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bettsfic · 3 years

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how i got an agent, or: my writing timeline

when i started writing, i had no idea how publishing worked and i had a lot of misconceptions about it. but i just signed my first literary agent so i thought i’d share what my experience has been getting to this point, in case it helps anyone else with their own publication goals. i’m also including financial details, like submission fees and income, because “i could never afford to pursue writing as a career” is something that kept me from taking the idea seriously.

for context, i write mostly literary fiction and i’m on the academic/scholarly writing path. this process looks a lot different for other genres.

i didn’t write this in my pretty nonfiction narrative voice; it’s really just the bare-bones facts of how it went down, how long it took, how many words i wrote (both fanfiction and original fiction), and how much it all cost.

background

2002 - 2005: read a fuckton of books, wrote some fiction, wanted to be a writer but knew it would never happen, journaled every moment of my life in intimate detail

2006: started working full-time (at a chinese restaurant) while still in high school, also started taking courses for college credit; no time to write, and forgot i had ever wanted to be a writer

2007: graduated high school, started college (psych major), still worked at the restaurant, moved out of my parents’ house into an apartment with my boyfriend; my dad got diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer

2008: continued college full-time, quit the restaurant and started part-time as a bank teller, broke up with bf and moved in with a friend at an apartment where the rent was obscenely high; had to pick up a second job altering bridal gowns

2009: continued college full-time, started dating someone else, moved in with him, had to support him, took a third job as an admin assistant

2010: continued college full-time, still had 3 jobs; my dad’s cancer became terminal

2011: my dad passed away; i graduated college with a 3.9 and $31k of debt; quit 2 of 3 jobs; got promoted at the bank; my bf cheated on me and we broke up; moved back in with my mom

2012: a very dark time; also, bought a house (because where i’m from, it’s cheaper to buy than rent)

2013: discovered fandom

2014, age 24

this is the year i started writing and posting fanfic. prior to that i was a compulsive journaler but had no drive or desire to become a writer, despite how much i had written when i was a teenager. it seemed like a very childish dream. at this point i assumed writing was just a phase like all my other hobbies i’d picked up and set down.

but fandom proved to be really healthy for me, and i made some good friends who encouraged my writing and made me want to be better at it. i was really not very good at writing. i don’t think i had any natural creative talent whatsoever, or even a particularly vivid imagination. the only thing i had going for me was the ability to put thoughts into words after a decade of obsessive journaling.

i started writing in spring, and by the end of the year my total word count was 311k. i was making a decent income at the bank, insofar as my bills were covered and i had health insurance. i still had a significant amount of credit card debt from college that i was trying to pay down, and which was eating up all my extra income.

2015, age 25

i continued writing through 2015 and went to visit @aeriallon, whom i’d met in fandom and who told me i should consider applying to MFAs. i was miserable at the bank and knew i wanted to go back to school, but i didn’t think there was a chance in hell a grad program would accept me, since my writing wasn’t very good and i hadn’t so much as taken a single english class in undergrad. she told me to just look around and do a few google searches to see what i found.

when i started searching, i assumed i would probably be more compelled toward an MEd or MSW programs and go the therapy route, which is what the plan had been in undergrad before my dad died and my life got derailed. i never wanted to be a banker, but i’d got a promotion into commercial finance that paid decently, so i took it and told myself i’d work for a year before going back to school. but then i kept getting promoted and one year became many.

i ended up being more drawn to creative writing MFA programs because they seemed to want people with weird backgrounds like mine. also the classes sounded fun and the programs were funded. i didn’t know how i would be able to afford my mortgage payment or sell my house on a fraction of the income i was making at the bank, but i figured i’d apply and see what happened.

it took 6 months to get a writing sample ready to apply to MFAs. it was the only ofic story i’d written as an adult, and in retrospect i had no idea what i was doing because at that point i didn’t read literary short fiction. but i got the sample as good as i could get it and completed my applications. i applied to 6 schools and got accepted into 1.

in 2015 i wrote 250k. i can’t find my application spreadsheet from that year, but i probably spent between $300 and $400 on application fees. early in the year, i had finally managed to pay off my credit card debt and save a little bit of money.

2016, age 26

the school i got into was within driving distance of my house, so i didn’t bother moving. i tried to quit the bank but my boss convinced me to stay on 2 days a week working from home. i agreed to it, because my grad stipend wasn’t enough to cover my bills, and i was counting on what little savings i had accrued to get me through the program. i still had no drive or interest to publish. i mostly just wanted to go back to school so i could learn how to be better at this thing i really enjoyed doing.

in the MFA, as you might imagine, i had to read a lot of stuff and write a lot of stuff, and was encouraged to begin submitting some of the short stories i wrote for workshop. i was not particularly into the idea, considering it seemed like a lot of work for little reward, and also i didn’t think my stories were very good.

i also started teaching english comp. i hated it and decided that after the MFA, i never wanted to do it again. haha. hahahahahaha

in 2016 i wrote 343k. i didn’t apply/submit in 2016 so i didn’t pay any fees, but my grad stipend was $14k for the academic year, plus the income i was making at the bank.

2017, age 27

i did a complete 180 and decided i loved teaching more than anything else in the entire world, and i was willing to do whatever it took to become a teacher. i realized that to become a teacher, i needed to publish. begrudgingly i started submitting to literary journals. i also applied to summer workshops and got into tin house, which i highly recommend if that’s something you’re interested in. at tin house i met my dream agent, who seemed really interested in my work and encouraged me to query her as soon as i had a book done.

a lot of personal drama happened that year. i was still working at the bank in addition to teaching a 2/2 and taking a full course load. in summer i had a long overdue mental breakdown.

2017 was a rough year. i wrote 149k. this is the year i started keeping a dedicated expenses spreadsheet. i spent $174 in submission fees. tin house tuition with room and board was a little over $1500 + travel. i thought it was worth it because i met the agent i thought i would later sign, but that didn’t pan out. (i made some great friends though!!) tin house was definitely an unwise financial decision; i paid for it out of what little i managed to save in 2015.

2018, age 28

early in 2018, i went from teaching comp/rhet to creative writing, which only cemented my desire to teach writing as a career. i realized i was far better at teaching writing than writing, but i knew i had to keep writing to keep teaching (shocked pikachu.jpg), so i kept submitting to journals. i got my first story accepted. i didn’t receive any payment for that publication. i quit the bank early in the year (finally! after 10 years!) and was terrified about money, in part because my student loan payments were coming out of deferment and i was still paying off my hospital bills from my breakdown.

in spring semester, i won a few departmental awards (totaling $500ish) and got a second story accepted (again, no payment). i also got accepted to another workshop which i will not name because i hated it. i graduated in may and defended my thesis in july. the thesis would later become my short story collection, zucchini.

in fall, i stayed on at my school as an adjunct, and started writing training wheels which would later become an original novel called baby.

i wrote 450k in 2018. i paid $373 in submission fees. i was also nominated for an award for one of my publications but didn’t win. the workshop i went to was like $4000 with room and board (it was a month-long workshop). i got 75% of it covered with scholarships and i paid for the rest of it out of my savings, and even though i’d intended to drive there, my mom ended up buying me a plane ticket. again, i met a lot of big-wig writers i thought for sure would help me get an agent. i told myself i was networking, and that publication was all about Who You Knew. but that turned out not to be true for me.

as an adjunct i made $3200 per course, and i taught 3 classes in fall. in winter, i got my shit together and started applying for creative writing PhDs, mostly to convince my family i was doing something with my life, with no expectation that i would get in. in winter i applied to 2 schools. with application fees and the GRE, i ended up paying well over $500.

2019, age 29

in spring semester, i taught 2 classes while i revised training wheels into baby. when i had a completed manuscript, i finally pulled the plug and used all my networking contacts to get my dream agent i’d met at tin house. i queried her, and a very popular and well-regarded author i’d met at the other workshop emailed her on my behalf to tell her good things about me. i thought for sure i had it in the bag. this author also touched base with a few other agents whom he thought would like my work.

i didn’t hear back from any of them. not even a “no thanks.” i set down querying for a while.

i got a third story picked up and published around this time, and i was paid $25 for it. they also nominated me for an award, and i don’t think i won? but i can’t find out who did win so idk.

my grandpa passed away and i decided to sell my house and move in with my grandma so she wouldn’t be alone. i got rejected from both PhD programs i applied to and decided to get a “real job” instead, and began applying for random positions that offered health insurance, because i knew i was drastically undermedicated and it was becoming a Problem.

near the end of spring semester, i moved out of my house, put it on the market, and was interviewing for a community development manager position for a nonprofit. at the same time, i found out about another university that was taking late-season applications, and i applied. five days later, i got accepted. one day after that, i got a job offer for the nonprofit. since i had no idea how long it would take for my house to sell, and being unable to afford both rent in a new city and my mortgage payment, i deferred my PhD acceptance for a year and decided to work at the nonprofit for a while. the risk was that i could only defer my admission, not my funding, so there was a chance that the following year i wouldn’t get the same funding package.

i lasted one month at the “real job” before i had another breakdown and ended up quitting.

my house sold for well under the asking price and i received only $4000 in equity once it was all said and done. that’s a lot of money to me, but considering that i’d been paying on the house for 7 years, i was expecting a lot more.

i had a year to kill until the PhD so i decided to take a break from teaching and apply to artist residencies instead. i applied to 8 residencies and got accepted into 4, but only ended up attending 3, because the 4th was outrageously priced and there was no indication of the cost when i had applied.

in winter i picked up querying agents again. i queried 10 agents every other week. i also got a ghostwriting gig writing children’s books that paid $800 a month.

in 2019 i wrote 417k. i spent $441 in submission fees (to residencies and contests, not agent queries. never pay money to query an agent!!). i ended up teaching 3 classes fall semester.

2020, age 30

i started out the year driving across the country going to residencies. the first cost $100 (no food), the second cost $250 (A LOT OF VERY GOOD FOOD), and the third paid me $500. i was at the third when the pandemic hit.

the query rejections started rolling in. i gave up in february after 60 queries. of those 60, i received 7 manuscript requests for baby, but the consensus was that it was too long and plotless (you got me there.jpg). at the second residency completed and revised zucchini and decided to begin querying with that instead. i could only find a few agents who accepted collections so i only queried 16. i got one request for the manuscript but then didn’t hear back. i gave up in april shortly after the pandemic hit.

when i figured the collection, like the novel, just wasn’t publishable, i started submitting to contests which is the more standard route for the genre. i submitted to 12 in total and was a finalist in 1. i was rejected or withdrew from the rest.

the PhD program reached out to ask if i was still interested in starting in fall, and i said i was, so they put me in the running for funding again and i was accepted. the stipend was $17k per academic year.

like most of us, i got totally derailed in spring and stopped doing basically everything. the ghostwriting gig started paying $1500 a month and i also started my creative coaching business, which slowly but surely began to supplement my income. i also received the $1200 stimulus.

when school started, i quit the ghostwriting gig. i had no intention to continue querying either book, but i saw a twitter pitch event called DVpit (diverse voices) and decided to participate. for those who don’t know, a twitter pitch event is where you tweet the pitch for your book and use the hashtag, and agents scroll through the tag and like tweets. if an agent likes your tweet, you query them.

i got one like, so i followed up with the query. the agent asked for the full MS and a couple weeks later followed up with the offer for representation. we talked on the phone, she sent me the contract, i asked for a couple changes, and then signed!

so far this year i’ve written 375k and paid $518 in submission fees. i’ll give more details when i do my end of year roundup next month. oh, and i finally paid off my student loans.

totals

word count: 2.3 million

agent queries: 77

agent MS requests: 9

agent rejections: 28

agent no responses: 44

short story submissions: 86

short story acceptances: 3

short story income: $25

total submission/application fees: $1472

my (final) query letter

honestly this query letter probably isn’t very good which is why i got such a minimal response, but it got the job done eventually.

Thank you for expressing interest in ZUCCHINI through this year's DVpit event.

ZUCCHINI is a collection that views sex through an asexual lens. It poses inquiries into constructs like gender, sexuality, and love to dissect the patriarchal/puritanical foundations from which our social perspectives often derive. Being a collection about asexuality, each story portrays a relationship that develops from forms of attraction other than physical.

In one story, a grieving widow purchases her first sex toy; in another, a woman uses sex to cope with the death of her abusive father, and later in the collection faces the long road to recovery; an administrative assistant seeks out a codependent relationship with her boss; a masochist hires a professional sadist to lead him toward self-actualization; a woman begins to recover from her sexual assault by staging a reenactment on her own terms; and lastly, two lifelong friends in a queerplatonic relationship decide to get married. Asexuality is an under-acknowledged identity within the LGBTQIA community and is often misunderstood. In seven stories, ZUCCHINI dissects the notion of attraction, explores the intersections of sexual identity and trauma recovery, and conveys the experience of intimacy without physical desire.

Three stories in the collection have been published in literary magazines. “Lien” appeared in volume 24 of Quarter After Eight and was nominated for the PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers. “An Informed Purchase” appeared in the summer 2018 issue of Midwestern Gothic and won the Jordan-Goodman Prize in Fiction. “The Ashtray” appeared in issue 16 of Rivet Journal and has been nominated for a 2020 Pushcart Prize.

Complete at 53,000 words, ZUCCHINI is a collection in conversation with Carmen Maria Machado’s HER BODY AND OTHER PARTIES, Lauren Groff’s FLORIDA, and Samantha Hunt’s THE DARK DARK.

If ZUCCHINI is of interest to you, I would be happy to send you the manuscript. Per your guidelines, I've appended the first twenty pages below, which is the entirety of the first story.

what comes next

i’m going to spend january revising the collection per my agent’s feedback. when i send it back to her, she’ll shoot it out to the first round of publishers. my understanding is that the goal is to get multiple offers on it so that it has to go to auction. if there are no offers, she’ll do another round of submissions, and so on, until we’ve exhausted our options. if that happens, we’ll reassess, but by then hopefully i’ll have another novel finished.

meanwhile, i’ll be continuing the PhD which entails teaching a 2/2, workshop, and 2 lit seminars per semester. i’m also still doing my creative coaching, writing fanfic, and working on my original projects. in summer, i’ll finally be moving to hopefully start going to school in person next fall.

the PhD is a 3 year program with an optional fourth year. i don’t see myself finishing in 3 years so i do plan to take the extra year unless something comes up. after the PhD, i’m not sure what i’ll do. a lot will probably change by then so i’m trying not to commit to one idea. i might apply to post-doc fellowships and tenure track positions, or i might leave the country and teach overseas, or i might move to LA and try to get in a writer’s room somewhere. i’ve got a lot of options.

overall thoughts/stuff i learned

first of all, you don’t have to go through all of this to publish a book. you could feasibly just write a book and query agents. the only reason it took me this long is because my PTSD brain was sabotaging me every step of the way and i didn’t start taking anything seriously until i found something i was willing to fight for (teaching). i went the MFA/literary route but other, faster routes are just as good. maybe better. probably better. actually if there’s any chance you can go a different route, you should take it.

reflecting on all of this, very little of it has anything to do with talent or being a good writer. nor does it have to do with being at the right place at the right time. i’ve only made it this far because i took very small steps over and over again, and during that walk met people who could help me -- the authors who have mentored me, the editors who accepted my stories, the agent who signed me. and as i got further along my path, i started being able to help other writers in the way i was helped.

i don’t believe i’ll ever be a great writer. the best thing i can say about my writing is that it’s competent and accessible. everything i write sets out to do something and most of the time it gets the job done. i don’t imagine i’ll ever be able to financially support myself with publishing, and i’ll certainly never be famous or well-known, but i’m good enough to keep making progress. i’ll probably continue to find opportunities that are adjacent to writing and that will keep me afloat, pending my health and provided the country doesn’t devolve into civil war.

probably the most important thing i learned in all this is that having a wide appeal isn’t the goal. you don’t write to be lauded or liked. you have to stay as true to yourself and your interests as you possibly can, so that the people who come across your path can see you and help you. you’ll need those people; no one gets anywhere alone. if you pander, if you’re too concerned with praise and success or being adored, you won’t make it very far. the rejection will eventually kill you.

with all that said, my advice to you is this: never stop writing. the ability to share our stories is the single most precious thing we have. you can’t let anything stop you from telling your stories the way you need them to be told.

#writing advice #the writing life #writing update

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shespeaksinsongs · 3 years

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May I have a ship 🍄 for HP of golden trio era? Preferably male, thank you 💞

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

I'm 19, Southeast Asian with Spanish descent, Libra, ENFJ-A/ENFJ-T, Neutral Good, Ravenclaw, and a Bi Pan Genderfluid girl using the pronouns She/Her or He/Him. A friend of mine told me that I (kinda) look like Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 (a Netflix animated series), but the exception is I'm short (5'1.2") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has messy/wavy brunette medium hair, chocolate brown eyes, oriental skin and a small beauty mark on the forehead. My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant, quiet, and shy at first cause' I dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis, talkative, eats a lot, awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY CLUMSY (mostly tends to get bruises from bumping and being careless to my belongings), secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, eager to share what I know (especially about Catholic Church---my past teacher joked that I'll become a saint because of it 🤣), oftenly speaks full of sarcasm with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no.1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

People thought I'm a demure self-effacing woman that looks "immaculate" or "one of a kind," (due to my protective parents, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, I'm eloquent, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, laid-back, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic that cries so easily (but will enlightened real quick by smallest things that makes me smile) filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone because they might get dissappointed from expectations, yet I still managed to be stronger than ever, even it's a slow burn process. I can be intimidating, sassy, and a douchebag if I receive ends. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, very indecisive, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic person, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams and what's important to me) and what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Blunt but the loudest idiotic feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will call out on people that we loathe, will crack up over your stupid antics before helping, vent out everything I despise (having a bad day, toxicity, poorly written soap operas, how am unlucky when it comes to love life) and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic who tends to banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment (but gets grumpy if I received sappy or offensive one), Still generous and concerned person in a subtle way.

𝗘𝗫𝗧𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. I'll include making corniest jokes/puns, sleeping, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD). I also used to learn Italian language a bit. Lastly, my best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, and oratorical skills...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, and a top student who's a former campus ministry member (choir member, psalm singer, and reader) and in coming college freshman. Currently learning how to cook and have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale...I also consider joining pageants too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

okay. this was a tough one, but i finally settled on fred and george. i think you'd be best with fred weasley by a CLOSE SECOND to george.

you mentioned that you're into banter and pick-up lines as endearment - and i think that is so fred weasley. george strikes me as the softer, sweeter, twin, who is more likely to be dominated, but i think you and fred having an equally dominant personality would make for an interesting relationship! additionally, the secretly likes affection thing would go smoothly with fred. i think fred is a more "quality time" and "acts of service" kind of guy, but affection is never rejected for him, and he quite enjoys it! the hobbies you mentioned seem like things he might love to do, or encourage you to do! it even gave me a good idea for a fic, which i think i will be releasing tomorrow if i can. will tag you, of course. head-strong, sassy, and being quick-tempered would keep fred on his toes, and i think that's one of his favorite things about you. he'd love that he's always on the edge with you. he doesn't know where he's going, but he doesn't mind. i think fred really likes someone who's not afraid to let themselves get out there, and you pursuing your dreams so fearlessly, along with your passions, makes for a pretty good match to me. besides that, i think fred would definitely try to dig beneath the surface, or the "demure" demeanor you give off. based on your description of yourself, i think he would find somebody worth being with.

he would definitely see you in the hallways and pretend not to know you sometimes, hitting on you as if you weren't already together. i think he most definitely thinks it's both cute and scary when you're angry, seeing as your height and personality clash (in a good way, dw). teases you for being clumsy, but he thinks it's cute. aside from the normal nicknames, he probably calls you "my pretty witch", or "my smart baby ravenclaw". he likes head pats, and uses you as an elbow rest to annoy you sometimes. i think he would also think you're stunning. like he would almost worship you and your entire body. gives you kisses on the beauty mark on your forehead a lot, especially if you're cuddling. he almost can't resist. loves your style and tries to copy it, but decides that it's reserved for you in his mind, so he goes back to his normal style, admiring all your different outfits. stays up late with you on nights you can't sleep or don't want to. starts cursing a lot after he met you. he gets into the habit, and every conversation with you is a swearing mess. gives you kisses on the cheeks randomly to see how off-guard he can catch you and see how flustered you get. LOVES when you blush. it's his favorite thing about you.

<3 thank you so much for your submission.

#hlbutterflycelebration

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oneboxofmatches · 3 years

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Hi!!! May I request a HP romantic and friendship matchup on both eras? (Preferably male), thanks in advance! 💞

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

19, Libra, Neutral Good, enneagram is 4w5, Ravenclaw, and my patronus spirit is swan. Bi Pan Genderfluid girl using pronouns of She/Her or He/Him. A friend of mine told me that I (kinda) look like Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 (a Netflix animated series), but the exception is I'm short (5'1.2") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has messy/wavy brunette medium hair, chocolate brown eyes, oriental skin and a small beauty mark on the forehead. My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant and shy at first cause' I dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis, talkative, awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY clumsy, secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over any wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, sarcastic person with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no. 1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), and will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

People thought I'm a demure self-effacing woman that looks "idealistic" or "one of a kind," (due to my protective parents, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, I'm eloquent, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic crybaby filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone, yet I still managed to be stronger than ever, even it's a slow burn process. I can be intimidating, sassy, and a douchebag if I receive ends. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, very indecisive, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive or I might break a belonging due to my carelessness). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic person, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams) 𝖺𝗇𝖽 what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Blunt but the loudest idiotic feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will act like a silent backstabber on people that we loathe, will crack up over your stupid antics before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic who tends to banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment (but gets grumpy if I received sappy or offensive one), still generous and concerned in a subtle way.

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 making corniest jokes/puns, 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Things that I hate are stereotyping, HUGE creepy crawlies (spiders, toads, snakes, and cockroaches), firecracker sounds, being left out, loneliness, heart break, blackout, and judgemental people. One random fact about me is, I 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 vent out EVERYTHING I despise in my entire existence---from bad soap operas to toxicity and worse scenarios in real life, because it's a big deal for me, and I consider forcing me to do what I'm not into and manipulating me as my major pet peeves.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦

In terms of triggers...I only have two which are ta𝖨king about divorce/annullment/separation because I came from a generational broken family and religion/beliefs discrimination, cause' there are reasonings that doesn't makes sense because some are too hypocritical.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗔

My best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, and oratorical skills...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, and a top student who's a former active campus ministry member with three roles (choir leader, psalm singer, and reader). Currently an incoming college freshman, learning how to cook and have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale competing internationally...I also consider joining pageants at school too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

Thank you so, so much for requesting! I had a lot of fun with this one (as you can tell by some of the really long answers lol) and I hope you enjoy!!

In the Golden Trio era, I romantically pair you with…

CEDRIC DIGGORY

One of the most beautiful things about Cedric is that although he may show some introverted tendencies, he still manages to have a natural gift for connecting to others and allowing them to feel comfortable enough to open up. Really, your initial distance and shyness don't last nearly as long towards Cedric as they would with most other people.

Hearing your laughter brings the widest, cheesiest grin to Cedric’s face. Not only does he adore seeing you happy, but he also recognizes that your anxiety, insecurities, and strong emotions can sometimes cloud up your demeanor. Therefore, it brings him comfort knowing that (for the moment) you’re finding joy. He thrives when you thrive!

However, as much as he loves seeing your more energetic and happier self, it goes without saying that he’s the best comfort for when you’re not having the best day.

Cedric is an excellent listener, so he’ll most likely let you talk without interruption for as long as you need before even saying a word. He wants to make sure he truly understands your current state before acting. He may take a few seconds to process everything after you finish speaking, but then he’ll help you tackle whatever problems you’re facing. He’s especially talented at giving words of affirmation.

Cedric’s listening also comes in handy whenever you talk about your interests! He genuinely loves hearing about the things you’re interested in solely for the fact that you’re interested in them. Side note: you can count on him to be at any music performances, pageants, etc. you may have -- this guy is truly your #1 supporter.

Cedric’s a very good student (though I suspect he’s somewhat of a procrastinator himself), so I can also see you two supporting each other through schoolwork and celebrating each other’s successes.

Like you, Cedric has a strong urge to do the right thing. Talking to him about social issues stirs up a need to help, and I could see you two doing volunteer work together in your spare time.

I like to believe one of Cedric’s biggest love languages is quality time. Don’t get me wrong, this guy loves staying involved and busy. But taking a couple hours to be with you in small ways (even if that means just being in the same room while you scroll through social media) gives him a nice balance.

Overall, this kind boy will be there unwaveringly through the bad times and will laugh just as loud as you through the good!

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LUNA LOVEGOOD

You wanna talk about the best conversations, relentless support, and overall the most wholesome friendship you could ask for? Luna’s your girl.

Being unashamed to be true to yourself is one of the biggest reasons why Luna is so drawn to you. While she’s very friendly and insightful towards everyone she meets, it can get a bit repetitive for her to constantly interact with people who try to shelter their unique characteristics from the world. In her mind, these unique characteristics are what make people so fascinating! Why should anyone hide who they are?

Luna’s creativity is endless, and I can see it blending well with yours. Collaborating on a personal project outside of school (ex: novel, blog, etc.) together is definitely something I could see you two doing.

Speaking of creativity, finding creative solutions to everyday problems (both in school and in life) is your specialty as friends.

Admittedly, Luna isn’t usually drawn to louder individuals. However, the complexity behind your personality makes it easier for her to know you are much more than what meets the eye.

Speaking of, Luna has a difficult time standing up for herself -- whether it’s because she doesn’t feel a need to or she just doesn’t recognize the meaning behind certain phrases. She NEEDS a friend like you to stand up for her sometimes, and I know you wouldn’t hesitate!

Ranting to Luna is therapeutic to say the least. While her aloofness at times may make it seem as if she isn’t fully paying attention, that couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s actually catching every word, and once you’re done she’ll leave you with a philosophical solution that may seem borderline insane/irrelevant when you first hear it, but it strangely makes sense.

Overall, the lack of judgment from either of you is what draws you together. As a result, you build a unique bond that couldn’t be broken even if either of you wanted it to.

In the Marauders era, I romantically pair you with…

REMUS LUPIN

Let’s be honest, it would take you two so long to ask each other out. You were probably already really close friends, but the insecurities and “what if?” questions from both of you delayed an actual relationship.

When you finally started dating, you were both so relieved. You still share a laugh at how almost nothing changed in the way you interacted with each other.

While with mutual friends, Remus sometimes likes to sit back and just watch you, especially when you get really talkative because this is when you become the most expressive. He has the softest smile when you’re actively cracking jokes, discussing something you’re passionate about, or even calling someone out. Sometimes you may be too distracted to notice, but other times you’ll catch him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” (While that same soft smile never leaves his face.)

You both hold really high standards for yourself in terms of school, so expect late-night study/work sessions to be your best bet for quality time.

Though the occasional instance of walking through/lying on the grounds becomes a favorite for both of you.

Remus listens when you’re particularly struggling through anxiety or strong emotions, but he has to consciously stop himself from interrupting because he can’t stand how he feels knowing you’re going through a tough time.

All he wants to do is soothe you during these moments. If you’re comfortable, he’ll hold you while speaking to you in a soft voice. Remus, the intellectual that he is, is also your best chance at finding a reasonable solution. So if you're not in the mood for calming words, he's also a great person to turn to for answers.

As for your ambitions, no matter what you choose to pursue, you already know Remus is going to be your biggest source of support every step of the way. He’s more than happy to help in any way he can!

Overall, Remus appreciates you, and he’s always going to make sure you know it.

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LILY EVANS

Lily especially connects to you because you manage to be determined, competitive, and intelligent without sacrificing your kindness, which is something she can relate to.

You and Lily are the C.E.O.s of doing the right thing. Neither of you hesitates to back the other up when it comes to confronting someone because you know it’s justified.

As perceptive as Lily is, you never need to tell her when something is bothering you. All it takes is a quick glance before she puts whatever she’s doing on hold to check in with you.

The reverse works as well. Typically, Lily really doesn’t internally struggle too much, and when she does she tries to hide it. You’re one of the only people who can see right through whatever she tries to pull.

The constant banter between you two is unmatched, but you both know it's because you really care about each other.

Overall, you and Lily have each other’s backs through anything, even when the other isn’t actively asking for help.

#matchups #fandom matchups #harry potter matchup #harry potter #cedric diggory #luna lovegood #remus lupin #lily evans #lily potter

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starkerisendgame · 4 years

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Hi! This is weird to ask but can you make a starker fic with Peter being a camboy and he doesn't know that his idol is watching his shows. Eventually when Tony figures out that Peter is Spider-Man, he goes to Peters apartment like in the movie and they chat. After the whole civil war is over, Tony proposes to be Peters Sugar daddy. P.s. Love your fics 😘❤

I hope this is what you wanted! I’m so sorry WIPs are taking me a long time, I’m working across three accounts and I’m finishing up in college for the semester. Thank you sm for such an invigorating, exciting prompt!

[P.2]

Struggling financially sucked in general. Being a struggling student was even worse; because supplies weren’t cheap and textbook price tags made him whimper and there was only so much ramen a guy could eat before looking at the packets made him want to headbutt a metal spork.

Arguably worse, though, was being a struggling student who spent most of his nights running around as Spiderman, using expensive chemicals for his web formula (there was only so much he could steal from the school) and constantly having to repair his suit. Not to mention the eye-watering medical bills on the very rare times he actually dragged himself to hospital.

All in all, whilst he enjoyed his life; he also spent most of it envying the people who didn’t have to choose between their water bill and a new winter coat. Or patching up their secret superhero suit and eating something other than instant noodles for the rest of the month. When he’d received a message on his Instagram account from a supposed ‘director of entertainment’, alongside a link to what had turned out to be sexual camshow website, well. He’d almost immediately marked it as spam and moved on.

Except.

Peter had always been complimented on his looks. His ‘pretty face’ and the lithe way his body had developed, trim little waist and strong arms. His plush mouth and his wide eyes. At first it was as a young child, doe-eyed and chubby-cheeked. How cute other parents would coo, prodding at his long lashes and his tight little curls.

As a young teen, there had been some negatives thrown in. Sneers at his slightly feminine looks. Though it hadn’t stopped him from brawling about on the football field or going through that horrible phase where he didn’t give two genuine fucks about his clothing. Girls had asked if he wore mascara, if he curled his hair, had giggled over how pretty he was.

As a young adult, Peter’s looks were both a bane and a privilege. He had endless compliments, advances, all the sex he could want (and didn’t accept). People bought him drinks or let him buy the last of something at a bat of his lashes. And in turn, people sneered at him and called him gay. Told him he needed to ‘man up’ and that a face like that didn’t belong on a boy. He got carded for everything and the time the delivery guy for his dildo asked him for ID would forever be the single worst moment of his life.

And the sexual remarks…Well. Peter stared at his phone, at the site address typed into the search bar but unpressed, biting nervously at his lip. He’d been told before he’d be good at porn. That he was good looking enough to do things like sell nudes, or model. And it brought in a lot of money, even for basic stuff, right?

He hit send.

And that was how Tony found SpiderTwink2001. Not very creative on Peter’s part, but then again, the boy hadn’t actually expected his profile to go anywhere. At first it was filled with meh quality shots from his phone. Awkward playing the camera and fumbled editing as he learned.

But then he taught himself and used what spare money he could find doing odd-jobs and as thank yous from the people he saved as Spiderman and bought himself a pretty basic DSLR recording camera. Some mid-quality editing software and his videos became clearer. Smoother. He learned how to talk as though the camera was his partner and learned what angles worked.

By the end of the year, SpiderTwink2001 was the 55th most popular blog on the entire site, and Tony Stark was invested.

He hadn’t meant to find it. Not at first. Well. He’d been looking for porn, obviously, but he’d stumbled across Peter’s blog after searching for close up videos, full on scotch and overcome with the sudden desire to watch a cute little ass stretch open around a cock.

He was barely on page three by the time he found the video, apparently one of the guy’s most popular shoots. It begun with a shot of his lower back and the fat, round swell of his ass, sitting above one of the largest dildos Tony had seen in a while. A little bubble in the lower hand corner of the video informed him the toy was almost four inches in circumference, and almost eight inches in length. His own cock, of similar measurement, immediately made its presence known.

The boy begun to sink down in a controlled, slow movement, the camera at just the perfect angle to catch the toy’s shimmery blue body disappearing slowly, so slowly into the welcome embrace. The softest, sweetest moan Tony had ever heard drifted from the holo-screen, high and keening as the boy just kept sinking down, swallowing the toy inch by inch. The camera zoomed in as the boy then begun to lean forwards, bending the dildo and giving the camera a HD view of where it was hidden in the plush depths of his ass.

“Kid’s good” Tony grunted, digging a heel into the bulge of his cock. Knew how to perform. The kid was breathy but not the overly fake every-second-of-the-video moan/scream sounds that most porn contained. Just the odd sound at suitable intervals that had Tony sinking lower in his bed, thighs parting as he kneaded lazily at his arousal.

The boy rode the toy at a torturous pace, so much so that even Tony was impatient in his pleasure, intent on watching the video until it ended, but not wanting to cum too quickly into it. The boy’s raw little rim stretched around the toy, rosy and tight as he bounced and ground in turn. Greedily clinging to the toy on each upwards motion, swallowing it down with ease on each downward. He was a pretty thing, shaved and clean with tight, round little balls. Strong thighs when the video panned out a little.

About mid-way through Tony let his head fall back, lifted his hips to let his cock flop free of his boxers and against his hip, his own pre-cum hot on his skin as he reached down, wrapped long fingers around a longer length and squeezed just enough to stave the ache. On the screen the face-less boy had sunk deep onto the dildo and was rocking on it, no doubt grinding his prostate as just visible between his legs, he pumped his cock in time to his movements.

The boy was letting out desperate little unfs with each motion, quiet, almost like he was not home alone. Tony stroked himself firm and slow, more feeling the length than doing anything about the way it drooled over his stomach. The video still had a way to go, and he wanted to be there for the end of it.

Tony breathed out as he watched the boy, who was riding his sweet spot like he’d die if he didn’t. Tony found himself responding each time a sweet, high little moan or whimper came from his speakers, stripping his cock in time to the way the boy’s hips began to twist and grind faster.

And then the boy was slowing, staving off his pleasure, and rising to his knees. Tony was about to spit a curse - because how cruel was this? - When the camera cut, and the scene stole his breath away, fingers locking around the base of his cock.

Now, the boy’s front was to the camera, hips pushed forwards, low on his haunches so the dildo was bent backwards into his pert little body, the boy’s round, small balls resting on its base. His cock was a true thing of beauty, petite and slender, cut neatly. The tip was dusky pink and sheened with slick.

His hips rolled sensually five more times, and that pretty, pink dick jerked against a taut stomach and prominent hips, a cracked cry filling Tony’s ears and pearly globs of cum splattered against that slender stomach and began to dribble down the muscles slowly. Tony spat a curse and his hips hips lifted in response, barely managing to lift his shirt out of the way of his own cum.

It got worse from there. He followed SpiderTwink2001, and found it was his go-to blog. When he was tense and full of adrenaline after missions. When he came home from Galas in need of stress relief. When some little shit riled him up with no intentions of following through.

That pert little ass and pretty little cock almost became akin to an addiction. Tony set up a software that would send him an alert on any new videos, found that he’d more or less abandoned any and all other porn in favour of watching the boy, who never showed his face but was still the body behind all of Tony’s wet dreams.

He was in a meeting when his phone vibrated softly, just enough to draw his attention, in the specific three-beat pattern that he’d designated to SpiderTwink2001′s alerts. He sucked in a sharp breath and risked a glance across the room, making sure that Pepper was watching the slides and not him before he risked sneaking his phone from his pocket, just enough to see the top portion of the screen.

SpiderTwink2001: Face Reveal.

Tony nearly dropped his phone, leg jerking up and knee banging into the underside of the table. He spat a curse, cringing as he looked up to find the rest of the room eyeing him warily.

Except for Pepper. She eyed him like she was mentally throttling him with great sincerity.

“Lab stuff. Continue” he dismissed, waving a hand. The poor marketing employee was only three words into her sentence when he abruptly stood. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. Continue, I just won’t be here”.

“Tony fucking Stark, sit down or I-”

“Will be receiving a very big gift basket very soon. Do enjoy the lunch!” Tony hastened to cut her off, darting passed before Pepper’s manicured nails could snag his arm. He could feel the irritation radiating off her, and vowed to upgrade her gift basket from ‘very big’ to ‘the biggest’.

He was barely in the safety of his own penthouse when he was waving up the holo screen, hands already unbuckling his suit pants as he moved towards the expensive couch. As an afterthought he asked JARVIS to lock down his floor, sinking onto the plush seat with a groan as he set SpiderTwink’s video to the screen.

It began with just a body shot, the boy naked save for a pair of sleek black shorts, like he’d been at the gym or in bed before deciding to make this. And then he began to talk. SpiderTwink’s voice was soft and lilted, a little higher than most men’s, but delicious to Tony’s ears. He’d heard that voice mewling out ‘Daddy, please!’ More times than he could count.

“Okay. Uh. So I mean this is kinda two things? At once. Two reveals, I guess. Firstly, I’ve decided to branch out into camming, and doing live shows. Which is kinda why I’m doing this video”.

Tony’s fingers stilled over his buckle, both invested and mildly disappointed. Clearly this wasn’t going to be a porny kind of face reveal, but it still meant getting to see the visage that belonged to every wet fantasy from the past four months. He let his hands fall away and shifted to get comfortable instead, listening intently.

“And, uh. I mean, I can’t really stop any of you trying to like, stalk me on Facebook and stuff, really. But…Please don’t? Its kinda weird, and-”

The talking continued for a little while, endless, cute rambling that bounced from topic to topic. Tony increased the volume and went to get himself a scotch, buckling his belt again as he went. He was back on the couch when the boy sucked in a sharp breath, stomach muscles flexing, and reached for the camera.

Tony brought the scotch to his lips for a slow pull, and inhaled the burning amber liquid when the single prettiest boy he’d ever seen blinked owlishly at the camera, nervous and shy.

He had a slender face, with a strong jaw and prominent cheeks. That was about as much as Tony could notice behind the blurring of his eyes, waving for the video to pause as he hacked a series of coughs, thumping at his chest.

“Sir, do you need-”

“No! No” Tony wheezed, shaking his head. Several more moments of feeling like someone had dropped a petrol bomb into his lungs, and he sank back against the couch, wiping his eyes and motioning for the video to continue. SpiderTwink gave him a sheepish, meek smile, like apologising for the incident.

“So. Uh. Hi”.

Hi indeed.

The boy had slightly mismatched eyebrows, one ticking upwards midway through, but it gave him a sweet, inquisitive look. He had a wide mouth and even wider eyes, dark brown and framed by thick lashes. He screamed pretty as much as strong, as Tony knew from his lithe, toned figure. Tony paused the video just to stare at him a little longer, transfixed.

Somehow, knowing he was so invested in someone so attractive only served to make it even better. The kid almost seemed too good to be true, such a perfect little body and a pretty face to boot. His fingers itched to type the command, to find out everything he could on the boy, but whilst he was somewhat of a pervert, he wasn’t a creep. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against his whiskey tumbler.

“JARVIS. I want to be notified the instant this kid goes live. Every single time. I don’t care if I’m mid-battle or mid-meeting” Tony instructed, then he paused, and raised his free hand to rub at his jaw. “And hide any financial connections to this from Pep. And Rhodey. In fact…Make another ghost account. I don’t want another lecture”.

“Of course, Sir” JARVIS responded diplomatically, and Tony shifted, clicking off the video and onto one of his personal favourites. His cock had immediately perked up at the kid’s face, and wasn’t going anywhere soon. Besides, now that he could imagine that pretty little mouth and those gorgeous eyes while watching the kid fuck himself stupid, the videos were just so much better.

“Lock down all communications. I don’t want any interruptions for the next 60 minutes” Tony commanded as he began to open his belt buckle, tongue sliding across his lower lip in anticipation.

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im-in-love-with-pizza-bites · 3 years

Note

May I have a ship 🔮 for MCU? Preferably male, thank you 💞

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

I'm 19, Southeast Asian with Spanish descent, Libra, ENFJ-A/ENFJ-T, Neutral Good, Ravenclaw, and a Bi Pan Genderfluid girl using the pronouns She/Her or He/Him with Cherubic-like face. A friend of mine told me that I (kinda) look like Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 (a Netflix animated series), but the exception is I'm short (5'1.2") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has messy/wavy brunette medium hair, chocolate brown eyes, oriental skin and a small beauty mark on the forehead. My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

𝗘𝗫𝗧𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢

Hi! Sorry this took so long for me to answer I've been busy all day. Thank you though!

🔮- Tell me about yourself and I'll give your a boyfriend/girlfriend (specify sexuality and fandom)

Okay, marvel Boyfriend. Easy Pietro Maximoff. I mean if he didn't y'know💀. Okay, but on a serious note, if you are about to fall or anything since you are clumsy he helps you and like saves you from the fall. Also, I'm clumsy, and if you're like me, you probably drop your phone too. (I saw you said you're careless with your belongings) he totally catches it every time. And jokingly scolds you for it. He loves your jokes corny as they may be, he's totally walked in on you dancing, and acting like a model he loves it and starts dancing with, since you like music he shows you sokovian music all the time. He'll support you in all your dreams as a man should! He's learning to cook with you cause he wants to spend extra time with you. He's terrible at it but nonetheless.

Okay It's 3am good night. Thank you for participating in my sleepover!

#ask #follower event #tumblr sleepover #sleepover #700 followers event #700 follower event #700 followers

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Monster Match #26: Duamutef (Lemon)

The Traveler's Masterlist

For @one-halloween: “My pronouns are she/her and my orientation is pan. I'm small (like 4'9") with waist length brown hair that's bleached in an ombre style. I dress in a kind of retro style (so like 80s acid washed jeans and crop tops). Uhh I love reading, writing and gaming as well as hiking and working on a car or something like that. I'm often quiet but around people I like I can be the jokester of the group.

Cliché but I like partners who are taller than me, and those I can joke around with. Someone who is also loyal and honest as well as loving and will take interest in hobbies. The things I dislike are dishonesty and secrets. As well as someone who takes life way too seriously and won't crack a joke here or there. Also someone who doesn't take interest in what others do. I was thinking if you could make it NSFW that would be great.”

You’ve been matched with Duamutef!

Duamutef is one of the four sons of Horus and one of the protection gods of the four canopic burial jars, specifically the jar which contains the stomach. In war, the most frequent cause of death was from injuries in the torso and stomach, and Duamutef protects this organ, both in life and in death.

Duamutef was originally represented as a man wrapped in mummy bandages; however, from the New Kingdom onwards, he is shown with the head of a jackal and is an example of cynocephaly which, in Greek mythology, is a creature with a human body and a canid head, specifically a jackal.

What gives a god their power was the belief of their followers; however, many of the ancient religions had either died completely or were far less worshiped during modern times, affording the gods of those pantheons less power. While some gods lamented this decline in their abilities, others found it freeing, and delighted in the opportunity of roaming the earth as they wished. One such deity was Duamutef.

As a lesser god, even people who followed the revival religion Khemetism didn’t tend to worship him as much as Anubis or Ma’at or his father Horus, so he decided to come to earth and travel the world, learning about an era with which he was unfamiliar.

Of course, you didn’t know all that when you met him. He introduced himself as Tua, an exchange student from Egypt. He was a mysterious figure and his age indecipherable to you. Sometimes he seemed young and boyish, easily a full foot taller than you, always smiling and laughing. However, there was this ageless look in his eye that told the story of a very old soul. He was tall and dark, just like in fairy tales, and already very popular on campus.

It surprised you when he took notice of you. You were a quiet girl, unassuming and not the type to draw attention, so his sudden interest in you was a little startling.

“Excuse me,” He said one day, coming up to you suddenly. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“That’s probably because we’ve never spoken before,” You said. “And I don’t think you know any of my friends.”

“An oversight. My apologies,” He said, smiling. “I make it my aim to know everyone in every place I go.”

You looked at him in alarm. “There are hundreds of people attending this college.”

“I am aware,” He said, still smiling. He had those deep, dark type of bottomless black eyes one could get lost in. “I’ve managed to at least introduce myself to most of the people, but it seems I have missed you. Forgive me.”

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal,” You said. “I’m nobody, really.”

“That’s not true,” He said. “Everybody is somebody to someone, and I’d like to be a friend to you. My name is Tua. May I ask yours?” He offered his hand to shake and you shook it, telling him your name. “Will you walk with me? The cafeteria is offering something called a corndog I’m eager to try.”

You laughed. “Don’t get too excited about that. It’s not exactly a culinary masterpiece.”

“But it’ll be new. I like new. I spent a very long time in one place, and now that I’m out in the world, I want to experience as much as I can.”

“Were you homeschooled as a kid or something?” You asked.

He laughed again. “Or something. My family had a lot of responsibilities many years ago, you could say. After working my whole life in the service of others, I think I’ve earned a vacation.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” You said. “It can be tough when your parents expect a lot from you.”

“That’s the truth,” He replied. “So, corndog? I’ll treat you.” He extended his hand toward the cafeteria.

You echoed his laughter. “I don’t know if I’d call it a treat, but sure. That sounds nice.”

From then on, Tua spent a lot of time with you. He seemed to go out of his way to seek you out. He said he enjoyed listening to you talk about things, saying that your perspective was entertaining. You didn’t mind his presence. He was earnest and funny and he always wanted to hear your opinion on things. He’d often come to the bookstore where you worked to get your recommendation for new books to read. He seemed confused by a lot of western culture’s practices and often asked you for advice or to explain things to him. His open curiosity and wonder with the world around him was very endearing.

You weren’t sure why he chose you to help him navigate life in the western world. Surely there were better candidates in the large pool of people who followed him around. He had a legion of fans who hung on his every word and shadowed him like love-struck puppies, but he dodged them consistently to spend time with you. There were more attractive people of several genders that he could have had his pick of, but he decided on you, and you were slightly baffled by it.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked you one day while you were ringing up his new purchases. He must have a significant library by this point. “There’s something called a farmer’s market I’d like to go see.”

“I can’t go tomorrow,” You said. “My friend’s car is acting up and he wants me to take a look at it. From what he’s telling me, it sounds like his alternator is shot, and if that’s the case, that’s a full day’s work.”

“You can fix cars?” He asked. If he had animal ears, you’d swear they had perked up when he said that. “How interesting. I don’t know anything about cars. Can I observe?”

You shrugged. “If you want to. Make sure to wear stuff you don’t mind getting dirty. It is very hard to get motor oil out of clothes, trust me.”

“Of course,” He said.

“Here,” You said, taking out a pen and running out a length of receipt paper to write on. “Here’s my address. He’ll be dropping it off around 9 A.M. and picking it back up after his shift at work.”

“Excellent. I won’t be late.”

“If you say so,” You said, handing him his purchases. “Here you go. That D&D book is a classic. I think you’ll really like it.”

“Much appreciated,” He said with a smile, nodding politely as he left.

He arrived the next morning carrying a sack of donuts and coffee. You were glad he already knew what kind of coffee you liked, because he drank his very strong and you wouldn’t be able to stomach it. You had to do a double take when he took off his jacket and revealed a v-neck black shirt and tight black jeans. Normally he wore a pair of slacks and a button-up, so this look was quite a change and you were having trouble not staring. He was skinny, but he had a lot more muscle definition than you would have suspected.

“I hope I’m not late,” He said. “There was an accident on the way here. No one seemed to be hurt, but there was quite a backup on the highway.”

“No, you’re fine,” You said. “My friend hasn’t even shown up yet. Let’s eat before he gets here. Eating with grease on your hands is a bad idea.”

Your friend pulled up as you were inhaling a bear claw. You introduced him to Tua, they exchanged brief pleasantries, and your friend took off for the bus stop down the road.

“He seemed nice,” Tua said.

“He’s gay and single, if you want his number,” You laughed as you popped the hood of his Honda Accord.

Tua laughed as well. “I appreciate the offer, but he’s not my cup of tea. Or coffee, if you will.” He took a big gulp, and you shuddered.

“I can’t believe you take that black. It’s got to be so bitter.”

“We didn’t have sugar where I grew up, so I’m used to it.”

Your head rocked back. “Where did you live that you didn’t have sugar.”

“Near Cairo,” He replied. “It was called something different when I was born, though.”

You made a face. “Cairo was founded in 969 AD. You’re not that old.”

He smirked. “How old do I look?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge his age, but blanked. “Let’s just get to work.”

The alternator was indeed going out, and while changing it out wasn’t rocket science, it was labor intensive work for someone as small as you were. You were actually glad to have an extra set of hands to help. In addition to the alternator, you also found a crack in one of the hoses that was also going to have to be replaced, as it was leaking coolant.

Both of you were elbow deep in grease by the time you decided to take a break for lunch. You went to order a pizza as he went in to wash his… self. He somehow managed to get grease all over his face. You had a sneaking suspicion he just liked getting dirty.

After putting in your order, you went back outside to clean up the area around the car and put away the tools you didn’t need anymore in their rightful place in the toolbox when you happened to look up to the bathroom window. You had to squint and blink, because something was… off.

Tua had taken his shirt off to clean up, but something was odd about his head. It was larger, darker, and blurry almost. It almost looked like an animal’s head. Maybe it was just how the frosted glass reflected the color of his hair, but it didn’t look… normal. Something on the top of his head resembling ears flicked back and forth. Something that looked like a snout opened and shut, as if inspecting its teeth. The head shook like a dog slinging water from its fur. You blinked, and he had put his shirt back on and his head looked completely normal again.

Were you going insane?

Tua came back out of the house, the water from washing his face and neck glistening on his skin. You didn’t realize how bug-eyed you were until he tilted his head in concern.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

You shook your head to clear it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I thought I saw… nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Pizza’s on it’s way.”

“What did you see?” He asked neutrally.

“It doesn’t matter,” You said. “It was probably a trick of the light.”

“What if it wasn’t?” He asked in the same neutral tone, watching your face. “Hypothetically.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

He sighed, shook his head, and his usual smile was back in place. “No matter. What kind of pizza did you get?”

You let the matter drop, but it nagged in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

That night, your dreams were unusual. You dreamt of a dry place, of women in soft, sheer gowns and men in short skirted garments. Shaved heads and wigs.

In one of the dreams, a woman led you to a huge, grand hall made of stone. There, sitting on a throne of ebony inlaid with gold and jewels, was a man. He had a falcon’s head on a fit human’s body. He held a staff in his hand, and on his head perched a red and white pschent, the crown of Pharaohs. Behind him were four gigantic statutes of other men and women. He sat at their feet, surrounded by attendants.

The woman gestured for you to walk forward, and the man on the throne waved a hand. All of the attendants left him, leaving you standing there alone with him.

“My son has shown you interest,” The man said, his voice booming throughout the chamber, though his mouth never moved. “That is unusual. He and his wife have divorced millennia ago, and he has not taken interest in anyone for many, many years.”

“Your son?” You repeated. “Who is your son?”

“Know you not who I am?” He asked, standing and laying his staff against the armrest. “The god of the sky above and kingdom below. The wisest of my siblings, the most benevolent. Am I a stranger to you?”

“I’m sorry,” You said hesitantly. “I’m not really religious.”

He sighed. “I suppose that’s to be expected. The power of our pantheon has declined dramatically. I must be grateful that the revival in modern times has allowed us to rise from our sleep and reclaim any sort of rule.” He stood to his full height, which had to be at least seven foot. “I am Horus. You are a friend to my son, Duamutef, blessed with the head of a jackal, the animal of death, guidance, and protection.”

“The head of a jackal?” You asked. “Like a dog? So I wasn’t hallucinating? Tua really has the head of a dog?”

“In so many terms, yes. Tua, as you know him, asked for my permission to travel the world, and I granted it to him, hoping he would stop pining and bring his knowledge of the new world back to his peers.”

“How long is he allowed to explore?”

“Not that long,” Horus said. “A few centuries.”

You gaped at him. “You realize that since the industrial age, humanity and its technology is advancing very quickly. The world isn’t the same as it was ten years ago, and it will be different in another ten years.”

“Oh,” Horus said, seemingly baffled. “That’s alarming. In the ancient kingdom, it was as if time stood still. Once we gave humans the knowledge they needed to live and create, things carried on as it always did for over three millennia.”

“Things are different now,” You said, perhaps too boldly considering you were speaking to a god.

“It would seem so,” He replied thoughtfully. “Duamutef is eager to learn, however. As long as he sends back a report, I suppose he can stay in the mortal plane as long as he wishes.”

“I’m sure that would make him happy,” You said.

“I think you would, too,” Horus said, looking down at you. A falcon can’t smile, but you felt kind approval radiating from Horus’s body.

“I would?” You said. “I’m his friend, just a girl he follows around because I explain things to him. I’m not special. Besides, I don’t even think he likes me that way.”

“Aren’t you?” Horus asked patiently. “Doesn’t he?”

You flushed. You hadn’t really considered it. He seemed way out of your league. “Well… even if he did, how can I be worthy of a god?”

“You are worthy. You do not need me to tell you so, nor do you need him to. But he has chosen you, and I am pleased that he is happy and moving on. He has been alone for a very long time.”

“This is a lot to process, you know that?”

“Indeed,” Horus agreed. He turned and went back to the throne, sitting in it. “Take some time to think it over, but do not make him wait long. My son’s happiness is important to me.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

You woke covered in sweat and gasping. That… that couldn’t have been real, could it? Thank god… or gods… that tomorrow was Sunday. You needed a full day to just… deal.

Monday, you returned to school, both confused and… a little excited. There was something innately fascinating knowing an actual god was walking around campus, acting like a human. While you weren’t a fan of the fact that he was hiding it from you, you were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Just this once.

You saw him in the courtyard surrounded by his usual fans. His magnetism suddenly made a lot more sense. You wondered why you were so resistant to it.

“Tua!” You called. He looked up, caught your eye and smiled, walking over. His gaggle of… worshipers?… followed behind him.

“I need to talk to you privately,” You told him in a terse undertone.

“That sounds serious,” He said, still smiling, though he looked concerned. “What about?”

“Your father came to visit me,” You replied.

The smile slipped and the color drained from his face. “Uh…” He said to his group, trying to laugh lightly. “Sorry, friends. Family business.”

They groaned in disappointment but thankfully dispersed. He took you by the hand and led you to the side of the Sciences building.

“What did he say to you? Was he angry?”

“No,” You said. “He told me he was pleased.”

Tua sighed in relief. “I’m glad. I was worried he was annoyed with my decisions. He said he wouldn’t interfere, but I’ve been concerned because I hadn’t heard from him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, folding your arms.

“What, that I’m a lesser god of an ancient religion that had almost died out, until the recent revival?” He said shrewdly. “Would you have believed me.”

“Your real head might have convinced me,” You replied. “The jackal?”

“Ah, yes,” He said. “I figured you had seen it the other day, but you didn’t press the issue, so I hoped you’d think it was a figment of your imagination.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know?” You asked.

“I did,” He said. “But I wanted to tell you myself, when the time was right.”

“When would the right time have been?”

He shrugged and looked at the ground. “I don’t know, I guess. I almost did, the other day, but I was nervous.”

“Your father told me something else,” You said carefully. “That you had been alone a long time. That your wife divorced you and that you had been pining for a long time. He also said…” You cleared your throat and swallowed. “That you had chosen me.”

He looked at you through his lashes, looking apprehensive. “Can… can we discuss this later? Somewhere private?”

“Come to my house after school. We’ll talk, okay?”

He nodded, looking self-conscious, turned, and jogged away, dodging his fan club and ducking into the Arts building.

Later that night, you paced in your living room, waiting for him to arrive. When you heard his car pull up, it took every ounce of willpower to not dash outside.

When he knocked, you opened the door to find him holding flowers and a gift bag.

Oh god.

“I figured if the cat was out of the bag, I might as well try,” He said. “Here.” He handed you the flowers, which were your favorites, and the bag. Inside was a book.

“Someone wrote a book about me,” He said. “Well, about me and my brothers. It was written while we were sleeping, so there’s a little missing, but I’m happy to fill in the blanks.”

“I don’t like that you hid this from me,” You said as you moved aside to let him in.

“I’m sorry,” He said. “I didn’t mean to hide it. Most people don’t look that closely. You’re the first person to see my true self.”

“That’s not entirely true,” You said. “I only saw an outline, a shadow.” You folded your arms. “So show me the real you. I want to take a good look.”

He took a deep, calming breath, and his body shimmered. His head elongated, black fur sprouted from his neck up, trailing down his spine and the middle of his chest. His normal modern clothes disappeared and the traditional gathered skirt of ancient Egypt appeared around his waist, ending at the knee. His eyes were silver and had markings around them. He wore no crown, but there were markings where a crown might have once sat.

“Is this what you saw?” He asked. Like his father, his mouth did not move when he spoke. Instead, his voice came from all around you.

“Something like it, yes,” You confirmed.

“Are you frightened?” He asked hesitantly.

“No,” You replied. “I’ve had time to come to terms with it. I think I’d be more freaked out if you had sprung it on me out of nowhere, maybe.”

“See? What else was I to do but keep it to myself?” He said in exasperation.

“I guess I see your point,” You admitted. “But no more secrets, okay? There’s nothing I hate more than people keeping secrets from me.”

“If that’s so, then… there’s one more thing I must confess,” He said slowly.

“I think I know what it is,” You said, bracing yourself. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

He cleared his throat and stood tall. “I have become… enamored with you. I don’t know when it started, but it came to me quickly. Perhaps it was because you didn’t fall into worship of me, as others have done. As gods, it is humankind’s natural inclination to bend the knee to us, but you did not. Perhaps it was your patience with me and my multitude of questions. Perhaps it was the extent of your knowledge. Perhaps it was all of those things. But I care for you. I do not expect you to return my feelings, but I would wish to remain close to you, in whatever form you desire. Friend, companion, lover. It is your decision.”

You laughed a little. “That’s a hell of a declaration. I mean, you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

He looked startled. “Is that something you wish?”

“I don’t know.” You moved closer, considering him. “Are you any good at it?”

He took your hands. “Well… it has been some time. I may be out of practice.”

“Give it your best shot,” You challenged.

His lips curled into a smile, and he pulled you into an embrace. Tall as he was, he had to bend to reach your lips. His kiss was light, but experienced, and he lingered for many minutes. When he pulled away, you were seeing stars.

“How was my technique?” He asked playfully.

You shook your head to stop it from spinning. “More than adequate,” You chuckled. “You’re not quite as rusty as you claim.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear,” He said, and kissed you again.

You weren’t sure how the two of you made it into your bedroom, but suddenly there you were, the bed right next to you. You began shedding clothes and pulled at the belt that gathered the skirt at his waist. It fell into a pile at his feet, and he stepped out of it, lifting you into the air and setting you gently down onto the bed.

You began to shake a little. You hadn’t had a serious partner before and while this wasn’t your first time, the sex you’d had before hadn’t been as… significant as this was turning out to be. Were you going to fast? You’d known him for months but it was only in the last few days that you’d known he was carrying a torch for you. It had been a lot to process, and still was. Were you rushing into it?

He seemed to feel you tense. “Are you alright?”

“I…” You struggled to find the right words and not sound insulting. “I feel like we’re moving to quickly? I’m not even sure how I feel, and we’re already in bed with each other. I just… feel…”

“Rushed?” He said. “It’s alright, I understand. This was a lot to lay on you at once. We can stop.”

“That’s just it, I don’t know if I want to stop. I don’t know if I want to keep going. I don’t even know for sure how I feel about you, or the situation. I feel really overwhelmed.”

“It’s alright,” He said. “Why don’t we just lay here for a while and be still and give you some time to find your bearings. I can leave you to think for a while, if you’d like.”

“No. No, stay,” You said. “Just turn off the light and let’s be quiet for a little while. I just want to think.”

“Of course,” He said, reaching for the lamp switch. The two of you were bathed in darkness. He lay next to you, and you allowed him to put his arm around you. You put your head on his chest and listened to his slow heartbeat. It was strangely reassuring: you almost expected him to not have a heartbeat at all.

At some point you must have fallen asleep. He still lay with you, his body illuminated in the moonlight, slightly propped up on the pillows, watching you sleep. He smiled when he saw you rouse.

“Good evening,” He said quietly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off,” You said.

“It’s no problem. I actually rather enjoyed it. You’re very cute when you’re asleep.”

“Don’t be silly,” You said, smacking his chest.

“I’m not!” He chuckled. “You make very adorable noises.”

“Hush, you!” You said, tickling his side.

“Hey, hey!” He exclaimed, squirming away. “Don’t do that!”

“Oh, is the big, bad god ticklish?” You asked playfully, dodging his arms and going in for more tickles. “Is he? Is he ticklish?”

“No!” He cried, trying to wiggle out of your grasp, whimpering like a puppy. “I shall retaliate if you don’t cease!”

“Oh yeah?” You taunted. “Whatcha gonna do about it, big man? Sniff me to death?”

“I may just!” He said, putting his muzzle in your ear and sniffling.

“Ah!” You squealed. “It’s so cold!”

“You like that?!” He said, tickling you back and pressing his nose to your neck. “Have some more, then!” He licked at your neck and shoulders. He grabbed your hands and held them above your head as you wiggled underneath him.

At some point, the mood shifted. The weight of his naked body on top of your naked body was exhilarating and made your heart race. His licks slowed and went from playful to deliberate and were interspersed with open mouthed kisses. He let go of your hands and touched your body. You instinctively pulled your knees up and wrapped them around his waist, holding him close by the back of his head and petting down the fur of his spine.

“Is this alright?” He asked heavily, breathing hard.

“Yes,” You whispered in reply. “Yes.”

Some more minutes of touching and kissing and licking later, he reached between the two of you and rubbed his knuckles on your clit, making you moan against his lips. He rubbed himself and you at the same time, then pushed the tip against your entrance, gently pushing himself inside of you. Your head fell back onto the pillow, your mouth wide open, your brows furrowing. He was thick and long, but no so that it was painful. You whimpered as he inched all the way inside and pulled out slowly, thrusting inward and pulling outward.

Slowly, but with gaining speed, your bodies moved together. Wordlessly, he flipped you so that you were on your stomach and pulled you toward him, reentering you and thrusting vigorously, while you gripped the sheets desperately, crying out in pleasure. You bit the pillow and shut your eyes as you felt the ecstasy well up in you, your inside walls clenching and contracting. He huffed and grunted above you, gripping your hips as your bodies smacked together over and over.

You could feel beads of his sweat dripping onto your back as he sped up again, groaned loudly, and spilled himself into you, gushing out with each jerk of his hips against your body. When he was spent, he withdrew and fell sideways as to not crush you. You lay on your stomach for a few moments, allowing yourself to catch your breath and cool down, before turning over and sliding into his arms. You’d change the sheets tomorrow.

“I hope this means you accept me,” He said sleepily.

“I always accepted you,” You said. “I just wasn’t sure what I wanted my role to be in all this. I’m still not sure. I think starting with a date might be nice.”

“Of course,” He said. “Anything you want. I am your humble servant, at your beck and call.”

“You’re not my servant,” You said firmly. “And I’m not yours. We’re partners or we’re nothing at all.”

“I understand,” He said, turning on his side. “So, my partner, where would you like to go for this date?”

“I don’t know,” You said. “This’ll be your first date on the mortal plane, won’t it? Do what you love to do: research it.”

He laughed. “That sounds like fun.”

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal.

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Match #Ancient Egypt #Egyptian God #Duamutef #Four Sons of Horus #one-halloween

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hopetofantasy · 4 years

Text

Culture, parallels & meta - S2 E10

Zaterdag 09:56

Perfect parallel:

Zoë laughing off Senne’s supposed ‘flirt attempt by telling her his childhood sob story’ at their first date, Zoë actually hearing his and Viktor’s childhood sob story from Gill in this episode.

Viktor’s manipulative “He would have these crazy temper tantrums” about Senne in E6, Gill stating the true “Viktor used to throw these crazy temper tantrums” in this one.

Oopsie: Before the “Viktor and I woke up naked together in a bed”, Gill’s hair is in front of her face. After that, her hair is tucked behind her ears.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Gill mentioned that Viktor was 14 when the accident happened, making Senne 11/12 years old at that time.

Maandag 11:45

C is for culture:

“That’s a rental book, you realize that right?” - In a lot of secondary schools, course books can be rented instead of bought. The content doesn’t change that often anyways, so it’s cheaper to offer them for a certain fee to the students. Though, at the end of the school year, they have to be returned in the exact condition. Paper workbooks or prints, however, have to be bought.

“Come on, warm waffles!” - There are actually two types of Belgian waffles: the Brussels and the Liege. The girls bought warm Liege waffles, which are thicker, chewier and with uneven edges. The Brussels one is more a rectangular shape, with a lighter and crispier texture.

Funny coincidence: Luca’s “Free at last” sounds like the quote in Martin Luther King’s speech ‘I have a dream’.

Nod to the OG: The song ‘Paradise’ by Coldplay.

Perfect parallel: Amber’s tired “Why are you always so loud?” directed towards Luca in S2, Noor’s hungover “Do you have to be so loud?” to Amber in S3.

Lost in translation: Amber saying "We gaan een terrasje doen" (literally: ‘we’re going to do a terrace’), it’s an expression indicating that you’re going to drink something on the outside (summer) terrace of a bar.

Oopsie: The girls pass along a college campus, after they step off the tram, and cross the street for the ‘Groenplaats’. But then it cuts back to the girls passing the college campus again, right before crossing.

Hello from the outside: The girls pass along a parade of mustached men, with Jana mimicking the facial hair with her napkin. This parade was actually part of the ‘2019 World Beard & Moustache Championships’, which was held in Antwerp on Sunday the 19th of May.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The girls picking up the papers Luca tossed in the air. Them all walking along the crossing in Beatles’ formation (like the Abbey Road album). Luca is eating two waffles at once.

Maandag 12:58

C is for culture:

“Robbe. Robbedoes!” - Luca calls Robbe the nickname ‘Robbedoes’, a reference to the Belgian comic ‘Robbedoes & Kwabbernoot’ (English version: ’Spirou & Fantasio’). Its two main characters are spontaneous journalists who run into fantastic adventures, aided by the pet squirrel ‘Spip’ and their inventor friend ‘the Count of Champignac’.

“Are you going to Rock Werchter next week?” - Rock Werchter is a large, annual pop/rock music festival in Werchter (near Leuven). The four-day event is organized every first weekend of summer vacation. The number of attendees can rise up to 149,500 people for the whole festival, with a noteworthy influx of international festival goers in recent years (British, French, Dutch, Australian, South African, ...). It has three spin-offs: ‘TW Classic’, ‘Werchter Boutique’ and the French ‘Main Square Festival’ in Arras.

Perfect parallel:

Jana buying her summer outfits at C&A in S2, her shopping at the same clothing chain - with Noor helping her - in S3.

Yasmina again hinting at a (former) crush on a boy, just like the earlier conversation with Zoë in S2 and doing the same in a conversation during wtFOCKDOWN.

Lost in translation: Luca's "Eentje is geentje" (= literally: ‘One is none’), stating that it’s better to drink/eat/do at least one or more than having missed one (thing).

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Robbe's eyes dart upwards for a millisecond, after Jana asks "For Blonde Ambition?", confirming that he indeed voted for them.

Dinsdag 08:42

C is for culture: What’s with the last week of school? Well, after the December/April/June exams, the school can fill the days before the break with what they want. Most schools give their students a couple of free days, others might organize fun excursions or festivities. On the last Friday, however, they’ll hand out report cards and discuss them with students/parents.

Perfect parallel:

Zoë quickly darting away to avoid Senne in E7, Senne doing the same to her in this one.

Her making up lame excuses not to contact Senne in previous episodes, Senne’s “My phone was turned off. I didn’t want to be distracted while I was studying. Sounds familiar?” here.

In the first episodes, Zoë keeps saying that she won’t fall for what Senne says - his flirt attempts or lying stories, in this episode she states “I’m not falling for your bullshit” - his statement about wanting to leave.

Zoë saying “Isn’t it time to get over it?” to Senne in S1, her “You should stop feeling so sorry about yourself" in S2.

Zoënne letting go of each other’s hands after a painful conversation in S2, Sobbe doing something similar after their make-up kiss in S3.

An upset Senne left behind in a high school hallway in S2, a sad Robbe ignored in a college hallway in S3.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Senne’s slight nod at Zoë’s “Away from me?”.

Woensdag 11:44

Perfect parallel:

Zoë acting cold, because she doesn’t trust Senne, in the earlier episodes. Senne looking for reasons to be cold, because he’s scared of people being too close to him in this one.

Senne’s “I don’t believe that” at Zoë’s statement that her parents don’t love her in E4, Zoë saying “I don’t believe that” at him denying his love for her in this one.

Zoë always running towards Senne - to chase him, to apologize, to talk - in previous episodes, him running towards her - to make-up - in this one.

The song ‘Nightcall’ by London Grammar played during their first kiss in E3, the same one plays during their reunion in this scene.

Their kiss can be compared with their first kiss, only quicker and more frantic: her rubbing his cheek, pausing to smile in relief, wrapping her arms around his neck, putting the palm of her hand under his ear, Senne messing up her hair, her squishing his head between her hands.

The movements of the sex scene in S2 are similar to the ones from S1 and S3. Foreheads leaning on each other before a kiss, a cut to pushing themselves through a open door, a hand caressing along the side, a neck kiss, kissing down a stomach, fingers gripping a back, a hand through the hair, a cut to both of them having naked chests with one on top.

Nod to the OG:

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë never ends the call with Jana. (Awkward!)

Donderdag 09:32

Perfect parallel:

The entire cuddle scene in S2 can be mirrored with the Sobbe hotel clips in S3: the way they’re positioned (big spoon-little spoon, face towards each other), movements (caressing cheeks, going through each other’s hair), the kisses (forehead kisses, cheek kisses, full-on making-out) and the looks they give each other (Zoë looking up at Senne).

Senne saying “He can’t get away with this” in this clip, repeating it in the next.

Zoë inviting Senne to come live with her in S2, her offering a room to Robbe in S3.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë is still wearing her white and black hair tie on her right wrist, like she consistently does throughout the season.

Vrijdag 15:43

Perfect parallel:

The theme of their FreeFest team was ‘80s flashback’ in S1, Luca wears an 80s-inspired-outfit in S2.

The season opening with a (washing machine) door to Zoë’s POV, ending with an aerial shot away from her in S2. The third season opening with a door that Robbe opens up to a party, ending with an aerial shot - through the roof - away from him.

Zoënne kissing at a party while their friends cheer in the background, before the camera pans away at the end of S2, Sobbe experiencing the same in S3.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe pushing Milan away from him, saying “Get off me, faggot”. Moyo can see what’s happening and laughs at his embarrassment.

Hello from the outside:

Somewhere during the exam period (I can’t find whén anymore), Luca and Amber made tiny exam motivational quotes, which were spread out all over Antwerp. Fans of them found them and made pics.

At the party were a ton of Belgian influencers, who made multiple insta stories of being there at the same time that the clip dropped.

Where’s Wally? Hey, look, Keisha dancing with Jens and Moyo, Britt in the crowd with Gill, Max' making some dance moves towards Luca and Lisa is vibing with Milan.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jana mouthing ‘hoi’ (= hey) to Luka. The tiny nod Jens gives Robbe, so that they go upstairs. The millisecond of hurt on Luka’s face when he noticed Jana greeting Jens and her lingering look on him afterwards.

#wtfock #wtfam #cpm rewatch #skam #skam belgium

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sarahisslytherin · 3 years

Note

Hi!!! Can I have a 𝘆𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝘄 in HP please? (Preferably male) Thanks in advance ❤️

People thought I'm a demure self-effacing religious woman that looks "immaculate" or "one of a kind," (due to my protective parents, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, I'm very complex...My personality is a mixture of Aerith from FF7, Rinoa from FFVIII, Yuna from FFX, Padmé from Star Wars, Umaru from Himouto! Umaru-Chan, Itachi from Naruto, Shinobu/Mitsuri from Demon Slayer, Oikawa/Kageyama from Haikyuu!!, and Momo/Ochako from BNHA. I also coincindentally radiate the common traits of a Libra together with my mbti, and the cinnamon meme "𝗟𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗹, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂". I also have this 𝗕𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲/𝗗𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲/𝗞𝘂𝘂𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲 vibes if I'm an anime character, I laugh loudly on a daily basis, speak with nerdiness (in an entertaining way) or sarcasms, cites some meme references and unashamed of being true to myself in any aspects. But my deeper self is a hella fragile, doubtful, frustrated, insecure and hopeless romantic, pushing too much to please everyone because of my fear of failure that might dissapoint them from their expectations, yet I still managed to be stronger than ever though it's a slow burn process.

Blunt but the loudest idiotic, clumsy, indecisive, feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will act like a silent backstabber on people that we loathe, will crack up over your stupid antics before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic who tends to pull off corniest jokes/puns, and banter or make pick up lines as an endearment (but gets grumpy if I received sappy or offensive one), still generous and concerned in a subtle way, and will be your no. 1 supporter.

Loves kittens, eating a lot, cartoons, watching YouTube videos (mostly pageants, ASMR, edit audios, and mukbangs), also enjoys playing games on my sister's PSP. Sucker for arts, choir, night sky, makeup, fun/deep/dumb conversations, Christianity, documentaries (about saints, real crime stories, and inspirational people), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and writings, chilling both indoors and outdoors. Beside that, my music taste are like late 90s-2000s songs (mostly rock, pop, and country) sometimes kpop and ppop, chocoholic, and a sweetooth as well. My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 making corniest jokes/puns, 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD). I also have a habit of staying up all night and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness or just to give thanks in some complicated situations. I hate stereotyping, huge creepy crawlies, poorly written soap operas, toxicity, loneliness, being left out, heart breaks, and blackout. My pet peeves is forcing me to do what I'm not into.

ok took me a hot second to pick somebody but i think i've decided on fred weasley because i think he would be so into all of your interests, like he'd love listening to your music with you, you two would probably live in his shop screwing around with all the stuff they have. i also feel like he would so enjoy the whole "looks like a cinnamon roll but actually kill you" aspect of you lmao

#that's just my take #you seem so interesting btw like holy hell

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peachyteabuck · 4 years

Text

of pleasure ~ act ii, “if we ruled the world”

summary: a sort-of non-avengers au where everyone has their powers and absolutely no one is in a highly powerful mob (or, at least, that’s what the feds think).

or, a commission in three parts for anonymous, who asked for a series about wanda x natasha x reader.

pairing: wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x reader (focus on natasha romanoff x reader)

words: 3,502

trigger warnings: flashback, angst if you squint, heavy smut, sub!natasha, mention of violence/self doubt, alcohol as a coping mechanism

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

READ ACT I HERE

Natasha awkwardly ushers Wanda out, biting at her nearly-bleeding nail beds and carefully avoiding the wide, prying eyes of the large bodyguards she has stationed outside of her office at all hours. If she were in a more level-headed state she would glare and snap at them and threaten to fire them – she would be Natasha Romanoff, head bitch in charge and a woman whose firey hair gets its color from the blood in her veins.

But she’s not Natasha Romanoff, she’s Nat – a woman who can barely make it to the plush chair behind her desk before memories of the best fuck in her life are pouring over her. She doesn’t know how she remembers so much, but every time she blinks the room looks more and more like the bar you two met in.

It was Natasha’s bar, but it looked nothing like it did now. Then she had just risen in the ranks, was still earning the respect of patrons and those below her. It was a difficult night; Bucky had gotten hurt and Nat was drinking her fears away – desperate to corral them into some corner of her mind instead of letting them run loose.

If she couldn’t protect her best friend, how could she protect the mob? Her hands nearly shook as she took another shot. The assets? The people that had just begun to work under her? Was she meant for this? Was she good enough?

She was on her third vodka tonic of the night when you intervened, taking up the empty barstool to her left. She had seen you before – you were a bartender who was a previous hire but worked hours Natasha was often busy which meant the two of you rarely crossed paths.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Natasha scoffs, though a little slurred, hoping to avoid something akin to a PR nightmare.

You shrug, replacing her alcoholic drink with a tall glass of water. “Part of my job is making sure the sad drunks don’t do anything they’ll regret later. Now drink some water, I don’t want to clean vomit from the grout of my bar.

“YOUR bar?” Natasha rolls her eyes, her words starting to slur and movements beginning to slow. “Don’t you know this is MY bar?”

You sigh. “When the owner is too drunk to see straight, line of succession dictates it is now my bar.”

Natasha furrows her brow and shakes her head as two of the biggest women you have ever seen carry her out of the establishment and towards her apartment. “…But I’m a lesbian…”

Somehow, through the hazy parts of that night, that incredibly embarrassing memory reigns clear as day.

Natasha’s retching into a toilet she does not recognize in a bathroom she’s never seen before. To be fair, though, she did not have much time to admire/familiarize herself with the décor before she ripped off her shirt and then vomiting up everything from her appendix to her lungs. If she was anything more than a shell of a woman after this night, she’d be the luckiest girl on the face of the Earth.

“Sh…sh, it’s okay,” she hears your voice in the distance and feels your hand on the small of her back. “It’s okay, get it all out.”

When she’s finally done, you hand her a tall class of cold water and many, many painkillers. Natasha understands what to do without prompting – swallowing everything you give her with as much eagerness as a dog finding a pill within a spoonful of peanut butter. Makes the same face, too.

By sheer luck, you get her into your bed without her vomiting on anything. Natasha falls asleep easily, eyes unfocused as they close.

“Thank you,” she mumbles just before falling asleep.

“No problem,” you tell her.

You end up sleeping on the couch a room away, waking up every few hours to check on her. The only time she wakes up is when you’re making breakfast the next morning – eggs and turkey bacon and coffee black as the asphalt Natasha would’ve eaten if you didn’t help her home. You gesture with the spatula in your dominant hand, the other on the handle to keep the pan steady.

“Sit, come eat,” you tell her – voice comforting but direct.

Natasha follows the orders easily, her eyes downcast until you take your place in the chair across from her. Only then does she look up, struggling to avoid your heavy gaze.

“Bad night?” you ask between bites of food.

Natasha sighs, swallowing down her food with coffee. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, not a fan of reliving something I tried to forget.”

“You wanna fuck about it?”

Natasha nearly spits out the remnant of her eggs onto the table. “Are you serious?”

When she meets your eyes, she doesn’t see you laughing or smiling or even about to laugh or smile. All she sees is a beautiful woman offering her sex after what is quite possibly the worst night of her life.

While Natasha gazes at you in sheer horror, disgust - you look almost…relaxed. Chill. Decompressed.

Natasha stays quiet as you speak, with one eyebrow raised and your lips curled into a smirk. “Are you?”

The woman across from you doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything back. For a long while, she remains statuesque – both in beauty and in stillness. She doesn’t say anything until she’s finished her food and placed her plate gingerly into the kitchen sink. Even then, she avoids your eyes ad grips the edge of the counter like a lifeline.

“Only if I can shower first.”

You laugh with your head thrown back, deep and loud and boisterous. It’s the most beautiful laugh Natasha’s ever heard, and her heart aches when you finally speak.

“Sure thing, Red. Towels in the third shelf in the cabinet, use as many as you like.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even meet your eyes as she follows muscle memory to the place where she puked her guts up in the night previous.

Once she figures out your shower and turns the knob marked with a red H all the way on, Natasha looks around, peaking in the cabinets and under the sink – a bad habit from the days of training. She doesn’t know what she’s expected to find, but nothing of the sort piques her interest. It’s all…quite regular, normal even.

Under the sink she sees tons of cleaning supplies, what she guesses are doubles of various beauty/hygiene products, empty travel-sized bags.

The mirror-fronted cabinet is filled with over the counter medication, sample-sized beauty products, and enough skin care merchandise to leave all of Manhattan pimple-free.

When she closes it, the thick steam turns her reflection into a mere blob, and only then does Natasha Romanoff strip off her clothes.

The water burns her skin, bites at her cuts, makes her bruises sting. If she was anywhere else, she’d probably scream and cry, maybe pick at the scabs starting to form.

Here, though, she swallows the stone that’s accrued in her throat and ignores the even bigger boulder that’s made its home in the center of her chest. She grabs for the shampoo (then body wash, then conditioner) and tries to clean herself.

The spicy mint liquid (did she mention that everything was coordinated? Not even the same brand, just a perfectly harmonized sympathy of scents) works for the dirt, for the sweat, for the weird stickiness she doesn’t recognize that clings to the skin of her thighs and palms and, somehow, places inside her.

She doesn’t know how long it is when she finally steps out – pads of her fingers and toes wrinkled and her lungs clouded with the steam. She can barely breathe, but she has a feeling its not because of the thick air.

The towel – deep and maroon – is the fluffiest and softest thing Natasha’s ever felt against her skin. She pads back to the room she slept in last night, only a little shocked to find the bed made and you, barefoot in a baggy t-shirt and running shorts, reading a thick book you’re about halfway through.

She catches flashes of the front cover – something she dismally recognizes. It’s a spy novel, one of those cheesy romance ones that are incredibly popular with middle-aged moms and lonely Christian college students.

“Whatcha readin?” Natasha asks.

You look up and smile after looking her over. “Some garbage. Borrowed it from a friend after she said I’m, well,” you let out a self-deprecating laugh. “that I’m ‘super lonely.’ Which isn’t not true.”

Natasha smiles back. “Still sounds kinda mean.”

You shrug. “Truth hurts, I guess.”

There are a few moments of silence as you and her stare at each other – the kind of silence Natasha doesn’t seem to mind. Normally she hates the quiet, feels the need to fill whatever void she feels is created by lack of speech.

Still, she’s the person to break it. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“That towel,” you say, smirk still on your lips. “Matches your hair.”

Natasha smiles a little, avoiding your gaze as she searches for the dirty clothes from last night. Without hesitation, you push the clothes toward her with your foot – except now they’re clean, folded, fresh.

“Thanks,” Natasha mumbles. “I…thanks.”

You shrug, telling her its no problem. “Assumed you wouldn’t want to put on your dirty clothes, so…”

Natasha nods but says nothing, reaching for the clothes. She stops when she notices you putting your book to the side and readjusting against the headboard. Natasha stands there, clutching where the towel tucks into itself – waiting for whatever you’re going to say next.

“C’mere,” you say, beckoning her over with a single crooked finger.

She follows, still silent, walking to the edge of your bed with shaky hands and awkward legs. She hesitates, waiting for confirmation.

“It’s alright, baby girl, c’mere,” you say again, opening your legs further. An invitation, Natasha realizes. It makes her heart speed up.

She gives you a small nod before moving forward, adjusting her towel along the way with her eyes trained on the bed.

You guide her so that her back – still covered by the towel – presses into your chest.

“If you ever want to stop,” you whisper, intertwining your hands with hers. The pads of her fingers are still slightly wrinkled and sensitive and she nearly moans as her skin meets yours. “Just tell me, okay?”

Natasha gives a small nod, moving closer to you.

“This alright?” you ask, moving to undo her towel.

She nods again, then tenses as her damp skin is exposed to the cool air. Your warm hands make goosebumps erupt over her soft, sweet-smelling skin. Her breath hitches as your teeth trail across her back - leaving kisses along her shoulder and up into her hairline then on the shell of her ear.

“Just relax, baby,” you tell her. “Don’t worry about anything, just let me take care of you.”

Natasha nods silently, readjusting before pressing back into you. The towels falls as she does, and as it bunches uncomfortably you grab at it to throw it to the floor. With her last veil of modesty tossed carelessly aside Natasha blushes, moving to cross her arms over her chest.

You tsk, moving her arms from in front of her. “Don’t hide from me, baby,” you mumble into her ear. “Don’t ever hide your beautiful body from me.”

Natasha stays silent, hands resting outside your knees. She does nod, though, and presses into you once more. One of your arms goes across her chest, keeping her own arms in place at her sides. The other trails between her legs, fingertips ghosting over her thighs and across her lower stomach. You can hear Natasha’s breath hitch each time your skin meets hers.

“You like that, baby girl?” You ask. She nods again, small squeaks leaving her as you collect some of the slick that’s dripping onto your sheets. “You like it when I touch you like this?”

Natasha moans as you plunge one, two fingers into her. She watches for a few thrusts before clenching her eyes shut and letting her head fall back into your shoulder and panting into your bare neck. It’s not long before you can feel her pussy clenching around your fingers, her breath coming out in light pants and moans deeper than before.

“I-I’m,” you can hear her try to swallow despite the dryness of her mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You smile and bite at the shell of her ear. “It’s okay, baby girl, you can come, you can come all you want tonight.”

It only takes a few more crooks of your fingers, a few more circles around her clit for Natasha to throw her head back and nearly scream – her legs shaking as she gushes over your fingers and wrists and sheets. Her whole body – once quite tense – now slacks against your chest. You’re a little taken aback by her squirting, and that this is normal enough for Natasha that she has no problem ruining another lover’s bed. Somehow it makes it that much hotter, makes you that much wetter, as you manhandle her onto her back. She’s pliant, laying nice and open for you - even as you grab the strap and cleaned cock from the back of one of the drawers in your nightside table, even as you slide one of your biggest toys into her soaked, aching pussy.

Natasha’s whole body is tense, each individual muscle chasing pleasure. She’s got her knees pulled up to her chest, one arm holding them in place and the other gripping your sheets. She doesn’t remember the last time she’d been folded in half, but now she wishes she could spend every day like this.

“Oh, god,” she moans, high-pitched and whiny. “God, it feels so good.”

You laugh a little, catching her lips in a kiss as you thrust shallowly into her. “Yeah, baby girl? You like getting fucked like this?”

Natasha nods, gasping each time the leather of the strap brushes her clit. “Yes, fuck yesyesyes.”

Your hand wraps around Nat’s throat, pushing her further into the bed. “Yes, of course she does. My big powerful mobster loves getting her pussy demolished, doesn’t she? Needs to be fucked so that she can focus on her job?”

The woman in question is nodding and babbling absolute nonsense – and, in the low light, you’re sure you see tears fall down her face.

One of your hands comes down to properly rub at her neglected clit. Natasha nearly screams as you do, hips bucking in a wild, animalistic way.

“You gonna come like this?” you whisper, leaning down to kiss between her brows. “Is my nasty little slut gonna come from me fucking her this good?”

Natasha nods again, each thrust soliciting another desperate, high-pitched moan from somewhere deep in her throat.

“Yeah?” you faux-pout, voice dropping as you watch her eyes roll back into her head. You spit on her cunt, Natasha wailing as the slick collecting there allows you to rub harder, faster at the most sensitive part of her.

She comes with a shout – with a loud, deep moan you wish you’d recorded. It takes you a moment, takes the pounding in your chest and ears a moment to recede, for you to realize your abdomen (as well as hers) were covered in her wetness. Her dry lips and flittering eyes only give more credence to your understanding, to your realization that she had squirted all over you.

Natasha groans as you pull out, the delicateness of her pussy as well as the emptiness combining into a cognitive dissonance she could feel in the tip of her toes.

You get her something to drink – an unmarked Gatorade bottle you’re praying isn’t spiked (you’ve been a bartender long enough to usually know what is and isn’t, but somehow Natasha seems like someone able to escape your watchful eye).

It takes a few minutes for the color to return to Natasha’s face, for her to ask if she can get you off, too. You smile and kiss her again, silently sitting up.

You finally come with your pussy hovering over Natasha’s panting mouth, her face becoming soaked with your wetness and, soon, your cum. She’s able to find the mental focus to clean some of it up, and it takes all of you not to pounce on her as you watch her, with hooded eyes, desperate to for praise as she licks at her face.

“You good, darling?” you coo, wiping at her cheeks with your thumbs.

Natasha sniffles. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

You nod, running your hands through her sweaty hair. “Alright, I’m gonna grab you another Gatorade, okay? I’m not gonna be gone long, I promise.”

She nods, making no effort to move. Natasha lays there, practically inert as she hears you leave the room. She’s too tired to look at anything but the ceiling – the terrifying reality of what she has to do next settling over her.

Still, she closes her eyes and listens to you padding into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. The faint sound of the bottle opening, the cap being thrown away and hitting the side of the metal trash can. It’s all so mundane but everything Natasha needs right now – reprieve from her mistakes and the consequences of them.

You help her up, when you get back, so she can drink without coughing and sputtering and drowning on dry land. One hand remains occupied with holding the bottle of liquid, while your other arm wraps around your back. It rests at her side, with your thumb rubbing circles into the heated skin.

You coo sweet praises into her hairline, your legs bracketing her in. When the dull-orange liquid is gone you toss it to the side – pulling Natasha down with you.

You fall asleep easily, Natasha resting on your bare chest. She knows when you’ve fallen into unconsciousness because your fingers stop carding through her hair, working through the knots that have found themselves there.

She waits, listening as your heartbeat and breathing slow to an even pace. Natasha lays there for a long while, savoring the feeling being in your arms – of the delicious tiredness in her muscles. Wide awake, she waits until the orange-yellow sun begins to light up the room.

You lay there, wonderfully oblivious to Natasha getting redressed and finding her dead, now-cracked phone; unaware of her holding her shoes until the front door was closed softly and silently.

She doesn’t put her shoes on until the gets in the elevator, and doesn’t cry until she finds her way home.

The memory is long, vivid – she can nearly feel your skin under her fingertips. It’s then that the reality of the situation hits her, that what she thinks is happening is, in fact, really actually fucking happening:

Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff’s best friend and right-hand woman, is dating a woman Natasha has lowkey been in love with for about a year.

Has she seen you since that night? No. She’s got a picture of you, one she found after cleaning out a thick stack of photos (like, physical ass photos) from the bar. It’s you, happy, pouring drinks with both hands. She’s got it tucked away somewhere in her bedroom beneath old medications she never finished and note she scribbled.

Has she made an effort to? No. Never to look at the photo, or to find you. It should be easy, considering you work at the bar she owns – but ever since that night…she’s avoided it. The bar.

Does she still feel a gut-wrenching guilt gnawing at her as she folds herself into a fetal position on her office floor? Absolutely.

Natasha finds herself in the center of an ethical dilemma of the worst kind; the rare kind that a gun or knife or sly smile can’t get her out of. For what is likely the first time in her whole life-slash-professional-career, she probably actually should really deal with whatever corner she’s backed herself into.

Isn’t there some girl code, or whatever, that says she should tell Wanda what’s happened? Shouldn’t she at least warn you? But, even if she wanted to, how would she do that, given she hasn’t so much as looked at you since she snuck out of your apartment? Should she warn Wanda? What would she even say!?

“Hey, trusted fist of my multi-billion-dollar operation and also girl I know who has superpowers and is definitely hiding from a few governments, I got fucked by your girlfriend about a year back and I haven’t been the same since! She railed me until I was a new person! It’s that hilarious! Please laugh at this with me!”

Natasha groans and lets her head drop to her desk. She is royally and totally fucked.

(And, to her dismay, not in a good way).

#lukis does commissions #lukis writes stuff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagines #black widow x reader #mobster nat

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Flatbush & Atlantic: part i

Quick note: This is taking place in the 2020-21 season, as if the Islanders still play at Barclays; I know they won’t in actuality. In the story, I’m also going to be taking some liberties with what the duties of a team’s general counsel and legal team would actually be in charge of. My understanding, as a pre-law student, is that it’s more on the corporate angle, dealing with contracts and stuff — in addition to that, Cass will also be dealing with some more immigration and employment law as well.

part i

October 1

“Adiós, mamá. Hablamos pronto. Te amo.” Cassidy hung up, breathing out a tense sigh and rubbing her temples with the heels of her hands. Talking to her mom usually helped to calm her down, bring her back to Earth, but for whatever reason it wasn’t taking. She took a brief glance at the casebook open on her dinged-up Ikea desk. Federal Indian Law. She liked the class, genuinely, but her day had started off bad and gotten worse pretty damn quickly. First she was out of her favorite tea, then her advisor cancelled their meeting, then it started raining as she walked back to her MTA stop, so she had missed the train. Another came fifteen minutes later, but the damage was already done. The only bright spot in the day, aside from calling her mom, had been the cute guy at the Polish deli down the street who had put extra peppers on her Philly cheesesteak. She unwrapped the sandwich, taking a moody bite out of the end. A caramelized onion dropped to the floor. Sighing, she leaned down to pick it up, hurtling it in the direction of the trashcan but only half-looking to see if it reached its target destination. Despite the name, Cass had never had a cheesesteak before she moved to New York, and it wasn’t even because she wasn’t a sandwich person. No, Cass loved a good sandwich, but between her proclivity towards a good BLT and her mom’s homemade Mexican food, she just hadn’t gotten around to it.

Her laptop dinged with an email notification. What now? She swiped over to the mail page, taking another bite as she read the subject line. Experiential learning requirement - unmet. Her brow furrowed. Unmet? Clicking it open, she scanned the email, clearly something automated from the registrar’s office. Yet to complete Columbia’s experiential learning requirement...We suggest you connect with professors...You have until October 8 to submit...Cassidy never finished her sandwich. “Oh my God,” she muttered to herself, feeling her cheeks heat up. “How could you do this? How could you be so stupid, Cass?” She was normally so on top of everything, never missed a date, never forgot an assignment, so how could she have missed one of the only things left to do to graduate? Her law school required all of the graduates to complete some sort of experiential learning requirement — some kind of externship, clinic, summer associate position, anything to get them “out in the real world.” That’s when it hit her. She had coached her high school’s mock trial team the summer after her first year, and interned at the Hartford County DA’s the summer after. But they paid her. Her school had a weird ‘double-dip’ policy, where you weren’t allowed to take a position for class credit and get paid at the same time. It was a confusing rule, convoluted and bizarre and probably a little bit elitist, but it was a rule. As if the day couldn’t get any worse, and then somehow it did.

Turning to her laptop, she started searching for just about anything that could possibly help her. The school’s website, the Manhattan District Attorney’s, state offices, NGOs, federal prosecutors, anyone that might have a lead. Frantically dragging over her resumé and throwing together a cover letter that probably (hopefully) looked way more interesting than it actually was, Cassidy fired off email after email after email. Two hours later, she had sent off some twenty-odd applications, hoping that at least one or two would end up panning out. Glancing at her watch, she let out an exasperated breath. 12:22 A.M. Her classes didn’t start until nine, but it took almost an hour and a subway connection to get to Columbia, and she had to eat and shower before. So, really, it meant getting up at about seven. She needed to go to bed.

Stomach reeling and feeling more resigned than anything, Cass haphazardly brushed her teeth, flossed — it didn’t matter how tired she was, she’d never forget to floss — and clambered into bed, wearing a faded, way-too-big Rangers t-shirt. I’ll be okay. She took a deep breath. It’ll be okay. It has to be. Cassidy Cabrera Shaw was tough as nails and stubborn as hell, and she wasn’t going to let everything she had worked so hard for fall apart so easily.

Whenever Cass was nervous, or anxious, or afraid, she was never able to sleep well. She ended up waking up at ten past six, sitting in her bed for fifteen minutes praying that she’d fall back asleep, and finally accepting her fate that sleep just wasn’t going to come. Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from where she had left it charging on the nightstand. Nightstand was maybe a generous term for it; technically, it was a wooden milk crate that she had spray painted white when she and the other girls had moved into the apartment two years prior. She had a little bit of money set aside from college, but every penny possible was going towards tuition and those ungodly-expensive books that she had to buy every semester. The mattress and frame were from Ikea, and Cass had brought some things like bedding and a desk from her old room. The rest of it — rugs, lighting, and decorations like her six-inch ceramic peacock (his name was Charles) had come from a combination of Goodwill runs and senior citizen yard sales.

Wincing as she did so, Cass pulled up her email, bracing herself for the inevitable barrage of rejection. After scrolling past ten or so automated “no longer hiring” and “position has been filled” messages, one caught her eye. She had sent a few emails to professors of hers, not expecting to hear anything back for a few days. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but there certainly were advantages of going to school in a city as massive as New York. All of her professors knew someone and had some kind of connection from their own education, or days in the practice, or childhood summer trips to the Hamptons with someone who just so happened to be a judge on the Second Circuit Court — that last one was last year’s employment law professor. One particular subject line caught her eye. Thought you might be interested, Professor Murakami had written. David, as he preferred to be called, was her Sports Law professor from last year. She didn’t go into the class expecting to enjoy it all that much, if she was being honest. She had gotten a crappy registration time and most other classes were filled, so it had started out as a placeholder and nothing more. Over the semester, though, it had quickly become one of her favorites, combining pieces of everything else she had studied into one cohesive course. Cass also wasn’t in a position to be turning down any potential offers, so she opened the email and started reading.

I got your email, Cassidy, and think I might be able to help. Okay, so far, so good. I happen to have a contact in the counsel’s office of one of the professional sports teams in the city. That’s exactly what Cass was talking about — where do these people meet each other? Is there some kind of exclusive speakeasy you’re given the password to as soon as you’re admitted to the state bar? Chris Cohen works for the Islanders, and I remember you talking about how interested in hockey you are. Okay, true, but the Islanders? She had practically been born with a Ranger’s jersey on. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought. I gave him a heads-up that I’d likely be sending a promising candidate his way, so just let me know if this sounds like something you’d be interested in and I’ll send along your contact information.

Cass couldn’t respond fast enough. Yes, please!

---

Wednesdays were her ‘easy’ days, if you could say that. She had Environmental Law and Human Rights back-to-back, but anything after noon was pretty much fair game. That being said, it certainly didn’t mean that she was any less stressed. There were at least a hundred pages to read before class the next day, she had a sample essay due for bar prep, and her mind was still racing about the email. Grabbing a gyro from the cart outside of her last class of the day, Cass stress-ate with one hand while continually refreshing her inbox with the other. Food wasn’t allowed in the library, so she ate the last few bites right outside the doors, throwing away the wrapper and squeezing past the hordes of clearly overwhelmed first-years running to get to class on time.

Popping her Airpods out of their case and into her ears, Cass briskly made her way up the stairs to the third floor, crossing her fingers that her usual spot, a big blue chair over by the research desk, was open. She was in luck, pulling out a water bottle and laptop and getting to work on editing. Four hours later, she had reached some semblance of satisfaction with her work, shutting off her computer and making her way to the subway. There was about half an hour before she had to transfer to the line that would take her to the apartment; squeezing into one of the last free seats, she tugged out a textbook and a highlighter. Why her professor insisted on assigning the entire text of the United Nations charter was a mystery to her, but she’d rather jump off a cliff than be cold called on without an answer. Transferring at Grand Concourse took about ten minutes — it was rush hour, so the first train to come was entirely full — and another twenty or so minutes later, she was letting herself into her shared East Bronx apartment.

Hanging up her denim jacket by the door and toeing off her sneakers, Cass let out a not-so-subtle exasperated sigh.

“One of those days?” Alicia piped in from the kitchen. Alicia also lived in the apartment, one of the four sorority sisters-turned-roommates who had made the move from Connecticut down to New York after graduation. Cass padded into the kitchen, where she was greeted by Alicia in front of a skillet and rice cooker, intensely sautéeing some vegetables.

“You have no idea,” Cass said, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha making?” There were obviously some nights when not everyone was home — most often either Cass or Ryanne, who was in med school — but they always tried to have a few nights a week where someone would cook a meal for the whole house.

“Japchae, it’s my mom’s recipe,” she replied. “I called her and asked how much sesame oil to use, and she just said ‘until it tastes right.’ Like, I love you, Mom, but that doesn’t really help my cause, does it?”

Cass snorted. “Oh for sure, it’s the same way with me. Do you remember the first time I made tamales down here?” Cass had grown up eating and making tamales with her mom and abuela, but she had never been allowed to really take the reins. She had the recipe, though, so the first night after they were moved in, she ventured down to the closest bodega, bought the ingredients, and decided to try her hand making them from scratch. The recipe, however, left out the key piece of exactly how much water to use for steaming — Cass didn’t know, and her mom had always just eyeballed it. So she had ended up putting in way too little and setting the stove way too hot, and to make a long story short, ended up setting off the fire alarm. The one saving grace was the extremely attractive police office that came to double-check the false alarm, but even he couldn’t wipe the mortified expression off of her face.

“How could I forget?” Alicia responded with a grin. “Go put your shit down, it’ll be ready in a few.”

Cass playfully rolled her eyes, heading towards her room in the back. “Yes, mother.” Their apartment was a three bedroom; while obviously it would have been amazing for everyone to have their own, it was still New York City and none of them were exactly rolling in the dough. Cassidy and Ryanne were obviously still students, and while Alicia and Stella had actual jobs — Stella worked international business down by Wall Street and Alicia did something with satellites in Queens — none of them were exactly inclined to set out on their own just yet. So Stella and Alicia shared a room, and she and Ryanne had their own. She shrugged off her jacket, slinging her backpack onto the bed before chugging the rest of her water bottle and checking her phone. Two new emails. A 20% off coupon to Lush, and one from Chris Cohen. Chris Cohen? It took her a minute to remember, but when she did, she couldn’t read it fast enough.

Honestly, Cass didn’t read the whole thing, but got enough information to know that she had an interview Friday afternoon at the office in Brooklyn, that Chris — he had said to call him Chris — said she came with a stellar recommendation from Professor Murakami (an old law school buddy, figures) and that there was no way in hell she was going to fuck this up. She wouldn’t let herself.

---

Cass was lucky her Thursdays were so packed; if she had any extra time to stress over her impending interview, she would have, but she couldn’t. She had two ‘free’ hours in between classes, but after she had scarfed down lunch (Alicia had, mercifully, made plenty of leftovers) it was the only stretch she had to hit the gym. Coupled with the time it took to walk there, change, and shower after, there really wasn’t much in the way of downtime. After classes was her bar prep group, and the day was so exhausting that it was pretty much all she could manage to take the train home, microwave dinosaur chicken nuggets, and stumble into bed. After flossing.

---

If Cassidy lived in any other city, she would have felt wildly out of place on her morning commute. Who shows up to school wearing a suit? She wasn’t an absolute masochist, so her heels were in her bag. But for once in her life she didn’t feel so out of place among the presumably-highbrow, presumably-making-six-figures crowd surrounding her. The suit had been her first big purchase for herself — she had scraped by without one in college, but invested as soon as she had a little saved up from her summer job at a boutique in town. Her mother had always told her that it was the woman who made the clothes, rather than the other way around, and Cass always did what her mom said.

Samaira, one of her friends and another editor on the Columbia Law Review, caught up to her as they both left the twice-weekly morning meeting. “You seem kind of jumpy, Cass. What’s up?”

Cassidy wrung her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “I told you that I missed the internship requirement thing, right?” Samaira nodded. “Well, I have an internship in,” she paused to look at her watch, “two hours, and I’m so nervous I’m going to mess this up. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t get it. There’s not time to look for something else, there’s no alternative, and I don’t know what to do if my own stupidity and forgetfulness is the only thing standing in between me and something I’ve worked so fucking hard for—”

Samaira cut her off. “I’m going to stop you there. That’s bull, Cass, and you know it. You are the furthest thing from a disappointment. You’re one of the kindest, sharpest, and most creative people I know, and you’re not going to let something as petty as a deadline stand in your way. Time gets away from all of us sometimes, and it’s nothing to beat yourself up over. I want you to be confident and have faith in yourself, because you deserve it, but if you don’t, it’s okay. I get it. I believe in you enough for the both of us.” She squeezed Cass’ hand.

She managed a watery smile. “Thanks, Samaira.”

“Any time,” she replied easily. “I’ve got to run to class now, but I want to hear how it went the second you get out, okay?”

“I will.”

Samaira rolled her eyes. “I mean it. You’re going to crush this, Cass. Love you!” She added, waving goodbye as she turned the corner.

There was half an hour before Cass needed to head over to the interview, and before she knew it her feet had taken her to her favorite spot on the north side of Central Park. Grabbing a bagel, she thankfully found the bench empty. After finishing the bagel — she would have preferred cheese, but they were out, so cinnamon raisin it was — and the better part of her Hozier-dominated acoustic playlist, it was time to catch the train. She jumped on with barely a second to spare, grabbing a strap and trying to avoid bumping into anyone.

A seat opened up about halfway to Brooklyn, and Cass took the opportunity to unceremoniously tug off her much more practical flats and switch into the much more professional ankle-strap heels that had been stuffed in her backpack all day. For a fleeting moment, she was worried what everyone around her would think; she was, after all, technically changing on public transportation. A man got on at the next stop who was dressed head-to-toe in neon orange while carrying a Pomeranian in his purse. Nobody batted an eye. She got over herself pretty quickly.

Getting off at the Barclays Center station, Cass pulled out her phone, opening up the camera to give herself a quick once-over. As much as she hated it, first impressions really were everything. Lipstick? Not smudged. Hair? Minimal flyaways. Teeth? No spinach to be seen. Triple-checking that she had the time right, Cass walked through the doors of the office building, Islanders logo emblazoned on the wall behind the secretary’s desk.

“Hi,” she said tentatively, catching his attention. “I have an interview with Chris Cohen at 2?”

The secretary nodded, smiling warmly at her. “No problem. I’m Josh, you can have a seat over there,” he nodded to the small waiting area off to the side, “and I’ll call you when he’s ready for you to be sent up.”

Cass didn’t wait for more than five minutes before Josh gave her the go-ahead, and she was soon headed up the elevator to Chris’ office. “Fourth door on the left. It should have his name on it,” Josh had added.

She raised her fist, knocking quickly on the frosted glass. It swung open a second later, a kind-looking man with glasses and salt-and-pepper hair answering. “You must be Cassidy. I’m Chris Cohen, so nice to meet you. Come right in,” he said, ushering her through the room, where several other associates sat at desks, and into his office.

“David’s always good at keeping an eye out for me in his courses, and I was happy he passed you along,” Chris said, pulling out her resumé. “And you’re a 3L, correct?” She nodded. “Good. So let’s dive right into it. What courses and work experience do you have that you feel best position you for success in this position?” Much though Cass was loath to admit it, if there was anything she was good at, it was talking herself up. There was a reason her high school superlative was “Most Likely to be Able to Talk Their Way Out of a Ticket.” She launched into a well-rehearsed response, making sure to lace in her love for hockey once or twice. If nothing else, it would hopefully at least get her some brownie points. He had a few questions about her resumé, asked about her work on the law review, a few hypotheticals about contract law. She was batting a thousand until he asked the dreaded final question. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Cass was wracking her brain, trying to come up with some intelligent-sounding thing to ask, but nothing came. “Uh—” she started, but was saved by the bell. Or, rather, saved by a frantic door opening and a panicked-sounding Mat Barzal bursting into the room. “Chris, I’ve got a problem.”

#hockey imagine #hockey #nhl imagine #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl #hockey writing #nhl writing #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #islanders #mat barzal imagines

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devintrinidad · 4 years

Text

Charlastor Week #3: Cooking

Charlie crept down the stairs of her hotel, careful to avoid the creaky stairs by keeping close to the walls. Her movements were stealthy and quiet, measured and hesitant. While she was the Princess of Hell, she didn’t want to know what else went bump in the night besides her fellow demons. Down, down she went into the bowels of darkness and despair until she came across the entranceway of the hotel’s kitchen. With a sigh, she began to feel against the wall until she came across the telltale contour of an outlet and a switch.

Once she flicked the toggle upwards, the kitchen was awash in the glow of bright white light. Squinting, Charlie hurriedly wandered over to the fridge. Her eyes were still adjusting to the intensity of the brightness—they were watering!—but in time, Charlie allowed her eyes to widen just a bit.

Inside the refrigerator, there was a vast array of foods that had taken up residence inside. Now that a few patrons had wandered into her hotel seeking free board or to take a shot at redemption, Charlie and Vaggie had taken up Angel’s advice to stock up on food for all the weary, sinful souls under her care.

A smile twitched on her face at that.

Logically, most of the demons were here to either watch her fail or to get some free amenities, but… it was a start. A rough one at that, but a start nonetheless.

As she propped open the fridge with one of her feet, she began to peruse the contents. There were a few cartons of eggs, a loaf of bread, a multitude of vegetables and fruits, a few containers filled with leftovers… hmm… She tapped one of her fingers at the point of her chin, a look of consideration on her face.

It was early in the morning, the witching hour as one would say, so it wouldn’t make her too much of a glutton if she were to eat something heavy...but… Her teeth absently chewed on her bottom lip. But, what if someone wanted to eat the leftovers during breakfast. Oh, what a conundrum.

Well, it was a good thing that she was the Princess of Hell and not the resident glutton. She took out an apple from the pile of fruits, closed the door, and—

“Alastor!” She dropped the apple onto her feet, which were sadly bereft of any and all protection that could have saved her precious toes from pain. A small groan left her lips as she bent down to retrieve her fallen fruit. Damn, it better not ended up bruised. “What brings you here?” She furrowed her brows at him in curiosity. “So early in the morning?”

Unlike Charlie, who was adorned in pajamas befitting that of a broke college student in the turn of the newest century, Alastor was dressed in his everyday attire. She had half a mind to ask if he either forewent the idea of changing into sleepwear or had abandoned the idea of sleep altogether. As it were, it was still barely three in the morning, she was craving a snack, and her business partner was eyeing her like he would with some helpless prey.

All in all, not exactly the most ideal way to start the day.

“Well, I was browsing a novel when I heard you go down the stairs! Ha ha ha!” He tilted his head back and laughed, the volume of which was sure to awaken any of the sinners who were light sleepers. If it were anyone else, Charlie would have shushed him, but… He was kind of the Radio Demon. An Overlord of Hell. You just didn’t tell people like him that, even if you technically ranked above him in the social hierarchy. “Hungry for something, my dear?”

Charlie, as awkward as ever, held out her apple to the light in answer.

“Don’t worry, Al! I got it all under control.” She took a bite of her chosen apple to make a point, but found herself horrified when she bit into the flesh only to realize that the skin was bruised and just plain icky tasting. If it weren’t for her mother’s lessons on decorum and etiquette, Charlie would have surely spat out the spoiled flesh.

Yikes.

Looks like Vaggie and her were going on a grocery run later.

“Excuse me, darling, but I do believe that a face like that… well…” Alastor’s radio noise began to evolve into a series of “oohhhs” and murmurs of disgust before dissolving into his stereotypical hum of white noise.

Charlie thought about asking what kind of face she had made to have warranted a response from Alastor’s hidden audience, but found that she’d rather not ask.

“Fine… so my apple isn’t the best treat for a morning pick me up.” She shrugged as she tossed her bitten apple to and fro, from one palm to another. She followed the arc of the curve of the trajectory of the apple before facing Alastor again. She sighed. “I’m sorry for disturbing your leisure reading. I’ll be sure to be more quiet next time.” She turned and began heading towards the exit. “If you’re planning on staying here, make sure to switch off the light when you leave.”

Suddenly, there was pressure on the Princess’s shoulder. It was hooked into her upper arms and clawed. Although the grip was featherlight and allowed room for her to look back at her captor, there was a warning there that Charlie immediately took notice of.

“Yes?”

Alastor’s grin, which had been remarkably calm and loose lipped for the entirety of their encounter thus far, had stretched until his cheeks were nonexistent and his gums could be seen behind the tightly curled flesh.

Despite the fact that Charlie was older than Alastor and had seen more than her fair share of violence, she couldn’t help but gulp and shiver at his hold. Smiles don’t look like that, no matter how psychopathic an individual you were.

Alastor’s smile… took things too far.

“Now, when did I give the impression that I was disturbed? Perhaps I, too, also wanted to partake in an early morning snack!”

She quirked a brow. “Really.”

“Of course, my dear! There’s no better time than the present to go hunting late at night, into one of the famed forests of Hell, with nothing but your wits and a knife and the prey just waiting to be carved and sliced op—“

“Oookay—“ She held up her hands in the universal sign for a time out. “—I hate to cut that short, Al, but that was going into territory that is almost too graphic for a hotel of redemption.”

“Charlie.” His eyes, deep red and glowing with malevolent intent, narrowed in either anger or amusement. At that point, Alastor’s montonity in smiling confused the Hell out of Charlie—she could barely tell what was up and what was down when it came to Alastor! “We’re in Hell. Nothing is too graphic for such a decaying pit of debauchery and disorder!”

“True, but I’d rather not commit murder just so I can stave off a craving.” Charlie crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not that desperate.”

“Hmm.” Alastor let go of her shoulder and yanked the fridge door open. “What were you craving, sweetheart?”

Charlie blinked. “Are you offering to cook for me?”

“Considering that I can’t cook you, I might as well cook for you, ha ha ha!”

Charlie chuckled a little at that before her eyes began to grow wide with mischief. “Have you ever tried your hand at Italian cuisine, Alastor?”

Alastor looked like he was about to reply in earnest before his smile began to freeze and grow brittle.

“Are you asking because you honestly want to have Italian? Or are you asking to get under my skin?”

Charlie smiled cheekily at him before throwing her bruised apple into Alastor’s awaiting hand. For a moment, Charlie could just barely make out a record scratch amidst the crackle of white noise. He was surprised. That was probably a good sign, right?

“Anything to do with apples, Al.” She threw up her hands and situated herself at a nearby island to watch him work. “Have at it.”

Alastor looked at her apple, a curious furrow in between his eyes. He seemed to examine the pierces skin, of the neat little hole that had been caused by her sharp teeth. Finally, after what seemed to be like an eternity had to pass, he came to a decision.

“Something filling, but not too heavy?”

“That would be ideal, yes.”

He shot her a small grin. “Then your wish is my command.”

With that, he hustled towards the fridge and took out several ingredients that didn’t seem like they would go together. Nearby, Charlie heaved herself onto the island’s countertop and lounged there as she watched him. He began slicing her bitten apple into finely cut slices and then started to sauté them in a skillet alongside cinnamon and butter.

The aroma that arose from the pan caused her mouth to water. At the rate Alastor was going, he was sure to awaken the entire hotel. No way was anyone going to stay asleep after breathing in such a divine scent!

Next, he removed the sautéed apples and put more butter into the pan. As the butter melted over the heat, Alastor proceeded to crack open three eggs into a bowl, whisk them, and pour the mixture into the pan—after he had liberally spiced them up.

Hmm...apples and eggs, a weird combination to say the least.

“I hope I’m not boring you?” Alastor asked. During the procedure, he had been humming a simple tune or narrating what he had been doing. Charlie didn’t mind, she liked his voice and it helped soothe the hunger that gnawed at her stomach.

“Not at all! You just seemed to be in your element, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“That’s wonderful to hear! Because—“ Alastor allowed the finished egg to slide gently onto a plate before adding the sautéed apples on top. With the help of a spatula and some creative thinking, he then folded the omelette in half. “—this apple omelette needs eating! What do you think?”

Charlie’s eyes lit up as she made grabbing motions towards the food. She hadn’t meant to be so childish, but it was well worth the embarrassment when her business partner chuckled indulgently at her before placing the dish into her hands.

“You know, it looks too good to eat!” Charlie looked at the plate in dismay. How could she live with herself to destroy such a masterpiece?

Alastor, on the other hand, didn’t share her sentiments. He nudged her shoulder before gifting her a fork. “Now, now dear, it won’t be as tasty if you let it cool.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Mom.”

“Thank you, I try to emulate my role models as best as I can.”

Readying herself, Charlie speared a little bit of the egg and the apple and gently let it rest on her tongue.

It was—!

Voice dry, Alastor couldn’t help but comment, “I take it you like it?”

Charlie couldn’t answer. She bobbed her head up and down in obvious approval before grabbing a bigger piece and greedily chewing it.

“It’s sweet! And savory!” After hastily swallowing another piece of the omelette, she looked up at her business partner in wonderment. “Are all humans good at combining things like these and making it taste good?”

“Nope! Just me!”

“Well, in that case,” Charlie gathered a bit of her food and beckoned for Alastor to come close. “You should also have a chance to enjoy your food!”

This time, in surprise, Alastor’s radio static began to grow haywire. Channels were flipped from one to another at a speed that blurred and superimposed different sounds and audio cues. There were bells ringing, voices overlapping one another; she could even detect a small snippet of her singing when she first advertised the hotel on the news. Just when the mishmash of audio chaos began to reach its peak, Alastor’s radio was abruptly switched off as if someone twisted the dial with a jerk.

“Pardon?”

“I think I should be the one asking that,” Charlie murmured. What the Hell was that? “But go on.”

“I’ll have to decline your offer, Charlie.” Alastor fiddled with the bow tie around his throat. Whatever bravado he usually displayed had dimmed and he seemed… cautious. “Sweets aren’t meant for me.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “You don’t like sweets!” Her shriek could have caused glass to shatter. “How can you not like sweets?”

“Careful, dear, there are others—“

“But you don’t like sweets.”

Not used to being interrupted, Alastor’s lips seemed to droop a little at the corners. There was a warning for Charlie to remember her place, but she was the Princess of Hell goddamnit and she wasn’t going to let this matter slide.

“That would be correct, yes.”

“Exposure therapy.”

This time, it was Alastor’s eyes that widened like saucers. For the third time that night, a record scratch blared throughout the silence of the kitchen, which might have startled Charlie a few hours ago, but now…

Now she was a woman on a mission.

“Come again?”

Charlie slapped a fist on top of her palm as a manic gleam overcame her eyes. “I read about it from a psychology textbook. Exposure therapy is where you overcome a fear by gradually overcoming it in small doses.”

Alastor chuckled—was that nervousness? “If you recall, I only said that sweets weren’t for me. I have no fear of sugar.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind therapy.”

“In order to continue, you’ll have to receive my consent...which I’m not willing to give.”

Charlie made a noise that was a cross between a huff and a groan. Suddenly, a smirk befitting that of any of the common mischievous imps that wandered the bowels of Hell darkened her features.

“I’m not a psychiatrist, so I don’t need consent.” She leaned towards Alastor as if to invade his personal space. “Some good fashioned peer pressure will do just fine.”

Alastor quirked a brow at that.

“Oh, come on! Will a pretty, pretty please do?”

Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose. He did that partly because this wasn’t how he envisioned his morning to go and well… he was also shielding his eyes from Charlie’s searching gaze.

“Fine. If you must.”

“Then open wide!”

“Op—?”

He felt confused and disoriented and then—His mouth closed upon the taste of something so sweet, yet so savory at the same time. The flavor assaulted his tongue; all he could think about was how he could barely chew and swallow the apple omelette down his throat. He was dimly aware of how the fork left his mouth and that Charlie was smiling at him with a grin so wide, he could feel his mouth twitch up slightly in response.

Grins and laughter were highly infectious things.

Finally, his throat’s muscles began to obey him and he swallowed, the residue of something sweet and savory coating his tongue.

“I—” He stepped away from the Princess of Hell as he fiddled with his bow tie. “—that was informative.” He cleared his throat and was almost back at the exit before Charlie stopped him once more.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow early in the morning again?”

He turned around. Slowly. “And what makes you say that?”

Her smirk grew even more mischievous.

“Because… exposure therapy only works if there is repetition and done with increasing doses.”

Alastor sighed before sending her a gentle smile. “I look forward to it, dear.”

#charlastor week 2020 #charlastorweek2020 #charlastor #chalastor #charlie magne #alastor #hazbin hotel #devintrinidad #devintrinidad author #devin trinidad author #devin trinidad #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction

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delbeugre · 4 years

Text

Have you seen SADIE BEUGRE? DEL is in HER/THEIR SENIOR year. The MATHEMATICS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say SHE/THEY are GRITTY, BEWITCHING, RETICENT and WASPISH. Rumors say they’re a member of HASTINGS. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE BIT AN EX-BOYFRIEND’S PINKY FINGER OFF AFTER SHE FOUND OUT HE CHEATED, AND THEN HAPPILY SERVED TIME FOR IT.

im tommy im a freak and of course i am here to get freakalicious with u all... this is my newest frankenstein type creation named sadie i know .02% about her yet but i am more than confident she will b nothing but a fun time! like this if ur down to plot!

TW: VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF JAIL/PROSECUTION, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, DRUG USE

BACKSTORY

capricorn sun / virgo moon / scorpio rising

raised by her uncle Big (his name) who is a hermit shut in town local in the depths of the florida marshland like some goosebumps protagonist. hes gone far past socially acceptable in terms of his ability to connect with the modern person but is wise beyond belief... his whole vibe is a warped cross between a cryptid and a mountain man that forages and cooks neighborhood plants. married for 27 years before his wife passed from illness. its quite possibly the only thing hes ever been emotional about

but dels entry to his life throws a wrench in his sadness (despite abandonment being what they bond over). she takes the focus away from his loss with her presence; her dad, his brother, died in a tragic train-car collision around the same time (which is speculated to be a suicide bt nobody can ever really be sure). he was a single parent so her custody is thrown up in the air for a few months as cps decides what they r gna do with this freshly orphaned little scrapper

she just kinda turns up on his doorstep n from there they cohabit a space. shes arnd 6-7 at this time... big never seemed to b phased by the fact tht she was a child n tended to treat her more like an apprentice or guest. he was never close to her father because of their age difference, being the older out of the two, so to have his daughter become his responsibility is just..... weird

this doesnt mean that he wouldnt provide for her bt it was. not very parental whatsoever.... no conversation or interaction beyond what was necessary. she was a mute fr a while and still is? to a degree.... very short spoken

when she got to her preteens he offered her an allowance in exchange for little odds and ends of stuff to be taken care of around the house. errands n all tht.... sometimes he wld purposefully leave things for her to pick up n take care of without mentioning it for a bonus. taught her the importance of saving your money and the horrid corruptness of a society basing everythings worth off paper. big exposed her to a lot of knowledge and took advantage of her silent curiosity by fueling it with books, homeschooling, life skills (catching a fish, setting a trap, knowing your berries in the woods...... the works)

her teens carried out the same way bt with the introduction of a real job, a spot down at the local butcher shop checking people out at the register and helping around the back of house. del knows a great deal abt cow/pig/chicken/etc anatomy from her years here..... she committed to being 100% vegan into her early twenties because of her trauma frm this occupation

it paid very well tho n was the best gig she was going to get within a reasonable biking route from home. so she settled!

the plan wasnt to keep it up for long anyway. she worked rly hard for her spot at yates and didnt intend to ever screw herself over. her plan was to get her bachelors, masters, become a professor, pursue a personal hobby of agriculture and build an elaborate greenhouse to live in

bt things happen.....

some 35yr old douche with a green thumb woos her at a gardening store n swoops in to teach her a little more abt romance; all of this, of course, under the guise that he had all these tips and tricks for living environmentally friendly. a lame hippie wannabe that shouldve never even approached her bt alas.... he did

love is a touchy subject n it hadnt been something she set her sights on, but she was interested in wht this dude could teach her n at 19 she ended up falling in love. she delayed her education to stay an extra year back home and work out another plan which included him

this was very disappointing to her uncle bt he didnt have anything to say abt it. it was never parental before n it was never going to be, so this was another lesson she wld just have to overcome on her own

it turns out that she doesnt care for infidelity. when the confession comes out its met with a lot of screaming, bawling, blistering white hot anger. the whole incident is blacked out of her mind to b honest....

matters of the heart are no longer something to concern herself with because of the repercussions of her rash behavior regarding heartbreak O________O she spent a year in jail n still has to attend therapy / anger management meetings

deep down she is still hurting. there was a lot of pain... bt the sadness is not over the loss of some noob. she is in a state of constant disappointment, detaching from herself out of shame. putting her own life on pause only for it to turn out like that? stupid stupid stupid...

PERSONALITY

chugging along! tldr spectre-like swamp nymph aura with the slightest (not so slight) unhinged feral tendencies

delicate like a moth resting in the gleam of a flashlight.... her anger singes her wings when shes too comfortable staying in one place, so theres always constant stimulation, always shifting gears. shes prone to feeling threatened; that being said, sadie is wary of walking in crowds, a little bit skittish when approached without making eye contact beforehand. like a small grey kitten..... in a big wide world

has a hard time keeping a conversation bt is very interested in debate, and even more so in studying alongside someone in complete silence. it reminds her of home in the same sense tht her uncle wld nudge her to keep reading by always having his own book open

doesnt have many friends and is alright with that. rumors are tht she is still a virgin bt who really knows? not i...... bt i wldnt be surprised if this was true. shes not impressed by people nor material items so this whole yates crowd is a turn off

she is truly clueless when it comes to how to behave around anyone her age. i think she understands but it just doesnt compute. she could come off as impolite bt it is just standoffishness? some people cld try to crack her but i dont think even she knows what that would be, or what that would look like. even in her one (1) failed relationship it was never deep heart to hearts or sharing dinner..... solitude is her realm

del is very comfortable with herself, very open with her wardrobe! doesnt leave too much to the imagination? she appreciates the human experience n expresses that thru this whole “body is a temple” type thing.... not quite confidence, but proudness of being. has gotten multiple notices frm professors for her tops being too sheer, nylons too ratted up, etc. has dirt under her fingernails half the time, chipped polish, some chapstick. smudges her eyeshadow on with her fingers

doesnt smoke cigarettes all too often but is dependent on weed. it kinda perpetuates her paranoid demeanor bt at the same time it keeps her lax enough to be able to mentally handle city life

her room is a playground for huge monstera plants, christmas cacti, ivy creeping along the doorway. she sleeps on a tiny thin mattress on the floor with a linen sheet and has her books stacked up on the ground next to it to hold her ashtray. the whole thing is dumb empty

takes her studies seriously and pinches every penny she can..... she has never ordered herself a coffee frm somewhere before, ordered food frm a restaurant... nothing. i wld think the most she would branch out from harvesting everything on her own is buying a bag of sunflower seeds frm a gas station, but even then, she much prefers eating stuff she grows herself. has a tomato plant, some basil beginning to sprout, etc.... manageable crops for any college students tiny space

...

bt yea thats it thats all! connections cld be all over the place. im legit open to anything. theres only a few tht come to mind right off that bat:

a few people that get along with her? same classes? they shared a bowl n now theyre getting into the nitty gritty of some personal conversation that is veering into no mans land....

some sort of clueless makeover moment? arent rly into sadie as a person bt see a lot of potential... perhaps need a plus one to a party on the fly and figure thats the best option theyve got

crushes? this wld be fun n potentially dangerous! like playing with a hot cast iron pan or something :)

again im vry new to rp so i wld like to leave a lot of stuff up to chemistry, brainstorming n stuff like that, but please consider everything on the table! what i hav mentioned is the tip of the iceberg im so burnt out n i wrote a lot more than i intended to i am so sorry but i promise i am friendly

#yatesintro #/tw implied violence #/tw death mention #/tw drug use #/tw jail mention

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thekimsioco · 3 years

Text

Vegan string bean Adobo recipe and my first field work as a journalist.

When I was in college, I had the opportunity to intern for one of the top broadsheet newspapers in the country. They called me to ask if I can help cover the May 2013 Elections. And being a journalism student at the time, it was a dream come true.

During the election coverage, I was assigned to a low-income and high crime rate area. And I would stay there until the wee hours of the morning because I had to finish the vote count.

One night - at around 2AM - I realized that I was so busy with the vote counting (vote counting happens inside the municipality building) that I forgot to eat dinner. The thing with hunger is that the moment you realized you're hungry, the hunger pangs get worse from there.

I went outside to look for a 24-hour restaurant or anything with food. It was raining. The first thing I noticed is this small cart in the corner that sells homecooked meals for less than a dollar. Perfect.

Men gathered around the cart, waving their crumpled money. I put my backpack in front of me and tiptoed to take a look at the food. I ended up ordering string bean adobo with rice and Coke.

There are makeshift tables and chairs on the side. One of the men stood up so I can sit down. I said thank you and ate quietly. They are all staring at me. A small 19-year-old girl, eating with middle-aged brusque men.

It was supposed to be embarrassing. But I was so hungry that I didn't really care. It was probably one of the most memorable meals I had in Manila. The sauce of the adobo over the rice. The combination of string beans and pork (I wasn't vegan back then). Even the Coke taste good. And for the record, I hate string beans before!

Today, I'm recreating that dish that saved my sanity on the 16th of May 2013. Back when I still have a different vision for myself. When the task of walking through an overpass alone at 4AM in the morning scares the shit out of me.

Adobo is probably one of the Filipino dishes that every Filipino household knows how to make. It's salty and sour and sweet and garlicky. It's easy and straightforward. And very, very home-y (if that makes sense).

I want to share the vegan version of the recipe with you and take you with me to the night of my first field work as a journalist.

Vegan String Bean Adobo Recipe Ingredients:

firm tofu (thawed twice)

cornstarch

string beans, cut to desired size

cooking oil

garlic

1 cup water

4 tbsp soy sauce

4 tbsp white vinegar

1/2 tbsp brown sugar

salt and pepper

bay leaf

How to make Vegan String Bean Adobo:

Remove the excess water from the tofu. To do this, simply wrap it in paper towels and put something heavy on top of it. Like a pan, or your cat, or whatever floats your boat. We want the texture to be crumbly. It makes the tofu soak the flavors better.

Coat the tofu with cornstarch. It doesn't have to be thickly coated. In fact, I don't advise it to be thickly coated.

Fry your tofu until golden brown. Set Aside.

Sautee Garlic in cooking oil. Add your string beans and a pinch of salt. Add water and bring to a boil.

Change to low-medium heat. Add soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, and pepper. Add your tofu and bay leaf. Simmer until reduced.

Once reduced, the sauce should be slightly thickened. Remove from heat and serve with rice.

Notes:

You can add mushrooms, potatoes, spinach, or even pineapple.

the sauce is the same if you're planning to do chicken or pork adobo.

I like adding coconut milk in my adobo. But the string bean I ate in 2013 doesn't have coconut milk so I removed it. But anyway, you can do it if you like.

#vegan recepies #vegan recipe #vegan #adobo #filipino

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markrees · 5 years

Text

Sunflower - Mark Lee

Mark is sweet. And gentle. And comfortable to be around with when he isn’t causing you to almost hyperventilate.

category: au!college Mark / i live for college student mark ;; f l u f f / shy mark, flustered mark, sweet mark, mark in general

word count: 11.5K sorry

warnings: none, just a lot of fluff really.

a/n: this took me weeks to finish :( i hope you like it!

Everything seemed to happen in a whizzing blur because right now you were still unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. One second you were walking to your next class, traipsing along the grey concrete of your university campus and the next second you found yourself on the ground, a painful sensation shooting up your right arm as you scrunch up your face in agony. You absentmindedly stare at the cast being applied carefully to the affected arm from the impact of your fall, eyeing the doctor’s fluid movements as he expertly does his task with major ease. To your left, you feel eyes burning holes on the side of your face, shifting his stare between your side view and your broken arm.

Mark Lee, also known as the cute boy in your advanced anatomy and physiology classes always hidden behind the rims of his round glasses, black hair and in the comfort of his hoodies, was standing just at the edge of your hospital bed watching you and the doctor quietly. Mark Lee, also known as the very person responsible for your dazed-like state resulting from the effects of the pain medications you had received earlier to manage your misery.

“The cast will have to stay on for six weeks,” the doctor says, snapping you out of your hazy thoughts as he finishes up. “You have to keep it dry at all costs but if you feel something isn’t right or if it’s too tight, come back to us straight away so we can fix it.”

You absentmindedly nod and examine your new arm and its new weight. The only thing you can move now were your fingers, left free at the end of the constriction. “Thank you doctor.”

With a smile and a nod, the doctor steps out of your cubicle, leaving you and Mark in silence. Oblivious to you, Mark had been paying much more attention to everything the doctor had said given the fact that he was more in tune with his surroundings while you were in a dizzy state. You’d momentarily forgotten Mark was there with you and you nearly flinch when you hear him speak.

“I’m really sorry, this is all my fault,” he says, guilt dripping from his voice and steps closer so that he can lean on the edge of your bed beside you.

You shake your head weakly, offering a small smile in hopes of reassuring him. “No, it’s alright. It’s no one’s fault. It was an accident.”

Mark rubs the nape of his neck as he stares into the wall opposite the two of you, replaying the earlier events and how he had knocked you off of your feet when he lost his balance on his bicycle.

“I shouldn’t have been cycling there in the first place, so really, it was my fault. You’d still have a perfectly working arm by now if I didn’t wake up late and wasn’t late for class.”

You laugh at his words and fiddle with the material of your cast. It was the first time you felt so light for the day and Mark eases at the sound of your laugh, loosening up his tense shoulders because of the guilt that had been eating him alive.

“It’s okay, really. It doesn’t hurt anymore so I should be okay,” you say and turn your head slightly to your left only to be met by a still guilty looking Mark. You raise your left hand and pat him gently on the back. “Mark, it’s fine. My arm is okay. I’m alive.”

He tears his eyes off the wall and cranes his neck slightly to look at you, a small smile forming on his lips as an appreciation of your consolation. “Is there at least anything I can do to make it a bit better?”

“Mark you really don’t have to—“

“I insist Y/N.”

You grow silent for a while, blinking at him.

“Anything at all. Don’t be shy. It’s the least I could possibly do,” Mark adds, determined to make it up to you.

You come to a conclusion that no matter how much you assure him you were alright, he would never not be guilty because honestly if you were in his shoes, you’d probably be basking yourself in utter guilt right now. So you decide to make it easier for him knowing what he’s feeling right now won’t vanish in a glimpse just from your words alone.

“Okay,” you finally say. You shift your gaze to your broken arm, an idea finally popping in your mind.

“Y-you can—” you start and you feel your chest tighten slightly when you catch Mark staring intently at you, silently prodding you to continue with warmth radiating from his big brown orbs.

“Bring me home?”

—

Week one.

Having a broken arm was more inconvenient than you had initially thought and to make matters worse, it was your dominant hand that just had to snap in two. Blowing a raspberry, you walk into your first lecture of the week ever since the incident, your face scrunching involuntarily as you recall how much of a struggle it was to get ready for university this morning. You walk along the large lecture hall and find your usual seat in the middle of the room that you had always opted to sit on; not to close to be noticed by the professor and not too far to be unable to see anything clearly. It isn’t long before the hall gets filled with bustling students, a lot of them clinging onto paper cups of hot beverages to keep them fuelled for the long day ahead.

You catch sight of the professor emerging from the door and takes his place on the podium to the right corner. With much struggle, you manage to take out your usual materials for class, mainly your anatomy and physiology notebook and your favourite black pen that somehow managed to make early lectures more bearable. The professor begins to speak coherently with the slides displayed on the huge screen and when you’re about to reach for your pen, realisation hits like a truck. You couldn’t write. And you groan in frustration upon the reminder, earning a few looks from the students not too far away from you. Luckily, it wasn’t loud enough for the professor to hear who continued to switch from one slide to another. You let out a sigh as quietly as you could, trying your best to hide your disappointment. So you sit back instead and attempt to listen to everything the professor taught, absorbing as much as your brain allowed so that maybe, you could type up your own notes later. It felt weird not to be writing because it was always something you did in every class. There’s anxiety bubbling up in your chest when your thoughts inadvertently fly to the remaining classes of the day— how were you going to survive?

You end up missing half the things said in your anatomy class because you were too focused on worrying about how the next six weeks would pan out. So when the professor dismisses your class, you rise from your seat with another groan, stuffing your untouched belongings into your bag with a huff. This day was not looking bright and it was only the first class. You can only imagine how difficult it would be to mentally prepare yourself for the rest of the day.

When you exit the hall to make your way to the next one, you stop in the middle of your tracks when your names echoes in between the walls of the building.

“Y/N!”

You turn around and find Mark lightly jogging up to you. He’s wearing yet another hoodie with black jeans and glasses sitting snugly on the bridge of his nose. You smile at him when he reaches you soon after, unknowingly forgetting about how horrible your day was unraveling.

“How’s the arm?” He asks, securing one of the straps of his backpack on his shoulder.

You raise your right arm and wave it slightly in front of him. “Still broken, I think.”

Mark chuckles at your reply and you find yourself smiling along. “Yeah about that I’m really sorry.”

“Mark I was joking. And it’s fine, I promise,” you say.

He purses his lips and nod in defeat. “But still,” he starts and stops himself from apologising again. “Anyways, here.”

You look down and see pages in his hands being extended out to you. You glance back up at him. “What are those?”

He prods you to take them from his hands and you do so, scanning through the handwriting sprawled everywhere on the first page. From the corner of your eye, you see Mark rub the nape of his neck again, a bashful smile playing on his lips.

“Well since uh.. I figured you can’t write because of your arm,” Mark says and you pick up on how shy he’s suddenly become. “So I took notes for you from today’s class.”

You scan the remaining pages and true enough, Mark had taken down everything that was discussed in the class earlier, even drawing mini diagrams with labels here and there and you smile when you see him add his own little notes and reminders on the sides of the pages in a different coloured pen. Mark’s writing wasn’t the neatest and you know it’s because of how fast paced the anatomy lectures usually were and how much of a struggle it was to actually keep up with the professor’s words. But what impresses you is that he’s managed to write everything down in such a short span of time, something you couldn’t do, always missing a few important bits.

You couldn’t help but feel a weight lifted off of your shoulder.

“I know it might not be as good as the notes you usually take but—“

You didn’t realise how happy a bunch of pages put together made you until you find yourself jumping up to envelop your arms around Mark’s neck. Maybe it was the fact that you were so convinced you’d have a horrible day ahead and the fact that Mark had come to rescue you from a fraction of your misery without him knowing but right now, you were just happy and you wanted to hang on to the positive things to help you through the long classes waiting for you. It was a small gesture from Mark. But to you, it was more than enough.

“Oh my goodness this is perfect. Thank you so much. You didn’t have to—“ You stop midway when you realise the position you had gotten yourself into and immediately peel yourself off of Mark who didn’t get the chance to fully comprehend the actions you had just exhibited.

You find him blinking rapidly behind his glasses when you step away from him. You feel heat creep up on your cheeks along with the embarrassment taking over every cell of your body and before he could open his mouth to say something, you cut him off.

“I will study these notes well! Thank you!” You say with a smile, “I’ll see you around then Mark!” You continue quickly and turn on your heels to walk away before he could notice your face that by now is probably as red as a tomato.

Week two.

After a week of adjusting, you were slowly getting used to using one good arm and compromising with the other. Basic tasks such as washing the dishes, taking a shower and brushing your teeth was still a challenge but everyday seemed to get easier. Instead of writing notes physically during lectures, you found it easier to type as you listened, given that your fingers were functioning just fine. Though it felt weird not to be using your favourite pens and turning the pages of your notebook and staring at the bright screen for hours, you felt calmer knowing you kept track of everything you had to study.

The only physical notes you had from the previous week was Mark’s. And there were times you’d discover yourself staring at the pages a little longer, studying not the material, but every stroke that he produced on the page. You had found fascination in the way he wrote his words and even though you’ve studied his material countless of times, you couldn’t help but revise all the information squashed into the reams over and over again. You’re convinced you’ve memorised the nitty gritty of how the human kidneys worked at this stage.

You don’t see Mark after that encounter. After all, you only have once class together and it only occurred once a week. But you’re surprised with how much you’ve been thinking about him. It isn’t until today that you see him again, walking up the stairs of the lecture hall, scanning the room for a seat until he stops just by the row you always sat yourself in. You were early today and so you took comfort in the emptiness and silence of the hall that was yet to be filled with students you really didn’t know. You catch his eyes just as he stands by the edge of the row of empty seats and smiles at you then before scooting himself inside until he’s standing over the seat next to yours.

“Hey,” he greets. “Is this seat taken?”

You glance down at the chair and then back up at Mark, shaking your head lightly. “No, it’s not.”

He smiles at your response and proceeds to sit on the empty chair, placing his backpack just underneath the table.

You blink a couple of times, quite taken aback that the person you’ve just been thinking about (and all week) is sitting right next to you. He’s wearing another hoodie today, a red one, and his dark brown hair is falling just on top of his glasses. You don’t remember ever sitting next to Mark, your memories of him only ever consisting of the boy who sat near the back, in the corner beside another student whom you didn’t know the name of.

There’s silence echoing in the huge hall and you try to rack your brain for things to talk about. Mark seems to be thinking the exact same thing because you both speak at the same time when a topic comes to mind.

“How are—“

“The notes—“

You both chuckle shortly after and Mark gestures for you to speak first. He’s smiling and you notice little sparkles in his eyes. You give yourself a moment to come back to your world after being momentarily lost in the way that his nose crinkled whenever he laughed.

“The notes from last week,” you start. “They were really good. I studied well, thank you.”

The smile on Mark’s lips widen. “Yeah? I was actually worried they didn’t make any sense. I’ve already broken your arm, I don’t want you failing this module too.”

You let out a hearty laugh and you don’t see the way Mark watches you with contentment. “No no. They were actually better than the notes I usually write. So I’m pretty sure no one’s failing anytime soon.”

Mark nods in satisfaction and he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he leans forward to rest his clasped hands on the table.

“Well then, leave today’s class up to me,” he announces, watching students come in the lecture hall at the bottom of the room.

You stare at his side profile and tilt your head a little to the side. “It’s okay Mark, I can type my notes today,” you reply and tap your laptop sitting on the table.

Mark glances at the device for a second before shrugging. “No. You relax. I got this.”

“Mark, really it’s okay. You don’t have to—“

He turns to you then and he catches you off guard slightly when he leans forward towards your direction. He’s smiling at you, never breaking eye contact.

“I don’t have to. I’m doing it because I want to.”

Week three.

You can’t focus. And you’re not paying attention to the things you should be. You didn’t even know what the topic of today’s lecture was. The professor’s words seem to drown out of your head completely because you’re staring at the figure beside you writing notes down profusely. You watch Mark repeat his cycle; craning his head towards the front where the lecturer stood before dipping his head down again. There’s a set of pages for you and a set for him and it was only then that you realised how hard he had to work because now he was writing not just for himself but for you too. And no matter how many times you’ve fought to take your eyes off of him, you can’t. And you didn’t know why.

It’s only when Mark looks up some time after and turn his head to you that you’re forced to look away. But when you do, you’re sure he still caught you staring. You feel Mark’s eyes linger on you for a while and you wonder if there was anything on your face for him to do so. When he does resume to focusing his attention to the lecture, you exhale a breath you weren’t aware you were holding.

Lectures were always long but today felt painfully longer than usual. And you think it’s because of the fact that everything being taught didn’t seem to implant themselves in your brain. You couldn’t be more relieved when you see the word conclusion appear on the wide screen indicating the end of anatomy and physiology that felt like centuries later.

“Are you not tired?” You ask Mark curiously as you get up from your seat and prepare to leave.

“Mhm?” Mark hums in response, stuffing his belongings into his backpack. “I got eight hours of sleep last night so I’m good.”

You smile to yourself at his words and follow him when he begins to make his way out of the hall. “Well that’s good. But I meant like, taking down two sets of notes? You were literally on fire in there.”

Mark chuckles as he holds the door open for you, allowing you to exit first with him following closely behind. “No, not really. I’m okay.”

You raise a questioning brow. “Sure?”

Mark nods, “Very sure.”

You feel yourself flinch when Mark’s fingertips graze your shoulder lightly, tugging at the only strap of your backpack that clung onto you before finally letting it fall into his fingers and into his grip, swinging it over his free shoulder.

You blink at him before frowning, noticing the burning sensation of where his fingers were. “What are you doing?”

Mark only smiles sheepishly at you. “Walking you to your next class. Lead the way?”

You try to hide the smile that’s desperate to form on your lips as well as the heat climbing up on your cheeks as you stand your ground.

“Mark my legs are fine to walk. It’s my arm that’s broken, remember?” You say, waving your cast-wrapped arm.

“I know that,” Mark simply replies, amused.

You didn’t want Mark to walk you to wherever your next class was because you feel you’ve had enough of him for the day. Enough of distractions.

You’re reaching out for your bag as you insist, “So you don’t have to walk me anywhere—“

You don’t finish your sentence when he swerves his shoulder away, leaving your arms hanging midair. He smiles at you again and he shrugs when he does. “Just let me.”

“But why? There’s really no need—”

“Because I want to.”

So here you were, weaving in and out of the sea of students in the corridors as you reach for your destination, Mark walking right beside you. You hadn’t spoken to him since, not really knowing what to say when he was so insistent and didn’t want to take a no for an answer. And because you were at a loss for words. He doesn’t speak either. But continues to smile instead.

When you do reach a door similar to the one you had walked into for your first class but on the other end of the building, Mark doesn’t hand you your backpack. He takes it upon himself to move closer to you to put it on your shoulder, taking the time to ensure it sat there snugly. And all you could do was watch.

He steps back a second after and rummages in his own bag to retrieve something. His hands emerges then with the notes he had taken earlier and extends them out to you. “Notes for this week. I hope they don’t disappoint.”

You smile at him gratefully before reaching your good arm out to take them from him. “I’m sure they won’t. Thanks.”

Mark zips his bag closed and swings it over his shoulder. “I better get to class. I’ll see you around?”

You nod. “Of course.”

He’s about to turn on his heels to walk away when he abruptly stops and turns back to you again. “Oh— I almost forgot. Do you like coffee?”

It takes you a moment to answer, taken aback by the random question. “Uh, I think I like hot chocolate better.”

Mark nods firmly then and waves a hand before walking away for real this time. You blink at his retreating figure and when he turns a corner and disappears completely, your eyes fall to the pages in your hand. You raise it closer to your vision when you find a small green sticky note stuck to the corner of the first page. And for the first time ever, you feel your pulse skip a beat.

“Study hard! But not too hard!”

Week four.

You never thought you’d see the day come where you would be excited for a Monday. You hated Mondays, truly. Mondays were long and tiring and you were always exhausted by the time the day finished and there would still be four days left of the week to hustle and bustle. But today was different because you were stepping on campus grounds with a smile on your face, not a frown, but a smile. The sun is shining so bright overhead and you can’t help but feel yet another bubble of happiness explode in your chest. You find it weird to be feeling this way at half eight in the morning because you would usually be walking into the building with a huff, contemplating and questioning your life decisions.

And you’re startled when you find Mark standing just by the door of the lecture hall you both shared every start of the week, because the way that your heart picks up its pace doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Mark is kicking at the floor lightly, glueing his eyes to the motions of his limbs and you stop dead in your tracks to just observe him for a while without his knowledge.

When Mark looks up to see you, he smiles like he usually does and you struggle to keep your insides calm because if you were being honest, he looked absolutely breathtaking. There’s something different about him today and when you let your eyes follow his movements as he walks towards you, that’s when you realise that for the first time he wasn’t hidden in his usual comfortable hoodies. Today, he’s wearing a white shirt half tucked into the material of his light blue jeans and finishing the look with a pair of clean white converse. His hair bounces with every step he takes and when your eyes fall onto his face, you can see his brown orbs radiate clearly under the stream of the sunlight in the absence of his glasses.

“Good morning,” he greets. “For you.”

It takes you a few seconds to fully register his words and when you finally do, you see a cup enveloped in his hand being offered to you.

“What’s this?” You ask confusedly, shifting your gaze from the cup to his face.

Mark smiles and forces the cup onto your left hand before leaning in slightly to tug at the strap of your bag just like how he did last week. Growing uncomfortable by the way your heart was hammering against your rib cage, you swiftly lower your shoulder so that Mark can take the object from you easier because you knew that the longer his fingers grazed your shoulder, the longer you were going to feel the knots in your stomach. You train your eyes to the floor just as Mark places your bag onto the opposite shoulder his own bag sat on.

“Hot chocolate,” Mark says, bringing your attention to the warm beverage now wrapped beneath your fingers. “Let’s get to class?”

So that’s why you were elated to face your Monday; you get to sit beside Mark and watch him diligently scribble perfect notes as he spares glances at you here and there accompanied with a small smile, as if to silently let you know that he was paying attention to you too. And contrary to last week, you didn’t even look away whenever he caught you already looking at him. You wanted to, but you simply couldn’t. And the way he takes the time to smile at you every now and then makes you feel it’s okay to do so, that it was okay to fixate your gaze on him while continued on with his task.

Your thumb fiddles with the cup of the hot chocolate that rests on your lap, thinking to yourself the possibility of falling for this boy. Because you could feel it. In between the hushed whispers in class, the unnecessary crinkle of his nose whenever you said a lousy joke and in the way your breath hitches whenever he got too close. You catch yourself falling in awe because four weeks wasn’t even that long to be harbouring feelings for someone you recalled to be a stranger who blended in well in the background just like you. But that’s when you realise that Mark never blended amongst the crowd like you. To you he was always a conscious presence, a presence you felt compelled towards but never really got the opportunity to uncover. And you think it’s because of his quiet demeanour that shielded many things underneath the comfort of his oversized hoodies that leaves you wondering and pondering what he could possibly be like.

You smile because you discover it for yourself. You get to experience what he’s really like. Mark is sweet. And gentle. And comfortable to be around with when he isn’t causing you to almost hyperventilate.

“Why are you smiling?” Mark asks in a whisper, leaning slightly towards you as the professor’s voice continues to boom throughout the hall.

You shake your head silently with a shrug of your shoulders. “Just because.”

Mark continues to stare at you (your lips), his pen in his hand and ponders for a few seconds.

“I like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you don’t get the chance to throw him a questioning look because he’s already turned away to resume on catching the professor’s words on paper.

Once the hour is up, Mark is walking you to your next class again, allowing his memory lead the way through the corridors. You traipse along with him, the now half empty beverage being the only thing you were carrying as he refused not to carry your belongings for you earlier. You drown into small conversation with him, relishing in the feeling of being calm for the first time since meeting Mark today. You laugh at something he says, your hearty laugh echoing in his ears that encourage him to laugh with you. He places your bag on your shoulder again, just like how he did last week when you both reach the familiar entrance of another hall.

“I put the notes in your bag,” Mark says as he runs a hand through his hair when it gets caught in his eyes. “Enjoy class.”

You smile gratefully at him though feeling sad on the inside with the thought of not seeing him anymore until next week. “Thanks. I really appreciate it. I’ll see you next Monday then?”

Mark is rocking on his toes and he averts his eyes from yours, training his gaze to the ground for a second or two before looking up at you again. He rests his hand on the strap of his bag while the other flies a hand to the nape of his neck, a gesture that reminds you of the very first day he wrote your material for you.

“Actually, I wanted to ask if you’re free this Friday?” Mark asks, a shy smile eminent on his lips.

You can’t help but smile at the sight, an inkling of hope sparking in you that he might be feeling the same way you did. Not wanting to assume so soon, you muster up the courage to clarify his intentions.

“Friday?”

Mark drops his hand from his neck and opts to stuff into the pocket of his jeans instead, his little bashful gestures tugging at your heartstrings.

“Yeah. There’s a café that recently opened nearby and I wanted to ask if you’d like to come and check it out with me? I heard they make really nice hot chocolates,” he explains and you take note of the tint of rose spreading across his cheeks.

You pretend to think about his proposal, not wanting to sound so eager when in reality, you’ve already made up your mind even before he even got to ask.

“I finish at six that day, is that okay?” You say after a while, feeling giddy and excited at the thought of spending your Friday evening with the cute boy in the white shirt.

Mark’s face lightens up and the grip on your cup involuntarily tightens because of how happy he looked with your reply.

“Of course. That’s great,” he says, grinning.

You fumble at each other’s phone then to exchange numbers with the promise of Mark texting you before he walks away to get to his own class. You enter your lecture hall not too long after and settle in your seat. When you come across the sight of Mark’s familiar handwriting on the pages that are neatly tucked away in your book, you curiously take it out of your bag and examine the newly jotted notes, growing more and more accustomed to your routine with him.

You don’t fail to notice yet another green sticky note plastered on the corner of the first page and you feel yourself completely crumble altogether.

“You have a really pretty smile.”

—

You’re huffing and puffing when you feel your legs grow weaker by the second. There’s a burning sensation coating your lungs but you don’t stop running. It was approaching thirty minutes past six and you were late. The thought of Mark waiting for you sent guilt running up your spine. You finally round a corner and find him waiting patiently outside the said café. He’s wearing a dark grey sweater today, hair slightly tousled because of the wind that had just blown, staring out into the street in front of him.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry I’m late,” you say in between your heavy breaths once you reach him, your approaching figure catching his attention. You’re leaning slightly forward and clutching your chest with your broken arm to catch your breath.

As if on instinct, Mark takes the book you’re holding on to so tightly in your hand that you had failed to stuff in your bag after rushing to get here when your last class ended later than usual. He proceeds to take your bag from you too, something that felt too natural now.

Mark only smiles at you when he takes your belongings and holds them as if they were his. “It’s alright. No worries. I didn’t wait much.”

You let out a huge breath. “How long have you been waiting?”

Thirty minutes. Mark shrugs his shoulders, “I just got here.”

Not buying his lie, you walk past him and enter the café first, the bell signalling customers had arrived. “Okay, I’m paying.”

Mark frowns just behind you. “No. I asked you to come. I’m paying.”

“Yes but I was late so I’m making up for it,” you retorted and find a table by the corner. You slip into the seat as Mark settles on the seat opposite you.

“Y/N—“

“Mark, I’m paying.”

Sighing dejectedly, Mark slumps his shoulders in defeat. You smile victoriously and take the time to appreciate the coziness of the place you had just entered. Dark wooden walls enclosed the area, round tables spread generously throughout the space with little light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, emitting a mellow glow of yellow all around. There’s soft jazz music playing in the background and you’re immediately enthralled with how warm it makes you feel on the inside. You weren’t one to opt for cafés usually but this one was definitely on the top of your non-existent list.

“I like it here already,” you perk up, attracting Mark’s attention who had been focused on the small menu set on the table.

Mark smiles in content. “Yeah? I’m glad.”

A few minutes of deciding after, Mark rises and walks to the counter to order and you take this opportunity to fix yourself up, patting your hair down from the frantic running earlier. It isn’t too long before you see Mark emerging to reach for his seat again. When he sits in front you, you recognise the way he isn’t wearing his glasses again and you’re reminded by the shining of his eyes. You feel conscious under his stare because he’s leaning on the table, resting on his crossed arms and you try to shy away from it by looking elsewhere.

“Rough day today?” He asks, concerned.

You momentarily close your eyes and release a sigh before opening them again. “Very. Today felt so long.”

“Yeah?” Mark asks as if to confirm, a habit of his you found somehow captivating. “Tell me about it.”

So you do. You ramble on about how each class seemed to dragged on forever and how your merciless professors are piling up work on top of work with no hesitation. You vent out all your frustrations because the stress was getting to you. But you don’t tell him about the excitement of meeting him that kept you moving forward to survive the horrible day. He didn’t need to know that one.

“Oh— I’m sorry, that must have been so boring to listen to,” you cut yourself off in the middle of another sentence when you start talking about the frustration of working in a group with students who weren’t as dedicated on putting in work as much as you were.

You expect to find Mark dozing off at your ramblings, but instead, you find him in the same position he was earlier, leant forward, smiling at you and nodding to every word that left your mouth.

“No it’s not. Keep talking,” he assures. You’re oblivious as to how he finds fascination in your voice.

You’re about to protest when the waitress comes to deliver what Mark had ordered earlier. She carefully sets two hot chocolates in front you followed by slices of blueberry and chocolate cheesecakes. You thank the waitress along with Mark and that’s when you notice she’s unmoving in her spot, taking a good look at Mark. She looks about your age, long black hair tied loosely past her shoulders. Mark is slower to notice her attention and you feel queasy when there’s an unfamiliar feeling forming in your gut.

You see Mark shift in his seat uncomfortably when he thanks the waitress again. She mumbles a quick welcome before walking away, cheeks tinted. You smile in amusement when Mark regains his composure, tugging at his sweater.

“I think she likes you,” you point out, stirring your hot chocolate with the small spoon.

Mark chuckles lightly and shakes his head as he follows what you’re doing. “Nah, probably not.”

“Her stare says otherwise,” you prod, surprised by the way your tone sounded rigid.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mark dismisses and looks at you as he wraps his slender fingers around his mug, nodding his head at your mug . “Try it and see if it lives up to your expectations.”

You divert you eyes to your hot chocolate before lifting the mug and letting your tastebuds become coated with the warm liquid. It brings you waves of calm and you savour the sweet taste, forgetting about the eventful day that sent you to unimaginable stress. When you let the mug down in its original place on the table, you hum in contentment.

“Okay that’s really good,” you say, using your tongue to remove the excess that had managed to stay on your top lip.

Mark follows suit and takes his first sip, agreeing with you when he gets a taste. You lose yourselves into your conversations then, swapping your cakes with each other in between so that you can both challenge who had the better cake. You learn about Mark’s family and his love for instruments and anything that had to do with music; something he said no one really knew about. He learns about you in return and your family that lives miles away in England. You tell him how much you miss them, especially your little brother who’s just three years of age and Mark empathises with you when he tells you his family lives in Canada. Both of you jump from one topic to another, discovering more similarities than you would’ve thought and challenging each other’s views on certain subjects that required a lot more thought. Regardless, every single conversation is smooth flowing and there’s an abundance of laughs in between transitions. You grow to like the crinkling of Mark’s nose when he laughs while Mark on the other hand, revels in how light your laugh makes him feel. And even though the place is filled with the distant chatters of other people sipping on their coffee, both of you take no notice of them, heavily engaged into whatever you were talking about.

You feel a newly uncovered connection with Mark and you wonder if he felt the same way.

It’s a little past nine when you both call it a night and rise from the table you both had grown comfortable in. You walk towards the counter with the intent to pay only to be notified that everything has been paid for already. You turn to raise a questioning brow at Mark who only smiles sheepishly at you.

“I told you I’d pay,” you say once you exit the cozy café.

“No. I asked you to come so it’s only right that I pay,” Mark defends. “Besides, it’s an excuse for me to see you again. You can treat me next time.”

You grow silent at his reply and internally surrender when his words sends your heart in a frenzy. Mark walks you to your apartment situated ten minutes away from where your university was. It’s as if you two never the left the café because you’re still laughing during your conversations even at the cringeworthy puns Mark makes every chance he got. You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this much, only ever basking in the feeling of longing you had for your family back home. You weren’t the type to make friends either, hence spending the majority of your time by yourself. However being with Mark felt like a breath of fresh air. He made interacting feel easier which was a surprise to you because it’s always been something you’ve struggled with.

You reach your apartment building just as you finish chuckling at something he said. He hands you your book and the bag he had claimed before leaving the café earlier.

“Thanks for today, I had a lot of fun,” you say genuinely, adjusting your bag with your good hand.

Stuffing his hands into the pocket of his jeans, Mark smiles with a nod. “Me too. I’ll see you Monday?”

You nod carefully and you take this as your queue to head inside but the way Mark is smiling at you endearingly, eyes forming crescent moons screams at your insides to do something else. All the rationality in your system seem to fly out the window when you’re taking a step towards him, leaning on your toes to reach up and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. You’re embarrassed by your actions but not as embarrassed as Mark who’s blushing like mad and training his eyes to the ground in vain attempts of hiding the heat that’s spreading across his face.

“See you on Monday,” you say with a satisfied smile.

—

Week five.

Five weeks with a cast around your arm and you were living completely fine with it. Tasks didn’t bother you anymore, applying your own know-how’s on how to handle such chores. The only thing bothered you was when the skin under the hard material itched so bad you could literally only writhe your fingers in hopes of consoling yourself until you realise it doesn’t work and silently hope for the discomfort to end instead. Mark texts you right after you part from him that Friday night. Even thought it was a mere good night, sleep well it was more than enough for you to grin like an idiot as you reread the message over and over again. You furtively dread seeing him today as the sun rises, indicating another start to your work after burying yourself in work during the weekend, never leaving your room, because you remember that risky kiss you had impulsively planted on his cheek. You prepare yourself for the worst; Mark avoiding you and hiding himself because of what you did. But mentally argue with yourself; he texted you that night so that might mean you didn’t scare him away completely. Regardless, you silently wish you hadn’t been so irrational and let your emotions take over.

You walk in the building, half hoping to see Mark wait for you by the door you entered together for the past few weeks now. And you know you’re in deep trouble because you’re already expecting to see him first thing on a Monday morning; an unconscious confirmation of your desire to spend at least an hour with him.

You pick up the way your muscles relax unintentionally when you catch sight of him already looking towards your direction with his usual smile. He’s wearing his glasses today and the sight of his round specs make you realise you kind of missed them. When you reach him, he extends out the familiar cup of hot chocolate in his hand and extends his other free hand in place for your bag. You roll your eyes playfully, butterflies reeling in your stomach as you trade.

“I really don’t understand why you have to carry my bag. I’m perfectly able for that task,” you say when you’re hopping along the stairs of the hall, careful enough not to spill your beverage.

Mark chuckles behind you and follows you carefully as you shuffle into your usual row. “And I don’t understand why you protest so much. I told you before, I’m doing it because I want to.”

You sit yourself on the chair after you unfold it from its original state and give Mark an inquiring look. Mark follows suit and settles both of your bags below where he usually places them. “Why? Do you not like me doing it?”

You purse your lips as you try not to melt. He’s genuine with his question, feeling worried you might have developed a distaste for his actions. You shake your head, wondering if you wanted to be one hundred percent transparent so early in the day. But Mark is asking you with his eyes and you feel the urge to show an eighth of how you’ve been feeling.

“It’s not that,” you start. “It’s just I don’t want to get used to it and this,” you say as you raise the hot chocolate within his view. He glances at it and shifts his gaze onto you almost immediately, encouraging you to continue with a nod. “My cast comes off in a week Mark, and I don’t want myself to expect you doing these still when it does because I’m slowly growing used to all of this.”

Mark blinks a couple of times and you’re instantly regretting being so honest. You take a sip from your cup to comfort yourself in the sweet taste and to distract yourself from the words you had just let go of. You avoid Mark’s eyes which you can’t read at the moment.

“You really think I’m doing all of this because of your cast?”

You snap your head towards his direction. “Aren’t you? And because of guilt maybe?”

He stays silent after and you take the opportunity to emphasise your opinion.

“I’ve already told you it’s okay. My broken arm wasn’t anybody’s fault and that there’s nothing to be sorry for—“

“I know that. And I took your word for it,” Mark interrupts, his eyebrows furrowing in the middle, an expression you’ve never seen on him before. “Which is why I kept telling you that I’m not doing it out of anything— not out of guilt, not out of obligation. But because I simply want to.” Mark inhales a breath and runs a hand through his hair.

“And I’m going to keep doing it for you, your arm broken or not.”

And that’s it. You finally melt. And the the crescent of his smiling eyes with the emergence of his chiseled cheekbones when he smiles doesn’t help the butterflies in your stomach calm their whimsical wings, tickling you ever so lightly.

Mark doesn’t speak anymore as the class begins and you’re left alone with your haywire thoughts. And you grow even more embarrassed for the rest of the day when you read your note for the day, presenting itself in the usual green sticky note attached to your notes.

“You look really cute when you’re flustered.”

In the middle of the week, you find yourself seated on a bench overlooking the wide green football pitch as you skim over Mark’s notes, revising the topic you hadn’t paid much attention to during the actual lecture. It’s one in the afternoon which meant that you had an hour for lunch so here you were, finding solace in the silence under the shade of a tree to protect yourself from the sun. You trace your fingers under the ink as you read every bullet point, occasionally looking up to stare into the distance to mentally repeat what you’ve just read to check how immersed you were in your study.

You feel your phone vibrate just beside you and you reach for it, eyes unwavering from the page. You read one more sentence before switching your attention to your phone. Mark’s name displays on the screen, indicating a new message from him.

Did you have lunch yet?

Your thumbs tap on your device in a fluid manner hitting the send button not too long after to tell him no and that you weren’t feeling hungry. You don’t get a reply within the time frame that Mark usually replies in and so you set your phone back on the bench, eyes travelling to your notes once again. A few minutes later, a pair of shoes appears just in front of you and slowly, you peel your eyes away from Mark’s handwriting to see who your company was.

Mark is smiling down at you just as he leans down slightly to settle a brown paper bag just on the unoccupied space of the bench beside you. You smile in return, happy at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask curiously when he stands back up.

Mark is rocking back and forwards on his toes again. “I was walking by and I saw you. Figured I’d say hi.”

“Well, hello,” you answer playfully.

Mark grins bashfully, running a hand through his hair. “I actually have class now so I have to go.”

“So you came to actually say bye,” you tease, a playful eyebrow raised as you cross your arms across your chest.

“Trust me I don’t want to say bye but I have to get this degree,” he says, playing along with you.

You chuckle and he mirrors your actions. “Alright,” you say and wave a hand. He turns on his heels then and leave you alone again in your silence. When he’s no longer in view, your eyes fall to the brown bag he had placed before you earlier. You pick it up and rip the familiar green sticky note off of the thin material of the bag, finding Mark’s writing etched on it.

“Please don’t skip your meals ㅠ ㅠ Studying is good but not when you’re missing food.”

You smile to yourself and find a sandwich hidden inside the bag with a bottle of orange juice. A chuckle escapes your mouth when you pick up yet another sticky note that’s plastered on the sandwich.

“This isn’t much but it’ll do for now. We’ll get proper food this Friday. If you’re up for it.”

Mark was sweet. As always.

—

It’s Friday. And you’re walking alongside Mark along the streets of the city, allowing your eyes wander all around the buildings you happen to pass by as you savour the taste of the vanilla ice cream sitting perfectly on your cone. Mark upheld his suggestion in taking you out for dinner once again and after losing yet another debate on who pays for the meal, you suggested to buy him ice cream instead, insisting until he finally caved in and gave you what you wanted. There’s a smile playing on your lips when you see Mark indulge in his watermelon flavoured ice cream. He wasn’t carrying your usual backpack today. Instead, he slung your small handbag across his shoulders and let it rest slightly above his hip.

“So where would you like to go next week?” Mark suddenly asks after licking his dessert.

“Next week?” You ask inquisitively.

Mark nods, eyes ahead. “Is there anything you’re craving?”

You narrow your eyes at his side view, not really sure if you wanted to ask the question burning in your mind for the longest time. But you decide against it and decide to go along with his suggestions instead.

“Not that I can think of, no,” you simply reply.

Mark purses his lips in thought. “Hm. How about burgers? Pizza? Pasta?”

You take another lick off your ice cream as you consider the variety of food mentioned. “Burgers sound good.”

Mark nods proudly, biting into his cone. “Burgers it is then. I’ll look for good places around.”

You chuckle when he gets some ice cream on his nose and you don’t for one second hesitate to reach out and wipe it away with the tissue in your free hand. He merely watches your moves and blink right after you succeed in wiping his face clean. “Is this food hunt a weekly thing now?”

You don’t notice Mark stiffen and regain his composure as he trails his eyes ahead, obviously taken aback by your touch because as far as he could remember, he’d always been the one on the giving end, except for that one kiss you had given him. He clears his throat then and proceeds on focusing on his dessert to distract himself from the warmth spreading across his cheeks.

“It could be. If you want,” he says.

You nudge his side playfully, “It could be if you’d let me pay.”

Mark quirks a smile. “I let you pay earlier didn’t I?”

You roll your eyes playfully at him, causing him to emit another chuckle. “That was dessert. I mean like a proper meal.”

Mark takes a step closer to you unknowingly. “I’m the one asking you out on dates. So it’s on me.”

Your head whizzes towards his direction and an eyebrow shoots up immediately. There were times you’d wonder if the last Friday and today were considered as dates. But you never dwelled on it and opted to treat them as two friends hanging out and checking out cozy places but now that Mark has said it himself, a new set of questions seeped into your mind.

“Dates?”

Munching on the last bit of his cone, Mark nods with a smile, slightly amused at your incredulous face. He stuffs his hand in his pocket and meet your eyes. “Dates. What have you been thinking all this time?”

You continue to blink at him, unmoving, not realising you’ve stopped walking, people weaving around you. Mark stops with you and waits for your reply.

“I- I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I thought we were just grabbing food together.”

Mark chuckles lowly and lifts a hand to rub the nape of his neck, a shy smile forming on his lips. “I’m sorry. I was wrong on my part. I didn’t make myself clear enough, did I?”

Your mouth is now hanging slightly open.

“Okay,” Mark says when he sees you still confused. “I want to take you out on a date next week. Let’s get some burgers?”

You finally snap out of your trance when a stranger’s shoulder bumps into yours, making you lose your balance slightly. Mark is quick to reach out to you and grab a hold of your arms to stabilise you, his touch sending surges of electricity through the fabric of your sweater.

You try to laugh off your embarrassing faces just now as you begin to walk ahead, wiping your hand that had been dripped on by your melting ice cream. “We’re not even dating,” you say in a light tone in attempts to hide the erratic beating of your heart.

Mark walks until he’s beside you, close enough that his shoulder touches with yours.

“Yeah? Maybe we should start dating then.”

—

Week six.

Mark’s words eat at you the whole weekend that passes and it isn’t helping that he’s smiling at you more often now, his nose crinkling and his eyes disappearing. Nevertheless, you can’t shrug off the light weight settling in your chest whenever he momentarily shifts his eyes from the notes he’s writing to you only for his lips to curl upwards into a small smile. There’s another hot chocolate sitting at your desk and you feel it tastes even sweeter today. When Mark brings you to your next class, his gaze lingers on you a little longer and you’re tempted to cower away so that he doesn’t see you becoming flustered because his eyes spoke too much and it was enough to terrify you; you feel yourself losing to him. His notes are in your hands and the small green in the corner catches your eye immediately. He doesn’t leave though, staring at you, silently encouraging you to read what he had written for you today.

Go on a date with me?

And when you look back up at him, he’s just smiling, hands buried deep within his pockets and balancing his weight back and forth his toes.

Lunch times were no longer spent on your own because Mark made an effort to cross from his building which was all the way on the other end of the campus to yours just so he could eat with and talk to you. It’s Thursday and you’re watching him curiously as he twiddles with the marker in between his fingers, twirling it skilfully, another habit of his you had picked up whenever he paused from writing. Your casted arm is laid on the table just below him. He had asked you earlier if he could write on it since it would be coming off this weekend and you agreed without hesitation, giddy at the thought of having a part of Mark with you.

When you happen to glance at the time on your phone, you reluctantly take your arm off of the table, Mark following your every move.

“I’ve class. I have to go,” you say simply as you gather your things. “Still can’t decide what to write?”

Mark shakes his head and gets up from his chair when you do, stuffing the last of your things into your bag and grabbing it to swing on his shoulder but just as he’s about to do so, you grab his arm and stop and him.

“You stay here. I can walk to class on my own,” you assure him.

“Are we going to do this again? I want—“

You halt his words with a firm nod of your head, your lips quirking up into a smile. “I know that.” A soft chuckle leaves your lips as you reach out and plant a pink sticky note on his forehead.

Mark stares at you on confusion, his face adorable.

“I’ll see you this Friday then?” You say with a wink before walking away to leave.

Mark watches you before raising his hand to pluck the sticky note off his forehead.

I would love to go on date with you.

—

Mark surprises you once again when he holds out a bouquet of fresh sunflowers to you hiding behind a bashful smile shielded with the crescent moon of his eyes and cheekbones as prominent as ever. There’s heat creeping up on your cheeks as you take the flowers from him.

“Sunflowers?” You ask curiously, taking in the beauty of each one. The sight of the bright yellow alone is enough to make you happy from the inside.

Mark smiles shyly and runs a hand through his hair. “Umm,” he starts, obviously hesitating. You take your eyes away from the flowers and encourage him to continue with a nod of your head and a smile on your lips. “It’s going to sound so cheesy but... you remind me of sunflowers, that’s why.”

You can’t help the smile on your face from reaching one ear to the other, melting slowly by his sheepish confession. “It’s not cheesy, Mark. It’s sweet.”

Mark grins, his eyes smiling along.

“And thank you, I love them.”

And just like the previous Fridays, you block the whole world out as you and Mark talk about life, memories, people and the world. You get a better understanding of Mark and you let yourself open up to him knowing it was exactly that he wanted you to do. And it feels light. It feels weightless. Exposing your worries, concerns and dreams with Mark doesn’t feel hard to do because you feel your secrets are safe with him. You feel safe with him. Every word that leaves your mouth registers in Mark’s mind without missing a syllable and he makes a vow never to forget a single one because if anything, you sharing everything that was kept under your façade was all he’s ever wanted you to do. So that you don’t have to carry the burden alone. So that you didn’t feel alone. And Mark does his best to make you feel like you aren’t, in the way he responds to you, in the way he never takes his eyes off of you and in the way he reaches out to wrap your hand under his when the words get caught in your throat.

Mark doesn’t let go of your hand the whole walk home. You expected to feel your heart jump right out of your chest the moment he took your hand in his and effortlessly intertwine his fingers in between yours, but instead, the moment felt all too natural, and you felt calm, comfortable even. Mark feels warm and you instinctively lean closer to him when a gush of wind blows and you’re oblivious to the way he smiles above you when you do.

“Today was something else,” you mumble when you reach a familiar building.

Mark smiles at you, not ready to let go of your hand just yet, your bouquet of flowers nestling in his other arm, “Yeah. It was.”

Mark is rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of your hand and you momentarily wish that you could stay like this for a little longer. “Thank you for today. It was the best first date I could ever ask for.”

“Yeah? I’m glad. I had an amazing time too,” Mark replies, cheekbones evident on his chiselled face. “I always do, with you.”

You frown at him as an attempt to mask your frustration away. This boy was definitely something. “Right. Well, I should get going. Thank you for bringing me home.”

Mark nods but his hand remains unmoving in yours and you’re chuckling when you feel him give your hand a squeeze. Instead of prying his hold off you, you close the gap between the both of you and lean on your toes to plant a soft peck on his cheek. When you pull away with a smile, his grip on your hand loosen then and you take this opportunity to take your hand away along with the sunflowers. He’s blinking at you, taken aback by your actions just like the very first time you boldly kissed him.

“Good night, Mark,” you mumble bashfully and turn on your heels to walk away. It isn’t long before he’s calling your name again.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Would it be okay.. If I go to the hospital with you tomorrow?”

You smile gives your answer away even before you could utter a reply.

“I’d love that.”

—

“You never got to write on my cast,” you point out as you exit the hospital. You’re flailing your right arm around slightly, trying to get used to the sensation you didn’t feel for six weeks.

You feel Mark shrug beside you, “That’s okay. I still have plenty of sticky notes left.”

This makes you laugh and you shake your head at him. “Whatever you say.”

It isn’t long before Mark finds your right hand and laces it with his left. “It feels nice to be holding this hand.”

You raise a playful brow. “So my left one isn’t as nice?”

Mark chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I’m just saying I’m going to be doing this much more often.”

You challenge him, scooting closer, “Because?”

Mark doesn’t respond, caught in between your playful question. The sun is shining up so high in the sky and there are no clouds present to intervene with the bright light. There’s a bubble of happiness bursting in his chest and he smiles ahead, growing all too familiar with the sensation.

“I guess this is the part where I confess, right?”

You whip your head towards him in a heartbeat. “What?”

Mark is trying not to notice your furrowed eyebrows as he continues to stare ahead. “You know, I think it was a good thing I broke your arm.”

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

Mark cranes his neck towards you to look at you. “Because it finally gave me a reason to talk to you.”

“Okay I’m confused,” you say defeated, halting in your steps and unlatching your hand from his. You cross your arms across your chest and wait for him to explain.

Mark chuckles at your actions and you could almost guess what he’s about to do next when you see a bashful smile playing on his lips; stuffing one hand into the pocket of his jeans and the other flies up to rub the nape of his neck.

“Okay, here goes nothing,” Mark starts. “I’ve had the biggest crush on you Y/N ever since... Probably ever since the first time I saw you walk through our anatomy and physiology lectures which was what? Like the start of this year right? And I know I should have just manned up and talked to you right there and then but I couldn’t bring myself to. I think I got scared and.. nervous.”

He pauses as he laughs awkwardly, recalling all the times he’d watch you carefully sit down in your favourite seat of the lecture hall.

“I was really really curious about you, not in a creepy way, trust me. I just really wanted to know you but I didn’t know how. It just so happened that I was late for class one day and ended up knocking you down with my bike.”

“So breaking my arm was a ploy to talk to me?”

“Y/N that’s not what I meant, I—“

You laugh at his reaction, heart fluttering at his cute confession. Mark still looks flustered and he’s averting his eyes everywhere but you and you find him even more endearing then. That’s when you take a step closer and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Well then, I thank you for being late to class that day,” you whisper. “The past six weeks have been the easiest for me despite the broken arm.” You smile to yourself when you feel Mark’s arms wrap around your waist. “And I guess this is the part I confess too? I like you too, Mark.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tightens his arms around you and buries his head into the crook of your neck.

—

Week seven.

Over the week, your texts and calls with Mark become more frequent and he no longer waits until Friday to take you out on dates, managing to squeeze in picnic dates in between free periods and staying back after lectures to study together in the library. If Mark was sweet before the confession, he was even sweeter after telling you how he felt about you.

I really really like you.

You look really pretty today.

Well— you always do.

But yeah, I can’t believe you like me too?

Like wow.

You give Mark an incredulous look when your eyes fall onto the set of green sticky notes he had plastered on your book in a span of two minutes. How could you even manage to study when he was being like this? Mark only smiles at you innocently before training his eyes onto his book again. Shaking your head in disapproval (even though you adored each one of his quick notes), you resume on typing your half finished essay. Not even ten minutes into your work, you feel Mark scurry to write another note on his small pad. Ten seconds later, he sticks it right on the screen of your laptop, right where you can see it straight away.

Scratch that. You’re beautiful. I hope you know that.

—

“I remember that one time, I dropped my pencil case in the middle of the corridor and you picked it up for me as you were passing by,” Mark says, adjusting your bag on his shoulder. “And even then, I couldn’t say anything to you.”

You laugh and play with the stem of the sunflower in your hand, one that Mark had given you after meeting you when your lectures ended. “But why? Am I that intimidating?”

“No,” Mark says. “I told you, I was just always so nervous around you.”

You laugh playfully and nudge his shoulder. “Are you still nervous now?”

Mark smiles and stops for a moment, “You have no idea.”

You sigh exasperatedly turning your whole body to face him. “Mark you’re making me flustered. Stop that,” finally expressing a fraction of how he really made you feel.

“Stop what?” Mark teases.

“That thing you do. I don’t know what it’s called,” you say with hand motions. “Did you know you have a way with words?”

Mark shakes his head, feigning innocence, enjoying the sight of the pink shade on your cheeks. “That’s a first. But maybe because I’m with you?”

You close your eyes briefly to collect yourself because right now you were absolutely melting and it didn’t look like Mark was going to stop anytime soon. “You’re enjoying this too much aren’t you?”

Mark shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him as you hold the sunflower in front of him. This was the fourth sunflower of the week and although you loved every single one, you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why sunflowers? I know you said they remind you of me, but I want to know how.”

Mark shifts his gaze on the yellow flower before fixating his gaze on you, eyes smiling.

“Sunflowers make me happy whenever I see them. And that’s exactly how I feel when I see you,” Mark replies straightforwardly, as if it was the one thing he was most sure about in the whole world.

You silently regret asking because you weren’t prepared for what he was actually about to say. You should know by now; Mark always always had a way with his words.

“Cheesy right?” Mark chuckles, mentally reprimanding himself for being so smitten by you to the point where this side of him shows involuntarily.

You shake your head, giving him a smile.

“It’s not cheesy, Mark. It’s sweet.”

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shaorankun · 4 years

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Guardian Chapter 86 Translation (Guo Changcheng and Chu Shuzhi’s part)

I am currently reading Guardian (鎮魂) and when I got to Chapter 86 in the fan translation (I prefer reading in English) they did not translate this entire part. I only did a light google and didn’t find a proper translation for this so I decided to just complete it myself. I didn’t want to read the rest of the story with a chunk missing, haha. Sharing my labour here for anyone else who might be wanting to read this missing part. I didn’t know where to post this so tumblr it is...

(credit: I’m using the same title from the fan translation I’m reading)

Chapter 86: The Paper-white Face of The Young Ghost King Reflected All of His Desires, Saying Frankly, “Good-looking. I want to hold you.”

Chu Shuzhi did not think that when he returned to Dragon City the first person he would see was Guo Changcheng.

He was just released from his shackles and got back his past items that were forcibly taken by Hell. He was in a good mood. Taking advantage of the Chinese New Year break, he found a wild mass grave1 and retreated for a few days. It wasn’t until he received Wang Zheng’s message that Zhu Hong was planning on resigning that he hurriedly bought a train ticket and rushed back to Dragon City.

The crowd at the train station was bustling. Chu Shuzhi walked forward for a while, looking in all directions for a taxi, and saw Guo Changcheng’s familiar figure—the young man was carrying a huge woven bag, his body was almost curled into a ball2 and he was slowly wiggling about with difficulty.

Just by looking at Guo Changcheng you could tell he did not do much physical work. When he went to school he probably had mediocre grades in Physical Education too. Carrying a big bag, he looked like a snail carrying a heavy shell. People passing by couldn’t help but turn and look at this young man.

Chu Shuzhi was worried he recognized the wrong person at first. Glancing again, he stared at what should have be a sturdy nylon bag open up with a small gap. A lady selling corn at the roadside kindly warned, “Hey, young man, your bag is going to spill!”

Guo Changcheng turned to the voice, but probably because his things were too heavy, when he turned his body he didn’t pay attention to his feet and he stumbled into a luggage being pulled by a young lady who just happened to pass by. Guo Changcheng was flustered and before he could apologize, the young man next to the lady aggressively pushed him. “Watch it, where are you stepping?”

Guo Changcheng was already not standing steadily and once he stumbled, the ‘city wall’ behind his back rumbled and fell. The bottom of the nylon woven bag broke apart and a bunch of outrageous items noisily fell out, including pots, pans, plates and plastic bags of food and clothing. The weirdest thing was that there was also an approximately sixty centimeters in diameter and eight centimeters thick large wooden cutting board—he was basically carrying a mini Walmart.

The young man who pushed him probably just stepped from person to person to fight out a path through the crowded train station. Seeing Guo Changcheng wearing dusty old clothes, he regarded him as a migrant worker returning to the city, and was suddenly disgusted and inexplicably felt a sense of unspeakable superiority. With one hand he was pulling the lady next to him to leave and at the same time complaining, “Knowing there’d be a lot of people and still bringing so much stuff. Are you an idiot? Can you afford to pay for damaging this luggage?”

Guo Changcheng repeatedly apologized. Seeing all the items had fallen on the ground, almost looking stupid, he hurriedly crouched down to pick them up. As he saw the nylon woven bag spill from both ends, he was at a loss and helplessly grabbed his own hair, worried.

It was at that moment that a somewhat skinny hand reached over and easily took both ends of the nylon bag and made a dead knot, making it into the shape of a cloth bag, then placed the junk in the middle of it. Weighing downwards, it looked the same as holding a SpongeBob. With one hand he was able to wrap up the pieces of heavy items.

Guo Changcheng: “Chu Ge3!”

If he had a tail, his wagging could’ve been used as an electric fan. He suddenly forgot that the one standing in front of him was The Zombie Corpse King—in Guo Changcheng’s view, Chu Shuzhi was practically a saviour who fell from the sky.

Chu Shuzhi ignored him. While holding the large nylon bag with one hand, he turned towards the young man who hadn’t gone too far, and with not a good look on his face he said, “The one in front, I advise you roll back here and apologize.”

Usually when Chu Shuzhi was normal it was fine, but when his face sunk he was particularly scary, almost naturally wearing a hint of the vicious gloom of a fugitive. The young man who was just fierce looked at him, appearing fierce but was weak inside, and said, “What else do you want?”

Just as Chu Shuzhi was about to walk towards him, Guo Changcheng held onto him. “Chu Ge, Chu Ge let’s go. It was I who didn’t see just now. I’m sorry.”

Uneasy, he raised his eyes to the other and smiled, holding onto Chu Shuzhi’s cold hand. “My fault, my fault.”

The two in front cussed as they left, completely unaware that they just escaped a crisis.

Chu Shuzhi turned around and looked at Guo Changcheng and thought that not only was he so much of a saint that he was an idiot4, he was pretty much messed up in the brain. To be at this stage of no temper and no courage, even if one didn’t say he didn’t seem like a young and vigorous man, he simply didn’t even seem like a person.

Chu Shuzhi irritably broke away from his hand and pointed at the bag of groceries in his own hand. “Does your family have nothing to eat, that they’re making you spend the New Year selling groceries?”

“No, I’m helping someone deliver this. I didn’t expect the bag to suddenly break.” Guo Changcheng eagerly followed him but also felt rather embarrassed. “I, I, let me carry it, it’s not much further.”

Chu Shuzhi impatiently avoided his hand and frowned. “Lead the way.”

Guo Changcheng immediately was too scared to utter a sound and walked ahead in small steps, leading the way.

Passing by the street in front of the station, they made multiple turns and entered a small alley. They arrived at a shadowed zone of the bustling city. Inside the alley was a row of dilapidated single-story houses. Walking deep inside, a female student with a ponytail was standing at a door, sweeping the floor with a broom. When she saw Guo Changcheng she very happily greeted him, exposing the college break volunteer sign around her neck.

Guo Changcheng felt a little embarrassed when seeing the girl and unnaturally lowered his head. Sounding like a mosquito, he buzzed, “Hello.”

The young lady was not inattentive and seeing Chu Shuzhi holding a big bag, she immediately dropped the broom and helped him open the door. As she walked she asked Guo Changcheng, “Have you registered them? Did you print it out? We have to express gratitude to each person on the internet.”

Guo Changcheng, this boy, he was very slow when he did things and he wasn’t clever. At the unit the always-rushing-them-Zhao would get angry and directly scold him. But in the end when he finished, it was always done very earnestly and meticulously. The reports written, no matter how long or how important or how much paper was wasted, never had a single typo. Slowly, even their nitpicky leader couldn’t say anything.

Guo Changcheng promptly nodded and took out a pile of printed paper from his bag. In total there were seven to eight pages. On them were detailed records of who donated, what was donated, the donor’s contact address, phone number, internet name, e-mail and other information. The value of the donated items varied from Chinese Yuan5 to a Chinese cabbage. It was simply odd and by no means an isolated case.

It turns out this was led by a few of Dragon City’s universities. They were taking advantage of the winter break and came together with some social service groups to organize and create this volunteer operation called “For the Old, For the Young6”. On Guo Changcheng’s side, they specialized in targeting the elderly at the lowest rung of society who, due to various reasons, lost their ability to make a livelihood. In small groups, each were responsible for the long-term care for a set of elderlies.

Because Guo Changcheng was unable to communicate with people, he was unable to take the responsibility of relieving the boredom of the elderly so he ended up with the job of collecting donations from society. Fortunately, the volunteer team had more girls so he was able to help greatly with some physical tasks, using this break to act as a porter.

Chu Shuzhi helped them place the objects down. As it was along the way, he started Guo Changcheng’s car and brought him along to No. 4 Bright Avenue. Guo Changcheng’s palms were damaged by the rubbing of the nylon bag; he sat at the passenger seat quietly and used a wet towel to wipe it.

Since it was rare for Chu Shuzhi to be in the mood to talk, he said a few words to him. “You’re still caring about anyone, are you trying to deliver all living creatures from difficulty?”

Guo Changcheng widened a pair of ignorant eyes and looked at him with astonishment.

Chu Shuzhi changed the question. “Doing this kind of stuff, does your family know?”

Guo Changcheng silently shook his head.

Chu Shuzhi incomprehensively laughed. Then he said, “Then on New Year’s Day did you burn some incense? The way you are, your wishes would easily come true.”

Guo Changcheng shook his head again. He was extremely satisfied with his current life. Apart from his family and friends being safe and healthy, there was nothing else he’d ask for—right now his family and friends seemed safe and healthy so he thought it was better to not trouble Buddha.

Chu Shuzhi took advantage of the traffic light and tilted his head to glance at him. Guo Changcheng was not tall, not strong and also not handsome. His facial features could not be said to be good looking. He was usually very low-key and didn’t own even a single brand name piece of whatever common youngsters thought was popular. Basically you would be unable to find his type in a crowd of people. Because there was always a lack of confidence, there was absolutely never any class.

However, when he sat down and quietly didn’t say anything, his calm expression revealed something unspeakable, natural Zen.

Although Guo Changcheng was a mortal, wine and meat passing his intestines every day, he didn’t understand what practicing spiritual development was, he didn’t even understand all the words in scriptures, and all of the Buddhist Arhats in the entire world were only known through the popular TV show Journey to the West where he only recognized two of them: one Guanyin, one Tathagata. Due to a problem with the actors, even now there was doubt towards the gender.

But Chu Shuzhi could sense that he was acting without regard for others and was peacefully and quietly building something.

It was neither the well-being of this life nor the virtue of the next life.

With Chu Shuzhi’s eyesight and cultivation, he only hazily had a feeling. As for what it was specifically, he couldn’t clearly tell.

Despite Chu Shuzhi not understanding what Guo Changcheng was thinking when doing these things, it didn’t stop the sudden uncomfortable feeling in his heart. There seemed to be a bit of resentment and dissatisfaction.

Even without mentioning anything else, with this child being covered from head to toe in three chi7 thick of virtue, shouldn’t he be living a peaceful and happy life? Why was it that he was born with an unlucky fate? Although everyone knew The Book of Life and Death regarded merits and demerits as very much nonsense, yet didn’t Hell use it rather brazenly?

He stopped speaking. His fanboy Guo Changcheng also didn’t have the courage to actively bring up any topics. The two of them remained silent all the way to No. 4 Bright Avenue. The curtain of night had already descended and all human and ghosts were present.

Once Chu Shuzhi entered the Criminal Investigations division, what came into view first was a group of demon and ghosts with a pair of blank eyes, as if they were collectively hit by a lightning strike.

Before he could even ask what was going on, he saw Wang Zheng turn her head over, trembling as she asked, “Chu Ge, did you know of the matter that Teacher Shen… Shen Wei, was really the Ghost Slayer?”

Chu Shuzhi froze for a bit. After a while, he calmly said, “Oh, that moron Zhao Yunlan, what is he doing that he didn’t come? Where is he? Ran away after messing things up?”

Da Qing was on the side and meowed, “He plunged into Wang Chuan waters.”

Chu Shuzhi: “……Love problems? Suicide?”

Da Qing and Zhu Hong had gotten over the initial shock and already calmed down.

Zhu Hong knew that Zhao Yunlan had on him the Water Dragon Pearl and any place that had water would not be able to harm him. She had just placed the Water Dragon Pearl around Zhao Yunlan’s neck and it was already being used. Zhu Hong felt that if she was a little more suspicious, it would feel like her Snake Uncle Four already knew of something beforehand.

Zhu Hong said, “My guess is that he’s looking for the Ghost Slayer.”

Chu Shuzhi took a quick look and saw that other than Lin Jing, who was still out in the field and already said he’d be taking the midnight train, the No. 4 Bright Avenue members were already all present. With both hands in his pocket, he leaned back against the office door. “I think, let’s have everyone talk about what they separately know. It’s been a mess recently. Let’s focus on the information and figure out what’s really happening. What to do—”

Speaking until here, Chu Shuzhi’s voice suddenly paused, his complexion suddenly didn’t look too good. This made everyone very nervous: “What did Chu Ge think of?”

“Wait, Shen Wei is the Ghost Slayer?” Chu Shuzhi’s face turned green. After a while he muttered, “Fuck I’ve messed up. I’ve teased him so many times before!”

……That’s why they sometimes say that being super calm was just your reflex arc taking too long.

---

野墳坡亂葬崗 [Yě fén pō luàn zàng gǎng] - Not really sure how to translate this. My best guess is it’s a random unmaintained grave. Probably some area with lots of dead bodies like after a war or something.

His body almost bent into a period. A period in Chinese looks like a hollow circle: 。

哥 [Gē] – Brother

Here Chu Ge was thinking that Guo Changcheng ‘Holy Mothered to idiocy’, he holy mothered so much he became ill. Holy mother being The Holy Mother; The Virgin Mary or a goddess.

人民币 [Rén mín bì] – Renminbi; China’s currency. Yuan is the unit. ‘Chinese Yuan’ is used in international contexts to refer to renminbi.

The name is 老吾老、幼吾幼 [lǎo wú lǎo, yòu wú yòu] – This probably comes from the phrase “老吾老，以及人之老，幼吾幼，以及人之幼” (lǎo wú lǎo , yǐ jí rén zhī lǎo , yòu wú yòu , yǐ jí rén zhī yòu) meaning to honour the elderly as we do our own aged parents and to take care of other’s children as if our own.

尺 [chǐ] – (unit) Chinese foot. It is 1/3 of a meter.

The rest of the chapter can be found here.

#guardian #novel translation #鎮魂 #镇魂 #zhen hun #guo changcheng #chu shuzhi

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