#archipelagoes

[phonemantra-blog]

For decades, summer vacations were synonymous with basking on scorching beaches and soaking up the sun. However, a new trend is emerging, driven by a growing desire for cooler climes and a more relaxed travel experience. Enter "Coolcationing," a travel phenomenon placing Sweden at the forefront of summer getaways. Sunburnt and Restless? Sweden Offers the Perfect Colocation Travelers are increasingly seeking destinations offering pleasant temperatures, scenic landscapes, and a laid-back atmosphere. This shift is a direct response to the record-breaking heat waves witnessed in recent years. As Rick Jordan, a travel writer for Condé Nast Traveler (a leading travel magazine), aptly points out, vacationers are prioritizing comfort and a chance to truly unwind. Escape the Heat and Embrace the Swedish Sweden, along with its Nordic neighbors, is perfectly positioned to capitalize on this trend. The country boasts stunning natural beauty, and moderate summer temperatures averaging between 20-25°C (68-77°F) in the south, with occasional highs reaching around 30°C (86°F). Unlike traditional sun-drenched destinations, Sweden offers a refreshing escape from the heat, allowing visitors to fully enjoy outdoor activities without succumbing to scorching temperatures. The allure of Sweden extends beyond its comfortable climate. The country's idyllic archipelagos, dotted with picturesque islands like Gotland and Öland, offer a haven of tranquility. These island paradises boast minimal rainfall, making them ideal for beach lovers seeking pristine coastlines and crystal-clear waters. For those venturing further inland, Sweden's mountainous regions provide a welcome respite, with valleys offering a cooler microclimate and stunning vistas. Sweden's Allure Stretches Beyond the Thermometer A recent study by Booking.com underscores the growing importance of climate change considerations in travel decisions. Over half (51%) of respondents indicated a preference for cooler destinations for their 2024 summer holidays. This trend aligns perfectly with Sweden's unique offerings. The study further highlights the desire for water-based activities, with 75% of respondents finding proximity to water inherently relaxing. Sweden's abundance of lakes, archipelagos, and extensive coastline caters perfectly to this yearning for aquatic escapes. The UK travel market exemplifies this shift towards "Coolcationing" in Sweden. Searches for Sweden from British travelers have witnessed a staggering 21% increase between 2019 and 2023 (source: Google). British holidaymakers are particularly drawn to Sweden's unique island getaways, innovative accommodation options like treehouses and ice hotels, and the emphasis on holistic wellness experiences. Searches for Swedish island vacations have skyrocketed by 66% in 2023 compared to the previous year, with beaches also experiencing a significant rise in popularity (up 39.5%). These statistics paint a clear picture: British travelers are increasingly seeking the tranquility and natural beauty Sweden offers. Beyond the Numbers: Sweden's Colocation Appeal in Action The growing interest in Swedish "Coolcations" is reflected in the rise of overnight stays in regions boasting proximity to water bodies. Skåne, a southern province famed for its 400 km (249 miles) of coastline, abundant sunshine, and pristine swimming spots, has seen a 6% increase in foreign overnight stays compared to 2019. Dalarna, home to the majestic 40 km (25 miles) long Lake Siljan, has witnessed an impressive 11% rise in foreign visitors opting for overnight stays. Similar trends are evident in Kalmar, a coastal town on the Baltic Sea, and the popular island of Öland, with a combined increase of 12% in foreign overnight stays. Even Blekinge, with its charming archipelago landscape, has experienced an 8% increase in foreign guest nights compared to 2019. The surge in foreign tourism extends beyond southern and central Sweden. Norrbotten, Sweden's northeasternmost province bordering Finland, is experiencing a rising tide of international visitors. This region boasts seemingly endless summer days, four archipelagos, and breathtaking natural landscapes. The growing popularity of Norrbotten highlights the broad appeal of Sweden's "cool" water destinations, encompassing extensive coastlines, serene lakes, and captivating archipelagos. Sweden: A Nature Lover's Paradise Sweden's natural beauty is a magnetic draw for travelers seeking a refreshing escape from the urban sprawl. Lush greenery, vibrant wildflowers, and a staggering 100,000 lakes create a playground for outdoor enthusiasts. Hikers can explore countless trails, while water sports enthusiasts can kayak, canoe, or boat across the pristine lakes and archipelagos.

[lgbtlunaverse]

"How did Shuro think he could marry Falin when he hated her brother?" you have to understand. Toshiro is from a whole different country. In his head he and Falin would move back to the Eastern Archipelago and they'd see Laios twice a year tops. You can pretend to get along with in-laws you don't like for a few days a year, people do that all the time.

The actual flaw in his plan– which shows he doesn't really understand either of the Touden siblings– is the fact that if the plot hadn't happened and Falin had for some reason said yes to his proposal, Laios would have packed his bags and moved away with them instantly.

[thepoisonjackal]

Seawings, Draco oceanica

Went for a mostly leopard seal look, with a bit of Mosasaur. I like how the pose came out. Their legs are very small and don't do much. How they fly is a mystery to all dragonkind and it's best not to question it.

Rainwings

[petitworld]

Ponza Island, Pontine Archipelago, Italy

[ash-tree-eyes]

audio recording by jonathan sims, head Archipelago of the magnus institute, london

[forged-in-kaoss]

ONE PIECE FAN LETTER dir. Megumi Ishitani

[pangeen]

" Simple dreams …" // © Ronald Söthje

[manessha545]

Cayo de Agua, Venezuela: Cayo de Agua (Water Key) is the name of an island in the eastern Caribbean Sea that geographically belongs to the Los Roques Archipelago and is administratively organized as part of the Federal Dependencies, Venezuela, in addition to being part of the National Park of the same name and the Miranda Island Territory, the name of this key has its origin in the fact that it has freshwater wells within it. Wikipedia

[orphiclovers]

Kaizenix arc is a perfect victim for my irresistible urge to put blorbo in an outfit

[allimili]

First Jam Cookie can be realll honest at times

[huariqueje]

Sandhamn - Oskar Bergman , 1918.

Swedish , 1879-1963

Watercolour , 54 x 36 cm.

[takenbtwind]

Been binging Tom Hiddleston media and I have an important chart for you all

[fawnnbinary]

this is what Sabaody was to me

[opalescent-cheetah]

"my blue, and your orange... I guess something will remember us." --River Song, Archipelago (The Ninth Doctor Adventures: Star-Crossed)

blue and orange.

orange and blue.

they are intertwined, always.

she is blue, like the TARDIS - his TARDIS, her second mother. blue like the diary modelled after it.

he is orange, like the life she breathed back into him, lifetimes sealed in a single kiss. (clock that blue light flare on river too-!!)

blue and orange. orange and blue. the colours where they come to life.

even his TARDIS interior is blue and orange: the echo of a timeline that still lingers in soft whispers.

from an artistic perspective, these colours were probably only used together so often because they're complementary, which can add depth and distinction to a shot. but still, it feels meaningful: they're complementary. just like river and the doctor. so different, and yet they look and work perfectly together.

now, if you'll allow me to stretch the point a little further, let's go back to lake silencio, at the junction where sand meets water:

(i'm calling this a stretch because i'm well aware the sand is more yellow than orange, lol. but those colours are analogous so... i figured the idea was worth keeping in)

she emerges from the water, so cold, so blue.

he descends from the sands, golden and warm.

they meet where land meets water, orange yellow meeting blue. he is the sun and she his sky, and at 5:02pm, the universe folds itself around them, curling in on the point where these colours converge.

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing.

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then.

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier.

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility.

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words.

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat.

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it.

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours.

-----------------

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat.

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away.

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry.

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–"

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine."

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry.

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting.

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam.

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[dream-world-universe]

Socotra, Republic of Yemen: Socotra or Saqatri is an island of Yemen in the Indian Ocean. Lying between the Guardafui Channel and the Arabian Sea and near major shipping routes, Socotra is the largest of the six islands in the Socotra archipelago. Since 2013, the island has been part of the Socotra Archipelago Governorate. Wikipedia