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aroworlds · 4 years

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Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part Two

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

This section contains multiple depictions of platonic physical intimacy.

Length: 4, 789 words (part two of two).

I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!

On the last working day of the year, Rowan staggers into the office holding a plate of homemade shortbread—the top layer of plastic wrap bearing the Sharpie-written words “NOT FOR HOUSEMATES BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING BISCUITS”, his mood sour. On the one hand, he’s free until January (although he’ll prefer that circumstance more should this be a paid break). On the other hand, Christmas and its family awfulness tag-team with the heat to curse him with mind-racing, restless 4 AM wakefulness.

He chose right. Didn’t he?

In six days, he’ll have survived the family dinner and his housemates will be with their people or travelling for the holiday. He can bag up his presents for their customary donating, buy something online and spend the day baking food he doesn’t have to share or hide.

Christmas will be an exercise in endurance, but it’s a known terrible. Better to suffer one day of hell and leave than to poke the hydra in each of its eyes and allow it, enraged, to hunt him across the earth. Right?

“Rowan!” Melanie greets him at the door, today wearing a silky blouse with a poinsettia print, a pendant shaped like a miniature tree bauble, and stocking-shaped earrings of the heavy, dangly kind. A Santa hat trimmed with silver sequins and a large golden bell sits atop her short hair. “Merry Christmas!”

“Uh … back at you?”

“You didn’t wear anything Christmassy!” Melanie flutters her hands at him: she painted her glossy crimson nails with white and green stripes like the fancier sort of candy cane. “Can’t you get anything in your size?”

“No...” Rowan glances at his usual outfit: dress shoes, jeans black enough to resemble slacks on forgot-to-do-laundry days, navy shirt.

Couldn’t he have worn his cherry-red Docs?

Her suggestion gives him a convenient out, but isn’t he trying to be honest about his feelings? “I didn’t look. Christmas … isn’t that exciting when you’re enduring family.” He barks a laugh, hoping Melanie understands. “At least being trans, nobody asks me if I’m dating anyone or when I’m going to bring someone home to meet the family, because they don’t want to think about trans people in a relationship.” He steps sideways, hoping to navigate around her, put his plate down and move the conversation towards something less fraught. “I made shortbread. Do you like shortbread?”

He stiffens, trying not to panic, when Melanie envelops him in a bear hug, smushing Rowan’s chest and one arm against her necklace. “You spend Christmas with your family?”

“Don’t most people who celebrate it?” He shuffles out of her embrace to slide his cling-filmed plate onto Shelby’s desk beside a plastic container of pizza scrolls. He slips the ingredients card from his jeans pocket, straightens the creases and rests it by the plate. “Uh … is cling-film better or worse for the environment than biscuits in a freezer bag? I had a set of clip-seal containers, but my housemates left me two condiment-sized ones in the cupboard. I could use a bit of plastic or defrost frozen stir fry, except I didn’t know what I’d put that in if I used the stir fry container for the shortbread...”

Rowan realises he’s rambling and presses his lips together before he rants on how his containers must be growing five types of mould in the bottom of Matt’s backpack.

“Happy Holidays, everyone!” Shelby, both arms burdened by plastic cake containers, enters wearing a red T-shirt with the legend “All I Want for Christmas Is a Unicorn”, a glittery ribbon tied around the end of her braid. Only twice before has he seen her without a blazer. “Mel! Your earrings! Millers?”

Rowan swallows a laugh and, freed from awkwardness, heads for the relative comfort of his desk.

A party day, he soon realises, possesses a distressing lack of work. He acquires plates and spoons from the kitchenette, he works on a few photos from last week, he sorts his emails. He notices Melanie pulling Damien aside to talk about something that requires the waving of candy-cane fingernails, but, before he can start to wonder, the volunteer ropes him into a conversation about a loving family with unusual pavlova-eating habits. Shelby saves him from that oddity only to tell the story of her family’s chipping in to get her granddaughter a four-hundred-dollar dollhouse. “My parents wouldn’t have spent that much on a toy! How can anyone charge four hundred dollars for plastic?”

That seems like a good time to head over to the food table.

Shelby does make a good chocolate cake.

“Rowan.” Damien heads towards him, his approach signalled by a trailing, bell-ringing Melanie. “A minute?”

Nothing good has ever been heralded by this question. Nothing.

Rowan nods and follows them over to the whiteboard, standing in front of the List.

“Do you,” Damien says, at least doing the decent thing of asking straight out, “need somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Oh, god. What provoked this horror? Melanie?

Why...?

“We’d non-romantically love to have you.” Melanie’s smile beams as bright as her nails—her lips a close match for their glossy crimson basecoat. “Me and my daughter and her partner, I mean—not me and Damien together. It won’t be anything fancy, but you’re welcome to come.”

“My wife said my telling her about being recipro makes so much sense, and she’d like to ask questions of someone who actually knows things.” Damien nods, his holiday cheer demonstrated in the absence of a tie, rolled-up shirtsleeves and reflectively-shiny shoes. “And I make beer batter fritters.”

Never has Rowan heard Damien speak in aromantic-identity terms with that much casual fluidity, and he would smile but for two co-workers waiting, expectantly, for his answer.

How does he express appreciation for their kindness while explaining that he can’t not go home for Christmas?

A few moments pass before Rowan’s lips and tongue produce sounds that aren’t “I”, “uh” and “I … uh”. “Thanks? But … well, I’d be fine being alone on Christmas and I'm not doing that because … that’d be bad, so... And, you know, family? And I want to see my dog? So ... thanks, but...”

“But you’re one of us,” Melanie says with unusual solemnity, resting a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Just like Damien’s now one of—wait, we need to get you a mug! Why didn’t we get Damien a mug?”

“Well, actually...” Rowan, thanking the Aro Gods for Melanie’s willingness to head down any conversational tangent, darts towards his desk and satchel, the latter housing a heavy tissue-wrapped box. Pinkish-red, of course. “Here. Have a mug.”

“Oh! You should have told me!” Melanie’s lips tremble as she and Damien follow him back across the room. “I would have gotten a mug with you!”

Rowan rests the box on his lap, startled. Why didn’t he think to tell Melanie that he bought Damien a mug? (How else does one welcome another into aromantic kinship?) Why didn’t he wait until Damien was busy and order a mug with Melanie, instead of buying one on his phone on the train home from work?

Rowan owns skill in list-making, cross-stitch, baking, fixing other people’s photos and designing his own leaflets. He’s quietly proud of the many arts in which he dabbles with varying degrees of success. He’s mastered, too, survival on the fringes of other people’s lives, survival in a world where few are worth trusting. That ability though, makes him a man too comfortable in isolation. It makes him, in ways that have nothing to do with allosexual frayromanticism beyond his living in an aromantic-antagonistic world, a man who doesn’t know how to welcome other people into the house behind his five-metre fence.

He keeps everyone at arm’s length, even when—perhaps especially when—he plies his crafts for their benefit.

Does everyone experience acute flashes of insight at inconvenient times, the irrevocable sense that their personhood is one bewildering state of immeasurably fucked up?

“I’m sorry. Really.” He passes the mug to Damien, looking at Melanie. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I should have thought, but I didn’t.”

“We do realise that,” Damien says, tearing both wrapping paper and the box lid in a sharp tug. “You got the green-stripe one—oh, wait, it’s got both?” His hands render the mug’s size almost laughable, but Rowan couldn’t find soup-sized variants from a store willing to custom print aromantic flags on crockery. “Mel, there’s both. The recipromantic-only one and the shared one. Thank you!”

Is Rowan imagining that hint of passive-aggression? “You realise...?”

“That you’re independent, that’d you’d rather suffer alone than risk asking for help, even when it causes problems for you. That you’re only comfortable with people when you’re in a position of knowledge or authority. We learnt early on that you work best when we get out of your way.” Damien sets the mug on the desk with a soft clink. “I’m not completely useless in my job, so try harder to stop rolling your eyes over my photos.”

“They’re terrible,” Melanie says, squeezing Rowan’s forearm—apparently forgiven. “You know that, right?”

“The next person to say they can do better has to prove it—”

“My dog photos prove it!”

“At an event! Not in your backyard!”

For a reason likely tied up in internalised ableism, Rowan thought anxiety his designated, annoyance-causing personality failing. His tendency to overreact, freak out, let things get to him; his tendency to shaking hands and rambling incoherence. He didn’t consider that, in the company of people more inclined to decency and less inclined to avoid criticism on deadnaming and cissexism by casting him as the problem, they may find something else frustrating or difficult.

“Is this...” Rowan halts, thinking better of it, before he says the words “being fired just before Christmas”. Even he doubts Damien capable of inviting someone to join him for the holiday only to retaliate with a firing on Rowan’s refusal, although logic doesn’t still his hands. What’s the good of logic if my anxiety still ignores it? “What is this?”

Damien shrugs, tapping a finger against his new mug. “Yearly performance evaluation, maybe? Shame that I’ll have to write it down. I’d rather just call this sort—”

“What’d you say on mine?” Melanie blurts, clapping her hands.

Damien raises both eyebrows. “As if I’d answer that sober!” He shakes his head; Melanie trills her laughter. “We realise that there’s reasons, Rowan. It isn’t a real problem for us, but it may be one for you. If you find yourself in the company of a therapist at some point, consider mentioning it?”

Reining in Melanie wasn’t the reason Damien asked her to work with Rowan, he realises in yet another dizzying, revelatory moment, but that isn’t the cause of Rowan’s spluttering. “If? You think it’s only if? I’d have more aro shit on my desk if I weren’t paying a psychiatrist and a psychologist!” He sighs and nods. “January. I see them January.”

“I don’t like to assume.” Damien shrugs again; Rowan guesses it his attempt at conveying casualness. “Given that this isn’t quite the … er, situation for this conversation, I should—”

“I’m fine,” Rowan says, thinking Melanie’s heedless interrupting a contagious quality. “Really. It’s good. Like actually...” He doesn’t know how to voice this feeling that, for the first time in his life, someone has voiced a critique that doesn’t feel like he’s being disdained or unravelled. “Melanie … again, I’m sorry.” He thinks the time right for another distraction and grabs the second parcel from his bag—tissue paper tied with strands of aro-coloured embroidery floss. “Here. I’ve been working on this. I got your name.”

Melanie lunges for the parcel, struggling to untie the knot with her long fingernails until Shelby—was she close by?—hands over a pair of scissors. Blades click shut; Melanie pulls away the paper.

Twenty square embroidered patches in the purples and greens of many aro-ace and aromantic pride flags cascade from Melanie’s hands onto the worn carpet.

Melanie has always been given to laughter, but the way she bends over, resting her elbows on her knees as though she can’t hold herself up, has Rowan fearing that he’s given her a heart attack via pride patches.

“Aro-ace! Are these all of them?” She draws a shaking breath and carefully kneels, gathering patches. “I didn’t know there were this many!”

“Aro and aro-ace. The ones I know about, anyway. There’s probably a few I don’t.”

“Did you make all these?” Shelby asks. “You should sell them!”

Rowan considers explaining why he’ll never make even minimum wage selling hand-embroidered patches in aro pride flag colours, but Melanie’s pulling him into another grasping hug has him scarce able to breathe, never mind speak. He doesn’t know for how long Melanie smothers him, just that she, like an eventual retreating tide, steps back, leaving Rowan bewildered and giddy. Perhaps this is too much?

“You’re a liar, and this must have taken forever, and you shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you sew!” Melanie shakes her head, shuffling through the patches. “There’s the aro-ace flag with blue and orange, and a combined one, and one without black stripes—oh, thank you!”

Rowan shrugs, relieved that she seems happy. “Do you have something to put them on?”

“I have a coat. I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!” Melanie grins, shaking her head, before leaning over to tap Damien on the forearm. “Should the rest of us swap gifts now?”

Damien settles himself down on the closest chair. “Good idea. Do you want to—”

“We’re doing Secret Santa now!” Melanie stands on her tiptoes, waving the hand not clutching a handful of patches. “Find your person and give your gift, and then come here and show me what you got! Rowan made me aro-ace patches! All the aro-ace patches!”

“You know your evaluation says ‘needs to stop interrupt—’”

“Quickly, because Damien’s nattering on about performance evaluations!”

Damien sighs, shakes his head and leans back on his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Lord give me—is that mould up there?”

“Probably,” Rowan says, hoping that he doesn’t look like a man expecting to open a set of golf balls. Did Shelby get him and lie about Melanie? Does that explain the voice recording? “Does the janitor have a step ladder? It’d be easier to tell if we got up close.”

“She does, because of the lighting.” Damien shakes his head. “Remind me first week back to get someone in to look at that. Or to write it on the whiteboard before we leave.” He reaches inside his left trouser pocket, removes a small card-sized parcel held between thumb and pointer finger, and flips it onto Rowan’s lap with surprising deftness. “I think this will be appropriate? While I didn’t know what you planned for Melanie, I saw you working on the train one evening. You had earbuds in and were too busy looking at your hands to notice, but I guessed then you’d made your bag’s patches.”

“It’s hard to cross-stitch on a moving train,” Rowan says by way of apology, a shade confused: what gift needs this explanation? “Hard to cross-stitch well. Not so hard if you don’t care about neatness.” He peels back the tape—Damien wrapped the card the way he presses his suits, the edges inhumanly crisp—and finds a gift card for his local sewing store. Rowan stares, drops the card on his lap and slides his hands under his legs, doubtful he can say anything comprehensible past this isn’t a gift pack of golf balls.

“That’s what you got him? A gift card?” Melanie shakes her head and pokes Damien in the shoulder with startling vehemence; only Damien’s size and his feet, firmly planted on the ground, keep him from falling. “Did you put any thought into that? I don’t like to be that oldie—” She stops, scowling: Rowan can’t hold back his spluttering laughter. “As I was saying, gift cards are the laziest way to—Rowan’s laughing at me, isn’t he?”

Damien tucks his hands behind his head and leans further back in his chair, grinning up at the popcorn ceiling.

Moments—in which Shelby gives Damien a six pack of fancy-looking artisanal beer—pass before Rowan’s ribcage resumes its regular pattern of movement. Finally, he manages to rasp an explanation: “Buying a gift card for a department store? Impersonal, but okay if they shop there. Buying a gift card for a trans man at a clothing shop where every tag has woman on the label? Hateful, unless you know he wants it. Buying a gift card related to someone’s interests so they can pick what they want? Good. And I need fabric, so … thank you.”

“Did someone get you a Millers gift card?” Melanie asks, her hands raised to cover her mouth. “That’s horrible!”

“That’s Aunt Laura,” Rowan mutters. Melanie’s expression of horror, Damien’s surprising evaluation and the wonder of a good, useful present leaves him inclined to truth: “That’s the most considerate gift I’ll get. One with thought that isn’t ‘outright cissexism’ or ‘you’re a man so we’ll ignore your personality to give you the most generically-male of generically-male items’.” He places the gift card and paper on his desk before nodding at Damien, who continues his overgrown Cheshire Cat impression. “Really, thank you.”

Even though Rowan isn’t standing atop his desk to blather about names, the room falls into an uncomfortable quiet.

Shouldn’t someone rustle some wrapping paper? Bite into a biscuit? Thank somebody for their gift? Why aren’t they making noise?

Melanie breaks into a broad smile, threading her fingers together like a self-congratulatory cartoon villain. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Rowan’s body, ever alert to strangeness in the people around him, stiffens long before his brain concurs that this change in conversational direction is at minimum odd and veering towards confronting with a high likelihood of I’m so not going to like it.

Damien jerks upright, chair creaking. “Didn’t we talk about how to do this—”

“His aunt gave him a Millers gift card!” Melanie grabs Shelby by the arm and drags her towards the meeting room like an illegal firework gone out of control.

Damien isn’t much an arbiter of this office’s brand of chaos, but he’s the closest thing to a pillar of stability inside this mouse-scented bewilderment and therefore the person at which Rowan directs his questioning: “What...?”

“You know how Melanie gets all enthusiastic?” Damien runs both hands through his already-mussed hair. “She comes up with plans and you can’t so much stop her as guide her in the safest direction and hope you’re alive come the landing?”

Does Damien know that is the worst answer anyone can give to a man with more than one anxiety disorder? At least short of pronouncements like “we volunteered you to give year 12 biology students a seminar on recessive genes and you’re starting right now”? Wasn’t that something to do with the monk who grew beans? Hendel? Mendel? Or did he just grow beans at a monastery for some reason? Or was it peas?

“What...?” Rowan croaks, staring at the dark meeting room like a man waiting to face a starving tyrannosaurus.

“She thought we should demonstrate our acceptance of you, after our failures in this. And then she realised Christmas isn’t a great time of year for you, which made her even more … uh, enthusiastic. I made her promise she’d do this after everyone else left, but...”

Melanie staggers out of the meeting room with a large basket held in both hands, a basket covered with glinting cellophane and decorated with a mix of blue and green ribbons.

Shelby trails after her, clasping another pair of scissors.

Rowan will never understand, never mind be able to explain, the thought processes leading to his diving off his chair for the sanctuary underneath his desk—just that one moment he’s sitting on his chair and the next he’s crouching beside computer cables and a lid from someone’s Pikachu lunch box. Some primeval sense of cave as safety, perhaps … but didn’t prehistoric humanity fear cave bears and cave lions? Aren’t large, bright spaces, with visibility and room to run, safer than small, dark places concealing unknowable predators? What about drought, then? Or deserts? Are there any safe places, really...?

Melanie holds no respect for the ancient tenets of let the hiding man hide undisturbed until he’s ready to stop hiding, but she does rest the basket on the ground at the entrance of Rowan’s desk-cave, blocking legs and chairs from sight. “Merry Christmas,” she warbles from behind the mountain of cellophane and wicker. “We hope there’s something there that you like!”

“Happy Holidays!” Shelby echoes, followed by a few more rounds from the rest of the office. “Do you want scissors? Melanie wraps things like she’s paid to use sticky tape by the metre.”

“We only have cheap tape in the office! It won’t stick unless you use heaps!” A thunking sound echoes from above Rowan’s head, and then Melanie’s candy-striped hand reaches around the leg of his desk, offering Shelby’s scissors. “Here. You’ll ... probably need them.”

There’s something to be said for this workplace’s willingness to treat escapades atop and beneath office furniture as normal, Rowan thinks. Breathe. “Than—uh—thanks.” He takes the scissors, staring at the back of shining cellophane; a miscellany of shapes wrapped in green paper sit within like an aromantic dragon’s treasure hoard.

“Damien, can you make them give us better tape next year?”

“We can have good tape if we stop spending the stationery money on good coffee and your fancy teas?”

“The tape’s fine,” Melanie announces before changing the subject: “Rowan? Are you opening anything? You have to tell us what you’re opening if you’re going to do it down there. Oh, do be careful—I think Liam used to shove his chewing gum under the table.”

Rowan shudders, but better his hair brushing old chewing gum over seeing his gift-opening become the focus of everyone’s attention! He draws a steadying breath, tells himself delay won’t help and slits the cellophane until he can draw out a wrapped box, one suspiciously weighty. At least fifty pieces of tape fasten the flaps on each end; Rowan promises himself that he’ll wrap everything in string and tea towels from now on before ripping into the paper. A mug with five horizontal bands wrapped around its body, the trans flag fading into the aro flag—blue into green, pink into green, white unchanged, pink into grey, blue into black.

Shelby, he thinks in disbelief, the non-existent golf balls making their appearance inside his throat. He rests the mug in his lap before reaching through the cellophane with shaking, sweating hands for another box. Another box with the same dimensions and weight...

“Oh, god,” he whispers.

His co-workers got him a basket of pride mugs for Christmas.

Melanie breaks into ringing laughter.

He needs a moment to find his voice, a moment in which he unwraps a mug with a gradient allo-aro design and another with the aromantic flag on one side and the bisexual flag on the other. “Did you … did you … uh, get me any coffee to go with all my mugs?”

“It’s on the bottom!” Melanie trills. “And it isn’t just mugs!”

“Mostly mugs,” Damien says.

After another couple of minutes, a gradient frayromantic and a frayromantic-and-allo-aro mug join the collection precariously balanced on Rowan’s thighs. He sighs in relief when the next item in the basket feels soft, flat and light, something rustling underneath the wrapping paper, but a second lot of golf balls settle in his throat when he spots the pink and blue stripes, the drape of fabric: a trans pride flag.

He can’t swallow, can’t lessen the burn in his eyes or ease the stiffness in his jaw and neck; his fingers fight to tear, peel and grasp. Bewildered to the point of dizziness, he finds an aromantic flag with its glorious green stripes, a frayromantic-and-bisexual mug and the expensive coffee Rowan permits himself on special occasions.

He scoops wrapping paper and boxes back into the basket before hugging his clinking pile of mugs and flags.

Inchoate feeling abounds: a tangle, a knot of emotion with trailing threads of pleasure and overwhelm, surprise and gratitude, guilt and shame ... and something like the shock of being slapped across the face. They shouldn’t have done this! He shouldn’t be like this! Why is this too much? Why can’t he say “thank you” and express a normal, sensible gratitude for these people doing what Rowan’s family can’t ... instead of struggling with the feeling that Rowan, ungrateful and demanding, doesn’t deserve anything from people who have provoked his annoyance, frustration and alienation?

Mugs. Mugs and flags.

Why does something this wondrous have to hurt so much?

After a few moments, the only sound from him the chink of shifting crockery, someone moves the basket. Melanie sits on the floor and wriggles herself backwards underneath the table, grunting, to sit beside him. For once, she doesn’t speak; she rests a hand around his shoulder and lets him be a shivering mass of man clasping mugs.

Finally, Rowan’s rasping, croaking voice manages a few words: “Is this why Shelby recorded me ... talking about my identities?”

“I told you he thought it was suspicious!” Shelby crawls to Rowan’s other side, her braid trailing over the carpet. “Mel said you’d think it was just me being old—no, nobody does that!” She clasps his forearm, squeezing like a vice on wood. “Mel tried seeing if you’ve got a … all those accounts that aren’t Facebook, where you might say what you are? But she couldn’t find you, so I had my granddaughter show me how to record you. We knew we wouldn’t remember if you just said them.”

“I don’t know all the flags yet,” Melanie says in apologetic tones. “And I thought if I made the others check, they’d learn more about us!”

Part of Rowan feels a habitual spike of terror at the thought of offline people finding his social media accounts; part of him feels a quiet pride at Melanie’s using him to educate others in aromanticism. Most of him, fearing a blubbering breakdown, clings to the lifeline of asking questions: “And why Damien started that whole conversation?”

“We had to know where your mug seller was.” Damien bends down to peer underneath the desk and, at Melanie’s brow-arched stare, adds: “I’m not getting under there! You’ll have to call the SES to cut me out!”

Rowan nods and draws a breath. “I … I...”

“You’re very welcome.” Shelby squeezes his arm again. “Can I have your shortbread recipe? They’re good!”

“Yeah. Bag. Front pocket, left-hand side. People ask, so...” Rowan tries for another slow inhale. It’s supposed to help. Supposed.

His family expects gratitude said clearly and directly, even when undeserving; they’ll never take emotional speechlessness as its shorthand. They want the formula followed, interactions never deviating from the same narrow structure: gift given, thanks provided, everything right in their world where it’s the thought that counts justifies disrespect of another’s personhood. They avoid messiness and honesty; they fear navigating and acknowledging mistakes and missteps.

They won’t see him as a man, or understand the pain they cause in believing his masculinity something he can put aside for their comfort, because they fear a world with unpredictability and fluidity.

Mum and Dad will never conspire to give him a gift like this. They’ll never want to get to know Rowan well enough to try. They’ll never put his needs ahead of their comfort. They’ll never speak of challenges or difficulties with Damien’s kind casualness. They’ll never want to acknowledge their failures. They’ll never give him an awkward, chaotic Christmas that veers from their notions of how things are supposed to be.

Does he want to endure their narrowness, now that he knows what better looks like?

Does he want to endure their truth that Rowan Ross isn’t a real man to them—and won’t be a real person until he remembers his deadname and the stereotypical trappings of the gender presumed to accompany it?

Or does he want to expect and get something else?

Maybe he doesn’t want a world so predictable his erasure becomes acceptable collateral damage for sticking to the pattern.

Maybe, despite his anxiety, he wants a world where people can surprise him.

“Melanie? Damien?” Rowan, shaking, pokes his head out from underneath the desk. “Can I … can I still spend Christmas with one of you?”

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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1. What’s the last thing you ate? Shawarma. It was a usual meal of mine at school so I’ve been missing it a lot during this quarantine, and I was happy when my dad got me a couple ones yesterday.

2. What’s your favourite cheese? I haven’t been super experimental when it comes to cheese mainly because the better ones are a little expensive and I’m more willing to spend my money on other foods...but the best one I’ve had is feta.

3. What’s your favourite fish? My favorite cooked or grilled fish is tilapia and eel; as for raw fish I love tuna.

4. What’s your favourite fruit? I don’t really like fruit but I’m open to eating avocado-flavored things like shakes and cheesecake; and I’m okay with strawberry-flavored candy hahaha.

5. When, if ever, did you start liking olives? I’ve never liked olives. I take them out of my pizza and such.

6. When, if ever, did you start liking beer? I never *liked* beer but sometimes I’ll have a bottle if and only if it’s to socialize at a party. I just keep the grimace to myself lol because I personally never found it good. I had my first beer at Marielle’s debut, four years ago.

7. When, if ever, did you start liking shellfish? High school. That was when my palate started to expand and I wanted to try being more adventurous with food. I got into shellfish pretty early on and my mom even used to buy a kilo of mussels just for me.

8. What was the best thing your mum/dad/guardian used to make? I love my dad’s laksa, risotto, curries, and chicken wings. My mom doesn’t cook much but I do like her spaghetti.

9. What’s the native specialty of your hometown? My city doesn’t have native food of its own; and I’m not sure about my province’s specialtes either only because cuisines from other provinces are far more popular. I can say though that most visitors who come to the country often try adobo, sinigang, kare-kare, and bulalo.

10. What’s your comfort food? Cheeseburgers, samgyeopsal, pad thai, and chicken wings.

11. What’s your favourite type of chocolate? Milk chocolate. And it gets a lot of flak because it’s not actually chocolate, but I do enjoy the flavor of white chocolate too.

12. How do you like your steak? Rare.

13. How do you like your burger? I like mine with caramelized onions, a mayo-based sauce, and brioche buns; barbecue sauce or jalapeños are add-ons I have no problem being put in my burger. I don’t like tomatoes, pickles, and lettuce.

14. How do you like your eggs? Scrambled if on toast; omelette with cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms, and bell peppers if with rice; and obviously, poached if on top of an Eggs Benedict. I don’t have a preferred style for eggs.

15. How do you like your potatoes? As French fries or mojos.

16. How do you take your coffee? If someone is making the coffee for me, I request for lots of cream and sugar. I’d drink any kind of coffee but black. If I’m at a coffee shop I typically get caramel macchiato.

17. How do you take your tea? I enjoy lemonade iced tea. I don’t really like hot tea.

18. What’s your favourite mug? I suppose my favorite is the only mug I own, which is a white mug that changes colors depending on the temperature of the drink inside.

19. What’s your biscuit or cookie of choice? I can’t stand biscuits anymore because those are what my grandma/mom packed for my recess nearly everyday throughout grade school. I don’t like store-brought cookies either because they taste super processed, but my favorite as a kid were the Presto peanut butter cookies.

20. What’s your ideal breakfast? Garlic rice, a packed omelette, and hashbrowns if I’m somewhere fancy. Scrambled eggs and hotdogs when I’m at home.

21. What’s your ideal sandwich? Monte Cristo or banh mi.

22. What’s your ideal pizza: Quattro formaggi. If we’re talking more experimental pizzas, barbecue pizza is a guilty pleasure.

23. What’s your ideal pie (sweet or savoury)? I’m not a big pie person but I do love savory a lot more, like chicken pot pie. I think most of the sweet pies out there are fruit-based anyway.

24. What’s your ideal salad? Spicy tuna salad. I’ve been having such a craving for it :(

25. What food do you always like to have in the fridge? We always have white bread, eggs, my mom’s cranberry juice, and veggies.

26. What food do you always like to have in the freezer? In the freezer we never run out of various meats and frozen meal packs, like frozen bangus, hotdogs, chicken nuggets, French fries, etc. We also often have ice cream, but it’s not a must-have for us obviously.

27. What food do you always like to have in the cupboard? Pasta, canned food like luncheon meat and corned beef, cup noodles, various condiments like soy sauce and fish sauce, 3-in-1 coffee.

28. What spices can you not live without? I can’t cook but I do know I like salt, pepper, paprika, and cumin. I’m sure I’m missing other essential ones lol

29. What sauces can you not live without? Sriracha, bagoong, banana ketchup, gochujang, peanut sauce, gravy, barbecue sauce, aioli, mayonnaise.

30. Where do you buy most of your food? My parents don’t have a supermarket preference; they just go to wherever is most convenient for them at the moment. Once I start doing my own grocery shopping though I would rather go to a supermarket where they’d have a wider selection for foreign foods, like those that would have Pop-Tarts and sriracha sauce. Just the foodie in me that constantly has to have food from other cultures.

31. How often do you go food shopping? My parents do the groceries once every two or three weeks, I think.

33. What’s the most expensive piece of kitchen equipment you own? Aside from the obvious ref or cooking range, probably the coffee maker. Not sure how much it cost my parents but it’s supposed to be branded haha.

34. What’s the last piece of equipment you bought for your kitchen? Dad bought a couple of pans because he didn’t like how our old ones were starting to get too many scratches.

35. What piece of kitchen equipment could you not live without? Refrigerator. So many things would spoil without it...that’s why when we get blackouts the first thing we worry about is how long the ref would stay cold.

36. How many times a week/month do you cook from raw ingredients? I’ve only done it once.

37. What’s the last thing you cooked from raw ingredients?

38. What meats have you eaten besides cow, pig and poultry? Crocodile, carabao, lamb.

39. What’s the last time you ate something that had fallen on the floor? Don’t remember exactly when but it has to be sometime recently. I’m not too grossed out by this.

40. What’s the last time you ate something you’d picked in the wild? I have never done this.

41. Arrange the following in order of preference: Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Indian, Thai, Sushi – Indian, Thai, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Mexican. This question is a teeny bit annoying and a little offensive. How would you like it if I referred to American food as ‘ribs’ lol

42. Arrange the following in order of preference: Vodka, Whiskey, Brandy, Rum – Vodka, rum, (some) whiskey. I don’t drink brandy because that’s what my grandpa, who had alcohol issues, used to drink.

43. Arrange the following in order of preference: Garlic, Basil, Lime, Mint, Ginger, Aniseed – Aniseed, garlic, basil, ginger, lime, mint.

44. Arrange the following in order of preference: Pineapple, Orange, Apple, Strawberry, Cherry, Watermelon, Banana. –

45. Bread and spread: I don’t really munch on this particular food. Toast and butter is enough for me.

46. What’s your fast food restaurant of choice, and what do you usually order? It’s either KFC or Jollibee. In KFC I get a Zinger and a brownie; in Jollibee, I usually order the chicken-spaghetti set, large fries, and a Yum Burger. If they have tuna pie on the menu I’d get that too. My appetite gets exceptionally large when it comes to Jollibee hahahaha.

47. Pick a city. What are the best dining experiences you’ve had in that city? I no longer remember what exactly I ate but I had a blaaaast eating in Bali. I also had a sushi platter in Fukuoka that I’ll never forget.

48. What’s your choice of tipple at the end of a long day? I don’t drink regularly but if I’m out with friends and we want to chill after a tiring day, we get a pitcher of a mixed drink.

49. What’s the next thing you’ll eat? Eggs and hotdogs for breakfast. Probably with bread.

50. Are you hungry now? A little bit, considering it’s nearly 10 and I still haven’t had breakfast.

51. Do you eat your breakfast everyday? I’ve been having it everyday now because I’ve been home for...most of the year...sigh. But I skipped it all the time when I was in school because getting to class on time and having a clean attendance record mattered to me more than filling up my stomach. 52. At what time do you have breakfast? On weekdays I have it between 9-10 AM. On weekends when my parents are home, we have brunch instead at around 10:30-11 AM because they wake up late.

53. At what time do you have lunch? I normally skip lunch now. In school I just had tiny eating breaks throughout the day, but I didn’t have lunch per se.

54. What do you have for lunch? My usual purchases were instant noodles/kwek-kwek, tapsilog from Rodic’s, or shawarma rice. Thrived on these three for my entire college life.

55. At what time do you have dinner? 7-8 PM, depending on whenever my dad is finished cooking.

56. What do you have for dinner? My dad likes changing up our dishes everyday :) It’s one of my favorite things about quarantine. Outside of the quarantine, I’ve never had a main dinner dish.

57. Do you light candles during dinner? No.

58. How many chairs are there in your dining room and who sits in the main chair? 6 chairs. We don’t have a ‘main’ chair that’s larger than the rest, but my dad is the one who sits on the chair on one end of the dining table, or what we call the kabisera in Filipino. My mom, siblings, and I sit on either side of him.

59. Do you eat and drink using your right hand or the left one? I use my right hand for the spoon and my left hand for the fork. I drink with my right hand most of the time.

61. Mention the veggies that you like most: Broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce, cabbage, spinach, asparagus, string beans. Idk what eggplants and bell peppers are but I like those too.

62. What fruit and vegetable do you like the least? Cucumber and ampalaya. 63. You like your fruit salad to have more: Air. Hahahaha I do not like fruit salads.

64. You prefer your vegetable salad to contain more: I love vegetables but don’t really eat vegetable salads? I don’t think I’ve even heard of those.

65. What’s your favourite sandwich spread? Whatever goes on banh mi.

66. What’s your favourite chocolate bar? Whittaker’s peanut butter chocolate.

67. What’s your favourite dessert? I really love macarons, cupcakes, and cheesecake.

68. What’s your favourite drink? Just water. Other drinks make me fuller more quickly.

69. What’s your favourite snack? Pringles, French fries, corndogs...anything deep-fried, really.

70. What’s your favourite bubble gum flavour? Strawberry, or just the original bubblegum flavor.

71. What’s your favourite ice cream flavour? Salted caramel, queso real, or cookies and cream.

72. What’s your favourite potato chip flavour? Original or sour cream and onion.

73. What’s your favourite soup? Miso. Have to have it whenever I have Japanese food.

74. What’s your favourite pizza? Already answered this, but I will always order quattro formaggi if I see it on a menu.

75. What’s your favourite type of dish? I have lots of favorites, but I think chicken curry takes the cake for me.

76. What food do you hate? Fruits, any dessert with fruits.

77. What’s your favourite restaurant? Yabu. It’s a Japanese restaurant that doesn’t even serve sushi (because I’m still ticked off by that sushi question lol).

78. Do you eat homemade food, or food delivered from outside? These days I eat food cooked by either parent. But when I’m on my own, I buy my food.

80. Who cooks at home? My dad does most of the time. My mom will make breakfast on the weekends.

81. What kind of diet (e.g. low-fat, high-fiber, high-carbohydrate, balanced diet etc.) do you have? I’m not on any.

82. How do you keep yourself fit? I just moderate my food intake in general and make sure I stop eating once I feel full. I don’t work out or count calories and stuff.

#survey #surveys

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angelaiswriting · 6 years

Text

The Truth | Vladimir Ranskahov x reader

[couldn’t find anything i liked, so here i am again with my banners, yay! haha]

✎ Pairing: Vladimir Ranskahov x reader

✎ Requested by @mmpmaple : Could you do a fluffy thing with Vladimir? Sort of an AU where he made it out with daredevil and recovers at the readers home. They sometimes butt heads because lets face it he is stubborn! It is not the Russian way to listen to some 'little girl' that is friends with the man in the black mask.

✎ Requested by Anonymous: Could you please do something with vladimir, I was so upset that he sacrificed himself just when I started to love him even more. please, please,please, write an au where he lives and falls in love with the reader who looks after him since claire definitely won't stitch him back up and matt can't reveal where he lives. <3

✎ A/N: fluff can be found only if you squint real hard, I fear haha I’m really sorry, I did my best. I’ve also just re-read your requests and I feel like I unintentionally detatched myself a little from them, but also that there’s more that could be added to this story, so I could maybe try a part two? Who knows (you do! Let me know). I apologize for the stupid title, but my mind was completely blank haha

✎ A/N 2: also, my dudes. My dudes. I’ve never read the comics (my brain can’t read them), so all I know is what I see on the show. But. But. This is no AU until I see his damn dead body. I’ve seen too many shows and movies to believe a death just because we hear rifles shooting. <3

✎ Warnings: probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever read. Mentions of nudity and masturbation (it’s Vlad after all haha)

Word-count: 3,498

Vladimir Borisovich Ranskahov is anything but sweet. He is strong angles and large shoulders and calloused hands and scarred face. His fingers are made to hold a gun, his body has seen too much, his mind has endured too much. But as he kisses her, all Y/N can think about are his soft lips—chapped but still tender—against hers and his tongue brushing against hers as if she was the most fragile thing.

None of them know how they got to this point. They head-butt like the champions of the discipline, they argue and bicker like kids, and when they fight, they spit venom. But with his hand behind her neck, his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, time stops and all they can do is stare into each other’s eyes.

But then she moves, not so much accidentally elbowing his ribs, and he pulls away with a groan. And before they know it, they’re bickering again. She says he should be resting, he argues he’s not a pussy, she retorts he’d be dead without her so he’d better do as she says, and he ends up stomping away towards her bedroom and slams the door closed.

Sometimes she doesn’t know what to do to get out of that situation, other times she doesn’t want to get out of that situation. Sometimes she’d kill him herself, other times she’d beg him to smash her head into the wall so that she doesn’t have to stand him a minute longer. All in all, though, she enjoys his brooding company. It gives her something else to focus on to distract herself from the fact that she’s lying to her friend, hiding a supposedly dead criminal like that.

This time, though, is one of those times where she wonders why in the fucking hell she’s befriended a Ranskahov and how she’s managed to convince herself to stitch him up. She’s come home from work less than half an hour ago and she already feels like screaming and tearing the whole apartment down, smashing the TV screen with her fist just to see it bleed, just to focus on something else that’s not her guest. And suddenly, Vladimir’s sweetness has flown out of the window and it’s like it never existed.

It’s already as hard as it is, working with her stupid colleagues and trying to have a decent relationship with her friends. She really doesn’t need that stupid Russian dick throwing a tantrum because the vodka she brought home is not the one he wanted.

As if he gives a fuck about what she wants.

For starters, she wants to sleep in her bed—she’s tired of that old couch breaking her back in half. Then, she’d like to wake up to a smoking cup of coffee waiting for her on the kitchen island next to a plate of scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes.

But then her altruistic side comes out like the ultimate bitch it is and she’s ready to kick her own ass. Vladimir has lost everything, she tells herself. He’s lost his brother, his business, his friends. He’s injured and still recovering and his body is littered in bruises. And he’s a good person when he wakes up on the right side of the bed—or literally when God, Jesus Christ and the whole lot of saints decide to give her a day off, just to recharge a little before another nightmarish day spent babysitting a moron starts.

And so she never says a word, not even now as she slams the oven shut as she takes out the pizzas she bought coming home. She tries not to think about what comes next because she knows he’s going to complain about her choice of dinner. She just knows it, it’s something she feels from deep inside, something she cannot shake off her shoulders.

When she yells Vladimir’s name, adding a curse as she does so, she’s as ready to start the night as she would be if she were in front of death. It takes him a while to get out of her room and reach her in the living room to sit in front of the TV, where she’s put the plates and glasses on the little coffee table. She always jokes about how he always jacks off and she mock-complains about how she doesn’t want to find his jizz on her bedsheets when she has to do the laundry (she’d never admit, though, that she’d like it somewhere else). And he always grunts in response, half in English and half in Russian and he grabs his dick from above his pants just to make fun of her. Just as he does now.

“Behave,” she simply says, side-eyeing him and scoffing when she sees he’s only wearing his lounge pants, his bandages on display, and she crosses her legs and takes a slice of her pizza.

It’s not the best. She prefers it when pizza isn’t out of a freezer in a convenience store, but she really doesn’t want to buy pizza for him. She hopes he figures out what she’s trying to tell him, but he never does and he probably never will. Probably—just probably, though—she doesn’t want him to catch up and she’s happy with how things are. After all, it’s nice to come back home to someone, to have someone to spend the evening before they both go to bed.

She’s not saying it out loud, though. Not now and not ever, let alone to him. And even if he clearly likes her and lets it on in every way he can, she’s not ready to admit that she likes him back. He’s a Ranskahov, after all, and that means he’s the bad guy and she promised her mom she wouldn’t end up with the bad guy as she did before being dumped with a kid in her womb. And so she keeps her mouth shut and her hands to herself and she stares at the TV like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

And the night is calm and they’re both quiet.

Inside her head, she still hears King and that ‘when the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we’ll see’ of his and she tries her best not to giggle—somehow, Vlad loves this song and he has it on loop when he’s in the shower. And when she walks past the door to do her things, she can even hear him hum it and she snickers because she’s never thought of him as the type that would like ‘Stand By Me’.

“What are you laughing at?” he growls, brooding as he bites his pizza.

She casually points at the screen and shrugs. “It’s fun,” she shrugs again, “this show.”

“He’s eating her out. That’s not fun,” he points out. He’s no fan of Sons of Anarchy, but she doesn’t care—she’s the one paying for Netflix, so he’ll have to behave if he doesn’t want to see some cheesy shit.

“Didn’t know sex was a chore,” she says and chugs a gulp of water. “But thanks for enlightening me, buddy. I’ll bring you in next time I fuck someone, you’ll be able to stop me from chuckling.”

She clearly sees him clench his jaw and they both resolve that silence is better than bickering again.

“How’s pizza?” she asks after a while. She doesn’t like his silences because she never knows what he’s thinking about and she doesn’t like that idea.

“It’s shit. You could’ve stopped by some pizza joint.”

She doesn’t answer: she just shrugs her shoulders and keeps silent. Vladimir is right, but the thing she bought is still acceptable and it’s cheaper than the one he wants. She doesn’t swim in money and his vodka and cigarettes are the most expensive things she’s bought after that sexy set of lingerie she bought online when she was drunk.

But then, after the third episode, someone knocks at the door and they both turn to stare at each other, frozen on the spot. Vlad grabs his gun and he’s ready to unlock whatever security thing he has to unlock to make fire—she really doesn’t know and she doesn’t even want to know—and she’s quick to grab his arm, shaking her head no.

They don’t say a word, they hardly even breathe because it could be anyone—from a drunkard to the old lady from down the corridor to the police. To even Fisk’s men, even if Y/N barely knows who Fisk is: she’s always watching Netflix and doesn’t read newspapers.

“Y/N, it’s me.”

It’s Matt’s voice and they both freeze: her, because she really doesn’t want her friend to find her with a not-so-dead criminal on her couch, and him, because that’s clearly the masked guy’s voice and he fears he’s come for him.

“Coming!” she calls, sprinting to her feet and dragging Vlad with her before pushing him towards the bedroom. “Let me get dressed, I’m not presentable!” She shoves her guest into the room and pushes him into the en-suite bathroom, the one she rarely uses these days. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath. “Don’t make a sound or I’m cutting your dick off and it’s not gonna be like in The Package, I’m not giving it to the docs!” she hisses, taking the gun and hiding it under the sink.

When she runs back and opens the door, though, she’s not thinking about Vladimir anymore. Matt is all beaten up and his lip is split. She knows about his ‘night shift’, of course, she’s a nosy bitch after all, just as she knows about what happened between him and the half-naked Russian in her bathroom.

“What happened?” she asks, closing her door. She’s not even concerned, not anymore at least. She’s seen him bruised and hurt so many times she’s lost count—and after seeing Vladimir half-dead, nothing surprises her anymore.

He shrugs, but she doesn’t see it: she’s already pouring water on a hand towel to clean up his dirty face. “Didn’t know you had guests,” he says—and he’s clearly lying, but she doesn’t know and she doesn’t need to know.

At first, she lies, but then she sees Vlad’s half-eaten pizza and his glass of coke and she’s still wearing just her panties and huge sweatshirt and she feels cornered.

“You seeing someone?” he asks as she dabs his split lip. He’s leaning against the back of the couch and he inhales sharply when she dabs a little too hard.

She feels like lying again, but then she looks at him, all beaten up and dressed like a Hell’s Kitchen’s version of Deadpool and she doesn’t find it in herself. “Kinda,” she says, avoiding his gaze. She knows he’s blind just as she knows she isn’t—it’s still weird for her and she still can’t comprehend it, but it still creeps her out.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted anything,” he goes on.

She shrugs. “Wait here, I’m getting the first aid kit.” And to do so, she has to get into the dreaded bathroom and she really doesn’t want to get caught.

“Why don’t you introduce us?” he presses. He sounds a little pissed, but at the moment she really doesn’t care, she has bigger problems to think about and she thought they had both overcome their childhood crushes on each other.

“He’s naked,” she blurts out as she lets the towel fall on the couch, not knowing what else to say. “This really is… it’s really not the right time,” she stutters, turning around and heading towards her room at a sloth’s pace.

“Why not? Shouldn’t your best friend meet this lucky guy?”

She has barely the time to notice he’s following her that Vladimir opens the door to her bedroom and she lets out a squeal. And when she turns around, she bumps into Matt and she really wants to be swallowed up into the floor.

“Here’s your kit,” he growls and it’s Matt who grabs the box and Y/N can see his mouth slightly open in surprise when he recognizes the voice.

There’s silence for a long while and all she can hear is her heart beating like crazy inside her chest. She’s pretty sure those two men can hear it, too. She feels like dying and for a moment she thinks that it wouldn’t be that bad. Because how the hell is she going to explain that she has a naked criminal in her house?

Matt calls her name and his voice is strangely calm, its tone is as hard as stone. He looks at her—or probably right through her, she is too scared to even try and rationalize it. “You are fucking Vladimir Ranskahov.” They all know it should be a question, but it comes out as an affirmation and it makes the whole situation even worse. Because as much as she’d like to jump his bones, she’d also love to kick Vladimir’s ass.

“It’s not as it seems,” and her words come out as a question and it all feels wrong.

Matt’s hands are gripping the plastic box of the first aid kit so hard she fears he’s going to turn into the Hulk and his jaw is set so tight that she fears his teeth might fall off at any given second. “Why is he standing there naked then?” he asks and, again, she really doesn’t want to know how he knows Vladimir’s as naked as his mom’s made him. “Most importantly, why is he alive?”

“Can we please all calm down?” she squeals, putting her hands up in the air as if they’re arresting her.

In all honesty, they’re all calm—or at least they seem so—and she’s the only one on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Neither Matt nor Vladimir say a word, even if she clearly hears the latter cross his arms in front of his chest.

“Go put something on your junk,” she begs, but the stupid Russian doesn’t move.

“I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Matt urges her, grabbing her elbow and squeezing it tight.

It takes her a good two hours to calm Matt down from his blind rage. She barely manages to fix his face without hurting him more and more than once she wishes she didn’t work as a vet so that she could mess up with the stitches.

During that time, Vladimir sits brooding on the couch, still as naked as a worm, and glares at her while she mouths at him to leave the room.

But when Matt eventually leaves, after promising on Foggy’s life to not say a word and to not do anything, Y/N turns towards her guest and all she sees is red as he sits there, arms slouched behind the back of the couch, the guy’s prick on full display as if he had something to prove.

It takes her a while before she’s able to move again and when she does, a shiver creeps down Vladimir’s spine. He has never seen her this scary and for a split second, he regrets playing that trick on her and on her masked friend. But then again, he knows how to deal with women and how to put people in their place.

“You are a son of a bitch,” she seethes through her gritted teeth as she slams a pillow on his penis. She’s dying to peek, but she’s also dying to bite it off, so she resolves for neither of those options.

“You could have told me you are friends with stupid Daredevil,” he growls as he grabs her wrists.

That night she doesn’t sleep.

At first, she tosses and turns on the couch, groaning under her breath at her lack of sleep. Tomorrow is her day off, but she’d still like to sleep. And she doesn’t want to think about Matt and how furious he was when he found Vladimir in her apartment. And she doesn’t want to think about Vladimir, either, because that would mean accepting what she feels for him and she’s not ready to admit she likes him, not yet.

And then, when Vlad comes and drags her to bed, any chance at finding sleep flies out of the window, never to be seen again—or probably not, probably she’s just overreacting and being dramatic, but his arm against her burns like fire and her hair there are standing on their ends and she can’t focus on anything else.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he stares at the ceiling, where the lights from outside cast unreadable patterns.

She doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, and part of her doesn’t want to know. It could mean anything from ‘sorry I got out naked’ to ‘sorry I came to look for your help in the first place’. And while she’d gladly take the former, she doesn’t want to think about the latter because even if she complains a lot, she doesn’t really mean it.

“I am, too,” she whispers back, trying not to think about the bandage covering the wound on his right calf lightly rubbing the skin of her left leg.

This time, it’s Vladimir who doesn’t know what she’s apologizing for. Always throwing tantrums at his own tantrums? Being friends with the guy who almost killed him? Making him fall for her fast and hard, making him doubt about anything and everything at once?

And before they know, she’s lying down on her side and his arm is wrapped around her shoulders. And it’s cozy, to lie there like that, pretending there’s nothing between them and that they’re just barely tolerating each other’s presence.

“I should leave,” he says after a while and she knows he’s fighting off the urge to light up a cigarette. He knows she doesn’t like it when he smokes in her room, but the truth is, she doesn’t really care. Deep down, so deep she’ll never admit it, she enjoys the disgusting smell of smoke because it reminds her of him and as long as her house stinks of tobacco and other cancerogenic substances, she knows he’s there with her.

“It’s well past two in the morning,” she yawns back and she’s so comfortable in his embrace that she feels herself drifting off to sleep.

“In the morning, I mean,” he continues, “or evening.”

She knows he means it. Somehow, she can feel it in his muscles, in the way they tense when she traces the edge of one of his bandages yet again.

The truth is, she likes his company. She likes to fight with him because he lets her get rid of the pent-up frustration she always carries inside her. And she likes it when he mutters unintelligible Russian words under his breath, or when he off-key sings under the shower—she had never thought of him as the type that sang in the bathroom, but here he was, in all his fucked-up glory. She definitely doesn’t like it when he jerks off in the toilet and he moans and grunts like there’s no tomorrow, though, but she could definitely get used to it.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she admits after minutes spent in silence and she rolls back on her back and she stares at the ceiling like him. “Matt won’t do a thing, I promise. And if he does,” she continues, “I’ll fix it.”

She’s debated a lot on whether to tell him the truth or not, but she doesn’t even know what the truth is, herself, so she says what she thinks is best.

And as they somehow end up cuddling, something either of them hasn’t done in ages, she’s scared because she knows he might be leaving for real. And even though she cannot tell whether the crush she has for him is really there, she knows he’s become like a friend and she wouldn’t stand the idea of coming back home to an empty and cold apartment just to cook something quick and spend the rest of the evening watching Netflix.

And as he stares at her while she sleeps, her eyelashes brushing lightly against his shoulder, he knows he has to leave. He has spent so much time imagining her in his life that now that he has her, he’s scared. He knows he’ll hurt her, or that someone else might do that just to get to him, and he really doesn’t want it: he cares about her too much to even risk it, even if he does his best to not let it on.

But right now, it’s good to have her there where he’s always wanted her—and where he knows she’s always wanted him. And she feels soft and warm and defenseless against him and her breath tickles his skin and he swears that’s the best feeling in the world.

>> Part Two: Jealousy (NSFW) >>

I’m not in pain anymore, but I still find this fun haha am I weird? Don’t answer, I already know I am. On another note, this was really fun to write!

Feedback is always welcome ❤️

TAGS (to be added/removed, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @toomanyfandoms96 @mblaqgi

Bratva: @sweetvengeancee @theranskahovs ( @brobachev ?)

#vladimir ranskahov imagine #vladimir ranskahov x reader #angelaiswriting #vladimir ranskahov #vladimir ranskahov fanfic

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tellerford-mayhem · 6 years

Text

Americano: No hablo su Jesu Cristo Chapter 5

Masterlist

Ship: Chibs x OC

Word Count: 4,172 Words

Synopsis: Isa and Chibs grow closer as he finds out more information about her father’s killer. Some unwanted guests visit turning his world upside down.

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Innuendos, Mentions of Death and Self-Harm.

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! This is my Christmas present to you: an extra long chapter! I hope this makes up for my hiatus. Please let me know what you think of this part. If you want to be tagged in any future chapters, please let me know!

Chibs POV

He walked into his condo and found her on the couch with a pizza box on the floor next to her. She was watching Wheel of Fortune while she indulged herself with her 3rd slice of meat lovers. “Oh, ye dinna order pizza, did ye, lass?”

She was mid-bite when she glared at him. “What did you expect me to do? Starve?”

“I expect ye t'ken tha’ it’s dangerous to invite strangers over while ye are hidin’!”

She rolled her eyes and took another big bite of pizza. She turned the volume up on TV as she ignored his exasperated sigh. He turned down the hallway to shower and change clothes. Quickly, he was bathed, dressed, and back out in the living room to catch the next puzzle. “Tomorrow,” he started, “dinna think ta do somethin’ like this again. I’m tryin’ ta keep ye safe, and I canna do tha’ if ye keep announcin’ yer presence ta the world.”

“Well you have no food in the house.”

“I’m no’ used ta havin’ guests over, lass.”

“How much longer am I expected to stay here?” she asked, turning her attention back to the television.

“Till Jax says.”

She yawned and stretched. He looked at her on his couch. In her messy state, he still thought her to be beautiful. He noticed she was in some of his clothes in an effort to make herself comfortable which caused him to smile a little. He never was able to have this kind of relationship with Fiona, which he always regretted. They never had much of a true martial relationship thanks to Jimmy O, but that was several years ago and there was nothing he could do to save his girls, yet. It had been years since he’d been with a woman he cared about. The Croweaters were…well…Croweaters, not necessarily someone Chibs had a deep emotional connection with, nor would he want one. He liked Isa, and he couldn’t explain it. He felt drawn to her, compelled to protect her.

Isa could tell he was still staring and turned to look at him. “Take a picture; it will last longer.”

He cleared his throat and walked into the kitchen to fix himself some Jameson and ginger ale. “Ye want any?” He shouted in her direction.

“Sure.”

He grabbed two glasses and brought the alcohol into the living room with him. “For every vowel they buy, take a drink,” she said.

He chuckled and sat down by the coffee table in front of her, leaning up against the sofa. “I dinna think ye’ll last long, mo chiùin.”

“I’ll last longer than you will, old man.”

Her POV

He poured the glasses and drank to the first vowel bought. Before long, they were both laughing and completely wasted. His accent had gotten worse the more he drank, and she spoke more Spanish the further into the bottle she got. “No puedo creer que esté bebiendo con mi enemigo,” she said quickly in between laughs.

“I dinna speak Spanish, lass.”

She laughed and took another drink. “Por mucho que odie a SAMCRO, no eres tan malo.”

“Right,” he said, filling his glass again, “I’ll just pretend like I ken wha’ ye said.”

“I said,” she began, “you’re not that bad, despite my hatred of your club.”

The room was spinning. She lazily reached up and covered her face with her hand. “Oof,” she moaned.

“Too much ta drink?”

“Oh please, I’m just getting warmed up.”

He laughed. “I dinna think so. Ye look like yer about to lose yer dinner.”

Isa let her hand fall and she looked at him with a smile before taking another drink. “I’m not about to lose to a Scot.”

“Lass,” ‘he reached for her glass, “I think ye’ve had enough.”

“I’ll tell ye when I’ve had enough,” she said, mocking him.

He held up his hands in surrender and returned to his own drink. Her eyes fell as she immediately regretted her tone. “Lo siento. You’ve act’lly done nuthin’ ‘cept try to help me and keep m’safe.” She leaned on her knees, to be closer to him. She felt the need to speak softly, to make the moment just a little more intimate. “You’re lookin’’ into th’murder of my father for no other reason than t’help me, an’ you’re keepin’ me here t’make sure I’m not sleeped in my murder.”

He laughed at her drunken state. “Yer fine.”

She was inches from his face. “Maybe tomorrow,” she started. However, she leaned too far and fell into him, asleep.

***

The sun crept in and woke her up at around 7:00. She stumbled out of bed to search for Ibuprofen in the bathroom, but she noticed her pants were gone and the only thing she had on was a large SAMCRO shirt that went down just below her bum. She shuffled into the bathroom to see how much of a mess she was. She couldn’t remember what happened after Wheel of Fortune ended. She brushed her hair and pulled it back into a bun before going back into the bedroom to find her pants. Once she stepped out of the bathroom, she stopped in her tracks. She was frozen with panic when she saw that she hadn’t slept alone last night.

“Oh no no no no no no no.” She jumped onto the bed and shoved Chibs until he woke up.

He grumbled at first but then rolled over with a smile. “Mornin’, lass.”

“No. Why are you in here?” She was kneeling next to him, pushing the t-shirt down. “Did we…”

He lightly patted her thigh. “Sadly, no.”

“Then where are my pants? Why are you in bed with me?”

Chibs laughed and rolled out of bed. She was slightly thankful that he was still in his boxers. “I canna help ye with yer pants, but I carried ye ta bed last night. Ye begged me ta stay with ye. So, I put these pillows underneath ye between us and fell asleep.”

She felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Good.” Isa slowly backed away and found her pants tossed across the room.

“Although, I canna help ta say tha’ the alternative woulda been fun.”

She laughed. “Don’t count on it, Scot.”

He walked over to her, almost pinning her against his dresser. “Oh, I won’t. Ye begged for me last night; ye’ll be the one beggin’ again.”

She felt heat rise in her face and her heart race. “That was the Jameson talking.”

Chibs smiled and inched closer to her. “We’ll see about tha’, lass.”

She tried to think of something to clever to say, but her mind had completely gone blank. She didn’t know how long they stood there like that. The tension was thick and everything was still. Isa was sure Chibs could hear her heart beating, because it was so loud she almost didn’t hear his cellphone ringing. He turned to grab his phone, leaving her leaning against the dresser. She finally let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Jackie Boy!” he exclaimed. “He did. When? Should I bring her? She deserves ta know. Okay. Okay. I’ll tell her. See ye in a bit.”

He hung up and turned to face her. “Tha’ was Jax.”

“I gathered that much,” she said crossing her arms.

“I need ta head out.”

“What do I deserve to know?”

He ignored her as he threw on jeans and his kutte. “I’ll be back tonigh’.”

“Chibs.”

He started walking out of the room. “Filip, Lo juro por Dios, te perseguiré por la calle.” She chased after him. “¡No vas a dejarme aquí sin avisarme!”

Chibs spun around and faced her. “Calm sìos, boireannach! I will tell ye more when I get back tonigh’.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door. “Where are you going?”

He sighed. “If I tell ye, ye need to promise ye aren’t gonna leave here until I come and get ye.”

“Fine.”

“Stockton. We might ‘ave information about yer da.”

She froze. “My dad…”

“Just stay here until I get home.”

Her grip tightened on his arm. “Take me with you.”

“I can’t, lass.”

“Take me. With you.”

“Mo ghràidh…”

“I’m not giving you a choice. Take me with you.”

“Yer no’ even dressed.”

“Chibs,” she moved closer to him, “you know I deserve to be there.”

He looked down at her. “Go get dressed. Ye will do exactly as I say. Bheil thu ‘tuigsinn?”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” Isa ran back and quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt before returning to join Chibs on his bike.

He held out a helmet for her to strap on as she swung her leg behind him and climbed on. She wrapped her arms around him as they sped towards Teller-Morrow. She was excited and nervous to learn new information about her father’s murder, but she couldn’t help but feel nothing but gratitude towards the Scot in front of her. As they pulled into the lot, she saw Jax and another SAMCRO standing outside the clubhouse. Upon seeing her, she could tell Jax was not happy she left the safety of Chibs’ condo.

“Chibs! What the hell is she doing here?” Jax said as he rapidly approached them.

“She wasn’ takin’ no for an answer.”

Jax looked at Isa, pissed. “Are you looking for a way to get yourself killed?”

“I’m looking for who killed my father. I’m here, so deal with it.”

He clenched his fists and Chibs stepped between the two of you. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t worry about her. She’ll be in the clubhouse while we are in chapel. I’ll have Prospect watch her.”

“If she gets in our way, we are sending her back to the rez and she’s on her own.”

“Thank you, Jax.” He turned to leave. “Thank you, Chibs.”

“Just stay outta trouble, lass, for both our sakes.”

They walked toward the clubhouse, only to be stopped by Gemma at the door. “Who’s the new Croweater?”

“She’s no’ a Croweater, Gemma.”

“Oh?” she said, eyebrow raised.

“Isadora White Dove.” She thought it was wise to leave off her last name.

“Gemma. Come with me, sweetie, while the guys are in the chapel. I can put you to good work.”

She looked at Chibs who smiled and turned into the clubhouse. Gemma threw her arm around her and guided her in after them. “So, are you what’s been keeping our dear Chibs busy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s never around anymore, and he left early yesterday to get home. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so anxious to get back to his empty condo, unless of course it wasn’t empty.”

She looked away, nervously. “I don’t have a place to stay right now, so he’s letting me stay for a few days until I find my own place.”

Gemma smiled. “I’ll let that slide, but I wasn’t born yesterday.” She handed Isa a trash bag. “Prospect is busy doing club business, so we need to clean the clubhouse for them. Start picking up bottles and trash.”

Isa did so obediently.

“Are you from the rez?” She looked up at Gemma. “White Dove gave it away.”

“My mother was, yes.”

Gemma glanced over at her before she drug a dishcloth over the bar. “You Chibs’ new old lady?”

Isa’s face flushed. “No.”

She looked at the girl again. “Then what are you doing with him?”

Isa was under the impression that she was supposed to be afraid of Gemma or at the very least intimidated by her, but she wasn’t. “Nothing.”

She tossed the rag to the side and walked to the pool table that Isa was cleaning. “These are my boys,” she said, motioning to the closed chapel door, “and I will do anything to make sure they aren’t hurt again. He may appear to be tough, but I’m not going to let anyone hurt him or my club. The man’s been through too much.”

Isa stopped what she was doing and gave Gemma a small glare. “Look, I’m not here for any of that. If you want the God’s Honest truth, I can’t stand…”

“Woah, lass,” the door flew open as chapel ended and Chibs came to break up the cat fight he sensed was in motion, “it’s time we make our way to find ye a new apartment.”

Isa dropped her trash bag and made her way to the door. “Chibs,” Gemma called after them. He sent Isa to wait for him by the door to see what the Biker Queen needed. “I like this one.”

Chibs smiled. “Is no’ like tha’, Gem.”

“Sure it’s not,” Gemma smiled, “Go find her a new apartment.”

He shook his head and ran to catch up with her. “Jax is no’ happy yer here.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

“Look ‘ere, Clay is already askin’ why yer here and where I keep runnin’ off to. We need to keep ye outta sight.”

“Does he know?” She felt her heart race.

He looked around and led her out of the clubhouse to his bike. “No, but tha’ dinna mean he will, ya ken.”

“Look, after Stockton, I’ll stay home. I promise.”

He sighed. “Tha’s the other thing. Jax dinna want ye to go to Stockton. It’ll be on record if ye come. We canna risk tha’, no’ with the brotherhood working so closely with the Mayans and, “ he rubbed the back of his head, “monitoring our every move.”

Her phone rang. It was Wolf calling. Chibs sighed. She knew they did not like each other, and that made her laugh a little. “Have him stay with ye until I get back, please?”

Isa nodded and answered the phone. “Your Uncle is looking for you,” he said, “Alvarez.”

“Why?”

“He said he’s worried about his new associates and the Sons. He wants you to stay with him until this blows over.”

“Did you tell him I can’t?”

“Yeah right. You can talk to him.”

“Why didn’t he call me?”

“He said he tried but it kept going to voicemail all morning. Where were you?”

She looked at Chibs. “Busy.”

“Well you can call Marcus and explain to him your predicament. Hand me over to the Scot.”

“Wolf, no.”

“Isa,” he sighed. “Let me talk to him.”

She nudged Chibs. “He wants to talk to you.”

He looked at her, confused. “What?”

She could heard Wolf as he talked at Chibs. “I don’t know what you know about the Mayans and their business, but she is to stay out of the crosshairs. You protect her from anything that blows back on you.”

“Aye, fine, lad.” He closed the phone and handed it back to her. “Time to go.”

They sped back to his condo before he left her for Stockton. “I have business to attend to after this, so I’ll be back late tonight.”

She nodded and continued walking to his door. “Lass,” he called after her, “I would take ye…”

“I know.” She smiled softly at him. “Thank you.” She turned back and entered his small condo.

Chibs POV

He returned late into the evening. He had been drinking, especially after the encounters he’d had that day. He stumbled into his condo and headed straight for his booze cabinet to polish off another half-emptied bottle of Jameson. Noisily he grabbed a glass and poured the drink. He slammed it back and poured another. It didn’t phase him when the lights came on and she was standing in his doorway, messy hair and SAMCRO shirt she claimed as her pajamas.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Aye,” he drank, “I ken.”

“Are you drunk?”

He slowly looked up at her. “No.”

“You are.” She grabbed his bottle and placed it on the counter. “Let’s go.” She forced him to stand and wrapped her arm around him to drag him to his bed. “Same arrangements as last night, so don’t get any ideas.”

He laughed. “I’m sober enough to remember I told ye tha’ ye’d be the one beggin’ again.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

His head was spinning and he didn’t feel like arguing. His day was draining on every level; all he wanted was to sleep and forget everything. Chibs sat at the end of his bed and began undressing while she ran into his bathroom to grab Ibuprofen and a glass of water. “Take these when you wake up. The last thing I want to deal with in the morning is a crabby, hungover Scot.”

He smiled and set them on his night stand. “Thank ye, lass.”

There was a knock at the door. Before he could stop her, Isa was already headed back down the hallway to open it. “Lass, leave it.”

He sat there, trying to catch his bearings. He heard her answer the door and a familiar voice linger down the hallway. “Who are ye?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Isa replied.

He heard the intruder trying to make her way down the hallway. “Where is he?”

“Sleeping.”

“Filip!” That voice was Fiona.

“I said he’s sleeping.”

“I heard ye, and I dinna care,” she said, “Filip!”

He heard Isa sigh and step in front of her to block her from going down the hallway. “Move out of my way, bitch.”

He quickly rose and stumbled into the doorway. “Fiona…”

“Who is this?” she asked, motioning to Isa.

“A friend. What do ye need?”

“I was thinkin’ about earlier today, and…ye need to leave, mo ghaol.”

He looked at Isa and back to Fiona. “How did ye get ‘ere? Where’s Jimmy?”

“He’s out.”

Isa walked to stand next to Chibs, she felt compelled to protect him from this woman. She slowly gathered this was his estranged wife.

“I canna leave.”

She looked at Isa and back to Chibs. “Then take her with ye, but ye need ta leave. We both ken Jimmy will think yer tha’ one who told ATF.”

“I ken.”

“Then ye ken he’ll kill ye,” she looked at Isa, “and her.”

He stood taller. “Fi,” he walked to her, “I ken ye are tryin’ ta protect me, but ye are puttin’ yerself in danger just being ‘ere. I canna have ye doin’ that fer me. Kerri needs ye. Go home.”

“Filip,” her voice broke, resting her hands on his chest, “please…”

He kissed her lightly. “Go back, Fi.”

Chibs led her to the door and opened it for her. “I can take care of myself.”

Fiona looked past him at Isa. “Take care of my Filip.”

He closed the door behind her and leaned his head against it. Isa walked past him and sat down on the couch in the living room. Chibs turned and joined her. “I’m sorry about tha’.”

“Was that your wife?”

“Aye. Tha’ was Fiona.”

“Where did you go today?”

He sighed and looked at the door, only slightly wishing she’d come back. Though they had been estranged for years, Fiona was still his wife and he loved her for whatever that was worth. All he wanted was for her and his daughter Kerri-ann to be safe and away from Jimmy O. He didn’t care if that was here or Ireland; so long as they were safe. “I saw Fiona today. I heard she was in town.”

“Why is she worried about ATF?”

Chibs leaned back on the couch and patted her knee. “It’s bein’ handled, lass.”

“Who is Jimmy?”

He sighed. “Ye dinna need ta worry about anythin’.” He could feel himself sobering up the longer he sat on the couch with her. “I’m taking you home in the mornin’.”

“Why?”

He smiled. “I found yer da’s killer. Tig isn’ gonna tell Clay yer dangerous, and we can take ye home.”

He saw excitement flood her eyes. “Who?”

Chibs turned slightly to face her. “He’s one of the Nords. Chad Williams. He’s an inmate in Stockton.”

“And?”

“Otto has it handled.”

“Did they say why he did it?”

He went to grab the Jameson and his glasses. He waited until he poured them both a drink before telling her. “There were many reason, lass. First, they wanted to blame us so we’d never ‘ave a peace treaty with yer people. The Nords also wanted ta get back at the Mayans for tryin’ to kill Darby.”

He saw a tear well up in her eye. “It really was one of them?”

“Aye, lass. I told ye we dinna do it.”

She looked around, trying to find a reason to continue hating him. “How much do you trust this source?”

He placed his hand on her knee again. “Listen, I ken ye spent all this time hatin’ us, hatin’ me, but we dinna murder yer da. We killed plenty of Mayans, and they killed plenty of us. I promise ye, I’m tellin’ the truth.”

She felt a weight was being lifted off her shoulders when she looked at him. “What is Otto going to do?”

“We’ve got friends on the inside that will handle him. It’s over. His memory can rest now.”

She covered her face and let out a small sob. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. She shook from her few sobs she let out. Isa leaned into him and let the final grief wash over her. He let her cry until she couldn’t anymore before she wiped her eyes and looked up at him. “Why did you do this for me?”

Chibs looked at her, her eyes told a whole different story now. They held appreciation in them instead of disdain and he smiled. “Canna have ye thinkin’ ill of us, especially with my club workin’ so close with yer tribe.”

She looked up at him and smiled. They had never been this close before and she okay with it. He felt her leaning in to him, but they were quickly interrupted by another knock at the door. “Not now, Fi,” he said.

The door burst open and his condo was flooded with five or six men. Two of them ripped her out of his arms and threw her against the wall while two other grabbed him and held him on the ground. “Let her go!” No one talked, except for Isa who was yelling at them in a mixture of English and Spanish. He looked up and saw them place a bag over her head and zip tie her wrists together. They were dragging her out kicking and screaming as two men held him down at gunpoint.The next thing he felt was a cool burning sensation spread throughout his skull as they hit him with the butt of their guns, leaving him unconscious on the floor of his living room.

***

He woke up next morning to Jax and Bobby nudging him. “Chibs, wake up.”

He rolled over and rubbed his head, trying to remember what happened the night before. He sat against his couch and looked around the room. The entire club was in his house cleaning up the mess and looking for clues as to who attacked him. As his head began to clear, he realized she was missing. “Where’s Isa?”

“She wasn’t here when we got here,” Bobby said.

“Chibs!” Juice ran into the room. “I found this in the driveway.” He handed him her cellphone that was destroyed.

He grabbed it from him. “They took her,” he said.

“Who?”

“I dinna ken, but they knocked me out and took her. It’s either the Irish or AB. I need to tell her uncle,” he said.

“What is Charlie going to do?” Juice asked.

Chibs sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “Marcus,” he breathed.

“Marcus. As in Marcus Alvarez?” Clay interrupted.

“Aye.”

“She is Alvarez’s niece!”

“Aye.”

Clay, clearly irritated, sat down. “I’ll set up a meet, but after this, we are talking about her.”

“She dinna know anythin’, Clay. She isn’t tellin’ the Mayans anythin’.”

Clay looked at Tig and Jax. “He’s telling the truth,” Jax added, “she’s not a threat.”

“We,” he motioned at Jax, “are having a long discussion later.”

“You really want to do that, old man?”

“Can we just find her?” Chibs interrupted. “I’ll go see Marcus. He thinks she hired me fer protection anyway.”

“Yeah, and if he thinks you lost her, he will kill you,” Jax said, “I’ll go with you.”

Chibs grabbed his kutte and a hoodie and sweatpants and walked to his bike. He stored them, because he remember what she was wearing the night before. He looked at the tire tracks in his yard. Those were the only pieces of evidence left of her kidnappers. He had no idea who took her or where they went. “We’re going to find her, Chibs,” added Jax.

“When we find’em,” he began, “I’ll kill’em.

#Chibs Telford #Chibs x OC #SoA #Sons of Anarchy #Jax Teller #Americano

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benbarnesescape · 7 years

Text

The Wager - Part 5

Warning: teasing and fluff

A/N: Okay I feel guilty when I can’t post for y’all so here is an update to this part since I left you teasing – sorry it’s also kinda short!! Logan rocks my socks!

You watched Logan from on top of the island, your legs swinging idly as he moved around effortlessly finishing the last touches for dinner.

“When you asked me over for dinner and a movie, I was expecting pizza and Netflix. Not a glamourous meal from Chef Logan.”

He stops for a second from seasoning the poached potatoes to look at you, raising a curious eyebrow before asking,

“I ask you to wear the beautiful sundress I bought you this afternoon from a top notch designer to just get stained by cheap grease and frozen toppings? You really think that low of me?”

The credulousness in his voice causes you to laugh as you take another sip of your wine before letting out,

“I mean, I thought it was weird but……yeah. Kinda. You’ve never cooked for me and the pizza you order from your tower, the restaurant your family owns by the way, has delicious fresh cooked pizza. I just thought you wanted to torture me by undressing me with your eyes all night.”

He smirks, turning back to you though the hint of something mischievous stays on his lips.

“You’re partially right,” he says after a while, pulling out a sharp set of knives to cut through the lamb. The freaking leg of lamb he found time to cook for you sometime between when you left and now. The man was unbelievable. “I do plan on undressing you with my eyes all night,” he throws an intentional glance your way, his eyes slowly drinking you in. You ignore the way it makes your heart increase, or how much you want him to touch you. “But since you’ve already witnessed my skills in the kitchen I just thought….it would be nice to make you a meal.”

You nod, hopping off the island and grabbing your new empty wine glass.

“I clearly underestimated you.”

“Clearly.”

You roll your eyes as you saunter into the living room, grabbing your phone before sitting in his arm chair. You had texted Leslie and Jessica prior to him opening the door, not only explaining how the earlier excursion had gone but also the plan for the evening. You were rewarded by Leslie’s text,

Les - Over for dinner? Girl if that isn’t a classy way for saying Netflix and chill I don’t know what is.

Jess – I have to agree. Give us deets!!

That had been the last strand so you quickly started typing out to catch your friends up.

Y/N – Ladies. First off no it isn’t. Look what he’s done! He literally set his table for dinner and is making me food. HE is making me food.

You snap a photo of the table discreetly, adding it to the group message before setting your phone down.

“Give me like 5 minutes and we should be good. Just need to finish the asparagus.”

“Sounds good.” You say, relieved to feel your phone vibrate to distract you from the moment. Asparagus. Poached Potatoes. Leg of Lamb. This was the best home cooked meal you’d had since you’ve gone home to visit your mom.

Jess– Daaaammmmmmnnn Y/N. Normally I wouldn’t agree with Les so much but she’s right about this one. That’s the classiest way I’ve ever had anyone propose Netflix and chill to me.

Jess – At first I thought Logan was pulling your strings but…..I think Les is right. I think he has a thing for you.

You roll your eyes and giggle at Leslie’s incoming text.

Les – If this wasn’t a monumental moment for all of us, I’d kick your ass Jess. So rude. But she’s right

Les – Logan want’s you. But I think more than a one night stand

Les– That’s some wining and dining if I’ve ever seen it

Y/N – Did I also mention that he tried to kiss me?

Y/N – Not the tricky little kiss he got to get me here in the first place

Y/N – I think you might be right. Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know ladies. I like Logan. I like him a lot. But you don’t tell a man like Logan that. You have to play games with him

Y/N – WHAT DO I DO!?

You try to ignore the way your pulse has quickened as you type out the words furiously, almost jumping when Logan gently places his hand on your shoulder and says,

“Dinner’s ready.”

You immediately close your phone, throwing it on the couch and smiling up at him.

“Great. I’m starved.”

He chuckles inwardly to himself, turning on his heel and heading toward the table.

“Perfect. Because I have enough food I think it will please you.”

You laugh, knowing the dig is a gentle tease to your large appetite. Which was only partially true. It was only when you were really nervous paired with ravenously hungry that you ate unmethodically.

Which, around Logan, was always.

You make your way to your chair easily, Logan waiting patiently as he pulls it out.

“I know you can do this yourself. I just think the gesture is always nice.” He says as if knowing you have something sassy to say to him and you just nod, allowing him to push you in before he bends down and whispers in your ear,

“Comfortable?”

You turn to answer him but his close proximity takes you off guard, his face inches from your own and you inhale your breath as you give a short nod.

“Ye, ye yep.” You stutter out and he smiles, his hands dragging along your exposed shoulder blades before walking to the other side of the table. He takes his seat and lifts his wine glass to you and you grab yours, now freshly poured and try to ignore the way your arm is shaking.

Why were you so nervous? This was just Logan.

“To a great night.” He says and you smile, lifting your glass.

“A great night.”

You liked him. The reality of that hit him like a thousand bricks, reconfirming years of suspicious and spurring up more curiosity. Why hadn’t you ever acted on it?

He hadn’t meant to read your text. He had only planned to gently grab your attention since you were so lost in thought. But when he had bent down and saw his name, his trained eyes naturally needing to read what followed, he had realized the error in his ways. He had also realized a couple of other things that struck him as the most unusual.

You didn’t think you were good enough for him?

What had spurned that on he didn’t know. Didn’t want to know what he had done to give you the impression that you couldn’t do better. That was beyond the problem. But now he had the opportunity to change it.

Dinner went by smoothly, quietly even for you. He tried to broach topics but you brushed them aside, obviously deep in your thoughts. When you were both done, you had jumped up quickly to help get rid of the dishes, insisting it wasn’t a problem.

He took the opportunity to sit on the couch as you rinsed them off and left them in the sink upon his request. When you walked back to where he was sitting, his hands placed behind his hands as he watched you curiously, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the perplexed way your eyes flitted from his sofa chair and the couch, near him.

Finally he cleared his throat,

“You’re more than welcome to sit next to me,” he pats the empty space beside him. “I don’t bite. Hard.”

You chuckle nervously, walking toward him cautiously as you sat down, positioning yourself so your body was away from him. He keeps the same smile on his face as he bends to the table, picking up a few DVD’s.

“So I asked my sister for some rom-com suggestions and she suggested Love Actually, He’s Just Not That Into You, Think Like a Man and some Chris Evans number movie….” His eyes furrow perplexed and despite your discomfort you laugh, shaking your head.

“You went out and bought all these movies just for me?”

He shrugs,

“You said you’d be amused by having me watching a rom com –“

“Hated. I said you’d hate it.”

He laughs and shrugs.

“It’s about the same right. So why not.”

You watch him for a calculated beat before finally saying,

“You know that I hate romantic movies right?”

He nods slowly, “I figured you weren’t a fan considering all the horror, comedy, drama, documentaries, child movies and action movies that you make me watch. Noticed how romance is never a genre you ever seem to want to dip into. Easy to decide from there.”

“You know why I hate romantic movies?” he shrugs as you continue, “Their unrealistic. They set up this expectation for women that if you look a certain way and act a certain way you’ll find love. Doesn’t consider race or economic background playing a factor in peoples attraction based off of cultural dichotomies, or the fact that some women just aren’t looking for love and don’t want to be defined that way…”

You let yourself wane off and he falls back on the couch, perking up an eyebrow. This was interesting. You never really let him in on your romantic whimsies like most women. In fact, he thought you dated because you enjoyed it. He never considered there was anything else.

“You aren’t looking for love?” he asks curiously and you roll your eyes, sighing.

“…listen, love is complicated. I know that’s cliché but its true. It’s complicated and it complicates things. I truly don’t believe that it’s possible for two people to understand what it’s like to be selfless, to master giving and taking, to risk being monogamous because love compels them to only want to honor the other.”

He falls back on the couch, his head rolling over to yours and you sit up more, crossing your legs as you fiddle with your hands.

“Do you want to ever be in love? Have ever been in love?”

Another sigh.

“….I don’t know. I know I haven’t been, well…..maybe…I don’t know I’m still trying to figure that out. Love is complicated and scary and I just haven’t crossed that bridge yet.”

He leans over, grabbing your chin and gently lifting it up to his eyes.

“You’re right. About all those things – you’re right. My mom loves my dad but I don’t get why. She deserves better than the bastard. My sister also loves a bloody deuche bag but who am I to tell her any different. You love who you love. You have to live in that moment because when it’s all said and done – do you want to risk not loving someone because you were afraid?”

Your eyes watch his carefully and he’s aware for the first time how fast his heart is beating in his chest, the way your skin tickles under his calloused pads of his fingers, the way he hears your breath quicken. Your eyebrows furrow for a second and he rubs the pad of his thumb over your mouth before whispering,

“You’re brave and strong. I understand not taking a chance, there’s a lot at risk, but life is a huge gamble. And you deserve to experience it all.”

Something softens in your eyes and he knows. Knows that there’s something more than you’re letting on in how you feel. He can feel the shift in you, the way your hand instinctively comes to his arm, caressing him back as your warm trail leaves goosebumps in its wake. Knows by the way you tilt your head, your mouth placing a soft kiss on his finger, causing him to close his eyes.

He loved you. Three years, four months, 26 days he had known you and slowly fallen in love with you. Fallen in love with your smile, with the way you bite your lip when you concentrate to hard, the way you sing under your breath when you do a simple task, or dance when you don’t think anyone is looking. The way you styled your hair and the way the clothes you wore molded to your clothes. Your smile and eyes and laugh.

He loved you and it scared the shit out of him.

“Logan…” you begin and he sighs, falling back and pulling away.

“Until then, we can decide on a movie. Or we can totally watch a horror film – I’m open to whatever.”

He tries to ignore the disappointed way your eyes glaze over, before clearing your throat and settling back far away from him.

“Horror it is.” You mumble.

The movie only had been going for 30 minutes but it had felt like hours. You didn’t know what to make of Logan’s new outlook on love but now you were more confused than ever. Logan had resumed his place on the couch but now sat at attention, his body a perfect 90 degree angle. His hands set semi-relaxed on his knees and his eyes stayed glued on the screen. It was stark contrast to his playful behavior earlier and you wondered if it was the topic that had triggered his distanced stance.

He had also bought over your wine and you both had finished the bottle, both of you drinking the half-filled glasses quickly and you played with the stem between your fingers.

He was going to kiss you. You were sure of it.

And you were tired of both of being too cowardly to do anything about it.

You placed your glass down on the table, catching him glance over at you before his eyes flitted back to the screen and you inhaled deeply, knowing it was either now or never.

“Logan?” you asked and he slowly turned his head to you, eyes dragging slowly from the screen to your own before you bite your lip.

“Yea?” he asks and you lean in and kiss him.

For five seconds you think he’s going to push you away, his mouth frigid on yours as you press your lips against his but then his hands have found your waist and he’s pulling you toward him, his body coming to life as he throws you over his legs.

Everything responds after that, his mouth molding onto yours as his hands dig into your hips and your hands find themselves in his hair. He tastes like everything you imagined. His tongue glides over your bottom lip before its teasing your mouth open and you oblige as his tongue easily finds yours, dancing together easily as he groans into your mouth. You sigh as you squeeze your legs around his own, falling back on his thighs as he follows, never breaking the kiss.

This was what kissing Logan felt like. If he pulled away and kicked you out of his apartment now, you could make peace with that because this is what it felt like to be held and kissed by him.

Your hips brush against his naval and he groans, pulling at your bottom lip before he pulls away from you, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathing hard, grasping from air and it feels like a new weight is in the room, tension pulled and now something new taut.

A few minutes later he looks up at you, smiling shakily.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

#ben barnes #logan westworld x reader #Logan westworld AU #the wager #benbarnesescape

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aomalley1999 · 4 years

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Welfare Food Challenge: Day Five (21/01/2020)

Day five is over!!! I can’t believe I am two days away from eating a pizza. This challenge has been nothing but a headache, both literally and figuratively. I woke up this morning with a terrible headache that has not gone away at all today. The lack of nutritious foods in my diet is having such an impact on me. My day started at 4:30 AM as I got ready for my day at clinical. I was not too hungry when I woke up, but I definitely noticed it at around 9:30. I didn’t end up getting to take my first break until 11 so I had to hold off on eating until then. I decided to just eat both “breakfast” and “lunch” on this break as I usually run out of time to take my second break. My meal today consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (again), apple sauce (again), and a hot dog (again). However, I forgot to take a picture of my PB&J and ate the entirety of it before realising I needed to photograph the evidence (I was a little sad I couldn’t showcase another angle). It may also be important to note that the wiener is in the lunch bag. I realized I really slacked on the pictures today…

I finished clinical at around 2:30 PM today and I was exhausted! I tried to drink lots of water to try and combat the headache I still had, probably taking in 2 litres in total? Sadly, the headache did not go away. I decided I should probably have a quick nap to see if that would help, and luckily it did. After I woke up from my nap, I ate a “snack” and I say that in quotations on purpose. I had the leftover pasta from the night before (the one with the hot dogs and sauce). However, I was again, still hungry. I decided to just make dinner which was the second can of vegetable soup. I will never buy this again. I think that they should name it tomato soup with noodles because that is all it tasted like and tomato soup is my least favourite kind… Regardless, I ate it and it filled me up for a little bit.

I don’t think that I should be having anymore snacks because I am starting to run out of food. I think that this feeling would feel much worse if I knew that I still had to make it two more days and didn’t have any other food in my house. I feel like this must have a really negative impact on those who do live on the $21.00 budget. I was interested to see how my diet might compare to that of a “healthy diet” that should last the average individual a week. Here is how it compares:

Access the “weeks basic healthy shopping” at the link below! (https://welfarefoodchallenge.org/2013/10/25/a-weeks-basic-healthy-shopping-62-86/)

According to the list of “weeks basic healthy shopping,” I am missing the following foods (keep in mind that this list is, give or take, what I usually purchase):

*2 L of 2% Milk, 750 g Yogurt, Cheese 140 g, 6 Eggs (Large), Ground beef 325 g, Chicken legs 410 g, Can tuna 170 g, Can pink salmon 150 g, Peanut butter 500 g, Baked beans 398 mL, Margarine 454 g, Vegetable oil (Canola) 500 mL, Carrots 360 g, Broccoli 320 g, Onion 540 g, Green beans 270 g, Yam 320 g, Canned tomatoes 398 mL, Can peaches 398 g, Bananas 630 g, Apple juice 1 L, Oranges 800 g, Potatoes 1.1 kg, Rice 250 g, and Oat Cereal 440 g.

The following are the foods that I managed to purchase from the list on my diet and budget: Frozen Vegetables 750 g, Apples 900 g, Pasta 450 g, and 2 small loaves of whole wheat bread (which is relatively the size of the loaf I bought).

The “weeks basic healthy shopping,” list from the website costs approximately $62.86 in 2013. However, we should take into account the rising costs of food due to inflation, which would likely cause this bill to be much higher. Nonetheless, this paints a crystal-clear picture that 21 dollars is NOT enough to purchase food that is both healthy and budget friendly. Not to mention that this list does not account for any basic seasoning like salt and pepper. I find this to be so unfortunate, and quite frankly, unacceptable. We all deserve to have the ability to purchase healthy foods, which means there should be a pretty big jump in the grocery allowance for those faced with this situation. I think it is appropriate to end this blog post here and let this set in some. I truly think that a solid plan of action to address this unfortunate issue should be put forth as soon as possible.

Resources

https://welfarefoodchallenge.org/2013/10/25/a-weeks-basic-healthy-shopping-62-86/

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johneburton · 5 years

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Bad Tipper? You Might be Driven by Three Demonic Spirits: Poverty, Entitlement and Offense I’m SHOCKED at how many Christians aren’t generous tippers and givers—and many argue against the need to tip their servers at all! 7 But just as you excel in everything–in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in complete earnestness and in your love for us–see that you also excel in this grace of giving. 8 I am not commanding you, but I want to test the sincerity of your love by comparing it with the earnestness of others. 2 Corinthians 8:7-8 (NIV) Are you the most extravagant giver among those you know? Do you tip extravagantly? Are you looking for opportunities to bless? Or, are you holding back, expecting others to serve you? Has a spirit of entitlement and poverty gripped your life? Here’s a truth that will set you free: If you expect other people, systems, the church, the government or any other entity to meet your financial needs, you are destined for a life of frustration and lack. However, if you are focused on giving to others, no matter your current financial condition, your joy will abound and your faith surrounding your finances will skyrocket. 19 And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:19 (NIV) A spirit of poverty will cause us to keep the dollars that are actually meant to be sowed and multiplied back to us. A spirit of entitlement will result in a lack of gratitude, causing us to keep our money in our pockets while waiting for others to give us more. A spirit of offense will cause us to reject the call to use our money to bless others who we have determined don’t deserve it. These three spirits must be eradicated from our lives. I’m offering a powerful, free resource at the end of this article to help you find freedom. Keep reading. HOW COULD ANY CHRISTIAN ARGUE AGAINST TIPPING? 12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13 I can do everything through him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:12-13 (NIV) I’ve heard arguments against tipping by Christians who admit that sometimes they simply can’t afford it. I understand the seasons of scarcity, and I know that these seasons can come for a variety of reasons. Sometimes it’s our fault and sometimes it’s not. However, to presume in seasons of scarcity that we can still live large is a sign of these spirits having a root in our lives. Entitlement demands they experience life the same way those who prosper do. They argue they have a right to eat out just like everyone else, even if they can’t afford to tip. This is absolutely nonsensical. In fact, it’s selfish and rude to expect a server to wait on us and then to tip poorly or not at all. Everybody is in a different financial position, and some can afford to eat out, some can’t. Some can afford to buy a new car, some can’t. Some can afford to go to the Super Bowl, some cant. Some can afford a new computer, some can’t. Nobody has a right to things they can’t afford, including eating out. Some actually presume the tip to be an optional but unnecessary bonus for servers if they do a good job. I wonder how many people actually think that the majority of waiters and waitresses are mostly supported by their paycheck every two weeks. They aren’t. In fact, are you aware that most servers receive ZERO dollars in their paychecks? They live solely on the generous tips from those who are eating at their tables. Taxes on those tips wipe out the $2.13 per hour that most servers make today. This means, if I don’t tip $20 or $30 on my $100 check, my server may miss a student loan payment or they may not be able to buy their children new shoes or take them to the amusement park they were promised. I take this responsibility very seriously. I want every person who serves me to be more blessed than I was by the time the hour-long dinner is over. 3 Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. 4 Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others. Philippians 2:3-4 (NIV) Our resolve to bless those who live on tips (servers, valets, hairstylists, bellhops, etc.) should be a core value—even when their service is poor. My wife and I never decrease the tip by even a penny if we received poor service. Why? There are many reasons. They may have had a bad day. The kitchen may actually be at fault. They are dealing with depression. Their family situation is bad and declining. They dealt with rude customers at their last table. Or, possibly, they have yet to meet Jesus. I guarantee I am not going to try to “teach them a lesson” by decreasing my tip instead of blessing them in the love of Jesus. If we can’t bless those who don’t refill our drinks quickly enough, how can we presume to bless those who use and curse us? 27 “But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28 bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. 29 If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. 30 Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. 31 Do to others as you would have them do to you. Luke 6:27-31 (NIV) When the Bible talks about curses, that includes verbal assaults, insults and all sorts of mistreatment. We don’t seek revenge. We don’t try to teach them a lesson. We don’t leave a nasty note on the check. We don’t decrease our tip. We don’t attack them back. We love them. We bless them. We give. BREAKING FREE FROM POVERTY AND ENTITLEMENT I know many who are reading this are rejoicing. Many Christians are tired of others being such a poor representation of Christ. Many servers are tired of dealing with selfish, entitled people. There is a black mark on Christianity because of many in the after-church crowd on Sundays who eat together. They can be demanding, loud, difficult to deal with, entitled and absolutely terrible tippers. It’s embarrassing and many Christians out there have had enough. I know servers who despise working on Sundays. Great job Christians. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Here’s some advice: If you can’t love your server and financially bless them radically, just stay home. Nobody has the right to eat out if they can’t afford it. I was engaged in a Facebook discussion on this topic, and some came out of their skin with indignation that I would say such a thing. They feel no obligation to tip their server, and they believe their financial condition should have no bearing on whether they can eat out or not. I wondered if they also might just pay whatever they want instead of the total on the check. Do they just pay what they can afford when checking out at Walmart? This is a clear indicator of being driven by poverty and entitlement. If we can’t afford to tip at least 20%, you can’t afford to eat out. Most definitely stay home or eat somewhere where tipping isn’t expected. In order to break from from poverty and entitlement, we must crucify our flesh and become radical givers instead of expecting others to meet our needs. There are many mad people in the world. Mad at pastors, government, friends, their church family and others for not meeting their financial needs. This mindset will ensure they remain sad, angry, disillusioned and in lack. We break the demonic grip of poverty and entitlement by turning the tables and giving with passion instead of expecting others to give to us. 1 As he looked up, Jesus saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. 2 He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins. 3 “I tell you the truth,” he said, “this poor widow has put in more than all the others. 4 All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.” Luke 21:1-4 (NIV) The poor widow had every right to be bitter at the church and at the rich. The natural reaction when in lack is first to look to others to resolve our problem, and second to despise them when they don’t. The widow was applauded by Jesus because of her heart. She had the greatest need yet still gave everything she needed to live on. She wasn’t entitled, and, believe it or not, she didn’t have a poverty spirit. She certainly wasn’t offended. Here’s a comment by my wife, Amy: We have always tipped both in times of plenty and in times of lack. During our first year of marriage we were very poor, with (nearly) no money for Christmas presents and a sack of potatoes for Christmas dinner. We were barely scraping by. However, if we chose to eat out we calculated the tip amount into the cost when deciding whether we could afford to do so. I'm sure our server made a better living than we did at the time. It didn't matter. It's never appropriate to withhold what a server is due in an attempt to better our own financial situation. I remember that season very well! In fact, I still vividly remember standing next to the sack of potatoes in the grocery store in Cleveland, Tennessee 23 years ago wondering if we should use our few remaining dollars on it along with a frozen chicken. That was to be our Christmas dinner. We did buy the potatoes and had just a little cash left over. On Christmas morning, my gift from my wife was a belt (that didn’t fit) and my gift to her was a Jenga game (that she was upset I bought because we needed that $10 for bills). That afternoon we had friends over to eat our chicken and potato feast—except my wife burned the chicken. One of our friends ran home to get a frozen pizza. We enjoyed a wonderful mashed potato and frozen pizza Christmas dinner! In that season finances were scarce, though we were working hard. Our car was bashed in on the passenger side and the doors didn’t open. We had to steer about 30 degrees to the right in order for the car to drive straight. We replaced the tires with $5 used tires once every couple of weeks due to the misalignment. We couldn’t afford a repair. The bottom line is we had almost nothing and we very rarely ate out. Why? because we knew our $40 check would end up being $50 after tip. Instead we’d eat at home or grab something from McDonalds. It wasn’t our right to eat out if we couldn’t pay our bill—including what was owed to the server. It wasn’t only our faithful giving to the church and to ministry that broke us out of lack. It was a “widow’s mite” attitude. We expected nobody to pay our way and we knew that we must be radical givers at restaurants and other places. If we couldn’t afford to tip, we stayed home. The same is true with the church. I can’t imagine how anybody would attend a church, utilize their children’s ministry, receive teaching and be welcomed with open arms without giving extravagantly. We should give radically to the church, period. We should attend church with the same attitude as when we eat out. We are there to bless them instead of expecting them to bless us. We want to give with passion. It’s true that the church is called to take care of widows. But, here’s the problem: when we stomp our foot and demand to be served because of this instruction in Scripture, we align ourselves with the spirit of entitlement and poverty, even though the church should in fact be helping. We should give and bless even when we aren’t taken care of in ways we should. Don’t blame, don’t point fingers. Here’s a portion of my Charisma Magazine article The Spirit That’s Taking Over Our Nation—And It’s Not Jezebel: It's time to repent for a spirit of entitlement that is destroying our testimony. entitlement noun en·ti·tle·ment: the condition of having a right to have, do or get something the feeling or belief that you deserve to be given something (such as special privileges) In a self-centered, narcissistic world, one can only presume entitlement would be in the mix, as well. This attitude is doing great harm to our testimony as Christians in addition to creating a proud, lazy people who expect to be served instead of to serve. I’ve heard about godly people who always tip double their check. I love this! While I wouldn’t suggest it’s mandatory to do this, I would suggest it’s mandatory to tip at least 20%. In fact, I’d encourage you to consider other opportunities to break off spirits of poverty and entitlement such as tipping double the check, paying for another patron’s check (including a huge tip), occasionally tipping five or six times the amount of the check or more and other opportunities to radically bless. When we give to others instead of demanding they give to us the spirits of entitlement and poverty lose their grip. A SPIRIT OF OFFENSE WILL ENSURE YOU REMAIN ENSLAVED TO POVERTY AND ENTITLEMENT Too many live offended lives. Offended that others aren’t taking care of them financially, offended that others are prospering and they aren’t, offended that they are continually overlooked. We should live free from offense. In fact, I’d like to offer my most popular teaching titled “Unoffendable” at no cost to you. Trust me, it’s revelation that will change your life dramatically! You will receive the audio teaching, the eBook and teaching notes at no cost whatsoever. You can get this powerful resource here: www.burton.tv/free. A spirit of offense is absolutely deadly. It will cause your love to grow cold and your heart to harden. It’s a death sentence. This spirit will cause you to rise up against others instead of serving them. Your unmet demands and expectations will result in a dark soul, a life of lack and deep resentment. This three-fold cord of poverty, entitlement and offense will imprison all who embrace these evil spirits. When we break these three spirits off our lives, and discover the power of Kingdom finances, we can live free and full of joy, no matter how much money is in our account. Faithfully giving and passionately tipping all who serve us out in the world will result in remarkable, prosperous, victorious lives! http://bit.ly/2FVpLOt

#IFTTT #Facebook

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dandelliongirl · 5 years

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2019!!!

The year of ME

It’s the 2nd of January and oh boy did December just fly by. I’m sad to be taking down my Christmas tree in a few days..

The last few weeks of work were busy but a lot of fun. We had so many Christmas parties that we barely had enough time for all the meetings and other work. We also got to leave early on Friday the 21st, which was super nice. I went home to my parents on the evening of the 22nd after some much needed me-time and building a cozy Christmas house in the Sims 4. On the 23rd me and mum drove through a literal winter wonderland with trees sugarcoated in fresh snow to visit grandmum, grandpa and my uncle. We helped grandmum with her Christmas cooking and spent a few hours over there before driving back home listening to Christmas music. Grandmum gave me new mittens with flowers and pearls in them that she’s made, and money to go and buy myself a piano book. ♥

The 24th was spent traditionally. I woke up early to watch Christmas cartoons, we had rice porrige for breakfast and went to light up candles at the graveyards. This time I left a candle for my godfather as well.♥ Then it was time for Christmas sauna, although mum couldn’t go (or didn’t want to go?) because her surgery scars are still pretty fresh. It breaks my heart to see her go into the bedroom and close the door and be careful nobody sees her. I hope it’s just because she doesn’t want me to see and it isn’t actually as big of a deal for her but it must be pretty intense having your body go through such changes nonetheless.. After sauna we had a delicious meal (reindeer, parsnip puré, sweet potato fries, beetroot casserole and gravy, with panna cotta for dessert), watched From all of us to all of you (as is tradition) and handed out presents. I got a new set of pajamas, mittens, a giftcard for a pedicure, a giftcard for clothes and a painting (although it’s more like a framed paper cutout craft). Me and my boyfriend also got a present together. Mum and dad really liked their presents as well. I can’t remember if I wrote about them already but I got mum some pajama pants, a new Sauna seat cloth, a shower gel and a hand cream. Dad got a sweater and a Star Wars workout shirt. Both of them got some tea and for our summer house I got a sauna headrest, a book about natural herbs and a bird book.

On the 25th me and dad visited my other grandmum and cousins and had a Christmas lunch with them. My twin cousins are going to start their military service in a few days, which is incredible.. In the evening mum and I went for a long walk and we made pizza for dinner.

On the 26th I went xc-skiing with dad for the first time this winter and it was a lot of fun. I did 6-ish kilometers on my first run this year, which is really motivating. Back in the day 5 km was not even a consideration and now I did it on my first run of the season! Other than that we spent our days until the 27th chilling together and being cozy. It was much needed and so very nice.

My new sleeping cottage was supposed to be delivered to our summer house before Christmas but the truck that was supposed to transport it broke down. Then it was supposed to be loaded up and delivered on the 27th but turns out it was too big to be transported without a permit so I still don’t have it. I hope it gets here soon, it’s been snowing nonstop and it’ll be impossible to transport it in this weather.. I’ve already planned out the layout and furnishings, and even bought a sheephide from my sheep farmer colleague for the main living space. I want it to be spring already!

On the 27th both me and my guy came back to the apartment. He opened my present and I opened my new pair of knit wool socks from his grandpa. My parents got us two board versions of escape room games. We played our first round of The Captain is Dead with little success but it was a lot of fun anyway. On the 28th we went shopping and helped our friend find new frames for new glasses. She came over to try The Captain is Dead with us but we still didn’t win the game. On the 29th I met up with my ballet friends for some frozen pizzas and long chats. It was amazing to see them again since one is in London and the other two have moved across the country. I’m so proud of us for staying in touch since it would be really easy to drift apart now that we don’t go to class together anymore. Every last Friday of the month we tell each other how we’re doing and occasionally message each other in-between.

The 30th of December was spent playing Mass Effect Andromeda with my guy, and for New Years Eve two of our friends came over to make pizza, play Cards Against Humanity, go watch fireworks, play The Captain is Dead (AND finally beat it!) and play The Ultimate Chicken Horse until 4am. We all slept in until past midday on the 1st, my friend left and me and my guy started the Witcher 3 (finally). He’s playing it on my PC because I can’t be bothered to care for Geralt too much as a character and also the game is really graphic for my tastes. I’m reserving the rights to change my opinion on these two points as the game goes on however.

Now that I’m all caught up it’s time for the usual New Years sap. 2018 was a really hard year for me but DAMN if I didn’t SMASH all my goals and achieve so much. I aced my MA thesis and GRADUATED, I found out I passed JLPT N2, I was ASKED for my dream job without even applying for it, I spent 3 AMAZING weeks travelling around Japan and got to cross off Sanrio Puroland from my bucket list. It was the warmest summer since 2014 and I got to spend so much time with mum and dad at our summer house. I got to start a new hobby and tried lots of new things in 2018. Looking at my passion planner from 2015 all my 3 year goals have been achieved and I am so incredibly proud of myself for it. So what about 2019 then?

2019 will be a year to continue the process of reinvention, reassessing and reprioritizing that I was sort of forced to start in 2018 with a new stage in life. That also came with a total lifestyle rebranding in what I eat, what I wear and what I want from my future. 2019 is also a year to dream big and start working towards those dreams. My successes up until now have given me confidence to know that I can achieve any goals, hopes and dreams I set for myself (as long as they’re somewhat realistic).

Being happy and having time to relax are so much easier now that I have a job and I feel like things are exactly the way they’re supposed to be. That also comes with a creeping fear of stagnation, which is why in 2019 I’d like to spend time learning new skills (namely improving my photography and piano) and reading/listening to books and podcasts to keep on learning now that I’m not actively studying anymore. I’d hate to come home from work and waste away on the sofa day after day. In addition to learning new skills and keeping my mind and body occupied I’m going to pay more attention on body conditioning and increasing my flexibility. I finally bought myself a foam roller (a really expensive one at that!) and it’s been worth every cent. I’ve also been following stretching routines and hopefully this spring I could go to a yoga or Body Balance class more often. Another obvious goal is to continue on my fitness path and it is really motivating now that I’ve actually seen results from my diet change in 2018 as well as from starting Body Combat. In more ways than one I feel like 2019 will be my year to relax and spend time on things that matter to me. I’m excited. ☼

So the Tumblr exodus of December 17th 2018 happened and my blog seems largely unaffected. Regardless I’m glad to have a backup of my diary posts just in case. Seems like these random occasional diary posts will continue for now. I’m trying to stick to a minimum of once a month but we’ll see. I’m not going to guilt myself over it since going through my old blog posts I literally wrote which homework I did and on what day. Yes, I know it was mainly to keep myself accountable but still I feel like even though these longer recap posts take hours to write and I might miss important memories or other details the contents are much more relevant than what I ate and which part of the syllabus I revised on what day. Heh.

Happy 2019 - hope it brings relief to the world and success to all the deserving, kind and friendly people. ♥

#personal #diary #January2019

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lost-and-a-tiny-bit-scared · 6 years

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I’m sorry for this ridiculously long post. I’ve been procrastinating on updating this and how I’m stuck with this mess.

Friday. 22 June 2018.

-Went to USC and stage managed my first show there. Felt more clueless and scatterbrained than the day before. Spencer was helping me more than I wanted. Show went smoothly though!!! Nothing was on fire. it was okay. Met other SM, Savannah. She is just as shy as I am.

Saturday. 23 June 2018.

- Woke up early for morning receptionist shift.

Sunday. 24 June 2018.

-Went over to Ambers house. We called Tasha and asked is she was free.

-Drove over to Tasha’s. She took us to this Mexican Icrecream place!

-Went to watch ready player 1 at this discount movie theatre. Tickets were only 1.75 because it was Sunday!

Monday. 25 June 2018.

-Spent all day at home. Did not pack at all. Went to pick up amber from work and we watched Jurassic world with Dane and Dani. The movie was hilariously dramatic and kinda bad. Went home and got stoned and packed for Zion before falling asleep.

Tuesday. 26 June 2018.

-Woke up at 5am to pick up dane and go to Zion!

-Drove to eastvale and got dane

-Stopped in Vegas and spent 2 hours there walking around M&M store and I gambled for the first time and it was sadly underwhelming and boring.

-Drove to Zion and checked into hotel!! it was really cozy and nice.

-Had dinner at not good pizza place and bought groceries.

Wednesday. 27 June 2018.

-Got up at 8 and had breakfast in the hotel where I tried and failed to make pancakes!

-Took a shuttle into the park and went to hiking trail that turned into a very large river. We hiked through the river for about 2 hours (?). Parents were too fast for us.

-Met up with my parents and headed back to hotel.

-Missed dinner with my parents because we all wanted to shower. Dane tried to seduce me and I just thought the entire thing was hilarious.

-Went on drive through the canyon rock and then my dad found this random trail along the road that we decided to see. It led to a really gorgeous sight of the entire canyon.

-Climbed back down and headed to get food from grocery store. Everyone got microwave food.

-Watched Stewart little while Amber worked on playlist.

Thursday. 28 June 2018.

-Got up late and missed breakfast with my parents.

-Checked out of hotel and heded to bryce canyon.

-dad wanted to do hike but all of us were exhausted so Amber, Dane and I explored the spots that the park shuttle would take us to while my parents went on a hike. We had lunch at ths lunge in the park and they had really good elk chili and bison burgers and it was the first actually good meal we had had since leaving LA. Food outside of California sucks.

-Drove back home afterward.

Friday. 29 June 2018.

-Woke up with the urge to swim. Called dane and asked her if she wanted to go to the beach. She said she was going to bring Dani and her surf board.

-Dane arrived at my house and we all went to the beach. Dane tried to teach me to surf but I was very confused and scared and we didn’t really get anywhere but I had a lot of fun just swimming around.

-Drove back to Monterey Park to get dinner. Dani was very confused why all the restaurants didn’t have their own parking lots and why the restaurant fronts faced the main street. We only live 40 minutes apart but really come from different worlds.

-Went over to Amber’s house to help her with her mix tapes. But she wasn’t finished organizing her 400 SONG PLAYLIST so we didn’t actually get anything done. I updated my computer and sat on Amber’s couch and watched Alien with Dane. She said it made her heart feel like it was going to explode from fear.

Saturday. 30 June 2018.

-Woke up at 5:30am and looked at my laptop that was STILL updating. Tried to reset it and it threw a tantrum and started flashing question marks at me. Called Apple support and spent 2 hours on the phone with really friendly man trying to get my laptop to work. Realized it wouldn’t update with my shitty internet so decided to give it a break and try again when I got to work.

-Got to work at 2 to find Amber working on her playlists. Clocked in and took over for her while she went to Cashiers.

-Started the update for my laptop again and started working on figuring out how the fuck to get all of her songs onto a CD. Took me 3 hours but finally got it all working. Tried to download the first CD and test it on my break while I got Starbucks for Jose. CD did not work. So we tried it again. Also did not work.

-My laptop FINALLY finished updating after 5 hours and Amber and I spent another hour trying to get a flashdrive and transfer all teh songs onto my itunes. FINALLY GOT CD #1 TO WORK AFTER 7 HOURS OF BULLSHIT.

-Amber and I rushed to finish the others while she drew covers. We only got three done out of the TWELVE!!!!

-Amber left at 7:30 and I spent the hour and 30 minutes left of my shift just breathing.

-Got out of work and went to buy Dane fruit tart because she was hungry.

-We all met at ambers house to hangout with Joe. We were supposed to go to a bar but Joe gave us a blunt and we went to the park to smoke and of course got TOO high to actually function. Dane was playing with Amber’s kitchen lighter and shouting “fire dick” to the entire world. I told her we should go for a walk and we headed to the IHOP down the street. Amber and Joe soon caught up and thats how we ended up at an IHOP at 1:30 in the morning stoned??? I started having flashbacks again like I have been lately when I’m high.

Sunday. 1 July 2018.

-Woke up with Dane next to me.

-I think we watched a movie before I went to work?

-Went to work. It was uneventful.

-Got out of work super sad and wanting to hangout with someone. Got sad over the fact that all my friends are now too far away. Went a bought a pizza and ate it by myself all emo like before going home.

Monday. 2 July 2018.

-Amber was sad that Joe left for San Jose so I made plans to go and do something new to get her mind off of things. Decided to try and go to comedy club because it was free???

-Went to pick her up from work and then drove to hollywood.

-Show was a BUNCH of different comedians trying to entertain an audience in like 8 minutes each? it was very difficult and many of the jokes did not land. There was one guy who was really great. He talked about how he had gone to the groceries at 2am and bought a frozen pizza, 4 boxes of jello. I wish I had gotten his name.

-Amber and I left hungry and ended up at Cocary.

Tuesday. 3 July 2018.

-Woke up and went to work.

-Amber texted me and asked if we could watch Princess Mononoke at my house.

-Picked her up after work and bought snacks.

-Went back to my house and laid blankets on the floor and watched Princess mononoke. Fell asleep in the living room.

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cgxsg-blog · 6 years

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December 11-17 2017 [Week 31]

My first full week in Xi’an! Monday December 11 was a rest day because my cousin came down with a fever and headache. We were planning to go to Pizza Hut for lunch, but since she wasn’t feeling well we stayed home and ordered delivery for her. I cooked myself dumplings. It was a relaxing day journaling, exercising, and taking an afternoon nap.

Click ‘Text’ to read the rest of the post!

Chive and egg dumplings with tofu are my #1 comfort food.

My cousin still wasn't feeling better on Tuesday December 12, so I stayed home with her for the first half of the day. After lunch, my aunt and I went to two shopping malls. The first mall was called Ren He. It consisted of many different boutique shops selling everything from clothes to bed linens to toys to shoes. We bought a set of bed linens for me which had nature motifs. Since all the clothes in China in general are too hypebeast and streetwear for me, we visited Cai Yuan shopping mall. After visiting a few stores, we bought some clothes for me and some for my aunt. We were supposed to go to Hui Min Jie to eat dinner, but I wasn’t feeling too well so we just ate at the food court upstairs then went back. I felt lethargic the whole day, probably because I didn’t sleep well during the night.

A super gigantic shopping mall in the middle of the city.

Wednesday December 13 was a fun and relaxing day. For lunch, my cousin and I met up with my aunt at Pizza Hut at Zhong Da International shopping mall. My cousin was still slightly sick but her fever subsided. We ordered a vegetarian pizza, octopus rings, veggies, and escargot, the main reason why I wanted to eat at Pizza Hut. My cousin ordered a seafood rice dish for herself. The food was oily but tasted nice. My favourite was of course, the escargot, although I don’t think it was cooked authentically. We came back for a few hours so my cousin could catch up on some schoolwork, then went out again to Wanda shopping mall to watch Paddington 2. The theatre was empty; there were less than 10 people in the whole place! The movie was in Chinese so I had minor difficulties understanding certain parts. Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie for its exciting and hilarious story.

After the movie, we went to have dinner at Ajisen Ramen. My cousin ordered a beef and rice hot plate, then I ordered appetizers such as cold seaweed, cabbage, and prawn cakes. The food was alright, but nothing special to Xi’an. I would’ve liked to try something else, but my cousin wanted to eat at this place so I went with the flow. We had desserts at Honeymoon Dessert. We went slightly overboard and ordered 4 types of desserts. My cousin had black glutinous rice with almond tea. I had glutinous rice balls with sesame and peanut toppings. We shared a mango pudding and mango pancake. I didn’t eat much for dinner to save room for desserts, which was a great idea since I tried a wide variety. My cousin ate the whole plate of beef and rice for dinner and managed to finish the almond tea by herself. I applaud and am jealous of her appetite.

Mango pancakes - the inside consists of half whipped cream and half mango.

During the day of Thursday December 14, my cousin and I stayed home to rest. At night, we went to a restaurant at Zhong Da International Shopping Mall to celebrate the birthday of one of my aunt’s close friends. The cake they brought was so unique and Asian but tasted nice. They ordered so many dishes that I couldn’t keep track. The portions were also huge so we weren’t able to finish everything despite having my cousin’s ginormous appetite. My favourite dish was the cake of course.

The billion dollar question: is the 100 yuan bill real or fake?

On Friday December 15, I went out with my first cousin once removed (according to online genealogy tables), which is my grandma’s brother’s daughter, which is also my mom’s cousin. I met up with her near the Xi’an Bell Tower so that’s where we visited first. The tower is symbolic of Xi’an and sits in the most centre part of the city. From the tower, I saw all the different famous streets of the city which come together to a roundabout the tower. We weren’t able to visit the drum tower because it was under construction. We went to Hui Min Jie for lunch so I saw the place in broad daylight. The entrance was the most crowded, which I assume was because many people did not want to walk a large distance to the inside. We walked down the whole street and decided to eat soup dumplings and porridge at a famous small restaurant. My favourite was the vegetarian soup dumpling and the dark and sweet porridge. I also tried persimmon doughnut and Chinese naan.

Hui Min Jie in daylight - still full of locals and tourists.

The best vegetarian soup dumplings I’ve had!

I was filled from lunch so we went to visit malls. We took the bus to Min Sheng Shopping Mall first, but the place was targeted more towards older audiences. After walking around, we took another bus to SAVA Shopping Mall, which was targeted to younger audiences. The mall had an extremely long 50.2 meter escalator that went from the 1st floor to 6th floor. There was also a wave of familiarity as I believe I visited this mall the last time I was in China in 2014. By that time, we were both tired from walking all day so we sat at Uji Matcha to rest. I ordered a matcha drink which tasted average. I also bought matcha and blueberry mille crepes because I really miss the Lady M ones. The matcha one wasn’t very delicious. I have yet to try the blueberry one.

Xi’an city views.

In the afternoon of Saturday December 16, my aunt and I went to Xin Yang shopping mall to watch a movie called ‘Youth.’ I won’t dwell into in the details of the plot since they will be definitely available online. The movie is in Mandarin Chinese with Chinese and English subtitles. Thank the lord for the English subtitles or else I wouldn’t have understood many parts of the movie as the language used is complex. I enjoyed the movie although some parts were slightly confusing so I couldn’t catch on. We also went to Vanguard grocery store to buy the food items I wanted to bring back to Vancouver. My first cousin once removed and her husband came to visit us in the evening to bring more food items. Unfortunately I don’t think I can bring them back since I have so much luggage already.

Sunday December 17 was my last full day in Xi’an, which also marked the conclusion of my whole overseas experience. My aunt, uncle, cousin, and I went to Bai Lu Cheng Studios, which was an hour and a half away from the city. The studios had many sets where local shows were filmed. There were also lots of street food vendors similar to those in Hui Min Jie. The location is in the countryside so I was able to see the simple lifestyles of the people living there. We walked a fair bit throughout the whole area as the sets were spread out and tried many types of food including noodles, buns, and fried snacks. My hands and feet were frozen the entire time since it was painfully cold in that area. By the afternoon, I couldn’t even feel my toes as they were frozen numb. Despite the cold and me not knowing any of the shows that were filmed in the area, it was nonetheless a cool experience to see the countryside and eat local food. My favourite were the thick handmade noodles with hot chilli oil drizzled on top.

The countryside where the studios are located.

Tomorrow I will begin my journey home. It’s been almost 31 weeks since I left home. Vancouver feels like a distant memory to me. Even though I will always have wanderlust, I think it’s about time for my wandering soul to finally lay to rest…until the next adventure. My final update on this blog will be tomorrow on the 16-hour journey back. Stay tuned for one last time.

C.G.

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teekoyang · 7 years

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I spent three nights and four days in Rome. However, two full days were spent figuring out transit and where I needed to be.

The trip was overshadowed by my strenuous experience getting to the London Stansted airport, which is north of my flat. This tiny airport is located 36 minutes away by car and a little bit over an hour by public transit. As a recent graduate student, every penny counts thus public transit is the way to go!

I made it to the stop for the National Express bus and waited for at least 45 minutes. When I realized that the bus was 10 minutes late to pick up the passengers, I went over to security. Security informed me that the bus will be half an hour late. WHAT!!!? My flight was at 1:20pm and by this time it was 11:20am! I was so upset and started opening my uber app when a nice girl from Czech Republic suggested that we split a cab because security told her it would be cheaper than Uber.

The cab took another 20 minutes to show up and to our dismay, he only accepted cash. Mind you, I generally don’t carry cash with me and time was not on our side. The cab driver suggested for me to find an atm, but the girl had cash! She is my savior! We decided that when we arrive at the airport, I would then find an atm and pay her back the money.

By the time we reached the airport, it was 12:20pm. The girl went to search for an atm while I went to check-in because I had an American passport. I had my boarding pass on the app and when I went to the counter to check-in, I couldn’t... apparently, for RYANAIR airline, non-eu citizens are required to print out their boarding pass. I had to pay £15 to print out my boarding pass and £7 for a fast-pass through security. I paid almost $30 USD!

IT IS NOW ALMOST 1PM!! I hastily went through security and was told I was only allowed a small ziplock bag for my liquids, meaning, I had to throw away all my liquid lipsticks, face moisturizer, and Vera Wang perfume, plus all of my shower products. HELLO, I JUST FINISHED GRADUATE SCHOOL! I AM TRYING TO SAVE EVERY PENNY BY NOT BUYING NEW PRODUCTS!

As I was getting rid of my things, this wave of emotions washed over me as I was reminded of the time during my undergrad where I was so excited to receive the opportunity to study abroad in Italy. I was prepared and paid for the ticket to go. The day of the flight, I arrived at check-in and the lady from American Airlines stated that I was an hour early when I should have been two hours early for an international flight. She then said I needed to call my travel agent and book another ticket. I was an innocent first-time flyer who have never flown on my own before. And before I knew it, the voice in the intercom at the airport kept announcing my name.

I’m not sure why I didn’t have the strength to fight American Airlines. I was sitting and crying as I called Priceline. They quoted me for $2000, and I had already paid almost $2000 to go. I called my parents and they willingly told me to use their card and I said... no. I left the airport and went back to attend classes at OU, and continued to help my parents at their restaurant 3 hours away during the weekends.

Seven years later from that experience, I WAS NOT GOING TO MISS MY FLIGHT TO ROME! I finally left security and sprinted for 10 minutes to my 1:20 flight. Seriously, London Stansted is designed for visitors to shop and is made of mazes that lead to restaurants you have to run through to get to your gate. And I made it there... at 1:20!

Where is my savior!?? When I made it to the line, I bumped into the Czech Republic girl who had paid for my cab earlier. She couldn’t find an atm and left to check-in her flight. We exchanged information on Facebook and called it a day.

Finally, I landed in Rome at 4pm. I had to pay €5 for a bus from the airport to the Roma Termini. From there, I paid €1.50 for a 100 minute MetroCard to my Airbnb near the Rebibbia station. And to my luck, right when I got out of the train in Rebibbia, MY PHONE DIES!

I tried memorizing the address and how to get there but ended up lost. I met a lady who only spoke Italian and she pointed me to a large grocery store. I went inside to ask if I could charge my phone for a few minutes, and the manager, in Italian, said she would only charge my phone if I purchased an item...

At 8pm, I bought a frozen pizza and a kinder bar. Waited 10 minutes for my phone to charge and left to find my Airbnb. I walked to the street and asked the locals where this building was, and NO ONE could point me in the right direction. By 9pm, an elderly woman from London who had been living in Italy for 30 years, used her phone to call the owners of the Airbnb to find my building (I had called multiple times but no one would pick up, and I wrote a message). The elderly lady walked with me to the building and I finally made it.

DEAR LAWD GEEZUSSSSSSS!!! I spent 13 hours getting to my Airbnb. This was a record! THANK YOU IF YOU’RE READING THIS LONG-ASS BLOG POST!

My sister, who is stationed in Naples, met me the next day. We spent most of our time walking around the Colosseum and following the travel guide from Google. This helped immensely as the guide provided a map of things to see if you only have 24 hours. I had delicious pasta and wine.

For nighttime activities, we went out to Shari Vari Playhouse. When we were there, one of the employees actually tried to make us pay more for our two shots when we had previously paid less with another bartender! My sister and I were there for only an hour when we decided to go back home (Yes, we are boring).

The next day, we headed for Vatican City but the rain started to pour. We had lunch at a Chinese restaurant (Yes, we went to Italy for Asian food!) and took shelter at a cute cafe. By this time, my sister had to leave to catch her train back to Naples. I stayed behind and made it inside St. Peter’s Basilica, the most beautiful church I’ve seen thus far. It was huge and full of tourists.

I had dinner nearby and left for my Airbnb. My flight was the next day, and better believe, transit was a struggle. The bus from Roma Termini to the airport was late so I befriended a nice South African couple where we ended up splitting a cab.

This couple, the cutest couple ever, had so much love between them. The boyfriend adored her and left his home in South Africa to follow his girlfriend in London as she finishes her degree. He worked in finance and was able to transfer jobs easily. They were so kind and this made the end of my Rome trip much smoother.

And fate played a major role again when we boarded for our seats, this lovely couple had the seats next to me! I never got their names, but if you both are out there, you’re #relationshipgoals!

Overall, I adored Rome, but I personally wouldn’t want to go back. The locals hate the tourists, understandable, but not a good position for the tourist. The transit was a headache and I spent most of my time frustrated. The best part was spending time with the sis and making her my obligatory instagram photographer (haha).

And below is an image of us Facetiming with our baby sis, Nico, who lives vicariously through us back in the states. <3

#travel #rome #roma #romance #blog #women of color #adventure

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