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randombush3 · 9 days ago

Text

busco lo de antes

alexia putellas x reader

prologue, que te quiero

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 5200

content warnings: brief mention of alcoholism

notes: i realised halfway through this that everyone's name (bar eli) begins with an 'a'. bit stupid of me tbh

The day you leave the hospital begins with the man in the bed beside you dying. Bodies surround him, first to save his life, then to remove him from the ward, and, after that, you are no longer dreading the thought of returning home.

Home. That might not be the word for it.

Alexia picks you up, all tentative questions and awkward smiles, and walks you to a shining Cupra that looks just as futuristic as the iPhone she takes out to show the nurses something or other. You want to ask about it but figure it’ll make her turn that pale shade she goes whenever she remembers you’re not quite you.

“Where’s Amaia?” you ask to distract yourself from the ache of your ribs where the cracks haven’t healed. The seatbelt of the car presses against the bruises on your chest, a stark reminder of what happened the last time you sat in a vehicle like this, but you can’t recall any of it and therefore it is almost like it never happened.

“School,” Alexia replies quietly, as though she is afraid to speak louder and scare you away. You feel a bit like an idiot at her response, because of course she is. It’s a weekday and that’s what children do. “I thought it best that she stayed somewhere else tonight, so you’ll see her tomorrow. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

A sense of protection befalls you. Even if you don’t remember her, she is your daughter. Yours. “Where is she staying?”

Alexia focuses on the road for a moment. Whether she is being cautious because of the accident or because she needs to stare broodily at something to fight off her tears, you’re not sure. She is turning into somewhere quiet: tree-lined streets and quiet curiosity. “Amaia,” Alexia takes a deep breath, “is staying with my mother, Eli. She used to look after her when you first moved to Barcelona.”

“Five years ago,” you tell her, hating how hopeful she looks at the tidbit of information. It has been learnt along with other important things, such as Amaia’s birthday and the details of your job. They provide brilliant health insurance, it turns out. “From… London?”

She nods. “Yeah. You told me once that you missed the sunshine of Spain as though you were from the south.” You can’t help the build up of guilt in your stomach as she smiles at the memory, choosing to watch as she parks the car in an underground garage. “Your firm has an office here.”

You unbuckle the seatbelt slowly, the strap peeling away from your bruised chest like a second skin. The pressure of it lingers, a phantom ache that settles alongside the sharpness in your ribs that make you crave the satisfaction of painkillers. Alexia is already outside the car, standing by the open door on your side, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. Her eyes flicker over you, the way they always do; cautious, worried, and like she’s afraid you might fall to pieces if she makes one wrong move.

Having stiffened over the course of the drive, you clamber rather elegantly out of the car. She doesn’t offer to help – doesn’t say a word – but her presence hums with restraint. The lift is an even quieter affair, save for the faint whir of machinery and the tap of Alexia’s thumb against her phone screen. There is a pause as she twists a key in the lock of the lift’s control panel, but then she goes back to her text messages. Without looking, she presses the button for the top floor, and up you go.

“It’s a penthouse,” she explains when the doors slide open into a spacious hallway. Her hesitation causes her to hang back, so you boldly take the first step towards a place you cannot recall. It smells faintly of lavender and freshly polished wood, and, despite not knowing much about Alexia, you fail to be surprised by the immaculacy of the place. The scent, however, stirs nothing in you.

It’s warm, bathed in late afternoon sunlight that spills through large windows. You take another step, pushing yourself to move further inside, but a rack of shoes – sizes varying – catches your attention and you slip your own off. There is a gap between two pairs of Nike trainers, but you elect to place them to the side, just in case that’s not where they go.

There are photos lining the walls, and the occasional piece of art (either child-drawn or watercolour paintings of various destinations you don’t remember visiting). And it’s nice. The kind of space you can tell someone loves because of the small things; plants thriving in mismatched pots, books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, pens scattered on the floor in front of the TV.

It feels like someone else’s life. That same imposterous sense you get when you walk through a showroom, wondering about the imaginary people who could live there.

Alexia locks something behind you (you’re not entirely sure of the security system of this place) and seems to hover until you turn around to face her. “We bought it together,” she says, her tone careful and deliberate, like she’s meticulously placing each word into existence. “A little over a year ago.”

Your stomach knots. “Together?”

Her nod does not hide how her smile falters. “Yes, we–” She swallows. “I was pretty much staying over at yours every night, but you said you wanted something that was ours. We spent months searching for somewhere and this felt… perfect. Amaia was sold the moment the agent mentioned the pool. She spent most of the summer out there.”

You pretend not to notice the cracks in her voice. You’re not sure for whose sake.

“Do you… do you remember it?” she asks, and her voice is so small, so terrified, that you feel like a monster when you shake your head.

Alexia’s smile doesn’t fall all at once. It wobbles, withering in stages; a dam straining under its weight before it gives way. She nods too quickly, eyes too wide, face frozen in painfully forced understanding. “That’s okay,” she says, too brightly, voice contorting, twisting like a knife inside of her. “It’s fine. You’re still healing. That’s what matters.”

It’s brittle and raw, the way her words hang in the air. Her mustered conviction makes it seem like saying them out loud will make them true, and you want to say something, anything, to take the sting away, but the sentences tumble down your throat like loose pebbles on an unclimbable mountain. Your ribs ache as you shift your weight, and the pain feels almost deserved. Alexia clears her throat and gestures vaguely towards the leather three-seater in the middle of the living space. “Sit.” It’s not a question. “I’ll make us some coffee. Or–” She catches herself, her voice weakening. “Do you want a coffee?”

And you hide your surprise at the question, because if Alexia and you have this life, this home together, she’d know you will always want a coffee. Maybe you are just as much a stranger to her as she is to you. From now on, at least.

“That was stupid, wasn’t it?” She laughs with a coarse hack, as though her throat is sore. “You will never say no to that. I started switching it out with decaf because you’d be vibrating by lunchtime.”

You offer her a smile although it feels like a betrayal to accept her kindness when your presence is clearly killing her.

She disappears into the kitchen and you lower yourself carefully onto the sofa. It’s soft, comfortable, but frustratingly unfamiliar. Your gaze drifts to the photos hanging on the wall. A picture of a smiling child in Alexia’s arms, holding up a World Cup trophy (2010 is more recent in your memory than most people’s). You’re there too, one hand on Alexia’s shoulder, grinning with teary eyes. You exuberate pride, and Alexia does too, beaming at the photographer as she holds on tightly to the little girl.

Amaia.

You glance away quickly, clawed by a guilty terror. The books on the coffee table are a haphazard mix: novels, colouring books, one thick volume of the history of Catalunya. A pair of sunglasses rests atop them – chic but not gaudily luxurious. You wonder if they’re yours.

“We loved this place.” You look up as Alexia sets a mug down on the coffee table in front of you, holding another in trembling hands as she perches on the edge of the armchair opposite. “You said it felt like a dream being here. We hadn’t expected to… get on so well.” Her gaze fixes just over your shoulder, eyes just as anguished as the breath she draws in. “And we used to sit here every night, when you could no longer be called by clients and Amaia was asleep. We’d plan. It could be anything, what we were doing that weekend, what we were doing in ten years. But I like planning and you knew that, so we’d talk about everything we wanted to do. You wanted to take Amaia to Bilbao. She hasn’t been there since she was a baby.”

You don’t know what to say, so you settle for an absent nod that lights a flare of agony.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, setting her mug down. Her voice breaks with the apology. “I didn’t mean to…” She swallows, the sound thick with tears she is trying to hold back. “I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to look at you and not see the person who–”

She cuts herself off, pressing a hand over her mouth as her shoulders shake.

Your heart lurches. “Alexia,” you murmur, her name foreign on your tongue. It’s the only thing you can think to offer, although it is woefully insufficient.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, swiping at her tears. “I told myself I was going to be strong for you, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to hold everything together when I feel like I’ve already lost you.” Her voice cracks and her hands clench into fists on her lap. “You’re here, but you’re not here. Do you know how–” She chokes on the words, her head dropping forwards. “Do you know how much that hurts?”

“Everyone I thought I loved is gone.” It’s the first time you have said it aloud. “Everything I knew is no longer true, or it is outdated with painful hilarity. And I have a daughter whose name I couldn’t even remember.”

“She’s named after your–”

“My mother.” Alexia looks at you, curiosity dulling the strength of her sobs. “They told me.” You pause. “I tried to call my father the second day I was awake.” She winces at the incoming story, aware of it because of the doctors and unsuspecting that you would mention it. “No one had thought to let me know that he died.”

“He–”

“He was an alcoholic, I found out.”

Palms rub her cheeks to clear the tears, and she sits up straighter. “You weren’t in contact by the time we met. You didn’t even go to his funeral.”

“And yet my fiancée neglected to bring it up.” Standing, you ignore the ache of a battered body. “If you don’t mind, I need to rest.” You hesitate, the sight of her tear-glossed eyes rooting you to the spot for one agonising moment. You force yourself to snap out of it. “I’m sure I’ll find the bedroom.”

…

Amaia prides herself on being deemed a ‘clever girl’. The teachers at school search for her hand in the air when no one else can find the answer, and all the grown-ups in her life include her in places most girls wouldn’t belong. Like the changing room at the Joan Gamper, where people say words she is not allowed to repeat (where Alexia sometimes joins in, and asks that she be a superspy and not let it slip to you that she has engaged in such incivility).

After training, when the mood is lighter and the air is heavy with laughter, the girls will ask why she hasn’t got her boots on, or chastise her for slacking on training when everyone else is muddy and tired. She always giggles at that, because it is a ridiculous notion that she’d be out there with them! But Amaia understands, even at her age, that this is special – sacred, even. She knows to be patient and wait for Alexia to finish leading, to switch back into Mamá Alexia, and to get on with her homework until she is given a reason to be distracted.

The last time she was there, Mapi had joked about teaching her to take long, bendy freekicks. Amaia had scrunched her nose and declared, self-assured and stubborn, that she will continue to prefer goalkeeping. Alexia always needs someone to practise against, and she is determined to prove herself a worthy opponent.

Alexia had laughed at that, a laugh so pure and proud that Amaia felt like the funniest girl in the world.

But tonight, Amaia isn’t at the training ground. She’s perched at the dining table in Yaya Eli's kitchen, her knees tucked under her chin, staring at a photograph stuck onto the fridge: herself, Alexia, and you. The picture is sunny and bright, taken on the beach last summer, but now, as she looks at her family, her stomach hurts.

“Are you going to eat that, petita?” Eli’s voice breaks her train of thought. The older woman gestures at the plate of tortilla and salad in front of Amaia, her face tired but kind.

She shakes her head. “Not hungry.”

Eli hums softly, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she walks over. A chair scrapes on the tiled floor as she makes room for herself to sit down, and then she is resting her hands gently on Amaia’s knees, a silent request for her to sit properly. “You’ve hardly eaten all day, Maieta. Què passa en aquest cervellet teu?”

Frowning, Amaia replies, “Do you think Alexia is sad?”

A beat passes, Eli caught between the truth and the comfort a white lie could bring. “I think,” she begins carefully, “that Alexia is feeling a lot of things right now. Just as I know you are.” She brushes a hand down Amaia’s back, willing the solemn tension in her spine to dissipate.

Amaia stares at the photo on the fridge. “Ama is so different.” Your smile is familiar. Yours. And she can’t remember the last time she saw it. “It’s like she’s not even there.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and two hearts ache because of just how much Amaia understands.

Quietly, Amaia asks her second question. “Does she still love me?”

Eli swallows her in a hug and cannot bring herself to ever let go.

…

A fortnight passes.

You sleep in your bedroom, Alexia in the spare. Amaia seems busy but, with no calendar on the fridge to tell you when things are, you have little idea as to what she is doing. You try to ask her about her day, making an effort to get to know her, but the conversation always turns stale, buckling under the weight of your guilt for its need and her discomfort at talking to someone so familiar like they are a stranger.

With no work and strict instructions to rest, there is not much to do between the declining doctor’s appointments and episodes of wallowing.

The penthouse is large and luxurious, but the walls soon grow tiresome.

Alexia bought you a new phone when you had been cleared to look at screens again. She had come back with something else in the bag too, something lost in the accident, but held off on gifting it. It sits in the corner of the room, its presence almost accusatory. You’re not an idiot, you know what it is. You suppose Alexia wants to choose when to open Pandora’s box. You allow her that control, that comfort. The phone, at least, has proven to be a necessary tether, though you’ve hesitated to use it for much more than practicalities (like looking up who the current Prime Minister is, embarrassingly). Today, though, alone and finished with the idea of sitting in a silent home like a guest overstaying their welcome, you muster the nerve to call one of the few numbers you’d bothered to save.

It takes three attempts to connect. The first time, you freeze when you hear the ring. The second, your trembling thumb threatens to cancel the call just as it begins. But on the third, a gruff voice answers.

“Kaixo?”

He sounds the same, you think, if not a bit older. He’s your brother and he is familiar, which is refreshing.

You clear your throat. “It’s me.”

A pause stretches, heavy and uncertain. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, disbelief blended with relief. “Is it really you? They said you– I mean, we weren’t sure…” His voice breaks off.

“It’s me,” you repeat, softer now, guilt pulling at each syllable. “How are you, Asi?”

The laugh you get is mean, because it does not hide the ridiculousness of the question. Asier is the eldest and he is the wisest, too, although you’d be loath to admit it. Beneath him are two other brothers, Ander and Adrian. The latter was who you last remember speaking to: a shouting match in your father’s house, both sides hysterical. You had walked out, then.

“The last thing you should remember about me is how I asked you to get an abortion.” His voice is distant, emotions running through it no longer raw and real. For him, that was a decade ago. “You could’ve called sooner,” he then says.

“I didn’t know what to say,” you admit. Anger bubbles inside at the thought of the three of them in Bilbao, residue from how things were left. Asier isn’t wrong about what he asked you to do. Even now, he refuses to lie.

“Say you’re okay.”

A lump forms in your throat. You almost choke on it trying to get the words out. “Ez, ez nago ondo.”

“How can I fix this?” he asks, but for a while, the only thing you can hear in his voice is fear.

He speaks for what feels like hours, attempting to cover everything that happened between then and now. He’s married. His twins turned six last month. They visited you and Amaia in Barcelona a year ago, and he gave Alexia enough shovel talk for her to become positively terrified of him. He skirts around the death of your father, a mystery he clearly doesn’t want to help you solve, and he similarly avoids the argument you had. “We’re… on good terms. All of us,” is the most you get.

Finally, he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to let go of something heavy. “I don’t know how to help you forgive us again. It was hard enough the first time. But I do know one thing: you are not going through this alone. You’re never alone, not anymore.”

You haven’t heard him be so gentle, so caring for a long time. The Asier you remember was strict, stubborn, and destined to be just as great a man as your father.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your fingers tightening around the phone, a desperate yearning rising in you. Something needs to change. You need it to.

The air feels thick – too thick – and Barcelona is suddenly too far away.

“I– Asier, I…” The words almost refuse to come out. Something rustles on the other end, his clothes maybe, and it’s like he has leant forwards. You clear your throat, steadying yourself. “Can I… can I visit you? Can I come home?”

There’s a pause, and you regret asking. It makes no sense. Your home is here, according to the doctors and Alexia and the roots you have dug into the ground. But then Asier speaks again, his voice quiet but not unkind.

“Are you sure?” His tone isn’t harsh but there is an air of caution in the way he proceeds.

“I’m not really sure of anything.” And it is set. You know what you are going to do. This is the family you remember.

That evening, you wait patiently for Alexia to have enough of talking at you about her day and her life and how ‘the girls’ – whose names you can’t seem to grasp – were wondering if you’d like to watch their next home match. (She detaches herself from the request. You’ve noticed that she’s stopped trying to ask things of you, focusing mainly on educating you about Amaia. Her selflessness is impressive.) When she leaves you with a wish for you to sleep well and an awkward space of time that you assume would once have been filled with a kiss, you open your phone onto Google and purchase a ticket for the first flight to Bilbao. Living in Sarrià and sending Amaia to an international school are clear signs that the ticket will make no dent in your bank account, and Alexia has already set up your cards for you on your phone, so all you have to do is double click and stare at the camera that can apparently recognise your face.

It’s raining in Bilbao when your flight touches down. Alexia had left twenty minutes before your taxi to the airport arrived. It was a relatively seamless journey.

Asier is grinning in the arrivals section of the airport. “Do you have a coat?” is his greeting. You match his expression, holding up one you’d bought en route. “The boys have taken the day off. We’re going for drinks.” You’re about to decline the alcoholic implication, but he beats you to it. “You can have lemonade.”

He drives a nice car and his hair is clipped in a way that reminds you of your father. Military men.

“You’re not in uniform,” you state as he reverses the car out of its spot, staring straight ahead in order to shake the feel of his eyes flickering over to you every now and then.

“I’m on leave.”

“Because of me?”

He sucks in a breath. “My commanding officer wouldn’t let me argue with him. I’ll go back tomorrow. I’ve been posted here permanently.”

“Like Aita,” you say proudly, because look at the man he has become. He was always on this path, but it is nice to see his hard work come to fruition.

Asier’s nose, however, scrunches at the comparison. “That is something we need to talk about, actually. But I thought it was best to do it with the two nutters present. And alcohol.” He quickly adds, “For us.”

After that, he doesn’t speak much. He’s still the same, quiet, authoritative figure you used to lean on, except now there’s a softness to him, an almost apologetic quality when he catches your eye. You try not to prickle every time you remember the last thing he had said to you, because it’s not a true telling of the past. It’s an uneasy feeling, not being able to trust yourself.

His intrinsic wariness continues to exist; the same kind he bore a decade ago, only heavier, more experience. You don’t know why, and you’re not sure you care to. You’re still angry at them, at the way everything was left, and it begins to build the closer you get to the house you grew up in.

The streets of Bilbao are slick, puddles splashing at curbs, the air growing fresher as you move through neighbourhoods you recognise for once. The city here has a pulse that Barcelona’s neat. Sunny streets can never match, and that pulse settles something in you, even as you silently brace for what’s to come.

Asier pulls into your road. The houses are still large, still intimidating and orderly, with gates that hint at important secrets being kept within the walls. He must have inherited your childhood home, but only the colour of the brick echoes what it once was. There’s a swing on the front lawn, tall enough for the top bar to be seen above the wrought iron gates, and when the gates open, you can tell a happy family lives here. You get the sense that your mother’s absence was more obvious than it felt.

The gravel crunches under the tires of his car as he parks. “We moved in three years ago, had the whole place redone. We tried to rip out that sense of regime and… severity.” He hesitates. “And the stench of alcohol.” Your interest is piqued by that, taking the bait like a stupid fish. He’s amused by it. “Come on.” And he gets out.

You smile faintly and follow him onto the porch, stepping over the deflated basketball discarded on the tiled stairs.

The inside has colour now, no longer so uniform and stark. As much as you love – loved – your father, the man struggled to design a home. It’s nice. Really, you like what he’s done with the place.

Asier gestures for you to follow him into the living room, electric blue and full of pictures. Your two other brothers, Ander and Adrian, are seated on the sofas, both sprawled out and lazily watching a recap of the football as though this were a normal visit. Hesitantly, you make your presence known.

Adrian is the first to notice, his face lighting up at the sight of you. You don’t know what you expected to see, but this isn’t it. His expression softens immediately, and for a split second, you see a glimpse of the little boy he once was, sheepish and guilty of crimes he hasn’t yet committed.

“You’re not too banged up,” he says after a beat, his voice gentle and impressed. The rest of the room goes quiet and you can feel the tension rise, but it’s not as sharp as you thought it would be. Maybe it’s because time has passed for them. You can’t say the same.

Then Ander leans forwards, far less subtle. “You forgave me. So before you shout at me again, make sure you keep that in mind.” He doesn’t seem irritated or put off, just a bit inconvenienced and… bored. It takes you by surprise and kills the fight in your throat momentarily. He pounces on your silence: “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.”

You shake your head, both to disagree and snap yourself out of the blip of absolution because that is something you don’t remember yet. You don’t feel soft. Not at all. You feel sharp, like the ache in your chest won’t ever leave, like you’ve been carrying something for a long time and it needs to be addressed. You look away.

“I kept the baby.” It’s an obvious statement. Asier already said he’s visited you and Amaia. “I moved away and I had a child, and what did you three do?”

“You told us you were leaving. You asked us not to follow, not to reach out.” Adrian is referencing something you can’t recall. “And you nearly didn’t keep her. Asi was coming from a place of reason.”

“It doesn’t need justification,” Asier says calmly. You’re not sure whose side he’s on. “Adrian is right. You asked us not to interfere. It’s not that we didn’t care, but you made it clear you didn’t want us to. We respected that.”

The room feels colder with the weight of his words, but there’s no bite to them, no condemnation. It’s just the truth. And the truth stings more than you anticipated. “I was a child.”

“You insisted you weren’t. That was your main point, actually,” says Ander.

Adrian fidgets in his seat, his gaze darting between you and Asier. “We were stupid and we regretted it. Dad regretted it too, though he never admitted that.” The boys grow more pained at the mention of him. “I don’t know how we could’ve helped, even if we’d tried. None of us were ready to hear that our baby sister was… not a baby anymore.”

It doesn’t reach you in the way they should. Your mind spins, but it’s not in anger anymore. It’s a sort of blankness, a weariness that comes from unnecessary strife and grief and rupture of a network so strong. “I never asked you to leave me alone,” you say quietly, and the boys hear your voice from six years ago layered on top of it, a mirror of the past. This took place over the phone, then, stemming from an argument about your absence from a funeral. “I asked you not to judge me for my choices, but that was never the same thing. And yet, all of you let me go without a word.”

Asier shifts uncomfortably, the glug of a bottle breaking the silence that follows you statement. He hands you a glass. “Lemonade,” he says.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t know how else to say it,” blurts Adrian, who has always been impatient and far too close to you to drag these things out.

Your legs tremble but Asier is there to steady you. “Sit down, txurru. Let’s talk.”

Over drinks, they recount it all. Fight by fight, death by death. No one cries as Asier carefully details your father’s descent into alcoholism; how he lost his footing, how he left his life’s work with no apparent reason, killing himself slowly until one day, there was nothing he could do but actually die. Unflinching, they tell you about the late-night arguments, the doors slamming, the silence that followed. Your father’s temper had fractured the family over the years, though you’d been too blind to see until the day you left, and it did not subside in the years you spent estranged.

They talk about how much they missed you, how they’d send texts to a number you no longer used, or tried to find you on social media. Pride fills the room when Ander talks about finding you on your firm’s website.

For the first time since the accident, you feel tethered to something, something that feels like it could belong to you. These boys – men, really – share your face and they share your past, and, as the lump in your throat falls away, you realise that this is what home feels like.

But that tether is violently yanked away when your phone buzzes.

“Where the fuck are you?!” Alexia’s voice is sharp, teetering on the edge of fury and desperation.

You squint, confused at why she is so upset, then remembering that Alexia isn’t some random woman who reminds you to take your pain medication and drives you to your appointments.

“Bilbao.”

The seconds tick on before Alexia musters the restraint to reply without blowing up your ears from six hundred kilometres away. “You should’ve told me.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound it,” she replies bitterly. For a moment, Alexia seems like she hates your guts. And then she takes a deep breath, leaving the silence to fill the gap between you.

#woso x reader #woso #barca femeni #rm universe #randombush3 #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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gaybd1 · 1 year ago

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Some neat facts about Taiwan I wish more people knew

First of all and most importantly, Taiwan is NOT a part of China! It never has been! It has its own government, currency, passports, etc. The only reason Taiwan doesn't officially "declare independence" is that China would probably blow it up if that happened

Taiwan has been occupied by Spain, the Netherlands, and most recently, Japan. After World War II, Taiwan was under martial law for a long time and some terrible things happened, but now Taiwan is the 14th freest country in the world, and the freest in Asia!

Taiwan was the first country in Asia to legalize gay marriage, and hosts the largest Pride celebration in Asia every October!

Bubble milk tea was invented in Taiwan!

Taiwan has A LOT of scooters and A LOT of convenience stores! It's not uncommon to see two 7-Elevens right across the street from each other. At a 7-Eleven in Taiwan, you can pick up and send packages, pay bills, top up your cell phone, buy a coffee, do laundry, buy concert tickets, print documents, and grocery shop!

ALL Austronesian peoples originally came from Taiwan. There are still over 16 distinct Indigenous tribes today (2.3% of the population), all with their own traditions.

The garbage and recycling trucks in Taiwan play music so you know they're coming. There are mostly two specific songs, one of them being Fur Elise. A lot of Americans who come to visit think it's ice cream trucks they are hearing, but nope, it's the garbage.

Most stray dogs, especially in the rural mountains, are partially Formosan Mountain Dog, an incredibly rare and beautiful species, and one of the most ancient species in the world!

Almost all of the chips making your iPhones, laptops, or cars function, were made in Taiwan! This makes the semiconductor industry a HUGE deal in Taiwan, and makes Taiwan a HUGE deal around the world

Taiwan is the most mountainous island in the world! 2/3 of Taiwan are covered in mountains, and there are 268 mountains that are taller than 3000 meters!

Taiwan has four official languages- Mandarin, "Taiwanese" (Minnan), Hakka, and the "aboriginal"/Indigenous languages. The most widely spoken language (in the North, at least) is Mandarin, by far. Some old people can still speak Japanese.

It's not 2023 in Taiwan; it's 112 (You'll see 2023 used more and more often though, but like my National Health Insurance has my birth year as 83)

#text #taiwan #100 #greatest hits

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sunnysatyr · 5 months ago

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There are still people willing to argue that working from home is more or less as expensive as going to the office every day because you would spend on electricity, water, toilet paper, etc. what you don't spend on gasoline.

Like... have you seen the price of gasoline? At least in Spain I spend on supplies and services for the house not even a quarter of what it costs me to go to work one month, 40 km a day round trip (plus car maintenance, insurance and taxes).

I mean, yeah, working from home costs me money, but I even save money on CLOTHES since I can work in my freaking underwear. Maybe it's just me and my privilege, me and my preference, and that doesn't invalidate theirs, but from my point of view... it's just nonsensical for jobs that can be done from home.

#random rant #ravings #mine #work from home #in my company they have this Go Green thing going on #and they allegedly accept ideas for green measures #and a couple of colleagues and I even prepared a report #we suggested increasing work from home time since it would drastically cut co2 emmisions #there's no public transport available so that's the main alternative #and they refused even considering it or the other option of trying to get public transport to reach at least somewhere close #fuck capitalism

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doraminatook · 5 months ago

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Uneasy is the Head (a fanfic)

Specifically, a Marvel fanfic.

Synopsis:

Wanda is on the run AGAIN. Following the destruction at Kamar-Taj and Mount Wundagore, she is doing her best to just remain alive in the safety of anonymity. That is until an old enemy walks back into her life with a proposition.

Words: 7,735

Rating: Teen and up

:::

Wanda knew what it was like to be on the run; if it wasn’t one form of government, it was another. In many ways, this was nothing new to The Scarlet Witch, but the game had admittedly gotten significantly more difficult. The longer she lived, the more enemies she seemed to amass and so with each year, her very existence became more and more precarious. Where at first she was simply running from the corrupt politicians controlling Sokovia, now she had the added attention of the US government and the Masters of the Mystics Arts. Of course, the latter was under the assumption that she was dead, and she wanted to keep it that way. If they found out she had survived the collapse at Mount Wundagore, they would certainly make her death a reality. And, truthfully, Wanda couldn’t really blame them.

She wasn’t entirely sure what this new part of her life would look like; she’d burned so many bridges and had very few places to go. It would have been easy for her to give into despair, and many times she did. More than once, the pain had overtaken her again and she’d just laid down in the middle of the street, weeping uncontrollably. Luckily, for her, Barcelona was a massive city with more displaced people than anywhere else in Europe. When people saw a random woman lying in the streets, especially in the back alleys, they paid little attention. Someone might attempt to rob her, but they only got as far as putting their hands on her before some strange magic came over them and they shuddered in silent pain. The smart ones let go, but the idiots held on and soon joined Wanda on the ground. Unlike The Scarlet Witch, however, they never got up again.

After months of just wandering across Spain and Portugal, living off the charity of others and only occasionally stealing, Wanda had finally collected enough money to secure a tiny flat in the darkest corner of Barcelona. It was a quiet, anonymous existence that included a part-time job as a waitress (where she went by the name Isla), trying desperately to learn Spanish as quickly as possible, and dyeing her infamous red hair a mousy brown every two weeks or so. Once in a while Wanda would stick her neck out in order to break up a few human trafficking rings or surreptitiously send the abusive husband of her manager into a shark tank at Aquàrium Barcelona where he promptly drowned.

Wanda had worried that Abril would be sad over the loss of her husband, as many victims of abusive relationships and Stockholm syndrome occasionally are, but time and a hefty life insurance policy in Daniel’s name proved to be good medicine for an aching heart. Seeing her friend walk around with a newfound lease on life was almost enough to make Wanda forget…about everything. Perhaps it was best if she did just forget; it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d attempted to leave Wanda Maximoff behind in favor of someone else: someone more normal and less complicated.

But even if she had genuinely wanted to let it all go, the Darkhold’s stain across her hands were a constant reminder of who she was and what she had done. She wore flesh-colored gloves whenever she was out in public and told elaborate stories about how she’d been burned in a car accident. The gloves made her job at the diner difficult at times, but Abril and the rest of the staff had always been so courteous and accommodating towards “Isla” and her fictitious injury. They were all so kind, and none of them had no idea what kind of monster she was.

The only souvenir of her past life, save the blackened fingers, was a single photo: a precious relic that she only took out in her darkest of hours. She hadn’t the foggiest idea of how, after everything, it had stayed both in one piece and in her possession, but she was grateful nonetheless. While living on the street, Wanda had treated it like a holy grail, the single flame that kept her going merely because it reminded her of a simpler time when she had been truly happy. Between The Blip, the Hex, and the Darkhold, it was sometimes difficult to sort out what was real and what had been magic, but the photo grounded her in many ways. That had been real.

It was taken in Prague: one of the many locations Steve had moved her to during Team Captain America ’s time as fugitives. But the location was hardly the important aspect of the photo. Yes, Charles Bridge was clearly featured in the background, but the focus was the bright-eyed and beaming Wanda with an arm wrapped around the torso of a tall, blonde-haired man who, in turn, had his willowy arm draped across her shoulder. She was smiling winningly at the camera, held by a random stranger the pair had flagged down, but Vision’s gaze was entirely on Wanda. It was one of those small moments one sees in movies: Vision sneaking an adoring look at the woman he loved. To Wanda, they had just been posing beside some pretty bridge, but the man beside her had no interest in architecture. The most beautiful thing in the world was Wanda, and he was unable to look away.

Today, she needed to see the picture. The night before had been plagued with the same old terrible nightmares and specters, and Wanda’s mental health necessitated a trip down memory lane. She pulled open the drawer on her nightstand and dug a bit until she found the worn manilla envelope that served as the photo’s home. She sighed with relief as she took in the image and ran a finger adoringly over Vision’s face. It wasn’t just the fact that the print featured him but also that Wanda could clearly see the unaltered happiness in herself. It all seemed like several lifetimes ago.

This lifetime, however, would not wait. She glanced at the clock on the wall and knew she had to go; Isla had work and Wanda had to be put aside for now.

:::

Want to read more? Check out my Archive of Our Own page at the link below

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aprillikesthings · 1 year ago

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OKay so what I came here to post about is that while ONE trip to another country is just going to that country, now that I've done TWO international trips everyone (including myself) sees me as A Person Who Travels and I keep getting asked where I'm going next

And on the one hand it's a weird question, because both previous trips were just--

Iceland: Icelandair advertised a huge discount on direct flights on my facebook wall and made a thirty-year dream suddenly seem possible

Spain: I saw like an article? somewhere? about the Camino, read one memoir, then suddenly had a new hyperfixation and I proceeded to read fifteen more (barely exaggerated y'all) and watched a bunch of youtube videos and then asked for the time off and started training

So in neither case was it like, "oh where do I want to travel," it was like "the need to go to this specific place is suddenly consuming my life"

But on the other hand, I mean, I'm kinda thinking England a year from now? But those plans are REALLY hazy past like, "lol the British Museum has an Ea Nasir tablet gotta get a selfie with it" and "I hear Durham cathedral is gorgeous" and "Norwich is a short train ride from London and then I can visit sites associated with Julian of Norwich!!--what do you MEAN there's a three-day pilgrimage route to Walsingham??? 👀" (what can I say I'm a sucker for pilgrimages now)

TBH I just want someone else to arrange one of those multi-day bus tours of churches/cathedrals in England but for LGBT+ Anglicans!! Someone get on this!! (Jay Hulme has other things to do or he'd be perfect for it. God knows some of the churches on my list are because of his photos.)

Anyway.

I have to keep reminding myself that Spain is a huge outlier in Europe for being so inexpensive on a daily basis, plus being a pilgrim means my daily costs were literally food/bed in a hostel/a few euro for church donation boxes.

And I get that Iceland is well-known to be on the opposite end of that scale, but it still boggles the mind to compare them (all approximate):

Iceland for eight days

Flight: $500 Guesthouse room: $700 A few bus day tours + Blue Lagoon + bus to and from airport: uhhhh I think like $400 added up? Daily expenses of food/museums/souvenirs for eight days: $50/day on average, so another $400?

Total: $2,000

Spain:

Flight (into Paris, out of Lisbon) + insurance: $800 Daily cost, including hostels, food, souvenirs, sightseeing: averaged about $50 a day for 42 days total, so about $2100 Add another $100 for train/bus tickets (...I think it was more than that)

Total: $3,000

NINE DAYS in Iceland versus FORTY TWO days in (mostly) Spain.

(Okay, this is admittedly ignoring the fact that 1. I had to buy things I didn't already own for my Camino, like a backpacking backpack and a summer weight sleeping bag and TWO pairs of pricey hiking boots; OR 2. that I absolutely spent like $1,000 on physical therapy while training for the trip.)

They are just such wildly different countries. Museums in Iceland were all (US) $15-25. The cathedral's museum in Santiago (where I spent at least as much time as any of the museums in Iceland) was normally €7 but I got a discount for being a pilgrim. I think I paid €4, which is like $4.30.

Anyway none of this is about whether or not England is expensive, but I do assume it's closer to the Iceland end of things.

Especially since it's one thing to stay in hostels the whole time when you're on pilgrimage and everyone else at the hostel is too and everyone is in bed by 10pm because you're all exhausted. (Also because that's when they all lock their doors. No, really.) It's another thing to stay in a hostel in like...London. But the alternatives escalate in cost rather rapidly, especially when you're traveling alone. Oof.

ANYWAY ALSO the fact that I can afford to travel AT ALL is like 90% due to my having cheap-ass rent, no car, no kids, no student loans, and all my healthcare issues being relatively inexpensive. I've worked the same meh-paying job long enough for my hourly wage to double and to have fuck-tons of PTO. I'm 43 and I live in a run-down townhouse with three other adults and most of my furniture is all ten-year-old Ikea and I don't eat at restaurants hardly ever.

Any one part of my life could change and I would never be able to afford to do this kind of shit again.

Which is why I'm doing it now.

#my life #at some point I do want to do both Iceland and the Camino again lol #but in Iceland hopefully w/ Daci and a campervan and doing the ring road #the camino I thought about other routes but tbh there's so much I want to do again on the SAME ROUTE lol or things I missed bc of time etc #but that's definitely several years away #Anyway also I need to do more local-ish trips ffs I haven't been to the Oregon coast in AGES and Daci hasn't seen Astoria yet #or Seattle!!#gotta fix that #if you're new here and want to see my posts etc about those trips the tags are:#april goes to iceland #april does the camino #(the iceland trip was two years ago this week!)

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carinsuranceinspain · 10 months ago

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Fully Comprehensive Van Insurance In Spain

efpg - Here for what matters most!

#spain #insurance #car insurance spain #van insurance spain

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dragoninsure · 1 year ago

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Car Insurance In Spain | Dragoninsure.com

Secure the best car insurance in Spain with Dragoninsure.com. Our innovative technology and expert team provide the best coverage and customer service. Experience the peace of mind that comes with Dragoninsure.com.

Car Insurance In Spain

#Car Insurance In Spain

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nightofnyx8 · 11 months ago

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Thank you for tagging me @roseofbattles!

Greatest Hits of 2023

1. I got my first real job as a teacher! After about 100 applications and thirty or so failed interviews (that was fun eight months of doubting everything about myself), I was finally hired on as the choir and orchestra teacher at a nearby middle school. It has been such a whirlwind (especially seeing as I only took about six weeks of string essentials in college), and I have spent many long days crying at my desk after school. But oh, how I love my kids. They drive me crazy and crack the weirdest jokes and amaze me all at the same time. It's been a lot trying to breathe life into a dying program and I get a lot of pushback from kids who just want to sing pop karaoke all day, but they've grown so much in just one semester. It's crazy exhausting but I honestly would never want to do anything else. <3

2. Reading-I've fallen in love with audiobooks and reading real books again! I've gotten to read a variety of genres and I really feel like it's improved my writing. My favorite this year would probably have to be Eye of the Needle by Ken Follet (thanks to @puolain for the recommendation). I'm currently working through The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy and Red Sparrow by Jason Matthews.

3. Travel- I had the opportunity to go to NYC for the first time ever and met some really wonderful friends! I really haven't been able to go anywhere else, but my husband and I are saving up to go to Spain in the coming months!

4. Writing-I've been delving more into chaptered fics as opposed to one-shots, and I'm been enjoying it! It takes a lot more planning and dedication, but that urge to write an original work someday is always on the back of my mind. We'll see :)

5. Piano-I've never been the best pianist, but this year has given me time to really go from the plateau I've been stuck on for the last five years and I finally feel like I'm making some progress again. I'm excited to actually start accompanying my choirs instead of faking it with block chords most of the time.

6. I've really built up my private voice studio this year and it's growing quite nicely. It's kind of fun to teach middle schoolers during the day and then private high schoolers in the afternoon.

7. I was invited to join a semi-professional choir by a few of my colleagues, and it's been such a joy! We've gotten to sing at some beautiful cathedrals and were invited to sing at our state's choral festival alongside some collegiate choirs. Next season's looking to be pretty busy, and the first year we'll be paid to sing!

8. I had to do a lot of first-time "grown-up" things this year (apply for insurance and retirement, bought a new car, first time with a salary-based job, etc), and while part of me longs for that safety net of college, it's exciting to actually start my career and begin the next stage of my life.

9. I've been Journaling a lot more this year! It really helps me get my thoughts out at the end of the day.

10. My husband and I will be celebrating our three-year annivesary in May. He is such a nerd and likes to take me on walks to see exposed infrastructure, but he is such a good man and I'm excited to see where life takes us next.

Bonus: I'm hoping to really be kind to myself and my students in 2024. Being a new teacher is very overwhelming, especially as I'm the youngest teacher in the school and it's been hard not to beat myself up over every bad day. But next year also holds the promise of always learning something new and sharing it with the people I love <3

tagging @whateversawesome @klainelynch @neejmorp @puolain @wondrousmay and whoever else wants to do it <3

#personal

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spainpropertyguide · 1 year ago

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Insurance Home Insurance It is estimated that over 40% of homes in Spain are not insured but, having worked so hard to buy your dream home in the Costa

#Insurance in Spain #Home Insurance #Travel Insurance #Car Insurance #Health Insurance

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encyclopika · 7 months ago

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An update of sorts - and complaining on main.

I've been stressed out since about February. It's actually a wonder i still got chapters out for my fanfic and did art during this time.

I've been all over for work, from South Jersey, to Massachusetts, to Rhode Island and then to Barcelona Spain (where I am right now) - all trips and events that I had to coordinate alone for the most part, with presentations, permits, travel, you name it.

For the final kick in the ass, someone stole my luggage in Spain by breaking our rental cars window. Luckily, they only stole dirty laundry and shoes, but ffs! Now I gotta deal with insurance for both the window and the last shit. I'm so done.

It really sucks because I never had the desire to go to Spain (or much of Europe) and this now puts me at a 0% chance of coming back on my own accord. Can't believe I've been all over the US, Canada, Fiji, Belize - never had something even remotely like this ever happen.

So, I'm looking forward to going home tomorrow and resting and enjoying my time off.

#complain on main

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maiverie · 2 years ago

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it's always the best series that end in cliffhanger have the author go like mia and then come back and u find out the most unhinged things they did while they were gone lmao no but for real im sad that triage was met with that misfortune :((. maybe one day

"maybe one day" NA DAWG IT'S COMING SOONER THAN U THINK!!! i finally have the time/energy to sit down and properly write the finale sooooo :>>

also sorry 2 disappoint bc i did absolutely fuck all during my hiatus (no unhinged updates,,,,, altho i did travel to italy+spain? got into a car accident? had someone call me from the "insurance company" and try to scam me and yk imma pretend like i didn't believe it but i genuinely did almost get scammed LMFAOSOAOSOA)

#ask #@ : anon ♡︎

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purplesurveys · 9 months ago

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1823

Would you rather have another job? I would, but the job market sucks and it's been a challenge trying to apply to new ones even though I had been actively looking every day of February. I got a little impatient so I've ultimately settled for a new role, still in my current workplace – so I've still resigned from my current post, but the new role will allow me to continue to be in the industry I like while removing the shit I don't want to deal with and had originally resigned over.

Did you ever live in a house with more than one story? I currently do. It was the house I grew up in that didn't have an extra floor.

What room of your home do you spend most time in? My bedroom, since it's also my workspace.

Is your second toe longer than your big toe? Just super slightly, but yeah.

Have you ever given yourself a tattoo? Nope.

Do you own any clothes you wouldn’t wear in front of your mother? Not really.

Do you have health insurance? Just Philhealth. What are some medical issues you’re currently dealing with? Just what I'm presently sensing as anemia, but other than that there aren't any.

Why did you last take pain medication? Can't even recall. I just apply a cooling ointment whenever my back and shoulders are sore lol, and I've been proactively lessening my Biogesic intake because I don't want to be too dependent on it every time I get a headache.

What physical traits have you inherited from your father? I find that my smile and mouth are similar to his. I think my eyes too? Idk but in general I'm the most well-balanced among me and my siblings when it comes to genetics haha, so it's hard for me to tell which of my features look more like my mom's or my dad's.

How about your mother? My overall face structure? IDK IT'S REALLY HARD TO TELL LOL

What personality traits do you wish your children would inherit from you? I take pride in how devoted and loyal I am in my friendships, so it'd be nice for my hypothetical and likely-to-never-exist kids to get that from me. Also, passion for their hobbies! I'd listen to my kids ramble on all day about whatever it is they're interested/invested in.

What parts of the world are your ancestors from? Philippines, and that's pretty much it lol. I don't think I have ancestors from Spain.

Have you ever had a strange pet, outside of the normal animals people keep? No.

Do you believe in astrology? Hell no.

Do you drive an electric car? No. It just wouldn't be the smartest decision to get one at this point as we barely have the technology or network to make owning an electric car a feasible long-term thing. Philippines was already late as it is when it came to the internet, so I imagine it would be the same - perhaps even longer - with the electric cars.

Do you like facial hair on guys or do you prefer the clean shaven look? Eh, it depends on how they look with the hair.

Who was your first celebrity crush? It was a tie between Zac Efron and Ashley Tisdale, haha.

Are you good with kids? I honestly don't know. I was good with kids before as a First-Born Asian Daughter™ lol, but I haven't been arounds kids in YEARS so idk if my abilities still hold up.

Are you usually late, early, or right on time? At this point tbh I'm a mix of all three. I try to make it on time but it sometimes also depends on how invested I am in the thing I'm supposed to be at. I arrived at the Seventeen concert by 11 AM, but at work I will sometimes arrive at 10:30 AM lol.

Are you good at applying makeup? I'm horrible at it, but that's also because I'm not the least bit interested in makeup.

Do you like pastel colored hair? It's alright!

What do you think about the most? Career options, opportunities to take care of myself or find new hobbies...I've been getting paranoid about mortality lately as well and I hate it.

Do you like to see it snowing outside? I wish I could experience that, but I don't live in a country with snow.

Do you have your national flag hanging up anywhere outside your house? Nopes.

Have you ever been in a choir? I have not.

Do you look older or younger than you actually are? I used to get 'younger' all the time, but idk now. Work may have aged me physically enough to start actually looking 25 hahaha.

When is the next time you’ll be up on stage? I'm assuming June because my mom has asked me to host a surprise party we're doing for my paternal grandparents. I never committed to it, but I know ultimately it'll come down to me hosting anyway lol.

Where did you spend your last birthday at? I was just at home. My friends came over though.

What was the last show that you watched a full episode of? Friends.

Is there anything you need to work on doing soon? Little bit, yeah.

Were you ever a boy or girl scout? I was not.

Do you take your medications in the morning or at night? I don't take any medication at all.

Have you ever bought a YouTuber’s merch? Nah, merch is usually next to impossible to get when you're from an Asian country that's not Japan anyway. The merchiest I got with YouTubers was going to the first-ever YouTube Fanfest haha.

What is the best type of donut? I like a good classic – chocolate frosting with sprinkles! My favorite local doughnut shop also makes this fantastic roasted brown butter brioche doughnut that I could have every day.

Do you like thrift stores? Not the first place I would go to, but still willing to check them out.

What is your town known for? Aesthetic cafes with shitty food, car accidents, pilgrimages, and our waterfalls. We're all over the place lmao.

Have you ever used a fake name at Starbucks? I once referred to myself as Audrey as in Audrey Hepburn but it came back as fucking Aujie hahahaha. Haven't really done it since because I don't see the point.

What color is your lava lamp? I've never had one.

Who is your favorite Lisa Frank character? We were too short on money for my parents to be spending overpriced Lisa Frank shit on me.

What’s your favorite movie that you remember seeing in the theater? Portrait of a Lady on Fire.

Do you know anyone who has ten cats? I think Val may have? She posts about her cats all the time and it's always different ones every time lol.

Have you ever had a cat? My sister had Arlee.

Have you ever had a dog? Yes, three of them.

Have you ever any other kind of animal? Yes.

Have you ever had a pet rock? That I never have.

What were you voted in the senior class polls? We don't have that tradition.

Who was your favorite teacher in high school? My music teacher. I never even liked what she taught, but she had a teaching style that let her relate life lessons to whatever music theory she was explaining at the moment and that resonated with me all throughout high school.

Do you want to give your kids common names or unique names? Common, but not too mainstream in that they can still stand out but also not get bullied.

What collection are you thinking of starting? I currently collect BTS merch and I plan on continuing it, especially since I'm not even done getting all the albums yet.

Do you organize your clothes by color? No, I just have them fixed according to article of clothing.

What do you want to name your first child? I've stopped having a go-to pick for a name because I've also stopped wanting kids.

List ten favorite girls names. Mia, Scarlett, Charlotte, Emilia, Harper, Elliott, Lily, Juliana, Rosie, Dylan.

List ten favorite boys names. Seth, Liam, James, Lucas, Julian, Matteo, Noah, Owen, Jacob, Leon.

What season do you want to get married in? Continued from last night. We don't have seasons but I'd pick out a colder month – so anywhere between December to February.

Is your Pinterest cluttered? I don't use Pinterest enough to make boards.

What is your favorite insect? None of them.

What bugs scare you? All of them, but especially cockroaches.

Who picked your name, your mom or your dad? My dad picked my first name, my mom chose my second.

Have you ever fallen asleep in a significant other’s arms? Sure.

Do you have a television in your room? If you do, is it one of the old school big ones? Or i it a new flat screen? I do. It's a flat-screen but it's not a new TV – it was originally from our living room until we got a new one last year. Anyway, the TV I have is like 16 years old.

What was your favorite cartoon or television show as a child? What about movie? I liked Spongebob and Drake & Josh. For movies, Toy Story was and continues to be my favorite.

Did you have sleepovers at your friends’ houses a lot as a child? Or did your friends come over to your house more often? No. I was never really allowed to, but also I didn't have many friends so eh. As for me, I lived in a very crowded duplex so the house was never the most visitor-friendly.

Do you have any significantly older siblings? No, our age gaps are small.

When opening presents on Christmas or birthdays, do you first try to guess what is in the package? Do you tear the wrap off slowly, or just rip it to shreds? Are you polite no matter what the gift, and say you love it anyways? I rip it to shreds haha, and yes I always say thank you.

What happened last time you got drunk? I dropped a wine glass and injured my foot.

What are you listening to? Friends.

Which parent do you feel the most affection for? My dad.

How do you feel about God? "If there is a God, He will have to beg for my forgiveness.” A quote that reached fame by being found carved in a concentration camp wall. And I will forever agree with it, violently so. <– I like this answer. < There you go. <--- yep. < That's the best answer yet, because that's exactly how I feel with the shit I went through growing up.

Which platform do you use to listen to music on the most? Spotify.

Who do you care about the most? Myself and my dogs.

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