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shesimsplayer · 18 days ago

Text

My savefile ♡ in progress...

Playable worlds

♡ Brindleton Bay ♡ Britechester ♡ Chestnut Ridge ♡

♡ Del Sol Valley ♡ Henford-on-Bagley ♡ Magnolia Promenade ♡

♡ Mt. Komorebi ♡ Oasis Springs ♡ San Myshuno ♡

♡ San Sequoia ♡ Sulani ♡ Tartosa ♡ Windenburg ♡

Henford-on-Bagley Finchwick

♡ Casa Del Rosario Restaurant by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Scandi family house by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 20 x 20)

Old New Henford

♡ Snowfalls Tree Farm by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 64 x 64)

♡ Comeback Hideaway by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Hilltop Vineyard by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Christmas trees farm by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 50 x 40)

The Bramblewood

♡ Farmhouse-Villa Arniano by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Small Scandi home by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Glass, Steel and Stone house by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Henford House Hotel & Spa by @bbygyal123 (lot size 30 x 20)

Oasis Springs Skyward Palms

♡ Rock Steady Restaraunt by @kimorasimz (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Club Tropics by @rheya28 (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Oasis Springs Villa by @farfallasims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Springscape house by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 30 x 20)

Acquisition Butte

♡ Amonfara Resort & Spa by @plantyl-m (lot size 50 x 50)

♡ School of Fashion by @rheya28 (lot size 40 x 30)

Mirage Canyon

♡ The Evergreen Thrift and Bubble Tea Store by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ The Oasis Restaraunt by @rheya28(lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Elysian Wellness Studio by @bougiechloe(lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Red Mirage Nightclub by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

Parched Prospect

♡ The Oasis Apartments by @farfallasims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Pearly Pavilion by @plantyl-m (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Paradise Palm Villa by @farfallasims (lot size 20 x 15)

♡ The Palm Restaraunt by @simstorian-blog (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Oasis Bowling and Restaraunt by @annasiims (lot size 40 x 30)

Bedrock Strait

♡ Golden Gate Apartments by @farfallasims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Midcentury modernish villa @kasakokos ( lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Serene Studios by @farfallasims (lot size 20 x 15)

♡ Ink Heart tatto shop by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

Desert Bloom Park

♡ Langraab mansion by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 50 x 50)

San Sequoia Anchorpoint Wharf

♡ Ice Skating Rink by cokicreative (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Cafe Nola by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 30)

♡ ION* Apartments by @pixelglam (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ San Sequoia Restaurant by @amanda-plays (lot size 30 x 20)

Gilbert Gardens

♡ SBA Stadium by @beulahsdaisy (lot size 64 x 64)

♡ Smytten Restaurant by @plantyl-m (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Matcha&Co Boba Shop & The Urbz Thrift Store by @bbygyal123 (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ NO.5 Fixler house by @jakkkuu (lot size 40 x 20)

Hopewell Hills

♡ San Sequoia family restaurant by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Le Petit Parc by @simsphonysims (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Le Cafe Vert by @bougiechloe (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ HARRIELIGHT store by @jakkkuu (lot size 30 x 30)

Sulani Mua Pel'am

♡ Lua Pele Villa by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Resting Ruins by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Minimalistic cliff house by @simsphonysims (lot size 50 x 50)

Ohan'ali Town

♡ Black Pearl by baelaisa (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Rockbound Rebirth by baelaisa (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Ocean View Cafe by @vixonspixels (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Gallery summer house by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ The Beaufort Boil | Restaurant by @vixonspixels (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Traditional Malay house by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 30)

Lani St. Taz

♡ Sulani Reef Villa by @kekeyw (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Sulani Spa and Resort by @bojanastarcevic & baelaisa (lot size 50 x 50)

♡ Sunplay Retreat by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Modern Beach House by evarotky (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Modern Luxury House by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 40 x 30)

Tartosa Porto Luminoso

♡ Tartosa Grand Hotel by @rheya28 (lot size 50 x 50)

♡ The Abandoned Chapel (Wedding Venue) by @honeybellabuilds(lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Tartosa Wellness and Spa by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Florence Motel by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Baia Dell'Amore Restaurant by @kekeyw (lot size 40 x 20)

Terra Amorosa

♡ Mediterranean house by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 30x20)

♡ Mediterranean beach house by @simsphonysims (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Via Romanza Restaurant by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 30)

♡ Mediterranean house by @simsphonysims (lot size 40 x 30)

Windenburg Windslar

♡ Balançoire Cottage by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ 14 Nettle Lane Mansion by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ The Hunting Pavilion by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ English Cottage by @farfallasims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Scoop Ice Cream Parlour by @bbygyal123 (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ The Orangery Bar and Lounge by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 64 x 64)

♡ Windenburg* Museum by @simsjii (lot size 40 x 30)

The Crumbling Isle

♡ Bloom Garden & Cafe by @rheya28 (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Solo House by @comfys (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Driftwood Summer Home by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Widenburg Family Home by @diawhims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Villa am Bergsee by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 64 x 64)

Olde Platz

♡ Mayfair Residences by @farfallasims (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Classic Townhouses by @pixelglam (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Heritage Square Townhomes by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ The Coignet by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Sanctus Dominus Church by @simsjii (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ L'Avventura Restaraunt by @aashwarr (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Classic Townhouses by @biancml (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Grace Dance Studio by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

Lykke Centre

♡ Bay Coast Tennis Club by @biancml (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ BLUSH Beauty Salon by @aashwarr (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Baroque Townhouse by @pixelplayground (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Royal Opera House by @lizourisims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ The Crown "Gentlemen's Club" by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 30)

The Bluffs

♡ Mountatin Peak Retreat by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 30)

Map replacement by 20thcenturyplumbob

last update 17/11/2024

#sims world #save file #sims 4 save file #my save file #builds #tartosa #windenburg #oasis springs #san sequoia

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pascalispretty · 4 months ago

Text

history stopped in 1936

Javi G x F!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst, Spanish Civil War AU, war and its horrors, brief and vague descriptions of sex, it's implied that Javi and reader are speaking Spanish the entire time, references to drinking and smoking, unbeta'd so please be gentle!

Summary: The Spanish Civil War threatens the slice of paradise you and Javi have found together. (AO3)

A/N: Hoo boy. This was written for @studioghibelli's writing challenge, and the moment I saw the moodboard, I knew I wanted to do something Atonement-inspired. You don't need to know who the opposing sides were in the war, but if you'd like to learn more, I'd recommend George Orwell's "Homage to Catalonia". The title comes from an essay of his. As always my love to @misscharlielulu for her support.

Mallorca, August 1936

Spain burns and, across the Balearic Sea, rumours are carried like ash on the wind.

You and Javier had fled Barcelona in the middle of the night, just after St Jordi’s Day. The streets had still been littered with rose petals as you had made your way to the docks, and the waiting ship. The atmosphere in Barcelona had grown tense, shimmering with electricity like the air just before a thunderstorm.

In July, your fears had been vindicated when news trickled across the sea, whispers of a violent uprising. Nobody could say for certain who had seized power – the anarchists, the communists, the Carlists, or some as-yet-unknown political spectre.

By contrast to the news reports that trickled over from the mainland, Mallorca felt safe. The ocean separating the island from the peninsula made the war feel further away, something that was happening in another world. Even when Barcelona fell or when, days later, Franco invaded with his African army in Seville - it all felt so far away, separated by miles of sparkling blue water.

On your island sanctuary, you and Javi managed to find a measure of happiness. Reminders of the war were never far away, and you were all probably smoking and drinking too much, but it didn’t matter. You could still watch movies on the projection reel he’d bought before he met you. Tucked up against Javi’s side, watching Clark Gable or Errol Flynn, you could forget the war on the mainland entirely.

It was only when the war came to Mallorca that you realised how deluded you had been.

With censored newspapers and downed radio communications, rumours run like wildfire across the island. Days after Seville falls, the stableboys hear that the Republicans have landed on the east coast – the housekeeper tells Marta that it’s Russians sent by Stalin, and the man who delivers the mail insists its Italians. There’s fighting in the streets of Palma and to the ports in the east, but nobody can agree on who exactly is fighting who.

You clean up after breakfast, a hastily made pa amb tomàquet that masks the staleness of the bread. Even for a family as rich as the Gutierrez’s, you cannot waste food anymore.

They say the fighting is in Palma, and Porto Cristo. Drawn onto a map, the Gutierrez villa would form the apex of the triangle; it’s about as far away from the fighting as you can get while still being on dry land. You try to breathe. It’s just another Tuesday morning. You’re breaking leftover breadcrusts into a bowl for the dogs when Javi appears.

“Leave that, my love. Come out into the garden with me?” He asks, wrapping a large hand around your wrist. You don’t need much convincing; you wipe your hands down on a towel and twine your fingers with your husband’s as you walk out across the patio to the greenery beyond.

The gardens are a riot of colour. In the hazy, golden light of summer, the colours seem almost over-saturated. It’s a world away from the dark, medieval splendour of Barcelona. Foxgloves and red poppies and bright marigolds fill the carefully planned beds around the pond, a riot of Technicolour hues that somehow work beautifully in concert.

In the sunlight, Javi’s curls look gilded; he glows, in spite of the anxiety furrowing his brow. A stone bench sits beneath a gazebo, and he leads you over there. The wooden structure is heavy with jasmine; the smell perfumes the air, blending with the salt of the nearby sea.

“Is something wrong, Javi? Is it Marta?” You ask, worry colouring your voice. Javi’s mother, Marta, was a complicated woman. She had loathed Lucas, her nephew by marriage, but had been unable to get out of bed for days when news had reached her that he had been taken into Montjuïc Castle as a prisoner. Even across the ocean, you had come to know that nobody came out of Montjuïc alive.

Javi shakes his head, his hand cupping your elbow as he guides you to sit down on the bench beside him. Even now, it’s unlike him to look so morose.

“I’ve been talking to my father.” This much you already knew. One of the stableboys had come to fetch Javi in the middle of breakfast: his father had requested his son ride out with him. Whatever they discussed, it’s knocked your husband’s relentless optimism, and that worries you more than anything.

You hold Javi’s hands and wait patiently for him to tell you what’s bothering him, but he seems unable to find the words. Your mind careers from calamity to disaster in his silence. Someone somewhere has issued a warrant for Javi’s arrest. The army is on the move and will reach the cliffs by nightfall. His father, Jordi, has had another heart attack.

“My father- that is, my father and I-” Javier starts. You squeeze his fingers, your heart beating a rapid tattoo in your rising panic.

“Please, Javi, just tell me,” you plead. He looks out over the cliffs and his shoulders slump resignedly.

“My father thinks you should leave.” A punch to the gut could not have winded you more. You sit there, blinking at him like an idiot, unable to understand what he just said.

“My father thinks you need to leave, and I do too.” He turns away from the ocean, cupping your face in his hand and forcing you to look into your eyes. “You need to leave Mallorca, leave Spain. Tonight if possible.”

“You want to send me away?” You manage, sounding rather more pathetic than you’d hoped. Javi shakes his head, his lovely brown eyes full of sorrow.

“I want you to be safe. And it’s not safe here, not for you.”

“It’s no more dangerous for me than-”

“It is more dangerous for you. The worst thing they do to men is shoot them.” The unspoken implication hangs unpleasantly in the air. Javi sighs and glances back towards the house. “My father thinks he can persuade my mother to leave.” You want to scream. You want to ask who made Jordi such an authority, who made him king of his own tiny dominion and gave him the power to dismiss you.

In your gut, you know Javier’s father is right. He’s been weathering the storms of Spanish politics since before you were born, a wily fox of a man who had declared months ago that the political powderkeg was about to explode.

“I won’t leave you,” you insist, your voice firmer now. Jordi might be right; an army will come here someday. But you’d rather face them than abandon your family. “Until death do us part, Javi.”

“Please, sweetheart. It would only be for a little while. The war can’t last forever.” He manages a smile; a soft, crooked grin that wants to make you give in. You’d do so much to make him smile again.

“Your father will never get Marta to leave. She won’t leave him, and you won’t leave them.” The half-smile falls from Javi’s face.

“They’re old, sweetheart. I need to take care of them. But you – you’re strong. I know you can do this. You’ll go somewhere safe, and as soon as we’ve weathered this storm, you’ll come back.” Both of his hands are cupping your face now. Somewhere overhead, seagulls are screaming. His optimism makes you want to scream too.

“No, Javi, no, I can’t-” you start again, clutching his wrists in your hands.

“You can, you must,” he talks over you. In frustration you pull away, marching over the grass towards the house. One of Marta’s cats yowls at you as you pass it, pleading for attention, but you’re too upset to pay it any mind. Javi is hot on your heels, by turns pleading and stern. The door to your bedroom bangs against the wall as you fling it open.

You want space, but Javi won’t give it to you. He’s in your face, his hands roaming over you, clutching at your shoulders, your arms, your wrists. His rosy view of the world had been charming when you’d first met – now it makes you angry beyond words.

“I’m not leaving you,” you insist sharply, bringing your hands up to push your husband away from you. His hands circle your wrists instead, refusing to let you escape. “I’m not leaving you!” You repeat it in English, in your broken Catalan, in French. You tell him over and over in as many languages as you know, all the while struggling to break free of his hold.

The kiss takes you by surprise. He keeps one hand at your wrists; the other cups the back of your head. There’s no elegance to the kiss. He presses his mouth to yours, full lips meeting your own, your breath mingling with his. You’d almost think he’d done it deliberately to throw you off balance, if not for the surprised little intake of breath he makes.

“You are leaving tonight,” he says, once he’s broken the kiss. His fingertips grip the nape of your neck, your foreheads press together. You try to shake your head against his, but his hand at your neck grips tighter. “If I have to throw you into the boat myself, you’re leaving tonight.”

“I’ll hate you forever if you do.” It’s a childish assertion. His soft brown eyes fill with quiet devastation, and you immediately want to take it back.

“I’d rather have you hate me and survive than love me and die.” The two of you grapple again; him trying to keep his hold on you as you try to escape his grip. You have no real notion of why you want to break free – you could hardly hide in a cabinet until he gave up and allowed you to stay.

When the two of you tumble back onto the bed, it is an accident. You had tried to kick out with your legs, but had only succeeded in knocking you both off balance. His arms wrap around you as you lie on top of him, doing your best to squirm free and failing miserably.

You and Javi rarely argue. Any petty squabbles you do have are usually easily and quickly resolved. And when you do fight, you’ve gotten used to burning out that tension with sex.

So it feels like the most natural thing in the world to start pulling his shirtfront open. He takes your cue, his hands falling from your wrists and setting to work on the buttons of your dress. There’s a frantic energy to you both; for all you had been fighting him before, you can’t pull him close enough now. Your hands itch with the need to touch him, to memorise every inch and curve of him before he sends you away.

You sink your fingers into his curls and drag him down closer. It’s not making love, not the soft, slow sex that you and Javi usually have. This is something harsher, more demanding. The bedframe rattles with the force of your movements, and you know you should be embarrassed. The servants or Javi’s parents could hear, your actions unmistakable when the noise of the bed combines with the moans escaping from you both.

When you’ve both come, and are lying satiated in each other’s arms, the fire has gone out of your conversation. Javi rests his head on your breasts, humming contentedly as you play with his curls. You admire the Monet painting that faces the bed, the hazy floral landscape that you wish for all the world you and your husband could escape into. The canvas lilies almost seem to sway in the breeze with the haze of heat rising through the room.

“What if you forget me?” You say softly. As much as you know Javi loves you, you can’t deny that the thought scares you. That you will leave, but after long years of war, Javi will have moved on. He’ll find some pretty Mallorquin girl that never went into exile and never come to rescue you from your banishment.

“I could never forget you,” Javi says, tilting his head back to look at you. Those beautiful eyes of his are so full of sorrow that you want to cry yourself.

“You say that. What if this war lasts as long as the Great War? Longer?”

“It doesn’t matter. ‘If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever’,” he says in English.

“Byron?” You ask, and he shakes his head. Of course he would quote poetry at a time like this.

“Tennyson. It’s true. I could fill the whole island with flowers, all the thinking of you I shall do while we’re parted.” Javi’s hands rest on your thighs, his thumbs stroking lazy circles onto your skin.

“Wouldn’t that be something to behold. A whole island, full of flowers. You could live four lifetimes and never run out of scenery to paint.”

“I would write to you every day, you know,” Javier manages eventually. You know he would. Javi has always had an excellent turn of phrase – there were half-drafted screenplay ideas all over your apartment in Barcelona.

“And one letter in twenty might reach me,” you retort. The postal service hasn’t exactly been running efficiently of late, never mind the inevitable censorship everything seems to be going through.

“I would keep you here with me if there was any way I could be sure you’d be safe.” He says gently, and you sigh. “And I would like you to go willingly. But you’re going either way, I’m afraid.” Even issuing orders, there’s undeniable tenderness to it.

“Between the both of us, we might fill all of Europe with flowers.” You try to imagine it; two paths of flowers creeping across the continent, growing every time you and Javi think of one another.

“The whole world, even.” Javier clutches a little tighter at your thighs, and you can hear tears thickening his voice. You hold each other tighter, and you know now that neither of you will loosen your grip until the very last moment.

****

Later, there will be a forget-me-not pressed into your hand as you and Javi say your final goodbyes at the dock. Your clothes are weighted down by the money and jewellery sewn into the hems, but it’s the flower you treasure the most. You refuse to cry as you sail away; you stare insistently at the dock, long after Javier has faded from your sight. You know he’ll be doing the same, standing on the pier and keeping a watchful eye on the horizon until the sky starts to lighten with the dawn.

Later, in spite of your denials, there will be letters. Javi writes to you often, mostly of trivial, household matters that won’t be censored. In every one he tells you how the gardens are growing. In every one, there is a flower drawn into the margin. You hoard them like a dragon hoards gold; when your homesickness makes you feel physically ill, you surround yourself with his letters and tracing the lines of his pen.

Later, there will be a screenplay. It’s smuggled off the island and brought directly to you by a man who only speaks brusque Catalan, and you nearly weep just to hear the language spoken again. The screenplay bears a pseudonym – Javier Peña – but every line is clearly your Javi’s work. It tells of a great love story flourishing in the face of a brutal war, of love conquering all. You cry over the last twenty pages, a handkerchief clasped to your face so you don’t smudge the ink.

Later, the war will end. Spain will survive, though she will not be saved. You will never walk through a garden of flowers without thinking of Javi.

****

“But what really happened? The answer is simple: the lovers survive and flourish.” – Ian McEwan, Atonement

TAGLIST:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse @totallynotastanacc

#studioghibelliswritingchallenge #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g #javi gutierrez #the unbearable weight of massive talent

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