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bestillmyslashyheart · 4 years ago

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once upon a time in malta

for @isakvaltersnake

It was Nicolo’s fifth time in Malta in half as many years and it was the fifth time he’d cursed his former self (and Yusuf, except he could never curse Yusuf) for being maddeningly nonspecific.

Meet me in Malta

It was all they’d had time for as they’d been pulled apart by opposing armies. NIcolo had sworn that they’d never find themselves on opposite sides of the battlefield again, not after the way they’d met, but he had been helpless to stop it. Andy and Quynh had taken off, eager to explore newly discovered lands, and Yusuf was lost to him. It had been over four years since that day. Four years since they’d agreed to meet in Malta without deciding a place or a date.

It had taken Nicolo almost two just to leave the position he’d found himself in. He could have left earlier, he supposed, but people would have died. Good people. His people. Though he hadn’t thought of himself as Genovese in a long time, when confronted by a woman who resembled his sister (as best he could remember her at least) and spoke his tongue, he was helpless to resist. They had needed his help, so he had stayed and given it.

He could only pray that helping them had not cost him Yusuf. They hadn’t been separated for more than a few days in the four centuries before this and being without him had wounded him far more than any weapon could. With every trip to this island, each trip lasting longer and longer, the hope he carried with him grew smaller and smaller.

This trip last nearly two months before Nicolo could not take it anymore. He spent every day wandering the streets, searching the crowds for that familiar face. The crushing defeat he felt every night when he went to sleep alone was weighing on him. He needed to leave, needed to be free of the hope that plagued him on this island.

He wandered the pier, waiting for the other ship to disembark before his could be readied to leave. Strictly speaking, he didn’t need to be here for hours yet but he could not bear to linger anywhere else and so he hovered. His feet traced a familiar path up and down the wooden planks, the other visitors well enough used to dodging his movements that he hardly noticed them.

The crowd ebbed as the ship emptied, the familiar sounds of his ship being readied filled the air, and two warm hands clasped his shoulders in a familiar gesture. Nicolo could not even spare a thought to be startled, the relief was so overwhelming.

“Nicolo,” Yusuf exhaled. Nicolo turned in his grasp. He hesitated only a breath to take in the man’s familiar features before he was pressing himself in close, his arms going around Yusuf’s waist as he buried his face in his neck. Yusuf clutched him tightly with a strong arm around his shoulders.

“Sei qui.” Nicolo closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before forcing himself away. There was only so much they could get away with here on the docks. Yusuf’s fingers trailed along his arms as he stepped back, his reluctance to let them part written in his every muscle. Nicolo ached to fall back into his arms but they were already getting looks from those around them and he didn’t feel like dying today. He jerked his head towards the town. “Come. I can show you to the hotel.” He’d already relinquished his room but that was a small matter.

They walked side by side through the town until they reached the busy hotel on the far side. It was large enough that they could get lost in the crowd but far enough away from the busy town center that there was a small degree of privacy. His room was still available and it was only a small matter of Yusuf claiming his own. They wouldn’t need it, of course, but appearances mattered.

How they kept their hands to themselves as they waited at the desk and climbed the stairs, Nicolo did not know, but the second the door closed behind them, their bags were on the floor and Yusuf’s arms were around him again.

“I’ve missed you,” Nicolo confessed as they held each other tight. Neither one of them moved to do anything more, both more than content to simply be in each other’s arms after so long absent them. He thought briefly of asking Yusuf what had taken so long but he quickly dismissed it. It didn’t matter why, what mattered was that they were together again and they would not be parting any time soon, if ever again.

They made their way to the bed where Nicolo curled up in Yusuf’s embrace, Yusuf’s arms tight around him like he could hold him in place by sheer determination. Muscles Nicolo hadn’t even known were tense eased. Eventually, they started to speak, brief tales of what they’d each missed over the years. None of it mattered really, but they said it anyway.

By the time the sun was starting to creep towards the horizon, they’d not moved for hours. Even as his body demanded he move and attend to necessary functions like eating, Nicolo was loathe to leave the bed. Logically he knew that Yusuf was not leaving, that he could cross the room or even leave it and Yusuf would still be here, but something kept him in place.

It’s possible what held him in Yusuf’s arms were in fact Yusuf’s arms.

“We should eat,” Nicolo told him. “It’s late.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Yusuf told him. “Not for a moment.”

“Oh?” Nicolo raised an eyebrow. “For how long?”

“I haven’t decided yet. How’s forever?”

Nicolo kissed him. He hadn’t intended to start anything, not really, but he couldn’t spend a second longer not kissing this man. What started as a simple press of their lips quickly deepened until Nicolo lost all sense of himself, until there was no point at which he ended and Yusuf began. They were one being, finally whole after so many years.

---

True to his word, Yusuf did not let him out of his sight. They spent months in Malta and they were hardly ever separate for more than a few moments. Nicolo didn’t mind. He was as eager to keep Yusuf close as Yusuf was to keep him close.

They were forced to rent a small cottage outside of town after they began to draw too much attention to themselves and the relative seclusion was precisely what they needed. They wrapped themselves around each other in every possible way, often forgoing clothing but never forgetting their words. Their temporary home was hardly ever silent. If they were not speaking of their years apart, ensuring that the other knew everything he had missed so that it was almost as if he had been there himself, then they were reminiscing or recounting old stories or songs. Nicolo had missed Yusuf’s voice as much as he had missed all the rest of the man; he could not forgo it now, no matter how awful his singing was.

It wasn’t until they heard word of a witch hunt in the north, too many tales of women being burned executed for magic, that they finally left Malta. Once they left, they felt the need to stay close, closer than they had before, the ease they had reforged on the island leaving them once they were back on the continent. It took finding Andy and Quynh and having a purpose and a common enemy again to move past it. The fear of losing each other, of turning around not finding Yusuf there beside him, faded with time.

---

They kept the cottage. Every few decades they went back, noted the changes time had wrought on their simple home, forged whatever paperwork was necessary to keep it theirs, and spent months losing themselves in each other again. It was their reprieve from their self appointed mission, from the realities of their immortality. Malta changed slower than the rest of the world, hindered by its island status, and enough of it remained from that first time that for centuries, just stepping off the boat brought them peace.

on ao3

#the old guard #joe x nicky #prob not what you had in mind but you did say anything so #my fic #the italian is just 'youre here'

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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

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If anyone is an enabling mood..HI, I AM ALWAYS IN AN ENABLING MOOD, YOU WANT ENABLING? HERE IT IS. I have soft loving enabling tho cos I don't like being mean it makes me sad.

As we all expected, I am very, very easy to enable. Credit to @voidxces for the beautiful and inspiring edit. Mildly smutty bits, hence the full story is below the cut.

Valletta, Malta

December 15, 1999

The customs line at Malta International Airport is long, maddeningly slow-moving, and the one guard stamping passports looks to be about ninety, as Joe shifts from foot to foot and tries to remind himself that they have nothing but time. (Unless, of course, the Y2K nuts are all correct and they’re two short weeks from the end of life as we know it, but if nothing else, living for almost a thousand years means that he has seen countless doomsday prophecies come and go without so much as a whimper.) It was a crappy flight from Paris – overbooked, understaffed, the inevitable screaming child two rows behind them and now determined to keep up the racket in the passport queue – and Joe’s trying not to look as stressed as he feels. This is their getaway for the holidays and the new year, the turn of the millennium, a huge and significant milestone for any number of reasons, and he’ll feel better once they’re out of here. Nobody’s at their best in the cattle corrals and the fluorescent lights of border control, another reminder of how much things have changed over all the years they’ve been coming to Malta. The first time they were here in 1501, all they had to do was sail up, get off the boat, and pay a bribe to the port official. Joe votes they try that now.

The line shuffles forward another inch, the child behind them screams even louder, and as Joe is silently reciting the Bismillah and reminding himself that the Almighty values patience, Nicky turns around. He sizes up the mother – tired-looking, hungry-eyed, apologetically trying to corral the fussy baby and a toddler of about three or four – and smiles gently. “Hello,” he says in English, then glances at her passport and sees that she’s Italian. “Buona sera, signora,” he goes on, not missing a beat. “Hai bisogna di aiuto con qualcosa?”

The tired mother starts, her eyes welling with tears. Joe’s willing to bet that nobody has offered to help her for this entire trip, and has to smile softly to himself that of course Nicky has swooped out of the Maltese night like, well, a knight, her countryman in a time of crisis, to do exactly that. Joe is already feeling better just to watch Nicky be Nicky, as his lover takes hold of the baby, joggles him on his hip and tells him that he’s a handsome fellow and to stop screaming and to give his mama a break, as the mother tends to her toddler, gets herself sorted out, and thanks Nicky profusely in what sounds like Calabrian. Joe’s mostly able to pick out the specific regional accents, and he guesses that this woman is a migrant, one of the workers who travel around Europe in the growing season to pick fruit and vegetables in hot fields under hard bosses who only pay in cash and owe a cut to the Mafia. He takes out his wallet and quietly offers her all the Maltese lira they changed for back in France, and she shakes her head and tries to refuse. He insists – she looks somewhat surprised that he speaks Italian too, but not unduly – and while she won’t take it all, they manage to give her back her baby, some money, and reach the front of the line without actually noticing the rest of the wait. Joe hands over a French passport that reads Joseph Jones. Nicky hands over Nicholas Smith. The guard looks at them, asks a few questions in his quavering old-man voice, stamps the visa pages, and once more, they’re in.

Outside, Joe and Nicky collect their bags, help the woman to the taxi rank and make sure she’s on her way to wherever she’s staying, then go out to catch the bus. Valletta sparkles in the distance as they draw closer, this magnificent collection of fortresses and gardens and churches, domes and spires, palaces and piazzas, museums and terraces, city walls and citadels, Benjamin Disraeli’s city of palaces for gentlemen. The place was largely built by the Knights Hospitaller after their exile from Rhodes and the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, and Joe and Nicky have watched it transform over the centuries, but it has still managed to retain that unique spark of what they love about it. It is familiar, comforting, lovely. If the world is going to end, no better place to be than here.

The bus stops in downtown, they thank the driver in fluent Maltese, and get off, hauling their bags and suitcases. The December evening is cool and misty, fog floating over the cobblestones like elegant wraiths, the streetlamps casting pools of golden glow that look like doorways to another world. They walk casually hand in hand to a corner store that is about to shut up shop for the evening, buy a quick dinner, and then continue up the street. Somewhat appropriately, they are staying in a rented house near St Sebastian’s Bastion, Is-Sur ta' San Bastjan, on the northeastern tip of the Valletta peninsula near Fort Saint Elmo. They know the elderly owner well, who has left the key in the postbox for them, and they unlock the door, ascend the narrow, creaky stairs to the top-floor garret, and find that a small Christmas tree and a plate of imqaret have been left to welcome them. The windows open out over the city wall and the dark, glittering ocean. It is quiet, at last. Just the two of them.

“Finally,” Joe says. He picks up Nicky’s bags when he puts them down, and carries them into the dark bedroom, switching on the lights. They set down their convenience-store repast and eat, affectionately nudging each other’s knees under the too-small table. They’ll do more shopping tomorrow; they will be here at least until January (assuming, of course, no apocalypse). Joe smiles at Nicky, happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be sharing this small and unremarkable meal with a soft rain pattering on the steep slanted roof. When they’ve finished and tidied up, Joe murmurs, “Not too tired, are you?”

Nicky answers with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow, as if to say that of course neither of them were actually planning to go to sleep without celebrating their return appropriately. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, and they waltz into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and drawing the curtains, sinking down on the amply-sized bed and undressing each other with slow and leisurely care. Even after a thousand, a hundred thousand times, it never fails to thrill. Their mouths meet in the dimness, their hands trace the well-loved lines of the other’s body, the faint scars and lines that never go away even through all the regenerations, the secret places, the curve of lips, the plane of shoulders and spines, the tensed tightness low on stomachs, the bend of a knee or the bone of an ankle. Joe pushes Nicky down beneath him, and Nicky arches his back, wrapping his legs around Joe’s waist. In quiet and tender and timeless communion, they find their way back home again, in each other and with each other, in touches and kisses and slow thrusts turning faster, and finally, sated, they sleep.

They wake in the morning with slants of winter sunlight filling the room, the high white ceilings, the gauzy curtains fluttering in the constant draft that they’ve never found, the way they’ve woken up in this room since they first met the owner in 1973, and which makes Joe think poignantly, as he always does for just an instant, of their lost home in Constantinople. They get up and dress, then leave the house in search of breakfast. The stone of the streets is pink and amber and gold and fawn, and the light has that particular early-morning quality where it seems to shine through sheets of bleached linen. The city is already awake and bustling, and Joe and Nicky make their way to their favorite café. They can sit overlooking the water and eat as much pastry and drink as much coffee as they like, and they make a good several hours of it. The sun comes up over the street, the palm trees rustle in the breeze, and a few tourists wander by with fancy Nikons around their necks, looking lost. One asks in English if they know where the Grandmaster’s Palace is, and Nicky is happy to point them in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, when they have finally finished breakfast and are wandering happily through the baroque streets, hands and shoulders brushing, “it’s 1999. This is our nine-hundredth anniversary, strictly speaking.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at him. “More like our eight hundredth,” he says playfully. “If we’re going from when we actually figured anything out.”

Nicky shrugs, grinning sheepishly, even as both of them fall contemplatively silent. 1099 is a long, long time ago by anybody’s measure. Joe thinks of himself, kneeling in prayer in the Tower of David, the dread whispers that the Franks were coming, the way he can remember parts and pieces and that first death bright as flame, but the rest of it has faded into the soft greyness of endlessly passing time. They did go to Jerusalem earlier this year, in July, since it seemed like the thing to do; there were a lot of First Crusade remembrances going on, some of which they wanted to be associated with and some of which they didn’t. There was a tweed-jacketed history professor who was deeply appreciative of the detailed account that Nicky was able to give on the breach of Jerusalem’s walls (he asked if he had published any articles on the subject, Nicky said hastily that he was just an enthusiastic amateur), and then there were some whackjobs who were trying to inflame religious tensions, as usual, and basically acting like it was a good thing that the heretics got what was coming to them. Lots of Americans with placards. Lots of Israeli secret service and bearded guys who were probably covert Hezbollah. Lots of people who all think they know exactly what the crusade’s legacy means, and which Joe and Nicky couldn’t help but regard warily. Everything seems twisted up these days, poised on the brink. That guy named bin Laden whose pals tried to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, he’s been talking as usual. Death to the Western crusaders. So on and so forth. Thus far, nobody’s really listening outside the Middle East, but when you’ve seen this so many times, it’s harder to ignore.

Joe shakes himself, not wanting to think about this on their long-awaited getaway. They’ve been in Kosovo on and off this year, even if the last thing any of them really wanted was to go back into the Yugoslavian wars, and Andy and Booker are off to enjoy the last few weeks of the twentieth century elsewhere. Someone like Andy, the turn of a millennium is old hat, but even for as long as they’ve lived, this is Joe and Nicky’s first new set of a thousand years. The Year Two Thousand. Sounds appropriately science-fictiony. How, Joe thinks. How on earth did Yusuf al-Kaysani from Cairo end up here.

That, however, is only incidental to his enjoyment of the rest of the day. They walk on the city walls, they go up to the Grand Harbor and take in the sea view, then to the Barrakka Gardens. Nicky gazes pensively on the monument of remembrance and out over the glittering blue water, as Joe sits down on a bench and watches him. He has always simply enjoyed looking at Nicky, watching him breathe, watching him be, watching the way he leans on the railing and shields his eyes against the sun with the casual, unconsciousness elegance that permeates everything he does. Whether the name is Yusuf al-Kaysani or Joseph Jones or anything else, it doesn’t matter. Even among all the change and clutter of the modern world, this adoration, this soul-deep delight, is the one thing that remains constant.

That is how the next several days pass. Joe and Nicky visit their usual old haunts in Valletta, eat well, make love, and catch up with the apartment’s owner, Ġużepp, who is now in his eighties, has known them for over twenty-five years, and never seen them age a day. He has never asked why. His wife died a long time ago and they never had children, and perhaps he sees them as sons, as a strange but poignant blessing for a lonely old man, two people who clearly love this place as much as he does. He asked them once when they first came here, and Joe wondered if they should just tell him that it was the sixteenth century. Somehow it seems as if Ġużepp might not be surprised.

A few days before Christmas, a storm blows in from the Atlantic just as dust blows in from North Africa, and the world turns silver and ocher and rust and wet, the windows sparkling as if stained in silver nitrate and the streets and domes and splendid churches of Valletta painted in watercolor impressionism on the blurry glass, anything or anyone outside the bedroom barely seeming to exist. Joe and Nicky spend the time productively, which is to say they have so much sex that they can barely walk. They twist into each other, explore and challenge and unstring and repair each other, touch and caress, kiss and lick and suck and mark their territory all over again, leaving no inch of flesh unexplored and no sinful act undone. “You know,” Nicky murmurs, eyes closed, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, hand stroking up the line of Joe’s spine as Joe nips at his neck. “We really are a pair of heretics, aren’t we.”

“Speak for yourself, Nicolò.” Joe leans down to steal another kiss from his lover’s bruised, teeth-marked lips. “Heretics according to who?”

Nicky hums, as if to say he is happy to get into a theological argument at a later date, but can’t be arsed to do so right now. Joe slides down next to him, sliding his hand across Nicky’s chest and stomach, curling lower, as Nicky whines and reflexively tries to pull back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Joe laughs, as he always does, pressing a kiss into Nicky’s shoulder and thinking – as he also always does – Allah and all His angels forbid. He has always secretly, shamefully prayed that if that terrible moment came, if one of them lost their immortality first, that it be him. He knows this condemns Nicky to live on without him, but he cannot face the prospect of doing it himself. Dying for good, even after this long, somehow seems easier. At least he’s done that before, often. Living without the other half of his soul, not so much.

The rain clears on Christmas Day, the light is fragile and golden and perfect as heaven, and they call Andy and Booker (Andy’s somewhere in Argentina, Booker is on a beach in Thailand) and wish each other happy holidays. Nicky mixes up a feast, Joe helps (if by that you mean stirring the occasional pot and taking full advantage of Nicky’s “Kiss the Cook” apron) and they open their door and visit with the neighbors who drop in to bring more pastries and Christmas wishes. Ġużepp turns up, they invite him to stay for supper so he won’t be alone, and after the token protests, he agrees. As he is insisting on doing the washing-up, he asks, “How long have you two known each other?”

Joe and Nicky glance at each other. They’re fairly sure that Ġużepp knows they’re a couple, even if they haven’t said so openly, just in case an old Maltese Roman Catholic would prefer to know it implicitly but not have it confirmed. Finally Nicky says, “A very long time.”

“I thought so, somehow.” The old man reaches for a dish towel. “You seem that way. Have you been happy here? All the times you’ve been to Malta, to my house?”

“We’ve been very happy,” Joe assures him. “This place has been special for – for many years. I am Arabic, Nicky is Italian, it is like it was made just for us.”

Ġużepp smiles. “Your families?” he asks. “They are happy with it?”

Joe thinks of his mother, far off and so very long ago, and how Maryam al-Katibi always wanted him to be a better man. How he forgot about time and its passing, and never saw her again after he left. It remains one of the greatest regrets of his life that she never met Nicolò, as he thinks that they would have liked each other very much. But as far as their family goes now –

“Yes,” he says, thinking of Andy and Booker. “Yes, they are.”

“I am glad,” Ġużepp says stoutly. “It is good for a man not to be alone.”

(It is, and both Joe and Nicky have clung to that, and they don’t know now that this is the last time they will see Ġużepp, as he will die before they return here in 2004 when Malta becomes a member of the EU, but on this sweet, poignant night, as time speeds on its passing, as they both reflect on all those many years, and God said that it was good.)

The last week of 1999 and the twentieth century and the second millennium count down to its inevitable end. There aren’t exactly prophets in sandwich boards shrieking on the streets about the end times, though it’s undeniable that there’s a sharp-edged anxiety as Y2K draws closer. On December 31, Joe and Nicky sit on the beach at the famous Blue Lagoon, watching the sun go down over the island of Comino, holding hands. At last Nicky says – half joking, but only half – “If the world does end tonight, I want you to know that you are still the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for that pastry the other day. That was really very divine.”

Joe laughs, takes his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Always, my heart,” he says. “Always.”

The world gets softer and darker, and lights come on over the bay and the archipelago and the boats bobbing at anchor, and Joe thinks that it must be the year 2000 somewhere else, and everything still seems to be fine. He wasn’t really worried, but he knows that fear that the next year might bring with it something too terrible to be gotten around, and that if you could just cling to this moment now when things are all right, they might stay that way forever. Finally he and Nicky get the water taxi back to Valletta, and it’s getting closer and closer to midnight, and they sit down on a bench and count down with the rest of this sliver of the world, all the way into the next stage of forever.

When it becomes plain that the world has not ended, nor indeed does it seem likely to do so, everywhere seems to let out its breath at once. Huge and glorious fireworks thunder in the dark sky over the city, in riots of color and noise and sound, and Joe and Nicky can hear cheering and toasting from what seems like every house in the city. They kiss and then kiss again for good measure, swept along on a tide of jolly and relieved and mildly (or well, considerably) inebriated strangers, an impromptu street party that both of them feel down to their nine-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sinews, the sort of magic that still catches them dead to rights even after so long in this beautiful, stupid, dangerous, exasperating, maddening, heartbreaking, filthy, glorious, transcendent, irreplaceable world. They throw their arms around each other’s necks and gaze deeply into the other’s eyes, as even all the gaiety and festivity and bacchanal falls into nothing, passing over them like waves. “I love you,” Joe says, as he has said it so many times in all the languages he knows. “Ti amo.”

Nicky smiles that smile that makes the world shine, and spins Joe lightly on the spot, and the next thousand years seem, just then, like the greatest blessing that any man has ever had. “I know.”

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #joe x nicky #kaysanova #that time in malta #coffeemakesmeahappybean #ask

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yachtinmalta · 8 months ago

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Malta's Coastal Adventures: Revealing the Allure of Boat Rentals

Do you yearn for the briny murmurs of the Mediterranean? Malta's azure seas entice you, presenting a symphony of experiences, each led by the vessel of your choosing. Here's how to create the ideal Boat Rent in Malta symphony in Malta, whether you like the exhilarating buzz of motors or the calm swing of sails:

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● With meticulous planning, preparation, and an open-minded attitude, your Malta boat rental may turn into an exciting journey captured in the vivid tune of the sun and waves. Raise the sails, adjust your sights, and be ready to be mesmerized by the flawless design of a Maltese boat rental journey.

Malta's shoreline offers an expedition, where blue seas whisper secrets and the sun paints the horizon gold. Explore undiscovered coves, experience the breeze in your hair on a swift speedboat, or take in the peace on a magnificent yacht. Make experiences that will reverberate in your heart long after you return by exploring, discovering, and creating. Select your craft, haul up the sails, and let Malta's enchantment lead you on a voyage you won't soon forget.

Source URL: https://yachtinmalta.blogspot.com/2024/01/maltas-coastal-adventures-revealing.html

#Boat Rent in Malta #Charter Boat Malta #Boat Malta #Boats Malta #Boat Charters Malta #Malta Boats #Boat Rent Malta #Malta Boat #Fishing Trips Malta

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boat-chartering · 4 months ago

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Explore Malta's Beautiful Waters with Our Boat Charters

Discover the ultimate boating experience in Malta! Rent a boat for a day or choose from our exclusive sailing boat charters. Enjoy private and day boat charters at competitive prices. Experience the best sailing boat rental and explore Malta's stunning coastline. Book your boat charter today at https://www.boatcharteringmalta.com/bookings-checkout/sunset-cruises

#rent a boat malta #rent a boat malta price #sailing boat charter malta #boat charter malta #sailing boat rental malta #rent a boat for a day malta #private boat charter malta #day boat charter malta

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siegfriedens · 4 years ago

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💒 + joshuacassandra

send me 💒 + a ship for five wedding headcanons, starring joshua nam and cassandra choi !!

they are so getting married i cannot do this or i’ll be dead by the end istg you are so fucking sick for this i hate you ahaaaa anyway love u piranha intro sukepami no pianinho

after so damn much, these two deserve nothing but happiness, and that means nothing bigger than finally getting married. they’ve been together for almost eight years and it’s high time they kissed it forever. cassandra’s mother has been trying to talk them through it for four years now (it feels like forever, though), so it’s a fucking finally for them and her family. his parents and relatives don’t care too much, but it doesn’t really matter as they are not close;

he’d ask her hand old style, a ring and love vows. christmas-ish? ring for holiday gifts canon? they’re underdressed lying on the sofa and he brings it up like the truth just hit him? he was supposed to give it to her the next morning when they’re all dressed up but it feels fit to do it at that very moment? they have beautiful i love you sex afterwards? and he calls her soon-to-be mrs nam? you heard me bitch;

they wouldn’t be all about planning but you know it, cassandra’s family is way too rich to let a celebration slip - and, in the end of the day, it’s cassie’s big day! not only her mother, but all her old wealthy friends are more than happy to help choosing the most expensive stuff. it will be definitely the event of the century, which doesn’t match them very much. they’re too happy to complain, though;

it’d only hit joshua when he sees her, his wife, all dolled up in a white dress. he’d probably cry just from the sight, she’d pick on him for it and they’d laugh it off. he’d tease her on the spot for looking too girly in a dress. they’d be all smiley during the whole thing and they’d be so fucking happy for each other and i don’t know they’re fucking soulmates joshuacassandra cash brainrot right here;

the party would be fucking huge. everything, literally. food, decoration and music. it’d be fancy, choi level of fancy, actually. the just married couple would dance to some slow songs before everyone joined them. joshua, of course, would step over her feet a lot of times, smiling at her every single time. his eyes teary, he’d whisper some i love yous in between dance steps, holding her close;

also, it’d be over some big ass fancy mansion in the hamptons, as the choi’s was too small for the occasion - according to her family, obviously. they’d keep the whole coast awake for the whole night as the music would stay loud through the night;

all joshua’s friends from medical school would be over, and those people definitely know how to make a party. they’re also loaded, so wedding gifts would be game for their new apartment, one they recently bought together with two or three available rooms. for the future, next to cassandra;

the few friends cassandra managed to shrink out of julliard would also be there and wouldn’t miss the opportunity to threaten joshua. something like you hurt her and we kill you but through a stare. he’d just laugh as soon as he noticed, hugging cassandra before peppering kisses on her cheek. i’d never hurt the love of my life;

AND FOR THE HONEYMOON, these two would spend almost a month in sicily and malta, only the best hotels and fanciest spots. they’d rent a boat and sail around before getting it stuck somewhere and have to ask for help. they’d be so so happy and smiley and i don’t know joshuacassandra happy moments kind of thing this shit always gets to me i hate you for this. happy and smiley just married joshuacassandra featuring italian summer haze i think we should have this conversation yes.

anyway joshuacassandra brainrot i hope you choke

#koscheimaryas #𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 › answered #𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 › joshua nam #* ♡ 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 › joshua x cassandra #to my partner ♡ suke #anyway joshuacassandra brainrot

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milkywayrollercoaster · 5 years ago

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Boats heading to Comino.

Small fish are staying, I guess.

Malta

Some useful tips while in Malta:

* Malta is a small country, with three inhabited islands. The country has an area of 316 Km2 and around 475,000 inhabitants. Comino has 8 residents in summer and three during winter time. Tourists a plenty in summer. Reason: the Blue Lagoon.

* No need to rent a car, mainly in Valletta it' s difficult to park and driving in Valletta historical city is virtually impossible.

* Malta public buses are usually crowded but go anywhere, with a 21 € card - tallinja card - you can travel in Malta and Gozo for a week of unlimited use.

* After 60 years old you are a senior citizen and you may have special prices in museums and monuments. For instance the visit to Saint John co-cathedral costs 10 € for an adult and 7.50 € for a senior.

* Saint John co-cathedral is a must. It's closed in public holidays and sundays. Don' t dismiss by the long queueing even if you are not onto baroque interiors. Outside you won' t expect what you' going to find inside, from floor to ceiling.

* The round trip fare public ferry from Malta across the Gozo channel costs 4.65 € per person, ferries also carry cars.

* Malta is hot and dry, so save water and swim a lot.

* Botanics are mediterranean as expected. Maltese try hard to keep their country green.

* Malta is a multi-ethnic country that has its own language - Maltese, a semitic language using roman alphabet. Maltese is an arabic dialect which developed in Sicily, southern Italy and Malta. Half of its vocabulary is of Italian origin and between 6% and 20% comes from English.

* English is also a national language, the British stayed here for around 150 years and the country got independent after 1964.

* Valletta harbour is breathtaking seen from the Upper Barracks Gardens, at sunset and dusk or ar night it becomes magical.

* Malta is an archipelago so try to use vessels to cross harbours and channels. The country is particularly beautiful viewed from the sea.

* Shades of blue and green - Mediterranea sea is always a pleasure for seafarers.

* Food has strongly Italian influences.

* In Valletta old town don' t miss the Manoel Teatru, one of the oldest of its kind in Europe, comissioned by the granmaster Manoel Vilhena, a Portuguese who left his mark in Malta and who is still much praised today. Price 5€.

* Maltese people enjoy visitors and the economics of the country needs them.

* The Maltese Parliament by Italian architect Renzo Piano, just entering the city walls, is a pleasure to see due to its perfect integration in the lines, colours and shapes of Valletta old town.

* Don' t be mistaken by the size of the country: Valletta, Mdina, the three cities, Victoria in Gozo and the majestic Mediterranean sea won' t delusion your expectations.

* From the airport to Sliema - where most hotels are placed - you pay around 20 € by cab. You buy the voucher just outside the main exit, on the left.

* Air Malta flies twice a week from Lisbon to Malta on Thursdays and Sundays.

photo and text cjmn

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hips-ter · 5 years ago

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The 6 Best Trip Planning Apps for Headache Free Travel – Review Geek

Your notice about search engine optimization can also be good, nevertheless, I do suppose that if a weblog stays at the top for a very long time, it is also about high quality and fewer about SEO. Thanks for taking the time and writing such a considerate comment. Research indeed is the important thing however some instant journey plans are tremendous enjoyable. And finding the right travel company is a little headache however i feel it is needed. particularly if you want to journey in a different country where you nearly know nothing.

Who has the best all inclusive vacation packages?

The most common reason why people go all inclusive is the value for money; with food, drinks and snacks catered for, it can be a great way of making your holiday more affordable.

The signature Hard Rock rocker vibe may be seen throughout the resort, whether it's in the music-themed decor or the free guitar leases. On-site amenities corresponding to golf, an arcade middle, and a sprawling health heart assist hold visitors busy. Aruba’s drier local weather and southern location within the Caribbean additionally signifies that it’s rarely hit with hurricanes. In reality, on the time of writing, the last glancing blow was by weak Hurricane Felix back in 2007.

This can also be a good time to go to London and Paris and Central Europe. Barcelona needs no less than two days of your time to see the most effective of it. There are additionally nice day journeys you'll be able to take from Barcelona, corresponding to visiting Montserrat, Girona, Costa Brava, and Tarragona. Florence deserves the largest chunk of time in this itinerary.

Thank you for offering such descriptive and well-elaborated ideas. I would definitely maintain them in mind while planning a trip for me now. You can e-book your hostel with Hostelworld as they have the most complete inventory. If you want to keep elsewhere, use Booking.com as they consistently return the most cost effective charges for guesthouses and low-cost hotels. To assist you determine one of the best plan for you and your journey, right here’s my final guide to picking a good insurance firm.

What are the do's and don'ts of itinerary preparation?

Travel Agent Do Not Cost More - Vacationkids never charges services fees. Our services are free to our customers. If their parents want to use miles too book their flights or if there are cheaper rates online, Online Travel companies do charge service fees. They build them into the cost that you pay.

In the publication, UN areas and subregions are ranked by the variety of worldwide customer arrivals, by the income generated by inbound tourism, and by the expenditures of outbound travelers. With a dramatic cliffside setting in Negril, this adults-solely all-inclusive is taken into account certainly one of Jamaica’s most particular resorts — albeit one with high nightly rates. Meals and drinks are included, however the choices right here go above and past typical all-inclusive fare.

Most people need several days in a place where they couldn’t see a museum or take a tour even when they wanted to. A stop within the mountains or on an island, in a pleasant rural city, or at the home of a relative is an effective way to revitalize your vacationer spirit. If you’re passionate about Renaissance art, Florence is a must. England’s Cotswolds beckon to those who fantasize about thatched cottages, time-handed villages, and sheep lazing on inexperienced hillsides. For World War II buffs, there’s no more stirring experience than a go to to Normandy.

We will be arriving in Munich after which plan to cover Czech Republic, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, Paris and spend final four-days in London since our return flight is from London. Plus, it’s not just the most affordable cities in Europe. Malta, as an Island, could be comparatively cheap too.

This “General MacArthur” method is a key to touristic happiness.

,” Ed Perkins writes, “An agent is an enormous help if you value your time.

Not positive concerning the place, however either of Spain, UK or Sweden.

Log into any airways' web site a couple of days earlier than your tip and you'll be able to find all of this info.

If you’re feeling nervous, don’t fear — that’s perfectly regular. You’re about to embark on a tremendous journey — and that’s a huge change.

Reading this makes me realise how much planning I don’t do before reserving a trip! You’ve given me some great tips, and plenty to think about before reserving my subsequent travels. I never use a journey agent but I’d take into consideration attempting it out. By the time I get to this a part of planning my holiday, I know that many of the work is done. Now, it's about specializing in the smaller details.

Most travel brokers are paid a fee from resorts, airlines or tour operators after they guide a shopper with them. Some resorts or tour operators pay more fee than others.

Passport photographs will value you about an extra $10, or you possibly can print your own free of charge at ePassportPhoto. Europe has an insane quantity of fine beer and wine — so you should sample all you possibly can.

It lays out every piece of knowledge you may need on your trip so you're by no means left hunting round on the lookout for an tackle or a cellphone quantity. This means you'll be able to spend extra time exploring or enjoyable and fewer time making an attempt to prepare yourself. Do your research about vacation spot prices primarily based in your type of traveling. This goes to help you determine your daily bills and provide you with a every day budget on your trip.

Spend a minimum of one day exploring Florence, after which use your additional days to take day trips into Tuscany, visiting Siena and the other hill towns. You can do this on your own by renting a car or using the public buses (however this was a nightmare in our expertise…we highly recommend renting your own automotive or hiring a driver while in Tuscany!). Ten days is simply sufficient time to get a style of this country.

BARCELONA, SPAIN Travel Costs

There are miles of white-sand seashores (like Rendezvous Bay, overlooking neighboring Saint Martin island), as well as secluded coves reached by boat, similar to at Little Bay. After a day within the solar, hit up nice restaurants, as well as a low-key nightlife with stay music that spans from reggae to string bands. In a nutshell, you have fewer things to fret about with all-inclusive packages.

If you worry about issues that are just out of attain, you gained’t respect what’s in your hand. I’ve taken dozens of European journeys, and I still want more time. It’s a blessing that we can by no means see all of Europe. Alternate intense big cities with villages and countryside.

But in case you are planning on having three drinks or extra per day, plus three meals a day, it might average about $one hundred a day, according to her calculations. Jen Pellerito, journey writer and creator of Jen on the Run, did an analysis using an Expedia seek for resorts in Cancun for seven days (Aug. 24 to Aug. 31, 2018). Many all-inclusive resorts are close to major airports and big cities, stated Ebert. If you’re visiting a spot like the Caribbean, you’ll discover many resorts have private access to the beach. For instance, when you’re traveling alone, traversing a huge space, and spending the vast majority of your time in huge cities, it makes more sense to go by prepare with a rail cross than to mess with a car.

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