#Mallorcan

[huariqueje]

Breakfast with ensaimada , Breakfast with Mallorcan Pastry - Matias Quetglas , 1975.

Spanish , b. 1946 -

Egg tempera , 74 x 92 cm.

[useless-catalanfacts]

Pa de pessic amb xocolata desfeta: spongy cake and hot chocolate. Photo from the recipe Instagram account el.raconet.de.la.carme.

Hot chocolate with brioche-style sweets has been very common in the Catalan Countries since the late 1600s. Nowadays, it's still popular to have it with family or friends over breakfast or berenar (mid-afternoon snack).

I have friends from the USA and from England, and they were surprised when they had hot chocolate here because it's thick. I was also surprised in the USA and England, because what they call "hot chocolate" is what I would call a "chocolate milkshake" (Cacaolat, Cola-cao, etc).

For this reason, I am curious. In your countries, is hot chocolate a completely liquid drink, or is it a thick drink you can both drink directly or with a spoon? Let me know in the tags or comments!

[maertyrer]

Mallorcan school, circle of Miquel Bestard The martyrdom of blessed Ramón Llull

Oil on canvas, 85 x 210 cm, second half of the 17th century

[guillemelgat]

Here's another song translation, by Mallorcan band Reïna! Since they're from the Balearic Islands and I don't think I've made a post about that dialect of Catalan I thought this would be an interesting chance to do that as well. But also the song is just really pretty, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Ja m’ha quedat clar que ara vols ser tu es dolent It’s become clear to me that now you want to be the bad guy I que m’escoltes per a no estar tot sol amb es teus pensaments And that you listen to me not to be all alone with your thoughts I que tots es camins que no fèiem encara hi són And that all the roads we never took are still there Tot i que ara semblin més llargs i torts Even though now they seem longer and more twisted

Ja m’ha quedat clar que no tenc clar si t’entenc It’s become clear to me that I’m not clear if I understand you I que te m’acostes per no estar tot sol en es mals moments And that you get close to me not to be all alone in the worst moments I que tot es temps que teníem s’ha fos And that all the time we had has melted Entre es dits que ara semblen més llargs i torts Between fingers that now seem longer and more twisted

[ TORNADA: Ets tan dolç que per dins me mata You’re so sweet that it kills me inside Te tenc tan a prop que sempre m’enrampes I hold you so close that you always give me a shock És tan fort que ja no té importància It’s so much that it doesn’t matter anymore Ets tan dolent que m’arriba a fer gràcia You’re so bad that it’s become funny to me ]

Ja m’ha quedat clar que ara ets tu es dolent It’s become clear to me that now you’re the bad guy I que m’enyores només quan saps que ho has fet malament And that you only miss me when you know you’ve done a bad job I maldament mos enteníem, ara ja no And even though we used to understand each other, we don’t now I d'ençà es dies crec que tornen més llargs i tot And from hereon out I think the days are becoming longer and all

[ TORNADA ]

Here are some features of Balearic/Mallorcan Catalan which you can hear in the song:

l'article salat - instead of el/la/els/les it's es/sa/es/ses

different distributions/realization of the neutral vowels - /ə/ can also be pronounced in stressed syllables (generally where you would have /ε/ in Central Catalan) and there's similar vowel reduction to Valencian of /ɔ/ and /o/ to /o/ rather than /u/

Using the pronomial clitics me/te/etc. which in Central Catalan usually only come after the verb before verbs instead of the forms em/et/etc. - also note mos (= ens/nos) which also occurs in lots of other dialects of Catalan

importància and gràcia are pronounced importanci and graci (this is common with a lot of words ending in -cia)

tenc = tinc

maldament = encara que

Bonus: Pronouncing /k/ as palatal /c/ - this is much less common, but the lead singer of Reïna does it which I thought was interesting (in contrast to Maria Jaume who doesn't seem to)

[quatregats]

Graziñas @zsofiarosebud pola etiqueta <333

RULES: put 5 songs you actually listen to, then tag 10 people. (going to do 5 songs I've been listening to a lot at the moment)

IB3Y - Gwilym

A prop - Reïna

MERCURI I MART - Maria Hein

Anèstesia total - Al·lèrgiques al pol·len

ti ar dy ora' pan ti'n canu - Gwilym

I'll tag @minglana @no-passaran @marazt @kutyozh @chatwiththeclouds @felgueirosa @salvadorbonaparte @aroaceofthesea @alvallah and @hey-scully-itsme (and as always, if you want to do this, go ahead and tag me—I am always in search of new music 👀👀)

[cinnabargirl]

What really gets me about the whole Hilaria Baldwin thing is that she chose one of the places in Sp*in with the most unique culture to base her grift around and she didn't do any research beyond basic stereotypes of the country a la sexy señorita paella flamenco tapas torero olé like she could have said she's from Badajoz or Jaén or whatever and no one would have given a shit bc no one gives a shit about those two but no she had to say she and her family are from Mallorca which is just crayzay to me bc nothing about her indicates she's even immersed in any cultural or social aspect of the island

[nicolasrealestate]

When you are talking about Mallorca village or the whole place then you must know that it is known for its stunning beaches, mild climate, and the perfect holiday destination. Many people are always searching for the perfect place to buy property in a Mallorcan village. Each year the number of people who buy the property here increases as as the renting ones. 

There are several reasons that make you buy the property in Mallorca and those reasons will be discussed here in detail. SO, let’s start finding those points that make you to buy the luxury property or hotels in Mallorca. 

[amirasainz]

What about reader is a team principal of a team and every driver and there girlfriend are obsessed with her?

Hahaha, omg this is so funny.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo

Obvious

The world of Formula 1 was unforgiving, relentless, and absolutely cutthroat. But there was one anomaly in the paddock that no one could quite figure out: Y/N, the 22-year-old team principal of McLaren. Her rapid rise to the top was a story everyone whispered about, but no one dared to challenge.

She was brilliant, tenacious, and had an air of authority that made her presence impossible to ignore. But what truly set her apart was the way she unknowingly had every driver—and their girlfriends—wrapped around her finger. They were utterly, hopelessly obsessed with her, and Y/N remained blissfully unaware, thinking it was just the normal way people treated their boss.

Exhibit 1: Dinner with George and Carmen

It was a rare off-day between races, and Y/N found herself in London at George’s request. The Mercedes driver had insisted on taking her out to dinner with his girlfriend Carmen joining them.

“I’m glad you agreed to come, Y/N,” George smiled as he pulled out a chair for her. “You’ve been working way too hard.”

Carmen leaned in, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “Yes, you need to relax sometimes. You’re always so busy.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling a bit flustered by their attention. “Thanks, guys, but it’s all part of the job, right? I mean, this season has been crazy.”

George leaned closer, casually placing his hand on the back of her chair, his fingers brushing against her shoulder. “You’re the youngest team principal in F1 history, Y/N. You’re allowed to take a break now and then. Let us take care of you tonight.”

Carmen nodded in agreement, her hand gently squeezing Y/N’s arm. “We wouldn’t want you burning out, would we?”

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth that she couldn’t quite place. “You guys are too sweet. I’m just trying to keep up, you know?”

The dinner passed with easy laughter and conversation, and Y/N was too busy enjoying herself to notice how both George and Carmen kept finding excuses to touch her—a hand on her arm here, a brush of fingers there. It was as if they couldn’t bear to be too far away from her.

---

Exhibit 2: A Mallorcan Escape with Carlos and Rebecca

The invitation had been impossible to refuse. Carlos had insisted on whisking Y/N away to Mallorca for a weekend of sun, relaxation, and good company. Rebecca was there too, constantly checking in to make sure Y/N was enjoying herself.

“This place is incredible,” Y/N said as she stepped out onto the balcony of their luxury villa, the Mediterranean Sea sparkling in the distance.

Carlos grinned, his hand resting comfortably on her lower back as he guided her to the sun lounger. “You deserve a break, Y/N. You’re always taking care of everyone else.”

Rebecca handed Y/N a cold drink, her smile warm and sincere. “Exactly. It’s our turn to look after you.”

Y/N blushed, sipping the drink as she looked out at the waves. “You guys are too nice. Honestly, I’m fine.”

Carlos laughed, sitting down beside her and casually resting his arm across the back of her chair, his fingers lightly grazing her shoulder. “Nice has nothing to do with it, Y/N. We just really enjoy spending time with you.”

Rebecca nodded, her hand resting on Y/N’s knee in a gesture that was both comforting and possessive. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Y/N just smiled, thinking how lucky she was to have friends like them, completely missing the way both Carlos and Rebecca watched her every move with an intensity that went far beyond simple friendship.

---

Exhibit 3: Shopping Spree with Pierre and Kika

Y/N had never been a big shopper, but when Pierre and Kika insisted on a shopping trip in Milan, she couldn’t say no. The day was a blur of designer stores, laughter, and playful teasing.

“You’d look amazing in this,” Kika said, holding up a sleek black dress against Y/N.

Pierre nodded in agreement, his hand resting comfortably on Y/N’s waist as he leaned in to inspect the dress. “Try it on. We’re not leaving until you do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “You guys are relentless. I’m supposed to be the boss, remember?”

Pierre smirked, giving her a light nudge toward the dressing room. “Not today, Y/N. Today, you’re our princess.”

Kika giggled, grabbing Y/N’s hand and dragging her along. “Exactly. And our princess needs a new wardrobe.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as she tried on outfit after outfit, completely unaware of the way Pierre’s eyes lingered on her every time she emerged from the dressing room, or how Kika’s hand never left hers for long.

---

Exhibit 4: Movie Night with Max and Kelly

It was a cozy night in Monaco, and Max had convinced Y/N to come over for a low-key movie night. Kelly had made popcorn, and the three of them were snuggled up on the couch.

“You’ve been working too hard again,” Kelly said, her voice soft as she adjusted the blanket around Y/N’s shoulders. “You need to relax.”

Max nodded, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, his fingers gently playing with the ends of Y/N’s hair. “Yeah, you need to slow down sometimes. You’re making us all look bad.”

Y/N laughed, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Oh, please. You guys are the ones driving the cars at insane speeds every weekend.”

Max grinned, his hand dropping to rest on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “And you’re the one making all the tough calls. That’s way more stressful.”

Kelly leaned in closer, her head resting lightly against Y/N’s. “We’re just glad you’re here. We love spending time with you.”

Y/N smiled, thinking how comforting it was to have Max and Kelly around. She missed the way Max’s thumb traced circles on her shoulder and the way Kelly’s fingers intertwined with hers under the blanket, as if they were afraid to let her go.

---

Exhibit 5: Yacht Day with Charles and Alexandra

When Charles invited Y/N out on his yacht, she thought it would be a casual day in the sun. But from the moment she stepped on board, she realized she was in for something far more luxurious.

“This is… wow,” Y/N breathed, taking in the sight of the pristine white yacht against the crystal blue waters of the French Riviera.

Charles smiled, his hand lingering on the small of her back as he guided her to a sunbed. “Only the best for our favorite team principal.”

Alexandra appeared with drinks, offering one to Y/N with a bright smile. “You deserve this, Y/N. You never take time for yourself.”

Y/N settled onto the sunbed, feeling the warmth of the sun and the company of her friends. “You guys are always spoiling me. I’m really not that special.”

Charles chuckled, leaning back beside her, his leg brushing against hers. “Oh, but you are, Y/N. You’re the heart of the paddock.”

Alexandra nodded in agreement, her hand resting comfortably on Y/N’s as they basked in the sun. “And we all adore you.”

Y/N blushed, not quite understanding why they were always so kind, but grateful all the same.

---

Exhibit 6: Golfing with Alex and Lily

Golf wasn’t Y/N’s sport, but when Alex and Lily insisted on a day out on the greens, she couldn’t say no. The trio laughed their way through the course, with Alex playfully showing Y/N how to swing properly, his hands guiding hers.

“You’ve got this, Y/N,” Alex said, his chest pressed against her back as he adjusted her stance. “Just focus.”

Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushed from the proximity. “You make it look so easy.”

Lily watched them with a knowing smile, resting her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You’ll get the hang of it. You’re already a pro at everything else.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to concentrate as Alex’s touch sent an unexpected thrill through her. “You guys are way too nice to me.”

Alex and Lily exchanged a look, one that Y/N missed entirely as she tried to focus on her swing. They were both addicted to her presence, to the way she brightened every room she walked into.

---

As the season went on, Y/N continued to be the center of attention in ways she never quite understood. Every driver and their partners found excuses to spend time with her, to touch her, to keep her close. And though she often felt overwhelmed by their affection, she chalked it up to just having great friends in the paddock.

But to everyone else, it was clear: Y/N wasn’t just a team principal. She was the object of an unspoken obsession, the one person they all couldn’t bear to be without. And whether she realized it or not, they were all just a little bit in love with her.

[totaly-obsessed]

On the Road

Barcelona Femení x reader request

-> Chaos on the Bus with Claudia, Patri and Ona - trying to keep you distracted.

-> A little closer look from pt. 1 - Changes

-> Word Count: 610

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Esmee! Have you seen my bag? I swear I put it next to you.”

The Dutch woman looked at you, eyes wide in panic - poor girl was even more scared than you to make the starting eleven for the first time. 

“Nej. I don’t know where it went.”

But then you could already hear two particular people giggling behind you, before a hand hastily pulled you back to the seat just on the other side of the aisle, letting you still sit next to your quite new friend. 

“Pina wanted to sit next to you, Cari!”

Just as you had suspected. The culprit had been Patri, her hands still on your shoulders as she squeezed them teasingly. Her neighboring seat was still empty, usually occupied by the short forward beside you. 

But it didn’t stay that way for too long, as an unsuspecting Ona was promptly pulled down next to Patri as she tried to walk past the chaotic best Friends, a short yelp leaving her as she toppled over. “Actually, I wanted to sit with -”

“Tu amor. We know.” Claudia and Patri cackled, finding themselves to be the funniest people on the bus as they turned around to see a certain British defender, sulking further back. “Ai Lucia! We’re stealing your girlfriend! You don’t mind - right?”

The Midfielder didn’t wait for an answer as she turned back around, nudging Ona back down, who had tried to escape while she wasn’t looking. “Nuh-uh. You stay, spend enough time with her as is.”

Ona’s eyes all of a sudden had a certain sparkle back in her eyes. “Awhh, is little Patri jealous that she’s all aloneeee?” The Mallorcan scoffed, clearly offended by the brunette's statement. “I’ll never be jealous of you… Dating that fossil over there.”

You could have sworn to hear an “Oi!” from further back, but it was drowned out by Pina’s and your loud laughter as Ona was speechless, mouth open in shock before she gathered herself. “At least I am in a relationship - while fans speculate if you and Pinita here are dating!”

The pure disgust on their faces made you laugh even harder while both of them grumbled something under their breath, while Ona looked very pleased with herself. She was glad to help you with your nerves, knowing that Mapi wasn’t here and that it threw you off.

Esmee had now been kidnapped as well, sitting next to Salma a few rows in front of the chaotic four. Ingrid sat alone in front of her, a reminder that Mapi was not there, while she tried to keep an eye on you and the young dutchie.

“Cari, do you have your boots?” Apparently dating a fossil made Ona worry more than she usually did. 

“Yes Oni, I have my boots. And a change of clothes. And socks. And my wash-bag.” The brunette gave Ingrid a quick thumbs up, who had been the sole reason she wanted to know. You had already given the Norwegian your bag to look through once you arrived at the training facility, and she had asked again when you entered the bus.

Upon receiving her answer Ingrid turned back around, ready to read on her way to the stadium. Usually, you would sit with her and Mapi, but with her girlfriend being out of order, and you being nervous, she couldn’t help herself but worry. 

Seeing Patri, Ona, and Pina making you laugh, keeping your mind busy was all she needed to see for calm travels - but not before snapping a cute picture of all four of you laughing, sending it to her favorite defender, with the caption “She’ll be just fine.”

[magics-neptunes-things]

Underwater

GIF by midnight-ramblingswfc

Hi guy!

I don't have a lot to say about this one to be honest. It's kind of a request from @cathhamel who thought we don't have enough Patri in here. So here you are :)

Please enjoy!

TW : Water, basically.

You stir on the beach towel you were half-sleeping on. The mallorcan sun was stroking your back with its heath while you were trying the national sport, la siesta.

Your girlfriend, Patri, took you on her island for the little days off you have between two seasons. You never went here before, Patri used this occasion to introduce you to her family, and you have to say that they are many of them. They all are friendly and happy to meet you, you can’t say the contrary.

You aren’t sleeping at Patri parent’s house. Your girlfriend has a little flat near one a beach, on the opposite side of where the tourists are going. You like this place, it smells like summer, another smell that the one you are breathing in Barcelona.

You are happy to speak a good Spanish though, otherwise it would have been particularly complicated to understand your in-laws.

You yawn and turn your face towards Patri, who was laying on her stomach. She smiles at you, her head on her hands.

“When I’ll find the courage, I’ll go take us something to drink. What do you want?”

“Same as you” you mumble.

During the season, you don’t usually sleep during the day. But when you are off, it’s like your body want to take the most sleep possible. Patri knows this, so she doesn’t think about it too long when she sees you falling asleep once again.

The sun is suddenly hiding behind some clouds, which is probably strange but doesn’t wake you up either.

You wake up suddenly when you hear someone screaming not far from you. You sit on your towel, looking around you to see your girlfriend nowhere to be found. Which isn’t strange, she promised you to go to grab something to drink. Her towel is still here, testifying that she will come back.

But the sky is now grey and after several seconds you realize that it’s raining. And it’s raining harder and faster every second.

“Patri?” you still try to call.

But no one answer you and there isn’t anyone in the sea anymore. You are, in fact, almost alone on the beach now.

Taking your things to put them in the bag you took for the day, you keep looking around to try to spot your girlfriend. You don’t know where she wanted to go grab you something to drink.

You think about going in the different shops at first, which you do, trying to protect your head with your arms. The rain is cold and doesn’t seem to want to stop soon.

After several minutes, you finally decide to go to your girlfriend’s flat, which isn’t far from here. The rain is still falling, and you can see that wild streams are forming on roads and side walks. In fact, your feet are soon soggy. After almost falling twice, you decide to get rid of your flip-flops, which you put in your bag blindly.

Between the rain and your hair stuck in your face, you have trouble to see things correctly. The village where Patri choose her flat is pitched and if you sometimes hate it when it’s too hot, you hate too right now.

While you were asking yourself if you will survive this or if it’s better for you to just go hide in another building, you hear someone calling you.

“Y/N!”

Patri’s voice is almost inaudible because of the rain, but you still hear her. You aren’t far from her flat now, but she’s still coming for you, running in the water.

She’s soaked wet, her white shirt stuck on her sun kissed skin. If you weren’t in a catastrophic scenario, you probably would have found her hot.

“Oh my god. Are you ok? I’m sorry, I never thought it will turn like this.”

“Can we go home and wait for us to be safe before the apologies please?”

“Yes, sorry. Come on.”

Patri grabs your hand, and you start walking again, hurrying to find back Patri’s place.

You only need two minutes, but you are drenched when you are finally home. The flat is on the last floor of the building, who isn’t very high. You are at the second floor, basically. But it’s what probably saved her things from the water.

You put your drenched clothes in the washing machine and jump with Patri for a hot shower. You are frozen too, like you said the rain was cold.

“I took juice, but do you want a coffee or something now? Hot chocolate?” Patri asks when you are changed and a little hotter.

You accept with pleasure, happy to be able to have something hot between your hands several minutes later. Patri turned on the TV when your drink is less hot and ready to drink. Apparently, all the island is touched by the rain.

“I’ll try to call my mom” Patri mumbles while taking her phone.

You nod softly, looking at the different images of disaster everywhere around. Finally, you are lucky here. You try to keep a ear to Patri and her phone call, but it doesn’t last long before she comes to sit next to you on the couch again.

“It’s not raining anymore there. But there is a lot of damage in my parents’ house” she explains to you.

“We will go help them when we can take the car again, ok?” you say softly, grabbing her hand in yours.

Your back and your knees hurt like crazy, but you try to ignore it, even if your mind goes from time to time to Barcelona’s medical team who is working so hard to keep you in shape every day of the year. If they saw you like this, grating mud on tiles in a position looking vaguely like an overcooked shrimp, they would probably have a heart attack.

You groan and stretch your back, hoping to be able to ease your back pain. You jump when you feel two hands on your shoulders, not expecting at all to suddenly have someone with you.

“Are you alright?”

You smile softly when you hear your girlfriend’s voice. Your holidays took an unexpected turn, but there was no way in the world that you would keep sunbathing when Patri’s family is in trouble.

“I am” you answer before standing up.

“And you? Are you finish up there?”

“Yes, my sister and her boyfriend just left with the last truck of waste.”

You nod, using one bottle of water to wash your hands. Patri proposed her flat to her parents the time to renovate their house, or at least make it habitable again. And you, you are sleeping on a sofa in the living room of a relative of Cata.

All the hotels around are full, of course.

“I can’t wait to take a hot shower. My back is killing me.” Patri admits to you, making you smile.

“I was thinking the same thing”

The Spaniard smiles back and doesn’t seem to be bothered by your state of filth when she takes you in her arms. She even kisses your cheek, making you giggle.

“Patri I’m disgusting right now” you point.

“Don’t care” Patri mumble, putting her head somewhere in your neck.

You smile and let her do, rocking her softly. You stay in this position for some minutes, just enjoying each other proximity. You know that deep down, Patri is upset about the damages in the house where she grew up.

“Thanks for helping my family” Patri says after having finally raise her head from your neck. “It really means a lot to me.”

“Of course”

You answer while smiling, stroking her cheek with the back of your fingers.

“I’ll do anything for you.”

You know you will regret those worlds as soon as a happy grin appears on your girlfriend’s face.

“Really? Even a massage after my shower?”

“Don’t push things, Guijarro.”

[octuscle]

A unique holiday experience

Stephen was lying by the pool… The wind rustled through the oleander bushes. From the restaurant, he could hear muffled conversations. He took a sip of his vermouth tonic. The ice cubes clinked in the glass. It really was a perfect idyll. From the pool, you had a perfect view of the plains of Mallorca, looking out over the sea of houses of Palma and, in the distance, the glistening Mediterranean. Stephen was somewhat exhausted from a road bike tour through the Tramuntana Mountains. But after a few days of just relaxing by the pool, he really needed a bit of a change. The bike tour had been a good idea from the concierge… But now Stephen needed something else. He surfed the internet. The offers from getyourguide were quite nice, but he didn't need another visit to the cathedral of Palma, another visit to an olive oil factory, another hike on the dry stone wall trail. He knew all that well enough. But then he stumbled across an ad that sounded original: “Bored of the luxurious Mallorcan quality tourism? Fancy a break from the real world? Party and have fun with normal people? We offer you a vacation like you've probably never experienced before!” The logo showed two young guys who reminded Stephen unpleasantly of the booze tourists who had made him shudder more than once at Palma Airport.

Still, it sounded kind of funny… Stephen clicked on “Continue”… Then he took another sip from the beer can. The stuff got damn hot in the sun. Then he fell asleep.

“Mate, you fell asleep in the sun again. Drinking ain't good for you. Want another beer?” Stephen woke with a start. He had to belch in shock. The guy in front of him laughed and held out an ice-cold beer can. Where the hell was he? Stephen was lying in the blazing sun by a small, shabby-looking pool. The cheap plastic lounger groaned as he sat up. Shit, that hurt! He was bright red. “That looks nasty, mate! You gotta cool it down!” The boy in front of him shook the beer can and opened it. A beer fountain hit Stephen's burnt chest. And even though he was sure he wanted to say something else, he said, “You absolute arsehole. You can't be wasting beer like that. Or are you gonna lick it off my six-pack again, you dirty pig?” What the fuck was going on? The chav in front of him laughed and actually licked the beer foam off Stephen's body. Or what was probably Stephen's body. What Stephen could see was an athletic, fiery red body with a few cheap-looking tattoos. And what he could also see was the tent that he was building in his shorts. “Bloody hell, can't you wait till we're back in our room? The pricks will end up banning us if they catch us!” This was a nightmare? Stephen was stuck in a strange body and was like a remote-controlled robot. He had no control over his actions or his language. He was stuck in this body and watched everything like a movie. Except that the pain of the sunburn was just as real as the lust that was coursing through his body. “Bruv, let's get up to our room, innit? If they're changing the sheets tomorrow, we might as well have a proper go at it, yeah?” Stephen didn't need to be told twice. He didn't know the guy's name, he didn't understand why he was talking about their room, but he wanted to fuck the guy. Now! And hard! He opened the door with his door card. He threw the guy onto the bed. He pulled down the guy's Adidas shorts. He pulled down his own shorts. He didn't give a shit about the stark contrast between his red-burned and chalk-white skin. His boner jumped out of his pants like a jumping jack. The guy squealed with anticipation. And Stephen fucked him like only slightly drunk chavs can manage shortly after the end of puberty. And Callum (Stephen suddenly remembered the name) was right: tonight they would have to sleep in cum-encrusted sheets. But tomorrow there might be fresh ones. If the maid didn't refuse to clean the room again because it was too messy.

After the fuck, Stevo and Callum lay on the beach for a while. Stevo had organized a new round of beer and was checking with the other guys from her soccer club what was going on tonight. Dinner at their cheap all-inclusive hotel in Magaluf was set, but after that it was unclear whether they wanted to go to the sports bar for a few rounds of darts or go straight to the club to pick up chicks. Callum didn't participate. He was drunk again and sleeping off his drunk.

The four days of drinking and fucking in Magaluf were always the highlight of the year. The football club organized this trip every year and Stevo had been going since he was 16. Shit, it was a wild time, but what happened in Magaluf stayed in Magaluf. His girlfriend in Birmingham didn't believe a word of it anyway, no matter what he told her about the trip. Hehehe, he could only hope that she had no idea what had been going on between him and Callum. Hey, it had always been without eye contact, it wasn't homo.

His buddies and he had savored the last day at the pool as best they could. They'd had to vacate their rooms in the morning, but they'd been allowed to use the all-inclusive until the bus picked them up for the airport. And the bar had been serving alcohol for an hour. Callum had already pissed his pants again, Stevo had already been to the loo once to throw up, but had unfortunately just missed the toilet bowl. The bus wasn't due for another hour. He had bought himself another beer and fell asleep on the sun lounger.

The other guests always raised their eyebrows a little at the sight of Stephen. The young man may have been able to afford the expensive hotel in Bunyola, but with his tattoos he somehow didn't fit in here. And he drank a little too much beer. And the burping could also be more discreet. Stephen didn't care about any of that. Somehow he thought that beer and Mallorca formed a unit. And if that bothered you, just get in touch. So far, Stephen had shagged everyone who was bothered by something to their senses.

[fromchaostocosmos]

Why Are Goyim Obsessed With Bad People Being The Fault of The Jews?

How many times have we seen the speculation that certain truly horrific historical people must Jewish based the stringing of threads. Or the that said horrific people are horrific because of the Jews.

How many times have seen Hitler was actually a Jew conspiracy or that Hitler only became the way he did because he denied entry to art school by Jews conspiracy?

Not just with historical figures we all have seen how often it gets mentioned that Roy Cohen, Jew, and they sure do make a point to highlight that Jew part was behind Donald Trump being who he is.

Think about Henry Kissinger and how much him Jewish gets highlighted when talking his influence on Presidents Ford and Nixon, even though he hated being Jewish.

And of course we can not forget the all time go to Christopher Columbus as the secret Jew.

And now that is being reported to be in fact true. Just look at how everyone is reporting it.

Only that is not the case.

The documentary Columbus DNA. His True Origin, broadcast on Spain’s National Holiday suggests that the explorer was not Genoese and Christian but Spanish and Jewish. The absolute protagonist of the documentary, forensic scientist José Antonio Lorente, has not yet published any scientific study to back his claims. The documentary is presented in the style of a reality show in which Lorente systematically discounts other theories, including that Columbus was Castilian, Portuguese, Galician, Mallorcan or a Cagot. It culminates with a scene in which only one possibility remains, the one put forward by architect Francesc Albardaner, author of the book La catalanitat de Colom (or, The Catalonian Origins of Columbus).

But geneticist Antonio Alonso, former chief of the National Institute of Toxicology and Forensic Sciences, is not convinced: “Unfortunately, from the scientific point of view, no assessment can be made after watching the documentary, since it does not provide any data on what has been analyzed. My conclusion is that the documentary Columbus DNA does not show the DNA of Columbus at any given moment and scientists do not know what analysis has been undertaken.”

Forensic anthropologist Miguel Botella, also from the University of Granada, remembers that day in 2003 when he waited for the box containing the supposed bones of Christopher Columbus to be opened. “Everyone expected to be greeted by an intact Columbus, but there were only 150 grams of bone fragments,” he says with a smile. The largest would have been about four centimeters in length.

Lorente then said that he was going to analyze the DNA of the three alleged members of the Columbus family with the help of prestigious geneticists, such as Ángel Carracedo from the University of Santiago de Compostela; and Mark Stoneking, from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology, in Leipzig, Germany, one of the world’s most prestigious centers for the analysis of ancient DNA. Carracedo recalls that the DNA that reached him was tremendously degraded, and he too distanced himself from the project. Moreover, he refuses to comment on Lorente’s new results until there is a serious scientific study published in a specialized journal. The response of the Max Planck Institute geneticist to questions from EL PAÍS were similar: “I am sorry, my group stopped working on this in 2005 and I have not heard anything about the most recent results,” said Stoneking.

According to geneticist Antonio Alonso, “It is not the done thing for data that the scientific community has not yet endorsed to be presented to society, as it puts the data itself at risk as well as the proposed theory.” Alonso is also surprised by the absence of experts from the U.S. and Australia in the film whose contribution Lorente describes as essential. “Here there is too much protagonism from only one scientist. Neither the Granada team nor the collaborating ancient DNA laboratories in California and Adelaide, which are said to be of great importance in the success of the analyses, appear in the film,” he points out. Recently retired, Alonso is one of Spain’s leading experts in forensic genetics. He worked on the identification of the victims of Madrid’s 11-M terror attacks; on the investigation of dozens of reports of alleged baby thefts; on the recognition of Spanish Civil War victims and even on the attempts to find the remains of the writer Miguel de Cervantes. He claims that the documentary Columbus DNA does not speak to him as a scientist. “We do not know which DNA regions were analyzed, nor the technology used in the analysis, nor the results obtained, which makes it impossible to make a correct assessment of the findings,” he says.

Alonso explains that there are clusters of genetic variants called haplotypes or haplogroups that tend to be inherited together and may be characteristic of certain family lineages, but he adds that they often coincide with those of other groups in historically Jewish or non-Jewish populations. “In any case, having a genealogy, a haplogroup or a haplotype of Jewish or Sephardic ancestry does not call into question Columbus’ birthplace in Genoa as stated by historical sources, nor does it tell us anything about the religious beliefs professed by the generations of relatives close to Columbus,” he says.

Rodrigo Barquera is a Mexican expert in archeogenetics at the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology. Barquera has conducted DNA studies of human remains prior to the arrival of Europeans in America, such as those of children sacrificed by the Maya at Chichén-Itzá in Mexico. The researcher is very critical of the fact the data have been presented via a documentary, and without the backing of a serious scientific article reviewed by independent experts, especially given the enormous interest in the figure of Christopher Columbus and his origins. “Normally, the article is sent to a scientific journal,” he says. “The journal assigns an editor and at least three independent reviewers who rate the paper and decide if it is scientifically valid. If it is, it is published, and then the rest of the scientific community can say whether they agree or not. Putting it on a screen, removed from this process and with all the media focus on it, makes it difficult for the scientific community to say anything about it.”

Antonio Salas heads the Population Genetics in Biomedicine team at Santiago de Compostela’s Health Investigation Institute. “The documentary promised to focus on DNA analysis, as suggested by its title Columbus DNA: His True Origins,” he says. “However, the genetic information it offers is very limited. Only at the end is it mentioned that the only thing that was recovered from the presumed remains of Christopher Columbus was a partial profile of the Y chromosome. The problem is that the Y chromosome represents only a tiny fraction of our DNA and our ancestry.” “The documentary rushes to a conclusion that Christopher Columbus was a Sephardic Jew originally from the Spanish Levant. This hypothesis is, to say the least, surprising: there is no Y chromosome that can be uniquely defined as Sephardic-Jewish,” argues Salas. “Even if all of an individual’s DNA were recovered, it would still be impossible to reach definitive conclusions about his or her exact geographic origin.

So when science seems to much more aligned with Columbus not being why then is everyone reporting him as Jewish. And why do goyim keep blaming every evil deed, every action, every evil choice and every evil person on Jews?

[useless-catalanfacts]

Mallorcan Miku wearing the demon outfit for Sant Antoni festivities!

Art by @/rainbowcraftuli on Twitter.

[lvmoure]

The Man Who Can't Be Moved CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x ex!reader

Summary: In which Carlos still haven't moved on.

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, break up

Carlos regretted leaving you.

Mallorca 2019

The day was warm, a typical Mallorcan sun casting its golden rays over the sparkling blue sea, the sand beneath your feet hot but soothing. You squinted as the salty breeze tousled your hair, making you laugh and brush it away, your cheeks already tinged with sunburn. You weren't sure what had compelled you to agree to Lando's impromptu invitation to spend a weekend in Spain with his friend. Maybe it was the pull of adventure or just the excuse to escape for a few days.

You noticed Lando first, laughing as he called your name from the water, his voice breaking through the gentle murmur of the waves. But then you saw him. Carlos Sainz was a striking figure even in the simplicity of swim trunks, his tousled brown hair catching the sun's light, and his eyes—dark, intense—locking onto you with an easy, curious smile.

"Carlos, this is my friend," Lando introduced, his grin a bit too wide, like he knew something you didn’t.

Carlos extended his hand, the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Encantado de conocerte,” he said smoothly, his voice rich and warm, as if it had soaked up the Spanish sun along with him.

That day stretched into laughter-filled hours. You went swimming together, raced on the sand (he let you win once, although you both knew he could have easily outrun you), and had an effortless conversation as the sky shifted from blue to warm amber. Carlos seemed captivated by your stories, genuinely listening, occasionally pausing to repeat what you said in Spanish, as if savoring every word.

Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky blushed with hues of pink and purple, Carlos invited you to a quiet bar nearby. There, the two of you laughed over shared tapas, his hand grazing yours accidentally-on-purpose, both of you pausing as if holding on to that fleeting touch.

“I didn’t expect to meet someone like you,” he said, his voice softer now, vulnerable in a way that felt rare.

You looked at him, half-smiling, unsure of where this day would lead but already lost in the warmth of his gaze.

Months later

The months after that first meeting were a blur of stolen moments, weekend getaways, and countless whispered confessions. But somehow, you sensed a shift—a silent tremor that grew louder with each passing day. And when Carlos finally asked to meet you at a secluded café, you felt that cold weight settling in your chest.

He was fidgeting with his coffee cup, eyes downcast, his usual confidence absent. “I don’t know how to say this,” he started, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

“Just say it, Carlos,” you whispered, though every fiber of you screamed against hearing the words that would come next.

His eyes met yours, filled with a painful honesty. “I… I don’t feel the same way anymore.” His voice cracked, betraying the weight of those words.

The silence was unbearable, heavy with the unspoken memories of every laugh, every kiss, every whispered secret. You struggled to keep your voice steady, but the words tumbled out, raw and desperate. “What happened, Carlos? We were… we were happy. You said you loved me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you knew too well. “I thought I did. I… I don’t know when it changed, but it did.”

You fought back tears, but the hurt was a storm raging inside. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave? Just because you’re… unsure?”

“Por favor, entiéndeme…” he whispered, voice soft but firm. “I can’t stay in something I don’t feel in my heart. It’s not fair to you, either.”

Your anger flared, bitter and sharp. “Fair? Since when did love become about being fair, Carlos? You don’t just stop feeling… not like this.”

He reached for your hand, and you pulled back, his touch too painful to bear. “I wanted this to be forever, you know? I thought we were real.”

Carlos’s face softened, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I did, too. But sometimes…” he paused, searching for words, “sometimes, things change, even if we don’t want them to.”

“Then maybe you should have fought harder,” you whispered, voice broken.

And with that, you left, the echo of his “Lo siento,” fading as you walked away, knowing you’d just left behind a part of yourself that would never fully heal.

Five years later

Five years later, Carlos found himself standing at the edge of that same beach where you’d first met. The memories hit him like waves crashing against rocks, each one sharper than the last. The laughter, the warmth in your eyes, the effortless joy you’d shared—each memory cut deeper, filled with a regret that had settled in his chest like a permanent ache.

The beach looked the same. The sun still blazed down, the waves still rolled in with their familiar rhythm, but something felt off, missing. You weren’t there. And in the empty space where you’d once been, all he could feel was the gnawing weight of regret.

Walking to the bar where you’d shared tapas that night, he slid into the same booth, ordering the same dishes out of some foolish hope that it might summon your memory more fully. “Un vino tinto, por favor,” he muttered absently to the bartender, glancing at the empty seat across from him.

His phone buzzed, and he opened a text from Lando, the only person who knew he was here. “Is this really a good idea, mate?” it read.

Carlos sighed, fingers hovering over the keys as he typed, “I just wanted to remember. I can’t help it.”

Lando’s reply was quick. “A piece of advice, mate, sometimes, memories are best left in the past.”

Carlos leaned back, closing his eyes. If only it were that simple. The truth was, he had never really let go of you. He had moved on, or so he’d told himself, but in the quiet moments, it was your face he still saw, your laugh he still heard, your touch he still craved. He had thought he’d be better off, but now, all these years later, all he could feel was the emptiness that had filled the space you left behind.

Just as Carlos was about to leave, he saw you. You walked into the bar, your hair a little different, your style more mature, but still unmistakably you. And then he saw it—the ring on your finger, glinting faintly in the low light. His heart sank, a bitter taste creeping into his mouth, but he managed a small smile as you spotted him and approached, surprise in your eyes.

“Carlos,” you said, voice soft, almost as if saying his name was too heavy.

“Hola,” he replied, his voice steady though his heart was far from calm.

The conversation started polite, cautious, as if you both were afraid of stepping on the remains of what once was. You shared snippets of your lives, your accomplishments, your families, and he listened, holding onto each word, knowing this was all he’d ever have again.

And then, after a beat, you hesitated, glancing down at your ring. “I’m getting married in a few months,” you said softly.

Carlos forced a smile. "Wow, congratulations,” he said, his voice betraying nothing but the bitterness he felt inside.

He tried to ignore the pang of jealousy, the gnawing regret, but it was impossible. Still, he wasn’t the man to stand in your way, not now, not after he had been the one to walk away all those years ago.

“Maybe we could still be friends,” you offered, your eyes kind, yet distant.

Carlos managed a nod, swallowing hard. “Yes. Friends,” he echoed, the word feeling foreign and wrong on his tongue.

And as you walked away, he couldn’t help but wonder what could have been if he’d only known then what he did now. But for now, this was all he’d have left—the memory of what you once had, fading into the salty breeze as you disappeared from his sight.

[nytb]

Flying Private

Being a public figure came with a price – little to no privacy, secrecy, crazy paparazzi – it seamed to be a nightmare, but hidden in-between it’s flaws Alexia found some perks.

The Catalan star’s crazy schedule didn’t help her private life, love life out of the window – for now – Alexia focused on her public appearances, helping women’s football grow.

Trip to Paris here, quick appearance in Rome, little interview in London – Alexia was everywhere.

Behind the scenes, a key piece of the puzzle; Y/N Y/L/N. Joan Laporta’s loyal pilot. They had grown close over the years and when Joan became Fc Barcelona’s president – for a second time – he invited Y/N on the journey.

And so it began, Y/N flew all Barcelona players to every corner in the world; preseason in the USA, basketball games here, European football matches there. Y/N was crucial for Fc Barcelona to keep everyone’s public appearances up while allowing them to get the optimal rest before crucial games.

With Y/N’s little vacation possibilities, Laporta offered the pilot a compromise – whenever the plane was land-bound Y/N was able to do as she pleased. The possibility to travel all over the world, stay at the best hotels, eat the best food; it was Y/N’s dream job.

Unluckily for Y/N, the latest trip to Madrid came with a personal compromise; Y/N had to step in and replace a security member’s role.

All plans out the window now, the loyal pilot followed orders to a T – shadowing the Catalan star during the three day trip, keeping an eye out during meals, making sure that whenever Alexia sneaked out she returned safe and sound.

That night the midfielder’s annoyance at the lack of personal space was noticeable – add that she was in a foul mood and you get an explosive combination; and explode she did. Now safe and sound at the hotel, both Alexia and Y/N were at the bar. The pilot kept a safe distance from the midfielder.

“Is shadowing people like you’re a lost puppy a habit of yours or have you reserved it only for me?” Alexia asked as she approached the pilot, annoyance in her tone.

“I see that your evening has calmed down – for now at least – I will leave you with the remaining security team.” Y/N replied, pointing to the two security guards of the hotel, downing the rest of her drink she added “And seen as how you’re in a foul mood, I will take this opportunity to go and get my well deserved rest in”

The indifference that radiated off of Y/N’s voice was palpable, many people would describe it as cocky – arrogant even – but Alexia found it intriguing.

The Catalan star grew accustomed to everyone treating her a certain way; admiration and love in their voices whenever someone approached her, but Y/N? The pilot treated Alexia like she was any other Joe in the world.

Sitting at the bar now, the midfielder was dumbfounded – watching how the pilot walked away, not even looking back once – she was bamboozled.

Replaying the interaction over and over, Alexia was stuck looking for ways to get back in the good graces of the pilot. The midfielder knew she had to apologize for her bad behavior.

Early in the morning, Alexia made her way to one of Spain’s most famous bakeries: El Riojano. Getting some delicious Spanish pastries, among them Y/N’s favorite: ensaimada, a mallorcan specialty. Alexia made her way back to the hotel – crossing path with the pilot at reception, Y/N didn’t say a word.

Later on, as everyone boarded the private jet headed back to Barcelona, Alexia carefully placed the paper bag filled with pastries on the seat closest to the cabin. At first, Y/N looked at the bag from afar but as she made her way to the front of the plane, she inspected it – looking for it’s owner.

“Is this anybodies?” The pilot asked, looking around a sneaky Putellas popped her head up “I got those for you, a little gift to make up for my behavior yesterday” the midfielder sneaked a cheeky smile in.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t display indifference towards the Barcelona star “Thank you, they are my favorite” the pilot stated to which, very quietly – as Y/N made her way to the cabin – the midfielder whispered “I know”

And thus a tradition was born. During the season, Alexia would go out of her way to purchase Y/N’s favorite pastries, placing them on the seat closest to the cabin. It was their little ritual.

One morning – on one of Fc Barcelona Femenis champions league trips – the team discretely inspected Alexia’s delivery.

“What was that about?” Pati asked, taking the seat besides the Catalan midfielder “What was what?” Alexia played it cool, but her face spoke louder. The midfielder was blushing, looking everywhere but into Patri’s eyes.

“Feeling shy?” Mapi mocked her captain.

This was new for everyone – Alexia included. Usually, she was the bold, direct type; but with Y/N she forgot how to act. Luckily for the midfielder, Y/N was oblivious to the mocking – and as she made her way to the cabin – the pilot picked the little paper bag up, taking one of the ensaimada out and straight into her mouth it went. Sending Alexia a thank you head-nod as she greeted the co-pilot.

It all made sense now.

“OMG” Pina was shocked “You’re sleeping with our pilot??” the mini Putellas asked, the rest of the team waited anxiously for an answer.

“It’s not like that” Alexia defended her situation “I – I just”

Mapi came in like a bolder, mockingly nudging at her captain’s arm “She might have done her ACL in, but girly is still out here scoring” the defender joked.

“Shhhh” Putellas was embarrassed, not wanting Y/N to hear any of the teams shenanigans – for however true they were – she distracted them.

“Yeah yeah… maybe it would be best” Paños stepped in “We wouldn’t want the pilot to be distracted” she further mocked.

Part 2