some for you if you asked, though he never revealed where exactly he went. Still unsure of your safety from Don Manusco, you figured the farm up the road would be a good place to swipe some fruit from the orchard and anything else they might have lying around and not exactly miss.

The sun felt especially harsh when you went outside. Each step brought about unimaginable fatigue that made your bones ache. You hardly made it halfway to the farm before you had to rest beneath a large tree’s shade to rest your tired limbs and eyes. 

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?” 

You jolted awake, surrounded by a handful of elderly villagers from around the countryside. You recognized at least one of the older women as one of your old cafe companions in Corleone.

“I’m fine.”

The woman in question squinted at you. “Where do I know you from?”

“We’ve never met before,” you said, voice tight with panic. “I have to go. Goodbye.” You forced yourself up, using what little strength you had to return to the villa, ignoring their calls for you to wait. Exhaustion swept over you by the time you made it inside, promptly collapsing in the foyer. They had recognized you, and surely they had seen you retreat into the villa and were on their way to let Don Manusco know of your whereabouts. They’d be foolish not to with the price on your head.

Michael was nowhere to be found, and you worried that by the time you finally saw him that night, it’d be too late to tell him what transpired. Tears rolled down your cheeks as fear and guilt crept up on you. Your carelessness had put Michael in danger, too.

With no way of knowing how long it’d be until word got back to Manusco, you considered the layout of the villa, which you knew like the back of your hand, and the best place to hide if he or his men intruded in search of you.

In hindsight, the kitchen cupboard was a more obvious choice for a hiding spot, but it was the most your fatigued brain could come up with while you were panicked. 

Your instincts had been right, though. The inevitable intrusion did come.

The voices that echoed through the foyer were the same ones from the night you first arrived in the villa. You kept a hand over your mouth, the other with an iron grip around the kitchen knife. 

“Come on, Don Manusco isn’t angry with you. He just wants to talk,” one of the men called out.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” the other added. “He knows you didn’t have anything to do with your father’s schemes.”

You couldn’t take a chance on whether or not they were telling the truth. 

Footsteps approached, growing louder with each passing second. You readied yourself for attack, until you heard a blood-curdling scream rip through the night and you dropped the knife in shock. 

With all of the foolishness of your father, you opened the cupboard door. Blood pooled around the man’s head, a look of terror etched into his face, betraying his final thoughts. Your gaze lifted, and you stumbled backward, unable to comprehend the gruesome sight before you. If you hadn’t been watching Michael with your own eyes, you would have assumed an animal attack was responsible for the carnage at your feet. What more, after the initial shock wore off, an almost physical pull drew you to the spilled blood.

The villagers had been right. It wasn’t mere superstition, but reality, one more horrific than any of them could have fathomed. The unexplained murders, the livestock deaths, all by his hand. His illness a fabrication to conceal the true nature of his being, something unnatural that existed in the worlds between life and death with a hunger to match. He’d been feeding from you for weeks, allowing you to carry on believing lies. Of course you felt awful, constantly fatigued. You could only hazard a guess as to what was really in the tea you’d been drinking like a fiend.

You wished you could scream at yourself for your naivete, as if he’d help you out of the kindness of his heart and not expect something in return. Your willful ignorance of his odd behavior in exchange for refuge in the one place where you’d be safe from who you thought were the only men who wanted to harm you. But he saved you from Don Manusco and his men. He kept you alive. He could gain little from drawing out your death for so long. Unless…your eyes widened, and you looked at him in horror.

Michael spoke your name softly. “Do you understand now?”

“You–You’ve been making me like you.”

“I should have done it sooner. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“I guess not.”

He cupped your face in his hands, “Things won’t be that different. We’ll be together. No one will be able to hurt you.” 

“How–How much longer until I’m–”

“As soon as tonight, if you’ll let me.” Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a bloody kiss to your forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the urge to trust him, to commit to an eternity of all-consuming, reclusive violence with him. “I want to be with you. I want to be like you.”

His hands drifted down to your neck, his fingers digging into your pulse as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the half-healed wound he’d inflicted all those nights before. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

[blueiscoool]

Imperial Roman Necropolis Found in Sicily

Archaeologists with the civil engineering company Italferr have unearthed a Roman settlement and necropolis during the construction of the new Palermo-Catania-Messina railway link in Sicily.

Located on a hill overlooking the Dittaino River, this Roman settlement dates back to the mid-1st to the 3rd century CE. The site’s strategic position, offering control over the Dittaino Valley and key communication routes, underscores its importance during its time.

Excavations have revealed a well-organized rustic villa complex, known as a villa rustica, which was central to the settlement’s agricultural and livestock activities. The villa’s central room, flanked by three ambulatories, has been identified through traces of collapsed roof materials. The villa’s remains indicate not only a residential function but also a productive role, likely linked to the region’s agricultural economy. Remnants of pavements and collapsed structures further emphasize the villa’s significance.

To the west of the settlement lies an extensive necropolis with 168 burials, showcasing a highly stratified society. The burials range from simple earth pits covered with tiles to monumental tombs, indicating significant social diversity within the community.

Among the notable graves is a bastum, or mound grave, which contained exceptional funerary offerings, including five necklaces, two gold rings, and a cinerary urn made from Carrara marble.

The urn bears an inscription dedicated to a “Magnus Magister Pecoris,” an official responsible for overseeing sheep breeding, and another inscription mentioning a “dispensator” who donated the urn to the deceased.

Magnetometric surveys to the east of the settlement have identified a possible cult area. Archaeologists found traces of burnt animal bones, ash layers, and alluvial deposits in a natural channel, indicating ritual activities. Among the recovered objects are oscilla masks, bone needles and pins, and a die with an undeciphered inscription. These artifacts suggest the performance of rituals and offerings to various deities in connection with festivals and ceremonies.

Italferr, a company under the Ferrovie dello Stato Italiane Group, has been at the forefront of integrating archaeological expertise with modern engineering practices since the 1990s. The company’s proactive approach to preventive archaeological investigations has proven instrumental in preserving cultural heritage while advancing infrastructure development.

The excavations at the Palomba-Catenanuova section began in 2020 in collaboration with the Soprintendenza Beni Culturali e Ambientali di Enna.

By Dario Radley.

[canisalbus]

hello!!! I’m a tiny bit new to this blog, and I have a question about something you mentioned in your last post, about Machete as a toddler and being sick often… why is he so sick? Is it because of the environment/lack of resources, or does it have something to do with the dog breed itself? just the smallest thing I was curious about! and I hope you’re doing well, your art is so thoughtful and emotional, I’m glad I discovered your work!

I think the main thing that is making Machete sickly is his anemia, most of his symptoms and chronic health issues can be traced back to it. There wouldn't have been treatments available, since the disorder itself was only discovered in the early 1800's, roughly 200 years after his death in the original setting. (In fact the popular treatment for most ailments at the time was bloodletting, which, as you can imagine, only made things worse).

Anemia causes headaches, fatique and physical weakness so he was a listless, irritable and lethargic child. When severe enough, it starts to undermine your immune system, so he would've been catching all sorts of bugs, viruses and inflammations more often than what is normal (which isn't ideal when you're a financially pinched commoner living in the late 1500's with limited access to healthcare and no modern medicine like antibiotics). He wasn't eating or growing well and might've been hitting some of his developmental benchmarks later than what is ideal.

His albinism also poses some challenges his parents would've been unfamiliar with. When your body doesn't produce pigment, the structures of your eyes don't develope quite like they should, which leads to vision impairment and extreme light sensitivity. So his parents would be taking him outside on a sunny day (plenty of those in Sicily), and the sunlight would physically hurt Machete's eyes, but a small child wouldn't be able to clearly communicate what is making him so uncomfortable. Unlike most dogs, he also gets sunburnt very easily. In his parents' eyes he was a kid that was always a little uncomfortable, always a little sick, and fussy about things they couldn't understand.

[themakeupbrush]

Rahul Mishra Spring 2024 Haute Couture

Look 2: Serpent's Labyrinth The 'Serpent's Labyrinth' aims to capture the essence of the ancient symbol of the serpent-long associated with fertility, rebirth, immortality, and renewal. While ancient myths revered the serpent as a guardian and symbol of wisdom, but the modern education and human habitats have shaped a different perception and general conditioning of our mind against the nature's marvel. D. H. Lawrence in his 1923 poem titled 'Snake' captures the general conditioning of human mind very well: "A snake came to my water-trough On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat, To drink there. In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree I came down the steps with my pitcher And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me... ...The voice of my education said to me He must be killed, For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous. And voices in me said, If you were a man You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off..."

[bumblesimagines]

Under The Moonlight

Part 16

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Seven years have passed since (Y/N) and the crew arrived to Constantinople. They've settled in since then, but life has not been easy for them.

CW/TW: Violence, war, religion bashing, vikings being vikings, period era situationships lmao, angst?, hurt emotionally and physically but barely any comfort, red flags? dont know her, (y/n) im begging you there's better fish in the sea

If you're new here and wondering where this came from, you can check out part one here and the masterlist here!

~~~

Seven years had passed since Emperor Romanos offered his sincere gratitude for ensuring the safe passage of his new wife, Eleana who they now were to call Empress Zoe. His gratitude reared its head through riches, rewards, and a place amongst his people, as well as a place amongst his army of men trained to kill and conquer the land of the empire's enemies. Constantinople was home now, even if temporarily.

They'd all settled in, although it'd taken time to grow accustomed to the vastly different culture and language. It'd been a difficult feat for (Y/N), his longing for his real home never dissipating amidst the heat and flourishing city. He missed his settlement in Greenland, his old friends, dearly missed his beloved mother who'd no doubt presumed him dead when he and his siblings hadn't returned home from their voyage. He longed for the cold and snow, the sound of the wind howling at night. 

Leif and Harald, ever the adaptable ones, slotted in perfectly with their surroundings.

Harald climbed the ranks with ease, finding himself a stranger no more to Emperor Romanos as his personal bodyguard and newfound general of his own army: the Varangians, an army full of Vikings and mercenaries in need of a home and money. It'd been expected from a Viking prince to slither his way up and coil around such an important role. He ensured the crew joined his army, and took part in the fighting and rewards. But it was never enough for Harald, no matter how many riches he acquired through the years. Nothing was ever enough for him.

Leif took to Mariam's old home and called it his own, his newfound thirst for knowledge only growing after he read through all her books and eventually began seeking it out in places called 'libraries'; rooms of knowledge, he explained. Each time they traveled to fight another war for Emperor Romanos, he sought out the writings and maps of those places, learning new information from ancient and modern times. The sciences of the world around them enthralled him, captivated him into an obsession. (Y/N) preferred it, though. He preferred his brother's eagerness over watching Leif lose himself in grief again. 

As much as (Y/N) found himself feeling out of place, fighting for the Byzantine Empire and calling Constantinople had given him much to do; and provided him with chances to see places he never would've dreamt of seeing. Such as the place they'd traveled to now, to defeat the Saracens at the urging of General Maniakes in Sicily. They'd been fighting for six months in what felt like an endless siege, and Emperor Romanos had begun growing antsy. 

(Y/N) squinted through the darkness as he walked through the tunnels they'd been digging for the past few weeks, a lantern tightly gripped in one hand and held before him. His eyes slowly grew accustomed to the darkness around him, allowing him to better see the crevices in the dirt walls around him. Short wooden beams and planks held the dirt in place, preventing it from crumpling and trapping those within. All a part of Leif's plan, as always. 

"How are we doing, Kaysan?" (Y/N) called out once the man came into view, flashing him a smile and being rewarded with a large one in return. Kaysan chuckled and wiped his hands along his pants, the subtle stink of sulfur lingering in the air around them. Foul-smelling enough to bring tears to one's eyes, but Leif insisted it was needed for his plan to work. 

"Your brother is working on the last of the sulfur we need. He says once it is ready, we can set the plan in motion." Kaysan answered, taking a step back to admire the combined work of the last couple weeks. Bundles of sulfur had been pushed into holes expanding across the wall of dirt, ready to be lit by a flame that'd bring down the tunnel and subsequently the wall of the fortress just mere feet above them. "I must admit I had little faith in his plan at first. But seeing what this powder can do when a flame is close to it..." Kaysan shook his head lightly, a twinkle of admiration in his dark eyes. 

"It is hard to match up to such a creative thinker as Leif." (Y/N) chuckled, his steps slow as he walked along the wall and took in the wall before him. He'd always known his brother had been destined for great things, whether on land or sea. Leif had inherited the best parts of his parents. No longer the savage son of Erik the Red. No, that title had fallen on (Y/N)'s shoulders, and he accepted it. 

"Come now," Kaysan gave his shoulder a small playful push. "You hardly need to match up to him, (Y/N). You're a smart man, and a loyal one at that; and, from what I've heard, you're quite charismatic when you wish to be."

"Have you been gossiping with the others, Kay?" (Y/N) questioned with a teasing grin, casting a glance at the man over his shoulder. It hardly counted as gossip, he supposed. Things with Harald never lasted long, whether he pulled away first or Harald did, but they always returned to each other in a desperate clash. It was vexing and tiresome, and he'd made up his mind a long time ago to put his foot down when it came to the charming prince. 

Kaysan gave a light shrug. "It surprised us, is all." 

The thumping of footsteps, soft panting, and clinking of lanterns swaying filled the tunnel, and (Y/N) had heard the panting noise enough times to recognize who it belonged to. He made brief eye contact with Kaysan and turned, raising his lantern high and smiling at the sight of his brother, although it faltered slightly when Harald appeared behind him. 

"Keeping an eye on things?" Leif asked, his hand rubbing affectionately into (Y/N)'s shoulder when he passed him by. The two Vikings carried sacks slung over their shoulder, no doubt the last of the sulfur they needed to ensure the wall would completely collapse and allow them within. (Y/N) gave a silent nod, feeling Harald's eyes burning into the side of his skull.

"Future King of Norway," Kaysan greeted teasingly, patting Harald's arm and taking the sack from Harald so he could insert the last of it into the dirt walls around them. Harald chuckled breathlessly in return, tearing his eyes away from (Y/N) to study the dirt room. (Y/N) allowed himself to watch him, taking in the grime and blood covering his exposed biceps and face. He'd ridden off to battle once more, no doubt a failure as all the battles before. 

"As soon as we take this castle," Harald murmured, his hands coming to rest at his hips. (Y/N) swallowed, his gaze sliding away from the beautiful prince as bitterness settled in his stomach. Despite the years that'd passed, Harald's mind never changed on what he truly desired above all else: the throne of Norway, one occupied by the son of a man Harald once considered a close friend. 

"Is there really as much treasure inside as you say?" Kaysan asked, voice strained as he worked to shove the rolls of sulfur into the wall with Leif's help.

"Enough to fund all our dreams," Harald replied. 

(Y/N) hooked his lantern on one of the wooden posts and crouched down beside him, rolling up the dark blue sleeves of his tunic and revealing the ink along his right arm. The creature his mother would tell tales of back in his youth; a sea monster that resembled an octopus but grew to be as large as a warship named Kraken.

The head and body of the began around his bicep while the tentacles expanded and wrapped around his forearm, stopping around his wrist. He understood why so many others covered themselves with ink, whether writings or designs. The Kraken reminded him of his mother, of all the times he spent on a boat watching his brother and father hunt for narwhals and other sea beasts. 

Dipping his hand into the sack, he wrapped his fingers around one of the rolls and carefully lifted it before he pushed it into one of the holes in the wall. He rolled it side to side, scrapping and mushing dirt until the roll was securely in place. He mimicked the movements with a few more rolls, absentmindedly listening to the three men speak about the plan until he finished, his fingertips lightly dusted in the vibrant yellow powder. (Y/N) stood back up and turned, nearly barreling into Harald's chest plate. 

"Can we speak?" Harald asked softly, and (Y/N) felt his skin burn at the knowing glances cast in their direction from Kaysan and Leif. 

"We have little to speak about, Harald." (Y/N) told him, scooping his lantern back into his hand and making his way through the tunnel. Harald followed him because the man never took an answer he didn't want, and (Y/N) largely ignored him until they reached the entrance of the tunnel and stepped out into the blinding light of the late evening. 

"There's much to speak about, actually. Starting with the most important thing-"

"The throne?" (Y/N)'s features scrunched up, his spotty vision slowly adjusting to the daylight around them. He blinked a few times and his vision finally focused on the bustling camp around them. His gaze darted back to Harald's face, catching the grimace that passed over his features at his words before the general cleared his throat. 

"No, I do not... I don't wish to speak of the throne. I know how you feel about it. You know how I feel about it." Harald frowned, his lips nearly covered by his thick beard. He took the lanterns from his hands and hung them up by the entrance, a heavy sigh escaping him. "You've done well in Constantinople for many years. I've seen you flourish. You're not as guarded as you once were. If you can do well in a court like the Emperor's, you'd do even better in a Viking court amongst your own people." 

"Except it'd be your court with Christian jarls and Vikings who believe me worshipping a god that isn't theirs is a crime punishable by death. Your religion loves violently, Harald, as do its supporters. They'd condemn you for everything you've done with me." (Y/N) scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief and walking forward deeper into camp toward his tent. They'd had the conversation many times over the last few years, a neverending dance of push and pull trying to tire each other out into admitting defeat. But they were Vikings, and Vikings never gave up easily. 

(Y/N) stepped through the flaps of his tent and released a heavy sigh, his feet guiding him to the basin sat on the table filled with warm water. He dipped his hands inside, cleaning the dirt and sulfur off his fingers until the water turned murky. The tent flaps rustled with the arrival of someone else stepping into his tent and he peeked over his shoulders, half-expecting to see Harald but only seeing Dorn. She smiled at him, her hands and sleeves of her blue tunic steeped in dark red. He crinkled his nose. 

"Trust me," She sighed. "I know how it smells." 

"Come wash your hands, then." (Y/N) smiled, picking up a rag and drying his hands with it as she stepped up and eagerly rinsed her hands clean of pig's blood. Her eyes flickered up toward him a few times, her lips twisting and teeth digging lightly into them. He tilted his head at her and took a seat at the table, reaching out to pluck a grape from the bowl in the center. "What is it, Dorn?" 

"Batu and I were speaking the other day, and the topic of you and Harald came up." She began softly, thumb roughly rubbing into the skin of her palm until the streak of blood disappeared. Dorn raised her drenched hands toward her face, wiping off the grime and splatters of blood that'd collected on her skin. "I always wondered what went wrong between you both. When we meet... it seemed as if you two had much unspoken business. Then, during our trip to Constantinople, it all became clear. You were lovers, or former lovers, it was hard to tell at times but you... loved each other. We thought you had reconciled from whatever had occurred and yet..." 

"I've come to learn that love is complicated, and at most times it's the worst thing that can occur. Harald is... a lot of things, too many things, truly. If you are worried that the same will happen between you and Batu, I can certainly assure you that it will not. Batu loves you, Dorn. I can see that you love him. You're happy together, content. Neither of you desires more than what you have now. Harald does. He hungers for far too many things, and it will eventually be his ruin. I do not wish to be dragged along with him." 

"But you love each other?" Dorn questioned, wiping away droplets of water from her chin and drying her hands on her pants. (Y/N) plopped the grape into his mouth and bit into it, feeling the juices explode along his tongue as he mulled over her question. He loved Harald, he knew that well, but part of him resented him too. Most days, Harald made him wonder if he loved him, or merely lusted after him.

"It's complicated." He answered quietly, and Dorn winced, giving a meek nod and turning on her heel to leave the tent. He watched her depart, a mixture of emotions coiling around his heart and constricting it. (Y/N) released a shaky inhale and ran his hand over his face, forcing away the thoughts of Harald and their odd relationship to focus on preparing himself for a good night's rest and a long morning. 

Seven years had passed, but it barely changed either of them.

The following morning, (Y/N) and the others awoke and began preparing for the day ahead before the sun had even risen over the horizon. They changed into clothes more worthy of battle, putting on their armor and chain mail before collecting their weapons. (Y/N) secured his dagger to his hip and retrieved a battle axe, a hefty yet powerful thing that'd do more swift damage than his dagger. By the time the sun rose, the Varangian army had gathered around awaiting instructions. 

"Ready?" Leif asked softly, instinctively reaching out to check the straps of (Y/N)'s armor. The younger man smiled and allowed him to do so without fuss, a soft chuckle leaving him when Leif gave an approving nod, his fingers running over the chain mail before his arms dropped back to his sides. 

"As always." (Y/N) sighed, glancing at Harald when the prince approached them. The deep furrow in his brows softened when they locked eyes, the determination in his gaze disappearing into a look of longing. Harald had grown over the years, all his training with a disciplined army making him stronger, and larger. His hair had grown, as had his beard, and on the days the two managed to keep the peace without arguments, Harald allowed him to trim them. He looked older, more king than prince, and it made his stomach churn to admit it to himself.

Harald walked past them with a nod, coming to a stop at the entrance of the tunnel and peering into the darkness inside where Batu and Kaysan waited for the right moment. They were to draw the attention of the soldiers and coax them into attacking first so the flames from their attack ignited the trail leading to the sulfur. Once ignited, the two had to run before the tunnel exploded and the wall fell. Harald raised his battle axe and lightly tapped the bell, the one Batu needed to ring when the plan sprung into action. 

"You never were good at waiting, were you?" Leif arched a brow, wrapping his fingers around the bell to stop it from swaying and tolling. A small, playful smile tugged at Harald's lips. "Patience. It won't be long now, friend."

"Patience is hardly one of Harald's best attributes." (Y/N) murmured, a hint of teasing in his voice that drew Harald's lips into a full smile. Harald's hand reached out toward him, his palm pressing over his hip and sliding over his lower back; fingers dipping under the silver armor and pressing into the fabric beneath. His touch always felt protective and safe, but it never failed to fill (Y/N) with a false sense of hope. 

"It has always been one of yours, though," Harald spoke softly, his fingertips rubbing the fabric into (Y/N)'s skin affectionately. His eyes crinkled, and despite everything that'd been bubbling up inside (Y/N)'s stomach, he returned the smile. The prince's hand moved to the base of his neck, squeezing the exposed skin there lightly. To any strangers, it may have come across as two close friends merely speaking. But it was simply because Harald couldn't touch his face in public as he desired. "We should speak after the battle, (Y/N). I cannot allow another day to pass without us having a conversation." 

Pursing his lips, (Y/N) gave a small nod and wrapped his fingers over Harald's wrist. "Fine, Harald." Harald's features brightened and he leaned in, pressing their foreheads together before he released him as the bell began to toll. 

The enemy had fallen right for Leif's trap, just as they had hoped. 

Harald clapped Leif's shoulder and trekked back to his post atop a mound of dirt overlooking his army of seven hundred men and women. He began his speech, his words of encouragement riling up the army into cheers and shouts, warrior cries and calls. (Y/N) lingered by the tunnel's entrance, searching the dark for any sign of Batu and Kaysan as the army erupted into more cheers and cries. He spotted movement and Batu emerged, his armor slightly singed and parts of him coated in ash. (Y/N) waited with bated breath for Kaysan, but he never emerged, 

"Leif," (Y/N) turned to look at his brother, giving a light shake of his head. Leif's jaw clenched and he inhaled sharply, tossing his axe to Batu and motioning for him to join the others before he entered the tunnel, the darkness swallowing him and voice echoing off the walls until it grew distant and hardly audible. 

The cries and war horns sounded off through the valley as the army moved, rushing toward the wall their tunnel had led to. The ground gave a light tremor, and through the darkness, Leif emerged with Kaysan leaning on his body, a trickle of blood seeping down from his temple as dark smoke escaped from within the tunnel. (Y/N) called over one of the healers, helping his brother hand Kaysan off to the older man before the two turned and spotted the wall crumbling into a heap of smoke and dust. General Maniakes' men sprinted into action, following after the Varangians and joining the battle. 

"Come!" Leif called to him, taking two axes for himself and running toward the fortress with (Y/N) hot on his heels. 

Stepping through the rumble of the fallen wall, all that could be heard were cries of anger and pain, the clashing of metal against metal, and the thumping of rushing footsteps as all armies hurried to fight and defend. (Y/N) moved forward, locking onto the first Saracen soldier he saw and swinging his axe. The soldier blocked with his shield and then pulled it away to thrust his sword forward, but (Y/N) anticipated the attack and dodged, raising his axe and embedding the blade into the side of the soldier's throat. 

Taking the shield for himself, (Y/N) used it to block attacks from other soldiers, shoving them back and into expecting Varangians who struck the soldiers down with cries and heaves. The first wave of soldiers fell easily and (Y/N) heard Harald's victory cry sound off throughout the air, the tight crowd dispersing throughout the fortress to attack, take, and conquer as they made their way to the castle. The people residing within the walls had quickly fled to the castle for sanctuary, leaving the place largely deserted apart from the second and then the third wave of soldiers. 

By the time they reached the castle gates, Emperor Romanos had joined them, and with his appearance came a plea for parley that momentarily stopped the fighting. (Y/N) found his way to Leif, standing beside him and Dorn as the gates into the castle slowly parted, revealing soldiers inside and the people that'd taken refuge watching from windows or along the roofs. Their ruler, the Emir of Syracuse, waited in the center, clad in clothes and robes of gold and black. He walked forward, and despite his city having been sacked, his face remained unreadable. 

"Emir," Emperor Romanos spoke, "We have reached your barbican and taken your city. Your castle is surrounded. I have come to ask for your surrender, to save your people unnecessary suffering and death." Leif stepped forward, beginning to repeat his words in Arabic but the Emir raised his hand to stop him.

"A translator is not necessary. I understand you perfectly." He said, waving Leif off before he turned his attention back to Emperor Romanos, his dark eyes studying the shorter man before him. "There will be no surrender. As we speak, a great Saracen army is on its way from Cairo and Alexandria to join us. When it arrives it will be you who is surrounded and destroyed."

"For your sake, you should hope it arrives soon." Emperor Ramons responded.

There seemed to be a certain smugness that passed over the Emir's features, finally breaking the serious stare. "We are not worried. We have food and supplies to last us many months."

"But no water." Leif piped up, and the smugness promptly vanished, the furrow in Emir's brows disappearing and the corner of his lips turning downwards. "Syracuse has six wells. I diverted water from five. Your supply will last a week at most." 

At that, Emperor Romanos grinned. "Perhaps your allies will reach you and destroy us before that happens, or perhaps they won't and..." His eyes raised and dragged over the people watching and listening, amongst them women and frightened children. The Emir's head turned and (Y/N) followed his line of sight to a woman with three children at her side, all of various ages. His wife and children, he assumed. "Syracuse will perish. But either way.. many will die. And all will suffer."

"Then I offer another solution," The Emir said, tearing his attention away from his family to look back at them. "Single combat between two fighters. If you are victorious, Sycaruse is yours and you have my promise that my warriors will not retaliate. If you lose, you must depart and not return. Either way, my people must not be harmed."

"And who would your warrior be?" The Emperor inquired with a slight tilt of his head. (Y/N) glanced toward Harald, and then General Maniakes. The brutal, hate-filled man had hardly done much to win his ruler's approval over the last days, at least in comparison to Harald who'd handed him the fortress on a golden platter with little trouble. The Emperor himself would never fight, but he'd certainly unleash his favorite dog on the enemy. 

"Me," Emir answered icily. "And yours?"

"I fight for the empire." General Maniakes deep voice rumbled as he stepped forward but Emperor Romanos raised his hand to stop him, shaking his head and turning to look over his shoulder at Harald. The corners of his lips twisted up into a smile, one that made General Maniakes scowl and glare viciously at Harald.

"You will fight my Varangian." Emperor Romanos responded, striding forward toward the Emir and giving a dip of his head. "And you have my promise. Your people will not be harmed and our agreement, honored."

(Y/N) remained silent the walk back to camp, his gaze bouncing between the floor and staring holes into the back of Harald's head as they entered Leif's tent alongside the others. He approached the basin and dipped a rag inside, roughly wiping his hands and face clean to distract himself from his churning mind. He could feel the irritation creeping up his back, an annoyance he couldn't quite pin on anyone. Batu sharpened Harald's axe in thought, the sound filling the silence while Kaysan helped Harald adjust his armor. 

"If we were in Novgorod, I could sell a thousand seats and make enough to retire," Batu said and laughed heartily, his words only reminding (Y/N) of the countless times Harald had thrown himself into battle without thinking. He scarcely had good memories of Novgorod, and the ones he remembered vividly were of Harald bloody and battered. 

Without thinking, (Y/N) sent Batu a glare sharp enough to get his friend to hurriedly clamp his mouth shut and wince. He cleared his throat and diverted his eyes, subtly motioning for Kaysan and him to make their exit. Kaysan nodded and stood up from his stool, giving Harald a pat on the shoulder as Batu handed him his axe back and smiled encouragingly before the two quickly slipped out of the tent; leaving Harald alone with the two brothers. 

"We can select three weapons. I'll start with the battle axe." Harald spoke, approaching the weapon's table and setting the axe alongside the rest. (Y/N) inhaled deeply through his nose and rubbed his fingertips against his temple to soothe the beginnings of a headache away before it could consume him. Leif remained equally as silent and it finally made Harald cave. "You're both quiet, which means you're either angry or worried about something. Perhaps both."

"I worry you underestimate him," Leif revealed with a sigh, raising his head to look at his friend with a growing frown. Harald scoffed, his brows furrowing as his eyes darted between the two brothers, almost as if offended they'd doubt him. (Y/N) squeezed the water out of the rag and set it aside to dry, finally looking up at the prince. 

"I underestimate no man who's trying to kill me." Harald retorted, turning his irritated stare onto the weapons spread out in front of him. "We'll both be fighting for our lives." 

"No, only you will be." Leif's lips formed a grim line, feet moving slowly as he approached his friend and motioned in the direction of the castle. "He is fighting for his people."

"As am I-"

"What people? Yours or Romanos's?" Leif questioned him sharply, arching his brows and drawing a scowl from Harald. (Y/N) leaned his hip back against the table, his arms folding over his stomach. Harald and his short temper... it was a mystery how the man had lived for so long without getting himself killed.

"I fight today for the same reason I've been fighting for the last seven years! For treasure." It stung, even if (Y/N) had seen it coming, piercing his stomach and sucking him dry of the false hope. "So I can return to Norway and assume the throne of my people, which is rightfully mine. Nothing else." 

"I am glad to hear my brother and I are hardly considered things you fight for, Harald, after we've spent the last seven years fighting and living in a foreign country for you." (Y/N) seethed, and the tension in Harald's shoulders disappeared, his eyes squeezing shut and a silent curse forming on his lips. His chest heaved with a sigh and he stepped past Leif, his arm extending to grab him but (Y/N) smacked it away with a scoff. "I can understand caring little for a bedmate but Leif deserves to be someone you fight for after everything he's done for you." 

"A bedmate- (Y/N), I-" 

"Enjoy your fight, General." (Y/N) shoved past him forcibly and rounded the table before Harald could attempt to stop him. He threw the flaps of the tent apart and stepped out into the sunlight, taking a sharp inhale of the fresh air to calm the fury and hurt dancing along his veins. His fingers wrapped around the handle of his dagger, allowing himself to take a few more steadying breaths. 

He'd made the right decision years prior, he reminded himself. Harald proved it to him time after time. He just needed a reminder every once in a while, even if it hurt.

(Y/N) avoided looking in Harald's direction once he finished preparing for the fight, only focusing on following Emperor Romanos into the castle where they'd set up an area for the fight. He broke away from the Emperor's tight crowd to stand behind the table where Batu placed Harald's other two choices of weapon: a smaller battle axe and a sword, with the larger battle axe being the one he walked into the makeshift arena with. 

"He didn't mean to say it like that," Leif said quietly, always the one forced to make peace between them. (Y/N) pursed his lips and clasped his hands in front of himself, his fingers wrapping tightly around his palm. "I know you called yourself a bedmate to hurt him, (Y/N). You've seen how desperate he's been these past three years; you've seen how he gets when he hears you have a new lover. You are much more to him than that."

"But not enough to desire a different destiny for himself." Leif fell quiet at that, his softened eyes gazing into the side of his brother's face before he sighed softly and looked forward toward the two fighters when they entered the arena and assumed their positions. Despite his lingering hurt, worry jabbed at his stomach for Harald. 

Harald moved first, swinging his axe upward to knock back the Emir's sword, but the Emir moved swiftly, turning on his feet and facing Harald before he could turn around. Harald's jaw ticked and he studied his opponent, switching which hand held the axe before he charged again, grasping the axe with both hands and taking a few swings at him; metal clanging through the air as the Emir swiftly blocked each swing with his sword until Harald turned his axe and slammed the blunt end against his chest, forcing him back a few steps. 

The Emir grunted and grabbed Harald's axe, shoving it back and mimicking his movement as he slammed the handle of his sword repeatedly into Harald's chest which forced Harald to stumble backward and just barely dodge a swing from the sword. The Emir charged, giving Harald hardly any time to dodge another swing but he managed to duck down in time and create some distance between them to reassess his approach. The Emir sneered, baring his teeth and grasping the handle of his sword with both hands. He was a good fighter, as all rulers had to be. 

Harald charged again, slamming the end and top of his axe repeatedly against the Emir's side before slamming the top near his armpit and forcing him back roughly against the stone wall. The Emir released a shout at the impact and shoved the axe away, slashing his sword at Harald and missing his chest plate by an inch or so. Harald swung again, only for his axe to slam into the wall and break in half, leaving him without a weapon. 

With the half still in hand, he managed to defend himself by blocking the Emir's attacks as he sprang and walked backward toward the table. He threw the broken piece at the Emir's head, nearly hitting his ear, and swiftly turned on his heel to snatch both weapons from the table. He faced the Emir once more, eyes narrowing when the Emir approached his own table and took two new swords into his hands. They stared at each other for a brief moment, catching their breaths. 

The Emir charged first with a cry - perhaps growing emboldened with the trickle of blood seeping from Harald's brow - and swung both his swords at him relentlessly, turning and swinging as he followed Harald's quick dodges. Harald nearly sank his axe into the Emir's face in a quick turn but the Emir dodged it in time. They continued back and forth, swinging and dodging hits from each other with grunts and cries. They moved viciously and relentlessly, switching between fighting offensively and defensively within seconds as they grew more enraged and desperate for a win. 

Harald managed to swipe at the Emir's feet and knock him onto the gravelly ground, the Emir's foot rising up quickly to slam into Harald's knee and knock him down into a kneeling position. The Emir moved onto his knees as well, the blows they swung at each other forcing them to remain kneeling until the Emir launched himself forward and Harald threw himself backward, both men rolling along the floor. Harald moved onto his side and attempted to stab the Emir in the side with his sword but the Emir slashed right through the blade, leaving him with a sword resembling a knife. 

The two men scrambled upright and assessed each other again, sucking in large gulps of air and staring each other down. Harald switched the way he held his broken sword and the swing-block dance resumed until Harald swung at the Emir's and was cut just above the elbow. He released a cry of pain and sound around, wincing as he touched his bleeding arm before looking up at his opponent. The Emir stared at Harald, his breathing turning wheezy and his feet staggering. (Y/N) caught the gleam of the broken sword jammed right below the Emir's armpit. 

The Emir raised his arm and stumbled forward again, a look of distraught passing over his features as he fell to his knees and slumped forward. While Emperor Romanos's men erupted into cheers of victory, (Y/N) couldn't help but look in the direction of the Emir's wife, watching the tears stream helplessly down her face. Her husband had fought bravely, not just for his people but for her and their children. (Y/N) bit the inside of his cheek. 

His father had fought and killed countless of men, simply because he could and felt like it, but at least in Greenland, when you killed a man it was because it was necessary. For food, shelter, to defend your family. But in Constantinople, they took lives to make an emperor richer. They killed for treasure they hardly used, and for little else.

(Y/N) grimaced. He missed home.

[mapsontheweb]

The Punic Wars, 264-146 BC

« Atlas historique mondial », Les Arènes, 2019

by cartesdhistoire

Rome and Carthage stood as the dominant powers in the western Mediterranean. Between these two influential states lay the island of Sicily. Situated at the crossroads of Europe and Africa, and bridging the eastern and western Mediterranean basins, Sicily held immense strategic importance. Rich in wheat and boasting a heritage of prosperity bestowed by both the Carthaginians in the west (in Palermo) and the Greeks in the east (in Syracuse), the island flourished. The Carthaginians established their capital at Lilybaea (modern-day Marsala) and maintained a major naval base at Drepane (modern-day Trapani).

In 264 BC, the onset of the First Punic War marked the first engagement of Roman legionnaires outside of Italy. While battles were fought in open fields, guerrilla warfare, and sieges, the defining feature of this conflict lay at sea. The pivotal Battle of the Aegate Islands in 241 BC resulted in the defeat of the Carthaginians, triggering another conflict, the far more perilous Mercenary War, on African soil. Fueled by grievances over unpaid wages, mercenaries and local allies revolted against Carthage, plunging the region into turmoil until order was restored by Hamilcar in 238 BC. A peace treaty with Rome was signed on March 10th.

The Second Punic War, commencing in 218 BC, was marked by an intriguing characteristic: personalization. The conflict became synonymous with the personalities of Scipio, later known as "the first African," and Hannibal, one of history's greatest military commanders. Hannibal's audacious invasion of Italy, driven by a desire to avenge Carthage's honor, catalyzed the war's escalation.

The war culminated in the Battle of Zama in 202 BC, leading to the signing of a final treaty in 201 BC. From this point forward, Rome emerged unchallenged in the Mediterranean. However, it wasn't until 197 BC that the Senate formally established the two provinces of Spain.

[useless-catalanfacts]

La Pedrera. Photos from Ajuntament de Barcelona and La Pedrera.

Nowadays, la Pedrera is one of the most famous building in Barcelona, Catalonia. It's one of the most emblematic buildings in the Catalan Modernism style, and has been declared part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site "Works of Antoni Gaudí".

But it hasn't always been recognised as good architecture, all the opposite! In fact, take a look at its name: it's technically called Casa Milà (house of the Milà family), but locals always call it "la Pedrera", which means "the quarry" in the Catalan language. When it was built, in 1910, Barcelonians thought it looked like an ugly piece of stone-y quarry mountain in the middle of the city.

But that's not the only thing that they thought it looked like. Let's see some parodies that were published at the time:

In 1909, the popular magazine Cu-Cut! published this vignette of a mother and a son walking in front of the house, when the child asks his mom "was there also an earthquake here?". This is a reference to an earthquake that happened in Sicily the previous month, and to the house's bendy shapes that look like it was shaken.

In 1925, the children's magazine En Patufet also joined in, with a vignette where the owner realises he can't hang up curtains* on this windows.

*Note: I'm using the translation "curtains" as a simplification so that English speakers without a detailed knowledge of Catalan culture can understand the joke. The vignette actually uses the word "domàs", meaning a decorative textile that is hanged from balconies during holidays.

In 1910, Cu-cut! compared it to a mona, the cake that Catalans eat on Easter Monday, by drawing a vignette where a child says "Daddy, daddy, I want a mona as big as this one!".

Three times did the magazine El Diluvio mock this building.

First, in 1910, they called it a "Medieval architecture model, between burrow and burial, that I don't quite dislike". It described its future in the following way: "the round gaps in the façade have become dark holes where all kinds of vermin come in and out: crocodiles and rats, but also snakes, hedgehogs, owls, sea monsters... Two undulating lines wrap up the building, which stands in front of an absolutely black sky. Above it, in the rooftop, the chimneys, the air vents and the stairs' endings have stopped being whipped cream mountains to become sinister piles of skulls."

In 1911, El Diluvio striked again, comparing the building's cast iron handrails to a fish stand. Their illustration had Casa Milà with a sign saying "cod entrails sold here!".

And lastly, it made fun of the controversial statue of Our Lady of the Rosary that was supposed to go on top. The Milà family in the end decided not to place the statue (some say because they didn't like how the sculptor made it, some say it's because they were scared of having a religious symbol after the 1909 anti-clerical riots) but the architect Gaudí, who was a very religious man, insisted on having it. This caused the Milàs and Gaudí to argue, which the magazine represents with a caricature of Mr. Milà wearing a Tarzan-like loincloth and branding a whip fighting against Gaudí wearing a pith helmet, grabbing him by the hair and hitting him with a hammer. The text under the image translates to "Will the Virgin Mary stand on top of the peculiar monument? Who will win, Gaudí or Milà?".

In 1912, the popular magazine L'Esquella de la Torratxa imagined that this extravagant futuristic building could only be a garage for parking airship and air-planes. This satirical drawing is titled "Future Barcelona. The true destiny of the Milà and Pi house". (Milà and Pi were the owners of this building).

The text that accompanied this illustration wondered if this building is the Wagnerian Valhalla, an anti-aircraft defense for the Moroccan War, or a hangar for zeppelins.

What do you think? Was the banter justified?

[elisysd]

14. Now I don't wanna close my eyes, see everythin' I ever done

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Close My Eyes - Luke Hemmings

It took a lot of convincing from Charles to manage to make you come to Monaco for the summer break. You had agreed on a week and it was enough for him to come up with a plan. He had rented a house in Sicily, lost in the middle of nowhere, where he knew no one would come bothering you. It was a small cottage, big enough for the two of you. There was even a pool and a small jacuzzi. It was a few kilometers from the sea and you both already had planned a trip on a boat. Despite your fears and doubts, you were excited and happy to spend some quality time with your boyfriend, away from the hustle bustle of the paddock. For once, you wouldn’t hide or wouldn’t need to pretend feelings were not there.

You had arrived in Monaco late at night and after a night not so relaxing, you had headed to the Italian island as soon as the sun had risen and arrived in the late hours of the afternoon. You gasped when you saw the little house, soaked with an old charm. The pathway was filled with flowers from different colors and scents and you could see the huge conservatory made of glass at the back of the house. It felt like home. 

“You like it?” Charles whispered in your ear, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you against his chest.

“I love it. It’s everything I imagined it would be.”

He kissed the back of your head and laced his fingers to your before pulling you towards the house. The inside was more modern than the outside, with an open kitchen in granite and a huge table made of glass. The wooden floor was giving a warm atmosphere to the house and you instantly knew you would have a nice time.

The first two days were spent mostly in the pool and on the lounge chair, you were still a little scared to venture into town, in case someone would notice you. But the few trips Charles had done where nobody stopped him to ask for pictures, finally convinced you to join him. The third day, you had finally discovered the town and ate in a nice restaurant and no one seemed to care. You got bolder and bolder, caring less and less about your surroundings, allowing Charles to walk his hand in yours, making you twirl in a crowd while listening to a street musician, and kissing whenever you felt like it.

The last day before you had to leave the little bubble of peace you had created, was spent, in the middle of the sea, on a boat. The day felt nice, spent between cuddles and kissed and playful games on the boat and in the sea. 

“It’s not funny!” you half screamed, half laugh as Charles had managed to throw you in the sea while you weren’t looking.

“You should have seen your face, I find it extremely funny, my love.” he laughed, joining you and catching you.

“You’re an idiot.” you rolled your eyes as you threw your arms around his neck, your forehead against his. 

“Your idiot.”

“My idiot, that’s true.” you smiled.

He kissed you, playing with the straps of your top.

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Why? There is no one in sight.” he replied, his hand moving to your ass, giving it a squeeze and making you moan in the process. It was enough for him to lean for a kiss and slip his tongue between your parted lips and begin a fiery dance fighting for dominance. As you were holding on for dear life, you couldn’t miss how a certain part of him seemed to appreciate the situation.

“Charles…” you sighed as one of his hands slipped beneath your top to play with your hardened nipple.

“Tell me to stop.” he grunted, his lips moving to your neck, the light stubble on his face slightly scratching your fletch.

“I don’t want you to stop, but maybe not in the sea.”

He didn’t need you to say more. He threw your legs around his waist, making your core come straight into contact with his dick and making you throw your head backwards while a sweet sound escaped your lips. 

“Keep those lips sealed for a few more seconds baby and then, I promise you, you won't be able to keep your mouth shut.”

As he was about to climb on the boat when he felt you tensing.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“My top… it’s coming off….” you bit your lips, cheeks red from anticipation and embarrassment.

“It’s fine. You won’t need it anymore soon.”

It was finally time for you to go your separate ways. You were expected back in Paris for work and to prepare the next part of the season while working on the Alpine documentary for which you needed to record a voice over. As for Charles, he would join his friends and then his family for the remainder of the summer break. Going back to your office felt weird and unnatural, especially since rain had decided to join you on your first day back to the office. You didn’t notice at first the weird looks from your colleagues and how they didn’t dare to look you in the eyes. It only hit you when you went for the coffee machine and heard two women whispering your name before jumping as you came closer to them. You didn’t know what was wrong with them, but you didn’t want to have to care.

On your way back to the desk, you saw Marion, phone glued to her ear shooting an apologetic smile. That’s when you started to understand that something weird at best and bad at worst was happening. Your fears were confirmed as soon as you opened your emails to find an urgent note from your boss asking to meet him as soon as she would be back. And when you made your way there and the first thing you saw, after he invited you to come in, was the front page of a tabloid in his hand. A picture of you taken with Charles, that day in the sea. The picture was explicit enough to not give any doubts on the nature of your relationship. 

“Michael, I can explain…” you stuttered, feeling sick in your stomach.

“How long?” he simply asked, a disappointed look on his face. It hurt you more than him being angry. Handling anger was easy, but disappointment was the worst. Because you felt like you had betrayed him when he was the one willing to take a chance on you.

“A… A while. I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you… I was about to tell you, I swear.”

“It’s an uncomfortable position for me too… You are one of our best journalists here but, given the circumstances  I can't keep you around. Until further notice I have to ask you to take a step back. No more Grand Prix, no more covering motorsport news. I need to investigate if your relationship made you miss your job duties. Meanwhile, maybe you can be relocated to other sports.”

“Michael, I know I screwed up big time, but I assure you, never have I ever let my private life cross with my professional one.”

“Y/N, my decision is made. For now, and if you don’t want to work elsewhere, I need you to hand me your badge and your laptop. You need to leave now. I’m sorry it has come to this.”

fighting against your tears, you handed him your badge before coming back to your desk where you packed your stuff quickly. When you turned around, Marion and Jean were there, sympathy written all over their faces.

“We tried to tell Michael that you always did the best job possible out there no matter what. We tried our best to persuade him to let you stay…” Marion told you, sadness in her eyes.

“And I thank you for that. But I should have told him sooner. I’m to blame there.”

“We are sorry. If we can do anything for you…” Jean apologized, taking you in his arms before letting you go to take your bag.

“It’s like this..”

You tried your best to not fall apart in the subway but when you finally arrived at your apartment you couldn’t hold back anymore. You let yourself slide against the door, your bag pulled against your chest as you let tears streaming down on your face. Without a job anymore, you couldn't afford to stay in Paris and that thought only made your anxiety rise through the roof. You allowed yourself to be a mess for a few minutes before taking a deep breath, you couldn’t stay like this, it wasn’t leading anywhere. Checking your phone you could see hundreds of notifications, mostly on your social media, but the only name you saw was Charles’ and a simple ‘call me’. You didn’t think twice about it, you needed him. He picked up quickly and you could hear the panic in his voice.

“Y/N, thank God, I was so worried. I saw the pictures, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t know paparazzi were there. I’m on their ass, I promise they are going to pay.”

“I’ve been fired, Charles.” you announced in a calm voice that you barely recognised. He went silent. “I mean, not totally fired yet, just under investigation but I can’t set a toe at the office anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I… I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to hear it but… Now that the cat is out of the bag, maybe it is for the best?”

“How can it be for the best?” you gulped, a tear falling on your cheek. “I’m jobless, without a lot of savings and a student loan I have still yet to pay. I can’t go back to my parents, I can eventually crash on my best friend’s couch but…”

“Or maybe you can come to my place. You will be able to rest, you won’t be alone, you can take your time figuring out your next step while not worrying about your finances.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Move your ass to Monaco or I swear I’m coming all the way to Paris to drag you down in the south with me.”

You arrived the next day, your suitcase and most prized possessions under your arms at the train station.Out, you were stunned to see a crowd of young adults happily chatting and taking pictures. You squinted, trying to see what the attraction was and noticed an awfully familiar black car and the silhouette of your boyfriend, waiting in front of it. When he finally saw you, his eyes lit up and he excused himself to join you and took your bags.

“Out with your admirers today?”

“I thought that since we were busted, it was pointless to keep hiding. I should have asked if you were fine with that, sorry.”

People let you pass as you sat in the Ferrari while Charles kept signing autographs for a minute before joining you and driving to Monaco. There, you could see how people were taking pictures of the car and filming it and you instantly knew you were about to make it to the gossip pages, if it wasn’t the case already. You leaned into the backseat of the car, trying to make yourself invisible even if you were aware it was pointless.

“I’m sorry about that…” Charles said, feeling remorseful and putting a hand on your knee, giving it a squeeze. “I’m right there, we will find a way.”

Arriving in his place, you were awfully silent and lost in thoughts. Charles knew why, he didn’t need to ask for explanations, he knew exactly what was going on in your mind.

“Luc is proud of you no matter what. Don’t feel guilty, please.”

You finally turned to him, head hanging low and he felt his heart breaking in pieces.

“I know what you are thinking about but please, don’t beat yourself up, it leads nowhere.” he said, taking you in his arms, your head resting on his chest.

“I feel lost and confused, like nothing is making sense anymore. I don’t know what I'm supposed to do now. This dream was the only thing sure in my life, the one thing I built my life around and now that it is not there anymore? I don’t know… I’m not even sure to know who I am without that.”

“We will figure it out. Together. I’m going to spend a few days with my mom and my brothers, maybe discovering yourself and what you like can start with you tagging along?”

Author's note: The secret had to come to light at some point... I'm so sorry for the lack of consistency lately, the past few weeks have been hectic and a little hard mental health wise. But now, it should get better and I can't wait to share the next parts of this story!

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

If you wanna be part of the taglist, let me know.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @thirstylion @cmleitora @charizznorizz @sltwins @boherahpsody @herondalism @roseamongthorns13 @aundercover @snowflakesfluff @fictional-l0v3r @queensassybitchsworld @jehun @reengard @valntynebaby

If you are tagged and do not receive the notifications, please take a look at your settings!

[a-book-of-creatures]

Palaeoloxodon falconeri, Falconer’s dwarf elephant, by Zdeněk Burian

… whoops. Honey, I shrunk the elephants.

Remember when I said Palaeoloxodon was huge, bigger than a mammoth? Turns out it also occupies the other extreme of the elephant size continuum. Palaeoloxodon falconeri from Malta and Sicily is an example of insular dwarfism, where big animals evolve to be smaller on islands. In this case a fully grown adult P. falconeri was the size of a modern elephant calf.

Burian not only gives us some nice island scenery, but also helpfully adds some swans for scale. The result is surprisingly endearing and even cute.

[racefortheironthrone]

How... hm, how to put this... how aware were rulers of regarding other nations in the medieval and early modern periods? Like, would the ruler of Portugal know who the Timurids were? Or what was going on in Muscovy at the time? Like, how far east and south did their knowledge go before it turned into "Here Be Dragons" legend and rumor? Did they know who the Mali and Songhai were?

The answer is that it depends, largely due to differing geographies and trade patterns and time periods. For example, the ruler of Portugal might well know who the Timurids were - if it was after Vasco de Gama's "discovery" of the Cape Route to the Indian Ocean, because it's just a quick jaunt up the Indian coast to get to the Persian Gulf.

I doubt the King of Portugal would have much to do with the Tsar of Russia, but Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth I of England definitely did - because the English government had chartered the Muscovy Company in 1555, which ferried diplomatic exchanges between Ivan IV and Elizabeth I along with the huge cargo of wool for fur and fur for wool.

And certainly the monarchs of western and central Europe would have been familiar with the kingdoms of eastern Europe, because they were all fucking inbred relations of each other.

For example, Louis the Great was King of Hungary, Croatia, and Poland, but he was also of the House of Anjou and his brother was the Duke of Calabria who married to the Queen of Naples, who also was the Countess of Provence and the Princess of Achaea. - and after his brother was assassinated, Louis invaded Naples and claimed the title of King of Naples, Sicily, and Jerusalem!

Similarly, Henry III of France was elected King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania in order to keep out the Hapsburgs, and Henry's mother was Catherine de Medici. So there was probably a lot of knowledge of different countries just from family letters...

As for Mali and Songhai, the Portuguese and the Dutch "traded" extensively with West Africa in the 15th-17th centuries. So they certainly would have traded with the Mali and then the Songhai Empires. But I doubt the Tsar of Russia would have known much about them, and so it goes...

[madamlaydebug]

"From Egypt, the Mysteries went to Phoenicia, and were celebrated at Tyre. Osiris changed his name, and become Adonis or Dionysos, still the representative of the Sun; and afterward these Mysteries were introduced successively into Assyria, Babylon (it goes back to Enki/Ea), Persia, Greece, Sicily, and Italy; even in the British Isles the Druids celebrated those of Dionysos, learned by them from the Egyptians. In Greece and Sicily, Osiris took the name of Bacchus, and Isis (probably Ninti) that of Ceres, Cybele, Rhea and Venus." Albert Pike

"The fish is one of the most ancient symbols, and it was the original symbol of Christianity. Jesus, as the fisher of men, or the fish man, appears to come from the Chaldean story of Dagon, who came out of the sea and brought religion, philosophy, and science to his people. Fishes were also sacred to the Greeks and Romans, being connected with the worship of Aphrodite (Venus). An interesting survival of pagan ritualism is found in the custom of eating fish on Friday. Freya, in whose honor the day was named, was the Scandinavian Venus. Green is the color of the Prophet Mohammed and, being symbolic of verdure, is inevitably associated with the World Mother; and both the Islamic crescent and the scimitar may be interpreted to signify the crescent shape of either the moon or Venus (Jumu'ah - Freya/Friday prayer). Moreover, the checkerboard floor upon which the modern Freemasonic lodge stands is the old tracing board of the Dionysiac Architects." Manly P. Hall

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Note: another lovely request I had, thank you! also @neonhairspray deserves credits for a few lines in this fic, you'll know which ones, girl ;)

Warnings: 18+! suggestive/light smut, fluff and slight angst.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

Summary: You were on a girls trip with your friends, and you ended up having a holiday fling with a hot Dane.

Word count: 4,1k 

Masterlist

'Head back to my room?'

You and your small group of friends jumped in excitement. You finally made it to Sicily! This trip had been planned for years. But then the pandemic happened and after that you were all broke. And this was finally the year everyone could make it, and the five day holiday had officially started as you just stepped into your hotel for the week.

****************

'Okay, ladies, time to freshen up and get dressed up, because tonight we're going to party!' Eadith shouted.

Your friends, Brida, Hild and Iseult all got in one elevator to go up to their rooms, while you, Thyra and Eadith waited for the second elevator. You had all squished in with your suitcases when suddenly a loud group of handsome guys shoved themselves into the small elevator, along with you.

'Ladies,' a tall, handsome man winked.

'Uhtred, you're getting married, you can't wink at other women anymore,' another guy said.

'Oi, shut it, Osferth!' an Irish man rolled his eyes.

You and your friends giggled when the three men started to bicker, trying to lure you all into their arguing, which worked. In a few seconds you figured out their names, Uhtred was get married soon, and that they were all here for his bachelor party.

Uhtred and Finan also tried to set Osferth up for a date with Thyra, who declined, and Osferth was blushing heavily. But you couldn't help being distracted by the one silent friend of the men's group. You thought he was incredibly handsome. Rough looking with a few scars on his face and a few tattoos, he had short, dark hair and a small smile on his lips when his mismatched eyes met your identical pair as you gave him a shy smile.

'Sihtric!' Uhtred howled, 'stop silently flirting with the lady!' 

Everyone laughed and quickly continued their bickering. You and Sihtric both smiled a little wider and looked away from each other. 

To your surprise, the men shared the same hotel floor as you and the girls, except their rooms were on the right side, whereas your rooms were on the left. Before you opened your room door, you glanced to your right, finding the man named Sihtric was already looking at you as he opened his door, and he gave you another sweet smile before he disappeared in his room.

*****************

The night went by fast and everyone was drunk, except for you. You don't enjoy alcohol that much, and the island was way too hot, so all your friends were finishing their drinks with the tiny umbrellas in it rather fast. And because you were the only one sober, you quickly stopped having fun and told your friends you were going back to your room, if they didn't mind. Being too drunk to really care, they hugged you and told you they'll see you tomorrow.

*****************

Just as the elevator doors were about to close, someone yelled to hold the door, which you did, and to your surprise, the handsome and quiet guy named Sihtric snuck in the elevator with you.

'Oh,' he smiled, 'hey.'

'H-hey,' you smiled.

'Lost your friends too?' he asked when he noticed you were alone.

'What? Oh, no,' you chuckled, 'they're all drunk, except for me…'

'Oh,' Sihtric laughed softly.

'But you lost your friends?' you frowned.

'Yep,' he said, 'I turned around for one minute and they were gone. Probably ran into a stripclub, but I noticed there were a lot, so trying to find them would take me all night,' he shrugged, 'so I'd rather go back to my room.'

'Understandably,' you laughed.

There was silence as the elevator took you to your floor.

'I'm Sihtric, by the way,' he held his hand out to you.

'Yeah, I remember,' you chuckled and took his hand, introducing yourself. 

Sihtric asked why you were here, and you told him it was a long overdue holiday. When the elevator doors opened, Sihtric gestured that ladies go first. You smiled, thanked him and wished him a good night.

'You too,' he smiled as he walked backwards to his room, 'unless… maybe you want to get a drink in the bar downstairs?' 

You didn't expect the question and you stammered awkwardly, but eventually managed to agree. You both wanted to change into something more comfortable, and agreed to wait at the elevator for each other. Only a few minutes later you heard a knocking at your door, and you opened up to find Sihtric, dressed in a low cut tank top which showed off his insanely muscular body, and he was wearing a pair of shorts, showing off his equally impressive legs.

'Sorry,' he smiled, 'wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be stood up.'

'What? No,' you laughed, 'no, I would never. I… I know what that's like. But I can't imagine someone would do that to you,' you frowned.

'Well, it happened,' Sihtric sighed with a smile, 'but I can't believe someone would do that to you either.'

'Well, it happened,' you shrugged and you both smiled. 

You quickly put on your flip flops and closed the door behind you.

*****************

'So,' Sihtric laughed, 'you're telling me you want to travel the world, but you're afraid of flying?'

'It's not as funny as it sounds,' you giggled.

'Oh, no,' Sihtric took a quick sip from his drink, 'I'm not saying it's funny, but I do think it's hilarious.'

'You're so mean,' you laughed and punched his shoulder teasingly.

'Auch!' Sihtric groaned, pretending to be hurt and making a few other guests in the bar look up at you. You felt embarrassed, to which Sihtric laughed.

'But then how did you get to Sicily?' he asked.

'With a lot of anxiety,' you chuckled softly, 'it's a nightmare for me to step onto a plane.'

'So you've never travelled alone by plane?'

'Oh, no, I would never. I'd freak out. I already am terrified when I'm with someone I know. I can't imagine what I'd be like if I have to endure it on my own.'

'Damn,' Sihtric said compassionately, 'must be rough.'

'Yeah, it sucks,' you agreed, 'but anyway, what about you?'

'My biggest fear?' Sihtric smiled, 'no, that's too much of a downer.' 

'Hey, we're being honest, right?' you nudged his elbow with yours.

'Well,' he sighed and looked at his drink, 'my fear is being abandoned really, by people I love. It's an, ehh… long childhood trauma… it really doesn't matter,' Sihtric smiled and shook his head.

'Oh,' you said softly, 'I'm so sorry…'

'No,' Sihtric waved it off, 'it's fine, lady. Let's not dwell on the past, right?'

'You're right,' you smiled and raised your glass, 'to the future?'

'To the future,' he grinned and you both finished your drink.

***************

A few hours went by as you enjoyed Sihtric's company. You thought he was really cute and couldn't help wondering what he kept hidden underneath his clothes.

'So, ehh,' Sihtric said, 'it's getting quite late. We should… well, I mean, I should probably head back to my room.'

'Oh, yes, of course,' you said, 'I will too.'

'Head back to my room?' Sihtric joked.

'What? Oh! No!' you felt flustered, 'I mean I should go back to my room too.'

'I know, I was just messing with you,' he smiled and helped you off the high barstool.

You walked up to the elevator and, to both your surprise, no other hotel guest joined the two of you to go up. You and Sihtric stood at opposite sides of the elevator as the door closed. Sihtric leaned back against the wall and smiled at you, whereas you suddenly felt incredibly nervous and tried to avoid his eyes, which only made him more interested. The doors opened and you walked out first, not realising Sihtric was checking you out.

'Hey,' Sihtric said, his voice low and smooth as he came closer, and you turned to face him.

'Maybe you want to head back to my room?' he asked and licked his lips.

'Hmm,' you contemplated with a nervous smile, and Sihtric took your hand.

'We can have some fun?' he winked, 'if you want of course…'

'Yes, but… it's… eh, it's been a little while for me,' you admitted shyly.

Sihtric pulled you closer.

'Hm,' he hummed, smiling, and circled his arms around you, 'I promise I'll be gentle, baby girl,' Sihtric whispered in your ear and your breath hitched.

You chuckled and allowed his lips on your neck, while he slowly moved you towards his room. His warm lips trailed kisses over your neck and throat while his hands were on your hips, and you heard his breathing was getting heavier.

'You sure you want this?' Sihtric asked, pushing you up against his room door.

'I do,' you smiled, trailing your fingers over his toned arms, 'what's a holiday without having some fun?'

Sihtric grinned and opened his door, picking you up and carrying you over to his bed while your lips found his. He laid you down on the bed, quickly ran to his suitcase to grab a box of condoms while you kicked your flip flops off, and he climbed back on top of you again, kissing you rather passionately for a summer fling, you thought. You raked your fingers through his short hair while his tongue filled your mouth and your hands were all over each other.

Suddenly your nerves left your body and your lust took over. You breathed heavily as you watched him take off his shirt, and you were hungry just looking at his body. Sihtric smiled at your gaze and gently slid your skirt down your bare legs. He was sweet, kissing your legs all the way back up before he took off your top, after which he planted open mouthed kisses all over your shoulders and neck.

'So pretty,' Sihtric husked, looking you up and down with hunger in his eyes as he took off his shorts, 'you're so pretty.'

You giggled softly and moved up on his bed, taking off your own underwear while he did the same. You beckoned him over and Sihtric was quick to get in bed with you and positioned his body in between your thighs. He kissed you firmly and arousingly, his warm, rough hand cupping your cheek while his other hand trailed down the shape of your body to settle on your waist.

'You ready, sexy thing?' he smiled, slightly out of breath already.

'Yeah,' you rasped, 'but take… take it easy, okay?'

'Yeah, yeah,' Sihtric said quickly, 'I promise.'

He kissed your cheek and then your lips again, while you felt his hard member teasing your wet folds. It had been so long since you've been with a man, you immediately moaned at the feeling.

'Sihtric,' you sighed out loud, by accident, 'fuck, you're really hot,' you giggled.

'Yeah?' he chuckled, 'so are you.' 

Sihtric winked, leaned his forehead against yours and took your hand while he moved his body in a comfortable position, and you hooked one leg around his waist. You inhaled sharply, squeezed his hand firmly and let out a moan when he pushed inside you.

'Shh,' Sihtric purred in your ear, 'relax for me, baby. I got you,' he smiled sweetly.

'S-Sihtric,' you breathed, trying to adjust to the feeling of him inside you.

'Relax,' he cooed, gently pushing in further, 'you can take me,' he sighed.

'I… w… you're… you're really fucking big,' you squirmed underneath him with a sly smile.

'Almost there,' Sihtric hushed you, 'hm, you're really tight,' he hummed with a smile, 'really fucking nice,' he sighed and pecked your lips.

'Oh, god,' you moaned, feeling his whole length inside you as your free hand grabbed onto his arm.

'There,' Sihtric smiled, with heavy-lidded eyes, 'good girl,' he chuckled softly, 'you take it so well,' he licked his lips, 'taking me all the fucking way, hm.'

You were breathing hard as he slowly, gently, bucked his hips into you, and the mild pain gradually turned into pleasure.

'Oh, please,' you moaned, 'yes.'

'You like that?' he breathed heavily in your ear, still holding your hand in his, while his other hand cupped your cheek.

'Yeah… Yeah, I do,' you smiled, your free hand slowly moving up his back, 'do y-you like it?'

'Oh, baby,' Sihtric smiled, biting down his lip as he looked into your eyes, slowly thrusting into you, 'I like it,' he pecked your lips, 'I really, really like it.'

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he gradually increased his pace, making sure it was all good for you. And it had been a while since you've had sex, but Sihtric made your deprived sex life all worth that wait. You had slow, hot, intimate and sensual sex. You'd call it love making if he was your lover, but he wasn't. He was just a hot guy you met during your holiday. A one time thing, and probably the best sex you'll ever have in your life.

******************

The next morning, just before dawn, you kissed Sihtric goodbye in the little hallway of his hotel room.

'Thank you for being so sweet,' you smiled as he had his arms around you.

'Was all my pleasure,' Sihtric smiled, kissing your lips again, 'thank you for the best night I had here.'

You laughed softly and trailed your fingers over his arms, to his bare torso.

'I… should get back to my room,' you said, 'my friends may try to check on me soon.'

'Mhm,' he hummed, 'thank you for staying the night too,' he said shyly, 'I liked sleeping with you. It was nice… comfortable.'

'I thought so too,' you smiled and kissed his cheek, 'I'll see you around?'

'Definitely,' he smiled and kissed your hand before he let you out of his room.

And as you opened your door, you glanced back at him again. You both smiled at each other, knowing this did not feel like just a fling, and you took a shower before you headed out to meet your friends.

****************

Your friends all noticed you were happier than usual during the day, and you ended up telling all about your night with Sihtric. And they were jealous as they didn't get lucky last night, as they actually had been too drunk to find a guy anyway. You spend your afternoon and early evening at the beach. Later that night, after you had dinner and your friends all went to their own rooms, as they were still tired from the night before, you snuck out of your room and knocked on Sihtric's door. 

You could barely contain your excitement when the door opened up, but to your astonishment you were greeted by an elderly lady.

'Oh,' you said, wide eyed, 'I- I'm so sorry! I, eh… I clearly mixed up the room number.'

'Oh,' the lady said, 'it's okay,' she smiled, 'I only arrived a few hours ago, I actually thought you were my room service.'

'Oh,' your voice suddenly trembled, 'n-no, sorry… I… I should uh, go.'

You quickly ran back to your room and understood it: Sihtric had left, without a word. You felt ridiculous for being so upset over a guy you barely knew, but you really thought there was more to it than just being a one night stand. You actually were so upset you texted your friends in the group app.

You: so…. Sihtric left??????

Brida: what?!

Hild: you're serious?

Eadith: but you got his number, right?!

You: no! We didn't exchange numbers

You: I really thought there was something more… I feel so stupid…

Thrya: oh honey

Iseult: he didn't say he was leaving?

Brida: if anyone if stupid, it's him…

You: no he never mentioned it! I spent the entire night in his arms! I mean WHAT THE FUCK!?

Iseult: wait? You stayed the night after your sexy time?

You: yes! I didn't want to tell you guys because I knew it made it much more serious… but this morning he even told me he liked that I had slept over!

Brida: I'll cut his dick off if we ever see him again

Eadith: …maybe he's married?

You: oh my god…………. That's probably it

Thyra: don't say that, maybe he… oh, I don't know.. I'm so sorry

You: I feel so stupid :( should have known it was just a dumb fling… can't believe I caught feelings again … for a married dude even!!

Iseult: well he was handsome…

You: he was… I'm just going to cry in the shower, okay, bye.

****************

'Twenty one,' you said.

The next few days of your holiday went by fast, but you barely had fun. You couldn't forget the handsome man you had spent the night with, and you couldn't believe the way he had just left. You were done with men. You hated them, you told yourself. Your friends tried to cheer you up, but to no avail.

To make the end of your holiday even worse, you found out at the airport that something had gone wrong while booking the flight.

'What row are we at again?' Thyra asked.

'Huh?' Brida stopped walking, 'no… my ticket says fourteen.'

'What?'

'Wait,' Iseult said, 'mine is five!'

'Oh, no,' Hild sighed, 'I'm row twelve!'

'Eighteen,' Eadith said.

At the airport service desk you tried to get your tickets changed so that at least you could sit together with a few friends, but the employees said they couldn't change it anymore as boarding was about to start. You started sobbing, terrified of having to fly back by yourself, in a way, but even that couldn't change the situation. 

Everyone felt bad for you and the flight attendant told you that if you needed anything, you should call them over right away. You sniffled and thanked them while dropping down in your window seat. You hid your cried out eyes under your summer jacket and tried to not freak out as the plane got more crowded. You became agitated by the crying child in front of you, and by the lady behind you who was constantly bumping her knees into your chair. And if that wasn't enough, the person who had the seat next to yours elbowed you hard, by accident, while sitting down. You groaned and your jacket slipped down your face.

'I'm so sorry,' the man stammered, 'by the gods,' he gasped.

You opened your eyes, only to be met by the mismatched eyes you had stared into several nights ago, while you "made love", and you gasped too.

'Sihtric?' you asked with big eyes.

'I can't believe it,' Sihtric mumbled, his eyes darting all over your face.

'I thought I… I'd see you around but you s-stood me up,' you said, eyes filling with tears again.

'No! No, gods,' Sihtric cupped your cheeks, 'I'm so sorry I left without a word. I completely forgot we were to travel across the island the morning you left. Minutes, literally minutes after you left my room, I had a mad Irish man banging on my door. I didn't even have time to shower, there was a bus waiting for us. I had to grab everything and leave immediately. I wanted to write my number down and shove the note under your door, but I couldn't find a piece of paper and everyone was yelling at me to move,' Sihtric blurted out, 'I kept thinking about you and I felt so horrible...'

'I… thought maybe you were…married-'

'What? No!' Sihtric said, his eyes tearing up as well and he raked his fingers through his hair as he looked up.

'Sihtric!' Uhtred yelled through the plane as he saw the familiar teary eyes, 'stop crying over the damn lady!'

'Uhtred!' Sihtric jumped up, 'I found her!'

'What?' Finan shot up from his seat, several rows away, it seemed their booking also had gone wrong.

'A blessing!' Osferth laughed from somewhere else.

'I found her!' Sihtric yelled again.

At this point all your friends had jumped up too, and everyone was staring at each other from different rows.

'Is he married?!' Eadith shouted.

'No!' you yelled from your seat.

'Neither am I, lady,' Finan winked at Eadith, who seemed rather interested in the Irish man.

'Sihtric is single, but he is an idiot!,' Uhtred chuckled.

'I found you!' Sihtric laughed, and he took your hands.

He pulled you up, wrapping his arm around you as he took your face in his other hand, and he kissed you, slowly, but deeply, and your hands knew the way to his hair all too well. 

Slowly but surely every passenger started to cheer when they noticed the passionate kiss that was happening near the back of the plane. Most of the cheering people actually thought a proposal had just happened. You didn't even notice their cheering as Sihtric pulled you back down to your seat, his lips still locked with yours, and the flight attendant had to more or less pull him off you when the plane was about to take off, and you were both still not buckled up and needed to pay attention to the safe instructions. Sihtric couldn't keep his eyes off you, to which the flight attendant cleared her throat every now and then, to get his attention again. You both grinned and Sihtric took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and pretending to look at the safety instructions, while his mind had already trailed off to the thought of marrying you.

'You okay?' Sihtric asked, sweetly yet concerned when the plane started to speed up.

'Not really,' you grimaced.

'Come here,' he said, pushing the armrest up so he had easier access, and he pulled you in his arms.

As per usual, your eyes got all teared up when the plane took off, and you had grabbed onto Sihtric's shirt in pure fear. He pulled you tightly against his broad chest and leaned his chin on the top of your head while slowly rubbing his warm hands over your bare arms.

'Everything's okay,' he reassured you and kissed your head, 'remember I got you.'

You smiled and pressed your face into his chest, hoping you would not die before you got to properly date this guy.

After a few long minutes, when the plane was finally steady in the air and enroute home, you finally looked up at the man who had occupied your mind the past few days.

'Hey,' Sihtric smiled.

'Hey,' you smiled shyly.

'Feeling a little calmer now?'

'A little,' you said.

'A little is something,' he encouraged you.

You looked at him, still not really believing that everything had gone the way it had, and that you somehow ended up seeing Sihtric again, on the flight back home, because of a glitch on the ticket website.

'I thought I'd never see you again. I was really upset.'

'So did I,' Sihtric said, 'I ruined the rest of the guys' holiday because I couldn't stop whining about it,' he chuckled lightly and brushed his fingertips over your cheek.

'Me too,' you laughed, 'I wasn't up for anything anymore.'

'So… does that mean,' Sihtric cleared his throat, 'maybe I should give you my number?'

'Yes, and you better give it right now before we forget about it again.'

'I will never make such a foolish mistake again,' Sihtric smiled while you took out your phone.

'Give me your number too, baby,' Sihtric said, and you exchanged phones, 'just in case.'

You smiled and nodded, both relieved when you knew you'd never lose track of each other like that again.

'Well… at least we have nearly four hours together now,' Sihtric said as he pulled you in his arms again.

'A long time to be in a metal can, floating in the air,' you sighed dramatically.

Sithric laughed, sweetly at first, but then a mischievous grin appeared on his face.

'Hey,' he whispered, 'want to have some fun?' he asked and cocked his head slightly to the toilets in the back of the plane.

'Are you serious?' you chuckled.

'I'll promise you I'll make you forget about being in a metal can, floating in the air,' he winked.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't resist toying with the idea, and then just shrugged with a grin. You wouldn't mind spending some time with him in a small space, and the way he had made you feel that one night, was way higher than any plane could ever take you, and you've been longing for it again ever since. 

Sihtric smiled, bit down on his lip, and quickly looked around to see if no one would notice the absence of the two of you. When the coast seemed clear, Sihtric got up, took your hand, and you both disappeared into the small room. 

And during the almost four hour flight, you'd repeat it all again once more. And never in your life did you ever think you would wish that a flight would have lasted a little longer.

**************

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